#demon Stephen Strange

[space-mermaid-writing]

Of monsters and men [IronStrange]

Summary: Some kidnappers fucked up big time and now Tony is bonded to this strange demon he continues to summon by accident.

Tags: demon!Stephen Strange, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Whump, body horror, protective Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange needs a hug

Author's note: You see the chapter title. You know the drill.... Beta by @harpywritesfic and @kvjjjjjj.

Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 1.3k | Previous | Next (soon)

Chapter 13: Siberia

It was cold. The heater in Tony’s armor had shut down – as well as everything else. Friday no longer answered any of his pleas.

His faceplate was gone and the cold air stung sharply in his lungs.

It hurt.

Everything hurt. Physically and emotionally.

It was a miracle that none of his blood had been spilled on the ground, although he had been beaten up badly. Tony had gotten very good at only losing blood intentionally.

Someone was probably proud of him for that.

But now he needed that option. It was his last resort.

Tony wiped his face with his armor glove and pressed his palm flat on the ground next to him. Without his suit being online and the hydraulics not working, it took the last of his strength to execute the movement.

Stephen appeared; he always did. And as always he wasn’t alarmed since only a small amount of blood had been used for the summoning.

In fact, the demon was relieved he was finally being summoned again. It had felt like an eternity since he had felt the familiar pull of the summoning; the blood calling to him. Even though he knew, logically, that it couldn’t have been more than a few weeks – tops.

He could finally talk to Tony. There was so much to say, to explain. The memories of their previous meeting weighed heavily on him. He was aware that his behavior had been questionable, even disturbing, and he was desperate to clarify it.

Now, he finally had the opportunity to apologize to the engineer, to beg for his forgiveness.

The demon frowned as soon as he noticed the strange environment he had been called into. A bunker. He turned around – and was taken aback in shock when he finally spotted Tony.

Tony's lungs rattled with every single breath. “Help…” he pleaded, barely conscious anymore.

Stephen was at his side immediately; his worried face the last thing Tony saw before everything faded into black.

________________

Tony woke up slowly. He felt warm and comfortable.

Blinking, he realized he was in some kind of a hospital bed; judging by the sleek technology it even seemed to be the tower. It must have been night, because the room was dark except for a light by his bed.

The second thing he noticed was that he didn't feel any pain; just a slight ache in his chest – and exhaustion.

Apparently, they had hooked him up with the good stuff.

He turned his wrist to look at the IV – except there was none. That was weird.

“Friday?” His throat felt dry and the word came out hoarse.

“You are back in New York, Boss. It’s good to have you finally awake.”

The A.I. sounded so young – well, she was – and concerned. Who knew how long she had waited for him to finally show a sign of being awake while watching over him.

Jarvis would have told him the day and time as soon as Tony had stirred, probably even the current temperature outside. He knew which small pieces of information helped Tony to fight the disorientation, and the engineer couldn’t help but feel a pang of deep ache tugging at his heart thinking about the loss he still wasn’t over.

“What happened?” Tony asked. His memory was foggy. Of course there was the betrayal, the fight. And then it had been cold.

So cold.

He remembered calling Stephen. Or at least he had tried to.

Friday confirmed that. “Doctor Stephen Strange brought you home.”

Huh, it was weird to hear the coldness in her usually upbeat voice when she said the name, but between Ultron and Berlin Tony hadn’t had the chance to properly introduce Friday and Stephen. She just had what was left of Jarvis’ database, and the demon hadn't made the best impression when he had went all Ghost-Rider on Tony. In her eyes, the distrust wasn't misplaced.

“He didn’t leave your side and denied everyone else access to you. Only I was allowed to monitor your vitals.”

“Where’s he now?”

“He’s still present, Boss.”

Wait, what?

Confused, Tony took a closer look around. The darkness in the room was heavy. At first he thought someone had closed the window curtains to shut out the city light. But nothing seemed to exist outside his bed.

He noticed a movement as Stephen slowly peeled out of the shadows and slid to his bedside. His eyes darted carefully over Tony, as if he wanted to make sure the engineer was really alive and well.

Yet, he was reserved.

Tony would have expected Stephen to fuss about him, maybe have the cloak skid all over him. But it just shyly poked at his wrist, as if afraid to hurt him.

“How do you feel?” the demon asked neutrally.

“Surprisingly alive,” Tony rasped, before he started coughing.

Stephen held a glass of water to his lips – Tony had no idea where he'd gotten it from; maybe out of thin air – and helped him raise his head to drink.

The cool liquid eased his throat and he felt better instantly.

Afterwards, Stephen withdrew his hands immediately, unusually quiet. The last time he'd behaved like this was after Tony hadn't summoned him for months and Stephen thought he'd done something wrong.

Well, it wasn't hard to guess why. Their last encounter hadn't exactly ended well.

Tony should be suspicious of the demon, maybe even afraid; but he couldn't help but feel relieved. Stephen had rescued him from the bunker. He had brought Tony home. And his head wasn't currently a burning flame.

Tony had questions, lots of them. But they could wait until later.

So he reassured the demon. “I’m fine.” Tony even managed a small smile. “Well, I will be; thanks to you.”

Tony patted Stephen’s hand, but the demon pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen said. Tony thought he knew what the demon was apologizing for, but before he could get a word out, Stephen explained. “I healed you. All of you. I had to. You were dying.”

Stephen avoided his gaze. Instead, his eyes traveled further down Tony's chest.

Tony frowned. He had trouble identifying the problem. There had been a shield stuck in his torso, of course Stephen had to heal him. Otherwise Tony would probably never have woken up again.

“What do you mean?”

“You have repeatedly told me not to heal your chest. I have disobeyed your order and will accept my punishment.”

After the first sentence Tony had stopped listening, because he suddenly realized what Stephen meant; and it filled him with dread. He also realized he had no trouble breathing, although he should be missing part of his lung and his chest had been cracked open. He didn't feel any pain, yet his mind was clear – he wasn’t on any medication.

He threw back the blanket and looked down at his body. His hand lingered at the hem of his shirt, afraid what he would find under it.

Then he pulled the fabric up.

His chest was perfectly fine; no signs of the fight with the super soldiers. Not even a single scar. And no arc reactor.

Hot panic shot up into his throat, an overwhelming surge of anxiety that left him feeling suffocated.

He couldn’t breathe, each inhalation becoming a desperate gasp for air; with a tightness constricting his chest like an unyielding vise.

Tony recognized the signs of a panic attack, well aware of the familiar sensations that coursed through his body – the racing heartbeat, the prickling dullness of his limbs, and the sickening adrenaline that pulsed through his veins.

Yet, he could do nothing to prevent it from unfolding.

“Friday?” Tony managed to whisper. He needed to hear it from her.

“Your vitals match the records from before Afghanistan,” she confirmed. “Your lungs grew back in the last eleven hours. You have made a full recovery.”

Stephen watched him silently.

Tony was still breathing heavily. “Get out. I… leave!”

The demon complied without another word, as if he had been expecting this reaction.

The darkness in the room disappeared with him, and suddenly sunlight flooded in through the window. The rest of the interior became visible including the walls, and the door opened with the medical staff pouring in.

[hayanwulf]

Touch-starved demon Tony and priest Stephen?

If someone had told Tony a few months ago that one day, he would be sitting in a cozy looking room inside a Church, holding a staring competition with a priest who hadn’t immediately tried to banish him or spray him with holy water upon seeing him, he’d have tossed that person straight into hellfire to cleanse them of their stupidity.

“I asked you to show me your wings,” the priest repeated, staring at him expectantly, hands crossed over his chest.

“No,” Tony narrowed his eyes. “You demanded me to show you my wings.”

The priest rolled his eyes. “Well then, I’m waiting.”

“Why do you want to see my wings?”

The priest waved his hands down at the medical supplies laid out on the table next to him. “I thought it was obvious, but clearly, you lack intelligence like a typical demon. So, I need to patch up your wings. I saw their state, before.”

Tony decided to not address the dig at his intelligence, the priest was clearly just trying to get under his skin. Then again, he’d been this abrasive since the moment he’d found Tony hiding out in that alley. Very unusual personality for a priest.

He also hadn’t tried to kill or banish Tony at all, and had instead invited (read: dragged) Tony into the Church to shelter him from the rain.

Father Strange. The name suited him really, really well.

For the time being, Tony decided to glare down at the medical supplies on the table as though they’d catch fire if he stared for long enough. But even though fire was his element, that wasn’t going to happen, not today.

He was simply too weak and worn down to do anything at all.

“I don’t want human doctors getting their freaky hands on me,” he said, distaste sewn into each syllable.

Strange gave a flat smile. “Good thing that I’m not one, then.”

Tony looked up at the priest at that. “You’d commit blasphemy for me?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Gotta say, I’m flattered.”

Strange held his gaze for a moment, expression unreadable. “Since when is helping an injured being an act of blasphemy?”

Tony stared.

Okay, this man was either the dumbest priest to ever exist on Earth, or he seriously didn’t give a fuck about offending his Holiness or whatever.

Helping a demon, first by not instantly banishing him, then by providing him a shelter, and now offering him— what in Mephisto’s name—

Tony sighed. He was too tired to have his mind spiraling right now.

He gave in. He let the warm blanket wrapped around him fall off, and closed his eyes as he grew his hidden wings out of his back, wincing as he carefully spread them, the wounds tugging painfully.

He heard the rustle of the priest moving about, and simply didn’t try to open his eyes again, too afraid of watching the man work on his wings, his very battered, broken wings—

He flinched when the first touch of something brushed against his wing, searing pain shooting up his appendage. The priest paused for a moment, but quickly resumed cleaning his wounds.

The following strokes against his bare wound got easier to tolerate. He had expected it to feel like being showered in holy water, or at the very least, had expected it to feel on par with.. with how it had felt to receive them in the first place.

He could still recall with stark clarity, being trapped in that hideous cave, the pain he’d felt every time a knife pierced the spread of his wings, every time his bones were crushed using more than enough force to create a dent on an armor of iron, the dreadful voice of his human captors whenever they threatened to cut off his wings if he didn’t do their bidding.

But this touch that he felt now.. it was so gentle. Like a lover’s careful caress, if it could be called that. It felt like coming home and comfort and safety. Tony shook a little from the overwhelming wave of emotions that hit him, almost wanting to cry.

Soon the gentle brushes over his raw wounds were replaced by firm pressure as the priest bandaged him.

He had almost forgotten for a minute that he was being treated by a priest.

Which went against all rules of logic and common sense.

“All done,” the baritone voice spoke, prompting Tony to open his eyes. A sidelong glance at one wing revealed that more than half of the wing was covered in bandages now.

Tony turned his gaze to Strange, who was now packing up the medical supplies.

“You did good,” Strange stated dryly. “Do you want a candy?”

Tony’s lips curled down a little. “Depends. Is it the sweet kind or the sour kind? Oh who am I kidding, of course you’d only have the sour ones. Kind of shows in your sour personality.”

“Ah, you’d know all about it, being the expert in sour personalities.”

Tony’s lips twitched again, this time upwards. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m the expert in the spicy kind. I set people’s mood on fire. In more than one interpretation of that sentence.”

Strange picked up the medical kit and left the room with it, apparently deciding to not retort to that. A minute later he returned with a glass of water in his hand, and held it out for Tony.

Tony immediately turned his head away petulantly, crossing his hands over his chest.

The priest raised an eyebrow and simply put the glass down on the table, before walking over to the other chair and sitting down.

Tony still had his wings spread open uncomfortably, he realized. It’d be even more uncomfortable if he hid them though. So he slowly pulled them together to fold them close against his back. It pulled a little at the bandages, but his body did not explode, so they would probably be fine.

He turned his gaze down at the glass of water, hyper aware of the priest sitting across him.

Strange had still not tried to banish, nor harm him. Any other priest wouldn’t even have paused to think twice before deciding to banish or kill him.

“..It is, though,” he mumbled, just barely audible.

Strange furrowed his brow. “What is what?”

Tony looked back up at the priest. “Helping a vile, detestable creature of Hell like me. It is blasphemy.”

Again, Strange’s face was unreadable as the bluish-green eyes stared at Tony for a long moment.

“Is that what you see in yourself?” Strange finally spoke. “All that I see is a broken man at his lowest, in need of help.”

Tony blinked, left speechless.

He wanted to rage at the priest. He wanted to yell something. Maybe ‘Do not patronize me’, or ‘I’m not broken’, or ‘I don’t need your help or pity’.

But with the weight of emotions heavy in his throat, nothing came out.

He turned away to hide the tears welling up in his eyes.

[thesetwoidiots]

What If!Stephen: Peter Benjamin Parker! You are in so much trouble! Why. I have half a mind to-

Peter: Divide by zero!

What If!Stephen: *Freezes in Place*

Tony: The fuck just happened?

Peter: The demons in his body can't comprehend human math. He'll be like that for about an hour.

Tony: Well, at least I know how to get away from his tantrums now.

[el-on-mars]

Demon in a Bottle: A Doctor Strange Mystery

Illustrated by myself- I think this story would just fit really well woth dr strange too!!

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump 2025 Day 11: Demonic Possession

Title: the fruits of my labor

Words: 364

Summary: The Cloak gets possessed. Stephen isn't amused.

XXX

Ao3 | Tumblr Masterlist

Stephen, in all his genius, never thought that sentient relics could get possessed. They were sentient, yes, but no sorcerer had ever figured out whether or not relics had Souls. Well, Stephen had finally cracked it, but in the worst way possible.

The worst way being the Cloak somehow managing to slip through his wards when dealing with a demon trapped in the Sanctum, then managing to get itself possessed. The Demon Stephen was trying to banish also happened to be one that had a personal grievance with Stephen – or was scared and lashing out, it could honestly be both and Stephen hadn’t figured it out yet – and was currently chasing him around with a knife.

At this point, Stephen regretted teaching the Cloak how to use kitchenware for the days when Wong wasn’t around and Stephen was unable to get take-out or otherwise cook for himself.

Stephen reprimanded himself as he threw up another shield, yelling at the Cloak. Not that that was going to do much when it was a Demon inhabiting a voiceless, enchanted article of clothing.

The Cloak ran at him again, the kitchen knife pointed at his chest. Stephen sidestepped just as the Cloak lunged. In a blur of movement, Stephen somehow managed to grab the cloak and wrestle the knife out of its grip, but not before it sliced his hand open. Stephen grunted, but ignored the pain until he could trap the Cloak in an immobility spell. The Cloak fell still, trapped beneath Stephen’s body weight.

Stephen sighed. He didn’t have the energy for an exorcism right now – could a relic even be exorcised? – he’d have to go to Wong.

The Cloak didn’t look like it was going to attack him again so Stephen slowly got off of it. Now to deal with his throbbing, bleeding hand.

The Cloak twitched and Stephen immediately formed a containment unit around it. Sentient relics being possessed by demons with vendettas towards Sorcerer Supremes was not on Stephen’s bucket list and he hoped that it would never make an appearance again.

At least he had learned his lesson about not assuming things about ancient relics older than the Ancient One herself.

Ao3 | Tumblr Masterlist

[thingsasbarcodes]

What If...? 2x09 - What If... Strange Supreme Intervened?

[speed-demon-doodler]

Still on Krita practice :') I'll get there someday

[doctorstrangereview]

0033: Strange Tales #141

Cover Date: February 1966 On-Sale Date: November 11, 1965

"The Final Defeat" was advertised last issue, but this issue is "Let There Be Victory". Whose victory? We shall see. The story sort of closes out the Doc vs. Dormie arc that's been going on for a year. While Doc and Dormie won't face off again this arc, things aren't quite done yet.

There appears to be lots to tell this installment. The splash is the start of the story with Mordo bragging to Dormie about his incredibly dishonorable act. Is the lord of the dark dimension grateful? Heck no! Dormie could have done it himself! And he's got choice words for the Baron. "You -- a bungling, talentless, powerless mortal -- you dared presume to think you could help Dormammu??!!" Don't mince words, flamehead! Tell us how you really feel! Dormie then banishes Mordo, weird onesie and all, using something that looks like a flying carpet square with a big hole in it.

Dormie then proceeds to demand the other dimension lords crown him King of Everything. But before they can respond, Doc is awake again and makes the ultimate playground challenge. "I wanna rematch, hothead! And if you refuse it means you're a scaredy-cat!" Naturally, this ancient, supremely powerful being that's ruled a dimension for uncountable ages falls for this bit of reverse psychology.

The battle starts again! Once again, who is winning goes back and forth between the combatants while the camera occasionally cuts to The Ancient One surrounded by the dimensional lords and Clea, still watching in her magic cage in the Dark Dimension through the floaty, smoky TV thing.

And so it goes, until, finally...

Doc makes Dormie renew his oath never to attack the Earth.

Dormie agrees and the event ends. The players and audience all return to their home bases. The Ancient One has finally returned to his cool pad instead of the dank, musty cave. Doc does the old dude a favor and sends his cloak to retrieve Hamir. Then immediately sends him out to get food.

We're only at the top of page seven right now, and we definitely don't need that amount of space to wrap things up so nastiness awaits in the wings. First, Dormie's magic TV appears to give Doc mystical flip of the bird.

Now, in their first battle, Doc made Dormie promise never to harm Clea. This was actually the first part of the promise with Earth second. Presumably this promise is still in effect, and we learn later on that Dormammu breaking his promises has consequences, so what's up with this? Maybe banishing her isn't actually harming her. Now it's Stephen's time to yell and shake his fist in the air. Dormie then rants and raves to whomever will listen.

The Ancient One then gives Doc his next mission. He releases the Orb of Agamotto, still referred to as a mystic globe from Mordo's curse and shows Doc where all the Mordo evil hotspots are. Doc's gotta clean 'em up. Doc's heading back to his pad in Greenwich Village, but before he gets there, something is going on. Doc still hasn't installed door or window locks or any mystic shielding. Kaecilius, the Demon and a mysterious third whose face is hidden in shadow and a Freddy Krueger fedora are in the Sanctum Sanctorum are plotting something nefarious. To make it less likely for Doc to detect, they are using a regular bomb and nothing mystical. The third figure puts the bomb IN A LIT BRAZIER! I don't know if they are incredibly stupid for putting an explosive device in a fire, or if they are incredibly smart for designing a bomb that can withstand the flames until they trigger their remote.

Doc returns via the floppy bullseye spell, mystic globe in tow. Outside we see the mysterious fedora wearer about to trigger the bomb. Inside, Doc says "I really need a nap!" and the story closes with an image the brazier showing the bomb inside.

The panel says the end but obviously things are far from over. This arc was first reprinted in Doctor Strange Classics in the mid-80s. In order to give it a cleaner ending, the panels dealing with the bomb plot are excised and the image of the bomb in the final panel is removed. As for the story itself, half is a rehash of the battle from the previous issue. Fortunately this isn't the main point of the story. It's really a set up for something much bigger in a few months. I like the latter half of the story much more than the battle. The battle appears to be won, but lots of related things are about to happen. I've got hand it to Lee and Ditko. They plotted this whole thing out very well.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

actually it would be fun if depending on how much you fucked up with Claire over the course of ep 2 (like with the praying and chores, etc) she could think Daniel was a demon instead of a "miracle" during the power reveal and decide she was in a Exorcist remake.

[nerds-yearbook]

Mephista, the daughter of Mephisto, was introduced in Doctor Strange 6#, cover date August, 1989 in the "Demonic Re-Possession" segment. She was created by Roy and Dann Thomas, and Jackson Guice. Introduced in the "Book of Vishanti" segment were Miarka, Baron Nikolai Mordo, and Sarah Krowler and they were created by Roy Thomas, R.J.M. Lofficier, and Tom Sutton. ("Demonic Re-Possession", "The Book of Vishanti", Doctor Strange 6#, Marvel Comic Event)

[space-mermaid-writing]

More demon!Stephen and Tony sketches

Mentally, I'm singing "Unhinge your jaw" to the melody of "Unchain my heart" by Joe Cocker.

I'm under your spell Like a man in a trance Oh but you know darn well that I don't stand a chance

[doctorstrangeaskblog]

I asked Tony this, but he turn me to you, his words were 'wrong facial hair bro'. Anyways, what I asked was Opinions on Demons, not in religion, but as a species?

There are many species, so it's hard to have a general opinion. There are demons who literally are cute balls of fur with little paws. And...some demons are huge rotten creatures that eat souls. Hard to just...treat them the same.

[wizardsaremomstoo]

Remember my idea about What If!Stephen and Canon Stephen raising Peter together?

What If!Stephen: This is amazing, awe-inspiring, absolutely perfection.

Canon Stephen: Peter set a copy of the Book of Vishanti on fire.

What If!Stephen: *On the Verge of (Happy) Tears* With black magic no less!

[b0rtney]

Supernatural fixit where merlin comes in last minute and eldritch blasts God to death, tag teaming with jack to teabag his divine corpse, bc back in abt 200bc merlin was gods fav chew toy as the Winchester are now ans he's like "not this shit again u fucking idiot. U should have nerfed me w somn stronger than gay depression"

And then jack(who is new god rember) is like.omg ty for ur help do u want me to alive ur bf for u? And merlin is like can u just send me back??? I have some shit id like to fix??? And jack is like I AM An Ally so yes 💅

WHICH then smoothly transitions into a merlin regression fixit fic

BOOM double fixed.

i love how there's the genre of fix-it fic where the author goes into great granular detail of how our heroes manage to avoid or undo whatever character death or other unpopular choice occurred, in a way that abides by the laws of the fictional universe and definitely required a substantial plot outline, and then there are fix-it fics where the author just went "that's bullshit and didn't happen," and we as readers all go "agreed. carry on."

[tina-mairin-goldstein]

Day 11: Demonic Possession

Chapter Summary:

Wong doesn't understand what's happening to him.

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: Multi

Fandom: Doctor Strange (Movies)

Relationships: Ancient One & Hamir the Hermit (Marvel), Kaecilius & Wong (Marvel), Kaecilius & Karl Mordo, Daniel Drumm & Kaecilius, Daniel Drumm/Kaecilius, Stephen Strange & Wong, Ancient One & Stephen Strange, Adria/Kaecilius (Marvel), Kaecilius & Stephen Strange

Characters: Ancient One (Marvel), Hamir the Hermit (Marvel), Kaecilius (Marvel), Wong (Marvel), Karl Mordo, Daniel Drumm, Stephen Strange, Adria (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2025, Major Character Injury, Injury, Blood, Violence, Blood and Injury Blood and Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Angst

Whump, Everyone Needs A Hug, Sign Language, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon timeline is there but adjusted to my needs, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mind Control, Medical Inaccuracies, Mentions of Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Necromancy, Demonic Possession

Language: English

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

The Marvel Comics Characters babysit your dog, Mr. Pickles

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Mr. Pickles: 100 | Marvel’s Most Dangerous Characters: 0

Peter Parker & Mr. Pickles

- Peter Parker thought he had seen chaos. He had battled the Sinister Six, fought off symbiotes, and saved the city more times than he could count. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for babysitting your tiny, fluffy, utterly reckless dog, Mr. Pickles.

- The first incident happened within minutes. Peter had barely set his backpack down when he turned around to find Mr. Pickles teetering on the edge of the kitchen counter, somehow having climbed up without opposable thumbs or logic. A split second later, Peter was diving forward, catching the little menace midair like he was saving a falling civilian from a burning building.

- Webbing became his only salvation. After Mr. Pickles managed to squeeze himself into the vents (how?!), Peter had no choice but to create an elaborate web barricade in the apartment. The place looked less like your home and more like a Spider-Man containment field.

- When he tried to work on some web fluid at your kitchen table, Mr. Pickles took it upon himself to bat at the vials like he was a cat, sending one flying straight into Peter’s hair. “Oh, come on, dude—do you have a vendetta against physics?!” he groaned, now stuck to the chair.

- By the time you returned, Peter was sitting on the couch, hair a mess, web fluid staining his fingers, Mr. Pickles curled up in his lap like an innocent angel. “Your dog is not real,” Peter muttered, voice hollow from exhaustion. “He is an agent of chaos.” But then you laughed, kissed his cheek, and suddenly, he decided maybe babysitting Mr. Pickles was worth it.

Tony Stark & Mr. Pickles

- Tony Stark was a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—and now, apparently, an unwilling dog sitter. He had babysat robots more predictable than your tiny, fluffy terror, Mr. Pickles, who seemed to have a personal grudge against his entire penthouse.

- Five minutes in, the dog had already hacked into JARVIS. “Sir,” JARVIS reported, “Mr. Pickles has managed to override security protocols and is currently sending an email to Pepper Potts.” Tony whipped around. “He what?” The email in question was just a string of random letters and a single attachment: a blurry photo of Mr. Pickles’ own tail.

- The next three hours were spent chasing the demon-dog through the penthouse. Mr. Pickles had chewed through a custom Italian leather shoe, knocked over an entire tray of expensive whiskey glasses, and somehow ended up inside the Iron Man gauntlet display.

- Thinking himself the superior intellect, Tony built a small tracking device for Mr. Pickles. That lasted exactly fifteen minutes before the dog removed it and buried it inside one of Tony’s prized sports cars.

- By the time you came home, Tony was slumped in his chair, his expensive suit now covered in dog fur, while Mr. Pickles pranced happily across the table like he had won the war. “Your dog needs an exorcist,” Tony grumbled. You just kissed his forehead and said, “But you love him, right?” Tony sighed. “Unfortunately… yeah.”

Steve Rogers & Mr. Pickles

- Steve Rogers had fought in wars, led the Avengers, and stared down threats that could destroy the world. But nothing prepared him for babysitting Mr. Pickles, a dog whose only purpose in life seemed to be challenging the laws of nature.

- It started with the shield. Steve had set it down for one minute—one single minute—and somehow, Mr. Pickles had lodged himself inside the strap loops, running across the apartment with it stuck to his back like a medieval knight.

- The escape attempts were relentless. Every time Steve turned away, Mr. Pickles was finding new ways to jailbreak from the apartment. He squeezed under doors, climbed onto furniture he had no business reaching, and at one point, managed to activate Steve’s emergency communicator by jumping onto the counter. Sam Wilson showed up at the door minutes later, breathless. “Did you just summon the Avengers?” Steve sighed. “No. The dog did.”

- Steve had fought entire battles with less stress. When he tried to cook dinner, Mr. Pickles stole an entire steak off the counter and stared Steve dead in the eye as he ate it. When he tried to read a book, the dog somehow ended up inside the couch cushions.

- When you walked in, Steve was on the floor, holding Mr. Pickles upside down like he had accepted defeat. “Your dog has the soul of a war general,” Steve muttered. You just smiled, kissing his cheek. “That’s why I trusted Captain America to babysit him.” Steve sighed, looking at the fluffy criminal in his arms. “Yeah. I guess I kind of like him.”

Thor & Mr. Pickles

- Thor, the God of Thunder, had faced frost giants, dark elves, and cosmic horrors. But none of them were as terrifyingly determined as your tiny, fluffy white dog, Mr. Pickles.

- The moment Thor sat down, Mr. Pickles leapt onto his lap, staring into his soul with his beady eyes. Thor grinned. “Ah! A warrior spirit!” He scratched behind Mr. Pickles’ ears, convinced that this small creature was surely an Asgardian beast in disguise.

- Things took a turn when Thor left Mjolnir on the ground. Mr. Pickles, in his infinite foolishness, tried to pick it up. When the hammer didn’t budge, he began barking at it, circling it like it was an enemy. Thor, amused beyond belief, sat back and watched the battle unfold.

- Mr. Pickles did not win. But he did not give up, either. Thor, impressed by his persistence, lifted Mjolnir just enough for Mr. Pickles to wiggle underneath and emerge victorious. “You are brave,” Thor declared. “And terribly, terribly dumb.”

- When you returned, Mr. Pickles was sitting atop Thor’s shoulder like he was king of Asgard. Thor beamed at you. “Your small beast is worthy! I shall take him to battle!” You simply sighed. “Thor, please don’t take my dog to battle.”

Loki & Mr. Pickles

- Loki, Prince of Asgard and God of Mischief, should have known better. He was the master of deception, the embodiment of chaos—but even he was not prepared for your small, dumb, fluffy menace, Mr. Pickles.

- The trouble started the moment you left. Loki, confident in his abilities, had settled in with a book. Within ten minutes, Mr. Pickles had stolen one of his enchanted daggers and was running laps around the room with it.

- Loki was not amused. He summoned illusions of himself to try and corner the beast, but Mr. Pickles—defying all reason— managed to sniff out the real Loki every time.

- Realizing he had met his match, Loki decided to strike a deal. “You may keep the dagger,” he told Mr. Pickles, “if you agree to cease your foolishness.” Mr. Pickles promptly ignored him and chewed on the dagger handle.

- By the time you returned, Loki was sitting on the couch, holding Mr. Pickles like a defeated king cradling his downfall. “Your dog,” Loki said, “is the single most infuriating creature I have ever encountered.” You just smiled. “But you like him, right?” Loki sighed, reluctantly scratching behind Mr. Pickles’ ears. “Against my better judgment… yes.”

Clint Barton & Mr. Pickles

- Clint Barton thought he had dealt with enough chaos in his life. He had fought aliens, battled crime syndicates, and survived on a diet of pizza and sarcasm. But babysitting your tiny, fluffy, perpetually confused dog, Mr. Pickles? That was an entirely new level of disaster.

- The first mistake Clint made was underestimating Mr. Pickles. “Yeah, yeah, I got this,” he had said as you left. Five minutes later, the dog had vanished. One second he was on the couch, the next, he was gone—like a ghost with bad decision-making skills.

- The next three hours turned into a full-blown tactical operation. Clint used every trick in the book—tracking skills, stealth maneuvers, even an actual infrared scope—only to find Mr. Pickles sitting inside Clint’s quiver, chewing happily on an arrowhead. “Dude, I need those,” Clint groaned, prying the slobbery mess from tiny jaws.

- He tried distracting Mr. Pickles with treats. That worked for exactly two minutes before the dog somehow managed to jump onto the kitchen counter, knock over a coffee mug, and hit the emergency call button on Clint’s burner phone. When Kate Bishop picked up, laughing, Clint groaned, “Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it.”

- By the time you came home, Clint was laying on the floor, defeated, as Mr. Pickles slept soundly on his chest. “Your dog is part ninja, part escape artist, and entirely evil,” Clint muttered. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But you love him, right?” Clint sighed, reluctantly scratching behind Mr. Pickles’ ears. “…Yeah, yeah. I love the dumb little menace.”

Natasha Romanoff & Mr. Pickles

- Natasha Romanoff was an elite assassin, a master of espionage, and completely unbothered by most things. Until, of course, she had to babysit Mr. Pickles.

- At first, she thought it would be easy. “He’s small,” she had told herself. “He’s fluffy. How much trouble can he be?” Two hours later, Natasha was standing on the coffee table, arms crossed, watching as Mr. Pickles circled her boots like a tiny, unhinged shark.

- She quickly realized Mr. Pickles had a taste for destruction. He tore apart a throw pillow, attempted to climb inside the dishwasher, and somehow chewed through her phone charger within ten minutes. “You’re worse than Clint,” she muttered, watching as he tried (and failed) to jump onto the windowsill.

- Despite the chaos, she found herself impressed by his persistence. When he got stuck in a blanket, he wiggled until he was free. When he knocked over his water bowl, he marched right through it like an unstoppable force. He reminded her, in some strange way, of herself—small but relentless, completely unaware of limits.

- When you returned, Mr. Pickles was curled up in Natasha’s lap, snoring softly. She glanced at you and smirked. “Your dog is dangerous,” she said. You laughed, leaning down to kiss her. “But you like him, right?” Natasha rolled her eyes but continued petting him. “…I tolerate him.” That was Natasha-speak for yes.

Bucky Barnes & Mr. Pickles

- Bucky Barnes had fought in wars, survived decades of brainwashing, and carried the weight of his past like an iron chain. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy disaster of a dog, Mr. Pickles, should have been easy. It was not.

- The first problem was the metal arm. Mr. Pickles was obsessed with it. He barked at it, licked it, and then tried to bite it—only to look extremely offended when his tiny teeth did nothing. “Buddy, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here,” Bucky muttered, watching as the dog attempted (and failed) to wrestle his vibranium fingers.

- Mr. Pickles had no fear. He ran headfirst into furniture, nearly launched himself off the couch three separate times, and somehow got his head stuck inside a cereal box. Bucky spent a full five minutes just sighing and shaking his head before helping him out.

- By the end of the night, Bucky had fully accepted his fate. He sat on the couch, watching as Mr. Pickles zoomed around like a tiny white blur of chaos. “You’re exhausting,” Bucky told him. Mr. Pickles just wagged his tail, happy as ever.

- When you returned, Bucky was sitting on the floor, Mr. Pickles curled up in his lap, peacefully snoring. He glanced up at you, face unreadable. “We had a long discussion,” he said. “He’s still an idiot. But he’s our idiot.”

Matthew Murdock & Mr. Pickles

- Matt Murdock had dealt with enough surprises in life. He had lost his sight as a child, trained as a fighter, and spent his nights protecting Hell’s Kitchen. But nothing prepared him for the absolute chaos of babysitting Mr. Pickles.

- The first issue was his heightened senses. Mr. Pickles was small but somehow louder than an explosion. Every tiny footstep, every excited bark, every disastrous moment of chaos was amplified to near unbearable levels.

- Then came the smell. Matt had barely turned his back before he caught the unmistakable scent of a chewed-up shoe. He turned, unamused. “You did not just eat my dress shoes.” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, entirely unremorseful.

- When the dog managed to escape into the hallway, Matt had no choice but to rely on his enhanced hearing to track him down. He followed the tiny, frantic paws to the stairwell—where Mr. Pickles had somehow managed to get stuck between two steps. “You are so lucky I like you,” Matt muttered, scooping him up.

- When you returned, Matt was sitting on the couch, Mr. Pickles resting on his lap. He turned his head toward you and smiled. “You didn’t tell me your dog was a criminal mastermind,” he teased. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. “But you like him, right?” Matt sighed, stroking Mr. Pickles’ tiny head. “…Yeah. I do.”

Frank Castle & Mr. Pickles

- Frank Castle had seen hell. He had been to war, lost everything, and waged a bloody battle against crime. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy, completely clueless dog should not have been the hardest mission of his life.

- It started with the growling. Mr. Pickles hated Frank’s boots. Every time Frank took a step, the dog charged at them like a feral beast, tiny tail wagging in pure, misplaced aggression. “You got a death wish, pal?” Frank muttered. Mr. Pickles barked once.

- Frank was not a dog person. But somehow, Mr. Pickles was determined to change that. He followed Frank around like a tiny, white shadow, completely ignoring the fact that Frank was actively trying to ignore him.

- At some point, Frank gave up. He sat down, glancing at the tiny beast sitting next to him. “Alright, you win,” he muttered. Mr. Pickles immediately rolled onto his back, demanding belly rubs. Frank sighed, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”

- By the time you came home, Frank was sitting on the couch, a tiny, snoring Mr. Pickles curled up beside him. He looked at you, completely serious. “Your dog is a menace,” he said. Then, after a long pause, he sighed. “…But he’s a good kid.”

Marc Spector & Mr. Pickles

- Marc Spector has fought gods, mercenaries, and monsters lurking in the shadows. He has survived betrayals, bloodshed, and nights spent drowning in his own mind. But he was not prepared for Mr. Pickles.

- The dog hated structure, which was a problem, because Marc thrived on it. He tried to set a routine—food at seven, walk at eight, no chewing on anything remotely important. Within minutes, Mr. Pickles had knocked over a lamp, chewed on Marc’s combat boots, and somehow disappeared inside a kitchen cabinet.

- Jake Lockley found him first. When Marc blinked, his reflection smirked and said, “El perrito es un desastre.” (The little dog is a disaster.) When he switched to Steven, he just heard a horrified, “Marc, he’s got your cape!”

- By the end of the night, Mr. Pickles was asleep on Marc’s chest, his tiny form rising and falling with each breath. Marc sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve fought Anubis. I’ve walked the path of the dead. And I was defeated… by you.”

- When you returned, you found Marc asleep on the couch, Mr. Pickles curled up against his ribs. You kissed his temple, whispering, “So, how’d it go?” Marc cracked one eye open. “I think we made a blood pact,” he muttered. “Your dog owns me now.”

Johnny Storm & Mr. Pickles

- Johnny Storm thought babysitting Mr. Pickles would be easy. He was a superhero, a celebrity, a professional fun-haver. Dogs loved him. He loved dogs. It should have been a perfect match.

- He was wrong.

- The first issue arose within ten minutes. Johnny had turned his back for two seconds when he heard a crash. He spun around to find Mr. Pickles standing victoriously on top of a knocked-over shelf, a chewed-up sock in his mouth. Johnny pointed at him. “Okay, that’s strike one.”

- Strike two came when the dog managed to climb onto Johnny’s bed, get tangled in the sheets, and somehow turn on the ceiling fan. Johnny barely caught him before he became airborne. “Buddy, you cannot just try to take flight,” he scolded, untangling him.

- By strike three, Johnny had accepted defeat. He laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling, as Mr. Pickles happily licked his face. “You win, little dude. I can’t keep up.”

- When you got home, Johnny was half-asleep, Mr. Pickles curled up in his hoodie. He groaned dramatically. “You didn’t tell me you had a tiny, fluffy supervillain.” You smirked, ruffling his hair. “But you love him, right?” Johnny sighed. “…Yeah, okay. He’s cool.”

Reed Richards & Mr. Pickles

- Reed Richards has solved equations that baffle the greatest minds of the century. He has rewritten physics, built machines that defy reality, and held the fabric of the multiverse in his hands. But nothing could have prepared him for Mr. Pickles.

- It started as an experiment. Reed, ever the scientist, wanted to study the peculiar behavior of your fluffy, oblivious dog. “It’s fascinating,” he mused, adjusting his glasses as Mr. Pickles attempted to bite his own tail and immediately fell over.

- That fascination quickly turned into mild horror when Mr. Pickles found his way into the lab. Within seconds, he had knocked over a beaker, chewed on some incredibly important notes, and—somehow—turned on the molecular destabilizer.

- Reed had to stretch halfway across the room to shut it off before anything catastrophic happened. He picked up Mr. Pickles, holding him at arm’s length. “You, sir, are an anomaly.” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, completely unbothered.

- By the time you came home, Reed was sitting on the couch, reading quantum mechanics to Mr. Pickles, who was dozing on his lap. He adjusted his glasses. “He’s… quite the experiment.” You laughed, kissing his cheek. “But you love him, right?” Reed hesitated, then sighed. “…I suppose I do.”

Ben Grimm & Mr. Pickles

- Ben Grimm, the ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Thing, had faced cosmic horrors, supervillains, and existential crises. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy, dumb dog should’ve been easy. It was not.

- Within the first five minutes, Mr. Pickles had somehow gotten himself stuck under the couch. Ben sighed, reaching under with his massive hand and plucking the tiny dog up like a stubborn sock. “Kid, I’m tellin’ ya, you got no survival instincts.”

- Mr. Pickles, undeterred, immediately tried to chew on Ben’s massive rocky fingers. Ben raised a brow. “Oh, so you wanna scrap, huh?” The dog growled playfully, yapping at him with all the confidence of a creature who had never faced consequences.

- Eventually, Ben sat on the couch, Mr. Pickles curled up on his lap, snoring. He huffed, crossing his arms. “Ain’t no one better tell Reed about this. I got a reputation.”

- When you came back, you grinned at the sight of them together. “So, did you two bond?” Ben scoffed. “Bond? Nah. But… maybe he ain’t so bad. For a troublemaker.” Mr. Pickles snored louder. “…Yeah, yeah, I get it. You win, furball.”

Susan Storm & Mr. Pickles

- Susan Storm had dealt with far worse than a tiny, fluffy dog. Or so she thought.

- At first, everything was fine. Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, looking deceptively innocent. Susan smiled. “Oh, you’re adorable. This will be easy.” She would regret saying that.

- The second she turned around, Mr. Pickles vanished. Not literally, but it sure felt like it. Susan searched the Baxter Building, using her invisibility to sneak up on him. She found him in Reed’s lab, chewing on a very expensive-looking piece of tech.

- “Oh no, no, no—bad dog!” She swooped in, scooping him up before he could cause an explosion. Mr. Pickles licked her nose. She sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

- By the time you got back, Susan was sitting on the couch, petting Mr. Pickles with one hand while rubbing her temple with the other. You grinned. “So, how did it go?” She gave you a tired smile. “…I love you, but next time, Johnny is babysitting.”

Felicia Hardy & Mr. Pickles

- Felicia Hardy had done a lot of reckless things in her life. She had stolen diamonds from locked vaults, toyed with superheroes, danced along the razor’s edge of disaster. But Mr. Pickles? He was a different kind of challenge.

- At first, she wasn’t impressed. “This is the little menace?” she had said, eyeing him. Then, five minutes later, she was chasing him around the apartment, cursing under her breath as he dodged every attempt to catch him.

- She realized, with a sort of begrudging admiration, that Mr. Pickles was fast. He slipped through her fingers, ducked under tables, and even managed to knock over a priceless antique vase she had definitely stolen.

- By the end of the night, Felicia had completely given in. She sat on the floor, watching as Mr. Pickles happily gnawed on a stolen hair tie. “You’re a little criminal,” she murmured, “and I kinda respect it.”

- When you came home, you found Felicia curled up on the couch, Mr. Pickles sleeping on her stomach. She cracked an eye open and smirked. “He’s growing on me.” You grinned. “So you love him?” Felicia stretched, running her fingers through his fur. “…Yeah. But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Stephen Strange & Mr. Pickles

- Stephen Strange was one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence. He had traveled across dimensions, held the fate of the universe in his hands, bargained with cosmic entities. Babysitting Mr. Pickles should have been beneath him.

- And yet, here he was, standing in his Sanctum Sanctorum, staring at the tiny, fluffy creature wreaking absolute havoc. “No,” he said flatly as Mr. Pickles climbed onto the Cloak of Levitation, chewed on the enchanted embroidery, and then tried to ride it like a tiny, ill-advised chariot.

- Wong walked in, took one look at the chaos, and turned right back around. “Not my problem.”

- Stephen sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, you little menace. You’ve bested gods and mystics alike. What do you want?” Mr. Pickles barked once, wagging his tail. “Of course. Attention.”

- When you returned, Stephen was sitting in his armchair, the Cloak of Levitation draped around both him and Mr. Pickles. He didn’t even look up as you entered. “Your dog has no respect for the eldritch arts.” You bit back a laugh. “But you love him, right?” Stephen sighed dramatically. “…Against my better judgment, yes.”

Namor & Mr. Pickles

- Namor, King of Atlantis, First Mutant, Imperius Rex—babysitting a tiny, fluffy, absurdly dumb land creature was beneath him. He had ruled for centuries, waged wars, and stood against titans. And yet, you had looked at him with those eyes, and suddenly, here he was.

- Within minutes, Mr. Pickles had launched himself into a decorative Atlantean fountain, paddling with all the grace of a drowning pearl diver. Namor, unimpressed, crossed his arms. “You are not suited for the ocean, tiny beast.” Mr. Pickles barked, thrilled.

- The palace was not meant for creatures like him. In the span of an hour, he had chewed on an ancient scroll, attempted to befriend a very unamused sea serpent, and somehow found his way into the throne room, where he proudly sat upon Namor’s throne. The royal guards had never been more confused.

- By the time you returned, Namor stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable as Mr. Pickles wagged his tail at his feet. “Your creature is reckless, absurdly ill-equipped for survival, and entirely too confident for his own good.” You bit back a smile. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

- He sighed, running a hand down his face. “Against my better judgment, I will tolerate him.” You knelt, scooping Mr. Pickles into your arms. “Oh, so you love him?” Namor scoffed, turning on his heel. “Do not push your luck.” But the way Mr. Pickles trotted after him suggested otherwise.

Johnny Blaze & Mr. Pickles

- Johnny Blaze, the Ghost Rider, had made a deal with the Devil himself—but even Mephisto hadn’t prepared him for Mr. Pickles. He was expecting something manageable, maybe even chill. Instead, he got a tiny, fluffy tornado of chaos.

- Mr. Pickles immediately attempted to fight his motorcycle. Not sniff it. Not inspect it. Fight it. The little thing barked furiously at the flaming wheels, jumping up in a wild, futile attempt to bite them. Johnny had seen demons with more self-preservation.

- When Johnny tried to take a nap, Mr. Pickles climbed onto his chest, stared directly into his soul, and promptly sneezed on his face. Johnny wiped his face with a groan. “You’re lucky you’re cute, man.”

- At some point, the dog managed to run off with Johnny’s favorite leather jacket. By the time he caught him, Mr. Pickles was rolling around in it like it was his new personal throne. Johnny narrowed his eyes. “…Alright. You win. It’s yours now.”

- When you got home, you found Johnny on the couch, absently scratching Mr. Pickles’ ears. You grinned. “So, how’d it go?” Johnny sighed. “I think I just sold my soul again. To your dog.”

Eddie Brock / Venom & Mr. Pickles

- Eddie Brock had Venom. You had Mr. Pickles. The problem was that Venom did not understand why Mr. Pickles existed.

- “Is it prey?” Venom asked within the first five minutes. Eddie sighed, rubbing his temples. “No, buddy. It’s a pet.” Venom tilted its head. “We do not eat it?” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail obliviously. “No. We do not eat it.”

- Venom, unfortunately, did not like competition. Mr. Pickles demanded attention. Venom demanded you. The standoff began immediately. Eddie woke up to find Mr. Pickles asleep on his chest, while Venom loomed above him like a shadow, glowering.

- It only got worse when Mr. Pickles stole Eddie’s sandwich. Venom raged. “The creature has taken OUR food! We must retaliate!” Eddie sighed, watching as Mr. Pickles happily chewed on his stolen prize. “Yeah, buddy. I don’t think we’re winning this war.”

- When you returned, Eddie sat on the couch, Venom’s tendrils twitching in irritation, Mr. Pickles napping peacefully on his lap. You grinned. “Venom, did you make a friend?” Venom hissed. “He is an adversary.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “…Yeah. That means yes.”

T’Challa & Mr. Pickles

- T’Challa had fought in battles that shaped history, had led a nation, had outmaneuvered gods and kings. He had not, however, anticipated Mr. Pickles.

- Shuri was absolutely delighted. She took one look at the tiny, ridiculous dog and immediately declared, “He is my favorite guest.” T’Challa, arms crossed, simply said, “He is… something.”

- Mr. Pickles was determined to challenge every Wakandan security measure. Within an hour, he had gotten past two Dora Milaje, slipped into the royal chambers, and was found happily wagging his tail atop the Vibranium throne.

- Okoye was not amused. Shuri was entertained. T’Challa sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “This dog fears nothing.” Shuri smirked. “Much like someone else I know.”

- By the time you returned, Mr. Pickles was curled up beside T’Challa, who was absentmindedly scratching behind his ears. You crossed your arms. “So, do you love him?” T’Challa did not look up. “…I tolerate him.” Mr. Pickles licked his hand. “…Perhaps a little more than that.”

Elektra Natchios & Mr. Pickles

- Elektra had survived assassins, taken down empires, and danced in the dark with death itself. She was elegant, precise, a living weapon. Mr. Pickles, on the other hand, was a small, fluffy ball of pure idiocy.

- He immediately tried to steal one of her sais. She watched, unimpressed, as he grabbed the handle in his tiny jaws and attempted to run away. He tripped, rolled over, and barked at the ceiling in defiance. She had seen warriors with less determination.

- Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself watching him, observing. There was something admirable about his foolish bravery. His absolute lack of fear. The way he took up space despite his size.

- Eventually, he curled up next to her, snuggling against her side. Elektra, without thinking, ran her fingers through his soft fur. She had never had a pet before. She had never let herself want one. But this? This, she could allow.

- When you returned, Elektra simply looked at you, one hand still on Mr. Pickles’ back. You smirked. “So… you love him?” She arched a brow. “Love is a strong word.” Mr. Pickles snored softly against her. “…But perhaps, just this once, I can allow it.”

Victor von Doom & Mr. Pickles

- Doom did not babysit. Doom did not serve. Doom did not tolerate fools. And yet, here he was.

- He stared at Mr. Pickles. Mr. Pickles stared back, tail wagging. Doom narrowed his eyes. “You are beneath me.” Mr. Pickles barked happily. Doom scowled. “Cease.” Mr. Pickles barked again.

- The dog, completely oblivious to the concept of fear, followed Doom around Latveria. At some point, he clambered onto Doom’s throne, tail thumping against the armrest. The royal guards exchanged nervous glances. Doom exhaled slowly. “I despise this.”

- However, when a diplomat dared to insult Doom, Mr. Pickles yapped aggressively, standing protectively in front of him. Doom observed this. “Hmph. At least you recognize greatness.”

- When you returned, Doom crossed his arms. “Your creature is an idiot.” You smiled. “But did you like him?” Doom huffed. “Doom tolerates him. Nothing more.” Mr. Pickles jumped into his lap. Doom sighed. “…Fine. Perhaps a little more.”

Peter Quill & Mr. Pickles

- Peter Quill thought babysitting a tiny dog would be easier than babysitting Rocket. He was wrong.

- “Okay, little dude, let’s make this easy.” Mr. Pickles promptly stole one of his mixtapes. “HEY! That’s vintage!” A chase ensued across the Milano, Star-Lord versus a fluffy menace.

- Eventually, Peter gave up. Mr. Pickles sat triumphantly atop his pillow, the mixtape still in his mouth. Peter sighed. “You’re lucky I got a soft spot for troublemakers.”

- The dog, realizing he had won, curled up beside him. Peter smirked. “Alright, fine. You can stay.” Mr. Pickles snuggled closer. Peter grumbled. “…Don’t tell Rocket about this.”

- When you got back, you found them both asleep on the couch. You whispered, “So, how did it go?” Without opening his eyes, Peter muttered, “I think I just lost my ship to your dog.”

Nova & Mr. Pickles

- Richard Rider had fought space tyrants, cosmic gods, and existential threats. Mr. Pickles, somehow, was worse.

- Mr. Pickles had no concept of galactic law. Within minutes, he had tried to steal a Nova Corps helmet, chewed on an important report, and attempted to fight a very confused alien.

- Richard sighed, picking up the tiny menace. “Okay, dude. I don’t have time for intergalactic incidents. Work with me here.” Mr. Pickles licked his face. Richard groaned. “…I give up.”

- By the end of the day, the entire Nova Corps had begrudgingly accepted Mr. Pickles. Someone even made him a tiny Nova helmet. Richard just sighed. “I am never living this down.”

- When you returned, Richard handed Mr. Pickles to you. “Your dog is now an honorary Nova Corps member.” You laughed. “So, did you love him?” Richard huffed. “…He’s alright.” Mr. Pickles barked happily. “…Fine. Maybe a little more than alright.”