controld3vil

[controld3vil]

POV: your camera roll at the Watchtower

*Chicken pic stolen from Bob’s phone

[controld3vil]

OH MY GOSH... i appreciate you for mentioning my work!!

mark grayson - invincible

masterlist • invincible • 05/12/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 they do it in porn I @sobbingscripter

𑣲 our turn pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 I @/sobbingscripter

𑣲 request I @sanguineterrain

𑣲 request I @thewritetofreespeech

𑣲 hello, you I @earlgreylatte

Of course he would come to see you. You’re the reason he’s here, after all.

𑣲 second chance at love pt2 pt3 pt4 I @tokoyamisstuff

...in which another version of Mark invaded your world to claim something he once lost.

𑣲 payback I @/tokoyamisstuff

In his timeline, Mohawk killed you for rejecting him - and now he seeks you out to do it again.

𑣲 variant!invincible I @slutoru1207

Multiple versions of Mark Grayson from different dimensions find the reader, each desperate to keep her because they lost their version of her. Now, they refuse to let her go.

𑣲 invincible!mark x reader x variants I @/slutoru1207

𑣲 mistaken devotion I @/slutoru1207

𑣲 i love you, but i need boundaries I @/slutoru1207

𑣲 i can feel it in my bones I @couldeatthatgirlforlunch

Being Invincible’s pet is cruel, but you manage to find comfort in it.

𑣲 fail safe I @invoncible

𑣲 bluff I @/invoncible

when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity?

𑣲 smut I @/invoncible

𑣲 running into invincible variants I @/invoncible

𑣲 keep away w/ invincible variants I @/invoncible

𑣲 mohawk!mark I @/invoncible

𑣲 viltrumite!mark I @/invoncible

𑣲 the only exception I @jks1uv

in every universe, mark grayson turns into his father and seals his destiny as a true viltrumite. what if things are different this time?

𑣲 u love me and i love you I @controld3vil

Mark accomplished what his father couldn’t – he conquered Earth. Accepting that wasn’t the hardest part; living with it wears you down.

𑣲 drabble I @halcyon-writings

𑣲 scenarios / bestfriend!reader I @radlovesfics

𑣲 third wheel trouble I @cherryyluvs

𑣲 starfire!reader I @/cherryyluvs

𑣲 streamer!reader pt2 I @/cherryyluvs

𑣲 don’t wake up my parents I @/cherryyluvs

𑣲 you’re all i think about I @/cherryyluvs

Mark becomes obsessed with you, stalking your social media, learning your routines and slowly inserting himself in your life.

𑣲 mark loves his best friend pt2 I @starzyangel

𑣲 a different kind of star I @acenanxious

𑣲 right there pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 I @/acenanxious

neighbor!reader x invincible variants

𑣲 shattered affections I @wordsofwhimsy

All surviving Variants have been brought to the Main Universe as a means to help defend and protect Earth.

𑣲 cut deep, kiss hard I @/wordsofwhimsy

Your dangerously unhinged not-boyfriend threatens to “take care” of the friends of yours that keep trying to pull you away from him, and you are having none of it. literally a crazy stand-off

𑣲 if i was your girlfriend... I @/wordsofwhimsy

Mark just needs to be close to you dammit and he can’t stand that you’ll be that way with your girl friends but not him

𑣲 takeout mishap I @0bticeo

mark stumbles in, looking wrecked—bruised, bloody, barely holding himself up—but guess what? he still has a takeout bag. the paper’s stained red, but he just grins like an idiot and goes: "still hot." priorities.

𑣲 and they called it puppy love I @sqgeism

𑣲 a man’s greed I @/sqgeism

𑣲 snip it/sneak peak I @ay0nha

𑣲 one-shot I @swightops

"in every dimension, Mark Grayson falls for you, but not this one."

𑣲 superhero drabble I @rainydaygotham

𑣲 mark being down bad I @tiramissyoucake

𑣲 mohawk!mark I @/tiramissyoucake

𑣲 different roles!reader I @/tiramissyoucake

𑣲 reader!doesn’t know I @/tiramissyoucake

𑣲 omnimark I @/tiramissyoucake

𑣲 drabble I @gojoidyll

𑣲 a girls first love and heartbreak (sister/daughter!reader) I @tamayakii

𑣲 mark grayson dating hcs I @angelltheninth

𑣲 wonder boy I @serensho

au in which mark is hercules in ancient greece! and he saves a sassy damsel who changes everything.

𑣲 invincible variants pt2 I @mirai-lunar

𑣲 healer!reader I @thegr33nc0met

𑣲 touch I @grimmsbride

mark grayson doesn’t give a damn what you can do, or how fear hurting him; he would touch you again and again no matter the consequences.

𑣲 invincible variants x reader I @mocharyc

𑣲 cockwarming I @asaarii

𑣲 lucky! lucky! lucky! I @/asaarii

hey siri is it gay to want to crack the female version of my dead best friend

𑣲 doomsday arrives I @certifiedlovergirlsstuff

𑣲 retro invincible/ goggles invincible I @stareiiez

𑣲 you’re dead everywhere but here pt2 pt3 I @bonsubear

𑣲 “a” 4 effort I @slutla

mark, smart, awkward, and far too soft-hearted, made the mistake of doing one too many assignments for you. a bully in heels, unhinged and relentless, you’ve taken a liking to him in the worst way possible.

[controld3vil]

Can I request comic taskmaster dating hcs?

yes you def can! :D im a softie for him, wish they did more with the character!! (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

[controld3vil]

dating taskmaster

pairing: tony masters/taskmaster (comic ver.) x gn!thunderbolt!reader

synopsis: requested

notes -> absolutely DISTRAUGHT the way they did taskmaster in the film:( cw/tags: inaccurate characterization/ooc, italicized dialogue indicate signed dialogue (ASL)

-> MAKES HIS INTENTIONS MUCH MORE CLEAR

It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when Tony started letting you in. He’s always been closed off—unwilling to show his weaknesses even to his teammates. But with you, it’s different. More complicated. His movements are deliberate, his silence intentional. Every interaction is carefully measured, yet never cold. 

The first time you noticed it was before a mission. You, Walker, and Tony had been assigned a recon operation in Australia – remote terrain, high-level surveillance, the target was a corporate–owned compound buried deep in the outback. Your job was to map the area and gather intel before extraction. 

You stood over the briefing table, tablet in hand, skimming over structural layouts of the compound. It was heavily secured. Multiple levels, reinforced doors, biometric locks – nothing new, but nothing simple either. 

“If we split up, we can cover more ground,” you said, pointing to the schematic. “Each section is isolated. We take one each – sweep and regroup.” 

Walker frowned, tracing a finger along the interior corridors. “Yeah, but most of these areas are locked down. Keycards. Fingerprint access. Not just some grunt-level security.”

“Then we find guards with clearance,” you replied casually. “Knock them out, and borrow their IDs.”

Walker groaned, partly exasperation, partly admiration. “Of course you would say that.”

Your back and forth was familiar. He challenged everything. You pushed twice as hard. The arguments weren’t personal – they were tactical, strategic – but they could still wear on. You were both professionals, but sometimes your patience ran thin. 

Tony stood on the far side of the table, silent until now. You hadn’t even noticed him move until the air shifted slightly – the presence you always felt before you saw. When you looked up, he was closer. Close enough that both you and Walker instinctively stepped aside to give him space. 

You didn’t speak. None of you did. But Tony’s posture said enough: composed, alert, in control. Always in control. 

He reached out for the tablet, and you handed it over without a word. The exchange was seamless. Familiar. You didn’t need to look at each other to communicate – there was a rhythm between you now, subtle and growing. 

Tony rotated the schematic, projecting a clean 3D hologram above the table. Then, with a quiet efficiency, he pointed to the same three exits you’d marked earlier. His gloved hand hovered just above the projection, fingers steady. 

You leaned in slightly. “Do you have another plan?” you asked, gently. 

He shook his head but held up three fingers. 

Three guards. Then, one more finger. 

A captain. 

Walker raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. “So we isolate the captain. Take his clearance. The rest fall in line.” 

Tony tapped on each point of entry. He’d cross-referenced the security patterns. Identified guard rotations and memorized the badge IDs.

You let your fingers rest on the table, watching him work. “We should take the other two guards too,” you mused aloud. “Might find something useful.” 

Walker rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. “Fine. Let’s prep,” he muttered, turning and walking out. 

The room fell quiet. 

Tony didn’t speak – he never did unless necessary – but before you could turn to follow Walker, he gave you a small nod. A flicker of something softer. 

-> GIFTS YOU EXCLUSIVE WEAPONS/GADGETS

You can usually read Tony pretty well – his moods, subtle gestures, and how he holds himself before striking a blow. But you tend to underestimate how observational he is. Sometimes it feels like he’s tapped directly into your phone’s algorithm. You scroll past a nanotech modifier once? He tracks down the buyer within an hour. Save a high-end cookware set to your wishlist? It’s already sitting in your kitchen the next day.

At some point, you had to tell him something.  

“I appreciate you a lot, Tony,” you said, pulling him aside where the rest of the team couldn’t hear. Your relationship was still private – you hadn’t even told Yelena yet, and she was usually the first to know. “But I think… maybe your gifts are getting a little excessive.”

Tony doesn’t respond right away, which instantly puts you on edge. Normally, he’d give a subtle tilt of the head, do something. But now, he just stared at you, silent and unreadable. It broke your heart. 

“I don’t mean– I do like your gifts,” you sigh, unable to find the right words to explain this dilemma. It’s hard to explain this without sounding ungrateful. Tony was… thoughtful. That alone was enough to make something you never believed to be true, knowing his past and expertise. The fact that he went out of his way to spend time, energy, and currency on you was touching, but also overwhelming. “I just feel like you’re spending too much on me!” 

That seemed to stick. He paused, his head tilting to the pendant around your neck – the one he gave you last week. You noticed Taskmaster glance at it too, as if it suddenly glowed neon in the quiet. 

“Of course, I love it,” you reassure him, leaning closer. You could see the hesitance in his posture, the way he was half-bracing for rejection. “I’m not saying to stop altogether. I just… I want the chance to buy things for myself sometimes. With my money.” 

You felt like an asshole. Who tells their significant other to stop buying them presents? Apparently, you do. You, dating a former assassin boyfriend with a heart as unexpectedly soft as a triple-layer sponge cake. But if there was one thing you could always count on Tony for, it was that he listened. Whether you were venting about a dumb argument with Ava or forcing him to watch five minutes of baby goat videos, he listened.  

You glance up, trying to read his expression. He looked more pensive than offended, which frankly, was the best reaction you could ask for. Then you feel his gaze back on you. 

He nods, tentatively. As if saying, Got it, no more gifts. 

Before he could turn to leave, you reached out. “But that doesn’t mean you should stop completely,” you added, voice softer. “Just next time, let me tell you when. Deal?”

From inside the mask, his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

-> LEARNS SIGN LANGUAGE FOR YOU

It had come up a few times, mostly from Yelena, always with a teasing grin. At first, it was just a joke. But the second time, when you brought it up, Tony didn’t laugh. He just looked at you, really looked, and somehow, he already knew what you were suggesting. 

Because at some point, in your relationship, scribbled notes and silent glances stopped being enough. 

You did your research. You scrolled through YouTube tutorials, Duolingo, and finally found a free online course with videos, visuals, and even a live chat with actual instructors. 

Tony was a fast learner. He picked up the basics quickly. It was a little intimidating. He grasped the structure of the language quickly, understanding word order and hand shape with the same intensity he used to analyze combat data. Watching him study was… very Tony. 

“Run through the alphabet again,” you said one evening, perched beside him as he scrolled through lesson modules on his screen. The soft glow from the monitor lit up on his mask, all sharp lines but focused. 

Without a word, he raised his hands. 

“W, X, Y… and Z,” he signed fluidly. 

You blinked. “Okay, show off,” you said, half-laughing. “That was really good.”

He raised a brow. “Next?”

It took you a second to remember how to sign what you wanted to. “Um… simple greetings?”

He nodded, hands already moving. “Hello. Good morning.”

You grinned, amused. “Good morning. What’s your name?”

He paused only slightly before responding. “Tony.” He glanced at his hands as he signed – a little self-conscious, a little unsure. It was ridiculously endearing. “What’s your name?”

You signed your name back, a motion you’d practiced dozens of times in the mirror. It felt oddly vulnerable, like baring a part of yourself in silence. 

Even if you can’t see his face, Tony smiled. 

“Let’s try something else.” 

You nodded. “Uh… weather?”

“Go for it.”

You froze. “Actually, I have no idea how to sign that.”

He tilts his head down. Then you thought you misheard it, but a muffled huff, low and warm. 

“Then we’ll learn it together.”

And just like that, he shifted closer, not touching but near enough for your arms to brush when you both lifted your hands. His attention was fully on you, not the screen. That was the thing about him, when Tony committed to something–someone, he was willing to go all the way.

-> TAKES UP HOBBIES WITH YOU

Surprisingly enough, Tony could pick up any hobby and be good at it. You remembered you mentioned something about scrapbooking. Then over a few days, you both split up your tasks and started gathering supplies and ideas. You sketched what to put in your scrapbook, while Tony looked for supplies. 

“I was thinking of picking places we’ve been to!” you signed. It’s been almost a few months since you two both picked up sign language, and you feel like you’ve been pretty good at it. 

“Good idea,” he replied, setting down all of the pencils, pens, scissors, and stickers. Spread between you were Polaroids from your trips, sunlit streets, late-night hotel dinners, and beaches at the golden hour. One photo already had a caption written beneath it in Tony’s delicate handwriting: Relaxation in Europe. 

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “So that’s what you wanna call it?” you asked, amused, glancing between him and the photo. 

Behind his mask, you could almost feel his frown, the subtle shift in his posture betraying a hint of disappointment. “You don’t like it?” he asked softly. 

Turning toward him fully, you settled into the moment. Both of you were cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, a place where no one would dare to interrupt. 

Your smile gentled, the teasing fading into affection. “I love it,” you said, warmly. 

You didn’t know it, but Tony’s heart was hammering. His palms were suddenly damp, the heat crawling up his neck. He looked away, just for a second, then quickly returned to sorting through the stickers as if nothing had happened. But something did, you just didn’t see it yet. 

-> FIRST TO SEEK YOU OUT 

In any situation, anywhere, anytime, you’re always the first person he looks for. There was a mission. Eastern Europe. A joint op with Bucky and Ava, assigned to extract several high-ranking executives from a hostage situation. The details were classified, but Tony had given you the short version: corporate sabotage, messy politics, and a group of terrified people caught in the crossfire. 

You knew it would be fine. With Bucky leading the charge and Ava and Tony, the mission was bound to go smoothly. The morning of their return, the house smelled like fresh breakfast and cinnamon candles—your little rituals for when people came home. 

“Ugh, I’m so glad to be back!” Ava announced dramatically as she launched herself through the front door, landing face-first into the couch. She let out a groan that melted into a hum of satisfaction, relishing in the comfort of soft cushions and familiar warmth. 

“Welcome back,” Walker grunted, chewing on an everything bagel stacked with a poached egg. It was his turn to cook, so the kitchen was loaded with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a spread of toasted bagels. 

“Ahh! So happy you all made it back!” Alexei cheered, raising his glass of orange juice like it was champagne. Yelena, weary-eyed beside him, gave a sleepy smile in greeting. 

“Went well?” she asked. 

“Well enough,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Valentine is already bothering us to pass her number to the hostages.” He looked exhausted, like all he wanted was a good night’s sleep. Ava mumbled something incoherent into the couch cushions. Yelena rolled her eyes and went back to eating beside her father, clearly not surprised.

Bucky turned to head down the hallway, probably dreaming of his bed. That’s when he spotted Tony, standing still in the corridor, halfway through removing his gloves. His armor was off, but he hadn’t relaxed, not really. His shoulders were still tense. His eyes, though, weren’t focused on Bucky at all. They were locked on your door. 

“You tired?” Bucky asked. 

Tony barely glanced at him. “No.”

His team leader nodded, unsurprised, and followed it up with, “Let them know breakfast is still hot,” before disappearing into his room. 

Tony stayed where he was. He rubbed at his wrists, muscle memory aching from the mission, but his mind wasn’t on his pain. 

It was on you. 

You hadn’t come out yet – probably still asleep, probably from a late-night workout. He wouldn’t be surprised. You always pushed yourself too hard. Still, the soft glow from under your door and the familiar scent of your candle burning told him you were close. 

Safe.

[controld3vil]

letting them pick your weapon

pairings: yelena belova, bucky barnes, john walker, robert reynolds/sentry, ava starr/ghost, taskmaster (comic ver.), alexei shostakov/red guardian x gn!thunderbolts!reader

synopsis: The fact that you value their opinion catches them off guard.

notes -> working on requests rn, but inbox’s still open !! I WANNA WRITE MORE tags/cw: inaccurate characterization/have not seen the film, minor scene mention (it’s in the trailer!), descriptions of weapons (flash bombs, bucky’s grappling hook, retractable shield, emergency teleporter, static boots, weapon gauntlet, combat enhanced gloves) headcanons can be read as platonic/romantic

YELENA BELOVA

-> believed you were joking at first. her? you have lost your mind if you thought she would be a good idea to offer advice to. but because it’s you, she’s willing to consider your preferences and style of combat. most of the team already use guns, tactical knives for hand-to-hand combat. you’re a great candidate for any challenge, so she’s not going to pick something easy. if you wanted easy, you would’ve asked someone else. 

“Well, I’m flattered you think so highly of me,” The former Black Widow turned to you with a delighted grin slowly spreading across her face. It’s obvious how smitten she is after your suggestion regarding the weaponry. Valentina had experts for those kinds of things: weapons, gear, and training. Yet, you sought her out for her opinion. Yelena rarely swoons at compliments, but you make her feel lighter on her feet on rare occasions. 

“Is it so wrong not to?” you jest with a smirk. You continued down the hallway of the Tower. The armory is built with a fingerprint pad at the end of the hall. Once you are allowed access, the bulletproof doors open. 

“You’ve got quite the selection,” Yelena notes, her eyes scanning the close-combat display. A few new additions catch her eye – one’s she’s certain weren’t there last week. It’s obvious you favor hand-to-hand combat over long-range, but she has no intentions of making this easy for you. Yelena knows you enjoy pushing boundaries, not just with weapons, but with strategy, roles, anything that keeps you one step ahead. “You’re still positive you want my advice?”

“Of course!” You beam, scanning down the aisles of the collection Valentina has managed to grab for the team. This was something you wished you had, and not just a temporary use. Still, you’re unfazed by Yelena’s pondering. “You’re one of the best I know of.” 

“That you know of,” She corrects, placing her hands on her hips. She’s thinking carefully now. What to give you. Would you like what she suggests? It shouldn’t matter as much, but Yelena now considers your combat style. The way you navigate around the battlefield, how you look both ways before crossing an alleyway. You’re very meticulous when it comes to closed operations, which is why she works so well with you. 

You see her grab something from a barrel, close to the heavy weapons. She holds it in her hand, feeling the weight of it. Her palms bounce the spherical object up and down as if it were a baseball and not something to be messed with. Yelena seems satisfied, as you can tell by the glint in her eyes when she turns to you. Her grin is devilish as she picks up a few more and lays them out in her hands. 

“Flash bombs, huh…” Your expression is neutral, studying them like an ancient artifact. You rarely use them, as it really depends on the mission. If it were a search and rescue, you wouldn’t think to use flash bombs. But then again, it’s slowly that you realize how typical your preferences are. “Never used them.”

“Exactly the point,” the ex-assassin beams with a lighthearted jab. “We rarely use flash bombs– makes it more fun when we do.” 

“So you’re suggesting them because you think they’re fun?” You crossed your arms, a smug smile tugging at your lips. You knew better than to expect Yelena to take your request seriously. She was trying to make peace with a past she rarely spoke of. But still, she had a way of making her life a hell of a lot more interesting.

“Flash bombs are like party tricks–best when no one sees them coming,” she said with a pout, holding one up like it was a priceless treasure.

BUCKY BARNES

-> question your mental fortitude. are you serious? but then he listens to you spouting about his days as the Winter Soldier. he doesn’t think highly of those days but the way you boast about his expertise is almost bizarre. do you admire him? that makes him feel oddly appreciated and conflicted. however because of your persistent pleas (you said please once!), he complies and leads you to his room. 

“Where did you think we were going?” The team leader grumbled, eyes fixed ahead as he passed Walker’s door without so much as a glance. There was a hint of playfulness in his voice–subtle, nearly invisible–but you caught it. You always did with him. 

He didn’t look at you. He rarely did when he was in one of these moods. Still, you followed close behind, practically on his heels like a loyal, overly eager puppy. And you couldn’t have looked more pleased. Because the truth was, you never expected to be allowed into Bucky’s room. 

“I mean no one’s allowed in your room,” you said, your voice light, stating the obvious. 

That made him stop. 

Bucky turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. To anyone else, he probably seemed annoyed–grim even. But you had spent enough time watching the subtle gestures to notice the truth. The slight droop in his eyes. That flicker of something softer. 

“Well– you’re the leader,” you added quickly, voice quieter now, “and out of respect, I just… never thought I’d be invited.” Now he looks at you even more deeply. Great, now he looks like a kicked puppy. 

“I mean, I appreciate the kind assumption, but really–” he pauses, eyes locking onto yours with surprising intensity. “You’re always welcome. If you need anything, that is.” 

You nod, taking in the quiet sincerity in his words. For a moment, it felt like you two had cleared the air. The weight of the conversation felt lighter, more comfortable. 

When he opens the door, he steps aside to let you enter first. 

Bucky’s room is nothing out of the ordinary. It was plain and expected, maybe, but not without hints of the man who lives there. A few photos hang crookedly on the wall. Clothes are scattered on the floor, like they were left there in a hurry or maybe forgotten. He doesn’t spend much time here, but it’s undeniably his space.  

“Sorry for the mess.” He passes by you and heads to his closet. You watch as he grabs a case, pulling it down with the kind of care that says it’s something important. You have no idea what’s inside, but you can guess. What screams Bucky Barnes? Probably a custom-modified handgun. Maybe a combat knife with a story behind it.

“Here it is,” he says, setting the case down on the bed. You stare at it, curiosity buzzing as he unlatches the safety lock. His gaze flicks to yours for a split second before he opens it. And when you finally see what’s inside, you can’t help it. 

You laugh.

Bucky turns to you, almost abruptly. “What’s so funny?”

Your eyes cross his. “Is this the grappling hook you used to destroy that military vehicle when you were chasing us?” Recognition flickers in his face. The realization hits him–it is the same one. And for a moment, his expression is as unforgettable as the day you first saw him, tearing across the empty drylands on that motorcycle like something out of a war film.

“Oh… right,” Bucky says, rubbing the back of his neck, guilt creeping into his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t exactly plan that part out.”

“It’s alright…” You said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. The light streaming through the window catches the gleam of his metal arm, making it shine with an almost haunting beauty. “We're past that now.”

His eyes held a longing, a deep, mysterious intensity that you couldn’t quite figure out. He glances back at the grappling hook, it’s been since the beginning of your journey together as a team. He hasn’t used it since then, storing it as a keepsake, but now he’s looking at you.

“It’s yours now."

JOHN WALKER

-> gives you a skeptical look. you know yourself best, why would you go out of your way to ask him? doesn’t turn down the suggestion, but will constantly ask you why. He's been in the military, served two tours in Afghanistan. All he’s ever good for is punching things and shooting. And now, Valentina has given him a mediocre shield in place of Captain America’s. It’s safe to say he doesn’t choose his weapons, he earns them.

“I thought Yelena would be the one to ask, not you.” Walker doesn't seem just mildly annoyed; no, he’s genuinely in disbelief. No one’s ever asked him for a weapon before, and while his options were somewhat limited, he’s beginning to think that with the super serum coursing through him means he’s capable of more than he used to be. But his go-tos have always been the same: his shield and gun.

“You’re a strong guy,” you shrug casually, stripping off the protective gear you’d brought along. The two of you had just finished an operation, and the exhaustion was settling in, yet you couldn’t ignore the curiosity that spurred your suggestion. “I trust your instincts.”

Walker just stares at you, the look on his face speaking volumes. Seriously? He’s caught off guard. After everything that’s happened, now you’re asking him? But you can see he’s weighing your words, even if it’s only for a moment.

“You should trust your intuition,” he says, his tone softening just a little, though the faint skepticism still lingers. “Choose whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Comfortable?” You raise an eyebrow, pretending to think it over. “Well, if comfortable means picking a weapon that might get me killed, then… sure, I’m all in.” You smile, as if this were no big deal, even though deep down, the weight of your decision isn’t lost on you. “I trust you enough to make it interesting.” 

The former soldier exhales, clearly irritated, though mostly with himself. You weren’t going to give up, and he knew it. If he let this go now, you’d just come back tomorrow with the same question. You were rarely this persistent, but when you were, there’s no way of convincing you out of it. He could either make a decision now or risk you asking him again later. 

“Fine,” he muttered, scanning the armory. 

As you busied yourself, putting away gear and organizing supplies, Walker moved around the racks, his eyes flickering over the options. But the more he looked, the more he found himself caught in a mental loop. 

The rifle? Too heavy. That pistol? Not enough range for someone with your skills. That polearm? Too awkward for you to wield efficiently.

Finding a weapon that matched your needs, something that fit your style, was proving to be harder than he anticipated. He muttered under his breath, his frustration slowly building. Then he stole a glance at you, assessing. His eyes narrowed, running through the possibilities. He paused. The mission… in that moment. He remembered how you struggled to dodge the bullets while also taking down some thugs. His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he sighed and reached for something on a high shelf. 

Before he makes it down, you’re already by his side. 

“Whatcha got there?” You look eager, excited by the fact that Walker was this tolerant of your persistent pestering, that he’s willing to go through with his promise. 

“A retractable shield.” He removed the cover, and there it was. The shield was smaller compared to Walker’s, but confident in size to contract in and out like a gadget. It had a charred black matte finish, with dark silver lining across the edges. It had an adjustable cuff. It resembled similarly to a Wakandan shield, which Bucky saw during his time there. It was beautiful. “It was a prototype Valentina had ordered for me, but I never used it. I got this one already,” he gestured to his shield, clasped behind his back. 

“If you like, you can keep this one.” 

“Wait—really?!” 

“I mean— I don’t use it, so it’s all yours,” he says delicately, placing it into your hands. “I can teach you a few tricks, too, if you like.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS/SENTRY

-> extra extra nervous. you asked the guy who doesn’t need weapons or any kind of gadget to fight. if any of the members were in the room, they would be looking at you like you were crazy. bob’s first answer is no, but after seeing you pout at his refusal, he’s quick to please you. but then again, he has no idea what he’s doing. 

“Okay! Knives, guns—uh, what are you looking for?” You appreciate the effort of his trying to act like he knows what he’s doing. But he’s trying desperately to meet your expectations. Bob looks nervous, like a lamb to the slaughter in the weapons room, jumping from cabinet to cabinet, looking at all of the variety. 

“Just something new to try out,” You grin, letting his nervous energy follow him around. You stand by the doorway and watch as Bob tries to analyze each piece of equipment. 

“Uhm—are you looking for something practical or—“ 

“Bob,” that startles him, making him freeze momentarily before meekly turning to face you. He was expecting you in mad rage, yet you weren’t. You just had a cute, goofy smile on your face. “Pick something with your heart. I know whatever you choose will be fine.” 

It’ll be fine. He thinks to himself, before nodding, allowing his nerves to slowly subside. Bob takes a deep breath, and in slow strides, he reaches out to something. 

When he turns, your gaze follows, all innocent and cute. 

“Ahh, an emergency teleporter!” You’re in awe because it was something you didn’t think Bob would pick as his first choice. There were plenty of gadgets you thought of— force fields, bulletproof vests, iron-plated brass knuckles. 

“Thought it might come in handy,” he nervously laughs, fiddling with the device, not knowing what to do with his hands. “Uhm— you know, in case you have to go on missions with me— and I don’t know— if something were to happen—“ 

You could practically see his thoughts unraveling from where you stood, Bob always rambled when he was anxious. But the fact that he was worrying about your safety left a warm, fluttery feeling in your chest. 

“Hey– I get it,” you say gently, taking the teleporter from his hand. Only then does he realize he’d been speaking out loud, not just thinking it. He freezes, suddenly stiff and wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. Embarrassed and tense. You offer a reassuring smile, one that says you don’t mind if anything, you appreciate it.

“It’s smart to have a backup plan,” you add. “And hey, maybe once this mission’s over, we’ll use it to teleport straight to that pizza place.”

AVA STARR/GHOST

-> pokes fun at you. jokes about all the possibilities of how you’ll slip up with whatever item she picks. obviously you don’t take it to heart, but ava’s light-hearted nature is a breath of fresh air— after so many grueling missions, her jokes are something that keeps you motivated for the next. need advice on using the element of surprise? she’s your gal! 

“I mean, come on–sneaking in with suppressed pistols but still blowing the whole operation?” Ava giggles, clearly enjoying herself while you look away, pretending to be interested in the horizon. 

“It was one of my first missions, okay?” you snap, pouting as a hot mix of embarrassment and irritation bubbles up inside you.

“Yeah, yeah—amateur,” she teases, ducking her head and biting back another laugh. 

“Oh, like you didn’t have any screw-ups when you started?”

“Don’t even get me started.” 

You raise a brow. “Well? I’m listening.” 

“I’m not telling you,” Ava says with a teasing hum as she strolls toward the armory, already scanning the gear selection menu. You trail after her, fuming. 

“I just told you my most embarrassing story, and you won’t even share yours? That’s not fair!” Steam practically pours from your ears. You’d laid bare your humiliating failure, and Ava–cool, composed Ava, refuses to give even a scrap in return. 

But instead of responding, she flashes a sly smile. “Because I got you something better.” She stops in front of a reinforced gear locker, a sleek metal container stacked with tactical essentials: vests, gloves, helmets. Everything you’d expect. But apparently, Ava has something different in mind. You pause, watching as she places her hand on the scanner. With a soft click and mechanical hiss, a hidden shelf slides out. 

It gleams. Brand new. Sleek like fresh sneakers out of the box. Ava hums before she accesses the armory, heading to the gear selection. 

“For when you’re trying not to sound like a herd of elephants,” she smirks, nodding to a pair of matte-black static boots. She leans casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised in silent amusement.

You blink at her, deadpan.

“Seriously?” 

“I mean, I can hear you walk from your bedroom to the kitchen–from my room,” Ava says, casually shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You blink. That’s new information.

“Wait… I’m just a loud walker?” She gives you a pointed look, and suddenly it all clicks. “That explains why Walker’s always giving me weird looks,” you mutter, half to yourself. “Guess my feet have a mind of their own.”

Ava snorts. “No, love–you just have really bad shoes.”

TONY MASTERS/TASKMASTER

-> looks your way in deep silence. for how long you’ve known each other, you’re starting to believe tony chooses not to talk. he expresses much more with his actions, such as offering you extra bullets, or medical tape if things go south. tony is an experienced man with many talents, he’s able to copy and replicate his opponent’s moves. he’s done the same with teammates, with you when training, allowing you to point out the mistakes you hadn’t seen there before. sometimes you think he knows you better than yourself. 

“A weaponized gauntlet, huh?” you say, not even pretending to be surprised when Tony hands it to you, seemingly out of thin air. No trip to the armory, no formal request. Apparently, Tony knew you were going to ask him about this and waited for you to ask. 

You study the gauntlet closely, fingers tracing its sleek design. Every button, switch, and panel feels deliberate. Precise. You press one. Click! A retractable blade slides out with satisfying ease. Another press–a grappling line. Then a short-range stun charge. Then a blinding flash ejector. You can’t help it. A grin creeps across your face.

This was so him. 

Tony embodied versatility in his work. He didn’t rely on brute force–he struck with speed, precision, and timing. This gauntlet? This gauntlet was just like him: tactical, efficient, and sharp.

“Thank you,” you say softly, still a bit in awe as you reset the device to its default mode. Your eyes are locked on the gauntlet, taking in every detail. But Tony’s? His eyes haven’t let you once. 

If the circumstances were different, you might’ve mistaken this moment for something romantic.

“It’s pretty neat, has everything I need,” you say, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. You don’t mind the quiet, not really, but sometimes the stillness between you feels too heavy not to break. Tony doesn’t reply. Not verbally, at least. But you can tell his focus has shifted, drawn in closer. He’s leaning slightly toward you now, just enough for you to notice the space closing. 

You feel compelled to try the gauntlet on. As you unfasten the straps and slide it onto your wrist, it clamps down, not tightly, threatening. More like a perfectly fitted bracelet. Secure and purposeful. There’s a subtle hum as the device calibrates, adjusting to the shape of your hand. The pressure eases, and it begins to feel more like a part of you than an accessory. Almost like a second skin. 

Tiny scanners flicker along your fingertips, mapping them precisely–each digit now linked to a specific function, a silent promise of the power you had. You lift your pointer finger, and almost instantly, a blade slides out with fluid precision. 

“This feels like straight-up nanotech…” You murmur, raising your wrist toward the ceiling light, eyes wide with wonder. You probably look like a kid on Christmas morning. If a civilian saw you now, they might assume you’d completely lost it. 

“Where did you even get this?” you ask, unable to hide your curiosity. Tony tilts his head, deliberate and unreadable. You already know he won’t answer, but that never stopped you from asking him pointless questions anyway. It’s become a quiet repetition between you. 

You lower your arm, bring the gauntlet down to chest level–just enough to create a sort of invisible line between you and him. A barrier, but a playful one. 

“If you ever need it,” you say, mimicking his earlier head tilt with a smile, “just ask.”

ALEXEI SHOSTAKOV/RED GUARDIAN

-> very excited. so excited you asked him! alexei is really a lovable guy— even though he often doesn’t use any weapons or gadgets, he thinks of his teammates whenever he goes out window shopping. he sees a new brand Glock 19 by the window? yelena would love it! an energy stabilizer on the dark web? bob’s gonna flip! but you? good old you get special treatment because he’ll personally get you whatever you want. 

“When I heard you needed a new weapon, I was so happy!” Alexei beams as the two of you make your way into the living room. His accent thickens with excitement as he waves a hand. “Not in a bad way, of course, but it’s good, da? Trying something new!” 

“You get me, Alexei,” you say, arms crossing instinctively. Apparently, you weren’t the only one picking up on your growing restlessness. Same weapons, same tactics, and same rhythm, it all started to feel stale. You figured switching things up might help you see things differently. 

Everyone on the team had their niche. Alexei, with his brute strength. Bucky, his guns, and that metal arm. Ava could phase through about anything. Everyone had their thing. And you? You’d been stuck in the same position for far too long. 

“That is why I was so excited when I found this,” he says, crouching to pull a box from under the couch with a mischievous grin. 

Your brows lift, your curiosity piques. “What’ve you got?”

“Close your eyes!” he orders, and you obey, hands outstretched like a kid waiting for a surprise. Behind your closed lids, you hear the ripple of tape, the crinkle of bubble wrap, and then clank... a solid metallic sound, followed by the stretch of fabric. Then something is gently placed into your palms. 

It’s lighter than you expect. Smooth and flexible, but as your fingers trace further, you find the contrast, the cold, hard metal beneath the fabric. 

“Open your eyes!” he announces, barely able to contain his excitement. 

You do. And you’re impressed.

Combat-enhanced gloves, sleek Kevlar-weave across the surface, making your hands feel impossibly light and agile. Carbon-titanium plates reinforce the knuckles and strike zones, and the inside? A smart gecko-grip polymer, designed to boost grip on any surface. 

You stared, stunned. Not just by the gloves, but by the fact that Alexei went through the trouble to find them. Valentina might have gotten you something, if she wasn’t constantly ranting about budget cuts. But this? This came from someone who genuinely wanted to help. 

“You really are the best,” you say, laughing softly as you wrap your arms around his neck, the gloves still clutched in your hands. He lets out a big, satisfied huff of a laugh, and when you pull back, his smile nearly outshines the room.

Who could hate him? You hadn’t known Alexei that long, but somehow he already understood you better than most. 

“I know you like your shooting and whatnot,” he says, mock innocent. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab to the shoulder. 

“But I also know,” he grins, “you really like punching things. So I thought–'Hey, you know who’d love combat gloves?’”

You can’t stop smiling. It actually hurts a little, but you don’t care. 

“Then I saw them, just sitting there in the market! I couldn’t believe it. Like the universe wanted me to buy them for you!”

“Universe said received,” you say, voice bubbling with gratitude and affection. You look down at the gloves, then back at Alexei. You’ll get him something too. Not because you owe him, but because it’s rare to be known like this. And his gift? 

It’s perfect.

[controld3vil]

[controld3vil]

notes: y'all i am so sorry this stupid mf (lovingly, mostly) has me in a chokehold, and its so bad. idk what thunderbolts did to me. i used to be a hater, and now i'm kicking my feet and giggling over him making me breakfast.

it's not uncommon for john to make breakfast for the team. he likes making pancakes, eggs, coffee, and anything else he learns they like. it's something he misses doing for people he cares about (though he is loathe to admit that he really cares for the thunderbolts), and after what happened after he became captain america when olivia-

“you’re a fool, walker,” yelena says over her coffee, having treaded into the room so quietly he couldn't hear her over the sizzling of bacon in the pan.

john is startled first, and offended second. “the hell did i do?”

“you know what you’re doing,” she replies, no further context added.

only half a moment later, you walk into the kitchen. "you are a saint, john," you say with a tired grin. in one smooth movement, you pull a mug from the cabinet and fill it with coffee. john watches you reach for it and only has half the mind not to grab it for you. "don't tell bob i told you this, but your coffee is amazing."

john snorts. "yeah, will do."

"you make any waffles or is it all pancakes today?" you take a seat at the counter, stirring in sugar and creamer to your coffee. there's a stack of pancakes for the team in front of you that you're looking at skeptically.

he immediately perks up, and before you know it, there's a plate of waffles sitting in front of you. "made them just for you," he says with a soft smile, "i know you prefer them, so..." he trails off, pointedly ignoring yelena's raised eyebrow.

"like i said, a saint, john, a saint."

you and yelena talk while john takes the time to clean up, scrubbing the fat out of pans methodically. by the time he's done, you've already run off to train with bucky, and john pretends not to be bothered by that. pretends it doesn't get under his skin in the worst way that you train night and day with bucky instead of him.

yelena sits at the counter with a smug grin on her face. "a saint, my ass," she laughs, "you are a fool, walker."

[controld3vil]

Jaehaerys and Alysanne's children

[controld3vil]

BAMM request for thunderbolts r open!! they r grew on me so quickly!! for the most part, can write for all of the members except mcu taskmaster (i prefer the comic!!) im open to drabbles, headcanons, short stories :D

[controld3vil]

Hello to my dearest author on Tumblr. How are you? I pray that you’re doing good. Your Dune actor AUs are so fun to read and as a greedy reader I can only hope for more hehe. Thank you for all the giggles and air kicks while laying on my bed. Take care and love you lotsss

- To the co-architect of my daydreams from a fan of your writing

first of all, i apologize for replying so late!! i do not check my inbox often, but sincerely i appreciate your kind message 🫶🏻 im glad my work were as fun for you to read to me making them heheh

me personally, im alright! unfortunately ive stopped the actor!reader dune series a while back because i lost interest 😅 but i believe once the third film comes out, i will revive the series because i adore actor!reader!

[controld3vil]

updated my master list FINALLY 👊🏻

RANKINGS ⚙ one shot ★ headcanon/imagine

WHAT'S YOUR PICK? HOTD/GOT AEMOND "ONE EYE" TARGARYEN I. what she sow [fem!targ!reader] ⚙ II. upset much? [wife!reader] ⚙ III. i'll hex you, i'll posses you [unrequited!reader] ⚙ IV. protection charm [targ!reader] ⚙ ⤷ V. crystal castle [targ!reader] ⚙ VI. new person, same old mistakes [twin!reader] ⚙ JACAERYS TARGARYEN I. here we stand [fem!mormont!reader] ⚙ II. protection charm [targ!bethrothed!reader] ⚙ ⤷ III. crystal castle [targ!bethrothed!reader] ⚙ AEGON II TARGARYEN I. what she sow [fem!targ!reader] ⚙ II. the one [targ!reader] ⚙ III. i'll hex you, i'll posses you [wife!reader] ⚙ RHAENYRA TARGARYEN I. rotten right to the core [fem!velaryon!reader] ⚙

MK1 MULTI CHARACTERS I. when you compliment them [raiden, kung lao, kenshi & johnny w/ gn!reader] ★ II. black cat [kenshi, johnny, havik, kuai liang w/ gn! reader] ★ III. split [bi-han, syzoth w/ gn!reader] ★

KENSHI TAKAHASHI I. love at first sight [gn!reader] ★

JOHNNY CAGE I. got a crush? [gn!reader] ★

DUNE & CAST ACTOR!READER I. popcorn bucket [platonic fem!actor!reader] ⚙ II. sand walking? [ platonic fem!actor!reader] ⚙ III. invisible strings [platonic fem!actor!reader] ⚙ ╰┈➤ AUSTIN BUTLER III. atreides and bene gesserit [fem!actor!reader ] ⚙ IV. two psychopaths [fem!actor!reader] ⚙

╰┈➤ OSCAR ISAAC I. chaotic duo [ fem!actor!reader] ⚙

INVINCIBLE MARK GRAYSON & VARIENTS I. if you care [gn!reader] ⚙ II. so proud of you [gn!villain!reader] ⚙ III. u love me and i love you [fem!unrequited!reader] ⚙

MARVEL MULTI CHARACTERS I. midnight snack [thunderbolts w/ gn!thunderbolts!reader] ★

MISC MIGUEL O'HARA I. keepin' it honest [spider!reader] ⚙

[controld3vil]

hehe thank u! 🫶🏻 glad u enjoyed it :)

midnight snack

pairings: yelena belova, bucky barnes , john walker, robert reynolds/sentry, ava starr/ghost, tony masters/taskmaster (comic), alexei shokstakov/red guardian x gn!thunderbolts!reader (separate)

synopsis: You’re one of the stealthiest members and they catch you making a midnight snack.

notes -> ive never written for marvel before!! tags: inaccurate characterization/take it w/ a grain of salt, i have NOT seen the film, reader is part of the thunderbolts, mentions of minor injuries; canon typical violence, reader making midnight snacks (grilled cheese w/ jam, s’mores dipped in peanut, cheesy noodles w/ cream cheese, chip sandwich, mixed cereal, ice cream w/ cookies), headcanons can be seen either platonic/romantic!

YELENA BEVOLA

-> is consciously disturbed by it. she always feared that your name, reputation, and expertise are not something to laugh about. hell, coming from her, that is enough to say you were beyond her level. however, the obscurity of seeing you making a grilled cheese… with jam? that blows her mind out of proportion.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to eat that…” Yelena doesn’t even attempt to hide her disgusted look. What you’re doing is absurd. Even more, she has always respected your name, representing the standard of Hydra operations that they have always been proud of. She had expected to see you in the morning. Instead, she finds you leaning over the counter, cuts, bruises in all, while you were making a sandwich for yourself.

It wasn’t particularly what you were doing that startled her. Yelena has seen you make a variety of sandwiches — the simple turkey club, egg salad, tuna, and all you’ve seemed to master. You always packed pretty lunch boxes for yourself. It was a simple way to stay motivated. But the jam? The thought of combining grilled cheese with sweet strawberry syrup makes her stomach grimace.

You look at your blonde friend steadily. “I’m hungry, though.” You say, unfazed by the abomination you were making. “I didn’t know what else to make.”

“I could think of plenty of things you can make besides that,” She sneers, almost offended by what you created. You shrug, casually, not even caring about Yelena’s persistent glares.

BUCKY BARNES

-> is confused. so confused about your choice in cravings. he’s survived scarce military rations during the war. the food back then was bland and lacked nutrition, but it was all he had during those grueling days of fighting. he’s survived times when food was difficult to salvage. but you, dipping homemade s'mores into peanut butter?

He doesn’t know what to say. What the hell? No. What the fuck? Too much.

“What are you making?” Bucky questions, dragging the last part partially too long as if he was unsure if he should’ve asked or not. The whole scenario was bizarre. Because never would he, Bucky, catch you doing something like this.

You were just like the rest of them, ruthless killers with no place to call home. Yet along the way, you’ve connected and called it friendship. Bucky especially favored you, believe it or not, because of your kind-hearted spirit. 

“I was craving s’mores!” You raised your hands, holding one s’more between your fingers. “But when I bit into it, it tasted like something was missing…” It was almost comical how innocent you looked during this confrontation. You were still in your tactical suit, with your weapons and all. Your face looked vaguely exhausted, with your droopy eyes and smile.

“So you thought peanut butter could fix it?” The ex-Hydra assassin looked in disbelief, unable to piece together how the two could possibly be a good combination.

“It’s actually good if you try it.” You blink before catching Bucky slowly backing away. “Hey! It is good!”

JOHN WALKER

-> looks at you like a disappointed dad. trust me, he’s seen one too many mishaps from his son. he knows kids playing with their food is normal. how many times has he seen his kid splash spaghetti all over the table? the only difference between you is — well, you’re an adult, a very skilled assassin who could make people disappear without a trace.

“Uh— What the hell are you doing?” John walks into the kitchen with squinted eyes. The bright ceiling lights were blinding him, as his eyes were still trying to adjust to the brightness.

“Making dinner?” As you continued to stir the boiling pot of noodles you cooked up. It didn’t look out of the ordinary, you were cooking instant noodles, thinking it was the quickest meal you could make.

“Yeah, I know that,” the super-soldier points to the opened package of American cheese. “But why the hell do you need cheese?” Shortly after, he noticed the jar of cream cheese you had by the boiling pot. What?

“I saw a video online where putting cheese and sour cream in your noodles would taste better.” You explained simply. Because there was no other way to put it. John looks at you with mild disgust, with one eye scrunched and a frown beginning to form. It was as if his expression was saying, “What is wrong with you?”

“Well, does it?”

“I don’t know! So I’m going to try it.”

“You’re insane.” He doesn’t give you the pleasure of giving you a face palm, knowing you would be annoyingly satisfied with his distaste. Instead, he grumbles like any parent would when their child makes a mess. “You better clean up after yourself.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS/SENTRY

-> genuinely curious what you’re up to! he may seem scared at first, but will eventually show that he is more curious, that’s all! he’s never had such a domestic conversation with you before, so don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions! will occasionally ask about your odd cravings, as if they’re not the most grotesque creations you’ve made, but more so to understand you better.

“This is…new.” Bob appears out of the corner of the island table as you grab two plain pieces of bread. He’s become used to you returning around this time, at the dead of night. Most of the time, he’s awake with his mind too occupied to fall asleep. At times, he’s afraid to walk outside his room, not wanting to disturb the rest of the team’s deep slumber. But on particular nights, when he knows you’re coming back from a grueling operation, he waits for you.

“I saw it from someone on YouTube,” you placed the two pieces of toast into the toaster, dialing the heat to medium. Once you confirmed the temperature, you walked towards the cupboard where all the dry snacks were and scanned the selection. “Thought I’d give it a try.”

“Sounds… good.” Bob didn’t know how to respond. He had never had this kind of experience with food before. Food was always prepared for him in a monolithic and minimalistic fashion. The same proportions and items every day. The more he thought about it, it made him feel like a prisoner, a person out of his skin.

So seeing you, being carefree about what to eat, makes him feel something. Not in a bad way, but a strange, warm feeling. Even if you don’t realize it, he’s probably more attached to you than anyone else in the team because of how relaxed you are with him. You don’t throw insults or glare his way. You just exist, treat him as a human being. Make odd-looking meals in front of him like he’s another friend witnessing one of your many creations.

When the timer runs off, you carefully pull the two pieces onto your plate and lay them next to each other. He watches as you open the bag of your preferred chips and place them neatly on one side. With the other piece of toast, you place it on top, putting pressure on the sandwich. He hears the crinkling of the chips as a few pieces fall out. 

It wasn’t the most exquisite-looking meal. But it wasn’t the worst he’s seen.

“Would you like to try?”

AVA STARR/GHOST

-> the only person who tolerates your creative mind. under her tough exterior, ava cares for the people close to her. no matter how broken or messed up they are, she’ll still choose them. including you, so no matter how strange your meals were, she won’t say anything bad. out of the corner of your eye, she’ll give you a strange look, but otherwise she won’t go any further than that. 

“Whatcha got there?” Even you sometimes had to double-check the corners of the room for Ava. She was quick and could faze through walls, the perfect ability for an assassin. However, you’re glad you trusted your intuition, half-expecting her to pop up eventually. Ava does not look as tired as you expected. Rather, she looks oddly calm and relaxed in her casual wear. 

“Cereal,” You plopped one box of Toast Crunch beside you. However, you know she’s eyeing the Coco Puffs sitting next to your bowl. Do you want a sugar rush? 

“That’s a lot of sugar, don’t you think?” The ex-agent nudges playfully, choosing to sit across from you. She rests her elbow on the granite table, leaning her chin onto her palm. 

“I’m a sweet person,” You grin to yourself before momentarily letting out an agonized groan. Your friend stands up, giving you a sympathetic look. “Ah, it’s okay, I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” Ava inspects you with clean precision. The way you hold your tricep meant something more. You were hurt badly. “You may want to lay off the cereal, then. Let me help you get to the medics.” 

You shake your head, insistent on staying where you were. “It’s alright, it’s not that bad.”

“Let me at least look at it first.” She doesn’t leave you a second to refuse. Ava is swift on her toes, grabbing the emergency medical kit on the top shelf. Turning back to you, she fixes you with a gaze, firm yet gentle. “Come on, you have your cereal after I patch you up.” 

TONY MASTERS/TASKMASTER

-> leaves you be. tony isn’t the type of person to barge into your business. but since getting to know you, you’re absolutely certain he’s growing to become comfortable around you. the way he walks over with quiet concern, or offers a slight nod whenever you ask a question. tony is a scarred man, yet somehow you’re able to bring out some kind of softness in him. 

You came home to a quiet kitchen. You hadn’t intended on returning so soon, but due to the nature of your work, sometimes you made choices less advantageous. You’re hurt, bleeding from your head, most likely from a concussion. The medics reaffirmed that you should rest in the meantime. Bucky would not be so pleased to see you so soon. 

You were busy, scooping the last clump of ice cream into your bowl. All day, you couldn’t stop thinking about ice cream, especially cookies and cream, topped with chunks of chocolate chip cookies and syrup. You knew it was a bit of a stretch to add cookies, but your mind was elsewhere already once you added them on top of your dessert. 

Tony was there somewhere the entire time. Whether your mind was too fuzzy or you had no intention of asking why he was standing by the doorway for so long, you didn’t care. All you wanted at that moment was to eat your ice cream in peace. 

Eventually, halfway through your meal, you finally address him. “I know you don’t speak, but you don’t have to just stand there and watch me eat like some animal.” Your eyes lock with his blank mask. You often found yourself talking aloud more around Tony because of his lack of expression. “Come sit.” 

Tony threads out of the shadows like a predator hidden behind the bushes. His steps are intentional, short, and steady. You’ve never seen him out of his suit and mask. It was almost like he wasn’t human, never once allowing his guard down. 

You glance at him, catching the way he’s frozen mid-stepped, scanning you like he’s accessing every wound.

You rub the back of your neck, a hint of embarrassment in your gesture. “It went…bad.” His stillness urged you to go on.. “I didn’t see the bomb. The ceiling came down on me… actually, multiple floors did.” The silence in between your words made the weight of your injuries feel heavier. You glanced back at your ice cream, slowly melting away. 

You feel his hesitancy to move closer, feeling the sense of guilt and frustration through your words. 

“I got checked– they said I needed some rest, that’s all.” You gave a small smile, knowing he could see right through you. Suddenly, the simple act of eating ice cream left an uneasy twist in your stomach. The silence was almost unbearable. You felt you couldn’t look at him properly, knowing now he’s a witness to your failure– your injuries. 

You were careless. Reckless. If you had taken a second longer to search the building, you could’ve avoided the bomb from going off. The more your thoughts consume you, the more you feel bad about yourself. 

Then you spot a vial near the edge of the table, right where Tony stood. However, when you looked around, he was already gone. You pick it up, eyes scanning the bottle.

Pain relief.

ALEXEI SHOSTAKOV/RED GUARDIAN

-> supportive about it! he’s very caring about your well-being, so he doesn’t judge you with whatever you make. as long as you're happy eating it, he’s alright about it. but if there is any chance that he catches you, returning home in a battered state, he will 100% make you a meal. that’s just the dad in him.

“You’re back!” You bring yourself to give him a weak smile, before he engulfs you in a hug. Alexei is one of those people who are naturally affectionate and are not afraid to show it. That’s what you think, at least. 

“I thought you would be asleep by now.” You unlatch yourself from his bear-like grip. The Russian man has started to cook something, which makes you question if he knew you were coming home later tonight. 

“The rest are asleep! But me? No, I could never have you come back on an empty stomach!” Now you see the apron he’s wearing, and the faint smoke coming from the stove. You couldn’t say no now, not while Alexei put all this effort into making you dinner. You owed him big time. 

You found yourself a seat, while the Red Guardian’s back was facing you. Whatever he was making smelled good. It had a rich flavor like barbeque, but better. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until he placed a plate in front of you. 

“Thanks… Alexei. You didn’t have to.” Your stomach grumbled in protest, weak at the aroma of perfectly grilled skewers, fluffy rice, and tangy pickled vegetables. You caught your teammate’s intense gaze as you grabbed a fork and speared a piece of the meat. 

“Wow, this is good,” 

“Of course it is! I made it!” 

“I didn’t know you could cook.” You pulled the skewers free of the meat, digging in with mouthfuls of rice and tangy vegetables. The warmth settled your hunger. You’re able to sleep tonight. All thanks to Alexei. 

“I’ve been practicing!” he said with a booming laugh, wiping his hands on a clean towel. “It’s my specialty– so you don’t have to make any more of those monstrosities when you get home!”

You paused, looking up at him, surprised. “I thought you liked them!”

“I do, I do! But you know– sometimes I think it’s better to eat real, digestible food.”

[controld3vil]

midnight snack

pairings: yelena belova, bucky barnes , john walker, robert reynolds/sentry, ava starr/ghost, tony masters/taskmaster (comic), alexei shokstakov/red guardian x gn!thunderbolts!reader (separate)

synopsis: You’re one of the stealthiest members and they catch you making a midnight snack.

notes -> ive never written for marvel before!! tags: inaccurate characterization/take it w/ a grain of salt, i have NOT seen the film, reader is part of the thunderbolts, mentions of minor injuries; canon typical violence, reader making midnight snacks (grilled cheese w/ jam, s’mores dipped in peanut, cheesy noodles w/ cream cheese, chip sandwich, mixed cereal, ice cream w/ cookies), headcanons can be seen either platonic/romantic!

YELENA BEVOLA

-> is consciously disturbed by it. she always feared that your name, reputation, and expertise are not something to laugh about. hell, coming from her, that is enough to say you were beyond her level. however, the obscurity of seeing you making a grilled cheese… with jam? that blows her mind out of proportion.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to eat that…” Yelena doesn’t even attempt to hide her disgusted look. What you’re doing is absurd. Even more, she has always respected your name, representing the standard of Hydra operations that they have always been proud of. She had expected to see you in the morning. Instead, she finds you leaning over the counter, cuts, bruises in all, while you were making a sandwich for yourself.

It wasn’t particularly what you were doing that startled her. Yelena has seen you make a variety of sandwiches — the simple turkey club, egg salad, tuna, and all you’ve seemed to master. You always packed pretty lunch boxes for yourself. It was a simple way to stay motivated. But the jam? The thought of combining grilled cheese with sweet strawberry syrup makes her stomach grimace.

You look at your blonde friend steadily. “I’m hungry, though.” You say, unfazed by the abomination you were making. “I didn’t know what else to make.”

“I could think of plenty of things you can make besides that,” She sneers, almost offended by what you created. You shrug, casually, not even caring about Yelena’s persistent glares.

BUCKY BARNES

-> is confused. so confused about your choice in cravings. he’s survived scarce military rations during the war. the food back then was bland and lacked nutrition, but it was all he had during those grueling days of fighting. he’s survived times when food was difficult to salvage. but you, dipping homemade s'mores into peanut butter?

He doesn’t know what to say. What the hell? No. What the fuck? Too much.

“What are you making?” Bucky questions, dragging the last part partially too long as if he was unsure if he should’ve asked or not. The whole scenario was bizarre. Because never would he, Bucky, catch you doing something like this.

You were just like the rest of them, ruthless killers with no place to call home. Yet along the way, you’ve connected and called it friendship. Bucky especially favored you, believe it or not, because of your kind-hearted spirit. 

“I was craving s’mores!” You raised your hands, holding one s’more between your fingers. “But when I bit into it, it tasted like something was missing…” It was almost comical how innocent you looked during this confrontation. You were still in your tactical suit, with your weapons and all. Your face looked vaguely exhausted, with your droopy eyes and smile.

“So you thought peanut butter could fix it?” The ex-Hydra assassin looked in disbelief, unable to piece together how the two could possibly be a good combination.

“It’s actually good if you try it.” You blink before catching Bucky slowly backing away. “Hey! It is good!”

JOHN WALKER

-> looks at you like a disappointed dad. trust me, he’s seen one too many mishaps from his son. he knows kids playing with their food is normal. how many times has he seen his kid splash spaghetti all over the table? the only difference between you is — well, you’re an adult, a very skilled assassin who could make people disappear without a trace.

“Uh— What the hell are you doing?” John walks into the kitchen with squinted eyes. The bright ceiling lights were blinding him, as his eyes were still trying to adjust to the brightness.

“Making dinner?” As you continued to stir the boiling pot of noodles you cooked up. It didn’t look out of the ordinary, you were cooking instant noodles, thinking it was the quickest meal you could make.

“Yeah, I know that,” the super-soldier points to the opened package of American cheese. “But why the hell do you need cheese?” Shortly after, he noticed the jar of cream cheese you had by the boiling pot. What?

“I saw a video online where putting cheese and sour cream in your noodles would taste better.” You explained simply. Because there was no other way to put it. John looks at you with mild disgust, with one eye scrunched and a frown beginning to form. It was as if his expression was saying, “What is wrong with you?”

“Well, does it?”

“I don’t know! So I’m going to try it.”

“You’re insane.” He doesn’t give you the pleasure of giving you a face palm, knowing you would be annoyingly satisfied with his distaste. Instead, he grumbles like any parent would when their child makes a mess. “You better clean up after yourself.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS/SENTRY

-> genuinely curious what you’re up to! he may seem scared at first, but will eventually show that he is more curious, that’s all! he’s never had such a domestic conversation with you before, so don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions! will occasionally ask about your odd cravings, as if they’re not the most grotesque creations you’ve made, but more so to understand you better.

“This is…new.” Bob appears out of the corner of the island table as you grab two plain pieces of bread. He’s become used to you returning around this time, at the dead of night. Most of the time, he’s awake with his mind too occupied to fall asleep. At times, he’s afraid to walk outside his room, not wanting to disturb the rest of the team’s deep slumber. But on particular nights, when he knows you’re coming back from a grueling operation, he waits for you.

“I saw it from someone on YouTube,” you placed the two pieces of toast into the toaster, dialing the heat to medium. Once you confirmed the temperature, you walked towards the cupboard where all the dry snacks were and scanned the selection. “Thought I’d give it a try.”

“Sounds… good.” Bob didn’t know how to respond. He had never had this kind of experience with food before. Food was always prepared for him in a monolithic and minimalistic fashion. The same proportions and items every day. The more he thought about it, it made him feel like a prisoner, a person out of his skin.

So seeing you, being carefree about what to eat, makes him feel something. Not in a bad way, but a strange, warm feeling. Even if you don’t realize it, he’s probably more attached to you than anyone else in the team because of how relaxed you are with him. You don’t throw insults or glare his way. You just exist, treat him as a human being. Make odd-looking meals in front of him like he’s another friend witnessing one of your many creations.

When the timer runs off, you carefully pull the two pieces onto your plate and lay them next to each other. He watches as you open the bag of your preferred chips and place them neatly on one side. With the other piece of toast, you place it on top, putting pressure on the sandwich. He hears the crinkling of the chips as a few pieces fall out. 

It wasn’t the most exquisite-looking meal. But it wasn’t the worst he’s seen.

“Would you like to try?”

AVA STARR/GHOST

-> the only person who tolerates your creative mind. under her tough exterior, ava cares for the people close to her. no matter how broken or messed up they are, she’ll still choose them. including you, so no matter how strange your meals were, she won’t say anything bad. out of the corner of your eye, she’ll give you a strange look, but otherwise she won’t go any further than that. 

“Whatcha got there?” Even you sometimes had to double-check the corners of the room for Ava. She was quick and could faze through walls, the perfect ability for an assassin. However, you’re glad you trusted your intuition, half-expecting her to pop up eventually. Ava does not look as tired as you expected. Rather, she looks oddly calm and relaxed in her casual wear. 

“Cereal,” You plopped one box of Toast Crunch beside you. However, you know she’s eyeing the Coco Puffs sitting next to your bowl. Do you want a sugar rush? 

“That’s a lot of sugar, don’t you think?” The ex-agent nudges playfully, choosing to sit across from you. She rests her elbow on the granite table, leaning her chin onto her palm. 

“I’m a sweet person,” You grin to yourself before momentarily letting out an agonized groan. Your friend stands up, giving you a sympathetic look. “Ah, it’s okay, I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” Ava inspects you with clean precision. The way you hold your tricep meant something more. You were hurt badly. “You may want to lay off the cereal, then. Let me help you get to the medics.” 

You shake your head, insistent on staying where you were. “It’s alright, it’s not that bad.”

“Let me at least look at it first.” She doesn’t leave you a second to refuse. Ava is swift on her toes, grabbing the emergency medical kit on the top shelf. Turning back to you, she fixes you with a gaze, firm yet gentle. “Come on, you have your cereal after I patch you up.” 

TONY MASTERS/TASKMASTER

-> leaves you be. tony isn’t the type of person to barge into your business. but since getting to know you, you’re absolutely certain he’s growing to become comfortable around you. the way he walks over with quiet concern, or offers a slight nod whenever you ask a question. tony is a scarred man, yet somehow you’re able to bring out some kind of softness in him. 

You came home to a quiet kitchen. You hadn’t intended on returning so soon, but due to the nature of your work, sometimes you made choices less advantageous. You’re hurt, bleeding from your head, most likely from a concussion. The medics reaffirmed that you should rest in the meantime. Bucky would not be so pleased to see you so soon. 

You were busy, scooping the last clump of ice cream into your bowl. All day, you couldn’t stop thinking about ice cream, especially cookies and cream, topped with chunks of chocolate chip cookies and syrup. You knew it was a bit of a stretch to add cookies, but your mind was elsewhere already once you added them on top of your dessert. 

Tony was there somewhere the entire time. Whether your mind was too fuzzy or you had no intention of asking why he was standing by the doorway for so long, you didn’t care. All you wanted at that moment was to eat your ice cream in peace. 

Eventually, halfway through your meal, you finally address him. “I know you don’t speak, but you don’t have to just stand there and watch me eat like some animal.” Your eyes lock with his blank mask. You often found yourself talking aloud more around Tony because of his lack of expression. “Come sit.” 

Tony threads out of the shadows like a predator hidden behind the bushes. His steps are intentional, short, and steady. You’ve never seen him out of his suit and mask. It was almost like he wasn’t human, never once allowing his guard down. 

You glance at him, catching the way he’s frozen mid-stepped, scanning you like he’s accessing every wound.

You rub the back of your neck, a hint of embarrassment in your gesture. “It went…bad.” His stillness urged you to go on.. “I didn’t see the bomb. The ceiling came down on me… actually, multiple floors did.” The silence in between your words made the weight of your injuries feel heavier. You glanced back at your ice cream, slowly melting away. 

You feel his hesitancy to move closer, feeling the sense of guilt and frustration through your words. 

“I got checked– they said I needed some rest, that’s all.” You gave a small smile, knowing he could see right through you. Suddenly, the simple act of eating ice cream left an uneasy twist in your stomach. The silence was almost unbearable. You felt you couldn’t look at him properly, knowing now he’s a witness to your failure– your injuries. 

You were careless. Reckless. If you had taken a second longer to search the building, you could’ve avoided the bomb from going off. The more your thoughts consume you, the more you feel bad about yourself. 

Then you spot a vial near the edge of the table, right where Tony stood. However, when you looked around, he was already gone. You pick it up, eyes scanning the bottle.

Pain relief.

ALEXEI SHOSTAKOV/RED GUARDIAN

-> supportive about it! he’s very caring about your well-being, so he doesn’t judge you with whatever you make. as long as you're happy eating it, he’s alright about it. but if there is any chance that he catches you, returning home in a battered state, he will 100% make you a meal. that’s just the dad in him.

“You’re back!” You bring yourself to give him a weak smile, before he engulfs you in a hug. Alexei is one of those people who are naturally affectionate and are not afraid to show it. That’s what you think, at least. 

“I thought you would be asleep by now.” You unlatch yourself from his bear-like grip. The Russian man has started to cook something, which makes you question if he knew you were coming home later tonight. 

“The rest are asleep! But me? No, I could never have you come back on an empty stomach!” Now you see the apron he’s wearing, and the faint smoke coming from the stove. You couldn’t say no now, not while Alexei put all this effort into making you dinner. You owed him big time. 

You found yourself a seat, while the Red Guardian’s back was facing you. Whatever he was making smelled good. It had a rich flavor like barbeque, but better. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until he placed a plate in front of you. 

“Thanks… Alexei. You didn’t have to.” Your stomach grumbled in protest, weak at the aroma of perfectly grilled skewers, fluffy rice, and tangy pickled vegetables. You caught your teammate’s intense gaze as you grabbed a fork and speared a piece of the meat. 

“Wow, this is good,” 

“Of course it is! I made it!” 

“I didn’t know you could cook.” You pulled the skewers free of the meat, digging in with mouthfuls of rice and tangy vegetables. The warmth settled your hunger. You’re able to sleep tonight. All thanks to Alexei. 

“I’ve been practicing!” he said with a booming laugh, wiping his hands on a clean towel. “It’s my specialty– so you don’t have to make any more of those monstrosities when you get home!”

You paused, looking up at him, surprised. “I thought you liked them!”

“I do, I do! But you know– sometimes I think it’s better to eat real, digestible food.”

[controld3vil]

By Fire, By Love

Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

Summary: Daemon Targaryen has known many lovers, but none have ever cracked him the way you do.

The court is watching him.

Daemon can feel it in the weight of their stares.

The hushed speculation follow him wherever he goes.

They think him reckless. Dangerous. Uncontrollable.

And they are right.

But for the first time in his life, it is not war or ambition that consumes him.

It is you.

You, with your sweet laughter and careful words, with the softness in your eyes and the warmth in your touch. You, who should be untouchable to a man like him. Untainted by the fire and blood that runs through his veins.

But the gods have never been kind.

And Daemon Targaryen has never been one to resist temptation.

"You watch me too much."

Your voice is quiet, filled with amusement.

Daemon smirks, tilting his goblet toward you from across the table. Unapologetic. 

"And if I do?"

You meet his stare, unflinching. Bold. 

It is that quiet defiance that has caught him from the start, the way you never shrink beneath his gaze, never recoil despite knowing exactly what he is.

"Then you might give people the wrong idea."

Daemon hums, setting his cup down. His voice drops, the words meant for you alone. "And what idea would that be, Sweet thing?"

You swallow. 

He watches the movement of your throat, the way your fingers curl slightly against the table’s edge. You feel it too. 

The pull between you, the silent dance you have been doing for weeks, months.

But you shake your head and look away. You always look away.

Daemon’s jaw tightens. 

He has spent a lifetime taking what he wants, indulging in every carnal pleasure, never denied. And yet you, the one thing he wants above all else, refuse to let him have you.

It happens when the halls are empty when the night is dark, when there are no watching eyes to stop him from doing what he has longed for since the moment he first laid eyes upon you.

Daemon finds you in the gardens in the silver moonlight, staring out at the stars.

"Beautiful."

You startle slightly, turning to find him there, standing too close. His voice was low and framed with something dangerous. 

Your breath catches when he reaches out, fingers brushing the bare skin of your wrist.

"Daemon-" you begin but he cuts you off.

"Why do you deny me?"

The words are whispered, there is something vulnerable in his voice.

You stare at him, at this man who is both feared and adored, who should not need to beg for anything.

But here he was, begging for you.

"You do not know what you ask of me," you murmur, though your voice is trembling now. "You could have any woman in this court, Daemon."

"I do not want any woman." His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough that you feel the weight of his need. "I want you."

Silence. 

The air is heavy and thick with something unspoken.

Daemon searches your face, waiting, pleading in a way he never would for anyone else. And then, you do the one thing he has been waiting for.

You stop running.

You reach for him, curling your fingers into the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer and closer until there is no space left at all. You can feel his breath against your lips, warm, expectant.

"Say it," he murmurs, he needs to hear it.

You exhale, trembling, before whispering the words that ruin him.

"I want you too."

Daemon breaks.

His mouth crashes against yours, stealing the words from your lips, swallowing your breath, your gasp, the small sound that makes something in his chest tighten.

You melt into him as his hands move to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. He kisses you deeply, hungrily, with all the fire he has been forced to restrain for so long.

And when he pulls away, just enough to look at you his lips curl into something wicked.

"Too late to run now, Sweet thing," he murmurs against your skin.

You smile. You do not want to run anymore.

Daemon does not let you go.

Not that night, not the next day, not ever.

The court talks, whispers of stolen moments and burning gazes, of the way Daemon Targaryen now walks the halls like a man possessed, like a dragon who has found his diamond and dares anyone to take it from him.

But you do not care for their words.

Because at night, when his arms are around you and his lips trace the curve of your shoulder, Daemon whispers something only for you.

"Mine," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "You were always meant to be mine."

And when you turn in his arms and kiss him again, soft and slow, you know it to be true.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[controld3vil]

[controld3vil]

SHE IS BACK

The fight for the Throne is far from over. Season 3 of House of the Dragon is now in production.

[controld3vil]

Another You

In one life, Mark loses his sister too soon. In another life, you willingly left him behind.

Life was good for a time, Mark knows that much. He had probably the coolest dad in the world even if he got a bit busy sometimes, and an occasionally cool older sister that always watched the same shows he did and snuck him snacks.

And he had his mom. She was everything. The beacon of the family, the one that made their house a home. With warms hands and a kind gaze, she was always there. The one to tuck him in, the one to pick him up from school and make him a snack, she was always there.

Until she wasn’t.

He was ten when she passed away.

A car crash. The one who picked him up from school that day was you, who waited near the entrance with your head ducked down.

You were quiet as you walked him home, ignoring his questions.

His father was the one to break the news, eyes red and desolate. He never could have expected something so mundane, so human would have been the way his wife was killed.

(Years later, you two would learn the fate of the other driver.)

The funeral was filled with civilians and heroes pretending to be the former. Strong figures would give Dad their condolences as he vacantly stared as mom was buried. A man with a scar tried to pull him aside as you three left, but your dad only ignored him.

Things changed after that. Soon you were the one waking him up, getting meals ready, and the one comforting him when he would get a nightmare.

Dad was barely home, only making sure there was food in the fridge and that you two were alive. It looked like a part of him died with mom.

He missed mom.

At least, he had you.

Life continued for you two. You two lived off takeout and frozen meals for a while until you learned to cook something beyond an omelet and instant noodles. You two would still watch cartoons and play games. You two were still sad, but at least you were sad together.

Soon, you got your powers and dad was around more often.

You often came home with red and swollen eyes, bruises littering your arms.

Every time you did, there would always be cheesecake or your favourite pastry on the table the next day.

When he was twelve he got his powers too. He accidentally got a kid hospitalized. Luckily it was deemed a freak accident.

He was happy he was able to join your lessons with dad.

Even when he would bark orders or hit too hard. He didn’t mind if his dad was too harsh with him, it was nice to be around him again.

No, Mark only took protest when he went too hard on you.

You were always the sensitive one, he used to tease you for being a crybaby, but now he hated seeing you tear up and choke on sobs after dad scolded you.

Even though you were both too old for sleepovers, he would crawl into your bed as you tried to muffle your cries into one of mom’s old sweaters.

He began to talk back, rebelling against dad at every step. You two would sneak out, sometimes just to find a quiet place to sit down at or to take your frustrations out at villains. His frustrations. You were never the violent type, hearing the crunch of bones was enough to make you sick.

Things were still okay though, even if Dad only cared about your training, demanding you two to be more brutal, less caring, and that you shouldn’t even bother sparing another glance at the humans.

You were fifteen and thirteen, respectively, when your father told you the truth about Viltrum. That he was here to expand his empire, whether it was voluntarily or through force. That it was your empire too. You gripped his shoulder, biting your lip. Mark could tell you were trying to stop yourself from crying.

What choice did you two have? Your father was stronger. The only the one you two had left, and who did you even have outside of him?

When was the last time he let himself care about a human after Mom died?

So, you three killed the Guardians of the Globe.

Dad called them to their headquarters under a distress signal and before anyone could even anticipate, his thirteen year old self had struck a hand through the Green Ghost, instantly killing her, starting the carnage.

When Darkwing tried to apprehend him, you slammed him into the wall, shattering his spine.

And one by one, they all fell. It was easy, even if you were outnumbered.

(They hesitated at the sight of you two and your youthful visages.)

And that sparked the end.

People hated him and his family. They were scared.

He could handle it though, as long as he had you making dumb jokes and making him his favourite food.

But you couldn’t.

At sixteen, you killed yourself.

Dad had thought it was an attack at first, until he noticed the blood and bits staining your own hand.

You were so young. He wished he was born first. That you didn’t have to take care of him like you did. That mom had never died.

At sixteen, he killed his dad.

He was stronger. Or maybe he wasn’t. His dad fought like a dog that lost its fangs.

If his humanity died with mom, then whatever was left of him died with you.

So when he ripped his dad apart, tears in his eyes, the other man only stared beyond him, as if there was anything else besides his son killing him in his vision.

The takeover of Earth had ended, with two of three Viltrumites now dead. As long as he left Earth alone, the government left him alone, despite the numerous casualties. Technically, he was the one to end Nolan’s tyranny. Some would call him a hero.

He wandered aimlessly and alone for years, on and off Earth, wondering if he should follow in your footsteps.

Until a green portal appeared before him.

An opportunity to see you and mom again presented itself.

He knew it was wrong, but it was disgustingly unfair that there was a version of him that had you both.

Mark was always different from the other kids. Crueler, which might have been a result of his alien heritage.

But you were different too. Distant and apathetic, barely sparing anyone besides yourself a second glance.

Mark followed you around, no matter how much you stared at him in distaste. You were the only one he bothered to pay attention to.

Honestly, his mom was pitiful with how much she tried to make you two act like normal kids; happy and loving when you were anything but.

You got your powers when you were thirteen, and he followed closely after when he was twelve. He knew you were annoyed that he got his powers at a younger age.

Your father begin to train you two, the both of you pitted against each other. It wasn’t uncommon for you two to be to almost kill each other, punching and kicking until bones were broken.

You two always wreaked havoc on the streets, with anyone from super villains to pickpockets torn apart.

Your mother was distraught, crying and screaming at your father, at how inhuman her own children were.

It was annoying. So he killed her, snapping her neck. It was merciful, a kindness allotted for being his mother. You looked on indifferently while your father mourned.

Mark knew Nolan was weaker than you two.

His plan to enslave with Earth had to happen effective immediately. Mark enjoyed it nonetheless, killing capes and civilians alike, in all sorts of creative ways, unlike you who only deemed them worthy of a single punch or stomp. You never liked making much a mess, bore that you are.

Eventually he grew tired of listening to his father, who was still battling his own grief. Why did he have to listen to someone beneath him? Just because he had happened to ejaculate into some human? He was annoyed when you only tuned out his ranting.

So when he was fifteen he tried to kill his father too, he had near succeeded until the old man somehow got the upper hand and began to pummel him near death, even while crying pathetically.

Irritatingly enough, you were the one to save him. Simply shoving your hand through your father’s chest, ripping out the organ he called a heart. You watched impassively as he choked for a moment before falling to the ground.

“Damn, took you long enough,” He spit out some blood, “Thought you were going to be a bitch and watch him kill me. Guess you do have a, heh, heart.”

“I considered it, but then I realized he would have only become weaker. He was past his prime. Weak. Human, despite how much he tried to protest it,” you commented, still gripping the dripping organ in your hand. “If only I had met him before he came to this planet, now that would be a fight.”

“Blah blah, ‘only strength matters’, do you ever get tried of saying the same bullshit over and over again? If you wanted a fight, you should have kept those poor excuses of heroes alive a little longer, would have been less boring,” Mark complains, pulling himself up, giving his dad’s corpse a good kick.

You only look at him condescendingly, like you usually do, always acting so high and mighty.

“You’re still immature. For now, you may reap pleasure from tormenting humans, the same way demented children do from killing insects, but I crave more. A challenge. A fight worthy of my strength,” you shake your head, “I would have put you down earlier if I had not thought you’d be worth something one day.”

“Wow, really feeling the love, sis,” He mocks, a hand placed over his chest, “Still, look at you being all sentimental and shit. And why are you still holding—“

You take a bite out of the heart in your hand, blood gushing out, covering your face and clothes.

He can only stare in disbelief as you eat your own father’s heart. He suddenly understands why you always keep the corpses you killed so intact.

“This is the difference between us. You squander your potential. I only seek absolution. Everything I do is to get stronger and stronger until I am the one that stands above all else or until I am struck down by someone stronger,” You declare, shaking the fluids off your hands.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out.

“There is nothing left for me on this rock,” you muse, “Maybe we will meet one day, maybe we won’t.”

And you fucking leave, shooting into the air. He tries to chase after you, but you were always faster.

Years pass, and humanity dwindles. You never return. He isn’t stupid enough to try and get lost in space to find you. There’s a hole in his chest, oddly enough, a sinking feeling. He almost misses you, despite you being such a bitch and a cannibal. Or maybe he wants to kill you. Be the last thing you see when he forces you to finally look at him, acknowledge him.

In either case, he does what he can to cure his boredom, whether it’s killing the orange, telepathic alien that tried to test him or stepping into a green portal to lay waste on another reality.

Maybe he might run into you again, get a practice round until he can face the real deal.

Full Mask Mark: My sister did her best to raise me despite being a kid herself, I really miss her—

Sinister Mark: Mine was a cannibal.

Mohawk Mark: What??

*

Nolan, looking at his sinister children about to kill him: I’ve made a horrible mistake.

*

Sinister Mark, after being stranded with the other Marks: I guess the only thing left to do is copy my sister

Another Mark: What do you mean by that—

Sinister Mark: Let’s eat Asshole Mark.

*

Sinister Mark, covered in blood and eating someone’s leg: huh maybe she was onto something…

*

Sinister Singularity, eating Battle Beast: I’m going to get so much EXP from this…

Sinister Singularity being the biggest freak…

Debbie is the real victim here…

Masterlist, Series Masterlist