𓂃 ࣪ ࣪⋆✩˚ ༘ [thee avengers]: The Concept of ‘Fucked’ in Different Contexts
— in which! you somehow found yourself in the middle of chaos in debris-filled NYC with no recollection of how you got there in the first place.
OR soulmates exist and you were the lucky egg tethered to the Earth's Mightiest Heroes (but here's the catch: you have zero fucking idea).
word count: 3.0k
content! cliché, very crackfic-adjacent, NO DEFINITE TIMELINE YET, idiots being idiots, reader's dealing with an existential crisis, reader judging alien's guts, maybe mildly improper use of research & mathematics terminologies (tho i'm pretty sure it's not, but just in case), SOULMATES AU!, questionably executed poly bcuz i'm greedy n i want them all to fall for you, not beta'ed we die like my will to live when my goat sacrificed himself, eng not my first lang, i gave up proofreading this halfway i'm not gonna lie, you can never peer pressure me to update i fear NO ONE (i have zero concept of time im so sorry <3), you're kidnapped lawl, EVERYBODY SAY THANK YOU FOR THE NEW TRAILER
SITUATION: sandwiched between—let’s see—a super soldier behind you, a god in front of you, and a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist to your left. What a dream. And it really would’ve if you were lying peacefully under the covers of your bed, in the safety of your room, which, fun fact, you weren’t. And the sting (understatement, more accurately described as burn, actually) from your shoulder blade and (now) wrist is enough proof of that.
“Stark.” Steve pointed, “How nice of you to drop in,” with the tiniest hint of annoyance.
Why? Oh, because you were metaphorically drooling for the guy. He was pretty sure you were already undressing robot heart over there mentally, with the way there were almost-visible hearts in your eyes. If you could read Steve’s mind, even you wouldn’t object. You would agree wholeheartedly.
“Uhmm, Miss…? You’re drooling a little, I think.” The surprise guest of honor noted, verbally, lightly pointing to the corner of your lips—which you immediately checked because of course you would! Only to find nothing. Not a single drip. Not a wet spot. That man is a menace. “I mean I get it, I do. But decorum, y’know? We all have an image to maintain.”
That little comment made your eye twitch, your mouth moving and spewing words before your brain could even process what the fuck it entailed. “Sure, whatever you say, golden titanium guy.”
A minute ago, one could describe you as smug in that totally amazing comeback—the quirk found on the side of your lips was enough proof of that. But that was a minute ago. Now, you’re fucking terrified. To say that you were shocked by your own words would be an understatement—you froze, taking a moment to register what the fuck you just said and contemplating whether to run in humiliation or kill yourself in front of three of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes™️.
Because it would’ve been fine if Iron Man himself released his suit blueprint to the press—or maybe if it was leaked from somewhere—‘cause then you would’ve had a concrete alibi. You could’ve blamed it on the press. You could’ve blamed it on the leakers who released the files in 144p resolution. But it wasn’t. None have been close enough to leak even a smidgen of it. All they had was the very first model made out of scraps and deconstructed missile parts. Only the born-genius CEO Mr. Anthony Edward Stark (and very close friends) would know the specifics.
It was then that you came to an interesting realization that your very hyperactive mouth would possibly be the death of you.
Tony paused, the gears in his head slowly turning while he tried to digest your mini fuck-up. “Okay, first of all, it’s titanium gold-alloy; get your stolen facts straight—it’s in the specifics. Second… how do you know that?”
“What that?” As you can see, your new tactic is to play dumb, and it’s working pretty heavenly so far. Heavy on the so far part.
“That! Because as far as I know—‘cause, TMI, I control which files get released—and that, specifically, was not public info.”
“I—woah—I didn’t say anything. Did you see me say something…?” You looked at Thor for backup, telepathically pleading to go along with your bullshit—and by telepathic, you mean obnoxiously large eyes staring and quick eyebrow quirks. He slowly shook his head before looking away, avoiding further eye contact. Suspiciously. “Exactly! Even the big guy agreed. I said nothing.”
Tony lifted a finger, mouth opening as if he was intending to make a point. Blinked once. The point vanished. His mouth closed, finger still raised. “You’re trying to gaslight me, aren’t you?” As if the realization had finally settled, he continued, “It’s not working.”
“I’m really no—what was that?” You froze, feeling the low vibrations from the ground in your already weakened knees—either from defending your case or the earlier happenings, you don’t quite recall.
Then all of a sudden, their tiny in-ear comms buzzed, a certain redhead assassin’s voice coming through. “Hey, you’ve got an incoming.” She said, almost out of breath, as she wrestled a mob of human-sized cyclops aliens, inching closer to where all of you were.
So really, it’s no surprise that even you—the resident if-I-don’t-see-it-it-doesn’t-exist—noticed, ‘cause that hair was criminally way too iconic to forget, and, apparently, your dirt-poor eyesight seemed to turn into perfect 20/20 vision when hot women were present (relatable).
But focusing on the rising issue at hand.
It felt as if time stood still, neither of you moving an inch except for taking a few puffs of breath, waiting for the unexpected. Well, that was until a huge monstrosity appeared in your peripherals, making your flight-or-flight (in this specific situation) reflexes activate. It was green—and no, it wasn’t Hulk (but even if it was him, you think you’d react the same way—in the name of self-preservation and all). It has a face vaguely reminiscent of an ant if you’ve seen it under a microscope, and a big, bulky body that puts sixteen-wheelers to shame.
Now, in theory, this would be the perfect time to try and experiment with hypothesis number three—for the sake of science, of course. However, you’re gonna take an educated guess that if that thing does as much as touch you, you really wouldn't be able to test the rest of your hypotheticals. Permanently.
So you infer that it would be more than nice to sit this one out. Flight it out, if you will.
“We’re gonna continue this conversation later. We’re not done yet.” Tony muttered, briefly looking at you before taking off—with you comfortably nestled in his arms, in an unexpected princess carry. You could only do as much as blink before you were already up in the sky, hands grazing the clouds. Man, whoever sold the story that clouds are soft was fucking lying. It felt damp—and sad.
“Oh my fucking god, I’m airborne.” You whispered, half from disbelief, half from glee. It's not your fault you couldn’t hide that giddy excitement bubbling inside you! Because damn, you weren’t only flying literal meters above the ground; you were also being carried by thee fucking Iron Man—in the flesh! Not to mention the on-the-spot encounters with three Avengers? Holy shit.
“First time?” Your kidnapper quipped, still as smug as ever. You’d smack him if you could—but you wouldn’t, not when he literally has a hold of your life right now.
And Tony—poor, unfortunate Tony—does not fucking understand why he brought you with him. So don’t even attempt to ask—he, too, does not have the answer. He needs his lawyer. And maybe his emotional support american cheeseburger. Because the fuck—what was he thinking, swiping an innocent civilian all of a sudden? It’s not as if you were alone; the captain and the god were with you—you would’ve been safe either way. But it felt as if pure instinct took over, and in the briefest moment of weakness, he’d already gotten you 15 meters off the ground.
“Ugh,” You groaned, with all the dramatics your afloat body has, “You’re annoying,” and finished with a faux sigh.
And Tony, never one to leave a good banter (even if a thousand unsaid thoughts plagued his mind), jumped at the chance. “Thanks, it’s part of the charm.” And god, you can just feel his infuriating, signature smirk without looking inside the robo-suit.
You really, really would've been pissed if only you didn’t have this unfair favoritism toward this overgrown, genius nepo baby (technically).
That’s a lie; favoritism does not exist in your vocabulary.
…But if you were asked, though, your answer may or may not bear a close resemblance to a lady assassin somewhere in the vicinity… perchance… maybe…
“You’re charming? Really?” You deadpanned, feigning disinterest as you attempted to fight off that smile trying to burst from your conniving lips. And damn, you thought you did a pretty good job… but the thought quickly disappeared when you could just feel the judgment radiating off the most verbal judger there is (a.k.a. him, the one and only).
“Sweetie, I saw the heart eyes. You’re not fooling me.”
Now that made you roll your eyes. “Great, you just ruined it.”
“The foreplay? Oh, I would never!” He exclaimed with all the drama he could flare up—channeling his inner (and outer) diva to mess with you. Tony thinks he’s flirting; you just think he’s cosplaying an idiot.
“Eugh,” your eyes rolled on their own, “Not with that attitude, you w—”
The static coming from his helmet-thing cut you off, hearing a faint buzz of comms from the concerningly close proximity you had. No, seriously—it’s mere inches. And it would’ve been romantic if only you weren’t currently negotiating with your eyes not to roam down—only because you’re like a thousand percent sure that the moment you take a glimpse, motor sense and mobility would have you imagine free-falling and plummeting to the cold, hard ground. It’s not a good look.
Meanwhile Tony? Yeaaahhh, he’s enjoying this far too much. He had F.R.I.D.A.Y. scanning your micro-expressions and he’s damn sure you’re close to ruining your pants right at this very moment. He could weaponize that, yes, then maybe he’ll bore witness to your flushed face? What a reward. Your flushed face, he meant. Don’t get it twisted.
“Don’t fall down now.” Tony jested, holding you tighter and amping up the speed of his gear as he tried to pinpoint a safe roof to drop you off.
“You’re literally holding me—fuck, don’t literally drop me!” And you’re fighting for your life, as you can see; holding on even tighter—tightest, actually.
Tony finds it adorable, and he’s royally pissed off ‘cause he has zero idea why. It’s unbecoming of him, really. The famous genius playboy having a heart failure due to a close-up scene? Comical.
“Stark! We need you down here; stop flirting!” The infamous archer was heard out of breath—it was obvious he was increasingly becoming pissed off with each passing second that the tech genius wasn’t moving to help annihilate those utterly ugly aliens—cutting Tony’s reverie short. Oh right, he thought; there’s still a job to do, then he sighs.
“Heard ya, Legolas. On it.” And of course he had to play it cool; he has a persona to maintain.
“You are one dangerous distraction.” Now Tony’s speaking to you, prior thoughts suddenly out of the metaphorical mental window.
You blinked, eyes darting from left to right as if looking for an imaginary audience-slash-person he could’ve been talking to, with a sole brow raised in judgment, ‘cause it’s most certainly not you. You think. “…I’m not even doing anything.” Well, as far as you’re aware, that is.
“Sure. Stay here—wait for me to come get you out.” Then Tony’s gently lowering you to the ground while briefly killing his firepower to—well—safely escort you over the chaos-less part of the NYC rooftop. If you weren’t actively thinking you’d gone clinically insane, you would’ve gawked at the view. Too bad then, maybe next time.
“This is literally a thirty-story building; how would I even get out?” Well, no need to point out the obvious, is there?
“Tough crowd. See you later, smarty pants.”
“Wha—hey!”
And with that, he flew away; only the sounds of his engine blasting to life served as a memory that he really was there, and honestly? Big respect. He didn’t let anything get in the way of world peace—or whatever the hell that quote meant. All you knew was that whoever made it did not account for aliens manifesting in terms of black holes and causing havoc on Earth, specifically in NYC—but what do you know? Technically, you’re also an alien by default. Just… more human-ish and mildly pathetic.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
“Okay, great. Totally awesome. Let’s see what we’ve gathered so far—uhm—I’m alone; that much is obvious. Did I die, or have I gone clinically insane? The latter part seems more accurate to me. And—eugh—why am I monologuing verbally? Am I crazy? What if there are cctvs and I’m fuckin’ blowing off my shit? This is crazy. Totally crazy. God, I’m doing it again!”
You were rambling.
One moment, you were spouting just a few words of nonsense; then the next, you were reciting essays like sonnets if they had a midlife crisis—which is fucking insane to think about ‘cause you weren’t even nearing midlife yet! God, just thinking about timeline hopping is making you go insane (read: if you weren’t already; refer to statement of the problem numbers two and one, respectively), because that would mean there is an off chance that this wasn’t in the movies—you have zero idea what the premise of this tomfoolery will be—zero. So, you need a plan. Stat.
“Okayokayokay, I need a fuckin’ chalk—or like, a rock that's chalk-adjacent. Need’ta plan this shit out if I wanna stay alive during this whole fuckin’ catastrophe.” Whispering to yourself, keeping your volume in mind, you circled the vicinity—trying to find something to write your short-term plan (preferably on paper, but the ground will do—after all, beggars can’t be choosers). “Okay, found one—okay no, I think that's a carcass, ew fuck. Nevermind.”
Safe to say, you’re positively traumatized.
“Okay, well, I guess we’re going verbal.” You scoffed, gave up on finding something to write with, and just plopped down like a sad piece of puddle. “H-one is either I’ve gone insane—which, actually, isn’t so far-fetched, now that I’m thinking about it. I mean, I did forget my name—which is a crazy thing to think about, actually. And saw some aliens.” You shivered at the thought—an actual, full-body shiver while reminiscing about those damned gooey guts crammed into your memory.
“Fuck those aliens, man. Negative ten outta ten, would never want to experience that ever again.”
Shaking your head to disperse your bittersweet thoughts, the droplets of rain descending from the sky seemed to share the same sentiment. The weather was uncertain; light droplets turned into heavy rainfall, then changed into something mellow—as if knowing how you felt and sharing the same burden with you so you could feel less alone—all in a span of ten minutes (more or less). Precisely like your mood.
“Or maybe this is an incredibly orchestrated dream sequence simulation? It would explain the… marks?” Muttering, you stared blankly at the symbol magically engraved on your left hand thenar with profound confusion.
“Fuck, exactly like Jumanji. Maybe this is like—a promo for Jumanji 3, but the Avengers Edition?” Sweeping your hair out of your face, you closed your eyes, letting the cold caress of the rain soak you. With everything that happened in the past hour, it was the only thing that felt real.
“This is why I shouldn’t be left alone.” The words slipped before you realized, yet it’s something that sits so heavily. Because in truth, what really did happen to you? God, that was phrased so nostalgically, but you really can’t understand. Your mind just refuses to.
What happened and why were you… here? Wherever ‘here’ was.
Because you don’t remember dying. If you did, you would’ve remembered the phantom pain of being killed once.
You don’t remember being admitted to a psychiatric hospital. If you did, what would happen to your poor siamese kitten?
You don’t remember shifting realities. If you did, then what the fuck. Why this world—specifically?
So really, what did happen?
And, god-fucking damnit, what year was it??
Most importantly, what timeline were you in?
Then, you heard a voice. A smooth, sultry voice that you want nothing more than to ignore. “Would you like me to change that?” He was behind you, and you couldn’t be bothered to look. If you did, then you would’ve looked pathetic and god, you’d rather not have that first impression again.
“Shush, I’m trying to concentrate.”
The man chuckled, “I’m pretty certain that is not how you talk to a God,” or God, rather, as he so graciously dubbed himself.
“What god—oh.” Then you turned around—each passing millisecond making you regret why your body was too curious and decided to take a peek before consulting with your brain.
“Hello, mortal.” The God chuckled in mirth, mischievousness and smugness radiating off him, as a familiar signature smirk made you step back subconsciously.
“Oh. Oh no. This can't be great.” Impulsiveness would be the death of you—if you weren’t certain then, then you’re quite frankly certain now.
“Say, what do you think about a change in scenery?” He asked, giving you the illusion of a choice. You might be inquisitive, but you are not stupid—anything but, actually.
“I precisely think I shouldn’t.” Using your peripherals, you briefly considered jumping off the roof, but seeing a door slightly left ajar, you quickly decided that it would be the less fun but obvious option.
Except, before you even had the chance to have your thought process formulate…
“Wonderful. Not like you have a choice.”
The God of Mischief had already appeared right beside you, grabbing hold of your forearm so you couldn’t do as much as move an inch.
“Haha… what?” You chuckled nervously, sharply staring at where his hand was—traces of green coating his silhouette; a wave of impending doom filled your gut.
“Not what, no. More like where.”
“…I beg your finest fucking pardon—!!”
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did you enjoy this transition chapter? what about being kidnapped TWICE?? i mean that's gotta be a record, rightttt? divas i’m back!! originally, my leon fic was gonna be posted prior to this baby ‘cause i got tew tired by the amount of kids asking for updates (yes, you’re automatically a kid in my dictionary if you keep asking for ud even if there’s a tag that specifically says i’m shit w time n’ ass with ud—i mean, it’s repetitive and it really gets to a point), but then i remember that there were also various people who had shown their love and support and even written a paragraph of how much they enjoyed it! so then i thought, it’s unfair for those beautiful amazing wonderful divas who understand the concept of fic writing and that it takes time, effort, energy, and toooooons of willpower to write one, so you better thank them for this! you’ve been nothing but kind and supportive, and i truly appreciate you for that! i’ve been hit with the absolute worst case of writers’ block and i’ve had to get myself comfortable with the fact that i can’t always write whenever i want ‘cause inspiration is such a beautiful and awful thing to be slave to—so that’s why i kinda struggle sometimes ‘cause words don’t flow as they normally do. anyways, enuff abt personal me thing—i’m really super excited to introduce spidey! maybe he’ll cameo on the next chapter, maybe another new character will… that purely depends on my very unpredictable brain eughh. (but personally, i'm excited to see natasha eufff, it's not her time yet, i'm afraid) AS ALWAYS, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT AND LOVE!! thank you for loving this crackfic as much as i doooo!! (as always, rbs n comms for kisses—i read every single one! ily you amazing beautiful creative divas!)
© deityditee 2026
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