avengers x male reader (requests are open)

DOCTOR DOOM P.1

Smoke. Fire. Silence.

The battlefield that was once a thriving city was now a graveyard of crushed stone and twisted metal. The Avengers had fallen—badly. The last line of defense had broken, and in the chaos of retreat… they left someone behind.

You.

Y/N lay half-buried beneath concrete slabs, his ribs aching, his face bloody. His communicator sparked with static. The last thing he remembered was Cap yelling to fall back—and no one turning back to see if he was with them.

Alone.

Again.

He pushed against the debris with one trembling hand and cried out. Nothing moved. Dust filled his lungs. A single tear cut through the dirt on his cheek.

Then—footsteps.

Measured. Slow. Heavy. Boots that made no attempt to hide their presence.

Y/N’s heart stopped.

A figure loomed through the smoke. A shining metal mask caught the light of burning wreckage. A regal green cloak fluttered behind him.

Doctor Victor von Doom.

Y/N tried to grab the broken piece of rebar beside him, but his hand slipped.

Doom paused before him, tall and silent.

“Well,” he said, voice a low, metallic echo. “The mighty Avengers. So quick to abandon one of their own.”

Y/N gritted his teeth. “They didn’t abandon me… they—”

“Left you to die,” Doom interrupted, calm. “They ran. And did not look back.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Y/N spat.

Doom stared at him. And then—to Y/N’s confusion—he crouched.

“Pity?” Doom said softly. “No. I offer something far more valuable than that.”

He reached down with a gauntlet, slowly removing the debris from Y/N’s chest. His strength was immense, but his movements were… careful.

“You are not weak,” Doom murmured, “but you were treated as disposable.”

Y/N gasped as he sat up, gripping his side. “Why are you helping me?”

Doom stood again, hands behind his back. “Because I have no interest in letting potential rot in the dirt.”

“I’m not your science project.”

“Not a project,” Doom said, turning slightly. “An opportunity.”

Y/N looked up at him, suspicious and weary. “You really expect me to just… go with you? After everything you’ve done?”

Doom’s mask tilted.

“Tell me,” he said. “What do you owe the Avengers now? The ones who left you bleeding in rubble while they retreated to lick their wounds?”

Y/N bit his lip.

“They didn’t mean to—”

Doom’s voice deepened. “Intentions are irrelevant. You are here. Alone. Because they chose to survive without you. I would never be so careless with someone valuable.”

There was a strange sincerity in his tone. Cold, yes—but firm. Real.

“I’m not joining your side,” Y/N said quietly, though it sounded less convincing than he intended.

“I’m not asking you to,” Doom replied, surprising him. “Not yet.”

A silent moment passed.

Y/N struggled to stand, then wobbled. Doom caught him without hesitation, one arm around his waist, the other under his arm.

“Easy,” he said.

Y/N blinked in confusion. “You’re… gentle.”

Doom’s eyes narrowed behind the mask. “Do not mistake composure for weakness. I have nothing to prove to children who flee battles they start.”

Y/N smirked faintly, then groaned in pain.

“Your ribs are fractured,” Doom said. “You’ll come with me. Now.”

“I should—”

Doom’s voice sharpened, though it didn’t raise. “Go where? To who? Stark, who didn’t call your name? Banner, who fled through the smoke without a glance back?”

Y/N looked away.

“You have two choices,” Doom said, lifting him more easily now. “Cling to ghosts who discarded you… or follow the hand that reached back.”

Y/N looked at him—truly looked.

There was fire behind Doom’s mask. Not just ego or vengeance… but intention. The way no one had ever looked at Y/N—not as a sidekick, not as backup, not as baggage—but as equal.

Or even something more.

“…Okay,” Y/N whispered.

Doom paused. “…Yes?”

Y/N nodded, eyes wet, jaw set. “Take me with you.”

Doom said nothing, but his grip adjusted—firmer, more secure. Not just carrying Y/N, but supporting him.

“Good,” he said finally. “I will not waste you.”

Castle Doom – Latveria

The halls were polished marble and rich green banners, silent save for the hum of tech and the low echo of boots. Doom’s private infirmary was spotless and ornate.

Y/N lay in a lush bed, ribs wrapped, IV in his arm, bandages changed. The pain was fading. But the anger remained.

Not at Doom.

At the people who left him.

Later, as night settled outside the tall gothic windows, Doom returned. He sat in a heavy chair beside the bed, removing one gauntlet, revealing surprisingly human fingers—scarred, calloused.

“I thought I was supposed to be afraid of you,” Y/N murmured.

“You should be,” Doom replied.

“And yet…”

Doom leaned forward, voice lower now. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Y/N met his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted someone to… choose me. Not because they had to. Not because it was convenient. Just… because.”

Doom studied him in silence. Then, quietly: “I chose you the moment they left you behind.”

Y/N swallowed.

“Why?”

Doom stood again, towering and regal. His voice held steel, but also something softer beneath it.

“Because I know what it is to be cast aside. And I will not allow it to happen to you again.”

Y/N watched him turn to go, his heart heavy and strangely full.

“Victor.”

Doom paused in the doorway.

Y/N’s voice was almost a whisper. “Thank you.”

Doom didn’t reply immediately.

Then: “Rest. Tomorrow… we begin something new.”

The door closed behind him.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel abandoned.

He felt wanted.