The lights in the common room were dimmed just enough to make the neon karaoke sign Tony hung up look way more official than it had any right to be. Someone (probably Sam) had dragged the couches into a half-circle around a makeshift stage—really just a raised platform Tony insisted had “perfect acoustics.”

Music from the speaker was already thumping, and half-finished pizzas, scattered beer bottles, and Natasha’s very intimidating bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table.

Tony clapped his hands together dramatically. “Alright, Avengers! Tonight is the night we find out who among us has the voice of an angel and who should never, ever be allowed near a microphone again.”

“Looking at you, Barton,” Sam muttered.

Clint threw a pretzel at him. “I have RANGE.”

Thor—already holding a mic he absolutely wasn’t supposed to have yet—boomed, “I WILL SING THE BALLAD OF—”

“Thor, no,” Bruce groaned. “We talked about this. No Asgardian war chants. They shake the building.”

Thor lowered the mic but pouted like a scolded golden retriever.

Steve was flipping through the song list with the kind of intensity he usually reserved for battle strategies. “What’s a… ‘Bootylicious’?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Nat didn’t even look up. “Not for you, Rogers.”

Wanda curled up on the arm of the sofa, hiding a smile behind her hand as Vision analyzed the karaoke machine like it was a complex piece of alien tech.

And you? You were standing near the snack table, drink in hand, watching the chaos with growing amusement—because this was exactly the type of night you needed.

Tony spotted you, pointed, and grinned. “And our first victim of the evening—”

Everyone turned.

“—is you, sweetheart. Step up. Show Earth’s Mightiest Dorks how it’s done.”

All eyes were on you. The mic was waiting. And the Avengers were… way too excited to see what you’d pick.

What do you do?