Prompt: Overrepresented. 519 words, Steve, PG-13.
Steve couldn't help feel a little uncomfortable about his propensity to land himself in these kind of situations. And when saying these kind if situations, it's of course in reference to a craptastic female to male ratio.
He's not really that bothered about the battle thing. Secretly, he kind of revels in smashing mutants and aliens with his shield.
And it's not like he doesn't like working with men, he just feels like sometimes a woman's touch would be beneficial. Not that he's being a sexist douche and putting all women in one metaphorical basket, because that's not at all how he rolls. Even if he was born during the first world war, when corsets were only just disappearing from wardrobes, he generally subscribes to the theory of people are people, now let's get on with it.
But honestly, when you're facing down a twenty foot tall robot that has been programmed to respond amicably to any woman who addresses it, you tend to wish the only girl on your team wasn't laid up on the couch with two broken ankles.
So now he's stuck herding a gigantic pile of metal with the rest of his male teammates, while they wait for some superhero with a ridiculous name to show up. And Steve is kind of pissed that he's never heard of a goddamn flying woman who calls herself Captain Marvel.
Also, he totally thought he had the market cornered on the whole Captain thing.
But more than anything he's pissed that the woman isn't interested in joining their team. Because all this testosterone flying about is starting to become a problem, and he thinks maybe Natasha is getting sick of being a buffer between egos. Particularly between Clint and Tony, who really just seem to spend most of their free time antagonizing one another until someone storms off in a huff and doesn't show their face for two days straight.
Which is a problem, because Steve quite likes both Clint and Tony. And he really doesn't like having to take food down to the workshop and risk being extinguished by DUM-E, every time he realizes Tony hasn't eaten in goodness knows how long.
But before he can head down that path of hair pulling frustration, Captain Marvel is hovering in front of the robot's face, blond hair streaming behind her in the breeze, and five minutes later the thing is sitting in the middle of the road telling her how it's lonely. And that the engineer who created him wouldn't give him a copy of the New York Times to read in the morning and instead makes it download the headlines. And that all it really wants is another robot to hang out with... and are those tears?
Steve shakes his head and trudges back to the Quinjet, leaving Tony and Captain fucking Marvel to deal with the robot. Tony already has a dangerous glint in his eye, and Steve doesn't want to be there when the glint turns into a salvage claim.
Forget about male over representation, he's starting to become more concerned about artificial intelligence.