Captain Capsicle

16 ○ she/her ○ I write fanfics I write for Marvel mostly • I try to do 9-1-1 (it’s my obsession) •

[captaincapsicle83]

Marvel Masterlist

(Requests Open)

General WIPS

Soldier Boy {In progress} Prolouge

The Avenger {In Progress} part one part two part three

Bucky Barnes Oneshots

You Again

The Little Pests

One Night Stand

At First Sight

I know I said I couldn't call

Sam Wilson Oneshots

In The Heights

[cuteautumn]

TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN!!!

[vxpo]

Tomorrow is March 28th

[yeahishipitbitch]

[walmart-the-official]

it’s that day again

[captaincapsicle83]

The Avenger

The Avengers Initiative

Masterlist

Previous Part

Part 3

Setting: New York, 2011

You had been here before.

Okay, not here here. That wasn’t the truth. You had never been here, to this facility, but you had been here, in this moment. About a year ago, actually, when you first met Tony Stark.

A woman, who had brown hair and felt twice as threatening as Pepper had, is leading you through a hallway, a long one with tiled floors and glassy walls.

219 west fourth street, New York City, New York.

You remember the threatening letter, okay not threatening but it had that aura, that arrived in the mail. You were set to meet at this address, in the lobby, where a woman named Maria Hill would escort you.

That was this woman’s name, who you were following. As you walked, she yapped, talking about the building. It’s history, something about a shield.

“You know,” she said. She was stopped in front of a door, and you were paying attention for once because the walking had stopped, and you didn’t have much of a thought to get lost in. “Fury normally doesn’t do this?”

“Who?”

She seemed to ignore you, “His style is more, show up out of the blue, and surprise you. Like he did to your buddy Stark.”

Before you can ask more questions, she opens the door, and steps aside to let you walk through.

The windows in the room went floor to ceiling, about four sections of window that went across, giving a view of the city below. The room had a thin gray carpet as flooring, one of the kinds you can barely call carpet, it was so flat.

There was a long table, with about 16 chairs around it. It wasn’t rounded per se, more of a rectangle without the sharp edges. Like the shape of a smart phone. At the far side of the table, from where you stood, a man leaned with both his hands balled into fists on the table, presumably to better support himself.

He struck you as dramatic. He was dressed in all black, a black shirt, you could see the waist of black pants, and a long black coat. You couldn’t see from your vantage point, but you assumed his socks and shoes were black too. His face wore a scowl, whether a resting bitch face or he was actually upset you didn’t know, and a black eyepatch.

Maria Hill gave you a grim smile, one you didn’t have the time to return before she left the room, shutting the door behind you. You suddenly worried if this was a trap from the beginning. Worried the “tell no one” message was another play in the game.

Not a good one however. You told Tony, his friend Rhodey, Pepper, Jarvis, and the lady at Starks front desk the exact address of where you would be.

“Hello, Miss Murdock,” the man said. He took his hands off the table, stepping back ever so slightly from the table, straightening himself up. He gestured around himself, “you like my new place.”

Slightly unsure of yourself, and this situation, you nodded.

“Normally we work down at the triskelion. Ever been?”

You shook your head.

“You don’t know who I am, so I?”

Another shake of your head, and the man dipped his own and chuckled.

“My names Nicholas Fury. I’m the director of SHIELD, which is an intelligence agency, and a special law enforcement organization.”

“What’s it stand for?”

“Hmm?”

“Is SHIELD an acronym for something?”

“A couple different things actually. It started out as “Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage and Law-Enforcement Division.” Then it changed to “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.””

“Why’d it change?”

“Politics,” Fury chuckled. “Have a seat.”

“No, thank you, sir.”

“Cautious,” he asked, amused.

“Are you?” You asked, eyebrows raised. He was standing on the other side of the room still, as far from you as possible without jumping out the window.

The smile wasn’t present on his face, but still in his voice, “Now why would I be?”

You maintained eye contact as you pulled out a chair on your side of the head of the table.

“Miss Murdock, you’re an impressive individual,” Fury says, sitting down on his side. He reaches under the table, and pulls out a tan file with a small logo on it. It reminded you of an atom, except the middle was more oval shaped.

“I know,” you say, and by the look you get, the notion hits you that he wasn’t exactly done talking. Oh well.

“I want you on a team,” He says.

“What kind of team?” You ask.

Nick Fury adjusts himself in his chair, sitting a little straighter, frowning to himself at your file. You couldn’t help but wonder what was written in it.

“You work with Stark,” Fury stated. You got the sense he was a man who knew everything. Like even if he were to ask you a question, he would already know the answer.

“Yes,” you confirm, still sure you didn’t need to. He knew.

“I talked to him about this…he wasn’t very receptive,” Fury drops the file, and stands up from his chair. “Miss Murdock…I want you to be an avenger.”

You looked at him, took in the tone of his voice. It gave off the weight of what he was telling you. It was important. Your mind raced around in circles, worrying as you always did about a slip up.

And you sort of slipped up, as it seemed you always did, as the only things your gums could flap out was, “A what?”

[captaincapsicle83]

So, question about your last Bucky fiction. When Bucky's phone rings, it says reader's name with a pink heart emoji shows up on the screen. But then it says reader is using a payphone lmao. So which is it.

Omg, I completely missed that. I should probably go and edit that a little lol. I have a bad habit of not rereading between edits, and keeping my facts straight. Tysmmmm

I’m gonna change it so she’s using her own phone, because I don’t feel like Bucky would answer an unknown number in the middle of the night.

[asynca]

Happy Stab Your Leader 23 Times day for those who celebrate

[captaincapsicle83]

🥰🔪🥰

[random-chaos-thoughts]

[transmascmikey]

reblog to give the person you reblogged from the strength to complete The Task™

[captaincapsicle83]

Giving Walmart strength

[tinygremlinsworld]

🔪

Reblog this knife till the 15th!

[captaincapsicle83]

ITS ALMOST TIME

[thedeathdeelers]

all of tumblr tomorrow, march 15th:

[captaincapsicle83]

It’s almost time for my favorite holiday

[littlemiss-yeehaw]

You're Gonna Be Quiet

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: It's just an undercover mission, anyone could be married for one night - even you two.

Warnings: profanity, flirting, yucky old men, suggestive content (?), possessive Bucky <3

MINORS PLS DNI

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: y'all.... im not an author. im an artist, not an author, so PLS go into this with that knowledge. but I have been convinced, no, coerced into posting this little funsy by @ellemj

she threatened to withhold vacation pictures from me as if I didn't draw her bucky barnes dick earlier today and I'll be damned

anyways,, please enjoy and manage your expectations :,)

“Okay, rumor has it the target, Mr. Beaumont, has a thing for married women,” Sam says casually as he holds a ring between his thumb and forefinger, “so for this mission, you get to be Mrs. Barnes.”

He tosses the ring in your direction and you catch it with a sour expression. You slip the rock on your finger and admire it, your scowl slipping just a moment as you watch how it catches the sun. That is until you see Bucky with an equally foul look on his face. Suddenly, your frown reappears.

“Sam, I feel like there is certainly someone better suited for this than me,” you grumble as you put your hand down and look back up at him, “I mean, aren’t these undercover missions more of a Natasha thing?”

Sam rolls his eyes before turning to face you, a hand on his hip. You were in for a scolding. “Natasha has her own mission. So today, you get to be Mrs. Hart. And you,” he turns to Bucky with a smug expression, “will be Mr. Hart. Any questions? No? Good, you two lovebirds go get your outfits on.”

You turn quickly, but not quick enough to miss the death stare Bucky shoots Sam. This one seems even more lethal than his typical one.

~~~

The ride to the gala is silent. Bucky is always silent, but this silence seems more… suffocating. You fiddle with the ring on your finger before glancing over at him. “Are you planning to even look at me before we get there? I mean, we’re supposed to be a marri-”

“You’re supposed to be a woman in an unhappy marriage who's looking to fuck a billionaire,” he says bluntly, not even turning towards you, “I’m just making sure that you look plenty unhappy.”

He would never admit out loud that the real reason he won’t spare you a second glance is because the first glimpse of you dolled up sent almost all the blood in his rational mind straight to his cock. He needs to preserve what little sense he has left.

~~~

You get out of the car with a huff. Just as Bucky intended, you look unhappy and thoroughly irritated. You pull the hem of your little black dress down in an attempt to recover some of your dignity, but all Bucky notices is how the little tug causes your breasts to be even more apparent. Yep, there went the rest of the blood.  

He sighs and grabs your hand before plastering a fake smile onto his lips. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

You sigh and forget anymore yanking on your dress, looking up at him with a grim expression. “Let's,” you mutter under your breath before letting him lead you into the gala. 

As expected, the event is extravagant and no doubt costly. You feel out of place, and you can’t help the way you move a little further into your ‘husband’s side. You let a breath of air past your lips as you look around the room for your target. Nowhere to be seen, you nearly move further into the room before Bucky squeezes your hand gently and nods to his left. You’re quick to ignore the flutter of butterflies that his touch sends shooting through you and casually look where he’s pointed. Surely enough, at the bar, sits a piggish man nursing a flute of champagne. Your eyes find Buckys and you shoot him a look before you drop his hand and make your way over.

You take a seat a few bar stools down from the man, making sure to fail at getting the bartender's attention. “Sir? Sir, could I-” You drop your hand with a sigh, feigning a disheartened expression.

“Sir, this lady would like a drink,” like a mouse in a trap, Mr. Beaumont waves him down for you and orders you a drink, “you look like you’d drink something fruity, a little thing like you. Maybe a sex on the beach?”

You wish you’d missed the way his lips pulled up in a foul grin and the way his eyebrow raised ever so slightly, and you really wish you hadn’t seen his greedy eyes rake over your body. Nonetheless, a soft laugh and a bat of your lashes grace him instead of the scowl that wants to pull at your lips.

“I’ve never had one before,” you say with a saccharine smile, “maybe we could share.”

You notice how his eyes nearly bug out of his head and then slowly trail to your hand. He slides his fingers, not dissimilar to link sausages, down to your left hand where he trails a thumb over your ring. “Are you sure your husband wouldn’t mind,” he asks with that same vile grin, moving his hand to rest on your knee.

“Not particularly, but I’m sure I don’t care,” you whisper teasingly, leaning forward and showing off your tits that practically beg to fall from your dress. ‘Hook, line, and sinker’ you think as the man runs a heavy hand up the side of your leg and his eyes trail down your neck to your cleavage.

Trembling anger washes over Bucky as he watches the man practically feel you up in the middle of the bar. The beads of perspiration running down the target's neck and the way he keeps nervously licking his lips give Bucky all the indication he needs to know this man thinks you’re his. Then Bucky turns to look at you. You. You’re just letting the man have his way, no, you’re encouraging it. Yes, it’s the mission. And, no, Bucky has no reason to feel such vile hatred for the target in any sense other than the professional one. But for some reason, he finds himself wanting to dismember any part of the man that graces your body where he hasn’t yet.

Yet?

Yet.

~~~

“Who’s this, darling?”

You bristle as you feel a breath of air pass your ear before the deep timbre of Bucky's voice even registers in your mind. You whip around to look at him, an expression of anger and bewilderment replacing the flirtatious grin you were just donning. You look back to the target, trying to mask your surprise.

“Honey,” you manage to say through gritted teeth, “I didn’t even see you come over.”

You pull your hands from the target's grasp, nearly cringing at the moist feeling left behind on your skin. You feel Bucky’s firm hold replace Mr. Beaumont’s slimy touch, and your body reacts all too positively. You lean back hardly at all, but it’s enough to feel his chest rigid against you. Was he standing too close or were you too eager? There was no way to be sure, but one thing you could be sure of was the fact that neither of you shied from the contact.

“Hmm,” he hummed lowly, a disapproving air oozing from the short sound, “when you never brought our drinks over, I got curious as to where you’d disappeared to.”

His eyes shift from the side of your face to the man across from you, who grows increasingly uneasy at the sight of your tall and broad ‘husband’. Bucky leans down close, so close that his lips brush against the curve of your ear and you hope he can’t hear your blood rushing in your head.

“I’ll ask again, who is this?”

You’re not sure if it's what he says, or the way he says it, but his words send a wave of arousal through your body. Suddenly, the too-tiny dress feels too hot and you’ve nearly forgotten his question. That is until he quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head expectantly. You clear your throat and look back to a flustered target, presumably intimidated by your colleague.

“This,” you reply before turning back to the sweaty man, “is Mr. Beaumont. He owns a software company and..”

You turn to the target, a ditsy smile on your lips as you try to recover your role, “what else did you do? I forget.”

He laughs nervously, shifting on his bar stool to make himself appear taller. Still pitiful in comparison to the man currently staring daggers at him over your shoulder. “I develop software and coding for various companies and organizations to use where they deem fit.”

Another low hum sounds from Bucky’s throat as he lifts his head from your ear, he meets Mr. Beaumont's eyes and sighs.

“Very impressive, Mr. B,” he says condescendingly. You frown, peeking over at him. What is he doing? This was not a part of the plan, “so you must be a smart man?”

The man in question smiles smugly and nods. “I’d think so, yes.”

“Well then, pray tell, why have you been feeling up my wife,” he asks coolly, Bucky’s turn to look smug. You, on the other hand, whip around to stare at him with an irate expression. He looks down at you with a matching frown, hardly able to mask his irritation, “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll handle you later.”

You’d like to think you were subtle in your shock, in the way his words leave you flustered. You had no idea Bucky could smell the wave of arousal that flooded your panties, or that he could hear the beat of your heart like a snare drum. Neither of you even noticed the target’s pitiful stuttering, too caught up in the most sexually charged staring contest ever.

~~~

“What the fuck, Barnes,” you hiss quietly, walking ahead of him to the car with steam practically flooding out of your ears, “I mean, what the actual fuck!”

You don’t wait for him to catch up before you get into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind you. You didn’t care for appearances, your mission having been sabotaged by your own partner. What appearances did you have left to keep up?

He gets into the driver's seat a few moments later, pulling his gloves off with a sigh before running his flesh hand over his face.

“Are you done?”

“No,” you snap, turning to face him, “I’m not. You have the audacity to call me reckless, but you go and pull a stunt like that? I had it under control.” Your cheeks are red with irritation and your hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, but he’s too caught up with thinking what else would have you looking so flushed.

“If you’d just shut up and listen-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I was getting the intel,” you’re practically ranting now, “and you just had to swoop in. And for what? To be all macho? To fluster me?”

The scowl on his lips that once matched yours turns into a scoff, and you narrow your eyes at him. Why are you looking at his lips? And why can’t you pull your gaze away from them? “What? What now,” you ask with a huff.

“You really need to learn when to stop talking,” he mutters, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he tries to wipe the smug smile from his face, “y’know that?”

You’re startled by his words, the flush on your cheeks no longer caused by his irritating actions but by his shocking words. Your eyes travel over him shamelessly, ready to jeopardize everything just to get rid of the tension that has lingered and grown exponentially over the course of the evening.

“Then why don’t you shut me up,” you ask softly, your tone opposite to the defiant one you’d held only moments ago. Judging by the minuscule way his eyes widen and the way his lips part around a sharp inhale, you’d be safe to guess he’d beat you to the idea.

You aren’t sure who moved forward first, or even if you’d moved at all. All you can be sure of is the feeling of Bucky Barnes kissing you like he’d never have the privilege again. 

Your lips move feverishly against his own, the car filled with quiet pants and sloppy smacking. His hands tangle in your hair and he tugs you away from him, his expression turning stern when you whine petulantly. “Did you know you were a fucking brat tonight,” he asks lowly, his stare hard. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache between them.

“I was not,” you rebut, your brows furrowing and your lips turning down in a pout. He didn’t like that.

“You were,” he chides coolly, releasing his grip on your hair and sighing, “especially after we walked back to the car. You never even let me explain why I stopped you.”

You would like to focus on his words, but you’re too worried about the way his metal fingers nimbly undo the buckle of his belt. Silence sweeps over the car, the only sound being your shaky breath and the clank of metal on metal.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he continues, “I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen. Quietly.” You’re salivating as he tugs the zipper of his dress pants down, allowing the tent in his boxers some much-needed reprieve. “You know why you’re gonna be quiet?”

“Why,” you ask in a breathless whisper, only just now meeting his eyes again. 

“Because your mouth is gonna be full."

[captaincapsicle83]

The last line TOOK ME OUT

[writing-prompt-s]

“ Listen, just because I got these powers doesn’t mean I’m going to go out and risk my life for a bunch of strangers I don’t know for reasons I don’t understand!”

[bzzbzzimabee]

Peter Parker

CA:CW

[captaincapsicle83]

I have…homework…

[captaincapsicle83]

I Know I Said I Couldn't Call

Bucky Barnes x Reader

TW: implications of death, cursing, and [worst of all] phone calls

Summary: Bucky gets an unexpected call in the night. A short little story, cute little fluff moments...

He grunted, and turned over at the standard form iPhone ring. Sam mocked him, and Tony was baffled, but Bucky claimed he, "liked the factory stuff."

In all reality, he didn't know how to change it.

It seemed to ring forever, and with experience he was sure it would. He turned over, reaching across the bed he was sprawled out on. The blanket was gathered at his feet, the sheet wrinkled and wild. He had about four pillows, arranged in a strange modern art kind of way.

It was truly a remarkable sight, but Bucky was just glad to be getting any sleep at all in a bed. Of course, not for very long, considering-

The phone call.

He picked out the phone, in his non metal hand. He became a little more alert, a little more awake, and sat up at your name flashing on the screen. At the end of it, was a little emoji, a pink heart with some sparkles around it.

He hesitated, but not for long. He didn't want it to ring out, risking not talking to you. You were on a mission, somewhere in an Eastern country. It was a solo one, Fury telling you it would he a piece of cake.

Ever had cake that was dry, and spongey? Made with frosting that wasn't sweet and tasted like crepe paper?

That was the piece of cake you were eating in Northern Russia right now.

"Hello?" Bucky said, his voice gruffer than he meant it to be. However, he couldn't much help it, the tiredness was overcoming him, no matter how much he shooed it away.

"Hey, baby," you said. Your voice was soft, and sweet. Sweet like the cakes you and Bucky ate together on that third date where you accidentally got another tables birthday dessert. Sweet like the cakes Wanda would bake with you, the ones you made her promise to make you on your wedding day.

"Hi," Bucky said again. His voice was as soft as he wanted it to be this time, like a cat walking carefully across a piano. Alpine did that once, and he watched with such lust and wonder, you had to watch his face. It had to have been the quietest moment of your life, watching his face light up into a half smile as Alpine carefully treaded, her soft paws taking each step with care.

It was beautiful, he was beautiful.

"I thought you couldn't-" Bucky started, but you cut him off. He was too tired to sense the underlying issues with the conversation. The unexpectedness, the urgency...the sadness.

"I know I said I couldn't call. It's just- I got the chance and I didn't...want to...waste it," you said.

"Oh," Bucky said, cutting himself off with a yawn. "That's...nice. I've missed you."

"I miss you too- I'm sorry I woke you up. It's gotta be so late there," Bucky glanced at his bedside clock. 2:43 am.

"How have you been sleeping through the night?"

"Better, honestly," Bucky said, then let out a tired chuckle. "The beds always a mess though, I kick things everywhere. Alpine won't come near me. Guess its the Winter Soldier in me."

You laugh at the joke, but it hurts you. It hurts your core, and you put a hand to the gaping wound on your stomach. You were outside of the old payphone box, watching the snowflakes fall on and around you. Your phone was so smashed and cracked, you were surprised it turned on at all. You were very serious about phone chargers though, and it was always above 70% when you left with it. Bucky would joke if the phone was below 50% charged you’d go into shock.

It was at 23 when you had made the call. Turns out, he wasn’t half wrong.

"How's the mission?" Bucky asks you. You admired his ability to hold a conversation, yet he was clearly struggling. You were too, if you were honest.

"It's going on a little longer than expected," you say, trying to sound like you were laughing without doing it. It hurt too much, and you were worried your guts would quite literally spill out.

"It'll be alright, you always get through it," his soft voice says. That was why the cat liked him, you had told him, because he basically was a cat.

He had pressed for answers, and you had delved him, not only into the satanic lore of cat behavior, but of the slew of internet memes, comparison of him to the one and only grumpy cat.

Sam was there for that, and nearly died everytime a new side by side came up.

"Is everything okay?" Bucky asked. The line was quiet, and you were suddenly very aware of that. You were worried you had already died. That wasn't what you wanted, not to die on the phone.

"Yeah, just thinking of you," you could almost see the blush and smile he was surely brandishing. "I'll be home soon, baby," you lied. You owed it to him, to let him sleep a little longer after you hung up.

"Yeah?"

"'Course. Be back before you know it. Gotta kick your ass for messing up my bed."

"I love you doll."

"I love you too, Bucky," you couldn't help but choke out a sob at your last words. Before he could question it, before you could hear anything else, you used all your energy to hang up the phone, letting the line go dead as your ungloved hand fell to your side.

Your eyes watched, the life flickering in and out of them, the snowflakes fall from the sky.

[captaincapsicle83]

The Stark Internship

The Avenger Series - Part One

Masterlist

"Yes he should be-" The nice blonde lady said, possibly the same one you spoke to on the phone. Her voice sounded familiar. She had told you when to arrive, 10:30 am.

Arrive where? The Stark Tower, house of Stark Enterprises. A prestigious company ran by the man who had become the youngest CEO to take hold of a company, after his father's death when he was around 20 years old.

The nice blonde lady was taking you up the glass elevator, and through it, you got a view of the city. In all its trashy reality, you found it quite beautiful. Of course, thats coming from someone raised in a farmhouse on the outskirts of a small Canadian town.

Well, not really raised. That wasn't the right word the way you spent your childhood. No, it was the house you lived in when you weren't in a boarding school, when you weren't at an awards ceremony, and when you weren't being interviewed for being a "Child Prodigy."

The elevator opened up to a pristinely kept floor, the tunes of ACDC blasting through your eardrums. You thought the traffic on the street was loud, yet this was like thunder clapping in your head.

"Hold on, Sweetie," The blonde woman touched your arm, her voice kind. It's turns shrill and seems to be full of anger as she screams, "TONY!"

Your hands go up to your ears at the blindsiding change of energy. You drop them just as quickly, shaking them as you follow the woman, and her clicking heals.

"So, you go to MIT?" She asks you, voice kind again. You had been so distracted when she told you her name, all you could come up with were states. It was definitely a state, but which one...

Maryland?

"Uhm...yeah. I- I got a letter, and a scholarship to go there. And uh... My guidance counselor wanted to set me up for an internship at a tech company," You were explaining, and she seemed genuinely interested as the two of you walked through what seemed to be the towers lab-area floor. "I...I got a lot of offers, but uh...I picked this one. It seemed..."

You voice trailed off ad you walked through automatic doors, that opened up to a room filled with things you'd dreamed of, and seen in magazines and on TV. It was a tech geeks wet dream, and you were guilty of the stereotype.

"Different," you finished your sentence, barely audible.

You were mostly focused on mechanical engineering. You planned to double major in something after those four years were up (you were two years in). You hadn't picked what yet.

You had started at MIT at 16 (technically 15, you had a late birthday). Although, you had graduated from secondary school officially at 13.

You had wanted to go to a real college, in person, not just online like your mother wanted. You wanted the experience.

You wanted to be in the world.

Also, you ran track for MITs team. Just for fun. And for the record, you were good.

The music on this floor seemed to originate, and be the loudest, in this room.

"TONY!" You regrettably flinch again at the unexpected snap of noise.

The man working at a silver table seemed unbothered, although you got the notion he heard her.

Half of Manhattan heard her.

You could now see the clutter of the lab. The tools scattered hazardously over all the surfaces. Projects, both finished and seemingly discarded ones, lay everywhere, in their own heaps.

The woman clicks a button on the wall, and the music dies away. Not looking up from the panel he was working on, the brown haired man says, "Don't turn down my music. We've been over this."

"Well, Tony, your intern is here, and I'm not just gonna leave her on your doorstep like a lost puppy," The blonde lady's eyes roll, and her tone makes you understand that, whoever she is, she's probably the most reasonable, sensible person around here.

Tony abandons his project to spin around in his stool to face you.

"J.A.R.V.I.S, why didn't you alert me that my intern was here?" He looks up at the ceiling, as if expecting Jesus to answer.

And he does.

"Sorry sir, but, you've threatened me many times that you don't like me speaking over your music."

Oh no. Oh God. Jesus is here, in the ceiling, and he's British. You always knew stealing candy from that blind priest would catch up to you.

"Then turn the music off."

"The music is off, sir."

"Are you serio-!?"

"Sir, your intern is here."

Tony gives the ceiling a nasty look, scoffing, before clapping his hands and turning his attention towards you.

"Jesus is British?" You ask, getting all your priorities straight out of the gate.

"J.A.R.V.I.S. It's Just A Rather Very Intelligent System," Tony smirks, looking pleased with himself.

You blink. You wonder why you have to think about blinking so often. "It's an acronym."

"Oh goodie. Thank you Captain Obvious."

"You're welcome."

Tony sighs for a good ten seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose, before gathering himself. "Take a seat, Mr. Starks class is starting."

You looked around the lab. Among the clutter, and among the hazards, you came to the conclusion that the only seat was the one Stark was sitting at, a poor excuse of a stool.

"There aren't any," You say, in an even tone. Tony was perplexed, how you had done basically nothing, yet stepped on every nerve he had.

"Then...lesson one! Build a chair," He said gleefully.

"I didn't sign up for a woodworking class," you cross your arms, and the smug smile drops from his face. The first emotion you expressed besides indifference, and it just had to be snarky.

You just had to be like him.

You earned a seat at the table. Minor correction- on the table. You pushed aside a very expensive looking piece of equipment, and it clattered to the floor.

You hopped up onto the surface, and smiled at his blank face.

"What the hell?" You shrug, and he waves it off, turning back to his work. "How old are you."

"Eighteen...next month," you say, picking at your fingertips, but also watching his project closely. He seemed to work on autopilot, like he didn't have to think at all.

"Hmm," He says, nodding, with a smile on his face. You got the notion he liked you. You annoyed him, you confused him, yet he liked you. "Go to any cool parties recently?"

He was getting you something to work on. He had a basic blueprint, a holographic sketch, that you were admiring as he gathered your tools.

"I've never been to a party," you say. You take the titanium alloy, and lay it out in front of you as you grab a tape measure. You spread it over Tony's chest, and he spreads his arms out for you as you do so.

You could've been a tailor, you thought. Move to Romania, or Sokovia, live in a quaint little shop. Nonetheless, measurements were elementary to you, as were most things. Like astrophysics or quantum science.

"Well, what do you and your geek burger friends do then," He pops a cherry twizzler in his mouth and you turn back to your titanium. He watches you hesitate. Watches you fumble on where to set the tape measure, before you speak again.

"You should make it red and gold, can we do that? Like Captain America was red, white, and blue. It's about the marketing process of things. The capitalism in it," you say, clearly interested in the propaganda of things. You pull up old Captain America adds from the forties on your clear pop up screen.

Tony analyzed you for a bit, long enough for you to turn your head since you were clearly expecting an answer. "Yeah," He nodded. "Red and gold works. Whatever floats your boat Miss America."

You smiled warmly, it lighting up your whole face. You had moved onto the repulser technology Tony had planned.

People weren't easy. They weren't predictable like other things in the world. You couldn't use stoichiometry to figure out what would happen when you started a conversation with someone.

And Tony Stark may not have been predictable either, in fact he was the opposite. He was impulsive, if nothing else. But you liked talking to him. It felt...

It felt like what having a friend felt like. What you remember it feeling like.

And Tony seemed to like you too, and although you couldn't fathom as to why, you accepted it.

Embraced it, actually. His dialect and diction rubbed off on you.

☆ ☆ ☆

"I don't think it's the best idea," you were saying. Tony stood in front of you, dressed in the titanium alloy suit you had helped create. One of many, someday hoped to be millions.

"I do, you trust me, don't you?" His little metal helmet tilted to the side. The tone of voice he was using was the one you recognized as how he got Pepper to do things he wanted. Pepper being the blonde woman who had first greeted you.

"Do you trust me?" You asked back. In your left hand was a repulsor, ready to beam a bright light.

"A suit of armor around the world," Tony had said. "That's what I want. To just...make everything..."

"Controlled?"

"Protected, y/n. When horrible things come, not only would we be able to stop it, but they'd be protected in the end."

"We?"

"Yes, we. I trust you. With my life. More than anyone. You're the smartest person I know, and you know better than anyone how to work these kinds of things."

"You're the hero. I'm just...I'm not sure I'd be so good at that."

"You don't need to be so scared."

"Im not scared. But I'm also not a hero."

" You can be."

So here you stood, armed for target practice. And for whatever bright idea he seemed to always have, Tony's newest was making himself the target.

"Of course. With my life," He makes a motion of crossing his heart, making you laugh a little. "Okay Wonder Kid. Ready, set-"

You shoot from your hand before the go comes, knocking Tony to the side, and a hole in the back wall of his mansion.

"Oops," you say sheepishly. Tony is laughing inside his suit, you can tell, and Pepper suddenly comes out onto the lawn.

"What is going-! Tony, what is this?" She looks at him, as he steps out of the suit, and towards you.

"Target practice," you shrugged, as Tony was adjusting the repulsor loosely strapped to your hand.

"Isn't she doing great?" Tony cooed at you, as if you were a small dog learning tricks.

"NO!" Pepper gasped.

"I told I didn't think it was a good idea using one of these outside of a suit," you say. The two of you were barely holding it together over Pepper's distraught state.

"Then why'd you do it?" He says in a mocking tone, obviously knowing why.

"'Cause I trust you...Clearly a horrible decision."

"Yeah, my wall thinks so."

☆☆☆

You had a room in the tower. It was empty, mostly, but not as bare as when you had gotten here. You took a lot of pictures, that Tony allowed (did not have the knowledge of) you to print on the tenth floor. You hung them up on your walls, and on your bedframe. It made the place less lonely.

It was dark out, and you were sitting on your bed, one leg hanging off. The overhead light was off, but your small bedside lamp illuminated your writing space.

It was an idea you had when you were young. To keep notes on the people you met. Things you wanted to remember about them, their personalities, who they were. It helped your brain, to organize things better.

You were sure most people kept lists like these on a subconscious level. And maybe one day you wouldn't feel the need to write that Tony Stark was genuis or a billionaire. Or that he was your friend.

But you liked the safety net. You liked knowing that it was something you could turn to. Something you could reread, something that ensured you would never forget.

Next part

[captaincapsicle83]

Iron Man

The Avenger series, part 2

Tw: cursing, Tony not following directions

Previous Part

"Dude, you're like a million years old-"

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I'm a billion! And your closer to zero. You're a baby. Added with the fact that I'm ten times as important as you-"

"Ten times zero is still zero."

"Not the point."

"I just wanna name it," you whined. Tony rolled his eyes, clearly baffled at your audacious manner.

"I picked an acronym before you were even born," He shakes his head, holding up the glasses frames in front of his face, not putting them on.

"Yeah? When?"

"September 21st, of..." He hesitated. "Of 19...93."

"Well, genuis, I was born in 1992-!"

"So me picking the name in the year of 1991 proves me right-!"

"You liar!" You exclaimed. "JARVIS, play back what Tony just said."

Before Tony can object, the ceiling emits his voice, "Of 19...93."

"JARVIS, you're being evicted," was Tony's response. "Pack your things. You're getting uploaded to a surf shop in Daytona Beach."

You laugh, taking the glasses from Tony and putting them into their case.

You were something of an accomplice to Tony's "Iron Man" shtick. You were what he called a "trainee," meaning you didn't fight anybody like Tony did. You practiced, though, and not just in a suit. You did end up giving Tony a black eye, Pepper freaking out over press stuff due to it.

"We can't send you in front of hundreds if people, or broadcast you to millions, if you looked like you run an underground fight club," Pepper exclaimed, pulling his head to the side with a grip on his chin. She looks at you all accusatory like, "You did this?"

"Cool right," you giggle, and pretend to bop Tony on the side of the face again. Peppers eyes roll before she stalks away, heels clicking.

"I'm her favorite," you say as she walks away.

"Nuh-uh."

"Yeah-huh."

☆☆☆

You sat on a gray couch, wearing pajamas and eating a bowl of cereal. A peanut butter reeses brand version of cocoa puffs. It tasted like heaven.

"Iron Man," Tony mumbled, reading a newspaper, standing behind you with Pepper. "Hey, that's kinda catchy."

"Thanks, I came up with it," you say, taking a bite of your cereal. Pepper was doing Tony's "makeup" since he had another bruise on his face, and also, the planned press conference scheduled for today was being broadcasted "everywhere."

Probably not in lesser fortunate countries, but you didn't mention that to Pepper. You wanted to stay the "favorite."

On the TV in front of you, the news was playing. You found the news to be exhausting, and quite morally wounding, but you were to lazy to find the remote and change the channel. You wished you could be watching literally anything else though. You had quite a liking for American children's shows. And Hannah Montana was on at this hour, maybe even SpongeBob.

Tony is given a speech, which he looks over as Pepper thanks Agent Coulson.

You wouldn't. The guy ate the last donut this morning, and he doesn't even live here.

As Pepper and Coulson walk out, you turn around in your seat to look at Tony.

"You aren't gonna read that, are you?" You say, crunching the last bites of your cereal.

"Of course I am, who do you take me for," He winks at you. "Now finish your cereal, and get dressed, we have ninety seconds before we have to be out there, and you look like a bum."

"I'm a squatter, it's the New York in me."

"The only 'New York' in you is Venice Pizza."

"And yet, I'm living in Iron Mans house rent free," you say, putting a false wistful look on your face, as Pepper is walking back into the room.

"He's not Iron Man," she shakes her head.

"Is so," you retaliate, walking away, tilting up your bowl to drink the milk out of it.

"You know, I'm starting to belive I'm not Iron Man," Tony says thoughtfully.

"You're not," Pepper scoffs. "And I'm starting to believe I'm raising two children. Y/n! You better come back out here dressed!"

☆☆☆

"And now, Mr. Stark will be making a statement," A man onstage says. You're on the sidelines with Pepper. You follow her lead, clapping when she does. Smiling when she does.

You were a star student. Have a star.

☆

You knew what was coming though. Oh boy, Pepper wasn't gonna be Happy. And, well, the head of security, who really was Happy, wasn't exactly gonna be a basket of roses himself.

But when was he ever?

"-To consider that I am a superhero."

Fuck up number one; they never said he was a superhero. You sucked in a breath, knowing the house of cards was about to fall.

As Tony stumbled over his words, a soldier whispered in his ear. Maybe something taboo, or maybe to read his cards. Guess the world will never know...

You have to bow your head, as you were already laughing. You felt Pepper smack you shoulder.

"The truth is..."

You pulled in another large breath, looking at Pepper to show you had composed yourself.

"I am Iron Man."

[buck3t-barnes]

Happy 107th Birthday Bucky Barnes 🎉

[catchymemes]

[captaincapsicle83]

Soldier Boy

Prolouge

TW: Sexism(?), cursing

Summary: Steve Rogers was scrawny and no match for the US army. Luckily, he meets someone else in a similar situation. The other soldiers consider them weaker, but they find themselves growing closer as friends.

But Steve's new friend seems to have a secret to hide.

(Have you ever watched Mulan? This is basically the plot of Mulan)

"Line up!" The man's voice called out through the crisp morning air like a foghorn.

The young men, striding tall and proud, stood in musty, battered army green uniforms. Each of their faces were stoic, eyes empty, prepared to be filled with the scars and horrors that were bound to fill them someday. That, or they would die.

Steve, a boy with thinning blonde hair and a chest full of spite, stood as tall as he could. Admittedly, for Steve, this wasn't very tall at all. The boy was a 1940's poster child for malnourishment. But Steve had heart. And heart was what he needed to get by.

A tall, mean-looking man stalked down the line, sneering in the faces of the men before him. The man, Officer James B. Pench, stopped, in front of a man two spaces down from Steve. The biggest man on the field, the size of a truck, stood between Steve and the guy Pench was in front of. The other man was just as small as Steve, maybe a little larger.

"What's your name Soldier?" Pench commanded at the other fun-sized man.

That man, the man was you. And you, truthfully, were no man. You had cut your hair, and you gave yourself a fake name, and you joined the military.

It wasn't hard to do. You didn't have any friends, not really, and you had grown up an orphan. You remember being moved quickly from home to home, so often you barely had time to meet people.

So, y/n disappeared and you became-

"Peter," You yelled out, deep from your gut. "Peter Parker sir!"

"Parker!" The Officer barked back. "You been working out sir?!"

"Sir, yes Sir!"

"Sure as hell don't look like it!" You kept your hand saluted, not wavering once. It wasn't the worst thing him, or anybody here for that matter, could say. In fact, the absolute worst thing that could happen here would be if somebody pulled down your large bulky combat pants, revealing your lack of manliness.

Like, Literally.

Combat was insane, and not what you as a little girl were taught to do. You weren't taught to do much, but mostly to sit and act like a "lady." You liked the feeling of a constant "go!" mindset and were especially fond of the brotherhood present in the army.

You had made one steady friend, possibly, the first one you can remember. His name was Steve.

"Where're you from?" He asked you one night. The two of you were lying on the roof of a building.

"Brooklyn," You lied, saying it so easily in such a monotone voice. God, you felt horrible. Even if Steve was your first friend, he really wasn't. He was "Parker's" first friend, sure, but that's because Parker only existed for about 4 months.

"So am I," shit.  "We should hang out sometime. Grab a drink."

"Are you even old enough to drink?" You laugh, making a stupid joke in hopes the conversation would drop. You didn't want him to find out...And even if you could hide it well enough to galavant around New York with him, you didn't know if you could lie to him that long.

"I'm sure Bucky would come to," Steve seems to ignore your joke, focused on his little dream. "Have you met Bucky?"

"Y-yeah. Kinda," You stuttered out the words, not looking over at his puppy dog face and little beady eyes that were always so full of hope.

You decided that night, that maybe it would've been better had you not ever joined the military. Not that you weren't of use, you were doing a pretty bang up job.

But lying to people, most prominently Steve, it broke your heart.

***

You wished the nazis would've blown you to bits in Germany. If they had, you would've had a much better time with the rest of your life.

You signed up for the first trip over, even after discussing with Steve the two of you would take the second.

Maybe he was mad, hurt a little, but imagine your surprise when you returned and "lil' Stevie" was labeled as Captain Fucking America, and was about the size of a truck.

And if you thought you were surprised, with your racing mind and many thoughts, imagine his. His when the truth came out.

Sorta.

You were standing at the desk of your superior officer, the same one who stood in front of you in a line of men, bigger and stronger than you, and told you, you were nothing.

The day you had been dreading, where the lies became too much and you knew you would have too... have to leave. To resign.

Have to come clean.

But for now, you hoped only leaving would be enough. Hopes you'd never have to see any of these men again.

The Officer was standing opposite of you, behind his desk. His wrinkled face was curled into something of a smile, as he extended his hand to you.

"Officer Parker," He spoke. "It has been my utmost pleasure having you apart of the service."

You clasped his hand, a similar grin on your face. When you drop it, he sighs, and comes around the front of the desk. He stands opposite of you for a moment, before opening his arms.

He pulls you into a tight hug, which you return gratefully. He leans his mouth closer to your ear, and his whisper sends chills down your spine.

"I know."

TO BE CONTINUED