AN: I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I do. This has been a real fun writing. Don't think there will be any actual pairings with the OC unless you guys request one.

Translations:

*cadela (bitch)

*doce (sweet)

Chapter 1:

My Cupcakes!

"Screw the Avengers!"

Nobody pays attention to the 5'5 woman crumpling her apron into a ball and slamming it down in front of her bakery. Her destroyed bakery. The array of colorful words that tumble out of her mouth makes the debris around her seem like broken plastic. She tries not to sob when a majority of the left wall caves in, destroying what seems like her last batch of cupcakes on display. Now she truly had nothing left.

"My mother loved those cupcakes." She stomps her foot, momentarily forgetting that she is nearing thirty years old.

Citizens around her run back and forth, more preoccupied with the fact that there is still fighting going on over Manhattan. Her cupcakes are of most importance clearly.

"I should have stayed in Brazil." She curses, running a soot covered hand into her hair. "I don't remember any aliens or monsters or robots invading there."

She absolutely hated all the fighting that had been going on. First it was alien spaceships coming out of a big hole in the sky, then some guy wants to blow up everybody, and now some insane doctor releases robots into the city. New York City can't go a year without someone wanting to destroy the place. But at least her bakery came out intact the last couple of invasions or whatever they were called. But this time, her bakery had been caught in the crossfire. Her poor, unsuspecting little business. All the poor thing did was house her cupcakes and remind her a little bit of home.

Not to mention it paid her rent.

"Oh this is terrible." She drags a hand down her face and closes her eyes, already feeling a personal rain cloud hovering over her.

Except that shadow isn't from a rain cloud.

She snaps her eyes open and comes face to face with glowing red eyes and green armor. She's also becoming very close acquaintances with the gun that it is pointing at her chest. Fears grips the woman's heart, and she blinks repeatedly in disbelief. Oh this is not happening. Not at all. She hears people screaming behind her, telling her to run while she still had the chance. But no, she refuses. Anger replaces fear like a light switch. She is seething. Livid. Whatever other word for pissed off that she couldn't think of right now. She had no idea what she was thinking when she took off her shoe as the robot is about to pull the trigger.

"Look here you little—" Before she could ram it in the eye with a nice looking, 50% discounted heel, a blue light crashes into the robot and sends it flying.

Right into what is left of her bakery.

She is absolutely speechless as the body of the robot destroys any chance of what could be rebuilt. She does not acknowledge the whimper that escapes her mouth, and her death grip on her heel almost makes her palm bleed.

"Are you alright?" The voice of Tony Stark flows in through her ears and bounces off the flames that threaten to consume her precious bakery. When she doesn't answer him, he follows her line of vision and lets out a noise of distress.

"Man, I loved those cupcakes." He tsk's and flies off, believing that the woman is alright.

"So did my mother, you son of a—" She readies her arm to fling her shoe in his general direction when an explosion cuts her off and her vision turns to black.

She definitely should have stayed in Brazil.

When she awakens in a hospital room, her rapid heartbeats hurt her chest, and alarms the nurses outside.

"She's awake, someone get Dr. Andrews!"

Her vision is blurred like frosted glass and her ears ring as a nurse stays by her side. The movement of the nurse's lips imply that she'll be okay and that she's safe, but her thundering heartbeats tell her otherwise. The woman blinks slowly and wiggles her feet, wondering where her heels were.

"Miss, do you remember anything at all?" The voice rushes into her eardrums like water and she stifles a gasp. She makes out a man in glasses with a mustache, standing over her with a flashlight.

"Too bright." She says hoarsely, swatting his hand away.

"What do you remember? Can you tell me your name?" He looks unfazed, but shows that he hears her when he turns off his flashlight.

"Irene," she mumbles, squinting when she sees that her vision has yet to clear. "and I can't see."

"Oh, my apologies." Irene could practically hear the nurse blushing as she scrambles to get her glasses.

The feeling of safety shelters her body and her heart steadies when the familiar plastic touches her skin. She frowns at the slight crack at the upper corner of her right lenses, but they're okay. She exhales through her nose and begins to sit up despite the protest of Dr. Andrews and—she squints (still a habit despite the glasses) at the name tag on the nurse—Nurse Emily.

"Irene, may you give us your last name?" Nurse Emily places a steady hand on her shoulder to push her back against the pillows.

"Costa."

"Miss Costa, do you remember anything prior to the explosion?" The doctor clears his throat, eyes searching for any abnormalities.

"I threw my shoe at Iron Man." Irene smiles softly, before the memories crashes into her like a brick. Emily and Andrews share a look.

"Well, you have mino—Miss Costa what are you doing?!" Andrews cries out as Irene rips off her itchy, hospital blanket with the strength of intense homicidal urges.

"That cadela and his damn Avengers destroyed my bakery." She snarls.

"Oh Doce Bakery belongs to you? I love those cupcakes!" The nurse smiles, hoping that it would calm her down. She probably knew where the paramedics found her.

"So did my mother." Irene is practically seeing red as the nurse and doctor attempt at getting her to sit back down. Oh no, she is not playing nice today. Too often has she just kept quiet and stayed on the sidelines, looking like some nice little housewife. But that's not who she is. Definitely not who her mother raised her to be. She could feel her blood boil beneath her brown skin, threatening to overheat and explode. Her blood pressure is practically skyrocketing as she decides on whether or not to rip the IVs out of her arm (which does not sound like a good idea no matter what the action movies say). Her mouth is clamp shut, trying to stop herself from cursing at any unsuspecting mothers in a mix of English and Portuguese. Those mothers probably did not know that their children would become superhero, crime fighting, bakery destroyers.

"Someone find my other shoe, I need to throw it at the Avengers Tower." Maybe she could go home to find more heels and launch a pair at each Avenger.

"Miss Costa, please get back in the bed, you are not leaving this hospital."

Figures.