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marvelstud10s · 4 years

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Cupid’s Bullet | 02

Leading a life of mystery and quiet, she has everything under control in her impeccable life as an assassin. Except this one time.

Warnings: curses most likely, capturing, striking

A/N: hehe some feedback would be gr8 thanks :))) *endgame never happened here* ask to be in my taglist in my asks too

*can somebody find me a website where you can describe words you can’t think of ?? I saw a post about it but I can’t find it ??

3.2K words of complete shit writing

Chapter 2

“Holy shit,” Sam murmured through his comms, soaring through the sky, trying to locate his target. “She just, disappeared into thin fucking air, how’d you miss her Barnes?” Sam asked, disbelief in his voice. All he received was a grunt from the super soldier, waiting on the side of the highway for some new transportation, his motorcycle far from revivable.

Bucky watched the cars pass, the scene playing over and over in his head, trying to figure out one, how the girl managed to escape, and two, who she was talking to. The rest of the team didn’t know that she had some help, it wasn’t in the debriefing. “Guys,” Bucky spoke up with a raspy voice. “She was talking to somebody, like a partner,” he recalled slowly. “A car came out of nowhere, nobody inside, and opened the door for her, as if waiting,” he confessed. The rest of the team was quiet, going over this new piece of information. “Computer maybe?” Nat offered, driving in her fake delivery car to the highway. “That would make sense. Friday, figure out more about this woman. She’s more complicated than we thought,” he said, setting down the mechanical super suit on a random rooftop, not wanting to double task in the air.

“Tony, I don’t think we have the right idea about her, or any idea about her at all,” Steve finally said, looking throughout her apartment, trying to find something useful. “How so, Cap?” Tony asked, half distracted as he was shuffling through her files. “First off, her apartment is a little messy. Somebody wouldn’t leave a safe house a mess if they were on the run, but she has a list of people, names crossed off, which makes me question my first discovery. And two,” Steve bent over to pick up the little handheld box, turning it over to find his reflection staring at him. Weird place to put a mirror. “We didn’t even plant this. It was already outside her door. It doesn’t have an address, name, or anything. But she knew it would be for her. Should we open it?” He inquired. The team was silent, Tony letting out a huff at this new revelation. “Okay, back to the quinjet, we’re starting over on this case.” He concluded, turning Iron Man around, in the direction back to the ship.

Bucky was silent, feeling his long suppressed fear sneaking up behind him. This mission was too much for him, too soon. Bucky tried desperately to catch his breath, every breath he took in, seemingly escaping from his constricting lungs. Bucky clawed at his tactile suit, trying to get out of the trapping leather, whining at all the weightless guns and knives that seemed to suddenly weigh too much. Three months of therapy could never really save him from the thoughts that were already seeping from the cracks into his broken, but carefully placed together, facade. You did this. You failed this mission. Bucky shook his head, chest heaving, trying to block out the familiar thoughts. Bucky placed his hands on the side of his head, trying to follow what the therapist told him to do when he was feeling vulnerable. “Macy Jenkins, Ryder Quincy, Anthony Santos, Khalil Brown, Jeremy Seong, Maria Costa, Olive Brown, Joshua Finnegan,” he whispered. Bucky whispered more names, repeating them over and over in his head, slowly, but effectively, calming him down. As if on cue, Nat pulled up as he put his hands down, a small frown on his face. She jerked her head for him to get in, noting how off his body language was. Bucky closed the door carefully behind him, trying to remember his super soldier strength.

“You know, it wasn’t your fault, Bucky. She’s more advanced than we anticipated.” Nat spoke up into the silence. Bucky glanced over at her, shaking his head, not daring to open his mouth to spill his thoughts. “You’re skilled enough Bucky. We just weren’t prepared. You’re valuable to this team. You’re the one who managed to catch up to her, not us.” She said, not expecting a reaction, turning up the radio, tapping her fingers on the worn out leather of the steering wheel to a new Dua Lipa song. Bucky’s eyes shifted briefly to her face, a small smile forming. Nat always knew what to say, even if she was the most broken out of everyone else. Bucky played with a loose string of the seat, feeling like a little kid who just got told his pasta art was beautifully made. Even if he knew it wasn’t, he still had a small smile on his face.

Bucky could literally not frown harder if he tried. He could feel the strain on his face, the pull of his eyebrows, and the twitch of his right thumb on his thigh. The team sat in the debriefing room at the compound, going over the mission and files once again. “No, Friday didn’t find anything about her e-companion. And she couldn’t scan anything from inside the box, either. You guys got anything? Capsicle?” Tony asked, pointing his chewed pen at Steve, crossing his feet on top of the table and leaning back, unconsciously calling him by Steve’s nickname. Steve’s face fell just a tick, giving an annoyed pointed look to the famed superhero. “No, but I think the box would just give us answers we need. What do we know about her? That she shoots people but it doesn’t do anything to them? I don’t think we’re dealing with some bank robber type situation here, let’s just open the box to see what we’re dealing with.” He concluded, looking at the mysterious box placed carefully on the middle of the sleek table. Nobody said anything, silently agreeing to the Captain’s suggestion.

“Well then, let’s do it?” Sam said nervously, staring at the box with a little bit of fear. “Aw, is the pigeon scared?” Tony asked out of fake sympathy, pouting and smiling cockily, but sitting up quickly at the pen in his mouth blasting out ink from his over chewing. “Obviously no, squid. Stop putting stuff in ya mouth and maybe that wouldn’t happen,” he tsked. Tony wiped his face quickly, unknowingly making it worse, but nobody notified him, so he didn’t care. “Steve, open it,” Bruce spoke up out of the blue, crossing his arms a little tighter across his chest as he leaned farther back into the door frame. Everyone looked at Steve expectantly, waiting for him. Steve breathed in, refusing himself to let out the, “why me?”, bubbling in his chest, pushing down his scrawny and sickly past self, and bringing out the rebel’s bravery. Steve grabbed the box, taking the little knife from Tony’s offering hand, carefully cutting the colored cardboard. Steve put on a hard face, hoping to fool anyone into thinking that he wasn’t afraid of whatever was inside. Suddenly, the box shook, Steve quickly putting it, and the knife down, watching as it shook harder as the seconds passed. Everybody wheeled their chairs a bit farther back, watching in curiosity. The box suddenly stopped, a dead silence falling over the room. Nobody dared to breathe, watching as the box sat there. It seemed like almost an hour before a great boom, silent, but great, came from the box, the team quickly turning away and groaning at the bright light.

“I only open for the worthy,” came a booming voice. The light suddenly went away, and the box laid there, almost innocently, not a scratch on it’s exterior. The team started in disbelief. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” Sam asked angrily. “Where is that strange hunk of muscle,” Tony muttered, already trying to page him. “Wow, I knew Thor liked pranks, but this is a little much,” Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. His heavy breathing fogging his glasses a bit. Everyone looked over in alarm, but seeing as Bruce’s breathing exercises calmed him down, it calmed them down a bit, too. Heavy footsteps suddenly walked into the room, a hearty voice following. “Hello, Midgardians! Needing my help once again, I see,” he smiled, biting into his stolen pop tart. Tony was a bit confused at how he arrived so fast, but quickly put that aside. Steve crossed his arms across his broad chest, giving him the famed ‘Cap America’ look, but adding a bit of a glare to it. Thor’s smile faltered, finally catching up to the mood in the atmosphere. “Am I in trouble?” He asked timidly, his personality not quite fitting with his stature. “What the hell is this?” Tony asked, rubbing a hand on his forehead, gesturing with his other hand the box. “Um, a box?” Thor responds carefully. Nat noticed his genuine confusion, along with Steve, Bucky and Bruce. “This is a dumb prank man,” Sam scolded, shaking his head, still oblivious to Thor’s innocence. “What prank? I haven’t been to Earth in months!” Thor defended, finishing his pop tart so he could focus on the accusation. “C’mon don’t lie, it literally said, “I only open for the worthy.”” Tony mocked, doing a terrible accent. “And that’s your trademark line, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. And I am a genius, so,” Tony said, always remembering to add a little compliment for himself. Steve took in Thor’s body language, how he was gesturing wildly, as he tried to explain how he had nothing to do with it. “You really didn’t know about it, did you?” He asked the God. Thor shook his head frantically.

The team looked at the box with newfound attention, feeling something wrong in the pit of their stomachs. “You said a voice? Open it again, I want to hear it.” Thor said, now caught up with this mystery. Steve took the box and cut it open again, and it shook again, seemingly harder, and the blast seemed brighter than before. “I only open for the worthy.” It said again, maybe even louder, as if trying to drill it into their memories. Thor looked on with a confused, but shocked face. “Where did you get this.” He said, pointing a finger at the box. Steve took a step back from it. “From a mission. Why,” he demanded, breathing a little faster. “I need everything on that mission, now.” Thor said, taking a step back as well.

Steve hesitated. “The mission was about a target who was seen briefly, shooting a gun at two civilians at a cafe, but it never hurt them. She was spotted carrying a red gun, in a black bag, and was followed back to her apartment after months of trying to get to her. She was too stealthy for us to follow her immediately. She got away, but this box was left outside her door.” Steve explained. Thor slowly shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Yeah, no, you need to find her, and get her here, I don’t think this is a small ordeal.” Thor informed the team. Tony sat up. “But what’s in the dang box?” He asked, throwing his hands on the table. Thor shifted his stare to him. “That’s the thing. I don’t know what it is, but what I do know, is that it’s from Asgard, and that it’s dangerous. Everything that’s dangerous we put that whole “worthy” line. It gives that sort of ‘don’t mess with us’ vibe, you know, it’s kind of our thing.” He huffed a bit of a light laugh, but it quickly left. Tony gave him a blank stare, opening and closing his mouth at his loss of words. “So, let me get this straight. You don’t know what it is, even if it was from your own home planet. Can’t you tell from the packaging?” Tony asked, his frustration showing. “Well I suppose you don’t know every single box on your home planet, now do you?” Thor asked with a bit of attitude. Tony recoiled, a single hand to his chest. “Our planet isn’t one fucking city!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his hands up. Thor glared, opening up his mouth as if to say something, but glanced over at the box once again.

“There is something a bit familiar about the packaging, actually.” Thor murmured under his breath, but a murmur for him was regular volume for everyone else. “What is it, Thor?” Natasha asked, leaning forwards towards the God. Thor never ripped his gaze from the package, leaning forward, he grabbed the box and turned it over, finding a mirror on the bottom, a carved, decorated silver border outlining it, a single carved apple at the bottom, and two carved doves around it. Thor gasped through his nose, putting it down quickly and moving back to his original spot. “That mirror,” Thor said. “Their from somewhere different than mine. Not my- our, universe,” He spoke quietly. Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “So she’s from a different universe?” Steve asked. Thor shook his head. “I’m not sure. But this box is. Those doves, that apple, that mirror, their a representation of Aphrodite, I’m not sure if you’ve all heard of her, but she isn’t Norse. She’s from Greek Mythology.” He explained. Tony snorted. “Aphrodite is not real, you are, Norse is real, Greek is not, end of story. Maybe she just likes birds, fruit, and staring at herself. I mean who doesn’t like staring at themselves, I mean, except for Sam.” Tony smirked. “You’d have to actually be visually appealing. Sorry to break it to ya,” Tony insulted, shrugging his shoulders. Sam shook his head. “Menace,” He whispered under his breath. Tony winked.

“Okay, guys, focus. You’re saying that Greek Mythology is real? Different mythologies can correlate with others?” Nat asked, looking up at Thor. “I didn’t even know that until now,” He confessed. “I need to take this to my father.” He said, grabbing the box. “I’m going with you,” Steve said, already walking in front of the God. “Me too, I’ve been there before, plus I don’t really want to be here with Tony,” Bruce whispered. “I don’t have to be a God or a super-soldier to have heard that Banner,” Tony said, standing up. Bruce smiled apologetically. “Okay, So, I’m going to go with Thor, Steve and Bruce, while Bucky, Sam and Tony are going to stay here?” Nat confirmed, standing up. “Yeah, I’m gonna get Lang and the Pym’s here. Could use some more brains here.” Tony sighed, already ordering Friday to contact the three. Nat nodded, turning around with the rest of her team to get suited up.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, not knowing what to do. Tech really wasn’t his thing, obviously. Back in the day, he was actually very gifted intellectually, but it wasn’t really useful to know advanced mathematics in the 21st century. The five great minds, Janet Van Dyne, Hank Pym, Hope Pym, Scott Lang (who gave a very long handshake and a rather long speech about his vibranium arm), and of course, Stark sat a few tables away, talking. Sam sat along with Bucky, giving out a huff as he traced patterns into the lab counters, tapping his foot on the floor in impatience. The five discussed in hushed whispers, Tony explaining the situatuion. “What?!” comes an angry exclaim. The two veterans look up in surprise to see The oldest Pym going up to Tony’s face. “You made us fly all the way across the country because your stubborn ass couldn’t finish a small mission?! What a genius you are!” He yelled into his face, poking his pointer finger into his reactor. “Whoa, relax, will ya? This is extraterrestrial, I promise. Now can we just gather our horses, please?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow and both his hands in defense.

Hank looked at him up and down, but was eventually backed away by Janet. Sam breathed a laugh, finally finding some entertainment. Tony turned and glared at the two. “Hey bird brain, Tin Man, would you two make yourselves useful and look back at the footage? We haven’t had the chance to yet. Thanks, too sweet, really.” Tony said, already turning back around. Sam rolled his eyes as Bucky got up as well, happy to at least be doing something.

The ride towards Asgard was silent, as Nat and Steve never rode to another planet, let alone outer space. Nat held her breath, then let it out slowly, but it came out shakier then she expected. Bruce smiled softly at her. “Nervous?” He asked, letting out a chuckle. “Well excuse me, but outer space really isn’t my forte.” She smiled back bashfully. Steve watched the two with a knowing smile, a twinge of sadness in his chest, a sudden longing for a feisty British brunette suddenly overcoming him. Steve averted his gaze to Thor instead, choosing not to dwell in the past. “Does your father know about the different type of mythologies existing too?” Steve asked him, the silent beeping of autopilot coming as calming to the hero. “I’m not sure, it would be like having duplicates of your own people, but not looking like you. Like there was another Captain America, except he was,” Thor paused, trying to find the right words. “Less-american-y.” He smiled, going back to gazing out the window. Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked, looking at Nat and Bruce for support, who turned to listen to the conversation. Bruce looked away, but Nat smiled. “Well, for starters, you’re literally a walking version of patriotism.” She explained, gesturing to his whole body. Steve scoffed in disbelief and was about to fire back when the quinjet came to a sudden halt, making the four hurdle forward, but slowly land. “Can this ship even land on water?” Nat asked, watching as is landed near the walkway leading to Asgard. A broad shouldered man stood at the end, watching the jet. A walkway landed, letting the four walk down the ramp to the rainbow walkway. Thor jogged ahead, pulling the mysterious man into a brief hug.

“Heimdall! It’s so good to see you old friend,” Thor greeted, clapping him on the back. Heimdall smiled at him, turning his head to see the others. “Natalia Romanoff, Steven Rogers, welcome. Bruce Banner, a pleasure to have you again.” He winked at the latter. Bruce nodded, almost going into a bow, but remembering his mistake with Rhodes. “How do you know our names?” Steve asked, looking at him almost suspiciously. Heimdall politely smiled, knowing of the Captain’s hesitance. “I’m Heimdall. How could I not?” He raised an eyebrow playfully. Steve sat in embarrassment, letting the two Asgardians laugh at the foreigners expense. “Well, I have something I need to do. I’ll see you later, friend.” Thor said, giving him another hug. Heimdall nodded, already knowing what they needed to do. Heimdall turned, and with a goodbye, headed to the Bi frost.

“Okay team, how are we getting there? Carry one of you at a time?” He asked, throwing his hammer into the air and catching it with ease. Steve shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I’m okay,” he verified, not trusting the speed of the hammer. “Well, guess you’re walking Steve,” Nat said, already volunteering to go first. Steve gave her a confused look, looking at Bruce who just shrugged, who was waiting to go next. And with a burst of wind in Banner and Roger’s faces, the two were gone. “Wow, that’s a little um, fast,” Bruce said nervously. “Walk with me,” Steve suggested, nodding his head in the direction the assassin and God went, already heading on his way to the large castle. Bruce hurried to catch up to his long strides, already dreading the long walk.

Yet another A/N: i fucking hate this

but go in my asks to be in a taglist and/or to request a fic !

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marvelstud10s · 4 years

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Cupid’s Bullet | 01

Summary: Leading a life of mystery and quiet, she has everything under control as her impeccable life as an assassin. Except this one time.

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

A/N: Legit screaming at how bad this looks, but I really like this AU thing I did, but ignore my rookie writing don’t let the beginning fool you (I put ethnicity and race in there cause I don’t want people assuming I only do one race hehe)

Chapter 1

The frosty November air nipped at Y/N’s sensitive skin, causing her to shiver and shrug deeper into her blue knit scarf. The cute little cafe seemed to be closer the last time she checked her GPS, deciding to walk instead of taking a cab to save money. Y/N could barely make out the cafe’s sign as she jumped on her tip toes, weaving her way throughout the bustling New York crowd. She kept glancing down at the time, not wanting to be late. 9:42 AM, the clock read. Four minutes until showtime.

Y/N walked into the almost deserted cafe, but still very pleasant. The air smelled of freshly roasted coffee beans and vanilla, soft jazz music playing through the speakers. She looked to her left, looking at her first client, Owen, white, a tall brunette with soft doe brown eyes. He was a paramedic, and good at it to. A good Christian boy with morals and astonishingly kind. As if on cue, he looked up and gave Y/N a wave and smile, showing off his pearly whites. She did the same hesitantly, then headed over to the other side of the shop to wait for her second client.

A jingle of the store bell made Y/N look up from her clock, seeing Victoria, her second client, enter the store. She was average height, neither tall or short, sharp brown eyes, Latina, a mole under her left eye, making her look more intimidating. She was an up and coming business owner for a beauty company. She walked with confidence, glancing at her watch. Punctual, Y/N concluded.

Just as the second hand reached the twelve. 9:46 AM.

Victoria turned and glanced at her watch once more, not seeing Owen shoot up from his spot, finally noticing he was going to be late for work. The coffee is going to be tough to clean out, Y/N thought to herself, as, seeming in slow motion, the two collided with each other, and Owen’s coffee flying through the air and splattering all over Victoria’s ironed blouse. Victoria stumbled a bit, staring down at her, now coffee brown and lavender, shirt with an open mouth. Owen grabbed her arm and steadied her. “Oh my gosh, are you alright? I am so sorry, I’ll get that cleaned up right away, I didn’t mean to-, gosh I’m so clumsy.” Owen rambled as he quickly grabbed napkins and dabbed her shirt repeatedly. You dug through your sleek black leather bag and fumbled with a small red handgun, with a little tiny white heart on the side (adds a little feminine touch, she thought). Y/N closed an eye and focused, pointing the barrel of the gun at Victoria. Y/N took a deep breath, not daring to move a muscle, not even huff a breath. And in one go, pressed down her pointer finger, the force of the shot pushing her backwards a bit, hitting Victoria, the invisible and harmless bullet going through her first client, then going into her second. Y/N slid it inconspicuously into her bag, doing what she’s done thousands of times without a hitch.

Perfect. No more, no less. Victoria gasped in a breath as she was ready to scream at him, but then she stopped herself, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, feeling a strange warmth in her chest. “I-it’s alright, everyone has those days,” she says, gently grabbing the napkins from him. The two looked at each other, time seeming to slow down just for the two of them. “How would you like it if I took you to coffee sometime, as an apology. I promise I won’t spill it on you,” He chuckled. Victoria smiled and bit her lip. “I’d like that very much.”

Y/N smiled to herself as she crossed two names off her list.

I guess you could call me cupid. But the idea of being compared to a floating baby in a diaper isn’t exactly flattering. I like to think of myself more as a “love” assassin, I don’t know what else to call myself really, my job is more of just a morning routine. Each night, every night for as long as I could remember at 11:15 PM sharp, I would get a letter, a pastel red envelope with a pretty little heart on the front in metallic gold, no return address, no name, no nothing. A deep, almost blood crimson wax seal would conceal the paper, with an arrow indentation on it. The paper inside would be a perfectly shaped rectangle stationery, fit for the envelope, with gold flowers and light green leaves lining the side of the white paper. All the paper would say is a time, two names, and two descriptions. When I come back from the missions, I would find $500 in cash in a similar envelope on my kitchen table. I would never get a location of the mission, that was for me to find out. I’m still stumped as to how I know where to go, I just find a place that seems fitting, and I’m always right, always on time. Never had an incident, never had a mess up, never late. Never imperfect.

Except for one time.

The day was Monday, January 27th, 7:38:23 AM. Y/N was up and doing her daily workout, preparing for the mission, which was at 4:39:03 PM. It wasn’t sharp, Y/N hated missions that didn’t end in a sharp. She mumbled and complained to herself about the early hours, but she couldn’t sleep last night. Her hand twitched on the dumbbell, almost dropping it on her foot. She set it down gently, not wanting to get lost in a daydream and hurt herself. She shuffled to her tiny kitchen, preparing a breakfast, feeling something deep in her gut, figuring food could solve it. Butterflies, and they wouldn’t go away. “Pancake mix, pancake mix,” she murmured, looking through her cabinets. “Dang it,” she whined, knowing she was out, and settled for a PB&J. Y/N bounced her leg up and down, nervously chewing on her sandwich, scarfing it down without even noticing. Her missions always go right, always, but she always had the tendency to get nervous.

She always made sure she wasn’t fidgeting, shaking, sloppily shooting or foolishly letting somebody see her. But she can’t help but worry something is going to mess her up, and she doesn’t even want to know what’ll happen if she does. Maybe the magic being who sent her the letters would stop and kill her in the middle of the night? What if her gun stopped working and she couldn’t do her job anymore? Wh- Her thoughts got cut short as she heard her doorbell ring. Y/N shifted her eyes to her leather bag, not jumping, her instincts always on high. She swiftly grabbed her gun and put it in her thigh holster, then grabbing a real gun and holding it up, pointing it at the door. She cautiously gazed around her apartment, quickly going over how long it would take to double check her nailed down windows. No, too much time. Trust yourself, she thought to herself. She never let her eyes wander from the door, never letting her gun trail from it. She ran from her spot and by the door, the doorknob farthest from her. “Who is it?” She asked in a firm but innocent voice, as she took the safety clip off of her gun. “Uh, delivery?” A wavering voice said from the other side, sounding like a teenager. Y/N’s composure let up a bit, but opened the door with her foot. She quickly stepped out and hid the guns, putting on a fake smile. “For whom?” She asked. He looked up at her nervously, his blonde hair falling onto his face.

The delivery boy stuttered, scratching at his growing acne. “Um, Miss L/N?” He asked. She signed the paper and sent him on his way, then setting the box gently on the floor, recognizing the pastel red color and multiple gold hearts. No address. Y/N briskly walked to her window, looking at the delivery boy and wondering how he knew where to deliver it. One part of her wanted to just throw caution to the wind and open it, seeing the familiar packaging. But letting her guard down meant laying her life down. She glanced down at the boy again as he walked down to his car. He hopped in, but didn’t start it right away, instead, reaching for something on his neck. Something wasn’t right about how he scratched it though. The delivery boy pulled on something, a sort of blue fabric coming off of his face, revealing a woman, pulling off the blonde bowl-cut wig, revealing her red hot hair. They made eye contact, a split second of mutual, controlled panic washing over them. The redhead reached up to her earpiece, saying something. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to read her lips. “We have a problem.”

That’s not good.

Before Y/N could even blink, a bullet came breaking through her living room window, effectively shattering it. Y/N ducked and ran, picking up her bag, staring at the mystery box, deciding to take the handheld box and put it into her bag, but then throwing it, chastising herself for tolerating something that obviously put her in danger. Her door slammed open as a man with a mask with an “A” on it, threw a red and white shield at her. She kicked it back at him and whimpered, never seeing these people before in her life and wondered what they wanted. Y/N limped a little, the shield really taking an impact on her boot clad foot. She hurriedly grabbed her shoes and ran into her bathroom, tossing open her mirror and crawling through the tunnel, closing the glass behind her. The cold, damp tunnel gave way and she dropped, a small gasp leaving her. She put on her shoes quickly, grunting at the rush.

A light could be seen at the end of the supposed rabbit hole, the freezing wind making her squint at it, a dumpster pile speeding up faster and faster, cushioning Y/N’s plummet. She tried to be as noiseless and fast as possible, jumping over the dumpster, almost tripping over the gravel under her black combat boots and jumping onto her black motorcycle, quick and quiet, a stealthy black helmet already being fastened onto her head. She started the engine up, without it making a roar, making her smirk and she sped off without looking back. She turned into an alley, deciding to take the long way around the building, not onto the streets, not taking any chances to get caught. Y/N stepped harder on the gas, coming up to a gate that led to the freeway. A wooden ramp was coincidentally there, as if on purpose. She took it anyway, the ramp giving her leeway and making her look pretty cool as she dropped onto the freeway, passing every car easily.

Her engine revved as she swerved between lanes, multiple cars honking at her, many of them throwing expletives at her. “What am I lookin’ at?” Y/N wondered allowed, her computer screen inside the window of her helmet showing her the nearest exit and safe house. “Who were those people?” She asked again. Six faces showed up on the screen, a brief bio on the left side. “The Avengers, six super human heroes, Black Widow,” she looked at the picture of the redhead, recognizing her immediately. “Steve Rogers, AKA, Captain America, Tony Stark, also Iron Man, blah blah blah,” She muttered, quickly trying to learn as much as possible. A red alert popped up on her screen. Incoming impact, it read. “Send an emergency car ASAP, I need to get out of here quicker.” She instructed. She cleared the screen off her window, and looked to her left to see another motorcycle with a man firing at her wheels. Y/N switched lanes and went behind a car, evading the bullets. The man came up behind her and started shooting again. Y/N turned and shot, grunting. “Where is that car!” She yelled, getting impatient. As if on cue, the black car pulled up beside her, the drivers seat opening, the computer already opening it up for her. She stepped on the brake quickly and jumped off the cycle and into the car, the motorcycle crashing into the man and making him fall. Y/N closed the door and huffed. “Auto-drive. I should really come up with a name for you, like Tony did. What about, Saturday?” She asked jokingly. The computer swerved the wheel a little in objection. Y/N laughed, shaking her head. The car turned and pulled into an exit quickly, hoping not to be seen.

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