Imagines [Book One]

Marvel [Gen Fic X Reader]

Imagine being a mutant who has hidden your abilities for as long as you can remember. Everything is fine and dandy until a group of superheroes decide to unwind at the bar you're currently at. One thing leads to another and you unfortunately find yourself throwing yourself into the mix.

Hal's was a local bar you frequented, it being the one place that no one batted an eye when someone even remotely famous walked in. The vibe was usually upbeat, the kitchen served the greasiest food, and the crowd was friendly. So when three Avengers wearing their civvies waltz in, no one spares them a second glance.

Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton take the booth next to yours since it's in the rather secluded corner of the joint, and you nod to them in polite greeting when you catch their gaze. They smile in return before hunkering down and ordering their first round, and you go back to slowly demolishing your trays of wings and fries.

The karaoke machine is turned on for the night and you put your back to the wall, legs stretched out across the booth bench as you settle in for the night. You order a pitcher of margaritas, tossing back drink after drink as you applaud those brave enough to butcher the classics. The ones that are fortunate enough to have great voices or even just enough energy to get the whole bar into it, however, are awarded whatever's on tap courtesy of your wallet.

"Hey! Stranger." Clint Barton aka Hawkeye turns around in his seat, hanging onto the back of his booth that separates your tables. "Are you buying rounds for friends or those that can get a laugh out of you?"

You shrug and offer him a small smile. "I'm buying for the ones that amuse me."

"So if I-"

"Clint, leave the lady alone," Steve Rogers admonishes with a chuckle.

But instead of backing down, you laugh. "If you sing Under Pressure I'll buy you whatever the hell you want as long as it's not over fifty bucks."

"Yes!" Fist pumping, the archer of the superhero group scrambles from his booth to go write down his selection.

The redhead turns around, lips quirked in a smirk. "You've done it now."

Your shoulders shake with muffled laughter as you sip your drink, and you wink at her to let her know that it was all good. Clint retakes his seat, bouncing with adrenaline and alcohol, and you can only watch as person after person takes their turn.

One moment everyone is having the time of their life, and the next the front wall of the bar explodes inward. The force makes you slump in your seat, debris nicking you in the process. People are screaming and crying, yelling in horror when a wave of men rush into the room with very big guns.

Rolling under the table, you watch as the Black Widow and Hawkeye jump into action. The moment a barrage of bullets light up the place, both Avengers pop off round after round in return fire. Captain America is doing his best to round up scared individuals and herd them to safety, but the gunmen are quick to catch on that there's at least one vulnerable Avenger.

Seeing Captain America dive behind the bar with several civilians, no shield in sight, makes you second guess your decision to lay low. But then seeing one of the gunmen slink closer towards the bar with the intent to kill as many as he can, the decision is taken out of your hands. Mentally berating yourself, you scramble from safety and slide right in front of the opening to the bar where Captain America is crouching just to the side of.

Throwing your hands up as if shielding those behind you, you hold your breath as the sensation of absolute coldness travels from the roots of your hair down to the tips of your toes. A few people curse at the transformation your body takes, from flesh to sparkling diamond, and then yelp in surprise as bullets ricochet off of you.