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bbbarneswrites · 6 years

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National Anthem

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: In which red, white and blue can easily represent Steve’s feelings. Just not in that order. Genre: Romance/fluff, hurt/comfort Rating: T Warnings: None? 1,407 words

Notes: HI! So it’s been a while since I wrote Steve...it might look rusty...and I apologize in advance. This is post-Infinity War so watch out. Also, I thought of this with some sort of empath!reader? Sorta. Even though it doesn’t exactly match the fic, the title comes from Lana Del Rey’s National Anthem! Obviously. Happy reading! <3

Everything about Steve Rogers is blue. His eyes and his uniform, his mind and his mood and his feelings.

Just– everything.

Though right now, there’s not much you can do about it. Not when he doesn’t let you.

The consequences Thanos left behind affected all of you. The entire Earth drowned in chaos and it felt like all you could do was sit and watch in a front row seat. The Earth depended on the Avengers in that moment and they failed.

And you understand that, you do. You might have joined a few years later but you’re still a part of the team just as much as he is. You lost people. You feel the sadness and the grief.

You’re blue too.

You never thought he could ever be like this – distant, cold, silent. A shell when compared to the Steve Rogers you first met. Lively, passionate, kind.

(Not that he isn’t all that anymore.

But you just think that he might have forgotten how to be himself after all the destruction he’s seen. He might have forgotten to remember who he really is underneath).

To top it, coming back to the compound felt strange. It felt like you didn’t belong there anymore, being used to be on the run for nearly two years. What was once familiar and comforting to you suddenly felt like unnecessary luxuries, banal to the furtive life you let until then.

Steve feels the same.

As the digital clock from the fridge marks 3:00AM in bold, green letters and Steve sits beside you by the kitchen counter in complete darkness, you know how he feels. Blue, blue, blue.

And despite knowing that your next words are likely to fall in deaf ears even after your two-hour long conversation, you try it.

Deep down, there’s a tinge of hope that maybe– just maybe, he’ll listen.

“It’s not your fault, Steve.” You purse your lips in a sad smile, eyes downcast to the mug in front of you as you hear him sigh deeply. “There was nothing we could have done to stop it. Not really.”

He laughs, quietly and humorlessly, his own fingers tightening around the whiskey glass.

“You weren’t there.” Steve replies roughly, a frown set between his eyebrows as he stares the set of colorful bowls placed beside the sink, a good distraction to his messy thoughts. “You didn’t see how it was like– the dust.”

You push back your mug, tears filling up your eyes as you stand up from seat. All you want to say is that you’re blue too, stained with regret, sorrow, heartache. That you understand his reasons but that he’s not the only one.

But you hold it back.

“I was there.” You say, voice breaking in the eerie silence of the kitchen as you turn your back to him, ready to walk away. “I lost people too, Steve. Everyone did. Maybe you should remember that.”

As Steve lies awake in his bed hours later, he does remember. His only disappointment is realizing that after you leave.

Steve turns to white.

It’s different and nothing like you ever seen before with him. It leaves you doubtful, curious, not knowing how to act, what to think.

You can’t figure him out.

If he’s blue then you know it, you sense the emotions, you see it through his actions and his words. But this– this is uncharted territory for you, dull and unexpressive.

Natasha says it’s normal. She’s known him longer than you do and this is just how he deals with things, she says. He stays a few days apart, thinking, going on about life beyond him and his life experiences, putting everything into consideration.

A part of you wants to doubt that he’d ever do something like this. But at the end, you know, that this is Steve Rogers after all and he’s nothing but righteous. So yes, he is going to be the guy who rethinks his own words even if it hurts to do so.

Your words made him think outside his own box of feelings.

Steve was never like this. He felt his own grief, sadness, regrets. But he never downplayed anyone else’s. He had been blue a lot of times in his long life and despite it all, empathy was always at his corner.

Shame creeps up on him pretty quickly during the time he spends away in the secret Brooklyn apartment he owns (and everybody pretends to not know about it).

You lost your family, friends, teammates just like him.

Yet, he was unfair.

It takes two weeks for you to see Steve again. That’s when you notice it – the white slate, empty, almost as if he isn’t feeling anything. And as he sits beside you once again by compound’s pool to make company, you wonder what to say.

Until he saves you from it.

“You were right.” Steve starts firmly, eyes falling down to the crystalline water before him as if it can make things easier. “I should have remembered that. I know you lost people too– that everyone did.”

You swing your feet around the pool, almost feeling sheepish at hearing his admission. You aren’t used to being right, or being the voice of reason in a team of older and experienced people. Even so, you still can’t help but feel a pull in your heart with the words.

“Everyone did. Including you.” You reply with a sad smile, your fingers brushing against his own as both hands rest side by side on the pool’s edge. “You know all this weight of the world you carry alone on your shoulders? It pushes people away, Steve.”

He sighs and you feel it. The tiredness leaving him, realization settling into its place instead.

His fingers interlace with yours in a slow move.

“I know.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, gaze locking up with yours as he smiles with pursed lips. “We’ll be alright.”

And just like that– the white doesn’t feel so bad anymore. Maybe it’s set for a reason. New beginnings. Or hope. Blank spaces for new stories. Maybe.

“We will.”

Steve Rogers can become red. In all its different hues. And it’s your favorite.

Just like the blush on his cheeks when you kiss him good morning in the bathroom. Or the stripes on his uniform guiding you out of hellish places during missions.

It can be either soft or strong and it feels just like him.

Sometimes it can mean bad things – the anger that boils through his veins or the blood that stains his hands despite all his effort. Either way, you prefer to focus on the good things – the passion that keeps him going, the love he feels for the team and his family.

To feel the good things is always overwhelming somehow, it pours from him like a waterfall, so easily that you can only guess anyone can feel it too.

It always makes you feel alive.

Steve burns so red, fiery but tender, passionate and in love and you revel with every single sensation he grants you.

(Wether if it’s physical or not).

And this is a flying different from the Steve you spent years on the run with. There was love but not passion. He was fighting but not so vehemently anymore with tiredness catching up to him. The anger was growing to a point you feared it’d do him harm.

Now it’s different.

There’s no words to describe how complete and happy you feel to witness the changes within both him and you.

Now it’s different.

He’s just like the reddish sunset sky outside your glass window – covering you in warmth, filling your room and your messy bed and your scarred skin. He embraces you, chest to chest, arms around your waist and legs interlaced, lips on your neck, your chest, your lips.

Burning in all shades of red with devotion, determination, strength. And the most important of it all– love.

“I love you.” Steve whispers breathlessly against your mouth, his arms tightening around your waist before your lips touch for a brief second. “I love you.”

With a smile playing on your lips and nose nuzzling with his own, you melt against his body, the softness of his skin and the peace of his mind feeling like nothing but heaven. So much that you can’t help but kiss him.

And finally say it back.

“I love you too.”

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mercury-imagines · 6 years

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Fluff Alphabet with Bellamy Blake

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Bellamy finds a strong will attractive. He likes confidence and authority, but not too much to the point of arrogance and idiocy.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He doesn’t think about it too often. He’s just trying to survive, and his mind is focused on the current situation. He thinks it would be nice to raise a family, but finds it an unlikely possibility.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Bellamy likes it when you lay on his chest. It makes him feel dependable and strong.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

On the ark, he’d take you to little hidden spots he had found. Often you’d look out into space as you sat together, your head resting on his shoulder. On the ground, he’d take you to places he thought you’d think were pretty, like a meadow or a stream. Dates on earth were rare, but he made an effort to take you away from all the craziness once in a while.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

He tells you that you’re his everything.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

He knows he’s in love when either himself or you are put in danger, and all he can think about is you and how he doesn’t want to lose you.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

He’s gentle in the way he touches you, as if you’ll break if he’s too rough with you.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

He often holds your hand to reassure you, to lead you somewhere, or if he just wants to be closer to you.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

He thinks your gorgeous, but way too good for him. He doubts you even notice him or his attempts to talk to you or catch your eye, but you do.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Bellamy does get jealous. He doesn’t get jealous too easily, but if you’re flirting with a guy or if Bellamy even thinks you might be interested in someone else, he gets jealous. He’s not obvious about it. He watches from a distance, clenching his jaw and tensing his entire body. He takes it out on you later, being particularly aggressive with his affections.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Bellamy’s kisses range from soft and tender to fiery and possessive, depending on his mood. He usually saves his more aggressive kisses for the bedroom or when he’s jealous. He initiated the first kiss one night after drinking some moonshine. You were hardcore flirting with each other, and in a moment of bravery, he cupped your face and kissed you, apologizing immediately after until you kissed him back.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Bellamy does, after the two of you are reunited after being separated. He shakily whispers it while holding you tightly, and kisses the top of your head.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

His favorite memory is the first time you had a real, in depth conversation, wether on the ark or on the ground. Just walking around and talking to you peacefully, getting to know you.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

He’s always giving you little trinkets and knick knacks, and you have no idea where he gets them. He refuses to tell you.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Whatever color your eyes are. If the sky turns the exact shade of blue as your eyes, or he finds a leaf with flecks of gold on a green background, or he stares deep into his cup of coffee, he is reminded of the color of your eyes, and thoughts of you flood his mind.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Sweetheart is a big one. Princess started out as a way to annoy you, but it stuck. He loves calling you beautiful as well, because he constantly wants to remind you of your beauty.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Bellamy likes things like vintage chess pieces, or an old deck of cards. He also like old trinkets that aren’t used anymore.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

So this is obviously after they’ve reached the ground. The first few times it rains he just stands out in it, thinking its amazing, but quickly realizes after the 5th time that he doesn't like being all soggy and cold, so he spends rainy days beneath shelter, watching the rain.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

To cheer you up, he’ll give you little gift and spend the whole day doing whatever you want him to do. To cheer himself up, he gets really clingy with you and just wants to cuddle with you and be with you.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Bellamy likes talking about what his life could have been if he had lived before the earth was destroyed. He always changes it up, going on different paths and thinking about what career would suit him best, where he’d live, etc.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Sleeping peacefully with you on his chest puts him at ease. He knows your safe in his arms, and the only thing that could possibly harm him at that moment is his own thoughts.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

He’s proud of his guard training, and wants to prove how much of a man he is, which sometimes can make him a little egotistical and arrogant. He also loves showing you off, rubbing it in everyone’s face that he has the most beautiful girl in the entire universe.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He doesn’t propose, really. With everything going on and with every day being a battle for survival, there’s no point in a wedding. He might get corresponding rings or something though. He often talks about how if life was different, he’d want to marry you. He tells you that however many days he has left to live, he wants to spend them all with you.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Dark on Fire-Turnin Brakes or Free Bird-Lynyrd Skynyrd

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

All the time, but again, only if he was in a different time.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Bellamy has always wanted a dog. Not too big, but not too small. He’d want a really smart dog who knows how to survive.

#the 100 #Bellamy blake #Bellamy blake fluff alphabet #fluff alphabet #the 100 imagine #the 100 headcanon #bellamy blake imagine #Bellamy blake headcanon #headcanon #imagine #fandom

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nocturnal--joy · 7 years

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Deepest

I wake up. Clueless. Scared. I am in a plain white room and I don't see any furniture, windows, or doors. I am sitting up in the middle of the room in a plain, white, wooden chair. There is nothing in the room except for me and the chair that I woke up in. I feel as though I cannot move, almost like the gravity is 10 times heavier where I am than normally. I look up and see a plain white ceiling fan. I look back down, puzzled, and I immediately hear music. It is jazz, subtle, relaxed music. Underneath it, I hear ticking. It panics me. I don't know where I am or why I am here. Something then crosses my mind. The room is well lit, but there are no lights anywhere. Not on the fan, ceiling, floor, walls, nowhere. I'm anxious. I manage to stand up even though I feel heavy. I am dizzy. Spots appear everywhere I look. Vertigo. I feel a sudden rush of sharp pain pinching from the base of my spine to the top of my skull. More confusion. The ticking intensifies and I can feel it shaking in my eardrums, though it is underneath the music. It rings, calls for me. I'm still not sure where I am but I know I am here for a reason.

Last week.

I had a dream last week about death. I have had many dreams about this but none quite like this one. It was suicide. Driven from madness, not sadness.

I look around for anything that might be a clue as to why I am in this mad-room. Nothing. Why is there a chair and a fan? I'm not sure. I decide to try to wake up, this must be a dream. I scratch, slap myself, nothing. This is not a dream. This is a sick reality. Great. I look around on the walls for a trace of writing or marks that could be clues. Nothing. It's so strange to me, the walls seem to never end. Almost like blank infinity. I look at the chair. It’s white, just like everything else. I am scared. I look underneath the chair, and I find a mirror. In the mirror, I see my face, my neck and across my throat is a small, white, dotted line. This is sick. Then I decide to examine the fan. Maybe there is something on top of it. I stand on the chair and pull myself up to look on top of the fan and that is when I notice a white rope taped to the top of one of the blades. What does this mean? This is sick. Obviously who ever put me in this hell-hole wants me to hang myself. They gave me a chair, a rope and a fan, it's clear. Sick. I am very tired though I just woke up. No, I am not tired, I am exhausted. My body aches as if it wants to rest more than anything. I crawl to the corner and sit down, my body begging for me to sleep. I sleep.

I wake up, sad.

I am in the same room as before. Still tired. Almost like R.E.M. won’t fix it. I know what has to be done.

Maybe I’m dreaming. It seems very realistic, but I may be dreaming. This is crazy. Too crazy to be real. I sit on the chair and hope that maybe if I go back to where I woke up, I’ll find something. I find nothing.

Then a lever switches in my mind.

I get the rope and tie it to the fan and knot a noose. Maybe if I do what they want, I will get out of here. Maybe if I kill myself, I will be okay.

I snap some sense into myself. No. I will not fall under their trap. Not now. I want to live. I go sit in the corner. I feel something wet on my face and look around, confused. There is no where that water could be coming out of. I feel it. I am crying. Am I sad? No, just frustrated and confused. What is this?

I go sit on the chair and look up at the noose. I nod, I know what has to be done, and I have finally accepted my fait.

…

I stand on the chair and hold the noose tightly in my palms. I am calm, not anxious, which seems foreign to the idea of suicide. I am fine. Relaxed. I put the rope around my neck. I stand there for a few more seconds, blocking out any hesitation. I am ready. I jump.

…

I wake up in a funeral home. I am still alive. What is going on. I remember the last five minutes of my life, or what I thought was my life. I am now scared and emotionally overwhelmed. I do not know why, why I am in a funeral home, why any of this is happening, why I am feeling this way. I walk around, trying to find something but I have yet to know what I am even looking for. I walk into a small, claustrophobic room filled with 20 or some chairs. I am in the back of the room. I look towards the front of the room and see a closed casket. It is black wood. Around the casket, I see flowers. Daisies. A flower not often used as a gift for someone who is mourning. It is an insult. A weed. What the hell. I begin to hear voices, they are getting louder and louder with every second that passes. I see people, familiar faces, start to pour into the room, but no one seems to notice my presence. For some reason, I feel abused, stepped on. They don’t see me. They walk past me, through me. I am ignored, I walk up to the casket to see it unlatched. I decide to open it, out of pure curiosity. I slowly lift the top of the black coffin and see myself. A younger version of myself, laying there, lifeless, in the satin bed. A rush of regret and remorse flows over me as a single tear sheds from my eye. Again, I do not notice my sadness. I feel my legs move under me and they bring me to the chair in the back of the room. It looks like a throne. It has gold detailing and a red velvet seat. My legs bring me to sit in the chair, though for some reason I really don’t want to. As soon as I am seated, I faint.

…

I wake up on a roof. It is looking over a small town. I am happy. I look to my left and see a silhouette. I do not feel panicked. I am relaxed as ever. I feel pure happiness flowing through my veins almost as if it was injected. Time stops. Life is good, great...content. I lay down and look at the sky. I see baby blue and white swirling freely. I feel sun beams on my face. I can stay here...forever, and ever, and ever.

...

The sky fills with darkness. A black abyss surrounds me. I am frozen still. I cannot move. I try, but there is no point. I see snow. It is falling in my eyes. Burning. The silhouette rises. It has a gun. It aims. It shoots. Slow motion. I can see the bullet coming for me. Ending my gratification. I feel a loose pain in the center of my chest as my eyelids slowly collapse. I am dead.

...

I wake up in my bed. Perhaps it was a dream. It was not a dream. My arm lifts to my collarbones and I feel a hole. Conceivably, I am dead. I am fearful. I did not know I was fearful. I get up. I get ready, put on my clothes, brush my hair, teeth, eat breakfast, and head to school. This is normal. This is fine. I am fine.

...

However, I am terrified.

I am terrified of being alone, being recklessly doomed, being forgotten, being turned against, being discontent. I am scared of being left behind as if nothing every happened.

I wake up. Content.

...

See this with your own eyes, in your own way; fear is inevitable. Even the deepest. Happiness depends on you and wether or not recognize it. Death is inevitable. Even the cruelest. Sadness depends on you and wether or not you know what to do with it...

Use your gut to recognize joy and use your conscience to recognize pain. Never use your fingers, for your fingers will turn on you...

and kill you.

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