mouth forms a warm smile at the handsome man sitting across from you.
The two of you were enjoying a quiet breakfast at the Tower, it seem
like everyone else was out and about.
“Rogers, you have
Nirvana on your list!” You glee with excitement, holding up the
little notebook to show the Avenger.
“Yes, I know. That
is my handwriting, (Y/N).” Steve muses with a smile, thinking to
himself how incredibly cute you were. Especially, with your hair
slightly disheveled around your face and glasses resting on the tip
of your nose.
“I got you, Steve.
Come on.” You get up from your seat, grabbing his empty plate with
yours. Steve grabs the cups and walks with you to the sink.
“Leave them, Bucky
likes washing dishes.”Steve chuckles at your total lie, knowing
well enough that Bucky hated seeing dirty dishes in the sink.
You drag the man to
your quarters, but he lingers at the door waiting for a proper
invitation in. With a scoff you tell Captain America himself to get
his “gorgeous ass” inside. You pretend to not notice the blush
flaming on his cheeks, instead kneeling down in front of your record
collection. Steve takes a seat on the edge of your be, watching you
meticulously pull out a few vinyls from the shelf.
“Nirvana is a
grunge band fronted by Kurt Cobain, vocals and guitarist. Kris
Novoselic, bassist and lastly, although not the original drummer,
Dave Grohl. Who formed another band after Kurt died, the Foo
Fighters, you should write them on your list.”
You point to the
notebook in Steve’s hand, pausing until he realizes you were
expecting him to write them down. So with a small smile, he quickly
writes the band down.
“Okay, we have
several choices.” You scoot on your knees over to Steve, holding
the records up to show him.
“So which album?”
You question out loud, skimming through the vinyls until you come
upon your personal favorite.
“Bare with me
Rogers, this is not the music from yesteryear.”
He throws his hands up with the laugh that always makes your heart
jump a beat. You shrug getting up on your feet and going to the
record player. You carefully lift the needle, setting the record
slowly down, moving the needle to the correct spot. The crisp sound
of the needle hitting the black shiny vinyl is one of your favorite
sounds. The guitar starts strumming at a steady pace for the first 12
seconds, before the bass and drums kick in, the music is loud and
aggressive. And when the vocals kick in, dry and raspy, the entire
song engulfs you into a pit of pure wildness.
Steve watches the
way your head moves up and day to the beat, fingers tapping at your
thighs and your voice low singing the lyrics. The blond man has no
control over his body, as he moves up from his seat on the bed,
moving toward you. His hand hesitates for a moment, before touching
your shaking shoulder, slowly spinning you to face him. You are
caught off guard, giving off a nervous laugh as blue eyes stare right
“I like this
song,” Steve smirks, his hand moving to your face, “ but not as
much as I like you.”
practically leaps out of your chest, opening your mouth to tell him
how you feel, but the music drowns your soft voice. Steve laughs,
moving forward to turn down the volume, his chest so close against
yours, there’s a 100% chance he can feel your heart pounding away.
“What were you
saying?” He teases, placing his other hand on your waist, pulling
you closer to him.
“I-well I like you
too, Rogers.” You admit with a playful shrug. He pretends to be
offended by your shrug, backing away until you grip his shoulder.
“Come here, old
man.” With all the strength you can summon, you pull the man back
and throw your arms around his neck. The two of you laugh for a
second before going quiet, Steve tilts his head to the side as he
moves down toward your face. You close your eyes, anxiously waiting
for the kiss. And when it comes, it’s everything you expected. His
lips soft, their movements deliberately gentle, full of desire and a
lost longing. A lost longing that you were determined to fill.
an: I honestly can’t help myself with Christmas fic. I’ve been up since 3:30 this morning taking my dad and broha to the airport and this is what happens to me when I have to be up this early. I drink WAY TOO MUCH COFFEE and write xmas humor fic.
Carol of the Bells
The first text from Henry reads:
Just landed. See you soon.
and then, time stamped twenty minutes later, as she glares hard at the Range Rover trying to poach her parking spot and laying hard on the horn of the Bug until Rover moves on to less pissy pastures, she gets another one.
Don’t be mad.
Oh hell. It’s been a long day. Very long. The longest. Traffic has been awful, people are miserable in the way they only truly get when the holidays force them to spend time with family, and Emma has had it about up to HERE with Henry’s father - a weekend trip to visit Neal in New York had turned into nine days (“Hey, Em’s, I hope you don’t mind, I upgraded Henry’s ticket home so he could see some more of the sights - New York at Christmas, you wouldn’t want him to miss anything, right?”) - and it just figures.
A million and two worst case scenarios emerge from the depth of her ex-husband memories, and she has a mild panic attack as she veers into her parking spot, cutting off a stretch limo that has no business driving through the upper levels of the parking garage.
She crosses tattoo off the list in a hurry, and prays Henry has the foresight not to request a lip piercing or any other appearance altering “bonding experiences” her dick of an ex might have come up with. (She’d spent the year before Henry was conceived trying out the entire ROYGBV spectrum on her hair because “Your boyfriend’s in a band, Em, you gotta look the part.”)
Then come the worries that Henry decided to drop his cello for a bass guitar, or he wants to quit school and join the circus or -
Her mind shuts that down in a hurry. Neal may be a horrible influence, but she’s got a good kid. The best.
I want to be the singer in a dirty pop punk band that tours in their shit car and sells cheap EPs out of the trunk. I want to break down outside of Detroit or Milwaukee and walk 3 miles to town with an acoustic guitar and a gas tank to play on the street until we make enough for gas to the next venue and sleep in the back of the van but not for very long because I have to drive soon and I want to play on a small stage that barely rises off the floor and I want to stand in the crowd and feel them singing and I want kids to tattoo my words on them and 30 years later all their friends know what it is instead of them having to say “ yeah I really believed in them at the time but some things just don’t work out” and I want people to be surprised when they see our vinyl on the shelf at hot topic and I want someone to tell me that I helped them somehow but it’ll be okay if no one does because I’m not doing this for them I’m doing it for me. I need this
Just did this vinyl shelf. A great way to display my favorite albums or simply albums with great artwork. Really like the outcome, looks great and definetely better than the old and pretty damaged Coca Cola poster I had hanging there before.