rodrikstark's headcanons (part 1)

s. rogers + his motorcycle

"steve! wait, wait, wait." you move your hands to try to cover your face, but you just end up slapping your palms on the front of your helmet.

playfully, he revs the engine again, vibrating under your legs. "you okay?" he nudges you. "you gotta hold onto me."

"what if i die?" you ask, quickly wrapping your arms around him.

he laughs. "you're not gonna die, how bad of a biker do you think i am?"

you could giggle at that, thinking about your boyfriend as a bad biker, but you just murmur incoherently, pressing your helmet into his shoulder.

"i've been doing this since the 40′s," he assures you, patting your hands, which have a death grip on his shirt. "if you want me to pull over, just squeeze me three times, okay?"

"okay."

he reaches down to grasp your hands, forcing them to relax a little. he takes one up to his lips and kisses your knuckles, wanting to comfort you one more time before finally pulling onto the road.