rodrikstark's headcanons (part 1)

s. rogers + learning a new language

"you're saying it wrong."

"how am i saying it wrong?" he asks defensively.

"you have to—" after failing to locate an adequate explanation in english, you demonstrate it: fluttering your tongue lightly in your mouth, barely hitting your palate. "like that."

his mouth hangs open, his eyes squinting at you. "how the hell do you do that?"

"i don't even know what it's called."

"rolling your r."

"oh." a shrug. "you just do it." for fun, you do it again, this time for a couple of seconds.

his pink lips are so pretty as they pout and struggle to form the right sounds. "er..."

you poke his cheek. "relax."

"er-r..." when you burst into laughter, his head thunks back, hitting the couch. a low, defeated grumble vibrates in his chest.

"silly american boy, can't roll his r's." clambering into his lap, you rest your temple on his muscled shoulder. "so cute."

an annoyed expression replaces his blushy cheeks; he dislikes being called cute, even if it's always true. "teach me something else."

you hum a couple of cheery notes when he traces the bend in your hip with his calloused hand. "what you need is to loosen up."

he keeps his face stoic for two seconds before a minute twitch of his lips reveals him. "you gonna help me?"

a quick twist of his torso has him lying flat on the couch, your legs tangled together. steve presses between your shoulder blades to coax you closer. his eyelashes flit down when he looks at your mouth.

"baby," he whispers, "c'mere."

you barely graze his lips with yours, remaining stubbornly suspended above him.

"relax, my love."

you don't kiss him until his grip loosens, calming into a caress instead of an insistent push. not until he smiles for real.