rodrikstark's headcanons (part 2)

b. barnes + teaching you self defense

bucky's metal arm hovers in front of your face: an offer to help you stand.

instead, you whine. "i'm not having fun anymore."

"this was never supposed to be fun." he boops your nose, sinking to his knees next to you. "did i hurt you?"

with a floppy hand, you dismiss his predictable concern. "no, i'm just sore and sweaty and tired and i wanna go home."

he lets his worry go in a faint chuckle, joining you on the mat, his head wedged between your belly and one bent leg. your water bottle sits about two inches from your immediate reach, but you have no strength reserved to grab it. so you settle for petting his soft, damp hair.

he nudges your hand so you'll really work at his scalp, the way he likes. together, you listen to the dull whirring of electric fans in your gym.

your brain can only focus on one thing. "do you think we—?"

"this is important to me."

...could get food on the way home?

clearly, something much more serious occupies bucky's brain. "i know."

"there's a hundred targets on my back, and if a single one of them finds you—"

you interrupt him with a loud groan, pulling blindly at bucky's hair and shirt collar until he props himself on an elbow to meet your eyes. "you're gonna put me to sleep, i'm so bored."

his brow creases in annoyance. "i'm serious."

you frown back. "i just spent the last two hours putting you into like fifty different chokeholds."

that fails to lighten his mood. "i'll make you do a hundred more if it means that you can defend yourself."

your fingernails scratch the stubble on his cheeks as you tamp down your exasperated sigh.

objectively, he's right. a threat to you is a threat to bucky. not just to his job and his ability to protect other people, but to him, his heart.

"i'll give 'em hell, sarge." he hands you the water bottle, and you clear the small strands of hair sticking to his forehead. "promise."