rodrikstark's headcanons (part 5)

a. pugliese + movie night

"pug, i was thinking."

he turns half an inch, just enough to touch his distracted response to your temple. "yeah."

you raise your chin, admiring the bright red explosions of die hard shimmering in his eyes. "about if you were ever held hostage at an office holiday party."

his brow has been furrowed in concentration since the start of the third act, but pug chuckles now. "honestly, that could happen."

for a flickering second, you let the possibility worry you; he does have a high-profile job. but with a sigh, and now more resolute than ever, you poke at the middle of his chest—something like a promise. "and about how i would come and save you."

when he shakes his head in amusement, you scowl.

the rescue mission would require some serious brainstorming and a surge of wholly uncharacteristic bravery. plus—several acts of violence to which you are totally morally opposed. still, you're certain you could scrape something together if your boyfriend was in any real danger.

pug hooks your thigh, wrestling it the rest of the way across his body, and as happy as you are to be perched on top of him, your smug look falters when you realize he's back to watching the movie. the tilt of his head matches the tilt of his half-smile. "you don't think jen would just bust us out of there?"

you blink. for some reason, your ridiculous fantasy had only ever featured a regular jen.

"no." your fingers scrunch into his hoodie, tugging. "no, obviously, i get to be the hero."

"like john mcclane," he comments flatly, though you notice the lazy warmth of his hands at your hips, tickling up to your waist.

"exactly like john mcclane," you whisper, allowing even the slightest suggestion of pressure between your shoulders to bring you back down to him. a loud smooch to his jaw doesn't quite earn all the attention you're craving, though. "except, y'know, if you wanna be the one wearing a tank top, showing off all your muscles..."

pug wrinkles his nose. "he looks disgusting, baby."

you sneak a glance to the screen, briefly contemplating what it would really be like, to be with someone covered in dirt and blood and reeking of smoke.

you shrug. "in a hot way." a quick squeeze to pug's bicep emphasizes your point.

"nah." he flips you over, kissing away your pathetic little oof upon impact. "i'm holly gennaro, managing the whole situation upstairs."

that makes you smile; he really would do that, you think. keep everybody at ease.

pug murmurs into your collarbone. "i'll be up there, lookin' real good in my suit, waiting for you to come rescue me."

well, you can hardly argue with that. "i'm on my way, baby," you urge, most of the words muffled by your shared laughter. he laces your fingers together before pressing you down. "don't worry."