˗ˏˋ romanogers oneshots ˎˊ˗

ballgowns and ballrooms

She watches as the rest of the room dances away, switching partners between every dance, rolling her eyes internally at the extravagance while smiling at the passing strangers who didn't bother to offer the cold condescending girl with judgy eyes that told a mysterious past, standing in the corner of the room sulking. Not that she wasn't beautiful, because she was. Natasha Romanoff, despite the air of mystery that alluded her, was a woman of class and status. But those hazel green eyes and red wavy hair didn't help the fact that she had a tolerable attitude. Sure, beauty and all, but no one could stand her really. It's why she had enemies, or the Romanov family did. It's why she changed her name, ever so slightly, so it was a subtle reference to the past and a nod to the future. 

A well known enemy, or rival in their generation, was the Rogers' Family's only son, Steven Rogers, who went by Steve. He was around her age, maybe older, but he was a magnificent specimen of a man, from his blonde hair and blue eyes to well build body, which he often hid at events like such under the classic suit and bow. Simple but dapper. He was a typical gentlemen, raised that way by his mother, despite his abusive father. 

The two were raised to hate each other, yet growing up, couldn't keep away from each other, taunting one another with snarky remarks and the subtle hints of flirting masked under hatred. 

He finds her in the corner and joins her, looking her up and down, taking in the sight of her black dress, laced with gold detail, which she accentuated in the gold bracelet, that he had in fact, given her years ago, much to the dismay of their parents. It was a family heirloom of the Rogers' and it was frowned upon that the Romanovs and Rogers had anything to do with each other at all. He was dressed the same as always, though he had a corsage of white lilies pinned to his suit today. Her favourite. 

"Romanoff," He scoffs. 

"Rogers." She grimaces. 

And so the hatred and snarky comments commence yet again. 

"You know, this is a ball. You're supposed to be dancing." He says, as she sulks in the corner of the room, choosing to observe instead of participating. 

It is a sight to take in, with everyone dancing in sync, the pretty ballgowns and dresses. The champagne glasses. The varying degree of couples, from old to young. But she refuses to conform to the requirements of society by finding a partner to dance with. Was her showing up in honour of her family's name not enough? 

"Neither are you." She remarks, not taking her eyes off the sight in front of her. 

"Well, they don't expect me to dance here. But they do you." He refers to the staring crowd of whisperers as they silently judge the pair for even conversing. 

She looks around the room, ignoring the condescending eyes. "You of all people know very well that I don't care. Not one bit, not at all. If I cared, even just a little bit, of what others thought about me, you and I would not be having this conversation."

He holds out a hand in front of her. "Dance with me."

She turns to glare at him. "Why should I?"

"Come on, it's just one dance." He glares back. 

If they have one thing in common, it's how stubborn both parties are. "Fine." She relents. Someone has to compromise or this would go on and on with no end. "Only because they hate it."

"Okay." He smirks, gloating. She regrets her decision. "You can't resist my charms." He takes her hand, leading her to the dance floor. 

"You're so full of yourself, Rogers." She glares as they both bow, joining each other in the middle.

He places one hand on her waist and another in her outstretched hand. Her other hand goes to his shoulder and she hold it gently, with one of the lightest touches one could give.

"You better not step on my toes, Rogers." She warns with a glare, as she draws in a sharp breath. 

"Relax, Romanoff, you'll find that I'm very good at everything I do." He follows up smoothly with a wink, to which she rolls her eyes. 

She raises her eyebrows and taunts, "Is that so?"

"Yes. Everything." He whispers, so that only she hears him.

The music begins and he takes her. "Oh shut up, Rogers." she remarks. 

"You know you want me Romanoff." He teases, spinning her before bringing her back in front of him. 

"No, I don't." She refuses stubbornly. "And you know that will never happen no matter how much you want it."

"Keep telling yourself that." He remarks, the smirk faltering into a charming smile. 

"Excuse me?" She's offended by him, as she always has been, but no more so than ever before. One might even go as far as to say repulsed. 

"You're excused." He quips back. 

She narrows her eyes down at him. "You know just because I'm dancing with you doesn't mean I like you." If looks could kill, Steve would be dead a million times over. 

"Likewise." He follows, glaring at her with equal fierceness. 

"Good. I'm glad we're clear on that." She clears her throat as the song ends. 

They take their bows and walk off the dance floor. "Yes, we are." He whispers to himself. 

She returns to the corner to sulk, much to the displeasure of the others present, but they accept the fact that it's better than the Romanov and the Rogers dancing together. 

Her silence is interrupted by the presence of the Rogers' boy. 

"That was some dance, huh." He remarks, with a smirk bigger than that of before. 

She longs to throw him to the floor and wipe the smile off his face with her bare hands. "Are you still on about that?"

He grabs her forcefully by the hand, much to her annoyance. "Admit to yourself that was something."

She glares upwards at him, her stare meeting his. "Was it?"

They stare each other down, is grip not releasing on her. Their eyes lock for a moment there, as the unspoken tension between them remains unresolved. 

She shakes herself free of his grasp, looks away and walks away. But he pulls her back, pinning her to the corner. 

Her eyes meet his and for a moment she notices how blue his eyes actually are. They're darker than usual. And she notices how his breathing has quickened along with hers. He leans over her, trapping her under the weight of him. 

And his lips meet hers for the first time, interlocking one another as his hands remain on the wall behind her, her hands on his waist and moving upwards. 

He pulls away as her hands undo his bow tie. Their faces flashed, her lipstick smudged, out of breath. He whispers. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

And he turns around and leaves, leaving her to consider the disbelief of what had just occurred. The rest of the room watches as he walks out, bow tie undone, shirt crumpled, her in the corner in disbelief. But the greatest disbelief that night is when she runs out after him. Nothing is the same after. 

A/N: enemies to lovers in a ballroom.. how cliche of me. and wildest dreams. what did we expect? okay but like i got this idea in the middle of something and i had to write it down so like ehhh. and there's a happy ending and loads of sexual tension so it's not angsty. le gasp. so yeah anyways lmk your thoughts as usual and vote and comment lovelies.