⧗⍟ Romanogers Scenes We All Need ⍟⧗

That's When I Knew

I  don't know if this is Romanogers but since Pride month is close, I wanted to make a story, so that everyone is aware. #Proudofme.

It was a very rainy day in Brooklyn, New York. This wasn't a problem for Steve Rogers as he preferred any excuses to not be outside, getting flagged down to sign any more body parts. He was in his new apartment, reading History is all that you have left me by Adam Silvera. He flicked the brown pages, avidly taking in the words. Someone knocked on the door. Since he didn't want to leave his comfortable couch, he didn't move a single inch.

'Come in,' he said dully. 'And close the door, please.'

The door opened to reveal a small, rain-soaked redheaded woman, carrying a black briefcase, cursing Zeus, and closing the door behind her.

'Didn't want to move your ass your couch now, Rogers?' She questioned, taking off her wet jacket and throwing it at his face. He took it off his face and threw it on the table, his eyes still on his book.

He pretended he didn't hear her. 'Where's your umbrella?' he said, standing up, folding the corner of his page to mark it, and closing the book, tossing it besides him.

'I didn't know it was going to rain,' she whined, running her free hand through her wet hair, untangling it. 'And raincoats are for babies.' She added, seeing him holding up a finger, which he put down.

'It's perfect,' he said, 'because you're acting like one.'

She pouted her lips mockingly. 'What a gentleman. Is this how you talked to women during the medieval times? And you wonder why you're still a vir—  '

'What do you want?' He said, eyeing her briefcase.

'Two things,' she said, running her pointing finger up and down her figure. 'One: get me a new T-shirt and pants. Two: here's your new S.H.E.I.L.D. uniform.'

She handed him the briefcase. He took it, keeping it down on his couch.

'I'll be back in a second. Make yourself comfortable.'

'Thanks,' she said, walking towards the kitchen table, not before he held out his arm to break her walk, trapping her between his hip hand under his shoulder. She smirked, her left hand finding its way to his waist, wrapping around him.

'Hey, no need to be so handsy. If you wanted to do it, just say so, loverboy.'

'What? No!' He said, turning scarlet, pushing her away. 'Why are you going there?'

'Because I was standing in the subway for 3 hours, and my ass hurts. So excuse me, I need to sit.'

'I meant,' he said, grabbing her elbow and dragged her to the couch, her feet still pointing at the kitchen. 'Sit,' he patted her shoulders, making her shiver as him touching her T-shirt meant touching her shoulders. He pushed her shoulders downwards on the couch. 'Here.'

'But I will—  '

'It's fine. It's made of leather.' He said loftily. 'It will dry up. Now, I'll be back.' He exited the living room, leaving Natasha smiling to herself.

She got up and wandered around the shelves and drawers and observed every photograph and newspaper cutting framed into a wooden frame.

He had his own Smithsonian; there were black and white photos of him. Photos of James, or Bucky, whatever you will, Peggy, looking as beautiful as Natasha knew, another photo of him, his arm around a frail blonde boy's shoulder.

Skinny Steve. What a cutie, thought Natasha.'Oh good, you're here.'

He had returned from his room, with a clean blue shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. 'Why do you think I would ever trust you alone in my house?'