The Dreams of a Celestial Empress

NOTES: A rather belated birthday gift for the wonderful @anika-ann, who not only shares my love for Steve and writes him amazingly but has been such a supportive and encouraging reader of my work. Please do check her fics out if you haven't already.

If you can spare the time, please let me know your thoughts. Comments mean the world to me and provide the Muse with proverbial caffeine and chocolate. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

Reader Specifics: Adult, she/her. No description of appearance besides being dressed in a skirt & blouse and being shorter than Steve, who is 6'4.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AVIN) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption. The Avengers are living together in the Tower & Compound - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel-related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Missteps

You had given the dating apps a fair chance — after all, they seemed to be the popular way for the people your age to meet others. But after a string of dates ranging from exhausting (the guy who talked about nothing but cryptocurrency for three hours) to disastrous (the guy who had, just after sitting down, declared that he hoped your children would inherit your beautiful eyelashes), it was time for a change.

Time for something different, something that would perhaps feel more natural than messaging. Something a little more traditional. Something that felt like the beginning of a beautiful fairytale, not like more emotional labor thrust upon you by men that couldn’t even hold a conversation. And well, if they couldn’t do that, then there was no way they would get to hold your heart.

Which was why you had ended up signing up for a dance class.

It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Surely that was a way to meet others, and a chance to have a chat while also having an activity that would prevent awkward silences from stretching too much. After some internet searches, you’d been able to locate a studio that did weekly walk-in classes that one could sign up for either alone or with a partner. You’d found a complete beginner class that fit your schedule, and had enrolled yourself in the next available one with a fluttering stomach.

Like it was with many ideas, the theory checked out. The practical, however, was another story.

As you entered the dance studio in Brooklyn and squashed into a packed coat room, it became abundantly clear that you might be in the wrong place. All you could see were couples, and judging by the soft looks exchanged and the number of diamond rings, most were here to learn their wedding dance.

Despite all the grievances people were having with online dating, going to offline events with the explicit purpose of meeting potential partners might not yet have become mainstream. Or if it had, the trend didn’t seem to have reached this particular studio.

This was not my brightest idea.

You shoved the thought back. True, most people around you appeared to be couples, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone here who might have had the same idea as you. All you needed was that one person, the elusive Mr. Right. Backing out now wasn’t going to do you any favors, and the dance studio had explicitly mentioned that it was all right to sign up without a partner. If nothing else came out of this, you might have an interesting lesson and some basics of a new skill from dancing with one of the instructors. It wasn’t that bad.

Regardless, you couldn’t completely ignore the sinking feeling in your gut as you slowly took off your coat and brushed off your swing skirt, ensuring it fell to your knees and wasn’t bundled on your butt. You took a steadying breath, doing your best not to embarrass yourself by desperately trying to find someone who hadn’t signed up with a partner. It was out of your hands now anyway.

You let yourself drift into the dance studio with the group and found a place near a corner. Quiet, yet excited murmurs filled the air around you as you eyed the airy, well-lit space. Two of the walls were just mirrors, and you recognized the ballet barres mounted on the wall from an exercise class you’d taken. Today, they wouldn’t be needed.

A tall man, perhaps in his fifties, was going around carrying a clipboard and marking down the attendees. It was obvious he was going to be one of the instructors; there was an agility to him, a bounce to his step that would’ve made you think that he was in his twenties if it hadn’t been for the gray streaks in his hair. In front of the studio, a woman about the same age was setting up some sort of microphone system, her airy skirt revealing shapely legs. Well, if nothing else, this would obviously be a good form of exercise.

“Welcome to the beginner’s classical dance class,” the man said as he stopped in front of you. “It is very nice to meet you. May I have your name, Miss?”

You introduced yourself politely, and the man spent a beat consulting his list.

“Ah, there you are. It looks like you’re signed up by yourself; we have one gentleman who is in the same boat, so I shall send him to you once I find him,” he said with a smile.

You nodded, thanking him as he was already moving to the next person. A group of latecomers arrived through the door, and you heard a few murmurs of conversation from that direction. You were curious about this lone gentleman who had had the same idea as you, but you were doing your best not to stare and seem like some weird creep. It was still almost ten minutes until the beginning of the class, so he might not even be here yet.

And regardless of how he was, you had at least gotten out here, and met one person — assuming he would turn up. That was a start, right?

Before you could spiral any further, a deep voice coming behind you interrupted your thoughts:

“Excuse me, miss?”

It wasn’t the instructor; that much you could tell even before turning around. You spun slowly and looked up.

And up.

Resisting the urge to swallow, you realized that the man was tall, much taller than you even though the most appropriate shoes you’d had for this excursion were ones with some heel on them. He was dressed in a blue button-down that was obviously tailored to his impressive frame, and when your gaze was finished with the long trek upwards — gone faster than you would’ve liked — you realized why exactly his form was so impressive.

In front of you stood Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America, the first super-soldier, the Head Strategist of the Avengers Initiative.

Your tongue felt like it was tied in a knot in your mouth, but somehow, you managed to meet his eyes and pull something like a smile onto your face. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him; it was just that out of all the possible things that you had imagined could happen at this class, you certainly hadn’t expected to run into one of the most famous and venerated people on Earth these days. Not to mention the fact that he was, in essence, more a demigod than a man.

“Can I help you, Captain Rogers?” you finally asked, just as a small, questioning wrinkle appeared in between his eyebrows.

It would’ve been pointless to pretend you didn’t know who he was. Everyone and their dog knew who he was, and your reaction had already made it obvious that you were not the exception to the rule. He gave you a tense smile and cleared his throat.

“Yes, I was just… Mr. Martinez told me that you also signed up without a partner and suggested we dance together today, if that is alright with you?”

Your brain was not processing the words. Yes, as far as you — and various nosy tabloids — were aware, Captain Rogers was not seeing anyone, and honestly, it was hard to imagine that he would go behind any partner’s back like this. But was he here because he had had an idea similar to yours, to meet someone? Or was he here just to learn something he hadn’t had the time or the means to pick up prior to the 21st century? It could very well be the latter and you shouldn’t make assumptions about his motives, no matter your own embarrassing crush on him. But you imagined that the salary he was paid by the Avengers Initiative, which was public record, would have easily covered any private lessons he could possibly want, if he wasn’t interested in meeting new faces.

But even if he was here to meet someone, was it to make friends or to see if it could be something more than that? To your knowledge, back in the day dancing had been a way of meeting romantic partners, but you did not want to assume.

You needed to speak. You needed to form words and make sure they came out of your mouth. But the surprise made your head spin, as if all your neurons had been scrambled like eggs. Before you regained control of your vocal cords, something closed in Steve’s eyes, like a curtain drawn in front of the beautiful light that had been there just a moment before.

“I’m sorry,” he said tightly. “I am obviously making you uncomfortable and that is not my intention. I am sure there is some alternative solution where you don’t have to…”

He trailed off, looking slightly away from you. His jaw was tight and his shoulders squared, but you didn’t sense any aggression from him. Just tension, perhaps even disappointment.

Somewhere in the back of your head existed the notion that it could not be easy for him to be getting out here due to his very public role. He was a national icon, and while his statements in the media made you fairly sure that he wouldn’t have had it any other way, there had to be times when that was simply inconvenient. You took a centering breath and just as he was about to turn away, clearly with a plan to go ask the instructor how this could be solved, reached out to touch his forearm.

It was just a light brush of your fingers, a tap to get his attention, but it seemed to run through his body like an electric shock. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned his gaze back to you just as you managed to gather your courage:

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m not uncomfortable at all, I was just surprised I ran into you, that’s all. Surprised we would be dancing together, if that’s something you’re still all right with,” you said. “But you are clearly here as whoever you are behind your public self, and it was unfair to stare at you like you’re a zoo animal.”

The shadow in his gaze disappeared, and the tension that had overtaken him seemed to bleed out. One corner of his mouth twitched up into what you had to admit was a very attractive, almost boyish smile that had your knees feeling dangerously wobbly.

“Well,” he said. “I’m not sure I would say that I found a pretty lady staring at me unfair.”

Was he…?

Was he actually flirting with you?

Suddenly coming here didn’t seem like such a terrible idea after all.

“Thank you,” you said softly, not knowing what else there was to say, but making sure you smiled in return.

He took a step closer to you and extended his hand.

“So, start again? Hi, I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to learning to dance with you tonight, Miss…?”

Yes. That sounded like a wonderful way to proceed, and there was something very alluring in the way he was able to just roll with the punches, immediately discarding the rough start you’d gotten. Even if you were wrong about the whole flirting thing, he hadn’t wanted to embarrass you or call you out on your awkwardness.

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you said, following up with introducing yourself and a smile. “I look forward to dancing with you too.”

You were dreaming.

You had to be dreaming.

Steve’s hand was resting on your upper back in a manner that was entirely proper and followed the instructor’s guidance down to the millimeter. Through the thin fabric of your blouse, you could feel its warmth sizzling on your skin. His other hand, extended to the side, was cradling your other fingers with an infinite gentleness to it, and yet, it was an entirely certain grip.

You had to summon every last drop of your focus to be able to recall the beginner steps you were supposed to be taking, even as Steve’s lead was making it easy for you to follow. The way he guided you made you feel your feet weren’t touching the ground at all, and it would probably have made a certain level of sense if that had been the case — your left forearm was resting on his ridiculously thick bicep, your hand on the round muscle of his shoulder, and it was easy to believe that he could’ve carried you for the entirety of the hour-long class without even breaking a sweat.

But all of that was nothing compared to the way his attention was entirely on you.

With the focus on learning, and the instructors wandering around the studio guiding and correcting everyone, there was not a lot of room for talking. But even as you weren’t saying much, Steve was so present, so alert, so focused on you, as if there was no one else in the room or the world or the universe. As if there was nothing more important than this moment, right here, right now.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Martinez called out from the front of the studio. “We are five minutes away from wrapping the class up, so if you have any questions, please ask them now! And if you want to learn more, we have a Level Two Beginner class this same time next Thursday, meant for people who have already taken this class.”

Something changed in the air with the announcement; Steve didn’t miss a beat with it but something appeared in his eyes. The hour had flown by; dancing had been fun and not just because it was with Steve. The idea of coming back to learn more was appealing, but there was one thing…

You were fairly certain Steve had flirted with you by calling you pretty in the beginning — an opening move in a pleasant dance of a different kind — but without pushing you beyond anything you wanted.

Perhaps it was time for you to make your move, and to be brave.

“If you wanted to… I would like to take that class with you?” you murmured. “So it’s a date? But only if you want to.”

The smile overtook not just Steve’s face but his entire demeanor, and the light in it actually had you lose track of your feet and almost stumble, but his hand on your back kept you steady. It was an anchor, and the gesture was something so nonchalant, something so familiar, that it made you ache to find out more. It was as if he already considered keeping you safe so obvious that he didn’t need to make a big deal out of it.

“Well,” he said softly. “I would definitely like to make that a date. But if you were willing… In addition to that, I would love to take you out for coffee right after this class?”

You beamed at him as the warm feeling brought on by his words and the implications in them — of what he was thinking now, and what might happen in the future — spread through your entire body.

“Yes, Steve. I would love that.”

NOTES: A rather belated birthday gift for the wonderful @anika-ann, who not only shares my love for Steve and writes him amazingly but has been such a supportive and encouraging reader of my work. Please do check her fics out if you haven't already.

If you can spare the time, please let me know your thoughts. Comments mean the world to me and provide the Muse with proverbial caffeine and chocolate. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

Reader Specifics: Adult, she/her. No description of appearance besides being dressed in a skirt & blouse and being shorter than Steve, who is 6'4.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AVIN) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption. The Avengers are living together in the Tower & Compound - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel-related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Missteps

You had given the dating apps a fair chance — after all, they seemed to be the popular way for the people your age to meet others. But after a string of dates ranging from exhausting (the guy who talked about nothing but cryptocurrency for three hours) to disastrous (the guy who had, just after sitting down, declared that he hoped your children would inherit your beautiful eyelashes), it was time for a change.

Time for something different, something that would perhaps feel more natural than messaging. Something a little more traditional. Something that felt like the beginning of a beautiful fairytale, not like more emotional labor thrust upon you by men that couldn’t even hold a conversation. And well, if they couldn’t do that, then there was no way they would get to hold your heart.

Which was why you had ended up signing up for a dance class.

It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Surely that was a way to meet others, and a chance to have a chat while also having an activity that would prevent awkward silences from stretching too much. After some internet searches, you’d been able to locate a studio that did weekly walk-in classes that one could sign up for either alone or with a partner. You’d found a complete beginner class that fit your schedule, and had enrolled yourself in the next available one with a fluttering stomach.

Like it was with many ideas, the theory checked out. The practical, however, was another story.

As you entered the dance studio in Brooklyn and squashed into a packed coat room, it became abundantly clear that you might be in the wrong place. All you could see were couples, and judging by the soft looks exchanged and the number of diamond rings, most were here to learn their wedding dance.

Despite all the grievances people were having with online dating, going to offline events with the explicit purpose of meeting potential partners might not yet have become mainstream. Or if it had, the trend didn’t seem to have reached this particular studio.

This was not my brightest idea.

You shoved the thought back. True, most people around you appeared to be couples, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone here who might have had the same idea as you. All you needed was that one person, the elusive Mr. Right. Backing out now wasn’t going to do you any favors, and the dance studio had explicitly mentioned that it was all right to sign up without a partner. If nothing else came out of this, you might have an interesting lesson and some basics of a new skill from dancing with one of the instructors. It wasn’t that bad.

Regardless, you couldn’t completely ignore the sinking feeling in your gut as you slowly took off your coat and brushed off your swing skirt, ensuring it fell to your knees and wasn’t bundled on your butt. You took a steadying breath, doing your best not to embarrass yourself by desperately trying to find someone who hadn’t signed up with a partner. It was out of your hands now anyway.

You let yourself drift into the dance studio with the group and found a place near a corner. Quiet, yet excited murmurs filled the air around you as you eyed the airy, well-lit space. Two of the walls were just mirrors, and you recognized the ballet barres mounted on the wall from an exercise class you’d taken. Today, they wouldn’t be needed.

A tall man, perhaps in his fifties, was going around carrying a clipboard and marking down the attendees. It was obvious he was going to be one of the instructors; there was an agility to him, a bounce to his step that would’ve made you think that he was in his twenties if it hadn’t been for the gray streaks in his hair. In front of the studio, a woman about the same age was setting up some sort of microphone system, her airy skirt revealing shapely legs. Well, if nothing else, this would obviously be a good form of exercise.

“Welcome to the beginner’s classical dance class,” the man said as he stopped in front of you. “It is very nice to meet you. May I have your name, Miss?”

You introduced yourself politely, and the man spent a beat consulting his list.

“Ah, there you are. It looks like you’re signed up by yourself; we have one gentleman who is in the same boat, so I shall send him to you once I find him,” he said with a smile.

You nodded, thanking him as he was already moving to the next person. A group of latecomers arrived through the door, and you heard a few murmurs of conversation from that direction. You were curious about this lone gentleman who had had the same idea as you, but you were doing your best not to stare and seem like some weird creep. It was still almost ten minutes until the beginning of the class, so he might not even be here yet.

And regardless of how he was, you had at least gotten out here, and met one person — assuming he would turn up. That was a start, right?

Before you could spiral any further, a deep voice coming behind you interrupted your thoughts:

“Excuse me, miss?”

It wasn’t the instructor; that much you could tell even before turning around. You spun slowly and looked up.

And up.

Resisting the urge to swallow, you realized that the man was tall, much taller than you even though the most appropriate shoes you’d had for this excursion were ones with some heel on them. He was dressed in a blue button-down that was obviously tailored to his impressive frame, and when your gaze was finished with the long trek upwards — gone faster than you would’ve liked — you realized why exactly his form was so impressive.

In front of you stood Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America, the first super-soldier, the Head Strategist of the Avengers Initiative.

Your tongue felt like it was tied in a knot in your mouth, but somehow, you managed to meet his eyes and pull something like a smile onto your face. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him; it was just that out of all the possible things that you had imagined could happen at this class, you certainly hadn’t expected to run into one of the most famous and venerated people on Earth these days. Not to mention the fact that he was, in essence, more a demigod than a man.

“Can I help you, Captain Rogers?” you finally asked, just as a small, questioning wrinkle appeared in between his eyebrows.

It would’ve been pointless to pretend you didn’t know who he was. Everyone and their dog knew who he was, and your reaction had already made it obvious that you were not the exception to the rule. He gave you a tense smile and cleared his throat.

“Yes, I was just… Mr. Martinez told me that you also signed up without a partner and suggested we dance together today, if that is alright with you?”

Your brain was not processing the words. Yes, as far as you — and various nosy tabloids — were aware, Captain Rogers was not seeing anyone, and honestly, it was hard to imagine that he would go behind any partner’s back like this. But was he here because he had had an idea similar to yours, to meet someone? Or was he here just to learn something he hadn’t had the time or the means to pick up prior to the 21st century? It could very well be the latter and you shouldn’t make assumptions about his motives, no matter your own embarrassing crush on him. But you imagined that the salary he was paid by the Avengers Initiative, which was public record, would have easily covered any private lessons he could possibly want, if he wasn’t interested in meeting new faces.

But even if he was here to meet someone, was it to make friends or to see if it could be something more than that? To your knowledge, back in the day dancing had been a way of meeting romantic partners, but you did not want to assume.

You needed to speak. You needed to form words and make sure they came out of your mouth. But the surprise made your head spin, as if all your neurons had been scrambled like eggs. Before you regained control of your vocal cords, something closed in Steve’s eyes, like a curtain drawn in front of the beautiful light that had been there just a moment before.

“I’m sorry,” he said tightly. “I am obviously making you uncomfortable and that is not my intention. I am sure there is some alternative solution where you don’t have to…”

He trailed off, looking slightly away from you. His jaw was tight and his shoulders squared, but you didn’t sense any aggression from him. Just tension, perhaps even disappointment.

Somewhere in the back of your head existed the notion that it could not be easy for him to be getting out here due to his very public role. He was a national icon, and while his statements in the media made you fairly sure that he wouldn’t have had it any other way, there had to be times when that was simply inconvenient. You took a centering breath and just as he was about to turn away, clearly with a plan to go ask the instructor how this could be solved, reached out to touch his forearm.

It was just a light brush of your fingers, a tap to get his attention, but it seemed to run through his body like an electric shock. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned his gaze back to you just as you managed to gather your courage:

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m not uncomfortable at all, I was just surprised I ran into you, that’s all. Surprised we would be dancing together, if that’s something you’re still all right with,” you said. “But you are clearly here as whoever you are behind your public self, and it was unfair to stare at you like you’re a zoo animal.”

The shadow in his gaze disappeared, and the tension that had overtaken him seemed to bleed out. One corner of his mouth twitched up into what you had to admit was a very attractive, almost boyish smile that had your knees feeling dangerously wobbly.

“Well,” he said. “I’m not sure I would say that I found a pretty lady staring at me unfair.”

Was he…?

Was he actually flirting with you?

Suddenly coming here didn’t seem like such a terrible idea after all.

“Thank you,” you said softly, not knowing what else there was to say, but making sure you smiled in return.

He took a step closer to you and extended his hand.

“So, start again? Hi, I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to learning to dance with you tonight, Miss…?”

Yes. That sounded like a wonderful way to proceed, and there was something very alluring in the way he was able to just roll with the punches, immediately discarding the rough start you’d gotten. Even if you were wrong about the whole flirting thing, he hadn’t wanted to embarrass you or call you out on your awkwardness.

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you said, following up with introducing yourself and a smile. “I look forward to dancing with you too.”

You were dreaming.

You had to be dreaming.

Steve’s hand was resting on your upper back in a manner that was entirely proper and followed the instructor’s guidance down to the millimeter. Through the thin fabric of your blouse, you could feel its warmth sizzling on your skin. His other hand, extended to the side, was cradling your other fingers with an infinite gentleness to it, and yet, it was an entirely certain grip.

You had to summon every last drop of your focus to be able to recall the beginner steps you were supposed to be taking, even as Steve’s lead was making it easy for you to follow. The way he guided you made you feel your feet weren’t touching the ground at all, and it would probably have made a certain level of sense if that had been the case — your left forearm was resting on his ridiculously thick bicep, your hand on the round muscle of his shoulder, and it was easy to believe that he could’ve carried you for the entirety of the hour-long class without even breaking a sweat.

But all of that was nothing compared to the way his attention was entirely on you.

With the focus on learning, and the instructors wandering around the studio guiding and correcting everyone, there was not a lot of room for talking. But even as you weren’t saying much, Steve was so present, so alert, so focused on you, as if there was no one else in the room or the world or the universe. As if there was nothing more important than this moment, right here, right now.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Martinez called out from the front of the studio. “We are five minutes away from wrapping the class up, so if you have any questions, please ask them now! And if you want to learn more, we have a Level Two Beginner class this same time next Thursday, meant for people who have already taken this class.”

Something changed in the air with the announcement; Steve didn’t miss a beat with it but something appeared in his eyes. The hour had flown by; dancing had been fun and not just because it was with Steve. The idea of coming back to learn more was appealing, but there was one thing…

You were fairly certain Steve had flirted with you by calling you pretty in the beginning — an opening move in a pleasant dance of a different kind — but without pushing you beyond anything you wanted.

Perhaps it was time for you to make your move, and to be brave.

“If you wanted to… I would like to take that class with you?” you murmured. “So it’s a date? But only if you want to.”

The smile overtook not just Steve’s face but his entire demeanor, and the light in it actually had you lose track of your feet and almost stumble, but his hand on your back kept you steady. It was an anchor, and the gesture was something so nonchalant, something so familiar, that it made you ache to find out more. It was as if he already considered keeping you safe so obvious that he didn’t need to make a big deal out of it.

“Well,” he said softly. “I would definitely like to make that a date. But if you were willing… In addition to that, I would love to take you out for coffee right after this class?”

You beamed at him as the warm feeling brought on by his words and the implications in them — of what he was thinking now, and what might happen in the future — spread through your entire body.

“Yes, Steve. I would love that.”

NOTES: A rather belated birthday gift for the wonderful @anika-ann, who not only shares my love for Steve and writes him amazingly but has been such a supportive and encouraging reader of my work. Please do check her fics out if you haven't already.

If you can spare the time, please let me know your thoughts. Comments mean the world to me and provide the Muse with proverbial caffeine and chocolate. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

Reader Specifics: Adult, she/her. No description of appearance besides being dressed in a skirt & blouse and being shorter than Steve, who is 6'4.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AVIN) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption. The Avengers are living together in the Tower & Compound - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel-related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Missteps

You had given the dating apps a fair chance — after all, they seemed to be the popular way for the people your age to meet others. But after a string of dates ranging from exhausting (the guy who talked about nothing but cryptocurrency for three hours) to disastrous (the guy who had, just after sitting down, declared that he hoped your children would inherit your beautiful eyelashes), it was time for a change.

Time for something different, something that would perhaps feel more natural than messaging. Something a little more traditional. Something that felt like the beginning of a beautiful fairytale, not like more emotional labor thrust upon you by men that couldn’t even hold a conversation. And well, if they couldn’t do that, then there was no way they would get to hold your heart.

Which was why you had ended up signing up for a dance class.

It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Surely that was a way to meet others, and a chance to have a chat while also having an activity that would prevent awkward silences from stretching too much. After some internet searches, you’d been able to locate a studio that did weekly walk-in classes that one could sign up for either alone or with a partner. You’d found a complete beginner class that fit your schedule, and had enrolled yourself in the next available one with a fluttering stomach.

Like it was with many ideas, the theory checked out. The practical, however, was another story.

As you entered the dance studio in Brooklyn and squashed into a packed coat room, it became abundantly clear that you might be in the wrong place. All you could see were couples, and judging by the soft looks exchanged and the number of diamond rings, most were here to learn their wedding dance.

Despite all the grievances people were having with online dating, going to offline events with the explicit purpose of meeting potential partners might not yet have become mainstream. Or if it had, the trend didn’t seem to have reached this particular studio.

This was not my brightest idea.

You shoved the thought back. True, most people around you appeared to be couples, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone here who might have had the same idea as you. All you needed was that one person, the elusive Mr. Right. Backing out now wasn’t going to do you any favors, and the dance studio had explicitly mentioned that it was all right to sign up without a partner. If nothing else came out of this, you might have an interesting lesson and some basics of a new skill from dancing with one of the instructors. It wasn’t that bad.

Regardless, you couldn’t completely ignore the sinking feeling in your gut as you slowly took off your coat and brushed off your swing skirt, ensuring it fell to your knees and wasn’t bundled on your butt. You took a steadying breath, doing your best not to embarrass yourself by desperately trying to find someone who hadn’t signed up with a partner. It was out of your hands now anyway.

You let yourself drift into the dance studio with the group and found a place near a corner. Quiet, yet excited murmurs filled the air around you as you eyed the airy, well-lit space. Two of the walls were just mirrors, and you recognized the ballet barres mounted on the wall from an exercise class you’d taken. Today, they wouldn’t be needed.

A tall man, perhaps in his fifties, was going around carrying a clipboard and marking down the attendees. It was obvious he was going to be one of the instructors; there was an agility to him, a bounce to his step that would’ve made you think that he was in his twenties if it hadn’t been for the gray streaks in his hair. In front of the studio, a woman about the same age was setting up some sort of microphone system, her airy skirt revealing shapely legs. Well, if nothing else, this would obviously be a good form of exercise.

“Welcome to the beginner’s classical dance class,” the man said as he stopped in front of you. “It is very nice to meet you. May I have your name, Miss?”

You introduced yourself politely, and the man spent a beat consulting his list.

“Ah, there you are. It looks like you’re signed up by yourself; we have one gentleman who is in the same boat, so I shall send him to you once I find him,” he said with a smile.

You nodded, thanking him as he was already moving to the next person. A group of latecomers arrived through the door, and you heard a few murmurs of conversation from that direction. You were curious about this lone gentleman who had had the same idea as you, but you were doing your best not to stare and seem like some weird creep. It was still almost ten minutes until the beginning of the class, so he might not even be here yet.

And regardless of how he was, you had at least gotten out here, and met one person — assuming he would turn up. That was a start, right?

Before you could spiral any further, a deep voice coming behind you interrupted your thoughts:

“Excuse me, miss?”

It wasn’t the instructor; that much you could tell even before turning around. You spun slowly and looked up.

And up.

Resisting the urge to swallow, you realized that the man was tall, much taller than you even though the most appropriate shoes you’d had for this excursion were ones with some heel on them. He was dressed in a blue button-down that was obviously tailored to his impressive frame, and when your gaze was finished with the long trek upwards — gone faster than you would’ve liked — you realized why exactly his form was so impressive.

In front of you stood Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America, the first super-soldier, the Head Strategist of the Avengers Initiative.

Your tongue felt like it was tied in a knot in your mouth, but somehow, you managed to meet his eyes and pull something like a smile onto your face. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him; it was just that out of all the possible things that you had imagined could happen at this class, you certainly hadn’t expected to run into one of the most famous and venerated people on Earth these days. Not to mention the fact that he was, in essence, more a demigod than a man.

“Can I help you, Captain Rogers?” you finally asked, just as a small, questioning wrinkle appeared in between his eyebrows.

It would’ve been pointless to pretend you didn’t know who he was. Everyone and their dog knew who he was, and your reaction had already made it obvious that you were not the exception to the rule. He gave you a tense smile and cleared his throat.

“Yes, I was just… Mr. Martinez told me that you also signed up without a partner and suggested we dance together today, if that is alright with you?”

Your brain was not processing the words. Yes, as far as you — and various nosy tabloids — were aware, Captain Rogers was not seeing anyone, and honestly, it was hard to imagine that he would go behind any partner’s back like this. But was he here because he had had an idea similar to yours, to meet someone? Or was he here just to learn something he hadn’t had the time or the means to pick up prior to the 21st century? It could very well be the latter and you shouldn’t make assumptions about his motives, no matter your own embarrassing crush on him. But you imagined that the salary he was paid by the Avengers Initiative, which was public record, would have easily covered any private lessons he could possibly want, if he wasn’t interested in meeting new faces.

But even if he was here to meet someone, was it to make friends or to see if it could be something more than that? To your knowledge, back in the day dancing had been a way of meeting romantic partners, but you did not want to assume.

You needed to speak. You needed to form words and make sure they came out of your mouth. But the surprise made your head spin, as if all your neurons had been scrambled like eggs. Before you regained control of your vocal cords, something closed in Steve’s eyes, like a curtain drawn in front of the beautiful light that had been there just a moment before.

“I’m sorry,” he said tightly. “I am obviously making you uncomfortable and that is not my intention. I am sure there is some alternative solution where you don’t have to…”

He trailed off, looking slightly away from you. His jaw was tight and his shoulders squared, but you didn’t sense any aggression from him. Just tension, perhaps even disappointment.

Somewhere in the back of your head existed the notion that it could not be easy for him to be getting out here due to his very public role. He was a national icon, and while his statements in the media made you fairly sure that he wouldn’t have had it any other way, there had to be times when that was simply inconvenient. You took a centering breath and just as he was about to turn away, clearly with a plan to go ask the instructor how this could be solved, reached out to touch his forearm.

It was just a light brush of your fingers, a tap to get his attention, but it seemed to run through his body like an electric shock. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned his gaze back to you just as you managed to gather your courage:

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m not uncomfortable at all, I was just surprised I ran into you, that’s all. Surprised we would be dancing together, if that’s something you’re still all right with,” you said. “But you are clearly here as whoever you are behind your public self, and it was unfair to stare at you like you’re a zoo animal.”

The shadow in his gaze disappeared, and the tension that had overtaken him seemed to bleed out. One corner of his mouth twitched up into what you had to admit was a very attractive, almost boyish smile that had your knees feeling dangerously wobbly.

“Well,” he said. “I’m not sure I would say that I found a pretty lady staring at me unfair.”

Was he…?

Was he actually flirting with you?

Suddenly coming here didn’t seem like such a terrible idea after all.

“Thank you,” you said softly, not knowing what else there was to say, but making sure you smiled in return.

He took a step closer to you and extended his hand.

“So, start again? Hi, I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to learning to dance with you tonight, Miss…?”

Yes. That sounded like a wonderful way to proceed, and there was something very alluring in the way he was able to just roll with the punches, immediately discarding the rough start you’d gotten. Even if you were wrong about the whole flirting thing, he hadn’t wanted to embarrass you or call you out on your awkwardness.

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you said, following up with introducing yourself and a smile. “I look forward to dancing with you too.”

You were dreaming.

You had to be dreaming.

Steve’s hand was resting on your upper back in a manner that was entirely proper and followed the instructor’s guidance down to the millimeter. Through the thin fabric of your blouse, you could feel its warmth sizzling on your skin. His other hand, extended to the side, was cradling your other fingers with an infinite gentleness to it, and yet, it was an entirely certain grip.

You had to summon every last drop of your focus to be able to recall the beginner steps you were supposed to be taking, even as Steve’s lead was making it easy for you to follow. The way he guided you made you feel your feet weren’t touching the ground at all, and it would probably have made a certain level of sense if that had been the case — your left forearm was resting on his ridiculously thick bicep, your hand on the round muscle of his shoulder, and it was easy to believe that he could’ve carried you for the entirety of the hour-long class without even breaking a sweat.

But all of that was nothing compared to the way his attention was entirely on you.

With the focus on learning, and the instructors wandering around the studio guiding and correcting everyone, there was not a lot of room for talking. But even as you weren’t saying much, Steve was so present, so alert, so focused on you, as if there was no one else in the room or the world or the universe. As if there was nothing more important than this moment, right here, right now.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Martinez called out from the front of the studio. “We are five minutes away from wrapping the class up, so if you have any questions, please ask them now! And if you want to learn more, we have a Level Two Beginner class this same time next Thursday, meant for people who have already taken this class.”

Something changed in the air with the announcement; Steve didn’t miss a beat with it but something appeared in his eyes. The hour had flown by; dancing had been fun and not just because it was with Steve. The idea of coming back to learn more was appealing, but there was one thing…

You were fairly certain Steve had flirted with you by calling you pretty in the beginning — an opening move in a pleasant dance of a different kind — but without pushing you beyond anything you wanted.

Perhaps it was time for you to make your move, and to be brave.

“If you wanted to… I would like to take that class with you?” you murmured. “So it’s a date? But only if you want to.”

The smile overtook not just Steve’s face but his entire demeanor, and the light in it actually had you lose track of your feet and almost stumble, but his hand on your back kept you steady. It was an anchor, and the gesture was something so nonchalant, something so familiar, that it made you ache to find out more. It was as if he already considered keeping you safe so obvious that he didn’t need to make a big deal out of it.

“Well,” he said softly. “I would definitely like to make that a date. But if you were willing… In addition to that, I would love to take you out for coffee right after this class?”

You beamed at him as the warm feeling brought on by his words and the implications in them — of what he was thinking now, and what might happen in the future — spread through your entire body.

“Yes, Steve. I would love that.”

NOTES: A rather belated birthday gift for the wonderful @anika-ann, who not only shares my love for Steve and writes him amazingly but has been such a supportive and encouraging reader of my work. Please do check her fics out if you haven't already.

If you can spare the time, please let me know your thoughts. Comments mean the world to me and provide the Muse with proverbial caffeine and chocolate. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

Reader Specifics: Adult, she/her. No description of appearance besides being dressed in a skirt & blouse and being shorter than Steve, who is 6'4.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AVIN) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption. The Avengers are living together in the Tower & Compound - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel-related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

You had given the dating apps a fair chance — after all, they seemed to be the popular way for the people your age to meet others. But after a string of dates ranging from exhausting (the guy who talked about nothing but cryptocurrency for three hours) to disastrous (the guy who had, just after sitting down, declared that he hoped your children would inherit your beautiful eyelashes), it was time for a change.

Time for something different, something that would perhaps feel more natural than messaging. Something a little more traditional. Something that felt like the beginning of a beautiful fairytale, not like more emotional labor thrust upon you by men that couldn’t even hold a conversation. And well, if they couldn’t do that, then there was no way they would get to hold your heart.

Which was why you had ended up signing up for a dance class.

It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Surely that was a way to meet others, and a chance to have a chat while also having an activity that would prevent awkward silences from stretching too much. After some internet searches, you’d been able to locate a studio that did weekly walk-in classes that one could sign up for either alone or with a partner. You’d found a complete beginner class that fit your schedule, and had enrolled yourself in the next available one with a fluttering stomach.

Like it was with many ideas, the theory checked out. The practical, however, was another story.

As you entered the dance studio in Brooklyn and squashed into a packed coat room, it became abundantly clear that you might be in the wrong place. All you could see were couples, and judging by the soft looks exchanged and the number of diamond rings, most were here to learn their wedding dance.

Despite all the grievances people were having with online dating, going to offline events with the explicit purpose of meeting potential partners might not yet have become mainstream. Or if it had, the trend didn’t seem to have reached this particular studio.

This was not my brightest idea.

You shoved the thought back. True, most people around you appeared to be couples, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone here who might have had the same idea as you. All you needed was that one person, the elusive Mr. Right. Backing out now wasn’t going to do you any favors, and the dance studio had explicitly mentioned that it was all right to sign up without a partner. If nothing else came out of this, you might have an interesting lesson and some basics of a new skill from dancing with one of the instructors. It wasn’t that bad.

Regardless, you couldn’t completely ignore the sinking feeling in your gut as you slowly took off your coat and brushed off your swing skirt, ensuring it fell to your knees and wasn’t bundled on your butt. You took a steadying breath, doing your best not to embarrass yourself by desperately trying to find someone who hadn’t signed up with a partner. It was out of your hands now anyway.

You let yourself drift into the dance studio with the group and found a place near a corner. Quiet, yet excited murmurs filled the air around you as you eyed the airy, well-lit space. Two of the walls were just mirrors, and you recognized the ballet barres mounted on the wall from an exercise class you’d taken. Today, they wouldn’t be needed.

A tall man, perhaps in his fifties, was going around carrying a clipboard and marking down the attendees. It was obvious he was going to be one of the instructors; there was an agility to him, a bounce to his step that would’ve made you think that he was in his twenties if it hadn’t been for the gray streaks in his hair. In front of the studio, a woman about the same age was setting up some sort of microphone system, her airy skirt revealing shapely legs. Well, if nothing else, this would obviously be a good form of exercise.

“Welcome to the beginner’s classical dance class,” the man said as he stopped in front of you. “It is very nice to meet you. May I have your name, Miss?”

You introduced yourself politely, and the man spent a beat consulting his list.

“Ah, there you are. It looks like you’re signed up by yourself; we have one gentleman who is in the same boat, so I shall send him to you once I find him,” he said with a smile.

You nodded, thanking him as he was already moving to the next person. A group of latecomers arrived through the door, and you heard a few murmurs of conversation from that direction. You were curious about this lone gentleman who had had the same idea as you, but you were doing your best not to stare and seem like some weird creep. It was still almost ten minutes until the beginning of the class, so he might not even be here yet.

And regardless of how he was, you had at least gotten out here, and met one person — assuming he would turn up. That was a start, right?

Before you could spiral any further, a deep voice coming behind you interrupted your thoughts:

“Excuse me, miss?”

It wasn’t the instructor; that much you could tell even before turning around. You spun slowly and looked up.

And up.

Resisting the urge to swallow, you realized that the man was tall, much taller than you even though the most appropriate shoes you’d had for this excursion were ones with some heel on them. He was dressed in a blue button-down that was obviously tailored to his impressive frame, and when your gaze was finished with the long trek upwards — gone faster than you would’ve liked — you realized why exactly his form was so impressive.

In front of you stood Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America, the first super-soldier, the Head Strategist of the Avengers Initiative.

Your tongue felt like it was tied in a knot in your mouth, but somehow, you managed to meet his eyes and pull something like a smile onto your face. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him; it was just that out of all the possible things that you had imagined could happen at this class, you certainly hadn’t expected to run into one of the most famous and venerated people on Earth these days. Not to mention the fact that he was, in essence, more a demigod than a man.

“Can I help you, Captain Rogers?” you finally asked, just as a small, questioning wrinkle appeared in between his eyebrows.

It would’ve been pointless to pretend you didn’t know who he was. Everyone and their dog knew who he was, and your reaction had already made it obvious that you were not the exception to the rule. He gave you a tense smile and cleared his throat.

“Yes, I was just… Mr. Martinez told me that you also signed up without a partner and suggested we dance together today, if that is alright with you?”

Your brain was not processing the words. Yes, as far as you — and various nosy tabloids — were aware, Captain Rogers was not seeing anyone, and honestly, it was hard to imagine that he would go behind any partner’s back like this. But was he here because he had had an idea similar to yours, to meet someone? Or was he here just to learn something he hadn’t had the time or the means to pick up prior to the 21st century? It could very well be the latter and you shouldn’t make assumptions about his motives, no matter your own embarrassing crush on him. But you imagined that the salary he was paid by the Avengers Initiative, which was public record, would have easily covered any private lessons he could possibly want, if he wasn’t interested in meeting new faces.

But even if he was here to meet someone, was it to make friends or to see if it could be something more than that? To your knowledge, back in the day dancing had been a way of meeting romantic partners, but you did not want to assume.

You needed to speak. You needed to form words and make sure they came out of your mouth. But the surprise made your head spin, as if all your neurons had been scrambled like eggs. Before you regained control of your vocal cords, something closed in Steve’s eyes, like a curtain drawn in front of the beautiful light that had been there just a moment before.

“I’m sorry,” he said tightly. “I am obviously making you uncomfortable and that is not my intention. I am sure there is some alternative solution where you don’t have to…”

He trailed off, looking slightly away from you. His jaw was tight and his shoulders squared, but you didn’t sense any aggression from him. Just tension, perhaps even disappointment.

Somewhere in the back of your head existed the notion that it could not be easy for him to be getting out here due to his very public role. He was a national icon, and while his statements in the media made you fairly sure that he wouldn’t have had it any other way, there had to be times when that was simply inconvenient. You took a centering breath and just as he was about to turn away, clearly with a plan to go ask the instructor how this could be solved, reached out to touch his forearm.

It was just a light brush of your fingers, a tap to get his attention, but it seemed to run through his body like an electric shock. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned his gaze back to you just as you managed to gather your courage:

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m not uncomfortable at all, I was just surprised I ran into you, that’s all. Surprised we would be dancing together, if that’s something you’re still all right with,” you said. “But you are clearly here as whoever you are behind your public self, and it was unfair to stare at you like you’re a zoo animal.”

The shadow in his gaze disappeared, and the tension that had overtaken him seemed to bleed out. One corner of his mouth twitched up into what you had to admit was a very attractive, almost boyish smile that had your knees feeling dangerously wobbly.

“Well,” he said. “I’m not sure I would say that I found a pretty lady staring at me unfair.”

Was he…?

Was he actually flirting with you?

Suddenly coming here didn’t seem like such a terrible idea after all.

“Thank you,” you said softly, not knowing what else there was to say, but making sure you smiled in return.

He took a step closer to you and extended his hand.

“So, start again? Hi, I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to learning to dance with you tonight, Miss…?”

Yes. That sounded like a wonderful way to proceed, and there was something very alluring in the way he was able to just roll with the punches, immediately discarding the rough start you’d gotten. Even if you were wrong about the whole flirting thing, he hadn’t wanted to embarrass you or call you out on your awkwardness.

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you said, following up with introducing yourself and a smile. “I look forward to dancing with you too.”

You were dreaming.

You had to be dreaming.

Steve’s hand was resting on your upper back in a manner that was entirely proper and followed the instructor’s guidance down to the millimeter. Through the thin fabric of your blouse, you could feel its warmth sizzling on your skin. His other hand, extended to the side, was cradling your other fingers with an infinite gentleness to it, and yet, it was an entirely certain grip.

You had to summon every last drop of your focus to be able to recall the beginner steps you were supposed to be taking, even as Steve’s lead was making it easy for you to follow. The way he guided you made you feel your feet weren’t touching the ground at all, and it would probably have made a certain level of sense if that had been the case — your left forearm was resting on his ridiculously thick bicep, your hand on the round muscle of his shoulder, and it was easy to believe that he could’ve carried you for the entirety of the hour-long class without even breaking a sweat.

But all of that was nothing compared to the way his attention was entirely on you.

With the focus on learning, and the instructors wandering around the studio guiding and correcting everyone, there was not a lot of room for talking. But even as you weren’t saying much, Steve was so present, so alert, so focused on you, as if there was no one else in the room or the world or the universe. As if there was nothing more important than this moment, right here, right now.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Martinez called out from the front of the studio. “We are five minutes away from wrapping the class up, so if you have any questions, please ask them now! And if you want to learn more, we have a Level Two Beginner class this same time next Thursday, meant for people who have already taken this class.”

Something changed in the air with the announcement; Steve didn’t miss a beat with it but something appeared in his eyes. The hour had flown by; dancing had been fun and not just because it was with Steve. The idea of coming back to learn more was appealing, but there was one thing…

You were fairly certain Steve had flirted with you by calling you pretty in the beginning — an opening move in a pleasant dance of a different kind — but without pushing you beyond anything you wanted.

Perhaps it was time for you to make your move, and to be brave.

“If you wanted to… I would like to take that class with you?” you murmured. “So it’s a date? But only if you want to.”

The smile overtook not just Steve’s face but his entire demeanor, and the light in it actually had you lose track of your feet and almost stumble, but his hand on your back kept you steady. It was an anchor, and the gesture was something so nonchalant, something so familiar, that it made you ache to find out more. It was as if he already considered keeping you safe so obvious that he didn’t need to make a big deal out of it.

“Well,” he said softly. “I would definitely like to make that a date. But if you were willing… In addition to that, I would love to take you out for coffee right after this class?”

You beamed at him as the warm feeling brought on by his words and the implications in them — of what he was thinking now, and what might happen in the future — spread through your entire body.

“Yes, Steve. I would love that.”