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The gala was everything Hermione had come to expect—opulent, refined, and, in her case, a little overwhelming. She had long since learned how to smile through events like this, how to nod and make polite conversation, all while her mind floated somewhere far away. She’d been asked to speak about her work with veterans’ initiatives, a cause close to her heart, but tonight, the faces around her were more interested in networking than in the discussion of recovery.
It was why she had quickly retreated to a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the relentless bustle. A glass of wine in her hand, Hermione stared at the sparkling chandelier above, trying to steady her breath.
She was doing this. She had to.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice, smooth and overly familiar.
“Miss Granger, right?”
Hermione’s gaze snapped to the man standing before her. He was tall, dressed in a sharp suit, and exuded that kind of self-assured confidence that immediately put her on edge. His eyes swept over her appraisingly, lingering a beat too long.
"Yes," Hermione replied, her tone polite but distant, hoping that the brief response would signal she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. She was wrong.
“You know,” he continued, leaning in slightly, “I’ve heard so much about your work. It’s impressive… for a woman.”
Hermione’s brows furrowed, irritation bubbling just under the surface. She had no patience for this kind of condescension.
“Thank you,” she said curtly, shifting her weight, stepping back ever so slightly to create a bit more space between them.
“Tell me,” he pressed, stepping forward again as if he hadn’t noticed her discomfort, “What’s a woman like you doing at an event like this, standing all alone?”
Hermione clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain composed.
"I’m perfectly fine, thank you," she said firmly, more to the point than she intended.
But he wasn’t getting the hint.
“Come on, don’t be shy. I’m sure you could use some company,” he said with an almost smug smile.
She opened her mouth, ready to dismiss him for good when she felt the pressure of his presence closing in even further.
“Excuse me,” she said, the words clipped. “Please. I’m really not interested.”
But before she could turn away, he stepped closer again, his hand reaching out as though he might try to guide her back into the crowd.
And then—
A voice.
“Is this man bothering you, ma’am?”
It was sudden. Commanding. And it pulled her from the tense moment like a breath of fresh air.
“Unendingly, Sir,” she said, without looking at the newcomer, her voice dry but steady. “He can’t seem to understand the word no.’”
A sharp intake of breath made Hermione turn and look up, immediately meeting a pair of intense blue eyes. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a physique honed by years of war and soldiering, Steve Rogers, known to most as Captain America, stood before her like a solid rock against the chaos. His jawline was square, his features sharply defined, yet his expression was kind, almost paternal. His eyes—like glaciers, cool and steady—held her gaze without hesitation. His blond hair, slightly tousled, seemed deliberately unkempt, giving him a rugged charm. He was dressed in a dark suit that somehow seemed to blend the old-fashioned with the modern, like a man out of time.
Steve Rogers.
Captain America.
Of course, it would be him.
She stood frozen for a second, her mind processing everything in a rush, the weight of his presence almost immediately recognizable. But it wasn’t just who he was—it was what he had just said.
The words had an immediate and shocking clarity. They were on her skin, written there like a stubborn fact she couldn’t escape.
Is this man bothering you, Ma’am?
She took a half-step back, her heart skipping a beat as the reality of the situation started to dawn on her. But no. That couldn’t be possible. Not here. Not now.
Her eyes flicked to Steve’s face, still waiting for her response. He hadn’t moved, his gaze not judgmental but steady, calm in a way that almost made her want to take a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
The man beside her looked between the two of them, his expression darkening.
“Is there a problem here, Captain?” he sneered.
Steve didn’t even give the man the chance to finish. His posture shifted, and with an almost imperceptible movement, he stepped into the other man’s space, physically taking control of the situation with just his presence. The man stumbled backward a few steps, clearly rattled by Steve’s calm, assertive energy. “You can go now,” Steve said, his voice quiet but firm. There was no malice in it—just the certainty that the other man would be wise to back off.
Hermione couldn’t help but notice the way Steve’s posture didn’t change, like a soldier in battle, every muscle coiled with purpose. She felt her breath catch in her throat as the unwanted attention finally, mercifully, began to fade away.
The man scoffed and, with a glance over his shoulder, finally turned and walked off, muttering something under his breath.
Hermione watched him go, still in shock from everything that had just happened.
“Are you okay?” Steve’s voice was quieter now, less forceful. His concern was palpable, his blue eyes still locked on her.
Hermione shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. “I—yes, I’m fine. Thank you. I didn’t—”
She broke off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.
It was a feeling she’d had often in the past few years—when something monumental happened, when her world shifted, and she was left struggling to catch up with it.
Steve’s gaze softened slightly. He stepped back just enough to give her some space but not enough to lose the protective aura he’d cast around her.
“No problem,” he said, his voice warm but measured. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but you didn’t seem like you wanted that kind of attention.”
Hermione finally took a breath, her heart rate beginning to slow. “No, I didn’t,” she muttered under her breath, still shaken by the suddenness of the encounter.
For a moment, she felt embarrassed—like she had just had some kind of public breakdown.
Steve gave her a small, understanding smile. “I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.”
“Of course you are,” Hermione mumbled, not quite able to look him in the eye just yet. The realization was still sitting heavily on her chest, refusing to be ignored.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his tone.
She swallowed hard. “I—I think I know who you are.”
“Well, in that case, I guess I should apologize for not being able to keep a low profile,” Steve said, a playful note in his tone. He wasn’t being arrogant, but there was a quiet confidence in him that made the entire exchange feel different. “I tend to stand out in a crowd.”
He gave a quick glance around to make sure no one else was about to cause trouble. He was still in that protective mode, but now that the immediate threat was gone, there was something else in his posture—a subtle shift from leader to something else.
“Now, you have me at a disadvantage Miss soulmate.” She furrowed her brows. “ You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” he continued.
“Hermione Granger,” she stated, automatically holding her hand out. He gave her a kind smile and took her hand in his much larger one, giving it a gentle squeeze.
He took a step closer to her, leaning in slightly to match her quieter tone. His voice was low, but there was a firmness in it. “You okay now?” he asked again, this time with more weight behind it. “I didn’t want to jump in like that, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with that.”
Hermione’s head was still spinning, but she nodded slowly, unable to ignore the warmth in his voice, the sincerity. She had to remind herself not to get caught up in the moment, to pull herself back from the odd sensation of feeling both grounded and stirred at the same time.
“I’m fine,” she said, though it came out quieter than she intended.
Steve didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he offered her a charming smile. “Well, if you say so, Doll,” he said with a wink, his voice dropping a bit lower than before. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping I could steal you away for a dance sometime. Not that I’m in the business of cutting in on people’s fun, but I like to think I’m a man who knows a thing or two about how a lady should be looked after.”
Hermione blinked, a little startled by his directness, but something about his easy charm made her stomach flip in a way she hadn’t expected. She didn’t know if she should laugh or just ignore it, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. “I wasn’t planning on a dance, but I suppose you’re welcome to try.”
Steve chuckled, a low, genuine sound. “Fair enough. But I’ve got all night to change your mind.”
“You’re awfully confident, Captain,” she said, her lips curving into a small smile. “I’m sure you don’t just go around saving women from unwanted attention every day.”
“I’ve been around the block, Doll,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening. “I know a good thing when I see it.”
Hermione let out a soft exhale, trying to fight the flush creeping up her neck. She should’ve been more wary, but for some reason, she wasn’t. There was something disarming about Steve, something that felt like it had been forged in a time when men were gentlemen and women were to be treated with respect. It was refreshing in its own way.
“I didn’t expect this,” she said, shaking her head. “This whole soulmate thing.”
Steve paused, his expression softening. “I understand that,” he said quietly, voice steady. “You don't hear your words form a pretty dame every day.”
Hermione felt her cheeks heat even more, but she still didn’t know what to make of the words on her skin. “I’m not sure I’m ready to believe it.”
“Then let’s take it slow,” Steve offered gently, his eyes sincere. “No pressure. But I’d like to get to know you, Hermione. I really would.”
She was quiet for a long moment, the words swirling in her head. There was something about him—something that made her feel safe, understood, even in the midst of all the chaos in her life. “I think I’d like that too,” she murmured.
Steve’s smile was small but genuine, his hand instinctively reaching out to her in a gentlemanly gesture. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for that.”
Unendingly, Sir, he can’t seem to understand the word no
The words were etched into his very soul and skin, and now the owner of those words was standing in front of him.
Damn it she was Lovely.
As the music swelled around them, Steve held out his hand toward Hermione. His fingers curled loosely, but the gesture was deliberate, like he was offering her something more than just a dance. His heart beat a little faster as he tried to keep the casual ease in his movements, but it wasn’t just about the dance anymore. That gesture—reaching for her—it felt like a quiet promise, a step into something neither of them could quite name yet. Something important, Something he didn’t want to ignore.
“You know,” he said, attempting to sound nonchalant, but his voice was a touch huskier than he intended, “I never thought I’d be asking anyone to dance at an event like this.”
Hermione’s lips curved into a soft smile. She paused, and then, with a small exhale, she stepped forward. Her small hand slipped into his, and he immediately felt the warmth of her skin against his own. Her fingers, delicate and soft, fit perfectly in his grasp, but there was something more—a strength that wasn’t immediately obvious, yet grounded him more than he expected. A quiet steadiness that held him in place.
“You’re not exactly the ‘regular gala attendee,’ are you?” she teased, her voice laced with playful warmth.
Steve chuckled, guiding her gently onto the dance floor. His heart seemed to stutter, and he focused on the rhythm of his steps to keep his thoughts in line. “Nope. I’m more of a ‘punching Nazis and saving the world’ kind of guy, but I’m willing to give this whole ‘dancing’ thing a try.”
“I’m sure you’re more than capable,” she replied, her voice playful, but with a note of something deeper—maybe confidence, maybe trust, he wasn’t sure.
Her laugh was a soft, real thing that wrapped around him like a comforting touch. It was light, effortless, but to him, it felt like everything. The music surrounded them, but it was her presence that filled the space. He smiled, despite himself, as they found their rhythm together. She was cautious at first, tentative with each step, but it didn’t take long for her to ease into the flow, her movements becoming more fluid. Elegant, even.
Steve held her a little more confidently now, his hand settling at the curve of her back, just above her waist. The soft, luxurious fabric of her dress pressed against his palm, and he could feel the faint tremor in her muscles beneath the silk—her body tight with uncertainty, yet softening, little by little, as they danced. Trusting him. And that mattered more than he could explain.
As they moved together, the last few minutes—the tension, the guy who wouldn’t leave her alone—seemed to melt away. It was just the two of them now, their bodies in sync, his focus narrowing to the feel of her breath against his chest, the subtle rise and fall of her ribcage. The faintest scent of something floral lingered in her hair, intoxicating in its simplicity. Her presence filled every inch of his senses.
“Looks like you’re getting the hang of this,” he murmured, grinning as he spun her gently. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her back, the contact so brief, so innocent—yet it wasn’t entirely. He could feel the way her breath hitched, the way her body tensed, and then, just slightly, relaxed. She wasn’t pulling away. Not at all.
“I’m keeping up,” she replied, voice a little unsteady, as though her composure was cracking just enough to let something warmer, something more real, slip through.
He could see it then—the flush creeping across her cheeks, the way her eyes darted away for a fraction of a second, like she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. It was disarming, captivating. Not because she was embarrassed, but because it was raw. Honest. And that was what struck him the hardest. She wasn’t playing games—she wasn’t hiding behind some polished mask the way people did at these events. And it made her even more beautiful in his eyes.
“You’re doing great, Doll,” he said, his smile widening, teasing but gentle. “I guess I’m not as bad a partner as you expected.”
She let out a soft laugh, breathless, and it was so pure, so beautiful, that Steve’s heart did an odd little flip. “I guess I wasn’t expecting Captain America to dance so well.”
“I’m full of surprises, Miss Granger.” The words slipped out with ease, but as they did, he felt it—a spark, an undeniable pull. The way her eyes flicked up to meet his, the subtle shift in her posture, like something had changed between them. The playful teasing in her expression was gone now, replaced by something warmer, more intimate. Something that made Steve’s chest tighten, like a rope being gently pulled.
As they swayed together, his hand shifted just slightly. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of her back again, just above the dress’s line. It was an accidental touch, but the way it lingered—it wasn’t. He didn’t mean for it to stay, but it did. Just a beat longer than it should’ve, and she didn’t pull away.
Her breath hitched. He could feel it. Could feel her . And damn it, she was getting under his skin.
Trying to steady his thoughts, Steve cleared his throat and forced his voice to sound light. “So, Miss Granger,” he asked, his tone shifting, quieter now, more curious than flirtatious, “what is it that you do when you're not dazzling everyone with your dance moves?”
Hermione chuckled, but this time it was quieter. Thoughtful. “I work with veterans’ initiatives. Helping veterans transition back into civilian life, managing mental health support, that kind of thing.”
Steve’s steps faltered, just for a second. He caught himself before she could notice, but the words hit him like a punch to the gut. That kind of work—he knew it all too well. It felt too close to home. And the way she said it, with that quiet conviction in her voice—this wasn’t just some nine-to-five job to her. She understood .
“That's important work,” he said, his voice slipping into something more sincere than he intended. But there was something else beneath the words—something that wasn’t easy to ignore.
“Well, yeah,” she said, her voice softening. “I’ve seen my fair share of combat. I know how difficult it can be.”
She looked away as she spoke, and something shifted between them—an unspoken distance, as though the weight of her words settled into the space.
Combat
Steve’s grip tightened instinctively, his protective instincts flaring up before he could stop them.
“Combat?” His voice dropped low, sharp, the words slipping out without thought. “You’ve been in battle?”
He pulled her a little closer, his hand pressing more firmly against her back. He needed her nearer. He couldn’t help it. The thought of her in danger, of her fighting a war—fighting for her life—his chest tightened painfully at the idea. He didn’t want to imagine it.
Hermione nodded. “I’ve been through a war, yes,” she said carefully, her voice measured but heavy with something that lingered beneath it all. “It changes you.”
His jaw clenched. A thousand memories flashed before his eyes—explosions, fire, the taste of blood. He could feel the battlefield in his bones. And the thought of her there, in the midst of it, tore at him.
“I don’t like hearing that,” he said, he felt her tense in his arms. His voice was quieter now, more intense than before. “I don’t like the idea of you being in danger, Hermione.”
Her eyes met his, and for a moment. She’d heard those words before, he could tell. But somehow, it still didn’t feel like enough.
“You don’t deserve that,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “No one does.” At his words, he felt her relax again.
Hermione’s gaze softened, and there was something about her expression—like she understood the weight of what he was saying. But she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she simply nodded, the silence between them thickening, filled with things neither of them were quite ready to speak aloud.
“It was a war, Steve,” she said gently, breaking the silence. “And sometimes, we don’t have a choice.”
He stared at her, his heart thudding hard in his chest. She wasn’t playing the victim. She wasn’t wallowing in the past. She was just telling him the truth. And damn, it hit harder than anything he’d ever heard.
“It’s not something I can change,” she added softly. “I’ve done the work I can, and now I focus on helping others.”
Steve nodded slowly, his thoughts whirling. “I know,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “But I’d still give anything to have kept you out of it.”
She blinked, surprised, but then offered a small, tired smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m okay, really,” she said, as though trying to convince them both. “It’s just… part of who I am now.”
He nodded, unable to tear his gaze from her. The music continued, but for a long moment, they simply swayed together, breathing, processing. The connection between them wasn’t a loud thing—it was quiet, subtle. But it was there. Tangible. Pulling them closer, inch by inch.
Finally, Steve spoke again, his voice low, trying to bring some levity back to the moment. “You know,” he said, his grin returning just a little, “I’ve been to a few galas, but I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed one quite as much as this one.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, her playful smile returning. “Oh? And what makes this one different?”
“Well,” he leaned in just a touch, close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath against his skin, “for one, I met my soulmate.”
Steve grinned wider, letting the charm slip in just a little more. “And two,” he said, dropping his voice lower, enough to make her lean in without even realizing it, “I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing a dance with someone as…” His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes. “...captivating as you.”
She froze. Just for a second. Her breath caught, her pulse fluttering. And he felt it, that electric pull between them.
“I—I’m not usually so good with dancing,” she stammered, her voice flushed and flustered. “But, uh, you make it easy to follow.”
Steve shifted his hand, his fingers grazing the curve of her waist. His voice dropped into a whisper, low and intentional. “I’m good at a lot of things, Hermione. I think I could teach you a thing or two.”
She inhaled sharply. He saw it—the effect his words had on her. The subtle way she trembled but didn’t pull away.
“You’re a lot more forward than I expected, Captain,” she said, trying to sound teasing, but her voice had that breathy edge now, too.
Steve chuckled low, spinning her gently, then bringing her back to him with ease. “Gotta be bold if I’m gonna get the right kind of attention, don’t I?”
Hermione bit her lip—barely, but he noticed—and his heart skipped a beat in response.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice soft but laden with meaning. “I think you already have my attention.”
There it was.
He could have kissed her right then, right there, but instead, he slowed their steps, drawing her in a little closer and letting the words fall softly between them.
“Well, doll, I can promise you one thing,” he said, voice steady, “I’ll always be here, Hermione. And I’ll never stop trying to keep you safe.”
She didn’t reply immediately, but the way her hand tightened in his, the unwavering gaze she held—those simple things said everything. She believed him.