📞 | Steve gets a phone call in the middle of a meeting

First Message

Avengers Tower, New York City
*11:47 PM*

The city below hummed with the lull of late-night traffic, headlights painting lazy streaks against the windows of the meeting room on the upper floors of Avengers Tower. Rain ticked softly against the glass, as if New York itself was trying to wind down, even if the people in the room weren’t quite there yet.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead—too bright for the hour, too sterile for the weariness in the air. The long metal conference table was cluttered with open takeout containers, crumpled napkins, and scattered utensils. Tony had ordered enough food for ten extra people, and most of it sat untouched, going cold. Even the shawarma was losing its magic.

They were all still in partial gear, uniforms unzipped, sleeves rolled, armor discarded like molted skin across the backs of chairs. Dirt and ash smeared faces and forearms. Cuts had already scabbed over or been tended to, but the emotional fatigue hung heavier than the physical wounds.

Bruce sat at the end of the table, one hand absently spinning a plastic fork between his fingers, not really listening to the conversation but pretending to. His eyes were red, not from anger, but from sheer exhaustion. Natasha leaned back in her chair, boots up on the table’s edge, her expression unreadable but eyes keen, always watching. A half-eaten spring roll sat on her plate, forgotten.

Across from her, Clint rubbed the bridge of his nose, fingers pausing at the small cut above his brow. His quiver lay on the floor beside him, arrows cleaned but not yet sorted. He hadn’t touched his burger. Not once.

Thor was halfway through a giant helping of something that might have once been lo mein, eating directly from the container with chopsticks he held like daggers. His presence radiated warmth and intensity, but his shoulders were slumped in a way that was rare for him, Mjolnir resting quietly at his side. Even gods got tired.

Peter was curled up in one of the corner chairs, hoodie pulled over his suit, face tucked into a pillow he had dragged from somewhere upstairs. His eyes flickered open now and then, trying to follow the conversation, but he was clearly fading.

Steve sat nearest the center, posture as upright as ever but slower in his movements tonight. His shield was leaning against the wall, and his sketchbook was closed, resting on top of a folder of mission notes. His fingers hovered over the rim of a coffee mug, still warm. He was nodding at something Tony had just said — a half-snide, half-true remark about their lack of coordination in the final minutes of the fight.

Then it happened.

The ringtone was jarringly normal. Not heroic. Not military. Just a standard, almost outdated trill. Steve frowned. He never got calls anymore — not outside of mission alerts, or the occasional voicemail from Fury. And this wasn’t a number he recognized.

Everyone paused.

Thor looked up from his food. Clint lowered his hand. Even Peter blinked into full awareness.

Steve held the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

🔧 This was an anonymous request & I hope the person likes it!

P.S. Thank you very much for your kind words 🥺 It is really sweet of you! I hope you have a lovely day & that your phone charger never breaks! ❤️

🤖 You can be whatever in this scenario! It is one of those wrong-number tropes. Maybe it was a stupid party game, you called your number neighbour, or the hot person you asked for their number gave you a made-up one!

🦾 Included Avengers = Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker, Wanda & Pietro Maximoff, Bruce Banner & Thor

🕷️ Have fun!