angel cake ♡ tom holland/sebastian stan/chris evans oneshots

After The Storm // Steve Rogers

~read the storm chapter for some context before you begin x~

   You were shocked awake from your accidental, disastrous nap with emphasis on the word 'shocked' - you tumbled right off the wide sofa in the living room on which you'd fallen asleep in the late afternoon. Now clear moonlight streamed through the open window and straight onto your disheveled body. You fought back a scream to holler for Steve and see if he was home. In reply, your phone rang, and you bolted to pick it up.

   "Steve? Steve, where are you, what- " You burbled frantically, gripping the phone almost tight enough to crush it in your fingers.

   "I'm at the compound, I thought I told you?"

   "I- I forgot." You said, voice small and breaking. You pressed the back of your hand to your nose so you wouldn't cry - crying over the phone was bad because the person on the other end couldn't do anything to help you, so you vowed you'd never get stuck in a situation where you did. This came pretty close though; almost an hour away from the one person who could fix the thing that haunted you.

   "What's happening? Are you okay?"

   "No." And you promptly dissolved into wails and weeps, dropping the phone and hiding your face in your hands. You could feel a gnawing ache open you up completely, pouring out that raw pain onto your hands in tears and hysterical keening. There were times for beautiful, delicately affected crying and there were times for ugly heaving gulps of not enough air. That situation fit into the latter category.

   "Y/n, just calm down. I'll get Bucky to come downstairs and keep you company until I get to you," you could hear him move fast on speaker, only just loud enough for you to hear above your own noise, "So I'm gonna have to hang up to ask him-"

   "No, no, please, just stay on call with me, I don't need to talk to anyone else or be with anyone else, I just need you." You wept and you knew how weak he was for you, even when you were being like this.

   "Okay, I'm staying on, don't worry. I have to transfer the call to my earpiece so I can drive, hold on." The line clicked and you gasped, the noise nothing short of horrendous, then it clicked again in time for you to hear the end of a sentence:

   "-So I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

   And the fifteen minutes went fast, with Steve narrating every turn he made on his motorbike, of course running red lights and doing things that were definitely illegal, like going through alleys and across pavements. When there was a break because was just going across a long road, he told you about a stupid something Sam had done that day to make you laugh. You managed a quick giggle and the smile in his voice was obvious when he kept talking.

   The second he was inside, he dragged you upward and encased you in a warm embrace, squeezing carefully. He was soaking wet and wearing his scratchy old-man jumper, but all the same you couldn't have wished for more. He squeezed once more for good measure, then pulled you outside into the rain. You stumbled on the porch but followed him willingly, getting onto the back of his bike when he threw you a helmet. Rainwater on the seat ebbed through your flannel shorts and you shivered before putting your arms around Steve's waist.

   "Where are we going?" You asked, raising your voice only a little to be heard over the engine.

   "Downtown. We need to do something."

   And your stomach threatened to turn itself inside out althogether when you stopped where you did. It was where the dream happened. You were stood just mere metres from where you stood in the dream, where countless millions had trodden unknowingly, clueless to the torment that patch of pavement caused you. You looked at Steve and he glanced back at you, then pointed at the sky.

   "Look."

   You bowed your head, tears mingling with rain on your skin. "I don't want to. It might be there, Steve."

   "Y/n," he said firmly, grabbing you by the shoulders and turning you to look at him, "The only way this'll ever get better is if you try your best to get over it, okay?"

   "But I'm scared." You said pathetically.

   "I know. I'm here though, and if that son-of-a-bitch-meteor tries anything," you giggled a little, "Then we're out of here, okay?"

   "Okay."

  "Look up."

   You slowly turned your head to the spot the flaming ball of space rock usually shot from, and was met only with the innocent moon, surrounded by a splattering of stars. Steve kissed your dripping forehead.

   "That's my girl."