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mysterioh · 4 years

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The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 7

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge of art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

How to Keep Meeting Your Beloved Stalker

"I'm coming," Nat hollered from the kitchen, turning down the heat of her stove. She walked towards the door and opened it to find Steve standing, a sopping wet mess.

His clothes were drenched from the rain. His hair a disheveled mess and face flushed as if he'd been crying. He had a bouquet of soggy red roses hanging in his hand with water dripping off the petals, making a puddle on her carpet.

"Stevie, what the hell?" Nat asked. "Are you okay?"

Without a word, Steve slammed into Nat almost knocking the wind out of her. His wet coat arms wrapped tightly around her and he sniffles in her shoulder.

"She left, Nat," his voice dripping with pain. "Peggy left me in the rain," he choked out.

"Oh, Stevie," was all she could say as she rubbed his back, not even caring about getting wet.

"She told me that she'd never leave but she did," he said. "I loved her, Nat. I really loved her."

His words stung her heart and even the hardened black widow couldn't help but shed a tear. She had never seen him so broken.

He pulls away and digs his hand into his pocket. He takes out a velvet box and opens it to reveal a shining diamond ring.

Her lips parted in shock. "Steve…"

"I was gonna ask her to marry me," he sniffled. "But she told me that she'd never marry a devil like me."

Nat's lips twisted into a scowl. Her hands cup his cold face. A sort of warm respite for him.

"You're not a devil, you hear me?" Nat stated. "And she's a damn fool for leaving you."

She pulls him into another hug and it's quiet besides the slow humming of a steaming pot. With a slowly boiling anger within her, all she could think of was how much she'd love to beat the shit out of that bitch.

His eyes held a gaze more fearsome than a tiger. A thin paper cigarette hung from his bottom lip, a small trail of smoke escaping from the corner of his mouth and dancing upwards towards the ceiling. The air around him was majestic like a king on a throne. But he was far from his kingdom.

"So," Steve started, getting comfortable in a leather tufted seat. "A little bird told me you guys have been sneaking behind my back," Steve stated, looking up at the two brothers in front of him.

The tan-skinned brunette smiles at him puzzled, but the way he shifted in his office chair uncomfortably was enough to answer Steve's conjecture.

"Don't know what you're talkin' about," Lucky shakes his head.

Lucky Gambino. Age 32. Italian. Head of the Gambino Crime Family presiding over Staten Island.

"C'mon Rogers," his younger brother Sunny drawled. "You think we'd be sneaking behind your back?"

"I've got eyes everywhere, Sunny," Steve stated calmly, setting a sinister air to the room. "Hard for anything to pass by me."

Sunny chuckles with his hands in his pockets and leaning against his brother's desk. The room was dimly lit despite it being well into the afternoon. Sunbeams filtered through the half-lidded blinds, acting as a sort of spotlight for the fumes that escaped their cigarettes.

"Stevie, y' know us well," Lucky spoke with his hands. It's just an Italian thing. "We went to Saint Anselm's together. Played ball in that rundown field between Gino's Pizza. You remember those days?"

Steve nods with a small smile. "Yeah, I do."

"Our pop's worked with yours' for years. We've got a bond. You're like family, man," Sunny said.

Steve smirked. Good thing he wasn't so sentimental when it came to the business.

"Then what's this news about you and Hydra working together?"

"Hydra?" Lucky guffawed. "You think we'd be working with those no-names?"Sunny laughed along.

"We aren't the Brooklyn Mob, but we're sure as hell not some third-rate gang like Hydra. We're the Gambinos, we'd never stoop that low."

Steve chuckled along. "Right," Steve said while getting up. "I guess there's nothing I need to worry about here."

"Not a damn thing," Sunny assured. "We're on your side, big boss."

Steve chortles as he turns to leave. He gives them a nod as he exits the room.

"Have a good day, Mr. Rogers," the receptionist said with a smile as he walked by.

"You too, Miss Hill," he grinned with the corners of his eyes and a wave of his hand. He pressed the button of the elevator and entered it, listening to something rustling behind him.

He turns to see Maria getting up from her desk, her heels clicking as she walked towards the office. A gun complete with silencer resting snug between her fingers.

"Maria," he called and she turned to look at him.

"Don't make a mess," he gave her a half-smile.

She snorts with a sly smirk as the doors of the elevator begin to close.

"You know I never do."

Nat plopped herself on top of Bucky's desk.

Bucky smiles at her, slightly peeved by the way she carelessly sits on the manifest for the next delivery.

"May I help you?"

"In fact, you can," she replied devilishly.

Bucky sits back in his chair as she hooks her leg over the other giving him a nice view of the outline of her salacious legs in a tight-fitting pencil skirt.

If he was any other man he would've been drooling a river by now, but after years of working together, Nat was just one of the guys. Nothing she did ever fazed him. Not like she was trying to or anything.

"How can I help you, Miss Romanoff?"

She bites her lip and he can tell something was bothering. "I'm worried."

"About?"

"About Steve," she said.

"I second that," Sam piped up from the other side of the room. "He's been kinda out of it, lately."

"It's because of the girl," Nat informed.

Bucky groaned while sinking in his chair. "I know."

"So what're we gonna do about it?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Bucky shrugged. "Just let him be. He'll get over it."

"It's been a week," Nat pointed out.

"And your point is?"

"Steve's made thirteen horrible decisions in the past week and he went to see the Gambinos today and I know for a fucking fact that it didn't end well." She sighed, crossing her arms. "I'm just worried about him," she confessed. "I mean after Peggy he's never really been the same and this girl just made it worse."

The two fell silent at the mention of Peggy. She was just one of those people that they didn't talk about, especially when Steve was around.

"I know that you are," Bucky said. "We all are, but you know Steve. He doesn't want help until he asks for it."

"We can't just sit here and ignore it!" Nat bent forwards and into him. He shrinks underneath her. "If he keeps this up, he's gonna die!"

"Don't you think that's a bit dramatic," Sam stated.

"Okay maybe not die but the direction he's going in it's only going to get worse," Nat said. "He still remembers her," Bucky's eyes shot up to look at her. "He still has that ring," she told them in a hushed voice.

She looks down to her hands in her lap. Her emotions were not easily hidden. She could've been the toughest in the mob but Bucky knew she was a softie at heart. Her worry was evident in the crease of her lovely brows and the down-curve of her full lips.

"Hey," Bucky called softly, placing his hand on top of hers. She looks up at him through red locks to find him smiling sweetly.

"It's gonna be fine, okay?"

"How do you know?" Nat question with a pout.

"Cause this is Stevie we're talking about," Bucky said. "No matter how far he falls, he always gets back on top."

One look into his steel-blue eyes, gleaming with a hidden affection, was all Nat needed to know that maybe everything really was going to be okay.

He glided along the white floors of the museum. Walking past bundles of children led by their teachers and casual visitors like a specter.

Steve had been to the Metropolitan more times than he could count on both hands. Art was his faithful lover and the galleries filled with masterpieces were his solace. But today, he didn't pay attention to the swirling brushstrokes of Van Gogh or the painstakingly pointillistic style of Seurat.

Today was a day for his thoughts. A day to reflect on his past. How was it that just a thought could bring back long-buried emotions and stir what was settled? Maybe that was why his mother said to leave things be, to not go walking into the past so blindly.

But what else is there to do when the way forward is the way back?

He finds himself in front of the old painting where he first met her. It could have been over three hundred years but Marie's lively youthfulness was eternal. He observes her, the way she teased him with her coy smile, hiding her letter from his eyes while sitting at her desk.

For some reason, he feels like she's taunting him.

You fool, you overdid it. You fall too fast.

"Yeah, I know," he huffed.

He hears your dull voice in his ears.

It's just an average painting.

He chuckled. He didn't understand how you took the everlasting masterpieces that were lauded through time so lightly. How you didn't see them the way he did.

Maybe, you were more different from him than he had initially thought. Maybe it was never meant to be.

He clicks his tongue at himself. Meant to be? He hardly even knew you.

"Steve, you fucking meatball," he groaned at himself, rubbing his face and gaining strange looks from others. "I hate my life," he moaned.

He peeks through his fingers to find Marie still smiling at him as if she had nothing else to do.

"Don't look at me like that," he pointed at her. "Yeah, I screwed up. I know I'm stupid. Don't rub it in my face."

"Are you okay?" He turned to find an old lady giving him a judging smile.

"Yeah," he chuckles sheepishly. "I-uh. I have to go. Sorry about that," he dashed.

He groans with a sigh. What was it with women and torturing him? Inanimate or animate. They just loved to hate him.

His shoulders drooped as he walked. He kept his eyes strictly on the ground to mask his embarrassment. So mortified by his own stupidity, he didn't dare to look anywhere but at the ground. A rather foolish thing to do when in public.

Oddly enough, you walked down the same hall, tasked with yet another horrible project. With your nose stuck in a map, you walked without caution and right onto the wet floor. Your foot slipped and the next thing you knew, your arms were in the air and a small yelp escaped you.

Steve caught you right before you fell. His big hands covered the small of your back with your arms wrapped around his neck.

Heat rushes to your cheeks and so does his as he keeps you suspended in his arms. For a moment in time, the world stills and all that's left is you and him.

His heartbeat was off its pacemaker, his breathing was heavy and deep as he looked into your eyes. They twinkled like the stars. His eyes traveled down towards plump red lips, parted slightly, inches away from his.

dammit dammit dammit

Just like him, you're caught in a daze. Lost in the ocean blue of his eyes. You never knew a pair of eyes could be this soft. And just like that day in the cafe you're trapped under him again. There was just something about his gaze that you'd never find in another person. Only in him. Even if you wanted to let go, you just couldn't find it in yourself to part from him.

Not too far off, Madame Boucher gazes at the two with her mischievous smile, still hiding the secret message in the letter from her lover.

In all the world, there isn't another like you, or me for that matter. We are two souls who feel like once upon a reality we were soulmates, eternal flames.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #mob!steve rogers x you #mob!steve rogers x reader #mobster!steve rogers #mob!steve #mob au #mobster steve rogers x reader #mafia steve rogers x reader #mafia steve rogers x y/n

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irisdouglasiana · 5 years

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I’m going back through some of the drafts I never posted and I had the sudden urge to share some excerpts because I’m probably never going to finish any of these but I also can’t NOT share them. also, these are the actual names of the documents for the drafts. so, enjoy:

1. ginger rogers

Peggy had been looking forward to a cup of tea and a hot bath after her evening shift, but some things were not meant to be: the phone started ringing in the den the moment she stepped through the door. She sighed, kicked off her shoes, and reluctantly answered.

Jarvis was on the other end. “Miss Carter. I apologize for bothering you; I realize it is very late, and of course I normally wouldn’t dream of calling you at this hour, but—"

She checked her watch. It was just after nine o’clock. “I thought it was past your bedtime, Mr. Jarvis,” she said dryly. “Is there a problem?”

“Ah, well. Yes. A rather delicate situation has arisen.”

“What did Howard do this time?”

She could picture Jarvis rubbing his ear nervously. “It is possible that Mr. Stark is being held hostage.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Jarvis gave a delicate cough. “As you know, Mr. Stark had a brief relationship with Ginger Rogers eight months ago. It ended poorly, I’m afraid.”

“I recall you said you removed her from the property.”

“It was most unpleasant. At any rate, Mr. Stark learned that Miss Rogers was taking her holiday in New York, and he wished to reconcile. I gently suggested it was not a good idea, but he was adamant. I dropped him off at her Roslyn Harbor estate two days ago and I have not heard from him since.”

Somehow, the idea of bursting in on the Ginger Rogers-Howard Stark love dungeon had limited appeal. “And you’re quite sure that he’s not still there out of his own free will?”

“I called the house earlier this evening to inquire, but the fellow that answered the phone hung up on me. Mr. Stark also missed a contract signing with the Department of Defense, and his appointment as judge for the swimsuit portion of the Miss Staten Island pageant.”

“Oh. That does seem unusual.”

“I thought so as well.”

Peggy sighed. “So what did you have in mind, Mr. Jarvis? You’re planning to break into Ginger Rogers’ mansion in the middle of the night and drag Howard out, and you want my assistance?”

There was a lengthy silence on the other end. “I admit it is not ideal.”

She snorted. “I’ll be right over.”

2. holiday

Jack fastens the last of the buttons of the Hawaiian shirt and regards himself in the mirror. I look like a moron. God, he can never wear this anywhere; he has a reputation to uphold. There could be no better way to broadcast dweeb status, as Sousa so capably demonstrated, but even he could admit that Sousa could pull it off. Almost.

3. miss fry

Las Vegas was objectionable in every possible way to Miss Fry, and she made that crystal clear to the clerk (and the manager, and the janitorial staff) at the hotel Miss Dottie Underwood was staying at under an assumed name. She was shocked, simply shocked, at the incessant gambling, the liquor, the loose men and women, the flagrant degradation of American youth. And then there was Miss Underwood herself, whom Miss Fry had treated with nothing but kindness—wasn’t it terrible that this young woman had flouted her financial obligations and run off without paying her rent? Oh, she suspected her from the very beginning; dancers could never be trusted—nor typists, nor department salesgirls, nor singers, and girls from the phone company least of all—but Miss Fry was a very generous and open person and she wanted to assume the best, so she took the young lady in, and look where it had gotten her!

The clerk, a pimply teenager, meekly asked if Miss Fry would like a cup of coffee while she waited for Miss Underwood to return. She snapped that she would not, and sat down in the lobby with her needlepoint to wait.

4. london s3

It was smooth, metallic, and about the size and shape of a pea. Whatever it was, Samberly kept making excited but vague noises over it and it was taking every ounce of self-control Daniel possessed to not grab him by the collar and shake him until he got a straight answer. “Fascinating…absolutely fascinating,” the scientist muttered for the twentieth time as he peered under the microscope. “But you would think that the internal heat and the fluids would cause it to short-circuit, especially the fluids—”

“That’s great, but can we get to the point? What does the thing do?” Daniel interrupted, massaging his temples. The trouble had all started with a Soviet spy that had been found dead from suspected foul play (as strangulation marks would tend to indicate) down in Palm Springs. While performing the autopsy, the unlucky doctor had cut into the chest cavity and the body promptly exploded. The doctor was unharmed, but shaken up enough that Daniel gave him the rest of the day off. He did at least manage to recover the tiny metal sphere from what remained of the body—though what it was exactly was anybody’s guess.

And it was Samberly’s guess at the moment. “Listen, Chief, it’s been all of half an hour since you gave this to me. This is not how science works, okay? It’s not like a comic book or movie where I look through the microscope and immediately know the purpose of an object I’ve never seen before. Though that would be awesome,” he said, his voice trailing off. “But in the real world, you need to develop hypotheses, design experiments, use vigorous statistical analyses…”

“Fine,” Daniel snapped, throwing up his free hand. “Do whatever you need to do. I just wanna know what we’re dealing with as soon as possible.”

“‘Gee, thank you, Dr. Samberly, for coming in at a moment’s notice even though you were on vacation.’ ‘You’re welcome, Chief. Glad I can be of service.’”

5. biological quandary

“Ah, well. Yes. A situation has erupted. A bit of a biological quandary.”

A biological quandary? “What did Howard do this time?

”She could picture Jarvis rubbing his ear nervously. “Mr. Stark, I am sorry to say, has recently discovered an interest in reproductive biology, and has been conducting experiments on Xenopus laevis—the African clawed frog—in the basement of his mansion.”

This did not seem promising. “Frogs. Howard is breeding frogs.”

“In great quantities,” Jarvis confirmed. “Excessive, even. At any rate, as best I can tell, we experienced a breach of the holding pen and I am in desperate need of assistance.”

Peggy opened the lid of the toilet to find hundreds of tadpoles swimming in the bowl, so many they nearly clogged the drain. She shut the lid firmly and sighed in dismay. It was evident that the frog problem was reaching biblical proportions.

#agent carter #peggy carter #edwin jarvis #jack thompson #daniel sousa #sorry these are insane #fic for tumblr

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