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Ransom’s feet carry him swiftly through the doors, the icy concrete almost makes him slip before he steps through the sliding doors. Not even bothering to shake off the snow from his shoulders, he beelines for the bookshelves, dodging the employee who warns him about the slippery floor and that it was almost closing time.
You aren’t in the fiction, non-fiction, or biography sections. He follows your spirit that lies in your snowy footprints, and it brings him to arts and letters . Your back is facing him, loose threads of your white trench coat hang down your sleeves to your wrists. Over your hands are beige mittens, a little hole on your thumbs with your nails peeking out.
Ransom smiles, vaguely remembering when you would complain about cold thumbs, but never buy new gloves.
You sigh loudly, observing the array of novels of different colours and sizes, all by one author. You reach for another, and one in your hand slips, falling to the ground face-down and open. You let out a gasp, dreading the creased pages of a novel you didn’t buy yet— you didn’t even know if you wanted it.
Ransom quickly steps towards you, bending down, “I got it.”
Startled and nervous, you don’t look at him, “Oh, it’s fine—” Your voice trails off as he stands upright, your bright eyes gleaming in the dim store lights, it illuminates your features—yet your smile easily outshines them. “Ransom, oh my , hi!”
His heart sings when you squeeze him tightly, digging your nose into his chest. His hand lands on your back, rubbing up and down your spine, “Hi, sugar, it’s been a while—”
“ Doll? ” A voice sounds from the other end of the aisle, the Brooklyn accent makes Ransom grimace. He tries to hide the disappointment when you pull away, and take your sweet smell and warmth in mere seconds. It’s like he’s outside in the brutal Manhattan winter again.
You whip around, a grin blooming on your face immediately, “Look who it is!” You squeal loudly before covering your mouth, shrinking as the blond man comes closer and his heavy footsteps get louder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”
He’s wearing a thick leather jacket, white sweater underneath and dark jeans on his long legs. A chain hangs around his neck, and a single silver hoop dangles from his ear.
The man stops before you, chuckling and cupping your cheeks, his rings against your skin. He kisses your forehead, once then twice, as if Ransom isn’t there. Finally, his blue eyes land on the playboy, trailing from his shiny shoes to his ironed slacks and brown trench coat. A smirk appears on his lips as he notices the dreadful— in his opinion —piece of fabric missing from around the brunet’s neck. “Ransom, it’s good to see you.”
“Likewise.” His smile is more of a scowl and Steve mirrors him but both faux grins turn genuine when you start fussing over the ruined novel in his hands.
Your voice flows over the soft music playing from the speakers, reminding Ransom of those drives you used to take in the city—well, he drove while you sat in the passenger seat, “I’m learning through watching, I promise I’ll get my license someday! Then, you won’t have to be my chauffeur.”
“You know I wouldn’t mind driving you around for the rest of my life, sugar.” Ransom would say, looking over as you hide your face, always shy whenever you were complimented.
The two of you were never official, but it felt that way. Stemming from the semi-meet-cute that could have been a disaster. In a busy parking lot, you tripped in front of his car, causing him to slam on the breaks and fearfully get out. He thought he killed you, or at least hit you, which would lead to a lawsuit. Of course, he has the best lawyers money can buy, he was more concerned about his car— fucking blood on the bumper of his beamer.
Who knew that mishap would lead to the purest connection Ransom has ever had. You exposed him to a world of kindness, sincerity and compassion. Baking him sweet treats and complimenting him, not to get in his pants or his wallet, but because you truly thought he deserved it.
The two of you did it all, teetering on the edge of romance, but without the intimacy. Scheduled dates, mid-day spontaneous trips around the city, leading to late nights in the comfort of your shared apartment, he can count on both hands how many times he’s kissed you, but he can count on one how many times he’s kissed your lips.
Looking at you now, after regretfully taking a trip back home, he wishes he never left. He knew something would happen without him here to protect you, and something did— it was utterly terrible and downright sickening.
Your neighbour, Steve, the mass looming over to you, is what happened. If looks could kill, that asshole would be lying in a heap on the ground. A mess of blood and meat, and revolting cologne. He’s just as tall as Ransom, perhaps a little broader, and dare he even say—not unattractive.
Ransom wants to show you the world, and the best this man can do is show you his stupid sketchbook that he always left in your apartment, only to drop by whenever Ransom was over.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had company.” Steve stands by the door, paint splatters all over his grey sweatpants and tight white tank top. “I just realized I forgot my sketchbook here, babe.”
Your mind goes blank for a moment, bright eyes locked on his tattoos and lingering on the ink crawling up his collarbone, you clear your throat, “Oh! It’s okay, Ransom and I were just about to eat.”
I didn't know you had company —as if Ransom's 1972 BMW isn't parked outside.
From the table, the brunet kisses his teeth. The surface was currently set up with a homemade dinner—by the brunet himself. He found a recipe he thought you’d love, brought over groceries and cooked while you were at work since he has the keys to your place. This wasn’t the first time, before he met you, he never cooked for anyone, ever.
“It smells good, did you make all that, doll?” Steve leisurely steps in.
You, on the other hand, start searching through your cluttered coffee table and bookshelf. Bent over in your tiny silk shorts, giving the men a shameless view of your ass. “Not me, Ransom made dinner—he’s such a good cook!”
Steve bites his lip, unabashedly adjusting himself in his pants, Ransom would hate him if he didn’t do the same.
“Seems like it. This is far better than the frozen pizza I was going to make.”
You stand up again, not noticing their eyes are drawn to your chest, the material of your sweater a little too sheer. In the right lighting, they can see the white lace of your bra. “Join us! Ransom made so much, I don’t have enough room in my fridge after he bought groceries too.”
He finally speaks up, “sugar, I don’t think—”
“—thank you, babe,” Steve cuts him off, sweeping you into his burly arms. You squeak as he envelopes you firmly. Blue meets blue over your head, identical colours with twin devilish flames. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You giggle, snug in his hold. “Probably survive off frozen dinners and protein shakes.”
Steve’s hand drops to your lower back, his fingers barely grazing your behind. He gives you a little pat, “you’re being funny today, huh?” He reluctantly pulls away, “I’ll just change into something a little more dressed up then come back.”
“ Don’t come back. ” Ransom frowns.
“You don’t have to change. Look at what I’m wearing, we can have a sleepover!” You twirl as they lewdly perv on you.
“I’ve never heard of someone sleeping in a suit.” Steve gestures to the playboy.
Unimpressed, Ransom shrugs. “I sleep naked.”
He adored seeing you get all flustered and sheepish, he didn’t doubt that images of his nude body were plastered on the walls of your mind.
That was his opportunity to act on his desires. At long last, get a taste of the sweetness of your soul. He would have taken the chance if Steve hadn’t lingered like a fungus. Sitting on your other side on the couch, murmuring jokes during the movie, brazenly flirting with you and placing his hand on your thigh when he laughed.
Steve even took a step further to cook everyone breakfast in your kitchen, with the groceries that Ransom bought.
As if cockblocking was his job, the interruptive piece of shit is the reason why Ransom is feet away from you instead of pressed against your back, listening to you talk about how small the world is .
“You’re right, doll. A small world indeed, or just a small neighbourhood.” Steve smiles, holding out a hand politely, but there’s heat behind his blue eyes. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Ransom begrudgingly shakes his hand, glare unwavering as the blond squeezes harshly, he counteracts by doing the same, harder and more brutal. It was a wonder how you couldn’t feel the suffocating tension as they released each other, silently loathing.
You take the book from Ransom, sighing in relief as the pages remain uncreased. “You don’t expect to see a lot of people at the bookstore this late.”
“Why are you here?” He asks.
“I forgot to get a book for a report—”
“—that’s due in three days. She’s been so focussed on redecorating in the living room so we can have a party on New Year.” Steve finishes, a chime in his voice.
Ransom stiffens, eyebrows knitting, “Do you two live together?”
“No, no,” You murmur nervously, “Steve just stays over all the time.”
“Sweetheart, I haven’t slept at my apartment in weeks.” He swings an arm around you. “Are you cold?”
You shake your head, burying your nose in the scarf around your neck. “Not since you bought me this, it’s so cozy.”
Ransom bites the inside of his cheek, the snide remark on his tongue, what happened to the scarf I gave you?
A voice blares above your heads, announcing the store is closing and to take all purchases to the checkout. Ransom despises whoever that is. A clock ticks in the back of his mind, counting down the seconds until he’ll see you again—he doesn’t want you to leave with Steve, he doesn’t want you to leave at all.
Deep inside, he knows it’s his fault that you fell into the blond’s arms.
You look down at your hands, gaze flickering between each of the book covers. “Oh, I don’t know which one to get…”
“ A Midsummer Night's Dream .”
“ Hamlet. ”
Steve and Ransom look at each other, then at you as you study the novels.
“You’ve read this one already.”
“Not all the way through.” Ransom corrects, pointing to the one in your left hand. “It would be easier since you’re already familiar with it, sugar.”
Steve opens his mouth to protest, but you silence him by setting Hamlet on the shelf again. You turn to Ransom, blinking and he knows what you want.
He grins, “That’s a good girl.” He ignores the blond rolling his eyes behind you, Ransom is too busy admiring you preen under the simple praise.
Unbeknownst to you, Ransom loves you. With every bit of his cold heart and equally filthy and tender mind. He first noticed he loved you when you had surprised him at midnight with a homemade cake. Happy Birthday, Ransom! was carefully written in blue icing, little pink and red flowers around the border of the heart-shaped dessert.
He hated to tell you that his birthday was actually the next day—but you, as gentle and loving as a bee to a flower, had spun his celebration to last two full days. Growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth, Ransom has been bathing in luxury and money since he could breathe, but those two days with you could never be recreated or bought.
“Oh! Will you come to the party, please? I would’ve texted you but my phone broke.”
He cocks a brow, “how did it break?”
You peer down at your boots, the leftover snow melting and creating a small puddle below your feet. “Steve accidentally dropped it off the balcony on my birthday, we had a little too much to drink—well, I did…Steve doesn’t get drunk, it’s so strange.”
Ransom hums lowly, narrowing his eyes, “he’s oddly uncoordinated for an artist, isn’t he always working with his hands?”
A huff sounds behind you as you chortle. “Yeah, he’s never clumsy. I don’t really remember what happened that night, anyway.”
Unamused, Ransom hums. He knows what happened, and he knows why your phone is broken because he would have done the same thing. If there was a possibility that the girl he wanted could potentially slip through his fingers, he’d stop at nothing to secure her in his grasp. Unfortunately, he didn’t succeed.
Your birthday was the night he called nonstop, sending text after text, even confessing he wanted to be more than friends in a voicemail.
Perhaps he and Steve have more in common than either think—after all, why would any sane man intentionally break a phone out of jealousy?
The short answer, they wouldn't. But, yet again unknown to you, the two men interested in you were not like any sane man .
Beasts disguised as saintly and righteous shepherds, caring for you, tending to your needs and passions. Hiding their shiny fangs and claws behind smiles, blue eyes and charm. You, the sweet naive lamb, had wandered straight into their hands, awakening something dark inside them. Something neither knew existed within their soul, creating grim and ruthless ideas and conceptions.
Ransom licks his lips, hungry eyes trailing down your figure. You’re completely covered but he can still outline your body, the dips and curves that have kept him up at night.
Suddenly, his collection of your underwear is far less than what he wishes it to be.
In contrast, Steve’s assemblage has never been better—with all the time he spends at your place, he snatches one every chance he gets, meaning your panty drawer has been getting significantly emptier. Steve would bet that you weren’t even wearing any right now, not because you wanted to, but because you had no choice.
Ransom looks at him and the blond is already staring. Light eyebrows drawn low, he flashes a crooked smirk, as if to say— you gotta do what you gotta do.
Ransom agrees. He would’ve shattered the device to pieces. At least Steve played it cool and just dropped it off the balcony, he was clever, Ransom would give him that.
He didn’t want to spend your birthday a state away, he had planned activities and trips that stretched into a week but work came up. Ransom has never regretted working for his mother more. She was his boss and knew exactly how to push his buttons, locking him in with the same recycled words— I didn’t have to give you this job, the least you could do is show up or after everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?
It’s understandable that Ransom turned out as he did.
He latched onto any light he saw, meaning he was never going to let you go. That cocky artist is nothing compared to him and Ransom refuses to let him steal his angel from above.
You even delayed your birthday celebration for him. Hoping to do it when he came back to the city, and now that he was, he hates what he’s been greeted with.
Your neighbour who had swooped in when Ransom was gone, was kissing your cheeks noisily as you giggle and squirm.
Maybe it was the universe getting even with him—after throwing away all the bouquets Steve left at your door, whenever Ransom saw it and you weren’t home, he’d toss them straight in the trash. It could also be revenge for all the men he’s threatened to stay away from you, all except one.
Steve snatched you from under Ransom’s nose like a vulture, feasting on your divinity like a demon. Again, there was clearly more than what the artist was letting on, you couldn’t see it, but Ransom could.
Evil recognizes evil.
He doesn’t realize that Steve has left, and you’re at the end of the aisle, A Midsummer Night's Dream between your gloved hands. Even with the distance, he can feel the nerves radiating from you.
You quickly look to the side before meeting his gaze again. “So, will you come? I miss you so much…”
“Of course, sugar. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He promises, and you light up adorably, more precious than the Earth’s rarest gems and treasures.
Steve was wicked, draped in pale skin and thick muscles, soft blond hair and bright blue eyes, and you were—in Ransom’s opinion, wrongly —happily safe and content in his grasp.
Ransom heard from mutual friends that Steve took you to dinner and a drive-in movie with his truck, there were blankets, pillows and snacks—somehow, he was entirely prepared for plans he just sprung up on you. Later in the night, you both ended up on your balcony with a bottle of wine.
You didn’t like wine. You didn’t like alcohol in general, your sheltered parents kept you away from all things classified as wrong , even daring to call it a fall from grace if you ever uttered a curse. When he tried to convince you to at least sip a cocktail, you said no.
So, why did you drink with Steve?
He probably charmed you, and you were gullible and unaware. That’s why Ransom is where he is, helplessly and dangerously in-love with you while you belong to another—for now anyway.
After giving Ransom your new number, you checkout then leave the store. As you exit, you look over your shoulder, waving cutely with a little ‘call me’ motion.
The glass doors slide shut and like a movie, Steve grabs your chin, dipping down. He kisses you in the snowfall, the New York street lights beaming down on you, winter brushing your cheeks.
Utterly terrible, and downright sickening, the words echo in Ransom’s mind.
As the blond pulls away, he presses your foreheads together and says something.
Ransom can imagine your eyelashes fluttering as you do that little breathless sigh, which is what you did whenever he kissed you.
The deep red ache in his chest erupts bright green, pure envy coursing through his veins as Steve’s gaze pierces through the glass door. The corner of his pink lips quirks before his eye drops in a sly wink.
As the two of you disappear down the street and into the night, an employee tells Ransom the store is closing. With his glare still set on the exit, he grabs the other book— what would Steve think about Ransom giving you the novel that he wanted you to get? —it’d definitely bruise that ego of his, especially if Ransom can squeeze in a little praise for you. It was almost too easy.
Foolish, foolish man, as Shakespeare once said, “Lord, what fools these mortals be” and to quote Socrates, “ all humans are mortal.”
Perhaps Steve, the skyscraper of muscle, may be the biggest fool on the planet.
A fool who has more tricks up his sleeve than a jester.
Ransom goes straight for the checkout counter, picking up another pair of soft lilac mittens on the way and reminds himself to search for a new trench coat for you. Oh, and ask around about your favourite wine.
If he was attending your New Year party, he wasn’t going empty-handed—his mother taught him better than that. Although she's stern and short-tempered, she has said to never show up to someone’s house without gifts for the host, and since Steve lived with you now, Ransom will buy something extravagant for him too.
He was going to show up bursting with presents and he wasn’t leaving empty-handed either.
Game on Steve Rogers.