#where harvey specter is having difficulty trying to balance work and family

[forsworned]

OKAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY RIP MY HEART OUT WHY DONT YOU????

Entangled

Ft. simon x therapist!reader / ghoap x reader

sum: simon becomes dangerously attached to his therapist & soap helps him keep you close.

contains: anypov, unhealthy boundaries, manipulative ghoap, obsessive behaviour

wc: 1.9k

a/n: this was a random last minute thought and i just decided to write it so yeah

You've been Simon Riley's therapist for months. A man shrouded in darkness, his past being a labyrinth of pain and trauma that would have broken most people. You, however, were trained for this—prepared to navigate the intricacies of his mind. Though, you weren't prepared for how he would begin to infiltrate yours.

It started innocently enough. Simon, or Ghost—you weren't quite sure which side you knew—would linger a bit longer at the end of your sessions, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to find something beyond appropriate concern.

His walls were high, but you could see the cracks forming. He'd mention tiny details, almost as if he wanted you to know him, to understand him beyond the professional façade.

"You're the only one who understands me," he would say, in a voice low and rumbling in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You're too good for this job.".

At first, you dismissed it as progress. In therapy, trust was paramount, especially with someone like him. But then the compliments got personal.

"You look beautiful when you smile," he murmured one day, his gaze heavy with something you couldn't place.

It was a red flag, but you just ignored it. You had to be professional, after all. Though, it wasn't long before the boundaries began to blur. He'd ask questions about your life, your past, your thoughts. You tried to steer the conversation back to him, but it became increasingly hard, he was insistent.

Then, there was Soap—John MacTavish. He was different compared to Simon, open, more...human in a way. He'd pop in after sessions, light conversation, always keeping an eye on you. You thought at first it was just friendly discussion. Then you began to notice he would always manage to steer you into situations where you were alone with Simon, almost orchestrating your interactions.

One evening, after a very tough session with Simon, Soap invited you out for a drink. It seemed innocent enough—just a way to unwind—and since he wasn't your patient, you figured it would be all right. As the night wore on, though, you started to notice the way Soap's eyes flicked to the door every time someone came in, almost as if he was expecting someone.

Then, out of the blue, Simon appeared.

He slid into the booth beside you. His presence was overwhelming in the small space. Soap excused himself for a moment and you were alone with Simon inside this dimly lit bar. The atmosphere was charged. Air was heavy with unsaid tension.

Simon's eyes seemed to bore into yours as he slid into the booth, a suffocating presence. The closer he got, the greater the wave of heat that washed through you, yet it was not like any warmth that brings comfort. It was something else, something that made your heart race with anxiety and unease.

"Simon," you began, your voice just a shade unsteady, "I don't feel this is a good idea. We need to keep things professional between us."

But Simon didn't budge an inch, didn't even flinch. His gaze remained locked on yours—dark and inscrutable—the weight of his stare holding you in place. He leaned in just far enough that the warmth of his breath was felt against your skin.

"Why?" he asked, murmuring the word quietly. "We're only talking, aren't we?"

His voice was so calm, almost caressing, but with an undercurrent of tension that had you on edge. So very wrong, yet his very look, the way his presence seemed to envelop you, left no room for thinking straight.

You tried to pull away, slide out of the booth, but Simon's hand shot out, closing gently but firmly around your wrist. "Don't go," he sort of murmured, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin. "Just stay a little longer."

The pressure in his touch made you shiver; you were pinned by the intensity in his eyes. You knew you had to go, that staying would only blur the lines further, but something in his eyes, something raw and vulnerable, held you in place.

"I really should-" you began, standing up slightly, but Simon cut you off with his tightening grip, barely enough to keep you in place.

"Please," he whispered, his voice low and filled with some emotion you couldn't quite name. "You're the only one who understands. The only one who sees me for who I really am."

The vulnerability in the words, the near pleading in his voice, tugged at something deep within you. Against every alarm bell ringing in your head, you found your hesitation, your weakening resolve.

Then, as if on cue, Soap reappeared. His expression was casual, but his eyes were sharp as they caught the scene. He guided you back to the booth as he slid in beside you, effectively boxing you in between him and Simon. In any other case, his presence was supposed to be reassuring, but it felt like the walls closed in on you even more.

"You alright?" Soap asked, light, almost too casual. "Looked like you were about to leave."

You opened your mouth to reply, but Simon's grip on your wrist tightened again, not painfully, but enough to remind you that he was still there, still watching, still waiting.

"I'm fine," you managed to say, though your voice came out weaker than you intended. "I just—this isn't professional."

Soap locked gazes with Simon, something wordless passing between them that twisted your stomach. He leaned in, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes soft while looking at you.

His smile was surprisingly broad, but his eyes seemed sharp, cutting. "I understand where you're coming from," he said, his voice smooth, nearly soothing. "You've got your ethics, and I respect that. But sometimes, those rules can feel a bit… restrictive, don't you think?"

His words were so carefully chosen, designed to sound understanding, but there was something more, in a subtle manner, the pressure was there. The push to get you to question your own boundaries. His gaze never breaks; his eyes lock onto yours in a manner that is very hard to slip out of.

"You've done so much for Simon," Soap went on, his voice a degree softer now, as if he was sharing something deeply personal. "You've helped him in ways no one else could. We both know he's not an easy man to reach, but you did it. You got through to him."

Simon's grip on your wrist was unyielding, much like his presence— a subtle reminder of just how tangled in his life you were beginning to become. He said nothing at all, but the silence was loud enough, an unspoken agreement with everything Soap was saying, it felt almost rehearsed.

Soap leaned back a bit, just enough to give you room to feel like you weren't completely cornered but still close enough that it wasn't easy to slip away. "I've known him for years," he said, with a voice like brotherly affection that made it hard not to trust. "I've seen him at his worst, and believe me, you're the best thing that's happened to him in years.".

His words were honey: sweet, smooth. But there was a sharpness beneath, like an edge of metal that kept one on one's defence. "I get that you're trying to keep things professional," Soap continued, his tone almost regretful, as if apologising for what he was about to say. "But have you ever considered what pushing him away might do to him?

The implication set your heart sinking, the feeling of guilt already coiling around your chest like a tightening rope. Soap was making it sound as though stepping back, keeping that professional distance, would abandon Simon when he needed you most. It was an argument carefully crafted to strike at your empathy, your compassion—the very qualities which made you good at your job.

"You've already crossed lines to help him," Soap said, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "You've been nice to him, understanding. You've given him hope. And now he's holding onto that, to you. If you pull away now…" He trailed off, tilting his head, letting the silence fill in the gaps, letting you imagine the worst.

Simon's thumb brushed over your wrist, gentle, almost a comforting act, but all it did was remind you that he was there, still waiting for a decision. He'd said nothing, but the silence was loud.

Soap leaned in again, his voice barely above a whisper, but each word was crystal clear. "We're not asking for much," he said, almost pleadingly. "Just be there a little longer. Let him know you're not going anywhere. He needs that from you. He needs you."

The way Soap spoke, the way he phrased it, made it seem as though walking away would be cruel, heartless. As though you were the one with the power to either save or destroy Simon. The guilt gnawing at you, made it more and more difficult to think straight, to hold on to your own sense of what was right and wrong.

"And you're not alone in this," Soap added, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder, the touch warm, grounding. "We're here for you too. Simon isn't the only one who values you, you know. We both do. We see how much you care, how much you're willing to do for others. That's admirable. But you don't have to do it all on your own."

His words started to envelop you like a warm blanket could, comforting yet smothering. He was turning your very empathy upon you, making it feel like the only compassionate choice remaining for you was to stay, to keep blurring those lines.

"Simon's not just a patient," Soap went on, his voice now low and full of quiet intensity. "He's a good man who has been through hell and back. You're the one bright spot in his life right now. Don't take it away from him. Don't be mean and hurt him." he pouts to emphasise his point.

Simon’s grasp on your wrist relaxed ever so slightly as he turned to meet your eyes with almost-pleading ones. "I need you," he finally murmured, his hoarseness from emotion practically bleeding through his voice. "Don't leave me."

His words hit you in the gut, square, the naked vulnerability within his voice leaving little room to decline. Between Soap's smooth persuasion and Simon's soft, ragged desperation, the walls felt like they were shrinking in on you, constricting the available space until it seemed there was no way to escape, to leave.

The professional bounds you had worked so hard to maintain were crumbling. As much as you knew you needed to stand firm, their words, their presence made it feel like you would abandon them if you did. Soap was right there to support whatever call you made, but his words had long since guided you to the one they both wanted—the one where you stayed.

"Please," Simon whispered again, his voice cracking a little. "I don't want to lose you."

It was a plea you couldn't ignore, one you couldn't deny. And as you sat there, pinned between the two of them with the weight of their expectations crushing down on you, you began to realise that to walk away wasn't only hard but damn near impossible.

Soap pipes up with a smile as he takes your docile silence for an answer, “Soo, another round?”

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