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yuzukult · 3 years

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acquitted love || sjn & reader

title: acquitted love pairing: johnny suh x reader genre: fluff, angst, co-workers!au, lawyer!au, one-sided enemies to lovers word count: 8.7k warnings: some language/cursing, brief mentions of sex but there's no actual discussions or explicit conversations of the topic, but generally pg-13 prompt: you absolutely hate johnny suh. but when your boss pairs you two up together for one of the highest profile cases, you’re left working close with your enemy but he doesn’t seem to think that way of you. a/n: tada!! i wrote this for the @/ficscafe fic exchange event!! so @urlocalnctstan , hope you enjoy this !! i tried to write it according to what you put as your preferences, but honestly T_T it was so hard bc i was just not getting any ideas!! hopefully this is something you’d like :D enjoy !!

“God, isn’t he just… so attractive?”

Along with a click on your tongue, you feign a hit in Hyeri’s direction, whose reflexes have gotten so much faster in the past couple years of knowing you and it shows when she cowers underneath your arm. She gifts you that not-so-apologetic smile, full of mischievousness because she knows no matter how annoying she can be, you’ll still love her nonetheless.

“Why do you keep talking about Johnny? You know he’s banned as a topic of our conversations.”

Hyeri rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her white frilled blouse. You know that she doesn’t actually inhabit any romantic feelings for Johnny, but she has a problem of thinking without the usage of her brain when she sees a hot guy.

Not that you think Johnny is hot.

No.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s at least an ounce of smokin’ hot.” She’s unraveled her arms by now, poking your shoulder incessantly to grasp onto your attention as you're tapping on the buttons of the copier machine. “I bet if you asked him out, he’d say yes.”

You briefly glare at Hyeri. “You realize that he and I don’t get along, right? He keeps finding stupid loopholes in the system to win his cases. He thinks with his heart, not his head, and sometimes, with whatever that thing was in his pants.” And, not to mention that he walks out the court with that big grin stretched from cheek to cheek, giving the ‘good news’ to your well-respected boss (who you desperately seek the approval of but that’s a different story for another time). And every single time, she gives him that nod of appreciation, that ‘nod of approval’ if you will, when it should be given to you and not to some asshole who fucks his way to victory.

“But he’s so hot—”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, and with a stern voice, you call out, “Hyeri.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, though, he’s hella smart. He’s got a job here, and works under your boss. It’s Park, Kim & Associates—notice how Park is first, because she’s a fucking genius. She only picks the intelligent ones to work under her. Why do you think I’m still working for Mr. Kim?”

Park Seohyun and Kim Gonghyun—one of the biggest lawyers in the region, decided to join together to build their own law firm from the ground up. They were both highly respected in their field; Kim Gonghyun spent years of his life being mentored by one of the most famous judges, and as for Park Seohyun, she was, simply put, admirable because of the obstacles she has overcome to make her dreams of working in law to be real. Being a woman, young, and beautiful, she’s had her fair share of encounters with people who disregard her potential, that is until she met Gonghyun—who, admittingly is an old man who seems like he’d be traditional, sexist, even, but he proves to also make people realize how wrong they are with their impression of him.

But, as Mr. Kim is getting older, he’s gotten a bit… lazy.

In fact, he’s been slacking so much that he’s gotten a new rep in the office—if he was your direct supervisor, or your supervisor was under him, you were on the side of the office where all the easier, uncomplicated cases were assigned. Which meant that there was a slight possibility that your talents and skills weren’t as sharp and exceptional as you thought they were.

And well, Hyeri works directly underneath Mr. Kim.

Hyeri doesn’t want a heavy workload, despite the fact that there’s a plethora of files on her desk, stacked up one onto another as tall as her PC tower, and they were all open and closed cases—needless to say that she didn’t mind it.

“Okay, but you got offered a position under Seohyun. Do you really think you’re not wasting your potential?”

Hyeri scoffs. “Never. At least, not now. I’m still in my twenties, I’d like to enjoy my youth while I can, for your information.”

You quirk a brow. “And does any of that pertain fucking Johnny? The hot guy, so you claim?”

She immediately has her hand covering your mouth and you scowl. “Shhhhh, he works here!”

You bite the flesh of her hand and Hyeri instantly retracts. “You think I don’t know my archenemy works here? He sits directly across from my office—I get the best view of the guy and I’m not even one of his fangirls.”

“You’re not gonna be one of those girls who claim they’re different because they don’t like him but then end up falling for him anyway… are you?”

Your hand goes up and Hyeri crouches down.

“Stop it.”

“Seriously though! It’s the classic e2l love story,” she has her hands gesturing in front of her like she’s making an imaginary rainbow, “Two lawyers, constantly butting heads, accept each other’s differences and learn to love—“

“The fuck is an ‘e2l’?”

“Enemies to lovers.”

“Are you high? Stop spitting nonsense.” This time, you’re waving the stack of papers that finish printing in front of her face. “Meet me for lunch later. But if you keep talking about my archenemy and I falling in love, you can kiss a free meal goodbye.”

Hyeri gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Maybe. Just maybe, Hyeri might be a tiny smidge right when she says Johnny is handsome. Just a bit though, because she can’t get credit for something like that.

He’s dyed his hair this shade of brunette that sort of reminds you of roasted chestnuts on a cold, winter day, sitting inside of a cooker outside of your childhood home, baking along with some sweet potatoes your mom had gotten from a farmer’s market nearby. Johnny has this focused gaze attached to the screen of his monitor; there’s a dip in the fronts of his brows, lips tightened into a straight line, and constant switching back and forth from the computer while taking notes down in a book that’s laid open in front of him.

You wonder what’s running through his mind, or well, you’re more interested in what files he has sprawled out on top of his desk.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been obvious enough, you weren’t quite a fan of Johnny Suh and it’s mostly due to his work ethic. He’d been notorious for his reputation of sleeping around—especially with the opposing side—so it’s hard to convince yourself that he didn’t win the case because of his actual capabilities, but it’s because he pulled some strings.

And Johnny doesn’t put much effort into denying it either.

Albeit deep down, you were a teeny bit envious of his confidence. He struts around the courtroom with ease, and when he presents his position, there’s no staggering in his voice—it’s always crisp and clean, weighted with nothing but credence, and never straying from his initial perspective. It’s never a lack of poise, it’s consistently the look he goes for; from the hand gestures and the furrowed brows, to the rhetorical questions in the end of certain statements that has the speculators and jury sitting at the edge of their seat, Johnny had a talent for performing in the courtroom, but that doesn’t mean anything when the way he gets to the success isn’t ethical.

Just at that moment, his eyes lift from the screen and meet yours.

There isn’t any hesitation when you scramble to grab the remote controller, and the shades drop over the windows instantaneously.

“Fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, tossing the remote onto your desk and shaking your hands after. What if he thought you were admiring him? Maybe he didn’t see. Yeah. It was for a brief second, and with how close your offices were to each other, it would be common to accidentally lock eyes… right?

Interrupting your thoughts, the office phone rings and it nearly startles the living soul out of you. But before you reach for it, your head tilts to the side curiously because the extension number is familiar—it’s Park Seohyun’s, your boss.

What could she be calling for?

You don’t remember fucking something up—but to be fair, half the times, you never really know if you’ve actually fucked up until someone with steaming ears and a crimson face comes storming in. So… did you do something good? Again, you don’t think that’s right either, because other people would’ve made comments about it.

Deciding to swallow your nerves, you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Seohyun never fails to be bubbly, and you could never mimic her energy. You definitely had to be born with that kind of enthusiasm. “I have a favor. Hop into my office.”

Leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she had her fingers laced with each other while resting over her stomach. Johnny stands beside you (and you do your best to not look directly at him, especially after that weird staring thing), and you both feel like kids being lectured by parents from how still you are. Her office is huge, probably the size of both yours and Johnny’s combined; with ceiling to floor windows, cases of books that line the perimeter, not to mention the humongous ass couch that practically covers the other half of the room, and her desk was so wide, you estimate about four monitors would fit on there with still additional space for work. That wasn’t even the best part—the view of the city looks almost like a generic lockscreen of a Windows computer, and you’re not even sure why she goes home at night when she basically has a penthouse here.

“As you know, I have a favor.”

“Right,” Johnny retorts, mostly as a filler in the awkward silence. “So… what’s the favor?”

She pulls a box from her purse; square, black and made from a leather material with a lock pad stitched into it, something you’ve never seen before, and she slides the passcode in, then it pops the lid open. A key (a… very small one) sits in the velvety cushion, with nothing else occupying the space with it, and it looks comical. She uses this to open the very top drawer of her desk, and as she pulls using the handle, there’s another box inside, but this time, metal instead of leather, but still black.

What the fuck?

It seems Johnny shares the same thoughts, because he sneaks a glance over at you.

“You see,” Seohyun begins, pressing on the digital keys of the box until there’s a beep at the end and the case hisses open. “There’s a lot of security for this. Which means you understand the importance of it.”

Then, she picks up four manila envelopes and lies on the surface of her wooden top desk. “I have a family emergency to attend to this upcoming week. I’m boarding a flight tonight. So I’m leaving the Hwang v. Yoon case to the two of you.”

“Fuck—”

“The what?”

You and Johnny are sputtering out of shock. The Hwang v. Yoon case is the biggest case that the firm is involved in currently, and the only people involved in it have been Seohyun and Gonghyun. It’s been on every social media platform you could think of; from Facebook to Twitter, TikTok to Instagram—there’s even this weird website for emo/grunge teens or strange kids that like writing fanfic called Tumblr, and whatever that is, it’s discussed on there too.

“What about Gonghyun?”

Seohyun scoffs, closing the drawer and dropping the key back into her special box. Where do you even get a box like that? “He can’t handle this alone. So I’m kicking him off until I come back. I thought about letting the two of you work with him, but his ego is so inflated, it’ll get in the way of our chances of winning. It’s easier if it was just me and him, but seeing that things at home aren’t well, I’m going to need you two to step up to the plate.”

The room goes quiet. The only sounds you hear are the muffled noises of a typical bustling office outside the thick walls of Seohyun’s office, and at first, excitement rushes through your blood because Seohyun thought of you taking over a special, high profile case.

Albeit, another realization gets soaked up, and it’s that Johnny also came to mind, and that because it’s such an important case, the two of you would be… working… many… hours… together.

Maybe you should back out of it—but then again, this is such a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Imagine winning this— it wouldn’t be good for just the law firm, it’d be good for you too. Your name, in articles on these big fancy news websites, perhaps even on new channels, talking about how you, this amazing lawyer, won the Hwang v. Yoon case.

But then you’re snapped back into reality when Johnny leans over to take the envelopes from Seohyun.

If your name is on those platforms, so is Johnny’s.

God, this guy just ruins everything, doesn’t he?

“We’ll take care of it, Seohyun. You can trust us,” he says assuringly, a smile tugging on each corner of his lips with that dazzling gaze. “We’ll be at our best.”

Kiss ass.

If you had the option, you wouldn’t be spending your Saturday night here at work, in one of those conference rooms with a long table in the middle, a big projector that displays on the wall, and a random black leather loveseat couch that lines the one corner in case there’s too many occupants.

Especially since the person who’s accompanying you is Johnny Suh.

There’s probably a lot of people who would kill to be in your position (Hyeri being one of them), but you dread it. Not to be that person, but what’s so special about him anyway? What? He’s tall, has some muscles, long luscious hair that he can slick back with that sultry stare—wait, what?

“Alright, moving on…” From what? You guys just started? It’d been clear with Seohyun that the mornings would be dedicated to other cases, but nights would be considered overtime and where you’d zoom in your focus on Ms. Hwang’s justice. “Let’s take a look at the facts here.”

Johnny slips off his blazer, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs as you’re seated in another, leaning back comfortably with an arm resting on the table. He loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt before folding up the sleeves, and that’s when you notice a little thing in the inner crook of his elbow—is that a fucking sunflower? Is that what he uses to reel girls in? That he’s soft enough to have a pretty little flower etched onto his gentle, silky and supple—

“Okay,” he says, interjecting into your thoughts with a laser pointer in his hand. He taps on the space bar of his laptop that mirrors what’s on his screen, but then, that’s when you realize what’s on the slides.

There’s a collage of pictures, mostly street, casually walking themed ones, but the common factor was that they were of Yoon Changmin, the man you guys were up against. They were all paparazzi-like photos, which begs the question, how did he get pics like this, and why did he get them?

“What’s the point of this?” you ask, voice laced with nothing but suspicion.

“We gotta get into the mind of the enemy.” You wanna get into the mind of your enemy, too.

You gesture to the one image of Changmin with an arm around his girlfriend and a finger up his nose. “Seems like he’s trying to reach inside of his head instead of us. These are just everyday pictures, Johnny. What’s that going to do for us?”

“Well,” he begins, turning to look at the wall of ‘evidence’. “You see—wait, holy shit.”

Freezing in the midst of reaching for your coffee, your head jolts in the direction of your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, “Hoooooooooly shit. Why didn’t I see this before? This changes everything.”

Furrowing your brows, you’ve given up getting your drink and dropped your hands onto the table. “Tell me, what is it?”

“This is a game changer.”

“Johnny,” you call out sternly, and his eyes link with yours before he instantly points to a particular picture with his red laser pointer.

“Look at that.” There’s pride saturated in his words, but when you look at what he’s indicating, your body slouches in disappointment.

Why the hell was he directing your attention onto Changmin’s thighs? Surely, there’s no denying that they were attractive—you recall that his alibi was at the gym that very night of the crime.

“What? He’s guilty for showing off his toothpick legs?” They were lean, you never said they were muscular.

“No,” he retorts, slightly irritated by your response as he rolls his eyes. “Look at his pants.”

“Okay…”

“They’re jean shorts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, but the expression on your face is so loud it can’t be hidden.

Johnny continues, “That’s a fashion crime.” He says it as if it’s an obvious fact known by many. “Not to mention that it’s fucking raw hem. He should be arrested.”

Suddenly, your opinion of him thinking too much with his heart dissipates because it seems like he’s thinking out of his ass instead. Did he win those cases out of pity? How did this guy even pass the bar? How about law school? How the hell did he even get into law school?

“I don’t think—”

“Listen, alright, just hear me out,” he’s got the palms of his hands resting flat on the surface of the table, doing his best to gain your full undivided attention. “Only assholes wear jean shorts. They flaunt that shit around like they own the place, but they’re horrendous pieces of clothing that should not be on a male’s body. I don’t care what you say, what your opinion is, because that is a fact.”

Puffing your cheeks, you feel at a loss. If Johnny is who you had to get this done, it feels like you’re not going to be finding much evidence any time soon.

“Okay, if… if that’s how you want to play it, then show me the evidence—other than those 2012 cut off denim shorts.”

He reaches over to hit his space bar again, then with a wink and a slide change, he leans closer to you and says with that deep, honeyed voice, “Gladly.”

You hate admitting when you’re wrong.

Ironically, you concede and will confess when you actually are, but it doesn’t mean that you enjoy it. For example, when Hyeri claims that the intern Mark had a crush on you, you quickly waved her off, stating something along the lines of, “I’m too intimidating; there’s better chances of him being scared of me than ever finding me attractive.” And then a week later, you owed Hyeri free lunch at that hip ramen place downtown because Mark had approached your desk that very morning with a bouquet of red roses flowers for you, a cheeky grin glued to his face with pools of hearts in his eyes, and ready to ask you on a date because it was the day after his internship had ended. Naturally, it wasn’t fun rejecting that poor college boy.

But, you won’t say you find Johnny interesting or handsome. Or that there’s potential when it came to possibly (just barely the slightest smidge) that you’d ever consider asking Johnny out. He’s your enemy here, you’ve mentioned that a multitude of times, and you stand firm on that very declaration, despite the fact that sometimes when he gets too close, your breath gets caught in your throat and you feel like you can’t get whatever’s lodged in out.

Albeit it’s not the whole “you guys are gonna end up together” comment that Hyeri makes and resulting in you denying it afterwards, it’s that Johnny might… be a decent lawyer.

He’s not the best one you’ve seen; the stupid revelation he had on the first day working on the case about the jean shorts is evidence for it, but it’s the days following that were slowly changing your perspective on him.

When you said, “He thinks too much with his heart more than with his head,” it was 100% correct.

When meeting with potential witnesses, you recognized that Johnny empathizes with people often; when they cry and start panicking from being overwhelmed, he's quick on his feet to put an arm around them, share reassuring words, and have them back to normal in record’s time.

And, well… you? You’re the one making them cry in the first place.

You don’t want to fully take the blame for being the cause of their tears, but people need to hear what’s happening, and the very detail that they can’t even handle this information probably means they’re not worthwhile as a key witness.

Johnny, of course, thinks otherwise.

He believes that these people should have a voice (although you’ve alluded that they might be more useless than helpful), and putting them on the stand with Yoon Changmin there would change the view of the jury to supporting Hwang Naeri.

“Listen, if we get these people to sign the form, we’d get witnesses and it’ll help Naeri,” Johnny claims, frantically moving his arms annoyingly as he talks, trying his best to express the gravity of the situation, “and maybe, maybe, money wouldn’t be how Changmin wins, but how he loses. We can’t have another person with jean shorts walking on the streets of our city like this—they deserve to go to prison.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Why does this always revert back to the jean shorts?”

“It always has to do with jean shorts,” he snaps back matter-of-factly. “Any straight guy wearing jean shorts with that much goddamn confidence has done some wrong in their lives.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that the crimes he did are mainly the reason why he’s being prosecuted against.”

“Jean shorts are the windows to the soul.”

“I’m almost 100% sure that eyes are the windows to the soul, but whatever. If you genuinely believe that the women we met today would benefit our case, then… okay. Let’s bring them to the stand.”

On the contrary to you, Johnny doesn’t have a hard time convincing witnesses to testify. You see the way that he works; those kind eyes directed at the participants, the pools of chocolate were sweet, saturated in nothing but tenderness and warmth, then he does that weird thing where he reaches for their hands and cups them before the words that escapes from his lips are enough to swoon them to stand in front of a courtroom.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a method to his so-called madness.

Aggression and bluntness don’t work, it seems, because when you’re the one attempting to convince these people to go against the man that had done them wrong, they’re less willing to do it. Something about ‘moving on,’ and ‘not wanting to relive those memories again,’ but if it was you, you’d want justice. Then again, not everyone is like you, and not everyone thinks like you, and spending this abundance of time with Johnny is slowly getting you to ease into that perspective.

So… the initial impression you had of him may have been wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re developing some feelings for him, just as Hyeri predicted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

His abrupt personal question is enough to have the coffee spill into your mouth to slide down the ‘wrong throat’ because you’re choking, hand on your chest as you’re tackling to regain your breath again and Johnny only stares in disbelief, blinking blankly. “Are… are you okay?”

You glare at him through a hooded gaze. “Well,” you clear your throat once more. “Now, I am.”

“Cool.” He nods, retracting his hand so he could rub your back soothingly, deciding it’s best to stay away. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Quirking a brow, your head tilts slightly in puzzlement. “Why are you asking this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Isn’t it weird that we’ve hung out with each other for a whole week—stayed here for nights and we both don’t know anything about each other?”

Tapping your fingers against the wooden top table, you sigh. Maybe he’s got a point; after all, “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” right?

“No, I’m single.”

Johnny’s face suddenly brightens, ears perked, and his body straightens its posture in his seat at this revelation. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know that. You seemed busy in your personal life, so I, uh… was just wondering.” He looked anxious, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “I, um, I’m single too, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” You weren’t.

The plethora of cardboard and plastic boxes scattered across the table was a representation of the night. It’s been long, exhausting, and messy, mostly because it’s a Friday night, the hearing was on Monday, and the two of you were nowhere near close to having enough to present to the court. In fear of disappointing Seohyun, the two of you agreed to stay over the office for the weekend to cram work for the case. There’s no denying that the atmosphere is weirder on the weekends, especially since, well, no one really comes here on the weekends. Johnny had to use the bathroom earlier and ran into the cleaning lady and she nearly shit her pants because she didn’t think anyone was here, so she had music blasting in her headphones.

Johnny is… interesting. He makes you laugh—or well, want to laugh, but you don’t give him that sense of satisfaction—and he’s smart but in his own weird way. He’s not like the other lawyers you’ve met, or any of the law students you attended University with because he’s more lighthearted and free-spirited than the rest, taking life in strides instead of just overwhelming himself in the abundance of stress that work brings.

He’s entirely the opposite of you.

And maybe you could learn something from the guy, but there’s something in you that brews hatred toward him. Possibility that you resent how easy he makes being a lawyer seem when you’re struggling in your day-to-day life to make things work.

But it’s way too fucking hard when he’s just… like that.

Despite all of that, he’s very generous and kind toward you. On rough days, he delivers your coffee order, the one you always get because he remembers what you asked the intern to get for you the last time, and he’s good at identifying when you’re just having that kind of day. You eventually learn he has a photographic memory (fucking show off), so when he saw that crumpled napkin with scribbles of what you want in that dumb intern’s hand, it wasn’t hard to remember. Which, by the way, is how he’s able to get into the most prestigious school for undergrad, manage to pass the bar so easily, and get into law school effortlessly.

And knowing this information sort of angers you more.

You know this isn’t his fault—he’s been blessed with a trait that people desire, one that you also yearn for, but the lucky ones get handed a lot of things in life. You wonder if he’s the type of guy who wins girls easily after matching with them on dating sites because of this stupid ass ‘photographic memory.’ Does he sleep with them right after? Does it ever get serious?

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. You shouldn’t even let these strange thoughts haunt you, especially when you don’t even like him.

He’s a spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter.

So you’re left counting the remaining days until the trial so you don’t ever have to work with Johnny Suh this closely again.

Okay, well, it’s evident that bad luck is glued to your side because after you win the Hwang v. Yoon case for your law firm with that asshole, Seohyun is so impressed. So goddamn impressed that she insists that all the high profile cases are to be given to both you and Johnny.

To work as a team.

Together.

Jesus, this is Hell for you.

Surely, the promotion and raise that came along with it was definitely a plus, but it has you wondering if it’s even worth it. He’s been your unspoken enemy since the first day, and although you think you’re pretty forthright about your hatred for this guy, he can’t seem to read social cues.

When you’re pushing the double doors into the conference room the two of you often spend working on cases in, you expect Johnny to be ready for another day. But strangely enough, Johnny doesn’t have his laptop out or any of the notebooks sprawled across the table.

“Um,” you slide the strap of your bag off your shoulder and onto the spare chair. “Did you come late or something?”

He takes in a deep breath like he’s been holding back something. “We need to talk.”

There’s worry inscribed into his features; from the crease in between his brows, to his pursed lips, and eyes soaked in concern, almost like he’s got bad news to share and it has your stomach in knots. Was it that the case was thrown out? It couldn’t be, right? You both worked hard, presented your stance to the point that the jury and the judge were in awe with your findings. Sure, you had to cover Johnny’s mouth right before he was about to go off in a tangent about jean shorts, but overall, it was a good win, a hard one to go back on and pull out the wrongs of it. So what was it?

“I’m quitting our partnership.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the room with his hands as if there’s anything out to reference. “This thing. Our work. The big profile cases. The famous stuff. I told Seohyun that I won’t be doing it anymore and she can revoke the promotion and the raise.”

You’re still not catching on. “… Why?” Was it something you did? Yeah, you weren’t a big fan of Johnny either, but were you so bad that he decided to not go through with the raise because of you?

“Because,” he pushes his blazer back, hands sliding into the front pockets of his navy blue trousers. “There’s a policy put into place. Those who are on the same cases cannot have any personal relations with each other that extend past friendships.”

“We’re not even friends?” With confusion written across your face, your head tilts to the side. “I’m not… I’m not catching on here.”

“I like you.”

Startled, the words you want to say are stolen out of your mouth. You’re left with a mixture of perturbation and bewilderment, uncertain where to go from there because Johnny asked for the removal of both a promotion and additional money that could be so good for his career… and it’s all because he has a crush on you?

“You quit the best thing that could’ve happened to you because you like me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny states calmly, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment. “Ain’t that romantic?”

You scoff. “No. Absolutely not. You’re insane! Why would you do yourself dirty like that? Use your head, Johnny, you’re constantly thinking with that stupid heart of yours, and hate to break it to you, but it won’t get you anywhere.” Combing your hair with your fingers, you let out a sigh. “Go ask Seohyun for the position back. Say you made a mistake and—”

“I’m not asking her for the position back.”

Johnny doesn’t make any sense to you. “What? Why wouldn’t you do that?

“Because,” he laughs in disbelief, not because he thinks you’re funny. “I’m not going to force myself to work with a girl that I keep falling for. That’s self-inflicting, you realize that, right? You’re amazing, but you can seriously be so dense sometimes.”

“I’m dense? You just told one of the best law firms in the city that you don’t want to work on the important cases anymore because you have a stupid crush on your partner!”

“If we were on a team with more people, maybe it’d be different. But it’s just us two. You think I won’t fall any harder? That’s not easy. Every time I see you working, I swear I could be hopelessly in love with you one day.”

Your heart stops for a second.

This is Johnny Suh you were talking about here. One of the claimed best lawyers in your office, one of the most intelligent people that Hyeri has ever met, and Seohyun evidently backs this up because she’s given him so much recognition for his work. He’s the guy who worked with you to win the Hwang v. Yoon case, he’s the one who brought up the stupid jean shorts that seemed so far-fetched at the time, but they were a crucial detail everyone missed—it so happened that when Changmin bought those dumb shorts, there was evidence of at least one of his crimes in that store from the security cameras.

Any cis-gendered male who wears jean shorts can’t be trusted, according to Johnny.

And candidly speaking? You couldn’t even deny that. Your past two ex-boyfriends both wore jean shorts and the one cheated on you and the other one was caught money laundering.

“Listen,” he begins, interrupting your foggy thoughts. “I’m not asking you to tell me you like me back. I’m telling you because you should know, and that I can’t go on any further without letting you know. I’ll, uh, be in my office. Seohyun said she’d find a replacement for me.”

Hyeri is his replacement.

She’s great company and does a good job of helping you with whatever you need, but that was just it. Hyeri followed you, she never led with you, just as Johnny does. Agreeing with everything you say, mindlessly trailing behind everything you do—Hyeri was smart, but she couldn’t figure out how to think for herself when it came to these bigger cases because she’s never been given such a responsibility. But you couldn’t even blame her because it’s what she was told to do under Gonghyun.

“You said that you think Maeri snatched the bracelet?”

“No, I said if you watched the security video that the jewelry store submitted, it clearly shows that Maeri snatched the bracelet. Not that I ‘think.’ The proof is right there, Hyeri.”

She nods, resuming back to her work on the computer. Truthfully, Hyeri felt more like an assistant than a co-worker, someone to bounce ideas off of and to see from a different perspective. And as much as you hated Johnny, he had decent points. He had ways of making you put yourself into the shoes of people you never thought you were; although the guy was obnoxious, at least he actually was… good at his job.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore when Hyeri asks for the tenth time that hour about your beliefs rather than her own, you abruptly stand from your seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply shortly. “I’ll be back.”

It was just a spontaneous thought. It’s after hours, and although there are some people who stay behind to get some work done, you had your doubts that Johnny would still be here. He seems to have a better grip on that work/life balance thing people talked about (unlike yourself), but it didn’t hurt to check his office, right?

It’s a good thing you went with it. Because right across from yours, there’s Johnny.

There’s one single lamp that shines over the tabletop of his desk, and the other sources of light in his office are from his computer screen and the ones from the city skyline from behind him. It has him seemingly angelic like this, so serene, calm, and collected, only focused on what’s laid out in front of him. The sun has gone down, people have gone home, but Johnny remains, hardworking as always, despite your previous observations that he’s a lazy, unprofessional guy who gets everything handed down to him.

With a knock on his glass door, he flinches, head raising up and eyes meeting yours.

Were his eyes always this sparkly?

Opening the door, Johnny drops the pen in his hand and crosses his arms before leaning back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“You’re here late,” you state the obvious, and Johnny only nods in return, without a rebuttal in sight. “You aren’t normally here late. At least, before the Hwang v. Yoon case.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Seohyun dropped something on my desk this morning. Wanted to work on it. What brings you here?”

Inhaling in a deep breath of courage, your hands bundle up into a fist by your side. “Please come back.”

Johnny raises a brow. “What?”

“Come back,” you reiterate, this time, it’s less tense and releases with ease. Caving in isn’t usually this effortless to you, but something about Johnny makes you feel… comfortable enough.“Come back and work with me again. Yes, I’m not supportive of how you do things—”

“Then let’s go out on a date.”

You freeze. Legs rooted into the floors of Johnny’s office, you’re left immobile and diffident on how to react next. It wasn’t what you were expecting, although you weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to anticipate, but it most definitely was not this.

“I—”

“I said my terms,” he retorts, shutting the book in front of him before shuffling up from his seat. He’s leaving, you realize, and Johnny’s ready to head home for the night and you’re not sure if you could handle an entire weekend with Hyeri here. “And, I meant what I said. One date, and if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll stay on the case.”

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, the next words that come out are out of character for you. “And… what if it does?”

A soft smile tugs from each corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll figure it out from there. Promise.”

This is… awkward. It shouldn’t be, but yet somehow, it remains awkward.

You’ve spent weeks with Johnny before, and those moments were in a room, in the middle of the night, and alone. Hours and hours were dedicated to work, yes, but it was just the two of you and nobody else.

So why is it so weird being in a five Michelin star restaurant with him?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. The dim lights, the white clothed tables in lieu of the scratched up wooden one back at the law firm, and instead of leather seats, there’s a neutral beige chaise cushion for the dining chair, slightly less comfortable because it doesn’t recline like the one in your office. Instead of an array of photos and evidence disseminated in front of you, there’s a laminated menu with a multitude of options of what to have for dinner.

Johnny gets the steak with mashed potatoes and string beans, and you order something similar but seared salmon for the main protein. The waitress offers wine, babbling on about the age of the red, where the vineyard is located, and the dryness to sweetness—to be honest, you could care less; you’d rather have gin and sprite with a squirt of lime. A couple glasses of that and you can almost guarantee that the night would end with a deep slumber.

Oddly enough, Johnny seems nervous. Ever since he pulled up in his midnight black Audi in front of your apartment complex, he’s been acting strange. He keeps wiping his sweaty palms off the material of his trousers, occasionally swiping off the droplets that fall on the side of his face.

“Are you… okay?” you suddenly ask, adjusting your dress in your seat. Deciding to go with a black silk dress with a slit up the leg and your hair let down, it’s not a look you often sport but since you’re going on a date (one you haven’t been on in quite some time), you figured it would be nice to at least play the part.

“I’m, uh, honestly, I’ve never really asked a girl out before.”

You quirk a brow curiously. “What? You’re telling me you never asked a girl out before?”

He lets out a bashful laugh with a faint nod, making an attempt to swallow his nerves after. “Honestly, I’ve always been asked out and not the other way around. Not to sound like that guy, but I never really had to put effort into trying for girls. They kind of just…”

“—Throw themselves at you?”

He beams. “Yeah! Like that. I don’t really know how to react half the time, but it makes the whole dating scene a little bit easier.” Geez, he called you dense, but he’s over here acting clueless.

Either way, it feels like whatever opinion you had about Johnny remained true. He never had to try when it came to the dating scene, and you could only imagine what that means for work and the relationships he has with the women in your career field.

“Mm, does that usually happen with work too?”

Befuddled, Johnny leans back in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you’re poking the meat of your salmon that falls off easily. After the first initial bite, the fish practically melts on impact when it touches the tip of your tongue, smooth like butter and bursting with flavor that couldn’t be described by any common person because it wouldn’t do the salmon justice. Johnny seemed to put a lot into this date, and you’re left pondering what the point of this was. Did he actually like you, or was he trying to get into your head? “Just seems like you get a lot of special treatment.”

“Are you jealous?”

“In what way?” you snap back.

“Are you jealous of me because I’m getting this so-called special treatment that you think I’ve always had, or were you jealous of the girls that seemingly got my attention?”

You’re left without anything to say.

It was a good observation he made because truthfully, you never saw it like that.

In actuality, you often saw Johnny as your rival. He climbed the ladder in the field with ease, and it wasn’t hard to quickly blame his success on the fact that he was a guy in a male dominated industry, but the fact that there’s a possible interpretation for your hatred may be from these feelings you might’ve been harboring for him this entire time… that can’t be it… right?

“I mean, look at where you are now,” you begin, trying to defend yourself. It can’t be true that the reason you’ve been bitter about Johnny was because of the girls that got his attention, and one of them not being you. “You got a high position from—”

“—From hard work,” Johnny interjects with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t get to where I was because I slept around, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I knew you sort of always hated me, but I’ve always admired you. I like your work ethic, I like your style, even though we’re both on opposite spectrums, I like the way you think and I wanted to know what it was like being partners with you. Getting to be on that case with you showed me more than just who you were as a lawyer, but who you were as a person. I like you, but I’m trying to put my finger on why you hate me so much.”

“So you noticed.” Sucking in your cheeks, your eyes trail elsewhere—from the fork that lays beside your plate, to the glass filled halfway with wine, to the little candle that sits in between the two of you that flickers the way he has your heart when he expresses once more how he feels about you.

“Yeah, of course I noticed. If you like someone, it’s kind to miss details like that about them. So… you really hated me because you thought I slept my way to the top, huh?”

“I mean…” shoulders dropping in exasperation, you run your fingers through your disheveled hair. “All those rumors—”

“Again, they’re just rumors. I worked hard to get here, you know. And I’m kind of offended that you thought of me that way.”

You scoff. “They’re rumors, Johnny, it’s kind of hard to ignore all the office gossip when that’s all you hear. Plus, it wasn’t hard to believe either, with the whole flirtatious act whenever you encounter anyone who’s breathing and has a vagina.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You need a book for dummies that elaborates on what’s flirting or not, because Johnny Suh, whatever it is you do with your body language in front of that chick who sits by the front door.”

“You mean Siwoo? The pregnant one who’s married to her highschool sweetheart? Also, how do you not know our receptionist’s name?”

You throw your arms into the air. “How am I supposed to know her name?”

He tilts his head to the side, genuinely baffled. “Do you… not talk to anyone outside of Hyeri?”

Your silence answers his question.

“I… honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or if I should be honored. You think I didn’t earn anything that I have now, you think that everything I have was handed to me. On one hand, it’s flattering that you think my looks and my bedroom skills could do that but at the same time… I’m offended because you think I’m incapable.”

“I never said you were incapable—”

“But you implied it.”

Hands falling onto your lap, it’s your turn to gulp. His words come shooting at you, but you’re without a shield to protect yourself, and with the new experience of working with Johnny, there comes the realization at times that Johnny is a hard worker. There are some things that he says and does that aren’t like the people you’ve encountered, and being put on new cases with Hyeri only proved it. He’s thoughtful in the sense that whenever you’d bring up your stance on something, he challenges you with what the defense might counter.

Johnny makes you want to be better. Not just against him, but to brush off the dust on your skills and enter into the battlefield of a courtroom to showcase them.

“Well, if you’re staying silent, I just want to say that I tried,” the crinkle in between your brows makes another appearance because Johnny is great at leaving you stunned and confused. “I really like you. I love how your head works, and I wanna be with someone like that but I also can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Why is it that when you’re in that conference room with him, you’re not afraid and never running out of things to say, but now you’re empty handed?

“I’ll pay for dinner. Grab you an Uber. I honestly thought I could overlook those things, and maybe your perspective for me has changed, but I could see it on your face. It’s the same.”

After that date with Johnny, his life turns back to normal.

Yours? Not so much.

Candidly speaking, part of you missed working with Johnny. You were wrong about him, so wrong, and even when you wanted to apologize at the dinner for what you thought of him, the pride in you was like a vicious plague that blackened your insides, preventing you from ever saying those words.

Oftentimes, you’d still be able to sneak a glimpse of him in his office with that same look on his face—full of concentration and nothing else in his mind other than the task at hand.

The cases you have with Hyeri entail a head like Johnny’s. Someone who could question you, to protest against your stance when there could be flaws in it. It feels like deja vu each time you think about it, each time you open a new case file and Hyeri sits there, perched in that seat beside yours, eyes sparkling with what you have in mind next, instead of what she has going on in hers.

Although you’ve tried convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, what you feel for Johnny is purely professional but when you see him standing by the water cooler with a couple of your coworkers, eyes mimicking the moon crescents in the skies, replicating the ways his lips curl in elation—it was beginning hard to believe that it was all platonic feelings.

So maybe you should be bold for once. Pull off that exterior that displays you as someone who isn’t just independent and assiduous, but someone who’s stubborn and aggressive in getting what they want—and not in a good way.

This time, you’ll show it in a good way.

Or at least, you’ll try.

Johnny is a routine kind-of-guy—he grabs an iced americano every morning at the coffee shop downstairs at the edge of the street, he does his daily 11:00AM drop-by at the water cooler to refill his Hydroflask (which was his prized possession, by the way), and parked in the same exact spot in the parking garage of your building, despite there being an abundance of places he could choose.

That’s why you decide to stand by his car after work that day. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shaking because it’s your turn to feel anxious. That blazer that once fit so comfortably in the morning suddenly feels tight and hot in the afternoon, and the weather hasn’t even changed. Your bag slung over your shoulder weighs ten times heavier than an hour ago, and you can’t stop your jaw from tightening.

Before your thoughts could spiral off all the possibilities of what the outcome may be when you tell Johnny how you feel, he’s already standing there, feet away from you with that dip in the fronts of his brows that you want to smoothen out the crinkles of with the pad of your thumb.

“Hi,” you greet, faint and peculiarly different from your other approaches. “Um, I just… was waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny says back, the first few buttons of his shirt already unraveled, his blazer hung over his forearm and the sleeves are rolled up. “I see that. What’s up with you?”

“Um,” your leg was jittery, hard to control so you spat everything you had to say out as fast as you could before he could see right through you. “I just wanted to apologize. For everything. You’re admirable, kind, and I wish I inhabited those same characteristics you have. I think professionally, you’ve got great ideas, one that could be implemented into mine and what we did together for that case was just… yeah. We could do something big if we put our heads together.”

Johnny nods in agreement. The relationship between you two work-wise was obvious, he knew that much. “And what about… outside of that?”

“I like you,” you choked, barely getting the words out. “More than just coworkers, um, I guess, more than friends but I’m not really sure since you walked out on our first date,” inhaling in a deep breath of courage, you continue on, “and I don’t know how you feel now after I’m standing before you like this, asking for another chance and that I’m sorry.”

He stares at you blankly, and it leaves you unsure whether or not he accepts your apology. “You know why we ended that date early.”

“Well,” you start again, “can we… start over and try again? I promise I won’t tempt you to end the date early this time.”

And with that, there’s the signature smile that Johnny sports that swoons girls, makes their knees weak, and heart clench but this time… it’s just for you.

“I’d really like that.”

#ficscafe #nct fanfic #johnny x reader #johnny fanfic #johnny suh #johnny nct #nct 127 #nct 127 fanfic #suh johnny #gyukultfics #idk what else to tag #hopefully this does well :|

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

therapy

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, mental illness, eventual smut && SPOILERS

word count: 16k

description: part 4 of 5. SPOILERS; DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE FILM -- ransom’s therapy sessions during the assitant && four christmases and a little bit beyond.

note: so this took me forever and i was originally going to write couples therapy at the end, but it just didn’t flow as nicely. i’m probably only going to write one more part for this, but i hope you guys enjoy it. honestly. i’m writing this for you.

session #1

“Court mandated therapy,” He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “What a fucking joke.” He looked across the dining table at you, noticing how you were growing impatient. This whole situation, you moving in and encroaching on his bachelor pad, the house arrest, was fucking annoying. And now therapy. Your jaw twitched in annoyance, a tell tale sign he knew well.

“You’re getting off easy,” you would remind him, “I’m taking your punishment after all.” Taking his punishment, sure, and getting paid almost 210k a year to do it. There’s no sympathy there. You’re getting your money and his life goes on, almost, as normal.

To be fair he was pretty fond of you. You were the only consistent thing in his life for the past two years as much as he’d hate to admit it, nothing would get done if you weren’t around. Not a damn thing. He’d never tell you that though. Especially not now when you’re rearranging his unused study for use of him and the therapist who would be arriving soon, setting out water, a couple snacks, and optimistically tissues.

“Just in case.” You told him. Ransom doesn’t cry. He remembers the last time he really cried, like really cried and it was when he was a kid. His father had laid into him for playing with his novelty golf clubs. Screaming, red faced, spittle landed on his own hot cheeks.

He shook his head to rid himself of the memory.

“I don’t want to do this.” He sounded like a child, whining. He knew. But to be fair, he really didn’t want to fucking do this. He watched you walk away towards the kitchen to clean up what you’d made for lunch. You’d only lived with him for a week, but it was longer than any other woman had ever stayed with him.

It was strange.

He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he stared at your ass while you wiped down the counter, catching crumbs. You hated him, he knew. Not completely, which he also knew, but enough that you’d never fuck him. Why would you want to?

He couldn’t resist, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you rinse the rag off in the sink. “You can tell them I’m sick, can’t come down.” Muffled into her shoulder. He really sounded like a child now, Mommy please make the bad guy go away, I don’t want to see him.

“This could be really good for you Ransom.” Her damp hands covering yours. “Go get changed, he’ll be here soon.” He was still in his gym clothes, sweat ring dried around his neck. He was sure he smelled pretty foul too, about thirty minutes later and a quick jerk in the shower left him a little more relaxed than before.

The man was older, bald, glasses. He looked like he just stepped off the screen typecast as a therapist in a psych ward. Tweed. So much tweed. He started a tape recorder, “My name is Henry Dowd.” You had greeted Dr. Dowd with a pleasant smile and shook his hand. Ransom had immediately felt a vein of envy, you’d never smiled at him like that. “I’m fifty-seven years old, I’ve been practicing for just about 25 years now—“

“Fantastic doc,” Ransom sunk back into his chair, “Listen, what do I have to pay you to make you go away?” The Doctor froze, adjusting his glasses before leaning back in his own chair.

“Do you often use money to eliminate things that make your life uncomfortable?” Of course he did. He immediately thought of you, sitting not more than twenty feet away probably unironically watching Forensic Files on the couch while folding his laundry.

“I don’t need therapy.” Ransom scoffed, “C’mon.” He smirked at the Doctor, “You don’t wanna make this drive every week just like I don’t wanna sit in this room and whine to you about my problems.”

“So are you admitting you have problems?” The Doctor asked, fingers meeting his chin.

Ransom didn’t like this guy. Fuck this guy. Ransom stared at him in silence for a minute.

“What’s your plan here Doc?” Legs spread wide, sunk in the armchair, Ransom mimicked studying the man just as he was studying Ransom.

“Hopefully we will discuss what in your life led you to murdering someone simply because you weren’t going to get you allowance anymore.” The Doctor was slick. He said it with an air of superiority.

Fuck this guy.

“You wanna know?” Ransom asked, sitting up and leaning forward in his seat. “You really wanna know why I murdered her [Fran]?”

The Doctor’s eyebrow raised.

“She didn’t tuck in the corners of my sheets how I like em.” Ransom smirked.

The Doctor hummed in response, taking a notepad and scribbling something down.

“What’re you writing?” Ransom tried to peer at the legal pad in the man’s lap. Dowd lifted it away from his gaze. “This is fucking pointless.”

“Whether you like it or not I’ll be with you for an hour every Thursday for the next 104 weeks.” Dowd smiled, “Whether you take this seriously or not is up to you, but I’m sure someone as intelligent as you knows that you will get as good as you give. The whole reason for me being here is because you have no money, isn’t that correct?” Ransom’s jaw clenched. “So I’m not going to take your bribe, but you can go ahead and try next week if you’d like. Maybe between now and then you can think of something to talk about.” Dowd packed his belongings, shoving the tape recorder in a side pocket of his bag and scribbling once more on his legal pad before storing that too.

“That’s it?” Ransom looked at the clock. It had only been twenty minutes. Dowd smiled at him.

“I’m going to give your babysitter out there some homework for you in preparation for a week from today.” Dowd went to leave the room, “Let her know I’ll take a tea next time.”

Ransom’s knuckles were white, fisted at his sides, he stood up from the chair a minute later, peeking out into the living room to watch you talk to the Doctor, a soft smile on your face. He wanted to hit him.

He wanted to hit him real fucking bad.

He watched you gently place a hand on the Doctor’s arm and guide him from the house. “We’ll see you next week!” The door shut and the smile fell from your face, turning to meet his eyes in the doorway of the study. You let out a heavy sigh and rubbed your temples.

“You can’t try and bribe a court mandated therapist Ransom!” There was a fire in your eyes, it made his cock twitch. He had a brief thought about biting your bottom lip, “He can actually help you!” You continued as you approached, walking by him to clean up the snacks and water that went untouched.

“I don’t need help.” He claimed. You gave him a disbelieving look.

“You need help.” He felt his neck flush with anger.

“Fuck you.” He watched as you walked away from him, not responding. “You need help. What kind of fucking person agrees to take someone’s house arrest huh?” He asked, following you into the kitchen. “You’ve got to have some kind of fucking issues doing something like that.” You’d slammed the tray on the counter, turning to look at him angrily. He was at half mast.

“Why don’t you go out Ransom?” You seethed, “Go have a drink.” He could feel his face heat up, he’s not going to let you win this.

“You know what?” He spat, “I think I will. I’m going to take my untethered ass out. Have fun sitting inside these four walls for the next two years you ungrateful bitch.” He could tell you were holding back, but he didn’t wait for the response, grabbing his coat and slamming the door on the way out.

Later that night, drunk and speech slurring he slammed the body of a girl against your door. Rutting his sloppy hips against her panty clad core.

He’s not going to let you sleep tonight.

You didn’t deserve to.

session #8

“We can sit here for the entire hour in silence, just like all the others,” Dowd started, “Or you can choose to talk today.” Ransom wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was still pissed that you’d taken his phone so he couldn’t sit here and stare at it like he had been for the last few weeks.

“He told me that you’re on your phone the entire time!” You had shouted, “It’s disrespectful.” He’d rolled his eyes heavily, “He’s gonna come back every week whether you do something or not.” You seemed brave. Your started putting your foot down more lately. Ransom wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he didn’t like it.

He was itching to do something else, anything else. The beginning of the manuscript that sat open on the desk behind him and he was pretty pissed he’d been disturbed right when he started chapter six. He found that if he was stopped in the middle of a chapter it was hard to get back into the flow of it, the words pouring from his mind out onto the computer screen faster than he could keep up with.

It was like being edged.

Ransom was into instant gratification.

He could hear an old clock he’d taken from his Grandfather’s study ticking on the bookshelf to his left.

“I see you’ve begun writing.” The Doctor offered, “Have you always thought about writing a novel?” Ransom’s jaw twitched.

“No.”

The Doctor gave him a forced smile. “Have you found it enjoyable so far?” This was a waste of time.

“Yes.”

Scribbling.

“What is your book about?” Ransom smirked.

“Murder.” The Doctor hummed,

“Following in your Grandfather's footsteps then?” Ransom studied the Doctor for a minute.

“What did your Grandfather do?” He asked the man. The Doctor tapped his pen against the armrest.

“He was a traveling salesman.” Dowd humored him. “Much more lucrative business before the internet and the home shopping network.”

“Didn’t know I’d be good at it.” Ransom admitted gruffly, “You wouldn’t be a good salesman.” Dowd gave him a real smile.

“I would be a terrible salesman.”

Silence for a few minutes more. The ticking of the clock driving an ice pick into Ransom’s brain.

“Do you think he would be proud of you?” Dowd asked. “Your Grandfather?”

Harlan wasn’t proud of anyone but himself.

Linda had built a real estate empire and he still wouldn’t give her the validation of knowing she’d done a good job. His last dying action was letting her know her husband was fucking someone else. What kind of father was that?

Harlan wouldn’t have cared if Ransom had begun writing before his death. He would have dismissed him. Not even competition.

Ransom scoffed at the man’s question, not answering.

“So he wouldn’t?” Ransom felt uncomfortable now. He watched the guy out the corner of his eye lift the tea cup you’d gently placed beside him before they began and raise it to his lips. Ransom had let his guard down. The guy was playing with him.

“His opinion doesn’t matter to me.” Ransom spat, eyes flickering over to the clock. They still had thirty minutes left.

“Seems like it does.” The Doc rubbed his fingers together, thinking. “What was Harlan Thrombey like?” Ransom sucked his teeth,

“Why? You a fan?” He laughed, his hand gestures to the bookshelf beside him. “I got a couple signed copies up there if you want one.”

The Doc shook his head, “He must have been pretty distant. I’ve heard writers tend to be.”

“You’re basing your analysis off of rumor?”

“Well, you’re a writer,” he smirked, “You’re plenty distant.” Ransom’s knuckles grew white at his sides,

“I’m not my Grandfather.” He said.

“No,” Dowd assured him, “You’re not. But we all bear the scars of our own upbringing in one way or another.” The timer went off.

“Time to go, doc.” Ransom stared at him as though daring him to continue, but he didn’t. He turned the tape recorder off and packed his bag as usual. Ransom didn’t raise to watch him leave, but he heard him through the open door thank you for the tea.

“We have a couple different kinds if you’d like something different next time.” He hated the sound of you being pleasant right now, especially to that man. The fucking prick.

“No, no. It was perfectly fine thank you.” The door shutting and the quiet ramble of the tv. Ransom shot from his seat, walking to the bar cart he’d had you set up in his room, he poured himself two fingers of whiskey and shot it back before pouring four.

He’d heard you clear your throat from the doorway, coming in to clean up the doctor’s empty teacup and his own untouched coffee. “How was your session?” You asked him.

He felt heat creep up his neck. “Get out.”

He could feel your eyes on his back, the rattling of the cups as you gathered them with one hand, your other coming to rest on the middle of his back.

“Ransom, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He slowly turned, taking a sip of his whiskey and grabbed your arm, the promise of never hurting you again that he’d made after his birthday dinner alerting him somewhere in the back of his mind.

He attentively grabbed your arm in a soft grip, “Get out.” Whether it was a plea or demand he didn’t know. He held direct eye contact, your face held a flash of fear. Somewhere he would feel guilty about this. He’d released your arm and watched you walk from the room, casting him one more glance before he none to gently slammed the door behind you.

Later that night he could swear he had alcohol poisoning. An angel had rolled him into his side as he’d vomited. She’d gotten him into bed, she’d even undressed him and was kind enough to leave a glass of water and two aspirin on his night stand.

It must have been a dream, because his study was spotless the next day and the bottle of whiskey he’d sworn he’d reached the bottom of sat full on his bar cart. He looked over to you for a moment, hand holding the cup of coffee you’d wordlessly prepared for him, before entering his study and shutting the door.

It was your job, why would he be surprised that you’d done it? And why should he thank you?

session #12

“Let's talk about something else today.” Dowd started, “You’re not giving me much headway for your family so let’s talk about something you love talking about.” He gave a playful smirk, “Yourself.”

Ransom rolled his eyes, cocking his head to the side looking at the Doctor across from him. The door had just shut and the prick was starting straight out the gate. It’s been four months and he hadn’t gotten anything out of this yet, other than being irritated and his monthly liquor consumption increasing exponentially. He’ll humor him.

“Why not?” Ransom shrugged, sinking into his seat, resting his ankle on his knee. “Whatcha got Doc?”

“What did you like to do before the trial?” He asked, “Give me a day in the life.” Ransom traced his bottom lip with his tongue before starting.

“I would wake up, go to the gym, come home, eat breakfast, watch some tv, go out with friends.” He shrugged. “The usual.”

“Do you still have contact with these friends?” No. He didn’t. He jaw locked.

“No.” The Doctor nodded.

“So where does Y/N come into this day?” Ransom shifted in his seat.

“She would work 9 am to 9 pm, Tuesday through Saturday.” He picked a piece of lint off of his pants.

“And what does she do for you?” What do you not do for him?

“Cook.” He stated. “Clean.” A smirk pulled across his lips, “Take out the trash.” By trash he meant whatever girl he brought home the night before a joke he loved but you hated,

“They’re real people with real feelings Ransom.” You would tell him.

“Does she do anything else?” Dowd asked.

Ransom thought about the house arrest bracelet on your ankle, “She’s my assistant, so she does whatever I need her to.” He shrugged.

“And how does she fit into your day?” Ransom shook his head,

“She’s just there.” He gently bit the inside of his cheek. “She’s always just there.” The Doctor scribbled something into his notepad.

“How long has she worked for you now?”

“A little over two years.” Ransom fingered the handle of his coffee mug before decidedly bringing it up to his lips, he woefully realized that he could go for some whiskey in it.

Next time, he assured himself. Next time.

“Does she provide some stability for you?” The coffee mug clanged heavily on the end table next to him.

“I’ve always had stability.” Lies.

The Doctor took a sip of his tea, “But surely having companionship on a daily, consistent, basis must give you some comfort seeing as you no longer have contact with your friends.” It was jab wasn’t it. The friends not being there anymore.

To be fair as soon as Ransom was arrested and the news of the will broke he's not surprisingly had no longer been invited out. His so called friends seemed to be surprisingly absent in his time of need, but he reasoned if it had been any of them in his situation he would have done the same. They all knew they were parasites sucking off of each other, he didn’t need them anyway. He’d found a new source.

“Why are you making a big deal out of it?” Ransom snapped. “She works for me, that’s that.” The Doctor shrugged,

“If that’s how you feel.” Ransom scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is.” It wasn’t.

The two of you had been living together for four months now. He’d seen you wet from the shower. He knew what your perfume smelled like, distinctively. He figured he could pick you out of a crowd by scent alone. Everything you cooked tasted better than any food he’d ever had in his entire life. Sometimes when you were in an especially good mood you made these cookies with caramel in the middle and he’d eat three straight from the oven. Tongue being burned by molten caramel be damned.

He found himself looking at you sometimes, like really looking at you. Your brows would pull in concentration as you read the pages he gave you. Watching how you always slowly clicked the pen cap, sometimes sticking the pen in your ponytail when you’d get up to go make yourself your second cup of coffee. You always had two. Every morning.

He found himself not knowing why it mattered so much. Why your opinion mattered so much. His novel was almost finished but he had the feeling if you didn’t like it he would throw it straight into the garbage. Himself with it.

There was something about it, the contact. You didn’t seem to mind so he began taking different liberties. It’d started with hugs. He cringed at the thought of him sitting in your living room when you still lived in that god awful apartment. The scent of the building a mix of different foods seeping through the walls that almost made him sick. He hadn’t known what possessed him to do it, but pulling you into his lap had been one of the most comforting moments of his life.

He was touch starved he’d supposed, but it didn’t make much sense. He got plenty of touch from whoever was spreading their thighs for him. He had scratches down his back to prove it. Something was just different.

He would feel almost high with his arms wrapped around you. God forbid there was skin to skin contact somewhere. He would get lost in it. Hugs turned into thighs pressed against one another on the couch. An arm slung over the back, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers.

“Do you feel like you’ve always had stability?” The Doctor brought his attention back, Ransom blinked twice as if in a daze.

“Of course.” He shrugged, “I had routine before all of this. I did the same thing every day and while those things changed, I have a consistent routine now.” The Doctor scribbled.

“Have you always had a routine or is it something that’s developed over time?” Truth he told his routine formed the day you walked through his front door the first time. The constant schedule that you’d laid out for him, right up to you finishing the dishes and leaving at 9 pm on the dot. He would follow you out into his own car and leave for the evening. A bar, a club, a dinner party.

“Over time.” He’d answered. He looked at the door, as though he could look through it and see you sitting on the sofa playing a game on your tablet, whatever show you were bingeing playing in the background.

The Doctor hummed. The timer went off. The session was over.

Tikka Masala. That’s what you’d made for dinner. He’d been smelling it for the last hour sitting in the study still typing, two glasses of whiskey in. Not enough to be drunk but enough to feel it.

“Are you going to eat here, or the dining room?” His eyes met yours in the doorway, you looked so soft.

“Here.” He said, not having room for much else as you disappeared from the doorway, reappearing a minute later with a steaming bowl and placing it in front of him. You lay a hand on his shoulder, he found his head tilting to the side to rest against it almost instinctively.

“How’s it coming along?” You’d stopped asking him about the therapy sessions. He thinks he probably scared you the last time you asked but that was just fine with him. He didn’t want to talk about it.

Any of it.

“I’m gonna have another chapter for you to read in an hour or so.” He brought a steaming forkful to his lips.

“It’s hot.” But too late, in his mouth, trying to rapidly cool it like an idiot, but fuck if it wasn’t delicious. He saw you roll your eyes at him and he turned to watch you leave. He’d found a small joy in seeing your ass in yoga pants. A skirt. Jeans. Sweats. Whatever you’d decided to wear around the house. His dick stiffened at the thought of grabbing it.

But he was a little tipsy. And he was getting tired.

He just wanted to finish the fucking book already.

session #26

Ransom was not having a good day today. He’d stubbed his toe getting out of bed, his cursing woke up the redhead who was still tangled in his sheets. She tried to pull him back into bed which caused him to yell at her. So she cried and angrily threw her clothes on cursing him all the way out the door. He got to the gym and realized he’d forgotten his AirPods and had to do his workout without music. Then to top it all off someone had the audacity to have all of this happen on a Thursday. Fucking court-mandated therapy day.

He irritatingly wondered what color tweed Dr. Dowd would be wearing today. The fucking loser. His wife probably cucks him. He’s probably got a fucking micro. The lunatic.

Ransom was seething. He’d already snapped on you twice, but to be fair you’d made him eggs when he wasn’t in the mood for eggs and then you were really calm about making him oatmeal. Too fucking calm. What was your problem? Jaw locked as he paced his bedroom. He wasn’t coming down. He wasn’t doing a session. He didn’t fucking want to. And no one could make him.

He was wearing a hole in the carpet when you’d knocked. His anger flaring. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? Why did you always have to be right there no matter where he went? He wretched the door open, “What?” He felt crazy. Maybe he was.

You were staring at him with what looked like vague fear in your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself defensively. “Dr. Dowd is downstairs.”

“I’m not coming down.” You sighed heavily, looking down the hall at the stairwell.

“Ransom you have-” Door slammed he stared at the other side of it.

“I don’t have to do shit.” He screamed, locking the door and sitting on the floor in front of it. He felt like a child. His anger while still bubbling in his chest, was slowly ebbing away to a simmer. He felt like an idiot. He heard your footsteps disappear down the hall. Now he was fighting with his pride. He lay back against the floor, two vertebrae cracking as he stretched it out, staring at the ceiling.

It was silent for a minute. Then two. Then three. His breaths evening out as he lay on the rug, he could almost imagine himself sinking into the rug, becoming part of the stitching. His body dissolving into nothing. Was this depression?

Ransom would swear he’s never been depressed a day in his life. He has everything he could ever want. Including his freedom. He’s always had nice clothes, nice cars, there was never a lack of sex or money. If he wanted something it was his. So why did he feel so shitty? Right now in this moment. He’s never stopped to think about it before he figures.

Never stopped or tried to feel anything.

And right now as he was imagining himself decomposing into the floor he reasoned it must be because of depression.

“A lot of people get depressed, Ransom.” You’d explained to him once, “There’s no shame in it.” He’d been having a bad day, but those days just happen. He had scoffed at you for even assuming he was depressed, but right now he thinks you’re probably right.

There’s something wrong with him.

His book had just been published and it was doing well. Selling really well. He made the bestseller list this week. So there was really no reason for him to be feeling like such garbage right now. It was the only logical explanation, being depressed.

At least then he had something to blame it on.

Another gentle knock, “Ransom.” You voice called to him, breaking him from his reverie. “Dr. Dowd would like to come up and talk to you, is that okay?” Your voice was various, a little guilt formed in his chest. His voice cracked when he replied,

“Yes.” His face felt hot and the room felt stuffy. You had kept the windows open with the nice weather you’d been having lately. Airing out the house, a candle always burning with a calming scent. Ransom regrets telling you not to open his windows. He wanted to open them, but found himself unable to move from the carpet.

“How are you feeling today Hugh?” The Doctor’s voice came from the other side of the door. Ransom heard your soft footsteps retreating, the third step down the stairs creaking as you made your descent. Ransom’s heart began to steadily raise in pace.

“Just great Doc,” He bit, “Can’t you tell?”

“Are you feeling the need to harm yourself or others?” He asked, suddenly very serious. Ransom thought for a moment. Who would he hurt? You? No. Definitely not. Himself? He’s too vain for that.

“No.” His voice cracked again, why does it keep doing that? “No harm to myself or others.” The other side of the door was quiet for a moment more before the Doctor spoke again,

“Are you comfortable right now?”

“Yes.” Laying on the floor felt great on his back truthfully.

“Emotionally.” What is that supposed to mean? The turmoil churning in his gut screamed at him. Playing dumb won’t help him here. “What happened today that you won’t meet me downstairs? You haven’t missed a session yet.”

Ransom shook his head wordlessly. He’d been fighting the Doctor. Every week, skating around questions, not answering them all together. He felt an urge to let it go. To just spill everything that was churning around in his gut. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

Maybe a little.

“It’s just a bad day.” That was enough. It should be.

“What happened?” There was a creak on the other side of the door. A settling sound.

Ransom explained. His morning was just frustrating. One thing compounded on another causing his whole routine to be thrown off.

His routine.

“Is it possible that all of this frustration and anger have come out due to your routine being interrupted.” Yes.

“Probably.” Yes.

Silence, then the doctor spoke, “You can’t change the world around you, Hugh. You have no control. You will never have control.” Something was tight in Ransom’s chest. Fists clenched. “The only thing you can control is how you react to the world.” Hands relaxed, he felt his eyes prickle.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He shook his head. He felt out of control. He was completely out of control. He hated this. But maybe the Doc knew what he was talking about. Maybe this explains the disruption he’s felt. The anger that had ebbed away to a dull ache in his heart.

“Listen, Hugh.” The Doctor spoke kindly from the other side of the door, “Routine is good for you, it’s good for everyone. It’s beneficial for us to stick to our routines, however, if something happens that we can’t control it doesn’t mean the whole day is ruined.” The fan spun idly on the ceiling, Ransom dazed looking at the steady rotations as Dowd continued, “Get off the floor and move on.” His eyes dragged from the fan to stare at the door. “Get on with your day and try to do better next time because that’s all we can really do, try to do better.”

His hand met the knob and turned, shifting up to his feet as he met the sight of the older man on the other side who was leaning against the wall opposite the door. Ransom stared at him silently for a minute before opening his mouth to ask, “How?”

session #31

It was just there. Your wrist, open to him. And he wanted to kiss it, so he did. You’d stalled above him, hand still hovering where you’d just placed his cup of coffee next to him on his desk. He did it almost without thinking, gently wrapping his hand around your forearm and bringing your wrist to his lips, “Thank you.” He’d murmured, eyes not leaving the screen.

His second book has become much harder to write. He’d started three books. A couple chapters written for each, a path split. Where would he go? He was unsure. But the coffee you’d placed next to him that was made exactly how he likes it, it helped. A lot.

After the soft kiss placed on your wrist, the one that he’d not realized he’d even done until it was over, you’d gently rubbed his back for a moment before leaving, “Dowd will be here in about an hour if you need anything.” Your soft voice as you left. He’d wished you would have sat down for a bit, but he knows you have your own routine to follow.

“Describe your Mother to me.” Ransom scoffed, chest tight.

“Getting right to it.” He joked, Dowd smiled and nodded,

“We’ve been meeting for about eight months now and you’ve yet to talk about her.” Had it really been 8 months? Ransom’s palms suddenly felt very sweaty.

“She’s…” Ransom shrugged, eyes drifting to stare at something, anything else but meeting Dowd’s eyes. “She’s a Real estate Broker. She owns a company that is fairly successful. She’s recently divorced my Father for his infidelity—“

“Hugh, what about you?” Dowd asked, “How was she when you were a child?” Ransom hated this. He didn’t want to do it. Why did it matter?

“She was busy.” He said simply. “Always working, on the phone, both her and my Father.” Why did it matter? Dowd nodded, scribbling.

“Do you have some good memories of her?” Ransom didn’t. He knew his Mom loved him. He was her only child. There were pictures, her holding him when he was a baby, red faced and mucus covered in birth. His first birthday, she was sitting on the floor in the background, Ransom in the foreground standing, smiling with a ball in his pudgy baby hands. A picture of them in front of Niagara Falls when he was three. But none of that he can remember. Not really.

What he can remember is his first Nanny. A blonde named Samantha. She was young and sweet. She used to make him pancakes with blueberries in them. He wonders now if she left because of his prowling Father.

A different nanny, older had taken her place. He couldn’t remember her name but he could remember, vaguely, the crack of a ruler on his knuckles. His Mother had flipped her kid when she came home and seen them. Knuckles ripped open and clotted.

She’d given him a Nintendo 64 for that. It still sits upstairs in the bedroom you now occupied. He thought and he thought hard before replying, “No.”

He’d felt cheap. “Every good memory of her involves money in some way.” He stated plainly. The Doctor had told him instances of money bought happiness didn’t count. Ransom had always been rich of course, money as a substitute for the love of his Mother, Dowd explained. He wondered if his Mother paying you to take his house arrest was an apology for his parent’s quick divorce. As if he even cared.

“It’s okay to be hurt by her,” Dowd started, “She didn’t provide the love and affection a Mother should. Children need nurturing to form themselves as they mature into adults. The lack of nurturing in no doubt has affected you in some way.” Ransom felt uneasy. He didn’t like talking about this. But Dowd has told him time and time again, he’s not going to like talking about anything. Just try.

Ransom tugged his bottom lip into his mouth, looking at the empty coffee cup beside him.

“Do you think that maybe,” Dowd started, “You saw money as love and when that money was being taken from you then you realized that you’d have nothing left?” The Doctor rubbed his own chin. “Murder seemed like the only viable option?”

A chill ran down Ransom’s spine. A shake of the head. “I can’t do this today.” Dowd nodded.

“Okay,” he shifted in his seat, “What is Y/N making for dinner tonight?” This was how they had been cooling down. Every session since the one where Ransom has broken on the floor of his bedroom. A weekly distraction, bringing him back down from reaching his threshold. His hard limit. A little farther every week.

“I think she’s making—“ Ransom shrugged, “I mentioned wanting chicken parm, so that’s probably what she’s making.” That’s all he did. He would mention craving something and you would make it. The ingredients ordered through the local grocery store’s delivery app. You kept him happy and fed. His pants felt a little tighter around the waist recently. He’d have to work harder at the gym it seems.

Dowd nodded, “Sounds good.” He looked at the door that separated them from you. “She’s a sweet girl.” Ransom looked at the door as well,

“Yeah, she is.” The two sat in silence for a moment. The clock ticking. Ransom felt uncomfortable. Which wasn’t a new sensation in these conversations. He felt this sense of foreboding on Thursdays. Not that he didn’t when the sessions first started, but now that he’s actually talking in them acid was rolling in his gut on Wednesday night. The turmoil drowned in vodka sodas and a girl he thinks was named Bethany sucking his dick in the kitchen last night. His mind blissfully blank as she swallowed his cum. Her giggling mouth as her tangy lips met his.

His cock twitched at the thought, thinking about where he’s going to go tonight. Thinking about the girl he’d be bringing back here. The anger in your eyes tomorrow morning as you hand him his coffee after the gym, bitching about throwing the girl out and not so subtlety telling him that he’s an asshole. He really liked that. Your cheeks flushed. Eyes in a steady glare.

It’s what he deserved, he reasoned.

He wanted you to hate him. Because you should.

session #52

“Ransom.” Your gentle voice called to him, your back was facing him, chopping something by the stove.

“Yeah?” He called back, watching your arm move up and down, knife chopping steady against the butcher block cutting board.

“Something strange happened today, and,” You paused, huffing quietly. He watched your back tense, “There’s a letter on the table.” It wasn’t uncommon for you to open his mail. You sorted through it daily and it was something, frankly, he couldn’t be bothered with. He only wanted mail deemed important, didn’t care much for any Christmas cards or invitations to parties. Not that much came anymore.

The envelope sat ominous in the dining table. The top slit open in a straight line, white paper peeking from within. He picked it up, no return address. It reminded him of one thing and one thing only.

I know what you did.

He felt his neck grow hot, the chopping had stopped from behind him. What kind of joke was this? It had been a little over a year since his verdict. A little over a year since he…

He swallowed heavily, opening the letter, the bold black marker bleeding through the page.

You took her from us and you got away with it. You sick bastard. I hope you burn in hell.

And that was all of it. He carefully folded the paper back up, slipping it inside the envelope. The house was silent. No chopping. His hands braced on the back of the dining chair, he turns his head to look at you. You’re standing there in anticipation. For what?

Maybe he’ll scream. Shout. Bellow with anger so loud that the neighbor, closest one half a mile away, could hear him. Maybe he’ll break something. The four glass jugs that used to be five until he used one to commit arson. Maybe he’ll pull glasses out of the cabinets and shatter them on the ground by your feet. Maybe he’ll just collapse on the floor right here and cry.

For once in his entire pitiful life, a strange feeling brewed in his gut. A sick feeling he couldn’t place. Later on in the session, Dowd would tell him it’s guilt. But right now as he places the letter back down on the table, he walks to the downstairs bathroom and shuts the door before turning the sink on full blast and emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He grips the porcelain sides, coughing and sputtering. Eyes only watering from vomiting he’s sure as a choked sob echoes in the bowl. He spits, and spits again. Bare knees cold against the tile he stares at his vomit for a moment, before flushing the toilet and watching it disappear. The sick feeling is still there but he’s left with nothing but bile.

He stands, taking two stumbling steps to the sink and washing his face. Swishing around some mouthwash as he stares blankly at himself in the mirror. He knows another feeling. He knows this one. Disgust.

Self-loathing.

His knuckles gripping the sink and white. If he were any stronger it would have shattered under his grip.

He was in a state down with himself. Daring himself to move. Do anything. Move.

You pathetic piece of shit. You fucking baby. You really couldn’t do anything for yourself could you? So fucking scared and worthless that you had to try to fucking kill someone to keep some fucking money? And you were fucking stupid because you got caught. You were so fucking selfish because you killed her so you wouldn’t get caught.

You selfish bastard.

You worthless piece of shit. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this. You should be where she is now. Rotting in a fucking grave. Maggots feasting on your flesh.

You did this.

His reflection looked pale. He felt sick again but all he did was dry heave. This was the worst feeling he’d ever felt in his life and he didn’t know what to do.

A gentle knock on the door.

“Ransom,” Your soft voice, “I have some ginger ale, it’ll help your stomach.” He hadn’t been as quiet as he thought. He unlocked the door, stepping from the bathroom. Suddenly tired. The glass was gently handed to him and he took a small sip. Eyes not meeting yours.

“I need to lay down for a bit.” A mumbled sentence. You nodded. Gentle hands grasped his biceps, rubbing soothingly as his head found your shoulder. Arms wrapping around each other you both stood there for a moment. Not saying anything.

He didn’t deserve you.

He knows that now.

“Has the family tried to contact you before?” Dowd asked later on that day.

Ransom felt unwell. He hated this. “No.” He shrugged. He must have been a sight. Still in his gym shorts and sweat stained t shirt. He was sunk down into his chair, hand covering his mouth, eyes blankly staring at a spot somewhere in the room past Dowd.

“So why suddenly do you feel this way?” Dowd asked, “You’ve not brought it up the entire year we’ve been talking.” A year since he murdered Fran. A whole year.

“I just haven’t thought about it.” He said. Why would he want to think about it? Dowd hummed, scribbling on his legal pad.

“They’re never going to be okay,” Dowd started, “They lost a daughter, a sister. Someone they can never get back.” Ransom was sure that made sense, the loss of someone you love. But he didn’t love anyone. Only himself.

His heart panged.

He couldn’t reason at the time because if any of his family members died it wouldn’t make a difference.

“What if someone had done the same to Y/N.” Ransom’s heart stopped, eyes finally looking at the doctor’s. “If she was working for someone else and they murdered her to cover up a scheme that wasn’t even successful in the first place.” Ransom’s neck grew hot. His hand at his side clenched in a fist.

“I would be angry.” He reasoned. Dowd nodded.

“That’s what they’re feeling right now.” He explained. “They’re angry because you took her away from them.”

Ransom’s throat felt like it was closing up. What was he supposed to do. He couldn’t change anything. He couldn’t go back.

“It’s a good thing,” Dowd assured him, “That you’re feeling this way.” Ransom felt sick. “This guilt, the remorse you’re feeling. You’ve come a long way in the last year Hugh.” Tears pricked at the corners of Ransom’s eyes. He willed them to stay put. “You can’t change what you’ve done. You’ve murdered someone, you took a life, for what was no reason. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your days, but you can try to do something for them. Anything. Nothing will ever make up for it, but you can try.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to sink into his sheets and disappear. Maybe he could convince you to leave him there until he just wasted away. That sounds nice right now.

It was for no reason. Fran’s death. He could have just paid her off and gotten rid of her. There was no real proof that he’d done anything. The toxicology reports came back clean. His little switching of the bottle trick did nothing. Harlan skit his own throat.

Marta deserved the money.

He saw that now. And it didn’t matter if he’d been cut off or not because now he had his own money and his bank account was acquiring more every day.

So what was it all for?

It seemed so important at the time. He needed to do this. He had to. He needed the money. More than anything in the world. He was so focused on the one object before him. Tunnel vision. He didn’t see the details around the edges.

He couldn’t see the big picture.

What a selfish baby. A fucking coward.

This self loathing was all consuming.

He hadn’t left his bed in two days since the session. Since the letter. He knows you’re concerned. You check on him every once in a while. You trade out his picked at food and bring him fresh glasses of water. You’ve rubbed his back a couple times until he’s shrugged you off.

“Leave me alone.” Biting. He doesn’t mean it but he couldn’t stop it from coming out.

He was angry. Depressed. He didn’t know what to do. What can you possibly do?

It was snowing. The chill permeating from the glass. Contemporary floor to ceiling windows meant cold. It was falling in thick sheets, almost a foot overnight. And he was just staring at it fall. He’d been staring at it fall all night.

A clinking of a tray. The gentle click of the door closing, you rounded the bed, placing down a cup of coffee and some toast, removing the dishes from the end table.

“Ransom.” You whispered, brushing his greasy hair off his forehead. “You’re gonna finish this coffee, eat this toast, and take a shower before you come downstairs.” Your tone was authoritative. “You smell like shit.”

You sat there for a moment longer. He could feel you staring at him. He parted his chapped lips, “I killed her.” A whisper in a quiet room. His eyes red and blankly watching the snow fall. Voice raspy. “For nothing.”

“Yeah,” Your voice soft and sad, “You did.”

He wrote a letter. Put in a clause on the contract of his next book. Nothing would make it right, but he apologized. And Fran’s family was going to get a percentage of royalties from here on out.

He still felt sick.

session #67

He doesn’t remember what it feels like not to be hungover. The self loathing was drowned out with alcohol. It was the only thing he knew to do. The bottom of a bottle felt very comforting until the next morning when his sticky eyes couldn’t pry themselves open. The sick rolling in his stomach as he untangled himself from the mess of limbs. A sweat slick body in his sheets. A girl he couldn’t recognize. Sleepy, stumbling, hand coming down to unstick his balls from his thigh as he found the light switch.

Wincing and collapsing in front of the toilet to empty his stomach. Dizzy with it. Head spinning. He blindly reached for the clean blue towels you had placed next to the sink. Wiping his mouth and pulling himself up to brush his teeth, drinking water bent over, slurping loudly from the tap. There was a gentle relief to his body, like finally some water.

He shuffled back into the room, not casting a passing glance at the woman still asleep in his bed and he dressed to leave. He’ll go sweat this out in the sauna and she’ll be removed by the time he gets back.

He didn’t deserve you.

You should just leave.

He wants you to leave. He wants to be alone. Forever. It’s why he tries to make your job as hard as he possibly can. Never ending guilt churning in his stomach. The sickness sweats out in the sauna and when he pulls back up to the house the only car that sits in the driveway is yours, unused.

You’re humming when he enters the house and his cock twitches at the sight. It had just begun getting warmer outside. You’d ditched your cozy cardigans and wool socks for sundresses and tank tops. The appreciation shows. He adjusts himself in his shorts as he passes you, the knowing hand wordlessly giving him a cup of coffee made exactly how he likes it. He appreciates you. The comfort he’d not felt with anyone else.

He had a roommate in college.

A guy he had been friends with up until the trial. Another rich boy. Just like him. His name was Jeremy.

Ransom hated living with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy, he just liked his own space. Heading off to college he thought his parents would splurge for a private apartment. He remembered being so angry when the three of them arrived and he found out that they booked him on campus housing with another fucking kid. Furious. He didn’t talk to his parents for the first half of the semester. Not until they withheld his money and forced him to contact them.

This was intimacy.

He’d read that in a book. Dowd had recommended some to him. At first he’d scoffed about ‘self-help’ books, but Dowd convinced him that he’s the only person that could really help himself in the end. It didn’t help that Dowd had handed you the list and you’d bought all of them. You’d been reading them too. A quiet understanding that Ransom’s pride was still fragile and neither of you would talk about what you’d read, but just knowing that you’ve both read the same words. You’ve learned the same things.

Whether you put them into practice or not was another story.

But he knew this was intimacy.

It didn’t have to be romantic intimacy. There was a familiar soft intimacy. Just from knowing each other. Truth be told you were the longest relationship he’d ever had. Even if it was just a boss/employee… but sort of friend relationship. You knew him. You really knew him. More than even his own parents. You knew when he wanted to be touched and when he wanted to be left alone. You knew his routine and every variation of it. You knew what he liked to eat. You anticipated each and every one of his needs.

And he didn’t deserve it.

You were too good for him.

That was in all of his thoughts.

Every time you handed him a cup of coffee. Even a second cup when mentally he had been debating having a second. You’d bake cookies or brownies or these cinnamon buns just when his sweet tooth was really kicking in. You knew every craving. He swears you could even sense when he was getting sick. An extra order of tissues, ginger ale, and cough drops delivered to the house a day before he’d even started coughing.

He should treat you better.

That’s what he thinks while he fucks his fist in the shower. Hand slapped against the tile, soft groans as he thrusts his hips into his soaped up hand, thinking about how all he really wants to do is bend you over the sink.

He imagines it, your perfect ass, panties pulled to the side.

As he cums he can’t help but feel the emptiness he feels every night. The vacancy of emotion that leaves his mind void and desolate.

He writes three chapters that day.

“How do you feel about medication?” Dowd asks. The room is quiet. It’s been very quiet this session, Ransom wasn’t feeling very talkative lately.

“I’m not fucking crazy.” He scoffed. Dowd shook his head,

“No, but you’re depressed.” Dowd explained. “Medication will help with your moods, make you more level.” Ransom nodded, sighing heavily. “The guilt may never go away Hugh, you have to learn to live with it. You’ve taken responsibility for your actions.” Ransom rolled his eyes, partially.

“There’s more work to do.” The Doctor explained. “It’s not going to miraculously fix itself overnight, but medication will at least make it a little easier to go throughout your day. Might help you rely less heavily on drinking too.” He knew. Of course he knew. Ransom wondered if Dowd could smell the alcohol still in his sweat. Did he know Ransom popped four ibuprofen right before the session? Did he know that he washed it down by taking a pull of whiskey straight from the bottle?

You knew.

But did Dowd?

“I’m proud of you.” That caused Ransom to look up from his own lap to look at the old man sitting across from him. “You’ve come a long way since we first started.” Ransom shook his head.

“I feel worse.”

“Yeah, but you’ve made a breakthrough.” He explained, “The guilt, remorse, you’re feeling is a good thing. Even if you hate it.”

“It doesn’t feel like a good thing.” Ransom whispered. He picked at the sweats he was wearing.

“It’s not going to,” Dowd assured him, “Not for a while, but the fact that you even feel guilty means you’ve come a long way from being the self-centered narcissist you were when we met.” Ransom chuckled,

“I’m still a narcissist.”

The Doc started him on an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer. The two pills waited for him with his morning coffee from that day forward.

session #74

“You look like you’re having a good day.” Dowd smiled. Ransom was having a good day. He hadn’t drank a lot last night, had pretty descent sex with a pretty red head twice, you’d made him his favorite breakfast and had baked those really good caramel cookies he loved. You were in a good mood, so he was in a good mood.

His mind drifts back to you singing softly as you pulled the cookies from the oven, he was trying to be nonchalant standing off to the side, stealing a cookie as you set the baking sheet on top of the stove, ripping it open, molten caramel burning the tips of his fingers as he shoved the sweet morsel into his mouth. Tongue scorched but worth it.

The quiet hum as you rinse the bowl of cookie dough, his fingers finding your waist, pulling you against his chest as the soft rambling of music played in the background. The two of you rocked from side to side. The endorphins of skin to skin. The chemicals that flood his system giving him comfort.

He didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it.

He wanted it so badly.

So he just took it. Your soft hands covering his as some acoustic version of a pop song played over the wireless speaker in the kitchen. Cheek pressed to yours, ever aware of your ass nestled softly against his hips. Innocently. So innocently.

The light was soft through the windows and Ransom tried desperately to commit this to memory. The way it shines through your hair, the way it makes your skin glow. Your hands are so soft. So soft. He could almost taste it on his lips. Your skin.

“Thank you for the cookies baby.” A whisper. You allowed it, him calling you baby. A soft sweet pet name for someone he didn’t deserve.

“You’re welcome.” He had brought the plate of them in here, in the session.

“I’m doing alright,” He breathes, breaking another cookie open, letting the strings of caramel wrap around each other as he shoved half a cookie in his mouth. “The meds are finally working, so…” He shrugs, “I’m not feeling quite as down.” There were still bad days, but this wasn’t one of them.

“Can we talk about something hard today then?” The Doctor asked, “Is that okay?” Ransom was apprehensive. But… what could it hurt? Only himself. And he still deserved to be hurt so,

“Sure.” A sip of coffee and he settled back into his chair, resting his right ankle resting on his knee.

“I want to talk to you about your family.” He thought of Harlan with his throat slit and a Mother who contacts him once a month. The last time she called him it lasted, according to his phone records, two minutes and forty-four seconds. A ‘how are you?--good, good--is y/n taking care of you--good,good--gotta go. Bye-bye.’ She resented him and Ransom knew that. She’d told him once, drunk of chardonnay that she never wanted to be a Mother.

It shows.

His Father was just as dismissive.

He thinks about the money clip. One that he was gifted when he turned 18 was a match to his father’s. He waved it around plenty of times. Ransom thinks back to the first Christmas you’d spent with his family. The fear, tears in your eyes as you stood there dumbly holding his registration information for the police who didn’t care after he’d slipped them a couple of Benjamin's each and they were on their way. The wad he had handed you from his own money clip silently begging you not to leave him, hoping you’ll return after your long weekend.

Please don’t leave me.

He didn’t say that, but that’s what he meant.

“I don’t know how real people act.” He says, eyes not meeting the Doctor’s. “The whole family…” Harlan, Will, his parents. “None of them are real people,” Shaking his head.

“Is Y/N real?” Dowd asks. Ransom nods, looking down at the cookies. A whisper against his ear. Comfort.

“Yes.” He says. “She is.”

“Have you learned anything from her in the past… how long have you known each other now?”

“Close to three years now.” Ransom smiled softly, really smiled, “The first year she worked for my Grandfather as a tutor for my cousin, Meg. The past two she’s worked for me.” He thinks about your apartment. The one you lived in with your sister.

He’d only been there once.

It felt more like a home and he thinks about how you and your sister acted together. You truly loved one another. The little bickering laced with affection. No fight was ever a real one. Not even when you were yelling at her over the phone, defending him for no real reason. He never understood why someone would say a house is not always a home until he stepped into that apartment.

Yes, it smelled like the curry your neighbor was cooking and yes, it was for lack of a better word crowded. You would say it’s cozy. The furniture worn and much more comfortable than any he’d ever sat in. The way the two of you just steadily accepted him moodily sitting in the corner, in a chair, as their night went on. Even if your sister kind of hated him.

You were kind. You were forgiving. You were welcoming. And you’d taught your sister to be that way too. Even if she was a teenager and hated everyone and everything. To be fair he deserved to be hated and he was confused, but grateful that you didn’t hate him yourself. You said you did, but he knows you didn’t mean it. Not really.

You treated him like he mattered. You believed in him and supported him when he had the idea to write his novel. You picked him up off the ground when he was too drunk to walk. You gave him a shoulder to lean on when he needed a place to lay his head.

You were compassionate.

“I don’t deserve anything she does for me.” Ransom whispered into the quiet study. He shook his head, “She’s going to leave me as soon as the house arrest is over.” Dowd shook his head,

“You’ve done something that is irreversibly wrong.” He stated, “You can never take it back,” Ransom felt the guilt pooling into his stomach. A rain cloud over a sunny day, “The only thing you can do is try every day to do a little better. Put something good into the world. Create something good.”

“Be better.” The Doctor nodded.

“Be better.”

session #86

He was trying. Really trying. A stipend from his books goes to Fran’s family. A monthly donation to Planned Parenthood and another towards a local domestic violence nonprofit. It soothed his soul somewhat, but still didn’t feel like enough. He started looking at houses. For you.

You deserved it. When you left him. When you went back to your normal life. The normal routine. When he was left in his empty house, alone again. Like he wanted. Like he deserved. He was meeting a realtor for lunch tomorrow, but his hobby lately has been browsing house sites looking for a house for you.

Some were too big, some too small. Some too modern, some too old.

Nothing really fit you. Not really.

“Ransom,” You called from the living room, “Are you hungry?”

A few clicks and his computer screen was back on a word document. You poked your head into the study a minute later, a sandwich, cheese toasted on the bread, melted ham and swiss. A sliced apple and the sweet grapes you’d been craving that he had brought home yesterday and two little cinnamon sugar dusted cookies. A glass of water.

“Yeah,” He smiled. You placed the dish next to him, peering over his shoulder at the words typed on the page. “Thank you.” Always thank you, always please. Please love me, please care about me, please, please, I’m trying to be a good person. Please see that. A kiss to your wrist, arms wrapped around his shoulders, chin resting there.

“How’s it going?” You ask. He rubs the bare skin of your arm with his thumb, sighing,

“It’s getting there.” He typed a few more words, flipping through two different word documents. “I’m not sure which story I want to work on, I’m kind of stuck here.” He felt you nod, silently scanning the open page before you before laying a hand over his on the mouse and clicking over to the other one.

“You’re a little farther on this one I think.” It was a story about a situation similar to his own, yet very different. A woman in it that may or may not be referenced heavily by the woman beside him. By you. Who's to say? All likeness to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

“Do you like this one?” He asked. You had to. Your opinion matters the most. Say the word and he’ll delete the whole thing right now. He felt pathetic. What kind of man was he? Definitely not his father, never his father.

“I do,” He could feel your grin, “You should finish this one next.” He didn’t know what to do with you. Half of him knew you would never love him, not the way he wanted you to. Those girls he buried himself in every night were proof of that. He started imagining they were you, lusty and breathless.

He could never do that to you. Ruin yourself with him. He just couldn’t.

“Thank you for lunch.” Another kiss to your wrist.

“You already said that,” You laughed, melodic. His heart skipped. “Don’t forget you have therapy later.” How could he?

“I won’t.” A bite into his sandwich and he was back looking at houses. Maybe he could find a fixer upper. Dowd said he needed a hobby, right?

“What’s on your mind today Hugh?” Dowd was in a good mood. Not that he wasn’t always in a good mood, but today he was in a very good mood. He showed up to the session and very unprofessionally showed you pictures of his newborn grandchild. A little rosy cheeked, baby girl named Ellie. Ransom admired how your eyes softened and lips pulled into a bright smile. He wished you would smile at him like that.

“I’m gonna buy a house.” Giddy almost. “Fix it up.” He nods, “My hobby right? Work with my hands.” Dowd looked at him skeptically.

“That’s a lot of work,” He laughed, “Have you ever lifted a hammer?” Ransom shrugged.

“Can’t be that hard.” It would be… very hard. But he’ll find that out later. “Lots of people do it, right?” Dowd gave a weird grin.

“Yeah but most of them have had some prior teaching or are professionals.” Ransom’s mouth opened and then closed again, eyes squinting as he thought. Surely he could do it, right? He had to.

It was penance.

“I’ll figure something out.” Ransom took a sip of coffee, “I’ve been journalling a bit.” He said, pulling a leather moleskine from the seat cushion. He’s learning to deal with the guilt. The regret. He gets emails about how his contributions have been saving lives, women who need free healthcare, domestic violence victims that have been rehoused thanks to his donations. It doesn’t make it better, he reasons, the murder.

But it’s penance.

“Are you almost done?” Dowd asked, “With the second book?” The first book he’d published he had given Dowd a signed copy, he would willingly give him a signed copy of the second one too.

“Yeah, just about.” He sighed, “A few more chapters.” Dowd nodded.

“Do you want to talk about the self-loathing you’ve been feeling?” Dowd was perceptive. Ransom knew this, but the question still blindsided him. He wonders if you’ve mentioned anything to the Doctor while scrolling through the 200 pictures and cooing over the newborn in a hundred different outfits. Ransom knows you’ve seen it too. You’re perceptive too.

“Not really.” Ransom answered honestly. It made Dowd laugh, “I know you say I have to learn to live with it, I have to live with the guilt for murdering Fran, but I don’t know…” He stared at the Doctor, eyes betraying the sadness he felt in his soul. The despair. “How does anyone live like this? How does anyone live after they’ve murdered someone?” The last question was a whisper, eyes glazing over and staring at the floor.

He should have just gone to jail. He should have been in jail for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t. He didn’t. He’s not. He’s here. Double jeopardy. He could write a book right now on how he killed Fran, how he set up Marta, how he pushed his Grandfather to suicide and you know what would happen? Nothing.

You can’t be tried for a crime you were acquitted from. The jury found him not guilty. Only six people really knew the whole truth. The three detectives, Marta, himself, and you. The three detectives didn’t matter anymore.

Marta didn’t matter anymore.

He didn’t matter anymore.

You never brought it up. The murder. Not unless he brought it up first. It was a hard limit. A line not crossed. You had to forgive him. You just had to. Didn’t you already? Did you hate him? Were you secretly seething with the fact that you had that house arrest bracelet on? Were you really only here for the money?

He wouldn’t be able to take it, he doesn’t think.

Maybe he’ll become a recluse.

Everything is digital now, ordering groceries, maybe he’ll just get a maid to clean up once a week. You can go, take your money and leave him. It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He will survive.

It’s his penance.

He watched you make dinner, Dowd’s words ringing in his ears, bouncing from one to the other, “You can’t hate yourself forever for this, nothing you can do will make it right, you’ve become a better person. An empathetic person, just be better. Every day, try and do better.” He thinks you’re beautiful.

You’d asked him what he wanted to eat and always was his reply of whatever he’d been craving that day, but tonight he said, “Whatever you feel like eating.” So he didn’t know, but it smelled amazing. He’d eat garbage if you put it in front of him. Whatever it was, it was delicious. Some kind of soup. A couple of heated rolls straight from the oven and a green salad, drizzled with a vinaigrette you’d seemed nervous about.

“I found it on Pinterest.” You had explained, “If you don’t like it--” It was delicious. Everything you made him was delicious. He didn’t care.

“It’s good.” He said. He meant it. He wondered now, with less than five months left of his sentence, how soon after it was over would you leave him? And would you never want to see him again? Because he doesn’t know if he could handle it. He needs you.

He really fucking needs you.

session #95

The girl came back. The one you had kicked out of his bed while he was gone. He told you he was at the gym, but what he was really doing was checking on the work done on the beautiful dark cherry wood Victorian with wrap around porch he’d recently purchased. He couldn’t fix it up on his own, that was the truth. Dowd was right, but he was working with a contractor and small crew.

One day a week he would go over there and help them rip out cabinets or tear down walls. Not too many because the house, he reasoned seemed more like something you would like if it wasn’t completely open concept.

He’d sat there, in the early morning light, watching the sun come through the windows. Dust filtered through the air from where they had sanded the floors, refinishing them. They’ll lay down the stain and seal them today. The windows caught the light perfectly. The sun rose and set over this house beautifully, glowing with natural light. You were going to love it.

He was sure of it.

A shout, stumbling in the gravel of the driveway, “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” A laugh drowned in his coffee.

“What’s on the agenda today Ransom,” He watched you shut the door, irritated with him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” Lies.

You couldn’t quit.

Not for another nine weeks.

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” It’s true. He did. Four more chapters and the book was done. He coffee mug in your hand. An emptiness in his heart with the realization of you leaving. Nine weeks. And you’re gone.

He threw himself into it. He was going to finish it this week. The frustration he felt, he just wanted to be done with this book. He was over it, but he was so close to finishing. Doesn’t mean he’s not still a liar.

He needed a fucking break. His head was pounding and you’d come in the office in thin worn out black leggings. When you bent over to pick up the pillow that fell on the floor, he could see the thong you were wearing. His dick was hard.

A promise, “I’ll kick her out myself.” And he was gone.

The girl he brought home, she looked a bit like you. Enough like you when she rubbed her ass against his lap that he’d drug her home. Her lips were attached to his neck. He could imagine her as you. Faintly. Almost.

He felt passive aggressive. He was sort of taking out the anger of not being able to have you on you, not realizing, or not caring? His back met your bedroom door, the girl moaning enthusiastically as her lips trailed down his chest, button down splayed open. Belt clinking and his dick was in her mouth.

Fuck. Head hitting the door. He whispered your name in his head.

He wanted you so bad.

He wanted you so fucking bad.

He pulled the girl off him by her hair. He was going to cum too soon if he thought about it. He could do this.

As he lost himself in her body, bed rocking, hips swinging in a punishing rhythm, the girl’s loud moans drowned out the whisper of your name on his lips.

You were a sight. Sleepy, red marked paper in front of you. You’d found the chapter’s he’d finished just hours before. The ones he had forgotten to give to you. Your hair was messy and your cozy sweater had fallen from your shoulder. He wanted to press a kiss to the exposed skin, but obviously he couldn’t.

“What do you think?” He asked. He watched you jump in your seat, hand pressed quickly to your chest.

“You scared the shit out of me.” You laughed nervously, “It’s good,” You cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.”

“Let me see.” The packet was scribbled over.

I think he did it, he’s an asshole.

I don’t like her either.

Ew, why would anyone ever say that to anyone else?

Add more detail here, I can’t picture it well enough.

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, you rolled the chair side to side. It was cute. Endearing.

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” She wasn’t happy about it. She tried to get him to go another round, but he felt empty. He didn’t want to. You were waiting downstairs after all.

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” He smiled, he liked that you hated it. It maybe made him think you could be jealous. In some universe. Maybe not this one.

“I like how much it bothers you,” He answers honestly.

“It’s annoying,” you snarked back quickly, “Worst way to start my day.” You were being funny.

“That’s the only reason?” Ransom responds, he leant back in his chair, throwing the packet onto the desk. Please say you want to be with me. Give me permission here.

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You scoffed, angry with him. Clearly. You made to walk by him, to leave the room. He reached out and grabbed your arm to stop you, softly.

“If you want to take their place, just let me know.” A wink, a playful slap on his shoulder and you were gone.

“Dick.” Reverberated in the office. A playful laugh.

Therapy today.

He hadn’t slept a whole lot, four hours total. He was tired. And grumpy.

“She loves you, you know that right?” Dowd said halfway through the session. Ransom was deep in his self-loathing today. Probably from the lack of sleep.

Definitely not because each day got closer and closer to you leaving him. Definitely not that.

He shook his head, “She works for me, she gets paid to be nice to me.” Dowd frowned.

“You can’t really believe that Hugh.” Ransom shook his head,

“I don’t deserve her.”

“Men don’t deserve women,” Dowd said, “Period.” He laughs, straightening his tie. “My wife, we’ve been married for thirty years now and I can’t honestly remember life without her in it. She worked to help me get through school and now with my practice I’ve been able to let her do whatever heart desires.” He was smiling fondly, thinking about it. “She’s given me three beautiful daughters, we have a beautiful granddaughter now. A beautiful home, she can’t cook to save her life, but that’s what I’m for… she’s the love of my life, truly.” Ransom looked at the grey old man across from him, the Doctor’s eyes were misty. “She helps me run my practice.” He says, “I would be lost without her and I will work hard to even be close to the man she deserves.”

“It’s just not meant for me Doc.” Ransom swallowed heavily. “It’s not.”

He needed to get out of this fucking house. He couldn’t look at you. He got rid of Dowd. A little harshly. He felt bad about it. You looked up at him from the couch.

“I’m going out.”

Was this love? Yes. He knew he loved you. He’s no a fucking idiot. But you were too good for him. Who forgives a murderer? Who? Why did you have to be like that? So fucking perfect.

You were. So fucking perfect. This house he was fixing for you, the car he was going to buy you after the next book. You deserved all of it.

You and your sister will be taken care of. You’ll never want for anything. You were talking about going back to school maybe, once it’s over. You could do that. He’d do anything for you if you’d ask. He’d pay for all of it. Anything. It’s yours.

How does he resolve this? He doesn’t know.

The donuts, the latte, and his mouth between your thighs a day later. He doesn’t know how to be a good man, but he’s going to fucking try, and try until he gets it right. Until he makes everything right. For the both of you.

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” You’re so receptive beneath him. He loves you so much. The only person he’s ever felt this intense affection for. Not even his own parents he’s loved.

He buries himself between your thighs twice that morning. Panting into your mouth the first time, into your neck the second as he rocks his hips into your tight wet heat from behind. Ass nestled against his hips how he’s always dreamed, teeth biting into his thumb as the two of you lay on your sides.

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered against your neck. His heart racing from his recent orgasm. “I’m sorry.”

session #104

This was it. The last day. Ransom noticed your ankle looked pale, empty now that the bracelet was gone. He would have to fix that. “What am I gonna do now that the dumb bracelet isn’t taking out my ankle anymore?” He whispered into your ear. The damn think had knocked against his ankle bone multiple times in sleep or during sex, enough to make him wince and comment on it multiple times.

Your laugh was melodic to his ears. It was just the two of you now. His Mother stopped by with the same man who had placed the damn ankle monitor on you two years prior to remove it. She made a big show about staying for breakfast.

“So I’m assuming she’ll be moved out by dinner,” She had laughed, “She’s probably sick of you.” Ransom felt a little hurt by that, but his Mother also didn’t know the two of you were now together and ‘moved out by dinner’ was actually going to be him taking you and your sister to dinner and then to your new house that was just finished this morning.

The two of you shared a look and agreed not to say anything.

He dried the dishes as you washed. This oddly domestic moment giving him true belief that maybe this could work. He could have it. He could have what other people have and be okay.

“I love you too.” You’d whispered into his mouth last night. You hadn’t said it back yet, it was the first time. Hands tangled in his hair as you angled his face down. “Please don’t hurt me.” He could never, would never. Not if he could help it.

He brushed his hip against yours as the soft crooning melody played in the background. After the therapy session today the two of you were going to go pick your sister up early from school and drive down to the harbor. He wanted to take you both to dinner. Somewhere you’d wanted to eat for the past two years. A little hole in the wall Spanish place that had ‘the best ceviche and sopas you’ll ever have’ you’ve been talking about it for two weeks now.

Things had changed a lot in the past nine weeks. And not just because the two of you began to have sex on a regular basis. The house seemed more calm. There was an ease now, a tension that had left Ransom’s shoulders. You seemed more at ease too from what he could tell. You’d begun showering him with more affection, sweet lingering kisses down his spine before you left the bed, a press of your lips to his as you enter or exit a room. Thumb releasing the tension in his brow when he was too focused on writing, a kiss wishing it away.

The two of you fell into step as though this was a two year anniversary instead of a two month.

It was nice.

It was very nice.

“It’s good to see you happy.” Dowd said. “I’m very proud of you. You’ve come a long way in the last two years.” Ransom nodded. He felt proud. He did. The guilt still gnawed at him sometimes. But he’d received a letter about a week ago.

Fran’s Mother.

Forgiveness is a tricky thing. And while the two of them would never meet, and probably never speak again. Fran’s Mother believed that God was telling her to forgive him. She thanked him for the royalty checks she’d been receiving in the mail. It helped with her husband’s increasing medical bills. But she will never have her little girl back.

And it was his fault. But she forgave him. Just how he was learning to forgive his parents.

Forgive himself. That was the hard one. He’ll be working on that maybe until the day he dies he thinks. Maybe.

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Ransom explains. Dowd smiled softly,

“And she’s not going to leave.”

“Yeah,” Ransom agreed, “She’s not going to leave.” Well she is, but not completely. He was an adult. He could start taking care of himself, but she was still going to technically be his assistant.

“This is our last session together and before it ends is there anything you’d like to say?” Dowd asked him. The old man had taken on a new light for him over the last two years, Ransom really liked the guy. There was no doubt he helped him a lot, but it was more than that. Dowd was a good man. It was admirable. Ransom had never met a good man in his entire life.

Dowd loved his family, his wife, he loved his job. He was a good guy and if it wasn’t wildly inappropriate Ransom would have loved to take him golfing. Maybe invite his family over for dinner. Maybe one day. Maybe once the Doctor retires.

“I don’t think it should be our last session.” Dowd smiled at that.

“That’s exactly how you know you’ve improved.” The man assured, “Cause you’re nowhere near done.” Ransom should have taken offense to that, but he knew. He was still a work in progress. He still needed help, just maybe not as much as before.

Dowd parted with a cookie tin full of those caramel cookies Ransom loved so much, but he was too excited to care. You were ready to go. You wanted to see your sister more than anything else and he was happy to take you there.

He smirked as you ran into your sister’s arms. The fourteen year old was taller than you now, her face dotted with acne. She glared at Ransom over your shoulder.

He deserves it. Honestly.

Dinner was no better. The teen ignoring him completely as he sat awkwardly in the smallest restaurant he’d even been in. You’d spoke practiced spanish to the server and older woman he’d also seen flipping tortillas on the flat top in the back. You’d placed a paper plate with radishes, limes, and a mix of spicy peppers, onions, and cactus in front of the three of you.

A mess of plates were served. This little hole in the wall served the best tacos he’d ever had. Acidic ceviche that he’d eaten scooped into chips, the second order he ate with a spoon straight from the bowl. He didn’t interrupt the two of you and your jovial conversation.

Julia gossiped about a girl at school who was apparently a total bitch and everyone hates her, but she had secretly been dating another girl they went to school with and was now being super nice because she wasn’t closeted anymore.

There was another story about a teacher who had recently lost a child that your sister and her club had been trying to get money together to help pay for the funeral, “How much do you need?” Ransom interrupted.

Julia looked at him with wide eyes, almost forgetting he was there for a moment. “Uh… like we’ve raised almost $2,000 but we were trying to get a full ten.” Ransom nodded, squeezing a lime over his taco.

“Remind me to write you a check before I drop you back off.” He felt your eyes on him, a soft smile. You weren’t going to spring the relationship on your sister quite yet. Not when she still wanted to strangle him.

“That- You’re going to give me $8,000?” Julia asked incredulously. Ransom nodded, chewing and swallowing.

“It’s hard to lose a child.” He offered, “It’s hard for everyone.”

“Especially the parents.” Julia bit. He deserved that. He nods.

“Especially the parents.”

He was nervous. What if you didn’t like it? He’d sell it he’d suppose. But you had to like it. He broke into your tablet one night and sent screenshots of your Pinterest saves to an interior designer. It should be what you want, how you wanted it.

“Where are we going?” You asked. You had sat in the back with your sister. The two of you holding hands and talking about how homecoming went and how there was a junior guy in band who had asked her to the prom.

“We’re almost there.” He pulled into a paved driveway, turning the corner he tapped a few times on his phone the dark house lighting up before him. He heard two collective gasps from the backseat.

“Ransom, what is this?” You were confused, obviously. He exited the car, the two of you following.

He stepped up on the porch, not answering. His heart racing in his chest. He dug out the small key chain that had been weighing heavily in his pocket, turning to the two of you and hanging it from a finger. “I know you hate expensive gifts, but I can’t let you go back to that apartment.” His mouth was dry.

“Ransom.” You breathed. The keys were snatched from his finger, Julia moved past him to unlock the door, rushing inside.

“Oh my God!” She squealed from inside. Ransom shrugged softly, hand still outstretched towards yours.

“Please take it.” He whispered. A few seconds ticked by as he watched you decide. Please take it.

“Y/N,” Julia called, “This house is incredible.” She was panting in the doorway, shoes already discarded. He watched you look past him to her, the smile on her face. And you took his hand.

You’d been dating for a while when Ransom suggested couples therapy. Pretty much as soon as you’d moved in together. It was a nice break. Six months not seeing each other every minute of every day. He picked you up on real dates. You’d gone to real movies. You’d taken real walks in a real park. You had after dinner drinks at a real bar. One which you’d remembered he had ignored you in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Julia had just gone to bed. She had a soccer game in the morning. He’d suggested it while you were getting ready for bed. A box of his clothes sat still packed in the corner. The last box. One you hadn’t quite gotten to yet.

“There’s nothing wrong,” He defended. “I just think that it would keep us in a healthy relationship.” And you agreed. He was happy you agreed. He didn’t want you to think that he felt as though there were problems. Other than him leaving his dirty socks and coffee mugs around the two of you hadn’t had much of a disagreement.

Yet.

Dowd was kind enough to still make house calls, something Ransom was fortunate for. He was working hard getting his next novel out. Deadline coming on quick as the two of you sat in a session where the Doctor looked at you and said,

“He’s treated you fairly poorly over the last two years.” Ransom felt offended. Dowd was supposed to be on his side, but he came out the gate swinging. It didn’t stop it being true.

You opened and closed your mouth. “I wouldn’t say…” You rubbed your hands down your thighs, drying the sweat on your palms.

“It’s not okay.” Dowd responded. “We both know him, we know how far he’s come.” He gestured to Ransom and Ransom nodded.

“He’s right baby.” A hand on your thigh in a way Ransom hoped was comforting. “The way I treated you is not okay. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions.” You sat awkwardly. Ransom wondered if you were beginning to regret this.

“But Ransom, honey, I just--” You looked so nervous, sinking down into the couch, your eyes fixed on Dowd. “You’ve changed so much, and you’ve never really been…” You gestured with your hands. “You’re a victim of circumstance.” You began, “I don’t believe that if you’d had loving parents you would have ever been in the situation you were in… not that you know, nature versus nurture and I just think, I don’t know, maybe... “

“It’s okay.” Dowd put a hand out. “Listen, this is a lot to start with and it’s okay. We don’t have to get too far into it. The next session I would like to have both of you write a letter to each other, something about how the last two years have affected your life. I think that’s where we should start.”

Intermingling breaths and hips pushed into the kitchen table, loud moans echoing in the kitchen as Ransom sinks himself into you over and over. “So fucking hot baby.” He breathes. “So fucking hot,” He hitched your leg up onto the table, enabling him to go deeper. “You’ll do anything for me, wont you?” He asked. His snapping hard against your perfect ass, hands roughly gripping the globes, tinted red by the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” You moaned roughly, “Anything.” Ransom moaned, reaching a hand down to steadily rub your clit, so wet for him. Only him.

“I love you so fucking much.” He moaned, hips beginning to falter as you came around him. Pussy contracting, milking his cock as he released inside the condom, panting.

“I love you too.” You whispered heavily into the room. Both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Thank you for doing this for me.” His fingers tracing softly down your bare spine. “I know it makes you uncomfortable.” He watched as you pulled your discarded shirt back on, shifting your leggings back up your hips as he discarded his condom, pulling his sweats back up over his own.

“I think it’ll be good for us,” You said, “In the long run.” He nods in agreement.

“I would hate for us to turn out like my parents.” He whispered.

“We’re not ever going to be like your parents.” You assured him, gripping his hand softly.

“I don’t want you to resent me in twenty years.” He looked into your eyes, searching as you replied,

“You think we’ll be together in twenty years?” You asked. He rolled his eyes as you let a watery laugh part your lips. He pressed his lips tightly against yours, fingers tangled in your hair.

“I sure as hell hope so.”

The sessions continued. One a month. Each month.

The two of you worked together to make this relationship work. You tried hard. You grew and you grew together.

“I think we’d be pretty good parents.” He said once. A few weeks before the marriage proposal. It got the both of you hot for it. The idea. Not something you’d been planning on acting on anytime soon but when he was balls deep inside your tight wet pussy he couldn’t help but imagine you swelling with his child, breasts heavy, firm belly pressing against him as he thrust inside you.

He was hot for it, always.

And you were thinking of it too. You’d spin your engagement ring around your finger and stare at him wistfully, tongue coming out to wet your lower lip.

You were riding him. Hips circling on top of his, panting and moaning. Your body glistening with sweat. Hands curled in your hair, back arched. “You gonna give me a baby?” You asked. He nodded, panting, he wanted to thrust into you but he couldn’t help but love the way you looked right now. Chasing your own release. Selfish. Wanting.

He fucking loved it.

You held his wrists to the bed, using your knees to rock back and forth on top of him as you pressed your lips to his. A whisper against his lips. “You gonna cum inside me?” You moaned.

“Yes, baby.” He braced his feet against the bed grinding his hips against yours, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone until you were shuddering on top of him, moaning into his mouth with your release. You collapse against his chest, his arms coming to wrap around your waist, his braced feet giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you. His hips starting a punishing rhythm. The loud slap of his thighs meeting yours filling the room.

“I can’t wait.” He breathes, “I love you so fucking much.” Your choked moans did him in, his release spilling inside you, not willing to let you go quite yet as the two of you stilled. The sweat covering your bodies began to chill you.

“I love you too.”

The wedding was small. Springtime. For months after the proposal and very quiet. Neither of you had very much family and fewer friends. A small group in your backyard. A cake from your favorite bakery. Promises of a bright future and a new life. Here, together.

You’d feel the flutter in your belly a few months after that.

taglist // @littlechillies @hellizhelusive2 @notbexmader @marvelouspottering @whitequeenasitbgan @Thegraylaway @readermia @i-believe-in-unicorns-and-you @princess-evans-addict @perplexed3001 @Diedrashouseofpain @hailmary-yramliah @sleepycvpid @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @starlywars @gifsbysimplysonia @rocknbasil @imnotelasticheart @wannabegonnie @d1sconnect3d @heyguyz13 @unimomajo @this-is-serenaa @steviemae @bemysugarbean @truefangirlheart @babiiface95 @mydarlingharry @elzzin @sweetheart-syndrome @behindthesehazeleyes27 @bassclarinety @orenjineki @southerngracela @songforhema @mjey12 @thatgaldonna @annedub @patzammit @bloatedandlonly @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @the-soulofdevil

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans #knives out

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kazosa · 7 years

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Secrets - SoA: Chapter 15

Summary: Reader has lived in a life full of secrets. When her father dies unexpectedly and sends her on a trip all over the country, she finds out just how much like her father she really is. The end of her trip brings her to Charming, CA where she finally gets some big pieces of her family puzzle put back in place and form new relationships with the people there. Chapter 15: Lunch with Lyla, Sunday Funday with Chibs, fessing up about scars Warnings: language, talk of abuse/stalker Trigger Warning: Talk of domestic abuse and stalking. I tried to skirt the topic as much as possible but still get the point across. Please take that into consideration before continuing. A/N: If it wasn’t clear before, this takes place after the events of the final episode, SPOILERS! Italics are for Chibs and his inner thoughts. Bold is for the reader’s inner thoughts. Word Count: 1927 Master List

Tags: @telford-ortiz-teller @sam-samcro @tstieff @yourcroweater @kacilove26 @hiddlelove @evilsorceress @reallynigga21 @suz-123 @between-shades-of-winchester @caitcrook @i-was-made-of-nutella @charlottecl @gunsnrosesislife @yoonjigu @mkindoll2016 @confidencerush @jade770 @lost-in-the-stories

The rest of the week was like heaven for you. Things finally went at a blissfully normal pace for you and Chibs. You and he would have breakfast together before going to the shop. You would be in the office cleaning and going through the boxes, getting things in order, grateful to Chuckie and his OCD file keeping. There had only been a few boxes that were really messed up. Lunch breaks were, usually, with Filip, except for Friday when Lyla took you out.

There was a nice, little Chinese place that made a delicious chicken lo Mein. You liked Lyla, she seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders and understood the business side of filmmaking.

“How’s your books?” you asked. “Do you do them or do you send ‘em out?”

“I do them, but I’d love it if you’d come take a look, maybe show me some tricks?” she asked as she paid for both of you.

You’d been buttered up. Smirking, you said, “Save that receipt, that’s a business lunch and you can write that off.”

Yeah, you liked that clever girl. She brought you out to RedWoody Productions after you let Chibs know where you were going. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what RedWoody did, nevertheless, it was a bit of a culture shock to see all of the bare bodies as Lyla showed you around and introduced you to people. When she noticed your pink ears and cheeks, she was quicker about getting you to the office.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I see it all the time and forget it’s not normal for everyone,” she apologized.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I think it was the anal rain dance that really threw me for a loop.”

Lyla showed you how she’d set up a computer software program to do the production company’s book work. Lyla went back to work behind the camera while you went to work in her office. She had everything set up neat and tidy. When you were settled and started looking things over, you opened a Word document and started taking notes. Working through someone’s books was like working a big puzzle and you easily lost track of time.

It was almost closing time at the shop and (Y|N) hadn’t come back yet. He knew where she was, and when he tried to call, she didn’t answer. He called the production floor phone and was told Lyla was busy.

“Jaysus, is my ol’ lady there or not?” he demanded.

Twenty minutes later, he was striding into RedWoody looking for (Y|N). He stopped at the office door and watched her for a few moments. She was so many things, a thief, speed freak, biker, beauty queen, accountant, daughter, and most of all, she was his. She had a way with people that he admired, and he loved that she could make him laugh. She warmed his heart and his bed.

He looked at her sitting there with her hair being held up with pencils and he wondered again how in the hell she did that. She put on her glasses to look at the file folder in her lap, so engrossed in the work, she still didn’t see him. (Y|N) began typing a note when he spoke.

“Sexy as hell.”

She finally looked up and gave him a smile that made his cock twitch. Jesus, the sex… he couldn’t hardly keep his hands off her. She made him act like a horny teenager.

“Uh-oh, neglecting the shop? Who will watch the mice play while you’re out?” she teased, her eyes glinting, her smile mischievous.

“This cat left the shop when all the mice went home,” he said, stepping into the office.

He watched the realization wash over her as she checked the clock then leaned back in the chair and rub her hand over her face. She quickly printed a document and shut everything down. After gathering them, she stood in front of him and looked up at him with her beautiful (Y|E|C) eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she put her arms around his neck, “I lost track of time. It’s fun looking through stuff like this.”

It definitely was not fun for him. It may as well have all been in Greek for as much sense as it made. It did make him glad all over again that she’d walked into the office that night. He leaned down to kiss her.

“You can make it up to me later. I want to take you out for a ride,” he told her as he put his arm around her.

She surprised him by pinching his ass. “Deal,” she grinned up at him.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON You were lying in bed with Filip, neither one of you eager to do anything other than lie there together talking or making love. You’d never wanted anyone as much as Filip. He took the time to make sure your needs were met, and you he. A few moments prior, you’d rolled off of him and to his side, your legs shaky and sore.

“Insatiable!” he breathed hard. “Jaysus, you’ll be the death of me.”

“It’s your fault. I can’t help if my old man is damn sexy. Tone down the sexy if you’re too tired,” you leaned back to grin at him. Rolling up onto your elbow, you half laid on his chest so you could hiss him again. After, you snuggled into the crook of his shoulder as his breathing evened out.

“I canna just’ turn it off,” he was matter-of-fact. “You’re either a sexy bastard or yer not.”

That made you giggle, “Quite right.”

It felt good to be with him and not just for the amazing sex. It was the way he held you, how he would brush the hair out of your face before kissing you, the way he looked at you when he thought you didn’t see him. It was all so…right.

Together you laid quietly for a few moments when the shiny skin on his belly caught your eye. It was so much like your own. You ran your fingers over the mostly smooth skin.

“Was this Jimmy’s doing, too?” you asked.

“Aye,” he said softly.

He pulled you closer, if that were possible.

“What about you, luv? Chasing that speed demon?”

You shook your head a little. It was time to tell him, he needed to know. It had happened a long time ago, but like the song said, the scars remind us…

“No. It was a guy named Brandon. But before I get to him, you need to know about Tom, first…” you began. You told him how you and Tom were friends since you were kids, bonding over your love of cars. As soon as you and Tom got your licenses, you were driving all the time and boosting cars. After your accident, you weren’t around to make sure Tom stayed out of jail and about 8 years later, he got caught for the last time and was sent to prison for grand theft auto on a 2-7-year stint.

You told Chibs you’d met Brandon while you were in the army and he had swept you off your feet. You didn’t notice his aggressive behavior right away, or were quick to dismiss it. It all finally came to a head when you could no longer make excuses and you kicked him out. You’d thought you’d done everything right, changed the locks, changed your phone number, kept your comings and goings random, you’d even gotten a restraining order. Eventually, after several months, you’d started to relax a little and that was when it had happened.

“The only thing that made him stop was letting him believe I was dead. I thought he left so I crawled for my phone that was in my purse and called 911. I was told later, when I was in the hospital, that when the cops caught him, it looked like he was going to try to dispose of me,” you tried to roll out of Filip’s tight hold on you. “Sweetheart,” you looked up at him, putting your hand on his cheek, “I’m okay.” He only loosened his hold a little, enough for you to lie on your back. Your fingers traced the scar on your belly, “I had a tear on my liver. They didn’t know where the bleed was at the time, so they cut me here to poke around inside.”

It hurt you to see the look on his face. He was so upset. The man who called you his personal furnace was suddenly very hot and angry.

“I’ll bloody kill the bastard!” he barked. “The wretched piece of shite doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air…”

“Filip,” you tried to calm him. He almost hopped out of the bed and pulled on his underwear, leaving you alone with the sheet pulled up around you. “He’s not worth it and he’s not going to be hurting anyone ever again.”

He stopped to stare at you, “What?!”

“The judge on Brandon’s case knows my mom, respects her. He threw the book at him and sent him to the same prison that Tom was in,” you told him. What a tangled web… “Brandon could never keep his mouth shut and word eventually made it to Tom. Tom had always tried to look out for me. Anyway, he and some of the guys he hung out with made sure Brandon couldn’t raise a hand to harm anyone ever again.”

Filip was pacing the floor in the bedroom and stopped near the door to look at you. He crossed the space to you and sat in front of you on the bed.

“There’s more, isn’t there, luv?” he encouraged, putting his big hands over yours.

You nodded, it seemed like there was always more, “When Tom got out a few years later, he and I started a relationship. Looking back, I knew it was never going to go anywhere. I thought at some point we’d just grow out of it, but he proposed and, for some reason, I said yes. I finally came to my senses about a week before the ceremony.” You sighed heavily, relieved and grateful you finally got it all out. “I didn’t know what love was then, but I knew what we had wasn’t it.”

Chibs was both mad that (Y|N) had gone through an abusive relationship and mad that he hadn’t been the one to take care of Brandon. He might have even been a little jealous of Tom for being the one to do it. What he was most jealous about was that he had known the lass most of her life and had loved her longer. If he ever met Tom, he wasn’t sure if he’d shake his hand or punch him in the face.

When he looked up at her, his heart broke a little. “None of it was your fault, lass. Ya didn’ deserve a bit of it, aye? No man should ever raise a hand to the woman he loves, not ever.”

“He never loved me, Filip,” her voice soft.

“I know, luv,” his spirit was heavy, “men like him are incapable.” He took her hand and vowed to himself that he would protect her with everything he had, even if she didn’t love him the same way he loved her.

“C’mon, (Y|N), let’s get cleaned up, go for a ride. I have a surprise for you,” he said taking her hand and leading her to the bathroom.

#secrets #chapter 15 #fan fic #reader insert #fan fiction #chibs x reader #chibs telford x reader #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fan fic #kazosa #lyla winston #trigger warning

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welcometophu · 7 years

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Not Your Destiny: Chapter 30

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 30

[ Previous | First | Next ]

It’s all hands on deck at the shop on Wednesday morning. Insurance is still processing the cars, but the ones that are too damaged to be fixed have been hauled off the lot, and the ones that need detailing and cleaning have been towed to another place. Tony parks the Mustang in the empty back lot, and Ángel moves Helga into a nearby space until they can finish working on her.

Tanner and Hayley come in to help, along with Maritsa and Cleto. Zita is there while her children are at a program for a few hours, walking through and barking orders while Gabi writes everything down.

Tony’s shirt is smudged with soot as he scrubs down the walls, the water running dark. Maritsa works next to him, stopping to look at her fingernails.

“You’re lucky I get my nails done next week,” she mutters. “I am going to smell like smoke for my wedding. Which is in one week, thanks.”

“It’s not Tony’s fault someone lit the shop on fire,” Cleto reminds her, moving in close while Tony moves several steps away.

Maritsa deflates, dips her sponge back into the bucket and wrings out soapy, dark water. “I know. But it’s terrible timing.”

Ángel bites his tongue, because this isn’t the moment to ask if there’s any chance that Tía could be involved, or anyone else in Maritsa’s family. He still doesn’t want to think that any one of them would go this far to destroy what Maritsa has with the Mollicones. With the Lince.

“Ángel, I need you!” Gabi sings out, and he hurries away from the floor. As he slips into the office, she hands him a sponge and bucket. “We can rescue some of this. There’s a service coming in, but we need to be able to see what’s trashed and what can be done, and they’ll be redoing walls, pulling out the dead furniture, bringing in new.”

“I thought you didn’t have the settlement from insurance yet,” Ángel says.

“We don’t.” Zita sits on top of the one clean surface—Gabi’s desk—her legs crossed at the knee, a clipboard balanced there as she writes. “But we have money, and we’re paying for everything now and we’ll just put away the insurance money when we get it. I don’t want to wait to get our business open again, and I have a feeling this case will linger. Insurance will want to know more about the arson charges before they pay out.” She taps her pen against the edge of the clipboard. “They might pay the car owners first, but for us, they want proof that we didn’t torch the place on our own.”

“You’d think that with how much effort we’re putting into bringing it back to life, they’d get the idea that it’s not our fault,” Gabi mutters, scrubbing at the top of a file cabinet. “But no, apparently they think we might’ve let it all go up in smoke to get improved equipment. But we liked our setup. And the computer’s fine, and that’s honestly the one thing I would’ve liked to replace.”

“We’ll replace it anyway,” Zita says quietly. “I’ll just get that new system we were talking about, and it’ll take you some time to transfer the records. It’ll be worth it.”

“How were the paper records when you went through them?” Ángel gestures at the empty file cabinets, then starts scrubbing at his own desk.

Not his desk. The desk he’s been using, and it’s probably Zita’s desk normally. Or Tony’s, or maybe Maritsa’s. Someone else’s desk.

It feels like his desk by now, though. He reaches down, opens a drawer and looks in.

“Did you leave clothes here?” Zita asks, leaning over to look.

Ángel shakes his head. “Never really got around to it, although I should’ve. Glad I didn’t.”

Gabi snorts softly. “I love the idea that you leave clothes everywhere we are. Like you can’t resist undressing around us.”

His cheeks go hot, and he doesn’t want to go down that road, not when he wouldn’t just be talking about temporary tats with Gabi, or cleaning up with Luca. “The records?” he asks again.

“Smoky, but pretty much everything survived,” Gabi says. “The fire burned out the drawer we keep spare shirts in, then seemed to stop before it got to the records in the drawer above it. The food that Luca stored in the cabinets for snacks ended up disgusting and I already tossed it on Monday. But we can bring back the history.” She smacks the top of the filing cabinet, black water running down the side. “These aren’t burnt, but… I think I’d rather replace them, Zita.”

“Noted.” Zita kicks her heel against the desk. “Clean these out. I’m bringing in all new furniture. The cleaning crew will be starting in here tonight, and they’ll work through the weekend in order to get the place back to us as soon as possible.”

She sets the pen down, leans back on her hands and looks at the walls. “I’m having them gut the place,” she says quietly. “Redoing the walls, priming everything to get rid of the smell. They’re going to be working quickly, but they said they can do it. Some of the equipment is going to make it out, and we’re cleaning what we can before it’s scrapped or donated. It’s up to us to get everything as good as we can tonight, before they come in to get started. You guys will be doing work out back tomorrow, if we have anything come in.”

“We don’t have a tow truck,” Ángel points out. “We don’t have a way to get anything back here.”

“I’m hoping to borrow one for a few days,” Zita says, her tone bland. “Calling in a favor, if they can manage to spare it. I’ve already made plans to pick a new one up next week.”

“We should get two.” When Zita glares at her, Gabi spreads her hands. “What? There have been so many times when I could’ve sent out two different calls. One for road repairs, one to haul someone in. Things get backed up with only one person on call. If it takes two hours for a road repair, that’s someone sitting around waiting for that long if they’re next in line, or it’s business lost if they call somewhere else.”

Zita huffs and makes a note. “You have a point.”

“Of course I do. This is my place too.” Gabi smiles, pleased with herself, and winks at Ángel.

“I’m not going to be around to go out for you after next week,” he reminds her. “I have to go back to school.”

“Pfft.” Gabi waves away his protest. “You’ll be back for break. Should I expect to see you in March for spring break, or do we have to wait for summer? Send me your finals schedule so I know when you’ll be in and I can get you on the board for work.”

“What if I—”

“You’ll be back,” she says, like that’s that.

Ángel had been thinking about doing research. Finding a project he could work on with Hayley, combining Chemistry, Physics, and Magical Studies, or branching out into something else. But he’d planned on staying on PHU campus, working there. Not coming back to Florida.

His gaze drifts to the door, and Gabi makes a small noise.

Fine, she may have a point.

“Hey, do you need anything?” Tanner pokes his head in, waves a piece of paper. “Luca gave me a list, and Hayley and I are going to go pick up Emerson and then stop at the store.”

Gabi coughs.

Fine. She may have multiple points, and Ángel will probably be back next summer, with Hayley. He rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to say it, though.

Zita slides off the desk, flips pages on her notepad, and starts listing items off for Tanner. Most of them are cleaning supplies, as well as paper, coffee supplies, and other things to take back to the house for now, along with a fresh stock of plain white t-shirts. Ángel notices that Luca’s snacks go on the list, along with stopping off at the office supply store to order Gabi’s computer and a new printer. Zita picks up the office phone, plugs the cable back in.

“Keep the phone,” Gabi says. “It’s been covered in fingerprints and oil all along. We’ll wipe it down, and a little soot will remind us that we’re not immortal.”

Tanner’s brow furrows. “Do you really need a reminder?”

Gabi and Zita glance at each other. “Sometimes we need a reminder that we’re not idiots when we try to be careful,” Zita says slowly. She picks up her purse, pulls a card from her wallet and hands it to Tanner along with two paint samples with colors circled and numbers written. “Pick up the paint while you’re out, too. Hopefully we’ll be starting that on Monday, so you might as well get it now.”

“Do you need help?” Ángel offers, and for a moment Tanner looks like he considers it.

Then he grins and shakes his head. “Nah, Hayley and I have got this. Emerson’s doing well, and we’ll get it all done and be back in a couple of hours.”

“I’m bringing food in for a picnic out back,” Zita offers, and Tanner’s expression clouds.

“Can’t,” he says. “Martin/Cruz dinner tonight.”

Oh, shit. Ángel forgot about that.

Tanner knocks into Ángel. “I’ll take you home, unless someone else is giving you a ride after we’re all done here. But thanks for the offer, Zita. If we didn’t have a family thing, we’d love to eat here.”

Zita waves him off. “Go. Get things done so you can get back and not be late for your family dinner.”

Gabi tilts her head, frowns slightly. “Ángel, why don’t you go out back and get started cleaning up.”

He thinks about offering to stay, but Gabi nods at the door, and Ángel takes the chance for escape. He walks Tanner out, gives Hayley a hug before they head off, then walks to the back and out.

Tony’s already there, a broom in hand, pushing at debris. He glances up as Ángel lets the door swing closed behind him, then straightens up, leaning on the broom. “What are you doing out here?”

“Gabi sent me.” Ángel looks around for another broom, and failing to find that, grabs a pair of work gloves and puts those on instead. He hauls over one of the trash bins and starts picking up debris to put in it. “She and Zita have everything under control in the office. I was just getting in the way.”

“Mm.” Tony starts sweeping again, pushing the largest of the mess toward Ángel while piling up the dust and dirt and ash in a separate space. They work in silence for a time, until Tony stops, leaning the broom against Helga so he can pull of his shirt, use it to wipe the sweat from his face.

Ángel takes the moment to lean against Helga’s bumper, patting her. “What are we going to do about Helga?” he asks quietly. “She still needs to be fixed. Did the parts go up in smoke?”

“I’ve got what I need to finish up with her,” Tony says. “We’ll get her back on the road before it’s time for you to leave.”

“It’s not that long.” It’s hard to think about that way, that the wedding is only a week away, which means Ángel and Hayley will be driving back to PHU the weekend after. So much has happened in the time since they came home. Angel’s pretty sure his life will never be the same.

“Yeah.” Tony balls up his shirt, stalks to the door. “I need to get a change of clothes.”

“There’s nothing clean in—” Angel’s voice trails off as the door bangs closed behind Tony. “Everything’s covered in ash, and it’s not like I mind seeing your naked chest,” he mutters under his breath. “But hey, run away while we’re talking. Because that went well.”

Ángel strips off the gloves, drops them on Helga’s hood. His car’s in good shape, relatively speaking. As good as the Mustang maybe—they’re both functional and not damaged by fire. Of course, they never finished the motor for the Mustang’s top, so they’d better get a new cover for it.

He walks over, runs his hand along the edge of the door. He flinches when the door to the building slams closed, turns slowly to see Tony walking toward him. Tony nods at the Mustang, and Ángel doesn’t wait for a second invitation; he opens the door and climbs in, settling into the driver’s seat.

Tony slips into the passenger seat, sinks down with his head tilted back.

Ángel lets his hands fall on the steering wheel, slides them along the pebbled surface.

“You’re not driving my ‘stang again right now,” Tony murmurs. He has one hand across his eyes, keeping the sun out.

“Didn’t plan on it.” Ángel drops his hands, crosses them to keep himself from touching anything else. “It’s just a clean place to sit.”

Tony tilts his head, gaze dropping from Angel’s head to where he sits. “I should tell you to go clean up before you sit in here.”

“You’re still shirtless and your jeans are a mess,” Ángel counters.

“My car, my rules.” Tony inhales, lets it out slow and even. “Let’s just sit still for a while. Where it’s quiet.”

The silence doesn’t last long before Angel’s phone buzzes. He glances at Tony, and Tony looks down at his hand, raises an eyebrow. Ángel takes that as an invitation to interrupt the quiet and pulls his phone out, frowns as he sees the message from Hayley.

Tony’s friend Daphne is at the store.

This might not be something to share with Tony. I wouldn’t exactly call her a friend, he sends back.

Girlfriend, Hayley sends. She’s talking to Tanner and Emerson about Emerson’s Talent. She’s being really nice.

She is NOT NICE. Ángel wants to make sure Hayley gets the point. She’s met Daphne, even if it was briefly. More than once, Ángel thinks. He starts typing, but doesn’t get to finish the thought before Hayley replies and Ángel sits upright, staring at the screen.

She’s got loads of ideas and knows a guy that Emerson can talk to. Someone who might be able to help with the seizures.

Tony’s shoulder presses against his. “She?” he asks, and Ángel just scrolls down to show him the earlier piece of the conversation, feels the way Tony goes tense against him. “Tell her it’s a bad idea,” Tony orders.

“I’ve been trying, believe me. I don’t like Daphne.” He looks over at Tony briefly. “Sorry.”

Take the names if you want but don’t take her advice. Daphne’s NOT NICE. She’s not even nice to Tony and they’re dating. Still. I think.

Tony doesn’t offer clarification before Ángel presses send.

Tanner’s listening, but Emerson keeps trying to step backwards. I don’t think he trusts her. And if you don’t trust her, I don’t trust her.

Ángel breathes more easily after that text. Good, he sends back. Good instinct. Don’t trust her. Pretend and get rid of her. Talk to Tanner later, okay?

I will, Hayley promises, and the phone goes silent. Ángel drops it on the seat, moving his hand when Tony picks it up to look at the conversation.

Tony blinks, then hands the phone back to Ángel again. “Sorry, shouldn’t have taken that without asking.”

“Well, it’s not like you thought I’d be talking about you,” Ángel mutters, face heated.

“No, it’s true. I told you before: she’s not a nice person, although she thinks she is.” Tony leans back, head tilted so he stares up at the sky, hand resting in the space between them. “And she hasn’t exactly been nice to me for a long time. In her defense, I haven’t been putting much into the relationship, either. I’m pretty sure she can tell. I did cut her out for New Year’s Eve.”

“You broke up with her,” Ángel points out. “Why didn’t you just stay apart?”

“It’s complicated. We’ve been together a long time.” Tony’s mouth thins. He lifts his hand slowly, crosses his arms, shoulders bunching with the movement. “Like I said, we got together young. There’s a lot of history, a lot of things we’ve been through together.”

Ángel reaches before thinking, touches Tony’s forearm. He pulls back when Tony flinches, but Tony shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” Tony says, and Ángel flattens his hand, curls around Tony’s warm skin.

“Why do you keep going back?” he asks.

“How do you feel about Hayley and Tanner?” Tony asks in return, rather than denying that he does keep going back.

Angel frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asks. When Tony gestures, Ángel sifts through his feelings, tries to find a way to put it. “Fine. I uh….” He tries to make sense of it, mouth twisting in frustration as he thinks. “I still love her. I mean, I probably always will, and we’re going to be friends forever—which I’m pretty sure is different from you and Daphne.”

Tony doesn’t deny it, just stares up at the sky.

“But I’m not hurt about her and Tanner anymore,” Ángel admits. “I’ve moved on. Mentally, I mean. I want her and Tanner happy, and I’ll be there to support her, and I really hope they work out because I think the magic had the right idea.”

“Do you think it’s forcing them?”

Ángel twists in the seat, hand against Tony’s chest as he shakes his head. “No, not at all. It can’t. It’s not a love spell, it’s just a way of bringing out what’s already there. Or I guess in this case what has potential to be there. But it can’t make them fall in love; they either will or they won’t, no matter whether the magic sees something perfect between them or not.”

“Did it scare you?”

It’s a strange question, and Ángel can’t read anything behind the mask Tony seems to wear, quiet and still. “Did it—maybe? I thought I knew exactly where my life was going, and suddenly it just… wasn’t. Suddenly everything shifted sideways and I was left feeling like the ground wasn’t even stable under my feet. And when I first found out, if I could’ve just gone back in time and had it all the stay the way it was, I probably would’ve. I knew how things worked then, with Hayley as my girlfriend, and Tanner as my best friend, and it all made sense. And for a little while there, nothing made sense, so yeah. I was angry, but maybe a little scared, too.”

Tony nods, licks his lips thoughtfully. “That,” he says slowly. “You were with Hayley for what, two years? I was with Daphne for eleven. And the first few were good. I mean, we had a few hiccups, but overall, they were really good. I’ve been with her since I was in high school, and even if it wasn’t perfect, I knew where I was going. Eventually. I wasn’t rushing to get anywhere, and when she started pushing, it felt—it felt like she was trying to force something that wasn’t actually there. That I knew wasn’t there, and maybe I’d known it for a while, and something—”

“What?” Ángel asks, when Tony just stops talking.

Tony inhales, holds it for a long moment before it slips out slowly. “Something made me look at things differently. And that terrified me.”

“Oh.” Ángel rubs at his wrist, realizes that Tony’s looking at him now, not the sky. He can feel the weight of Tony’s gaze, the strength of his regard, and Ángel looks away. “Maybe it’s time to break up with her again. Or stay broken up,” Ángel suggests quietly. “If she’s not good for you.”

“Maybe,” Tony agrees. He sits up, leans forward with his elbows on his knees, palms up and ink in view.

Ángel flattens his palm over his own ink, covering the cat from view. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Tony arches an eyebrow. “This wasn’t personal?”

Heat floods Angel’s cheeks. “Different kind of personal. Just for personal reference. Obviously you’re attracted to women—you’ve been dating one for more than a decade. Are you attracted to men at all?”

“You want to know if I’m bi?” Tony asks.

Ángel manages to nod, then Tony’s hand is on his cheek. Ángel goes absolutely still as Tony leans forward, mouth warm and lips chapped as he kisses Ángel. Time slows down, Angel’s heart thundering in his chest as his mouth opens slightly, invites the kiss deeper.

Electricity sparks and flickers explode around them, the Mustang starting with a violent rumble.

Tony pulls back abruptly, eyes wide. “Shit.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Ángel reaches for the steering column, sends another shock to stop the car, but it’s too late.

Tony’s already out of the car, the door slamming in his wake. He’s gone before Ángel can call out, stalking across the lot and into the shop, the door falling closed with a thunk.

Fuck.

Ángel slumps back into the seat, slides down until his knees are bent and squeezed under the steering column, and he can barely see over the edge of the door. Maybe he can just stay here for a while, at least until he has to go home. Because he’s sure as hell not chasing Tony inside, not after that exit.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #not your destiny #phu marked #marked

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coldphannie · 7 years

Text

All The Dreams Of You

Summary: Dan gives Phil a device to record his dreams. And they are quite the dreams.

Warnings: Mentions of smut but no actual description of it Words: 1.5k Read on ao3

I’d like to thank my friend Claire @phloridas for proof-reading. Go check out her incredible fics!!

Inspired by PJ’s video “SNAKE OIL WITH DAN & PHIL” Title inspired by SALES - Talk A Lot.

For Christmas, Dan decided to gift Phil his very own DreamTrap. Phil came up with it in an old video, and, of course, someone made his dream a reality.

It was a personalised gift, one that Phil seemed to appreciate very much. Well, enough that they shared a brief hug.

That was it. Dan didn't hear anything of the DreamTrap in the weeks after he gave it, which wasn't enough for Dan. He wanted to know how well his gift was working.

It led him to their desktop computer, which was set up with the DreamTrap's data. They decided it shouldn't have direct upload to YouTube, given it might ruin the carefully constructed style of content Phil had going on.

Dan had no doubts about opening the data, no caution in possibly finding something absurdly incriminating. He was very shocked to find out all of them were sex dreams.

In reality, they weren't all sex dreams, but that would be like searching for a needle in the hay. Dan wouldn't have the brain capacity to realise that, anyway, not with the stunning amount of sex dreams that involved him.

Phil was having sex dreams. About Dan.

Dan could feel his mouth go dry. It was like watching a horrific accident take place and not being able to look away. He was glad to be wearing headphones and not traumatising the neighbours, because it was also incredibly vivid-sounding.

He couldn't stop looking, in particular, at himself behind the screen. It wasn't hard to miss how into it dream-Dan seemed to be.

A whole day later, Phil still had no idea Dan looked into his DreamTrap data.

Dan looked up from his bowl of cereal, getting soggier by the second, and asked, "How do you like the DreamTrap?"

Phil, sat on the other side of the couch as Dan, merely said, "It's good."

"That's good." It wasn't enough for Dan, he wanted to know if Phil would let on. He managed to catch Phil's eye. "Will you upload any to YouTube?"

Phil didn't show any major signs of reaction, but he did say, "I don't know about that," with a hint of urgency.

Dan, wanting to push a little more, faked innocence with a curious voice. "Why is that?"

"It's not very interesting, is all," Phil said, turning his gaze away.

Dan wanted to tell Phil he found his dreams very interesting, but that might be a bit too much for the both of them in that moment.

It was a shameful thing Dan liked to do, going back to the computer data and watching sex dreams about him and his best friend. He couldn't decide whether to feel flattered or disturbed. He kept coming back to it, which was explanatory in itself.

He mentally chastised Phil on his lack of security. It occurred to him, maybe once, or twice, that he shouldn't watching the clips. He honestly couldn't peel his eyes away. There were some that were particularly steamy, and some that hit a little too close to home.

That one had a much younger looking Dan, felt more like a memory than a dream. It made Dan frown from the emotions he didn't want to face. He noted how dream-Dan wore Phil's university sweater the entire time, the sentimental little shit.

It all stopped when one day, the files were deleted.

The DreamTrap was still connected. He checked the rubbish bin, maybe it was an accident, but it was spotless. Like someone wanted to get rid of something.

Dan slept fitfully for a while after that, craving the intimacy he hadn't felt, or needed, until he saw those videos. He knew he had to take a risk.

He entered the hallway and bumped right into Phil walking past.

"Oh." Phil clutched at his chest. "You scared me."

"Sorry about that," Dan choked out, a bit quieter than usual. He was starting to have second thoughts, worked up by the nerves chasing down his spine.

Phil studied Dan. "Is that my jumper?"

Dan released the breath he didn't know he was holding, wondering if Phil would ever notice. "Yeah. Is that a problem?"

"No." Phil gulped, and couldn't quite keep the strain out of his voice. "Just reminds me of a dream I had."

Dan knew exactly what dream he had, and as soon as Phil took the bait, he also knew he had to do something. He took a deep breath, and let out, more softly than he would've liked, "I know."

"What?" Phil stiffened, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "You know?"

Dan looked up at him through his eyelashes, like he knew would get to him. "Yeah. I do."

Phil stared at him for a long time, a flurry of emotions running across his face, finally settling on deep pain. "I don't know what to say. I-I, gosh, I'm sorry?"

"Sorry for what?" Dan smiled cheekily. "Sorry that you had them or sorry that I saw?"

"I..." Phil started to withdraw, which caused a strike of fear within Dan. "You weren't supposed to see, oh god."

"Hey, now. It's okay." Dan tried to appease him, reaching an arm out. "I don't mind. It's kind of hot you see me that way."

"It's not that," Phil said, eyes welling up with emotion before he shook it off, shook off Dan's hand, and asked, "What did you just say?"

"It's kind of hot," he repeated, making himself look as appealing as he could – small, swallowed in Phil's university jumper, eyes wide and wanting.

"Dan. You should-" Phil's eyes raced around Dan's face, then down, down, and back up. "You should know what this is doing to me."

"Tell me what it's doing to you," Dan said, taking a step closer to Phil. "Show me what it's doing to you."

Phil sealed his mouth with a kiss, and led him into his bedroom.

It was weird because it didn't happen like Dan imagined, it didn't happen like the dreams. Phil held Dan carefully, prepared Dan gently, continued asking if he wanted to keep going, kept looking at Dan with a mix of intensity and fear. The whole time, Phil looked a bit afraid. He shut Dan up with a kiss when he'd try to mention it.

Afterwards, they cleaned themselves up with tissues and wet wipes. Dan sunk right into Phil's chest, breathing soundly. It was good. He'd like to do it again. But for now, he wanted to relax in close quarters with Phil.

He felt his eyes fluttering shut, pulling him into a lull of sleep from the lack of it he’d gotten lately and the contentment he felt in that moment.

"I don't have sex dreams about you because I'm just attracted to you, sexually, Dan," Phil said. "I have them because I'm in love with you. I can't help them."

It pulled Dan straight from the depths of sleep, smiling. "You love me?"

Phil looked surprised Dan was awake. He studied Dan for a moment, judged his calm reaction. The shine was building up in his eyes. He said, gently, "Yeah."

"It makes me really happy to hear that you love me." Dan ran his fingers over the skin of Phil's shoulder. He looked him in the eyes. "I'm not one hundred percent sure of myself, but I definitely like you a lot."

"That – That's good." Phil gave out a big sigh of relief, looking a little dazed. "That's really good. I'm not even here right now. My soul's gone on a vacation away from my body, I'm so glad."

Dan snorted. "And you left me behind? I want to go on that vacation too."

Phil was still looking at Dan like he wasn't real. "Are you sure this isn't a dream right now? This is too meta for me."

"I'm pretty sure I caught you earlier about to steal my cereal." Dan laughed when Phil gave a sheepish look. "I'm right, aren't I? Definitely not a dream."

"How would I know? Maybe my dreams have gotten hyper-realistic."

"Absolutely not. I believe you made me cum three times in one of your dreams. That's entirely unrealistic."

Phil flushed. "Okay, then." He then said, "Well, if I tried-"

"No! I can't imagine. I think I'd turn into a soup of sweat." Dan winced. "You don't want to see that."

"Hmm, maybe not.” After a moment of laughing, and Dan making a half-offended face, he continued, “Just kidding. I think I’d want to see you in any way.” He smiled like he knew how cheesy it was.

Dan gave a groan, peering down at Phil like he didn't totally love it. "We're not gonna be one of those disgusting couples, are we?"

Phil looked entirely too happy, and said, "We might. I'll show you off to my family."

Dan collapsed into his chest, huffing. "Fine. As long as you keep doing that thing you did earlier." He blushed just thinking about it.

"You really liked that, didn't you?" Phil sounded amused, brushing his fingers down Dan's back. "And I will."

Dan smiled, overcome with warmth. He felt so comfortable in that moment, happy where things with him and Phil were going, opening up a far range of possibilities. His mind was beginning to cloud. He curled into Phil's side, yawning. "Sleep now."

"Okay." Phil shifted his grip around Dan, breath tickling his hair. "Sweet dreams."

#phanfic #phanfiction #my fics #phan

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rambles-n-tumbles · 7 years

Text

Tying Loose Ends

Fandom: BTS

Pairings: OT7

Genre: Adventure, Heist AU

Word Count: 3,469

Summary: The Heist AU no one asked for but I sure needed. Seokjin, Jimin, and Yoongi go in. Jungkook and Namjoon make sure they get out. Taehyung and Hoseok make sure no one remembers their names.

"Now I know he was being a dick, but did you really have to sedate him, Yoongi?"

Seokjin didn't hear a response, which meant the man in question was most likely rolling his eyes behind his back. Typical. He felt a remark coming up his throat but bit it back, instead focusing on the unconscious man currently dangling from an office chair. He supposed this would make transit easier, but that wasn't always a good thing, either. Sighing, he glanced at the third conscious man in the room, silently hoping to hear a vocal response from someone in the next five minutes.

"Jimin, have you heard from Joon?" Pink hair swung as Jimin turned away from a computer, hand pressed against his ear as his eyes locked on Seokjin's for a second.

"No, but JK says he's already moving into position, so he should be making a scene in a second." Relieved, Seokjin shrugged the man from his chair into a box Yoongi tugged upstairs. Stolen from the UPS guy, Seokjin smirked. He wouldn't miss it too much.

"Five minutes."

Yoongi rearranged his gloves, wiping down the chair the unconscious man previously occupied, making sure not to leave anything uncleaned. He was scarily accurate with these things, and Seokjin had to admire it in the smaller man. If anything, he knew it was safer having him on their side rather than hoping the 'Sugar of the Streets' wouldn't lace his drinks tonight. But then Yoongi groaned at fingernail clippings on the ground and suddenly Seokjin felt the affection cease.

"Jeez, would it kill him to toss his trash where it belongs? What is it with old business men and being corrupt and gross." Jimin bit back a laugh as Seokjin placed the box where it belonged on the roller, waiting for its delivery man to take him home. And return home you shall, Mister Yang.

"I'm in, JK, download them now." Jimin rolled his eyes at the sassy response he undoubtedly received from the other end of the ear piece, instead of responding chooses to tug it out and let the cable hang off his shirt collar as he faced Seokjin. "Why does he hate me so much, gosh."

"He doesn't hate you, he's doing his job." Seokjin patted the younger man on his pink head, watching the files slowly disappear from the computer screen. Their youngest was sassy and had a terrible habit of bragging, but at least he could back it up with proof.

"HYUNG!" A voice chirped from the forgotten ear piece as Jimin jumped before pressing it back in place, affirming his presence when a knocking came from the office door. They immediately stopped moving as Yoongi, being the closest, grunted in the direction of the knocking.

"Yes?" Grimacing at the roughness of his voice, they all held their breath as the voice behind the door called back.

"I heard you needed a package sent, love?" Sighing in relief, Yoongi swung the door open to reveal a grinning man in rose tinted hair and a smile too bright for a man in a baggy brown delivery outfit.

"Hoseok you nearly made me shit my pants what the fuck." Hoseok laughed, waltzing in the room as he gripped the roller handles and balanced the package easily.

"Would you have preferred me to just walk in without knocking?" Jimin slammed the laptop shut, mumbling at the echoing voice in his ear as Seokjin just shook his head.

"We might've shot you if you had." Hoseok nodded, a grim expression falling on his features, Yoongi double checking the spot the package previously occupied for stains.

"Which is why I knocked, hyung." Winking, Hoseok tugged the package out of the room with ease, Yoongi shutting the door behind him. Locking eyes with Seokjin, wordlessly they began retracing steps from the room, wiping down surfaces and packing their things. Pleased with the environment, they began packing their things away, Yoongi checking his watch.

"2 minutes 'til reactivation. Let's move." Yoongi moved to open the door, but at the sight of bodyguards approaching swung it shut again. "Alright, not through there."

"What?" Seokjin reattached his backpack -a small thing really, just the essentials- as Yoongi paled, sliding a finger across his neck before he turned to Jimin.

"JK, we have company. Gimme an out."

Finding a UPS man was simple any day of the week, but of course on the day that Hoseok wanted to take one's outfit the town decided to cease online purchasing. He scrolled through security cameras for this neighborhood four times and still, nothing but a FedEx truck, and lord knew Hoseok wasn't wearing navy in this weather. The sun was too hot and humidity too high for him to tolerate it for a second. Sighing, he resolved to check the main road once more before agreeing to maybe pay a visit to a costume store. Surely they wouldn't notice the difference, right?

"Hobi?" Turning, his resolve turned to glee as he was face to face with the dirty brown uniform of-

"Taehyungie, where did you find this?!" Bouncing from his chair, Hoseok gripped the grinning man by the shoulders.

"I ordered a teapot last week and made sure they would deliver by last night. Y'know, backup." Hoseok inspected the uniform, noting the size wouldn't be perfect -he was a bit thinner but it would still fit- when he realized it wasn't last night anymore and-

"Taehyungie, where is the delivery man this belongs to?" Tae's smile faltered slightly as he shifted his weight to his right foot. Lies incoming.

"Fine, I think." Shoulders falling, Hoseok was reminded that there was a reason the two of them were inside men and not workers. There was a reason they kept their hands clean, and only one of them was because of their terrible lying skills.

"Tae." The younger threw his arms up before Hoseok could say anymore and began rattling off without really saying anything. Before he could panic, Hoseok grabbed his cheeks and made him take a breath. Once his breathing was regulated, Hoseok tried again. "Now, where is the man?"

"Asleep in my bed," Hoseok smirked at the younger man, patting his shoulder approvingly.

"Nicely done, sex and an outfit. I'm proud of you, Tae."

"Oh no, I didn't do him. I knocked him out. There might be blood on the collar."

"Fuck."

"Now, there should be a staircase to your left. Make sure to go up both flights, any less and you're in a storage closet." Jungkook tried to ignore the grunting behind him as he read through the blueprints once more, memorizing the layout as Jimin repeated surroundings to his ear. He knew Namjoon was trying to hot wire a car behind him, but he hoped his hyung would've remembered what wires he needed to connect before he-

"SONOFA-" Jungkook momentarily muted his headpiece, letting his elder stick his electrocuted finger in his mouth like a toddler. Shaking his head, he let his hands type out a series of numbers before reactivating the headpiece and letting Jimin lead the team down a corridor. "Alarm systems off, you have fifteen minutes. One piece, still responsive and once you've got the computer let me know. I'll break in and get what I need before hyung hurts himself again."

"Again? Is he still hot wiring the car?" Jimin scoffed on the other side of the headpiece, Jungkook grunting in agreement before spinning his chair to lock eyes with the glaring man beside the car.

"I hurt myself because the stupid car doesn't want to run." Jungkook raised an eyebrow, watching a man with lavender hair kick the side of a white minivan, and it took a lot in Jungkook to not burst into laughter at the mere sight of it all. Rising from his chair, he nodded at his elder, Namjoon still glaring but now relocating his line of fire at the vehicle. Crawling into the front seat, he quickly spotted the problem.

"Hyung." Namjoon stopped his staring contest to hum in response to the younger.

"Yes?" Jungkook tried to keep a straight face as he locked eyes with his elder, his superior. The man who taught him how to be who he is, the man who engraved pride and respect and decency into his very core.

The man who didn't strip the wires properly and attached them incorrectly.

"Simple mistake. It should-" The motor roared to life, "-work now."

"Ah. Thanks, Jungkook." Nodding, Jungkook let his head drop as he made his way back to his seat at the computer. Before returning to address the locked systems Jimin sent to his screen, he turned to glance at his hyung.

"You, uh, gonna be okay out there, hyung?" Namjoon climbed into the front seat, glasses sliding over determined eyes.

"Absolutely, JK. You just stay put and back up from here. Be right back."

"Yeah," Jungkook watched him pull out of the small garage, turning when he heard Jimin's voice call for him. "He just left."

"Now, the benefit of having a UPS guy knocked out on your bed is that he leaves the keys, too." Taehyung swung the key ring as Hoseok dressed in the makeshift changing area they had in their small warehouse.

"Oh absolutely," Hoseok remarked, fighting the buttons on his shirt as he questioned just how the confused man would react to awakening in a hotel room halfway across town with no uniform and no truck. He didn't know how long it would take the service to look for their truck, but he figured Tae would. "How long until they realize he's missing, TaeTae?"

"The company will only realize after people call and wonder where their packages are. Then they'll realize the truck's gone, look up the employee and realize he hasn't reported back either. Most common occurrence is: employee finds a nice package in his truck, steals it, and runs away with the truck. Happens more often than you'd expect." Hoseok didn't want to be impressed, but it was really hard when Tae was a walking ball of usually useless knowledge that came in handy in the best of times. He didn't want to ask, but he had to.

"And if the guy wakes up before that?" Tae looked up to see that, yes the uniform was a bit snug on his hips but otherwise a loose and recklessly handsome look was graceful on Hoseok. He grinned, trying not to be too proud.

"I had some leftovers from the last time Yoongi-hyung had a meeting. He won't wake up for a while. Now, the truck." Swinging the keys, he let Hoseok pat his head before snatching the keys.

"Alright, let's tell Joon we're ready."

"Right behind you, hyung."

"How's that exit coming, JK?" Jimin pried open the window, grateful that they were only on the second floor. He didn't want to think of what his younger brother would have him do if they were any higher. Seokjin had tugged some chairs, jamming the door and buying them "approximately three minutes more" according to Yoongi. He was never wrong, but they didn't want to have to push their luck any more than they already were.

"On it. Joon-hyung is headed towards you but you're gonna have to relocate real quick." Jimin slid down the piping, feeling his hands bruise but kept moving as Yoongi swung past him, scouting past the corner to make sure they weren't surrounded. Seokjin looked at Jimin for directions, hoping JK was still in his ear, feeding him plans and back up and keeping him level.

"The alley on your right, head down it and you'll find a residents lobby. Duck inside, there's a storage room. I'm sending the location to hyung, he'll meet you there."

"Gotcha. Let's move." Yoongi and Seokjin followed wordlessly as they heard the resonating sound of the door in the office break down, adrenaline shoving them to move quicker, take bigger steps, make it to safety. And soon.

The sounds of people rushing in and out of the hotel was innervating, because they knew what happened when people rushed. People rushing meant cover was easily lost or gained. It was the turning tide they needed to make use of, so when Seokjin shoved past and slid beside a woman looking happily surprised, Jimin didn't blink. When Yoongi let himself become a wallflower and slid into an open door behind the resident's hall, Jimin wasn't phased at all.

He knew what they had to do to stay alive, even as he watched Seokjin slip his earpiece as he adjusted the woman's hair out of her face. Even as he heard Yoongi grunt at JK in his ear, a call for instruction.

"Storage room, turn right. Stay on the main floor, head past the two doors on your right before turning, there will be a garage in sight. Hyung is almost there. Stay put, stay hidden." Nothing unnecessary, Jimin shared a smirk of pride with the mirror reflection of Yoongi ten steps behind him. Trained the brat well after all.

"Nochu coming through after all." Seokjin fell into step fifteen paces ahead of Jimin, moving steadily as he stopped to ask someone for directions, allowing Jimin to move past him into the hall. Yoongi steadied behind Jimin, shoving past Seokjin roughly before picking up the pace, allowing the chase.

Acting like assholes, that's how you hide. Jimin recalled Namjoon telling it to Jungkook once. People hate assholes and try to avoid them at all costs. You get lost and they grunt and groan but don't remember what the hell you look like, just that you did something to them. It's elementary.

And it's exactly how they all found themselves sliding into the back of Namjoon's white minivan, dimpled man grinning at them from the front seat.

"So, how'd it go?" Yoongi, on the other hand, was doing anything but smiling.

"How about you drive before the fuckers catch up to us, huh?" Groaning, Namjoon threw the car into drive before muttering about the elders having all the fun. Jimin didn't feel like reminding him he was younger than Namjoon. It was better this way, he thought, smiling to himself in the rearview.

"Hyung, did you get out?" JK chirped through the earpiece, Yoongi flicking it out as Jimin giggled.

"Yeah, we're out. Headed your way, JK." Jimin smiled as Seokjin glanced at the guards outside, running around searching for the men who vanished. "We'll be home soon."

"How are you holding up, Hobi-hyung?" Tae clicked away on a laptop somewhere in the corner of the garage, headset on and alert as JK typed into his own computer a few feet away. Together but apart, Tae thought. It was the best way to work.

"Good, Taehyungie. Just gotta go drop something off and we'll be good." Hoseok smirked as he saw the open garage gate, a familiar black head of hair swinging something at him. Pulling up as best as he could -Hoseok said he could seduce mobsters, not parallel park- beside the man, he let himself go through the back and tugged out a box much larger than it was heavy. Nevertheless, he played the part and grunted as he let himself be led inside the building.

"Package for a Mister Yang?" He fluttered his lashes the way guards liked, and sure enough, he was on his way up the elevator to the second floor. What a shame, he thought, smiling to himself, that the guards didn't notice those three hopping in beside him in the elevator.

Reaching the front door, Hoseok gave his best knock and "delivery?" reenactment before stepping aside and letting Seokjin shove past the man into the office. Hoseok let himself sit by the side, becoming friendly instead with a cat that apparently lived on the floor. It wasn't long before he muttered into his earpiece. "Tae?"

"Yeah, hyung?" Hoseok heard faint grunts and a very upset Seokjin from behind the office door before sighing into the earpiece.

"I'm really glad we don't do grunt work."

"Yes, hyung. So am I."

It wasn't until Tae announced time was up that Hoseok pulled away from the cat -calico, his favorite- and made his way to the door, knocking as proudly as he imagined a delivery man would. When the speaking ceased, he realized they probably forgot he was outside waiting. Ugh, hyungs.

After recovering the package, he let himself whistle as he approached the elevator, refusing to speak until the doors shut behind him.

"Headed down, Tae. Keep me in sight?" A chuckle erupted from the line, assuring him his prayer didn't fall on deaf ears.

"Always got your back, hyung. Watching the monitors now."

When the elevator doors opened, the guard raised an eyebrow at Hoseok returning with a package he was supposed to deliver. Hoseok, however, was used to playing the dumb blonde, even when his hair was rose tinted.

"Wrong Mister Yang~ What a shame, he seemed to really want a package today, too." Winking at the guard, he made his way through the front doors before anyone could question it. Once he was loaded up, Hoseok sped down the road the way he knew delivery cars weren't supposed to, but he had to get the body to Namjoon so Tae could get the car back to the guy.

"Tae, we're headed your way. Prepare for drop-off." Tae dropped the pencil he was trying to balance, bored the moment he spotted Hoseok speed through the lobby without a second glance. He knew the man wanted out, but why was he moving so fast?

"Drop-off?" Tae raised his eyebrow as Hoseok sighed from the other side of the line.

"Yes, Tae. You have to get this back to that man."

"Ah, right. Okay, hyung." Tae tried not to laugh at the worry wart his hyung was becoming. It's gotta be the age.

When Namjoon pulled into the garage, Hoseok was plopped beside Jungkook at his desk rummaging through files and drinking sodas. Namjoon might've found it endearing if it wasn't for the fact that they had a man a couple minutes ago and now there was no sight of him. Yoongi and Seokjin unpacked the truck as Jimin voiced the concerns running through Namjoon's head.

"Where's Yang?" Jungkook spared them half a glance before pointing towards the basement door. Ah, they prepped him. Well, they couldn't blame Jungkook for being careless at least.

"He's supposed to be alive but seems like someone forgot to put holes in the box." Jungkook pointed a glare at Hoseok, who looked like he wanted to be innocent, he really did, but after searching the files he was left with little to no pity for the man dead in their basement. So, instead, Hoseok did the next best thing: shrugged.

"He was a dick, I don't see why we had to keep him alive." Yoongi made his way directly to the basement stairs, figuring he would try to see what he could salvage of the man, with Seokjin placing his gear near Jungkook before following him. Namjoon figured it would be best to leave it to them as he moved a chair to sit beside Jungkook and the monitors. Jimin threw an arm around Hoseok's neck, play strangling him before realizing there was something missing.

"Where's Taehyungie?" Hoseok shook his head, grumbling about hotels and UPS trucks before showing him the laptop screen.

"Busy, but take a look at this. We managed to salvage the information from the deal that went down in the Jakra Providence last week. We have names, addresses, numbers," Hoseok scrolled the page, Jimin mentally ticking names off a list he had memorized long ago. Names he knew he had debts that needed paying. Debts Jimin was willing to collect, any day of the week.

"It's enough to bring them down completely, Hyung." Jungkook passed his laptop to Namjoon, pointing to certain information every once in a while as the elder scrolled from page to page, the data pilling in like sand. Filling all the blanks they needed.

"Now the only thing we need is for that man to still be breathing and we'll be set." Namjoon let his gaze fall on Hoseok, who merely shrugged as they heard the garage door click open. Turning they spotted Tae walking in, smile etched on his face until he locked eyes with-

"Hyung stop looking at me like that, he's fine!" Hoseok nearly bounded out of his seat, Jimin holding him down for fear of the computer still resting on his lap.

"He better be fine, Taehyung, or who knows what else we'll have to clean up!" Just then the basement door opened, Seokjin standing with heavy breath.

"Actually, we have enough cleaning downstairs to keep us busy for a while. He's awake."

#bts #bangtan boys #bts fanfiction #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #ot7

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