how old do you think harvey is? would you say that him and the farmer have an age gap? i'm js wondering about your take, my apologies if you answered this before
i’ve always thought of harvey to be around 31-33 when you first meet him.
as for the age-gap, for me personally that’s not my thing. especially in hetero relationships (but that’s a conversation for another time.) whenever i write for all of the bachelors, i think of the farmer to be the same age, or around, as who they’re romancing. obviously, the farmer is whoever you want them to be so that’s entirely up for you to decide. this is just how i write them.
my take has always been that the farmer is younger than harvey because he has that one line of dialogue about the farmer staying healthy cus they’re young, or something like that. so, maybe 3-4 years younger than him. like if he’s 31, the farmer’s 27. i also think it logically makes sense that harvey’s over the age of 30 at the very least.
also semi-unrelated side thought; i feel like harvey talks about feeling old, or being old, because he spent so much time of his life in school to get to where he is now. and because of his trauma and field of work, he’s seen firsthand how expendable life can be. i don’t think he’s actually “old” by any means, i just think he’s likely seen death happen in young ages, therefore the concept of “being old” changed for him. i guess lol if that makes any sense.
note ; it’s freezing in my apartment and i need a furnace. preferably 6’+ with brown hair and a mustache but i’m not picky.
it gets cold in your grandpa’s old, worn-down cabin during the wintertime. despite robin’s proposition to insulate it better, the icy breeze during a harsh snowstorm still manages to seep between the cracks.
harvey doesn’t mind, though. yeah, every time he pulls off the comforter he feels his bones rattling. yeah, he has to wear his thickest sweater and pajama pants under the several layers of blankets. yeah, his skin feels a quite dry when he scrunches his nose in the morning.
but it’s all worth it because he gets to fall asleep with you clinging onto him.
you, who cannot stand being touched when you’re asleep. you’ll indulge him in cuddling for the first few minutes in bed, until you decide you’re tired enough to then push him away and burrow off to your side of the mattress for the rest of the night.
harvey’s simply a furnace under the covers. it feels like there’s heat radiating off of him at all times—and you can’t bare to feel hot in order to fall asleep.
however during this time of year, you need to feel at least some warmth to sleep restfully. especially after spending all day feet deep in snow.
no matter the layers you’ve got on, you’re curling up right against him underneath the comforter, burying yourself into the crook of his neck.
“hold me…tighter!” you clatter your teeth in his ear, sliding your icy fingers beneath his sweater for an added layer.
and he loves all of it. your muffled threats of crawling under his clothes only give him sanction. he squeezes you tight, he has always fallen asleep better when he gets to hold something, preferably you.
you squish into the slot under his arm, the subte mist of your soap filling his senses. your cold hands rest on his warm torso. he stays impossibly still to prevent you from changing your mind until he hears those light, breathy snores, then he can drift off with a giddy smile knowing you fell asleep in his arms.
contains ; tooth-rotting fluff. farmer referred to as “wife,” otherwise gender ambiguous. maybe a bit self-indulgent. old married couple activities. calling harvey “sexy” cus i have eyes. offhanded mentions of a daughter.
note ; it’s still fall (where i live) but in my mind december 14 is winter 14. sooo technically it’s harvey’s birthday & i thought this was pretty on the nose for my handsome man <3
this is always harvey’s favorite time of night.
it’s past eleven o’clock, you’re both tired which is why you’re sitting quietly with the television playing your current favorite series on low volume. you’ve put your daughter down to bed a couple hours ago, now it’s the time to peacefully bask in each others company.
you both have a wordless routine by now; one sits on the floor while the other pampers them for thirty minutes until you swap positions. whenever that timer goes up, it’s off to bed.
your time ended a few minutes ago, so now your husband sits happily on the cushiony pillow you left, while you sit on the couch behind him and rub his shoulders.
the requests always differ, it depends on the night. usually it’s a massage, sometimes you want him to play with your hair. he always loves a shoulder rub.
so you sit there, semi-lazily squeezing and kneading his neck and shoulders while the tv plays in front of you.
your fingers mindlessly comb through his hair every so often—you can’t help it, it’s always so soft.
“how much is left in this episode?” you murmur, scraping up the underside of his scalp, scratching the crown of his head and gently pulling the short strands until they disappear between your fingers, just to repeat it again. you know how much he likes that.
he reaches for the remote, tapping a button to get the popup. “about fifteen minutes.” he answers lowly, voice tired and scruffy.
you don’t answer, instead watching how your hands move through his hair instead of focusing on the show. you’ve seen this episode already, the new one doesn’t come out for a couple days.
you’ve always loved the smell of his shampoo and conditioner. kind-of piney, it’s the same soap he’s used since you first met. sometimes he smells like citrus, and that’s when you know he used your hair products.
he hasn’t cut his hair in a while, either. he used to go to the city for that until you once told him you weren’t too bad at cutting hair yourself. before you officially started dating years ago, you offered to cut his hair—at that point, it was the most intimate thing you’ve done together—and since then you’ve continued to cut it. however, with the baby and all, you’ve both lost the time to get those minor tasks done. you’ve actually grown a liking to it. not only has the hair on his head gotten longer, he’s packing a slightly thicker-than-normal scruff along his jaw that you’ve complimented one too many times for him to get around to shaving.
you’re just about to look back at the tv until one thing catches your eye, and suddenly you’re leaning in to get a closer look.
you use your fingers to part the thick tufts of hair, eventually using both hands to create a ring and separate the strands.
“hey,” you smile, “you’ve got a grey hair.”
“i do?” harvey’s hand immediately lifts to touch his head, and you lightly knock it away.
“yeah, right at the top of your head.”
he attempts to look up but your grip keeps him momentarily still while you run your thumb over the single strand. you’re staring so close you can practically see all the tones of the hair; light grey at the base, fading into a darker grey, and the tip remains his natural light brown.
flattening your palm over the spot to ruffle the hair back up again, you tease with a giggle, “you’re getting old.”
“where is it?” he asks, his voice a bit duller as his hand pats around the top of his head.
“don’t get rid of it!”
he turns to look up at you, small furrow of his eyebrows. “why not?”
“‘cus it’s sexy,” you shrug, as if it’s obvious, starting over your prior movements of soothing your fingers through his scalp. he turns back to the tv for you to repeat your ministrations.
“my single grey hair is sexy?” he asks, tone mild in disbelief.
“emphasis on yours.” you nod, searching for the strand once again with your eyes. “it just means you’re gonna have gorgeous salt and pepper hair. i can’t wait.”
he sits with a frown, fighting hard not to reach up and mess with his hair. he’s spent years of his life thinking about this inevitable moment, to think his wife was the one to find it first.
“then it’s gonna spread to your facial hair,” you continue, quietly sighing, “and you’re gonna be the most handsomest silver fox i’ve ever seen.”
your choice of words almost sound taunting, but your mind is only playing the images of your fantasy while you carry a big smile. he knows that for a certain.
truthfully, if he were to find a single grey hair while he was standing in his apartment all alone, he might’ve felt defeat. the constant reminder of the ticking time he has left looming over his head, and a grey hair is no diversion from that. there’s that clock counting down while he spent days upon days wondering when that melancholy feeling would go away, if it ever would.
however, it’s different now. because he’s not standing alone in his apartment, looking ahead at an unclear view of his life with sullen eyes.
you notice his silence immediately, pressing your hands to his shoulders and using them as leverage to lean over his side, your hair dangling like a curtain.
“are you alright?” you say softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze.
he holds your gaze, smile wrinkling his eyes, “yeah. it’s just a reminder i’m getting older.”
you press a kiss to his cheek. “we’re getting older. i’m not going anywhere.”
hi hi! it has been a minute and i apologize. i’m going through midterms rn but not for much longer thankfully🙏
anyways, i wanted to mention the fact that i live in the US and it has been a rough few days. with that being said, if you voted for trump, support him, are conservative and tbh republican, this is not the blog for you!! i do not want you here at all! that man would hate me if he took one look at me and you probably would too! if you decide to interact with me personally about this, i will block you. you are not welcomed here. thank you!
contains ; suggestive. mostly nsfw, not too bad. established relationship — marriage. short drabble. afab!reader. harvey on the mind like always. literally no plot lol.
note ; it’s my birthday so i’m allowed to post another drabble about kissing harvey.
harvey loves a good makeout session.
it’s something about harvey you probably wouldn’t have guessed. he sure as hell didn’t tell you either, you’ve just been with him long enough to find out the truth.
he’s always a sucker for a kiss. chaste, sweet ones when you’re halfway out the door saying a quick goodbye. tiny pecks on the cheek before rolling out of bed in the morning. and then the longing ones, when it starts off simple but the minute he goes to pull away you lean up to follow, deepening the kiss while one hand gently tugs on his tie to bring him back down as the other squeezes his bicep. you pair it with a thoughtful hum, almost like tasting something savory.
he ends up a little winded after that. it catches him off guard, even though it’s within routine for you.
there’s something so rewarding about the luxury of waiting at home for his daring wife. home cooked meal resting in the oven while he sits on the couch with a book until you finally swing through the front door.
before he can even voice a greeting, you’re sliding yourself over his lap with your mouth shushing him of his words. it’s an instinct how his hands slot to your waist, palms inching to touch your bare skin underneath your shirt like a moth to a flame. his book flies forgotten onto the cushion next to you.
you slightly arch into him, hands on his shoulders to support yourself until eventually his brunette strands become a stress reliever that your fingers rope through.
all the while you languidly roll your hips against his, deepening the sloppy kiss by the second after pulling an elicit groan from the back of his throat. tilting your head, your tongue knows how to find his, your fingertips slide to scratch the back of his scalp and graze the stubble along his jaw.
maybe sometimes he thinks he’s getting a bit too old for dry humping on your living room couch—but that never crosses his mind once you’re in the middle of it.
there’s hints of your perfume muffled under a layer of grass and dirt, a scent he’s become overly fond of in the last few years.
you press your chest against his, allowing his hand to become reacquainted. despite the air of confusion he’s masking the best he can at the moment, he’s not entirely lost. this isn’t the first time you’ve come home like this, neither will it be the last. it’s hard not to act this way when you know what’s waiting for you at home.
you suck up every last bit of his breath until several seconds feel like hours before you pull away. he does exactly what you would, chasing after your fleeting touch until he’s forced to part with a frown.
“oh my god,” you sigh, rubbing your thumb across his cheek with a look of what seems to be genuine sadness.
“what, honey?” he asks with honest curiosity, his soft eyes similar to a pleading puppy.
they’re not typically games that amp you up, and it’s not exclusive to foldout board games either. cards, puzzles, anything that’s physically displayed in front of you. mostly games that have you both sitting in silence with occasional chatter. games that calm you down, make you use your brain. games that have you snickering and taunting whoever’s about to lose.
there’s a stack of boardgames sitting on the mantle, or a designated shelf for all of them. it’s almost every night you crack one open. after dinner, after showering, both dressed in your pajamas. you’re hair might even still be wrapped up in a towel, skincare waiting to set before you tuck it all away and head off to bed once you’re done.
it has become such a part of your routine at this point that you don’t even need to mention it, you both just know it’s time when it is.
you’re standing by the sink, damp hair dangling down your face while you pour two glasses of freshly aged wine. he’s standing next to the shelf, hands on his knees hunched over in a soft robe scanning and reading off the games to you.
contains ; fluff! established relationship — dating. gn!reader. gamer bf…i am only weak. character ambiguous. written with seb in mind but definitely sam coded.
note ; i accidentally deleted this. so repost 😓
a part of your nightly routine before bed is sitting on your living room couch together, doing separate things.
for him, it’ll always be playing some sort of video game. whether it’s on his pc at the coffee table, or playstation, he tends to sit there until the late hours of the night until you’re ready to go to bed.
for you, it’s usually reading, or any kind of arts and crafts. whichever relaxing indoor hobby alludes your interest that day. occasionally you’ll grab a second controller and spend hours together playing multiplayer (he loves this the most) but typically it’s just sitting in each others presence while doing your own thing.
because of this, your boyfriend has grown a bit of a habit.
whenever he dies in the middle of a game, instead of yelling or shouting, punching or kicking—he immediately lets out a huff of frustration and nearly attacks you with his lips.
grabs a dual handfuls of your cheeks, smushing his lips into yours with a sloppy kiss. he does this repeatedly until you’re giggling and he’s practically kissing your teeth, circling your whole face until he’s had a good enough fix to cool himself off and press play.
sometimes he tosses his controller next to him and groans into your lap, silently pleading for your soothing hand to feather his hair and your smiley words of encouragement. it ends with him sitting up and leaning in towards you, wordlessly gesturing to his cheek. for extra luck of course.
and when he’s really frustrated, he just as quickly throws his head into you with a groan, demanding your love in every way he insists.
“tell me you love me. tell me i’m perfect for you. tell me i’m amazing and i can finish this level because you’re my girlfriend and you don’t date losers.”
you have to comply, of course, filling him in word for word what he pleads, and even a few more improvised encouragements all with a giggle. just enough for him to press play with straightened chest and all fired up because you believe in him.
when he finally does beat that level, he only has you to thank. you’re his good luck charm, after all.
contains ; fluff! gn!(but written with fem in mind)farmer for most. implied male in alex’s. non canon setting (for most). unestablished relationships—pre dating. alcohol usage. smoking (cigarettess).
note ; i had a nice time in my imagination with this one
harvey.
he stares at you, stunned at how easily you were able to do the thing he’s been thinking about for weeks. how soft your lips felt, how comforting your hand on his chest was, and how genuinely intoxicated just one simple kiss from you was already making him feel.
he clears his throat, and almost like you just sucked every word out of him, all he could muster up was a mumbled, “thank you.” he thanked you. for kissing him.
you purse your lips, trying your darnedest not to laugh watching his face just drop, realizing the first thing he said to you after you kissed him for the first time was a thank you.
“oh no, it was my pleasure.” you tease, allowing a small giggle to slip. he sighs like his blood has run cold, too embarrassed to even respond. luckily for him, you’re just too perfect, and you cool his sting by leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. you pull back with a smile, hand cupped over the opposing one, “goodnight harvey. i’ll see you tomorrow. you can thank me for that one, then.”
sam.
he acted almost as quick as you did, the moment he saw your eyes fixate on his lips and lean in, he wasted no time to fill in the gap between you two.
“you kissed me.” he says, face washed in amusement and adrenaline. he remains a solid grip where his hands rest on your lower waist, clear he has no intent on letting you go anytime soon.
“i might’ve.” you murmur, flickering your gaze to and from his. if he didn’t know any better, he’d think—
“are you all shy now? did i make you nervous?” he angles his head to chase your nervously wandering eyes, mischievous grin and tease in his tone. his hand consciously cups the side of your neck, thumb pressing into your jaw to gently force your chin up and maintain eye contact.
you huff, shaking your head. “well, a little! we just kissed!” you try not to sound too whiny—though, the way his grin spreads almost makes you forget that plan.
“aha! i made you nervous! am i so handsome? am i such a good kisser?” he muses, snickering in triumph.
“sam,” you test, narrowing your eyes through your eyelashes.
“what? you dunno know the answer? wanna kiss again to find out?”
shane.
he didn’t actually think you’d lean in, much less keep it going for so long that he’d have to push against you a moment later to give him a second to breathe.
but you shake your head, misinterpreting it all so quickly. “i’m sorry—i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have kissed you, i don’t know why i did that, i’m sorry—“
“whoa, i wasn’t pushin’ you away,” he immediately rouses, “i’m not mad that you kissed me.” and he snickers lowly, “more like pounced on me.”
“you’re not?” you hum breathlessly, straightening your pants and tucking pieces of your hair back. now your chest bubbles with a new kind of embarrassment. you nibble on your lower lip, attempting to ease your breaths. “i—i dunno why i did that. i don’t usually drink…much less makeout with people while i do.”
you slouch back down on the old, creaky dock next to him. he snorts, tilting his head, “‘m just too irresistible, huh?”
you shoot him a glower. “yeah,” you say like it’s sarcastic, but really, you’re well aware you aren’t drunk enough to start behaving irrationally. “i just didn’t mean to do that.”
“i don’t mind that you kissed me.” he shrugs.
you watch as he takes a swig from his beer can. his eyes focus on the overall still lake in front of you both. “you don’t?”
he almost wants to tease you for all your disbeliefs. he chooses to scoff out a laugh instead, shaking his head. “mm-mm.”
you turn to face the water, gently swinging your dangling legs over the edge. “hm,” you hum back, “maybe we should talk about that when we’re both sober.”
sebastian.
he’s borderline shocked at how easy it was for him to kiss you back—no hesitation after your fingers brushed the back of his hair to pull him in. he’s almost loopy, too, and he’s never been the type to swoon so hard from these kinds of affections. but he’s also learned a lot has changed since he first met you.
“you taste like cigarettes.” you murmur as you step back, licking your lower lip as if to repeat the taste. you turn towards the city lights, and for the first time he’s finding it nearly impossible to follow your gaze.
“i’m sorry,” he truthfully says, absentmindedly stepping down on the previously tossed cigarette butt at his shoe. “i’ve been trying to stop.”
“tastes like you, too. mixed in, i guess.” you note with a smile, “it’s not terrible though. but good, you should try and quit.”
he honestly doesn’t know how to take that—in his mind, he can’t imagine that tastes good, much less the combination any glorious. yet you turn to him again, stuffed hands unfolding from your pockets to reach across for his.
all you had to do was to give him a tiny tug, sliding your hands up his shoulders before he repositioned his own back to where they previously sat on your waist.
“let me bask it in while i can, though.”
alex.
you’ve almost never seen him with this soft, content look on his face. you’re half expecting him to burst into laughter, try to justify his actions with a teasing lilt and offer to pretend like it never happened.
but no. all he does is look at you, watching the way your eyes shift between each of his, evaluating. like he’s waiting for one of you to break.
you take the bait. “why’d you do that?” you murmur, quiet enough the wind almost picks it up.
he shrugs. “i dunno. it felt right.” he hums, and despite his uncertain words, he says it with sincerity. “was that the wrong choice?”
you think for a moment. for you, you surely thought about it for weeks. but the timing certainly didn’t feel appropriate. vulnerability changes a man like him most of all, and the last thing you’d want to do was take advantage of that. you absentmindedly swirl the grains of sand under your fingertips.
“no, i don’t think so.” you respond easily.
he nods. you’ve never seen him this quiet, but despite that, you’ve got an idea of what’s exactly going through his mind. when he turns away, you’re certain.
“you won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“of course not.”
elliott.
he had almost forgotten why he invited you over—just for inspiration on the last couple chapters of his novel, or did he honestly plan for it to go like this?
“so…what happens after they…kiss?” you coyly murmur, still held in his embrace so close you can smell the drop of pomegranate on his lips.
“well, i haven’t written that far just yet,” he pauses to take a breath, “i was hoping they’d finally confess their love.”
he’s so handsome this close, your head still reels and lips feel fuzzy as you struggle to bring back in your even breaths.
you nod, slow and computing. “yeah—no, that sounds good.”
your plump lips hold him in a trance, as do his, making it so hard to concentrate on his words all the while you feel you’re too fixated on them.
“so you believe they love each other? that they should finally tell the other?”
the kiss rendered you thoughtless—what can you expect from a romantic like him? however, the metaphor is not lost on you. and had he let you go at this point, it wouldn’t have been so easy for you to eagerly nod, “absolutely. two people in love should tell each other they’re in love.”
helloo!!! so i apologize for the millionth time (but i mean it) for taking such a long long absence. thank you to those who were worried about me, i’m doing absolutely fine, just writers block!
anyways i posted yesterday, and i have a few more stuff to post this week. i really want to give a special, genuine thank you to those who have commented, dmed, or inboxed me about how much you just enjoy my writing no matter what it is. that really makes my day and means a lot to me. i plan to post more frequently!
synopsis ; the aftermath of going days without seeing your boyfriend.
contains ; suggestive. mostly fluff tho (shocking). gn!reader, but fem in mind. established relationship — dating. drabble. reader is very desperate lol. i need harvey. this might be literate to me only. sorta proofread, i’ll look over it later.
note ; forgive me…….again……………….again.
you’re not surprised you even had the dream in the first place. it’s been nearly a week since you’ve last had sex. and it’s been days since you’ve seen him.
no wonder your subconscious is wanton. you’re more sexually-frustrated than you’ve been since you were single. unfortunately, you’ve never been able to finish due to a sex dream, so that only adds to the indelicacy of the way you handle your plants today.
to put it simply; you’re a bitch today. cursing random things that get in your way, walking around town barely throwing items at the applicants and leaving with no other word.
you’ll feel guilt later. you just can’t get this one thing out of your mind.
you detour, (is it even a detour if you knew you’d find your way here at some point in the day?) bursting into clinic as if you own the place. the air conditioning blows the pulled pieces of your ponytail, cooling your sticky skin.
the discrepancy of storming in hardly goes noticed by the woman behind the counter, nose deep in a book like usual while she waits for appointments or someone to shop. she’s used to you coming in like this, more or less.
“hey maru.” you bore, hardly sparing her a glance.
“hey farmer.” she doesn’t even have to look up, she already knows who you’re here for.
you push past the swing doors to where you know your boyfriend sits, examining files you have zero interest in (not that he’d even let you peek.) your steps are harsh, leaving a trail of dirt or something you have no care in at the moment but most-likely will later. you might even offer to mop if it’s too bad.
you push open the door to find just what you were expecting; you’re achingly handsome boyfriend with his neat brown hair, paired with his lab-coat and stethoscope as always. he’s hunched at the desk, deep “in the zone” as he would say, until your disruption has him swinging around to face the door.
only to visibly relax when he sees it’s you, and in turn pulls a smile on his previously scrunched face.
“oh! what a pleasant surprise, i was just thinking about yo—“
“you need to fuck me tonight.” you state, before the door was even shut and loud enough maru could’ve heard—a possibility that has him wincing. “y’know, if you’d like. that’d be great.”
god, seeing him only makes it worse. you want to kiss him, all over if you could. you want to grab his collar, pull him up from this tiny, squeaky office chair and press him against the wall, feel his hands, his lips, anything you can grasp—
“what?” he hesitates. his eyes pinch with concern you disregard as you step closer.
“harvey,” you whine, “i just needed to see you. oh my god, i don’t like going days without seeing you.”
he’s stunned, but his heart swoons before his brain even registers what you’re saying. though his lips seem to think before he does, accepting your own like a magnet when you press into him.
he never minds a quick peck when he’s in the office or in uniform. and he’s never been one to turn down your affections, but at this moment you’re kissing him like you only do at home. you’re stealing his breath, fingers feathering through the back of his hair, nails scratching at his scalp in the way you always do before eventually lowering to your knees and going on with what makes him the most relaxed.
you know what you’re doing, he knows you know what you’re doing. and he also knows you’re well aware of time and place, and unfortunately for you—this will never be the place.
“what’s gotten into you?” he suspires, the action causing you to pull away with a sigh.
you have to force your gaze away from his crooked glasses and puffy lips. “i had a dream about you last night. now i’m pissed off.”
“because of me?”
“because we haven’t had sex in like, a week.” you groan, breathlessly, “i miss you.”
you could almost feel embarrassed. almost, if you didn’t already know you were stroking his ego; a task you love to do mostly because it never makes him cocky it just makes him more confident. and you love him the most when he’s feeling good about himself.
he stays mostly silent for a moment, basking in this declaration of love (lust) from you. he blinks with puppy dog eyes—you’ve always loved how much larger they get under his thick lenses.
“…all because you had a dream about me?”
you sulk, giving him a short glower. “not all because. we haven’t even seen each other since monday.”
“i know, i’m well aware. i’ve missed you too,” he nods and offers a small smile. “want to tell me what your dream was about?”
you frown, absentmindedly circling your thumb on his polyester shoulder.
“it was dirty.” you murmur.
he lets out a huff of air through his nose, already assuming as much. the confirmation feels nice however, and he purses his lips as his cheeks grow crimson.
it’s flattering knowing you think about him the same he does to you. or maybe, it easies the guilt when he wakes up the next morning.
“you were doing things…that you’re really good at…that i really miss,” you drop your butt and cup your knees like a spoiled child, subtly whining as if neglected. you almost feel like it too, which you know isn’t purposeful. he’d spend every waking moment with you if he didn’t have his own obligations.
you look up at him with a pout, almost defeated. “please come over. i’ll make you dinner.”
“honey,” he laughs, acquainted with a warm flush across his cheeks that he wears handsomely, “you never have to bribe me to see you. although i’ll gladly accept if you’re offering. what time will you be finished with work?”
“what time will you be finished?”
“probably around 5:30 today. i can come by afterwards, if you’ll be done?”
you grin, shooting back up. “i will be. i’ll make you the best dinner ever. you’ll never want to go two and a half days without seeing me ever again in your life.”
I was so excited to see your recent post pop up in the Harvey tag; I’ve always loved your work, and with my Harvey brainrot getting bad again, it showed up with perfect timing lol. I hope all is/goes well for you, and thank you for the lovely writing as always
oh thank you so much my dear <3 trust me the harvey brainrot has been my default for months now he’s not leaving any time soon i can promise you that
contains ; suggestive conversation (pillow talk typa stuff). sappy sappy cheesy & corny fluff! just the way i like it! established relationship — dating. two ppl in love blah blah blah. gender non specified reader. he is all i ever think about.
note ; hello! didn’t wanna look at this in my drafts anymore. boo!
“what’s the wildest thing you’ve done in bed?” you ask, smiling over the rim of your near-empty glass of wine.
your lips are well past stained at this point, dazed eyes holding a curiously eager gaze with the man sitting similarly before you.
“the wildest thing?” harvey repeats, eyebrows raised, looking around as if to search for his answer.
“yeah, like, the craziest thing you’ve done while having sex.”
you’ve been playing this little question game for hours now, concept of time nothing but a distant thought after you both downed even more glasses of wine a single bottle could fill. it’s been a while since you’ve been able to relax like this, which is well in agreeance with your boyfriend.
you’re quite tipsy at this point. facing him on your living room couch, legs crossed and arm propping your head that’s perched against the back of the couch.
he purses his lips, shaking his head in deep thought. “i dunno…i guess um,” he presses a knuckle to the upper rim of his glasses, adjusting them, “i guess the kitchen—having sex in the kitchen, probably.”
you furrow your brows, giving him a long look. “in the kitchen?” it’s your turn to repeat, this time confused.
he shrugs and nods.
“with me?” you ask, more clarification than uncertainty in your tone.
“of course with you.”
“no, i’m speaking in general, like out of everyone you’ve ever had sex with—what was the craziest thing you did?”
“i know the question. i said have sex in the kitchen.”
you stare, unwavering eye contact glued to his. you know him, you know he’s definitely telling the truth, yet somehow you were shocked. “that was your craziest sexual experience?”
“i take it wasn’t yours, huh?” he snorts, giving the contents in his glass one small swirl before he leans over and places it on the coffee table.
you laugh airily, “i mean i…told you about the ferris wheel—“
“—ah,” he cuts you off, shivering, “yes, not my thing.”
“so let me get this straight,” you mimic his previous gesture—placing the glass on the table—, using both of your now-free hands to hold out in front of you. “your craziest, absolutely wildest sexual experience was on that kitchen table?”
he flicks his gaze past your head to where you’re pointing your thumb behind you. he suppresses a quirked up lip from the recollection.
“well, i didn’t say it was absolutely wild. but if i had to pick, that would be my answer.” he murmurs, and despite the topic, he’s managing his typical flushed cheeks and nervous lip-nibble well.
“wow,” you lean back with a light laugh. “i’m honored.”
“i’m glad.” he smiles.
he reaches back for the last sip of his wine, taking a short whiff of the glass before savoring the last drop. maybe he’s biased, but your wine will always be his favorite. he never allows it to go to waste.
it’s late. his eyelids rest heavily over his pupils, contrasting your wide-awake gaze. you’re eager to move around, emphasizing most of your words with hand gestures while he’s remained put for the last couple hours. despite his tiredness, he soaks every minute he has with you just as he does with your wine.
you clear your throat. “okay, so now i have a new question.”
“alright.” he nods, leaning into his hand.
“what was the best sex you’ve ever had? it’s okay if it wasn’t with me.”
he exhales from his nose at that, smile to accompany his cheeks.
“well, it was,” he confirms, once again looking off to the side. although, he doesn’t pause long, seemingly prepared with his answer. “i would say, after you told me you loved me.”
you beam immediately. “i knew it. you’re such a sentimentalist.” you tease, reaching over to pinch his thigh. but you soften, laying your hand flat and gently soothing your thumb over his pants. “that’s mine too.”
“really? even more than the ferris wheel?”
you scoff. “oh, absolutely. a million times better.” you wave a hand dismissively, and he tries not to let the comment go to his head. “that was purely just to say i’ve done it. at least you can make me finish.”
of course his cheeks set aflame, due to the ego boost and vulgarity. you smile as he purses his lips after murmuring an awkward thank you. it’s always so amusing to make him flustered, given such an easy task.
you sigh, rolling your head back against the couch. your fingers lightly tap at your t-shirt clad stomach, eyes wandering each crease and ridge in your ceiling during a moment of peaceful silence you’ll always relax into when you’re with harvey.
it’s only then do your eyes feel heavy, and it finally dawns on you just what time it is, and how early you have to wake up tomorrow.
“it’s late,” you conquer, staying put, “do you wanna stay—“
“i’ve got a question.” he hums. you turn your head, remaining relaxed against the cushions, to find him looking off towards the dimming fireplace in front of you.
“yeah?”
“who was the…if you had to rank everyone, uhm,” he presses his knuckles into the cushion beside his thighs, readjusting himself but not without a clear of his throat. “who’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”
you allow a smile to creep onto your face. it seems purposeful he’s avoiding your eyes, the golden hue of the crackling fire causing his warm skin to glow. his lips look a little pinker due to the light—or maybe the wine—and from your angle you can see his dark brown eyelashes clearly from the space between his glasses.
you let out a faux sigh, almost taunting.
“hm, that’s a toughie.” you snicker, now readjusting to sit sideways on the cushion with one leg crossed and the other dangling over the couch. “out of the whopping four?”
he gives you a peek, subconsciously wiping his palms across his pants wordlessly.
you almost want to tease him a little longer—the shy purse of his lips making it just so easy. yet you give up quick, leaning in to snake your arm around his neck and press a hand to his cheek.
“without a doubt, it’s you. don’t even have to think about it.” you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his warm lips.
“really?” there he goes, yet again doubting himself.
“harvey, i’ve never been in love like i am with you. i’ve never been with someone and started picturing marriage after the second date.” you croon, so close you can nearly press your forehead against his. you look down at his lips. “it’s not just because of the sex—but believe me, that plays a good part. no one has known how to love me like you can.”
he swallows, mimicking your gaze and fixates on your lips as you continue, “you make me feel so comfortable, and so appreciated. you’re so sweet, and caring, and reliable. i can tell you anything.”
his fingers are warm from the fire, and he delicately uses them to push pieces of your hair that have fallen in front of your face, blocking his view of you.
just as you’re about to go on, he stops you. both of his hands finding purchase at the crevice of your neck, while his lips meet yours. not just a peck, a deep and meaningful kiss that forms all of your praises into the action. the same kind of kiss that takes your breath away, even before it started when you quietly gasp as he tugged you close. he ignores the way his nose bumps into yours, instead tilting his head to the side once you melt into him, pressing a flat hand against his chest for balance.
it’s deep and needy. the wine somehow tastes even better off your lips, his tongue selfishly stealing some of the sweetness. in some ways you think you could genuinely go stupid just from the way he kisses you.
he takes a moment to pull away, the exact way that has him sucking all of the air out of your lungs and leaves you chasing the feeling and making your brain grow fuzzy.
letting you go, he licks his lips and drops his quick gaze down to yours before looking back in your lidded eyes. he’s so impossibly skilled at taking your breath away, literally and figuratively.
“like a starved man,” you tease, masking your faint whimper with a chuckle.
“i know,” he swallows. “i love you.”
“i love you more.”
he shakes his head, padded thumb softly pressing against your bottom lip where his gaze sits.
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