hii babydoll, could you write a fic of reader being needy one night while harvey’s busy - earning pouts and an overly cuddly girl on his lap. when you finally pull away though, he pulls you in right back and apologises with endless kisses.
you're not allowed to be this adorable in my inbox ♡
this is why he wins cases but loses every argument at home
Harvey had been saying "five more minutes" for the last hour.
You were sitting on the couch in his apartment, while Harvey sat beside you, eyes fixed on the laptop, completely buried in work.
Harvey."
"Hm?"
"You've said five minutes four times."
"I know."
"You liar."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes never left the screen.
The pout that immediately formed on your face could have rivaled a five-year-old's.
"Harvey."
"Baby."
"You're ignoring me."
"I'm listening."
"No, you're multitasking."
"That's still listening."
You groaned dramatically before rolling onto your stomach and burying your face against his thigh.
Harvey reached down absentmindedly, fingers threading through your hair.
It wasn't enough.
You wanted attention.
Not a distracted hand while he reviewed contracts.
So you shifted, climbing into his lap sideways until your arms were wrapped around his waist and your cheek was pressed against his chest.
That finally got his attention.
His hands paused on the keyboard.
"Comfortable?"
"No."
A quiet laugh rumbled beneath your ear.
"What's wrong?"
"You love work more than me."
"That's not true."
"It absolutely is.
You tightened your hold around him.
He made a low sound, half sigh, half laugh, resting his chin on top of your head before returning one hand to the keyboard.
For a while, you stayed there, stealing what little affection you could get.
A kiss against his jaw.
Your fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt.
Occasional complaints about being neglected.
Each one earned a small smile but never enough attention to satisfy you.
Eventually, your pride got the better of you.
"Fine."
Harvey barely looked up.
"Fine?"
"I'll leave you alone."
You slid off his lap.
The second your weight disappeared, Harvey's hands stopped moving and he closed the laptop.
You took exactly two steps.
Then a strong arm hooked around your waist.
“Come here."
Before you could protest, he pulled you right back into his lap.
He leaned in and kissed the pout right off your mouth—slow, lingering, the kind of kiss that said he was done pretending to work. When he pulled back you chased his lips, so he gave you another, and another, until the apology started pouring out between them.
“I’m sorry,” kiss, “for making you wait,” kiss on the corner of your mouth, “for being buried in that damn file,” kiss to your cheek, “for not noticing how much you needed me tonight.” Each word landed with another press of his lips—your forehead, your temple, the tip of your nose, the soft spot just below your ear.
You melted against him, fingers sliding into his hair as he kept going, covering every inch of your face with apologetic kisses. His hands never stopped moving, stroking your back, squeezing your hips, keeping you anchored on his lap while he made up for every second he’d spent looking at the screen instead of you.
You were smiling so hard your face hurt.
"I get it."
"No, I don't think you do."
"I've been a terrible boyfriend."
"I've been ignoring you."
His lips brushed your cheek.
"And then you got sad."
"I wasn't sad."
"You pouted."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
You tried to look offended
He peppered more endless kisses across your face until you were giggling and squirming.
When he finally paused, breath warm against your lips, he whispered, “Better?” before diving in for one more long, deep kiss that left you breathless.
harvey getting in from a long day of work and jus collapsing in 2 ur arms
♰ H.S. LATE NIGHT CUDDLES.
notes: big brave harvey specter, reduced to a puddle when tired and in his lovers arms.
by the time harvey gets home, it's edging dangerously close to midnight.
the apartment is quiet in that familiar way he likes.
no blaring television, no unnecessary noise, just the low hum of the city filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the occasional rustle of fabric as you shift beneath the blanket draped over your legs.
you'd been reading at some point, though the book now rests face-down on your chest, abandoned in favour of simply existing in the comfortable stillness of the evening.
the lock clicks. you glance toward the door and harvey steps inside.
at first, nothing seems particularly unusual. he looks exactly as he always does after a long day at work—tailored suit, expensive overcoat , expression carefully arranged into something that would convince anyone else he wasn't running on fumes.
anyone else. not you.
you know harvey well enough to notice the tiny things.
the slight slump in his shoulders. the way he pauses just inside the doorway rather than immediately moving. the loosened tie hanging unevenly around his neck. the exhaustion sitting behind his eyes like something physical.
for a moment, he simply looks at you.
and something in his expression softens.
harvey has never been dramatic about affection, no matter what anyone says. but the tension eases from his face all the same, the hard lines of the day giving way to something quieter.
"hey." his voice is rougher than usual.
you offer him a small smile. "long day?"
a short laugh escapes him. not because it's inherently funny. because it's such an understatement that neither of you can take the question seriously.
"that's one way of putting it."
you expect him to disappear into the bedroom to change. maybe pour himself a drink first. complain about opposing counsel, arrogant clients, incompetent associates, or louis.
instead, harvey drops his briefcase by the kitchen island with all the care of a man whose patience expired somewhere around six hours ago and immediately starts walking toward the sofa.
"harvey."
"hm."
"you still have your coat on."
he hums again, though this time it sounds more distracted. his fingers move to the buttons of his vest as he approaches, fumbling with them in a way that feels distinctly un-harvey-like.
normally, everything he does is precise. now he looks like he's operating entirely on instinct.
"harvey."
"what?"
"what are you doing?"
he finally reaches the sofa and looks down at you as though the answer is painfully obvious. "coming home."
before you can question that remarkably vague response, harvey finishes undoing his vest, shrugs it open slightly, and promptly folds himself onto you.
not seductively. not in any of the ways harvey specter usually ends up on top of you. he simply collapses.
one arm hooks around your waist. his head finds the space between your shoulder and neck with suspicious accuracy for a man who claims to be exhausted. his weight settles against you, warm and solid and familiar, and he lets out a long breath that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest.
for a second, neither of you move.
then you feel him sink even further into you. like he's finally allowing himself to stop holding himself upright.
a laugh escapes you despite yourself. "jesus christ."
"mm."
"are you alive?"
"barely." his voice is muffled by your shoulder.
the coat is still on. his shoes are still on.
for all appearances, harvey made it approximately six feet into the apartment before deciding he was done participating in society for the evening.
you slide a hand into his hair. immediately, you feel him relax. not something he'd ever admit to... but the reaction is there all the same.
his shoulders loosen beneath your touch. his grip around your waist tightens slightly before settling. the tension that has clearly been wound through every muscle in his body begins to unravel in slow increments.
"bad day?" you ask quietly.
harvey is silent for a moment.
you know he's considering whether he wants to talk about it.
eventually, he sighs. "the kind of day where i had three separate people explain my own case to me."
you wince. "ouch."
"one of them was wrong."
"only one?"
that earns a low laugh against your shoulder. "there you are."
the sound warms something in your chest.
because that's the thing about harvey—people see the confidence, the arrogance, the sharp suits and sharper tongue, but they rarely see what it costs him. the constant expectation. the constant pressure. the endless parade of people who need something from him.
every decision matters. every mistake costs. every day requires him to be the smartest person in the room.
and sometimes he gets tired.
not physically. though he's certainly that too.
just... tired. tired of carrying everything. tired of solving everyone else's problems. tired of being harvey specter.
so he comes home and without saying a word, he lets himself become something softer.
you continue running your fingers through his hair while he remains tucked against you, his breathing gradually evening out as the apartment settles around the two of you.
at some point, his nose brushes absentmindedly against your neck.
not quite a kiss. something more unconscious. the behaviour of someone who feels safe enough to stop thinking.
"you know," you murmur, "most people take their shoes off before climbing onto the couch."
harvey doesn't even lift his head. "most people don't spend fourteen hours dealing with idiots."
"that's not an answer."
"it's the only answer you're getting."
you smile. a few moments later, you feel his hand shift against your side. just holding. the simple, quiet reassurance of contact.
his eyes have drifted shut now, though he'd deny it if asked.
the city lights spill across the apartment, casting long shadows over expensive furniture neither of you are paying attention to.
all harvey seems interested in is staying exactly where he is.
pressed against you.
warm. safe. home.
eventually, you feel his breathing slow further. you glance down. his eyes are still closed.
"harvey..."
nothing.
"harvey."
a pause. then, begrudgingly: "i'm awake."
"you were asleep."
"i wasn't."
"you absolutely were."
he cracks one eye open, looking thoroughly offended by the accusation. then he immediately closes it again and burrows closer. "i wasn't asleep."
"you literally just snored."
"i did no such thing."
the indignation would be more convincing if he wasn't halfway to unconsciousness. you laugh softly, pressing a kiss into his hair.
harvey's arm tightens around your waist.
his answer comes a moment later, quieter than before. "so what if i was?"
and just like that, you know he's done. done with pretending he has any energy left.
the great harvey specter, feared by opposing counsel and worshipped by half of manhattan, is reduced to a tired man sprawled across his partner on a sofa, still wearing his coat, unwilling to move because moving would require effort.
you can't help smiling.
and when his grip tightens again as sleep finally begins to pull him under, you simply hold him closer and let him rest. because tomorrow he'll put the armour back on and become harvey specter again.
as a writer, it’s very important that you know this: whenever you tell yourself “this will only be one-chapter-long” that is a lie. your brain is lying to you. it won’t, in fact, be just a short one-shot
Mike: Harvey, I accept your apology.
Mike: But I'm not coming back yet. I found a place where I'm needed.
Harvey: You're needed at home!
Mike: And treated like I deserve.
Harvey:
Harvey: You're needed at home!
i am utterly OBSESSED with how many fucking crinkles eye wrinkles harvey specter has when he smiles high as balls with his associate that he has a purely professional relationship. uhhuh. strictly professional
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