pitt request from prompt list! : "do what she says when she says it"
doesn't have to be exwife!reader but can be!
also, i love you
Love you too!! But you’re gonna hate me for this bestie 🥲🥲🥲
Words: 450
Warnings: fluff & angst
make sure to check the masterlist for more toxic content
the advice
It was early in your relationship when Robby heard it for the first time. He was spiraling on why you were upset at him if he had done everything you had asked him to do.
“Women don’t want to say the things they want you to do, they want you to guess” Jesse muttered, busy finding some medicine from a cart.
“No” Jack snorted, “they tell you, they just do it in order words and you have to pay attention.” He shrugged like he hadn’t dropped a puzzle.
The chief laughed from his desk. His head moving sideways.
“Dr. Adamson?” Robby asked, eyebrows raised and pointed.
“Do what she says when she says it.” He said with a knowing smirk.
And ever since, it had been Robby’s core life philosophy. Unfortunately, you were entirely too aware of it for his comfort.
You would ask him to clear the dinner plates, and there was no ‘later’. Not when you could simply quirk a single eyebrow at him and watch him scramble to his feet without a word needing to be spoken. You would catch the hem of his hoodie, tugging him down the hall toward the bedroom, and he would happily oblige, letting go even if just for an hour of the endless weight of everything else waiting for him at home.
During your pregnancy, the motto became a rule. If you wanted ice cream at 3:00 a.m., he’d throw on sweatpants and be out the door before you finished your sentence. If you were feeling inhumanly horny, he’d drop whatever he was holding and get to work. If you sleepily muttered that he was breathing too loudly, he would genuinely try to meditate his respiration into silence.
After the kids were born and the depression hit, he tried to hold onto his philosophy like a lifeline. As much as the creeping darkness allowed him to, anyway. When you asked him to take the car in for a service, he did. When you asked him to lower his voice, he would clamp his mouth shut and stop talking altogether.
He didn’t get therapy, though. Nor did he stop drinking, or cut back on the crushing hours at the hospital. He had developed a dangerous, stubborn habit of going deaf to your big needs and tend only to the easy ones.
Yet he always tried to do what you said when you said it.
So when he saw the yellow envelope sitting in his document tray, after having failed to follow his own golden rule so many times when it actually mattered, his fractured, exhausted brain latched onto the only anchor it had left.
Do what she says when she says it. Even if it meant signing and filing his own divorce.
tag list (tysm!!): @wonwoosthetic @thesandbeneathmytoes @missmillivanilli @honeytii @naked-hyacinth @barnes70stark @ficcyyfics @cafekitchen @proudlyvastlake @l1ttlefighter @Genya1617 @purpleandredlavalamps @dianaxx99 @nokenox
Summary: You and Luca have always had chemistry, only now it's a little different.
SET BEFORE:
No Regrets - You can never say no when Dominique Luca turns up at your door.
Thirty Minutes (NSFW) - It takes Luca just thirty minutes to break every single rule you have.
Luca doesn’t know when the attraction started.
The two of you have always had great chemistry.
In the field. Off the field.
But these feelings he’s having lately… They go far beyond that whole hearted platonic love he has for every member of this team. They’re raw, passionate, the kind of thing that leaves him with a raging hard on when he’s helping you unzip your wet suit because the mechanism got stuck after you both hit the surf.
He tries to be a gentleman, to keep his gaze locked on the wisps of damp hair that have escaped your bun, but his eyes drop to the trio of freckles on your bare shoulder, the ones he now wants to brush his lips over.
The zipper lowers even further, revealing the delicate curve of your back and the thin string of the sunshine yellow bikini you’re wearing underneath. He steps away as you as you push the wetsuit down along your arms, freeing yourself from its grasp. You shove the neoprene down along your waist, leaving it pooling around your hips as you turn to face him.
Don’t take the rest of it off, he begs, scrubbing his rough palm across his lips.
But of course, you don’t hear his silent plea.
You shimmy the wetsuit down past your hips, along those biteable thighs he’s envisioned wrapped around his waist every single night since he’s started staying at your place. Your bikini clings to you, nipples tightening under the fabric as the sea breeze blows across the beach, cooling your skin.
He imagines warming them with his mouth, taking those sweet buds between his teeth, his tongue flicking over them as your hands run through his hair, moaning his name.
“Are you going to give me my towel?” Your voice cuts through his thoughts as you jab your finger at the waterproof backpack residing near his feet. “Or are you just going to keep zoning out over there?”
“Uh, yeah.” He snatches up your towel, practically throwing it at you.
You catch it, patting dry the droplets of water that are running into the valley of your breasts. His cock twitches, stirring underneath the neoprene. He’s in hell, literal and figurative hell.
“Do you need help with your wet suit?” You ask, gesturing to the fact he hasn’t even begun to remove it.
He flusters, jerking his gaze away before reaching for the mechanism on the back. “Nah, I’ve had this one a while so I’m pretty practiced.”
He pushes down the zipper to prove his point. The neoprene comes away from his skin, and he glances up to find your gaze on him as he peels it away from his damp flesh. The look in your eyes… it tells him that this thing he’s feeling, it might just go both ways after all.
He sits with that for the entire day. Through breakfast at Aca Aca as you talk with your hands, describing how you pegged Rocker in the ass with the new bean bag gun. Through your terrible singing in the shower as you rinse the salt and sand from your skin. Through you falling asleep on the couch, nestled against up against him as you watch Demolition Man for the millionth time, his arm draped over your shoulder, thumb skimming over the inked tarot card woven underneath your skin.
This is what it could be like, that treacherous part of his brain whispers, if you took that risk.
And he wants to, he really fucking wants to.
But then the group chat activates and he remembers 20 Squad, the rules on fraternization.
“It’s time to go to bed.” He murmurs into your hairline with the intention of extracting himself from the situation.
You grumble, tilting your head to look up at him with blurry eyes. Your nose bumps against his, his breath quickening as your lips linger dangerously close. You look so beautiful in that moment, and he can’t seem to tear himself away as he looks into those eyes of yours, wild as a storm, fierce as the sea.
“Luca.” You whisper, your velvet soft lips almost brushing over his. “I’m about to do something really fucking stupid.”
“I know.” He whispers back, his entire body igniting under your touch. “And I’m about to let you.”
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Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x nurse!girlfriend!reader
Warnings: angst, hurt, relationship angst, tension, emotional vulnerability, injury mention, medical-trauma environment setting.
Summary: After that morning, you swap to two weeks of day shifts to give yourselves space. Despite the opposite schedules, the hurt and the distance, subtle check-ins and high praise from a colleague spark a wave of jealousy and self-reflection in Jack, making him realize he needs to earn your trust back and show you he views you as an equal in your relationship
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
A/N this feels like a filler chapter but I needed to develop their love and hurt and distance during her day shifts
(Credits to @kamarimartell for the Robby's part idea)
— Hurtful words Fic .‧₊˚
1. Words you can’t unsay 2. It's temporary, right? 3. Fixing us
(Taglist is closed! Turn on notification for the next chapter)
The rest of the morning offered no real sleep, only tossing and turning. Your mind kept rewiring the same tape: the desperation in Jack’s eyes, the grip of his hand around your waist, and the sharp edge in his voice on the ER that made you feel so completely small.
By midday, you turned off your alarm for the upcoming night shift and sent a brief email requesting the schedule swap, citing personal reasons.
Within an hour, it was approved.
And you had two full days off before transitioning to your first day shift.
Two days of deafening silence. Because you have told him you would text him but the need of space was bigger than the love for him.
Neither of you called.
You respected the boundaries you had set.
Then, on the the second morning, Jack tried not to bother you, but he needed to know you were okay, because news spread fast and he knew you were going to spend two weeks on day shift; and your conversations would turn short.
Jack [06:35 AM]: Hi, beautiful.
Jack [06:50 AM]: I know you asked for space, but I just want to make sure the cut on your arm is healing properly and isn't showing signs of infection. Please make sure you're keeping it clean.
You stared at the screen for long minutes. It was so distinctly him; hiding his worry behind medical professionalism because he didn't know how to reach you.
You [07:15 AM]: Hi. It’s healing fine.
Jack [07:16 AM]: Good.
Jack [07:16 AM]: Have a good first day shift.
You didn't reply to the last text. You locked your phone, swallowed down the lump rising in your throat, and pulled on your scrubs.
Walking into the emergency department at 07:30 AM felt entirely foreign. The daytime atmosphere was louder and faster.
Patients flooded the waiting room, phones rang incessantly, and the familiar faces of the night crew were entirely absent, replaced by the bustling energy of the day staff.
You looked at the patient list on the main screen, and started memorizing the patient data at the central nursing station, trying to force your mind into work mode.
"Look who decided to join us!"
Dana appeared beside you with a cup of coffee in hand, balancing a stack of folders on her lap. "We rarely see you in the daylight. Did the night shift finally drain the life out of you, or has Dr. Abbot realized he can't concentrate with his favorite nurse around?"
She nudged your shoulder playfully, chuckling under her breath.
You held your breath for a second. The sudden mention of his name sent a cold ache straight through your chest before turning to face her.
Your posture was rigid, your expression guarded.
"Hi, Dana," you said, your voice was laced with a unyielding boundary. "I'm... I'm sorry, but I would really appreciate it if you didn't bring up Jack unless it's for professional reasons."
Dana’s smile instantly faded, replaced by shock. She blinked, taking in the shadowed tiredness under your eyes and the rigid line of your shoulders.
The teasing air in the room evaporated instantly.
"Oh," Dana said softly. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I didn't know."
"It's okay," you replied, giving her a smile. "Just... keeping things professional."
She nodded quickly, respecting the wall you had just put up.
But as you went back to the patients, the silence around the desk felt heavier than before, a stark reminder that while you were physically moving through the daylight, a part of you was still stuck in that cold, quiet hallway.
Day shift moved at a punishing pace. Around 11 AM, the red emergency phone at the desk blared to life.
A three car pileup on the highway was incoming; multiple critical traumas, two minutes out. The entire floor shifted into high gear.
"Trauma 1!" Robby called out, clapping his hands sharply as he rushed toward the bay. "Let's go!"
You didn't hesitate. Snapping on fresh nitrile gloves and snapping your face shield into place, you moved straight into Trauma 1.
When the gurney burst through the double doors, it was absolute chaos. The patient was a young male, hypotensive, thrashing violently, and bleeding heavily from a deep arterial laceration on his thigh. Monitors were screaming, paramedics were shouting over each other to give report, and blood was already pooling on the floor.
"He's crashing! BP is dropping!" Robby yelled, leaning over the chest to secure the airway. "We need line access now, and somebody control that bleed!"
"I've got the femoral line," you said, your voice cutting cleanly through the noise.
There was zero panic in your tone. Whatever emotional exhaustion you were carrying outside those glass doors vanished the second you stepped over the threshold.
Your hands were steady, precise, and completely unwavering.
As a resident applied firm pressure to the laceration with one hand, you smoothly preppared the central line kit. When the patient thrashed, trying to pull away, you held him firm with authoritative efficiency. "Robby, central line is prepped for you. Hanging two units of O-negative now." you called out, calling out vitals before anyone even had to ask.
You moved like clockwork, anticipating steps three moves ahead, passing instruments, and handing off medications with fluid precision.
Robby glanced over at you mid-procedure, his eyes widening slightly behind his protective visor. He was used to working with seasoned day-shift veterans, but your sheer composure, speed, and clinical focus under intense pressure was undeniable.
You weren't just following orders, you were helping run the bay.
Twenty minutes later, the patient was stabilized, intubated, and being prepped for emergency surgery. Outside Trauma 1, Robby pulled off his visor and leaned next to Dana, watching you through the window as you wiped down the equipment carts.
"Damn," Robby muttered under his breath, shaking his head in genuine impression. "Who trained her on night shift?"
Dana glanced over at him as she crossed her arms. "Jack did, mostly. But she's always been sharp."
"Sharp is an understatement," Robby said, his voice carrying professional respect. "Zero hesitation, zero panic, perfect technique under pressure. Half the young nurses would have lost their footing in a bay that messy, but she handled it like she's been doing this for fifteen years."
"Abbot's out of his mind if he thinks she's just some junior nurse," Robby added quietly, tapping his chart against his leg. "She’s built for this floor."
The shift was winding down around 6:30 p.m. The constant shouting of the shift had subsided into a quiet routine, leaving you sitting in a peaceful corner of the nurses' station, organizing the last few tests with their corresponding charts.
Your phone vibrated gently in your pocket.
Jack [06:30 PM]: How did the first day shift go?
You stared at the message, your thumb hovering over the screen.
It was cautious, polite-carefully maintaining the boundary you had set while still checking in.
You [06:35 PM]: Busy. We had a heavy trauma pileup, but I survived.
Jack [06:37 PM]: Good.
Jack [06:38 PM]: Robby texted me earlier... said you were incredible today.
A dull ache gripped your chest.
Knowing he knew, and that he was watching you from afar, made the emptiness between you feel even greater. But every time that ache returned, the way he had treated you days before resurfaced in your mind.
You [06:39 PM]: I was just doing my job.
Jack [06:40 PM]: I know. You always do. I just wanted you to know I'm proud of you. Like always.
You swallowed hard, resting your forehead in your hand for a moment before typing back.
You [06:45 PM]: Thanks. Are you prepping for tonight?
Jack [06:45 PM]: Yeah. Heading in at 8. Which reminds me, I can't pick you up or drive you home.
Before you could type back that you were planning on taking the bus, a notification popped up at the top of your screen: a transfer confirmation from your banking app.
Jack Abbot sent you $45.00.
Note: "For your Uber tonight and tomorrow. Don't take the bus when you're tired."
A small pang tugged in your heart. Even with the silence, even with the rift hanging between you, he was still looking out for you in his way.
You [06:50 PM]: You didn't have to send money. I could have managed.
Jack [06:53 PM]: I know you can. I'm just making sure you're getting straight into a car and going home safely.
The care in his words felt like a double-edged sword—tender, yet loaded with the heavy, lingering weight of everything that had happened. The tension was palpable right through the screen, two people holding on tightly to the affection they felt while standing on opposite sides of a canyon.
You [07:00 PM]: Okay. Thank you, Jack.
Jack [07:01 PM]: Get some rest tonight. I miss you.
Your breathing hitched, your thumb hovering over the keypad as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.
You [07:02 PM]: Will do.
Jack [07:10 PM]: I love you.
The words sat there on the screen, a quiet truth despite the pain.
You [07:20 PM]: Good luck on night shift.
Jack [07:21 PM]: Get home safe.
You stared at the final message for a long moment before closing the chat and gathering your things to head out into the evening light.
The next days passed in a strange suspended reality. Working opposite shifts meant your worlds barely touched. While you were waking up and starting your shift, Jack was coming off a twelve-hour night, collapsing into his bed.
You kept up a quiet rhythm of brief text messages throughout the day, checking in, asking if the other had eaten, sending small updates on patients; but the unspoken distance remained carefully preserved.
Once, you managed a brief videocall right as you were headed home and his shift begin.
Seeing his face on the screen sent a tingle through your stomach, while at the same time a pang of anxiety in your chest fought against that feeling. He was standing on the rooftop, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair slightly disheveled.
"You look tired," you whispered softly.
"I am," Jack had replied, his voice raspy. "Last shift was pretty rough and couldn't sleep well."
"I know, you told me," you said, offering a small sad smile. "I should let you start to your shift."
"Yeah," he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours with an intense, quiet longing before he sighed. "Message me when you get home. Call me if you need anything."
"I will. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, beautiful."
The screen went black, leaving you both holding onto the faint comfort of hearing each other's voices.
-
The evening after, Jack arrived at the hospital forty five minutes before his night shift officially started. As he walked past the central nurses' station, he spotted Robby standingthere flipping through a chart.
"Brother," Robby called out, looking up with a easy grin. "You're early. Night shift leaking into your personal life?"
"Just wanted to get a head start," Jack said, stopping by the edge of the counter and leaning against it. He tried to keep his tone casual, but his eyes automatically darted toward the day shift assignment board.
Robby caught where Jack was looking and let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he closed the chart.
"If you're looking for your girl, you missed her by a few minutes," Robby said smoothly. "She just headed out to catch her ride."
Jack’s jaw tightened slightly at the phrase your girl, but he forced a neutral nod. "How was her shift?"
"Flawless, as usual," Robby replied, leaning back against the desk with an appreciative nod. "Honestly, Jack, I don't know what you were talking about when you used to complain about her being young or green. She had a tough pediatrics case today; distraught parents, chaotic room, kid crashing; and she handled those parents with more maturity and grace than half our senior staff."
Jack stayed silent.
"She's sharp, grounded, and she's wise way beyond her years," Robby continued, entirely unaware of the raw nerve he was pressing. He smirked, tapping his pen against the counter. "I might go myself to negotiate her transfer. We could use someone with that kind of head during the day rush."
The joke, told so casually, struck a nerve with Jack.
A sudden possessiness and jealousy flared deep in his gut. Hearing Robby praise your maturity and strength forced Jack to face what he had been trying to avoid for days.
You weren't fragile. You weren't a careless kid who needed his stern protection or his patronizing fear.
You were a brilliant, capable, extraordinary woman who was thriving entirely on her own; and his own overbearing arrogance had driven you right off his shift and out of his bed.
"She belongs wherever she wants to be," Jack said, his voice serious and grave, which instantly cut off Robby's satisfied smile.
Robby blinked, sensing the sudden shift in the air, and raised his hands in mild defense. "Hey, just giving credit. She's great, Jack."
"I know she is," Jack whispered.
And she's mine, he thought.
He didn't wait for Robby to reply.
He turned and walked straight toward the breakroom, the door shutting behind him.
Standing alone there, Jack pressed his palms against the counter and let his head drop. His heart raced with a desperate desire to hear your voice, to feel your skin against his, to pull you into his arms and apologize until his lungs ran dry.
He pulled out his phone and stared at your chat. Before his brain could offer any of his logic, he hit your name and pressed the phone to his ear.
It rang once.
Twice.
"Jack? Hi."
Your voice was soft, slightly muffled by the background noise of the street as you walked out your Uber.
"Hi," Jack said, his voice coming out rushed. He walked tight circles in the breakroom, his hand gripping the back of his neck. "Did you leave already? Are you home?"
"I'm just getting out my Uber now," you said. The confused concern in your tone was palpable. "Jack, what's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I just- I talked to Robby," Jack blurted out. He didn't even try to filter himself. The filter was burned away by the thought of losing you to another schedule, another life that didn't include him. "He was talking about your shift today, about the pediatrics case."
You went quiet, stoppng at your building door. "Yeah, it was a rough case."
"He said you were incredible," Jack breathed. "He said... he said you handled it with so much maturity. He is always talking about how wise you are, how grounded you are under pressure."
On the other end of the line, you blinked. Genuine surprise washed over you. "Oh... Did he really say that?"
"Yes," Jack said, his breath catching sharply in his chest as he tried to articulate the sudden knot in his stomach. "He did. And then he joked... he joked about keeping you on the day shift permanently."
He stopped pacing, his forehead pressing hard against the wall of the breakroom. His breathing was heavy with desperate panic.
"You're not staying on days, are you?" Jack asked, the question spilling out of him like a confession. He sounded like a man drowning. "Please tell me this is still temporary. Please tell me you're coming back to nights. I can't walk through these doors every night and know you're that you're thriving away from me because I hurted you."
The vulnerability in his voice, gripped by panic, pierced your defenses. You heard his breathing, rapid and agitated, and for the first time in days, you heard the man who loved you so intensely that it frightened him.
"Jack," you said softly through his spiraling thoughts. "Take a breath and listen to me, okay?"
Jack closed his eyes tightly as he forced himself to stay silent and listen.
"I... I am not staying on day shift permanently," you said. "I requested two weeks. Just two weeks to let things cool down and to get our heads straight. I’m coming back to nights."
A long exhale shuddered out of Jack’s lips.
"Jack?" you added gently. "We are okay. I mean, not totally, I'm still hurt and trying to figure things out. But day shift is temporary."
Jack swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Okay… Okay." Hearing the dramatic weight leave his voice, you couldn't resist lightening the heavy air between you just a little.
"Don't panic, old man," you teased. "I know you miss me."
Jack let out a wet laugh, shaking his head. "You have no idea."
"Go to work," you added, "or I'll actually stay with Robby; he seems proud of me."
"Shut up," Jack rasped out, though the affection in his tone completely ruined any attempt at sounding stern. A soft smile finally broke through his panic. "I love you."
"I love you," you whispered, saying it for the first time after days.
"I miss you, beautiful."
"I know."
Then, the middle of the night shift arrived and Jack sat at the central desk.
Jack [02:14 AM]: It’s quiet down here tonight. I keep looking over at the corner stool where you usually stand.
His thumb hovered over his phone, waiting.
You [02:15 AM]: Are you missing your favorite nurse, Dr. Abbot?
A smile touched the corner of Jack’s lips; the first real smile his face had worn in days.
Jack [02:16 AM]: Exceedingly so.
Jack [02:17 AM]: Why are you awake?
Jack [02:17 AM]: Go to sleep.
A shadow fell over him. Lena leaned against the counter with an amused knowing look in her eyes.
She had caught the soft look on his face before he could wipe it clean.
"Tell my baby I miss her," Lena instructed casually.
Jack instantly locked his phone, setting it face down on the desk with a clear effort to look unbothered. "I’m coordinating patient hand-offs, Lena."
"Right. Because patient hand-offs usually make you smile like a teenager," Lena replied dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Have you two actually sat down and talked yet? Or are you just playing telephone across different shifts?"
Jack sighed, running a hand over his face. "We talk. We text. She assured me the day shift transfer is temporary... but no, we haven't sat down in the same room since that morning."
Lena leaned and crossed her arms. "Jack... she needed space because you shattered her trust. You talked down to her like she was a child instead of treating her like your partner."
"I know," Jack said softly, his voice heavy with self-reproach. "I know I handled it terribly. But I’m respecting her boundaries. I’m giving her the time she asked for."
"Is she asking for space, or is she waiting for you?" Lena asked gently.
Jack looked up. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Lena said, leaning in a fraction closer, "words are easy, Jack. You told her you were sorry, and she knows you love her. But right now, she’s wondering if you actually see her as an equal, or if you're just waiting for things to go back to normal so you can play protector again."
She tapped her knuckles lightly against the desk.
"She’s not going to make the first move, we know her," Lena added quietly. "She needs you to do something that shows her that you respect her as an adult and an equal in this relationship. If you just wait around for her two weeks to end and then you're not showing her that change in you, you're going to lose her for good."
Jack sat in silence as Lena's words settled, her advice echoing in his mind, sparking a resolute determination.
She’s waiting for you to do something to prove it.
He unlocked his phone, he didn't want to play it safe anymore.
He didn't want to hide behind cautious check-ins and clinical distance.
Jack [03:08 AM]: When is your next day off?
He sent it before he could second guess himself.
Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You groaned softly, reaching it, expecting a routine shift update or a quiet "goodnight" sent during a lull in Trauma.
Instead, those six words stared back at you.
You sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your heart suddenly doing a nervous flip.
No I love you, no medical check-in, no casual small talk; just a direct question.
You [03:10 AM]: Thursday. Before returning to nights. Why?
The three dots appeared almost instantly on his end, held for a long moment, and then disappeared.
A minute passed. Then two.
Just as you were about to type another message, his reply finally popped up:
Jack [03:14 AM]: Don't make plans. I'll pick you up at eight.
You stared at the screen, your mind spinning.
Pick me up at eight?
For what?
To talk?
To end things?
To fix things?
You [03:15 AM]: ???
You [03:15 AM]: What is this about?
Jack [03:16 AM]: Sleep, beautiful. See you on Thursday.
You stared at the final text, your breath hitching in your throat as your phone went dark. You fell back against the pillows, your heart pounding loudly in the dark room.
Pairing: Dr. jack Abbot x female!reader
Warnings: baby fever, domestic, lactose intolerance, bloating, thoughts of pregnancy, future family talk.
Summary: a joke and a quiet moment change the way Jack sees the future with you.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
Jack stood leaning against the doorframe. "I told you," He said. "The sign on the counter only said milk. You swore up and down it was oat milk."
"It tasted like oat milk!" you protested, though your voice lacked any real bite. You were standing in front of the mirror, hands gently resting on the sides of your stomach.
Because you were lactose intolerant, your digestive system had reacted almost instantly. Your lower stomach was visibly swollen and round, tight against the waistband of your sweatpants, puffing out to a degree that was ridiculously uncomfortable.
You turned slightly to the side, examining the rounded curve in the glass. Despite the mild cramping, the sheer visual of it was hilarious. You cupped the bottom of your bloated belly with both hands, arching your lower back just a fraction.
"Look at this," you said, catching his eye in the mirror. You patted your stomach gently. "It looks like I’m three months pregnant. Or maybe four."
Jack let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You’re going to be miserable in about twenty minutes if you don't take your medicine."
"No, seriously," you giggled, smoothing your shirt down over the bulge to accentuate the shape even more. "I could walk into the hospital tomorrow, demand light duty, and no one would question it. 'Doctor Abbot, look what you've done.'"
Jack chuckled again, but as his eyes stayed on you.You kept looking in the mirror, laughing softly to yourself as you stroked the bump.
But in the quiet that followed, you noticed Jack hadn't moved.
You watched his expression shift.
The teasing grin faded into something intensely focused. His gaze remained fixed on your hands resting over your rounded stomach. His eyes softened, a faint crease forming between his brows as his gaze traced the line of your waist, the way your hands fit over the curve, and the maternal picture you unwittingly painted in the bathroom.
There was a palpable gravity in his gaze; a quiet warmth that had nothing to do with bloating.
For a second, he was looking at a glimpse of a potential future, staring at the image of you carrying a life that was half his.
The joke died on your lips.
You froze slightly, your hands still resting on your waist, meeting his gaze in the glass. The air in the room felt suddenly thick.
Jack seemed to realize he’d been caught staring. He blinked but he didn't look away, nor did he try to make another joke to brush it off. Instead, he took a step forward.
He reached out, his hands gently replacing yours over your stomach.
"Jack?" you whispered.
"It suits you," he said softly.
His voice was quiet, stripped of any pretense. He met your eyes in the mirror, his chest pressed against your back, his hands resting over your stomach.
"Jack, it’s just a dairy baby," you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips, though your chest felt tight.
"I know," Jack smiled. "But... still."
He leaned down, resting his chin on your shoulder. He stared at the two of you in the reflection for a long moment, letting the quiet thought linger between you both without needing to put it into words.
After a moment, he squeezed your waist gently and kissed the side of your neck.
"I'm going to get your medicine." he murmured softly as he straightened up. He left the bathroom and you stood by the mirror a moment longer with your heart still beating a little faster than before.
Later, the heating pad was warm against your lower stomach, but it wasn't the physical discomfort keeping you awake.
Jack had his arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so your head rested in the crook of his shoulder. His breathing was slow, his hand gently resting over yours where it lay on top of the heating pad.
Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was the reflection in the bathroom mirror; the stillness in Jack’s face, the unguarded softness in his eyes, and the way his hands had felt when he placed them over yours.
You shifted in his embrace, turning your head to look at him.
"Jack?" you whispered.
He stirred and his arm tightened around you. "Hmm? You in pain? Do you need more water?"
"No, no… I.. I need to ask you something." you said softly. You hesitated, tracing a thumb over the back of his hand.
Jack opened his eyes, blinking against the dark as he picked up on the slight hesitation in your voice. "What's on your mind, beautiful?"
You took a breath, the question tumbling out before you could lose your nerve.
"Back in the bathroom... when I made that stupid joke," you began. "You got this... look on your face. You stared at me like... I don't know..." You looked down at your hands joined over your stomach before looking back up at him. "Have you been thinking about it? About... being a father? Like... making a little us?"
He looked at you, his expression searching, surprised by your directness but completely unbothered by it.
"Is that... what kept you awake?" he asked softly.
"Maybe..." you admitted, your cheeks warming a little. "You just looked so... serious for a second. It made me wonder."
Jack stared up at the ceiling for a second, organizing his thoughts, before bringing his gaze back to you.
"Honestly?" Jack said. "Yeah. I have."
Your heart gave a small flutter.
"For a long time, I didn't allow myself to think beyond the next shift, or the next patient. As if I only needed to be in the present... But with you…"
He paused, shifting so he was propped up slightly on one elbow, looking down into your eyes.
"With you, I start thinking about what comes next," Jack whispered. "And when I saw you standing there in front of the mirror earlier... even with you making jokes about oat milk... I couldn't help it. I pictured what it would actually be like. You, holding a baby that has your eyes. Or my bad habits. A little piece of both of us running around, driving us crazy."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
"I think about it more than I probably let on," he admitted softly. "I want that with you. When the time is right. When we're ready. And only if you want it, too."
A happy warmth bloomed in your chest. You smiled, reaching up to cup the side of his face.
"A little us," you repeated quietly, sweetly, nodding.
"Yes, a little us," Jack confirmed with a smile, kissing your lips. You kissed him back, your hand not leaving the side of his face.
"I love you," you whispered against his lips.
"I love you, beautiful." He said before settling back down onto the pillow, pulling you tightly against his chest. "Go to sleep before we start picking out names."
You laughed quietly, closing your eyes as his arms wrapped around you, feeling completely warm and loved as you finally drifted off to sleep together.
Before Frank went to rehab, he had a notorious entanglement with an R1. Beautiful girl with pressed scrubs, the glossiest lips you've ever seen, and a surgical prodigy. Fantastically witty, fast on her feet- the complete whole package.
It was a constant "will they-won't they", the center of numerous bets within the PTC. Robby always knew if he was missing one, he'd have to ask the other. It was almost painful observing them from afar, her watching him like he'd hung the moon just for her, hanging off the back of his scrubs like he held her heart in his hands.
He did, in a way. Dangling a carrot just out of her reach, enjoying seeing her do her very best to try and earn his favor, earn one more kiss in the janitor's closets.
He liked having one of the most promising young residents at his beck and call.
Call him sick, call him twisted- it didn't ever get to him.
Well until now.
Two hours into his return, and he is watching his R1 be crowded by the chief of orthopedic surgery. His finger twisted little coils into her tied-back hair, watching her explain a pelvic fracture, like she had hung the moon.
Like she held his heart in her hands.
It wasn't wishful thinking; it wasn't jaw-droppingly obvious.
It was held in the tension of his jaw, the bend in his spine, trying to get closer to her level. The scene was as intimate as professionalism would allow. Doctor Park was looking at her like he knew something nobody else in The Pitt did.
Maybe he did.
"If you don't close your mouth, you'll catch flies." Dana's voice snaps him out of his hypnosis. He looks at her, still slightly surprised.
"W-what-" his finger pointed in their direction, disbelief coating his entire body.
"That's none of your business, kid. Stay out of it." She looks down at the clipboard in her hands.
"While you went AWOL, Shark smelt blood in the water and wanted a taste for himself." Dana chuckled.
"How 'bout that?"
(Thinking of making this a series... idk its open for suggestions)
Omg can you do dad harvey where lilly wants to wear makeup for the first time and he says no?? like she’s a teenager now and he’s being all protective but she just wants mascara or something 🥺 PLEASE
this is cute.
𓂃 ✧ ˚₊‧ Just Mascara ‧₊˚ ✧ 𓂃
Harvey was standing in the kitchen when Lilly came downstairs, her long brown hair still damp from her shower, wearing her favorite oversized hoodie. She clutched a small pink tube of mascara in her hands like it was something precious.
"Dad. I'm thirteen. Every girl in my grade wears mascara. It's not a big deal."
Harvey didn't even look up from his coffee. "No."
You leaned against the counter, watching this unfold with the specific amusement of someone who already knew how it was going to end... just not how long it would take to get there.
Lilly crossed her arms, hip cocked, looking like she was preparing to argue her case further. "That's such a Neanderthal answer. You argue for a living. Argue with me."
"I don't argue with clients I've already won against."
"You haven't won against me yet."
That got the ghost of a smirk out of him, quickly suppressed. He set the mug down. "Lil. It's mascara today. Next month it's eyeliner. Month after that some guy named Chad is taking you to the movies and I'm doing federal time."
"It's mascara, Dad. Not a restraining order."
"Same slippery slope."
Harvey sighed, shaking his head. "Lilly, you're still my little girl. You don’t need that stuff on your face. You’re beautiful exactly the way you are.”
You finally cut in. "Harvey, come on. Mascara isn't exactly a gateway drug."
He turned to you, and for a second the courtroom voice dropped completely. That was the look he only had around you, the one nobody in his office had ever seen. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"I'm on the side of not spending my morning listening to closing arguments about mascara."
Lilly seized the opening instantly, the way she always did, she was, annoyingly, his daughter through and through. "Mom said it's fine."
"Mom didn't say that. Mom said she'd think about it, which is a very different ruling."
"See, that's the problem with this family," Harvey said, pointing between the two of you like he was addressing a hostile jury. "Everybody thinks they get a vote."
"Democracy, Dad. It's a whole thing."
He exhaled through his nose, fingers briefly adjusting his cufflinks — the tell you’d learned years ago. He’d already lost; he was just negotiating the terms of surrender now. "Fine. Just mascara. Nothing else. And if I see one drop of anything red on those lips, I will personally escort you back upstairs to wash your face."
Lilly’s face lit up like she’d just won the lottery. She rushed forward and threw her arms around his waist. “Deal! Thank you, Dad!”
Harvey hugged her back, one large hand resting protectively on the back of her head. Over her shoulder, he gave you a look that said this was only the beginning, but for now, he’d let his little girl have this small victory.
Then she practically skipped back upstairs, and the second she was gone, Harvey was looking almost betrayed. "She's growing up too fast."
You stepped in, wrapping your arms around him, resting your head against his chest. "She's wearing mascara, Harvey. Not moving out."
"Feels like the same thing."
"I know." You smiled against him. "But you did good. You let her win a little."
"I let her win a lot," he muttered, though his arms had already come around you, some of the tension finally dissolving.
where their little daughter randomly asks him where babies come from? 😭 she's completely serious, reader's just standing in the kitchen watching the whole thing trying so hard not to laugh while harvey keeps looking at her like, please. help me.
oh this is exactly the kind of chaos Harvey deserves 🤍 here you go bby-
Also, in MY fics, his daughter's name will ALWAYS be Lilly. Leave me be.
It starts so innocently. Lilly's perched on the counter, swinging her feet, watching Harvey pour his coffee like it's a precision task that requires his full attention. Then she just — asks it. No warm-up, no mercy.
"Daddy, where do babies come from?"
Harvey's hand stops mid-pour. Coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim. He does not react like a man who has stared down federal prosecutors and hostile boards without blinking. He reacts like a man who just watched his exit strategy evaporate in real time.
"That's, uh—" He sets the mug down very carefully, like it might go off. "That's a great question."
"So where do they come from?"
"Well." He glances over at you, leaning against the fridge with your own coffee, watching this unfold with an expression that says oh, I am not helping you with this one.
"Babies come from... love. Two people who love each other very much."
Lilly considers this with the seriousness of a judge reviewing testimony. "Okay but how."
"How," Harvey repeats, like the word personally betrayed him.
"Like mechanically."
"She's five,where did she learn the word mechanically?" he mutters, and you just take a slow sip of your coffee and say nothing, because watching Harvey Specter get cross-examined by his own daughter is genuinely the best thing that's happened to you all week.
"Okay," Harvey says, straightening up, snapping back into closer mode like he's found his angle. "So. When two people love each other, and they decide they want to build something together... like a family, like a case, like a company..."
"Are you comparing me to a merger," you say, unable to help yourself.
"I'm workshopping," he hisses.
Lilly squints at him. "So babies are like... a business deal?"
"...Sort of."
"Harvey."
"I'm closing this, just let me work."
You catch his eye over Lilly's head — the please, for the love of god, jump in any time look — and you just smile into your mug and shrug. Not a chance. This is better than anything on TV.
"So do I get profit sharing?" Lilly asks, dead serious, and Harvey actually laughs, caught completely off guard, looking at his daughter like she might be the only person in this apartment more dangerous than he is.
"You're not getting profit sharing, you're getting a childhood," he says. "That's the deal."
"That's not fair."
"Take it or leave it."
She narrows her eyes at him, deciding whether to push, and then because she is his daughter, through and through, she pivots the negotiation entirely. "Okay. New question. If I came from love, where did the actual baby part come from? Like was I just... floating somewhere and you found me?"
Harvey opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks at you like a man drowning fifteen feet from shore.
"You weren't floating anywhere," he tells her, recovering. "You grew. Inside your mom. For nine whole months."
Lilly's whole face changes, delighted and horrified in equal measure. "Inside her? Like in her stomach? With the food?"
"Not with the food. A different... a separate..." He gestures vaguely at the air like the right word is going to fall out of the ceiling. "A different place. Specifically made for that."
"So there's a room in there."
"Sure. Yes. A room."
"Does it have furniture?"
"Lilly."
"I'm just asking logistics, Dad, you're the one who taught me logistics matter."
"I really did do that to myself," he mutters, and you laugh so hard you nearly choke on your coffee, and Harvey shoots you another look, this one somehow both a glare and a genuine plea for backup.
You just shrug, all Innocence. "Contract's between you two. I'm just a witness."
"You're a co-defendant."
"I'm observing. There's a difference."
Lilly, entirely unbothered by the sidebar happening over her head, taps his arm to pull his attention back. "Okay but how did I get out of the room."
Harvey's face does something complicated. "That's — we're gonna save that one for a few years from now."
"Why?"
"Because some cases you settle out of court, kid. Trust me on this one."
"That's not an answer."
"It's a great answer, you just don't have the clearance level for it yet."
Lilly crosses her arms, unimpressed by executive privilege, and considers her next move like she's flipping through evidence. "Okay, last question. If you and Mom made me because you loved each other... does that mean if I love my goldfish enough, I could make a baby goldfish?"
The room goes silent. You set your mug down slowly, because you need both hands free to fully appreciate whatever Harvey says next.
"...No," Harvey says, very carefully, like a man defusing something. "That's — no. Different rules."
"Why?"
"There's a lot of case law on this, I don't have time to walk you through all of it."
"You always say that when you don't know the answer."
"I always know the answer," Harvey says, wounded. "I am choosing, strategically, not to argue this one further."
"That means you don't know."
"It means I'm resting."
Lilly looks at him for a long moment, weighing whether to press it, and then... mercifully, blessedly... decides she's gotten everything she's going to get out of this witness. She hops off the counter like the deposition is officially closed. "Okay. I'm gonna go tell Ray I know where babies come from."
"You are not Lilly." Harvey starts after her, but she's already gone, footsteps disappearing down the hall, leaving him standing there in the wreckage of his own coffee and his dignity.
He turns to you, breathing like he just won the case of his life. "You could've helped me."
"I could have," you agree, entirely too pleased with yourself. "But then I wouldn't have gotten to watch the best closer in New York lose a five-question negotiation to a five-year-old."
"It was a four-question negotiation. I closed the fifth one."
"You said 'we'll save that one for later,' Harvey. That's not closing. That's a continuance."
He points at you with his coffee mug, and for a second he almost looks like he's about to argue the point, really argue it, the way he'd argue in front of a judge before something in his face just gives up entirely and softens into something much closer to a smile.
"This isn't over," he says anyway, because he has to."
Can we please get dad!harvey’s first argument with Lilly but a cute one?! 🥺
Lilly giving Harvey his first taste of attitude and him not knowing what to do with himself. Yesss we can 💕
Harvey Specter had faced depositions, hostile witnesses, and billion-dollar negotiations without being umatched.
None of that compared to standing in his own living room, arms crossed, staring down a very small, very determined version of himself.
“Dad,” Lilly said again, louder this time, like volume alone could win the case. “I can wear it.”
Harvey exhaled through his nose, the way he did when Mike Ross tried to argue semantics. “You can. I’m aware you physically possess the ability.”
Lilly blinked at him. “Then what’s the problem?”
That was the thing. There wasn’t a courtroom answer for this.
She stood there in front of the mirror wearing a carefully picked outfit for a birthday party with her friends—cute, confident, exactly her. To her. To Harvey, it looked like she was trying to grow up three steps faster than he was ready for.
It wasn’t inappropriate. That wasn’t the issue.
It was the fact that she looked older.
And Harvey Specter did not like time moving without his permission.
“It’s not a problem,” he said carefully, loosening his tie like that would somehow help him think more clearly. “It’s… a suggestion.”
Lilly narrowed her eyes. “That’s what people say when they don’t want to say what they actually mean.”
Harvey paused.
He had taught her that.
Pride flickered somewhere under the discomfort.
From the kitchen, you watched the entire standoff unfold, leaning against the counter with a small, amused smile. You could already see where this was going and you also knew neither of them were backing down.
Lilly planted her hands on her hips. “All my friends are dressing like this.”
“That’s great for their dads,” Harvey replied instantly.
That earned him a betrayed gasp.
“You don’t like my outfit,” she accused.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You basically did!”
Harvey ran a hand down his face. “Lilly—”
“You’re being mean,” she cut in immediately, pointing at him like she was presenting evidence in court. “Like actually mean. Over an outfit.”
Harvey blinked once. “I’m not being mean.”
Lilly turned slightly toward you without breaking eye contact with him. “Tell him. He’s being mean.”
You hid a smile. “I’m staying out of this.”
“Traitor,” she muttered under her breath—but not quietly enough.
“You always say I’m responsible and you trust me and I’m not a baby anymore.”
Harvey's jaw tightened just slightly. Because she was right.
And because he’d been the one saying it.
“I do trust you,” he said more gently. “This isn’t about trust.”
“Then what is it about?”
Silence stretched.
Harvey looked at her for a long moment—really looked at her. Not as a case. Not as a problem to solve. Just his daughter, standing in front of him, waiting for an answer that didn’t feel like control dressed up as concern.
Finally, he said quietly, “It’s about me not being ready for you to look like you’re growing up faster than I can keep up with.”
Lilly’s expression shifted. The fire didn’t disappear—but it softened at the edges.
“That’s… not a good reason,” she said, but it didn’t have bite anymore.
Harvey huffed a small, reluctant laugh. “Yeah. I’m aware.”
You let out a quiet, fond breath. “Harvey.”
He glanced at you already knowing what you were going to say without you saying it.
“Pick your battles,” you added gently.
He looked back at Lilly.
She was still waiting. Still firm. Still his daughter.
Instead, he reached out and fixed the strap of her outfit gently, grounding himself in something real.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “You go to your party. You have fun. You stay where I can reach you if I call.”
Lilly squinted. “And?”
“And,” he added, voice softer now, “you come home at the time we agreed.”
She studied him for a second longer, then nodded. “Deal.”
A pause.
Then, as if she couldn’t resist, she added, “You’re still dramatic.”
Harvey’s mouth twitched. “And you’re still grounded if you’re late.”
That got a smile out of her.
She grabbed her jacket, heading toward the door, then hesitated, turning back just slightly.
“You’re not actually mad at me, right?”
That question hit him cleaner than any argument she’d thrown.
Please give me overprotective dad!Harvey when his daughter goes on her first date. I need Harvey treating the poor boy like he's being cross-examined in court while insisting he's just having a conversation lol
Her first date is prom 🤍
𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒟𝒶𝒹: 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓋𝑒𝓎 𝒮𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇
Harvey stood in the middle of the living room like he was about to deliver a closing argument, arms folded across his chest that signature smirk that made opposing counsel fret. You leaned against the doorway with a knowing smile, already anticipating how this was going to go.
The doorbell rang at 6:58 PM.
Harvey looked at his watch. Looked at the door. Looked back at his watch.
"He's two minutes early."
"Harvey." You crossed the room towards him, setting a hand on his arm, feeling the tension coiled beneath his sleeve. "That's a good thing. It means he's punctual."
"It means he's eager. Eager boys do stupid things."
"He's sixteen, Harvey. The stupidest thing he's going to do is forget to hold the door open."
Harvey turned to look at you, and you saw it — the flicker of something soft beneath the hard exterior. His little girl. His Lilly. Who'd taken her first steps in this apartment, who'd fallen asleep on his chest during mergers, who'd learned to drive the summer before and refused to let him teach her because he was "too intense."
Now she was sixteen, in a pale blue dress she'd tried on six times before settling on this one, her hair curled, her lip gloss fresh. She was nervous and excited and trying very hard to hide both.
And Harvey Specter was going to make it everyone's problem.
---
He opened the door.
The boy on the other side was — fine. That was the word. A corsage in a plastic box clutched in his left hand, held like a shield. His name was Tyler. He played soccer. He'd called the landline to ask permission. Harvey's rule — and had handled the twenty-minute phone interview with something approaching grace.
"Mr. Specter." Tyler's voice cracked just slightly. "Hi. I'm here for Lilly."
"So I gathered." Harvey didn't step aside. "You're early."
"Yes, sir. I wanted to make sure I had time to give her the corsage and take pictures before the reservation."
Harvey raised a brow. "You have a reservation."
"Yes, sir. A place on 8th. I made it three weeks ago."
"Three weeks. That's planning ahead."
"I wanted to make sure everything was perfect, sir. For Lilly."
You appeared at Harvey's elbow, pressing a warm hand to his back. "Tyler it's lovely to see you. Come in."
Harvey stepped aside. Reluctantly. The boy stepped in, and you watched him take in the apartment, the skyline, the art, the evidence of decades of success. His eyes went wide, but he recovered quickly, turning his attention to the stairs as Lilly descended.
She looked beautiful. You felt your throat tighten.
Tyler's face did something unguarded and genuine. "Lilly. You look—" He swallowed. "You look great."
"Thanks." She smiled, soft and nervous. "Is that for me?"
He fumbled with the box, nearly dropped it, handed it over. She opened it, laughed at the white roses and held it out for him to fasten around her wrist. His fingers shook.
Harvey watched the whole thing with the intensity of a man reviewing a deposition.
---
"Did you get the car?"
"Yes, sir," Tyler said. "I have my license. I've been driving for a year. No accidents, no tickets. The car is a 2019 Honda Accord. It has four doors and lots of space."
Harvey narrowed his eyes.
"Lots of space?"
Tyler blinked. "Uh... yeah?"
Harvey glanced at his daughter. Then back at Tyler.
"Why exactly is that a selling point?"
"It isn't—I mean, it just has a roomy back seat."
"A roomy back seat." Harvey nodded slowly. "Interesting detail to volunteer."
"Dad!" Lilly groaned.
"I'm just trying to understand why my daughter's date feels the need to advertise the dimensions of his vehicle."
Tyler looked like he wanted the floor to open up beneath him.
"It was just a car fact, sir."
"Sure it was."
"Harvey..."
"What?" He shrugged. "I'm having a conversation."
Harvey stared at him. Tyler stared back.
Harvey stepped closer. "She's my daughter. She's the most important thing in my life. If anything happens to her tonight — if she's uncomfortable, if she feels pressured, if she wants to come home and you don't bring her... I will find you. Not the police. Me. Do you understand?"
"Harvey." Your voice was soft, warning.
But Tyler held his ground. Met Harvey's eyes. "I understand, sir. I will take care of her tonight. She's safe with me."
Harvey held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded. Once.
"Take a picture before you go."
---
You stood on the sidewalk with Lilly and Tyler, snapping photos while Harvey leaned against the building entrance, arms crossed. The boy had his hand hovering at Sophia's lower back, not quite touching, respectfully there. He opened her door. Waited until she was settled. Closed it gently.
Then he walked to the driver's side, caught Harvey's eye, and nodded.
Harvey nodded back.
The car pulled away.
---
"Did you have to threaten him?"
"Wasn't a threat. It was a promise."
"Harvey."
He was quiet for a moment, watching the car disappear around the corner. His hand found yours, squeezed.
"She looked beautiful tonight."
"She did."
"Like her mother."
You leaned into his shoulder. "You were terrifying, you know that?"
"Good. He should be terrified."
"You liked him."
A pause. "He made a reservation. Three weeks ago. That's planning."
"He opened her door."
"He brought a corsage."
"His shoes were clean."
Harvey looked down at you. The stern facade cracked, just slightly. "He's still not good enough for her."
"No one will ever be good enough for her."
"Damn right."
You stood together on the sidewalk as the sun dipped lower in the sky, your fingers laced with his. After a moment, you gave his hand a gentle tug.
“Come on, counselor,” you said softly, stepping just a little closer so he had to look down at you. “Let’s find something to distract you until she gets home.”
Can we get one of Harvey and the mrs finding out the gender or her telling him she’s pregnant 🥺🧡
of course ♡
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆
The apartment door clicked open just past nine. Harvey stepped inside, loosening his tie with one hand, the weight of the day still clinging to his shoulders. Then he saw you.
You stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights glittering behind you like a private constellation. You wore a chic, form-fitting little black mini dress and black Christian Louboutin stiletto heels that tied into a delicate bow around the back. Your hair was swept up, exposing the line of your neck. You looked like trouble and temptation wrapped in silk.
Harvey’s gaze traveled slowly from the bows up to your face.
"Well," he drawled, crossing the room, "if this is what I get to come home to, maybe I should work late more often."
You laughed softly, nerves fluttering in your stomach.
Because tonight wasn't about the dress.
Or the shoes.
Or the way Harvey was already looking at you like you were the best thing he'd seen all day.
Tonight was about the secret you'd been carrying.
He reached you and immediately slipped both arms around your waist from behind, pulling you against him. His chin settled on your shoulder.
"What's this?" he murmured. "Fancy dinner? Celebration? Did I forget something important?"
You swallowed.
"No.
"His hands tightened slightly around your middle.
"Then what is it?"
For a moment, all you could hear was the distant hum of the city below.
Then you turned in his arms.
Suddenly looking nervous.
"Hey," he said softly. "What's going on?"
Instead, you simply took his hand.
Harvey let you guide him without protest, his brow already creasing in that subtle way it did when he sensed a shift he couldn’t quite calculate. You led him past the edge of the room and toward the coffee table, where something small waited like it belonged there all along.
You placed it into his palm.
A small, sleek fountain pen box—the kind Harvey used to sign multi-million dollar mergers. Heavy enough to mean something. Familiar enough to make him think he already knew the answer.
“Open it,” you said softly.
His eyes flicked to you for half a second, searching, then back to the box. Slowly, he lifted the lid.
Velvet lining. Perfect presentation.
But no pen.
Just a white plastic stick.
Two clear pink lines.
Everything in him stilled.
Harvey didn’t speak right away. That almost never happened.
He looked at the test. Then at you. Then back at the test again, like if he rearranged the order of reality, it might turn into something else entirely.
"Is this ... are you...?"
Before you could say anything, he dropped the box on the table and pulled you into him tight.
Like he couldn't get close enough.
His face disappeared into your hair as he held you against his chest.
"We're having a baby?"
The words sounded almost unbelievable coming from him.
When he finally did pull back, his eyes were bright, a fierce, protective warmth burning in them.
He placed a hand gently over your stomach.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, voice quieter than you’d ever hear from him, “how happy this makes me.”
He leaned in and kissed you slowly, his hand moving to cradle your jaw, holding you gently in place."
Morning light spilled across the kitchen in soft gold, catching on the edge of Harvey’s charcoal suit vest as he sat perched on the barstool like he belonged there less as a lawyer and more as a man temporarily defeated by a six-month-old.
His jacket was long gone—draped somewhere over a chair in the living room. His tie was loosened just enough to say he’d tried, and failed, to maintain control of his morning.
Lilly was in his lap.
Completely delighted about it.
Harvey kept one arm securely around her middle while the other attempted, very seriously, to review case files spread across the counter. Every time he turned a page, Lilly immediately reached for it like she had personal objections to the entire justice system.
“No,” he said gently as she grabbed the corner of a document.
She squealed.
“That’s evidence,” he added, as if she cared.
She responded by smacking the paper with both hands.
Harvey exhaled through his nose, fighting a smile.
“You’re not helping my case.”
Lilly blinked up at him, then tried to eat the edge of a sticky note.
“Also not helping.”
He adjusted her slightly higher on his lap, instinctively steadying her with a hand that never once felt unsure, even if everything else clearly was. Despite the chaos, he didn’t look annoyed—just mildly outnumbered.
That was when you walked out.
Hair half-done, getting-ready energy still in motion, you paused in the doorway and took in the scene: Harvey Specter, in a perfectly tailored vest and dress shirt, looking like he belonged in a boardroom… currently losing a battle to drool and determination.
“You look busy,” you said, smiling.
Harvey glanced up immediately.
The shift was subtle, but unmistakable—like the rest of the world dimmed a little when he saw you.
“I am,” he said. “I’ve got a client who refuses to respect boundaries, keeps tampering with evidence, and has no regard for legal procedure.”
Lilly chose that exact moment to successfully grab a pen off the counter.
Harvey sighed.
“She’s also apparently very proud of herself.”
You walked over, leaning beside him, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek.
That alone softened his entire expression.
Then you kissed Lilly’s head, and she lit up like she’d just won something important.
Harvey watched both of you for a moment, something warm settling in his eyes that he never really tried to hide with you anymore.
“You’re enabling her,” he said quietly.
“You’re enjoying this,” you corrected.
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he shifted slightly and tugged you closer by your waist as you stood beside him. It was casual, effortless—like it belonged there as much as the morning light did.
Lilly immediately reached for your hand, wrapping her tiny fingers around one of yours.
You leaned into him, resting your shoulder against his vest, feeling the steady warmth of him even in the middle of the chaos.
For a moment, he didn’t look like the man who ran a firm or won impossible cases.
He just looked like yours.
His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing lightly—an absent, affectionate habit he didn’t even seem aware of anymore. Like he couldn’t not be touching you when you were this close.
Lilly made a small happy noise and tried to grab Harvey’s tie again.
He caught her hand before she could.
“Absolutely not,” he said, but there was no real force behind it.
You smiled up at him.
“You’re soft in the mornings.”
“I’m strategic.”
“You’re soft.”
He finally looked at you properly then, something quieter and more personal settling in his expression.
“…Only with you,” he said.
And for a second, even Lilly paused—like she could feel the difference in the air when he said it.
You leaned up and kissed him again, slower this time, and his hand tightened slightly at your waist like it was instinct, like it was home.
From the barstool, Lilly squealed again, dropping the pen triumphantly onto the counter.
Harvey glanced down at her.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” he told her. “You’re still losing.”
And then, because he can’t help himself, he presses a quick kiss to your forehead, still holding everything he actually cares about right there in his arms.
Who would Harvey trust to babysit more? Mike or Donna? 👀 Bonus if it’s so he can have a date night with the mrs 🥹
I actually love this question soooo much.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Harvey is absolutely terrified of anyone dropping the baby or messing up the sleep schedule. He's a very protective father.
But if he is leaving his baby with someone so he can steal a date night with his wife, he is absolutely not gambling with that decision.
Between Mike Ross and Donna Paulsen, the answer is pretty clear.
He trusts Donna more.
Donna has that rare combination of emotional intelligence, authority energy, and “I already handled three emergencies before you finished your drink” competence. She wouldn’t just babysit, she’d run the household like a perfectly tuned operation. Nothing is going to fall apart under her watch.
Mike, on the other hand, would mean well and he wants to trust Mike, but the moment Mike says, "Dude, relax, I looked up a YouTube tutorial on swaddling."
Harvey rescinds the offer.
So for a real date night with Mrs. Specter? Harvey picks Donna every time. No hesitation. No follow-up questions. Just a smooth jacket adjustment and, “Donna’s got it,” like he already knows the night is going to be uninterrupted and expensive in the best way.
----
"I guarantee you she will have our daughter sound asleep the exact minute her bedtime hits."
Harvey's gaze drops to your lips before snapping back up to meet your eyes, heavy with intent.
"Which means we don't have to rush," he murmurs, his voice a low, heated promise."
"We are going to take our time tonight. We’re going to enjoy this dinner, and the second we get home," he said quietly, "I'm not planning on letting you stay dressed for long.”
Your breath hitches, dark flush rising on your cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine. "Is that a guarantee?"
"It’s a Donna guarantee, which is better than a court order," Harvey said, his grin turning sharp, hot, and entirely triumphantly.
pairing: dad!harvey specter x wife!reader + babygirl lilly
𐙚⋆.˚ note: it seems a lot of you liked my last drabble on harvey as a first time dad, so I wrote another one. a little glimpse of what mornings are like now with their daughter.
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Morning light spilled through the windows, catching on the sleeves of Harvey Specter’s white dress shirt as he stood at the island with his three-month-old daughter tucked against his chest.
The baby blinked up at him with wide sleepy eyes.
You walked into the kitchen halfway through putting in an earring, the rhythmic, confident 'clack' of your Christian Louboutins echoing softly against the hardwood. Dressed in a sleek black pencil skirt and a silk cream blouse, your hair fell perfectly over one shoulder, catching the morning light.
Harvey’s eyes flicked up immediately, tracing the sharp line of the skirt down to the heels, lingering there for a second too long before returning to the baby with a slow, appreciative smirk.
“Mommy’s distracting,” he informed his daughter quietly.
You rolled your eyes, moving to go get coffee. “You’re going to make her dramatic.”
“She’s my daughter. That was inevitable.”
Lilly made a tiny squeaky sound, and Harvey adjusted her expertly against him without even looking away from the case file open on the counter beside him. One large hand supported her back while the other flipped through highlighted pages.
You leaned against the island, watching the scene in front of you with a softness you still weren’t used to.
Harvey Specter — undefeated closer, terrifying attorney, the man who could reduce CEOs to nervous wrecks — was currently warming a bottle while making kissy faces at a baby.
It was absurdly attractive.
“She spit up on your Tom Ford tie earlier,” you said casually.
Harvey looked down at his daughter. “Did you? That’s cold.”
She answered by grabbing his finger.
“Oh, I’m never making partner again,” he muttered, completely gone already.
You laughed softly into your coffee cup.
The microwave beeped. Harvey tested the bottle against his wrist like he’d been doing it his whole life, then settled onto one of the stools with the baby cradled in his arm.
Harvey looked down at her with this expression he only wore around the two of you — softer around the edges, unguarded, warm enough to make your chest ache.
Then he glanced up at you.
“You staring at me, sweetheart?”
“Maybe.”
“Makes sense.” His mouth curved smugly. “I look good with a baby.
"You walked over, smoothing a hand over his shoulder before kissing the top of your daughter’s head. Harvey tilted his face slightly, silently asking for one too.
“You’re needy this morning.”
“I’m a husband and a father. I’ve earned it.”
You kissed him slowly anyway.
The baby immediately pulled the bottle away and made a tiny offended noise
Harvey sighed dramatically against your mouth. “See? Third wheel already.”
Okay so i just wanna to share this thought but like i found this and immediately thought about Harvey because like he is definitely the type of man who would help his partner with shoes especially when he has girlfriend and she would wear short dress. Like he is just gentleman and gives absolute princess treatment.
Harvey has so much "let me" energy when it comes to the woman he loves. Like, princess treatment is literally his default setting. He'd never make his girl struggle in heels if he could help it.
He would absolutely be on one knee buckling her heels while she chatted away. When he stood, he'd adjust her necklace if it shifted, tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, kiss her forehead. Caring for her had always been second nature.
Harvey slams the door of the Ferrari like it personally pissed him off. No hello. No compliment, just the growl of the engine and his jaw clenched like he’s grinding diamonds between his teeth.
You perched your pretty, perfect self in the passenger seat in a cute designer top, a chic short skirt, and expensive high-end stilettos. Your glossy lips, blinking over at him.
“Hello to you too,” you say gently, trying to keep it light.
He doesn’t look at you. Just mutters, “seatbelt.”
You click it in, still hopeful. “Well, this is cozy... I missed your grumpy radio silence.”
Jesus,” he mutters under his breath.
Your lips press into a thin line. Bastard.
You try again a few minutes later. “So… where are we going? You didn’t say.”
“Does it fucking matter?” he bites out.
The harshness of his voice hangs in the air, but you don't flinch. “I was just asking.”
Silence.
Harvey drums his fingers against the wheel like it annoys him just to have hands. Takes a turn too fast. Your perfume fills the car, and he doesn’t say a damn word about it, even though he always notices. Always makes some cocky remark like, “Perfume’s doing all that manipulative shit again...”
Not today.
You stay quiet the rest of the ride, stomach tight, heart sinking.
---
At his apartment, you follow him, still trying. You sit on the edge of the bed while he yanks off his suit jacket and flings it across the room.
"You’ve been quiet,” he says suddenly.
You blink. “You’ve been mean.”
He looks at you. “I’ve had a shit day."
I can see that,” you say, voice soft but starting to sting." And I’ve been nothing but sweet to you. But you don’t get to treat me like shit just because you’re in a mood, Harvey.”
He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, everything with you is a thing.”
Your jaw drops slightly. “Excuse me?!”
“You always need a reaction. a compliment. a fucking thank you. You can’t just exist without needing attention every second.”
You stand up fast, voice sharp and shaking. “Well sorry for expecting a little effort from my boyfriend. And you know what? I do need attention. I'm a brat. I like expensive things and I like being worshipped. Don't start fucking whining about the price tag now!"
Harvey doesn’t move. His arms cross, eyes narrow, mouth tight, like he’s daring you to keep going, but he doesn’t say what he should.
You snatch your Chanel by its gleaming chain strap off the nightstand, chest heaving. “I'm leaving."
But before you can reach the living room, his voice, quiet and rough, cuts through the tension. “Don’t go.”
You turn halfway; arms folded across your chest. “Why not? So you can keep snapping at me for breathing?”
He looks at you. The gloss on your lips. Your perfectly styled hair. The way every inch of you looks polished, pretty, and entirely too distracting.
He steps forward and grabs your wrist, not rough, but firm. “I had a bad day,” he says again, a little softer this time. "But you’re the only part of it that wasn’t completely fucked.”
You exhale shakily, stepping into him, pressing your forehead against his chest. You're an asshole." You whisper.
He smirks slightly, finally wrapping his arms around you. “Yeah. I know.”
babes can u pls write something with ex husband harvey where reader is ovulating and she sees him and she’s like damn idek why i divorced him and she’s trying to convince herself not to jump his bones because he’s a dick but it’s hard bc he’s. so fine
i know i'm the one writing him but please give me emm please <3
You shouldn't be here.
The thought loops through your mind as you stand outside Harvey's apartment door. Lilly's at summer camp for another two weeks, and you told yourself you'd use this time to do productive things. Sensible things.
Not this.
But your body has other ideas, and it's been three days of thinking about him... about that night two months ago when you'd both had too much wine at Lilly's recital. About his hands. About his mouth. About why the hell you ever thought divorcing him was a good idea.
You take a breath, hesitate for just a moment, then knock.
Three sharp raps against the door. Your heart hammers in your chest as you wait, suddenly aware of every choice that led you here. This is crazy. You should leave. You should turn around right now and—
The door swings open and he's standing there in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no tie, looking like every bad decision you've ever wanted to make. That smirk is already in place, the one that says he knows exactly why you're here even if you won't admit it.
"Funny," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "I don't remember us having a co-parenting discussion scheduled for..." he glances at his watch, "... nine-thirty on a Thursday night."
"Can I come in or are you going to be an ass about this?"
"I can multitask." But he steps aside, and you catch his cologne as you pass. Damn him.
His apartment is exactly as you remember. Floor-to-ceiling windows, that obscenely expensive scotch collection, everything sleek and sophisticated and Harvey. You turn to find him watching you with those dark eyes, reading you like one of his case files.
"So," he says, moving to the bar cart. "What's the emergency? Lilly forget something? Or did you just miss me?"
"Don't flatter yourself."
"I don't have to. You showed up at my door after nine PM wearing that dress." His gaze drags down your body slowly, deliberately. "That's flattery enough."
Heat floods your cheeks. You'd told yourself the dress was just because you'd come from dinner with a friend, but you both know you don't have dinner with friends in a dress that fits like this.
"I was in the neighborhood."
"Right. And I'm just a simple country lawyer." He pours two glasses of scotch without asking, because he's Harvey and he already knows you'll stay. "Try again."
You should leave. You should turn around and walk out before this goes where it's obviously going. But he's crossing the room now, holding out your glass, and when you take it his fingers brush yours and linger just a second too long.
"I can't stop thinking about you," you admit, hating how breathless you sound.
"I know." His voice drops lower, intimate. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him. "You think I don't know that look? I was married to you for seven years."
"We're divorced."
"Are we?" His free hand comes up to your waist, thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of your dress. "Because you're here. In my apartment. Looking at me like you want me to ruin you."
"Harvey..."
"Tell me I'm wrong." His mouth is at your ear now, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me you didn't come here hoping I'd remind you exactly why you kept my last name."
He’s a jerk, a beautiful, infuriating, still-got-you-in-the-palm-of-his-hand jerk.
And god, you hate him.
Your scotch glass hits the side table as you fist your hand in his shirt and pull him down to meet you.
"Still a terrible idea," you murmur against his lips.
hiii baddie thank you for your service to the harvey x reader community 💗💗 been binging your fics lately
if you haven’t already could you do one inspired by suit & tie by justin timberlake? i think of harvey every time i hear it 😩
takes one to know one, baddie. and I'm just doing what needs to be done 💗
The smooth, brassy intro of Justin Timberlake’s Suit & Tie echoed off the glass walls of Harvey’s apartment. It was late, well past midnight, and the city below was a blur of neon lights and rain-slicked streets.
Inside, the ambiance was pure luxury: warm lighting, expensive scotch resting on the bar, and Harvey standing in the center of his living room, completely unbothered by the fact that he was supposed to be getting ready for bed.
He was in the middle of unwinding, but the moment the track started, he paused.
"Really?" Harvey turned to look at you, one hand resting on the button of his suit jacket. His classic, cocky smirk was already in place. "Justin Timberlake?"
"Don't act like it doesn't fit you," you said, leaning back against his leather sofa with a glass of wine in hand, eyeing him up and down. "Every time I hear this song, I picture you standing in front of a mirror fixing your cufflinks."
Harvey let out a low laugh, unbuttoning his jacket and tossing it effortlessly over the back of an armchair. "Can you blame the guy? A good suit is an investment."
"You'd probably sleep in it if you could," you teased, taking a slow sip.
"Only because I look incredible in it," he countered, voice dropping into that smooth, quiet register reserved strictly for when the office doors were closed and it was just the two of you.
He slowly loosened the knot of his silk tie, pulling it down just enough to undo the top button of his crisp white shirt. Harvey walked over to you with that velvet-smooth stride of his. He reached down, taking the wine glass from your hand and setting it on the coffee table before extending his hand to you.
"What are you doing?" you asked, eyebrow raised, though you were already placing your hand in his.
"Giving you a private performance, since you clearly can't get enough of the aesthetic," he said smoothly, pulling you up off the couch and directly into his chest.
His arm slid around your waist, drawing you in close until there was zero space left between you. Up close, he smelled of luxury cologne and high-end Macallan. His fingers lightly rested at the small of your back, swaying you to the beat of the song.
"You know," Harvey murmured against your ear, his breath warm against your skin, "you look pretty good in my arms."
"Mmm, do I now?" You smiled, resting your hands on his broad shoulders, playing lightly with the collar of his open shirt.
"You do," he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed the shell of your ear. "You complement the outfit. You're the best accessory I've ever had."
"Harvey, did you just call me an accessory?"
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his signature sharp expression melting into something ridiculously fond. "I called you the best part of the picture. Big difference."
"Smooth talker," you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. "You really think you're Timberlake, don't you?"
"Please," Harvey scoffed softly, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you even closer, swaying slowly in the dimly lit room. "Justin wishes he looked this good."
You laughed, shaking your head, but as he leaned in to press a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, you couldn't even bring yourself to argue. Because as much as he was a cocky asshole... he was entirely right.
The Great Escape @mimi-8793 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
