#harvey request

[harveysbabydoll]

Hey girl!!! Could you do one about a cooking class where the instructor pairs you with Harvey? There's sexual tension. Mike and Rachel are across the counter burning shit on purpose just to watch. Also can you include Harvey wearing the white shit he wore in his kitchen with Scottie???

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𝓚𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽 ִֶָ ࣪˖𓂃

𓂃𐙚 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit sexual tension ✧ flirting ✧ suggestive content ✧ heated moments.

The cooking class hums with the clatter of knives and the sizzle of oil, but the real heat radiates from the short little black dress hugging your curves, the hem riding high enough to flash skin every time you shift. Louboutins with the delicate bows tied at the back click softly against the tile, drawing Harvey's gaze downward as he stands beside you in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the fabric hugging his broad shoulder.

Across the counter, Mike and Rachel are already burning whatever's in their pan on purpose, the acrid smoke curling upward while they pretend to focus. Mike catches your eye and smirks before nudging Rachel with his elbow. She follows his gaze, biting back a laugh as the two of them shamelessly watch the tension simmer between you and Harvey.

Harvey notices too. He steps behind you, chest nearly flush with your back, and reaches around to guide your hand on the whisk. “Steady now,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear. “Wouldn’t want you to lose control.” His other hand settles on your hip, fingers pressing through the apron, a deliberate squeeze that sends a jolt straight between your legs.

“Keep talking like that and I might just drop this whisk,” you shoot back, voice breathy. “Or maybe I’ll turn around and see how well you handle me instead.”

Harvey chuckles, low and dangerous, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. “Careful, darling. I’ve got a reputation for finishing what I start. And right now I’m thinking about finishing you on this counter once the class clears out.” His thumb strokes slow circles on your hip while he guides the whisk in lazy circles through the sauce, each motion deliberate, each touch a promise.

Mike coughs loudly from across the way, waving away smoke. “Literally burning shit over here! Totally not watching whatever aggressive foreplay you two are engaged in!” Rachel elbows him, but her gaze stays glued to the way Harvey’s body cages yours.

Harvey’s lips graze the shell of your ear. “Ignore them. Focus on me. Feel how hard I’m getting just standing this close? That’s all you, baby. Now stir like you mean it… or I’ll bend you over and show you how it’s done.” His hand slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric for a brief, possessive squeeze before returning to the task, leaving your skin burning in its wake.

The sauce thickens under your combined hands, but the real simmer is between your thighs, every brush of his body against yours ratcheting the tension higher.

[harveysbabydoll]

Hey gorgeous 💕💕💕 so can you please write something for me?

harvey specter x reader where they finally get a puppy (he caved 😭). reader has to go on a business trip and leaves him alone with it for a few days and he slowly loses his mind trying to take care of it lol

if I’m being honest, harvey would choose a pit bull ♡ they’re loyal and not easily intimidated

── ⋆౨ৎ The Case of the Unmanageable Client ౨ৎ⋆ ──

Harvey Specter did not cave easily. Everyone who knew him could attest to that—closers don't cave, they close.

But after three weeks of you pulling up rescue listings on his tablet during Sunday mornings in bed, "accidentally" leaving them open on his monitor at the office, and casually mentioning to Donna within his earshot that a dog would really round out the apartment, he'd finally set down his scotch, sighed like a man conceding a multimillion-dollar settlement, and said, "Fine. One dog. And I'm picking her."

Which was how you ended up with Sloane—a five-month-old pit bull with a brindle coat, ears that never fully decided which way they wanted to point, and a smile that made even Louis Litt momentarily forget how to be Louis Litt.

Harvey, despite himself, was obsessed.

He'd never admit it, but you'd caught him narrating his closing arguments to her in the mornings while she gnawed on his shoelaces, and once—once—you were nearly certain you heard him call her, "the best associate this firm's ever had."

So naturally, the week you had to fly to Chicago for a four-day deposition marathon, Harvey insisted he'd be fine.

"I run one of the top law firms in Manhattan," he said, straightening his cufflinks like that settled the matter. "I think I can manage a thirty-pound puppy."

"She's thirty pounds of pure chaos, Harvey."

"She's disciplined. She respects authority."

You kissed him goodbye, privately certain that within twelve hours, one of them would have broken the other.

Day One — 7:42 AM

Text from Harvey: Everything is under control. We had breakfast. She's very calm.

Attached photo: Sloane, mid-air, having just launched herself off the couch, ears flying, one of Harvey's ties dangling triumphantly from her mouth.

Day One — 11:58 PM

Text from Harvey: Okay so she does not, in fact, respect authority.

Text from Harvey: She ate a legal pad. An entire legal pad. I watched her do it and I was too tired to stop her.

Text from Harvey: I bill $1,200 an hour and I just spent forty-five minutes negotiating with a dog over my tie again.

Text from Harvey: I lost.

Day Two — 6:15 AM

You woke up to seventeen missed calls, which for a man who considered a single voicemail an act of desperation, felt significant.

"She won't stop barking," Harvey said the second you picked up, his voice raw in a way you'd never heard from him—not in court, not during the merger that almost tanked the firm, never.

"I took her for a walk, she barked at a pigeon. I brought her back inside, she barked at the elevator. I don't understand what she wants from me."

"Did you feed her?"

A long pause.

"...Define feed."

"Harvey."

"I gave her food, I just—the bag said a cup and a half, but is that before or after she's already eaten a legal pad? Does the legal pad count toward her daily intake? I don't have this information."

You had to put the phone on mute so he wouldn't hear you laughing.

Day Two — 4:30 PM

Text from Donna: He came into the office and asked me, verbatim, "Does a dog dream about winning or is it always about being chased?" I don't think he slept.

Text from Mike: he brought her to the office. she's currently sleeping ON HIS BLAZER, the one he keeps for closings. he's letting her.

Attached photo: Harvey, mid-deposition prep, one arm curled protectively around a sleeping Sloane, looking simultaneously furious and completely undone.

Day Three — 2:07 AM

Text from Harvey: She had a nightmare. I think. She was doing the little leg thing.

Text from Harvey: I sat on the floor with her for twenty minutes until she calmed down.

Text from Harvey: Harvey Specter, on the floor. At two in the morning. For a dog.

Text from Harvey: Don't tell anyone.

Day Three — 9:40 AM

Voicemail Transcript — Harvey Specter

"So, funny story. I left her alone for twenty minutes—twenty minutes, that's it, I had a conference call—and I came back and she'd pulled every single throw pillow off the couch and arranged them into what I can only describe as a nest. She's sitting in the middle of it right now looking extremely pleased with herself.

I don't even know how to be mad. She looks like a very proud, very stupid queen.

I bought her a squeaky toy shaped like a gavel because I thought it'd be funny, and I have to tell you, watching a dog systematically destroy a symbol of the justice system has been the most honest thing that's happened in this apartment in years.

Anyway. Call me back. I need to know if peanut butter is a breakfast food for dogs or if I've been doing this wrong."

Day Four — 6:00 PM

You got back to the penthouse expecting disaster. A shredded couch, an exhausted, disheveled man, finally humbled by a five-month-old puppy.

What you found instead was Harvey, sleeves rolled up, sprawled on the living room floor with Sloane curled against his side, one hand resting on her back, both of them fast asleep.

The living room looked like a war zone. There were two chewed remotes, a suspiciously legal-pad-shaped void where a legal pad used to be, and at least one throw pillow that had not survived the ordeal.

But Sloane's ear twitched at the sound of the door, and she lifted her head, tail thumping against Harvey's ribs hard enough to wake him.

He blinked up at you. Tie abandoned and all.

"You're back," he said, his voice thick with sleep.

Then, with the particular gravity of a man delivering a verdict-

"I think she might be actively trying to end my career."

You sank down onto the floor next to them, and Sloane immediately abandoned Harvey to climb into your lap, licking your face like you'd been gone a decade.

"Traitor," Harvey muttered, but he was smiling—that rare, unguarded one he only ever gave you.

He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"Never leaving me alone with her again. I aged a decade. I called opposing counsel Sloane in a deposition."

"You did not."

"I did. Nobody caught it. I'm that good."

You laughed, leaning into him, Sloane wedged happily between you like she'd always belonged there—which, you supposed, she had.

"So," you said. "Same time next month?"

Harvey groaned and let his head fall back against the couch.

"Ask me again when the feeling comes back into my legs."

But his arm found its way around you anyway, pulling you both in close.

And later, once Sloane had finally settled into her third nap of the hour, you caught him pressing a kiss to the top of her head, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like—

"Good girl... best associate we've got."

You decided some things were simply better left unmentioned in court. 🤍

---

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

i chose the name Sloane is because it feels upper-class, polished, and expensive sounding. it just felt very Harvey to me.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[harveysbabydoll]

Sweet reader x harvey? But she’s overly bubbly and into everything pink and childish ifykwim

So pretty much Harvey with a soft chaotic princess girlfriend. I'll keep it cute and say I get it 💗

────୨ৎ────

Nobody in the firm understood it.

Not a single person.

Because Harvey Specter was Harvey Specter—sharp suits, expensive whiskey, intimidating confidence, and a stare that could make senior partners rethink their life choices.

And then there was you.

Pink phone case.

Pink planner.

Pink pens.

Pink everything.

You had little charms hanging from your bag, collected stuffed animals despite being a grown adult, and got excited over things like heart-shaped pancakes and new shades of nail polish.

---

The first time Harvey brought you to the office, the entire bullpen stared.

Mike thought it was a joke.

Louis was convinced you were secretly manipulating Harvey somehow.

Donna just smiled because she immediately saw what nobody else did.

You made Harvey happy.

At first, he pretended to be deeply annoyed by your bright, bubbly energy, but eventually became whipped.

He'd go on coffee runs for you after ruthlessly cross-examining an opposing counsel in court.

He’s standing in line at a café ordering a "Venti Iced White Mocha with strawberry cold foam and extra pink sprinkles" without blinking an eye. He will, however, threaten the barista's life if they tell anyone.

His weakness is your pouting.

If he’s being too harsh or working too late, you just give him the wide, watery-eyed look. He’ll roll his eyes, mutter something about you being ridiculous, and immediately soften his tone.

The funniest part was how protective he became.

Someone once made a comment in the elevator.

"You're dating her?"

The implication being obvious.

Too sweet.

Too innocent.

Too childish.

Not sophisticated enough for Harvey Specter.

Harvey didn't even hesitate.

"Yeah," he said.

The other man laughed awkwardly. "Just doesn't seem like your type."

Harvey's expression turned deadly calm.

"That's because you think being kind is a weakness."

Silence.

Harvey adjusted his cufflinks.

"It's not."

That was the end of the conversation.

And the end of anyone questioning it around him.

---

At home, Harvey secretly encouraged your habits.

He pretended he didn't.

But he absolutely did.

You'd come home carrying another plushie.

Harvey would roll his eyes.

"Where are you putting that one?"

"On the bed."

"The bed is full."

"It'll fit."

"It won't."

The next day you'd find Harvey had somehow made room for it.

Every single time.

He’ll let you drag him into watching reality TV or animated movies, complaining the entire time, while his arm is wrapped tightly around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as you throw a bright pink fleece blanket over him, despite his protests about “having a reputation.”

His favorite thing, though?

Your excitement.

Because Harvey spent his entire day surrounded by stress, pressure, and people trying to outmaneuver each other.

Then he'd come home to you practically vibrating because you found a pink sweater.

Or because a movie made you cry.

The joy was contagious.

He loves that the world hasn't made you cynical yet, and he views it as his personal mission to keep it that way.

[harveysbabydoll]

Hi there! I've reading your fics and absolutely love them 💕

I had this idea, where reader and Harvey are dating but it's only been for a short time and no one else really knows except for Donna maybe. One day reader and Rachel are talking and she tells you about a new sex position and how reader should try it with Harvey because like maybe she sees you guys argue a lot and flirt and she thinks it would be a good idea. So reader tells Harvey. Doesn't have to be smut doll 💕

I stared at this for a full minute trying to decide whether Harvey Specter would be offended, intrigued, or quietly judging everyone involved. I’ve decided the answer is all three at once 💗

Rachel leans back in her chair like she’s about to drop confidential legal strategy, except her eyes are definitely amused.

“I’m telling you,” Rachel says, lowering her voice like the office might be listening, “it’s not as complicated as it sounds. It’s just… different. Apparently very effective.”

You blink at her. “You’re giving me… relationship advice now?”

She shrugs. “I’m saying, if you and Harvey are going to keep acting like you argue for sport and flirt like it’s cross-examination, you might as well try something that actually gets you both to stop talking for five seconds.”

That alone makes you laugh.

---

Later that night when Harvey gets him home, you barely look up from your phone as you lean against the kitchen counter.

You don’t ease into it. You just drop it clean.

“I talked to Rachel today,” you say, and when he looks up at you, already wary, you add, “and she suggested a new sex position.”

That does it.

Harvey Specter actually stops moving.

Not in a dramatic way. In a processing information like it might be used against him in court way.

“…She suggested what?”

You bite back a smile. “A sex position.”

He stares at you for a long moment, like he’s trying to decide whether he’s been set up.

Then:

“I’m sorry—why is Rachel Zane giving you instructions on my sex life?”

“It wasn’t instructions,” you say lightly. “It was… advice.”

“About a sex position,” he repeats, slower this time, like saying it differently will make it make sense.

You nod.

There’s a pause.

Then he exhales, looks away for half a second, and drags a hand down his tie like he’s physically restraining himself from reacting too strongly.

“This is what she does when I’m not looking,” he mutters. “She builds cases against me in my personal life.”

You laugh softly. “You’re taking this very personally.”

“I am taking this personally,” he says, stepping closer now. “Because I would very much like to know how I ended up in a world where I walk into my apartment and hear the words ‘Rachel Zane’ and ‘sex position’ in the same sentence.”

You tilt your head. “So… are you curious?”

That lands differently.

His expression shifts—still controlled, but now there’s something sharper underneath it. Attention. Interest. The kind he pretends he doesn’t give easily.

“I’m always curious,” he says quietly. “That’s the problem.”

A beat.

You shift your phone in your hand.

That small movement is enough.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Don’t.”

You tilt your head. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t do whatever you’re about to do.”

Too late.

You step closer and turn your phone just enough for him to see the screen.

His expression changes instantly.

“…You looked it up?”

“I was curious,” you say simply.

That earns you a look. Long. Sharp. Disbelieving.

“You walked into my apartment,” he says slowly, “and prepared visual aids.”

You shrug. “I like being prepared.”

He takes the phone from you without asking, like it’s cross-examination evidence now. His eyes scan the screen, then flick back to you.

Once.

Twice.

“You’re serious,” he says.

“I’m always serious when Rachel gets involved.”

He lets out a short laugh and shakes his head slightly as he hands the phone back.

He steps closer.

Not abruptly. Not rushed. Just that steady Harvey confidence that always makes space feel smaller without him trying.

“And when,” he says, voice lower now, “do you want to try it?”

Your expression softens a little. “That’s your question?”

“It’s my only question,” he says. “Everything else is already implied.”

You let the silence sit for a second longer than necessary.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Soon?”

That’s enough for him.

He closes the final bit of space between you and wraps his arms around you like it’s the most natural conclusion to the conversation.

No hesitation. No overthinking.

Just certainty.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs near your hair.

“You like it,” you reply.

A faint pause. Then, quieter:

“Yeah,” he admits.

His hold tightens just slightly—not possessive, just grounding. Like he decided the conversation is over and this part is better handled without words.

“You’re not allowed to talk to Rachel without supervision anymore,” he adds.

[harveysbabydoll]

okay hear me out - how would harvey be whenever reader wears his shirts, especially the oversized collared ones he wears regularly to work

you brought a Harvey Specter thought to a Harvey Specter blog. naturally i'm listening ♡

┈──┈˖˚⊹ ⋆♡⋆ ⊹˚˖ ┈──┈┈──┈˖˚⊹ ⋆♡⋆ ⊹˚˖ ┈──┈┈──┈˖˚⊹

Harvey would have thoughts about this.

Not because he's territorial about his clothes, he can buy another shirt in five minutes—but because there's something about seeing you in his shirt that absolutely short-circuits him.

The first time it happens, he walks out of the bedroom adjusting his cufflinks, already halfway through mentally preparing for a deposition, and then stops dead.

You're standing in the kitchen wearing one of his crisp white button-downs. The sleeves are rolled haphazardly. The hem hits mid-thigh.

And suddenly Harvey has forgotten what he was doing.

"You know," he says slowly, setting his coffee down, "I spent a lot of money on that shirt."

You glance down. "Do you want it back?"

His eyes travel from your bare legs to the shirt and back again.

"No."

A beat.

"Not particularly."

---

After that, it becomes a problem.

You steal his shirts constantly.

---

One night he came home to find you sitting there on the leather couch. The sight stopped him in his tracks, his breath hitching just once before he regained his composure.

You were drowning in his shirt.

It was the white Turnbull & Asser he’d worn the day before, the one with the French cuffs and the stiff collar that usually commanded respect in a boardroom. On you, it was transformed. The fabric, crisp and structurally sound on his frame, was soft and draped against yours, pooling around your hips and falling off one shoulder.

Harvey leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, an involuntary reaction to the sheer audacity of the image. He watched as you shifted, the fabric sliding over your skin, the white cotton contrasting sharply against the tan of your thigh where it had ridden up.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, his steps measured and deliberate, stopping at the edge of the coffee table, looking down at you. The shirt was unbuttoned to the middle, the fabric gaping open just enough to reveal a shadowed valley of soft skin.

The sight sent a jolt of heat straight through him, a physical reaction that was immediate and undeniable.

"It’s three hundred dollars a pop, custom-tailored," Harvey noted, his eyes tracing the line of your collarbone, exposed by the shirt slipping down your arm.

You leaned back into the cushions and looked up at him through your lashes. "I feel very powerful."

Harvey let out a short, dry laugh.

"You feel powerful,” he repeated, voice flat with amusement. “In my shirt.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes didn’t. Not really.

Then his hand settled—warm, firm on your thigh, steadying you like you were the one about to lose control, not him.

“Cute theory,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his cologne wrapped around you, all clean edges and trouble. “Let’s test how powerful you feel when I take it off of you."

[harveysbabydoll]

harvey’s reaction to his girl’s first time initiating a french kiss? 🙈 she shy about it too

You just know his hands wouldn't stay on her waist for long. They'd slide up to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair just to hold her there, keeping the kiss deep even though she’s the one who started it.

Added a little smug teasing because this is Harvey Specter we're talking about and he'd never pass up the opportunity.💛

Your lips met his— soft, quick, a press and release that you'd done a hundred times before. But this time, when you pulled back, you didn't go far. Your eyes flickered down to his mouth, then back up, and your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip.

You'd never done this before. Never opened your mouth against his, never let him taste you like that. The thought made your cheeks burn, but something in you pushed forward.

You kissed him again. Slower. Your lips parted just slightly, just enough to let the tip of your tongue brush the seam of his mouth.

Harvey went still.

For a terrifying second, you thought you'd misread everything. Then his hand came up, slow, deliberate — and cupped the back of your head. His fingers curled into your hair, not pulling, just holding, keeping the kiss gentle at first, matching your shy rhythm. Instead of taking over.

"You trying something on me?" His voice was low, rough at the edges.

You felt your face go red. "I— Is that okay?"

Instead of answering, he tilted your chin up with his other hand and kissed you back a little deeper.

His mouth opened over yours, and the first stroke of his tongue made your knees buckle. He caught you, arm sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he licked into your mouth like he'd been waiting for permission for months. He tasted like coffee and mint and something that was just him, and you made a sound, small, helpless, that he swallowed whole.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against yours, his thumb tracing your jaw.

"It's more than okay." His voice was shot, raspy in a way that made heat curl through you slow and consistent. "I've been wondering when you'd work up the nerve."

"You have not."

"I have." He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Every time you'd kiss me and pull away, I'd think, she's gonna do it tonight. And then you wouldn't."

Another kiss, this one on your bottom lip. "Drove me crazy."

[harveysbabydoll]

Hey, I really love your writing and was wondering you’re okay with it, could you write a Harvey Specter x reader story involving a miscarriage and how they navigate it emotionally together? Only if you feel comfortable. please feel free to skip this if it’s too heavy. 💝

Thank you so much for trusting me with this request and thank you for sending in something so vulnerable. This is a very heavy topic and I really appreciate you being so respectful about it. I handled it as softly as I could. Thinking of anyone who needed this kind of comfort. 🤍

pairing: harvey specter x reader

warnings: miscarriage, grief, heavy angst

The apartment had never felt so quiet.

Harvey sat beside you on the edge of the bed, his suit jacket long abandoned somewhere on the floor. The city lights filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows across the room.

Neither of you had spoken much since leaving the hospital.

You stared at your hands, twisting the tissue between your fingers until it nearly tore apart.

"It's my fault."

The words came out barely above a whisper.

Harvey's head immediately snapped toward you.

"No."

You let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"They said these things happen, but what if I did something wrong? What if I—"

"No."

His voice was firmer this time.

The same voice that commanded courtrooms and intimidated CEOs.

Except now it wasn't intimidating.

It was steady.

Certain.

Harvey gently pulled the tissue from your hands before you could shred it completely.

"Look at me."

Your eyes slowly lifted.

There was heartbreak in his expression too. You could see it.

He'd lost this baby too.

But somehow he was still trying to hold both of you together.

"This is not your fault."

A tear slipped down your cheek.

Harvey wiped it away with his thumb.

"You hear me?"

You swallowed hard.

"But you were so excited."

His jaw tightened.

"Yeah."

The admission came quietly.

"I was."

You remembered the way he'd looked when you told him.

The stunned smile.

The way he'd immediately started talking about schools and apartments and how their kid was definitely not becoming a lawyer.

You almost laughed through your tears.

Almost.

"I'm sorry."

Harvey's eyes softened.

"For what?"

"For losing our baby."

The pain that crossed his face nearly broke you.

In one movement, he pulled you into his lap, wrapping both arms around you.

You buried your face against his chest.

"Hey."

His hand slid through your hair.

"Don't do that."

Your shoulders shook.

"Harvey—"

"Don't apologize for something you didn't choose."

His lips pressed against your forehead.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The only sound was your quiet crying and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

Eventually, you whispered the question you'd been too afraid to ask.

"What if it never happens?"

Harvey immediately leaned back enough to look at you.

"It will."

"You don't know that."

"No."

His hand found yours.

"I don't."

For the first time all night, his voice cracked.

Just slightly.

Enough for you to hear it.

"But I know this."

He squeezed your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere."

More tears spilled down your cheeks.

Harvey brushed them away one by one.

"We'll try again when you're ready."

His forehead rested against yours.

"And if it takes time, we'll wait."

Another kiss against your temple.

"If it happens next year, great."

A kiss to your cheek.

"If it happens five years from now, fine."

Then another.

"And if life throws us another curveball, we'll deal with that too."

His eyes held yours.

Because Harvey Specter had always been a man who found solutions.

But this wasn't one of those moments.

This wasn't about fixing anything.

It was about staying.

And he was.

"I don't care how long it takes."

His thumb brushed across your cheek.

"One day, we're going to have a kid running around this apartment driving us both insane."

A watery laugh escaped you.

Harvey smiled faintly.

"There she is."

You rolled your eyes.

"She?"

"Definitely a girl."

Even now.

Even through the grief.

His answer was immediate.

You shook your head.

"You don't know that."

A small smile tugged at his lips.

"No."

He kissed your forehead.

"But I've got a feeling."

Then he pulled you back against his chest and held you there.

Not because he had the perfect words.

Not because he could make the pain disappear.

But because sometimes the strongest thing Harvey Specter could offer wasn't a solution.

It was a promise.

And as his arms tightened around you, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"We'll be okay."

A kiss to your hair.

"And when the time is right, we'll have our baby."

[harveysbabydoll]

buying vinyls with Harvey could be amazing date idea

It really would be, because it's such a Harvey date in a subtle way.

°❀.ೃ࿔*°-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

I can picture him taking you to a little record store on a Saturday afternoon.

The sun cutting through the window, casting long, dusty rectangles of gold across the wooden floor. Harvey standing in front of a crate marked “Jazz & Blues,” his fingers trailing over the spines of the sleeves with the kind of deliberate, almost reverent touch he usually reserves for contract signatures.

His suit jacket is off, draped over a nearby stack of albums, and his sleeves are rolled twice—the better to dig through vintage vinyl.

You watch him from the next aisle over, a stack of rock albums balanced on your hip.

There’s something almost obscene about the way he handles these fragile, aging records: the careful tilt of the cover, the way he blows a speck of dust off the inner sleeve, the low, appreciative hum when he pulls out a mint-condition Coltrane.

"You know most people would take their date somewhere normal."

Harvey barely glances up from the record in his hand.

"Most people aren't me."

You roll your eyes and reach for an album.

"You own three copies of this."

"This one's the original pressing."

"You literally said that about the last one."

"Because the last one was also an original pressing."

And suddenly it turns into a competition. They're wandering through aisles, teasing each other's music taste, trying to sneak ridiculous albums into each other's stacks when the other isn't looking.

Harvey acts annoyed when you pick something completely unexpected.

"Lana Del Rey? Really?"

"You're judging me while holding three different jazz records?"

"That's culture."

"That's old man behavior."

The offended look on his face would be priceless.

Then afterwards you'd get coffee and sit on his couch while he insists on playing every record they bought. Harvey would absolutely become one of those people who gives a five-minute speech before each album starts.

"Harvey—"

"No, seriously. Listen."

And halfway through, you'd realize he's not talking because he's trying to impress you. He's talking because he genuinely loves it.

Those are always the best Harvey dates. The ones where he's sharing something that actually matters to him. The expensive dinners are nice, but spending an afternoon digging through vinyls and listening to music afterward feels much more personal. It lets you see the version of Harvey that most people never get to see. ♡