waliminium

[waliminium]

Yours, If You’ll Have Me

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: Second chance, angst, regret, fluff, strong language Word Count: 3.4k Summary: Harvey Specter has spent years convincing himself he made the right choice when he let you go. But when you walk back into his life, poised, distant, completely out of reach, he realizes the truth—he never stopped loving you.

Harvey Specter has spent a lifetime mastering control.

His emotions. His losses. His wins. Every piece of his life is carefully, deliberately curated—because power is perception, and perception is everything.

He doesn’t slip. He doesn’t falter.

And yet—

The moment you walk through the doors of Pearson Hardman, looking like every mistake he’s ever made wrapped in expensive silk and a perfectly controlled expression—

He fucking feels it.

It’s been years. Years since he’s seen you, since he let you go, since he convinced himself that it was better this way. That breaking things off was the right move. That he was protecting himself.

Bullshit.

Because standing there, across the office, your posture impossibly poised, your eyes locked on his—

He knows, with absolute certainty, that he made the biggest mistake of his life.

Jessica’s voice is smooth as she introduces you to the firm. A powerhouse in litigation. One of the youngest, most respected legal minds in New York. The best at what you do.

He already knew that.

You were always going to be great. He just wasn’t supposed to see it from the sidelines.

And then—

Then your gaze finds his.

For a split second, he swears he sees something in your eyes. A flicker of recognition. Something almost nostalgic, almost vulnerable—

But it’s gone before he can name it.

Instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, extend your hand, and say his name like it’s just another formality.

“Harvey.”

He smirks, because of course he does, because it’s the only defense mechanism he has left. “(Y/N).”

Your handshake is brief. Firm. Just the right amount of professional distance.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because even through the layers of detachment, through the layers of who you are now, he still knows.

He still feels it.

Jessica moves on, discussing your office. Your cases. Your return.

And just like that—

You walk away from him.

Again.

“You okay?” Mike asks, clinking his beer against Harvey’s later that night.

Harvey barely looks up.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mike scoffs. “I dunno, maybe because the one that got away just walked back into your life looking like she was tailor-made to ruin you?”

Harvey exhales through his nose, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Okay, so we’re pretending that didn’t happen?”

“We’re not pretending anything.”

“Right.” Mike leans back. “So you’re totally fine with the fact that your ex-fiancée is now working at the same firm as you?”

Harvey tenses.

Mike grins. “Oh. Yeah. Jessica didn’t say fiancée, but I did my research.”

Harvey exhales sharply. “Good for you, Mike.”

Mike shrugs. “So, what happened?”

Harvey takes a sip of his drink, letting the silence stretch.

Because how the hell is he supposed to answer that?

That he let you go because he was scared? That he convinced himself it was better this way? That he’s spent years trying to believe that?

So instead, he settles on:

“I made a choice.”

Mike hums. “Yeah? And now that she’s back?”

Harvey doesn’t answer.

Because later, when he’s alone in his office, when the city hums outside his window, he pulls out the small velvet box he never quite got rid of.

And for the first time in years—

He wonders if he let himself get away, too.

The case throws you together. Late nights. Heated arguments. Silence that stretches too long, heavy with things left unsaid.

You’re both too good at pretending.

Until you’re not.

Until it’s 2 AM, and the office is empty, and you’re both too stubborn to leave first.

“Why are you really here, (Y/N)?” His voice is low, rough.

You don’t look up from your files. “Work.”

“Bullshit.”

You do look up then, your eyes flashing. “Not everything is about you, Harvey.”

He smirks. “Isn’t it?”

Your jaw tightens. “I moved on.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Silence. Charged. Unforgiving.

Your fingers tighten around the pen in your hand. “You ended it.”

His chest rises and falls. “I made a mistake.”

The words are raw. Unfiltered. And they land exactly where they’re supposed to.

Your lips part slightly, as if to respond, but nothing comes out.

And for the first time—

You let him see it.

The hurt. The weight of everything he threw away.

You push back your chair, standing abruptly. Heading for the door.

But just before you leave, you pause.

Your voice is quiet, but he hears you clear as day.

“I used to think you were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

A beat.

“Now I’m not so sure.”

Then you’re gone.

And Harvey Specter—who has built his life on not losing—feels the weight of his first real loss.

Because maybe, just maybe—

You moved on.

And maybe, this time—

You’re not coming back.

Harvey doesn’t realize he’s gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn white.

The room feels too quiet. The air, too heavy.

Your words echo in his head—sharp, final.

"I used to think you were the best thing that ever happened to me. Now I’m not so sure."

For the first time in years, Harvey feels something dangerous creeping in—something unsteady, unfamiliar.

Regret.

Not the kind that sits quietly in the back of his mind, the kind he can drown out with work or a well-aged whiskey.

No.

This is the kind that burns.

Because fuck, he knew he hurt you. He knew it when he ended things, when he convinced himself that love was a liability, that pushing you away was the right choice.

But he never let himself wonder—

Did you stop loving him?

And now?

Now he has his answer.

A bitter taste settles in his mouth.

He lets out a sharp breath, forcing himself to move, to think.

Losing cases, losing clients—that, he can handle. That, he can compartmentalize.

But losing you?

No.

Not again.

Harvey shows up at your office the next morning.

You barely look up when he leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest like this is casual.

Like this isn’t everything.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” you say, voice smooth, detached.

His jaw tightens. “You knew I would?”

You finally meet his gaze, one eyebrow raising ever so slightly. “Please. We both know you hate losing.”

He doesn’t respond.

Because he knows it’s not about winning.

Not when it comes to you.

You exhale through your nose, setting your pen down, your gaze unreadable. “What do you want, Harvey?”

He should have an answer to that. A smooth, effortless response.

But for the first time in his life—

He doesn’t know what to say.

You shake your head, standing up, smoothing down the fabric of your blouse. “Look, if this is some ego thing—”

“It’s not.”

You hesitate, just for a second.

His voice is lower now, rougher.

“It was never about my ego, (Y/N).”

You study him, something flickering in your eyes—something close to hesitation.

Then—

You blink, and it’s gone.

Your expression hardens. “You don’t get to do this, Harvey.”

His chest tightens.

“You don’t get to push me away and then decide you want me back when it’s convenient for you.”

His fingers flex at his sides.

It’s not convenient.

It’s fucking unbearable.

You tilt your head slightly. “You let me go, remember?”

He remembers.

Remembers the way your voice cracked when he said it was over.

Remembers the way you looked at him, like you couldn’t believe it—like you thought he’d change his mind.

And he remembers—

You didn’t beg.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t give him a single fucking reason to believe that he could have you back if he ever regretted it.

And now?

Now, you’re looking at him the same way.

Like he’s just another man.

Like he’s not Harvey fucking Specter—not the man who used to be your everything.

And fuck, he hates it.

His throat works. “I made a mistake.”

You don’t flinch. “Yes, you did.”

He swallows hard. “I want to fix it.”

A sharp exhale, a bitter smile. “And what makes you think I want that?”

Silence.

Heavy. Unforgiving.

Then—

You grab your bag, your voice quieter now, more measured.

“I loved you, Harvey.”

Loved. Past tense.

The word guts him.

“And you broke my heart.”

His breath hitches.

You step past him, your scent lingering, your presence a phantom weight against his skin.

And just before you leave, you pause.

Your voice is steady, even as it destroys him.

“You don’t get to want me now.”

Then—

You’re gone.

And this time—

Harvey fucking feels it.

Harvey is unraveling.

And the worst part?

He knows it.

Donna sees it. Mike sees it. Jessica sees it.

But none of them say it.

Not until Donna corners him in his office, arms crossed, expression unimpressed.

“You look like hell.”

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Thanks, Donna.”

She tilts her head. “You going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to pretend I don’t already know?”

His jaw tightens.

Donna sighs. “Harvey, if you think I didn’t notice (Y/N) walking in here looking like your personal nightmare and wet dream combined, then you don’t give me enough credit.”

He groans. “Donna—”

“She’s different now.”

That gets his attention.

Donna’s gaze softens—just a little. “She’s not the same girl who used to wait around for you, hoping you’d let yourself love her.”

His chest tightens.

“I know.”

Donna studies him, something unreadable in her eyes.

“Then prove it.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Prove what?”

She leans forward slightly. “That you deserve another chance.”

Harvey swallows hard.

Because fuck, he’s not sure he does.

Not after what he did to you.

Not after watching you walk away again.

But one thing is clear—

He will not survive losing you twice.

Harvey isn’t built for this.

For losing. For waiting. For wanting.

He’s built for control. Precision. Power.

But control means nothing when the only thing he wants—you—is slipping through his fingers.

And the worst part?

You aren’t running.

No, you’re doing something worse.

You’re moving on.

He sees it in the way you hold yourself now—like you don’t owe him anything, like he’s just another man in a thousand-dollar suit.

Like you don’t ache when you see him.

And fuck, that kills him.

Because he aches.

He aches in ways he never knew were possible.

He aches when he sees you in the elevator, standing too close to someone else.

He aches when he overhears Louis talking about how good you’re doing at your firm, like he didn’t rip you apart when he let you go.

He aches when he hears your laugh in a restaurant—only to turn and see that you aren’t alone.

That’s when he snaps.

It’s irrational.

It’s reckless.

But Harvey doesn’t care.

He storms into your office, ignoring the way your assistant stammers in protest.

He doesn’t knock.

Doesn’t wait.

Just throws the door open and finds you—

Sitting at your desk, him standing too close.

That guy.

The one from the restaurant. The one who laughed too easily, who touched your arm like he had a right to.

Something ugly claws its way up Harvey’s throat.

“You got a minute?” His voice is sharp, controlled—but his hands are clenched into fists.

You blink, caught between surprise and annoyance. “I’m in a meeting.”

Harvey’s gaze flicks to the guy—David, Derek, doesn’t matter.

The guy shifts uncomfortably, clearly recognizing who Harvey is.

Good.

“I’ll wait,” Harvey says, but his tone makes it clear that he won’t.

You exhale sharply, giving the guy a tight smile. “Give me a second?”

David/Derek nods quickly, shooting Harvey a wary glance before slipping out.

The second the door shuts, you round on him.

“The hell was that?”

Harvey doesn’t answer.

Can’t.

Not when you’re standing there, looking at him like you’re daring him to say what you both know is true.

Instead, he takes a step forward.

And another.

Until there’s barely a breath between you.

Your eyes flicker, just for a second, but your voice is steady. “Harvey, if this is some kind of power play—”

“It’s not.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “Is he yours?”

Your breath hitches.

And fuck, that sound—it nearly undoes him.

But then your expression shifts—shields slamming back into place.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. He’s not.”

Relief crashes through him so hard he nearly staggers.

But then you add—

“Not yet.”

And just like that, the relief turns to rage.

His jaw clenches, his chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“Do you love him?”

Your eyes narrow. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

His hands twitch at his sides. “Answer me.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You are unbelievable.”

You turn away, heading for the door—

But his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist.

Not hard. Not enough to hurt.

Just enough to stop you.

You freeze.

The room feels too small, too quiet.

Your pulse is racing under his fingertips.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks.

“I can’t stand seeing you with someone else.”

Your breath shudders. “That’s not my problem.”

His grip tightens—just slightly.

“But it is.”

And then—

He does what he shouldn’t.

What he can’t help.

He lifts your hand.

Presses his lips against your pulse.

Slow. Deliberate.

Your breath catches.

And for the first time since you walked back into his life—

You don’t pull away.

Harvey isn’t proud of it.

Of the way he shows up at your place later that night, half-drunk, half-crazed with the weight of wanting you.

You open the door, already exasperated.

"Jesus, Harvey, what the hell—"

"I can't do this," he rasps.

You freeze.

His eyes are wild, desperate, filled with something raw and terrifyingly real.

"I can't watch you move on." His voice breaks, just slightly. "I can't—" He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I can't stand the thought of you with someone else. I can't—"

You swallow hard. "Harvey—"

"I'm in love with you."

It shatters the space between you.

Your breath catches.

His chest heaves.

"I never stopped." His voice is hoarse, wrecked. "I was a goddamn idiot, and I lost you, and I deserve that. But if there's even a chance—" He steps closer, his hands shaking. "If there's even a fucking chance that you still love me—"

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Then—

You whisper, almost too quiet to hear:

"You broke me, Harvey."

His heart stops.

Your eyes are glassy now, but your voice is steady.

"You don't get to come back when it's convenient for you. You don't get to decide that you're ready now, when I was ready years ago."

His throat works. "I know."

"You don’t get to want me now."

And then—

The door closes.

And for the first time in his life—

Harvey Specter is completely, utterly destroyed.

Harvey hasn’t slept.

Hasn’t eaten.

Hasn’t stopped thinking about you for a single goddamn second.

The moment the door closed in his face, something inside him snapped.

Not in anger. Not in frustration.

But in realization.

He can’t lose you.

He won’t.

And for the first time in his life, he understands something brutal:

Winning doesn’t mean anything if he doesn’t have you.

So he’s not going to sit back and hope.

He’s not going to let time slip away.

He’s going to show you—not with words, not with grand declarations—but with actions.

So he does the only thing he can.

He starts earning you back.

Harvey shows up—everywhere.

Not in an overbearing way. Not in a way that makes you roll your eyes and slam the door in his face.

But in the way that matters.

The little things.

Like when your favorite coffee shop runs out of that caramel oat latte you swear by?

Somehow, they have one waiting for you every single morning—already paid for.

(You glare at the barista when they refuse to tell you who it’s from. But you know.)

Like when you get out of a meeting late and your car is already warmed up, parked right outside with a full tank?

No note. No I did this for you. Just... done.

Like when you’re about to leave your office late one night and realize it’s pouring outside?

And then your phone buzzes.

Harvey: Take the elevator. I’m outside.

And sure enough, he’s there—standing beside his car, holding an umbrella, waiting.

He doesn’t say anything when you approach.

Just opens the door.

Waits.

And that’s when you realize—

He’s not demanding a second chance.

He’s asking for one.

Silently.

Every damn day.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make your heart ache.

It’s been weeks of this—of him proving, over and over, that he’s not just talking.

That he’s changed.

That he sees you now—not as something he can win, but as someone he should have never let go.

But you still haven’t given in.

Not yet.

And then, one night, it happens.

You’re at a charity gala. The same kind you used to go to with him.

You look stunning. Distant. Untouchable.

And Harvey?

Harvey is losing his goddamn mind watching men try to get your attention.

So when someone gets too close—when he sees a guy put his hand on the small of your back, whispering something that makes you smile—

Harvey snaps.

He crosses the ballroom in record time, stepping between you and the guy with a polite but firm:

“She’s not interested.”

The guy scoffs. “Pretty sure she can decide that herself.”

Harvey smiles, but it’s that dangerous smile. The one that means he’s one second away from throwing a punch.

And then—

Then you do something unexpected.

You put a hand on Harvey’s chest.

Soft. Steady.

And just like that—

Everything stops.

Because this is the first time you’ve touched him since the night you walked away.

Harvey freezes.

He looks at you—searching, waiting.

And then, finally, you sigh.

“Take me home, Harvey.”

And just like that, the whole world tilts back into place.

The drive is quiet.

Not tense. Just... heavy.

Like something huge is about to happen.

When he pulls up to your building, he doesn’t move to get out.

Neither do you.

You both just sit there, headlights illuminating the empty street.

Finally, he speaks.

“I’m not doing this just to have you for one night.” he says slowly, voice low, rough, wrecked.

You don’t look away. “What?”

His fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

“I’m not doing this just to have you for one night.”

His throat works.

“I’m doing this because I need you to know—I’m never letting you go again.”

Your heart stumbles.

Your fingers tighten in your lap.

And then—

You reach over.

Take his hand.

Lace your fingers together, the way they used to be.

The way they should have always been.

The second the door clicks shut, Harvey sighs.

Not like he’s tired.

Not like he’s frustrated.

Like he’s home.

Like something inside him settles just by being here, with you, in this space that isn’t loud or complicated or full of things that make him feel like he has to be Harvey Specter, Closer, Untouchable.

No.

Here, he can just be Harvey.

Just yours.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t move away from you.

Maybe that’s why, instead of making himself a drink or sitting on the couch or doing literally anything else—

He just leans into you.

Wraps his arms around your waist, tucks his face against your shoulder, and just… holds you.

No words.

No heat.

Just quiet.

Just closeness.

You blink.

“Harvey?”

His grip tightens—just a little.

“Mm.”

You smile.

“Are you… okay?”

A deep hum vibrates against your skin.

And then—

“Yeah.”

You tilt your head, catching the softest expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“I just… want to be near you.”

Your chest aches.

Because this?

This is not the Harvey Specter the world knows.

This isn’t sharp-edged, confident, never-misses-a-step Harvey.

This is the man who lost you once and refuses to do anything that might make it happen again.

This is the man who just wants to be close.

So you let him.

You let him breathe you in, press his forehead against your shoulder, hold onto you like he’s been waiting for this for years.

And when you lift your hand, threading your fingers through his hair—

He melts.

A deep, contented sigh.

His body relaxing completely against yours.

And then, voice low, hoarse, completely wrecked—

“I missed you.”

And god—

If you weren’t already in love with him, you’d be falling all over again.

[waliminium]

Hey! I love your stories about Harvey, you write him incredibly well. Could you write one in which he is really sick but still goes to work, despite reader telling him that he deserves rest. So, at the firm, he starts getting worse and worse until mike or donna have to call you to take him home and look after him. You can add anything you wish like fever, vomiting and so on. Also, make it as long as you wish/can. Thank you for reading!

A/N: Thank you for the sweet words! Here's your request I hope you like, if you'd like any adjustments, I can always tweak things! :) Down for the Count Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: Illness/fever, quick mention of a razor Word Count: 903

Harvey Specter was a force of nature. He didn’t slow down, didn’t take breaks, and definitely didn’t let something as trivial as a fever keep him from working.

That’s why, when he woke up feeling like he’d been hit by a freight train, he ignored it.

You, however, did not.

"Harvey, you have to stay home today," you said, arms crossed as you leaned in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him sluggishly shave. His movements lacked their usual finesse—there was hesitation in the way he dragged the blade across his jaw, and the hand bracing himself against the sink was gripping way too tight.

"Can’t," he muttered, rinsing the razor under the water. "I’ve got a meeting with a client, and I need to prep Mike for his deposition."

"Mike can handle it. And Donna exists for a reason. She can reschedule the client meeting."

Harvey let out a slow breath through his nose, shoulders visibly tensing. "I’m fine."

You stepped forward and pressed the back of your hand to his forehead before he could swat you away. His skin was burning.

"Yeah," you scoffed. "You’re totally fine. Just radiating heat like a damn furnace."

Harvey sighed, tilting his head back slightly as if it would somehow lessen his exhaustion. "I don’t have time for this."

You softened. "Harvey, listen to me," you murmured, touching his wrist. "You never take a day off. If anyone deserves to rest, it’s you."

For a second, it looked like he might give in. His jaw clenched, his shoulders sagging. But then, he shook his head.

"I’m going to work."

And that was that. He finished getting ready at half his usual speed, but still managed to leave with the same smug parting kiss to your forehead. You stood in the doorway watching him go, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable.

Because no matter how stubborn Harvey Specter was, he was still human.

And he would crash.

By noon, Donna called.

"Your idiot is going to drop dead on the office floor if you don’t come and knock some sense into him."

You grabbed your coat immediately.

When you walked into Pearson Specter Litt, the atmosphere felt different. It wasn’t the usual buzz of high-powered attorneys running the show—it was quieter.

You didn’t even need to ask where Harvey was. You just headed straight for his office.

Mike was standing outside, arms crossed, shaking his head. "He’s bad."

"How bad?"

Mike sighed. "He can barely sit up straight. He’s all flushed, and he keeps rubbing his temples like he’s trying to force his brain to work. He’s already shut Donna out twice, which never happens."

You didn’t wait for more information. Pushing open the door, you found Harvey sitting behind his desk, head in one hand, the other gripping a pen like it was the only thing keeping him upright. The usual sharpness in his expression was dulled, replaced with pure exhaustion.

"Hey," you murmured.

His tired eyes flickered up to meet yours.

For a moment, he just stared. Then, his lips quirked into something resembling a smirk. "Took you long enough."

You raised an eyebrow. "I shouldn’t have had to come at all."

He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. "I just need—"

"You need to go home, Harvey," you interrupted softly, stepping closer. "Let me take you home."

He sighed, looking like he might argue. But as if the universe was trying to make a point, a harsh cough wracked his body, shaking his frame. His grip on his pen slackened, and his breathing grew labored.

You didn’t wait for his permission.

"Alright, that’s it." You moved beside him, placing a steadying hand on his back.

Harvey made a weak noise of protest as you coaxed him up. "Don’t—m’fine."

"Sure you are."

The second he was on his feet, his balance wavered. His usually sure footing faltered, and he swayed into you.

Mike stepped forward instinctively, but you shook your head. "I’ve got him."

Harvey let out a low breath, his forehead lightly pressing against your shoulder for just a second before he straightened.

He didn’t fight you after that.

By the time you got him home, he was running hotter than before. His skin was damp with fever sweat, and his breathing had grown uneven. You guided him straight to the couch, where he sat heavily, immediately leaning back.

You crouched in front of him, brushing a few strands of damp hair from his forehead.

"Harvey," you murmured. "How bad is it?"

His eyelids fluttered. "Bad."

You sighed, pressing the back of your hand against his cheek. His fever was climbing.

"Stay here," you said gently, standing up. "I’ll be right back."

You grabbed a cool washcloth, some medicine, and a glass of water. When you returned, Harvey had slumped further into the cushions, his head tilted back, his breathing shallow.

You knelt beside him, pressing the damp cloth to his forehead.

"Take this," you murmured, handing him the medicine and water.

He took it without argument—probably too exhausted to fight you.

You let out a quiet breath, brushing your fingers over his temple. His eyes cracked open slightly, gazing at you through fever-hazed exhaustion.

"You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?" he muttered.

You smiled softly. "Not a chance."

His lips twitched, just barely.

"Sleep, Harvey," you whispered. "I’ve got you."

And this time, he didn’t argue.

[waliminium]

Not Yours, Not Yet

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: Jealousy, possessiveness, tension, power play, explicit language, mature themes Word Count: 746

Summary: Harvey Specter doesn’t get jealous. At least, that’s what he tells himself—until he sees you entertaining another man at a party, your smirk teasing, your gaze daring him to react. And react he does.

The second Harvey Specter saw you entertain another man, something in him snapped.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

He wasn’t supposed to feel the sharp sting of jealousy when that guy leaned in, murmuring something too close to your ear. Wasn’t supposed to clench his jaw when he saw your lips curl into a smirk that wasn’t meant for him.

But he did.

And now? Now he was moving before he even had time to think.

His stride was smooth, deliberate—years of controlling a room, of commanding attention, all funneled into this one moment.

By the time he reached you, the other guy barely had time to react before Harvey was stepping in, positioning himself between you two like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“You mind?” Harvey asked coolly, glancing at the guy with that signature smirk—except there was no warmth behind it.

The guy blinked, confused. “Uh—”

Harvey didn’t give him a chance to finish. “Didn’t think so.” His tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable finality in it.

The guy looked at you, waiting for you to say something. Maybe to call Harvey out.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you crossed your arms, tilting your head as you looked up at Harvey with an amused expression.

The guy got the message.

With a muttered curse, he walked away, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit corner of the party.

Silence stretched between you.

Tension.

And then, finally—

“You good?” You raised a brow, smirking.

Harvey exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting.” You took a slow step closer, letting your fingers trail along the lapel of his suit. “Harvey Specter getting jealous? That’s a first.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk, but his jaw was still tight, his body still radiating heat. “I don’t get jealous.”

“No?” You took another step, the space between you shrinking, your voice dropping just enough to make his eyes darken. “Then why are you acting like you just closed a deal and still didn’t get what you wanted?”

His breath hitched.

For a moment, he just looked at you.

Like he was debating something.

Like he was barely restraining himself.

Then—so damn quietly you almost missed it—

“You really wanna play this game?”

Your smirk widened. “Do I look scared?”

Harvey inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding back. Like he wasn’t sure if he should walk away or ruin you.

Then—

“Bet.”

Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your wrist, and suddenly, you were moving.

Through the party.

Past the crowd.

Into the hallway.

Then—

A door clicked shut behind you.

And before you could even breathe—

Your back was against it.

His hands braced against the wood, his body crowding into yours, his scent—expensive cologne and something undeniably him—overwhelming your senses.

And when he spoke?

His voice was low. Rough.

Like he’d finally stopped fighting himself.

“You really want me to finish what I started?”

Your breath caught.

Then, heartbeat hammering, you met his gaze—

And smirked.

“Yeah.”

Harvey exhaled sharply.

And then—

He kissed you.

Not soft. Not tentative.

Claiming.

His lips crashed against yours, hands sliding up your sides, gripping you like he had no intention of letting you go. Like he was making up for lost time.

Like he was proving something—to himself, to you, to every second he had spent pretending this tension between you didn’t exist.

And you?

You weren’t about to let him have all the control.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan, to make him press into you, his body heat scorching.

But then—just as fast as it started—he pulled back.

Barely.

His lips brushed yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“You sure?” His voice was rough, barely controlled.

You didn’t hesitate. “Harvey—”

“Say it.” His hand slid to your waist, fingers digging in. Holding himself back.

You exhaled shakily, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m sure.”

Harvey’s restraint snapped.

His mouth was on your neck before you could even react, lips and teeth and tongue leaving a trail of heat, his hands gripping your hips as if he needed to memorize you.

And when he pressed closer, when you felt every inch of him, the fire between you turning into something uncontrollable—

You knew neither of you were walking out of this room the same.

[waliminium]

Off Limits

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: jealousy, possessive, mentions of drinking/partying Word Count: 561 Summary: Harvey Specter’s parties are always filled with high-profile clients, expensive scotch, and calculated networking—but tonight, something throws him off balance. You. Unintentionally stunning, effortlessly confident, and drawing attention from people who aren’t him.

Parties hosted by Harvey Specter were always elite. The kind with top-shelf liquor, a skyline view, and the who’s who of New York circling like sharks.

You weren’t even planning on coming, but somehow, Harvey had talked you into it. Something about “it’ll be good for networking” and “I need someone there who actually knows how to hold a conversation without boring me to death.”

So you showed up.

What you didn’t plan? The way his entire demeanor shifted when he saw you.

Because the outfit?

Yeah, it was a little revealing. A little too good. But it wasn’t intentional. It was just something you threw on—something that made you feel confident, something easy to move in.

Harvey, however?

He was not handling it well.

You noticed the second his eyes landed on you.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a client, sipping his scotch, but the moment you walked in? His grip on the glass tightened, jaw tensed, and his eyes—sharp, assessing, utterly undressing—dragged over you so slowly it made your skin heat.

Then, as if catching himself, he looked away, bringing his drink to his lips like he wasn’t affected.

But you saw it.

And that? That was all you needed to have a little fun.

“Something wrong?” you teased later, sidling up to him at the bar.

Harvey didn’t look at you, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Not at all.”

You smirked. “You sure? You’ve barely said a word to me tonight.”

His jaw twitched. “I didn’t realize I needed to babysit you at my own party.”

Your brow arched. “Didn’t say you did.”

“Good.”

A pause.

You let the tension sit there for a beat, enjoying the way he refused to look at you, the way he was gripping his glass just a little too tightly.

Then, just as you were about to push him a little further—

“Hey,” a smooth voice interrupted.

You turned to see some Wall Street type standing beside you, smiling in a way that was clearly meant to be charming.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Evan.”

You shook it, amused. “Nice to meet you, Evan.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

You barely had time to respond before Harvey finally moved.

“She’s fine,” he said smoothly, finally looking at the guy. “And actually, we were just leaving.”

Evan blinked. “Oh, I—”

Harvey didn’t give him a second glance. He just placed a hand on your lower back and guided you away, not waiting for your permission.

Once you were out of earshot, you huffed a laugh. “You are so obvious.”

He glanced down at you, unimpressed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, come on, Harvey.” You smirked. “You’re jealous.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m bored.”

You laughed. “Right. That’s why you practically dragged me away.”

“I didn’t drag you.”

“You did.”

He huffed, looking away like he was already done with this conversation.

But you weren’t.

So you stepped in front of him, tilting your head. “If you want me, just say that.”

His jaw flexed.

For a second, you thought he was going to brush it off, throw out some sharp remark, pretend he wasn’t affected.

But then—

He leaned in, his voice calm, deliberate.

“I want you,” he said, low and certain. “And I don’t like sharing.”

[waliminium]

Shadows of a Heart Unclaimed

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: angst, emotional unavailability Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: Harvey Specter has always been a man of control, a man who never shows weakness — except when it comes to you. As they grow closer, the connection between them becomes undeniable, but Harvey remains emotionally unavailable, haunted by past heartbreaks and the emotional baggage he can’t let go of. Though he deeply cares for you, he knows he can’t give them the love they deserve.

The night was quiet, save for the hum of the city outside and the faint rustle of paper in the office. You sat across from Harvey, watching him work in his usual focused silence, a distant look in his eyes. There was always something about him, something magnetic that drew you in despite the walls he kept up. You’d gotten close over the months — close enough that you could almost see past the polished veneer he wore. Almost.

But that was the thing with Harvey Specter: he had mastered the art of keeping people at arm's length. It didn’t matter how much you wanted to break through, how much you wanted to know the man behind the sharp suits and sharp tongue. He never let anyone get close enough to truly understand the complexities of his heart. And you? You weren’t immune to it. You knew the risks. You knew he wasn’t the type to give you what you deserved, but the more you spent time with him, the more you couldn’t help the feelings that grew.

“You alright?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. You watched as his head snapped up, his eyes locking with yours, not quite surprised, but guarded.

“I’m fine,” Harvey replied, his tone curt, dismissive. But you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze lingered for just a second longer than usual. It was almost like he was trying to tell you something — something he didn’t have the words for.

You weren’t fooled. You knew him better than that. The cracks were starting to show. You could see the pain lurking beneath the surface. It wasn’t the first time you had caught him in one of these moments, but you never pressed. Harvey wasn’t the type to open up. You were too afraid of pushing too hard and losing whatever fragile connection you had. Still, your heart ached for him, for the parts of himself he refused to share.

“Harvey...” you started, your voice gentle, testing the waters. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know. You don’t always have to be… this guy. The one who never needs anyone.”

His lips pressed together into a thin line, and for a second, he didn’t speak. He just looked at you, his eyes flicking to your face as if considering your words, but never truly letting them sink in. Finally, he sighed, the weight of everything around him suddenly apparent.

“I’m not doing this right now, okay?” His voice was strained, the edges of his words sharp with something more than just frustration — something deeper, older. He looked away, his focus shifting back to the files in front of him, a clear signal that the conversation was over.

You stayed silent, feeling the familiar sting of his emotional walls. You didn’t press. Instead, you stood up, walking slowly over to the window. You stared out at the city below, the lights flickering in the distance, each one a reminder of how much you had invested in this impossible thing between you two. How much you had wanted it to be real.

The truth was, you knew Harvey. You knew what he was capable of — the charisma, the brilliance, the charm. But you also knew the scars that ran deeper than anyone would ever admit. The heartbreaks, the betrayals, the abandonment that had shaped him into the man he was today. He wasn’t ready to open up to anyone. Not you. Not anyone.

You could feel your heart racing as you fought to suppress the feelings that threatened to bubble over. You had been patient, understanding, but you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You couldn’t pretend that you didn’t want more.

You turned back to him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Harvey, you know you don’t have to shut me out. I’m not asking for all of you. Just… don’t shut me out completely.”

His eyes met yours, this time softer, but still guarded. He shook his head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips, but it wasn’t real. It was just another mask. “I can’t give you what you want,” he said, his voice quiet, laden with regret.

You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest as you reached out, your fingers brushing against his. “You don’t have to give me anything. Just… let me be here. Let me help.”

But Harvey pulled his hand back, the movement swift, almost automatic. He stood up from his chair, his eyes dark with emotion, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his carefully constructed facade.

“I care about you,” he said, his voice raw, but steady. “I care more than I should, but I’m not the guy you need. Not right now. I’m not the guy you think I am.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words landed like a punch to the gut. The truth stung more than you expected. But you knew he was right. Harvey Specter wasn’t the guy who could give you the love you deserved. Not now. Not ever.

A long silence followed. You stood there, staring at him, the weight of his words settling between you like a wall you couldn’t climb over. The connection was real, but it was also impossible. The love he had for you, the care he felt, was buried beneath layers of hurt and emotional baggage he couldn’t shed. You knew it wasn’t about you. It was about him. It always had been.

Finally, you spoke, your voice barely audible. “I know.”

Harvey nodded, as if relieved that you understood. “I wish things were different. But they’re not. And I can’t give you the kind of love you deserve.”

You nodded, the ache in your chest growing with each word he spoke. It wasn’t fair, but it was the reality you both had to face. The impossible love.

You wanted to reach out, to say something, but you didn’t. There was nothing left to say. You had to accept it, just as he had.

“I’ll be here, Harvey,” you said quietly, though the words were meant more for yourself than for him. “I’ll always be here, but I can’t wait forever.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The distance between you was already too great.

[waliminium]

Caught in Gravity

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: angst, themes of fear and loss, mutual pinning Word Count: 815 Summary: Harvey’s frustration boils over when you take a risk without consulting him, leading to a heated confrontation in his office. As tempers flare and emotions run high, his control shatters.

The door to Harvey's office slammed shut behind you, the sound reverberating like a gunshot. You barely had time to turn around before Harvey’s voice cut through the tension.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barked, his tone sharp enough to slice through steel.

You froze, your hand still on the doorknob. “I’m sorry, is this about me making a judgment call? Because last I checked, you don’t own me.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes blazing with something that felt too heavy to be just anger. “This isn’t about ownership. This is about you putting yourself in the line of fire without even thinking about the consequences.”

“I was thinking about the consequences!” you snapped, stepping toward him. “Maybe if you’d actually trust me for once, you’d realize I wasn’t trying to sabotage you—I was trying to fix the mess you were too blind to see!”

His laugh was cold and humorless, the kind that sent a chill down your spine. “Oh, so now you’re the hero? Congratulations, you’ve officially decided to take my job too.”

“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re so caught up in your own ego that you can’t admit when someone else is right!”

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me!” he thundered, closing the space between you in two long strides. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Running into situations without thinking about what it does to the people who—”

He cut himself off abruptly, his fists clenching as he looked away.

“The people who what, Harvey?” you demanded, your voice trembling with frustration. “Who what? Finish the damn sentence.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Harvey’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his usually composed exterior unraveling right in front of you.

“You want to know what it does to me?” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. He turned to face you, and for the first time, you saw it—the cracks in his armor, the storm behind his eyes.

“It kills me,” he said, his voice shaking with barely contained emotion. “Every time you throw yourself into the fire, it kills me. Because I can’t stop thinking, what if this is the time you don’t come back? What if this is the time I lose you for good?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a freight train. “Harvey…”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice breaking. “You don’t get to say my name like that. Not when you don’t understand. I’ve spent my whole life keeping people at a distance because it’s easier that way. No one gets close, no one gets hurt. But then you showed up, and you—”

He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You ruined everything. You tore down every wall I’ve ever built, and now I can’t breathe when you’re not around. I can’t think straight when you’re in danger. And it’s driving me insane because I don’t know how to protect you without pushing you away.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure it would burst out of your chest. “Harvey, I didn’t—”

“I love you,” he said suddenly, his voice hoarse and raw. The confession hung in the air, too heavy to ignore. “God help me, I love you. And it scares the hell out of me because I don’t know how to be this person. I don’t know how to let you in without falling apart.”

Tears welled in your eyes, your hands trembling as you stepped closer. “You idiot,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Do you really think I don’t feel the same? That I’d keep fighting with you if I didn’t care?”

His eyes searched yours, desperate and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “Then why do you keep putting yourself in danger? Why do you make it so damn hard for me to keep you safe?”

“Because I don’t need you to keep me safe, Harvey,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “I just need you to let me in.”

For a moment, he stood there, frozen, like he didn’t know how to move. And then, in one swift motion, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with a desperation that stole your breath.

The kiss was messy, raw, and filled with all the emotions you’d both been too afraid to voice. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his hands trembling as they cupped your face.

“I’m in,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m all in.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart finally feeling whole. “Took you long enough, Specter.”

And for the first time in his life, Harvey Specter let himself fall—because with you, he knew he’d never hit the ground.

[waliminium]

Lead the Dance, Break the Rules

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: mutual tension and flirtation, suggestive language Word Count: 704 Summary: Harvey Specter takes you as his date to a rival firm’s gala, turning heads and sparking whispers. Amid sharp banter and subtle power plays, the night becomes a dance of unspoken tension and growing desire.

The grand ballroom was a sea of luxury, glittering with ambition and veiled animosity. Harvey’s hand rested on your lower back as you walked in, the warmth of his touch steadying you, though the mischievous curve of his lips had the opposite effect.

“Why do I feel like you’re enjoying this?” you muttered, your voice low enough for only him to hear.

“Because I am.” His response came without hesitation, the smugness in his tone unmistakable. “Besides, I couldn’t show up alone. Not here.”

You arched a brow, tilting your head to glance at him. “And why’s that? Afraid they’d think you’re losing your edge?”

“No,” he replied, his gaze dipping to meet yours, sharp and unyielding. “Because I wanted to make sure every single one of them knew I don’t need to compete. I already have the best.”

The compliment caught you off guard, a flicker of heat rising to your cheeks, but you recovered quickly, your lips quirking into a sly smile. “Flattery isn’t going to stop me from drinking all the champagne tonight.”

Harvey chuckled, low and rich. “Just don’t embarrass me, and we’ll call it even.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Specter.”

The night unfolded in a whirlwind of introductions and biting exchanges, with Harvey wielding his charm and wit like a weapon. You matched him stride for stride, occasionally cutting in with a sharp remark that left the opposing party scrambling for a comeback.

By the time dinner was served, the tension between you and Harvey had become a tangible thing, hovering in the air like a storm cloud. Every glance he stole at you across the table felt weighted, every brush of his hand against yours intentional.

As the orchestra struck up a new song, Harvey leaned toward you, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. “Care to dance?”

You hesitated, just long enough to make him wonder if you’d refuse. Then, with a smirk, you set down your glass and stood, slipping your hand into his. “Lead the way.”

On the dance floor, he pulled you close—closer than necessary, closer than appropriate. The heat of his hand on your back was matched only by the intensity in his gaze as he looked down at you.

“You know they’re watching,” you said, your voice just above a whisper.

“Good,” he replied smoothly, his breath brushing against your cheek. “Let them see.”

The dance was slow, deliberate. Your bodies moved in perfect sync, the closeness of the moment making your heart race.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you said, your tone light but your pulse anything but calm, “and people are going to talk.”

He smirked, his thumb tracing a small circle on your waist. “Let them. It’s not like I’m hiding anything.”

“Oh?” you asked, tilting your head. “And what exactly would they say about Harvey Specter and his... date?”

“That she’s out of his league,” he replied without missing a beat.

The laugh that escaped you was soft, genuine, but it quickly faded as the weight of his words settled between you. The song ended, but he didn’t step away.

“Harvey,” you began, your voice a little breathless.

“Come with me,” he interrupted, his gaze never leaving yours.

“To where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

His words left no room for argument, and maybe you didn’t want to argue. The room, the gala, the prying eyes—it all melted away as he led you out of the ballroom.

The air outside was cold, a sharp contrast to the heat simmering between you. Harvey stopped abruptly, turning to face you. “I wasn’t joking back there,” he said, his voice quieter now, more serious.

“About what?”

“About you being the best. About me not needing to compete because... I already won.”

For a moment, you could only stare at him, the weight of his confession pulling you under. And then, before either of you could overthink it, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing into his.

It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful. It was everything that had been building between you for months, spilling over in one unguarded moment.

[waliminium]

Fires We Can't Control

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: adult language, strong sexual content, angst, drinking, intense physical tension, mature themes Word Count: 1.8k Summary: Harvey shows up at your door, half-drunk and burning with curiosity after receiving a cryptic text from you that has been driving him wild. He’s done playing games, and he’s here for answers—no more waiting. What begins as a heated confrontation quickly spirals into something far more dangerous. Passion ignites between you two, and suddenly, the line between teasing and something more blurs into nothing.

Harvey Specter had a lot of things on his mind, but for the past few months, you had been one of the things that he couldn’t shake off. It wasn’t just your sarcastic remarks or the way you both kept the banter sharp—it was the way he couldn’t help but notice how his heart skipped a beat when you were near. And he hated himself for it.

You had never shown any signs of wanting to take things further, so he kept it light. Teasing touches, playful flirtation, just enough to keep things interesting without ever crossing that line. He didn’t want to risk ruining the one thing he knew was perfect—this thing between you that wasn’t defined, but was always there.

But then you sent him that damn text.

It was simple, cryptic, and the kind of message that left him staring at his phone for a few minutes, trying to read between the lines. What did it mean? What the hell were you really trying to say?

And just like that, Harvey was on a mission. Not to win a case this time, but to track you down. To find out what the hell you were playing at. He was ready to chase you down, through every street in New York if he had to, until you gave him answers.

But he quickly realized that the chase might not be about the message at all. Maybe it was about figuring out how much he was willing to risk to turn all this playful tension into something real.

And you? You’d never been one to give him easy answers. So, when he showed up at your door, half-drunk, eyes burning with curiosity, and the same cocky smile he always wore, he knew he’d finally found something he wanted more than just a game.

You were just about to shut off the lights and call it a night when the sudden, unmistakable sound of knocking echoed through your apartment. It was fast, almost urgent, but somehow still carrying that familiar, cocky rhythm.

You opened the door without hesitation, and there he was—Harvey Specter, looking disheveled, a little off-kilter. His usually pristine suit was slightly wrinkled, his tie a bit too loose, and his perfectly styled hair was a mess. He was standing there in the hallway, eyes burning with a mix of frustration and something else—a raw, unspoken desire that you hadn’t seen in him before.

"Harvey?" You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the shock in your voice. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze was locked on you, scanning every inch of your face as if trying to figure out what you were really thinking. And just as you were about to ask again, his lips quirked into that damn smirk of his, though there was an edge to it that felt different tonight.

"I got your message," he finally said, voice low, the words slurring just slightly. "You know, the one that made me lose my damn mind for the past two hours trying to figure out what it meant."

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe, keeping your composure even as your heart picked up its pace. "So you came all the way here just to ask about a text?"

He took a step closer, his presence filling the space between you. "I came here because I need to know," he said, his voice dropping, soft and dangerous. "And you’re gonna tell me."

A shiver ran down your spine as he reached up, brushing his thumb along the edge of your jaw. His touch was light, tentative, like he was testing the waters—but you both knew it was more than that. You could feel the electricity between you, the pull that neither of you could ignore anymore.

"And if I don’t?" you challenged, tilting your head slightly, just enough to test his resolve.

"Then I guess I’ll just have to figure it out the hard way," Harvey muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took another step forward. The space between you was almost nonexistent now, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. He was dangerously close, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart was pounding, but you held your ground. "What’s the hard way, Harvey?"

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, and in the silence that followed, you both knew exactly what was about to happen.

Harvey took the final step, closing the distance, and in one swift motion, he kissed you—hard, demanding, a kiss that sent a jolt through your entire body. It wasn’t a question anymore. He wasn’t asking for permission, wasn’t waiting for a response. It was the culmination of all the tension, all the unspoken things hanging between you two, crashing down in that single, heated kiss.

When he pulled back, both of you were breathless, his hands still lingering on your shoulders, his thumb gently tracing the edge of your collarbone. His voice was rough when he spoke again.

"So, tell me. Was that the answer you were looking for?"

You couldn’t help but smirk, even as your pulse raced. "Maybe it was the answer I needed."

He let out a soft chuckle, leaning in again, but this time it wasn’t about pressing for answers—it was about something else entirely. You both knew it. And neither of you were willing to back down.

Harvey’s lips lingered just inches from yours, his breath a tantalizing mix of whiskey and something darker. His eyes were locked on yours, smoldering, like he was waiting for something—waiting for you to say something, to make the next move. But you didn’t speak. You let the silence stretch between you, charged with a thousand unspoken words.

He groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding down your arms, pulling you even closer. The space between you felt like it didn’t exist anymore, like your bodies were magnetized, drawn together by something neither of you could control. His lips brushed against your neck, the faintest of touches, but it was enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.

"I’m done guessing," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough. "Done wondering if you feel it too." His hands slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head back slightly, exposing the soft line of your throat. "I need to know. Right now."

You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you tilted your chin up, just enough to meet his eyes again. The question was there, hanging between you two, in the tension, the way you were both breathing a little too fast. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened further.

“I’m not asking for permission anymore, you know,” he continued, his fingers trailing up your back, the touch almost burning. “I’m just gonna take what I want.”

His lips crashed back to yours, more desperate this time, the heat between you building in a way that felt like it was about to explode. There was no more teasing, no more waiting. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, feeling his heartbeat pulse in time with yours.

His body pressed into yours, and you felt the unmistakable heat of his desire. Your breath was ragged now, mixing with his as your mouths moved together, kissing and tasting, pushing and pulling. You couldn’t get enough of him. It was as if everything else had faded away, and there was nothing left but the two of you—locked in a kiss that was messy and hungry, but oh so needed.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to catch his breath, his lips were wet and swollen, his expression a mix of frustration and something deeper—something more vulnerable.

“You still haven’t told me what that text meant,” he said, voice hoarse.

You smirked, running your thumb along his bottom lip, feeling the faint trace of a smile tugging at the corners of your own mouth. “Maybe you’ll figure it out,” you whispered, a challenge in your voice, “if you stick around long enough.”

Harvey’s eyes darkened even more, his hands moving down to your waist, gripping you like he was never letting go. “I plan to.”

With that, he pulled you back into a kiss, more demanding this time, his hands exploring the curves of your body as if he was marking you, claiming you in a way that felt irrevocable.

And you didn’t stop him.

The kiss didn’t stop. It was the kind of kiss that pulled you under, like a tidal wave crashing over you both. Every second felt like it was stretching out into eternity, but in the best way possible. The heat was intense, almost scorching, as if neither of you could get close enough, couldn’t touch enough. You wanted more, he wanted more—your hands were tangled in each other’s clothes, fumbling, eager, desperate.

Harvey’s lips left yours only for a split second, but his mouth was everywhere else: your neck, your jaw, the sensitive skin beneath your ear. The sounds between you two were raw—breaths, murmurs, the heat of your bodies pressing against each other. You felt him against you, hard and unyielding, a physical reminder of the desire that had been simmering between you for so long.

And then, just like that, the world outside your apartment ceased to exist. All that mattered was the way his hands were tracing the curve of your back, the way your body was reacting to every touch, every movement. The taste of him lingered on your lips, intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough.

Harvey pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his pupils blown wide, face flushed with the aftermath of the kiss. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling beneath you. His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing just hard enough to leave a mark, a reminder that this—whatever this was—wasn’t going to be easy to forget.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, voice thick with desire, but there was an edge of something else. Maybe it was the vulnerability that crept in when he let his guard down, even for a moment. “The kind of trouble that makes me want to do it all over again.”

You smirked, knowing exactly how to push him. “Maybe that’s the point, Harvey. You wanted answers. But I think you’ll have to work a little harder for them.”

He raised an eyebrow, but the smirk on his face told you he was up for the challenge. “Don’t tempt me.”

And that’s when you saw it—the moment when he realized that this wasn’t just about the text anymore. It was about you. It was about both of you, tangled in this mess of passion, desire, and something that neither of you wanted to admit—that something more.

[waliminium]

Where We Collide

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: emotional tension, workplace romance, jealousy, mild angst Word Count: 2.5k Summary: You and Harvey Specter have been dancing around unspoken feelings for months. The tension between you—sharp and charged—only intensifies as your differences clash: Harvey, the confident, guarded closer, and you, the more empathetic, determined associate. When your work lives collide in high-pressure cases, jealousy and vulnerability reveal cracks in Harvey's usual armor.

When you first joined Pearson Hardman, Harvey didn’t think twice about it. Another young lawyer coming in, eager to impress, would either sink or swim. He didn't expect you to do anything extraordinary, especially not to challenge him. He had always worked alone, always been the lone wolf. But there was something about you—your calm, collected demeanor, the way you listened instead of just speaking, the way you seemed to genuinely care about the cases you were working on. It made him uneasy.

He would never show it, of course. To him, there was nothing more important than winning—whether it was a case, a negotiation, or an argument. And when you weren’t afraid to challenge him on his methods, he respected you, but that respect came with an undercurrent of irritation.

“You're not going to win this by being nice,” he’d say in passing, his tone sharp.

You’d raise an eyebrow, smiling politely. "I don't have to be nice to win. Just effective."

Harvey couldn't help but feel a little… stirred. Something about your unwavering confidence, mixed with a touch of optimism, made him want to push you, test you, see how far you’d go. But when you passed his tests, and more importantly, when you impressed him, it only deepened his internal struggle. He didn’t let you know it—he never let anyone see it—but you had caught his attention.

It wasn’t until the firm paired you up with another senior partner, someone who shared your idealistic approach to law, that Harvey’s frustration began to bubble to the surface. You and this partner, Chris, had chemistry. You worked well together. You laughed at the same jokes. He listened to your ideas with genuine interest, the way Harvey should have done.

It made Harvey’s blood boil. He didn’t get why it bothered him so much. He didn’t want to care—didn't have to care. You weren’t his responsibility. And yet, every time you and Chris exchanged another laugh, Harvey found himself wanting to jump in, wanting to disrupt it. Why? Because you were getting close to someone else. The jealousy felt alien, but it was there, raw and undeniable.

One evening, when he saw the two of you walking into the elevator together, heads close in conversation, Harvey couldn't hold back.

"Really getting cozy with him, huh?" Harvey’s voice was low, tinged with something he couldn’t identify—irritation, maybe possessiveness.

You paused, taken aback by the question, though you sensed something more behind it.

"It's just a work thing," you replied casually. "Chris and I are collaborating on the Jordan case."

Harvey raised an eyebrow, his lips pulling into a tight, unamused smile. “Right. Just a work thing. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to ‘collaborate.’” He didn’t make eye contact with you as the elevator doors slid open.

You stared at his retreating back, confusion mixing with a slight flush. What was that about? He always had a sharp tongue, but this felt… personal.

The weeks that followed were charged with an undercurrent of tension neither of you acknowledged, though it was impossible to ignore. Harvey continued to be his usual blunt, grumpy self, but there was a noticeable shift when it came to you. He was always on edge when you were around—more sarcastic, more blunt, almost as though he was trying to push you away, trying to provoke a reaction.

But it wasn’t just you who noticed it. Everyone in the office could sense the change. Donna, of course, picked up on it first.

“Harvey,” she said one day in her usual knowing tone, “you know you’re being extra difficult, right?”

“I’m not being difficult,” Harvey said, a little too quickly. “I’m being clear.”

“Uh-huh.” Donna’s smile was sly. "You’re usually clear with everyone else. But with them?” She nodded toward you, who were sitting a few feet away, reading through a file. "You’re throwing off more sparks than a blowtorch."

Harvey, to his credit, didn’t flinch. "We’re just colleagues."

Donna's smile grew wider, but she didn’t push the issue. She didn’t need to—she could see what was going on, even if Harvey couldn’t admit it yet.

And Harvey, despite trying to avoid it, couldn’t shake the feeling. The glances he caught when you weren’t looking. The way your laugh filled the air and somehow made him smile when he had no intention to. It was an attraction he couldn’t control, but even worse, it was something he wasn’t ready to confront. So, he pushed harder. He made things more difficult. He stayed distant.

But you, for your part, saw through it. You knew what he was doing—pushing you away, making the situation difficult. And yet, somehow, that only made you want to challenge him more. There was something magnetic about Harvey, even if it frustrated you. You knew he had walls, and while you respected his space, you also couldn’t help but wonder what was behind them.

The tension reached a boiling point when you were assigned to work on a major case together, one that required long hours and constant back-and-forth. You could feel the shift each time you were in a room alone with him. The atmosphere grew heavier, your every exchange charged with unspoken energy.

One late night, after another long day of work, you stayed at the office, working on the case. Harvey did too, of course. He was always there, long after everyone else had left, with his ever-present confidence and aloof air.

You were so absorbed in the case that you didn’t notice when he approached, standing in the doorway of your office.

“Still here?” Harvey’s voice broke through the silence, almost softer than usual.

“Yep,” you said, not looking up. “Just finishing up.”

“Should’ve known. You never know when to stop.” There was no real reprimand in his voice, just an observation.

You glanced up at him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I could say the same about you.”

Harvey chuckled, a brief, soft sound that seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment, there was a rare moment of quiet between the two of you, and the air felt heavy, thick with something neither of you was ready to name. You both knew it—this pull between you, this undeniable chemistry—but neither of you acknowledged it.

His eyes softened, his usual sharp edges dulling. But before either of you could speak, Donna entered the room, breaking the moment. “Don’t you two have a case to win?” she said, and just as quickly left.

The brief break in tension left you both silently fumbling for something to say, but neither of you could bring yourselves to admit it—whatever it was.

It wasn’t until much later that Harvey couldn’t ignore it any longer. A particularly tense day had left you feeling defeated. The case was slipping away, and he could see how hard you were pushing yourself. He watched as you stayed late, working through the same stack of papers, over and over. It was like you couldn’t let go.

Harvey knew what it was like to push yourself until there was nothing left, but this wasn’t the first time he’d seen you do it, and it bothered him. Deeply.

He walked into your office, quietly this time, standing near your desk as you furiously typed away. “You need to stop. You’re not going to win this by working yourself into the ground.”

You looked up at him, eyes tired but sharp. “I know what I’m doing.”

Harvey didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stood there for a beat, his gaze softening. The familiar barriers—his arrogance, his defense mechanisms—felt like they were slipping. For once, he wasn’t just the closer. He wasn’t just the shark.

He was just a man who… cared.

"I don’t think you’re fine," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, surprised. His words hung in the air. There was no bravado, no sharpness. Just raw honesty.

And in that moment, something inside you shifted.

For the first time since you’d known him, Harvey looked… vulnerable. The carefully constructed mask he always wore—arrogance, control, and indifference—was cracked, just slightly. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself from letting you see the parts of him he kept hidden from the rest of the world.

You set your pen down slowly, giving him your full attention. “I’m fine, Harvey,” you said softly, but even you didn’t believe it.

He stepped closer, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his jaw tightened. “No, you’re not. You don’t have to pretend around me. Not about this.”

His words hit something inside you, and for a moment, all your defenses felt as fragile as his. The weight of the past few weeks—the late nights, the constant tension between the two of you, the unspoken words you’d both left hanging in the air—crashed over you.

“Why do you care?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “You’re Harvey Specter. You don’t get involved.”

His expression didn’t change, but his shoulders stiffened. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but before you could backpedal, Harvey closed the distance between you with a single step.

“I care because—” He stopped himself, his voice faltering for the first time. He took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto yours. “I care because I do. And don’t ask me to explain it because I can’t.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his confession leaving you speechless.

“I’ve spent weeks trying to ignore this—ignore you,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was saying the words more for himself than for you. “But I can’t, okay? I care. And it’s driving me insane because I don’t know how to stop,” Harvey finished, his voice low and raw.

The words hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever said to you before. For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process the rare vulnerability he was letting you see. Harvey Specter, the man who never let anything or anyone get to him, was standing in front of you, admitting he couldn’t keep his walls up anymore.

Your voice was soft when you finally spoke. “You could’ve fooled me.”

He frowned, the familiar edge returning to his expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stood, your chair scraping lightly against the floor. “You act like you don’t want anything to do with me half the time. Like I’m just another associate who annoys you. And the rest of the time…” You paused, searching for the right words, “...you look at me like you hate how much you don’t hate me.”

Harvey’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t have to—his silence spoke volumes.

“Why?” you asked, taking a step closer. “Why push me away if you care so much?”

“Because it’s easier.” His voice was steady, but there was a tension in it that gave him away. “It’s easier than admitting that you get under my skin. That I can’t stop thinking about you when I shouldn’t be thinking about you at all.”

Your breath hitched at his confession, but you didn’t look away. “Harvey…”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice softer now. “I know we shouldn’t. You’re you, I’m me, and this is a bad idea for about a thousand reasons. But that doesn’t stop it from being true.”

His gaze burned into yours, and for the first time, you let yourself really see him. Not the closer, not the sharp-tongued partner, but the man who was standing in front of you, finally letting his guard down.

“And if I feel the same?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, his mask completely gone now. “Then I’d say we’re both in trouble.”

From that night on, everything shifted. Neither of you said the words outright, but they didn’t need to be said again—the tension between you was no longer just unspoken; it was undeniable. Every shared glance, every brush of your hand against his, every late-night work session held more weight than ever before.

But Harvey being Harvey, he didn’t make it easy. He still kept a part of himself guarded, still avoided stepping fully into whatever this thing between you was. And you, stubborn as ever, refused to let him off the hook.

One night, after a long day in court, you found yourself standing outside his office, debating whether to knock. You knew what you were doing was risky—that it could backfire spectacularly—but you were tired of the half-measures, the dance you’d both been doing for weeks.

Before you could change your mind, you pushed the door open.

Harvey looked up from his desk, surprised to see you but masking it quickly. “What, no work to do?”

“Plenty,” you said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you. “But I need to say something first.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching you closely. “Go on.”

You took a deep breath. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” he asked, though you could see from the flicker in his eyes that he already knew.

“This,” you said, motioning between the two of you. “Acting like there’s nothing here when we both know there is. Acting like it doesn’t matter, like I don’t matter, when you just admitted that I do.”

Harvey’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I get that you’re scared,” you continued, your voice softening. “I get that this isn’t easy for you. But if you think I’m going to stand here and wait for you to decide whether or not I’m worth the risk…” You trailed off, your throat tightening. “I won’t, Harvey.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you like he was trying to figure out what to say. Then, slowly, he stood, walking around his desk until he was standing right in front of you.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You do matter. More than I’ve let myself admit.”

Your breath caught as he reached out, his hand brushing against yours.

“And you’re also right,” he continued, his gaze locking onto yours. “I am scared. Scared of what this means, what it could cost us.”

“But?” you prompted, your voice trembling.

“But I’m more scared of losing you,” he admitted, his voice raw.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, and before you could stop yourself, you reached up, your hand brushing against his cheek.

“Then don’t,” you whispered.

And just like that, the dam broke. Harvey leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and relief, weeks—months—of unspoken feelings finally spilling over.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and for the first time, you saw Harvey Specter without any walls, without any masks.

“Looks like we’re both in trouble,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

His answering smile was softer than you’d ever seen. “Yeah,” he said, his voice full of something you could only describe as hope. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

[waliminium]

Shattered Calm

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: gunshot injury, hospital scene, hurt/comfort, nothing explicit Word Count: 416 Summary: Harvey is going over a case file when he gets a call from the hospital about his girlfriend being injured in the line of duty. After hearing she’s been shot in the shoulder, he rushes to the hospital, trying to remain composed. When he finds her in her room, bandaged and recovering, Harvey struggles to hide his concern, even as you downplay the severity of the injury.

Harvey was in the middle of reviewing a case file when his phone vibrated on his desk. Without looking at the screen, he picked it up, his voice clipped.

“Harvey Specter.”

“Mr. Specter, this is Lenox Hill Hospital. I’m calling about [Your Name]. She’s been injured—shot in the shoulder—and brought in by ambulance.”

The pen in Harvey’s hand froze mid-note, falling onto the desk. “Shot?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “How bad is it?”

“She’s stable, but the wound required immediate attention. We’ve stopped the bleeding and are preparing her for further observation.”

Harvey’s free hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles white. “I’m on my way.”

“She’s in good hands—”

But Harvey had already ended the call, grabbing his coat and striding out of the office without a word to anyone.

The hospital doors slid open, and Harvey walked in, his expression controlled but tight. He approached the front desk, his tone calm but edged with urgency.

“Excuse me,” he said, offering the receptionist a polite nod. “I’m here for [Your Name]. She was brought in earlier with a gunshot wound to the shoulder.”

The receptionist looked up at him, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Are you family?”

Harvey didn’t hesitate. “I’m her boyfriend,” he said firmly, his voice steady and sure.

The receptionist’s demeanor softened slightly, and she quickly typed into her computer. “She’s in room 214, second floor. Take the elevator—”

“Thank you,” Harvey said, his tone sincere but brisk as he turned and headed for the elevator.

When Harvey reached the room, he paused briefly in the doorway, his breath catching at the sight of you sitting up in the hospital bed, a fresh bandage wrapped over your shoulder. Your expression shifted the moment you saw him—equal parts relief and guilt.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying to sound casual. “It looks worse than it is.”

Harvey stepped inside, his usual confident swagger muted. He moved closer, his eyes scanning every detail—the bandage, the IV, the strain in your expression.

“You got shot,” he said bluntly, his voice quieter than usual.

You offered a small smile. “It’s not the first time.”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, shaking his head. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, his hand finding yours. “Don’t downplay it.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “I’m okay, Harvey.”

His jaw worked for a moment, his composure fully back in place, though his grip didn’t ease. “You better be. Because I’m not letting this happen again.”

[waliminium]

Burned Bridges

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: angst, second-chance romance, romantic tension, forbidden romance Word Count: 1.2k Summary: After years apart, both are now rising stars at rival firms, and their professional paths inevitably cross during a high-stakes case. Their past remains a heavy presence between them, complicating their ability to work together. As they navigate the tension between their emotional connection and the demands of their careers, the line between professional and personal begins to blur. A/N: The text in italics is to show a flashback. Enjoy reading! :)

The glass walls of the conference room felt like they were closing in on you. You could almost hear the faint hum of the air conditioning, the quiet clink of pens being clicked, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the man sitting at the head of the table.

Harvey Specter. Still impossibly composed, his sharp suit catching the light just enough to reflect the confidence that made him a legend in the city. Your heart gave a little lurch as your eyes met his—eyes that, despite the years that had passed, still carried that same flicker of recognition, of something deeper. Something unspoken.

You turned your attention back to the case at hand, mentally shaking yourself. You couldn’t afford to lose focus. You were no longer that young, naïve law student with stars in her eyes. You were a seasoned lawyer now, fighting for your own spot in this unforgiving world.

But that didn’t mean you could pretend like Harvey wasn’t affecting you. The tension between you two was palpable, and the way he watched you out of the corner of his eye made it clear that he wasn’t unaffected either.

“Let’s get this over with,” Harvey said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. There was a slight edge to his tone, something you hadn’t heard from him in years. But it was all business now, and you were determined to keep it that way. No distractions.

“Let’s,” you replied, matching his terse tone. But your mind wasn’t on the case. It was back in law school, back to when you were both the future of the legal world.

The campus was buzzing with the energy of impending graduation, and you could feel the weight of the future pressing on you. The end of law school meant the beginning of everything, and everyone was scrambling to secure their futures. But there you were, sitting outside the library, beside Harvey, the man who had become both your closest confidant and your greatest complication.

You had always been driven, always pushing yourself to be the best. But sitting there with Harvey, you let the world around you blur for a moment, letting yourself just be. He was the perfect balance to your ambition—relaxed, self-assured, and somehow always able to make you forget about the pressure that came with your own drive.

“So, what’s your plan after graduation?” Harvey asked, his gaze never leaving the horizon.

“I’m gonna get in with the best firm I can find,” you replied, a little too eagerly. “You know how it is. You can’t waste any time.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re always so serious. Why don’t you relax for once?”

You gave him a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. “Relax? In this field? You’re crazy.”

Harvey grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “You’ve got a point. But what’s the point of being the best if you don’t know how to enjoy the ride?”

You smiled, but you didn’t answer right away. There was always something so effortless about Harvey. He had a way of making everything seem like it was in his control, including your heart.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of quiet conversation and laughter, but there was an underlying tension you couldn’t ignore. Neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew the truth. Your future wasn’t just about your career anymore. It was about the fragile balance between ambition and desire. And you both knew that crossing that line could destroy everything.

The time passed faster than you realized, and as graduation loomed ever closer, the reality of what was about to happen began to settle in. The excitement was still there, but it was tempered by an unsettling feeling in your gut.

The first few weeks after graduation were filled with excitement and anticipation. But soon enough, the thrill of landing your first big client started to wear off, and you found yourself distracted. Something had shifted between you and Harvey, and it wasn’t just the stress of your new jobs.

You had seen it before—the way he would pull back when things started to feel too real. And you hated that you could see it happening again.

You started pulling away too, telling yourself it was for the best. You both had promising careers ahead of you, and you couldn’t afford to let anything—especially feelings—get in the way. But every time you saw him, the ache in your chest grew stronger, like an unspoken longing that you couldn’t get rid of. You’d gotten too close, and now you were both paying the price.

The night it all came crashing down was like a storm that couldn’t be ignored. The two of you had spent hours poring over case files in the library, but when you looked up and caught his eye, something inside you snapped.

“Harvey,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, “why are you doing this?”

Harvey’s eyes were unreadable as he met your gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You’re pulling away from me,” you said, frustration seeping into your voice. “You’re acting like I’m not even here. Like what we had doesn’t matter.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his face taut with emotion. “It does matter,” he said quietly, but there was a sadness in his voice. “But we’re not the same people anymore. We’ve got different paths now, and we can’t keep pretending like we don’t.”

You shook your head, fighting back tears. “We can’t just pretend we never were something. We can’t pretend this doesn’t matter.”

Harvey closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. When he opened them again, there was a finality in his gaze. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do us.”

And just like that, he was gone. The silence between you was deafening. Your heart ached with every step he took, but you didn’t chase him. You couldn’t.

You hadn’t expected to see him again—not like this. When you were offered the position at the prestigious firm, you thought it was a dream come true. But what you didn’t expect was that the firm on the opposite side of your first big case would be none other than Pearson Hardman.

It wasn’t just the case that shocked you. It was him. The man you had tried so hard to forget.

The first time you saw him across the conference table, everything came rushing back. The years apart, the late nights, the whispered promises. But there was no room for that now. You were no longer two law students, hungry for success. You were competitors, fighting for everything you’d both worked for.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Harvey said, his voice calm, but there was something different in it now. A weight, a recognition that neither of you could ignore.

“Neither did I,” you replied, matching his calm exterior with one of your own. But your heart was racing, and you could see the faint tension in his shoulders. He hadn’t forgotten either.

The case dragged on for weeks, and every meeting only made the pull between you stronger. The subtle glances, the charged silences, the shared moments when you both knew you were walking the edge of something you couldn’t cross.

“You know we can’t do this,” you said one evening, your voice quiet, but thick with the weight of everything you had buried over the years.

“I know,” Harvey replied, his voice low. “But I don’t know if I can walk away again.”

[waliminium]

Echoes of the Past

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader Warnings: grief, loss, death, guilt, nothing explicit Word Count: 1.0k Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw finds himself caught between the pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future. Isolated by grief and the scars of fractured relationships, he faces moments of heartbreak and vulnerability that threaten to consume him. Yet, as he begins to face his fears and reconnect with those who matter most, Bradley discovers that even in the darkest moments, hope can take flight.

The piano keys in the corner of the room were silent. Dust had begun to settle on the edges, a quiet testament to the time that had passed since they were last touched. Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw sat on the worn bench, staring at the instrument but not daring to play. He couldn’t bring himself to. Not anymore.

The space felt colder without your laugh bouncing off the walls. Without the sound of your voice teasing him about the way he could never quite hit the high notes when you sang along. The house, once a haven, now felt like a shell of what it used to be—a reflection of him.

He hadn’t touched the piano since the day you left. Not because you’d walked away, but because life had stolen you from him too soon.

Bradley had always been the strong one, the dependable one. The one everyone leaned on when things got tough. But in the weeks since losing you, he realized that strength meant nothing when there was no one left to hold onto.

He wore the dog tags around his neck like armor, though they felt more like chains now. They clinked together softly as he moved through the empty house, a sound that had become both a comfort and a curse.

The first weeks after your death were a blur.

The accident wasn’t anyone’s fault, or so they said. A freak storm, slick roads, and a car that couldn’t stop in time. But logic didn’t matter when all he could see was the future he’d been planning vanish in the blink of an eye.

He hadn’t been there. That was the part that killed him the most. He’d been deployed, halfway across the world, while you were here. Alone. He’d missed the last phone call you ever made, the voicemail sitting on his phone like a ghost he couldn’t bear to listen to.

“Bradley,” Phoenix had said softly the day he returned, her eyes red-rimmed and full of a sadness she couldn’t hide. “You couldn’t have known.”

He didn’t answer her. What was there to say? He’d known the risks of his job, of his life, but he’d always believed he’d have more time.

Time.

It was a cruel thing. He spent every minute thinking about the moments he should’ve cherished more. The times he’d come home late from base, tired and distracted, when you’d stayed up waiting for him with a smile. The mornings you’d begged him to stay in bed just a little longer, and he’d laughed, saying there wasn’t time.

If he could go back, he’d give anything to freeze those moments, to hold on tighter.

The squad tried to pull him out of his spiral. Phoenix and Bob dropped by often, always under the guise of bringing food or checking in, but Bradley saw through it.

“Rooster, we’re worried about you,” Hangman had said bluntly one evening, his usual cocky tone softened. “You’re not yourself.”

“Maybe this is who I am now,” Bradley replied, his voice flat.

He hated the pity in their eyes. Hated the way they looked at him like he was broken because it made him realize they were right.

One night, months later, Bradley found himself sitting at the piano. His hands hovered over the keys, trembling. He hadn’t touched it since the day he’d played for you, the day you’d twirled around the living room, laughing and telling him he was your favorite musician, even if he only knew a handful of songs.

His fingers pressed down, a single note breaking the silence. It echoed through the room, sharp and hollow, and it was enough to make him stop.

He stood abruptly, shoving the bench back with too much force, and walked outside into the night.

The stars were bright, scattered across the sky like a map of everything he couldn’t reach. You’d always loved the stars. You’d make him sit with you on the porch, pointing out constellations he pretended to know just so he could listen to you talk.

“Why’d you have to go?” he whispered into the night, his voice breaking.

But the stars didn’t answer.

It wasn’t until he stumbled across your notebook that something shifted.

He found it tucked away in the drawer of your bedside table, half-hidden beneath a pile of old receipts and pens. The pages were filled with your handwriting, little thoughts and observations you’d jotted down over the years.

Halfway through, he found a list:

Things I Love About Bradley.

It wasn’t long—just a handful of bullet points—but it stopped him in his tracks.

The way he sings in the shower, even when he forgets the words.

How he always makes sure my car has a full tank of gas.

The way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing that matters.

How he never gives up, no matter what.

By the time he reached the last point, his vision blurred with tears.

The way he loves, fiercely and fully.

He sat there for what felt like hours, the notebook clutched in his hands. For the first time since losing you, he felt something other than pain. It wasn’t joy, not yet. But it was a flicker of warmth, a reminder of who he was when he was with you.

The next morning, Bradley walked to the piano. He sat down, his hands steady this time, and began to play. The notes were hesitant at first, broken and imperfect, but they filled the house with something it hadn’t held in months.

And as the music rose, Bradley felt a small, fragile hope take root in his chest.

You were gone, but you weren’t lost. Not entirely. You lived in the pages of your notebook, in the memories etched into every corner of the house, and in the love he carried with him.

He’d never stop missing you. But for the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could keep going.

And as the final note lingered in the air, Bradley looked out at the stars and whispered, “Thank you.”

Because he knew you’d never really left. You were still there, in the music, in the light, and in the quiet strength he’d carry for the rest of his life.

[waliminium]

Masterlist

Suits: Harvey Specter

All That's Left Behind Tailored Encounters Lines in the SandBurned Bridges Shattered Calm Where We Collide Fire We Can't Control Lead the Dance, Break the Rules Caught in Gravity Shadows of a Heart Unclaimed Off Limits Not Yours, Not Yet Yours, If You'll Have Me

Top Gun Maverick: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Echoes of the Past

Requests:

Down for the court - Harvey Specter x Reader

[waliminium]

All That’s Left Behind

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, emotional strain/conflict Word Count: 2.3k Summary: After you walk away, Harvey is left to face the emptiness of his life without you. Months later, a chance encounter compels him to reach out, leading to a cautious journey of rebuilding trust. Slowly, Harvey learns to show up and fight for the relationship he once took for granted. Though the road is fraught with pain and uncertainty, hope emerges as you both take a chance on each other again.

The rain came down in sheets, slicking the glass walls of Harvey Specter’s penthouse and softening the city’s sharp lights into a blur. He sat in the dark, staring out at Manhattan, a glass of scotch dangling loosely in his hand.

It was almost laughable how much his life mirrored the storm outside. Chaotic. Relentless.

For the first time in years, the one thing Harvey couldn’t control wasn’t a hostile client, a legal loophole, or some rival firm.

It was you.

You were the only thing that had ever made him want to stop running, to stop being Harvey Specter, closer of deals and breaker of hearts. But even with you, he couldn’t stop the one thing he feared most. Losing.

You had been gone for three months, and the hole you left behind seemed to widen with every passing day.

The penthouse felt cavernous without you. He hated it. He hated the emptiness, the silence that seemed to swallow him whole the second he walked through the door.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch the things you left behind—your scarf draped over the back of the chair, the half-empty bottle of vanilla hand lotion on the bathroom counter. And your mug. God, that damn mug.

It sat on the kitchen counter, chipped and worn but untouched since the morning you left. It was a small thing, insignificant, really. But to Harvey, it was everything.

Some days, he’d find himself standing there, staring at it, his hand hovering over the handle as if touching it might bring you back. But he never could.

The fight—or rather, the end—was etched into his memory.

It hadn’t been loud or dramatic. No screaming, no accusations hurled like weapons. That wasn’t your style.

Instead, it was quiet. Painful in its simplicity.

You had come home late, your shoulders slumped with exhaustion as you dropped your bag onto the couch.

“You’re late,” he’d said without looking up from the case files spread across the dining table.

You didn’t answer right away. When he glanced up, you were standing there, staring at him with an expression that made his stomach twist.

“We need to talk,” you’d said softly, your voice steady but carrying a weight that made his chest tighten.

He leaned back in his chair, gesturing for you to sit, but you stayed where you were, arms crossed as though bracing yourself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said.

At first, he thought he’d misheard you. “Do what?”

“This. Us. Whatever it is, we're pretending this is.”

His heart stopped, but he forced himself to stay calm. “What are you talking about?”

You laughed, but it was hollow, and it cut deeper than any words could. “I’ve been trying, Harvey. I’ve been trying to make this work, to be okay with how you live your life. But I’m tired. I can’t keep being the last thing on your list of priorities.”

“That’s not fair,” he said sharply, standing now, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You knew what my life was like when we started this.”

You nodded, tears pooling in your eyes but refusing to fall. “I did. But I didn’t know how much it would hurt.”

“Damn it, I love you—”

“No, you don’t.”

The words hit him like a slap.

You wiped at your eyes, your voice trembling. “You don’t love me. You love the idea of me. Of having someone to come home to when it’s convenient. But love? Love means showing up, Harvey. And you never did.”

He wanted to argue, to tell you that you were wrong, but the words stuck in his throat, suffocated by the truth.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you repeated, softer this time, and it was then that he realized you weren’t angry. You were broken.

When you turned to leave, he didn’t stop you. He told himself it was because he needed time to think, to calm down, but deep down, he knew it was because he didn’t know how to fight for you.

The first few days after you left, Harvey convinced himself you’d come back.

You always came back. After every argument, every tense moment, you’d find your way back to him. You’d walk through the door with that soft smile, telling him it was okay, that you could work through it.

But this time, you didn’t.

He tried calling once. Twice. But your voicemail picked up each time, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave a message. What could he say? That he missed you? That he was sorry? It felt hollow, insufficient.

He threw himself into work instead, taking on case after case, staying at the firm late into the night to avoid going home. But even the thrill of winning began to lose its edge.

Mike noticed first, his usual smirk replaced by concern.

“You look like crap, Harvey,” he said one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of his office.

“Thanks for the observation,” Harvey replied, not looking up from his desk.

“Seriously. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

Mike sighed, his brows furrowing. “You know, whatever it is, you can—”

“I don’t need a therapy session,” Harvey snapped, cutting him off. “I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t fine.

One sleepless night, he found himself sitting on the floor of his living room, surrounded by the remnants of the life you left behind.

The scarf you’d forgotten in the backseat of his car. The book you’d been halfway through, a folded page marking your place. And your notes.

You’d always had a habit of leaving little notes around the penthouse—on the bathroom mirror, in his briefcase, tucked into his suit pockets. They were silly things, mostly. Jokes, reminders, affirmations.

But they were you.

He pulled one out of the drawer, the paper crinkled and worn from years of being shuffled around.

“Don’t forget to smile today. It looks good on you.”

His chest ached as he stared at the familiar handwriting, the words blurring as his eyes burned.

Time passed, though Harvey barely noticed.

He stopped going out to drink with the associates. Stopped caring about his reputation as the untouchable, unshakable Harvey Specter. He still won his cases—of course, he did—but the fire that once drove him had dulled to embers.

Jessica tried once to talk to him, her sharp eyes softening with something akin to pity.

“Whatever’s going on with you, you need to deal with it,” she said. “Before it deals with you.”

Her words haunted him, echoing in the back of his mind as he sat alone in his office, the city sprawling out below.

It wasn’t until he saw you again, by chance, that something inside him shifted.

You were outside a coffee shop, laughing with a friend, your smile radiant even from across the street. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

You looked happy.

He wanted to turn around, to walk away and let you live your life without him. But then you looked up, your gaze meeting his, and the world seemed to stop.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you nodded—a small, almost imperceptible gesture—and turned back to your friend.

Harvey stood there long after you disappeared into the crowd, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name.

That night, he wrote you a letter.

It wasn’t long, but it was honest. Raw.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For not being what you needed, for not saying what I should have said. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know.”

He left it on your doorstep the next morning, his heart pounding as he walked away.

Days turned into weeks, and Harvey told himself he’d done all he could.

But one evening, as he sat in his office, his phone buzzed with a text.

“We need to talk.”

For the first time in months, Harvey felt something close to hope.

The text was brief, no more than three words.

We need to talk.

Harvey had stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, rereading the message until the words blurred.

It wasn’t a declaration, a reunion, or even an olive branch. It was neutral, cautious. But it was enough to make his heart pound.

He didn’t reply immediately. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, second-guessing every possible response. Should he ask when? Where? Or would even that make him seem too eager?

Finally, he settled on something simple. Name the time and place.

The café was unassuming, a quiet little corner of the city that Harvey had passed by a hundred times but never entered. He got there ten minutes early, an uncharacteristic move for a man who was usually fashionably late to everything.

He didn’t know what to expect. Would you come in angry, demanding answers he didn’t know how to give? Would you be indifferent, already halfway to moving on?

When you finally walked in, he felt the air shift.

You looked… different. Not in the way you dressed or carried yourself, but in the subtle confidence you exude. You didn’t seem like the same person who had stood in his penthouse months ago, broken and pleading.

And yet, to him, you were still everything.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady but guarded as you slid into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” he replied, his hands clasped tightly on the table to keep them from shaking.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, filled with everything unsaid and unresolved.

Finally, you broke it.

“I got your letter.”

He nodded, his throat tightening. “I meant every word.”

“I know.” You took a breath, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “That’s why I’m here.”

The conversation was careful at first, like stepping across a frozen lake and waiting for the ice to crack.

You asked about work, and he gave you vague answers, not wanting to burden you with the truth: that everything had felt meaningless without you.

He asked about your life, and you told him you’d been keeping busy. New projects, new people. You didn’t say much more, and he didn’t push.

But as the minutes passed, the tension began to thaw.

“I didn’t think you’d respond,” he admitted, his voice low.

“I almost didn’t,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “But then I realized I couldn’t keep running from this. From us.”

The word us lingered in the air, fragile and bittersweet.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you began to rebuild, piece by cautious piece.

It started with texts. Short, casual exchanges that slowly grew longer as the walls between you came down. Harvey found himself waiting for your messages, checking his phone more often than he cared to admit.

Then came the phone calls. They were awkward at first, filled with pauses and the occasional stumble over words. But as time went on, they became easier, more natural.

And finally, there were the dinners.

The first one was at a small Italian restaurant you loved, one he’d never gone to without you.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again,” he admitted over a glass of wine.

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. “I didn’t. Not at first. But I realized something: I miss you, Harvey. Even when I hate you, I miss you.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you did. And if this is going to work, we can’t just go back to the way things were.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his tone almost desperate.

“Show up,” you said simply. “Be present. Be here, with me, instead of always five steps ahead or stuck in your own head.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “I can do that.” But promises weren’t enough, and you both knew it.

There were setbacks, moments where old patterns threatened to resurface.

One night, after a particularly long day at the firm, Harvey found himself canceling dinner with you at the last minute. The second the words left his mouth, regret settled in his chest like a stone, but he knew there was no taking them back.

Your silence on the other end of the line was worse than any angry response. Finally, you said, “It’s okay, Harvey. I understand.”

But your tone—it wasn’t bitter, and it wasn’t sharp. It was tired, resigned in a way that twisted something deep inside him.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, though he doubted his own words even as he spoke them.

“Sure,” you replied quietly, and then the call ended.

Slowly, he did.

He started leaving the office earlier, something that shocked even Donna. He’d show up at your place with takeout and an exhausted smile, but he was there.

You began to see glimpses of the Harvey you’d fallen in love with—the one who made you laugh, who challenged you, who made you feel like the most important person in the world when he actually let his guard down.

And Harvey began to see you too, not just as someone he wanted to keep but as someone he needed to fight for.

One night, months after you’d first agreed to see him again, he found himself sitting on your couch, his arm draped around your shoulders as you leaned into him.

“I never told you why I wrote that letter,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing against yours.

You tilted your head to look at him. “Why did you?”

He hesitated, his throat tightening. “Because I realized I’d rather risk you rejecting me than spend another day knowing I didn’t try.”

You didn’t respond right away, your gaze searching his.

“I don’t know if I can forgive everything,” you admitted softly. “Not yet.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said, his voice steady. “I just want the chance to earn it.”

For the first time in months, you smiled—small, hesitant, but real.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s try.”

And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like forever, Harvey felt something he hadn’t dared to hope for:

Peace.

[waliminium]

Tailored Encounters

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: implied age gap, fluff, light romantic tension, no major triggers Word count: 659 Summary: As the daughter of Frank the tailor, you’ve always been surrounded by impeccable suits and high-end clients. But none quite as captivating as Harvey Specter. When he starts making regular visits for minor suit "adjustments," you begin to notice a pattern: it’s not just the clothes he’s interested in.

The bell above the door chimed softly, and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. You’d recognize that confident stride anywhere.

 “Harvey,” you greeted, glancing up from the workbench where you were adjusting a hem. “Back so soon?” 

“Frank in?” he asked, his tone casual.

 You gestured toward the back room. “He’s on a delivery run. You’re early, though. The suit isn’t ready until Thursday.”

 “Actually…” Harvey adjusted his already-perfect tie, his gaze sweeping the shop. “I think the cuffs on my last suit might be a little tight. Thought I’d stop by and have them checked.”

 You raised an eyebrow. “Tight cuffs?” You’d measured that suit down to the millimeter, and you knew it was flawless. 

“Yeah,” he replied, with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Snug.” 

“Uh-huh.” You fought back a grin, setting your tools down. “I’ll get the measuring tape.” 

He didn’t seem particularly concerned about the supposed cuff issue. Instead, he wandered around the shop, casually running a finger along the fabric bolts stacked neatly on the shelves. He lingered by the counter, watching as you prepared. 

“You’re good at this,” he said suddenly. 

You blinked, startled. “At tailoring?” 

“At everything,” he clarified, with a glint of something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes.

 The next day, the bell jingled again, and there he was—Harvey Specter, sharp as ever, holding an accessory box in his hand. 

“Forgot to pick up a tie pin yesterday,” he announced, setting the box on the counter. 

You gave him a look. “You don’t usually forget things.” 

He shrugged. “Even I’m not perfect.”

 You opened the box to inspect the pin. “This is the one you ordered last week. What’s wrong with it?” 

“Nothing.” He leaned against the counter, his smirk firmly in place. “But maybe you can suggest something better.”

 You rolled your eyes but humored him, pulling out a few alternatives. As you showed them, he asked, “So, are you always here, or do you take time off?” 

You tilted your head at the sudden change in topic. “Depends. Why?”

 “Just curious.” 

Later that evening, as you were locking up, Harvey strolled in again, no excuses this time. “You’re late,” you teased, holding the door open for him. 

“Had a meeting,” he replied smoothly. “I was hoping to catch you.” 

You let him in, flicking the lights back on. “Don’t tell me—another cuff issue?”

 “No,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.” 

You paused, caught off-guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?” 

“Because you’re always busy in here,” he said, gesturing to the shop. “Do you ever take time for yourself?” 

You shrugged, fiddling with a stray thread on your sleeve. “It’s a family business. There’s always something to do.” 

“Maybe you should let someone else handle it for a night.” 

“And do what instead?” 

He smiled, but this time it wasn’t his usual smug grin. It was softer, warmer. “Let me take you out to dinner.” 

The next day, he returned—because of course he did. This time, there were no pretenses, no accessories to inspect. 

“I meant what I said last night,” he began, leaning on the counter. “Dinner. Just you and me.”

You crossed your arms, feigning skepticism. “Is this another one of your deals? Butter up the tailor’s daughter for a discount?” 

He chuckled. “No deals. Just an honest invitation.” 

You hesitated, trying to ignore the way your heart raced. “I don’t know, Harvey. You seem like the kind of guy who always has an angle.”

 “Not this time,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll even let you pick the place. No strings attached.” You studied him for a moment, searching for the catch, but all you saw was sincerity. Finally, you relented.

 “Fine,” you said. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his grin widening.

[waliminium]

Lines in the Sand

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: mild jealousy/possessiveness, fluff, light romantic tension, established relationship Word count: 365 Summary: At a medical convention, you—an accomplished doctor—find yourself the focus of an overly confident colleague’s attention. Harvey makes his presence known with a subtle yet possessive gesture, reminding the doctor where the boundaries lie.

The hotel ballroom buzzed with chatter, a sea of professionals mingling over champagne. You’d been invited to the medical convention as a guest speaker, your keynote on cutting-edge surgical techniques earning you more than a few admiring glances throughout the evening.

Harvey had tagged along—well, insisted on coming—under the pretense of "support," though you suspected it had more to do with his reluctance to let you out of his sight for too long.

You were mid-conversation with a fellow doctor, a tall, overly charming man whose laughter lingered just a bit too long after every comment you made. He leaned in, his hand brushing your arm as he spoke.

“And here I thought doctors were all work and no play. You’re proving me wrong,” the man said, his smile a touch too smug.

Before you could respond, a warm hand settled on your waist, firm and unyielding. The unmistakable scent of Harvey’s cologne filled the space beside you as he stepped into the conversation.

“Funny,” Harvey said smoothly, his tone cordial but edged with steel, “I thought surgeons were supposed to have steady hands, not clumsy ones.” His gaze flicked pointedly to where the man’s fingers had just been.

The doctor chuckled awkwardly, stepping back slightly. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Harvey Specter,” he said, his arm tightening ever so slightly around your waist. “I’m with her.”

The statement hung in the air, subtle but unmistakable. The man’s confidence wavered, and he muttered something about needing a refill before disappearing into the crowd.

You turned your head, raising an eyebrow at Harvey. “Was that necessary?”

He smirked, the picture of nonchalance. “Just making sure he knew where the boundaries were.”

“Jealous, are we?” you teased, though the glint in your eye suggested you weren’t entirely displeased.

“Not jealous,” he replied, his voice dropping low as he leaned closer. “Just territorial.”

Your cheeks warmed as he guided you toward the bar, his hand never leaving your waist. The rest of the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the electric hum of his presence beside you. “Next time,” Harvey murmured, his lips brushing close to your ear, “remind them you’re taken. Or I’ll have to do it for you.”