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Ever since you had shown your pretty little face in Pelican Town, Harvey had yearned for you. Yearned in the way a fish yearns for water, the way drought longs for rain, the way lungs long for breath. He kept everyone’s appointments on a calendar in the office, but yours, he kept on the calendar in his bedroom, counting down the days until he was sure to see you again. He made sure to go to Pierre’s the first day of every season, waking up early to ensure he’d see you there — you were always there the minute he unlocked the door, anyway. He checked the mines every night, making sure you weren’t hurt. If you were, he’d haul you back to the office, and take care of you until you woke.
He loved you. Loved you with the kind of love that men fought wars over. Loved you with a love so strong, it made him breathless; victim to its waves as it pummeled him, over and over and over, against the shore. It was a love that drowned him, so that all he could do was lie in it, and learn to breathe water instead of air.
He thought that you had begun to sense it. Thought that you had noticed the way he always went above and beyond for you, a hand on the back to guide you into the office, free top-notch elixirs, his bedroom door unlocked. Thought that you might have caught some of his lingering glances, his passing stares, the flush in his cheeks when he saw you.
Clearly, you must not have.
Because now, you were sitting in the saloon, and you weren’t across from Harvey — no, you were across from Shane. Across from a man with booze on his breath, with a tab he struggled to pay, with a job no one else wanted. Across from a man who was slurring your name when he said it. Sure, you could have just been getting a drink with a friend. Harvey thought that at first. But he watched — watched the way your touches lingered on Shane’s arm, the way your eyes flickered to his lips, the way you ever-so-subtly leaned in when he spoke.
Harvey’s grip tightened on his mug.
It was so like you, he realized, to want things that weren’t good for you. Why else would you spend so much time, so much energy, in the mines, just because someone asked you to? Why would you bust your ass for Lewis, of all people, fixing his damned Community Center? Why would you build a house for Pam, when she wouldn’t even get off her ass to clean it?
You liked to fix things. He knew that. But, for the first time, he wondered if you needed fixing.
He stewed on it. Stewed on it at the bar that night; when he went back to his apartment, with his dick in his fist, thinking about all the ways he would fix you; when you came in for your check-up a week later; and all the times in between.
He waited, of course, to see if you would realize that Shane was wrong. But a season passed, and still, you sat with him at the Saloon. Your touches got longer, your faces got closer, until one evening, you kissed him. Harvey could have burst into flames; couldn’t you see the mistake you were making? Couldn’t you taste it on his lips? Feel it in his hair that your hand was knotted in? Didn’t you know that if Shane was right for you, he would be kissing you softer, be holding you tighter, and that it wouldn’t be in a damned bar?
You pulled back from the kiss, and Harvey’s eyes bore holes into you. He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t watch you crash and burn, sending yourself down a path of heartbreak and destruction. He got up from the bar and walked over to your table, plastering on his best customer-service-smile.
“Good evening, Shane! Good evening, farmer!” He winked playfully at you.
Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment as the moment went from warm, hot even, to the cold of a sterile room.
“Hi, Harvey,” you said, a polite smile on your face despite the interruption.
“What’dya need, doc?” Shane asked, abrasive as ever.
“You’re looking a little pale, I think—sorry, I just saw you when I was walking back from the bathroom and noticed. You should come into the office some time and let me check it out,” Harvey explained. He was lying, of course. But he had to get Shane away from you; had to right this wrong before it went too far.
Shane’s cheeks pinked. “Can’t we talk about this later?” He said sheepishly, looking to the side.
“I’d prefer to set a time now,” Harvey insisted. “You never know what it could be.”
“You know… you know I don’t have the money for that,” Shane said, quieter. As if he didn’t want you to hear it. Harvey’s stomach flipped, and he had to fight to keep from scrunching his nose up in disgust. This was what you were willing to put up with?
“Oh, Shane, it’s okay,” you said, rubbing his arm soothingly. “I’ll take care of the copay. You need to be healthy.”
Shane grunted. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Come into the office,” Harvey said, a final sort of conviction to his intonation. “Free of charge. Just let me run some tests.”
Shane grumbled something under his breath. “Fine,” he said. “I guess.. Wednesday? Afternoon?”
“Sure!” Harvey smiled. Gotcha.
;
What followed Shane’s impromptu appointment was a year of incredible hardship. Harvey gave Shane a CT scan, and found stage 4 liver cancer that had already metastasized to his kidneys. It seemed, then, that your relationship was over before you even started it. After three seasons—three seasons of staying by Shane, of supporting Shane, of loving Shane—he became distant, worrying that his bad luck, the sort of cosmic debt that had followed him all his life, would rub off on you. He stopped answering your calls. Locked his door when he saw you coming. Effectively disappeared from your life, telling himself it was what was best.
He went on chemo, especially since Harvey so generously did it all for free. Of course, he got sick, like cancer patients always did: hair falling out, weakness, fatigue, loss of appetite, all of the above. But he kept taking the pills, never thinking to ask what they were, because why would Harvey lie? After all, he just wanted to help, and he was being so generous.
Shane died two seasons later. Harvey said his body just couldn’t handle the illness. There was nothing anyone could have done.
Everyone took his word for it, especially you, who, above all, were so thankful for all the time and resources that Harvey had poured into the love you never had. So, who better to seek out when you were hurting?
Late one winter night, with the fire crackling in the living room the only noise as the world slept, the emptiness of your farmhouse got…thicker than usual. Suffocating. The other side of the bed was cold. You were alone. Truly alone. You sat in it for a bit, that loneliness you’d become so used to. It crept in your stomach, up your throat. You rolled over and pulled the covers up, doing your best to hide from the feeling. It didn’t work. It never did.
You got out of bed, put your shoes and coat on. Your legs were moving. You didn’t know where. You just had to get away from it, from that thick, crippling loneliness that held you hostage, that clamped around your wrists and took the breath from your chest.
The next time you looked up and saw where you were, you had already lifted your arm and knocked on Harvey’s door. You waited a few minutes, then checked your watch — 11 PM. Of course he wouldn’t be up. You turned on your heel to walk back home. There was nowhere you could go to get away from this ghost.
“Y/n?” Harvey said, opening the door. You turned back to look at him, eyes wide. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Your vision blurred with tears that streaked cold down your cheeks. You ran — really ran — into his arms, hugging him, taking him by surprise, and what a lovely surprise it was. Your tears soaked into his shirt as you cried. He pulled you into the office and closed the door, then held you, and his arms hid you. Hid you from the loneliness, the ghosts, the cold.
(Would you have ran to him if you knew?)
Your body wracked with sobs. “He’s gone,” you cried, gasping for air, “really gone. Everything—everything we could have had, gone. I’m alone, Harvey. Alone, with all that land. Alone. I can’t get away from it.”
He pet your hair. “Shh,” he soothed, “you’re not alone. I’m here.”
He hoped those words would carry everything he couldn’t say: I love you. Love me back. I love you so much. I would do anything for you. I would live for you. I would die for you.
I would kill for you.
;
Somehow, you got to the couch. Somehow, you got on his lap. Somehow, you stopped crying. You looked up at him.
“Thank you,” you said, voice raw and scratchy from the cold. “I’m sorry for coming so—so late.” You sniffled.
Harvey smiled warmly, innocently, at you. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll take care of you,” he said.
You nodded and forced a smile. “Always do.”
He kept stroking your hair gently, holding you like you’d break. He could hardly believe this was real, but he knew it would happen eventually. He was too smart for his plan not to have worked. After all, he’d been planting seeds this whole time: bringing you into the office for mental support (that he wasn’t licensed to do), taking you out to lunch (though it was extremely unprofessional), buying you one drink too many every Friday night, just so you’d learn to lean on him when he walked you home. You were like a dog for him — all he had to do was ring the bell.
“Stay, tonight,” he whispered. You looked up at him, doe-eyed wide.
“I couldn’t,” you said. “I can’t. Would be unprofessional.”
He laughed, then. Really, deeply laughed. It confused you.
“Unprofessional? You’re worried about that?” He looked down at you, gripping your chin gently, lifting it up to make you look at him. He said your name warmly, even if a bit condescendingly—you were sure he didn’t mean it that way.
“We’re past unprofessional. We’ve gone out. I’ve carried you back from the mines, bandaged you up, no matter where you were hurt at.” That particular comment made your cheeks go pink.
“You’re sitting in my lap, right now! You think that’s professional?” His smile faded as he looked down at you, giving way to a soft look in his eyes. Your eyebrows raised slightly. Your pulse quickened.
He could tell. He had you. Hook, line, and sinker. You were his.
“Stay,” he said, one last time, reeling you in and pulling you out of the water.
You nodded. He smiled, and it looked warm. He felt warm. Warm, nurturing, homely against you.
And just like that, you had signed your love, your life, away.
;
You started staying with Harvey more often. If nothing else, to get away from the suffocating silence of your own home. You started bringing your cat over. He acted like he didn’t mind it knocking the model airplanes off his shelves.
Just acted, though. He really, really minded.
The more time you spent with him, the more perfect you realized he was. Almost as if he had been crafted for you. Your schedules fit together far better than you remembered, but he told you they had always been like that, and why would he lie?
He laughed at all your jokes. Held you when you cried. You could tell the proximity between the two of you was growing shorter. He started getting more bold — obvious elevator looks, folding your laundry when you didn’t ask (even your underwear), keeping your favorite spirits in the house. He even took a few days off to help you on the farm every season. Truly, you wondered how you hadn’t noticed before.
One Friday night, the two of you were sitting on his couch watching a movie. His back was on one of the armrests, with you sitting between his legs as he played idly with your hair. It was a romance movie, of course — one of your favorite genres. A new movie had just come out on ZuFlix — you hadn’t heard much about it, but it was good.
Until that scene. You know, that scene, when the love interest had his head between her legs and you caught a glimpse of her back arching off the bed. Your breath caught in your throat and heat crept up your neck, stopping at your face, creating a shade you could feel the pinkness of.
It only got deeper when Harvey leaned forward to whisper in your ear: “how do you think she feels?”
“W-what? Harvey..” you laughed awkwardly, sure that he had misspoken.
“She likes that,” he continued. “Would you?”
You turned your head to look at him, and, once again, your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were hooded, almost predatory, and you audibly gulped. “I-I…”
He smirked at you, his dangerous gaze softening only slightly. “I think you would,” he said, leaning in so closely that you could feel the warmth from his mouth fanning your ear. “I think you’d like to know what it feels like to have my mouth on your cunt. I think you’d like to know what it feels like to have my fingers stuffed inside you. I think you’d like to know what it feels like to cum on my cock.”
Your eyes widened. “Harvey,” you whispered, finding that it was the only word you could conjure up. You must be dreaming, you thought; there was no way he was saying that to you.
But then, he kissed your neck, and you knew it was real. Knew from the buzzing in your veins, knew from the electrifying feeling of his tongue on your skin as he sucked a bruise into your neck.
Mine, Harvey thought. God, he had waited so long for this moment. And really, he was taking quite a risk — his claws were sunk into you, yes, but his grip could be firmer. But he couldn’t help it, really, with you seated so sweetly between his legs, the cutest little blush on your cheeks.
“I can show you,” he said, losing himself in his fantasies of you. Fantasies that could be real.
“I can show you how good I can make you feel.” His hands started wandering. You exhaled sharply, a huff of hot air through open lips, staring at him.
“You’re lonely, Y/n. You don’t have to be. Let me take that loneliness away.”
You closed your eyes as his hand traveled up your shirt, open palms mapping your bare waist.
“Take it,” you whispered, quiet and unsure. Could he really take that feeling away?
“Take it,” you said again. “Please, Harvey. I don’t—I can’t… please.
“Shh,” he soothed, placing a gentle kiss to your jawline. “I will, dear. I will.”
He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss. You shut your eyes, and, for a moment, imagined it was Shane. When all you saw in your mind was the image of his lifeless body, drained from the ‘chemotherapy,’ you shut the thought from your mind. You laced your hands in Harvey’s hair, reminding yourself of who he was. He pulled his glasses off and set them on the end table then turned you around so you were facing him. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his arms held you close, hand gently stroking your back as he kissed you, once, twice, then you stopped counting.
His tongue slipped into your mouth. Your mind started to focus on him—on the feel of his soft hands that traveled up your shirt, then pulled it off, on the feel of his soft lips that kissed you, on the sound of his breathing as it picked up. He pulled away, looking at you with hooded, glassy eyes. He muttered your name in a sultry way under his breath.
“I’ve wanted you… for so long,” he confessed. You stared at him, surprised. You rested a hand over his heart.
“I can’t believe I have you. Can’t believe I get to see you like this. Fuck, you’re beautiful. More beautiful than I imagined. Haven’t even seen all of you yet.”
The color of your cheeks darkened. “Then… keep looking,” you said, meeting his gaze.
He smirked, throwing his own shirt over his head and pushing you backwards on the couch then crawling over you. “Oh, I will.” He unbuttoned your bra, throwing it on the ground.
“Fuck.” He stared at your breasts, bringing one hand up to knead one gently. He trailed kisses from your mouth, down your neck, to your other nipple, hastily taking it in his mouth. You whined, and he drank the noise up. How many times he had laid in bed, fisting his cock, imagining this very scene. But, God, his thoughts didn’t do you justice.
You made everything worth it.
You gripped his shoulders, closing your eyes and whimpering. He hummed, pleased, and kept suckling on your sensitive tits, his hand sliding down from your nipple to unbutton your jeans and slide into your underwear. He groaned when he slid his fingers through your slick, spreading it all over your wanting cunt.
“So wet,” he tsked against your skin. “All horny for your doctor, huh, honey?”
You whimpered, embarrassed. Spare me. Leave my dignity intact.
Harvey had no such plan. No, he had worked so hard to have you, he wanted to — no, he deserved to ruin you.
He stilled his fingers. “I’m not going to give you anything unless you tell me what you want,” he chided. You looked at him, eyes pleading. “Come on, dearest. Just a few words.”
You took a deep breath, though it was shaky. “Please, Harvey,” you whined out. He rolled his hips up into yours at the noise, and you could feel his erection through his sweatpants. “Need you.”
His fingers dipped into your heat, leaving your head falling back with a thick moan. “See? That was all it took,” he said, that smirk still on his face.
He began to thrust them in and out, curling them on the intake. You held on tightly to him, letting out the cutest little whines and whimpers as he fucked your tight, wet, hot pussy with his fingers.
“You like that? Hm?”
You nodded, embarrassed at the squelching noises coming from between your legs, but helpless to stop them.
“Going dumb already, and you don’t even have my cock yet.”
You nodded again, then yelped when his thumb started abusing your swollen little clit. You teetered closer to the edge of your pleasure, hips gently rocking in his grip, and then…he stopped.
“Ah-ah-ah. You don’t think I’d let you come so quick when you’ve made me wait so long for you, do you? Stupid little girl.”
You felt truly sad at his words, the degradation hitting deeply in your vulnerable state. Selfish. Stupid. You didn’t deserve to cum. Your body, though, still wanted to.
You looked up at him with glassy eyes as he kicked off his pants and boxers. His dick leaked pearly precum at the top, and was thin, but long, curving up. Your breathing grew a bit quicker.
“Gonna fuck you even dumber, baby girl. Waited so fucking long for this pussy. Worked so hard.”
You nodded. “So good to me, Harvey. Taking good care of me.” Even though I don’t deserve it.
“That’s right, baby. I do take good care of you, don’t I? Took a while, you didn’t know what was good for you, silly little thing. But I’ve got you. Dr. Harvey knows what’s best. I’d do anything for you, doll.”
If only you knew. But you didn’t have time to think, to understand the gravity of his words, when he slid inside you. You squinted your eyes shut and pushed your head back into the couch, whining under him. He huffed out a breathless laugh as he started fucking you, small groans mixed in here and there.
He grabbed your legs and wrapped them around his waist, smacking the bottom of your ass as his hips picked up the pace. “Fuuuuck,” he growled. “So fucking tight. You feel so good. Never gonna be on another cock but mine, right? I’ve earned it. Earned it, my dumb little slut!” He punctuated his statement by grabbing your throat, only slightly constricting your airflow. He kissed you, then, messily, as if he didn’t know what to do with you — couldn’t comprehend you in your entirety. His. He couldn’t believe it.
He moved his hand from your throat to your clit, throwing it back and forth under his fingers, and sucked a hickey onto your neck. You whined, loud, embarrassment and shame long forgotten. “Harvey!” You chanted, once, twice, three times, as he speared you on his cock.
“Gonna cum? Gonna cum on my dick, baby? Can’t even fucking tell me, dumb little girl. Fuck. Fucking love you,” he said, knowing you were too gone to listen.
You tightened around him, creaming on his length. He growled in your ear, chanting your name as he filled you up, breeding your dumb, naive little cunt.
He dropped his head, chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. “Love you,” he said again, then looked back up at you. His eyes were sweet, warm, the Harvey you were used to — a stark contrast from the Harvey that just fucked you, used you, abused your poor little pussy like it was a toy.
“I… Harvey, I—“
“No,” he said, pressing a finger to your lips. “Just say it back. You owe it to me.”
You looked to the side, tears welling in your eyes. Your mind flooded with thoughts and your body flooded with hormones as your post-orgasm haze crowded your brain.
“I… I love you too,” you said, and part of you believed it. You could love Harvey. He was right, you owed it to him. He was right for you.
He grinned, kissing you on the lips. “Good girl.
I guess you finally learned what’s good for you.”