bluedauntless10
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The thing about Harvey Specter was that he didn’t do anything halfway. He didn’t half-win, he didn’t half-argue, and apparently—Mike learned on a Wednesday night after a particularly brutal week of litigation—he didn’t half-sing either.
The bar was packed, buzzing with the kind of reckless energy that only came after lawyers celebrated making an opposing counsel cry in open court. Harvey wasn’t exactly the karaoke type—he was more the sip scotch in a corner while smirking type—but Mike, two and a half beers past reasonable judgment, had decided this was the night.
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Or, Mike dares Harvey to sing karaoke, learns that he can actually sing, and it spirals from there. -
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Harvey had been eighteen the first time he learned that wanting something did not mean it would be given to him the way he needed.
He’d been stupidly optimistic about it, which was the part that embarrassed him later. Not the heat. Not the shaking hands or the ache under his skin or the way his body seemed to hum too loudly for his own good. It was the optimism that felt unforgivable in hindsight. He’d told himself that dating an alpha would be easier. Cleaner. That there was a script for this kind of thing and if he followed it just loosely enough, he could bend it without breaking it.
The alpha’s name barely registered in his memory anymore. Dark hair, broad shoulders, a smile that had looked reassuring at first. He’d liked that Harvey talked over him sometimes, liked the sharp edge of Harvey’s confidence, liked the way Harvey didn’t soften himself to be palatable. He’d said so, even. Said it was hot. Said it was different.
Harvey had believed him.
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Or, Harvey has never been the traditional omega. Luckily for him, Mike’s never been the traditional alpha either. -
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Harvey had been halfway through a glass of Macallan when his phone rang.
It wasn’t late enough to be unreasonable, but it was late enough that anyone calling him should know better. He stared at the screen for a beat, irritation already lining up behind his eyes, then answered without looking away from the city lights beyond his windows.
"What," he said.
There was noise on the other end. A hum, voices layered over each other, the scrape of something metal dragged along concrete. A pause. Then a familiar voice, thin and strained.
"Hey, Harvey. So. This is gonna sound worse than it is."
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Or, Harvey was ready for a quiet night—but then Mike decided to throw a punch. -
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Mike had always believed there was a sweet spot to drinking. A narrow, shimmering window where everything felt possible, where jokes landed harder, where the night cracked open and let you step through it. He had missed that window by several miles and was now tumbling down a hill with no brakes, Trevor laughing too loud beside him, the bar lights smearing into something soft and unreal.
"This," Trevor said, slinging an arm around Mike’s shoulders, "is what freedom tastes like."
Freedom tasted like cheap whiskey and regret and the vague sense that his phone was vibrating even though it wasn’t. Mike squinted at his glass, then at Trevor, then at the blonde across the bar who had definitely been smiling at him five minutes ago and was now very clearly talking to someone else.
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Or, while spending time with Trevor, Mike remembers Harvey's warning, and it leads him home. -
The Party, The Rink, And The Kiss by TrashyPandas (BlueJayFan) for bronx_bound
Fandoms: Suits (US TV 2011)
25 Dec 2025
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Somehow, in the stretch between a quiet Tuesday morning and the sun setting on a frosty Thursday, Mike had convinced Donna that the office needed a Christmas party. Donna, in turn, had convinced Jessica. And once Jessica approved anything, Harvey found himself with exactly zero escape routes.
So here he was. Surrounded by twinkling lights, evergreen garlands, too-loud carols, and a punch bowl full of eggnog that made him question the state of his own taste buds. All of it felt like a coordinated attack on his personal comfort. Donna insisted it was "festive," but Harvey suspected she got a kick out of watching him tolerate things he had explicitly said he wanted no part of.
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Or, Harvey attends a party, spends time on ice, and kisses his associate—exactly in this order