1 - 20 of 129 Works by TrashyPandas (BlueJayFan)
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But then Harvey had leaned in, close enough that Mike could smell him—cologne and power and something distinctly Harvey—and murmured something about skipping dessert and heading to his place instead.
Mike had been halfway out of the booth before Harvey even finished the sentence.
Now he was bent over the back of Harvey's stupidly expensive leather couch, his legs shaking, his hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, trying to remember what the hell led to this moment besides bad decisions and Harvey Specter’s goddamn stamina.
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Or, once they start, they just can't stop. -
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The HR rep, a soft-voiced woman with the name tag Karen, sat beside Jessica with a legal pad and a cup of peppermint tea.
Mike paused in the doorway, suddenly aware of how out of place he must look, how guilty he probably looked despite having no idea what he was walking into. Karen offered him a gentle smile that felt all wrong.
"Mike, please. Have a seat."
He sat. Jessica gave him a small nod that didn’t comfort him at all.
"Mike," Karen began, her voice warm in a way that made him think of guidance counselors and pamphlets about coping with stress. "We asked you here because some concerns have been raised. About you. And about Harvey Specter."
"What concerns?"
Karen inhaled. "There have been rumors circulating. About Mr. Specter possibly... pressuring you. Into a relationship of a sexual nature."
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Or, a rumor threatens everything Harvey built. -
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Mike had told himself, over and over again, that this wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t. He just wanted to know. People asked questions all the time about their bosses. Some people wanted to know if Harvey was secretly married, or if he slept in a bed made of thousand-dollar bills. Mike just wanted to know if Harvey—well, if Harvey was into men. Purely for informational purposes. Totally platonic. Completely.
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Or, Mike has a simple question and it leads to him thinking about what he actually wants. -
What Happens In The File Room... by TrashyPandas (BlueJayFan)
Fandoms: Suits (US TV 2011)
01 Dec 2025
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It was two a.m. when Harvey’s judgment finally gave out.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t been heading toward disaster all night. Donna had warned him with that look—the one that said "you’re cruising for a lawsuit, Harvey," without opening her mouth. He’d ignored her. He’d ignored the first four fingers of scotch. He’d ignored the second text from Michelle, or maybe it was Melinda, or Maria. Whatever. The point is, he meant to send that picture to someone who already knew what they were getting into. Who’d seen it before. Who’d appreciate it, even if only with a bored emoji or a late-night come-through.
Instead, Harvey Specter, senior goddamn partner, sent a dick pic to Mike goddamn Ross.
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Or, after Harvey sends a dick pic to the wrong person, he gets much more than he bargained for. -
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So he took the photo. Not his best work, not his worst. Dim lighting, but enough to show the curve of it, a teasing glimpse of thigh. A knowing smirk ghosted on his lips when he hit send.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then a reply.
Interesting way to say hello.
Mike frowned.
That wasn’t how "Zach" usually texted. "Zach" sent emojis. Eggplants. Droplets. Tongues. Not sentences.
He blinked at the screen, finger hovering over the message thread. Something itched in his brain, slow and sharp.
He tapped the contact at the top.
The screen loaded.
Harvey Specter.
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Or, Mike accidentally sends a dick pic to the wrong person. -
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His reflection showed faintly in the glass of the window. He barely recognized the look in his own eyes.
This was the moment where people usually made a decision. Stay or go. Fight or avoid. But Harvey didn’t move. He didn’t choose. He just sat there because every option hurt and none of them changed the truth he kept circling around.
Mike was cheating on him. And Harvey could survive betrayal. He had survived worse. But surviving wasn’t the part that scared him. What scared him was the thought that he had been foolish enough to believe he could build something good without watching it fall apart.
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Or, a misunderstanding cracks open the parts of Harvey’s past he never wanted to look at again. -
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Harvey was fine. Completely fine. Perfectly, absolutely, unshakably fine.
So what if, for the last three days, every time he looked at Mike, his brain short-circuited into a montage of crimes against fashion? That wasn’t emotional turmoil. That was self-preservation. Any decent human being would feel physically assaulted by the combination of a cheap suit, a skinny tie, and cufflinks that looked like they’d been dug out of a thrift-store bargain bin.
It wasn’t a crush. It was... aesthetic pain.
That’s what Harvey kept repeating to himself as he watched Mike walk into the office Monday morning wearing… that.
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Or, Harvey decides that Mike needs better clothes. For totally platonic reasons, of course.Series
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He took another small sip. It was barely more than a taste, because he knew if he let himself drink the way he used to on nights like this, he’d never get a single word typed out. He tried to think of something clever, something sharp, something that sounded like him. But vows were not depositions or closing arguments. You could not win vows. You had to feel them. And Harvey, closer to fifty than thirty and seasoned in every kind of battle except the ones that required speaking aloud what lived in the quietest part of his chest, was finding that feeling them was one thing, putting them down on a blank document another.
The cursor blinked again. Still no words.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a slow breath. The kind that threatened to crumble into a frustrated groan if he let it.
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Or, Harvey makes some progress on his vows. -
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Mike woke with a violent oof, all the air punching out of his lungs as a full-grown corporate attorney collapsed across his chest. His eyes flew open, disoriented, heart pounding, adrenaline firing like he was being attacked by a very well-dressed bear.
Then he smelled it.
Whiskey. Scotch. Something aged longer than some countries. And Harvey’s cologne—stronger than usual, more of a fog than a scent, like Harvey had marinated in it before leaving wherever he’d been.
Mike blinked. "Harvey?"
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Or, Harvey turns the tables for once.Series
- Part 11 of Mike Ross: Nocturnal
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Harvey's eyes drifted across the aisle, landing on a rack of mismatched costume pieces. Capes. Masks. Wigs. A few random skirts, probably misplaced. He scanned the mess, mildly entertained, until something tugged at him. Not in any way he could name. Just a faint pull.
It was stupid.
He blamed boredom.
And Mike being occupied.
And maybe the way the store’s fluorescent lights made everything feel a little unreal.
Before he could think better of it, Harvey reached for a simple black skirt.
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Or, Harvey discovers herself. -
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"Hey—hey, hey," Harvey rasped, instantly upright, grabbing Mike’s wrists to still them. "What’s wrong? What happened? Did someone die? What is it?"
Mike shook his head violently, tears dripping onto the sheets. "It’s so sad," he choked out.
"What’s sad? You’re gonna have to narrow it down."
"The dinosaurs."
Harvey stared at him. "The... dinosaurs?"
Mike nodded, sniffing hard, voice cracking like a teenager’s. "They didn’t deserve that, Harvey."
Harvey blinked a few times, trying to reboot his brain. "I’m sorry, I feel like I missed about sixty million years of context here."
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Or, another night of Mike being a menace to Harvey's sleep schedule, this time with dinosaurs.Series
- Part 10 of Mike Ross: Nocturnal
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The thing was, Mike knew Harvey and Donna weren’t exactly subtle people. When they wanted something, they usually just said it.
So when the two of them told him, plainly, that their roles—Daddy, Mommy—were on the table if he wanted them to be, Mike had nodded. He’d said something cool, something like, "Yeah, okay, no problem, whatever works for you guys," and he’d meant it.
Except then he’d gone home that night and laid awake staring at the ceiling, the words "Daddy" and "Mommy" circling in his head like they had nowhere better to be.
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Or, Mike starts a relationship with Harvey and Donna, and gets much more than he bargained for.Series
- Part 1 of Mommy & Daddy Universe
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"That’s right." Harvey sipped his drink, enjoying the way the burn settled on his tongue. "If I were working right now, you wouldn’t know it. You’d just think I was completely focused on you."
She tilted her head. "Are you? Focused on me?"
He was supposed to say yes. Instead, something in his chest gave the smallest, traitorous twist. The wrong face flickered in his head, the wrong eyes, blue and earnest and always, somehow, there. He shoved it down, smirked wider, and leaned in. "Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?"
Julia held his gaze like she didn’t quite buy it, then let it go, swirling the wine in her glass. Harvey went to finish his own drink, but when the liquor hit his stomach, it felt heavier than it should have.
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Or, Harvey was drugged during a date, and Mike is there to help him pick up the pieces. -
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Harvey's hair was a little messed up, his tie was probably somewhere in the living room from the previous night, and he was still inside Mike, both of them caught in the hazy afterglow that made everything seem temporarily perfect.
Mike’s hand rested on Harvey’s back, fingers tracing slow, distracted patterns that felt half-affectionate, half-sarcastic.
Then Mike’s lips twitched, that grin sneaking up before Harvey even realized it. "Forty-five," he said.
Harvey, mid-exhale, froze. "What?"
"The score," Mike said, voice slightly rough, as if he was commenting on the weather. "Out of a hundred. Forty-five."
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Or, Mike finds a new hobby, and Harvey slowly loses his mind. -
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AITA for getting annoyed that my associate knows all my coffee orders and remembered my dry cleaning?
u/_DefinitelyNotHarveyOkay. So, this is going to sound insane, but bear with me.
I’m (40M) a senior partner at a high-profile law firm in New York. (Not saying which one. Let’s just say if you’ve ever watched a smug multi-millionaire get even richer, we were probably involved.) I’ve got an associate. Let’s call him Mike.
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Or, through a series of AITA posts, Harvey—very slowly and reluctantly—realises that he has feelings for Mike. -
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It had started with a dream. Nothing coherent, just flashes of heat and hands and the kind of pressure that made him squirm even now, fully awake and achingly aware that he was wet. Not figuratively. Actually wet.
He poked Harvey’s shoulder.
Nothing.
Mike tried again, this time with more intent, fingers jabbing just under his shoulder blade. "Harvey," he whispered.
Still nothing. Not even a grunt.
Frustration curled in his chest, followed by a wave of stubbornness. He shoved at Harvey’s back more firmly. "Harvey."
The older man groaned, but didn’t move. "What," came the growl, muffled by the pillow.
"I’m horny," Mike said bluntly.
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Or, Mike woke up horny and immediately made it Harvey's problem -
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Mike had always thought anniversaries were supposed to be perfect. Not in the rom-com way—roses and violins and couples gazing at each other across candlelit tables like they were the last two people on Earth—but perfect in the sense of effort.
Except, naturally, the universe had other plans.
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Or, exactly what it says on the tin—Marvey styled Flufftober 2025 -
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Harvey didn’t believe in ghosts, but the penthouse felt haunted. Not by anything spectral, not by flickering lights or cold drafts, but by Mike—his scent, his laughter, the rhythm of his voice caught in the walls. Even silence here carried the shape of him. The apartment wasn’t just empty; it was after. After everything. After Mike.
He stood at the doorway to the bedroom, a banker’s box open on the bed, the lid already warped from being handled too much. The morning light came in thin, reluctant stripes through half-drawn blinds. He hadn’t opened them fully in weeks. The place didn’t deserve sunlight anymore. Not without Mike’s shadow moving through it.
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Or, no one warned Harvey how hard the after would be. -
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His hand, resting lightly on Harvey’s thigh, had been there for a while now. It started as balance, and now — now it felt like something else. Harvey’s leg was solid under his palm, heat seeping through wool slacks, and Mike’s thumb shifted, just slightly, brushing back and forth in an unconscious rhythm.
Harvey inhaled, slow and deep, like he’d noticed.
Mike froze.
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Or, an exploration of Harvey and Mike's relationship through sex and kinks.(Can be read as smutty one-shots or one continuous story about their growing relationship)
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Harvey had always prided himself on control.
Control over a room, control over his words, control over the kind of whiskey he poured into his glass at the end of a long day. Tonight, though, control had a fuzzy outline. His penthouse smelled like oak and leather and a faint burn of scotch, the city spread out beneath the windows like a promise he didn’t have to keep.
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Or, Mike says that Harvey looks like a bad kisser, Harvey defends his honor.