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Mike had the ring in his pocket for three weeks. Three. Weeks. Which in regular human time felt like about three decades.
Long enough for him to memorize the exact weight of it, how it dug into his thigh when he sat wrong, how it felt like a goddamn secret grenade ticking away in his jacket lining.
Long enough for him to imagine all the ways he could screw this up. And yet, not long enough for him to figure out the perfect way to propose to Harvey Specter.
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Or, Mike tried to propose to Harvey. No one warned him that it was going to be this hardBookmarked by ciatftos
11 Feb 2026
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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.Bookmarked by ciatftos
11 Feb 2026
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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.Bookmarked by ciatftos
11 Feb 2026
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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.Bookmarked by ciatftos
11 Feb 2026
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Harvey was mid-sentence, explaining to a room full of associates why their brilliant idea was actually a lawsuit waiting to happen, when he felt it. That subtle warmth under the skin, the faint shift in the air that told him his biology had decided to put in a request. Not a heat. Not yet. Just the pre-heat, the warning shot. His pheromones edged into something richer, deeper, like polished wood and expensive whiskey left open too long.
He didn’t react. He never did. Harvey Specter did not fidget. He did not flush. He powered through the rest of the meeting, dismissed everyone with a look, and turned—
—to find Mike Ross with his nose approximately three inches from Harvey’s jaw.
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Or, Mike is totally normal about Harvey's scent.Bookmarked by ciatftos
10 Feb 2026