the mashup you didnt need.
It took me two days to find this again and I’m never letting go
ohmy god. its the smash mouth fugue i’ve been looking for it for so long GOD DAMNIT IT’S HERE AND IT’S BEAUTIFUL
My computer is going in a time out because the documents file keeps freezing I DONT HAVR TIME FOR THIS
WHY DO PEOPLE CALL IT FUCK, MARRY, KILL WHEN THEY COULD CALL IT BED, WED, BEHEAD
Or, as King Henry VIII likes to call it, a productive evening.
d’you think the avengers ever play a game where they try to push steve’s buttons and get him all riled up and patriotic?
tony casually throws it into a conversation like “oh yeah I don’t vote” and steve trails off mid-sentence and gapes for a second before he starts in on the…
Ellen what the fuck happened in 1998
ellen degeneres came out in 1997
yeah but ellen what happened in 2014
ellen page came out in 2014
me during movies where 99% of the population of earth dies
me during movies where a dog dies
Harvey Specter waking up
Harvey reaches out, frowns when his hand meets cooling sheets instead of warm skin. His hand searches around for a moment, finding nothing, before his eyes flutter open and he shifts, leaning his weight onto his left forearm as he looks into the bathroom. Mike’s not there either.
But he was, and recently, judging by the fogged up mirror and the woodsy smell of Harvey’s shampoo lingering in the warm, moist air coming out of the bathroom. Mike’s clothes are still strewn across the bedroom floor from the early hours of the morning, when he stripped down out of his suit and into some of Harvey’s clothes, practically collapsing into bed, curling himself around his pillow.
Harvey had been a little slower, a little more precise, and when he finally slipped into bed he could only manage to keep his eyes open long enough to pull Mike to him, to situate them just the way Harvey wanted.
A shuffling outside the bedroom door calls Harvey’s attention, and he looks up to see Mike walking into the bedroom in Harvey’s borrowed clothes, tray full of food balanced in his arms. Harvey sits up against the headboard, gives Mike a sleepy, content smile as Mike sets the tray down on top of the duvet and sits down, cross-legged, his knee pressed against Harvey’s thigh.
Mike holds out a mug of coffee to him. “I made breakfast.”
"So I see."
Mike gives him a little smile, picks up a piece of melon with his fingers and pops it into his mouth as Harvey takes a sip of his coffee, made just the way Mike knows he likes it. They eat, and at some point Harvey turns on MLB network, and watches the recaps from the games the night before. Mike pulls out the Times crossword and a pen and starts filling in answers between bites of toast and sips of juice, and Harvey lets his hand rest on Mike’s thigh, idly strokes, and tries to ignore the crumbs Mike is probably leaving in the bed that became theirs the minute Mike spent his first night there.
Harvey’s hand travels to Mike’s other thigh, slips up his hip and curls around, stroking the bare skin exposed by a t-shirt that’s ridden up. Mike makes a little noise of contentment Harvey’s pretty sure is subconscious, and Harvey leans in, kisses him. Mike meets his eyes, smiles, chases the kiss with one of his own before looking back down at his crossword.
Harvey’s so fucking happy, and he can’t believe he waited so long for this, was so unsure about what his life with Mike could be like. Not when he knows what he knows now.
Mike hums, looks up. Smiles at him, soft and sure.
Mike’s eyebrows draw together. “What?”
Mike looks down, laughs, says, “Thanks,” and scribbles in the word.
Harvey watches him, affection threatening to brim over when Mike wrinkles his nose, taps the paper with the cap of the pen. This is what Harvey wants, every morning.
Even if it means crumbs in the bed.