•┈••✦ Speed Dating, My Ass ✦••┈•
Pairing: Mike Ross x f!bartender!reader Warnings/Tags: lots and lots of fluff, slow-burn, kissing, Harvey... being Harvey, flustered Mike, mild flirting Word Count: 4.2K Author Note: Hi everyone! I'm officially back :D I'm so happy to be posting again and out of the writers block that I've had over the past few months. I hope to make you guys proud and happy with the new content I'll be posting :) Sorry this one is so long, but I just had a lot of ideas for this story so bear with me <3 Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!
Mike Ross does not want to be here.
In fact, he makes it abundantly clear while walking down the New York sidewalk in a wrinkled button-down and his coat half-buttoned because he "didn't have time" and Harvey responds, "Yeah, Mike, because moping takes up so much of your schedule."
Mike almost turns around. Harvey grabs his elbow. And that's how he ends up in front of the sign.
SPEED DATING - ONE NIGHT ONLY! Below it, in handwritten marker: "Find Love or at Least Free Drinks."
"You brought me to hell," Mike mutters.
Harvey adjusts his tie and smooths his coat. "Don't be dramatic, that's Louis' department. You're getting out. You're socializing. You're touching grass."
"This is a bar."
"Liquid grass." Harvey shrugs. "Close enough."
Mike glares. "You forced me. You practically dragged me."
"If I dragged you, you'd have scuffed those hideous shoes you insist on wearing. Now go inside."
Before Mike can argue, Harvey pushes the door open and ushers him in with a palm on his back.
And that's when Mike sees you.
___
You, behind the bar.
You're wiping down the counter with a rag casually slung over your shoulder, hair tied back in a way that looks like you did it without thinking but somehow looks perfect. Your expression is calm. focused. A little bored, maybe. Until you look up.
Your eyes meet Mike's for a single second.
Mike forgets everything. His name. Harvey's existence. The concept of breathing.
Harvey snaps his fingers next to his ear. "Mike? Are you concussed?"
"I... uh... what?"
"There it is," Harvey smirks. "The Mike Ross brain-crash."
"I don't- I wasn't- Shut up."
But Harvey has already caught it. He sees the way Mike's gaze gravitates back to you like you're magnetic. Supernova-level gravitational pull.
"Uh-huh," Harvey mutters. "This just got interesting."
Mike tries to compose himself, clear his throat, straighten his shirt- only for Harvey to swat his hands away.
"You look fine. No amount of grooming is going to fix the fact you look like a golden retriever who hasn't been brushed."
Mike groans. "I hate you."
"No, you don't. You're welcome. Now go sign in for your dates." Harvey gives him a shove toward the little table covered in name tags.
But Mike? Mike takes a half-step toward the bar instead.
Harvey grabs the back of his jacket. "You can flirt with the bartender after you suffer through your scheduled humiliation."
___
The First Few Dates
Mike sits down at a small two-person table. The place is littered with them. twinkle lights. Soft indie music. Buzzing chatter.
Date #1 sits down. Her name is Kayla. She's enthusiastic. Very enthusiastic.
"So my favorite hobby is making miniature historical dioramas out of recycled cardboard!"
Mike blinks. "That's... impressive."
"It's a very meditative craft," she says. "Last month I recreated the Battle of Hasting using only cereal boxes."
"That's- yeah. That's.. wow."
But his eyes drift behind her. To the bar. To you.
You're adding a garnish to a drink, lips slightly pursed in concentration, and Mike stares like he's trying to solve a physics equation by observation alone.
The bell rings. Date #1 rotates. Date #2 sits. She giggles before she even speaks.
"Oh my god, you're cute."
Mike forces a smile. "Thanks."
"I'm doing a juice cleanse right now, so I can't drink at all."
There is a long pause.
"...Cool."
"My friends say I'm a Scorpio sun with Taurus rising so I'm, like, complicated but loveable!"
Mike's brain is already drifting. You're laughing at something someone said at the other end of the bar. Your laugh is bright, warm- His chest actually warms in response.
Date #2: "Are you listening?"
Mike: "Yep! Taurus sun."
"-Taurus rising."
"Oh. Right."
He takes a long sip of water. He thinks about getting a real drink. He thinks about who would serve it to him.
Date #3 sits down. She talks too fast. Date #4 reads him her poetry.
Date #5 keeps playing with her hair and saying "You look nervous Mike. You don't have to be nervous around me."
Date #6 says, "I'm looking for someone financially stable and emotionally mature.'
Harvey, from across the room, sees Mike's dead expression and laughs into the rim of his whiskey glass.
___
Finally, he can't take it anymore.
He pushes back from Date #7 with a polite smile. "Uh, sorry, I- I just need another drink."
"Ooh, what are you having?"
"Whatever cures misery."
He walks away before she can answer. And he walks straight to you.
You greet him with that small, polite bartender smile.
"What can I get you?"
Mike opens his mouth- nothing comes out.
You tilt your head, waiting.
He blinks twice. "Uh... ginger ale."
You raise one brow. "You came all the way over here looking like you were contemplating the meaning of your whole life for a ginger ale?"
Mike flushes. "I... yeah, I guess."
You smile. Really smile, this time. "Okay. Ginger ale it is."
You pour it, sliding the glass toward him with an easy motion. Mike takes it like it's a blessing.
"You're new here, right?" you ask, wiping down a spill near your elbow. "I don't usually see you at these events."
"I'm being forced," he blurts.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, uh- my boss thinks I need to 'get out more', which is code for 'stop feeling sorry for myself.'"
"That's a very specific code."
"Yeah, Harvey's not subtle."
You laugh. It's like a small sun going off.
"So, how's it going?" you ask. "Meeting your future wife at table six?"
"Oh, absolutely not. I think table six wants to sacrifice me to her crystal collection."
You laugh. Mike grins like he's won gold.
You lean your elbows on the bar, interest in your gaze. "And you? What do you look for at a speed dating event?"
Mike nearly says you. His throat tightens. His brain tells him to play it cool.
"My standards are low tonight," he says instead. "I'll settle for someone who doesn't think Mercury being in retrograde is the cause of her car breaking down."
"Wow. Tough crowd."
"You have no idea."
He takes a sip of ginger ale, then glances at your nametag- only to realize you're not wearing one.
"I'm Mike," he offers.
You smile. "I know. They have your name on the sign-in sheet."
"I feel violated."
You laugh again. "I'm Y/N."
Mike repeats your name under his breath, like he's trying to memorize it.
___
While Mike sips his drink like it's liquid courage, you're mixing a cocktail for someone else when you say, offhand:
"I actually like working these events. Speed dating is basically inefficient data sorting in real time."
Mike freezes. He looks up sharply. "Inefficient... what now?"
You shrug casually. "It's like trying to run a matching algorithm with incomplete data sets. You can't optimize for compatibility if each unit only interacts for three minutes."
Mike's jaw drops. You're smart. Not 'I read my horoscope' smart. Not 'I like crime podcasts' smart.
Actually smart.
"You... like algorithms?" he asks, stunned.
"I was a math major," you say. "Well, technically applied mathematics."
Mike actually forgets to breathe.
You laugh at his expression. "What? You look like I just told you I juggle chainsaws."
"No, no, it's just- math? Really?"
"What, you think bartenders can't like math?"
"No! No, that's now what I- I mean, I love math. I competed in mathletes. I still read probability books for fun. I literally alphabetize my stress by calculating all possible outcomes until I have a crisis."
You stare at him. A slow smile spreads across your lips.
"That... actually makes sense for you," you say softly.
Mike melts.
___
Harvey appears behind Mike like a demon summoned upon his shoulder.
"What's going on here?" he asks, eyes flicking between the two of you.
"Harvey, this is-"
"Y/N," you fill in, giving a polite nod.
Harvey leans on the bar. "Pleasure. I'm Mike's babysitter."
Mike groans. "Can you please go away."
"Nope." Harvey takes a sip of Mike's ginger ale. "I'm supervising."
You give Mike a sympathetic look. "He treats you like you're twelve."
"He thinks I am."
"I don't think you are," Harvey replies. "I simply recognize that without adult supervision, you'd probably sign up for a pyramid scheme."
You cover your mouth, laughing quietly.
Harvey smirks at the sight. "Oh, so this is why he keeps coming back to the bar."
Mike's face goes red.
Harvey smirks in your direction, "he hasn't made it through a single full date without glancing in this direction."
You glance at Mike, soft amusement in your eyes. "Not even one?"
"No," Mike admits. "But I'm really enjoying this ginger ale."
"Uh-huh," you say, leaning your chin on your hand. "Totally the ginger ale."
Mike swallows.
Harvey claps him on the shoulder. "Alright, Romeo. Back to the tables. Don't worry, she'll still be here when you need another excuse."
Mike sighs. Deeply. He gives you an apologetic, reluctant smile.
You smile back. Warm and soft.
"Go," you murmur. "I'll be here."
___
Mike tries. He really does.
But every girl seems duller now. Not their fault- but they're not you.
Date #8 keeps calling him "Mikey." Date #9 asks him if he believes in soul vibrations. Date #10 says she only dates men over six feet tall- then awkwardly says "But I guess you have... other qualities?"
Mike just stands up and walks to the bar again.
Harvey doesn't even try to stop him this time.
You look up, trying not to laugh. "Emergency ginger ale?"
"Something stronger."
You bite your lip. "How strong?"
"Make me forget table ten.'
You grin and reach for the whiskey. As you pour, you ask, "So... do you actually want to meet someone tonight?"
Mike hesitates. His heart answers faster than his mouth.
"No," he admits softly. "I... don't think so. My boss just worries too much."
"About your social life?"
"About me," Mike says quietly. "Which is embarrassing."
You soften. "Does he have a good reason?"
Mike looks down at his hands. "I've had a rough year."
You nod slowly. You don't pry. You don't make assumptions. You just look at him with this gentle understanding in your eyes that makes Mike want to spill every secret he's ever had.
He clears his throat. "Anyway. He thought this would help."
"Has it?"
Mike meets your eyes. "Yeah," he says. "Actually."
You blink. "Oh?"
"Yeah." He smiles a small, crooked smile. "I met someone interesting."
You freeze for a moment, surprised. Then your lips curve in a slow, shy smile.
"Oh," you murmur. "Well... that's good."
Mike blushes and takes a sip of whiskey.
___
This continues. Date, bar. Date, bar. Date, bar.
Eventually, he stops pretending. He just sits at the bar for longer stretches while Harvey half-heartedly waves him back.
After his third whiskey, he leans on the counter, chin on his hand.
"Okay," he says, "tell me something nerdy."
You laugh. "Nerdy?"
"Yes. Impress me with your math powers."
You roll your eyes playfully, thinking. "Fine. You know the Collatz conjecture?"
Mike's eyes light up so brightly it's almost embarrassing. "Are- are you serious"
"Yeah."
"Nobody just brings that up in conversation."
"I do," you say. "If they're cute enough."
Mike nearly dies on the spot.
Harvey, across the room, sees this and shakes his head.
___
By the time the speed dating event is winding down, Mike is perched on a barstool like it's home. Half-tipsy, full smitten, cheeks flushed, eyes soft.
You're wiping down glasses, and he's watching you like you're the only real person in the room.
Harvey approaches, coat over his arm.
"Well," Harvey says, "you didn't meet your future wife, but you did meet your future restraining order."
Mike doesn't even react. He's still staring at you.
Harvey shakes his head. "Kid. You're pathetic. Let's go."
Mike finally looks away, reluctantly. "I- uh- I should go," he says to you.
You smile, leaning forward. "Come back sometime."
That one sentence hits him like a truck. He swallows. Smiles. Soft. Real. Nervous.
"I will."
He steps away. Then- he turns back. "One more thing," he says, voice quiet.
"Yeah?" you ask.
Mike's heart thunders. "I'm... really glad I came tonight."
You blink, shy but warm. "Me too."
___
Three days. It has been three full days since the speed dating fiasco, and Mike Ross has not stopped thinking about you for even a fraction of a second.
He's supposed to be working. Supposed to be drafting a contract. Supposed to be listening while Harvey explains a strategy.
But no.
His brain is doing exactly one thing: Replaying the way you said Come Back sometime like an invitation wrapped in a smile.
And it's destroying him.
Harvey notices around hour three of Mike staring blankly at a legal brief. "What's wrong with you?" Harvey snaps, snapping a pen cap loudly. Mike flinches. "Nothing."
"You're sighing like a window."
"I'm fine, Harvey."
"You're useless," Harvey decides. "Catatonic. Distracted. It's pathetic."
Mike slumps forward. "I'm not catatonic. I'm just- busy."
"You're thinking about the bartender."
Mike freezes. Harvey smirks.
"Oh god," Harvey says slowly. "You are."
"I'm not-"
"You're in love with a woman you spoke to for thirty minutes, Mike. This is new, even for you."
Mike covers his face with both hands. "Please stop talking."
Harvey stands, grabs his coat, and points at Mike with courtroom authority. "Get up."
Mike looks up. "What?"
"We're going."
"Where?"
Harvey smirks. "Where else? The bar."
Mike's brain crashes like a poorly coded app. "Absolutely not."
"Absolutely yes."
"No. No, Harvey. I'm not- I'm not ready! I don't even know what I'm going to say!"
"You're going to ask her out."
Mike makes a strangled noise. "I can't just- what if she's not even working today?"
"Then you buy a drink and cry in the corner while I make fun of you."
"That's not comforting."
"Wasn't meant to be."
Harvey snaps his fingers. "Let's go, Romeo."
___
Harvey walks confidently through the Manhattan streets. Mike trails behind like a terrified toddler.
"I'm sweating," Mike mutters. "I'm literally sweating. Is that normal? Am I having a heart attack?"
"Christ." Harvey doesn't even look at him. "Pull yourself together. You've almost been to prison, Mike. Prison."
"This is worse! What if she doesn't remember me?"
"She remembers you."
"You don't know that."
"You tried to tip all the money in your wallet. She remembers you."
Mike groans loudly. Harvey says nothing, because he knows the groan is acceptance.
___
When Harvey pushes open the door, the bar is quieter than the speed dating night- warm lighting, soft music, mostly regulars.
Mike steps inside and immediately feels his heart in his throat.
He spots you instantly.
You're behind the bar, hair swept back, reading something between orders. Calm. Pretty. Totally unaware that Mike Ross is currently dying.
Harvey elbows him forward. "Go."
"I can't."
"You will."
But Mike is frozen, staring.
You look up. Your eyes find him- and your face lights up with recognition.
Mike genuinely thinks his knees almost give out.
You grin. "Well, look who it is."
Mike lets out a small, pathetic, sigh.
You walk over, towel slung over your shoulder.
"Back for more ginger ale?" you tease.
Harvey lets out a laugh behind him.
Mike's brain sparks. "I- yes. No. I mean- maybe? I don't know. Um."
You laugh softly. "Don't worry. I make all the nervous ones ginger ale. House policy."
Mike wants to sink into the floor.
Harvey grins like a proud parent. "I'll be supervising from over there," he announces dramatically. He sits at a booth with the face of a man who is way too smug.
Mike whispers, "I hate him."
You smile. "You two are hilarious."
Mike beams tragically. "Yeah. Hilarious."
___
"So," you say warmly, leaning on the counter, "rough day?"
"No," Mike blurts. "I'm just here. Because. Things."
You blink.
He quickly clears his throat. "I mean- yeah. Rough day." He gestures vaguely. "Law stuff."
"Mhm," you hum, amused. "Well, I can make something stronger than ginger ale if today was that kind of day."
"Please don't, I can't embarrass myself in front of you again."
You smirk. "You weren't that embarrassing."
"I was very embarrassing."
"You were cute."
___
From across the room, Harvey whistles sharply. "Are you asking for her number or planning to die of cowardice?"
You look down at Mike with a raised brow. "Number?" you echo.
Mike gives Harvey a death glare. He turns back to you, panicked. "I- he- we-"
You laugh. "It's okay. You can breathe."
Mike tries to breathe. Tries again. Fails.
Harvey stands and starts walking toward you both, hands in pockets, smirking.
"Oh god," Mike whispers. "Abort. Abort."
Harvey arrives behind him. "So! Y/N, is it? Mike here has something to ask you."
"Harvey, I swear to-"
You look amused. "Yeah?"
Mike blinks rapidly. His brain is screaming. His heart is screaming louder. And then-
You lean forward slightly, eyes warm. "Let me guess," you say softly. "You came back because you wanted to see me again?"
Mike stops breathing.
Harvey's eyebrows shoot up.
Mike nods. Minutely. Honestly. "...Yeah," he whispers.
Your smile grows slowly. Genuine. You reach under the counter, grab a napkin, click a pen, and start writing.
Mike stares.
Then you slide the napkin over to him.
Your name. Your number. A tiny sketch of a math symbol beside it - a cute, nerdy little touch just for him.
"My number," you say. "Since you look like you're about to pass out if you try asking for it."
Mike stares at the napkin like it's a holy artifact. "I- really?"
"Really." You smile. "I was hoping you'd come back."
Mike makes a soft choking noise that Harvey will absolutely mock him for later.
Harvey claps him on the back. "See? Easy. Now say thank you like a human being."
Mike turns to you, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, voice soft: "Thank you. Seriously."
You grin. "Well. Now you have no excuse not to call."
"No excuse," Mike repeats. "None."
___
"So," Harvey starts, "are we done here? He got the number; he can go cry in his cubicle now."
You laugh. Mike groans, then stands, still staring at the napkin like it might disappear.
You lean forward, lowering your voice. "Call me tonight," you say. "If you want."
Mike's heart stops. "I want."
Harvey mutters, "Oh my god, he's whipped."
Mike doesn't deny it. He lets Harvey drag him out of the bar by the elbow, but he keeps looking back at you until the door closes.
___
The second the door shuts, Mike grabs Harvey's arm.
"She gave me her number."
"Yes."
"She gave me her number."
"I was there."
"Harvey. Harvey. Harvey. I like her. I like her."
"No shit. Congratulations on feeling basic human emotion."
Mike laughs helplessly. "I'm gonna call her."
"Good," Harvey says. "Because if I had to drag you back a third time, I'd bill you for emotional labor."
Mike shakes his head in disbelief, smiling so wide it hurts. "Harvey?"
"Yeah?"
"...Thank you."
Harvey grimaces. "Oh god. Don't get mushy on me."
But he doesn't walk away. He lets Mike have the moment.
___
Mike sits on the edge of his bed that night, staring at the napkin like it's a live grenade. He types your number in. Deletes it. Types it again. Deletes it.
Harvey calls him. "Did you do it?"
"No."
"Coward. Do it."
"I'm waiting for the perfect moment."
"It's nine-thirty at night. She's a bartender. She's awake."
Mike lies flat on his back. "I feel sick."
"Call her, you idiot." Harvey hangs up.
Mike stares at his phone. And then- finally- he presses call.
It rings once. Twice. Then:
"Mike?" Your voice. Soft. Warm. Very real.
Mike sits up too fast. "Hi!- I mean- Hi, yes this is Mike..."
You laugh gently. "I figured."
"I don't know if- I mean maybe- you were bust or- I don't know- sleeping or maybe you forgot who I was or- I-"
He hears you smiling. "Mike. Breathe."
He sucks in air. "Okay."
"So," you say, "I'm guessing you didn't call just to panic at me."
"No! I mean- yes- but no- I mean- I wanted to ask you something. If that's okay."
"I was hoping you would."
He closes his eyes. He is going to melt through the mattress. "Do you- um- want to have dinner with me? Like a real date?"
"I'd love to."
He freezes. "Yeah?"
"Yes."
Mike tries not to squeak. Fails miserably.
___
Four days later, Mike is standing outside the restaurant Harvey picked for him because:
"You have no taste. I'm not letting you take her to a diner, Mike" "It's a good diner!" "No."
So now Mike is in front of a chic, warm-lit restaurant that is far too nice for a first date. He's sweating. He's convinced that he tied his tie wrong. He thinks he might faint.
Then-
You arrive. And Mike forgets how to breathe entirely.
You look incredible. Not trying too hard. Not overdressed. Just... you. Warn, smiling, walking toward him like he's someone worth dressing up for.
"Hey," you say, shy but excited.
Mike makes a tiny noise that might be human. "Hi."
"You look nice," you smile.
"You- you look..." His voice breaks. He clears it. "You look beautiful."
You blush lightly. "That's sweet."
___
Once you're seated, something weird happens: Mike relaxes.
You're talking about math again- how you got into it, what fascinates you about patterns, why you still read academic journals 'for fun.'
Mike is wide-eyed, leaning, in, drinking in every word.
"Nobody ever wants to hear this stuff," you laugh softly. "I promise I'm not usually this nerdy."
"No," Mike says immediately. "Please. Keep going. I love it."
You blink. "You... love it?"
Mike blushes. "I love listening to you talk about things you care about."
You tuck hair behind your ear, suddenly a little shy.
The conversation flows like water. You ask about law school and he panics internally but smooths it over by talking about his photographic memory instead.
You say, "That's incredible."
He says, "you're incredible."
Then immediately wants to die because who says that aloud on a first date?
But you're smiling. Softly. Like you enjoyed hearing it.
___
Mike insists on walking you home. You protest. He protests harder.
So you walk side by side through the quiet evening streets, hands not touching but... close.
Dangerously close. Close enough that Mike keeps debating taking your hand. His heart says do it, but his brain says otherwise.
You glance over. "You okay? You're awfully quiet."
Mike swallows. "Just- thinking."
"About what?"
He looks at you. "...you."
You stop walking. He does too.
Your voice is soft. "Yeah?"
Mike nods. "I've been thinking about you since the moment I first saw you in the bar."
Your breath catches. "Mike..."
"I'm trying really hard not to be too much," he admits. "But I can't help liking you."
You step closer. "I like you too."
Mike's heart explodes.
You're standing close now. Too close for Mike to keep functioning. He looks at your lips for half a second- just a flicker- and you notice.
You whisper, "Mike..."
"Yeah?" His voice cracks.
"Can I kiss you?"
Mike nearly passes. He nods- too fast, too eager.
You step closer, one hand rising to his jaw, thumb brushing lightly along his cheek. He shivers. Then you kiss him. Soft. Warm. Slow. Gentle. Everything he wanted and didn't dare to hope for.
Your lips move against his and he sighs- a quiet, helpless sound- and kisses you back.
When you pull away, Mike looks stunned.
"Wow," he whispers.
You smile. "Yeah?"
"...Can- can we do that again?"
You laugh softly. "Come here."
___
This time, you kiss him deeper.
Mike's hands finally- finally- find your waist, fingers tentative at first, then firmer when you lean into him.
It's lush and slow and impossibly sweet. When you break apart again, Mike looks drunk.
You bite your lip. "Still okay?"
Mike nods vigorously. "More than okay."
You tug him gently toward the wall next to your building, pulling him closer by his tie.
Mike makes a soft, surprised noise- then melts into you. His hands slide up your back. Yours tangle in his hair. He kisses you like he's memorizing every possible angle, every breath, every small sound.
It's still sweet -- it's always going to be sweet with Mike- but there's heat now too, a growing, pulsing want.
When you finally break apart, both a little breathless, your foreheads rest together.
"Mike," you whisper, "you can kiss me again."
He laughs breathlessly. "You're going to kill me."
"Is that a no?"
"That's an-" Mike kisses you again, quick and warm. "-absolutely not."
You let out a breathy laugh against his lips.
___
Eventually - reluctantly - you both force yourselves to stop.
You pull him toward your apartment door. "This is me," you say softly.
Mike nods. He looks shy suddenly, fiddling with his tie like a teenager.
"I had a really good time," you smile.
He meets your eyes. "I had.. the best time."
You touch his chest lightly. "Call me tomorrow?"
Mike's voice comes out soft, sincere, a little breathless. "I'll call you the second I wake up."
You blush. "I'd like that."
He kisses you one more time - slow, tender - before stepping back. "Goodnight, Y/N."
"Goodnight, Mike."
He walks away with a smile so ridiculously bright a stranger across the street actually turns to stare.
And Mike? He touches his lips the whole walk home like he can still feel you.