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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Sunny Side Up

Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? And for Mike, there’s no better way to start it than by eating his favourite thing, ever.

Pairing: Mike Weiss x Reader

Warnings: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Brief mentions of drug addiction- nothing graphic. Language!

A/N: So this was what popped into my head after seeing @imanuglywombat post that damned latest Sex Position as part of her downright filthy and wonderful “Is That Even A Sex Position” weekly challenge. This position is called “The Special Breakfast”. See here for more information. And you can totally blame @sweater-daddiesdumbdork for this one. I wasn’t gonna write it but…yeah, I did. Sorry not sorry. I’ve tried to make the reader as non-descript and as inclusive as I can but I don’t usually do reader x fics so I apologise if it hasn’t quite hit the mark.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Tagged my permanent tag list.

Main Masterlist

********

“No, that’s not the same, at all.” Mike’s voice drifted up the hallway of you house as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the bitter January wind that has descended over Dover. “Yeah, well they signed up to the terms so....”

You glanced at your watch, it wasn’t even seven-AM yet and he was already on to someone about the current case he was working. But then, that was Mike all over. An addict, only now you were glad to say the only thing flooding his system was adrenaline and passion for his work.

You hung your jacket up on the pegs by the door, unwrapped your woollen scarf from round your neck and placed that over the hook above your jacket and then reached down to unzip you boots, before toeing them off. Your sock clad feet padded down the wooden floor of the hall towards the kitchen and you walked in to see Mike was bent over a file on the island in the middle, already dressed for the office.

“Clause ninety-one, paragraph twenty, sub-bullet two. Yup. We’ll present that to them today, give them chance to respond.” He paused for a moment, his head turning to you, a warm smile spreading across his face as you leaned over for a quick peck before you headed to the fridge for a soda. “Yeah. Okay, no problem, see you about half eight.”

With that he placed the cordless phone down and turned to face you.

“Morning, Baby.” He grinned, before he nodded to the Diet Coke in your hand. “Interesting choice of drink for breakfast.”

“Technically it’s not my breakfast time.” You shrugged back. “More like dinner, I suppose.”

Mike chuckled as he crossed to space towards you, his hands falling to your hips before he bent down and brushed his lips against yours in a hardly there kiss. “Good shift?”

“A heart attack, car accident, two broken legs, couple of flu cases and a shit tonne of idiotic drunks, the finest Delaware has to offer.” You shrugged. “Usual shit.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Dr Y/L/N”

“Lucky for you I do, or we’d have never met.”

“And I’d be dead.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, swallowing a little. The memory of that night almost eighteen months ago was still raw. If you hadn’t stopped by at Mike’s that evening following an argument the pair of you had earlier in the day, you’d never have found him almost dead from an overdose. It had been a long road to recovery, and whilst nothing was ever proven, Mike and Paul were convinced that it was something to do with the safety needle case they had been working. Despite the fact that there was enough heroin in his system to stop his heart, Mike swore blind to you he hadn’t taken anything but a few lines that night, and there was something about the way he said it that made you believe him. And so did Paul.

The authorities never managed to prove anything, but there was one good thing to come out of it. When you had broken down and told Mike how scared you’d been that he was going to die and that you couldn’t cope anymore with the constant fear that one day he would kill himself for real, it gave Mike the final kick he needed because he didn’t want to lose you.

So he got clean. And this time he did it for good.

It wasn’t easy, for either of you. Once he was medically fit enough, Mike had been placed on a programme at a Rehab Centre, whereby he saw no one bar trained medical specialists and councillors for six weeks. It felt like the longest six weeks of your life but he did it. And when you went to pick him up, you instantly burst into tears at how different he looked, how better he looked, how healthy he looked.

The road to recovery is a long one, paved with temptations, you knew that being a Doctor. And whilst Mike knew and understood his triggers thanks to his programme, those temptations met him everywhere, especially because he knew exactly where and how to get his fix. So the pair of you agreed to take a fresh start. You traded Texas for Delaware, the State you were originally from, and you were beyond proud to be able to honestly state that Mike Weiss had been clean now for eighteen months. Well, apart from alcohol that is. But even that was enjoyed in moderation, and to be honest, you’d rather him sit at home with a glass or two of bourbon each night that sticking fuck knows what into his veins.

You cocked your head to one side as his hands flexed on your hip and he gave you a little side smile. “Sorry. Oh, hey guess who I got a call from?”

“Who?” You asked as he stepped back, grinning.

“The Alligator Farm. Snappy’s got himself a lady friend. They’re gonna send me some photos and stuff.”

You smiled, giving up that beloved alligator had been a hard sell to Mike. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Oh and Paul was thinking of coming over with the family in the spring. I said they could stay here, I know it’ll be a squeeze but is that okay?”

“Course it is.” You reached up to cup his cheek. “It’ll be lovely to see them again.”

Mike smiled and dropped another kiss to your lips, this one slightly stronger before you pat his chest as he rest his forehead against yours.

“I need to go shower.”

“Want me to come join you?” He asked, eyebrow raised and you smiled.

“As good as that sounds there’s something else I want more.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, his eyes flickering down to the buttons on your blouse and you laughed.

“Calm down, Stud. I want pancakes and bacon, I don’t give a shit what time it’s supposed to be for me.”

Mike groaned as you moved away from where you’d been stood with your back to the large, stainless steel fridge and headed out of the room. He watched you go, the gently sway of your hips in your well fitted black pants made his groin twitch. He was half tempted to fuck your demands and go and jump you in the shower whether you wanted him to or not, but he’d seen the flicker your face had given when you’d described how your twelve-hour shift had gone down. Despite your blasé tone, he knew you too well and understood exactly how tired and stressed you were feeling. So, instead, he turned his attention to making breakfast.

Something he prided himself on was his cooking ability. He’d picked it up pretty fast since you’d moved here, he found it was a welcome distraction, so much so you very rarely made meals now, bar when you insisted on doing a roast which he never argued against. Within fifteen minutes he had a stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs- sunny side up, as you preferred- all laid out on the island and ready for you to help yourself to. He’d just poured you an orange juice when you walked back into the kitchen, hair piled on your head in a messy bun, wrapped in a dressing gown and he was pleased to see you looked relaxed.

“Oh, Mikey, this looks great!” You smiled as he wrapped an arm round you, kissing your head. He watched as you helped yourself to a huge plateful before making your way over to the table and sitting down with a sigh. Mike tucked his tie into his shirt to avoid it dropping into his food and plated himself a helping up before he sat down at the place next to you, cracking his neck slightly. The pair of you chatted about the day ahead, which for you consisted of sleeping until it was time to get up for your next shift, Mike’s contained a meeting with a company who he was currently in the process of negotiating a settlement with on behalf of a client. When you’d finished, Mike made to clear away the dishes but you gently placed your hand on his arm and stood up, insisting on doing it as he’d cooked.

When you returned to the table, Mike pushed his chair back slightly and patted his knee.

“Come ‘ere.” He smiled softly and you grinned, settling yourself on his lap sideways, your arm looping round his shoulder, fingers gently playing with his suspenders. He gave a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your head, happy to simply be close to you for a moment.

“You doing okay?” You asked and he smiled, your words carrying that hidden meaning- ‘Do you want a fix, today?’

“I’m good, Babes.” He pulled back to look at you. “I promise.”

Smiling you gently placed your lips on his in a soft kiss, which soon became heated as Mike’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. He was pleased when you reciprocated, opening your mouth slightly to allow him in. He could taste the sweetness of the syrup on you from your pancakes and, as your tongue gently swirled against his, he let out a little groan from the back of his throat and he felt you smile.

“How long till you have to be in the office?” Your voice was lower than you’d intended, betraying exactly what you had in mind and Mike grinned at you, pulling back a little, as he glanced up at the clock.

“Just over forty-five minutes, why?”

You bit your lip, fingers toying once more with his suspenders which were clipped to the waistband of his light, grey trousers and sat over a maroon shirt, set off with a black tie. “Do I gotta spell it out to you, Weiss?”

“No, I just like hearing you beg.” A cheeky glint flashed in his eyes and you gave a snort.

“I do not beg.”

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow and in a swift moment he stood up, causing you to give a shriek of a giggle as he sat you on the table in front of him. “I bet,” he pushed on your shoulders causing you to rest your weight on your elbows as he loomed over you, gently reaching for the tie on your robe, “that I can have you singing my name and begging for more,” his hands made quick work of the knot and pulled it open, before his fingers slid up the front, opening it to leave you bare in front of him, “in less than five minutes flat.”

“Less than five minutes?” You looked up at him, his eyes blown with lust and you smirked. “You’re so full of shit.”

He wasn’t though, you knew full well that you were the one full of shit. Mike had on many an occasion had you crying his name in less time than it took you to sing a verse of the National Anthem, and he knew it as the cocky expression on his face showed.

“Oh, Baby Girl.” He chuckled, bending over, his mouth brushing against that spot on your neck, the bristles of his short beard scratching your skin. “Have you learnt nothing, yet?”

“Only that you’re a cocky little bastard.” You tried to keep your voice level but it didn’t work. Your words came out a shaky whisper as one of his hands gently splayed on your stomach and brushed up your body to your sternum as he peppered hot, opened mouthed kisses across your collar bone, before his lips ghosted up your neck, over your chin and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss as his hand palmed at your breast. As he rolled your nipple between his finger and thumb you gave a moan and he smirked against your mouth.

Suddenly, he was gone from over you and you frowned, missing his sudden presence and you propped yourself up on your elbows to see him settling back in the chair by the table.

“Mike, what the-“

You were cut off as he reached over, grabbing your ass and hoisting your pelvis up, pulling you towards him. Before you could register what was going on, your legs were over his shoulders and you just caught a glimpse of his face, as he quirked an eyebrow at you, lips curled upwards in that maddeningly smug bastard grin, before his mouth was trailing up the inside of your thigh.

“Oh, Jesus.” You let out a little groan as he neared the place you now desperately wanted him and he chuckled.

“No, just me.”

“Fuck off you-“ But whatever it was you were going to call him flew from your mind as his tongue licked up your sex, and grazed against your clit, teasing it with quick, hardly there flicks which, you were ashamed to say, had you riled up something feral. His hands palmed at your ass, his fingers curling round the outside of your thighs as he quickened his movements, his mouth expertly devouring you, tongue flicking into your entrance as his lips circled that sensitive nub, giving a suck that made you cry out, your back arching off the table, pushing yourself further onto his face.

Mike let out a chuckle which vibrated exquisitely against you and you gasped again, your hands slapping onto the cool surface of the table, fingernails feeling the grain of the wood as he upped his efforts dramatically, lips and tongue teasing you in a way that was so delectable it was teetering along that fine line between pain and pleasure. His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, despite the breakfast the pair of you had eaten moments ago.

“Fuck, Mike, I need…” Your voice was croaky, the words sounded far off as they bounced around your lust addled brain and once again he chuckled.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah you arrogant sh-oooh fuck!” You cried as he gently nipped your clit. “Shit!”

You were willing yourself to remain grounded, wanting to prove him wrong but you couldn’t. You couldn’t fight the urge you felt to ride over the edge which was building like a fire inside you. When his mouth was over you completely once more, tongue deep, you felt him move one of his hands and his thumb pressed against your clit, before the pressure eased off and his tongue slipped away.

"Okay, okay you win, Mike, please for the love of God!” You groaned and with a final, maddeningly smug chuckle he dove back in, only this time when you felt your orgasm brewing he didn’t stop. One of your hands flew to his hair, pulling lightly on his soft, spiky strands and he gave a growl as you tugged, his efforts doubling once more as his beard scratched against your sensitive pussy and inner thighs. The coil in your belly was tightening, your entire body quivered and with a final flick of his tongue you gave a cry as your orgasm crashed over you. Your toes curled into his back just below his shoulders, your own back arched as your walls clamped down over nothing, the room fading out as everything went silent and the lights erupted in front of your eyes, your entire body feeling like you were floating.

Mike grinned, guiding you through your release before he stood up, pulling you further to the end of the table as he undid the flies on his trousers, freeing his painfully hard erection. The swollen head of his dick gently swirled around your folds before he buried himself inside you, groaning as he felt you fluttering around him in the after throes of your orgasm. You let out a low groan and finally opened your eyes, looking up at him as he pounded into you, fully clothed, those fucking suspenders that drove you wild still looped over his shoulders.

He slid one, large hand under your back and pulled you up causing you to cry out as he drove deeper into you, his hand on the base of your back pulling you up and towards him as he dipped his head to give you a dirty, sloppy kiss whilst he rolled and thrust into you. Then His lips moved down, nipping at your neck, his breath hot on your ear as your head fell back, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

“God, I love seeing you like this, fucking wrecked all because of me.” His panted words made you groan even more as the heat in your groin was beginning to mount again. “Makes me higher than any fucking drug ever could.”

His thrusts continued, hard, deep, and you felt his dick throbbing inside you as he drove up against your spot, his lips back on yours as he kissed you hard, swallowing the pants and whimpers you were making as you began to teeter on that cliff edge again. With a deep roll of his hips you let out a low wail and came, once more, your core spasmed around him as your entire body tingled, and that was enough for him to follow you. With a powerful thrust he stiffened, a low grunt stuttering from his lips as he pulsed inside of you, his hips growing sloppy before they stopped completely. His chest heaving, he pressed his forehead to yours, the pair of you gasping for breath as you came down from your high.

“Shit, Mike.” You managed to stutter as he grinned, his lips meeting yours in a soft peck. “That was…”

“Yeah, I was pretty good.” He chuckled and you slapped his arm as he moved and pulled out of you. You straightened your robe and stood up, wincing as you felt his release trickled down your inner thigh.

“I need another shower.” You grumbled, before you glanced at his crotch, the damp patch where he’d pressed against you was clear as day. “And you should probably change your trousers.”

Mike glanced down before his eyes met you, and he shrugged. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll go into the office like this and then every time I see it I’ll be reminded exactly what a damned good breakfast I had this morning.”

You blinked before you shook your head, scoffing. “You’re gross.”

He laughed. “You love it, Sweetheart.”

“I love you.” You corrected, your hands sliding up over his shoulders and he smiled, a pure, innocent smile that made him look like a schoolboy before he took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, pulling away, his nose bumping against yours.

“I love you too.” He whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. “Now go, before I decide to play hooky for the day.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Weiss.” You smirked, before with one final quick peck you left the room.

Mike watched you go, before he ran his hands through his hair and turned to glance around the kitchen, his eyes falling to the table he’d just fucked you senseless on.

He should probably clean that before he went to work…

#uglywombatsexpositionchallenge #mike weiss #mike weiss x reader #mike weiss x you #mike weiss reader insert #reader insert #mike weiss fanfic #mike weiss smut #chris evans #chris evans characters

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ilovefandoms102 · 3 years ago

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Jealousy

Pairing: Mike Weiss x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Your husband gets overprotective at a party the two of you throw…

Note: This is for the lovely @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 #shamelesshoesforchris2021 challenge! I’ve been wanting to write for ole Mikey and this gave me the perfect excuse😛

Warnings🛑: smut(breeding kink, unprotected vaginal sex, sex under the influence, dry humping, slight degradation, choking, dom/sub aspects, oral(fem receiving)), mentions of drugs, drug use, mentions of alcohol, slight violence nothing too graphic, explicit language, explicit sexual content, 18+

Prompts chosen: 2. Breeding kink, "I didn't like the way he was looking at you.", Mike Weiss

You met Mike in high school, you were never really friends with him until the two of you ran into each other at a frat party in college. One drunken night that led to passionate love making was all it took for you to fall in love, and Mike felt the same…

The two of you got married right after you graduated and Mike was still in law school. You tried to get him to wait, but he was stubborn. Despite the many late night essays and cases Mike had, you two threw some pretty rad parties.

It wasn’t a secret that Mike was into heavy drugs, something you weren’t particularly fond of. Not that you were any better, but you only dabbled in weed, nothing heavy like your husband.

Years after Mike graduated law school and opened a firm with his best friend. Mike was very passionate about his work and you loved that about him. After a win, everyone always gathered at yours and Mike’s to celebrate. Today was one of those days, you were so proud to call this man your husband. Despite his flaws, he was a good man.

You could feel his eyes on you as you went around to check if anyone needed a refill, turning over your shoulder, your suspicions were correct. Mike winked, making you giggle as you blew him a kiss. Mike chuckled and went back to the conversation he was in, keeping a subtle eye on you. That��s when he noticed another’s eyes on you, his blood began to boil as the man stared at your ass while you bent over to pick up some trash.

“Nice one babe,” the man called to you.

You turned around looking confused at the man until you saw him looking at your behind. You rolled your eyes, annoyed with his comment.

“I’m married,” you said harshly, turning back to your task at hand.

“How about you and I get out of here gorgeous, I could show you a good time.” the man said, completely ignoring the fact of your marital status.

Before you could reply, Mike pulled the guy up by the front of his shirt. You hadn’t seen him coming over, but you were glad he did. Mike said nothing as he dragged the man from the couch and tossed him out the front door. You arched a brow as Mike walked towards you.

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” he shrugged.

“You’re ridiculous,” you scoffed, but you couldn’t keep the smile from your face.

“I got some good stuff, let’s head upstairs baby.” Mike grinned as he took your hand in his and led you to your shared room.

A half hour later, you and Mike were a giggling mess. The two of you were taking turns passing the bong, smoke filling your lungs as you felt completely relaxed. Once it was gone, you found yourself perched in Mike’s lap, his hands gripping your ass tight in his hands as your lips feverishly met. Your tongue massaged his greedily while your hands felt his muscular chest, inching your hands under his shirt. Mike had a teasing smile as he slowly pulled his shirt off.

“Mmmmm baby, you tryna fuck?” Mike asked, grinning widely as you nodded excitedly.

“I always want to fuck Mikey,” you whispered as you grinded your lower half on his hardening cock.

“Shit, my greedy princess.” Mike groaned, tilting his hips up to meet yours.

“Come on, I want you.” you whined, tearing at Mike’s dress shirt.

“I’ll take care of you baby, be patient.” he said as moved his hands down your thighs.

“Maybe I should have taken that man’s offer since my own husband won’t fuck me.” you taunted, and Mike saw red.

He snatched a hold of your throat, snapping your head to his so fast it made you dizzy. You grinned maliciously as his nostrils flared, eyes hard and narrowing into a deep scowl.

“You watch your fucking mouth,” he growled, suddenly flipping both of you so your back was on the cold tile.

“Or what baby?” you laughed, moaning as Mike tightened his grip.

“You know what happens to bad girls baby, don’t fucking test me.” he seethed, ripping your shirt open then shoving his pants down.

Your pants and panties came next, Mike ripping them off before shoving your legs apart. He slammed into you without warning, your eyes so wide and scream so loud he had to cover your mouth. Giving you no time to adjust to his size, Mike rammed into your dripping center with no remorse.

He took his hand on your mouth back, using it to pull your bra cup down and free your tits. He sucked on your puckering nipple, lashing his tongue around as his other hand came down and maliciously rubbed your clit. You held on to his biceps for dear life, the pleasure mixed with you being high made everything too overwhelming.

“Mikey-I-I can’t.” you sobbed, Mike slowed his thrusts a little so he could reach up and kiss you.

“Should have thought about that before opening that fucking mouth huh baby?” he taunted, pulling out suddenly.

You whined from the sudden emptiness as Mike pushed your knees to your chest. You cursed loudly as Mike began eating your pussy like it would be his last meal. His tongue drank your juices, swirled around your clit before sucking it into his mouth.

“Mike! Fuck!” you shouted, fisting his hair in between your fingers to hold him there.

“Scream my fucking name baby, loud enough for that asshole to hear.” Mike hissed as he roughly shoved two fingers inside of you.

He curled just at the right spot, your orgasm hitting you out of nowhere. Stars appeared in your vision, clouding your eyes as your body experienced bliss. Mike watched fascinated, becoming even harder at your chant of his name. Mike didn’t even wait for you to come down before he was thrusting back into you.

“So pretty, mine.” he panted, hand going back to your throat forcing you to look at him.

Mike went feral after you made eye contact, your half lidded eyes made his need to claim you skyrocket. He would breed you with his cum until you were so full your belly became round with his baby. Both of you loved kids, so it was perfect. He would do it everyday if he had to.

“Cum in me Mikey,” you moaned.

“Don’t you worry princess, you’ll be so silly with my cum stuffed in your pretty pussy. I’ll have you round and full in no time my love.” he grunted, pistoning his hips even faster.

“Make me full baby, I want it.” you smiled, eyes rolling back as the tip of his cock rammed into your gspot.

Mike growled as you clenched tighter around him, feeling his orgasm just in reach. He thumbed at your clit, rubbing the little nub even as your legs shook. Mike gave one last thrust before he was painting your walls with his cum, groaning as your second orgasm hit at the same time. You couldn’t move, all you knew was the exquisite pleasure flowing through you.

Mike gently massaged your legs, straightening them out where he had them bent. He placed soft kisses, your beauty leaving him speechless. You smiled softly at his sweetness, opening your eyes slowly. You were greeted with his handsome face, the one you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Stay here for a minute,” you whispered, pulling him down so your nose touched his.

“Not going anywhere baby, ever.” he whispered back.

#shamelesshoesforchris2021 #mike weiss x plus size reader #mike weiss smut #mike weiss #mike weiss x reader #mike weiss fic #mike weiss imagine #mike weiss x you #writing #challenge #chris evans characters #plus size reader insert

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widowsofchaos · 4 years ago

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Here With You

summary: The weight of drugs can break any relationships, but your love for him is greater.

pairing: Mike Weiss x black!reader

10. “Do you know how it feels to wish for death every day?”

12. “Because I couldn’t bear the idea of you choosing to stay with me out of pity or guilt.”

Beta by @avintagekiss24 A big thanks to my good sis! Thank for being such a great friend on taking the time to help edit!🤍

warnings: fluff and angst.

a/n: this is 1/2 of my submissions for @angrybirdcr ‘s 200 follower challenge! I choose to write for Chris Evan’s character Mike Weiss. Great underrated film! Thanks for hosting, babe! <3 thank you for being so understanding on my lateness on my submissions! <3 sorry again for being late!

do not repost my works!

This wasn’t new -- this feeling of dread --- awaiting for the shit-storm of pain, and the rainfall of tears. A slow, and yet tender feeling like a blossoming bruise. The inside of your cavity feels shattered by every inhale of a strained wheeze.

Cloudiness floats around your skull like a haze, but you move on auto-pilot --- your feet move by the surge of determination, and commitment; a bitter-sweet twinge weighs on your tongue to witness someone you love fall apart at the seams.

It’s 3 in the morning now, the moon beams high in the inky sky. The apartment is blanketed by darkness, cautiously all lights are off. Chaos ensues, your heart lurches at the muffled vomiting, and whimpers from the bedroom down the hall. Your fingers tighten around the bucket, clutching as the plastic digs into your palm.

Two chilled soaked rags hang limply over your forearm. Breathless as your footfalls dash against the carpeting, bolting through the room to see Mike slumped-over the edge of the bed, his legs tangled in wrinkled sheets.

Drenched sweat soaks through two thick pillows --- now a bit flat, and wet --- blankets strewn around by fits of rage or Mike crying that his skin is too boiling hot. A lone lit lamp illuminates the room into a dim dewy yellow flourish --- an excess of light hurts Mike’s eyes, and gives him a migraine.

The bulb emitting makes his entire body shine by the sheen of sweat, shivering, and groans of your name slips from his quivering pink lips.

Half of his body leaning over the mattress, his trembling fingers shakingly gripping the carpeted flooring, as if he was trying to crawl his way out of bed. “I’m here, Mikey. I’m here.” A broken sob escapes your lips, as you gently fall on your knees beside him. Tears break its watery shield, and collide down your cheeks to see Mike crumble.

Drool pooling from his mouth, and puke residue sits at the corner of his lips. His eyes pinching shut-tight, crying at the pain, you shushing him as you caress his cheek.

With all your strength, with gentle hands, you push Mike over on his back, guilt coiling in the pit of your belly at him moaning. Your hands sliding underneath his armpits, you maneuver him -- twisting his torso, and legs so his body can lay horizontally on the bed.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Mike croaks, his voice was hoarse, and raw. You bundle a bit of your nightie in your hand, to wipe his mouth --- it didn’t matter, you’ll wash it later. “It’s okay. No need to apologize.” You stroke your knuckles sweetly against his cheek, reassuring him by touch and voice that you want to be here; to remind him you’re here for the long haul.

You kiss the crease between his furrowing brows, then your lips featherly trail upward, and kiss his forehead, with no hesitation to sweat sticking to your mouth. “You’re still a bit warm, but the fever is going down.” You spoke breathlessly against his skin, your lips tickling his skin.

Gingerly laying the rag on his forehead, Mike sighs in relief, his lashes fluttering closed at the cooling sensation surging through his buzzing head.

It’s been four days of Mike going raw cold-turkey. Four days of pure hell for Mike, and four days of pure grief for yourself.

In the beginning of this trial, when the drugs began flushing out of his system Mike wasn’t himself --- it was as if he’s a frothing beast scouting for substance. Screaming matches spewing from his irritation, itching between these four walls; Mike resembling a caged animal.

Pure rage masking self-hatred; anger at the aches deep in his muscles, pity at that maybe he can’t do this.

To accomplish sobriety.

Vomiting with his head limp, and deep in the toilet, hours of crying, and pleas for that one last hit --- Mike screaming for God to end him, and that he doesn’t deserve you. Cradling him in your arms, rocking him like an infant, as he sputters incoherent cries; speaking in hushed tones in his ear that you love him --- all his flaws, and scars.

What provoked his final decision to get clean, and start a new slate for one’s health, life longevity, and to keep your love --- was a discovery he dreamt to have long ago but felt he wasn’t deserving to earn.

“I’m sorry --- a-about the ca--r-rpet.” Mike whispers in choppy puffs, whining low. Jesus, this man is in pain, and he’s worried about you being mad at the carpet? You shook your head slightly, gesturing to him that you weren’t mad.

“Don’t apologize for that, it’s nothing. I’ll clean it later.” You spoke in a calm hush, as you placed the bucket on the floor, next to his bedside.

Your hand delicately pad against the clammy biceps with one rag, testing his bodily temperature, taking the remaining rag off of your slightly cold-numbing skin.

You kiss the corner of his brow, as you rub down his chest with the crisp rag, his lips part as an airy breath laced with deep relief escapes; as the refreshing fabric graces his flesh. His chest hair swirled a bit under the comforting circular motions.

Admiring his body, your eyes trace over every ink stroke of his tattoos adorning him. Sheen of water linger as you soothe Mike, silently reciting the Buddhist quote on his chest. Through the rag, you trace the designs of his tattoos by the tips of your fingers --- soft as petals.

Your hand travels the rag downward his torso to dull the slight overheating. Mike hums lowly with his eyes laxly closed shut, his breathing now ceasing into an easy rhythm. Memories begin flooding Mike’s head, as his breathing relaxes steadily. Recollections of how Mike and yourself met years prior --- four years to be exact --- at the hospital you work at.

It was a dark cloudy day, the outside world drenched with heavy pouring rain; the atmosphere was thick with dread, and scented with antiseptic. Sniveling, and irritated with a forthcoming migraine, the flickering lightening tube hovering above him was like a menacing tick, making him twitch internally; as he laid in the hospital bed.

Balling the white blue-polka dotted hospital gown into his fists, the fabric bundling between his fingers. Mike was silent, as he scanned his environment motionlessly.

Accidental overdose is the verdict. Sunken eyes with lavender hues, as the mulling cadence of ringing phones, bustling chatter of nurses, and squeaking footfalls of passing doctors flood the hallways.

A click of the door opening, and in all your glory, your hair tied in a bun with a few curls straying, wearing a purple nurse uniform, a clipboard clutched in your palm, Nike sneakers for comfort --- being on your feet all day --- and a name tag boldly showcasing your printed name.

In your palm, are clear bags of his folded clothing, and shoes. Nicely you place the bags at the edge of the bed near Mike’s feet.

“Hello Mr. Weiss. How are you feeling right now?” A melodic timbre that soothed Mike, lulling his weary mind to a blissful state. The concern didn’t go unnoticed, how you worded your question in the namesake of professionalism, and humane authenticity.

‘Right now?’ Usually people would ask how he’s feeling as if he wasn’t struggling prior with the question, ‘How are you today?’ and his usual response would be, ‘Shitty.’ sealed with a somber shit-eating grin, but you asked how he’s feeling right now, so you can help him, not analyze him.

You didn’t sound fake, nor condescending. Usually a lot of medical staff didn’t have much regard for addicts, nor at least a speck of pity or sympathy. Mike’s tongue was heavy, struggling a little to speak up.

Gaping his mouth open and closed, like a mindless goldfish. You peeked over your clipboard, with a sweet arched brow, giggling lowly to yourself --- your brown hues sparkling in amusement. It was a tiring day, so to see this man stammering over his words was beyond cute, and the highlight of your day.

“Are you okay?” You asked with a small curling smile, hiding your snickering behind the clipboard, with only musing eyes squinting in giggles appearing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m actually better now.” Mike perked up, coughing a bit as his voice was hoarse, bashful, and his pale cheeks dusting pink. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? Why in the fuck am I floundering? Get a grip, Mike! Mike never stuttered around women, always flirtatious. This was new for him.

“That’s good. How is your body feeling after the sedatives? Any discomfort right now?” Your soft voice interrupted his rampant thoughts.

“Just a bit groggy, but what else is new?” Mike humorlessly chuckles, as he shamelessly eyes your body. You notice him checking you out, but you elect to ignore him with a warm smile — but you couldn’t deny, you’re silently enjoying his wordless flirtation; despite your fatigued stature, this man still saw attraction to you.

“I promise it’ll pass. Just get some rest, and stay hydrated.” With a flick of your carmine painted nails, you smoothly perked the clipboard on your waist as you unlatched the metal clip, retrieving a few handbills.

“Here I have chosen a few pamphlets for rehab centers, and a few numbers for therapy agencies.”

“I don’t need those.” Mike pushed your out-stretched hand gently away.

You arched your brow at him, clicking your tongue at his ignorance, “And why don’t you need them?” You inquire kindly, a cautious tone; not wanting to release this man from the hospital’s care, just to snort and shoot up into an early grave.

“Listen, I can tell you’re sweet. Too sweet for someone like me to be concerned with. I’ve tried to get clean, and it never works. It’s just not for me.” Mike hastily sits up, slinging his legs over the bed, flinging the thin blanket off of him, “It’s not worth it.” He mutters under his breath.

You were entirely taken back, wincing at how low he talks of himself. Intently watching this man hastily open the bags to get his clothes, the edge of his jaw pinched pink --- like ripe warm peaches. Was it due to embarrassment?

You place the papers on the bed, as you walk more closely to him.

“You are worth it.” You place his cold hands into yours, cupping as if you’re cradling. Trying to get to his eye-level, make him see that you were serious.

He doesn’t dare to glance your way, “Doesn’t matter.” Mike insists, slowly seizing his hands from your grasp, “Why bother trying only to fail? And then disappoint everyone all over again?” His nose was flaring, not wanting to lash his tongue at you, just at the idea of his addictions being the topic of discussion irks him.

It’s not that he doesn’t want help … it’s that hopeless sinking feeling, that he’s just incurable. A burden. A problem, masking pain with sarcasm and substance to numb it all. A demon clawing at his shoulder, spitting self-hate in his ear.

You’re just not worth the trouble, Mike.

As he stood up from the bed, stretching out his shirt, he noticed from the corner of his eye that you were staring at him worriedly. On instinct, pulling the mask down to cover his anguish once more.

“Wanna help me get dressed, sweetheart?” A curling faux self-confident smirk that was forced, you sniff out like a bloodhound. You immediately caught on the familiar behavior, a usual route for patients to cope out with defense mechanisms. You saw this tactic day in and day out.

But more importantly, it’s one you use too well.

“It may not feel like it now, but it’s not impossible. You’re not the first patient I had who felt this way.” You spoke with conviction, ignoring the insistent words ushered by doctors from the past that were ringing at the back of your head, you can't help someone if they don’t want to get help.

It’s not a martyr shtick, nor a God complex --- but how Mike looked so distressed and sickly as he was pulled in the hospital on the stretcher pained you straight in the heart, parallel to many others before.

“You never know if you don’t try.” You perk your hands on your hips, with an insisting stance. It wasn’t pushy, but Mike could tell you weren’t going to back down.

How you stood firmly with the hands perched on your curvous hips that strained subtly against the cotton uniform --- it was hot, how you stood your ground to him, yet no insulting persistence. Your bubble cheeks scrunching up so cutely. Mike just couldn’t help but be turned on, maybe it's your caring nature mixing into it.

Mike breathed through his nose, his head hung low, his hands sinking into the mattress. A sign of defeat, not entirely submitting, but how your words were honeyed with sterling sweetness got him to halt, and process how his life led up to here.

He glimpses through his long pretty lashes, “Alright --” He cheekily scans your name-tag, pretending he didn’t already memorized it from the moment you walked in.“Y/n. I’ll go. You’re pretty convincing. Maybe you should have been a lawyer too.”

“Oh --- you’re a lawyer, huh?”

“An unlikable one to be exact.”

You suck your teeth teasingly, “I highly doubt that. You seem likeable to me.” You pucker your bee-stung lips with jovial tease, as you tug on the curtain surrounding his bed to offer privacy, his eyes zero on your soft lips that glisten with chapstick sheen, his arms mid-frozen holding onto his articles of clothing.

“Now get dressed, and we’ll get you out of here.” You chuckle, only the shadow of your stihollute appears. Mike chuckles to himself, a little shake of his head, he liked you from the very start.

You knew the circumstances of dating an addict, from day one you knew the weight of his demons Mike carried on his back. He laid all his cards on the table, and you leaped into this life with him head-first.

But how could you not fall for him? His charm, his blunt wit, his intelligence, his kindness and that beautiful face? Only a fool would be blind not to be swooned off their feet for the one and only Mike Weiss. After the first -- rather intense --- first meeting, it was definitely not the last encounter for Mike and yourself.

After agreeing to go to a rehab program, Mike flirted with you immensely; along with requesting for you to accompany him on his first day. “For moral support.” he shrugged, a flirtatious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

His first day was stoic, but with hushed side-commentary, and sly remarks. Muffling your laughter, you would poke his ribs, silently telling him to knock it off. It didn’t take long for an unusual friendship to develop. You really didn’t see it coming, and if Mike was to be honest, he didn’t either.

The realization of deep love was agnated to a love-drunk punch to the heart.

Days blurring into weeks into months with good morning and goodnight calls, late night conversations - those were the heart-shattering times. It was difficult for Mike to open up his layers, bottling his hurt inside to the point of shaking sobs at 3 am, clutching the phone.

Choppy incoherent words, spurts of feeling worthless. It began with you two having brunch which then led into dinner dates. Soon trust was earned, and you began hanging out at his house or your apartment.

A nurturing nurse and a sardonic lawyer becoming friends--his dry humor doesn’t rub you the wrong way, or how you don’t see it as obnoxious.

“Later when you take a shower, I’ll get you fresh sheets.” You murmur sweetly, as you finished massaging him. Mike slowly peels his eyes open, hooded and squinting. Your voice is silvery to his ears, it always appeases his darkest times --- like that hopeful light at the end of the tunnel.

Silently his eyes raked over your body, your hushed voice brought him back to reality. As he soaked in your appearance, Mike couldn’t stomach how tired you were, your eyes were droopy, your curls sloppily disrayed. As his eyes traveled from your exhausted face to your breasts that swelled over the past weeks to the ample bump protruding against your nightie.

Now entering into your second trimester.

Mike began silently crying, pinching his eyes shut as lone tears spilled down his cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby. We’re getting through this, I’m so proud of you.” You kiss his wet cheeks, not minding the salty tears that kiss his eyes. Nimble sweet kisses, and cooing. You knew how hard he was working to get sober.

“You don’t need this shit.” Mike croaked, not daring to open his eyes, and see the pity in yours.

“Stop that. I love you, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.” You caress his cheeks by the gentle graze of your knuckles, shushing him. Lulling him to calm down from a pending panic attack.

You soft humming quills him, with only a sniffle here and there. You kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you.” Mike mutters under his breath. You giggle under your breath, feeling a bit bashful --- how can he make you so shy even after three years together?

You snivel a bit, biting back a sheen of tears, “And I love you too.” You’ll never get tired of saying that.

It’s been a long road, filled with bumps and turbulence. Many women would have left a long time ago, abandoning Mike at his lowest, but you just couldn’t. You’re too addicted to Mike, from the taste of him, to his scent, to the feel of his skin. His sharp tongue, and his humanity.

There was a moment in this journey that almost halted this life together, where you both had to address every bleeding crevice. It was a toxic mixture of your denial, and Mike’s instinct to push anyone close to him away.

It’s not that you didn’t want to help Mike, or face reality --- you were afraid. Scared that Mike was hurting himself, and all the progress you both built together was deteriorating at the seams, but then his honeyed words of promises of getting better would wrap your head in a rose-tinted daze.

Mike wasn’t trying to convince you, but himself. Just to chip off on the drugs, to keep himself afloat --- that this time it’ll be okay. He can balance his sanity, and his urges of substance that makes him feel ‘whole’. But that was just a temporary moment of brief delusion.

It was about three months ago, your shift at work was a tiresome blur, bustling on auto-pilot. The soles of your feet were aching, the nape of your back was droning in a dull pinch, and your eyes were slightly burning. Your worn body was screaming, and yearning for the comfort of your soft bed, and just to cuddle in Mike’s arms.

But there was a sense of … queasiness yet gleeful.

For days on end, you were puking in the early hours of the morning, your head hanging in the toilet. Waves of nausea, and finally, the nail in the coffin, you realized that your period was five weeks late. A hunch was hovering over your head, like a burning bright bulb. Finally, biting the bullet, and putting on your big girl pants, during a lunch break, you took a blood-test, and sent a cup of your urine to the labs for testing.

Once the results came back to you a few days later, you were speechless for the remainder of the day.

You were deary with worry, unable to conjure the words to form the discovery of yours. As you parked the car in-front of the house, cutting the engine off with the flick of your wrist, snatching the keys. Living with Mike has become a better part of your life, coming home to a person who loves you, and who would hold you, holding them. Grounding yourself back to earth in warmth, blending into one, melting your worldly problems away.

Reminding that you’re not alone.

With a groan, you weaved out of the car, locking it, and trekked up the walkway to the porch. Arching your arm, as your open-palm was rubbing your tail-bone as you waltzed to the front-door, thanking God and his angels that you were able to leave work early.

Dunking your hand in your bag, fumbling for your house-keys, mumbling under your breath as you blearily tried to conduct the proper way to tell Mike the truth, ansty and yet giddy at the toes --- to tell him you’re pregnant.

You always wanted a family, but over the years, the desired fantasy was slowly being strangled with dwindling hope, never really connecting to any soul --- until now, with Mike. Yawning mindlessly, you inserted a key into the lock, twisting, and opening the door.

“Mike, I’m home. I have something to tell you—” A cheery tone falters into silence.

Your foggy haze of exhaustion was smacked off your face, as you almost nearly stumbled off your own feet. Prejuticle vomit bubbling at the back of your throat, as startled eyes all look into you, you felt like a trespasser in your own home.

Witnessing a mass of people seated in your living room, snorting lines off the now stained and scratched coffee glass table, startled as they drink heavily and sloppily gulps liquor, as fogs of nicotine floods the air — staring at you with wide eyes.

Rooted in the middle sector of the couch, eyes bulging with fear, hot under the collar, was Mike himself, sniffling back remnants of coke deep into his nostrils, bare-chested in his red suspenders, and dress pants.

“That’s just great.” You mutter under your breath, a cracked sigh of breath; your jaw clicking to the side, Mike knows that tic very well. Your arms fall limply to your waist, as a gesture of defeat.

You walk away, exhaustion setting and resting in your bones, as your feet guide you upstairs. Begrudgingly so, an unbearable itch at the back of your throat, dying to just scream on the top of your lungs.

Scream and cry.

You can faintly hear Mike alert his friends to pack up and go, scuffling of footfalls and inebriated murmuring begin to flow out of the house. A few chuckles and finally …. it was silent, with the slam of the front door the only indicator that it’s just you and Mike — finally alone.

Fidgety fingers nearly tear the fabric off of you, tugging it off your body button by button with an edge of boiling rage, and a sheen of tears burning at the brim of your eyes. All the joy slowly zaps slowly out of your pores, now a dreary sadness now weighs on your shoulders.

Have I not done enough? To help Mike? Maybe my help wasn’t enough? Maybe his pain is too deep-rooted in him, maybe he has to push himself first to make the first move for recovery? Has he been lying all this time? Maybe he’s never been sober during the entire duration of the relationship?

You suspected it, felt the energy was off for quite some time, and yet you decided to play the love-sick fool dance the dance of denial.

A watery huff of a sigh. A dulling pain begins to throb and engulf your skull, an impending migraine just beyond the horizon. Clenching your jaw, nearly on the brink of grinding your teeth. A somber treading up the stairs looms near the bedroom, as you strip.

Dreading on what’s to come next, Mike was slowly walking to the bedroom, fearing a fight breaking out, worried that you’re going to leave him once and for all. But isn’t that what you wanted? For her to realize that you’re not good enough? Mike belittles and berates himself, as he is ever so delaying his steps.

Counting his steps like the sheeps to lull him at night, as he tries to collect his thoughts, already his tongue heavy with ale, ready to slur an apology. Trepidation beams at his brow, fearing the worse to come, that you’ll finally leave him.

His open-palm collides silently against the bedroom door, right on cue when he’s ready to push, he hears sniffles. Internally wincing at your pain, but like a bandage, he’s gotta rip it off.

Grovel on his knees, if he has to, kiss your feet like a goddess worshipped at an alter — anything for you not to hate him. Bringing strangers - swirly acquaintances - into your shared home, breaking your trust.

A creak of the hinges alerts you. Quickly wiping away your teary cheeks, you stand at your night-stand in nothing but your panties, straightening your hunched over form as you were sobbing into your folded clothes.

With a firm shove of the drawer, you close it, gripping your nightie in one hand, and the other clenching into a fist that hovers over your heart. Trying to level your breathing, not wanting to scare off Mike, you know that he’s hurting too.

You can feel his stare burning holes in the back of your skull.

“Mike, I’m just going to take a shower and head off to bed.” You turn your body around, now facing his mopey face, wanting desperately to just kiss him, and hug him. “I suggest putting a bottle of water at the night-stand to keep hydrated throughout the night, and a bucket to be precautious.” You force a forlorn smile, as you place the nightie on the bed.

Uncertain feet tap against the flooring, you walk hesitatingly at first, towards Mike, placing your palm on his shoulder, your thumb rubbing against his skin. A kiss on his lips, ever so featherly soft. “I’m not mad. We’ll get through this.” You rub the tip of your nose against his sweetly.

Mike knows you’re not mad, it’s beyond that. Mad is just scratching the surface, his heart aches to see your eyes watery, and nearly splotchy pink at the rims. “I hate it when you do that.” Mike’s hoarse voice makes you flinch, as if it grated against your ears.

“Excuse me?” Your nose scrunches up, as your cheeks puff out. “Hate what exactly, Mike? Me supporting you bothers you?” You move away from him, sniffing back your tears, shaking a little at the hands, the back of your knees collide against the bed, softly thudding yourself against the mattress.

“No. You pretending you’re not mad. Pretending that everything is okay.” His nose flares, his chest heaving. Wanting to scream, for you to scream. Just let it all go. Too much is bottling like a ticking time bomb.

“But I’m not mad.” You hiss through your teeth.

“Yes the fuck you are! Admit it! Stop acting like a martyr for one moment, and just say it! Say how you really feel! Say I’m a junkie!”

“Stop it, Mike! You’re just a little …” You trail off, biting your tongue, before anything stupid or insensitive spills out. Forbidding any word to spew out, and hurt him. No matter how infuriated you are, you just couldn’t lash out at him.

“Like what? Fucked up? News flash, Y/n, I’m fucked up. Stop acting as if you can fix me! You act like I can just pick up my mistakes and move along.” Mike shouts, now pacing, practically burning a hole in the carpeting.

“Shut up! I was going to say high!” You hastily stand up to your feet, “And I’m so fucking sorry, that me loving you is a fucking problem. That I see you as you are, a fucking human being, not some addict. Because that’s not what defines you, but you want it to be. You can’t stand to see yourself as anything but.” You cry, your hands not knowing where to put them at, just shaking in mid-air.

“That’s fucking bullshit!” Mike barks in your face, tears ready to fall down his stubbled cheeks.

“No it’s not!” You stomp your foot, your toes curling into the carpet. “You refuse to let me in! Instead you seek comfort in strangers, come together to get high, and fuck it all!” Your hand weaves in the air, angrily gesturing; harshly slamming against your thigh.

“You don’t even fucking know me!” By now, his nose is connected to yours. He doesn’t know why he’s screaming at you, lashing you with his insecurities, but how you just won’t admit that this isn’t helping you either. You’re hurting too.

Jesus, his brain is muddled. Fried. He wants to cry, and beg your forgiveness for what he has said, fall to his knees and just hold you, but instead, here he is, shouting at you. He doesn’t feel like a man, he feels lower than dirt.

“Then let me get to know you! You only feed me scraps, thinking that can subdue me, I want you to open up to me!”

“Why? So you can get some self-satisfaction by helping a charity case?” Mike growled, it was a watery one. “I told you from day one, I’m not worth it!” Mike thrashes trinkets off the drawer with his hand, products and little figurines collide on the floor with a thud, “You don’t need this shit! You don’t need me!” Mike screams on the top of his lungs, now hunching over, falling on his knees, as you sink into yourself; covering your mouth from sobbing too loud.

Have you been coming off as pretentious? Pushing him to keep positive, kind affirmations every-day, reminding him to eat healthy, telling him he’s great no matter what, hovering over him to keep sober? Hovering too much? Pushing too hard?

But you couldn’t help it … you love him too much.

“But I need you.” It was a pitiful sob, his arched spine quivering, his shoulders tense, his fingers digging into the cotton fibers. Slowly, you kneel down, your fingers tentatively rub between his shoulder blades; Mike savoring the touch of your finger tips against his clammy skin.

Seconds felt like minutes, biting your lip as you kept rubbing and soothing him, it always helped him calm down. Finally he spoke up, and what he will say will break your heart, “Do you know how it feels to wish for death every day?” Mike choked on a sob, his head bobs a bit to sniffle.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Baby …” You cry, finally a heavy waterfall crashes down. Holding him, your chest against his sculpted back, “Please talk to me. I don’t want to lose you.” Wet little kisses on him, mumbling, “Please tell me.” Fresh tears water his back.

“I love you too much to pull you down. To my own hell. It’s not right. You’re too pure.” Mike picks his head up, your hands cup his cheeks. Your brows furrowing, shaking your head at him.

“I need you.” You whispered. “I will go to bat in Hell, for you. Sock Satan in the mouth if I have too.” You chuckle, and luckily, he chuckles too with that cute signature Weiss smirk.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I just …” Mike hung his head, sighing. Hating that he lied for months, he was doing good, he was clean for a period of time. But he got hit with a big case, and the stress got too much.

Drugs were easier than asking for help.

“Then why did you keep pushing me away?” You tilted your head, to manage eye contact. You never wanted to push him too hard just to open up to you. Knowing that it only could make him crawl deep inside himself.

“Because I couldn’t bear the idea of you choosing to stay with me out of pity or guilt.” Mike rubs his cheek against yours, “I never had anyone love me, never held anything good.” Mike blubbered.

“I love you for you. Flaws and all. I’m here for the long haul.” Blinking back wet lashes, you lean in more against his face, with a gentle squeeze of his cheeks in the cusp of your hands.

“I love you too.” It was simply sweet. Shy, even. Mike nudges his face against yours, his lips trailing down your pulse point. Your ultimate weakness.

Mike hedges himself at the knees, as he engulfs your nude body in his arms; as you wrap your arms around his neck. You kiss the joint of his jaw, and with ease, Mike lifts you by his palms on your ass, standing upward with you in his grasp.

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper in his ear, “Come take a shower with me.” Caressing your face against his, Mike nodded silently. With quiet steps, and two hearts beating against one, Mike waltzes into the bathroom.

With his fore-arm holding you by the bum, his free hand unzipped himself, the click of his zipper made you quiver underneath your skin. His enchanting warmth shoved your secret in the back burner of your mind, but the journey of it twisting and morphing made you worried — slowly your concern of the possibility of losing the father of your unborn baby was temporarily replaced with touch starvation.

Like a balm to a gashing wound.

It was there but subtle, and quiet. Awaiting it’s time to arise at an unexpecting time, to snatch your heart and squeeze.

The shower was warm and inviting, it helped a little clear Mike’s stuffy sinuses. Your fingers twirling and massaging in Mike’s chest hair, as you both cling onto each other as a life-line. Mike kissed the middle of your brows, as his hands were unwavering from your body.

Silence --- the type that doesn’t need to be filled with unnecessary chatter --- comfortable --- speaking louder than words. His tears blending into the spraying water, and his small tremors were the signs that he was genuinely sorry; and with open arms, you forgive him.

Bathing each other has always been a favorite of yours, so intimate, the soapy sensation of wet skin, the intense eye contact — how perfectly his forehead connects with yours. How soft your touch is against his sex, coddling and cleaning him with care and precision.

Mike rubs the soapy sponge against the terrain of your shoulder blades, trailing down the arch of your spine leaving electric kisses down your spine. A breathy gasp at this welcoming intrusion of Mike seeping the sponge between your asscheeks.

Small lathery cadence intermixing with your wanton moans, as your fingernails scratch slightly against Mike’s back. Mike groaned, it felt so good — the smooth and slippery scratches made him hiss, it was a good pinch of pain.

Cheeky as ever, you slipped your hands to cup his his toned ass; Mike chuckled, mumurming under his breath, his pink lips against your soaked dome, “Greedy brat.” This wasn’t an escape from your issues, clearly both of you need to open the air to discuss your emotions --- a needed shower for two was a nice reprieve from the emotional turmoil.

To clear your heads.

After the shower, and moisturizing, helping Mike into bed, you were braiding your hair, but you were unusually silent. It was time to tell him … now or never. His finger curls against your bare back, fiddling with the thin silk straps against his tips.

You turn your face, your palm holding his fingers. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” Mike spoke quietly, as he laid his back against the headboard. His twirling fingers put you a little ease, but it’s not enough, you have to speak up.

“I have to tell you something …” You trail off, your tone puts him at unease. Your gaze is lowered, Mike shifts his hand away, and perks it underneath your chin.

Making you look at him, with a calm poker-face, Mike insists you, with the soft whisper of your name. Biting your lower lip, his thumb quickly tugging it down. “I’m — I’m pregnant.” Wide eyes gawk into Mike’s own widen orbs, wide as dinner plates.

His breathing got heavy, and soon choppy. You quickly put your hand over his heart, shushing him. “It’s going to be okay. Baby, it’s going to be okay.” A lone tear trails down your cheek, thinking of the worst, you believe Mike is going to bolt out of your life out of fear.

“Is that … ” Mike swallows, “Is that what you wanted to tell me earlier?” His chin wobbles, as you nod, unable to speak. His eyes lower to your flat tummy, hesitantly he cups your belly. His fingers caressing the silk clad skin, he began to cry. Just unraveling in your hold.

That night, you held him tight, and he clung to you tightly; his head laid on your stomach, his tears shedding against your nightie. Mike felt …. scared. Throughout the night, he would mumble that he wasn’t good dad material, but you always tell him, “You’re going to be great.”

That was four months ago, and throughout those four months, Mike was up and down, on and off of drugs, but finally … he stopped. He cried when he first heard your baby’s heartbeat, that’s when he began his rocky path back to sobriety.

Four months of self-hate, sometimes he would leave his journals open for you to read, he couldn’t properly express himself verbally, but in writing, he said it all. He was afraid of the rehab campus’, he preferred your expertise and comfort to nurse him back.

But he couldn’t do this to you, your pregnancy shouldn’t be a stressful one. He knows what he must do.

Mike opened his eyes once more, coming back to reality. Four months and he’s still here. “I’m ready.” His voice was small, yet confident. As if a surge of power consumed his body. His eyes shine with determination.

You were taken back, “Ready for what?” You ask nervously. You bite down on your bottom lip, a little habit you have yet to kick, you would bite your lip till it cracked and bleed.

“To go back to rehab. I gotta do this right.” You hold back a sob, kissing his forehead. “I want to do right for our baby.” Mike weakly smiles, you smile back. You can already envision your shared future, how Mike will protect and love your child. Happy and healthy, no longer fearing the shadow of death lingering near him.

“This baby is so lucky to have you as their daddy.” With the tips of your fingers, grazing his jaw, you lean down for a kiss. It’s a wispy yet passionate kiss. Sending electric waves down Mike’s spine.

“God, I love you.” Mike mumbles against your lips.

Mike Weiss, lawyer, ex-addict, a lover and a father. Oh, how lucky you are to have him, and how blessed he feels to have you.

#angrybirdcr200challenge #buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #mike weiss x reader #mike weiss #mike Weiss x black!reader #black reader insert

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the-iceni-bitch · 3 years ago

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Last Updated: 02/11/2024

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This blog is for adults only, do not interact or follow if you are under the age of 18, I will block you. 🔞

I write what I want, when I want, so expect to see so much filth, surprising fluff, a smidge of angst, m/m or f/f, and the occasional murder. Reader inserts are my main thing though.

I am not taking requests at this time, and have no plans to open them up in the near future, but if you send me a thirsty thot, who knows!!

If you like my writing, feel free to buy me a KoFi.

No Love Like Your Love AU

Poison Paradise

Jake and Khaleesi

Goddamn Prince Charming Looking DILF

Vices Assemble

Swimming Through Sick Lullabies

All of that Ultraviolence

Steve Rogers

Ransom Drysdale

Jake Jensen

Ari Levinson

Andy Barber

Bryce Langley

Mike Weiss

Colin Shea

Curtis Everett

Johnny Storm

Paul Diskant

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Bucky Barnes

Charles Blackwood

Lance Tucker

Thor Odinson

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Geralt of Rivia

August Walker

Brunnhilde Valkyrie

Carol Danvers

(Coming Soon) Maria Hill

(Coming Soon) Natasha Romanov

(Coming Soon) Matt Murdock

(Coming Soon) Xialing

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist!!

Kinkmas 2022 Masterlist!!

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist!!

Kinktober 2021

Wade Wilson’s Special Hell

Let’s talk about dick sizes

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jtargaryen18 · 3 years ago

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Jtargaryen18’s 12 Days of Christmas 2021

This year for Christmas, I want to try something. I’d like to do 12 Days of Christmas stories and post one a day from 12/25 thru 1/5.

What are the stories about?

What do you want to see?

I thought I’d give you guys the first shot at it. If I’m lucky enough to get 12 requests, great. 💕🙏 If not, I’ll come up with something.

All the details...

Send me an ask. It can be anonymous if you’re more comfortable or you can be you.

Send me your idea. It has to be related to Christmas, New Year, or your favorite winter holiday.

You can stick to the traditional 12 Days of Christmas (i.e. 5 golden rings) or you can do your own variation like 5 kisses, 6 orgasms, etc. 😏 Send me your idea for one of the days. Ex: Mike Weiss from Getting Clean gives you six sex toys for Christmas...and you can fill in any other details you want to include.

The story idea should be ideal for a one-shot 3-5K words.

It should be for a character I write for. Basically any character played by Chris Evans or Sebastian Stan in the MCU or beyond. I’m also open to writing other Marvel characters like Loki, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Erik Killmonger, Thor, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, and Scott Lang. The stories will be reader insert.

The story can be an idea you have for any of my existing series whether they are complete or in progress or one-shots.

Each of the 12 days will feature a different character. If I’m lucky and get two requests for Ransom, example, I’ll write one for Christmas and the other I’ll get creative and write it at some point in 2022. Not expecting that many so I doubt there will be much of a problem.

I’m going to hold onto the asks until I post the story 💕 so it will be a surprise when I post these.

I reserve the write not to write stories that have interaction with minors, gross stuff, or gratuitous abuse as titllation.

The story request can be darker or fluffy. I like writing both.

The story request can be for a sweet story or one with heaps of smut.

The deadline for getting me your ideas is 11/19/21.

Thank you so much! 💕🙏💕

#12 Days of Christmas #Holiday requests

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captain-kelli · 4 years ago

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Hey, saw you were looking for one shots to read. This was one of my first reader inserts and it did very well compared to my usual OC series but if you fancy it, it features Mike Weiss... “Sunny Side Up”

Hi! 👋🏼 I have actually never seen Puncture (if we’re being honest here, I actually had to google the character 😂) - but I will share this with the fam for any interested readers!

send me your stories

#what-is-your-backupplan-today

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wiypt-writes · 3 years ago

Text

25 Days Of CHRIS-Mas

Day 14: Dreaming Of A Weiss Christmas

Summary: Mike ends up in the ER and he’s not in a good way…

Pairing: Mike Wess (Puncture) x Sunny Side Up Reader

Warnings: Bad Language, reference to drug abuse (NSFW, 18+)

W/C: 2.4k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, any likeness to any persons or events in real life are purely co-incidental. I do not own any characters contained herein bar the reader and/or any original characters. I do not give consent for my work to be copied and posted/translated onto any other sites. If you see this fiction anywhere other than Tumblr, it has been taken without permission. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer and ALL warnings posted here.

A/N: So I imagine the reader here to be the same one from my smutty one shot- Sunny Side Up

25 Days Of Chris-mas Masterlist / Main Masterlist /

Day 13: Lucas Lee (Scott Pilgrim v The World)

Your feet ached and your legs were tired on account of you not sitting down once since you’d arrived for your shift six hours ago. It was the last Friday before Christmas, and seemingly everyone in Delaware was out celebrating. Which of course, meant plenty of action in the ER.

You'd seen it all tonight. Literally. A Santa with an elf kink, an elf with a candy cane kink, a few horrific accidents, eggnog poisoning, drugs, babies with RSV. And now you had a bus on its way in with a man in his mid-thirties, found collapsed in his office by his secretary.

Or at least that was what the call on the radio was.

You snorted, thinking it was a cover for a wild affair and a good time before he was due to go home to his wife.

You quickly checked your phone, no word from Mike, but you knew he was working late trying to tie up the last bit of paper work on his latest case before he finished for the holiday. You were spending a quiet Christmas alone before the Dazinger family arrived for New Years, and you were looking forward to seeing them again. They hadn’t been over since the spring, and you and Mike hadn’t made it back to Texas despite your intentions and you knew he missed his best pal.

"Bus is pulling in, Dr Y/L/N. Bay 5." An admitting nurse came by and grabbed you.

“Okay,” you stopped by the sanitizer station to scrub your hands before you grabbed a pair of gloves and headed over. “So, what have we got?” You asked, your eyes focussed on your hands as you pulled on your gloves.

“34-year-old male, found collapsed on the floor of his office,” the paramedic spoke as you looked up quickly to show you were listening, as the nurses began bustling around. “He’s been in and out of it a little, complaining of acute abdominal pain. Possible appendicitis.”

“You give him anything?” You asked as your eyes flicked to the bed and then, your breath caught as you stared at the man whose face was contorted in pain.

“No, he refused everything…”

"Mike? Jesus, alright, he's a recovered addict. Let's transfer him to the bed from the gurney on three."

Once Mike was in place, you hastily moved to his side and gripped his hand, “hey.”

He blinked at you and gave you a small smile before he groaned again, his fingers tightening around yours.

“Wait, this is your Mike?” One of the nurses spoke and you nodded. “Want me to grab another doctor?”

"No, I'm okay. There's no one else."

“Fuck,” Mike whimpered.

“Okay, he’s gonna need something for the pain,” you bit your lip.

“No…” he groaned, and you sighed.

“Giving him Tylenol or Motrin is gonna be like going after Godzilla with a Nerf gun at the moment: pretty pointless,” Sandy, the staff nurse looked at you.

“I know, I just…” Mike gave another loud groan of pain you sighed, “okay, let’s give him a small amount of oxycodone to start with. Absolutely no morphine.”

“Babe,” you moved back to his head, your hand stroking over his hair, “we’re gonna give you something to make you a little bit more comfortable but I promise it’s gonna be okay,” you smiled as he looked at you, “you’ve done really well the last three years, you're not a higher risk of relapse, it’s normal procedure.”

“No…no needles,” he looked at you and you nodded.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll get you a pill.”

"Yeah," he grimaced, his body curling into itself.

As Sandy headed off for his pain relief, you managed to get him to lay down and you unclipped the suspenders from his beige coloured slacks.

“What did Janet say about your tie?” You tried to distract him as you began undoing his navy-blue dress shirt. You were referring to the ugliest Christmas you could find for him you'd found in a thrift store uptown.

"Brilliant," he sweat out against his paler than usual complexion.

A second nurse spoke, "Temp is 104.7."

"Alright," you got to work, Mike no longer your boyfriend but your current patient, separating your emotions from the job required. "Mike, you're gonna have to let me start an IV. I promise that's the only needle, alright?"

“No.”

“Mike, we have no choice. We can do it into the back of your hand, not your arm.”

He swallowed and then finally agreed.

“Okay, now I need you to tell me where it hurts?” You gently prodded his stomach and he gave a yell, before he turned onto his side and vomited on the floor.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure this acute appendicitis.” You looked at Sandy as she returned with his painkillers.

“Want me to order an ultrasound?”

“No, let’s get him straight into the OR, if he’s in this much pain, then it could be at risk of rupturing and sepsis”

“I errr, I hate to ask but…”

“Yeah, I got our insurance details.” You nodded, watching as Mike was now led back, his left arm slung over his forehead as your junior doctor successfully attached the IV to the back of his hand.

From then on, things moved pretty fast. Your clinical lead told you to stay with Mike, much to your relief, and you headed up to the OR with him. Thankfully, he was taken straight in, but just as he was being wheeled through the doors, he gripped your hand tight.

“Babe…”

“I’m gonna be right outside, okay? And I’ll be there when you wake up.”

He managed a nod before being wheeled off.

******

Thankfully, he’d been brought in just in time. His appendix was severely inflamed but not ruptured and so could be removed via laparoscopy instead of full open surgery. You shed a few tears of relief as the surgeon relayed that to you as you stood watching from the observation room.

This meant that, provided everything went well, he’d be able to go home soon and be back to his normal routine within a week or so. But most importantly of all, it meant his pain wouldn’t be unbearable and you should be able to manage it carefully with an appropriate prescription.

An hour and a half later you were sat in his recovery room, waiting for him to come round from the anaesthesia. You sat at his bedside, still in your scrubs and now your glasses perched on your nose. His hand was held tightly between both of yours as you watched him come to.

He stirred, a soft groan slipping from his lips as he blinked. Once, twice, three times, his head lolling to the side.

"Hey," you spoke softly, his groggy eyes landing on yours.

“Y/N…” he muttered.

“Hey…”

“No, I need Y/N.” He shook his head, his eyes remaining closed.

“I’m here…”

“No, I need her.”

You took a deep breath, you’d dealt with enough cases of postoperative delirium to know that it wasn’t worth upsetting him, especially when he wouldn’t remember a thing he was saying now once the fog cleared.

“Okay, she’s busy but I’ll page her. For the time being, I’ll just wait here, okay?”

"Yeah." He croaked.

You reached up to check the oxygen flow, increasing it slightly to help with his brain function and sat back down.

“Can you remember why you’re in here?”

“Erm… pain. Appendix.”

“Yeah, good. It all went well, you’ll be able to go home in a day or so.”

"No drugs," he mumbled.

"No, only the bare minimum for inflammation, pain management and discomfort. Nothing beyond Tylenol or Motron when you’re discharged, none of the hard stuff."

"Where's Y/N?"

“On her way.” You assured him. “Now, just try and rest.”

"Yeah," he closed his eyes and you leaned in to press your lips to his cheek.

He flinched and pulled away, his eyes remaining shut, “I don’t… no, sorry, I love Y/N,” he sighed

“Well, word has it she loves you too.” You smiled a little to yourself.

“Don’t deserve her.” He mumbled

"Yeah, why's that?"

“I put her through some…” he licked his lips. “Drugs, she saved…my life.”

You grabbed the water cup nearby, gently. Tilting it to his lips. "You do deserve her."

"I...it’s Christmas next week. Got her something special."

“Yeah? I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

“Had to hide it,” he lay back, his eyes looking at the ceiling, “she likes to go lookin’ for her gifts.”

You smirked. You did, a horrible habit you'd had since a little girl that had now grown into a game for the two of you.

“This one has to be a surprise. So I wrapped it,” Mike grinned, “and it’s in a box in another box in another box under the tree. So she can’t peak."

"Interesting."

“I hope it fits.”

That caught your attention. "Fits?"

He nodded, his eyes closing. “I think it’s her size, I had to steal…” at that he gave a little yawn.

"Just rest, Mike." You encouraged. "Y/N will be here soon."

He fell silent, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his chest fell and rose steadily.

You watched him, tears in your eyes as you had a funny feeling you know what that present was.

A few months ago the ring that your grandma had given you had mysteriously vanished only to reappear on top of the microwave. You had at the time assumed you’d removed it when cleaning and forgotten but now… well, you found yourself realising that Mike must have borrowed it.

To check the size of a ring he had bought you.

"Oh Mike," you whispered tearfully. You had so many emotions. Sad you inadvertently spoiled the surprise, elated he was asking and incredibly happy because the two of you'd come so far.

It was an hour later when you heard your name being spoken. You jerked awake, having dozed off on the chair. Two blue eyes locked onto yours and you gave a tired smile as Mike reached for your hand.

“Hey, babe.”

“How are you feeling?” You asked, your fingers tightening gently round his.

"Fucked up," he dryly chuckled.

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “They got your appendix out easily, you just need to rest up for a while and then you can come home.”

“Did the other doctor call you?”

“Other doctor?”

“Yeah, there was one here before. I was talking it her. She seemed nice. Pretty, but not a patch on you.”

"Oh, Weiss." You ran your thumb over his cheek.

****

A day later, Mike was allowed home with strict instructions not to do anything to strenuous.

To his credit, he was the perfect home patient, filling his time with making cookies and various other treats as per his favourite pastime and in what felt like the blink of an eye, it was Christmas Eve and the pair of you were snuggled on the sofa, you thanking your lucky stars your shift patterns had given you the coveted Christmas Day holiday.

Mike was a little restless, his leg twitching every so often and you looked up at him, your hands softly running through the hair on the back of his head.

“You seem agitated, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… err… can I give you one of your presents now?” He looked at you, his cheeks an adorable shade of pink and you smiled.

You did your best to stay calm, despite the fact your heart had leapt into your throat.

“Erm, okay.”

Ever so carefully he moved over to the tree, taking to his knees and digging out the box he sought.

“Mike, be careful.” You said softly, “you shouldn’t be bending.”

"I'm fine, it's for a second." He slowly brought himself upright and walked back to the couch with you. He sat carefully down and sighed handing you the box.

You looked at him, and then with hands that you were trying desperately to keep still you tore off the paper and opened the box. Sure bough, inside was a slightly smaller wrapped box. You looked at Mike who grinned as you playfully rolled your eyes and opened the second box to reveal a third.

And that was when you felt Mike stiffen besides you. Pretending not to notice you tore the paper off and then lifted the lid, your hand flying to your mouth as you saw the deep red, Cartier ring box.

"Mike...." you whispered with a tremble in your voice.

"I've waited a long time for this, for someone like you to come into my life and I had just about given up on everything. I did give up on everything. And there you were." He slowly took to a knee before you, a slight grimace to his face.

"You don't..." you started but he silenced you.

"No, I've got to." He took the ring box and slipped that promise out, your hand free in his own. "You saved my life. You gave me a purpose that I never thought I had. Y/N, you've put up with all my shit and seen me at my very worst, literally vomiting and sweating out years of terribly wrong decisions. But since the second we met, I've made only the right ones and all I want to do is make each and every decision from here on out with you and only you. Please make me a kept man, Y/N. Marry me?"

“A kept man?” You spluttered a laugh as he gave you his signature grin, “oh Mikey… yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

He grinned more and slipped the ring over your left ring finger. Your lips latched to his immediately as you tearfully accepted.

“I love you, Mike Weiss,” you whispered against his mouth, “so much.”

"I love you, Y/N Weiss." He smirked. He looked down at your hands. "A perfect fit. "You didn’t comment that you’d already sussed his efforts with your grandma’s ring, instead you let him explain all that to you, taking in the shine in his eyes.

****

Later that night the pair of you lay naked in bed, tangled around one another. Your love making had been slow, not least because of his recovery, but also because the mood was just that. Slow and intimate.

As you slept, Mike pressed a kiss to your head. He knew that you’d known about the ring. As soon as one of the nurses told him you hadn’t left his side since he came out of the operating room, he’d quickly realised the other doctor he’s been chatting shit to had been you.

But the fact you’d been happy to hide that and wait, give him his moment made his heart swell.

"Mrs Weiss," he chuckled. "It's perfect."

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Weiss." You murmured against his chest.

“Dreaming of a Weiss Christmas, huh babe?”

At that you let out a tired groan and Mike laughed.

“Idiot.”m

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Day 15: Steve Rogers (Marvel)

#wiypt25daysofchrismas #day 14 #mike weiss #mike mess x reader #reader insert #chris evans characters

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