pairing: michael weiss (chris evans in puncture, 2011) x reader
themes: drug use, angst, romance
word count: 2k
summary: you work as an intern in mike’s law firm, and despite his chaotic lifestyle consisting of a rather severe drug addiction and dependence on sex to feel less lonely, you fell for him since the day you met him. now that he’s shown up at your doorstep one night, it almost seems like a dream come true, but you know you have to go about this carefully. you desperately want to be his, but can you do that knowing that for him, his other addictions may always come first?
note: this will most likely only have two parts for the time being! let me know if you’d like to be tagged in part deux! ;)
A light sigh escaped your lips as you arose from the couch, rubbing your eyes as you glanced at the time on your phone. 9:23 PM? “Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, wondering when the hell you had gotten so old to be this tired at such an early hour. Then again, being an intern at Weiss & Danziger could get quite exhausting, especially with a boss like Michael Weiss. You would never dream of quitting, however-- it had been your dream since you were in high school to become a lawyer, and this internship was perfect for gaining necessary experience for law school now that you had just graduated from college.
That, and you may have had a slight crush on one of your coworkers. That was, Michael Weiss, to be exact.
You hated yourself for it. Not even because he was your boss, no-- that, you could get past. It was his lifestyle that had you wondering why you couldn’t snap yourself out of these feelings-- a cocky lawyer who lacked responsibility more often than not due to having an incessant drug problem? Yes, that was definitely someone you wanted to take back home to your parents one day. However, you also knew that issues like his did not simply start from nowhere. As much as you wanted to frown upon the choices Mike made, you had realized early on that these choices came from a place of hurting. Whether it was internal or due to some outside traumatic experience, you had no idea, and you could not assume. Even as understanding as you were, there were times you would get frustrated with the lawyer. Some days he was late to meetings with clients, some days he did not show up at all. There were occasions where his phone would be turned off for days, and you remembered when you had shown up to his own house to pass on important files on one of these days, you were greeted at the door by a half naked woman with bloodshot eyes and a blunt in her hand.
But then there were the days you saw him sitting at his desk, his incredibly messy desk at the law firm, intense blue eyes studying papers before him while simultaneously speaking on the phone with whomever he could find to dig more information out of. There were days you even saw him in court, dressed up in a suit and speaking confidently to the judge, his passion and intelligence practically shining through each and every one of his mannerisms--
-- despite the fact that you also knew he had snorted a few lines mere hours before, if not even sooner.
How he was able to perform so well while being so high, you had no idea, but it was not exactly something you wanted to feel impressed by.
Trying to forget about it, you yawned as you stepped over to the TV, ready to turn it off and head for bed when you heard the doorbell of your apartment ring. You blinked and glanced down at the somewhat skimpy black nightie you were wearing; you supposed it was probably just your neighbor, since she tended to come over some nights to hang out and chat for a little bit because you were close in age, and so you came over to the door and opened it. “Ava I’m too ti-” you started to decline already, but immediately froze when you saw the male standing there, wearing his signature button-down shirt and suspenders look. “Mike…?” you finally addressed, looking at him confused before realizing what you were wearing, quickly clearing your throat and turning around to find your oversized hoodie you had lazily tossed onto the couch earlier. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
He let himself in, blue hues scanning your body briefly but shamelessly before raising an eyebrow as he closed the door behind him. “I didn’t see you today.” You rolled your eyes as you pulled the sweatshirt on, turning around to look at him arching your own brow. “You didn’t come in today.” Frowning slightly, you noticed the hint of white under his nostril, resisting the urge to roll your eyes again. Going over to the dining table and taking a napkin, you came back and handed it to him, looking entirely unamused. “For the blow you left under your nose.” You spoke bluntly-- yes, he was your boss, but for some reason, you had always had a more comfortably outspoken relationship with him. Perhaps because he was so direct and straightforward himself-- he never seemed to be fazed by your more sassy side, anyways.
He took it and wiped at it as he kept his eyes on you, clearly not embarrassed or ashamed in the least. “Did you drive here?” you asked him, sighing before even waiting for an answer-- of course he must have, you swore this man had no appreciation for his own life sometimes. “Just-- you can sleep here, alright? On the couch. But I’m going to bed.”
As you turned around, you felt a hand grab your wrist, making you widen your eyes slightly. “No.” He stated, his eyes now on your back oddly troubled yet insistent at the same time. “I’m sleeping with you. In your bed. I want to be next to you.” He nonchalantly walked past you, but briefly tugged on the sleeve of your hoodie as he did so, adding, “And take this shit off.”
You watched incredulously as he opened the few doors of your apartment before finding your bedroom, only looking on in even more disbelief as he let himself inside as if he had lived there his entire life. “Mike!” you hissed, following after him hoping the blush on your cheeks after his last demand wasn’t showing. “How high are you? You can’t just….” you trailed off, watching as he now started undressing himself, still looking rather confidently nonchalant with his decision. He glanced over at you, noticing you staring but simply nodded towards your hoodie expectantly. “Off. Now. It’s hot as fuck, and considering what you opened the door in, I don’t think you wear that shit to bed.”
“I-it’s fine, I get cold at night so--” you started to reply, now practically feeling the heat on your Ycheeks as you wondered why you were even starting to comply to this conversation let alone his determination to sleep over, when he suddenly came over to you himself in nothing but his suspenders and pants, grabbing the hoodie and lifting it off your head. “Then I’ll fuckin’ warm you up, don’t worry about it.” He replied as you could only stare at him with your mouth open, your eyes taking in his perfect abs as his eyes once again scanned your body up and down, before he simply turned back around and continued to strip until he was left in just his boxer briefs.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he spoke, even though his back was turned to you, “I usually sleep in the nude so I’d say I’m being pretty damn conservative here.” He glanced towards you and the corner of his lips barely tugged upwards, some sense of emotion finally displayed on his handsome features for the first time before he invited himself right into your bed, pulling back the blankets and settling in underneath. You still stared at him in shock as he lay on his back and closed his eyes, standing there for a few seconds until his deep voice sounded, “Well? Turn off the lights and get in here already. I didn’t come here for just the bed, I have one of these at my house, too, you know.”
You found yourself immediately obeying for a reason you still were completely unsure of, deciding to blame it on your brain rather than yourself. Those were two separate entities, right…? Getting into the bed carefully after turning the lights off, you stuck to your side, inhaling deeply. “Okay, fine, you can stay here, just-- I’m sleeping now, okay? I’m tired.” You were expecting him to argue, but to your surprise, there was complete silence. You tried to glance up at him discreetly, even though you knew the darkness in the room would protect you for now, and you could barely make out by the shape of his long eyelashes that his eyes were still closed.
Were you feeling… disappointed?
You quickly turned around to face the wall and shut your eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. ‘It’s fine, just go to sleep. He’s only here because he’s high, he’ll probably be gone before you even wake up.’ You thought to yourself, but there was no denying such a prospect felt rather depressing than reassuring.
And then the silence was interrupted, a husky voice suddenly speaking. “You know,” he began, your eyes immediately opening as you kept an unnecessarily intense focus on the wall, biting on your lower lip. “It’s really fucking annoying working with you.” You blinked but tried to hold back the feelings of hurt, knowing the world of law could get much more intense than this-- you needed to learn how to be more steady and indifferent than sensitive. And so you barely cleared your throat, still looking to the wall as you replied as maturely as you could, “Annoying..? Why? What do I do?”
“You distract me. Even when I’m sitting in my goddamn office with the door shut, the door locked-- I’m just fucking thinking about you.” You swore you forgot to breathe upon hearing this, your heart pounding even faster once you remembered soon after that breathing was, in fact, important. You turned somewhat cautious, on your back now to look up at him, your eyes slightly more adjusted to the dark now and seeing that he appeared to be looking up at the ceiling. You wanted more than anything to ask him more, to find out if your own feelings were requited, and you even contemplated doing so.
But you held your tongue, knowing that was too dangerous of a path to go down. “Then one of us can work from home.” You replied bluntly instead, turning back to face the wall, hoping your voice sounded steadier than your heart rate. However, you soon felt a shifting in the bed followed by a toned arm wrap around your body, pulling you back. You were now face-to-face with the man, his eyes piercing into yours, the blue somehow radioactive in the darkness that surrounded you. “I don’t want that. I want to see you everyday. Fuck, I want to have you.” There was no steadying your heartbeat now, the mere words making you feel a strange sense of delight and uncertainty at the same time-- but you barely had time to process these feelings before his lips were suddenly pressed against yours, his kiss naturally rough and filled with passion you weren’t even sure that could be possible to fake. You kissed him back, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace, to feel his tongue make its entrance into your wet cavern to wrap around your own, to let his teeth barely tug on your lower lip, his large hands slide down your back--
-- and then reality came crashing down into the euphoria of it all, immediately making you pull away.
“Mike,” you whispered, looking up into his eyes somewhat sadly, “I can’t.”
He blinked, his hands pausing, clearly annoyed and confused as he looked down at you. “Why the fuck not?”
You sat up and ran your hand through your hair, looking away frustrated. “Because I fucking love you, okay? I- I’ve had feelings for you ever since I started working at the firm, and it just- god, it just fucking kills seeing the shit you do everyday. You realize there are days I don’t even know if you’re alive, right? Any time your phone is off for more than a few hours, I’m worried that you could be lying dead in a fucking ditch somewhere. And then I find that you’re just in bed with some drugged out whore who only uses you for drug money and it’s just--” you sighed, pausing for a few moments realizing you were practically running out of breath, looking away as you forced yourself to hold back the tears threatening to spill before continuing, “-- it’s just fucking exhausting.”
Quite honestly, you half expected him to have fallen asleep in the middle of your rant, but as you looked back towards him, you saw that he was sitting up himself, staring down at you somewhat surprised. “Then why do you still have feelings for me?” he asked lowly, a hint of curiosity in his deep blue hues, something you would probably stare at if you weren’t so incredulous over his ignorant question. “Are you serious, Mike? It’s not like I can just control this, otherwise I’d have chosen to, I don’t know, have feelings for someone who’s not a fucking crackhead.”
Were you too harsh? You regretted saying it the instant it came out, wondering if he’d explode-- but instead, he leaned closer, only looking at you with more intrigue. “What do you see in me, then?” he was practically murmuring now, and you bit your lip, figuring you might as well continue the honesty considering you had already boarded the entire goddamn train of it. “I see someone who’s passionate. More intelligent than anyone I’ve ever met before. Someone who wants to help people, not for his own personal gain or satisfaction, but because he cares.” You whispered back, looking up at him wishing you knew what he was thinking in that exact moment. He seemed to be listening intently, his eyes focused on yours yet distant at the same time as he pondered this over, before his teeth found his own lower lip. “What if I told you I’m only who I am because I’m never sober? That I only succeed in this line of work because of the drugs?” You blinked, finding the question quite preposterous, but now realizing that his damaged mind must have truly thought this.
Your heart hurt for him, and you realized you could not be angry anymore.
“Then you’re in the wrong line of work, Mike,” you spoke softly, slowly reaching up to caress the side of his face, biting your lip as you looked up into his eyes. “But I know you’re not. I know you’re so much more than what all the coke makes you think you are, okay? Just-- I…” you trailed off before slowly continuing, “...I can prove it to you if you would let me help you…”
He looked down at you, his expression significantly softer now; it was the first time you saw even a hint of vulnerability in his features, and it was turning your brain into a pile of mush. “I want you to help me,” he muttered lowly as if in a trance, his hand now tilting your chin upwards to keep the eye contact. “Just you, baby. Please.”
You had to pause to wonder if he was only saying this to play with your emotions; after all, he was in the perfect position to, and it was not something you could rule out considering that he was a lawyer at heart, meaning he knew exactly how to talk. Still, as you studied his facial expression, you could see the pain in those azure orbs-- he was taking as much of a risk here as you were, and you were beginning to realize that even if he were to hurt you in the end, you’d sacrifice your heart to make him feel at least a little bit better about himself and his passion.
“I’ll help you, Mike.” You spoke softly, letting your fingers run through his hair, fully accepting the risk that it could practically kill you in the end, but this was what your intuition was telling you to do. “You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
He slowly pulled you down with him to lay on the bed together, his strong arms wrapping around you. You felt his lips kiss the top of your head before his own simply rested on it, your face nuzzled comfortably into his bare chest. The more wary part of you couldn’t help but wonder if all of this was set up to simply make another move on you, but you soon realized his breathing becoming much more even, his body slowly settling into a content slumber.
You were not disappointed anymore. Instead, a soft smile crossed your lips as your own heartbeat finally calmed down, exhaling deeply as you let yourself fall asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
