#michael cutter x reader

[bullet-prooflove]

Would you be able to do “Cause she's what everybody chases”with Mike Cutter?

You can’t stand at a bar without someone trying to pick you up, it’s a proven fact. At least that’s what Mike thinks as he watches you from his seat in the booth you’re both occupying. He doesn’t blame them, you’re a striking woman. He imagines you turn heads wherever you go.

It’s not just your looks that Mike enjoys it’s your company, your mind. You’re the only one that gets the way he thinks, that sees underneath all the armour he puts up, the bravado you calls it.

“You were jealous.” You murmur against his lips as you straddle his lap later that night.

Your black pencil skirt is hiked up to your hips and his palms are chasing up the delicate thigh high stockings you always wear underneath. It drives him crazy seeing you every day, knowing what’s under that skirt, not being able to reach out and touch.

“Maybe.” He concedes as his thumb traced over your lower lip, smearing that pretty red lipstick. “Do you like it?”

He likes you a little messy, a little raw. You’re usually so prim, so buttoned up. He’s the only one that gets to see this side of you, the woman underneath the label of Ice Queen.

“That depends.” You say with that smile of yours, the one that makes him feel like a thousand watt lightbulb just went off in his face. “What are you going to do about it?”

Love Cutter? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

@kmc1989

[stefanmikaleson1864]

Let's Play

Genre: smut

Paring: female Reader x Rafael Barba, Dominick Carisi Jr and Michael Cutter

Idea: reader is a criminal and has been arrested for a serious crime now she has to go to court and could go to prison for life. Her solution is to seduce the Executive Ada (cutter) and his Adas (Barba & Carisi) in their office to get a deal so she doesn't have to go to prison

Requested by: @villains-are-hot

A/N: Thank you so much for sitcking with me and i really hope you enjoy this piece !

Y/N’s POV 

Jail is the fucking worst. It’s not what they present on TV at all it’s hard and rough and not a place that someone like me belongs.

This whole innocent or guilty thing doesn’t apply anymore. It’s never about whether you did the crime or not it’s about how you can get out of it. 

That’s something i’ve always been good at finding my way out of things. It’s because of my looks honestly. I take a lot of time working on myself. Eating the right things and not moe procedural work and hair and nails. I bake out in the sun and tan and i make sure i look like a barbie doll. 

It’s worked for me my entire life. Being able to walk through any situation and work or perhaps flirt my way out of the situation. I mean why else would you work so hard if you weren’t going to use it to your advantage. 

Right now you were currently sitting in the district attorneys room.

You were currently out on bond and your very old but very expensive lawyer was convincing you to take a deal. You a deal ?? Like hell you would. 

Okay maybe i should start at the top with everything. I’m not the devil in this case okay.

My ex boyfriend was stalking me and was harassing me all the time. He wouldn’t leave me alone and i thought something bad was going to happen.

He was breaking into my apartment and leaving letters and sending me pictures polaroids of myself while i was out and about.

I tried to tell people but no one listened. Expect Bobby that is. He told me not to worry about it. 

I didn’t ask any questions and when Matt ended up dead I didn’t think to go around telling anyone. I was more relieved than anything. 

But when your ex ends up dead of course your name comes in the investigation.

Then when Bobby got offered a sweetheart deal he took it in a heartbeat and told everyone you asked him to do it. 

Which was absolutely crazy. I mean sure you weren’t complaining when he died but you never asked for the man to be murdered. I’m innocent in all of this really. 

Right now you were sitting in the courtroom while all these delicious men were debating on what to do with you.

Your lawyer had stepped out for a moment not that you were complaining though because this situation is everything you wanted. 

They all were a little older than you, but silver foxes were the best they have knowledge they knew what they were doing. 

“Come on just go easy she clearly didn’t know what she was doing” The tall italian one said. He was clearly an ex cop you can tell a man like him he knew how to use handcuffs. 

“Absolutely not she knew what she was doing was wrong she set into the motion the events of a mans murder”  The shorter man with brownish hair yelled. 

“Come on gentleman why are we even wasting our time with this the jury is going to convict her and our hands will be washed” the shorter more angrier man said. 

You sat up straight in your chair. Your back was stretched, your girls were out and proud. You “accidently” knocked over a coffee cup with a tiny bit of coffee. 

“Opps i’m sorry gentlemen” You said smiling and laughing. 

The taller man got up and cleaned up the mess and you could see him look up at you. Your eyes meant with him and you flashed a smile down at him. It was clearly working he wasn’t looking away. 

“All finished now with what ever this was” the shorter man said. 

The taller man got up and threw the stuff away in the bin. 

“What’s your name” You asked in a flirty voice 

“Dominic Carisi, everyone just calls me Carisi” He said in a more nervous tone 

“What the hell am i watching” The shorter man yelled. 

“And who might you be” You said leaning on the table and the man looked at you with a disbelief look in his eyes. 

“Michael Cutter and that’s Mr Cutter to you” He said in a more stern voice. 

“Well so nice to meet you” You said

“And you, who might you be last but not certainly least” You said batting your eyes and moving around a little bit to show off your assets. 

“Rafel Baraba” He said in a monotone showing he wasn’t even that interested. 

You reached out your hand and you took his in yours and have it a nice squeeze. He didn’t let go right away which surprised you then he snatched in a matter of seconds and played it off. 

Carisi was looking at you out of the corner of his eye and it was hard to tell what he was thinking.

He looked somewhat jealous but also irritated. Like what was running through his mind. Either way it seemed like a good opportunity for you to run it through. 

So you looked away from Barba and looked back him. His piercing blue eyes taking a look at yours.

You leaned in and he just sat there a moment not moving either. 

It felt like there was a moment going on there and you took his hand and brought it up to your lips and gave him a kiss on the hand. 

“Whoa okay don’t do what” Carisi yelled. 

“Come on police officer you liked it” You said 

“It’s ADA and no I didn’t” he said 

You turned your back and looked at the shorter man who was leaning against the wall just kind of looking at you. 

“And what about you I know you like it to don’t you” You said running your tongue against your lips. 

“No absolutely not” Barba said in a mototone 

You gotten up from your seat and walked over to Cutter who was now sitting at the table and looking more and more over this.

You sat down on the empty seat next to him and placed your hand on top of his. 

He looked at you and he got a look on his face where he was both appalled at what ever was going on and he also looked intrigued too. 

You knew you could pull him out he was acting tough but was he also really that tough you thought to yourself. 

You leaned in and you got closer to his face. He just kind of looked you in the eyes and he quickly looked down at your lips. 

“Come on you know this isn’t on me” You whispered quietly and grabbed his tie and played with it. 

“All i know is  your a criminal” he whispered back 

You just smirked and played cool you would never let the upper hand slip away.

"Maybe take a girl out before you judge her" You said.

He just looked at you with a mischevious look on his face like he was debating on taking you up on the offer.

You got up and walked over to Barba and he looked a little more annoyed than usual with you. You just stood up straight girls were showing curves were popping off. 

“What about you you know what they say the biggest surprises come in small packages” You said putting your hand on the wall over top of him and looking down at him. 

He seemed into it like he was hiding it just like the rest of them. They all knew they wanted it but they couldn’t have it. Was it because they wanted you or they wanted they knew what they couldn’t have. 

You didn't forget about carisi though you knew he was going to be the one to come through in the end. you had him so close you just needed to nail it in.

That’s what it was a lot of the times with the men you dated. Was it because they had an illiouson of something else. 

You decided now was the time to get what you wanted you played them like you needed. They all were leaning towards you they didn’t want to admit it but they all secretly wish they had you. 

You walked over to where you were sitting. And this time you let your body fall loose. You wanted to look more simpler more sad 

You looked over at Carisi with a more soft tone then you ever had. You were begging him with your eyes.

"Mr Carisi please listen to me that's all I asked" You told him

"I can't talk without your lawyer" He said in a soft voice which means you had him

“Wheres my lawyer” You asked

“Why your not going anywhere anytime soon” Cutter said. 

You worked your face up to look sad and more worried. 

“I need to get out of here” You said

You looked more irritated and more like something was bothering you. 

“I know what you all may think okay I’m not heartless i really didn’t know what he was going to do okay. I would never wish anyone dead” You said. 

You let your tears roll down your face something you were good at. 

You quickly wiped them away and it worked with everyone. They all softened their tones and sat down. 

“Listen let us get your lawyer we can help you” Carisi said. 

“How”  You asked in a soft tone. 

Barba walked into the hallway to gesture your lawyer to come back. After a few seconds he did. 

You all were sitting down at the table and looking at each other. You were playing with your fingers something you did to help make it like you were nervous. 

“How about we offer criminally neglect homicide 2-4” Barba said 

“No way she was a victim” Your lawyer said. 

“I was scared and worried all the time okay he wouldn’t leave me alone he was going to kill me” You said in a soft scared tone.

“You willing to testify” Cutter asked. 

“Yes anything” You said. 

“FIne were drop charges for the testimony” Barba said. 

“Thank you lets go” Your lawyer said. 

You got up and left before they could change their mind. As you were walking out you looked back at the guys. 

You put your signature smile on them 

“This was fun boys” You said leaving the room giving them a little wave. 

You walked out the room and was laughing to yourself. You knew damn well you weren’t going to Jail not never. 

[tinkerbelldetective]

It is not their first words, or the place you meet, or the first place you touch. It is the first time you argue. There is no feeling like seeing the words on your wrist slowly turn from being a touch darker than your skin to a brilliant gold, but as an attorney, it certainly is awkward to watch it happen in the middle of a suppression hearing, or immediately afterwards.

Michael Cutter is startlingly dismissive of the detectives who searched your client's house without a warrant, of the beat cops who stopped her without reason. The evidence Michael Cutter is so vehemently supporting is nothing less than the fruit of the poisonous tree. He has nothing without it, and he knows it.

"Mr. Cutter, we both know the evidence is inadmissible. You're an intelligent man. Turn your energy to reminding the officers who bring you evidence that they are bound by law just as we are."

His blue eyes-cold, calculating, intelligent - flash over to you. It occurs to you he probably has, but was determined to fight for what they acquired, as it is his job.

"The NYPD not only serves me, but you as well, counselor. We would not be here if Elisabeth Williams had not harbored evidence from the police."

Your client was a victim of domestic abuse. A survivor who was finally trying to get out. A woman who had been intimidated into hiding a weapon and photographs.

"My client is just another victim, your honor. Her rights have been violated enough. The knife was only found because Officer Braco stopped her for loitering 3 feet away from her own property and found out that the person who was recently taken off the lease had an active warrant on file."

"Mr. Cutter, the knife is out."

"The photographs?"

"Also out, pending further investigation, any charges regarding Ms. Williams and the objects found in her home are hereby dismissed."

"Thank you, your honor," you nodded, slipping the case files back into your brief case.

*

"We'll call her as a witness," he asserts, following you into the elevator.

You scoff, "Haven't you considered that putting your suspect's former partner on the stand may hurt your case? Or, hurt her?" A sigh leaves your lips as you switch your bag over to your other hand. "Ben Stone made cases without murder weapons. Surely, you can manage."

Cutter tensed, hand tightening around his own briefcase. A glance at his wrist revealed "Surely you can manage." turning to a faint rose gold script.

Of course. Of course, it would happen here.

His eyes flick over to you once more, noticing the way you tug at your lip with your teeth as you think.

Did his words already rescript in gold over your skin?

*

Your wrist feels cooler than it had 20 minutes ago, when Cutter had turned to you and wondered why you finally answered the call from Legal Aid.

"Charity wins out in the end, I suppose."

You had wished those words were said near the end of the argument, a laying down of arms, with fond teasing and acceptance. Yet, Cutter's words had burned in more ways than just the changing color of the sentence on your wrist.

Now, in the elevator, you finally catch the smallest glimpse of gold peaking out under the gray of his suit jacket.

Your words tumble out before you can stop them, "Photographs still need film to be developed."

And you both know. There's no way he doesn't feel the pull, the snapping of the thread of hostility, like breathing in new air.

His smirk is disorienting, somewhat unsettling, and it beckons you to match.

[whatdudtheysay]

Michael Afton x F!reader

Credit to the makers of the boarders

B- Michael's helping you move into your college dorm room but he finds something he wasn't supposed to..

CW - breeding, vibrator use, marking, fingering, squirting

Not proofread

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"Andd here's the last box-" Michael grunted, placing it on the floor beside your bed. "What's in these things. Anyway?"

You shrugged. "Just some decorations, clothes and my bedding."

He nodded, laying on your bed while groaning.

You smiled and sat beside him.

"Thanks for the help today....I can pay you back by getting us some food?"

Michael nodded, still tired from all the work he did today.

You laughed lightly before getting up and grabbing his car keys from the side table.

"I'm taking your car, byee!"

Before he could respond, you were already out of the door. Michael took a deep breath, looking around your room and then at the large window. The moon was already rising. He didn't think time had gone by that fast.

Michael got up, looking at the messy boxes around your room. Out of kindness, he got up and grabbed the box cutter on your dresser and knelt beside a box. He may as well lessen your work load and he figured it'd take a while for you to pick up the food, especially at this time.

He cut open a few boxes, taking out clothes and storing them in dressers, moving onto decorating your shelves and bookcase with the potted plants and clutter you had bought, even deciding to place the bedding on your mattress and duvet, unboxing your 'special pink pillows' as you called them.

Once everything was stored, he caught a glimpse of one last box, sighing heavily before cutting it open. He expected more clothes or some framed pictures. Instead he saw lace. Lace underwear and bras.

This part had completely flown over his head. He contemplated for a few seconds. Would you be mad that he saw them? Would you forget about it yourself?

He was about to shut the box before he saw a pink velvet box in the corner, covered by some more underwear. Michael's curiosity got the better of him and he ended up pushing past your underwear, picking up the box, placing the one with your underwear on the box. He examined the box, it was a plain mauve with a black ribbon covering the lid.

He opened it, his eyes widening when he saw what looked like a vibrator. He picked it up, placing the box on the bed whilst he looked at it. He shouldn't have been this surprised. You were still young and obviously had needs he hadn't really thought of, especially since you were a relatively shy girl.

Experimentally, he clicked the power button, watching as it whirled to life, vibrating against his palm.

He was basically in a trance. His thoughts turning a lot more lewd as he imagined how you got off to it.

"Alright! I'm back." You announced, suddenly coming to your dorm again.

The door slamming shut was the only thing that broke the silence. Your eyes moved from the box on the floor to the still working vibrator in Michael's hand.

Blood rushed to your face, dropping the bag with the food you picked up.

You both stared at each other for another minute before you lunged towards Michael, desperately trying to get the toy off of him.

"ah- hey! Y/n, wait!" He stammered, trying to get you to calm down, holding the toy above his head.

"Why'd you take it out!" You whined, your eyes watering with embarrassment. "At least turn it off-"

You clambered on top of Michael, causing both of you to fall against your bed. Michael generously held onto the power button, making the toy turn off.

You reached for it against but Michael rolled it over to the end of the bed, holding your hips in place so you couldn't go after it.

It was only after that did you both notice the position you were in, as well as you noticing the bulge pressing against your crotch, making you even more embarrassed.

"Sheesh, calm down. It's not a big deal." Michael reassured.

You felt more than ashamed. Michael held onto you, sitting up, your hands moving to his chest to stabilise you.

A small silence passed, both of you still looking at each other.

An idea flashed over Michael, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"How about you show me how you use it, hm?"

You almost mentally shut down, your mind going hazy.

"No way-"

You pushed against him, trying to create distance which was almost impossible because of his hands that wrapped around your waist.

"Why not? You still acting shy?"

He pushed you off of him, not giving you a chance to even get comfortable before he was towering over you.

Your heart raced. Michael was your best friend. If you crossed this line again your friendship would be at stake.

His lips latched onto the side of your neck, sucking whilst his hands fondled your breasts.

"Mmnh- Michael wait," you sighed, trying not to submit to his touches.

He moved away from you, eyes locking with yours.

"You wanna stop?"

You bit your bottom lip, eyes moving to the evident bulge in his pants.

"No, I'm just worried," you murmured. "I don't wanna ruin our friendship."

Michael leaned down again, kissing your neck softly.

"Just relax, ok?"

You nodded and winced slightly at the feeling of his teeth sinking into your shoulder.

Michael's hand moved to your shirt, pulling it up with your bra, his fingers tweaking your nipples. Your back arched, a small whine coming from your swollen lips.

He moved away from your neck, pulling your clothes off properly and throwing them somewhere in your room, moving to tug your jeans off.

Once the obstructing material was off, he discarded his own. Pulling off his shirt and taking off his sweatpants.

You raked your hands over his built body, biting the inside of your cheek.

Michael groped your breast with more ease, his other hand moving to tease your clit through the soft material of your panties, making you whimper with need.

"Michaell don't tease me, Please-" you moaned, rolling your hips up to meet his fingers.

"Why not, you're so cute when you're needy." He grinned, applying pressure that had your nerves screaming.

Your small whimpers and begs fell deaf on his ears as he continued teasing you. He dipped his hand down, stopping at the wet patch on your underwear.

"Looks like you're getting warmed up." Michael hummed, his hand dragging your panties down.

You helped him, kicking them off. He spread your legs, looking in awe at how your pussy clenched around nothing, dripping with need. He moved to the side, grabbing the vibrator he had pushed to the side.

The thought of edging you further crossed his mind but he saw how badly you needed it. And quite frankly, he didn't think he'd be able to hold back either.

His fingers sunk into your wet heat, making you twitch with need, your hips rolling up to meet his deep thrusts.

Choked moans filled the air, your hair sticking to you due to the sweat coating your body. Michael's fingers were driving you insane, your fingers clinging to the sheets with need.

You knew you were done for once Michael turned the vibrator on, pressing it firmly against your clit.

"No, no, no!! Michael, pleasee -" you moaned, trying to move away from the toy, Michael applying more pressure as a result.

"cmon, y/n." Michael cooed, his fingers slipping out of your wet heat, moving to hook in the band of his underwear, pulling them down to reveal his hard dick, precum leaking from the tip.

You whimpered at the length of Michael, thinking about the deep spots he'd be able to hit in just a few moments.

"You ready, hm?" He asked, turning the power of the vibrator higher with your lack of response.

You suddenly nodded, back arching as your orgasm crept up your leg. Michael reduced the power, making you whine and pout. Luckily, it was all cut short once Michael pushed his tip against you, only giving you a somewhat warning before he bottomed out, forcing a gasp out of you.

"Michael - pleasee-" you moaned, eyes almost rolling back when he began to mercilessly pound into you, the vibrator being a cherry on top, feeding deliciously into your seemingly endless pleasure.

"Fuckk, can't help it, y/n. You're hugging me so fuckin' tight -" Michael groaned, increasing the pressure against your clit.

Your hands grabbed at your newly placed sheets, trying to grab hold of your consciousness as Michael spared you no mercy on your poor cunt, trying to control your jolts when Michael suddenly changed the setting.

"Michael -" you whined, brows knitting together. "Gonna cum, but I feel weird-" you panted, a weird racey feeling rapidly building in your stomach.

"Shit-" Michael moaned, moving the vibrator away and replacing it with his fingers, drawing hard circles against your clit. "Give it to me, y/n."

You couldn't help it anymore. You came around him, hard. Your orgasm squirting against Michael's pelvis, his hips continuing to fuck into you. Your walls fluttered and hugged Michael tightly, Michael's hips stuttering slightly before he jolted against you, releasing his seed into you.

You rested against your sheets tiredly, trying to wrap your head around what had just happened.

"fuck, y/n...." Michael sighed, looking down at the mess you'd both created, slowly pulling out of you, watching how his cum poured out.

"let's get you cleaned up first." Michael advised.

You nodded, slowly getting up.

You knew you'd have to sort this whole thing out later but now, you decided to just let Michael take care of you.

❤︎

⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯

A/n - this was really rushed so, so sorry for the short ending ❪⠀ᥫ᭡⠀❫

[kydrogendragon]

Christmas Cookies

For the OM Secret Santa! For @evabellasworld

I hope you enjoy!!!

Pairing: Lucifer x GN!Reader Word Count: 1553 Content/Warnings: Lots of Fluff!

“Does this thickness look appropriate?” Lucifer’s calm voice asked through the sounds of Christmas music and the quiet bickering of his brothers that could be heard in the living room. MC turned from the countertop full of cookie dough to look at the cut-out shapes of candy-canes, Santa hats, and presents that the eldest brother was working on.

“Looks good to me!” They said, taking note of the quarter-inch thick dough. The perfect sugar cookie height, as expected from Lucifer. Lord Diavolo was determined to bring the spirit of Christmas alive to the Devildom with the help of his two resident humans that were taking part in the exchange program. He claimed it was to better the relations between the realm, but it was obvious from his giddiness that the future king just wanted to enjoy a new holiday. So, between MC and Solomon, the pair came up with a list of classic Christmas traditions for everyone to partake in. 

Of course, gift exchanging was the first one to be mentioned, one that Mammon was particularly excited for to no one’s surprise. Rather than have everyone get everyone else a gift, they did a Secret Santa game. Diavolo was particularly happy as he had drawn Lucifer’s name and drug MC shopping with him. It took a lot of effort to get the future king to not buy everything in the store. They felt bad for Barbatos as he ended up carrying the bags of goodies from their prolonged shopping trip. Everyone decorated the House of Lamentation and the Christmas tree they chopped down from the forest in the back. The decorations were a bit… unique, as Christmas decor wasn’t exactly a well stocked item in the Devildom. Ornaments included flowers, potion bottles, or anything else that could be attached to string to be hung. They did make popcorn to string as garland, but it quickly became a midnight snack for Beel two days later. Cookie making and decorating was a tradition MC had suggested, which is why MC and Lucifer were currently hogging the whole kitchen while everyone else was busy in the living room designing their own Christmas cards. 

Lucifer hummed in response as he turned back to his section of dough. He lifted one of the cookie cutters, a tree shaped one, and turned it in his hand, red eyes tracing the metal lines. “It’s curious to see one of these in such a shape,” he mused. “Bats, scorpions, or fire are more the shapes we would see here.” A small smile graced Lucifer’s face and he continued to punch out the shapes in the dough.

“Not a fan of tree shaped cookies?” MC said. Lucifer gazed at them from the side.

“I am when they are made by you.” MC shook their head as they focused on their own work. They could feel heat rising to their cheeks. Lucifer wasn’t necessarily unaffectionate, but his comments or touch still never failed to fluster them. They couldn’t help it, not when he would look at them with that gaze, when he would look at them with such intensity in his gaze that MC felt they may just combust on the spot. And not in a metaphorical sense either. 

The pair resumed their work, cutting out cookies and setting them to the side for baking. The goal was to have enough for everyone to decorate and enough for Beel to eat his fill which was why they were preparing enough cookies for a small army. They fell into a comfortable pace: punching cookies, setting aside, and gathering and rerolling the dough so they can repeat the process again. Solomon acquired a collection of different Christmas vinyls from the human world, one of which was currently playing in the background. MC recognized it as Mr. Michael Buble himself, which made them smile. His voice echoed lightly in the confines of the kitchen.

The oven beeped, alerting the pair that the first batch of cookies was finished baking. Lucifer dusted his hands off on the bright red apron bearing the words “Santa’s Little Helper” is colorful, cartoony font, and glided to the oven. Using a just as brightly colored oven mitt, the eldest lifted the tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven and onto the top to rest and cool. MC joined his side with a smile.

“They look good! Doesn’t look like they burned either. I wasn’t sure how this recipe would do with a Devildom oven.” Lucifer’s lips tugged upwards.

“Indeed. I daresay they are worthy of Barbatos’ praise.”

“I think that’s the best compliment one could get on their baking.”

MC hummed with content as they made their way back to the countertop. Carefully, they placed the uncooked cookies onto two more prepared baking trays, making sure to arrange them to maximize the space. They handed the trays to Lucifer, once they were happy with it, who slid them into the warm oven space and set the timer.

The baking was definitely going to take the longest, but with everyone else being preoccupied with their own activities, MC was relishing this quiet time they got to spend with their lover. Lucifer was a busy demon. Between managing the work he has for Lord Diavolo and the student council, keeping his brothers in check, and handling anything else that pops up, there was rarely time that the pair of them got to spend like this in quiet harmony. It was nice, simply working side-by-side like this. With the warmth of the oven and the sweet smell of baking sweets, ironically enough, it felt like heaven to them. 

A crash was heard from another room followed shortly by a scream that sounded like Asmo. MC watched as the calm, peaceful look on Lucifer’s face tightened, his jaw clenching and brows furrowing. Levi’s voice carried through the house as he yelled Mammon’s name. A sigh was drawn from Lucifer’s lips as the sound. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, massaging the area as he closed his eyes. MC winced in sympathy at the eldest. 

“Want me to check on them?” They offered only to be met with another sign.

“No,” he said, dropping his hand from his face. Lucifer turned to MC, his red eyes looking them over. “I believe my brothers can fair well enough on their own, this time.” Lucifer stepped forward and wrapped his arms around their waist. MC looked up, their eyes meeting. They could feel warmth radiating off his body, his hands like small heaters on their waist. The cacophony of noises from the other room still rang through, but with the way Lucifer looked at them, everything faded into the background. MC reached up, wrapping their arms around his neck, one hand snaking up to play with the soft black curls at the nape. 

His classic smirk graced his face as he lifted one hand to cup their cheek. Lucifer’s thumb rubbed the soft, reddened skin. “I believe we have earned ourselves a break, don’t you?” Before MC could reply, Lucifer was leaning in, his lips brushing against their own. MC’s eyes fluttered closed, leaning themselves against his body as their lips collided. The eldest hummed in response, pulling them tighter.

This isn’t their first kiss. In fact, it’s far from it, but as Lucifer pulls away, it’s like he pulled the air in their lungs along with him. This was the second Christmas away from family and friends, the second Christmas not in the human realm. The first time they were here, they were too busy dealing with everything that was going on. Before they knew it, Christmas was long past. Then, when their second year in the Devildom came around and Christmas drew near, MC was afraid that the joy and happiness of the holidays they grew to love and anticipate wouldn’t happen this year. But between teaching the boys all about the yuletide season with Solomon’s help and getting to share these rare moments with Lucifer, it looks like that fear was for naught.

“Thank you,” MC whispered against his lips. Lucifer rested his forehead against their own.

“What for?”

MC’s hands trailed across his shoulder and up, resting against the sides of his face, holding him in place.

“For being you. For being here, with me. For everything.” They tilted their head up, pressing their lips against his, then on his nose, then his forehead. “For giving me such a merry Christmas. One I won’t ever forget.”

Lucifer smiled, a true, steady, and happy smile. A smile reserved for MC and MC alone, one they had been seeing more of ever since they had gotten together upon their return to the Devildom.

“I believe I should be the one thanking you if that is the case,” he said, his deep voice sending shivers down MC’s spine. “My heart, you have done more for me than you could know.” Lucifer pressed a long, wanting kiss to their lips.

“Merry Christmas, Lucifer.”

“Merry Christmas, MC.”

“Mammon! Give me the glue stick back!” Levi’s voice cried through the house. Lucifer closed his eyes and sighed. All MC could do was laugh. As chaotic as the House of Lamentation was, it was home, and they wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

[cuttergauthier]

Who I Write For

Hey everyone this is a list of who I write for.

If you have someone else in mind, send me an ask and i’ll let you know if i want to write for him. I’m not picky

Also if anyone would want me to start an AU let me know!

How to request

I DO NOT WRITE SMUT

New jersey Devils

Jack Hughes

Nathan Bastian

Dawson Mercer

Luke Hughes

Nico Hischier

Timo Meier

Brendan Smith

Vancouver Canucks

Quinn Hughes

Brock Boeser

Elias Pettersson

Cole McWard

Anthony Beauvillier

Dakota Joshua

Toronto Maple Leafs

Mitch Marner

Auston Matthews

William Nylander

Matthew Knies

Morgan Reilly

Buffalo Sabres

Owen Powers

Tyson Jost

Devon Levi

Erik Johnson

Jeff Skinner

Tage Thompson

Dylan Cozens

Casey Mittelstadt

Carolina Hurricanes

Michael Bunting

Andrei Svechnikov

Jack Drury

Pittsburgh Penguins

Pierre-Oliver Joseph

Ryan Graves

Ty Smith

Columbus Blue Jackets

Nick Blankenburg

Kent Johnson

Cole Sillinger

Adam Boqvist

Zach Werenski

Adam Fantilli

Vegas Golden Knights

Brendan Brisson

San Jose Sharks

Thomas Bordeleau

Tristen Robins

William Eklund

Henry Thrun

Luke Kunin

Anaheim Ducks

Trevor Zegras

Mason McTavish

John Gibson

Frank Vatrano

St Louis Blues

Jake Neighbours

Colton Parayko

Ottawa Senators

Josh Norris

Brady Tkachuk

Mathieu Joseph

Jakob Chychrun

Zack MacEwen

Tim Stutzle

Thomas Chabot

Minnesota Wilds

Matt Boldy

Brock Faber

Brandon Duhaime

Los Angeles Kings

Alex Turcotte

Quinn Byfield

Brandt Clarke

Pierre Luc Dubois

Alex Laferriere

Florida Panthers

Matthew Tkachuk

Sam Bennett

Mackie Samoskevich

William Lockwood

Aaron Ekblad

Josh Mahura

Brandon Montour

Colorado Avalanche

Cale Makar

Bowen Byram

Nate Mackinnon

Miles Wood

Detroit Red Wings

J.T. Compher

Dylan Larkin

Joe Veleno

Jake Walman

Boston Bruins

Mason Lohrei

Johnny Beecher

Jeremy Swayman

Jake Debrusk

Charlie Mcavoy

Montreal Canadiens

Cole Caufield

Arber Xhekaj

Kirby Dach

Christian Dvorak

Alex Newhook

New York Islanders

Noah Dobson

Mat Barzal

Philadelphia Flyers

Morgan Frost

Cam York

Jamie Drysdale

Joe Farabee

Tyson Foerster

Noah Cates

New York Rangers

Alexis Lafrenière

Adam Fox

K’Andre Miller

Braden Schneider

Chris Kreider

Zac Jones

Arizona Coyotes

Logan Cooley

Dylan Guenther

Clayton Keller

Nick Schmaltz

Chicago Blackhawks

Lukas Reichel

Seth Jones

Alex Vlasic

Connor Bedard

Tampa Bay Lightnings

Brandon Hagel

Anthony Cirelli

Seattle Kraken

Brandon Tanev

Jamie Oleksiak

Philipp Grubauer

Will Borgen

Dallas Stars

Wyatt Johnston

Jake Oettinger

Rope Hintz

Craig Smith

University of Michigan

Luca Fantili

Rutger McGroarty

Nick Moldenhauer

Phil Lapointe

Jacob Truscott

Tyler Duke

Marshall Warren

Frank Nezar

Ethan Edwards

Michigan State University

Red Savage

Isaac Howard

Maxim Štrbák

Ohio State University

Joe Dunlap

Cam Thiesing

Davis Burnside

Caden Brown

Matt Cassidy

Minnesota University

Luke Mittelstadt

Jimmy Snuggerud

Ryan Chesley

Oliver Moore

Brody Lamb

Boston College

Cutter Gauthier

Will Smith

Ryan Leonard

Gabe Perreault

Drew Fortescue

Jacob Fowler

Will Vote

University of Wisconsin

Cruz Lucius

Charlie Stramel

Zach Schulz

Random Teams

Nick Granowicz

Jay Keranen

Colton Dach

Nathan Gaucher

+ more

AU’s 

Nick Granowicz x Msu Reader

Josh Norris x Tkachuk sister

Trevor Zegras x Hughes sister

Cutter Gauthier x Hughes sister

Matthew Knies x Matthews sister

Jack Hughes x Mercer au

[virtie333]

Fannish Year Review - 2023

thanks for the tag @agent-troi and @randomfoggytiger

1. your main fandom of the year: Star Wars, as it has been since 2015 (and other various stretches before that). Oscar Isaac was a close second.

2. have u watched a film this year: I don't think I've watched many new movies, to be honest. The new GotG movie was the only 2023 one. There are several I really want to see, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes for one. Barbie, too.

3. your favorite book this year: I actually just started reading novels again this year, but for now I've only been reading Justine Davis' Cutter's Code series, because I fell behind and instead of just starting where I left off, I started from the beginning again. I think the one she's writing now will be the last in the series and that will make me very sad. It's been a 10 year journey.

4. your favorite album or song this year: I started collecting the greatest hits of some of my fave 80s artists this year, so I'll consider all of them my faves: Bryan Adams, Howard Jones, Michael Jackson, Alabama, Prince...

5. your favorite tv shows this year: Ahsoka was amazing, despite straying a bit from our beloved Rebels. I keep going back to Moon Knight, even if it's from last year.

6. your favorite tumblr community this year: I've really become absorbed by the Oscar Isaac fandom, especially the writing side. I still don't feel like I belong, but they keep inviting me in and are so lovely, I can't refuse.

7. your best new fandom discovery of the year: Stranger Things. Everyone that knows me kept telling me I'd like it, and it was always on my watch list, but I finally got to it this year. I'm only on S3, so no spoilers! I also feel like I've been reintroduced to the X-Files fandom. I was there almost in the beginning and have never stopped loving it, (although I'm not going to lie: I was disappointed with S9 and 10), but with so many new fans here on Tumblr, I'm finding that old feeling is coming back.

8. your biggest fandom disappointment of the year: The severe decline of my ship, Damerey. I was a 'late bloomer' to the on-line side of that ship, and as such have yet to be tired of it. Not sure I ever will be. (Am I tired of Han and Leia? Nope. Mulder and Scully? Absolutely not) There are still some amazing writers out there and some amazing stories that I have hopes will be finished someday, but it's become a very quiet ship. I am so thankful for the wonderful readers I have that are helping me to keep it alive!

9. your tv/movie boyfriend and/or girlfriend of the year: Poe Dameron. Duh.

10. your biggest squee moment of the year: The news that Daisy has signed on for a new Rey movie. I'm bound to be disappointed in my hopes for a Damerey mention (or even a Jedistormpilot mention! Disney would never!), but I'm still going to enjoy the hell out of my favorite Jedi!

No pressure tags: @jewelsrulz, @marieziffer, @diplomaticprincess, @soft-girl-musings, @campingwiththecharmings, @nkp1981, @juneknight, @toracainz, @my-secret-shame, @waywaychuck, @curiouswildi, @seleneisrising, @closerundone, @omgbarbiegurl

[emmettsdoll]

Can someone please write something for Michael Cutter from law and order please all I need in this world is mike cutter x reader please I’m begging you

[sonnet77]

Michael Cutter // Welcome and Goodbye

Run into my heart so carelessly, that's the reason I'm afraid. You're thoughts that can't be tamed, and I'm trying to be sane.

Summary: Five times when Mike Cutter could have said something, and one time when he finally did. 

Warnings: nothing but classic tropes, angst, references from episode S18 E18 

A/N: This has been rewritten and stared at way too long. I don’t know anymore. As always thanks for reading and your sweet comments. Shout-out to @hurricanejjareau for the fab gif set :’) Reader tag, if you do/don’t want to be tagged for future things, just let me know: @moon-river-drifter​ @tinkerbelldetective @hhroadgirl​ @breakawayfromeveryday @justjaclin​@hearthockey @thiswitchyweirdo @mrsrossshorlynch @cocobird09 @queen-of-bad-ideas @bouquetoutlaw-blog

8,707 words // Song Inspiration: welcome and goodbye - dream, ivory

________________________________

1.

You had made your way up the many floors of One Hogan Place, and found no one in the tiny cluttered office that was labeled Michael Cutter’s. After waiting for a long five minutes, with fidgeting nerves, you sighed aloud-- this wasn’t a good start to your interview . You suddenly overheard some noises down the hall and wandered closer to see if you could get some answers.

“Hello?” You called out.

“Yeah?” A voice answered from inside the room. You couldn’t see from who, since large document storage boxes were staggered everywhere like a walled fortress.

“Uh, I’m looking for Michael Cutter. I was supposed to have an interview this morning. But he’s not in his office.”

The figureless voice said your full name, correctly at that, before a man appeared from behind a row of boxes, files in his hands, glancing at the watch on his wrist.

“Legal studies and English dual major, right?” He asked, looking back up with the smallest of hesitant smiles.

“Yes,” you replied, watching him, noticing how the manila folders contrasted against his pale blue shirt.

“Sorry I got caught up in this,” his voice stumbled out like his limbs-- which were trying to avoid knocking over precarious cardboard towers and not dropping the folders still tucked underneath his arms, while he offered you a hand to shake, “Mike Cutter.”

You shook it, as he sincerely apologized again, “Sorry about the wait.” He didn’t break his stare, his mind connecting a face to the name. 

Mike had been working in the D.A.’s narcotics bureau for three months before he had doubts-- his first major case was falling apart as soon as he managed to piece it back together. Tensions were high, and intimidation tactics from the newly accused were abundant. One coworker had quit. Cutter had assessed the current risks, realizing they would be detrimental to the citizens, bureau, and ultimately, his ego. He was still finding his footing at the D.A.'s office, but he had enough skill or luck, to have a foundation to stand on. So, he managed to get approval for a new contract hire request to help in the interim with things. (Catch was, he had to handle the interviews.)

“Do you need some help?” you asked concerned, as he picked up and shifted another box onto the table, “These files don’t look very organized.”

“No,” Mike said, before he pushed up his sleeves and corrected himself, “I mean, yes. You’re right, they’re not. They just delivered all these company records before you got here.”

“If they’re business or accounting summaries, moving them into financial quarters would be a good start. What time period are you looking at for the current case?”

Cutter paused briefly, his back to you, shifting another box, the spot above the bridge of his nose creasing as he thought to himself. He knew this was only an interview, and he wasn’t allowed to bring up case specifics until a confirmed hire, but you were kind enough to offer some help and interest, unlike anyone else he’d met in the past few days during these meetings.

“Uh, the last year is most suspect. Five months ago a new client was approved…” Mike began, revealing more about the case then he was supposed to.

You dug through the mess, found the necessary labeled files and arranged them into an initial pattern to see if anything stuck out, asking more about the case and how it could relate back. After awhile, a ringing cell phone interrupted the process, 

“Excuse me,” Mike noted, taking the call.

You busied yourself with rereading some statements and organizing loose files. Mike listened on the line. Mid-way through the conversation, his focused stare inadvertently wandered, like a curious kid bored in line. It shifted away from the grey sky peeking through the blinds towards another sight: your determined self standing nearby, still working-- a smile faintly toying at Mike’s lips until he felt it sitting there. 

Cutter soon hung up the call, addressing you again, “Thank you for the help. I know this interview didn’t go as planned. But, I have to run, so I’m not late for a second meeting today,” his voice attempted to chuckle.

“It’s no problem,” you said, grabbing your bag.

“So, will I see you again tomorrow?” He asked, discernable hope sneaking into his question.

“Oh, for a new interview time, yeah let me--”

“No, for the job,” he frankly interrupted, “It’s yours.”

Cutter observed your astonished humble face, “I’ve already read through your résumé. You offered good ideas regarding the case, and you voluntarily gave up time to literally push paper around a conference room for an hour. Doubt that’s what you expected.”

“I didn’t know what to expect, honestly.”

“Well, I hope it wasn’t a total disappointment,” Mike added, head tilting to the side slightly, you were no longer just some printed name on a piece of paper. He hung onto the pause this time and the idea of how you were going to respond. Maybe deep down, more than he wanted to, but he didn’t let himself think more about it to try and convince you. 

“It wasn’t,” your grip on the same lull in the air now, a small grin bordering your lips.

You were happy the unexpected interview worked out. You needed this job, as your unpublished writings and journalistic pursuits weren’t paying the bills.

“Great,” Mike noted, genuine relief he couldn’t hide, forming into his features, “Let me just grab the paperwork in my office before I go.”

You followed him back down the hall. Mike searched his desk, somehow knowing what existed where and what didn’t, despite the mess. You weren’t sure how you missed it before, but there was a baseball bat strewn on the shelf behind him.

“Doesn’t seem like enough space in here to practice your swing,” you blurted out.

Mike stopped what he was doing, momentarily confused, before you clarified, nodding to the object, “The bat.”

“Yeah,” he bashfully agreed, grabbing his jacket off his chair and the now-completed papers, “It’s motivation for a bigger office one day. The mitt has to suffice for now,” he explained as you walked with him.

“9AM. I promise I won’t be late,” he assured, heading out, after he brought you to the front desk with the hiring documents, freshly inked by him.

As the elevator chimed through the lower floors, Mike felt a solace he hadn’t thought was possible these past weeks as he struggled through cases. Cutter was rarely impressed, but working with you happened to be one of those rare occasions he was. He didn’t tell you though. And, as he thought to himself, he wasn’t even sure if had words that would properly describe the impression you made, in the first place.

2.

During the learning process of a normal office routine, you’d acquired facts that helped, like not calling certain judges right before lunch, avoiding the wonky copier by the stairs, improving the style of your legal memos, etc. But then there were facts you didn’t need, ones that always strayed from the rigid definition of work, but hung loosely around it due to the context of where and who you were with, which most of the time was Cutter. 

Random conversations of law school stories, memories of lonely holidays, clever ripostes, favourite take-out orders, baseball team stats. You had nowhere to keep these things. But you saved them anyway, taking each one as it passed through your brain, and quickly shoving them into the empty spaces, like a distracted naive messenger. You didn’t think much of it, unknowingly the overflow spilling into the hollows of your unaddressed heart. You were guilty of similar talks, letting slip past your lips the struggles of writing gigs, stories from your past, a failed last relationship, favourite songs growing up. In passing, or on the surface, it all was harmless. Little did you two know, how utterly pernicious it could just be. How, when added all up, it molded into pieces that matched the hollowed out spots, sitting beneath both your ribcages.

You and Mike went to re-interview a back waiter, on the clock, at a fancy restaurant in Midtown for the latest case. You were almost out the door, until you stopped in your tracks, fear freezing everything, but your heart. Mike practically ran into you, as you swiftly turned on your heel, 

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” You hissed out loud, as you ducked into an empty booth nearby for refuge, peering your head out.

“What’s wrong?” Mike asked, completely confused, sitting down across from you.

“My Ex, he’s at the bar.”

“The one that dumped you?”

“Yes,” you whined, “Ugh, why does he have to be here?”

“I honestly don’t see what the big deal is...”

“It’s not really,” you backpedaled, words rushing out, lacking your intended rational elegance.

“...It’s his loss,” Cutter’s voice declared with ease, like it was a piece of evidence no one could argue against in the court. 

Yet, it was stated so offhandedly, in passing, his focus elsewhere as he casually readjusted the unlit candle on the table.

Your ears ran after the quick compliment, catching it and consuming it, an unexpected analgesic. It seeped under the surface like water causing a short circuit. You weren’t even sure if your mouth twitched into an actual smile despite feeling like it did, panic still around you.

“I just, I don’t want to deal with him. I know he’ll say something, because it’s a chance for him to be a pompous ass.”

Mike made a noise at your unfiltered comment, vaguely amused at the lengths you were taking right now to avoid this jerk. He felt the same enduring faint smile that pulled at his mouth, the one he always kept fighting since you started working with him.

“Alright,” Mike gave in, “But we are going to have to leave,” he pointed out obviously, the early bird diners across the aisle giving you strange and confused looks.

“I know, I know,” you breathed out, resting your elbows on the table, trying to think. Then an idea struck you, an arrow direct from your subconscious or otherwise. Cortisol fueling your boldness or lapse in judgement, depending on how you viewed it.

“Can you pretend to be my boyfriend for like the next five minutes?”

“What?” Mike asked, the question rapid, yet the word, slow from his lips, his eyebrows rising. His stare straight into yours now, like a head-on collision.

“Please? That’ll shut him up,” you explained, eyes earnest, a vulnerability sitting in at the table now-- a forgotten ghost materializing.

You watched Mike’s face, which found a new way to react. You tried to read him. You had been trying more so recently, which ultimately just ended up you staring at him from across the room. You didn’t know why you suggested it. It was all petty, you knew, and you knew that better as you felt his held stare seemingly morphing to chide your overreaction in the silence.

“If not, that’s fine. It’s a stupid idea. You can head out, I’ll meet you back at the office... Maybe I can grab a waiter to see if I can use the kitchen exit,” you suggested, looking away to search for one, while avoiding Cutter’s still unchanged face.

“This is ridiculous,” you heard Mike say louder through an exhale. And in how he said it, you assumed he was shaking his head at you, as if you were some delusional suspect who just asked for some absurd leniency at a plea deal. 

You were surprised at how much the thought pulled down your optimistic heart. It was built up too much from the compliment, perhaps. You kept your sheepish gaze on the tabletop, chin in both your hands now. You listened to the clinking dinnerware and livelier conversations around you, feeling Cutter’s weight shift when he got up from the booth. You inhaled your chagrin, struggling to get out of this situation, too many emotions still processing.

“Are you ready to go, darling?” 

The question from Mike’s voice swiftly drifted into your ears like an airy summer breeze, the sudden string of words peppered with such sweetness and affection. Something you never heard before, but instantly wanted to hear again.

Your crestfallen face shot up from the table as Mike extended his hand for you to take. Your nerves transformed into a quasi-calmness, something else flooding your veins as you took his hand with a delicate yet somewhat disbelieving smile, getting up from your seat. 

Cutter knew this was a bad move. He knew it as soon as he felt your palm in his hand-- his breathing pattern getting tangled in the spaces between his ribs like a weaving ribbon. It was exactly like the time when he first met you, months ago now-- that whisper of unsettling sublimity. He had managed to forget that sight. Not anymore. It left another mark, with another sense.

His hand shifted, not wanting to let you go, finding the middle of your back, without any effort or doubt. Mike tied another knot around himself, tethering to the details only you held.

“This guy better notice us,” Mike ordered, leaning over your shoulder, adamancy fighting to cover up worry.

“Then let’s make sure of it, Counselor,” you confidently replied with a sideways glance while he casually led you through the surrounding tables and chairs, “Put your arm around me when we get to the bar.”

You kept walking, heartbeat hastening further in the extended absence of a reply from him. Yet, as instructed, you felt Mike’s arm gently wrap around your shoulders, his body next to yours as you walked now, the bar coming into full view. This simple act, even one you had half-expected, startled your heart for a second time tonight. It sank further, missing how the nonchalant tenderness of togetherness could feel. These little forced actions planted something into your mind, which your heart had already been growing in abandon.

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?” You happily wondered aloud, and purposefully within ear-shot of your Ex. Your hand reached up and found Mike’s, needing a longer memory than the brief exchange from before.

“I’m open to ideas,” Mike answered, his lips involuntarily and eagerly forming the smile he’d been practicing so long in secret-- your brightened eyes totally focused on him. For a second he forgot what or who the actual point of this charade was or for. And, he didn’t care.

The line of what was an act was becoming hard to distinguish, bleeding out and through. That mark extended into permanence now, his conscience being ungrudgingly engulfed by your company. As were you, with his.

So much so, you hadn’t even noticed your Ex’s bewilderment, him nearly choking on his drink, his obnoxious mouth halfway to the floor as you and Cutter walked past. You were too busy trying to keep Mike looking at you.

You stumbled back to reality as your name rang through your ears, knowing it wasn’t Mike who had said it.

“Oh, hey,” you said, now totally pulled out of your daydream haze, stomach suddenly lurching at the sight of him, not giving the satisfaction of a personal greeting. You covered it up in well-acted indifference.

You waited a second, watching your Ex’s eyebrows and lips struggle to find a place to rest, enjoying his baffleness. Mike was still beside you, letting you play it out however you wanted.

“Looks like you need another drink,” you cooly commented, leaving him there, not hearing the half-assed retort he tried to spout behind you. 

You weren’t sure if you imagined it or not, but as you walked away, you thought you felt Mike’s grip protectively tighten around your frame. His touch burning through the fabric, his radius of cologne like a blanket, your veins rushing in an adrenaline high of successful revenge and newfound desire. The closeness dragged something back from far away. Something glowed brighter than the candlelight inside, or the approaching dusk outside. Like the discovery of a lost artifact, the dirt was dusted away and it revealed the truth buried within you. What you had now seen, you couldn’t look away from. 

You wanted this to be real.

“I think that went fairly well,” Cutter noted, a pleased yet reluctant smirk halfway to his lips as he gave you space that suddenly felt like exile.

“Yeah, definitely” you forced a zealous smile, briefly eyeing his blurred silhouette, unable to focus normally now, “That was one of his better conversations, looking back,” you tried to joke, to wipe away this current feeling you were covered in.

Mike gave a small laugh, watching you, as you fumbled with your shirt sleeve. 

“Thanks,” you said more quietly.

Mike knew you deserved better than whatever you had with your ex, but he stopped any thoughts beyond that. Those thoughts that made him second guess himself, and read into things. Cutter never assumed anything in any relationship anymore because he had experience in how they fell apart, no matter what you thought, believed, or rationalized-- those childhood scars existing within adult skin.

You looked up, and your stares fell into each other’s crosshairs, some part of both of your brains fixed on something vaguely forming, but not defining it outloud. You felt your cheeks flush in the golden light, but you kept your sightline on Cutter, mustering all the confidence you had to not look away-- hoping he’d notice you.

Your convictions faltered, when Mike brought up work again, aimlessly checking his phone, the effect of your presence floating away like a newspaper caught in the wind. Your eyes dropped to your shoes, feeling heavier than the concrete below them. But you blinked, and walked on, leaving whatever it was, at the restaurant. You pushed it farther away with each step, holding the conversation without awkwardness or the obvious memory-- like nothing had happened between you two, because nothing really had. It was only you who fell for the act.

Mike couldn’t jeopardize what he was working so hard for, despite knowing the exact fuel, first-hand, that could convince him to. This job was still new, and whatever this was, that he stumbled upon with you, wasn’t anything he accounted for. He saw how the scattered sunlight hit your eyes making them appear even more alive and in colour. He felt the fear in his chest from your stare boring into some part of his soul he thought he had under lock and key. He didn’t like it. He was trying to figure out the meanings he couldn’t hide from anymore. He wasn’t confident in how to translate them, or if he even should. He didn’t want to deal with it. So, he used what he knew, the reminder, the anchor of work, to erase that split-second of everything that had just taken up all the space around him-- as if that would rid himself of the mark he made. He didn’t want to talk about it, because then it’d be too real, too finite. So, he didn’t.

3.

“Mike!” A cute woman yelled, dashing over to where you and Cutter were standing at the intersection, a few blocks from the courthouse, waiting for the light to change. You just wrapped up your lunch recess.

“Candace,” Cutter greeted, his salutation like he was uneasy on a tightrope, “Hey.”

“And you are?” Candace lightly asked you, before Mike or you could speak up. 

She adjusted her doctor’s coat over her fashionable dress as you introduced yourself. And so did she again. Candace paused with an expectant face, you were supposed to say something more, apparently.

“Mike, don't you ever talk about me at work?” She asked, her smile strong, but its genuineness seemingly weak, as she nudged his arm.

“No, not really.”

Candace’s face scowled at his immediate reply, while you had to quietly hold back an amused snort at the exchange.

“And we’ve been dating for how long now?”

Your amusement died instantly at her voice, run over by the line that was louder than the impatient traffic.

“Yeah,” Mike breathed out roughly, not sounding an agreement or rebuttal, patting Candace’s shoulder in consolation.

Meanwhile, you were trapped in the sudden hurt of lost potential. It etched into every bone in your body, fracturing the piece you stubbornly nurtured in hope for weeks. None of this, however, crossed your face-- a silent break. You were numb, diving into a black hole of nothingness, lost in freefall, your body waiting for the crush of the surface you might never hit.

Candace didn’t wait for a reply from you. She didn’t seem to care, ignoring you altogether as she focused on Mike, “So, what are our plans this weekend?”

It was déjà vu playing before you, without you as the leading role.  Your toying tiny memory you had with Mike, burned you. It scorched like a hot iron, disintegrating the projection of your crush, film melting to a match. You wanted to know how long they were dating, but didn’t want to know at the same time-- like bad news you couldn’t stop learning more about, trying to analyze the timeline of who, what, where, and when, it changed for the worst.

“Uh,” Mike mumbled, drawing his eyes up from the pavement, despite feeling the gravity of you by him, which he shouldn’t have noticed, “I managed to get Yankees tickets.”

“That’s baseball,” she whined, with an unenthused face, “You know I don’t do sports… I bought a new dress.”

“You can wear a dress to the game,” Mike happily suggested, trying a second time, “You’ll be voted best-dressed, for sure.”

“They do that?” She asked naively.

“No,” Mike deadpanned, “But you’d still have my vote,” he said, trying to salvage it.

“So, it’s just sitting with you for hours?” Candace questioned unenthusiastically, “It’ll wrinkle,” she pouted. 

“Or! I can wear it to the benefit concert! Remember the one I told you about?,” she paused, again not really concerned with an answer, her calm radio-ready voice very convincing, “Let me see if I can sell the tickets. Text me the info, and if I have someone who will pay more at the hospital. You get some extra cash. Yay. And, then we can have an actual fun night together. I heard some celebrities are going to be there too.”

“But you--”

“Mike, if the team is at the World Cup or whatever, we can go.”

“World Series.”

“What?”

“It’s the World Series,” he corrected again.

“Uh-huh,” the word extending into a longer second syllable than needed. Candace’s pager beeped, going to check it, she said, “You knew what I meant, anyway.”

Mike took a breath, raising his chin to the sky slightly to reassure himself. 

“Promise?” He asked again.

“Promise,” Candace assured, “I gotta get back and make rounds. Don’t work too hard, babe. And nice meeting you!” She said, running off, before you even had the chance to correct her for calling you the wrong name, while she blew a kiss to Mike.

“She’s a doctor?” You muttered out, attempting to hide your growing disdain as you both started walking again. All these emotions and what-ifs roared into a storm behind your eyes, you had nowhere to go and escape.

That was the only thing you could utter, not believing she deserved a compliment off first impressions, not wanting to learn the details of their budding romance or whatever misshapen idea of one this seemingly was. It’s not like Mike was obligated to tell you about his romantic life. 

“Yeah, at New York Presbyterian,” Cutter cleared his throat, head barely turning to glance at you, his hair blowing in a short breeze. 

After a block of fast walking, you spoke up and got back to case talk, using it to forget, leaving the new realizations found on that street corner to evaporate in the midday sun, while burying the ones you couldn’t leave behind.

Mike knew Candace after meeting her during a random lunch run. She flirted with him when they ran into each other once or twice, and exchanged an occasional text, but he left it alone mostly. Then Mike asked her out on a first date, the week before he and you ran into your ex at the restaurant. Then he asked her out again, after. Because it was easier than figuring out what to do in regards to you. It was what Mike wanted because it didn’t complicate anything. It wasn't a risk, and he knew what to expect. It was comfortable and it had been working… well enough. He had responses rehearsed in his head, on how he could answer and defend various things you could say. And, while you walked in silence, he waited for your reaction-- something he could analyze. But, you said nothing about it. 

Mike didn’t say anything more either.

4.

And neither did you, until a few weeks later.

“So…”

“So… what?” Mike asked gently, filing away the plea deal just finished, listening, but not looking at you, as the early evening light flooded the conference rooms’ windows. It was the last meeting of the day, and your official last day in the office-- your contract was done.

“You wanna grab a drink to celebrate all the cases won that we never went and celebrated these last six months? Like that mess of a Newgarden trial when I started, and ultimately saved for you,” you spoke casually, trying to keep it light, despite your body language being altered to hide the weight of it all. 

It wasn’t a date. You weren’t trying to make it one. You just were trying to salvage a friendship, one that was quickly receding into a different formality and separateness, unfought by either of you.

“Raincheck?” Mike questioned, getting up to follow behind you. When you didn’t answer, he continued in the silence, reluctantly stringing together, “Candace made reservations at this edgy new restaurant that I’m going to love, weeks ago.”

You scoffed to yourself, turning away from the door you were going to open, biting sarcasm taking over where rejection was.

“I’m sure she’ll love it enough for both of you,” you mocked, the hurt escaping from where you’d been trying to heal it over. His eyes watched you, but he said nothing, and you hated it. Everything held back, broke through. You had nothing to lose now. You were leaving.

“Also, I doubt you’re going to a World Series game with her, and it’s not because of the Yankees standings,” you blatantly commented.

“What are you implying?” Mike pressed, stunned with your sudden shift in disposition that just hit him.

“Come on, Mike, how many times has Candace changed plans, done what she wanted? Why do you let her off the hook?” You questioned.

You aimed to read his face, but your own glint of anger made it harder. Mike didn’t put up with things like this at work, so why was he being second chair in his own relationship? It irked you.

Mike shook his head, mouth half agape, defensiveness shifting into place, “You’re being judgemental, you’re just pissed she said your name wrong when she met you.”

“Ah, you remembered that?,” you chuckled bitterly, “Still didn’t answer the question, though,” you noted, heartbeat rising as you saw the annoyance under the surface of his eyes, like a big wave growing before it hit the shore.

“Relationships are about compromise…” His distant voice tried to argue with you, as if he was speaking to a kid acting out.

“Not about compromising yourself,” you interjected, “Who are you trying to convince, Mike?”

“What’s your point?” He asked, crossing his arms despite the manila folder in his hands, aggravation piercing through.

“It isn’t right,” you asserted.

“And how do you know what’s right for me?” Mike spat.

Your own swell of brashness receded, recognizing you were swept into a deeper water than what it really was, with the idea of what could be.

“Why are we even talking about this?” Mike countered, frustrated, “We’re colleagues, we’re not--”

“You’re right... I don’t know,” you admitted abashedly. You had no argument for him. You didn’t know. So, you cut him off, not needing to hear the rest of his statement outloud-- you weren’t friends, you were just two people connected by circumstance. And this confirmed that.

Mike and you always had your separate lives outside of the office, the pieces known of one another were sparsely littered in brief mentions, always told in reference or past tense. There seemed to be no incentive to try and make memories together now in the present-- in whatever form you were trying to restore, outside of work.

You looked at him briefly, catching a glimpse of that memory-- the endearing first sight of him six months ago, tripping over evidence boxes, folders in hand, smiling at you. 

He wasn’t smiling now.

You had confessions caught between your teeth, the one that said he deserved someone who wanted to sit with him for hours at a baseball game, the one that admitted you were going to miss working with him, the one that revealed you liked him more than you should. But, you couldn't bring yourself to say any of it. He wasn’t ever yours to lose, or gain. You swallowed your pride, and the pain in the back of your throat that had grown worse.

“Sorry. Forget it, Cutter,” you quietly said, looking away briefly, addressing him only by last name, as if that added enough distance on the map you already had drawn from you to him, “Just forget everything. There’s nothing to remember anyway.”

Mike felt the air change between you two. It was immediate like a burst of air through a broken window in a sealed room. He heard the familiarity fade in your voice. He saw how your shoulders sank then rose in reticence as you walked away through the door. He knew a line was drawn. A consequence he hadn’t foreseen when his ego tried to preemptively shield him. You had just sent a crack into the reality he formed into a sanguine fix for himself-- his safe bet in Candace. Then it boiled down to him trying to get you to force your hand instead of his, (less risk that way). But, maybe there was nothing to show, or win. 

Mike was always slightly off-balance since you came into his life. Maybe it was best you interrupted, and stopped him from saying ‘lovers’. Maybe, that would’ve been the canon blast to sink this entire friendship stumbled upon months ago. But now, it didn’t even seem like you were interested in that. Again, he got what he wanted, no loose ends. There wasn’t an incentive to risk any more. 

You left, and he didn’t say anything more to make you stay. So, Cutter tried to forget, like you told him to. Like he had been trying to do all along.

5.

Interestingly enough, the Yankees did make it to the World Series that year. You wondered if Candace kept her promise and went with Mike to a game. Then you scowled for thinking about it. You were doing fine. You met new people, changed apartments, had new experiences and losses. Your time at the D.A.’s Office was less than a year, small compared to the greater timelines of life, but it never faded into your memory as you would’ve liked.

You didn’t like how dreams randomly planted scenarios in how things could’ve been different with Mike. You hated how those lost feelings found you again and again, hanging around like smoke on clothes-- the joy and disappointment like a bad cigarette habit you couldn’t break. You didn’t reach out, ever-- time, life, and stubbornness making it harder. Also, why bother when it was Mike who made it clear you weren’t anything in the first place.

Meanwhile, Mike pushed away the memories that surrounded him, by pulling himself deep into everything else at work. He garnered a successful reputation in his bureau in a couple years, no longer the doubting lawyer, unsure of himself. At least, he never showed that side of him to others. Frankly, he didn’t show any side of himself really, after you left, learning that it only made more trouble than it was worth. Mike’s revelation, of course, made it easier for him to do what he wanted, which was win cases, and focus solely on one thing: justice. He could care less about everything else, which gave him confidence and more work. His methods had got him the job opening of Executive A.D.A. in the violent crimes bureau, a bigger promotion despite his lesser office tenure. Again, a success at distracting himself from the past he couldn’t always outrun.

Then it caught up to him, again.

Mike saw you, or rather, was struck by you. You appeared no different than almost four years ago. His mouth went dry. He knew no one could hear his heartbeat in his ears, except him. Question after question spiraled out their tendrils, climbing over the walls of his brain: How were you? What were you doing now? Did you like your job? How was your life? Did you have-- he stopped himself-- his heart suddenly sore. 

In his hesitation from across the room, you looked up, shocked at the familiar suit and coat taking up your office space. Both your sightlines knotted together, and that pit at the bottom of your heart grew exponentially. Same blue shirt get-up, his haircut slightly different. He nodded in your direction, putting his hands in his pockets, standing there, wanting to move, but unsure. You waved him over, busying yourself with writing a note at your desk to give you a moment to figure out what the hell you were going to say. You had so many drafts, rehearsed so many times-- but now, the speeches crumbled into rubble. You took a deep breath as the low voice you hadn’t heard snuck into your ears reminding you of another time, like an old song from your youth you forgot you loved.

“I hadn’t expected this,” Mike said slowly, nervously hovering near your desk.

“Yeah,” you drew out, standing up, neither of you pushing the personal space, for a hug felt disappointingly out-of-place, like clothes that didn’t fit anymore despite you wanting them to.

“You’re finally writing full-time?” He inquired, re-realizing this was an online newspaper office.

“Mmm-hmmm, I vet blog recommendations but also collaborate with investigations. In the city, there’s plenty of issues to uncover... just trying to find justice where I can,” you explained with a reluctant smile passing your lips, “You still at the D.A.’s Office?”

“Yeah,” Mike replied, “trying to do the same as you. I was here, hoping to get some info for the latest indictment.”

“How’s your conviction rate?” You joked, a genuine smile appearing.

A smile Mike learned he had missed more than he thought, knowing this seemed so different compared to how he last saw you. He tried to argue his time working with you was fleeting, merely an impression, but as soon as he recognized you, he realized you were a goddamn indentation in his mind, and he carved it out deeper every year it moved farther into the past.

He raised his eyebrows, his lips a confident half-smirk, “Not sure. I changed bureaus, and kind of lost track. Murder trials go on so much longer and by the time you win, there’s another.”

“I’m sure it’s a killer.” You deadpanned the pun, which got a chuckle from him, “You got a new office then?”

“Yeah, windows and extra tables and everything. It’s practically the Plaza.” He joked.

“Enough room to practice baseball? Or did you give that up?”

“No, still got them,” Mike nodded his head, surprised you’d remembered, “And yeah, there is space.”

You were unsure of what else to say, despite knowing there was so much to ask. Your eyes outlined every detail of how Mike looked now, his posture more reserved (or was it guarded?), the grey flecking his hair-- the different stress of cases surely contributing to these things. Yet, his eyes were still as blue as the New York skyline in early fall, something still behind them-- like a sunken object at the bottom of a deep pool, you never could make out exactly what it was.

“Uh,” Mike looked away, “Actually you reminded me of something.”

“What is it?” You wondered, anticipation speeding up your heart.

“Recently, there was an article put out on a popular news blog that seems to be linked to something bigger than a current case-- meaning it was done as a warning for my boss. I wanted to know who leaked the info. Would that be hard to find?”

“Not particularly, if someone tells me.”

“Could you find out for me?” His voice stumbled over the words, just like he did when he was younger.

You paused briefly, going around behind your desk in silence. You opened up the internet browser and gestured for him to take a seat.

“Find me the article, and I’ll let you know.”

Mike let out the breath he was holding. He nodded before sitting down. While he typed and scanned the search results, he occasionally glanced at you leaning against your desk, next to him. He cleared his throat.

“Here.” He said, getting back up to let you see.

He let you read the article, while his eyes retreated back to you again, in their own tide with his mind-- who decided to pull them away from the shape of you, yet also selfishly wanted to take another fleeting moment while you weren’t looking.

“D.A. McCoy galavanting in California, on the taxpayers’ dime?” 

“It’s not true.” Cutter defended.

“You do realize you’re biased.”

“I know, but it’s still false. It’s someone high profile linked to our case as a potential witness, and this was a way to say ‘stop digging’.”

You sighed, “that is plausible,” you said, leaning back into your chair, undecided.

“You were right about Candace, by the way,” Mike gently revealed, randomly, looking away as he shifted his weight.

Your eyebrows rose slightly when he looked back to you, waiting for him to continue.

“I had wanted to go to the final game of the World Series. The Yankees still had a chance to tie and reclaim their win. I bought tickets. She forgot she even made that promise. She said it wasn’t a big deal. But, it was. So, despite her long-winded ultimatums in-person and by phone. I ignored her, and went by myself. And then the Yankees lost, 0-2, which was its own kind of insult to injury.”

“Is this an attempt at flattery?”

“Yes, but it’s also me trying to say I didn’t want to admit that you had a valid point. And, it’s long overdue. And right now, I’d really appreciate the help.”

Unconsciously, your rigid expression softened at his earnest blue-eyed gaze and small smile, like driftwood being smoothed in the ocean's surf. You hated that smirky smile, the one that was more amusing than smug. You nodded in acceptance, swallowing that familiar vague pain in the back of your throat.

Mike continued, “I also think she cursed the team because they haven’t been back since, and I’ve been single and they still couldn’t even win the division series this year.”

You noticed the casual drop of relationship status, but you refused to react to it. This was a lot, at once, to maintain composure about. You didn’t want all of this flooding back so quickly when you had nothing to hold onto-- after you worked so hard to be some form of okay again.

“What’s your cell number?” You asked, changing the subject, as you grabbed a pen and paper, “I’ll call you if I find out anything.”

Mike didn’t push the boundary that was drawn out so long ago. He took what he could. And, he hoped you’d call. Regardless if you found anything, he hoped you’d call.

It was about four days later when his phone rang.

“Hey Mike, it’s--”

“Hi,” he interrupted, recognizing your voice, dialing his own back from sounding overeager, “What’s up?”

“I traced that article you gave me back to a PR firm: Swann and Poltek. They’re pretty big. Interestingly enough, they handled the Governor’s last campaign.”

“Really? Now that’s interesting,” he paused, racking his brain to figure out how he could keep you on the line a little longer, “Thanks again for taking the time to find out.”

“You’re welcome,” you paused, before sarcastically adding, “Just don’t make it a habit. Unless you want to negotiate an investigative fee right now.”

We can discuss it during our date.

What about drinks, you and me?

Would dinner work instead?

Can I just make it a habit of running into you again?

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime.

But he didn’t say any of that.

“Not in the budget, currently.”

“Well, good luck with the case.” You replied, wondering if you could hear anything in the silence on the line-- a signal that agreed with what you wanted to believe for so long-- that this was more than just a favour from an old acquaintance.

“Thanks.”

“Take care, Mike.”

“You too.”

Cutter sighed aloud, dropping the phone, dismayed with himself. He didn’t think this would be so hard to do. But, it was-- unable to escape those fears from so long ago. There were words, ripe to use, but Mike let them hang there, tongue-tied with old strings. There was a layer to you that wasn't there before, and he didn’t know if it was for him or because of him. He had so little to go on, and it was his own doing. He had gained confidence in other areas of his life, but when it came down to you, he was still stuck in the past. 

&1. 

After becoming depressed with Governer Shalvoy’s cover-up of the web of events tied to the Madison murder and guilty Frank Beezly’s future pardon, Cutter tried to distract himself from work. It was a thing he never was usually inclined to do, but more recently was fine with. Nursing some questionable off-brand liquor in his apartment when he couldn't sleep, he opened his laptop and looked for your news articles online, and tried to remember anything you mentioned about your writing pursuits from years’ back. He wasn’t surprised at your work: it was researched, thoughtful, and well written. He also stumbled upon a few references to submitted pieces-- the fiction and poetry kind, which vaguely sounded familiar to something you enjoyed from old offhand conversations. He wasn’t really one for those sorts of things, despite his verbose line of work.  The words could sound awfully pretty, but he never got the meaning. Then Mike stumbled upon a poem of yours that was published last year:

Emcee

Master of ceremonies, 

I didn’t know I was a part of the show, won over.

Then the curtain fell, cursed formality,

Realized the ending before anything.

Anxiety a chip on my shoulder,

My eloquence more of a thrown boulder

At a delicate situation, housed on the edge of the cliff 

Slipped, stranded.

A landslide of feelings I thought I abandoned.

That suit and tie, loose daydream threads pulling at me, 

Caught, saw a sliver of what’s underneath,

Smile in every crack of the street.

Your articulate lips were an altar I would’ve been sacrificed to, 

To learn what your lungs would say

When I took your breath away

With my insurmountable love.

Pretty blue horizon I skydived deep.

Lost traveler crashed, what I tried to give, you didn’t want to keep.

Not enough then, not enough now, to escape the almost. 

Here I am, on stage, attempting to console my self-inflicted wounds,

Heartbeat echoing, I’m still talking into the microphone in that emptied room.

He repeated the given title, as if trying to pronounce a new word, or recalling a forgotten incantation as it dawned on him: M.C.

Like his initials? Was it about him? Mike paused, your written words crashing like a tidal wave, going beyond that mark which had reemerged. The thought was like broken glass digging in, making him hurt.  This was written almost a year ago, things could've changed by now. But-- if it was still true, or even if it had been, and he let you go-- there was so much time wasted because he was afraid. He finished off his drink with one swig. He sat there in silence, the bright glowing words on the screen burning, like his throat. It was life’s metaphorical way of shaking him up, telling him to do something. So, finally, he did.

When you got back to the office, you found an envelope left on your desk. As soon as you inspected it, visions from old notes on whiteboards and meeting memos’ familiarity grabbed you: it was Mike’s handwriting on the outside. His name next to the ‘from’ confirmed that too. You were confused, thinking maybe he felt obligated to pay you back for your investigative help from 2 weeks ago. You carefully opened the letter, unfolding the note inside. It was a print-out of the poem you’d never think he’d find, let alone read. Your heart caught in your throat, even learning of this secondhand felt too vulnerable. Then you saw something written at the bottom of the page:

The room isn’t empty. If you want to talk, I’ll be at Pete’s Tavern. Friday, 7 o’clock. If you don’t, no hard feelings.

 You stood a moment, staring at the sudden potential that flooded the place you wrote off as done for. 

The nerves you felt as background noise when you first read Mike’s note didn’t escape you. They were there all day after, and still here every step you took towards the black and white sign of the restaurant on the corner. You hoped for the best, but worried it wouldn’t work, that too much time had passed, that somehow it’d end the same just like every other time you thought it was going well.

Mike had been watching the door non-stop since he got to Pete’s, taking only brief breaks to check his watch countdown time. Then he saw you walk through the door, and he couldn’t stop that familiar grin from spreading across his face. You were a vision, better than anything he could’ve imagined because you being here, was, in fact, real. 

You were scanning the room, and your eyes met each other’s. That earnestness radiating from Mike’s face, calmed your nerves. You recalled the memory from that fleeting moment at the restaurant years ago, that look in Mike’s eyes where everything else dissolved away and all you wanted was to keep him looking at you. Now, he was. Completely, and totally, that mystery hidden in his irises revealed and finally, in the open.

“Hi,” he greeted, the tone of his voice somewhat familiar, that tenderness saved from a moment before.

“Hi,” you mirrored, taking a seat across from him, “You know you could have just called me and asked me out. But I admit the handwritten letter was very poetic.”

“What can I say, you inspired me,” Mike acknowledged, a smirk tugging at his lips again.

“Also,” he added, tapping his fingers against the tabletop, nerves floating up to the surface as his smile faded, “It was for self-preservation. I wouldn't have had to face the rejection first-hand.”

“Really?” You asked, not incredulously, just in a way that lent your own surprise at how someone who stared down murderers daily could be insecure towards you.

“Yeah,” his voice agreed, splitting the word up, “not that I’d admit that to anyone else or frankly, have for anyone else.”

You kept talking through the dinner that felt like a second chance, an amleroration. It was magical yet unsettling in another way. It was like time was erased and confined at the same time. The restrictions were gone, but all the gaps had gotten bigger to overcome. It wasn’t difficult, but it took time-- fortunately both of you were willing to spend it.

The short walk after dinner turned into over twenty blocks. The Empire State Building standing over you on the street, the line for tickets miraculously gone for the evening.

“Hey, do you wanna go up to the observation deck? I’ve never been, and no one’s here.” You suggested.

“Yeah, sure.” Mike had been once before, when he was way younger, but it wasn’t at night. And even if he had, he could’ve cared less. He would’ve said yes to anything you suggested because it was more time with you he didn’t even have to ask for.

Traveling up the 80-something floors, both of your hands managed to get intertwined with one another’s during caught stares and lingering smiles. Neither of you minded they did-- clandestinely clinging onto the reality of one another that was felt briefly once so long ago, now aware and willing to hold onto it closely. So, the memory would hold onto you too.

The skyline was an onyx landscape alive with tiny sparkling lights, manufactured stars, windows into worlds. A 21st century sight Van Gogh would’ve been inspired to capture if he had been at this very spot. It was a view you had to truly see to accurately understand-- the atmosphere or time of year perfectly right. And despite the nighttime breezes up that high-- it took your breath away.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful,” you commented, enamored with the scene and current reality that led you here. Your hair elegantly fell away from your face, like the wind was at your command while your eyes held the surrounding glimmering reflections alongside another old spark nurtured back to life.

“You really are.” Cutter casually admitted, with a low drawl, his lips shifting into another smirk as he watched you.

You turned, his comment hitting you much differently than anything previously said-- the sudden coquetry was its own soft breeze, against your now blushing cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, trying to make up for all the times he had thought it in all of its contexts and meanings, and never told you outloud.

You bit your lip, thinking back, quietly confessing, “You don’t know how many times I’d imagined you’d say that.”

“Actually, I think I can, because it’s probably as many times as I wondered about this,” Mike admitted, leaning in, his eyes clear, shining with conviction.

“So, can I kiss you now?,” his voice whispered, invisible ashes falling from where his warm breath dusted your face.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you replied, lips turning into a smile.

Your hands broke apart to only meet each other again-- Mike needing to commit this fully honest moment to another physical sense, his fingertips against your flushed cradled face, writing a cipher only you knew the meaning of, desperate to create a new mark to cover up the one that’s haunted him for so long. You were adrift in the nostalgic revived intimacy of this closeness, the chance to live out the line you wrote and prove its truth, one he’d never argue or forget, as you spoke in the sweet affection you had kept reserved in hope for so long since. You and Cutter both adamant on making up on all the time lost.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

L&O + SVU Misc. Masterlist

Last Updated: May 14, 2020

Rafael Barba

Jack McCoy

Dominick “Sonny” Carisi

Alex Cabot

Oasis

Cyrus Lupo

Miracles

Waste of Time

Monsters (Waste of Time Part Two)

Lennie Briscoe

Second Chances

Mike Logan

Jealousy (w/ Jack McCoy)

Pair

Michael Cutter

Stubborn

Always

[bullet-prooflove]

10. Thought you'd see it coming, but you never could with Michael Cutter, please?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @alexlynn16 @grlmac @breadsquash @novavida

Prequel piece to:

All I Want Is You - Mike reveals his feelings after he makes a mistake.

Made For Me (NSFW) - Mike makes love to you for the first time.

Mike doesn’t see the fall coming. This thing between the two of you, it’s about blowing off stream, venting the stress of your job. When he fucks you it’s raw, passionate and so fucking filthy it would make the devil himself blush.

It’s as you get up to leave that he feels the tightening in his chest. He watches as you dress, the silk shirt and pencil skirt, the heels he fucked you in before he took you to bed for round two.

You could stay, he wants to say but he doesn’t because Mike doesn’t do emotional vulnerability. So he lets you go and he falls asleep with his face buried in the pillow that’s laced with your perfume.

It’s the night he sees you with Don Flack at the gala that he realises just how far he’s fallen. He’s not looked at another woman since he’s been with you and up until this moment he didn’t realise you were involved with other men.

It was only ever meant to be fucking, he remembers as he drains the glass of whiskey in his hand. It was never meant to be about feelings.

He takes home a different girl that evening, one with red hair and a green dress that shimmers in the light from his nightstand. When he undresses her, he thinks of you, that wicked smile when you straddle his hips, the way your head tips back, hair falling over your shoulders when he finally enters you. When he comes it’s with your name on his lips and that’s when Aubrey, the girl above him stops, her eyes widening as she stares down at him.

“Did you just say Orla?” She asks him. “Don’t tell me you mean Orla Madden?”

Mike’s breath catches because the two of you have one rule when it comes to this arrangement, and one rule only.  Friends are off limits. You don’t want to hear about his exploits and he doesn’t want to hear about yours. That’s the deal.

“Fuck.” She says as she climbs off him, her skin skill flush from her orgasm. “I didn’t realise you were that Mike, the one that she’s in love with.”

The news, it’s bittersweet because any chance of being with you it was gone the moment he took Aubrey home. He can’t believe how fucking stupid he is.

“You know I have to tell her right?” She says as she started to dress hurriedly, the evidence of the act still marring her thighs. “I can’t be that shitty friend…”

“Let me do it.” He says softly, his heart breaking within the confines of his chest. “She should hear it from me.”

Love Cutter? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[slasherstalkerxx]

Don't Leave Me (pt. 2) - Michael Myers x gn! reader

hi guys ~ part 3 is coming today or tomorrow 🫀 this one's pretty long so it took a while to write. enjoy :)

•Michael's pov•

Flickering hallway lights and the sounds of passing attendees were the only noises I've heard 5 days a week for the past 15 years. Well- there's Loomis, but I'd rather listen to the schizophrenic down the hall ramble about the man who steals his pudding than sit through another session with the idiot. They used to keep me sedated with drugs most of my youth. Lately though, they've been using a straightjacket in the drugs place.

Sitting down my recently glued mask, I step towards the small window in my door. The first thing I notice are Halloween decorations. I love Halloween; thinking of the last one I celebrated, y/n comes to mind. Y/n- my y/n. It's about time I get out of this shit hole.

I remove my gaze from the decorations to the clock hanging on the wall. I've got about 10 minutes until Loomis comes to get me for our second weekly session. I can take him out, easy. He's like 60 and I'm me.

"Unlock the door please." Ah, my reoccurring headache has returned. The heavy metal door swings open, revealing the short man himself. "Good afternoon, Michael. Please give the guard your hands for the cuffs." The cuffs- flimsy double locked handcuffs that seem easy enough to break. I lift my arms towards the grotesque guard next to him. After the cuffs are locked, Loomis leads me down the corridor towards the therapy rooms.

As soon as we pass the double doors, the fire exit comes in sight. I break my cuffs over the first doorknob I see and grab Loomis. Holding him by his neck, I slam his head into the wall, knocking him out. His body falls to the floor and I walk out of the fire exit. Following the sidewalk, I see a supply truck in the loading area. As I reach the truck, I see that it's empty and the engine is still idling.

I open the door and climb inside. Driving can't be too hard, I've watched my mother drive before. Just press the pedal and point the steering thing. As I slam my foot on the petal, the truck lurches backwards. I slam my other foot on the stop petal. The gear shift next to the wheel shows a glowing "R". I change it to "D" and pressed the petal again. This time, the truck moves forward.

I hurry and pull out onto the road before the cops show up. A few miles down the road, the red hue from a truck stop gains my attention. I pull over at the stop and begin to look for clothes that will fit me. The door to the bathrooms open and out walks a large man in coveralls.

I follow the man to his truck. Before he climbs in, I grab him by the neck and twist- effectively breaking his neck. Stripping the man of the coveralls, I discard the thin dress-like outfit the sanitarium gives us. After putting on the now dead mans clothes, I climb back into the truck.

Heading towards the busy highway, I see a green sign with Haddonfield with an arrow pointing towards the side exit. The sign says 20 miles. 20 miles until I'm home. 20 miles until I can get my y/n. As the miles pass, I get more and more restless. Finally, the Haddonfield welcoming sign comes into view.

I ditch the truck near an older supply store on the main road. Making my way to the back, I smash the window and climb in. They have hammers, pocket knives, and even cement blocks, but no good stabbing knife. Guess I'll have to make due with the box cutters on the top shelf.

As I leave the store, I walk down the once familiar streets. Suddenly, I'm in front of my old home. Looking through the windows on the second floor, I see the glow of candles. Someone's in there.

I walk around back, towards the old shed in the yard. The door creaks open and I am met with cobwebs and floorboards sticking up. I make my way to the only board that isn't nailed down, and grab my old mask from inside. I slip on the white mask and turn towards the house.

The back door is unlocked, so i push it in. Upstairs, I hear people talking and walking around. I pull out the box cutters, making sure the blade is out. Slowly ascending the stairs, I prepare to kill whoever is in my house.

First, I check my parents old room. Nothing is in there besides the ragged bed that has to be at least 30 years old. Next, I make my way to Judith's room. There I see two teens making out on the bed. I grab the one closest to me and slit their throat. The second teen screams and tries to run past me, but I grab their hair and slam the cutters into their chest.

Dropping the bodies, I make my way to my room. Since it's almost sunrise, I'll wait until tomorrow night to find y/n. I suppose the cops know I've escaped by now and are looking for me.

•y/n's pov•

*beep, beep, beep*

I turn off the blaring alarm clock beside me sit up. As I walk downstairs, I see that I accidentally left the tv on the news last night. "Breaking news: Killer Michael Myers escaped from Smith's Grove Sanitarium last night, and has been known to kill at least two people since his escape."

Michael- I haven't heard that name in years. He was my best friend, but my parents wouldn't let me see him after he was taken away. They said he would kill me, but I always knew he wouldn't.

Part of me hopes he remembers who I am, but the other part is afraid that he remembers and is angry at me. I never left, hell I even bought the house down the street from the Myer house just to feel closer to him.

I turn from my tv and get ready for work. Working at a bakery means I get lots of cookies every night. It's definitely worth the 10 minute walk. Pulling on my jacket, I make my way outside. I lock the door behind me and begin my trip to work.

[tinkerbelldetective]

You liked a man in a suit. The days when Michael Cutter wore a three piece suit was evidence enough of that fact. Although working in law sometimes meant that the shock and awe of an outfit may have ended up being for a casual jeans and shirt combo.

Or Michael Cutter in a Yankees jersey.

His blond hair was windswept, a pair of shades tucked into the collar of the jersey, the top button undone, and a smile. Not his usually cocky smirk or the smile that was unnerving in the best case, but a grin of World Series proportions.

He rested his arm behind you nonchalantly. His fingers ghosted against the lower half of your shoulder. It was a touch you could hardly feel, but it sent your heart into a quicker beat. His other hand reached into the bag of Cracker Jack on his lap, popping a few in his mouth, eyes still very much on the game. You reached over to grab some, but he moved the bag away with a smirk.

"Hey!"

Amused, he tilted the bag in your direction, and you quickly grabbed a handful before he got any more ideas.

He suddenly recoiled his arm, to your chagrin, leaning forward, his elbows almost on his knees. His brows furrowed in concentration. You turned your gaze back to the field just in time to see the ball connect with the wooden bat with a satisfying crack. It went flying towards the very back of the field, passing narrowly over the glove of an outfielder.

Mike leaned back, his arm returning to its previous position, fingers tapping against your shoulder in time with the passing of the ball between the bases. You blew a pink bubble that any kid would probably rate a 6/10 before it popped, your lips settled into a cheeky grin.

"Shh."

You made a face. "What do you mean 'shh'?"

"The bases are loaded."

"Michael Cutter, they can not hear me from up here."

You guffawed, lips forming another bubble just to mess with him.

In a flash, he leaned over, the hand behind you coming to rest at the base of your neck as he silenced any noise and prevented any possibility of a bubble all with the faint taste of peanuts and popcorn on his lips. Your fingers grasped at the jersey in surprise.

He pulled away slowly, blue eyes twinkling with the cunning mischief you came to expect during trial prep. Your hand slapped the logo on his chest.

"Were your eyes open the whole time���"

"How else was I going to watch the grand slam?" He shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging into a playful smirk.

"Michael!"

[nerdyfangirl67]

Home for Christmas - Criminal Minds Reader Insert (12 Days of Christmas)

Pairing: Hotch x fem!reader, Jack Hotchner x reader (maternal relationship

Warnings: angsty at the beginning, lots of Jack x reader moments, fluff ending!

Word count: 2431

A/N: Y/F/C/M stands for your favorite Christmas Movie and Y/N/N stands for your nickname. I also believe that Aaron is the kind of person who texts with correct grammar, although he may use sentence fragments if he is short on time, so that is incorporated into this one-shot. This one came to me while listening to a Christmas song, called “Home” by Blake Shelton and Michael Bublé (linked below). I really enjoyed the idea of this one (it may have gotten away from me a bit!)

Home by Blake Shelton ft. Michael Bublé

So here it is, hope y’all enjoy it! If you’re looking for another Christmas fic to read, check out my Mini-Series masterlist, where the rest of my Christmas one-shots are. 

I know there aren’t any Aaron x Jack moments in the story but this was the GIF I thought fit best :)

“Y/N, it 's Aaron. I, uh, I won’t be making it home in time for Christmas. We have yet to get a break in the case, so it could be another week before I’m home. I know you had a lot planned for Christmas, and I’m sorry I won’t be able to celebrate with you. I’ll try to call, but I can’t promise anything. I love you. Tell Jack I love him.” Aaron’s voice crackles in your ear as you listen to the voicemail he’d left you earlier, as in 3 am, that morning for the eighth time.

It had been the first time you had heard his voice in almost a week and part of you was overjoyed. The other part of you was exasperated. You knew he was dedicated to his work, you had known it since the two of you had started dating, but it still hurt. Every time he worked late and didn’t let you know hurt. Every time a case went longer than expected, it hurt. Every time you went to bed alone, his side of the bed untouched and cold, hurt. And it didn’t hurt any less now, despite your suspicions upon hearing the team had taken another case, so close to Christmas, that he would miss the holiday altogether. 

You let out a sigh as you stand up from where you had been sitting on the couch, wrapped in a Christmas throw blanket. You take your empty glass, which had been filled with your favorite holiday drink, into the kitchen and place it in the sink. You double-check the apartment door, making sure it was both deadbolted and locked (something Aaron had ingrained in you to do while he was away), before making your way towards the master bedroom. You stop at the door to Jack’s bedroom, cracking it open and using the light of the hallway to look at him. 

Jack was sprawled out in his bed, fast asleep. Tiptoeing into the room so as not to wake him, you reach his bed and pull the discarded comforter up off the floor, placing it on top of Jack and gently tucking him in. “Your daddy loves you Jack, and so do I.” You say softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, giving him a long look, before making your way back out of his room. 

Upon reaching your bedroom, you head to Aaron’s dresser. You find one of his sweatshirts, well-worn and baggy, grab it from the drawer, and pull it on as you climb into bed. You didn’t typically wear his sweatshirts while he was home, but whenever he was away, it helped ease the ache created by his absence. After getting settled underneath the covers with your nose pressed into Aaron’s pillow, you soon fall asleep.

---

You are up early the next morning, quickly climbing out of bed before you realize that you have the next few days off, the 23rd (today) through the 26th for Christmas. You had used a few vacation days to extend your Christmas ‘vacation’, as you and Aaron (who had thought he would have had Christmas case-free) had wanted to spend time with Jack, as a family.

You couldn’t bring yourself to climb back into bed so you head downstairs, the idea of making breakfast for Jack coming to mind. Even though Aaron wouldn’t be home for Christmas, you still wished to make this Christmas special for Jack, just as you had planned to with Aaron. After going through your email and having a cup of your favorite morning beverage, you head into the kitchen. A few minutes of looking and you find your recipe for gingerbread waffles, a favorite from your childhood, and start gathering the ingredients.

Fifteen minutes later and you have your first batch of waffles made, bacon sizzling in a pan on the stove, and orange juice in glasses on the table. Christmas music is playing softly in the background when a small voice has you whipping around.

Jack is standing in the middle of the kitchen, his hair standing up at different angles on his head, and one of his hands sleepily rubbing his eyes. “Good mornin’ mama.” Despite not being his birth mother, Jack had been calling you mama since you had moved in with him and Aaron, over a year ago now. And every time you heard it, you were still overcome by joy.

You pull the boy into your arms, giving him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Hi bud. How’d you sleep?”

“I slept good mama. What are you making?” He asks curiously, peering around you to look at the stove. 

You stand and briskly stride back to the stove to flip the bacon and check on the waffle you had cooking before you turn back to Jack. “Gingerbread waffles and bacon.” You answer, plating one of the waffles and some bacon before bringing it to the table. “Here buddy. Eat up.” You said, placing the plate next to the glass of orange juice. Jack bounces to the table, sitting down and quickly digging in.

---

After breakfast, and a few games of twenty questions, you decide to take Jack to the ice skating rink not too far from the apartment. The two of you bundle up and hail a cab to the rink. You spend the five minute ride to the ice plex with Jack in your arms as the two of you play a game of “I Spy.” 

The cab reaches the ice rink, and after paying the driver you and Jack venture inside. You let out a laugh as he exclaims in excitement at all the trophies, fancy ice skates, and photos of skaters in the lobby. You rent a pair of skates for the two of you, before leading jack out to the seating around the rink. It takes you a few minutes to get skates on, and to help Jack with his but a few short minutes later the two of you are out on the ice. 

It is apparent that you are out of practice and try as you might, you fall several times. Jack is actually skating better than you and soon he is ‘teaching you’. 

“Mama, make sure you aren’t leaning backwards. That might be why you’re falling.” The nine, almost ten, year-old’s advice was helping you to stay on your feet for longer than thirty seconds. You had even started to move cautiously along the edge of the rink, with Jack skating confidently in front of you. The two of you stay out on the ice until Jack tells you he is cold. Admittedly, you were starting to get cold yourself, but you didn’t want to end Jack’s fun early. 

After ice skating, the two of you go to Jack’s favorite pizza place, a little Italian place (the boy had developed sophisticated taste buds, thanks to a certain David Rossi), within walking distance from the apartment. The two of you have a lunch filled with cheesy pizza, endless breadsticks (which both you and Jack enjoyed thoroughly), and lots of laughs.

Then, upon returning to the apartment, the two of you cuddle up on the couch and watch Christmas classics. You share with Jack some of the movies you had grown up watching (Y/F/C/M and Y/F/C/M) and he shares some his favorites with you (The Grinch and Santa Buddies).Your movie marathon only stops when you whip up a quick dinner, which the two of you eat in about ten minutes at the table, and when you get up and pop some popcorn for one of the movies. Jack stays up way past his bedtime, but knowing that neither of you have to get up early the next morning has you being more lenient with his bedtime. 

The next day passes in much of the same fashion. You and Jack take a walk, intent on finding the best Christmas decorations within walking distance. Although you had found some pretty cool decorations, Jack definitely won when he spotted the house decked out with a 12 Days of Christmas theme. Then the two of you stopped for lunch at one of the sidewalk vendors, something that Aaron probably would frown upon. 

After lunch, you and Jack went to a Christmas pop-up village, where you watched the ‘elves’ wrap presents and people take pictures with Santa. The two of you ordered deluxe hot chocolates and sat on a bench, listening to a choir sing Christmas carols. Jack sang along to the ones he knew and he even convinced you to sing along with some too. 

You two return to the apartment in late afternoon, shortly after which, the two of you start making Christmas cookies. You roll out the dough, while Jack stamps the cookie cutters into it, creating a variety of Christmas themed cookies. As the several batches of cookies bake, Jack reads to you from the kitchen’s small island as you follow the recipe for a sugar cookie frosting. When the cookies, and the frosting, are finished, you and Jack set to decorating the cookies. 

Three hours and an order of takeout later, and you have four dozen frosted cookies scattered across the kitchen counter tops, three bags of mostly eaten takeout, two empty mugs, and one frosting and crumb covered boy fast asleep on the couch.

You can’t help but smile as you look at the plate of cookies Jack decorated, not for Santa, but for Aaron when he returned from the case he was working on.There were several Santas, a Rudolph reindeer, a present, and a Christmas tree. As you cover the plate in plastic wrap, you can’t help but think that you would give just about anything to talk to Aaron for a while. It had been two days since he had left the voicemail, and since then all you had gotten were a few short texts. 

“Case progressing. Miss you and Jack.”

“Finally developed a profile. Love you Y/N/N.”

“Thought we had an unsub, but looks like we were wrong.”

“I love you and Jack. Wish I could be holding you both in my arms.”

You heave out a sigh and get to work doing the dishes from dinner and your baking escapade with Jack. The dishes, and tidying up of the kitchen, takes far longer than you want and it’s close to ten before you are gently waking Jack from the couch. You tenderly guide him down the hallway, making a pit stop in the bathroom to help wash some of the frosting off of Jack’s hands and face. After Jack is frosting free, with freshly brushed teeth and clean pajamas, you get him settled in bed. You read him “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” and listen to him sleepily tell you about the gifts he thought might be under the tree, after which you tuck him in and give him a kiss good night. 

You take your time getting ready for bed, wishing the entire time that you would be crawling into bed with Aaron, where you would spend the rest of the night in his arms. But, alas, you are greeted with a cold, empty bed, which you reluctantly climb into as you shoot Aaron a quick text, wishing him a happy Christmas Eve and adding a short ‘I love you.’ You try to read a few pages in your latest book, but your mind isn’t into it. Instead you stare at the softly blinking Christmas lights shining in from the hallway, through the small crack between the door and the door jam, letting the rhythmic changing of the lights lull you to sleep.

---

You wake up to what sounds like the heavy apartment door swinging shut and the floorboards creaking, followed by a low thud and a muttering voice, which you can’t quite make out. Your heart is thudding wildly in your chest as you anxiously climb from the bed and tiptoe to the door of the bedroom. You can’t see any figures in the hallway, so you creep across the hall, placing a hand on the doorknob to Jack’s bedroom and noiselessly start to turn it open. You are so focused on opening the door and getting to Jack that you don’t notice the figure coming down the hallway towards you. A soft hand on your shoulder has you whipping around, landing a heavy hit with the heel of your hand to the intruder’s face. 

“Son of a-” You immediately recognize the voice as Aaron’s, which makes you gasp in shock.

“Aaron. I didn’t know it was you. I’m so sorry.” You say, as you start to fuss over him. You try to guide him to the bathroom, in hopes that you might be able to help him there, but his hands stop you. 

“Y/N, I’ll be alright. All I need is you in my arms.” His words, albeit a bit slurred (probably from the present throbbing in his face) bring a warm, fuzzy feeling into your chest and a cheesy grin to your face. You start to move towards the bedroom, but he pulls you close, scooping you up and easily carrying you back to the bed. The heat created by his body only leaves for a moment as you watch him, in the dull light, strip off his suit jacket and tie, before returning to your side. He pulls you incredibly close, his face in the crook of your neck breathing you in.

You don’t say anything, rather you just take comfort in his presence as you play with the small hairs at the back of his neck. “Gosh, I missed you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your collarbone before looking up into your eyes. One of his hands comes to rest on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheekbone. 

“Merry Christmas Y/N.” He says, giving you another kiss, this time on the lips. His kiss is slow and tender, as if he wanted to savor the moment and make it last as long as possible. 

Once you pull back, and catch your breath, you whisper, “Merry Christmas Aaron.”

He smiles at you, pressing another, much shorter, kiss to your lips. “I think I’ll wait for later in the morning to let Jack know I’m home; let it be a Christmas surprise for him.” He says, tightening his hold on you.

You smile back at him. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. For now, let me just appreciate my Christmas surprise.”

[murswrites]

Arrow House ⎯ Michael Gray Blurb

Pairings: Michael Gray x Reader Fandom: Peaky Blinders (Modern AU) MASTERLIST HALLOWEEN MINI-FIC CELEBRATION!! Word Count: Warnings: Cursing SUMMARY: Michael drags you to an old family estate and some spooky things happen while you’re there Request from anon: Hii can i request a Halloween fic (Michael Gray x female reader) where they go to an actual haunted house and some creepy shit happens? Thank you! ♡

A/N Gender neutral readers are used for celebrations!! Hope that’s okay <3 I’ve also made every fic so far modern because IDK how different Halloween was back then! And yes, the house is Tommy’s house aka Arrow House :D

“Are you sure we’re allowed to go in there?” You asked Michael for the third time.

He held a bolt cutters in his hands as he looked over his shoulder with a sly smile, “The house has been in my family for over a century, it’s fine!”

“Then why does it look condemned!?”

You moved your phone’s flash to the large lock on the foreboding gates. There was a long drive up to a large, ominous mansion. Apparently the man Tommy’s named after owned the place in the 1920s... that didn’t make the whole breaking and entering aspect of this Halloween night any easier for you.

“Because it may or may not be condemned... a lot of people died in there, apparently it’s...” Michael lowered his voice and whispered, “haunted.” When he wiggled his fingers against your back you jumped in fright.

A well-deserved slap was given to Michael, “God, Mickey, you’re such a prick! Come on, let’s go back Finn and ‘Siah are waiting for us...” You didn’t want to admit that you were afraid of haunted houses.

“Are you scared? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you, my love.” The lock finally broke and Michael quickly tossed the cutters into a bush. “Come on then, yea? If anything happens just stand behind me.”

—

The inside of the house was even worse than the outside, there were cobwebs in every corner and surprisingly a lot of furniture. “Have you a lighter? There’s some candles.”

You glanced over at Michael with an uncomfortable expression, the vibes the place was throwing at you made you uneasy. “Yes, but we shouldn’t light them, what if someone sees the windows from the gate?”

Michael rolled his eyes at you, “The drive is half a mile long, I think we’re fine. And we can just close those... nasty curtains.”

Once the two of you finally lit some candles, you pocketed your phone for safe keeping. To be honest, the house was rather beautiful. Or was beautiful, you could tell that much. “Oh my, that looks so much like your cousin...” You pointed up at the painting of a man and his horse.

“You’re right, holy shit, I better take a photo!”

“Michael don’t, we can’t have evidence on us!! What if we get caught?” A loud bang shut the both of you up, “What was that?!” You whisper/yelled. Michael shrugged at you. “Well go look!”

“Come with me!” He responded and so you just followed behind him with a pit in your stomach. The fire was lit in the living room, “I didn’t light that, did you light that?”

You shook your head as it seemed the temperature dropped, “It’s so cold all of a sudden, Mickey, we’d better leave before something bad happens-” You couldn’t see anything, not even the fireplace. “Mickey!?” When you took a step forward, you tripped over something and landed on a dusty couch.

“Michael where are you!? THIS ISN’T FUNNY ANYMORE!”

Suddenly you were faced with Michael’s pale face, “We have to fuckin’ go now!”

“What happened back there!?” Michael was running by your side with a panicked expression. “Mickey!?” Once you two made it down the driveway, he finally stopped running.

The two of you panted loudly, trying to catch your breath. “I saw a ghost... that bloody looked just like me mum... she called me her son and then I ran.”

“What did I say?”

Michael just nodded, “Let’s uh... go home yea?” You agreed with a slight smile as he put an arm around your shoulder.

[rawiswhore]

Various WCW, WWF, and ECW Wrestlers x Fem Reader- “I Touch Myself”

I actually originally planned on typing and posting this fanfic on Sunday, but Wrestlemania was on that day, and I wondered if I should type a fanfic set at Wrestlemania or what I originally planned on typing, so I typed and posted a fanfic set at Wrestlemania instead.

Also, I typed this fanfic yesterday and wanted to post it yesterday, but didn't have time to finish it, so I'm posting it today.

________________________________________________________________

In 1996 and 1997, a wrestling company known as WCW had higher ratings than the WWF, and the WWF was once the most popular wrestling company in the world, and even still is today now known as the WWE.

You had signed with the WWF in 1996, and one of the rules you had under their contract is that you weren't allowed to work for other wrestling companies, which was so lame.

You've seen some of WCW, and some of the wrestlers over in WCW are hot and sexy.

You wish you could hook up with some of the hotties over in WCW, but sadly, you can't.

Lousy contract.

So what can you do?

Simple, and I'll explain it later.

When the summer of 1997 was almost over, you were lying in bed one night in a hotel room, with all of the lights in the room turned off.

You thought about how hot some of those men in WCW were and what you wish you could do with them if you were with them.

You had shut your eyes, though you're trying to not fall asleep, and one of your hands had slipped down your thong panties and the pads of your fingers had touched your vulva.

You started picturing and fantasizing about a wrestler in WCW that many people probably have never even heard of, and the reason why is because he was never pushed that much and was booked as a "jobber": someone who makes another wrestler look good, and that wrestler is Jim Powers.

What a cookie cutter sounding wrestling name.

Despite that corny wrestling moniker, Jim Powers is really hot and sexy, so hot, there was even a WCW moment involving him, an Ultimate Warrior knockoff named the Renegade who had ditched his face paint and fried, crunchy hair, a wrestler named Joe Gomez and a skinny twinkish wrestler called Alex Wright walking on the beach together and taking their shirts off.

This moment was obvious fan service for some of the women watching WCW.

When you fantasized about Jim Powers that night, you fantasized of him wrapping his huge, muscular arms embracing you and pulling you close to his chest, and you had lifted your hands and wrapped your fingers atop of his biceps and gently squeezed them.

His biceps were rock hard, and that wasn't the only thing that was rock hard on him (winkwinknudgenudge).

Jim isn't the only hot one in WCW.

One of the more popular wrestlers that was in the biggest, most notorious wrestling faction in WCW; the wrestling faction that would increase WCW's ratings, was Scott Hall, who used to play Razor Ramon in the WWF.

Scott was even hotter in WCW than in the WWF as Razor Ramon, and he'd get even sexier as the 90's were coming to a close.

Scott Hall/Razor Ramon is known for having a very hairy chest, and your brain switched to now thinking about yourself in front of Scott Hall with your face buried in his chest hair, while Jim Powers was standing behind you and had his massive, strong arms wrapped around your waist.

As you were fantasizing about this, the tips and pads of your fingers started gently caressing and stroking vertically up and down your clitoris.

The tip of your finger scratched your clit underneath your clitoral hood, trying to make sure you feel something, and you felt a slight little tickle under that hood.

Rubbing your clitoris isn't the only thing you can rub on your body to make you feel good.

Your other hand slipped underneath your oversized T-shirt you slept in tonight and let the pads and tips of your fingers touch your stomach, where you began to vertically slide and elevate those fingers up your torso.

As you slid your fingers up your flesh, you fantasized about that scenario with your face buried in Scott Hall's chest while Jim Powers was behind you with his arms wrapped around you.

Blood is already rushing to your clitoris fantasizing about this, swelling your clit up and making you even hornier.

Room for one more, honey.

There's another wrestler in WCW who had gotten even sexier when he ditched the face paint, messy hair and even the Ultimate Warrior knockoff gimmick, and that wrestler is the aforementioned Renegade.

The hottest the Renegade ever looked was probably in 1996, before he grew facial hair, so you imagined the way the Renegade looked that year, where, while you have Scott Hall in front of you and Jim Powers behind you, the Renegade is on one of your sides, wrapping his massive, huge muscles around your waist, but not squeezing and hugging onto you too tight.

It's like you're trapped and can't be released from these hot men all over you, but you want this.

It's also almost like these men are shielding and protecting you.

It feels good when you take your clothes off and the air is all over your skin, maybe you can undress tonight and masturbate naked.

These little fantasies are tame and mild, so you decided to make your fantasies get a little bit naughtier.

Lex Luger has crossed over to WCW during the late 90's, and for those who don't know, Lex Luger was promoted by the WWF in 1993/1994 to be the next Hulk Hogan and the next face of the company since Hogan left, and they turned Lex's character into a patriotic, all American hero, except Lex didn't have any of Hogan's charisma and audiences didn't really click with Lex.

Lex eventually joined WCW by the end of 1995, and he actually was kind of sexy.

Lex's body, even during his days in the WWF, was always glazed and slathered in baby oil, and your mind had abandoned the thought of Scott, Jim and the Renegade all around you and switched over to just Lex.

You imagined being with Lex the way he looked in 1996/1997 with his hair hanging down and not wearing a shirt, and you imagined one of your hands caressing baby oil vertically up and down his torso, your palm and fingers feeling the ripples of his muscles on his torso.

You didn't just imagine caressing baby oil on his torso, but also sliding it up and down across his arms as well.

He, meanwhile, is just staring at your hand caressing that baby oil on his body, the baby oil making his body shinier.

Baby oil isn't the only thing that can make someone's skin shinier, and so your mind thought of something else.

This time, your mind began to think of him the way he looked in 1996 and 1997, his hair hanging down and not tied back in a ponytail, his body is stark naked with not a single stitch of clothes on him.

You pictured that Lex in a locker room's shower, where the floor is white little tiles, and you were fantasizing that you were naked in that shower with him, where your hand was caressing and stroking his body with body wash while he stood under a showerhead, the water pouring and washing away the foamy wash off of his washboard abdomen.

When the body wash had evaporated and disappeared off of his abs and trickled down his legs, his abdomen looked shinier, like you had smeared baby oil on his abs.

You didn't just rub his abs with that body wash, but his pecs as well, where, of course, the water had rinsed the foam off of them, his pectoral muscles looking shiny under the buzzing lights on the ceiling.

Lex doesn't really look all that hot with wet hair though, and to be honest, Lex isn't really that sexy or hot of a wrestler.

As you fantasized about Lex, your fingers, especially the pads and tips of them, were crawling up your skin to your breasts, you felt these cold little tingles while your fingers brushed up your skin.

If you had any body hair on your legs and even arms, you're pretty sure the hair on your body would stand up over the sharp feel of your fingers caressing your skin.

Rushes are transmitting to your areolas whilst your fingers elevate up your flesh.

Honestly, these fantasies involving Lex Luger are a bit too tame for your taste, now to go all out wild, what you really want.

Your brain switched to thinking about something else.

This time, you fantasized about a sauna or steam room, and inside that steam room was WCW alumni Scott Hall, the Renegade circa 1996 with his hair hanging down, Jim Powers, Lex Luger circa 1996/1997, Scotty Riggs without facial hair (looking how he did during the last months of '97), Eric Bischoff in January of '97, Joe Gomez, Raven (who just joined the roster and left ECW), Stevie Richards without facial hair, the blond one in this WCW duo called High Voltage, Chris Benoit (yes, THAT Chris Benoit, before he, well y'know...), and maybe even Chris Jericho.

They're not the only ones in this steam room, so is some of the WWF roster: Shawn Michaels, Hunter Hearst Helmsley with his hair hanging down, Billy Gunn/RockaBilly with blond hair, Jeff Hardy, Leif Cassidy without facial hair, Marty Jannetty, Brian Pillman in late 1996, Bret Hart, Davey Boy Smith, Scott Putski without facial hair, Scott Taylor, Brian Christopher, and these Hispanic wrestlers named Heavy Metal, Hector Garza, Latin Lover and Pierroth without his mask and hair tied back in a ponytail.

You could probably even invite Thurman "Sparky" Plugg in late 1996 and Jeff Jarrett in early 1996 in this fantasy too, though you feel embarrassed to put them in there.

Finally, one wrestling icon you're putting in this fantasy is Rowdy Roddy Piper in during the late 80's and early 90's, when he had long hair and didn't have bangs.

He is kinda cute with long hair.

All of these aforementioned men were sitting in this sauna stark naked with nothing but a towel wrapped around their waists, hiding their genitals, and you entered the sauna, where you were the only girl in that sauna.

You had shed your towel off of your body, revealing you weren't wearing anything under that towel, showing your nude body off in front of them.

After they made some silly wolf whistles at you and had ear-to-ear smiles spreading across their faces, you walked up to these wrestlers and approached them, where they all disrobed themselves and it lead to you getting gangbanged, and you don't mean gangbanged as in being shot with guns, at least not the literal definition of a gun.

Though, how is that even possible?

What can you do if you're gangbanged by 30 men?

Well, you could ride these men's dicks one by one, but that's not really a gangbang, more like running a train.

You could ride one of their dicks while you're sucking on another dick and masturbating 2 other cocks in front of your face while 2 other wrestlers are rubbing the tips and heads of their penises in circles on your areolas and jerking their cocks off, while several other wrestlers are jerking off in front of your face and your hands sometimes take turns to crank up and down their shafts, masturbating them, as well as taking turns to suck on their cocks as well, and each wrestler in that sauna all gets a turn to do that or have that happen to them.

You've had a gangbang like that in the summer of '97, where wrestlers from the WWF and WCW had exercised at the same gym, and you invited the sexiest wrestlers in the WWF to the locker room of a gym, where you had this gangbang with them, and after they had all jizzed, you let who you thought were the sexiest men in WCW to do the same gangbang these WWF men did, and after they jizzed, the last ones you let do the same aforementioned gangbang to you were some other hot men from the WWF.

In fact, those hot men from WCW you had a gangbang with are some of the same men you're fantasizing about tonight.

That was one of the happiest and best days of your life, and probably their lives as well.

That was probably the only time, for now, anyway, where these men from WCW had sex with you.

Either way, you were trying to fantasize about getting gangbanged by the hottest men from the WWF, WCW and even a few hotties from ECW as well in a sauna.

While you tried to fantasize about this, your fingers had reached one of your nipples, which had become erect, and you love the feel of your nipples being rubbed and tweaked, you love that feeling even more than having your clit rubbed.

Thank God you're fantasizing about this at the right time, and the pads of your fingers at your nipple began to rub horizontally left and right, back and forth on your areola.

You actually have pressed your fingers on your clitoris before, and it feels really good, you can feel a little something under your vagina, so as you rubbed your areola, the pads of your fingers this time pressed down on your clitoral hood, pressing until you feel a hard surface under your vagina where you can feel something.

You bit your bottom lip and slightly arched your head back, your toes curled and bunched up, your lips trying to block a moan from being released.

Thank God that you didn't have anyone in bed with you to hear you moan.

Your moans sound more like a gasp than an orgasmic moan, and chills were running down your spine while you masturbated yourself.

You tried to make your fingers vertically rub up and down your clitoris while they were also pressing down on it as well, did it work?

Somewhat, yeah.

Rubbing faster might do the trick in making you cum as well, so you increased the pace when you rubbed your clit, rubbing faster than usual.

You didn't just rub your clit vertically, but also rubbed your clitoris around in circles with the pads of your fingers.

Getting gangbanged by several WWF, WCW and a few ECW wrestlers isn't the only thing that's sexy.

You've been gangbanged in locker rooms several times, and so your mind began to imagine being in a locker room instead, where you're getting gangbanged by these sexy aforementioned WWF, WCW and a few ECW wrestlers that you imagined being gangbanged in a sauna with.

You imagined being stark naked with these aforementioned wrestlers swarming all around you, masturbating several of these wrestlers' cocks in front of your face and tits and taking turns to suck their dicks and lick their shafts, getting their precum and jizz all over your face and breasts and in your mouth, where you swallow their cum.

Plus, you could maybe even ride one or 2 of these wrestler's cocks; one is in your pussy and the other in your asshole.

As you fantasized of this, your fingers on your areola began to switch this time; putting your nipple in between the pad of your thumb and index finger, where you began to tweak and pinch that nipple, turning it a bit.

You tried rubbing your clit even faster than usual fantasizing about this, and you really want something like this.

High pitched little moans are coming out of your mouth, and you hope that the neighbors next door won't hear them.

It's gonna probably take some time until you really do cum.

Your pussy feels like it's getting wetter and wetter and releasing something through the pores of your vagina while you're masturbating, and you're breathing short little gasps as you masturbate yourself.

You haven't been faking your orgasm tonight, you really do feel this way when you're touching yourself, and you keep elevating yourself up more and more.

You've also been trying to stay awake and not fall asleep despite your eyes being closed and eyelids feeling heavy.

Like your nipple, your fingers then began to place your clitoris in between the pads of your index finger and thumb, where you squeezed and pressed your clit together.

You've tried this before, and it feels really good too.

You can feel a little something down there when you're squeezing your clit together.

Goddamn it, you really want some of these hot men from WCW and the WWF right now, but at least when you can have these hot men from the WWF and you've had them many times.

You removed your thumb off of your nipple, and this time, you began to run the tip of your index finger on your areola in circles over and over again.

While these sexual fantasies are pretty hot, are these the perfect gangbangs?

Now some of these men are undeniably hot, like Shawn Michaels, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, Jeff Hardy, Rob Van Dam, Scott Hall, and Jim Powers, but then there's Brian Pillman, who's the least sexiest out of all of these men.

You're also unsure if you should have Jeff Jarrett and Sparky Plugg in these fantasies, hell, even the name Sparky Plugg is corny (so is his gimmick).

Speaking of fantasies, you've heard of something known as a glory hole, which can sometimes be when someone is in a stall and there's one or more holes drilled in the stalls, and men poke and stick their penises in those holes where someone sucks and jerks those cocks off.

You even tried to recreate a glory hole not once, but twice in the summer of '97.

You imagined yourself in a narrow little stall, like the stall to a changing room, with several holes drilled in the sides, and those holes were filled with the penises of these sexy wrestlers you've been fantasizing about tonight.

In your fantasy, your fingers are wrapped around their shafts and masturbating their dicks, one cock is aiming at your face while another is pointing at one of your breasts, and while you're jerking them off you're sucking and licking on one wrestler's penis and swallowing his precum.

Each of these penises get a chance to get sucked, licked and masturbated in this fantasy, all of their precum gets in your face, in your mouth, down your throat and on your tits, and your hands are scrambling to another penis to pump their cocks quickly.

One thing that you've noticed that feels really good is when you rub your fingers over your clothed clitoris and areola, so your hand vertically elevated up your vagina and exited out of your panties, and lifted your hand out of under your shirt.

The tips of your fingers were a little gooey and wet from rubbing your moist pussy, despite your fingers rubbing your clit, not being up your twat, though you can always clean your fingers off with your mouth.

You placed the tips of your fingers over your clothed breast as well as your fingers over your clitoris shielded by your panties, where you began to vertically rub your fingers up and down your clit whereas your other fingers rubbed horizontally back and forth across your areola covered by your t-shirt this time.

This feels really, really good. If you've never done anything like this, I reccomend it.

The fabric of your panties nudged and attached to your areola and vagina, and you can feel your nipple poking and pointing through your T-shirt.

As you rubbed and masturbated yourself, you continued imagining that glory hole fantasy, imagining you're sucking and licking the hottest wrestler's cock like Shawn Michaels or Jeff Hardy, swallowing his precum, while you're masturbating Scott Hall's dick pointing at your face and jacking off Jim Powers' dick pointing at your tits.

Eventually, your mind drifts to fantasizing of sucking Hunter Hearst Helmsley, Rob Van Dam, Scott Hall or Jim Powers while jerking off Shawn Michaels, Jeff Hardy, the Renegade or even Scott Putski, and then the aforementioned ones getting their dicks jacked off get their cocks sucked as well.

Don't worry, even the likes of Brian Pillman, Bret Hart, Davey Boy Smith, and others get their dicks sucked and jerked off as well.

You're definitely not fantasizing of sucking and jacking off the really ugly wrestlers like most of the Dudley brothers from ECW, eeeech.

You actually wish you were a man, a gay man even, so that way, you can masturbate and jack off to these sexual fantasies you're having tonight.

One thing you haven't done tonight is try to put your fingers up your twat, maybe you can do that.

You wanna save the best for last; fantasizing about sucking and jacking off the hottest male wrestlers ever.

Maybe they'll make you cum, that's why you're saving the hottest and sexiest ones for last.

You're trying to rub your fingers over your clothed clitoris not just vertically, but horizontally, as well as rubbing your clit around in circles.

You're also rubbing the tips of your fingers over your fabric covered areola around in circles, you can feel your nipple sticking out in the middle.

You rubbed your clit fast and quick, running the pads of your fingers in circles over your clit.

You moaned and gasped while you rubbed your clit, your head arching back and your face and head looking like it's in an orgasmic state.

As you masturbated yourself, you fantasizing of sucking Shawn Michaels' cock, licking up his shaft and swallowing his precum, while you jerked off Rob Van Dam and Scott Hall, your fingers quickly moving to another shaft to masturbate Jeff Hardy, Jim Powers and Hunter Hearst Helmsley.

And in your fantasy, you grabbed another cock and moved it to your mouth, leaving Shawn's dick out of your mouth and sucking on Jeff Hardy or Rob Van Dam or Scott Hall while you jack off Shawn Michaels.

You mumbled and bit your lip, holding your moans back, and then, suddenly, your pussy had creamed, your twat becoming wetter than ever before, gushing your salty, slippery cum.

Your clitoris pounded and throbbed after you had came, and y'know how when you cum and you're a female, sometimes it feels like you've only came a little bit?

That wasn't the case with you.

While you didn't burst like a fire hydrant when you came, you were definitely wet in the panties, and you didn't pee your panties.

Despite that you've finally came, since you didn't get the chance to insert your fingers inside your twat, you lifted one of your hands off of your underwear and slid them down your panties, until your fingers touched your wet, slippery vulva.

Even though you're wearing panties, with your index and middle fingers attached to each other, to tried to insert those 2 fingers up your pussy hole, not your urethra where pee comes out, but the hole many cocks have entered; the hole babies are born from and menstrual blood flows out.

The tips of your fingers slowly were entering and penetrating into your wet twat hole, stretching your walls apart, and when your fingers were inside enough your cunt hole, you began to make those fingers fuck you like it's a penis, your fingers moving back and forth inside your pussy hole.

You didn't just fingerbang yourself, but you also pressed your thumb on your clit, moving your clit around in circles with your thumb, as well as still continued rubbing your fingers on your areola covered by fabric.

As you finger fucked yourself, you fantasized of these WWF, WCW and some ECW wrestlers you thought were sexy "running a train" on you, where they're all waiting in line to fuck you and each of them get a turn one by one.

You eventually got tired of finger fucking yourself, so you slid your fingers out of your twat, your fingers now gooey and sticky, but you moved your thumb off of your clit and started rubbing your clitoris with your fingers.

You rubbed your clit vertically, horizontally, and in circles with the tips and pads of your fingers.

You may as well call it a night right now, and you waited to drift off to sleep while still masturbating yourself.

When you were waiting and trying to fall asleep, you thought of these wrestlers you've fantasized about tonight all rubbing and caressing your naked body with body wash in a locker room shower, lathering your body up with foam, and they all get chances and have their hands traveling all over your body, while your hands are trying to touch on each of their chests and arms as well, rub the foamy body wash on their skin, trying to put your hands on their body parts and vertically caress them.

You have so many hot sexual fantasies with wrestlers that could be porn, and you even acted out some of your sexual fantasies with these professional wrestlers you've fantasized about.

When you woke up in the morning, your hand was still down your panties, though you still didn't continue masturbating when you fell asleep.

Y'know, Cyndi Lauper was one of the reasons the WWF blew up in popularity in the 1980's, she even guest starred in the WWF and had professional wrestlers and wrestling managers in her music videos.

And one of her most notorious songs is a song called "She Bop", about her masturbating.

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I actually tried fantasizing of getting gangbanged by so many hot men from the WWF, WCW and some from ECW (maybe even a few from modern WWE, NXT and AEW too) while I masturbated last night.