John wakes up to warm sunlight shining on his face, peace, and quiet.
The previously occupied other side of the bed was cold. He fumbles for his glasses and puts them on before looking over at the clock on the nightstand. 12:23 blinked back at him in red, geometric numbers. John couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept that long. He sits up, feeling the remaining aches of the last few days.
Almost as if on cue, you come into the bedroom, smiling at the sight of him, “Good Afternoon, sleeping beauty!” You had gotten up at regular time, but elected to let him sleep; after all, he really needed it. Besides, that gave you time to clean his shoes for him and do your morning routine.
He rolls his eyes fondly as you crawl on the bed next to him. He goes in for a ‘good morning’ kiss, and is surprisingly met with two fingers stopping him in his tracks. “Ah-ah,” you say, “You ain’t getting none until you brush your teeth.”
He lifts an eyebrow in indignation, but can’t resist a smile. “What? Are you insinuating that I stink or something?” You hum, you both know he’s one of the most anal, clean-freak, personal hygiene men to probably exist. Still, he goes anyway.
A few minutes later he emerges. “Am I acceptable now?” He says dramatically, sitting on the bed in front of you. He smells of spearmint and you smile, pulling him in to kiss you. “Very.”
The kiss quickly turns heated, and he pulls away, giving you a look that is intended to be scolding but comes off as amused. “Sweetheart, I’m supposed to be resting.”
You hum, ignoring him as you kiss along his jaw and down his neck. “I missed you so much, John.” You whisper, gently biting the shell of his ear the way you know he likes.
John barely suppresses a groan. “I missed you too, honey.” You always knew exactly what would get him going. Being perfectly honest, it had only been a few days, but the two of you had become accustomed to seeing each other pretty often when he wasn’t too deep in a case. This stretch had felt like forever.
Your hand drags down his chest, further until you’re palming him through his pajama pants. You smirk, “I could leave if you want, come back later when you’re… rested.”
“No.” He said, an air of both frustration and finality in his tone. You slip your hand past his waistband, pulling him out. He almost whines at the feeling of your hand on his already hard cock. You play with him a bit, slowly circling the head with your thumb. He tenses, his eyes falling shut. “Don’t tease.”
You frown, feigning ignorance, “Dunno what you’re talking about, baby.”
The two of you didn’t even have sex last time you saw each other, so it’s definitely been a minute. He looks too pitiful, poor thing. He exhales shakily, "I'm not gonna last long, just so you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure you won’t.” You adjust your position on the bed, laying on your front and pressing a kiss to his shaft. You smile up at him through your lashes, noticing his rigid posture, “Relax, John.” You take the majority of him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around whatever you can’t fit.
John could cry right now. He lets out a guttural moan at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth enveloping his cock. His grip on the sheets tightened, “Fuck…”
You bob your head lazily, keeping it sloppy. After all, you’re trying to help him unwind, not kill him. You hum, sending gentle vibrations through his length and his hand finds its way into your hair, gripping it gently.
This continues for a while and he can feel himself losing grip on his composure. Even the feeling of the soft puffs of breath coming from your nose felt like torture. “Sh-shit, I’m— goddamn…”
You decide to let him off easy. You pick up your pace, feeling him hit the back of your throat. It’s times like this that you’re grateful for your weak gag reflex. It doesn’t take long for him to break, spilling hot and fast down your throat. You swallow every drop, licking the tip as you pull off for good measure, cleaning up any remnants of your mess.
John’s head is thrown back, chest heaving for air. You smirk as you sit up, suppressing a laugh, “You good?”
He nods, eyes slowly blinking open. “Yeah, just- just give me a minute… you’re amazing.”
You smile. “Thanks, means a lot.” You bring your hand up to his hair, playing with the black and gray strands. He leans into your touch, sighing as you massage his scalp. He turns his head, pressing kisses to the inside of your wrist. After a moment, he clears his throat, “Alright, your turn.”
You frown, confused, “What do you mean, ‘my turn’?”
He smiles, “I said, your turn.” He gently pushes you back on the bed, climbing on top of you and kissing your neck. He nips at you in a way that you know will result in a mark.
“John”, you start, “This was supposed to be for you, I’m trying to help you relax.”
He moves down, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone that send heat flooding to your core. “Hush, I am relaxing.” He takes his time, making his way down your body slowly and deliberately. He makes it to the waistband of your bottoms, and he pulls both them and your thoroughly damp panties off with the flair and skill of a magician doing that trick where they pull the tablecloth off a table without disturbing anything. He throws them to some corner of the room before bringing two of his long fingers between your legs, teasing. “Hm, guess you really did miss me.”
You whine as he deftly slips said fingers through your entrance. You inhale sharply at the stretch, fingers gripping and flexing on the sheets. He pulls them out and you squirm impatiently, John shushing you as he repositions on the bed, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Patience my dear.” He croons, wincing slightly at his aching joints. He hikes one of your legs onto his shoulder and leans all the way in, taking a firm lick at your entrance.
You moan at the feeling against your folds, the double sensation of both his tongue and his conveniently placed nose sending lightning through your body. He licks into you with the fervor of a starving man, making noises that would kill a nun. “You taste so good sweetheart,” the vibrations of his voice vibrating through you. He finds your clit easily and flattens his tongue against it. Your vision whites out, and you throw your head back so hard you narrowly miss knocking yourself out on the bedframe. You moan in ecstasy, your hand coming to his hair and gripping it so hard both of you fear some might tear out. “J-John, s-shit…”
John smirks, satisfied with what he’s hearing. He moves back down, his tongue penetrating your folds and licking into your dripping cunt, using his thumb to massage your clit. It’s almost like your body’s a symphony that only he knows how to play. The sounds he’s eliciting from you now are so loud he’s sure the neighbors can hear. He’s happy though; you’re so considerate of him, he’s only happy to return the favor.
“Hng- J-John ‘m so close- fuck.”
“It’s ok honey, I’ve got you.”
Needing no further encouragement, you climax, your vision going starry and full of God knows what. John winces at the ever-tightening pull on his hair but still works you through your orgasm, licking up every bit of your release.
You feel yourself coming down, and you can really do nothing but just lay there, catching your breath. John sits up, grimacing at a crick in his shoulder. The sight of him, hair a mess, mouth and chin drenched in your juices, would be funny if you had the energy to laugh. He gets up, staggering out of the room and soon returning with two bottles of water. He places them on the bedside table and sits near you on the edge of the bed, brushing your mussed hair away from your face. “You alright? It’s my day off, I’m not exactly in the mood for a new case.”
“Shut up.” You sigh, smiling despite him. “Well…”
He lifts an eyebrow in confusion, “Well what?”
You smile sleepily, “They call you Munch for a reason…”
He rolls his eyes as you laugh, lightly swatting your arm. “Ha ha, how original.”
You sit up, brushing off his attitude. You scan the room for your bottoms before giving up, your shirt’s long enough anyway. “You hungry? And NOT for that, you’ve had enough for right now I think.”
He laughs, “I could eat. Again.”
You roll your eyes fondly. “Funny. I brought groceries last night, I’ll cook.” You stand up from the bed and start to walk to the door, but your knees buckle after taking a few steps. You gotta admit, the man is good. You stumble, catching yourself on the doorframe before quickly recovering. You hear an amused voice call out from the bedroom as you walk to the kitchen, “Need some help?”
You shoot a glare over your shoulder, you can’t see him but you hope he feels the aura anyway. “Fuck off.”
could you do 98 from the prompt list please? john’s at a place he really doesn’t want to be, lowk super miserable, but enduring it for reader <33
classic!
Fandom: Law and Order S.V.U.
Pairing: John Munch x female reader
Prompt/s: 98: “ Not sure if you could tell, but I’m not exactly a people person. ”
Warnings: gala night; suggestive conversation
Prompt list: link. Requests open until midnight 24 January x
i set this in the 'do you believe in love' au again - remind me to give y'all part 1 of that
The glitz and glamour of the local small business awards reminded you why you carved out a percentage of the floristry's profits for membership fees, but not even the glittering chandeliers could brighten Munch's mood.
He'd been sour since you first ambled into the teeming, cavernous room. You'd slipped your hand into his and he'd squeezed, tightly, as he scanned the heavy throng of people.
You met an array of familiar faces as you led the way to your allocated table. You stopped and made small talk, introducing John, commenting on the room, and wishing other business-owners good luck.
After the third interruption, John hunched down a little to speak towards your shoulder. "I'm all for the free market but would it have killed the gods of capitalism to con a few less people into chasing the American dream?"
"What did you think was gonna happen?" You were certain you'd thoroughly forewarned him about tonight: fancy gala; five hundred or so people; free food and drink; lots of boring speeches.
Before Munch could answer, another couple spotted you, waved, and made their way over. You felt, rather than saw, Munch's shoulders square and his back stiffen. You squeezed his hand.
John was pleasant enough as you chatted with the others, greeting them, nodding as they talked, making self-deprecating jokes.
But when you parted ways it was like he physically deflated.
"Relax, John," you said, as you stopped by your table. "I don't like networking either." You shivered at the buzzword.
Munch frowned, unconvinced. “Not sure if you could tell, but I’m not exactly a people person."
You exaggerated a faux-frown, playfully mocking him. "Aw, my grumpy old man." You spoke through a pout, softly pinching his cleft chin.
Munch rolled his eyes, but you could tell by the muscles that worked in his jaw that he was trying not to smile.
"Why don't you get us some drinks?" you suggested. "Might help you mingle."
"Mingle?" Munch baulked, like the word was diseased. His thick black brows returned to their normal position on his face. "I'd rather sit on a cactus."
A flicker of irritation straightened your back and you sighed through your nose. "Do you want to go home?"
Munch's chin dipped low. "If not for the way you're wearing that dress, I wouldn't hang around."
You held John's gaze. This was an important night for you. Your misanthropic, geriatric boyfriend could get his shit together for one night—for you. You just had to find the right angle, the right hook, and he'd just delivered you one.
You adjusted Munch's skinny tie. "Well if it makes you feel any better, you can help me out of it."
Munch hadn't taken his eyes off you. His gaze warmed. "Promise?"
"At home," you insisted. You leaned subtly in and murmured, "If you're a good boy."
Munch's eyes went hooded. Briefly, his gaze fell to your lips. "What hoops do I have to jump through to find out what that means?"
"I think you know perfectly well what it means, detective."
"Sure, maybe," he slipped his hands into his pants pockets, "but could you remind me?"
Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "You just want me to say it again."
"Of course I do. Is that a crime?"
"Have you earned it?" you shot back, arching a brow.
Munch's sardonic lips parted, ever so slightly.
You tried not to look too proud of yourself for stunning him into silence, and decided to change tac now that he seemed to calm the hell down for a moment.
"Come on, grumpy." You slipped your clutch under your arm and led Munch towards the bar.
Munch entwined his fingers with yours again. Inwardly, he relished being seen like this, led along by the palm of your hand.
xxx
Afterwards, the winners milled around taking photos and mingling. Your hand curled around the crook of John's suit-jacketed elbow as you chatted with this person and the other.
You'd taken to pressing your fingertips to Munch's arm or his tie when you introduced him, title and all, to remind him you were right by his side amidst all the strangers.
In a break between congratulatory handshakes and posing for photos, Munch leaned down to murmur directly in your ear.
"You keep touching me, honey, and I'll have to do something about it."
Your chest lifted. It was the first time he'd called you something sweet since you got out of the cab. "Oh yeah?" You turned your head and breathed in his face. "Like what?"
You saw Munch's chest rise a little. "I don't know what, missy, but I'll probably end up arresting myself," he griped.
You lifted a shoulder, shrugging impishly. "They say a little public indecency keeps one young."
"Oh they say that, do they?" Munch quizzed, unimpressed.
"Tell me—" you turned your whole body to his, and purred right into his face once more, "—do you want to find an empty bathroom stall and do it or do it in the alley behind here?"
Quickly, Munch's brow creased and his nostrils flared. "That's filthy, honey."
"And good boys don't fuck filthy? Is that what you're telling me, John?"
"You'd want to get a hold of yourself—"
"Getting a hold of me is your job, chief."
Munch stopped and took a breath, subtly shaking his head. "You know, I think I finally found the real reason all my marriages fell apart. I needed four wives to prepare me for one you."
You couldn't help but grin at that, and Munch's face softened as he looked over your beaming face.
** Written for Homicide!Munch**
Also the mental gymnastics I did to invent a scenario where desk sex would be possible--
It's a gray Sunday afternoon when you pull up to City Hall. Dark, ominous clouds moving in from a distance and the air humid with rain to come.
You'd just driven to John's favorite deli and picked up some sandwiches to surprise him with lunch.
He was on-call today. He had explained one time how the two homicide shifts rotate weekend call days amongst detectives. He doesn't have to be at the office, he just has to be available. Dispatch can reach him at home if needed. But he said he had some paperwork to catch-up on, so might as well go in for a few hours. He would let you know about dinner though.
It had been at least partly sunny when you were getting ready so you'd put on your favorite sun dress, but you hesitate now getting out of the car, deciding to grab your emergency umbrella.
The thought just now occurs to you that John might not even be here; he could have gotten a call already. But then --you can at least leave the sandwich on his desk if he's out.
You walk up to the second floor, past the administrative area. Thankfully John's there, at his desk. Frowning over paperwork. Jacket draped over the back of his chair, exposing his shoulder holster.
"Hi," you greet him, walking in.
"Babe, what are you doing here?" John asks somewhat disapproving.
"Just thought it would be nice to surprise you, you know? I picked up your favorite sandwich from your favorite deli."
He stands to meet you.
"You're an angel," he says, giving you a chaste kiss.
"Only for you," you smile.
Another kiss, more lingering this time, because you look good and there's no one around. You both separate reluctantly and he pulls up an extra chair so you can both sit together to eat at his desk.
As you eat, the clouds outside darken and begin to shed rain.
John looks over his shoulder through a window, concerned.
"You really shouldn't have come, sweetheart. Didn't you hear about the blow-off we'd be getting from that hurricane?"
You frown slightly remembering that you had heard something about it on the news last night but had forgotten overnight in the excitement to surprise John when you got up this morning.
"Maybe," you reply feigning ignorance and he gives you a look that's met with a horrendous crack of thunder.
"C'mon, we need to get out of here," he says standing, lightning flashing outside. "I'll drive us to my place. You shouldn't be out alone in this."
"Maybe we should just wait it out," you say mildly concerned looking past his shoulder out the window now as well.
"It could be hours babe. I know you don't want to be stuck in a city government building on a Sunday afternoon." John replies looking at you over the rim of his glasses, hands on his hips.
As if in answer there's a howling wind accompanied by more booming thunder and flashes of lightning.
He sighs, plopping back down in his chair.
"Guess we don't have a choice."
Glancing around to confirm the floor is evidently empty, you purse your lips, leaning against the corner of his desk to face him.
"It can't be that bad. I'm sure we can find some way to pass the time," you reason, fingers slipping under his tie suggestively.
John raises one dark brow.
"I love your train of thought sweetheart, really I do, but there are cameras. This is a police unit."
You frown but continue to idly play with his tie.
The lights flicker and hum, and flicker after another thunderous crash, and then go out. The whir of the air conditioning follows.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
"Great."
But then.
He's looking at you, dark eyes sharpening.
"You know if the power's out," he starts slowly, standing up, "that means the cameras are out."
"Oh?"
"Looks like we'll be able to pass the time after all," he says, crowding you back against his desk, arm sweeping behind you to move things aside as his mouth covers yours and he lifts you onto it's surface.
You moan spreading your legs, letting him lick eagerly into your mouth. This has been a fantasy of yours for awhile but you didn't think it would ever happen.
He palms your thighs through your dress.
"Can't believe you came here, looking like this," he rambles against your throat, "how am I supposed to get any work done, hmm? I'm supposed to be catching up on paperwork."
"Just wanted to look good for you," you breathe innocuously as he kisses your neck.
"You always look good baby," John murmurs, pulling the straps of your dress off your shoulders, continuing his trail of heated kisses until he reaches the top of your breasts.
Despite being in a public space, although currently vacated, you're more vocal and needy than usual, seemingly unable to keep still, shifting restlessly, hands running here, there, and everywhere--up and down his arms, over his shoulders (fingers hitching at his holster straps), up his neck and into his hair, then his sides-- which doesn't go unnoticed.
"Feeling especially frisky today, babe?" He asks.
You bite your lip, giving him a mischievous little look.
"What? What it is?"
"It's the desk," you answer after a pause.
"The desk?"
"Yeah-- I think about it sometimes, getting fucked on your desk."
He looks a little annoyed now.
"Why didn't you say anything before? I would have cut the power and told everyone to evacuate the building myself."
You roll your eyes, playful.
"No you wouldn't."
"Well I guess we'll never know now, fuck, c'mere."
He kisses you deeply, hands pushing your dress up now, stroking soft skin, before finding the edge of your panties and pushing them aside, long fingers running lightly through the considerable wetness there.
"Fucking soaked babe," he hums.
You gasp as he eases two fingers inside you, continuing to kiss, stroking you the way that drives you crazy because sure the power is out now but who knows if the generator will kick in and he wants to cover as much ground as possible.
Teases your nipples through your dress with his free hand before slipping the straps down your shoulders and tugging down the neckline to reveal your tits.
Gorgeous. All flushed and disheveled. And on his desk.
He sits down in his chair, burying his face between your legs, tongue licking knowingly over your clit as he curls, curls his fingers. Has you cumming, one leg thrown over his shoulder, center pressed against his mouth, and gripping his hair within mere minutes. He knows how to take you apart quickly if he wants to, or rather needs to depending on circumstances.
He rises and you eagerly eye the bulge in his pants as he undoes his belt.
"How do you want it? Want me to bend you over my desk, baby?" He asks against your ear, untucking his shirt now.
A small, needy sound escapes you.
"Not yet, want you like this first," you answer, wrapping your legs around his waist and covering his mouth with yours.
John groans, freeing himself.
Doesn't waste any time sliding into you until you're full.
You just kind of cling together --kissing, kissing, kissing as he fucks you.
When he can tell you're getting close, he stops, pulls out to your dismay.
"Gonna bend you over now sweetheart," he says, voice low with warning, looking at you over his glasses.
You nod in response. He gently pulls you off the desk before expertly flipping you around as he would do any suspect, pushing you down, side of your face to his desk with a hand pinned behind your back.
You moan.
"Mmm, thought you'd like that."
He hikes up your dress to reveal the curve of your ass. Then a sudden, unexpected slight, stinging pain as he brings his hand down against it because he's not known for impulse control and this earns another moan from you.
He sighs a "Damn" under his breath.
"You like being bent over my desk baby?"
You nod and bite your lip but that's not enough.
"Say it."
Another smack to your ass.
"Yeah--yes, I like it."
He makes a soft sort of sound before gripping your hips and sliding into you again.
You're so tight like this. He's practically breathless. Let's you adjust to the change in position, casually easing his cock in and out. He soon becomes more forcible, hips snapping against yours, a hand sliding up the length of your spine and into your hair, pulling sharply.
You whine and clench around him.
He pulls again, harder, watching your profile, mouth falling open to say his name as he slams into you repeatedly. Desk things he had shoved aside dangerously close to tottering off the edge. You're suddenly dizzy, overwhelmed with pleasure as you spasm around his length, moaning and whining curses, soaking his cock and your inner thighs.
John is rambling praises upon you, thrusts becoming frantic and uneven, and he finds his release with a deep groan.
He releases your hair and palms the space between your shoulder blades, both catching your breath.
Long moments pass before he pulls out, briefly watches his release begin to leak out of your entrance before grabbing a tissue from his desk and gently wiping you clean, sliding your ruined underwear back into place.
You hum contented, stretched over his desk, temporarily too loose to stand up, muscles reluctant to move.
There's more kissing when you finally do manage to right yourself --why not, the power hasn't shown any sign of recovering though the rain has somewhat lightened.
"Guess I'm going to be volunteering to cover more weekend call," John observes pleasantly, "still--have to throw the breaker for the cameras."
You gasp but can only bring yourself to half scold him.
172 and 167 paired have me looking @ Munch with heart eyes honestly
I just found your writing yesterday and I'm obsesed!
eeek thank you you're my first not-anon person in a little while. apologies for any typos i wanted to get it out quickly!
also in this prompt i answer the question 'is Munch a munch?' - and i set it while y'all are still dating, not yet living together.
Fandom: Law and Order S.V.U.
Pairing: John Munch x female reader
Prompt/s: 172: “ The food looks great but.. There’s something much more delicious i’d like to eat right now. ” and 167: “ Want to head back to my place and have a little fun? ”
Warnings: confirmed - Munch is a munch
Prompt list: link. Requests open until midnight 24 January x
The thing people got wrong about dating older men is that they're all sugar daddies who get more out of lending you their credit card than getting an annual blowjob on their birthday.
But you learned that John Munch was different.
Unlike what any Cosmo article will tell you about seeing an older guy, John had a strong sexual appetite and the stamina to back it up. Most times he was a little old fashioned, but he could be a fiend when he wanted to, and he wanted to tonight.
You picked this restaurant because 1) it was hidden, 2) it was quiet, and 3) it was in walking distance from Munch's apartment, satisfying all of his criteria.
You met at his place, strolled the city blocks hand in hand, and when you got to the restaurant he held the door open for you, but as you waited to be seated he subtly leant to your ear.
"You look divine in that dress, sweetheart. But what's on underneath? Can I take it off with my teeth?"
You brushed him off, scandalised.
When you sat at your table Munch held your chair out for you, and when the wine came he poured your glass. He even gestured for you to order first. But within minutes of being served your meals, he caught your eye and leaned his long torso over the table.
"The food looks great, but… There’s something much more delicious I'd like to eat right now," he murmured, and pulled a piece of blushing steak off his fork with his teeth.
His eyes didn't once leave yours. He might not have even blinked, his gaze on you was that intense.
You swallowed and reached for your glass. "Really, John. Do you have any self control?"
John set his cutlery down, and when his eyes met yours again they burned. "I'm the epitome of the thing, baby."
"Is that so?" You arched a brow. "Well, I'm glad. Because you're too advanced in years to have learned zero impulse control."
John folded his arms on the table and rocked forward on them. "You know, I had the impulse to have my dessert before dinner tonight. Did you know that, honey? I wanted something hot and sweet that'd melt on my tongue. And once I saw what I wanted, I almost didn't know what I was gonna do with myself if I didn't taste it immediately. Probably let it drip down my chin, I was so hungry for it."
Your cheeks felt hot, but you couldn't look away from John's deep and penetrating gaze. You shifted your hips in your seat, getting your tiny lacy underwear to add some pressure where you needed it.
On a shaky breath you said, "And do you still want that, John?"
"Oh, I never stopped," he said, deep and gravelly. "Dessert is one of this old man's greatest pleasures in life. If I had my way, I wouldn't go a day without it."
You swallowed. It was getting harder to volley back with the pictures John put in your head and the way your body responded to them. You had a feeling he could see it on your face. You haven't felt John's mouth on you there yet, but from his innuendo, it at least sounded like he knew what he was doing.
"So what do you say, sweetheart?" John's low murmur stole into your over-thinking. "Do you want to head back to mine and act on that impulse with me?"
xxx
You sat on Munch's bed in nothing but your lacey underwear and high heels. Your head was tilted up to meet him.
John leaned over you and kissed you slowly. He had one hand on the side of your neck and the other rubbed at your pussy through your soaked-through thong.
There was almost nothing left of the thing. He got closer and closer to brushing his fingers up against your bare clit. But before he did, he switched it up and went inside your panties.
You gasped from the kiss as John's long fingers slid down either side of your pussy lips, massaging.
"Let me loose," John murmured into your mouth. "You hold my chain, baby. You know I want to eat your pussy."
You looked up at him through hooded eyes, mind blanking as he caressed all the way up and down—and up and down, again—your soft labia. His touch was sensuous, coaxing.
"I'll hold on for you. You know I can." John made a sound between a hum and a sigh of wistful longing. "Want to taste her, though. Need to know what you taste like." He kissed you again. It was another slow, seductive press of his mouth to yours. His tongue swept across your lower lip and your mouth opened to him, gladly.
John groaned and it hit the back of your throat, then was sucked into your lungs. Your pussy made more sap, which he collected and doused your clit with.
Munch left your lips. "Tell me when I can get on my knees."
Thoughts re-surfaced briefly, long enough for you to tell him, "Yes. Now."
John sank to the floor with a soft grunt. He pulled some pillows under his knees. "You want my mouth, baby?"
"Yes, John."
His fingers hooked into the thin waist of your panties at your hips. "Tell me, honey." He pulled them down your legs and off while you computed an answer. "Say the words."
You wriggled out of your soaked thong and gathered enough brain cells to echo John, direct and explicit like he liked. "I want your mouth. Eat my pussy, baby."
You widened your thighs around him and the last thing John said before he attached his mouth to your cunt was, "Smells so good."
Then you were lost.
Munch started at the end of you and worked his way up with slow, sucking kisses. He licked your slick off your lips and swallowed greedily. You leant back on your elbows on his bed, and when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit you arched and fell back flat.
John used the change to lift your legs up. He skimmed the side of your thighs, grabbed and pushed back, then caught your ankles and set your heeled feet on his shoulders.
Your head popped up to get a look at him and what he'd done.
"That's it, honey. Just stay like that. Can you?" he said, and kissed and licked and sucked between your legs once more, tasting every inch of your lips and clit.
Moaning from that first touch, your head dropped back almost immediately. Your hands palmed your breasts and your nipples were stiff beneath the thin layer of lace.
As John worked, he gorged himself on your pussy. His tongue circled your opening and he lapped at it, wiggling his tongue inside. He was obsessed, insatiable, slurping noisily as he licked you from the inside out.
"John!" Your hips bucked when you cried his name, and John groaned onto your puffy cunt. The humming vibration reverberated through your middle.
John came up for air, murmuring between kisses to your inner thighs. His chin was wet with you; he was spreading your slip onto your skin. Some salt and pepper strands had fallen loose from the brushed back style.
"Taste's so good, sweetheart. Could eat you all day. Want to live off your pussy. Feeds me so good, baby."
You caught your breath. "More, John. Please?"
Munch moaned when his mouth met your pussy again. He focused on your clit, turning soft, gentle kisses into big wet sucks. He was attentive, listening for your sounds and feeling for the undulations of your body.
When you cried out and your back arched, he pressed one thumb past your pussy lips, to your yielding, eager inside.
"Fuck, baby," you moaned. "Keep going, don't stop."
John spoke the words, "Not on my fucking life, honey," directly onto your hard, swollen bud, before he assailed it again.
Munch sucked and flicked his tongue over your sensitive button, all the while teasing the opening to your pussy with his thumb.
Soon, you played jockey to his face, grinding against his single digit and his wickedly skilled, noisy mouth. John rewarded you with moans and groans that passed through your skin and quavered inside your body. Your insides kept making and dripping so much silky syrup that it ran down between your cheeks, and down to John's wrist.
But John didn't stop. He was laser-focused. You knew he had a mission: to make you burst on his tongue. And he was going exactly the right way about it.
"You're gonna make me cum, John," you told him.
"Mmhm."
Your ankles lifted out of your heels as your toes curled. "I'm—I'm—"
"Mmmh."
You groaned as that bright, shimmering peak hit. You rode it out on John's face because he just kept sucking your pulsing clit, feeling every pulse against his lips and tongue. Your pussy seized on his thumb and the blissful tremors rolled through your body in waves.
You had to push John off you, so much was his mouth stuck, suctioned to your sensitive bud.
You were still coming down when John unravelled himself from your legs, slid off your shoes and clambered up on the bed next to you.
Munch was a little puffed, a little sweaty along the hairline.
He said, "Let me know when you can go again." He pointed to his face. "This time, you sit up here."
All four ex-wives drove him nuts but none had the pleasure to witness the rare and irrational John Munch. Years after the divorces, after long forsaking the idea of true love on top of being elbow deep into the shit that was the SVU… He might’ve thought himself incapable of the feeling weren’t for you. He believed himself to be the ideal cop; the perfect lieutenant, though he had little love for the title. He knew when to care and when to hold back, he could be withdrawn and simultaneously comforting. He denied entry to the ghastliness of every case, every grim day, and left it on the doormat.
Or so he thought.
“You’re trouble for me, sweetheart,” John recalls mumbling into the crook of your neck, smiling like a schoolboy because of a damn hug. Your open arms were an invitation he wouldn’t dream of denying, perish the thought. He’d never dabbled in drugs but right then and there, he suddenly understood how people could get addicted. Your infectious joy, your beaming smile, your sparkling eyes; all unfailing every time you saw him. Every part of you was so soft and warm, a dream to someone so cold and hardened. You smelled so good that you made him forget the scent of crappy coffee and stale rooms.
How was he, a starved man, supposed to live without you now that you’d shown him what it was like to feel full?
He couldn’t.
In all fairness he made a great attempt to not be overprotective, to leave his (metaphorical) badge at your door. He also warned you in advance, way way back when he was dissuading you from pursuing him and fooling himself into thinking you two would never work. “I can’t shut this off,” he said exasperatedly while tapping his temple, as if it was explanation enough. Truly, John was frighteningly good at his job. He knew all too well the ins and outs of a perverted criminal’s mind. Logically, he knew that even if your apartment was three feet off the ground and was pad locked to the nines and installed with security cameras, if someone wanted to break in they would find a way. He knew there was only so much he could do.
Again, you made him irrational.
“Move in with me.” He blurts out to the darkness.
On the verge of praying that you’re asleep, John’s almost grateful to receive silence. Yet his heart beats wildly against your back like it wants you to wake up and shout yes. To his continued horror, you roll over with your eyes wide open and a smile toying at your lips.
“Are you asking me for cop-related reasons or because you want me to?”
Despite the question, your tone edges on excitement.
Refusing to take his hands off you, he gives a noncommittal shrug, “Can’t it be both?”
Somehow with the gentle glow of the moonlight blocked by a dark cloud and his lack of glasses, he could sense your mirth slipping away.
“One matters more than the other, John.”
“Oh no, you sound serious.” He teases. Boy, he could kick himself really. Deflection, like old habits, die hard. Before you could debate if you wanted to roll over and go to sleep to avoid this talk, John tightened his arms around you and bit the bullet. “Sweetheart, you already know that I’m wrapped around your finger. There’s nothing I want more than for you to live with me— yes, partly because I think I can keep ya safe better than your useless cameras. But mostly ‘cause I love you, and I wanna start and end the rest of my days with you.”
This time he didn’t have to leave the admission in the air for long. Your squeezing hug was an immediate anchor he craved, just as much as your smile he could feel against his chest.
“You love me?” You squeaked.
He breathes out a laugh.
“Stupidly.”
“Madly?”
“Irrationally. Irresponsibly, foolishly, beyond all reason— I’m runnin’ out of synonyms. Any more of this lunacy and they’re gonna lock me in the looney bin.”
You snorted, reaching for his cheeks and holding him so tenderly that his heart ached. Gently, you kissed his lips and lingered against him. The moment was impossibly perfect, straight out of a fairytale he would’ve scoffed at before meeting you.
“I love you like crazy, too. I’d love to move in with you.”
John sighed in relief, tucking your head back against his chest and kissing the top of your head. The previous heavy weight on his heart dissipated at your agreement, leaving him relaxed once again. A smile pulled at his lips when the thought of living with you settled in. Someone should really look into this whole “love making people irrational” thing. Ideally before it kills him.
~
i love this old man, it’s a fudging crime there’s 10 fics for him
A/N: Fun fact, this started off as a side situation in another story, but once it was hitting over 1k, I figured it could be its own thing lol This was inspired by @poisonsage808 ‘s John Munch x reader fics. Thank you for all that you do for the Munchlers
Rated: SFW, 18+, minors dni
Word count: 2.1k
Summary: Reader and John are taking a winter stroll through Central Park when they find a child wandering all alone.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Let it be a sign of my utter devotion that I spend my time off walking alongside you in the frigid, decrepit air of New Yorkian winter.”
You chuckle and pull your scarf down to kiss his cheek as you keep your arm locked around his. “Noted.”
It was true, it took a little persuasion, but after you told John that you’d be fine walking alone, he was dressed and ready for the biting cold in five minutes flat. You spent most of your working hours cooped up in overheated conditions. As long as it wasn’t sleeting or up to your hips in snow, you were going for a walk in the crisp, (only slightly frigid) air.
You toss the empty styrofoam cup that once contained piping hot chocolate in a nearby bin then nuzzle further into John’s side, trying to make his warmth merge with the inner cocoa heat. Central Park was spread out before you, muddy green grass meshing with a tie-dye of gray sky and filled with citizens of all types. Stubborn chess players, motivated joggers puffing out clouds of air as they ran past, vendors utilizing hot snacks, and parents with kids bundled up so dense, they were like walking pillows.
The two of you shift among a dozen topics of conversation as you walk along; you were currently in the middle of an intense discussion of what was the best John Hughes movie to have graced the big screen. John stops his passionate ramblings on the comedic glory that was Uncle Buck when his gaze rests on a child. They couldn’t have been older than three years old, wandering the void between the outskirts of the playground and a river of passing strangers. All alone and far from the sights of parents on benches.
“Nobody’s got their eyes on him.” John mutters, disappointed with a simmer of heat nipping under the words. You nudge his shoulder with yours and fall into step alongside him.
“We do now.”
John kneels down and goes through questioning with a gentle voice he saves only for children. “Hey there fella, my name’s John. What’s your name?”
The child smiles up and babbles out a string of excitement while waving around the remnants of a flower in their tiny grip. You both chuckle at their contagious energy.
“That’s a pretty flower. Want to show it to your mommy or daddy? Are they here? Where’s mommy and daddy?” The toddler babbles some more, waving the flower to accentuate their speech. No luck filtering any helpful information out of it.
“What do we do now?” You mumble, smiling through the unease; what was this kid’s story? John was probably already 1001 dark steps ahead of you with possibilities.
“We take them to the station, where we wait and see if some semblance of guardian reports them missing.” John’s soft voice and smile stay planted for the kid’s sake, but you hear the bite all the same. “Hey kiddo, you want to come with me and my lovely friend here?” You reach out your hand as an invite and the toddler waddles towards you and latches onto your leg. Your heart rushes, realizing something you would have thought beautiful before you met John. This child is so trusting.
You heave them up and get them planted on your hip, an action you’ve perfected after growing up with tiny cousins. The kid blows a raspberry in your face and you give an exaggerated scowl, making them laugh harder.
For a second, John’s smile melts into something a little more real before he sobers up and stands straight. “There’s a mounted patrol officer down the path; I’m going to see if there’s a Code Adam in progress. Stay here with the shrimp, alright?” He kisses your cheek before he struts down the lane, waving to the officer. The blush spreads from the point of contact, and you make a mental note to ask John if he could perhaps volunteer for the Mounted Officer Unit. John riding in on a draft horse was too good an image to pass up.
You look down at the passenger in your arms and start to bounce them. “What do you like more, cats or dogs?” The tot barks their response, beaming up at you. Apparently animals were a favorite subject.
“Hmmmm, what do you like more? Pigs or cows?” Snorts and giggles are your answer, and as you’re ready to keep lobbing out farm animal combos as long as it takes, an agitated voice calls out behind you.
“Hey, goddamn freak, what are you doing with my little brother?” A scraggly man (late teens or early twenties, you figure) is making his way towards you. And fast. Shock and guilt are your immediate response-- you think you’ve done something wrong until you remember that his kid had been left completely alone.
Once upon a time, you might have handed the kid over with swift apologies and embarrassment, but your instincts kick in and you clutch them tighter in your grasp. “Prove it.”
“Excuse me?” He snatches his arm forward and you back up at the same time.
You peer down at the kid and ask “Hey buddy, do you know him?” They blink and babble, no different than when you had asked their name. You whip your gaze back and shake your head. There’s a figure approaching behind the stranger, and you suddenly feel sturdier than concrete. “No proof yet. What else you got?”
“How about I knock those teeth to the back of your—” The hood of his sweatshirt is yanked hard and he’s tossed back a couple yards, almost taking a tumble. John doesn’t miss a beat and steps up to him, right into his space and blocks his access to you or the kid.
“Child neglect, verbal assault, you’ve already got two strikes going for you, scumbag. You really want to see what happens when you strike a third?” He keeps his voice level for the kid’s sake, but the threat is clear. You rarely ever see John like this, actively on the job; sure, you’d seen anger, frustration, protective, passionate. But seeing him in his detective element brings out quite a few feelings. Ranging from elation to something you’ll delve back into once the two of you are alone again. After hours.
“Child neglect? What are you on, I was watching him-“
“I saw you by the fountain talking to what I presume to be a gaggle of dope-fiends.” John takes a whiff and huffs out, disappointed. “I strike ‘presumed’ from the record and replace it with ‘know’. Explain to me how it is you were watching him with your back turned?” John slaps the rear of the guy’s head, making the stranger hiss out a curse. “Nope, don’t feel any eyes on the other side.”
“Look gramps, I don’t know who you or that bit-“
John stomps forward and grabs the front of the hoodie this time, flashing his badge to let this man know exactly who he is. “You really don’t want to finish that sentence in front of me.”
The guys sobers up, instantly realizing the situation he’s been caught in. He was ready to square up until the credentials were staring him hard in the face. “I- I’m sorry officer-”
“That’s Detective Munch. And I’ll be the one asking questions from here on out.” John lets go and wipes his hand along his lapel, as if pigheadedness is contagious. “Now, what’s your name?”
John starts a long line of questions, badgering and unforgiving as the alleged older brother spills all the information. He’s Martin, aged seventeen. His brother’s name is Mikey. Their parents were out at dinner and he had been in charge of babysitting. After some intimidating presses from John, the kid gives up the baggie of pot he’d bought from his fountain dwelling peers, the true reason for the park visit. After a confirming call to the parent’s cell, ratting out the older brother of every crime that had occurred, John seems as content as he can be and calls for you to join and hand the kid over.
You stride over gently; Mikey was now slumped over and snoozing against your shoulder. You hear John mumble some final parting words to the teen.
“You might think you got fucked over royally today, but you’re outstandingly lucky. If I had been someone with ill intent, your little brother would have been long. Gone. Remember that next time.” With that, John watches like a hawk as you hand the snoozing child over to his brother. He cradles Mikey’s head gently; maybe the weight of John’s comments is actually settling on him. Good.
John nods in your direction. Raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘and…?’
“S-sorry for calling you, you know…” He’s stuck, having been threatened not to say the word but needing to apologize. “A derogatory term for women.”
You stuff your hands in your pockets and shrug. You try not to think about how empty and cold your hip feels now. “I’d probably say worse if I thought someone was taking my loved ones away. We’re good.”
You both watch as Martin paces away, winding down the path until he’s out of your sights. You lean your head on John’s shoulder, nuzzling against the soft wool. “Whatcha thinking?”
He shakes his head, fingers reaching down to find yours. Once he has them entwined, he squeezes. He needs an anchor right now.
“Maybe I should’ve booked him for all the charges. Really make it stick how bad he messed up. When met with a close call, teenagers have a way of seeing it as being unstoppable more than a reason to really change.”
You sandwich his hand between your own, kissing the gloved digits. It breaks him from his reverie a bit, based on his heartbeat picking up speed under your ear. You ponder on his words before speaking honestly. “You gave him the third degree and told his parents. Not to mention he thought that I actually was trying to steal his brother. I think he got scared straight."
Heat rushes your cheeks and neck while a giggle bubbles in your throat. John homes in immediately, snaking his hands around your waist. “And what, pray tell, is so funny sweetheart.” Fondness and adoration coat the petname like honey as he tugs your hips forward. You wave your hand, dismissing it before he rests his forehead against yours. “Don’t make me do 20 questions. As a Detective, I have a disgustingly unfair advantage.”
“It’s just…This conversation. Feels like one parents would have about their teenage son, y’know?”
The two of you had danced around this subject like a carousel, never getting to close the center to decide. There were more reasons for you both not to have a kid rather than have one, and that always seemed to be the end of it. But you’d be lying if you said fleeting images of tiny socks and John leaning over a bassinet hadn’t crossed your mind before. His silence makes you worry your light comment got too heavy. “Not that i’m saying I—we—“ you cut yourself off. You’re not sure exactly what you’re not saying.
He leans back, dramatically tilting his head. His thumbs rub circles on your hips. Even through the layers of clothes, the gesture is distracting. “Hmmmm, I would never dream of lying to you, dearest. You’re a master with the youngin’s. You make it look so easy, maybe I could even follow your lead.”
You latch onto his lapels and tug him forward. You kiss to promises and possibilities. Gentle and sweet, then it slides into something needy and magnetic. Your toes curl and heat pools in your core before John pulls away regretfully.
“The world might fall away when I’m with you, but I was teetering on losing modesty there. What do you say, can we cut our afternoon walk short?” His face dips down and eyes rise over the horizon of his glasses, communicating all he wants to do to you with eye contact alone.
You rise up and give one last kiss, short but thorough before your lips pop as you back away, leading him along. He follows like a lost puppy toting a wolf’s grin.
“Random question.” You purr. “Have you ever considered volunteering for The Mounted Officers?”
The group snickers and hollers watching you stumble, saying you’d had too much though you swore and pointed at the culprit; a cloth napkin. Munch sighed, significantly less amused than the rest, and rose to his feet slowly to appear more sober than he was.
“You’d make a shoddy sailor.” His playful tone makes your hair stand on end. Innocently, he splays a hand on your back does much crueler things to your body. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”
warnings: nsfw, 18+ only, hlots or svu dealer’s choice, age gap, secret relationship, alcohol, consent is so sexy
“Kiss me goodnight,” you whisper, playfully pulling his tie like it was a leash to lead him into your apartment.
One of his hands firmly wraps around your wrist while the other hits the frame of your door, both trying to stop himself from taking another step closer. You’re a bit drunk and that makes you fire; he’s not supposed to touch; not supposed to want to. But he’s also a little drunk, unable to tear any piece of himself away from you. John swallows hard, staring at your lips.
“It’s just a kiss, baby.”
“It’s never just anything with you,” he breathes out, barely able to find his voice.
Just drunk enough to want to burn.
“Meaning?”
Just partners, just friends, just a fuck, just your boyfriend. You knew goddamn well what he meant.
You took a step back, letting his silk tie hang in the air until it slipped through your fingers. By the time it did, he was nudging your door shut with the heel of his shoe.
“Meaning I forget what self control is when I’m with you. I thought I was bad when it came to sweets. You’re worse.”
An unabashed, delighted smirk pulled your lips apart, “Does that bother you?”
His grasp on your wrist changed as you leaned forward, into him, to flip the lock. Through his tinted glasses you saw his eyelids grow heavy with desire.
“Does that bother you?” He shot right back, his breath fanning your lips though he was trying to merge with the door.
Your spare hand rested over his racing heart, splayed and accepting. Greedy. You wanted all of him. By coming inside he already gave you the answer to the unasked question, you just wanted to have it in words. Hungry for him as you were, he knew you could— and would always— outlast him in patience.
He conceded, “No.”
“No.”
Click.
His head hit the door when your lips crashed upon his. Butterflies erupt from your belly when one hand combs into your hair, the other’s flat on the small of your back. It’s endearing and alluring that he wants— needs you as close as possible. His grip tightens, his kiss deepens. Pressed impossibly close, you slide your leg between his and John groans into your mouth.
For someone bizarrely aware of his surroundings 99% of the time, it’s shocking to see him so lost in you that he doesn’t register you unbuckling his belt. Until it hits the floor, that is.
“Sweet thing,” he pants as you somehow manage to pry his lips off yours, “you don’t have to do that.”
He chokes on his words when your fingers dip into the waistband of his underwear. You raise your eyebrows slightly to wear your disapproval.
“I don’t have to do anything. I want to. Let me spoil you, baby,” you whisper between kisses to his neck and chest, teasing the idea of going lower, “I wanna make you feel so good.”
“Fuck, you’re too good to me.”
Sinking to your knees, you pop open the button of his pants. Patient but impatient, both a wreck, when you’ve barely touched him, yet standing like the pinnacle of composed, John watches. Right as you rise to your knees and pull his pants to his ankles, you feign innocence while looking obscene,
“Tell me I can, I wanna hear you.”
He groans when your soft touch meets his cock, ghosting a stroke along the length.
“Don’t tease me, doll. You already know I want you all the time.”
Smirking to yourself, you agreed. You just liked to hear it from him when he was breathless.
You take him in your mouth all at once as a reward, instead of teasing him like you love to do. The door thumps softly when he throws his head back against it, a small gasp leaving his parted lips. His fingers itch for more and rest on your head but don’t pull, he’s too grateful for anything he gets and it pisses you off. You force yourself to take more, push him deeper into your mouth.
“You’re too good at that. You’re so —fuck— so good, sweetheart.”
At his praise, you preen and hum around his cock which, to your utter delight, draws out more moans from John. He’s swearing in between mutterings, more provocative poetry about how obsessed he is with your mouth, with you. You pull back and swirl your tongue around the head to hear make him stutter. Something certain people only dream of doing. He moans, hips jerking involuntarily as you try and take all of him again.
Sadly, it’s not possible. Not yet. His tip hits the back of your throat and the length you couldn’t fit in your mouth becomes tightly enveloped by your hand, instantly slickened by saliva, following the slow back and forth flow of your head.
His garrulous demeanor was cracked, no quips— or words— could leave his parted lips when he was moaning so lovely under your expert tongue. It was the strangest cauldron of intimate and obscene. Drunk, sleazy and needy yourself, you were hellbent to draw out his pleasure.
Rendering him speechless, putting a wedge in his restraint; you stole his pride. Or he gave it to you. However it ended up in your possession, you were fine with because he was standing (barely) before you a needy, weak legged, moaning, beautiful mess. But you were greedy, this he knew. You wanted to spoil him, ruin him, love him, see him in shambles. It was senseless, and yet, obtainable desire.
You wanted to see Munch come undone and you wanted be the reason why.
“Love, I don’t— can’t—“
A sickeningly wet pop makes him shudder as you glide your mouth off his cock, “S’ok, baby. Cum for me.”
You're ravenous to have him back in your mouth, at your mercy. Distrusting of his hands, John pulls at his own hair as he throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut, though he mourns the lewd sight of you on his cock. You can't help but moan at the view, craving his release as much as him, his begging and panting speeding up your movements. Your name comes out a broken plea amongst the string of praises that leaves his lips. His cock pulses in your mouth and his thigh trembles under your palm as he reaches his high. Ever greedy, you didn't pull off until you were sure you swallowed every last drop.
John's slow to recover from his ecstacy, hissing as you free him from the wet, velvety cage of your mouth. He sighs heavily, dramatically, and slides to the ground with you. Pride is a dangerous drug, you're staring at him with a devilish smirk when he suddenly grabs the back of your neck and pull you in for a breathtaking kiss. It's tongue and teeth and he's no longer cautious about his hands, hastily tugging your clothes off. He yanks your pants to your knees while pulling you underneath him, his elbow resting by your head. His eyes are wild and swimming with a new kind of need,
"Your turn."
A Collection Of Things @maxxlovely - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
stormborns
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
