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thirstbxtch · 29 days ago

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Steno

Pairing: John Munch x Reader

Rating: E

John's curious as to why you would break things off with a seemingly great guy.

Started watching SVU from the beginning for the first time as an adult.

Became unexpectedly feral for Detective Munch.

Lack of content has brought me out of retirement.

You're in one of the courthouse break rooms grabbing a coffee when Detective John Munch comes in.

"Hey, haven't seen you in awhile," he says, also pouring a coffee. You lean back against the counter sipping yours.

You run into each other sometimes, being a stenographer. You like it when you're assigned to a trial he's called to testify on, like today. The sound of his voice. His sometimes dryly sarcastic responses given during cross examination. You both have the same sense of humor. He likes you because you never ask him to spell anything, including psychological terminology.

John gives an "ah" of understanding.

You sigh.

"Got tied up on a double homicide. Mistrial. It's on hold while they find a new jury."

"How you've been? How's Eric?" He teases pleasantly.

Eric was an up-and-coming attorney you'd started dating about two months ago.

"Over that fast? Did it even have time to get started?" John jokes.

You make a face.

"Mmm, just went ahead and ended it. Wasn't going anywhere."

You shrug nonchalant.

"Well, when you know, you know."

He nods, deciding not to push.

"You?"

"This case has been a bitch, I'm expecting the trial will be as well."

"Seems to be headed that way."

You check your watch.

"Better get back to it, recess is almost up. You know how Judge Schneider is when it comes to punctuality."

"Oh believe me, I know."

The jury reaches a verdict after three days of deliberation. Now the end of the third day, Munch is there to hear it, sitting in the gallery.

Your fingers hover over the stenotype in anticipation as they stand to deliver.

"The jury has found the defendant Not Guilty, your honor."

There's a stunned kind of silence throughout the court room. It takes you a second to process before you can transcribe it.

You glance over at Munch. Stony expression says it all.

He approaches you once it's all over, the courtroom clearing, you're gathering your things.

John's standing there tall and slender, black suit, dark grey shirt, dark salt and pepper hair brushed back. Blue tie with his signature silver tie clip.

"I could use a drink after that, care to join?"

He's not really expecting you to agree, but what the hell right.

Handsome in an academic sort of way.

"You drive?"

"Yeah, actually, same."

Can't be any harm in commiserating with someone in essentially the same field. Your friends only put up with so much of your work talk.

"No, not today, took the subway."

He looks at you, skeptical.

"What?"

He shakes his head, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

"Alright, come on."

He takes you to a quiet, little bar, where you'll actually be able to hear each other talk. Soft piano music playing in the background.

John orders a Scotch, neat, and you order a Manhattan.

After about an hour and two drinks of lamenting the outcome of the trial, debating the downfalls of the legal system, and generally catching up --John decides he's curious.

"So--wanna tell me what actually happened with Erick?" Tone only half serious.

"Is this why you brought me out? To get the details of my romantic life?" You reply, teasing.

"Well I'd tell you the details of mine, but it's non-existent," he replies in that signature deadpan way.

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Believe it."

You finish your drink and signal for another. He waits, expectantly. Sometimes half of getting people to talk is just being quiet.

"I did tell you, just wasn't going anywhere, no point in wasting time when you know it's not going to work," you explain.

John finishes his drink and leans forward, elbows resting on the bar, also signaling for another.

"Ok, but why wasn't it going anywhere? Come on, the guy is practically prince charming-- attractive, good job, promising career, nice car, apartment on the nice side of town from what I hear-- If that's not considered 'going anywhere' for women, what possible hope can there be for me?"

You smile and roll your eyes, playful, as the bartender places new drinks in front of you.

"Yeah, he sounds great on paper, but we just weren't compatible."

John studies you now, trying to read beneath the smiles and guarded responses.

"Did he hurt you?" He asks frankly.

You give him a pointed look.

"No, nothing like that Detective," you place a hand on his upper arm, attempting to placate him, "trust me, it's not that serious."

John glances down at your hand on his arm. The light touch somehow burning through his suit jacket and shirt. Brings his eyes back to yours. A moment. Another smile before you withdraw.

You each sip your drinks.

"If I tell you, it stays between us ok?"

"Hey, loose lips sink ships," John says casually, not wanting to appear over-eager.

You drink again.

"Like I said, Erik sounds great on paper, he's nice, but the sex was-- less so," You finish wryly.

"Less so?" John prompts, pleased to be making progress, but this is only piquing his interest, not satisfying it.

John processes the information, annoyed now on your behalf, but checks his composure.

You hum, thinking.

"Let's just say I never saw any sparks." You give him another pointed look, before drinking again.

"You mean, never? Not once?" He asks, casual.

"Not once," you reply simply.

The brief silence however, encourages you to continue, unable to suppress the impulse overshare while under the influence.

"Ah --well, that'll do it."

He drinks.

"He always wanted me to blow him but wouldn't eat me out--" you roll your eyes, decidedly less playful now and drink "hate that, so annoying."

John clears his throat, caught off guard by your sudden bluntness, and certain illicit images they conjure.

"Did you tell him that?" He asks, matter of fact, once he's able to form words.

"I mean, I think he tried once or twice, but it was just--disappointing."

You make a face.

"No, no need to be cruel, it's not like he did me wrong or anything, just easier to tell him it wasn't going to work."

"Sounds like he was doing you wrong." The comment is out of John's mouth before he can think. He panics momentarily, hoping he hasn't been too crude.

John cracks a smile.

But instead you're actually laughing.

"Got me there."

"Maybe he's insecure, maybe he knows he's not good at giving head so that's why he doesn't like to do it." He's playing devil's advocate now. "I mean the poor bastard can't do any better if someone doesn't teach him."

John raises a brow.

You make another face.

"He's 30-something. Not 19. If he doesn't know by now," you shrug, finishing your drink, "I'm sure he'll be fine, he'll meet someone nice."

"Someone nicer than me." You add, not sure when you and the detective had gotten so close. You're practically elbow to elbow. You can smell his aftershave -- clean and inviting. You press your thighs together. Just so.

"I don't mind driving you home," he offers, "would rather make sure you get home alive."

You check your watch, sighing.

"It's getting late. I should call a cab."

You guess you can't really argue, both knowing the hundreds of horrible possibilities that can happen at any given time in this city.

He calls the bartender over for the tab, and you both straighten up.

"I can--" you start, only for John to wave you off.

"Wouldn't dream of it, one tab please," he tells the bartender mildly.

The drive home is quiet, but comfortable. You don't want to give him the wrong directions.

"Just up here on the right, that's my building."

He pulls up to the sidewalk, eyeing the building.

"I know, it's not much, but it's decent, for New York at least."

John turns off the car.

"You know I'm walking you to your door."

You could live in the Upper East Side and he would walk you to your door. Doesn't trust anyone or anywhere at this point in his career.

"Came all this way," you tease putting in the key, "might as well come in for a night cap."

There's no doorman, which he scolds you for.

You hit the keypad for entrance, take the elevator up to the 5th floor, and walk all the way down to the end of the hall.

Thinking all the while about how you're not ready for your time with the detective to be over.

This old song and dance, John thinks, regarding you. You're looking at him with something, dare he say, dangerously akin to want.

"Twist my arm why don't you," he replies easily.

You turn on a light and slip out of your blazer, tossing it lazily over the back of the couch.

John takes the opportunity to shamelessly admire the line your body while you're not paying attention.

Formal t-shirt tucked into your modest knee length pencil skirt, lingering on the curve of your ass, then down your legs to your simple, black pumps.

You make your way over to the bar cart in your so-called dining room.

Whiskey and two glasses, setting them on the table, pouring generously.

A silent toast.

"This was nice," you hum, leaning back against the table.

"Yeah, it was," he murmurs, allowing his gaze to drop to your mouth.

John smoothly downs his in one go.

He steps forward, setting his now empty glass on the table but doesn't move away.

You're not moving away or re-directing the conversation. Just standing there looking back at him through long lashes.

He closes the small distance between you, slotting his mouth over yours. You return the kiss, lips pressed for long moments to his, before separating.

You set your unfinished drink on the table, pushing it off to the side, and returning your mouth to his. An exchange of kisses that quickly grows hungry. Your hands slipping beneath his suit jacket, palming his chest, he shrugs out of the offending item, lips still half connected to yours.

Then he's lifting you effortlessly onto the table, tongue running along your lower lip when you gasp. Dizzy from the way he licks into your mouth.

"John," you breathe. He's kissing your neck now, pushing up your skirt.

"Yeah, yes," you say pulling gently at his tie, and he's kissing you senseless again, running a hand up your thigh to the edge of your panties, lingering momentarily before long fingers are stroking your folds.

He pauses.

"You good?" He asks, looking to you for reassurance. He's not sure really if his pride can handle hearing that this was just a drunken mistaken the morning after.

He groans.

You whimper in agreement.

"Sweetheart, you're so fucking wet."

Breath hot against your skin, savoring the easy way his fingers slide over you.

He withdraws, eager now to act on what he's been thinking about half the night since you brought it up. Rolling up his sleeves and taking off his glasses. Dropping to his knees. He'll probably feel this later.

He pushes apart your thighs as you look down at him in half-lidded anticipation, lifting your hips as he slides off your underwear.

Then he's licking into you like a half-starved man, because well he is, dragging the flat of his tongue against you and moaning, pleased with the high-pitched little sigh you make, needy.

"Taste good too, baby," he says looking up at you, "so fucking good, sweet little pussy."

Returns his mouth to you, easy, taking his time, you card a hand through his hair. It isn't long before you're pushing your hips against his tongue, trying to press your thighs together. Only then does he slip two long fingers into you, stroking you deep and curling them, sure you were vocal before but now you're loud.

He hums low in his throat, pleased, tonguing your clit in a gentle, steady rhythm with his fingers.

"Fuckkk, John --"

Hand tightening in his hair, one leg thrown over his shoulder.

It's been a long time since it's been this good and suddenly it's too much, you're coming apart, John's name the only thing you're capable of saying between pants and high moans, and John just keeps going, dragging the wave all the way out, feeling you spasm on his fingers, leaking on his tongue, just when he thinks you can't get any wetter. He doesn't stop until your inner thighs start to tremble and you're oversensitive, weakly stroking his hair.

He rests his head on your thigh for a moment, gazing up at you, a few strands of dark hair falling in his face, appreciating your thoroughly fucked-out appearance.

Wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before standing.

You kiss him softly before palming his pants where he's painfully hard.

He stills your hand, reluctantly, after a few moments.

"I'm not exactly in the habit of keeping protection on me sweetheart."

"Mmm, I don't care, I'm on the pill." You reply, hand going for his belt buckle.

"You can't expect me to last very long," he says looking at you with raised brows.

"I don't care, John--just wanna feel you."

He groans, giving in, not stopping you now as you make quick work of his belt and his fly, pulling out his shirt, slipping your hand into his boxers, running your hand experimentally over his long cock.

"Hey, none of that right now angel," he pants, grabbing your wrist, he finishes pulling himself out.

Then he's easing into you, biting off a moan, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Shit, you're tight, you're so fucking tight."

"Feels so good," you sigh, taking him with minimal effort, body thoroughly relaxed after the orgasm he just gave you.

He rolls his hips slowly into yours, setting an easy rhythm, enough to keep him just on edge, but he's still lightheaded after only a few minutes, muttering apologies and half curses under his breath that you silence by placing your lips on his.

You stay together for long moments when it's over, both still buzzed but no longer from the drinks. John thinks back to the conversation at the bar though.

"So would you say that was 'more so' than 'less so' ? See any sparks?"

#detective munch #detective john munch #john munch #john munch x reader #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit

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thirstbxtch · 2 years ago

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Interference

Fandom: Star Wars, The Sequel Trilogy

Rating: Explicit. 18+ only.

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader, slight Hux/Reader, No use of Y/N

Warnings: Rape/Non con, Inappropriate use of the Force, Inappropriate use of light sabers, Mentions of Blood, Spanking, Squirting

Hux has interfered with Kylo Ren's work one too many times. Ren decides to interfere with something of his.

AO3

Notes: Yeah this is pretty fucked. Idk. I was writing a Jacques Le Gris fic and then suddenly in the middle of writing that I was writing this. It's almost like I'm living at the bottom of a villainous Adam Driver dumpster. First time writing for Kylo Ren, hopefully he's in character. Drink every time he "hums" (but actually no please don't). Let me know if there are any additional warnings I need to tag. Please validate me.

You're sitting on General Hux's desk, legs spread, your black First Order issued, form fitting skirt slid halfway up your thighs. The general himself stands between them, hands caressing the skin above your knees, carefully kissing the skin of your throat. He's in a good mood and when he's in a good mood, he likes to take his time, likes to praise you in a way his words cannot. He's nipping at your earlobe, really warming you up when the doors to his office open with a sudden crash.

A fuming and unmasked Kylo Ren standing in their ruined wake.

Hux whips his head around in anger.

"Ren, you've returned early."

"You! You have interfered with one of my missions for the last time, you have no right!" The knight yells accusingly, pointing a gloved finger at the general.

"I had to interfere, you were getting ahead of yourself, overconfident as usual," Hux replies, stepping away and shooting you a dismissive glance.

You go to move, to comply with his silent request, but find all of your muscles suddenly frozen, Kylo Ren pinning you in place with a look before returning his attention back to Hux.

"No General, you are getting ahead of yourself by continuing to disrupt my work," Ren seethes and several objects large and small scatter and fly about the office in a pulse of rage. "Don't. Let it happen again," he spits, turning on his heel and storming out of Hux's now destroyed office, finally releasing you from his force hold.

Hux stares disdainfully after him for long moments.

"Fix this, it is late. I'm retiring to my chambers," he orders coolly without so much as a backwards glance.

You activate the holopad at your wrist and begin putting in work orders, summoning repair droids, and sending an order to the pharmacy for a relaxation tonic delivered to his chamber. You also formally enter the incident into General Hux's official record per protocol, though nothing will come of it. You wait for the repair droids to arrive and stick around long enough to ensure that they are repairing and not just causing additional damage.

It's probably half an hour before you're retiring to your own modest chamber to sleep, staring disinterestedly at the pointed toes of your heels as the doors whisper open, then closed, startled when you look up to see Kylo Ren, dark, imposing, sitting on the corner of your bed.

"Kylo Ren, I believe you've created enough work for me already tonight, I will have to ask you to leave as this is highly unusual and against protocol," you quip annoyed and unsure as to what could warrant a personal visit from the knight.

"I was not aware that the nature of your working relationship with General Hux was so intimate," he lilts. The sight that had momentarily greeted him when he stormed into the office was certainly not something he ever expected to encounter, but a welcome revelation nonetheless.

"I am employed to attend to all of General Hux's requests, both professional and personal."

Ren hums.

"As you are for any and all high ranking First Order officials," he says simply, still sitting on the bed, eyes locked with yours.

"Not quite," you correct him.

"How so?"

"General Hux has filed a contract of exclusivity to retain my services personally."

The knight scoffs, amused. What a very Hux like thing to do, however-- it only makes this so much sweeter.

"He must think very highly of you," Kylo Ren muses, rising from the bed and taking a step towards you.

You step back.

"Does he care for you I wonder?"

Forward.

"It would be above my station to speculate."

Back.

Forward.

Back.

Cat.

Mouse.

Until you're back against the edge of your own desk and Ren is towering over you, crowding you in, panic rising in your throat.

"You have no hope of escaping me," he says blithely. "I do want you to know that this nothing personal," dark eyes search yours and the back of a gloved hand brushes your cheek, "collateral is often times-- unavoidable."

A brief but crushing moment of silence and then suddenly he's hauling you up onto the desk and you scream as your heart clenches tight, so very tight with dread and adrenaline.

"Scream all you want, no one will hear you," Ren says calmly, gripping your chin in one hand.

He forces your thighs apart, standing between them, mirroring the image of his interruption. The knight pulls at the recollection in your mind, replicating every touch and kiss that Hux had bestowed on you, thrilling inwardly at the prospect of treading on rival territory.

"You like when he takes his time with you," Ren says softly, echoing your earlier thoughts, "I'll also be taking my time with you."

Because he doesn't stop at tonight's encounter, he searches through your history with the general, revealing every weakness, moments of seduction now enacted by his hand, his touch erasing the one in your mind's eye, his lips tracing your skin in too familiar ways, and your body begins to betray you. You try in vain to force him out, to separate your reality, but you quickly tire from the effort, head aching from his constant intrusion.

His mouth, warm and surprisingly gentle, finds the spot at the crook of your jaw, the one that always makes you weak, his presence overwhelming you, the scent of him, dark and heady, intoxicating, so when he removes a glove to slip his hand beneath your skirt, pushing your underwear to the side, you're hot and slick. He hums, pleased with himself.

"I hate this, I hate you," you hiss.

"I know, I can feel it, your loathing," Ren's voice velvet, eyes locking with yours.

The knight seems to come back to himself now, breaking his reverie, he yanks at the black silk, practically tearing it from your body and unzips himself without ceremony. He enters you in a swift, hard thrust and knocking the air from your lungs in a pained gasp. His size fills you thoroughly, an agonizing kind of relief. He groans low in his throat at the shocked spasm of your walls and at last succumbs to his rage. One hand pinned to your thigh and the other still gloved gripping your jaw because he wants to have his hands on you, wants to leave his mark as he enters you, again, again, never giving you time to adjust, harder, more, you're nothing but an empty vessel for his anger.

Ren is trembling when his release hits him, spilling within you in sharp, broken breaths, face buried in your shoulder. It's long moments before he loosens his grip and withdraws, tucking himself back in. Your core aches with pain and pleasure unfulfilled. He pulls you roughly from the desk, ripping at your uniform until it pools ruined at your feet.

The knight turns you, roughly forcing you down over the desk, soft leather gloved hand trailing down the length of your spine and coming to rest on the small of your back. A boot sliding between your still heeled feet, shoving them apart. There's a click, the sound of an object detaching from his side. Your panic spikes again. Ren flips the saber hilt smoothly in his hand so the cross guard rests in his palm. Briefly, through the lens of his wrath, he admires the curve of your ass, but it does nothing to spare you the stinging pain of the strike he brings down.

A sharp cry escapes you and it turns to ragged, keening begging as he continues to criss cross the saber hilt over your ass. Angry, red welts rising in it's wake, Kylo Ren not ceasing until he's breathless from exertion and your skin is broken in places, blood trickling down the back of your thighs.

The exchange of uneven breaths fills the room and you seethe, cheeks wet with anger, bottom lip bitten swollen and bloody.

"I hope for your sake that General Hux will consider his future courses of action more carefully," Ren comments idly, admiring his work, his destruction of Hux's property.

The cool metal of the hilt runs along your entrance, Ren dragging it through the remnants of his release. There's a phantom pressure at your center, a gentle would be caress, and you bite the inside of your cheek, pushing the sensation away.

Ren hums amused, saber hilt nudging against your cunt.

"It's ok, I want you to enjoy this," he says, calculated tone doing nothing to reassure you.

You can feel him sweeping aside your resistance, replacing it instead with a gradual liquid heat that runs along your nervous system, and you relax against your will. The phantom sensation returns to your core, it feels good, a light whisper friction distracting from the pain previously inflicted. The saber hilt twists against your entrance now as Ren eases it in up to the cross guard. He draws an inhale at the sight, pupils blowing wide. You moan once it's seated and somewhere in the back of your mind, you're vaguely aware that this is humiliating, but that doesn't stop you from moaning again when Kylo Ren gently pulls and twists at the cylinder, cunt gripping it's grooves and ridges.

He sets a slow rhythm, hungrily watching the hilt glisten and disappear, while still exerting his will upon yours, maintaining the phantom pressure at your center with more insistence. His length strains against his breeches, his own lust consuming him, lust that he siphons off to you, making you whimper and push back against the object. The knight focuses, reading your pleasure to find that spot inside you, rocking his weapon hilt against it once he does. The shift is palpable, you're right there, on the edge, he can feel it.

"Say it," he commands quietly because he knows the words are there, lingering just behind your lips, still lodged in subconscious resistance.

"Ren," you whine long and needy, "please."

He sighs a long exhale, giving you what you need, what he's willed you to need, heat sparking along your spine before breaking over you hard, gushing your climax all over Ren's saber hilt, more escaping each time he presses it into you and he groans a low sound in the back of his throat, transfixed, drawing more from you, until the inside of your thighs are slick and the floor beneath you is wet.

His patience worn thin, he frees himself again, entering you for a second time, sliding in with a quiet moan. Strong hands pull you off the desk, pull you to stand so your back is to his chest and you're weak in his arms but he holds you tightly, wrapping an arm around your waist, fucking you slowly from behind. The thick head of his cock a heady drag through your aftershocks. He's languid and lazy now, wrath temporarily sated, savoring the feel of your body, taking it for himself. You can feel him gradually begin to pull at you, seeking that which you would not otherwise be able to offer.

"No, no, please," you pant, a plea on deaf ears, because you're hit with a swell of ecstasy and then you're clenching around him, wetting his cock. You moan together, his voice breaking, he holds onto his climax until you're weakly leaking around him and only then does he paint his release inside you.

Ren continues to hold you tight against him, face tipped up towards the ceiling, eyes closed. You can feel his influence start to retreat, your mind beginning to become your own again. Exhaustion, pain, and latent anger only just beginning to set in, before everything turns to black.

Ren carries you, wrapped in the coverlet from your bed, through the halls to Hux's chambers, occasionally glancing at your face. What a state he's left you in. Doors are of course not a concern, entering Hux's suite, the general, a habitually light sleeper, is stirring from the sounds of the door and Ren's boot steps. He sits up gazing somewhat blearily at Ren, who gives him a half smirk.

"General Hux."

A subtly, self-satisfied fuck you.

He sends your body sliding across the floor, thudding unceremoniously against the foot of the general's bed.

A final, level look.

He turns on his heel, leaving Hux with the sound of his retreating, unapologetic boot steps.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fanfiction #adam driver #adam driver fanfic #adam driver fanfiction

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