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@omgjules
𑣲⋆ jule’s blog 𑣲⋆
⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗
she/her 18 ★
wattpad, tik tok ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
marvel, doctor who, sabrina carpenter, clairo, law and order svu, rivals, house md, the office, fleetwood mac + more ⋆˚࿔
requests open ᶻ 𝗓

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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𝓓𝙊𝙉𝙏 𝓢𝙈𝙄𝙇𝙀,
꒰ঌ ໒꒱꒰ঌ ໒꒱꒰ঌ ໒꒱ ─ ❝ don’t smile because it happened baby, cry because it’s over. ❞
𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 ୨୧ john munch x fem!reader
𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 ୨୧ y/n and john munch are getting a divorce. unfortunately, in order to sell their apartment the pair must renovate the one place they talked about growing old in.
𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 ୨୧ physical touch, kissing, divorce
𝙬𝙘 ୨୧ 2.4k ish
𝙖/𝙣 ୨୧ i did cry whilst making this.
“We’re getting a divorce.”
Y/n had said it one night in a fit of rage, the words leaving her mouth before she had the chance to take them back. And that was it. John Munch and Y/n were getting a divorce. There was no desperate begging to get back together, no dramatic promises that things would change. Just endless arguments that always ended the same way. Sex.
Although, if Y/n was being honest, the sex had always been great.
Looking back, she should have known that it would never work out. When she first met John, they were complete opposites. He was grumpy and cynical and she was bubbly and optimistic- listening to his endless theories with genuine interest, even when everyone else had already learned to tune him out. She had teased him, challenged him, and reminded him that maybe the world wasn’t as terrible as he believed it was.
But as the relationship went on, when they saw the uglier parts of each other- the parts that no one else saw- and they discovered something neither of them wanted to admit. They didn’t know who they fell in love with anymore.
The late night conversations that would once last until sunrise became arguments that went unresolved for days. The playful teasing became carefully chosen words meant to hurt. The little differences that once made them interesting became reminders of everything they couldn’t agree on.
And now, years after promising each other forever, Y/n found herself standing inside the apartment they once dreamed of growing old in, staring at the life they had built together.
The door creaked open behind her, pulling Y/n out of her thoughts. It was John. He stepped inside and slowly closed the door behind him, offering her an awkward smile.
It was strange seeing him like this. Not as her husband. Not as the man who used to steal the blankets in the middle of the night or leave paperwork scattered across the apartment despite her constant complains. Just John. Her soon to be ex husband.
She glanced down at the two coffee’s in her hand, hesitating before holding the one in her right hand toward him. “Still two sugars?” she asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.
John glanced down at the coffee before returning his gaze to her face, their fingers brushing as he took it from her. “You remembered.”
“We were married for three years, John.” Y/n raised a brow, her smile widening. “I think I can remember what coffee you like.”
He pursed his lips into a thin line, as if he didn’t have a witty comeback for that. Taking a sip of his coffee, he glanced around the room. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
They split jobs naturally. Y/n grabbed the paint rollers and started covering the faded beige walls with a fresh coat of white, slowly erasing the colour they had once spent hours debating over. Meanwhile, John moved around the apartment, patching the small holes left behind from years of replacing shelves, rearranging pictures, and arguing over where things should go.
It was almost unsettling how easy it was. Like they hadn’t spent months deciding they couldn’t do this anymore.
Not even a few minutes into renovating, it was clear that John was already getting irritated. “Why didn’t we just hire someone to do this?” he muttered, stepping back to examine the patchwork he had done. “I’m a cop, for gods sakes. Not a builder.”
Y/n rolled her eyes, not even sparing him a glance as she continued to paint over the walls. “Let’s not forget which one of us insisted we could do this ourselves.”
John glanced over at her, peering at her over the rim of his glasses. “That’s before I remembered construction involves actual construction.” he said dryly.
A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “John.” she finally looked back at him. “You’re filling holes in a wall, not rebuilding a bridge. Quit complaining.”
He scoffed, returning his attention back to the wall and shaking his head. “Optimist.” he murmured.
Y/n didn’t say anything, but she definitely heard what he said. A small smile tugged at her lips. Some things, apparently, hadn’t changed.
Once the section of paint was beginning to dry out, Y/n grabbed the ladder and dragged it to the corner of the room.
John immediately looked up from where he was working. He already knew that look. It was the same look she had given him countless times over the years- the one that meant she had decided something needed to be done and had already started doing it before considering whether it was a good idea.
Y/n climbed up carefully, reaching towards the wall to point over the last of the faded patches of beige. She had always been like that. Act first, think later.
With a quiet sigh, he stepped forward and steadied the ladder before she could even ask. Which he knew she would have eventually.
She looked back down at him, noticing his hands gripping the sides. An appreciative smile spreading across her lips. “Thank you.”
John shrugged, looking away as if it was nothing. “Can’t have you falling to your death before signing the divorce papers.”
The smile on her face faltered for a second. It was only a joke. A very John Munch joke. But considering the circumstances, it had a little truth hiding underneath it.
“Romantic as always.” she muttered, a hint of irritation in her voice as she turned back to the wall.
Next thing on their list was the kitchen. Y/n planted her paint bucket onto the counter and bit down on her lower lip, deciding on which part she should start on first. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the oven, and suddenly she wasn’t looking at a worn out appliance that needed cleaning.
She was remembering late nights cooking dinner together after long days. The music playing in the background. John standing beside her, insisting he knew what he was doing despite all evidence proving otherwise.
A small smile appeared on her face. “Remember when,” she let out a small giggle, “you set fire to the pancakes on our one year anniversary.”
John, who was kneeling beside one of the cabinets that refused to close properly, looked up at her with a confused frown. “It was French toast.”
Y/n raised a brow. “It was pancakes. The french toast was another time.”
He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. “Forgive me for not keeping a detailed record of every meal I accidentally turned into a fire hazard.” A grin slowly tugged at his lips. “Although, now that I think about it, I do remember you destroying the oven while trying to bake cookies.”
An amused scoff escaped her lips as she turned to him. “I melted a tray, don’t be so dramatic.”
John peered at her over the rim of his glasses. “I walked into a cloud of smoke when i came home.”
Y/n winced slightly, turning her attention back toward the cabinet she was supposed to be painting. “Okay, yeah.” She paused, reluctantly admitting defeat. “That is quite bad.”
A quiet, amused huff escaped him as he shook his head, also returning his attention to the cabinet he was fixing. “Open a window, would you?” he said casually. “I don’t want you complaining the paint fumes have given you a headache.”
Y/n glanced over at him. It was such a simple request, but it was so painfully familiar. John had always remembered little things like that. The way she got a headache from strong smells, the way she forgot to drink water when she was focused. The list could go on for hours.
For a moment, she almost forgot why they weren’t married anymore. “Still bossy.” she muttered, walking over to the window and pushing it open.
After about half an hour of comfortable silence whilst they worked, they both finally took a break. Y/n leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her chest. She looked a mess. White paint streaked across her jeans, flecks dotted the sleeves of her shirt, and somewhere along the way her neatly clipped-back hair had escaped, loose strands framing her face.
John, however, somehow looked exactly the same as he had when he’d walked through the front door. His greying hair was still slicked back. His glasses still sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Even after renovating for the better part of an hour, he looked so put together.
It was honestly infuriating.
“Do you ever wonder what happened to us?” Y/n finally broke the silence, tilting her head slightly at him.
John didn’t answer straight away. Instead, he looked down at the coffee cup in his hands, turning it slowly between his fingers. “I know what happened.”
Y/n’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”
He let out a quiet breath. “We grew out of each other. I don’t think either of us did anything unforgivable.” He paused, searching for words that had probably been sitting somewhere inside him for months. “We just… weren’t on the same page anymore.”
Y/n bit down on her lower lip in an attempt to stop the tears welling in her eyes. She looked away, lifting her coffee to her lips more for something to do than because she actually wanted a drink.
Silence settled over them, but John broke it. “I never stopped loving you.” he said quietly, like he was stating something that should have been said a long time ago.
Y/n closed her eyes for the briefest moment before looking back at him, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “I know.”
John studied her face, hesitating for what felt like an eternity. “Did you?”
A quiet laugh escaped her through the tears as she wiped at the corner of one eye. “Never.”
Neither of them spoke after that. There was nothing left to say. The truth had finally been spoken aloud and somehow, it still hadn’t changed anything.
John slowly pushed off of the counter and crossed the kitchen without saying a word. He stopped in front of her for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around her.
Y/n didn’t hesitate. She stepped into the embrace as though it were the most natural thing in the world, burying her face against his chest and holding onto him like it was the last time she’d ever get the chance. Which, it probably was.
John rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he held her just a little tighter.
When she eventually pulled back, Y/n leaned back just enough to look up at him. Their eyes met, neither of them quite ready to let go. John scanned her face before his gaze flicked to her lips. Without thinking, he slowly leaned down and captured her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss.
Y/n knew this was bad. She knew this wouldn’t fix anything, that they would still leave the apartment as two people getting divorced. But none of that stopped her from immediately relaxing into his touch anyway. Her hands found their way to the back of his neck before gently slipping into his greying hair, her fingers running through it the way they had countless times before.
John’s mouth trailed lower, finding the curve of her neck and planting gentle kisses against her skin. Y/n moved her hair out of the way, giving him better access as a quiet moan escaped her lips.
Then his hands found her hips, guiding her gently back until the edge of the counter pressed against her thighs. He wasn’t rough, if anything he was too gentle with her, but the movement made her breath hitch.
Y/n’s eyes drifted shut for the briefest moment. "John." she murmured softly.
He hummed against her neck, a low vibration that traveled through her, his lips already working their way back up toward her jaw.
A slow smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she rested a hand lightly against his chest. “The counter’s still wet.”
John paused. Against her skin, she felt the ghost of a smile. “Of course it is.” He let out a quiet huff of amusement before reluctantly pulling away from her, though his hands lingered on her hips for another moment before finally falling to his sides.
Y/n didn’t move either. Her hands remained against his chest as they both stood there in silence, looking around the apartment.
There was still so much left to do. And yet, somehow, it already felt as though nobody had ever lived there. The photographs were gone. The furniture had been sold. Fresh white paint covered the walls they had once spent an entire weekend arguing over. It no longer felt like home.
A quiet sigh escaped John’s lips. “I think we should just get someone in.”
Y/n nodded, unable to disagree. “It’s probably for the best.” Her eyes drifted back to him, really looking at him.
Slowly, she lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. Her thumb traced a small circle against his skin, causing John’s eyes to drift shut. For a moment, he just allowed himself to simply stand there, leaning into her touch.
When she finally lowered her hand, the space between them suddenly felt much larger than it had a second before. “I should get going,” she said quietly.
John opened his eyes again and nodded. “Yeah.”
There was something in his expression that she couldn’t quite name. Regret, perhaps. Or maybe acceptance. Either way it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
Without another word, they walked towards the front door. Y/n slipped on her coat before resting her hand on the doorknob. She paused, turning back one last time and glancing around the apartment they had spent hours imagining themselves growing old in.
A small, wistful smile found its way onto her face. “Someone’s going to love this place.”
John followed her gaze around the room before looking back at her. “I hope they do.”
Y/n stepped forward, closing the small distance between them. She rose onto the balls of her feet and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, lingering for only a second before pulling away. “Goodbye, John.”
His eyes stayed on her for a long moment. “Goodbye, Y/n.”
She offered him one last smile before turning towards the door. This time, she didn’t look back.
John remained where he was, listening as her footsteps grew quieter down the hallway until they disappeared altogether.
LMAO i fucking love this show

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Oh to be a girl in the 80s waiting for her boyfriend to climb through her window is my dream
my dream 🤗
He makes me chuckle
Also this was my first time using cap-cut and I genuinely felt like a dumbass. It wasn't even complicated, I'm just stupid
Both, me

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
𝓓𝙄𝙉𝙉𝙀𝙍 𝓟𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙔,
𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: peter parker x fem!reader
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: peter introduces his girlfriend y/n at a dinner party. what could go wrong? Well apparently, everything.
𝙒𝘾: 4.5k
𝘼/𝙉: this is heavily inspired by my fav episode of the office ‘dinner party’.
────────────────
“What if they don’t like me?”
Y/n glanced up at Peter as they walked side by side through the lobby of Stark Tower. One arm was looped comfortably through his, while the other carefully held a bottle of wine she’d insisted on bringing. It felt like the polite thing to do when meeting your boyfriend’s family. Or, in Peter’s case, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.
Peter looked over at her with an amused smile. “They’re going to like you, I promise.” He paused for a brief moment before adding, “And besides, they’re basically normal people… most of the time.”
Y/n raised a brow, not liking whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. “Most of the time?” she repeated.
“Okay, maybe occasionally.” he replied, earning a glare from Y/n.
“Peter.” she warned.
“I’m trying to help!”
His grin was so hopelessly sheepish that she couldn’t stay anxious for long. She bumped his shoulder with her own, earning a victorious smile from him as they reached the elevator.
Peter pressed the button, the doors sliding open with a soft chime. Together, they stepped inside, the ride to the penthouse feeling far shorter than Y/n would’ve liked.
The elevator slowed, the signature ping echoing through the cabin before the doors parted once more. Standing directly outside was Tony Stark, dressed far nicer than Peter had ever seen him willingly wear, with Pepper Potts beside him, smiling politely.
Behind them waited the rest of the avengers. Steve Rogers stood with his hands loosely folded behind his back, Natasha Romanoff leaning casually against the wall beside him. Bruce Banner offered an awkward wave the moment he spotted them, while Sam Wilson nudged Bucky Barnes with a grin that already suggested he’d been waiting for this moment. Clint Barton was halfway through eating something from a bowl he had no business carrying, and Thor just stood proudly among them.
Tony’s face split into a grin the second they stepped out of the elevator. “There he is!” He clapped Peter firmly on the shoulder before his attention shifted to Y/n. “So this is the girl you’ve been talking about. I was starting to think you’d made her up.”
Before Y/n had a chance to react, he stepped forward and pulled her into a quick, unexpected hug. She stiffened for a second, caught completely off guard, before returning it with a small, polite smile.
“Oh- um…” She held out the bottle of wine she’d been carrying. “We brought you this.”
Pepper accepted it with an appreciative smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
“Right!” Tony announced, gesturing dramatically towards the room behind him. “Y/n, avengers.” he then pointed back at her. “Avengers, Y/n.”
She let out an awkward chuckle. “I know who you all are.”
A brief, awkward, silence settled over the room before Steve stepped forward, offering Y/n a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She returned it almost instantly. “You too.”
Pepper stepped forward, balancing the bottle of wine in one hand. “Here, let me take your coats.”
A few minutes later, everyone had settled into the living area. The sofas filled up quickly, forcing a few people to claim the armchairs while others simply sat on the floor. Y/n found herself wedged comfortably between Peter and Steve, her hands folded neatly in her lap as conversation drifted from one topic to another.
She stole a sideways glance at Peter. The polite smile fixed to his face looked suspiciously similar to her own. Good, she thought. I’m not the only one feeling awkward.
“So,” Thor announced from the sofa opposite them, his booming voice effortlessly drawing everyone’s attention. “You are the man of spiders’ girlfriend.”
Peter closed his eyes for a moment. “Thor…”
The God of Thunder continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “The Spider is certainly a lucky man.”
A faint blush crept into Y/n’s cheeks. She glanced at Peter, whose face had somehow turned an even brighter shade of red, before looking back at Thor with an embarrassed smile. “Oh… thank you.”
Steve chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “You know,” he said, looking at Y/n, “for the longest time, none of us believed Peter.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
Steve nodded toward Peter, who suddenly seemed very interested in a spot on the coffee table. “He kept mentioning this amazing girlfriend every chance he got.” A smile tugged at the corner of Steve’s mouth. “After a while, we started wondering if she’d mysteriously disappear every time we were around.”
An amused grin tugged at the corners of Y/n’s lips. “Is that right?”
Peter let out a long sigh and buried his face in his hands. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”
Steve chuckled. “I’m just saying, you talked about her a lot.”
“I still do,” Peter muttered, “just preferably not in front of her.”
That earned a few laughs around the room, mercifully ending Peter’s public embarrassment.
Before Steve could continue, Tony and Pepper returned from the kitchen carrying wine glasses, handing one to each of their guests before taking their own seats.
Tony raised his glass. “How about a toast?” The room quietened. “To Peter…” He looked between the young couple with a grin. “…and his girlfriend.”
“Cheers,” everyone echoed.
Crystal clinked around the room as everyone took a sip. Tony rolled the wine around thoughtfully before swallowing. “Hm.” He frowned. “Has sort of an oaky afterbirth.”
Peter nearly inhaled his mouthful. He coughed, lowering his glass with wide eyes. “…Pardon?”
Pepper turned her head toward Tony, gently patting his thigh as though trying to steer the evening back on course. “So…” she said brightly. “Music?”
Tony opened his mouth, but Pepper was already on her feet. She crossed the room to an old stereo tucked neatly against the wall, flipped open the CD tray, and slid in a disc.
“You took me by the hand…”
Pepper smiled to herself.
“Made me a man…”
She began swaying gently to the rhythm as she made her way back across the room.
Y/n bit down on her lower lip, desperately trying not to laugh as she caught Peter’s eye. His expression mirrored her own- a mixture of amusement, confusion and politeness.
Across the room, Clint quietly hummed along with the chorus as if he’d heard it a hundred times before.
Pepper settled back onto the sofa beside Tony.
Without missing a beat, Tony gestured toward the stereo. “Her niece made this song,” he said matter of factly. “Pepper loves it.”
Pepper smiled serenely, completely unbothered. “I do.”
“All right,” Tony announced, clapping his hands together. “Until dinner’s ready, we’re playing charades.”
Clint groaned. “I hate this game.”
“That’s because your acting is terrible,” Sam replied.
As the debate broke out, teams quickly formed around the coffee table. Steve was already trying to explain the rules to Thor, who insisted charades sounded remarkably similar to an Asgardian battle strategy, while Bruce quietly volunteered to keep score.
With everyone’s attention elsewhere, Peter leaned toward Y/n. “Come on.”
She nodded gratefully, the two slipping unnoticed into the kitchen. Y/n rested her hands against the counter and let out a slow breath.
Peter smiled sympathetically. “Overwhelmed already?”
She glanced through the doorway toward the living room, where Clint was dramatically throwing himself across the sofa while Sam loudly insisted that whatever he was doing definitely wasn’t a movie.
Lowering her voice, she said, “I just want to eat.”
Peter laughed.
“Which,” she continued, “I realise is a lot to ask for… at a dinner party.”
He stepped closer, gently resting his hands on her arms. “I’m sure dinner will be ready soon.”
Y/n let out a soft sigh. “I hope so.”
“So far, this isn’t too bad.”
She raised a brow at him. “We’ve listened to Tony critique wine, watched Pepper dance to her niece’s song, and Thor called you ‘the man of spiders.’”
He couldn’t argue with that. “…Fair.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I do like them, though.”
“I told you.” He smiled. “Come on, we should head back.”
The moment they stepped into the room, every head turned toward them. Tony smirked knowingly. “Well, well.” He gestured between them with both hands. “What have you two been up too, huh?”
Pepper sighed and gave his arm a firm smack. “Oh, leave them alone.”
Tony rubbed his arm dramatically. “What? I was just making an observation.”
“Yeah,” Pepper replied dryly. “You make a lot of them.”
A brief silence settled between everyone. Y/n and Peter exchanged glances, clearly confused.
Tony, apparently deciding the moment had passed, clapped his hands together. “Anyway.” He pointed across the room. “Y/n, want a go?”
It sounded far less like a question than a decision he’d already made. She settled back into her spot between Steve and Peter, offering an apologetic smile. “Oh, no thanks.”
“Oh, go on,” Tony insisted. “We’ve all had a turn.”
Y/n hesitated for a moment before a slow, mischievous smile spread across her face. “I don’t know…” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe after you.”
Tony frowned. “Me?”
“Sure.” Her smile widened. “I just have a feeling you’d be terrible and it would be awfully amusing.”
Tony let out an incredulous scoff. “I’m sorry…” He pointed at himself. “Terrible?”
“You heard me.” Y/n nodded.
“You think I’d be bad at charades?”
She gave an innocent shrug. “Well we’ll see won’t we.”
Tony stood up so quickly his glass rattled on the coffee table. “You know what?” he declared. “I will go.”
A small laugh escaped Y/n before she could stop it. As she glanced around the room, however, she caught Pepper watching her. Not smiling. Just… staring. The laugh died in her throat, and she quietly looked away.
Oblivious, Tony strode into the middle of the room, rubbing his hands together with far more enthusiasm than the game warranted. “My turn, my, my, my turn-“ he sang, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.
“Babe.” Pepper’s voice cut cleanly through the room. “You’re doing too much.”
Tony stopped mid bounce, slowly turning to look at her as if she’d said something completly unreasonable. “Peter was laughing.” He gestured towards Peter. “Weren’t you, Peter?”
Every eye in the room shifted towards him. Peter sat frozen beside Y/n, wearing the straightest expression she had ever seen. Peter opened his mouth, clearly trying to figure out the safest possible answer.
Unfortunately for him, Pepper beat him to it. “See?” she said, gesturing toward him. “No laugh. Not even a smile.”
Y/n cleared her throat awkwardly, glancing between Tony and Pepper. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the two of them were playing a completely separate game from everyone else. A game called let’s see how uncomfortable we can make our guests.
She shifted slightly in her seat, wondering if this was just how every Avengers gathering went or if she’d somehow arrived on the strangest possible night.
Peter caught her expression and immediately reached into his pocket, pretending to get a call. “Oh- uh, sorry my phone.” He pulled it out and stared at the screen, despite the fact it very clearly wasn’t ringing. “Sorry, I just… I have to take this.”
And then he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Y/n alone with the Avengers. For a brief moment, she sat there in awkward silence.
“So.” Y/n looked up to see Sam leaning forward slightly, a small grin on his face. Bucky sat beside him, arms folded, watching her with a quiet amusement.
“Now that Parker’s gone, we figured this is the perfect chance to talk to you.” Sam said.
Y/n immediately narrowed her eyes slightly. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is not ominous,” Sam assured her. “It’s just important… to us.”
Bucky shot him a glance. “You’re making it sound ominous.”
“So,” Sam continued, turning back to Y/n. “How long have you two been together?”
“A few months.” she replied.
“And he actually asked you out?”
Y/n blinked. “Yes?”
Sam nodded slowly, as though confirming a theory. “Interesting.”
She raised a brow. “What does that mean?”
“It means Parker spent a lot of time talking about you and absolutely no time explaining how this happened.”
Y/n smiled slightly, completly unaware that they were just trying to get information out of her. “That sounds like Peter.”
Bucky leaned back. “How do you put up with him?”
The question made her laugh softly. “Peter?” She thought about it for a moment. “He’s sweet.”
Sam and Bucky exchanged a look. “That wasn’t the answer I expected,” Sam admitted.
“What were you expecting?”
“Something about him being annoying.” Bucky replied.
“Oh, he is.” That seemed to satisfy them. Before either of them could ask any more questions, Peter appeared back in the room.
“Okay,” he announced, holding up his phone. “You’re never going to believe this. I just got a call from Aunt May.” Everyone looked over at him. “Our apartment flooded. So…” Peter looked toward Y/n. “We should probably head off.”
Y/n stood almost immediately, trying very hard to hide the relieved smile threatening to appear. She loved Peter. She really did.
Tony, however, frowned. “You don’t need two of you to do that?”
The room went quiet. Y/n slowly turned towards Peter, the look on his face telling her everything. She already knew what he was about to say.
“That’s…” Peter hesitated. “… true.”
Her jaw dropped slightly. Traitor.
“Y/n,” he continued, forcing a smile. “I hope you have a good time. How about you walk me out, yeah?”
She stared at him, then her eyes flicked to Tony before landing back on Peter again. He was actually going to abandon her.
“Wait.” She suddenly blurted out, causing everyone to look at her. “You can always buy new stuff, but you can’t buy back a dinner party!”
Tony’s face immediately lit up. “That’s also true!” He turned to Peter. “Parker, sit down.”
Peter sighed, returning to his spot beside Y/n. She waited until everyone had turned their attention back to the conversation before leaning slightly toward him. “Really?”
Peter looked at her innocently. “What?”
She raised a brow. “You were going to leave me?”
His eyes widened. “No.”
“Peter.” Y/n warned.
“Okay, maybe for like five minutes.” he admitted.
Y/n tried to stay annoyed, but the small smile pulling at her lips gave her away. “You’re lucky I like you.”
Before Peter could respond, Bruce leaned slightly toward them from the other side of the couch. "You know," he said quietly, "I would also want to leave if I were you."
Tony stood up from his seat, clapping his hands together. "Alright. Who's ready for dinner?"
A chorus of responses immediately followed.
"Me."
"Finally."
"Thank God."
Thor looked genuinely relieved. "I was beginning to wonder if Midgardian dinner was simply a prolonged waiting ritual."
Y/n smiled slightly, getting up off the couch when Pepper spoke. "What about the games we had planned?"
The room quietened. Tony looked back at her. "Babe, I think everyone's a little bit hungry." He gestured around the room.
Pepper stood, her expression unreadable. "Fine." She grabbed her glass. "Whatever you want. Always whatever you want."
Tony paused, the smile on his face fading slightly. "Whatever I want? It's never whatever I want!" Pepper opened her mouth to respond, but Tony cut her off. "When I wanted to go to a concert and you wanted to see Wicked. What did we do?"
Pepper opened her mouth. "We saw Wi-" She stopped herself, realisation crossing her face.
The room became painfully still. Y/n slowly looked toward Peter, whose eyes were fixed straight ahead. As if looking away might somehow make him less involved.
Tony continued. "And then when I said I wanted kids and you said you wanted me to have a vasectomy, what did I do? Then when you said you might want kids someday and I wasn't sure anymore, who had it reversed? And then when you decided you definitely didn't want kids, who had it reversed back?"
Y/n's jaw dropped. Not because she had anything to say, but because she genuinely had no idea how the conversation had gotten here.
Across the room, Steve looked like he was trying very hard to remain polite. Natasha looked completely unfazed, which somehow made it worse. Clint had stopped eating. Even Thor seemed unsure.
Tony sighed dramatically. "Do you have any idea the physical toll that takes on a man?"
Pepper's expression hardened. "I am so sorry that I don't want to bring kids into this screwed up world."
Tony looked away. "I'm sorry too."
For a brief moment, Y/n thought the argument was over. But then Pepper snapped. "But if you want to have kids? Fine. Let's have a fucking kid!"
The entire room froze in disbelief. Peter slowly turned his head towards Y/n. She looked back at him, completely speechless.
After the incredibly awkward argument, everyone silently agreed that moving to the dinner table was probably the best option. Nobody mentioned what had just happened.
Y/n took her seat beside Peter, with Tony on her other side. She tried to focus on the conversation, but the tension in the room was impossible to ignore. And, for some reason, it was freezing. She rubbed her arms slightly, shivering.
Tony noticed almost immediately. Without saying anything, he took off his blazer and placed it around her shoulders. “There.”
Y/n looked down at the jacket, surprised. "Oh, you don't have to-"
"Take notes, kid." Tony glanced at Peter.
Peter just stared at him, as if to say 'what the hell, man.' Y/n coughed back a laugh.
And then she saw it. Pepper. Again. The look on her face when Tony gave her the jacket. Y/n immediately looked away, her smile fading. She didn’t know what was happening between Tony and Pepper, but she was starting to feel like she had somehow been dragged into the middle of it.
Pepper stood up. “I’ll get the food.” Before anyone could respond, she walked into the kitchen.
The rest of the team quickly tried to restart the conversation, almost as if they were pretending the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Steve asked Y/n about how she and Peter met. Bruce asked about her interests. Sam and Clint kept the conversation light, doing their best to make her feel comfortable.
When Pepper returned with the plates, Y/n gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”
Pepper didn’t smile back. Y/n frowned, ready to say something when Tony leaned slightly closer to her. “I think she’s going to poison me.”
Y/n froze, slowly turning towards him. Tony looked completely serious. Not joking. Not exaggerating. Completely serious.
Her eyes immediately found Peter’s across the table. Nope. Absolutely not. She was not dealing with this alone.
“Excuse us for a second,” she said quickly.
Peter barely had time to react before she pulled him away from the table. Once they were back in the living room, Y/n lowered her voice. “Tony thinks Pepper is going to poison him.”
Peter blinked. “What?”
“I know!” She looked toward the dining room. “And if anyone is getting poisoned, it’s probably going to be me.”
He frowned. “Why would you be poisoned?”
“Because have you seen the looks she’s been giving me? She thinks me and Tony have something going on.”
Peter opened his mouth, then quickly closed it again, his eyebrows furrowing. “You and Tony have something going on?”
Y/n stared at him. “What? No!” she lowered her tone slightly. “But I think Pepper thinks that!”
Peter glanced back toward the dining room before returning his attention back to her. “Okay, yeah. This is bad.”
Neither of them really had a solution for that, so they eventually made their way back to the table. Dinner continued. Or at least, everyone attempted to pretend it did.
Y/n tried to eat normally, but she found herself taking smaller bites than usual. She didn’t want to seem rude, especially after Pepper had cooked, but she also wanted to actually last the night.
Then suddenly, Tony dropped his knife and fork. The sound made everyone look up. He sat there for a moment, staring into the distance like he had just remembered something incredibly important.
Without saying a word, he stood up and walked out of the room.
Y/n glanced toward Peter. “Should we be worried?”
Peter looked just as confused. “Probably.”
A few moments later, Tony returned. He was carrying a massive painting… of himself.
Y/n blinked, but she wasn’t even surprised anymore.
“Uh, Tony-” Steve started, but Tony immediately cut him off.
“Nope, trust me.” He carried the painting over to the wall and hung it up proudly. “There we are.” He stepped back, admiring his work for a moment before returning to his seat like nothing unusual had happened.
Y/n looked at the painting, then at Peter, then back at the painting. As if this couldn’t get any weirder.
"Hey, babe." Pepper's voice broke through the silence. "How about you take the poster down, and then we can discuss it after our guests leave?"
Tony continued eating, completely unfazed. "No, no. I'm gonna leave it up." He glanced toward the painting. "I think it ties the whole room together."
Pepper stared at him. "Okay."
But everyone at the table knew that wasn't a normal okay. Pepper stood up and walked toward the stereo.
Y/n watched her carefully as music began to fill the room again.
"You took me by the hand..."
"Pepper thinks her niece is very talented," Tony said with a laugh. "I don't even think he's that good."
Pepper immediately looked at him. "At least he's an artist!"
Tony scoffed. "Yeah, and I'm a screenwriter." The sarcasm was impossible to miss.
The conversation continued to spiral, with every comment making things worse. Everyone slowly stopped eating, unsure whether they should interrupt or simply pretend they weren't witnessing it.
Steve sat quietly, looking between Tony and Pepper. Bruce looked like he wanted to disappear. Sam and Bucky exchanged a glance that said they had absolutely no idea how the evening had gotten here.
Y/n sat beside Peter, completely frozen. This was supposed to be a dinner where she met his friends. Instead, she was watching a married couple emotionally destroy each other over wine, music, and a painting of Tony Stark.
Pepper's expression suddenly changed. Clearly, something Tony had said pissed her off. She grabbed one of Tony's awards sitting nearby and threw it towards the painting. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the dining room.
Everyone froze. Tony stood slowly, staring at the destroyed painting. He glanced at Pepper, then back at the painting. "That was made by Leonardo da Vinci's grandson! Good luck paying me back!" He yelled.
Clint lowered his gaze toward his plate. "Talk about nepotism."
Natasha immediately covered her mouth, turning away to hide the laugh that escaped.
Pepper's breathing became uneven as she stared at the shattered painting. For a few long seconds, nobody dared to say a word.
Then, without warning, tears welled in her eyes. "I'm done." She turned on her heel and hurried out of the dining room, disappearing down the hallway.
The silence she left behind felt almost heavier than the argument itself.
Tony didn't follow her. He simply stood there, staring after her, his expression unreadable. For once, he didn't have a sarcastic remark or a witty comeback.
Steve cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Well..." He forced a polite smile as he looked around the table. "It's getting late. We should all probably get going."
Nobody argued. In fact, Y/n had never agreed with Steve Rogers so quickly in her entire life. She stood almost immediately, quietly pushing her chair back beneath the table before reaching for her coat. But as she turned toward the door, her eyes landed on Tony.
He was still standing exactly where Pepper had left him. Y/n hesitated, glancing down at the blazer still draped over her shoulders before slipping it off.
Walking over to him, she held it out with a small, sympathetic smile. "Um... thank you." She paused briefly. "For tonight."
Tony looked at the jacket for a second before taking it back. "Yeah," he said quietly. "You're welcome, kid.” It was the first thing he'd said all evening that didn't sound like a joke.
One by one, the Avengers gathered their coats and quietly made their way toward the elevator. Nobody really knew what to say, so nobody said anything at all.
The elevator doors slid shut behind them and for one glorious second, there was complete silence.
Then Clint let out a snort. Sam burst into laughter almost immediately, doubling over as Bucky shook his head with a quiet chuckle. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing into his hand, while even Natasha gave up trying to keep a straight face.
Peter closed his eyes. "I am never living this down."
Steve smiled apologetically at Y/n from the other side of the elevator. "I hope this hasn't ruined your view of us."
Y/n looked around the cramped elevator at the team trying- and failing- to stop laughing. She glanced at Peter beside her before looking back at Steve. A smile slowly spread across her face as she reached over and slipped her arm through Peter's. "I actually think you're all completely insane."
Clint nodded without a second's hesitation. "You should've run when you had the chance."
Peter let out an offended scoff. "You don't think I tried?" He pointed at himself before gesturing toward Y/n. "Aunt May's apartment wasn't actually flooded."
"I knew it!" Sam exclaimed, causing Bucky to roll his eyes. He reluctantly slipped out a twenty from his pocket and slapped it into Sam's hand.
"I believed the tale," Thor admitted thoughtfully. "Flooding seemed a perfectly reasonable excuse to abandon such an... uncomfortable gathering."
That finally broke Y/n. A giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it, quickly turning into full laughter alongside everyone else.
The elevator chimed as the doors slid open into the lobby. One by one, the Avengers stepped out, exchanging hugs, waves and goodbyes before heading off in different directions. Peter and Y/n lingered behind, waving one last time as the others disappeared into the night.
Once they stepped outside, the cool evening air hit them both. Y/n slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat and looked over at Peter. "I love you. I really do..."
A small grin tugged at Peter's lips. "But..."
She sighed dramatically. "But I'm never coming back here."
Peter let out a quiet chuckle, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they continued walking. He gently pulled her a little closer before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "I don't blame you."
Together, they disappeared into the evening, leaving behind one unforgettable dinner party- and silently agreeing never to speak of it again.
These two maniacs, my beloveds
Everything on repeat 🔁🤍

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𝓝𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙍 𝓖𝙀𝙏𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝓛𝘼𝙄𝘿,
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𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: john munch x fem!reader
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: john munch thinks he’s found the love of his life. y/n thinks otherwise. when her prediction comes true, munch is left wondering if he’s been cursed.
𝙒𝘾: 2k
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“she’s a witch.”
John Munch had said it with absolute conviction three days ago, as though he’d solved the greatest mystery Baltimore Homicide had ever produced.
The words replayed in Y/n’s head as she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it neatly over the back of her chair before setting her coffee down on the desk.
A witch.
She considered the accusation for all of three seconds. It was entirely untrue.
Her intuition boarded on unsettling. She kept a small pouch of crystals tucked in her bra because, in her opinion, they were no stronger than carrying a lucky coin. She could read tarot cards with alarming accuracy. More often than not, she knew a suspect was lying before they even opened their mouth. And she’d developed an unfortunate habit for saying things that sounded like prophecies only for them to come true a few days later.
Still, she wouldn’t go as far as to call herself a witch. She just enjoyed letting everyone else wonder.
There was something endlessly entertaining about watching seasoned homicide detectives- people who spent every day staring down murderers without blinking- grow visibly uncomfortable because she’d quietly remarked that the vending machine was about to break before it swallowed Lewis’s dollar, or because she’d glanced out the window and casually announced it was about to rain moments before the sky opened.
The uncertainty was the best part. No one ever knew whether she was truly supernatural or just terrifyingly perceptive. And she had no intention of clearing it up.
Picking up her coffee, Y/n wandered towards the break room, already preparing herself for whatever strange scene awaited her.
The break room was less of a place to eat lunch and more a daily social experiment. Some mornings it was an argument over paperwork. Other days it was gossip about another shift. Occasionally someone had decided to microwave fish, which somehow caused more outrage than homicide ever did. There was always something.
Today, however, she hadn’t even crossed the threshold before a familiar, animated voice reached her. “…I’m telling you, Stan, this is different.”
Y/n paused just outside the doorway, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. John Munch.
She stepped inside to find him leaning back in his chair, coffee forgotten in front of him as he spoke with enough passion to convince a jury.
Stan Bolander looked halfway between amused and exhausted, whilst Meldrick Lewis wore the expression of a man wondering how quickly he could escape.
“I’ve dated women before,” Munch was saying, gesturing dramatically with one hand. “I’m aware of my history.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Stan muttered.
Munch ignored him completely. “No, listen. She’s intelligent. She actually reads. She laughs at my jokes.
Lewis snorted into his coffee. “John, laughing at your jokes doesn’t mean she’s your soulmate.”
“It means she has taste.” he retorted.
“No, it means she’s polite.” Stan corrected.
“It means,” Munch declared, as though unveiling the conclusion to a grand investigation, “that this woman could quite possibly be the love of my life.”
Y/n quietly wandered over to the coffee pot, topping up her mug without saying a word. No one had noticed her arrival yet, or so she thought.
“You.”
She paused with her mug halfway to her lips and slowly turned around before taking an unhurried sip of her coffee.
Munch was pointing directly at her. “You’re a witch. Tell me i’m right.”
Stan let out a tired sigh. “John…”
Y/n raised a brow. “About?”
“This woman.” He gestured vaguely, as if that somehow clarified things. “She’s the love of my life.”
Y/n didn’t answer straight away. Instead, she regarded him over the rim of her mug for several long seconds- just long enough for Stan to shift awkwardly in his chair and for Lewis’s amused smile to begin falter.
Finally, she lowered the mug. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” she said evenly.
It wasn’t a tarot reading. She hadn’t pulled a single card, hadn’t reached for the worn deck tucked away in her desk drawer, hadn’t consulted the crystals hidden beneath her shirt. It was simply instinct- that quiet certainty she’d learned not to ignore.
Besides, John Munch had an impressive talent for mistaking infatuation for destiny. Every few months, another woman became the woman, the one who was different, who understood him, who was surely the love of his life. Y/n had lost count. This time felt no different. Whatever was waiting for him at the end of tonight’s date, she was certain it wasn’t happily ever after.
Munch frowned. “…Excuse me?”
She leaned one hip against the counter, cradling the warm mug in both hands. “The date won’t go well.”
Stan’s eyes drifted from Y/n to Munch, silently weighing whether this was about to become another one of those conversations that somehow spiralled into an argument over the supernatural.
Lewis let out a quiet huff of laughter into his coffee. “Should’ve asked for the weather while you were at it,” he muttered.
Munch scoffed loudly, dismissing the whole thing with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious.” Y/n shrugged.
“So am I,” he shot back. “You haven’t even met her.”
“I don’t need to.”
That only made him roll his eyes harder. “I’ve booked a nice restaurant. I bought flowers. She said she was looking forward to seeing me.”
Y/n gave a small, almost sympathetic tilt of her head. “I know.”
“And?” he urged her to continue.
“And…” She took another slow sip of coffee. “I still wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
For a moment, Munch simply stared at her, as though waiting for the punchline.
When it never came, he let out an exasperated sigh and abruptly pushed his chair back. It scraped loudly against the floor as he stood, snatching his jacket from the back of it.
“Whatever.” He shrugged it on with more force than was strictly necessary before turning back toward her. Peering over the rim of his glasses, he jabbed a finger in her direction. “At least I’m getting laid.”
Y/n barely reacted. She regarded him over the rim of her mug for a beat before an almost imperceptible smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Doubt it.”
───
John Munch did in fact, not get laid.
Only twelve hours earlier, John Munch had been convinced he’d met the love of his life. His soulmate. His twin flame. The Juliet to his Romeo. Instead, he’d arrived at her apartment with a bouquet of tulips tucked proudly under one arm. It turned out tulips were the one flower she was deathly allergic to.
Within minutes, her eyes had swollen nearly shut, her face had puffed up like a balloon, and she’d spent the next twenty minutes alternating between sneezing, swearing, and demanding he get the flowers as far away from her as humanly possible.
The evening had ended not with romance, but with the unmistakable sound of her apartment door slamming in his face. The last thing she’d shouted through it had been: “I don’t ever want to see your fucking face again!”
It hadn’t exactly been the declaration of love he’d been hoping for.
And do you know who John Munch blamed? Y/n.
Because, in his mind, this was precisely the sort of thing that happened after she made one of her unsettling little predictions. She never seemed surprised when disaster struck. She simply… knew. Whether it was unnerving intuition, impossibly good observation, or something considerably more supernatural, he hadn’t decided.
Personally, he was leaning toward witchcraft. He should’ve listened. Or, at the very least, he should’ve ignored her less dramatically.
Instead, he’d practically challenged whatever mysterious force seemed to follow her around. Now look where that had gotten him. Needless to say, he arrived at the station the following morning in a mood foul enough to curdle milk.
The moment he stepped onto the squad room floor, conversation slowed. Stan Bolander looked up from his desk, took one look at Munch’s expression, and immediately knew. “Did she end up being your Juliet?”
A grin spread across Lewis’s face before Munch had the chance to answer. “Oh…” Lewis said, trying- and failing- to hide his amusement. “Don’t tell me.”
Munch didn’t dignify either of them with a response. His eyes had already landed elsewhere.
Across the room, Y/n sat at her desk exactly as she always did in the mornings, one leg crossed over the other as she flipped through an open case file that she was still investigating. She looked completely unbothered.
His jaw tightened as he approached her. “You.”
Without lifting her eyes from the report in front of her, Y/n calmly turned the page. “Good morning, John.”
“You did this.” The accusation echoed across the squad room.
Y/n didn’t react immediately. She finished reading the line she’d been on, turned the page, and only then lifted her eyes to meet Munch’s. “I take it the date didn’t go well.”
Munch stared at her in disbelief. “‘Didn’t go well?’” he repeated. “You hexed it!”
The room fell completely silent, but Munch was too busy glaring at Y/n as though she’d personally orchestrated the destruction of his love life.
Y/n, on the other hand, looked almost disappointed. She let out a quiet sigh and closed the case file in front of her. Tucking it beneath one arm, she rose from her chair and regarded him with remarkable patience. “John,” she said calmly, “I don’t have that kind of free time.”
A snort came from somewhere behind Munch. Lewis shook his head, unable to resist. “I told you not to challenge the witch.”
“Woah, what’s going on?” A new voice suddenly cut through the tension. Tim Bayliss stepped into the squad room, pausing as he took in the scene in front of him.
“Thanks to little Miss Witch over here,” Munch said immediately, shooting Y/n a glare, “my date was ruined.”
Bayliss blinked. “Witch?”
“Don’t encourage him,” Y/n muttered. She turned her attention back to Bayliss, completely ignoring Munch’s accusation. “I didn’t do anything.”
“No?” Munch spun back toward her, incredulous. “I bought her tulips, which I thought were her favourite flowers.”
Y/n stayed silent.
“But guess what they actually are?” he continued, throwing his hands up. “The one thing she’s allergic to!”
For the first time that morning, Y/n’s expression softened slightly. “That’s unfortunate.”
Munch stared at her. “Unfortunate?” He looked genuinely offended by the word alone. “She told me she never wanted to see my face again!”
“I imagine,” Y/n replied with a thoughtful nod, “that was difficult for her to say with her throat swelling up.”
Lewis couldn’t help it. A laugh escaped him before he could stop it, and he quickly buried his face in his hands in an attempt to hide it. It didn’t work. His shoulders still shook with amusement.
Bayliss, meanwhile, simply looked between the two of them, trying to figure out whether he had walked into an argument, a comedy routine, or some strange combination of both.
Munch pointed at Y/n. “You know what, you’re evil.”
Y/n raised a brow. “Am I?”
“Yes. You’re evil and you know it-”
“John.” The single word was enough to make him stop. Her voice softened slightly, losing the teasing edge she’d had only moments before. “Maybe this was the universe telling you she wasn’t the one. I didn’t curse you.”
For a brief second, John Munch was speechless. Because that was the strange thing about Y/n. She could make jokes. She could unsettle people. She could make a room full of detectives wonder if she had some kind of supernatural ability.
But every now and then, she said something that sounded less like a joke and more like she genuinely believed it.
Munch narrowed his eyes at her. “You genuinely believe that don’t you?”
Y/n simply shrugged. “Yes.” she paused. “Although,” she added, picking up her coffee, “the universe probably should have sent a stronger warning than an allergic reaction.”
As she began to walk towards the squad room doors as if the conversation had concluded, he called after her. “You’re still evil!” His words echoed through the squad room.
Y/n didn’t stop walking. But, just before she reached the doors, she glanced back over her shoulder. The corner of her mouth curled into a small, knowing grin- one that somehow managed to be both apologetic and thoroughly amused.
Then, she pushed the doors open with her shoulder and disappeared into the hallway, the doors swinging shut behind her.
Bayliss cleared his throat, shoving both hands deep into his pockets. “Maybe she’s right, Munch.”
Munch’s head snapped around so quickly it was a wonder his glasses stayed on. “I’m sorry?”
“Maybe she just…” Bayliss searched for the right words. “Maybe she has a point.”
“Oh, so you’re taking her side now?”
Lewis, finally recovering from his laughing fit, shook his head. “No one’s taking any sides, alright?” he said. “But I don’t think she’s the reason your date happened to be allergic to flowers.”
Before Munch could answer, Kay walked past the group with an amused shake of her head. “You boys have no idea,” she said, not even slowing her pace as she headed for the door.
Munch frowned after her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
───
Hours later, John Munch was still thinking about it. He’d interviewed a witness, filed paperwork, complained about paperwork, argued with Lewis over a case theory, and somehow, despite an entire workday passing, his mind kept circling back to the same conversation.
Maybe this was just the universe telling you she wasn’t the one.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? A sign from the universe. It sounded exactly like something a witch would say. The more he thought about it, the less he liked it.
By the time the end of shift rolled around, he’d managed to convince himself of one undeniable fact. Y/n had cursed him.
Maybe not intentionally. Maybe she’d sneezed over a crystal or shuffled a tarot deck the wrong way. Whatever the method, there was no other explanation for a date imploding with such spectacular efficiency.
The bullpen gradually emptied as detectives gathered jackets, switched off desk lamps, and called goodbyes over their shoulders.
Munch was halfway through pulling on his coat when he spotted Y/n walking past his desk, her own jacket slung over one shoulder and case files tucked beneath her arm.
He hesitated before quickly stepped into her path. ”Hey.”
Y/n stopped, looking up at him expectantly. “Yes?”
Munch glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention.
Unfortunately for him, Lewis immediately looked up. Stan followed a second later. Bayliss, sensing gossip, abandoned whatever he’d been pretending to read.
He lowered his voice anyway. “So…” He cleared his throat. “Hypothetically…”
Y/n folded her arms. “Hypothetically.”
“If someone wanted…” He paused, visibly struggling with the words. “…a curse removed.”
For a long moment, Y/n simply looked at him. Then, one corner of her mouth twitched. “John.”
“I said hypothetically.”
She tilted her head, studying him with infuriating seriousness before asking, “Is this hypothetical person you by any chance?”
He adjusted his glasses. “That’s irrelevant.”
Y/n let out a long, theatrical sigh, shifting her jacket so it rested more comfortably over her arm. “I suppose,” she said, as though she were granting him an enormous favour, “you’ll just have to ask nicely.”
Munch blinked, his eyebrows shooting up. “Really?” he asked, not even trying to hide the suspicion in his voice.
Y/n simply nodded innocently.
He glanced over one shoulder. Stan was pretending to read a file, Lewis was pretending not to eavesdrop, and Bayliss wasn’t even pretending.
Munch leaned in anyway, lowering his voice until only she could hear. “…Please,” he muttered.
Y/n waited for him to continue.
He sighed. “Please may you remove the curse.”
For one glorious second, she managed to keep a straight face. Then her lips twitched. She bit down on her lower lip, desperately trying to suppress the laughter threatening to escape. It didn’t work. A soft laugh escaped her lips.
“John…” She reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle, almost sympathetic pat. “I never cursed you.”
He opened his mouth to argue.
“Like I said,” she continued, still smiling, “the universe was sending you a sign.” She gave his shoulder one last reassuring pat before stepping around him. “Goodnight.”
And with that, she headed for the exit. Munch watched her disappear through the squad room doors, equal parts embarrassed and unconvinced.
Finally, he adjusted his glasses with a defeated sigh. “I still think she’s a witch,” he grumbled.
Lewis wandered past, grabbing his own coat from the back of a chair. “That might be true,” he said with a grin, giving Munch an amused pat on the back. “But she didn’t stop you from getting laid.”
Munch groaned, dragging a hand down his face before switching off the lamp on his desk. Maybe she wasn’t a witch. Maybe she was simply the most unsettling detective Baltimore Homicide had ever hired. He wasn’t entirely convinced.
And somehow, he suspected he’d never be convinced otherwise.