#hlots

imagine john dragging himself into some bright, bustling café because you insisted the two of you needed to try their new seasonal drinks. he stands out instantly, trench coat and sunglasses, muttering about overpriced coffee and hipsters while you’re already bouncing at the counter, picking the most colorful drink on the menu. he sighs when you shove the cup toward him, telling him to try it, but his lips twitch when you practically vibrate with excitement. he takes a reluctant sip, makes a face, then mutters that it’s “not half bad” before handing it back. the whole time his hand never leaves yours, thumb tracing your knuckles, like even in a place he swears he hates, he’s tethered to you.

imagine john rolling his eyes when you buy him something as simple as a keychain, shaped like a smiling sun. he deadpans about how he’s too old for knickknacks, but a week later you catch him using it, jingling from his apartment keys. when you tease him about it, he says it’s because he can’t afford to lose his keys, but the way his lips twitch upward, betraying the smallest smirk, tells you it’s because every time he touches it, he thinks of you. it’s quiet affection, the kind he’ll never say out loud, but he wears it every day.

imagine john in bed with his glasses slipping down his nose, book open in his lap, while you ramble about your day. he doesn’t look up at first, his expression flat, but you notice the way his thumb rubs lazy circles into your thigh as you talk, a grounding touch that says he’s listening. when you finally finish your long-winded story, you expect him to tease you, but instead he shuts his book with a soft sigh and says something so precise, so thoughtful, it proves he absorbed every detail. you curl against his chest, his grumpy exterior softening as he kisses the top of your head before turning off the light.

imagine john hovering in the kitchen while you cook dinner, arms folded across his chest, muttering sarcastic commentary about your choice of recipe. he scoffs when you taste-test the sauce with a spoon and grin at him, telling him it’s perfect. he takes the spoon from you, tries it himself, and after a pause, admits it’s “not half bad.” then he sets the spoon down, steps behind you, and kisses the back of your neck, his voice gruff but fond as he mumbles about how he’s glad you’re around to feed him something better than takeout.

imagine john lying in bed, trying to act annoyed when you press your cold feet against his legs. he growls about how you’re impossible, about how you’re going to freeze him to death, but his arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you flush against him. he buries his face into your hair, muttering that you’re warm enough for the both of you. by the time you drift off, you can feel his breathing slow against your neck, every ounce of his grumpiness melting into a quiet need to keep you close.

imagine john suffering through a romcom you insisted on, his monotone commentary running the whole way through—he criticizes the acting, the plot, the clichés. but when the credits roll, you catch the way his arm is snug around your shoulders and the way he presses a kiss into your temple. he mutters that it “wasn’t the worst thing he’s seen,” which is as close to a rave review as you’ll ever get. you grin against his chest, knowing he secretly enjoyed it just because it was with you.

imagine john sitting across from you at a diner, watching you laugh with the waitress, your energy lighting up the whole place. he pretends to be buried in his menu, but you notice the corner of his mouth twitching when your laugh rings out. when you slide into the booth beside him instead of across, leaning into his side, he doesn’t move away. he grumbles about personal space, but his arm comes around you instinctively, pulling you closer as he keeps his eyes on the menu.

imagine john pretending he doesn’t care about goodbyes, brushing off your kisses with a muttered “you’ll be late,” but the second you turn to leave for work, he pulls you back by the wrist. he kisses you slow and hard, lingering, his grumpy exterior cracking just long enough to let the softness slip through. when he lets you go, he mutters something about how you’d better come home safe, his voice low, almost a growl. you leave glowing, while he leans back in his chair, sighing like you’ve completely unravelled him.

NSFW

imagine john sitting back in his old armchair while you straddle him, your skirt riding up as you grind down on the hard bulge in his slacks. his hands grip your hips tightly, groaning when your pussy rubs along the length of him. he mutters about how insatiable you are, how you never give him a moment’s peace, but his cock twitches under you, betraying how badly he wants it. you rock against him, whining softly, and he finally growls low in his throat, unzipping just enough to free his thick cock. when you sink down on him, his head falls back, glasses slipping down his nose, a rough moan tearing from his chest as he mutters how sweet your sunshine cunt feels taking him so deep.

imagine john fingering you on the couch, his long fingers stretching you open while you cling to his shirt. every slow curl of his fingers has your hips jerking, wetness dripping down his palm as his thumb presses into your clit. he smirks at your whines, muttering that his girl is “always such a mess for him.” your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, soaking his hand, and when you cum with a shuddering cry, he slides his fingers out slow, holding them up to his lips to suck them clean while his eyes stay locked on yours.

imagine john bending you over the kitchen counter, still half dressed from work, his tie brushing your back as he slams into you from behind. the stretch makes you gasp, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, your pussy clenching around his cock as he mutters in your ear about how impatient you are, how you couldn’t even wait until the bedroom. his thrusts are deep and rough, his hands bruising on your hips, his gravelly voice low and steady as he tells you to take every inch like a good girl.

imagine john taking his time in bed, slow and deliberate, pushing his cock into you until you’re shaking with overstimulation. he locks eyes with you, his rough voice teasing about how addicted you are, how you can’t go a day without him stretching you open. every thrust is deep and controlled, his chest pressed against yours, his lips brushing your ear as you beg for more. when you cum, he doesn’t stop—he fucks you through it, groaning when your pussy squeezes him so tight he almost loses control himself.

imagine john fucking you until tears streak your cheeks, his cock pounding into your sweet spot relentlessly. his hand covers your mouth to muffle your cries, his growl in your ear telling you not to wake the neighbours. you’re trembling, clenching around him, your juices slicking down his cock and onto the sheets. when you finally break and cum hard, sobbing his name, he fucks you harder, groaning that you feel like heaven when you’re gushing all over him.

imagine john pushing your head down onto his cock, his hand firm at the back of your head while you choke on his length. his low groans fill the room as your lips stretch around him, your tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft. he calls you his good girl in that raspy voice, keeping you steady as you swallow him down. when you gag, he eases up, thumb brushing your cheek, but the look in his eyes is dark and hungry, cock throbbing as he pushes back into your throat.

imagine john letting you ride him, arms folded behind his head, smirking up at you as if he isn’t being undone by your pussy milking his cock. you bounce on him, moaning loudly, your nails raking his chest, and he mutters about how desperate you look grinding down on him. but then his control snaps—his hands grab your hips, slamming you down harder, cock hitting so deep you scream. his grumpy mask cracks, and the groans he lets out are filthy and raw as he watches you fall apart on top of him.

A/N: my grammar is so bad omg i apologise, i’m so bad at tense i can never follow what the fuck i’m doing lowk! This is my longest fic to date, everyone clap, amd also one of the very few smuts ive written, os feedback is appreciated ;p i had lots of fun

W/C: 3.6K

Warnings: Piv sex, fingering, oral (f recieving), female anatomy, 18+, raw (whoops), idk what else

Your foot tapped rhythmically against the carpet as your fingers played with the frayed edge of the old couch. This was the first time a case had taken you all out of New York together. The smile on your face was betrayed by your skittish movements. You weren't exactly the most comfortable person at the best of times, but right now, knee deep in a case, a crush, and a random motel, you weren't exactly jumping for joy.  

Cragen pulled away from the motel counter as the keys jingled in his hand. He pinched the bridge of his nose and had that grimacing look that meant he was about to be the bad guy.  

“Budgets tight, everyone has to bunk up. Fin, you're with me, probably the least disturbing.” He muttered under his breath, the rest of the team scowling at him. “Liv and El. Obviously. That leaves Munch and... You.” His finger pointed at you as your fingers fell away from the old couch and you stood. 

Giving the most dramatic performance of your career, you crossed your arms and let out the loudest sigh you could muster. 

“Oh. Great. Wonderful. Perfect. I’ve always dreamed of spending a night in suburban Pennsylvania sleeping three feet away from Detective Endless Conspiracies himself.” 

Munch's face lit up in a smug smirk as he slid towards you. “Relax, I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” His voice trailed into a fake whisper, as he shot you a wink. 

 The rest of the team held back their laughter as you rolled your eyes and tutted. 

“God” You muttered. “Can I switch with Fin? Cmon Cragen! You love me, I'm your favourite! When was my last write up? Like a million years ago.” 

Cragen slapped the keys into your hand and grinned. “I like Fin more.”  

The scoff that left you probably could've been heard across Pennsylvania. “Play nice, You'll be fine.” He tapped your shoulder and heaved his bag off the couch. 

Munch smirked at you over the rim of his glasses as you slumped and turned back to him and your pile of bags. “Cmon sunshine!” He smiled smugly and threw your bag over his shoulder. “I won't Bite.”  

A girl can dream, huh? 

- 

As it turned out, in a 40 bucks a night hotel room, you get exactly what you deserve. A rickety double bed, a chair that falls apart every time you look at it and what looks like a washcloth acting as a curtain. 

“This is deliberate.” Munch claimed indignantly. “They want us tired. Vulnerable. Easier to monitor.” He gently placed your bag down next to the rotting chair, not wanting to take one of its legs off accidentally. 

“John.” You said, rubbing the bridge of your nose and toeing off your shoes. “it’s a motel off of Route 11, not some fancy club house sponsored by the CIA.”  

“You think that because that's what they want you to think.” He stated, pointing his finger at every little thing in the room. 

“John.” 

He sighed and gave up on his speech, surrendering to your tiredness. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, and he walked over to the bed and pressed down lightly, hearing a sharp creak.  

“Do you think the bed can take our weight without cracking?” As he was talking, it dawned on you, something you hadn't even considered as you were too busy being disgusted with the peeling wallpaper, and probable black mold in the corner. Theres only one bed.  

Your shoulders slumped again as your brain was already preparing for a night of small touches, tingling hands and held breathe. A night where you could very possibly reveal all these feelings you had done so well at hiding these past couple months, with a simple whisper of his name in your sleep. 

You turned to him and tried to look annoyed. You really tried. But being face to face and thinking of lying next to him for eight hours? You were sure he would be able to physically see your heart pulsating out of your chest.  

“I get the left side.” You said.  

“Why?” He asked, loosening his tie slowly. It was as if he knew. 

“Because that’s the side closest to the door and if someone breaks in, I want them to kill me first so I don’t have to hear you monologue about the Illuminati at 3 in the morning.” 

“Joke’s on you. If someone breaks in, I’m using you as a shield.” He sounded light, and childish now, something you wish you heard more often from him. 

“Wow. Chivalry is dead.”  

“It was an inside job.”  

You broke out in a giggle, despite your best efforts. He always had something to say. 

As you both continued your nighttime routine, there was this quiet, domestic feel in the air. You coexisted peacefully. He made space for you, you moved around each other in tandem, like you had been right next to him all along, like you belonged there. 

You finally settled into bed, the rough sheets rubbing against your bare legs, clad in your cutest pyjamas. Thank the lord you'd brought your nice ones. You faced the ceiling and closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath. You could do this, just one night, in the closest proximity you could imagine, next to the prettiest man you'd ever seen. It was fine, you could do this. 

You heard the light switch click off. Now there was only the low splash of light that cascaded across the room from the corner lamp, bathing everything in a yellow hue. Beside you, Munch’s long frame made the mattress dip and you felt the heat spread up your legs to your chest. He sighed, as you were sure was his default setting. Then sighed again because sometimes he was just as dramatic as you. 

“So.” He said, still not fully lay down. “Comfortable?” 

“It’s fine.” You replied, holding your breathe and fidgeting with your fingers. 

“You’re lying.” You could practically hear him narrowing his eyes. 

“Okay, fine.” You sat up finally, facing him properly now. “I'm a little hot.” 

“You think too highly of yourself.” 

Once again you found yourself giggling at him, you wouldn't be surprised if you had a noise complaint in the morning, considering how thin these walls where.  

“No, you idiot! You’re hot. You’re like a furnace.” You nudged him with your foot, sending a spark up your leg. “Why are you so warm? You run at like, a million degrees.”  

He paused as he looked at you, then pulled the smuggest smile you had ever seen. “I guess I'm just evolutionarily superior, some would say.”  

You scoffed again and fanned the blanket. “More like medically concerning. Get it checked, old man.” 

“Admit it. You like it. Imagine...”  His hands moved animatedly as he spoke, ever the storyteller. “It's deep in the winter, you live in a New York apartment, so your heating is terrible. You’ve just come home out of the frigid snow and you have your own personal electric blanket, waiting for you.” He finished off his flashy story by placing a hand on his hip, like he was the prize. 

“John! I’m sweating through my shirt!” You tried to sound indignant, but the fit of giggles that his story had put you in was making that a lot harder. Your chest warmed at the thought of coming home to him. 

“You’re welcome.” You tried to breathe through the fit of giggles, as he gave you that damn smile again. As your giggles faded away, you realised, in the low light of the room, he was staring at you. Staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky.  

You suddenly became aware of everything. His breath on your skin, your thighs touching, the absolute heat radiating from your skin, thanks to him. Feels like the perfect time to lean just a little bit closer... 

“Anything else-” He tried to get out one last snarky comment before you scoffed and grabbed the side of his face, cutting him off. 

“Dear God John, just shut up for once in your life.” You pulled his face to yours, your lips meeting. His surprise lasted about half a second, before his brain caught up and he kissed back with such fervour, like he’d been waiting for someone to shut him up for decades.   

His hands found your waist as he guided you into his lap, your thighs falling either side of his hips. You could feel the heat travelling up your body, sensations exploding between the two of you as you deepened the kiss. Your hands wondered into his hair giving it a little tug.  

He pulled back, pulled his lip between his teeth and stared up at you. He looked so delicious in this light, a little dazed, and a whole lot smug.  

“See? Peace and quiet.”  

“Not for long.” He mumbled into another kiss, deftly flipping you so your body was trapped beneath him. 

His mouth trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate, leaving hot, opened mouth kisses over every sensitive spot. You arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he sucked a light mark onto the pulse point of your neck, 

“John...” You breathed his name, no real idea what you were trying to say, just knowing your entire brain was filled with his scent, his touch, him. 

“You have no idea” He murmured against your collarbone, covering the entire expanse of your skin in kisses, “How many nights I’ve imagined you saying my name like that.” 

His hands slid under your shirt, palms warm. God, so warm. Exploring and mapping every inch of skin. You gasped when his thumb brushed the sensitive skin beneath your bra. 

“Sensitive?” He asked, his voice a low rasp. 

“Shut up.” 

You pulled him down and kissed him again, deeper this time, your tongue teasing his. your legs parted just enough that he could settle between them. The friction made you moan softly into his mouth, enough to make him exhale sharply. 

There were far too many clothes in between you two. He tugged your shirt over your head, sliding his hands over your freshly exposed skin. He placed kisses down your sternum, covering a line down your stomach in hot saliva. He kissed your hips, and his fingers traced down the expanse of your legs as your shorts followed. 

Once you were beneath him in only your underwear, he sat back on his calves. If there was ever a moment to slow down, to take in every inch of something, it was now, it was you. His eyes racked down every inch of your skin, memorising, committing every inch of you to his memory incase he never got this chance again. God, he hoped that wasn't the case. 

Someone could ask him tomorrow if he had ever stared at the sun and now, truthfully, he could say yes.  

He could see you staring back at him, your eyes filled with everything unsaid over these past couple months. And, as if time had surged and crashed back into him, you grabbed his hand and pulled him back down between your legs, your tongue invading is mouth, your smell invading his senses. 

Your hands searched his body feverishly, as you tugged his shirt over his head. Skin against skin, you were sure this was your new favourite feeling in the world. Hearing his belt buckle clang as it hit the floor sent a wave of heat through your core. 

He slotted between your legs again, rolling his hips into yours, a deep rumble coming from his chest. His hand slid down your stomach, under the waistband of your underwear. His fingers were fast, desperate to have you bare underneath him. You lifted your hips, your body responding to him as if it had known him since the beginning. 

Your underwear was thrown to the side, a problem for tomorrow. The sight of you, laid out for him, was like all his feral little dreams of you come to life. His self control snapped. 

His fingers traced the slick seam of you, dragging through your folds at a teasing pace, as his thumb gently moved circles against your clit. You gasped in response, your hips rolling into his hand unconsciously. 

“That’s it.” He whispered, his lips returning to the hollow of your throat. “Let me hear you.” 

You were more turned on then you were sure was humanely possible, your brain dizzy on the feeling of John touching you.  

Your slick coated his fingers as he gently slid two of them into you, that slow pressure feeling angelic against your walls. Your head dropped back against the pillow with a choked sound. He began moving them, curling upward, finding the exact spot that made your thighs tremble and expletives fall from your mouth. 

 His other hand was splayed across your hip, big and possessive, keeping you in place whilst he worked you open. 

“John, fuck...” You rasped, barely even able to keep your eyes open. 

“That’s it.” He whispered, kissing the valley between your breasts. "I want to hear you fall apart.” 

His words and his fingers exploring every inch of you was causing that coil in your stomach to build up faster than usual. You had a sneaking feeling it was to do with the anticipation, the dreams, the want, of this moment. 

His thumb continued that sweet sequence on your clit as his fingers stretched you open, hitting that spot that made your mind blank and your eyes roll back. Your hips rocked absently as the buildup caused your muscles to tighten, and your breath go ragged. 

“Oh my god, I'm gonna-” Before you could even finish your sentence you felt the bliss of orgasm wash over you quicker than you intended. Your muscles spasmed and your brain blanked as all you could feel was him. His fingers fucked you through your orgasm as you panted, breathless, your eyes fuzzy and your body like jelly. 

“John-” You moved to sit up but he was already leaning between your legs.  

“Stop.” He placed a soothing kiss on your lips and your eyes drifted closed again. “I'm not done with you yet.” 

You face broke out in a hazy smile, giggling. “You. Are. Insatiable.” 

“Wouldn't you be if you were in my position?” To make his point, his eyes racked over you again, giving you that vulnerable feeling of being watched. He thought you were the most stunning thing he had ever seen, and he would be damned if he didn't give you everything you deserved tonight. 

His hands dipped behind your back, unclipping your bra and helping you remove it. His hands slid across your breasts, cupping them in his big hands, placing kisses down your throat, down your sternum, and wrapping his lips around your peaked nipple. Your body jolts as your overcome with the heat that's rolling from him in waves. 

He runs his tongue over your nipples as you thread your hands through his hair. Every kiss, every touch, leaves your skin searing and tingling. He divides his attention perfectly between the two, leaving you a mewling mess with just his mouth.  

He leaves kisses down the valley of your breasts and onto your stomach, hands gripping your hips again, sure to leave bruises there in the morning. Evidence that he was here, that he will be again.  

He nudged your legs apart with deliberate slowness, dragging his fingertips lightly along your inner thighs. Every touch was maddeningly soft, teasing, making you shiver. 

He hooked his hands under your knees and pulled you closer until you were right at the edge of the mattress, your hips tilted toward him. When he looked up at you from between your thighs, his expression was enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Beautiful.” He muttered, almost to himself. He left little kisses against your inner thighs, taking note of your small moans and little giggles that broke through as he touched a ticklish spot. He sucked marks onto your inner thighs, eliciting desperate moans from you, using his tongue to soothe them after. 

His head finally dipped in between your legs, exactly where you've been aching for him. You gasped, your hips jerking and your hands diving into his hair. His hand pushed down on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted.  

He smiled against you, keeping his head between your legs as he spoke. “Easy, let me take my time.” And that he did.  

He started with slow, exploratory licks, broad strokes up the full length of your slit, tasting you like he’d been a man, starved. Then he narrowed in on your clit, circling it with his flattened tongue. 

“John, please-” You squirmed as he hummed against you, the vibration making your thighs clamp around his head. He was loving this, having you absolutely thriving underneath him. His hands slid down your thighs, grabbing your plush skin, holding you open as he sucked your clit into his mouth gently, then harder, alternating pressure until you were a moaning mess. 

“You taste...fuck-” He breathed, diving back in before he could finish. His tongue flicked and stroked your clit, slow then fast, every lick making that pressure in your stomach build. Every inch of your skin was warm, tingling, absolutely begging for more. 

You tugged at his hair as he touched the perfect spot with his tongue, your breath was shallow and your throat making absolutely perverted sounds. he looked up at you while his mouth was still on you, his eyes half lidded, hungry, and smug as hell like always. 

“Such a pretty sound.” He murmured, not even lifting his head, not wanting to miss a second of this. “Give me more.” 

You whined, as he flattened his tongue against your clit and added a finger inside you, sliding in easily with how wet you were. He curled it upward and easily found that spot that makes you go crazy. 

You swore if you didn't feel him, properly, wholly, right now, you might as well just explode. You pulled on his hair twice, hoping he got the idea. 

“You okay?” His chin was glistening with you, already looking fucked out without even being touched. 

“Get up here.” You whispered, your voice quiet and raspy. “I want you.” 

God, those words. He’d dreamed about them more times than he could count. They sounded even more sultry now, tumbling from your lips. 

He dipped his head to kiss you again, tasting yourself on his lips. He lined himself up against your entrance, the head of his cock gliding through your slick folds, practically begging for him. His head nudged your clit before slowly pushing inside of you. 

The moan that ripped from his throat was absolutely animalistic. He couldn't stop it, months of want built up into the single greatest night he's sure he's ever had. 

You gasped as he slowly filled you up to the hilt, the pressure from the size of him causing you to slowly rake your fingernails down his back. He sucked in a breath, trying desperately to control himself. 

“Fuck.” He whispered against the hollow of your throat, his voice strained. “You feel so-” He couldn't even finish his sentence, his mind was filled with desire. 

His first thrust made you moan wildly against his ear. He caught your lips in a kiss, trying to quell the sound, lest the entirety of Pennsylvania hear you. He set a slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling his hips against yours. Every stroke hitting that same, devastating spot inside you that had you ready to surrender. 

The bed creaked violently, splitting the tension in the room as you both broke into a fit of laughter. You were soon cut short by another slow thrust, turning your giggle into a hiss of pleasure. This man had you absolutely falling apart in minutes. 

He shifted, pinning your hips, and holding your leg against his shoulder. The next stroke dragged a broken cry out of your throat as he grabbed your face, holding you still as he fucked you deeper. His pace building until you were clawing at his shoulder, leaving a perfect bite mark, and desperately trying to hold onto something as the build up of your orgasm started dragging you under. 

“Take me, pretty girl. Just like that. Fuck-” With his words against the soft shell of your ear, you elicited moans and mewls and abhorrent noises. Holding your cheek, he slipped one of his fingers in your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds.

The pressure in your stomach was too much, your orgasm crashing into you like a wave. Your walls were squeezing him so hard, his rhythm faltered just slightly, as he breathed a groan against your neck. 

Your body was shaking, your fingers digging into his shoulders, riding the after effects of your orgasm as he fucked into you faster, chasing his own release. He buried himself deep into you, his breath stuttering, his hips jerking sporadically and he came with a pathetic, helpless sound that sent tingles through your entire body. 

He stilled for moments after, breathing hard but still leaving small featherlight kisses against your neck. His forehead dropped against your shoulder as his hands still clung to your waist, not quite ready to let go. 

When he finally pulled back, he cupped your face and left the sweetest kiss against your lips. His forehead lay against yours, unable to stop himself giving you quick kisses over and over. 

“Still think I’m too warm?” He murmured into the silence, brushing hair from your face. 

You rested your palm on his chest, still catching your breath. “You’re perfect.” You conceded, pushing a finger into his chest. “But don’t ever tell anyone I said that” 

“Oh, trust me. I’m keeping this to myself.” With a final kiss to your forehead, he lay back against the sheets, pulling you against his chest. If this wasn't heaven, you, laying here with him, he wasn't sure what else there could be.  

‘Let me get you a washcloth.” Grabbing your chin and laying you down on the creaky bed, he threw on his boxers and was halfway to the bathroom before you could even get a word out.

“You don-“ You were quickly silenced as he turned on his heel and pointed at you.

“Do not finish that sentence.” You would’ve argued if he hadn’t absolutely exhausted you for the last hour, and if that look on his face wasn’t so convincing.

As you lay down again, the air wrapped in a lightness you hadn’t felt in a while, you thought back to just a few hours ago. You, being a bundle of nerves, so wound up from work, John, Pennsylvania. It all felt so inconsequential now. Now that you had everything you’d ever wanted, right by your side.