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poisonsage808 · 1 month ago

Text

strange love

John Munch x Stripper!Reader

they think i’m insane, they think my lover is strange

• It really shouldn’t have panned out in his favor, considering he was an asshole on your first date.

"So what do you do?" He asked, struggling to keep boredom from his tone. He hates small talk.

"I'm an entertainer," your hands fidget nervously, "of sorts."

"Well, as long as you're not a stripper." He chuckles.

You, of course, do not.

• To his continued utter perplexity, the date concluded without you throwing insults or silverware at him. You suffered each and every question that you said no one had bothered to ask you before. The thought of dates prior ending abruptly after you'd surrendered the information, you alone with the check, made him more upset than you!

"The bad ones weed themselves out, right?" You joked bitterly, shrugging like you were unfazed but he saw the bleeding heart on your sleeve, "Anyways, I can't really blame them."

John tilts his head, "Why?"

"Would you wanna date someone you knew was ogled nightly by strangers, maybe a coworker or business partner? Everyone says it doesn't bother them until it does."

"That bothers you," he states like the fact that it is, "so why don't you stop? Do something else?"

Pausing while lifting a glass to your lips, you sit straighter and send a smile right to his heart, "You should know why; you're in the same boat as me, it's just named something else. Why don't you stop being a detective even though it's detrimental to your love life, hm? Because we don't believe we should live our lives for anyone other than ourselves."

• Your occupation didn't bother him half as much as his delusions did. He always attracted the wrong type of women, four failed marriages and a looong string of exes can attest to the fact, what business did he have dating a stripper thinking it would lead to what he really wanted? He didn't need another 'I told you so' from the universe

• He went home, alone, denying your comparison because it couldn't possibly be even remotely similar. Your words haunt him the entirety of the next day and later he calls to ask you out again, purely intending on picking your brain and, ideally, prove you wrong. He ends up stepping deeper into the trap you swore you didn't lay, so, maybe, there was a chance he willingly entered and couldn't bring himself to leave

• He’s an old fashioned man, he doesn’t fully get it. Like most, he wants to “save” you and get you out of this line of work. He tries to understand though and therein lies the difference. John still makes jokes about it, however knowledgeable he may be now, he feeds into it every time you complain about work and say you’re quitting,

“Oh no,” he says flatly, dropping his book and turning his attention to you. “Want me to check the classifieds for you? Or I have a buddy in hotel management that needs help manning the front desk, you can stand there and look pretty instead.”

“Don’t be a dick, babe.” You grin despite your irritation.

“I just called you pretty, how am I being a dick?”

• That's not to say you two don't have your fair share of arguments about your job— or his for that matter. There are times where your schedules don't line up or the stress of work gets to you both, resulting in a fight. It shocks him and you that neither of you takes the opportunity to cut losses and leave. It doesn't matter who started what, it always ends with a soft gesture that can only mean no one's going anywhere

• In the past, you’ve both been scorched badly enough to make you wary of a sudden flame. John’s (mostly) open and honest about everything on his mind but god forbid you ask him what his favorite color is. He’s slow to let you in all the way but when you manage to get there, close the door behind you because he doesn’t want out

• Fashion is a surprising forte of his and, wow, does he love shoes! Broke a heel? He has a shoe repair man that knows him by name. You need new pumps? He’ll come with you, have you test them out, holds your hand and says ‘give us a little twirl’. Don’t forget he’s still John Munch, he’ll let you know if he thinks a pair is ugly

“You look ravishing, sweetheart, an absolute dream… if you buy those abominations on your feet that dare call themselves as stilettos, I might accidentally throw them off the Empire State Building, though.”

• Far would it be from John to control your every move, he almost never even thinks of asking but sometimes the fear is unmanageable. John’s job is hard enough as it is only now he walks around seeing your face in every victim, terrified one day they’ll pull back the white sheet and that worry will become a reality. So can you blame him if he holds on too tight? If he asks you to call in sick because he has a bad feeling or demands you stay home because a freak is out there killing strippers? You try not to.

“Don’t argue with me on this, please, just lock the door and don’t answer it for anyone that’s not me. Please.”

• Being apart for days at a time makes phone calls very important… only John hates talking on the phone, keeping his replies shortened to “yeah” and “mhm”. Sometimes you can hear someone in the background and will take the conversation in a dirty direction to get him riled up. Other times you know the call is coming to an end and quickly say,

“I miss you, handsome.”

His voice quiets and turns impossibly soft, “I miss you too, beautiful.”

Laughter erupts close by him, the familiar voices of his infamous squad teasing him. You can’t help but grin as the line goes dead, feeling victorious that you won over the possibility of ridicule.

• Because he does miss you, terribly. You make him throw caution to the wind, you turn his brain to slush and have him forget how to tell himself no. He thought he got rid of this bad habit where he rushed in too quickly— then he asked you to move in with him. It was unceremonious and obviously not thought out, but you still said yes. Now, even though your schedules aren’t always on your sides, you two can at least take comfort in knowing the other will be coming home at some point

“Twelve bucks? I’m not paying twelve bucks for a spoonful of yuppie punch– I’d punch a yuppie for free, though. How the hell did these people get their liquor license? This is robbery.”

You’d know that sarcastic voice anywhere.

In a club packed like sardines and music blaring like a morning alarm– terrible combination, really– he shouldn’t have heard you the same way you shouldn’t have heard him. Still, you snorted, an unattractive sound, that you tried to mask with your hand. The second you did, he couldn’t take his eyes off you and was struggling to maintain a passive expression. You were willing to bet that if you went to the back and checked your phone there would be an SOS text from your boyfriend, trying to give you a heads up.

He looks pleased as punch to have caught you.

“Sounds like someone agrees with me.”

“Yeah right, you probably paid her to laugh.”

You turned with a shy grin, debating how you wanted to play this scene. Behind the darkened lenses of his glasses you could sense John studying you, wondering the same thing.

“So which is it, gorgeous, do you agree with me or did money jump out of my wallet and into your hand?”

You feel your cheeks warm while you attempt to stifle a laugh at his compliment. Hot and sexy you heard every day but the rare bouquet of praise John gave you was consistently refreshing, and he was a walking dictionary so the compliments were endless. His partner’s eyes go wide at your reaction. You’ve never met any of the detectives he worked with but from John’s stories, you gather it’s Fin.

“I’d report my boss for theft but that might make me a hypocrite.” Sweeping over your hips, you gesture to your outfit. Or lack thereof, your favorite piece was two zippers away from leaving you fully naked.

That gets a smirk out of him, “I dunno about that. You don’t look like a rip-off to me.”

You dare to step closer, wasps of coffee and leather hit your nose. Clearly enjoying the attention, John angled himself to block you from Fin and placed a hand on his hip. Like a bird, he preened when you took his tie in your hands, standing straighter and puffing out his chest. You lowered your voice and he chased after it, allowing you to gently pull the silk.

“You here for business or pleasure, handsome?”

“I’m—” You wouldn’t find out what he was going to say, there was a loud, fake cough behind him. John sighs, mouth pressed into a straight line and leaning back slightly, “Detective John Munch, a—”

“–And I’m Detective Tutuola. We need to speak to this boss of yours.” His partner chimed in, shoving his way back into view. The two shared a private conversation with their eyes that left them both glaring.

Jack, the bartender, set a tray with two martini glasses on the counter and whistled for your attention. Reluctantly, you allowed John’s tie to slip entirely from your fingers to grab the tray.

“Follow me.”

It wasn’t an offer. Taking John’s hand you began walking backwards, leading them to a booth. His fingers link with yours like it’s the most natural action in the world, leaving you on top of it. You had to bite your lip to contain your excitement.

“You’re not worried you’re gonna break an ankle?” He asks too seriously, quirking a worried brow at you.

“Haven’t yet.” Your reply isn’t reassuring him in the least. “Hey if I have to look for a new job you’d tell me, right?”

“Well I’ve only been asking you to for the past two years. Will me arresting your boss actually make you quit? I’ll feel really stupid if that’s all I had to do to keep you to myself.” He teases, winks, then turns your wrist over to place a delicate kiss to your knuckles.

John releases you to slide into the booth beside his partner, looking damn pleased with himself. Staring with narrowed eyes and a befuddled frown, Fin finally speaks his mind.

“…I’m missin’ something.”

“Gee, you’re quick today. Tutuola, meet my girlfriend. Ethereal light of my life, this is the infamous Fin.”

“How do you do?”

To you, the man smiles kindly, “Just fine, thanks, lovely to meet you. One second—“ The slap he gives John’s arm, however, is audibly loud and full of petty anger. “You have a woman!? And you never told me!? That’s messed up, Munch, I’m your partner.”

“First of all, ow. You can’t just hit people because you’re mad at them, didn’t they teach you this in grade school!? Keep your hands to yourself, you acrimonious oaf. Secondly, I did tell you— it’s not my fault you thought I was kidding. Thirdly, I told her about you which, if you think about it, is arguably more important.”

John leans back when he runs out of hot air, dramatically rubbing his arm. Already accustomed to your comforting weight around his shoulders, he doesn’t blink when you hug his neck in front of his partner.

“He says you’re the best partner he’s ever had.”

“I did pay her to say that.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.” Fin winks, like you’re sharing a secret, “I’ll keep his bony ass safe for you, mama.”

Tapping your arm, John turns his head so he doesn’t have to yell over the music anymore, “We really do need to talk to your boss now, sweetheart.”

"Duty calls, you answer." You hum, sliding your arms off him to release him from your embrace, "I'll get her for you. See you tonight, handsome."

Mindful of your lipstick, you lean in to ghost a kiss to his cheek but he discards your caution and steals a proper, quick peck. John grins at your surprise, feasting on it. Snickering, you playfully swat his arm before walking away. You can feel his reluctant eyes struggle to let you go. Fin smirks and jostles his partner as you depart, much to his provocation.

"You dog!"

Munch waits a moment to wipe the mark from his lips, grinning at your frame as it fades away.

"Woof."

#john munch imagine #john munch x reader #john munch #svu x reader #john munch svu #x reader #imagine #poiboidrabbles #fanfic

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theartofcollapse · 3 months ago

Note

hey idk if this crosses a line with anything but maybe an olivia imagine where the reader got spiked while at a bar and called olivia when she realized something felt wrong and liv shows up and takes her home and kind of just takes care of her

a/n: thank you for requesting! summary: read it above pairing: Olivia Benson x female reader warnings: mention of drugs, vomiting word count: 1.7K

masterlist

Safe – Olivia Benson

The bar buzzed with energy as patrons crowded around tables, clinking glasses and laughing over the pounding music. You had come here to unwind after a long week, convinced by a coworker that a night out would help clear your head. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The first drink went down fine, just a light buzz to loosen the tension in your shoulders. But the second drink? That’s when you noticed something wasn’t right.

The world around you blurred, and your limbs felt heavy. Your head swam, thoughts sluggish and disconnected. You leaned against the bar for balance, your hand fumbling for your phone in your bag. Panic rose in your chest. You hadn’t had that much to drink.

You scrolled through your contacts, your fingers trembling as you found Olivia’s name. You hadn’t known her for long, just a few weeks, but there was something about her calm presence, her unwavering sense of justice, that made you feel safe.

The phone rang twice before she picked up.

“Y/N?” Her voice was steady but tinged with concern.

“Olivia,” you slurred, your words heavy on your tongue. “Something’s wrong. I.. I think someone put something in my drink.”

There was a pause, sharp and deliberate. “Where are you?”

You rattled off the name of the bar as best as you could, clinging to the edge of the counter.

“Stay right there,” Olivia said, her voice firm and reassuring. “I’m on my way. Don’t move, and don’t let anyone near you.”

You clung to those words like a lifeline, your vision growing hazier by the second.

The blur of neon lights and muffled sounds began to sharpen as Olivia entered the bar. She scanned the room with practiced precision, her eyes landing on you slumped at the counter. Her jaw tightened, and she moved through the crowd with purpose.

“Y/N,” she said softly, crouching beside you. She placed a steadying hand on your arm. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”

You blinked up at her, relief flooding through you. “Olivia…”

Her hand brushed your hair back from your face. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay.”

Standing, Olivia’s sharp gaze swept the room. It didn’t take long for her to spot a man lingering a few seats away, watching you with a nervous, guilty expression.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she pulled out her phone, stepping just far enough away to call Elliot.

“Elliot,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I need you at the Silver Moon Bar. Now. There’s a suspect I need picked up, possible drugging.”

Elliot didn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way.”

Olivia returned to your side, placing a protective arm around your shoulders. “We’re going to get you out of here,” she said, guiding you gently to your feet.

The man tried to slink away, but Olivia’s sharp command stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t even think about it.”

Her presence alone was enough to keep him rooted in place until Elliot arrived, his arrival swift and professional as he handcuffed the man and read him his rights.

The drive to Olivia’s apartment was quiet, her car filled with the soft hum of the heater.

Once inside her apartment, Olivia guided you to the couch, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders.

“Do you want some water? Tea?” she asked, her voice gentle.

“Water, please,” you murmured, your throat dry.

She disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a glass of water and a cool cloth, which she placed lightly on your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Olivia knelt in front of you, her warm brown eyes meeting yours. “Hey,” she said softly, her hand resting lightly on your knee. “You did the right thing. You called me, and I’m glad you did.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the overwhelming fear and vulnerability of the night finally catching up to you. Olivia didn’t hesitate, pulling you into a firm but gentle embrace.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, her voice steady and comforting. “I promise.”

Olivia’s grip tightened ever so slightly as she felt you shudder in her arms. You pulled back abruptly, your body lurching with nausea.

“Bathroom - ” you managed to choke out before clapping a hand over your mouth.

Olivia was on her feet instantly, guiding you down the hall to her bathroom. She helped you kneel in front of the toilet just as the wave of nausea overtook you. You vomited, your stomach twisting violently, and tears streamed down your face from the strain.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Olivia murmured from behind you. She knelt beside you, her hand holding your hair back while her other gently rubbed circles on your back.

Once the worst of it was over, you sagged against the side of the tub, trembling. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you were suddenly aware of how cold you felt despite your overheated skin.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice weak and shaky.

Olivia grabbed a washcloth, running it under cool water before gently pressing it to your clammy face. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault,” she said firmly, her voice carrying that steady authority that made you feel safe.

The bathroom felt too bright, too small, and the nausea lingered, though not as violently as before. You curled in on yourself, shivering despite the sweat that clung to your skin.

“You’re freezing,” Olivia noted, worry flickering across her face. She grabbed a blanket she’d left on the couch earlier and draped it over your shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here. You’ll feel better lying down.”

You nodded faintly, letting her help you to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly, and she practically carried you down the hall to her bedroom.

“I don’t want to ruin your bed,” you protested weakly, clutching at the blanket.

“Y/N, don’t worry about that,” Olivia said softly, but her tone left no room for argument. She helped you onto the bed, tucking the covers around you snugly.

“Stay here,” she instructed, brushing the hair from your face again. “I’m going to grab some water and a bucket, just in case.”

You nodded, your teeth chattering now. The cold seeped deep into your bones, and you couldn’t stop trembling.

Olivia returned quickly, setting a glass of water and a bucket by the bedside. She sat down beside you, her eyes scanning your pale face.

“You’re still sweating,” she noted, reaching out to feel your forehead. “And you’re burning up. You might need a doctor, Y/N.”

“No,” you croaked, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. Just need to sleep it off.”

Olivia frowned, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for your hand, her touch grounding and reassuring. “Alright,” she said softly. “But if it gets worse, we’re going. No arguments.”

“Okay,” you murmured, your eyelids fluttering shut.

As the hours ticked by, the symptoms ebbed and flowed. Every time you stirred - whether it was to sip water, wipe away sweat, or lean over the bucket - Olivia was there. She stayed by your side, her unwavering presence a balm to the storm raging inside you.

By the time the first rays of dawn crept through the window, the worst of it had passed. You were still weak, your body aching and your throat raw, but the cold sweats had subsided, and your nausea was manageable.

“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely, looking up at Olivia, who sat in the chair beside the bed, her hand resting on yours.

She gave you a small, tired smile. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re safe now, and that’s all that matters.”

Safe. That word lingered in your mind as you drifted off again.

When you woke again, sunlight was spilling through the windows, and Olivia was still in the chair beside you. She had her phone in one hand, her other resting casually on your arm. The faint lines of worry etched on her face softened when she noticed your eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” she greeted gently, leaning forward. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” you croaked, your throat dry and voice hoarse. Then you managed a faint smile, despite everything. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined our next date going.”

Olivia’s lips curved into a small smile, though concern still lingered in her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t usually plan for my dates to include throwing up and police intervention.”

You let out a weak laugh, even though it hurt. “It’s a bold strategy,” you teased. “Really sets the tone for a relationship. How many people do you bring home after arresting someone for them?”

“Only the ones who know how to keep me on my toes,” she shot back smoothly, the glimmer of amusement in her eyes breaking through her worry.

You grinned, though it didn’t quite hide your embarrassment. “I mean, most people wait until, like, date ten before they start sweating through someone else’s sheets and crying in their bathroom. I just like to skip straight to the memorable parts.”

Olivia chuckled softly, shaking her head. “For the record, this isn’t the worst date I’ve been on. But it’s definitely one of the more dramatic.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “Oh, God. Worst impression ever. I’m supposed to be charming and cool, not… this.”

She leaned closer, her hand gently brushing yours away from your face so she could look at you. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice grounding you again. “You don’t need to be charming or cool right now. What happened wasn’t your fault. And if this is your worst impression, you’re doing pretty well.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in your chest at her words. “You’re really good at this whole ‘making someone feel safe’ thing, you know that?”

Her expression softened, her hand lingering on yours. “I try. And, for the record, I think you’re handling this a lot better than most people would.”

You sighed, settling back into the pillows. “Well, if I didn’t scare you off last night, I guess I’m doing okay.”

Olivia smirked, her eyes twinkling with affection. “It’s going to take a lot more than one rough night to scare me off, Y/N.”