Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.
Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader
Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader
Rating: 18+
Word count: 6.6k
Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns
The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.
Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.
Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.
He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.
His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.
The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.
He’d done it anyway.
Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.
Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.
Unlike Yoongi.
Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.
Only madness lies that way.
Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.
Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.
Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.
The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.
The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.
He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.
The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.
Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.
Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.
Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.
There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.
It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.
He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.
Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.
He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.
Jesus, is he getting old?
Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.
He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.
He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.
***
Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.
He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.
Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.
There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.
‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’
Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.
‘What’s the case?’ he asks.
Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.
Yoongi waits.
He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.
The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.
It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.
Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.
Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.
Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.
He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.
‘The reaper of Seoul?’
Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.
The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.
Last year.
‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.
Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’
You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.
‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’
***
The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.
The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.
Oh dear.
Better luck this time?
Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.
Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.
You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.
He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’
It’s a statement you answer to like a question.
‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘
‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.
You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.
‘Her family wanted answers.’
Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.
She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.
She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.
You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’
‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.
The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.
‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’
You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’
Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’
‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.
Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’
Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.
You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.
Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.
His email pings.
‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.
You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.
‘Our notebooks,’ you say.
Yoongi looks at the stack.
Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.
The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.
This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.
You blink at him.
‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’
In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.
***
The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.
There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.
You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.
The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.
She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.
The bath of blood she’s lying in.
Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.
You wait until forensics turns her body over.
The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.
Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.
‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’
***
You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.
There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.
You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.
Two minutes from her own front door.
Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.
The audacity of it.
He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’
You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.
Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.
‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.
‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.
He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.
‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.
‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.
Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.
‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’
There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.
They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.
You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’
Yoongi waits.
‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’
You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.
You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’
‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.
‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.
‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’
You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’
‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.
‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.
Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.
‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’
‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.
‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’
Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.
***
The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.
Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.
‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.
Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.
‘Yeah,’ he answers.
‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’
Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.
Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’
‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.
Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.
‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’
Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’
He fills Namjoon in.
‘I’ll follow it up.’
Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’
Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.
He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’
He ends the call, unlocks the car.
‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.
‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.
The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.
He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.
***
Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.
‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’
There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.
‘You mumble in your sleep.’
Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’
‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.
Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.
You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.
In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.
‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.
‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.
Yoongi passes you a cup.
‘Problem?’ he asks.
‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’
‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.
Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’
Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’
He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’
***
The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.
It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.
Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.
You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.
You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.
You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.
It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.
Kiho extends a hand.
‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.
‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.
Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.
You’re looking at Yoongi.
‘We can tell him now.’
***
‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow.
You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.
Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.
Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.
Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.
‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’
‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’
Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.
The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.
You turn to Yoongi.
‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’
‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.
He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.
What’s he going to do to you?
‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.
Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.
Yoongi doesn’t falter.
‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.
***
The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.
Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.
He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.
He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.
He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.
You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.
Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.
‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.
His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.
It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.
‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.
Yoongi takes a moment.
‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.
‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.
‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.
‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’
You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’
‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.
You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’
‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’
Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.
‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’
***
The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.
The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.
Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.
Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.
‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.
‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’
Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.
Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.
His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.
He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.
***
The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.
Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.
Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.
Get the monster locked up where he belongs.
You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.
There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.
He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.
There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.
You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.
Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.
He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.
He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.
Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.
‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’
He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.
You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.
Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.
You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.
It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.
He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.
‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’
Yoongi chews on that a moment.
‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’
Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.
‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’
His voice trails off.
He risks a glance at you.
You’re still not looking at him.
‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’
Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.
‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’
It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.
***
When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.
He hands Yoongi another case file.
‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.
‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’
Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’
He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’
As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.
‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’
Yoongi heads for your joint office.
There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.
The cleaner apologises and bows politely.
Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.
‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.
He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.
Outside, it’s raining again.
***
Yoongi wakes with a jolt.
You’re perched on the edge of his desk.
‘You should go home, get some sleep.’
‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.
‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’
At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’
‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.
‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.
You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.
‘I should go —‘
‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.
You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’
‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘
‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’
***
It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.
You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.
Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’
‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’
‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.
‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’
You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.
‘Yeah?’
You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘
This time, Yoongi interrupts.
‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’
Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.
Your knee brushes his under the table.
‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’
***
Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.
You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.
He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.
You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.
He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.
Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.
His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.
You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.
Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.
Close up, you’re soft.
Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.
You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.
It’s been a hell of a fucking day.
You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.
A human connection in a day filled with monsters.
Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.
He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.
He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.
Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.
You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.
‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’
You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.
You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.
‘Just let me —‘
You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.
When did he last —
His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.
He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.
The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.
Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.
‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.
‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’
***
In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.
Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.
His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.
He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.
You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.
At least he doesn’t.
You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.
Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.
Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.
Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.
‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.
‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.
He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.
Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.
He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.
He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.
‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’
You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’
Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.
Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.
Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.
***
There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.
The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.
Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.
You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’
Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.
He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.
There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.
His phone vibrates in his pocket.
Namjoon.
‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’
‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’
Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.
Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.
There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.
Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.
The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.
He’s seen her face before, and recently.
Coming out of your office.
‘Fuck,’ he swears.
He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.
Your phone rings, and rings.
Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.
By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.
His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.
‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.
He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.
***
Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.
She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.
She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.
Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.
The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.
And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.
He’d been right. Your place was fancy.
You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.
He realises you’re looking at him.
‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.
‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.
He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.
If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.
It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.
‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.
You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.
‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.
‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’
You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.
He realises that he’s smiling.
Fuck, it’s been a while.
526 notes
·
View notes
Rookie Mistakes
Pairing: RE2!Leon x Sergeant fem!Reader
Summary: When Leon seems distracted and makes a mistake during a call, you ensure your rookie gets his head together as his sergeant.
Content/Warnings: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Porn with plot. Dom/sub elements. Femdom/msub. Praise kink. Slight degradation. Needy/subby Leon. Oral sex. Fingering. Handjob. Office Sex. Slight age gap (reader is older at around 25, Leon is 21).
WC: 4.7k
Notes: Finally this is out. I know I know, I'm a liar! But, I had fun with this one, so I hope you like it. Shoutout to the babe @cinnarette for beta reading this and giving me her approval lolz. Anyways, reblogs & comments are always appreciated!
Leon had always been one to find the good in a shitty situation. Someone with a warm heart that matched the moral compass he developed despite the constant bullshit he experienced daily.
From his hectic childhood to his experiences in the police academy, he had to overcome many trials and tribulations on his own with nobody in his corner. All of those struggles to get the pure sense of relief once he felt his diploma in his hand made all the stress worth it.
When he first arrived at the R.P.D., he didn’t know what to expect. The anxiety of starting fresh in a new city with a new career clouded his mind with a paranoia he seemed to carry in his youth. Walking into the police department he’d call his new home, Leon was fairly surprised to be greeted with a welcome party.
Balloons and confetti filled the common room as he moved around the crowd, bombarded with introductions and greetings as he tried to memorize the names that were thrown his way. Still, the small games and blue cake he indulged in brought a smile to his face, topped off with the polka-dotted party hat he was forced to wear and the words Welcome Leon hung up on the ceiling for him to see.
What Leon didn’t expect was to be assigned to your personal detail the next day. A police sergeant on the force, a bit older, no more than 25 he first assumed, more refined and seasoned with one hell of a glare. First impressions? He was terrified, nervous as hell to fuck anything up seeing how you ran a tight ship, taking your job too seriously for comfort. Of course, you had to. You were working in a male-dominated field, forcing yourself into a mold so you could be taken seriously by those around you.
He took his hand out when being introduced to you, unstable grip and a nervous smile to match as he looked directly into your intimidating gaze. You shook his hand firmly, the strength of your grasp parallel with the small grin you offered him almost made a shiver roll down his spine.
“So you’re the new rookie huh? Well, it’s nice to see a fresh face in here. We have some serious work to do. Let’s get started.”
-
You were particular about how you wanted things done, very precise in your words and your delivery. A harsh leader, one who easily reprimanded the other rookie officers but was particularly picky with Leon. In a way, he started to feel like you were targeting him, pressuring him so he would crack and leave the force. He knew he couldn’t leave, that this was the career path he chose, and he was too anxious to say anything so he’d let it slide.
You didn’t let up on his training either, always making sure your rookie was on top of what was expected of him. The slight fear Leon had when first meeting you quickly turned into admiration. His stress-induced feelings morphed into respect, now wanting to learn everything you had to show him.
That was when it started. Leon now tried any little thing to get in your good graces, to see even the slightest sign of a smile or to hear you laugh. He started coming to work earlier to help with the case filings you had piled on your desk, organizing them the way you taught him whenever you assigned him grunt work. He wanted you to take a breather and start your day with a clear head, maybe even enjoy your coffee for a bit longer.
When you saw how tidy your work environment was, you went up to Leon who you saw was typing away at his desk diligently. His head lifted up to look at you, blue eyes glancing over your face to read your expression.
“Morning. By any chance, did you fix all the files on my desk?”, you asked curiously, making the blonde rub the back of his neck shyly.
“Yeah, I did. Wanted to help you out a bit and give you an early start to the day” he responded, silently hoping you wouldn’t be upset at him for entering your workspace. Instead, he was met with your look of genuine surprise, followed by a twinkle of gratitude.
“Thank you for that, I appreciate it. Keep up the good work Leon”, you praised him, offering a small smile, one that he made sure to burn into his memory.
“Yes ma’am”, his face was practically beaming at your words as he watched you walk back towards your office, trying to hide the sudden warmth flooding his cheeks.
Your words kept repeating in his head nonstop throughout the entire day. Not only did you acknowledge him in a positive light, you also addressed him by name, which was rare. He was more present at work, his posture straighter, and more eager to help. From that point on, he made it his mission to make sure his sergeant was stress-free, doing anything to see you smile at him again.
Working with Leon, you quickly learned that he was perceptive. A smart cookie, and probably the smartest one out of the current bunch of recruits. Despite the tough love you gave him, especially because he was your professional responsibility, he was the only one truly receptive to your teachings. Like a sponge, he took in everything you gave with a certain wonder you hadn’t seen in anyone else. It was cute really, how he was so ambitious and doing his best to get your approval.
What you liked the most about working with Leon was how he addressed you. He took your authority seriously, seeing someone in charge instead of your appearance. He didn’t say your name, not your first or last out of respect, but rather he always addressed you as Ma’am. You never had someone say that to you directly, thinking it makes you sound older than you actually are. But with the way his eyes warmed up when he’d say it with full confidence, you didn’t have it in you to tell him to stop.
-
Over the next few weeks, Leon became part of your daily routine, integral to the start of your day. He’d walk in a few minutes early as expected, with two coffee cups in his hands as he waited for you outside your office. Spotting the top of your head coming from speaking to the chief, you were heading his way. You had the same soft smile reserved just for him, one that he always looked forward to seeing when you worked together.
“Got you your usual”, he offered one of the cups to you, your fingers lightly grazing his when taking the warm concoction into your hand.
“Extra caramel?”
“With oat milk, vanilla and cinnamon. I triple checked”, he said enthusiastically, observing you as you sipped the drink. A soft hum escaped you while you closed your eyes in satisfaction.
“You know how to spoil me”, you gave him a wider smile now, seeing how his cheeks blushed the slightest bit at your expression. His reaction made you chuckle, a sound he’s come to enjoy the more time you two spent together.
“Now come on, we need to work on this case before we patrol at 12. The chief’s on my ass again so let’s get this over with before lunch yeah?”, and without fail, he’d give you the same ending response every time.
“Yes ma’am”
The more you invested in Leon’s skills, the more you realized small things about him that were fairly telling. You weren’t stupid. Anyone with a brain could see that the respect and admiration he had for you was turning into something else entirely. You could tell with every passing moment you had with him, noticing how the tension between the two of you would get thicker after every interaction. You didn’t comment on it. Instead, you enjoyed toying with him, a part of your ego feeding off on how he’d say yes ma’am in such a way that would make you want to hear it more often.
The faint touches between the two of you got more frequent. Your fingers would brush his during the exchange of files, you saw how he’d always be within a hair’s distance when standing near you. Moments spent training in the shooting range were where the intimacy seemed to skyrocket, putting your hands on Leon’s arms to keep his form up as he shot towards his target.
You didn’t need to do that. Leon was a good shot, accurate too. But you enjoyed the way he released a shaky breath whenever you were close to him or touched him, how the tips of his ears reddened when you praised him for hitting the bullseye.
In one certain instance when the R.P.D. was extra busy, you were being hammered with files and administrative work. The coffee sitting on your desk was no longer doing its job of waking you up, and the constant bombardment of having to organize new information was starting to make your head pulse. You stood up from your seat to give your back a break, bending backward until you felt a satisfying crack in your spine. Hearing a knock at your door that brought your attention, you noticed Leon on the opposite end.
“Hey, my bad if I caught you at a bad time. The investigators wanted to review those files on that drug bust we did yesterday, something about missing information”
“Oh yeah yeah, it’s right behind me. Hell, I don’t even know where I put it”, you turned to face the mess behind you, lamenting at the stack of files you have yet to sort through today.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll look for it. You stay focused on what you’re doing”
Just like that, Leon came over behind you, going through the files while you stayed reading over the papers in your hand. The both of you made quick conversation, commenting on how busy it became. The increase of instances flooding the department only added more to your workload. Leon kept digging through the pile, turning his body to go to the other side of you.
In the process, he put a hand on your hip and muttered an apology, slightly making you jump and walking behind you to go to your left side. You tried to pay no mind to the gentle touch, going back to refocusing on the case at hand. He found the document folders he needed, suddenly too close to your body when the second he turned, you moved backward into him. Leon’s hips pressed against your rear, his hands reaching toward your hips instinctively despite the hitch in his breath at the contact.
“S-shit, I’m sorry…”, he mumbled, cheeks flushed red as he walked out of your office. You didn’t get a word in, but his reaction was enough to tell you about what you already knew.
The ghost of his touch filled your mind for the rest of the day, and it was worse for Leon. He tried so hard not to think about it. Not to fantasize about how your hips would feel bouncing against his with force, what you’d sound like when you’re aroused. It was practically impossible for him. His imagination went haywire the second he got home, jerking himself off to relieve the hard-on he’s been managing since earlier this afternoon.
He couldn’t get the image out of his head. He thought about how you’d praise him, call him a good boy for making you feel good. Deep down, he wondered if you were equally as authoritative in the bedroom as you were outside of it. As he released all over his hands with a whine, he sighed to himself, fully aware that he had reached the point of no return with his own thoughts about you.
-
It was a Tuesday afternoon when both of you were assigned to handle two suspects committing a robbery. Called to the scene, you trailed them down to a nearby commercial street. They were careless too, throwing their guns halfway into the chase and the items they stole slipping from their grasp onto the concrete floor. Catching them felt easy, handcuffing one to the ground and throwing him to the backseat of your cop car. Leon seemed to be distracted, with what you didn’t know. When the second thief seemed to slip from his grasp and started to make a run for it, you knew he needed to get his act together.
“Get your head out of your ass Kennedy! Before I put my foot up there instead. Now move!”, you ordered him to get back into the patrol car. Turning on the police siren, you drove to track down the next suspect and apprehended them with quickness.
The drive to the station was quiet besides the two handcuffed men grumbling behind you. Leon kept his mouth shut, refusing to look your way, and focused on listening to the chatter on the radio. He knew you were pissed, and he didn’t know what had gotten into him today but he couldn’t focus for the life of him. The nagging voice in the back of his mind was telling him to be prepared for the worst, because he fucked up, and worse yet, he fucked up with you.
After bringing the two robbers down to the precinct, you couldn’t erase the irritation from your face. You couldn’t even look at Leon, upset that someone like him after so much training made such a rookie mistake. You only offered a glare, knowing for a fact you’d have to talk to him later on when your temper wasn’t so flared up. For now, you made Leon sit at his desk to do filing work, deciding not to berate him in front of the other officers and saving him the embarrassment.
Knowing you were giving him the silent treatment, he avoided you for the rest of the day, staying late at the R.P.D. in hopes of being able to talk to you. Leon drummed his fingers on his desk absentmindedly, until you came up behind him and got his attention.
“Kennedy, to my office. Now”, your tone of voice was harsh, making the hairs on Leon’s neck rise as he got up to follow you back to your workspace.
You locked the door once the both of you were inside, leaning back against your desk with your tactical belt off so your hips pressed against the wooden edge. Arms crossed over your chest, your head raised at the cop before you, watching his feet anxiously moving as he looked at the floor with slight shame.
“I want to know what happened out there. You messed up, and that’s not like you. You don’t make rookie mistakes anymore, we’re passed that”, you started to speak. Leon’s gaze was pinned on you, trying to hide his humiliation but it was clear as day.
“I know. I know I fucked up, it was a stupid mistake. I’m sorry”
“Yeah, it was. I didn’t invest all this time in training you personally for you to let things like this slip. You’re better than this, you know that”, your tone changed from irritation to concern, trying to get him to see the bigger picture.
“You’re my responsibility, Leon. I’m this harsh and this strict for a reason, and it’s because I care. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a shit what happened to you, but I do. This reflects back on me, so just get your head together alright?”, you saw how his brows furrowed a bit in slight confusion at your confession.
You cared about him.
“Yes ma'am. It won’t happen again, I really am sorry”, his hands started to fumble with his tactical belt.
“I know you are, but sorry’s not gonna cut it. I can’t have you distracted like this. Not on my watch”, you said, now walking from the desk until you stood in front of him. He didn’t move a muscle, not knowing what else to do besides stand there.
“If you’re really sorry you’re going to have to prove it. You’re not getting off that easy. You got that rookie?”, your eyes held that intimidating stare that made Leon tense, you could practically hear him gulp.
“I-I understand ma’am. Whatever it takes I’ll do it.”, he was still oblivious, having no idea what he just got himself into but he wasn’t complaining, not when you were this close to him. Your hand went up towards his belt, a singular finger curving into one of the loops to yank his body forward. Now standing chest to chest he shivered at the close contact, holding his breath and waiting for your next words.
“You’re gonna use your pretty mouth to prove that you won’t mess up like that again. Maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll think about being nice and rewarding you. That okay?”, your words were laced with pure temptation, making Leon nod, too scared to speak up. He didn’t know what to expect, but lord if he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t enjoying it.
“Use your words baby”
“Yeah, f-fuck it’s okay”, he was shaking in front of you, a blush on his cheeks so intense you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin.
“Can I kiss you?”, you tilted your head up towards him, his warm breath against your lips as the ends of your noses touched.
“Please do…”
You didn’t waste another second, lips colliding against his as Leon finally released the breath he was holding. He let you take control, his mind turning to complete mush at just the feel of your mouth against his. Tongues dancing together, you ran your fingers through his hair, his own hands going to paw at your hips. He released needy faint moans, holding on to you as if you were going to leave him any second now. When you pulled away from him and bit his bottom lip he whimpered, a sound you didn’t expect him to make. You fucking loved it.
You walked backward while he followed you on jittery legs. With your back now pressed against the desk again, Leon’s face dug into your neck, leaving a path of kisses in a way that made you chuckle. His hands were everywhere, overwhelmed with what to do or where to touch. You brought your fingers into his hair again, giving him a soft yank as he groaned out from the action. Pupils already dilated, you eyed him closely, how he seemed so far gone when you haven’t even started.
“You want to be good for me Leon?”, your voice was soft, almost patronizing and it only made Leon’s dick pulse in his pants.
“Yes, I wanna be good for you. Don’t want you mad at me”, Leon pouted, and you fought the urge to kiss him again.
“Then get on your knees and start working on your apology”, you commanded, watching how he bit his lip and nodded.
“Yes ma’am”, he was already shifting down to the ground, diligent fingers on the button of your cargos and undoing them, while you threw your shoes off.
Pulling the zipper down, he started to drag the fabric to your knees until it hit your ankles, pants discarded to the side and leaving you in your panties. Sitting on top of the desk, his eyes looked up at yours, coming face to face with where you wanted him most.
His large hands moved from your shin to your knee, then towards your thigh and hip to hook his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, noting the wet patch that was already staining the cotton material. He dragged them down with ease until they hung at your ankle, lifting one of your thighs onto his shoulders to admire all of you with a soft moan.
“Can I taste you? Please?”, he mumbled against your thigh with a soft kiss. He was already playing the part so well, offering him a smirk as you drank in the way he begged you for more. You didn’t even have you train him.
“Yeah baby, you can”
Without hesitation, his mouth made contact with your body, the taste of your wetness filling his tongue and making his chest rumble. It was better than he imagined, moving his tongue up and down against your slit to collect the developing slick. You released a low hum from your lips, already pent up from the stress of your job and your day, now having your favorite rookie tending to you on your orders.
Leon was anything if not keen, tongue lavishing against your throbbing clit and his lips circling around it as he began to suck. You threw your head back at that, hand holding his head in place and hips moving towards him shamelessly. He was grunting under his breath, growing obsessed with the way your body twitched anytime he touched you just right.
“You’re doing so good Leon, so damn good for me”, you praised him again, feeling the sounds he’d release when you did talk to him. It was debauched, how his senses were filled with just you with no end in sight.
This was how you wanted to see him. On his knees and eager to please.
His attention went back to your opening, feeling it flex around nothing with every flick he gave you. Inserting his tongue into your cunt, your hips arched towards him again, moaning louder than you anticipated.
You were silently thankful your office was a bit farther away from the rest of the department, and being it was later at night, you didn’t have to hide much of anything. You moved Leon’s face closer to your body with a pull of his head, clit pressed against his nose as he sucked at your essence greedily, taking in everything he could get.
A warmth started to develop in your gut, pleasure like liquid fire making your body twitch. The high you so desperately craved was in near sight, grinding yourself against Leon’s face and using him to get off. He didn’t object, moving his mouth to suck at your clit again, two fingers teasing your entrance before inserting them inside. You cursed under your breath, the dual sensation of Leon’s fingers curling against your g-spot and his consistent sucking brought you closer to your much-needed climax.
“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum”, you could almost taste your release right at the edge of your tongue, could imagine the way it would feel to finally let go.
You looked down to watch Leon at work, how he’d pump his fingers at just the right pace, how his eyes grew hazy with pleasure when they looked up at you.
With one soft nip at your clit your release hit you full force, a small squeal leaving your lips as your gummy walls clenched around his fingers. Your grip on the desk and his hair were both tight, knuckles turned white as stars filled your vision. Leon kept moving his fingers and mouth the whole way through your orgasm, groaning loudly against you and refusing to stop. He couldn’t get enough of you or your taste, forcing you to pull his head away before the overstimulation made it too much to handle.
The both of you were panting, eyes widening when Leon pulled his digits away and inserted them into his mouth to lick off what remained of you. You pulled him up towards his feet, dragging him down to kiss you again and chasing your own taste that flooded his tongue. If you weren’t on a time crunch, you would’ve gladly let him go down on you again.
“Did I do good ma'am? Do you feel good?”, Leon asked, thumbs rubbing your trembling thighs as you came down from your high, flushed face waiting for your approval.
“Yes, you were so fucking good for me. You ate my pussy so well”, your words made him smile then, a dopey lopsided grin that seemed to ease his doubts from earlier.
“I think you deserve a little reward now. You want some help with that pretty boy?”, your eyes gestured to the tent in Leon’s pants, looking up at him from your long lashes.
“God, please touch me”, he begged then, blue eyes engulfed in pure lust.
You didn’t want to tease him any longer, undoing his pants and slipping your hand inside. With a gasp he felt your fingers wrapping around his cock that pulsated with need, knowing it wouldn’t take him long to cum either. He had been on the edge for too long, imagining you like this for what seemed like months. You pumped him, twisting your wrist and pressing your thumb against his slit, feeling the precum that was already making a mess in his briefs.
“You get hard when you have your superior’s pussy in your face huh? You like being used like that baby?”
“Y-yes, yes I do. God I fucking love it”, he nodded dumbly. “Love the way you taste, the way you feel…”, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, mind so blurred with just you that he was losing track of time and himself.
You smirked, kissing his neck and pressing your lips against the mole on his throat. Leon swallowed, hands pressing into your thighs for stability but he was so close to losing it. He thrusts his hips up into your hand, chasing his own high and you gladly let him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and biting at the lobe. The sounds Leon released were downright pornographic, whines and lewd wet sounds filling your office.
“S-shit I’m gonna cum. Can I cum? Please ma'am, I’m so close”, he begged again, his cock throbbing and hot in your hand as he spoke. He bucked his hips more into your squeezing fingers, your pace picking up as you jerked him off more persistently. He felt like he could barely breathe, the prickly feeling in his lower spine getting more prominent the closer he got to his orgasm.
“Be a good boy and cum for me Leon. I want to see you cum baby”, it was your final order, and those words alone were his undoing.
His body shook above you when he fell over the edge, his lower stomach flexing hard as he came all over your fingers. He cursed and whimpered, an array of thank yous were said against your neck, hands pressed into your thighs hard enough to bruise your skin. His cum dribbled out of him as his body jerked, still pumping him to the point of sensitivity. He clutched your wrist to signal you to stop, half-lidded eyes looking at yours that filled with mischief.
You took your hand off of him and licked the remaining fluids, purring at the taste of him filling your mouth. Leon bit his lip when watching you, already starting to feel his dick twitch again for more.
He leaned down towards you, kissing you hard and chasing his taste, just like how you did with him. The eroticness of it all overwhelmed him, rasping against you as you pulled away. You looked over his face, cheeks flushed pink and lips plump from their usage. You burn that image into your mind, saving it for later when it would be more helpful.
“No more distractions or mistakes from here on out Leon. You come to me if you need to clear your head. Understood?”, he released a dry chuckle, placing another kiss against your lips, much softer than before. The intimacy made your chest warm, your smile matching his own.
“Yes ma’am”
©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!
2K notes
·
View notes