h o p e w o r l d

Jungkook’s apartment was always clean. Obsessively so. Even after a night out, he’d stumble in and still fold his clothes before bed. No dishes in the sink, no clutter, no shoes by the couch.

This morning, though, the floor was a warzone of formalwear. His dress shirt. Slacks. Your black dress, crumpled in a corner like a casualty.

And for once, Jungkook couldn’t care less.

Because this morning, he woke up with his arms wrapped around you- his girlfriend.

He smiled into your hair, breathing you in as your chest rose and fell against his. The events from the night before blurred into something warm and glowing. The music. The lights. Your lips on his. The way you’d kissed him in front of everyone like he was yours.

Because he was.

No more sneaking kisses. No more trying to hide feelings behind sarcasm or fake fights. No more maybe-this, maybe-that. You were his. And he was yours.

Last night, the second you walked through his front door, it was like gravity took over. Words could wait. Clothes couldn’t either.

But now this…

The morning after, wrapped in his arms with sunlight peeking through his curtains and the echo of your laughter still playing in his mind. This was what he really wanted.

He leaned in, placing light kisses along your jaw and cheek, grinning as he tried to wake you gently.

It backfired almost immediately when you swatted at his head.

“Ow, baby,” he groaned dramatically.

You blinked your eyes open, still half-asleep. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to kiss my girlfriend awake,” he grinned, rubbing his forehead. “You know… romantic shit.”

You rolled over, pressing your back to his chest again. “Next time kiss my mouth. I thought you were a fly.”

He gasped. “Do flies exclusively avoid your mouth?”

“No,” you said, hiding your smile, “but I wanted a kiss.”

He chuckled, already leaning in. “That can definitely be arranged.”

His hand gently guided your chin toward him and he kissed you, slow and sweet, like he could live in this moment forever. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against your temple.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he echoed, smiling into your skin.

“Guess what?” he said in a mock-dramatic voice.

“What?”

“We’re dating.” He pulled you impossibly closer with a smug grin. “Officially. I have the receipts.”

You smirked. “Mmm… did you actually say the words ‘Will you be my girlfriend,’ though?”

He blinked. “Seriously, babe?”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “Nope, we’re absolutely dating. I’m dating the hell out of you, actually.”

His eyebrows quirked, one hand sliding down to your hip. “Is that so?”

“Very much so.”

He squinted, mock-serious. “I seem to remember someone saying I don’t date cops. Ring any bells?”

You poked his side, making him scrunch his nose. “Some rules were made to be broken, Jeon Jungkook.”

His heart kicked in his chest at the way you said his name.

He leaned forward, kissing you again, softer this time. “It’s too early for me to be this into you.”

You just smile, feeling completely at peace in his arms.

You’re not really sure how long you’ve been lying there, tangled up in Jungkook. All you know is that it’s Saturday, the precinct is someone else’s problem today, and your very clingy, very shirtless boyfriend is wrapped around you like a koala.

“I still can’t believe you wore the dress Jimin said I liked,” he mumbles into your neck, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw.

“It was just a black dress, Jungkook,” you yawn, smiling. “That’s like half my wardrobe.”

“Not the point. I loved that one,” he says, now trailing kisses along your shoulder. “It made your butt look insane.”

You roll your eyes, but he just tightens his grip like a human weighted blanket.

“I’m serious,” he mutters, “My girlfriend looked so hot.”

“You’ve said that like seven times this morning.”

“Not enough.” He kisses your cheek. “Girlfriend.”

“You’re going to get tired of calling me that.”

“Never,” he says instantly. “It feels so good saying it. Like… mine.”

His fingers draw lazy circles on your waist, and you melt a little.

“Anyway,” he continues, peeking at you through half-lidded eyes. “You still owe me an answer.”

“What?”

“You said I never asked you to be my girlfriend. That was cold, by the way.”

“I was joking!”

He pouts dramatically. “Still. You broke my little heart.”

You smirk, reaching over to cup his face. “Fine. Make it official, detective.”

Jungkook blinks, like you just asked him to propose.

“Wait. For real?”

“Dead serious.”

He clears his throat, trying not to grin too big.

“Okay. Y/N…” he says, clasping your hands like he’s about to recite his vows, “Will you do me the great honor of being my girlfriend?”

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “Jungkook! This is so sudden! But… yes. A thousand times yes.”

He immediately rolls on top of you, showering your face with kisses like a starved man. “My girlfriend, my girlfriend, my girlfriend-”

“Alright, relax.”

“I won’t. You’re mine now and I need to make it very clear to the world. Starting Monday. Promise me we’ll tell the squad?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Must we?”

“Yes. I need full legal acknowledgement of my boyfriend status. I want Jin to cry. I want Taehyung to owe someone in the betting pool.”

You giggle. “Fine, I promise.”

“Say it.”

You sigh dramatically. “I, Y/N L/N, solemnly swear to tell the nosy, ridiculous, and gossip-fueled 7th Precinct that I’m officially dating Jeon Jungkook—our very own Golden detective.”

He beams. “Close enough.”

A moment passes. Then…

“You never call me anything cute,” he whines, nuzzling against your shoulder again. “I want a nickname.”

“You already have one. Jungkook.”

“That’s my government name. Babe me. Do it.”

You snort, clearly not taking this seriously. “Okay, fine. Baby star candy.”

“...What?”

“Honey bunches of oats.”

“Babe.”

“My little ghost pepper.”

“Babe.”

“Okay, okay. Babe.”

He exhales, pleased. “I like that one.”

You kiss his nose. “Of course you do, babe.”

He tightens his hold on you again, completely smug.

“I could stay in bed with you forever,” he murmurs.

“You just might,” you smile. “I don’t think you’re letting me go.”

“I’m not,” he says easily. “You’re stuck with me now.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t want it any other way.

The morning sun had long since risen, but you and Jungkook didn’t move from bed until close to noon. Between the cuddling, kisses, and the very serious discussion about how early was too early to make pancakes, it had taken a while.

Jungkook’s hand found yours as he dragged you into the kitchen, both of you still in sleepwear, his t-shirt hanging off your frame, his sweats hanging dangerously low on his hips. He was humming some random song under his breath, swaying you around like you were dancing in a rom-com. And honestly? It felt like one.

“Chef Jeon at your service,” he says, flipping a pancake with flair. “I’ve made exactly three breakfasts in my entire life. You’re witnessing greatness.”

You’re sitting on the counter, sipping coffee and watching him with a dreamy smile.

“You’re so cocky,” you say.

He turns to wink. “And yet so talented.”

You laugh, hopping down. It’s all easy. Everything flows like you’ve been doing this together for years.

While the pancakes are cooking, Jungkook slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing your neck softly. “I love this,” he mumbles. “Us. Like this.”

You reach back and run your fingers through his hair, your heart swelling. “Me too.”

And then… the first ping.

GROUPCHAT: 7TH PRECINCT (PLUS THE LOVEBIRDS)

Yoongi: are you alive?

Taehyung: did you elope??

Jin: I need visual confirmation or I’m assuming murder-suicide.

Jungkook snorts as he scrolls through his phone, holding it up so you can read the squad group chat. The texts just keep coming.

Jimin: omg are you guys still in bed rn 😭

Yoongi: I will PAY for silence. pls. shut up.

Hoseok: as long as you’re both still breathing and dating, I’m satisfied. Carry on, lovebirds.

You’re cackling against Jungkook’s chest, both of you clinging to each other like teenagers. “They’re so annoying.”

“They’re obsessed with us,” he says proudly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can’t blame them.”

You end up finishing breakfast slowly, feeding each other pieces of fruit, arguing about which team is gonna win on Singles Inferno, because yes, Jungkook was now fully invested.

Later that day, you’re curled up on the couch together. Your legs draped over his lap, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your calves as the TV flickers with dramatic love triangle footage.

“This show is wild,” Jungkook mutters, eyes narrowed. “Why would she pick him after that pool party incident? Like- hello??”

You burst out laughing, tossing a popcorn kernel at him. “I can’t believe you’re this invested.”

“I’m a detective, babe. I follow patterns and clues.”

“Patterns and clues,” you echo, giggling. “You’re just mad he kissed someone else.”

“I am,” he says indignantly. “He was trash.”

You’re still laughing when you mention casually, “You know what would make this better? Those peach gummies from that one brand.. what’s it called-”

Before you can finish the sentence, Jungkook’s already standing.

You blink. “Wait, what are you doing?”

He disappears into the kitchen and comes back thirty seconds later, holding the exact peach gummies you were talking about.

You gape. “You have them?”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Heard you mention them once. Thought I’d have ‘em here for you.”

“Babe…” you say, heart clenched with affection as you practically launch yourself at him.

You kiss him all over his face, cheeks, nose, forehead, until he’s laughing and catching you in his arms.

“You’re so thoughtful,” you murmur, kissing him sweetly.

He grins. “I know I’m the world’s best detective. But how about… boyfriend?”

You pretend to consider. “Hmm. You have only been doing it for like 24 hours…”

He narrows his eyes.

“But,” you continue, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “you’re doing a pretty damn good job so far.”

“Damn right I am.”

He pulls you back onto the couch, gummies in one hand, your waist in the other. The episode plays on, but you’re not paying attention anymore. You’re far too busy being wrapped up in Jeon Jungkook, who, after everything, you finally get to love out loud.

The moment you walk in, everything feels different. Last week, the air was tense, heavy, full of things left unsaid. But today? Today it’s buzzing.

They saw the kiss. They saw you leave together. And now you’re holding hands with Jeon Jungkook. Openly.

Game over.

You try to play it cool, sipping your coffee and pretending like you don’t hear Taehyung gasp dramatically from his desk.

“A-HA!” he shouts, pointing an accusatory finger. “I knew it wasn’t just the spiked punch! You two were TONGUING. In public.”

Across the bullpen, Jimin raises his hand with a solemn expression. “I have a blurry photo. I also made it the wallpaper on Hoseok’s computer.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look up from his mug. “They’ve been kissing. You can tell.”

“HR packet printed,” Hoseok says, not missing a beat as he walks by. “I’ve also ordered heart-shaped donuts for our morning meeting. To celebrate love. And the complete collapse of workplace professionalism.”

Namjoon, who is actually holding an HR form, raises a brow. “Just sign the dating disclosure. I’ll be mad if this ends and one of you files a complaint.”

Jin strolls in dramatically with a paper Burger King crown in each hand. “In honor of their heinously public display of affection, I hereby retroactively crown you… PROM KING AND QUEEN.”

You cover your face as Jungkook beams next to you, completely unbothered, as if being publicly humiliated in a workplace isn’t new territory for him.

“Do we… do we have to wear them?” you ask.

“Yes,” Jin says. “Forever.”

Taehyung leans over his desk. “Okay but real question, origin story? Like how do you go from fighting over arrest stats to full-on making out at a department-sanctioned function?”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Jimin chimes in. “Was it the bet? The date? The evidence locker make out?”

“Detective privilege,” Jungkook says smugly, one hand still wrapped firmly around your waist. “Classified information.”

You, flustered, duck your head- but not before sneaking a look at him. He’s glowing. You’re glowing. And yeah, it’s obnoxious. But it also feels so damn good to finally be able to smile like this.

“Y’all are so annoying,” Yoongi says, sipping his coffee. “I give it a week before you’re bickering about grocery lists.”

“And then kissing again,” Jimin adds.

Jungkook, clearly enjoying himself, presses a kiss to your temple right in front of everyone. “Guess that’s my girlfriend.”

You squint up at him. “You’re gonna keep saying that all day, huh?”

“Oh absolutely,” he whispers, grinning. “Get ready.”

You just sigh, eyes catching the way the rest of the squad is still watching like it’s the hottest new drama on Netflix.

And maybe it is.

You slip into the break room for a moment of peace, HR packet in hand, heart still pounding from the onslaught of commentary, jokes, and surprise photo evidence. You swear even the vending machine judged you when it ate your dollar.The paper in your hand crinkles slightly as you reread the line for the third time:

“Should a direct supervisory relationship form between employees in a disclosed romantic relationship, one party must request a transfer to another division or precinct.”

You swallow. The thought of not working with Jungkook, of not seeing him at his desk every morning or bickering over paperwork, physically hurts. You're not even his supervisor or him yours, but someday… you know you're both going places.

Your fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the form.

You barely register Jungkook entering until he’s behind you, arms looping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Hi girlfriend,” he murmurs, smug and syrup-sweet.

You tilt your head toward him but don’t smile right away. “Did you read this?” you ask, holding up the form.

He glances down and shrugs playfully. “I skimmed it. It’s a relationship disclosure form, not a novel.”

You exhale slowly. “It says if one of us becomes the other’s supervisor, we’d have to transfer out.”

He freezes behind you.

“That means… if I got promoted, or you did… we couldn’t work together anymore.”

He rests his cheek on your shoulder. “That’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get there.”

“But-” you start, spinning to face him. “It would mean one of us leaving. I don’t know if I could do that.”

“Hey.” He cups your cheek gently, thumb stroking the soft skin under your eye. “You’re going to be a badass supervisor someday. And when that happens, I’ll cheer for you. I’ll salute you. I’ll even call you boss lady if you’re into that-”

You scrunch your nose. “Not at all.”

“-but I’m not worried about what’ll happen then. Because right now…” He leans in until your foreheads touch. “Right now, you’re mine. And I’m yours. And we finally get to do this.”

“But Jungkook-”

“Babe.” He cuts you off gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You really think I care about a hypothetical promotion years from now when I just got you?”

You blink up at him.

“You’re right though,” he adds, grinning. “If you ever become my supervisor, you’ll totally abuse your power.”

You snort. “Excuse me?”

“You’d write me up for sleeping with my boss. And I do that a lot.”

You roll your eyes, the tension in your chest easing.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek. “And hey, if you end up in charge, that just makes you even hotter.”

“Jeon.”

“I mean it. You being the boss? Kind of a dream. I’ll transfer if I have to, hell, I’ll become a mall cop if it means we get to keep doing this.”

You bite your lip, touched. “You’d hate mall cop life.”

“True. But I’d still sneak into the precinct just to see you. Probably get arrested for trespassing.” He shrugs. “Worth it.”

You finally smile and wrap your arms around his waist, melting into his chest.

“I don’t want to lose what we have here,” you whisper. “With the squad. With you.”

He kisses the top of your head. “Then we won’t. We’ll make it work. Together.”

You stay like that for a minute, just swaying slightly, soaking in the quiet away from all the teasing voices outside.

“…You still wanna fill out the form?” he asks, voice low in your ear.

You melt a little under his touch. “You really think we’ll figure it out?”

He kisses your nose. “I know we will. Besides, you’d be in charge of me no matter what.”

You narrow your eyes. “Because I’m bossy?”

“Because I’d follow you anywhere.”

That earns him a soft kiss, right there next to the microwave that probably hasn’t been cleaned since 2018.

You tuck your head against his chest. “I love that you’re obnoxiously romantic now.”

“I’ve been holding back for months. Just wait.”

You laugh, letting him sway you gently side to side like a slow dance no one else sees.

It’s just you and him and a piece of paper.

“You know,” Jungkook murmurs into your hair, swaying with you like there’s music only he can hear, “this is my favorite part of the day now.”

“What? The break room?” you tease.

“Nope. The part where you let me be with you.”

You’re about to respond with something sarcastic, when the door swings open with a loud thud.

“Ah-HA!” Taehyung points dramatically from the doorway, eyebrows damn near in his hairline. “Caught red-handed! Again!”

Jungkook doesn’t even flinch. He just groans and buries his face in your shoulder. “Why is it always him?”

“Because,” Yoongi says, following right behind with a coffee in hand, “you two have the subtlety of a flashbang.”

You straighten slightly but don’t move away from Jungkook’s chest, your hands still lazily linked behind his back.

Hoseok pops his head in with a grin. “Am I interrupting? Wait- don’t answer that, I know I am. But great news! I printed out the prom photo of the kiss and had it laminated. For HR.”

Namjoon steps in, “And I brought a pen. Just in case you forgot the part where you sign.”

Jungkook rests his chin on your head. “I literally just said this was my favorite part of the day. You’re all ruining it.”

“Hey, are they kissing yet?” Jin adds as he strolls in.

You bury your face in Jungkook’s hoodie as everyone crowds into the small room like it’s a clown car, laughing and chirping and fully immune to personal space.

“I told you,” Jungkook mutters in your ear. “Not inconspicuous.”

You sigh, grinning despite yourself as you look up at him.

“Well,” you say with mock resignation, “guess we should just keep kissing. No point hiding now.”

“You heard her!” Jin announces. “Now kiss again. For morale.”

Taehyung whistles. Jimin claps like it’s the season finale of a show he’s been emotionally invested in for months.

And despite all the chaos, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He kisses you, soft, smiling, proud.

It’s no longer a secret. It’s just… you and him. In a precinct full of people who always knew.

Jungkook hadn’t even taken a full sip of his coffee before he was ambushed as soon as you walked away.

“Okay,” Jin started, dragging a chair backward until it squeaked dramatically. “Spill.”

“Spill what?” Jungkook blinked, immediately suspicious.

“Oh don’t play dumb,” Taehyung said, arms crossed, looking far too smug for 9:12 AM. “You two disappeared after prom. Again.”

Jimin leaned over the desk, chin on his fist. “We just want to confirm the timeline. For posterity.”

“You guys are ridiculous,” Jungkook said, trying to hide his smile behind his mug.

“And yet you are the one who kissed her in front of the vending machine like a man possessed,” Jin said, slapping a piece of paper down labeled '7th Precinct Prom: Official Timeline of Events (Verified by CCTV)' in Comic Sans.

Jungkook shook his head, grinning. “You guys have too much time on your hands.”

Taehyung raised a brow. “And you have glitter in your hair. Coincidence? I think not.”

Jimin sits on the edge of the desk, legs swinging. Jin stands with a legal pad titled ‘Operation Spill The Tea’, ready to jot notes. Taehyung is half-perched on Jungkook’s chair arm, too close for OSHA comfort.

“Start from the top,” Jin announces. “Was it the glitter bomb? The range record? The mannequin fiasco? When did you realize she was ‘the one’?”

Jungkook drags a hand through his hair. “Guys-”

Jimin leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Don’t you dare deprive us of the romance arc we’ve been streaming in 4K for months.”

Taehyung adds, “Yoongi’s off on ‘secret business’ again, so we’re collecting intel for him.”

“Okay fine,” Jungkook leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “You really want to know?”

Three detectives leaned in, fully synchronized.

“I bagged the baddest, hottest, sharpest woman to ever set foot in this precinct. And she still lets me kiss her before she brushes her teeth. Somewhere between her telling me off about evidence logging and wiping frosting on my nose, I figured I’d marry her.”

Jin’s pen freezes mid-scribble. “We’re… already at marriage?”

“Working title, it’s only been a day to be fair.” Jungkook amends, cheeks pink. “But when you know you know.” He flashes a cocky grin. “Feel free to applaud.”

Jin made a fake gagging noise.

Jimin clapped a hand over his heart. “You’re in love. That’s disgusting.”

“Now your turn,” Jungkook says. “When did you all realize?”

“Day one,” Taehyung deadpans. “Yoongi said she said you were cute. And you were being a big baby.”

Jin pats Jungkook’s shoulder. “In conclusion: congratulations on rom-com completion. You did it!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he’s glowing.

“I did,” Jungkook grinned, smug and proud. “And she’s mine. Officially. No more sneaking. No more bets. She even filled out the HR form.”

“You better laminate that thing,” Taehyung said. “Frame it. Make it your lock screen.”

“You think I haven’t?”

Meanwhile, in the break room, you sat across from Hoseok with your tea in hand. He smiled knowingly as you stirred your sugar packet in silence.

“Something on your mind, detective?” he asked, gently.

You sighed, but couldn’t help the grin spreading on your lips. “Just… thinking about how far things have come.”

Hoseok nodded slowly. “You mean between you and Detective Heart Eyes?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah. Him.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with that easy, encouraging posture he always had when you needed grounding. “You know,” he said, “months ago you came in here, all flustered and fussy, talking about how you’d never fall for someone on the force.”

“I stand by it,” you teased.

“You are the force,” he smiled. “But look at you now. Happy.”

“I am,” you admitted. “Terrified. But… happy.”

“You should be. That man looks at you like you personally invented air.” He nudged your mug closer to you. “And you? You look softer these days. But not smaller. Never smaller.”

You swallowed the emotion rising in your throat. “I didn’t mean to fall for someone in here.”

“Maybe not,” Hoseok said. “But we’re glad you did.”

You leaned your head on your hand, smiling. “You knew it was him the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” he smirked. “I'm Sarge. I know everything.”

You exit the break-room hallway just as Jungkook escapes his fan club. Your eyes meet; the noise of the bullpen fades.

“Survived?” you ask, smiling.

“Barely,” he says, fingers lacing with yours. “They demand a director’s-cut commentary.”

You lean into him, lowering your voice. “I just got a dad joke pep-talk from Hoseok.”

“Sounds about right.” He squeezes your hand. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

“We are doing this.”

He steals a quick kiss, nothing hidden, no one gasps this time.

Across the room, Taehyung snaps a photo. Jin cheers. Jimin wipes a fake tear.

Jungkook doesn’t even break the kiss to say, “Get used to it, guys. We’re annoyingly out loud.” against your lips.

You laugh pressed to his mouth, happiness filling every corner of you.

Somewhere, probably napping in a supply closet, Yoongi smiles in his sleep.

And the 7th Precinct carries on louder, brighter, and with an official power couple nobody can ignore.

You’re curled up on Jungkook’s couch, still in your work clothes. He’s in grey sweatpants and a black tee, barefoot, holding two mugs of chamomile tea like he’s a 90s romcom husband.

“We survived day one as an official couple,” he says, handing you a mug.

You raise yours. “Cheers to hand-holding and HR threats.”

He chuckles, then sets both mugs down, reaching behind the couch to grab something. When he turns back, he’s holding the hoodie.

“Still like this one?” he asks, raising a brow.

You hum. “I do recall it being excellent nap material.”

“Legendary hoodie,” he agrees, tugging it over your head gently. It swallows you instantly soft cotton, familiar scent, faint traces of his cologne.

You fist the front of it as he settles beside you. “Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

You look up. “This is real, right?”

His eyes soften, hand coming to cup your jaw. “As real as you in my hoodie, in my home, as my girlfriend.”

Your heart stutters. You don’t know who leans in first but the kiss that follows is warm and sweet and unhurried. Your bodies melt together like magnets, months of tension dissolving in the closeness.

“Bedroom?” you whisper.

He stands immediately, hand out. “Only if you promise not to ditch me for reality TV halfway through.”

“No promises,” you tease, and he groans dramatically, pulling you toward the bedroom anyway.

The door barely closes before your lips find his again, more urgent now, though still tender. He lifts you easily, setting you down on the edge of the bed and dropping to his knees.

You blink. “What are you-”

“You wore my hoodie. Let me worship you for it.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, but the sound catches when his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher.

“Hey, Jungkook?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I don’t want breadcrumbs anymore.”

He pauses, glancing up.

“I want the whole meal,” you say. “All of you.”

His jaw tightens just a little, emotion swirling behind his dark eyes. He leans in, kissing your inner thigh. “Then take me. I’m yours.”

He undresses you gently, pausing to kiss every new inch of exposed skin. You pull off his shirt and trace the outline of his shoulder tattoo with reverence.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur.

“You always say that like you don’t know you ruin me,” he whispers, tugging you into his lap once you're both bare.

You straddle him, hoodie still on, and the way his fingers flex into your hips like he might fall apart from just this.

“This okay?” you ask softly, remembering that first night. The way he hesitated. The way you both held back.

Now, he nods with certainty. “Always. Especially when it’s you.”

You start to move slowly, deliberately. Hands pressed to his chest, hips rolling in sync like muscle memory.

“You’ve gotten cocky,” you tease breathlessly.

He kisses your neck. “No. Just… comfortable.”

You lean back slightly, watching his face as you ride him. His jaw slack, pupils blown, cheeks pink. He looks wrecked. And worshipful.

“Proud of you, Detective,” he murmurs, and you clench at the praise.

“Don’t say that unless you’re trying to make me- fuck, Jungkook”

His arms wrap around your waist, guiding your pace, grounding you. “Always so good to me,” he whispers. “Take what you need, baby.”

You do.

And when you come, it’s with your face buried in his neck.

He follows soon after, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.

You collapse beside him, bodies tangled and warm and blissfully spent.

“I’m never letting you go,” he says, breath still shaky.

“You better not,” you whisper, dragging your fingers through his damp hair.

He kisses your knuckles. “You’ve ruined me for normal love, you know that?”

“Good.”

You lay there in silence for a while. Just breathing. Just being.

Then, as he pulls the blanket over both of you, you hear him say, barely audible:

“I think this is what it means to be home.”

Your heart aches in the best way possible.

You shift closer, placing your head on his chest. “Then don’t ever leave it.”

He tightens his grip around you. “Not a chance.”

You’re still tangled in each other when the world settles. The only light comes from the bathroom door, casting a warm glow over his sleepy face.

Your fingers trace patterns on his chest. He’s quiet, serene in a way only you get to see.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice soft.

“Hm?” he hums, lips pressing to your forehead.

“You remember the bet?”

He chuckles, chest vibrating beneath you. “A bet’s a bet.”

You grin. “Guess that means I win.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, rolling you onto your back gently. “I got you. I win forever.”

You laugh, swatting his arm. “That’s not how bets work.”

He props himself up on one elbow, studying your face.

“Rules were made to be broken,” he says. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

Your breath catches. He remembers.

You nod, curling your hand around the back of his neck. “I’m glad I broke that one.”

He kisses you slowly and sure. When you settle back into the sheets, hoodie still half-pulled over your frame, his arms wrap around you like they were made to.

You don’t date cops

except the one who became home.

GROUPCHAT: 7TH PRECINCT

Tae :OKAY SO who do I send my Venmo to? Because someone owes me $50 for "official in under 6 months."

Jimin :Not you meta-commenting. Also, pls confirm: y’all DID do it right? Y’all looked sinful at morning briefing.

Hobi :Guys. HR. (But also 👀)

Jin :Let’s not forget I called it. Retroactive Prom King and Queen. You’re welcome.

Namjoon :Don’t go crazy at work, but I am pleased to see the two of you happy.

Yoongi :congrats on the sex.

JK :We can read this, you know.

Y/N :Yeah. And we’re still not telling you anything.

Tae :YOU OWE US A STORYYYYY 😭 C’MON GIVE US THE ORIGIN TALE

Jimin :At least tell us who made the first move.

JK :She did.

Y/N :Lies.

Jin :Both of you are under interrogation tomorrow morning. 

Jungkook throws his head back laughing, phone resting on his chest.

You lean against his side, scrolling through the thread with a smirk. “They’re never going to let us live this down.”

He nudges you with his shoulder. “Good. Means they’ll remember it.”

You meet his eyes.

“Partner?” he says.

“Always,” you answer.

Friday mornings at the precinct were usually groggy and slow. But today?

Jungkook strolled in like he’d just mainlined sunshine.

You followed behind him minutes later, hair loose and cheeks still faintly pink from the brisk walk in, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. You barely glanced up when you entered the bullpen, but you did smile the second Jungkook looked at you.

It was a tiny thing. Barely noticeable. But not to Taehyung.

“Oh my god,” he gasped from across the room, dropping the case file he was holding like he’d just witnessed a murder. “AH-HA!”

Jungkook startled so hard he nearly dropped his pen. “What?!”

Taehyung pointed at you both with wild eyes. “I knew it. I KNEW IT. Y’all are together.”

Jungkook blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You were about to hold hands,” Taehyung said dramatically, like he was dropping a bombshell. “In public. At work. Like criminals.”

“We weren’t holding hands,” you said quickly, sipping your coffee with suspicious calm.

“But you almost were,” he accused.

“Nope,” you replied.

“Yes you were,” he insisted, lunging over to Yoongi. “Tell them.”

Yoongi didn’t look up from his coffee. “They’ve been kissing.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?!”

“Your lips are too soft today,” he replied flatly. “It’s suspicious.”

“Yoongi,” you hissed.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

“That doesn’t even—what?”

But it was too late. Taehyung was already circling the two of you like a shark.

“This changes everything,” he declared. “I need to reorganize the betting pool. Jimin owes me five bucks.”

Jungkook was grinning. A little smug. A little sheepish. And very much not denying anything.

Which didn’t help.

“Look,” you said, putting your coffee down and trying not to glance at the way Jungkook’s fingers had just brushed yours as he passed you a file. “We are not—”

“Dating?” Yoongi finished, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded.

“Okay,” he said, tone neutral.

“But we are going on a date tonight,” Jungkook added with a smile that made your stomach flip. “So maybe don’t speak too soon.”

Taehyung shrieked.

You groaned and slumped into your chair, heart hammering against your ribs even as Jungkook casually leaned over and whispered in your ear, “You look really cute when you lie to yourself.”

You swatted him with the file.

Yoongi sipped his coffee again. “You two are exhausting.”

“Good exhausting?” Jungkook asked.

“Like tequila at a wedding,” Yoongi replied. “You regret it the next day but somehow still love it.”

Jimin walked in five seconds later and immediately said, “What did I miss?”

“Your boyfriend finally cracked,” Yoongi told him, nodding at Jungkook.

Jimin looked between you and Jungkook, then slowly raised his hands to his face like a movie villain. “Yessssssss. My power grows.”

You and Jungkook shared a glance — amused, exasperated, and… okay, maybe a little too in sync for two people who weren’t “together.”

Despite the teasing and yelling earlier that morning, the precinct eventually settled into a typical Friday rhythm. Paperwork, light field reports, case debriefs, and lunch orders being argued over via a very passive-aggressive whiteboard list.

You were halfway through filling out an arrest report when Jin walked by and casually dropped, “So what are you gonna wear tonight?”

You looked up slowly. “Excuse me?”

“For your date,” he sing-songed, wiggling his brows. “With our favorite muscle man.”

You blinked at him. “How do you even know?”

“I’m a detective,” he said smugly. “I detect.”

Before you could respond, Jimin walked over from the desk beside you.

“I vote a black dress,” he said. “Jungkook nearly chokes when he sees you looking dark and mysterious, he told me himself.”

You threw your pen down. “This is ridiculous.”

“You haven’t even heard Yoongi’s input,” Jin added with a grin.

“Please don’t bring him into this.”

But Yoongi, sitting just within earshot, didn’t even look up as he muttered, “Wear the leather jacket. He likes when you look like you could arrest him.”

You stood up, hands on your hips. “Is this a precinct or an episode of The Bachelor?”

“That depends,” Taehyung called from the copy machine, “will there be a rose ceremony after the date?”

You groaned and marched toward the break room before someone else could make a comment. You needed caffeine, peace, and approximately five minutes without anyone trying to dress you like Jungkook’s paper doll.

You barely had time to pour your coffee before you felt a strong arm slide around your waist.

“Hi,” Jungkook murmured behind you, voice soft and boyish, the way it always got when he was happy.

You didn’t lean into him. You didn’t pull away either.

“Hi,” you said flatly, taking a sip.

He turned you gently to face him, grinning like he hadn’t just been in a two-hour meeting with Namjoon.

“Miss me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you tell everyone in this building about our date?”

He blinked. “No? I told Jimin. And Yoongi. But just casually and you were there!”

You sighed and stepped back, placing your mug on the counter. “I’ve been ambushed by everyone from Jin to Yoongi about what I’m wearing tonight. I can’t even file a report without someone suggesting lipstick shades.”

Jungkook winced. “Okay, that’s fair. I’m sorry.”

He stepped forward again, hands reaching for your waist but more hesitant this time. “I didn’t think it would blow up like that. You’re right. The precinct is annoying. We should get to have something that’s just ours.”

Your gaze softened a little, even though you didn’t show it. You weren’t mad at him. Just overwhelmed. And maybe a little anxious about being seen as “that girl.”

“I just don’t want them to think I’m—”

“A badge bunny?” he supplied gently, reading your mind.

You frowned. “Basically.”

Jungkook shook his head, brushing a thumb across your wrist. “Anyone who knows you would never think that. You’re the best damn cop here.”

You didn’t respond at first, staring at him like you couldn’t believe how easy it was for him to say things like that. Things that meant so much to you.

His eyes searched yours, and then he ducked his head slightly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, his voice low. “But seriously… if Yoongi picked out your outfit, I will be filing a restraining order.”

You laughed despite yourself, tension finally dissolving. “Okay, fine. You’re forgiven. But no more whispering about dresses to Jimin. Or anyone.”

“I solemnly swear,” he said, raising his hand like a scout.

You leaned against the counter and watched as he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, still looking at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You weren’t ready to be his girlfriend, not out loud. But maybe… maybe you were ready to start letting people see what was there.

Maybe you were ready for tonight.

When you opened the door, Jungkook nearly dropped the bouquet.

“Holy sh—” he blinked rapidly, taking in the sight of you in that red dress — the one he’d offhandedly suggested with a joking “You should wear red, just so I can suffer.”

He was, in fact, suffering.

“Hi,” you said softly, a little shy despite the way he was looking at you like you were the sun and he’d just stepped out of a cave.

He held out the flowers, deep red and pale pink with little sprigs of baby’s breath, with a smile that didn’t even try to hide how smitten he was. “These aren’t as pretty as you, but they’ll do.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding your blush as you took them. “Chessy much?”

He grinned. “Only for you.”

You shook your head with a quiet laugh and turned to find a vase. When you came back, he was still at the door, holding it open for you like a total gentleman.

“Car’s ready, my lady.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously lucky,” he said under his breath, holding out his hand.

You took it.

The drive was filled with soft music and softer smiles. He kept stealing glances at you at every red light, his fingers brushing over yours like he couldn’t stop reminding himself that you were really here. That you chose to be here.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured as he parked. “Have I said that yet?”

“Four times.”

“Make it five then. You look beautiful.”

Inside the restaurant, a dim, ambient bistro with hanging lights and soft music, he kept at it. Pulling out your chair. Calling you sweetheart, baby, honey… like he’d waited years to say them without flinching.

You were floating.

Until halfway through the main course.

“…So my girlfriend here—” he began, reaching for his wine glass.

You blinked. “Your what?”

Jungkook froze, glass halfway to his mouth. “Uh. My girlfriend?” He chuckled awkwardly, setting it down. “You’re… you, right? You’re my,”

“We never said that,” you cut in, trying to laugh it off, but your voice sounded strained, even to you.

He tilted his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—Jungkook, we never had the conversation. We’ve just been, I don’t know, doing things.”

He stared at you. “We’ve been seeing each other. Every day. Talking all night. Sleeping in the same bed. You know my coffee order. I have your toothpaste in my bathroom now.”

You lowered your eyes. “I just… I don’t want people thinking I’m some girl who fell for her partner. That I let a guy distract me. It makes me look—weak.”

His chair shifted. “Is that how you see this? Weak?”

“No!” you said quickly, panic rushing in. “I just, it matters what people think.”

He went quiet.

And then, quieter still: “More than what I feel?”

Your stomach dropped.

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. You didn’t know how to explain the swirl of fear and pride and logic and emotion tangling in your chest.

So you didn’t say anything at all.

The silence between you thickened like concrete as the waiter passed by with a refill. Jungkook leaned back, gaze flicking toward the window now instead of you. His hand slid from the table, no longer reaching for yours.

Dinner ended, technically. The meal was finished. But the night didn’t recover.

The ride back to your place was quiet.

When he pulled up to your curb, he didn’t ask to come up. He just sat, keys still in the ignition, hands at ten and two, like he was gripping the only steady thing left.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he said, finally, quietly.

“I did too,” you said, even though your chest felt hollow.

He nodded once. “I’ll see you Monday.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

And then you stepped out into the night, leaving the car and whatever the hell this almost-thing was 

behind.

You hadn’t slept.

Not really. A few hours of tossing and turning before dawn, face sticky from dried tears and a pillow that still smelled faintly like him.

The worst part? The only person who could’ve made you feel better… was the one you’d hurt.

You had replayed the conversation a hundred times — every blink, every sigh, the way his face fell when you didn’t answer. When you didn’t fight for him.

And the worst part was: you knew why you said what you did. You meant it. You’d spent her whole career trying to prove you were serious. Respected. Tough enough to hold your own in a room full of egos and badges.

But somewhere along the way, in the mess of logic and fear and reputation… you’d trampled over the one thing that had made you feel soft again. Loved.

All weekend, you’d wanted to text him. To show up at his door. To say you were sorry and stupid and scared and still his.

But you hadn’t. Because this was your fault. And he deserved to have space to hate you a little if he wanted to.

Monday morning came cruelly, indifferent to your heartbreak. 

Your bun was messier than usual, mascara barely present, and you looked, if you were being honest, like the human version of “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

You slid into her usual seat at the conference table, arms folded tightly over your chest. Early, like always. Habit. Nerves.

You hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath until the bullpen doors opened and into the briefing room,

Jungkook walked in.

Your heart lurched at the sight of him. Something in your stomach unclenched just knowing he was there, real, safe, whole.

He looked good, of course he did. But not in a showy way. His usual dark jeans, leather jacket, hair perfectly messy like he hadn’t even tried. The sight of him made you want to cry again.

You gave the tiniest, instinctual smile — the kind you give to the person you’re used to loving without thinking.

But he didn’t see it. Or he pretended not to.

He walked right past you without a word.

And then he sat.

In the back.

Next to Yoongi.

Not next to you.

The room didn’t miss it.

Taehyung blinked. Jin did a slow double-take. Jimin literally looked between the two of you like it was a tennis match. Even Namjoon paused with the morning file in his hands.

“…Okay,” Hoseok said slowly, breaking the silence. “Anyway. Let’s start.”

But your ears were ringing. And your throat was tight.

He hadn’t even looked at you.

And you were pretty sure that hurt more than anything he could have said.

Hoseok clapped his hands once as he took the front of the room. “Alright, team. Quick debrief before case assignments, but first — exciting news.”

Everyone looked up. Even Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

Hoseok grinned. “We’re throwing a precinct prom.”

Silence.

Namjoon didn’t even blink. “We can never just be a police precinct, can we?”

“Nope!” Hoseok beamed. “Listen, I saw the 12th Precinct do it last month, and apparently it boosted morale, camaraderie, and community presence. Plus, we haven’t had a real social event since the holiday party where Jimin got wine drunk and tried to do the worm.”

“That’s called team bonding,” Jimin said proudly.

“Morale has been low,” Jin added thoughtfully. “And I never got to be prom king in high school, so I support this.”

Taehyung perked up. “Wait, is it just us? Like the eight of us? That sounds depressing.”

“It’s not just us,” Hoseok said, already pulling out a color-coded flyer. “We’re inviting neighboring precincts, off-duty dispatchers, a few local fire departments…”

“I’ll go if there’s a chocolate fountain,” Yoongi muttered.

“There will be,” Hoseok said, deadly serious. “And a DJ. And slow dances. And I’m putting Jin in charge of the crown ceremony.”

“Oh I knew I was getting a tiara,” Jin whispered, smug.

But before anyone could ride the serotonin train for too long, Taehyung tilted his head dramatically between Jungkook and you — still seated apart, both stiff and silent.

“Soooo… not to be messy,” Taehyung said, swirling his pen, “but is anyone else clocking the full rom-com breakup tension in the room?”

Everyone was tense.

Jungkook stood up without a word.

And walked out.

Straight down the hall, out of sight.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, then stood too — calmer, but no less affected. You quietly excused yourself and walked out the opposite direction toward the restroom.

The silence left behind was deafening.

Yoongi sipped his coffee and leaned back. “Jesus.”

Jin leaned in. “Okay but like… did they break up?”

“Were they even together?” Jimin whispered.

“I swore I saw them sharing a protein bar on Friday,” Taehyung added.

“I saw them come in holding hands once,” Jin stage-whispered. “They let go fast but I saw.”

“Wait, that was real?” Jimin gasped.

Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m gonna need noise-canceling headphones to survive the rest of the week,” he muttered.

Yoongi hummed thoughtfully. “They’re lovers in crisis.”

“Don’t say that like it’s poetic,” Jin hissed.

“I think I liked it better when they were just sexually frustrated,” Jimin said.

“Same,” Taehyung nodded. “At least then the tension had hope. Now it just smells like heartbreak.”

Yoongi raised his mug. “To pain.”

“Can we focus?” Namjoon barked. “People. Prom. Assignments.”

But no one was listening.

Because now everyone wanted to know what the hell was going on with you and Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting on the bench next to the vending machine. It was the one by the back hallway, technically out of order, but he liked it because it was quiet. And because no one ever came back here.

Except, of course, for Kim Seokjin — human bloodhound for emotional instability.

“Found you,” Jin said, rounding the corner like he was entering a final boss battle. “I followed the trail of tragic silence and excessive cologne.”

Jungkook didn’t look up. He was slouched over, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“She said she’s not my girlfriend.”

Jin blinked. “Okay, I’m gonna need more context.”

“She said it at our date,” Jungkook continued, voice low, almost dazed. “I took her on an actual date, not some bet bullshit. Told her she looked beautiful. Kissed her like I do every morning. We left in the same car. And then I said something dumb calling her, ‘My girlfriend,’ and she—she just blinked at me.”

He finally looked up at Jin, eyes red-rimmed. “Like it shocked her. Like I’d said something wrong.”

“Oh, Jungkook,” Jin said softly, already sitting beside him.

“I wasn’t trying to label her. I mean, I was, but like softly! I didn’t even say it at work or anything, it was just us. And she acted like it meant she was failing at something. Like liking me was some kind of weakness.”

Jin winced. “Yikes.”

“And I get it,” Jungkook said quickly. “She’s careful. She’s proud of what she does and doesn’t want anyone thinking she got here because of me or something stupid. But I didn’t expect her to be… embarrassed?”

“She’s not embarrassed of you,” Jin said gently.

“She didn’t even try to explain!” Jungkook’s voice cracked. “She just sat there like she couldn’t breathe. And I didn’t want to push, so I dropped it. I paid the bill and drove her home and didn’t say anything. I haven’t texted her, Jin. It’s been three days and I’ve never gone that long without talking to her.”

Jin watched him for a second. “You love her.”

Jungkook gave a pained laugh, looking away.

“I didn’t mean to. Not like this. I was fine before. I liked my life. I liked me. But then she showed up and made everything fun and beautiful and loud in the best way. She set six alarms and dragged me to taco trucks at midnight and left her earrings in my bathroom and none of it was on purpose but I just…”

He inhaled sharply.

“I want to be hers. Officially. I want to call her mine and not feel like I’m gonna ruin her whole career just because I’m proud to love her.”

Silence stretched between them for a beat.

Then Jin clapped him on the back, not hard, but firm.

“You’re a dumbass,” he said.

Jungkook gave a watery laugh. “I know.”

“But you’re a dumbass who’s trying. And she’s scared. That’s not your fault.”

“I just want her to choose me.”

“She did,” Jin said. “Every morning she lets you in. Every night she lets you stay. You just caught her at a bad moment.”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose. “I don’t want to let her go.”

“Then don’t,” Jin shrugged. “But don’t wallow here, either. You’re not a tragic poet. You’re Jeon Jungkook, love-sick cop with too many biceps. Go work on your case. Let her breathe. She’ll come back.”

Jungkook looked at him. “You really think so?”

Jin smiled. “Bro. She saw you in those tactical goggles and still wants to hang out with you. She’s yours. She’s just figuring it out.”

And for the first time all weekend, Jungkook let himself believe it.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, fists pressed against the edge of the sink, eyes rimmed red and glassy.

God, you look like a mess.

Your mascara’s smudged. Your nose is pink. And your chest is tight like your ribs forgot how to expand. You take a shaky breath, but it catches halfway up your throat. That tight, awful burn of unshed tears claws behind your eyes again. You blink fast. Swallow hard.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry at work.

But the truth is… you haven’t stopped since Friday night.

Because it’s not just the fight. It’s not even the label. It’s the fact that you miss him. And he looked at you like you broke something inside of him.

Stupid. You were so stupid.

You grip the sink tighter. The cold porcelain digs into your skin, grounding you.

“Get it together,” you whisper to yourself. “You’re a detective. Not a damn teenage girl.”

You’ve worked too hard for this. You’ve built a reputation of being sharp, unshakeable, steady. You cannot fall apart over a boy. Not even one who makes you coffee and kisses your neck and tells you he wanted to make room for you in his life.

You shut your eyes. Exhale.

Then you force yourself upright, reach into your pocket for a tissue, and dab the worst of the smudge away. You don’t look perfect but you look like you can breathe again.

You straighten your shoulders.

You’re fine.

But when you open the bathroom door, Jimin’s standing there waiting.

You blink at him. “Were you-”

“Posted up like a concerned parent,” he says quickly, shrugging one shoulder. “Just checking on you.”

You hesitate. “I’m fine.”

He frowns, not buying it for a second. “Look, I’m sorry about Tae earlier. He’s a lovable idiot, but still an idiot.”

You nod. “It’s okay. I just… needed a minute.”

Jimin softens. “I know I joke a lot. Tease you and Jungkook all the time, it’s like half my personality at this point. But I want you to know I actually care. About both of you.”

That nearly cracks you again. You manage a small nod, eyes glancing down at your shoes.

“I like him,” you say quietly. “I really, really like him.”

“I know,” Jimin says, voice gentle.

You look up, startled.

He smiles. “We all know. And he does too. Trust me, he’s been insufferable about it.”

You huff a breath, half-laugh, half-sob. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Jimin. I just… I don’t want to ruin anything. I don’t want to look weak.”

Jimin steps forward, resting a hand lightly on your arm.

“Liking someone who makes you better isn’t weak,” he says. “It’s brave.”

You nod, biting your lip, heart swelling with gratitude.

“Come on,” he says, nodding back toward the bullpen. “Let’s go act like nothing’s wrong while everyone definitely suspects everything is.”

You smile faintly. “Business as usual, huh?”

“Exactly. And hey you look good, even when you cry.”

You roll your eyes, and he grins.

You and Jimin step into the bullpen, and it’s like all the oxygen leaves the room.

Yoongi glances up from his paperwork, blinking slowly like he can smell the drama. Taehyung’s perched on the edge of a desk like a middle schooler in detention, waiting for someone to crack. Jin’s pretending to be very invested in whatever’s on his monitor except it’s upside down.

And Jungkook?

He doesn’t even look up.

Your stomach does an annoying little twist.

He’s sitting at his usual desk, lips pressed tight, eyes on a folder he’s not really reading. You can tell. His thumb’s been brushing the same corner of the page for a full minute.

You almost don’t take your seat. It feels weird sitting so near him but so far away. But you do. And you pretend not to notice the way his leg bounces under the desk.

The room is dead silent.

Until Hoseok bursts in.

“Okay, so I’ve finalized a theme, and—why is the vibe in here so... tension-y?” His smile falters as he looks around at everyone staring at their desks like their lives depend on it. “What is going on?”

No one answers. Yoongi sips his coffee and raises a brow.

“Did someone die?” Hoseok asks. “Did I miss a group text?”

“No one died,” Jin mutters. “But love might’ve.”

You want to crawl under the floor.

Taehyung raises his hand like he’s in school. “Is the prom still happening, or…?”

“Yes!” Hoseok claps his hands together like a preschool teacher trying to refocus the class. “Prom is still on, thank you, Taehyung. We will not let emotional turmoil ruin themed events. Not on my watch.”

Namjoon pokes his head out of his office. “What emotional turmoil?”

Hoseok waves him off. “Nothing! Everything’s fine!”

You glance sideways at Jungkook, and for a fraction of a second, his eyes flick to yours. It’s enough to make your breath hitch, but then he looks away again, jaw clenched.

You hate this. This weird silence. This fake normal. It’s like everyone knows something went wrong, but no one’s allowed to mention it directly. Like a minefield of feelings.

“Anyway,” Hoseok continues, clearly trying to distract, “the theme is: One Night Only. Which is cheesy but also accurate. So dust off your formal wear and prepare for snacks, music, and Jin’s unsolicited prom king campaign.”

“I already made buttons,” Jin says seriously.

You almost smile. Almost.

But your heart’s still heavy, and your hands feel cold, and Jungkook still won’t look at you.

And all you can think is: I miss you.

You find him in the hallway outside the evidence locker, alone for once.

He’s fiddling with the vending machine like it personally wronged him. You watch as he hits the Cheetos button three times with unnecessary force before sighing and just leaning his forehead against the glass.

It’s pathetic. You love him.

You step forward before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Hey.”

He doesn’t turn around. “Hey.”

You wait, hope bubbling stupidly in your throat. He doesn’t look at you, just straightens up and grabs the chips when they finally fall with a thud.

“I-I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” you begin, voice gentle, quiet, breaking around the edges. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like what we have isn’t real. I just… panicked. And I said things I didn’t mean and,”

“Don’t.” He says it sharp, clipped. Finally turns to face you, but his eyes don’t soften. “You said what you meant.”

Your stomach twists. “That’s not fair.”

He shrugs, tearing the bag open like it’s your heart.

“You made it pretty clear. You’re not my girlfriend. I got it.”

“Jungkook-”

“I just needed to hear you say it, I guess.” He shakes his head, not angry, just… tired. “So thanks for the clarity.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The hallway feels smaller than usual.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He finally looks at you.

And it’s the worst part.

Because his expression is unreadable. Because you’ve seen every version of Jungkook, flirty, smug, giddy, loving but this one is blank. Careful.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he says, too evenly. “You just helped me understand what this was.”

You want to scream. You want to throw yourself at him and say no, no, that’s not what I meant. But the words get caught somewhere in your chest, tangled up in fear and guilt and the leftover ache from watching him smile at you like you were everything.

Now he just walks past you.

And you stand there, jaw clenched, staring at the floor.

This is what it feels like to lose him in slow motion.

You spend the entire day thinking about how stupid it was to say what you said. How it came out all wrong. You didn’t sleep the night after the date. You cried into your pillow like a teenager with a crush and no happy ending. You wanted to text him—desperately—but what could you say?

Everyday after that Monday followed a similar pattern, but it was getting harder and harder for you to pretend like you didn’t want to be with Jungkook.

You stare at him across the bullpen. He doesn’t even glance at you.

You bring him a coffee during break like you used to. Set it beside his desk with a quiet, “Hey.” He gives a nod. Doesn’t even say thanks. It stings.

Jin passes by you a few minutes later and mumbles, “He drank the whole thing though. That has to mean something.”

You’d hold onto the little things your other coworkers would say. The vibe in the precinct had definitely taken a hit. Everyone trying to lessen Jungkook's and your pain.

You’re grabbing files when Taehyung shows up beside you. “He’s not mad,” he says quietly on Tuesday. “He’s hurt.”

You don’t reply. You just hand him the folder and walk off.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word to you.

That night, you stay late just to finish case notes alone. You’re afraid if you go home, you’ll start crying again. Hoseok sees you and says gently, “You know, healing isn’t just about forgiveness. It’s about being brave enough to make things right too.”

You nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’ve never felt this small in your entire life.

But on Wednesday you try again. You leave a file on his desk, purposefully choosing one he needs, placing a post-it note with a little smiley face. Nothing too much. Just familiar. Safe.

Jungkook takes the file and closes it silently. Doesn’t even look your way.

Jimin watches this from across the bullpen and comes to you later. “He listens to Love Songs That Hurt playlists every night. I know because he made me listen to one called ‘Heartbroken in Handcuffs.’”

You give a weak laugh. “I messed up.”

“You were scared,” Jimin shrugs. “You’re only human.”

Finally by Thursday he spoke to you but part of you wishes he hadn’t.

The fluorescent lights in the evidence room buzz overhead, matching the static in your chest. You shuffle files across the table, pretending you’re focused, even though the only thing you’re really doing is stealing glances at Jungkook from across the room.

“Remember the time we found Yoongi asleep in here?” you offer lightly, forcing a chuckle. “I think he claimed he was meditating.”

Jungkook doesn’t even crack a smile. Doesn’t even look up.

You try again. “And then remember when you—”

“Maybe we just shouldn’t talk,” he says, cold and clipped.

You freeze. “Seriously?” you breathe, lips parting. “That’s how we’re doing this now?”

He stays silent, and something in you snaps.

“I’m not the only one who messed this up,” you mutter, arms crossed tightly.

That gets his attention. His eyes snap to yours, wounded and sharp. “What did I do wrong?”

“There’s not always a right or wrong, Jungkook,” you argue, voice rising, “but come on. If this didn’t work out, I’d be the one who lost everything.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you insist, stepping forward. “You have seniority. People respect you. But me? I’d be the girl who fell for her partner and made it messy.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling. “Who the hell goes into something already planning how it’s going to end?”

“I do!” you shout. “I have to! People have been whispering about us since day one, and maybe that doesn’t matter to you, maybe no one here cares, but other precincts, higher ups? I’d be the one labeled unprofessional. Emotional. A liability.”

Jungkook presses his lips together. Says nothing.

You soften, stepping even closer. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I know I messed up. I just,” You choke. “I can’t stand not talking to you.”

His voice is strained when he finally answers, “It’s hard on me too.”

“You chose not to talk to me.”

He scoffs under his breath, like the words physically hit him. “Are you serious right now?”

His tone sharpens, frustration bubbling up like a geyser.

“What do you want me to do, Y/n?” he bursts out. “Ignore how I feel about you? Go back to pretending I’m okay with breadcrumbs when I’m starving for you?”

Your heart stumbles.

“I meant everything I said to you,” he goes on, chest heaving. “I let you in. I showed you sides of me no one’s ever seen. I don’t take relationships seriously, but I take you seriously. And now? I can’t even look at you without feeling like I’m about to break.”

You whisper his name, “Jungkook—”

But he cuts you off, louder now, hurt tearing through every word.

“No! Do you know how awful it is to feel like you’re never going to be enough for someone?” His voice cracks. “I get it. I’ll never understand what it’s like to be you, to be a female cop. I know that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to feel, doesn’t mean I don’t get to be angry and heartbroken and so fucking tired of this.”

You blink through tears, voice trembling. “What do you want me to do?”

He stares at you for a long moment, and when he speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. But it hits harder than anything else.

“If you ever cared about me… but don’t want to be with me… then leave me alone.”

You don’t chase him this time. You can’t.

You just stand there, in the middle of dusty files and fluorescent lights, crying into your hands like a rookie again.

It doesn’t even startle you when you feel arms wrap around your shoulders, already knowing who it is the second you’re pulled gently into the embrace.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, holding you close, letting your body shake in his arms while your tears soak into the sleeve of his shirt. His touch is steady, grounding.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, unsure if it’s to him or to yourself.

Yoongi just sighs softly. “You’re smart. You’re tough. You’re good at your job,” he says, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “But you’re being stupid.”

You blink up at him, raw and defenseless.

“I’ve seen it all,” he adds. “Since the beginning. Since you called him cute when you thought no one was listening. Since you sat here giggling about your matching bracelets after that stupid bet-date. You act like no one noticed—but we did.”

Your heart twists painfully in your chest.

“I saw the way he looked at you when you didn’t know he was watching,” Yoongi goes on, voice calm but steady. “I saw the way you looked at him when he wasn’t. You two have been circling each other like idiots for months. Hell, he glows when you’re in the room.”

He gives a small, crooked smile. “It’s gross, honestly. But also kind of sweet.”

You sniffle, managing the tiniest laugh through the ache.

“You’re scared,” he says. “I get it. But you can’t let fear stop you from going after what you want. Not when it’s this real.”

You press your lips together, feeling the weight of his words.

“You two are already in it,” he finishes, squeezing your shoulder. “Might as well say it out loud.”

You swallow hard, throat still tight. “What if I already messed it up?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Then fix it. You’re a cop, not a coward.”

You laugh again, a little more real this time, even through the tears.

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

He starts walking away, calling over his shoulder with a dry tone, “I’m too old for this.”

You didn’t pick the black dress just because it was sleek and made you feel like you might actually survive this night without crumbling.

You picked it because Jimin said Jungkook liked you in black.

Your heels click against the floor of the decorated common room, a budget prom miracle of fairy lights, mismatched streamers, and Jin’s glitter-cursed DIY photo booth.

Everyone's dressed just a little nicer than usual, drinks in hand, music playing low under the buzz of chatter. Hoseok’s beaming like a proud pageant mom, flitting around in a sequin blazer, and Jin is already holding a clipboard, muttering something about ballots for King and Queen.

You smile at them all. It feels easy. Until it doesn’t.

Because the one person you’re here for hasn’t shown up yet.

“You look amazing, by the way,” Taehyung says, walking by with two cupcakes and a knowing look. “If he doesn’t say it, I will.”

“Say what?” you ask, even though you know.

“That he’s an idiot. But also, that he’s obsessed with you.”

You shake your head with a laugh and keep scanning the crowd.

Namjoon finds you before you spot Jungkook, dressed in his usual pressed slacks and a relaxed blazer, a paper plate of chips in hand like the captain of vibes that he is.

“So… dating in the workplace?” you ask casually.

“Can’t say I didn’t see this coming.” he answers, biting back a smile.

Your stomach flips. “Gonna reprimand me?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I might print out some HR paperwork to be safe. But other than that? No.”

You glance down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I was scared. He was brave first. I owe it to him to try now.”

Namjoon nods, sincere. “You two are good together. Doesn’t take a precinct full of detectives to see that.”

Before you can respond, a hush of recognition settles over the room—and then you see him.

Jungkook.

All black from head to toe, tailored jacket, silver chain peeking out, hair tousled just enough to be intentional. He looks like sin dressed in heartbreak. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he’s scanning the room like he’d rather be anywhere else. The moment his eyes land on you, he stops.

But then someone calls his name—Hoseok, maybe—and he breaks the contact.

It takes the whole damn party for you to get close to him.

He avoids you like you’re a cold case. Slipping past conversations. Smiling politely. Never looking directly at you. Like if he stares too long he’ll break again.

You’re done.

You follow him toward the hallway, slipping out of the main room, and when you finally corner him, he turns around sharply.

“I’m leaving,” he mutters, voice low and guarded.

“The hell you are.”

“How’re you gonna stop me?” he asks, frustrated.

You open your purse and pull out your cuffs. Let them dangle in front of him. “Try me, Jeon. I will handcuff you to a filing cabinet if I have to.”

Despite himself, his brow twitches in amusement. “You would.”

“I absolutely would.”

You take a breath. “But I’d rather just talk. Please.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at you yet.

So you step closer, voice softer.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry for being so difficult. I like you, I’ve known that for so long but I kept making excuses because I was scared.” You take a deep breath looking at him as he stares at his shoes.

“I want this. And I don’t care who knows. I’ll be your partner, your girlfriend, your damn precinct prom date, whatever the hell you wanna call me. I just know that I want to be with you.”

He finally looks up.

And god, he looks wrecked.

But hopeful.

“You mean that?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

You nod. “I mean it.”

In one smooth motion, Jungkook closes the distance, pulling you into a kiss so slow and full of relief it knocks the air from your lungs.

It’s not desperate like the others.

It’s not about needing to prove anything.

It’s soft. It's real.

The second you pull back, the squad cheers from the hallway behind you. You turn around to see Hoseok tearing up, Jimin holding out a fake bouquet, and Jin shouting, “AND THAT’S OUR PROM KING AND QUEEN, EVERYONE.”

Jungkook just laughs, forehead against yours. “I guess we’re official now.”

You grin. “We’re annoyingly out loud.”

The cheering dies down eventually. Hoseok wipes his eyes dramatically. Taehyung mutters something about losing a bet. Jin yells “CORONATION!” and waves a plastic crown in the air.

But you barely hear any of it. Not with Jungkook’s arms around you.

Not when his forehead is still pressed to yours, both of you slightly breathless, blinking in the weight of what just happened.

You smile. “Told you I’d make a scene.”

Jungkook chuckles softly. “You always do.”

Then the music shifts, something slow, something hazy and nostalgic , and he pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes scan your face like he’s memorizing it, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Dance with me?”

You don’t say yes. You just step into him.

His hands find your waist as yours loop behind his neck. You sway together, slow and gentle in the glowing hallway of a fake prom thrown by real people who care too much. He rests his chin against your temple for a moment, the weight of him grounding you. You inhale. He smells like soap and cologne.

It’s peaceful.

It’s warm.

It’s everything.

And then he speaks, voice quiet and reverent like a confession in a church.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your brows pinching. “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

He shakes his head, jaw tense. “I always want you. Even when I tell you to leave me alone.”

Your heart lurches.

“I was so scared,” you whisper, the words heavy with truth. “Not of you. Just… of how real this got. Of how much I need you. I’ve worked so hard to prove I can do this job, that I belong here. I didn’t want anyone to think I was just-”

“A weak girl,” he finishes gently, without judgment.

You nod.

Jungkook’s hands squeeze your waist. “You’re the best detective I know. You’re smart and brave and relentless. If anyone thinks less of you because you care about me? That’s on them. But you… you never have to prove anything to me.”

Your eyes sting.

“You made me feel like I was yours,” he adds, softer now. “And then suddenly I wasn’t.”

“I know,” you say, voice shaking. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away. I just didn't know how to be brave and scared at the same time.”

His eyes soften. “Then let’s be both. Together.”

You stare at him for a second. Then nod, just once.

His lips find your forehead. Your cheek. And then your lips again, gentle and sure.

In the corner of your eye, you see the squad watching from the hallway entrance.

But you don’t care.

Because you’re dancing.

You’re in his arms.

To Jungkook you were practically perfect. You were extremely intelligent, capable, determined, beautiful, and courageous. All of the characteristics that made up his ideal woman. The only thing that Jungkook would consider your worst trait… the way you set 5 alarms and ignored 4 of them until the last one at 7:30am.

There was the 6:30am, followed by the 6:50am, 7:05am, and his personal favorite the 7:08am. Because why the hell not would you have an alarm ring three minutes after you ignored the last one.

For the last two months every morning that he spent in your bed, he would suffer through the blaring of the alarms until it was finally 7:30am and you would wake up.

He tried to just turn them off but you very grumpily explained that you liked to gradually wake up. You needed to hear the alarm and know you could go back to sleep for even three minutes if you wanted to. It made zero sense to Jungkook but he figured if that was the only habit of yours that irked him then he could do this for the rest of his life. 

This morning it was the 6:50am alarm that woke you up as you stretched in his arms. Usually Jungkook woke up at the first alarm, so he would get to lay in bed, enjoying cuddling you, while the horrendous ringer played in the background,

As he felt you stir awake, you reached to turn off the alarm. Jungkook mentally doing a backflip. 

He pulls you closer to his chest as you put your phone down on the nightstand again. “Good morning” he says, voice still raspy from sleep which was your favorite flavor of Jungkook to hear.

“Morning handsome” you reply, hands coming to hold his arms over your waist.

He snuggles into your neck, leaving a kiss there and grinning against your skin. “Mmm, you smell like sleep and sugar.”

“Sugar?”

“Yeah,” he hums, tightening his grip, “Sweet. And impossible to let go of.”

You giggle, still not fully awake but loving the way his voice wraps around you like a second blanket.

“We have to get up,” you mumble, though you make no effort to move.

“Five more minutes of cuddles” he groans, but you hear the pout in his voice.

“You said that yesterday.” you sigh turning to face him laughing slightly as you see him glare at the loss of your body pressed against his.

“And we were only late by… ten minutes.”

“Twenty.”

“…Tomato, tomato.”

Eventually, you untangle yourself from his arms with a dramatic sigh and roll out of bed. 

Jungkook groans like you’ve just broken his heart. “Where are you going?”

“To brush my teeth, you menace.”

“Hey! Rude,” he calls after you. “This menace rubbed your feet during Love Island. I deserve kisses!”

“I deserve five more minutes without your morning breath. C’mon grumpy baby.” You nod your head as he stands to join you in the bathroom.

The two of you move with an almost practiced ease. You grab his toothbrush, putting toothpaste on it before handing it and repeating the same to yours. Brushing your teeth in tandem, he rinses first, grabbing the hand towel to pat your mouth dry before giving your first ‘clean kiss’ of the day as you liked to call them.

He heads to the kitchen when you decide to shower, wanting to get a head start on breakfast after changing for work, more of his clothes magically taking up space in a drawer that so happened to be empty waiting for him to fill it up.

When you walk out of your room in your robe, finding him standing at the stove, already making coffee and scrambling eggs like he lives here. Which, well… he kinda does.

You slip behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Hi again,” you murmur.

He turns just enough to kiss your forehead. “Hi, my sleepy angel.”

“That’s a new one.” you laugh lightly at the pet name.

“I’m workshopping it.”

You watch him plate breakfast like it’s a high-end brunch — one egg each, toast, fruit, and exactly three strawberries on yours, the way you like it. “You spoil me.”

“You let me.” he smirks, placing your plates down and grabbing the coffee mugs.

“You’d still do it if I didn’t.”

“Correct.”

You both eat at the counter, trading bites of fruit and soft “mmmm” noises. He keeps brushing crumbs from your lips with his thumb, and you keep catching his hand and kissing his fingers.

At one point, he checks the time and stands. “Okay, Detective Sweet Cheeks. Go change. We’re still on the clock.”

You arch a brow. “Sweet Cheeks?”

“You wore those silk shorts last night,” he says matter-of-factly, “and the nickname felt spiritually accurate.”

You lightly smack his arm, laughing, but you still press a kiss to his cheek before heading to your room.

As you change, Jungkook straightens the living room a bit, grabs his badge, then flops dramatically onto the couch when you walk back out in your work outfit.

He whistles. “Damn. My girlfriend’s hotter than everyone else at the precinct.”

You pause. “Girlfriend?”

He freezes for half a second, then recovers with a cocky grin. “Detective Partner-With-Benefits-Who-Also-Wears-My-Hoodies-And-Kisses-Me-On-The-Mouth,” he clarifies.

You toss a pillow at him. “Dork.”

“Your dork.”

You both laugh, tension averted… for now.

He slings an arm around your shoulders as you grab your bags, and the two of you head out the door together—early this time.

By one whole minute.

The briefing room buzzed with morning chatter as the squad filtered in, half-asleep and fully unprepared for whatever was about to unfold. Jin was already on his third coffee, Yoongi had sunglasses on indoors for some reason no one dared question, and Taehyung was pacing like a substitute teacher who’d planned a surprise pop quiz.

You and Jungkook entered side by side, not touching, not overly smiling but somehow still giving off the unmistakable air of people who had definitely been tangled in each other’s limbs just a few hours ago. Everyone pretended not to notice, but they absolutely noticed.

Namjoon stepped up to the front of the room, flipping through his notes with an exasperated sigh. “Alright, let’s keep this short. Half of you look like you didn’t sleep, and the other half are lying about it.”

“I didn’t lie,” Yoongi muttered from the back, eyes hidden behind tinted lenses. “I just didn’t sleep at all.”

“Sounds healthy,” Jin deadpanned.

Namjoon ignored them and cleared his throat. “Precinct highlights for the week. First up  congratulations to Detective Kim Taehyung for closing the Montgomery burglary case.”

Taehyung stopped pacing and beamed like he’d just won an Oscar. “Thank you. It was a high-stakes game of psychological chess. Took everything I had.”

Jin snorted. “Didn’t the guy burst into tears and confess a minute into questioning?”

“That was strategy,” Taehyung snapped, pointing accusingly. “Emotional warfare. I wore him down.”

“He wore himself down,” Jimin mumbled around a granola bar.

Namjoon moved on like a teacher trying not to lose the class. “Next solid work from Jeon and L/N on the Cordova investigation. Clean arrests, great surveillance, smooth undercover work.”

Jungkook nudged you gently with his elbow, that annoyingly cute smirk playing on his lips. “You were the one who spotted the drop.”

You grinned. “Only because you couldn’t stop flirting with the suspect’s wife.”

“That was method acting!”

“Yeah, yeah.” you say rolling your eyes as he pats your shoulder.

Jin let out a mock gasp. “Honestly, you two could’ve just gotten married on the spot and saved us all the trouble.”

Jimin clapped once. “Wait. Plot twist they already did. Vegas elopement. That’s why she’s glowing.”

Yoongi didn’t even lift his head. “Let me know where to send the registry.”

Namjoon sighed again, a long-suffering sound he made at least twice a day. “Okay, moving on. You’re not even assigned together today.”

That got both your heads to turn.

“What?” Jungkook blinked.

“You’re both taking separate cases. Jeon, you’re with Park. L/N, you’re with the Sarge.”

Taehyung immediately started booing.

“I’m always professional,” you said with a half-smile, resting your chin in your hand.

“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed, totally not pouting. “I’m fine not working with the person I enjoy the most. Totally fine.”

Taehyung started clapping in slow, sarcastic rhythm. “So brave. So composed. An inspiration to emotionally stunted men everywhere.”

“Want me to keep a tally of how many times he says her name on the case?” Jimin asked Yoongi.

“You’ll run out of paper,” Yoongi replied.

“Please,” Namjoon muttered, “just go.”

Hoseok grinned at you as he stood. “Come on, partner. Let’s go solve crime while your not-boyfriend sulks.”

“I’m not sulking!” Jungkook protested.

You leaned over with a smirk. “See you at lunch, Jeon.”

He softened instantly. “Can’t wait.”

The room collectively groaned.

“Someone get them a reality show,” Jin muttered.

“Or a soundproof office,” Yoongi added.

“Or just a wedding date already,” Jimin finished.

Namjoon set his papers down with a thud. “I give up.”

The case wasn’t anything flashy—just a string of suspicious forged checks being cashed at multiple banks across the city. A little tedious, a lot of paperwork, and enough footwork to kill a pair of shoes. But you liked working with Hoseok. He had a lightness to him, a calm confidence that made every stakeout feel like a picnic.

“You’ve been smiling more lately,” he said casually as you both reviewed CCTV footage in the evidence room.

You kept your eyes on the screen. “Maybe I’m just becoming a more joyful person.”

He chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe someone’s putting that glow on your face.”

You gave him a slow side glance. “If I say it’s moisturizer, will you believe me?”

“Nope. But I respect privacy.” Hoseok leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “You don’t have to tell me anything, really. I just like seeing you happy.”

You softened, touched by the sincerity in his tone. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“Anytime, detective.”

He didn’t push. He never did. But even without saying Jungkook’s name, you knew he knew. And somehow, the fact that he wasn’t judging or teasing you about it made the whole thing feel a little more... real.

Meanwhile, Jimin and Jungkook’s case looked more like a buddy cop comedy directed by someone on three Red Bulls.

“Okay,” Jimin said, leaning back in the chair in the briefing room with a smirk. “So which of her products did you start using first? Her toner? Her shampoo?”

Jungkook didn’t look up from his phone. “None of your business.”

“Oh, it’s exactly my business when you show up smelling like lilac mist and heartache.”

“Shut up.”

Jimin grinned. “You know I only tease you because you’re obviously in love.”

Jungkook snorted. “She’s not even my girlfriend.”

That made Jimin pause.

“Wait. What?”

Jungkook glanced at him.

Jimin leaned forward. “You’re kidding, right? You two look like you’re starring in the next Notebook. You’re seriously not dating?!”

Jungkook let his head thud back against the headrest, groaning. “That’s what I’m saying! It’s confusing, right?!”

Jimin blinked. “Wait... do you think you're not dating? Or is this, like, a mutually shared delusion?”

“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered again, standing up and walking out before Jimin could see how red his ears were.

You weren’t expecting to bump into him—not this soon after your case with Hoseok—but there he was, rounding the corner into the hallway at the exact moment you were heading for the break room fridge.

You both froze, instinctively smiling.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, soft and casual, like he hadn’t been thinking about you all day.

“Hey,” you replied, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “How was Jimin?”

“A menace,” he deadpanned. “As usual.”

You chuckled as you pulled open the fridge and reached for a bottle of water. But before you could walk off, Jungkook leaned beside the open door, hand still on it.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice dropped lower, meant only for you.

You raised a brow. “Sure?”

He glanced down the hallway, making sure no one was close by, before looking at you again.

“That thing you said this morning. About not being my girlfriend.” He didn’t say it like an accusation, but it clearly hadn’t left his mind.

You felt your stomach dip. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t have to,” he muttered, looking off to the side. “Just weird, that’s all. Feels like we’re in a relationship, but maybe I missed the memo.”

You crossed your arms, unsure whether to laugh or throw something. “We never had a memo.”

“Maybe we need one.”

His tone was teasing but undercut with something serious. You didn’t know what to say—so you didn’t. You just looked at him, your pulse thudding in your ears.

“Jungkook,” you sigh.

“I know,” he cut in quickly, then added, “It’s just… it stuck with me. I know we haven’t talked about labels or anything. But sometimes it feels like we’re dating and then... you say something like that.”

You shifted, your fingers tightening around the bottle. “I didn’t mean it like that. It was just a joke.”

“It didn’t feel like a joke.” His voice was quiet, not bitter—just honest. “It kind of feels like you don’t want people to think you’re mine.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling your chest tighten a little. “It’s not that I don’t want to be yours. It’s just… complicated. And I’m still figuring it out.”

Jungkook nodded, lips pressed into a tight line. “Okay.”

You hated the way that sounded. Like retreat. Like disappointment.

“Hey,” you said gently, stepping a little closer. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

His expression softened just a little. He nodded again, this time more sure, and backed away like nothing happened. Just two coworkers grabbing water.

But your heart was already racing. And his hands? Shoved in his pockets to keep from reaching for you.

Back in the briefing room, you sat across from Hoseok with your tablet in hand, but you hadn’t touched it in minutes.

He didn’t look up from the notes he was scribbling, but you could feel his eyes tracking you.

“You good?” he asked casually.

You hesitated, still pretending to read something. “Yeah. Totally.”

“Mm,” he hummed, finally lifting his gaze. “Because this morning you walked in like sunshine and now you’re chewing your cheek like it insulted your mother.”

You sighed and dropped your hand onto the table. “Okay... say a friend of mine—”

“Oh, here we go,” Hoseok muttered, already smiling. “A ‘friend.’”

You ignored him. “This friend works with someone. Same department. Same job. Same everything. They’ve been close for a while. And they’ve… kind of started seeing each other outside of work.”

“Uh huh.”

“She likes him. Like, really likes him. And he likes her too. It’s obvious. But the thing is she doesn’t want people to think the only reason she’s doing well at work is because she’s… attached to him.”

Hoseok’s smile dropped. He folded his hands in front of him, his whole demeanor softening.

“She’s worked really hard to be seen as competent and capable. She doesn’t want to lose that just because someone sees them holding hands or leaving together one night. Especially in a place like this.”

You bit the inside of your cheek again, avoiding his eyes.

“She’s not ashamed of him,” you added quietly. “She just doesn’t want to be seen as... unprofessional. Like she can’t separate personal and work.”

Hoseok leaned forward, nodding slowly. “And this coworker wants to be more official?”

You nodded. “He’s ready to call her his girlfriend.”

“And your friend freaked out?”

You sighed. “She didn’t freak out. She just... said she wasn’t.”

Hoseok gave you a look. “And he took it personally.”

“She didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what he heard.”

There was a long pause.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You wanna know what I think?”

You looked up, wary. “Not really.”

“Too bad.” He grinned. “I think your friend is trying so hard to be taken seriously that she forgot why she’s being taken seriously. It’s not because she kept things hidden. It’s because she’s a badass. Smart, tough, dependable. People know she earned her spot.”

You blinked, processing his words.

“I also think,” he added gently, “that if she’s really into this guy and it sounds like she is, she’s gotta stop looking at it like she’s compromising something. Letting someone in doesn’t make you weak. It just means you’re not doing it all alone anymore.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Besides,” he added with a teasing smile, “your friend is obviously a cop. She’s too stubborn to be anything else.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“Anytime,” he said, going back to his notes. “And tell your friend I said she should go kiss her guy and stop being so damn complicated.”

You laughed under your breath, your chest a little lighter.

Back in the bullpen, Jungkook dropped into his chair with an annoyed huff, the wheels of the desk chair screeching louder than necessary. Jimin, who had been half-scrolling through files and half-texting, raised an eyebrow.

“Well, someone’s in a mood.”

“I'm not in a mood,” Jungkook snapped, flipping open the folder in front of him without looking up.

Jimin blinked. “Alright, my bad.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He pulled a pen from behind his ear and started scribbling notes—messy, fast, frustrated. Jimin watched him for another beat before slowly putting his phone down.

“What happened?” he asked, carefully. “Did Y/N—”

“Don’t,” Jungkook cut in, not even glancing up. “Don’t make it a thing.”

Jimin held up his hands. “I’m just saying. You were all hearts and heart eyes earlier, now you’re stabbing that form like it owes you money.”

“It’s nothing,” Jungkook muttered. “Work. Stress. Whatever.”

He flipped to the next page with more force than necessary. Jimin didn’t buy it for a second.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Totally normal behavior for a guy who’s been annoyingly glowing for weeks.”

Jungkook dropped the pen and finally looked at him. “I’m not glowing.”

Jimin gave him a long, deadpan look. “Dude.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw and turned back to the paperwork. “Whatever. I don’t care, it's not like even if I asked her she would wanna date me.”

“Ohhh,” Jimin said, leaning back like it all made sense. “That’s why you’re being mean.”

“I’m not being mean.”

“You just told the copier to ‘shut up’ when it beeped.”

“It was loud,” Jungkook muttered.

Jimin tilted his head, giving him a sympathetic but smug grin. “You’ve got it bad.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just went back to scribbling, jaw tight, eyes on the paper but clearly somewhere else entirely.

The courtyard was quieter than usual—just the soft hum of traffic in the distance and a breeze that barely rustled the trees. You spotted Jungkook sitting alone at your usual bench, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, looking like someone had personally pissed in his protein shake.

You approached with two coffees in hand and a sandwich bag under your arm, dropping both between you before sliding into the seat beside him.

“You’re unusually early,” you said, nudging his knee lightly with yours. “Didn’t think the silent treatment came with a punctual streak.”

He took the coffee without looking at you. “Thanks,” he muttered.

You waited. Let the silence sit between you, stretching long and taut until you finally gave in.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “What’s going on is that I’m the guy you sleep with, make coffee for, wake up next to… and still apparently don’t consider your boyfriend.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how blunt he was. “Jungkook…”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low. “Are we coworkers? Friends with benefits? Romantic snipers who also make out on your couch?”

You sighed, setting your cup down and turning toward him. “Jeon Jungkook. I care about you. You know that.”

“I don’t know what I know,” he said, finally looking at you. “You said this morning you weren’t my girlfriend and it’s been stuck in my head all day.”

You reached across the bench and grabbed his hand. “I like you. You know I do. So what do you need from me to fix this?”

He was quiet for a beat, then said, “Let me take you on a date.”

You blinked. “We hang out all the time.”

He gave you a flat look. “Not a ‘Netflix, hoodie, and make out before midnight’ thing. I want to take you on a real date. Dinner. Public. You in a red dress. Me trying to survive it.”

Your stomach did that annoying flip it always did around him. Your brain screamed. Your heart whispered, Say yes.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. “Okay. We can do that.”

Jungkook let out a slow breath, thumb brushing gently along your hand. “You’re scared.”

“I am,” you admitted. “But I still said yes, didn’t I?”

That earned the smallest smile from him. “Good. Because I already made a reservation.”

“You did not.”

He pulled out his phone, smug, showing you a 7:30pm booking. Friday night. Italian place by the river.

You groaned. “You cocky little shit.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand never left his.

The precinct’s breakroom was still half-asleep. Mugs clinked, the ancient coffee machine groaned, and somewhere in the background Jin was arguing with the vending machine again. Typical Thursday.

You were pouring creamer into your cup when a body pressed lightly against your back.

“Hi gorgeous,” Jungkook whispered, warm breath brushing your ear. His voice was all sleep and sunshine and smugness. “Did I mention you looked hot in my hoodie this morning?”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Only seventeen times before I left the apartment.”

He grinned, looping an arm around your waist to grab the sugar. “Seventeen’s a lucky number. Want to hear it again?”

“No,” you said, deadpan. “But I know you’ll say it anyway.”

“God, you’re so grumpy before caffeine. It’s hot.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You’re gonna be even hotter on our date tomorrow. I’ve already picked out a shirt to match your dress.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “I didn’t even say I was wearing a dress.”

“Yeah, but you will, right?” He gave you the softest puppy look. “Right?”

You didn’t have the heart to say no. Not when he was this excited. Beaming like a human golden retriever.

Which was ironic because internally? You were spiraling.

What the hell are we even doing? You liked him. A lot. But everything was moving fast and you weren’t sure when “sneaky hallway makeouts” turned into “Jungkook planning coordinated outfits.” And yet…

You also didn’t want to stop.

“You’re thinking really loud again,” Jungkook said, kissing your temple gently. “Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

You opened your mouth but thankfully, salvation arrived in the form of Sergeant Hoseok, who appeared behind the door holding a slim case file and a smile that said, I know everything, I just won’t say it yet.

“Hey, you two,” he said casually. “I’ve got a weird one for you. Not urgent, but weird.”

Jungkook perked up, immediately all business. “What’s the case?”

“Suspicious activity at a pawn shop near Lamar and Fifth. The owner says random items have gone missing off-camera. No forced entry. Might be a nothing case, might be techy theft. I thought it could be fun for the dream team.”

He handed the file to you, but raised a brow at both of you like I’m watching you two.

“Thanks, Sarge,” you said, flipping the file open.

Hoseok started walking off but turned back, smirking. “Oh, and try not to flirt too obviously while interrogating civilians.”

Jungkook made a heart with his hands. “No promises”.

The drive to the pawn shop was short, but not short enough to avoid Jungkook’s playlist of suspiciously well-curated love songs.

You turned to him, raising a brow as the opening notes of "Die With a Smile” floated through the speakers.

“Really?” you asked, trying not to smile.

“What?” he said, eyes on the road, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “It’s just a playlist.”

“You called it ‘Golden Hour with Her’.”

He shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Didn’t say who ‘her’ was. Could be anyone.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You looked out the window to hide the flush crawling up your neck. Unfortunately, Jungkook had made it his full-time job to catch every reaction you tried to hide. 

He reached over at a red light, fingers grazing yours on the center console, and gave you the softest look. The kind that made your heart knock around your ribs like it was trying to escape.

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmured.

“Like what?”

“All soft and warm and... here. With me.”

You wanted to respond, but the GPS cheerfully announced your arrival at the pawn shop, and you practically jumped out of the car like it had burned you.

Inside, the shop was cluttered but clean, rows of guitars, dusty coins, and glittering watches lining the glass cases. The owner, a wiry man named Mitch, greeted you both with a wary nod.

“Someone’s stealing from me,” he said before you’d even pulled out your badges. “No sign of break-ins, nothing on the cameras. Just random stuff missing. A necklace one day, a vintage cassette player the next.”

As Mitch rambled, you started scanning the area while Jungkook knelt beside the counter, poking around near the power cords.

“Want me to call in tech?” you asked, kneeling beside him.

“Nah,” he muttered, a flashlight between his teeth. “We’ve got better eyes.”

You couldn’t help but glance sideways at him. “So humble, Detective Jeon.”

He clicked off the flashlight and leaned a little closer. “Can’t help it. I’m in a great mood.”

“You have ‘date mode’ energy,” you muttered, nudging him gently with your elbow.

He nudged back, grinning. “You bring it out in me.”

You both froze when Mitch looked over his shoulder suspiciously, and quickly put some space between you.

“Sorry!” you said in unison.

As Mitch headed to the back to grab the security logs, you and Jungkook used the opportunity to look over the display cases. He bumped your shoulder again and whispered, “We hanging tonight?”

You nodded. “If I survive your playlist.”

He gasped. “Disrespecting my love language? Rude.”

You smirked. “I’ll allow it if you make dinner.”

“Deal. But you have to wear my hoodie again.”

“Just so you can take it off?”

He froze. You didn’t even mean for it to sound so scandalous; it was just the truth. But his ears turned pink, and he looked at you like you just told him he won the lottery.

Before he could respond, Mitch came back and gestured toward the back room.

“This way. I’ll show you the logs.”

Jungkook leaned toward you with a grin. “Race you to solve it first?”

You arched a brow. “You’re on.”

The case wrapped itself up quicker than expected.

Mitch's "mystery thief" turned out to be his part-time nephew, who'd been pocketing small items to pawn elsewhere while dodging the store's cameras by unplugging them briefly during “coffee breaks.” Sloppy, but clever enough to slip by unnoticed for a while.

You filed the incident report while Jungkook double-checked the CCTV timestamps. By the time you got back in the car, the sun had dipped a little lower in the sky, casting golden light across the dashboard.

Jungkook adjusted his rearview and started the engine. “So I was thinking…”

You turned toward him. “That’s new.”

He scoffed. “You’ve got jokes now?”

“You’ve got thoughts now?” you shot back, biting back a smile.

“Cute,” he muttered, pulling out of the parking lot. “I was thinking… you’ve never been to my place.”

“That’s true,” you admitted, tilting your head curiously. “Why’s that?”

He glanced at you. “We always go to yours. It’s great, obviously. I love your… six alarms and your half-stocked fridge.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you saying my hospitality is lacking, Jeon?”

“No, no,” he said quickly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching across the console to find yours. His thumb grazed your knuckles. “I just thought maybe tonight… we could switch it up. Come to mine.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You plan on murdering me?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said smoothly. “But I want you to experience my Egyptian cotton sheets before I do.”

You snorted. “So thoughtful.”

“I know,” he said, giving your hand a soft squeeze. “Though, I will admit… they are a little superior to your Target ones.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he teased, glancing at you with that signature smirk. “I would never complain… but…”

Your eyes narrowed in mock offense. “Wow. First my hospitality, now my bedding?”

He grinned wider, pulling your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss against your fingers.

“I would lay on thumbtacks,” he said softly, “if it meant I got to hold you.”

You stared at him, heart doing somersaults, brain screaming at your body not to melt—but it was far too late.

“…Fine,” you said, pretending to be unmoved. “But if I find a single thumbtack in your bed, I’m calling HR.”

Jungkook was practically buzzing with excitement as he unlocked the door.

“Okay, so it’s not much,” he said as he stepped aside to let you in, “but it’s mine.”

The scent hit you first. Clean linen and subtle hints of citrus. You didn’t know what you were expecting—something more chaotic maybe—but it was immaculate. The apartment was sleek, mostly black and dark wood furniture, minimalist but warm. A shelf ran along one wall filled with an eclectic mix of things: a fully built LEGO Millennium Falcon, a boxed Iron Man glove, a tiny Snoopy figurine, and a couple of pristine albums on display.

“Okay, wait… this is so clean.” You turned in place, eyebrows raised.

He shut the door behind you and grinned proudly. “I clean when I’m nervous.”

“So you’ve been nervous for the past three days?”

“Try the past three weeks,” he replied easily, kicking his shoes off and watching you walk deeper into the space.

You made your way toward a side table against the wall, pausing when you spotted a row of framed photos. His parents. A much younger Jungkook grinning with crooked teeth. One photo had him and another boy, both drenched in sweat, holding up gold medals with wide, matching smiles.

You pointed. “This your brother?”

Jungkook stepped up behind you, his hand landing gently on your waist. “Yeah. Hyunwoo. He was two years older, made it his job to bully me but also made sure no one else ever could.”

You looked closer at the photo. “You definitely have your dad’s jawline. But your mom’s eyes.”

He smiled softly. “That’s what she says too.”

You turned your head to look at him, his face close to yours now. “I wish I could’ve met him.”

His expression faltered just slightly, a fondness in his eyes tinted with something deeper. “Me too.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple before slipping his arms fully around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I wanted you to come here because it’s more than just my place. It’s where I keep the parts of me I don’t always talk about.”

You leaned back into him, heart flipping at how close his voice was. He smelled like his apartment and like his detergent and like him.

“I love your apartment,” you murmured. “It smells so clean. Feels like you.”

“That’s what I think when I’m at yours,” he whispered.

When you turned in his arms, he didn’t hesitate to meet your gaze.

“I know I joke a lot,” he said, voice a little steadier now, “but the truth is… these last couple of months with you have been some of the best of my life. And not because you’re just… in it. But because you’re a part of it. Like you fit.”

You stared at him, cheeks heating, heart fully skipping beats now. “Jungkook…”

“I like you,” he said plainly, like it was the most obvious truth in the universe. “I really, really like you. And I want you to know this isn’t just about Egyptian cotton sheets.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Thank God. Because that would’ve been false advertising.”

He blinked. “Wait… so you don’t want to try the sheets?”

You smirked. “Oh, I do.”

That made him grin—big, bunny-toothed, boyish. He laced his fingers with yours and stepped back toward the hallway.

“Then come on,” he said, tugging you gently along. “Let me ruin you with comfort and a 900-thread-count thread count.”

You raised a brow. “Still murdery.”

“Only with love.”

His room, unsurprisingly, matched the rest of the apartment—neat, minimal, and somehow still cozy. A black bedframe, gray sheets, two perfectly fluffed pillows, and blackout curtains that made it feel like a whole other world.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, amused as Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed and let out a quiet sigh.

“Damn,” you said, eyeing the bed, “these must be the infamous Egyptian cotton sheets.”

Jungkook didn’t reply.

You tilted your head. “What? Don’t tell me they’re actually from Target.”

But he still wasn’t moving, just looking up at you with this dazed, far-off expression. Like he was there, but also... somewhere else entirely.

“Hey,” you said, walking over, hand brushing his shoulder. “You good?”

He blinked, looking up at you like you were a dream come true, and maybe to him, you were. “I’ve pictured this before,” he said, voice low.

You arched a brow. “Me in your bed?”

He nodded slowly, licking his bottom lip. “A lot more than I’ll ever admit.”

You smirked. “You’re so obsessed.”

“Obviously,” he murmured, hands sliding to your hips as he pulled you closer standing up. “Have you seen you?”

You giggled as he leaned up to kiss you, your fingers threading through his hair while his mouth met yours, slow and deliberate. He tasted like mint and something that had you melting with every kiss.

“You know,” you mumbled against his lips, “if these sheets aren’t as soft as you said…”

“I’ll return them immediately,” he whispered back, already kissing down your jaw.

You let him tip you backward until your back hit the mattress, your laughter muffled as he followed, bracing himself above you.

“God, you look so good on my bed,” he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck. “Might be my favorite sight.”

Your hands slipped under his shirt, smoothing over the muscle there. “Simp.”

“Absolutely.” His voice dropped. “Especially for you.”

His hips pressed into yours, and you arched slightly at the contact, grinning as his hands slid under your shirt and along your waist. The kiss deepened, tongues slow, hot, teasing. His fingers dipped below the waistband of your jeans, thumbs hooking just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You know,” you whispered, breaking the kiss briefly, “this isn’t very detective of you.”

“Oh, I’m investigating,” he said, leaning down to bite your lip gently. “Every inch.”

Your laugh turned breathy as he kissed you again, one hand cupping your cheek while the other gripped your hip possessively. You tangled your legs with his, the friction between you building deliciously.

“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered into your mouth. “I could touch you forever.”

You nipped his lower lip. “Then what are you waiting for, Jeon?”

Jungkook’s shirt was long gone. Your own shirt followed a moment later, tossed to the floor without much ceremony. His lips were everywhere, your jaw, shoulder, collarbone. It was like he couldn’t pick which part of you to worship first. You were both laughing quietly in between kisses, flushed and tangled together, your bodies buzzing from the closeness.

“God, your skin’s so soft,” he murmured against your chest, one palm tracing the curve of your waist. “How is that even fair?”

You combed your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly until he groaned. “Just genetically blessed, I guess.”

He nuzzled against your sternum. “You’re a menace.”

“And you can’t get enough.”

He looked up at you with the softest, most adoring smile. “Never.”

For a moment, you just stared at each other. Breathing heavy, skin warm, chests rising and falling in sync. The tension shifted—not gone, but layered now with something unspoken. Something real.

You ran your hand down his chest, feeling the way his abs tightened under your touch, his breath hitching.

And then, slowly, you moved to sit up, pushing him gently until he was leaning back against the pillows. His brows lifted.

“What are you—”

“I need to do something,” you said sweetly, settling between his legs, hands resting on his thighs.

Jungkook stared, lips parted. “Wait. Wait, are you serious right now?”

You tilted your head. “You complaining, Detective?”

“No, ma’am.” His voice cracked slightly. “Not at all.”

You kissed the inside of his thigh first, then higher. Your fingers made quick work of his waistband, and he lifted his hips without question—completely at your mercy. His cock sprang free, hard and already leaking, and the strangled noise he made when you wrapped your hand around him sent a rush straight through you.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, already breathless as you gave him one long, slow stroke.

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “You okay?”

“Not even a little,” he choked, head falling back.

You took him into your mouth, slow at first, just the tip, letting your tongue swirl around it. His fingers immediately gripped the sheets, muscles going taut.

“Baby,” he hissed. “Oh my god”

You hummed around him, watching the way his whole body responded, how his abs flexed and his breath came in shaky bursts. You worked him deeper, one hand pumping in tandem with your mouth while the other gripped his hip to keep him steady.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “So fucking good”

He looked down at you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, gaze dark and reverent.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered. “You already have.”

You sucked him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and he let out a broken moan, his head hitting the pillow like he couldn’t take it.

“Y/N, fuck, I’m—”

You pulled back just slightly, enough to whisper, “Let go. I want you to.”

He did. Hard. With a groan of your name that sounded like both a prayer and a curse, fingers curling into the comforter as you swallowed around him.

When you finally pulled off and wiped the corner of your mouth, Jungkook was fully sprawled out, chest heaving, eyes dazed like he’d just seen God.

“You,” he said hoarsely, “are the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met.”

You smirked, climbing up to straddle him gently. “And you love it.”

He pulled you up into a kiss, deep and sweet and slow, like he was thanking you with every press of his lips.

“I really do,” he whispered.

Jungkook was still reeling. His chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown. You lay next to him on the bed now, grinning like you’d just won the lottery, because honestly, you had. He was still flushed, still a little glassy-eyed, and you could feel the tension humming beneath his skin.

“What,” you teased, brushing your fingers along his arm, “no dramatic monologue about how I’ve ruined your life?”

“Oh, you have,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “I’m just waiting for the part where I stop seeing stars.”

You giggled, nestling closer, but then his hand trailed down your side slowly, slow like intentional, and stopped just above your waistband.

“Now hold on,” you said, raising a brow. “Didn’t you just,”

“I did,” he murmured, “but you didn’t.”

His eyes met yours, warm and dark and so full of affection you thought your heart might actually melt. Then they flicked down to your lips.

“And I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he whispered, fingers sneaking under the waistband of your jeans, “and how you look when you come.”

Your breath hitched.

“Jungkook—”

“Can I?” he asked, voice soft, like he would stop if you blinked the wrong way. “I mean, you don’t have to let me. I just, fuck, I just wanna touch you.”

You bit your lip. “You’ve already touched me. Like…a lot.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, eyes glued to your mouth. “But I want to really touch you. Like it’s the only thing on my schedule.”

Which, based on the way he was already sliding your pants and undies down, it was.

He settled between your legs without asking again, because your hips lifting made it obvious and kissed the inside of your knee with a reverence you hadn’t earned but deeply appreciated. His hand skimmed the length of your thigh, a featherlight graze, and then dipped between your legs.

You were already wet. He groaned under his breath like it was the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.

“God,” he muttered, fingers sliding through the slick. “You’re everything.”

You gasped when he circled your clit, slow at first, teasing. His other hand wrapped around your thigh to hold you open, pulling you gently toward him, spreading you just enough to watch the way you fell apart.

“Been thinking about this,” he whispered, kissing your hipbone. “All day. All week. Every time you smiled at me in that damn briefing room. Every time you licked your spoon at lunch like you weren’t breaking me apart.”

You choked on a laugh, but it quickly dissolved into a moan when he pressed two fingers in, knuckle-deep. His eyes snapped up to your face.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, rocking his hand slowly. “Always so fucking warm for me.”

Your fingers curled in the sheets. “You’re insane.”

“Pussy drunk,” he corrected. “That’s different.”

His thumb found your clit again, drawing tight circles while his fingers moved inside you, slow but deep, curling just right every time. You were already clenching around him, hips rising to meet each stroke, chasing the high you knew only he could give.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your jaw, your neck. “C’mon, let me see it. Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Then don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. Not once. Not even when your hips bucked, when your hand clutched his wrist, when you let out a breathy moan of his name that sounded like something holy. He kept going through it all, until your thighs were trembling and your whole body shook.

Only when you whimpered his name a second time, quieter, breathless, did he slow down. Pulling his fingers from you gently, kissing your lips like he had all the time in the world.

“Jesus,” you whispered, eyes dazed, flushed from head to toe. “Where did you learn that?”

He smirked, resting his forehead against yours.

“I listen,” he said simply. “And I really, really like you.”

You were still breathless, body boneless as you lay there, limbs tangled with his. The afterglow was heady, your skin flushed and your heart beating out a rhythm far too soft for someone who’d once insisted this wasn’t serious.

Jungkook hovered over you with that stupidly tender look on his face again, brushing your hair back as if he hadn’t just completely wrecked you, 2 mind numbing orgasms later.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Better than okay,” you replied, your voice a little hoarse. “That was…”

“Yeah?” he grinned, practically glowing.

You nodded, cheeks warm. “Yeah.”

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips, then another to your cheek, then one on your neck just because he could. “Be right back,” he said, slipping out of bed, slipping on his boxers and disappearing into the hallway.

You took a moment to breathe. You were in Jungkook’s bed. In Jungkook’s apartment. Wearing nothing, glowing, and… lowkey kind of wanting to cry? Because who gave him the right to be this good at everything?

When he returned, he tossed one of his oversized black t-shirts at you, worn-in and soft and smelling exactly like him. “For you,” he said proudly, like it was a medal and not just his laundry. As he bent down picking up the clothes you both had thrown off, putting them in a hamper.

You slipped it on, and it swallowed you whole in the best way.

“God,” Jungkook whispered, just staring. “You’re so fucking cute in my clothes. It’s a problem.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’m literally in your bed. What part of this is new?”

“All of it,” he said, tugging the blanket back and motioning for you to crawl in. “First time you’re sleeping over here. I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Since when?” you asked, climbing in and settling against the pillows.

“Since like…week two,” he admitted, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against him. “But I had to play it cool. Pretend I didn’t immediately imagine you curled up in my bed watching dumb TV with me in my shirt.”

You hummed as you burrowed into his chest. “Weird. That’s exactly what I imagined too.”

“See?” he grinned, resting his chin on your head. “We’re already a couple.”

You pinched his side. “No we’re not.”

He gasped dramatically. “You wound me.”

You laughed into his chest. “I’m serious, Jeon.”

“So am I,” he murmured. “Serious about you, I mean.”

You looked up at him. Eyes glassy from sleep, lashes fluttering, the softest boy you’d ever seen. He didn’t say it like a line. He said it like a promise.

Your heart stuttered.

“…Okay,” you said quietly.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Okay,” he echoed.

The two of you lay there in comfortable silence, limbs entangled, the quiet hum of the city barely audible through the windows. He pulled you tighter against him, one hand tracing idle patterns on your back, the other rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” you mumbled. “I like talking to you like this.”

“Then keep talking,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not, to be fair it is your house.” you murmured, half joking.

Jungkook’s hand drifted in slow, soothing circles against your back, the room dark except for the faint blue wash of city light peeking through the curtains.

You’d shifted to lay half on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, his other hand playing with strands of your hair. And for the first time in a while, your mind wasn’t racing. You felt warm. Safe.

“I really like this,” you murmured sleepily, the words slipping out like a secret.

His hand stilled.

“This?” he asked quietly.

You nodded against him, too tired to pretend. “You. This. Us. I don’t know what to call it, but it’s my favorite part of the day.”

Jungkook blinked at the ceiling, his throat suddenly tight. “Yeah?”

You nodded again. “You make me feel like… I can actually slow down. I’m always thinking. About cases, or how I’m coming off, or trying not to mess up. But when I’m with you…” you trailed off, fingers gently tracing over his collarbone. “It’s just easy. Even when I’m being difficult.”

“You’re never difficult,” he said immediately, but you snorted.

“Okay, but even when I am… you don’t make me feel like I have to be less of myself. And I like that. I like you. So much, it’s stupid.”

He let out a soft laugh, something breathless and overwhelmed. His hand curled gently around your waist, grounding you to him.

“Dumb kind of like?” he teased gently. “Like the kind where you think about me during boring staff meetings and wonder if I’d like the lunch you packed?”

You hummed. “Dumb kind of like where I let you sleep in my bed more than my cat ever has.”

“You don’t even have a cat.”

“Exactly,” you whispered, smiling against his chest.

His heart felt like it was trying to escape his ribcage. He squeezed you closer.

“You’re literally everything I ever wanted and more,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m not trying to scare you, I swear, but I’ve never had something feel this… right. And if all we ever do is this? I’d still be the luckiest guy alive.”

You looked up at him through sleep-heavy eyes, lips curling at the corners.

“I don’t think I’m ready to say we’re together,” you whispered, “but sometimes I forget we’re not.”

That did him in.

Jungkook kissed you, slow and sweet, like he didn’t care if he ever stopped.

You fell asleep shortly after, tangled up in each other.

And Jungkook lay there awake a while longer, smiling like a fool.

“Alright,” Taehyung says, clapping his hands like he’s about to lead a yoga class instead of a crime-solving unit, “since the Captain and Sarge are stuck at their leadership seminar, it’s obvious who’s in charge now.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook mutters, not even looking up from his phone, “obviously not you. We also have more pressing matters like where the hell is my hoodie”

“Excuse me?” Taehyung gasps, completely ignoring his second point. “Why not me?”

“Because you once called 911 on your own reflection.” Jungkook retorts

“That was one time!”

Jin scoffs. “If anyone’s in charge, it should be me. Seniority, beauty, wisdom—”

“Delusion,” Jimin coughs into his hand.

“Okay, democracy is dead in this room,” Taehyung says, completely ignoring him as he grabs the remote and turns on the TV.

With a proud grin, he announces, “I have prepared a presentation.”

“You made a PowerPoint?” You blink.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook groans. “If this is another slideshow of ‘Why We Should Get a Pool Table,’ I swear—”

Click. On screen: “Top 10 Times Yoongi Ruined My Day”

Accompanied by grainy, zoomed-in photos of Yoongi doing absolutely nothing.

Yoongi, across the room with a coffee mug in hand, doesn’t even look up. “That’s slander.”

“You’re in most of the pictures sleeping Yoongi.” you point out, leaning toward Jungkook with a smirk.

“She says that like it’s not a crime,” Taehyung says.

“I’m just saying,” Jungkook cuts in, swiveling slightly in his chair, “while we’re discussing crimes—Jimin’s been suspiciously quiet this morning. Hoodie thief behavior if I’ve ever seen it.”

Jimin glances up, mid-bite of his granola bar. “Bro.”

“You’re literally wearing a hoodie right now,” Jungkook says, pointing. “That looks like mine, but in a different font.”

“What does that even mean?!” Jimin whines.

“Jin’s sweater looks sus too,” Jungkook continues, now clearly spiraling. “You altered the neckline, didn’t you? You sick freak.”

“Mine is Burberry!” Jin cries. “And also cashmere!”

Yoongi sips his coffee. “You all sound poor.”

You hide a grin behind your mug. Jungkook glances at you, squints a little.

“…You’re awfully quiet too,” he says, half-teasing, half-suspicious.

“Don’t look at me,” you shrug. “I have my own hoodies.”

“Suspicious,” he mutters.

“Can we go back to the presentation, please?” Taehyung begs. “You’re interrupting my trauma arc.”

And just as he clicks to Slide 3: “The Time Yoongi Ate My Last Taquito”, the door swings open.

Hoseok and Namjoon walk in, both holding matching iced coffees and identical expressions of horror.

Namjoon scans the room, takes in the hoodie debate, the slideshow of Yoongi’s crimes, and the fact that Jungkook is now sniffing Jin’s sleeves.

“…We leave you alone for two hours,” he mutters.

“And you turn the precinct into a reality show,” Hoseok finishes.

Yoongi raises his cup. “Episode eight’s about to start.”

Namjoon sighs and sets down his coffee. “Okay, enough with the slideshow slander. I’m reclaiming the room—leadership is back.”

Hoseok claps once, bright and proud. “And speaking of actual work, let’s hear it for Detectives Jeon and L/N for wrapping up the hotel ring case.”

Applause breaks out—scattered and sarcastic from some, genuine from others.

“Seriously, you two pulled it off seamlessly,” Namjoon adds, glancing between you and Jungkook. “Nice work.”

You flash a smile, elbow lightly bumping Jungkook’s arm. “Honestly, Jeon was the star. He tracked down the ringleader’s car and got us the final footage.”

Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head. “Nah, Y/N cracked the ledger codes and distracted the concierge long enough for me to install the cameras. She’s the brains.”

You both look at each other, trying not to grin too much. It’s failing.

Taehyung leans over to Jimin. “Why are they looking at each other like they share one brain cell?”

Jimin whispers back, “Because they do. And it’s love.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look up from his phone. “They’re still doing the fake-married thing, huh?”

“It’s not fake if they committed,” Jin mutters, slowly clapping. “Congrats on your marriage.”

You snort while Jungkook just grins wider, arms crossed, clearly trying to act like this is all normal.

“Anyway,” Namjoon cuts in before the peanut gallery gets too rowdy, “7th Precinct is up for tomorrow’s weapons training.”

You and Jungkook lock eyes immediately.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” you grin, turning toward him. “I held the accuracy and speed record at my last precinct for two years straight.”

“Oh?” Jin chimes in, lips quirking. “Well, our very own golden boy Jungkook broke the entire department record. Three years running.”

Your eyes widen as you whip your head toward him. “Wait. That was you?”

Jungkook shrugs like it’s no big deal, but his smirk is borderline criminal. “Guilty.”

Then he leans in, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear, “But I’m gonna love watching you try to keep up.”

You scoff, lips twitching. “You know I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “You are.”

The entire room goes silent.

Jimin lets out an audible gasp. Jin drops his water bottle. Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot into orbit.

Yoongi, without even looking up, goes: “Wait. Did y’all fuck?”

Both of you violently coughing

“What?! No! Ew—what?”

“This is… friendly competition.”

“Totally platonic… partner encouragement.”

Jungkook straightens up like he’s presenting at a conference. “It’s important to push your coworkers to be their best. Crime doesn’t take breaks.”

The room just sits in an awkward silence.

Taehyung, ever the agent of chaos, breaks the tension. “I got fifty on Y/N.”

“What the hell?” Jungkook scowls. “Bro, I set the record!”

“Yeah, and she’s gonna break it,” you shoot back sweetly. “You better bring a camera tomorrow—so you can watch it happen in slow motion.”

Jimin immediately whips out his phone. “The betting pool is live! Minimum ten, no max. The loser buys drinks.”

Namjoon rubs his temples like a man who’s seen too much. “Please do not turn this into Fight Club.”

Hoseok shrugs cheerfully. “Too late. They’ve got that look.”

Yoongi finally opens one eye. “The look that says ‘I can’t believe we slept together and now I have to beat your score in public?’ Yeah. We’ve all been there.”

Jungkook and you: “WE DID NOT—”

“We’re done here.” Namjoon says stepping away to find his Advil he keeps in his desk.

Jungkook leans across the table, arms folded, smug grin in place. “Just so you know,” he says lowly, “I’m not going easy on you tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow, matching his energy. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

He tilts his head, playful spark in his eyes. “You’re that confident, huh?”

You shrug, eyes dropping briefly to his lips before meeting his gaze again. “What can I say? I tend to hit my targets.”

Jungkook’s smirk twitches—eyes darkening just a little. “Guess I’ll have to see that for myself. Up close.”

You smile sweetly. “Don’t blink. You might miss it.”

He leans in just a bit closer, voice dipping into a quiet murmur. “Not a chance.”

You're both toeing the line between friendly banter and something else entirely when a voice interrupts.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You both jerk your heads up as Hoseok approaches, casual in his fitted button-up, a warm smile on his face but with a glint of something serious behind it.

“Got a case I want you to work on,” he says, nodding at you.

Jungkook stands too, instantly alert. “Hell yeah, what’s up, Sarge?”

Hoseok gives him an apologetic look. “Actually… I was going to take this one myself.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Cool, yeah. Of course.”

“Let’s walk and talk, partner,” Hoseok says to you with a grin, already gesturing toward the exit.

You glance back at Jungkook, giving him a soft, regretful look and mouthing, sorry.

He gives you a half smile, trying to look unfazed even as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

You turn and walk out beside Hoseok, leaving Jungkook standing there.

“Don’t get shot without me,” he calls after you.

You don’t turn around, but your hand lifts in a lazy wave. “Don’t get jealous without me.”

“Ooooooh” Taehyung’s voice booms.

GROUPCHAT: 7TH PRECINCT (MINUS THE LOVEBIRDS)

Jimin: They are so fake. Like we don’t know.

Yoongi: They’re not even good at hiding it.

Namjoon: Do I even want to know what’s going on?

Jin: No, but you’re gonna find out anyway.

The case takes Hoseok and Y/N to a quiet residential neighborhood. A woman called in a concern about her elderly neighbor Mr. Baek who’s been acting erratically, possibly threatening to harm himself or someone else. No prior criminal record, but the woman mentioned he'd recently lost his wife and seemed increasingly unstable.

Hoseok pulls up to the curb and kills the engine, eyes scanning the neat rows of homes. 

“Alright,” he says, handing you the clipboard with the original report, “it’s probably nothing. But grief can make people do things out of character. I figured… your read on people is sharper than most.”

You glance over at him. “You could’ve taken anyone.”

He smiles. “I wanted to work with you.”

You're caught off guard for a second, blinking. “Is this flirting, Sarge?”

He laughs, a bright, genuine sound. “You’re gorgeous, Y/N, don’t get me wrong but no. I don’t mix business with pleasure, and I’ve seen what dating inside the precinct looks like.”

Your smile falters for half a second, but you recover. “Right. Yeah.”

He glances at you again, sharp eyes narrowing just slightly. “Unless there’s someone I don’t know about?”

You shake your head, but it’s too slow.

“No one,” you say quickly. “I mean… technically?”

Hoseok snorts. “That sounds a hell of a lot like it’s complicated.”

You lean your head back against the seat, sighing. “It is. It’s… more than I expected, and less than I want. And it’s hard to even admit it’s happening because it shouldn’t be.”

He studies you for a moment, and in true Hoseok fashion, doesn’t push. “Can I guess?”

Your eyes snap over to him.

He holds up both hands in surrender. “Won’t say names. Just seems like something… recent. Someone you didn’t expect to catch feelings for.”

“Feelings weren’t part of the plan,” you mutter, opening the door and stepping out. Hoseok follows, walking beside you down the sidewalk.

“They never are,” he says gently.

The two of you knock on the door. It opens slowly. Mr. Baek is cautious, but he recognizes Hoseok’s tone instantly—calm, respectful, steady. You step in, smile warm and sincere, asking soft, guiding questions while Hoseok watches from the side, letting you take the lead.

It becomes clear: Mr. Baek isn’t violent. He’s scared. Alone. He’s been having memory problems, confused the stove for the sink, thought someone broke into his house when it was just the hospice nurse returning a dropped glove. He’s not a threat—he’s grieving, slipping, scared to admit it.

You gently ask if he’d be okay with a wellness visit scheduled weekly. Hoseok quietly calls social services and sets it up.

On the way back to the precinct, there’s a heavy but hopeful silence in the car.

“Do you ever feel like people expect you to always have it together?” you ask suddenly.

Hoseok blinks. “Sure. I’m the one with the clipboard. The steady one.”

You nod slowly. “I think that’s why this… thing… is so hard. I’m supposed to be smart enough not to fall into something messy. But it doesn’t feel wrong.”

Hoseok keeps his eyes on the road. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”

You bite your lip. “He’s hot, annoying, and drives me absolutely crazy.”

He grins. “Sounds like love.”

You snort. “It’s not that. Not yet.”

“But it could be?”

You sigh. “That’s the scary part.”

He hums, thoughtful. “Don’t run from something good just because it doesn’t fit the timeline in your head. Life never listens to our plans anyway.”

The bullpen is weirdly quiet.

Too quiet.

Jungkook is sitting at his desk, typing something into his computer with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other, earbuds in, head slightly bobbing like he’s listening to music. Completely calm. Unbothered. Focused.

Suspiciously so.

Jimin leans over the back of Jin’s chair and whispers, “He’s not pacing.”

“I know,” Jin mutters. “I haven’t seen him twitch once.”

Yoongi, without looking up from his sudoku, deadpans, “Maybe he finally snapped.”

Taehyung gasps. “Maybe they broke up.”

“They weren’t even together,” Jimin hisses. “Not officially!”

“Exactly,” Taehyung says with a grim nod. “It’s always the unofficial ones that ruin you.”

At his desk, Jungkook doesn’t even look up as he says, “You know I can hear all of you, right?”

The room freezes.

Jungkook finally looks up, expression blank, eyebrow raised. “Y/N is on a case. I’m not gonna self-destruct every time she leaves the building. She’s my partner, not my life support.”

A beat.

“…Could’ve fooled us,” Jin mutters under his breath.

Jungkook narrows his eyes, but doesn’t take the bait. He goes back to typing.

Meanwhile, his phone screen—strategically tilted away—shows a playlist titled Pink Silky Dress currently queued up. 

Below it, a confirmation screen for a grocery pickup order: snacks, sparkling water, ice cream (two flavors), and her favorite chips. A small sticky note peeks out from his back pocket, a scribbled list:

✔️ snacks ✔️ playlist ✔️ surprise her after shift

Jimin’s watching him like a hawk. “You think he’s texting her right now?”

Yoongi looks up, squints at Jungkook’s focused face. “Nah. He looks way too satisfied. That man’s plotting.”

Jungkook suppresses a smile, still scrolling.

Taehyung whispers, “He’s either planning a murder or a surprise date night.”

Jungkook, deadpan: “You’re all idiots.”

“A murder would be less suspicious than this sudden calm, bro.” Jin says matter of factly.

Jungkook shrugs, biting back a grin as he glances at the time. Only a couple more hours. He’d already called ahead to reserve that godforsaken red velvet cake she liked and set his alarm to remind him to pick it up.

Let them talk.

Let them speculate.

They didn’t need to know he was preparing for Operation: I Like You and Also Here's Snacks.

Everyone’s still side-eyeing Jungkook like he’s a bomb that hasn’t gone off yet.

He sighs loudly, sets his phone down, and leans back in his chair. “Okay. Be honest. Which one of you degenerates took my hoodie?”

The room erupts again.

“I told you I don’t wear black,” Taehyung says, scandalized. “It’s too harsh for my skin tone.”

“Sounds like what a thief would say,” Jungkook mutters.

Jimin smirks. “Maybe it just grew legs and ran away to someone who appreciates it.”

“I swear to God—”

“Wasn’t Jin wearing something suspiciously soft the other day?” Yoongi throws in, just to cause problems.

“I will end all of you.” Jungkook grabs his phone and shoves it in his pocket, standing. “I’m going out.”

Jin calls after him, “To look for the hoodie, or to emotionally repress some more?”

“Neither,” Jungkook says, smug. “I’m running errands.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says under his breath. “Picking out an engagement ring.”

Jungkook pauses, turns back just long enough to glare. “Y’all need hobbies.”

He disappears out the precinct doors, the others exchanging looks.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you as you kick off your shoes, the familiar scent of your place wrapping around you like a blanket.

You sigh, tossing your keys in the bowl by the door, and flop onto the couch.

Today had been… a lot.

You think back to the case with Hoseok, the way he picked up on your mood like it was second nature. The way he offered that quiet, grounding wisdom only someone like him could. You hadn’t meant to open up. And you definitely hadn’t meant to admit how tangled up your feelings for Jungkook were.

But once the words started coming out, you couldn’t stop them.

Because how do you explain this thing with him? You're not dating. Not officially. But it also doesn’t feel casual. Not with the way he looks at you like you hung the moon. Not with the way your bodies fit together like you were made to be on the same frequency.

You text. You call. You spend your days side by side. You bicker like an old married couple and flirt like horny teenagers.

But there's still that part of you—guarded, cautious—that wonders if you’re reading it all wrong. If this is just a fun thing for him. A temporary thrill. Something easy and undefined.

“It’s not like he’s here,” your brain offers bitterly as you stare at the ceiling.

You huff a dry laugh. “If he wanted to, he would—”

Three knocks interrupt the spiral.

You blink, startled. Sit up.

Who the hell—

You open the door.

And there he is.

Jungkook.

With a bag of snacks balanced on one arm and a small bouquet of flowers in the other, dressed down in a hoodie and sweats, looking at you like you’re the best part of his day.

You just stare.

He tilts his head. “You okay?”

You don’t even realize you said it aloud—your inner voice spilling out in a breathless murmur.

“…He would.”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?”

You smile. “Nothing. Come in.”

He steps inside, and you take the snacks from him as he kicks the door shut behind him.

“You brought flowers?”

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “Didn’t feel right showing up empty-handed.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling like an idiot. “You’re such a loser.”

“You like it,” he grins.

And damn him—you do.

You can’t stop smiling as you put the flowers in a vase, the little pops of color now brightening your kitchen counter. Jungkook hums behind you, unloading the snacks from the bag like he’s doing an unboxing haul for his nonexistent YouTube channel.

“And here we have your favorites: sour candy, chocolate-covered pretzels, and Boom Chicka Pop because you’re classy and trashy all at once.”

You turn, arms crossed and one brow raised. “You’ve been taking notes.”

He looks up with a grin. “Only on the important stuff.”

You step closer, grabbing a mini snack bag and holding it up. “Trying to get lucky, Jeon?”

He shrugs, lips tugging into a smirk. “I already am. But if you’re offering…”

You roll your eyes, biting your lip to hide your smile. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet,” he says, winking, “you keep letting me in.”

“Mm, the snacks help.”

You snag another bag, grinning, before gesturing to him in his comfy hoodie and sweats. “You look entirely too cozy. I’m changing out of these work clothes.”

Jungkook watches you head toward your room, then calls out, “Need an assist, partner?”

“I’ve undressed myself before.”

He smirks. “Yeah, and I’ve undressed you, too. I’m faster.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so stupid.”

“But efficient.”

You turn at your bedroom door, giving a casual shrug. “You can come with me if you want.”

That’s all he needs.

He follows you into your room, and while you’re rifling through your drawers for your softest pajamas, Jungkook freezes.

You hear the shift in the air before you see it.

Turning, you find him just… standing there.

Staring.

At something.

You follow his line of sight and—

Oh.

Oh no.

His hoodie.

Still folded neatly on the edge of your bed where you tossed it after laundry day. It’s the one from that night. The one he left behind in his criminally hot post-orgasm emotionally suppressed daze.

He blinks. Slowly. Then brings a hand to his heart.

“I’m gonna need a moment.”

You snort. “You’re being dramatic.”

“This is betrayal.”

“It’s your hoodie!”

“And yet,” he says, walking toward it reverently, “you let me interrogate the entire precinct like I was losing my mind.”

“I forgot!”

“You forgot about the single most important item of clothing in my wardrobe?”

You giggle, turning around to peel off your shirt pulling your oversized t-shirt over your head. Quickly pulling down your jeans to slip your own sweats on as he was holding his sweater. “In my defense, I had… other things on my mind.” 

He turns to you, hoodie clutched to his chest like a wounded soldier. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or sue.”

You smirk, reaching for the hoodie and gently tugging it from his hands. “You know this looked really good on me.”

“I bet,” he groans, “you had me losing my damn mind.”

You toss it onto your chair and crawl onto the bed, patting the spot next to you. “Come here, you dramatic baby.”

He obliges without hesitation, climbing in beside you.

“You really brought me snacks and flowers,” you murmur, softer now, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He shrugs, arm wrapping around your waist. “I was thinking about you all day. Figured it’d be nice.”

You glance up at him, heart thudding painfully. “It is nice.”

He meets your eyes. “You’re nice.”

You snort. “Now you’re just making things up.”

He laughs, kissing your forehead. “Okay. You’re complicated and a little stubborn and you forget laundry piles. But I like all of it.”

You hide your face in his chest. “I really like you too, Jungkook.”

His hold tightens. “Good.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick with warmth.

“...You’re still an idiot though,” you mumble.

He smiles against your hair. “Your idiot.”

You shift a little, cheek squished against Jungkook’s chest as your hand traces lazy circles on the fabric of his t-shirt. His fingers trail softly along your spine, both of you basking in the peace of it all.

Then you glance up at him, that mischievous twinkle flickering in your eyes.

He sees it instantly. “What?”

You sit up slightly, leaning over him, your hand planted on his chest. Slowly, your lips hover just inches from his.

His eyes flick to your mouth, lips parting in anticipation.

“Y/N,” he breathes, like a prayer and a warning all at once.

“You know what I’m gonna let you do?” you whisper.

His hands grip your hips automatically. “God, please tell me.”

A sly smile curls your lips. “I’m gonna let you bring my snacks in here.”

His eyes widen like you’ve personally offended him. “Seriously?”

“So I can watch Love Island while I eat.”

He blinks. “You are diabolical.”

You giggle, kissing the tip of his nose before flopping onto the bed. “Go on, snack boy. Chop chop.”

He groans dramatically, dragging himself off the bed. “I was this close to giving you the night of your life.”

“And I was this close to letting you,” you sing-song, flipping through the TV options.

He returns a minute later with a whole armful of snacks—chips, candy, even a bottle of your favorite drink tucked under his arm. He sets it down proudly on your nightstand.

As he climbs back into bed, you eye him sternly. “If you get crumbs in my bed, I will castrate you.”

He grins. “Kinky. If you wanna play with my balls, just say so.”

“Come hold me, you menace.”

He laughs but obeys, sliding in next to you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you in until you’re tucked perfectly against him.

You rest your head on his chest again, the flicker of the TV lighting up the room.

For a while, the only sounds are the quiet chatter of the show and the occasional rustle of snack wrappers.

Then Jungkook speaks, voice softer than before. “So… how was your case with Hoseok?”

You hum, fingers tracing along the vein in his forearm. “It was good. We worked well together. The case was sad, but he handled it really thoughtfully. You know how he is.”

Jungkook nods. “He’s good at that stuff. People open up to him.”

“They do,” you agree. Then pause. “He asked if I was seeing anyone.”

Jungkook tenses—just slightly.

“I told him technically no,” you add.

There’s a beat.

“Technically?” he repeats.

You glance up at him, your gaze serious now. “I didn’t say yes, because we’re not… labeling anything. But I didn’t say no, because this—whatever this is—feels like something. And I didn’t want to lie.”

Jungkook swallows, then kisses the top of your head.

You keep talking. “I told him it was complicated. That it scared me a little.”

He exhales into your hair. “It scares me too.”

“But I like you,” you whisper. “A lot.”

“I like you more,” he says immediately.

You look up at him, both of you grinning now.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he says, inching closer until your noses touch. “But you love it.”

You kiss him.

It starts soft. Just lips pressed gently to lips, a quiet I missed you today kind of kiss. But then your hands slide into his hair, and his grip tightens on your waist, and suddenly it’s deeper. Hungrier. You shift in his lap, and he groans against your mouth like he’s struggling to remember why he ever walked away from you that first night.

Eventually, you both pull back, breathless.

“You still hungry?” you whisper.

“For snacks?” he asks, voice low and teasing.

You grin. “Sure. Let’s say snacks.”

He smirks, pecking your lips one more time before grabbing a handful of popcorn. “I’m a multitasker.”

You giggle, snuggling back into him, and press play on the next episode.

Later, the glow of the TV fades into the background. The snacks are long forgotten, wrappers crinkled on the nightstand, and Love Island plays on in hushed volume but neither of you are really watching anymore.

Jungkook’s lying on his back, arm curled around you like it was made to fit there. His other hand is softly playing with the ends of your hair, brushing them over your shoulder, his eyes barely open.

You shift, pressing a kiss to the slope of his jaw, then his cheekbone, then finally his forehead.

“Don’t leave this time,” you whisper.

He turns his face toward you, eyes meeting yours in the low light. “I’m not.”

“You promise?”

His voice is barely audible now, hoarse from sleep. “I swear.”

You nod against his chest, letting out a breath like you’d been holding it all day. Then, like it’s your turn now, you brush your fingers through his hair and lean in to return the favor, one soft kiss to his forehead.

“You’re gonna do the walk of shame in sweats at work tomorrow,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

“Mm,” he hums. “Nah. I’ve got clothes in the car.”

Your brow lifts. “Detective Jeon… did you come here under the impression I’d let you spend the night?”

He opens one eye, the tiniest smirk curving at his lips. “I was counting on it.”

You pretend to sigh, but your smile gives you away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m comfy,” he counters.

“You’re clingy.”

“I’m in love,” he mumbles.

Your breath catches and for a second, you wonder if he’s asleep already and just talking in dreams. But he cracks an eye again, sheepishly.

You whisper, “You’re lucky I like you.”

He grins, slow and lazy. “I am lucky.”

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, arms tightening around your waist like he’s afraid to let go. You don’t move either your hand gently stroking his back, matching the rhythm of his breath.

Silence settles in again. Peaceful. Soft.

“I like this,” he whispers against your skin.

“What? Cuddling?”

You feel him nod. “You. This. All of it.”

And you smile, heart full to bursting.

“Me too,” you whisper. “Now sleep. We’ve got a shooting range to dominate tomorrow.”

He huffs a laugh, already drifting. “You’re going down.”

“In your dreams, Jeon.”

And with that, the two of you fall asleep—limbs tangled, hearts fluttering, and for once, completely at peace.

You wake up first, blinking blearily as sunlight filters in. But you don’t move because Jungkook is wrapped around you like a weighted blanket, hair mussed, face tucked against your shoulder, and mouth slightly open.

He stirs, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Mmm... you’re still here,” he mumbles, smiling into your neck.

“You’re in my bed,” you reply, amused.

“Still counts. Best dream I’ve ever had.”

You shift, and he lifts his head to try and kiss you.

“Absolutely not,” you dodge. “Morning breath is real, and I’m not kissing you until I brush my teeth..”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t risk it,” he says, leaning in again.

You shove a pillow into his face. “Stop trying to seduce me pre-toothpaste, Jeon.”

“Mmm... I want you to kiss me all the time,” he groans dramatically from under the pillow. “You should always wake me up like this.” You snort. “You say that now. Wait till I beat your precious shooting record. Then we’ll see how affectionate you are.”

Jungkook peeks up. “You’ve never broken it. Not once in the three years I’ve set it.”

You grin wickedly. “Yeah, but now it’s personal.”

He sits up slightly, brushing your hair off your face with that soft, sleepy look he only ever gives you.

“We’re personal,” he murmurs.

And you kiss him. Even though you said you wouldn’t.

You toss the covers off and head to your dresser. Jungkook props himself up on an elbow, watching you.

“I’m gonna shower,” you say, grabbing a towel.

He immediately sits up, pout forming. “You’re gonna shower without me?”

You laugh. “You’re too clingy for 7 a.m.”

“I’m the perfect amount of clingy. Let me in there or I’ll sulk and sabotage your aim later.”

“Go get your clothes from the car, loser. I need the shower first.”

He pouts. “Rude. I brought flowers. And snacks.”

“And I let you sleep over. We’re even.” You disappear into the bathroom, and he retrieves his bag from the car.

You step out of the bathroom in a towel. Jungkook’s now fully awake, lounging across your bed and doing absolutely nothing productive.

His eyes scan from your wet hair to your bare legs, towel tucked dangerously low. “Jesus Christ.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Something wrong, officer?”

He steps closer, voice low. “If this is a crime scene, I’m ready to serve and protect.”

You roll your eyes and grab his hoodie from the dresser, the one he’s been accusing the entire precinct of stealing and put it on letting your towel fall.

He actually freezes.

“I’m gonna need a moment.”

You smirk. “Still complaining about the hoodie thief?”

“I take it all back. You should steal everything I own. Hell, take the Benz. You look so fucking good in my clothes I might combust.”

You snort. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m so into you,” he whispers, but you pretend not to hear it because if you acknowledge it, you might melt right there in the hoodie.

You’re filling your water bottle while he slings his duffel over his shoulder. Walking out freshly showered in his clean clothes.

“C’mon,” you say, walking toward the door. “I gotta break a record.”

He opens the door for you.

“Lead the way, partner.”

By the time you and Jungkook reach the check-in station, the rest of the precinct is already on the range. The room is quiet except for the low hum of overhead lights and the soft clinking of gear on metal hooks. It’s just the two of you and a whole lot of tension.

“You got your vest size or should I guess?” Jungkook asks, pulling one off the rack.

You take it without missing a beat. “Don’t act like you haven’t been guessing already.”

He snorts, grabbing one for himself. “Fair. But it’s not my fault you left zero to the imagination in that pink dress. Or the fact I’ve had the honor of seeing you already.”

You fight the urge to smile. “This is a gun range, not a confessional. Keep your thirst to yourself.”

He raises a hand in mock surrender. “Noted. But in my defense, you looked hot. I almost forgot we were there to solve a case.”

You roll your eyes, adjusting the straps on your vest. Jungkook watches, then steps in closer, fingers brushing yours. “Here. You missed a latch.”

“I didn’t—” you start, but he’s already fixing it for you, standing way too close, his head tilted slightly as he focuses.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly, then taps the goggles resting on your forehead. “You gonna put those on or are you planning to seduce the target into surrendering?”

“You wish.” You slide them on. “I’m just not trying to fog them up before I even start shooting.”

He grins. “Confident.”

You lift a brow. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“Just don’t get mad when I beat your time,” he says, slinging his own vest on and walking toward the door. “Y’know, for someone who talks so much, you better be able to back it up.”

“Oh, I always back it up,” you call as you fall in beside him. “Just hope you’re ready to take the defeat gracefully.”

He opens the door for you with a flourish, smiling. “We’ll see, partner.”

You both step onto the range, armed and ready—with a whole new kind of fire between you.

The training facility echoes with the usual controlled chaos of your precinct.

Jin is already mid-brag, waving his target sheet like a trophy. “Dead center. Every time. Precision like this is an art.”

Yoongi, leaning against a nearby bench with his arms crossed, doesn’t even look up. “Yeah? Then why’d you nearly miss the coffee machine yesterday morning?”

Jin glares. “That was sabotage. Someone moved the sugar.”

Taehyung is skipping across the range with his safety vest draped around his shoulders like a cape. “Captain Taehyung of the Range Battalion reporting for duty!” he calls, nearly tripping over a box of foam earplugs.

Jungkook snorts beside you. “He’s gonna shoot himself in the foot.”

Hoseok steps forward, hands on his hips in full Sergeant Mode. “Alright, listen up! I’m laying out the rules now, so save the comedy show for after.”

Taehyung immediately drops the cape act and slides into line. Jin salutes with unnecessary flourish. Yoongi sighs like this is the greatest burden he’s ever carried.

Hoseok continues, “We’re working in pairs. No lone wolves. You’ll rotate stations, run through accuracy drills, tactical reloads, and timed scenarios.”

He turns toward the clipboard and starts rattling off names.

“And obviously—” Jimin pipes up, seeing your and Jungkook’s arrival, “—Y/N and Jungkook are together.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Jimin cuts you off with a wicked grin. “Feels rigged. They’ve already shared bullets, I’m sure.”

Jungkook just glares at Jimin.

Jimin wiggles his eyebrows. “Just saying. We all saw the way you covered her six during that hotel case. Real spousal energy.”

Taehyung, sensing chaos, gleefully holds up a clipboard. “Betting pool’s back! Ten bucks on Y/N hitting the target fastest. Anyone?”

Jungkook glares. “Why does everyone doubt me?”

“Because you keep staring at your partner like she’s the target,” Yoongi mutters.

You grin. “Maybe because I am the target. I’m about to end his three-year streak.”

Jungkook steps in closer, dropping his voice low just for you. “You think you can handle the pressure?”

You smile sweetly. “I am the pressure.”

Taehyung whistles. “Oof. Domestic tension. My favorite flavor.”

Hoseok sighs into his clipboard like a tired dad. “Can you all just pick up your weapons and not flirt while holding live rounds?”

You and Jungkook are lined up shoulder to shoulder at the firing line, matching goggles, matching smirks, matching energy that’s anything but friendly.

“Told you your stance is too wide,” Jungkook murmurs, lips barely moving behind his safety gear.

“Told you your mouth is too loud,” you shoot back, adjusting your grip.

Bang.

He lands a clean bullseye, smug as hell.

Bang. Bang.

You land two dead center, grouping tighter than his.

He glances sideways. “Show off.”

You don’t look at him. “Learn from the best.”

The air between you crackles, heated eye contact after every shot like it’s a second form of target practice. And maybe it is. You’re aiming to knock each other off your game, but neither one’s backing down.

A few feet behind you, Jimin leans toward Taheyung, whispering like he’s narrating a nature documentary. “That’s not tension. That’s sexual warfare.”

Taehyung doesn't even flinch. “Bet she makes him miss his next shot.”

Back at the line, Jungkook reloads with a little extra flair.

Around the range, the chaos continues:

Jin and Yoongi’s lane:Yoongi shoots like he’s done this in a past life, one shot per exhale, cold and precise. Jin, meanwhile, is trying too hard to impress. He flinches every time Yoongi hits a perfect shot and mutters, “Lucky.”

“Skill,” Yoongi replies flatly, loading another mag without even looking at him.

Taehyung and Jimin’s lane:Taehyung is using the gun like it’s an accessory to a Halloween costume. “Can I dual wield?” “No,” Hoseok yells from across the range.

Jimin, on the other hand, is shockingly focused—until he notices you and Jungkook again and loudly sighs. “God, just kiss already. It’s exhausting being in the same room as this slow-burn tension.”

Namjoon and Hoseok’s lane:Predictably, the leadership duo is synchronized, efficient, and kind of terrifying. Hoseok’s form is flawless, and Namjoon lands tight groupings despite a calm, casual demeanor.

Hoseok glances over his shoulder. “At least we’re not emotionally compromised.”

Namjoon doesn’t even blink. “We’re also not pretending we aren’t.”

Back at your lane, Jungkook leans in just enough to brush his shoulder against yours. “Winner picks dinner?”

You reload with a smirk. “Hope you like Italian, detective.”

Bang. Another bullseye.

He watches your target, jaw ticking, eyes darkening.

“You’re so annoying,” he mutters.

You grin. “You love it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“All right!” Hoseok calls, holding a clipboard like it’s an Oscar envelope. “One lane, five targets, ten seconds. Scored individually—top score takes the crown.”

Jin’s already bragging before anyone even moves. “Please. I’ve been in the zone all morning.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You missed one and blamed it on the wind.”

“It’s not impossible,” Jin cries.

“We’re indoors” Yoongi deadpans.

You nudge Jungkook. “You nervous?”

He raises a brow. “About what? You?”

“About me beating your score.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh. “You wish, detective.”

You go before him—five tight shots, three dead-center. You feel his eyes on your back the whole time, and you don't even need to look to know he’s smirking.

When he takes the lane, he’s focused. Five shots. Precise. Clean. Faster than you, you think, but only just.

As you return to your seats, you bump shoulders. He grins down at you. “You trying to beat me or seduce me?”

“Why not both?” you shrug.

“Hydration,” Namjoon calls. “Five-minute break. Try not to lose brain cells.”

You and Jungkook walk down to the hallway where the water cooler was, the rest of the squad had wandered around leaving the two of you alone. You grab a cup. Jungkook grabs one too. You're sipping, silent for two seconds before,

“I’m totally beating your score,” you say casually.

He raises an eyebrow. “In your dreams.”

“No, in yours,” you counter, poking his side. “I saw your hands shake when I took the lane.”

He scoffs. “They did not.”

“You sure? You looked stressed. Distracted.” You tilt your head innocently. “Maybe I’m a little too hot when I shoot.”

He leans in, smirking. “Extremely hot. But not enough to distract me.”

You pout. “Damn. Poor me just wanted some attention.”

That’s all it takes. Jungkook sets his cup down and tugs you closer by the waistband of your pants, his palm sliding lower over your ass with a boldness that makes you gasp.

“Oh, I’ll give you attention,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “You did look sexy. You always do, but out there? Fuck.”

You grin, curling your fingers into the front of his vest. “Yeah? You stick your tongue out a little when you focus. Drove me crazy.”

His jaw tightens. “You noticed that?”

“I wanted it,” you whisper, teasing.

He curses, low and sharp, before pulling you in and kissing you like he means it—hands firm on your hips, mouth hot and eager. You moan into it, letting your fingers tangle in his hair, both of you flush with adrenaline and heat.

You nip his lip as you pull back, both of you breathing hard.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he mutters against your mouth.

“Then stop being so easy to corrupt,” you whisper back, brushing your nose against his.

You step away slowly, fixing your gear. “Let’s go, detective. I’ve got a record to break.”

Jungkook just groans, adjusting his vest. “If I lose, I’m blaming the ass grab.”

You wink. “Fair.”

Everyone gathered again near the monitors while Hoseok and Namjoon reviewed the scores. Jin’s fake stretching like he just ran a marathon. Taehyung has inexplicably changed into a different vest. Yoongi is… still pretending he doesn’t care but has absolutely been watching everyone’s scores like a hawk.

Namjoon clears his throat. “Alright. Results are in. Let’s keep it civil.”

“That’s never worked before,” Jimin mutters.

Namjoon shoots him a look and continues. “Top shooter for the day, by milliseconds…”

A dramatic pause.

“…Detective Y/N.”

The room erupts.

“WHAT?!” Jungkook yells, spinning toward you like you betrayed him. “Milliseconds?! I demand a recount.”

You’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “Told you I’d beat you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t beat my record,” Jungkook fires back, pointing a dramatic finger. “So really, it’s a moral victory for me.”

“Oh, please. That sounds like loser talk,” you shoot back.

Taehyung starts a slow clap. “Congrats on your almost dethroning, Jeon.”

Jimin joins in with jazz hands. “All hail the new queen of the range.”

“Y/N,” Jin calls out, holding a tissue to his eye, “I’m just so proud. You grow up so fast.”

Jungkook’s still pouting, arms crossed, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. When you glance at him again, his expression softens completely. He leans in and murmurs, low enough that only you can hear:

“I’m really proud of you. You’re incredible.”

You blink at him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thanks, partner.”

“Still want a rematch though.”

You laugh. “Bring it, Jeon.”

Yoongi walks by, nodding at the two of you. “Tight scores. Good work.”

Then, under his breath as he passes Jungkook, “The water cooler was refreshing huh?”

“Shit.”

The squad trickles into the briefing room when they arrive at the precinct. Sore and sweaty but hyped. The air’s full of leftover adrenaline and the unmistakable scent of gunpowder and triumph.

“Alright,” Hoseok starts, clapping his hands once. “Good work today. Especially to Detective Y/N, who almost dethroned Jungkook and looked hot doing it. Professionally speaking.”

“Sarge!” you protest, laughing.

Taehyung gasps. “So you’re admitting she’s hot. Confirmed.”

Yoongi sighs from the back of the room, sipping a smoothie. “I miss when this place was about justice and not flirting.”

“You miss when you didn’t have to leave the evidence locker to talk to us,” Jimin shoots back.

“Still do,” Yoongi replies, deadpan.

Jin chimes in, “We should get a commemorative plaque made: Y/N – Most Likely to Beat Jeon’s Ego Into Submission With a Bullet.”

Jungkook leans back smugly in his chair. “Only fair. She beat me today, but my record still stands.”

You grin. “For now.”

More playful oohs ripple through the squad. Taehyung hands Hoseok a twenty. “I told you she’d win.”

“Milliseconds!” Jungkook yells again.

Namjoon walks in mid-commotion with a stack of folders, raises one eyebrow, and sighs. “What did I say about turning training into Fight Club?”

“Don’t?” several voices mumble.

“Exactly.”

He pauses, scanning the group. “Overall—good work today, everyone. Now go home, shower, and try to act like a professional tomorrow.”

The squad begins filtering out, still tossing barbs and bets. Namjoon lifts a finger, stopping you and Jungkook in your tracks.

“Not you two.”

The door shuts with a soft click. Namjoon looks between you both with a face that says he knows way too much.

“Just so we’re clear… I don’t care what’s going on between you.”

You both tense.

“As long as it doesn’t affect your aim. Or the paperwork.”

You nod quickly. “Crystal clear Captain,”

“What aim?”Jungkook smirks

Namjoon stares at him, completely unamused. “Out. Before I add more forms to your stack.”

Jungkook salutes on his way out. “Yessir.”

You trail behind him, hiding your grin and the flutter in your chest.

The lights are low. A movie plays in the background, mostly ignored. You’re curled up in bed, pressed against Jungkook’s chest, legs tangled beneath the sheets. The adrenaline from training has long faded, replaced with the quiet calm of being exactly where you want to be.

His fingers trace lazy circles on your arm. You're both sunk into the pillows, warm, content, still slightly sore.

Jungkook hums against your temple. “You really showed me up today.”

You smile, eyes closed. “Barely. You still hold the record, champ.”

He shifts slightly to look down at you, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek. “I meant it, you know. I didn’t care if you broke it.”

You scoff. “Sure, now that I didn’t.”

He tilts his head, more serious now. “No. Really.”

You open your eyes, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“Before you,” he continues, voice low and gentle, “being a cop felt like the only thing I had space for. Like there wasn’t room for anything else. I didn’t even want there to be.”

He pauses, cupping your cheek. “But then you came along… and somehow, you didn’t take up space. You just fit. The only person I’ve ever wanted to make room for.”

Your heart stumbles over itself.

You don’t say anything—you just pull him in for a slow, deep kiss, one that says all the things words can’t touch. His hand curls around your waist, holding you like you’re precious.

When you pull back, your foreheads rest together.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything this badly,” you whisper. “Not just you… but us. Whatever this is.”

Jungkook smiles, thumb brushing your lower lip. “This is you ruining me for anyone else.”

You laugh softly, burying your face in his neck. “You’re so dramatic.”

He grins. “Only for you.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then your cheek, and finally your lips again—gentle, steady, and full of promise.

“You’re staying again tonight, right?” you murmur.

“I packed a whole damn bag this time,” he says, smug. “I’m not making the same mistake twice.”

You giggle, wrapping your arms tighter around him.

You stood there in the courtyard for a beat too long.

Not because you didn’t have anything to say—but because anything you could’ve said would’ve made it worse. Jungkook’s words still clung to the air like humidity: You were right. It’s too messy.

And you hated that part of you believed him.

When you finally walked back inside, the precinct buzzed around you like normal—phones ringing, printers clicking, your coworkers laughing too loudly about something Taehyung probably said.

You tried to slip in quietly.

But the moment you stepped through the bullpen doors, six pairs of eyes landed on you.

“Hey,” Jimin said, slowly. “You good?”

You gave a tight smile. “Yeah. Great. Why?”

Taehyung tilted his head. “You and Jungkook looked… tense.”

“Super normal,” you said, cutting across the bullpen to your desk. “We love being normal.”

Yoongi didn’t even look up from his phone. “You two are as subtle as a fire in a fireworks factory.”

You were about to respond—maybe laugh it off, maybe deflect—when Namjoon’s office door creaked open.

“Detectives Jeon, L/N,” he called out. “I have the files.”

The chatter behind you didn’t fade as you followed Jungkook into the office—he had appeared from the breakroom, looking freshly composed but not looking at you. Not even once.

“I have a new case for you two. High-end hotel downtown’s been getting hit every couple nights—string of high-dollar thefts from luxury suites. No forced entry, no signs of struggle. They think it’s internal.”

You flipped open the file he slid your way. “Hotel staff?”

“Possibly,” Namjoon nodded. “Or someone close to them. It’s discreet enough that no guests have complained—yet. But management gave us access under the condition that we send someone in subtly.”

He smiled. Too much.

“You want us to go undercover,” Jungkook said flatly.

Namjoon leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying this. “As a married couple. On a weekend getaway.”

You blinked. “Married?”

“Newlyweds,” he corrected. “Very in love. Very handsy. Don’t make it weird.”

You exchanged a glance with Jungkook—and instantly regretted it.

His face gave nothing away.

Yours gave everything away.

Namjoon raised a brow. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” you both said at the same time, then immediately looked in opposite directions.

Namjoon cleared his throat. “Good. You check in tomorrow. Take the rest of today to prep and read over the layout. Floor staff IDs are included in the file. Try not to set anything on fire.”

You both stood.

And before you could escape the office entirely, Namjoon added under his breath: “And maybe work out whatever’s going on between you two. You’re better when you’re synced.”

You didn’t answer. Neither did Jungkook.

You’d barely made it out of Namjoon’s office before Jimin practically pounced.

“So I hear you two lovebirds are going undercover,” he said, appearing at your side with a folder of his own and a grin far too excited for someone at work.

“We’re not lovebirds,” you deadpanned.

“Right, right,” Jimin waved his hand. “You’re just two extremely single detectives being assigned a luxury suite and told to act married. Not weird at all.”

You gave him a look. “Are you helping with the logistics or just here to stir the pot?”

“Both!” he beamed, swinging open the briefing room door.

You and Jungkook exchanged a glance but followed anyway.

Inside, Jimin was already setting up files, maps, and a large layout of the hotel floor plan on the whiteboard.

“Alright,” he said, clapping. “Here’s the rundown. The Royal Magnolia. Bougie, beautiful, and crawling with rich people who don’t know how to lock up their diamonds.”

Jungkook leaned forward, eyes scanning. “You really think it’s someone on the staff?”

“Night crew’s tight, but no cameras in guest hallways. Whoever’s doing this knows the schedule. You two’ll pose as newlyweds in room 1802. Most of the hits have happened in rooms nearby. You flirt, act in love, and scope out the staff without blowing cover.”

You gave a mock salute. “So, basically, be handsy and nosy.”

Jimin grinned. “Exactly.”

He clapped his hands once. “And now for the fun part: outfits!”

“What—”

“Storage room,” Jimin announced, already leading the way. “You are not going undercover in your sensible cop clothes.”

You hesitated. Jungkook sighed. But Jimin was already unlocking the supply closet where years of forgotten undercover gear lived.

Inside: clothing racks, shoes, bags, wigs, scarves, suspicious amounts of leopard print, and at least three fur coats.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, eyes wide.

“Welcome to my kingdom,” Jimin said proudly.

He immediately started pulling outfits. “Alright, Y/N—lacy but classy. The woman who drinks $20 martinis and knows her worth. Jungkook, you’re the husband who got lucky.”

Jungkook made a face. “Can I just wear a suit?”

“No!” Jimin tossed a linen button-up at his chest. “This says, ‘I honeymoon in Spain but also do CrossFit.’”

He turned to you and held up a silky wrap dress. “This, though? Screams 'just married, no prenup.'”

“Or this,” he said, holding up a silky red babydoll, “is the one?”

You raised a brow. “The one for what? A fake wedding night?”

Jimin winked. “Exactly.”

Jungkook, standing across the room flipping through blazers, looked up at that—too quickly.

You caught it. So did Jimin.

“I mean, look at you,” Jimin continued, tossing you the dress. “Absolutely gorgeous. If I were your fake husband, I’d have to try really hard not to fall in love.”

You snorted. “You’d fall in love the second I outshot you on the range.”

“That too,” Jimin grinned.

Jungkook cleared his throat and reached for a hanger—except his foot caught the edge of a rolling bin and he stumbled, barely catching himself.

You blinked. “Are you good?”

“Fine,” he muttered, grabbing the blazer like it had personally wronged him.

Jimin squinted. “Jeon, what’s with the energy today? You’re giving Namjoon during a trust fall exercise.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, a little too flatly.

Jimin stepped closer to you with a smirk. “Did I say something to offend your work husband?”

You smiled sweetly. “You’ll know if you do, Park.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up. “Oop—spicy.”

You reached for another hanger, brushing past Jungkook. “I’m just saying, some people can’t handle the heat.”

Jungkook didn’t say a word. But you didn’t miss the way his jaw flexed.

Jimin, always the observer, clocked it all. He leaned in conspiratorially, whispering like you weren’t three feet away.

“Seriously. What’s going on with you? You’re normally cocky as hell. Now you’re tripping over coat racks.”

Jungkook’s reply was delayed. Quiet. “It’s nothing.”

You didn’t buy it. Neither did Jimin.

But no one pushed further.

Instead, Jimin handed you both your undercover outfits and said with a grin, “You’ve got a fake marriage to plan. Don’t forget your rings.”

Jimin finally wandered off, humming to himself, satisfied with the chaos he’d stirred. You and Jungkook stood alone in the storage room, folding the clothes and stuffing them into the garment bag for tomorrow’s op.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

You reached for the zipper, but Jungkook beat you to it, zipping it up a little too forcefully.

“What was that?” he muttered.

You blinked. “What was what?”

“That comment to Jimin,” he said, not looking at you. “You made it sound like—”

“Like what?” you cut in, arms crossing. “Like this is messing with me?”

He finally turned to face you, eyes sharp. “Yeah. Like that.”

“Well,” you bit out, “maybe because it is.”

The words hung there, too raw in the air between you.

Jungkook inhaled slowly. “So what? You want me to just... what? Fix it? Pretend nothing happened?”

“No,” you said, voice quieter now. “I want you to be honest with me. You might be fine pretending, but I’m not. You won’t even look at me.”

“I’m trying to protect both of us,” he snapped. “You think this is easy for me?”

“God, for a smart detective, you’re such an idiot,” you said, the frustration spilling over before you could stop it.

His jaw clenched. “Seriously?”

You took a step forward. “Yeah. Seriously. What are we even doing, Jungkook? You pulled me in, and now you’re pushing me away and acting like I made this whole thing up—”

“What do you want me to do?” he shot back. “Tell you I haven’t thought about kissing you every second since it happened? That I can’t stop picturing your fucking throw pillows or how your place smelled like you and now I’m losing it every time you’re near me?”

You froze.

He took a shaky breath. “You think I don’t want this? You think I don’t want you?”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Because if I let myself want you out loud,” he said, voice suddenly low and harsh, “you’d be risking everything. Your reputation. Your job. You’re willing to do that—for me? We might not work.”

The question landed heavy in the space between you.

You stammered for a second, trying to find the right words.

But he beat you to it.

“Exactly,” Jungkook said, bitterly. “This is how it needs to be.”

You opened your mouth to argue but he was already reaching into his pocket.

He stepped forward and pressed something into your palm. Cold. Familiar.

You looked down.

The fake engagement ring.

The one from the bakery op. The one he’d slipped on your finger like it meant something.

“We’ll do the case,” he said, voice clipped. “And then we can talk to Namjoon about reassigning partners. If you're uncomfortable with me.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Not when your heart was pounding in your ears and that ring sat like a weight in your hand.

Jungkook gave you one last glance—something unreadable in his eyes—and walked away.

And you stood there alone in the storage room, fingers curled around a fake ring, wondering how something pretend could hurt this bad.

You and Jungkook stood side-by-side in Captain Namjoon’s office, a case file open between you.

Jungkook cleared his throat, tapping the board with a marker. “So here’s the plan. The hotel has had four reported thefts in the past month, all during high-end couple’s items. Security’s tight but there are a few blind spots—and that’s where our suspects seem to be operating. We’re checking in as a newlywed couple. Room 1802, ocean view.”

Namjoon nodded, arms crossed as he leaned against his desk. “And the cover story?”

You stepped forward, flipping the page. “We’re on our honeymoon, booked last-minute. We’ll have a camera rig in the lamp and one on the doorframe. Yoongi will patch us into surveillance once we're checked in.”

Namjoon hummed. “Alright. Jungkook, I need you to stop by the impound lot and pick up something that fits the part. Real bougie.”

Jungkook looked personally offended. “What, my Benz isn’t bougie enough for you?”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “You sure? ‘Cause there’s a Lambo in impound—bright red. Seized from a guy who owed more in taxes than he made in five years.”

Jungkook’s jaw dropped. “Wait. You’re serious?”

Namjoon gave him a dry look. “No, I just thought I’d break your heart for fun. Yes, I’m serious.”

Jungkook grinned. “Say less.”

Namjoon chuckled and turned to you. “Jungkook will swing by to grab you in the morning. Yoongi’ll get you both set up with the surveillance gear before you head out.”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral even though your stomach fluttered at the mention of being picked up.

Namjoon grabbed the file and closed it, handing it back to Jungkook. “Congrats to the happy couple.”

Jungkook scoffed. “You’re hilarious.”

The two of you turned to leave. But just as Jungkook stepped into the hallway, Namjoon called after him, tone far too casual.

“Oh—and Jeon?”

Jungkook paused at the doorway. “Yeah?”

Namjoon tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes in that way that always made everyone nervous. “Do I want to know what’s going on with you two?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jungkook gave a lopsided shrug, his voice low but not defensive.

“Probably not.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hallway.

You stared at the open suitcase on your bed, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

Jimin had gone way too hard.

The silky pink dress you wore was easily the most expensive-looking thing you’d ever touched, let alone worn. The neckline was dangerously low, the fabric practically liquid. There were matching heels—obnoxiously tall—and delicate jewelry that definitely didn’t come from your closet. You sighed, pulling the dress over your head anyway.

You glanced down at your hand, slipping on the fake engagement ring and matching wedding band from the bakery op. Your throat tightened.

It sparkled in the morning light.

You stared at it a second longer than you meant to.

This is fake. You reminded yourself. All of it. Except maybe the part where I actually like him…

Your heart twisted. You hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he left.

You understood it—sort of. The way he panicked. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

You brushed your fingers against your neck, checking your reflection. Hair pinned up, makeup soft and elevated. Wealthy newlywed vibes. You barely recognized yourself.

Then—three quick knocks at the door.

Your stomach flipped.

You opened it.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood there with one hand on his hip, dressed in a crisp dress shirt that he absolutely refused to button all the way, sleeves pushed up his forearms, slacks fitted to sin. The shirt clung to his chest in a way that made your throat dry.

You watched his eyes rake over you, pausing at the ring on your finger. He swallowed. Hard.

You were the first to speak, mostly because the silence was choking you. “Why’d you come up?”

Jungkook blinked like he’d forgotten how words worked. “I was… gonna help with your bag.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to be nice.”

He looked you in the eye. “I would’ve done that no matter what.”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath hitch.

You hesitated, hands folding in front of you. “This is gonna be weird, huh?”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose. “Probably.”

A pause. He shrugged. “But… it’s the job.”

You nodded, heart hammering.

He stepped forward, grabbing your suitcase like it weighed nothing. “Let’s go, Mrs. Jeon,” he said under his breath, and it made something flip in your chest.

You didn’t say anything—just followed him to the elevator.

The drive was quiet at first.

Too quiet.

You fiddled with the hem of your dress as he drove, eyes flicking over to him occasionally. The way his hand flexed on the wheel. The way his hair fell into his eyes.

You knew you weren’t supposed to think about the other night.

You also knew you weren’t going to stop.

Jungkook broke the silence first. “You look nice.”

Your head turned sharply. “What?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “The dress. It, uh… suits you.”

Your heart betrayed you with its reaction. “Thanks. You don’t clean up so bad yourself.”

That earned you a crooked smile.

You sat in it for a second, soaking in the fact that this was your life now. Fake rings. Fake marriage. Real feelings you had no clue what to do with.

As you pulled up to the precinct, Jungkook killed the engine and glanced over at you. “Ready?”

You nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

He opened his door and jogged around to yours, offering a hand to help you out like it was second nature.

You took it.

Even though your chest was a mess of butterflies and maybe-regret and unresolved want.

Even though it was fake.

And maybe—especially because it wasn’t.

The moment you and Jungkook stepped through the doors of the precinct, all conversation screeched to a halt. Like… actual silence.

And then…

“Ohhhhhh shit,” Jimin whispered like he was narrating a royal entrance.

“Would you look at that,” Taehyung added, eyes wide and sparkling. “It’s the lovely couple.”

You flushed immediately, eyes scanning the room as your coworkers’ expressions ranged from smug to straight-up gleeful. You could feel Jungkook stiffen beside you.

“You look amazing,” Jin said genuinely, giving your outfit a slow appreciative nod. “Pink is your color. Very stunning."

“Seriously, can you go undercover everyday?” Jimin added, sipping his coffee dramatically. “Because you look worth the HR complaint.”

Jungkook glared. Not at anyone in particular. Just in a general this is not the time kind of way.

Taehyung leaned against his desk, chin in his palm. “Aw, Kookie. You’re hot too.”

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Taehyung shrugged. “You looked jealous for a second, so I wanted to validate you.”

Jimin wheezed.

Hoseok chuckled lightly, “Alright, alright—let the newlyweds live. Big case today. Namjoon says no kissing on company time.”

“No promises,” Jin quipped.

Before you could respond, a voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“You’re late.”

Yoongi.

He strolled in holding a duffel bag with wires and gear sticking out of it, looking vaguely like he had just rolled out of the evidence locker.

Jin grinned. “We’re interrupting your nap, huh?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I have important shit to do. Come on, Jeons.”

The squad collectively groaned and whistled as you and Jungkook followed him into the tech room.

Yoongi set the bag on the table and started pulling out the gear.

“Alright. Glasses for you,” he said to Jungkook, tossing him a sleek pair of black frames. “Hidden camera in the corner. You touch the arm to toggle recording.”

Jungkook slid them on, looked in the mirror, and even you had to admit—devastating.

You coughed. “You look like a librarian.”

He smiled faintly. “Is that your thing?”

You gave him a bland look. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Yoongi pulled out a small velvet box and opened it to reveal a glittery brooch. “And for you—sparkly and spy-approved. Camera’s in the center jewel. Congrats, you’re now deadly and accessorized.”

You tried to pin it to your dress but fumbled with the clasp, your fake nails getting in the way.

“Here,” Jungkook said, stepping forward.

You held your breath as he reached out, fingers brushing your collarbone as he adjusted the pin. His other hand smoothed the fabric gently, lingering just a second too long.

Yoongi watched the exchange in dead silence.

“...Okay.” He raised an eyebrow, voice flat. “Do y’all want me to step out so you can finish making out in private?”

You choked. “What?! We weren’t—!”

Jungkook cleared his throat and stepped back quickly. “Just helping.”

Yoongi didn’t blink. “Sure.”

He handed you both a small folder. “Here's the setup. Cameras already installed in the hotel room—one facing the door, one in the lamp. Don’t worry, it’s motion-triggered. You’ll only record once someone enters.”

Jungkook nodded, flipping through the blueprints Yoongi gave him.

Yoongi leaned on the table. “I'll be monitoring your feeds from here. If anything goes sideways, say the code phrase—‘Room service gave me the wrong towels.’ Got it?”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“You try thinking of a better one at 6 a.m.,” he muttered. Then narrowed his eyes. “By the way…”

Uh-oh.

“Are y’all gonna talk about whatever the hell this energy is?”

You blinked. “What energy?”

Yoongi tilted his head, as if you just asked if water was wet. “You’re both twitchy as hell. Jungkook hasn’t looked at you longer than five seconds, and you keep touching your ring like it’s cursed.”

Jungkook stiffened, adjusting his glasses like it would hide him from the moment.

You looked away. “It’s just weird. The case is weird.”

Yoongi hummed like he didn’t believe either of you. “Sure.”

He leaned back and grinned slowly. “Well, don’t do anything too convincing. I’m already gonna have to scrub the footage after this.”

You and Jungkook both spoke at the same time.

“What?!”

Yoongi blinked. “I’m kidding.”

Probably.

He turned toward the door, smirking. “Don’t forget—mics are hot once you enter the hotel. Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want me to hear.”

“That’s a threat,” Jungkook muttered.

“It’s a promise.” Yoongi shot back.

And with that, he left.

You and Jungkook sat stiffly in his car, the tension thicker than the scent of the new leather seats. You both reached for the center console at the same time your hands brushing just trying to pick a damn playlist.

You jerked your hand back.

So did he.

Silence again.

Cool cool cool, you thought, so we’re apparently strangers now. That’s fine. Normal.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “You can pick the music.”

You tapped a random playlist just to fill the silence. Yoongi had said the mics wouldn’t go live until you entered the hotel, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t already watching. Judging.

Not that Yoongi actually gave a shit but still.

You tapped your fingers on your knee, the tension starting to buzz in your chest.

He still wouldn’t look at you.

You huffed. “So. This should be easy.”

Jungkook glanced at you briefly. “What should?”

“This op. I’m sure I’ll handle it well. You know…” you gestured vaguely between you. “Since I don’t have a problem making eye contact.”

His jaw clenched. “Are we doing this now?”

You leaned against the passenger door, not looking at him. “I mean, we have a forty-five minute drive. What better time?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Okay. You think I can’t do it? Be convincing?”

“You said it, not me.”

“Yoongi said it,” he snapped, eyes narrowing on the road. “You agreed.”

You shrugged. “Well, you haven’t exactly been giving Oscar-winning fake husband energy the last few days.”

That got him.

Jungkook turned fully toward you at the red light, one hand gripping the wheel. “Fine. I’ll prove it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He leaned slightly closer. “I’m going to be the best fake husband you’ve ever had. Better than your imaginary ones, too.”

You snorted. “Sure.”

His eyes sparkled with challenge. “You don’t believe me.”

“This is the most we’ve spoken in two days, Jungkook. Forgive me if I’m not totally convinced.”

His jaw worked for a second like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the words. So instead, he focused back on the road and muttered, “Well… when it comes to work, I do my job.”

You crossed your arms, fighting a smirk. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious,” he said, tone sharp now. “You’re gonna forget it’s fake. I’ll be that good.”

You tilted your head, watching him with amusement. “Big promise.”

“Yeah?” He shot you a cocky look. “Hold me to it.”

A beat passed.

Then you smiled—sweet, dangerous, amused. “Oh, I will.”

The music played softly in the background as you drove in silence again—but this time, it simmered. Charged. Jungkook’s knuckles flexed on the steering wheel.

Oh, you realized. He’s gonna try.

And that was dangerous.

You stepped out of Jungkook’s car the second it rolled up to the valet, nerves twisting low in your belly.

This was it.

The undercover assignment. The newlywed bit. The fake romance that suddenly didn’t feel so fake—especially with the way he was looking at you in that pink dress, his hand twitching like he had to physically stop himself from reaching for your waist.

The valet stepped up and Jungkook handed over the keys with a smile, then turned to you, holding out a hand like a damn prince. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You blinked at the nickname. He winked.

You took his hand—because you had to. For the role. Obviously.

“Remember,” he murmured as you walked toward the hotel doors together, “you said you’re holding me to it.”

Then, before you could respond, his arm snaked around your waist. Firm. Warm. Ridiculously natural.

You glanced at him.

He was already looking at you. Smiling like he’d never been upset, never avoided you, like he didn’t sneak out of your bed just three nights ago.

He was thriving.

The doorman greeted you both with a cheerful, “Welcome to The Royal Magnolia!”

“Thank you,” Jungkook answered smoothly, pulling you closer to his side. “We’re checking in—Jeon, honeymoon suite.”

You nearly choked. Honeymoon suite? Jimin had not mentioned that.

The concierge behind the desk beamed at you. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Jeon. You both look absolutely radiant.”

Jungkook turned to you, smile softening. “She does, doesn’t she?”

You froze, lips parting, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple. His hand rubbed soothing circles into your waist like he’d been doing it for years.

“That ring is stunning,” the concierge added.

“She deserves the best,” Jungkook said, like he meant it, eyes still on you. “Had to make sure it sparkled.”

You wanted to scream standing there with your cheeks on fire.. This wasn’t fair. He was too good at this. Too natural. Too sincere.

As the elevator doors closed behind you both, silence stretched for half a second.

Then you snapped: “Okay, what the hell was that?”

Jungkook blinked innocently. “What?”

“All of that! The temple kiss? The waist grab? ‘She deserves the best’?!”

He smirked, hands slipping into his pockets as he leaned against the elevator wall. “Told you I’d be the best fake husband you’ve ever had.”

You stared at him. “I hate you.”

He shrugged. “You love this.”

…Unfortunately, you really did.

As the elevator dinged on the 18th floor, you stepped out, the carpet plush beneath your heels, your heart still hammering from the concierge’s “Mr. and Mrs. Jeon.”

Jungkook was still holding your hand.

“Okay,” you whispered, tugging a little. “You can let go now.”

“Nope.” He smiled like a smug idiot. “Someone could be watching.”

You scanned the hallway. Empty.

“There’s literally no one here.”

He leaned in, voice low. “Precaution, babe.”

Babe?!

Before you could argue, he reached forward and opened the suite door, letting you walk in first with an overly formal bow. “After you, my bride.”

You sighed dramatically as you stepped into the suite and immediately stopped in your tracks.

It was beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows, champagne chilling by the window, an obnoxiously large bed with white rose petals scattered across it.

The door clicked behind you, and Jungkook set the garment bag down on the bench.

You both stood there in silence, staring at the bed.

“One bed?” you muttered.

Jungkook raised a brow. “It’s the honeymoon suite, Y/N. What’d you expect? Bunk beds?”

Your head whipped around to glare at him, and he laughed—really laughed. The sound made your stomach flip.

“Relax,” he said, walking past you to start unpacking. “I’ll take the couch.”

“There is no couch.”

“There’s a chaise lounge,” he pointed out, smug. “And besides… we’re married. You picked the red lingerie, remember?”

Your jaw dropped. “Jimin picked it!”

“Sure he did.”

Before you could tackle him, a voice crackled through the comms unit Yoongi had snuck into the nightstand lamp.

“Can you two shut up and set up the damn camera?”

You jumped.

Jungkook snorted. “Hi, hyung.”

“Don’t ‘hi, hyung’ me. I’ve been listening to this domestic bickering for ten minutes. You haven’t even plugged in the router.”

Jungkook walked over to the wall port, crouching down. “A little privacy would be nice, you know.”

“You’re undercover. I’m the ears. I am privacy.”

You moved to the bed, smoothing out your dress, trying to gather your thoughts as Jungkook fiddled with cords. You kept catching him stealing glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

He looked comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Like he liked this.

He finished setting up the router, syncing the camera mounted above the dresser to Yoongi’s tablet back at the precinct.

“Clear feed,” Yoongi said after a few seconds. “If anything suspicious goes down in that room, I’ll see it. Including any… extracurriculars.”

You turned beet red. “Yoongi!”

He cackled. “Just saying. You two are very method. Don’t forget you’re technically on the clock.”

Jungkook stood and stretched, lifting his arms high enough for his shirt to ride up and reveal just a sliver of skin. You averted your eyes fast.

“So,” he said casually, walking over to the minibar, “champagne?”

You blinked. “Now?”

“We are celebrating,” he said with a smirk, twisting the bottle and catching the cork with one hand. “I mean, I just got married.”

You crossed your arms. “Don’t you think you’re enjoying this a little too much?”

He poured a glass, walked it over, and handed it to you gently. His fingers brushed yours as he passed it.

“I told you,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, “I was gonna be a really good fake husband.”

And with that, he clinked his glass against yours and took a sip—leaving you stunned, staring at him like he’d just knocked the air out of your lungs.

Yoongi’s voice crackled back through the comms.

“Yeah. You two are so gonna screw this up.”

After the surveillance was set and the champagne was half gone, Jungkook clapped his hands together like a man with a mission.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he grinned. “Time to investigate.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Investigate?”

“Dinner service,” he said like it was obvious. “The main suspect is the hotel’s night manager. If he’s going to be anywhere, it’s at the restaurant.”

“And we’re just going to waltz in there and… observe?”

“Exactly,” he said, grabbing your hand again. “Like any loving couple would.”

You let him lead you toward the closet where the clothes Jimin picked were neatly hung up. You stopped in front of the full-length mirror, staring at your reflection in the silky pink dress, a little too romantic for comfort.

From behind you, Jungkook whistled low.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” he murmured, eyes lingering in the mirror. “But damn.”

You reached for the zipper on the side, struggling a little as it had slid down. Without a word, Jungkook stepped closer, brushing your hair aside. His fingers grazed your shoulder, the heat of his palm resting there as he slowly zipped you up.

You didn’t breathe.

“Better?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“Necklace?” he offered, holding out the simple gold one Jimin had packed. You turned, watching in the mirror as he clasped it behind your neck, fingers ghosting over your skin. You met his eyes in the reflection and his smile faltered, just a little.

“Yoongi’s definitely watching,” you said quickly, needing to say something, anything.

Jungkook leaned in closer, whispering just behind your ear. “Let him.”

You stared at him. “You’re deranged.”

He smirked. “I’m committed.”

You grabbed your heels, still shaken. “Let’s go. Before I forget this is fake.”

He held the door open. “Would that be so bad?”

You blinked at him—but before you could respond, Yoongi’s voice came through the comms again.

“Still acting?”

You both jumped.

“No,” Jungkook said quickly. “Yes. I mean—shut up.”

You entered the hotel restaurant on his arm, and suddenly it was like he was possessed.

Pulling your chair out. Tucking you in. Resting his hand gently on your thigh like it was second nature.

You nearly choked on your water.

He was smiling, charming the waiter, casually reaching across the table to brush something nonexistent off your cheek. He leaned in to whisper something funny in your ear and you laughed because damn it, he was funny. And sweet. And… intoxicatingly close.

You were in a romcom with no off switch.

And Jungkook? He was thriving.

“You’re gonna blow our cover,” you hissed when the waiter left.

He tilted his head. “What cover? I'm an attentive husband.”

“You’re being insane.”

He shrugged and sipped his wine. “I told you. I’m gonna be so good at this, you’re gonna forget it’s not real.”

You glared at him.

He just winked.

Yoongi, watching from the precinct, narrowed his eyes. “Okay… so they’re either nailing this or about to kiss.”

By the time you made it back to the room, your heels were dangling from your fingers and Jungkook had ditched his blazer somewhere along the hallway.

You were both flushed from wine and laughter. A little dizzy. A lot too comfortable.

He opened the door and held it with a smug flourish. “After you, wifey.”

You side-eyed him but walked past, muttering under your breath, “Still not a real honeymoon.”

“Tell that to the fourth waiter who congratulated us,” he said, kicking the door shut with his foot. “We’re killing it.”

You tossed your shoes by the dresser and collapsed onto the bed, arms stretched out dramatically. “Maybe too good.”

Jungkook snorted, loosening the top few buttons of his shirt as he walked toward you. “What, afraid you’re starting to fall for your incredibly charming, devilishly handsome husband?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move. “I’m afraid you’re starting to enjoy this way too much.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, one knee up, body half-turned to you. “Maybe I am.”

That caught you off guard.

You blinked up at him, brain short-circuiting at the lazy way he was watching you. His sleeves were rolled, his collar askew, his hair slightly tousled from your walk back. All of it felt too real—like you hadn’t just spent months pretending there was nothing.

You cleared your throat. “Help me with this necklace?”

He didn’t answer. Just scooted closer.

His fingers brushed the back of your neck as he undid the clasp. But instead of pulling away immediately, he let the chain slide through his fingers slowly—then stared at you a second longer than necessary.

“Thanks,” you said, voice softer than you meant it to be.

He tilted his head. “You’re different tonight.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “So are you.”

You meant it as a jab, but your tone betrayed you—too breathy, too curious.

He reached for a throw pillow behind you, brushing your knee in the process. “Maybe being your husband is just bringing out the best in me.”

You snorted, falling back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “God, I hate you.”

He grinned. “You say that, but you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

You turned your head, looking at him where he sat by your hip. “You gonna sleep on the floor?”

He looked around. “You gonna do that to your husband?”

You hummed. “Crazy how you're not my husband.”

He tapped the fake ring on your finger. “Beg to differ, baby”

That earned a laugh from you—real and unguarded.

The silence that followed was soft. Comfortable.

You sat up slowly, leaning forward to grab your makeup wipes. Jungkook reached out to help, plucking one from the packet and gently starting to wipe your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

It wasn’t part of the act anymore.

“You’re being sweet again,” you whispered.

He paused. “Am I?”

You opened your eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He set the wipe down. “What if I’m just tired of pretending?”

Your heart stuttered.

You stared at him, unsure what to say—until his gaze dropped to your lips.

Again.

“Say it,” you dared.

His hand found your knee. “You look beautiful tonight.”

You held your breath.

And then—

You leaned in at the same time. Soft, dizzying, warm.

The kiss was slower than last time. Less teasing. More... intentional.

And when you finally pulled back, you whispered the word without thinking:

“Husband.”

Jungkook groaned under his breath, forehead resting against yours. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You blinked at Jungkook, lips still tingling from the kiss, and then your eyes widened in horror. “Shit—did Yoongi see that?”

From the surveillance rig, Yoongi’s voice crackled over the earpiece like the ghost of God himself.

“Nope. Didn’t see a thing. Totally not watching. Definitely not recording it either.”

A beat.

“Also, you guys are hot. Anyway, carry on.”

You groaned and covered your face with your hands, heat flooding your cheeks. Jungkook was trying very hard not to laugh as you grabbed your pajamas and shuffled to the bathroom, muttering something about never being able to look Yoongi in the eye again.

The bathroom door clicked open, steam curling from the frame as you padded back into the room with damp hair and a satin cami clinging to your still-warm skin. You climbed under the covers and faced away from the bathroom, pretending to scroll through your phone and ignore how your heart was thudding.

Ignoring the way Jungkook perked up as you walked out. He grabs his own change of clothes before entering the restroom.

Minutes later, Jungkook emerged dressed down in sweats and a white tee, towel slung over his neck, hair dripping wet and clinging to his forehead. He paused in the doorway when he saw you all curled up.

“You’re really not gonna let me sleep next to you?” His voice was low, a little teasing, but maybe… uncertain too.

You hesitated, then sighed, lifting the blanket wordlessly.

Jungkook didn’t need more of an invitation than that. He slid in beside you, shifting under the covers. You scooted over slightly but then…

His arm snuck around your waist, pulling you closer. His chest pressed to your back. You stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“Husbands cuddle their wives,” he murmured, nose brushing the back of your neck. His voice was still tinged with alcohol—slightly loose, slightly bolder.

“There’s no one watching, Jungkook.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But you’re warm. And soft. And I like this too much.”

You froze.

Your breath caught for just a second.

And then, quietly, you whispered, “You gonna leave halfway through the night again?”

His arm around you tightened.

“That’s not fair,” he said softly, pressing his lips to the back of your shoulder. “You know it wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t know what it was,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I felt awful. Like I did something wrong. Like you regretted it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I didn’t,” he murmured. “I don’t.”

You turned your head slightly. “Then why did it feel like you couldn’t even look at me the next day?”

Jungkook exhaled slowly. “Because I’m an idiot. And because this—us—it’s messy. You were right not to want to get involved. I kept thinking if I just avoided it, avoided you, it would go away.”

You didn’t say anything, just let his words hang in the dim quiet.

“I know I do a great job of hiding it,” he said, trying to joke, but it cracked around the edges. “But I like you.”

You smiled, faintly. “That’s the worst confession I’ve ever heard.”

He let out a huff of a laugh. But then, after a pause:

“I meant what I said. Being with you—it’s a risk. Not just professionally. Emotionally. I don’t think I’ve ever liked someone like I like you.”

You turned fully to face him now, your hand finding the center of his chest. He looked at you like you were the most terrifying and beautiful thing in the world.

“I’m scared, Y/N,” he said, even quieter. “Scared I’ll mess this up. Scared I already have.”

You didn’t say anything right away—just studied his face, watched the way his eyelashes cast shadows across his cheeks.

You leaned in and kissed him once—slow and soft and full of meaning.

But when you pulled away, your hand still on his chest, your voice trembled with something unspoken.

“I’m scared too,” you said.

His brows lifted slightly. You saw the flicker of hope behind his eyes.

“But…” you continued, fingers gently curling into his shirt, “just because something is scary doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying. I’m not saying right now. I just mean… ever.”

Jungkook looked at you like you’d cracked open his ribs and held his heart in your hand.

He didn’t say anything right away. He just reached out, curled a hand behind your neck, and pulled you closer until your forehead was resting against his.

His voice was barely a breath. “Okay.”

You lay there like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the weight of the world put on pause.

Your fingers traced the lines of his tattoo absentmindedly.

He kissed the top of your head.

“You know,” he mumbled, voice low with sleep, “when I imagined this weekend, I didn’t think we’d be having emotionally devastating pillow talk.”

You smiled softly into his chest. “Yeah, well. You didn’t think I’d be this irresistible either.”

A soft laugh rumbled in his chest. “Actually, I did. That’s the problem.”

You let out a little hum, pressing your cheek closer to him.

“Don’t make it weird.”

One would assume that by now, a few months into your time at the 7th Precinct, nothing could surprise you.

And yet, your coworkers always find a way to prove you wrong. Especially at 8 a.m.

Today started off as normal as any other day.

Yoongi? Asleep, head down on his desk like someone hit pause on him mid-case.

Namjoon? In his office, likely solving a citywide crisis and looking effortlessly composed while doing it.

Taehyung and Jimin? Whispering with the intensity of two spies trying to bring down a corrupt regime (or maybe just deciding what to order for lunch).

Jin? Staring at his reflection in the black screen of his monitor, mouthing compliments to himself.

Jungkook? Already at his desk, arms folded behind his head like he’d been waiting just for you.

Hoseo—

You pause, scanning the bullpen. No Hoseok.

You slip into your chair, eyebrows pinching together as you ignore Jungkook’s usual “Morning, partner.”

Instead, you ask the question that clearly shakes the room to its core.

“Where’s the Sarge?”

Every head turns.

“Are you serious? It’s the 23rd,” Taehyung says, as if that means something.

You blink. “Okay?”

Jungkook sighs like he’s disappointed, but also charmed. “Today’s the bake-off,” he says with a light groan.

You stare, still waiting for that to clarify literally anything.

But before you can ask another question, the doors burst open and in walks the sunshine himself.

“Detectives!” Hoseok beams, arms wide like he’s about to bless the room. “It’s here! Our annual Bake-Off is today!”

A collective groan rolls through the bullpen.

Except for one voice.

“Finally,” Jungkook mutters, sitting up straighter.

You glance at him, surprised at the sudden spark of motivation lighting up his features.

“What?”

He smirks. “This year, I get to win.”

Before you can ask what he means, Hoseok claps once. “Hold on! No teams this year—”

“But—!” Jungkook’s hopeful expression drops faster than Yoongi’s attention span.

“Unless,” Hoseok continues, sighing heavily, “you two are on one together. Captain’s orders. It’s the only exception for a team I'll make.”

You whip your head toward Namjoon’s office.

Hoseok shrugs, hands already raised in surrender. “His words, not mine. Said something about ‘containing the chaos.’ Apparently we’re all still emotionally recovering from your little bet.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Jungkook beats you to it.

“Guess that makes us co-chefs,” he grins.

You groan. “Wait—what if I don’t want to partner up with you? You can’t even cook.”

Jimin chokes on his coffee.

Jungkook places a hand over his heart, dramatically wounded. “Wow. Just throwing my culinary credibility out the window like that.”

“I didn’t know you had any.”

“No, you’re right,” he admits, recovering fast. “But that’s where you come in to save me. You're the responsible one. I’m the wildcard. Together, we’re unstoppable.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already smiling.

Jin raises an eyebrow. “So what’s the plan, chaos twins?”

Jungkook leans back with a smug shrug. “We bake. We win. We gloat.”

Taehyung groans as dramatically as Jungkook does when someone makes instant ramen wrong. “Wait—so they get to team up, but we don’t?”

Jimin throws his hands up. “This is blatant favoritism! We had a name picked out and everything!”

“What name?” you ask, already regretting it.

Jimin crosses his arms proudly. “Team Hot & Flustered.”

Taehyung winks. “Because we bring the heat. And confusion.”

Hoseok pinches the bridge of his nose. “You guys say this is for fun, and then you threaten sabotage every year.”

“It’s never fun,” Jimin says with all the dramatic weight of a soap opera monologue. “This is war.”

Jin, flipping his calendar open to a glamour shot of himself holding a pie: “As the reigning champion four years running, I have to disagree. It’s actually extremely fun proving I’m more than just a beautiful face.”

Yoongi, without looking up: “I don’t know about all that, but your lemon bars are fucking amazing.”

Jin bows in his chair like he’s just won an Oscar.

Just then, Namjoon steps out of his office looking unusually chipper. “Did someone say bake-off?” he asks, eyes bright. “Hoseok, can I compete this year?”

Every single person in the room: “No.”

Except you.

You blink, genuinely confused. “Wait, why can’t he?”

Jimin turns to you slowly, like a horror movie reveal. “You’ve…never seen the photo.”

“What photo?”

Taehyung shudders. “The year of the Great Singeing.”

Jimin pulls out his phone. “Let’s just say—imagine Namjoon. But with no eyebrows.”

You glance at Namjoon.

He shrugs sheepishly. “I was trying to caramelize the sugar with a torch.”

“It was a lighter,” Hoseok says through a tight smile. “You were using a plastic lighter.”

“And butane is a state of mind,” Namjoon mutters, clearly still bitter.

Hoseok claps him on the back. “That’s why you make a great judge.”

Namjoon pouts, pulling himself tall. “History will remember this injustice. Greatness is always misunderstood in its time.”

“Okay Plato, let’s go over flavor categories.”Jin says, rolling his eyes.

“As long as someone makes more lemon bars.” Yoongi mutters, surprisingly not disappearing.

Hoseok claps his hands once, the official signal that the madness is sanctioned now. “Alright, teams—get planning! You’ve got until lunch for the bake-off. I want sugar, I want spice, I want good-natured trash talk!”

“Just say you want Jin to win again and go,” Yoongi mumbles, standing to stretch.

One by one, everyone starts to disperse. Jimin and Taehyung already arguing in the corner over whether cupcakes are inferior to eclairs. Jin pulling out a binder labeled Operation: Citrus Glory. Namjoon trailing after Hoseok asking if maybe he could just assist someone with torching…

You’re still flipping through the empty notepad Hoseok handed you, when a squeak of wheels makes you glance up.

Jungkook has rolled his chair right next to yours, sitting so close you can smell the vanilla from his coffee.

He props his elbows on the desk and grins. “Alright, what’s the plan, Chef Ramsey?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Please. That title goes to Jin. I’m, at best, a slightly competent line cook with a Pinterest addiction.”

“Well, Pinterest Line Cook,” Jungkook teases, “I’m gonna need you to carry us. Because I bring zero baking skills to the table unless we’re talking brownies from a box.”

You hum in thought. “What does everyone usually make? We should avoid repeats.”

Jungkook holds up a finger for each one as he counts them off.

“Jin does something citrusy and ridiculously perfect every year. Yoongi goes for texture—cookies, shortbread, that kind of thing. Jimin once brought a five tier cake… that he purchased. Taehyung submitted mochi and called it a ‘reimagining of identity in chewable form.’”

You blink. “Was it good?”

“Surprisingly. But not, like… bake-off winning. Namjoon tried to make marshmallows once. They fused to the baking sheet.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

He finally turns back to face you, expression softening a little. “So really? It’s up to you.”

You rest your chin in your hand, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re putting all the pressure on me?”

Jungkook shrugs with a crooked smile. “I just know you won’t let us lose.”

There’s something about the way he says it. Like he means it.

Like even with flour on your nose and chaos in the kitchen, he believes in you.

Your heart stutters once before you roll your eyes and grab your pen. “Fine. But you’re wearing the apron.”

Jungkook gasps. “You bought matching aprons?!”

“No,” you lie, already mentally adding it to your list for Hoseok.

Hoseok bursts through the double doors like a contestant on The Great British Bake Off: Precinct Edition, pushing a shopping cart overflowing with flour, sugar, mixing bowls, baking sheets—and, perched right on top like a prize—two identical pink aprons.

He beams. “The goods have arrived!”

“Did you actually get everything?” Taehyung asks skeptically, poking around the cart.

“Everything on the list,” Hoseok replies proudly. “Plus bonus items. Like these.” He lifts the aprons with a flourish. “Special delivery, for Detective L/N.”

Jungkook’s brows raise as you sheepishly wave your phone. “I Venmoed him,” you explain. “You’re wearing it.”

He squints. “Is that a sparkly cupcake on the front?”

“Yes,” you grin, “and yours says ‘Whisk Taker.’”

The room erupts in laughter. Even Namjoon chuckles from his office window before remembering he’s supposed to be dignified and pulling the blinds shut.

Everyone sets up their baking stations around the room. Jin already has a mise en place setup that looks like something out of a cooking show. Taehyung is comparing egg sizes like it’s a metaphysical debate. Jimin is building a makeshift mixer from two electric fans and a spatula.

You and Jungkook hover over your designated table, ingredients now in semi-organized piles.

“Okay,” you sigh, scanning the options. “What are we making?”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully, tapping the countertop. “Red velvet cupcakes.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but doesn’t meet your eyes. “It’s your favorite? From the bakery case.”

You stare at him for a second too long before quickly turning away to grab the flour.

“You remember” you murmur, trying not to sound floored.

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, then louder: “You were weirdly passionate about it. Kinda stuck in my head.”

Your cheeks are warm. “Well, chocolate with red 40 is still chocolate.”

The two of you start prepping. You measure dry ingredients, he tackles the wet. You give instructions while Jungkook insists he already knows what he’s doing and then nearly confuses salt for sugar.

“You’re hopeless,” you tease, reaching for the sugar and brushing flour across his cheek on purpose.

He gasps dramatically. “Sabotage!”

Soon, it’s full-on chaos. Flour floats in the air like confetti. Jungkook flicks batter at you with a spoon. You retaliate by swiping icing across the tip of his nose.

“Truce!” he laughs, hands up. “I’m too pretty to be frosted.”

“You wish,” you scoff, but your smile gives you away.

When it comes time to pipe the batter, Jungkook grabs the bag with too much confidence and ends up with a sad swirl that looks like a deflated emoji.

“You’re… not allowed to do that again,” you deadpan.

“Rude,” he says, pouting. “Show me, then.”

So you do. Sliding behind him, you guide his hands with yours—awkwardly at first, then in sync. His shoulders tense beneath you before relaxing into the moment.

You don’t even realize how close you are until Jin yells from across the room, “If you’re going to kiss, please do it after we submit our desserts!”

You and Jungkook jump apart like teenagers caught behind the bleachers. You both immediately pretend to be very focused on sprinkling powdered sugar.

Once the batter is finally in the oven, the two of you take a breather—well, for about three seconds.

“Icing,” you say, turning to the next task.

Jungkook, who has somehow managed to get cocoa powder on his eyelashes, groans. “Icing is your department, chef.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So now I’m the chef?”

“You’ve always been the chef. I’m the hot assistant with no kitchen skills but a heart of gold.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “Fine. But you’re mixing the cream cheese. You will redeem yourself.”

He does not redeem himself.

In fact, the first batch comes out lumpy, and you force him to taste it.

“Oh, that’s criminal,” he winces, tongue out. “This is frosting for people you hate.”

You smack his arm with a spatula. “Again. And try sifting the powdered sugar first.”

You show him how to fold everything in gently—your hands guiding his once again, slower this time. There’s no excuse now, no piping bag distraction. Just the two of you, standing too close, breathing in vanilla and cinnamon and something neither of you want to name yet.

Jungkook is the first to break the tension—sort of.

“You ever think about quitting?” he asks suddenly, looking down as he scrapes the sides of the mixing bowl. “Like… leaving all this. Being something else? You asked me but I never asked you.”

You glance over, surprised. “All the time.”

“Really?”

You nod, keeping your eyes on the frosting. “But then I remember I’m good at this. Not just catching bad guys but the whole… justice part. Making people feel safe. Being the one who shows up when no one else does.”

He hums, quiet for a second. “Yeah. Same.”

Something about his tone makes you pause.

“Wasn’t always the plan,” he adds. “I was gonna be a pro gamer for a bit.”

You laugh. “You?”

“Hey!” he grins. “I was elite ranked, alright? But… this just made more sense. Felt right.”

You study him for a second. “You're good at it. And not just in the flashy, headline way.”

He’s not expecting that. He falters slightly, then recovers with a smirk. “You trying to butter me up now, partner?”

You grab the nearest mixing spoon and lift it toward his mouth as you take your own spoon. “Icing. Redemption test.”

He leans in, licking it clean with zero hesitation.

You can’t help but stare as his tongue moves on the spoon. Quickly averting your eyes.

He licks his lips.

“What’s your verdict?” he asks, voice lower now.

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. Good. It’s good.”

He grins, eyes twinkling. “Thought so.”

The cupcakes are done before you’re emotionally ready. You carefully pull them out while Jungkook offers sarcastic commentary like a sports announcer.

“And here we have Detective L/N, extracting her signature red velvet creations from the oven. The crowd goes wild. She’s done it again, folks.”

You throw an oven mitt at him. He dodges it and bows dramatically.

The decorating table looks like a battlefield.

Sprinkles scattered like shrapnel. Half-used piping bags oozing at the tips. A rogue cupcake has already been tragically decapitated.

And yet, somehow, it’s perfect.

Jungkook is focused—more focused than he’s ever been on a suspect file—as he attempts to swirl a flawless rose onto a red velvet cupcake. His brows are furrowed, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth.

You can’t stop staring. “You’re taking this a little seriously.”

“I want Hoseok to cry when he sees this,” he mutters. “Like, tears-of-awe level.”

You snort, piping your own swirl beside his. “You’re doing that thing with your tongue again.”

He stops immediately. “What thing?”

“That thing you do when you're concentrating.” You mimic the expression with exaggerated drama.

He narrows his eyes at you. “You’ve been watching me.”

“I work across from you every day, Jeon. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He leans in slightly. “You sure?”

That look. That too-pretty smirk.

You lean in, snatching one of his less-deformed cupcakes. “Let’s see if it tastes better than it looks.”

“Hey!” he tries to grab it back, but you hold it out of reach.

With a smug grin, you tear off a piece and pop it into your mouth.

He watches you chew like he’s awaiting judgment from the gods.

You hum thoughtfully. “Huh.”

“Huh??” His eyes widened. “What does huh mean?!”

“It means…” you slowly turn toward him, tearing off another bite, “you didn’t totally screw it up.”

“High praise.” He leans forward on his elbows, lips parted expectantly. “Well? Feed me.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures with exaggerated patience. “Come on. You taste-tested mine. Now I need the experience.”

Rolling your eyes, you take another piece and, with dramatic flair, hold it out toward his mouth.

But just before he bites, you pull it back.

He groans. “You’re the worst.”

You smirk. “Say ‘ahh.’”

He glares but opens his mouth—and you pop the bite in. He chews slowly, theatrically, and then closes his eyes.

“Oh my God,” he says, mouth still full. “Is this love?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s red velvet.”

He grabs one of your cupcakes next. “Your turn.”

“I already—” you start, but he’s already holding it out toward your lips. You hesitate for a second, then lean in and take the bite.

Too close. Too easy. Too natural.

He watches you like he’s memorizing something.

“It’s good,” you say softly, licking a bit of frosting from your lip.

His voice is lower now. “I know.”

For a second, the chaos of the precinct fades away. It’s just you and him, sweet between you, something unspoken settling like sugar dust in the air.

Then he clears his throat and abruptly says, “We should do sprinkles.”

You blink, jarred back to earth. “Right. Sprinkles.”

Just a team. Just cupcakes. Just a completely normal Tuesday.

“Mine are still better” you smirk.

He reaches out and swipes a bit of frosting from your cupcake, smearing it across your cheek. 

“Not for long.”

You freeze, blinking at him. “Did you just—”

He laughs and starts backing up, holding up a spoon like a weapon. “Defend yourself, coward!”

You grab a spatula, wielding it like a sword. “You wanna play dirty, Jeon?”

Before either of you can go full kitchen warfare, Jin walks by and says, “If you two burn down the precinct, I’m not covering for you.”

You both freeze mid-duel.

“We won’t!” you say at the same time Jungkook says, “We might!”

Once Jin walks off, Jungkook lowers his spoon and looks at you for a beat too long.

He steps back, voice a little rougher now. “We make a good team.”

You look up, smile faintly. “Yeah. We do.”

There’s a beat—where something could happen—but instead, he grabs another cupcake and shoves the whole thing in his mouth like a monster.

You burst out laughing, and he grins through his frosting-covered teeth.

Perfect tension. Sugar-sweet. And neither of you are ready to admit what’s really cooking.

Outside the Jungkook-and-Y/N frosting flirt-fest, the rest of the precinct was in complete baking chaos.

Jin stood like a war general over what had once been an impressively tall croquembouche—delicate cream puffs stacked into a spiraling tower of ambition and arrogance. But one tragic structural miscalculation and two clumsy fingers from Taehyung later… it lay in ruins.

“My legacy,” Jin whispered as he crouched beside the collapse like a mourning artist. “Four-time champion. Dethroned by humidity and betrayal.”

“Don’t look at me,” Taehyung said, licking stray caramel off his fingers. “I was just taste testing.”

Jimin, on the other hand, had made a “unicorn pie.” No one knew what that meant until he revealed it was a store-bought blueberry pie with edible glitter dumped on top like a sugar bomb.

“Don’t ask questions,” he said as he placed it proudly on the judging table. “Just embrace the sparkle.”

Namjoon squinted at it. “Is this FDA-approved glitter?”

“No,” Jimin said. “But it’s pretty-approved.”

Yoongi brought nothing.

He showed up an hour into the competition as everyone was baking, took a sip of coffee, sat in the corner of the bullpen, and nodded at anyone who tried to question him.

“My contribution is rest,” he said. “Which allows others to flourish.”

“That’s not how this works,” Hoseok muttered, passing with a tray of flour and regret.

Namjoon, the reluctant judge, wore a button with “Bake it 'til You Make It” across it and held a clipboard like it held the fate of the nation.

He took his job very seriously.

He sniffed, poked, and examined each entry with the intensity of a culinary Gordon Ramsay crossed with a Nobel Prize committee. He had notes. There were charts.

“Presentation: 5. Taste: 3. Innovation: 10,” he mumbled as he scribbled down his assessment of Jimin’s glitter pie.

“Ten for innovation??” Jin cried in protest. “That’s store-bought!”

Namjoon shrugged. “You never saw it coming.”

Meanwhile, Hoseok darted around like a pageant mom trying to keep the competition civil. He clapped his hands and herded stray detectives away from the oven. Flour dust clung to his sweatshirt.

He glanced across the room and saw Jungkook and Y/N laughing over a bowl of frosting, arms brushing, their heads close.

He grinned.

“Oh, they’re gonna win,” he muttered.

Yoongi didn’t even look up. “Yeah, but at what cost?”

Everyone had already placed their entries on the judging table—some proud, some confused, some (Jimin) glittering—and the room was settling into a lull of sugar and sabotage.

That’s when you and Jungkook approached the table.

The final entry.

You carefully placed down a neat display of red velvet cupcakes, topped with cream cheese frosting piped so perfectly it looked like it had been Photoshopped well yours were. Jungkook definitely tries his best. A few red sugar pearls scattered on top. Simple, elegant, obnoxiously delicious-looking.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow as he walked over. “Alright, what do we have here?”

“Red velvet,” Jungkook answered casually, arms folded like this wasn’t the final act of a romantic baking movie. “Y/N’s recipe. We executed it.”

Namjoon picked one up. Inspected. Bit in.

He stopped chewing.

“You okay, Cap?” Jimin whispered.

Namjoon blinked. “I’m going to need a moment alone with this cupcake.”

He tried another bite. Then another. The room, previously loud with groans and dramatic collapses, had gone silent.

Jin narrowed his eyes. “Let me see that.”

He grabbed one, took a bite—and let out a very un-Jin-like groan.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. These are amazing.”

Even Yoongi got up from his chair, snagged one, and muttered, “Damn. Soft crumb. Balanced frosting. Disgusting. I hate it here.”

Taehyung and Jimin tried to grab theirs at the same time and started wrestling mid-air like two siblings trying to grab the last nugget.

After Namjoon tallied the scores—grumbling about bias and repressed culinary dreams—he sighed dramatically.

“Well, the winners are Jungkook and Y/N.”

Applause. Groans. More glitter from Jimin, for some reason.

You and Jungkook exchanged a look, both of you doing a terrible job hiding your smirks.

“Not bad for our first joint cooking op,” you say.

“You were right,” Jungkook whispers, just for you to hear. “Red 40 is powerful.”

Hoseok clapped like a proud camp counselor. “Why does it feel like you two are in your own rom-com?”

“Because they are,” Jimin said around a mouthful of frosting.

The precinct had emptied out, with Hoseok escorting the last few disaster bakers out and Namjoon locking his clipboard away like it was the nuclear codes.

You stayed behind, wiping down the counter where chaos had once reigned, trying not to smile too much.

Jungkook returned with the trash bin and nudged you gently. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”

“Please never say that again.”

He smirked. Reached up to brush a little frosting from your cheek, thumb lingering.

“You missed a spot.”

You looked up at him. The space between you shrank. Just a breath’s width apart.

His fingers didn’t drop right away. And neither did his eyes.

Your heart knocked once—twice.

But then Jungkook cleared his throat and stepped back, tossing the napkin in the bin.

“We should probably get out of here before Hoseok ropes us into cleaning the oven.”

You nodded, trying not to look as flustered as you felt. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You grabbed a tray of leftover red velvet cupcakes and frowned. The frosting was already starting to slide a little.

“These’ll get ruined if we just toss them on a plate,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

Jungkook, now perched on the edge of your desk, looked over. “You taking them home?”

“I was going to,” you said, then hesitated. “But I don’t really have anything to put them in.”

He hummed. “Can’t let a prize-winning dessert go to waste.”

You glanced at him. “Well, I live like five minutes from here. I have Tupperware. If you want a few.”

He shrugged, too casual. “Yeah, I mean. Sure. Wouldn’t say no to cupcakes.”

You nodded. “Cool. Yeah. It’s not a big deal. Just easier this way.”

“Right,” he agreed, hopping off the desk. “Easier.”

You both stood there for a second, neither moving.

“So... my car?” you offered, tilting your head.

“Lead the way, Cupcake Queen,” he said with a smirk, falling into step beside you.

But when your hands brushed while turning off the lights, neither of you moved away.

Neither of you said anything as you walked out of the precinct, the silence charged but unspoken. You didn’t ask why he didn’t take his own car. He didn’t ask why you didn’t just wait to bring them tomorrow. Some things didn’t need questions.

Just answers.

Jungkook hadn’t even crossed the threshold yet, and he was already losing it.

Your apartment smelled like you—warm, floral, and a little citrusy—and somehow that stupid scent alone was frying his brain. The place was neat, symmetrical, and painfully organized. He had to stop himself from smiling when he noticed the way all your throw pillows were color-coordinated. And you had exactly four mugs hanging from the rack above your sink. Of course you did.

He set the cupcake plate on the counter and looked around like he was trying to catalog everything about you all at once. “You, uh… definitely live here.”

You blinked at him. “That’s the goal.”

“No, I mean—it’s very you. Organized. Strategic. Not a single thing out of place.” He paused. “Kind of intimidating, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You intimidated, Jeon?”

“Terrified,” he murmured, grinning.

Smirking, you walk over to the kitchen. Grabbing the tupperware from the cabinet as Jungkook trails behind. 

“Let me help you with that.” He says as he reaches over your head to grab the lid, bringing his arm down in front of you placing it on the counter. 

His front was slightly pressed to your back and he almost lingered for a second before stepping away. You almost wished he hadn’t.

You distract yourself as you try not to think about the fact that Jungkook was in your home as you pile the cupcakes in. “You know you did a great job taking orders today, you were a great sous chef.” 

“I normally don’t take orders but coming from you I didn’t mind.” He says as he stares at the back of your head watching your hands move.

Your hand stills for a second as your brain tries to catch up to the way your chest is heating up.

“Well,” you say slowly, glancing over your shoulder at him, “you took direction so well… I might start giving you orders more often.”

Jungkook’s brows lift, amused and maybe a little stunned, but his grin grows. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You turn around, leaning your hip against the counter, feigning nonchalance. “Might even put you in an apron more often too. It suits you.”

He laughs, quiet but breathy, like you caught him off guard. “Is that your thing? Bossing me around in the kitchen?”

You shrug, pressing the lid onto the container. “I like seeing you flustered.”

Jungkook steps closer, just once. His hand brushes the edge of the counter near yours.

“I don’t fluster easily,” he says, eyes flickering to your lips.

“No?” you challenge, gaze holding his.

He pauses for a breath. Then he nods toward your face.

“You’ve got a little—” He motions vaguely to your lip, the softest hint of frosting from earlier still smudged there.

Your tongue darts out to try and find it.

Jungkook shakes his head, stepping in like he can’t help himself. “Let me.”

His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth slowly—lingering, deliberate. But instead of wiping the frosting away, he smirks and brings his thumb to his lips, sucking it clean.

You blink.

Oh.

Your stomach does a dangerous little flip.

He tilts his head, grinning. “Red velvet’s growing on me.”

“You’re insufferable,” you say, but your voice is quieter now, breathier, like the air between you has changed.

“You like it.” His voice drops. Just a little. Enough that your pulse stutters.

You don’t answer. You can’t—not when he’s stepping closer, hand reaching to lightly trace the edge of the counter beside your waist, his gaze flicking from your mouth to your eyes like he’s looking for permission.

“I keep thinking about you,” Jungkook says softly now. “Every time we get close… I have to stop myself.”

Your breath catches. 

“Then don’t.”

And that’s all he needs.

His hand hovered at your jaw. You could smell the frosting and his cologne and the warm, rising something that had been brewing for weeks.

Then he kissed you.

It was soft at first—like a question—but when your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie like you’d been waiting for this since day one, he deepened it. No more waiting. No more pretending.

His hands slide to your waist. It’s deeper, desperate. The kind of kiss that’s been building over weeks of tension and teasing and too-long glances across the bullpen.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans softly—like he’s finally gotten what he’s wanted and it’s not enough.

The counter behind you digs lightly into your back as he presses closer, like he wants to erase the space between you entirely. His hand slides up your back, slow and reverent, and you melt into him, your body buzzing like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since the day you met.

You break away only to breathe, forehead resting against his.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” you whisper.

“Me neither,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “But I know I want to be here.”

A beat.

“With you.”

You nod—barely—and then you’re kissing again, both of you grinning through it like idiots, hands roaming now with more certainty. Like you’ve crossed a line and neither of you are turning back.

From there, it’s all soft gasps and low laughter and half-whispered curses.

He follows you toward the bedroom like he’s caught in a trance, still a little dazed from the kiss—eyes on you, chest rising and falling too fast to hide it. You walk just a few steps ahead, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk that damn near ruins him.

“You coming?” you ask.

Jungkook huffs a soft laugh and closes the gap between you. “Clearly.”

You laugh—short and breathless—as he slips his hands around your waist, fingers sneaking under the hem of your shirt. His voice drops low against your ear. “Unless you meant into your room. Then, yeah. That too.”

You roll your eyes and keep walking. “You’re so cocky when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” His hands guide you backward as your legs hit the edge of the doorway. “I’m just excited. Big difference.”

You hum, tilting your head as he backs you toward the bed. “You always get this talkative before sex?”

“Only when I really want it.” He leans in closer. “Do you always look this hot when you’re pretending to be unaffected?”

You narrow your eyes at him, even as your heart thuds against your ribs. “Do you always talk like this when you're about to fall apart?”

That makes him groan—and it’s low, deep, completely unguarded. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You back up just enough to tug off your shirt and toss it onto the floor behind you. “I better be worth dying for.”

Jungkook’s already on you before the shirt lands—mouth on your neck, hands greedy and reverent and not nearly enough.

“You have no idea,” he mutters against your skin, “how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

You freeze for half a second—just long enough for him to realize what he said. But you don’t give him time to backtrack.

Instead, you whisper, “Then take me, Jeon.” 

He kisses every new inch of skin he uncovers—slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every reaction you give him. Fingers skimming across your ribs, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. Teasing. Intentional. Infuriating.

His tongue traces your neck and your breath hitches. You arch into him as he reaches behind you, unclipping your bra with practiced ease.

“Well,” you mutter, “you’re good at that.”

He grins against your collarbone. “I’ve been waiting to use it on you.”

You sit up, slipping your bra off while he peels off his shirt. For a moment, you both pause.

Your eyes drag down his chest—of course he’s built like that—and down his arm, where you finally see his full sleeve of tattoos. Your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not staring at your chest. “Holy shit,” he breathes, and before you can tease him for it, his mouth closes around your nipple, hand squeezing the other.

You gasp, fingers diving into his hair. Your hips rock up on instinct, grinding against the hard bulge in his jeans.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“You started it,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice low and wrecked.

You roll your hips again, smirking, then push him onto his back and straddle him. His hands immediately find your thighs, thumbs rubbing lazy circles like he needs the contact.

“You’re such a tease, Jeon.”

He exhales a soft laugh through his nose, eyes flicking down to where you’re pressed against him. “Only when I like someone.”

It slips out—too easily. You feel it crash over you, heat blooming in your chest.

He knows it, too. You see the panic flicker behind his eyes. But before either of you can address it, you grind down again and Jungkook curses so beautifully you almost forget your own name.

“Oh, fuck.”

He flips you without warning, mouth crashing into yours, and you let him. Let him take and take and take.

Everything after that is soaked in all the things you haven’t said—his mouth on your chest, your fingers tangling in his hair, the low whine he lets out when you wrap your legs around him and pull him closer.

He kisses down your stomach slowly, lips brushing each inch like a promise.

At your hips, he pauses—lips hovering, eyes hooded. “You know,” he murmurs, “you’re actually a little bossy.”

You blink. “You’re going down on me, Jungkook.”

He grins. “I know. Just saying. I kinda like it.”

His hands work your jeans open and slide them down your legs with practiced ease. He glances up at you as his thumbs hook your panties.

“Is it okay if I—?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

He smiles like a sinner who’s finally reached heaven.

He pushes your thighs apart and runs his tongue along your slit, groaning the moment he tastes you. “Jesus. You taste better than I imagined.”

Your breath stutters. “You’ve imagined this?”

“Constantly,” he mutters before diving back in, licking and sucking like he’s starving. His grip on your thighs tightens as he loses himself in you.

You arch off the bed, a shaky moan escaping you when he slips one finger inside, then another. He groans, low and filthy, like you’re the one unraveling him.

“That’s it,” he says more to himself than to you, as he sucks your clit harder, fingers pumping into you in perfect rhythm.

Jungkook continues his relentless licking on your most sensitive spots, his tongue delving deep inside you, fucking you with it. He can feel you getting closer, your walls starting to flutter around him.

“Oh, god, Jungkook—”

“You gonna cum for me?” he says, voice wrecked. “Come on, pretty girl.”

And you do. Your body tenses, then shudders around his fingers, his mouth still lapping at your sensitive clit as you ride out every last wave. He moans against you, drawing it out until your vision spots.

Eventually, he lifts his head, lips wet, pupils blown. He kisses your inner thigh like a promise, then crawls up your body.

He kisses you deep—messy—like he can’t get enough. You taste yourself on his tongue and let it ruin you.

“That,” he pants against your lips, “was incredible.”

You smile, flushed and breathless, hand already trailing down to the waistband of his jeans. You pop the button, tug the zipper, and glance up at him with a smirk. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He groans, helping you shove his jeans and boxers down in one quick movement before kissing you again—deep and messy and entirely unrestrained. Your hand reaches between you, fingers wrapping around him, and Jungkook curses into your mouth.

“Fuck—nope, don’t do that,” he gasps, grabbing your wrist gently. “As amazing as that sounds, I’m already hanging on by a thread here, and I’d much rather lose it in you.”

You feel your breath catch at that, arousal tightening again in your belly. “Condoms,” you murmur, “nightstand.”

He kisses you once more, quick and sweet, before reaching for the drawer. You hear the little sound he makes when he opens it.

You raise an eyebrow, watching him from the bed. “What’s funny?”

He holds up the clear plastic container labeled "CONDOMS (RECREATIONAL)" in your very neat handwriting. A sticky note with little hearts on the lid.

He doesn’t say anything—just smiles, all dimples and soft eyes—and leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just… so you.”

You roll your eyes, flustered. “Shut up and get back here.”

He grins wider, tearing the foil and rolling the condom on with practiced ease. Then he strokes himself once, lining up with you.

You both groan out a low, “Fuck,” at the same time when the tip presses into your heat.

He stills for just a second, forehead resting against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “You okay?”

Your legs wrapping around his waist. “Better than okay. Move.”

“Look at me,” he whispers, forehead against yours. “Please.”

You do. And it wrecks you.

He presses in slow and deep, letting you feel every inch. His eyes hold yours like it’s the only thing grounding him, his hand sliding up your side, fingertips tracing your ribs like he’s memorizing the map of you. You moan, back arching, and he grits his teeth like it physically hurts to hold back.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “you feel like heaven.”

It’s slow at first, but when your legs wrap tighter and your hips roll to meet him, his rhythm shifts—faster, rougher, deeper.

Your name breaks from his lips in a low, desperate moan. “Y/N... shit you’re perfect. So good for me. So fucking good.”

Your nails dig into his back as you gasp, every word he says sinking deep into your chest, right behind your ribcage.

He thrusts again, harder this time, and the sound you let out is broken and soaked in need. Jungkook kisses you and it's messy and hot and unrestrained. Like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing that could satisfy him.

And then something shifts.

He slows just slightly. Drops his head to your shoulder. Nuzzles into your neck like he needs to hide there. One hand tangles with yours above your head, fingers interlacing.

“Been thinking about this,” he confesses, voice rough in your ear. “Thinking about you. In my bed. In yours. In my arms.”

Your heart stutters, fluttering for a reason that has nothing to do with sex.

His other hand slides down to grip your hip, holding you close as he rocks into you again. “You’re unreal,” he whispers. “So smart. So fucking capable. And still you’re here. Letting me have this. Letting me have you.”

You clench around him, overwhelmed by how seen you feel—how fucking cherished. “Jungkook...”

He kisses your jaw, then your shoulder. His pace falters just a bit as he groans into your skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your hand tightens around his, and he squeezes back like a promise.

“Come for me,” he whispers against your neck. “You’ve been so good. Let me feel you.”

And you do—legs trembling, back arching, as you fall apart beneath him with a cry of his name. He follows with a curse, hips stuttering, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses into your collarbone as he lets go inside you.

But neither of you stops moving.

His lips find yours again, and it’s slower now. You gasp when his fingers trail down between your legs, lazy circles over your sensitive clit. The overstimulation has your legs twitching, breath catching in your throat.

“Jungkook, I- it’s too-” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your ear. “Just one more. Let me give it to you.”

Your body’s already unraveling, trembling beneath him, and when his fingers press just right against your clit, your head tips back, mouth falling open.

“Jungkook—fuck—don’t stop,” you gasp, voice breaking as your orgasm starts to crash over you. “Right there, please…”

He’s murmuring encouragement the whole time, voice low and urgent against your neck. “ Just like that. You feel so fucking good, so perfect around me.”

You moan his name again, louder this time, nails digging into his shoulders as your hips jerk. “Oh my god, I’m coming”

He groans, hips stuttering. “Fuck, say my name again.”

“Jungkook!” you whine out.

That’s what does it. His mouth finds yours as he spills into the condom, hips twitching, forehead pressed to yours as he rides out every last wave. “Y/n…”

Your walls flutter around him, still pulsing as you whimper into his mouth, lips parting with little gasps as you come down together. You’re both shaking, breathing hard, your fingers tangled in his hair as he kisses you—soft, open-mouthed, like he can’t stop.

“You’re unreal,” he breathes between kisses. “So fucking good for me. You have no idea.”

Your laugh is breathless, dazed. “I think I have some idea.”

He smiles against your skin. “You wanna test that theory again later?”

You lift your head to look at him, a lazy smirk playing on your lips. “You better hope I don’t fall asleep first.”

He groans softly at the feeling, carefully slipping out and rolling the condom off. Tying it off, he eyes your trash can across the room and makes the shot—swish.

You giggle, cheeks flushed and hair a mess on the pillow. “Basketball skills: decent. Sex skills: slightly better than decent.”

Jungkook scoffs, grinning as he stands up. “Slightly? That’s what we’re going with?”

You smirk at him through half-lidded eyes. “I’m not trying to feed your ego. You’re already too much.”

He rolls his eyes, reaching for his boxers. “Where’s your bathroom?”

You gesture toward the door, expecting him to disappear for a while—but he returns just a minute later with a warm, damp washcloth.

You blink in surprise as he kneels beside the bed and gently presses the cloth to your thighs, wiping you down with slow, careful strokes. “You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he says quietly, stealing a glance at your face.

Something unspoken passes between you. He tosses the cloth in your hamper, then crawls back into bed and pulls you into his chest.

You nestle against him without thinking, cheek pressed to his bare skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. His fingers trace gentle paths through your hair, down your spine, back up again. Neither of you says anything for a while. And somehow, the silence feels even more intimate than everything that came before.

He kisses the crown of your head. “You okay?”

You hum, half-asleep. “More than okay.”

You don’t see the way he smiles to himself. Or the way it slowly fades.

Jungkook lies wide awake, staring at your ceiling.

You’re curled into him, one hand resting over his chest, your breathing soft and even.

But his mind is anything but quiet.

Shit.Shit, shit, shit.This wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was a joke. A bet. A red velvet cupcake and a stupid apron.

And yet…

He looks down at you, peaceful, beautiful, warm beside him in a bed that’s not his. And he feels that familiar tightness in his chest.

You’re too good. I’m gonna fuck this up.

Quietly, carefully, he moves your hand off his chest and slips out of bed. You stir, just barely, but don’t wake.

He dresses in the dark, picking up everything of his he can find.

For a second, he just stands there, watching you. Like he wants to say something. Like he’s debating staying.

But then he grabs his phone and orders an Uber. 

Gone.

The next morning you wake to an empty bed and a familiar knot in your stomach.

You blink at the morning light filtering through your curtains, reach out instinctively—and feel nothing but cool sheets.

Your brows knit. You sit up slowly.

His clothes are gone. His shoes.

The only thing left behind? His hoodie, draped over your chair like a ghost.

You clutch the comforter to your chest, staring at the door. And you try not to overthink it.

Maybe he had to leave early. Maybe he didn’t want to wake you. Maybe…

You sigh.

…maybe you’re overthinking.

But it doesn’t stop the ache in your chest.

You walk into the bullpen, nerves taut like piano wire. It’s ridiculous. You’ve walked into this room a hundred times. Sat at your desk next to Jungkook’s a thousand more.

But today?

Today you slept with him.

Today he left in the middle of the night.

Today he hasn’t texted. Not even a “thanks for the cupcake.”

You try to walk in like everything’s normal. Calm. Cool. Not still feeling the ghost of his hands on your hips.

He’s already at his desk, pretending not to notice you.

You sit down next to him, slowly. He doesn’t look up.

“…Morning,” you offer, voice soft.

He shifts in his chair. “Hey.”

Hey?

That’s it? No cocky grin? No stupid nickname?

You swallow. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“…Cool.”

The silence is deafening.

Taehyung strolls by with a coffee in hand, clocking the distance between you two.

“Well, well, the Bake-Off Dream Team returns,” he says with a smirk. “What’d you guys do to celebrate your big win, huh?”

You feel your face heat.

Jungkook scoffs without looking up. “Nothing.”

Taehyung chuckles. “C’mon, nothing? I saw you two whispering at the table like a pair of—”

“I said nothing,” Jungkook snaps, suddenly sharp.

The whole bullpen goes still. Taehyung  holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, damn.”

Jungkook pushes away from his desk, muttering something about the breakroom before storming off.

You stare at your monitor, trying not to combust.

Jin finds Jungkook in the breakroom pretending to refill a coffee that’s already full.

“Hey,” Jin says casually. “You good?”

Jungkook huffs a humorless laugh. “Peachy.”

“You, uh, nearly bit Tae’s head off. You sure peachy’s the word?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond.

Jin raises an eyebrow. “Look… if something’s going on with you and Y/N, you know you can talk about it, right?”

“There’s nothing going on,” Jungkook says a little too fast, his voice tight.

Jin nods slowly, not buying it for a second. “Right. Of course. Nothing’s going on… which is why you haven’t looked her in the eye since she got here.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, turns to walk away.

”If it’s nothing, you’re doing a terrible job pretending.”Jin calls after him

Back in the bullpen, Namjoon steps out of his office holding a slim file.

“Y/N. Jungkook. In my office.”

The air tightens again. You both stand, following him silently like students sent to the principal.

You and Jungkook step into Namjoon’s office. He waves a hand toward the chairs in front of his desk, smiling.

“Close the door, sit down.”

You do. Jungkook moves slower.

Namjoon holds up a clipboard. “First of all, congrats again on the Bake-Off win. Seriously. Those cupcakes were... disturbingly good.”

You smile, perking up. “Thank you, sir.”

Jungkook gives a quiet, polite “Thanks.”

You nod, glancing over at Jungkook.

He doesn’t meet your eyes. He’s staring out the window behind Namjoon like it holds the secrets to the universe.

You glance at Jungkook again, this time with the smallest smile—one he would usually catch and mirror.

But he’s still not looking.

Namjoon misses it all, eyes focused on the case notes. “I’ll have a case for you guys in a bit. Just wanted to congratulate you formally on the win.”

You stand, taking the file. Jungkook follows a second later.

“Oh, and Y/N?” Namjoon adds as you reach the door.

You turn, hopeful.

He smiles kindly. “Really... amazing work lately. You’ve been killing it.”

Your stomach flutters—but not from Namjoon’s praise this time. Not really.

“Thank you, Captain.”

The bullpen felt heavier as you walked out of Namjoon’s office.

Jungkook mumbled something about needing air and slipped through the double doors, disappearing toward the courtyard like he couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

You gave it a beat—one, two, three seconds—before following.

The sun hit hard outside, blinding for a moment as you stepped into the courtyard. Jungkook stood near the planter wall, hands braced on the ledge, head low. The file folder dangled loosely from his fingers.

You cleared your throat. “Hey.”

He didn’t turn around. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Follow me. Talk to me. Make this a thing.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I just wanted to—”

“We’re gonna get a case,” he interrupted, still facing away from you. “Let’s just focus on that.”

“Right,” you muttered. “Because it’s totally normal for someone to sneak out of someone else’s bed in the middle of the night and then pretend it didn’t happen.”

He turned to face you then, and for a second you wished he hadn’t. Because he looked tired. Torn.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said quietly.

“Really? Because it feels a whole lot like pretending.” You sighed softly, arms folding across your chest. “Look, if it was a mistake—”

“No,” he said quickly. Then slower, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

You let that hang there for a second. “Then what is it?”

He finally looked at you. And the moment your eyes met, you wished he hadn’t. Because there was something guarded there—like a wall had been rebuilt overnight.

“I just think…” he started, then stopped. His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek like he was trying to keep himself from saying too much. “You were right.”

You blinked. “About what?”

He stood, form half-completed on the desk behind him. “Not dating cops.”

The air left your lungs a little.

“We’re partners,” he added, quieter now. “Not… partners.”

You opened your mouth—but nothing came out.

Jungkook let out a breath, eyes dropping to the pavement. “I told you this was gonna be a problem.”

“No,” you snapped. “You told me we were partners. Not partners. There’s a difference.”

“I was trying to make it clear,” he said, voice flat. “This thing—whatever it is—it complicates stuff.”

“Yeah? Well maybe it was already complicated. Maybe it was always complicated.”

Silence.

A breeze blew between you, ruffling the edges of the file folder in his hand.

You shifted your weight. “You said it wasn’t a mistake.”

He hesitated. “It wasn’t.”

“Then why are you acting like it broke some rule we never even agreed on?”

Jungkook looked up at you then, and this time, it wasn’t cold—it was scared.

“Because I like you more than I should,” he said, voice low. “And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

Your heart jumped—and then cracked.

Because instead of stepping closer, he took a step back.

“It’s better.” he added, softer now. “Not dating cops. It's messy. Too messy.”