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Seungmin prided himself on being incorruptible.
Head of Criminal Investigations, decorated officer, a man who had devoted his entire life to justice. His desk was immaculate, his reports were flawless, and not once–not once–had he ever accepted a bribe.
Which was impressive, really, considering he is married to the biggest mob boss in Korea and Japan.
Now, you might assume that makes him biased. But Seungmin liked to think of himself as fair. When it came to justice, he didn’t bend, not even for his husband. He investigated, arrested, and shut down every criminal organization he could.
…Except Minho’s.
That was different.
“Conflict of interest,” he’d say crisply if anyone asked, as though it was a completely normal excuse to give during a briefing about international crime syndicates.
And if someone pressed, he would add, “Besides, I don't let my personal life interfere with my professional one.”
Which was true. Just because he went home every night to a man who controlled half of the black market didn’t mean he was corrupt. It just meant dinner was usually excellent, because apparently international smuggling paid for very good chefs.
And if someone so much as hinted at the contradiction–how Seungmin could spend all day chasing down counterfeiters, smugglers and drug dealers only to go on dates with the king of them all–he had a very simple answer.
“...Shut up.”
Also, Seungmin would like it to be known that he was not blind to the situation.
Yes, his husband was a mob boss. Yes, his "business associates” all carried enough weapons to start a minor war. And yes, technically, half of Minho’s income came from things that were, in the legal sense, deeply questionable.
But…
Minho was not like other mobs.
For one, they didn’t deal in drug or human trafficking. That was beneath him. If another syndicate tried to run that through his territory, Minho shut them down with the sort of efficiency that left police raids looking like amateur theater productions.
For another, a shocking percentage of his earnings went straight into “community outreach.” Which, in normal terms, meant Minho had built three animal shelters, a free clinic, and was secretly funding a scholarship program for the underprivileged kids. Seungmin only found out about the last one because Minho accidentally left the paperwork on their dining table under the remote.
Seungmin had confronted him once, arms crossed and jaw tight.
“You’re still a criminal.”
Minho has shrugged, completely unbothered, while eating ice cream straight from the tub.
“I’m a benevolent criminal.”
It was infuriating.
It was hypocritical.
It was also kind of true.
Because if you really thought about it, Minho was a lot like Seungmin. They both hated corruption. They both wanted a better world. They just… had very different filing systems.
—------------------------------
Seungmin came home at 10 p.m., exhausted, tie loose, badge still slipped to his belt. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch and pretend crime didn’t exist for at least six hours.
Instead, he opened the door to find eight heavily armed men seated around their dining table, while his husband explained the intricacies of money laundering using a whiteboard covered in cartoon cats.
That was also, inexplicably, Songiee (who he thought was with Minho’s mother) sitting on top of the table, batting at one of the mobster’s pistols. Seungmin dropped his briefcase, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said flatly, “Minho. We’ve talked about this.”
Minho, who was dressed in a silk robe like he’d just walked out of a drama set, turned around with the brightest smile. “Honey, welcome home! Dinner’s in the fridge.”
“You’re holding a meeting. In my dining room.”
“It’s more like a seminar,” Minho corrected, waving a marker toward the whiteboard. On it, a very detailed doodle of a cat in sunglasses that was apparently demonstrating how offshore accounts worked. “Also, we ordered chicken. Want some?”
One of the mobsters coughed nervously, glancing between the nation’s top detective and the nation’s most feared crime lord like he’d just realized he was sitting in a sitcom.
Seungmin gave the man a deadpan stare. “You. Put the safety back on before the cat shoots you.”
The man obeyed instantly. The cat meowed, disappointed.
“Minho,” Seungmin said slowly, “Why are you teaching your men finance with drawings of kittens?”
“Retention,” Minho answered proudly, as though it were obvious. “Studies say people remember things better if they’re cute.” He capped his marker and looked at Seungmin up and down. “You’re cranky. Did you eat?”
Seungmin glares. “I arrested twelve people today.”
“Aw, baby, good job.” Minho kissed his cheek on the way to the kitchen. “Now sit down. I’ll warm up the chicken.”
Seungmin groaned. He was Head of Criminal Investigations. He was the very picture of justice. He was also about to let his mob boss husband put extra sauce on his chicken wings.
Again.
The chicken wings came out steaming, smelling dangerously good. Minho set the plate down in front of Seungmin with a flourish, like this was a Michelin-star restaurant and not their kitchen full of mobsters trying to look invisible against the wallpaper.
Seungmin sat stiffly, eyeing the men still at the table. “Why are they here?”
“Team-biulding.” Minho replied smoothly, sliding into the chair beside him.
“You mean ‘conspiracy to commit financial fraud.’”
“Potato, potahto.”
Seungmin took a bite of the chicken, chewed, and scowled. “This is too spicy.”
“I told them mild!” Minho snapped at his men, suddenly the terrifying mob boss again. Eight grown men flinched as if he’d pulled a gun, though the worst thing in his hand was a napkin. “You idiots are lucky my husband’s tolerance is high, or I'd be making examples right now.”
One of them, sweating bullets, stammered, “S-sir, we’ll take responsibility–”
Seungmin cut in, waving his chopsticks lazily. “Relax. I’m not about to arrest you for spicy sauce.”
The table went silent.
Minho leaned back, smirk tugging at his lips. “See? My husband’s terrifying in his own way. He arrests people for tax evasion, gentlemen. Tax evasion.”
The mobsters nodded solemnly, as if Seungmin were the true monster at the table.
Seungmin groaned, pressing his forehead to his palm. “I can’t believe I married into this circus.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Minho said, stealing one of his wings. “It’s not a circus.”
From the living room came the sound of the cat knocking something heavy to the floor, followed by a mobster yelping in pain.
“...Okay,” Minho admitted, mouth full, “maybe it’s a little circus.”
The men shifted awkwardly, clearly torn between wanting to flee and not daring to leave without permission.
Seungmin narrowed his eyes. “Meeting’s over. Out.”
Eight hardened criminals scrambled faster than rookies at their first drill. Shoes squeaked, chairs clattered, and in under thirty seconds, the dining room was empty.
Minho leaned back, smug. “You know, you’re scarier than me sometimes.”
“That’s because I'm not running an illegal empire, Minho.”
“Mm. True. You’re just running on three hours of sleep and pure rage.” He leaned over, kissed Seungmin’s temple, then stole another wing before Seungmin could smack him.
Seungmin sighed deeply, picking up a napkin. “One day, I am going to arrest you.”
Minho grinned. “One day, I’ll let you.”
—-------------------------------
The briefing room was tense the next morning. Officers shuffled papers, detectives murmured over maps, and Seungmin stood at the front, pointer tapping at a red circle on the projected screen.
“Last night, we raided two known fronts. Both empty.”
Groans echoed through the room. Someone muttered, “It’s like they knew we were coming.”
Seungmin’s eye twitched.
Yes.
Yes, it was exactly like that.
He cleared his throat. “We’ll recalibrate. Shift surveillance to the docks. No one breathes a word outside this room.”
His deputy frowned. “Sir, with respect, it feels like there’s a leak. Every time we plan something, they’re gone before we arrive.”
Seungmin’s jaw locked. Of course there was a leak. It lived in his house, wore silk robes and kissed him goodnight.
But out loud, he said, “Coincidence. Criminals get lucky sometimes.”
The room groaned again, but no one dared argue.
Seungmin adjusted his tie, perfectly professional, while his brain supplied an image of Minho doodling on a whiteboard.
Lucky… right
—----------------
Seungmin was sprawled on the couch, sleeves rolled up, glaring at paperwork like it had personally insulted him. Minho, freshly showered and smelling faintly of expensive cologne, flopped down beside him and draped an arm over his shoulders.
“You’re grumpy.” Minho observed.
“I’m busy,” Seungmin corrected, not looking up.
Minho tilted his head, peering at the forms. “Work trouble?”
“Yes, actually.” Seungmin slapped the folder shut and finally turned to face him. “They’re starting to notice.”
Minho blinked innocently. “Notice what?”
“That every raid against your syndicate comes up empty while everyone else is dropping like flies.”
“Ohhh.” Minho stretched lazily, clearly unbothered. “That.”
“Yes, that.” Seungmin jabbed a finger at his chest. “I can’t keep covering for you forever. Give me something. One warehouse, one fake operation, just– something so they don’t think i’m compromised.”
For a moment, Minho just stared at him, and Seungmin braced himself for some smug remark. Instead, Minho sighed, leaned in, and kissed his forehead.
“You’re lucky I love you,” He muttered. “Fine. Tomorrow you’ll get a tip-off. Dockside warehouse. Some of my guys were about to cycle out anyway. I’ll make sure they’re there when you arrive.”
Seungmin frowned. “You’re just going to hand me a win?”
“It’s not a win.” Minho waved a hand. “It’s more like.. Spring cleaning. Those guys were dead weight. And honestly? It’s a relief to have someone else deal with them.”
Seungmin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “...So I’m doing you a favor.”
Minho smirked. “Exactly. Teamwork, babe.”
Seungmin dropped his head back against the couch with a groan. “This is insane. This is actually insane. I’m a cop, you’re a mob boss, and we’re negotiating crime like It’s chore duty.”
Minho snuggled closer, utterly pleased with himself. “And yet… It works. You arrest, I redistribute, everyone’s happy. Well, except the guys getting arrested.”
Seungmin gave him a look. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Admit it.”
“...Fine.” Seungmin muttered, hiding his face in the folder. “I love you.”
Minho grinned, triumphant. And stole the folder just to annoy him.
Their plan, someway, did work.
The night was cold, mist curling around the docks like smoke. Seungmin stood at the front of his unit, bulletproof vest strapped tight, gun in hand. His team buzzed with anticipation. This was the first solid lead they’d had in weeks.
“On my mark.” Seungmin ordered, voice sharp, steady. He raised his hand, counted down, then kicked the door open.
Chaos exploded.
Inside, a handful of men scrambled in panic. They weren’t Minho’s sharpest or most dangerous–just a couple of low-level smugglers who’d been kept around to shuffle boxes. The boxes themselves weren’t weapons or drugs, but something less glamorous: counterfeit designer handbags, knock-off sneakers, and (bizarrely), three crates of suspiciously fake-looking Pokémon cards.
The officers swarmed in, shouting commands, slapping cuffs on anyone who moved. The smugglers didn’t even put up a fight.
It was over in minutes.
Seungmin stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping. Around him, his team whooped in triumph.
“We got them!” One of his men shouted, hauling up a crate lid to reveal a mountain of fake Louis Vuitton purses. “Sir, this is a huge win!”
Another held up a stack of counterfeit sneakers like they’d just uncovered gold. “This’ll cripple their operations for months!”
Seungmin nodded gravely, pretending not to know his husband had probably wanted this junk gone. “Good work, everyone. Secure the evidence. This is a big step forward."
His team clapped each other on the back, riding the high of their first real breakthrough.
Seungmin allowed himself a small, professional smile–until his phone buzzed in his vest pocket. He slipped it out, shielded from view, and glanced at the screen.
Minho: Proud of you, Detective. Bring me one of those knock-off purses, I need a new gym bag.
Seungmin’s eye twitched. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and barked, “Move it, people! Evidence doesn’t bag itself!”
No one questioned his sudden irritation.
They were too busy celebrating.
Back at the headquarters, the bust was treated like a major breakthrough. Reporters lined up, cameras flashed, and Seungmin was pushed forward to give the official statement.
“Tonight we dealt a serious blow to organized crime,” He announced, perfectly straight-faced. “This is only the beginning.”
The room erupted in applause.
Meanwhile, somewhere in a penthouse across town, Minho lounged on the couch, sipping wine and watching the news broadcast. The corner of his mouth curled smugly.
“Good job, Officier Kim,” he murmured to the TV. “You really showed those fake handbags who’s boss.”
Later that night, the door creaked open at nearly 2 a.m. Seungmin trudged inside, vest off, hair a mess, and exhaustion practically dripping off him. He dropped his keys in the bowl, kicked his shoes off halfway across the hall, and collapsed onto the couch like a man who had personally arrested the entire criminal underworld.
A soft clink drew his attention.
Minho was waiting in the armchair across from him, silk pajama pants, robe hanging loose, glass of red wine in hand like some smug Bond villain.
“Well, well, well,” He drawled. “If it isn’t Korea’s hero.”
Seungmin groaned, covering his face with both hands. “Don’t start.”
“I would never.” Minho sipped his wine. “You were very brave today, sweetheart. Singlehandedly saved the nation from the tyranny of counterfeit sneakers. Truly, justice had prevailed.”
Seungmin flung a couch pillow at him without looking. “Shut up.”
Minho caught it easily, laughing. “Oh, come on, don’t be sulky. You looked very handsome on TV. All stern, all righteous. I almost swooned.”
“I arrested three guys who could barely spell their own names.” Seungmin sat up, glaring. “Do you know how humiliating it is, to stand there and pretend we crippled a major operation–”
“Yes,” Minho interrupted smoothly, setting his glass down and sliding onto the couch beside him. “And yet, your coworkers think you’re a genius, the public adores you, and I got rid of my least productive employees without lifting a finger. Everybody wins.”
Seungmin muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Minho kissed his temple. “You love me.”
“I hate you.”
“Love me.”
“...I tolerate you.”
Minho chuckled, pulling Seungmin against his chest until the detective melted into him despite himself. “That’s good enough.”
They sat like that for a while, the exhaustion finally settling Seungmin’s bones. His husband’s heartbeat was steady under his ear, his cologne warm and familiar. It was ridiculous, it was a criminal, it was a complete conflict of interest–
–but it was home.
Just as Seungmin was about to drift off, Minho whispered, perfectly serious:
“By the way, I ordered more chicken for tomorrow. This time, I’ll make sure it’s mild.”
Seungmin groaned into his chest. “You’re insufferable.”
“Mm,” Minho hummed, stroking his hair. “But you married me anyway.”
—---------------------------
Seungmin all but faceplanted into the mattress, still in half his clothes, groaning like the day itself had personally tried to murder him.
“Up,” Minho said cheerfully, tugging at his arm. “You can’t sleep in your work pants, that’s depressing.”
“I’m too tired to move.” Seungmin mumbled into the pillow. “Then lucky for you, you married someone willing to undress you.”
Seungmin cracked one eye open. “If you make that sound sleazy, I’ll actually tase you.”
Minho grinned but kept it simple, peeling away Seungmin’s jacket and tugging his shirt loose until the detective could roll under the covers without looking like a crumpled file folder. He fussed with the blankets, tucked him in, and even smoothed his hair back from his forehead.
“There,” Minho said smugly. “Perfect. Like tucking in a very cranky burrito.”
Seungmin’s lips twitched despite himself. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you’re already falling asleep on me.”
He was. The warmth, the quiet, the ridiculous comfort of being looked after, it tugged him under fast. His breathing evened out, his eyelids slipped shut.
Just as he was on the edge of sleep, Minho’s voice cut softly through the dark.
“Oh, by the way..”
Seungmin groaned. “What now?”
“Don’t freak out if you hear helicopters tomorrow morning.”
There was a beat of silence. “...Why?” Seungmin asked flatly.
“I might’ve bought one.”
Seungmin’s eyes snapped open. “MINHO–”
“Shh, go to sleep, Detective,” Minho crooned, already settling down beside him with infuriating calm. “Justice needs his beauty rest.”
Seungmin groaned into his pillow, contemplating every life choice that led to this moment.
And still–agaisnt his better judgement, against everything logical–he fell asleep smiling.