Alyssa and Samm

Just best friends who likes to read and write!! I hope you enjoy the book rants and fanfics created by this blog.

[readingadream]

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[hyunchans]

hyunjin :: domino @ gov ball 2026

[papawolfchris]

[seungminogie]

[linolinoing]

BANG CHAN 📍 260605 ICN

[unanuvola]

I.N LIVE ON FANS 🦊 #1

[xobangchan]

category: chan being active on instagram🤔

[minchns]

⟢ minchan gifs (52-55/∞)

[readingadream]

Not All Roses // Kim Taehyung

PART 4: Loss & Pain

Pairing: Kim Taehyung / OC Character

Words: 3464

3 | 4 | 5

Taehyung’s hand closed slowly around the stem of the rose Seungmin had left behind, his long fingers tightening carefully against the thorns until one pierced faintly into his skin. A small sting bloomed across his palm, but he barely reacted to it. 

Physical pain had stopped meaning much to him years ago. Across the café, the world continued moving as if nothing had happened at all. Customers laughed softly over coffee cups, jazz music drifted lazily through hidden speakers overhead, and the scent of espresso and cinnamon still wrapped warmly around the room. 

Yet the atmosphere had changed completely. The warmth that normally filled the café now felt fragile, stretched thin beneath something colder lurking underneath. Adaline still sat frozen near the window, staring at the deep red rose resting against the dark wooden table like it might suddenly come alive in front of her. Fear had settled visibly into her expression now, quiet but undeniable. 

Taehyung understood immediately what Bang Chan meant by sending it. It was not affection. It was not romance. It was ownership. A reminder. A warning. I can reach her anywhere.

Without saying a word, Taehyung carried the rose behind the counter and dropped it directly into the trash beneath the register. His movements remained calm, controlled, almost casual to anyone else watching, but inside him, every instinct had already sharpened into something lethal. His eyes scanned automatically across the café windows, the reflections in the glass, the movements outside on the rain-soaked sidewalk, the man sitting alone near the back pretending to read while glancing up too often, the black vehicle parked across the street partially hidden behind rainwater streaking down the windshield.

 He noticed everything because he had been trained to notice everything. Survival had depended on observation long before adulthood. Long before Bang Chan. Long before BTS. Long before Adaline walked into his life and unknowingly became someone he suddenly could not stand the thought of losing.

Kim Taehyung had not grown up like normal children. Violence existed around him before he was old enough to fully understand what violence actually was. Some of his earliest memories involved sitting silently in dark rooms filled with cigarette smoke. At the same time, men in expensive suits discussed debts, weapons, territory, and punishment like they were discussing the weather. He remembered the smell of whiskey soaked into expensive leather furniture. 

He remembered blood-stained concrete floors beneath flickering warehouse lights. He remembered hearing grown men go completely silent whenever his father entered a room. Fear followed Mr. Kim naturally. Not because he shouted. Not because he threatened people openly. In many ways, that made him far more terrifying. Mr. Kim rarely raised his voice at all. Calmness was what made him dangerous. People obeyed him because they understood consequences existed even in silence.

Taehyung learned that lesson young. Too young.

 By the time he was eight years old, Mr. Kim had already started shaping him into something useful. While other children learned sports or instruments, Taehyung learned how to identify danger by body language alone. His father would point toward strangers walking crowded streets and ask him questions. Which one is armed? Which one is nervous? Which one would run first if violence started? 

At first, Taehyung answered wrong often enough to anger him, but eventually he learned how to watch carefully. Nervous people touched their throats too much. Armed men carried tension differently in their shoulders. Liars avoided eye contact just a second too long. Fear changed movement. Desperation changed breathing. Mr. Kim taught him how to see those details because in his world, hesitation got people killed.

When Taehyung turned ten, the lessons became harsher. Mr. Kim placed a handgun into his son’s small hands for the first time inside a private warehouse late one night while rain hammered loudly against metal walls outside. 

Taehyung still remembered how heavy the weapon felt compared to his fingers. Mr. Kim stood behind him calmly, correcting the angle of his wrists without gentleness.

 “If your hands shake,” he told him quietly, “you die first.” There had been no comfort in his father’s voice. No reassurance. Only expectation. 

Taehyung learned quickly because failure was never tolerated kindly. He learned how to load weapons, clean them, fire accurately, and eventually disassemble them blindfolded. By eleven, he could hit moving targets with terrifying consistency. Mr. Kim looked proud every time. 

Taehyung only felt cold.

Maps became another obsession forced into his life. Massive city layouts would cover entire tables inside Mr. Kim’s office while Taehyung sat for hours memorizing routes, alleyways, underground tunnels, police response times, blind spots between surveillance cameras, and escape exits hidden throughout the city.

 Mr. Kim treated cities like living organisms, always moving, always shifting, full of weaknesses if you knew where to look.

 “People run predictably when they’re scared,” he told Taehyung more than once. “Fear makes people stupid.” 

Taehyung learned how to track patterns because of that. He learned how to follow vehicles without being noticed, how to disappear into crowds, how to predict where someone would flee before they even realized they were in danger. By thirteen years old, he could track someone through packed streets without ever being seen once.

Then came the fighting.

Mr. Kim believed cruelty created strength, so he trained Taehyung brutally.

 Hand-to-hand combat became part of everyday life. Bruises stopped healing completely before new ones appeared. Taehyung learned how to break wrists, dislocate shoulders, knock people unconscious quickly, and survive against larger opponents through speed and precision instead of brute force. His father sparred against him personally sometimes, showing no mercy despite Taehyung’s age. Blood on split lips became normal. So did pain. 

“You don’t win fights by being stronger,” Mr. Kim once told him while wiping blood from Taehyung’s mouth after knocking him to the floor. “You win by seeing the next move before it happens.” 

Taehyung never forgot those words because, unfortunately, he became very good at exactly that. He could read movement frighteningly well. He saw tension before punches landed. He noticed fear before people even realized they were afraid themselves. Observation became instinct.

But there was one thing Mr. Kim could never train out of him. Compassion.

That was the difference between father and son.

Taehyung noticed suffering too much to ignore it. 

While his father saw weakness in struggling people. 

Taehyung saw humanity.

 He noticed exhausted mothers crying quietly outside hospitals after midnight. He noticed hungry children stealing food because nobody else cared if they survived. He noticed bruises hidden beneath makeup and fear hidden behind fake smiles. 

Mr. Kim called empathy a liability. Taehyung secretly thought it was the only thing keeping him human.

Everything changed permanently when Taehyung was sixteen years old. That night still haunted him even now. A man had failed to repay one of Mr. Kim’s debts, and Taehyung had been forced to stand inside a warehouse while the punishment was carried out. The man begged desperately for more time. He cried openly, promising repayment, promising loyalty, promising anything he thought might save his own life. 

Mr. Kim listened calmly without expression before giving a single quiet order. A gunshot echoed seconds later. Short. Efficient. Final. Blood spread slowly across the concrete floor while silence filled the warehouse afterward. Taehyung remembered staring at it in shock while his father turned toward him and asked only one question. “What did you learn?”

That was the moment Taehyung finally understood who his father truly was. Mr. Kim genuinely believed mercy made people weak. He believed fear created order. He believed control mattered more than morality. And for the first time in his life, Taehyung looked at his father not with admiration, but disgust. Because he suddenly realized something horrifying. If he stayed in that world long enough, he might eventually become the same.

So at eighteen, Taehyung left.

Not alone.

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook followed him, each carrying their own scars from men like Mr. Kim. Some had lost family to gangs. Some had survived violence. Some simply hated the corruption poisoning everything around them. Together, they built something entirely different. 

BTS was not a normal organization, and it certainly was not harmless, but unlike the groups they fought against, BTS protected people instead of exploiting them. They worked in shadows because evil often hid in shadows, too. They exposed trafficking routes, intercepted illegal weapon deals, destroyed blackmail networks, erased debts held over terrified families, and helped people disappear from abusive situations before they were killed.

Taehyung taught them everything his father had taught him, but for completely different reasons. He trained them how to fight so they could survive. He taught them how to read maps, track vehicles, predict ambushes, recognize surveillance, and move unnoticed through cities. 

Namjoon became the strategist. Yoongi handled information networks. Hoseok specialized in infiltration. Jimin could manipulate almost any social situation effortlessly. Jungkook adapted frighteningly fast to combat. Seokjin held them together emotionally whenever things became too dark. And Taehyung became the shield standing in front of all of them.

Not because he was fearless.

Because he understood fear better than anyone else.

That was who Kim Taehyung truly was beneath the calm expression and quiet voice. He was not cold because he lacked emotion. He was controlled because he felt too much. Every victim they failed to save stayed inside him. 

Every terrified expression. 

Every death.

 Every ounce of suffering. 

He carried all of it silently like weight chained permanently around his ribs. Even now, years later, he still could not fully relax inside his own café. His eyes constantly searched reflections, exits, patterns, threats. Survival had rewritten him permanently.

And yet despite everything his father had taught him… despite all the violence living inside him… Taehyung still chose kindness whenever he could.

That was the part of him Mr. Kim could never destroy.

Taehyung didn’t answer her right away.

In fact, for several long seconds, he didn’t seem to hear her at all.

His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the rain-streaked café windows, distant and unfocused in a way Adaline had never seen before. The soft amber lighting reflected faintly across his face while the city outside blurred into silver-gray smudges beneath the storm, but Taehyung looked detached from all of it. Like his body was sitting across from her at the table, while his mind had disappeared somewhere years away.

The café continued moving around them normally. Cups clinked softly against saucers. Customers murmured quietly beneath the low jazz drifting through hidden speakers overhead. The espresso machine hissed in short bursts behind the counter. Yet Taehyung seemed entirely unaware of any of it.

Adaline studied him carefully.

There was something strange about the silence surrounding him now. Not awkward. Heavy. Like memories had wrapped themselves around his throat too tightly for words to escape. His expression remained calm on the surface, but his eyes had darkened slightly, distant enough that it almost made her chest ache unexpectedly.

And suddenly she realized something.

Taehyung had not actually told her anything about himself out loud.

Not directly.

But somehow she could still see pieces of it anyway.

The old scars scattered faintly across his knuckles. The constant awareness living inside his posture, even when sitting still. The exhaustion was buried deep behind his composure. People were shaped by the lives they survived, and Kim Taehyung looked like someone who had survived far too much too young.

“Taehyung?” she asked softly again.

His eyes blinked once before finally shifting back toward her, as if he had only just remembered where he was.

“…Hm?”

“You disappeared for a second.”

A faint crease appeared between his brows, almost confused, before he leaned back slightly in his chair again. “Sorry.”

The apology came automatically. Quietly.

Adaline frowned faintly. “You don’t have to apologize.”

His gaze drifted toward the windows again.

Outside, rainwater slid slowly down the glass while headlights passed beneath the storm like blurred streaks of gold. Taehyung’s fingers tapped once absentmindedly against the side of his coffee cup, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere now. Somewhere old. Somewhere heavy.

And without warning, memories dragged him backward.

—

The warehouse smelled like gasoline, cigarette smoke, and rain-soaked concrete the night everything finally ended.

Taehyung still remembered every detail.

The sound of water dripping steadily from rusted pipes overhead. The flickering fluorescent lights barely illuminated the massive underground structure. The sharp metallic taste of adrenaline sat heavily at the back of his throat while BTS spread through the building silently.

Years of running had led to this moment.

Years of hiding. Watching. Gathering evidence. Tracking money trails. Memorizing schedules. Building cases carefully enough to destroy an empire from the inside instead of through brute force alone.

Mr. Kim had spent decades believing himself untouchable.

That was his greatest weakness.

Taehyung crouched silently near one of the support pillars, black gloves flexing once around the pistol resting loosely in his hand while his earpiece crackled softly.

“East hallway clear,” Namjoon’s voice came through low and steady.

“Two guards near the lower entrance,” Jungkook added quietly. “Asleep or drunk. Hard to tell.”

“Probably both,” Yoongi muttered.

Despite the tension suffocating the air, a faint smile had briefly touched Taehyung’s mouth at that.

Even during operations like this, BTS still sounded like themselves.

That mattered more than any of them admitted aloud.

Taehyung lifted his gaze slowly toward the second-floor office overlooking the warehouse floor. Light still glowed faintly beneath the door upstairs.

Mr. Kim was there.

After all these years.

The realization should have filled Taehyung with anger. Hatred. Satisfaction. Instead, all he felt was exhaustion settling deep into his bones.

Because the man upstairs was still his father.

And somehow that made everything worse.

“Taehyung.”

Hoseok’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“You ready?”

Taehyung looked toward the others gathered near the lower entrance now. Namjoon stood beside stacks of shipping crates, reviewing routes one final time while Jungkook checked ammunition nearby with calm precision. Jimin leaned casually against the wall despite the danger, though Taehyung noticed the tension hidden beneath his expression immediately. Seokjin stood near the monitors overseeing surveillance feeds while Yoongi typed rapidly across multiple screens, already rerouting security footage directly toward authorities waiting nearby.

His family.

Not by blood.

By choice.

Taehyung exhaled slowly before nodding once.

“Let’s finish this.”

Everything after that happened fast.

Too fast for second thoughts.

The warehouse erupted into chaos within minutes. Guards shouted from lower corridors while alarms screamed overhead. Footsteps thundered across metal walkways. Gunfire echoed sharply through the building, deafening against concrete walls while BTS moved through the confusion with terrifying coordination.

Taehyung barely noticed the violence around him anymore. His body moved automatically through instinct drilled into him since childhood. Disarm. Strike. Move. Predict. Survive.

He climbed the second-floor stairs two at a time while the shouting echoed somewhere below him. His pulse remained strangely calm despite the storm raging around him internally.

Because this was the moment his entire life had been leading toward.

The office door burst open beneath his shoulder.

Inside, Mr. Kim stood near the massive windows overlooking the warehouse floor below, completely calm despite the chaos surrounding him. Expensive whiskey still rested untouched near his desk. Smoke curled lazily upward from the cigarette balanced between his fingers.

Like he had been expecting this.

His eyes landed on Taehyung immediately.

Neither of them spoke at first.

The silence felt unbearable somehow.

Mr. Kim looked older than Taehyung remembered. Gray touched faintly at his dark hair now, though his posture remained sharp and composed as ever. His expression barely changed while looking at his son standing there with a gun pointed directly at him.

“You finally stopped running,” Mr. Kim said quietly.

Taehyung’s grip tightened faintly around the weapon.

Outside the office windows, police sirens screamed louder in the distance now. Red and blue lights flashed faintly against rain-covered concrete below.

“It’s over,” Taehyung said calmly.

Mr. Kim’s gaze studied him carefully then. Not angry. Not afraid. Analytical. Like he was still trying to understand the person standing in front of him after all these years.

“No,” his father replied quietly. “You just chose a different side.”

The words landed heavier than Taehyung expected.

Because part of him hated how true they sounded.

Taehyung had inherited far too much from him already. The observation. The calmness under pressure. The violence. Sometimes that truth felt unbearable to carry.

But then he thought about BTS downstairs. About the people they protected instead of exploited. About everyone Mr. Kim had hurt for power.

And suddenly the difference between them became painfully clear again.

Taehyung lowered the safety on the gun slowly.

“You taught me how monsters think,” he said quietly. “That’s the only reason I could stop you.”

For the first time that night, something shifted faintly in Mr. Kim’s expression. Not regret. Something sadder somehow.

Then the office door slammed open behind Taehyung as officers flooded the room, shouting commands. Weapons raised. Chaos filled the air again instantly.

Mr. Kim didn’t resist arrest.

He only kept looking at Taehyung while handcuffs locked around his wrists.

And somehow that look haunted Taehyung far longer than the violence ever did.

—

The base felt entirely different hours later.

Warm. Loud. Alive.

Rain still hammered outside against the old building windows, but inside the atmosphere buzzed with exhausted adrenaline and relief. Empty beer bottles cluttered tables beside scattered paperwork and dismantled weapons while the smell of fried chicken filled the entire room. Someone had turned the music on too loudly through old speakers in the corner.

For the first time in years, they could finally breathe.

Jungkook sat cross-legged on the couch, arguing passionately with Jimin over stolen fries while Hoseok laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink across the table. Namjoon looked halfway exhausted already, despite Seokjin continuing to shove food toward him insistently like everyone hadn’t almost died several hours earlier. Yoongi remained sprawled lazily in an armchair with a beer balanced loosely against his knee while pretending not to enjoy himself.

It felt normal.

As normal as BTS ever became anyway.

Taehyung sat slightly apart from the chaos near the old couch by the windows, a bottle resting loosely in his hand while he watched the others quietly. The city lights outside reflected faintly across the glass beside him, blurred beneath rain and distance.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Taehyung looked up to find Seokjin dropping heavily onto the couch beside him with another box of fried chicken balanced in his arms.

“What thing?”

“Brooding dramatically while staring out windows.”

Taehyung blinked once. “I don’t brood dramatically.”

“You absolutely do.”

From across the room, Yoongi lifted his beer lazily without looking away from his phone. “You brood like a divorced detective in a crime movie.”

Hoseok nearly choked laughing. Jungkook immediately lost control of his laughter too while Jimin pointed dramatically toward Taehyung like Yoongi had just exposed some devastating truth.

Even Namjoon looked amused now.

Taehyung stared at all of them in disbelief for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh under his breath despite himself.

And suddenly, the heaviness sitting inside his chest loosened slightly for the first time in years.

Not completely.

Maybe never completely.

But enough.

Enough to sit there surrounded by people who chose him willingly. Enough to realize he had escaped becoming Mr. Kim a long time ago without fully noticing it himself.

Because, unlike his father, Taehyung was not alone.

He had a new family, a family that didn’t want power but one that wanted others to feel safe. Taehyung was glad that these 6 men were brought into his life. Sure, they all had their own scars that were rarely talked about these days, but at least they were together to learn how to heal.

“Earth to Tae, you are spacing out again.” Aldine waved her hand in front of his face with a small laugh.

“Sorry, just a lot on my mind recently. Are you okay? I have a small room connected to the cafe if you’d like to sit in there for a while.” He glanced at the rose in the trash.

What did he have planned?

Why would he leave a rose?

Taehyung knew how Bang Chan worked, this tactic was different. Taehyung hated changes in patterns, but he still could easily pick them up. He guessed that they would stay close enough to watch, but they wouldn’t touch her. Not yet.

“Come on, let's eat lunch together. We will sit in the back.” He gently put his hand on her lower back and guided her towards the private room.

“They aren’t going to leave until we do, aren't they?”

“Most likely…”

“I hate this.” She sighs, falling onto the couch.

“I’m sorry…” 

[readingadream]

NOT ALL ROSES // KIM TAEHYUNG

Pairing: Kim Taehyung / OC Character

Words: 3713

|| 2 || 3 || 4

|| THIS STORY WILL BE CROSS POSTED ON WATTPAD, TUMBLR, AO3 ||

Part 3 || Chai Tea & A Rose

Adaline's POV

The next morning, I woke slowly to the smell of coffee and cinnamon, and for a few quiet seconds, I didn’t even remember where I was.

Then reality returned all at once.

The unfamiliar ceiling above me. The muted gray light filters through rain-streaked windows. The soft hiss of the radiator. The memory of Bangchan standing inside Taehyung’s apartment, as if he belonged there.

My chest tightened immediately.

I pushed myself upright on the couch, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. Outside, rain drifted lazily through the city again, lighter than before but constant enough to blur the buildings beyond the glass into smudged shapes and silver reflections. Everything looked cold outside.

Inside, Taehyung’s apartment was warm. Too warm, almost. The contrast made me feel strangely disoriented.

“You’re awake.”

His voice came from the kitchenette, low and steady in the quiet apartment.

I looked over.

Taehyung stood near the counter, pouring coffee into two dark ceramic mugs, steam curling upward around his hands. His sleeves were pushed up slightly, exposing toned forearms dusted faintly with old scars I hadn’t noticed before. His black hair fell loosely over his forehead, softer in the pale morning light, still slightly messy from sleep.

For one dangerous second, he looked normal. Not someone who tracked gangs through hidden cameras. Not someone who could stand across from Bangchan without flinching.

Just a man making coffee on a rainy morning.

“You slept longer this time,” he said. His voice sounded like he had woken up not too long before I had.

I rubbed tiredly at my eyes. “How long?”

“Almost five hours.”

“That’s depressing.”

“It's an improvement.”

I let out a quiet breath that almost turned into a laugh, but it faded quickly when the memory of last night returned again.

Bangchan’s voice.

She belongs to me.

The thought made nausea curl low in my stomach.

Taehyung noticed immediately. His eyes lifted toward me briefly before he crossed the room and handed me one of the mugs, and our fingers brushed for half a second.

Warm.

Steady.

“You’re thinking again.”

“That sounds illegal when you say it like that.”

“You spiral visibly.”

I wrapped both hands around the mug, grounding myself in the heat. “Sorry.”

“You apologize too much.”

“You observe too much.”

“Yes.”

I frowned faintly into the coffee. “You admitting to that is easily unsettling.”

A faint, almost-smile touched his mouth before disappearing again, and the apartment fell quiet after that except for the rain tapping softly against the windows. But the silence didn’t feel empty anymore. Not with him here.

Not when I could feel him moving around the apartment, calm and deliberate, like his presence alone kept everything from falling apart completely.

I stared down at the dark surface of my coffee for a long moment before finally speaking.

“My father…” My throat tightened immediately around the words. “What kind of debt makes someone promise their daughter to people like that?”

Taehyung went still for half a second.

Not frozen.

Controlled.

Careful.

“I don’t know the exact amount,” he said quietly after a moment. “But enough that he became desperate.”

I looked up slowly. “You knew?”

“I knew he owed some people money.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“You didn’t know you were in danger yet. Plus, would you have believed a random stranger if they randomly came up to you and told you that your own father is selling you off to pay his own debt, and the fact that those men have been watching you for weeks?”

The answer frustrated me because part of me understood it.

I leaned back against the couch slowly, staring toward the rain-streaked windows. “He never told me anything.” My voice sounded smaller now. “Not about debt. Not about gambling. Nothing.”

Taehyung sat across from me then, forearms resting loosely against his knees.

“People like your father usually believe they can fix things before consequences reach them,” he said.

“Except they don’t.”

“No.”

I swallowed hard.

A painful heaviness settled slowly in my chest.

Not just fear anymore.

Humiliation.

Confusion.

The sick feeling of realizing your life might’ve been negotiated behind your back without you even knowing it.

“I don’t understand how someone does that,” I whispered. “How someone looks at their own daughter and thinks she’s something they can offer away.”

Taehyung was quiet for a moment.

And when he finally answered, his voice was lower.

“I don’t think I fully understand how that feels for you.”

My eyes lifted to his immediately.

“But,” he continued carefully, “I understand how men like Bangchan think.”

The apartment suddenly felt colder despite the heat.

“He doesn’t see people normally,” Taehyung said. “Neither do the others around him. Everything becomes leverage eventually. Information. Fear. Loyalty. Debt.” His gaze darkened slightly. “Control matters more to them than morality.”

I thought about Bangchan standing in the apartment doorway.

The calmness in him.

The certainty.

Like he genuinely believed I was already his.

My stomach twisted painfully.

“Who are they?” I asked quietly.

Taehyung’s expression shifted subtly at the question.

“Stray Kids,” he said after a moment.

Even the name sounded wrong now.

Not harmless.

Not normal.

Dangerous.

“I’ve only met Bangchan,” I admitted softly. “But somehow that was enough.”

Taehyung’s gaze stayed on me carefully, studying my expression.

“He’s the leader,” he said. “Most things go through him.”

“And the others?”

Rain slid slowly down the windows behind him while silence stretched briefly between us.

Then,

“They’re organized. Skilled. Careful.” His voice remained level, but there was tension underneath it now. “Not street criminals. Not impulsive.” He leaned back slightly. “Each person in that group is dangerous in different ways.”

A chill moved slowly down my spine.

“You’ve dealt with them before.”

“Yes.”

The answer came immediately.

My chest tightened.

“How long?”

“A few years.”

“And you’re still alive,” I murmured.

Something unreadable flickered briefly across his face.

“Barely counts as reassuring when you say it like that,” I added.

“You wanted honesty.”

“That was unfortunately honest.”

A faint exhale left him, almost amused. Almost.

I studied him carefully across the room. The sharpness in his posture. The constant awareness in his eyes. Even now, inside his own apartment, part of him looked ready for violence at any second.

“How dangerous are they?” I asked quietly.

Taehyung looked toward the rain outside before answering.

“Dangerous enough that most people don’t realize they’re involved until it’s too late.”

Something about the way he said it made anxiety tighten sharply in my chest again.

I curled my fingers tighter around the mug. “And now I’m involved.”

“Yes.”

The honesty hurt more than reassurance would have. I looked away, and for a moment neither of us spoke.

Then quietly,

“I hate that I’m scared all the time now.”

Taehyung’s expression softened slightly.

“You should be scared.”

I blinked at him.

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“It’s true.” His voice stayed calm. “Fear keeps people alert.”

“That sounds like something someone says before becoming emotionally unavailable forever.”

A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re still making jokes.”

“Mostly because I’m losing my mind.”

“That too.”

Despite myself, a small laugh escaped me. It faded quickly, though. Because underneath everything else was the same terrible thought circling endlessly in my head.

My father traded me. Even thinking the sentence made my chest ache.

Taehyung noticed my expression shift again.

“What?”

I stared down into my coffee.

“I keep wondering if he thought I’d forgive him for it,” I admitted quietly. “Or if he just assumed I’d never find out.”

Taehyung was silent for a moment before answering carefully.

“I don’t know.”

Not he didn’t mean it.

Not he loved you.

Just honesty, and somehow that had hurt less.

Rain continued softly outside while the apartment filled with the smell of coffee and cedarwood.

Finally, Taehyung stood.

“You should come to the cafe with me today.”

I looked up. “What?”

“I still need to work.” He reached for his coat draped over the chair nearby. “And I don’t think you should stay here alone. Bangchan already knows you are here…”

The thought of staying alone made anxiety tighten immediately beneath my ribs.

“Okay,” I admitted quickly.

His gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

“Okay.”

—

The city smelled like wet pavement and rain-soaked concrete when we stepped outside.

Everything gleamed silver beneath the cloudy sky. Cars hissed softly through puddles, people hurried beneath umbrellas, and cold mist clung to the edges of my coat as we walked side by side toward the café.

Taehyung stayed slightly closer to me than usual.

Not touching.

Just near enough that I could feel his awareness constantly shifting around us.

Watching reflections.

Windows.

Passing cars.

I noticed all of it now, and yet somehow that scared me more, because I was beginning to understand how exhausting his world really was.

The cafe greeted us with warmth the second we stepped inside.

Amber lights glowed softly against dark wooden shelves lined with books and plants, the familiar scent of espresso and spices wrapping around me instantly. Jazz played quietly through hidden speakers overhead, low enough that it blended into the sound of rain tapping gently against the windows.

For the first time in days, my chest loosened slightly.

Taehyung noticed that too.

“You breathe easier here.”

I glanced toward him while setting my bag down near the corner table by the window.

“…Maybe.”

“It’s quieter.”

“No,” I admitted softly. “It’s you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Taehyung stilled briefly near the counter and then slowly looked at me. The silence that followed felt heavier somehow.

Warmer.

My face heated immediately, and I looked away too fast, pretending to focus on pulling my laptop from my bag.

“I have work to do,” I muttered weakly.

“I can see that.”

His voice sounded quieter now, and I opened my laptop quickly, grateful for the distraction.

Unread emails flooded my screen instantly. Client revisions. Scheduling requests. Questions about my recent photoshoot. Normal things.

Almost painfully normal compared to everything else that had been happening in the past week. I opened the editing software next, pulling up the portraits from my last session.

Soft lighting.

Rain-drenched streets.

Carefully posed smiles.

I stared at one photo for too long.

Because the girl in the image looked relaxed.

Safe.

Like she belonged to herself completely.

“You’re staring at the photos instead of editing them.”

I looked up to find Taehyung placing a fresh vanilla chai beside my laptop. The scent of cinnamon and clove drifted upward warmly.

“I’m working,” I protested weakly.

“You’ve zoomed into the same picture three times.”

“…You notice too much.”

“Yes.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “Do you enjoy being difficult?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s concerning.”

His gaze lingered on me for a second longer than usual before he finally turned back toward the counter. Despite the fear still sitting heavily inside me, despite Bangchan and my father and the terrifying uncertainty of everything ahead…

I realized something dangerous then.

The café no longer felt like the place where I met Taehyung. It felt like somewhere I belonged beside him. A place where I could feel safe from everything. A place where I knew even if I let my own guard down, someone was still watching over me, someone who would make sure nothing bad would happen to me here. 

BANGCHAN POV

The rain made the city look softer than it really was.

Bangchan stood near the warehouse window with one hand resting loosely in his pocket, watching water streak slowly down the glass in uneven lines. Beyond it, the city blurred beneath gray skies and muted headlights, all silver reflections and wet pavement.

People always looked smaller in weather like this.

Easier to corner.

The warehouse behind him remained quiet except for the distant hum of electricity and the occasional metallic creak from old support beams settling against the cold. Shadows stretched long across the concrete floor, swallowing most of the room whole.

Bangchan preferred it that way. Quiet made people careless. Quiet let him think.

Behind him, footsteps echoed softly.

“You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes.”

Seungmin’s voice carried calmly through the dim space.

Bangchan didn’t turn immediately. “And yet you still interrupted.”

“I assumed you’d survive.”

A faint smile touched Bangchan’s mouth briefly before fading again as he finally glanced over his shoulder.

Seungmin stood near one of the metal tables, dark coat still damp from the rain outside, expression unreadable as always. Beside him, Jeongin leaned lazily against a support beam, hands tucked into his pockets, quieter but observant in the way he always was.

Neither of them spoke again right away, they knew better than to rush him when he was thinking.

Bangchan turned back toward the window slowly.

“She’s staying with him now.”

Jeongin nodded once. “Mostly at the apartment. Sometimes the cafe.”

“And Taehyung?”

“Careful,” Seungmin answered. “More than usual.”

Bangchan’s gaze darkened faintly.

Of course he was.

Kim Taehyung had always been intelligent enough to recognize danger early. That was what made him irritating.

“He hasn’t left her alone once,” Jeongin added quietly. “Not for long.”

Bangchan exhaled slowly through his nose.

Possessive already?

Interesting.

“She trusts him now,” Seungmin observed.

“That was inevitable,” Bangchan replied calmly. “Fear accelerates attachment.”

His fingers tapped once against the window frame.

“She’s isolated. Anxious. Dependent.” His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside. “Taehyung became safety before she understood the danger fully.”

Jeongin tilted his head slightly. “And now?”

“Now she’ll cling to him.”

The certainty in Bangchan’s voice settled heavily into the room.

Not angry.

Analytical.

Because people were patterns eventually. Fear. Trust. Protection. Dependency. Most emotions followed a structure if you watched carefully enough.

And Bangchan always watched carefully.

“She still doesn’t understand why her father offered her,” Seungmin said after a moment.

That finally made Bangchan look away from the window.

A faint flicker of amusement crossed his expression.

“No,” he agreed quietly. “I don’t think she does. Not unless he’s told her the information he knows.”

The warehouse fell still again for a moment.

Then Jeongin asked softly:

“Did he ever actually intend to pay?”

Bangchan laughed once under his breath.

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

“He was desperate long before the gambling started.” Bangchan crossed slowly toward the center of the warehouse now, voice calm and measured. “Bad investments. Fraud investigations. Loans from people who don’t forgive failure.”

His gaze lowered slightly, remembering.

“By the time he came to me, he was already drowning.”

Minho folded his arms loosely, now joining the group. “And he thought you’d save him.”

“He thought I’d delay the consequences.”

A dangerous difference.

Bangchan remembered the first meeting clearly. Adaline’s father had walked into the private lounge shaking beneath expensive cologne and fake confidence, pretending wealth still followed him like it used to, but Bangchan noticed details.

Sweat near the collar.

Unsteady hands.

Panic hidden beneath rehearsed smiles.

Desperate men always looked the same eventually.

“He begged for extensions constantly,” Bangchan said. “Promised money he didn’t have. Connections he couldn’t deliver.” His expression hardened faintly. “Then he started offering other things...”

Jeongin’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Information first,” Bangchan continued. “Names. Business contacts. Access.” A pause. “Then eventually her.”

The warehouse went quiet. Rain tapped steadily against the windows.

“He showed me photographs,” Bangchan said calmly. “Told me she was beautiful. Intelligent. Easy to control if isolated correctly.”

Something dark flickered briefly behind Seungmin’s eyes.

“And you agreed.”

“Yes.”

Not because he cared about the girl herself initially.

But because her father had unknowingly handed him leverage instead.

A daughter untouched by his world.

A weakness.

Those were always useful.

Bangchan stopped near the center table, fingers resting lightly against the cold metal surface.

“Then Taehyung interfered.”

The atmosphere shifted subtly at the name. Jeongin straightened slightly away from the wall. Seungmin’s expression sharpened. Minho and now Changbin glanced at each other for a brief moment.

Because Taehyung complicates things. Not emotionally.

Strategically.

“He watches too much,” Jeongin said quietly.

“Yes.”

“And he’s already attached to her.” Seungmin added.

Bangchan’s gaze darkened faintly.

“That,” he said softly, “is the problem.”

Because attached people became irrational.

Protective.

Violent.

And Kim Taehyung was already dangerous before emotions became involved.

Now?

Now he’d become unpredictable.

Which meant patience mattered more than force.

“We stay hidden for now,” Bangchan said finally. “No direct moves.”

Jeongin nodded once immediately.

Seungmin looked thoughtful. “Observation first.”

“Yes.”

Bangchan leaned back slightly against the table.

“Though we will still make it known we are after her, small gifts, notes, reminders of who she belongs to now.”

“Watch routines. Timing. Emotional patterns.” His voice remained calm, precise. “People reveal vulnerabilities when they start feeling safe again.”

“And if Taehyung notices us?”

“He already expects us.” A faint smile touched Bangchan’s mouth. “That’s useful too.”

Because anticipation exhausted people eventually. Constant vigilance wore cracks into even disciplined minds.

And Taehyung couldn’t protect her perfectly forever.

No one could.

—

The cafe smelled like espresso and cinnamon by the time the doors unlocked that afternoon.

Rainwater glimmered against the windows outside while soft jazz drifted quietly through the warm amber-lit space. Customers filtered in slowly, shaking umbrellas dry near the entrance, speaking in hushed voices that blended into the comforting hum of grinders and steaming milk.

From across the street, Bangchan watched silently from inside a parked black car.

Not close enough to attract attention.

Just close enough.

Through the rain-speckled glass, he could see her seated near the corner window with her laptop open, strands of dark curls falling around her face while she edited photographs with quiet concentration. Every so often, Adaline had glanced up unconsciously toward Taehyung behind the counter.

Checking.

Reassuring herself that he was still there.

Bangchan noticed every time.

Interesting.

“She looks calmer today,” Jeongin murmured from the passenger seat.

“She feels protected,” Bangchan corrected.

A dangerous mistake.

Inside the café, Taehyung moved with practiced ease behind the counter, calm on the surface but observant beneath it. Bangchan could tell even from here. The subtle scanning of reflections. The awareness whenever someone entered.

Still watching everything.

Still expecting violence.

Good.

Bangchan preferred opponents who stayed alert. It made breaking them more satisfying.

“Now?” Jeongin asked quietly.

Bangchan’s gaze remained fixed on the café.

“Yes.”

Across the street, two figures stepped from the sidewalk and crossed toward the entrance.

Seungmin and Jeongin.

Inside the café, the bell above the door rang softly. Adaline had looked up immediately from her laptop.

Confusion crossed her face first as Seungmin approached her table calmly without even bothering to acknowledge Taehyung or anyone else in the café. Jeongin remained near the door, quiet and unreadable beneath the soft overhead lighting. 

Neither of them looked threatening. That was intentional of course. Seungmin then stopped beside her chair and gently placed a single red rose onto the table beside her laptop.

Deep crimson against dark wood.

Beautiful.

Violent.

Intentional.

Adaline stared at it immediately, breath catching visibly even from across the street. Fear moved quickly through people once it lived inside them already.

Seungmin said nothing. Not a single word. He simply met her eyes for one long second before turning away. Jeongin opened the cafe door again for them both to leave.

In.

Out.

Less than twenty seconds.

Across the cafe, Taehyung had already moved from behind the counter.

Too late, by the time he reached the table, the door had already shut behind them. Bangchan watched the exact moment Taehyung realized who had just entered. The subtle tightening in his shoulders, and the sharpness entered his posture instantly.

Protective.

Possessive.

Predictable.

Inside the cafe, Adaline looked shaken now, fingers frozen near the rose, as if touching it might burn her.

Taehyung said something quietly to her.

Bangchan couldn’t hear it through the rain, but he saw the way she looked at him afterward, trusting him again. Leaning toward him emotionally without even realizing it.

Interesting. Very interesting.

Bangchan leaned back slowly into the leather seat.

“Now he understands,” he murmured.

Jeongin glanced toward him. “Understand what?”

“That we can reach her anywhere.”

Rain slid slowly down the windshield. Inside the cafe, Taehyung picked up the rose carefully, his gaze cold enough to sharpen the entire room around him.

Bangchan smiled faintly.

Good.

Let him worry.

—

That night, the warehouse felt colder.

Rain hammered harder against the roof now, echoing through the massive empty structure while the members gathered near the central table beneath dim industrial lights.

Maps.

Photographs.

Schedules.

Observations.

Everything spread neatly across metal surfaces.

Bangchan stood at the center of it all.

“She’s becoming emotionally dependent on him faster than expected,” Seungmin said, flipping through photographs from outside the cafe.

“That complicates extraction,” Minho added quietly from the shadows nearby.

Bangchan nodded once.

“Yes.”

Felix leaned against the table edge, expression thoughtful. “Then separating them has to happen first.”

“It will,” Bangchan replied calmly.

Changbin crossed his arms. “Taehyung won’t leave willingly.”

“No,” Bangchan agreed. “So we create something he can’t ignore.”

Hyunjin glanced up from one of the surveillance photos. “A threat?”

“Several.”

The room quieted.

Bangchan rested both hands lightly against the table.

“He protects through proximity,” he said. “That’s his pattern now. Which means if he’s physically separated from her long enough…” His gaze darkened slightly. “She becomes vulnerable.”

“And after we take her?” Jeongin asked.

Bangchan’s expression remained unreadable.

“We move locations immediately. No electronics. No predictable routes.” His voice stayed calm and precise. “Taehyung tracks patterns. So we remove patterns.”

Seungmin nodded slowly. “And emotionally?”

A faint smile touched Bangchan’s mouth.

“We isolate her.”

The warehouse seemed quieter somehow after that. Rain thundered overhead.

“She already fears abandonment,” Bangchan continued softly. “Fear creates dependency quickly if controlled correctly.”

Felix’s expression tightened slightly, but he said nothing.

“And Taehyung?” Minho asked quietly.

That finally sharpened something dangerous in Bangchan’s eyes.

“We keep him alive.”

Silence followed.

Because everyone there understood the implication beneath the words.

Alive didn’t mean unharmed.

Bangchan looked down at the photograph lying nearest his hand. Adaline was sitting beside the café window earlier that day, a warm lighting across her face and completely unaware of how carefully she was being watched.

His fingers rested lightly against the edge of the image.

Then calmly,

“She’ll stop resisting eventually.”

[linolinoing]

LEE KNOW ⋮ dominATE SEATTLE — 250524 (© _dlrowehtanool on tiktok)

[readingadream]

BTS Masterlist

Rap Monster

Working Hard

Jin

Suga

My Own Entertainment

J-Hope Jimin

The Coffee Shop

V

Beautiful life Two Different Worlds Pass me by Another World Beautiful Goodbye

Jungkook

Standing in the way I'm under your spell Should we fall A Blissful Vacation Caught in a forgotten Web

[readingadream]

NOT ALL ROSES // KIM TAEHYUNG

Pairing: Kim Taehyung / OC Character

Words: 3713

|| 2 || 3 || 4

|| THIS STORY WILL BE CROSS POSTED ON WATTPAD, TUMBLR, AO3 ||

Part 3 || Chai Tea & A Rose

Adaline's POV

The next morning, I woke slowly to the smell of coffee and cinnamon, and for a few quiet seconds, I didn’t even remember where I was.

Then reality returned all at once.

The unfamiliar ceiling above me. The muted gray light filters through rain-streaked windows. The soft hiss of the radiator. The memory of Bangchan standing inside Taehyung’s apartment, as if he belonged there.

My chest tightened immediately.

I pushed myself upright on the couch, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. Outside, rain drifted lazily through the city again, lighter than before but constant enough to blur the buildings beyond the glass into smudged shapes and silver reflections. Everything looked cold outside.

Inside, Taehyung’s apartment was warm. Too warm, almost. The contrast made me feel strangely disoriented.

“You’re awake.”

His voice came from the kitchenette, low and steady in the quiet apartment.

I looked over.

Taehyung stood near the counter, pouring coffee into two dark ceramic mugs, steam curling upward around his hands. His sleeves were pushed up slightly, exposing toned forearms dusted faintly with old scars I hadn’t noticed before. His black hair fell loosely over his forehead, softer in the pale morning light, still slightly messy from sleep.

For one dangerous second, he looked normal. Not someone who tracked gangs through hidden cameras. Not someone who could stand across from Bangchan without flinching.

Just a man making coffee on a rainy morning.

“You slept longer this time,” he said. His voice sounded like he had woken up not too long before I had.

I rubbed tiredly at my eyes. “How long?”

“Almost five hours.”

“That’s depressing.”

“It's an improvement.”

I let out a quiet breath that almost turned into a laugh, but it faded quickly when the memory of last night returned again.

Bangchan’s voice.

She belongs to me.

The thought made nausea curl low in my stomach.

Taehyung noticed immediately. His eyes lifted toward me briefly before he crossed the room and handed me one of the mugs, and our fingers brushed for half a second.

Warm.

Steady.

“You’re thinking again.”

“That sounds illegal when you say it like that.”

“You spiral visibly.”

I wrapped both hands around the mug, grounding myself in the heat. “Sorry.”

“You apologize too much.”

“You observe too much.”

“Yes.”

I frowned faintly into the coffee. “You admitting to that is easily unsettling.”

A faint, almost-smile touched his mouth before disappearing again, and the apartment fell quiet after that except for the rain tapping softly against the windows. But the silence didn’t feel empty anymore. Not with him here.

Not when I could feel him moving around the apartment, calm and deliberate, like his presence alone kept everything from falling apart completely.

I stared down at the dark surface of my coffee for a long moment before finally speaking.

“My father…” My throat tightened immediately around the words. “What kind of debt makes someone promise their daughter to people like that?”

Taehyung went still for half a second.

Not frozen.

Controlled.

Careful.

“I don’t know the exact amount,” he said quietly after a moment. “But enough that he became desperate.”

I looked up slowly. “You knew?”

“I knew he owed some people money.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“You didn’t know you were in danger yet. Plus, would you have believed a random stranger if they randomly came up to you and told you that your own father is selling you off to pay his own debt, and the fact that those men have been watching you for weeks?”

The answer frustrated me because part of me understood it.

I leaned back against the couch slowly, staring toward the rain-streaked windows. “He never told me anything.” My voice sounded smaller now. “Not about debt. Not about gambling. Nothing.”

Taehyung sat across from me then, forearms resting loosely against his knees.

“People like your father usually believe they can fix things before consequences reach them,” he said.

“Except they don’t.”

“No.”

I swallowed hard.

A painful heaviness settled slowly in my chest.

Not just fear anymore.

Humiliation.

Confusion.

The sick feeling of realizing your life might’ve been negotiated behind your back without you even knowing it.

“I don’t understand how someone does that,” I whispered. “How someone looks at their own daughter and thinks she’s something they can offer away.”

Taehyung was quiet for a moment.

And when he finally answered, his voice was lower.

“I don’t think I fully understand how that feels for you.”

My eyes lifted to his immediately.

“But,” he continued carefully, “I understand how men like Bangchan think.”

The apartment suddenly felt colder despite the heat.

“He doesn’t see people normally,” Taehyung said. “Neither do the others around him. Everything becomes leverage eventually. Information. Fear. Loyalty. Debt.” His gaze darkened slightly. “Control matters more to them than morality.”

I thought about Bangchan standing in the apartment doorway.

The calmness in him.

The certainty.

Like he genuinely believed I was already his.

My stomach twisted painfully.

“Who are they?” I asked quietly.

Taehyung’s expression shifted subtly at the question.

“Stray Kids,” he said after a moment.

Even the name sounded wrong now.

Not harmless.

Not normal.

Dangerous.

“I’ve only met Bangchan,” I admitted softly. “But somehow that was enough.”

Taehyung’s gaze stayed on me carefully, studying my expression.

“He’s the leader,” he said. “Most things go through him.”

“And the others?”

Rain slid slowly down the windows behind him while silence stretched briefly between us.

Then,

“They’re organized. Skilled. Careful.” His voice remained level, but there was tension underneath it now. “Not street criminals. Not impulsive.” He leaned back slightly. “Each person in that group is dangerous in different ways.”

A chill moved slowly down my spine.

“You’ve dealt with them before.”

“Yes.”

The answer came immediately.

My chest tightened.

“How long?”

“A few years.”

“And you’re still alive,” I murmured.

Something unreadable flickered briefly across his face.

“Barely counts as reassuring when you say it like that,” I added.

“You wanted honesty.”

“That was unfortunately honest.”

A faint exhale left him, almost amused. Almost.

I studied him carefully across the room. The sharpness in his posture. The constant awareness in his eyes. Even now, inside his own apartment, part of him looked ready for violence at any second.

“How dangerous are they?” I asked quietly.

Taehyung looked toward the rain outside before answering.

“Dangerous enough that most people don’t realize they’re involved until it’s too late.”

Something about the way he said it made anxiety tighten sharply in my chest again.

I curled my fingers tighter around the mug. “And now I’m involved.”

“Yes.”

The honesty hurt more than reassurance would have. I looked away, and for a moment neither of us spoke.

Then quietly,

“I hate that I’m scared all the time now.”

Taehyung’s expression softened slightly.

“You should be scared.”

I blinked at him.

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“It’s true.” His voice stayed calm. “Fear keeps people alert.”

“That sounds like something someone says before becoming emotionally unavailable forever.”

A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re still making jokes.”

“Mostly because I’m losing my mind.”

“That too.”

Despite myself, a small laugh escaped me. It faded quickly, though. Because underneath everything else was the same terrible thought circling endlessly in my head.

My father traded me. Even thinking the sentence made my chest ache.

Taehyung noticed my expression shift again.

“What?”

I stared down into my coffee.

“I keep wondering if he thought I’d forgive him for it,” I admitted quietly. “Or if he just assumed I’d never find out.”

Taehyung was silent for a moment before answering carefully.

“I don’t know.”

Not he didn’t mean it.

Not he loved you.

Just honesty, and somehow that had hurt less.

Rain continued softly outside while the apartment filled with the smell of coffee and cedarwood.

Finally, Taehyung stood.

“You should come to the cafe with me today.”

I looked up. “What?”

“I still need to work.” He reached for his coat draped over the chair nearby. “And I don’t think you should stay here alone. Bangchan already knows you are here…”

The thought of staying alone made anxiety tighten immediately beneath my ribs.

“Okay,” I admitted quickly.

His gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

“Okay.”

—

The city smelled like wet pavement and rain-soaked concrete when we stepped outside.

Everything gleamed silver beneath the cloudy sky. Cars hissed softly through puddles, people hurried beneath umbrellas, and cold mist clung to the edges of my coat as we walked side by side toward the café.

Taehyung stayed slightly closer to me than usual.

Not touching.

Just near enough that I could feel his awareness constantly shifting around us.

Watching reflections.

Windows.

Passing cars.

I noticed all of it now, and yet somehow that scared me more, because I was beginning to understand how exhausting his world really was.

The cafe greeted us with warmth the second we stepped inside.

Amber lights glowed softly against dark wooden shelves lined with books and plants, the familiar scent of espresso and spices wrapping around me instantly. Jazz played quietly through hidden speakers overhead, low enough that it blended into the sound of rain tapping gently against the windows.

For the first time in days, my chest loosened slightly.

Taehyung noticed that too.

“You breathe easier here.”

I glanced toward him while setting my bag down near the corner table by the window.

“…Maybe.”

“It’s quieter.”

“No,” I admitted softly. “It’s you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Taehyung stilled briefly near the counter and then slowly looked at me. The silence that followed felt heavier somehow.

Warmer.

My face heated immediately, and I looked away too fast, pretending to focus on pulling my laptop from my bag.

“I have work to do,” I muttered weakly.

“I can see that.”

His voice sounded quieter now, and I opened my laptop quickly, grateful for the distraction.

Unread emails flooded my screen instantly. Client revisions. Scheduling requests. Questions about my recent photoshoot. Normal things.

Almost painfully normal compared to everything else that had been happening in the past week. I opened the editing software next, pulling up the portraits from my last session.

Soft lighting.

Rain-drenched streets.

Carefully posed smiles.

I stared at one photo for too long.

Because the girl in the image looked relaxed.

Safe.

Like she belonged to herself completely.

“You’re staring at the photos instead of editing them.”

I looked up to find Taehyung placing a fresh vanilla chai beside my laptop. The scent of cinnamon and clove drifted upward warmly.

“I’m working,” I protested weakly.

“You’ve zoomed into the same picture three times.”

“…You notice too much.”

“Yes.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “Do you enjoy being difficult?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s concerning.”

His gaze lingered on me for a second longer than usual before he finally turned back toward the counter. Despite the fear still sitting heavily inside me, despite Bangchan and my father and the terrifying uncertainty of everything ahead…

I realized something dangerous then.

The café no longer felt like the place where I met Taehyung. It felt like somewhere I belonged beside him. A place where I could feel safe from everything. A place where I knew even if I let my own guard down, someone was still watching over me, someone who would make sure nothing bad would happen to me here. 

BANGCHAN POV

The rain made the city look softer than it really was.

Bangchan stood near the warehouse window with one hand resting loosely in his pocket, watching water streak slowly down the glass in uneven lines. Beyond it, the city blurred beneath gray skies and muted headlights, all silver reflections and wet pavement.

People always looked smaller in weather like this.

Easier to corner.

The warehouse behind him remained quiet except for the distant hum of electricity and the occasional metallic creak from old support beams settling against the cold. Shadows stretched long across the concrete floor, swallowing most of the room whole.

Bangchan preferred it that way. Quiet made people careless. Quiet let him think.

Behind him, footsteps echoed softly.

“You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes.”

Seungmin’s voice carried calmly through the dim space.

Bangchan didn’t turn immediately. “And yet you still interrupted.”

“I assumed you’d survive.”

A faint smile touched Bangchan’s mouth briefly before fading again as he finally glanced over his shoulder.

Seungmin stood near one of the metal tables, dark coat still damp from the rain outside, expression unreadable as always. Beside him, Jeongin leaned lazily against a support beam, hands tucked into his pockets, quieter but observant in the way he always was.

Neither of them spoke again right away, they knew better than to rush him when he was thinking.

Bangchan turned back toward the window slowly.

“She’s staying with him now.”

Jeongin nodded once. “Mostly at the apartment. Sometimes the cafe.”

“And Taehyung?”

“Careful,” Seungmin answered. “More than usual.”

Bangchan’s gaze darkened faintly.

Of course he was.

Kim Taehyung had always been intelligent enough to recognize danger early. That was what made him irritating.

“He hasn’t left her alone once,” Jeongin added quietly. “Not for long.”

Bangchan exhaled slowly through his nose.

Possessive already?

Interesting.

“She trusts him now,” Seungmin observed.

“That was inevitable,” Bangchan replied calmly. “Fear accelerates attachment.”

His fingers tapped once against the window frame.

“She’s isolated. Anxious. Dependent.” His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside. “Taehyung became safety before she understood the danger fully.”

Jeongin tilted his head slightly. “And now?”

“Now she’ll cling to him.”

The certainty in Bangchan’s voice settled heavily into the room.

Not angry.

Analytical.

Because people were patterns eventually. Fear. Trust. Protection. Dependency. Most emotions followed a structure if you watched carefully enough.

And Bangchan always watched carefully.

“She still doesn’t understand why her father offered her,” Seungmin said after a moment.

That finally made Bangchan look away from the window.

A faint flicker of amusement crossed his expression.

“No,” he agreed quietly. “I don’t think she does. Not unless he’s told her the information he knows.”

The warehouse fell still again for a moment.

Then Jeongin asked softly:

“Did he ever actually intend to pay?”

Bangchan laughed once under his breath.

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

“He was desperate long before the gambling started.” Bangchan crossed slowly toward the center of the warehouse now, voice calm and measured. “Bad investments. Fraud investigations. Loans from people who don’t forgive failure.”

His gaze lowered slightly, remembering.

“By the time he came to me, he was already drowning.”

Minho folded his arms loosely, now joining the group. “And he thought you’d save him.”

“He thought I’d delay the consequences.”

A dangerous difference.

Bangchan remembered the first meeting clearly. Adaline’s father had walked into the private lounge shaking beneath expensive cologne and fake confidence, pretending wealth still followed him like it used to, but Bangchan noticed details.

Sweat near the collar.

Unsteady hands.

Panic hidden beneath rehearsed smiles.

Desperate men always looked the same eventually.

“He begged for extensions constantly,” Bangchan said. “Promised money he didn’t have. Connections he couldn’t deliver.” His expression hardened faintly. “Then he started offering other things...”

Jeongin’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Information first,” Bangchan continued. “Names. Business contacts. Access.” A pause. “Then eventually her.”

The warehouse went quiet. Rain tapped steadily against the windows.

“He showed me photographs,” Bangchan said calmly. “Told me she was beautiful. Intelligent. Easy to control if isolated correctly.”

Something dark flickered briefly behind Seungmin’s eyes.

“And you agreed.”

“Yes.”

Not because he cared about the girl herself initially.

But because her father had unknowingly handed him leverage instead.

A daughter untouched by his world.

A weakness.

Those were always useful.

Bangchan stopped near the center table, fingers resting lightly against the cold metal surface.

“Then Taehyung interfered.”

The atmosphere shifted subtly at the name. Jeongin straightened slightly away from the wall. Seungmin’s expression sharpened. Minho and now Changbin glanced at each other for a brief moment.

Because Taehyung complicates things. Not emotionally.

Strategically.

“He watches too much,” Jeongin said quietly.

“Yes.”

“And he’s already attached to her.” Seungmin added.

Bangchan’s gaze darkened faintly.

“That,” he said softly, “is the problem.”

Because attached people became irrational.

Protective.

Violent.

And Kim Taehyung was already dangerous before emotions became involved.

Now?

Now he’d become unpredictable.

Which meant patience mattered more than force.

“We stay hidden for now,” Bangchan said finally. “No direct moves.”

Jeongin nodded once immediately.

Seungmin looked thoughtful. “Observation first.”

“Yes.”

Bangchan leaned back slightly against the table.

“Though we will still make it known we are after her, small gifts, notes, reminders of who she belongs to now.”

“Watch routines. Timing. Emotional patterns.” His voice remained calm, precise. “People reveal vulnerabilities when they start feeling safe again.”

“And if Taehyung notices us?”

“He already expects us.” A faint smile touched Bangchan’s mouth. “That’s useful too.”

Because anticipation exhausted people eventually. Constant vigilance wore cracks into even disciplined minds.

And Taehyung couldn’t protect her perfectly forever.

No one could.

—

The cafe smelled like espresso and cinnamon by the time the doors unlocked that afternoon.

Rainwater glimmered against the windows outside while soft jazz drifted quietly through the warm amber-lit space. Customers filtered in slowly, shaking umbrellas dry near the entrance, speaking in hushed voices that blended into the comforting hum of grinders and steaming milk.

From across the street, Bangchan watched silently from inside a parked black car.

Not close enough to attract attention.

Just close enough.

Through the rain-speckled glass, he could see her seated near the corner window with her laptop open, strands of dark curls falling around her face while she edited photographs with quiet concentration. Every so often, Adaline had glanced up unconsciously toward Taehyung behind the counter.

Checking.

Reassuring herself that he was still there.

Bangchan noticed every time.

Interesting.

“She looks calmer today,” Jeongin murmured from the passenger seat.

“She feels protected,” Bangchan corrected.

A dangerous mistake.

Inside the café, Taehyung moved with practiced ease behind the counter, calm on the surface but observant beneath it. Bangchan could tell even from here. The subtle scanning of reflections. The awareness whenever someone entered.

Still watching everything.

Still expecting violence.

Good.

Bangchan preferred opponents who stayed alert. It made breaking them more satisfying.

“Now?” Jeongin asked quietly.

Bangchan’s gaze remained fixed on the café.

“Yes.”

Across the street, two figures stepped from the sidewalk and crossed toward the entrance.

Seungmin and Jeongin.

Inside the café, the bell above the door rang softly. Adaline had looked up immediately from her laptop.

Confusion crossed her face first as Seungmin approached her table calmly without even bothering to acknowledge Taehyung or anyone else in the café. Jeongin remained near the door, quiet and unreadable beneath the soft overhead lighting. 

Neither of them looked threatening. That was intentional of course. Seungmin then stopped beside her chair and gently placed a single red rose onto the table beside her laptop.

Deep crimson against dark wood.

Beautiful.

Violent.

Intentional.

Adaline stared at it immediately, breath catching visibly even from across the street. Fear moved quickly through people once it lived inside them already.

Seungmin said nothing. Not a single word. He simply met her eyes for one long second before turning away. Jeongin opened the cafe door again for them both to leave.

In.

Out.

Less than twenty seconds.

Across the cafe, Taehyung had already moved from behind the counter.

Too late, by the time he reached the table, the door had already shut behind them. Bangchan watched the exact moment Taehyung realized who had just entered. The subtle tightening in his shoulders, and the sharpness entered his posture instantly.

Protective.

Possessive.

Predictable.

Inside the cafe, Adaline looked shaken now, fingers frozen near the rose, as if touching it might burn her.

Taehyung said something quietly to her.

Bangchan couldn’t hear it through the rain, but he saw the way she looked at him afterward, trusting him again. Leaning toward him emotionally without even realizing it.

Interesting. Very interesting.

Bangchan leaned back slowly into the leather seat.

“Now he understands,” he murmured.

Jeongin glanced toward him. “Understand what?”

“That we can reach her anywhere.”

Rain slid slowly down the windshield. Inside the cafe, Taehyung picked up the rose carefully, his gaze cold enough to sharpen the entire room around him.

Bangchan smiled faintly.

Good.

Let him worry.

—

That night, the warehouse felt colder.

Rain hammered harder against the roof now, echoing through the massive empty structure while the members gathered near the central table beneath dim industrial lights.

Maps.

Photographs.

Schedules.

Observations.

Everything spread neatly across metal surfaces.

Bangchan stood at the center of it all.

“She’s becoming emotionally dependent on him faster than expected,” Seungmin said, flipping through photographs from outside the cafe.

“That complicates extraction,” Minho added quietly from the shadows nearby.

Bangchan nodded once.

“Yes.”

Felix leaned against the table edge, expression thoughtful. “Then separating them has to happen first.”

“It will,” Bangchan replied calmly.

Changbin crossed his arms. “Taehyung won’t leave willingly.”

“No,” Bangchan agreed. “So we create something he can’t ignore.”

Hyunjin glanced up from one of the surveillance photos. “A threat?”

“Several.”

The room quieted.

Bangchan rested both hands lightly against the table.

“He protects through proximity,” he said. “That’s his pattern now. Which means if he’s physically separated from her long enough…” His gaze darkened slightly. “She becomes vulnerable.”

“And after we take her?” Jeongin asked.

Bangchan’s expression remained unreadable.

“We move locations immediately. No electronics. No predictable routes.” His voice stayed calm and precise. “Taehyung tracks patterns. So we remove patterns.”

Seungmin nodded slowly. “And emotionally?”

A faint smile touched Bangchan’s mouth.

“We isolate her.”

The warehouse seemed quieter somehow after that. Rain thundered overhead.

“She already fears abandonment,” Bangchan continued softly. “Fear creates dependency quickly if controlled correctly.”

Felix’s expression tightened slightly, but he said nothing.

“And Taehyung?” Minho asked quietly.

That finally sharpened something dangerous in Bangchan’s eyes.

“We keep him alive.”

Silence followed.

Because everyone there understood the implication beneath the words.

Alive didn’t mean unharmed.

Bangchan looked down at the photograph lying nearest his hand. Adaline was sitting beside the café window earlier that day, a warm lighting across her face and completely unaware of how carefully she was being watched.

His fingers rested lightly against the edge of the image.

Then calmly,

“She’ll stop resisting eventually.”

[readingadream]

Samm's BTS Master List

OT7

Taehyung / V

Not All Roses

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