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CHAPTER 0.6 - TAEHYUNG

summary: You thought you could read them. Tell truth from lies. But in that place, nothing is what it seems, and they know exactly how to keep you off balance. Now, you're not even sure who you are anymore.

pairing: Taehyung x fem!reader.

trope: Dark roommates / Criminally affiliated residence, Psychological slow-burn tension.

warnings: Psychological manipulation, Gaslighting/ Mind games, Emotional tension and a constant sense of danger, Potential violence (physical/ psychological), Organized crime, Illicit activities, Moral ambiguity, Kinda of smut.

-TEASER.

-CHAPTER 0.1

-CHAPTER 0.2

-CHAPTER 0.3

-CHAPTER 0.4

-CHAPTER 0.5

_______________________________________________

Taehyung was strange.

Not in the funny way of someone with a few innocent quirks, but in the more unsettling sense of the word.

He moved as if he had a music of his own, one no one else could hear.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, every sentence sounded like a riddle waiting to be solved.

He barely slept, ate only when he remembered to, and spent hours staring at monitors, studying lines of code as if they were verses from a poem only he could understand.

You only had to look at him to realize that something was always happening in his head.

And every time his eyes met yours, you felt he already knew what you were about to say. Or do.

He read you. Then dismissed you.

_______________________________________________

The meeting began with the smell of cold coffee and a table scattered with papers.

You were all gathered around that bluish light projecting the museum’s floor plan — because in that light, things looked less real and easier to modify.

Namjoon pulled out the map and pointed to a little square: the restoration lab, basement level -1.

“Let’s be clear,” he said. “We don’t want the paintings. We want the metadata that legitimizes them. Inside, there’s a server that holds digital signatures, timestamps, provenance numbers. If we corrupt those, the counterfeit chain collapses. If we copy them, our contact can replicate certificates and plant a few fakes in selected galleries.”

Jin nodded, setting his pen down. “Contacts that pay well, but no banks. We have to be surgical.”

Yoongi squinted. “And security? Redundant cameras, environmental sensors, guards that aren’t total idiots — it’s always a mess.”

“You’re right,” Namjoon replied. “That’s why we’ll do it in sync. Massive distraction, targeted blackout, entry through the back, two minutes flat inside the lab. Taehyung and her will go in, copy and countercopy, delete automatic backups. Yoongi and Hoseok handle the interference, Jin and Jungkook watch the escape routes, Jimin takes the main hall with his face and voice.”

Jimin tapped his fingers on the table. “So I act: fake tears, applause, a few well-placed insults if needed. I’m the elegant distraction… I like it.”

Hoseok bounced in his seat. “I can be the hysterical press agent! I can cry, fake a fainting spell… anything to keep security busy!”

Jungkook looked at his emergency exit guide with bright eyes. “I’ll be wherever you need me. If someone has to run, I’ll run.”

Taehyung, with his headphones around his neck, leaned back in his chair and spoke quietly.

“I’ll go into the lab. She comes with me. But don’t get in my way. I’m not asking for order — it’s just that servers have a rhythm. You have to listen to it, not destroy it.”

You interrupted: “So you listen and I just take notes? Don’t piss me off, Tae.”

“I’m not pissing you off,” he said, his lips curling. “I’m recording you.”

Namjoon shook his head. “Technical details, then. We’ll need portable badge jammers, a device to falsify the camera logs for three minutes, and a flash drive with a basic software that replicates the file structure of the originals.”

Yoongi raised a hand. “We’ll have to delete the camera logs in time, careful with the central server, because if the automatic backup kicks in, we’re screwed.”

Jin approached the map, pointing to a service door. “Two options: the roof with ropes, or the cargo bay. The cargo bay is closer to the lab but more guarded. The roof takes longer — you have to climb down and back up.”

Hoseok bit his lip. “I prefer the cargo bay — fewer eyes from regular guests.”

Jungkook added, “I’ll watch the courtyard. If someone heads to the roof, I’ll see it and warn you.”

Namjoon looked at the group. “The plan’s this: Jin and Jungkook enter through the storage area and act as decoys. Yoongi and Hoseok cause the blackout and trick the network. Jimin stirs up confusion in the main hall. Taehyung and she…” — he pointed at you — “…take photos and copy the files. Taehyung works on the server. Two minutes flat to copy and alter the backup.”

He stepped away from the desk and took a sip of whisky.

“Everyone out in three minutes. Clear?”

Each answered with a look or a word. The air was thick — smoke and tension rising together.

Then Taehyung stood, moved to the center of the room, and said, almost singing,

“One thing you should know: servers have a heartbeat. Not a human one. It’s a rhythm — of writing, of syncs. If you hit that beat just right, the server thinks it’s maintenance and stays quiet. But if you shut it down wrong, it screams and calls for help. I know where to touch it.”

You looked at him. “You talk like a poet.”

“Yes, but of technical junk,” he replied. “Stay close. I’ll give you the headset and call the timing.”

Namjoon concluded: “I believe you. You know more than I do. But there are two critical points: the environmental sensor in the room and the server’s failover. Tae, you don’t stop until the files are safe.”

Agreements followed, nervous laughs slipped in, and the meeting dissolved like a well-oiled mechanism.

The air had warmed up: strategy, roles, and that feeling that the plan — however intricate — might just work.

_______________________________________________

That night, the museum was a golden hive: critics arguing, glasses clinking, paintings shimmering under lights designed to hide the flaws.

You were inside, like a shadow with permission.

Jin and Jungkook slipped into the cargo bay.

Yoongi and Hoseok managed the tech room.

Soon, the corridor lights blinked — a short, planned blackout. Cameras froze for the length of a stolen kiss.

You and Taehyung rushed down the back hallway. You walked fast but alert, hearing the hum of celebration in the distance.

He carried a small, elegant bag — cables, his vibrating black cube, a handmade firmware drive.

He pointed to a side door. “Single file,” he whispered. “Don’t listen to the sound of your heart telling you to hurry.”

You entered.

The lab was lit by a sterile, clinical glow.

Tables, tools, neatly stacked registers — and in the center, a server labeled Digital Archive – Authentications.

Taehyung got to work immediately.

His fingers moved quickly but deliberately.

You photographed every label, every cable.

His hand brushed yours as he passed you a flash drive — brief, light contact, and in that touch was something sharp as a blade.

Then the corridor stirred: faint footsteps, a door opening.

Taehyung pulled you behind a cabinet. You were so close you could feel the heat of his body, his breath against your cheek.

The guard entered, glanced around, sniffed the sterile air, and left. Time stood still for a moment.

You slipped out together; the drive was safe.

Jimin’s distraction burst in the main hall — applause, a small public scene that drew eyes and chatter.

The escape was clean: calm steps, polite smiles, a few friendly faces dissolving among the guests. The van waited in the shadows.

Namjoon at the wheel. No one spoke. The adrenaline flattened everyone into silence.

_______________________________________________

The base was warm and full of cables. Everyone dispersed.

You stayed in the monitor room with Taehyung.

He sat watching the screen as the files opened like mouths that should never be seen.

The bluish glow tore his features into fragments.

“Will it work?” you asked.

“It will,” he said. “You know, there are patterns to follow. Forgers always use the same signature. They change it, but it’s the same one.”

“So you know them all, then?”

“Not all. You, though… you’re more interesting.”

He took your hips, pressed you gently against the table, and kissed you with a slowness that made you think of fogged glass. His hands moved down your back, slipping under your shirt. You felt the cold of the buttons and the warmth of his palms.

His tongue was precise, like someone disassembling a clock. He wasn’t rough — clinical, almost — and yet the way his fingertips traced your skin made you tremble.

“You’re cold,” he said. Then warmed you with his hands and his body.

There was a long moment — of sliding kisses, tracing hands, and shallow breaths.

Taehyung lowered his head and kissed your neck with the meticulousness that defined him. His fingers moved up your side to your belt. He took you slowly, with a calm that felt like a successful experiment.

His lips found yours again — more desire, more urgency. When it ended, it wasn’t an explosion. It was a suspended moment, the scent of his hair and the sound of his breathing.

He lay beside you, close enough for his body to feel like a warm border.

You looked at him, drew a faint line across his forehead.

“Do you think you understand anything?”

He smiled. “Always,” he said.

You waited until his breathing evened out.

Then you stood, moving carefully, and slipped on your jacket.

Taehyung slept, hands crossed over his chest.

You looked at him once more, as if observing something precious that belonged to no one, and left the room without a sound.

_______________________________________________

The hideout was small and warm.

The pen felt heavy in your hand, like a truth. You opened the notebook and didn’t think too much — the mission, the words, the lies you’d bury better inside the report.

Your fingers moved almost on their own, a trace of syrupy sarcasm in your tone.

-Kim Taehyung

Operation complete. The files are ours, the forgers haven’t sung yet, and the others feel invincible. They think they’re so clever, believing they’re the ones pulling the strings.

Taehyung is fragile: he weaves connections as if machines whisper secrets to him. He touched me like he was solving a math problem — calm, precise. He kissed me like he was testing an experiment’s outcome.

And while he thinks he’s the scientist, I’m the one taking notes. I’m mocking them — slowly, carefully — and they don’t know. In fact, they feel powerful.

For now, I write. For now, I record. But I know that when the time comes, the pen will still be in my hand.

Taehyung? He’s brilliant. Sweet in his obsessions.

But he doesn’t know that I’m already rewriting the file item.

And when he finds out, he won’t like knowing I’ve taken his place.

_______________________________________________

taglist: @siasingh18

[riaismyname]

CHAPTER 0.5 - JIMIN

summary: You thought you could read them. Tell truth from lies. But in that place, nothing is what it seems, and they know exactly how to keep you off balance. Now, you're not even sure who you are anymore.

pairing: Jimin x fem!reader.

trope: Dark roommates / Criminally affiliated residence, Psychological slow-burn tension.

warnings: Psychological manipulation, Gaslighting/ Mind games, Emotional tension and a constant sense of danger, Potential violence (physical/ psychological), Organized crime, Illicit activities, Moral ambiguity, Kinda of smut.

-TEASER.

-CHAPTER 0.1

-CHAPTER 0.2

-CHAPTER 0.3

-CHAPTER 0.4

_______________________________________________

You always trusted those who shout, not those who whisper.

Because those who shout bare their teeth. Those who whisper, on the other hand, can stab you without even leaving a scratch.

Park Jimin was like that. All allure and smiles. Yet you had never stopped staring at his hands, wondering how many times they might already have been stained.

He was ambiguous. One day he spoke of love, the next he made someone disappear with a shrug. He seduced, deluded, and then… nothing. He would leave you there with the feeling that everything had just been a rehearsal.

But that evening you looked at him differently. Not because you trusted him. Because you knew what he was about to do.

_______________________________________________

It had all happened a couple of months earlier. A tie-and-tux event, rooms full of expensive smoke and political talk that smelled worse than the whiskey they drank. Namjoon had sent him there just to get a feel for the place. Simple stuff.

But Jimin wasn’t satisfied; he wasn’t one to be content easily.

He slipped into a party like a snake among them, smiling, shaking hands, letting them call him a “communications consultant” — whatever the fuck that meant. In two weeks he knew everything. Who fucked whom, who paid whom, and above all: where the dirty money ended up.

Late one night he returned to base, let himself drop onto the sofa, took a cigarette and lit it without even saying hello.

Still with the cigarette in his mouth, he spoke. “We’ve got the account numbers. And the evidence.” He looked at you, lingering a second longer on your lips. “Do we do a robbery… or blackmail?”

You didn’t answer; after all, it wasn’t your job to make decisions.

The leader, who until then had been on the phone staring at who-knows-what, didn’t even look up from the screen before answering immediately:

“We’ll do both.”

The plan was simple: break into one of the party’s data centers, take the servers, the documents, and this time leave a nice message. No banks. No easy money. This was politics, power, clean faces to kick.

_______________________________________________

On the late night of the raid, the team prepared as always. Jungkook packed the backpacks with maniacal precision, Yoongi checked the guns like he was preparing surgical instruments. Jin poured the petrol into the car. Taehyung hummed something with a husky voice, leaning against the wall, while Hoseok stared at Jimin.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked with half a smile on his face.

“Since when do you worry?” Jimin replied.

“I’m not worried. I’m excited. I want to see the minister’s face when he pisses himself,” he said honestly, then slapped high-fives with him.

Jimin smiled, as if he genuinely liked the idea.

Namjoon gave the go. “It’s an in-and-out mission. No one shows their faces. We leave a nice little gift and then we vanish.”

You sat next to Jimin in the van. He didn’t speak, but he shot you a glance. One of those you never know whether it’s an invitation or a threat.

_______________________________________________

The raid was surgical. Two guards outside: neutralized by Jungkook and Jin, who remained silent with their hands tucked in their pockets. Secondary entrance, forced opening with Yoongi’s precision. Taehyung and Hoseok entered like dancers in a macabre ballet, covering every corner.

Jimin? He came in last. Calm. He walked as if he were visiting. As if the building belonged to him.

He stopped in the conference room, where six party members were still working. There, everything changed.

“Good evening, you honorable assholes.” He pointed a gun at them, but didn’t fire. He grabbed the conference microphone and switched on the building’s PA system.

“Can you hear me, you fucking politicians?” His words echoed through the whole building. The rest of the gang froze for a second, so they could listen to their companion’s speech. You did too.

“We have the evidence. Every transfer, every bribe. Every photo of you with people who shouldn’t even be allowed to breathe free air. If you open your mouths, if you call the police, this evidence goes straight to every newspaper in the country.” He took a step forward. “If, instead, you behave? We only ask one thing.”

One of the men, an old man you’d seen on TV sometimes, his hands trembling, stammered, “W-what…?”

Jimin stepped closer. “Your silence. And your accounts.”

Meanwhile, the others had recovered what they needed. Taehyung had already downloaded two servers while Jungkook kept watch. Hoseok laughed to himself in the director’s office, tearing up and throwing family photos on the floor. Yoongi and Jin had already started heading down to the van.

Namjoon closed the plan with a dry line: “Five minutes and out.”

When you escaped, the city was full of distant sirens. But no one saw you. As always.

_______________________________________________

Back at base, everyone dispersed. But Jimin didn’t. He followed you, his steps slow, his gaze low.

He said nothing until you were alone. Then he moved closer, so close you could feel his exhale on your mouth. “Do you know what tonight was?”

“A victory.”

“No,” he whispered. “It was my show.”

He pushed you against the wall, slow, as if dancing. His hands on your hips, then under your shirt. There was no hunger. There was control. Precision. As if every one of your breaths were predicted, desired, written.

He undressed you as if he were performing a scene. He watched you while he did it. Not your body, but you.

His lips sought you without hurry. It was like a poison: slow, lethal, impossible to stop.

When he took you, he did it without a word. Only breaths. Eyes locked. And that half-smirk that never left.

When it was over, he didn’t leave you right away. He lay down next to you, not touching, but not too far away either.

“This wasn’t part of the act,” he said softly.

“Maybe.” He fell into a deep sleep.

_______________________________________________

Slowly you moved away from him and returned to your hideout, which contained your true identity. You didn’t wait a second longer before writing in your diary.

-Park Jimin

Operation successful. No deaths. Servers secured. Politicians silenced.

Jimin is not like the others. He doesn’t explode, he doesn’t command. Jimin slips. He slides between things, between people, between intentions. He’s a born actor, but maybe he no longer knows who is underneath the mask.

Tonight he spoke to powerful men as if they were nothing. And he did it with a smile that felt like both a caress and a knife.

He touched me as if he were searching for something. Not desire, not possession. Maybe the truth. But with him truth doesn’t exist. Or if it does, it hides too well.

He performs, I, meanwhile, write his script. And when the time comes, I will take him off the stage.

_______________________________________________

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