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chummywchimmy · 25 days ago

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BOY IN LUV (REWRITTEN)

CHAPTER 3

PAIRING : Yandere! Bully! Taehyung x Reader

SUMMARY : Your encounter with the campus bad boy was a disaster. All you wanted was to never see him again. But when his punishing attention shifts to you, your world begins to change. When have things ever gone your way?

WARNINGS : Mature language, bullying, classism, jealous behaviour, staring (lol), eventual yandere.

A/N- This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month. However, I will be uploading two chapters per month on my Patreon. As of the date of upload of this chapter here on Tumblr, my Patreon subscribers have access to the fic uptil the 5th Chapter, with Chapter 6 and due to be uploaded soon. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!

MY PATREON

I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.

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You couldn’t sleep.

It was 3AM in the morning, then 4, then 5 and with growing paranoia, you watched the clock tick its way to 7AM. You had to get up.

His dark eyes refused to leave your mind. You were sure that he wouldn’t let this go. You had seen it in his demeanor. Though not outright threatening, he had looked tensed, like preparing for a battle, rather than the lazy indifference you had seen on him thus far. You took a deep breath. There was no point stalling. The worst that he could do was some word calling right?

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, you left the house.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At first, everything feels normal. There’s none of the ‘accidents’ that you were worried about. Nobody tries to shove you or Sam out of nowhere, no filth spilling from your quad lockers and no deliberate attempts at socialization.

No, it was much more subtle. You almost miss the way that certain classmates move away from you. You attribute it to a misconception or a trick of the light. But as you go from class to class, it becomes difficult to overlook.

During the class that you share with Sam, you move over to your usual seat. Being a smaller class, the seats are close together with little room to spare. Yet, seeing people actively avoid seats near you brings a confused frown to Sam’s face. You nudge at her and smile. Surely, there was no way a whole group of people can be influenced against you over the course of a few hours.

As the class begins, a slip of paper is slipped to the armrest of your chair.

‘RAGGER SLAYER, MESSIAH OF THE DOWNTRODDEN’ is written in dark, black ink.

Sam snorts and it brings a smile to your face. How childish. You could enjoy this ‘retribution’.

It is almost enough to disarm your high strung defences so when the professor calls on people to respond to his question, you keep on writing in your notebook.

“Ms. (Y\N), please let us know your thoughts.” Professor Mathur looks at you with a glint in her eyes.

You blink. Your mind was a thousand miles away.

“Um.....” you begin, throat dry. “She was emotionally overbearing and I think... it’s meant to reflect the damage of-”

A quiet snort interrupts you. You don’t need to look to know it came from Seojun. One of Taehyung’s friends. Not the loudest but always there, lurking just enough to cause damage without getting his hands dirty.

Professor raises an eyebrow but not at him. At you.

“‘Damage of...’? Miss (Y/L/N), you’re at Gatford, not a high school debate club. I expected better.” Her tone is clipped.

A low chuckle ripples through the back row.

Seojun leans back lazily in his chair. “Maybe she's just too focused on other extracurriculars these days.” A few people laugh. It’s not loud. But loud enough.

Your hands freeze on your notebook. You don’t dare look back. The heat in your cheeks burns.

Professor Mathur sighs. “Focus, class. I’d like to think we’re above childish distractions.”

But she moves on without reprimanding anyone else. And you know that if you were someone else, someone untouchable, this would never have happened.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week passes by like this.

A cryptic comment slipped into a group chat that made her name trend in hushed hallways for a day. Her project files mysteriously corrupted on the shared drive, leaving her struggling to meet the deadline before submission.

You're sitting alone on the steps outside the library with your notebook open but untouched, pen resting idly in your hand. The sunlight’s started to dip, painting the marble in gold but your thoughts are too messy to appreciate it.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. You don’t look up.

“Bit far from your protest headquarters, aren’t you?”

Kim Taehyung. Standing at the foot of the steps, his silhouette sharp against the amber light of the setting sun. He’s not dressed like a student who just came out of class. A leather jacket slung over one shoulder, chain around his neck catching the sunlight, expression unreadable.

You don’t say anything. He starts climbing the steps lazily, one at a time.

“Didn’t mean to scare you” he says, voice dripping with irony.

“You didn’t” you answer too quickly.

“Mmhm” he hums, pretending to accept that even though his smirk makes it clear he doesn’t believe you. “That’s good. Fear makes people act stupid.”

He pauses a few feet away from you now, eyeing the empty notebook in your lap. “Nothing to say today? That’s rare. You were so brave at the Dean’s office last week.”

He took a few steps up, his boots slow on the metal grating. You didn’t move.

“Let me give you a word of advice" he said. “Silence is safer. You’d do well to remember that.”

“And if I don’t?” The words were barely a whisper but they escaped before you could stop them.

His expression didn’t change but the air around him shifted. Taehyung crouched in front of you suddenly. Just enough that you could see the tension behind his eyes, the way his lips pressed together like he was suppressing something.

“You really want to test how far that leash goes?”

You held your breath. He looked down at the notebook in your lap. His eyes lingered there for a beat too long. Then flicked up to your face again. Studied it. He looked frustrated.

He leaned in closer, not for effect but because he couldn’t seem to help it.

“People like you break easy" he murmured, voice low. “So why haven’t you?”

You stared at him, too afraid to speak, too angry to look away. Something flickered behind his eyes. And then rage, quieter than before but more dangerous. Directed inward at himself.

“Maybe you just like the attention" he muses cruelly. “Quiet girls always do. They act like they hate the spotlight but they fall apart the moment no one’s looking.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice is small but steady.

He looks at you. Really looks. His gaze lingers just a second too long on your mouth, your clenched hands, your posture that screams both ‘run’ and ‘don’t back down.’

The air between you hums, not with chemistry but with something darker. He stood abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair like he needed to snap out of something. A beat passed. Then his voice returned, cold and flat.

“Keep your head down, scholarship girl. Or I’ll make you wish you had.”

Before you can respond, a sharp voice cuts through the air. “(Y/N)!”

You both turn. Sam is jogging over, worry etched deep into her expression. Her eyes move between you and Taehyung who gives her a mock-courteous nod before slowly walking off, hands in his pockets, humming to himself like it was just another casual conversation.

Sam rushes to your side. “Are you okay?” she demands, crouching beside you. “What did he say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing much. Just.... words.”

Sam’s face twists. “This is my fault. You wouldn’t even be on his radar if I’d just let it go-”

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” But Sam looks at you like you’ve taken a bullet meant for her. And maybe, in some way, you have.

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The low hum of the espresso machine, the gentle warmth of foaming milk in the air and the clink of mugs formed a nice rhythm. You liked this part of your shift because of the lull between rush hours and the illusion of being invisible behind the counter. Here, you didn’t have to be brave. You just had to be competent.

You wiped down the counter with slow, practiced movements. The gentle chaos of the café with your fellow baristas laughing softly in the back and the quiet tap of keyboards from the study tables had begun to feel like a routine you could trust. Min’s was neutral territory. It didn’t belong to bullies or politics or the constant churn of campus gossip.

Then the door opened and everything changed. You didn’t even need to see him. You felt it. That sudden tension. Voices dropped and laughter stalled, though just for a second and then everything resumed but tighter and more careful. You looked up and there he was. Taehyung. The one whose thoughts clouded your mind more than you could stomach lately. Your stomach curled instantly. What is he doing here?

Your hands stiffened around the rag, breath catching in your throat. This wasn’t a coincidence.

And now he knew where you worked. Where you had tried to feel safe. You tried to convince yourself this was random. That maybe he just wanted some coffee. That he didn’t notice you behind the counter. But you couldn’t bring your racing mind to believe that.

There was no announcement, no sudden hush, just a subtle pause in the air.

He walked in like he always belonged there, not with noise or arrogance but with the kind of presence that turned space pliable. People didn’t stop talking but their gazes shifted. A flicker, a glance over the shoulder, a momentary adjustment of posture.

Flanked by a few students, not friends, not really, they clustered just behind him, leaning in slightly when he spoke, their amusement always half a second too eager. One moved to grab a table before he even looked at it. Another offered their seat with a glance. No orders given. Just a quiet choreography born from a long practiced habit.

He didn’t smile. His face was unreadable, eyes calm but strangely alert as though boredom was a form of control and he had no intention of breaking it. He was halfway through turning his head when his gaze caught on you and then didn’t move. You didn’t notice right away. You were focused on restocking the tray of pastries, eyes cast downward, sleeves pushed to your elbows. When you finally looked up, your breath caught.

Taehyung was watching you.

Not idly. Not with passing interest. Watching with the quiet intensity of someone who’d stumbled on something they hadn’t expected to see and now couldn’t look away from. His friends were still talking, laughing at something you couldn’t hear but he didnt look like he was listening anymore.

The change came fast. A flicker in his eyes and then his entire demeanor shifted. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back like someone shaking off dust and let a slow grin pull at the corner of his mouth. Something about it felt weird. Not like the smirks you’d seen him wear before. This was sharper. Hungrier.

“Is that….?” he muttered, loud enough for those near him to turn, confused.

The boy nearest to him followed his gaze “Who?”

Taehyung didn’t answer. He was already moving.

The suddenness made his group pause. Conversations stilled mid-sentence. Someone called after him, a joke that trailed into silence. But he didn’t turn around. He walked with purpose, eyes fixed, something manic and alive unfolding just beneath his skin. He looked almost delighted.

You froze, pastry tongs still in hand. You wanted to look away and pretend that you hadn’t noticed him noticing you but you were rooted in place due to your role of front of store today.

And maybe because of the the smallest thread of fascination. Because no one ever had looked at you like that.

You swallowed. Too late to vanish now.

Your spine straightens instinctively. Polite and professional.

“Welcome to Café Min,” you say “What can I get you?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer immediately. He leans one elbow on the counter, tilting his head, eyes dragging slowly over your face like he’s memorizing you.

“Fancy seeing you here” he says. “Don’t look so tense" he says, his tone almost playful. “I’m here as a customer today. No knives, no blood. Just caffeine.”

His eyes drop to your name tag, flick back up. “(Y/N), right? I like this look on you. Very non-confrontational.”

Still, you say nothing. He hums, amused by your silence.

“Come on” he adds, tapping the counter. “Let’s not pretend we don’t know each other. I feel like we’ve already had our first fight. Isn’t coffee the natural next step?”

“What can I get you?” you repeat, voice neutral.

“I’ll have whatever you recommend,” he says finally, the corners of his mouth curling up in amusement. “You look like someone who knows what’s good.” His voice is deep, casual. But there's something calculated in it like he’s trying to see how easily your expression might crack.

You blink. “We have a caramel hazelnut latte that’s popular.”

“Popular,” he repeats softly, as if the word personally offends him. “Hmm. And what if I want something, say, different?”

You don’t let your smile slip. “Then I suggest the espresso. Simple and no frills”

A beat of silence, and then he lets out a low chuckle, “You don’t seem like someone who likes simple, no frills.”

You know he’s doing this on purpose- testing the boundaries of what he can say, what you’ll react to. Still, you move to punch in the order, “It’s just coffee, sir.”

His eyebrows lift, and that grin spreads a bit further. “Sir? Now that’s adorable.”

You freeze. For a second, it’s just the hum of the café and the weight of his eyes on you. You move to make the drink, sensing his eyes follow you.

When you return and slide the cup across the counter, he doesn’t reach for it right away. His eyes flick to your name tag before drifting back to your face.

“Do they pay you enough for that smile?” he asks, tilting his head, “Feels like I should tip extra just for the effort.”

You school your expression. “We don’t take tips.”

He lifts an eyebrow and pulls out a crisp note, sliding it across the counter with two fingers then dropping a second note beside it.

“Well,” he says, voice light but laced with something sharper, “consider it a donation. For the hard-working student fund. You’re welcome.”

You don’t touch the money. Just nod tightly. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything in return at first, but lingers longer than necessary, fingers tapping against the counter. You look up.

Then your phone buzzes beside you. You glance and your eyes catch the preview of the message.

Jungkook: Still up for coffee? I’m nearby.

It’s just a casual message. Harmless. But when you lift your gaze, Taehyung is already reading it. Just a flick of his eyes, a second too long. You see it and something changes. The subtle tension in his shoulders. The way the amused crease between his brows smooths out. The quiet in him turning heavy and dense. When he finally speaks, it’s slower. Smooth but thinner than before.

“Seems you’re popular these days.”

You blink. “It’s just a classmate.”

“Of course,” he says, voice calm but not kind “Group projects. They do bring people together.”

You can’t tell if he’s mocking the idea or not. He’s watching you too closely now like he’s studying a shift in your face he doesn’t understand.

“Didn’t realize the café was part of the syllabus though,” he adds with a faint smile that feels more surgical than sincere.

You glance toward your manager in the back then back to him. “It’s a small campus.”

“Mmhm.” His eyes flick back to your phone, then to your hands. “Must be nice though. To have people who show up when you ask them to.”

You don't reply. Something in your chest tightens. Is this still teasing? But then he reaches into his pocket, slow and fluid and places a note on the counter again.

“No change needed,” he murmurs. “You’ll put it to good use.”

You hesitate. “I can get-”

“No,” he cuts in softly. “Let’s not pretend either of us cares about the loose coins.”

Your hand hovers, not sure what to do. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Enjoy your coffee,” he says, voice light but coloured with something that tastes like a warning. “With your.. classmate or whatever.”

And then he walks off as though you hadn’t just watched something fracture in him that he hadn’t meant for you to see.

You go back to organizing the pastry case. You turn your head slightly, eyes catching Taehyung as he settles into a booth with his entourage. He doesn’t sit like most people do, he takes up space, lounging sideways like the leather seat was made for him, arm thrown across the backrest, leg outstretched just enough to appear careless.

Two of his friends, boys with expensive jackets and easy grins, say something, laughing. A girl with glossy hair leans in across the table, tapping her nails against her iced Americano, seeking his gaze.

But Taehyung isn’t listening. He’s watching you. It’s not obvious. He’s not glaring. But his eyes flick to the counter every time someone else walks up to it. Every time your head dips to pack a pastry into a paper container or hand over a receipt. A minute later, one of the boys leans in and says something to him, gesturing subtly toward the front. You can feel the shift in attention now.

Their laughter pauses. He finally breaks his silence, shrugging, saying something under his breath that makes one of them snort. But he doesn’t look amused. Not really. There’s a tautness in his jaw, an unnatural stillness to his posture. He picks up a sugar packet and twists it between his fingers until it splits and the powder spills on the table.

After a while, his friends get up to place their orders. The tall girl comes up first. Her eyes flick over the menu with performative disinterest.

“Do you even have almond milk here?” she says in a tone that makes it clear she already knows the answer.

You try to keep your voice polite. “No, I’m afraid we only carry regular and soy for now.”

She rolls her eyes. “Right”

You force a smile, tap the register. “Would you like anything else?”

“Just the latte” she says.

Before you can turn away, Taehyung’s there. His voice joins theirs casually, almost lazily.

“You're lucky she hasn’t kicked you out yet, Ara. Some of us still remember your peppermint mocha disaster”

She giggles and nudges his arm, “Oh, please. That barista cried. I was doing her a favor.”

He hums low in his throat, eyes drifting toward you now. “Maybe this one has thicker skin.”

Your chest tightens but you don’t rise to it. You hand over the receipt. Then he speaks again. This time, just loud enough. “Or maybe she’s just used to being looked down on.”

The words hang in the air for a second too long. Designed to pass as a joke if anyone calls him out. But your stomach turns. You look up and his eyes are already on yours.

The girl Ara arches a brow, noticing the moment. “Tae,” she says lightly, “what’s gotten into you?”

He glances away with a half-smile. “Nothing. Just.. appreciating the service.”

More laughter and this time, it slices deeper. You turn away, cheeks burning, blinking hard. You reach for the milk jug, hands trembling slightly as you froth the next order.

Behind you, the table is still filled with noise but Taehyung says less now. He leans back again, jaw clenched, watching you from beneath his lashes while his friends talk around him. His drink sits untouched on the table. You feel his eyes. You feel his anger. You feel the confusion radiating off him like heat from coals that haven’t burned out yet. And you know that something has shifted.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re just beginning to exhale when the bell above the café door jingles.

“(Y/N)!”

You turn sharply, almost spilling the cup you were cleaning. But the voice is familiar.

Jungkook stands there, slightly out of breath, hair tousled like he’d run across campus. He lifts his hand in an awkward wave,“Sorry I’m late.”

A sudden lightness blooms in your chest but it doesn’t last long because as Jungkook makes his way toward the counter Taehyung is still here. He hasn’t left.

He stands by the glass door, paused, as if something about Jungkook’s arrival anchors him in place. His expression is unreadable. Neutral if you weren’t paying attention. But you are. You can see the tension behind his jaw, the subtle stillness that isn’t natural on him.

Jungkook hasn’t noticed him yet. “You said you’d treat me, right? Coffee on the hardworking partner.” He grins.

You smile back and nod. “Of course. Take a seat. I’ll bring it over.”

As you start preparing the drink, you don’t notice Taehyung turning back toward the counter. “Forgot to compliment you earlier,” he says, voice low. “You handle your little job quite well.”

You frown. “Thank you.”

Jungkook gives a polite smile, stepping slightly to the side to give him space, assuming he’s here to place an order. “Hey.”

Taehyung barely looks at him. “Hi.” His tone is flat.

There’s a beat of awkwardness.

Jungkook glances at you, confused.

Taehyung’s fingers drum on the glass counter, slow and deliberate. “You’ve made new friends fast. That’s surprising.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows a little. Taehyung finally looks at him. The glimmering amusement in his eyes is now coldly curious.

Turning to you, he says “You giving out free drinks now or just selective with the kindness?”

You blink. Jungkook straightens slightly. You try to steady your tone. “Can I help you?”

Taehyung’s eyes flick lazily to Jungkook. “Didn’t realize you were entertaining guests during your shift.”

Jungkook, still polite, gives a small nod. “We’re friends. I just came for the coffee she promised.”

Taehyung hums as if amused. “Of course. Always good to have friends. Especially the harmless kind. You’ve got a type.”

You stiffen. “He’s my project partner.”

Taehyung tilts his head, eyes not leaving yours. “That’s sweet. Helping the shy ones blend in, how very noble of you.”

Jungkook blinks again, puzzled. “Sorry, do we know each other?”

Taehyung holds his gaze for a beat too long. Then shrugs. “You will.”

That smile again, too wide. You don't know how to explain what it is when even you don’t have a name for it. Only a feeling, like being circled.

Jungkook watches him leave, brows furrowed. “What was that all about?”

You open your mouth then close it again. Sighing, “My shift ends in five. I will explain.”

#yandere bts #chimmywrites #bts au fic #yandere #bts fic #bts #btsau #yandere taehyung #bts yandere #taehyung fanfic #yandere v

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chummywchimmy · 2 months ago

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Hi Everyone!

Chapter 5 of Boy In Luv is live on my Patreon for my subscribers. Please consider subscribing <3

However, if you are not a member but would like to access the post, it is also available on my Patreon under the Shop section, as a one-time purchase, for that specific chapter.

Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts.

Thank you very much for the support <333

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CHAPTER 5 TEASER

The bell above the door chimed and you glanced up from the espresso machine, expecting a student or maybe one of the usual professors who came by for an evening pick-me-up. But it was Taehyung again.

Your brows drew together. He had just left barely ten minutes ago abruptly, his face unreadable as he stepped out mid-conversation with his friend. You hadn't thought much of it. He'd been coming to the café daily for the past week, silently occupying his corner seat like clockwork, always ordering the same thing, always watching, not you directly but never not you either.

Now, he was back. He walked toward the counter with that same deliberate slowness. His hair was slightly tousled like he’d run his hands through it several times and there was a smudge on his cheek of something red and faint. A flash of something darkened his knuckles.

You forced your voice to stay neutral as he reached the counter. “What would you like to order today?”

There was a beat of silence too long. Then he smiled but it wasn’t the usual amused curl of his lips or even the cocky smirk he gave when mocking someone. This smile was distant, unfocused, a strange twitch tugging at his mouth like he was only barely present in his body.

His voice was soft. “It’s time you gave me orders.”

#yandere bts #chimmywrites #yandere #bts au fic #bts fic #bts #btsau #yandere taehyung #bts yandere #yandere fic #male yandere #taehyung fanfic

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chummywchimmy · 2 months ago

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Been reading a lot of alien romances lately. Hm. Something is cooking

#yandere bts #chimmywrites #bts au fic

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chummywchimmy · 2 months ago

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Thank you, you made my day!!!

BOY IN LUV (Rewritten)

Chapter 1

PAIRING : Yandere! Bully! Taehyung x Reader

WARNINGS : Mature language, sexism, misogynist characters, eventual yandere

A/N - Hello everyone! As I promised, I am back. To get back into the groove of writing again, I decided to pick up my unfinished BIL fic. This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month (longer that this one). However, I will be uploading two chapters per month on my Patreon. So, for this month, for my Patreon subscribers, in addition to this chapter, chapter two and three will also be uploaded. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!

MY PATREON

I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.

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The crush of people at the underground subway should have felt suffocating, bleak even. Yet, your heart was filled with excitement.

With your friend, Sam, by your side, you were moving towards your destiny. Gatford College. SAT’s through the roof-sky high tuition-home to cutting edge research-Gatford. Yes, slogging throughout your high school to achieve near perfect scores to qualify for a scholarship here had been worth it.

“Just how many pens have you brought with you, geez.” Sam, rifling through your bag for your promised treat of homemade cookies, laughed at your over-preparedness.

You laughed. “Hey, that’s all I could do last night. No way I could find any sleep with all this excitement.”

Talking over the crunch of the cookies, the two of you occupied a cramped corner of the train.

As the train moved towards your deboarding station, Sam took her long hair out of the ponytail that it was seen, fluffing it up and pulling out a sheer lipgloss. Replying to your amused look, she said, “You promised our college life would be full of fun and romance if I worked hard on the SAT’s. Can’t blame a girl for wanting to look the part.”

Sam, unlike you, came from an upper middle class family, with a well earning father and a mother who could afford to stay at home. Unlike you, who could only afford to see the face of Gatford thanks to your scholarship, Sam had won a partial scholarship. The two of you had motivated each other with promises of parties, dates and all that came with being a young adult right out of school. Now that you were here, and together, you would join Sam in her fun loving and extroverted nature.

Agreeing, you took hold of the pink gloss stick in her hands and swiped them across your nude color coated lips.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping into the marble foyer, you noted the silence of the hallways. The expensive kind of silence. This was no no-name college.

White marble floor gleamed in your vision as your plain ballet flats stood in its contrast. Legacy kids in designer jackets breezed past you and Sam, looking sure and confident of the way, as they surely were of their way in the world.

The elegant receptionist had sent the two of you with directions to reach the auditorium in the main building to attend the orientation.

Reaching the ornate gates, you were greeted by a line of upperclassmen who were smiling at and introducing themselves to the newbies, with gleaming student council badges pinned to their lapels.

Finding yourself shaking hands with a petite, blonde girl decked out in a sleek black powersuit, you were happy to see that, unlike the intimidating first impression, the people of this college could be welcoming.

“Hello, I’m Nina! We are so happy to welcome you to Gatford. Please take the seats in the hall, the orientation is about to begin. Enjoy your first day.” Nina spoke enthusiastically and ushered you inside.

Taking your seats, you smiled at Sam. This wasn’t half bad. No, not at all.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh this was very bad.

By the time classes ended, you could barely keep your eyes open. Combined with barely getting any sleep last night, the overly filled class schedule left you feeling tired down to your bones. And you were scared. The professors seemed no-nonsense, strict and the coursework looked endless from your perspective. And to think that this was only the first day. Sigh.

“Are you seriously planning to go the library right now, girl?” Sam deadpanned. “It is just the first day. Let’s go tour the campus a bit. Besides, you don’t honestly believe that all these kids would get by in here if the coursework was so demanding, right?”

Technically, she had a point. There were bound to be hard-workers born into every tax bracket but you couldn’t imagine your classmates struggling to fill up the library seats on the first day.

You could live a little. You grinned at your best friend, “Let’s go.”

Stepping outside, the orange sky outlined your periphery as manicured lawns and vine covered gazebos filled your vision. Groups of students took up the space, chatting after a long day. Many of them held steaming cups of coffee.

As you and Sam moved towards the recreational area of the campus to grab a cuppa, you opted to go into one of the more modest looking coffee shops. Surely, coffee places with names you couldn’t even pronounce couldn’t be too good on your student budget.

Before moving inside, you spied a poster stating, ‘Barista Needed!’. Well, you could make a mean latte and a few extra bucks close to campus could be good for you.

Collecting your paper cups, you left the shop feeling satisfied with your decision to apply for the vacancy.

Sam chattered about her new puppy, with you cooing over his pictures and promising to visit to play with the little fluff ball.

“-and I kept on trying to teach him to- hey, what’s up with the crowd?” She wiggled her eyebrows towards the crowd forming near the parking area.

You joined the crowd of quiet onlookers and looked at the confusing scene.

A boy, probably a freshman like you, stood with slouched shoulders, an expression of discomfort evident from his rapidly moving eyes and downturned face.

You heard the laughter before you saw them. Not the friendly kind. It was sharp. Mean. The kind that made your skin crawl. Around the corner of the arts building, a group had gathered. Five boys in expensive sneakers and even more expensive egos.

“C’mon, freshie. Rank the girls in your class. Who’s top-tier?”

“W-what?” the boy stammered.

“Top five girls in your class,” one of them said, grinning. “Don’t be shy. It’s tradition.”

The boy blinked rapidly. “I-I don’t know-”

“Don’t play dumb,” another chimed in. “It’s tradition. Call it… a rite of passage.”

Sam slowed beside you. “Are you seeing this? Are they seriously making him rate girls?”

“Looks like it,” you murmured, unease pooling in your gut. “God, that’s messed up.”

A ripple of laughter followed. You felt your stomach twist.

And then you saw him.

Sitting on the hood of the shiny black Mercedes parked behind them, legs crossed, uncaring of the dirt on his shoes’ soles dirtying the swanky car’s polish, phone in hand, a man sat, barely glancing up. He didn’t say a word, didn’t move, but the tension swirled around him like gravity.The others barked and jeered but they kept stealing glances at him, like checking if their king was pleased.

He looked amused. Not laughing. Just… entertained. Detached. He didn’t join the mockery. He didn’t have to. The others looked to him like dogs waiting for a nod. He gave nothing, just watched. Like this was beneath him but still his.

“Don’t stare,” someone muttered behind you.

You startled. Nina had stepped up beside you. She didn’t look at you, just kept watching the scene with a blank face. Compared to her cheerful demeanor from this morning, she looked timid, almost like she was withdrawing into herself. Similar was the case with everyone else in the crowd. Quiet, almost as if they were hypnotised.

“That’s Kim Taehyung,” she added. “You’re new, right?”

You nodded slowly.

“Then here’s a tip. Don't look twice. Don’t talk loud around him. And never, ever think you’re brave enough to play moral police.”

“What are they even doing?” you asked, voice low.

The senior gave a humorless smile. “Initiation. Harmless, compared to how bad it gets.”

“And no one reports them?”

She turned to you now, one brow raised. “To who, exactly? The dean? His dad funds half the board. You think rules apply to people like him?”

“They’re humiliating that kid,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

Nina gave her a look not unkind, but tired. “You want to be a hero, go ahead. But just know, once he notices you, he doesn’t forget.”

Suddenly, the man in question looked up, his gaze clashing with yours, as if he could hear what was being said about him.

Kim Taehyung’s gaze locked with yours across the courtyard. His dark eyes were unreadable. They were bottomless, almost. No anger, no joy. Just stillness. But something in them made your chest seize. Not because he looked cruel. Because he looked like someone who didn’t care if he was.

Cold. Flat. Watchful. The kind of gaze you’d expect from a predator when it’s not hunting, just observing lazily.

Your mouth went dry. Your skin prickled with the sudden, intense awareness of danger.

You looked away fast. Too fast. Like prey, with your legs carrying you forward before you even realized it.

“Hey-” Sam’s voice called from behind.

But you couldn’t stay there. Not with that gaze still burning between your shoulder blades.

“We should leave,” you mumbled, already turning.

Sam stayed a beat longer before following. “You know what creeps me out?” she said as you walked away. “He didn’t say a word. And yet, everyone else acted like he did.”

You didn’t reply.

Because the worst part wasn’t the silence.

It was the power in it.

Behind you, laughter echoed.

And Taehyung never said a word.

#chimmywrites

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chummywchimmy · 2 months ago

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BOY IN LUV (REWRITTEN)

CHAPTER 2

PAIRING : Yandere! Bully! Taehyung x Reader

WARNINGS : Mature language, bullying, eventual yandere.

A/N- This will be uploaded in episodes, with a new chapter being uploaded every month. However, I will be uploading two chapters per month on my Patreon. As of the date of upload of this chapter here on Tumblr, my Patreon subscribers have access to the fic uptil the 4th Chapter, with Chapter 5 due to be uploaded soon. If you can, please support my Patreon. Many thanks and enjoy!

MY PATREON

I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.

Previous I Next

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It had been one of those lectures. You know the one: a droning professor, an unengaged and bored audience of students and a ticking clock that refused to reach the much desired destination.

The monotony, however, was broken at once as the stout, middle aged professor, walking away from his podium announced his intention to create two-person groups for the final project that would need to be submitted by the end of the year. Although that was a far way off, he clearly wanted to pass the burden of thinking about the logistics of the project to his students by announcing a tentative list of topics.

Murmurs began circulating as he slouched over his laptop and began announcing the parings.

“Alina and Garret, (Y\N) and Jungkook, Seomin and-” You looked around, confused as to just how you were supposed to figure out who exactly this Jungkook was, in a crowd of people who had had not even a week to learn each other’s names.

As you collected your messenger bag to leave the row of seats, your book fell. Reaching down to pick it up, your vision was filled by a pale and veiny hand reaching to pick it up before you.

A boy stood before you, his zipped grey jacket and joggers doing nothing to hide his broad-shouldered form. Big brown eyes, stared into yours, their shape reminding you of the eyes of the goldfish you had in your childhood.

“Hello, I am Jungkook. I-uh-its nice that your book fell. I mean-that I was able to find you. Haha.” He looked almost pained by the awkward interaction. Your mood immediately lifted, his sincerity coaxing a gentle smile from you.

“Hi Jungkook! I was wondering just how I was supposed to find you.” The two of you began exiting the doors of your classroom.

A few mutterings and shared pain about the burden of coursework beginning this early in the year later, you asked Jungkook if he would like to meet in the library sometime that week to get a headstart on the project.

“Sure, we could scope out the books that we could refer to. I can send you the PDFs too. It's..not legal but it’s fast.”

You laughed again. The first real one in days.

His eyes lit up at the sound, not in a flirty way, but like he'd just won a round in a game he didn't know he was playing.

Well you weren’t exactly keen on beginning the work so early but you could use the headstart on socialisation in college. Besides, Jungkook’s smile was infectious.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t want to but your fingers couldn’t stop moving.

After walking with Sam to her house and meeting her new dog, you started on your walk back home. With the sun disappearing, the sidewalks became bathed in shadows, the residential area started to look abandoned and the one flickering lamppost didnt help.

Your mind whirred. Your experience at Gatford had been over all encouraging yet there were certain cues you couldn’t ignore. Like how the scholarships kids, or those who didn’t overtly look like they fit in with the privileged crowd of Gatford, were merely tolerated. There was nothing to particularly be upset about, the concerns of those kids were rarely found outside a certain tax bracket.

But, above all, even amongst the privileged, it became clear that there was a hierarchy. Rich kids, those who didn’t have to take loans to pay their way through, were clearly separated from those whose surnames were on the donated buildings and alumni boards. It gave you a morbid satisfaction. Nobody was safe from feeling like they didn’t belong somewhere.

Well, that brought to mind the incident of the first day and the eyes that flashed across your mind’s eye were now staring back at you from your phone’s screen.

Over the past week, you came to realise that he, Taehyung, was all around you. Not literally, of course. But everywhere you went, you heard of him.

A campus film club had announced a guest speaker on social media, a student activist, formerly from a different university. Two hours later, the post was gone. She overheard someone muttering, “The guy was in some protest against Minister Kim. What did they think would happen?”

Minister Kim. Taehyung’s father. Prominent Cabinet Minister. His low profile did not, however, take away from his status of the ‘kingmaker’ in the current dispensation.

As you scrolled, you found of hordes of news articles and brief interviews. No news of his son’s activities online. In fact, you were surprised to learn of Minister Kim being referred to as a “visionary reformist in the field of education” and a “staunch supporter of student activism”. What irony.

You paused at the Youtube video of Minister Kim at a school debating event, with Taehyung standing in the back, in his school uniform, younger but with the same stubborn look in his eye, visible only to those who knew the look for what it was. A contempt for all around him, borne out of his staunch belief in his own superiority.

The only time he moves is to roll his eyes when his father calls students the “future torchbearers of moral order.” Despite the gift of gab that the Minister seemed to be blessed with, his kind smile didn’t reflect in his eyes. For all intents and purposes, he was all that was gentility and humility. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the emptyness behind those wide pupils.

The apple clearly had not fallen too far from the tree.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day during lunch, you feel Sam’s frustration with you coming out towards you in waves. It is justified, you think, but you can’t help but feel scared, however ashamed you are of that fact.

“(Y\N), we will just bring it to the attention of the Internal Ragging Commission. I checked online, we just have to put in an anonymous tip-off.” She says with agitation clear in her brown eyes.

“Sam, if it were so easy to bring people like him to justice, surely someone would have done it by now. We were not the only two people who saw that freshman being harassed. In fact, I even saw some phones out, there must be video evidence of that day but no one has reported it, even those who could much more credibly support their accusations.” You sigh, the half-eaten sandwich forgotten on the table in front of you.

Sam looks to the side in her barely suppressed anger. “Just because no else has a conscious does not mean that we don’t either.”

Your embarrassment at your cowardice must be displayed on your face because your friend’s face softens, eyebrows relaxing.

“I know that you don’t want to receive any sort of attention from the college authorities because of your scholarship and all but (Y\N), it is wrong to stay silent in the face of injustice. Being complicit seems like the easiest way out until someone you love is the one suffering due to complacency.”

You couldn’t help but feel that this was the wrong thing to put out into the universe.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The universe hands you your karma a week later.

You were running late for your lunch date with Sam. You and Jungkook had stayed back after class, in the hallway, hoping to discuss your project. He had introduced you to another friend of his and the three of you had fallen into an easy conversation about your time at Gatford so far. You had even managed to invite Jungkook for coffee the next day, the second day of your work shift at Cafe Min.

The cafeteria is bustling with people as usual. Still, it is not at all like your school lunch area. The air smells of baked goods and artisanal coffee. Warm lighting glowed, reflected off of glass walls that overlooked the manicured Gatford lawns. Conversation flowed easily, laughter kept at socially acceptable levels. No wonder you continued to suffer from Impostor syndrome.

You spot Sam immediately, scrolling on her phone, waiting in the line for today’s special.

“Mind if I cut in?” You ask your friend, a mischievous smile fixed upon your lips.

“You wouldn’t need to cut in if you could stop being attached to Jungkook at the tip.” She wiggles her eyebrows, giving you space to join the line in front of her.

You blushed and expressed your protest, justifying your new friendship under the excuse of working for the project. You reached almost the end of the line when the well-coordinated atmosphere of the cafeteria reached a staggering halt.

And then he walked in and the mood shifted, like someone had opened a window during a storm. Kim Taehyung didn’t have to speak to command attention. The lazy saunter, the half-smirk, the flash of something too dangerous behind otherwise beautiful eyes was more than was enough. Eyes followed him everywhere. He strained the room, expanding it to fit his presence.

He was tall, lean, all sharp lines and deliberate slowness like a predator who’d already decided there was no real threat in the room. You watched the way people shifted out of his path before he even reached them.

Watching him, you don’t even realise when the line shifts and you stand at the front of the line. Consequently, also, the place where he walks to. Without giving you a single glance, his tan leather jacket covered arm moves past you, long fingers grabbing the tray that was in front of you a moment ago. Nobody says anything.

Until Sam.

Her arm shoots past to grab onto his arm, bony fingers clutching at his wrist. “Hey! Nobody ever tell you how a queue works?”

Taehyung’s eyes flicked down to where Sam’s hand still clutched his wrist, then slowly back up to her face, as though he were inspecting a piece of dirt on his shoe and deciding whether it was worth brushing off. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was more like a twitch of amusement curled with contempt. He tilted his head, that same maddening ease in his posture. “Enjoy your lunch, little girl,” he murmured, voice low and lazy, like she wasn’t worth his full volume.

There was no anger in him. No heat. Just cool, effortless mockery.

Sam, however, burned.

“You arrogant prick,” she snapped, loud enough to turn heads. Her voice trembled not from fear, but the sheer force of her fury. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. “You think walking around with daddy’s money and some tragic smirk makes you untouchable?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just tilted his head again.

Then, all of a sudden, your friend’s front is covered in spaghetti sauce, the bright red of organic tomatoes presenting a stark contrast against Sam’s light blue shirt.

Before anyone could react, before the tears filling Sam’s eyes even had the chance to fall, he spoke, his timber ricocheting in a maddeningly quiet room,

“Now, do you think you will be able to enjoy your lunch?” He gave her a mocking smile before exiting the room, sucking out all its energy.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bright lights of the women’s washroom was witnessing a scene of devastation.

Your friend, your dear Sam, clenched the white marble of the sink with one hand, with another rubbing her scalp furiously. Red rained down into the drain, a morbid painting upon a sad canvas. From her reflection in the mirror above, Sam looked stoic at the first glance. But you knew your friend. From her clenched jaw, rapidly blinking eyelids and short gasps for breath betrayed her devastation.

“Sam....” you whispered, stepping closer. “Let me-let me help.”

She didn’t look at you. Just kept scrubbing at her scalp like she could erase the entire memory with enough water and soap. And suddenly, the silence was unbearable. It slammed into your chest harder than any scream could have. You clenched your fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

“I should’ve said something,” you spoke, the words tasting like acid. “I should’ve-God, I saw it happening, and I did nothing.”

Sam’s shoulders stiffened.

“I just stood there,” your voice cracked now. “Like a stupid coward. Let him humiliate you like you’re nothing. You’re not nothing. You’re braver than all of them-braver than me.”

The rage clawed up your throat to choke you. But it wasn’t for Taehyung, not entirely. It was for yourself. For the sick twist of shame that settled in your gut the second you backed down.

“I’m sick of being scared,” you hissed. “I’m sick of letting him win because I’m too gutless to fight back.”

Finally, Sam looked up at you in the mirror. Her lips were parted like she wanted to say something but nothing came out. Her eyes were glassy now, and for the first time since you’d met her, she looked small. And you hated that.

“Let’s report the sick bastard.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The inside of the Dean’s office was clearly designed to give off an impression of warmth. Despite the multitude of certificates lining his walls, the crystal bowl of candy on his desk, large windows and a small smile was meant to induce comfort.

You started, “We’re here to file a complaint about a ragging incident that happened in the cafeteria yesterday. The student involved was Kim Taehyung,” surprising even yourself with the sound of barely suppressed rage in your voice.

A subtle shift passed over the Dean’s face. Not shock. Not anger. Just the faintest twitch of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair. “I see. And what exactly happened?”

You recounted the entire incident. The queue-cutting, the confrontation, the pasta sauce. But Dean merely nodded.

“Have you considered that these sorts of incidents can often stem from misunderstandings? Campus culture can be, well, heated. Especially in elite institutions where students come from strong personalities and backgrounds.”

Sam blinked. “He poured food on me.”

“And that is regrettable,” he said, tone measured “but Mr. Kim comes from a very influential family. He’s under a tremendous amount of pressure-”

“I’m sorry?” you croaked out.

Dean Mathur’s eyes flicked to yours, polite but unreadable.

“I only mean that sometimes, formal complaint procedures can escalate matters in ways that aren’t productive. Especially for scholarship students with bright academic futures.”

There it was. Just a suggestion wrapped in civility. But it chilled you more than a shout ever could.

“If you’d like,” he continued, reaching into a drawer, “you may write a detailed account and leave it with my assistant. Kindly add your contact details so we know how to reach you in case of investigation.”

You took the form from him but your hands shook as you signed the complaint letter with your name.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next few days were tense. A constant feeling of being watched haunted you. Rationally, you could recognize that nothing was different. You attended classes, ate lunch you brought from home, away from the cafeteria, took the shortest route home after you shift at the campus cafe. Yet your sixth sense tingled.

Being free for the evening, with no shift at the cafe, you and Sam went to the library, intent on picking up the books required for the coursework at this time when the hallways and rooms were mostly empty. A useless strategy in hindsight. You were unfortunate enough to see a sight that you were wishing to avoid.

Leaning against the wall across from the library hall, arms crossed, Taehyung looked like he’d been waiting. The warm light from the high windows bathed the right side of his face in an orange glow and caught on the steel of the rings on his fingers. His eyes tracked your steps.

Sam stiffened beside you. You felt your legs falter, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. But you didn’t stop.

He pushed off the wall with a sudden kick. “So…” His voice was low and drawling,“You’ve been busy.”

Sam stepped forward, “We had every right-”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he cut in, without even sparing her a glance.

His gaze zeroed in on you. Signing the complaint letter by your name had clearly started off your relationship on the wrong foot, you supposed. You wanted to say something defiant but your tongue felt heavy inside your mouth. So you just stood there.

“I heard you paid a little visit to the Dean.” He tilted his head, eyes glittering with something that wasn’t quite amusement. “That was bold. For someone who can’t even look me in the eye.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. It was a mistake.

Looking into Taehyung’s eyes was like staring into a tunnel with no end. There was a flicker of something that cautioned you in your act, something forbidden that was threatening to burst at the edges, something in his eyes that you didn’t want to name.

“I thought you’d be smarter than this,” he continued, tone light but each word sharp-edged. “You know, scholarship kid. Model student. People like you usually keep their heads down.”

You found your voice, finally.“People like you usually face consequences.”

That pulled a laugh out of him. He took a step closer. You flinched before you could stop yourself. That flicker again. His smile faded slightly.

“Consequences” he echoed, raising a large hand to tap his two fingers to your cheek. Your hand rose but couldn’t find the courage to move.

Taehyung leaned in, the fingers that had lightly been tapping your cheek now clutching them in a vice like grip, making the skin bulge through the gaps between his long fingers.

“It wouldn’t take me much to break your fake courage. Before testing me, be sure that you will be able to handle my attention, little attention seeker.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. But your silence wasn’t surrender. Your eyes dug into his, trying to convey your defiance, though your mouth could not and something about that made him pause. He studied you for a beat too long. His expression unreadable now, the sharpness in his gaze laced with something new. Then he straightened, brushing past you, leaving Sam to support your wobbling stance.

#yandere bts #chimmywrites #yandere #bts au fic #bts fic #bts #btsau #yandere taehyung #bts yandere #taehyung fanfic

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chummywchimmy · 2 months ago

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Hi Everyone!

Chapter 4 of Boy In Luv is live on my Patreon for my subscribers.

However, if you are not a member but would like to access the post, it is also available on my Patreon under the Shop section, as a one-time purchase, for that specific chapter.

Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts.

Thank you very much for the support <333

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CHAPTER 4 TEASER

“You call me weak but at least I’m not some scared little boy playing pretend with a gun in his pocket and his daddy’s name stitched into his back.”

For one long second, your words seemed to suck the air out of the room.

Then Taehyung lunged.

The gun was at your temple in an instant, his hand trembling around the grip, chest heaving as if he’d been holding in the storm for far too long. The guards flinched and Sam gasped but no one moved. Not when he looked like a wire one breath away from snapping.

Your breath hitched but you didn’t cry. Or scream. Or step back. You smiled. A low, bitter laugh slipped out of your mouth, razor-sharp.

“There it is” you whispered. “All that power, all that money, all those men around you and still, this is what you fall back on? A gun? You are pathetic.”

His eyes blazed, too bright, too wild.

“Shut your mouth,” he hissed, his voice breaking on the edges like rage had splintered something deep in his throat.

“Why?” you spat, eyes locked on his. “Afraid of what you’ll hear? That you’re nothing but your father’s shadow?”

“Don’t-”

“You think this makes you powerful?” You pressed forward, your temple pressing against the cold metal barrel. “Go on. Pull the trigger. Do it. Show me you have the guts. Show the world what the minister’s perfect little puppet does when someone finally pushes back.”

His jaw tightened. The gun shook in his hand. He was trembling. A cracked, uncontainable wrath that had nowhere to go.

“You think I won’t?” he growled.

“I know you won’t,” you said, voice steady, fury swallowing your fear. “Because this? This isn’t rage. This is panic. Because I saw you. I see you.”

Taehyung stared at you, eyes bloodshot and confused now like something had broken. And then, quieter, more bitter than ever, you drove the knife in.

“You’ll never be happy” you said. “You’ll never be free. You’ll die one day still clawing at your father’s approval like a child and you’ll be buried with that same damn leash around your neck.”

He looked like he’d been punched.

And then you said it, the words that would echo in his head forever.

“I pray you never find peace.”

#yandere bts #chimmywrites #yandere #bts au fic #bts fic #bts #btsau #yandere taehyung #bts yandere #taehyung fanfic #yandere au #yandere fic

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chummywchimmy · 2 months ago

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SERENDIPITY

SUMMARY: When Edward, a creature of the night, finds a unique solace inside your mind, life becomes a nightmare. Can you really escape the intense fixation of a being that never changes, once it begins chasing the high of your presence?

TW: Yandere behaviour, stalking, kidnapping, m*rder, gaslighting, eternal life and its misery.

Word Count: 10,000+

Note: It's here! Longest one-shot I've written till date. No regrets haha. This Edward wouldn't leave my brain so I had to unleash him upon the world. Please enjoy!

The theater lights dimmed to a golden glow, casting warm shadows across red velvet seats and hushed crowd. The air hung heavy with expectation, perfume, and the subtle scent of polished wood and old money. Somewhere backstage, bows were tightening and nerves trembling but none of it stirred Edward Cullen.

He sat motionless in the farthest corner of the balcony, the kind of seat that could be passed off as aloof disinterest when in truth it was chosen deliberately so that it was high enough to observe and remote enough to disappear.

Below, the audience murmured in soft voices but their thoughts were already louder than their voices.

“I hope she doesn’t botch the cadenza again..” “God my back is killing me. Why did I let her drag me here?” “That dress should be a crime. Why wear such a gaudy-”

Edward closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers to his temple. The inner murmur of humanity was endless like a static that he could never turn off. Every mind a window was thrown wide open, spewing triviality. Jealousy, boredom, lust emanated from every direction around him. How could he envy mortals when they squandered their limited time on such emptiness?

He had once believed eternity would offer some deeper purpose. That becoming what he was would reveal some cosmic purpose and logic tying it all together. Instead, it was like being caught in a loop as an ageless spectator in a world that would never change. Time had sharpened his senses but dulled his hope.

The ambiance of the theater was the kind that whispered of old money. Silk gowns brushed against imported rugs and waiters moved with practiced elegance, offering champagne in tall glasses that shined in the light.

It was a place where the audience cared less for the music than the prestige of being seen listening to it.

Edward Cullen fit in here effortlessly.

He wore the elegance like a second skin. A tailored black suit, the cut crisp and silent, the fabric clearly refined. His features, porcelain and impossibly symmetrical, were the kind of beauty sculptors tried and failed to capture. Regal. Untouchable. Timeless.

And that was the problem. Though he lingered in the shadows of the balcony, seated in a velvet chair with his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly in his lap he still drew eyes like a flame drew moths.

He felt the glances slide over him like water. He did not return a single gaze. He never did.

It was because of disinterest. Utter unshakable indifference. No human woman, in fact no woman, had ever stirred in him anything worth pursuing. Not for lack of beauty. But because they were all.. transparent.

Their thoughts gave them away before they spoke. The calculations. The lust. The fantasies. There was no mystery. No silence. No one he could watch and wonder about because their minds were constantly screaming at him.

He could quote entire monologues they never said aloud about what it would be like to touch his skin, to taste his mouth, to carry his name. And it sickened him. Not because they were attracted to him but because he could never not know. There was no space for courtship. There was no curiosity. Love, if it even existed for someone like him, demanded a kind of blindness and he had been cursed with perfect clarity.

The music hadn’t even begun but already Edward regretted coming. Carlisle had encouraged it. “You’ve always loved music Edward. Perhaps a night out would quiet your mind.” But even music, in recent decades, had lost its purity. No longer a language of the soul. Just a vehicle for ambition, performance and applause. There was a time when music had meant something to him. But over the decades, even that had dulled.

The keys had become lifeless beneath his fingers. Now it was predictable and mechanical. Every composition felt rehearsed.He could mimic feeling but not summon it. The passion he once poured into sonatas and nocturnes had dried up. He played now out of habit. Muscle memory. And he had long since stopped listening to others.

Until tonight.

Somewhere behind the curtain, the next performer was being introduced. He didn’t bother listening to the name.

The curtains swayed gently as the announcer’s voice faded replaced by the scuff of shoes across the stage floor.

Edward leaned back, bored before she even appeared.

She stepped into the light.

A girl-no, a young woman. Somewhere in that tender age between hope and burnout. Dressed in simple black, the kind of dress that was designed to blend into the stage rather than command it. No sequins, no elegance meant for effect. Her heels clicked awkwardly on the polished wood and her posture was stiff, shoulders raised just a little too high. Nervous. She smiled anyway.

Not at the crowd, not with practiced grace. It was the kind of smile people wore when they were trying to steady their own heartbeat.

Edward raised an eyebrow. This? This was the performer Carlisle had coaxed him into seeing?

She looked unremarkable. Utterly average. A student maybe. No presence, no magnetic aura, no control over the audience. If anything, she looked too young for this stage.

The audience didn’t seem to mind. “She’s sweet-looking.” “Very pretty girl. Hope she can play.” “Look at those hands. She’s probably brilliant with them.”

He sighed inwardly. Of course. Human men always thought this way. Every woman onstage was beautiful if they stared long enough.

He could already predict how this would go. A shaky opening and too much pedal. Hands trembling just slightly to a rushed tempo to get it over with.

She sat down at the piano. Her shoulders moved as she exhaled.

The first note was soft, almost hesitant.

Then another and another.

A progression like light slipping through cracks in a closed room. Not dramatic. Not perfect. But deeply sincere.

Edward stilled.

He felt it first, not in his ears but somewhere behind his ribs. A subtle pull.

He blinked. The chatter, the judgment, the weight of a hundred unfiltered minds was flushed in the background, insignificant enough to not matter. All that remained was the music. The feeling. Raw and unpolished but honest in a way that scraped against something ancient inside him.

The first few notes were restrained, almost tentative, as though she were easing into the piece. But there was feeling behind the notes. She wasn’t playing for applause or attention-she was playing as if something inside her needed to be let out. And then the swell. The right hand lifted, the left anchoring with slow, thoughtful chords. Edward felt a soft ache rising in his chest as if the music was physically pulling something from inside him.

He could still hear the people around him distantly but none of it touched him because, for the first time in a very long while, his mind was full of his own emotions.

Sorrow. Longing. Wonder. All pouring through him. It was like her music unlocked a door he hadn’t realized he’d slammed shut. Behind it were things he hadn’t let himself feel in decades. Not since he’d started viewing the world in shades of hunger and restraint.

His mind was no longer a hallway of borrowed voices and ceaseless chatter. It was his own now-his grief, his awe, his aching desire for something he couldn’t name.

It silenced the cynicism, the rehearsed superiority, the cold detachment. Her music turned every piece of him human if only for the length of a song.

And then-too soon-it ended. A smattering of applause rose up around him. People began to stir, minds flickering back to life.

The noise came crashing back like floodwaters breaking a dam.

Edward’s head jerked slightly like someone coming up too fast from underwater. The noise returned instantly. The invasive thoughts, the droning trivialities, the unrelenting hum of the world. His jaw clenched. It was like being suffocated again after a gasp of air. That brief, impossible moment of stillness was over and in its place came the reality of who he was and what he had to endure.

He wanted to call her back. To demand one more piece. One more minute. One more note.

But she had already stood, bowing with modest grace. Her eyes didn’t seek the crowd. She wasn’t expecting praise.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know that she had just silenced the most tormented mind in the room. That she had offered relief to something ancient and cracked and worn. That she had pulled a creature of night into the light for just a breath.

And now she was walking away.

Edward remained seated, hhands curled around the arms of his chair unmoving as the crowd shifted and whispered and prepared for the next act.

But nothing would compare. He wouldn’t hear it. Not truly.

He hadn’t prepared for it to end. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to feel again until she made him. Now, stripped of her music, he was only a shell with a flawless face.

His golden eyes followed her as she stood and bowed lightly. No flourish. No pride. Just grace. As if she hadn’t just cracked open his soul with ten fingers.

He felt unsteady. Breathless if such a thing were possible.

And as she turned and walked offstage, Edward felt something almost foreign tremble beneath his ribcage. Desperation. He had to know who she was because she had made him feel alive.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The performance had ended almost half an hour ago but Edward hadn’t moved from his place in the balcony until the crowd’s chatter had drifted out of the theater doors. Now he moved soundlessly through the hallways not meant for guests but for crew and artists. They were dimly lit and cluttered with props and bulletin boards containing yellow flyers. Every step he took was silent. He had no plan.

He followed the faint trail of her scent and was almost startled by how pleasant it was. Not in the way blood was pleasant because there was no hunger. There was no fire rising in his throat, no sharp spike of thirst. In fact, her scent was gentle, clean and subtle. He turned a corner and paused.

Her dressing room.

The plaque on the door showed her name. He hadn’t heard it onstage but now committed to memory. He stared at the wood, fingers twitching at his side, resisting the temptation to open it.

Instead he leaned forward with eyes narrowing to peer through the slim gap between the door and frame. And there she was, sitting in front of a small vanity, bathed in soft yellow light.

She was just unpinning her hair slowly, breathing steadily, eyes half-closed. Her back was slightly curved like the tension of the performance was only now leaving from her spine. One hand rested loosely in her lap, she looked content and at peace.

Edward stared. She exuded something that pulled at him like a gravitational pull that only she had and it frightened him. He had spent a century walking through a world he could predict and manipulate. A world where nothing surprised him and where no one could move him. And now here he stood, hiding like a boy, just to witness her in the aftermath of her art.

He should have left. He knew this was already crossing a line but he didn’t move. His chest was tight with something unfamiliar. Longing maybe. He wasn’t used to this feeling.

She breathed in. Closed her eyes. Smiled to herself. That smile lit something in him that he hadn’t felt in decades. A profound, aching need to preserve the moment. To steal it. He pulled away from the door like it had burned him. His breath caught. He needed to leave before he did something or felt something even worse than this.

He startled suddenly. He hadn’t heard her thoughts. Maybe being privy to her inner musings would cure him of this fascination. He readied himself for a rude awakening.

She hadn’t moved much since he first laid eyes on her through the thin sliver between the door and the frame. Still seated at the vanity, she looked content. Edward’s gaze remained fixed, not on her movements now, but on her mind.

Or rather, what should have been her mind.

What should have been thoughts.

What should have been noise.

But it wasn’t.

There were no words to catch hold of. No snatches of inner dialogue. No projections of imagined conversations or plans for the rest of the evening. Not even that low, constant hum that most people carried in the background that suggested consciousness. Instead there was music.

Faint at first, so faint he might have missed it had he not been reaching so intently. A few wandering notes. Introspective. He tried to focus, to understand it the way he had learned to decode others but it just didnt work. This wasn’t a code.It was a composition.

Her mind wasn’t silent. It was singing.

Not with lyrics. Not with language. But with melody, with phrasing, with feeling. The deeper he reached, the more he realized he could not find a center. Just harmonies pulsing with emotion. Melodies that rose when she smiled faintly. Dipped into something richer when she sighed and leaned back in her chair.

He frowned slightly. Was this an effect of his own mental fatigue? Was he projecting? Hallucinating?

But then she looked into the mirror, caught her own reflection, and her mind burst into a warm, airy trill like sunlight filtering through leaves. And it wasn’t his music. It was hers.

She thought in music.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

While others filled the world with their spoken thoughts, hers were projecting emotion through tone.She stood then, walking slowly to the small garment rack to change. He instinctively turned his face away, granting her the privacy she never knew he was invading. But even with his eyes averted, the melody continued, full of a post performance softness. She was happy.

And all he could think was how rare that was in the minds he read. Not frantic joy, not mindless euphoria but that quiet kind of peace. He backed away slowly. He didn’t know what she was. Only that she was different. And for a creature cursed to hear the worst of everyone, she was the first mind he’d ever wanted to get lost in.

—----------------------———————————---------------------------

It became routine before he even realized it had.

He followed the performance hall’s updates religiously. Every time she was scheduled to perform, he would be there. He would leave early, blend into the shadows of the hall and wait.

Each time she played, he sat utterly still, completely devoted. His focus never wavered. Not from her hands, not from her face, not from the sweet melodies that whispered through her mind.

No one noticed the man in the back. Even if their eyes lingered on him, no one dared to approach. There was something cold, distant, untouchable about the way he watched her.

And when she wasn’t performing, those were the worst days.

The halls of the Cullen house felt lifeless then. The grand piano sat untouched, gathering dust despite its polish. He’d stare at it sometimes, fingers resting on the keys but no song would come. Nothing felt right.

Until he pressed play.

On his laptop, an object he’d barely touched in the past century, sat a folder. Simple ans unlabeled. Inside it was every performance she had given that season, carefully recorded by his own hand. He watched them late at night when the others were gone or pretending not to notice his absence. In the dim light of his room, he’d sit in silence, eyes fixed to the screen, drinking in every note she created. He didn’t watch them just for the sound. It wasn’t about the compositions themselves.

It was about her.

The way her body moved with the rhythm. The way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration. The tiny curve of her lips when a particular musical tension resolved the way she wanted. And his favorite moments were when she would close her eyes, lost in the music she was creating, unaware of the world. Those were the times he felt closest to her. Not because she knew him but because he knew her.

He had started listening to other recordings whether it be classics, new prodigies, symphony pianists but they all felt hollow now. Lifeless. Technical brilliance with no soul. None of them stirred what she did.

None of them filled him with that strange euphoria, that warmth that burned just behind the ribcage like he was finally hearing something meant only for him.

He stopped playing any other musician altogether.

What was the point?

But when he listened to her, even through a speaker, even muffled by poor acoustics or crowd noise he felt alive.

It wasn’t just fascination anymore. He needed her music. And not just the sound but the knowing that she was still out there creating it. That her thoughts still sang.

—————————————————————----------------------------

The Cullen house was rarely filled with music these days.

Its piano, a Steinway grand that sat in the drawing room beneath tall windows had become more of a showpiece than an instrument as it sat untouched.

Until now.

Soft notes danced through the halls, delicate at first. Then they grew rich and urgent. Full of intention. It wasn’t just someone playing it was someone feeling.

Edward sat at the bench, head bowed over the keys, fingers moving with a grace and fire that none of them had seen in years.

He wasn’t brooding. He wasn’t silent or cold or lost in the tension of someone else’s thoughts. Joy flickered across his usually unreadable face, unmistakable in the way his mouth curved ever so slightly and his brows furrowed in passion.

Esme stood in the doorway for a long time before she approached. She didn’t want to interrupt in case it vanished. But she couldn’t help herself.

She sat beside him gently, her presence warm. “You haven’t played like this in so long,” she said softly, watching his fingers glide across the keys. “I missed hearing the house like this.”

Edward said nothing at first. He didn’t stop playing. But the corner of his mouth lifted just a little more.

Esme smiled too, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You seem lighter. Like something’s changed.”

He let the final notes trail off into silence before replying, “It feels different now.”

The piano echoed faintly as he lifted his hands. “Like I’m not just recreating anymore. I’m remembering.

He didn’t explain what.

From behind them, soft footsteps padded into the room. Alice. Of course.

She had felt it before anyone. That ripple in the atmosphere. The shift in him.

“I knew something was going on,” she said with a grin, walking around the bench to face him directly. Her short frame barely came up to his seated height but she radiated her usual curious energy, “You’ve been humming lately. That never happens. And your room smells like roses and amber.”

Edward gave her a tired half-laugh and shook his head. “You’ve been snooping.”

“Obviously.” Alice perched on the edge of the piano, tilting her head. “So?”

“So what?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“What changed?” she pressed. “Last month you wouldn’t even touch the keys. Now you’re playing like you’re alive again. Pun intended”

Edward looked down at the keys for a long time. His fingers brushed lightly across middle C then paused.

“There’s someone,” he said at last, barely above a whisper.

Alice straightened slightly.

Esme blinked, surprised but she said nothing.

“A girl,” he continued. “She’s… not like the others. She’s a pianist.”

“That explains the playing,” Alice said, her voice bright but her eyes cautious. “Is she…?”

“She’s human” Edward said quickly.

Alice said nothing for a beat. “But different I’m guessing?”

He nodded once, “Her mind. It doesn’t work the way theirs do. I can’t hear her thoughts. Not in the usual way. It’s not silence. Its.. music.”

Alice’s expression softened but her brows knit. “You mean her thoughts sound like music to you?”

“Exactly.” His eyes flicked upward, not quite meeting hers. “It’s like being underwater. everything else goes dim. And all that’s left is her. The way she plays. The way she thinks. Even remembering it is like hearing something meant only for me.”

Esme’s hand squeezed his arm gently. “Have you spoken to her?” she asked.

Edward hesitated. “No. Not yet.”

————————————————————-------------------------------------

The wind whispered softly through the trees, stirring the leaves in gentle patterns above the moss-lined forest floor. The air smelled of pine and earth and old rain.

Jasper stood still as stone beside a narrow stream, eyes half-closed, trying to anchor himself in the peace of the woods. Out here, the emotional static of the house faded. That was why he came here lately.

To breathe. To escape Edward.

Light footsteps approached from behind. He knew it was Alice. He felt her joy before she even spoke. It shimmered like sunlight in the corner of his chest and was bubbly and effervescent.

“You’re hiding,” she said, in that sing-song way only she could make sound both playful and accusing.

He didn’t turn to face her.

“I’m.. grounding,” he replied simply.

She came to stand beside him, brushing her shoulder lightly against his. Her presence was warm, familiar. But today, buzzing with something extra.

“I have news,” she announced.

Jasper’s lips twitched “You usually do.”

“No, this is different.” She turned toward him, eyes bright and dancing. “Edward. I think he’s found someone.”

That caught his attention. He opened his eyes slowly.

Alice’s grin widened. “I’m serious. He’s been playing again. Actually playing. Not just going through the motions. I saw him smiling today, Jazz.”

Jasper looked at her, searching her face. “Who is she?”

“A pianist,” Alice said. “A human girl. But not just any girl. I’ve seen her briefly though things are blurry around her, which is odd but Edward said she’s different. Her thoughts are like…. music. Not words. He’s drawn to her, not because of bloodlust or the usual pull. It’s something else.”

Her voice softened. “I think he might finally experience love.”

Jasper didn’t speak.

But she felt it instantly. His emotional field was darkening at the edges.

“You’re not happy,” she said quietly, her joy dimming.

Jasper looked back toward the trees. His jaw tensed, eyes distant. “It’s not that I’m not happy for him,” he said. “But I’ve been avoiding him lately.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t stand being around what he’s feeling.”

Alice frowned. “Is it that strong?”

Jasper nodded, slowly. “It’s intense. Overwhelming even for me. Normally I can regulate what I absorb, push it away. But with Edward, lately…..” He paused, searching for the right word. “It’s not just affection.”

He turned to face her now, his voice low and serious.

“It’s fixation”

Alice’s brow creased. “But he’s not acting-“

“I know” Jasper interrupted gently. “Not yet. But I can feel it. Like a storm coiled up inside him. He’s euphoric one moment but there’s something else buried under it. Something sharp. Possessive. It’s love, but it’s….. not healthy.” He hesitated,“There’s fear in it. And obsession. The kind that could turn destructive if he ever felt it slipping away.”

Alice went quiet. The forest felt heavier somehow.

“I’m not saying she’s in danger,” Jasper added quickly. “Not yet. But Edward you know he’s never felt anything like this before. He doesn’t know how to process it. And knowing him he’ll bury it. Try to control it until he can’t.”

Alice wrapped her arms around herself. She looked conflicted for a long while. Then seemingly, won a battle against the conflict in her mind, face pulling in a serene smile. “Jazz, I understand your worries but please, if our brother can have an opportunity to have some happiness for himself, I don’t want to drive him away from it. If something bad happens, we will intervene, okay?”

Jasper could do naught but agree. He knew Edward and Alice’s relationship was as real as that of blood siblings.

As they left the forest hand in hand, Alice smiled up at him, mischief twinkling in her large eyes. “Let’s keep our worries to ourselves for the moment. You know how annoying it can be for him if we keep thinking about him in our heads”

————————————————————-----------------------------------

The soft blue glow of his laptop screen bathed Edward’s room in cold light. Outside, the wind howled but Edward didn’t notice. He was too focused.

He leaned over the keyboard, unnaturally still, his amber eyes scanning the familiar website: the music hall’s performance calendar. It had become his ritual.

The one thing that sparked something inside him now. Her name listed beside a date. A performance which gave him something to look forward to.

His fingers moved quickly, pulling up the newest monthly planner. He clicked on April. Nothing.

He scrolled to May. Still nothing.

June. July. August.

Gone.

Her name wasn’t listed. Not once. No solo recital. No collaborative performance. Not even a mention in the background of a student showcase. As if she’d vanished from the program altogether.

Edward sat back slowly, the chair creaking beneath him. His lips parted slightly, confused.

That had to be an error. A clerical mistake. A delay in uploading. He refreshed the page. Twice. Then again. The content remained unchanged with each flicker of the screen confirming what he didn’t want to believe.

She wasn’t scheduled again.

Not this month. Not this season. Not at all.

He stared at the screen for a long time. Long enough that the fan of the laptop kicked up softly, a faint hum that might’ve been mistaken for static if he’d been listening.

But he wasn’t listening. Not to that. The emotions hit hard. First disbelief then irritation and then restlessness.

He stood suddenly, pushing the chair back with a sharp screech against the floorboards. His hand dragged through his hair, tousling it, a rare sign of agitation. He started pacing.

Why would she stop performing?

Was she ill?

No he would’ve noticed that. She hadn’t shown any sign of distress the last time he saw her.

Was she taking a break?

From something that clearly gave her joy?

Or worse, had someone told her to stop? A parent? A professor? A critic?

His thoughts spiraled faster than he could hold them. What if she wasn’t coming back? What if he had seen her play for the last time?

The idea settled into his chest like a stone. Cold and final. And beneath it, something sharp and unwelcome began to stir. It felt like panic. Her music had become his lifeline.

And now, someone had cut it.

His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white. He couldn’t let this go. He needed to know why. Where she was. What had happened.

And more than anything, he needed to hear her play again.

Even if it meant stepping beyond the quiet walls of concert halls. Even if it meant following her into the parts of her life she hadn’t offered

————————————————————--------------------------------------

It had started with curiosity.

A simple need to understand why she had stopped performing. That was all he told himself in the beginning.

He had lingered at the edge of her campus, merging with shadows, eyes scanning the paths she walked. He’d follow her from a distance, watching for signs of illness, emotional distress, anything to explain the sudden silence in the concert hall. But she looked well.

More than that, she looked content. Laughing softly with friends. Humming quietly to herself as she walked. Sometimes carrying sheet music tucked into her worn leather bag though she never performed it publicly.

She wasn’t in pain. She simply chose not to share her music anymore.

And that choice broke something loose in him because he had relied on it. Her melodies had become the one place where his mind was his own. Without them, the voices returned louder than before.

Still, he never approached. Never spoke.

He just watched.

———————————————————----------------------------------------

He saw her leave around 7:15 that evening. A light jacket thrown over her shoulders, earbuds in, a soft smile curving her lips. She looked calm. She always did when her thoughts were musical.

He followed at a safe distance, barely a shadow in the darkening streets. When she rang her friend’s apartment buzzer and was buzzed in, he waited. Ten full minutes. Just to be sure. To him, his Victorian manners honour bound him to ensure that a maiden had been chaperoned to her destination. That’s what he told himself atleast.

Then he turned and walked back toward her building with no hesitation.

————————————————————-------------------------------------------

The lock gave way without resistance. It was cheap with a worn metal easily manipulated by hands faster than the eye could see. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, more reverently than a thief. Almost devout.

The apartment smelled like her. Not her perfume. Just her. Warm, human, slightly sweet. The same scent that had never once stirred thirst in him but had burned itself into his memory.

He stood in the entryway, unmoving.

This was the closest he had ever been to her essence. Her true life. Not the stage, not the classroom, not the curated version of herself she showed the world but this. Her books, her worn shoes, a half-finished cup of tea on the windowsill. An old hoodie draped over the couch. A pair of headphones on the kitchen table, still tangled.

Everything here breathed her. And for a moment, Edward felt dizzy.

Because it wasn’t enough to hear her music anymore. He wanted to understand the person behind the music. To trace it backward through these objects. To be inside the spaces that shaped the melodies he heard from her thoughts. He used to find devoted fans of artists insipid. Well, fate has a way of humbling everyone.

He drifted through her apartment like a ghost. Not touching at first.

A notepad filled with scratched-out lyrics.

A dusty stack of classical scores beneath the coffee table.

His fingers itched.

Then finally, in the corner of the room was her piano.

Old but well cared for. Its keys slightly yellowed, its bench worn smooth. His eyes locked onto it like prey. He stepped forward slowly, unable to stop himself.

He sat.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He simply listened. Not to the room. To her.

Even though she wasn’t here, the space still echoed with her mind’s melodies as if the walls themselves remembered her inner music. He closed his eyes, and for a second, he could almost hear it, a soft, lingering motif full of longing and solitude. Her essence caught between the ivory keys.

His hands hovered above the keyboard.

Then he played. Just one note, hardly audible. The vibration trembled in the air and disappeared.

He sat there in the silence that followed, smiling to himself, though there was no joy in it. Only satisfaction.

And then he stood and walked to her bedroom.

———————————————————------------------------------------

He didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t.

He just wanted to see where she dreamed.

To stand at the edge of the bed where her thoughts likely wandered deepest. To run his fingers gently along her desk where she jotted down ideas in the early morning hours. To find traces of her melodies where her body had rested.

It was a sacred kind of desecration.

He stood in her room for a long time, breathing her in. Letting the stillness wrap around him like her music once had.

————————————————————-----------------------------------

The sky outside the Cullen house was a muted steel grey, caught between rain and mist.

Edward stepped through the front door after three days of near-constant absence with clothes slightly rumpled, hair windblown, movements too quiet. His eyes didn’t linger on anyone or anything. He was already preparing to leave again.

But Carlisle was waiting.

He stood just past the threshold of his study, arms crossed, eyes tired but steady.

“Edward.”

The single word stopped him in his tracks.

Edward froze mid-step, jaw tightening.

“Can we talk?” Carlisle’s voice was calm, maybe purposely.

Edward didn’t move for a long moment. Then he turned slowly and walked into the study. The door clicked shut behind him.

The familiar scent of leather-bound books and old wood filled the room. The air felt heavy with unspoken concern.

Carlisle gestured toward a chair. Edward didn’t sit.

“I’m not here to punish you,” Carlisle said gently. “I just want to understand.”

Edward’s eyes flicked toward the window as if calculating how quickly he could leave.

Carlisle sighed. “You’ve been gone for days. You’re not speaking to anyone. You come home to change clothes, sometimes to play but your emotions are…..volatile. Jasper can hardly bear it.”

Edward’s voice was low, “Then Jasper should keep out of my head.”

Carlisle ignored the bite. “Edward. You’ve been following this girl.”

“She’s not just ‘some girl,’” he snapped. “She’s-”

“I know.” Carlisle raised a hand. “You’ve told Alice. She plays music. She calms your mind. I understand that it must feel meaningful to you. But Edward what you’re doing now, the way you’re watching her, breaking into her home, this isn’t you.”

Edward’s expression twisted, incredulous. “I’m not hurting her.”

“But you’re invading her life,” Carlisle said softly, “You’re not giving her a choice. That matters. That always mattered to you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Edward laughed, quiet and bitter.

“You’re lecturing me on morality? You, who pulled me from death and made me into this thing? You gave me a second chance at life, Carlisle. And I’ve spent over a century alone in it.”

Carlisle’s eyes darkened with pain but he didn’t interrupt.

Edward’s voice rose, his mask cracking. “You say I’m wrong to want her but you have Esme. Everyone has someone. You sit here surrounded by love and purpose while I drown in the noise of people I’ll never relate to, people whose thoughts never stop, never quiet, never leave me alone.”

He took a sharp breath. “But she silences it. Just by being who she is. Her mind doesn’t assault me, it sings. Do you understand what that’s like? To feel peace without pretending?”

Carlisle stood still, his expression unreadable.

Edward’s voice dropped to something raw and quiet. “I’m not asking to change her. I’m not even asking to be in her life. I just want to feel something that isn’t unbearable.”

“She’s a person, Edward. Not a cure” Carlisle’s voice was gentle but firm now. “You may think you’re harmless but obsession grows fast. You know that. You’ve seen it in others.”

Edward turned away, his fists clenched, jaw locked tight. A war stormed inside him.

He loved Carlisle. Respected him. Needed him. He was the first person who ever showed him true compassion, who gave him a new life, however cursed. And yet…..Carlisle didn’t hear the noise. Didn’t feel the suffocating weight of every mind that never stopped screaming. Didn’t understand what it meant to be silent for once.

She gave him that.

Edward closed his eyes. He wanted to say he would stop. That he’d try. That he owed it to his family.

But what came out was “I need her.”

Carlisle took a long breath and Edward felt the weight of disappointment settle between them.

“Then I hope for both your sakes that you don’t lose yourself chasing her.”

Edward turned and walked out without another word.

———————————————————--------------------------------------------------

The night was cold, though Edward didn’t feel it. He moved silently across the rooftops above her, keeping to the shadows like instinct, his eyes fixed on her lone figure below. She was walking on the edge of the sidewalk with her coat drawn tight around her. A few steps behind her, he’d drift to the other side of the street, always watching.

It had become routine to follow her after late lectures, keeping track of the routes she took home. He had memorized every pattern. The bus she missed on Tuesdays. The tea shop she lingered near when it rained. The shortcut she took through the alley behind the old theatre when she thought no one was around.

Tonight was one of those nights.

She was walking alone, earbuds in. Her thoughts were quiet and gentle. A soft, meandering tune. Something unfinished. He followed the sound of it more than the sound of her footsteps.

Until a thought pierced the quiet.

Not hers.

Someone else’s.

“Easy target. No one around. Grab her bag maybe more.”

Edward stopped mid-step. His head turned sharply, eyes narrowing.

The man was in the alley just ahead. Half-concealed behind the dumpster. Heart racing with anticipation. Thoughts dripping with malice of not just theft but something worse. He was watching her. Waiting.

Edward didn’t think. He moved.

One second he was crouched on the rooftop, and the next he was on the ground, faster than sound. His eyes locked on the man, rage already clawing its way up through his throat.

But it wasn’t just rage. It was fear.

The instant he imagined her, his girl, his melody screaming in pain, falling to the ground, trembling under someone else’s hands, something snapped.

Not because of justice. Not because of morality. That idealistic, restrained boy Carlisle raised should have hesitated. But he didn’t. He only thought of her face. Her music. Her peace.

The one pure thing he had found in his endless, grey existence. And someone wanted to take that from her? From him?

No.

It wasn’t fair.

She gave the world nothing but beauty and someone dared to look at her and think of violence?

The moment the man stepped out of the shadows, Edward’s vision blurred with rage.

The lowlife didn’t hesitate. He moved towards her with intent, a hand slipping into his coat, the weight of a blade in his pocket. Edward could hear the thought before the action “Quick-grab her, silence her, no witnesses-”

That was all it took. His body moved before thought could catch up.

One second, the man was stalking toward her.

The next, he was in the air, slammed against the brick wall with a sickening crunch that cracked bone. The sound echoed through the alley but Edward didn’t hear it.

He didn’t hear anything anymore.

His world narrowed to the pounding in his skull, to the furious drumbeat of mine, mine, mine. She was his. Not his property, no, worse. His peace. His silence. His sanity. The one thing that had made him feel like he wasn’t a monster. The only thing beautiful in a world that had grown dull and colorless after a century of death and thought and noise.

And this insect thought he could lay hands on her?

Edward didn’t speak. He didn’t growl. He attacked. Teeth bared. Fingers crushing the man’s ribs one by one with the precision of a surgeon but the wrath of a demon. He slammed him to the ground again an again, bone snapping under immortal strength. The man gasped, choked, tried to beg but the sound barely reached Edward’s ears.

His vision had gone red. His thoughts were frighteningly clear.

Protect her.

Destroy him.

Erase the threat.

No one will hurt her.

Not while I exist.

Blood spilled across the concrete, hot and sharp-smelling but Edward didn’t feel hunger. He felt rage. Something deep, ancient, feral.

The man tried to crawl, dragging his broken body toward the open alley mouth but Edward caught him by the ankle and threw him against the dumpster like a ragdoll. The impact dented metal.

Still not enough.

His fist cracked against the man’s jaw then his collarbone then again.

It wasn’t justice. It wasn’t even vengeance. It was territorial. This man had dared to hunt in his sanctuary. Dared to taint the one soul Edward had come to need.

He pressed the man’s head against the concrete, breath hissing through his teeth, a low sound not unlike a growl.

The attacker sobbed, delirious, not even fully conscious. His jaw hung at an unnatural angle.

Edward’s hands tightened, trembling. In his final act of revenge, his teeth tore into the man’s neck, hot blood spilling into his mouth in the process. However, Edward let the red liquid flow out into the ground as a jarring sound filled his mind.

Not melodies now. No music. Just the jagged thrum of fear and confusion.

He stepped forward before he could stop himself.

“Wait,” he said quickly, his voice low, cracking. “Please don’t be scared-”

But she was. He saw it instantly in the way her feet shuffled back, how her hands trembled. She looked at him like he was something other and something wrong which he was.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, smearing the blood worse. A pointless, ridiculous gesture. He looked like a demon pulled from some ancient nightmare.

She recoiled. Her mind screamed.

‘Run.

Monster.

What is he?

He’s going to hurt me-‘

No. No, no, no.

“Don’t look at me like that” he whispered, taking another step toward her, then stopping himself “I didn’t want you to see this.”

She was frozen against the wall, eyes darting, breath coming too fast.

“I-i was just trying to protect you,” he stammered. “That man-he wanted to hurt you. I heard it. He was going to drag you into this alley. He was thinking it-he was going to do it. I stopped him.”

She didn’t speak. She just kept shaking her head, slowly at first then more violently.

“You’re safe” he pleaded “You’re safe now. I made sure of it.”

He took a small step back, hating how she flinched when he moved.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, lowering himself instinctively with shoulders bowed, voice trembling like if he made himself small enough, pathetic enough, she’d stop looking at him like that. Like he was a monster.

“I swear, I couldn’t-” His voice cracked. “You don’t know what you’ve done for me. Your music-your mind-it silences everything else. It makes me feel like I’m not…..”

He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Like I’m not this. Like I’m not a thing that kills.

But she was still staring at him, wide-eyed, horrified. She didn’t even know who he was. To her, he was just a stranger in the dark with blood on his face and a corpse at his feet.

He saw her lip tremble.

Then she whispered, barely audible “What are you?”

He froze.

For a moment he wanted to tell her everything. To fall at her feet and confess. To beg for a chance to explain. To let her see that he was still something human beneath the horror. But she wouldn’t understand.

Not now. Not like this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hollow.

Then she ran.

The sound of her footsteps hit him harder than the guilt. Her footsteps echoed off the alley walls, wild and uneven, her breath ragged with terror as she bolted toward the open streetlight and towards the world, toward witnesses.

Edward’s eyes widened. Something inside him snapped.

It wasn’t just fear for himself. It was the knowledge that she had seen him. The blood. The body. The inhuman speed of what he had done. And even worse she’d looked at him like he was a stranger. A monster.

She’d run.

And now she’d tell someone.

That couldn’t happen.

Not just because of the Volturi or Carlisle’s moral code but because if she told, she would never be his again.

Not even from a distance. Not even in fantasy.

No more concerts. No more melodies in her mind.

No more peace.

She would be taken from him.

And that was unacceptable.

He vanished from the alley in a blur of movement. In less than a second, he was behind her. She barely made it five steps before his arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her clean off the ground. She let out a strangled scream that was swallowed by the wind as he took off into the trees, into the shadows, away from the street, from danger, from discovery.

Her fists pounded against him, helpless.

“Let me go! HELP-!”

“I’m sorry” he said tightly “I didn’t want to do this. I really didn’t. But you saw too much. I can’t- can’t let you go.”

The trees whipped past in a blur, her hair flying, her panic rising like a tidal wave. “Stop! Please stop! What are you doing?!”

“You don’t understand” he said, voice close to breaking. “If anyone else finds out.. my family, everyone I love they’ll be in danger. I can’t let that happen. You’ve seen too much. It’s not your fault, but…..” His jaw clenched.

She screamed again, thrashing. “You’re crazy! Let me GO!”

His grip never loosened “You don’t understand, I’m protecting you too. They’d kill you if they thought you knew. The Volturi don’t ask questions. They erase problems.”

His words tumbled over themselves now, panicked. A thousand thoughts all crashing down at once.

“You weren’t supposed to see. You weren’t supposed to know. I was just trying to keep you safe….. I was watching over you and now, now it’s all ruined.”

Her fear spiked. The forest swallowed them whole. And far in the distance, nestled in the hills, the pale lights of the Cullen house flickered.

“Just.. please don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered, voice tight with something almost childlike. “You’ll understand once we get there. You’ll see. I’ll explain everything.”

But the only response was her trembling sobs and the frantic stutter of her heartbeat.

And for the first time since hearing her music, Edward felt truly monstrous.

But he didn’t stop. Because in his mind, this was the only way left to keep her. And he had already lost too much to let her go now.

The Cullen house was hushed when Edward arrived, a blur of movement and wind slamming through the front door with the girl clutched tightly in his arms. She was trembling, her breath broken and shallow, trying to twist away but too weak.

The family had already gathered. Alice was waiting in the foyer, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. “I saw it” she said before anyone could speak. “The moment it changed. I tried to stop it-”

“You couldn’t have,” Edward said, voice low, his eyes never leaving the girl. “It was too fast.”

Then Esme appeared, soft and swift, wrapping the girl in a blanket before Edward could stop her.

“I’ll take her,” she said gently. “She’s frightened out of her mind, Edward.”

Jasper stepped closer without a word, his eyes briefly meeting Edward’s before turning toward the girl. A wave of calm swept over her as the tremors stopped, her breath slowed and her body wilted into the blanket. She didn’t fall unconscious but her eyes glazed over. Numb.

Edward said nothing. He just stood there, blood on his sleeves, her warmth still pressed into his memory.

Then Carlisle entered the room, his expression unreadable. “Put her down” he said quietly.

Edward hesitated.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Carlisle added.

Edward laid her gently on the couch.

A beat of silence passed.

Then Carlisle turned fully toward him.

“You made a choice tonight,” he said, voice even. “Not just to kill but to take her. To bring her here. That wasn’t instinct. That was deliberate.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. “I couldn’t leave her. She saw. She knows too much. If the Volturi ever found out-”

“There were other options,” Carlisle said.

“Were there?” Edward snapped, finally meeting his father’s gaze. “Tell me, what would you have done? Wipe her memory? Leave her crying in an alley with blood on her hands and no answers? Pray she doesn’t tell anyone and wait for the Volturi to come for all of us?”

“She was terrified,” Rosalie cut in, stepping forward. “Still is.”

“So was I,” Edward said darkly. “Terrified of what would happen to her. To you.”

“You don’t get to decide her fate just because you’re scared,” she fired back.

“No one’s deciding anything,” Edward said, voice rising. “I reacted. Fast. Maybe too fast but I didn’t plan this. I did what I thought was right in the moment.”

“The moment you brought her here,” Carlisle said, “you involved her in a world she didn’t ask for.”

“And if I hadn’t, she’d be dead or worse!” Edward exploded. “That man wasn’t just a mugger. He wanted to hurt her. I heard it. I felt it. If I hadn’t been there-”

“She saw me,” Edward said again. “Saw what I was. There was no way out without risk.”

“There was risk in bringing her here too,” Carlisle replied. “You’ve given her knowledge she can’t unlearn.”

“Then what?” Edward snapped. “You want me to hand her over to the Volturi? Let them clean it up the way they do?”

“No one said that,” Esme said gently. “We’re trying to understand why you didn’t trust us to help.”

Edward turned away, jaw clenched. “Because you would’ve told me to let her go.”

Rosalie folded her arms, watching him carefully. “And you wouldn’t have.”

“No,” Edward admitted. “I couldn’t.”

The room was still.

Finally, Alice broke the silence. “So what now?”

Edward looked at her. Then looked at the girl.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly “But I won’t let them take her.”

She slept soundly on the couch, wrapped in Esme’s softest blanket, her lashes fluttering slightly as Jasper’s calming influence lingered like a spell. The fire crackled low, casting amber light across her sleeping form.

Around her, the room was full of silent predators. The Cullens stood scattered as they watched her.

“She hasn’t moved” Esme said gently, almost tenderly. “Poor thing. She looks so peaceful now.”

“Because Jasper is holding her brain hostage,” Rosalie snapped from across the room, arms crossed. “It’s not peace. It’s sedation.”

Edward stood nearest to her being motionless, his eyes locked on her as if afraid she might vanish.

“Does it matter?” Alice said coolly. “She’s here now. She’s not in danger. And we all know Edward would’ve gone mad if he’d let her go.”

“That’s not a justification,” Rosalie bit back. “That’s a warning sign.”

“I saw it, Rosalie,” Alice replied, sharp now. “I’ve seen her with him. She’s in all of his futures now. In every path I look down, she’s there. No matter how far ahead I try to go. No matter the choices he makes. She’s a constant now. Like gravity. Do you know how rare that is? Someone who calms his mind? Who inspires him like this? I’ve never seen him feel the way he does around her.” Alice’s eyes were full of love for her brother, the only Cullen, other than Jasper who truly understood her.

“She’s human,” Rosalie said. “That’s not a bond. That’s a fixation”

Edward’s voice cut through the room. “It doesn’t matter what you call it. I’m not giving her up.”

No one challenged him immediately.

Carlisle sighed, stepping away from the fireplace. His gaze was hard to read with pity and disappointment warring in the lines of his face. “She didn’t choose this,” he said quietly.

“And neither did I,” Edward replied, voice low, deliberate. “I didn’t ask to find her. I didn’t ask for her music to silence everything. I didn’t ask for her mind to be the only place I feel peace.”

Carlisle didn’t answer. Edward turned to the rest of them, his eyes flicking from one face to another. “I know it’s wrong. I know how this looks. But I was going mad. You’ve all felt it. She’s the only thing that cuts through it. I didn’t take her to punish her. I took her because she saved me without even trying.”

Esme stepped closer, her voice soft. “I believe you.”

“Of course you do,” Rosalie muttered under her breath.

“She makes you feel whole, Edward,” Esme continued. “Like you have something of your own, finally. A reason.”

“She’s not a reason,” Rosalie snapped. “She’s a person.”

“She’s his,” Alice said, almost dreamily, gazing at the girl. “And he’s hers. You’ll see. Eventually, she’ll understand. Maybe not right away but she will. She has to.”

“That’s not love” Carlisle said quietly. “That’s inevitability.”

“So that’s it?” Rosalie said bitterly. “We’re just letting this happen?”

“She’s here,” Emmett said simply. “She saw too much. I don’t see a way back.”

Silence fell again.

The fire crackled.

The girl stirred slightly, curling further into the blanket.

Edward watched her like something sacred. Something already his.

Carlisle looked at her. Then at Edward. And he felt it, the moment the weight shifted. The moment he gave up the fight. He nodded once, tightly. “We keep her safe,” he said. “We give her time. But if she ever chooses to leave-”

“She won’t,” Edward said “She’s meant to be here.”

Rosalie turned and walked out, unable to watch it unfold.

Esme took a seat beside the sleeping girl, gently brushing her hair back with fingers as light as air. Alice leaned against the back wall, watching with bright, unblinking eyes. Jasper stood like a statue. Emmett stared into the fire.

And Edward just stood there, unmoving.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first week was the worst.

She woke up in a strange, impossibly pristine house, surrounded by people with golden eyes and too-smooth smiles, all of them speaking in gentle tones and avoiding sudden movements like she was a fragile animal on the verge of collapse.

She had screamed. Cried. Begged.

Begged Edward to let her go. Begged Esme to help her. Begged Carlisle to see reason. Begged anyone who would listen.But no one ever truly heard her.

Instead they watched her. Monitored her. Spoke about her when they thought she couldn’t hear-"She's not adjusting well," "Give her time," "She’ll calm down soon."

Edward never left her side. He watched her sleep. He listened to her breathe. He trailed behind her in the garden when she tried to clear her head. Always gentle. Always smiling. Always too close.

“I just want you to be happy,” he would whisper again and again. “Tell me what you need. I’ll give it to you. Anything.”

He brought her books. A new wardrobe tailored to her style. Her favorite meals, prepared exactly right even though he never ate with her. He filled her room with flowers she’d once admired. Bought her a piano. Played her favorite classical pieces until long into the night.

All of it for one thing. To hear the light melody in her mind again. The one that came when she was content. The one he was addicted to. But she wasn’t happy.

She was terrified. She tried to run twice. Once, Alice was already waiting at the door. The second time, Emmett blocked her path before she even got outside.

The house, so beautiful and open, might as well have been a glass cage.

Worse than Edward’s suffocating attention were the others with their intrusions.

Esme redecorated her room “just for her,” constantly adjusting details to make her feel “more at home.” Rosalie kept her distance but watched her like a hawk. Jasper used his ability sparingly but she always knew when her panic faded unnaturally. Alice insisted on picking her clothes for the day “You’ll feel better in this. Trust me.” Emmett tried to cheer her up with jokes she didn’t understand.

Even Carlisle, the one she had hoped might help her, only ever offered soft-spoken sympathy without action.“She just needs time,” he kept saying.

No one acknowledged what had really happened.They called it a misunderstanding.They called her fragile. They called Edward protective. They called it fate.

Edward would bring her tea, sit too close, smile too softly.

“You’ll understand soon,” he whispered once, brushing a hair from her cheek. “You’ll see that I was right.”

Every day, he tried to earn her affection like it was a riddle he could solve. Like love was a sequence of perfect offerings and rehearsed smiles.

But no matter how much he tried, her music never sounded the same.Sometimes he heard flickers of it when she laughed nervously at something Alice said. Or when Esme gifted her a necklace she politely accepted. But it wasn’t the melody. Not the one from that night on the stage. Not the one that made his world go quiet.

He couldn’t find it.And the more he failed, the harder he tried.

And she stopped crying. Stopped begging. Stopped talking much at all.

Because she had learned, in that glittering, suffocating house that no one was going to save her. Not from Edward. And not from the version of love the Cullens believed in.

In the weeks that followed, the screaming and the panic faded not because she accepted her new life but because curiosity had taken root in her exhaustion.

He fed it carefully. He told her what he was. Not in one dramatic moment but through soft admissions during shared silences- what he could hear, what he could do, what he had been.

He expected revulsion. But she didn’t scream. Didn’t run. She asked questions. Her curiosity was hesitant and wary but real. And for Edward, that was everything.

Every conversation became a revelation. She didn't think like others, her mind a swirl of abstract melodies and flashes of emotion rather than clear-cut thoughts. To him, it was mesmerizing. Talking to her was like discovering a new world.

She was opinionated. Playful, when she let her guard down. Brilliant. Passionate. She challenged him, teased him and sometimes even mocked his old-fashioned ways. He started reading her favorite books, watching the films she mentioned even shifting his political opinions in casual conversation just to align more closely with hers. Every shared interest became a lifeline. Every disagreement was quietly edited out of existence.

He agreed more. Smiled more. Changed more. Because nothing mattered except her accepting him. And in those rare moments when she smiled at something he said or when her laugh escaped unguarded, he would freeze, eyes wide, drinking it in, ears straining to hear the corresponding melody in her mind.

It became his drug. Her joy.

He tracked it like prey. He brought up topics that made her smile. Repeated jokes just to hear the laugh again. Learned her humor. Altered his preferences. Took up her hobbies.

If she said she liked thunderstorms, he suddenly loved the rain. If she hated certain composers, he stopped playing them though he'd adored them for a century. If she said she feared control, he pretended to loosen the leash, while silently tightening it elsewhere. Everything she liked, he became.

The more they talked, the more he molded himself to fit. A portrait of perfect compatibility, lovingly, obsessively crafted.

She never noticed the extent of it. Not then. To her, it was two people finding common ground. A strange, gentle rhythm to their daily exchanges. She was still cautious, still closed off but sometimes, when he spoke about music or poetry or his quiet hatred of his own immortality, something in her softened.

He saw it. He heard it in the hum of her mind, the little lift in her internal melody. Not quite like that first night on stage, but close. Close enough to keep chasing.

So he chased it with everything he had. And began to believe it was real.

That, perhaps, the cage he built could be called a home after all.

At first, Edward encouraged her to talk about anything, everything. The more she spoke, the more real she became to him. The more pieces of her he collected, the more deeply he believed they belonged together. But he hadn’t expected her past to weigh so heavily.

The mention of a childhood friend. The tone of her voice when she recalled her father. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about a favorite summer or a song she used to play at recitals with her mother in the audience.

She never spoke of them like she’d see them again. She had long since accepted that she wouldn’t. But she still spoke of them with love. And that love made something ugly rise in him.

It began subtly.

A sudden quietness when she brought up her old piano teacher. A tightness in his jaw when she recalled the scent of her home. A flicker of something sharp behind his golden eyes when she mentioned how much her sister used to make her laugh.

He never told her to stop. But his silence chilled the air. Edward told himself he wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at the time he didn’t get to have with her.

Every smile she shared about a world before him he hated it. Not because she loved them. But because they existed in a version of her life where he didn’t and that was unbearable.

Sometimes he imagined what it would’ve been like to meet her when she was still untouched by loss. Still full of innocence. Still his to shape from the very beginning.

He clung to one idea, his salvation, his justification- ‘When she’s changed, it’ll all fade.’

The human memories would blur. The names, the faces, the warmth of those old bonds they would fall away. He’d be with her every step of that transition. He’d carry her body when the pain overtook her. He’d whisper her name until the fire in her veins subsided. He’d be the first voice she heard when her new eyes opened. Her first memory as an immortal.

‘Me’, he thought. ‘Only me.’

And then there would be no “before.” No friends. No family. No unfinished goodbyes. Just him.

He told himself it wasn’t erasure it was freedom from the pain of a life she could never return to. Freedom from longing for a world that could never take her back.

He didn’t need her to forget them right away. But he needed her to forget them eventually. And she would.

They were meant to be together. He had known it the moment he heard her melody, made specially for him, his salvation. And that was why, years later, when Alice would ask him, “That day, did that man really intend to harm her?”

He would only smile.

#yandere #edward cullen #twilight fic #yandere twilight #twilight au #twilight #yandere edward cullen #the twilight saga #yandere au #yandere fic #male yandere #chimmywrites

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