BOY IN LUV (REWRITTEN)
CHAPTER 10
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 : Stalking, Mature language, Obsessive behaviour, Yandere behaviour, Threats of Violence, Nepotism, Aggressive Posturing.
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 15th Chapter, with Chapter 16 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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The venue was nothing like what you had imagined when your professor had casually mentioned a “book launch.” You’d thought perhaps a quiet gathering in the college auditorium, maybe a buffet table tucked to the side. But here was a chandelier glittered overhead, its crystals scattering light like fractured stars across the marble floor. Waiters in crisp uniforms moved with precision, balancing trays of wine glasses that clinked softly as the crowd shifted and murmured. Everywhere you looked, men and women dressed in sleek suits and gowns spoke in low, refined voices, their posture alone radiating authority.
You hugged your clutch tighter under your arm, suddenly all too aware of the faint perfume you had spritzed before leaving the house, wondering if it smelled childish compared to the expensive fragrances lingering in the air. Briefly, you wondered if professors really got paid this much. Either way, you and Jungkook, two college kids in formal wear, felt like imposters at a masquerade you hadn’t been invited to.
Jungkook must have sensed the stiffness in your shoulders because he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “So, do you think they’ll be serving anything other than tiny crackers with cheese?”
You blinked, startled, before a small laugh escaped you. He gave you a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for the professor, but” he lowered his voice conspiratorially “I might be more excited about the food than the book.”
The absurdity of his honesty in such a polished, intimidating space made your nerves loosen. You shook your head, smile tugging at your lips and murmured, “Trust you to think with your stomach.”
“There you two are!”
You turned to see your professor striding toward you, his spectacles glinting under the golden light, the edges of his gray hair catching a polished sheen.
“You made it” he said warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he clapped Jungkook on the shoulder and patted your arm. “I was worried the setting might scare my students away.”
“We wouldn’t miss it, sir” Jungkook said politely.
Your professor’s gaze dipped briefly to the waiter behind him offering another round of wine glasses. He arched a brow at the two of you before chuckling. “Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain you’re not quite of drinking age yet.” His voice lowered with a teasing mock-seriousness. “And I’d rather not be the one to scandalize my own book launch.”
You let out a small laugh, cheeks heating when he waved the waiter over and requested two tall glasses filled with jewel-bright mocktails instead, the fizz catching the chandelier light.
“Here” he said, handing them to you both with the gravitas of someone bestowing awards. “Non-alcoholic but don’t let that fool you. The sugar rush will make you bolder in conversation than any champagne could.”
You clutched yours with both hands, grateful for something to hold and beamed at him. “Congratulations on the book, sir. Honestly, I’ve been looking forward to it ever since you mentioned your research in class. I read your earlier work on urban learning structures twice over, it’s brilliant. The way you drew parallels between institutional failure and generational apathy-”
Your words tumbled out, eager and breathless but your professor only laughed, not unkindly. “Slow down, slow down, Y/N. If you flatter me too much, my publisher will expect me to sell double the copies tonight.”
You flushed, embarrassed but he patted your shoulder gently. “I’m glad to see such enthusiasm. Come, let me introduce you around. If you plan to make a career in academia, these are the people you’ll want to know.”
And just like that, you were swept into a current of introductions. Names you’d seen printed on journal covers shook your hand, smiles sharp and polite. Some were kind and engaging, answering your questions with a patience that carried a faint air of superiority, the benevolent condescension of those who had long since stopped remembering what it was like to be a student but who didn’t mind basking in the awe of one.
You were star-struck, your cheeks aching from smiling, heart racing as you shook hands with people whose footnotes you had studied religiously. You asked questions- perhaps too many- but they humored you, speaking of theories and frameworks as if they were telling bedtime stories.
Beside you, Jungkook stayed quiet, his mocktail in hand, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips as he watched you glow under the weight of your excitement. Every so often, you’d glance at him, expecting to see boredom or impatience but his eyes were patient. He was letting you have this moment.
You and Jungkook finally found your table tucked toward the back, far from the podium and the glittering cluster of senior academics. The small placards bearing your names felt almost comical in such a grand setting but you smiled anyway, running your finger over the neat black print as you settled into your chair.
“It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” Jungkook murmured, dropping into the seat beside you. “No pressure. We can just sit back here, eat and enjoy the show.”
You laughed, leaning toward him as you lowered your voice. “Exactly. Honestly, I’m just glad they spelled my name right. Small victories.”
That set the two of you off, dissolving into an easy chatter about the people you’d met, the theories you’d overheard in passing and whether the appetizers carried past on silver trays were safe for students who couldn’t even legally sip the wine. Your nerves had softened into something bubbly, carried by Jungkook’s steady presence.
From across the room, your professor stood with a group of colleagues, his head tilted back in laughter at some academic joke you didn’t quite catch. But then, suddenly, his entire expression shifted, his features brightening, shoulders squaring. With a smile so wide it transformed his face, he excused himself and began moving quickly toward the double doors of the hall.
You and Jungkook turned instinctively, following his line of sight. And then you saw him.
Taehyung.
He filled the doorway like a scene ripped from another world- broad-shouldered in a white suit jacket, its fabric gleaming faintly under the chandelier light. The jacket hung open, exposing a black silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to be indecent in such a formal setting, the dark sheen making the stark white pop all the more.
He hadn’t even stepped fully inside before the room responded, heads turning in small ripples, whispers skimming through the air like electricity.
The professor practically beamed as he reached him, spreading his arms wide. “Taehyung!”
He leaned in for a hearty embrace but Taehyung only tilted forward slightly, giving him the barest one-sided hug. His body remained taut, aloof, but his eyes, his eyes weren’t on the professor.
They found yours across the room. And held.
Your breath caught, heart thudding painfully as the chatter around you blurred into nothing. Those brown eyes, sharp under the fall of perfectly styled hair, locked onto you with laser focus. Not Jungkook, not the academics, not even the man practically worshipping his arrival existed in his line of sight.
Just you.
And in the opulence of chandeliers and polished marble, you felt stripped bare, as if he had walked into this grand room only to drag you back under his shadow.
You blinked hard, trying to steady your pulse. What is he doing here? For a split second you clung to a reasonable explanation. Maybe, like you and Jungkook, he’d been invited for some token academic gesture. But then the thought shriveled as quickly as it came. Taehyung didn’t need any academic lollipops to access rooms like this. He didn’t need a professor’s invitation to slip past gates or velvet ropes. He was the kind of man doors opened for automatically, his surname alone a passcode to privilege. And yet here he was, taking up space like he owned it.
The professor’s reaction only confirmed your worst instincts. You watched him practically beam, practically fawn, pressing a crystal flute of wine into Taehyung’s hand, the same wine he’d denied you and Jungkook with a polite joke about drinking ages. Without hesitation, the professor drew him straight to the center of the room, positioning him in a circle of dignitaries, scholars and donors.
It was like watching gravity bend. Conversations stilled. Eyes turned. And then Taehyung spoke with the polished cadence of someone born to wield charm like a blade. The dignitaries leaned in. They laughed at his dry remarks. He smiled, not too much, just enough.
And yet, even while holding court, his gaze slid back to you, flickering through the crowd like a searchlight until it found your face again. Your stomach dropped. You shrank into your chair, hands clasping your mocktail glass too tightly. Jungkook said something you barely heard. Because all you could feel was the prickle of awareness along your spine. That same weight. That same heat.
It didn’t feel like coincidence. It didn’t feel like chance. It felt like he was here for you.
The thought crept in before you could stop it: that he wasn’t just here to attend some academic soirée, he was here to irritate you. To press himself into another space you’d carved out to breathe. To make sure even here, amid marble floors and intellectual giants, you couldn’t forget that he existed.
And as his eyes lingered on you over the rim of his wineglass, a slow smirk playing at the edge of his mouth, the air around you thickened like smoke.
You felt stalked. Hemmed in. Like there was nowhere left to run.
You watched as the professor guided him toward the head table, the seat with his name placard right beside his own. It made sense. But Taehyung paused, leaning down to murmur something in the professor’s ear. Whatever it was earned an indulgent laugh, a clasp on the shoulder and then he turned.
Your breath caught as he sauntered straight past the front rows. Straight past the polished tables with their luminaries and chatter. Straight toward yours.
Jungkook stiffened beside you, shoulders squaring ever so slightly, knowing your history with him. You could feel his awareness of your sudden silence, your pulse in your throat, the nervous energy rippling off you.
And then Taehyung was there. Sliding into the chair directly opposite you.
He didn’t blend in. His white suit blazed against the muted navy and black around him, his jacket falling open carelessly, his posture sprawling with a kind of arrogance. Leaning back, elbows loose, shoulders wide, he took up space like it was owed to him. So much space, enough to make the little table suddenly feel claustrophobic.
He didn’t speak. His eyes fixed on you across the small round table, hot and unrelenting, his stare a weight pressing against your skin until you sat frozen.
Somewhere near the front, dignitaries turned to glance back, surprised at where he’d chosen to sit. He ignored them. He ignored everyone except you.
Your mocktail glass trembled slightly when you set it down. Your mind scrambled for a plan, an escape. You could leave, excuse yourself, disappear into the bathroom and never return. But your body stayed rooted in the chair, your nerves screaming at you like alarms.
Do something. Move. Get out.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because his eyes held you there like a trap like invisible chains pulling tighter the longer you stared back.
The soft murmur of cutlery and polite laughter around the hall fades into a low hum in your ears. You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you like a blade pressed against the side of your neck. His expression doesn’t move but the intensity behind it feels alive, crawling under your skin. He hasn’t looked away once since sitting down, not even when the professor on stage mentioned his name.
Jungkook shifts beside you, the sound of his chair scraping faintly as he clears his throat.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice tight, polite but forced.
Taehyung’s eyes flick lazily to him, a smirk curving his mouth. “Same as you” he replies, his tone smooth and cold. “Came for the book launch.”
Jungkook says, jaw tightening. “You’re facing the wrong way.”
Taehyung’s smile widens but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans back, the light catching the sharp angle of his cheekbone as he says quietly, “I’m looking at what I came here for.”
You freeze. His words hang in the air, low and deliberate, each syllable making the silence between the three of you heavier.
Jungkook’s chair creaks again as he leans forward, trying to block Taehyung’s view of you. “You need to back off” he says, voice rising slightly. “She doesn’t want you here. You’re-”
“-talking too much,” Taehyung cuts in, still looking at you, not at him. His hand tightens around the wine glass so hard that the veins in his forearm stand out. The stem of the glass creaks faintly. “You really think I care what you think she wants?”
“Someone has to tell you” Jungkook snaps, “because you’re acting insane. Following her, turning up everywhere-”
Taehyung’s gaze finally moves to him, slow and predatory. His pupils are blown wide, the faintest flicker of a grin plays on his lips but there’s nothing human about it.
“Insane,” he repeats softly, tasting the word. “You know what’s insane? I wake up with her face in my head and I go to sleep hoping it fades. It never does. Waking up every morning and wondering if she’s smiling for someone else. Wondering if someone else is close enough to smell her hair. That’s insanity.” His knuckles whiten around the glass until a hairline crack snakes up the stem. “And you know what? I’ve learned to live with it.”
Jungkook stares at him like he’s seeing something dangerous and he is. “You need help, man” he says quietly but his voice wavers.
Taehyung laughs under his breath, a hollow, humorless sound. “Help?” He tilts his head, eyes glittering. “It’s the only thing that keeps me moving.”
“Watch your words” Jungkook said sharply, leaning forward now, voice low so as not to draw attention from the rest of the room. “She doesn’t need to hear whatever twisted thing you’re implying.”
Taehyung laughed under his breath “Twisted? You think I’m the one twisting things?”
He set his glass down, the soft click against the table unnervingly deliberate. “You really believe you can sit here like you’re her bodyguard and I’ll just, what, tolerate it?”
Jungkook didn’t flinch. “You don’t get a say in who she sits with.”
Taehyung doesnt stop. “Do you know how many people try to talk to her? And how many stop after one look at me? But you keep showing up, don’t you? Like you think you’re untouchable.”
He leans forward now, the motion slow, his smile dropping entirely. “Do you have any idea how easy it would be to make you disappear? You think I wouldn’t notice you hanging around her, talking to her, touching her hand like you have a right to? You’re nothing, Jungkook. You’re a background noise in her life. And I-” His breath catches, eyes flaring as they flick back to you. “I’m the one she can’t escape.”
A mangled sound of desperation and heart stopping fear slips out of you, your throat choked up with your anxiety about being caught in this nightmare. Jungkook looks at you, eyes softening despite the discomfort evident on his face.
“Don’t look at her like that. I’ll say it once, don’t look at her like that." Taehyung’s voice is at once both desperate and angry, his jaw clenched so tight, you thought you could almost hear his molars grinding against each other.
Jungkook’s hand brushed yours on the table, grounding you. “Leave her alone” he said warily. “You’ve done enough.”
Taehyung’s expression changed, not anger this time but something colder, like a storm had just passed through him and left steel behind. His eyes dropped to Jungkook’s hand resting protectively near yours and his nostrils flared once.
“Move your hand” he said quietly.
Jungkook didn’t. “Or what?”
Taehyung’s smile returns, sharp and terrifying. “If she wasn’t sitting right here-” he murmurs, voice trembling with restrained rage, “-and if I wasn’t wearing white, I swear on my dead mother, I’d have shot you right here.”
For a second, no one breathes. The stem of his wine glass finally gives, a sharp crack cutting through the silence. Red liquid seeps across the tablecloth, pooling near his fingers but Taehyung doesn’t even flinch. He just watches you, eyes burning, the vein at his temple throbbing wildly.
You grab your bag, standing abruptly, the scrape of your chair loud against the marble floor. The sound of your heartbeat drowned out everything else.
The corridor outside was too bright. Too open. Yet it felt like the walls were closing in on you. You barely made it to the end of the hallway before you pushed open the bathroom door and stumbled inside, gripping the edge of the sink to steady yourself.
Your reflection stared back at you pale, wide-eyed, trembling. You barely recognized yourself.
You turned on the tap, letting cold water run over your wrists, trying to breathe but the image of him sitting there so casually, threatening murder like it was a casual remark wouldn’t leave your mind. Your temples throbbed, your head heavy and pulsing with the beginnings of a migraine.
You pressed your fingers to your forehead, whispering under your breath “Why can’t he just stop?”
You thought of all the time you’d lost because of him, the panic, the sleepless nights, the constant vigilance, the dread that seemed to shadow every ordinary moment. This was supposed to be a small victory, an academic event, a breath of normalcy but he had found you again. Like he always did.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out his voice echoing in your head. You felt trapped and not just in the bathroom, not just in the building but in something far bigger, something that had been tightening around you since the day you first stood up to him.
The image of Taehyung sitting across the table kept replaying in your mind. The way Jungkook had squared his shoulders even when his hands were trembling under the table. The way Taehyung had looked at him like deciding whether his existence was worth sparing.
A lump formed in your throat. Jungkook didn’t deserve that, any of it. He had only been kind to you, had only tried to help. But tonight, he’d seen the kind of danger Taehyung truly was and you hated that you’d dragged him into it. You gripped the edge of the sink tighter, whispering to yourself, “No more. I won’t let him get caught in this because of me.”
You nodded once at your reflection as if sealing the promise. Jungkook didn’t need to pay the price for something he never caused. You’d stay away, keep your head down, get your father to pick you up, quietly, without alerting anyone. If you were lucky, you could leave through one of the side gates and never see Taehyung again tonight. You straightened your dress with trembling hands, forcing yourself to breathe slowly. Just keep moving, you told yourself. Don’t make noise. Don’t attract attention. You reached for your phone in your clutch, fingers fumbling as you scrolled to your father’s number.
You were halfway through typing a message ‘Can you please come pick me up?’ when you heard it.
A sound. The distinct click of the bathroom door opening.
Your fingers froze on the screen. Your heart began to hammer violently against your ribs as you slowly lifted your eyes to the mirror.
A pair of polished black dress shoes stood just beyond the threshold.
The phone slipped from your hand, clattering against the porcelain sink.
