Yandere BTS Oneshots.

The Devil Walks || KTH

She stared at the screen again. His message blinked in blue.

"I'll be waiting near the old rose garden behind the library. It's quiet. No one ever goes there. I think you'd like it. I want it to just be us."

Y/n's fingers hovered before typing a reply. Yes. Just one word. Just enough. It wasn't like her to say yes so quickly—hell, usually she overthought every damn step. But something about the way he wrote, the cadence of his words, the charm humming underneath his digital voice—she wanted to see him. She needed to.

Maybe it was because he understood. Taehyung wasn't like all the other assholes on those shallow dating apps who ghosted the moment they saw the wheelchair in her pics. He was also in one. "Spinal muscular atrophy," he'd said in a voice note, his tone gentle but detached, like he was used to it, lived with it, even joked about it. "I guess the universe decided to glue our legs down and see how the rest of us does."

That had made her laugh. It had made her like him.

So she went.

Wheels click-clacked over the uneven concrete path, her hands gliding against the push rims with practiced, effortless grace. The sky had turned soft and gray, pregnant with an approaching storm, but still she came. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her lips tingling with nerves. She'd worn lipstick. Dark red. Made her feel dangerous. Desirable.

She spotted him first.

Under the twisted branches of a withered tree, there he sat. Slouched in a black ultralight chair, hoodie zipped halfway down his chest, dark hair tousled like he hadn't even tried. She slowed.

He looked up—and smiled.

Fuck, he was beautiful. Those cheekbones could cut glass. His eyes glinted with something unreadable but magnetic. Taehyung raised a hand lazily in greeting.

"Y/n?"
"Yeah," she answered, stopping just a few feet away. Her voice cracked a bit. "You're real."
He laughed. Deep. Slow. "So are you."

Their conversation started simple. Clumsy. She asked about his dog, he teased her about her book tastes. He asked about her condition—what made her chair-bound. She explained, he nodded, told her about his surgeries. Shared scars. They laughed at the same memes. They leaned in without moving. There was a tension, but the sweet kind. The kind that tickles in the gut.

But then something shifted.

His smile paused. His hands settled on his knees. His eyes pinned her in place, and it was like a shadow passed over his face—not external, not from the clouds, but something inside him. Something black and flickering.

She tilted her head. "You okay?"

Taehyung's lips curled—slowly, terribly—into something new. Something wrong. It wasn't the soft smile from before. It was... hungry.

Then...
He stood up.

Her mouth fell open.

No braces. No struggle. Just... fluid grace. Casual.

"What... what are you doing...?" she stammered, her voice breaking in disbelief. She gripped her armrest, heart stuttering, legs as motionless as ever.

He took a step toward her.

She flinched. Her breath caught. "You said you—"
"I lied." His voice was different. Flat. Cold.
And the smile widened.
"I wanted you to feel safe."

Y/n tried to back her chair away, fumbling with the wheels, but the path was uneven, jagged. Her hands slipped. Her tires snagged on a root.

"I hate fakers," he murmured, crouching in front of her now, knees bent, hands folded beneath his chin. "I hate when people lie to me. But you—" his gaze swept over her legs, her panic, her skin flushing with fear— "you're honest."