tops of buildings

devil’s sonata {pt.3} | M

⇢  PROLOGUE // PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 //

Contains: horror, angst {serial killers!au}

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence and death, gore

Words: 6,800

Summary: Taehyung was willing to go beyond the limits of ethics to spread his own, twisted point of view about the beauty of mankind. However, his brief reign came to an end when another artist starts to take inspiration from his work, beating him at his own game and making him learn in the worst possible way that life does imitates art.

Originally posted by taexsmiles

A/N: it’s been 84 years but the update is finally here!! I’ll try to keep the parts a little bit shorter so they can come out more frequently. Sorry for the wait!!

The sky was absolutely melancholic that day. Clouds enveloped the horizon in a monotone waltz of strong winds and heavy rains, dancing on top of tall buildings and oblivious citizens; morphing into a powerful storm as the hours moved along. Icy water poured down on the grey cityscape, ever so faintly attempting to wash away all the putrid sins that whispered amidst the crowded streets; but was not able to cleanse the repugnant grace that decorated the rooftop of a special, secluded building.

Many meters below the overcast skyline, Jung Hoseok pushed his way through the frenzy of stupefied bodies, holding his badge out to any of the spectators that dared to complain about his carelessness. Camera flashes and incomprehensible inquiries echoed all around him, exploding inside his head in the form of the most annoying symphony he had ever experienced; morphing into a headache he knew would not leave him alone so soon.

“Does the police have any clues?” a female voice overlapped the effervescent noise as the agent finally reached the yellow tape, a color that seemed to be mocking him lately. He raised it, and passed below the plastic line. “Your incompetence is allowing for more people to be killed!”

Hoseok clenched his jaw, physically stopping himself from answering something he would regret later. Instead, his steps grew faster as he reached the glass doors of the construction, drops of water running down his face as he mentally cursed every aspect of his current situation. For a miserable second, he was able to see the phantasmagorical reflection of his exhausted face on the translucent surface, turning him into merely another ghost among the city lines, an opaque being with no definite destination ― perhaps, that was what he truly was.

He passed by the empty wooden tables, disregarding the hysteria of soaked, blurry papers scattered around the floor; caused by the window that was left open for the entire night. ‘No signs of breaking in’ still resonated inside his turbulent thoughts, bringing along all the horrible questions he was far too confused to answer. Instead, the man found his way to the cement steps of the building, quickly moving up to the last floor of the static place.

The frigid wind thundered around him as he opened the heavy door to the rooftop, his figure being embraced once again by the monochromatic sky. A mixture of fury and disbelief bloomed inside his gaze as he moved towards the present silhouettes, all of them with their eyes locked on yet another one of the anonymous killer’s expositions.

“Jungkook,” Hoseok called, moving next to the young chief. Jeon glanced at him in pure emptiness, far too flabbergasted to even acknowledge his harsh tone. “What the fuck happened in your damn station?”

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12.Tell Your Friends - (BTS Mafia AU)

One - Two - Three - Four - Five -  Six - Seven -  Eight  - Nine - Ten -  Eleven


“Avoid the crowd,

do your own thinking independently

 be the chess player not the chess piece”

You had never been foreboding when it came to Christmas, it wasn’t a time associated with feelings like that anyway, but the snow was less magical that year, it had always been cold, and throughout November it was a nuisance but December added the promise of something better.

It did not fall through that year though.

The lights strung about at the tops of buildings and illuminated in closed shop windows, flashing reindeer on roof’s and evergreens swatted with tinsel and untangled Christmas lights. There was never such fuss, about anything, and there never would be again.

Until next Christmas of course/

Christmas carols were allowed now, at least partly, not excessive to the once bitter before, more so nostalgic now and everything was stained with red, adorned with gold and swirled in green to add to that extra Christmas commercialism that brought new meaning to money. 

 Full-fat milk stung your glove less hands and you switched it between the two while you strolled past the newspaper stand, flushed in flashing red and white light, between tabloid headlines, and folded broadsheets. Softer foot steps were audible and you concluded Hoseok had worn more comfortable shoes that day. It was dark and you waited for him just outside the door of the shop, holding it open with your foot.

“Halloween’s long gone you know” you commented.

His hair was orange and you liked it.

“Circus hasn’t been in town for a while too, how long you been left behind for?”

You shouldn’t have liked it.

The pack of tobacco was then shoved between his teeth as he fidgeting around in his big pockets and counted his change with the gaze of a cheap accountant and placed it, along with his receipt in the next homeless person’s cup.

There was no pettiness, you found, in watching him count out change and though now always exact, you concluded it was always about the same. 

“It’s always exactly the same” you commented carefully, though there really was no need because Jung Hoseok had never exactly had any reason to as much as be irritated with you, because well, neither of you had done nothing to each other.

There was, in your logic, no reason to be anything but civil with each other.

But it’d reached past civil when you’d come to expect him to be waiting by the bus stop each morning.

“What is?” he’d wiped the saliva he’d gotten on the packet on his coat sleeves before placing it in his back pocket.

“The amount you give someone” you explained. Glancing back at the rough looking man and his dog, stick thin and nails scraping the concrete.

“It’s how much cigs cost” he shrugged, pulling the cap he wore further over his hair, orange bangs parted in the middle, his forehead peaking through, same colour as the amber light the cars sped through and braked on ice to no avail, skids loud, higher than the chances of accidents.

“But the tobacco?” sceptically raising an eyebrow, almost smiling. 

“I said I was trying to stop smoking cigarettes. These technically won’t be cigarettes” he assured you, waving his hands around for emphasis, he was a lawyer in court, convincingly telling fabrications from stretched out theories and truths; entertaining, he deserved his own crime show, about crooked cops and temperamental prostitutes, and second guessing yourself, you decided Hoseok would have made an interesting detective.

“Why?” it was rare Hoseok did not have a cigarette or a pill bottle near his mouth and his jittery fingers were a sign of this. It was all you could do but stand and stare at them curl up, flinch out and shrivel up again as he eventually shoved them into his coat pockets, pink from the cold, blue from the withdrawal. 

“My expertise at making rollies may be far less compared to yours but drugs aren’t exactly my forte” 

He’d said it like he was serious.

You’d paused, your face visibly dropping as you stared at his own in a sort of trance, the irony painful, the confusion adamant. You blinked twice before you averted your eyes to the floor and leaned back against the pole, waiting for the green flashing man to appear, a sign of safety.

It was then you realised that he was serious.

You glanced up once, feeling it an obligation to speak, what for you did not know, you had no words or opinion, Christ, you didn’t even know what to say to him so instead you just glanced up every now and then, the awkward air stifling and dispersing, your quick glances were with held breaths.

He did not look back.

Instead, he spoke as you crossed the street, quick and snappy, little humour from before gone. 

“No clubbing tonight princess”

Your eyes shot up to his, long since lowered as you swallowed all the questions you had. Scepticism buried, it was something you had learnt to do quickly, because it was rare you actually got answers.

You were almost relieved.

“Min Suga wants to talk to you”

He said it in a teasing tone.

And you were correct with your withhold of relief.

“Be ready by nine. I’ll pick you up like usual”

His hands were still in his pockets and you watched him shrug his coat higher with just his shoulders to assure they stayed in them.

But you knew perfectly well.

“Boss’s orders are always final”

It wasn’t a playful joke.

He’d stared straight ahead of you both, you would have known if his eyes had wavered to anywhere else, because you were staring at him the whole time. The chilled milk, long since having numbed your hands, had allowed the feeling to travel up to you cheeks, flushed like Hoseok’s.

No, it was much more sinister than usual.

“And we all know how good you are at following orders”

It was a bitter tune, melodic but still it had stung worse than anything Min Yoongi could ever say to you and it was a reason you’d come to particularly resent yourself for having.

“Not mine though.”

It was because Jung Hoseok smiled at you everyday at least once. It was because Jung Hoseok was scarily content, or so it seemed, to be in your company, and in all honesty, you hadn’t had that in a long time, especially not in your recent situation. So it mattered, it mattered so much it hurt.

He’d laughed and it was one of the first times you’d disliked it.

“Only Suga get’s that privilege”

It mattered because he was the only one who actually made you feel like you mattered.

You were argumentative as hell when it came to this and in the end, lying to your best friend wasn’t something you could handle all that lightly. Neither was the guilt. Of accepting money. Of working for someone so rotten you were sure his own toxicity had brought out yours. Of the night it all started. But most of all, your one most valid reason boiled down to something of childlike simplicity.

Because someone was going to shoot you dead one day.

And in the end, he’d be the only one who would care enough to stop it.

So it mattered.

But you were beginning to realise that getting into that black SUV was translating more to treason than misunderstanding, and word must have travelled quickly, because Hoseok had left you off a block over, getting into his car, his real one a cheap ‘99 diesel engine that made a horrific noise when the ignition was turned on.

There was the gradual assumption of whether he was the only one that mattered to you in all of this as well.


It was Versaille but better, no hall of mirrors comparable, the pastel blue was deafening and the aristocratic detailing of the wallpaper gave you the strangest urge to touch it. Light should have flooded in through two bay windows, but the slowly falling snow outside, gave no path of entry to moonlight and storm clouds hid the only source of light outside. Instead, high chandeliers, two, most likely real and worth more than your apartment spread fluorescent light across the white marble with the same arrogance of it’s owner. No dust swirled in the clear rays and you put your hand forward to touch the place your shadow had disappeared.

Your hand, meeting nothing was basked in crystal rays of domestic invention, gold, like every ring on his fingers, truly a post-Bastille nightmare, every room you’d seen was lit, every room you’d seen was empty.

It was warm, unlike the shadow of the wall with the stolen Van Gogh presented with prestige above a golden fireplace, engraved with Renaissance style carvings, the shadow of the windows ridges made a ladder on the floor.

Min Yoongi lived in suburban Seoul, and with no regard for space, he’d built his empire on one of the biggest lots in the area. 

Hoseok had driven you right up to the door, made sure you got inside and without a word, left.

There were no decorations.


Not a wreath or tree, not that it bothered you, he didn’t seem like the type to do Christmas like most did, if he did it all, though the snow was even more bitter without the fairy lights around and tacky window displays.

It’s impeccable state made up for everything.

No bookshelf left unorganised, everyone, alphabetised, mahogany wood showing no signs of dust, or wear for that matter, to which you assumed had not been because of the owner’s avid reading of them. No scuff marks from the chairs or scratching on the wood, marble floors were almost as shiny as the windows. Though, you had only seen a long hallway and then the room you waited in, you had assumed the rest of his house had been like this.

If it was, in fact his house.

You tried to tell yourself it was worry, that was the reason you were ready to vomit. You tried to tell yourself it was the guilt that morning as you handed Solji your half of the rent, she had suspected nothing, like always. You tried to tell yourself it was the fact that you were standing in the drawing room of one of the most wealthy drug lord of Asia and it still hadn’t hit you yet.

That he was that big.

That he was that important.

That he did indeed have every right to be as arrogant and cocky as he wanted because he knew full well his position, and gladly wore the title with little care or worry. Or so was that the image he portrayed.

But as you awkwardly decided to sit down on the gold trimmed plush chairs, so stiff you concluded it wasn’t well used, though none of the house looked like it was, your insides, eating itself with it’s own acid, were so bipolar for the one reason you refused to admit.

You couldn’t bounce back from this.

Once trust was broken, it would never be mended fully, and he’d said it himself.

He’d given you the option.

He would have put a bullet in your skull if you had decided not to comply.

But it looked like he was ready to do it anyway.

And along with your jump to the conclusion that people did not, especially people of his nature and area of employment, invite strangers, let alone strangers they mistrusted and meticulously disliked, into their very big and easily found home, you came to another very hazy conclusion.

His voice, was ocean trench deep and still smooth, unlike his superiors rough tone, though it was not as soft spoken, polar opposites, but so alike, each of them brought itchy patches to form on your skin and goosebumps to tingle the hairs at the back of your neck.

You’d visibly tensed, so shocked, so out of it, that he’d watched you for a full minutes from the door way before actually speaking.

“I know you’re not a secretary, since we don’t have a secretary, but you got any idea where the boss is?”

His hair was blonde, golden as strung over his forehead in messy layers, his tone was casual, unkempt, like his appearance. What struck you the most was the bitter fruit he’d twirled in his fingers from the moment you’d entered the room, and it was only slightly brighter than the dried brown on his boots, not muck, it had snowed, there was no muck.

After a second consolation of what it was, you decided it must have been muck.

You’d shaken your head.

It certainly was not the other unspeakable substance that you so vividly remembered laying in, warm, unlike the weather, strangler thin, unlike the coat you wore.

He flung himself onto an expensive brown chair, tattered clothing a bad match, but his languid actions had matched his face and in the end, it all seemed too fitting. 

He’d bitten into it before speaking to you. Half of it gone, red stain smudging his cheek as he pulled it away from his teeth. Like a wolf.

“Psychic’s aren’t liars you know?” 

It was not a question, though it was posed as one.

You’d turned your head as he continued.

“You ever been to one?”

You’d shaken your head again.

“Cat got your tongue?” he’d grinned, swallowing the remains of his mid night snack and wiping his stained lips with his sleeve. The khaki stained like white would, badly, though there were a million other comparisons on both the jacket and jeans.

“Or did someone just cut it out?”

Your eyes widened as he suddenly propped himself up, bypassing your chair with enough speed to bring a rush of air from his baggy clothes and positioned himself in front of a bookshelf.

He had not browsed a single spine and instead twisted around again.

Not because you looked, because you were already staring.

“Cause that procedure is quite tricky. You need a steady hand for that, not to mention a knife”

He was the type of person you wanted a million sets of eyes on at once.

“But I already have one of those”

Quicker than lightning and louder than thunder, there was no introduction.

There was no need.

“The steady hand thing doesn’t matter most days”

He was enough of a performer to allow any inessential preface, or prologue. He didn’t look at any of those books, because he was enough of one himself.

“But when it does, it makes all the more difference”

His eyes were wide, hazel contacts staring down at you through a messy fringe of beach waves, blonde and brooding, his face was soft and his voice was rough, and in the end, so was everything else. Like an only child, desperate for a sibling, he begged with no words, and spoke ones so irksome it was hard to believe they’d been said from lips like his.

“So tell me, little miss no tongue, you got a muscle in your mouth or a stick up your ass cause I’m trying to have a conversation”

He was, all in all, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Neither” you managed to choke out.

He’d smiled.

A grin more like.

It was as innocent as his eyes.

“You just” he frowned as you began again, hurt, though you’d said nothing yet.

“Startled me. I scare easily” your answer was careful, and you kept your gaze on his eyes, as had he, though it was a struggle not to let them falter to the floor. To look at his shoes.

“Aw well that’s cute”

He laughed once.

“You’re cute”

He laughed again.

“But that’s beside the point, you know where the boss is”

And yet there was still no introduction, form of greeting, or any sort of implication that he didn’t realise you didn’t know each other. Or he didn’t care. But you assumed those type of people, Min Yoongi to be example weren’t the type to talk so casually with someone they did not know.

Unless of course he wanted something from you.

He’d already asked you.

Yet he’d done it again.

“No, sorry” you gave your strange condolences with as much masked confusion as you could.

“Then what are you doing in his office?” he asked in a voice that portrayed mockery, as if he was unaware how out of place you were. How you couldn’t possibly know one, where Min Yoongi was, and two, where you were. 

“This is his office?” you’d asked without thought.

“Yeah, well waiting room. For a secretary you’re pretty bad at your job you know that?” 

He was quick to recover and spoke again in one breath.

“Oh wait, I forgot, you’re not a secretary, we sort of need one though, don’t you think, you looking for a job? I can put a good word in for y-”

It cut through his excited ramble like cool steel, sharp and unforgiving, he strode in from a door near the side that had opened without alerting the two of you.

His house, though made to look old, was newer than toddlers taking their first steps and was made on a mixture stealth and secrecy and extreme arrogant flaunting of wealth.

“She already has a job, Taehyung”

You’d reacted slower than you thought you would at first. Eyes, having darted to the now dark haired Min Yoongi, slowly easing back to the ones of a smug Kim Taehyung, bobbing back and forth on his heels, eyes having remained trained on you.

“And so do you, I suggest you get back to it”

Min Yoongi paused curving his footwork to stand a foot away from the taller man who simply smiled, big and rectangular, cheerful.

“Already finished for the day boss” he concluded, friendly to his obvious superior, the elder took little notice of this.

And yet you still stared.

You knew better, but god, you eyed him like he was something from a freak show. The realist bogeyman staring down at you with huge brown eyes and a pleasant looking smirk kissing his chin by how low it went, his eyes crinkled at the sides from smiling and you were forced to admit that it was not muck that caked the soles of his boots. 

“Then I suppose paperwork will suit the unfilled hours and you can leave at closing time?”

His confused face was something of childlike nature and he cocked his head to the side. And then he jutted back up again in the most violent motion you’ve ever seen someone come to a realisation and his once animated self was now struggling to hold back a laugh.

“Oh yeah, closing time”

He glanced at you for a second, as if you didn’t understand this big inside joke, which you didn’t, not all that much anyway. But you weren’t that clueless.

He’d left, grinning, at you not Yoongi and you’d smiled yourself, because he’d paused at the door for a few seconds expectant and slid out through the barely open white wood with little friction.

There was no time for dwelling on your most recent introduction to someone you’d heard too much about and Min Yoongi wasn’t about to set aside anyway for you.

“I assume you’re disappointed” he stated flatly.

“About what?” you dragged your eyes up to meet his and regretted it from the get go. He stared down at you, like he always did.

“Well for one there won’t be any free booze, we all know how much you liked that” 

Today was his day for blatant insults and he behaved, all in all, like a jealous bastard but for a reason unrelated to your own personal affairs, because it was very much professional. 

“And second your chances of finding a traitor in the building is minimal” It was a warning you didn’t need.

His eyes narrowed into slits even though he hadn’t scowled and his mouth remained straight, narrow lips pressed together. He was teasing you but it wasn’t innocent because he meant every word he said.

“I see you met Taehyung?” Small talk was nonexistent and you weren’t sure why he’d taken on this new trait.

“He gave you a nice scare didn’t he?”

You didn’t answer.

“He’s good at that” 

He gave a ghost of a smile.

“Hoseok said you wanted to talk to me” you blurted out under his expectant gaze.

His quick tongue was easily persuaded to form a sentence which brought up the reason you were here.

“Hoseok also said you were a kid, who wouldn’t swat a fly with her own hands”

You weren’t sure why you actually bothered trying. But you did.

“I got into that car okay?” your voice was bordering desperate and you hadn’t realised how broken it sounded till your own words rang in your ears.

“You want me to admit  it right? That I got a five minutes ride from a -” quick and slightly rushed, your voice wasn’t your own as you stumbled to somehow explain yourself. Pathetic, but if you were being honest, anybody would look pathetic in front of him.

Designer suits and combed hair, three colours darker than his eyes, which seemed impossible with how dark they looked most days. Gold snaked around fingers and wrist with the nonchalance of a cheap jewellery, expendable. Though they were expendable to him. They’d break and he’d buy more. He didn’t care, because money burned like fire wood in his life, and he only cared about one thing.

“I can do a lot in five minutes sweetheart, I wouldn’t assume someone else can’t”

The money was just a part of it.

“Even if that person is a low life cheating arrogant little snake”

The bigger picture was much more sinister than an expensive house and the freedom earning big gave you, to buy anything you wanted, except what Min Yoongi really wanted.

“My point isn’t with the fact that I can’t trust you now. I could never trust you, and don’t take it personal kid, I don’t trust anyone. But now, you’re tipping the balance and my patience is short, I know it’s hard to believe”

Sudden petnames made you inwardly flinch.

“But you said it yourself”

He was right.

“You don’t know shit”

But you were beginning to understand.

The reason he wanted Jeon Jungkook’s head at his feet.

The reason he was so adamant on controlling everything you did.

The reason you were kept alive.

“And I told you I could do a lot in five minutes right?”

A powerplay of black and white pieces, Min Yoongi placed you on a chess board like a pawn and wasn’t backing down until he won the game.


One - Two - Three - Four - Five -  Six - Seven -  Eight  - Nine - Ten -  Eleven




(I doubt anybody actually cares about this story anymore since it’s been months since I’ve posted but here you go)

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.
Move on, leave, run away, escape this place… but don’t forget about me, about us, about this town. Always remember where you come from so you can appreciate how far you’ve come.
—  c.j.n.