⚠︎ Warning: Not proofread, stalking, possessive behavior, slightly suggestive ⚠︎
Word Count: 1K
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
ding
The sound of your phone wakes you. You grab it from your nightstand and look at the time displayed on the bright screen. 2:00 AM. Who would be messaging you at this hour?
You unlock your phone and open your messaging app to see that an unknown number has messaged you.
Hello.
That's all it says. Do you know this person? Did one of your friends change their number? You quickly type out a message.
Who is this?
A message comes back almost instantly.
The guy from the bar. You know, the really handsome one.
Wow this guy had an ego. You don't even have an idea on who he could be considering there's a lot of "handsome" people that come into the bar every night.
I don't know what you're talking about
Really? I thought I had made an impression on you after I'd spent the whole night ordering drinks from you.
Oh. It's that guy. The guy that would only buy a drink if you were the one making it. The guy that was calling you sweetheart all night.
How'd you get my number?
So now you remember. Your manager gave it to me, sweetheart.
He did? Why would Max give out your number to some stranger? That didn't make sense, in the short time you'd known him Max had always been strong on the safety of his employees.
And why would he do that?
Maybe because I own the damn bar.
Wait. That guy was the owner? The guy that couldn't stop ogling you all night. The way Max had described him made him sound like a sleaze. So either he wasn't at all how Max described him or he wanted you to be his next hookup. Was that even allowed? Even if he's rarely around isn't he technically your boss?
From the way Max described you I thought you'd be different
How so?
Older
But you look like you're around my age
And exactly how old are you, sweetheart?
Twenty Five
I'm not that much older. I'm thirty two.
Are you gonna tell me why you're messaging me?
This time there was no immediate response. He started typing, then stopped, then started, then stopped again. This lasted for a couple minutes until he finally sent a message.
You interest me.
All that time spent for just three words. Pushing down your slight annoyance you typed back.
Why?
And that was it. He didn't text you for the rest of the night, leaving you to dwell on the strange interaction.
────﹒♡﹒────
It's been a week. A whole week since that night at the bar and Matteo hasn't stepped foot in it since. He wouldn't say he's nervous to see you again, a man like him doesn't get nervous. His interaction with you over text had gone okay, but you didn't seem particularly fond of him. Usually getting girls was easy for him, a few flirtatious lines, maybe some lingering touches, he'd have them in his bed within the hour.
That was the problem. He didn't want this to just be a one and done kind of thing. He wanted to have you, all of you. He wanted you to be his and for him to be yours. He didn't know how to make someone fall for him.
So he went to the only person he knew could help him. Max. He'd been in a long time relationship with his girlfriend for a few years now. Matteo figured he'd be able to help him with his predicament. So now he's sitting in his office with Max across from him. He looks terrified, he probably thinks he's going to get killed or something.
"Y-You said you wanted to talk to me about something...?" Max's voice slightly wavered, but he tried to keep it steady.
"Yes. I need help." Matteo said, calm as ever.
Max straightened, Matteo never asked for help from anyone. He was the kind of man that wanted to do things himself.
"Help with what, sir?" he asked, all traces of fear gone now.
"I want to make Y/N fall in love with me. How do I do that?"
"Y/N? The same Y/N that works at the bar?" Max looks utterly confused now
"Is that a problem?" Matteo asks, his tone now sharp.
"No no! Of course not! I'll help you!"
"Good choice."
────﹒♡﹒────
Lately you can't help the feeling that you're being watched. It started out small. Just that icky feeling that you get when you feel someone's eyes on you, but then you'd turn around and no one would be there. Sometimes you'd be walking alone and hear footsteps behind you, but when you'd turn there would again be no one behind you.
Today though? You're pretty sure the car behind you is following you. It's been at it for the past 15 minutes. Trailing behind you slowly when you know damn well they're going way below the speed limit.
Your thoughts drift back to the bar owner. Could this be his car? Is he stalking you? No, don't be ridiculous, he doesn't even know where you live. Besides, he hasn't stepped foot in the bar for weeks and he hasn't texted you since the first night.
Finally, you make it to your apartment complex. When you step inside you turn to see if the car is parked outside or if the people driving stepped out to continue following you. You turn to look and just like every other time no one is there.
You make your way into the elevator and step out when you reach your floor. You're about to start digging through your purse for your keys when you spot something in front of your door.
A large bouquet of roses already in a vase with a fluffy teddy bear right next to them. On top of the bouquet you see a red envelope with your name written on it. You pick it up and tear it open to reveal a card. When you open it you're met with just a few words.
"For my Sweetheart ♡"
A/N: Really enjoyed writing this part! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series!
Use your imagination, he can be whoever you want him to be.
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"Wait... don't move." His hands hovered over your head, trapping his cock down your throat. fingers curled through your hair-- he's trying so hard not to cum right now and it's not working.
Your tongue slides across the side, the width of it is not allowing you to smirk or crack a smile. "Stop don't...--shit!" ropes shoot down your throat instantly, warm and thick. He groans, his body tensing on the bed as you lift your head to meet his eyes. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”
His eyes narrowed, he wasn’t completely upset but okay with it? That’d be an overstatement. He did not want to cum that fast at all, he wanted your sweet mouth on him forever if it was possible.
Revenge? Fuck yeah, he got up out of his spot and gestured for you to take his place. “Me? But I already went?”
“And you were able to take your sweet time right? You got to soak up in my mouth for as long as you wanted.”
“Baby you can’t seriously be upset—“
“I promise you I’m not, just wanna treat you again yeah?” He smirked, lifting your legs over his shoulders while kissing your inner thighs. “Can I do that, mm’?”
“Y-yeah,” that’s never good.
Three orgasms later.
Your moans— no screams— no shrieks…. There’s no words to describe what noises you let out all at once. Every plea for him to slowdown bounced right of the wall and backfired when he jammed his tongue into your cunt, curling up and down.
“Okay im sorry— fuck~!” Here’s comes another one and yet he’s still not feeling satisfied, but he is getting extremely hard. “Please.. mm’ so sore… no more—“
“How about, we give something else a go yeah? I was too fast, too rough last time. But you’re also a sneaky little brat who can’t help herself.” He patted your pussy a few times before getting up.
You pouted, watching him get up and walk towards the drawer. What is he searching for? Is he coming back to do more? You sure hope so.
Your pleas were horrifically loud and yet, you still wanted more surprisingly— not.
So when he walks over with that condom in his hand, ripping it open and stretching it right over the cock you know damn well you can’t take well, your eyes light up with desire.
“Do I get you ride you?”
“Not tonight no, you’re getting my special treatment.”
Little did you know that this would be the most slow torturous night of your life, teasing and whining, and begging for a small price that you consider huge. His cum painting your walls.
summary: Michael takes a needed day off and he teaches you some things
warnings: firearms & shooting
notes: part five of the jackson’s, read part four here
morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, warming the room as you slowly opened your eyes and rolled over in bed to be met by michael smiling “OH! MCIHAEL!” you yelped
“baby what are you doing here?” you asked sitting up “i decided to take a off day so we can spend some time with you”
you reached over and placed the back of your hand against his forehead “hat are you doing?” he questioned “checking for a fever” you replied
Michael laughed so hard he had to lean back against the headboard “I don’t have a fever angel face” “you sure?” “yes i’m sure”
you smiled to yourself “well… i guess i can spare some time for you”
he raised an eyebrow. “oh, you can?” “well of course only because your schedule finally opened up”
Michael shook his head, smiling as he leaned over and kissed your forehead
“how generous of you sugar bear” he began to trail kisses along your jaw “i’m thinking we go out for dinner in a few, shop a little and maybe go to my family’s range and i can teach you some things”
you pulled back just enough to look at him “the range?” he nodded “yeah i want to teach you a few things” “…like what?” “how to handle a gun and a pocket knife sugar bear”
the playfulness on your face faded and Michael’s expression softened “i’m not asking because I expect you to become one of us, i’m asking because you’re going to be my wife and if something ever happens…i want you to know how to protect yourself until i can get to you”
you studied his face for a hot second
“this isn’t one of those cute little fiancé dates, is it?” “unfortunately no, it’s one of the most important dates we’ll ever have”
you sighed and turned onto your side, your back facing him “I was hoping you were gonna say a picnic or something” “we can do that too”
“with sandwiches and dessert?” “anything you want” he said and placed a kiss on your shoulder and the neck “now you’re negotiating” you said turning around “thought so”
you leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss “…fine” “really?” “yeah, but if I break a nail out there…” he grinned “i’ll pay for you to get a new manicure on the way home”
“and?” “and I’ll carry your shopping bags” “and?” he laughed “i’ll cook dinner tonight”
you folded your arms “you don’t cook” “i’ll… order dinner tonight” “there you go”
he laughed again before wrapping his arms around your waist “so…we’ve got ourselves a date?”
you smiled and nodded “we’ve got ourselves a date” “good” he kissed your forehead “now get all dolled up before I change my mind and keep you in bed all day”
the moment Michael parked, the distant sound of gunfire echoed through the air
you looked over at him “so… somebody beat us here” Michael nodded “looks like it”
the two of you climbed out of the truck, Michael walked around to your side, automatically reaching for your hand before the two of you started down the gravel path leading to the range
“You nervous?” he asked “a little” he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze “don’t be i’m not expecting perfection, i just want you to be comfortable.”
“and if I hate it?” he looked at you “you don’t really have a choice..”
as the two of you rounded the corner, another series of gunshots rang out
standing alone in one of the lanes was Marlon, apair of earmuffs rested over his ears as he emptied the last few rounds from his pistol
he lowered the gun before noticing the two of you walking toward him, he pulled off on of his earmuffs “well look who it is”
Michael smiled “didn’t know you’d be here”
Marlon shrugged “needed to blow off some steam” he ejected the magazine from the pistol before setting it on the shooting bench “it’s been one of those days”
he looked over at you “so…you finally letting her shoot?” Michael nodded
“it’s about damn time” Marlon chuckled “i’ve been telling you to teach her for months” “i know, i should’ve done it sooner”
Marlon walked over, giving you a quick side hug “you nervous?” “a little” he grinned “good” you gave him a look “that’s supposed to make me feel better?” “no, it means you’ll respect the weapon”
Michael nodded in agreement “confidence comes later”
the three of you continued walking farther down the range until you reached an empty lane
Marlon leaned against the shooting bench, folding his arms. “imma hang around for a bit” he looked between the two of you “watch her first lesson and judge it ya’know”
Michael smiled “as long as you don’t distract her.”
“welI…Speaking of distractions.”
Michael sighed “what now?” “we’ve got another problem with the Osmonds” “they moved again?” Marlon nodded “early this morning. they’ve been asking questions about one of our shipping route”
Michael let out a quiet breath “we’ll deal with it tomorrow.” “you sure?” “yes i’m sure, today’s my day off”
Marlon raised an eyebrow “you’re actually taking one?”
Michael looked over at you. “yeah just for her…”
Marlon couldn’t help but grin “Joseph’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out” “i don’t care about him right now, if he was here i wouldn’t bat a eye if she actually shot him in the foot”
Michael muttered and turned back toward you, picking up a pair of protective earmuffs and gently placing them over your ears, adjusting them until they fit comfortably
Michael walked over to the shooting bench and picked up a handgun before turning back toward you.
he didn’t hand it to you right away, instead, he rested it on the table between you.
“the first lesson has nothing to do with shooting” you looked at him curiously and he pointed to the pistol
“never assume it’s unloaded, no matter who hands it to you, no matter where you find it”
he picked it up again, keeping it pointed safely downrange
“but the very first thing you do…” he pressed a small button on the side “is remove the magazine” it slid into his other hand
“ghen…” he pulled the slide back and locked it open “…you check the chamber”
he tilted it slightly so you could see inside “magazine out. chamber clear, now you know it’s safe and empty”
you nodded, paying close attention, Michael smiled “now...your turn”
carefully, he handed you the unloaded pistol, your movements slow and deliberate as you repeated exactly what he’d shown you
“magazine out…” you removed it “lock the slide back…” a little more effort than you expected, but you managed. “and…” you looked into the chamber “clear?”
Michael’s smile widened “perfect”
Marlon, leaning against the bench a few feet away, nodded approvingly “not bad for your first time, mike did horrible his first”
a tiny smile crossed your face as Michael reached for a loaded magazine resting on the table “now i’ll show you how to load it”
he demonstrated slowly, pressing the magazine firmly into the grip until it clicked “you always make sure it’s seated” he gave the magazine a gentle tug “and if it comes out…” he shrugged “it’s not in correctly”
he pulled the slide back and released it“the round chambers, now it’s ready”
he immediately engaged the safety “and until you’re ready to fire…” he tapped it with his thumb “the safety stays on”
you repeated every step under his watchful eye. Michael corrected the angle of your wrist once and adjusted your grip another time, then smiled “you’re catching on so far”
he stepped behind you “alright”
his chest lightly brushed against your back as he gently repositioned your stance “feet about shoulder width apart”
he nudged one of your feet with his own “there, lean forward just a little”
he reached around you, carefully placing your hands where they needed to be on the grip “keep both hands firm but don’t squeeze so hard that your arms lock up, happened to Jermaine once”
he slowly lifted the pistol with you “now…” he pointed toward the paper target hanging several yards away
“focus on the front sight, not the target..the target will be blurry, the sight won’t”
you took a slow breath “i think i got it”
Michael stepped just slightly to the side but kept one hand lightly at your waist “okay sugar bear, whenever you’re ready”
you gently squeezed the trigger
BANG !
the recoil caught you completely off guard you let out a tiny yelp as you stumbled backward a step. Michael was already there, steadying you before you could lose your balance
across the lane Marlon burst into laughter “i’m sorry!” he laughed, holding his stomach “i really am!”
you turned to glare at him, playfully pointing the pistol at his foot “…you done?”
he held up both hands “i’m done..i promise” another chuckle slipped out and you rolled your eyes
Micheal squeezed your waist “ignore him, everybody reacts like that their first time, you did exactly what I expected”
“i looked ridiculous” “you looked surprised” “there’s a difference”
he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face “and for the record…” he glanced downrange “you still hit the target”
your eyes widened “I did?” Michael pointed toward the paper and sure enough a single hole sat just inside the outer scoring rings
it wasn’t perfect but it was on the paper
a grin slowly spread across your face “i hit it!” Michael couldn’t hide how proud he looked “i told you”
Marlon folded his arms with an approving nod “beginner’s luck”
you looked over your shoulder “don’t make me shoot at you next”
Marlon raised both hands dramatically “see? she’s already getting the hang of it”
Okay because everyone was so chill about my previous hollanov mafia/bratva posting, I'm gonna need y'all to be nice about my plot bunny:
I want a fic that starts in medias res with Shane returning home to his apartment after a gruelling game on home ice. The Metros managed to wrestle a victory away from their opponents (with Shane doing most of the heavy lifting, of course), so Shane's exhausted and he's absently turning on his hallway lights as he makes his way to his kitchen to down a glass of water and start heating up his premade dinner from his approved meal plan when he hears a richly accented voice floating out from the dark of his sitting room:
"Pity you won. Would have offered shoulder to cry on."
And Shane almost hits the damn ceiling he startles so bad, choking on his glass of water, face already flushing because he knows who's sitting sprawled out on his leather sectional, the cherry of his lit cigarette glowing in the dark, and goddamn it "I TOLD you not to smoke inside, Ilya!" and also "Why do you always have to sneak up on me? Fuck"
And Ilya laughs, his face all sharp angles in the orange glow of the lamplight spilling into the sitting room: "Is fun. I like making you jump."
And Shane is rolling his eyes even as he's crawling into Ilya's lap and he doesn't ask Ilya how he got here just like he doesn't ask Ilya how he got his scars or why his number is always changing or what he does for work all those hours away in Moscow, the kind of work that lets him afford all the expensive gifts he sends straight to Shane's doorstep - watches and suits and furs and humiliatingly (thrillingly) jewelry - the kind of work that makes him get up from lying naked in bed tangled up in Shane's sheets to answer a phonecall in sharp, harsh Russian before he gets on a jet and disappears for three months until he randomly reappears in Shane's apartment.
Shane's learned not to ask questions about Ilya, Schrödinger's boyfriend. He's starting to think he doesn't really want answers.
title: the a(myg)dala (explicit) - series
pairing: mafia leader/detective! agust d x right handman! f. reader ; gang leader! yoongi x right handman! f. reader
rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , thriller , smut ; haegeum au , my agustdverse
summary: You wake up in a lavish bedroom with no recollection of memories of who you are. The only person who holds the key to this mystery is the owner of the house, Agust D, a mafia boss masquerading as a police detective. He claims you’re his right hand (wo)man and that he needs to protect you from someone who’s after you, as well as a treasure he’s searching for. With danger lurking and your memories a blank slate, can you trust Agust D to uncover the truth, or is there more to his story than meets the eye?
note: i have been planning this in my head (like the delusional girly i am) since daechwita came out in 2020, but it wasn't until 2023 with the haegeum mv that it truly solidified me wanting to put together my thoughts to create this. i started out with Distraction and Infatuation as test one shots to gauge at the interest, and now it has lead me to create the first actual chapter of this series. this series is dedicated to my bestie the biggest yoongi smut luvr i know @daegudrama and to my favorite yoongi fic writers @jcoles and @theharrowing. also this is kinda unedited i apologize for any mistakes sndksfjladsafbjka i will edit later on.
warnings: the following series is intended for a mature audience and may contain graphic language, graphic violence, weapons (guns/katana swords/chopsticks), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, gambling, murder, gang activity, memory loss/amnesia, sassy and on guard reader, unreliable characters, haegeum!agust d, haegeum!yoongi, tale of two MYGs technically, LMAO, TEAM SUGA! appearances as mafia men, assassins, slow burn, fight sequences, power imbalance, future smut scenes that may contain some bdsm elements, multiverse implications, tattoos, etc.
drop date: october 29th, 2024, 9:00pm pst
word count: 5.5k
crossposted on ao3
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The world slowly comes into focus, the haze of unconsciousness lifting like a dissipating fog. You blink, your eyelids heavy as if weighed down by lead. The room around you is unfamiliar, dimly lit by a lamp on a nearby table. The scent of damp wood and something herbal lingers in the air. You try to move, but a sharp, throbbing pain in your head forces you to stay still.
Panic surges through you. Where are you? Why can’t you remember anything?
You glance around, the room’s details gradually becoming clearer. It is small and sparsely furnished, with wooden walls and a single window covered by a thick, faded curtain. But the strangest part is that you can't recall how you got here or what happened before. Your mind is blank, a void where your memories should be.
Well, almost blank.
Two things are certain in your mind: your name—whatever comfort that brings—and the image of a man, his face marked by a prominent scar, entering this very room. Yet, in the memory, the man looks different—his features more vivid, his clothing distinct. He is wearing a green jacket. You cling to that detail as if it were a lifeline in the sea of confusion.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the creaking of the wooden floor. You turn your head—slowly, cautiously—and see him. The man from your memory stands at the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and relief.
“You’re up? You’ve been asleep for a couple of days now.”
His voice is deep, carrying a warmth that contrasts with the sternness of his appearance. The scar on his face is unmistakable, and yet something about him seems off, like a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit.
“Who are—” you start to ask, but the words catch in your throat as a sudden, stabbing pain shoots through your temples. You wince, pressing a hand to your forehead as you try to steady your breathing.
The man’s eyes narrow, his concern deepening. “Easy, doll, don’t strain yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”
Doll?
His tone is soothing, but it only heightens your unease. Why does he look so familiar? And why does the memory of him in that green jacket feel so significant?
“I... I can’t remember… why can’t I remember?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your fear and confusion. “I can’t remember anything, except your face. But you looked different... the green jacket...”
The man frowns, clearly troubled by your words. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if trying not to startle you.
“Listen,” he says gently, grasping your cheek. “You’ve been through something traumatic. It’s normal to feel disoriented. But you’re safe now, alright? We’ll figure this out together.”
His reassurance does little to ease the growing tension in your chest. As he speaks, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something he isn’t telling you—something important that lies just beyond your grasp.
But for now, with your head pounding and your body weak, all you can do is nod and hope that the answers will come soon.
His phone rings, the sound slicing through the uneasy quiet of the room. The man glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before pulling the phone from his pocket. He answers it without a word, his face hardening as he listens to the person on the other end. After a tense moment, he turns away, stepping out of the room.
The door creaks shut behind him.
You wait, the minutes stretching into what feels like an eternity. Ten minutes pass, then thirty, and still, there is no sign of his return. Your unease grows. Why hasn’t he come back yet? What was that phone call about?
The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as your anxiety gnaws at you. You try to stay still, but the silence is suffocating. You need to get out of bed.
With some effort, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as your body protests the movement. Every muscle feels sore, as if you’ve been through something physically draining. Your feet touch the cool floor, and you slowly stand, swaying slightly as the room spins for a moment. Steadying yourself, you look around, eyes settling on the door.
You have to investigate. You need to understand what is happening.
Just as you take a step toward the door, it swings open with a soft creak. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a new figure enters the room.
It is a woman, dressed sharply in a tailored black suit that contrasts her bright orange bob cut. She moves with an air of quiet confidence, her eyes locking onto yours with a steady, calm gaze. She seems close to your age, though something about her presence feels more mature, more composed.
“Hello,” she says, her voice smooth and professional. “My name is Adora. Apologies, as Mr. Agust had to step out unexpectedly, but he kept me up to speed with everything going on and told me to help care for you in the meantime.”
You blink, taking in her words, still processing the situation.
Mr. Agust? That’s his name?
Adora approaches the small table by the bed and sets down a neatly folded bundle of clothes. “I’ve brought you some clothes,” she adds, gesturing toward the bundle. “I imagine you’d want to change into something more comfortable.” She glances at you, wearing a white spaghetti-strapped nightgown. Yeah, you need to change out of this.
“Who… who is Mr. Agust?” you ask, your voice hoarse from disuse. The question has been burning in your mind ever since you woke up.
“Oh! The man who was just in here before me. Agust D,” she says happily. “He’s been looking after you since… well, since the incident.”
“The incident?” you repeat, confused. “What happened to me?”
Her smile fades, and a shadow of concern crosses her features. “I’m afraid that’s something only Mr. Agust can explain to you. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”
She steps back, giving you space, and nods toward the clothes again. “Go ahead and take a shower before changing. I’ll wait outside if you need anything.”
And once again, you are left alone.
You grab the bundle of clothes, the fabric soft under your fingers as you unfold them. A white, long-sleeved collared shirt, a plaid skirt, and knee socks—an odd combination. Your brow furrows. Is this a school uniform? The thought seems out of place, considering everything else, but you push it aside. Right now, getting cleaned up and dressed feels like the first step toward reclaiming some control.
There is a small door beside your bed that leads to a bathroom. You open it and are greeted by a modest, clean space. The tiles are cool beneath your feet as you walk toward the shower. Your mind feels murky, still clouded by the lack of memory, and every detail around you seems both unfamiliar and strangely mundane at the same time.
As the hot water sprays down from the rain showerhead on the ceiling, you stand still for a moment, letting the warmth wash over you. It feels good, the steam wrapping around your sore muscles, loosening the tension that has built up since waking. Slowly, you begin to move, running your hands through your hair, watching the water swirl around your feet. You glance down at your body, your movements still careful, as though you fear something is waiting beneath the surface of your skin.
And then, you notice them—bruises. Small, fading marks dot your legs and arms, some yellowing at the edges, others still dark purple. Scrapes, too, healed over but unmistakable, mar your skin. You gently touch one on your forearm, wincing at the slight sting.
What happened to you? Frustration bubbles up inside you, making your throat tight. Every mark tells a story, a piece of the puzzle that should be obvious. But all you have are fragments, and none of them make sense.
You close your eyes, trying to summon any trace of a memory, something that could explain the bruises, the scrapes, the pain in your muscles. But there is nothing. Just emptiness.
Your hands shake slightly as you rinse off, the water turning from soothing to overwhelming. You finish quickly, the hot steam doing little to quell the storm of confusion and frustration rising within you.
Stepping out of the shower, you catch your reflection in the small, fogged-up mirror. You wipe it with your hand, staring at yourself, but the person staring back looks just as lost. No answers. No clarity.
With a sigh, you turn away and dry off, pulling on the strange outfit—first the crisp white shirt, then the plaid skirt and knee socks. The uniform fits well enough. Did you used to wear this before as well? You're left wondering too many things...
After slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers that you find beside the bed, you step out of the room for the first time. The hallway greets you with a soft, dim glow, revealing that evening has settled in. Shadows dance across the walls as you cautiously make your way forward.
Adora is sitting in a chair by your door, casually scrolling through her phone. At the sound of your footsteps, she looks up, her orange hair catching the light.
“Miss! All done? Do you need anything?” she asks, standing up swiftly with an attentive smile.
“Yeah, all done,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... want you to show me around. I’m having a little trouble recalling some things.” You hesitate, wary of revealing too much. If people know about your memory loss, they could use it against you. But surely Adora had been informed by Agust D beforehand, right?
Adora’s eyes softened. “No worries, Mr. Agust did mention this detail to me.”
You’re correct.
“I’ll show you around and get you updated on the things I’m cleared to inform you on,” she adds.
Cleared? The word hangs in the air, making you wonder just how much is being kept from you. Still, you nod. “That’s fine.”
Adora leads the way down the hall, and your tour begins. The mansion is far larger than you anticipate. As you move from room to room, it becomes clear that this place is no ordinary home. The architecture is grand, with high ceilings and long corridors lined with dark wood paneling and expensive-looking art. Every room seems carefully designed, exuding luxury and power.
Your bedroom is relatively simple compared to the rest of the mansion—modest in size with muted tones, though the bed is large and soft. Across the hall, Adora points out Mr. Agust’s room. Unlike yours, it is locked, and she makes no attempt to open it. The door itself is dark wood, with intricate carvings around the frame. You can only imagine what is inside.
Next, she leads you to his office. It’s a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a grand desk made of polished mahogany, and a large window overlooking a courtyard. Papers and files are neatly stacked on the desk, though Adora makes no comment about what they contain. The room has an air of importance, almost like a command center.
The kitchen and dining area are expansive. The kitchen, spotless and gleaming, is staffed with a few workers who nod politely as you pass. The dining room is more formal, with a long table capable of seating at least a dozen people. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, casting warm light across the room.
The living room is one of the most impressive spaces—a large, open area with plush leather sofas, a marble fireplace, and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The windows here are larger, revealing a darkening city skyline.
“Where are we?”
“We’re in Bangkok. Thailand.”
Bangkok? You know what that place is, but it’s not a location you expected to be in.
As you explore, you begin to notice more people moving through the mansion—mostly bodyguards, dressed in black and stationed at various points. Most of them seem to be Korean, their stoic expressions and quiet movements blending into the background. It’s strange to see so many of them here. A mansion in Thailand, filled with Koreans—it doesn’t add up.
Your curiosity gnaws at you, but you know Adora isn’t the right person to ask. Whatever this is, it feels delicate. You’ll have to wait for Mr. Agust.
After what feels like hours of walking through corridors and staircases, Adora finally leads you to the dining room, gesturing for you to sit at the long table.
“I received word that Mr. Agust has just arrived,” she says, offering you a gentle smile. “You’ll meet him here. The staff has set out some tea and desserts for you while you wait.”
You look at the table. A silver tray holds a pot of tea and an assortment of small pastries. The aroma is sweet and comforting, but the anticipation makes your hands tremble slightly as you reach for a cup and serve yourself some tea.
“I’ll come back to join you two, along with some of the other guards,” Adora continues. “Mr. Agust will be here shortly.”
Interesting. You’re not sure what to make of this situation.
The dining room grows quieter as you sit alone with your thoughts, nibbling on a cookie to stave off the nerves.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes through the hallway outside the dining room. You freeze, your pulse quickening as the door swings open. A group of men enters, all dressed in dark suits, their expressions stern and composed. They move in unison, fanning out to take seats around the table, but one man stands out from the rest.
Agust D
He strides in with a commanding presence, his sharp eyes surveying the room as he walks. There’s an air of authority around him that makes the space feel smaller. His dark hair is slicked back, his expression unreadable as he takes the seat at the head of the table.
The sleeves of his shirt are stained red… You don’t want to know if that’s blood, but it’s the only thing you can assume.
Adora re-enters the room soon after, gliding in with her usual grace. She takes her seat across from you, her calm demeanor unwavering as she folds her hands in front of her. The tension in the room is thick, though it seems invisible to her.
Agust turns to you, his gaze piercing but calm. "I hope you’re feeling a bit more settled," he says, his voice low and even.
Yeah, sure, settled, you think, fighting the urge to laugh. Settled is the last thing you feel in this... “house.”
You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on you. “Yeah, I suppose,” you mutter, unsure how to respond. You reach for a cookie from the tray in front of you, more out of nervousness than actual hunger.
“I know this place might be overwhelming,” Agust continues, leaning back in his chair. “This is no ordinary home, as you’ve probably gathered by now.”
You swallow hard, the cookie crumbling slightly in your hands. No ordinary home is an understatement. The size, the guards, the secrecy—it all screams something far beyond the normal.
“To formally introduce myself, my name is Agust D. I’m the chief detective for the Asia-Pacific Police Force here in Bangkok. Comprised of officers from all Asia investigating international crime,” he says, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as if daring you to believe him.
You nod slowly, though something about it doesn’t sit right with you. “That’s... interesting,” you begin carefully, “but I don’t think that’s all. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“Smart girl. You’re sharp, I’ll give you that.” Agust’s eyes gleam, and a chuckle rumbles from his chest. “No, that’s not all.”
He leans forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “I am a leader of this mafia family you’ve been seeing.”
Your hand freezes mid-bite, the cookie slipping from your fingers and falling onto the table. Your heart skips a beat. Mafia? Your mind races. Organized crime? How the hell did you get involved in something like this? Fear snakes up your spine as your hands begin to tremble slightly. You can feel your throat tightening, your body responding to the panic rising inside you.
Agust’s eyes soften just a fraction, as if sensing your fear. “Relax,” he says, his voice calm, almost reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you... you’ve been working for me for quite some time before all of this, after all.”
“Working for you?” you echo, incredulous. None of this makes sense. You shake your head, unable to comprehend. “Me? I... I don’t think so. I mean why would I–”
Agust’s smile returns, and he leans back in his chair, his hand disappearing beneath the table. “It is you,” he says firmly, interrupting you. Without warning, he tosses something across the table.
You flinch, instinctively reaching out to catch it—your hand closing around the handle of a heavy object. What the— A sword? Its weight is oddly familiar in your grip. You stare at it, eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. The scabbard is intricately decorated with a blossom pattern that triggers something deep within you, something familiar.
You’ve seen this before... You’ve used this before.
Grainy and fragmented memories burst through your mind of a time when you’d used this. “Go ahead,” Agust says, his voice quiet but commanding. “Try it out.”
As if under a trance, your fingers move on their own, sliding the blade free from the scabbard. The polished metal gleams in the low light, its sharp edge whispering of battles fought and blood spilled. Before you realize what is happening, you have gotten onto the dining table, moving with fluid precision toward Agust that startles even you.
The bodyguards around the room react instantly, rising from their chairs and drawing guns, all pointed at you. But you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Your body moves on its own, and within a second, you are standing over Agust, the tip of your blade mere centimeters from his throat.
The room is dead silent. Agust doesn’t flinch. He merely raises a hand, a calm gesture to his men. The bodyguards look at him in hesitation, but slowly lower their weapons, keeping their eyes trained on you.
A chuckle escapes his lips. “Did that jog your memory?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with amusement, as if he has been waiting for this moment.
You stare down at him, your chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I... only a little…?” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the sword in your hand feels so familiar, so right, but your mind is still a blur of confusion.
“So much bloodlust you’ve got hidden in those eyes. Are you going to cut me down this time, doll?” he asks, his voice teasing, yet there’s a glint of seriousness behind his eyes.
This time? What does he mean by “this time”?
Despite the odd question, your heart skips a beat.
“W-What?!” you stammer, not understanding what he means. You pull the blade away, stepping back and lowering it to your side. Your hands are still shaking.
Agust smirks but says nothing more about it. Instead, he leans back, seemingly unfazed by how close he has come to death. “So, do you want some of the answers I can provide?”
Enough of this cryptic stuff.
You blink, still trying to process what just happened. “Are you actually going to answer me this time?” you ask, your voice sharper than intended.
Agust chuckles, clearly enjoying this more than you are. “That depends on what you want to know.”
“Hmm…” You hesitate for a moment while Agust signals his men to sit back down. They sit down, resume their positions, and the tension in the room seems to dissolve as if nothing happened just moments ago.
“Now tell me, doll,” Agust says, leaning forward, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory intensity.
“First of all, who am I? Why do you keep calling me ‘Doll’?” you shoot back, your tone sharper than intended.
Agust lets out a deep breath, almost as if your question bores him. “You don’t have a name, as far as I know, so I call you doll. It’s cute, isn’t it?”
You give him an exasperated roll of your eyes, and he chuckles, as if he expects nothing less. “But besides me, everyone else calls you ‘Dove’—your code name.”
“Why am I here?” you press on, hoping for a more substantial answer.
Agust’s grin grows wider. “Great to see you moving on to this point,” he says, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “I’m protecting you. Your life is at stake, actually.”
You scoff. “Protecting me from…?”
“Someone.” His tone is vague, and your irritation flares at his refusal to offer more.
“Could you be any more vague?” you mutter, rolling your eyes again, daring him to give you something concrete. “Who is it?”
Agust’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening slightly. He clearly isn’t used to being questioned like this. Just as he opens his mouth to respond, one of the bodyguards at his side, a man with sharp features and an intense gaze, speaks up.
“I don’t think you should ask that right now,” he says firmly. “Just for the sake of your life.”
“Yijeong,” another bodyguard—a much older man with long black locks of hair—warns in a low voice.
Yijeong shrugs, his eyes unwavering. “I’m just looking out for her safety.”
It doesn’t sound sincere, to be completely honest.
Agust gives a subtle nod, silencing the exchange with a single glance. Then he turns back to you, his gaze slightly softened. “Anyway, it’s exactly as I said,” he continues, his voice smooth, almost practiced. “As part of my daytime role, I’m a detective. And I’m also an underground mafia boss.”
You stiffen, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a shroud. He isn’t done. “The person after you wants something that you hold the key to—something that we both want.” His tone is steady, a faint glint of ambition in his eyes. “I met you a few years ago and decided to let you live here, by my side, in hopes of finding it.”
You take a shaky breath, your mind reeling as you try to process this. “And I’ve been here ever since… as your right-hand man?”
Agust leans forward, his voice low yet intense. “That’s right. You were essential to our operations. I need you back in action, though. There’s a lot at stake here. We need to find this thing as soon as possible and get rid of this other person trying to kill you.”
You try to wrap your head around the idea that you’ve been living a life entrenched in the shadows of the criminal underworld, working closely with Agust and his organization—yet you can’t remember any of it. The weight of it presses heavily on you, disbelief twisting in your gut.
“So, you’re telling me,” you begin, your voice slightly unsteady but determined, “that I’ve been involved in this… mafia life all this time and now, because of some freak accident that you won’t disclose, I have not a single memory of it?”
“Precisely.” His eyes are fixed on you, unwavering. “Once you start easing into things again, I’ll tell you,” he says, his voice gaining an edge, “but now, I need you to decide.”
The frustration bubbles up within you, and without fully realizing it, you blurt out the most pressing question in your mind. “And what if I refuse?”
“Refuse?”
“Yeah, I mean, this sounds great and all… but I’m not about this mafia life and fighting whatever gang rival you have. Maybe you are mistaken about me.”
“Then…” A dangerous gleam flashes in Agust’s eyes, and before you know it, his hand moves beneath the table. In one swift motion, he pulls out a sleek, polished handgun, the metallic click echoing as he cocks a bullet into the barrel. You flinch, eyes widening as he aims it in your direction, his expression dark but laced with amusement.
“I’ll just kill you right here.” He pauses, letting the threat hang in the air before he lets out a dry laugh.
Holy shit.
What the fuck is that switch-up!?
You knew this man is insane, from the moment he handed you a katana and nearly let you cut him down.
He chuckles softly, an unsettling sound that made your heart race even faster. “Honestly, this could work in my favor anyway.”
Agust tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he keeps the gun trained on you. "Then he will never get his hands on you. Ending it here sounds like a fine choice, doesn’t it?” His tone is almost casual, as if he were discussing nothing more consequential than the weather.
Your throat feels tight, but you hold his gaze, refusing to back down. His words hang in the air, blending with the heavy silence of the room. The other men seated at the table look on, stone-faced, while Adora remains calm, her eyes studying you carefully. You can tell she’s a little worried for you.
“You really think you can just kill me off?” you manage, trying to mask the tremor in your voice. “All this talk about me being your right hand, about me holding the key to something you need. If I’m that important, you can’t just get rid of me. Then you’ll never find what you’re looking for.”
Agust’s lips curl into a smirk. “Oh, doll, I like that fire,” he says, lowering the gun ever so slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. Great, just what you need—a compliment from your potential murderer. “You’re right. I can’t just let you go that easily.”
He leans back, his gaze unwavering as he places the gun on the table, almost within reach yet tantalizingly out of yours. “Let’s make something clear,” he continues, his voice softening yet holding that sharp edge. “You’re right. You’re valuable to me, too valuable to throw away—at least for now.”
For now? That’s comforting. What does ‘for now’ even mean in this context? You thought you were friends for a long time by now. Doesn’t sound like it from this.
The tension in the room lessens slightly, though your pulse is still racing. Agust’s words feel like a reprieve, but only just; you know there’s always another game behind his every sentence, and the stakes are dangerously high.
“Alright,” you reply, forcing a bit of calm into your voice. “Then tell me more. You say I’m the key to something… What is it exactly?”
Agust shrugs, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable. “For now, let’s say it’s a treasure—one that’s extremely valuable to both me and… other interested parties.” He gives a small, almost lazy wave of his hand, brushing off the details as if they’re minor inconveniences.
“Other interested parties?” you press, sensing he’s holding back. “Like the person you’re supposedly protecting me from?”
Agust’s eyes narrow slightly, as though debating just how much he wants to divulge. He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair, and gives a curt nod.
“Yes, exactly like that person. But don’t worry about…them,” he says, his voice dipping lower, almost like a threat wrapped in reassurance. “With me around, you’re safe. They won’t touch you. Besides, doll, you led them on quite a chase right before the accident that happened to you….And now, they know better than to mess with one of the biggest mafias in Bangkok, especially one that has the police wrapped around its finger.”
The words settle over you like a heavy blanket, the weight of the implications sinking in. You haven’t just ended up here by chance, nor is this some benevolent offer of protection. The people after you aren’t merely rivals—they’re people who chased you, people you evaded in the past. And now, you’re under the protection of not just any organization, but a criminal empire with authority woven tightly into Bangkok’s very fabric.
“Wrapped around your finger?” you echo, incredulous but with a hint of fascination you can’t suppress.
He smirks, leaning back in his chair as though he’s merely recounting a successful business venture. “Yes, Bangkok’s finest wouldn’t dare cross me. I’m a chief detective, after all. It’s all very convenient, don’t you think?”
Right, because every girl dreams of being involved with a chief detective who moonlights as a mafia boss. What’s next? A romantic comedy?
You feel your pulse throb in your temples in disbelief. “So that’s why they won’t come after me here?”
“Exactly,” he replies, his tone almost smug. “To come after you here would be a death sentence for them. And they know it.”
You mean, you can’t argue with that logic. Guess you’ll have to stick around this madness for a while.
You slowly slide off the table, feeling the lingering tension in your limbs as you settle back into your seat at the far end of the dining table. Agust watches you with that familiar smirk, clearly pleased with the subtle shift in your demeanor. Once seated, you exhale, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze again.
“And if you continue to stay here,” he begins, his tone softer but laced with intent, “there’s a chance your memories will eventually come back, piece by piece. Trying to leave and figure it all out on your own would be… risky, to say the least.”
He’s giving you an out, it seems, yet he isn’t. The faintest hint of a choice dangles in front of you, a chance to regain who you are—or escape before you learn too much.
Agust’s gaze never wavers. “If you want answers—if you want to understand what’s locked away in that mind of yours—staying is your best option.”
Adora’s gaze is unwavering as well, as though silently urging you to take Agust’s offer. You glance at the others around the table, all of them still and watchful, a powerful, immovable force surrounding you.
“And if I don’t stay?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
He sighs, though his eyes hold the barest glint of amusement. “Then I suppose you’ll be putting all that fire to good use. Running from a lot of people… including me.” His smirk softens, but his words are as sharp as ever. “The most dangerous game. It’s your choice, doll. But remember, what’s waiting for you out there isn’t likely to be as welcoming as here.”
Nice way to put it. A warm welcome with care followed by a bullet?
You lean back, trying to process everything. It’s surreal—being told you’ve been living some double life as the right hand to a mafia boss, that you’ve led people on a chase through Bangkok, and now, because of all this, there are people actively out to get you. Just yesterday… well, whenever “yesterday” is, you have no memory of this life. And now, Agust is offering you a choice. Either stay here and trust him to help you find yourself again, or leave and risk everything on your own.
You look down, hands fidgeting on your lap as you think it over. Realistically? You don’t have a lot of options. Even if you leave, where would you go? How would you survive with no memory of who you are? Just the idea of stumbling around Bangkok, a city you barely even remember, trying to outwit… whoever is after you seems like a suicide mission.
Besides, there’s something oddly reassuring about Agust, even if his methods are a bit terrifying. He doesn’t look like he’s about to pull any punches, and for some reason, that makes you trust him more. He isn’t hiding who he is or what he’s capable of, and he isn’t sugar-coating the risks. The entire mafia thing is insane, sure, but something in you stirs with a strange familiarity when he speaks about it. It’s as if you’ve known all along, buried somewhere deep down.
You steal another glance at him, noting how he’s watching you, calm and expectant. He isn’t pushing you, just waiting for you to come to a conclusion.
Finally, you sigh and look up, meeting his gaze. “Fine,” you say, exhaling as if to release the last bits of resistance. “I’ll stay. You protect me, and I… I’ll do whatever I did before and help you get what you’re looking for. If this is my best chance at getting those memories back, then I’ll take it.”
A satisfied smile curves Agust’s lips. “Good girl. I knew you’d come around.”
Adora, who’s been watching from across the table, gives a small and excited nod, and the other bodyguards exchange glances. The tension in the room eases, like the whole crew has been waiting for your decision.
“All right, then,” you say, half to yourself. “Guess I’m back to… whatever this is.”
Agust chuckles. “Welcome back to the family.”
–
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➸ a(mygdala) pilot one shot #1 - distraction and one shot #2 - infatuation
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a/n: thank you so much reading! apologies for the very dialogue heavy first chapter in this series as I needed to set up the vibe and expectation of reader and Agust D. We'll get more into the mafia bitty gritty in the next chapter as well as eventual smut in later chapaters for these two before shit goes down hehehehe im sorry it'll be a bit of a wait since it's slow burn... but there will be a ton of charged up tension leading into it heheheheh
i had planned to release this earlier this month but after a very intensive job hunt for the past year + 7 months, i finally found a new job! yay! cries... so future updates will take some time. but please please feel free to send me your thoughts or suggestions on things you'd like to see in this series in the future and i will make sure to incorporate it. :) until next time!
Warnings: Hurt, kidnapping, mentions of murder and death, crying, cursing, angst
An: doves mom's name is Cassandra btw!!
Doves heart slammed against her ribs so hard it hurt.
No.
No, no, no.
Her hands were tied behind the chair, rough rope digging into her wrists. Panic exploded through her chest as she struggled, a muffled cry trapped behind the tape covering her mouth.
The woman she'd buried years ago stood in front of her.
"Dove."
Tears immediately flooded her eyes.
Cassandra sighed.
"Oh."
She stepped forward and, without warning, ripped the tape from Dove's mouth.
"Fuck!" Dove cried, wincing as the skin around her lips burned. She sucked in a shaky breath. "Mom...?"
Cassandra didn't answer.
Dove stared at her, taking in every detail. She looked older. Fine lines framed her face now, and a thin scar cut across her cheek. Her hair had strands of gray she didn't remember.
"You..." Dove whispered, her voice breaking. "You're alive."
Silence.
"You let me think you were dead."
Nothing.
"I buried you."
Still nothing.
Her chest ached so badly she thought she might throw up.
Cassandra looked her up and down.
"I always knew you'd grow up to be someone strong."
Her lips curled into a smile that made Dove's stomach twist.
"I made sure of it."
A chill raced down Dove's spine.
"I want to go home."
"This is home now."
"No." Dove shook her head furiously. "Home is with matt"
At the sound of his name, Cassandra smiled.
"He'll come for me," Dove said, her voice trembling. "I know he will."
"Oh, sweetheart..." Cassandra said softly. "I know."
She paused.
"That's why I took you."
Dove's blood ran cold.
"You see...im working with Enzo Vitale."
The name hit her like a punch.
"As you know the Sturniolos have been rivals for as long as it's can remember..... I never planned to see you again." Cassandra's expression didn't change. "Truthfully... I never wanted to. But I needed you."
"...Needed me?"
"You were the perfect bait."
Dove felt sick.
"We're going to bring Matt Sturniolo to us. Strip him of everything he has. His empire. His power. And when he's gone..." Cassandra shrugged. "His brothers are next."
"No," Dove whispered.
"First," Cassandra continued, "Enzo is going to kill you."
Dove's breath caught.
"He wants Matt to watch someone he loves die... just like Enzo had to."
She swallowed hard.
"Years ago, Matt killed Enzo's wife during a fight. He was protecting himself, but Enzo doesn't care. He wants Matt to feel that same pain before he kills him... and the rest of his family."
Rage replaced the fear in Dove's chest.
"If either of you touches Matt..." Her voice shook. "I'll fucking kill you."
Cassandra laughed.
"You?"
"I don't care if I die afterward." Tears spilled down Dove's cheeks. "I'll kill anyone who hurts him. And why? Why fake your death mom. Why do all of this? "
For a moment, Cassandra simply watched her.
Then she sighed.
"I faked my death because it was the only way to disappear. Too many people wanted me dead, and I had plans that couldn't happen with a family tying me down. It was easier to let the world believe i died. To bad your father had to pay the price."
Dove stared at her in horror.
"You left me."
"I did."
"You let dad die."
"I did."
"You let me mourn you for years."
"I did."
Each answer shattered another piece of Dove's heart.
The door opened behind Cassandra.
She turned to leave.
"Get some rest, Dove."
The lock clicked shut.
The room fell silent.
Dove's breathing turned into broken, panicked gasps.
Matt.
God, she needed Matt.
She needed his voice, his arms around her, the way he'd always made her feel safe.
A sob escaped her lips as one terrifying truth settled into her chest.
She loved him.
She loved him so much it hurt.
And she'd burn this entire fucking place to the ground before she let Enzo or Cassandra lay a hand on him.
