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daegudrama · 22 days ago

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Title: Route 613

Pairing: Reader/Namjoon, Reader/Yoongi, Reader/Vmin

Summary: Reader wants to be the very best Pokémon trainer there ever was. Her first stop in that journey is Paldea University home to a myriad of higher education. Still working to get over her ex boyfriend, Yoongi, reader forms new connections while making a few questionable decisions along the way. Each battle bringing her closer to the glory she's always dreamed of. Will she succeed in becoming champion or will outside forces stop her from achieving her goal?

Word Count: 6.8K

Disclaimer: Real life ages mean nothing in this fic. Refer here for ages and my shitty graphics

cross posted to ao3 here

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Chapter 10

The walk to the studio is quick, but your mind races with thoughts of how the photoshoot might go. By the time you arrive, a few of the other trainers are already there, waiting outside. You recognize a couple of them, students you’ve seen in passing or battled before. They eye you and Yoongi with quiet recognition, and you can feel the silent rivalry brewing already. The next few months are going to be a lot of that.

A staff member ushers everyone inside, where the studio is set up with bright lights and backdrops. The atmosphere is buzzing with energy, but there’s an underlying tension. These aren’t just your peers anymore, these are the competitors you’ll have to defeat.

Professor Oak is standing in front of the backdrop waiting for all sixteen trainers to arrive. Once everyone is standing shoulder to shoulder he claps his hands together with an excited smile.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it this far. The sixteen of you have been selected as Paldea University’s top trainers.” Gasps sound around you as Professor Oak speaks. He knew this was going to happen and he looks oh so pleased with himself. “I’m going to call your names, please step forward. Get acquainted with each other or don’t…the people around you are your competition.”

Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest as Professor Oak begins calling names. “YN,” You step forward letting everyone look at you for a moment before you step back into line next to Yoongi. “Yoongi Min, Hiyyih Huening, Yunjin Huh, Jungkook Jeon, Chaewon Kim, Seungkwan Boo, Sana Minatozaki, Jihyo Park, Hajoon Lee, Jongho Choi, Junhui Wen, Soonyoung Kwon.” You look down the line to see who Soonyoung is because you swear you have never heard that name before. Everyone in this room should be familiar because you are in the same program. A third year student steps forward, one you have met several times. No one has ever called him by his given name before. Everyone calls him Hoshi.

“Jihoon Lee,” Again you look down the line and see another older student that has been nicknamed Woozi. “Mingyu Kim, and finally Taehyung Kim.”

The room is silent as the final name echoes around the studio. You glance over at Taehyung’s familiar face and see he has an air of confidence. He steps forward with a small, unreadable smile, as if he knows something the rest of you don’t.

With everyone standing shoulder to shoulder, Professor Oak clears his throat. “This year, we’re starting something new.” His eyes gleam with excitement. “We’re going to commemorate the top sixteen trainers with a photoshoot, something I hope becomes a tradition here at Paldea University.”

Murmurs ripple through the group, this is unprecedented. It’s clear from the surprise on some faces that no one expected this twist. You are glad you were warned ahead of time.

Professor Oak continues, “These photos will not only mark your journey but also remind future trainers of the level of competition they’ll need to rise to. You’re the first class to be honored this way, and I hope to see this tradition continue long after you’ve graduated.”

He gestures to the photographers. “Let’s get started. Individual shots first, followed by a group photo.”

You hear your name called and step forward, the reality of the moment sinking in. This is no casual photoshoot, it’s a declaration. Someone standing near the camera hands you a shirt similar to a soccer jersey. It's a deep green color with stripes of white on the side. On the front it says ‘Winter Tournament 20XX’ and on the back is your last name. After putting on the shirt the flash of the camera captures you in a moment of confidence, though your mind races with thoughts of the battles to come. This photo will represent the start of something that will likely outlast your time at Paldea, whether as a champion or a competitor. They take a second set of photos in your Oak’s club jacket.

Yoongi steps forward next, his gaze unwavering as the lights capture his cool demeanor. His competitive edge is palpable, but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more in his expression when he glances your way. Does he have to do this right now?

As the photoshoot progresses, the tension builds. This isn’t just about recognition—it’s a reminder that every face in this room will soon be your direct competition. With only six weeks until the tournament, every moment counts. You are sandwiched between Hiyyih and Jungkook in the group photo and you wonder if this has anything to do with how Professor Oak thinks you might rank.

After the shoot, Professor Oak addresses the group once more. “This is the beginning. The competition is real, and the stakes are high. But remember, only two of you will get the honor of facing the gym leaders. And not a word of this until Friday!!”

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

Until Friday you keep mostly to yourself, determined not to let anything about making the top sixteen slip. This makes it easier for you to spend countless hours training without interruption. It’s harder than you imagined to keep the secret but also the way everything seems to be shifting around you. The quiet rivalry with Yoongi is coming back, even though it’s unspoken. Hiyyih is helping keep you grounded, though you both feel the weight of what’s ahead.

Every conversation with Namjoon this week has felt strained. You know it’s because of the tournament, you can’t tell him about making the top sixteen, not yet. The rules are strict, and the last thing you want is to risk disqualification or whatever Professor Oak would do.

Still, Namjoon seems rightfully confused, maybe even hurt. Every time you avoid a hangout or cut a conversation short, you can see the question in his eyes, though he doesn’t say anything.

By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, you’re feeling the weight of both the secret and your silence. The announcement about the winter tournament is set for 7PM, where the entire school will find out about the top sixteen trainers on the new battlefields and stands prepared just for this tournament. The excitement is palpable across campus, and it’s becoming harder to stay out of the buzz.

Just hours before the big announcement, Namjoon finally pulls you aside. His face is serious, eyes filled with concern as he corners you just outside one of the training grounds.

“Can we talk for a minute?” he asks, his voice slow, but steady.

You hesitate but nod, stepping away from the main path where others might overhear.

He shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes. "Look, I’ve noticed you’ve been...distant lately. Ever since I told you how I feel." He pauses, the tension heavy between you. “If I made you uncomfortable by confessing, I’m really sorry. I don’t want you to be burdened by or feel responsible for my feelings. I don’t want to lose our friendship because of it. But if it’s not that—if something else is going on—just tell me. Please.”

You feel your heart twist at his words. Namjoon’s vulnerability hits hard, and you hate that you’ve put him in this position. You want to reassure him, to tell him that it’s not what he thinks, but the words stick in your throat. The top sixteen is still a secret, and you can’t break that promise—not even for him.

You take a deep breath, shaking your head gently. "Namjoon, it’s not about that. You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I promise." You try to offer him a small, reassuring smile. "There’s just... a lot going on right now that I can’t talk about. But it’s not what you’re thinking."

He frowns, clearly not satisfied with your vague explanation. "If it’s not that, then what? You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

You want to tell him. You want to explain everything, but the words don’t come. You’re locked into this secret until 7 PM. You put a hand on his bicep giving it a light squeeze.

"I’m sorry, Namjoon. I really can’t explain right now, but I need you to trust me."

He sighs, looking down at his feet for a moment before nodding. "Okay...I trust you. But please, don’t shut me out." His voice softens, and you can see the worry etched in his features. "We’re still friends, right?"

"Of course," you answer quickly, and this time the smile you give him is genuine. "Always."

Namjoon steps back, giving you a small, tentative smile in return. "Alright. I guess I’ll see you at the announcement then."

As he walks away, you feel a mixture of relief and guilt. You know everything will come out soon enough, but until then, the weight of the secret keeps pressing down on you.

By 7 PM, the entire school gathers in the newly constructed Pokémon battlefields for the highly anticipated winter tournament. The atmosphere is electric as students fill the stands, their eyes glued to the large screens surrounding the pristine battlefield. Everyone is eager to learn who the top sixteen trainers are, the ones who will represent Paldea University in this year's tournament. The top sixteen are standing just out of view from most of the spectors.

Professor Oak strides to the center of the battlefield, his excitement evident in his broad smile. "Good evening, everyone!" His voice echoes across the arena, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. "Welcome to the winter tournament announcement, the first in our brand-new battlefields."

He pauses to gesture around at the expansive space, the shimmering lights reflecting off the smooth surfaces. "This year, we're unveiling not only the battle grounds but also the rankings of the top sixteen trainers, as determined by the evaluations of your professors. These rankings represent not only your battle abilities but also your growth, strategy, and potential as trainers."

The anticipation builds as Professor Oak continues, his voice commanding the attention of everyone in the room. You were not expecting this. He didn’t say anything about this. He always has another trick up his sleeve. You look to the side and see each of your competitors' faces filled with just as much confusion as yours. "Let’s get started, shall we? I’ll introduce the top sixteen trainers, ranked according to the recommendations of your professors."

The large screens come to life, displaying the names of the top sixteen trainers. Your heart races as you wait for your name to be called. The energy in the air is palpable, and every trainer standing nearby is on edge.

"Hiyyih Huening, ranked first."

The crowd erupts in surprise and applause as Hiyyih steps forward, her expression a mixture of pride and determination. You can see the fire in her eyes as she takes her place as the top-ranked trainer. She shoots you a confident smile, clearly ready for the challenge ahead. Hiyyih has earned this title, even if she won’t keep it for long.

"Jungkook Jeon, ranked second."

Jungkook steps forward, his name appearing on the screen in bold letters. The crowd murmurs in approval—Jungkook is known for his skill, and seeing him ranked this high is no surprise to anyone.

"YN, ranked third."

Your name echoes through the battlefield, and you step forward, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze on you. The murmurs grow louder as people realize just how high you’ve been ranked. You steal a glance at Namjoon across the battlefield, catching the surprise on his face. There’s no turning back now.

Professor Oak continues calling out names, and the tension only rises with each ranking.

"Yoongi Min, ranked fourth."

Yoongi steps forward, his usual calm expression giving little away, though you know the competitive fire burns beneath the surface. He glances at you, a subtle acknowledgment of the challenge ahead.

"Jongho Choi, ranked fifth."

Jongho steps forward, his face unreadable but his stance radiating confidence. His presence in the top five causes another ripple of murmurs through the crowd.

"Taehyung Kim, ranked sixth."

"Hoshi Kwon, ranked seventh."

"Jihyo Park, ranked eighth."

The names continue, and the crowd grows louder with each reveal. You feel a sense of relief as you watch your friends take their places on the battlefield, knowing that the competition is going to be fierce.

Finally, Professor Oak reaches the end of the list.

"And rounding out the top sixteen, Yunjin Huh, ranked sixteenth."

She is going to be giving you an earful for sure. You aren’t sure you agree with Yunjin being last, but then again someone has to be last. Being selected at all means she has shown exceptional excellence. Though sometimes she does let her emotions rule her decisions. Several times you have watched her get flustered when it was obvious she was losing. It only made her performance worse.

With all the names called, Professor Oak smiles at the assembled trainers. "These rankings are just the beginning. Over the next six weeks we will tell you who the first round of competitors will be facing off against and over the course of this tournament, you’ll all have the chance to prove your skills. Remember, no ranking is final—the battles ahead will decide who truly stands at the top."

The crowd erupts in applause, excitement buzzing in the air as the tournament officially kicks off. You barely register the cheers, your mind racing with the weight of what’s ahead. You are swarmed by your friends, most of whom are now also your competitors.

“We are going to get drinks at Brock’s!” Jimin says, his arm proudly wrapped around Taehyung’s shoulder. “See you there.”

Jimin, Taehyung, Yunjin, Hiyyih, Yoongi and Chaewon walk off towards the many steps leading into town. They are practically bouncing with their excitement. Namjoon appears beside you with a proud smile playing on his lips.

Namjoon meets your eyes, his familiar smile back in place but tinged with relief. “I knew it,” he says, his voice warm with pride. “I knew you were going to be selected. Congratulations, YN.”

You smile back, your pulse still racing from the reveal to the entire school. “Thanks,” you say, feeling your shoulders loosen as the weight of keeping the secret lifts.

Namjoon shifts, glancing down for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry for acting weird earlier,” he admits softly, his voice filled with honesty. “I guess I’ve just been overthinking. After I told you how I feel, I’ve been more…vulnerable, I guess? And with you being distant this week, it made me jump to conclusions that I messed up or pushed you away.”

Your heart clenches at his words. You’ve been so wrapped up in the tournament, so focused on keeping the secret, that you didn’t realize how much you were unintentionally shutting him out.

You open your mouth to respond, to maybe tell him something about your own feelings, but the words stall in your throat. Instead, you shift the conversation, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“When did you want to tell me? You know, before you kind of…blurted it out.”

Namjoon chuckles softly, his shoulders relaxing a little.

“Honestly? I didn’t have a set moment. I thought maybe after the tournament, once everything calmed down. Then I was thinking two or three weeks from now so you would have time to process it before the tournament starts. But then, I felt like if I didn’t say it then, I’d never get another chance. So it just sort of came out.”

You laugh lightly. “I’m glad you told me. Now come on, let’s catch up with the rest of them.”

Namjoon and you walk together toward Brock’s, the bar that everyone is heading to after the announcement. As you near the bar, the sound of laughter and conversation spills out onto the street, along with the soft strumming of live acoustic music playing from inside. The warm glow of the neon sign above the door reads “Brock’s Tavern” in large, bold letters, and you can already tell the place is packed with students celebrating the reveal of the winter tournament rankings.

Stepping inside, the atmosphere is electric. The lights are low, casting everything in a soft, golden hue. Strings of fairy lights hand across the ceiling, and the brick walls are adorned with pictures of famous trainer battles. The bar itself is polished wood, lined with stools, most of them already taken. People are standing around the high tables and booths, talking animatedly, clinking glasses, and toasting to the upcoming battles.

The scent of fire snacks, pizza, and fresh drinks fills the air, making your mouth water. The place hums with excitement, and it feels like everyone here is celebrating something. Over by the bar, Jimin is laughing loudly, clearly in his element, with Taehyung and Hiyyih engaged in a competitive arm wrestling match, drawing many cheers from those around them.

You and Namjoon make your way through the crowd joining your friends. Hiyyih hands you a drink and you gladly accept. She’s beaming with pride and you can’t help but think she deserves this ranking.

After a while you slip away the group finding yourself drifting towards Yoongi, who is casually against the back wall, sipping a drink. His expression is calm, but his eyes are alert, quietly taking everything in. You notice Yunjin seated nearby, just out of earshot, but her usual lively energy is missing. She’s nursing a drink, her eyes downcast, and you can’t help but wonder if her low ranking is weighing on her more than she’d like to admit. “Third place, huh? Not bad,” he says, his voice low and calm, but there’s a competitive edge to his words.

“Fourth’s not too shabby either,” you reply, matching his tone.

For a moment the two of you remain silent. You can tell he’s holding back from asking something, waiting for you to speak first. “So,” Yoongi finally breaks the silence, his voice low, teasing. “Did you have that little chat with Namjoon?”

You turn, your back stiffening at the question. When did he suddenly go back to rude Yoongi? He’s been oddly nice recently, decent even. Maybe it’s because of the time you’ve spent together in bed but still. Now right after the rankings come out, he’s suddenly cold again. You roll your eyes but don’t meet his gaze. You can’t let him know how confusing this feels right now.

“Why do you care?” you ask with a little more venom than necessary.

He takes a step towards you, his lips curling into that smirk that you both hate and can’t help but notice. It’s a look you’ve seen hundreds of times before, one that pulls you in and drives you mad all at once. Maybe he’s acting this way because he’s had a few too many to drink? “Oh, I don’t know…thought maybe you’d want to share how that went. What’d he say? Something sweet?” His voice drops, mocking, as if he’s already heard every word of the conversation and is just toying with you now.

Your fingers twitch at your side, irritation bubbling up as you finally meet his eyes. His expression is unreadable like he’s trying to gauge your reaction. Or maybe...maybe he’s angry? Upset that you ranked third and he ranked fourth. The idea tugs at your mind, but you brush it aside for now. “Yeah we talked.” you snap back. “What’s it to you?”

Yoongi hums, coming ever closer. Too close. His smirk widens as he peers down at you, eyes dark with that lazy intensity that never fails to make your pulse race. “Just wondering if he gave you everything you needed,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost intimate. “Or if you’re still looking for something else.”

The words hang in the air, thick with implication, and your heart races, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Is he jealous? Upset that you ranked higher? Or was this just Yoongi being Yoongi, pushing your buttons like he always does? The thought nags at you, but you force yourself to stay composed.

You step back slightly, lifting your chin with a forced smirk. “You think that’s any of your business?”

Yoongi’s grin widens, his dark eyes locked onto yours as he steps even closer, crowding your space. “I think it’s very much my business. You always come back, don’t you?”

His words hit deeper than you’d like to admit, the truth behind them cutting through your defenses. You always end up here, tangled in whatever this thing is between you two. It’s not soft or simple, it’s sharp, messy, and it pulls you in every time.

Your jaw clenches as you try to stand your ground. “You think too highly of yourself.”

He chuckles, the sound low and knowing, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. His touch is light but deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. “Maybe. But we both know how this goes.”

Your breath catches at his touch, but you force yourself to stay firm, even though your heart is pounding in your chest. “I’m not playing your games, Yoongi.”

His smirk deepens, turning darker, more dangerous. He leans in, his lips just brushing past your ear, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Who said anything about games?”

The words send a jolt through you, and you curse yourself for letting him get this close again. You know you should push him away, but instead, you’re stuck—frozen in the electric pull between you two, your body betraying you.

Yoongi pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression unreadable. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you better than anyone.”

Your fists clench at your sides, frustration and something else—something dangerous—bubbling inside you. He always knows how to push your buttons, how to cut through your walls with just a look or a touch. And as much as you hate it, part of you knows he’s right.

“Yoongi—” you start, but your voice comes out sharper than you meant it to, and he cuts you off before you can finish.

“I’m free tonight,” he says, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “In case you get… lonely.” His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back up, locking onto yours with a look that makes your breath catch.

The air between you feels thick, heavy with unsaid words and unspoken tension. For a second, you’re tempted. You can still feel the ghost of his touch, and part of you wants to fall back into it. But you can’t, you won’t.

“You wish,” you shoot back, defiant.

Yoongi’s smirk only deepens, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Maybe. But I won’t be the one wishing later.”

There’s a long, charged silence between you, the tension crackling like static. Finally, you take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between you. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“And you love it,” Yoongi counters easily, his voice smooth as ever.

You don’t respond, just glare at him before turning away, your pulse still racing. You hate how easily he gets under your skin, how he always knows exactly what to say to throw you off balance. But most of all, you hate that part of you doesn’t want him to stop.

As you walk away, you can still feel his eyes on you, his presence lingering even when you’re no longer standing next to him. And no matter how much you tell yourself you’re done with him, you know it’s not that simple. Because no matter what, you always end up right back here, caught in this dangerous, intoxicating pull.

“You good?” Hiyyih asks when you rejoin the group, her brow furrowed in concern.

You force a smile, shaking your head slightly to shake off the lingering tension from your encounter with Yoongi.

“Yeah, just... you know how it is.” You shrug, trying to keep your tone light.

Hiyyih eyes you skeptically, clearly not buying it. “You sure? You seemed a little... intense back there.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “Was it about the rankings?”

You roll your eyes, feeling a flush of annoyance creeping up your neck. “I really don’t know.” You glance around the group, taking in their chatter and laughter, the familiar comfort of friends. It’s hard to believe how quickly things can shift from playful to complicated.

Hiyyih watches you closely, her expression softening. “Just be careful, okay? You don’t want to get too tangled up in whatever this is. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

You nod, feeling the weight of her words. “I know. I’m trying to keep my focus.”

“Good. Just remember, you have us.” She gestures to the rest of the group, who are still laughing and teasing one another, a comforting backdrop to the chaos swirling in your mind.

“Yeah, thanks,” you say, genuinely grateful. It’s a small relief to have friends who see you through the madness. As the conversation shifts back to lighthearted banter, you force yourself to join in, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Yoongi, to the way he looks at you and how easily he pulls you in. Not wanting to think about these feelings any longer you decide it’s time to leave. “I’m going to head out.”

Hiyyih looks understanding and quickly offers to walk back to the dorm with you.

“It’s okay. I’ll walk with her.” Namjoon says, appearing behind you. You didn’t realize he was so close by.

“Joon, it’s okay I can walk home by myself.” You insist, but he’s not going to take no for an answer.

“I was going to leave soon anyway.” He replies.

With a brief goodbye to the rest of your friends Namjoon and you head into the cool night air. He takes your hand in his large one. It’s peaceful for a few moments before Namjoon speaks up.

“What happened back there?” His voice is soft and careful.

“Yoongi was being weird. He’s been so nice lately then…I guess I should explain what he was asking about.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me.” He says with a reassuring squeeze of your hand.

You bite your lip before saying the next words. “Well it’s about you.”

“Huh?” Namjoon looks over at you with a questioning look.

“After you confessed to me I sat alone for a while, but then I ended up going to Yoongi’s dorm. He was very…” Your mind fills with images of Yoongi touching you. “understanding. I told him you confessed to me and I didn’t know what to do.”

“He must be jealous that you're spending time with me and that you ranked better than him.” Namjoon muses. You look into his eyes and are glad to see no anger. “You could’ve just talked to me.”

“My head was a mess. Still kind of is.”

He pulls you to a stop and cradles your cheek in his free hand. He pushes your hair away from your face. The dim street lights shining on his face somehow make him look even more dream like.

“That’s okay.” He brings his face closer to yours. Just inches between your lips. Your heart stammers in your chest. “I’m always here for you, YN.”

He backs away with a low laugh and the two of you continue back to your dorm. When you reach the door Namjoon drops your hand but doesn’t make a move to leave.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Namjoon hesitates for a second, glancing at the door before meeting your eyes again. “Are you sure?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a mix of warmth and caution.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He returns the smile, and together you step inside, the atmosphere between you two comfortable yet charged with an underlying current of unspoken emotions. As you close the door behind you, the quiet of your room seems to wrap around both of you, offering a sense of privacy and relief from the night’s tension.

Namjoon sits on the edge of your bed, looking around as if taking in the small details of your space. You move to join him, sitting beside him, close but not quite touching. For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s the kind of silence that feels safe, like there’s no pressure to fill it with unnecessary words.

Eventually, you lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. Namjoon lets out a soft sigh, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you a little closer. His touch is gentle, comforting, and you relax into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

“Thank you for walking me home.” You murmur, your voice quiet, almost drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat. Being next to him feels different, softer than what you shared with Yoongi. Namjoon’s presence is grounding, safe.

The two of you scoot to the top of your bed so you are leaning against the headboard. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing slow soothing circles on your side.

“I know part of what is causing this confused, torn feeling is me, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m still here for you and I’m not going anywhere.”

You take in Namjoon’s words, feeling the sincerity behind them. His steady presence, the warmth of his body pressed against your, makes you feel secure in a way that surprises you. It’s as if all the chaos and confusion swirling inside your mind calms. You tilt your head slightly, glancing up at him.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Namjoon chuckles softly, his thumb continuing to draw slow circles on your side. “You don’t have to deserve me, YN. I want to be here.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I know things are complicated with…everything else, but I’m okay with that. You can figure things out at your own pace. Just…let me be here with you while you do.”

His words make your chest tighten in a way that’s both comforting and overwhelming. He’s giving you space, but at the same time, he’s offering to stay by your side. It’s not something you’re used to.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “You’re too good for me,” you say, half joking, but there’s a part of you that believes it.

Namjoon’s arm tightens around you just a little. “I think you’re selling yourself short.” he replies, his voice soft and reassuring.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, only broken by the sound of steady breathing. For a while the two of you lie there. Your head rested against his chest listening to the beat of his heart. His hand strokes the back of your hair.

Several minutes later his heart starts beating quickly and you tilt your head to look into his eyes.

“Are you nervous?” You say, and when he gives you a confused look you continue, “What were you thinking about?”

Namjoon covers his face with both hands, obviously embarrassed by whatever he was thinking about. You move to pull his hands away and when you are successful you see a beautiful blush painting his cheeks.

“I was thinking about kissing you.”

Your own heart races and before you can think better of it you reply, “Why don’t you do it?”

“Are you sure?”

“Please kiss me.” You say, letting your hand rest on the curve of his jaw. His hand moves back down to your waist. “Maybe it’ll help me work through some things.”

“O-okay.”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker with a mixture of uncertainty and longing as he leans in slowly, giving you ample time to change your mind. But you don’t want to, in fact you feel a pull toward him, something soft and magnetic. His lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, as if he’s afraid of moving too quickly. The kiss is gentle, a slow, careful exploration, his warmth enveloping you as he lingers there.

His hand moves from your waist to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers slipping through your hair as he deepens the kiss ever so slightly. It’s not rushed. It’s tender, as if he’s trying to tell you something with every soft movement of his lips, something beyond words. You respond in kind, your hand tracing along his jaw, feeling the light stubble beneath your fingers as you tilt your head to meet him more fully.

Namjoon pulls away for a brief moment, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. His thumb brushes against your cheek, his gaze filled with something so soft and full of care that it makes your heart swell. “You okay?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, feeling breathless but in the best way possible. “Yeah,” you reply softly, leaning back in before you lose your courage. “I’m more than okay.”

The second kiss is more assured, his lips pressing against yours with a bit more confidence, and you feel yourself melting into him. His hand slides from your neck down to your waist, pulling you closer until there is no space left between you. The warmth of his body seeps into your, grounding you, anchoring you in this moment.

You shift slightly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he adjusts his position, gently guiding you onto your back. He hovers over you, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming, his lips never leaving yours for more than a second as he kisses you again and again, each one sending sparks of warmth through your body.

It’s slow, careful—everything about this moment is soft, like he’s savoring every second with you, like he’s making sure you’re okay at every step. His kisses trail from your lips to the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, and then back up again, always returning to your lips, as if they’re home.

Namjoon shifts back onto his side pulling you close again. You gasp softly when his hand slips under your shirt, his palm resting on the small of your back, the heat from his touch is making your skin tingle. But he doesn’t push any further, his movements always measured, asking silently if this is okay. And it is. It more than is.

Namjoon’s lips meet yours once more, his kiss deepening in intensity but still retaining the same gentleness. It’s like he’s memorizing every touch, every sigh that escapes your lips. His fingers press softly into your back, holding you closer as you both sink deeper into the kiss. The weight of him above you feels comforting, safe and you find yourself completely wrapped up in him and his warmth, his touch, and his quiet breaths against your skins.

Your hands travel up his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt as you move your fingers slowly, tracing the lines of his body like you’re learning him for the first time. Which you suppose, you are. Namjoon responds with a quiet, almost inaudible groan, his lips parting slightly as he kisses you more eagerly now. His tongue grazes against yours, sending a shiver down your spine, and you can feel his hesitation slipping away, replaced by the need to be closer to you.

His hand slides up your side, beneath the fabric of your shirt, but again, he never rushes. His touch is soft, his fingers barely grazing your skin as he pauses, giving you space to let him know if it’s too much.

You tilt your head slightly, breaking the kiss just enough to catch your breath, your eyes meeting his. Namjoon’s gaze is intense, filled with a mix of longing and something deeper, something like admiration. His thumb brushes across your lips, his breathing uneven as he looks down at you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, but still so soft, so full of care.

“It’s not,” you reply, your voice just as breathless. You guide his hand a little higher, encouraging him to explore, to keep going, because this feels right.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath, his fingers moving slowly up your side, brushing over your ribs before finally resting just beneath your chest. He’s still so careful, so considerate, as if he’s afraid of breaking this fragile moment. But the heat between you both is growing, and you can feel his heartbeat racing just as fast as yours.

He leans in again, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one a little more desperate, a little more hungry, like he’s finally letting himself give in to the feelings he’s been holding back. You respond eagerly, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you again. His lips move down to your neck, pressing soft, open mouth kisses along your skin, and you can’t help the quiet gasp that escapes you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe, your fingertips tightening in his hair as he continues his slow exploration of your body. The sound of his name on your lips seems to spur him on, his kisses becoming more fervent, more insistent, but never losing that underlying tenderness.

Namjoon’s lips linger on yours for just a moment longer before he pulls back, breathing heavily. He scoots his bottom half away from your embrace and you already know what he’s about to say. His forehead still rests against yours, but there’s a tension in his body now that wasn’t there before. His eyes, dark with desire, search yours as if weighing something deeply.

“YN,” he murmurs, his voice husky yet filled with restraint.“If we keep going…I’m going to get too excited, and I don’t want to rush anything.” He’s being honest, his cheeks flushed slightly as he pulls back just enough to give both of you space. “I want you to be more sure of your feelings before we do more.”

Namjoon’s words hang in the air between you, his voice gentle but filled with a weight that makes your heart tighten. His forehead presses softly against yours, and you can feel the heat of his skin, the way his breath catches as he tries to calm himself down.

“I want this to feel right for both of us,” he continues, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “I care about you too much to…rush things.” His thumb brushes against your side in slow, soothing circles, grounding you both in the moment.

You take a deep breath, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. He’s being so careful, so considerate, and it only makes your feelings for him grow stronger. The tenderness in his actions, the way he’s willing to hold back mostly for your sake, even though you can feel the desire burning between you both—it makes you realize just how special this is.

“I understand,” you whisper, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. It’s a gentle, reassuring gesture, one that tells him you’re okay with the pace he’s setting, that you appreciate the space he’s giving you to sort through your emotions. Even when you want to do so much more with him. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

Namjoon smiles, his expression softening as he leans into the kiss for just a moment before pulling away. “You’re worth it,” he says simply, his voice filled with so much sincerity it makes your chest tighten.

With a quiet sigh, you both settle back into the comfortable embrace you’d shared before, the heat between you calming as you rest your head on his chest once again. His arm wraps around you, holding you close, while his other hand continues to stroke slow, soothing patterns along your side. The earlier tension has eased, replaced by a quiet, content feeling.

For a long while, neither of you speaks. The room is filled with the quiet sounds of your breathing, the steady thump of Namjoon’s heartbeat beneath your ear, and the soft rustling of fabric as you shift slightly to get more comfortable. You can feel the exhaustion from the day catching up with you, the warmth of his body against yours lulling you into a peaceful state of relaxation. The minutes tick by, and slowly, your eyes begin to drift shut. The weight of sleep tugs at you, and soon enough, you feel yourself slipping into a peaceful slumber, still wrapped in Namjoon’s embrace. His breathing grows slower, more even, and before long, you can tell he’s fallen asleep too.

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

In the morning you wake slowly, blinking against the soft light filtering through the curtains. For a moment everything seems perfect, the lingering warmth, and the faint scent of Namjoon’s cologne on your sheets, but as your eyes adjust, you realize the space beside you is empty. The spot where Namjoon had been holding you all night is cold now.

#route 613 #route 613 chapter 10 #bts fanfic #Kim namjoon #min yoongi #Yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #raes fics #pokemon au #pokemon crossover #bangtan

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daegudrama · 24 days ago

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the a(myg)dala (explicit) | myg

title: the a(myg)dala (explicit) 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 – –

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/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!

#ive been waiting for this one #LETS GOOOOO

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