Synopsis: After receiving a mysterious invitation back to Gotham, Y/n reluctantly returns home with his boyfriend, Chan, to attend a Wayne Foundation gala. What starts as an awkward family reunion quickly becomes a night of heartfelt reconciliations, overprotective brothers, embarrassing childhood stories, and unexpected warmth, while back at the dorms, one mischievous cat leaves Felix, Seungmin, and Jisung fighting for their lives…and their furniture.
MAIN CAST: BANG CHAN, LEE Y/N
SUPPORTING CAST: HAN JISUNG, LEE FELIX, KIM SEUNGMIN
EPISODE LENGTH: 7,038
SPECIAL DIRECTOR: @/airheadsaysbulaga
Felix’s room felt like a sanctuary after a week that had worn you thin. The air was warm, the lighting soft, and the whole space carried that quiet, lived in comfort that made it easy to melt into the mattress beneath you. You lay sprawled across his bed while he worked at the tension in your back, his hands moving with practiced care. Your face remained buried in his pillow, though that did little to hide the bloom of warmth creeping up your cheeks.
“I can still see you, sunshine,” Felix murmured, amusement tucked into every syllable.
“Ha-ha. Just oil me up, boy.”
He chuckled. “So mean to your masseuse, baby.”
“Yeah, well, he’s really unprofess—” The rest of your complaint dissolved into a breathy sound when his hands slid higher, thumbs sinking into the knots that had taken root between your shoulders. He kneaded them slowly, patiently, until the ache began to loosen. The quiet noise that escaped you was somewhere between a sigh and a whine.
“Hm?” Felix said, his voice turning teasing. “What was that, boy?”
You could hear the smirk in his tone. “That’s right, baby. Let hyung do all the work.”
He reached for the body oil on the nightstand, and when the cold slick of it met your skin, you jerked instinctively.
“Relax,” he said, leaning closer as if his body could shield you from the chill. “It’ll feel good in a second.”
The heat of his chest settled against your back, and suddenly the room felt much smaller.
“This doesn’t feel like a massage,” you muttered, lifting your head just enough to glance at him.
What you saw was an extremely hungry looking Lee Felix. “I like being close to my best clients.”
“Is that why your shirt’s off too…?” you tried, though the attempt at composure came out weak.
Felix’s hands left your skin only to frame your head, caging you in as he leaned until your noses nearly brushed.
“Nah,” he said softly. “Thought we’d help you relax a different—”
“YE GOT MAIL—oh.” Jisung stood frozen in the doorway. “Abort! They’re doing sex, Seung!”
Seungmin appeared a second later, peering around the doorframe with the sort of shamelessness only he could manage. “Eh, I’ve seen worse.”
You and Felix sat up at once.
“I feel like it was more foreplay than anything, actually,” Felix said. “Right, sunshine?”
You dragged a hand down your face. “Please shut up, all of you.”
“If I shut up, then you’ll never get your letter, sweets,” Jisung said, stepping into the room with exaggerated importance.
“Oh, ye was me.”
Seungmin gave him a solemn look. “No. Ye is Kanye.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
For a beat, the room went completely still.
Then Jisung wordlessly held out the letter.
You took the envelope from him: sleek, black paper that was as smooth as velvet, sealed in the centre with a crimson wax seal, a robin etched delicately into the surface. The sight of it settled over you like a shadow, recognition hit instantly.
You tore it open without ceremony and scanned the contents with a look so flat it almost bordered on bored. Felix tried to peer over your shoulder, but you folded the parchment shut before he could catch a glimpse.
“What’s it say?” he asked.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
You stood and haphazardly wrapped a discarded blanket around your lower half, making for the door.
Felix groaned and nudged both Seungmin and Jisung with his foot.
The youngest gasped, scandalized. “What was that for??”
“Cockblocking.”
You escaped before the teasing could get any worse, padding toward your room. On the way, you passed Chan, whose gaze immediately snagged on your current state of undress.
He stared after you, then leaned into Felix’s doorway. “What’s wrong with—why are you naked? Never mind. What’s wrong with cub?”
The trio only shrugged.
“Helpful,” Chan muttered. “Alright, finish your sexcapades.”
Felix shouted after him as he walked away. “We’re not going to do anything!”
“We aren’t??” Jisung cried in genuine shock.
A few moments later, you step into Chan’s room without knocking.
“Need you to come somewhere with me tonight. No questions asked. Well, technically, we’ll be back tomorrow because it’s kind of far.”
The leader blinked up at you. “Yeah, sure.”
You blinked back. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why not? Need me to book anything?”
You shook your head. “Nope. Bru—uh, it’s been taken care of. Just pack a suit.”
“’Kay, baby.”
“Alright. Cars coming for us, leave after lunch.”
———————
“So you’re leaving us with this demonic cat??” Seungmin demanded.
“In what world is she even slightly demonic?” you scoffed, cradling the calico cat that had quite literally fallen into your lives. “Also, she has a name.”
“I still think Yolk is an odd name for a cat that isn’t even ours,” Jisung said.
“We found her on Easter,” Felix replied, sipping his juice, “so it’s the perfect name. Besides, you argue with him and Minho when they get a cat in their arms.”
“Okay, it’s not like we’re kidnapping—” you started.
“Catnapping,” Chan corrected automatically.
“Sorry, catnapping. We put up flyers, posted her online, and took her to the vet. She has no chip. No owner is coming for her.”
Seungmin looked between you and Chan with a slow, knowing smirk. “Where are you even going dressed so nicely anyways? You made Chan wear his good suit.”
“Nowhere. I don’t have time for this. Chan, let’s go.”
You set Yolk down, grabbed your overnight bag, and headed for the door.
The men exchanged a silent glance, but it was Jisung who finally broke it. “Don’t you think he’s been…”
“Acting really weird and a little terrifyingly snappy since he got that letter?” Felix finished.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“What was in it?” Seungmin asked.
All eyes snapped to Jisung again.
“What are you looking at me for? Oh, I didn’t read his mail! That’s a crime and creepy!”
“Next time do us a favour and creep it up, bud,” Seungmin said.
Chan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, enough. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Just take care of the cat, and keep the house clean.”
“We are adults, hyung, jeez.” Seungmin pouted.
Before Chan could answer, a series of impatient beeps sounded from outside.
“Oh God, alright. Bye. I love you all.”
Three voices called after him as he left the house, where he found you waiting in the back of a sleek black sedan, a chauffeur holds the rear door open for him.
“Let’s go already.”
︵︵︵ ๑ 𓅫 ๑ ︵︵︵
Back at the dorms, things were going about as well as anyone could expect.
Which was to say, not well at all.
You and Chan had been gone for less than two hours, and somehow the house was already descending into chaos.
Yolk stood triumphantly atop the coffee table, her tail flicking lazily from side to side as she stared down the three grown men surrounding her.
Perched directly beneath one tiny paw sat Hyunjin's precious blue crystal bowl — the one he'd insisted ‘added a sophisticated pop of life’ to the living room, despite nobody asking for one.
It was currently hanging half off the edge of the table.
Felix stood directly in front of her, Seungmin and Jisung flanking either side like negotiators attempting to defuse a hostage situation.
Jisung held up both hands carefully.
"Hey...girl," he said softly. "You don't wanna do this. Trust me, it's not worth it."
Beside him, Seungmin shot Felix a withering look.
"'Nooo, she's so innocent! She's an angel!'" He jabbed an accusing finger toward the cat. "Yeah, she is an angel. A fallen one! She's the devil. Do you understand how much trouble we're going to be in if that little shit breaks that bowl?!”
"But she's cute with Y/n!" Felix protested.
As if on cue, Yolk grew bored of the conversation, without warning, she hopped neatly over the bowl.
The crystal dish rocked violently toward the edge.
"NO—"
Seungmin launched himself across the table with the commitment of a man diving in front of a speeding train. The bowl stopped inches from disaster.
He let out a shaky breath holding the delicate thing close "...Phew."
The tiny bells on Yolk's collar jingled as she trotted casually toward the staircase, utterly unconcerned with the emotional devastation she'd left behind.
Felix's eyes slowly widened. He looked at Jisung, Jisung looked back.
Realisation struck both of them at exactly the same time.
"RICHARD!" Jisung bolted upstairs at full speed.
The frantic pounding of feet echoed through the dorm as he sprinted to make absolutely certain his bedroom door was shut before Yolk discovered the existence of his beloved crested gecko.
Felix watched him disappear before looking back at Seungmin, who was still lying sprawled dramatically across the coffee table.
"You know this table is really—"
CRACK.
A deafening snap echoed through the living room.
Both men froze.
Then Seungmin disappeared.
The coffee table gave up on life entirely, collapsing beneath him as he hit the floor with a loud thud.
Felix winced . "...Fragile," he finished quietly. "I was going to say fragile." He leaned over the wreckage. "You good, pup?"
"...Ow." Seungmin was still lying on the floor. Remarkably he was also still clutching Hyunjin's bowl.
"Well... at least the bowl's okay?"
As if summoned by the words themselves, Yolk reappeared from absolutely nowhere. She launched herself directly onto Seungmin's back.
"ACK—"
The sudden impact knocked the bowl from his hands.
Time seemed to slow.
The crystal dish spun once...
Twice...
Then landed harmlessly on the thick carpet.
They both collectively exhaled.
"...Guess you didn't need to break our table," Felix sighed as he bent down to scoop Yolk into his arms, the cat immediately began purring, looking impossibly pleased with herself.
Seungmin groaned as he climbed to his feet, rubbing his back.
"What is that now?" Felix mused. "Our third coffee table in six months?"
From upstairs came the sound of a door opening.
"Sung-ah!" Seungmin called. "Is Richard okay?"
"She's fine!" Jisung shouted back, his voice slightly muffled.
A moment later he wandered downstairs, looking relieved.
He stopped.
Looked at the pile of broken wood on the floor.
"...What happened to the coffee table?"
"The cat," Seungmin answered flatly.
︵︵︵ ๑ 𓅫 ๑ ︵︵︵
“Alright,” Chan said once the car was moving “care to explain where I’m being kidnapped to?”
“First of all, you’re pushing thirty, so it would be considered an abduction. I don’t know how many times I have to say that. Second of all, you’re coming willingly. Thirdly, we’re…um…going to Gotham.”
You stared out the window as you spoke, as though the city beyond the glass had suddenly become much more interesting.
Chan choked on his spit. “Gotham?? Gotham as in crime Gotham? Where you’re from Gotham?”
“Do you know any other Gothams?”
He shrank slightly at the sharpness in your tone. “I’m sorry. We’re going to a charity gala. I just…haven’t been home in ages, I guess it’s making me nervous.”
Then, after a beat, he tried to soften the moment with a grin. “’Cause your so sexy it should be a crime?”
You scoffed, unable to help the small laugh that slipped out. “Yeah, sure.”
The trip was long enough to let the silence stretch, but not long enough for your nerves to settle. By the time the car finally arrived, the evening had already begun in earnest.
Chan looked out the window and froze. “Is this Bruce Wayne’s manor??”
“Yup,” you said, dragging out the word.
“We’re going to a gala thrown by thee Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises??”
“Yeah. Glad you’re being chill about this, hyung.”
The driver pulled up to the red carpet, where photographers and fans crowded behind the velvet rope in a blur of camera flashes and excited chatter.
“Alright, let’s go, hyungie.”
“Hey—wait. What about our bags?”
“Just leave them in here. It’s fine.”
“What—?”
“Leave them. Let’s go.”
You stepped out first and caught his arm, guiding him up the grand staircase before he could protest again.
Inside, the gala was already in full swing. Voices drifted beneath the swell of live orchestral music, laughter rising and falling through the glittering room like champagne bubbles. Chandeliers cast warm light over polished marble and tailored suits, and for a moment the whole place felt almost unreal.
You led Chan to a quieter corner, somewhere the crowd thinned and the noise softened. He lasted only a few seconds before turning to you.
“Alright,” he said. “What is up with you?”
“What?”
“No, don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve been acting weird all day since you got that invite. You won’t tell me what’s so off putting about being here, and you’re very clearly not telling me something. It’s starting to piss me off.”
You looked at him, then down at the polished floor, before meeting his eyes again.
“I don’t…I don’t want to see my family right now.”
Chan’s expression shifted immediately, the tension easing from his face.
“I love them,” you said quietly, “but I didn’t exactly leave on sunshine and rainbows. Especially with my dad. I guess I’m just a little…nervous.”
He stayed quiet for a moment, thoughtful rather than judgmental.
“Well,” he said at last, “that makes sense.”
A breath you hadn’t realised you were holding left you all at once, and you leaned into his shoulder with quiet relief. Chan’s arm slid around your back, steady and sure.
“You know,” he said gently, “if anything happens, I’ll protect you. We can leave whenever you want. For now, let’s eat something and see how the night goes, yeah?”
You nodded weakly.
“Nuh-uh. Speak.”
You groaned into his blazer.
“C’mon, puppy. Speak. Say, ‘Yes hyung, I’m with you so I’ll be okay’.”
You muttered the words against his shoulder. “Yes, hyung, I’m with you so I’ll be okay.”
He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s my boy. Let’s grab some grub.”
You looked up at him with a small laugh. “‘Grub’? Who says grub nowadays?”
Chan only tugged you toward the waiting staff, as if the answer was obvious.
︵︵︵ ๑ 𓅫 ๑ ︵︵︵
By the time the clock struck half past six, another crisis had emerged.
Dinner.
More specifically, Yolk refused to eat hers.
The three men stood around her food bowl like scientists trying to solve an impossible equation.
"Did you call Minho?" Felix asked.
"Yes." Seungmin replied. "He didn't answer."
Felix groaned, rubbing both hands over his face. "Great."
A heavy silence settled over the kitchen. Finally, Felix spoke. "...Maybe we pretend to eat it?"
Jisung and Seungmin exchanged a glance.
"...Can't hurt to try," Seungmin shrugged.
Nobody moved. After several painfully awkward seconds, Felix frowned. "...Why aren't either of you moving?"
The other two pointed at themselves in perfect sync. "Me?"
"Well, one of you!"
"You came up with the idea," Seungmin shot back. "You do it, brownie boy."
Felix gasped dramatically. "I have back problems. I'm not bending down. Make Jisung do it."
"Why me?!" Jisung screeched.
"You're the oldest!"
As the three continued arguing with increasing volume...
None of them noticed the tiny chaos gremlin leap effortlessly onto the kitchen counter.
Or her laser focus on the untouched plates waiting there, Yolk happily buried her face into an entire chicken drumstick.
By her third plate Seungmin had finally noticed.
He stared in sheer agony. "...It doesn't matter anymore," he said quietly.
Felix and Jisung stopped arguing.
"What?"
They followed his gaze.
Yolk looked up from the drumstick, a piece of chicken hanging from her mouth.
"...Oh."
Another long silence. Then Seungmin sighed. "...Takeaway?"
The other two nodded immediately.
︵︵︵ ๑ 𓅫 ๑ ︵︵︵
“—go to a field and yell something random like Guatemala—” Your riveting conversation with Chan is cut short when someone suddenly calls your name with breathless excitement.
You know that voice.
Stiffening, you turn.
A group of four men is making its way toward you and Chan — three grown men, and one boy with a sharp look on his face. Recognition hits you a second before the rest of it does, and despite yourself, a smile tugs at your mouth. “Hey, Dickie bird.”
You are immediately folded into a crushing hug, one you barely manage to return before he lets you go again. He looks at you like he is trying to decide whether to scold you or kiss your forehead.
“We’ve been looking for you for ages, little wing. I was starting to think you were hiding from us.”
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” mutters the man with the white streak cutting through the front of his black hair.
You shoot him a glare. “Something to say?”
He lifts both hands in mock surrender, the picture of innocence. “Not at all, red. Not at all.”
Chan, standing just beside you, clears his throat awkwardly when he remembers he is not, in fact, invisible. You glance over, suddenly aware of the slight tension in his posture, and exhale before forcing yourself to introduce them properly.
“Oh, right. Chan, these are my brothers.”
You gesture to the youngest, shortest one first.
“Damian.”
Then to the one with the dull blue eyes and sun-tanned skin.
“Tim.”
You hesitate only a fraction before correcting yourself. “Fat—”
A cough cuts you off, and you clear your throat. “Ahem, sorry, Jason and Dick.”
Then, with a little more softness, you add, “Guys, this is Chan. My boyfriend.”
One of many, if anyone happened to ask.
Chan recovers quickly, smiling at them all with the easy charm that always makes people like him before he has even finished speaking. “Nice to meet you all.”
“Likewise,” Dick says, offering a hand.
Chan takes it without hesitation.
“I’ve seen a lot of your stuff,” Dick adds. “You guys look killer on stage. I’m glad to see my brother being taken care of.”
“Well, I’d never not let him be happy,” Chan replies.
You let out a long suffering sigh. “Alright, are we done here?”
Tim clicks his tongue. “Why the rush, little brother? Don’t you want your boytoy to meet your family?”
“Timothy,” Dick warns.
“First of all,” you say, glaring at him, “don’t call Chan that. Second of all, my family is not reduced to just you four. And third of all, what kind of weirdo brings a thermal flask to a gala?”
Tim takes a long, exaggerated sip from it, staring you dead in the eye the entire time.
You exhale through your nose. “Speaking of, where are Cass and the others?”
“Otherwise occupied,” Dick says with a little wink.
The conversation breaks apart and reforms in fragments, the four of you falling into the easy rhythm of people who know each other too well. Chan stands a little to the side at first, looking politely bewildered, while Damian fixes him with a stare sharp enough to skin stone.
It is not a hostile stare, exactly, just an intensely judgmental one that makes Chan sweat a little.
Damian lets his eyes travel over Chan once before speaking in his usual flat, unimpressed tone. “You do not seem as an adequate match for my brother.”
Chan blinks, slight shock. “Uh, I—”
“Damian,” you cut in immediately, though your mouth twitches despite your best efforts.
He crosses his arms, turning that same dry expression on you now. “I am stating an observation.”
“That’s a pretty crappy observation, Dami.” You flick his forehead.
He scowls at you at once. “Watch yourself.”
“Whatever. Where’s the old man?”
Jason jerks his chin toward the crowd.
You follow the gesture and spot your father at once, standing with the kind of polished composure that makes people instinctively make room for him. He is dressed in a white tailored suit, tall and controlled, every inch of him expensive and impossible to read.
Chan’s eyes move from your father to you and then back again.
“Oh,” he says slowly. “Your dad is…Bruce Wayne.”
You turn to look at him. “...Surprise?”
For a second, he simply stares. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a short laugh. “Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense.”
You hesitate. “Are you…mad at me?”
Chan’s expression softens immediately, his face crumpling in confusion at the idea. “Of course not, baby. Why would I be mad?”
He lifts a hand like he might cup your cheek, but Damian makes a noise low in his throat that could only be described as a snarl.. Chan pauses, then awkwardly lets his hand settle on your shoulder instead.
You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
The night moves forward in a haze of glittering chandeliers, soft music, and expensive tension. At some point, Dick takes Chan outside for a little fresh air and what is, by all appearances, a big-brother interrogation disguised as hospitality. That leaves you with the rest of your siblings for the moment, which feels more dangerous in some ways than standing in front of the entire gala.
“I’m just saying,” Jason says, “you ran away to sing and dance. You can sing and dance here just fine.”
“Oh, yeah,” you snap back. “As if there’s not a chance of a bomb going off, or fear toxins flooding the room, or—oh, I don’t know, let’s cover the stage is condiments.”
The three of them open their mouths at once, ready to argue, irritatingly, none of them can really deny it.
“I agree,” a familiar female voice says from behind you. “People do tend to leave audiences in shock for different reasons.”
You whip around. “Steph?”
“Hey, buddy.”
You do not hesitate. You step straight into her arms, and she hugs you back with equal enthusiasm.
Tim gasps in outrage. “Why are you so happy to see her? We didn’t get any hug!”
“Don’t get jealous, Timmy,” Steph says brightly as you pull away.
You laugh, finally feeling some of the tightness in your chest ease. “So, did you bring anyone with you?” Steph speaks again.
“Yeah, actually,” you say. “He’s currently getting a big-brother talk from Dick.”
Steph makes a face. “Yeah, that’s a very Dick move, actually.”
“Tell me about it.”
Jason snorts. “Acting like we haven’t already found out everything about the guy.”
Your head snaps toward him. “I beg your pardon?”
He points at Tim immediately chucking a metaphorical crowbar at the younger. “It was his idea. His and Bruce’s. Be mad at them.”
“You could’ve said no!”
“I’m being cautious!”
“Oh, I’ll show you caution, you green-eyed bitch—”
Meanwhile, the little big-brother talk seemed to be going surprisingly well.
“You seem like a good guy,” Dick said, his voice easy but serious beneath the kindness. “But Y/n’s…he’s different. I need you to understand that. Growing up here isn’t easy for anybody, let alone a kid like him.”
Chan pressed his lips together and looked out over the manor gardens. Beyond the balcony, gazebos and strings of fairy lights cast a soft glow over the grounds, their warmth almost resembling stars, if the real sky above them had not been dulled by the city’s ever present smog.
“He never really talked about…this part of his life,” Chan admitted after a moment. “We never pushed. I just thought he came from a bad family or something.” He winced. “No offence.”
Dick let out a quiet laugh. “I mean, that’s a fair assumption. And I suppose you wouldn’t be too far off. My family is…complicated.”
His gaze drifted briefly over the garden before returning to Chan. “You never know what’s going to happen next,” he said, quieter now. “Something could bring us closer together, or break the fragile little bond we’ve managed to keep. Truthfully, I’m glad he left. I think it was the best thing for him.”
“Yeah,” Chan said softly. “Me too.” Then he hurried to correct himself, because apparently panic was a habit by now. “I mean—I’m happy he left so we could meet each other. Not that he left you.”
That earned him another laugh, warmer this time.
“I know you’ll do him well,” Dick said. “I’m glad he’s with someone like you. And your group too. He never talked about us much, but he definitely talked about you. Most of our conversations were about you guys.”
Chan smiled, something warm and complicated settling in his chest.
Dick glanced at him with quiet understanding. “And don’t be mad at him for not telling you about all this. If anyone were in his shoes, they’d do the same. Trust me.”
Chan gave a small shrug. “It’s not that big of a deal. I mean, yeah, it’s shocking, but it’s not like he’s told me anything that isn’t true.”
At that, the two of them finally headed back inside.
They found you immediately.
Jason was trapped in a headlock by you while a blonde girl Chan did not recognise filmed the whole thing on her phone. Tim and Damian stood nearby, like entertained spectators, and the second you spotted your older brother, you let the taller man go.
“He started it. Not my fault—oh, Channie!” You seized his hand and tugged him forward. “This is my sister!”
The girl laughed and held out a hand. Chan took it politely.
“Stephanie Brown, pleased to meet you, man. I know a lot about you.”
There was a mischievous glint in her eye that made you want to roll yours.
By then, the line for the bathroom had finally cleared. You took one look at the others and realised this might be the only chance you got.
“Listen, I need to piss. Take care of him for five minutes.”
Jason gave you a lazy salute. “Yes, sir.”
You rolled your eyes, but for once you trusted them with something as small as that and slipped away.
Unfortunately, somehow, Chan and Damian ended up alone together on the balcony.
From what you could see when you returned, the elder was being, for lack of a better word, thoroughly threatened by a ten year old.
Chan just laughed nervously, looking completely lost.
“If you ever,” Damian said, each word crisp and lethal, “and I do mean ever, hurt my older brother, I cannot assure your safety. Do you understand me, blonde man?”
“Blonde man…?” Chan repeated, his face twisting in confusion.
Damian glared harder. “Am. I. Under. Stood?”
Chan drew in a slow breath. Underneath the intimidation, it was obvious what was happening: your younger brother was concerned, and absurdly protective. And Chan had no intention of doing anything to hurt you, so he straightened, did his best to look calm, and said, “Don’t worry, little buddy. He’s safe with me. I promise we’d never let anyone or anything hurt him.”
He even stuck out his pinky.
Damian’s expression softened by the barest, imperceptible degree. “I do not wish to engage in childish behaviour.”
You stepped out onto the balcony just in time to hear that. “Stop being a little shit, Dami.”
You crossed to Chan’s side while Damian gave you that same flat, affronted look he always wore when he believed himself to be in the right.
“I am merely looking out for family.”
You smiled and nudged him lightly. “I know, bud. But he’s one of the good ones. Trust me. And stop scaring him.”
Damian huffed, turned on his heel, and stalked off.
Chan let out a breath and leaned against the stone banister, finally looking like he had his soul back in his body.
“Jeez,” he muttered. “He’s a terrifying kid. I thought he was about to kill me or something.”
You slipped your arms around his neck, smiling up at him. “He likes you.”
Chan’s hands settled at your waist. “Really? Because that felt like an interrogation.”
“Yeah, well. If he didn’t like you, I think you’d be dangling off this balcony.”
“Oh my.”
You laughed and tugged him down just enough to press your lips to his.
When you pulled back, Chan rested his forehead against yours, not quite ready to let the moment go.
“What was that for?” he murmured.
“Just being you.”
A horrified little grimace crossed his face. “Yikes. That was cringey. Cheesy, even.”
You huffed and pulled him in again for another kiss, but the soft moment did not survive very long.
“WOAH, NOT IN FRONT OF US, MAN. C’MON!”Comes Jason’s loud voice.
Chan looked absolutely mortified when your siblings came back onto the balcony. You sighed and turned toward them, unimpressed.
“Alright, haha. Embarrassing my boyfriend is hilarious.”
The seven of you lingered on the balcony a while longer, the night air cool against your skin and the hum of the gala drifting up in a soft blur from below. Out here, away from the chandeliers and polished smiles and the endless carefulness of the ballroom, things felt a little more manageable, more like a family gathering that happened to be taking place in the shadow of a billionaire’s mansion.
Chan stood between you and the railing with that same polite, slightly bewildered expression he had worn since discovering that your family tree was less a tree and more a sprawling, mildly cursed forest. He looked charmingly out of place in the best way possible — hands folded loosely, posture straight, eyes moving from one sibling to the next as if he were trying to keep track of a pack of very strange, very loud animals.
Dick, apparently deciding that Chan should be properly initiated into the disaster that was your childhood, leaned one shoulder against the stone balustrade and began talking with the easy warmth of someone who had spent years telling stories over late night dinners.
“Oh, no, you have to hear about when he was eight,” he said, already grinning. “He used to absolutely refuse to wear anything that wasn’t black or red. Would scream bloody murder if anyone tried.”
You groaned immediately. “Dick.”
He ignored you with the serenity of a man who had no intention of showing mercy. “There was this one time Bruce asked him to come down for family photos, and he came out looking like he was dressed for a funeral.”
Chan snorted. “That sounds exactly like him.”
“It gets better,” Dick continued. “He crossed his arms, stood in front of the camera, and told Bruce he looked ‘too alive’ for the aesthetic he was going for.”
A laugh slipped out of Chan before he could stop it, and that seemed to encourage them all like blood in the water.
Steph gasped dramatically. “No, no, there’s the time he tried to run away from ballet lessons.”
“I did not run away.”
“You hid in the laundry room for three hours,” Jason said flatly.
You gave him a look. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Dick’s smile widened. “You got caught because you fell asleep in a basket of towels.”
Chan pressed his lips together, clearly trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Thats easy to believe actually, you do fall asleep anywhere. It’s impressive actually.”
“It is not impressive,” you muttered. “It was humiliating.”
“Exactly,” Jason said. “Which is why it’s funny.”
Steph tipped her head thoughtfully. “There was also the very dramatic era where he insisted he was ‘too good for school’ and tried to negotiate his way out of homework.”
“By writing Bruce a six-page essay about why multiplication was a scam,” Tim added.
Chan finally let out a full laugh at that, the sound soft but genuine, something in your chest eased at the sight of it. He looked more relaxed now, shoulders lower, the tension slowly draining from him as the group fell into its usual rhythm of teasing and one-upmanship.
Dick clasped a hand over his heart. “You should have seen him as a kid, man. Tiny menace. Absolutely convinced he was the most serious person in the room.”
“Oh, bite me.”
Chan, who had been smiling politely through most of it, glanced at you with a fondness that made your face heat. “You were really that bad?”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Excuse you. I was a visionary child.”
You folded your arms. “You’re all just jealous because I was more interesting than you.”
“That’s a bold claim coming from someone who once tried to start a rebellion because Bruce changed the breakfast schedule,” Jason said.
You pointed at him. “That was a principled stand.”
“It was because you wanted waffles instead of eggs,” Dick said.
“We all wanted waffles!”
“That’s true i guess.” Tim said.
“See?” you said to Chan, gesturing vaguely at the group. “This is what I had to deal with.”
Chan’s mouth twitched. “I’m starting to understand why you turned out the way you did.”
You gasped. “Hey.”
He held up both hands, though there was no real apology in the grin he was trying to hide. “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.”
Before you could fire back, Steph stepped in at your side and hooked an arm lightly through yours, tilting her head as if remembering something particularly delightful.
“Oh, I know a good one,” she said brightly. “Do you remember the time he tried to impress Alfred by ‘helping’ in the kitchen?”
You made a noise of immediate protest. “Please don’t.”
“Oh but I am,” she said, beaming. “He put salt in the sugar jar by accident and then tried to blame it on a ‘household conspiracy.’”
Chan barked out a laugh. “A household conspiracy?”
“I was under a lot of pressure,” you said.
“A lot of pressure?” Tim echoed. “You were ten.”
“And traumatised.”
“You were grounded for a week,” Dick said, still smiling at the memory. “And then you spent the whole week sulking and wouldn’t talk to anyone but Jason.”
Chan looked between all of you, visibly entertained now, and you could tell he was storing every story away with that soft, affectionate look he got when he thought you were trying very hard not to be embarrassed.
That was the problem, really. You were very much embarrassed.
Especially when Jason and Steph began taking turns with the stories that involved far too much detail and far too little mercy.
“There was also the time he decided he was going to sneak out of the manor through a hedge,” Jason said, already laughing before he finished. “He got halfway through before getting stuck.”
“I did not get stuck.”
“You absolutely got stuck.”
“You screamed for help,” Steph said.
“I did not scream.”
“You yelled, ‘this is an illegal hedge,’” Dick reminded you.
Chan looked delighted. “You said what?”
You were just about to demand, for the fifth time, that they all shut up when Tim’s expression shifted.
It was subtle at first, just a tiny flicker of amusement giving way to something more careless, more dangerous. He was mid-sentence when he paused, eyes darting toward Chan, then back to you.
“You know, it’s kind of funny,” he began, too casually.
Damian turned his head sharply.
Tim, apparently deciding not to read the room, continued anyway. “Because with the whole family situation and the costumes and the—”
His voice stopped abruptly as Damian’s elbow slammed hard into his side.
Tim let out a strangled sound and folded slightly, glaring at the younger boy in outrage. “Ow—what was that for?”
Damian did not so much as blink. “You are speaking too freely.”
Chan looked between them, then back at you, clearly sensing there was something else under the words he had almost heard. His brows drew together in mild confusion, but before he could ask, Jason clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder with far too much innocence.
“Yeah, buddy,” Jason said, grinning. “Maybe don’t finish that thought.”
Chan glanced at you then, as if checking whether you were alright, and the look in his eyes was so steady, so uncomplicated, that it made something in you soften all over again yet again.
Stupid soft Chan.
Dick noticed, of course. His expression gentled a little as he looked between the two of you, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its teasing edge.
“Well,” he said, leaning back against the railing. “I’d say he’s doing alright.”
The others quieted just enough for the words to settle.
Chan looked a little shy under the attention, but he smiled anyway, and this time it wasn’t nervous. It was warm and real.
You bumped your shoulder lightly against his and watched as Jason rolled his eyes, Steph grinned, and Dick looked satisfied in that older-brother sort of way that suggested he had already decided Chan was okay to stick around.
For a moment, standing there beneath the dim wash of balcony lights and the expensive glow of the manor beyond, everything felt almost normal.
︵︵︵ ๑ 𓅫 ๑ ︵︵︵
Several burgers, chips, and an unhealthy amount of fizzy drinks later, the trio had collapsed onto the sofa.
Some truly terrible reality show played quietly on the television, though none of them were paying much attention anymore.
They were simply..tired.
"So," Seungmin said after a while, not opening his eyes, "tell me again how innocent she is, Lix."
"Shut up, Seungmin," Felix muttered, sounding one inconvenience away from tears.
Right on cue, Yolk hopped gracefully onto Jisung's lap.
All three men looked down. Jisung sighed, absentmindedly scratching under her chin. "...She is cute, though."
"Cute little bringer of havoc," Seungmin mumbled with a sleepy laugh. "Sounds familiar."
Felix hummed in agreement, already half asleep against one of Jisung's shoulders.
A few moments later, Seungmin had followed suit, his head lolling onto Jisung's other shoulder.
Jisung glanced down at the two sleepy men leaning against him, then at the happily purring cat curled up in his lap.
He smiled despite himself.
"...Yeah," he murmured, scratching Yolk behind the ears. "I guess I get why they like you."
︵︵︵ ๑ 𓅫 ๑ ︵︵︵
Your plan to spend the entire evening successfully avoiding your father came to an abrupt and humiliating end.
“Damian—”
Before you could finish protesting, your youngest brother had already caught your wrist with unsurprisingly surprising strength and was marching you through the sea of guests as though he had been personally assigned to deliver you to judgment.
“I can walk, you little menace.”
“And yet you were actively evading Father.”
You let out a long, suffering sigh and glanced over your shoulder at Chan, shooting him a pleading look that he returned with a helpless, apologetic smile before falling into step behind you. He looked equal parts confused and concerned, which was fair enough considering he had been dragged into Gotham, a charity gala, and your family all in the same night.
Damian did not release your wrist until there was no more room left for excuses.
Bruce Wayne stood a few feet away, deep in conversation with a pair of city officials, looking every inch the man Gotham knew him to be. Even surrounded by the city’s wealthiest and most powerful, he had a presence that drew the eye immediately. His white suit was cut perfectly to his frame, the bright fabric standing out sharply against the darker sea of formalwear around him. Silver threaded through his dark hair now, and time had softened the harsher edges of his face, leaving fine lines at his eyes that only made him seem more solid somehow, more real. He looked like Gotham’s billionaire philanthropist, its shadow and shield alike.
To you, though, he was just..dad.
Bruce noticed you almost at once.
He gave the officials with him a polite nod, excused himself without fuss, and crossed the room to meet you. For a few unbearable seconds, none of you said anything.
The silence between you was not cold, exactly. It was simply old. Unused and familiar in all the ways that came from loving someone deeply while not always knowing how to speak to them. There had never been a shortage of love between you and your father.
Words, however, had always been harder.
You rubbed at the back of your neck, suddenly unable to look anywhere but at him. “...Hi, Dad.”
Bruce’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. “Hi, kid.”
He didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and wrapped you in a hug, firmer than either Dick’s or Steph’s had been, all steady pressure and quiet assurance. It was the kind of embrace only a father could give, equal parts grounding and fierce, as though he could make up for lost time by holding you close enough to prove you were still his child, still here, still safe.
You hugged him back just as tightly.
The unexpected sting behind your eyes caught you off guard. God. You really had missed him.
“It’s good to see you again,” Bruce said quietly.
His voice was as calm as ever, but there was something gentler beneath it, something that belonged only to home.
You swallowed around the lump rising in your throat.
“...Yeah.”
Pulling away felt strangely difficult. You forced yourself to step back before your emotions had the chance to betray you in front of half of Gotham.
Then you moved back to Chan’s side, straightening your shoulders as best you could and doing your best to sound normal.
“Oh—uh.” You rested a hand lightly against Chan’s arm. “This is my boyfriend, Chan.”
Then, glancing back at your father with an awkward little smile, you added, “Chan, this is Bruce Wayne, my father.”
Chan looked as though every function in his body had briefly stopped working.
He had faced screaming crowds, flashing cameras, and live television. He had accepted praise on stages large enough to swallow a person whole. None of that had prepared him for meeting Bruce Wayne under the watchful eyes of your entire family.
Somehow, though, he still managed to smile charmingly. “It—it’s an honour to meet you, sir.”
He offered his hand with only the slightest trace of hesitation.
Bruce regarded him for a beat, not unkindly, just carefully in the way fathers tended to when they were deciding whether a person deserved to stay in the room, then the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest of smiles.
“The honour is mine, son.”
He took Chan’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
Chan’s eyes flicked instinctively toward you. “...Hopefully good things?”
hear me out, stray kids with member who's rich. like batman rich. the group goes to like a gala or something and a group of people approach reader like "bro where you've been?" turns out he has a lot of adopted siblings too. (do i just want a batsib fanfic, yes.) feel free to ignore.
i’m so sorry this took me so long holy moly
i hope u dont mind me making it channie centric and putting it into skittlz code 😞😞😞
me when i realise i consumed any type of batman media other than fanfics and dyls videos for a good long while
i hope you like it though it was really fun to write even if i gave up editing
THE LIVING ROOM WAS A NICE, quiet comfort environment at the moment. there was a light movie playing and you were doing the thing you liked to do the best!
cuddling one of the members.
today, felix was the victim, alongside jeongin. well, he was more on his side of the couch while you were basically laying on top of felix, letting him play with your hair.
no one knew when it happened, or how it happened, it just did. during one of the scenes in the movie, you gently tugged on felix's sleeve, looking at him with a small pout.
“... bu.”
oh. aw.
felix blinked at you for a second—even jeongin's attention got caught at your tiny mumble—and then smiled, stopping the motion in your hair, “bu? what does that mean, baby?”
“maybe they're making fun of you, hyung,” jeongin teased, now moving closer to you, giving you a quick tap on the head.
“hey! you're not making fun of me are you?” the words left felix, and the moment he looked down at you and you just stared back at him with big eyes, his expression softened, “no, you're just little, aren't you?”
even jeongin couldn't help the look on his face at the confirmation that you were indeed, little right now.
“aww baby,” he cooed at you, opening his arms as a way to invite you for a hug.
after a few seconds, you looked at him, curious eyes analysing jeongin before you understood what he meant, “wug?”
“yeah, hug! come here,” as he said that, felix helped move you from him to jeongin, to which you happily hugged him with a quiet hum.
“wove you,”
his breath hitched at your words, and even felix felt surprised, a warm feeling spreading on chest, as jeongin finally replied—
꒰ঌ ໒꒱ 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. . . here's a short little drabble for you guys ♡ don't worry, the scream fic will probably come out soon as im almost done with the first chapter <3
did i read this before i fell asleep last night and was borderline delirious? yuh huh. did i then have one of the strangest dreams i’ve had in a while? yuh huh
warning this chapter contains detail of injury, death of a minor(?) character and a house fire.
chapter length: 923 words
Pain erupted behind your eyes as you lay buried beneath the rubble of what had once been your home. Every breath scraped against your lungs, shallow and uneven, your vision swimming with black spots that grew larger every time you blinked. Staying awake felt impossible. Consciousness tugged at you relentlessly, begging you to surrender.
Flames curled hungrily around what remained of the house, swallowing splintered beams and shattered memories alike. They burned so fiercely they looked stolen straight from the inferno you were sure you were destined for after you died.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.
You couldn't tell how far away they were anymore.
Or if they were getting closer at all.
Wouldn't it just be easier to sleep? To finally stop fighting?
Hot tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, carving clean paths through the soot coating your face. They mixed with the blood pouring steadily from your nose, dripping onto the grey ash beneath you. Half your face rested against the remains of your childhood home, something jagged buried beneath the debris digging painfully into your cheek. Every inch of your body screamed. Every breath hurt. Everything hurt.
You forced your head to turn.
That was a mistake.
God., that was a fucking mistake.
The tears that spilled now had nothing to do with your injuries, your body felt strangely numb as your eyes landed on her.
"Mama..." The word escaped as little more than a broken sob.
She lay only a few feet away, impossibly still beneath the collapsed remains of the ceiling. Her eyes were wide open, frozen in shock, staring at something she could no longer see.
The light behind them was gone.
Your arms trembled violently as you dragged yourself across the broken floor, every movement sending agony shooting through your body. You barely noticed anymore.
Closer.
Closer.
Until you finally reached her.
Ash-covered fingers shook as they brushed against her face, gently closing her eyes. Grey smudges stained her skin where your hands touched, the last action you could offer.
You lifted her arm with painstaking care and draped it around your shoulders before collapsing into her chest.
It was cold,rFar too cold.
Your wails wracked your body as blood, tears, soot, and dust stained what remained of her ruined nightgown. You buried your face against her, clinging desperately to the illusion that if you held on tightly enough, maybe she'd wake up.
She didn't.
Time blurred into something meaningless.
Minutes? Hours? Maybe only seconds.
You didn't know, nor did you care.
You just wanted it to end. ‘Please...Please let me go.’ Your eyes squeezed shut.
If this was the last thing you ever felt...
If you could disappear here...
Then maybe you could find peace in this final embrace.
Crunch.
Footsteps.
They echoed softly through the dying fire, boots crushing charred wood and shattered glass.
"Oh, angel."
The voice was gentle.
Warm, almost fond.
You frowned weakly.
Were you dead already? You must be for someone to talk to you so softly.
The stranger clicked their tongue.
"Didn't hear me?" they mused, amusement lacing every word. "I suppose I can't blame you. I don't imagine you're capable of focusing on much right now, are you, angel?"
The sirens were louder now, much louder.
The voice sighed. "What unfortunate timing..."
There was the faint sound of someone glancing over their shoulder before they laughed quietly to themselves. "I seem to have left it a little too late. How tedious."
Something shifted beside you.
Then the voice returned, somehow even softer than before. "No matter. I'll see you again soon, my sweet."
You felt something impossibly gentle brush against your grime covered cheek.
It was the very last thing you felt before the darkness finally swallowed you whole.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎
"—Y/n?"
Your eyes snapped upward to the woman sat opposite you, her pen poised above a leather notebook.
Dr. Kim.
Her dark hair was pulled into a neat high bun without a strand out of place. Square glasses rested low against the bridge of her nose, and the crisp white coat draped over her shoulders only added to the image of perfect professionalism. The office around her mirrored it exactly — sterile, organised, painfully quiet. The faint ticking of a clock somewhere behind you seemed louder than your own breathing.
She studied you patiently. "Did you hear what I said?"
You blinked once, then slowly shook your head.
Dr. Kim offered a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She clicked her pen shut before placing both it and her notebook carefully across her lap.
"I said..." she repeated gently, "...the first step is always the hardest."
Silence settled between you. You finally met her gaze, expression remained empty. "Is it really a first step, if it's mandatory?" you asked quietly
For the briefest moment, something flickered across her face.
Pity.
She hid it immediately.
"I suppose," she admitted softly, "that's one way of looking at it."
Neither of you spoke again. The clock continued ticking ,mockingly.
Eventually, Dr. Kim stood, smoothing invisible creases from her coat. “We'll try again next week."
Half an hour. Thirty minutes spent answering questions with little more than one word responses and blank stares. That was apparently enough.
The heavy office door clicked shut behind you.
The moment you stepped into the corridor, cold metal wrapped around your wrists, with a deafening click.
Neither guard said a word, they simply turned you around and escorted you back through the endless grey halls all the way back to your cell.
a/n: did u like it teehee u should deffo reblog if u did :3 kisses
warning this chapter contains detail of injury, death of a minor(?) character and a house fire.
chapter length: 923 words
Pain erupted behind your eyes as you lay buried beneath the rubble of what had once been your home. Every breath scraped against your lungs, shallow and uneven, your vision swimming with black spots that grew larger every time you blinked. Staying awake felt impossible. Consciousness tugged at you relentlessly, begging you to surrender.
Flames curled hungrily around what remained of the house, swallowing splintered beams and shattered memories alike. They burned so fiercely they looked stolen straight from the inferno you were sure you were destined for after you died.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.
You couldn't tell how far away they were anymore.
Or if they were getting closer at all.
Wouldn't it just be easier to sleep? To finally stop fighting?
Hot tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, carving clean paths through the soot coating your face. They mixed with the blood pouring steadily from your nose, dripping onto the grey ash beneath you. Half your face rested against the remains of your childhood home, something jagged buried beneath the debris digging painfully into your cheek. Every inch of your body screamed. Every breath hurt. Everything hurt.
You forced your head to turn.
That was a mistake.
God., that was a fucking mistake.
The tears that spilled now had nothing to do with your injuries, your body felt strangely numb as your eyes landed on her.
"Mama..." The word escaped as little more than a broken sob.
She lay only a few feet away, impossibly still beneath the collapsed remains of the ceiling. Her eyes were wide open, frozen in shock, staring at something she could no longer see.
The light behind them was gone.
Your arms trembled violently as you dragged yourself across the broken floor, every movement sending agony shooting through your body. You barely noticed anymore.
Closer.
Closer.
Until you finally reached her.
Ash-covered fingers shook as they brushed against her face, gently closing her eyes. Grey smudges stained her skin where your hands touched, the last action you could offer.
You lifted her arm with painstaking care and draped it around your shoulders before collapsing into her chest.
It was cold,rFar too cold.
Your wails wracked your body as blood, tears, soot, and dust stained what remained of her ruined nightgown. You buried your face against her, clinging desperately to the illusion that if you held on tightly enough, maybe she'd wake up.
She didn't.
Time blurred into something meaningless.
Minutes? Hours? Maybe only seconds.
You didn't know, nor did you care.
You just wanted it to end. ‘Please...Please let me go.’ Your eyes squeezed shut.
If this was the last thing you ever felt...
If you could disappear here...
Then maybe you could find peace in this final embrace.
Crunch.
Footsteps.
They echoed softly through the dying fire, boots crushing charred wood and shattered glass.
"Oh, angel."
The voice was gentle.
Warm, almost fond.
You frowned weakly.
Were you dead already? You must be for someone to talk to you so softly.
The stranger clicked their tongue.
"Didn't hear me?" they mused, amusement lacing every word. "I suppose I can't blame you. I don't imagine you're capable of focusing on much right now, are you, angel?"
The sirens were louder now, much louder.
The voice sighed. "What unfortunate timing..."
There was the faint sound of someone glancing over their shoulder before they laughed quietly to themselves. "I seem to have left it a little too late. How tedious."
Something shifted beside you.
Then the voice returned, somehow even softer than before. "No matter. I'll see you again soon, my sweet."
You felt something impossibly gentle brush against your grime covered cheek.
It was the very last thing you felt before the darkness finally swallowed you whole.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎
"—Y/n?"
Your eyes snapped upward to the woman sat opposite you, her pen poised above a leather notebook.
Dr. Kim.
Her dark hair was pulled into a neat high bun without a strand out of place. Square glasses rested low against the bridge of her nose, and the crisp white coat draped over her shoulders only added to the image of perfect professionalism. The office around her mirrored it exactly — sterile, organised, painfully quiet. The faint ticking of a clock somewhere behind you seemed louder than your own breathing.
She studied you patiently. "Did you hear what I said?"
You blinked once, then slowly shook your head.
Dr. Kim offered a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She clicked her pen shut before placing both it and her notebook carefully across her lap.
"I said..." she repeated gently, "...the first step is always the hardest."
Silence settled between you. You finally met her gaze, expression remained empty. "Is it really a first step, if it's mandatory?" you asked quietly
For the briefest moment, something flickered across her face.
Pity.
She hid it immediately.
"I suppose," she admitted softly, "that's one way of looking at it."
Neither of you spoke again. The clock continued ticking ,mockingly.
Eventually, Dr. Kim stood, smoothing invisible creases from her coat. “We'll try again next week."
Half an hour. Thirty minutes spent answering questions with little more than one word responses and blank stares. That was apparently enough.
The heavy office door clicked shut behind you.
The moment you stepped into the corridor, cold metal wrapped around your wrists, with a deafening click.
Neither guard said a word, they simply turned you around and escorted you back through the endless grey halls all the way back to your cell.
a/n: did u like it teehee u should deffo reblog if u did :3 kisses
𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 this story will delve into dark topics such as addiction, toxic love and unhealthy codependency as well as grief, physical and mental pain (more possible warnings to come.)
chapter i — RUN IT
chapter ii — ???
sorry i swear i also am writing requests and stuff this is just been on my mind for a while
(dividers at the bottom of the pic/normal use(?) were made by @/strangergraphics :>)
write me a hetero fanfic about jungkook of beeteases
the reader is in college and is a part time circus clown, desperate times call for desperate measures. beeteases then come into down and decide to throw a birthday party at the circus. jungkook looks at reader and boom love. but plottwist, namjoon the wise disapproves and clown shames the reader. then idk make up whatever.
authors note: i’m not an army this a nepotism request at its finest BUT an actual new fic coming tonight or at least before i go asleep today no taglist bc yk not my skittlz
summary: req
warnings: i really don’t know.
wc: 2,141
Working at the circus was only ever supposed to be a little side gig to help make ends meet while you finished college.
So how in the ever-loving hell had you ended up here?
The first Saturday of every month was your designated day off. Unfortunately, your ringmaster had informed everyone that a very wealthy client had booked out the entire circus and all performers were expected to come in. Begrudgingly, you accepted. You needed the overtime. Living costs were climbing at a frankly offensive rate, and you were also saving up for unnamed K-pop groups lightstick.
Every little helped, as a certain supermarket slogan insisted.
Whoever had booked today's event clearly had enough money to buy a small country if they felt like it. Hiring out an entire circus for what looked suspiciously like a birthday party couldn't have been cheap.
You inhaled deeply, staring at yourself in the dressing room mirror.
‘For the money.’
You repeated it in your head like a sacred mantra.
‘For the money.’
Slowly, you began applying your makeup. White face paint covered your face first, followed by an exaggerated cherry-red smile stretched almost ear to ear. Cerulean blue eyebrows were painted high above your own before you finished everything off with your bright red foam nose.
Perfect.
Next came the bald cap.
Then...You froze.
Surely not. You looked around your station. Nothing. You looked under your chair. Still nothing.
You looked back at the mirror as if your reflection had stolen it.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
Your vibrant green wig had vanished.
Not ideal considering the guests were due in twenty minutes, you still had to get dressed, and Twinkles the Clown without the neon-green wig just looked like somebody's uncle who'd wouldn’t be trusted around children.
You turned towards the clown sitting beside you. "Have you seen my wig, Fizbo?"
It was company policy that none of the performers knew each other's real names. According to the ringmaster, it helped maintain the ‘magical whimsy’ of the circus.
Nobody questioned it. Mostly because the last person who had mysteriously spent the next month shovelling elephant manure. And the circus doesn’t even have an elephant!
Fizbo looked up from twisting balloons. "Nope! Sorry! Hyuck hyuck!”
He laughed after every sentence. Nobody knew why, nor had anyone ever asked.You weren't convinced he'd ever actually broken character.
Groaning dramatically, you began searching the dressing tent. You checked beneath costume racks, inside prop boxes, behind stacks of juggling pins and, underneath a suspiciously large rubber chicken.
Nothing.
By the time you were beginning to consider diving into the spare wig bin, you spotted a familiar flash of fluorescent green sticking out from beneath Stefano the mime's invisible suitcase. "...Stefano."
The mime simply looked at you, then looked away.
You sighed, crouched down and retrieved your wig. "Thanks for the help."
He responded with an exaggerated shrug.
There were only five minutes until showtime now.
You shoved the wig over your bald cap before hurriedly pulling on the rest of your costume. Bicoloured trousers, yellow on one leg and green on the other, were followed by a bright blue shirt complete with an oversized red bow tie. Over the top went your plaid red blazer, trimmed with green and yellow cuffs and matching green buttons, before you balanced your half-red, half-blue cone hat on top of your now ridiculously vibrant hair.
Finally, you stepped into your comically oversized clown shoes.
Just as you finished, the ringmaster burst into the tent, clapping his hands together loudly.
"Come on! Show time! Up, up, up!"
Everyone hurried outside in a blur of colour.
Stefano the mime, Fizbo the clown, Vitaly the fire dancer, and you — Twinkles the clown.
A lively tune burst into life just as seven men entered through the circus entrance with timing so perfect it almost looked practiced. You and Fizbo exchanged a glance before climbing onto your unicycles, immediately beginning the opening routine as juggling pins flew through the air in time with the music.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the ringmaster called dramatically. "Welcome to our humble circus!"
The performance went smoothly as usual.
Stefano pretended to be trapped in an invisible box twice, Vitaly made the men gasp in awe with his fire skills.
All in all, a successful opening.
Not long afterwards, you found yourself sat beside one of the activity tables making balloon animals for the guests.
"Well, hello there, glum chum," you said cheerfully, nudging one of the taller men with your elbow. "What's your name?"
The man simply stared at you.
He wasn't smiling or frowning.
He just looked...mildly disappointed by your existence.
Before the silence could become any more uncomfortable, the long-haired blond man standing beside him bounced excitedly into view.
"He's Namjoon!" he announced happily. "I'm Jimin! Can I have a dog?"
His eyes sparkled with so much excitement you were almost worried he might combust.
"Why yes you may!"
After several aggressive squeaks and a near catastrophic balloon pop, you proudly presented him with a bright blue balloon dog. Jimin gasped. “I love him."
"As you should," you replied solemnly. "You're legally responsible for him now."
"I understand."
Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose shaking his head.
The seven men soon wandered off to explore the rest of the circus grounds, Jimin proudly carrying his balloon dog. You smiled to yourself before instinctively reaching for your lapel.
...
Your smile disappeared.
You checked your other lapel, then your pockets, then both hands.
A horrible realisation settled over you.
Your squirty flower was gone.
Not the squirty flower.
Anything but the squirty flower.
Trying to keep yourself composed, you began retracing your steps around the circus grounds. You checked beside the popcorn machine, underneath the ringmaster's podium and even inside the lost property box, despite knowing full well nobody had ever handed anything in there before. Nothing at all.
You sighed dramatically. “This is officially the worst day of my life."
After another minute of searching, you wandered into Vitaly's performance tent, figuring there was at least a chance you'd dropped it while passing through earlier. The fire dancer was in the middle of preparing for his next routine while three of the guests watched from a safe distance, their attention entirely on him.
Your attention, however, was on the floor. There it was. Your beautiful little flower. Lying innocently beside the boots of the youngest-looking man in the group.
You stared at it. He noticed you staring.
You, unfortunately, didn't notice him noticing you staring. He, noticed you not noticing him noticing you staring.
Carefully, he bent down and picked it up before walking over, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Um... hi." His ears were slightly pink.
You assumed it was because there was active fire less than five feet away. "I think you dropped this."
Your eyes lit up. "My flower!"
You clasped your hands together dramatically. "You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you so much..." You paused. "...I don't actually know your name."
He blinked. "Jungkook."
You beamed. "Thank you very much, Mr. Jungkook."
A tiny laugh escaped him as he held the flower out towards you.
Unfortunately...
The second his fingers tightened around it—
PSSHT!
A stream of seltzer water shot directly into your face.
"AH!"
Cold water mixed with face paint immediately ran into your eyes. You couldn't see.
"Oh no." Jungkook said.
You stumbled backwards blindly, arms flailing in every possible direction.
"I CAN'T SEE!"
Jungkook immediately reached out to catch you.
Unfortunately, your foot got caughtinto a nearby bucket.
Somehow, the added obstacle only increased your momentum.
Jungkook lunged as you lurched sideways.
Someone screamed.
You collided directly into Vitaly.
"Oh, not again," Vitaly sighed.
His flaming baton flew neatly out of his hand.
There was a brief moment where everybody watched it travel gracefully through the air.
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
It landed irectly on Namjoon's head.
Silence.
Absolute silence before the man on fire yelled "...My hair!?"
The entire tent erupted.
Someone produced a fire extinguisher from seemingly nowhere.
Yoongi else yelled, "DON'T PANIC!"
Everyone panicked.
Through all of it, Jungkook somehow managed to catch you before you hit the floor completely, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other steadied your shoulder.
"...You okay?"
"I've had better days."
The last of the water dripped from your face as you blinked your vision back into focus.
Your white face paint had melted into streaks.
Your red nose now hung sideways by its elastic.
Your wig finally gave out.
Jungkook looked at you like none of that mattered.
"I..."
Before he could finish—
"I'm J-Hope," another one of the guests announced cheerfully, pointing towards Namjoon, who was gently patting the top of his now fuzzy head.
"And I think we should get the lesbian some rosemary oil."
Everyone looked at him.
"...What?" he asked.
Namjoon stared blankly into space.
"...I'm bald."
Jungkook didn't even glance away from you.
"Hyung, I think I'm in love. May I have your blessing?"
"Jungkook."
"Yes?"
"I am bald."
"I noticed."
"I no longer have hair."
"I also noticed."
"Your asking for my blessing will for the reason i’m bald?"
Jungkook nodded earnestly.
"It feels right."
Namjoon closed his eyes.
"This is not fya."
"But hyung—"
"I cannot focus on your love life while actively mourning my hair."
Before Jungkook could plead his case any further, the remaining three men burst into the tent.
"WAIT!" Taehyung shouted dramatically.
Everyone turned towards him.
"We've just had an idea on how to progress this story forward."
“This story being your guys’ love story that is” Yoongi says starting straight ahead of him.
Jin blinks, “Who are you staring at?”
Yoongi shrugs
Just as Jungkook looked ready to ignore his newly bald leader and continue confessing anyway,
"You see," Jin began, pacing thoughtfully, "unlike my hit single Super Tuna, we can avoid this fishy situation."
A silence followed, as he marched straight over to you.
"...Hi?" you said cautiously.
"Shhh."
"What?"
"I need to borrow something."
Before you could react, Jin gently lifted your fluorescent green wig off your head.
You gasped loudly.
"My wig!"
"It's for the greater good."
"What—?"
"You'll see."
You watched, completely bewildered, as he turned around and carefully placed the radioactive green curls onto Namjoon's freshly bald head.
Namjoon slowly turned towards the nearest mirror.
He studied his reflection carefully. Tilted his head to the left, right, and running a hand through the aggressively synthetic fibres.
"...Actually, I think I'm pulling this off."
Jungkook looked between the wig and you before smiling softly.
"I can finally see you properly."
Your stomach flips pleasantly.
Without the oversized wig and half of the clown disguise, you suddenly felt much more...exposed.
He took a cautious step closer. "Twinkles..."
You swallowed. "Hm?"
He hesitated, his hand hovering just above your bald cap. "May I?"
Your breath caught. "If you take it off..."
He paused. "...There's something you should know."
"I'll listen."
"My real name isn't Twinkles."
"I assumed."
You stared at him. "You... did?"
"I had my suspicions."
"...Really?"
"No."
"Oh."
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"So what's your real name?"
"...Y/n."
He repeated it quietly, tasting it in his mouth. "Y/n."
You felt your face warming.
"It's beautiful."
Slowly, and giving you every opportunity to stop him, Jungkook reached up and peeled away the bald cap.
Your real hair fell free.
Neither of you spoke.
The white face paint was streaked from the water.
Your blue eyebrows were halfway down your forehead.
Your red smile had become more of a pink smudge.
Your clown nose was now on the floor somewhere.
"...You're gorgeous."
You forgot how breathing worked. Somewhere behind the two of you, Jimin quietly sniffled.
"I love love."
"Hush," Yoongi replied.
"You’re ruining the moment." Taehyung says.
Jungkook was still looking at you like you'd hung the moon, he reached down and gently took your hands in his. "I still think you're really amazing."
You couldn't help smiling. "I think you're pretty amazing too."
Behind you came the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat.
Everyone turned.
Namjoon stood proudly in front of the mirror, one hand on his hip and your fluorescent green wig cascading dramatically over his shoulders.
"I've reached a decision."
Jungkook straightened.
"...Hyung?"
Namjoon slowly turned to face him.
"When this fatefully unfortunate follicular incident first occurred..I was devastated I believed my life was over. But after wearing this wig...I've never felt prettier."
You weren't entirely sure how to respond to that.
Jungkook, however, gasped.
"Hyung..."
Namjoon walked over before placing both hands on Jungkook's shoulders.
"You have my blessing."
The tent erupted everyone started chanting, "KISS! KISS! KISS!"
The two of you looked at each others matching smitten smiles before finally leaning in.
nobody here knew i was tumblr user bbluekari…and not an army….or that i only have 6 bts songs in my playlist….one of them being neva play by my wife megan THEE mf stallion
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