#{ my secret identity; ooc } | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queenpiranhadon · 1 year ago

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Hello! You commented on my post about my dream request so here it goes...

Pro Hero! Dynamite is dating Underground Pro Hero! Y/N. He doesn't know she's a hero, doesn’t even know she has a quirk. She has a "job" where she can travel a lot; a model for Mitsuki & Masura (they know, because parent instincts). Anyway, YN gets sent on a lot of missions with Pro Hero! Deku since he's one of the few who likes working with everybody. Dynamite sees how close they are and is seething, and end ups turning it into a huge fight.

(i woke up at this point but pls make it comfort if you can)

thank you in advance!!🫶🏾🫶🏾

A/N: Idk if this is what you wanted but I loved this prompt so much!! Big thanks to @zanarkandskylines for beta reading and editing this I owe you so much 😭 Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): f!reader, Katsuki and reader are dating. and they live together, reader is an underground pro hero with a pre-established quirk, mentions of blood, Katsuki thinks reader is cheating on him with Deku, angst to fluff, characters might be a little ooc, mentions of passing out, reader cries a lot, Katsuki does too, Katsuki almost kicks reader out, cursing, Katsuki calls reader princess.

Pairing: Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Underground Pro Hero! Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

Shit.

Pain flares up in your abdomen as you try not to think about the blood gushing out of your side, as the taste of iron lines your taste buds, making you want to vomit.

You were on a mission with your close friend and pro hero, Deku, who you consider a friend till the end after endless mission assignments together. Your quirk, Rays, allowed you to control the lighting of any setting you were in- even if it were bright outside, you could plunge anything within a 100-mile radius into complete darkness if you chose to do. Along with that, you could illuminate anything within the same distance in the middle of the night. Your eyes would change colors while your quirk was active, growing lighter and darker with the lighting around you- a feature that allowed you to be hired as a model for Jiyū, a clothing company owned by renowned clothing designers, Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou. They joked that that lighting always favored you during photoshoots, capturing your eyes in such an alluring way that it was almost like you were the one who made the clothing look exceptional. They’d often drop hints that you would, in fact, be a perfect fit for their hotheaded son. You’d laugh at their insistence, waving off their jokes. They never would guess the reason behind your choice of career path, especially as a secret pro hero.

You were an underground Pro Hero by the name of Sola – specializing in espionage and stealth, a major asset to Pro Hero Deku as you balanced his brute force with elegance and mobility. You loved your job, not ever having to need to be prominent on the Hero charts and found your reward through the knowledge that you were helping others. It was silly, you thought, to sneak around with a secret identity like all the books you read, unlike the Pro Heroes you knew that basked in attention. And even though you didn’t need people fawning over you 24/7, you still had one issue with all the secrecy.

That being your boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou.

You loved him with your entire heart, and more, as he did you. The both of you got together a few months after the explosive blonde had graduated from UA, your relationship blowing up the tabloids with a bang as he climbed the hero rankings.

You trusted him with your life, and he trusted you with his heart, and yet you couldn’t tell him about your job as an underground pro hero.

This was one of the reasons why.

You hid behind a pillar in the abandoned warehouse you had caught a drug network alongside Pro Hero Deku. The both of you were tracking the pricks for months, coming home late every night with a new excuse to tell Katsuki. You knew it would burden him with worry, choosing to keep your secret hero identity just that - a secret, even from Katsuki. He couldn't worry about you when he had his own job as a Pro Hero to worry about.

Not to mention he wasn’t exactly on the best terms with the greenette you worked with constantly.

The fight ensued, you heard Deku’s grunts and the cracks of bones, no doubt his One for All in usage. You manipulated the light around him, effectively blinding your opponents while giving your partner the advantage of sight.

You were losing blood at a rapid pace, head becoming fuzzy as your body slumps to the floor, giving into the exhaustion from overuse of your quirk.

The last thing you heard before the world turned black was Deku’s triumphant call for you, reporting that all the villains were restrained.

When you woke up, you were in Izuku’s apartment, head hazy and your temples throbbed like they were being stabbed repeatedly by blunt needles.

You got up without a word, thanking Izuku for his hospitality before leaving to go home, brushing off his concerns and walking out his front door.

Anxiety gnawed at you on the taxi ride home, subconsciously fiddling with your shirt to make sure your bandages weren’t visible, and praying to whatever deity was watching over you that Katsuki wouldn’t notice.

You reached your apartment complex, taking a deep breath and settling for a somewhat content look, before inserting your keys into the lock and opening the door, basking in the familiar warmth of your shared home.

Spotting Katsuki at the kitchen stove, you creep up to him and wrap your arms around his waist, to which he stiffens, but you don’t think much of it as you tighten your arms around him.

“I’m home!” You sing, smushing your cheek against him but he says nothing.

Worry works its way through your mind, wondering why he wasn’t responding, until his gruff voice snaps you back into focus.

“Where were you.” he says, phrasing it like a statement, not a question.

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach- does he know? Did Izuku tell him?

Wh-what?” A nervous laugh escapes you. Had you been caught? “I told you, I was in the US -”

“Cut the bullshit.” he snaps, and you let go of him – you can physically feel your heart snap in two. “Where. were. you."

“I...” you trail off, the words caught in your throat, willing the tears that threatened to spill not to fall.

You both stand there, wordless, staring at his eyes, full of pain.

“You never even loved me, did you?” he says, voice cracking full of emotion, your eyes widening.

“Katsuki no- I" You try to explain, but he cuts you off, the pounding in your head returning with the new rush of emotions.

“Just stop. Please. Leave and never come back.” He spits out, tears finally dripping down his face. “Go fucking be happy with shitty Deku because obviously he’s a better fucking boyfriend than me.”

He thought you were cheating on him. Those late nights coming home, prolonged trips without explanation- god you were so stupid.

You rush towards him, mind racing as you try to explain, try to fix things. You couldn’t lose him, you couldn’t- it would destroy you in ways unimaginable.

And yet, he pushed you away forcefully, making you cry out in pain as he contacts your wound in your side.

He almost stops breathing when he sees the blood, your blood, on his hands.

You panic, and he grabs you by the shoulders, lifting your shirt up to reveal the bandage wrapped around your torso that the blood managed to seep through.

“Kats-”

“Who fucking hurt you.” he growls, low and feral- all resentment from the previous conversation melting away with the realization that you weren’t with Deku – or at least in the way he thought.

“I’m an Underground Pro Hero.” You whisper, a desperate attempt to mask your feelings as you curl into yourself. You can’t risk looking up at Katsuki and seeing his reaction.

“You what- fuck, you have a quirk?!” He looks at you, eyes wide.

You nod hesitantly, his vermilion stare meeting your own, attempting to assess what else you could be hiding from him.

“I wasn’t allowed to tell you- the Commision wouldn’t let me, I wanted to tell you so bad Katsuki, but I knew you had so much on your plate, and I didn’t want to bother you, and-” you break down, Katsuki cutting you off as he encircles you in his arms, consoling you silently, letting your distraught form melt into his embrace.

Heaving sobs turned into choking cries, which dwindled into sniffles that lead to silence. You’d drifted off, cried yourself into a sleepy daze while he carefully cradled you in the kitchen. His own guilt ate away at him- he understood your situation, the Commission was as unsympathetic to a hero’s situation as the League was to anything. But it still hurt, that stupid Deku knew about your status as a Pro Hero before he did. He shook his head, dispersing his feelings. He hated himself for his words, for assuming the worst and thinking you were capable of doing something so low. Running his fingertips over your bandages gingerly, a pang of worry struck through him. He wiped the tears off his face, and then yours, lifting your sleeping form and headed for your bedroom.

Right now, he needed to take care of you.

Changing you out of your clothes, he settles you into one of your favorite worn out shirts of his, tucking you into bed before getting ready to sleep himself.

He joins you in bed, heaving a shaky breath after everything, wrapping his arms around you, one hand placed on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, holding you against his chest like you were made of porcelain - too scared to let you go, but scared of breaking you, too.

“Goodnight, princess.”

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keys-hellscape-1020 · 10 months ago

Text

4 times you meet Red Robin, 1 time you meet Tim Drake

A/N: Sorry for disappearing these last few months. I’m not dead but I am in a serious depressive episode and you know what that means. Time to write.

Content warnings: Angst, Kidnapping, reader dissociates, they don’t get along at first, eventual fluff, this is my first time writing for Tim sorry if he’s OOC, uhhh cursing probably, let me know if I missed anything

Soulmate!Tim Drake x Soulmate!gn!Reader

————

From your seat on the frosty park bench you watch the thin red thread bob in the winter wind, lit only by the pale light that is filtering down from the streetlight above you. You watch the string dance with mild interest, jerking your pinky at random intervals to make it flutter one way or another. No matter which way it sways however, you know where it will always lead. To your soulmate.

His name is Red Robin, or in other words, Tim Drake. One of the richest men in Gotham who just so happens to also be a crime fighting vigilante. A closely guarded secret that you only know thanks to a subtle design flaw in the universe. Television.

Ever since the third Robin made his first official appearance you knew. You could see the red strand trailing off his pinky, and, upon asking your father, discovered it was only you who could see it. It was at that moment, all of 14 years old, that you unofficially met your soulmate. It was at that moment, that your life was permanently altered, for better or worse.

At first, your stomach kicked in excitement. Your soulmate was a vigilante! You simply couldn’t belive your luck. You scoured the internet for any information on him, becoming one of his biggest fans in a matter of hours.

Your obsession lasted all of a few months. It came to a screeching halt when a photo of Robin kissing Spoiler was leaked. You felt your heart break, the pieces jumping up into your throat to choke you on your own disappointment and sadness.

The worst part? You knew you had no right to feel the way you did. Robin had no clue you even existed. His soulmate could be half way across the world and it become clear to you that he wasn’t intent on finding them. On finding you.

In that moment of heartbreak and spite you made a choice that would follow you for years to come. If Robin didn’t want to find you, you didn’t want to find Robin.

It wasn’t until several years later, when you were watching a broadcast of a Wayne gala out of sheer desperation to cure your crippling boredom that you first laid eyes on Tim Drake.

You sat in bored silence, letting the stream playing on your computer become background noise as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, when suddenly an interview playing on your computer catches your attention. A man in a sleek suit with a face that you’re sure you’ve seen on tiktok before is leaning next to a man that you only recognize thanks to the name edited over the video for the sake of the viewers. Tim Drake, isn’t that guy a millionaire or something?

Pulling your attention back to the video, the interviewer is questioning him at record speed and Drake, for his credit, looks entirely unbothered. If it weren’t for the quickly concealed circles under his eyes and the way he periodically glances over his shoulder with a glazed over look, you might even say he’s enjoying the night.

As you watch Drake be interviewed, a dancing red string in the background catches your eye, stealing your breath. You watch it flitter in the background behind Drake’s head, almost as if it’s teasing you, daring you to do something with the information you now posses. You watch as Drake goes to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, the small knotted string on his pinky finger unknowingly showing you the identity of Red Robin. It crossed your mind for a half second that they may be different people, but a quick google search reinforced what you already knew. Two different soulmates produced two different strings. You very clearly only had one.

You had laid awake all night, wondering if this changed anything, questioning if you should do something with this information. You couldn’t tell anyone, you knew that for certain. That might put him in danger and despite not even knowing the man personally, despite every fraction of your heart telling you to hurt him in anyway you could for what he’d done to you, you knew that you couldn’t live with yourself if he came to harm because of you.

And so, you bit your tongue, swallowed the ever burning desire to track down your soulmate, if only to scream in his face, and continued on with your life. Whenever the urge to track him down reared its ugly head you reminded yourself of the many photos you’d seen of him kissing someone, someone much more attractive than you. Someone who can keep up with him. Someone better. Why in the world would he want you?

The months after you found out Red Robin’s identity flew by, and despite having come to terms with it months ago, tonight you couldn’t sleep. Your room seemed to suffocate you, urging you to get some fresh air, the window of your room proving insufficient even when you stuck your whole torso out of it. It was at this point that you decided to go out, nighttime in Gotham be damned. You’d lived here your entire life, you could deal with a few muggers. And so you wrapped yourself up in a thick winter jacket over your pjs, complete with a scarf and gloves, making sure to slip some pepper spray into your pocket, where it would be easily accessible should you need it.

Nighttime in Gotham can be strangely peaceful at times, large buildings cast dark shadows which are only illuminated by weak streetlights, and depending on where you are in the city it can even be something close to quiet. You walk slowly, your boots crunching through the thin layer of ice and snow, as you navigate your way to the park.

The cold air feels nice on your face as you sit on a park bench, watching your string. Your head leaning against the back on the bench, taking in the sight of unlit buildings around you. After several minutes of sitting there in silence you finally decide to stand, a strange tingle on the back of your neck seeming to urge you towards home.

It’s only when you begin to turn that you notice the man behind you.

Before you can even register what’s going on you’ve switched the safety lock of your pepper spray and are spraying it directly into the eyes of the man with a shriek of fear.

You’re to stunned to speak as you shuffle back as quickly as possible, tripping over yourself in your panic, leaving you on your back, your pepper spray the last line of defense between you and… Red Robin? You let out a pathetic whimper of shock, which at any other moment would’ve left you horribly embarrassed but right now you’re too confused to feel anything else.

He lets out a muffled “Shit!” As he wipes at his face with the back of his glove. You stand and reflexively hand him a tissue from your pocket.

“S-Sorry.” You stutter out, watching the string cautiously float between you two in shock.

He gratefully takes the tissues and wipes his face with it, “Ah, it’s okay. The mask got most of it, just startled me was all.” He says tiredly, flashing you a weary half smile that has you feeling unfortunately weak in the knees.

“I uh-“ you find yourself at an unfortunate loss for words as you stumble through what you should say, fantasies of what you would do when you finally got the chance to meet this man face to face fleeing your mind in an instant now they you were actually in the moment.

“Are you okay?” He asks, blotted out eyes staring at you in what seems to be concern.

“Y-yeah… yeah uh… sorry I thought you were gonna try and kidnap me or something…” you said awkwardly, suddenly finding the ground very interesting as a sense of painfully strong embarrassment rushes through you.

“I knew I shouldn’t have approached you from behind.” He mutters quietly, more to himself than anything else.

“You were watching me?” You ask, creasing your eyebrows at him in concern. A hot spark of fury snaps to life in your chest. First this man breaks your heart, and then he decides to stalk you?

You swear you see him flush bright red underneath his mask. “No- no! Well, uh, actually yes- but not like that!” He stumbles through his words. “I just uh, thought you might be hurt or something, and then I uh- I saw your string and well I just thought I should say something.” He trails off awkwardly.

“Well then, what did you want to say?” You ask him, the spark of anger growing, fueled by all the painful memories that you’d acquired through the years.

“O-oh.” He looks genuinely startled for a moment at your outburst, and you would’ve felt bad had all the memories of how it felt to have to watch your soulmate flourish without you, how painful it was, not flashed through your mind.

“Well I honestly didn’t think that far ahead.” He says softly, almost shyly, as he looks at his feet and you hate how his cuteness causes butterflies to churn in your stomach. You let out a low hum as you consider your options, doing your best to ignore how adorable he looks as he glances at you and fidgets with his gloves.

“I’ve known.” You say calmly, calculatedly. If you played your cards right you could cause him a lot more pain than yelling at him ever would.

He looks up at you, a hit of confusion and concern in his voice. “Known what?” He asks.

“Tim Drake and Red Robin have one very striking similarity.” You say calmly, taking a few steps down the road that would eventually lead you home. You look back to see if he’s following and sure enough he is. You wag your pinkie at him in response.

“Ah.” He says simply, his shoulders tending.

“Relax, I’ve known for months. If I was gonna tell anyone I would’ve.” You say curtly as you begin walking home once more.

“How did you find out? Why bring it up now?” He phrases his questions as just that, questions, but you know that if you fail to answer truthfully he’ll find out quicker than you could blink. You’d looked into him over the years.

“T.V.” You say simply. “String showed up on it. As for why I brought it up, as of a few months ago Tim Drake hard launched his relationship with Bernard Dowd on Instagram. I’d be willing to bet money that the relationship had been going on for a while before that. That’d put you at dating for what, about 8 months now?” You look at him for false confirmation, you know you’re right. His shoulders are tense and you’re sure you’re receiving a scalding glare from behind his mask. You can’t help but grin in satisfaction. It’s seems your research paid off.

You see your apartment complex off in the distance and turn to face him once more. “This is all to say, you’re dating someone. What’s the real reason you approached me? Troubles in paradise?” You hum, you know you’re being nothing short of cruel right now but after watching this man completely disregard you, not care, or maybe just not realize that his soulmate would have to watch him live life without a care in the world for them, well you couldn’t help but think it was deserved.

He grinds his jaw as he looks at you. “We broke up. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Ahh so you intended to have me be a rebound then?” You snort and look him up and down. In all your years of watching him live life without you you’d never seen him look so tense. “Well as lovely as this was, I have to wake up early tomorrow. Nice talkin’ to you bird boy.” You turn around and start walking into your apartment building. You glance behind you and see Red Robin standing where you left him, staring at you, his jaw locked tight and his mouth downtrodden in a frown. You can’t help but feel a spark of well earned satisfaction at the sight.

————

You really thought chewing him out would make you feel better. You truly did. Instead all it did was make you feel guilty. You can’t even pin-point the cause of the guilt churning in your stomach, making you feel all the worse. You almost wish that he’d announce another relationship so you could feel justified. On the other hand seeing article on article about his newest love might finally drive you to the brink of insanity. Assuming you could still call yourself sane at this point.

Every night after dusk when you leave to do absolutely anything, you can see a shadow of a figure following you around. You’re sure it’s Drake, it has to be. You’ve studied videos of him and other Robins, compared and contrasted, you know how every one of those vigilantes move compared to each other and there’s only one who has the minor tells you keep seeing out of the corner of your eyes.

Red Robin. The string leading right to him just confirms your theory. He must think it’s not worth the effort to hide himself, the string would give him away no matter what. So instead he’s making sure that whenever you leave the safety of your home you know he’s there. You pour over why in your mind, you even consider the idea that he’s protecting you but in the end even just thinking the idea cause a spark of humor in you. No he must have some other motivation, perhaps making sure you know he has the upper hand? Perhaps showcasing that you can’t hide from him?

Whatever the reason, you’re sure that you’ll find out soon. He’s been getting gradually closer over the last week and a half he’s been following you. Tonight he’s been less than half a block away at all times. Every moment that you’ve been walking to and from the convince store you’ve noticed the shadow.

You’ve never been more terrified in your life.

You know you have no real reason to be. You know that he can’t wound you or bring you into the police. He has no reason and you haven’t given him anything to frame you with, at least, not to your knowledge. That’ll have to be your only comfort for now.

The subject of your fears is about to be confronted as you purposefully turn into an alleyway that you commonly avoid during the night, just as you excepted, the moment you’re half way in you hear the soft sound of feet landing behind you. You’re certain it’s only a pleasantry.

You steel your nerves as much as possible as you turn to face Red Robin. He’s looking at you with a dark expression that you can’t quite place, it causes a drumming of unease in your stomach and you can feel your heartbeat picking up in your chest. You wring your hands together tightly before crossing them over your chest.

“Can I help you.” You ask coldly, keeping your voice low.

“I wanted to talk.” He says calmly, approaching you carefully, calculatedly.

For every step he takes you take two back, and he quickly gets the message and stops approaching. He holds out his hands as if approaching a scared animal. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

You can’t help a short, sour, laugh from rising in you. “We got off on the wrong foot years ago when I had to watch you pretend I didn’t exist.” You grit out from inbetween your teeth. “When I had to watch you fuck around in those relationships.” A tiny voice in the back of your mind screeches that you’re being stupid. Melodramatic. That nows your chance to get to know him. You ignore it. “We got off on the wrong foot when I told you to fuck off and you took it as an invitation to stalk me for a week and half!” You‘re getting angrier and angrier, hiding your unease and sadness behind a thick later of rage, as you had for years now.

You’re pacing, back and forth, back and forth, walking on an invisible tightrope before him, trying to calm yourself, to think rationally. It seems that Drake’s very presence however limits your ability to do so. You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to center yourself.

His eyes widen in shock, as if he hadn’t even thought of the possibility that you’ve know he was your soulmate for years. He shakes the shock off much quicker than you’d like before he speaks. “I wasn’t stalking you-“ he begins, holding his hand out as a sign of peace. “I wanted to say something, I just didn’t know what.”

“So you decided following me around was the best course of action.” You say with a scoff.

He unconsciously copies your body language and rubs the nape of his neck. “Well, I started off on my patrol route and then I got… distracted.”

You fix him with an un-impressed stare. “You got distracted so you decided to stalk me?” You deadpan.

He tightens his fists in agitation, scoffing at you. “Well maybe if you weren’t walking around Gotham at night I wouldn’t have to keep you from getting kidnapped!”

You throw up your hands in poorly-contained anger, approaching him to jam a finger into his chest. “I’ve done fine without you up to this point! I hardly need your help.” You seethe.

He grits his teeth, holding eye contact with you from behind his mask. If you didn’t know better you would say that you saw a flash of regret on his face. “Fine then. Have fun fighting off muggers.” He practically growls as he pulls out his grappling gun and disappears into the night with a gust of cold air.

You start walking back, much more content now that there’s no strange shadow following you. As you drift off to bed that following night however you can’t help but feel a dash of regret.

————

You’re regretting telling Drake to leave you alone.

You’re really really regretting it.

You watch the group of large men discuss you in hushed voices on the other side of the room, all of them dressed in black. You’d been brought into a small room of what you think is the office of a warehouse. After all, this variety of common criminal are never original with their plans.

You stretch and pull against your binds, trying to find any weakness in them, you grind your teeth in frustration when you fail to find any. One of them notices your twitching and after muttering something to the rest of the group approaches you. You watch, doing your best to conceal your fear, as the rest of the men leave the room.

The man crouches in front of you, balaclava covering everything but his eyes as he analyzes you.

“What do you want.” You spit out, attempting to kick him with your bound feet. The man easily swats them to the side, huffing at you in irritation. “Your soulmate is Red Robin.” He doesn’t phase it as a question, but an objective fact, making your stomach twist anxiously.

“Why the fuck would you think that.” You growl out, baring your teeth at him, doing your best to use your anger to mask your true feelings.

A series of bangs and shouts interrupts you from outside the room, causing the man to stand and turn quickly. He stands in front of you, staring at the door a while before he turns to face you, giving you a look that you roughly decipher as his best attempt at telling you “I told you so”. He pulls you up roughly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and shoving a gun to the side of your head, making you wince silently.

He tugs the both of you into the corner that’s immediately visible from the door way. It feels like an eternity of standing there, trying to maintain a balance of getting as far from the man as his arm wrapped around you will allow while not pissing him off enough that he decides to use the gun. In actuality only 2 or 3 minutes pass as you listen to the sounds of fighting that echo outside the door. Despite your expectation of it, you still violently flinch when the door slams open, a painfully loud crack filling the room.

Drake looks frantic, he’s covered in dust and his Bo staff is sticky with a dark substance that you can only surmise is blood. He barely glances at you, eyes finding the gun that your kidnapper presses into your skull before his eyes trail up to the man holding you.

He holds out a hand, other gripping his staff tightly, and you can’t help but remember your last meeting. “Let them go.” He says firmly, like his trying to will the man’s action with only his voice.

From where the man holds you against his chest you can feel him shake with fear, but how did he think this would go? His friends would get the drop on Red Robin? Yeah right. You silently hope that Drake finds a way to get you out of this soon.

“Let. Them. Go.” Drake says again, approaching slowly. You can see his fingers shifting on his staff, attempting to feel out the man’s next move. “There’s no way you get out of this. So let them go and you can get off easier.”

Apparently he didn’t enjoy the sound of that as he throws you to the ground, points his gun, and fires. Drake’s mind and body are both quicker than any reflex this man might have however as he ducks under the bullets with ease, knocking the gun out of hands with a practiced flow.

You don’t see what happens next, and you don’t want to. All you see as you pull yourself into a corner are the scrapes on your hands from where you caught yourself. You bury your head in your knees and try to fuse into the corner. You don’t want to be here. You want to be able to pretend this entire situation doesn’t bother you. You want your soulmate to be anyone other than the vigilante across the room from you right now who’s beating a man to a bloody pulp.

Time doesn’t seem real, you don’t seem real as you stand in the doorway, watching yourself struggle to breath in that corner. You don’t know when you reentered your body but you know that Drake is in front of you, blood on his knuckles and dotting his face as he frantically unties you.

You struggle to breath and Drake presses his palm to your cheek, you flinch at the feeling of a sticky fluid meeting your skin. “Hey, hey it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

Your soul acts ahead of your mind and you press you face into his chest with a sob, you feel him physically startle for a moment, before he slowly and tentatively wraps his arms around you. “I’m sorry.” You choke out between cries, digging your finger into the fabric on his back. “I’m so sorry.”

You’re sure that in a day or two the memory of this will embarrass you, but for now his arms wrap around you and squeeze firmly, centering you in the here and now as he mummers comforts into your ear.

And for now, that’s all you need.

————

It’s been almost a month since you were kidnapped, and then rescued by Red Robin. Your parents had begged you to come home and recover with them, but you had turned them down every time they asked. Under other circumstances you would’ve agreed in a heartbeat, but your apartment had something that their’s lacked. Red Robin. The man who saved you that night, and your soulmate.

Every night following your capture he’d come to visit. As he handed you off to the police he’d promised he’d keep an eye on you, and it seemed he intended to follow through on that promise, as for the last four weeks, like clockwork, you’d awaken to a soft tapping on your window, opening it to Red Robin.

The first few nights he’d simply crouched on your windowsill and exchanged a few short words with you, turning down your offers of bandaging his wounds or a glass of water before he was disappearing into the night as silently as he came. It took you nearly a week before you managed to convince him to come inside for the first time.

You had to practically beg him to come in, promising over and over that it wasn’t any trouble and you were sure that you didn’t mind. You’d never been so happy Gotham’s rent was cheap enough for you to live without a roommate so you didn’t have to explain to someone why Red Robin was in your apartment at 4 am. It took a while for the both of you to warm up to one another, especially after the rough start you’d had, but once you two actually had a conversation without gritting your teeth at each other you found you had more in common than you thought.

That brings you to today, nearly a month after Tim had saved you from your kidnappers. You’re currently both seated at your small dining room table, cups of cold coffee in both of your hands as you chat about everything and nothing at the same time, his mask laying on the table between you. You glance at the clock on your stove and startle slightly, it reads 3am. He had come by for a brief pick-me-up before he headed out on patrol, now it was about the time he should be done. If the things he’d told you were anything to go off of, Batman would be sure to express his dissatisfaction.

He follows your line of sight and winces when his eyes land on the clock. “I guess this means you have to go…” you say softly, trying to keep from seeming to disappointed.

He leans back in his chair and lets out a sigh before shrugging unceremoniously. “Eh, it’s okay.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Won’t Batman be mad?”

He gives you a grin that turns your muscles to jelly and makes your stomach erupt with a swarm of butterflies. “You think Batman’s never missed patrol because of a cutie distracting him?” He asks, looking you up and down in a surprisingly respectful manner that you find yourself wishing was a little less gentlemanly.

You feel heat rush to your cheeks and you rub at the nape of your neck in a futile attempt to disperse it. “I uh- I certainly find it hard to imagine.” You stutter, suddenly finding your floorboards completely fascinating.

He lets out a soft chuckle and a warm silence settles over the both of you like a blanket. You sit there and stare at the coffee sitting at the bottom of your cup as you swirl it around mindlessly. Your trance is only broken by Tim softly clearing his throat.

“So- so uh. I was wondering if you uh. Maybe wanted to go out with me sometime? Well not me.” He says softly, gesturing to his Red Robin uniform. “Tim Drake.”

Despite the warmth gathering in your own cheeks once more you place your elbows on the table and lean forward, taking pleasure in the pink you see on him. “If I didn’t know better I would say you like me birdie.” You tease.

He fixes you with a playful glare and copies your body language, similarly leaning forward. “What if I do?”

You click your tongue and pretend to be deep in thought for a moment. “Well…” you say slowly, “I guess I won’t have a choice but to take you up on your offer.”

He flashes you a smile that could rival the sun and stands up suddenly, prompting you to do the same. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 5, wear something nice.” He says with a wink before he’s opening your window, slipping his mask back on, and disappearing into the city with a short wave.

————

You hadn’t slept much last night. But who could blame you? After Tim had left all you could think about was what he had in mind. You spent several hours slipping in-between consciousness and sleep and when you finally woke up for good you found yourself thankful that you didn’t have to work today as your mind darted over all the different possibilities of where he would bring you.

His cryptic fashion advice did you no favors. What exactly qualified as “nice”? You certainly had no clue, and as a result spent entirely to long scanning your closet for something. You considered several outfits. Too formal. Too casual. A shirt he had seen you wear as pajamas. A pair of shorts that would’ve been perfect had it still not been to cold. A top that showed off a little to much. Nothing worked.

It took you an embarrassingly long amount of time to settle on an outfit that could be okay for a variety of activities, even longer for you decide what accessories to pair with it. After several hours you still had time to kill before Tim picked you up, which you spent doing small chores around your apartment, mind too preoccupied to get any real work done. As 5 pm drew you near you found yourself checking over every aspect of your appearance, nothing seemed quite right but as the sound of your doorbell rang throughout your apartment you found yourself grinding your teeth and having no choice but to deal with it.

You smooth out your outfit one last time before pulling the door open. Tim stands there with a soft, nervous smile on his face, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. He’s dressed more formally than you’d expected, in a simple white t-shirt, with a dark grey blazer and slacks, finished off with black leather loafers.

He blinks in shock as he looks you up and down once, his ears turning a bright red as he seemingly snaps out of it, offering the bouquet to you. “You look lovely.” He says softly, looking away from you and towards the floor bashfully.

You feel your cheeks warm as you roll your eyes playfully and take the bouquet from him. “You’re one to talk birdie.” You flirt as you move into the kitchen to get a vase.

He follows you into your apartment, closing the door and leaning against its frame as he watches you work with a fond look in his eyes. You finish filling a vase with water and place the roses on a windowsill. You gently mess with the blood colored petals, moving them around softly before you turn to look at Tim. “Thank you for the flowers.” You say softly.

He gives you a small smile and rocks on his heels, “Ah don’t mention it.” He says with a wave of his hand.

“So, what exactly did you plan?” You ask, unable to keep the excitement from your voice as you approach him.

He gives you a smirk and opens your front door with a flourish. “After you.”

You can’t keep yourself from letting out a short laugh as you let him escort you through the hallways of your apartment building and towards a nearby parking lot, where an entirely too expensive car is waiting. You startle for a moment, but recover as he approaches it and opens the passenger door for you.

“Do you even have a license to drive this?” You tease as you slide into your seat.

He balks and stares at you in open mouthed shock for a few moments, causing you to let out a full bodied laugh.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He splutters, ears turning red as he looks at you in confusion.

“D-don’t take this the wrong way,” you say breathlessly “but you don’t look like someone who knows how to drive.”

He stares at you for a few more moments before wordlessly rounding the car and getting into the drivers seat.

“You’re sure you can sit there?” You snark.

He gives you a half-hearted glare. “And to think I was gonna take you out to a nice dinner.” He mummers under his breath as he starts the engine.

You give him an exaggerated look of shock and lean over as best you can in a mock-bow. “I am so very sorry my lord. Please forgive me.”

He considers you out of the corner of his eye, trying and failing to hide a smile. “I suppose your apology is acceptable.” He quips.

You straighten and give him a large smile, giggling as you turn your head to look out the window at the streets you’re passing. There is no denying that the start you had was rough, but now? Now you wouldn’t change what you had for the world.

#key writing #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #tim drake x you #red robin x you #dc x reader #dcu #dc #tim drake #red robin #this is not my best work #but please enjoy all the same

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asthroophile · 2 months ago

Text

curtain call of the heart

v. welcome to our new world, sweetheart

pairing brant x fem!reader, modern high school au mutual pinning, childhood friends to lovers, might be ooc

wc: 3.781

summary: being friends with the theater club president means you have to accept the fact that you'll get dragged into acting in plays.

(n); guys, im literally kicking my feet while writing this and listening to Always by daniel caesar. i need a man like this irl frr.

previous next...

it had been nearly two months of being dragged into the theater club—two months of staying back after school, watching rehearsals, getting roped into helping with set designs, and somehow always ending up next to him.

brant.

the club president. the reason you were stuck here every afternoon, even though you never officially signed up.

they had just wrapped up their rehearsal for the day, and as expected, brant plopped down beside you on the worn-out stage steps, stretching his legs like he owned the place. which—technically—he did.

you, who had been silently scrolling on your phone, suddenly spoke, “how do you register for a club?”

brant barely reacted, answering without much thought. “usually, you write a handwritten letter about your identity and why you want to join. after that, you get called for an interview.”

you blinked, “interview?”

he nodded, his gaze flicking to you, curiosity creeping into his expression. “yeah.”

you clenched your fists, inhaling deeply. then, as if making a life-altering decision, you shot up from your seat.

"okay, wait here."

without another word, you bolted towards your bag in the corner—well, technically a pile of bags stacked haphazardly in the backstage area.

brant watched you go, one eyebrow raised.

the question had been random enough, but now? the way you rushed off like you were on a mission?

his smirk grew. oh, this was going to be interesting.

brant watched as you dug through the pile of bags, muttering under your breath before finally pulling out a crumpled notebook and a pen. you marched right back, plopped down beside him, and flipped to a clean page.

"just identity and a reason to join, right?" you asked, pen already poised to write.

brant, still watching you with growing amusement, gave a slow nod.

“what’s all this?” his voice carried a teasing lilt. “wow finally found your thing? thinking of actually joining a club?”

you didn’t look up, just tapped the pen against the page. “maybe.”

his smirk widened. “maybe? that’s a strong word coming from you.”

you ignored him, focusing on writing down your name and details, keeping the paper angled away from his view. brant, being brant, leaned in slightly, tilting his head to peek at what you were writing.

"hey," you huffed, shifting the notebook away from his gaze. "back off."

brant blinked, clearly not expecting that. “what, is it top secret or something?”

“something like that.”

his eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “...you’re writing about me, aren’t you?”

you rolled you eyes. “yes, brant. i’m writing a whole essay about how annoying you are.”

“i knew it,” he gasped dramatically, hand over his heart. “and yet, you still sit beside me every day.”

you didn’t dignify that with a response. instead, you finished writing, tore the paper out, and, without a word, handed it to him.

brant took it, his grin still in place—until he noticed half of it was folded, concealing the reason for joining. he flicked his gaze to you, then back to the paper.

“…you do realize you missed a part, right?” he pointed out, lifting an eyebrow.

“i didn’t miss anything,” you said simply, crossing your arms.

brant narrowed his eyes at you, then at the folded section. he could've pushed, teased you until you gave in, but something in the way you guarded it made him hold back.

“…fine,” he said, flicking the paper lightly. “guess i’ll just have to wait and see, huh?”

you only hummed in response, taking the paper back and tucking it safely into your notebook.

“still feels unfair, though,” he mused. “you get to keep secrets, but i don’t?”

you smirked, “welcome to my world.”

the next day, you didn’t show up at practice.

brant noticed, of course. he didn’t ask, didn’t text, didn’t even let it show on his face when the others threw questions around about where you were. he knew better than to push. if you wanted space, he’d give it.

but even knowing that, he still glanced at the door a few times too many, half-expecting you to walk in late like you usually did.

you didn’t.

meanwhile, you spent your time at the library, waiting. you weren't hiding—at least, that’s what you told yourself. you just needed the right moment, when the club wasn’t as full, when there weren’t too many eyes watching.

when the time finally came, you made your way to the theater club room.

by then, most of the members had already left, only a few lingering around as they packed their things. and there he was—brant, sitting on the stage steps, casually scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t spent the past hour throwing himself into rehearsals.

you stopped at the door, fingers tightening around the folded paper in your hands. not enough to crumple it beyond recognition, but enough to feel the edges dig into your skin.

were you really doing this?

your grip loosened.

your feet moved.

you walked toward him, your steps quieter than usual, the paper subtly tucked behind your arm as if it was just another notebook you happened to be carrying. brant, still absorbed in whatever was on his screen, didn’t notice you immediately.

for a second, you considered turning around. maybe you should wait another day—

but then brant looked up.

his eyes met yours, and something flickered across his expression. surprise, curiosity—maybe even the smallest hint of amusement.

you swallowed, forcing yourself to keep walking.

"hey,” brant greeted, like you hadn’t skipped out on practice. like he hadn’t been waiting. "you’re alive."

you rolled your eyes, stopping in front of him. "obviously."

his gaze drifted to your hands, noticing the way you held something close to your chest. "what’s that?"

your grip tightened again.

"nothing."

brant tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. but instead of prying, he just leaned back slightly, resting his arms on his knees.

"fair enough," he said easily.

you weren't sure if that made this easier or harder.

you grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it toward him, the legs scraping softly against the floor. you sat down in front of him, careful to keep your posture neutral, your hands steady. or at least, you tried.

brant, ever observant, caught onto the tension in your shoulders. his phone clicked off, the glow of the screen disappearing as he set it aside without hesitation. his attention was on you now, fully and completely.

"you wanna talk?" his voice was casual, but his gaze wasn’t. he was studying you, taking in the way you’re gripping that paper like it held something important—something you weren't ready to share yet.

you exhaled slowly, trying not to let your nerves show. you met his gaze for a second before flicking your eyes away, staring somewhere over his shoulder.

"kind of," you admitted, fingers subtly shifting against the edges of the paper. "but—uh, not right now. just… later."

brant raised a brow, the corner of his lips twitching. "later, huh? alright."

he didn’t press. didn’t tease. just leaned back a little, watching you like he was waiting for whatever you'd say next.

you tightened your grip on the paper for a second before exhaling through your nose. no use overthinking it. you had already dragged yourself here, already sat down in front of him. if you hesitated any longer, you'd just make yourself look stupid.

without another word, you extended the folded paper toward him. direct. no build up. no unnecessary pauses. just handing it over like it was nothing—like your heart wasn’t practically trying to escape your ribcage.

brant tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he took it from your hands. his fingers brushed against yours, warm and steady, before he leaned back in his seat.

he didn’t open it immediately. just twirled it between his fingers, glancing up at you with that look. the one that said he knew something was up.

“what’s this?” he asked, voice light, but his gaze sharp.

you shrugged, trying not to give yourself away. "just read it."

he didn’t need to be told twice.

brant unfolded the paper with practiced ease, his gaze dropping to the neatly written words. you held your breath, forcing yourself to stay still, to not fidget under his scrutiny. you watched as his eyes moved over the text, slow and deliberate, not rushing through it like he usually did with scripts. he read each line with care—too much care, if you're being honest.

his expression was unreadable at first, just a neutral focus. but then, the moment his gaze flicked toward the section you had so carefully tried to keep out of his sight—the reason—his lips twitched.

and then, just as you feared, that infuriating grin spread across his face.

brant leaned back in his chair, tilting his head at you like you're the most amusing thing he’d seen all week. “you joined my club?” he asked, voice filled with something between delight and teasing disbelief. “am i dreaming?”

you crossed your arms, fixing him with a deadpan stare. “clearly not, since you’re still annoying.”

but your attempt at nonchalance didn’t deter him. if anything, his grin only widened. he tapped the paper with his finger, then looked at you like he was trying to memorize your expression.

“this is real, right? you didn’t, like, lose a bet or get possessed or—”

“brant.” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “it’s not that big of a deal.”

“not that big of a deal?” he gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like you had just wounded him. “y/n, you avoided this club for almost two months. two whole months of dodging, resisting, barely even stepping on the stage unless i dragged you there.”

he sat up, the teasing glint in his eyes softening just slightly. “and now you’re here. joining.”

you glanced away, the weight of his words making your heart do something stupid. “i never said i was avoiding it.”

brant snorted. “you didn’t have to.”

you let out a small, exasperated sigh, but before you could snap back, he leaned in, resting his arms on his knees as he looked at you—really looked at you.

“be honest,” he said, quieter this time. “what made you change your mind?”

you hesitated, gripping the hem of your sleeve. you had expected him to tease you, maybe even laugh, but this… this was different. his gaze was warm, open, patient.

you shifted in your seat, gripping the hem of your sleeve a little tighter. his eyes were too expectant, too knowing, and you didn’t like where this conversation was going.

you exhaled sharply, “can’t i just get accepted already?” you muttered, averting your gaze. “or, uh, have that interview thing you mentioned yesterday? do i really have to explain what changed my mind?”

brant blinked, then let out a soft laugh—quiet, amused, and way too pleased with himself. he leaned back, tapping the paper against his knee, eyes never leaving you. “so you are avoiding the question.”

you clicked your tongue, turning your face away. “i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

you clenched your jaw. maybe this was a mistake. maybe you should’ve just handed the application to another member and let them deal with it. but no—you had to do this yourself.

brant hummed, tilting his head at you, like he was considering his next move. “well, you’re right about one thing. i should be professional about this.” he straightened up, setting the paper aside and clasping his hands together. “y/n, for your official interview, please tell me—”

your head snapped toward him. “wait, you’re actually—”

he ignored you. “why do you want to join the theater club?”

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face before shooting him a glare. this was exactly what you wanted to avoid.

"i already wrote it on the paper," you huffed. "and you already read it."

brant pressed a hand to his chest, feigning shock. "wow, denying me a verbal answer? after all our years of friendship? my heart, y/n. it hurts."

you rolled your eyes. "then maybe stop acting like an idiot and process the fact that i actually signed up."

he grinned, leaning forward slightly. "oh, i processed it. i'm just enjoying this moment. you, willingly joining my club? this is history in the making."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "you're enjoying this too much."

brant didn't even try to deny it.

you pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply like you had just committed the biggest mistake of your life. "i should’ve just joined another club…" you muttered under your breath.

brant, being brant, only smirked wider. “too late for regrets, sweetheart. the moment your name’s on that paper, you’re one of us.”

that’s it. you weren't about to let him have this much fun at your expense. without thinking twice, you lunged forward, snatching the paper from his grasp.

brant blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but before you could bolt, he moved—quick, like he knew you'd try this.

"oh, no, no, no," he laughed, grabbing your wrist before you could escape. "you cannot take it back now."

"watch me," you gritted, twisting in his hold.

"sweetheart," he tsked, tightening his grip just enough to keep you from slipping away, "i’m the president. you think i’ll just let my star recruit escape?"

your eye twitched. "i hate you."

he chuckled, effortlessly prying the paper from your fingers. "and yet," he mused, waving it teasingly in front of you, "here you are, joining my club willingly."

shit. this was already a disaster.

brant let out a hum, twirling the paper between his fingers before setting it down beside him. “alright, alright. i’ll stop messing with you—for now.”

you crossed your arms, still glaring. “you better.”

he leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking way too official. “so, let’s talk about your interview.”

you nearly groaned on the spot. “do we really have to?”

brant shrugged. “of course. it’s club protocol, you know.”

“you made that up,” you deadpanned.

brant placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “sweetheart, do you think i’d lie to you?”

“yes.”

he grinned but continued, “still, i need to ask a few things. why do you want to join?”

you stiffened, gripping the hem of your shirt. “i already wrote it on the paper,” you muttered.

“yeah, but i want to hear it from you.”

you pressed your lips together, avoiding his gaze. this was exactly why you didn’t want to go through this whole stupid interview.

brant waited, watching you closely, his usual teasing demeanor softening ever so slightly. “hey,” he said, quieter this time, “i’m not forcing you or anything. if you’re not sure, you don’t have to do this.”

you frowned, that was the thing—you’re sure. maybe not about everything, but… this?

you inhaled sharply before speaking, your voice steady, but just barely. “…i want to try.”

brant blinked, something flickering in his expression before he smiled, warm and sincere. “then that’s more than enough."

for once, you didn’t have a snarky reply.

brant stretched his arms, his teasing smirk returning. "alright, let’s make it official then. welcome to the theater club, sweetheart."

you squinted at him, "that’s it?"

he shrugged, "that’s it."

"you just said i needed an interview—"

"and you passed," he winked. "i just needed to hear you say you wanted to be here."

you exhaled through your nose, dragging a hand down your face. "i knew you made that up."

brant leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "maybe, but you didn’t run away. that counts for something."

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. "whatever."

he grinned. "so, since you’re officially part of the club now, do you wanna start helping with the next production? or should i put you on script duty first?"

you shot him a glare. "you’re making me regret this already."

brant laughed, standing up and offering his hand. "too late to back out now."

you didn’t take it. instead, you stood on your own, staring at him for a second before sighing. "fine. but if i mess up, that’s on you."

he raised a brow, smirking. "i wouldn’t have it any other way."

you crossed your arms, glancing around the empty room before fixing your gaze back on him. “are we done?”

brant tilted his head, stretching his arms above him lazily. “mmm, i dunno. you in a rush to leave me already?”

you sighed, shaking your head. “not really, just… wondering why it’s only us now.”

brant smirked, leaning forward slightly. “you nervous?”

you rolled your eyes. “no. just making sure you’re not about to drag me into extra work now that i’m officially in your club.”

he chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “nah, i’m not that evil. besides, i like having you here.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. “right… so, are we done now?”

brant hummed, pretending to think. “well, if you wanna go, i won’t stop you.” then, with a playful grin, he added, “but i wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

you scoffed, glancing at the clock before looking back at him. "i mean, brant, it's time for the club to end? like, look—it's just you and me? you don’t go home?"

brant leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking way too comfortable for someone who was supposed to be wrapping things up. "i could go home," he mused. "but you’re still here, so…"

you gave him a deadpan stare. "so what? you waiting for me to carry you out?"

he grinned. "tempting, but no. just thinking—maybe this is fate."

"fate?" you echoed, unimpressed.

brant leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "yeah. just the two of us, alone, after hours… kinda romantic, don’t you think?"

you immediately grabbed your bag. "okay, i’m going home."

as you pushed yourself up from the chair, ready to escape whatever nonsense he was about to pull next, brant suddenly reached out, catching your wrist with a gentle grip.

“oh, okay, wait—” he tugged you back just enough to stop you from leaving. “i’ll take this chair to its place, don’t leave already.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, unconvinced. “...you’re literally begging right now.”

brant sighed dramatically, his other hand over his heart. “maybe i am. can’t a guy just enjoy a little extra time with his favorite club member?”

“i just joined, that means nothing.”

“exactly, you need a proper welcome,” he said, already dragging the chair away but still keeping his eyes on you, like he was making sure you wouldn't bolt the second he turned his back.

you folded your arms. “brant, i swear—if you’re about to make this into another weird, drawn-out conversation—”

he set the chair down, then turned back to you with a grin. “too late, you’re already stuck.”

brant let out a sigh, stretching his arms like he’d just finished something exhausting. “alright, alright. let’s go home now.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. you waited as he grabbed his bag, then the two of you stepped out of the clubroom together.

the evening air was crisp, the sky already dark, but it wasn’t too cold. they walked side by side, the sound of their footsteps filling the quiet street. it was always a routine—brant walking you home, talking about whatever came to mind while you listened, occasionally rolling your eyes at his ridiculous remarks.

“so,” he started, hands stuffed into his pockets, “how does it feel? officially being one of us?”

you sighed, tilting your head slightly. “honestly? feels like i just signed my soul away.”

brant laughed, “that’s the spirit.”

you shook your head. “i should’ve never asked how to sign up…”

“and yet, here you are, walking home with your incredibly handsome club president,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

you shot him a deadpan look. “yeah, regretting every step.”

he gasped dramatically. “y/n, you wound me.”

you only hummed in response, looking ahead. your house wasn’t far now.

brant glanced at you, a small smile still lingering on his lips. “still, i’m glad.”

you frowned slightly, “glad about what?”

“that you joined,” he said simply. “even if you regret it, i’m still happy you did.”

you didn’t respond right away, just looked down at the sidewalk as you walked.

“…you’re annoying,” you muttered.

brant chuckled. “yeah, i know, i know."

you both fell silent for a moment after that previous conversation, but unfortunately, brant—who could never stay quiet and always had something to say—clearly wasn’t going to let that happen.

"don't run away this time," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. "you're officially in the club now."

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "if you don’t make it worse than it already is, maybe i’ll stay."

brant let out a low chuckle, the sound so natural, so him, that it made your stomach twist uncomfortably. you stared ahead, determined not to acknowledge the way it made you feel.

and then, without warning, his hand landed on your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some kid.

you jerked away immediately, "brant—what the hell!"

he just grinned, completely unfazed. "see you tomorrow at the club," he said, as if that was a normal way to end a conversation. "we’re running scenes."

you narrowed your eyes at him, fixing your hair with an annoyed huff. "you make it sound like a death sentence."

brant smirked, "only if you keep avoiding it."

you had just lifted your hands to smooth down your hair when brant suddenly pulled out his phone.

“wait—stay like that.”

you froze, your fingers still mid-motion. “brant, don’t—”

the faint sound of a camera shutter clicked before you could stop him.

your hand shot out, trying to snatch the phone from him, but he was faster, holding it out of your reach with an infuriating grin. “you look cute.”

your face burned, “delete it.”

“nah.” he scrolled through his gallery, admiring the picture. “might set it as my wallpaper.”

you groaned, shoving his arm, but he barely stumbled. “brant.”

“y/n,” he mimicked your tone with a teasing smirk, “come on, you always look good."

you let out a dramatic sigh, “you’re impossible.”

brant chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before you could attempt another grab. “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

you grumbled under your breath, but when you glanced at him, he was still smiling. that soft, amused expression—the one that made your heart trip over itself—was something you'd never quite get used to.

#wuthering waves #wuwa #brant #brant x reader #wuwa x reader

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