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easier than you think

Ted Kord/Reader, 4.3K

a/n: a request for Ted Kord and fake dating, which, hehehehehehehe

cw: two fools that don’t realize they’re already in love with each other, fake dating, real romance, unbearable sexual/romantic tension, sharing a bed, first kisses, gn!reader

masterlist ao3 rules for requests

PREVIEW:

“I mean, I know that Booster’s got this guy he’s been seeing.” “And I bet Bea and Tora are going to be each other’s, so that kind of cancels it out.” You say, looking away from the conversation that you find yourself more and more invested in. “You think Guy’s going to bring that person—” “That he was making out with in the backyard?” Ted lets out a dry, breathy laugh. “Wouldn’t surprise me.” You don’t offer anything else, worried that this plan that is already half-baked in your brain is going to fail to launch, when he sighs gustily and slumps his shoulders. “I mean, it’s nice that Max set us up and everything, but I just don’t want to roll up to this thing alone, you know?” You go out on a limb and a prayer as you lean upon the humming modem. “Well, why don’t you put my name down?” tl;dr: is it really fake dating if you both have real feelings? Ted Kord/Reader

“A gala?” J’onn asks, brow deepening as though ‘gala’ is synonymous with ‘disaster,’ which, knowing the track record—okay, maybe he does have good reason to be worried.

“Sure,” Max says with no small amount of glee, “It’s just a little something that the UN likes to host every year. And now that we’ve got a Justice League that’s international and represents people all over the world, all the more reason to invite you kids.”

“What must we bring?” J’onn asks as the rest of you begin to titter and gossip behind him from where you’ve clustered at the meeting room table. If he is irritated, he calls upon those deep wells of Martian concentration to avoid outwardly displaying it.

“Just bring yourselves,” Max smiles close-lipped, eyes sliding over the band of chuckleheads he represents, “And whatever plus ones that you want to have sitting nice and pretty next to you at the shindig—I’ll need the full headcount by next week. Any questions?”

When no one voices their opinions about getting free food and an excuse to dress up, he rises from the corner of the table that he’s been rather jauntily leaning upon.

“Swell. Now, J’onn, if you don’t mind coming with me, there’s a few other things I’d like to discuss with you—”

With a sense of gravity that none else on the League seem to possess, the two of them make a deliberate exit to the door. This leaves the rest of you to gossip about your prospects, trailing out behind your exalted leader and donor. It’s a slow trickle, but eventually the only two people that remain are you and Ted—Ted’s running diagnostics on the computer and you’re happy to keep him company in the meantime.

“So who are you going to put on the invite?” You ask casually, as though you’re trying to ask a friend a very small-talk kind of question instead of something that could make or break your mood for the next week. Hope springs eternal when he casts you a somewhat sheepish look cast in blue pallor as he turns away from the screen.

“I don’t know.” He admits, a tad self-consciously, rubbing a hand up the length of his forearm. “I mean, I know that Booster’s got this guy he’s been seeing.”

“And I bet Bea and Tora are going to be each other’s, so that kind of cancels it out.” You say, looking away from the conversation that you find yourself more and more invested in. “You think Guy’s going to bring that person—”

“That he was making out with in the backyard?” Ted lets out a dry, breathy laugh. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

You don’t offer anything else, worried that this plan that is already half-baked in your brain is going to fail to launch, when he sighs gustily and slumps his shoulders. “I mean, it’s nice that Max set us up and everything, but I just don’t want to roll up to this thing alone, you know?”

You go out on a limb and a prayer as you lean upon the humming modem. “Well, why don’t you put my name down?”

Ted snaps his head up so quickly he’s liable to get whiplash, with a degree of interest that he’s probably not keenly aware that he’s displaying. This is ample evidence to you that you may be fortuitous in your decision to proceed.

“What? But we’re not—”—he swallows, avoiding the all-encompassing ‘d’ word—“—together.”

You shrug as you feel like your pulse must be threatening to thrum right out of your throat. “What’s it matter to the UN? Do they know that?”

Ted’s eyes dart to the floor, the screen, back to you, up to the ceiling—back to you. “Well, you are already a member of the JLI, so I guess it would save table space for them.”

He hesitates as he formulates a way to deliver the question that is clearly dwelling in his mind and causing him no small amount of grief, leaning forward a tick for your response.

“But, you’re not bringing someone else?” The fact that your status is inspiring no small amount of interest is something that you think rings positive for this endeavor.

You huff a wistful sigh. “Nope. Still single as ever.”

If it’s impolite to let your shoulders relax in relief at this, then you might consider Ted a tad on the rude side. But you’re going to let it slide. You proceed with the plan.

“So what’s the harm in acting like we’re together for a month?”

He ruminates on this for the great span of two seconds. “I guess—there’s not really anything wrong with that. Then we would get to sit together.”

You feel like it’s safe enough to smile, endeared to this man that stares up at you with a hopeful grin. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

“And,” Ted continues, “If it’s any consolation, if I’d want any fake partner in this—I don’t think I could do better than you.”

You laugh, unsure if you should take the compliment or if you should be mildly insulted. “I should say the same for you, Kord.”

There’s an odd, tense feeling in the air; not uncomfortable in the painful way, but in a way that seems to…defy description. As if the only way that it can be resolved is through physical actions that neither of you are willing to take—yet. So the two of you must remain inches yet miles away from each other in your separate isles of tortured thought.

Mission accomplished and practically buoyant with your victory, you think it best to make an exit.

“Okay, well—”—you stand, and it seems to your mild delight that he feels parting is such sweet sorrow—“—I have duty with Tora in a little bit, so I’ll be seein’ you, boyfriend.”

You give him a crooked smile at the use of his assumed moniker, that seems to roll off the tongue easier than you expected it to. And by the way that his face seems to light up as you deliver it, something that he sorely enjoys hearing from you.

“See you—”—Ted audibly hesitates before he summons the courage—“—Partner.”

You give him a goodbye with a slick wave of your hand through the air before you turn, with a goofy smile on your face that wasn’t there minutes ago. If you were to turn around, you’d see something exactly alike reflected on his face as he watches you go.

It’s a week later when you’re returning back from a mission in the early, early hours of the morning with Scott and J’onn. The two of them sleepily wave as they depart in their respective directions, J’onn to his quarters, Scott to the embrace of home. And you find yourself ambling in the direction of your own room to the alluring call of your bed.

But you don’t take the most efficient route back, as you wander the halls that are hushed with those lost to slumber. Your feet end up beating a different path, and so you find yourself meandering past the hangar bay, craning your neck in to look.

Luckily enough, you find yourself rewarded with a glimmer of distant light, and a respective distant figure that perches on a barstool. He’s hunched over a workbench laden with tools and technology that you can only assume have been in use for quite some time now. Seems about time for a check-in, anyways.

You call to avoid scaring the person who has been making your heart race and your stomach tumble with butterflies whenever you see him. Your voice echoes in the relatively empty space as you speak aloud, “What’cha doing up so late, professor?”

For all your efforts, Ted still jumps ever-so-slightly as he realizes that he has company, though his face is relaxed as he turns from his ministrations, to your direction. There’s that handsome face, that doting smile that lifts your spirits every time you see it.

“Late?” He asks, furrowing his brow in confusion. “What do you—”—He turns to look at the clock hanging on the wall and lets his shoulders slump in shock—“—Oh. I guess time got the better of me.”

He runs an appreciative eye over your form as he chuckles, embarrassed.

“Good think I’m such a thoughtful partner,” you say as you cross the distance towards him, where he sits, awaiting your approach, “Wouldn’t want you burning the midnight oil when you’ve got big plans tomorrow.”

The two of you have been lobbying this word, partner, back and forth between the two of you since you made this clandestine agreement. At first, it was a cute joke between two like-minded people searching for a means to an end.

But now, especially when you cast it out to him in hopes of a response, the word is feeling a lot more charged, loaded, than it was before. You like it—but there’s something that’s simmering under your skin with each continued usage of it.

From the way that he shifts as he regards you, it’s clear that it’s something lingering in the forefront of his mind as well, though he does little to articulate it.

“Yeah, you’re right—”—Ted palms a conscientious hand to the back of his neck—“—I’d totally forgotten about that investor meeting.”

“Better you than me, doc.” You say, clapping a gentle hand to his shoulder. If he stiffens at the way your thumb rolls up him, it’s only indicative by the way his face assumes a ruddy hue—“—But if it makes any difference, you’re going to do great.”

You turn your gaze down from his face that openly regards you, to the miniature bug cameras that look like they’ve come fresh off the manufacturing line, glittering and iridescent in the overhead lamp light. “These bug cameras are gonna be a hit with them.”

“You think so?” Ted offers you a lopsided smile and you nod affirmatively. You have yet to take your hand off of him, but neither of you are drawing attention to this.

“Who doesn’t love bug themed security systems?” you ask with a smile. “I myself was thinking of patenting a grasshopper camera array. Call it—”—You hold up your hands to further illustrate—“‘crouching tiger hidden mantis.’”

He laughs, unexpected but appreciative, and the noise makes you straighten up a little taller. “That’s pretty good.”

“I know, I work best when I’m exhausted.” You beam. “And speaking of which—go to bed, Ted.”

He sighs at the final hurdle of the night. “Yes, yes, dear. How do I ever repay you?”

“Hmmm,” you say, turning your head up to the ceiling, letting a roguish grin cross your face, “Maybe you could repay me with a bedtime story?”

In your head, it sounded significantly cuter than your delivery—you almost regret it the second that it passes your lips. Ted does a very convincing rendition of a tomato, going entirely motionless, and this is when you begin to backtrack as best you can.

“Uhhh…I mean—”—You begin rather lamely, wishing for a hole to open in the ground and swallow you whole.

Ted, to your surprise, recovers rather quickly, though the color has yet to retreat from his face. “Well, I mean, I don’t mind—”

You look up at him, trying to not pass out from embarrassment as he continues—“—But I’m not sure how much you’re going to like Sagan’s The Demon Haunted World.”

He’s not saying no—hell, he’s encouraging you. You jump on the opportunity for all it’s worth.

“Well, I think as long as you manage to get the inflection right on ‘billions and billions,’—”—You smile encouragingly, squeezing his bicep which makes him subtly shudder—“—That should lull me right to sleep.”

He looks at you with an ever-hopeful, excited smile. “Sounds like a good trade-off to me.”

The next morning you find yourself hurriedly rushing Ted out of his bedroom to the bathroom down the hall, trying to get him ready for the meeting that is in t-minus forty-five minutes. The bedtime story—yes, it did happen—went on a little longer, especially when you realized just how cozy it was snuggling up on his chest.

And of course, then he had to find a way to work his arm around you while he held the book one-handed. Lots and lots of distracting moments in your pursuit of sleep, which is to say, neither of you got much at all, cuddling each other in the early hours of the morning.

So as you two rush out in a tizzy, the two of you can’t help but find yourself observed by witnesses. Namely, the Green Lantern who crosses his arms in the doorway in nothing more than a raggedy pair of boxers with a neat lantern pattern emblazoned on the fabric.

The two of you freeze. You’re mid-pull as you heft down the t-shirt you borrowed off of Ted the previous night to hunker down in. Ted himself is only clad in his boxers, trying to smooth his brown mop into a more tolerable visual, hands clutched to his head as you both turn to look.

“Hmmm,” Guy says as he eyes the two of you in your statuesque impressions, “‘Bout fuckin’ time the two of you nerds did somethin’ about that shit.”

He offers no more before turning back into his room and shuts the door behind him with a click, leaving the two of you two to linger in your pleased mortification.

A few days before the gala, Ted rolls up to your monitor duty shift with Beatriz, with goods in tow. You can’t help but straighten up from the relaxed posture that you take in your seat, a familiar smile rising to your face as you watch him pace through the doorway.

“Need something, Ted?” You ask brightly. Beatriz has to put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile as she watches you both.

“Nope—I come bearing gifts.” He holds up the cup-holder that bears two drinks with a familiar logo on the side. “Coffee from that place down the street.”

“My hero,” Beatriz relaxes against her seat in abject appreciation. He offers hers first, something topped with whipped cream and a colorful straw that she accepts with a ready grin.

“Bea—”—He says as he passes it to her, and then goes to reach out for your drink, holding it out to you. When he says your name, there’s something significant about the way that he delivers it, something electrifying in the way that your fingertips brush as he passes the hot cup to you.

“Pure gentleman.” You breeze as you accept your gift, taking a sip—just the way you like it.

“Sounds nice when you say it.” He smiles, beaming eyes only for you.

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” you return easily. There’s a slow moment where it feels like there’s only the two of you that exist in the room. At least, until Beatriz makes a pointed cough to remind you that she's there too.

“Well—”—Ted burns hot as he realizes this little tidbit—“—Not that you two aren’t excited to keep going, but I have to get stuff ready for the gala.”

He turns, but not before turning back to you with a cheerful, “I’ll be back when you two are done.”

“See you, Ted.” you wave him away as he makes his exit, letting your eyes stay trained on the goods as he leaves. You don’t really realize that you’re still staring in his wake even after he’s gone, until Beatriz interrupts your train of thought.

“So how long were you two planning on keeping it a secret?” She demands. You turn to her slowly, the cup leaching its heat into your palm, rooting you in the moment.

“What? What a secret?” you ask foolishly. She graces you with a really, hoe? look.

“The dating, dummy.” She says slowly, patiently, in pursuit of answers you can only provide. “I always kept trying to ask Booster about you two but that asshole never said anything.”

“Oh, well, uh—”—you begin, taking another gulp to try and buy yourself more time.

“And I’ve always seen the way Ted looks at you.” Beatriz asserts, boring her eyes into you as she tries to shake you down for an answer you don’t want to give.

“Hmmm. Mmm-hmmm.” you pretend that you’ve singed your tongue on the coffee—first-degree burns would be preferable to having this conversation.

“And I’ve always seen the way you’ve looked at him.” She chuckles at the pantomime that has been obvious to everyone but the two of you. “The two of you are about as subtle as an earthquake.”

“That’s nice of you to say, Bea,” you respond listlessly as you glance at the all-clear on the monitor—no cataclysmic disaster to be found. Dammit.

“But I guess you two wanted to make it official before the gala, huh?” She asks knowingly, scootching closer in her chair to affix you under her scrutinous glare.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so.” you return. Maybe if you pass out right now, she’ll believe it.

“So? Are you happy?” She asks, almost accusatorily. You know that there must be a whole platoon of people who are champing at the bit for this information, if the way that she’s squeezing you now is any indication. But, at least this is something that you can provide an easy answer to.

“Yes, I am.” you smile at the cup that has your name written on the side, courtesy of your pseudo-boyfriend. Something stirs within you at this, sweet and blossoming. “It’s…nice.”

“And is he good?” Beatriz asks—you frown in bewilderment, finally breaking your determined gaze from the monitor. She has a smug smile on her face as you appraise her.

“At what?”

“Playing chess, duh.” She gives you a questioning, dubious look at your supposed naïveté. “Down there—in bed.”

She arches an eyebrow, a smile playing on her face as she awaits your answer. You opt to take a long drink.

“Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” You ask, wondering if you’ll ever be able to look Ted in the eye again.

The beginning of the gala is earmarked by a bow tie that you loop around the span of Ted’s neck, your fingers occasionally grazing over the sensitive skin. If he breathes in a touch sharply whenever you do so, you both let this go by the wayside.

Then, he helps you affix all of your necessities with a quiet, capable tenderness that nearly steals your breath away. When all is said and done, the two of you look at each other, at this odd situation that you’ve found yourself in, and can’t help but share a shaky, excited little laugh.

“Ready, mon ami?” You ask, unable to resist the smile on your face. He seems to be valiantly struggling and failing a similar battle as he holds out an arm for you to loop yours into.

“As I’ll ever be, ma chere,” he says, “Now how about we go check out this gala together?”

As far as galas go—not that you’ve been invited to many—the UN does a pretty sizable job. The two of you are seated at a circular table with starched white tablecloths next to Booster and his date, Max and J’onn on the other side of you. Dishes are served by waiters in polished uniforms, speeches are spoken by stately representatives, toasts are held with sparkling crystal glasses.

Sometime during the third tedious self-congratulatory speech, your hand found Ted’s, and so the two of you sit, with your fingers interlaced, resting in your lap under the tablecloth. He’s yet to relinquish you and you're not going to make him do so anytime soon.

But there’s something that hangs in the air that isn’t tense this time, but foreboding, melancholy. You’ve both arrived at the gala as each other’s respective dates. But unlike the couples that circle the tables populated by your fellow colleagues, this one is for show.

As you see how he fills out this baby blue suit with a tie to match, you can’t help but dread the end of the night and all that it implies. When he smiles back at you bemusedly albeit happily, you can’t help but feel something clench around your heart. Something within you wants to sink into this moment with hooked, clawed fingers and hold it tight.

The dancing begins, as so many of these celebrations do, and when Ted shares a silent look with you, it’s like the two of you are on the same page as you rise together and walk over to the flawless marble floor.

Neither of you are in the professional category, nor the ranked bad amateurs, but all the same, you hug the edge of the floor. And it’s perfect, in his arms—because why wouldn’t it be?

It’s sometime around your third rotation that you feel brave enough to speak past the lump in your throat, looking from where your eyes have focused on his chest, up to him.

“How you doing, Ted?” you ask. He’s been staring at you—has been since the dance started—but it’s like his eyes alight when you say his name.

“This is nice.” He says, his voice at a register that is meant to be shared only between the two of you. The two of you turn past Beatriz and Tora, who are both settling rather pointed, observational stares upon you both—you ignore this.

“Yeah, it is. You’re not so bad at dancing.” You smile. “I like how you cut a rug.”

“Well, I didn’t want to crush my partner’s toes.” He says, and you can’t help but chuff out a giggle that makes him seem to grow in stature.

“Thanks for that.” You say, steeling yourself for the second part of your statement. “But, um. I wanted to talk about this.”

“What about this?” He asks, an odd, fearful note bleeding into his voice.

“Well, ‘cause we’re here at the gala. Which is what we were working towards.” You say, hoping that he picks up what you’re laying the foundation to, hoping that this is the opposite of what he wants. But you’re never one to not rip off the bandaid first.

“Yeah?” He asks, more wary than ever. You wonder if you’re imagining the way he’s holding you more tightly than before.

“I was just thinking—”—you begin, wishing you could be anywhere else than here, saying these hated words.

“I don’t want this to end.” Ted interrupts you—you start, open your mouth, close it. Open it again to say one single word as you look him dead in the eyes.

“What?”

When he speaks, there’s a determination, a self-assuredness that you don’t know you’ve seen before.

“This. Getting you coffee. Reading you theoretical physics books. Waking up together, doing nothing in bed.” He seems to be rambling as he continues to list, desperate to find more and more things that have tethered you together in the past few weeks. But you listen—and for the first time since this night began, you start to hope.

And hope brings wisecracks with it, apparently, as you let a corner of your mouth turn up in amusement. “You don’t want to do anything in bed with me?”

Ted looks confused, then perturbed.

“No. Wait, yes—I do. Ugh—”—he ducks his head in frustration before resurfacing, staring at you reproachfully, though it’s edged by affection.

“You’re not helping this confession.” He glowers playfully, but there’s no real anger to it at all. Quite the opposite, you would say.

You let out the giggle that has been bubbling inside you, within his arms. “I feel the same way, Ted.”

“Well, that’s just—wait.” He hesitates, looking positively gobsmacked. “You do?”

“Yes,” you heave a relieved laugh, “I was about to say the same thing, you big idiot.”

“You were? Oh—well.” He deflates from his defensive position into something tentatively optimistic. “I guess…that solves a few things.”

“Yeah—it does.” You grin, letting your hand drift up to that bow tie you spent so much time affixing. He swallows thickly as he reads the intention in your eyes. “Now how about you shut up and kiss me?”

“I can do that.” He says with an atmosphere almost humbly academic in his approach.

You’re in public, so there’s unfortunately societal strictures you’re bound by, especially in front of international representatives. But there’s something to be said for the gentle way his hands curve up your cheeks, holding you steady even as those fingers tremble against yours.

Those blue eyes seem to hold words that he cannot articulate aloud, nervous, excited, loving—yes, loving. But you’ll have to sort through that later, as he nears and you let your eyes draw closed.

It’s pretty perfect as far as first kisses go, as he presses his mouth over yours and it feels like you’re practically floating, the only thing grounding you back to earth his hands that hold you so carefully, as though he’ll break you. The way his body fits so perfectly against yours, a shock of electric sensation rolling up you as the tension of the last few weeks, hell, maybe longer, is finally relieved. The way that it’s everything you hoped for and more.

He pulls away, reluctantly, as though only out of propriety, with a demeanor of a man able to lasso you the moon.

“Okay—so now what?” He asks, and the two of you laugh breathlessly at this little joke, because everything’s funny now. Everything’s right, everything’s—wonderful, now that you’re together. For real. Officially.

In all of your giddiness, you find something suitable to say. “I think as in all the rules of official relationships, you owe me another dance.”

He smiles, and you feel like you could get used to seeing this every time you wake up. “Sure.”