if you feel like falling...

catch me on the way down

[tealovingdreamer]

never been less empty...

𝝑୧ 𝒥o ━━ @coffeelovingreader’s writing blog .ᐟ

jason grace’s love. avid coffee consumer. aspiring author. flowers obsessed. dick grayson’s darling. also avid tea drinker. a hopeless romantic. poetry and prose lover. music enthusiast. athena’s most romantic daughter. english literature & history nerd.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. masterlist guidelines

all i feel is free now...

[tealovingdreamer]

affection emergency

Asking your boyfriend for a hug shouldn’t be this hard.

You’ve been pacing around in your bedroom for ten minutes. Your mind a raging storm of thoughts— good ones, bad ones, all blended together to form a giant hurricane.

See, these past few days have just been so hectic and stressful for you (you had tried to hide your exhaustion from Dick, but you knew that he noticed) and for once, you just really want someone to give you a hug.

And that someone being your boyfriend.

There was a slight problem, though: you were not the kind of person who was used to any sort of physical affection.

It took years and loads of efforts for Dick to worm his way into your heart, for you to warm up to him and get to where you were today.

He respected your boundaries— touching you and kissing you only when he knew you were comfortable with it. And you loved him endlessly for it.

But it was just a hug. Dick loved you. He wouldn’t mind if you asked for a hug... right?

But what if he thinks it’s weird? That you’re being weird? It’s not exactly like you to just ask for it out of the blue like that.

“How do I even ask him?” you muttered under your breath, sneaking glances towards the door where, on the other side, Dick making your lunch in the kitchen. “‘Hey, love, may I please have a hug?’ No, that sounds dumb.”

You screw your eyes shut, groaning at your own helplessness. You paced around more frantically, as if to will your mind to come up with a better idea.

“Darling?”

Flinching in surprise, you whipped your head towards the door— now opened, your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe casually, a curious look on his face.

“Are you okay?”

You stared at him nervously, hands fidgeting behind your back. “Uh-huh.” You nodded, lips pursed. You didn’t sound the least bit convincing, even to your own ears.

“What is it?” That was when he stalked towards you. His tone was airy, yet careful.

Once he was right in front of you, his hand reached for yours, interlocking your pinkies together as he repeated his question with a look.

Blowing a breath, you nodded your head, giving him a soft smile in assurance. “Yeah. It’s just...” you trailed off. God, just ask him!

“I-” You reached out, only for a fraction, then stopped as you said the single broken word. The heat of embarrassment crept up your face, you could feel it. In your ears, your hands that were even start to tremble and clamp up a bit.

You blinked at him, desperately trying to convey your words by a mere gaze. Why was it so hard to ask? For a split, ridiculous, second, you thought about running away.

But, like he understood you, Dick's arms were already encased tightly around you before you could, pulling you close to his chest.

Your body tensed—the usual reaction your body gave to physical touch, or just affection in general, really— it took a minute before you slowy melted into a pitiful, stressed-out puddle in his arms, your chest already feeling much lighter as he ran his thumb over your waist.

“It's okay,” He hushed gently in your ear. “It’s okay. I know.” And he didn't know just how much those simple words undid you.

Lowering your head on his shoulder, you just nodded, silently feeling the dam of emotions break in your chest. Through it all, your heart did somersaults over the fact that he knew you so well.

He stroked your hair softly; you resist the urge to just fall asleep right then and there. “You can ask me, alright? You don't need to overthink it, I'll always be here.”

Humming in response, you, albeit hesitantly, just held him tighter in your arms.

With your arms still wrapped around each other, he pulled back just slightly after a while had passed, and planted a kiss to your forehead.

His fingers lightly brushed your cheek. “Better?”

A grateful smile curved your lips. “Much. Thank you.” You angled your head just enough to brush a kiss to his palm.

The next time you needed a hug, you didn’t hesitate to ask him. There'll be a day where you'd be the one to initiate those hugs, but that'll come sometime in the future, you just didn't know it yet.

And just as he told you, Dick was always there when you needed him.

author’s note : i forgot that i had this in my drafts and never reposted it😭 i edited some of the parts a little bit so it's a tad different than the one i posted on my prev blog, but other than that it mostly stayed stayed the same.

(also jj in her active era what?? 👀)

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[tealovingdreamer]

you're out way past curfew, darling ;; timothy j. drake

˚˖𓍢ִ໋ in which. . . tim drake was a hardworking man, and you were on a mission to break that diligence and pry him away from his work for the weekend.

꒰ contents ꒱ tim drake x fem!reader. best friends to lovers. use of profanities. pre-established relationship. domestic fluff. mutual pining. jason todd.

✎ᝰ. a letter from jj : this one shot is set in the same universe as @dhazefawn’s jason fic that she posted a couple days back, and her mc sweetheart!reader is featured briefly here. a big thank you to kore for brainstorming together with me and giving me motivation to finish this fic! and to my readers, i hope you enjoy🤍

The slow ding of the elevator went off as you reached your destined floor, stepping through the silver doors as soon as they parted open. The clicks of your heels on the marble left an echoing trail in the nearly deserted hall.

It was late. The hall was dimly-lit and quiet at this hour. Most of the other employees, board directors had clocked off some time during the evening to enjoy the rest of their weekend.

Most of them.

You were supposed to stop by earlier today, already had your plans written down to go out with your best friend today since weeks ago. He said he’d call you when he's done with work—you both had agreed on 5 o'clock.

It was now 11:15 PM and he still haven't called.

So, now you were here to haul his pretty, overworking ass out of this place for the weekend.

Reaching the far end of the hallway where you were faced with Tim’s private office, you gave three short raps on the door, pushing it open when you were given no response from the inside.

The view of Tim’s office welcomed you. The dimmed room illuminated in the pale yellow glow from each floor lamps stationed on each side of the room. Giving off a certain warmth that the rest of this floor seemed to lack.

You hadn't been here a while, but the space still remained the same, for the most part. The bookshelf still stood at the wall by the velvet couches, the clock still ticked consistently.

The air swirled with notes of coffee, freshly printed paper, and the lingering traces of his cologne melded together to a scent that's so significantly him.

The place was familiar.

However, to your utter displeasure, so were the grating starkness of the blue lights, which are unfortunately, the key parts of this room. Else it wouldn't be an office without the horde of screens, now, would it?

“Hey,” you announced quietly. The taps of your heels softened by the large rug beneath your feet as you approached the desk where—lo and behold—the man was seated on the chair behind it, his back hunched like he hadn't moved for hours.

Tim’s eyes stayed glued to the monitor, his fingers flying across the keyboard like a dance he's mastered the steps to. “Hi.” he mumbled, a quiet acknowledgement. Bloodshot and tired eyes squinting behind the rim of his glasses.

He looked disheveled—his hair fell over his forehead messily, his tie had loosened and crooked over his wrinkled dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Your eyes flickered to the backrest of his chair, where his blazer was draped over and left abandoned.

You sighed in disappointment at the sight.

It seemed that he took the hint, because he quickly said, “I just need to finish up this report, Bruce wants it done by next week.”

You rounded his chair, and walked over to the window behind him, looking out at the view below you. Even in this time of night, Gotham was still wide awake.

“When?” you asked, still admiring the city from above through the window.

“On Tuesday.”

Today was Friday.

“Tim.”

“I know,” he rushed out, pausing his typing and swiveled around in his chair to finally find your gaze, stifling a yawn with his palm. “I’m almost done with this, then we can go home.”

You tried to ignore the weird flutters that erupted in your stomach at the words ‘we can go home’

Snap out of it!

You shook your head to dispell the uninvited butterflies, and try to focus on the more important matter right now.

Because you were angry at him, for, again, disregarding his health for the sake of work. You never minded that he's very hardworking—in fact, that's one of the things you admired most about Tim, and you knew you could not be angry for that.

What you did mind was how he always puts everything else besides himself first, how he would often regard his well-being as an afterthought.

And you hated how you had to remind him of it over and over again. Sometimes, it'd even come to a point where it would lead to an argument. Maybe you were just paranoid, but still, you couldn't help but worry.

That's why you planned on lecturing him. Again.

But the look he's giving you was not helping at all.

The city lights outside reflected in his eyes, clearly, so blue that you would've spent hours memorizing the exact shade.

And you were getting off-track.

“You’ve been holed up in here all day.” you stated, and you knew your guess had been right.

Tim sighed, running his hand through his hair, taking off his glasses, and you tried your best to not let your eyes linger too long. “I’m sorry.” he said, meeting your eyes, “For bailing on you. I know we've planned this out since weeks ago. I swear I’ve even pinned it in my calendar, but things came up, and I didn't have time to check my phone—”

He was rambling, and it took you a second to catch up.

Oh.

He thought you were upset because of that.

“Tim-” you tried to get his attention, but he kept on rambling.

“—and I know that's like, a really shitty excuse, and you're probably mad at me right now—”

“Tim.”

“—but I promise to make it up to you when I have the time—”

“Timothy.”

His mouth snapped shut, cutting his rambling off short.

The room went silent, and that was when you took your chance to speak. “Can I talk now?” you asked rhetorically, lips slanting to a slight smile, taking a few small steps closer to where he was sat. In return, you saw him tensing, posture rigid on his chair whilst he looked up at you. You caught the way his palm flexed on the armrest of the chair. “Right. Okay, yes. Thank you,”

“I am upset,” you expressed honestly. His expressions fell and you felt a twinge of guilt before you went and continued, “But not ‘cause you bailed on me.”

You gestured for him to swivel his chair around with a finger. He looked confused but obeyed anyway, turning around to face his desk again.

“But because you overwork yourself too much.” You put your hands over his shoulders and started massaging the knots and kinks off his tense muscles, which made him groan quietly and relax more into your touch. “Have you even had a proper meal at all today?”

“I had coff-”

“Coffee doesn't count.”

Tim scoffed, “You, out of all people, can't be talking.”

Unfortunately, you couldn't help your case on that subject.

“Yeah, but this isn't about me.” You brushed him off with a snicker, hands still focused on kneading his back, shoulders, and the back of his neck. “Try again.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “…I had half a bagel this morning?”

You blinked, staring at the back of his head, a little bit dumbfounded. Was he serious? “You’re fucking hopeless.”

“I’m sorry…?”

You sighed again, failing to form a response that didn't include the words ‘you’re an idiot’ or anything else that would've remotely counted as an insult.

A few minutes went by in silence, the sound of the clock ticking the only thing breaking the quiet, as you were deeply focused on giving your best friend a massage— which you were quite decent at doing.

“Wrap it up,” you whispered at last, nodding at the monitor that was still on. “We’re going home.”

He turned his head, catching your gaze. “But-”

“You’re literally two seconds away from passing out right now, don't argue with me.” you snapped exasperatedly, fixing the man a heated glare. “You’ll get your report done faster when you're well-rested—which right now, you are not.”

Tim fell silent for a moment, letting your words sink into his head. It surprised you when he suddenly chuckled, quiet, but his eyes flickered with amusement. “You sound like Alfred.”

You huffed out a small laugh at that, admittedly feeling a bit of pride swell in your chest at the, in your humble opinion, compliment. Replying pointedly, with a slight smirk, “And he's always right, so he'd definitely agree with me.”

“Unfortunately.” The man shook his head, lips tipped to a grin.

Finally, you let your hands fall from his shoulders. Then snatched his blazer off the chair, and tossed it on is lap before starting towards the door, not before turning on your heel and pointing a finger. “If you don't get your ass off that chair in the next five seconds, I will personally manhandle you out of there.”

He mumbled something under his breath as he shrugged on the blazer, but you didn't catch the words, having already stepped a few feet away from him.

“What was that?” you hummed distractedly, shortly glancing his way while you grabbed his coat off the hanger by the door.

“Nothing.”

You frowned, brows knitted in confusion, but quickly shrugged it off. He'd tell you if he wanted, and if he didn't, then you won't push.

Taking off his glasess, Tim placed it inside his desk drawer. His eyes catching onto the small Polaroid picture laid next to it in the small trinket tray you gave him, and he couldn't help but pause to admire it.

It was of him and you in Paris when you went there two summers ago. The Eiffel Tower lights shone behind the two of you as you faced the camera with matching beaming smiles. Your hands were folded atop his shoulders, his arm was wrapped around your waist while his other hand was occupied with the camera.

Your eyes were closed from the bright flashes of the camera, but he was looking right at you.

“Did you bring the car?” he asked finally after closing the drawer shut. Stretching in his seat for perhaps the first time in hours, groaning tiredly. Standing up after he'd switched off the computer, lazily throwing on his blazer, and approached you.

You made a face; you were stubborn, not stupid. Anyone that takes a cab this in Gotham is either very optimistic and brave or a is newcomer. Most of the time, either one of those scenarios would end up unpleasantly. “Duh. Contrary to my constant rants about hating life, I still would like to live it some more, thank you very much.”

You handed him his coat, watching him put it on. It looked great on him. But you averted your eyes before he could notice you.

Turning your head over your shoulder, you said, “You're sleeping for the next ten hours, by the way, nothing less.”

He sighed a worn-out “Yes ma'am,” and did a mock salute. Good. You were going to make sure he gets enough rest and enough food in his system, too. Since he's apparently shit at doing those things himself.

He opened the door and let you exit first, following hehind you as you made your way back to the elevator.

Cold night air swept back your hair the second you stepped out of the building with Tim in a tow, the rustling of trees mingling with the sound of vehicles honking not too far away from here.

You let your feet lead you to your usual parking spot as you fished out the keys out of your jacket pocket.

Tim held out his hand, silently asking for the keys. For, usually, he's almost always the one who would drive your car whenever you're out together.

But not tonight.

“No,” The vehicle unlocked with a beep. You jutted your chin towards the passenger’s side as you walked towards the driver’s one. “You’re being the passenger princess this time.”

The man was quite literally dragging his feet in exhaustion. So, for the sake of both your safety, it would be best if you drove.

Besides, you found driving to be relaxing, despite not being the best at it.

He stared at you. You stared back, almost expecting for him to insist, as he usually did, but you inwardly cheered when he didn't and complied.

You hopped in the car, throwing your bag haphazardly to the backseat while Tim sat back comfortably, a weary sigh drifting past his lips. “Fucking hell.” The sound of your seatbelts clicking in sync followed after.

“Yeah,” you hummed, starting the car, the engine revving to life, “That’s what happens when you don't enough sleep.”

For half the ride, the car was filled with muteness when you told Tim to get some shut-eye; and he did for a few minutes, but you could see that he wasn't very comfortable and was failing to sleep.

So, now, quiet random conversations filled the silence, slowed songs playing quietly in the background from one of the shared playlist he had picked out.

Purposefully avoiding the night traffic on your normal route—you were too tired to deal with all of that. You just couldn't wait to cuddle with your cat soon— you took a shortcut that would lead to a street just a couple blocks away from your apartment.

Was it a sketchy route? Absolutely. But who cares?

“Oh, we're not going to the manor?” he asked mid-conversation, probably after noticing that you didn't make the turn.

You kept your eyes ahead, “No, I’m taking you to my place.”

You knew him enough to know that if he was at the manor, the man would just get his hands on the Bat-computer and get his nightly business done.

Yeah, that's not happening.

He wasn't on patrol duty tonight, and you'd help him make better use of his time. Like getting a proper ten-hour sleep. And eating well without skipping meals. And anything else that doesn't involve work.

The silence on his end made you turn your head, and you were met with a smirking Tim Drake; the kind of smirk that told you he's on the verge of saying something dumb.

“To your place, huh?” he drawled out, cocking a brow, and you narrowed your eyes, flickering between him and the road ahead. “At least buy me a drink first.”

There it was.

Your jaw slacked, and choked out a shocked chortle. Unbelievable.

Was he flirting with you, or were you also equally as sleep-deprived and highly delusional? Your bet was on the latter.

But boy, was he in for a surprise.

You reached out—eyes still locked on the road because you valued your life and his, too—and opened the glove box, taking out the unopened bottle of water and offered it to him with a matching smirk on your lips.

A wheezing laugh rumbled out of his chest after he started at the bottle in your for a few seconds. The sound, in turn, making you laugh even louder.

“Unbelievable,” He shook his head, grinning ear-to-ear as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a large swig. “You just had to pull the Uno reverse on me.”

“Expect the unexpected.”

“Fair.”

“Uh-huh, so can I take you home, now?” You asked, feigning eagerness, then frowned when the green traffic light flashed red. Bright light spilled through the glass, coloring your surroundings a deep scarlet tone once you hit the brake.

A few other vehicles, as expected, ignored the lights and continued to drive away anyway.

The sight had you pursing your lips. You sort of wished you weren't such a rule follower.

“Sure.”

You quickly brightened up at that. “Yay! You yielded surprisingly fast.”

“You literally pestered me to,” he said blankly, his words threading through a yawn once more, scratching an itch on his forehead with a finger, “If I hadn't, you would've waited on the couch until you fall asleep. Couldn't do that to you.”

You glanced over at him, eyes softening for a fraction of a second.

That was sweet, but why were you even surprised at all? Tim has always been sweet. Not in the flowery proses kind of way, but in an absolute way that had you knowing that he's always there for you, even without him needing to say it out loud.

A certainty that kept you afloat, even through the worst waves of your life.

The thought made you smile.

“You’re smiling.” Tim observed, and you failed to notice how his eyes were locked on your lips.

“What I can't smile now?” you asked lightly, watching as pedestrians crossed the road.

“You can,” he stated, nodding his head. “I just wanna know what's inside that pretty head of yours that's making you smile.”

How do you tell your best friend of your whole twenty-one years of life that he was the main attraction in your mind, and that he was the reason why you were smiling without spilling out the contents of your heart and potentially ruin your friendship?

Yeah… no.

Instead, you asked, side-eyeing him, “You saying you only caved in for me, Timbelina?” Your fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel.

He took your hand from the wheel, squeezing it tight once, “For your poor, ill-postured back, actually,”

The addition had you scoffing incredulously in offense, even so, you couldn't help but cackle. “I’m sorry, but last I checked I wasn't the one who was practically draped over my computer like a hunchback. Don’t compare my perfect posture with your atrocious one.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.”

You felt your cheeks burn at the nickname, despite the familiarity of it, the endearment never failed to have you flushing.

You leaned back in your seat, waiting for the lights to turn green, glaring at the street light like it would change if you do it hard enough.

It didn't.

“You’re so concerned about me all the time,” You started slowly, answering his earlier question with an omission— a truth, yet not the one on the front of your mind. Your little hand holding had somehow escalated into a lazy round of thumb war. “I wish you'd act the same way for yourself.”

He was winning, but you're not one to give up so easily. “But then you won't be scolding me anymore if I did that.” he said quiet and casually, his thumb dodging yours.

“Is that you saying that like it when I scold you?” You raised a brow, a crooked grin forming on your mouth, wide eyes clashing with his, red tinted from the lights ahead of you.

“That’s exactly what I'm saying.” His grin was sharp as he finally managed to pin your thumb down.

“Masochist.”

The car had gone quiet, and you hardly noticed it with Tim’s deep blue eyes pinning you in your place, hand still woven loosely with yours.

He didn't look away.

You didn't look away.

Not to wander around to his other features, not to the dark circles around his eyes, not to the strand of his hair that fell over his eyes.

Just to your favourite shade of blue.

It might've been the trick of light, or you might've imagined it, but you saw the way his gaze dropped to your lips for a split second, before it returned to your eyes again just as quickly.

The sound of a loud horn honking from the car behind had the two of you jolting, hands ripping away from the other’s, it was only after a hot second you realized that the traffic lights had finally turned green.

“Oh, shit.” You choked out, straightening awkwardly in your seat, heart racing as you hurried to drive again with the driver behind you honking more rapidly in impatience. You didn't do well under pressure.

When your heart rate had slowed, neither of you talked again for a good fifteen minutes after that… whatever that was.

A while later, only a few minutes away from your apartment, you ran into a surprise.

From a small distance, you saw a familiar motorbike parked in front of a small convenience store; the owner of the said motorbike leaning against it with a cigarette hanging off his lips, not-so-subtly stealing glances at the person who was behind the cashier inside the store.

Oh, you knew that look, even from here.

Sharing a look with Tim, who had also spotted the man from a distance—the tension back at the stoplight had dissipated, you were glad—you pulled up by the curb just outside the store, right in front of Jason. You returned his scowl with an innocent grin as you rolled down your window, while Tim gave a brief, mocking wave beside you.

“Well, what do we have here?” Your eyes darted between his sharp, glaring green ones and the very questionable bright purple PEN sign on the glass door behind him.

Was this some type of an erotica shop? you thought suspiciously. But what was Jason doing here?

Embarrassingly, you had to squint for a good few seconds to realize the fact that it was actually a sign that said OPEN, but the lights was burned out of the one singular ‘O’ letter.

Not an erotica shop, then. Just a normal convenience store. Yeah, that makes more sense.

“Your mom,” Jason snapped instantly, a wrinkle forming in-between his dark brows. Removing the lit cigarette from his teeth, smoke wafted out of his lips when he added, “Get out of my face.”

Tim took the words out of your mouth, the amusement heard clear as day. “No, no, no, I think we'll stay for a bit,” Your breath hitched when he leaned over the center console to peer behind his brother, most likely to assess the person at the cashier.

He was really close.

Driven by the sudden nerves, you took out your phone, unlocking it and… did nothing with it. It looked stupid, so you just clicked on a random app— the camera app, specifically. And just let the phone hover in your hands, hoping it would distract you and dispel the heat in your cheeks.

“The fuck do you want, huh?” Jason bit out sharply, though when his eyes connected with yours, there was a knowing glint there.

You turned your eyes away.

You breathed easily when Tim leaned back again, but your phone slipped from your hold and drops under your seat. You ducked down awkwardly in the cramped space, struggling as you tried to find it in the dark.

“Why are you out here,” said the younger of the two brothers, gesturing silently with his hand, eyes flickering to you. “staring inside there? That's a bit stalkerish of you, Jay,”

You heard Jason chuckle dryly. “That’s rich coming from you.”

You snorted, still trying to find for your phone, that was so much more difficult to do in the dark, plus, it was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. “He’s not wrong, Timmy,”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, honey.” You could hear the frown in his tone.

“I’m on no one’s side. I’m on the side where the truth is- yes!” you exclaimed cheerily when you finally found your phone.

Sitting upright again, puffing out a relieved breath, you turned your head and saw Tim, and he was oddly pink in the face. Which made you glance towards Jason, who had a smug smirk on his mouth.

You blinked in confusion. You were definitely missing something.

“…anything you wanna share with the class, boys?”

Jason looked away first, coughing a small “Nope.”

Tim cleared his throat, suddenly observing out the window and not meeting your eyes. “Uh, no.”

You slid your gaze between them, trying to gauge their expressions. That ended up being a fruitless attempt now that they've both looked elsewhere.

“You're being weird.” you told them, catching Jason glancing back at the store again. He looked a bit longing. It was kind of pathetic, to be honest. Now you were sure that he was looking at the cashier. You’d been unsure earlier.

Briefly, you see the pretty cashier glance out at him, you were sure that they were smiling shyly from inside the store.

Oh, so it’s like that, huh?

Your sight went back to Jason, and that he was smiling. Smiling! It was a small twitch on the corner of his lip, but there's no mistaking that it was actually a smile.

But before you could point that out, Tim piped up, “I’m not, but I did just caught Jason yearning—and that smile, too, and I took some pictures.” He lifted his phone which showed the exact scene you've just seen, and now it's caught on camera.

You marveled at the pictures as though they were some priceless art. “Oh my gosh, I freaking love you.”

He froze for a moment, then cleared his throat again. “Sending those to the group chat, by the way.” And he did just that. Sending the pictures with no context whatsoever.

For now, you just have to wait until the others see it and chew him out with teases.

He hid it well, but you knew the tells of a panicking Jason Todd, and right now is the perfect example of that. “Do that and I'll rip your faces off.” he threatened gruffly, but his voice held an almost imperceptible strain.

Cute.

“You smiled, Jay. And I have the perfect twenty-twenty vision.” Tim pointed out, now he's the one who's looking mischievous.

"I don't, but, yeah, I agree with him," The two men snorted, you ignored them. You went on, equally as smug as your counterpart. “That was a smile, Todd, I didn't know you could do that.”

The second you hear his phone buzz in one of those many pockets, you started the engine, readying your escape.

“You little shits-!”

And that was your cue to leave.

You stomped on the accelerator, yelling out the window: “Bye Jason! Tell your sweetheart we said hi!” and drove off, leaving a disgruntled, and possibly freaked out Jason alone at the wake.

After greeting a small “Hi,” to Walter, your doorman, you and Tim dragged your feet over to the elevator, pressing the button on for the seventh floor.

Your best friend slumped on the mirrored wall across from you once the doors had closed, head lolling down, sighing quietly.

“Don’t sleep yet,” you told him in a murmur, watching the numbers ascend from G. “Have some food, at least, I’ll cook something up.”

He muttered your name in protest “It's midnight.” That single sentence held so much disagreement by his tone alone.

You shrugged, “So?” The doors slid open, and you walked out, carefully so your heels wouldn't make much noise, heading for your unit—Unit 710.

Your keys jingled as you took it out of your pocket, then heard the muffled pitter-patter of paws scratching on the other side of the door, and you took a deep breath before pushing it the door open.

As expected, a very chunky and feral ball of pretty black fur attacked you with a very loud yowl, tiny sharp claws dug into your pants.

You barely stepped a foot inside.

“I left you for an hour.” you deadpanned, frowning down at Clover, your cat, as you removed your jacket and hung it on the coat rack, then removed your shoes and slipped on your slippers before you ambled in.

No dirty shoes are allowed inside your place. God knows whatever gross germs had touched the soles of people’s—including yours—shoes.

Tim did the same behind you, laughing quietly. “Let her be. She has abandonment issues,” He picked her up as soon as he slipped on his sandals and went further inside with her practically purring in his. hold.

You watched with a sour look, you could've sworn she looked smug when her beady green eyes were on you.

That little traitor. You were the one who feeds her everyday, takes her to the vet, bathes her, give her treats, and yet, she still preferred her absent dad.

“You spoil her. Now she hates me.” you huffed, turning off the harsh light of the room, and instead, went around to turn on the small lamplights you have around.

“She doesn't hate you,” he insisted, watchful eyes following you as you circled around the room, leaning against the wall. “She just likes me better. Don't you?” He kissed Clover’s head, petting her fur softly and put her down again.

You decided that you weren't going to ridiculous and be jealous of your cat.

“Asshole.” you laughed, scrunching your nose at the Clover when she trudged towards you, big eyes observing you at your feet. You tilted your head over to the hall where the bathroom was, all while you sauntered over to your bedroom to go change. “Wash up. I’ll see if I could cook something up really quickly.”

Tim pushed himself off the wall and called after you, “You really don't have to.”

You closed your bedroom door without an answer, leaving him at the living room.

And he acquiesced afterward, raising his voice a tad so you could hear him from your bedroom, groaning, “Fine, but I’m washing the dishes!”

Wonderful.

About fifteen minutes of your fabulous skincare routine later, you exited your bedroom; hair thrown up carelessly, now clad in a large shirt and a pair of sleep shorts.

You headed for the kitchen, fetching a few ingredients from your fridge and pantry when you're there. As well as your appliances whilst you settled on cooking a one-pot pasta with a recipe you've found on the internet a while back.

Clover was acting as a little helper—as in, she helped clean your floor by eating the parmesan that you had accidentally dropped—and just hover by your feet as you hobbled between the kitchen island and the stove.

“No,” you drew out in warning for the third time, distractedly stirring the pot as your cat jumped on the counter and start sniffing the spices again.

She had been doing that repeatedly.

Clover sniffed again and recoiled, dashing away, sneezing. You felt terrible when you couldn't stop your snort. “I told you.”

Turning off the stove when you finished cooking, you transferred the pasta onto the two plates you've prepared, eyeing the pot approvingly when you saw you measured the portions perfectly this time.

That was when Tim walked in; hair mussed and damp from the shower, clothed in a white t-shirt and sweatpants.

He stopped short in his tracks.

And just stared at you like he was stunned.

You put the empty pot on the sink, amongst the other dirty dishes and utensils that you've used earlier. “Hey, come here,” you ushered, pulling out your stool on the island and sat down. “I made pasta. Not as good as Alfred's but this is way better than those cardboard-like frozen pizzas you like.”

You looked up when he didn't say anything. He was still standing in his place. “Hey… you good?”

He blinked, shaking himself out of his you-induced stupor. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” He strolled in and took a seat on the stool next to you. “Thanks for making this.” he whispered, and your heart warmed at the sincerity in his tone.

“Yeah, of course,” You flashed him a soft smile in return.

And you both ate your food, occasionally talking over mundane topics. And once you finished your meals, as Tim promised, he volunteered to wash the dishes, whilst you just sat on the counter by him, accompanying, if you will.

By the time you start to feel tired, you both migrated towards the couch after brushing your teeth, Tim reminded you of how bad it was to sleep right after dinner, so you both agreed on doing calm activities to pass the time.

That was alternating between reading and conversing to avoid sleep for at least an hour.

“Oh my god, why is he here?” Tim gaped in surprise, reading over your shoulder. He wasn't much of a reader—much less a romance reader—so his every reaction to the stuff you read are always amusing to you.

And somehow, you've successfully roped him into reading one of your romance books with you. And he's enjoying it, too, which was a rare occurrence.

“He broke his engagement, and travelled six hundred kilometres just to be with her, isn't that so sweet?” You were raving, yes, you were aware of that. But you also couldn't help but to gush over one of your favourite books.

“Damn,” He whistled lowly, turning the page. You let him, even if you hadn't finished reading that page; you've read this book a good ten times more since you read it the first time.

He finished reading a few more chapters when he noticed you yawning. It was nearly two in the morning, and you were starting to feel tired; not enough for you to sleep yet, but enough for you to fully relax.

“Hey,” Tim whispered in your ear. “You tired?” He closed the book, putting it on the side table. Then he shuffled to lay next to you, pulling you in to his chest.

You curled yourself up in his arms instantly, sighing at the warmth that enveloped you once you did. “Kind of,” You confessed in the same gentle whisper. “Talk to me. About anything, so I can sleep.”

He cocked a lazy brow, his voice a low rasp. “How does that work?”

You closed your eyes, “I don't know. Your voice just puts me to sleep.”

“You basically just called me boring.”

“Yeah, I did.”

A pause.

“Your lack of hesitation hurts me.”

“Deal with it.”

His chest heaved as he let out a long sigh. “I'm sorry.”

Those two words made your eyes snap open, and sought for his in the dim light. “For what?” you asked, mouth pulled to a frown.

“For bailing on you,” he said again, and you almost objected when he continued on, “You've been planning that outing for weeks. And I told you I had time, but then I forgot about it. I don't know, I just feel so guilty.”

You waited to see if he would say more, when he didn't, you began, “Tim, don't apologise,” You gaze aligned with his. “I’m not mad. Or- well, I was, at first. But mostly at myself. The reason I suggested those plans in the first place was actually for you.”

“For me?” He seemed confused.

“Mhm,” you nodded, “You've been so busy these past few months, I thought that maybe it'd be nice for you to take a break for once, even if it's just for a weekend.”

His eyes softened as he looked down at you. He was speechless, as if your words had completely thrown him off-kilter.

Then he laughed. Soft, and sweet, and beautiful. For some reason, that made you laugh too.

He tucked an unruly tendril of your hair behind your ear, and for the first time, the butterflies didn't leave you flustered, just comfortable. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

You nestled under his chin, words dampened by his skin. “I don't know, maybe you should keep me around.” And in your heart, you knew this was what home felt like. Maybe one day you'll be brave enough to say it out loud. But in the meantime, you'd tuck this little secret to yourself.

He breathed deeply, arms tightening around you like a blanket.

“Maybe I will.”

❀ honorary mentions to my lovelies @livlocus @yuunarii-arii @your-mommy-ems MWAH ily all so much🫶🏻

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[tealovingdreamer]

caught cheating

“So... apparently I am cheating on you.”

You’ve spent the entire afternoon holed up in Tim’s bedroom, tossing and turning on his bed whilst mindlessly scrolling on your phone as he got some work done, occasionally exchanging some words.

Time’s passed uneventfully. The comfortable kind that’s only silently felt by being in each other’s presence. It was uneventful until Stephanie sent you the article that almost made you holler.

The incessant—you say incessant, though it’s really quite satisfying—clickling of the keyboard stilled at your words, then came the sound of the rolling of the chair against the floorboards. “What?” He faced you then. “With who?”

“Red Robin.”

He let out a snicker, shoulders bobbing with quiet laughter. “Oh,”

You simply held out your phone, which he took. And you saw the moment he read the title of the said article.

TIM DRAKE’S PARTNER SPOTTED KISSING WITH ONE OF GOTHAM’S MOST MYSTERIOUS VIGILANTE, RED ROBIN.

A pair of blurry, yet unmistakable pictures of you and Tim—as Red Robin— followed the juicy headline below it. You weren’t explicitly kissing in the pictures, just what looked like the aftermath of it. His hands were on your waist, your lips had a visible grin on, your foreheads were nearly touching.

Your eyes sought for his every reaction with anticipation as his eyes swept along the paragraph. Your smile grew wide with his own, amused chortles falling off your lips.

When he handed the phone back to you, his expressions playfully dimmed, looking exaggeratedly hurt, though his stare gleamed with mirth. “You’ve been cheating on me with Red Robin?” He put a hand on his chest, shaking his head with feigned disbelief. “And discard all the years we’ve been together? I’m heartbroken. Beyond inconsolable.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” You played along seamlessly, acting guilty. Even though neither of you bothered to hide your smiles. “He’s just... so much better than you are, Tim.”

His mouth turned up, leaning back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. (You had absolutely no control of the way your eyes followed and your gaze stuck onto those flexed biceps like magnet to metal.) “Yeah? What does he have that I don’t?”

You got off the bed and approached him, still sat on his chair, blue eyes following your movement as you climbed onto his lap. His hands falling to rest on your hips.

“Well, for one, he always has a mask on, that’s hot and mysterious. And he has a cool staff, and also, he seems like the type of guy who’d give his lonely partner more attention than his work,” You sighed a long, dramatic breath. “But I guess I wouldn’t know.”

Tim shook his head at your antics, huffing out a chuckle. “You’re so dramatic. I love you.” You felt lips connect to your temple, his hand drawing little stars across your spine, and you were done for.

Melting in his arms like a puddle, you sighed once more, your head falling to the crook of his neck.

“I love you, too.” you mumbled against his skin, cheek smushed against his broad shoulder.

He smiled, pulling back to meet your eyes. “Well, that's how you know not to listen to random articles,” He took the the phone again, eyes squinting at the texts. “They didn't even write your name!”

You turned, too, scowling at the phone like it was your enemy. “Right? That's so rude.”

“Seriously, put some respect on my girl’s name.” He gave your hips a small squeeze, looking considerably offended on your behalf.

You pulled back, a sheepish, yet smug and giddy smirk slowly forming on your lips.“Your girl, huh?” you asked, sweeping back his bangs.

“Yeah,” he said factually, shrugging. “My girl.”

“... I told you not to kiss me when you're Red Robin." you mumbled after a bit, your head leaning on his chest.

He winced, “Yeah, that's my bad.”

Yeah, your PR team was not going to have fun with that one.

author's note : this is so half-assed im so sorry. but the tim fic is coming up really soon, i just need to add a few more things, proofread and edit it before i post it. so in the meantime i give u this🫶🏻

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[aquilacalvitium]

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

[aquilacalvitium]

Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again

[tealovingdreamer]

hi, your resident coffee loving, tea loving, caffeine loving blueberry is alive and is currently working on a tim drake x bestfriend!reader one shot and i thought i'd share a small snippet of it:)

edit from future jj it's here 🤍

The slow ding of the elevator went off as you reached your destined floor, stepping through the doors as soon as they glided open. The clicks of your heels on the marble left an echoing trail in the nearly deserted hall.

It was late. The hall was dimly-lit and quiet at this hour. Most of the other employees, board directors had clocked off some time during the evening to enjoy the rest of their weekend.

Most of them.

You were supposed to stop by earlier today, already had your plans written down to go out with your bestfriend today. He said he’d call when he's done—you both had agreed on 5 o'clock.

It was now 11:15 PM and he still haven't called.

So, now you were here to haul his pretty, overworking ass out of this place for the weekend.

Reaching the far end of the hallway where you were faced with Tim’s private office, you gave three short raps on the door, pushing it open when you were given no response from the inside.

The view of Tim’s office welcomed you. The dimmed room illuminated in the pale yellow glow from each floor lamps stationed on each side of the room. Giving off a certain warmth that the rest of this floor seemed to lack.

The air swirled with notes of coffee, freshly printed paper, and the lingering traces of his cologne melded together to a scent that's so significantly him.

The place was familiar.

However, to your displeasure, so were the grating starkness of the blue lights, which are unfortunately, the key parts of this room. Else it wouldn't be an office without the horde of screens, now, would it?

“Hey,” you announced quietly. The taps of your heels softened by the large rug beneath your feet as you approached the desk where—lo and behold—the man was seated on the chair behind it, his back hunched like he hadn't moved for hours.

Tim’s eyes stayed glued to the monitor, his fingers flying across the keyboard like a dance he's mastered the steps to. “Hi.” he mumbled, a quiet acknowledgement. Red and tired eyes squinting behind the rim of his glasses.

He looked disheveled—his hair fell over his forehead messily, his tie had loosened and crooked over his wrinkled dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Your eyes flickered to the backrest of his chair, where his blazer was draped over and left abandoned.

You sighed in disappointment at the sight.

It seemed that he took the hint, because he quickly said, “I just need to finish up this report, Bruce wants it done by next week.”

You rounded his chair, and walked over to the window behind him, looking out at the view below you. Even in this time of night, Gotham was still wide awake.

“When?” you asked, still admiring the city lights through the window.

“On Tuesday.”

“Tim.”

“I know,” he rushed out, pausing his typing and swiveled around in his chair to look at you, stifling a yawn with his palm. “I’m almost done with this, then we can go home.”

You tried to ignore the weird flutters that erupted in your stomach at the words ‘we can go home’

author's note : ps. this one shot is seperate from the tteoo au that's still ongoing!

[tealovingdreamer]

glimpses of us

❝The living room where he used to watch movies with you on most nights, when he helped you build your bookshelf (he was the one who built it, you were only watching from the side), how you used to dance around the place with dramatic music blasting in the background, playing Just Dance with you, knocking his knee on the edge of the coffee table while you cackled at his misery.❞

꒰ line from one last hug, please? ꒱

three years prior to the events of broken promises . . .

Dick, plopped himself down on your couch like a sack of potatoes with a sigh, feet festooned with fluffy Nightwing blue socks propped on the coffee table. A few bits of popcorn flew out of the bowl from the movement.

It was, once again, one of those nights where Dick had come to your house for the usual sleepover (read: invade your space unprompted).

You didn't mind, though, not really. Even if sometimes you acted like you hated it. In fact, you loved it. You felt less alone when he's here.

“What are we watching?” he asked, already shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth, completely ignoring the unimpressed look you gave him.

You reached for the popcorn. “Mamma Mia!” you answered, clicking mindlessly at the remote, gaze on the TV across.

“No,” He stared at you, you ignored him, “We are not watching that.”

An hour later...

“Don’t go wasting your emotion!” belted the very person who said ‘no’ to watch Mamma Mia! just an hour ago.

Loudly. Too loudly for this kind of hour, that’s for sure. Very off-key, too. But who were you to judge?

Besides, he had enough enthusiasm and confidence; you respected that.

The half-eaten bowl of popcorn was abandoned on the coffee table while you and Dick, who had a ladle in his hand (you didn't question it, he grabbed that from the kitchen), danced around and sang along to the soundtrack on the movie.

“Lay all your love on me!” you joined in, stalking forward to him theatrically slow and dramatic, singing just as loudly, the remote acting as a microphone in your hand. “Don’t go sharing your devotion!”

“Lay all your love on me!”

The next time you leave the house, you didn’t miss the way your neighbour glared at you with full force. He’s always been surly, but that particular time, it was more noticeable than usual.

See, you could cook, solve difficult riddles, fight some pesky criminals with ease.

What could possibly go wrong with assembling a simple bookshelf on your own? If you think about it, you're just piecing together some slabs of wood with nails and screws.

You could just take the easy route and ask Dick to help you with it. But that wouldn't be necessary, it was an easy task.

Or by the looks of it... you've never actually assembled a thing in your life.

Whatever, you’d already declined when Dick had offered to help you build the thing. And you couldn't exactly face the humiliation of asking when you had so confidently claimed that you could do it on your own.

Besides, it came with an instruction manual! Shouldn't be that difficult, right?

Well, you're wrong.

‘Cause if it wasn’t that difficult, Dick wouldn't find you here; sitting on the rug in the middle of the living room, looking defeated, scowling at the scattered pieces of wooden boards, screws and nails and various sizes of screwdrivers around you.

You looked up at him with a frustrated pout. “Help.”

And so, later, Dick gladly replaced your spot on the rug and went to work, not without much gloating, though.

But you’d take that rather than stressing out over a piece of furniture.

Five minutes later, you just opted to observe from afar. Merrily pointing out his mistakes as if you wouldn’t have done so much worse.

You loved him, really.

Dick’s only your best friend, so, of course you loved him.

... the best friend that you wish would kiss you stupid.

Music blared from your TV, while you and Dick were busy. And by that, you meant: in the midst of playing Just Dance when—

Thud!

You looked to your side to see Dick, who was suddenly still as a statue, his previous movements stopping. Then slowly, his face twisted in agony before he crumpled to the ground like a fallen soldier, his hands coming to clutch his knee that—

Oh.

He knocked his knee on the sharp edge of your coffee table.

“Ow.” came his muffled voice, the single word a pitched high.

You didn't even get the chance to stop the wheezing laughter that clawed its way out of your throat and spill from your lips.

See, well it did start as a laugh at first. Though, as your knees buckled from how hard you were laughing—ending with you also laud down on the ground— it slowly turned into cackles, and then a series of laughter-induced howls.

The look of betrayal he sent you was as comical as it was pitiful.

"Are you okay?" The tears were forming, still laughing too much at his misery. You felt terrible. But it was so funny, oh goodness.

"I hate you." The scowl on his face would usually worry you, but your traitorous brain kept playing the scene over and over in your head.

More loud cackles were his only response.

(Later, when you went to share the security footage of the glorious moment in the groupchat, it all went to beautiful chaos. Jason and Tim then promised to name each of their firstborns after you after that.)

author’s notes. . . the last time i posted this on my old account, it didn't show up on any of the tags and if it happens again i officially give up🙂

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[fiolowe]

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐈　♱　leon s. kennedy.

⋆.˚ summary: Two years into a professional partnership that’s become something neither of you can quite name, you find yourself dreading an upcoming wedding. The plus-one requirement becomes a crisis when you realize your ex-boyfriend will be the groom. After a drunken confession at a bar outing, Leon offers to be your fake date. As you prepare for the wedding through outfit shopping, the line between performance and reality begins to blur.

⋆.˚ pairing: Post-RE4!Leon S. Kennedy/Gender Neutral!Reader.

⋆.˚ word count: 9.3k.

⋆.˚ content warning: Alcohol consumption (you get intoxicated at a social event), Mentions of past romantic relationships/ex-partner, Anxiety/social anxiety, Workplace power imbalance (you are Leon’s superior officer), Implied emotional trauma (references to Leon's past missions, though not detailed), Physical proximity/tension (non-explicit).

Field coordination centre of the DSO, May 8th, 2013.

The afternoon sun filters through the windows. The warm golden rays graze the clinical white walls of the office. They stand tall, caging the analysts to their own little desks covered in misplaced files and unfinished reports. You can hear someone cursing at the broken tea kettle since you started working at the DSO.

Your attention isn’t stuck to the broken tea kettle for long. You peek from your cubicle, eyes trailing over your co-workers. All of them are in their own bubble. You receive a brief, confused side glance from a disgruntled colleague next to your own cubicle, and you decide maybe it’s time to stop the people watching. You dip your head, returning to your own desk.

Your own bubble consists of a series of finished field analysis reports of cases you’ve provided intelligence support on and a small envelope invitation you haven’t dared to open. Cut and clear. Crystal clear even. Always do what the higher-ups demand of you.

These specific cases weren’t supposed to be different from the others you’ve provided help on. A decade of work in intelligence has made you an experienced agent, but only behind a headset, repeating information over and over in some field agent’s ear, hoping they succeed and return safely.

But these cases weren’t cut and clear. Not because of you. Or maybe, yes. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop the corner of your lips from curling into a small smile. It will soon be two years since you’ve been assisting Leon Kennedy on cases. Unlike your co-workers, you’ve learned that behind the man who only speaks in short sentences with wit a little too sharp, there is someone who is actually tolerable to be around. Or talk over communications. But you haven’t complained yet, and neither has Leon, so you count that as another win under your belt.

Plus, he makes scheduled visits to your cubicle to gather report files from you. He doesn’t need to come to you just to collect it face-to-face. You’ve offered to send it digitally. But he mumbles some excuse about being precise and leaving nothing up to chance. You don’t question it much. Not to mention, he’s developing a habit of bringing you snacks as a thank you. Last time it was a pasty from your favourite café, you mentioned once in conversation with him. You’re surprised he remembered.

Unfortunately, your faint smile sours quickly as the baby blue of the envelope catches your eye again. The golden ink sparkles and curves into a beautiful font.

“We cordially invite you to our wedding

Saturday, the fifteenth of June

At two o’clock in the afternoon

The rooftop gardens at Meridian Lofts

Please RSVP with plus one by June first.”

Who doesn’t love weddings? Especially a childhood friend’s wedding? You can go back home, go through your wardrobe and spend days perfecting your outfit before sharing a beautiful day with family and friends.

The problem is a plus one. You never got the importance of plus ones. Particularly when you never had anyone special to bring. And since this is a wedding full of your childhood friends with their own spouses and partners, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Not to mention the groom being celebrated might be an old fling. Fling is an understatement. You hope the files on your desk will somehow drown you before you have to look at that man again and admit you haven’t moved on with someone else.

“Oh, congratulations to your friend. A summer wedding is best, if you ask me.”

You almost jump at the sudden noise. You turn in your chair, almost falling in the process.

“Sorry if I scared you.” Your department head stands right next to your cubicle. She lays a hand on your desk, eyes jumping from the case files stacked upon each other to the envelope. “You know, you have enough break days to go. It’s not like I keep you all trapped in this stuffy office building. Speaking of that, redecorating is needed.”

“Of course, Marston.” You finally calm your beating heart. You spin back in your chair, facing the desk. “I know I have time. It’s just the planning and RSVP’ing. Not to mention the travel fees.”

“We save half of this country from being turned into some biological mess, at least they pay us as much as the field agents.” Marston clicks her tongue before pointing a finger at the case files. “Is that Kennedy giving you trouble?”

“You ask me that at least every month, Ma’am. It’s been almost two years. He’s alright to work with.”

“With how much you sing his praises in your reports, working with him is more than ‘alright’.”

“I’m just telling the truth.” You shake your head, trying to avoid her amused gaze. “Leon has never let me down.”

“That’s nice to hear and all. You two are probably the only pair I could name who actually get along as field and intelligence agents.”

You can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride at her praise—a bloom of heat in your chest that spreads through your whole body, sweetly warm. You smile as you look back at the case files on your desk.

“Don’t get too excited, you might make everyone here jealous.” Marston chuckles. “Alright, enough riffraff, back to what I came over here for. A few senior agents are having some get-together in a bar, and before you ask, yes, alcohol is allowed, but it’s the fancy kind, as your dear co-workers put it.”

“Oh, finally!” You lean back in your chair, clasping your hands in excitement. “I was suggesting we all go out at least for once. Everyone’s so gloomy, and this will cheer a few people up.”

“Okay, busybody.” Marston hums and turns to leave. “I for one think an old bottle of Chardonnay back home alone with my wife will suit me just fine.”

“Don’t remind me of weddings.” You groan, the quiet incoming doom of humiliating social interactions hanging over you. “Plus ones are so stupid anyway.”

“Not if you chose the right one!” Marston yells over to you even through the hallway.

You drop your head on the case files. They make a soft pillow, not considering the rather macabre information stored in them. Your hands clench, finger nails digging small crescents into your palm. If you push any harder, you might draw blood.

Who even invites an ex to a wedding? Goddamn you, Adam.

You raise your head. You try to gather your thoughts as your brows furrow in faux confidence. You could go alone. A plus one isn’t demanded. It’s just implied. Rather obviously and on-the-nose with its demand.

Or you could try to find someone to drag there, hoping to make your pathetic problem interesting enough to them so they could help you out of it.

You tilt your head. Thoughts are rushing through your head at an alarming speed. Your hand finds the nearest pen, and you fidget with it, slowing the thoughts down.

The ceiling is too tall. The office lights are too bright. The buzz of your co-workers is too loud. The building seems like it’ll press in on you, caging you in.

You try to focus on one singular point to bring your thoughts away from being humiliated at some wedding for arriving alone and leaving alone. A small calming trick you learned from Leon when he stopped by once. Find an anchor, hand on, don’t let go and breathe.

Your eyes lock onto a familiar mess of sandy blond hair. A mess on someone’s head, honestly. You’ve tried telling him to take care of himself more, but the disgruntled look he gives you after jumping through hell and back on missions makes you forgive his unbrushed hair once in a while.

Leon stands out in your department’s office like a sore thumb. He’s stuck behind a few of your colleagues. They haven’t noticed him, or maybe they have, and they’re giving him trouble as they always do. Leon only needs to move a step to the right to get a whole view of the office. His icy blue eyes trail over cubicles before landing on yours. He has a small cup of coffee clutched in his hand. He moves it away from the crowd, basically covering it with his whole frame as if a single cup is worth the effort.

You guess you really rubbed off on him with your café habits.

The second you two lock is just the moment you notice you aren’t clenching your hands anymore.

You rise from your chair. You wave a hand at him to wait for you. You grab a few of your report files and head towards his way.

Leon stands locked in the spot you first noticed him in. An annoyed glance is thrown at your co-workers every time he thinks they won’t notice. You try to stifle a laugh at the sight.

“You look so rattled, Leon.” You can’t resist teasing him. “Are you lost and need my help again?”

“I can navigate this building fine. But everyone bumping into me isn’t helping.” He raises a brow at you, but you can tell the sarcasm in his tone is without its usual bite. “Glad to know you find my struggle amusing.”

“The path to my cubicle is one full of many dangers.” You say, hand on your chest, while you grab onto his sleeve to lead him out of the crowd. He follows with no complaints. “Nothing like the missions you’re used to, Leon.”

“I’ve realised.” He quips, and there’s the familiar tone of comfortable teasing you’re used to from him. “And the agent at the desk is even more terrifying than anyone I’ve ever fought. They give me a run for my money.”

You slow down in the middle of your step, looking at him with an impressed grin. A few of the people tucked away in their cubicles glance at the two of you walking past.

“Cheeky, Leon, very cheeky.” You comment, and tug him with a bit more force, and he pretends it knocks him off his balance just to humour you. “Be careful for the agent not to write you a bad report and get you fired.”

“Oh, no.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “I’d never. I need their mercy to validate my competency to the whole of DSO.”

You two finally reach your desk. You sit back down, pushing away from the desk so Leon can shuffle in, and he leans a hip on the desk. His eyes trail over the office one more time, specifically eyeing the big windows parallel to your cubicle.

Your eyes follow his own. You can figure out what he’s thinking right now—threat assessment in your own office. You know he means well, but sometimes you wish he’d take a second to stop and rest.

You raise your hand to graze to touch him, but you stop just above his own hand. He seems so hyper-focused on every possible weakness in this building. He stands over you, you’ve noticed, backing you to a corner where every direction is covered and safe for you. You’re afraid—as ridiculous as that sounds—you might push whatever fragile boundaries the two of you have built if you touch him right now. You think speaking might be the better choice.

“You know we’re completely safe here, right?” You start, completely unsure of what direction to take this conversation. Your hand finds the surface of your desk, and you start tapping in a mindless rhythm to calm yourself. “I work almost all day here, so they owe me, us and everyone good security. You don’t have to stand on guard—”

“—I bought you coffee.”

“What?”

Well, there goes your plans for a motivational speech. Not that you were ever good at those, and he probably doesn’t even want to hear it. What do you know about what he feels after the mess that was Spain? Well, you do. You’ve written dozens of assessments about him as his superior, but that doesn’t exactly translate into closeness, even if he does bring you coffee when he visits.

“Cortado.” He says, straightening his spine and turning his back to the windows. “You mentioned last time you liked espressos, so the barista suggested adding steamed milk to it.” He offers you a warm cup.

“I thought that was for yourself.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Okay, you caught me.” You chuckle. “Thank you. Coffee is something I really need right now.”

You grab the warm coffee cup from his hands, and for a second, his fingers linger on yours. The cup isn’t as hot as you’d imagined. It’s perfectly warm, just like the temperature you told him you favoured.

“Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

“Coffee warrants two thank yous.” You add and put down the cup on your desk, far away from the files. “Are you here for the reports?”

Leon doesn’t answer you as quickly as you expected him to. His gaze lingers on your desk, but now what he came for. His eyes lock onto a particular wedding invitation you wished to hide. You can almost imagine the questions and his own thought-up answers running through his head.

Leon turns his gaze to you. Suddenly, you feel bare under his gaze. You’re used to meetings and briefs where your own superiors push back at your layers, but this is somehow different. You’re not uncomfortable under his gaze. You almost squirm in your chair. It’s mostly from the fact that he can see how much this small piece of paper has soured your mood.

“Are you—”

“—invited to a wedding? Yes.” You start tapping on the desk. Again.

“I was going to ask if you were okay.” He says matter-of-factly, as if that one small question hasn’t completely turned the conversation on its head.

Leon tilts his head, his blonde strands falling over his forehead. The hair sticks to the skin. You wonder if he rushed to get here. To get to you. With your new favourite coffee order, which he just introduced you to. The thought brings you a momentary bliss before you force yourself back to earth from some ridiculous dreamland.

“I’m fine.” You click your tongue, hoping your tone doesn’t give your true feelings away. “Anyway, did you hear about the bar hangout the office is having?”

“…No.” Leon scratches at his neck, and you feel a tinge of guilt.

“Well, I’m telling you now. And I’m bringing you with me.”

“You don’t have to.” His eyes widened a bit. “I don’t know anyone well enough there.”

“Except for me.”

“Except for you.”

“Wear your best casual fit. It’s a bar, not an official meeting. I look forward to seeing you not in a suit or a button-up for once.”

Leon’s lips curl just slightly. It only lasts for a moment before it’s gone just as quickly as it came. You smile, satisfied that you, or your stupid comment about his clothes—not that you think about his clothes often—was the reason he smiled in the first place.

“Alright.” You move in your chair. “You came for the last case report, right? You know, I can just send you an electronic copy whenever you need it.”

“I know,” Leon answers, but he doesn’t give a reason for why he visits.

You don’t press it.

The Manila files are organised with a perfect system. You hand over them with a sense of pride in your chest. Leon takes them, and your fingers linger on each other again. It only takes a single second for the touch to disappear.

“You’ll be there, right?” You question, pulling one of the few threads of hope that Leon might enjoy a night out with you. “I’ll message the details to you.”

“If you don’t leave me alone with your colleagues, then maybe.”

“I’ll be glued to your side, protecting you from them. A prince needs a knight to protect them, after all.”

He rolls his eyes. But you know there’s no malice behind it.

“Then it’s a yes.”

“You just can’t say no to me.”

“Don’t push it.”

+++

Bar “rendezvous”, May 10th, 2013.

The bar is exactly as Leon had imagined it.

The dim lights crowding the walls are placed sporadically around the room. The faint yellow hue spreads around the booths, covering them in a warm glow. There are a few candles placed on the circular tables, creating an alluring presence that Leon knows all too well to look at with a tinge of scepticism.

He’s been wandering around the booths looking around. He calls it people watching, but you told him it’s slightly concerning for others to see an almost 6’0 feet man staring—no, glaring—at them. He thinks he’s been doing well; he’s only looked at both the entrance and exit a few times since he got here a few minutes later than he was supposed to.

Not to mention he’s dressed up to the perfect balance of casual and professional just because you told him to. A cream ribbed knit sweater and medium-washed grey jeans. He feels a strange and heavy weight on his heart, like an expectation on how you’ll react and what you’ll say.

Leon wonders how you look this evening as well.

The two of you have been working together for almost two years. You’ve been the primary intelligence agent guiding him since he started working for the DSO for most of that time. Communicating over comms hasn’t exactly given him an excuse to see you other than during office visits, but those are sparse at best and, from your co-workers’ view, questionable and unnecessary. As if you don’t welcome him every time you walk him from the department entrance to your cubicle.

He scans the bar just ahead. The counter is built of dark burgundy wood, the surface covered in glasses of all sizes. There are lamps placed on it, similar to the wall lights.

People are already seated, some at the bar, some in the booths—all of them nursing the drinks Leon hopes will be enough to get through this evening.

He’s been contemplating leaving early, knowing the people he’s supposed to spend time with won’t exactly want him there, but the thought of you made him reconsider. Leon couldn’t just leave with no warning, especially when you’re here. First, you invited him, and it would be rude to bail on you. Second, the evening might not all be for nothing if he makes sure not to leave your side.

Leon’s brought out of his thoughts as a familiar voice reaches him. It’s like an addictive cigarette—rough at the edges and wrapped in velvet. He can recognise your voice anywhere. He’s so used to you speaking in his ear—the proximity and intimacy of guiding him as if you were right next to him.

Sometimes he does wish for you to be there next to him, to not spend nights alone with mission reports. He doesn’t want your handwriting and words on those files to be the only thing he’ll get to touch that is yours.

Leon follows the sound of your voice and how the tone finds its way through the bar’s crowd. His steps—previously slow and deliberate—have turned quick and shaky now. His eyes darted around the building, looking for your figure. When his eyes land on you, his breath lodges in his throat, turning into something heavier and different. A feeling he cannot piece together.

You are seated between your colleagues. There’s one empty seat next to yours, probably reserved for one of your friends. Leon stands a few steps away from the booth, the buzzing crowd blocking his view of you. He can make out the colours of your clothes matching your complexion. Your hands articulate and move with a sense of freedom he’s never been able to replicate as you talk with the people around you. The lamps hung on the walls form a dim halo around your form, the light highlighting you from the rest of the crowd.

Leon finally breathes; the heaviness on his chest dissipates only for a second before it spreads throughout his body, weighing him down. He’s content with this—seeing you with people who cannot contain their laughs around you as you wrap your arms around them as if they’re long-time friends, unlike him, who cannot even bring himself to even think about being touched by you without his jaw clenching and skin flushing with an uncomfortable heat.

He takes a step back, turning to leave. The moment only lasts for a second, but it feels like forever. The constant chatter of people in the booths, the clinking of cups, the crowd shuffling around the room—all of it—is drowned out.

Nothing can reach his ears. He really should have taken a drink from the bar first. A high-pitched ringing replaces the silence. The same deafness you feel after firing a shot—something that he hopes you never have to do. He’s fine with being the one with blood beneath his fingernails if you stay safe behind the comms, in your secured office. He’s fine with your voice being the last thing he—

“Leon!”

He stops, steps now full of hesitation. It only takes the familiar sound of your footsteps—which he could recognise anywhere—to make him turn your way. You’ve left the booth. Your co-workers are invested in a conversation with each other, only a few of them sparing you and Leon a glance.

“Where are you going?” You move closer to him, and Leon stiffens. “Sorry,” you raise your voice over the sound of the bar, “I tried getting your attention, but you didn’t hear me. Why didn’t you let me know you arrived?”

“You—” He tries gathering his words, but stills as his mind goes blank, “—seemed busy. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could have sent a text.” A small pout finds itself on your lips. Leon notes the glossy sheen over them; it catches the light as your mouth moves. “I was worried you were bailing on me.”

“You don’t look worried.” Leon clenches his jaw; he can smell the faint aroma of a saccharine drink on you. “You don’t need to worry. It doesn’t matter.”

Speaking of looking, he only now takes in your appearance. Dark brown fitted long-sleeve crop hugging your torso, and the grey tailored trousers hanging off your hips with a belt. The slightly exposed midriff catches his eye when it shouldn’t.

“You sure have a lot of ideas about how I should feel and worry, Leon.” Your voice snaps him out of his moment of—he doesn’t even know what to call it. “But look at you—” you take a step closer, closing in on him and backing him into the closest booth’s entrance. “—you sure as hell have a lot of ideas where to look. It’s amusing to see you scramble to pretend to be professional as if you weren’t watching me.”

Leon blinks. More than he usually does. You laugh at him, and the sound makes him feel the warmth spreading from underneath his collar to his ears. He hopes the dim lighting will hide how his face might flush in a few minutes.

“What?” He breaks eye contact first, rare for him—he knows. “You look fine.”

You raise a brow. The airy confidence in your figure slowly dissipates, and you cross your arms across your chest. His shoulders tense at the sight because he definitely didn’t mean fine, he meant—

“I saved a seat for you.” Your voice comes out quieter, and the sound of it makes Leon’s spine straighten. “It’s the one right next to mine.”

So, it was for him.

“You can take any seat you want. You’re not obligated to sit next to me.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“—Oh, no,” you cut him off, the words said through gritted teeth, “I’m going to get something stronger to drink myself. Have fun, Kennedy.”

You turn around away from Leon in an instant. He catches a slight glint in your eyes, and he hates the chance that it might be tears. His hand raises to catch your wrist, but he stops himself, his hand left outstretched as you move with anger in your steps. Angry at him. You called him Kennedy and not Leon. And he deserves it all. He drops his head, knowing how ridiculous he acted and looks right now.

When he raises his gaze, he cannot find you in the crowd. Your co-workers haven’t noticed that you haven’t returned either, too busy to pay attention to anything but themselves. Only one woman from your booth raises her head, obviously watching you and Leon. He remembers her from the analytics department. She squints her eyes at him, and he feels the shame deep in his voice.

Who’s he to judge? Leon bites his tongue. He’s the one who made you cry and literally run away from him. You’ve shown him nothing but kindness, and the one time he could show you his appreciation beyond his own thoughts, he fucks it up. Severely.

Leon doesn’t know how long he has stood there, but he knows he has to move and find you. His steps are instinctive, as if an invincible string is pulling him the right way. His eyes darted from one corner to another, looking for your face in the crowd. The people blur into each other, nothing or no one standing out.

You had mentioned getting a drink. A strong one at that. The heavy feeling from before has taken its spot on his chest, and his breath comes out harder and harder. He tries to find you amongst the people sitting on the bar-stools.

A single figure sticks out—seated alone, nursing what looks like shot glasses placed on the counter. The familiar way you tap your hand on the wooden surface makes his shoulders drop.

Leon hates that he’s the reason you’re hunched over the bar, getting drunk and trying to calm yourself down so you can return to your booth. He knows you’ll plaster on a tight smile and press crescents into your palm.

He finds his way to you; the last few steps are softer to not agitate you further. A small hiccup leaves you. Leon’s brows furrow. He tugs at his collar, unsure how to speak to you. Your gaze is glued to the drinks in front of you.

“Shot glasses aren’t the best anchors.” He starts and mentally scolds himself the second the words leave his mouth. “It’s supposed to be something that brings you a moment of clarity.”

“Alcohol is bringing me clarity, Kennedy.”

“I doubt that.”

“Well,” you click your tongue, “it’s bringing me enough clarity to throw the glass at you.”

“You’d be right to.”

You turn your gaze away from the glasses. Leon finally lets out a breath when you look at him. Your tense face finally softens, but only a bit. You gesture to the seat next to yours, and he wastes no time taking it.

The two of you are silent for the first few minutes. Leon’s too hesitant to say the wrong thing. You don’t seem to have the energy to talk back. He hasn’t thought of how to even begin apologising.

The bartender shoots the two of you a look, but Leon waves him down. You don’t need any more drinks tonight, and he’d rather be sober by your side tonight.

“I’m sorry.”

He’d rather blurt it out.

“You don’t need to apologise.” You clench your fist again. He can imagine the crescents. “Listen, I shouldn’t have gotten in your personal space like that. I know you don’t especially enjoy it when people do that—”

“I don’t mind when you do it.” Leon raises his hand and grazes your arm. You straighten, and he coughs. His hand doesn’t leave. “You—” he hesitantly grabs your clenched fist and loosens it, “—you look more than fine.”

You stare back at your intertwined hands. Your fingers feel like a perfect puzzle piece in his own.

“Really?” You mumble, voice weak in a way that he wants to fix right this moment.

“You look beautiful.” He says with no hesitation. “I should have said that the moment I saw you.”

“The moment you were staring at my midriff?”

“And you say that I’m the cheeky one.”

You laugh again. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sound.

“I’m sorry I made you cry.” Leon’s voice sounds so quiet that he surprises even himself.

“No,” you start, and he thinks you’re about to deflect again, “I mean, yeah— you were an ass, but I was slightly drunk—”

“Slightly?”

“Don’t start.” You tut. “But I’ve had a rough week. And I’m just in for tougher future months. I’ve been more emotional because of that. The alcohol takes the edge off for only a few hours.”

“What’s been bothering you?”

You bite your lower lip, and Leon forces himself to look away.

“You don’t want to hear about it. It’s nothing.”

“You sure have a lot of ideas on what I want.” Leon’s lips curl. “Now, who have I heard saying that?”

“Touché, Leon. Touché.”

“Tell me.” He tries to show the sincerity in his voice clearly. “I want to hear about it. Maybe I can help.”

“Can you magically spawn a date for me?”

“What?” He coughs. You want a date? A partner? For what? For the foreseeable future? As in someone to be with? “…You— you should have no problem with that.”

“Points off, Leon. You’re drastically wrong about that. I can’t find someone as a plus-one date to my friend’s wedding.” You hide your face in your hands. “I’m basically doomed. If I don’t show up with someone on my arm, my bastard of an ex will be satisfied, and I can’t have that considering he’s the groom!”

Oh.

Oh.

You meant the wedding. Leon remembers the invitation on your desk, which he saw on his visit to your office a few days ago. He can feel a strange weight lifted off his chest, and a small snort even leaves him.

“You’re laughing at me.” You widen your eyes at him and deadpan. “Leon Kennedy, you are laughing at someone clearly drunk and in distress!”

“No—” he raises his hand in defence while trying to stifle his chuckle, “—I’m not.”

“Then why did you snort!?” You groan. “I should have finished those damn shot glasses. Throwing them at you seems like a perfect idea.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“And why not? I can aim very well. Maybe not as good as you, mister, but I can hit the bullseye that is your stupid handsome face even if I’m drunk.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

Leon watches as you bite your lip again. The corner of your ears flushes just slightly. You groan again and hide your face in the crook of your arm.

“I said something stupid. Plus, I’m drunk. You’re taking advantage of poor little old me right now.”

He moves his hand from yours, gently tracing the exposed skin of your cheek peeking from your arm. “C’mon. I might have a solution to your problem.”

Leon thinks he should have taken a few drinks himself. This would have been so much easier to say if he had alcohol in his system, but he wants you to believe that he’s completely sober while bringing this up.

“So you can spawn a date in?”

“Wouldn’t I be a better candidate than a,” he trails off, his voice unsteady, “spawned in option, who you don’t even know?”

You raise your head suddenly. Leon moves to give you space. For a moment, he thinks you might refuse or plain chew him out for what he has proposed—being your plus one to a friend’s wedding, whom he doesn’t even know. A friend who, apparently, is getting married to your bastard ex. He’d try anything he knows to make sure you’re not crying alone at a bar, but this is also something he’s doing for himself. A chance of selfishness—to be by your side because you would want him there.

“You’re serious?” You ask with a tone too fragile for his liking. “You’re not saying that to just cheer me up, right? Or are you drunk?”

“You’re the drunk one, sweetheart, not me.”

“Am I hallucinating?”

“No.” Leon laughs. “I’m being serious. It’s all up to you.” Please say yes. “I’m not forcing your hand, but if you do need someone—” let it be me. “—I wouldn’t mind coming with you.”

You stare at him for a few seconds that feel like a century to him before you open your mouth. Leon expects an outright rejection, but instead, your eyes tear up.

“Sweetheart, no.” He scrambles closer to your seat, searching for a napkin. “The last thing I wanted to do was make you cry again.”

He doesn’t find a napkin and decides to use the fabric of his jumper to wipe the tears. Leon gently grabs your chin, softly moving the fabric across your wet cheek.

“You’re close.” You mumble.

Suddenly, his face feels flush again under your gaze. “Don’t cry again.”

“You weren’t lying, right? You’d come with me?”

There’s this desperation in your voice. Maybe from the alcohol in your system, or the high emotions from tonight, but Leon knows it brings no comfort to you or him to hear it.

“I’ll never lie to you again.”

“You’ve lied to me before?”

“Tonight. When I told you that, you looked just fine.”

You snort, dropping your head on Leon’s shoulder. He doesn’t move away. A faint aroma almost escapes him. Clean woods—cedar and sandalwood with muted jasmine. Your shampoo. He’s the doomed one, not you. You’re laughing, head on his shoulder. Your scent is so close. His hand is still near your cheek. He’s not sure if all of this is because you’re drunk or not. He hopes not.

“You should tell me your answer when you’re sober.”

“I want to go home.” You admit. “I hate this bar. I suggested another, but they all demanded this one. But these two seats are fine. I like them.” You raise your head from his shoulder. The conviction in your voice is admirable, if not a little silly.

“Why do these two specific chairs survive your wrath?”

“Because we’re sitting here.” You say it like it’s an obvious fact. “Duh.”

“Duh.”

“Stop parroting me, Kennedy. It’s rude.” You raise a finger at him.

“Come, you wanted to go home. I’m not letting you go alone.” Leon stands up, offering you a hand to grab on to.

“How gentlemanly. If only I knew I’d have a knight in shining armour to sweep me off my feet.” You sit up in the chair, but almost trip over your own feet due to the alcohol.

Leon’s quick to catch you. He steadies you on your feet, making sure you regain your balance.

“Two left feet, it seems.” He quips. “Are you sure you’re ready to walk? How much did you even drink? I didn’t know you were a lightweight.”

“Write that down for the wedding as a note. I can’t say no to a pretty fruity drink.” You start trailing off, chattering to Leon about Cosmopolitans and Margaritas. “Oh, I also love it when they have those cute little straws. I saw a straw shaped like a heart once.”

Leon leads you to the coat racks. You gesture to the tailored overcoat on the far end. Leon leans you against the wall while he grabs your coat. His hand grazes your shoulders and back as he helps you put it on. You shiver under his touch, and he has to restrain himself from lingering.

“We should at least tell your colleagues you’re leaving.” He offers.

“I told them I was going with you.” You say as if your words didn’t flip the entire conversation on its head. “Didn’t know it would end like this, though. New rule of thumb: if your handsome co-worker accidentally makes you cry, he gives you a pity date.”

“It’s not a pity date.” Leon grabs the collar of your coat gently, making sure the fabric is snug around you. “And I don’t want to make you cry ever again. And, I didn’t offer the date because of that. I offered it because I wanted to. I still do. Get back to me about it tomorrow when you’re not about to throw shot glasses at me.”

You’re looking up at him with a different glint in your eyes now. Leon thinks it almost looks like a sparkle. He deems that it suits you well.

“I’m making sure you get home safely.”

“Going to walk me home?”

“Yes. Knight in shining armour, remember?”

You two-step out of the bar. The icy air bites at Leon’s cheeks. He sees you flush because of the night breeze. He offers his arm. You raise your hand and loop it around his arm. You shuffle closer to him. He hopes that at least some of his warmth comforts you.

“I don’t remember telling you my address, Leon.” You giggle, but there’s a slight tone of challenge in your voice.

“It was in your employee file,” Leon answers while his free hand scratches at his neck. “Marston gave it to me.”

You two walk down the busy road in tandem. It feels as if the moving crowd is just background noise. Leon hears none of the buzzing people. For once, the outside world is not a threat, at least for now.

“Of course she did.” You grumble before laying your head on Leon’s shoulder again.

+++

Somewhere in Washington, D.C., May 19th, 2013.

A red-brick stone flat building stands moderately tall. Ivy creeps up its facade; it consists of four stories, like it’s been claiming the building for decades. Maybe longer than Leon can imagine.

There’s a strange feeling of intimidation pressing down on his chest. The street outside is sparse of passers-by, considering the rain. Lucky for him, Leon is kept warm inside his car. He shifts in the leather seat. An expensive seat.

His eyes wander around the visible block. There’s a couple, one’s clutching a dog in their hands, collar forgotten. The other—from the flats’ entrance—is beckoning their partner to rush in the door. There’s a melodic sense of normalcy to them. The feeling from before becomes heavier.

Leon shifts his gaze away from them. He grabs his phone, checking the time for the fifth time this minute.

9:47 AM. You said you’d be ready around the 45-minute mark, but he showed up at 9:30 just to be sure. He had forgotten how long those few minutes can stretch into forever. Twelve minutes, for him specifically, is too long to be spending without seeing you walk out of that door. He thinks maybe you’re planning on rescheduling this wedding outfit shopping day. Leon wouldn’t complain. It is raining.

He knows you hate the rain. Especially when it gets your clothes wet and shoes dirty. You told him that one time when he visited your office. You were hunched over in your chair, wet wipes in hand, as you complained about your ‘poor loafers.’

At least he’s got an excuse to take you wherever you want now. He double-checks the passenger seat again—the seatbelt is secured, the glove box is empty if you want to put something in it, and the car has been cleaned just a few days ago.

Leon checks the time again. His phone screen lights up, flashing 9:50 in front of him. Only three minutes. He leans on the head restraint with a nervous sigh.

Movement catches his attention from the corner of his eye. He hears a string of curses from a figure in front of your flat’s entrance before he realizes the person is you. You’re struggling with closing the door while balancing an umbrella and clutching a bag with its sling.

Leon exits from his car.

You turn at the sound. “Oh, Leon!” Your previous demeanour changes in an instant, it makes him hesitant in his steps. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait. It’s been such a hectic morning.”

“No, I just arrived.” Leon offers to grab the umbrella from your hand. He opens it, tipping it mostly towards you. “Twenty minutes is nothing.”

“You’ve been here for almost half an hour already?!” You snap your gaze away from the closed door and stare at him with your mouth agape.

“Close your mouth, sweetheart.” He breaks eye contact with you first.

“You should have at least texted to let me know.” You snort. “I can’t believe I kept you waiting in the rain.”

You and Leon move towards his car, the umbrella still tipped towards you. A few rain droplets fall on his hair and coat, before hitting his face. He scrunches his nose, and you notice. You stop, grabbing his hand where it grips the umbrella with unnecessary strength. His knuckles whiten as you tilt the umbrella back to his side.

“I can’t have you getting sick.” You swallow the heavy feeling down, now aware of the proximity. “I need my plus one in perfect shape, not with a runny nose.”

“I don’t get sick,” Leon answers. “And I don’t plan on leaving you alone to fend for yourself at that wedding.”

He gestures to the passenger seat door. You offer to grab the umbrella, but he shakes his head. You raise a brow in amusement as he opens the door.

“How gentlemanly.”

“I’ve been receiving a lot of praise from you.” The corners of his lips curl in that effortlessly handsome way you’ve got used to seeing. “Is this favouritism? Thought that wasn’t allowed in your department, especially because you’re technically my superior.”

“It’s deserved, but don’t let it get to your head, Kennedy.” You look up at him from your eyelashes now, the view of him towering over you from the drizzle outside, while you’re seated inside, makes your body flush. “You’re not afraid of HR, are you?”

“No, but they’d probably come after me for kidnapping you or something from the bar last week.”

“You did usher me, drunk and distressed, away from them.” You raise a brow, the playful sarcasm seeping into your voice. “What will the people say? What a scandal. Enough for office gossip for the next few months.”

“I’d better get in the car, or I think you’re keeping me talking out here to actually get me sick.” Leon closes the door with a smile.

You settle into your seat, leaning towards the driver’s spot. Your eyes follow him as he strides in a few steps from the side of the car to his seat. He opens the door and gets in, handing you the umbrella to put in its sleeve.

“I’d imagine you being sick is probably the only time you’d let yourself have a break day.” You quip, turning to face him.

He looks behind the car, one hand on the passenger seat and the other on the steering wheel. “I get enough rest.”

“I worry.” The words leave your mouth before you can even rephrase them. “Sometimes, I mean.”

Leon stays quiet as he reverses the car. You try to figure out what thoughts are swirling behind his eyes. They are dim with a light you haven’t seen before. Not entirely a bad surprise. It only now dawns on you what kind of situation you’re in. How special and rare it is.

You’ve never seen Leon outside the office. Conversations between you two about the normal things, such as the weather and shopping, were sparse. And now here you are—talking about getting sick, as if you’ll see a red-nosed Leon nursing herbal tea.

Or something even more ridiculously tasting of normalcy—a luxury you both have been robbed of because of the job, you making that said tea.

“I know you do.” Leon finally speaks. “I’ve always come back in one piece, haven’t I?”

“Barely.”

“I’ve got you there to keep my head on a swivel. You never let me get cocky.” He says over the engine’s hum.

“You’re already too cocky.” Your voice came out soft, directed at the windscreen instead of him.

Leon doesn’t respond immediately. The rain patters against the windscreen in a steady rhythm. He focuses on the road ahead, navigating the wet streets with the kind of precision he brings to everything. You watch the city blur past, the nervous energy from the morning slowly settling into something else.

Twenty minutes later, Leon pulls into the parking garage of a boutique in Georgetown. The transition is almost jarring—from the intimacy of the car to the fluorescent brightness of the structure.

This is real now.

The font above the boutiques entrance loops beautifully in cursive as it reads Sage & Stone. Velvet cream curtains cover the large windows, lacy bows scrunching the fabric at the edges. Only a few mannequins can be seen from outside—all of them wearing something viscose and charmeuse.

“I didn’t even know there was a boutique here.” Leon’s the first one to break the silence.

You turn your gaze back to him. “It’s a gem, truly. Not a lot of people know about it. Good for us, though.” A smirk appears on your lips, and Leon’s shoulders fall at the sight. “We’ll be the most eye-catching pair there.”

You’re already out of the car while Leon is slowly catching up. He’s still thinking about the word pair. The reality of the situation finally sets in. You two are walking into a boutique he’s never seen, about to buy clothes for an event he didn’t think he’d get a chance to visit with you.

The large glass doors open at the push of his hand. He gestures for you to go in first, and you tilt your head slightly at him, a playful smile playing on your lips. He tries to picture that in his mind forever.

“You sound like you’ve already thought about what we’re going to wear.” Leon stays a step behind you, his eyes wandering around the building. “I do have tuxedos back at home.”

“Ah, yes.” You keep your attention on the few mannequins standing next to the hangers. There are silk dresses along with velvet suits with embroidery around the room. “Your boring black and white suits. The dress code is semiformal, cocktail attire. Have a little fun, Leon.”

Leon raises a single brow at your words, but a smile plays at his lips anyway. He follows your gaze to the hangers, wondering what you have in mind.

“I’m starting to feel a bit intimidated.”

“You should.” You nod your head at him. “I will not let you out of this building until we find you a perfect suit.”

“And you, as well. Or this will be just unfair.”

“You’ll get to see me in silk, Leon.” You throw him a faint wink over your shoulder, and he feels his heartbeat quicken. “Don’t worry your little head over it.”

A sales associate approaches, sensing your purpose. You take charge immediately—pointing to the forest green patterned pieces, the silk charmeuse, the tailored jackets. Leon watches you move through the racks with such certainty, such confidence, that he realizes—you know exactly what you want. And you know what you want for him, too.

You pull a sage green blazer from a hanger, turning to Leon. “This. Try this.”

Leon takes it without argument. Your fingers brush as the fabric exchanges hands. His hand moves more slowly, trying to lengthen the moment. Your eyes find his, a silent question in them. The moment slowly dissipates as you gesture to the changing room.

“Go on.” You instruct, already three steps ahead. “You try on the suit while I find those cream trousers I saw from the window. It’ll bring out your complexion.”

“You’ve already planned all of this out, huh?” Leon stands in front of the changing room, one hand already parting the curtains and the other gently holding the blazer.

“What makes you say that?” You tilt your head at him, feigning confusion.

“I was thinking we’d start with your outfit first.”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” You murmur, fingers trailing his blazer’s fabric as you take one step closer to him. “For once, let someone else treat you. I’ll pick something out, and you tell me what you think. But first, I want to see your outfit.”

“Alright, alright.” Leon manages, watching you move away from him.

The sales associate returns, the cream trousers in their hands. You pick it up, hand grazing the intricate embroidery.

That’s probably expensive, he thinks.

“I hope you know I plan on treating you today, not the other way around,” Leon says, eyes on anything but you.

“I get paid more than you.” You call over your shoulder. “Being your superior and all. So indulge me, please.”

Oh, he’d indulge in you. But he wanted to start this morning off with you having time to dress up, have fun and finally get the worry of the wedding off your shoulders.

“I’m still paying for your outfit.”

“Then I’ll pay for your blazer and trousers.” You turn, sticking out your tongue at him.

“Mature.” Leon laughs as he takes the trousers from you. He wonders how many times he can get away with his fingers brushing against yours.

He steps into the dressing room. You lose sight of him and fall into a state of impatience not even a second later. You could take a seat and wait for him to come out. Or you could try to find an outfit for yourself. Truth be told, you’d been imagining how he would look dressed up more than you have kept yourself in mind.

“You truly have a special style.” Leon’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Are you done already?” You get up from your seat, wondering how the time passes so quickly.

He steps out. The blazer is tailored, fitted through the shoulders, structured but elegant. The cream trousers are well-fitted, hitting at the ankle with a clean break. The sage green and cream complement his complexion in a way you haven’t seen in any other piece of his clothes. You swallow, trying to compose yourself.

Leon smooths down the blazer. He looks as if he feels out of place. It only lasts for a second before he pushes the foreign feeling down and settles into the outfit.

“Cat got your tongue?” He quips, his hands pulling at his collar.

“Don’t get too cocky again.” You take a step near him, hands moving to his collar to fix it. “Or as you said, I’ll have to humble you.”

You move the fabric a bit loose. You can feel the unsteady rise of his chest right below your hands. Not only that, but you wonder if he can feel the quickened beat of your heart, too.

“Thank you.” Leon’s voice comes out carefully. “Your choice is,” he tries to find the right words, “just right.”

“Not ‘just fine’?”

“Never ‘just fine’.”

You take a step back, only now realizing how close you two were. Leon coughs, hand grazing his chin before falling to grip the blazer again.

“What about you?” He questions, eyes trailing over the many hangers around the room. “You must have planned something for yourself.”

“I am ever so thorough.” You nod your head at him before gesturing to the closest clothes rack to your right.

A forest green patterned suit hangs from it. It stands out from the other pieces of clothing with its damask embroidery. The colour matches his, but only your green is richer and deeper. It contracts his blazer more than it matches it. He can imagine how eye-catching you will be, and he’ll be right by your side.

“Try it on.” His hand finds your arm.

“I—” you look from the suit to him, “I already know what it’s like. It’s not a big deal. I know this is all over the top. You didn’t even need to tag along. I appreciate it, and I don’t want to bother you further by watching me try it on—well, not while trying it on. You’ll see me after I’ve finished putting it on—”

“You’re spiralling, sweetheart.” Leon’s hold on your arm becomes even firmer. It serves to ground you.

You let out a sigh.

“I can be picky about outfits, you know.”

“But you like this one.” He smiles at you, and you feel your body flush. “I want to see it, come on.”

“Alright.” You finally relent.

“I’ll hand off the blazer and trousers after changing. By that time you’ll be done, and I’m sure you’ll look—”

“‘Just fine’?”

“—Beautiful.”

Your eyes widen. His hand on your arm feels hotter through the fabric of your clothes. For a moment, it feels like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You cough, and Leon moves to clear the way to the changing rooms.

The sales associate returns. They hand you the suit with a faint smile before they rush off to gather bags for the purchase.

This is going far better than you imagined. The usual tension you see in Leon’s shoulders seems to disappear and is replaced with something casual. Almost domestic. You don’t want to fool yourself into thinking that this is more than it is, but you can’t help but cling to the image of him in this state.

You disappear from Leon’s line of sight as you pull back the curtain. A few minutes pass. He’s been pacing back and forth—sometimes catching onto your voice carrying through the curtain, and other times talking to the sales associate about charging his card for your suit as well, along with his, which is already in a far too fancy bag with a bow. Sage & Stone is written in golden cursive font across the bag’s ivory colour.

Leon hears the curtain move and snaps his head in your direction. You step out of the changing room hesitantly. There’s a different demeanour to you now, one of nervousness. As if you’re wondering a bit too much about how you look when he wishes he could tell you over and over again how you look otherworldly.

“So,” you start, voice a bit unsteady, “what do you think?”

You stand in front of the ivory curtain. The colour of your suit is deep green with baroque-like details woven into the fabric. The trousers are long and elegant, hitting perfectly at the shoe. The pattern catches the light. The silhouette is confident.

“It looks perfect.” He takes a step closer to you, and your spine straightens by instinct. “You look perfect.”

You step closer, searching his face for honesty. Leon doesn’t flinch. He holds your gaze steady.

“You’re sure?” Your voice comes out small.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The words land differently than he probably intended. You both feel it. The sales associate reappears with the ivory bags, golden cursive gleaming, and the moment breaks.

“We’ll take both,” Leon says before you can protest. His card is already out.

Twenty minutes later, you’re walking out of Sage & Stone with matching bags—sage and forest green coordinated without planning. Leon carries both, and you don’t argue this time. Outside, the rain has stopped and Georgetown glitters.

You’re thinking about the wedding. About walking in together. About how Leon looked at you in that suit, like you were the only person in the world.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For today.”

Leon turns the key. The engine hums to life.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

And he means the entirety of it.

⋆.˚ authors notes: well my fingers hurt. this was supposed to be a single one-shot about leon being reader’s fake date, but i planned way too many scenes and there were alot of emotional beats i wanted to represent. part to will contain the wedding scenes. i want to thank my two mutuals ari and jo for witnessing my descend into madness as i wrote all of this.

⋆.˚ taglist: @yuunarii-arii @coffeelovingreader @princeintheshadow

[tealovingdreamer]

hey... so if u saw that i tagged you in a post it's because i accidentally posted my taglist that i had in my drafts, so sorry about that lovelies 🫶🏻

[tealovingdreamer]

✶ richard grayson as your boyfriend headcanons

꒰ contents ꒱ dick grayson x reader. implied vigilante!reader. fluff. established relationship. batfamily mentions.

✎ᝰ. letter from jj . . . hi! this one is inspired by my ‘jason grace as your boyfriend headcanons’ that i wrote a while back. and since i reposted that one i thought about making one for my darling richard too<3 ooo also i think it would be fun to make these for jason and tim too, but let me know what you think!!

in the mornings, he would wake you up by kissing your face. he’s an early bird unfortunately, so usually, he’d be the one to wake up first. and normally, after spending ten minutes of totally-not-creepy staring at your sleepy face — “it’s called ‘admiring’ there’s a difference!” — he would try to wake ypu by peppering kisses everywhere until you do.

yes you would push him away sometimes— listen, you need your sleep, while he’s romantic and all that jazz, it is way too early.

although, whenever he brought haley in to let her bother you with kisses too (like father like daughter, am i right?) you never push her away, instead you’d smile and give her a lot of attention.

a fact that he gets super (jokingly) offended over. because haley gets her kisses and attention when she bothers your sleep, but when he does it, you push him away??? what is this tomfoolery?

and he would (again, playfully) sulk in that usual Richard John Grayson™ dramatics until you give him attention. but when you do, you bet he melts like butter in a hot pan.

he’s your number one hype man. you pick out an outfit for the day and he’d be all heart eyed, like his pupils molded into little hearts when he sees you.

he always ALWAYS makes sure that you never feel left out in a crowd. when people tries to talk to him, he’s polite and charming, and he’d mention/ask you about anything possible so you also have a role in a conversation and not just be a listener.

family game nights / hangouts are never boring. why? because you would team up together and be the feral competitive menaces you are. and you’d always win too. couples telepathy or what?

which is why it's now a must to split you and dick in different teams at every round of charades. apparently reading each other too well is against the rules now:(

if you’re shortrer than he is, he WILL actually put your favourite mugs in the top cabinet when you’re mad at him so you’ll ask for his help to get it.

you both go on morning walks with haley almost everyday.

he learns your skincare routine, so whenever you want to relax, he’d be all cute and offer to pamper you since he’s “practically an expert at these things.”

you both have a horde of playlists to blast in the car with. but your favourite are the musicals. the amount of times you were singing off-key together while laughing at each other is uncountable.

he gets you flowers randomly. like you’d find your favourite flowers on the counter when you wake up (still in a bouquet because he knew you liked to arrange it yourself in a vase).

flirts with you a lot while you're patrolling together in blüdhaven. if you're fighting some henchmen, he actually would comment that you look so hot when fighting like “hell yea that’s my love!!!!”

he sends you cute messages and pictures. when he's patrolling alone till sunrise, he’d snap a sunrise picture for you and type something like “good morning, lovely<3”

he’s not much of a reader, but when you do, he tries to read along, because he wanted to be in the world you’re so immersed in with you.

he gets subtly jealous when he sees your celebrity crushes and lowkey has a one-sided beef with them. whenever they show up on screen, or in public on a poster or anything like that, he would actually give them the stink eye.

he never lets go of your hand in public. in your civilian personas, there had been many pictures taken by the paparazzis of you together and they almost always showed the two of you holding hands.

he takes candid pictures and short videos of you for memories. whether it’s of you cooking, singing, dancing, reading. just everything.

he does the one hand on the steering wheel, mostly because he’s holding your hand with the other. absentmindedly kissing your knuckles while he drives.

he takes you to the circus whenever he performs. yes he does throw you little winks when he's on the trapeze that, show off.

when he first took you to haly’s circus to meet mr. haly, he was super nervous but so excited to have his first father figure to meet his partner.

and to no one's surprise, mr. haly likes you. yay!!! of course you bonded immediately. and he got to tell you stories of dick when he was little and you ate it all up (especially the embarrassing ones) and asked him everything about dick.

dick also takes you to meet zitka after. (zitka’s alive, and no i won't accept anything other than that.)

okay back to the general stuff.

ROOFTOP DATES (of course of course)

it's not very a vigilante-like relationship without rooftop dates right?? (ahem, ladynoir WRONG FANDOM JO)

BUT YES rooftop dates :) a lot of the times on the wayne enterprises rooftop because it has the best view. but in blüdhaven, you would hang ot at the bridge because the other buildings doesn't have the pretty view the bridge gives you.

he gets so lovesick around you. is that surprising? no. even the whole batfamily is like “YOURE IN LOVE WE GET IT”

the first time dick introduced you to the family, as usual, alfred, stephanie, duke and cass and tim were so welcoming. bruce was neutral and jason and damian were skeptical.

not for a long time, though. jason and dami were just cautious because they know that when dick loves he LOVES, like he’s all in. and they need to make sure that you can love him and appreciate him as much as he deserves.

you win their hearts in the end <3

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[batwngs]

these are sooo sweet omg??? like the way u depict dick is genuinely so silly and insanely romantic, and i think love is something that comes across as joyous and dizzying and just flowery in how silly it reads for both him and his partner, despite how equally intense and seriously committed he treats the relationship itself :'0

but god the domesticity of this is so so so precious im literally so in love with how you wrote the morning routine portion at the start of this because yea he would be the one to "wake up earlier" (aka he doesn't sleep and just spends the few hours/ singular hour in bed next to you) just so that he could stare and admire your sleeping form for how beautifully relaxed you are, and the idea of him carving time out to walk haley with you too each morning and pretty much creating these patterns of stability in his otherwise tumultuous lifestyle :') there truly is sooo much romance in the mundane everyday things of it all!!!

also the way that you so easily peppered in this very core idea of his character throughout this and that being his insane need to be needed, like the idea of him putting your mugs at a higher shelf in the cabinet after arguments so that you wouldn't be able to reach it by yourself forcing you to ask him for help is literally insane behavior but i can see him doing this because no matter what he truly feels complete when he is needed by others, even if he can't fulfill the need it's the very idea that others look to him for help and need him in their lives that keeps him going, so the fact that he would do something this petty to ensure you still need him in ur life, that u still need him to do something for u even after the two of you argued and you would rather not have to speak with him, esp over something as stupid as reaching for a mug—insanity never looked this good!!!!!

[tealovingdreamer]

tear-worthy baby pictures

There was a plethora of scenarios that went through your mind when your mother pulled out that photo album and showed it to your boyfriend, Dick Grayson, before scurrying off to the kitchen.

The first one—perhaps the most probable one out of all the scenes your mind had conjured— is that, he was going to tease you relentlessly.

The second one being: him laughing at the ridiculous poses that you did (God, those stupid peace signs... Who even taught you to pose like that?)

And really, those were the only scenarios that were realistic enough to be true. While other ones are a little too adventurous and highly unlikely.

But in your defense: the chances of those happening are more improbable rather than they were impossible. So, who knows?

What indeed happened instead, however, is one you hadn't imagined would happen.

“Dick, are you crying?”

Glassy blue eyes peered up at you, a vey noticeable pout on his lips.

Gosh, he looked like a kicked puppy, you resist the urge to kiss him in a very improper way...

“No, it's just—” The obvious tears in his eyes, and the loud sniffle certainly begged to differ. “You looked so cute, my love.”

You blinked.

He's crying... because you looked cute as a child?

Why is that sweet? Why is he so sweet? And why do you feel your heart jump in your chest at his words?

Sitting down next to him on the couch, peering at the pink photo album situated on his lap, you asked, “You're crying because I looked cute in the pictures?” Your hand mindlessly fiddled with the edges plastic sheets, flipping through randomly.

His arm instinctively wrapped around your shoulder to pull you closer to his side, his head dropping to your shoulder.

He nodded, lifting his head after. “Yeah, that's one of the reasons. I mean, look at you.” A teasing coo laced his words this time, prompting a roll of your eyes.

“Stop,” You playfully pushed his face away from you with a hand. But failed when he took the said hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

You hated how heat quickly rushed to your cheeks. You didn't need to glance his way to see the stupidly charming grin on his lips.

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to will the flush away, “Anyways,” you drawled, purposefully in high volume, mostly to steer away from your embarrassment. “You said that was one of the reasons, what's the other one?”

He blinked then, eyes falling to the opened photo album once more “Oh. I thought that when we have kids in the future, they'll look like this. Like you. That's just a really nice thought to me.”

Oh.

He thought about having kids... with you. He thought about a future with you.

Why did the thought want to make you explode—in a good way, of course— just a little bit?

He went on, not noticing the internal fireworks that went off in your head and in your heart. “... to have our kids look like you, I want that.”

He didn't notice your silence at first, not until he did, and he called your name softly, “Are you okay?” His brows furrowed in concern, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You didn't respond right away. But when you finally found your voice, the words that escaped were—

“You want to have kids with me?”

It was his turn to blush. “Yeah?” He rubs an awkward hand behind his neck. “Sorry. Did that freak you out?” he asked, a nervous chuckle following his question.

A small smile took place on your lips as you nodded. “A little. But in a good way.” You took his hand, squeezing it lightly in your grasp.

His eyes softened, looking partially surprised. “Really?” Your smile widened when he returned the gesture.

You nodded again, offering him a brighter smile. “I think it's sweet.” You shifted to lean your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” His head rested atop yours.

“Yeah. You gotta stop being so sweet, though, Gray, I might just marry you.”

His deep rumbling laugh made little flutters to erupt in your chest. It was so beautiful.

“Why would I do that, if it makes you so happy?”

Damn him. And damn his ability to turn your heart to a puddle just by his words alone.

“See that?” You lightly jabbed a finger to his cheek. “Stop that. Right now.”

You felt his lips fall to your crown.

“Never.”

author’s notes. . . i felt bad about my last dick one shot, so as an apology, i decided to bring back and repost this (yes i did forget that i wrote this blurb.) there will be more fluff soon 🤍

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[coffeelovingreader]

[tealovingdreamer]

✶ richard grayson as your boyfriend headcanons

꒰ contents ꒱ dick grayson x reader. implied vigilante!reader. fluff. established relationship. batfamily mentions.

✎ᝰ. letter from jj . . . hi! this one is inspired by my ‘jason grace as your boyfriend headcanons’ that i wrote a while back. and since i reposted that one i thought about making one for my darling richard too<3 ooo also i think it would be fun to make these for jason and tim too, but let me know what you think!!

in the mornings, he would wake you up by kissing your face. he’s an early bird unfortunately, so usually, he’d be the one to wake up first. and normally, after spending ten minutes of totally-not-creepy staring at your sleepy face — “it’s called ‘admiring’ there’s a difference!” — he would try to wake ypu by peppering kisses everywhere until you do.

yes you would push him away sometimes— listen, you need your sleep, while he’s romantic and all that jazz, it is way too early.

although, whenever he brought haley in to let her bother you with kisses too (like father like daughter, am i right?) you never push her away, instead you’d smile and give her a lot of attention.

a fact that he gets super (jokingly) offended over. because haley gets her kisses and attention when she bothers your sleep, but when he does it, you push him away??? what is this tomfoolery?

and he would (again, playfully) sulk in that usual Richard John Grayson™ dramatics until you give him attention. but when you do, you bet he melts like butter in a hot pan.

he’s your number one hype man. you pick out an outfit for the day and he’d be all heart eyed, like his pupils molded into little hearts when he sees you.

he always ALWAYS makes sure that you never feel left out in a crowd. when people tries to talk to him, he’s polite and charming, and he’d mention/ask you about anything possible so you also have a role in a conversation and not just be a listener.

family game nights / hangouts are never boring. why? because you would team up together and be the feral competitive menaces you are. and you’d always win too. couples telepathy or what?

which is why it's now a must to split you and dick in different teams at every round of charades. apparently reading each other too well is against the rules now:(

if you’re shortrer than he is, he WILL actually put your favourite mugs in the top cabinet when you’re mad at him so you’ll ask for his help to get it.

you both go on morning walks with haley almost everyday.

he learns your skincare routine, so whenever you want to relax, he’d be all cute and offer to pamper you since he’s “practically an expert at these things.”

you both have a horde of playlists to blast in the car with. but your favourite are the musicals. the amount of times you were singing off-key together while laughing at each other is uncountable.

he gets you flowers randomly. like you’d find your favourite flowers on the counter when you wake up (still in a bouquet because he knew you liked to arrange it yourself in a vase).

flirts with you a lot while you're patrolling together in blüdhaven. if you're fighting some henchmen, he actually would comment that you look so hot when fighting like “hell yea that’s my love!!!!”

he sends you cute messages and pictures. when he's patrolling alone till sunrise, he’d snap a sunrise picture for you an type something like “good morning, lovely<3”

he’s not much of a reader, but when you do, he tries to read along, because he wanted to be in the world you’re so immersed in with you.

he gets subtly jealous when he sees your celebrity crushes and lowkey has a one-sided beef with them. whenever they show up on screen, or in public on a poster or anything like that, he would actually give them the stink eye.

he never lets go of your hand in public. in your civilian personas, there had been many pictures taken by the paparazzis of you together and they almost always showed the two of you holding hands.

he takes candid pictures and short videos of you for memories. whether it’s of you cooking, singing, dancing, reading. just everything.

he does the one hand on the steering wheel, mostly because he’s holding your hand with the other. absentmindedly kissing your knuckles while he drives.

he takes you to the circus whenever he performs. yes he does throw you little winks when he's on the trapeze that, show off.

when he first took you to haly’s circus to meet mr. haly, he was super nervous but so excited to have his first father figure to meet his partner.

and to no one's surprise, mr. haly likes you. yay!!! of course you bonded immediately. and he got to tell you stories of dick when he was little and you ate it all up (especially the embarrassing ones) and asked him everything about dick.

dick also takes you to meet zitka after. (zitka’s alive, and no i won't accept anything other than that.)

okay back to the general stuff.

ROOFTOP DATES (of course of course)

it's not very a vigilante-like relationship without rooftop dates right?? (ahem, ladynoir WRONG FANDOM JO)

BUT YES rooftop dates :) a lot of the times on the wayne enterprises rooftop because it has the best view. but in blüdhaven, you would hang ot at the bridge because the other buildings doesn't have the pretty view the bridge gives you.

he gets so lovesick around you. is that surprising? no. even the whole batfamily is like “YOURE IN LOVE WE GET IT”

the first time dick introduced you to the family, as usual, alfred, stephanie, duke and cass and tim were so welcoming. bruce was neutral and jason and damian were skeptical.

not for a long time, though. jason and dami were just cautious because they know that when dick loves he LOVES, like he’s all in. and they need to make sure that you can love him and appreciate him as much as he deserves.

you win their hearts in the end <3

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[deerhazed]

in the mornings, he would wake you up by kissing your face. he’s an early bird unfortunately, so usually, he’d be the one to wake up first. and normally, after spending ten minutes of totally-not-creepy staring at your sleepy face — “it’s called ‘admiring’ there’s a difference!” — he would try to wake ypu by peppering kisses everywhere until you do.

ugh i love how u write domestic fluff w dick, a rare gem indeed.

if you’re shortrer than he is, he WILL actually put your favourite mugs in the top cabinet when you’re mad at him so you’ll ask for his help to get it.

did u write this for yourself HAHAHAHAH but yes he would totally do that and stand near the kitchen waiting for you to ask for his help (he’d have a shit eating grin too)

he sends you cute messages and pictures. when he's patrolling alone till sunrise, he’d snap a sunrise picture for you an type something like “good morning, lovely<3”

THE LOVELY NICKNAME IS CANON WE LOVE ITTTTT

[tealovingdreamer]

✶ richard grayson as your boyfriend headcanons

꒰ contents ꒱ dick grayson x reader. implied vigilante!reader. fluff. established relationship. batfamily mentions.

✎ᝰ. letter from jj . . . hi! this one is inspired by my ‘jason grace as your boyfriend headcanons’ that i wrote a while back. and since i reposted that one i thought about making one for my darling richard too<3 ooo also i think it would be fun to make these for jason and tim too, but let me know what you think!!

in the mornings, he would wake you up by kissing your face. he’s an early bird unfortunately, so usually, he’d be the one to wake up first. and normally, after spending ten minutes of totally-not-creepy staring at your sleepy face — “it’s called ‘admiring’ there’s a difference!” — he would try to wake ypu by peppering kisses everywhere until you do.

yes you would push him away sometimes— listen, you need your sleep, while he’s romantic and all that jazz, it is way too early.

although, whenever he brought haley in to let her bother you with kisses too (like father like daughter, am i right?) you never push her away, instead you’d smile and give her a lot of attention.

a fact that he gets super (jokingly) offended over. because haley gets her kisses and attention when she bothers your sleep, but when he does it, you push him away??? what is this tomfoolery?

and he would (again, playfully) sulk in that usual Richard John Grayson™ dramatics until you give him attention. but when you do, you bet he melts like butter in a hot pan.

he’s your number one hype man. you pick out an outfit for the day and he’d be all heart eyed, like his pupils molded into little hearts when he sees you.

he always ALWAYS makes sure that you never feel left out in a crowd. when people tries to talk to him, he’s polite and charming, and he’d mention/ask you about anything possible so you also have a role in a conversation and not just be a listener.

family game nights / hangouts are never boring. why? because you would team up together and be the feral competitive menaces you are. and you’d always win too. couples telepathy or what?

which is why it's now a must to split you and dick in different teams at every round of charades. apparently reading each other too well is against the rules now:(

if you’re shortrer than he is, he WILL actually put your favourite mugs in the top cabinet when you’re mad at him so you’ll ask for his help to get it.

you both go on morning walks with haley almost everyday.

he learns your skincare routine, so whenever you want to relax, he’d be all cute and offer to pamper you since he’s “practically an expert at these things.”

you both have a horde of playlists to blast in the car with. but your favourite are the musicals. the amount of times you were singing off-key together while laughing at each other is uncountable.

he gets you flowers randomly. like you’d find your favourite flowers on the counter when you wake up (still in a bouquet because he knew you liked to arrange it yourself in a vase).

flirts with you a lot while you're patrolling together in blüdhaven. if you're fighting some henchmen, he actually would comment that you look so hot when fighting like “hell yea that’s my love!!!!”

he sends you cute messages and pictures. when he's patrolling alone till sunrise, he’d snap a sunrise picture for you and type something like “good morning, lovely<3”

he’s not much of a reader, but when you do, he tries to read along, because he wanted to be in the world you’re so immersed in with you.

he gets subtly jealous when he sees your celebrity crushes and lowkey has a one-sided beef with them. whenever they show up on screen, or in public on a poster or anything like that, he would actually give them the stink eye.

he never lets go of your hand in public. in your civilian personas, there had been many pictures taken by the paparazzis of you together and they almost always showed the two of you holding hands.

he takes candid pictures and short videos of you for memories. whether it’s of you cooking, singing, dancing, reading. just everything.

he does the one hand on the steering wheel, mostly because he’s holding your hand with the other. absentmindedly kissing your knuckles while he drives.

he takes you to the circus whenever he performs. yes he does throw you little winks when he's on the trapeze that, show off.

when he first took you to haly’s circus to meet mr. haly, he was super nervous but so excited to have his first father figure to meet his partner.

and to no one's surprise, mr. haly likes you. yay!!! of course you bonded immediately. and he got to tell you stories of dick when he was little and you ate it all up (especially the embarrassing ones) and asked him everything about dick.

dick also takes you to meet zitka after. (zitka’s alive, and no i won't accept anything other than that.)

okay back to the general stuff.

ROOFTOP DATES (of course of course)

it's not very a vigilante-like relationship without rooftop dates right?? (ahem, ladynoir WRONG FANDOM JO)

BUT YES rooftop dates :) a lot of the times on the wayne enterprises rooftop because it has the best view. but in blüdhaven, you would hang ot at the bridge because the other buildings doesn't have the pretty view the bridge gives you.

he gets so lovesick around you. is that surprising? no. even the whole batfamily is like “YOURE IN LOVE WE GET IT”

the first time dick introduced you to the family, as usual, alfred, stephanie, duke and cass and tim were so welcoming. bruce was neutral and jason and damian were skeptical.

not for a long time, though. jason and dami were just cautious because they know that when dick loves he LOVES, like he’s all in. and they need to make sure that you can love him and appreciate him as much as he deserves.

you win their hearts in the end <3

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[tealovingdreamer]

winning or loving? (both!)

The tension in the living room could be cut with a knife. It was almost unbearable.

“Love…” Jason’s eyes shone with betrayal, his tone pained, desolate. He was pleading desperately with you. “You love me, don’t you?”

You flashed him an apologetic smile—or not, your smile may be apologetic, but your eyes shone with other intentions— in return. “Jason, the love of my life, I do, I love you so much.” you replied pitifully, staring into his teal eyes that bore into yours helplessly.

He shook his head slowly, “Don’t do this. Please.” He was close to giving up, you could tell, but he was still holding onto hope.

“I’m so sorry…”

Biting on your lip, you placed one of your two remaining cards on top of the pile; the 4+ Uno card above the two other 4+ cards— courtesy of Duke and Steph on your left— slowly bringing up  your gaze back to him, and the 5 cards that were clutched tightly in his hands. “Uno.”

Across from you, you heard Dick choke on his soda, and Babs patted his back beside him.

Game night in the Wayne household was never to be taken lightly. It was serious business, a battle of minds, a day where all semblance of mercy and friendship was forgotten and flung out the window unceremoniously.  

Yes, even when it’s against your fiancê. 

Everyone else on the table didn’t even bother trying to win anymore, they just watched back and forth as you went up against Jason with amusement and slight pity for their brother, stifling their sniggers whilst the poor man drew twelve cards from the deck and added them to his pile.

Later as you dropped your last card on the table, collective sighs were heard in the room. Steph clapped her hands once. “I’m gonna refill the snacks.” The chair screeched against the floor as she stood up and disappeared into the kitchen.

Turning to your side, you plastered on a smile to your grim-faced love. “Jay…” it was hard to keep the laugh away from your tone. Even brooding, he looked cute. “Are you mad at me?” You lightly brushed over the white tufts of his hair with gentle fingers.

Slowly but surely, no matter how hard he tried to keep up the act, he melted, folded even. “No.”

He looked over at you, cocking a brow, amused. “Although… after all we’ve been through? I can’t believe you.” There was the smirk that you loved again.

You shook your head and feigned an exaggeratedly somber expression. “It had to be done...”

“Had to be done?” His smirk spread wider, bringing the can of soda—yours— to his lips, taking a small sip. “Wow, alright then.”

A cheeky grin began to bloom as you leaned over to press a brief peck to his cheek.

“I’ll make it up to you later.” you whispered to him with a little wink.

He side-eyed you then, luscious green irises swirling with silent mischief, knowing.

“Gross. We’re still here, y’know?” Tim’s deadpanned words were heard.

Jason didn’t miss a beat, and neither did you, replying in unison, whilst continuing to gaze at each other like no one else was in the room. “No, we don’t.”

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[dhazefawn]

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝟎𝟏 — 𝒹ick grayson 　𝄞 ℴffice au . rivals to lovers .

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS 𐔌❤︎ ͡꒱ Monday. A whistleblower lands on The Meridian’s desk and Chief Morrison has exactly one week and two people who can’t stand each other to crack it open.

AUTHORS NOTES⠀𝆹𝅥 guess who’s cracking down on a new series !!! yes, it is i !! i am so excited for this one. there’s already an established main and sub plot alongside cast <3 i hope you guys enjoy reading this !!

WORD COUNT⠀𝆹𝅥 4.5k words.

◌♥︎̼̻ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ㅤׂ ‎ ‎ ‎ SERIES MLIST & TAG 𓋭⠀ MAIN MASTERLIST.

There’s almost nothing that cracks through your wall of wryness. This is a skill you’ve sharpened over and over again non-stop since arriving at the office of The Meridian; a top media outlet in Blüdhaven, the main building taking its rightful place in the heart of the city’s harsh infrastructure. Your own sardonic architecture needs to be as quick and sharp as your co-workers rushing past you or straight up hiding behind corners just to avoid a face-to-face meeting with you.

Some might say your mordant personality pushed others too far instead of just keeping them at a safe distance. Not that you ever understood the importance of shaking hands and pretending you were life-long friends with your colleagues. You weren’t. Gossiping in the cafeteria about who’s on the cutting block for the office’s instant whispers didn’t appeal to you as a satisfactory past-time. As Section Editor, you have more important things to worry about.

Even now—walking down from your small office tucked away from the main heart of the building—the whispers bite at your heels.

“I’m doomed,” someone’s panicked voice reaches your ears from around the corner, “if the Section Ed doesn’t see my pitch on their desk in the next 15 minutes I’ll be chewed and spit out by them!”

You don’t plan on chewing out anyone, nor spitting them out. But this entire office seems to think that you’ve grown teeth to bite into them every time they make a mistake. You’ve noticed that discipline is a word not often found in their vocabulary.

You stop your step just around the turn, tilting your head towards the talking pair. You recognize the panicked tone of one of the Fact-Checkers—Marlowe—if you remember correctly. Timid little thing, she runs away every time she spots you in the halls. Though that doesn’t excuse her neglecting her responsibilities.

You’re about to turn the corner and face her. You don’t plan on chewing her out, but a firm piece of advice will do the job of bringing her back to earth and make her deliver the scheduled pitch.

“Don’t worry too much,” a new voice stops you dead in your tracks; light tone, sing-song levity floating between every syllable, “I’m sure I can help with calming our Section Ed down.”

You can recognize that voice anywhere. Pure unfortunate luck for his annoying voice to grate on your ears. As if Mondays weren’t already a punishment.

Dick Grayson. Investigative Reporter. Pride and joy of The Meridian just in the six months he’s been here. He’s charming, the sources flock to him, people talk non-stop about how kind and easy to talk to he is. while you'd rather not talk to him at all.

You take a step back, pushing your shoulder to the wall. You contemplate breaking up their little conspiracy to “calm you down” like you’re a rabid animal that needs to be muzzled, as if you’re not just trying to do your job.

“How about this?” You hear Dick continue, voice so saccharine it makes you want to gag. “I take care of the pitch and see them myself.”

“Oh, thank you.” Marlowe lets a sigh of relief, you can imagine her shoulders dropping as Dick Grayson has dropped by and done her another favour. “Are you sure? They’re quite… reactive to mishaps like this. I haven’t even seen them smile once.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Dick laughs off Marlowe’s comments, as if it wasn’t a slap in your face. “They run a tight section.”

He sounds as if he’s giving you a crumb of praise, but you know Dick Grayson has never said a single honest word about you since you had the misfortune of meeting him.

You turn on your heel. Enough of listening to them. This is surely eavesdropping and you’re above that. You feel your chest tighten in an uncomfortable hold at the word “reactive” and “smile.” You don’t owe them anything, especially your smile. Why does that even matter to them? You try and block out the rest of their conversation as you walk towards your office.

+++

The pitch paperwork feels unusually heavy in Dick’s hand. The manila folder holds a pitch he was piecing together over the entire past month. A sacrifice he’s going to have to make to keep his good reputation running with his colleagues. He imagined Marlowe mentioning his favour to her to the rest of the staff.

Dick can’t entirely chalk up this interaction to his need to keep up face. If he’s being honest, the thankful looks fuel something in him. Not exactly honest and chivalrous. He keeps tabs of his collected favours. When needed, he’ll ask for them back. It’s a transactional system; full of two-faced, carefully measured, and neutral comments. He’s mastered playing it, akin to a chess board.

He stops in front of an office hidden from prying eyes with the curtains drawn and the front door window blurred. A small golden rectangular sign hangs proud and high on the entrance.

Section Editor.

Your name is etched below in smaller letters.

It’s a curious game—chess, that is—especially when you’re playing with someone who looks down on the board in contempt as if it’s dirt under their boot.

Dick knows exactly how you look at him. What you think of him. Or how you view him. He’s gotten almost every single staff member at The Meridian to open up to him, except for you and a few others. Though you stay a constant reminder that not everyone will play his game. Especially not you.

He remembers meeting— or, well, hearing about you for the first time. A small welcome party was thrown for him in the office just a few days after his transfer papers were verified. Almost everyone was present—Copy Interns, Senior Reporters and so on—except for you.

“You’ll meet the Section Editor soon.” Chief Morrison reassures him with a steady voice, his calloused hand scratching his neck as if something was pulling at his nerves. “You’ll work with and answer to them.”

“Of course.” Dick answers, responses ready and quick to roll off his tongue. “Any reason they couldn’t show up?”

“The proper wording for it would be “any reason they didn’t show up.” They’ve got a bit of a… heavy personality. You’ll get used to it. Or not. Just try not to get snappy with them.”

“Now why would I do that to a colleague?”

Dick realizes that maybe he jinxed himself that day. Chief Morrison’s words only gave him a small peek into your character and place in the office. Professional but sardonic, competent but averse to group work, fair but quick to jump to conclusions. And utterly isolated from the entirety of the staff.

A hell of your own making. Though he’s never been able to make you see that. So yes, he had gotten snappy with you multiple times, much to the chief’s dismay.

It’s not entirely Dick’s fault. He’d stop if you’d quit ignoring and undermining attempts to build a bridge between your icicle of a heart and the rest of your co-workers.

He taps his foot against the floor. He can imagine what he looks like right now— furrowed brows, lips thinned and face twisted in an unpleasant mood, all because he’ll knock on your door in a second and meet face-to-face with you. You’ll hide behind your walls of dry wit and he’ll try not to sneak in a backhanded remark in the short conversation you two will have. If you could even call them conversations. A fragile peace built on two-faced promises of tolerance is more of a proper description of what you two share.

He doesn’t get the chance to knock. Your door opens from the inside. You step in front of Dick. His eyes quickly lock onto yours. The sudden action has him glued to his spot in front of your office. His fingers tighten on the file clutched in his hand.

“What is it, Grayson?”

Straight to the point as always. Never any room for small talk.

“You startled me there, Boss—”

“It’s Section Editor. Not Boss.”

“Of course.” He clicks his tongue, trying to keep his composure. “Though you do have a knack for bossing me around. Not that I’m complaining.”

“I doubt you would complain about others bossing you around.” You mutter under your breath and Dick doesn’t miss the tone of distaste in your voice. “Come in.”

He’s been in your office dozens of times and the state of the room still makes him question your tastes. Drab walls, no saturation nor colour, no plants and no family pictures. Just clinical white and the faint smell—which he can’t quite place—of a cologne that clings to your body. The aroma is unfairly distracting.

The smell is another small detail added to the growing list of mysteries around you that he can’t quite solve. “Can’t solve” is not a phrase Dick uses frequently. On the contrary, he prides himself on reading people and guessing their every next move.

But you— you’ve remained a puzzle he could not figure out for quite some time now. A jigsaw with a piece missing. He can imagine the missing puzzle piece sticking out like a sore thumb. He notes that his thoughts draw a parallel to how you “fit” in the office; standing a respectful distance away from colleagues, staying late or leaving way too early for reasons he doesn’t know and the dozens of other habits of yours he’s tried to dissect in his mind.

Dick has heard enough gossip that paints you as a standoffish individual with issues that your co-workers have put their entire creativity to conjure up, but he wonders what the real you is like. What exact buttons he has to push to make you react fully and not only quip back with your dry wit at his every remark.

He hopes that you can’t see the way his thoughts translate into his stare that never leaves your frame. He might be staring at you too intently. You might notice and make him feel like the fool he truly is for walking into your trap, knowing that your words can truly bite and not just bark.

But that’s not what he’s here for. At least not for now.

“I have a pitch for you, Boss.” Dick clicks his tongue and leans back into the chair right in front of your desk. “I thought I’d come by and drop it off.”

You note how he fits into the seat. How his shoulders fall just slightly to give the impression of him letting his guard down, but the manila folder in his hand remains in a grip that’s a little too tight.

“Tense, Grayson?” The words slip past your lips naturally. You could try to bite your tongue and hold back your unprofessional comments (as the chief puts it).

But the look of surprise that flashes across Grayson’s face for a moment is worth every reprimand you could get from your boss. Dick’s lips curl into a strained smile and you can feel something akin to sweet satisfaction bloom in your chest.

A point for you.

Not that you were keeping track.

“You wound my heart, Boss,” Dick begins, voice ever so soft and leading, “couldn’t you be a tad bit kinder to me? I thought seniors were supposed to take care of new colleagues.”

You fight back against the urge to roll your eyes. You’ve noticed over the few months of knowing Dick Grayson that he loves the sound of his voice a bit too much. Even when he’s spewing nonsense. Unfortunately, his nonsense has a habit of finding its way to you.

“Heart?” You try to steel the sarcasm in your voice, “I wasn’t aware that was something you valued, considering your habit of… misconstruing information about your seniors that you seem to respect so much.”

Dick loosens his grip on the folder for a moment, almost letting the contents of it drop from his hand. So you heard him and Marlowe talk about you in the hallway. He didn’t notice you were near. He could at least pretend to sputter an apology. Say that he didn’t exactly agree with Marlowe. But he didn’t stop or disagree with what was being said about you either. But what could you even counter with? Marlowe was right, in a way.

“And what exactly have I been misconstruing, Boss?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Dick.”

“Finally,” he says, tone half laughing and half tinted with arrogance, “we’re on first name basis now, aren’t we?”

“While we’re on the topic,” you stop for just a second in the middle of your sentence, the we leaving a strange taste on your tongue, “I am still your superior, you don’t get the privilege to call me by name or by any ridiculous nickname you’ve come up with, such as Boss.”

Dick puts the manila folder down on your desk with a little bit more force than necessary. He grins at you but instead of seeing the charming smile he shares with others, you see something akin to a wolf baring its teeth to you.

“I’m sorry, did my and little Marlowe’s words bother you?—”

“Marlowe’s not little and they don’t need you looking down on them by using words like that.”

“I think you’ve got it wrong, Boss.” Dick leans closer to your desk and you mirror his movement. “That kind of condescension is your thing, not mine.”

You both stare at each other for a moment. The air has become more suffocating than it usually is when you two are in the same room. You lean back first, spine straightening and letting out a cough.

Dick blinks, eyes clouded with a moment of confusion before he settles back into his barely professional persona again.

“The pitch.” He throws a quick look at the folder on your desk.

“Right.” You pick the folder up a bit too quickly, as if you’re waiting for him to get up in your face again and start talking about nonsense again.

“That was all. Uhm,—”

“I’ll get back to you after tomorrow when I’ve looked the pitch over.”

He opens his mouth, surely another smart comment he’s ready to gift you, but he stops as quickly as he started.

“I’ll get going now.” His voice sounds strangely stripped of the confidence he wears around the rest of the office.

“Make it quick.”

“You don’t have to rub salt into the wound, Boss.” He still manages to spit out, but it sounds strained.

“Close the door on your way out, Grayson.”

“Okay, okay.”

Dick closes the door behind him. Just like that he’s gone from your office. The air returns to the room. You can finally breathe in and out. Your eyes find the folder still unopened on your desk. You move it to the side, unable to bring yourself to read his words on paper. You’ve had enough of hearing him, you don’t want to continue being irked by Dick Grayson anymore.

How unfortunate that Chief Morrison has made it clear that he’s here to stay. You’re sure that you’ll never get used to Dick Grayson.

+++

It’s past mid-day when you make your way to the cafeteria. The buzzing conversations between your co-workers bounce off the walls. The air feels heavy with the smell of different aromas all around; perfumes, food, even the faint scent of stationary clings onto some of them. The large windows offer an impressive but not a warm view of Blüdhaven.

It all feels too much.

Your feet stay anchored to the floor. You’re standing in a far away corner of the cafeteria, just a step away from the counter. You don’t want to admit to yourself that you feel a bit shaken. You’re sure the eyes of your colleagues sneak your way once or twice from their seats.

You’re starting to think you look ridiculous standing alone and not getting anything to eat.

“Hey,” you hear a familiar voice call out from behind you, “you’ve got no colour on your face.”

You can recognize that voice anywhere. You turn on your heel and see the one person you can turn to for help in the entirety of The Meridian building — Jo — a features writer who’s the complete opposite of you, but fits perfectly with you like a puzzle piece.

“You still haven’t answered me.” She moves to your side to hook arms with you. “Did something happen?”

The two of you move right in front of the counter. The freshly baked desserts stare back at you.

“Not something,” you spit out, “more like someone.”

Jo picks up her regular pastry and coffee along your own regular order.

“Come on,” she begins, voice soft around the edges, the complete opposite of yours, “tell me which unfortunate victim made the mistake of irking you.”

“Oh,” you tut, “you know them very well. Everyone in this godforsaken office does.”

“We sound like gossiping teenagers right now.”

“Oh please,” you groan, “these vultures do more gossiping everyday than we do every month.”

“They’re not so bad.” She looks at you with a sympathetic smile that you don’t want to see. “Yes, sometimes they get wrapped up rumours but all that could be fixed if you let them know you.”

“But they do know me.”

“They know of you, but they don’t know you like I do. I imagine more than half of this office wouldn’t even believe me if I tell them that you actually can have fun and let loose once in a while. Remember my last birthday?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You were so drunk! It was amazing! We had so much fun dancing. You even went up to the DJ—”

“I said to not remind me!”

Jo’s laughs fill the air as you two finally make it to your table. She sips on her coffee while sending you amused looks and you pick at your pastry trying to forget the entirety of today and whatever you did blackout drunk at Jo’s birthday.

“You know what? There is someone who’d believe that drunk story about you.”

“Someone as crazy as you, I’d imagine.”

“Take that back.” she points the soft edge of her fork at you, but the playful tone in her voice lets you know that she’s finding all of this entertaining.

“What are you going to do? Stab me with that?”

“We’re getting off topic!” She puts her utensil down. “You could try to make a few more friends here.”

“I think being co-workers is enough for me.”

“See?” Jo sighs, “that’s the problem. You need to let people in. Take Dick for example—”

“Oh, not you too.”

“What?”

“He’s insufferable! I know he’s all talk and charm in front of you guys, but all he can say around me are insults.”

“Didn’t you call him a charity case few days ago? After the budget meeting, if I remember correctly.”

“Only after he laughed with one of the Senior Reporters after they called me a hermit!”

Jo’s brows furrow. “You two aren’t civil with each other at all.”

“It’s entirely his fault—”

“If you want to push the blame onto anyone, it should be the both of you.”

“Seriously?” You pout, knowing how ridiculous all of this sounds like.

What are you even talking about? A petty rivalry you have with someone who’s below you on the corporate ladder and irritates you to no end? You have it all; a successful job, secure savings, a beautiful apartment on the safer side of Blüdhaven.

But still you find yourself under scrutinizing eyes of your colleagues, especially Grayson’s. And for whatever reason his stare bothers you the most.

Jo’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts again. “You two fight all the time. And even though it is kind of amusing—”

“Why thank you, Jo. I thought you were my friend.”

“Of course I am.” She shushes you and pushes your pasty back into your hands, gesturing for you to eat. “That’s why I am saying at least one of you has to wave a white flag and give up this rivalry you two have.”

“That won’t be me,” you answer, voice steady and confident, “that’s for sure.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Jo remarks with a tone that makes you think that she’s not telling you everything that she knows.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Jo looks at you with widened eyes, before she puts her hands up. “I’m completely innocent.” Though after you don’t give it up she sighs and relents. “Okay. So, I was talking to Tim—”

“Of course you were.” You tug on your collar, trying to loosen it. “Did he tell you how great Dick is before asking you out on a totally-not-a-date?”

“First, I’d tell you if it was a date—”

“Sure.”

“—Second, it was a work call. Turns out chief Morrison wants you to handle a new project. You know as a fact-checker he needs to be on top of things.”

“I don’t need to know what he’s on top of.”

“Did you just make a joke? Look, you’re a natural!”

“Get on with it, please.”

“It’s a whistle-blower! Can you believe it? And The Meridian has caught it. Morrison is choosing a section editor and probably an investigative reporter. Keeping it small, but capable.”

“And you think I might be the section editor chosen?”

It’s not far fetched. If you were to rank who you had a decent relationship with in this office the chief would come right after Jo. You’ve worked on pieces that need urgency before but nothing as alarming as a whistle-blower.

This could be another step closer to the managing editor position. You cannot let this chance slip from your fingers. You will not let anyone ruin this opportunity for you.

You’re brought out of your train of thought by a timid sound of footsteps to your right. You and Jo look and find the nervous Marlowe approaching your table.

“Section Editor,” they finally spit out, voice tinted with nervousness. After that they turn to look at Jo and give her a warm Hello.

You don’t let the differences between the greetings stay heavy in your chest for long.

“Is there something you needed?”

“Right.” Marlowe straightens up at the sound of your voice. “The chief sent me.”

At the mention of Morrison you and Jo share a look. You probably wear the look of satisfied ambition a bit too well. Even Marlowe lets their shoulders drop at the sight of the slight smile appearing on your face.

“What for?”

“He didn’t mention it. Only for you to come to his office after lunch.”

Hook, line and sinker. Well, you have tricked Morrison in a few ways just to pave ways for yourself professionally. But none of those successful attempts were illegal.

“Thank you, Marlowe.” You say, trying to soften your voice. It happens by instinct. You can’t tell if you like it.

Marlowe blinks. “Of course, Section Ed. I’m happy to help.” You only catch a small glimpse of their smile before they turn and walk away.

“You’re so getting that promotion.” Jo playfully shoves your arm.

“Hell yea, I am.”

+++

Dick has noticed that Chief Morrison has a similar taste to you when it comes to decorating. By that he means that you two have a serious lack of imagination. Morrison’s office is so bland there’s not even a single plant to add life to the room.

“I could get you a cactus for a birthday gift, sir.” Dick shifts in his seat and throws a bemused look at Morrison. “Cactus seems fitting for you, doesn’t it?”

“Is that the same bull-crap you told Section Ed before they walked out of their office huffing and puffing?” Morrison raises a brow at Dick, clearly not entertained. “I’d like my employees to put their shitty relationships away and work together for once.”

Dick stops talking for just a moment. He wouldn’t even call what the two of you have a work relationship. Too intimate and too distant at the same time. The two of you are always contradicting each other and butting heads.

“What do you mean by working together?”

“You’re quick to catch up.” Morrison pulls out a manila folder out of the drawer that’s always locked.

Not that Dick needs to know which cabinet his boss locks, but it is helpful for future problems. (If he ever would have one).

Morrison places the folder in front of Dick. The bright and bold Confidential is stamped on in saturated red across the light surface of the folder.

“Is this about that infrastructure firm? What was the name? It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“Vantage Consolidated,” Morrison begins, “and I need you to investigate. I already know Drake would give you a heads up about the firm, but don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve got clearance to write a single word about this without the approval of your superiors.”

Dick straightens in his chair. His smile that he plasters on his face like a mask has probably deteriorated. He doesn’t like the fact that this is the second time he’s been talked down to by his superiors. First you and now—

Wait.

You.

Morrison has lost it. The old man has truly lost his ability to think clearly if he plans on making Dick answer to you while investigating this.

“You don’t mean that I have to—”

“Work for the section ed? As you’re paid to do, Grayson? What’s so difficult for you to get?”

“They won’t like this.”

“Frankly,” Morrison laughs, a rare sight, “I don’t give a shit about what the two of you like or don’t like. I want this done by Sunday.”

“A week?” Dick scoffs, “with all due respect—”

“Grayson, you can stop with the flattery. It won’t help you. And it pisses me off. Very much so. You’ve got a job. They’ve got a job. Do it. What else do I pay you idiots for?”

Morrison tilts his head back against his chair. He lets out a tired sigh.

“I deal with children like the two of you. I’d ask for a raise, but what more can I get after becoming Chief? Now shut your mouth and behave. I need to brief the two of you.”

Dick’s eyes trail to the office door. In a few minutes you’ll walk in. Maybe you know that you’re being paired with him. Maybe you don’t. For some reason Dick finds himself more curious about what expression you’ll wear when you walk through that door and lay your eyes on him. Maybe pure irritation and a scoff is all he’ll get. Or maybe he’ll find what buttons he needs to push to make you spew out anything else other than an insult.

He’s got a whole week with you. He swallows the heavy feeling down, but it lodges itself in his chest.

It’s going to be a long seven days.

EXTRA NOTES ✿꫶ Reader’s reaction is gonna be like a bomb blowing up in Morrison’s office. We have a cast in the progress here. Jo was written with my lovely mutual @coffeelovingreader in mind <3 I plan on adding little easter eggs like this more down the road.

[tealovingdreamer]

𝜗ৎ jason grace as your boyfriend headcanons 

꒰ contents ꒱ jason grace x reader. demigod!reader (cabin unspecified) lots and lots of fluff... like seriously,,, these saps need to get a room.

✎ᝰ. letter from jj . . . another repost!! i just copied and pasted the one i have saved without re-editing it because i kinda like the little typos and imperfections on them. one of the first headcanon specific post i've ever made actually. if you've seen this before, welcome back!! nothing much have changed except for the new layout. if this is your first time reading this hi!!

jason buys you flowers every two weeks or so from the store and he'd arrange them himself for you and make it look pretty. he does it like it's his job to make them perfect.

and he'd have the audacity to be all bashful like, "i arranged them myself. it's not perfect but i hope you like it" 👉🏻👈🏻 while it looks like a damn masterpiece.

listen.... he cooks. and it's lowkey gourmet since he learned to cook for you. like he'd bring you breakfast in bed and everything.

you both cook dinner sometimes, and a lot of those times were spent dancing to the music in the background while cooking— which did lead to a certain mishap a couple times (the food burning/small fire erupting because you were too focused on each other, but you both agreed that none of that ever happened)

the sidewalk rule. he never, ever, ever lets you take the side closer to the road, he has to be the one there.

he's the one who looks around while crossing the road.

if you wear glasses, you'd switch glasses with him playfully out of nowhere. (he kisses your nose because "you're so cute." when you're wearing his glasses.)

this man is CHIVALROUS. i think we all know that already. he opens doors for you (yes even car doors), pulls out chairs for you, lets you take the only empty seat in a crowded bus, everything.

writes you love letters and little notes on post-its just because.

kisses your hands. a lot. kisses you everywhere. but your hands, forehead, temples are his fav spots ehehe im giggling just thinking about it.

would call you sweetheart, darling, my love, like an old man.

speaking of old man, this man loves listening to old love songs, like he LOVES it. something like 'it's been a long, long time' would be heard playing every morning on your record player. and he'd hum along to them.

hear me out,,, he randomly takes you flying sometimes. (but if you're scared of heights he wouldn't pressure you) but if you aren't, he will carry you in his arms and fly away.

bonus: you both sings along to 'a whole new world' when you're up in the clouds.

he knows your style, so sometimes when he's out and sees an item of clothing that he thinks you might like on a window display, he'd get it for you.

“saw this earlier on my way home and i thought you'd like it. you don't have to wear it if you don't like it though...”

the two of you has a lot of shared playlists. you'd play them on car rides and would just have the time of your lives singing along.

whenever you'd have a fight, you'd always find a way to resolve it by communicating. and he never raised his voice at you.

if it's a bad one, you'd give each other some space to cool off, then you'd try to resolve it again the next day.

back to the fluff... he can draw, right?? yes. and he sketches your face, most of the times when you're busy or occupied and he'd sit on a chair across from you and just sketch. he has piles and piles of sketchbooks filled with random stuff, but mostly you. you're his muse.

he's so so supportive of you. and he's never shied away to show you and tell you how proud he is of you.

you both have matching lockscreens— jason's of you, and yours of jason.

you'd both each get the same book, read it, annotate it, and once you're done, you switch the books and read it again from each other's point of view.

whenever you'd see a stray cat, you both will stop walking and pet the cat and give it as much pets and attention as possible. and will be sad when you have to leave it after.

he's not big on pda and neither are you, so you'd just try to keep it simple in public— i.e. holding hands, locking pinkies, his hand on the small of your back as you walked, his fingers running up and down your spine (🦋🦋🦋🦋), and keep most of it in private.

he gets jealous of your celebrity crushes or fictional crushes. he's subtle about it, but it's obvious enough that you'd tease him sometimes.

you'd go to a café on the weekends to get breakfast.

he braids your hair. THIS MAN BRAIDS HAIR. idc. idc. it's canon in my head.

you'd pamper him sometimes, and he let's you because who is he to deny his love of anything?

at first he was a slight relunctant (because come on, that man was raised with wolves) but then he'd give in and lets you put on your fluffy headband on him to keep his hair away and put on your facemasks.

you and jason each bought a journal to put random entries of your daily life, some doodles and sketches— sometimes you'd stick some polaroids on the pages too. and once they're full you'd keep it in a box for your future children to see.

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.