#librasthoughts

The morning sunlight filtered through the windows of Wayne Manor, casting a golden glow over the grand living room. You were sitting on the couch, waiting for Jason to finish lacing up his boots while Damian stood near the door, arms crossed with his usual impatient glare.

“I still don’t understand why I need the two of you to accompany me,” Damian grumbled. “I’m perfectly capable of going alone.”

Jason chuckled as he straightened up, meeting Damian’s glare with a teasing smirk. “Oh, I’m sure you are, demon spawn. But if you want to keep Alfred from locking down the Batcave after the last time you snuck out, you’ll play along.”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms tighter. “That was your fault. If you hadn’t—”

“Okay, enough,” you interrupted, standing up and grabbing your bag. “Let’s just enjoy the day, alright? We’re taking you somewhere you’ve wanted to go, Damian. Be happy.”

The teen gave you a skeptical glance, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes. You had planned a surprise for him, and despite his stubbornness, Damian’s love for adventure always won out in the end.

After a short drive into Gotham, the three of you arrived at the Gotham Aviary, a hidden gem in the city—a large sanctuary home to all kinds of birds of prey. Damian’s eyes lit up the moment he stepped out of the car. He’d been talking about visiting this place for months now, and even though he’d never admit it, he was thrilled.

“Impressed?” you asked with a grin.

Damian looked away, trying to mask his excitement. “It’s acceptable.”

You exchanged a knowing look with Jason, who just shook his head with a laugh. “He’ll be bouncing off the walls in no time,” Jason whispered to you, and you playfully nudged him as the three of you made your way inside.

The hours passed peacefully. Damian immersed himself in learning about the birds, engaging in long conversations with the caretakers and volunteers about falconry and raptor behaviors. Jason stayed by your side, his hand occasionally brushing against yours, a quiet smile always playing on his lips as he watched Damien be... well, Damian.

“I think he’s actually enjoying himself,” Jason mused quietly as Damien watched a golden eagle take flight.

“Of course, he is,” you replied, leaning into Jason a little. “He may act tough, but he’s still a kid.”

Jason hummed in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist as the two of you stood there in a comfortable silence, watching Damian.

As the three of you left the aviary later in the afternoon, the sun beginning to set, you passed a family with a young child in tow. The mother, smiling brightly, looked over at the three of you and said, “Oh, you have such a cute family! Reminds me of my own when we first came here.”

You blinked, slightly caught off guard, but before you could respond, Jason froze beside you. He didn't say anything, but you felt his grip on your hand tighten, the tension in his body suddenly palpable.

The woman continued on her way, none the wiser to the storm of emotions that her innocent comment had stirred.

Jason didn’t speak for a few moments, but you could tell something had shifted. His usually calm and teasing demeanor had faded into something more serious, his expression distant. Damian, thankfully, was already distracted with something else and hadn’t noticed.

“Jay?” you asked softly, stopping and turning to face him. “You okay?”

Jason’s gaze lingered on the sidewalk for a second longer before he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine, babe. It’s just... what that woman said.”

You tilted your head, gently encouraging him to continue.

“The whole... family thing,” Jason said, his voice unusually quiet. “It just... caught me off guard, I guess. I never really thought about it before. Having... a family.”

The weight of his words settled between you both, and you could see the vulnerability behind his eyes, something Jason rarely let anyone see. For all the bravado and snark he carried, there were parts of him—damaged, fragile parts—that still grappled with his past, his death, and his complex relationship with Bruce.

You reached out and cupped his cheek, thumb gently tracing his skin. “What are you feeling, Jay?” you asked softly, knowing better than to push him too hard.

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself. When he opened them again, his expression was calmer, but his emotions were still raw. “It’s not that I’m scared of it. I’m not freaked out about the idea of having a family with you.” He paused, searching for the right words. “It’s... more like, I didn’t know how much I wanted that. Until now.”

Your breath caught slightly at his admission. Jason wasn’t someone who easily allowed himself to be vulnerable. His life had been filled with pain and loss, and the idea of stability—of a family—was something that had always seemed out of reach for him. But now, in this quiet moment, he was letting himself feel it. The possibility. The hope.

You smiled gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. “You’d be a great dad, you know that, right?”

Jason let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Yeah? You think so?”

“I know so.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, his lips brushing your forehead as he held you close. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath his jacket, his breath warm against your skin.

Damian, noticing you two lagging behind, turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Are you two seriously having a moment right now?”

Jason chuckled, releasing you but keeping his arm draped over your shoulders. “Relax, demon spawn. Just figuring out if you’d make a good big brother one day.”

Damian’s eyes widened, and he scowled. “Tt, not even funny.”

You laughed, ruffling Damian’s hair as you caught up with him. “You’d be a great big brother, too, Damian. Imagine all the little bird lessons you could teach.”

Damian rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it, a tiny smirk playing at his lips as the three of you made your way back to the car.

As you drove home, the quiet of the evening settled over you all. Jason’s hand found yours again, giving it a gentle squeeze. You glanced over at him and saw a new warmth in his gaze—one that promised something deeper, more enduring. A future neither of you had quite imagined before.

And for the first time, Jason allowed himself to feel something other than fear when he thought about that future. Instead, he felt hope.

The mansion’s halls seemed quieter since the breakups. You and Scott had both been nursing bruised hearts, though neither of you admitted how deeply you were affected. It was easier to bury the pain in missions, training, and silence, but it clung to you like a second skin, thick with the weight of betrayal. Scott felt the same—you could tell by the way his shoulders sagged during team briefings, how his once-commanding voice lacked its usual confidence. He didn’t have to say it. He just looked… hollow.

You’d known something was wrong when Jean started pulling away from him. Scott had confided in you during late-night training sessions in the Danger Room, his fists pounding into holographic enemies as he vented. He didn’t cry, but the strain in his voice, the subtle tremor, told you all you needed to know.

“I think Logan’s the reason,” Scott had murmured one night, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His usually confident voice was fragile, uncertain.

Your stomach had dropped at his words. The same Logan you had been dating for months.

At first, you brushed it off. Surely, Scott was just overthinking it. You and Logan had been solid—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But as the days passed, you began to notice the signs. Logan’s late-night absences became more frequent, his gruff demeanor growing more distant. His excuses were vague, and he avoided your gaze more often than not.

Then, one evening, you stumbled upon the truth.

You hadn’t meant to see it. You were simply walking down the hall, heading toward the kitchen for a late-night drink. But there they were—Jean and Logan, wrapped up in each other, locked in a kiss that sent a sharp pain straight through your chest. The world blurred for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as your heart shattered.

You didn’t confront them. Didn’t scream or shout. Instead, you turned and walked away, your feet moving mechanically as you fought back the tears. By the time you reached your room, the sobs you had held back erupted, your body shaking with the force of them.

That night, there was a soft knock at your door. You opened it to find Scott standing there, his face mirroring your own grief. Without a word, you stepped aside, and he entered. You didn’t talk about what you’d both seen, what you knew had been happening behind your backs. Instead, you sat together in silence, finding solace in each other’s presence, the unspoken bond between you strengthening.

Two weeks later

The pain still lingered, though dulled by time. You and Scott barely spoke about the breakups, as if voicing the hurt would make it too real, too permanent. You had both thrown yourselves into your work, focusing on missions and training, pretending to move on. But the wounds were still there, just beneath the surface.

When Professor Xavier assigned you and Scott to track down a rogue mutant in the Canadian wilderness, you welcomed the distraction. A mission meant focus, clarity. You could lose yourself in the task and forget the tangled mess of your personal life for a while.

The journey started off fine, a straightforward tracking mission with little indication that things would go wrong. But the snowstorm hit suddenly, turning the simple mission into something far more perilous. The extraction was delayed, leaving you stranded miles away from civilization, the cold biting into your skin as you and Scott trudged through the freezing wilderness, your breath visible in the frigid air.

The rogue mutant was the least of your concerns now. The storm raged on, the wind howling like a living thing, driving snow against you in thick sheets. After hours of searching, you stumbled across an isolated cabin nestled deep in the woods, its roof half-buried under snow. It was a stroke of luck, but it didn’t feel that way as you huddled inside, your bodies shivering from the cold.

The cabin was small, barely enough space for the two of you, but it was warm—almost too warm. Scott sat across from you by the fire, his gaze distant as the flames flickered against his ruby quartz glasses. His jaw was clenched, the tension in his body unmistakable. You could tell he was lost in thought, his mind likely drifting to Jean, just as yours had wandered to Logan more times than you’d like to admit.

The silence stretched on, oppressive and heavy. You couldn’t take it anymore, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging between you both.

“Scott,” you said softly, your voice breaking through the stillness. His head turned toward you, a quiet hum acknowledging your words. You hesitated before speaking again. “Do you ever wonder if… if they were always like that, behind our backs?”

Scott’s jaw tightened at your words, his hands flexing at his sides. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice rough. “I’ve thought about it. A lot. It makes sense now. Jean pulling away… Logan disappearing more often.”

The bitterness in his voice mirrored your own. You nodded, biting your lower lip as the pain welled up inside you again, fresh and sharp despite the time that had passed.

“It hurts,” you whispered. “Even now.”

Scott’s expression softened, the tension easing slightly as he looked at you. “I know. But they made their choice. They’re the ones missing out.”

“Yeah,” you echoed, though the words felt hollow. You still felt raw, like a wound that hadn’t quite healed.

A long silence followed, the crackling of the fire filling the empty space between you. The tension wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was palpable. It was as if you were both tiptoeing around something fragile, something neither of you wanted to admit was there.

“I guess we’ve both been through enough heartbreak for a while,” you said, trying to lighten the mood but only succeeding in making it heavier. A sad smile tugged at Scott’s lips.

“Maybe we have,” he agreed quietly, though his eyes told you there was something more he wanted to say. But the words never came.

------------------------------------------

Days passed, the storm outside showing no signs of letting up. The snow piled higher against the windows, trapping you both in a world of cold isolation. Yet, inside, things between you and Scott began to shift in ways neither of you had anticipated.

One night, after yet another failed attempt at contacting the X-Men for extraction, Scott had pulled you close by the fireplace. The fire crackled behind you, but his arms were what kept you warm, solid and strong as he tried to comfort you. You couldn’t help but notice the way his body felt against yours, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It made you feel safe. It made you feel… something more.

You looked up at him, your eyes locking with his as something shifted between you. His brow furrowed, as if he was struggling with his own thoughts. You could feel the tension, the unspoken feelings bubbling just beneath the surface.

“I’ve been trying not to think about it,” Scott confessed, his voice low and hoarse. “But being here with you… it’s the only thing keeping me together.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. The vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at you with something more than friendship in his eyes—it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Scott…” you whispered, unsure of what to say.

“I know we’ve both been hurt,” he continued, his hand gently cupping your cheek, the warmth of his touch spreading through you. “And the last thing I want is to make things complicated. But…” His thumb brushed against your skin, tender and hesitant. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed hard. His admission mirrored the feelings you had been trying to suppress, the thoughts you had pushed aside in the name of friendship and loyalty. But now, here, alone with him, it was impossible to deny.

“I feel the same way,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. His lips hovered near yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and soft against your skin. There was a brief second where everything hung in the balance, a fragile moment that could change everything.

Then he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like you were both afraid to break the spell. But the hesitation didn’t last. The kiss deepened, turning urgent and passionate as your hands tangled in his hair and his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. Weeks of suppressed feelings, of mutual heartbreak, melted away in that moment, replaced by something far more intense.

Before you knew it, clothes were discarded, your skin tingling from the heat of the fire and the warmth of Scott’s touch. His hands explored your body, gentle but insistent, as if he needed to memorize every inch of you. Your bodies moved together, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the cabin walls. Every kiss, every touch was filled with unspoken emotions, a desperate need for comfort, for connection.

The night was filled with soft moans and whispered confessions, the sound of your hearts beating in sync as you found solace in each other. The storm outside no longer mattered. For the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel broken. You felt whole.

------------------------------------------------------

When the X-Men finally came to retrieve you, the storm had passed—both outside and within your hearts. You and Scott returned to the mansion as a couple, no longer haunted by the ghosts of Jean and Logan.

There were whispers, of course—curious glances from the others as you walked through the halls hand-in-hand. But none of it mattered. You had found something deeper than comfort in Scott.

But instead, the soft hum of a familiar tune drifted through the air.

Following the sound, you found him in the kitchen, half-hidden by the doorway, his back to you as he worked on something at the counter. He hadn’t noticed you yet, to absorbed in his task, his humming getting louder as the chorus approached.

Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow Nobody’s promised tomorrow So I’ma love you every night likes its The last night Like it’s the last night 

Your breath hitched at the sight. There was something so intimate about this—Jason completely relaxed, not donning his Red Hood mask or the weight of his past trauma. He was just himself—a man in a worn t-shirt, hair tousled from sleep or maybe just laziness, muscles flexing as he absentmindedly stirred something on the stove. His voice, though unpolished, carried a soft warmth that tugged at your heart.

If the world was ending I’d wanna be next to you If the party was over And our time on Earth was throughI’d wanna hold you just for a while And die with a smile 

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as you watched him, a small smile curling on your lips. How had you gotten so lucky? Jason wasn’t just the damaged vigilante the world saw. He wasn’t only the hard-edged, brash man he had been shaped into by Gotham’s cruelty. He was this—soft, thoughtful, utterly unguarded in the safety of your home.

If the world was ending I’d wanna be next to you

His presence was like gravity, always pulling you back, always reminding you that no matter what he did when the mask was on, he was yours in moments like this.

Jason started to sing under his breath as the song reached its crescendo, his voice uncharacteristically light and free. You could tell he was lost in thought, barely aware of what he was doing. It was such a simple thing, and yet it filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

It wasn’t the moments of adrenaline-fueled action that you cherished, though those had their place. It was this—the quiet, the mundane, the feeling of being a part of his life when the world wasn’t crashing down around you. It was the way his eyes softened when you were alone, how his touch became more tender. He was so much more than the Red Hood. He was your Jason.

Oooh, Ooh

You didn’t want to interrupt the moment, but as if sensing your presence, Jason suddenly paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying that gravelly edge that always seemed to linger even when he was relaxed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though you could see the faint surprise in his eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you teased, pushing off the doorway to cross the kitchen toward him. “Didn’t know you were so into pop ballads.”

He chuckled, setting the spoon down before turning fully to face you, leaning casually against the counter. “What can I say? I’ve got layers.”

Oooh, lost, lost in the words that we scream I don’t even wanna do this anymore cause you already know what you mean to me and our love’s the only war worth fighting for 

You raised an eyebrow, resting your hands on his chest as you closed the distance between you. “More than you let on,” you murmured, letting your fingers trace along the worn fabric of his shirt. There was something intoxicating about being this close to him—his warmth, the scent of coffee and whatever he was cooking, the way his hands instinctively found their place at your waist.

Jason’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing lightly against your hip. “You okay?”

Your heart swelled at the concern in his voice. Even after all this time, he always checked in, always made sure you were alright. It was a little thing, but it meant the world to you.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his, drinking in every detail of him. “Just… appreciating the view.”

Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow Nobody’s promised tomorrow 

He smirked, tilting his head as if to challenge you. “Oh yeah? You like what you see?”

“Always.” The word slipped from your lips without hesitation, filled with quiet sincerity.

So i’ma love you Every night like its  The last night Like it's the last night 

His expression shifted, the teasing edge fading into something softer, more vulnerable. It was moments like this that made you realize how deeply you connected—no words needed, just the shared understanding that you had both found something rare in each other.

Jason pulled you closer, wrapping his arms fully around you now, holding you tight against him as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The world outside your apartment seemed so far away, like it didn’t exist at all.

You stood like that for what felt like hours, just holding each other, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. Eventually, Jason pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice barely a whisper as he broke the silence.

“You know I don’t deserve you, right?”

You lifted your head to look at him, frowning at the hint of self-doubt in his voice. “You deserve more than you think, Jason.” Your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over the rough stubble. “You deserve this—us. Everything.”

If the world was endingI’d wanna be next to you If the party was over And our time on earth was through 

His eyes searched yours for a moment, the tension slowly melting away as your words sank in. Then he smiled—a real, genuine smile, one you only ever saw in moments like these.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, his voice low and full of affection.

You smiled back, leaning in to kiss him softly. The kiss was slow, unhurried, a quiet promise between you. When you finally pulled apart, Jason rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of your apartment.

I’d wanna hold you just for a while  And die with a smile If the world was ending I’d wanna be next to you 

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle. “Let’s go sit down before I burn dinner.”

You laughed softly, and together you moved to the couch, settling in as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Jason pulled you into his arms again, and you nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

Right Next to you Next to you 

For a long time, you simply sat there, the soft hum of the city outside the only sound. You could feel the steady rise and fall of Jason’s chest beneath you, his warmth surrounding you like a blanket. It was the kind of moment you wished you could freeze in time, hold onto forever.

And as you closed your eyes, listening to the faint, lingering melody of the song still playing in your mind, you knew one thing for certain—this, with Jason, was everything you had ever wanted.

Right next to you Ooh-ohh

The sun filtered through the curtains in soft, golden beams, gently illuminating the bedroom where Dick lay sprawled out, tangled in the sheets. He had come home late from patrol—way too late—and his body was clearly feeling the aftermath. Every muscle in his body ached, but the heavy weight of exhaustion had finally allowed him to slip into a deep sleep. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, and his face looked more relaxed than usual—completely at peace for once.

That peace, however, was about to be interrupted in the best way possible.

You stood in the doorway, a soft smile playing at your lips as you carried a tray loaded with a perfectly made breakfast: eggs, toast, bacon, and a steaming cup of coffee. You'd made it exactly how he liked it—after all, today was special. His birthday.

Approaching the bed quietly, you set the tray down on the nightstand and took a moment to gaze down at him. Even disheveled, with his hair a mess and the barest hint of stubble along his jaw, Dick looked as handsome as ever. Your heart fluttered at the sight, a warmth spreading through your chest. You leaned down slowly, brushing a soft kiss along his forehead.

"Mmm..." He stirred slightly, shifting beneath the sheets but not quite waking. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

Trailing your lips down to his cheek, you whispered softly against his skin. "Happy Birthday, baby."

At the sound of your voice, his eyes fluttered open. The familiar warmth of his blue eyes greeted you as he blinked a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. He stretched, letting out a small groan, and turned his head to look up at you. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face as soon as he saw you.

“Hey, you,” he rasped, voice still gravelly with sleep. “What’s all this?”

You straightened up, gesturing to the tray of breakfast sitting beside him. “Just a little something for the birthday boy. I thought you’d like to start your day off with something nice since you had such a long night.”

Dick sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at the spread you’d made. “You didn’t have to do this, you know…” He was touched, though; it was obvious in his expression.

“I wanted to.” You shrugged, leaning over to peck his lips softly. “You deserve it.”

Dick returned the kiss, lingering a little longer before pulling back, his eyes sweeping over you. It was then he noticed what you were wearing—his Nightwing hoodie, oversized on your frame. The familiar blue bird emblem stretched across the chest, though it clearly hung loose around you. His gaze darkened slightly with appreciation.

“Is that… my hoodie?” He arched a brow, his smile turning a little more mischievous now.

You bit your lip, fighting back a smirk. “Might be…” you teased, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers. “Thought I’d borrow it for a bit. Looks good on me, right?”

His eyes flicked over you again, slower this time, as if he were piecing something together. The hoodie was large enough that it covered most of you, but there was something in the way it fell… something that made his lips twitch upward into an intrigued smirk.

“Looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he murmured, reaching out to run a hand over your thigh beneath the fabric. His touch was warm and gentle, but there was a spark behind his eyes now. “But… is there anything underneath this hoodie?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the question, but you kept your composure, flashing him an innocent smile. “Why don’t you eat your breakfast first, birthday boy? You’ll need your energy for later…”

His smirk deepened. “Is that right?”

“Mhmm.” You leaned down again, this time brushing your lips over the spot just below his ear, trailing soft kisses down the line of his jaw, before whispering, “You’ve got a present waiting for you underneath this hoodie… but only if you finish your breakfast like a good boy.”

Dick chuckled, low and warm, the sound sending a shiver through you. “Now that’s motivation,” he murmured, his hand sliding further up your thigh, teasingly close to bare skin. His thumb traced lazy circles, and his gaze locked onto yours with a hunger that made your pulse quicken.

You pulled back just before his hand could venture too far, shooting him a wink. “Food first,” you reminded him, though your voice was a little breathier than intended.

Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to the tray of food beside him, picking up the fork with a knowing smirk on his face. “You drive a hard bargain,” he teased, but there was a glint in his eye that promised this meal wouldn’t take long.

You sat back on the bed, watching as he began to eat, savoring the sight of him. There was a tension hanging in the air now—delicious and electric—building with each passing second. You could see the gears turning in his head, already plotting what was going to happen once that plate was cleared. Every bite he took was slow, deliberate, and you could tell he was enjoying drawing this out just to mess with you.

But that was fine. Two could play at that game.

Leaning back against the pillows, you stretched out, giving him a tantalizing view of your legs as they peeked out from beneath the hoodie. His eyes flicked toward you, and you could see his focus wavering.

The moment he set the empty plate aside, you grinned, leaning forward again to straddle his lap. His hands instinctively went to your hips, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric. You tilted your head, bringing your lips close to his, but keeping just enough distance to make him chase you.

“I love you, Dick” you whispered against his lips, your fingers playing with the hem of the hoodie.

His grip on your hips tightened, and his breath hitched slightly as you tugged the fabric up, revealing a glimpse of smooth, bare skin beneath.

“I love you too,” he murmured before capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his hands roaming under the hoodie, exploring every inch of skin he could reach. And as the kiss deepened, all thoughts of breakfast and sleep disappeared, replaced by something far more enticing—something that neither of you had any intention of rushing through.

The day had only just begun, but you knew it was going to be a long, very satisfying one.

And you couldn’t wait.

The room buzzed with the aftermath of the debate, the murmurs of the audience still echoing as people began to file out of the grand hall. You stood on the stage, arms crossed, seething beneath the carefully crafted mask you wore for the public. Another debate with Charles, another frustrating round of endless philosophical differences that seemed to lead nowhere but further entrenchment in your views.

Your fingers curled tightly around the notes in your hand, the paper crumpling slightly as you glanced toward him. Charles Xavier. Brilliant, articulate, annoyingly calm in the face of your fiery arguments. His peaceful rhetoric grated on you, especially in times like these when the world seemed to be falling apart for mutants.

"Mutual understanding," "humanity will come to accept us in time," "we must be patient." How could he still believe that? With anti-mutant violence rising, governments around the world pushing for mutant registration, and so many of your people living in fear—how could he remain so naively idealistic? Worse, how could he make it sound so convincing?

You had to admit it—he was good. Too good.

The crowd had loved him tonight, responding to his polished arguments with the kind of enthusiasm that made your stomach turn. And yet, beneath your frustration, there was something else. Something that made your pulse quicken every time you locked eyes with him during these debates. Something you despised acknowledging.

You heard the quiet click of his shoes as he approached from the other side of the stage, his posture as effortless as his argument had been.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” Charles said, his voice that smooth, infuriating calm you had come to know all too well.

Your eyes snapped to him, a fire igniting behind them. “I don’t need your compliments, Charles. I’m not here to be handled.”

His lips quirked slightly, that maddening half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if he enjoyed needling you. As if your frustration was amusing to him. “That’s not what I meant,” he replied, tilting his head ever so slightly, his blue eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that felt as though he were trying to read deeper into you than you were willing to show.

“You always mean something,” you shot back, stepping down from the stage, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. “Some noble little phrase to make everyone believe that you’re the reasonable one, and I’m just the reckless, angry woman.”

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he followed you offstage. “That’s not how I see you.”

“Well, it’s how you come across,” you said, pivoting to face him when you reached backstage, your voice lowering, but the fire was still there, crackling between the two of you. “You don’t listen, Charles. You talk about peace and patience as if you’re the only one with a real solution, as if my stance—our need to fight for our rights—is just noise.”

“You think I don’t understand the urgency?” he asked, his own frustration starting to show through his calm exterior. “I know what’s happening out there. I see the pain. I feel it every day, but—”

“But nothing! You’re not fighting hard enough!” Your words came out sharper than you intended, but you were too angry to care. The pent-up frustration you’d carried for months, perhaps years, finally spilling over. “Every day, mutants are targeted. We can’t sit around and wait for humanity to wake up and suddenly decide we’re equals.”

Charles closed the distance between you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. “And you think war is the answer? That more violence will somehow win us the respect we deserve?”

“Sometimes, force is the only language they understand,” you shot back, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. You could feel the heat between you, both figuratively and literally, the air between you charged with something far more intense than simple disagreement. “You’re too soft, Charles. Too idealistic.”

“And you’re too angry,” he countered, his voice low, the calm veneer slipping away to reveal the passion underneath. “You’re letting your emotions dictate everything, and that will only lead to more destruction.”

“You don’t get to tell me how to feel,” you snapped, stepping forward until you were inches away from him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, though you refused to let it show. You couldn’t show weakness. Not to him.

“I’m not telling you how to feel,” Charles said, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper. “I’m asking you to see that there’s more at stake here than your anger.”

You stared up at him, your breathing shallow, chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension between you became almost unbearable. You could feel it now, the pull that had been lurking beneath the surface of every debate, every heated argument. The attraction that neither of you had dared to acknowledge.

And at this moment, the debate wasn’t just about politics anymore. It wasn’t about mutant rights or the philosophical differences that had driven a wedge between you and Charles for so long.

It was about the two of you. The crackling, undeniable heat that had been building with every word spoken, every glance exchanged.

“Why do you care so much about what I think?” you asked, your voice quiet but intense, eyes locking onto his. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

For a moment, Charles didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours as though he was weighing whether to say what he really wanted to say. The moment stretched on, thick with unspoken desire and frustration, until finally, he answered, his voice so low it sent a shiver through you.

“Because you matter to me. More than you know.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a second, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. But the look in his eyes—the way they darkened with something far more primal than political disagreement—told you everything you needed to know.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you closed the final inch of space between you, your body pressing against his as your lips crashed into his.

The kiss was fierce, driven by months of unresolved tension and anger. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, fisting your hands in his shirt as if to anchor yourself to the intensity of the moment.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Everything about this was wrong. But you couldn’t stop. The fire that had fueled your arguments had turned into something much more dangerous—something neither of you could control.

His mouth moved against yours with a desperation that matched your own, his fingers digging into your hips as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. You could feel the heat of his breath, the way his chest heaved as the kiss deepened, as if all the arguments, all the frustrations of the past, had boiled down to this singular moment of passion.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, you pulled away, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are we doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet backstage room.

Charles’ forehead rested against yours, his breathing just as ragged as yours. He didn’t answer for a moment, his fingers still gripping your waist as though he wasn’t ready to let go.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice low, filled with the same uncertainty you felt. “But I can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”

You swallowed, your mind racing as you tried to process the fact that you had just kissed Charles Xavier—your rival, your ideological opposite, the man who represented everything you were fighting against.

But he wasn’t just that. Not anymore. Not after this.

“I can’t…” you began, but the words faltered as you felt his thumb brush lightly against your side, the smallest of touches that sent electricity through you all over again.

“I know,” Charles murmured, his lips hovering just over yours. “But we don’t have to figure this out right now.”

You stood there for a moment longer, your breaths mingling as you struggled to regain your composure. The weight of everything that had just happened hung between you, but for the first time, it wasn’t oppressive.

It was electric.

Finally, you stepped back, creating a small but necessary distance between the two of you. You had crossed a line tonight, and while you weren’t sure what it meant, you knew that things would never be the same.

Neither of you spoke as you gathered your things, the silence thick with the knowledge of what had just passed between you. As you turned to leave, you cast one last glance at Charles, who was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read—part desire, part regret.

“Until next time, Charles,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He gave you a small, knowing smile, his eyes still dark with the remnants of the fire that had burned between you.

“Until next time.” 

You walked out of the room, your heart still racing, your mind spinning with the weight of what had just happened. The debate wasn’t over. Far from it. But the battle between you and Charles had just changed—forever.

Jason Todd wasn’t the brooding type, at least not anymore. Well, maybe he was—but he didn’t like admitting it. He had come a long way since his days as the vengeful Red Hood, as the outcast Robin. But certain feelings were harder to shake than others, especially when it came to you.

You and Dick had been friends for as long as Jason could remember. You were close in age, shared interests, and had that easy, effortless rapport that made everyone in the Batfamily smile. To Jason, it was like watching the sun and moon, two celestial bodies that were just meant to be in sync. He hated it, if he was being honest with himself. Every time you laughed at one of Dick’s jokes, every time you gave him that affectionate look, Jason’s chest tightened.

Not because he disliked Dick. No, Jason respected his older brother more than he’d ever admit. He’d take a bullet for him without hesitation, but seeing the two of you together—seeing you with Dick—it hurt. It was like a reminder of everything Jason wasn’t. Dick was charming, confident, and always knew the right thing to say. Jason was the opposite: rough around the edges, quiet, with his words always coming out too harsh or too clumsy. He never knew how to talk to you the way Dick could.

And the worst part? You were perfect for Dick. At least that’s how it seemed in Jason’s eyes. The way you two talked about old movies, the way you could spend hours discussing literature or some obscure bit of history that left everyone else in the room confused—Jason could never keep up with any of that. It wasn’t his world, not really.

So, he stood on the sidelines, watching, brooding, nursing a crush that had taken root so deeply it hurt.

"Jason?" Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He had been leaning against the balcony of the Wayne Manor, the Gotham skyline stretching out in front of him. The cold air did little to ease the heat rising in his chest when he turned and saw you walking up to him, your face lit up in that way that made his heart race.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to act casual. “Hey,” he muttered, not quite meeting your eyes. “What are you doing out here?”

You shrugged, stepping closer to lean on the railing beside him. “Needed some fresh air. Dick’s telling another one of his ‘first day as Robin’ stories, and I think I’ve heard it about a hundred times by now.”

Jason huffed out a laugh, though it was more bitter than he intended. “Yeah, he loves those, doesn’t he?”

“Are you okay?” you asked, a little too gently for Jason’s liking. You had that look on your face, the one that said you knew something was bothering him. You were good at that—at reading people, at reading him.

“I’m fine,” he lied, turning his gaze back to the skyline. “Just… thinking.”

You were quiet for a moment, and Jason felt your eyes on him. It was unnerving in the best and worst ways. He didn’t deserve your attention like this, not when his insides were twisted up with jealousy. You deserved someone like Dick—someone better.

“Jason…” You hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You’ve been distant lately. I feel like… I don’t know. Like we haven’t talked in weeks.”

Jason clenched his jaw. Of course you noticed. You always did. He hadn’t been able to look you in the eye for days now, especially not when you were around Dick. It was too much, and he was too afraid that his emotions would slip out if he let his guard down even for a second.

“I’ve been busy,” he said, hoping that would be enough.

But you didn’t back down. You never did when it came to him.

“I miss talking to you, Jay,” you said softly, your voice carrying a sincerity that made his chest ache. “It feels like you’re avoiding me.”

Jason’s hands balled into fists inside his pockets. You weren’t supposed to miss him. You weren’t supposed to care this much. You were supposed to be with Dick, where you belonged, not out here worrying about him.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he grumbled, though he knew it was a lie. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“About what?”

His pulse quickened. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t tell you. The words were stuck in his throat, a bitter tangle of frustration, self-doubt, and longing. He couldn’t compete with Dick. He wasn’t what you needed.

“Look,” Jason sighed, straightening up and turning to face you, his eyes finally locking onto yours. “Why aren’t you with Dick right now? He’s your best friend, right? You’ve known him forever. Why aren’t you inside with him?”

You frowned, confusion crossing your face. “Jason, what are you talking about?”

“You and Dick,” Jason forced out, the words bitter on his tongue. “You’ve always had each other’s backs. You’ve got the same interests, the same everything. You’re perfect for each other. So why the hell are you out here with me?”

Your eyes widened, realization dawning on your face, and Jason hated how vulnerable he felt in that moment, how exposed his insecurities were laid out in front of you.

“Jason… no.” You shook your head, taking a step closer to him. “I’m not—Dick and I, we’re just friends. We’ve always been friends. That’s it.”

Jason blinked, his mind racing to keep up with what you were saying. “But you’re always with him. You two are so close…”

“Because we’re friends,” you repeated, your tone gentle but firm. “That’s all. I’ve never had feelings for Dick. Not like that.”

Jason stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to believe you, but the nagging doubts in his mind wouldn’t let go. “Then why… why me?”

A small, soft smile tugged at your lips, and you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Because you’re the one I care about, Jason. I like you. Not Dick. Not anyone else. You.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. You liked him? After all this time, all the late nights he spent torturing himself over you and Dick, you had liked him?

“I’ve been waiting for you to see it,” you continued, your voice quiet but sincere. “But you always keep your distance, like you don’t think you deserve it. But Jason… you do.”

Jason swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to handle the sudden flood of relief and disbelief and hope that surged through him. You cared about him. You liked him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, his voice rough, as if the words were dragged out of him.

You smiled softly, shrugging. “I didn’t want to push you. I thought you’d tell me when you were ready. And… I was kind of hoping you’d notice on your own.”

Jason let out a shaky breath, his mind still trying to catch up to everything that had just happened. He had spent so long convinced that you belonged to someone else, that he had blinded himself to the truth right in front of him.

Tentatively, Jason reached up and cupped your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “Maybe a little,” you teased, your eyes shining with affection. “But I like you anyway.”

Jason couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, the weight in his chest finally lifting. He had spent so long hiding his feelings, afraid of rejection, afraid of not being enough. But standing here with you, looking into your eyes, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time: hope.

Without another word, Jason leaned down and kissed you, the lingering doubts and insecurities melting away in the warmth of your touch. You kissed him back with a quiet intensity that made his heart race, and for the first time in a long time, Jason let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he could be enough.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your breath warm against his skin. “See?” you whispered. “You’re the one I want, Jason. No one else.”

Jason closed his eyes, holding you close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to breathe.

Maybe he wasn’t perfect, and maybe he wasn’t always the easiest person to love, but as long as you were by his side, he knew he’d be okay.

And that was enough.

It was late, but that was typical for Wade. The nights when he didn’t come home covered in blood, bruises, or worse, were rare. His apartment was as much a sanctuary as it was a warzone. Every time he came back, it was always with a new wound, and every time, you were there. Not that you minded.

You sighed as you climbed the stairs to Wade’s dingy apartment, the bag of medical supplies in your hand. You’d been getting calls from Wade for a while now, ever since he’d been discharged from the Canadian Special Forces and started taking on freelance mercenary jobs. The two of you had been close before—best friends, even—but this work had brought him back into your life in a way you didn’t expect.

It started as a few nights of patching him up, laughing at his stupid jokes while you taped him back together, but it had become routine. A strange routine, but a routine nonetheless. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone a week without seeing him, usually in some state of disrepair.

You knocked on his door, hearing a grunt from inside that signaled Wade’s familiar, albeit exhausted, voice.

“Door’s open,” he called, his voice rough, and you entered.

He was slouched on his old couch, blood smeared across his shirt, which was barely hanging on by a few threads. The sight of him in this state wasn’t new, but something about the way he wasn’t immediately making a joke unsettled you. His usual bravado, the sarcastic remarks, the teasing grin—none of it was there. Instead, he looked… worn down.

“Wade?” you called softly, setting your bag down on the coffee table. “What the hell happened to you this time?”

“Just another Tuesday,” he muttered, trying to crack a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You knelt in front of him, already assessing the damage. His knuckles were split open, bruises darkening around his ribs, and a cut on his cheek was still bleeding. You bit your lip, shaking your head as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. He watched you in silence, his gaze following your every movement.

“This doesn’t look like a ‘just another Tuesday,’ Wade. You look like someone ran you over with a semi-truck.” You tried to keep the tone light, but his silence was unnerving.

He winced as you pressed the cloth to the cut on his cheek, and for a moment, you expected a snarky comeback. Something about how he’d gladly take a semi-truck if it meant seeing you in scrubs. But nothing came. He just closed his eyes, leaning into your touch slightly.

“Wade?” you said softly, pausing. “You okay?”

His eyes opened slowly, meeting yours. There was something there, something raw that you hadn’t seen before. It made your heart skip.

“I’m fine, just… rough night,” he finally said, though his voice lacked its usual strength.

You continued tending to his wounds, the silence between you growing heavier. Normally, Wade would have filled it with crude jokes or exaggerated stories of his fight, but tonight, it felt different. It was like the weight of his life—the mercenary work, the violence, the loneliness—was catching up to him, and for once, he wasn’t hiding it.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” you asked quietly, wrapping a bandage around his hand. You’d wanted to ask him this for a long time, but it never seemed like the right moment. Now, with him this vulnerable, it slipped out before you could stop it.

Wade blinked, his gaze shifting away from yours. “Someone’s gotta do the dirty work, right? Might as well be me.”

“But you don’t have to,” you insisted, your hands stilling on his. “You’re not alone in this, Wade. You don’t have to keep putting yourself through this hell.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just looked at you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen. His usual mask of sarcasm and humor had fallen, leaving the man underneath—the one who felt too much but never showed it.

“I’m good at it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it’s all I’ve got.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “That’s not true. You have people who care about you. You have me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than anything you’d said before. Wade’s eyes widened slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. You felt the tension rise, the room suddenly feeling much smaller.

“Do I?” he asked, and there was something vulnerable in the way he said it, like he genuinely didn’t believe it.

“Of course, you do, Wade,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “I’ve been here, haven’t I? Every time you get hurt, every time you need someone. I’m always here.”

Wade swallowed hard, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Instead, he looked at you with something closer to fear—fear of what he might say next, of what it might mean.

“I’ve always joked around, you know,” he began, his voice shaky. “Flirting, teasing… but… you know I care about you, right?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t sure how to respond. Wade was always so flippant with his feelings, always hiding behind his humor. But now? Now he was serious.

“I know,” you whispered, feeling your heart pound in your chest. “But do you know?”

He looked at you, and for once, there was no joking, no sarcasm—just Wade, raw and real. “I’ve been scared, I guess. Scared that if I said something real, I’d screw it up. I’m good at screwing things up.”

Before you could respond, Wade did something you never expected—he leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn’t his usual playful, teasing kiss. It was soft, tentative, almost as if he was afraid you’d pull away.

But you didn’t. You kissed him back, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned into him. The kiss deepened, and all the tension, all the unspoken words, melted away.

When you finally pulled back, Wade rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “That wasn’t a joke,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “I meant that.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling as you looked into his eyes. “I know, Wade. I meant it, too.”

For once, there were no jokes, no walls. Just the two of you—more than just friends.