Yoink

Truth be told, you know of Bella’s… “condition.” 

Why she entrusts you with her secret—you don’t know. You’ve only known Bella briefly, having moved to Forks just a year before her return. When word spread that she’d be coming home, Charlie asked you personally to become her friend—a mentor of sorts, even. With long hours at the station, Charlie didn’t have the time to hover, even when he really wanted to. 

Bella liked to think Charlie didn’t hover, but he did. Even now. 

“Good morning, Chief Swan!” You yelled from your porch, greeting the Chief like you did every chance you got. The two of you had been neighbors for quite some time now since you moved in right across the street into the smallest house in the neighborhood with your mom.

“Mornin’.” Charlie’s gruff voice carried across the street. Usually, he’d disappear into his lonesome house, and only leave when he was called to the station. This time, however, he paused at his door in thought. You watched curiously as he turned around, immediately locking eyes with you, and cautiously approaching your quaint porch. 

“I hear your daughter is coming to town, Chief. That’s big news.” You offered conversation, still curious as to why he was purposely approaching you. Charlie was a kind man, and sometimes even friendly to outsiders, but he was still closed off. Perhaps it was your age that prompted him to maintain his distance—two decades is a large difference. Younger people probably freaked him out, you figured. 

“Yeah, I’m real excited.” Though, his unenthusiastic tone said otherwise. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh, okay.” You remained an open mind, waiting for an elaboration of sorts. “What about?”

“In all honesty, I need you to do me a favor.” His tone was serious, not asking, but rather telling. You would’ve agreed either way. 

“Of course, what’s up?” It seemed as though he struggled to find the words to ask, his brows furrowed as he thought intently. 

“Bella hasn’t lived here since, well, a long time. She visits, sure, but other than that, she doesn’t know anyone here.” That didn’t surprise you, especially since you hadn’t seen her once since living there. What he said next, however, did surprise you. “I need you to keep an eye on her for me. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re close in age, right? Maybe you can provide some… input in her life that I can’t.” Well, not quite close in age. She was 17. You were 21. 

“Oh, Chief Swan, I—”

“Charlie.” He corrected you.

“Charlie.” You repeated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Bella doesn’t know me, and quite frankly, I don’t know her. You do, though.” 

“Please?” He looked defeated—embarrassed that he had to enlist the help of his neighbor to welcome his teenage daughter. After seeing the silently begging look on his face, you couldn’t say no.

So, when she called you once the plane landed, returning from her short-lived honeymoon with Edward, your vision blurred and hearing rang as she whimpered the words “vampire” and “pregnant.” She informed you that tensions were high between the Cullens; debating whether she should keep it or… “get rid of it.” Alice, Edward, and Jacob strongly advocated for the latter. You, however, only knew that Bella needed a friend.

It kills you to keep a secret of this magnitude from Charlie—who’s been pacing back and forth since you arrived. Bella asked you to keep an eye on him—a trend in the Swan family, it seems—and to keep him distracted so he wouldn’t drive to the Cullen house himself and demand answers. 

“Charlie, please—”

“What do you mean I can’t see her? Is she okay?” His tone is frantic; worried. 

“She’s fine. She just contracted a virus and didn’t want to worry you. Clearly, it’s not working.”

“So why can’t she call me? Why are you the one telling me?” Because he’ll know something is wrong by the sound of her voice. 

“Because she wanted the information given in person. She thought you deserved more than a phone call.” You deserve the truth, you think to yourself, but you’ve made a promise to Bella.

“Where’s this medical facility? I’ll go there myself–” There is no medical facility. She’s shacked up at the Cullen house just miles away. 

“No, Charlie, you can’t. She didn’t even tell me, so there’s no way of you knowing.” You hate how the lies roll off your tongue with ease. He huffs in frustration at your answer, finally taking a seat on the couch while you stand just feet away in front of the television. Sorrow settles like a brick in your gut, so you sit in the empty spot just beside him, your hand landing on his shoulder to offer support. “I’m really sorry, Charlie, but you know she’s in the best hands. Edward–or Carlisle–won’t let anything bad happen to her.” 

“I know…” His voice trails off, uncertainty clear in his tone. He knows you’re right, but you also know that the protective dad in him can’t sit idly by. Your heart aches to see the way his eyes glaze over, his brows in a perpetual frown since Bella left for her honeymoon. The poor man hasn’t been the same since the wedding. 

His house is empty again and his routine has fallen back into what it was before she came home; working every chance he gets and ordering takeout every night. His incessant sullen gaze has returned; his eyes are no longer softer like they were when Bella was here. You feel her absence as well. The house is eerily quiet–colder than usual–and the smaller things that accumulated in their shared spaces have been packed away and moved. Alice took the liberty of packing Bella’s things. 

Your relationship–or rather acquaintance–with Charlie has nearly withered since her departure. There’s no need to speak to him unless it’s to relay a message, like the unfortunate one you’re delivering now. Still, you greet him with a good morning, afternoon, and evening when you see him; which is rare. You quite enjoyed being a part of Charlie’s life, even if it was through Bella, and you felt as though you had finally cracked the man who would hardly speak to you since you moved in. 

“She’ll be okay. I promise.” It’s a stupid promise to make when you’re unsure of the outcome yourself. 

“I guess you’re right.” He lets out a heavy sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his face falling into his hands. 

You gently nod to yourself, taking that as your sign to leave. You’ve done all that you can at the moment; told him of Bella’s “sickness,” given him peace of mind, and ensured that he wouldn’t attempt to see her in person. All things Bella instructed you to do. You feel terrible knowing Charlie’s original plan was for you to watch over Bella, and now it’s been completely flipped in the opposite direction. 

“I should get going.” You announce, patting his shoulder and grabbing his attention once more. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else from her.”

Charlie nods, his warm eyes finding yours. He lifts himself from the couch with a gentle huff and stands to walk you to the door, as he always does. As you mirror his movements, the two of you face each other, subtle awkwardness creeping into the space between you. He’s decently taller than you, forcing your head to tilt back as you match his gaze. His eyes are masking a million different emotions, just screaming to be let out, so you provide the only form of comfort you can think of. Lifting your arms from your sides to reach toward him, his watchful eyes observe your actions as you lazily wrap them around his waist. 

His body freezes, stunned by your affection, as you rest your head against his broad chest. Your cheek lays against his cotton T-shirt, saturated in his warm scent—woodsy, cinnamon, and smoky–as if he had just built a fire to combat the slowly approaching frost. A beat passes before you feel his arms wrap around your shoulders, his head craning down to rest his scruffed cheek on the top of your head. His heart is pounding in his chest, the muffled sound knocking against your ear. As if to absorb his hurt, you hug him more firmly, your hands interlocking behind him as you adjust your grip. 

“Thank you for coming over.” His defeated voice finally speaks above you, and a hand soothingly rubs your shoulder. “It was nice seeing you again.” 

The feeling's mutual. The last real conversation you had with him was the wedding night. It hurt your feelings a bit; further confirming that Charlie was only interested in talking to you about Bella, nothing more. Sure, that was the deal, but you had hoped for more. Whatever “more” was, you still aren’t sure.

“Of course.” You breathe out, leaning back to look up at him, your arms still wrapped around him. “I hope to see you again soon. Under better circumstances.” 

“Me too.” He lets out a defeated chuckle, the humor absent. “Let me walk you out.”

Although, neither of you moves. His hands stay spread on the expanse of your back as his conflicted gaze bores into yours. An unspoken magnetic pull lures you to him, his eyes locking yours in a curious trance. Your stomach flips when he swiftly leans in, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss. Mere milliseconds pass before his lips are ripped away; just as quickly as they had come. 

Your eyes widen and the grip you have on him releases as you take a precautionary step back. Jaw falling slack, your lips part in utter shock, and your eyes blink rapidly as if you’re in a haze. Your face has surely turned crimson, the heat creeping up your neck and settling in the peaks of your cheeks. The look on his face, however, is just as shocked as you are–like he couldn’t believe he did that. He looks… ashamed. It’s almost visible on his face–the way his thoughts race–his voice catching in his throat as if to offer an explanation. 

“Charlie…” 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–” 

“Kiss me again.” You rush out, “Please.”

“Are you sure–”

“Just kiss me.” You nearly groan. Unable to wait a moment longer, you step forward to close the short distance between you two, your arms finding their way around his neck and feet standing on their tippy-toes. Your lips crash onto his, your eyes fluttering close as his hands snake around your waist, desperately gripping at your clothed skin. A low hum purrs from his throat while he deepens the kiss, dipping his head lower to accommodate you and satisfy his fast-growing hunger. His mustache and the stubble on his chin rub against you, adding to the pleasurable sensation pooling in your gut. 

This was not what you intended when you were tasked with keeping him distracted, but you can’t find a part of you willing to stop. Not when he pulls you in closer by the waist, his fingers digging deeper into your heated flesh, grasping at you so you can’t pull away–like you ever would.

Taking the initiative, your tongue darts from your parted lips, swiping along his bottom lip and eliciting a groan from Charlie. The sound is like music to your ears, only fueling you further when your hands find his loose waves, gripping gently and tugging at the roots. Following your lead, his tongue combats yours, invading your senses with his taste, his smell, him. 

Without breaking the persisting kiss, Charlie moves you both and pulls you with him as he lands on the couch in a seated position. Instinctually, your legs straddle him–your skirt lifting and bunching at your hips–and you finally lean away from him to catch your breath, your chest heaving in response. Through parted lips, Charlie lets out quick huffs, his back slowly leaning against the couch to allow his eyes to rake over your appearance; flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and hooded eyes that silently beg for more. 

The sight of him is ungodly; sitting man-spread, hands now lazily resting against your hips, and eyes that flood with lust–the chocolatey irises being swallowed by dilated pupils. You need more of him.

Slouching slightly, you lean into him as your lips connect with his neck, leaving sloppy open-mouth kisses along the sensitive skin. His head tilts to the side to grant better access as a strained noise collects on the tip of his tongue. Your hips absently move against him and a surprised sound comes from you when the bulge of his jeans lines up with your aching core. The dull sensation urges you to seek more friction, making Charlie’s hands grip your hips to assist in your efforts. 

Soft, satisfied sighs brush past your lips as you continue your work on his exposed neck, pulling small grunts from him and subtle jerks of his hips. 

“Are you sure you want this?” His drawn voice calls to you, letting you know you can stop while you’re ahead. The thing is, you don’t want to. 

“So sure.” You mumble against his skin. “Are you?” Asking sincerely, you stop what you’re doing to catch his gaze.

He only nods, his eyes darting to your lips and hands absently squeezing, encouraging you to continue. Slowly, you roll your hips against him, building the previous friction back up. The feeling is deliciously teasing, only reaching a certain level of fulfillment before it becomes unbearable. You hold his line of sight, watching as his face gently contorts into a frustrated frown, needing more as much as you do. His brows furrow, creasing the skin between them, and a low grumble gathers in his chest as his legs shift restlessly beneath you.

Releasing your grip from his hair, your hands lay flat as they palm at his shoulders, spread across his chest, and travel down his abdomen, pausing just above the waistband of his jeans. You halt your hip movements, letting your fingers tease at the zipper before asking, “Can I?”

“Please.” 

It’s the only word he can muster before you undo the zipper at a tantalizing pace, the soft noise only adding to the fluttering feeling gathering in your lower belly. You quickly unfasten the jeans button, folding the rough denim fabric over to expose his boxers beneath. His jaw clenches when you tug the waistband of his jeans down just enough to reach into the stretchy material and firmly grip him. His stomach visibly tightens through his shirt, a low grunt exiting with a shaky breath as you free his hardened cock. Impressive.

Your closed fist works up and down his length a few times, admiring the way precum leaks from the reddened tip, pouring over onto your hand. Charlie struggles to show restraint as his hips shift upward to match your rhythm. You’re eager as well, feeling wetness gather and soak into the cotton fabric of your underwear. 

Impatience gets the better of you when you release him, smirking at the sound of protest from him as your hands find the bottom hem of your skirt and tug the clothing item upward to gather around your waist. His mouth clamps shut when your soaked underwear comes into view, exposing the absolute arousal he elicits from you. Usually, you’d opt for more foreplay, but you need him–you need him now. 

Unwilling to waste time, you pull your underwear to the side, using your other hand to grasp Charlie once more. With a little maneuvering, you scoot closer to him, lifting yourself slightly to align him with your cunt. He sucks in a sharp breath when you run the tip through your velvety folds, gathering every ounce of arousal before stopping at your dripping entrance. 

Slowly, you lower yourself, allowing your hips to sink onto him and inch his way into you. Neither of you dares to breathe as your walls stretch around him, welcoming him and swallowing every inch until you’ve sunken completely. Both of you gasp–for air, and because of the way his cock twitches and your walls squeeze around him. He’s filled you entirely and you bite back the moan that begs to release. Without even moving, the feeling itself is euphoric. 

“I need a minute.” He admits, his voice gravelly and forcing self-control.

“Me too.” You breathe out, your hands resting against his waist for support. 

Staying put, you lean forward, capturing his lips in a leisurely kiss. The moments leading up to this one have gone by in a blur, having happened so fast. You savor him, enjoying the way he can’t control the soft groans you swallow as your lips work against his, your walls pulsing in response. 

Your hands travel from below you, your fingertips ghosting over his lower stomach, his ribs, and his chest before settling on the sides of his face. His stubble scratches the surface of your palms as you deepen the kiss, humming in satisfaction when he invades your mouth with his tongue. Growing impatient, you feel Charlie’s hands grip tighter, urging you to lift your hips. 

The kiss is unbreaking as you follow his lead, letting him raise your hips and pull you back down onto his length. You moan into his mouth as he repeats this action a few more times before you decide to take over. Heavy breaths blow through his nose as you speed up, creating a steady rhythm that satisfies the both of you. You’re unsure how long you’ll last given the coil that’s been wound up tight since grinding against him fully clothed, which technically, you still are.

With your breath picking up, you break the kiss to focus solely on lifting and lowering your hips. The pace is growing quicker, and you notice Charlie’s hips moving to match your efforts. Resting your forehead against his, you lock eyes as you allow an uncontrollable string of moans to push past your plump lips, your eyebrows scrunching in pure pleasure. 

“I’m so close.” You confess, feeling your walls flutter around him in that familiar rhythmic pattern. 

“Keep going, baby.” His encouragement and use of the pet name through clenched teeth signals that his climax is nearing as well. 

Preserving energy and seeking release, you grind your hips instead, and you nearly cry out when your swollen clit rubs against him. It’s enough to bring you to the edge, your climax teetering and waiting to be pushed over. With a few more passes of your grinding hips, it doesn’t take long, and your head flies back to let out a drawn-out moan. 

“Oh god, Charlie.” Your voice points to the ceiling as your eyes squeeze shut, your hips sputtering against him. Your cunt pulses frantically around him as you continue your movements, riding out your crashing orgasm and urging Charlie to do the same. 

From the force of your climax, Charlie isn’t far behind. His name leaves your lips in an exasperated whimper, being repeated like a mantra. When your head falls forward, and your spent stare captures his, it’s enough to send him over the edge. With a choked groan, you feel his cock twitch inside you, coating your walls with hot cum as he stares deeply into you. Determined to wring out his orgasm, your hips move languidly despite the overwhelming sensation it creates for you, watching as his stomach flexes sporadically. 

He lets out a choked noise when he’s finished, the grip on your hips loosening and prompting you to slow to a stop. The mixture of your releases drips out of you, pooling at the base of his cock. Both of you breathe heavily, your chests heaving in harmony as your eyes bore into each other. 

You expect a feeling of regret to wash over you, but it never comes. 

Instead, Charlie’s hands slide to your waist and pull you closer, his lips peppering gentle kisses along your jaw, hairline, and lips. He reaches over beside him, grabbing a flannel he left draped over the back of the couch. Carefully, he drapes the patterned material over your shoulders, and your hands drop from his face, letting you lean forward and rest your head against his chest. You aren’t necessarily cold, but having shared an intimate moment with him, Charlie feels the need to cover you–to make you feel less exposed and to provide care.

“We should get cleaned up.” You mumble against him, feeling him soften inside of you.

“Okay…” His voice trails off, as if deep in thought. A beat passes before he speaks again, his gruff voice rumbling against your cheek from deep within his chest. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

You smile, genuinely in what feels like forever, “I’d love to.”

Sue shot him a look across the table, half of the bits of cereal falling from the side of his mouth to the table. His only response was an incredulous look her way, which was met with an affectionate eye roll from his sister.

“He probably just got caught up with something,” Sue tried to calm Ben’s nerves, bouncing little Franklin in her arms as he babbled out nonsense of some kind. That was enough to bring a smile to Sue’s face, her lips pressing a kiss to the side of his little head. “You know how Reed is.”

“Ben’s got a point, though,” Johnny chimed in, as the giant rock hand of his friend swiped his cereal box from his hands. With a defeated sigh, he decided he wasn’t going to start a fight over it, turning his gaze back to his sister and nephew. “Last time he was late for Sunday dinner it’s because you were pregnant and he was having an existential crisis. As much as I enjoyed that crisis, I think we’ve dealt with enough in the last few months.”

He wasn’t wrong, and he knew it. They all knew it. A year later and the aftermath of Galactus and Shalla-Bal still hung in the air. The implications of intelligent, threatening life out there in the universe casting a shadow over every news broadcast across the globe.

“That’s exactly my point,” Ben high fived Johnny from across the table, turning his gaze to Sue as well. “If he’s this caught up with something to miss family dinner, that means he found something.”

“And we all know when your husband finds something, that spells trouble for the rest of us,” Johnny lit his hand on fire for added effect, lips pursed as he waved the burning flames around gently in the air. “For example…cosmic radiation.”

It was clear that Sue wanted to argue with the pair, but Johnny knew there was no arguing with them. Their point was made, and that smirk on his face creeped in as Sue sighed, rising to her feet with Franklin situated on her hip.

“Alright, fine. Let’s go see what he’s up to,”

The chorus of cheers shared between Ben and Johnny from behind was surely making Sue roll her eyes once again. Any moments that Johnny was given to bother his brother in law in the lab was a win in his book.

Following his sister into the elevator, Johnny snapped his fingers in Ben’s direction as they descended toward the lab floor.

“10 bucks says it’s another alien woman,”

Ben’s groan sounded through the elevator, bouncing off the walls. Short laughter from Sue mixed in with it, even as she shook her head in response.

“Johnny, just because the first one dumped you, doesn’t mean you can go chasing after any alien woman in existence,”

“She never dumped me, for your information. She heroically sacrificed herself to save me because of her deep, profound love for me,” the shove Ben gave Johnny’s shoulder pushed him into the wall of the elevator. All he could do was shoot the rock man a glare, following his family out of the elevator and onto the lab floor, but not before pretending to grab at little Franklin’s nose to make the baby laugh. “Plus, I think it’s about time little Franklin got an auntie. A cool one.”

None of them were prepared for the mess of a lab they were stepping into.

Papers scattered the entire floor, from the workstation to the chalkboards. Those chalkboards had a thousand equations scattered across them: some scribbled out, others circled over a hundred times. Poor Herbie was frantically moving throughout the room, trying and failing to pick up every piece of paper that he could and bring some form of organization to the room.

“Uh, Suze,” it was Ben’s voice that cut in first, the trio stood just outside the elevator doors in mild shock at the state of the lab that was usually pristine. “I think your husband may have finally lost it.”

“That or he bought some drugs and tried them for the first time,” Johnny tacked on in a mumble that still got him an unimpressed look from his sister.

Johnny wasn’t wrong, though, and neither was Ben. Reed Richards looked like a certified mess.

He stood at the far end of the lab, moving between workstations at the deep blue tables lining the area in a half circle. He typed viciously, new data points mapped upon the screens adorning the walls. The middle screen, the largest, held a map to the entirety of New York City, markings appearing every so often in certain sections of the city before disappearing.

Even as the group approached, Reed never moved from his place, still typing away as he mumbled to himself.

“Reed,” Sue spoke up, just as her husband stalked across the floor once more.

The freshly written upon papers in his hands fell to the ground the second he laid eyes on them. Hair slightly disheveled, tie almost entirely undone, Reed Richards looked as if he had been rocked by a hurricane.

“Something is coming,”

Those were all the words he had to say. Johnny felt as if the air had been knocked from his lungs, as if all the oxygen in the room had been sucked straight out. He heard the sharp intake of breath from his sister first, before Ben stepped forward.

“Reed, what are you talking about?”

Ben quickly had multiple papers shoved into his hands as Reed gestured to the large screen showing the map of New York. One of the workstations beeped as the scientist quickly logged whatever data his system had just mapped out, another blip appearing on the screen that Reed pointed to desperately.

“For the last fifteen minutes, I’ve been tracking these energy signatures,” the map zoomed in on a focused location of the city. “They’re appearing at strange intervals. They started just a minute or two apart, but have grown to be just seconds apart now. All contained in an area between 24th and 17th street, in conjunction with Park Ave and 3rd Ave.”

“Gramercy Park?” Johnny chimed in, crossing his arms over his chest. He cocked his head slightly, looking at the map and the park that lay directly between the streets his brother-in-law had just named off. Honestly, he was still trying to understand what it was he was looking at, or just understand Reed’s mental state as a whole. “Maybe your baby proofing didn’t work and the Wizard is just out of prison.”

“That was my first thought as well, but the energy signatures proved me incorrect,” Johnny only rolled his eyes, running a hand down his face at Reed’s inability to take a joke. “These energy signatures are different, even more so than those of the Herald. It’s a culmination of dimensional energy–energy that’s being pulled from the fabric of the universe itself–it matches with energies given off by planets, or even stars themselves. But there’s another component to it, something so inherently not scientifically explainable that I can’t understand.”

Johnny shared a look with his sister and Ben, and even a look with confused little Franklin, before Sue chimed in.

“Okay, so there’s some weird space energy in the area-”

“Energy that has organic life woven into it,” Reed emphasized for those standing in front of him. He crossed the room back to his desk, pulling up a clear imaging of the energy itself from a nearby street camera that happened to catch the pulse. It was like a burst of blue strands, interwoven, pulsing and dousing the surrounding area in color, before it blinked away. “This energy beats, like a heartbeat. It moves organically, as if being pushed and pulled by someone. Compare these scans with a simple energy scan of any one of us, anyone in New York for that matter, and the fundamentals match perfectly. This isn’t some cosmic energy seeping into our earth for a moment, there’s something attached to it, something causing it. It’s forewarning something–someone.”

The lab grew quiet, the weight of Reed’s words hung in the air. For Johnny, they hung a little harder.

The last time something–someone–showed up on this Earth, he’d almost lost his family, lost his nephew. He had lost his sister, even for just a brief moment, but that was enough. Enough to never want to be put through this again. Johnny’s jaw clenched at the memory, his gaze flickering back to the screens.

“Why’s the park empty?” he questioned, gesturing to the live feed of the park from security cameras placed around light poles. “It’s not even 8 at night.”

“Suspicious activity in the area over the last week. I spoke to the mayor and had a curfew put in place out of an abundance of caution,” Sue chimed in.

“Okay, so another space alien is coming,” Ben clapped his hands together, the sound echoing as it drew everyone’s attention to him. “We threw the devourer of worlds through a portal to deep space…let’s just do that again.”

“This isn’t Galactus,” Reed muttered, voice just loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room as he turned back to the screens before him. “This is something else.”

Before anyone else could speak again, another pulsation of blue energy directly in the center of the park this time. Bigger than the others, strands of energy moving and beating in the air. Growing brighter, bathing the park in light.

The power of the building flickered for half a second before the live feed into the park cut off suddenly. Reed tapped incessantly, trying to bring it back, but it was no use.

“Reed…what is that?”

On the main screen, right in the center of the park on the New York City map, was one single blip of energy. Unlike the other blips, this one didn’t leave. It held steady.

“Johnny-” his name had barely left Reed’s mouth before Johnny was at the windows of the lab, swinging them open before streaking through the air in a blaze of red and orange.

No one was threatening his family again.

Gramercy Park wasn’t far away from the Baxter Building, especially not for a man who could light himself on fire and streak through the air at speeds humans couldn’t comprehend.

The park and every surrounding street was quiet the second his feet touched down on the pavement, flames dissipating from his body with a single thought.

The trees rustled above him in the night time breeze, stray leaves breaking off of the branches and falling to the ground. In the distance Johnny could faintly hear the usual sound of New York traffic, the muffled sound of sirens streets and streets away.

Straight ahead of him, down the path, laid the circle of greenery and flowers planted around the statue that sat in the middle of the park.

When he approached the center of the park apprehensively, flaming fist at his side ready to attack, the last thing he expected to see was you.

Pacing back and forth until the point he was sure you’d burn lines into the ground under your feet, you were glancing up at the sky over and over, muttering something to yourself. He cocked his head as he creeped closer, taking in the clothes that adorned your body: a pain of jeans adorned with so many tears and holes he couldn’t comprehend why you were still wearing them, and a tight fitting shirt that plunged way too far down your sternum to be considered decent to wear…anywhere. He wasn’t sure he’d even seen a woman wearing a shirt quite that revealing before.

His foot hit a single branch littering the pavement, ten feet from you now, before you froze and spun on your heels to face him. Johnny was pretty sure every bit of oxygen in the air was ripped away the second his eyes locked with yours.

Well, fuck, you are the prettiest fucking woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

It was the only thought capable of filtering through Johnny’s head. Reed must have gotten something wrong in his data, been tracking something that didn’t really exist, because there was no way that you were the blip that had appeared on the map. You were just another New Yorker–a drop dead gorgeous one, at that–who was out past the mandatory curfew…even if the clothing you bore threw him for a loop.

You didn’t look scared of him, his hand still burning with flames at his side. He could see the way your eyes drifted to the fire, head almost tilting in curiosity, before you glanced back at his face. Your hands were held out at your sides, fingers flexing as if you were prepared to defend yourself if the need arose. 

Johnny wasn’t going to hurt you. You were a civilian, one who should be in her home during this curfew. Just another normal civilian that he would definitely be coming back to this area for the following day so he could figure out where you worked, or which cafe you visited most often so he could orchestrate a way to run into you again-

His watch beeped, that familiar alert sound. Johnny’s eyes tore themselves away from you for just a second to glance down: an energy reading, matching the same one from Reed’s lab, pointed directly at you.

Way to go, Johnny. Get the hots for yet another alien woman that’s probably here to destroy your world and kill your family. Nice job. Way to go. Ben totally isn’t going to make fun of you for this.

“I’m not usually one for telling strong, pretty women what to do,” Johnny quipped, flames igniting on his other hands, both now burning bright at his sides. “But you’re out after curfew.”

“Curfew?” you had practically barked out a laugh, and fuck Johnny hated the fact that even your voice was pretty. Even as it was dripping in disbelief. “Yeah, right. I haven’t seen a single curfew ever go into effect in this city through the multiple alien incursions it’s seen.”

Johnny cocked his head immediately: multiple alien incursions? Given that Shalla-Bal was the only alien he’d watched descend into Times Square, he was utterly confused.

“Makes sense–given that you’re another one of those alien incursions–that you don’t know about the curfew,” flames burning just a tad bit brighter, crawling up his forearms, Johnny raised his hands in your direction as he took a cautious step forward. “I’d prefer not to hurt you, doll, so why don’t we do this peacefully and you just come with me?”

It happened in the blink of an eye. Johnny’s eyes never left you as your head tilted just slightly, a flash of blue crossing your eyes as your fingers twitched at your sides, before suddenly his arms were enveloped.

Like a casing of blue tinted energy, pulsing around his hands and up his forearms, the flames that ignited Johnny’s skin were extinguished in moments. Blue eyes shooting wide open, he shook his hands frantically. Willing himself in his head, telling his flames to ignite, but they wouldn’t. Every wave of his arms did nothing, the blue energy unmoving and shifting with him.

“No use trying, pretty boy. There’s not a single ounce of oxygen in the air around your arms right now, so I suggest you keep the flames at bay because I’d prefer not to do that to your entire body,” you shot back at him. With a single wave of your hand, the casing of energy dropped from around his arms. Johnny let the fires reignite for just a moment, confirming that he could indeed use his power again, before his wide eyes shot back to you.

“...I’m going to be so honest, I can’t tell if I’m terrified or completely turned on right now,”

“I’m, also, not an alien. I grew up upstate. And, why does Gramercy Park look so…weird?” Johnny’s comment was ignored, even though it was a valid question that he was trying to work out in his head. He instead watched you spin around on your heels, pointing around the park and up toward the surrounding buildings. “I know I haven’t left the Sanctum in a few days, but I feel like I would’ve heard construction. That building was never white, that one–wait, how did they build an above ground subway system? That wasn’t there three days ago when I got in, and I know for a fact the city doesn’t have the budget for this.”

In all of his life, Johnny Storm had never been more confused. He’d sat through countless lectures from Reed about matters of organic chemistry that he didn’t understand in the slightest, or cooking lessons from Ben that ended in him shoving his hand deep into a box of cereal, and this was more confusing then all of those combined.

Your clothing, something just about the way you talked and looked, whatever the hell this blue energy was it looked like you were controlling–and what the hell was a Sanctum?

“Back up…the Sanctum?” Johnny chose to start there as you turned back to him. He chose to keep his flames at bay, having a gut feeling that if you really did want to cut off the oxygen around him you could, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with that. “Isn’t that, like, some type of Church thing? Are you from some weird alien cult?”

“I literally just told you I wasn’t an alien. The Sanctum Sanctorum, over on Bleeker street? You know…Wong, Stephen Strange, the Masters of the Mystic Arts?” you must have seen the confusion on his face grow, because Johnny could see the moment your back seemed to straighten. “Wait, you have no clue who they are? Actually–beyond that–you have powers. How do I not know who you are?”

“Great question, sweetheart. The Fantastic Four kind of just saved the world a year ago, so I’m about as lost as you are,”

Johnny wanted to be apprehensive, wanted not to trust a word you were saying. He wanted to be cautious, to put his walls up, because the last time someone had come down into his world like this, he’d almost lost everything.

But you weren’t Shalla-Bal. You weren’t standing on a silver surfboard, speaking with confidence and heralding the end of the world.

No, when Johnny looked at you now, he saw pieces of himself. Of little him, hugging Sue, losing their mother forever. Of the version of him that came back to Earth over four years ago forever changed: confused and scared. The version of him that locked himself away in Building Q, charring the sheets and everything around him as he cried, trying to understand what was happening.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” Johnny cut in, that usual charm infiltrating his words. You were still the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, and he was curious, more curious then he was the moment a woman coated in silver appeared in the air. You had his full attention, even if he was still trying to figure out who the hell you were, but he hoped showing off his charm would ease the tensions a bit. “You’re a very pretty woman…and I might be turned on right now, the jury is definitely still out on that one. Took my breath away when I first saw you, and you could literally do that if you wanted to. That’s hot.”

He watched as you huffed out the semblance of a laugh, still teetering back and forth on if he was a danger to you. Given the fact that you had demonstrated your ability to cut off his oxygen…he was hoping you wouldn’t see him as a threat anymore.

“Ah, a charmer, aren’t you? Knew someone like that, been awhile since I’ve seen someone so brazenly flirt with a woman,”

“Oh darling, that’s my whole brand,”

You hummed across from him, but he caught your body language. Slightly more at ease, not as rigid anymore.

“The Fantastic Four?” your eyebrow shot up, eyes still wide with confusion, but slightly less apprehensive than before, as you brought the conversation back to that name he’d dropped. “Bit of a pretentious name to give yourselves.”

“That was all the fans,” Johnny shot back with a hint of a grin. A ghost of a smile seemed to find your mouth as well, and Johnny mentally cheered to himself that it seemed he was able to convince you he wasn’t a threat to your life.

“Fair enough. The Avengers was chosen for us…I feel like I would’ve heard about another new superhero team being formed in our absence, though,”

Johnny’s confusion was back again as he mulled over your words.

“Avengers? What are they, some superpowered band?”

It was your turn to mull over his words.

“You…you don’t know who the Avengers are?”

There was a whirl through the air as Johnny watched you glance behind him. He turned too, eyes landing on the familiar blue of the Fantasti-Car landing behind him on the pavement, Sue, Reed and Ben stepping out just moments later, practically running down the pavement toward him.

“Johnny-!”

“No, no, wait!” he called out frantically, glancing back at you again. Your hands were rigid at your sides again, fingers flexing, eyes narrowed in a terrified glare in their direction. He glanced back at his family, holding out a hand for them to stop just behind him. “She’s not a threat, I swear!”

Ben’s thunderous steps came to a halt, his head thrown back to the sky as he let out the loudest sigh in the world. “Johnny, seriously, you can’t keep falling for every alien woman you meet-”

Johnny didn’t let him finish, spinning back around to face you. His eyes pleaded with you, hoping you would see his hesitance to hurt you, feet shuffling forward a few steps. You took one back for each step he made forward, that same blue energy dancing around your hands once again.

“I really don’t want to hurt you,” you spoke, voice steady and loud enough to carry through the air. Your eyes glanced past Johnny, to his family. “Any of you. It’s not who I am, that’s not what I do. But if I have to, I will.”

“We won’t,” Johnny promised, taking a glance back at his family. Ben seemed unsure, Reed apprehensive, but Sue watched him. Curious, unsure of what he might do next. He glanced back at you. “I won’t. We’re just as confused as you are right now.”

You laughed. “I really doubt that.”

Reed brought a device out from his pocket, that same alert that came from Johnny’s watch ringing through the air as he pointed it in your direction.

“It’s coming from her,” Reed announced. Johnny tried desperately not to roll his eyes and make a comment of ‘obviously’ toward his brother-in-law. “These readings are coming from her. I was right: she’s controlling this dimensional energy, bending it to her will.”

Johnny hung his head with a sigh, still mulling over making a comment as he turned his gaze back to you. It was apologetic, accented with an eyeroll, one that brought a hint of a smirk back to your face. It worked, though, as you dropped your hands, body relaxing once more as Johnny confirmed for you once again that they didn’t want to hurt you.

With a single flick of your wrist, the device in Reed’s hands was enveloped in that same energy, wrapping around it and carrying it over to your hands before their very eyes. Johnny froze, along with the three directly behind him, as they watched it happen.

“Not energy–well, not technically–it’s magic,” you explained, never taking your eyes off the device in your hands as you fiddled with the controls. “This thing is…so strange. It looks like such a primitive piece of tech but functions so modernly. Did you get this from Stark Industries? Is this some old prototype of Tony’s that Pepper sold you?”

“I designed it,” Reed answered after a moment. You hummed, flicking your hand again as the device made its way through the air and back to Reed’s hands. “Stark Industries, are they a foreign company? Do you work for them?”

Johnny watched that confusion bubble up in your features again, tinged with nerves now. He caught it, the way your leg began to shake as the pacing you’d been doing when he first showed  up resumed once again. All he could do was watch.

“T-This doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never heard of you guys, everything about New York looks different, you don’t know the Avengers, hell you don’t even know who Tony is!” you laughed, incredulously this time, as your eyes locked with Johnny’s again. “This has to be a joke, right? A-Are one of you Wong in disguise, trying to teach me a lesson for opening a book to perform a spell that I wasn’t supposed to touch-”

You stopped in the middle of your sentence.

Johnny took another step forward the second you cut your own words off with a gasp. Hand flying up to cover your mouth, your wide eyes never left him as he took a cautious step forward.

“We just want to help you. What are you talking about? Help us understand,”

“The Book of Vishanti,” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, like the four standing in front of you were supposed to understand it. “Wong thought I was ready for powerful light magic, h-he invited me so that he could show it to me, so that I could learn from it. I should’ve listened to him, I shouldn’t have snuck down there-”

Sue stepped up to Johnny’s side. He watched his sister, the easy look on her face, the understanding in her eyes, as she spoke softly to you.

“What happened before you showed up in this park?”

“I touched the book without him, I thought I could teach myself things without him,” you spoke quickly, shaking your head frantically. “I could barely read the spell and yet I performed it anyway. Either I fucked it up, or I did it right and I didn’t know what I was doing because…this isn’t my earth. It can’t be, not with all the differences.”

Reed and Ben joined either side of Johnny and Sue now, all four of them staring down at you in front of them as you came to a realization of what had truly happened.

Through it all, Johnny just couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Curiosity pulled at him, more than it ever had before.

“What are you saying?” Reed chimed in.

“I’m saying this isn’t my universe…I think I accidentally traveled the multiverse, and I have no idea how to get back,”

❤︎

Performing a spell from the Book of Vishanti that you couldn’t yet read was, in hindsight, probably the worst idea that you had ever had in your entire young adult life.

When the Sorcerer Supreme believes that you’re ready to handle a book such as that, lined with the most powerful magic and spells and knowledge of light magic that have ever existed…it’s not hard to get an ego about it and jump the gun. You could already hear the berating you’d get from Wong, the things that Steve would’ve said to you if he was still around, the things that Sam most definitely would say to you when you got back to Washington.

If you ever got home, that is.

It was a thought you tried not to dwell on. Every night, as you closed your eyes, you saw them. The ones still here, the ones taken from you even as you fought with every ounce of you to save them all. The final look in your best friend’s eyes before she destroyed the version of herself that she had become, destroying what felt like a piece of you in the process. All so you could wind up in a world without any of them, a universe so far away from your own, nursing what felt like a shattered heart as you tried to find a way home.

You cried enough every time your head hit the pillow of the bed that wasn’t yours, you wouldn’t let the tears find you during the day too.

To their credit, the Fantastic Four were the most welcoming and kind group of people you’d ever met. If a strange woman basically crash landed in your universe, claiming to be a witch, you too would probably have hesitated. But here you were, a week later, having taken up the space on the unused guest floor of the Baxter Building at the insistence of Susan Storm. Trapped in a universe so similar to your own, but so different.

You weren’t alive in the 60s of your Earth, but now you got the chance to experience it firsthand…with a twist. It was strange how retro and yet futuristic this Earth was. The technology was advanced, sometimes more advanced than anything you had seen in your own universe, and that was all thanks to Dr. Reed Richards. You had thought that Bruce Banner and his 7 PhDs was the smartest person you would ever meet, but Reed and his 18 Doctorate degrees blew him out of the water by miles. But beyond the advanced technology of the world, everything else was still so primitive.

The clothing was different, more modest and brightly colored than anything you were used to seeing before. The hairstyles were different, sometimes shorter, almost always poofier than they were in the 2020s. They talked differently, the music was different, everything felt so familiar and yet so wrong at the same time.

This little team, this family you had stumbled upon, had been nothing but helpful, even if they were still wrapping their minds around the idea of the multiverse. The protectors of their Earth, the only superheroes this universe had compared to the plethora yours seemed to have, but some of the most down to earth people you had ever met. Reed Richards was abrasive sometimes, but curious, asking a thousand questions when you would venture out of the guest floor about your magic and the scientific properties surrounding it and its composition. Ben Grimm was kind, giving you space, but always dropping off something to eat on the guest floor for you every day. Sue Storm was kind and bright, strolling in with confidence and her son, Franklin, perched on her hip, filling your closet with an array of clothing to wear so that you would be comfortable.

Johnny Storm followed you like a puppy dog, hanging off every word you spoke and popping up in every corner of the building you found yourself in, much like he was now.

“Find anything in there?”

You rolled your eyes, tossing the book borrowed from the city library onto the coffee table of the guest floor living room. It landed with a thud on the multiple other books that Sue had picked up for you before you glanced over your shoulder, seeing Johnny stalking toward the couch you were sitting upon from the elevator.

“Just more confirmation that witches don’t seem to exist in your universe, except in the fairy tales," you shot back with a sigh. Your gaze turned to the floor to ceiling windows adorning the wall before you, giving you a glimpse of the New York skyline as night crept in on it, the sun dipping below the horizon line in the distance. “Which leaves me with exactly what I started with: nothing.”

Johnny hummed, hands grasping the back of the couch from beside you as he too glanced out over the skyline. The record player in the corner played some Elvis tune, something to fill the silence.

“Can’t you just, like, do the spell again to get home?”

“If I knew what spell I did, probably,” came your answer as you glanced over to him, finding his blue eyes already watching you. “No clue what spell I did, so without that I have no means of traversing the multiverse.”

Your gaze watched him as he left the couch, stalking across the room toward the record player. Another eye roll left you as he plucked the Elvis record off the turntable in seconds, muttering something about how that record ‘wasn’t good enough,’ before combing the collection beside it for another one.

This wasn’t the first time he’d done this over the course of the week. It felt like Johnny Storm practically lived on this guest floor with you: he’d brought his dinner down every night to eat with you, lounged around the living room while you searched through book after book, and had gone through every bit of clothing his sister had procured for you and made comments about which ones he thought you’d look best in (spoiler alert: it was every single item).

You didn’t entirely mind. His presence felt like a soothing balm over the pain that still sat within you, his ability to joke and make anyone around him smile, able to slap a bandaid over what felt like a gunshot.

“What’s music like in the 2020s?” he called out from across the room, settling on a Bob Dylan record instead that he dropped the needle down onto. “Does everyone have giant record collections now, ones that would rival my own?”

“Music is…much different than what you’re used to now,” was the response you settled on, chuckling slightly as you tried to imagine the man across the room listening to the likes of Eminem or even Taylor Swift. Taking a sip of your drink settled on the table in front of you, you dug your now dead cell phone out of your pocket, waving it around. “We listen off our phones, can connect headphones to them wirelessly. Vinyl collections are usually just collections now, not typically used to play music.”

Your cell phone was plucked straight out of your hands by Johnny himself, who had crossed the room with impressive speed. With a chuckle, you shook your head at his antics, leaning your head against your hand as you watched him inspect the dead device.

“I should tell Reed to invent this thing. Have to use that big brain for something useful,”

“And somewhere in Chicago, I can hear Martin Cooper crying that his invention is about to be stolen,”

Johnny tossed your phone back onto the cushion next to you without another thought, plopping down right next to it. Head thrown back against the back of the couch, he turned to look at you again with a giddy grin.

“Ignore the little talking box device for now, can you show me more of your magic?”

That was the question Johnny had asked at least three times a day in the week you had been on his earth. It was cute, the way his eyes would light up with excitement like a little kid every single time you showed him something new. That sparkle in them, the grin that lit up his face every single time, as he’d beg you to show him again.

You tried not to focus too much on how cute it actually was.

“What haven’t I shown you at this point?” you laughed, smile bright, though you already knew the answer. There was a neverending stream of things you could show him.

“There has to be something,” he sat up a little straighter, leaning even more into your personal space now. “Come on, I have a witch sitting in front of me. I thought those only existed in movies and books. You can’t blame a guy for being interested, baby.”

Ignoring that pet name that so easily fell from Johnny’s lips, you took a quick glance around the room. Acting as the centerpiece of the table sat a fresh bouquet of wildflowers, curated by Sue herself and brought up as a gift. Leaning forward, you plucked a single daisy from the bunch, leaning back and holding it in the space between you and Johnny.

Your eyes never stopped watching him as that familiar swirl of blue magic seeped from you, enveloping the delicate flower. The thin, white petals merged together into five beautiful petals, the white coloring fading into an enchanting ombre of orange and pink. Then, as fast as it started, your magic dissipated and the blue hue that lit up Johnny’s face disappeared.

He took the new flower from you with the brightest of grins, a sight that stirred something deep within your chest you were keen to ignore. He took a single sniff, eyes glancing back to you as his smile slipped into a charming little smirk.

“What did that poor daisy ever do to you?”

“It wasn’t a Plumeria,” you shot back with a slight laugh, plucking the flower from his hand and slipping it back into the vase. “They’re my favorite flower.”

“Noted,” he casually stretched his arm over the back of the couch, resting it over the portion directly behind your head, as that charming smirk grew even more. “Want them incorporated into the wedding decor, or should I pin one to my suit jacket so you can see it while we stand together at the altar?”

With a bright laugh, your hand met his face, pushing him back slightly as you rose from the couch, sauntering over into the kitchen with your empty glass. You could feel his eyes on you with every step.

“I have to hand it to you, Johnny, your flirting this past week has definitely gotten more brazen with each passing hour. Be careful, you might fall in love,”

“Too late, that happened when you first turned around,” shooting a glance back at him on the couch, he dramatically flopped backward on the cushions, pretending an arrow had just struck him in the chest. It was impossible not to shake your head and laugh at the sight. “I took one look at you and thought…wow, that’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You hummed in response, pouring yourself another glass.

“Does your charm and your flattery typically get you places with the ladies?”

“Depends, is it working right now?”

Ben had warned you about Johnny’s charming personality and what would surely be incessant attempts at flirting, but you hadn’t thought the man would be as persistent as he had been this past week.

You’d taken to keeping a running list in your head of some of your favorite lines of Johnny’s that he’d thrown your way.

Are love spells a thing? You could put one on me and I wouldn’t even notice: I’m already too far gone for you, baby.

Do you think you fell into our universe because you and I were made to find each other?

Before you head back to your universe eventually, we should send you back with the last name Storm. I think it fits you nicely.

Each one had made you laugh, and you begrudgingly had to admit that most of them were quite cute. It helped that Johnny Storm was as charming as they came.

From the moment you had laid eyes on him in that park that night you’d known it. This man was a heartbreaker, a face that girls across the world surely had hanging on their bedroom walls and were fawning over. Magazines called him a playboy, his personal fan club, The Flaming Hearts, swooned at his feet over how he was the ideal man women should strive for. You saw why they fawned: Johnny was attractive, anyone with eyes could see it. Perfectly swept to the side blonde hair, blue eyes that felt deeper than the ocean, and the charm and wit to have you laughing into the night.

He could flirt all he wanted, but it was going to take more than a flirty comment and a pretty smile to make you feel a thing. Johnny Storm wasn’t the first charming man you’d ever encountered, and he surely wouldn’t be the last.

“Sorry, pretty boy,” you shook your head, finishing off your glass that you’d just poured before dumping it into the sink for later. “Takes a little more than superficial flattery to butter me up.”

“I’m pretty sure you just called me pretty, that has to count for something,”

“It doesn’t,” you shot back, leaning against the island counter as you looked across the room toward him. Johnny was rolling off the couch in the most unelegant way, hopping back up to his feet to lean against the other side of the counter from you, shooting you a wink.

“You know what they say–denial is the first step to falling in love,”

“Acceptance. The quote ends in acceptance,” you barked out another laugh, shaking your head as the man as you stood up straighter. “Now, what did you actually come up here for, or was it just to bother me?”

Johnny clapped, eyes going wide as he seemed to remember exactly why he’d come upstairs in the first place.

“Right! It’s Sunday, family dinner night. You’re invited, and I was volun-told to come and get you,”

“Of course, because I’m sure you really protested being given that job,”

As charming as ever, he shot you another wink as he banged his hands on the table.

“You already know me so well, darling,”

“Are the pet names necessary?”

“Why, are they making you swoon?” yet another wink was shot at you.

“Johnny, I’m sure your charm works on just about every other woman in this universe. You want me to swoon? It’s going to take a lot more than that,” you pointed toward the shirt on his body, the bright blue logo over his chest shining in the light. “Plus, wearing your own team merch all the time? How superficial of you.”

He feigned hurt over your comment, looking down at the logo himself.

“I’m just representing the team. Plus, it’s comfortable, like our suits are too,” Johnny instantly snapped his fingers, eyes wide again as he giddily smiled toward you across the counter. “Your suit! You’ve never shown me your superhero suit! Come on, I’m dying with anticipation here, baby.”

Even as you rolled your eyes, you indulged his request. With a single flick of your wrist, your clothing shimmered in blue tendrils of magics, transforming it into the suit you knew like it was a second skin. Reinforced black and blue fabric that trailed high up your neck and down to your wrists, down your waist and finally tucked into the black boots that sat directly below your knees. That shimmering silver “A” still sat on your belt, something you were never able to part with.

Johnny let out a low whistle, teeth biting into his bottom lip as his eyes scanned you up and down over and over again.

“Hot damn…remember that comment I made about being turned on? Yeah, yeah this is doing it for me,”

With yet another eye roll, something you were learning you did quite frequently around him, you waved off the magic and dissipated the suit once again. The look you shot at him was anything but impressed, even if you were trying to hold back laughter.

“Why are you like this?”

Before some other flirty comment could fall from his lips, the elevator dinged across the room, its large doors sliding open. Neither of you were expecting it to be little Franklin Richards stumbling out on his tiny, wobbly legs.

Tufts of blonde hair on his head, blue eyes wide as could be, a happy little smile overtook his face as he spotted the two of you in the kitchen. His little hands clapped together, incoherent but otherwise happy babbles falling from his lips.

“Frankie! What has your mom told you about playing with the elevator, little guy?”

Johnny was across the room in seconds, sweeping Franklin into his arm with a single swipe. The laughter of little Franklin echoed through the room as Johnny dipped him, practically holding the little guy upside down, before spinning him upright. The little boy wearing a matching grin to his uncle, the man he could practically be a twin of, continued to laugh as Johnny pulled his shirt up, blowing a raspberry directly into his stomach and muttering something about how ‘magic babies never listen to their mothers.’

The skip your heart did at the sight was enough to have the beginnings of a flush crawling up your skin. Maybe his charm didn’t work on you, not his flirty jokes, but this? Seeing the side of Johnny Storm that the media didn’t see, the part that wasn’t the persona he played up for the world, was enough to bring a soft smile to your face and to fully understand why people across the world fell for him so easily.

Willing the blush to go away, desperate to hide the evidence that you did, in fact, find this man cute, you stalked across the room until you came to stand beside the man and his laughing nephew. They both turned to look at you, looking like twins with their bright smiles and blue eyes. Another round of giggles fell from Franklin as you swiped your finger over the edge of his nose slightly, pushing past them both toward the waiting elevator.

“Well, come on then. Guess I shouldn’t be late for my first family dinner with the Fantastic Four,”

In all honesty, you needed Johnny to put Franklin down. He looked too adorable, making faces at the little boy as he pressed the button for the main living area on the elevator. Franklin just continued to clap, babbling nonsense.

“You’re good with him,” you cut through the silence after a moment, smile still soft as you watched the two of them beside you in the confined space.

Johnny glanced up, an air of sheepishness finding him as he laughed lightly, looking back at Franklin. The little boy was watching you once again.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? Always loved kids,”

Bringing your hand up between the two of you, with a single thought you let a little ball of blue magic appear along your fingertips. Franklin’s eyes widened, following the movement of the little ball of magic as you rolled it around your fingertips, dancing it around his head and back to your hand.

Your eyes flickered to Johnny after a moment. His head rested against the wall of the elevator still slowly moving its way down. His smile was soft, softer than you’d seen it look at you before this week, his eyes holding a gentle pensiveness as they watched you.

“What?” you questioned lightly. He shrugged, adjusting Franklin on his hip.

“Nothing. You’re just good with him, too,”

“Well, he’s not the first baby in my life,” you answered, the edges of your smile dropping just a fraction as you thought about her. The little girl that was only, what, 6 years old now? Brown hair and eyes just like her father’s, the wit and sass to match it. Universes away from you, a little piece of someone you used to hold so dear that you may never see again.

“Whoever you’re thinking about,” Johnny was more observant than you gave him credit for, picking up immediately on the thoughts that seemed to plague your mind, even if he didn’t know the full extent of them. His fingers lightly grazed your cheek, an action that you so wished didn’t feel so nice. Comforting, warm with the heat that burned within him, brushing a strand piece of hair back behind your ear, tucking it there. You met his gaze, burning with a quiet determination. “You’ll see them again. We’ll get you home.”

Ignoring the slight flutter behind your ribcage, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, you’re suddenly content with letting me go? I remember Ben telling me yesterday that you were planning to keep me trapped here forever,”

His laughter echoed into the living room as the doors to the elevator pushed open, allowing the three of you to step out into the room fully. Ben was hard at work in the kitchen, calling out things to their little helper robot, Herbie, who zoomed around the kitchen at his command. Reed’s arm stretched out across the room, setting the table without ever leaving the kitchen, his other arm wrapped around his wife as Sue laughed at something he said.

“Oh I’ll help get you home, but there are conditions to your departure,” Johnny shot back, walking alongside you toward the dining room. “The one non-negotiable is that you have to leave unequivocally in love with me-”

“Whoa, that’s a big word for you, Johnny-”

“You also have to leave admitting that I’m the most charming man that you’ve ever met-” he cut back in, cutting you off after you had cut him off.

“I mean, you’re definitely on your way to joining the ranks of Tony, Quill, and Joaquin-”

“You also have to leave with the last name Storm,” Johnny spun, back facing the kitchen, as he shot you a wink. “We can negotiate that one. I don’t want to rush our wedding, but I’d prefer you go back home with it. A little something to remember me by.”

Sue Storm was quick to slap Johnny on the shoulder as he dipped into the kitchen, practically tossing the laughing baby into his sister’s arms, before ducking around her to dip his hand into the pot of sauce that Ben was working to season. His rocky hand whacked Johnny on the shoulder, who pretended to crumble to the ground in pain as Ben cried out “you haven’t even washed your hands!”. Reed’s arm stretched across the room, coming between the two and pushing his brother-in-law to the other side of the kitchen without a word, trying to maintain a semblance of peace.

Sue sighed, pressing a kiss to her son’s head, before she turned to you: still standing still, frozen in place by the dining room table, watching the events before you unfold with a smile you couldn’t hide if you tried.

“Welcome to family dinners,” she told you with a laugh, Ben once again yelling at Johnny in the background as he dipped his hand into a cereal box. “Before you ask: yes, it is always this chaotic.”

The chaos was nice, it almost felt like home. A home you hadn’t known for years now. Watching them, you could almost picture them all, the family you used to have: a flash of Natasha’s red hair in your head, the sound of Steve’s laughter, Tony’s quips that Sam always met back just as quick, Wanda muttering to you about how you worked with idiots.

Johnny’s eyes met yours again, a soft smile and a playful wink sent your way before he ducked out of the way of Ben’s arm again, and that was somehow enough to soothe that ache in your heart for just one night

❤︎

“I know people usually look exhausted after leaving Reed’s lab…but you were down there for two hours. I’m surprised you’re alive,”

Stalking across the room into the kitchen of the Baxter Building, you faked a laugh in Ben’s direction, dipping into the fridge for a bottle of water to nurse the headache you could feel approaching. The man let out a laugh at your actions, shaking off his oversized trench coat and tossing it over toward the dining room as he placed the multiple paper bags in his hands down on the counter.

“I am, too,” you shot back at him, hopping up onto the island counter beside him to sit. Ben just laughed at your antics, rifling through the bags on the counter from the market down the street. “He asked for more blood tests, so I consented even though I told him he’s not going to find any answers to why I have magic in my blood.”

“And did he?”

“NO!”

Ben’s laugh thundered through the room as he put some of the groceries away in the cupboards. Returning to the island counter, he dipped into a smaller, white paper bag, producing a small sleeve of paper holding a warm cookie within. The headache you felt coming on almost completely dissipated the second the sweet smell filled the air.

“Good thing I grabbed some of these, then. Eat, before you pass out from blood loss,” you didn’t argue, taking the gooey chocolate chip cookie from him with a smile and sinking your teeth in. “It’s from Maisie’s. Figured it was about time I showed you the best cookies in town, not sure how I held off for two months.”

Two months. It was a time period you tried not to dwell on. If you thought too long about how long you’d been stuck in another universe with no way back home, you were sure you’d start spiraling more than you did every night that your head hit the pillow of the guest floor. The guest floor that was slowly just becoming your floor.

If you thought about it too long, you’d remember how you were starting to forget the sound of Sam’s laugh. How this was the longest you’d gone without visiting Pepper, how Morgan was probably asking where you were. You hadn’t put flowers at Nat’s grave in so long, you could only hope her sister had gone and changed the flowers.

“Well, it’s quite good,” with a slight shake of your head, you sent Ben a strained grin, enjoying the taste of the cookie. It wasn’t a lie, it was quite possibly the best cookie you’d ever had. 

Ben hummed, holding your gaze for a moment, before he smiled. It was soft, but you could see it woven in: the pity.

“Thinking about home?”

You swallowed, both the bite of the cookie you’d taken and the lump that formed in your throat.

“Yeah…always am. I hate how good you are at reading me, by the way,” Ben chuckled at your comment, returning to putting the rest of the groceries away in their designated spots. “Reed offered to invent multidimensional travel again today.”

“Did you say yes?”

“No, I turned him down like I do every time,” Ben returned as you shook your head with a wry laugh. “It sucks because I know he could do it, he’d have me home within a week. But multiverse traversal spells exist, they have for a very long time, which means they obviously don’t blow a hole in the space-time continuum. I don’t need Reed to accidentally blow a hole in the entire multiverse just to get me home.”

Ben hummed. Placing one hand on the counter, his other rocky hand laid across both of your legs, delivering the slightest of squeezes in comfort that he was able to. You looked up, meeting his eyes, and practically melted under the kindness and comfort in them.

“You’re going to go home, I promise you that. You’re homesick: it’s where you belong, it’s full of the people you love, and we’ll get you back there. But think of it like this: you’re in a different universe, how many people get to experience that? Take it in, enjoy it, learn from it, eat all the Maisie’s cookies this world has to offer. The people you love will still be waiting for you back home, no matter how long it takes to get there,”

He moved away, his hand sliding back down to his side and he returned to the groceries. But his words stuck with you, hung in the air, settled deep within you.

The quiet hung there in the room for a moment as you just watched him, placing cereal box after cereal box on a shelf near the fridge. He met your gaze again when he turned around, rocky brow raising in question as you let a sigh slip past your smiling lips.

“You remind me a lot of Steve,” Ben waited, letting you collect your thoughts, never pushing. “He always knew what to say, especially to me. That’s how it feels talking to you a lot, like I’m talking to him again. I…I miss being able to talk to him.”

“Well, you can talk to me anytime,” he motioned his hand toward the cupboards of the island counter blocked by your legs. Sliding off the countertop, you stepped to the side as he bent down to put another bag away. “Who do the others remind you of?”

You mulled the question over in your head, grabbing a bag from the counter and helping Ben place the rest of the groceries away across the kitchen.

“I think Reed has to be Bruce, simply because they’re both too smart of their own good. Sue reminds me a lot of Natasha, with the way she takes care of everyone. Nat was quiet about it, but she was always picking up after the boys. Johnny…unfortunately reminds me of Tony. He’s got his same sass, wit, charm and flirtatious nature,”

Ben waved his hand in the air, a grimace on his face.

“Please, no, I don’t want to think about there being another Johnny out there in the multiverse,” you laughed, catching the bottle he threw in your direction to slot into the fridge. “Speaking of matchstick, where’s he at? He’s usually attached to your hip, what with his whole plan of whatever he calls it-”

“Ah, you mean Johnny Storm’s Complete Guide to the 60s?”

It was the dumbest name in the world, but given that Johnny had named it, you weren’t surprised. He’d taken it upon himself to give you a complete guide to what the 60s were like, with the added footnote that the weirdly futuristic 60s they lived in was bound to be different than the 60s of your own universe. Johnny had claimed you were too ‘cooped up’ on your floor of the building, and it was time you got out and ‘lived a little’ since you were here.

Johnny’s guide to the 60s began with bowling. He’d been so excited, sliding into those custom shoes for the alleyways, that you didn’t have the heart to tell him until you were beating him by 70 points in the 8th frame that bowling was very much the same game in the 2020s.

“No, that’s unfair!” Johnny had called out, mouth dropped open as he pointed an accusatory finger in your direction. The manual scoresheet in his hand was all but crumpled at this point. “You didn’t tell me bowling was still a thing!”

“To be fair, Johnny, you didn’t ask,” was the only response you could manage through your laughter, grabbing your ball once more and aligning yourself with the lane in front of you. “Bowling is very much still around, and very much the same game. I guess you just aren’t as good at it as you think you are.”

You weren’t laughing long, a spark of heat igniting along the back of your hand just as you let go of your ball. Your hand jerked immediately at the feeling, sending your ball rolling straight into the gutter. Mouth dropped open, it was your turn to point an accusatory finger in Johnny’s direction.

“Hey!”

“Leveling the playing field here, baby,” he teased, skirting by you as his fingers bumped your chin slightly, before he grabbed his own ball as his body was racked with laughter. “Now, let me show you how good I really am at this game.”

Johnny’s own laughter was short-lived. His ball made it halfway down the lane before coming to a sudden stop along the slick surface, surrounded by a hum of blue magic that flicked it off into the gutter. His betrayed face turned to face you, met with your smirk and hand held out toward the ball. You only batted your eyelashes at him.

“Hey, if you’re going to level the playing field with powers, then I am too. It’s only fair,”

“Oh, I’m going to show you fair-”

The laughter that poured out of you mixed with a shriek the second Johnny practically tackled you, throwing your body over his shoulder like it was nothing and parading you down the alley, highfiving little kids along the way as you could do nothing but laugh, smile never slipping for a second.

Go-Karting, on the other hand, was definitely a little different in the 60s. The karts themselves were much different, a lot less structurally sound at times and incapable of doing the speeds that you knew Johnny really had wanted to drive them at. He had claimed to win the race fair and square, even as you pointed out that he’d gone as far as to melt one of your tires right before you crossed the finish line.

Record stores, golfing, roller-skating, you named it and Johnny dragged you off to do it. He filled every moment with vibrant stories: the record store was one that Sue liked to take him to when they were growing up, golf was something he fell in love with after coming back from space with powers, and how roller skating was something he swore he’d never do, but the smile on your face the entire time had been well worth it.

The diner had been your favorite. Griddles & Waffles, nestled deep in the heart of Queens. A 24/7 joint that sold breakfast and breakfast only, a beloved place by locals. Johnny had been awake into the early hours of the morning that night, the only one still up, diving into a box of cereal buried in the kitchen when you screamed. The next thing you knew, he was practically diving out of the elevator onto your floor as you shakily grabbed a glass of water in the kitchen, eyes wide and panicked as he informed you that he could hear you scream floors away. One look at the state you were in and he was shoving you into the hoodie he was wearing and shoving you out of the building and into his car.

“You took me to a place with waffles in the name, and you ordered pancakes?”

Johnny’s eyebrow shot up, half of the stack of pancakes in front of him practically shoved into his mouth as he pointed the fork in his hand in your direction.

“Don’t you ever diss these pancakes, you hear me? Best flat pieces of dough in the entire state of New York,”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly under your breath as he barely got his words out through the food in his mouth. Taking another bite of your own waffle, it was easy to get lost in the decor of the diner. Bright colors, shiny metal gleaming under the lights, it looked exactly like the recreations that existed in your own universe. The simple thought of home brought your frown back in seconds, and Johnny was instantly snapping his fingers.

“No, there’s no frowning in Griddles & Waffles, you hear me?” you rolled your eyes, but that simple thought weighed heavy on you, lips still pulled into a frown. Johnny made some motion toward the waitress before he leaned into the table toward you, drawing your gaze to him and his waiting, patient, gentle eyes. “Honey, I’m surprised that scream didn’t wake anyone else up. What’s wrong?”

“It was nothing. Just a nightmare…a memory of a day I don’t like thinking about,” you tried to deflect, shoving your fork around your plate, scraping it against the ceramic. Johnny’s hand caught yours, his eyes still soft and gentle, as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze until you relented. “It’s…I don’t like talking about it. I don’t get nightmares about it often anymore, but when I do, it feels like I’m there again: in that forest full of nothing but blood and dust.”

The blonde hummed, fingers gently rubbing small circles into your knuckles. His skin was warm, unusually warm from the heat that coursed through him, the feel of it on your skin bringing a sense of comfort. Then, he took his hand away, holding both his hands out like he was presenting something, that dazzling smirk of his lighting up his face.

“Have no fear, because Griddles & Waffles has the perfect cure for sadness!”

The waitress came back, sliding a single tall glass onto the table between the two of you with two straws tossed down onto the tabletop. You glanced at it: one large, over the top, classic chocolate milkshake with a large cherry resting right on top. You looked back up at him, your eyebrow raised this time.

“A milkshake? At two in the morning?”

“Have some faith in me, baby,” Johnny teased, slipping the two straws into the shake with ease. He took the cherry between his fingers, easily biting off the majority of the fruit as he twirled the stem between his teeth. Your eyes flicked down for just a second, to the stem between his lips and the hint of red juice that covered them, before your skin flushed and your eyes were back on his. “This is about to be the best milkshake you’ve ever had, and it’s going to cure every bit of sadness in your body.”

Johnny was known for exaggerating, but you indulged him anyway. With a short eyeroll you leaned in, taking a single sip from the straw pointed in your direction. Johnny waited, his smile wide and bright as his fingers tapped against the table, the sound echoing through the mostly empty diner in the middle of the night.

“...alright, it’s pretty damn good,”

His cheer echoed through the diner, the waitress shooting him an unimpressed look as his hands banged down on the table. Another round of laughter slipped past your lips as you shook your head at his antics.

“See? You have to trust me more often,” Johnny teased, leaning in to take a sip of the shake from his own straw. “These milkshakes are the cure to sadness.”

You didn’t have the guts in that moment to tell him the shake didn’t cure anything. No, you felt lighter simply from that boyish grin and the laughter that fell from Johnny Storm’s lips, something you weren’t keen to admit quite yet.

“Talking about me, baby? I leave you alone in the lab for a few hours and you miss me that much?”

As if hearing his name from floors away, Johnny Storm himself came strutting straight into the kitchen, charm rolling off him with every step he took. That smile of his was as bright as ever, eyes wide and full of mirth.

He practically skipped up to your side, tossing the box of food in your hand somewhere onto the counter. Cradling your hand in his, he brought it to his lips without another thought, pressing a featherlight kiss to your knuckles. His gaze never wavered from you the entire time.

With a roll of your eyes, though paired with a smile full of affection, you shoved him off, placing the box of food he’d just tossed away into its rightful place as you shot him a look over your shoulder.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Johnny. Contrary to what you think, you are not the only thing I’m thinking about,”

“You see, but that implies that I am one of the things you’re thinking about,” his response came easily as he made his way over to Ben, stealing one of Maisie’s cookies from the bag before he could be stopped. Ben only let out a sigh that could probably be heard from the other side of the city. “Nevermind that, though, I came here on a mission. The sun is setting and we’ve got a 40 minute drive, so get upstairs and attempt to look even cuter than you already do, if that’s possible.”

Exchanging a quick look with Ben as Johnny walked backwards out of the kitchen and back into the living room, you both looked back at the blonde moments later.

“Get ready for what?” you questioned. “To go where?”

“Long Island, sweetheart. Your guide to the 60s continues tonight,” he paused at the stairway, one hand on the railing and the other pointing across the room toward you. “Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes, got it?”

You considered arguing, but the truth was, you didn’t want to. Every one of these excursions with Johnny so far had been fun, had been enough to fill that little hole in your chest for a fleeting moment, and right now you wanted that more than anything.

“Alright, ten minutes,”

He clapped, beginning to move up the stairs as he practically shouted across the room.

“Good girl. It’s a date-”

“It is not a date-” your words fell on deaf ears as he went sprinting up the stairs, yelling out a distant “It very much is a date!” from the next floor. It was impossible to ignore the heat spreading in your cheeks at his words, though.

The silence of the room only hung there for a minute before Ben’s laughter filled it, echoing off the walls. Shutting your eyes for a moment, you let out a deep breath, trying to understand the enigma that was Johnny Storm sometimes, before patting Ben on the shoulder as you moved toward the elevator.

“Well, wish me luck on whatever this next excursion is. Hopefully it doesn’t involve him almost whacking me in the head with a golf club again,”

“You’ll be just fine,” Ben called out from the kitchen, speaking through his laughter. You could clearly hear the underlying teasing tone to his words. “Have fun on your date-”

“Benjamin, don’t start with me!”

It might not have been a date, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try. There really was no reason to, though: Johnny had seen you at your worst over the last two months. Always arriving on your floor sometimes at the crack of dawn with an idea for the day, startling you before you even had a chance to wipe away the mess of tears streaking across your cheeks from yet another nightmare you’d just awoken from.

It wasn’t a date. Just because you chose the cutest pair of pants and a sweater that the closet full of 60s style clothes offered didn’t mean anything. Not a damn thing.

You hated to admit how good Johnny looked in just a simple grey sweater and some slacks. Strutting toward you through the lobby of the Baxter Building, employees already sent home for the day and leaving the lobby bathed in silence, he let out a short whistle as he came to a stop in front of you.

“You say it’s not a date, but you sure do look nice,”

“That’s because your sister filled my closet with all nice clothing,” you shot back.

Johnny hummed, eyes still scanning you up and down. Eyes finding yours again, he held out his arm to you, just as he typically did on these little excursions.

“Come on,”

Hand resting in the crook of his elbow, the cool night air sank deep into your bones as you stepped outside. Johnny’s hand was quick to find the handle to the passenger side door of his custom blue Corvette, swinging it open and taking your hand in his to help you into the leather seat, just as he always did. 

The leather made a noise as you shifted, buckling yourself into place as Johnny cooly slid into the driver’s seat. One hand rested on the wheel, the other drumming along the knob of the gearshift as his foot hit the gas, sending you speeding out of the drive of the Baxter Building and onto the roads of New York.

“What’s today’s adventure?” you asked after a few moments of silence. Johnny’s grin simply brightened, his glance finding you beside him for a second before his fingers turned the knobs of the radio on, filling the call with music as he continued to cruise down the streets he knew like the back of his hand.

“That’s a surprise, sweetheart. Just enjoy the drive,”

It was easy to enjoy it. The same city you’d grown up in, yet so different at the same time. Every building looked new, the atmosphere felt lighter than New York had for you in years, everything about the city you knew so well felt different. The lights, the skyline, everything still felt like home as you crossed the East River, flying through the streets of Brooklyn and eventually Queens.

The heaviness eventually found you, though, just like it had every day for the last two months. As city lights shone off the windows of the Corvette, bathing you in its light, your mind still wandered back to memories. The first time Tony had driven you upstate to the new compound in the passenger seat of the god awful orange Audi. The quietness that came with the blip, the way the entire city fell still. The sweeter moments, like dragging your best friend from the compound late one night and sneaking into the city, sitting along the Brooklyn Bridge to admire the lights.

“Hey,” those memories came to a halt, Johnny’s hand brushing across your knee, settling there with a gentle squeeze. “You’re thinking hard over there.”

You hummed, head still resting on your hand as your elbow sat against the window of the car door. You let your eyes settle on his hand, just watching the way his thumb drew circles into the side of your knee.

“Reminiscing on my New York, that’s all,”

“Ah, getting homesick,” the sight of Johnny nodding was just barely visible out of the side of your eyes, His hand slid from you, joining his other hand on the wheel. “You’ll go home, back to your futuristic universe eventually, I know it. Then you can forget all about us in this little universe.”

The radio was blaring a Frank Sinatra song, something much too slow for the night time around you. The song crackled through the speakers as you glanced over, observing the side of Johnny’s face. For a man that hid behind such an extravagant persona for the media and the fans, you could see right through it. That hint of sadness in his own features, woven into the creases of his eyes and the lines around his lips, at the thought of you leaving.

I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast. I fall in love too terribly hard.

“I think you’re underestimating how much I will miss you guys when I go home,” you told him simply, the music playing lightly through the speakers. It really was that simple, it was the truth. “I’ll miss you guys a lot. I’ll miss you.”

Johnny’s hand seemed to tighten along the steering wheel for just a second, so quick you almost missed it. Those blue eyes glanced over at you, catching your gaze. His features were riddled with something you couldn’t understand, but could see how gentle it was, until his charming smile was back, wiping away any trace of the strange emotion you had seen.

“Careful there, little witch. It’s starting to sound like you’re falling unequivocally in love with me-”

His laughter filled the car, overtaking the sound from the radio as your hand reached out and shoved his shoulder, your own laughter mixing in with his own.

“You’re fucking impossible, Johnny Storm,”

Of everywhere that you could’ve thought Johnny would be dragging you to, a drive-in theater was the last place you would’ve imagined. 

The entire stretch of lawn buried deep within the heart of Long Island was packed with cars of all different kinds, vintage ones you had never seen in person. There was a group of teenagers crowded around one of the cars, hugging their friends and talking animatedly between each other. Some couples walked through the lines of vehicles, giggling together under their breath as they carried their food from the little stand off to the side.

Johnny pulled the car to a stop in one of the last remaining spots, side windows immediately rolling down to allow the sound from the mounted speakers to infiltrate the car. Night had set in, an announcement projected onto the large screen that the movie would begin soon, as you turned to find Johnny already watching you with a wide grin.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve been to drive-in theaters too?”

“They’re still a thing, but I’ve never been,” was the response you gave, a small laugh falling from your lips as he excitedly punched the air. “I have always wanted to go to one, though”

“Then your wish, princess,” in his usual dramatic fashion, Johnny stole your hand in his. With a kiss placed to your knuckles, he was already halfway out of the car before you could truly process the moment. “Is my command. Be right back with the snacks.”

You watched him the entire time he was gone. From the moment he slipped out of the car to ordering something from the snack stand, you watched. Even as the young girl working behind the counter seemed to fangirl at the sight of the Human Torch in front of her.

His charm was stupid most of the time. Little one liners, flirtatious jokes, touches that were all but friendly in nature. You didn’t care for a single one of those moments. It had been awhile, but you’d seen Tony use the same tricks. In the briefest of time you had known Peter Quill even he had tried it. Those moments meant nothing to you, but these did.

Bringing you breakfast in the morning just so you didn’t have to be alone. Dragging you around the city to participate in a thousand activities on the off chance that you hadn’t done them before, once again so that you wouldn’t feel alone and left with your thoughts. Hearing a single scream from you, seeing a single tear, and dragging you through New York in the middle of the night just to see you smile again. Those moments worked on you–meant something to you–more than you wanted them to.

The moment he was swarmed by a bunch of little kids trying to leave the snack stand didn’t help the turmoil you felt inside either. Johnny didn’t complain, not once, simply balanced the food in one arm so he could lean down and high five one of the girls, ruffling the hair of another little boy standing right next to her. He smiled wide, you could see the shake of his chest as he threw his head back in laughter, igniting his hand quickly as the kids all clapped and gasped in awe at the sight of their own personal superhero. There was a news reporter nearby, calling out for a photo that Johnny happily posed for with the kids, leaving them with one last story that had them all looking up at him in awe and adoration.

You hated the stutter that occurred in your heart. You weren’t dumb–you knew what it meant. Johnny Storm was charming, handsome, a literal superhero that had captured the hearts of the entire world. He, also, was the most down to earth man you had ever met sometimes, more observant than you gave him credit for, and too sweet for his own good.

If you thought hard enough, you could almost hear Wong’s voice in your head, scolding you for slowly falling for a man from an entirely different universe. The definition of a man you could never have, never meant to be yours.

“Got swarmed by some little kids, had to make sure I showed off the flames,” Johnny’s voice broke through your thoughts as he slid back into the car, passing a bag of popcorn over the console and into your hands. Just as he did, the large screen in the lot changed, the beginnings of the movie beginning to play as some of those teenagers from earlier began to clap and holler. “Just in time.”

Shaking those thoughts from your head, trying to will them away, you brought your gaze back to the screen. The opening shots of the credits, directors names and actors names plastered across the screen as it dove into the first scene without hesitation, situated on some mountain with hoards of people who were dressed for an even more vastly different time period than now.

“Spartacus?” a questioning glance was thrown Johnny’s way from you as you took a quick bite of your popcorn. “An action/adventure movie was your choice for a drive-in movie date?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said this wasn’t a date,” Johnny retorted, meeting your glance as he took in another handful of popcorn himself with a cheeky grin. “Besides, I didn’t peg you to be a romance movie kind of girl.”

“On some occasions I can be,” you gave back with a shrug. “A good action movie is definitely more my speed, though, so good choice.”

“What can I say, I know you,”

He did. He really did.

It was barely an hour into this three hour movie when your mind finally began to drift off again. Legs curled up on the seat under you, your own popcorn bag finished off and discarded at your feet as you reached over to steal from Johnny’s own bag, you found your thoughts leaving the movie once more. But instead of thinking about home, about the people you lost or the ones waiting for you to come back, you found them on Johnny once again.

Watching the side of his face quietly, you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him mouth some of the words to the movie under his breath, almost mimicking the accents of the actors themselves. It was enough to elicit a small giggle from your lips, bringing his gaze from the movie over to you instead.

“Are you quoting this movie word for word?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. I happen to really like this movie,” your giggles persisted, even as Johnny reached into his bag and tossed a handful of popcorn in your direction. “You should see Ben watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s, he could probably act that entire movie out for you. Don’t tell him I told you that.”

“You’re both such dorks,”

“Come on, don’t you have a movie you can quote?”

You hummed, letting the question sit with you for a moment, memories rushing back over you.

“Not a movie, but a show. Full House,” Johnny’s gaze never left you, the movie long abandoned in his eyes for a moment. An idea sprang to mind, your head tilting ever so slightly as you shot him a grin. “Want to see it?”

Excitement crawled into Johnny’s eyes immediately, his head nodding as he sat up straighter in the driver’s side seat.

You took a deep breath. Holding up your hand to the door beside you, that familiar blue magic seeped from your fingertips as that same color glowed in the irises of your eyes, crawling along the interior of the car until it reached the windshield. Your eyes were watching Johnny once again, the absolute wonder in his eyes as his windshield shimmered in blue, before the screen through the windshield changed before your very eyes: gone were Kirk Douglas and Laurence Olivier, replaced instead by John Stamos and Bob Saget in that iconic kitchen of their San Francisco home.

With another flick of your hand, the speaker at your car switched, playing the sound of the show you were now broadcasting instead of the movie.

“Don’t worry, no one else can see or hear this. Just us,”

Johnny was barely paying attention to what you said, too busy dipping his head in and out of the window in shock and awe, the screen beyond the windshield still playing Spartacus while within the confines of the car your tv show was playing.

“You…I don’t know how you do it, but you somehow get hotter every time you use your magic,”

Laughing, you reached into his popcorn bag and threw an unpopped kernel at the side of his head. Resting back into your seat, arms wound around your knees, you found yourself lost in the scene before you on the screen.

“This was one of Wanda’s favorite shows,” after a minute of silence, engrossed in the scene, you told him. You could feel Johnny’s eyes watching you instead of the show. “She always liked older shows, like Bewitched or I Love Lucy. We used to watch this one all the time in the compound, whenever Steve didn’t have us training constantly.”

Johnny didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched you.

“She was your best friend, wasn’t she? I don’t think you’ve ever said her name,”

“That’s because it’s hard to talk about her,” finding his gaze again, the gentle comfort shining in his gaze washed over you, as if draping you in a blanket. Swallowing the lump in your throat that always formed when you thought too hard about her, you offered him the smallest smile you could muster. “Just a few weeks before I wound up in your universe, I lost her. She lost herself to dark magic, let it consume her, so like the brave woman she was, she chose to protect the world from herself.”

Your words hung in the air, neither of you speaking for a moment. The scene from the show continued to play out before you swiped your hand through the air, dissipating the magic and letting the picture and sound of the movie return to the screen and the little speaker. It hurt too much to relive those moments.

“Hey, do you think by showing me a show that hasn’t come out yet in my universe, this will mess up, like, space and time? Like, what if I go pitch this show to Hollywood real quick and get it made a whole decade before it’s supposed to get made?”

The car got quiet, the only sound being the audio from the movie still playing through the speakers. Raising an eyebrow, entire face contorted in confusion, soft  laughter sputtered out of your lips at the simple comment.

“I…what? Johnny that…” his smile grew, as did your laughter as you struggled to get your words out. “Johnny, that doesn’t make any sense?”

“I’m aware,” his hand reached out, thumb and index finger pinching your chin between the soft pads of his fingers. Your breath caught, laughter dying down as you just stared at him, as he drew small circles into your skin, heat blooming under his touch. “You were getting sad. I just don’t like seeing you sad.”

Johnny’s words were so sincere. Not a hint of his usual charm, not a single signature Storm smirk in sight, just genuine affection. Genuine care for you, for your thoughts, for the way your memories made you feel.

The idea of never going home again hurt, but the idea of leaving the Fantastic Four? Of never seeing Johnny Storm again? That was starting to hurt even more.

Even as his blue Corvette was parked in front of the Baxter Building again late that night, headlights flickering off and plunging the car into darkness except for the street lights around the building, your eyes kept flickering back to him.

Driving through Queens, you no longer thought back on the memories of walking through the city one night with Steve when you were younger. Now, you thought about the diner, about the smile on Johnny’s face as he watched you try that milkshake in the dead of night. As you crossed over the bridge into the city, you didn’t think of the nights you and Wanda would sit on the edge and watch the city lights, you instead watched the way the lights danced over Johnny’s skin through the glass.

The elevator of the Baxter Building popped open on the floor of the main living room. The building was quiet, just a lamp in the corner by the staircase to the bedrooms lit up, everyone else fast asleep.

Johnny stepped out of the elevator, pausing just barely still in the doorway. One arm leaning on doors, keeping them open, you both just stood still and watched one another for a moment.

“For a not date, this very much felt like a date,” you threw at him after a moment. Those blue eyes of his lit up, smile lines etching themselves into his skin as his little grin grew immediately.

“Oh sweetheart, this definitely wasn’t a date. Our first date would be a lot different, trust me,”

You hummed, taking a step forward in the elevator, eyes never leaving his. There was barely space left between the two of you now. Johnny's sharp intake of breath was evident, the smile on your lips growing as you ignored every little voice in your head telling you this was a terrible idea.

“What would our first date be like?”

Surprise crawled into his expression. Eyes wide and bright, the smile on his face warped into something you couldn’t quite place. The hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks crawled forward, gingerly placing itself against your waist. Not pulling you closer, just lying there: steady, grounding, present. You didn’t push him away.

“The Regent,” he spoke softly but certainly, eyes never straying from yours. “Exclusive little dance hall just a few blocks away. Live band every night. You’d look just as beautiful as you always do, and I’d get to spend the entire night spinning you around in circles. Making you smile, watching you laugh, holding you close. That would be our first date.”

You hummed, stepping just a hair closer to him. His fingers flexed along your waist, squeezing ever so slightly, as one of your hands came to rest on his chest, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this,”

“Every night since the moment I realized you weren’t a threat that was coming to destroy my entire world…again,”

“I don’t know,” you teased, hand curling into the fabric of his shirt. “According to Sue, you’re kind of into that thing. I could always coat myself in some shiny silver paint if that does it for you.”

He huffed out a puff of air in laughter, tugging you in until you were pressed to his chest in the doorway of the elevator.

“No, you just have to be you. The pretty little witch that could cut off my oxygen supply with a flick of her wrist is all I need. All I want,”

Your eyes trailed down, along the bridge of his nose, until they settled on the pink of his lips. As you spoke, you never looked away from them.

“When would this date be?”

“Tomorrow night, 8 on the dot,”

“That’s so soon, eager?”

“Extremely, I’ve only been thinking about this for two months,”

Your laughter was soft as your eyes finally trailed back to his, only to find them settled on your lips in turn.

“It’s a date, then,”

His blue eyes found yours, shining with an affection that made your knees week. The hand gripping your waist trailed up, fingers dancing along every curve of your body, until it curled around your cheek to cup it within his hand. The heat of his skin bloomed through yours, sending a single shiver down your spine.

“You know,” his voice was low, eyes blown slightly wider than they had been before, as his eyes quickly darted back down to your lips for a moment. “This would be the moment during the date where I’d probably try and kiss you.”

Even with the flutter of butterflies through your chest, head feeling lighter than it ever had before, your lips curled into a wide grin. Eyes glowing blue for just a moment, a small burst of magic left the hand resting on his chest, pushing him backward and out of the elevator doors.

Johnny’s wide eyes watched you as he caught himself, steadying himself on the ground as he stared at you with a dumbfounded smile. You only returned the look, pressing the button for the guest floor without ever breaking eye contact.

“Guess you’ll have to try your luck tomorrow night,”

Even with the amount of bravado laced into your words as the elevator doors swung shut, cutting you off from Johnny’s captivating gaze, nothing could quell the swell of emotion building behind your chest at the simple thought of the blonde man who’d managed to capture your heart without even really trying.

❤︎

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you want to go on a date with matchstick. I mean, he’s my buddy, he's a great kid, but come on. There’s no one waiting for you back in your universe?”

Ben’s comment earned him another affectionate eyeroll from you, along with a deadpan look shot across the kitchen island counter.

He was deep into making a fresh batch of cookies that he had been given the recipe for, the little old woman he’d met claiming they could match the quality of Maisie’s cookies. Reed was skeptical of the recipe, trying to offer advice from further down the counter, but Ben waved him off every single time.

Little Franklin was sitting in his highchair at the counter between you and Sue, babbling incoherently as he played with the little pieces of cereal laid on the counter in front of him. You were simply flicking the little pieces around with little tendrils of blue magic, Sue laughing every single time Franklin tried to catch a piece and you yanked it away.

“No, Ben, there’s no one waiting for me back home,” was the answer you gave the man, never looking up once as you continued to toy with the food on the counter. “Being a superhero for most of your life kind of makes dating an impossible situation.”

“I, for one, fully support this,” Sue chimed in, rising from her chair to refill Franklin’s bottle on the counter. She passed behind you, reaching out to help smooth down the white long sleeve blouse along your shoulders, forcing you to adjust it along your waist where it was tucked into the navy blue slacks she had helped you pick out earlier on. “This is the first time I’ve seen Johnny so head over heels for a woman in a way that might just stick. He worships the ground that you walk on, I love to see it.”

“It helps that you could kill him if you really wanted to,” Ben threw in for good measure, ducking the slap that Sue tried to land on his shoulder. “Sometimes I think it’s a secret kink of his-”

“Okay, I don’t want to hear about what kinks my little brother may or may not have,”

You laughed at the antics you had grown so used to from the group in front of you. Franklin got upset with the constant moving of his little cereal bits, grabbing a handful and tossing them toward you. Wide eyed at his antics, you grabbed onto his tiny hand, blowing a raspberry into the palm of his hand as his shrieks and giggles sounded throughout the room.

“Reed, I’m surprised you don’t have any comments to add in,” you threw in the super genius’ direction. “Nothing about how we’re from two different universes, or how this could blow up the entire multiverse?”

“I’ve been taking notes regarding it, actually,” Ben’s groan sounded through the room the second Reed said it, pulling a notebook out of his back pocket and flipping it open. “Your genetic makeup, based on previous tests, seemed to align with ours, but that doesn’t mean that fundamentally there isn’t something woven into your DNA that doesn’t match with ours. There’s also the idea that, given you’re from two different universes, you were never supposed to meet, so if you managed to fall in love there could be an unforeseen breakdown of the fabric of the-”

Sue’s hand immediately clamped over her husband’s mouth, giving him an unimpressed look, as she shot you the brightest smile she could manage. She slid the now refilled cup for Franklin across the counter to you as you caught it, laughing under your breath at the entire situation as you handed it over to the little boy beside you who made grabby hands in its direction.

“What Reed means to say is that you’re good for him, and honestly, we haven’t seen you as happy as you’ve been the last few weeks since you started spending more time with him. Since you got here he hasn’t done a single PR nightmare worthy thing. I think Lynne might want to get you the keys to the city for it,”

“What are we getting my girl keys to the city for?”

Maybe his charm never worked on you, his endless flirtatious moves and jokes. But in this moment, as he descended the stairs into the living room and your heart stuttered over several beats, you finally understood the hoards of women across the universe that had Johnny Storm plastered across their walls and their hearts.

The navy blue button up he adorned clung to him, almost slightly too tight on him as the fabric pulled in the creases under his arms and by his waist. It was tucked into a pair of white chino pants, accented with navy blue dress shoes. His smile was bright, cheeky as it always was, his hands clasped together behind his back as he made his way across the living room.

Taking a semi-shaky stand on the strappy heels that Sue had helped you into before, you met him halfway across the room, a hush having fallen over the kitchen as you felt their eyes watching every movement both of you made.

Johnny’s eyes trailed up and down your body the second you came to a stop in front of him, taking in the navy blue of your pants and the white of your blouse, before he cheekily shot you a wink.

“Twinning on the first date? What’s the slang they use in your time for that? Couple goals, wasn't it?”

“Couple?” your eyebrow shot up. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Storm. You have to earn that.”

“Oh, I’ll earn it,” his hands finally unclasped from behind his back, thrusting out toward you. “For you, gorgeous.”

A beautiful bouquet of flowers: Plumeria flowers. Glittering in an ombre of pinks and oranges, taking you back to one of those first nights on that couch just a few floors away. 

You took the bouquet in your hands, eyes never leaving Johnny’s as you inhaled the sweet scent that wafted from the petals. The adoration that shone in his blue eyes sent your heart into another flutter.

“My favorite,” you responded.

“What, did you think I’d forget?”

“Kind of,”

“Give me a little more credit, darling,” he lifted one of your hands from the bouquet, cradling it in his as he left a kiss along your knuckles. “When it comes to you, I don’t think I could forget even if I tried.”

“Can you two leave for your date and go flirt elsewhere? My god, this is painful to watch,”

Sue laughed at Ben’s comment, and you joined in. Johnny shot the man a look, flipping him the bird that you were sure was being shot right back at him from behind your back.

Sue saddled up to your side seconds later, plucking the bouquet from your hands with a soft smile.

“I’ll put these in water for you and leave them upstairs,” she shot her eyes to Johnny, narrowing them. “Treat her well or I will cover for her when she drags your lifeless body back later tonight.”

Too busy laughing, you never even noticed Johnny’s eye roll toward his sister. The only thing you could comprehend as he pulled you into the awaiting elevator was the feeling of his fingers slipping into the empty spaces between yours, intertwining your hand with his.

It felt right. Too right for two people who should have never met one another.

The Regent was situated just a few blocks away from the Baxter Building, the perfect distance to walk straight there. You weren’t complaining, not with the way Johnny gripped your hand like he was afraid you’d pull it away, every so often tugging it gently so that your body fell into his,  arm brushing against his arm.

“We fought with Moleman–well, I guess he prefers to be called Harvey–right here,” he pointed out just a few blocks from the Baxter Building, gesturing toward the blocked off area right beside a small park. There were fences up around what looked like a giant hole in the ground with just the very top of a building sticking out of it, signs indicating ‘keep out’ to everyone that walked past. “He runs Subterranea, the whole civilization under New York.”

“There’s an entire city under this city?” you questioned, looking up at him in alarm.

“Oh yeah, you guys don’t have that?” he quirked an eyebrow toward you as you shook your head in response. “He stole the entire Pan Am building, sinking it down into the ground before we could stop him. Been years and they’re still working on what to do with it.”

You took a single glance around: 45th Street and Park Avenue. The familiar intersection made you smile, one that Johnny seemed to understand all too well. Taking a quick glance around to  ensure that there weren’t too many people watching, you slipped your hand from Johnny’s in order to tilt his head to look at where the building used to stand. With a single wave of your fingertips toward his temples, blue seeping into his eyes, you could see the moment they widened at the sight you were projecting to him.

“In my world, this was the site of the Avengers tower,” you could see the glamour you were showing him, but you knew it like the back of your hand. The tower that hung high above the skyline of the city, the shining ‘A’ that matched the one hanging from the belt of your suit. “It was Stark Tower, until Tony decided to fashion it into a base of operations for the team after the battle of New York.”

The vision faded, the traces of your magic leaving Johnny’s eyes, as they turned back to look at you. His hand found yours again without hesitation, fingers tangling with yours again as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him.

“How do you possibly get cooler and more interesting with every passing thing you tell me and show me? It’s not fair,”

Johnny filled every second of the walk with story after story. A diner on the corner that he’d rescued a little girl from during another fight in the city, and the way she’d hid behind her father shyly the second he’d dropped her back down on the ground. Another diner just a block away that he’d dragged Reed to after he’d locked himself in his lab for upwards of 48 hours, not having eaten a single thing to the point where Sue was concerned he’d just pass out on the floor in front of his chalkboard. The bakery that sat underneath a row of apartments that Johnny was convinced had the best pie in the world, but Ben still argued there wasn’t a single bakery in the world that could compare to Maisie’s over on Yancy Street.

Before you knew it, you were standing before The Regent. Elegant, sign shimmering and lighting up the darkened sidewalk before it. One single man stood at the door, surveying the area. With one look to Johnny, he nodded his head toward the door to grant him access.

Stepping into that room felt like entering an entirely new world. Light wooden floors that matched the light wood of the walls, which were decorated themselves with photographs upon photographs of couples and celebrities dancing and performing on the stage. The stage itself was beautiful, shining bright at the end of the room as the lights illuminated the band that was currently engrossed in some Elvis song that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The walls were all draped with velvety red curtains from the ceiling to the floor, accenting the dimly lit room, dance floor, stage and bar in color. Couples, friends, groups all mingled about, dining at the tables elevated at the back of the room, mingling along the walls, and dancing together in front of the stage.

“Of everything you’ve dragged me to these last few months,” you spoke up, voice rising to be heard over the music as the band switched songs, playing a cover of River Deep - Mountain High now. “This is the most 60s feeling thing yet.”

“And that, sweetheart, is why I saved it for a proper date,” Johnny appeared in front of you, your hand still clasped in his, as he tugged you forward. “Come on!”

Your laughter rang through the room as Johnny pulled you into the throws of people, finding an open spot among the crowd on the floor.

He spun you, that smile never dropping from his lips as you twirled in circles. Each twirl left you dizzy as the song played on in the background, the groups of people around you clapping along to the beat from the band. It was inevitable that you’d eventually stumble in the heels you weren’t accustomed to. Johnny’s arm was there, like you somehow knew it would be, curling around your waist. He dipped you, cheekily pretending as if it was all meant to happen, before spinning you back up onto your heels and pulling you into his chest.

“Come on, I can’t have you tripping and falling for me just yet,” he teased, hands holding yours as he spun you out once again just to pull you right back in.

“You try dancing in heels!” you shot back at him, earning a bright laugh from the man still dancing you around in circles. “We never danced like this at Tony’s parties.”

“I thought you said he threw a lot of those,”

“Yeah, but they were more stand around, drink, and talk parties than dancing,” you took a single glance around the room, at every woman being danced around by their friends and their partners. Swishing skirts, some almost touching the floor, loosely hanging from their bodies. “Not that the dresses I was forced to wear would've allowed for dancing. Too tight fitting–the one had a slit almost the entire way up my thigh.”

Johnny’s hand tugged you in at that moment, your chest flush against his. His lips skimmed over the edge of your ear, voice husky as he whispered into it just loudly enough for you to hear.

“I need you to not give me a mental image of your 21st century clothing while we’re in public, honey,”

A laugh bubbled from your throat as you pulled back to see him fully. The ways his eyes had darkened just slightly, the blue of his eyes almost completely overtaken, had your stomach doing a flip. But it wasn’t enough to stop the slightly sadistic smile that overtook your lips.

“Why? It’s so much fun, seeing you all worked up,” you let your fingers touch his jaw gently, nails dragging down the expanse of his neck and to the small bit of skin just barely visible along his collarbone, before you pushed away from him. “Come on, let’s get drinks!”

You could just barely hear his groan of “You’re going to be the death of me,” behind you as he followed you diligently through the crowd, his hand finding the small of your back within seconds so that you were never quite far from him.

Seated on one of the barstools, sipping gingerly at the drink Johnny had procured for you, it was impossible not to watch Johnny. 

The way he animatedly retold a story about how they’d been invited to a fundraiser years ago in a dance hall, how he’d talked Ben into getting up onto the stage to dance. The way he so enthusiastically greeted those around the bar that did recognize him, as they slid in little comments about if you were the “mystery woman” that the papers had begun to pick up on over the last two months. He deflected them with ease, remembering many of those that said hello to him, asking such personal things about their families, their jobs, as if they were his best friends.

Your laughter spilled into your drink as the band played their own version of The Twist, and Johnny chose to demonstrate his moves directly in front of you. He smiled wide, eyes never leaving you, as he mouthed the words in your direction, following along with the dance every other person in the club was doing along with him.

“Johnny Storm: a superhero, an avid golfer, a lover of space, and now we can add dancer to that extensive list,” you teased, taking the final sip of your drink before leaving the empty glass on the counter behind you. “Do you frequent these dance halls a lot?”

“When I was a teenager I found my way here pretty often,” he answered easily as the song came to an end, the room cheering out and erupting in applause for the band. With one arm, he leaned against the counter beside you, looking up at you. “I wouldn't call myself a dancer, though. Just had enough practice to be semi-decent.”

“Practice, huh?” you questioned, just as the band started back up again. “How many girls have you taken dancing before?”

The band kicked back up, their next song already ready to go. You recognized it immediately: that same Frank Sinatra song that had played in the car through Long Island barely 24 hours prior. Johnny only smiled softly, standing out in front of you with his hand outstretched toward you.

“None. Promised myself that only one woman would ever have the pleasure of seeing me dance. Now, will you do me the honor?”

It wasn’t a line, not one of his usually charming, flirtatious lines. Not the way in which he said it: so genuinely, so vulnerably. You slipped your hand into his without a second thought.

Johnny guided you back out onto the dance floor, finding another open space among the couples around with ease. His arm slid around your waist, resting there as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t want to dwell on the fact that it really did feel so right, in a way you had never felt before.

His hand pressed firmly into your lower back, holding your body close to his. You could feel that unnatural heat that radiated off of his skin through the layers of clothing that adorned your body. One of your arms found its place around his shoulder, hand curled around the back of his neck and tangling just slightly with the hairs that laid there. Your other hand was clasped in his, taking in every bit of warmth that seeped from his palm into yours.

I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast. I fall in love too terribly hard for love to ever last.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked him quietly, nose just barely brushing along the edge of his jawline as you danced together, swayed back and forth across the floor with him.

“Anything,”

“You didn’t have to trust me that day in the park. You could’ve assumed I was a threat, taken me out. Instead, you took me in,” you closed your eyes, leaning in just slightly as your nose brushed over his jawline once again. “Then, you took it upon yourself to make me feel comfortable, to not let me feel alone in a universe that isn’t mine…why?”

“I mean, from the moment I saw you I thought you were pretty, but it was because I felt like I was looking at me,” Johnny’s answer was simple. No charm, no jokes, just the truth. “I saw myself for a moment, the me I was when we came home from space with powers. Confused, angry, terrified of what I had become. I didn’t know what to do. You looked so lost, so alone, and you continued to look that way every day. I didn’t…I didn’t want you to feel alone. I didn’t want you to feel like I did when I came home that day, when I felt like I had to lock myself away. It didn’t help that…I kind of fell for you along the way.”

Any hesitation in your heart, any thought in your brain still telling you that this was a terrible idea, that it could never work, melted away in that single second.

My heart should be well schooled ‘cause I've been fooled in the past. And still I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast.

“Can I ask you something?” he tacked on as your brain and heart still searched for a way to respond to him. All you could give him was a nod, one he could feel from where your skin touched his. “I’ve been flirting with you every day since we met. What made you finally say yes to a date?”

“Because I wasn’t saying yes to Jonathan Storm, the Human Torch, one of the four protectors of this Earth,” you told him simply, leaning back just slightly so that you could catch his gaze as you spoke, bodies still swaying back and forth to the swell of the violin. “I was saying yes to Johnny. The flame boy who decided to trust me. The guy that does the dumbest shit just to make his nephew laugh. The only one who’s made the pain of what I’ve lost lessen these last few months. I didn’t fall for all the bravado, or the charming lines, I just fell for him.”

Your confession was laid bare, as was his. He didn’t say a single word. Johnny simply smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to the crown of your head, before letting his eyes close and his forehead rest against yours. You followed suit, mirroring him, simply existing in the space within his arms.

My heart should be well schooled ‘cause I've been fooled in the past. And still I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast.

What felt like hours later, while also feeling like no time had passed at all, you found your hand clasped in Johnny’s once more. Roaming the streets of New York in the cool air of the night, a giddiness present in each of you that could only be compared to the feeling of pure childlike wonder and joy.

All you could think about was how right it felt, being with him. Having his hand in yours. Being in his arms. Universes separated you, but in this moment, you felt as if you had never belonged somewhere more than you did right now.

“Okay, okay,” Johnny forced out through his laughter, leaning into you as you turned another street corner, trying to find the next question to ask in the long line of questions you had been throwing back and forth. “Favorite fight that you had with the Avengers?”

“Oh god, I don’t know if I can answer that,” you responded easily with a laugh, shaking your head at the thought. “None of them were really fun, they all kind of left immense damage in their wake. One ended with me locked in a high security prison in the middle of the ocean for a short period of time, so, I guess that was fun.”

“That…that sounds like the opposite of fun,”

“Oh, it was. It sucked immensely,” he shoved his shoulder into yours for the comment. “Okay, my turn. Favorite memory with Reed?”

“When he asked me permission to marry Sue. I thought he was going to piss himself, I’ve never seen the man look so nervous,” Johnny laughed, tugging on your hand to bring you in closer to his side again. “Okay, how about your favorite thing you can do with your magic?”

Now that was a show instead of a tell question. Dropping his hand, you slid into the space in front of Johnny on the side walk, shuffling backwards against the pavement. He cocked an eyebrow as you shot him a tiny grin, before your hands at your sides began to glow in that familiar blue as your body lifted off of the grow by just a few feet, uncaring for anyone that could possibly see you in the area.

Johnny stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded as his wide eyes looked up at you. He sputtered for a moment, trying to find his words.

“Wait–you could fly this entire time, and you didn’t tell me?”

“You never asked!”

Johnny’s body ignited in flames, a sight you’d sparingly seen over your time in their world. From the chest down, every bit of him burned in those bright orange and red licks of fire as he, too, flew above the ground before you, back to being level with you once more.

“We could’ve been flying everywhere instead of driving!”

“Well, let’s just have some fun with it now,” you shot back with a wink, before propelling yourself upward. “Keep up, flame boy!”

The chill in the New York breeze was a familiar feeling, beating against your face as you propelled yourself up into the air, flying along the edge of the buildings. Johnny followed along right beside you, the heat of his flames fanning out over you and cancelling out the chill that night air brought with it.

His eyes never left yours as you spun around a corner of the building, propelling yourself further up into the air. You looked down, watching him with a smile as you hung there high above the buildings and the city of New York. Johnny joined you in seconds, hovering just in front of you. The clouds practically kissed your body, the city so far down below you both, leaving you alone together among the clouds.

You could see it, the glint in his eyes, the way they flickered down to your lips for just a second before glancing back up, pretending as if they’d never strayed away. He leaned in, and you let him for just a moment, before letting your body fall backward and freefall through the air back toward the city.

His laughter echoed through the sky as he flew down after you, following the sound of your own laughter. He saddled up to your side, flying down alongside you once again before you took a sudden turn, propelling yourself toward the rooftop of a building just barely in the distance.

Your feet touched down on the private rooftop moments later, magic dissipating from your fingertips as you landed, taking in a deep breath as the rush of flying left your body in one fell swoop. The rooftop garden you’d landed in was clearly one for a private residence, somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, but you didn’t care. Not with the smell of the flowers invading your senses, the glint of the dim fairy lights strung around the roof bathing you in their light, and the view of the Baxter Building dead ahead.

Johnny’s feet touched the ground just moments after you, the sound of his shoes hitting the flooring alerting you. Spinning, he was standing just a few feet away, watching you with a little smile as he shook his head with laughter.

“You might be insane,”

“Sorry,” your giggles fell into the mix with his own laughter. “It’s been a minute since I’ve flown. I’ve missed it.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever flown with someone on a first date,” Johnny countered, taking just a few steps forward toward you. “Unless you count Shalla-Bal throwing me off her surfboard in space, but that wasn’t really a date.”

“Guess this was a first for both of us, then,”

You matched his steps, barely a few feet between the two of you now. Johnny didn’t make another step forward, though, didn’t close the space separating you. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed, his foot tapped against the ground, and his hands clearly didn’t know what to do with themselves.

“What’s wrong?” you asked gently, even though you could practically see the nerves rolling off of him. He laughed, shaking his head as he glanced to the ground for just a moment, before back to you.

“I…I’m kind of nervous, if you can believe it,”

You hummed, taking the initiative to step up into his space, barely a few inches separating the two of you now. Your eyes never left him.

“Why? I thought the charming Johnny Storm had been on a bunch of first dates?” you teased.

He laughed breathily, eyes darting to your lips for just a second.

“Not ones that mattered…not like you do,”

You barely let him finish his sentence before you curled your hands around the back of his neck, tugging him down to you and slotting your lips against his.

It was short, but poured every bit of passion into it that swarmed through your heart and your head. Your lips moved against his just slightly, still testing the waters as the heat that coursed through his skin and into yours felt as if it was sinking straight down into your bones. Johnny’s lips were soft, supple, a shaky breath leaving his lips and fanning out over yours the second that they touched for the first time. Something in your head clicked at the feeling, something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, making you light-headed as your fingers just barely curled into the hair kissing the nape of his neck.

It was you that pulled away first. Barely a few inches away, the heat of his body still filling the air between you. His blue eyes bore down into your, wide and full of awe, lips slightly parted. A smile stretched across his face first, a matching once crawling across your own as you let your hands fully dive into his hair.

Johnny moved first, hands enveloping your waist and tugging you until your body was almost one with his, his mouth devouring yours in a kiss that had your knees almost crumbling to the ground.

Those heated hands swarmed your body desperate to touch every single expanse of you that they could in the way you were sure he’d thought about, in the way you never wanted to admit you sometimes dreamed about. Goosebumps crawled across your skin with every move of his hands, with every flex of his fingers and they pressed into you. His lips moved against yours like a starved man, slick with spit as your mouth opened to him, letting him invade every bit of you that you could, his tongue slipping just barely in and grazing over your bottom lip. A moan fell–from you or Johnny, neither of you knew–but the sound only spurred you both on.

His hands tightened their grip around your waist, holding him to you like a possession, one he couldn’t bear to lose. Claiming you. Your hand wound into his hair, tugging to elicit a groan from him, as you let your other trail down to rest over the patch of skin just barely visible under the single unbuttoned part of his shirt.

When your lips finally broke, soft pants filling the air between you, neither of you dared to look away. You couldn’t. It was like being in a trance, being pulled to the man in front of you almost magnetically. He leaned in, pressing a series of soft pecks against your lips, hands still flexing across your hips with each little peck that sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“This is crazy, right?” he muttered out between kisses. You hummed in response, matching each kiss of his with your own through your grin, hands still carding through his hair.

“What, falling for each other when we come from completely different universes?”

“Exactly that,” he responded, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, before his forehead rested against yours. Those blue eyes bore down into yours, a soft smile over taking his kiss bitten lips again. “I don’t care much, though. Not when it just…feels so right.”

Your smile matched his in seconds as you leaned forward, stealing yet another kiss that flooded your body with warmth.

“Me too,”

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so crazy: falling for someone universes away from you. Even universes away, maybe Johnny Storm was always meant to be yours, always meant to be the missing piece to your incomplete puzzle.

❤︎

Johnny Storm had been called many things over the years by the media. A playboy, a womanizer, noncommittal. They were all wrong.

He preferred the term hopeless romantic, especially when it came to you.

Especially in this exact moment, leaning against the doorway of his bedroom in the early hours of the afternoon to see you sprawled out, tangled in the covers that were halfway off his bed. You looked as if you belonged there, and in Johnny’s eyes, you did. There was nowhere else that you belonged than right by his side.

Crossing the room quietly, trying not to disturb you, he gently placed the glass of water he’d ventured into the kitchen for down on the bedside table. He got distracted, as he typically did, at the sight of the polaroids splayed out across the wooden table. Taking them gingerly in his hands, terrified to ruin them, the smile that crossed his face couldn’t be wiped away.

You wrapped in his arms along the Coney Island beach in the early hours of the morning. One of just you, sprawled out in his bed in nothing but one of his button downs that fell down to your thighs. You on the couch, Franklin curled into your lap as you read him a book. His favorite one, sneakily taken by Sue late one night, wrapped in his arms on the balcony of the Baxter Building, lips pressed together through smiles.

He loved you. Johnny loved you more than he ever believed he could love someone in life. Multiverse be damned, you were it for him. You were meant to be his and his alone, and he was hell bent on loving you to the fullest extent every single day that he could, knowing someone could come along and rip you away at any moment.

But the universe had given him a year. An entire year to love you in every way that he could, to prove to you that you were it for him. He thanked whatever being out there in the multiverse he needed to every single day for the time he’d been given with you.

Johnny crawled onto the bed, tugging the comforter down from around your shoulders so he could fully see you. His pillow was clutched between your arms, the space in which he usually occupied. His white t-shirt, bearing the 4 logo that you’d made fun of him for months ago, covered your body, falling to the middle of your bare thighs.

He leaned in with a smile, pressing kiss after kiss to the bare skin of your arms he could see, trailing down to leave heat filled kisses to the bare skin of your thighs. He’d barely left three there before he could hear your giggle, body flipping over onto your back so that you could look down on him with a raised eyebrow and a grin.

“You left me,” you teased with a fake little pout. “I had nothing to hold but a pillow.”

“I’m so sorry, princess,” Johnny mumbled through his smirk, pressing yet another kiss into your thighs. His hands traveled up the sides of your legs, pushing his t-shirt with them as his kisses trailed further up the expanse of your skin. “How could I ever make it up to you?”

“I-I don’t know…round three doesn’t sound that bad,”

Johnny hummed through his laughter, mumbling a quiet “I love you” into your skin. He knew you could hear it, though, he knew that you knew it.

He reveled in every little noise that left your lips, every puff of air that was on the cusp of being a moan as he lavished every inch of your skin in a kiss.

“Look, you’re both adults so I try not to tell you what to do, but it’s the middle of the afternoon and–JESUS CHRIST, JOHNNY!”

He’d never sprang away so fast, throwing himself so hard to the side of the bed that he fell straight off of it to the floor with a thud. Your laughter filled the room as he crawled back up the side of the bed, your hand covering your mouth to conceal your laughter and the comforter pulled back up your legs.

Johnny immediately shot a glare at his sister, standing in the doorway of his room with her eyes covered by her hand.

“Sue, you have no one to blame but yourself for this–”

“You could have closed the door! I don’t need to see you doing all of that, my god,” Sue shook her head, peaking between her fingers to finally see that there was nothing happening, before dropping her hand. “Reed wants you in the lab for a few more tests, okay, he promised those would be the last ones this week. Just…look decent and meet us down there, okay?”

She grumbled the entire way out of the room, muttering comments about scarring her for life.

Johnny only rolled his eyes, throwing himself back onto the bed to hover above you. Nothing could ruin his mood, not when you looked up at him like that, smile bright and eyes full of adoration.

“That’s the third time this month she’s done that,” you managed to speak through giggles, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “She’s going to kill us one of these days.”

Johnny only hummed, ignoring the comment. Instead, his fingers trailed down your neck, grasping the chain of the necklace that rested against your chest, a little charm of a Plumeria dangling off the end. His Christmas gift to you, one of the many you received as you were showered in them by his entire family. He pressed a kiss to the flower, looking up to you, only to see that same soft look in your eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered out, leaning in to capture your lips in his before you could speak back. He could feel you sigh into the feeling, your fingers dancing over his cheek lightly as you kissed him back just as softly.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back against his lips, before your hand rested on his chest with a little push. “But we’re going to go down to that lab because if we stay here another second, Sue is going to be walking in on a sight that she really doesn’t want to see.”

Johnny groaned, but relented. Falling back to his knees, his hands wound under the covers to your hips, pulling you up to your knees quickly on the bed. His mouth found yours in an instant, cementing another kiss there just for good measure.

“Round three after, right?”

It was your magic this time that pushed him, sending him tumbling back off the bed as your laughter rang out through the room.

“If you can behave, then maybe,”

Still clad in his t-shirt, having thrown on the old pair of ripped jeans you’d arrived in this universe in over a year ago, Johnny tucked you under his arm the second you stepped out of his bedroom, unable to go a second without touching you in any way shape or form. You never complained, even leaned into him as he pressed a kiss to your hairline.

“Lynne was able to get us reservations at that one restaurant you’ve been wanting to try for tonight, by the way,” he told you as you stepped into the elevator, hitting the button for Reed’s lab instantly. He grinned at the way your smile brightened, eyes turning to look up at him.

“Oh my god, that new one in Times Square?”

“That’s the one,” Johnny shot back. He let his arm fall from your shoulders, letting it wrap around your waist. His hand found the edge of his shirt, dipping beneath it so that his hand could press against the skin of your bare back. “Thinking maybe afterward we could go for a little fly around the city, sit down on the Brooklyn Bridge for a little while.”

Your hands cupped his cheeks almost instantly after he spoke, pulling him into a kiss. A feeling Johnny was sure he would never grow tired of, never get enough of.

“It’s a date,”

Stepping out into Reed’s lab, the entire team was gathered around. Reed was fussing over a machine, just as he normally was, with Sue trying desperately to calm him down. Ben was entertaining Franklin over on the couch, reading to him one of his favorite books.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Reed called out, ignoring the doting of Johnny’s sister as he waved you over frantically. “I just want to run a few more tests for this week. I changed some of the parameters, I just want to make sure that we have all of our bases covered.”

You gave Johnny’s hand a quick squeeze before crossing the room, sliding into the same chair you always sat in for Reed’s tests, presenting your arm for the usual blood draw. Reed was convinced that it was necessary to test your blood, to do weekly scans of your body, to ensure that there were no lasting effects on your from staying in the wrong universe for an extended period of time like you had.

Johnny joined Ben and Franklin over on the couch, leaning down to leave a little kiss on his little nephew’s forehead, one that left the boy smiling and giggling.

“Johnny,” Franklin was barely able to say his name, stumbling over most of the letters, but he heard him loud and clear. He ruffled the boy's hair with a laugh, kneeling down in front of the couch.

“Hey buddy,” Johnny glanced over at Ben, at the smirk on the man’s rocky mouth, and raised an eyebrow in question. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Love just looks good on you, kid,” Ben teased.

Johnny shot a look over his shoulder, straight toward you. Smiling in that chair, laughing at something Sue said, as Reed drew the blood from your arm with a practiced ease for his various tests.

“Nah, it’s just loving her,” Johnny glanced back at Ben, a hint of a sheepish grin on his lips as he shrugged. “I don’t know how to describe it, man. She’s just…I think she’s just it.”

Ben smiled, that knowing one that he always had, as his rocky hand came down to pat Johnny’s back.

“I think so too. You deserve this, matchstick. You were practically made for each other,”

Johnny agreed. He was trying to decide mentally if one year was too soon to officially make your last name Storm like he had promised months ago.

The quiet, the lightheartedness that filled the lab, couldn’t stay forever. Not when the alarms across the room began to blare.

Every head shot up at once, turning to look down the length of the lab to the computers where the alarm was blaring. Reed shot to his feet, taking a step in front of Sue as you ripped the needle from your arm in seconds to join them.

“Johnny-”

“On it!”

He’d practically sprinted halfway down the lab at that point, pulling up the alarm system at the designated workstation. That same map that had foreshadowed your arrival blinked on the screen, the same blip that showed your arrival in Gramercy Park blinking on the screen–right on the Baxter Building.

“It’s the same readings as when she got here,” Johnny called out down the lab, eyes frantically darting back and forth between you and Reed. “The blip, though, it’s right here on the building-”

There was sound from right beside him, startling him. Johnny whipped around, little sparks of yellow and gold flashing in the air beside him.

He instantly took steps back, shuffling backward and away from the growing sparks until his legs hit the back of the couch. Ben stood somewhere behind him, holding Franklin protectively in his arms. Reed held onto Sue across the room from where Johnny stood, keeping her at his side, as you stepped up in front of them: eyes glowing, magic dancing at your finger tips.

Until those sparks of energy grew, larger and larger, until they formed the makings of a small circle. Johnny could hear the second your breath caught, that glow in your eyes fading and the magic at your fingertips vanishing in seconds as you took another step forward.

“O-Oh my god…”

The sparking circle grew, almost the size of an entire person, before it stabilized, and out of what Johnny could only assume was a portal stepped a man. Older, tired, short hair and the remnants of cuts along his face. Body draped in elegant robes of purple and yellow he’d never seen before. His eyes darted around the room, before they landed on you, and he let out the loudest sigh Johnny had ever heard.

“Oh, thank god-”

“WONG!”

You’d practically flown across the room and into the man’s arms. Wong hadn’t wasted a second, hugging you back just as tightly as you cried, holding onto the man for dear life.

Johnny froze: Wong. He’d heard that name before. You talked about him all the time. The Sorcerer Supreme, the man you were supposed to wait for before you performed the spell that had landed you here in the first place. Johnny felt his heart break at the realization. He could feel the eyes of his sister on him from across the room.

His time had finally run out. Home had finally come to take you back from him.

“When I tell you that you aren’t to touch the Book of Vishanti without me, it is not a suggestion,” Wong scolded, hands clasping your shoulders as you violently wiped your tears across the room. “I already had to deal with Stephen breaking into the restricted section years ago, I do not want a repeat of that again. Do you know how difficult it is to find your energy signature through the vast multiverse?”

“I know, I know,” you nodded your head, before shaking it back and forth. “No performing any spells from an ancient book without your supervision. I got it.”

Wong nodded once, before his eyes finally glanced over the rest of the room. They settled on Reed and Sue, Ben and Franklin, and finally on Johnny.

“Do I need to worry about-”

“No, no, they’re friends. They’re practically family,” you assured the man, turning and gesturing out to the room. “This is the Fantastic Four. They’re essentially the Avengers of their universe…”

Your words trailed off as you finally met Johnny’s eyes again. He could see it, the moment that the realization seemed to settle in over you like it already had for him, and he thought his heart was going to break all over again.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see the glance that Wong sent between both you and him. A knowing one, one that spoke volumes without having to speak at all. He sighed, the sound ringing through the otherwise quiet lab, as he squeezed your shoulder.

“Five minutes,” Wong told you gently, his gaze drifting back to Johnny for just a minute. “There’s no telling if your time here has done any damage to the time streams. We need to get you home…I can give you five minutes.”

You only nodded, tearing your eyes away from Johnny. There was no arguing.

He knew this day would come, even if selfishly he wished it never would.

His eyes never left you as you crossed the room, practically flying into Sue’s arms. Johnny felt as if his head was under water. He could see your lips moved, Sue’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear a word either of you said. 

In his head, Johnny could guess what you were saying. A thank you for taking you in, for taking care of you, for all the times Sue had helped you dress for a date or taken you out into the city with her. He was sure Sue was thanking you for simply loving her little brother.

Reed pulled you into a tentative hug, short but still sweet. You didn’t exchange many words, but he could make out a “thank you” on his brother-in-law's lips.A thank you that simply encompassed everything, everything that he was sure Reed struggled to say.

Johnny saw your tears again when you stepped into Ben’s arms finally. A conversation that he was sure detailed the many early morning trips you’d made to Maisie’s together, or the late night talks that happened on the couch over drinks as some movie played on TV.

Franklin’s cries pierced the air, his hands making grabby motions toward you as he cried. You placed a single kiss to his head, walking away before you broke down.

Finally, you stood before him. Mascara running just slightly, tear stains littering your cheeks and down to your chin. You mustered the smallest of smiles that you could for him, albeit watery. Johnny tried to do the same, feeling the lump in his throat beginning to form.

“I thought I had three rules for you before you went home,” he managed to say, trying to swallow back the burning need to cry. You laughed, though the sound almost sounded like a sob, as you nodded your head.

“I’m leaving having accomplished two of those things. I guess that counts as a win,”

Johnny nodded, the beginnings of a sob almost bubbling out of his throat. Like two magnets pulled together, you fell into his arms. Head buried into his neck, Johnny’s one hand curled into your hair, tears slipping down his cheeks and soaking into the skin of the side of your head as your own tears soaked into his neck, your cries muffled by his skin.

“I love you,” he muttered into the side of your head, pressing kiss after kiss to your skin. “I don’t care. I love you. I love you more than anything.”

You pulled away, those red rimmed and watery eyes finding him, as you cupped his cheeks in your shaking hands.

“I love you too,” you whispered, stealing a kiss from his lips that took every bit of breath out of him. Your next words were whispered against his mouth. “This isn’t goodbye. I promise.”

Johnny managed a laugh, stealing another kiss as he gripped you as tightly as possible, hoping if he held on tight enough you wouldn’t slip away.

“What, you’re going to find a way to defy the multiverse to see me again? Abandon your home?”

“For you? Yeah,” you answer was short, meaningful, determined, definitive. Johnny believed every word. “I’ll see you again. And next time, I won’t have to leave. Because you’re my home, too.”

Johnny managed a smile, hoping it was as comforting as he wanted it to be, as he stole one last kiss. Not a goodbye, he wasn’t sure he could handle a goodbye. He wasn’t sure he could handle the idea of never seeing you again. This kiss was a promise. To what? He wasn’t sure. Maybe just a simple promise that he was yours.

“I’ll be counting the days,”

He couldn’t bear to look down at you again, afraid if he kissed you again he’d shove Wong back through that portal and find a way to hold you here forever. Johnny settled for a single kiss to your forehead, accented with the tears that were still running silently down his cheeks, before he let you go.

You slotted yourself back to Wong’s side, wiping at the tears that stained your cheeks. He placed a hand on your shoulder, and even Johnny could see how much it pained him to do this to you. He caught the slight flick of your hand, though, the slight burst of your magic, so small he wasn’t sure at first if he’d seen it correctly.

The room was silent as you and Wong stepped back through the glittering gold portal and onto the floor of the other side. Your eyes met his one last time, a watery smile crossing your lips, before it closed.

And in the blink of an eye, you were gone. Gone as if you’d never been there in the first place.

Franklin’s cries were still the only thing he could hear in the room, No one dared to speak, dared to break through the air, as Johnny’s eyes stayed locked on the last spot you had stood in.

“Johnny…”

He turned, tear filled eyes meeting with his family. The heartbroken look on Ben’s face, the conflicted look on Reed’s, and the absolute pity that shone through on Sue’s. She took a single step forward, but Johnny waved her off immediately, shaking his head as he wiped at his tears, forcing a smile.

“I-I’m fine. I just…I just need a minute,”

No one rushed after him, and he was thankful for it.

The entire elevator ride back up to his room was done in a daze, in a haze of emotions. His vision was blurry the entire time, but no more tears fell. He wasn’t sure he had more to cry.

Stepping into his room again, he felt like he could muster a few more tears. The bed was still unmade. The scent of your perfume, one you’d picked a few months ago with Sue, lingered in the air. Your clothes from the night before were strewn over a chair by his record player.

It was the only sign that you had, in fact, existed here in his universe. You weren’t a figment of his imagination.

Approaching his bed, wanting to bury himself in the lingering scent of you, his breath caught.

Lying there, on the unmade sheets, was a single flower. A single little Plumeria, remnants of blue magic dancing over and around its petals. Right below it? That same Polaroid Johnny loved so dearly.

He clutched it in his hands, willing himself to be back in the moment: holding you on the balcony that night, kissing you, telling you he loved you. As he did, your magic seeped across the bottom white edge of the photo, scrawling your handwriting across the bottom.

Unequivocally yours.

That, alone, was enough to bring a smile back to his lips.

Multiverse be damned: you were his. There was no one in this life or the next that Johnny Storm was convinced he could love more, just as there was no one that could love you the way he could.

You don’t even know which Adrian it is. Not yet. For a moment, you just look at each other, the silence of the room louder than anything you’ve ever heard. It’s so quiet, in fact, that you wonder distantly if you might be able to hear the sound of all this fucking blood actually leaving your body. Adrian is completely still, staring at you like he’s waiting for the hallucination to fade away. Waiting to wake from the nightmare.

And then the spell breaks, and he moves.

“No. No no no no.” He’s beside you in a second, gathering you into his arms and as his gloved hand cradles the back of your head, so so careful not to jostle you too much even in his desperation to hold you close to him. His voice is a little lower than the one you’re so used to. His movements are too practiced, like he may have done this exact same thing before. This must be the Adrian from this dimension. Look at you, being able to differentiate even at a time like this.

You can fix it. You can fix this. You just need to focus. You just need to fight through it. Right? You’ll be fine. You just need to…

“M’fine.” You try, and your voice is way too hoarse and there is just a little too much blood in your mouth to make that convincing. You’re not fine. You’re scared. You don’t want him to be shaking like this as he holds you. You don’t want to feel the memories coursing through him, see how his own worst nightmare is coming to life in his eyes again as he rips the mask off of his head to get a better look at you.

How sick is the world, that this is happening to him twice? The look on his face makes you feel more nauseous than the blood loss. You wonder if he looked like this before. If this was the last thing the other you saw. What a horrible sight, to have been her last one. Such a beautiful face twisted into so much pain.

You don’t want him to see this. You don’t want your Adrian to see this. Even now, instinct makes you want to protect them above all else. To hide like some kind of wounded animal so they won’t have to experience even an ounce of the fear and pain you’re feeling.. But where will you go? What will you do? You can’t…you can’t….

“Oh God. No. Not again. Look at me, baby. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just look at me. I-I can fix this. I can-“ His hand is on your stomach, covering yours like he might help to stop the flow of blood. It’s not gonna stop. You tried. It just keeps coming. You didn’t know you had this much blood in you. “You were supposed to be safe. You-fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Stay with me. Just stay with me.”

The sound of gunfire gets closer, but it’s beginning to sound a little distant. That can’t be good. You know the battle isn’t moving away. If anything, the popping of bullets should be getting louder, not more quiet. You have an overwhelming sense of something fading from you. Something vital that feels important. Every moment pulls it farther away. Makes it more difficult to grasp at. You think, if you lose it, there won’t be any coming back.

And then your Adrian backs into the room, two guns held in front of him. He fires two shots down the hall. You hear two thumps as people just out of sight go down.

“Sick! I got that guy in the-“

Your vision is a little fuzzy, but you register the moment he sees you. You hear one of his guns clatter to the ground. Hear a single word rip from his throat like sandpaper.

“No.”

And then he’s on you, another set of hands frantically covering your own and coming back sticky and red with blood.

You try to focus. You really do. When your Adrian looks at you, eyes barely visible behind his visor, there is a fear so deep and clawing there that it seeps into your very bones, and you nearly have to look away from him. It’s too much. It’s too awful. He should never, ever look that afraid. That amount of shock and horror looks wrong on the face of your beloved, goofy, crazy boyfriend.

Fiancée. If you manage to get through this, you’re gonna marry the shit out of him. And you’ll spend the rest of your life making sure he never looks this scared again.

“What did you do?” You remember his voice getting low, almost frighteningly so, when he thought the alternate version of himself might have been the one to leave the bruises and stitched up cuts on your skin. That tone had been jarring, but it was nothing like this one. There’s more fury in his voice than you’ve ever heard before, and he sounds so genuinely dangerous that your own skin prickles as if from some kind of primal instinct.

The safety clicks off of his gun, and he slams it so hard beneath Other Adrian’s chin that you’re sure it will leave a bruise. “What the FUCK did you do?!” You’ve never heard him shout like that before, either. Never heard him scream with so much anger. He’s about to shoot. You know that better than you know the sky is blue and that everything hurts.

“Stop.” It hurts to talk. Your lungs feel like they’re on fire. The other Adrian isn’t fighting back. Isn’t arguing. He’s looking right at you, eyes rimmed with tears and flooded with agony. You think, at this moment, if Adrian were to shoot, he might welcome it.

Your hand reaches out, and you try to grab at your Adrian’s arm. You feel like you’re underwater. You can’t let him pull the trigger. You can’t-

His attention turns to you so quickly it feels like whiplash. He puts down the gun, anger momentarily dropping away as he reaches to lift your head into his lap, and his free hand flies up to rip his mask off so quickly you think he might pull some of his hair out. So easily distracted when it comes to you. Two seconds ago, he was the most frightening thing you’ve ever seen, and now with one touch he’s cradling you like you’re the most valuable thing on this Earth. Fuck, you love him.

“Hey, hey. I need you to look at me, okay? You gotta stay with me. Please. Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” His lips press against your cheek. Your forehead. He’s trembling all over. His begging is different from his alternate’s. A little more chaotic, just like the rest of him, and shakier. “I-I’m gonna get you out of here. I’m gonna make it better. You gotta stay with me, okay? You promised you’d stay with me forever. It’s not forever if you die now. You promised forever. You fucking promised.”

The Other Adrian reaches for you. He doesn’t speak, just reaches for you. Your Adrian picks up the gun with one hand and presses the barrel of it into his forehead, barely moving his gaze from you.

“Don’t fucking touch her. You don’t fucking touch her.” He barely sounds like himself, and yet his other hand is brushing the hair back from your face. The gesture is more frantic than gentle, like he’s trying to touch and comfort you in any way he can, but he’s in such a panic that it’s more muscle memory than natural.

“Don’t…hurt him.” You manage, trying to sit up and nearly sobbing with the wave of pain that washes through you at the movement.

“Don’t move.” Other Adrian says to you, completely ignoring the barrel of the gun still pressed against his skull. “Don’t move. I know…I know how to-“ His eyes are nearly black again. He squeezes them shut, and the deep breath he sucks in through his teeth is cut off with a choke as he tries to push the insanity aside. As he tries to focus enough to remember what to do. It looks like a physical struggle. Like the effort it’s taking to keep himself from sinking into the mindless darkness is overwhelming him to the point of pain.

It’s your Adrian that sounds completely out of his mind, voice nearly unrecognisable through panic and fury as he holds you so possessively that you wonder if he might start growling like some kind of feral animal. “You did this. You fucking did this-“

Other Adrian’s hand darts out, fast, and the sound of the gun firing makes your ears ring and your heart stop. You shout, pain suddenly secondary as you try to shoot up again, only to nearly go blind with agony.

The gun clatters to the floor. Something liquid drips down the wall from a broken bottle on a shelf. Other Adrian moves toward you again, shoving yours to the side without an ounce of gentleness or apology. The memories, the shock and horror clouding his vision before, seem to be on some sort of back burner now. There’s clarity there, but it’s forced. He’s fighting every second to keep himself together enough to think.

“We need to stop the bleeding.”

“Get the fuck away from-“

“Do you want her to fucking live?!”

“I-” you try, but more blood catches in your throat and you choke. Your Adrian scrambles to hold you again, grabbing at whatever part of you he can reach, and he’s crying. Oh god, he’s crying. He never cries, and now each desperate sob that wracks his body is making your heart break over and over again.

You reach up, and when you touch his face you smear blood on his cheek. A mark to match your own.

“Don’t die. Don’t die. Please, please, please don’t die.” His voice catches on a sob. You want to cry too. You try to reach for him again, but it’s too hard to move. His hands are catching yours, kissing your bloody palms and reaching out to touch your cheeks. Your hair. Anywhere he can reach to feel your skin against his.

And then the world goes dark.

-

“Come here often?”

You’re in your living room. No. Not yours. It’s too neat. The furniture is just a little different. You’re in the other living room. Other Adrian’s living room.

And that’s you. You’re sitting on the couch, feet dangling over the armrest and head propped up by cushions. Her - your - eyes are turned to you, hands folded casually in her lap.

“Oh, shit.” Realization feels cold. Come to think of it, you feel cold. Really cold. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

The other you shrugs, oddly nonchalant. “No, you’re not.”

You frown, and look out the window. There’s nothing there. You can’t tell if it’s even darkness or light. It’s just…nothing.

“Okay. So I’m not dead.” You try, and the other you smiles, shifting to sit up on the couch and perch cross legged on the cushions in a movement so smooth and familiar that it makes you frown a little more. What a weird thing, to see your own self in motion.

“Okay, I lied. You’re kinda dead.”

Okay. That’s not helpful. Definitely more than a little concerning. “This feels pretty dead.”

“Trust me. You’d know if you were dead dead.”

“Am I usually this…callous?”

“Nah. I am, though.” She cocks her head a little, assessing you. Looking you up and down. You know that you do that, too. You’ve just never seen it before. “Well, actually you are. You and I are pretty much the same.”

You’re not really sure what to say to that, so you just raise your eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You say back. That smile again. “I think I’m just…you know, dead. And you’re not. Not all the way.” A few expressions pass over your own face, and you wonder if that’s really how you look when you’re thinking about something. “We’re not exactly the type to come back in a white dress in a meadow full of daisies or whatever. Plus, life isn’t really like the movies. Neither is death.”

“This is pretty fucking confusing.”

Other You stands, and shrugs again. “So is death.”

“You’re being kind of frustrating.”

“I know.” She stretches, and rolls her shoulders just like you do. So strangely casual considering the circumstances. “I’m sorry my Adrian kidnapped you.”

“It’s okay. Kinda dicky of him, though.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty infuriating.” She looks at you, and raises her eyebrows. “But you love him.”

“I love my Adrian.”

“You can love them both. I do, and I didn’t even know yours.”

You frown. Try to piece that one together.

“Every version of you is gonna love every version of him. Vice versa. It’s just kinda…” she fiddles her fingers a bit in a vague gesture. “The way the world works, or whatever. We’re connected.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t have to. You do have to get back to him, though.” This time, there’s a sharpness to her smile. Something so protective that it sends a bit of a chill through you. “Like I said, I don’t even have to know your Adrian to know that I love him. But I died in front of mine. Fuck if I’m gonna let you do the same thing to either of them.”

Something catches in your throat. It tastes like iron.

Your body jolts. The room pulses.

“You’re kind of an intense ghost.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’m not a ghost. Maybe I’m just a hallucination.” She taps the side of her head.

“Yikes.”

“Well you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

You smile. She smiles back. The room pulses again. Your body jolts. The taste of iron gets a little stronger and now it hurts.

You reach down to your stomach. The source of the pain. Your hand comes back red.

“Ow.” You mumble to yourself. Well, literally.

“Not much longer now.” She says, looking down at the wound before raising her gaze back to your face. “Take care of them, yeah? I know you will. It’s kind of a constant.”

Talking is a little more difficult. The pain is digging a little deeper. “Huh?”

“Us. Adrian. Every universe. It’s kind of a constant.”

You blink, squeezing your stomach a little harder. The room pulses again. You think you can hear shouting. Crying. Begging.

The Other You cocks her head to the side again. It’s a little unnerving. “Anything else you wanna ask? Going back is about to suck.”

You try to think. Another pulse. Another jolt of pain.

“Wanna make out?”

The sound of your own laughter is weird, but not quite as off-putting as you would expect. “Shit, we really are the same.”

“That a yes?”

“Maybe next time you die.” There’s a sadness in her smile, now “Besides, if either of them found out that they missed it? Hell to pay. Might even end in another rampage.”

Another pulse. Your feet aren’t moving, but the Other You is advancing, and the door is getting closer.

“Did they get what they deserved?” You ask, surprised by your own question. The blood in your throat is trickling from the corner of your mouth, now. When you wipe it away, you don’t think it transfers to your hand. “For killing you?”

She raises her eyebrows. “You know him. What do you think?”

And then she kicks you through the door.

-

You come back to yourself like a bolt of lightning.

One moment you’re falling into the nothingness outside of the apartment, and the next, you’re in a thousand worlds of pain. You convulse, entire body on fire with agony and shock, and try to make sense of the world around you.

You’re in Adrian’s basement.

The portal is still active. There’s a trail of red flowing like a spotted path over the ground inside of it.

There is pressure on your stomach, stopping what must be a truly unbelievable amount of bleeding. Do you have more blood than most people? You must, right? You didn’t think this much could come from one person. You’re so, so dizzy.

A familiar voice is speaking. Hands wet with what can only be even more of your own blood are shaking against your cheeks. More hands are still pushing on your stomach. Those hands are shaking, too. Not quite as much, but every few moments you can feel a slight tremble in the grip.

Everything is blurry, and your vision is hollowed by darkness at the edges. But there’s Adrian above you, the rims of his glasses blinking in the light coming from the portal. And there he is again, a little lower down your body, pushing down on your stomach, no glasses and green eyes filled with an equal amount of bone-chilling terror. That same forced-clarity seems a little more faded now, like he’s beginning to lose his grip on it.

Your Adrian is the one cradling your face with shaking hands, and the rest of his body is completely still. His eyes are almost blank with shock. Something is creeping into them. Something dark and scary and too familiar - something like the insanity you’ve seen in the other version of him.

You try to say his name, try to blink away the black in the corners of your vision, and reach up with a numb hand to touch him. Blood is still smeared on his cheek. Blood is everywhere.

“We have to move her.” Your Adrian says, voice empty. Hollow with shock. “I have to get her to the ambulance.” His forehead comes to rest against yours. You go a little cross eyed as you try to look at him. “I’m gonna move you. I’m gonna make it better. Don’t leave again, okay? Don’t leave like that. You can’t- you can’t…”

The pressure on your stomach hurts. A lot. You hear the other Adrian mumbling something. He sounds so far away from himself. It sounds like he’s begging.

Oh, you know this. You remember this. Not too long ago, you told yourself you would figure him out. Figure out how to pull him back from that edge. You’re pretty sure he’s fallen over it by now, but you can still try.

“B…” huh. It’s harder to speak than you thought it would be. It would feel really nice to go to sleep right now.

When you reach out, you manage to catch his hand. The hold is weak and slick with blood. “Breathe.”

He doesn’t, but he does choke on a sob as he squeezes your hand. You wish he wouldn’t do that. You wish he wouldn’t cry. It makes your heart hurt almost more than everything else does.

A forehead presses against yours again. You feel a shaky exhale against your face. The rims of glasses dig into your skin, and it feels nice. Familiar.

“Stay with me. Please.” And that’s your Adrian. That’s him lifting you off of the floor, making pain rip through your body again as he shushes your whimper of protest and kisses your bloody cheeks. Begs you quietly to stay with him again.

“Don’t go.” He half whispers, holding you as close as he can without squeezing you too hard. His voice is quiet, but there’s a desperation in it so raw that it feels like a living thing. “You went somewhere. P-Please don’t…don’t go there again. Don’t leave me.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and you mean it. You’ll stay. You’ll sleep later. For now, you can fight. For him. You’ll keep your eyes open. You’re just so, so tired…

-

You hear gunshots. You hear a siren. You don’t want to sleep again. You don’t want to leave him. Not again. He’s crying. He’s looking at you. You can feel his tears on your cheeks like delicate raindrops.

An unfamiliar voice tells him to get back. To move away. You hear a gun cock. You hear panicked shouting. The hands don’t leave you.

-

The lights are too bright. You don’t like how he sounds when he cries. You don’t like that you can hear it twice over. But the hands holding yours feel nice. The lips against your forehead feel nice. He’s still talking to you, and you can’t make out what he’s saying, but you love the sound of his voice. You melt into it like the comfort of a familiar bed, allowing yourself to relax for just…

-

“I thought I kicked you out of here.”

You frown, back in the apartment. Looking at yourself again.

“Yeah, you did. Literally. Not cool, by the way.”

“It was supposed to be a little dramatic.”

“It was kinda cliche, to be honest.”

“Go back.”

“Working on it. I didn’t mean to come here.” You kind of told Adrian that you wouldn’t, didn’t you? The memory is a little fuzzy.

“Go back. You can’t do this to him again. You can’t do this to either of them.”

“I’m working on it.”

The Other You advances, and she looks pained. Angry, even.

“I died. You don’t get to.” She shoves you towards the door, and you stumble. There’s no pulsing this time. No sudden little bolt of pain. Something bright and white is creeping into the corners of the room, and you wonder what would happen if you reached toward it. The urge to do so is oddly strong. You almost do, in fact, but the Other You shoves you even harder, seething. “You’re going back.”

You catch the doorframe before you fall through it, glaring. “Yeah, I got that. You’ve been pretty fucking adamant about-“

This time, when she kicks you through the door, it hurts more.

-

Because you love him for being so wrapped up in seeing you again that the entire world ceased to exist. For having planned out a proposal, and for being so excited and relieved to find you alive that he ended up proposing between kisses in an alley without a ring. You even love that, because he’s feeling threatened by the other version of himself, he can’t seem to stop handing you wildlife while you’re trying to break into Peacemaker’s house. You fell in love with Adrian Chase for a damn reason, and you still love him for that damn reason. He’s an absolute fucking weirdo, but he’s your absolute fucking weirdo.

“Why the fuck is this guy even here?” He asks now, crouching beside you and leaning over to glare at his alternate self through his visor. Their suits are exactly the same, making them complete mirror versions of each other. It’s genuinely unnerving. If it weren’t for the lower, steadier way of speaking that the Other Adrian seems to have, you’re not sure you would be able to tell them apart.

“He’s here because our friends are about to be breaking and entering in Evil Chris’s evil family’s house, and we need all the help we can get. Plus, he’s broken in here before.” To get into the portal. To trick you into coming here. To kidnap you.

This isn’t the first time that thought has crossed your mind since the three of you left the apartment. The reason he’s been here before, and his willingness - as reluctant as it may be - to help you get back. Considering everything he’s done, you’d be an idiot if you weren’t at least a little suspicious. You keep your eyes on the house, but glance over at Other Adrian as you add, “and he’s not gonna do anything…nefarious. Right?”

“You make me sound like a cartoon villain.”

“You did kidnap my girlfriend, dude.” Your Adrian interjects, still irritated. Still glaring.

You shouldn’t say it. He did, in fact, kidnap you. You shouldn’t defend him. And yet…

“Okay, in his defense, which isn’t strong, you did kind of stalk me for like…months before we started dating.”

“Hey! I wasn’t stalking you. I was on patrol. It just happened to go by your apartment a lot!”

“On my fire escape?”

He ignores the question, tone defensive as he continues. “Besides, you left your windows unlocked like, all the time. I had to make sure you were safe! What if someone crazy broke in?”

“Someone crazy did break in! You jiggled the latch open- hey, I can see you raising your eyebrows behind that visor over there. Knock it off, hypocrite.”

“I’m not raising my eyebrows.”

“You’re absolutely raising your fucking eyebrows.”

“Yeah, put your eyebrows down, Evil Me.”

“He’s not evil.”

“Well he still sucks.”

“I agree.”

“You don’t, but I’ll let you have it.” Other Adrian sounds so confident, so sure of the fact, that you want to punch him. You just grit your teeth instead, rising to your feet and rolling your shoulders back.

You check your weapons out of habit, and pull your jacket a little more snugly over your shoulders. The other you had gear, a suit similar to your own back home, but there were too many…holes in it. Too many rips and bloodstains. When Other Adrian had told you that, you’d dropped the matter quickly. Even your Adrian had shut up, looking at his alternate self for once without any anger or trepidation. Pity is not a common expression for Adrian Chase. The sight of it in his eyes had rocked you a little.

Now, as you holster knives and guns in the places you would usually keep them if you were wearing your suit, you feel Other Adrian’s eyes on you, like he’s remembering the reason you’re not wearing your usual gear, too. You meet his gaze, and the weight of it nearly brings you to your knees.

“I’ll be okay.” You say, the soft words leaving your lips before you can catch them. You can’t see his face behind his mask, but you know his mannerisms. They’re so similar to your Adrian’s, if not just a little bit more subtle. You see the tenseness in his shoulders. Feel the burn of his eyes behind the visor. His hand twitches, like he might reach out and touch you.

If he does, you might let him.

The wail of a siren breaks through the silence, bringing the intensity of the moment to a screeching halt. You watch a cop car pull up to the house. Followed by another, and another.

“Shit.”

-

The cops aren’t inside. They haven’t been let inside. That’s a good sign. Maybe. Hopefully.

The fact that they’re here, and the silence coming from inside the house, that’s a bad sign.

“We’ll go in through the back.” Other Adrian says as the three of you creep around the side of the mansion, trying to stick as close as possible to the almost obnoxious amount of ivy clinging to the wall. His voice is so…commanding. There’s none of the glee or giddiness or jokes that you’re used to. He sounds professional. In control. Almost like a soldier. “The two of us will disable the threat and make sure your friends are safe. There’s a door on the other side of the house. You go in through there, into the library, and secure the portal.”

You narrow your eyes, suddenly suspicious that he wants you to split up, but it’s your Adrian that voices the question on your lips, one arm wrapping possessively around your waist. “Why can’t she come with us? She can kick ass too, you know.” He turns his face down to you, pulling you a little closer to him. “I think Evil Me might be sexist. So that means he’s a dick and he’s-“

“It’s not safe.” Other Adrian snaps, so sharp that it both shuts your Adrian up and makes you nearly jump. When he speaks again, his voice is like gravel. So low, so furious, that something tightens in your stomach. “You fucking idiot. Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch her die?” You feel your Adrian’s arm tighten around you, more protective than possessive now. “No, you don’t. God knows the stupidest version of me is the luckiest man whose ever lived and he doesn’t even fucking realize it. You can be her frog-catching little fucking fanboy all you want. I love her. I love her so much that I’m about to let you take her away from me. Don’t fucking test me right now.”

“Don’t talk to him like that.” You say, instinctive. But your voice is quiet. Your Adrian has gone very still beside you.

“Please.” Other Adrian’s voice cracks, and he’s shaking. “Please, don’t. Just don’t.”

You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.

He’s really going to let you go, isn’t he? There’s no ulterior motive. No evil cartoon-villainy plan to tie you up and spirit you back to the apartment in this dimension. He’s going to lose you again, and he’s going to let it happen. For you. Because you want it.

And it’s fucking killing him. It’s ripping him apart from the inside out. You can’t see his eyes behind the visor, but you can almost feel the agony emanating from him. You can see that darkness threatening to swallow him whole.

You reach up to give your Adrian’s arm a gentle squeeze. You feel his head turn towards you.

He knows. One thing about Adrian, as oblivious as he can be sometimes, is that he understands you, just as much as you understand him. He squeezes your waist once, reassuring, and releases you. The simple gesture may as well be an entire conversation.

Go. I don’t like it, but I see it. I get it.

You move forward, boots silent on the grass, and stand before the alternate version of the man you love. He stays frozen as you reach up, and you wonder for a moment if, maybe, he understands you too.

“Hey.” You say, soft, and he’s still shaking. Hard. He doesn’t answer you, but his hands fly to your waist and his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt almost hard enough to hurt, like he’s trying to physically keep you from being ripped away from him. “Hey, look at me.”

“Please, please, please…” he whispers, and you wonder if he’s even talking to you. If he even knows that he’s speaking.

You pull off his mask with practiced fingers. Look into the black of his eyes. He’s looking at you so intensely it feels like a physical touch. His lips are moving, barely, like he’s still begging, but no sound is coming out.

You reach up, brush your fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck, and pull his mouth down to yours.

He makes a noise like a sob into the kiss, and yanks you closer to him like your touch is the only way he can keep himself alive. He doesn’t kiss you roughly. He doesn’t hold you like he’s trying to crush you to him. He kisses you like he’s trying to savor every millisecond. Like maybe, just maybe, if he kisses you with enough love, enough need, you won’t leave.

You taste the salt of his tears on your lips, and another sob breaks free from him when you pull back. His fingers flex against your waist, and his forehead presses against your own.

“Please.” He whispers again, and your heart cracks. “Please. I’ll…I can…”

“I know.” You whisper back. “I know.”

“Stay with me.” One of his hands comes up to your face, and there is so much desperate hope in his eyes that it kills you. “Stay with me. I’ll protect you. I’ll make you so happy, baby. Please.” His trembling lips press against your forehead, and you feel tears prick behind your own eyes.

“I have to go home.” You wish your own voice didn’t shake. You wish this didn’t hurt. You should hate him, shouldn’t you? Why does the sight of his tears make your heart ache like this? “This isn’t my home.”

“I’m your home.” He kisses your nose, now. Your cheek. His hand combs through your hair. His other hand tightens on your waist. “I know you love me. You-you can take a hundred years to admit it out loud. I don’t care. Just be with me.”

You can’t speak. You can’t argue. It’s too hard to pull away. It cracks something vital in your chest to see the plea in his eyes. The way he clings to hope, like at the very last second you might change your mind.

You won’t. You know you won’t. But that doesn’t mean you’re sure you’ll be able to leave him, when the time comes. That doing so won’t break off a piece of you that you’ll never get back.

And as you turn back to your own Adrian, you feel a hollowness in your very bones. A pain so deep it feels permanent.

He wraps his arms around you, now, pressing his cloth covered nose against your temple and kissing you through his mask. “Sorry.” He murmurs, soothing his hand over your back. “I still hate that guy, but I promise I won’t even kill him for that. I know you’re sad.”

“You’re getting better at recognizing that.” You murmur, accepting his comfort. Letting yourself melt into it.

“It helps when you explain it.” He admits, as honest as ever. “You usually do, but I know when you’re sad because it bothers me a lot. It makes my kidneys hurt, I think. Is that a thing?”

“No.”

“Huh. You must be extra special then.”

You smile a little, pressing a kiss to the padded shoulder of his suit. He pulls you closer in response. You can feel the other Adrian’s eyes on you. You think your Adrian’s eyes are on him. You wonder if there’s pity in his gaze again.

-

It doesn’t take too long to find the library, though you blame it on luck.

Christ, this house is insane. You barely noticed the sheer size of it when you first came through the portal. Chris was so focused on showing you the rest of the town, and on getting you out of here before you were seen by any of the other occupants of the house, that you didn’t get to really look around. The library alone is crazy. How much money do these guys have?

You have about twenty seconds to marvel at the room and make sure the door is actually there. Activated. No one inside. Great.

And then you hear a crash, and a shout, followed by a lot more shouting. Yeah, that’s to be expected. Sorry Other Adrian, but your friends are too fucking chaotic and there was just no way this was going to go smoothly.

You adjust your weapons, and prepare to dart through the door to help.

And you collide with an armored chest.

You stumble backward, a noise of surprise bursting from you as you reach up to rub the spot where your head hit metal.

“Ow.” You mumble.

“You’re dead. You…they fucking killed you.”

You freeze, eyes flying up to meet Chris’s brother’s shocked face. Fuck. Fuck. Not good. Very, very not good.

You could - you should - attack him. And yet…

And yet, piece of shit or not, this is Chris’s brother. This is the man whose death was the worst thing that ever happened to your friend. And here he is. All grown up. And…huge. Like, really huge. You’ve killed bigger, sure, but killing him…

Sure, it would be fucked up of you, but the guy is a Nazi, right? You could kill him. If necessary.

You need to find Chris. You need to get to your friends. To Adrian.

“I’m a ghost.” You try, pulling your knife from your pocket and twirling it expertly between your fingers. Buy time. Let Adrian…Adrians find Chris. Find everyone else. “First of three ghosts tonight. We’ve come to teach you the error in your racist, ugly, piece of shit ways-“

He lunges. You dodge.

“Christ, I thought you’d be better at this.” You taunt, as dumb as it may be to do so. He growls, fury sparking in his eyes.

He lunges again. You dodge again. This time it’s a little harder. This time he almost catches you. But, in a move that’s more luck than skill, you manage to whip your foot out to knock him down. He’s big, and it kind of hurts your ankle, but you manage to play it off.

Can you get to your phone? Do you have time? Shit, if he weren’t looking at you with so much hatred you might be able to-

“They fucking killed you.” He repeats, so furious that the words come out as a snarl. You’re surprised by how calm you still feel. Sure, you’re aware that you need to be on your toes, and that you are definitely in real danger, but…

“Who?” You ask, cocking your head to the side with feigned and mocking innocence. You are genuinely curious. Judging by how much the guy seems to hate you, you’d kind of assumed he’d done the job himself. Fair would be fair, as callous as it may be. You probably killed a lot of his friends.

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s not possible. They ripped you the fuck apart.”

You cringe at the mental image. Twirl the knife to hide that his words affected you at all. “Sounds painful.”

“All that planning to get you alone in that alley. All those good men dead because of that shithead Vigilante.” Keith begins to climb to his feet, and you barely manage to kick him back down. The knife burns in your hand. You should use it. You can’t. Not yet. Where the fuck is everyone? “We should have killed that crazy fucker first.”

You kick him in the ribs this time. Fast. Hard. “Bit of a sore spot for me. Don’t like you talking about him like that.” You explain as he doubles over, a protective sort of rage flooding through you and making the words leave you in a low, steady voice. Adrian. That awful darkness that rips him away from himself. The pain in his eyes when he looks at you. The holes in your suit. The fact that he kept it, but couldn’t bring himself to patch it up.

“Also,” you add, twirling the knife again in what is now a distraction for yourself, a way to fidget with the weapon rather than give it a new home in the man’s neck. “You had me jumped? Kind of a fucking bitch move, don’t you think?” The way Adrian shakes when he touches you sometimes, like he’s worried you’ll break. The way he pleaded with you to stay with him. The taste of his tears on your lips.

The rage grows until it blinds you. Overwhelms you. Adrian apologizing over and over. Adrian holding you like you might vanish at any moment. The pictures of the two of you on the walls, so happy before. Before they killed you and, in doing so, killed a part of him too.

You kick Keith again. Too fast. Too uncalculated. Too clumsy with anger.

He catches your foot, and yanks you down to the ground. The knife falls from your hand as you collide with the hardwood, and he’s back on his feet in an instant. You scramble towards the weapon, but his boot lands on your wrist hard enough to make you yelp in pain.

You hear gunfire down the hall. A lot of it. Keith looks toward the door, and you use the momentary distraction to yank a smaller knife out of a sheath on your thigh and plunge the blade into his ankle.

“Fuck!” He shouts, stumbling back, and you roll to your feet and bolt towards the hallway.

He catches you before you can turn the corner, slamming you back into a bookshelf with so much force it makes you see stars. You nearly fall to the ground again, but a hand on your throat keeps you upright, squeezing hard enough to make your vision blacken at the edges.

You fight. You kick. You claw at the fingers wrapped around your neck as you choke for air.

“All those good men you killed. All those good men that other fucking psycho killed.” Keith growls, like he’s doing some kind of justice to the world. Like he genuinely believes he’s a fucking hero. “This is for them.”

When the knife plunges into your stomach, it doesn’t hurt. It just feels like…heat. Like pressure. Too much pressure. You feel your body lock up like it doesn’t belong to you, something aching through your entire core as the world seems to pause for a moment.

And then he twists the blade, and the pain explodes.

It’s so sharp and overwhelming that you can’t even scream, eyes wide as they meet his. Fingers no longer clawing, but going completely still on his hand.

When you do try to scream, something hot catches in your throat. Spills down the corner of your mouth. It tastes like iron. Like blood.

You choke again when he pulls the knife out, and then he drops you to the ground.

-

If all goes according to plan, an eligible would-be bride will find herself engaged to a man she loves, a man in possession of a handsome fortune and a sterling reputation. If luck slips past her, she’ll settle for someone decent, or someone without any income at all. If nothing goes in her favor, her first year in society will not be her last as a single woman. She will have to repeat her attempt the next year, this time without the glimmering aura of a new arrival, and hope that something within her has changed enough to attract a proposal. Otherwise, she will sink to the bottom of the pile of dance cards, ignored, abandoned, and grown up into a spinster. All that hard work gone to waste.

You’ve heard many young women discuss the marriage mart with nothing short of absolute terror in their voices. A good opening season can seal a girl’s fate forever. Attracting the eye of a worthy man is an impossible task for all but the best of the rosebuds, or so it seems. Most of us will settle for something halfway decent– a tidy sum per annum but nothing extravagant, a man with casual disinterest but nothing harsh. Something that can be shaped into something good, or at least ignored in favor of not being alone. Such is the romance of a married life.

You, however, hope to extract a little more out of the whole affair. As the Duchess of Hastings, you have no need for money. A marriage would be nice, the final touch on the portrait of a successful lady, but you do not require the financial stability of a husband. You have plenty of money and plenty of friends. You will inherit your estate. If you look for a husband, you will look only for love.

One would think, then, that entering your first season among the eligible women of the ton would be bereft of the panic permeating through most of your friends in search of husbands. However, when you line up with the rest of the young women to be presented to the Queen at the start of the season, you find that it couldn’t be less true. 

Your stomach is in knots, even as you sweep confidently through the corridor to wait outside the door. The white feather in your hair stands tall and proud. Your dress is crisp and finely stitched, the highest of fashion yet never gaudy. You attract stares wherever you go– from the other girls, envious and jealous and heartsick, from the men, longing and cutthroat and mercenary– but pretend they don’t phase you in the slightest. As duchess, you’ve had plenty of time to grow accustomed to onlookers. You won’t allow them to interfere with you on this all important day.

At last, your name is called, and you enter the throne room, your mother behind you. You keep your steps small but light, and seem to float towards your queen. When the time is right, you sink into an elegant curtsy. The moment seems to last forever, your knees bent, your hands shaking slightly, but when the queen calls you to stand, you look up to find her smiling benevolently at you.

“I believe I have found my diamond of the season,” she announces.

The room erupts in polite applause, and you do your best to smother a smile that’s entirely too giddy to be proper. As you retreat from the room, you gaze at the faces surrounding you, trying to remember which ones look genuinely happy for you and which seem to be identifying a prize pig for the slaughter. When the town gossips all gather later to share their thoughts on today’s proceedings, you’re certain that some of them will attempt to discredit you, saying that of course the queen would choose the duchess as her diamond, but you know just as well as all of them that you deserve the honor today. You were the best of everyone here, and it’s plain to see.

Among all of them, your gaze catches on a singular man, almost lost in the crowd from all the bodies packed together but no less entrancing. What strikes you the most is that his face seems kind, and his eyes sparkle with pride as they watch you go. Pride for you, for your accomplishments. As if he couldn’t be more delighted that you of all people were named the season’s diamond.

Then you’re gone from the room, and the kind man is no longer before you. Still, you puzzle over the encounter long after your carriage takes you home. You don’t believe you recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything to sway you towards any decision. An image of the young man swims in your mind– short, dirty blond hair, an upturned mouth, dark eyes, his face almost spritely. Clever, for sure.

You know better than to mess with clever men. Clever men are the type to try and twist your mind, convince you that they only love you then attempt to make off with your money. You know full well what marriage to you will offer any would-be suitor. This season, you may be looking for affection, but every man in the room will be after your fortune. The task of finding someone who truly cares for you will be a difficult one indeed.

So, clever men or not, you’ll have to keep your heart under close guard. When the first ball of the season comes to be, you don one of your finest dresses, and firmly admonish yourself to be careful. The game of hearts is not one that you lose. Either you win, or you destroy yourself.

You time your arrival carefully, so as to make the best entrance, and your efforts are rewarded. From the moment you’re announced, all eyes turn to you. Were it not for your extensive experience with being scrutinized in the grand magnifying lens that is the ton, you’d be nervous to have that many people looking at you. Even still, you can’t pretend you don’t feel a small flutter in your stomach.

It gets easier once you sweep further into the room, once people start smiling at you again, when the conversation picks up and you’re asked for your first dance of the evening, which you accept. Your partner is a charming man named Minho– dark hair, witty eyes, an excellent sense of humor. He’s athletic and a decent dancer, and by the time the music stops, you’re back to your usual self again. You can’t stop yourself from mentally sizing up your dance partner. He seems nice, and you wouldn’t be bored around him, at least. His family owns land. Although he’s not of your precise social standing, few are, and he’s close enough to you that it would be a respectable match.

Still– still, you think to yourself, as you move away from the center of the floor once more to consider your dance card, it’s not quite enough. You want love, you want a spark, and you didn’t quite get that with Minho. There are plenty of eligible suitors here, though, and many more balls to come. You’ll have other opportunities to select a match.

A few dances later, though, your feet are beginning to feel heavy and you’re still no closer to finding someone of interest than you were at the start. A good lady of extensive training such as yourself should have no problem dancing the entire night through with a pleasant smile on her face, but you’re still human, still tired, and your charming demeanor is beginning to pinch at the seams before long.

The music for the latest dance ends, and you curtsy to your partner, praying silently that no one else will be looking to fill your dance card for the next rotation. However, when you turn around, you’re greeted with the sight of many anxious faces. Something inside you wilts, perhaps your endurance.

Before the mobs can descend upon you, however, a figure appears in front of you. You sigh in relief to see one of your closest friends, Miss Teresa Agnes. “Teresa! And here I thought I wouldn’t have a single good friend all evening.”

Teresa laughs, her dark hair shining. “I would never abandon you. Certainly not when our diamond is sparkling so spectacularly tonight.”

You smile at her. “I’m not the only one who’s sparkling, Teresa. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” Teresa says sincerely. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce someone to you. This is Viscount Newt, a good friend of mine. I met him through Thomas.”

You smile to yourself as Teresa turns to beckon someone towards you. Teresa has been harboring a not-so-secret admiration for Thomas since you were all small. This is her first season in the social circles, too, and if she doesn’t come out of it with a proposal from Thomas, you’ll think the sky has fallen. Even now, he’s watching her fondly from across the room, trying to pretend as if he isn’t pining madly while Minho teases him for it.

“Here he is at last,” Teresa says, and all of a sudden you can’t think about Thomas’ case of lovesickness for a second longer, because Teresa has brought her friend before you, and you know him. It’s the stranger from your presentation to the queen. The nice one, the clever one. The one that caught your eye, and then your imagination.

You curtsy automatically, and Newt bows. Once the two of you straighten up, you’re able to observe him more closely. You’d only gotten a fleeting glimpse earlier, but now you can drink in the sight of him, and you do. His eyes are dark, but catch the lights like stars. His mouth has a habit of twitching up at the sides, as if he’s always thinking of a joke but just barely managing to keep it at bay. When he looks at you, he really looks at you. You’ve been stared at all night by would-be suitors, but their gazes never went farther than surface level. Right now, it’s as if Newt can see through to your very soul, and most intimately of all, appreciates it.

Teresa gives you a confused look, and you realize you’ve been standing in silence for longer than is probably courteous. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say.

“I must return the sentiment,” Newt returns. “Teresa has talked about you many times. I’ve been quite eager to meet you.”

“I hope I’m worthy of what she’s told you,” you say.

Newt smiles again. “I believe you’re even better than that,” he tells you.

Teresa is looking at you with an odd smile. “I believe I’d better let the two of you get to know each other, then,” she says, and sweeps away before you can stop her.

Newt laughs. “She’s been wanting to set us up for ages. For a friendship, I mean,” he breaks in hastily. “Apparently, she thinks we have a similar sense of humor.”

“I look forward to finding that out myself,” you smile.

Newt’s eyes flash with mirth again, delighting you. Behind you, the music picks up again. Newt extends a hand towards you. “Would you mind if I shared a dance with you? Unless, of course, you’d rather sit for a while.”

“I’d love to dance,” you say quickly, and it’s true. All of a sudden, the pain in your feet is gone, as if it had never existed at all.

Newt smiles and takes your hand to lead you to the dance floor. The orchestra begins its melody, and you start your dance. You make a mental note to ask Teresa a little more about Newt later; he dances like an aristocrat, but he speaks so freely to you. It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced in a suitor before.

Newt arches a brow as he steps through the dance. “Sizing me up, are you? It may be improper of me to ask, but I do hope I’m meeting your requirements.”

Your cheeks heat up. “I’m simply appreciating your mastery of this dance. Nothing more.”

Newt laughs easily. “Of course not. It’s not as if everyone else here is doing the same thing right now. Every dance partner is a strategy meeting. In just a matter of minutes, you’ll walk away knowing if I am a worthy wager, and I will do the same. This ball is full of hounds and foxes, my lady. We all know our parts.”

You glance at him, feeling a curious grin tugging at your lips. “And which am I? Fox or hound?”

Newt returns your proud gaze. “I suppose we’ll find out at the end of the season, won’t we?”

You laugh, feeling oddly triumphant. Newt has this way about him that you find enchanting. It’s  almost breaching impropriety with how candid he is around you, but it only makes you trust him more. The dance ends far sooner than you’d like. Newt relinquishes you to the storm of suitors outside, hopefully with just as much reluctance as you.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Newt is truly the only one that stands out to you. You don’t have a chance to dance with him again, but you keep making eye contact as you dance with other partners. You can practically hear his clever words in your head, catching you in the act of evaluating the suitors in front of you. Fox or hound?

When the ball ends and you return to your carriage for the ride home, you’re blissful, practically dreamy. You’ve had enough time with Newt to dream about it until the next ball, where you’ll likely repeat the same cycle over and over again until the season ends.

However, your golden mood is shattered when your chaperone sits down across from you. Her face, by contrast, is twisted with disappointment. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into?” She asks once the carriage pulls away.

Still caught up in the heady dream of a merry boy who smiled the brightest when he danced with you, you don’t realize the trap descending around you until it’s too late. “What trouble?”

Your chaperone’s lips purse. “You’re meant to be dancing only with eligible gentlemen, my lady. I should hope that you’d be able to recognize the suitable candidates from the unseemly by now.”

The veil is pierced, and you’re beginning to be brought back to earth. “What are you talking about? I thought I made perfectly reasonable choices with my dance partners.”

Your chaperone shakes her head, a quick, sharp gesture. “All but one. Goodness, haven’t you heard about the trouble with that one family? I can’t believe Miss Agnes had the nerve to introduce him to you, but perhaps the fact that she’s so besotted with Lord Thomas is upsetting her mind.”

Your heart freezes in your chest. “You can’t mean to say that the Viscount is not a suitable bachelor? What else could he be?”

The other woman sighs. “You don’t know, do you? My lady, I would not interfere if I did not feel the need, but I can assure you, his motives with you are purely mercenary. That man is desperate for something to cover up the follies of his family, and you, my dear, are the perfect gilded shield.”

You feel cold. “What follies?”

“His sister, Miss Sonya, was seen alone with her fiance,” your chaperone murmurs at last. “Lord Aris. I would think you would have heard his name, although perhaps not connected it with Viscount Newt. Miss Sonya and Lord Aris were happily engaged, and by all accounts it was a fine union, but they were seen together without a chaperone past dark. Quite the scandal. The Viscount knows it and is eager to get the ton talking about anything but his sister’s misdeeds. Entering into a courtship with you would do just the trick.”

She’s right, and you know it, and you hate it. “He seemed so genuine,” you whisper, and instantly know how foolish it sounds.

Your chaperone, to her credit, is kind enough to take pity on you. “He did,” she tells you, “and you looked happy together. You would be less happy, however, when you found out the truth. I would rather you know now and stay away. Men like that are nothing but trouble.”

You nod solemnly, turning your head to watch the dark landscapes rumbling past. The sun is already beginning to rise, a hallmark of a late night out. It had been a beautiful night up until this, and now the entire evening is ruined in your mind.

“I feel for Miss Sonya,” you whisper. “She was already engaged. They were just talking.”

“She knows the rules of society, and so do you,” your chaperone reminds you. “We all have our roles to play.”

And the consequence of setting a foot outside your role is instant public mortification. Yes. What a forgiving world. You immediately plant your exhausted body in your bed when you return, hardly sparing the time to wash and dress, but the only things to bloom from your rest are troubled dreams of the boy that could have been yours. Now that you know the truth– that Newt was only trying to use you for a better reputation– every interaction with him is tainted.

You’d meant what you said in the carriage, though. You did think Newt was genuine. Hadn’t he laughed more than usual when he was with you? Hadn’t he regarded you with that fierce pride of his, as if he’d finally found a mind that was an equal to his? Hadn’t he watched you with something akin to jealousy when you danced with the other men that weren’t him?

Hadn’t you wished he would only dance with you? And don’t you wish that you could truly do what you promised yourself and marry only for love, never mind the rest? It is a simple dream to think that love is easy. Marriage is not simple, not in the ton, not in your lifetime. Every one of your days will be shaped by the whims of society, even when they take Newt away from you.

When it comes time for the next ball, you do your best to strengthen your spirits before you go. You intentionally avoid him, making sure to always have your dance card full whenever the music ends. It’s easy enough to find a crowd large enough to hide you from him, and yet you still catch glimpses of Newt from across the hall, several partners down, in a carriage many behind yours. You successfully go two balls, then three, without seeing him, but it aches like a knife in your ribs when you think about what could have been.

As it turns out, you’re not the only one wishing you were with him. At the fifth ball of the season, your attempts to distance yourself from the viscount are foiled at last. Newt tracks you down, signing his name on your dance card before you can stop him before leading you out to the dance floor.

“That’s a rather abrupt way of asking a lady to dance, don’t you think?” You ask as you curtsy.

Newt bows. “I felt it was the only way of guaranteeing that you would dance with me.”

“A lady never declines a gentleman in need of a dance,” you remind him.

The music picks up, and the two of you begin your paces. “A lady also never avoids a gentleman as thoroughly as you have at the last few balls,” Newt says. “Were it not for the fact that I know you to be as perfectly agreeable a duchess as there could ever be, I would say that it was personal.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, even with his hands on you, guiding you through the steps. “It’s not meant to work out, my lord. Us, I mean. We cannot forget the rules.”

When Newt speaks again, his voice sounds hurt. “Why not? Forgive me, my lady, but I remember what it was like that first night. You were happy. We were happy, and happy together. What changed?”

At last, you risk a glance towards him, and instantly regret it. Newt’s eyes are filled with genuine hurt. Are you wrong? Did he actually want you as more than a cover-up? “I heard about your sister,” you say as delicately as you can.

Still, Newt flinches as if you’ve hit him. “You don’t know the full story,” Newt says raggedly.

“Then tell me,” you beg him. “I would choose you if I could, but everyone seems to think that you are only interested in me to advance your station. Give me a reason to believe in you, not them.”

“I can’t say it here,” Newt whispers. 

“I can’t go somewhere with you alone,” you tell him quietly. “Especially not after what happened to your sister. You must tell me now, or we will never have another chance.”

“Alright,” he says at last. “But you mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Once you agree, Newt begins to speak in a hushed whisper hardly audible to you, let alone the other couples around you. “Sonya is deeply in love with Lord Aris, and he is in love with her. So much so to the point that he has been battling a deep rage ever since that awful gossip rag, Lady Whistledown, slightly disparaged her last season. He took it upon himself to find out Lady Whistledown’s identity, and somehow, he did. The only problem is, Lady Whistledown is not someone Sonya would consider a friend. He wanted to warn her about the dangers of being anything less than perfect around that insidious writer, and he didn’t want to waste a moment. He called on her to meet with him as soon as possible. He didn’t think they would be seen, but they were, and of course Lady Whistledown ran with it to discredit them in case they would reveal her.”

You suck in a harsh breath. “It was never anything wrong, then. He merely wanted to protect her.”

Newt nods. “Lord Aris is a good man. He never would have done something like this if he realized how it would backfire. He regrets it daily, even though all he wanted to do was keep my sister safe. The ton knows their characters, too. Neither of them would do anything unseemly. The rumors diminish by the day, and soon, it will all be over. They will be happily married.”

He sighs and looks at you again. “I tell you this to explain myself, and to clear my name. I have nothing to hide from the situation with my sister and her future husband. In fact, it is only because they directly asked me not to spread this information that I haven’t gone public with the identity of Lady Whistledown herself to spare their reputations. I have nothing to fear, my lady. Certainly nothing that would make me risk the happiness of my marriage on a good rumor. I would court you because I have never met anyone like you before, nor do I think I ever will. You are utterly entrancing in every possible way. If you do not wish to be with me in that fashion, I would understand.”

You shake your head quickly. “I do want that, my lord. I want you.”

A careful smile slips across Newt’s face. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” you tell him. “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you at my presentation. I would have found you no matter what lies they spread.”

Newt grins. “I believe I have decided something important, my lady. About your inner nature.”

You arch a brow as he spins you. “And what is that?”

“You’re a hound,” he informs you matter-of-factly. “Sharp and bright. Brave, too. But, then again, I am a hound as well. We make quite the pair, I think.”

“I think so too,” you tell him. In the days to come, rumors will abound about the viscount and the duchess. At first, there will be surprise across the ton, but then, even the most tenacious of gossips will realize that this makes perfect sense. The most clever of men and the most ambitious of women, bound together in holy matrimony. Even the best of poets couldn’t concoct a story that beautiful.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

the maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

He sets you down against the wall of the nearest alley, and your hands are suddenly all over each other as you both speak a mile a minute.

“Oh my God. I thought you were dead. I heard people saying you were dead but you’re here right now and holy shit babe you look so-“

“Get this fucking mask off right now Adrian I’m so serious I’m going to-“

“pretty and perfect and you’re alive holy shit you’re alive please please look at me I need to make sure-“

“fucking kill you myself if you don’t take this damn mask off why do you have so much Velcro on your armor-“

“you’re actually here and I’m not hallucinating or some dumb shit- fuck hang on.” He pushes your hands away, yanks his mask off, and slams his mouth to yours, effectively cutting off both of your babbling.

And the world is right again.

Your mind goes blank. Your hands fly up to his hair, fingers tangling in soft curls and tugging gently because you know doing so drives him crazy and when he groans against your lips and pulls you closer to him you almost cry because you have to be dreaming there’s no fucking way he can be-

He’s talking. He’s mumbling into the kiss. He won’t even pull away from you enough to actually allow himself to speak, and you have to wonder if he even knows he’s talking at all.

You missed him. God, you missed him. So, so much.

“-so seriously perfect and warm and I missed you so much I thought- wait, why are you crying? Hey, hey. Don’t do that. I hate it when you do that wait-“ he pulls back, reaches a gloved hand up to swipe a tear from your cheek, and it’s only then that you even realize that you are crying. “Are you okay? Don’t cry. Did I do something? Did someone else do something? I’ll kill them, if you want. I’ll-“

You sniffle, laughing through a little sob as your hands leave his hair to wipe the rest of your tears away. “It’s happy tears. I’m okay. I just…” you shake your head, reaching up to hold his face. To press your forehead against his. To absorb the feeling of him actually standing in front of you. “I just thought I’d never see you again.”

He actually looks so genuinely confused by your words that you almost cry harder.

“What do you mean? Of course you were gonna see me again. We’re like manta rays. They have a special little thing in their heads so if two manta rays are in love and lose each other in the ocean, they can always find their way back to each other.”

You don’t have to know shit about manta rays to know that’s not true, but you’ll never tell him that. “Really?”

“Yeah.” And then he’s kissing you again, scooping you up into his arms until your feet leave the ground. He presses you against the wall, and you laugh a little as you wrap your legs around his waist.

As it often does with the two of you, it takes maybe less than a minute for the joy and laughter and jokes to burn away into something hotter. Something needier. He presses closer to you, hands tugging at your jacket and tongue sliding into your mouth as your own fingers fumble with the clasps on his armor, like you might rip it off of him right there in the alley just to feel more of his skin against yours. He doesn’t seem to mind, humming in approval as he trails his mouth down your cheek, over your jaw, tugging gently at your hair to guide your head to the side as he kisses and bites his way down to the hollow of your throat.

“I wanna- mmm I wanna eat you. Is that weird? Wanna like crawl inside you and not even in the sexy way I just wanna never stop touching you but I also wanna be inside you in the sexy way fuck you feel so good-“

“Adrian.” You gasp, and he groans as his hips grind deep and hungry and shamelessly against yours. 

“Fuck yes.” He bites at your neck, talking a mile a minute as he presses his body so close to yours you think you might have an indent of the brick wall behind you against your back. “Fuck, that sounds so pretty. Do it louder. Please. I wanna- mmm, fuck - I wanna hear you get all high and breathy for me.”

He bites down again, eliciting a whine from you that has him pulling back to kiss you again, holding you up with one arm to fumble with something in his pockets.

“Hang on hang on I’ve gotta- fuck you taste so good I missed you so much wait-“ he fumbles his glasses back on his face, diving back in to kiss you so hard that you giggle when you feel the frames smush against the bridge of your own nose. He’s still digging through his pockets, pulling back from you just enough to pepper kisses over your cheeks and nose, like he doesn’t know exactly where to kiss you but he knows he needs to be kissing you somewhere.

You drag his mouth back to yours, impatient and needy and so happy you can’t stand it. He mumbles against your mouth, the words lost as he slides his tongue between your lips with a groan. You pull at his hair. He moves his hand from his pockets to hike you up higher against the wall, the new angle of his hips against yours emptying your brain and burning beneath your skin. You’re so distracted by how good it feels that it takes you a few moments to register what he’s saying, over and over even as the words are muffled by your lips.

“-marry me. Will you marry me? Fuck please marry me I love you so much I have the ring I can’t find it just-“ he breaks away long enough to kiss at your cheeks. Your nose. Back to your mouth. You make a muffled noise into the kiss, eyes flying wide open, and it takes more effort than you think you’ve ever used in your life to make yourself push him back enough that you can look into his eyes.

He barely lets you, trying to lean forward to kiss you again until you reach up to cover his mouth with your hand.

“What?”

He blinks owlishly down at you behind his glasses, eyes still hungry and clouded over with lust, but he repeats the words into your palm. “Mmrr mm.”

You move your hand.

“One more time, weirdo.” You can’t catch your breath. You can’t think straight.

He immediately ducks back in, nose bumping yours and face so close you can feel his breath brushing over your lips as he speaks. “Marry me? Please? I have a ring somewhere in my suit but I can’t find it and I really don’t want to stop touching you to look for it but-“

“Yes.” You don’t even have to think about it.

“Yeah?” His entire face lights up, and he’s back to kissing you again. Your lips. Your face. Your neck. “Fuck yes. Fucking baller. I love you so much. Holy shit. After all of this I’m gonna ask you again and again like a hundred times and then we’re gonna have so much sex it’s gonna be mmph.”

You kiss him again, and you’re both smiling so hard your teeth are bumping against each other but you don’t care. You couldn’t care less about anything else in the world.

And yet, as you lose yourself in the way he kisses you and holds you and moves his hands over your body like the mere feeling of touching you is the most addictive drug in the world, you make yourself pull back after a few moments.

He groans at the loss, but immediately busies himself by returning his mouth to your neck.

“Adrian?”

“Mmhmm?” He’s pulled off one of his gloves, and was immediately too distracted with trying to touch you again to pull off the other. The ungloved hand is still beneath your shirt, and his fingers curl almost restlessly against your back.

“Are you like…covered in cocaine right now?”

“Oh, yeah.” He doesn’t pull away from you, still tugging at your clothing as he presses even closer. “I blew up my secret room to get here. I think my beanie baby collection might be fucked.” He nips at your cheek, random and goofy and so incredibly perfect that it pulls a breathless laugh from your throat. He smiles, and kisses you again. “So worth it.”

You laugh again, arms wrapped around his neck as you bump your nose against his. “How’s your mom?”

“Oh, God.” He pulls back a bit now, just to rest his forehead against yours with a tortured expression. “She made us another potholder.”

You groan, but you can’t quite manage to keep the smile off of your face. All of the pain and grief and terror of the last few days, and it still feels like the most natural thing in the world to be with him. To stop a passionate embrace just to hold each other and talk about something so trivial. And vice versa. “Dude, we have too many potholders. Neither of us can even cook.”

“You keep taking them! She’s just gonna keep making them when you-“

“How am I supposed to say no?”

“You literally just have to say no. Like once. Just don’t take the potholder!”

“I can’t just not take them. Oh my God, our potholder drawer is full. And we have a potholder drawer. I feel like that shouldn’t be a thing.”

“If you keep saying potholder, I think you’re gonna kill my boner.” His voice sounds miserable, but he pulls back a little more and takes a moment to look you up and down. “Wait. Nevermind. Boner back on. C’mere.”

He pulls you off the wall, mouth crashing back to yours as he starts walking with you in his arms, very likely not looking where he’s going. You make a noise of confusion, breaking the kiss to look at his skewed glasses and flushed face. “What’re you doing?”

“I gotta find somewhere we can have sex.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, grinning like a madman. “Can’t do it in public. It’s illegal.” With another peck to the other corner of your mouth, he finally sets you down on your feet. “Do we have the same apartment here? We can go there.”

Oh, shit. You almost forgot. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah, exactly.” He dives back down to kiss your nose, hands squeezing your waist, completely oblivious to the way you’ve gone still against him. “Well, actually making love, cause you just agreed to marry me. Then fucking. Lots and lots and lots of fucking.”

“Adrian.”

He peppers kisses down to the side of your neck, nuzzling against you and inhaling deeply like an absolute weirdo. Your perfect, crazy weirdo. “I know, making love and fucking are the same thing cause it’s us and even when we do kinky stuff I still love you. But I mean we’re gonna make romantic ass love and then I’m gonna like, bend you over and make you-“

“Adrian. Hang on.”

“Hmmm?” He still doesn’t catch on, distracted with his task of nipping at your skin. Always touching you. Always trying to get closer.

You thought you’d never see him again. You thought he was gone forever. And here he is, goofy and overexcited and talking a mile a minute and so focused on just being here that he’s not even picking up on what you’re trying to say.

“Dude. I love you, but I need you to unlatch.”

“I love you too.” He says, seeming to go deaf at the last part of your sentence. He pulls you even closer, wrapping you up in his arms and grinning. “You look so good right now. You’re all flushed and I can see my teeth marks on your neck. I kinda wanna stay here forever with you. I mean, Chris likes it here better anyway. If they have crows and manta rays in this dimension I think-“

“Adrian.” You make your voice as firm as possible, pulling back to hold his face in your hands. “You gotta listen to me. Just for a sec, okay?”

He blinks. Once. Twice. You feel him relax beneath your hands, and his eyes become a little more focused. It’s not like the slow return of clarity that comes to the other Adrian, the shedding of darkness as he drags himself back to sanity. It’s more familiar. Smoother. Your Adrian just sort of…locks in. Anchors himself to you and makes himself listen.

“Okay.” He says, with one more sweet kiss to your nose, still grinning. “What’s up?”

Aw, man. You’re gonna ruin this moment.

-

“Woah, it looks just like ours.”

You told him about Chris. About the Nazi following. You even mentioned that the other you was in the Sons of Liberty, and tried to explain to the best of your ability who they are and what they do.

You didn’t tell him about the kidnapping. The other version of him. You didn’t even tell him about the wounds from the explosion. You will, a little later. Maybe once you get all of this worked out. The last thing you need right now is him going full ‘Vigilante mode’, getting all quiet and focused and distracted from the task at hand to worry about you. Shit, back when you fought the butterflies and were injured on the field, he was so wrapped up in trying to take care of you that he got fucking shot and basically ignored it until he passed out in the hospital waiting room. You don’t exactly want to risk something like that happening again. Especially not now. Not here.

You should just leave, right? You should grab Chris and go back through the portal and forget about all of this insanity. But…

God, what would it do to this Adrian if you disappeared? Despite everything, you can’t help but think back to that moment before you left earlier, when you soothed him from that darkness and just let him hold you for a while.

You’d fallen asleep together. Just for an hour or two. Just long enough to get some kind of actual rest. His fingers had combed through your hair, skated over your back, and he’d talked to you in such a different way than the Adrian you’re used to. It wasn’t spider facts or Peacemaker or all the different new ways he’s thought of to kill someone. It wasn’t animated and overexcited. It was soft. Calm. Paired with gentle touches and whispered words about the way the park here can be a nice place to walk when the sun hits that one big tree right. About how the ice cream at the store a few blocks down the road is the best he’s ever had, and he’s pretty sure you’ll love it too. It was intentional nonsense, not meant to really be heard, but because he knows that you like the sound of his voice. Because he knows you.

And every touch had felt like love. Every breath had felt like home. When you fell asleep, you hadn’t dreamed, and when you woke it was to his arms around you and his nose buried in your hair. And something about it had felt right. Almost as right as when you wake up in the arms of your own Adrian.

So no. You can’t just leave him.

But you’re really not sure what to do.

So, standing outside the door to a familiar apartment that isn’t quite yours, you hesitate.

“Can you…wait outside? Just for a minute?”

Adrian’s brow furrows.

“Why?” He asks, and when he looks at your face he goes a little more still. His voice gets a little more quiet. He reaches up, and brushes his thumb over your jaw, eyes searching yours in that sharp way that they sometimes do. He may not understand a lot of people’s emotions, but he knows you well enough to know when something is bothering you. “You okay?”

You smile. Turn your face to kiss his gloved palm. “Yeah. Just…it’s complicated, you know? I’ll explain later.” You meet his gaze. Exhale once. “You trust me?”

“Yeah. Of course I do.” He kisses your nose, and his smile is a little strained. A little worried. But the love in his eyes is so pure that it melts you. “Is the other me in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he gonna hurt you?”

“No.”

“Okay.” His forehead comes to rest against yours, the rims of his glasses bumping against your nose. “I’m gonna come in in a minute, though.”

You smile, though you can feel the sadness in your own expression, and you nod.

-

When you enter the apartment, Other Adrian is sitting on the couch. He looks restless. His phone is in his hand. Your contact name is open, like he’s been holding himself back from trying to call you.

He stands when you walk inside.

“You okay?” He asks, and the tone is different but the words are the same as the ones your Adrian just said to you. Spoken in the same voice. Weird.

You should be delighting in this, right? You should be flipping him off and dragging your Adrian in behind you, proud that even the laws of the damn universe can’t keep the two of you apart. This…this shouldn’t hurt. You shouldn’t look at him and hurt.

It’s worse that the darkness isn’t there, this time. He’s completely sane. Completely worried. Completely relieved to see you back.

“We uh…we’ve gotta talk.” You try, voice sounding a little hollow. A little broken.

His eyes soften, and he moves to you. Reaches up to brush your hair back. You let him. “I know.” He says, and fuck. Those eyes. Those sweet familiar green eyes. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay? I’m sorry if I pushed it too far. I just… I go somewhere and I don’t…I can’t think straight. But I’ll never hurt you. I promise.” He pulls you into him. Presses a kiss to the side of your head. You hug him back, a little hesitant, and rest your head against his shoulder.

He won’t hurt you. You know that. You don’t doubt that for a second. Even in his darkest moments, you’re safe with him. But he’s not yours, so that doesn’t really matter. You’re about to hurt him.

“Look, I-“

A gun cocks behind you, and Adrian’s arms lock around your middle like a vice.

Fuck.

“I know I said I’d wait.” You haven’t heard your Adrian sound like this before. Even on the field, when his voice gets low and steady and holds the promise of violence. He sounds…you don’t really know how he sounds. You can’t place it. There’s something steady there. Something protective and angry and dripping with danger. “Sorry.”

When you turn to look at him, his face is steady. His eyes are dark. His gun is aimed over your shoulder with a deadly accuracy.

“Ade, calm down.”

“Take your jacket off again.”

Shit. Shit. Of course he felt it. Of course he saw it. The stitches and bruises. It’s not like you’ve never been injured on the field before - new and healing wounds are a near constant with the two of you. And he was so sure you were fighting and ‘kicking ass’ alongside Peacemaker that of course they would have been something for him to notice and write off as a question for later.

With the jokes and general goofiness, even you sometimes forget how observant he is.

And he just heard this Adrian apologize for taking things too far. He knows you’ve been here with him. You told him as much. That, paired with your injuries, does not a pretty picture paint.

“Hey, I’m-“

“Take your jacket off again.” He repeats, and Christ, there is barely an inflection in his voice.

Gently, you push Other Adrian away from you. He barely releases you. You shrug out of the jacket. You know your arm is bruised. You know the stitches on your shoulder are visible.

Your Adrian doesn’t move. His eyes remain locked on the man behind you.

“Did he do that to you?”

“No.” Your answer is immediate. “He did the stitches.”

“Okay.” And his tone softens with relief, though you can still hear the protective edge, as sharp as steel. He doesn’t lower the gun. Doesn’t shift his gaze. “Come here, okay?”

You nod. Because while you know he’ll trust your answer, you also know that he needs to touch you, now. To have you close and look over the new wounds. You know how he works better than you know how you work. Adrian is used to you being wounded on the battlefield, but he’s also used to killing the enemy that wounded you in the first place. To stitching you up after he’s destroyed the threat to you. To holding you and reminding himself that you’re there and okay once it’s all over.

Other Adrian is still silent. But when you start to move towards yours, his arm locks around your waist again.

Your Adrian’s hand tightens on the trigger.

“Don’t.” You snap, and your Adrian finally looks to you. Oddly enough, he seems to understand your meaning. As chilling as it is, you think he would absolutely kill his alternate self if he didn’t think it would hurt you, but he can see that it would.

The tension in the room crackles. The Adrian holding you feels as still as ice.

“Let me go to him.” You say, like you’re trying to placate a feral animal. You may as well be.

Adrian’s arm tightens around you. Panic seeps deep into your skin. You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the darkness creeping back into them. You can see it mirrored in the eyes of your own Adrian. You haven’t seen that in him before.

“It’s okay.” Other Adrian says, arm tightening around you a little more. He sounds distant. Very, very distant. From this room. From this situation. From his own mind.

That’s not good. 

He turns his nose into your hair. Inhales. Exhales. Not calming himself down, like before, but grounding himself in a much more dangerous way. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your Adrian’s eyes glint with something burning. Something hotter than fury. “Don’t call her that.”

Other Adrian nuzzles closer. Pulls you back against him a little more tightly. Fuck. Fuck.

“Really bad time to lose it, dude.” You say, and he doesn’t seem to hear you. That clarity from before left him the moment he saw his other self here to take you away from him.

Your Adrian is beginning to look like he might start shaking, knuckles white where they hold the handle of the gun. He’s an excellent marksman, but the proximity of his alternate self to your head is much too close to guarantee a safe shot. You can see in his eyes that he knows this, and that it’s absolutely freaking him the fuck out.

“I know you said to stay calm, and I’m really trying to listen.” Your Adrian says, looking to you now. “And shooting him might be some fucked up version of suicide and it also might really upset you. But he needs to stop touching you. Like right now.”

“I’m not letting you take her away from me.” Other Adrian’s voice is low, and he’s holding you so close that you can hear the words rumble through his chest. “Not again.”

“The fuck does that mean, dude?”

“Don’t. Shoot. Him.” Your voice is firm. You feel the Other Adrian’s hand squeeze your waist, possessive.

Your Adrian makes a face at you like you just asked him to cut off his right hand, but he lowers the gun.

Good. Good. Okay.

“Okay, crazy.” You say, gently, as you reach down to pull Other Adrian’s arm from around you. He tightens his hold, muscles flexing as he presses his nose so deep into your neck you’re beginning to wonder if he might bite down like some kind of wild dog. His breath is shallow. Shaky. “Let me go, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Uh, yes the fuck we are.” Your Adrian says, and the barely-loosened vice of the other Adrian’s arm snaps back around you.

You glare at him, exasperated. “Dude.”

“Babe, I’m so serious right now. Please get Evil Me off of you.”

“I am working on it.” You say, feeling some odd sort of protectiveness curl in your gut. “He’s not evil, anyway. He’s just a little…messed up.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll be super cool with that when he isn’t licking your neck.”

“He’s not-“ you feel his lips on the side of your throat, pressing so close you can feel the blunt scrape of his teeth. You shiver, involuntarily.

“I’m gonna kill him. Like, I’m about to for real kill myself I know that sounds fucked up-“

“Adrian.” You snap, and you’re talking to both of them. Geez, you thought this situation was fucking weird before.

“You’re not leaving. You can’t leave me.” He murmurs, so quiet and low and with such desperation that you wonder if he even knows where he is. “Not again. Never again.”

“Christ.” Concern pulls at you, and you twist in his arms, reaching up to hold his face in your hands. When he looks at you, his green eyes look almost black, pupils blown wide as his hands tighten around you. Oh, God. You haven’t seen it this bad before.

“Hey, hey.” You brush your thumb along his jaw, firm and as soothing as you can make it, and he leans his face into your palm with a shaky breath. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Come back, okay? Breathe.”

He kisses you, instead. Hard. His hands come up to tangle in your hair, parting your lips with his own and sliding his tongue into your mouth with such force that you make a startled noise, arms flailing a little before they come up to try to push him off of you.

And then he’s gone, and you blink yourself back to reality just in time to see your Adrian ripping him backwards by his hair.

And then he punches himself in the face.

“Shit!” You manage, as Other Adrian immediately moves to punch him right back. Your Adrian goes down, and swings his foot out to knock the other one to the floor before slamming it into his stomach.

You throw yourself in between them, grabbing at whichever one you can to try to pull them off of each other. For a moment, the three of you devolve into a chaotic tumble of limbs and curses, before a collision with the carpet makes one of your bruises shriek in protest. You hiss in pain, and roll over to cradle the injury.

That distracts them both, two heads snapping up with matching expressions of concern, and that one moment allows you to dart forward and get yourself in between them, all three of you out of breath as you sit with a hand on either of their chests.

“Get along!” You shout, and you almost cringe at how ridiculous that sounds. Like a furious babysitter with unruly children, rather than someone trying to keep two versions of her insane boyfriend from killing each other.

“What?!” Your Adrian sounds incredulous. Looks like he’s about to lunge again. “He had his tongue down your throat!”

The smile the mirror version of himself gives him is downright fucking evil. “You don’t like that? You’re gonna hate where my hands have been.” He says, reaching out to skate his fingers pointedly over your thigh. You shove him off, and Your Adrian lunges over you to punch him again.

You pull him back, grunting with the effort of it, and shove them both away from each other again.

“Knock it the fuck off!”

To your surprise, they both stop. Thank God.

You turn to your Adrian. Reach up to brush your fingers through his hair and instinctively check for bruises. He leans into your touch, eyes still locked on the other version of himself as his hand comes out to brush over your waist in an absentminded sort of claim.

“He’s you.” You say, hoping he understands the meaning, and Adrian looks both helplessly confused and furious. “He’s you, just a little crazier. A little different.” You pull him closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And you’re my crazy, yeah?”

“I really don’t like this guy.”

“I know. Lemme talk to him, though. No guns or punching.”

Adrian may be possessive, and obsessive, and more quick to violence than most, but he trusts you. Thank God, he trusts you. It’s the main foundation of your relationship - knowing every dark part of each other and being completely honest about it. Loving each other anyway.

He nods, but his hand squeezes your waist once more. Not in warning or anger, but in something almost akin to a silent plea.

When you turn back to the other Adrian, his eyes are still darker than you’ve ever seen them. His knuckles are white against the carpet. His breathing is shallow.

You move to him, and reach up to touch his cheek. “Hey, look at me.”

His hand flies up to cover yours, and he reaches out to pull you to him, until you’re sitting on his lap. You feel your own Adrian lock up behind you, but you don’t turn around. You just focus on this Adrian, just for the moment, holding eye contact like he’s a wild animal that may bolt or attack if provoked.

“Don’t leave me.” He says, low and shaky, as he presses his forehead to yours and slides his hand into your hair. “Don’t. I can’t. I can’t lose you. Don’t go.” He doesn’t even seem to know what he’s saying, body tense and shaking against yours. The distance in his gaze, the memories burning behind his irises, makes you wonder if he’s said these words to you before. The other you. The one who died in his arms.

Your heart cracks, and you smooth your hand through his hair, soothing those memories away and bringing him back to himself. Not enough, but just a little. “Breathe, Adrian.” You murmur, as gently as you can. “Just breathe, okay?”

“Let me kiss you.” He begs now, tightening his hold. “Let me touch you. I’ll make it good. I’ll make it perfect. I’ll make you stay.”

“No.” You run your fingers through his hair. Over his back. “Just breathe for me. Please. Just breathe.”

He pulls you closer, pressing his nose into your shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut like he’s being comforted through a nightmare. You sit with him, patient, and let him hold you as he tries to breathe.

And finally, though it takes an eternity, he pulls back to look at you with more clarity in his eyes. The darkness is still there, creeping in at the corners like a promise, but he’s himself again. As much himself as he can be.

And then he looks back at himself. At Your Adrian. His eyes close, like he’s lost a devastating fight, and he brings his forehead back to your shoulder.

He’s quiet again, and it’s your Adrian that pipes up.

“Is that what it looks like when I hold you?”

The question takes you by surprise, and you turn to him. Even the small gesture makes Other Adrian’s hands tighten around you.

“Yeah, I guess?”

“Huh.” He’s still tense. You can see that false-relaxed pose he has. You know him well enough to be able to feel the preparation to spring beneath the casual posture, even as he speaks with complete honesty. “It looks right. It looks like you belong with me.”

You cock your head to the side, wondering what the fuck he’s getting at.

“I mean, me. Not evil me. It’s just weird to see it. We should put a bigger mirror in our room. Ooh, we could put it on the ceiling. That would be cool. Then we can see what it looks like when I-“

“Adrian.”

“This guy?” The Other Adrian says, and you tense at the words, familiar protectiveness thrumming through you. “This is the version of me you wanted to get back to so badly?”

“Yes.” You snap, immediately, pulling back despite the way his arms tighten a little more around you. He still lets you go. The fact that he can be so out of it, so desperate and forceful and yet still so incredibly cautious of your boundaries, still shocks you. “Watch it. He’s still my Adrian.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Don’t tell me what to call him. He is. He’s my Adrian.”

“So am I.”

You shake your head, and rise to your feet. Too weird. This is all too weird. “Okay, enough with all of this.” You run a hand over your face, mentally exhausted, and try to reorient yourself.

They both look at you. Two sets of green eyes. Two familiar faces, reflected back at you.

“Okay.” And you move to the kitchen. Inhale. Exhale. “I need a beer. Anyone want a beer?”

“Okay.” They both say, and you nearly groan.

“So fucking weird.” You mumble, and move to the fridge.

You hand them each a glass bottle, pop the cap off of your own, and glare at each of them.

“No fighting. We make nice, and we figure out how to tell Chris what the fuck is going on. Deal?”

“Why would I give a shit about Chris Smith?” Other Adrian asks, which prompts yours to scoff in something like disbelief.

“Seriously? This guy sucks! I thought he would at least be a little bit cool!”

“Adrian-“

“I met him like ten minutes ago and not only is he trying to fuck my girlfriend, but he’s not even best friends with Peacemaker?!”

“Adrian-“ you look at him, and tap your bottle against his forehead. Gentle, but enough to make him look at you. “Other Chris was a Nazi, remember?”

He frowns. His brow twitches, like he’s working through the anger and trying to follow some form of logic. His shoulders slump, and he takes a grumpy sip of his drink. “Okay, yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“He still sucks, though.”

“I know.”

“Not a huge fan of you, either.” Other Adrian says, taking a sip of his own beer and mumbling, “fucking psycho” under his breath.

“Seriously?” You snap, whipping your head in his direction. “You’re one to talk, Jekyll and Hyde.”

“You mean Jenkyll and Hyde?”

“Are you fucking with me?” This dimension may be weird, and it would be such a small and inconsequential change, just like the Han Solo pronunciation. But for some reason the way he said that pisses you the fuck off. Too many emotions rolling through you at once, overwhelming you and morphing into anger.

He smiles, mischievous and almost boyish, and shrugs.

You look for something to throw, that familiar fire of all of this built up frustration humming through your body and threatening to burst, and your Adrian seems to act on instinct. His arms suddenly wrap around your middle, lips pressing against your cheek.

“Hey,” he hums, voice soft, “ask me if tarantulas are furry.”

You frown, but thunk your head against his shoulder like a machine that’s been switched off. You can feel the frustration beginning to seep from you already, like he’s pulling it from your very bones.

“Are tarantulas fuzzy?” You ask, voice muffled by the fabric of his suit, and you feel him smile as he squeezes you once.

“Nope. They’re furry.”

“What’s the difference?” You pull back to look at him, genuine curiosity in your eyes, and he grins at your expression as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

“Furry is softer than fuzzy.” And it’s definitely not right, and you definitely know that, but the confidence in his answer still makes you smile.

He bumps his nose against yours, grounding you with his touch like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He waits for you to relax a little more, presses a quick little kiss to your lips, and only then does he speak again.

“Okay, what’s the plan?”

When you glance behind him, you see the Other Adrian, watching the interaction like a hawk. But, while there’s definitely something like jealously and possessiveness still lingering in his gaze, you also see something like…understanding. Something like sadness. Like longing.

How was he, with the other version of you? Was it anything like this?

He doesn’t soothe you like your Adrian does. Doesn’t distract you. He riles you up until you actually face the problem, and maybe that isn’t a bad thing. Maybe, in a way, you need that just as much as you need the way this Adrian calms you.

But that’s not something you need to think about, now.

You turn your attention back to your Adrian, lean up to give him another grateful peck on the lips, and finally begin to pull your thoughts together. “We have to go tell Chris. And then once he knows…I guess we go from there, right?” A thought finally occurs to you, making you frown. “Wait. How did you get here?”

Adrian’s eyes widen. His gaze moves to the window. To the setting sun. “Oh, shit.”

-

The two Adrians were already a mess of chatter, practically vibrating in the cramped basement as they pointed fingers at each other, their voices overlapping like static.

“Infernape?”

“Infernape!”

“Dude, best Pokémon, no contest.”

“Exactly! Fire monkey for the win, baby!”

They slapped hands sloppily, both grinning like lunatics.

“Malt-O-Meal?” one asked.

“Malt-O-Meal!” the other cheered, nearly tripping over the workbench as if he couldn’t believe the words had actually been spoken out loud by someone else.

“Teal?”

“Freaking teal, man!”

Another slap, another wheezing laugh, another clumsy spin in place.

For all the chaos around them, for all the hellish realities their respective worlds had vomited up, the two of them might as well have been standing in a high school hallway, nerding out over lunchroom trivia.

And then, just as abruptly as the manic energy had started, Adrian stilled.

His grin faltered, his eyes widening like a thought had just sucker-punched him.

“Wait—hold on,” he said, raising a finger.

His chest puffed a little with pride, as though what he was about to say was the crowning jewel of his existence.

“Are (y/n) and me in love in this universe, too?”

Alternate Adrian blinked, “What?”

“You know,” Adrian leaned forward, gesturing vaguely with both hands like that explained it. “(y/n). Our fiancee. The love of our life.”

Confusion furrowed Alternate Adrian’s brow, “Uh… what do you mean?”

Adrian froze, his expression twisting with slow-blooming concern.

“What do you mean, what do you mean? You’re saying you don’t have… you don’t have a (y/n)?”

He emphasized the word like it should have been obvious, like it was universal truth.

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

The silence hit Adrian like a bullet.

His face fell, his shoulders slumping, that manic grin draining away into genuine sadness.

“…Oh my god,” he whispered, almost breathless. “You mean you don’t… you don’t have her here? No (y/n)? No—no, like…”

He trailed off, shaking his head like the thought physically pained him.

“I thought that was… I thought that was a constant. Like gravity. Or nipples. I can’t even…”

He swallowed hard, his eyes glassy.

For all his violent quirks, he looked for a moment like a man gutted.

“That’s just… wow. I can’t even imagine a world without her in it. That’s like… like a world without air. Or TV.”

Alternate Adrian softened slightly, curiosity tugging at his mouth, “Do you have a picture? Maybe I’ve seen her before and just didn't realize."

Adrian gave a small, incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

“Dude, trust me, if you’d met her? You’d know. Because the second I saw her? Boom. Game over. She was it. Forever. Like, I knew right then. And I was right.”

His voice warmed, every word soft but bursting with pride.

“She’s gorgeous. I mean—gorgeous doesn’t even cover it. She’s… she’s perfect. She’s sweet, and smart, and funny, and she once bashed my best friend in the skull with a cast-iron skillet ‘cause he let me get tortured during a mission. Like, that’s love.”

Alternate Adrian leaned forward eagerly, his eyes bright, “Okay, you’re killing me, man. She sounds like a total knockout. I gotta see.”

“Oh, she is. Like—my first everything. First crush, first kiss, first time making love,” he waggled his brows shamelessly. “She’s my first girlfriend, first fiancée. First person who ever made me feel like a human being instead of, like… a ferret with knives taped to it. You know what I mean?”

“Nope,” Alternate Adrian said instantly, “but show me.”

Adrian grinned, fumbling at his utility belt until he found what he was looking for.

He tugged out a small, worn Polaroid, holding it up between two fingers like it was holy scripture.

The photo showed you on your birthday: tipsy, radiant in a short, tight black dress that hugged every curve, arms wound around Adrian’s neck.

You were smiling, eyes warm, pressed close against him as though he was the only thing in the room that mattered.

Alternate Adrian’s jaw dropped.

His pupils dilated, his whole body stiffening like someone had just driven a lightning bolt down his spine.

“…Oh my god,” he breathed.

It was love at first sight.

“She’s... she’s... she’s, like... everything,” his voice cracked with awe. “You’re telling me that’s your fiancée?”

“Hell yeah,” Adrian puffed his chest, beaming. “Proposed a few months ago. She said yes. I mean, duh. Look at us. We’re, like, perfection.”

Alternate Adrian took the photo carefully, reverently, staring at it like it was the only pure thing left in his world.

His voice was low, tinged with longing, “She looks… she looks like she loves you. Damn, man. I’m jealous.”

Adrian tilted his head, “What? Why? You’re me. You could totally—”

“No,” Alternate Adrian cut him off, solemn now. “I know why we’ve never met.”

Adrian frowned, “…Why?”

Alternate Adrian sighed, the weight of his world dropping heavy in the space between them.

“Because this universe is run by Nazis. They won World War II. Anyone they consider an outsider is sent to labor camps to work for the rest of their lives.”

Adrian’s mouth fell open, “Wait—you’re serious?!”

Alternate Adrian’s grip tightened on the Polaroid.

“That’s why I joined the Sons of Liberty. I couldn’t just… sit back. And now, knowing that my soulmate is out there? Probably suffering in some camp? It makes me fucking sick."

Adrian’s face darkened, his stomach twisting at the thought of you trapped in that nightmare, “Dude. In my universe? She’s a big-shot criminal defense attorney. Like, total badass. Keeps me out of prison whenever I screw up.”

“How big a shot?” Alternate Adrian asked, lips twitching.

“Like, corner office big shot.”

The two paused, glanced at each other.

“Ruthless CEO and dedicated copy boy fantasy!” they exclaimed in unison.

They burst out laughing, clapping hands again, giddy despite the darkness around them.

But as the laughter settled, Adrian’s face sobered.

“…Wait. I just remembered something.”

Alternate Adrian raised a brow. “What?”

“I came here with someone who’s technically black, too.”

“Technically? Like… you can’t tell?”

“No, you can totally tell. First thing I noticed about her.”

Alternate Adrian’s eyes went wide.

“Shit,” he spun toward his workbench, snatching up his mask. “If they find your friend, you’ll never see her again.”

Adrian bolted upright.

The two started toward the stairs, adrenaline hot in their veins.

But halfway there, Alternate Adrian froze, holding up the Polaroid again.

He glanced at Adrian, hesitant, “Hey, can I… keep this?”

Adrian smiled, almost proud.

“Of course. Dude, I’ve got, like, a thousand more in my basement. Whole shrine. You can totally have that one,” he hesitated, then added, “Hell, if you want, you could even come to my universe. Meet her for real.”

Alternate Adrian shook his head firmly, though his voice cracked with the effort, “…No. That’d be cheating on my (y/n). Now that I know she's out there, I’m not gonna stop until I find her.”

He tucked the photo close to his chest, like armor, and for a moment the two men—identical, absurd, violent, and broken—shared a quiet understanding.

Because in any universe, love like that was a constant.

.

.

You tap your foot. Try to keep yourself seated on the couch. Try not to think about how his body felt against yours, so familiar and so different at the same time.

You’re about five minutes from taking a cold fucking shower.

You stand, and start to pace again.

-

“I just don’t get why you’re so mad about this!”

“Adrian, I woke up to a snake in our bed. How could I not be mad?!”

Three months ago, in your own dimension, you were pacing much like you are now in a messier version of this living room, bedheaded and furious as your very confused and frustrated boyfriend stood before you.

“Yeah. It was cute! I thought you would be happy!”

“Why would I be happy about a wild animal in our bed? Especially a snake?!”

“Uh, duh. A snake is the universal symbol of love!”

That’s enough to stop you in your tracks. You turn to him, raising your eyebrows. “What?” You may not know a lot about snakes, but that definitely isn’t true.

Adrian, however, looks at you like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. “They’re the only animal in the whole world that can move their bodies into a real-life heart emoji.”

You forget, for a moment, to be angry. “What about worms?”

“They’re too wiggly. They can’t do it.”

“They’re not- huh?”

“Have you ever tried to move a worm into a heart? It doesn’t work. They’re way too small for that and-“

“Have you ever tried to move a snake into a heart?”

“I mean, yeah. I almost got there but then Reggie bit me and I didn’t want to piss him off anymore so-“

“You named the snake.” You deadpan, eyes still locked on him.

“I mean, it’s not like I can ask his real name. I can’t speak snake. That would be ridiculous. I can’t even roll my r’s, how am I supposed to pronounce all of that hissing- why are you laughing? I thought you were mad.”

You try to cover your face, because you really are trying to be mad, but the fit of giggles that breaks free is impossible to cover.

“You’re crazy.” You say, shaking your head with disbelief. The grin that splits his face makes your heart swell, and he rushes forward like he’s been waiting for this entire argument for an excuse to touch you. Even when you were pissed and pacing, you saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides. The way his gaze followed you so closely he seemed to be nearly vibrating with restraint.

“I’m your crazy.” He says proudly, repeating words he’s said to you a million times before as he moves your hand away from your face to press a kiss to your nose. “And you’re my crazy. And Reggie is gonna be our-“

“We’re not keeping the snake, Adrian.”

His smile falls, but his arms still wrap around you. He’s always touching you, always trying to get closer to you somehow. “Fine. But he’s gonna be pissed. Snakes are the most sensitive out of all of the amphibians.”

“Reptiles.”

“Huh?”

“Snakes are reptiles.”

“Preeetty sure I’m the snake expert here.” He pecks the side of your head, nuzzling into your hair so closely you worry if the rims of his glasses might get tangled in it again.

You snort, rest your cheek against his shoulder, press your own little kiss to the side of his neck, and forget to be mad.

-

Now, in a different world, you continue to pace in a mirror version of that living room, no incorrect snake facts or snuggly overeager boyfriend present this time to calm your nerves.

And, because you probably should, at this point, you snoop.

And you find…a lot. Paperwork. Symbols. Pictures.

You don’t remember much from the explosion. From the fight that earned you these injuries and got you here, in this almost-yours apartment with this almost-yours version of Adrian.

But you remember hearing them shout. You remember the name of the group. The name of the evil group that tried to blow up a fucking library, held a woman hostage, and tried their damndest to kill Chris. Chris, who is an asshole, but still one of your best friends. Still Adrian’s best friend.

Right?

Come to think of it, this Adrian hasn’t mentioned him. He didn’t stop you from punching him, like your Adrian would have. He only held you back to keep you from popping your stitches again. He let you go even when you said you would hit him again. You’d assumed he was, at the very least, just letting you get your anger out so you wouldn’t take it out on him, but…

“Better you than me, dude. Besides, it’s pretty fucking sexy.”

The words were just similar enough to something your Adrian might have said for you to brush them off. Your Adrian, who is the most turned on when you’re covered in blood and dirt and killing people alongside him. But now that you think about it, there was something there. Something in this Adrian’s tone. Something old and instinctive that sounded almost like hatred.

Sons of Liberty. Enemies of Christopher Smith. Allies of Vigilante.

Oh, you’re gonna need to get answers. Now.

-

He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping. So much like your Adrian. The lack of glasses doesn’t seem so strange when he’s in bed. The near-restless look on his handsome face is similar to the one you know. Your Adrian talks in his sleep. Has a tendency to pull you into a bear-hug and mumble nonsense into your hair. You wonder if this one does, too.

You won’t find out. Not tonight.

Because this Adrian wakes to the cool steel of a knife pressed against his throat. To you straddling his hips, eyes sharper than the blade in your hand.

Green eyes flutter open. Widen. Hands fly up to your thighs like he’s about to instinctively knock you off of him, to disable the threat before he’s even fully conscious.

And then he looks at you. Registers what’s happening. Those hands tighten on your thighs, and his breath stutters as his pupils blow wide.

“Holy shit.”

You ignore the breathless tone of his voice. Lean forward and dig the knife in a little more. He makes a choked noise, and you narrow your eyes.

“Morning, sunshine.” Your tone is steady. Dark and furious. “I have some questions.”

He stares up at you, and that’s when you notice it.

The wide eyes. The quickened breaths. The way the corner of his mouth is twitching upwards with something you thought was shock until now. Until you feel his hips shift beneath you and-

“Adrian.”

“Yeah?” He sounds like he’s just run a marathon.

“Are you fucking hard right now?”

“Yeah.”

Oh, God. Out of everything, all of the differences between them, this is how he’s apparently exactly like your version of him.

“You can do it harder.” He says, eyes sparking with unadulterated want as he leans back to bare his throat to you even more.

“I’m trying to fucking interrogate you.”

“And it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He grins, feral, and his hands move up from your thighs to your hips, pulling you down against him in a move so practiced that you wonder if the other version of you has done this with him before.

You choke a little, your grip on the knife stuttering, and you press it tighter against his neck as his smile widens.

“Can I talk to sane Adrian, for a second?”

He raises an eyebrow, and releases one hand’s grip on your hip to rest it casually beneath his head. Like you’re having a normal conversation and he isn’t incredibly noticeably turned on while you hold a knife to his jugular. He’s still not wearing a shirt. The new position flexes the muscles in his bicep. You want to lick it.

Fuck. Focus.

You suck in a breath through your teeth. Try to steel yourself.

“Who are the Sons of Liberty?”

That stops him, the cocky grin on his face faltering, his hand stilling where it was toying with the hem of your shorts. “Shit.”

“Oh, does that ring a bell?” You ask, and now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “You know, the people who blew me up?”

His eyes close for a second, like he’s genuinely disappointed that this wasn’t just your odd and violent way of initiating kinky sex.

“Look, I can-“

“Explain. I know. You keep saying that kind of thing.” You dig the knife in a little harder, and his eyes snap open to meet yours. All dark hunger. No clarity. Great. This is gonna be one of those conversations. Last time, you snapped him into some form of sanity by nearly bleeding to death in front of him. You’d rather not do that again.

You’re fine. You can hold your own.

“Why do you work for them?”

“I work with them.”

“Did you get them to attack me?”

“No.” He says, and his eyes drop to your mouth now. One track mind, this guy. “They’ve got a good cause, but I would have killed them all if they hurt you.”

“They did.”

“I know, but I got to you in time. You weren’t supposed to be in that park. I was supposed to come find you. Talk to you and make you want to be here more than there.” He sits up, slowly, seeming completely oblivious to the way the movement makes a small trickle of red spill down his neck. Your eyes widen, and you lean back, pulling the knife with you to prevent any more damage. He grins again, hand squeezing your thigh like he’s just proved a point. Like he’s just won a truly fucked up little game of chicken.

This interrogation is going poorly.

“I saw your dimension, remember?” He murmurs, nose bumping yours as his eyes remain fixed on your mouth. You keep your breathing steady. You don’t move the knife. “I know how you think. You’re friends with Peacemaker over there, sure. But none of you are like them.”

“Not like who?” You don’t like how the words sound. Don’t like the breathy quality your voice has taken on.

Without warning, Adrian’s other hand comes back to your waist, and he tugs you a little more onto his lap. The rock of his hips against yours makes your breath hitch. You feel him bite back a groan, and he begins to lower you both until your back hits the mattress, knife still held firmly against his neck.

“Fuck, you’re exactly the same.” He says, as one hand catches the back of your knee and hikes it up against his hip. You force yourself to keep your eyes open. To keep your body tense. “You’re loving this. You want it just as bad as I do.” He leans even closer, until you can feel the blunt side of the knife against your own throat. “Give in, baby. It’ll feel so good. I promise.”

“You’re changing the subje-“

He kisses you, rough and hungry, and takes advantage of the distraction to catch your hand and pull the knife away from his neck, slamming it to the mattress beside you.

You make a muffled noise of protest, tugging at your arm, and he bites your lip as his body presses down atop yours.

Your own body betrays you, for a moment. You blame it on how similar he is to your own Adrian, so fucked up that he’s turned on by all of this. Very, very turned on. And shit, so are you. You’re trying so, so hard to ignore it but he’s biting at your lip so hard you wonder if you might bleed and soothing it with his tongue and when you arch into him he growls and holy shit it feels so good-

Focus. Focus.

You pull your leg up, and use the angle to flip him so you’re back on top, ripping his hand off of your wrist to press the knife back against his throat.

He groans, head falling back, and bucks his hips up in a way that pulls a strangled noise from your throat. You have to brace your other hand on the sheets to keep from accidentally cutting him again. The way he looks at you, you’re sure he wouldn’t complain.

“Fuck.” His voice sounds tortured, though the word is laced with something like ecstasy as he leans his head back again, exposing his throat to the blade. “So fucking hot. Seriously, baby. Just let me-“

“Shut the fuck up and explain.” Christ, you’re moments away from stomping out the door and trying this again in one of his more lucid moments. Actually, you’re moments away from something else entirely, electricity sparking through every nerve in your body at the sight of his parted lips, starved eyes, flushed bare chest. The way he’s still holding your hips like he’s the one in control despite your position.

The knife has lost its intimidating edge, pun intended. It’s basically just a tool for foreplay at this point. It’s certainly not threatening this Adrian.

You should put it down.

He looks incredible like this. He feels incredible like this.

His hands massage your hips, eyes locked on yours. “I know your Chris Smith is different. I know he killed this shitty version of himself.” You feel his fingers tighten, eyes darkening impossibly more. “Still, watching you punch him like that today?” And then he grinds his hips up against yours, smile sharp and starved when you make a choked noise and stutter your grip on the knife. “Fuck. Almost fucked you right there in that alley. You wouldn’tve let me, though.” That wicked gleam comes back, and this time he doesn’t even move, but rather moves you on top of him until pure molten fire shoots through your veins and you nearly start to shake.

“Or maybe you would have, right? You getting tired of pretending you don’t want me, baby? That why you brought out the knife?”

“Shut up.”

“Shut me up.”

You ignore the invitation. Ignore the way his fingers are sliding up under your shirt to brush along your waistband. It takes everything in your power to keep your lip from catching between your teeth.

“Who are the Sons of Liberty, and what the fuck is going on in this dimension?” You ask, voice as firm as you can make it.

He groans, this time out of frustration, and drops his head back against the sheets.

“Let me fuck you first.” And there’s that commanding tone again. The one that sets him apart from your Adrian. The one that pisses you off and makes you want to give in at the same time. “You’ll be less pissed after a few orgasms, I swear.”

“Sure. When you put it like that, how could I say no?”

His eyes light up like bonfires. “Really?”

“No.” You dislodge yourself from him. He makes a noise of protest, thunking his head miserably back against the sheets, but allows it. You sheathe the knife, and make sure to put a little bit of distance between you as you try to shake off the feeling of his hands against your skin. “Talk, Chase. I’m sick of all the secrets.”

And he does.

-

“It was so cute. He kept this little picture of her under his pillow-“

“Mom oh my god shut UP!”

“-and he would hold it and kiss it and carry it around with him all over the house-“

“Mom, I swear to God. Go away. Fuck off! Please fuck off!”

“He would spend hours in the mirror practicing all the ways he could flirt with her. She’s such a darling girl. I knew your special little butt dance would work.”

Adrian hides his face in his hands, making a noise more pained than when he had his toe cut off. “Mom, go away! Fuck off right now stop talking-“

“He would just practice and practice and put that little picture up on the wall so he could talk to it. I was worried about germs, of course, with how much he would be kissing it, but I didn’t want to get in the way of his little crush.”

“Shut up! Mom shut up!”

“Oh- Adrian, I have to go upstairs-“

“Oh my God yes you do-“

“Stay right here, I made her another potholder.”

“Mom you have got to stop giving her potholders! We have too many potholders!”

“But she loves my potholders!”

“No she doesn’t! I keep telling you she just keeps taking them because she’s nice!”

“Oh isn’t that just the sweetest thing? Have you asked her yet?”

“Why is this the longest conversation ever? Why won’t you fuck off!?”

“You know, he has been practicing a proposal from his DnD campaign for months now. Personally, I told him to just ask her. She’ll say yes. But oh no, he wanted it to be perfect! He writes pages and pages and goes on and on about the ring being the One Ring from the Ring Lord-“

“It’s Lord of the Rings stop talking mom you are hurting my BRAIN!“

“Alright, alright! I’ll be upstairs when you kids want to come up. I’ll make sammiches!”

Everyone stares. Adrian unlocks the door, face still pained and bright red.

“She has dementia.” He says, and clears his throat. “Like, none of that was true. But don’t uh…don’t like, tell her when we find her because she’ll worry about my mom losing her mind and shit-“

“Adrian, if she hasn’t left you by now, trust me, I don’t think she’s gonna.” Leota says, comforting, even as she hides her own cringe behind his back.

“We should probably get her checked for brain damage, though.” John mumbles. Adrian ignores him.

“You made out with a picture of her?” Emilia asks, and Adrian is still quiet as his face heats up even more.

“I’m hoping making out with it is the only thing he did.”

He finally whirls on them, then, keys still dangling from the lock. “I didn’t do any of that! Ever! I was super cool, and super chill, and she’s with me because I’m so cool and chill, okay? My mom is just a fucking psycho none of that happened!”

“Oh yeah, you’re reeaaal cool and chill.”

Luckily for him, when they finally do enter his super secret room and see the stash of drugs and money, the conversation is quick to change. They’re as weird about all of this stuff as you are. You’re always so worried about how he has ‘El Chapo’s stash in his basement’ and how ‘one corner of this room could send him to prison for the rest of his life’. Like anyone is ever going to find it. You worry so much. It’s adorable.

“Okay. You know what to do, right?” Adrian can barely hear Emilia’s voice over the excitement beginning to hum through him. Leota is going to set up the portal, and then he’s going to find you. He’s gonna see you again. He’s gonna get you back. “You go in, do not interact with anyone, get them, and come back. Got it?”

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p’ on the word, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“You’ve got one day. One day. And then we come in to get you.”

“Shouldn’t we just go with him now?” Leota asks, frowning as she fiddles with the machine in the doorway. “No offense, Adrian, but you do have a tendency to get kinda…distracted.”

“One person isn’t going to cause as much damage or complications as all of us will.” Emilia says, though Adrian is pretty sure she looks anxious. That’s what anxious looks like, right? Furrowed brow and murderous expression? “Besides, he only ever gets distracted when it comes to her. For once, Adrian being fucking obsessed with his girlfriend might actually help us.”

“I still can’t stop thinking about that picture thing.” John says, face twisted with disgust. “Did you like, jerk off to it? Or just make out with it?”

“Ew! Why would you ask him that?” Leota steps back from the machine, looking like she’s about to reach up to cover her ears.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to share a fact about one of the beanie babies that will calm everyone down and hopefully change the fucking subject, before Leota sets the portal off and the explosion knocks him backward.

-

“What the fuck, Adrian?” You’re pacing again, hands in your hair like you’re about to rip it out by the root.

“You’re mad.”

“Mad? I’m mad?!” You whirl on him, fingers twitching to pull the knife back out. From the look on his face, you have a feeling that doing so won’t lead anywhere productive. “You took me to a fucking Nazi dimension! And you keep saying it’s better than my dimension!”

“Woah, woah. First of all, not a ‘Nazi Dimension’. The Top Trio are white supremacist dickbags, but not everyone is.” He sits up, resting his elbows on his knees and frowning up at you. “They’ve just got a massive following of shitty people. That’s why we have the Sons of Liberty to keep them from turning this into a quote unquote ‘Nazi Dimension.’” You open your mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand. “Second, I didn’t say it was better here. I said you’d like it better here.”

“Why would I like the Nazi dimension better?!” You don’t think you’ve ever sounded more shrill in your life. You’re about two seconds from lunging at him and trying to wring his neck.

Again, he might like that. Fuck. Arguing with your Adrian was never this difficult. Then again, you never fought with your Adrian like this. The passion was there, yes. Almost too much of it - Economos still won’t let the ‘van incident’ go - but he never made you so furious you felt like your blood was on fire. In more ways than one. Fuck.

“Not a Nazi dimension.” He repeats, before exhaling and offering you an almost boyish shrug. “And it makes it a lot easier to kill people. You can’t exactly fuck up killing a Nazi.”

Well, he does have a point. Your Adrian is a lot more loosey goosey with his moral code than you are. A world where you have a clear and specific enemy? Fighting the followers of the Top Trio, who are not-too-secretly pieces of absolute shit? It would definitely help you sleep at night.

Still. What the Hell?

“Fuck. Fuck.” You run a hand over your face. Shake your head like you might be able to dislodge the shock and horror of all of this. “I really thought I couldn’t be more angry with you. I seriously thought the kidnapping and your infuriating fucking personality made me hit my limit.”

“The orgasms are still on the table.”

There’s a snow globe on the table beside you. You throw it at him. He catches it.

And then he smiles at you, like he’s winning. Like this is exactly the reaction he wants to pull from you.

“Fuck you.”

“You want to.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Your body is still humming from your interaction mere minutes ago. His face is still flushed. There’s a small cut on his neck, a bead of blood still dripping from it. He looks fucking beautiful.

And you can’t focus on being angry. You can’t think straight. You’re not exactly the most…put together person in the world. There’s a reason you’re so well suited for Adrian Chase. You take pleasure in killing, just like he does. Not quite as much, maybe, but violence isn’t something you tend to shy away from. In fact, you run toward it. You let anger and emotions fuel you, while Adrian tends to brush them aside or fail to even notice them at all. You may be there to cool him down when he gets worked up in his own way, but he does the same for you.

This version of you wasn’t too different, was she? Because this Adrian is looking at you like he knows damn well what he’s doing. Your Adrian would make a joke. Make you laugh. Try to share some kind of animal fact that is so silly or incorrect that it would distract you from your anger. If that doesn’t work, he’ll usually surge forward and kiss you, letting the fire burn through you in a different way. Becoming your outlet through passion and the connection he loves so much. By the time you’re both exhausted and he’s grinning like a madman and pressing sweet kisses to whatever part of your marked-up skin he can reach, you’ve forgotten what got you worked up in the first place, and you’re laughing with him again.

This Adrian is grinning, green eyes still dark and smile as sharp as the knife you were just holding to his throat. He’s goading you. Purposeful and calculated. He’s not trying to distract you. Not trying to help you burn through your anger. He’s trying to work you up even more. Trying to stoke the fire until he can get you so angry that you’ll finally have to face the other reason you’re so furious.

“Admit it.”

“Don’t change the damn subject.”

“Admit you want me.”

“No.”

“You’re pissed. I know.” He’s moving closer. You’re not backing down. “But I know you, and I know that underneath it all, you’re even more pissed because you know I’m getting to you.”

“You’re not.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’re pissing me off.”

“And you’re pent up, aren’t you?” His eyes move over your face, to the way your breath is coming a little more rapidly. The way heat is rising to your cheeks. His grin is triumphant. Unhinged. “You don’t just want me because I look like him. You don’t just want me because I am him.” The small of your back hits the dresser behind you. His hands come to rest on the wood on either side of you as he leans in close. “You love him, but you like the ways I’m different, don’t you?”

You should push him off of you. You should slam your knee up between his legs. You should grab that knife and stab him with it.

His breath is warm against your ear. He smells like Adrian. He feels like Adrian. He is Adrian, and yet he isn’t. Your body and mind have never been so fucking confused. “This version of me gets a rise out of you, and you fucking love it.”

“I don’t.” The words sound choked. The heat pooling in your stomach is making your knees feel weak.

“You wanna lie to yourself, baby?” You barely notice his hand moving, nearly jump when you feel his fingers skate up beneath your shirt. “Go ahead.” His hand moves to the small of your back, the contact leaving sparks in its wake, and he tugs you closer to him.

“I hate you.” The lie is bitter on your tongue. He just smiles wider, and bites at the shell of your ear. You gasp, and his fingers curl against your skin.

“You wanna know what I think?”

“No.” You can’t remember how to breathe.

“I think,” his fingertips skate over your waistband, dipping below it just to slide back up, teasing and wrong and fucking torturous, “if I moved my hand down to where you really, really want me to, I could prove you wrong.”

Your hand flies up, catching his wrist before it can do exactly that. And yet, you still can’t make yourself pull away.

“You want me to stop?” He asks, the words spoken against your throat, now. “Say it.”

You open your mouth, and nothing comes out.

You hate him. You hate that he’s right. You hate how fucking badly you want him.

He hums, low and almost mocking in it’s cockiness. “You’re shaking.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re fucking desperate for me.”

You finally move to push him off of you. He catches your wrists without even pulling back from your neck.

“Say it. Say you want me to stop.”

You break his hold and shove him, instead. He moves back like he’s allowing it. Doesn’t even pretend to stumble. He’s still smiling.

You shove him again.

“I hate you.” You snarl again, and his smile widens. You want to fucking kill him. You want to slam his head against the wall. You want him to stop making you feel like this so everything is less fucking confusing.

“Say it again.”

“I hate you.” You shove him again, and this time he catches you around the waist. Throws you back onto the bed and moves atop of you in one smooth motion. You try to shove him off again, but his hands catch your wrists and pin them to the mattress on either side of your head.

He grinds his hips against yours hard enough to make your breath hitch. You squirm. You fight. You try to kick him. He slots his body against yours and holds you still. His mouth drops down to your own when he speaks again. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll let you go.”

You can’t pull air into your lungs. You can’t think enough to speak. He rolls his hips again, and you make a noise between a whimper and a gasp that you hate with every fiber of your being.

“I hate you.” You try, because you can’t say it. You can’t even lie. The words scramble in your brain before you can push them past your lips.

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos, the words almost condescending, and you fight again. You try to kick him. To dislodge his hands from your wrists.

He kisses you, and you hate him more.

You kiss back like a feral animal. You bite at his lips. He releases one of your hands, and you use it to claw at his back. You try to tell him that you hate him again, the words swallowed by his mouth, and he grinds against you so skillfully, so slow and deep, that it drags another desperate noise from your throat.

His hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing but holding you still as his tongue slides hungrily into your mouth. You groan, arch your body into his, and the next movement of his hips has your brain short-circuiting.

“Say it again.” You haven’t heard his voice like this. Not yet. Not this low, this desperate, this deep in more ways than just his tone. Your body arches against his again, and his hand comes down to slam your hips back against the bed, keeping you still and completely at his mercy. That should not thrill you as much as it does. Should not pull a borderline pathetic noise from your throat like it does. “Tell me you hate me.”

He says it like he’s demanding a confession of love. Like hearing you say it will mean the same thing. At this point, it might.

You say it. His hand slides beneath your waistband again, blunt nails scraping against your skin so close to where you need him but not nearly close enough.

“Now tell me you want me. Admit it.” He’s panting, every breath labored and every touch rough and needy and incredible. You say nothing, and he grinds against you so roughly that you whine before he says it again. “Admit it.”

Clarity does not come back to you this time. Pulling back this time feels like the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Not Adrian. Not Adrian. Not your Adrian.

“No.” You’re breathless. Starved. Your body is shaking and you can’t think. Can’t breathe. Your next three words leave your lips with more effort than you think you’ve ever used in your life. “No. Get off.”

And he does. Immediately. He releases you, and sits back, putting distance between you so fast that you’re almost shocked by it. You really did just need to tell him to stop. Even in the state he’s in, he really will never hurt you.

And you both sit there, trying to catch your breath, the room too warm with the lingering heat and desperation. You can’t look at him. Can’t meet his starved gaze. You’ll cave if you do.

“I have to tell Chris.”

He tenses like you just dropped a bucket of ice water over his head.

“Alone.” You add, and he tenses even more.

“It’s not safe.”

“I know.”

He inhales. Slowly. Like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Let me go with you.”

“No.” You do the same. Inhale, exhale. Nice and slow. Nice and calm. Every part of you is still running molten. “Just me. I have to talk to him alone. I have to…I can’t. You can’t. He’s a dick, but he trusts me. He’ll listen if it’s just me.”

He frowns. Looks at you for a moment. Looks like he’s trying to pull himself back from the edge. His eyes are so dark that it barely looks like there’s any part of him left behind them.

You frown too, and then you test a theory.

When you reach up to skate your fingers over his cheek, he turns his face into your palm and closes his eyes. He doesn’t move towards you again. Doesn’t pin you down. Demands nothing. You told him to stop, and that’s all you needed to do.

But you can see the restraint in his body. You can feel the tension. He’s shaking. He’s trying to focus so hard that he’s barely breathing.

“Hey, Ade. Breathe.” You’re still a little breathless yourself, but you manage to keep your voice low and calm.

And he does. One slow inhale. One slow exhale.

“Okay, good. Again.”

He does it again.

And when he looks up at you, turning his face so his cheek is pressed against your hand and his gaze is back on yours, his eyes are a little more clear.

Huh. That’s something.

“Hi.” You say, like you’re greeting him for the first time.

He smiles a little, and there’s that sadness again. That silent apology. “Hi.”

You brush your thumb over his jaw, and decide that you’re definitely going to figure this out later. How he works. How to pull him back from that unpredictable edge of insanity.

You can find Chris in a bit. Soon, yes, but there’s no immediate rush. Not right now. For now, with the hint of something like confusion in Adrian’s gaze, you can’t help but pull him to you again. Lay him down beside you and comb your fingers through his hair.

He melts into your touch. He kisses your palm. Apologizes against your skin like it’s a secret.

“I love you.” He murmurs, and you wish you could stop yourself from smiling, just a little.

“I know.”

He smiles at you, and you smile back. Crazy motherfucker.

“Did you just Han Solo me?”

Your smile drops. Your fingers go still in his hair.

“You mean Han Solo?”

He frowns, too. Drops his hand against your waist and dares to pull you a little closer to him. You don’t fight him. You know he would let you go if you so much as tensed up. “Yeah. Why are you pronouncing it like that?”

“Why are you pronouncing it like Pan Solo? Like a pan in the kitchen? It’s Han Solo.”

“No. It’s not. It’s Han Solo.”

You groan, and allow him to pull you into his chest. Drop your head against his shoulder for a moment. “This dimension is so fucked up.” 

-

You can’t go into the ARGUS building. With the other you being a wanted criminal, you’re pretty sure you won’t get past clearance.

You can’t go to Chris’s house. You can’t run into his dad or his brother. They won’t recognize you. Or worse, they will. Either way, there’s a solid chance they might shoot you on sight. You promised this Adrian that you wouldn’t even try it, and you’ll keep that promise.

You’ll think of something. You may be absolutely fucking furious with Chris Smith, and a part of you may even hate him right now, but he’s your friend. Unfortunately, you owe him an explanation. He deserves to know what this place is really like. What his family is really like.

Ugh.

You’re about to turn around. To make your way back to the apartment and try to devise some sort of more solid plan there - maybe even bring Adrian along with you this time, if not just because you find yourself craving his company more than you want to admit - when a car drives by.

You turn, casually, just enough to hide your face as they pass. Just in case. Wanted criminal and all.

And then you hear something rattle.

The car disappears around a corner, and your brow furrows as you look down the empty street. It’s quiet this time of night, and there aren’t many restaurants or businesses nearby in this area to draw too much foot traffic.

For a moment, there’s nothing. You even begin to wonder if you imagined the crashing noise, shoving your hands back in your pockets and beginning to walk again, when you see a head pop up from behind a couple of trash cans.

A mask, actually. Red visor and teal fabric.

Your first instinct is to bite back a groan as he gets up, brushing something off of himself. He said he wouldn’t follow you. He had that nice little moment of sanity. He must be impossibly more obsessive than your-

“Hello Mister Squirrel. Have you seen my girlfriend? About this tall, pretty eyes, probably around here kicking ass with my best friend? Definitely not dead. No way. She’s way too tough to-“

You’re hallucinating. You’re absolutely hallucinating.

He hasn’t seen you yet. He’s still talking to that damn squirrel. Still babbling at it about you.

With shaking fingers, you pull your phone from your pocket. It’s basically just a useless brick, now. You can’t exactly call anyone across dimensions.

You scroll through your contacts, past Asshole Adrian and to the contact name your Adrian put in your phone himself, his name surrounded by a ridiculous amount of hearts and merman emojis.

You almost hesitate before you hit the call button. This isn’t really happening. It’s going to hurt when you’re proven wrong. But you…you have to try.

The tinny sound of Barbie Girl echoes from Vigilante’s pocket.

He fumbles for the device like he forgot he even had his phone on him, nearly dropping it as he pulls it out and gazes down at the screen.

And then he goes still.

That’s okay. You’re not moving either.

“Adrian.” And the word is barely more than a whisper on an empty street, but his head whips in your direction.

The world is quiet enough that you can hear his exhale. “Oh thank God.”

And then he’s running to you.

Part 4

-

You tear your eyes away from him, and scan the room.

You noticed the pictures before. The differences in the memories. There’s that one of the two of you smiling at each other at a restaurant you’ve never seen before. Beside it, there’s a picture of you sitting on Adrian’s lap, pressing an exaggerated kiss to his cheek. There are lipstick marks all over his face. He’s laughing so hard you can almost hear it through the photograph.

You sit up, head swimming a little with the movement, and you see him pause out of the corner of your eye. You don’t speak, not yet. And he remains silent even as he turns to you, watching you take in the other pictures.

One of just you, laughing in the kitchen of this very apartment. From the look on your face, the almost overwhelming joy in your eyes, you can only assume he’s the one on the other side of the camera.

One of both of you, a beer in your hands, sitting on a deck and making faces at the camera.

And there’s one of you wearing Adrian’s glasses, goofily cross eyed while he’s laughing and reaching for your face like he’s about to take them back.

Your voice is soft when you speak. Thoughtful. Though despite your quiet tone, it cuts through the silence in the air like a knife.

“We were really in love, huh?”

When you look back at him, he looks like you just stabbed him in the heart. He follows your gaze to the pictures, sucks his lips between his teeth like he’s searching for words, and nods.

“Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I died.”

Something like a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The sight of it makes your heart break. “Thanks.”

There’s more you could say. You could curse him again. Demand to go home. Tell him you hate him and you want your version of him back.

You don’t. The moment feels too delicate. The way he’s looking at you is too intense. Too sweet. That dark hunger isn’t there, now. It’s just love. Love and aching sadness.

You don’t know why you do it. You know you shouldn’t. You stand, new stitches stinging with the movement. He goes very still, and looks like he’s preparing to catch you if you fall. Or worse, chase you down if you try to run again.

You do neither. You cross the room, slow and as steady as you can make yourself, and wrap your arms around him.

It’s fucked up. He kidnapped you. You hate him. You need to hate him. 

But those pictures. The happy memories that aren’t yours. The sorrow in his eyes that seems to run so deep it’s etched itself into his bones…

He remains still, like he’s trying to convince himself that he isn’t dreaming. After a moment that lasts for an eternity, his arms come up, and he melts against you with a heavy sigh of relief.

He smells the same. He holds you like you might shatter into a million pieces. Like he’s waiting for the moment you come back to yourself and shove him away again.

You don’t let go.

Hesitantly, he presses his nose into the side of your head. Inhales.

“You both do that.” You murmur, still quiet, lips brushing the bare skin of his shoulder. He shivers.

“You smell nice.”

“You both say that.”

You sit there in silence for a moment. Something crackles between you. A familiar feeling you’ve always felt with your own Adrian, like a line of sparks connecting your heart to his.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, almost a whisper, “I’m sorry, too.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting your eyes drift closed as you tuck your head into his shoulder. His hand comes up to smooth over your hair, and you try to chase the anger that fuelled you hours ago. You can’t seem to catch it. Not right now. “No, you’re not.”

You feel him smile against your hair, and you don’t have to look up to know that it’s sad. That the insanity lacing the expression before is missing, now. His hand moves down to slide over your back, trying to absorb the feeling of you through the cotton of your new borrowed t-shirt. When he speaks again, his voice breaks a little. “No, I’m not.”

And so you let him hold you. And you try, you really try, to hate yourself for it. Because even now, after everything, you can’t hate him.

You remember one of the first things this Adrian said to you. The words creep into your mind now, feeling more like a secret than a memory.

I love you. Any version of you.

-

Chris Smith is in this dimension.

Which means he closed the portal. Just like this Adrian planned.

“So,” you broach the subject later that morning. You’re still healing. Your wounds are still sore. He still checks them every hour. “Are you gonna keep me chained up here or something?”

He looks genuinely confused, frowning at you over his coffee cup. That little tilt of his head is the same. The glimmer of curiosity in his green eyes. “What?”

“Portal’s closed.” You hate those two words. Hate the hopelessness that churns in your stomach as you speak them. You hate that you’re looking at the man you love and missing him at the same time. Your brain is already fogged over from blood loss and shock. It doesn’t need this weirdness on top of everything else. “Chris is here. He’s my friend.” You pick at the arm of the couch. Frown a little. “Am I a hostage? Or does total hopelessness mean I can go see him?”

“Don’t call it that.” It’s more of a plea than a command, but you still bristle.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is my overwhelming joy not shining through enough, my darling knight in shining teal?”

When you look up, he looks like he’s in pain.

Fine. You don’t care. You totally don’t care at all.

Fuck. He looks so much like Adrian.

“You look weird without your glasses.”

He’s quiet. This fucking guy is too quiet. You’re crawling out of your skin.

You stand. Wince. He’s up in a second, reaching for you, and you bat him away.

“I’m going, okay? Either tie me down or come with me. I don’t care.”

You don’t look at him. You can’t. You know what you’ll see, and you don’t want to see the pain. The longing. You’ve barely spoken to him since your moment of weakness this morning. You can’t let something like that happen again.

He goes with you.

-

You find Chris Smith at the side of the ARGUS building. He’s about to walk in. He’s alone.

Good.

“Hey!” Your greeting is bright as you approach, offering a wave and trying to emanate the exhausting happiness that seems to permeate this damn town. He looks up, very obviously surprised, and you can see him trying to piece together a lie. A way to explain his way through things if this alternate version of you does know him. If the version of Adrian behind you does, too.

He’s so fucking obvious. How is he even planning to pull this off? Whatever. You can use it to your advantage.

You feign confusion at his expression. Make your smile a little friendlier. Scrunch your eyebrows and cock your head to the side. “You okay, dude? I just wanted to talk for a sec. You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem.” No harm in calling him out for being a shitty liar.

“Oh, yeah. Totally. Sorry I just…yeah. What’s up?”

You turn the corner, gesture for him to follow you, make your smile a little brighter.

The moment he turns into the alley, you punch him square in the fucking face.

“Ow!” He reels back, holding his cheek and staring at you with an expression of blatant shock. “What the fuck?!”

You don’t give him time to recover before you shove him backwards hard enough for his back to hit the brick wall. Your wounds scream in protest.

“You left me in an alternate fucking dimension, you asshole!”

Emotions fly across his face so rapidly that you can barely keep up with them. Confusion. Pain. Horror. Maybe just a little bit of fear. “…What?”

You punch him again. You might have ripped a stitch. Oh boy, do you not care.

When you reel back for another blow, he catches your fist, and you throw your leg up to kick him in the ribs.

“Fuck! Stop!” He holds up his hands in defense or defeat or whatever, trying to placate the whirlwind coming towards him. “Stop! You were home! You left me that bitchy note and you didn’t want to talk to me! You called me-“

“I’m dating Adrian Fucking Chase, and you think I’m not going to be upfront about my goddam emotions?! You think I’m gonna call you out with a note?!” You lunge again, and this time you don’t get to land another blow. Strong arms wrap around you from behind, and you feel Adrian’s familiar chest against your back as he snatches you up before you can injure yourself more with another attack.

“You get me back to my dimension and my Adrian right fucking now before I shove that stupid helmet up your- mph!” This time, you think the hand over your mouth might be fair. People are starting to stare, and you are outside of a government building. Being thrown in jail for the assault of a beloved superhero might hinder your chances of getting home. Still, you claw at Adrian’s arm like a feral animal, kicking so hard he has to lift you off of your feet to hold you back.

In your defense, you really did come to talk. You didn’t expect the rage that nearly blinded you when you actually caught sight of Chris.

“Calm down.” Adrian says in your ear, and you squirm even more. He doesn’t budge. Chris is staring at him, hard.

You manage to dislodge the hand from your mouth long enough to yell something along the lines of “you selfish fucking prick” before it’s back, the arms locked even more tightly around you now.

You wish you weren’t still so fucking tired. You wish the adrenaline would boost you a little more. You wish, you wish, you wish. And yet here you are, your struggle dying down as Adrian holds still every part of your body that might bleed or tear from your injuries. As he waits, uncharacteristically patient, for you to calm.

When you do, his hold relaxes just the smallest bit. You try to dislodge, like you might be able to swing one more time, but he catches your arm effortlessly enough to piss you off even more, bringing it back against his chest.

Chris seems to piece at least one thing together. You’re his you, but this Adrian is not your Adrian.

He looks from you to the man holding you. His brows furrow. “Where’s…”

“Dead.” Other Adrian says, more deadpan than you’ve ever heard him. His arms tighten imperceptibly around you. You growl with frustration.

“Calm down, baby.” He murmurs again, and you do. Not because he told you to, but because you’re fucking tired and not getting anywhere and punching Chris hurts in more ways than one. Even if he deserves it. A lot.

He removes his hand from your mouth. You resist the urge to bite it.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“Then stop screaming.”

“Fuck you.”

“Working on that. You haven’t exactly been in the mood.” He leans a little closer, lips brushing the curve of your ear, and his whisper drags an involuntary shiver from you. “Most of the time.”

Chris looks like he’s about to explode. His eyes remain locked on Adrian. “Are you like… sane here, dude?”

“Not even fucking close.” You grouch, trying to shake him off. He ignores the comment, and keeps you held tight against him.

“You gonna try to punch him again?”

“Maybe.”

He hesitates, seems to think for a moment, before he shrugs and releases you.

And thus, the interrogation begins.

-

In another dimension, Adrian Chase sits in the back of Adebayo’s car, doing his best not to fidget with the portal sitting on the seat between himself and John.

And he talks. A lot.

Enough that, if you were here, you might do that thing where you brush your fingers through his hair and tell him to relax. To breathe a little. It always works, even if he just switches his attention to you and keeps talking. He likes the look you give him when that happens. The way you always listen even when everyone else starts telling him to shut up. The way you take his hand in your own and let him run his thumb over your knuckles, thread his fingers through your own, or just touch you in any way he can as you ask him questions and listen to his answers.

You would quiz him on manta ray facts, if you were here right now. That’s okay. You’ll be here soon. And you’ll probably be tired after everything that’s happened, so you’ll rest your head on his shoulder and let him comb his fingers through your hair and hum in that cute sleepy way you have where you’re trying to listen to him but he knows you’re just enjoying the sound of his voice. God, he can’t wait to hold you again. To kiss you and see you smile at him. He’s got like, three jokes planned already. If they’re good enough, you’ll laugh in that way that makes your eyes crinkle at the corners. You’ll call him a weirdo and he’ll smile back and everything will be perfect.

“She’s probably hanging out with Chris right now. Kicking ass right alongside Peacemaker and making everyone love her just as much as I do.” He says, completely oblivious to the way everyone in the car seems about ready to push him from the moving vehicle. The pain from before has morphed itself into a desperate sort of hope. One that he’s clearly going to cling to like his life depends on it.

“Probably.” Harcourt grits out, eyes locked on the windshield.

“She probably found the other version of me, too.”

“Definitely a possibility.”

“Do you guys think he knows as much about spiders as I do? Probably, right? I mean, he’s me.”

Economos barely even looks up from his phone. “Yup. He’s probably telling her all about crows stabbing other crows and fucking her brains out as we speak.”

Silence washes over the car. Whatever Adrian was about to say dies on his tongue.

“…What?”

“Dude.” Leota says, turning to fix the other man with a glare.

John’s hands come up in surrender, defensive. “What? It’s him, right? Chris is over there to be with the other Emilia, and these two have sex all the time. Remember the van incident? I still can’t scrub my eyeballs clean enough to forget about that. It just makes sense to assume-“

“You need to shut the fuck up.” Emilia snaps, tone dripping with the promise of violence.

As they drive, and the manta ray facts come to a screeching halt, the 11th Street Kids begin to wish, possibly for the first time, that Adrian Chase would talk.

-

“You didn’t even mention Adrian.”

“Huh?” Chris’s brow furrows, genuine confusion once again bypassing the shock on his face.

“In the note you left. You didn’t mention him.” Your voice is low. Dangerous. You see genuine fear enter the cacophony of expressions on your friend’s face.

You punch him again.

“Dude!” His hand flies up to his face, cradling what is hopefully going to be a significant bruise on his cheek. He even looks to Other Adrian for help, who simply shrugs.

“Better you than me, dude. Plus, it’s pretty fucking sexy.”

You ignore the comment. Chris doesn’t.

He looks between the two of you, still holding his face, and makes the mistake of opening his fucking mouth again. “Are you two like…”

You would probably claw his eyeballs out this time, if Adrian didn’t catch you again.

“Calm down.” He says again, in that firm and commanding tone, and the moment you’re free you’re going to his eyeballs, too.

You calm faster this time. Breathe. Try to focus. Try to remind yourself once again that staying out of jail is probably the best move.

“I want to go home.” You finally say, and Adrian doesn’t speak, but his arms do tighten around you again.

Chris looks helpless. Guilty. “I closed the portal.”

“You don’t have another one?” You hate the desperation in your voice, but you can’t help it. You can’t just give up. There has to be something. “You have all these stupid fucking helmets, and you don’t have another portal?!”

Adrian’s hand twitches on your arm, like he might cover your mouth again, even if it’s just so he doesn’t have to hear how badly you want to get out of here. Away from him.

You’re not his prisoner. He came here with you. He didn’t chain you up or lock you in the apartment.

Because he knows. He knows there’s nothing else. He checked.

Chris shakes his head. Says something about leaving the only portal for them. For you.

You’re about to collapse. And this time it isn’t from pain or exhaustion or blood loss.

“I’m sorry.” Your friend. One of your best friends in the entire world, looks so guilty you think he might puke. “I didn’t…Rick Flag Sr.-“

“Fuck you.” You shove other Adrian off, and you’re surprised when he allows it. “Fuck you.” You’re going to cry. The weight on your heart is too heavy. The hopelessness is bearing down on you, stealing air from your lungs and making your knees threaten to wobble. “You thought you were helping people? You thought the other dimension was better off without you?” This time, when you shove him, he doesn’t stop you. Neither does Adrian. “Maybe it is. But it isn’t better off without me.” He isn’t better off without you. You have the evidence of that standing behind you.

And you don’t know why you say the last part. There’s so much more you could say. So many more ways you could curse his name.

“You didn’t even mention him in your fucking note.”

He looks at you like you spat on him. With your tone, the biting and poisonous edge of it, you may as well have. There’s disgust in the words. Something so close to hatred that it makes you feel sick. Everything Adrian’s done for him, everything you know he’s lost now, and the best friend he idolizes didn’t even bother to thank him one last time.

You leave him there, standing in the alley with pain and guilt and hurt etched on his features. You don’t look back.

-

Your hand is swollen. Your knuckles are bruised. Your heart feels like it weighs a million pounds.

Adrian follows you. He says your name. You keep walking.

It’s starting to rain. You almost laugh at how perfect that is. How fucking cliche. You hate this fucking dimension.

His hand wraps around your arm, stopping you in your tracks, and you immediately turn to swing on him.

He catches your fist with his own, and this is the part where you fight. Where you try to attack him again. Where you scream and cry and try to kill him for what he did.

But when you look up at his face, you see nothing but pain, the lingering sparks of realization, and a guilt so intense it looks like it might crack him in two. There’s clarity in his gaze. That lucidity that comes between his odd bouts of madness.

You don’t have any fight left in you. You don’t have the strength anymore.

The rain falls. Your tears fall, too.

His hand moves. The fist holding your own unravels, and his fingers weave through yours. He doesn’t break eye contact.

Your voice sounds small when you speak, cracked and broken and filled with such hopelessness that you feel like you’ll never sound right again.

“You took everything from me.”

He flinches, like it would have hurt less if you’d slapped him, but he doesn’t break his gaze from yours. He just nods, fingers still tangled with your own. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, and this time he means it.

Grief is such an odd and horrible thing. It digs itself into your bones. Into your soul. It rewrites your brain chemistry like a poison, seeping your life force away until it begins to control every part of you. Until it’s hollowed you out into nothing but a shell of who you once were, broken and angry and desperate for relief from it’s suffocating grasp.

You saw the pictures. You’ve seen the darkness in his eyes. Maybe he was even sane before all of this. Before the grief. At the very least, he was happy.

Now that you’ve lost your Adrian, now that he’s a million miles away from you in an entirely different world, you can’t even bring yourself to blame this Adrian. You would do anything to have him back. Anything to hear a stupid animal fact and see him smile.

You sob, once, helpless to stop it, and Adrian pulls you to him.

The rain falls as he holds you. As you cry into his shoulder and cling to him in all the ways you shouldn’t. Shouldn’t even want to.

“I’m sorry.” He says again, voice soft over the pounding of rain on pavement. You cry harder.

He holds you until the tears stop flowing. Whispers those two words into your skin over and over as you let helplessness and pain overwhelm every nerve in your body until you’re pretty sure he’s the only thing keeping you from dropping to the ground.

Finally, when the tears cease and leave you numb save for the dull and empty ache in your heart, you pull him down and kiss him.

You want Adrian. You want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. This isn’t him, and a part of you knows that, but the rest of you is so hollow and desperate that you’ll take this, instead. Happily. Because as unfair as it may be to the both of you, it’s so close to being right. So close that you can pretend, just for a while, if it stops the steady flow of pain filling you like an open wound bleeding into your soul.

He kisses you back. You can taste the rain on his lips. Feel the tremble in his body against your own. He sighs, like he’s allowing himself a moment of relief after eons of endless torture, and his hands are warm as they slide over your waist. His chest is firm as he pulls you into it. The jumping rhythm of his heartbeat contrasts with the slow, desperate movements of his lips against your own.

Your hands move up to his hair, soaked flat to his head from the steady downpour that you don’t even notice anymore. Your tongue brushes over his lips, collecting rainwater and the taste of him, and you feel something snap, something delicate and frayed finally giving beneath the weight of everything.

He makes a quiet noise against your lips, and your back hits the wall of the alley as he presses you into it. This kiss isn’t like the one at the apartment. It’s not fast and rough and filled with fire. There are no demands made. No ripping at clothes or bindings.

It’s heat, deep and heavy. It’s need. It’s an understanding between two wounded people that they’re the only living beings left in this world who can truly understand each other, however that understanding may have come to be. He kisses you like he can take away your pain. You kiss him like he just might be able to.

You whimper, and he swallows the noise with a groan as his teeth scrape against your lip and his hands push up beneath your shirt, trailing over bruised, wet skin.

And then he pulls back, panting and shaking with restraint.

You make a noise, soft and needier than anything you’ve ever heard leave your own throat, but when you lean up to capture his mouth with your own, he presses his thumb to your lips and stops you, eyes locked on your mouth like the sight is something agonizingly forbidden.

“You don’t want me.” He says, hoarse and quiet.

You do. You really do. You’ve never hurt this badly, and you want Adrian to make it better. He’s not your Adrian, but he looks like him. He feels like him. He’s all you have, now. You can pretend. You just want him to let you pretend, so the tears don’t come back.

You brush your tongue against the digit pressed against your lips, keeping your eyes locked to his, and he groans as he presses his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut like holding himself back is physical torture.

“You don’t want me.” He says again, the words forced from his lungs as his fingers flex on your waist. “Not this me. Not now.” He leans closer, thumb swiping against your bottom lip before he slides his  fingers over your cheek and into your hair. His lips brush against yours again, eyes still closed and breath coming slow like it’s taking every ounce of him to stay still. “Not yet.”

“Adrian.” You murmur, and the noise that leaves him shoots right down to your core as his control cracks again. His lips crush against yours, and his other hand comes up to join the first in your hair. The brick of the wall behind you is a cold contrast to the heat of his body against yours, and you melt into that heat as he kisses you deep and hard and desperate.

And then he wrenches his mouth from yours again, entire body trembling now.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and it’s not about stopping. It’s not about kissing you in the first place. It’s about everything else. It’s about wanting you so badly he didn’t realize what he was taking away from you, what he was taking you away from, until he saw you finally break. His lips press against the corner of your mouth. Your cheek. Your nose. Your forehead. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I didn’t…I just…fuck.”

He’s crying, too. You can feel the loss and regret like it’s emanating from his skin. Like he’s drowning in it. Like you both are.

“Take me home.” You whisper, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he nods with a broken sob.

You don’t move for a long moment, comforting each other in the downpour. He kisses your face again as he cries, each press of his lips slow and reverent as his tears mingle with your own. With the rain.

After some time, he kisses your forehead again, drawing in one last shaky breath. And then he pulls back, and takes you home.

-

There are no words as you make your way back to the apartment. As he unlocks the door and pushes it open. He strips off his soaked shirt, and your eyes linger on his bare torso as he searches through drawers and hands you dry clothing.

He turns around while you change, facing the wall, tense and silent. Considering the fact that he had his tongue in your mouth less than an hour ago, the gesture feels a little weird. You don’t mention it.

And then you lay with him, still silent in a bed that is yours but isn’t. With a man who is yours but isn’t.

Slowly, he reaches out and brushes your hair behind your ear, still wet from the rain.

“You’re almost exactly the same.” He murmurs, almost to himself.

You raise your eyebrows. “Yeah? I’ve knocked you out before?”

He smiles, like he’s sharing a secret, and nods.

“Did you deserve it?”

His smile grows, thumb brushing lingering rainwater from your cheek, and he nods again.

You sit in silence for another moment. You tuck your arm beneath your head, and you watch him.

“You’re really different.” You finally say, and his smile takes on a twinge of sadness. Of guilt.

“I know.”

“And you look really weird without your glasses.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“Your t-shirts are too tight.”

He raises an eyebrow, his smile catching a flirtatious edge. “You prefer when I don’t wear a shirt, huh?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re less subtle than the other you.”

“You’re more annoying than the other you.”

“I doubt that.”

You smile, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes again. “I never really found him annoying.” You admit, reaching up to wipe them away.

He reaches for you again. Stops himself. Pulls his arm back.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that.”

“I know.” He sits up a little, now. His eyes rake over you, from the top of your head to your toes. You can feel his gaze like a physical touch, featherlight and leaving a trail of sparks in its wake.

“I can make you forget about him.”

His tone has dropped. When you look at him, that familiar darkness is beginning to cloud his gaze again. That hunger. That twinge of something like insanity. Your Adrian is always upfront and vocal, almost goofy with his own version of psychopathy. You wonder if this Adrian is having genuine moments of lucidity between the bouts of…whatever this is. Or maybe he’s just better at hiding it.

But you remember his tears. The way he forced himself to pull back from you. The clarity in his eyes beneath the grief and regret and lust.

That clarity is gone. There’s just hunger, now.

Your breath catches in your throat. “No, you can’t.”

“You wanted me to before.” He says, quiet, as he moves closer to you. His fingers come up to brush over your arm, and you hate how you have to force yourself to pull back. “You wanted me in that alley.”

“You stopped it.” You say, and your voice is a little too breathless. “You were right to. I was trying to use you. I wanted-“

“I should have let you.” His eyes are even darker now, holding your gaze. He doesn’t move, but you can see his muscles tensing. You wish he’d put on a fucking shirt. “I wanted you to want me. But you don’t have to. Not yet.”

And then he’s rolling on top of you, pinning you to the mattress with his weight. You make a noise of surprise, heart stilling in your chest, and you don’t even think to move as his hand comes up to smooth over your hair.

“You can want him, for now.” The words are nearly a whisper, and he drops his head to brush his lips over yours, testing the waters. “I can make you feel better than he ever did. And then you’ll want me.”

You stay very, very still. You try to find the strength to push him off of you. To fight like you did before.

“You…you’re not thinking straight.” You try, and he actually smiles as he moves his lips down over your jaw.

“No, I’m not.” He hums, nipping lightly at your skin. You try to hold in a gasp, and choke on the sound. “But you don’t need me to be, do you?” You feel his mouth on your ear, blunt teeth scraping against the lobe, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try to hold back a whimper.

“Don’t hold back.” He says, low, as his hand moves down to slide up your thigh, catching on the hem of your shorts. Your breath comes faster. Your mind begins to short-circuit. The familiarity of his touch paired with the low, starved tone of his voice is making it impossible to think. “Or, better yet, try to. I’ll pull all of those sweet noises from you. I’ll make you feel so good you couldn’t be quiet if you wanted to.”

His fingers skate up beneath the hem of your shorts, tracing along the outside of your thigh as his knee slides up between yours.

He moves his hips, once, lowering himself on top of you and pairing the movement with a bite to the hollow of your throat, and you do whimper, now.

“That’s it, baby.” He coos, and another rock of his hips has your toes curling against the sheets, head tilting to allow him more access to your throat against your own will. It would feel so good to give in, wouldn’t it? Your Adrian is gone. Too far away to ever reach you again. And that hollow pit of pain in your stomach at the knowledge of that can be filled, for just a moment, by this. By something so close to what you want, what you need, that it may as well be the same thing.

“You want this, don’t you?” He purrs, and the words have you reaching up to drag your nails over the skin of his back, body arching a little more into his. He groans in approval, lips trailing over your collarbone as his hand moves higher beneath your shorts. “That’s right. Good girl.”

You whimper again, and you feel him grin.

“He can’t make you feel like this.” He murmurs, a dark possessive growl as he presses his body closer to yours. “Only me. He never deserved you. He wasn’t the one for you.” He pulls back, just to hover his lips above yours. “You and me? We’re perfect for each other. He couldn’t take care of you like I can. He-“

You push him off of you, clarity coming back so quickly it feels like whiplash.

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that.” You say, hating yourself for how breathless you are. For how close you just came to giving in. Fuck, what is wrong with you? How fucked up are you that you can also have these feelings for this even more psychotic version of Adrian?

Adrian. Your Adrian. Perfect, goofy, crazy fucking Adrian.

This isn’t him. This isn’t him. You need to remember that, already.

“Fuck.” You breathe, sitting up and running a hand over your face. “Fuck.”

This is all so confusing. All so fucked up.

“Fine, fine.” Adrian says, pulling you back down until your back hits the mattress, beginning to crawl on top of you again. “I get it. No talking about him. Just-“

“Get off of me.”

He frowns, eyes still craving and dark. You’re starting to understand the confusing waves of sanity that come and go with this Adrian, but they’re still so unpredictable. Still so unlike what you know.

Crazier than yours. Or maybe just as crazy. Either way, it’s different. Dangerous in more ways than one.

He releases you, though it looks like he struggles to do so.

You climb off of the bed, still flushed and breathless, and run your hand over your face once more. Think. Breathe.

“I’m going to the couch.” You say, already making your way to the door before the last word leaves you.

He doesn’t follow. At least this Adrian knows how to give you space.

You never really want it, with yours.

Fuck, you miss him.

Part 3

-

Your shoulder. There are stitches there. Warm blood is seeping through the cotton of the t-shirt he must have put you in when you were unconscious.

And on your ribs. You feel the distant sting of that, too. Breathing hurts a little. If you were to look at that wound, at those popped stitches, you’re sure that they would be surrounded by black and blue.

That thought is confirmed when you look down. You’re in pajama shorts, now. You wonder if they once belonged to the other version of you. Either way, you can see a steady stream of blood trickling down your thigh from another injury, winding its way through bruises and onto the carpet beneath you.

He kisses your cheek, voice so soft you have to fight the urge to melt into it.

“I’m gonna pick you up now, okay? Don’t fight. It’s gonna make the bleeding worse.”

Think. Think. Think.

“Wait.” You say, and turn your gaze up to his. He looks back down at you, and cocks his head to the side in a curious way that is so painfully familiar it makes your heart ache.

That feeling - that similarity to the Adrian you love - makes it easier to lean up and brush your lips against his.

He hesitates for a moment. He’s not an idiot. You were just fighting him like your life depended on it. You were just cursing against his palm and trying to kick and punch him with every ounce of fury in your body. Hell, you’re dripping blood on the carpet at this very moment, having ripped your stitches with your ferocity in trying to get away from him.

So he pulls back, but he looks like the movement pains him.

That’s okay. Groundwork laid. Step one.

The shaky exhale that falls past your lips, the way your own gaze lingers on his mouth, that should be fake. For your own sanity, you tell yourself that it is.

“What are you doing?” He asks, suspicion in his tone even as his arm wraps around your waist. Like, despite everything, he truly can’t help but pull you closer.

“I don’t know.” And it helps that, in this moment, with the feeling of his lips still ghosting over your own and sending bolts of electricity through your body, you’re not lying.

And you’re still not lying when you lean up again. When you move your body closer to his. Fuck, it’s so fucked up, but you’re still not lying when you brush your lips against his again. When you shiver at the low noise that seems to vibrate through his entire body.

“I don’t know.” You repeat, and his arm tightens around you as his control frays at the edges. As the distraction sinks into place and locks him there with you, ripped stitches momentarily forgotten. “I just…”

And then you close the distance between you.

The first kiss is a question. A soft press of your lips to his. A spark that makes its way through your bloodstream and settles in your abdomen.

The second kiss is a dam breaking. It’s all him.

His hand flies up to cradle your cheek, and his mouth crushes against your own like it’s the first taste of air he’s had in months.

You kiss him back, and nearly forget what you’re trying to do.

It’s good. Too good. Too much like kissing your Adrian but so much hotter and deeper and hungrier. He makes a noise like a growl against your lips, fingers curling in your hair as he drags you closer to him like his mind went completely blank the moment your lips touched his.

And fuck, yours did too.

His tongue brushes yours, his teeth scrape against your lip, his hand pulls at your hair and you whimper into the kiss, soft and involuntary. The noise he makes in response is fucking feral, and he backs you up until he’s pressing you into the wall, hands gripping at your body like he can mold himself to you if he just kisses you hard enough.

“Adrian.” You manage, and it’s way too hard to catch your breath. Way too hard to think. To plan.

“Fuck, yes.” He breathes, hands sliding up under your shirt as he moves to press breathless kisses down your jaw. He stops at your ear, lips ghosting over the delicate skin and fingers flexing against your waist. “Say it again.”

“Adrian.” You repeat, even more breathless, and he groans as he bites down on your neck, sucking a mark that drags another desperate noise from your throat.

You tug at the bonds behind you, making sure he feels the movement as you press your body closer to his.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even pull back as he reaches behind you and undoes the belt in one swift movement. It falls to the floor, and you reach up to grab his face and drag his mouth back to yours, hiding your wince at the pain in your shoulder with a bite to his lip that has him growling and dragging you impossibly closer.

Your stitches are still ripped. You’re still bleeding. You need to keep him distracted from that, but you can barely feel it anyway. Can barely focus on anything other than this.

He lifts you effortlessly against him, dragging his mouth back down to your throat to leave a trail of open mouthed kisses and sharp bites.

“Wrap your legs around me.” He says, breathless and low as his hands slide beneath your thighs. Your Adrian, in moments like this, never seems able to shut up. He’ll murmur sweet compliments against your skin and even make comments about how awesome this is and how he can’t believe this is happening because you’re so fucking hot. Once or twice, he’s compared you to a species of wildlife or tried to tell you a fun fact even as he tears your clothes off of you. Needless to say, those moments are filled with giggles between noises of pleasure. Smiles into kisses. Fingers tangling together and silly conversations cut off with lips and skin.

This Adrian is quiet, focused and hungry, and when he does speak it isn’t fun facts or silly compliments. It’s commands, praise when those commands are followed, and words of devotion growled into your skin like he’s trying to tattoo them there with his lips and teeth.

“Fucking perfect.” You can feel the words vibrate through his chest, his hips pinning you to the wall and his hand sliding up beneath your shirt to feel more of your skin against his. The cut on your ribs is still bleeding, but it’s on the other side. You can barely think enough to be relieved by that. “Fucking mine.”

Christ, he may swear to never hurt you, but this is going to kill you. It’s so hot you feel like you’re on fire.

“Tilt your head for me.” He murmurs, teeth scraping against your neck when you do. “Fuck, good girl.”

“Holy shit.” You breathe. Have you ever had a coherent thought before? The tone of his voice is making your damn toes curl.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he drags his lips lower to trail searing kisses over your collarbone. “I know, baby. Missed you so much. Fuck, gonna make you feel-“

His hand freezes on your side. His mouth freezes against your skin.

Shit. You were so distracted by all of this that you forgot to enact your plan, and now Adrian is pulling his hand out from beneath your shirt to inspect the bright red now coating his palm.

“Shit.” He begins to move to set you down, still panting as the lust in his eyes is slowly replaced with alarm.

Shit, indeed. Time to move fast.

By your design, you’re in the perfect position to use the wall to boost yourself up, throwing your leg over his shoulder and twisting your body to take you both to the floor.

He curses, going down with an ‘oomph’, and you bite back a scream of pain as you feel your stitches rip even more, fresh blood flowing from the wounds and staining both the carpet and Adrian’s skin.

He tries to flip you, and he nearly manages it, but you have the element of surprise on your side, and you’ve got him in the perfect position to squeeze down hard on a pressure point in his shoulder. Ironically, your Adrian is the one who showed you this move.

You keep pressure on it, stopping his blood flow as he tries to grab at you (how the fuck is he, even now, being careful not to touch your wounds?) until you finally feel him lose consciousness.

Moments after he goes limp, you release him, groaning with pain and exhaustion.

You’re bleeding. A lot. And fuck, does it hurt.

You dislodge yourself from him, scooting away and running a hand through your hair as you try to catch your breath on the floor.

“Fuck.” You murmur, pulling yourself to a sitting position and cringing at the sight of broken stitches and blood staining the bruises on your legs. You must look like shit. You definitely feel like it, despite the fire still running molten through your veins.

You got a little carried away. But holy shit, you can’t even blame yourself. That was…woah.

Adrian remains unconscious, and you begin to move. You don’t have long.

He looks so peaceful like this. The perfect imitation of the face you’ve slept beside a thousand times. There’s no darkness in his eyes, now. No unhinged hunger. No lingering threads of grief and pain.

Sometimes it still surprises you how undeniably beautiful he is.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, brushing your hand through his hair. He doesn’t wake, but he turns his head a little into your palm, like he’s chasing the feeling of you even after you knocked him the fuck out. “You’re fucking crazy, but you’re still my crazy. Even if you’re a little crazier than my crazy…you know what? Whatever. You get it.”

And with that, you climb to your feet, stumbling a little on legs shaky from pain and lingering heat from Adrian’s kiss.

It feels like forever before you’ve managed to get his larger body into the chair. Fuck, why can’t he be as scrawny as everyone always assumes he is? Your own body is already screaming with agony, and you’re pretty sure this Adrian is even larger than yours.

“Fuck. I swear Chris weighs less than you.” You grumble as you get him situated, moving to pick up the belt. It takes a few minutes, and a few more belts and chords to get him completely restrained, but you manage it.

You’re finishing up by the time he wakes, eyes blinking open with a grunt of confusion and, no doubt, pain. You did do a number on him. Considering everything, you don’t feel too bad about it.

He notices the restraints right away. Pulls on them. Looks up at you with alarm that quickly morphs into a smile. There’s that hunger again. Geez, this guy really might be even more fucked up than your own version of him.

“Kinky.” He says, and there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. A confidence that sets him apart from the other version of himself as he leans back like he can sit there all day. “Fuck, I didn’t think you could get any hotter. You gonna make me beg? Take advantage of…”

He trails off, and his smile falls when he fully takes you in. Sees the blood staining the t-shirt you’re wearing. Still flowing down your leg. You must be pale, by now. Blood loss isn’t new to you, and you’re more familiar with the feeling than you would like to be, but you don’t have time to patch yourself up. You have to get information, and you have to get home.

“Untie me.” He says, and it’s a firm command. Laced with a hint of panic. “Now.”

“Hilarious. Does this version of you do standup?”

“Untie me.”

“Those words sound so familiar. Where have I heard them before?”

“Baby, please. I need to fix your-“

“No.” You cut him off, sitting down on the coffee table across from him. “You’ve tricked me, lied to me, and fucking kidnapped me. I don’t know where I am, and my boyfriend doesn’t either.” You lean forward, reaching up to grab his chin and force him to look you directly in the eyes. Something sparks in his gaze, and you ignore the heat crackling between you like the promise of a thunderstorm. “So, baby, we’re gonna talk, and you’re gonna answer my questions, and then I’m gonna leave and go home.”

“You are home.” And his voice is dark again. Dangerously so. “Untie me.”

You just hum in acknowledgement. Just like he did. And, to infuriate him more, you tap your fingers against the belt tying one of his wrists to the chair and press a kiss to his cheek.

He makes a noise akin to a growl. You raise your eyebrows at him. “Frustrated?”

“Worried.”

“Me too. I’ve got people looking for me, by now. Can’t keep ‘em waiting too long.”

“I took care of that. I’ll take care of everything. Just untie me and we can-“

“What do you mean, you took care of it?”

“Untie me.”

“Broken fucking record, over here.” You stand, reaching up to rub a frustrated hand over your face, and stumble as the wound on your leg screams in protest.

A wave of dizziness washes over you. You squeeze your eyes shut. Breathe. You’ve had worse. You’ll be fine.

“Please.” There’s so much pain behind the word that something in your chest cracks. You ignore it.

“I’m fine. Not gonna die.” You don’t look at him, because you’re pretty sure that something will cave if you do. If you see the expression to match that tone, you might untie him.

Fuck, what is the matter with you?

The wound on your leg is still bleeding. The spots of red on the carpet are getting darker. Bigger. There are enough of them now that the apartment is starting to look like a damn murder scene.

You’ll be fine.

Adrian’s eyes don’t leave you for a second. He’s quiet.

“So, what did you do?”

Nothing.

“Not really loving silence from you.” Your tone is still casual, but you can hear the tension in it. You can tell he does, too. Your Adrian wouldn’t. You miss him.

“I’ll untie you when you answer my questions. What. Did. You. Do?”

“I saw your dimension.” He says, and he looks like he’s trying not to grit his teeth. “You saved the world. You didn’t get the recognition you deserved.”

“True. Continue.” You sit back down. Rest your chin on your hand as you look at him. All casual. All confidence as you watch him squirm with fury and panic and frustration.

“You’re dating a version of me that doesn’t even know when you’re upset about something. He just talks about spiders.”

“And I happen to find it charming.”

Other Adrian finally does grit his teeth. Seems to try to ground himself. Doesn’t take his eyes off of you. “You’d be happier here. With me.”

“Doesn’t seem like something you get to decide.”

His eyes are locked on the blood on your thigh. They move to the bloodstains on your shirt. “Untie me.”

“Not what I want to hear.”

“You’re going to bleed out.”

“And you’re going to watch, if you don’t cooperate.”

That hits him. Hard. He flinches, and you feel guilt tug at you before you push it aside. He’s watched you bleed out before, hasn’t he? You can see the memories clawing their way to the surface behind his eyes. You’re not hitting him or cutting off fingers, but you’re torturing him. This is torturing him.

That fact should not be killing you as much as it is. This is your only way home. You can’t back down.

“What did you do?”

“Fuck.” The word is an exhale. A frustrated grunt. Bitten out through a jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if he might crack a damn tooth. “I got you here. I bought time.”

“Time for what?” You’re a little dizzy. You’re very tired. You really do need medical attention, but you’re not gonna stop. Not now. Not when you’re finally getting somewhere.

“Time for Chris Smith to close the portal.”

“And why the fuck would he do that?”

“Because he likes it better here. Like you will.” Adrian meets your blank look with a sigh, still tugging at the ropes binding him to the chair. If you were a little less cocky and a little more aware, you might notice the purposeful way he’s rolling his wrists. That his movements are a little more practiced than just frustrated struggling.

But you don’t notice. You’re too busy trying to work through the new information. “He won’t leave me here. He can be a prick, but he’s not that much of an asshole.”

“So he had to think you made it back without him.” Another roll of his wrist, disguised as more desperate fidgeting. “Thinking you’re pissed at him is definitely gonna help to encourage him to leave.”

“Adrian will tell him I’m not there.”

“Not if he’s too busy trying to find you to call him.” The implication makes your stomach turn. “I know you, remember? And he’s me. It’s not too hard to set up a few false starts.”

Your jaw drops. For a moment, you just stand there.

Your Adrian still confuses emotions like ‘angry that he brought a feral raccoon into the apartment and tried to call it his new sidekick’ with ‘incredibly horny at the sight of your boyfriend being bitten many times by said feral raccoon’. And this guy manipulated not only you, but Chris and your Adrian?

“Who the fuck are you?” You ask for the second time.

“I told you, I’m better.” He says, eyes locked on yours, still tugging at the ropes. “I’m smarter. Better trained-”

“You’re fucking crazier, is what you are.”

“Maybe I just love you more.”

“Bullshit.” Say what you will about Adrian Chase, but the man loves you more than should even be possible. He’s weird and obsessive and a little fucked up, but his undeniable devotion to you isn’t something that could ever be questioned.

“I crossed dimensions to get to you. He’s so easy to trick that he lost you, and he deserves to. He’s probably chasing an owl or something as we speak.”

“Shut up.” You snap, your exhaustion fought off for another moment by a rush of protective fury. “Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Adrian loves me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“My Adrian.”

“I am.”

You growl, running a furious hand through your hair. “You’re not him.”

“I can do something he can’t, though.”

You shouldn’t even answer. Shouldn’t encourage this bullshit. He’s probably going to say something that’ll piss you off. Is this how other people feel around Adrian? This is how infuriating he can be?

“You know what? Don’t care.” You deadpan, already beginning to make your way to the door. You need to get back to Chris’s stupid, weird mansion. You need to get through that door before you run out of time-

You turn back to say something biting, fingers wrapping around the handle.

He’s not there.

The binds are undone, and you piece it together too late. The rolling of his wrists. The sharp tugs at the ropes. There was a pattern there that you were too tired and annoyed to notice.

When he speaks again, his voice is directly behind you.

“Like I said,” The words are quiet, spoken against your ear as his arm slides around your waist, trapping you against him once again, “better trained.”

-

In another dimension, Adrian Chase sits on a bed in a cabin in the middle of the woods, and he stares at a door.

A door that once led to you. Now, it leads to another bedroom.

He was too late. Too late to get to you. Too late to understand what was happening. Shit, he still doesn’t really know what’s happening now. He just knows that you should be there, and you’re not. And the only person he’s sure would be able to help him save you is gone too.

-

This morning was the best morning of his life. Just like the morning before. And the morning before that. Every morning with you is the best.

But this morning was particularly nice.

He kissed you awake, because he loves the way you smile as your eyes flutter open. The way you hum, and wrap your arms around his neck. The way he can turn that contented little noise into a gasp if he moves his hips just right or nips at your lower lip.

He pulls back, grinning down at you and peppering kisses across your cheeks and nose until he earns a sleepy laugh. You swat at him, and manage to catch one of his kisses with your lips, making him grin and pull back enough to nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

“You smell so nice.” He hums, sliding his hands up over your sides. He can never seem to stop touching you. He never wants to. “And you’re so pretty. Seriously, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You snort, nudging his face out of your neck to kiss his nose. “Flirt.”

“Did you know penguins mate for life?”

Your smile widens, and you trail your fingers through his hair in a way that he’s always thought would make him purr if he were capable of it.

“You’ve mentioned.”

He moves lower, kissing your lips, your chin, and down your neck to your collarbone. “Barn owls do, too.”

“Really?”

“Mmmmhmmm.” He nips lightly at your collarbone, moving lower to push your shirt up and plant a kiss on each and every one of your ribs. “And wolves.”

“I knew that one.”

“So do albatrosses.”

“I didn’t know that one.” Your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, and he grins as he licks playfully at your bellybutton. You squirm, ticklish, and swat lightly at his head with a soft snort of laughter.

“You trying to get at something, weirdo?” You ask, and he rests his chin on your stomach as he looks up at you. He knows from your smile that his face must be full of nothing but adoration, glasses askew on his nose and fingers tracing little circles on the side of your thigh.

And he could say it right now. He could reveal the only thing he’s ever hidden from you. Ask the question that’s been trying to push its way to the surface every time you smile at him.

He can’t yet. He’s still got the ring hidden in the way way back of the closet. It’s gotta be the right time. Like when you’ve both finished killing a bunch of criminals, and you’re exhausted and grinning and covered in blood and dirt. That’s always when you look prettiest.

Plus, how is he supposed to get down on one knee when he’s in bed?

No, not now. Later. Unless he blurts it out.

That’s definitely a risk. He should probably find another way to keep his mouth occupied.

“Nah. Just telling you cool animal facts.” He lies, and he grins at the curious look you give him. You’re too smart. He should distract you, too.

He hooks your leg up over his shoulder, nips at the inside of your thigh, and proceeds to…well, change the subject.

-

When Leota comes into the room to check on him, Adrian is holding that ring. He likes to put it in his pocket before work, just to make sure it’s okay. That you don’t accidentally find it and ruin the surprise. He’ll hold it in his hand when he calls you on his breaks, or show it to his coworkers while he tells them all about how amazing you are and how they’re all totally invited to the wedding because it’s gonna be sick. How could it not be? It’s you and him!

When an elephant’s mate dies, the elephant will get depressed. They’ll stop eating. Sleep too much. Act generally listless with grief. Sometimes, those elephants can die of a broken heart.

Adrian wonders if there are any animals that kill when their mate dies. If any of them give into that desperate and clawing urge to drown the sorrow in blood.

Leota sits beside him, and looks down at the ring. The little diamond blinks in the dim light of the room.

“Oh, Adrian…” there’s so much pity in her voice that even Adrian Chase picks up on it.

And he cries.

He can’t remember the last time he cried.

A/N: Yes, I put that last gif in there to make us all suffer. Our poor sweet murderous loverboy </3

-

Part 2