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dattebae · 2 years

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The middle ground (ch.4)

CHAPTERS: [ 1 ] , [ 2 ], [ 3 ], [ 4 ], [ 5 ], [ Finale]

COMPLETE WORK AT AO3: HERE.

Pairing: Sixty/Female Reader

Word count: 7.486

Rating: Explicit ( Sprays you with water if you're under 18. Please stay awayyyyy)

Warnings: Substance abuse, too much angst for a human to stand, Connor's wife being cute, Sixty being a horrible fucking person, Nines is the best fucking person, awkward family dinners, music and some sad smut towards the end.

Note: I honestly don't know what to say. I just wanna tell you guys to brace yourselves because this chapter contains a whole lot of angst. I also wanna add that Sixty sings at some point and I couldn't think of a better song than this one. Phew, okay. I have to pack my bags and leave the country before some of you come for me. Have fun!

Sixty never went to college. It wasn’t a shock to anyone around him, of course, but the idle time after high school gave him the unfortunate opportunity to experiment with the worst kind of drugs available on the streets. There was something very scary and hollow about everyone drifting away from him after high school, and while Sixty never admitted to that, he used the drugs to distract himself from that reality. One day he left the house, and then he never came back. He knew going back to his childhood home would mean that he’d have to face his past, and he was nowhere near ready for that.

During that time Nines was dragged into a tough selection process orchestrated by the CIA to see if he was fit for his current position, and it took over a year until he finally got chosen. Maybe things would’ve been different for Sixty if Nines had been around during that time, but Sixty couldn’t remember much from those years, anyway. He had vague memories of drifting off on random couches with people who were just as fucked up as him, and sometimes he could swear he had glimpses of waking up in random alleys around Detroit. Honestly, it was a miracle he’d even managed to survive after all the shit he put in his body.

Meanwhile, Connor and Suki had moved into a small student apartment near their campus, and some nights Sixty would find himself tucked in their bed with food and water waiting for him on the nightstand. He never knew how he ended up there, and they never told him, either. Somehow that made him even more bitter. Connor always had to be so fucking nice all the time, and even though Sixty had so many memory gaps from that time, he never lost the feelings those moments caused him: shame and anger.

Maybe that’s why it wasn’t surprising to find Suki loading food into Nines’ fridge when Sixty came home the morning after being with you. She was just like Connor, if not worse. Whenever she knew Nines was back from his missions, she’d come by and leave him some of her homemade food, which Sixty knew Nines loved. It was almost like God knew what he was up to, because hadn’t Suki been there, Sixty would’ve already been searching through Nines’ bedroom to find money, or something that he could sell for money.

Yeah, he knew how fucked up at that was. Even worse, he knew that getting to that point of desperation meant he was dangerously close to a serious detox withdrawal, and he had no intention of going through that nightmare. Sixty needed a fucking high, or else he’d be clawing his own skin off very soon.

He’d been staring at her from the hall for a while, watching how she unloaded box after box and set them into the fridge in the order she knew Nines would appreciate. Sixty hadn’t seen Suki for a while, and he’d never bothered to greet her or Connor at the event, either. Maybe that made him an asshole, but that wasn’t new. It was the same old: They were unbearably nice, and he avoided them like the fucking pest.

“ Are you gonna stand there and stare like a creep, or are you gonna help the pregnant lady out? ” Suki casually called, and Sixty rolled his eyes. The only difference between Suki and Connor was her sharp tongue: she didn’t tolerate nonsense from anyone. And as much as he enjoyed their banter, he needed her to get the fuck out so he could steal something from his brother and snort some cocaine.

“ You’ve known me for over a fucking decade, and you still decided to ask me a question like that? ”

He’d walked into the kitchen by then, and she met him with a sneer.

“ Well, you’ve known me for just as long, and still you opted to test me. ”

Ah. There she was.

“ Don’t act like you don’t like a little challenge, Ki. I know my brother’s too much of a shrimp to have things his way, anyway. ”

“ Oh trust me, if Connor didn’t have his way, I wouldn’t be pregnant right now. ” she casually said.

Well, ew.

Suki closed the fridge and started to fold the empty plastic bags she’d carried the boxes in, and during that time Sixty realized she was observing him suspiciously.

Did she know? Did he look like was going to steal Nines’ shit for a line of the first best thing?

“ Who’s the staring creep now? ” Sixty quipped, returning her earlier sneer.

Suki rolled her eyes and turned her focus back on her task.

“ Connor’s been worried about you, Six. You have to stop avoiding him like this. ”

It didn’t take long for Sixty’s smirk to fade after that. Nines had said that to him far too many times, and it seemed like he just couldn’t escape that line no matter who he spoke to. Sixty shrugged his jacket off and threw it over one of the stools by the kitchen island. Suki didn’t react, but maybe his bitter behavior was normal to her. After all, he’d been a bitter asshole for most of his life.

“ How’s the little guy? ” he asked, avoiding the subject of Connor as much as he possibly could. Suki didn’t push on it, and that was good. The last thing he needed along with his skin-crawling urge to get high was a conversation about his perfect fucking brother.

“ Cole’s fine. He’s been asking about his uncle Seesee, though. ” she said with a puppy eyed pout, and Sixty couldn’t help but to crack a smile.

Uncle Seesee, huh?

Cole was barely two years old and he already looked like a carbon fucking copy of Connor. Some part of Sixty hated it, but he couldn’t deny the love he had for his little shrimp nephew.

“ By the way, Richard told me about your mysterious girl. “ Suki wiggled her eyebrows, and Sixty rolled his eyes. Weren’t spies supposed to be good at keeping their mouths shut? What the fuck, Nines. Sometimes Sixty wondered if his family (whatever fucked up variant of a family this was) ever had anything better to talk about than him and his messy life.

“ Don’t start. ”

“ No. No, that’s good, Colin. I’m glad you’re happy. ” She gave him a smile, and Sixty almost squirmed under her sincerity. Seriously. Why did they always have to be so fucking nice?

“ I’m glad you’re doing better. ” she added, collecting her bag.

“ I’m definitely doing better than you. I mean, you look…” His nose wrinkled a little, hand vaguely gesturing to the swell of her stomach.

Suki stroked her belly protectively, eyes practically shooting daggers at him.

“ Careful. ”

Shit.

“…Dazzling? ” he tried.

The look on her face wasn’t subtle at all: Suki wasn’t impressed, but she didn’t seem eager to keep the topic on her very pregnant figure, either. Instead, she said something that had Sixty taken aback a little:

“ Nines is meeting us for dinner next week. You should bring your girlfriend along and…you know, let her meet the family. ”

The family.

Sixty scoffed.

The last thing he’d want is for you to meet the collection of people that proved just how fucked up and pathetic he really was. The girl who rejected him in high school, his older brother who she’d chosen instead, and his heart-throb bachelor of a younger brother. No, thank you. He needed you far away from everything that pointed to his addiction: which was a lot, but mostly them.

Suki didn’t give him a chance to protest, though. She gave him a gentle rub on the arm and a smile that, once again, was too sincere for Sixty’s liking.

“ Be good, Six. ”

He looked at her for a moment, expression a little stiff and hard.

Good. The only thing he couldn’t be.

The urges may have gotten him in a bad mood, but he couldn’t deny that Suki was a walking reminder of how he was never good enough. Not for her, and not for his brothers. Not for anyone.

She’d already headed for the hall when Sixty heard her call out to him:

“ And please leave some food over for Nines. ”

Oh, he’d be stealing more than just food from Nines.

***

There was a guitar in your living room slash bedroom that bothered Sixty a lot. You barely knew how to use it, and it was clear that it was only there for decoration, but it still bothered him. He knew it sounded insane, but he could swear that it kept staring at him. Maybe it was the side-effect of that new shit he’d snorted earlier. He didn’t know what the drug was, but his dealer had told him it was new on the market and Sixty didn’t even question it. He’d bought a few doses with the money he’d gotten from selling one of Nines’ rings (which he’d stolen from his room as soon as Suki left.) It was only a matter of time before Nines would find out and probably (most definitely) confront him about it. Anywho: that drug was either fantastic, or he was really losing his mind because the guitar was still staring.

Sixty hadn’t touched an instrument in years, and he hadn’t sung in even longer. It was…scary, to dip his toes into music. Mostly because it reminded him of Hank, but also because whenever he did play, it forced him to deal with his feelings.

No, thank you.

He tried to ignore the discomfort of having the instrument in the corner, and while you sat on the couch with him after hours of lazy sex, you seemed to notice that Sixty’s gaze kept flicking over to the guitar.

“ You know you’re allowed to use it, right? ”

He looked up to find you giving him an amused look, and he tried to casually shrug it off. Maybe some part of him wondered how its weight would feel in his hands, and if it was tuned in case he pulled on the strings. No. No, that was a slippery slope.

“ I’m good. ”

It wasn’t worth a journey down nightmare lane, and he already felt content chilling with you on the couch while painting your toenails a pretty shade of blue. You were only wearing a pair of panties and Sixty’s oversized t-shirt (that was way too big and way too sexy on you), and when Sixty dragged his eyes over you, his smirk indicated nothing but trouble. You nudged him with your other foot, bringing his attention back to you.

“ Come on, I’ve seen how you keep looking at it. ”

He wanted to retort and tell you that it was in fact the guitar looking at him, but you’d probably think he was crazy, and honestly? Maybe he was. His mouth parted, and before he could think of something less…mentally unstable to say, you were already up on your feet. You brought the guitar back to the couch and handed it to him.

Sixty froze.

“ Play something for me. ”

Sixty hesitated for a moment, but then you plopped down next to him and brought your knees up to your chest, a spark of curiosity and excitement lingering in your eyes.

“ Please? ”

Well, that was just unfair. How was he ever supposed to say no to that? To you?

Hesitating, he looked down at the guitar for a moment. After a long moment, Sixty then shifted in his seat and properly rested the instrument on his thigh. You watched him give the strings an experimental strum, and a pleasant tune echoed over the room. Sixty hummed, then he adjusted some of the strings, pulling and twisting until he finally tuned the instrument to his liking.

Something about this felt very natural. Even though it'd been years since Sixty had played, his fingers hadn’t forgotten any of the chords. What started as exploratory little sounds soon turned into steady, deliberate tunes. He hummed along to it, and you gently swayed your body to the music with a smile lingering on your lips.

And then he began to sing.

Perhaps some part of him knew where this would take him, and although the journey through his memories brought him sadness and pain, they also brought him a sense of comfort. Sixty felt like he was home for the first time in over a decade. He found himself back in that messy garage, feeling Hank’s fingers guiding his smaller ones through each tricky chord. He could hear his laughter and his praise when Sixty finally managed to learn the combinations.

Something inside his throat was closing, and his voice started losing its strength for a moment. Your look of adoration slowly blended with concern when you saw the tears gathering in Sixty’s eyes. His fingers began to shake over the guitar, and then the music stopped.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to him that this ended with him in tears, but he was stubborn enough to think that maybe, just maybe, he was stronger now than he’d been in the past.

He wasn’t.

Without the music, his quivering breaths were loud, and carefully you moved over to him when he lowered the guitar and let it fall to the carpet. Sixty tried to cover the tears by hiding his face in his hands, but it was too late. He swore through his gritted teeth, feeling how you slowly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. Everything inside his head was a cluster of memories: He could remember the car, his own fucking voice in the backseat: how he’d yelled at Hank for ruining his night and how Connor tried to calm him down.

The screech of the tires.

The scatter of glass.

Connor’s screams.

The faint sound of the sirens.

Sixty had no idea how much time he spent crying in your arms, but you were patient and your hugs anchored him through each wave of pain and regret washing over him. He was babbling random apologies to Hank while you held him close and waited patiently. It took a long time before he’d calmed, and when you finally asked him about it after an hour of holding him in silence, he decided to tell you about that night.

It was four days before Christmas and he’d been invited to a party outside of town. Even though Hank told him no, Sixty had still snuck out through the garage and taken the first bus he could find to Leo Manfred’s mansion. Nines had gone to bed early because of swimming practice he had the next day, and Sixty had refused to stay home to be alone with his own stupid thoughts. He remembered being in a particularly bad mood that day because Connor was spending the night over at Suki’s. Her parents were out of town that weekend, and Sixty knew exactly what that meant.

He didn’t tell you anything about the drugs, but Sixty had no idea that Leo Manfred and his shitty circle would be his ticket to addiction. They were all stoners, and he only hung around with Leo for the same reason as the rest of his shitty friends: he had money for weed. It hadn’t sounded like a bad thing then: it was just something to get his mind off Connor and Suki.

It was three AM, and after eight missed calls and three voicemails, Hank had decided to drive up to the house and bring Sixty home himself. Sixty told you about the really bad argument he’d had with Hank outside Leo’s house, and how pissed he was over his dad picking up like a fucking child while Connor was fucking Suki in the other side of town. He’d blurted out something about Connor always getting what he wanted, and Hank had given him a whole speech about how he shouldn’t compete with his brothers, and how they needed to stick together through good and bad times.

Refusing to listen, Sixty went back inside, and after contemplating, Hank decided to call Connor for help.

An hour later, the three of them were in the car on their way back to the city, and Sixty was absolutely livid. His anger might’ve been because of Connor’s presence in the car, or maybe it was the weed and alcohol fucking him up. Actually, it was probably a combination of everything, but he didn’t mention that part to you. It’d happened so fast: one moment they were arguing and the next moment the car had slid off the road and rolled into a ditch. A branch had broken through the window from Hank’s side, and impaled him from the left side. Sixty had hit his head quite badly, and his arm was stuck between the neck rest from Connor’s seat. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, but he heard Connor’s cries and screams from the front seat. They haunted him until this day.

Dad! No! No, no, no! Dad, please open your eyes! Please!

The next time his conscience returned, Connor was sobbing. He could hear him cursing and fighting to drag him out of the car while Hank was left in the driver’s seat.

Sixty couldn’t understand why Connor saved him. He couldn’t understand how he’d had it in him to leave their dad dying in the driver’s seat.

It made no sense.

The air was hot and thick from the mist in the shower, and you were silently peering up at him when Sixty’s story came to an end. It had been your idea to drag him in there with you, and the water seemed to calm his nerves even more. This was good.

There was a long pause between you, and then Sixty dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your bare skin as he spoke.

“ I should’ve stayed home. ” he said, voice cracking. It was barely audible over the hot water pouring down on both of you.

“ Six, you were just a kid... ” You murmured, stroking his neck soothingly.

“ Your dad loved you, and you loved him. I’m sure he knew that. ”

He hoped you were right. He hoped that argument hadn’t ruined Hank’s perception of him, and how much Sixty really loved him.

Sixty sighed against your neck, arms tightening around your waist as he pulled your bare body closer to him. Ever since he broke down into tears before you, he hadn’t been able to let you go. It was weird, but somehow holding you gave him a sense of safety. You anchored him, in a way, and he appreciated that. He appreciated you. Sixty had never spoken about that night with anyone. Not even his brothers. And yet, talking about it with you felt oddly relieving. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He realized that you’d unknowingly forced him to face a big chunk of his trauma since the moment you handed him that guitar, and that made him question his own judgment about a lot of things. Maybe he was capable of healing, and maybe that was something worth sharing. Sixty knew that intentions weren’t entirely selfless, because he wanted to rub his relationship with you in his ‘family’s’ face, just to prove a point. Maybe that’d put an end to all their annoying obsession with his life and his sobriety. He was not sober by any means, of course, but he wanted them to think that.

Most of all, he wanted you to be in the dark about his addiction, for as long as possible.

Why? Because he was selfish, and he wanted you for himself, just like this. He wanted you to anchor him and treat him like himself: Not like an addict with selfish, impulsive tendencies: even if that was the truth. The parasite inside him, the one that made him angry, selfish, jealous, manipulative and impatient, told him to never let you go.

“ I want you to meet my family. ” Sixty murmured, stroking your cheek while he lovingly peered into your eyes.

You smiled up at him, and when you spoke again, the parasite within him practically purred.

“ I’d like that. ”

***

Sixty had reconsidered many things in his life as of lately, but one thing that he began to question in particular was the extent of his younger brother’s supposed spy skills. Nines hadn’t said anything to him about his missing ring, and even though Sixty had basically, sort of, moved in with you, he never received a call or an angry text message from Nines. It was quite the opposite, actually. Nines had gone as far as leaving him the keys to his ridiculously clean Range Rover so he could pick you up and drive you to the restaurant where the family was waiting for you both.

Sixty was waiting for you outside your apartment complex. He’d been leaning against the car with his hands tucked into his pockets and plenty of time to speculate the upcoming events of the evening. Some part of him had come to terms with the idea of meeting Connor again. They hadn’t spoken in months and Sixty had no idea what he’d feel or how he’d react to his brother’s presence. In some way, though, he felt ready. Sixty didn’t spend too much time thinking about Connor, though. Not when you walked out of the building looking like something from a dream. He pushed himself off the car, staring at your elegant dress and those soft little waves of your hair that made him want to run his fingers through them. The deep blue color complimented your skin tone perfectly, and when you walked up to him with the sound of soft little clicks from a pair of heels he was sure you dreaded to wear, he couldn’t help but to smile like a fucking idiot.

Holy fucking shit.

“ Hi. ” You smiled at him, and it filled his insides with butterflies.

“ Hey, ” he smirked. It was impossible to miss the adoration in his eyes. “ You look beautiful. ”

He watched your smile grow at those words.

Something about the way you reached to fix his collar made Sixty’s heart beat a little faster. It still stunned him sometimes, how easy it was for you to take him off guard with small gestures such as these. He realized that it’d been a good idea to dress a little more properly for the evening. After all, you deserved nothing less when you looked that good next to him. Sixty had slicked his usually messy hair back and worn a pair of slacks instead of whatever was laying around in his messy room back at Nines’. He’d even sprayed on some cologne, and opted for a white button up to appear a little more…what was the word?

Before you entered the car, you reached up on your tippy toes and brought your mouth to his ear. What you’d whispered to him then had Sixty smirking to himself for the entire car ride.

“ And you look very handsome.” you purred.

Handsome.

That’s the word.

***

Suki hadn’t told him who’d made the reservations at the restaurant, but if Sixty could guess, it was most likely Nines. The place wasn’t too fancy, but it certainly wasn’t a place you’d go to for lunch on a workday either. Connor, Suki and Nines were already sitting by the table when the two of you were escorted inside by one of the waitresses, and Suki was the first to light up with a smile before she stood up from her seat. Connor greeted you shortly after, and while you were busy greeting a shy Cole in Connor’s arm, Sixty felt Nines’ eyes on him.

The younger brother didn’t say a word, but Sixty knew what those silver eyes were suggesting. Nines gave his shoulder a small pat, and then he was next in turn to introduce himself to you. Maybe your look of awe would’ve bothered Sixty more if Nines didn’t have that effect on literally everyone he ever met, but he couldn’t exactly blame you. Nines was a handsome gentleman, and his voice was smooth as silk when he shook your hand and politely introduced himself. You were already getting along with Suki, busy with whatever conversation that’d started between you moments ago when he heard a familiar voice:

“ It’s good to see you, Colin. ”

It was hard to face Connor. Sixty only managed a glance with hands still tucked into his pockets like he had no intention of taking them out anytime soon. Connor didn’t seem surprised by his behavior, but something in his eyes showed signs of hope: like maybe Sixty would change his mind and drag him in for a tight, brotherly hug.

Yeah, as if.

Sixty lowered his gaze for a moment, giving his older brother nothing but a curt nod in response.

“ Seesee.” Cole’s hand was tiny, and it was reaching out to him in a way that Sixty couldn’t ignore. He didn’t need any convincing when it came to greeting his nephew, at least.

“ Oh you remember me, little shrimp? ” Sixty smirked, booping his tiny, button nose.

Cole was probably the only member of the family that Sixty actually liked. He seemed to like his uncle Sixty even though he was a walking fucking mess. It was nice. He came to realize that he liked Cole for the same reasons that he liked you: Neither of you knew about his horrible addiction, and that made him feel normal. It made him feel like a person, not a problem.

While Cole closed his hand around one of his uncle’s fingers, Sixty tried to ignore that Connor was holding him in his arms. There was just something about Connor observing the exchange that made something boil in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t make sense, because Connor seemed pleased. Touched, even. Maybe there was just something about seeing Connor happy and content that ticked Sixty off, and it made him realize why he’d stayed away for so long: Why he’d never bothered to come to his wedding or any of the highlights in his life.

By the time dinner was served, you’d gotten along quite well with everyone around the table. Suki was feeding Cole, who sat in his own little baby chair next to her, while Connor and Nines were discussing various people from the event Sixty had met you in. It seemed like the three of you had a few common friends and acquaintances. You know, small world and all. During that time, Sixty hadn’t said much at all. He’d find himself staring at Connor across the table more times than he liked to admit, and every time he did, he downed more of his wine. It wasn’t just that his older brother was easy to listen to, but he also had a way of effortlessly dragging people’s attention to him in a way Sixty never could. Not even Nines. It was such a stark difference from who he’d been back in high school, and the physical part of that difference was just as clear. Connor looked good, and he sure as hell sounded like felt good, too.

Sixty hated every tiny fucking bit of that.

“ I hope the food is okay, by the way. We weren’t sure what you preferred, but this place has great seafood, so we figured... ” Connor said.

“ Oh, no. It’s great. ” You waved him off with a smile. “ Actually, I wouldn’t mind coming back here in the future. ”

You turned to look at Sixty expectantly, but his eyes were hard and set on Connor across the table. Sixty had already had three glasses of wine at that point, and he’d ignored Nines’ sharp glares for longer than was good for him. Whatever. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“ Connor’s always had a thing for seafood. Especially shrimp. ” Sixty said, downing more of his wine.

Something shifted in the air, and a puzzled frown settled over your features when your eyes drifted between the two brothers.

“ Isn’t that right, Connor? ”

Apart from meeting Sixty’s hard stare, Connor hadn’t reacted much to that comment. Even as he stared back at his younger brother, his eyes lacked the resentment and darkness that Sixty’s carried.

“ That’s true, actually. ” Connor said, sounding a little embarrassed in a way that just made him sound…humble. He then turned to his wife with a smile that expressed nothing but his love for her, and she returned it.

“ I do love shrimp. ”

No one spoke for a moment, and while Connor had, in some way, eased the tension in the air, it only seemed to magnify the boiling anger inside Sixty. Even though he could feel your questioning eyes and Nines’ warnings on his skin, he still couldn’t tear his eyes off of his older brother before him. His perfect son, his perfect, pregnant wife: his perfect fucking life.

His hand curled into a tight fist under the table, and you noticed. Before you could say something, though, Nines caught your attention by calling your name.

“ Colin gave me a brief summary of your pitch. ” he started, face perfectly calm and collected. “ If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear more about your concept for the interface. ”

Sixty knew what Nines was trying to do, and it was working. It’d be rude for you to dismiss a conversation like that, and that meant that whatever you wanted to ask Sixty had to wait. For now. Some part of Sixty was a little impressed, because while you started talking about your work, he’d somehow managed to calm down a little, too. It was easier to focus on you when Connor wasn’t talking, or paying attention to him. He’d only murmured something in Suki’s ear and they’d shared a smile, but other than that, Connor was simply enjoying his food and listening to your conversation with Nines.

“ Interesting, ” Nines hummed, arms crossed over his chest while he observed you for a moment.

“ Connor and I are familiar with some of Elijah’s work partners. Maybe we can set up a meeting? ” Nines turned to Connor then, as if asking for his opinion.

Connor looked unsure.

“ Actually… I don’t think you should give him the pitch at all. ”

Silence fell over the table, and everyone looked a little surprised. Everyone except Sixty, of course. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, like he didn’t trust whatever his brother was suggesting.

“ And why’s that, Connor? ” Sixty retorted before you had the chance to say something, and again, he didn’t meet the look you gave him.

Connor hesitated, but then he sighed and turned to you.

“ Look, your idea is pretty extraordinary and unique. It would be a waste to sell it for a quarter of its worth to a man with a massive empire like Elijah. If you started your own company and implemented that concept to your own products, you’d be making much more profit. Actually, you’d be making a fortune. ”

While Sixty downed the rest of his wine, you were meeting the pleased smiles offered to you around the table. He couldn’t exactly argue that Connor’s idea was bad, but some part of him hated that he was the reason you were so stunned about something you were so passionate about.

Shouldn’t that have been him?

“ That’s…I’ve never thought of it like that. ” You admitted, deep in thought.

Sixty’s leg had been restless under the table for a while. It was a sign of his frustration, a sign of the urges that he’d been trying to drown out with the wine, and a sign of his newfound possessiveness. None of it made sense, though. Connor was quite literally sitting before him with his wife and child, and Sixty felt the need to mark his territory like some fucking bloodhound.

“ You should give yourself a little more credit. ” Connor said, offering you a smile. “ You’ve worked hard, and that deserves a proper reward. ”

You almost jumped when Sixty’s hand suddenly found your knee under the table. He wasn’t looking at you, posture completely laid back and relaxed while you stared at him next you. He sipped on some water, and gave you a brief glance.

The evening had gone by smoothly, for most part, but Sixty knew he’d acted strange, which meant that you’d be bombarding him with questions as soon as you went back to the car. That didn’t stop his hand from slipping under your dress, and sliding up your thigh, though. You cleared your throat, reaching one of your hands down to discreetly grab his wrist. And then he felt you close your legs and push his hand away.

Sixty almost scoffed.

“ What’s the matter with you? ” you whispered harshly, leaning to his ear. Sixty could see that you were trying your best not to draw any attention to the two of you, and it seemed to be working fine, for now.

At that point, Sixty had already regretted his decision to let you meet his family. Something had been building inside him since the moment he’d laid eyes on Connor again, and whatever it was, it fed that nasty little parasite inside him. There was no wine in the world that could stop his skin from crawling, and Sixty realized there was only one way for him to deal with himself before he lost you to his own stupid, impulsivity.

So he stood up from his seat and excused himself.

And as he headed towards the restrooms, he didn’t look back.

***

Like any other proper addict, Sixty had smuggled a small dose of that weird powder into the inner pocket of his blazer. He wasn’t sure what he felt about it, but he was in no condition to be picky about what drug he was trying to survive on. This shit was his only chance to endure the night before you or someone else slapped him across the face.

He’d locked himself into one of the stalls in the restroom, and he’d been staring at the small plastic bag for a long moment: like he was trying to figure it out. It was odd that he hadn’t downed it already, because his skin was itching and his heart was pumping in a way that usually left no room for any sort of patience. Something was holding him back from snorting it, and that something was you. It contradicted everything that made sense to him normally, because he was ugly and nasty without the drugs, and yet, he couldn’t take his own version of a cure.

What if it made him worse?

What if it pushed him so low that you’d suspect him for something more than just being a little tipsy? At that point, Sixty was mentally fighting that greedy little parasite inside him. What it wanted was clear, It always was, but Sixty was more worried about what you’d want, and it didn’t like that.

He was sweating now, and he decided to take a seat on the lidded toilet for a moment while he cursed his own existence a few times. This was the part in every book and movie where he’d make the right decision and make you proud, but Sixty knew he wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t the main fucking character and this wasn’t a damn movie where everything would turn into rainbows and sunshine. Reality was a bitch, and that fucking powder was the only way he could deal with it.

So he opened the small plastic bag, and fed that fucking parasite inside him for the millionth time.

***

It was unclear to him how long he’d been gone, but whatever was in that line he snorted was working wonders on him. He hadn’t felt that good in a while, and even though the aftermath usually left him looking a little rough, whatever this powder was had the opposite effect on him. Sixty looked far more awake and relaxed when he walked out of the stall and–

Saw Nines walking towards him.

“ I’m okay, I just needed a b- Hey, what the fuck!? ” Nines had suddenly grabbed two fists of his shirt and slammed him against one of the stall doors. Sixty was shocked. Not once in their entire lives had Nines ever laid hands on him like this, and that only meant that whatever he’d done was really, really bad.

They were lucky no one else was inside, because whatever anger Sixty had dulled with a line of powder seemed to have crawled inside his usually composed younger brother. Nines’ silver orbs were sharp and stern, and Sixty could’ve sworn that he was struggling to steady his breaths.

He was in deep shit.

“ I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I assumed that you were too proud to ask for money. I assumed you stole from me because you wanted to impress her. ” Nines said, voice shaky and low and so fucking dangerous that Sixty felt a shiver crawl down his spine. Of course he knew about the fucking ring. How was he ever so stupid to think that Nines wouldn’t know that he’d stolen from him?

“ I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! ” Sixty hissed, trying to break free from Nines’ iron grip on him. He did what what every fucking addict would do: deny, deny, deny.

But whatever act Sixty had decided to put up, Nines wasn’t having it. Not tonight. Sixty saw him clench his jaw, looking more riled up than before.

“ Is this all she is to you, Colin?” Nines asked, eyes narrowing. “ A prize for you to show off and rub in Connor’s face? ”

No.

Fuck no.

“ Let go of me! ” Sixty shouted, and Nines responded by clasped a large hand over his mouth, muffling his screams.

“ What kind of man are you!? ” Nines growled, and Sixty glared up at him through the annoying fucking tears that’d gathered in his eyes. Maybe Nines knew that Sixty didn’t have an answer to that question, because he never removed that unforgiving hand and some part of Sixty was grateful for that. Sixty had asked himself that same question while you’d slept in his arms one night, and he hadn’t really come to a proper conclusion.

He’d turned completely silent, but Nines still didn’t move. He was looming over his older brother in a way that reminded Sixty what Nines did to bad people for a living.

“ Whatever game you’re playing will end right now. ” Nines said after a brief silence. “ You will stop trying to embarrass our brother in front of his family, and you will stop touching that woman without her consent. ”

Sixty was struggling to control the pathetic mixture of sobs and ragged breaths he was letting out against his brother’s palm: but his his eyes never stopped glaring up at him.

“ Have I made myself clear, Colin? ”

Sixty felt drained, embarrased and every fucked up thing under the sun. He knew Nines was right: he’d known even before Nines had confronted him about it. Sixty had been selfish with you since day one, and he’d been so good at it that he hadn’t even allowed you to notice the position you were in. Maybe this was the wake up call he needed: Maybe Nines was showing him mercy right now.

Even though he’d normally rather swallow venom than his own pride, Sixty still decided to nod.

“ Good. ”

A few, long moments passed before Nines finally decided to let him go, and at that point Sixty had no fight left in him. He stayed long after Nines left him in the restrooms, and when he finally pulled himself together and went out again, you looked more concerned than angry with him.

***

Sometimes Sixty felt like he was on autopilot. He could say and do things that he didn’t really pay attention to while his mind was taking him through a maze of thoughts. Just like he expected, you’d asked him a million questions in the car, and Sixty had answered them all in autopilot. He wasn’t sure what he’d really said, but whatever it was had been good enough for you. The details were blurry: a sincere apology, something about living in his brother’s shadow and reacting badly to red wine.

He should’ve picked up on the signs his body was giving him the moment his lips began to feel numb, but Sixty was still too stuck on what had happened in the restrooms with Nines to pay that any mind. Something about Nines, the always calm and composed brother, losing his patience with him was more alarming than his own body shutting down bit by bit thanks to that odd drug.

Autopilot was working for him, though, because even though he couldn’t feel his fingers, they still worked over your clit when he had you to himself back at your apartment. He kissed you hard, and you gasped against his numb lips when he pushed a third finger into your heat and slowly opened you up for him. Somehow that represented him in more ways than one. He’d been opening you up and crawling inside you like a parasite since the day you decided to sit with him at that bar, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d devoured you completely. Maybe not even then.

“ Sixty, please, ” you moaned, clawing at his back when he slowly pulled his numb fingers out of you. It made him remember that day you’d told him about your pitch: how the mere brush of your fingers over his own had sent sparks along every tiny little vein inside his body. And now? Now he was holding his cock in his hand and burying himself to the hilt without feeling anything.

You bit down on his shoulder, trying to muffle your moans when he started pumping himself into you at a harsh pace. Sixty didn’t know if he was in denial or if he simply refused to give up, but the truth was simple: every piece of you was being taken away from him because of that evil substance inside his body, and there was nothing he could do about it. It almost made him want to cry. To scream.

“ I… I love you, ” You were holding his face in your hands, eyes lidded and heavy with all the love and adoration you had for him while his hips kept snapping against yours like he was a machine following a loop of instructions. He listened to your little gasps, watched how drunk you were on him and what he was doing to you, and he couldn’t feel a damn thing. Sixty’s breath hitched, and his vision started to blur.

Your hands.

He couldn’t even feel your fucking hands.

“ I love you. ” he said, feeling so numb but so much at the same time and he couldn’t make sense of any of it. Sixty didn’t realize that tears were trickling down his cheeks, and even though you wiped them away with more love and affection, it still didn’t fix him. It was such a selfish thing: that parasite inside him, and now it had stolen him from you so completely that he felt like a ghost in your arms.

By the time he stopped moving over you, you’d already realized that something was awfully wrong.

“ Sixty? ” you called, brows pinching together.

His eyes had turned dull and unfocused, like he wasn’t really there even though he was staring down at you, and that made all the alarm clocks ring inside your head. You sat up, and Sixty’s body swayed for a second before it dropped like a sack on the bed.

“ Sixty! ” You tried to shake him, but no matter how much you tried, his eyes were still dull and distant. He was starting to drift in and out of consciousness, and something about it was familiar. His body was burning and his pulse was through the roof, and suddenly he could hear those familiar tunes again: Sumo’s happy barks, and the morning sun.

“ Sixty, you’re scaring me! ”

You shook him again, and his eyes opened for a moment to see your crying face over him. He tried to move his arms, but his body was a weight he couldn’t seem to carry. He drifted away some more, and when he saw you again, your phone was in your hand. That could only mean one thing.

You were calling for an ambulance.

“ No… ” his voice was barely there, but it was enough to get your attention.

“ Stay with me, Six! Please! ”

His breaths were quick and shallow, and even though it took everything within him to form his next word, Sixty knew that it was his only chance of surviving:

“ Nines… ” he croaked.

Call Nines.

#I just know i'm gonna get bombarded with messages and im ready to get punished #i honestly deserve anything you guys throw at me #i cant even deny it #phew #dbh #detroit become human #rk800 x reader #rk800 60 x reader #dbh sixty x reader #dbh sixty #rk800 60 #rk800 sixty #rk900 #rk900 nines #rk800 connor #sixty x reader #tmd

48 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Magic Moment

Hello! I could NOT resist writing another blurb about boyfriend!harry for my lovely friend, @bfharry‘s BOYFRIENDATHON after I got this idea! I’ve always loved baseball myself and playing lots of catch at work recently inspired this, as well as falling in love with Queen ;) Enjoy some fluff about playing catch with boyfriend!harry at your childhood home c:

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.4k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: This Magic Moment by Ben E. King and The Drifters (click to listen and yes Sandlot *wink*)

“Follow your heart, kid, and you can never go wrong.”

- The Sandlot

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” you jest, giggling nervously. The screen door closes with a loud whap! behind the both of you.

“Ya, maybe it wasn’t fer you,” he sighs in a whisper, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His high-top white converses slap! down the wooden stairs quickly. “I think I need anotha beer afta that.”

“Follow me.”

A humid heat hits you in the face when you open the scarlet-colored door to the garage. The familiar smell welcomes you, and so do the sights of your father’s tools hanging up on the walls. The lawn mower still sits in the same spot, his pair of old glasses remain perched on the windowsill, and the tiny mini fridge in the corner awaits your call.

“Thanks,” he mumbles after taking a long pull from the refreshing beer. You opt for a Whiskey-Coke, instead, the carbonation sending shooting stars across your tongue. You watch him wipe away the bead of sweat running down his forehead, and then the subsequent smile that drills the dimples into his cheeks. “Bloody hell, if that isn’t tha cutest thing ‘ve eva seen.”

A questioning ‘what’ barely passes your lips once you spot the miniature lilac colored baseball glove on a shelf. Next, a laugh falls from your lips and he echoes it with his own adorable concoction.

“Hard t’ believe yer hand was eva that tiny, love.”

“I know, it’s funny that my dad kept it around.”

“I would if I were him, ‘s bloody adorable,” he notes, picking up the battered leather mitt with a content smile. “Ah, lookie here. Up fer a game o’ catch, love? Bet I could whoop yer ass.”

“Harry, you can’t beat somebody in catch!” you protest, the cool liquid gracing your lips, providing you a few seconds of relief from the summer heat.

“We’ll just see ‘bout that, now won’t we?” he teases with a wiggle of his eyebrows. A tan, leather baseball glove hits you square in the chest, landing in your arms while he slips on a darker twin of it. “C’mon, I wanna see how girly of a throw ya got.”

“Oh, shut up. You have no idea what’s coming for you. You’re dating a former softball player here.”

“Am I now? Ya don’t seem that intimidatin’ t’ me, miss,” Harry laughs softly, the billowy cotton of his red Hawaiian themed shirt catching the wind once your feet find the grass. “Dunno how anythin’ can be intimidatin’ afta meetin’ yer bleedin’ father, tho’. Bloody hell,” he remarks, shaking his head.

“It really wasn’t that bad, Harry,” you correct him, placing your tall can beside his dark glass bottle.

“It was. Didn’t know he’d be so fookin’ hard on me, askin’ all o’ those questions. He never even smiled at me once, babe,” he scoffs, sliding the glove onto his large hand and messing around with it until it’s comfortable enough.

“Yes, he did.”

“No, he didn’t. Or I didn’t see it. Dunno why he was so cold t’ me. Ya’ve always had such good things t’ say ‘bout growin’ up with him . . ,” he exhales, tossing the ancient brown and red baseball into the mitt. His short curls dance around atop his head as he crosses the large backyard, the very same one you played kickball in, where you hit home run balls into the woods, set cartwheel records in, and still have the pieces of wood set into the ground marking the bases.

“He’s quiet, Harry, that’s all. You just have to find something in common with him, and then you’ll hit it off. I promise you, he liked you.”

“Don’t believe ya there, he was givin' me tha evil eye tha whole time durin’ dinna, even tho’ I was fakin’ likin’ his burgers. They were dry as hell,” he grumbles, soon coming to a stop a good way across the grassy area. Messing with his light-washed denim shorts, he checks his phone before letting it fall back into one of its pockets. “Reckon ‘s cuz yer his li’l girl, loads mo’ protective o’ you cuzz’a that.”

“Keep going, I’m not a sissy.”

“Oh, so I should go long, ‘s that right? Dunno if ya can make it t’ me if I go back any farther,” he winks, the dimples set into his cheeks all the way from here, you notice.

“Would you hush? I pitched all throughout high school, I can make your hand hurt from catching it, if you keep running your mouth,” you argue.

“Oooooo, she’s gettin’ feisty now,” he chuckles, raising his voice to carry across the clipped green grass, tall trees framing the yard. He pats his taut fist into the palm of the glove, the baseball snug in his large hand. Why, of course it is, Mr. Huge Hands.

Seconds later, the ball soars through the air and banks to the left, but with a jump, you catch it just in time.

“What the hell was that?” you laugh, holding up your hands.

“Erm, ‘m warmin’ up? Y’know, gotta get the old righty back in ‘s place,” he insists, stretching his dominant arm this way and that, ever so dramatically.

“Whatever. You’re full of shit, Harry,” you call back, adding extra volume to your voice. His bottom lip escapes to between his teeth while his head goes from side to side. You surprise him with your throw and he misses it, pulling a loud laugh from your lips. “Not so confident, are we now?”

“Shuddup! Ya were a bloody softball player, ya got advantage ova me, ‘s not fair.”

“Don’t you start whining now! You’re the one who wanted to play catch with a five time-.”

“Ya ya, we get tha point, babe. Yer a bloody star when it comes t’ softball. I know, I know. Wish I coulda seen ya play, woulda been fun. Ya should join a summer league, they sound like a hoot,” he comments, locating the ball at last back in the woods and landing it in your glove.

“And I played with my brother all of the time, and he was M.V.P two years in a row on his high school baseball team.”

“Good fer him, maybe he should be out here playin’ with you, instead,” Harry says when your throw to him sails over his head. “God, can ya control that arm o’ yers fer once?”

“Sorry!” you laugh, knowing that he doesn’t believe it for a second.

“Sure ya are.”

The ball arrives in your mitt with a pleasing whap! and your hand settles over it. Brushing your fingers along the coarse stitches, the shocks of green grass stains on the leather welcome you back to your childhood, tossing around this very same ball with your older brother and father. The nostalgia brings your hand to your pocket, and your fingers soon tap the screen of your phone.

“C’mon, slow poke! What’re ya waitin’ fer? ‘Fraid ‘ll beat ya afta all?” Harry quips from across the yard, nearing you to retrieve his beer that he sips from. With a pleased ‘ahhhh,’ he sets it down on the gray cinder blocks of the nearby fire pit after walking back, placing enough space between him and it so he doesn’t run into it.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, music soon pours from the large bluetooth speaker in between you against the garage.

“‘s this just fantasy? Caught inn’a landslide, no escape from realityyyyyy. Open yer eyes, look up t’ tha skies, and seeeeee,” Harry sings loudly, pumping his arms down at his sides and closing his eyes adamantly. “‘m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Because ‘m easy come, easy go, li’l high, li’l low.”

“Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to meeeeee,” you sing back, savoring the large smile painting his face as he catches your throw with ease.

“Toooo meeee,” he sings back. “Mamaaaaaa just killed a man, put a gun against his head. Pulled my trigger, now’s he dead. Mamaaaaa, life had just begunnnn. But now ‘ve gone and thrown it all awayyyyy,” he sings to the baby blue skies dotted with clouds, adamantly strumming an invisible guitar. He echoes your laugh that flies between the two of you, joining the robins and starlings flitting between the trees. “Knew I picked a good one, she’s got a good arm and a bloody good taste in music. Ya betta play Take On Me next, or all bets are off.”

“Oh, you know that I will. It feels like an eighties night, playing catch in the backyard during the summer. It’s just like when I was little,” you note aloud, jogging to the right to catch his next throw until it falls into your glove.

“‘Bout tha same fer me, just with footy, think this ‘s how ‘d like t’ spend my summers still . . I loved it so much, playin’ in tha backyard listenin’ t’ tha radio, and think my kids would too,” he says casually, sparking a blush in your cheeks at the mention of him as a father. Oh, what you would do to be able to see him playing catch with a little dark-haired boy or girl who calls him ‘Daddy.’

Fuck me, you think hastily.

Quickly, your shared favorite part of the song comes and he imitates the guitar shredding while you repeatedly toss the ball into your mitt, watching him.

“But eva since I watched Wayne’s World as a kid, I can’t avoid bangin’ my head when it gets t’ this part,” Harry chuckles, tossing a pop fly towards the overhang of tree branches. “I love tha trees here, ya know, ‘ve neva seen so many.”

“Me too, I love that part in the movie, and I love them too. It’s crazy to think how long they’ve been around to get this big. Some of them were as tall as I am now when I was little.”

“Huh,” he hums curiously, shooting into the air to grab a high one you tried to trick him with. Your eyes can’t help but wander to his dark fern tattoos that peek out when his shirt rises. “Ya think I should keep it still, or get rid o’ it?” Harry poses to you, puckering his lips at you with a mischievous grin.

“You almost remind me of Freddie Mercury with that ‘stache,” you say, the laugh growing from somewhere deep inside of you. He shrugs his shoulders and tosses a fast one back to you, hitting your glove square in the center with a heavy slap!

“Dunno why ya think that’s such a good joke, ‘s a damn compliment, if ya ask me.”

“Uh oh, are we getting a big head over there because you’ve caught my last three throws?�� you joke, watching the ball soar high into the air amongst the green covering of the trees.

“Hey, be easy on me,” he pouts, his words disagreeing with his actions that send a hot fastball into your palm.

“Why? You’re never easy on me when we play Mario Kart or Cribbage.”

“Hey! You don’t have a bleedin’ nearly professional career in any o’ those!” he protests and then curses when your curveball nicks the tip of his glove.

“So, and neither do you, and you’re still aggressive as fuck when we play them! Huh, what’s your excuse, Harry?”

“Galileo!” he calls out.

“Galileo!” you echo, and the rest follow suit between the two of you as the song plays.

“‘m just a poor boyyyyy, nobody loves me,” he sings loudly, causing you to cough on your drink that you take a swig from.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you shoot back, setting down the wet can as he approaches you.

“But I am,” he whines, pushing out his bottom lip that you flick with your finger.

“Watch it!”

“Or what?” you counter, savoring the annoyed expression that soon fills his features. There’s just something about pushing his buttons that gets you going, even though you know that you shouldn’t do it.

“Or else I won’t bloody learn tha rest o’ Blackbird on guitar fer you,” he retorts playfully, taking a long pull from his bottle.

Now, it’s your turn to shout ‘hey!’ until he scoops you into his arms, your surprised shriek piercing the sky.

“You better finish learning it! But, I think that I like Freddie better.”

“How? Paul ‘s far betta. ‘ll always love Queen, and The Beatles don’t have anythin’ on Bohemian Rhapsody, but Paul ‘s tha betta musician. Trust me, I should know,” he disagrees, pecking your temple before pulling away and tossing the ball into your waiting glove.

“But, Freddie had a four octave range.”

“And? So does Paul,” Harry shrugs, raising his left arm in the air to snag your fastpitch that he almost loses. “Paul McCartney ‘s tha superior musician, just trust me on this.”

“Paul McCartney has nothing on Freddie Mercury,” a voice pipes up, turning the both of your heads to the right where you find your dad stepping out of the garage with a weathered black baseball glove snug upon his right hand.

You swear that you could hear Harry’s apprehensive gulp from all of the way over here, and when you look, you find his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“But Paul was betta on guitar, bass, and drums,” Harry argues, nervously tossing the ball into his glove repeatedly.

Your dad closes the door behind him softly, and steps out on the grass, adjusting his glasses. Surprise is absent from your range of emotions when your dad shrugs his shoulders, but you’re sure that it coats Harry’s insides in the next few moments.

“You’re right there, I like somebody who can stand up for their argument,” he comments, nodding a head towards Harry who out of the corner of your eye is smiling, just the slightest. “I think I might like this one,” he says to you, holding out his glove towards Harry, with his lips curling into his cheeks.

The smile on your boyfriend’s face almost matches that of your father’s, but he’s got nothing on the grin plastered across Harry’s face because of your next words.

“I think I do, too, Dad.”

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zodiacal-dust-and-curls · 6 years

Text

Meant to Be

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: None that I can think of. Let me know if you see any!

A/N: I hope y’all are ready. This is a little ridiculous, but I had fun writing it. The reader’s character has a name! But her perspective will be in second person and physical description will be vague. (Sorry, I needed a pretty distinct name for this.)

Thank you to @im-justatrashcan for the request and as always a big thank you to my proof-reader and PSM @mollymarymarie

All your life, you’d had the name ‘Ben Jones’ written in black ink on the inside of your wrist. A common place for a soulmark, really. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about it. Including the name.

It was very frustrating, honestly. It had exhausted you since you were thirteen and everyone else started meeting their soulmates left and right, literally. You’d watched both of your best friends, at the ripe old age of 15, turn opposite directions and bump into their soulmates. From that day forward, their marks had been so beautifully colored and their soulmates never too far away.

But ‘Ben Jones’? That was like finding a needle in a haystack. Your wrist might as well have said ‘John Smith’. It haunted you.

By the midpoint of senior year, ninety percent of your schoolmates had found their other halves and you were still alone.

Then one day, in early 2012, you noticed something. Your mark no longer said ‘Ben Jones’. It now read ‘Ben Hardy’ and you felt like life was just about to get more complicated.

Ben had always wondered how he’d meet you, the mysterious ‘Cheyenne Williams’. Tattooed on his tricep, destined to be his forever. Just from your name, he could tell you weren’t English.

It excited him. He always wondered where life would take him, and he knew for sure he’d get to travel at least part of the world.

Growing up, he was never too concerned with meeting his soulmate. Lots of his friends met theirs between 13 and 18. But it never seemed to bother him. He knew he’d find you one day. It certainly seemed like it wouldn’t be anywhere near his home.

When he started his career, he worried about you being able to find him. He had to change his name, there was just no way around it. Even if it was just a stage name, it would still be the easiest way to recognize him.

He worried over something else, too. Because of his career choice, he’d need to cover his mark. It felt like he was hiding you from the world. Even though he hadn’t met you, he never wanted you to think he could be ashamed of you. That just wasn’t true. He just didn’t want anyone to lie to him and use your name to hurt either of you. It was hard to explain your motives to someone you still hadn’t met.

You were the only one that noticed the change in your mark. As long as the first word was ‘Ben’ and it was still black, no one else really seemed to care. Which, helped you avoid a lot of trouble, honestly.

You really had to fight the urge to google the new name. The development had you stuck somewhere between worry and wonder. Worry for your soulmate’s safety, could something have happened to him? Wonder for yourself, had anyone else ever had their mark change?

The best course of action was to not call any attention to it. You didn’t want to become a case study. There was absolutely no one that would be helped by that. Well, out of the people you were truly concerned for (yourself and your soulmate), no one would probably be helped.

Years after the change, only your mother and best friend had noticed. It took them months to see any difference at all, and it wasn’t the mark that caught their eye. It was your demeanor. The girl with a slightly bitter heart and too many choices had finally seemed hopeful. It threw each of them for a loop, but they’d each asked as curiosity got the best of them.

One day in 2016, your best friend, Tyler, convinced you to see a movie with her. She seemed really excited about it. She said it was going to restart the X-Men franchise and give rise to a whole new generation of superheroes. With all her excitement about the film, you couldn’t say no.

That’s how you found yourself transfixed on the pouty blond angel only a few minutes into the movie. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you felt like you’d seen him before. Somewhere. . . But where?

To say that Ben was a little disappointed that he didn’t find you while shooting his first American film wouldn’t be incorrect. He tried to reassure himself that he’d only seen a small part of the country during pre- and post-production, and there would be plenty more to see later. His career was just starting, really.

There was still plenty of time.

Oh my God. Was that really him? You were so glad that Tyler had run to the restroom immediately after the post-credit scene. You needed to talk yourself out of this. Now.

There was no way your soulmate was an actor. Let alone one that had acted alongside some of your favorites. What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? What am I gonna d-

“Chy? You look a little lost there. Are you okay?” Tyler was back. Oh man, this could be really bad.

“I’m fine, Ty.” You smiled at her, storing all your thoughts away to freak out over later. “Let’s go get dinner, yeah? That movie was crazy long.”

With a roll of her eyes, she agreed. “Leave it to my bestie, with the freaky Mark, excuse me, the mutant Mark, to have that look on her face because she’s hungry.”

You just stuck your tongue out at her and promised yourself that you would check his IMDB later for interviews. Maybe life would be interesting after all.

By mid 2018, Ben still hadn’t met you. He felt like he’d traveled a fair bit. Met new and exciting people. But you were the only person he was just dying to meet.

Okay, maybe that had changed for a hot minute in 2017. He was cast to play a living legend. Could you really blame him for wanting to meet Roger Taylor (the drummah from Queen)?

Ben decided you could probably let that slide. It was just one small request on his growing pile of things to ask forgiveness for.

Hopefully, the upcoming press tour would help him out.

Except that he wouldn’t be going on the American leg of the tour (all the boys had agreed that the name was definitely American, more than likely Southern) due to work. Fate, what game were you playing?

Stalking may have been a tad excessive to describe the ferocity with which you watched a certain Mr. Hardy from that fateful day in the movie theater to now.

You’d looked up several of his interviews, especially any that mentioned his mark, or rather lack thereof. He never brought it up on his own and always seemed ready to deflect with some other comment when asked. There was no way he was your soulmate. He clearly was just one of the UnMarked and wasn’t comfortable talking about it.

It hadn’t even shown up in any of the candids or BTS content you’d seen. He just didn’t have one. It was that simple.

That didn’t stop you though. You still managed to see all his projects. The latest one seemed promising. He was set to play Roger Taylor, yes the Roger Taylor your own mother was in love with as a young girl, and they would even have a press tour stop close to your home town.

Ty had, of course, figured everything out that first day and encouraged you to chase it.

(“He could just be a really private person, Chy. What if he covered it up to protect you?

“Right Ty, I’m sure that’s exactly what some English actor that knows nothing about me did.”

Tyler just narrowed her eyes at you, wishing you would regain a little of the hopefulness you’d had back when the change had happened. “I’m right. Just you wait.”

“I certainly will wait, but don’t expect me to hold my breath.”)

So, you and Tyler had made plans to go to the stop. It could be fun, and maybe you’d finally know if she was right.

“Cheyenne Montgomery Williams, get out of the bathroom or you are gonna miss the whole thing. Jeez.” Ty screamed through the door at you. What were you even doing here? He wouldn’t be here and you knew he didn’t have a mark. He’d never confirm that in interviews, but you just knew it.

“First of all, that’s not my name and you know it.” You pushed the door open with enough force to bump Ty back a little and leveled her with a narrowed glare. “Secondly, so what if I missed the whole thing? He isn’t here.”

“Excuse me?” You heard a voice come from your side. “What did you say your name was?”

You looked in the direction of the voice and released Ty from your stare. “I didn’t. She -,” you used your head to gesture to Ty, hands still poised on your hips and stopped. Joe Mazzello was looking at you with a ridiculous amount of glee in his eyes.

Ben’s phone buzzed from beside him. It was late evening in Rome, where he was filming his newest project.

Joey: Oh, Benny Boy. You aren’t going to believe this.

Benny Boy: Believe what?

Joey: On second thought, I’ve decided not to tell you.

Yet.

When will you be able to visit me in the states?

Ben just shook his head. He was sure Joe had good motives, but all he wanted to do after this film was go home and sleep for a few days. He missed his bed and his Frankie.

Benny Boy: We talked about this.

I’m going to go home for a bit. I can come visit you in December.

Joey: That’s so far awayyyyy.

But I shall wait for you.

Until then, Jonesy.

JM: Are you ready?

The CW: Nope.

JM: Perfect. It’s showtime.

You had just pulled up to the shop Joe had been bothering you about. The man loved donuts and apparently these were the best in Dallas. It was a bit too far from your hometown for you to be overly familiar with the area, but you allowed Joe his indulgences.

It was weird to think that you got a celebrity’s phone number. Much less for such innocent reasons. He really did just want to check on you and figure out who you were before he introduced you to Ben. There was a good chance Joe was more nervous than you were.

“Mate, why am I filming you eat this donut?” It was the one question Ben felt Joe could actually answer. It wasn’t the only question he had, just the only one he thought he could get an answer to.

“It’s going to be transcendent.” Joe fixed his gaze on the prize in his hand, which was possibly the shiniest donut Ben had ever seen. “ Just shut up and point the camera at my face, Jonesy.”

“Really, Joe? Is that anyway to treat your friend?” Ben could have sworn he’d heard that voice before. It sounded like home, but with a drawl.

“Really, Joe? Is that anyway to treat your friend?” You smiled at Joe over the blond head in front of him.

“You know what, Chy? I think it is.” He couldn’t help but grin back at you. “Besides, this one,” he gestured to the man seated in front of him, “has kept the both of us waiting long enough. Don’t you think?”

It seemed like it took him an eternity to turn around and face you. But when he did, you couldn’t look away. Those eyes, the same ones you’d seen all those years ago projected in front of you, were even more breathtaking in person. The mouth that you’d watched form countless words in dozens of interviews, was right there and you waited for it to move.

“I think you’re absolutely right, Joey.” But you couldn’t tear your gaze from Ben. He was here. He was real. It was finally time to see if Ty was right.

“Cheyenne?” He breathed out with a sense of wonder, as if trying your name for the first time.

“Cheyenne?” Ben couldn’t believe this was what Joe had been hiding from him for 2 months. It was you. He found you, the only thing that was still missing from his life.

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Ben.” Your voice was like music to his ears, especially when you said his name. He didn’t think he could ever get tired of the sound.

He had honestly never tried to imagine you, and he’s very glad he didn’t. Whatever he would have dreamed up wouldn’t have been as good as what was standing in front of him now.

Hesitantly, Ben stepped toward this astonishing woman that was meant to be his. Joe was basically forgotten behind him as Ben moved in to hug you.

The next thing you knew the two of you were moving towards each other. You reached out and hooked your right forearm behind his left shoulder and pulled Ben to you.

Distantly, you could hear Joe cheering. Two of his new favorite people were finally together. First contact had been made. It was finally time to see if Ty and Joe were both right or if they’d just been feeding you false hope all these years (and months).

But he didn’t intervene immediately. Joe let the two of you lose yourselves in the embrace. You were grateful for that. After 20+ years of waiting, at times not so patiently, you felt like you’d finally found your home.

“Okay, lovebirds. You don’t have to completely disentangle, but there’s something I gotta see.” Ah, Joe. He’d waited as long as he possibly could. But Ben supposed he was owed this. To be the first to see his colored Mark.

Ben felt a little wistful for not taking a minute to admire it in the mirror this morning. He wished he would have known that he’d never see the familiar black script on his skin again. It had been replaced with some vibrant color. He was sure of it, and the possibilities of the new discovery left him a little giddy.

Slowly, Ben pulled you to his right and twisted his left arm forward. Sure enough, there in a jeweled red was the name he’d been looking at all his life. But now he had new hope attached to it.

Joe was possibly the most impatient person you knew at this moment. All you wanted to do was hang on to Ben a little longer. You weren’t ready for reality to come crashing down on you.

Ben slowly pulled you to your left and started to twist his arm.

You decided it was time to take the plunge and glanced down at your right wrist. There in a striking red was his name.

The sight brought tears to your eyes. You thought this day would never come. You thought that Fate had been playing a cruel trick on your whole life. But here it was. Living proof.

“Oh. love. Don’t cry.” Ben heard a sniffle come from your direction. He paused his celebrating to take care of his soulmate. He really could get used to that, his soulmate. “What’s wrong?”

“I just,” you were still fighting tears in the little shop, “I just never thought this day would actually come.”

To hear that broke Ben’s heart. He had always justified his actions to himself (hiding his mark, deflecting in interviews, letting Roger Taylor take your spot as the #1 person he wanted to meet) and now it was time to justify them to you.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Ben rested his forehead against your own. “We can go talk somewhere private.” His voice had softened and taken on a concerned undertone.

“That sounds good. Let’s go.” You waved towards Joe and blew him a kiss. You could see the excitement on his face for the both of you. He was a good friend, truly. You’d have to find a way to thank him for putting the two of you together.

Ben was so relieved that you took him to a park towards the outskirts of the big city. He preferred to think and talk while moving, It helped him focus.

“So I’m sure I owe you some explanations.” He began. He made sure to loop your arm with his not wanting you to get too far away or for his voice to get so loud that passers-by would hear your conversation.

“Yeah, just two really.” He was shocked that you agreed with him. Most of the soulmates he’d seen were so instantly in love, he wasn’t ready for any push back.

“Which one would you like first, love?” If there were two you wanted now, he wanted to be sure they were the ones you wanted and not the ones he thought were most important.

“Why did my Mark change?” That . . . may have stopped him in his tracks a little.

“Your Mark . . .changed?” He was a little confused. He’d never heard of Marks changing.

“Yeah. One day it said ‘Ben Jones’ and the next it said ‘Ben Hardy’. I always worried that something bad happened.” You looked up at him and back down quickly before admitting the next bit. “I may have googled you after X-Men came out and found out that it’s just your stage name.”

Ben wracked his brain for an answer to that one. “I don’t know about that one, but we can figure it out together.” He smiled at you.

“The next one is why haven’t you admitted to having a Mark?” There it was. His biggest fear to have to explain to you. Of course, you would want to know. It probably would have gotten you together faster if he’d just made it public information.

Ben stopped and pulled you closer to him with a hand on either side of your face.

“That was the hardest decision I’d ever had to make.” He looked so sad as he met your eyes. “I wanted to protect you, and myself. I wanted this life and career. I made this choice. You didn’t.”

“Are you joking?” You blinked, a little dumbfounded. “I am never going to hear the end of this from Ty.” You shook your head and grabbed his wrists to pull his hands away from your face.

“Let’s see it then.” You fully met his eyes, a new determination in your own.

“Well, alright.” Ben gave you a cocky smile and turned around to pull his sleeve so that you could see your own name in a startling blood red on his skin. “What do you think?”

Before you could respond, you reached out and ran your hand from his elbow to his shoulder following the path your name made. “It’s incredible.”

Ben had just watched your face and taken in the quiet astonishment that played across it. He could never have guessed that you really thought this day would never come.

Quickly, he fixed his shirt sleeve and turned back to face you. “Can I see yours?” He asked quietly.

You extended your wrist out towards Ben and he took it carefully, almost as if you would break. He brought himself around to stand next to her so that he could read his own name appropriately.

“I can’t believe it’s really there.” He took in the wine red stain on your wrist that was his name and rubbed the pad of his thumb delicately along it. “Ben Hardy. Who would’ve thought that it would change to my stage name?” He asked mostly to himself.

“I certainly didn’t, but I’m so glad it did.” You placed your hand on top of where his thumb was tracing your Mark and gave him a genuine smile. The one you got in return was absolutely blinding.

“I guess Fate decided that we were meant to be.”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! See y’all sometime next week. I’m going to go be murdered by these two tests. Have a good day, lovelies!

Taglist: @rogers-wristbands @deakydeckme

#ben hardy X reader #ben hardy fluff #soulmate au #ben hardy imagine #borhap imagine #t writes #this was longer than i expected #sorry y'all #also im a ho for smily ben #he deserves to be happy #joe is fine #he's a big boy with a car #he did not get stranded

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