#soft five

Hello, I’m back friends!! Things have been so busy lately, but I couldn’t stay away for too long! Of course I wrote this at 11 pm instead of translating Homer like I was supposed to be lmao. This is probably terrible but I figured I’d post it bc why not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy!

Warnings: language, blood/injury, cheesy a$$ fluff

Note: This fic is aged up, as always!

Eyes heavy and muscles aching, you turn your key in the door.

The routine after a big fight was always the same: kick your shoes off, fumble through your dark apartment, and try not to think about whatever shitshow you just survived. But tonight, your side stung a little too much, and the blood seeping through your white t-shirt sent a shiver down your spine. Once you locked your door, you shuffled over to the bathroom sink to take inventory of your wounds. Lifting your shirt with a wince, your suspicions were confirmed. It was a shallow cut, you wouldn’t need stitches...but it was a pretty long gash, and it was definitely aggravated from rubbing against your shirt. In addition to the knife wound, you had a large bruise on your cheek, and your arms were peppered with little bruises from where the attacker grabbed you. Suddenly you froze, bile rising in your throat at the reminder of his pockmarked face and sadistic grin. Refusing to linger on the memory for too long, you splashed some water on your face, but grimaced when the action sent a searing pain into the laceration across your rib. Your vision turned white for a moment as you swayed, briefly losing your balance. Leaning your back against the bathroom wall for stability, you slid down to sit on the cold linoleum floor, head back, as you rubbed your knees in an effort to busy your shaking hands. Suddenly aware of hushed breathing coming from the doorway, you looked up, startled. To your surprise, Five Hargreeves stood in the doorway, watching you coolly. You two had a complicated relationship, constantly competing to be savior of the city. Over the 5 years you had known each other, you had never seen him smile; he was all business, all the time. What he was doing in your house on a Tuesday night, however, you couldn’t say. You were pulled from your thoughts as you felt his eyes on you.

“What happened?” He asks after a pause.

“On my way home from work I saw the Baxter Street gang following a young woman down 5th avenue, and I tried to take them on my own.” You hesitated, your pride wounded. “...It didn’t go so well.”

Five rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Yeah, I can see that.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched as his gaze slid over you. You watched him back intensely, surprised to catch a momentary glimpse of alarm in his eyes as he took in your bloody shirt and bruised cheek.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

Confused but too tired to argue, you began to rise to your feet, but not without muttering an indignant “What are you even doing here?”

To your embarrassment, the moment you stepped away from the wall you faltered, and he blinked across the room to catch you before you hit the ground. With his left hand resting on your back, and his right gripping your hip beneath your shirt, he guided you to an upright position wordlessly.

Through your haze of pain, you noted deliriously that he was making a suspiciously low number of snide remarks about your current position.

He lifted you up effortlessly and sat you on the countertop.

“Can I take this off?” he motioned to your shirt. Trying very hard to ignore the blush spreading to his ears, you whispered a faint, “Yes.”

The electricity skyrocketed when your eyes met, the tension of the moment visible in the slope of your shoulders, and Five’s bobbing adam's apple.

In a swift motion, he lifted the shirt up and stoically began cleaning your wound. You searched for any sign of concern in his face, but he showed none. Silently he worked, your heavy breathing and the buzzing electric lights the only sounds in the bathroom. Once he had disinfected the gash and carefully wrapped bandages around your waist, he quickly straightened and removed his sweater. Clearing his throat, he looked away and said casually, “Put this on.”

However grateful you were for his first aid skills, you began to grow shy at Five’s unceremonious kindness towards you. Fidgeting with the hem of your bloodstained shirt, you stubbornly said, “Oh thanks, but I’m actually perfectly comfortable in this. It’s actually designer-”

“Put it on,” he interrupted, his tone rising. A voice crack betrayed his attempt at austerity as he reigned himself in once more: “I’m not going to ask again.”

He left you staring, sweater in hand, as he turned to face away from you.

“Fine, fine... Thank you,” you conceded. You slipped off your soiled shirt with a wince, and put on Five’s sweater. It was soft -really soft- and smelled like leather and pine. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Echoing off the wall came a muffled and surprisingly gentle “You’re welcome.”

“You can turn around now, Robin Hood,” you called, in a half-hearted attempt at sarcasm. You had hoped that in using your usual nickname for him it would ease the tension in the room, but it did the opposite if anything. But maybe, you thought to yourself, the tension wasn’t necessarily unpleasant.

The two of you made your way to the couch in your living room, and within minutes Five had helped himself to your kitchen and returned with steaming mugs of tea.

Now you sat, side by side, staring into the swirling vapor rising from your cups.

Five broke the awkward silence: “You shouldn’t have tried to take on that gang by yourself, especially when you’re not prepared. That stab wound was worse than it looked, y/n. You could have been seriously hurt.” He hesitated,” Or worse.”

“Since when do you tell me what to do, Five?” you responded, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re not my partner, you’re my competition. And what do you care, anyway? If I died, you’d have everything you ever wanted! They’d hand you the fucking key to the city!” Your emotions overtook you, exhaustion having decimated any boundaries you might have clung to otherwise. “So why the hell are you on my couch, and why am I wearing your sweater, and why does it smell so good?”

Shit.

To your surprise, Five Hargreeves laughed. He sat in front of you, mug of peppermint tea in hand, laughing. Miracles do happen, you joked to yourself, awestruck.

His laughter slowed, and your face burned bright red in the soft glow of your table lamp.

“Do you really not know why I’m here?” he asked in a low voice, suddenly more serious.

You shivered.

Closing the distance of the couch, he reached out and caressed the bruise on your cheek after a brief moment of hesitation. The uncharacteristic warmth in his eyes made yours shimmer with tears, and you weren’t quite sure why. It had been a long time since anyone looked at you like that.

“I’m here because not only would I care if you fell into harm’s way, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It’s impossible not to notice you when we’re both out there, trying to keep everyone safe. You’re brave, and strong, and kind. To be honest, you’re the reason I keep fighting for this city, your selfless desire to protect and care for others...I just never knew how to tell you. It didn’t seem right. But when I heard you had gotten hurt, I imagined the worst, and I just... well, I just had to tell you.”

Your heart swelled, and suddenly he was kissing your lips, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. One hand rested on your thigh, and his other was combing through your hair. The moment was tender and new and so very fragile, the opposite of everything you had known about Five Hargreeves. He shifted his position and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the bruise on your cheek. You leaned into him, finally allowing yourself to give in to your fatigue from the evening’s events. Five quietly took you into his arms and began rubbing your back, calming you even further.

Normally physical touch made you shrink up, but somehow the man beside you was learning how to break down your barriers at lightning speed. Perhaps you had been closer to each other than you realized for quite some time.

In all the excitement, you felt your eyelids begin to flutter closed as you fought to stay awake.

“Darling,” Five whispered, “You can fall asleep, it’s okay. Let’s just rest.”

That was all that you needed to hear. You drifted off in his arms, his chest rising and falling slowly beneath you. The stinging in your side drifted to a dull ache, and your tight muscles began to slowly unwind themselves as you slept. And it felt good.

Now that you know what it’s like to be taken care of by someone, you don’t think you can ever go back to your old “post-fight” routine.

warnings: slight angst, mentions of injury, fluff, takes place in season one

*#12: “and all i could think of was: not you. god, not you” & #13: if you kill her, you kill me” // taken from this prompt list

When Five had been recruited by the Handler one thing was made adamantly clear: not a single thing was to happen to you. If even one strand of hair was missing from your pretty little head then all bets were off, and if she wanted him as a field worker she’d have to accept the fact that you were coming along with him. He wasn’t about to part with the only person who had been by his side during his time in the apocalypse, and he especially wasn’t about to put the girl he loved in harm’s way. You would be taken care of and looked after while he was hard at work, and when he came home he expected to see you curled up safe and sound by the fireplace with your favorite book. That was the deal.

“If you kill her, you kill me,” he had said, and he meant it. Five had wanted to prove a point with those seven words, but he would instead eventually be haunted by his proclamation.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

This is a for @oceanspray5, who requested a one-shot based on the lyrics of “Only Us” from Dear Evan Hansen. I took that prompt but made it about (princess bride guy voice) *~mawwiage~*

Enjoy!! 

Warnings: slight PG-13 content

Note: This fic is aged up, as always! 

The smell of coffee gave a rich, dark scent to the air; as it wafted from the kitchen it cleared your head from the morning fog you had come to recognize as a privilege, a sign of a good night’s sleep. The apartment was quiet, save for the creaking of your old wooden floor beneath your socks. Gratefully retrieving your mug from the cabinet, you noticed a scribbled love note stuck against the coffee pot announcing that Five had gone for a walk. Once you had poured yourself a hot mug of coffee, you turned towards your bedroom and set about getting ready, your mind wandering as you began to prepare for the day.

You never planned on getting married; commitment seemed like a chore more than anything else, since it was quite difficult to devote yourself to something or someone just to lose it eventually. (You pondered this thought as you sat in front of your mirror, brushing through your hair and wondering when along the decades you had become so jaded.) It was Five who changed everything for you, not that he ever meant to.

You first met each other at some rock concert in 1972. Your respective assignments had led you there, both of your targets being tour groupies. You tried to kill each other out of suspicion, but ended up spending a wild night with the band and groupies in order to maintain your covers. In the end, you and Five headed back to the commission with wild hair, rolled up sleeves and matching tattoos under your blazers. You swore each other to secrecy about the events that had taken place that night, and...the rest was history. (Literally).

---

You were startled from your thoughts by the creak of your bedroom door, looking up to see Five’s face, twisted in his signature tight-lipped grin.

“Hey,” he awkwardly greeted you. You had never met anyone else in the world who was both so awkward and so confident.

“Good morning, my husband-to-be.” Jokingly you tried the words out, but they tasted strange on your tongue and sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach. Pushing the feeling down, you continued, “How was your walk? Are you going to start getting ready soon?”

The mood in the room changed as you took in your fiancé’s appearance. Five’s eyes stared blankly into the distance as he stood in the doorway, and you noticed that he was fidgeting with his fingers at his side, his right index finger and thumb rubbing together in small, quick circles. Slowly you stood up and made your way over to him; often he retreated into himself, and you had become familiar with the process of coaxing him back into the real world. Throwing your arms around him, you placed a gentle kiss over his furrowed brow, feeling him relax ever so slightly under your touch. When you began to pull away, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer to him once more, and shyly returned the gesture. You closed your eyes as you felt his lips against your brow, his eyelashes fluttering against your forehead. He led you both to sit on the bed, and looking up, you saw him searching for the right words to say.

Just when you were about to take the lead (as you usually did with emotional conversations) Five tightened his grip on your hand, and with his gaze focused on your intertwined fingers, he quietly said:

“I’m scared.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Although you wanted to say that this was the last thing you expected, you were feeling the same sense of apprehension and disbelief yourself. Commitment, hope, selfishness..all of them hallmarks of the decision you were walking into today, and none of them compatible with the life you both had known. Dipping your head down in an attempt to meet his gaze, you squeezed his hands back, encouraging him to continue.

“I know it sounds stupid to say, but I’m...I’m broken. I’ve lost a lot, and I’ve taken a lot from others. I’m a bad person. And you know what? So is most everyone. The world sucks, Y/n. I wish I didn’t know it, but I do and it does.” Five was shaking now. “I have seen the world destroy itself more times than I can count, I have seen the people I love die, and I couldn’t do anything about it.” Faltering now, his voice cracked, heavy with emotion. “The only light in -in all of this- is you. And I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.” When he had finished his outburst, Five’s fidgeting fingers stilled in your hands. His chest heaving, he looked up at you delicately, guarded in the wake of his confession.

Taking a deep breath, you responded: “I’m scared too. But you know what? I’m done being scared, we’ve been scared for too long. I know you, Five, and I know that you’ve seen things no one should have to see. But please, don’t feel like you’re not enough. If you’re broken, I’m broken too, and maybe we can just be a little bit broken together. Screw the world! ” you chuckled. “I don’t need it. I just need you.”

Five’s eyes grew wide as they met yours, and you noticed with endearment that he shivered at your words.

After a heavy pause he climbed quickly on top of you, pinning your arm against the bed with his left hand as his right gripped your waist tightly. He kissed you, hard, putting the emphasis of every unspoken promise into the action. You were on fire, melting into his touch, burning with his heat. In the conscious part of your mind, you remarked humorously: He always was a man of action. Tongues dancing, fingers like matches, he raked his hands up and down your sides. He held you like he had nothing and everything to lose. When you finally came up for air, he began gently nibbling the space above your collarbone, then all at once he kissed the spot passionately, working diligently with his tongue. All you could do was sigh. When he broke away, you were both breathing hard. You shifted, and sat up to straddle him as he leaned against the headboard. You began to run your hands through his hair, massaging his scalp and playing with the short pieces of hair that curled around the nape of his neck. Eyes shut, he leaned into your touch, his soft, small breaths the only sound in the room. Without warning, you kissed him with everything you had, fiercely, lovingly. He eagerly matched your pace, a whine leaving his throat. You continued on, until you both were laying in a tangled heap on the bed; Five was curled into you, drawing shapeless figures on the space where your shirt had ridden up around your waist.

“Y/n?” he called, breaking the comfortable silence. You looked up at him and softly smiled, answering, “Yes love?”

A determined look came over him. “I just realized, I don’t need anything else. No matter how many times I’ve tried to save the world, I just decided that I don’t want it anymore. When I look at you, I mean really look at you…” His eyes softened, “It all just falls away. And I think I like it that way.”

Placing a gentle kiss against his chest, you beamed.

“I like it too.”

After a beat, Five looked over at you suddenly and huffed humorously. “Wait, isn’t it bad luck to see your bride on your wedding day?”

“I don’t care,” you mumbled into his side with a chuckle.

Amidst the chaos of the last few weeks I have fulfilled another request! This dog is not Mr. Pennycrumb, but his mother. Five was requested in autumn-themed jumper and I took that and ran a little wild and then got carried away with creating furniture and carpet patterns and falling leaves. I regret nothing. He's so cosy.

This request was also for Five really happy whilst speaking on the phone, this is the happiest expression I've ever drawn on him, and I like how it came out but my god was it a struggle! Full disclosure, my breakthrough was this expression

It was my pleasure to draw some Soft Five holding Mr. Pennycrumb when asked. Then I realised I don't usually give Five's clothes much colour and had an aneurysm, the unicorn bag Did Not want to behave itself and got redesigned 3 times. Annnd then I got carried away and drew 4 5's to better showcase the lil gremlin with his emotional support mongrel.

Loved every minute, would 10/10 do more platonic 5 centric requests