#tua number five
another one of these just because??
Luther: how would you guys describe Five?
Vanya:he’s clever, brave, resourceful—
Klaus: tiny, feral, and ready to throw hands with God.
☂️☕️
Five and Vanya
Number Five
Guess what I just binged—
requested:you know it was ;)
Leading him back into the theatre, your heart thudded against your ribs in your chest as lights shone onto your face. Fuck, what on earth were you doing? Taking a deep breath deep into your lungs, you pushed the swirling whirlpool of thoughts away. You needed to do this - just to get it over with.
Five appeared by your side, the overhead lights illuminating his smug grin like golden sun rays. “So… where are we going?”
Refusing to meet his gaze, - you knew if you looked into those harsh eyes you wouldn’t be able to go through with your plan - you concentrated on keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you replied, “Backstage. There’s something I need you to do.”
Laughter bubbled from his chest as he grinned, “Aww, finally taking me up on my offer, are you?”
Shame flushed on your cheeks like a blossoming rose as you attempted to hide your bashful smile. “I…No, that’s - that’s not it at all.”
Stopping suddenly by your side, Five grabbed your arm and spun you to face him. As his skin touched yours you almost jolted away from him at the feeling that ran up your skin, goosebumps forming on your arms. “Holy shit, you actually do want me to kiss you!”
Burning from the inside out, you opened your mouth to speak in response to the shit-eating grin on his face. “No! It’s just - before the play and all… I don’t actually want to kiss you. I’ve just… I’ve never been kissed before and I just - ugh, I hate you.” Reaching up to cover your face, you shrunk inwards underneath his calculating stare, shame slowly consuming you.
A calming heat began to swirl over your skin as Five leaned closer, lowering his head to yours. His hands wrapped around yours, pulling them away from your face in order to meet your eyes. You couldn’t think in that moment - couldn’t breathe - as he drew closer, his nose almost brushing against yours. And his eyes - god, the intensity in those eyes - sea green and passionate, and so, so alluring.
As you began to lean forward to meet him in a kiss, a soft whisper escaped his lips, rooting you to the spot where you stood. “In your dreams, Y/L/N.”
You stood for what felt like hours after he had walked away, attempting to process what had just happened, your mouth agape in shock. You couldn’t take your eyes off his receding figure as he strode out of the theatre, an awful pit forming in your stomach where the heat of excitement had resided only a few moments before.
Weeks later, after torturous rehearsals filled with his mocking grin and having to pretend you loved him - impossible in any universe - it was finally show night. The costumes had been adjusted - you had almost swooned at the dress picked out for you - and lines learnt, the cast chattering together in apprehension about performing in front of hundreds of people.
As your friend finished applying a light blush to your cheeks, you frowned at her, asking “Do you really think people will believe that I’m in love with him? It’s hard enough to pretend in front of you guys, let alone a whole crowd.” Covering a snicker, she smiled at you, amusement flashing in her eyes.
“Y/n, the chemistry’s been undeniable the whole time.”
“Chemistry? Please,” you raised an eyebrow at her. “Not with him.”
Your thoughts were interrupted by a stirring commotion on the other side of the mirrors. You knew who it was; you could recognise that arrogant voice anywhere. “No way!” Storming around the back to face whatever he was whining about now, your hands came to rest on your hips as you took in the scene before you. Five sat in a chair, surrounded by flustered makeup artists holding all manner of cosmetics.
“What’s your problem, Hargreeves?”
He levelled a cold glare at you, looking you up and down in your costume. “What’s your problem, Y/L/N?”
“You’re my problem.”
Someone standing behind him grinned at the bickering, adding, “He refuses to wear makeup for the show.”
Scoffing at how ridiculous he was, you waved them away. “Let me handle it.”
As you grabbed some of the makeup from the side, you gradually became aware of how empty the room was; it was just you and Five now. Swallowing the lump that formed in your throat, you stepped closer to the chair he sat in, leaning closer to dab some foundation under his eyes. You did your best to avoid meeting his gaze, which - unbeknownst to you - was following your every move with a deep longing.
“See, if you hadn’t been so fussy, neither of us would’ve had to be in this situation right now,” you prodded, continuing to apply makeup to his gorgeous, insufferable face. His skin was smooth, and soft under your fingertips. A strange desire to trace his features washed over you like crushing wave, but you pushed it away, reminding yourself of how he had left you standing in the theatre weeks ago, careless of how he had made you feel.
When he didn’t respond to your snark you did glance up at him, finally noticing how focused he was on you. It felt strange to be under such scrutiny, but not uncomfortable. Ignoring him, you continued. You had almost finished; all that was left was… lip balm. Fuck me, really? You internally groaned, recoiling at the idea of having to relive the closeness of that night.
Forcing your pride down, you leaned even closer, using your index finger to carefully dab lightly-coloured balm onto his lips. They parted as you touched them, and he let out a soft sigh. In response to the sound, your eyes flicked up to meet his, and you recognised the look in his eyes: he wanted to kiss you.
“Y/N.”
His voice was careful, apprehensive, as if any noise might scare you away from him. You looked back down at his lips, realising how close your faces were; if you had moved forward an inch, your lips would touch his. You wanted to; every muscle in your body urged you to move forward, a heat spreading through you as butterflies erupted in your stomach.
He shifted closer in his seat, his fingertips brushing against your bare arm as if asking for permission. You gave it, tilting your head down to move even closer. Your nose brushed against his as your eyes closed slightly, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin. Your lips touched his, just a brush of heat as your fingers on his cheek directed him closer. Before your lips could meet properly, however, you pulled away, leaving him cold and unsatisfied. Holding his gaze you began to back towards the door, raising an eyebrow and giving him a smug smile, your head tilting to the side. You hoped he enjoyed a taste of his medicine.
Later, on stage, everything felt different. Nothing you said had any weight in the real world, and you were someone else entirely. You moved with the grace of an angel, your eyes playfully dancing with Five’s, the almost-kiss lingering between you. Except, he wasn’t the smug bastard you knew, he was Romeo; beautiful and romantic and enchanting.
He moved closer to you now, teasing, “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”
Smiling, you recited your lines in return, “Ay pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.” He moved closer still, and you could feel electricity radiating off of his skin and onto yours.
“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant though, lest faith turn to despair.” Reluctantly, you pulled away from his inviting gaze, your steps echoing across the stage.
“Saints do not move, through grant for prayers’ sake.”
Again, he moved closer, so much more so than ever before in rehearsals. Your heart sped up, blood thrumming in your veins. “Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” His eyes were almost pleading as he looked down at you, his hand raising to your cheek. You could feel the heat rising to your face at his touch, knowing that this time, you couldn’t escape his touch. You closed your eyes as his lips pressed against yours, melting into his touch. It was even better than you had expected, and you pushed forward, ensuring that you were as close to him as possible. He pulled away too soon, his eyes focused on your lips.
You managed to remember your lines not a moment too soon after the kiss rendered you unable to catch your breath. “Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” You couldn’t escape his gaze, intensity burning into you; he wasn’t acting anymore.
He whispered back, “Sin from thy lips? Oh trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” With that, he pressed his lips against yours again, almost desperately. This kiss was different somehow: more urgent and real, something that you both realised was long overdue. Your lips moved in sync as time seemed to fade away, forgetting the crowd. His hands cupped your cheeks, holding you against him gently as you both revelled in the feeling. Eventually - reluctantly - you pulled away for air, resting your forehead against his as a smile played on your lips.
“You kiss by th’ book,” you whispered, unable to step away from him, or remove your hands from where they rested on his neck. His grip on your waist tightened as a cheer arose from the crowd, subtly tugging you closer. You grinned at him - at Five, not Romeo - the smugness in his eyes replaced by adoration. “I waited too long to do that,” he muttered quietly, leaning in to kiss you again.
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number 5 in honor of season 2 !!
