definitely maybe i will live to love || Five x Reader/OC ||

it's just no good anymore since you went away

One

"Vanya fucking told on us."

"Oh, so you read it?" you ask.

"Yes—but that's not the point," Diego growls. He slouches in the passenger seat of your car—because you're the responsible one with a car. You also don't dress like some ninja extra on one of Allison's movie sets.

Well. On most nights. Tonight, you don't look much better than Diego. You have less knives, though. Two vigilantes (one full-time and one less-than-part-time) sit in your 2008 Toyota Corolla, waiting for a man interested in meeting up with a teenage girl.

"She shit on our entire family name. And honestly? I'm surprised you let her publish it. Why did you even encourage that fucking garbage?"

You lightly tap your fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the pop song playing on the radio.

"Vanya never had a voice in that house, Diego. The book gave her a voice now. And besides, what did you expect? That she had nothing but good things to say about her life growing up?"

"Well, no, but, but..."

"Diego, if you wrote a book about the academy, what would you have written about?"

His answer is sullen silence.

"Exactly," you half-huff.

"Just...shut up about it, okay? Look, the pervert's here." Diego uses a knife to point to the approaching figure.

"Oh, great. Don't forget to put your mask on. And hey—you were the one who brought it up." You slam the door before Diego flings a retort.

The man comes with smiles and eager hands. He's met with three knives in his thigh, a steel kick to the groin, and a faced so beat up that the police department can hardly identify him by the wanted poster stapled to his jacket.

"And admit it," you say between ducking one of Diego's punches to go in for a jab, "you kinda liked being recognized as the vigilante."

He throws more punches at you. "She called me an 'angry boy in a fighter's body.' Doesn't sound like good recognition to me."

Your feet skid across the boxing ring Diego and you fight in. You're the only one willing to spar against him and be at the same level he fights at. You have to do it after dark, though, because Diego doesn't like it when you beat him and he gets laughed at by others in the gym for being taken down by a supposed teen.

"Um, I believe the correct description was a 'furious child who believes in heroes and thinks he can find acceptance in the life that constantly rejected him.'"

Diego snarls. He manages to kick a leg out from under you, and you find yourself thrown to the ground with him pinning you back. "How could you let her write that? It's not true!"

"Maybe not to you," you reply. Your cheek squishes against the ring's floor. "But it is to Vanya. Isn't her truth important as well?"

"That's not what—it's not the point—"

You use Diego's distraction to your advantage and maneuver until you're the one that has him pinned. He cries out frustratedly. "Then what is the point?" you ask.

He rolls his eyes and pushes you off.

"The point," Diego says two days later as he moves his clothes from your washer to the dryer, "is that she said nothing good, and you basically let her write it all down! You're culpable, too."