Number Five Imagines

Hangover aftermath

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Summary: Five has the worst hangover of his life

Warnings: none

The night before had been wild. Five and his wife, Y/n, had finally carved out some alone time and decided to indulge in all the things they hadn't been able to since their kids, Maddie and Milo, were born. One thing led to another: a bottle of expensive red wine, a few tequila shots, laughter, and finally, they ended up in bed, thoroughly enjoying each other's company. It had been the perfect night—a mix of passion, playfulness, and way too much alcohol.

Now, it was the next morning, and Five regretted everything.

Sitting at his desk at the CIA, Five's head throbbed like someone was jackhammering directly into his skull. The overhead lights seemed brighter than usual, and even the hum of the office computers felt like an assault on his senses. Every sip of water he took made his stomach churn, and the coffee he had choked down earlier wasn't helping either.

He groaned inwardly, rubbing his temples, cursing himself for going overboard. He was Five Hargreeves, for God's sake. He'd survived an apocalypse, fought bad guys, and manipulated time itself. But here he was, felled by a hangover like some college freshman who had never seen a shot glass.

The worst part? Y/n had looked fine when he left the house. More than fine, actually. She had been positively glowing, laughing as she kissed him goodbye, showing absolutely no signs of the alcohol-fueled night they'd shared. It had irked him to no end.

"How is she okay?" Five muttered to himself, squinting at the stack of files in front of him. The letters on the pages seemed to swirl together, mocking him. His usual sharp mind felt like it was swimming through molasses.

His coworker, a junior agent named Derek, sauntered by and noticed Five's pained expression.

"Uh, sir? You okay? You look a little... green," Derek said, eyeing Five nervously.

Five glared at him, not in the mood. "I'm fine," he snapped, though the beads of sweat forming on his brow told a different story.

"Right," Derek said, backing away slightly. "If you need anything, just—"

Before he could finish, the door to the office swung open, and there stood Y/n, looking annoyingly perfect. She was holding a bag of something, probably food, and smiling like she had just spent a day at the spa rather than a night downing wine and tequila shots with her husband.

"Hey, babe!" Y/n chirped, stepping inside with the kind of energy that felt entirely inappropriate for the way Five was feeling. "I brought you lunch!"

Five blinked at her, his eyes narrowing as she practically skipped over to his desk. "How... how are you this cheerful?" he groaned, massaging his temples.

Y/n smirked, setting the bag down in front of him. "Oh, come on. It wasn't that much alcohol. You're not telling me the great Five Hargreeves can't handle a few drinks, are you?" she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.

Five scowled, wishing he could teleport back in time to punch his last-night self for going shot-for-shot with Y/n. "I can handle it," he grumbled. "I'm just... thinking."

"Thinking?" Y/n raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his misery. "You look like you're about to puke."

"I am not going to puke," Five said, though the thought of food right now was making him queasy.

Y/n reached into the bag and pulled out a sandwich. "Well, just in case you need something to soak up last night's festivities, I got you your favorite—peanut butter and marshmallow."

Five's stomach turned at the mere mention of food. "If you think I'm putting that anywhere near my mouth, you're crazier than I thought."

Y/n laughed, sitting on the edge of his desk, completely unbothered. "You're so dramatic. It wasn't even that much alcohol."

Five shot her a look that could have cut steel. "You might not think so, but my head is splitting. And for the record, I'm pretty sure you were pouring me double shots."

Y/n shrugged, biting into her own sandwich with gusto. "Maybe you're just getting old, love."

Five groaned, slumping further into his chair. "Don't start with that."

"Oh, come on! It's okay to admit you're not the unstoppable time traveler you used to be," Y/n teased, winking at him. "You look cute with a little vulnerability."

Five leaned back, arms crossed, his headache throbbing more intensely now that he had to listen to her. "I'm not vulnerable. I'm hungover."

Y/n laughed. "Same difference."

She was clearly having way too much fun with this. She took another bite of her sandwich and glanced around the office, completely at ease while Five sat there, feeling like death. Derek passed by again, giving Y/n an awkward wave, which she returned with a cheerful grin.

"You should drink some water," Y/n said, pushing a bottle toward him. "You know, before you pass out."

Five glared at the bottle, then at her. "I don't need your—" He paused, feeling a sudden wave of nausea hit him. He closed his eyes for a second, willing it away. "Fine," he muttered, grabbing the water bottle and taking a sip, though it felt like swallowing nails.

Y/n smiled victoriously. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Five gave her a side-eye. "I don't like how much you're enjoying this."

She grinned. "What, watching my badass husband be taken down by a little wine and tequila shots? It's very entertaining."

Five shook his head, though even that made his brain hurt. "I'm going to get you back for this, you know."

Y/n's smile softened, and she reached over, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. "You love me," she said sweetly.

"Yeah, yeah," Five muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. He loved her, even when she was driving him up the wall like this.

Y/n stood up, patting him on the shoulder. "Alright, I'll let you suffer in peace. Try not to die before I get home, okay?"

Five waved her off, grateful she was finally leaving, but also, despite himself, a little sad to see her go. As much as she annoyed him sometimes, her presence was always comforting. Even when he was hungover and miserable.

As she walked out the door, Y/n turned back with a smirk. "Oh, and Five?"

"What?" he grumbled, not even looking up.

"You still owe me for the tequila shots."

Five groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. "God, help me."

But as the door closed behind her, he couldn't help but smile—just a little bit.