Before A Fall- Umbrella Academy FIVE X Female Reader

Chapter One: The Alarm Clock

You've settled into Academy domesticity well. It was strange to go from living alone in a tiny apartment to a huge, four storey family compound, yet you find yourself at home. Sure, it can be a little crazy living with four to eight other people at any given time, (including a capricious seven-year-old), but it's more than worth it.

Yourself, Five and Diego's little family are the only permanent residents, with the others coming and going on a more ad-hoc basis. Viktor, an incredibly talented violinist, mainly sleeps in his apartment near the concert hall, while Luther and Sloane have a base in the city. Klaus, much to Five's annoyance, has taken over the largest training room as his studio. He produces strange, avant-garde pieces at irregular intervals and often leaves brightly coloured footprints in the courtyard. None of you are entirely sure where he's sleeping.

Throwing some peppercorns into the dry pan toasting the rest of your whole spices, you rotate your hips to Tina Turner's Private Dancer, playing over the sound system. Raising the wooden spoon to use as an imaginary microphone, you lip sync the chorus, emoting dramatically. As Tina builds towards the key-change, you can't even let out your strangled yell as your neck is jerked abruptly backwards; the sound only coming when you're pinned to an attacker behind you. His forearm flexes, applying pressure to your throat.

"And with that, you're dead."

He releases you.

"Fuck you, Five!" You raise a hand to your throat, massaging away the little lingering pain.

"If you're going to be attacked, it will be when you least expect it- when you're most relaxed. Whoever tries to hurt you isn't going to give you the courtesy of fighting fair."

"Shithead." You shake the spice-pan a little too violently, the spices giving off their aroma as they toast. Still behind you, Five kisses your neck and puts his hands on the swell of your hips.

"I'm sorry dear one," he rubs you a little, easing your tension with practiced hands. "you've been doing well sparring but your reflexes are still sup-par."

"But I'm cooking."

"Well we'll have to hope someone who wants you dead will give you a second to turn the burner off and square up." You breathe out hard through your nose.

"So I'm supposed to spend my entire life on a hair-trigger, just waiting to be murdered?"

"If you want to stay safe, yeah."

"That's no way to live."

"You get used it." he mumbles, laying his chin on your shoulder, "Smells good."

"Hm." You break away from him, removing the pan from the heat and readying the spice grinder. You're unable to shake annoyance.

Hands back in his jacket pockets, Five crosses the kitchen to his newly-installed wine fridge. The one with temperature-controlled zones that you'd teased him about so mercilessly. Bending from the waist, he runs his eyes over the white wines he has lined up. He's less experienced with white than red wines, (the former having not fared as well in long-storage during the apocalypse), but now he's happily making up for lost time.

He straightens up with a Chenin Blanc and pours you both a generous glass.

"Salud", he says, handing you your glass and holding up his own. You clink with good grace but don't verbally return his good wishes, "want me to chop those onions?"

Though still not completely happy with Five, you begin to relax again after half a glass of wine and some more music. The meal starts to come together, perhaps slightly more slowly than if you were alone. Five's particularly pedantic about measurements, so you find yourself waiting by the pot as he makes sure he has precisely the right amount of tomato. When the sauce starts to simmer, you're able to focus on finishing your wine. It's another excellent pick by Five, you have to admit.