No Hard Feelings- Umbrella Academy FIVE X F Reader

Chapter Three: Cookie Dough

When you arrive at the diner on Sunday afternoon, he's waiting for you. You're not late, but he looks impatient, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. A milkshake waits on the other side of the booth. His is half drunk, a black coffee sits ready beside it.

"Hi," he stands. With one hand in his pocket, he shakes your hand before returning to his seat, "thanks for coming."

He sounds like a speaker at a conference welcoming you to his talk on synergistic management solutions. He looks a bit like one too - an arrogant prodigy straight out of Harvard.

The diner is quiet but busy enough that your conversation won't be overheard. You congratulate yourself on the perfect choice of venue.

"Do you mind if I get right to it?"

You nod, taking a sip of the milkshake. Clearly, he is not one for small-talk. No, 'how are you doing?', no 'any more nightmares about the time I nearly shot you in the head?'

"Ok," he pats both hands on the table, "Well, first of all, I'm glad you suggested this. Waiting wasn't easy but it's better to make sure everything between us is above board and all expectations are in place."

You smirk. He seems almost ready to pull up a set of slides and take you through this financial quarter's return on investment.

Not noticing, he continues, "After the way we...met, I think the clearer and more open we can be about consent, the better."

"I agree."

"So, I think we start with ground rules for everything sex adjacent and then move into sexual preferences and boundaries. Do you agree?"

"Yeah."

Again, you stifle laughter. If any residual fear remained, it's gone now. Sure, this is a sensible idea, but his abrupt way of navigating this conversation is unintentionally funny. You continue to swallow your mirth, already knowing him well enough to be sure he doesn't like being laughed at.

"Ok. My ground rules:" he lowers his voice a fraction, "first, this is just sex for me. I'm not getting embroiled in your life and I expect you to stay out of mine."

"I can go along with that", you reply, taking a slurp of milkshake. It's weird enough to be fucking this guy, let alone dating him or whatever.

"Great," he rushes on, "I'm also not going to be able to contact you. I know that's not ideal. For the sake of ease, I'd suggest you leave two or three weekdays of your choosing when I can have a standing invitation, perhaps arriving after eight pm?"

"How about Tuesdays, Thursdays and alternate Mondays?"

If he caught your irony, then he chooses not to dignify it with an acknowledgment.

"Sounds good to me. I obviously won't come every time and there's a chance I could go incommunicado for a few weeks at a time. With that in mind, I don't expect you to wait for me every single time. That's all I can think of right now."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why might you go incommunicado? And why can't you just...message me when you're coming over?"

One corner of his mouth turns down.

"You know what I do."

His eyes meet yours- that sweet, intermediate green.

"It shouldn't be a problem, but it would be better to have as few connections to me as possible. Do you understand?"

You nod. You know you should be running a mile, but something about him keeps you sitting there, rooted in his gaze. Your eyes sweep what little of him you can see: the pale skin, the jaw that might have been sculpted in the renaissance...the throat you find yourself itching to kiss.