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shiversdownyerspine · 2 years

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18. Kinesics

Psssssst. Here y’all go. :>

18+

Oscar sighs, tipping his head back as he presses his palm against the front of his pants, rubbing firmly. This is maddening, as maddening as it is invigorating.

Now that they can indulge in carnal pleasures with their lady of interest, he and his brothers find themselves a lot more energetic, their libidos more active. Still fully hard and twitching from earlier, Oscar frees his cock and wraps his hand around the base, stroking up to the head.

He and his brothers...because there's no fucking way he's the only one...have been imagining all the pretty places on you to stain after reaching completion. Places like your mouth, or your thighs...or your tits, filling his hands as you hold your blouse aloft in your mouth with bra pushed high...fuck, what a sight...but he won't act on these urges with you. No, they are all holding back.

Because while you have been embracing their amorous attention with an eagerness that thrills as much as it surprises...especially given your unfamiliarity with being a romantic partner, let alone a romantic partner to three...you still have an air of timidity about you. Take for example your alarm when you were underneath him on that sofa, skittish and scandalized at the thought of having an audience. Oscar groans at the thought, recalling your kiss swollen lips, red cheeks, and breathy sounds as he steadily pumps his cock. In his free hand he clutches a certain article of clothing that he knicked while the two of you were outside; his thumb sweeps over the cotton, enjoying the soft fabric as he eyes the rich dark plum color, imagining the matching panties under your calf-length skirt as precum trickles down to meet his curled fingers.

You're testing the waters, exploring, so him and his brothers all agreed that they'd practice restraint and let you act on your curiosities, wanting to ensure that you could build confidence in expressing your desires. They don't want to overwhelm you but there are so many things they want to do with you. To you. Oscar's hips buck, fucking up into the tight seal of his fist as he pants, replaying the way you'd pulled him down to your mouth by his collar with such urgency.

So what does this mean for them? Well, this means satisfying their lust in private until you take the reins. Just like he is, right at this very moment. The youngest Swede traps a long low groan in his throat behind grit teeth as he finally reaches his end and stains your underclothing, his cum standing out in bright contrast to the deep purple as he milks himself into the cloth until it's saturated to his satisfaction.

Needless to say, he'll be returning your bra to you after running it through the wash...right after one more round.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Face flushed, you hold a book in your lap as your other hand tries to scrub the red from a cheek while your lust replays the most recent indecent affair in your mind.

Burning passions had settled into a gentle simmer earlier with Oscar, the two of you lounging together comfortably on the sofa. Curious, you had wriggled to feign escape, enjoying the feel of him still hard between your legs before Oscar had sunk his weight on you a little more thoroughly. Being firmly pinned had sent a shock of exhilaration through your system that left you breathless, shuddering as he tucked his face further into your exposed neck to softly bite. It was enough to pinch but if he exerted a tad more pressure it'd bruise. His teeth lingered for a moment before releasing your skin, pulling away. "You are feeling better?"

Yes, you most certainly are.

"Good as new." You trailed your hand up his shoulder to the back of his neck, lightly scratching as a quiet rumbly groan tickled your ears. Oscar leaned in to nip your bottom lip before pushing himself up and off of you. He's such a...what's the word?...!

The blanket he playfully dropped on your head distracts you. Huffing, you squirm out from under its warmth to sit up and wrap the cover around yourself. Biter. That's the word.

Feeling a little miffed at his sudden departure, you questioned it, failing to realize the obvious. "Where are you going?"

Oscar turned back to you with a wicked smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Under your adorably oblivious gaze, he dropped his hand to fondle his straining cock through his trousers, winking as your face burned red as a cherry.

"Want to watch?"

The pillow you chuck at him he deftly catches and tosses back to the furniture with a bark of laughter. He can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.

"Get out of here!"

To your relief, he does. But not without exuding his usual self-satisfaction the entire way to their guestroom.

Well, you certainly put your foot in it. Without waiting for the heat to fade from your face, you reached for the book that you'd left on your coffee table the other day. Resting it on your lap, you flip it open to the dog-eared page and continue where you'd left off.

Immersed in your literature, you're suddenly struck by revelation; one, you'd forgotten your pumpkin, and two, you were missing a piece of clothing. Feeling a bit embarrassed, you pull the blanket around you a little tighter and tilt your head in concern, eyeing the kitchen. It wasn't all that urgent, the pumpkin would be fine outside...but is your bra out there? When had it been removed?

Shifting in place to look around you on the sofa, there doesn't seem to be any hint of purple no matter how you search. You don't want to go outside again so soon, you just got warmed up! Well...at the very least you can look, because you specifically remember being on the patio when Oscar had his hands and mouth busy with you, so unless he flung it into the distance with reckless abandon, which you would definitely remember him doing if he had, you should be able to see if it's out there pretty easily.

With a sigh, you lift yourself from your cozy seat and pad to the kitchen to have a look through the window...

Nope, not a thing.

In that case, maybe he has it on him and forgot to give it back? You don't recall it being in his hands when you were outside...maybe when the two of you came back in you just didn't notice it. You'll ask him when he comes back. Confident that your underclothing hasn't been left to the mercy of harsh weather, you pluck a grape vine out of the fridge and pop a bit from its cluster into your mouth before hurrying back to settle in again on the sofa to wait for Oscar.

Or you would have, but the man in question has already returned and is lying on the furniture on his back, eyes closed in contentment. Resting the bowl of grapes on the coffee table with a soft clink, you twist off a grape to hold precariously over his peaceful face. "So...I have a question for you. Any idea where my bra went?"

Oscar opens his eyes and peers at your grim expression and 'weapon', lips twisting in amusement as he reaches slowly for your hand to grasp your wrist and adjust its positioning a little. "In washing. Got dirty, put it with mine".

Ah. Maybe he'd placed it on the patio table with the muddied pumpkin and it'd gotten grimy. At least he remembered to grab it up before you two went inside. Pleased with his answer, you thank him and drop the grape for him to catch in his mouth.

Chewing the juicy morsel, Oscar doesn't bother to hide his smirk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting beside Oscar on the sofa with your book abandoned on the table, the two of you ruminate in contemplative silence.

"...Rigatoni..and...Macaroni?"

Oscar frowns, mulling it over. "Too wordy, too much."

Hm. Fair point, four syllables might be too many.

"Choklad and...Kaffe."

Pausing with a grape halfway to your mouth, you look to him curiously.

"Kaffe is coffee, choklad is...chocolate. Thing 1 is Kaffe..."

You grin, eyes sparkling with joy as you finish his sentence, "And Thing 2 is Choklad! I love it."

Oscar preens, rewarding himself with another grape before he reaches a hand to your face. Your Swedish was clumsy but not terrible, he wouldn't be surprised if being around him and his brothers has helped out a little. He taps a finger lightly against your bottom lip as he speaks the kittens' new names a little slower for you, trailing the pads of his fingers down your jaw as you carefully repeat after him, working on your enunciation.

As lunch time ends and evening rolls around, you find coaxing more words from Oscar proves to be a bit of a challenge as he takes your interest as an opportunity to flirt. You’d successfully wrangled a couple small words from him and he's finally relented and given you a simple phrase to try, ‘håll mig’. Alas, you’d failed to notice the scheming glitter in his eyes.

His arms were around you the second the final word left your lips, dragging you to sit sideways on his lap as your breath catches. Feigning indignation and demanding he tell you the phrase’s meaning, you place your hands on Oscar’s chest and push with a pout, keeping yourself away in case he’s planning on distracting you with kisses.

You’re seeking knowledge, you won’t be deterred!

Eventually he tells you that ‘hall mig’ means ‘hold me’, and as a reward you relax and let him pull you closer. The next couple words are easy, but when you ask what ‘kiss’ is in Swedish, Oscar presents you with a new challenge.

"Give kiss. Then I tell."

Ohhh no, you're not letting him get away with this so easily. "How about you tell me what 'kiss' is first. Then...we’ll see."

Oscar grins; you’re trying so hard to hold your ground but it won’t be long until you give in, especially with the way your eyes keep flicking down to his mouth. He softly squeezes your side when you bite your lip. "Nej. Give me kiss."

Trapped in more ways than one, you worry your bottom lip and drop your gaze to ponder your next action. You’re not going to lie, surrender really doesn’t sound that bad...

“Pussa.”

Heart jolting in your chest, you look up to see Otto standing behind the sofa. He elaborates as Oscar’s arms slacken in surprise, “Small kiss, Pussa.”

Dipping towards you, the larger man cups your jaw to draw you up on your knees to give an example. His mouth pecks your cheek light and quick as your face flushes. “Big kiss? Kyssa.”

His next kiss lands on your lips and is warm and toe-curling and slow, and you’re sure your ears are red by the end of it. You clear your throat as Otto draws back with a smile. “I-I see. Thank you Otto.”

These men are going to be the death of you. Oscar huffs as his thunder is stolen, and you immediately take advantage to tease. Resting your hands on his shoulders, you dip to give a tiny peck to his forehead and push off of him, playfully ruffling his hair before heading to the kitchen. He can’t complain, he got his kiss. “I should get dinner started.”

You feel his eyes burning into your back as you retreat, obviously frustrated with your cheating.

Oscar grumbles. He has half a mind to follow you in there...but instead settles back against the sofa with a huff. Revenge will be had, just a little later. He’ll think of something.

Otto clicks on the television and watches his baby brother out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching with amusement. What is the phrase...you snooze, you lose.

Mulling over a couple dinner options in your mind, you decide on a pasta dish, a way to pay your respects to the names your kittens could have had. As you lift a big pot up to the stovetop, the sound of the guestroom door has you hesitating, peering back at the entryway.

That must be Axel, who, if the recovering man chooses wisely, will be joining his younger brothers to relax in the living room. When you told him to take it easy, you meant it. Come hell or high water, you will kick him out of the kitchen if you have to. Aaaand sure enough, the stubborn man appears in the entryway.

“Excuse me sir, you’re not allowed in here tonight. Hostess only. Go wait in the living room please.” You cross your arms, chin lifting fearlessly. You’ve got another card up your sleeve if he doesn’t back down. “Don’t make me call security.”

Cocking his head to the side, Axel stares. Curiosity warring with amusement, he takes one slow step closer. Then another. He wants to see what you'll do.

And suddenly, he changes.

Your heart skips a beat, because even though you’d been expecting him to push back, you hadn’t anticipated...this. Standing tall, chin lowered, his stare piercing, focused intently on you...you forgot how intimidating he can be. Predatory. It reminds you a little of when he and his brothers first arrived all those months ago.

Swallowing your nervousness and wetting your lips, refusing to let the chills skittering down your spine and the warmth pooling between your thighs stop you, you call for help as he takes another step closer. “Otto? Oscar? Could you come here for a moment?”

Axel blinks, brows furrowing slightly, baffled. Silence, and then his brothers make their way into the kitchen, looking curiously between you and him.

“Axel is having trouble, it looks like he’s confused the kitchen with the living room...could you help him find it please?”

Oscar smirks, already hooking an arm around his brother’s arm as Otto grips the other, the two together dragging the man away. You watch, biting your lip to hide your grin as Axel sends an incredulous look to each of his brothers before returning his stare to you, and you revel in sweet sweet victory as you’re left alone in your kitchen once more.

You know you’re probably going to pay for this later, but at the moment you choose not to care. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you head for the fridge to get some ingredients for your recipe.

In the living room, the cogs in Oscar’s head are turning. Revenge is coming, and you set it up for him oh so nicely.

#tua the swedes #axel x reader #otto x reader #oscar x reader #ikea mafia #the swedes #tua swedes #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy swedes #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #;)

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jossambird · 2 years

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Where are my IkeaFam peeps at? It’s me, ya girl Jossambird 💅🏻

#the swedes #ikea mafia #tua swedes #the swedes x reader #tua otto #tua axel #ikea fam #tua oscar

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auroracalisto · 2 years

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don't let them see you cry chapter one, puppeteer of peace — the handler—the very reason for your personal slice of hell. haunting your every move... in your sleep, during the slow hours of the day. the swedish brothers—should have been strangers who show up and show you that you are more than what she told you. you are more than your mind allows you to believe. and you—the very person who will end the misery that plagues your mind. word count: 2.1k words tw: bad mothers, anxious!reader, fem!reader, self-doubt, reader has a job as a babysitter for a minute a/n: i love the swedes so much. and i absolutely adore the fanfiction that's already out there, so i wanted to make one of my own. i hope it's as enjoyable to read as it has been to write it!! also, the swedes don't really make an appearance in this part, but i promise they will. i've just needed to set up the reader's background a little!

An eerie quiet blanketed your childhood living room. Anxiety prickled at the back of your neck, discomfort electric through the air, threatening to suffocate you where you stood. You hadn’t felt this way in ages. Your childhood home, the one before your mother found you, was long gone—what was this? A macabre recreation of it—things were out of place, creating a sense of distress, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what exactly was wrong with it.

She stood there, glowering down at you beneath her mascara-clad eyelashes. Her makeup was as perfect as ever—not a hair out of place on her head.

She was everything you would never be.

And she made sure you remembered that even though time has separated you plenty.

Her hands were soft as they caressed your cheek, her thumb gently brushing against your cheekbone. As she began to smile at you, her grip on your face became tighter by the minute.

You winced but said nothing, knowing that it would only prove futile. Nothing else mattered than what she did at that very moment. She cared little for what you had to say—what you truly felt.

If you said something against her actions, it would only be worse for you. It was better left alone.

Even in this moment of uncertainty, you knew she only cared for herself.

You couldn’t help but wish it wasn’t like that. You wished you still had your mother—you wished she had never changed. Sweet nothings, gentle hugs—the grip on your face would be a gentle kiss or a pat on the cheek as she told you how well you had done. But time was fleeting, and the niceties she gave you only lasted so long.

For Lila, however, it was different. She loved her more than she could ever love you—and who wouldn’t? Lila was everything you weren’t. Powerful, beautiful, the spitting image of her mother’s endeavors.

Your mother didn’t even need to ask to know what you were thinking about. She smirked, her grip lessening but only enough to give her aching hand a break.

“You’ll never be her, you hear me?”

You gave a small nod, wincing.

She smirked softly, tilting her head as she watched you. “Lila’s so much better than you ever will be. I am so much better than you ever will be. You’ll be nothing. You are nothing.”

A part of you wished your mother would have died long ago. You knew how time worked—how many twists and turns it took to get where you needed to go. You knew how your mother could manipulate time at the touch of a button—at the snap of a suitcase. Why couldn’t something long ago have taken her away from the world? Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently, it was. But there was another half that wanted your mother’s love. And a part of you wished Lila was gone, so you could have your mother’s full, undivided attention.

But you received what Lila didn’t get. All the hatred. The abuse. And maybe that would be worth it, one day, knowing that you protected Lila from your mother’s wrath. Maybe one day, Lila would come to you, telling you how much she appreciated your efforts, even though you never outright chose to do so.

Your mother spent most of your life picking and choosing what she wanted out of you—what she wanted out of your sister. Neither of you had any say in anything. You didn’t ask for praise or for abuse. Your mother chose that for you.

You knew your mother hated you. And she made sure that was drilled into the depths of your soul, eating you alive at any given moment.

She gently slapped your cheek, your face red with nail marks from where she had held onto you.

Her smile bared her white teeth, sharp and glinting in the light that came from overhead.

“You will do well to listen to me.” She spoke with an authority that was hard to miss.

“Yes, mother,” you said, averting your gaze.

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, before grabbing a fistful of it, forcing your head back so you would look at her.

“What was that?”

You swallowed thickly, squeezing your eyes shut. “Yes, Handler.”

“Very good.”

You didn’t need to open your eyes to hear that smirk dripping from her words. To see that cruelly mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Now go to your room. You’ve done enough damage for the night. And don’t come out until I tell you,” she said, turning away from you. She picked up her glass of red wine, sighing softly. “Lila,” she called after her eldest daughter. “I need to speak with you as well. Nothing is wrong, though, you’re not in trouble, dear.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you took a step back, pulling away from your mother. You passed by Lila, who stood in the hallway with a solemn expression. It wasn’t her fault. Hell, as long as she was treated with some kind of dignity by your shared mother, maybe it would someday be all worth it. That’s what you were trying to tell yourself, anyway.

But until then, you escaped to your room, the same place you so often found refuge in. This wasn’t your childhood bedroom—no, this was your bedroom now. The one in Dallas, fit with mismatched furniture and a quilt that had to have been as old as you.

But you no longer felt safe—this room sent you into a downward spiral as you fell to your knees by your bed, tears beading in your eyes.

No longer did you feel as though your heart was in it—in this room that you loved. In this room that you were made to reside in.

Your heart had shattered into a million pieces, and although it had been some time since it had broke, it still hurt just as badly.

Your mother, the culprit, the Handler of the Commission, was the reason.

And it seemed as if she’d never stop until she had your life in her hands.

Fortunately for her, she already did.

You were her marionette—strings attached to your limbs, barely hanging on, as she swung you around like a rag doll. If you looked just beyond the edge of the stage, one missed step would send you spiraling into a big black hole of nothingness.

Your mother cared little for your chipping paint or the strings that were slowly fraying. She’d find another way to control you, without the strings—she’d find another way to keep you under her finger.

And when she finally decided she was done with you, she’d kick your legs out from under you, sending you tumbling over the edge of the stage—and that would be the end of you. Of everything you were, and everything she had made you out to be.

You woke with a start, sheets tangled between your legs. Heart pounding, sweat seeping through your nightclothes.

She was there, even in your dreams. You thought you had gotten past that.

You slowly sat up, a groan escaping you. Discomfort riddled your body. Running a hand through your tangled hair, you frowned to yourself.

You couldn’t escape her, even in the very place she sent you away to.

Exhaustion settled deep within your bones. If you weren’t careful, dark circles would show eventually. You didn’t need to give the gossiping housewives something else to talk about. You slowly forced yourself out of your bed, struggling to untangle yourself. The quilt on your bed felt heavier than it usually did, arms trembling as you pushed it off of yourself.

A soft meow came from just beneath the bed, an orange ball of fur darting out from under and through your bedroom door.

You softly sighed, grabbing a dress to start your day. Maybe you’d take a shower first—you’d decide once you went to the bathroom.

The clock just above your dresser read 7 AM. Your nightmares (memories?) had been waking you earlier and earlier, each a reminder of your mother—haunting you to your very core.

It was unfortunately about to be a very long day—one you weren’t looking forward to, either.

Instead of showering as you had told yourself you would do, you pulled on your dress and tossed up your hair. You couldn't care less. If you needed to go out later, you'd change or fix your hair. Not like you needed to, though. No one ever really paid you half a mind.

The bathroom was cold like it always was during the early mornings. Autumn would be here soon, and it signified that you have spent your third year in the middle of Dallas, Texas, far away from everything you knew. Far away from time, from the backrooms of the Commission.

You looked up at yourself in your mirror, a deep frown set against your features. You couldn't remember a time when you had genuinely smiled—you'd end up with frown lines if you weren't careful (something your mother often warned scolded you about).

You scoffed at yourself in the mirror, leaving the bathroom after taking only a second more to look at yourself, making sure you did actually look decent. You never knew what could happen. You grabbed your favorite cardigan from your dresser and slipped it on, a yawn escaping you.

With a huff, you began to trudge to your kitchen. You knew exactly what you needed—a giant mug of coffee.

You had prepared your coffee the night before—all you needed to do now was press the on button and wait for the coffee pot to fill up. You pulled open a cabinet and grabbed your mug, quietly looking out the window.

Breakfast was the last thing on your mind. After that fiasco as you slept, you weren't sure if you'd feel like eating any time soon.

You’d eat later, you assured yourself, sitting down with a cup of coffee at your dining room table. You rubbed the back of your neck, fading scars just underneath your fingertips.

The same orange ball of fur that darted out from under your bed rubbed against your leg.

You looked down, reaching down to pick your baby up. “Hey, pretty girl,” you said. The kitten meowed. Her brother, Peanut, was nowhere to be seen. “How’s my Ginger?”

She gently nudged against your hand, meowing out. She was hungry—you knew your other cats would be, too. Peanut, who would come running out at the sound of food clinking against glass bowls, would most likely be hiding in the living room, away from your three adult cats who had still yet to get used to the two little ones.

The little girl you babysat during the week, Darla, would be coming by in the afternoon, begging you to see the kitties—she had lovingly named them after all, her mother apologizing profusely at her daughter’s provocation. But, in a way, the child was endearing. And in a way, she reminded you of yourself, but with a loving mother and a doting father in the mix as well. A child not set up for failure, but for potential success—one that wouldn’t find the commission deep within their back pocket. A child who would live a normal, healthy life with love and happiness.

You could offer that to your cats. But for yourself? That life was out of the picture. You’d only ever have something like that if the sky fell before your feet, shooting stars littering the ground around you. But maybe then people would just call you crazy like they did in that children’s movie. Your mother hated that movie—said it would put bad ideas into your brain.

Maybe she was right.

Your dream—your memories proved her to be right.

You sighed softly and sat your cat back down, picking up your hot mug. Your coffee was made just the way you liked it. Your mother often made things for you, keeping it the way she liked it and no other way. Black, no sugar. Your food was always something she wanted—if you didn’t like it? Too bad. You were eating it regardless.

You sipped at your coffee, looking out your kitchen window that led out to the garden.

Your thoughts ran a mile a minute, fueled by the caffeine and your anxiety. Your mind was prepared to badger you the rest of the morning, never once giving you a moment of peace. You didn't deserve that. Why would you deserve peace?

Your fingers tapped against the dining table, your mind losing itself yet again to the senseless commotion that always seemed to stick around.

next chapter

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non-plutonian-druid · 9 months

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[ID: a The Umbrella Academy-themed tarot card, illustrated in a way that is supposed to resemble the style of the comics (though how well that is achieved is up for debate). It is Judgement, featuring an illustration of the Swedes, holding guns and looming sternly. One is dressed as a milkman and the other two are wearing heavy jackets. End ID.]

we're officially in the countdown to the last five!

#tua #the umbrella academy #the swedes #the commission tua #my art #tua tarot series #i rlly like the coloring and rlly think i did not manage the gabriel ba artstyle this time #ya win some ya lose some

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gggoldfinch · 2 months

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Hnnnhggff… hnnnnggg……. I’m being so normal I’m leashing myself I’m controlling myself I’m being normal I’m not being deranged

#tua the swedes

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thoughtsofedin · 2 months

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʏ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ

ᴀxᴇʟ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏᴛᴛᴏ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Set one year before the events of season 2.

They say he’s dying all for love, but that can never be: They say his heart is breaking, mother what is that to me?

In where the brothers find themselves obsessed with their hostess.

This deviates into four different stories. One for each brother and one with all three brothers.

Oscar carries the suitcase and so he stands in the middle, protected by his two older brothers. Otto's to his right, tired and angry. Axel didn't have time to change after their last mission, he smelled like sweat, like the damp earth he had been thrown into over and over again. There's a bit of blood in his hair, down the back of his neck. The skin beneath his left eye is bruised, the corner of his mouth is torn open.

They're all in horrible shape when Otto knocks on the light blue cottage door, leaving behind a stain that he doesn't care to wipe away. It could be blood or dirt or a mixture of the two. It’s not important. Inside, someone sets something down loudly and Axel notices a woman peek behind the curtain of a window to his right. She doesn't linger and stare, she doesn't gawk and try to hide, pulling the curtains around her and acting as if she hadn’t been seen.

Instead, as if she had been waiting for them, she gives him a light smile and makes her way to the door. They could hear her footsteps as she went. The door in front of them opens and she stands in front of the three brothers. She wears a thick knitted sweater and light blue jeans. An apron a shade darker than the door is wrapped around her.

Otto is impatient, fumbles through his pockets and pulls out the ripped newspaper they had found when they stepped out of the portal. The ad stated that she had a room available for weekly rent. Private bathroom, shared amenities. Meals Included. No pets. He holds it out to her and Oscar smiles. Smiling at people made them feel at ease. But he didn't have any issues disposing of a body if it came to that.

Oscar wonders, as she takes the ad, if perhaps there is something wrong with her. If perhaps she's commission, like them. She doesn't question the blood, the stench, the ominous way they stand there in front of her door ready for her to either run or scream or shut the door in their face. They'd kill her then. Toss her into the lake and take her home as their own until they no longer need it. His smile almost falters, Axel already reaching for his gun. But she opens her mouth, saves herself from almost dying right then and there.

“I only have one room available. The bed’s pretty big, but I don’t think it’s big enough to fit three… are you alright with an airbed?”

Oscar is in the shower, Otto took his first and sits on the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist, he has a flesh wound on his forearm he’s inspecting with a frown. The room is on the second floor, overlooking the garden in the backyard. The airbed is still in the box, placed in the corner of the room. Axel stands by the window, watching you. You’re crouched over, grabbing something from the earth. You had invited them for lunch when you brought over the bed.

Otto had agreed with a grunt, Oscar shooting him a glare. Axel was indifferent. It’d save him the trouble of cooking.

Axel watches as you wipe your hands on your apron, sitting up and stretching before standing and grabbing the basket full of vegetables. Axel turns away when you disappear back into the house.

Oscar leaves the bathroom then, hair wet and dripping against the collar of his shirt. Closing the curtain, Axel turns his attention to his brothers. They had yet to receive a proper mission from the higher ups. All they were given was a set of coordinates for the suitcase. He didn't know where in the timeline they were. He didn't care enough to ask.

"She seems stupid." Oscar says, dropping his towel on the floor. Otto, who had always hated any sort of mess, hisses and tells him to pick it up. Oscar ignores him.

"Stupid is good. Stupid won’t ask questions. Won't meddle." Axel says, picking up his brother's damp towel and setting it over the back of a wooden chair. Oscar was spoiled, it was too late to ask him to change.

Oscar sits on the windowsill, frowning. "Not yet."

"I'm going to shower." he says, slipping into the bathroom. It's bright, there are no curtains to draw close in here. The thick foliage outside tells him that no one will see him. He undresses, the water still cold when he steps in.

There's a knot on the back of his head, tender to the touch. Above that, near his ear he finds a wound, coagulated blood knotting his hair. He scrubs at it until the pain has him clenching his teeth and his eyesight doubles. The water runs red then pink then clear. He stands there for a little longer, muscles tensing from the cold.

When he steps out, dressed in only his slacks he finds Otto alone in the room. There’s a tray on top of the dresser and Axel inspects it. He finds a bowl of dark berries, garnished with a mint leaf. Besides it there’s half a loaf of bread, sliced and steaming with a tiny ramekin of butter. There are three cups of lemonade as well.

“The girl left it for us.” Otto says, patching a tear on his coat. “Oscar wasn’t happy about it.”

Axel picks up a glass and sniffs it before taking a small sip. He never really cared for sweetened drinks, so he sets it back and instead goes for the loaf of bread, sinking his teeth into a slice.

“Is that why he left?” he asks after swallowing; the next slice he grabs he slathers with butter.

“Says we should have killed her.” Otto sets down his coat, annoyance in his eyes as he looks at his brother.

“There’s no reason to.” Though it’s still not fully off the table. He tosses Otto the last of the bread.

"Äta. It's good."

Otto sinks his teeth into the bread. "Do you think she's commission?"

"No." People from the commission didn't settle down and buy homes they couldn't fully afford.

Satisfied, Otto goes back to his mending. Axel slips his boots on, then his shirt. He takes a single glass of lemonade and sets it on the table. Otto would drink it. Oscar was out there throwing a fit; he wasn't going to save him one.

Axel takes the tray and heads downstairs to talk to the girl.

He finds you in the kitchen, the scent of rosemary thick in the air. Something sizzles in a pan off to the side. The window in front of the sink is open, cool air wafting in. You're humming something he doesn't know. He sets the tray down roughly, startling you.

If he had known that you had been cutting something, perhaps he would have been a bit gentler. But what's done is done. The knife clatters to the ground as you turn around, blood weeping from your palm.

He doesn't say anything. Just watches as you grab a towel and wrap your hand in it. "Shoot, sorry." you apologize as if it was you that had startled him and he that had cut himself. It's amusing, in a way.

He takes a few steps towards you and whatever it seems you were about to say gets caught in your throat as he bends down in front of you and grabs the knife by the blade. He holds it out to you, so close that if he wanted to, he could have sunk the blade between your ribs.

It would have put an end to Oscar's tantrum.

He lets you grab the knife, unmoving. You place it in the sink, taking a step to the side. "Thanks, um...?"

He doesn't want to tell you his name. Not yet at least.

"My brother," he starts, holding his hand at Oscar's height. "Have you seen him?"

"Oh, uh." You seem to think for a second, your fingers tightening around your cut. "He stepped out. Didn't really seem to be in a good mood."

"He's never in a good mood." Axel says, holding his hand out. It wasn't exactly guilt that he felt, but you had cut your hand because of him. He could, at the very least, see if you needed stitches.

"Oh no," you say after a moment, having realized what he was silently asking for. "It's fine. It's not so bad."

Axel doesn't say anything, simply looks at the way the towel darkened with your blood. He's been stabbed plenty of times, among other things, he knows that small cuts don't bleed like that. He reaches for you, gently tears your hands away from the towel.

You startle under his touch, but let him peel your fingers away, taking the towel with you. "Good." he tells you and it’s almost a praise.

"I really think it’s fine," you say quietly, watching him. "It's just a scratch."

He hums, tracing the edges of your wound with his index finger, ignoring you.

"It's not too deep," he says after a moment. You wouldn't need stitches. "Where are your bandages?"

"In the bathroom, I can go get them." you try to pull your hand away, but he holds it in place.

"Sit. I will bandage it for you." there's no room for disagreement in his demand and you seem to be smart enough to understand, slipping your hand away and sitting in a chair across the island.

'Good,' he thought. He did not like to repeat himself.

He finds the bathroom easily enough, finds the first aid kit tucked inside the cabinet underneath the sink like you told him it'd be at. He takes the whole thing back into the kitchen.

You must have turned the stove off while he was gone, the sizzling settling down to a few unruly pops.

Setting the kit down, you open your hand. The bleeding had stopped, and you seemed to have washed the wound. It would make this easier. He stands across from you, slowly opening the kit and pulling out disinfectant, gauze, and antibiotic ointment.

He had done similar for his brothers, countless times. But this was the first time he had taken to bandaging up a random stranger.

"Ouch." you hiss when he sprays the disinfectant into your cut, almost pulling your hand away. He shoots you a look of annoyance, gripping your wrist.

"Don't move."

"Sorry," you apologize again. "It startled me."

He rips open the tiny sachet of ointment and squeezes it against the length of your cut before using his thumb to smear it directly into the wound. The gauze comes next, and he wraps it around your hand three times before tucking the end in place.

"Thank you." Your voice is soft as you take your hand back and inspect his work.

Axel doesn't respond, setting back the rest of the gauze and disinfectant and closing the red box.

"Did you come here to work the farm?" you suddenly ask as he was about to head back to the bathroom.

"The farm?" he repeats.

"Yeah. Adler is always hiring hands, but he can't keep them for long. I've been trying to wrack my head around why anyone would come this far north and it’s the only thing that makes sense."

You stand, pushing the chair back in and he gets out of your way. “There’s not much this town offers; Adler’s farm just happens to be the biggest one so it’s always looking for people.”

Axel pauses, watching as you discard the bloody towel in the trash before turning back to face him. “Not that it’s any of my business, of course. I’m just happy someone finally found the ad.”

“Aren’t you worried? Sharing your home with three strange men?” Axel takes a step towards you, but you don’t flinch or step away, just frown at him.

“A bit, you did show up at my house covered in bruised and bloodied. But isn’t slaughter work messy? As long as you don’t track blood or mud, or anything weird inside, I don’t see the reason to be wary.”

He’s almost tempted to laugh, to tell you that you were wrong, so very, very wrong. But he doesn’t, instead he takes a step back. “We’ll try our best to keep things clean.”

Its all he says, walking out of the kitchen.

“She is not as stupid as you thought.” Otto says to Oscar, who had returned just in time to find his brothers out in the garden. You were still in the kitchen, flitting between the stove and the table, setting plates and glasses for them. You had told them that lunch would be ready in the hour.

Otto had thought that it was odd that you had not questioned their disheveled state and had accepted them so fast, but when Axel came back and told him that you were under the impression that they were working as butchers in the local slaughterhouse, it all began to make sense.

You must have truly been desperate, to let them in without a single cautionary pause. But even if you seemed aloof and unintelligent, you were clearly watching them as much as they were watching you.

Oscar, who had managed to settle his anger, sat to the side, listening. “We do not have to stay here,” he says bitterly. “I checked- there’s a motel we can stay at. It’ll be more private.” He did not understand Otto’s obsession with only staying in homes shared by other people. Nor did he care to find out.

“No.” Axel says, squinting from the sun. “This is fine. Moving will raise questions.”

Oscar bites the side of his mouth, Axel was already in a bad mood, telling him that those questions would be easily avoided with premeditated murder would probably make him snap.

"The house is nice." Otto says, as if that was the most important factor. And maybe it was to him.

Oscar's anger flares but he keeps his composure.

"She's wary, but we don't have to worry about her delving into our business." Axel reassures them. Even with the sun in his eyes, he had been watching you through the window. You seemed preoccupied with whatever you were cooking. Not once had you looked back at them. He watches as you open the oven and pull something out.

“She is kind hearted.” Otto suddenly says, catching Axel’s eyes. “She does not see the very danger she is in.”

“Is she in any danger?” Axel asks, trying to gauge his brother’s thoughts.

“No,” Otto turns to look at you, the glare across the window making it hard. “Not yet.”

Out of all three of them, Otto was, by loose definition, the kindest of them all. He did not kill unless necessarily. Did not hurt unless he was forced to. He had been a cry baby as a child, and perhaps he still was. Axel wasn’t stupid, he knew that Otto longed for more than they did.

If they had all gone down a different path, where would Otto be right now? Where would he?

Oscar grunts, uncaring of the way his older brothers talk about you. He did not see the interest there, the gentleness his brothers seemed to carry in their hearts. You were a liability. You were bound to grow curious of them; you would put your nose where it did not belong and then Oscar would be able to show them that he had been correct all along. Maybe then they would start listening to him more.

As if summoned, you open the door to the backyard and step outside. The sun stuns you and you blink and frown, trying to get used to the brightness. Giving up, you bring your hand up to shield your vision from the sun.

“Lunch is ready, if you’re hungry.” She sounds hopeful that they’d join her, and that joy manages to irritate Oscar even more. She should just leave them alone. But he is hungry, and his anger wasn’t enough to turn down a warm meal. Not when the last time he ate a proper meal was becoming a blurry memory.

Otto is the first to stand, the corners of his mouth raising in an attempt at a smile.

Otto might be the kindest, but out of all three, he had always fit a scowl better. He was tall and imposing, the scar across his eye adding to his unapproachable looks. The smile comes out rather chagrin, but you smile back at him, nonetheless.

“Thank you.” Otto says gently, following you inside. Axel and Oscar linger outside, the oldest brother sighing and sending a silent warning to Oscar to behave. He’d hate to spend his afternoon cleaning after his mess. Oscar stands and leaves him there.

Inside, a table full of food awaits them. While you had rolled the blinds up, you kept the curtains drawn shut, sunlight filtering in through the cream-colored linen softly. On the table, there’s a basket of bread cut into squares, a roasted chicken sliced for ease. There are potatoes, covered in rosemary and butter. Around that, many other dishes of various sizes are filled with greens or vegetables and sauces. Otto finds that most of it, he can’t identify. Not that it mattered, his mouth watered at it all.

The bread from earlier had only reminded him how hungry he had truly been.

He watches your tongue swipe along the length of your bottom lip as you wring your hands together. “I’m looking at it now, and I definitely got overexcited.” She mumbles, Otto almost not hearing her. “I haven’t cooked for anyone in a long time, I hope it’s not too much.”

Axel is the one to answer you, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “It’s not often we have someone that wants to cook us such a feast.”

You smile, a warmth spreading across your face. “Then I’m glad I made so much.” You move to sit next to Axel, Otto taking the one on your left.

“Is she eating with us?” Oscar asks his brothers instead of you, pulling out his own chair. He did not want her there. Sitting across from him.

“Oh,” you say, your smile faltering. “Is that weird? I can just-”

Otto cuts you off, shooting a glare at him. “Yes. She is feeding us. Why should she not eat with us?”

“No, it’s okay, really. I don’t mind eating somewhere else.” You try to plead, inching away.

“Sit.” Otto and Axel say at the same time, Otto pulling your chair for you. “Oscar did not mean anything by it.” Otto continues, drumming his fingers on the wood of the chair.

You look unsure, but Axel nods his head towards the chair before picking up the bottle of wine and inspecting it. “We will not eat without you, isn’t that correct?”

Otto hums in agreement.

After a single beat of silence, you take your seat, fingers brushing against Otto’s knuckles as he tries to move out of the way. His skin is warm, calloused, and you catch the indent of a scar between his index and middle finger.

He pushes you in and takes his seat. Oscar tries not to look at you, reaching for the potatoes.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like,” you say softly, watching as Axel plucks her wine glass from its place and fills it halfway. He fills all of theirs.

“We are not picky,” he says, grabbing the bowl of potatoes from his brother and putting some on his plate before handing them to you. “Though I think you’re going to spoil them, I’ve never made anything as elaborate as this.”

Oscar scoffs, spearing a piece of chicken.

“You like to cook?” you ask, sitting up in your seat.

“Yes,” Otto answers for him. “He’s always taken to the kitchen.”

“I had a good teacher.” Is all Axel says, taking a long sip of his wine. He did not like talking about his mother. None of them did.

“I did not take you for a cook.” you say with a smile.

“Looks are rather deceiving, aren’t they?”

You laugh, licking your lips. “So, where did you all come from?”

Otto wonders, as he chews on a bite of meat, if perhaps for you, meals were eaten in conversation.

“We’re from Sweden.” He answers anyway, not missing the way Oscar looks at him, as if he had just told you that they were assassins who traveled through time.

Your eyes seem to brighten at that. “Oh um...Det trevligt att träffa dig." You say quietly, stumbling over the accent.

Otto is startled, unsure if he heard correctly. “Pratar du Svenska?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No. Not really. That’s all I know. I had a feeling you were Swedish.”

“Is it that obvious?” Axel asks, watching you bring a bite of food to your mouth.

“Mm.” she covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers, swallowing. “If you know what to look for.”

"Vilken intressant händelseutveckling, tycker du inte det? Hon pratar svenska...lite" Otto tells his brothers, watching as you frown, trying to decipher what he’s said. You look between all brothers, Oscar finding her bewilderment amusing.

"Prata inte på svenska framför henne, Otto. Titta så förvirrad hon ser ut." Axel replies, the corners of his lips curling towards a smile, replying in Swedish even after telling his brother to stop.

“I feel like you’re talking about me.” You interject, setting your fork down.

"They are." Oscar says nonchalantly, reaching for more meat.

"It took us by surprise. We don't really meet many people who speak it." Axel clarifies, finishing his wine.

"What did you say?" you ask. But instead of an answer, Axel simply shakes his head, his smile never leaving his face. He would not tell you. Part of him liked the way you seemed to squirm in your seat. Unsure of what to say, who to look at.

“Where did you learn?” Otto asks instead, pulling your attention back to him.

“I want to go to Sweden one day. Figured I should learn the language first, so I picked up a language book from the library. I don’t think I ever returned it.”

"But all you can say is 'Nice to meet you'? It doesn't seem like you're really interested in it." Oscar pushes his plate away, finished.

"It's not that. I haven't given up on it...It's not exactly the easiest language to teach yourself..." you pause, frowning at the youngest brother. “It’s just been a slow process.”

"What if I were to teach you some more?" Otto offers before he can stop himself. The thought of teaching you, of having more to offer the world than just his mercenary skills… he could not help himself.

The offer manages to surprise both Oscar and Axel, though Axel does a better job of hiding his emotions. Oscar slams his hands on the table, pushing his chair back.

"Du slösar bort din tid på den dumma tjejen! Vi kommer inte att vara här länge!" he says bitterly, shooting you a glare.

"Tillräckligt." Axel says with a warning.

Throwing his napkin onto his plate, Oscar turns and heads upstairs, the anger palpable in the air.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask, the tension making you wring your fingers again.

“No… Oscar’s a bit overprotective.” Otto doesn’t do anything to hide the annoyance in his voice, wiping his mouth.

You don’t say anything, your eyes glued to the stairs even after Oscar’s disappeared into their shared room.

"Don't worry about him. He's always been a spoiled brat." Axel is calm as he refills his glass before offering her some more. Oscar was right, not about storming out like a scolded child, but about how they weren't going to be here for long. It wasn't good for Otto to try to form a bridge between himself and you. Not when it could be as soon as tomorrow that the Commission sends them their mission. They'd take care of it and move on. They never stayed in one place for too long. Trying to plant roots would only come back to haunt them in the end.

He finishes his wine in one swallow. “Otto, do you mind helping her clean up? I should go check on Oscar.”

You turn to look at him, blinking a few times. “No, it’s okay, I don’t need the help.”

“It’s alright.” Otto says, already gathering dishes towards him.

Axel stands, smiling at you. “Lunch was lovely. Thank you.” With that, he stands and makes his way upstairs.

Otto watches after him, a silence falling between you and him.

You sip at the wine, looking over everything left on the table.

“So,” you say after the silence grows to be unbearable. “Are you the oldest?”

“Hmm? Oh no, Axel is.”

“Axel.” You repeat. “Maybe I should have asked for your names earlier.” Setting the glass down you stand up, grabbing your plate and walking over to the garbage can. Otto follows you.

“We have not asked for your name either, so don’t feel bad.”

Realizing, you tell him your name, scraping the food off of the plate and setting it in the sink before holding your hand out for his.

“Oscar, Otto and Axel… söta namn.”

“Cute?” He asks, tilting his head in confusion.

Feeling your cheeks grow warm, you freeze. “Did I say cute? I meant to say nice. I think they’re really interesting names.”

Otto chuckles, grabbing the rest of the plates from the table and hands them to you. “Your Swedish is really horrible.”

“Oh god, this is really embarrassing. Can we act like I didn’t just say that?” you take the plates, your face hot.

Laughing, Otto shakes his head. “You think we have cute names. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He’s teasing you and for some reason it just feels normal. Right now, in this moment, Otto didn’t feel like a stranger in his own skin, nothing more but a man who only knew how to kill and harm.

He did not know you, but in this tiny little moment, he felt like he was no longer missing anything.

You groan, shaking your head. “Please? I might die of embarrassment.”

He only smiles in return, corking the bottle of wine and placing it in the fridge. “If it helps,” Otto says softly, making you turn your head to look at him. “I also think your name is cute.”

For a moment, you look startled but then you huff and turn around, laughing. “You’re making fun of me!”

Otto doesn’t tell you that he meant it. Instead, he asks you what to do next.

You show him where the dirty linen goes, and he helps you put the leftovers into containers that line the fridge. It felt rather…domestic. As if this was where he belonged. After wiping the table and taking out the garbage, Otto stands beside you, drying the dishes as you hand them to him.

“Do you think Oscar is feeling better?” you suddenly ask.

He felt guilty that for a second, he wondered who Oscar was. “He’s…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to best explain it. “Oscar sometimes forgets that the world is a lot bigger than us.”

You nod, handing him a cup. “I’m sorry again, if I did anything to upset him. I probably should have just let you eat alone instead of forcing myself into the group.”

Setting the cup down, Otto shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I know but I just feel like it… like I said, it’s been so long since I’ve had any company at all that I kind of forgot that while yes, you guys are company, you are also renting out a room. I’ll give you your space from now on.”

“Why is it that you’re out here all alone?”

“It’s a long story.” you say, and Otto doesn’t push for more. “Anyways, thank you for helping me.” Your smile returns, as you rinse off the sink.

“Ingen orsak.” He replies, drying his hands.

“Is that my first Swedish lesson?”

He chuckles. “Ja. It can be.”

“I’m guessing that means you’re welcome?”

“It’s more like ‘no problem’.” He clarifies.

“Ingen orsak.” You repeat slowly, rolling the words over your tongue. “I’ll have to go write that down before I forget.”

Pushing his hair from his face Otto finds himself smiling at you. At the way you seemed so excited over something so simple.

“I should probably go check on my brothers.” The reluctance in his voice goes unnoticed by you.

“Oh.” Otto wonders if he’s imagining the way you seemed to deflate slightly. “Yeah of course. I’m sorry for keeping you.”

He wants to tell you that he would rather stay down here with you for a bit longer, but he doesn’t, a flash of hot guilt making him keep his mouth shut. He has to remind himself that this wasn’t permanent. That while it was nice, none of this was meant for him.

You tell him that dinner will be ready at 7 and he heads up to the room.

When Oscar comes back downstairs, he has a swollen lip. It’s slight, not really noticeable unless someone was looking for it. But he could feel it when he swiped his tongue against it. Axel had been mad at him, at his outburst at the dining table. But he hadn’t hit him until Oscar threw the first punch, calling him a traitor.

He was mad that his brothers seemed so interested in you. How many had they killed already? Why were they so against adding one more body to that list? You didn’t know them. You talked too much, input yourself where you didn’t belong.

They’ve only been here for half a day and already you were worming your way where you didn’t belong. When Axel had slapped him across the face, Oscar had thought about finding you and slitting your throat. He almost had, but Axel had noticed and told him that killing you wouldn’t solve anything.

‘You want to kill her because she was kind to you?’ he had said with a scoff, pulling a dagger from his boot and offering it to him. ‘Then go ahead and do it. See how that will do nothing to fix whatever anger you are so insistent on carrying inside of you.’

He almost took the knife. But stopped and slapped it away. Part of him knew that he was being irrational. That his brothers weren’t stupid. That the conversations didn’t mean anything. Humans were social creatures by default. Of course, it did not help that you were physically attractive. That you looked at them with interest instead of judgement. For heaven’s sake, even if you had butchered every single word, you had spoken to them in their own language, greeting them in your home as if you were old friends.

Part of him knew that you weren’t going to steal his brothers away from him. But that part was miniscule in comparison to the worry that he carried inside of him that told him that maybe, just maybe, it had been a mistake coming here after all.

He wanted the commission to send them their mission already so they could move on. He wanted you to fade into the back of his mind until you were forgotten.

It scared him how easy it would be for you to destroy what they had. It wasn’t anger that he carried in his heart, but fear. Fear that one day he would lose his brothers just like he lost his mother, and he would be all alone.

Downstairs he finds himself alone, the setting sun casting shadows across the house. He had heard you leave, the rumbling of your car as you drove off making him sigh in relief. Otto had found a room where you kept some books and had made himself comfortable in it, flipping through vintage books that caught his attention.

Axel had kicked him out of the room, telling him that he had given him a migraine and he wanted to sleep it off. Oscar gladly left.

But down here, in the silence and darkness, there was nothing to do. He could go back upstairs and join Otto, but his brother was still upset with him, so it was best if he didn’t.

He finds himself heading back outside, past the tiny patio they had sat at and into the garden. He was careful not to step on anything, mother had always gotten mad at him when he had destroyed her crops, accident or not.

He almost keeps going into the forest that seems to line the back of your house but stops when he hears a meow from behind him. He turns to find a fat Russian blue digging her paws into the carrots. The cat looks up at him and rolls over itself, stretching her paws towards him and meows again, inviting him over.

Oscar complies, carefully making his way over and bending down. He holds his hand out and the cat leans over and presses its forehead onto it. Automatically, everything that had been bothering him is pushed aside as he smiles and coos at the cat, scratching it between the ears.

He’s always had a soft spot for animals. Gently, he picks it up and presses it against his chest. “Are you here to keep me company?” he asks it gently, taking its meow as a yes.

“Come then.” he makes his way back to the patio, wondering if his brothers would let him sneak a cat inside. Not that he cared if you kicked them out because of it.

Taking a seat, Oscar runs his hand alongside the back of the cat, letting it stretch and get comfortable on his lap.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, rubbing its tail. It’s kind of funny how he waits for an answer.

“No?” he presses, smile growing. “Did you steal enough from the garden that your belly is full? Is that why you’re so fat?” he pokes it on the stomach.

The cat meows, swatting his hand away as if it didn’t like him talking about its weight. Carefully, Oscar squeezes its paw, shaking it. The cat kicks him and he lets go.

He must have been really distracted, the sound of the door opening startling him and the cat, who froze with his finger in its mouth.

He should have known that it was you.

When you push open the door and step outside, his smile falters and he almost let’s go of the cat.

“Oh,” you say, startled. “I didn’t think anyone was out here.”

He doesn’t say anything, glancing down at the takeout box in your hands. You look down at it as well.

“Oh. I got a bit busy, so I didn’t have enough time to make dinner and offering leftovers seemed a little rude, so I picked up some takeout.” You rambled, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “I wasn’t sure if you guys liked Chinese food, so I got you pizza instead. You like pizza, right?”

Oscar doesn’t answer you. It was so obvious that you were uncomfortable being near him and that irritated him. Sure, he liked that he made you want to run as far away from him as possible but at the same time, why was it that out of all the three of them, he had to be the unapproachable one?

On his lap the cat meows, almost slipping from his arms as it stretches. He’s quick to shift it around. Right now, he did not want to be alone with you.

“Oh shoot,” you say once you notice the cat. “She got out again.”

“Is she your cat?” Oscar asks.

“No. She belongs to a neighbor. Though she’s always running away and destroying my garden. Isn’t that right, Maple?”

The cat meows at her name, her tail shooting straight up and Oscar starts to let go of her, but you shake your head.

“Please don’t. I’m really allergic to cats.”

It makes sense why you keep your distance, and Oscar almost sighs, relieved that it wasn’t him that you were worried about.

Maple yawns, her tail swaying side to side and Oscar scratches at her chin, stealing her attention from you.

“She really likes you,” you say softly, closing the door behind you. You linger at the door for a second before taking a deep breath and making your way towards the seat next to his, a small round table separating you two. “Have you always been this good with animals?”

Oscar sighs, letting Maple get comfortable in his lap once more. He didn’t feel like making small talk with you. But he forces himself to anyways. “I guess.”

You set your food on the table and Maple perks up, sniffing the air. “Did you have pets growing up?”

“No, we didn’t have the space. Though our village was full of strays.” He pauses, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You seemed so interested in what he had to say that he almost felt embarrassed. “I would always go feed them scraps after dinner… It drove mother mad.” He finds himself smiling lightly, remembering the way his mother would scold him only to give in and let him keep doing it. “They used to follow me home some nights and then I’d sneak them inside.”

He could almost remember how he’d keep them under his bed, in a cardboard box that he had cut holes out of and lined with old clothes that no longer fit him. But it only ever lasted so long, the cats would start whining for food and then Axel or Otto would find them and set them free.

You laugh softly at his story, bringing one leg up on the chair. “My sister used to do the same thing with anything she could get her hands on. Though one time she was so scared that she would get caught that she put a garden mouse in my bed. Imagine my horror when I wake up in the middle of a bed to find it crawling all over me.” You shiver as if the memory still haunts you. “I think I refused to sleep in our room for like a month.”

Oscar can’t help the tiny smile that curls his lips as he listens to your story.

You glance over at him and raise your brows. “Are you smiling at my childhood trauma?” you tease. “I’m glad you find it so amusing.”

“Are you and your sister close?” he asks, changing the topic.

Your smile falls and you lean back in your chair. “We were.” You mumble quietly.

“Did something happen?” he presses, wondering why you looked as if you had suddenly been kicked in the ribs.

“She…” you inhale loudly, looking up at the sky for a second. “She passed away last year. Traffic accident.”

A silence falls between them, and even Maple keeps her mouth shut, looking up at him as if she was telling him ‘Nice going idiot.’

“I-” he starts but you cut him off, shaking your head. You didn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s alright. Life’s unfair sometimes.” There’s a bitterness to your voice that softens into sadness by the time you’re finished talking.

He doesn’t know what to say, though he understands completely. He still carried the pain of losing his mother with him. He scratches Maple between the eyes.

If he were to lose his brothers, would he be able to get up every morning, like you seemed to do?

“I’m sorry, by the way.” You whisper into the silence, pulling him from his thoughts. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier.”

He’s suddenly reminded of his outburst, of Axel slapping him across the face. He runs his tongue over the bump on his lip, sighing.

“For a long time it’s just been my brothers and I ever since…” he trails off, frowning. He didn’t know why he was telling you all this, but now that he’s started there’s no way to stop. “Seeing them talk to you…” he grows frustrated at the lack of words that could explain what he was feeling.

Maple, sensing his frustration, jumps from his lap and stretches before curling herself around his boots. He misses her already.

“I get it,” you say. “At least I think I do. Otto said something earlier, that sometimes you forget that the world is a lot bigger than just the three of you… But that’s not it, is it? It’s not that you forget, its just that for you, your brothers are your world.”

“You act like you know what you’re saying.” He says bitterly, looking away from you.

You laugh lightly, and his frustration rises and falls into the pit of his stomach. “It’s okay, you don’t have to agree with me.”

“I don’t.” he lies and it’s so obvious that he’s lying that he feels a warmth crawl up his throat.

“Just know that I get it. For a long time, it was just my sister and I against the world. Our parents…” you shrug, and Oscar is almost tempted to tell you to keep going, to tell him more. And it’s like you hear his thoughts because you do.

You, unlike him, have the words that he doesn’t.

“They weren’t good parents. My mom left when I was young, and my dad was an alcoholic who couldn’t keep a job long enough to put dinner on the table. I hated him. I still do, some days. For everything he put my sister through. For not being a father when we needed him most, but life’s a little unfair like that isn’t it?” you shrug, resting your chin on your knee and looking at the ground in front of you. “I had my sister though. She made the pain bearable. She made me realize that while the world was cruel, it didn’t mean that everyone was.”

“Sorry,” you say suddenly, laughing. “That’s such a mood kill. Just, I get it, okay? I know what you’re worried about, and I can assure you, its not going to happen.”

He wonders if you’re truly aware of what it was that he was afraid of. Did you know that it was you that he was worried about? That you’d show them, show him, that the world outside had enough space for them all?

He’s the youngest, the one they took care of… If someone else were to come into their lives, would he even be important to them anymore? Would they no longer care about him? Could he live a life where it wasn’t just Oscar, Otto and Axel against the world?

Did they see what it was that you were doing to them? Oscar felt as if someone had turned a stagnant hourglass over and he was running out of time, the ground before him holding him in place as his brothers moved forward.

It might not be you that caused the foundation to break and his world as he knew it to change, but by leaving you alive did they realize how much of a catalyst you could be? The commission had taken them in when they had nothing, but would you be the one to lift the veil over their eyes and show them that they could be so much more? That they deserved so much more than just endless death and running?

Why did it seem that he was the only one who saw just how much of a threat you posed?

It was irrational of course, but isn’t fear odd like that?

Oscar looks over at you, what little light filtered from the stars above shining on you and yet making it hard to see clearly. Your eyes were still on the ground, your food forgotten between them. You don’t seem to notice that he’s staring, and he wonders if perhaps you too have lost yourself in your thoughts.

He watches in silence as you lift your head to look up at the sky and he stops himself from following suit, from wondering what the stars looked like in your eyes.

You turn to look at him suddenly, smiling gently and something vile comes to his mind in that moment;

Would his brothers forgive him if he found someone more important than them?

#tua the swedes #the swedes x reader #the swedes #the swedes/reader #the swedes x y/n #the swedes axel x reader #axel x reader #the swedes oscar x reader #oscar x reader #the swedes x otto #otto x reader #the umbrella academy

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