#ikea mafia

[gggoldfinch]

sigh. here’s food for the 5 people who are hungry

(Click for better quality. Do not repost)

[shiversdownyerspine]

Wanted to do a lil character design practice with these three. :>

[auroracalisto]

don’t let them see you cry chapter eight, honey, it's alright | previous chapter  — 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: 2.5k words tw: love confessions?? is that a possible trigger?? the handler shows up in this. a/n: this is a bit of a shorter chapter, BUT, i wanted to let you guys know that i am alive and i plan on continuing this when i have the time!! between working and my master's program, i've quite literally just been trying to survive outside of the constant chaos that is currently my life. thank you for all of the love and support! i appreciate it so much. i also wanted to use this chapter as a way to move things forward!! hope it makes sense LMAO title is from the song by gregory alan isakov also i had already posted this on my ao3 like... a bit over two weeks ago

Just like the weeks before, the air was tense. However, now, it was because Axel was scared of saying something to upset you. He tread around you like he was stepping on broken glass at any given point. He already fucked up this much—he didn’t want to make things worse for you or for his brothers. 

A part of him continued to berate him any time he saw you. But he almost wanted more. He wanted to be punished for the way he made you feel. Was that fair? To be punished for making you feel so alone in a world you were forcibly stranded in?

Axel was stressed. That much was obvious. Otto suggested finding a sauna somewhere, and lo and behold, there was one in downtown Dallas. Convenience wasn’t always the Swedish brothers' friend, but today, it was. 

They left you alone, Oscar promising they would be back soon enough. Otto glanced at you, giving a faint smile before they left. Axel didn’t look at you, keeping his gaze on anything but your face.

You knew he felt guilty, and when he came back, you would talk to him. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t your fault, either. If anything, every problem you ever had can be traced right back to your mother. But he needed to know. You couldn’t allow him to continue living like this—angry with himself. With the fact he was only protecting the ones he loved. 

How could you blame him for something like that?

It was simple—you couldn’t.

You knew you couldn't. Or at least, you wouldn't. 

You sighed, collapsing onto the sofa. You stretched out, hands covering your face soon after. They would be gone for a few hours. You could get some stuff done before they returned, but at the moment, you wanted to do nothing more than relax in the comfort of your silent home.

A knock came from the sauna door, quick and repetitive—an all too familiar sound. 

Axel stayed leaning against the wall, staring right at the door. Otto sat up straight, glancing towards Oscar who sat closest to the door. 

Oscar’s eyes narrowed, fists clenched by his thighs.

And in walked the Handler. The one face each of them didn’t want to see.

The one face that caused more problems than any of them ever wanted to have… The very reason Axel can’t even look at you without feeling immense guilt.

“Hello, boys,” she said, a sickly sweet smile appearing on her lips as she walked in, towel wrapped around her body and hair done up as perfectly as ever. She walked over and sat near Axel, a sigh leaving her. “Enjoying yourselves, aren’t you?”

Not one of them answered her, but they had all turned their attention to her. 

The Handler’s smile fell and her expression turned grim. It was obvious it pissed her off, even if she wouldn't say it.

“Surely, one of you will speak to me. Why the hell are you all taking forever? What is going on? It never takes you all this long for a mission," she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. These were her best soldiers. Could she be any more forgiving?

"The Commission has been more than lenient, but this is getting ridiculous,” she continued, crossing her arms over her covered chest.

“Don’t tell her anything,” Otto blurted, chest raising as he took in a deep breath. 

Axel’s head shot in his direction. 

Steam clung to the air like a cruel friend, making the awkwardness of it all even worse than it already was. 

“What was that?” the Handler scoffed. “Really.”

No answer.

Silence joined the steam, choking the words out of Axel’s throat. Did he have to answer her? If they kept silent, would she just leave?

“How are your daughters?” Oscar nonchalantly asked, glancing over at the Handler. His face was unreadable.

Otto’s breath caught in his throat. What was he trying to do?

“Oscar,” Axel said, jaw clenched as he watched him. “Watch it.”

Oscar went to speak, but the Handler’s scoff stopped him.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, a laugh leaving her. “What are you talking about? I only have one daughter.”

Axel growled in his brother's direction. “He is just being stupid,” he said. “Pay no mind.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes at his eldest brother. What was the worst that could happen? Surely, the Handler knew. She couldn't just forget about her daughter, no matter how insistent she was. 

“I only have one daughter,” the Handler continued, voice hard as she stood back up. “You three will complete the missions. Or else. Do not fail.” 

She looked at each of them before she turned to leave, forcibly shutting the sauna door behind her. 

She knew. She knew her daughter was there, to begin with. Oscar could tell as soon as the words left him—the way her body tensed, the way she reacted. 

Axel waited until the Handler had left the room before he lunged towards his brother, grabbing at the back of his neck. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“It’s nothing she didn’t already know!”

“Why would you say something? You’re going to get her killed!”

Oscar shoved his brother off of him, scowling. Axel’s shoulder dug into the chipped wood, his jaw clenching at the mild pain. 

“She will not die! We will be with her. You act as if I did this impulsively.”

“You did, ” Axel growled, indignation flowing through his veins. His brother was far more brazen than he or Otto, but what the hell was this? Oscar had never done anything so foolish. You were in danger, now, and it was up to them to protect you (regardless of whether or not Oscar believed so, yet).

“I didn’t, ” Oscar spat, standing up from where he sat. “ The Handler knew. She knows . But now we know that she knows.”

“You are acting like a child, ” Axel said through clenched teeth. “ If you get her killed—”

“—I won’t get her killed.”

“If you do, I will never forgive you.”

Oscar paused, sucking in a deep breath. 

Axel glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not 'nothing' ,” Axel scoffed. “ You do all this and all of a sudden, you have nothing to say? Spit it out, asshole.”

Oscar clenched his jaw. Did he make a mistake? Was he reading his brother all wrong? Was he hurting you more than he was helping you?

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you love her?”

Axel sputtered, eyes wide. Was he hearing him right?

“Do I what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t know her well,” Axel defended himself, sitting on the edge of the wooden bench. His body was tense as if he knew where this was going.

“That’s not what I’m asking. Do you love her?”

Otto groaned and buried his face in his hands, his elbows digging into the meat of his thighs. What was Oscar getting at? This was ridiculous.

Axel didn’t say anything more, running a hand through his damp hair. 

“I will not get her killed, ” Oscar repeated. “ The Handler knew she was here. We do the missions, we keep Y/n safe. It will be fine.”

“And if it’s not?” Otto interjected, completely and undeniably dismayed. 

“We will make it okay. I will make it okay if you two won’t, ” Oscar said. “ You both act as if you don’t care for her. I see it. I see how much you care for her.”

Otto huffed through his nose, standing up. Instantly, he towered over Oscar. He said nothing, but Oscar could see right through him. He knew the truth. He pushed past his brother, leaving the heat of the sauna and heading toward the locker rooms. 

Oscar looked back at his eldest brother. 

Axel mumbled something, but it wasn’t anything he could hear. 

“What?”

He repeated himself, and when Oscar just gave him a dumbfounded look, he sighed, getting to his feet. 

“I do. I care for her. But you have only made her life harder.”

Oscar jutted his chin out defiantly, eyes narrowed. “I guess we will see.”

Axel shoved past his brother, storming off to the locker room. He was pissed, but he wouldn't allow himself to take it out on his brother. It was a mistake. Surely, Oscar meant the best. 

When Oscar and Axel left the sauna, Otto was nowhere to be seen. Little did they know, he had hurried on home to you. 

You were sitting in your living room, two of your cats that usually stayed hidden, Poppy and Steve, reveling in the love you were showering them with. 

You were expecting the triplets to be home at any time now. And when you heard the door, you instantly turned your attention to it.

Otto stood there, alone.

A look of utter frustration had taken over his normally stoic face. 

You blinked, slowly standing up. Poppy and Steve took off running at the movement, Poppy finding solace in the warmth of the knitted blanket you had placed on the side of the couch. Steve disappeared into the kitchen.

“Otto?”

Otto took his time coming in, shutting the front door behind him. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were looking anywhere but you. 

You walked up to him, frowning softly. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

He said nothing, reaching forward and wrapping his arms around your body. He held you tightly to his chest, and you returned the hug, confusion not far behind. 

“I will protect you,” he said, a lump forming in the back of his throat.

Death never truly scared him, but when it came to his brothers, he always worried. And now, he’s realized that you have added that small list of people who would completely destroy him if you died. 

You'd be the catalyst that drove him crazy... the poison that would end his life, if you were to leave, now.

You looked up at him, gently gripping onto his shirt. “Otto?”

“Please,” Otto tilted his head to face you. He was far taller, observing as you craned your neck just to look at him. “Please promise.”

“Promise what?”

Otto paused, frowning. What could he say without it being weird? Would it make you uncomfortable? In haste to get out some sort of answer, he chose the safest option.

“You will be safe.”

You cracked a faint smile. “I should be safe. I can promise that.”

That seemed to be enough for him as he pulled you back into his body, his chin gently pressed against the top of your head. 

But he knew the truth. The Handler knew you were here—maybe she forgot and Oscar’s pestering only reminded her.

For now, he knew he and his brothers would keep you safe. Oscar, included, the stupid bastard. 

As he looked down at you, watching as you hugged him back, his heart lurched in his throat. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he realized the truth he tried to keep hidden from himself for so long. He cared for you… and he wasn’t about to let the Handler ruin that for him or his brothers. She would die by his own hand if it came down to it.

Eventually, Otto pulled away from you, a hand gently coming up and brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Where are the others? Did you leave them behind?" you asked, a smile forming on your lips.

Otto sheepishly nodded. He had a hard time lying to you, no matter how small of a lie it may be.

"I made dinner, but I'd like to wait for them to get back. We could go sit outside? On the porch? It's nice enough," you said, taking ahold of his hand. "We could watch for them."

"You want to watch for them?"

"Why not?" you smiled, tilting your head. "It's getting dark out. Maybe we can watch the sunset."

That's one thing Otto never did. He never sat down and took things easy. He bit the inside of his cheek, giving you a small nod. 

You tugged his hand, leading him outside with a grin. But before you could sit on your porch, Oscar bombarded you with a tight hug. You nearly jumped out of your skin, eyes wide as you looked up at the man. 

Oscar was immediately grinning. "I missed your face," he teased, only pulling back when Axel grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back. 

"What happened?" you asked, looking between the two of them. "Did you get left behind?"

Axel raised an eyebrow while Oscar only smiled.

Oscar missed how happy you could be. He could only hope you stayed this way.

He glanced back at his brother, who remained silent. Axel wasn't about to spoil your mood... but he knew he would have to, at some point. He walked past the three of you, disappearing into the house. You watched as he left, a bit disappointed, but you said nothing about it. 

Oscar placed a hand on your shoulder. "I'm going in. Need a shower."

You smiled and nodded, not stopping him. 

As he left, you and Otto remained on the porch, alone with the sky painted with yellows and oranges and pinks. 

Otto hesitated to place his hand on your shoulder, but he fought the need to. He kept his hand by his side, silence soon following. 

You let out a sigh, running your fingers against the scars on your neck before you glanced back at him. 

The Handler sat on the hotel room's red sofa, perfectly manicured hands wrapped around a champagne flute. A celebration, it was not. But she now knew what was keeping her prized assassins in the sixties far longer than she anticipated.

Her impetuous daughter.

She rolled her neck between her shoulders, a satisfying pop sounding throughout the room. 

Death would meet her daughter soon enough—perhaps even sooner if she had any say in the situation (which she did). Your blood would be on her hands, no matter what. She would make sure of it. 

The Handler downed the rest of her champagne, standing up and sitting the flute down on the mahogany coffee table. 

Danger was coming for her daughter, and fast—the very one pulling the lever was the one person who should have always protected her.

It's a shame she never once had a care in the world for anything but herself.

The Handler glanced over her shoulder, staring at the unmade bed. She had only been here for the night, but she knew she would be staying here a little longer, now. If anything, it would be to see what the hell you were doing. Or rather, what you had done to make her best employees a shell of their former past. 

next chapter

[snippychicke]

Aftermath Masterpost

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Season 2 mainly)

Rating: Teen to mature?

Pairing: Mainly Otto/OC

Summary: Raymond Chestnut gets a harsh surprise when he realizes the body in his living room isn't actually dead. Now he has a severely injured white man, who tried to kill him, to deal with. Thankfully he knows a friend who might be able to help.

Lorelei was used to people coming to her for medical attention. But when Raymond brings Otto to her home, nothing could prepare for how her life was about to change.

Chapter One

[noelletism]

They invite you over and instead of killing you they make you sit downstairs while they eat dinner

[temerestercore]

I come bearing gifts!!!! a couple doodles of Catboy Otto :D

sorry its late i've been a little under the weather

AHKDJKSJSJSSA IM SCREAMING THATS MY BOY!! :D :D :D

@jossambird ronnie come get your husband

[jossambird]

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

[bathtub4rats]

og swede fans i have a gift, ive drawn him again

[kurtruffle]

ok im rewatching tua and why are the ikea mafia kinda bad—like, especially oscar but omggggggggg wtfff

[dilfs-dot-com]

[gggoldfinch]

The Umbrella Academy — s2e5 "Valhalla"

[shiversdownyerspine]

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.

[auroracalisto]

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

[snippychicke]

Swedish Shorts-- Eight(?)

It's only been roughly two years since the last. I can't find where I posted this short before? But I have a hard time believing I didn't? So, if apologies if this is vaguely familiar to you. (It is to me, but I wrote the damn thing.)

Also, someone might have requested this? I have a paragraph that sounds like a request, but I DIDN'T WRITE A SCREEN NAME DOWN. I'm so sorry!

THE IKEA MAFIA RETURNS FROM THE DEAD

Rating: Teen?

Warnings: None!

First | Previous

--Axel--

You hoped Axel would enjoy your efforts. You could tell he had been stressed lately, which was to be expected after Dallas. So, you were going to try your best to help him unwind. 

Oscar and Otto out for the night? Check. 

One of the few Swedish dishes you knew how to make? Check.

Calming candles and mood lighting? Check? 

One of Axel's shirts that fell mid thigh and nothing else on? Check. 

Waiting for him to come home was anxiety-inducing as you kept checking to make sure everything was good, even though you had checked it five minutes before. All the 'what ifs' scenarios clouded your mind until you heard the door open. 

You spun to meet Axel, who had already noticed your state of dress. His pale gray eyes took their time traveling up your body before meeting your gaze. He held that gaze with that hot and heavy feel as he shed his coat and weapons. 

"T-there's supper. On the stove," you stammered as he stalked towards you. You knew that look. Your body knew that look and was reacting, that blissful suspense building within. 

"I want you," he all purred, hands bracing your shoulders as his blue eyes took their time studying your body. 

"It'll burn," you tried half heartedly. His answer was a half-smile briefly before his lips met your neck just below your jaw.

"You knew what would happen as soon as you donned my shirt, skön. I can never resist you." 

--Oscar--

The room was a bloody mess. Oscar emptied the spent rounds from his shotgun, a frown on his face as he searched the catastrophe (that he caused) for his hat. In the craziness, his milkman hat had disappeared into the fray, and he just hoped it hadn't become a casualty as well. 

One thing was for sure, he was going to have to find a way to get all the blood off. He loved the thing, but keeping it pristine white was such a challenge. 

There was a black rim sticking out from underneath a corpse. Oscar kicked the body over, hoping his hat was underneath, but it was just a plain baseball cap.

"What do you think?" You called out across the room, causing him to look up and grin. There it was, perched on your head with just a faint splatter of blood against the white. 

"Beautiful," he whistled. Despite you covered in gore yourself, which he figured was targets and not yours, you were so cute. Especially with that cute hat on your head. 

He bet you'd look better in it and nothing else. He licked his lips and grinned wolfishly as he made his way around the dead and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your lips despite the blood on them. 

--Otto--

The night was cold, your breath a cloud of white fog among the cold mist. You shivered as you rubbed your hands together. 

Damn temporal variations. Weathermen always got things wrong, even with time travel helping them.

Suddenly something warm and heavy fell over your shoulders. You looked up from the road, where you were waiting for your target to approach, and realized Otto had given you his coat. The heavy canvas was like bliss compared to the bitter cold fog, quickly warming you to your bones. 

"Won't you get cold?" You asked, though you were hesitant to take the long coat off. Besides the warmth, that musky scent of Otto was surrounding you. 

He was silent, but cupped your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He shuffled behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, and resting his head on yours, as if to protect you even more from the elements. His warmth though, was even more heavenly.

"You look cute," he muttered after a moment. "So small." 

You laughed despite yourself. Here you two were, waiting for a target, and he was trying to flirt. "It must be the coat, because you look rather handsome in it." 

[thecoffeelorian]

((I have no title for this, but I'll do my best to figure one out before I finalize it. Anyways, thank you for your consideration.))

Normally, you wouldn't be in this part of the apartment block. Not when you're either coming home from work, your favorite shows are on, or you have the irresistible need to go to the movies.

As fate would have it, though, it's laundry day and you've got to get a few ketchup stains out of your favorite shirt by any means necessary.

This puts you right inside the laundry room at 9 AM on a Saturday morning, your body pointed somewhat towards the western window just as the sun's rays are beginning to shine in.

This, unfortunately, is also the same time in which you hear the gunshots. Gunshots coming from inside the first room down the hall.

And, wouldn't you know it...you are neither armed, dangerous, nor able to find the nearest exit without somebody seeing you.

No Pressure Tags: @0lemunch @snippychicke @avellanas-nutty-empire @stephsageek @shiversdownyerspine @the-swedes-knees @gggoldfinch @flyiingsly and anyone else looking for more Swedes content.