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thoughtsofedin · 1 year ago

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Unravel Me

ᴅɪᴇɢᴏ ʜᴀʀɢ��ᴇᴇᴠᴇꜱ/ʜᴀʀɢʀᴇᴇᴠᴇꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡʜʏ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ɪꜱ ɪᴛ ꜱᴏ ᴇᴀꜱʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜱ?

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: Angst, Smut, Open Ending, Emotional manipulation.

Minors do not interact.

There's a cut on Diego's lip when he sits down next to you and orders a drink. He's seething, anger radiating off of him in waves that you can physically feel. The bartender ignores him, paying more attention to the older blonde woman to your left and you can tell that it irritates him more. For a second, the world around you shifts and changes and you can see Diego reach over the bar and grab the bartender by the collar of his shirt, slamming his head into the wood.

"Don't," you say with a warning, blinking the future away and sliding your drink over to him. "It doesn't end well." you warn him, the sight of Diego with a bullet wound in his shoulder already fading away as he takes your drink- a sour cherry gin- and finishes it in one go.

"You gotta stop doing that shit, Eight." he sounds annoyed, the alcohol momentarily roughening his voice.

"I don't do it on purpose." you tell him for the millionth time. And its true. You've never really spent your time looking for the future, it just came to you whenever it wanted.

"Whatever."

You scoff at his attitude, growing annoyed that he was trying to take his anger out on you. "You and Lila fight again? Is that why you're here, pouting?"

"I'm not fucking pouting!" he hisses, and you shift in your seat, the glass he accidentally hit missing you as it tumbles to the ground and shatters by your feet, watered down vodka wetting your shoes.

"What did you do this time?" you ask, ignoring his outburst. "I thought things were getting better."

"I," he starts, his voice guttural "Didn't fucking do anything."

"Then why are you so mad?"

He takes a second to answer, running his hand through his hair and tugging at the short strands. He looked miserable. Like someone had stolen his favorite toy or something. "Diego...?" you press, annoyance shifting into worry.

"Stanley's not my kid." There's a pain to his voice that makes it sound as if he was trying to speak underwater or if he was holding back the need to cry. "Lila lied."

"Shit," you say, turning to look at him. "Diego, I'm so sorry." gently you reach for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his knuckles and giving them a squeeze. It might have taken him a minute to settle into his role as a father, but he had done so. Happily. With an excitement you had never seen in him before.

Lila was horrible for lying to him. For manipulating him like this. "Why the hell did she do that?" you ask, squeezing his hand once again.

Diego pulls his hand away from yours, once more tugging on his hair. "She's fucking crazy? I don't fucking know."

The man behind the bar finally slides his drinks towards him and Diego wastes no time in throwing them back, ordering more. You do the same, knowing that right now wasn't the time to tell him that maybe he shouldn't drink his problems away.

"Do you want me to go talk to her?" you ask and he scoffs.

"And say what?' he reaches across you, grabbing your drink as soon as its placed in front of you and tosses the straw aside. "I got it. I don't need your help."

As he brings the glass to his lips the world becomes a haze, your vision blurring and shifting until you see Diego passed out on the staircase. There's a bottle of tequila broken on the stairs, glass embedded in his hand. Lila finds him, and she's screaming at him. You can't really focus on what she's saying, the sound muffled. Diego startles awake, and he accidentally kicks Lila.

You close your eyes as her head hits a stair, flinching at the noise.

"Stop drinking." you groan out, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. It doesn't do anything to stop the vision from playing over and over in your mind. "Please." you add, hearing his voice in your head. You might not like the woman but you didn't want her dead. Most of all, you didn't want Diego to deal with that kind of pain.

"Stop looking into my future." Even though he sounds angry, he sets the glass down, listening to you.

"Trust me, I want to. You think I like seeing these things?" you bite back, the vision already fading. "Yours just happens to be so strong." You snatch the glass and take a sip, swishing the bitter alcohol around your tongue before you swallow.

"What did you see?" he asks.

"You being a fucking idiot."

"Jesus!" he shouts, slamming his hands on the table. "Don't I have enough going on already? Cut me a fucking break."

With a sigh you apologize. "You're right. I'm sorry... Are you doing okay?"

Diego shrugs, looking down at the glass. There's a moment of silence where you wonder if perhaps you should leave him alone and stop trying to look for answers when he clearly didn't want to talk about any of this, but he sighs, straightening up before taking your drink from your hand and nursing it in his own. His fingers had brushed against your knuckles, his skin rough, calloused and warm. He looks at the Cherry Sour, swirling it in the cup almost as if he's contemplating whether or not to heed your cryptic warning.

"No." he mumbles before bringing it to his lips.

That future with Lila dead on the stairs doesn't reappear so you don't snatch it back. He needed the drink more than you right now, anyways. "No?" you press for more.

"No. I'm not okay. I-I," he swallows his stutter, clenching his jaw before exhaling loudly. "Part of me wanted this to happen, you know? I can't be a fucking dad, just look at me." He motions to himself with his hand. "I'm not exactly cut out for it."

"That's not true." you say quietly. "I think you're a great dad."

Diego scoffs, sipping at the drink. "No I'm not."

You reach for his free hand, taking it in yours and making him look at you. "Lila might have lied about Stan, but Diego, you stepped up. You treated that kid like he was your own flesh and blood. Everyone else saw it. You were a good father and when we solve this whole Kugelblitz disaster you're going to have another chance to show that to yourself." You squeeze his hand, running your thumb across his knuckles. "You don't have to be so scared that you're going to turn out like dad. He didn't care about us... not like you cared about Stan."

You smile at Diego, once again squeezing his hand.

He looked like he was seconds away from crying, but he finishes the drink, blinking away all emotional distress from his face. "Thanks..." he says so quietly that you almost miss it. "I didn't think I needed to hear that."

You shrug, finally letting go of him. "You don't have to thank me."

Besides you, Diego sets the empty glass down and once again runs his hand through his hair. "I," he pauses, meeting your eyes. "I was so happy- having a kid, being with Lila... It was like all this time I was missing something I didn't know I wanted so badly. But she ripped it away from me and I don't know if I'm angry or relieved or-." he groans, shaking his head. "I think I probably would have done something stupid if you hadn't been here."

You smile at him, trying to lighten the mood "You still have time. Don't let me stop you from achieving all that you can."

His laugh is light as he shakes his head. "I think I'm good for now but thanks for the vote of confidence."

You try not to focus on the warmth that spreads through you at the sound of his laugh, your smile growing a bit. "Are you doing better?"

He lifts his shoulders, dropping them dramatically. "I'll be fine." He seems to have caught you looking at the glass in front of him that he played with, slowly running his index finger across the rim. Stopping and pulling his hand away, he makes a noise that has you looking back at his face. "You don't gotta worry. I'm not drinking anymore."

"You sure?"

"Look, whatever you saw definitely scared the shit out of you. I'll listen to you this time." As if to prove a point, he waved over the bartender and asked to close out your tab. "Anyways, I don't think alcohol is going to do anything to help."

You watch as he pulls out his wallet and nod. "Thanks, Diego."

"Whatever. It's not that expensive."

You roll your eyes, deciding not to tell him that you were thanking him for listening and preventing a horrible future from becoming a reality. "If you're all finished with me, I'm going to go find Five then. See what new idea he's come up with."

As you begin to stand up, you feel Diego's hand close around your wrist, holding you still. "Wait," he says as you freeze and look at his face. His brows are knitted together, something in his brown eyes that you can't exactly read.

"Wait?" you repeat, hoping to get more out of him.

"I won't drink... but can you stay with me? Just a little longer?" Diego's voice is unnaturally gentle, sad. "We don't have to stay in the bar. I just..." He doesn't finish.

But you don't need him to, you could see the fear in his eyes. The loneliness. He doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts, with his emotions. You wondered if he knew that the hand that held you was trembling.

Five could wait, you decided, smiling lightly at Diego. "Want to go up to the roof?"

Diego hadn't meant to sound so pathetic when he asked you to stay with him. But he did, and it aggravated him even more. He should have been relieved when Lila had told him the truth. He didn't want a damn kid, he never had and swore that he never would. So why was it that he felt so empty? The bond that he swore had been there between Stanley and him gone, a fragment of his imagination.

He had trusted Lila, even though from the first time they had met she had done nothing but lie to him. Of course she would have lied about this, he should have been smart enough to know that this was another one of her stupid games.

He lets go of your hand, wishing that he had finished that drink before the bartender had taken it away. Sure it tasted like shit, all watered down from the ice, but it was the easiest way to stop thinking. But he promised you that he was done, he wasn't about to go back on that.

"Come on," you say, keeping him grounded here, in the real world, instead of in his thoughts were no matter how hard he tried to stop, things just kept circling back to Lila and Stanley.

Diego stands and follows you to the elevator, where you're both quiet. Part of him wants to tell you that he's changed his mind, that he wants to be alone. But that part is a liar. He doesn't want you to leave. To leave him alone. He doesn't want you to be another person that leaves him.

"You do that a lot, why?" you ask, leaning against the wall of the elevator.

"Do what?" he asks, confused.

"The whole-" you lift your hand and run it through your hair, pushing it away from your face. "Running your hand through your hair thing."

He hadn't realize that he did that so often that it was noticeable. "It's a bad habit." he does it again, this time to make sure that his hair wasn't a mess. He didn't want to look like shit just because he was feeling it. "I don't really know why I do it."

"It's not good to mess with your hair like that. You're going to end up bald."

For a second, he panics, wondering if perhaps you had another of your visions. "Is that like a sure thing? Did you see it in the future?" He didn't want to be bald. He had shaved his head for the police academy and it did not look good at all.

There's a single pause where you look at him like you were going to tell him something bad but then you laugh, shaking your head. "You should see your face!" you curl into yourself, and he frowns, relieved but annoyed. "I didn't see anything, I was just messing with you."

He scoffs, but you only laugh harder and he finds that he can't stay mad. Not when its so contagious and he finds his lips curling upwards a bit. "Funny." he says sarcastically, pushing himself from the wall the moment the elevator slows to a stop on the last floor.

"You're not mad, are you?" you ask from behind him following him as he walks to the emergency staircase and pushes the door open.

"No. Come on, before the alarm goes off." he grabs you by upper arm and pulls you into the stairway, following you and pulling the door close behind him. He finds himself stuck between the door and you, his fingers still wrapped around your bicep, your face near his.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or the anger that still refuses to leave him, but for a split second he sees Lila in your place and all the progress he has done disappears down the drain. He lets go of you, bringing his hands to his head and running them down the shaved sides.

"Diego?" You speak his name so softly that he chuckles humorlessly. He wasn't used to soft. To the gentleness that you were offering him. He knew biting words and screaming fights that went unresolved until it got too heavy to bear and instead of fixing the issue, he left. Or they left.

"Can I ask you for a favor, Eight?" He opens his eyes, finding yours looking at him with worry. The handle of the door was biting into his lower back painfully but he didn't have the strength to move. To care, honestly. "Can you check and see what the future is like?"

Does he give Lila another chance only for it to bite him in the ass? Does he have kids of his own? Is he kind to them? Do they like him? Or is he a spitting image of Reginald Hargreeves, treating his children like commodities instead of people?

Your eyes soften, and he doesn't like how sad you suddenly look, your brows pushed together as the corner of your mouth twitches. He knows what you're going to say. That you couldn't do that. That the future was too finicky for you to get straight answers.

"Nothing good comes from chasing the future, Diego. Trust me."

"Please." he presses, even though he knows that you're right. "At least tell me there's going to be a day when I don't hurt so badly anymore." his voice cracks at the end, and he has to look away from you to keep from crying, his eyes trailing the textured off white ceiling.

He feels you wrap your arms around him, and instinctually he wants to push you away, stiffening as you hold him. Diego wants to yell and shout and tell you to get the fuck off him, but you squeeze him, arms around his in an awkward embrace, and his anger shatters. His breath comes out shaky, his vision blurs and his arms lift and push yours out of the way so that he could hug you back.

His tears fall silently as you hold him, his face finding the hollow of your neck as he pulls you closer to him. He doesn't say a word, holding you tightly as he lets himself cry. You stroke his back, the same way Grace used to do for him and he breaks again, his inhale loud and broken against your skin.

"It's okay, Diego." you whisper so close to his ear. "You're okay."

You don't seem to care that he's trembling, that your skin is wet with his tears, that he's dug his nails into your shirt so hard that he's afraid that he's ripped the fabric and broken your skin. You just hold him, soothing his back.

Did you know this was going to happen? Had you seen it already? Is that why you knew what to do, what to say? He wants to ask you but he can't find the will to come down, let alone his voice. He pulls you closer, his hand finding your lower back.

"It's okay," you repeat, your hand sliding from between his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck.

The pain inside of him, the one that he had been trying to deny existed from the moment Lila had told him the truth grows and grows until its all that he can feel, his knees bucking underneath him.

For a moment, even with the threat of doom hanging over his head, he had been happy. He had a son, a woman who loved him, a family he could take care of and protect and show that he was just as deserving as anyone else. Only for it all to be taken away from him.

You don't say anything as his breathing begins to even out and he finds that he can't cry anymore. He's thankful for that, partially horrified at not only having broken down so intensely but in front of you, no less. If you opened your mouth and said something he was worried that in his shame he'd snap and bite at you like a feral dog.

He loosens his hold on you, shifting his head so that his forehead rests against your shoulder, the familiar ache of a headache forming behind his eyes. You're still rubbing soothing circles on his neck, one hand planted firmly on his back. He doesn't want to pull back. Doesn't want to see the inevitable pity he's bound to find in your eyes.

He's nothing short of pathetic right now. But maybe he's always been pathetic. Look at him, crying over a something as mediocre as a lie.

"Sorry," he says against the tissue of your shirt. "Just..." he wants to warn you about what would happen if you tell another soul but he doesn't have the strength. "Just give me a moment."

Your fingers are light as they run along the length of his neck, your head brushing against his as you nod. "Let's sit down." you suggest quietly and pull away from him. At first he doesn't want you to move, his arms holding you still until he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing himself to let you go. His arms slowly move from around you and fall limp at his sides as he straightens up,.

He lets you lead him towards the stairs, sitting beside you when you pat the space. He can't look at your face, worried that he'll find something there he wont like. Instead he keeps his eyes on his hands, his shoes, the concrete of the stairs.

"I'm sorry." he repeats into the silence that's spread between them. Now that he has a clear mind, he's suddenly repulsed by his actions. Clinging and crying on you like that was embarrassing to say the least.

When your hand finds his, your fingers intertwining with his own before you pull it towards your lap, he almost pulls away reflexively. But you hold on tight and he doesn't have the strength to fight. "How are you feeling?" you ask, ignoring his apology and he's thankful for that.

"Like I've been split in half." he says honestly, his eyes moving from the stair to your intertwined hands. It felt nice, having you hold him, the warmth of your skin seeping into his. "It's a shit feeling."

You squeeze his hand. "Yeah," you whisper. "I know."

For a moment, the silence returns and it's not heavy and choking for once. It's pleasant, welcomed after everything. Diego doesn't find himself slipping into his thoughts in it, instead he focuses on the barely there sound of your breathing. His own slowly beginning to match yours.

Sitting here next to you, he felt as if the world around him began to crumble and end, he wouldn't have felt a single thing but relief, glad that it was you he spent his last moment's with.

Diego turns and looks at you and maybe its due to all his emotions running wild inside of him, or the fact that for some reason the world always looked clearer after crying, but he feels like he's looking at you for the very first time. His eyes linger on the curve of your nose, the slight downward curl your lips took on when you thought about something. He trails the curve of your neck, your collar still damp with his tears. He could still feel the warmth you had radiated there. Could still smell the almost floral, clean smell that perfumed your skin, that had filled his lungs.

You had your eyes closed, head tilted against the metal railing but he knew that you weren't asleep. Were you here with him in this very moment? Or had you slipped into the future once more, living something that he hadn't yet? He squeezes your hand, pulling it towards him and you blink and open your eyes, turning to look at him with that hazy look that came from being in two places at once.

"What did you see?" he asks, voice low. He wondered if what he wanted to do and what you saw were the same thing, or had the future already changed for you? For him?

"I..." you trail off as he leans in, his fingers softly tracing the curve of your cheek until he's cupping your face. He shifts his body towards you, the space between you both closing. He glances down at your lips and he felt himself lick his own.

He watches as you close your eyes and lean into his touch and that's all it takes for him to break what little distance there is between his mouth and yours, kissing you.

At first, its soft and gentle and he plans on pulling away but you let out a small whimper, lips parting just the slightest and he groans and deepens it, fingers digging into your scalp.

His lips guide yours, the kiss harsh as he buries himself in the sensation, in the warmth of your mouth, the softness of your lips. He can taste the salt of his tears in the kiss and it mingles with the sweetness of your mouth, his tongue tracing the length of your lower lip before it slipped inside of your mouth.

Your response is immediate, your lips parting to welcome him, inviting him into the depths of your being. His heart races at the intimacy of the gesture, at the way you respond to him with such fervor. It's a heady sensation, the feeling of being wanted and needed so desperately.

His hand wanders down the curve of your neck, over your shoulder, down your arm. He wants to feel you, to sink into you and forget the world around him. He finds himself tugging at the hem of your shirt, swallowing your moan.

Reluctantly, he pulls back, opening his eyes to find you flushed and panting, your lips dark and swollen. "Come here," he says, his voice guttural as he pats his lap, his cock swollen underneath his hand. He wanted you on top of him as he explored every inch of your body.

"Diego," the sound of your voice, choking around his name has his cock lurching in his jeans. "I can't." you say and suddenly he's brought back down to reality, the fog that had clouded his mind beginning to clear.

Maybe he should be disgusted with his actions, throwing himself at you because in his mind he'd twisted his sadness into arousal. But instead of feeling any sort or remorse or need to apologize, frustration bubbled up in his throat until he said the only thing that he could. "Why?" What was stopping you?

The question seemed to catch you off guard and you frown and open your mouth but struggle to find the words so Diego decides to help, moving until he's kneeling between your legs, his lips once more on yours. This time, the kiss is a plea, sweet and slow and eager.

He wants you, his lips trailing down to your neck and back up to your jaw, hungry and desperate for an answer. "Tell me." he groans against your skin, pulling you closer to him by your hips. Every touch he placed upon your skin made you shiver, he could feel it. You wanted this as much as he did so why were you so keen on pushing him away.

He nips at your neck and you let out a whine, squeezing him with your thighs.

"This means something different to me." you finally say, so quiet that he almost misses it, his mind focused on the taste of your skin. He pulls back slightly, looking at you through hooded eyes. You looked so torn, as if you were enjoying his ministrations while at the same time telling yourself that this wasn't right.

He feels his heart sink at the same time that his cock twitches and begs for you. He knew what you meant. He could see it in your eyes, could feel it under your skin, conflict raging hot under his touch. He knew that he had to stop, that he needed to stand up and leave but he didn't want to. You were so sweet, so kind, so soft.

Unlike Lila, unlike anything he had ever experienced. Where Lila bit and scratched until he was full of wounds and pain and anger, you soothed and kissed and filled him with an intoxication that he wanted to drown in. He brings your hand to his mouth, turning it until he's kissing your wrist, your heart beating against his lips. "Then show me, Eight." he begs, his voice a desperate plea. "Show me what it means to you."

It was selfish and wrong and maybe after it was all over, he'd come to regret it. But right now he wanted you. Wanted to sink into you, into your warmth. He needed to feel wanted. To feel anything but the anguish that had settled in his bones. He wanted to forget and you offered him the perfect opportunity to do so. "Please."

You kiss him and he stops thinking. Your lips are on his, your hands pushing his arms out of the way, struggling with the buttons on his shirt. Your breath comes out ragged against his lips as he helps you undo his holster, letting it drop to the ground as your mouth finds his neck. Your tongue is hot against his flesh, your teeth grazing the skin there before you lift your head and kiss him again.

You were so gentle even though he didn't deserve it.

His shirt falls to the ground, your hand tracing his chest, the scars that litter his body. It rests against his abdomen, slowly inching lower and lower until you're squeezing his cock through his jeans and he lets out a low moan.

Diego lets you tease him, tossing his head back as you stroke and squeeze him, your mouth on his Adam's apple. He groans, whispers your name and you undo his belt, his button, his zipper. He feels your hand slip inside his boxers, flesh against flesh, your thumb against the tip of his cock, wet with precum. You drag it down his length and he shivers, sinking his fingers into your waist when you close your fingers around the base and slowly begin to stroke him.

He wishes he had taken you to a room. He wanted to lay you down and taste your cunt. He wanted you to cum on his tongue, your hands in his hair, his name on your lips.

You twist your fist around the head of his cock and his thoughts shatter, his mouth once more on your neck, kissing and panting, laving at the skin there with his tongue.

"On top," he growls, pushing your hand from his cock and picking you up so that he can switch positions with you. He moves until he's the one sitting on a step and you're straddling his hips, fingers digging into his shoulders.

"You're so beautiful," he groans lifting his hips until his cock connects with your cunt, the fabric of your pants soft as he helps you roll your hips against him. You whimper and he wastes no time in kissing you, tasting your desire.

You moan his name against his lips and warmth pools in his belly, filling his veins. "Lean back, " he tells you and you obediently do as told.

He wanted to devour you whole, but settles on quickly pulling your shirt off of you, tossing it towards the door. His lips find your collarbone and he kisses and nips at the skin there, his cock running along the length of your clothed cunt.

His lips trail lower and lower, one arm keeping you from falling, the other one finds the clasp of your bra. Easily he undoes it and it joins your shirt on the floor.

His mouth is on your nipple, suckling and licking it until its hard and you're moaning his name, pulling him closer. Gently he bites down on it, the salty taste of your sweat making him groan and reach for his cock.

"Diego!" you shout, voice reverberating in the empty staircase. He's switched to your other nipple, stroking himself in tandem to your moans.

"Get up," he struggles to talk, letting your nipple slip from his mouth. "I want my cock in you."

You blink a few times, letting him help you to your feet, his hands wasting no time in pulling them down alongside your underwear. Sitting down, he's almost face level with your cunt and he's tempted to have you put a leg on his shoulder so he could taste you, his fingers stroking the neat patch of hair between your legs. He tells himself that next time, he will.

"Come here," he whispers, leaning back. He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and holds it towards you. "Come ride me, baby girl." He squeezes, a drop of precum welling at the tip before it rolls down the underside of his cock, gathering between his fingers.

You place your hands on his shoulder, slowly kneeling on the step as you toss your other leg over his hips. You're flushed, panting, brows knitted together and before you can straddle him fully, his hand is on your face, holding your cheek.

He knows that its unfair to you. That this would hurt you more than him, but for once in a very long time, Diego felt at peace. The repercussions didn't matter. Not right now, at least.

He leans into you and kisses you. His lips soft, tender. This kiss is slower that the others, careful. He pulls back and looks at you, you're face twisted as if you were on the edge of crying.

"I love you," you finally admit out loud and his heart breaks and forms back together all at once, inhaling sharply from the pain. Your voice trembles as you reach for his cock and hold it against your cunt, slowly easing down on it. "I love you, Diego." you repeat, milking him as you take the first inch. His mouth falls slack, groaning from deep in his chest at the feeling of you around him, his eyes still on yours. He can't look away. He has to look. Has to remember everything about this moment.

You're hot and wet and so, so fucking tight around his cock, your walls clenching and unclenching as you take another inch, gasping for a breath.

"I love you." you keep saying, digging the knife deeper into his chest.

"I know." he finally answers, leaning his head on your shoulder as you bottom out, the tip of his cock tightly nuzzled in your cunt. It feels like heaven, like the last two pieces in a puzzle. His fingers dance along your curved spine, making you shiver and squeeze him even harder.

He wishes he could say it back, rocking his hips as he moves inside of you, pulling out and pushing back in. He wishes that it had been you, not Lila that he had fallen in love with as you wrap your arms around him and gasp as he keeps a steady, languid rhythm.

Diego kisses your shoulder as you match his pace with your hips, nails sinking into his back. He wishes that time would stop and it'd be you and him, trapped here forever.

"Perdoname," he whispers against your skin, pushing his cock deeper into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. He repeats his apology, picking up his pace and trailing kisses up your neck.

"I love you," you cry out, gently pushing him away as you bounce your hips, matching his pace. You take his hand and place it over your heart, riding him as he slows and feels how hard it beats under his palm. "I've always loved you, Diego. My heart has always been yours." you're breathless as you talk, taking every inch of him.

"I wish things were different," he whispers, voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths. And part of him truly, honestly wishes that it was.

He can almost feel your heart breaking, digging his fingers into your hips and holding you still as he begins to fuck you desperately, your name falling from his lips as you grow tighter, wetter.

Did you see this moment coming? Or in your eyes had the future been different? Was there a world out there, where he did not break your heart? Diego looks into your eyes, finds the pain and anguish there that he had selfishly caused and he cups your face in his hands. "En otra vida," he speaks quietly, too scared to say it in english. "Yo te prometo que soy tuyo."

You let out a muddled whimper, your rocking growing frantic as you get closer to your orgasm, tears welling in your eyes. "Do you promise?" you choke out and Diego nods, kissing you.

His lips ask you for forgiveness for hurting you just because he was hurting. They move in tandem with yours, sweet and painful at the same time, the pressure in his cock growing and growing as you bounce harder and harder, squeezing him until he lets out a growl and bites down on your lip.

You come first. His mouth is still on yours, the kiss turning into something sloppy and dirty as you moan his name and unravel on top of him, pussy tightening around his cock with such strength that for a moment he doesn't hear or see anything, the world around him turning into a white haze.

When his senses come back, you're chanting his name, twitching and rocking against him, coming down from your high.

"One more," he pleads, smoothing your hair away from your face. "Come around my cock one more time."

Maybe you're just as desperate as he is to make this moment last because you nod lazily and he smiles at you, the pressure at the base of his cock growing and growing as he begins to piston into you, lifting himself from the step. One hand caresses your head, the other one sinks into the flesh of your ass, holding you against him as he cums inside of you at the same time you clench down on him harder, mouth seeking his.

He knows that he's broken your heart. That even though you're panting and holding onto him, he's lost you forever. You lean against him, spent and broken, pussy still milking him for all he's got.

He kisses the side of your head gently, in no rush to move, to have this come to an end. Reality waited for him, for you at the edge of the staircase but he just wanted a second more.

He caresses your back, kissing your temple, your forehead, your shoulder. Where he found skin, he kissed. Silent apologies for what he's done to you, for what he could not offer. His fingers retrace the length of your spine, up and down, over and over again. You've laid your head on his chest, trying to catch your breath and he doesn't mind. Finds the way your chest rises and falls against him to be soothing.

He doesn't know how long both of you stayed there before he slides out of you with a groan, breaking the spell. You sit up, and already he misses your warmth, growing cold as he helps you to your feet, helps you gather your clothes and once more slip into them.

He makes you turn around to clasp your bra together, kissing your shoulder blade. He smooths down your hair when you pull your shirt on, kissing your forehead for the last time when you're both dressed and decent, the smell of sex clinging to you, to him, to the staircase.

He hopes that you find a future where you forget all about him. Where you find someone worthy of your kind heart, of your soft words, of your gentle nature.

"I'm sorry," he repeats for what seems like the hundredth time, taking your hand and kissing your fingertips. This apology is for using you, for taking advantage of the love in your heart. Whatever he had done in the past to make you fall in love with him, he's sorry.

You nod, pulling your hand away from his. "I know." you say gently, quietly, sadly. You don't look at him, and he doesn't reach for you.

Guilt settles into his heart, heavy and bothersome as he pushes open the door and leaves you alone in the staircase.

AN: Thank you for reading! Here are the translations of all the Spanish words:

Perdoname- forgive me

En otra vida- In another life

Yo te prometo que soy tuyo- I promise you that I am yours.

#tua diego #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy

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thoughtsofedin · 1 year ago

Text

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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