uhhh omega reader who really really really likes könig
you admire him so much, this absolute unit of a man, a colonel, who sometimes will look at you with a soft look, almost like he thinks you’re nice or maybe like he enjoys your company
the fucking size of him, his scent, the way he grunts freely in the gym when he trains, the way his shirts are always tight around his shoulders and the way sweat drips on his skin, fuck
the way his eyes look behind his mask and his incredibly soothing and warm voice, except for when he’s barking out orders for his fellow soldiers, or when he’s debriefing people for the next mission, but still so fucking attractive, it rubs your brain a certain way and you always feel your heart skipping a beat when he yells
what könig doesn’t know is that sometimes you steal his clothes, you just- you need them! they smell so much like him and his scent is both so deeply comforting and raw alpha that every time you take a whiff of it it’s like he’s right there with you, holding you in his arms, thick muscles flexing as he touches you, rough hand slowly, so slowly going south until it meets your pants, his voice right against your ear as he whispers depraved words-
you used to do it once a month, scurrying into his private bedroom and grabbing whatever you could, a shirt, a hoodie, his hood, some underwear
but lately you’ve been getting needier and needier, it’s been three weeks and once a week you would sneak in his room and grab some clothing article
what you weren’t expecting was könig walking into his room right as you were grabbing one of his shirts, one of the dirtiest and most covered in sweat, looking down at your kneeling figure with a little bit of surprise and curiosity
you panic, before he can speak a word you quickly grab a metal pole (why the fuck is there a metal pole close to his bed) and hit him on the head, effectively making him lose consciousness
you gasp as he hits the floor, pole clattering to the ground, hands snapping to cover your mouth as you stare at the unconscious man laying on the floor in front of you
you don’t know what else to do so you end up calling nikto and begging him to fucking help you, you’re going to die if könig wakes up in his own room, he’ll fucking kill you in the slowest and most painful way he can think of
nikto ends up helping you, pulls most of könig’s weight until the austrian behemoth is in your own room, tied up against the bed with chains that nikto pulls out of who knows where, and you thank him, tell him you’ll help him with his favorite boy after you have things under control, he just mumbles something about you ‘never having things under control’ before walking out of the room and leaving you alone with the source of your love
könig wakes up after a while to the noise of you mumbling to yourself, walking back and forth in your room, one hand at the back of your neck and the other against your mouth where you nibble at a nail in anxiety and worry, mumbling about needing to fix this before könig finds your stash of his clothes
well, könig thinks, you finally made a move after all his hard work at courting you, schatzi, guess he’ll just lay back and relax while you tire yourself
Not in a malicious way or anything... he's just a fucked up little guy who doesn't really know how to be normal about affection.
So maybe, when he was a kid, his parents didn't want anything to do with him, and his sister left him. And maybe, just to feel like he was loved, he stole a couple of things here and there. His mom's sweater, his dad's undershirt, his sister's sundress. It didn't mean anything, he just wanted to curl up in bed sometimes and smell something that wasn't himself, touching the different fabrics like they were actually people embracing him, holding him for once.
It didn't mean anything.
Then, he ran away. He travelled. He became a nomad. He joined the 118.
And that itch burned under his skin again.
He didn't know how to ask his new team - his new family to hold him, and the anonymous sex wasn't scratching the itch the way it used to, back when he just wanted to be held and touched but didn't have anyone specific he wanted to hold him. Except Maddie. He still had that sundress, even if it didn't smell like her anymore. (He tried buying her favourite perfume one time to spray on it, to bring her smell back, but it didn't smell the same and it only made the ache worse and he never tried it again).
So, maybe things start to go missing around the firehouse.
Nothing major or important. Just... things.
Chimney thinks they're being haunted.
Eddie's spare workout shirt vanishes while he's in the shower.
Bobby's ratty old leather gloves he's been meaning to replace aren't where he left them.
Hen's threadbare hoodie disappears from her locker.
Just... things that won't really be missed. It's not a regular occurrence, but it happens enough that they're starting to question it.
Meanwhile Buck - touch starved, affection hungry Buck - is quietly curling up in bed every night like a dragon with its shameful hoard. The guilt is killing him.
He can't tell them. He can't return the items now they're gone.
Summary: Changmin is your creepy step brother, but you don't see that side of him.
Warnings: swearing, yandere!Changmin, stalking, stealing of clothes/underwear, implied male masturbation, using panties to get off, creepy behaviour.
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Your mother married Changmin's father a year ago. Everything seemed to go well, your new step brother didn't tell you much about his personal life and spent a lot of time alone in his room, you'd usually only see him at family dinner.
What you didn't know was Changmin had an obsession. That obsession was you. He loved you. Would he admit it out loud? No. But it didn't go away. It got worse over the past few months, to the point he started stealing your clothes, especially your panties.
Changmin sat in his room, watching the camera feed from your room. Whilst you were out one day, he set a small camera up in the corner of your room, where he was able to watch you relax, sleep and change. He knew it was wrong, especially since you were his step sister, but he didn't care, he just wanted you and was waiting for the right time.
As Changmin watched you chill on your bed, he grabbed a pair of your stolen panties. A white lace pair to be exact. He smiled as the silk material ran smoothly through his fingers. He rubbed them against the tent in his sweats, thinking all dirty thoughts about you.
"Babygirl you'll be mine soon enough." He whispered, smiling as you placed your phone down, heading for the bathroom.
Changmin thought that would be the perfect time to steal something else from your room. He left his bedroom and came to yours, hearing the shower running in the bathroom. He smiled and opened the door, the smell of your perfume hit his nose instantly, making the tent in his sweats grow even more.
He entered your room and went straight to the drawers having a rummage through, before grabbing a red pair of panties. He smirked and took them, rushing to his room before he burst. He slammed the door shut and locked it so you didn't accidentally walk in.
"Fuck....so soft." He mumbled, gently running his hands through the red panties.
Changmin pulled his sweats down, letting his hard member free. He rubbed the panties against his tip, moaning your name.
"Y/n, hmm." He moaned.
"Let's have some fun." He smirked, watched the feed to your room again as he touched himself, knowing he'd have a good night.
In High school Richie had a drawer in his room just for Eddie so that he’d have clothes when he slept over. It’s full but rarely used because most of the time Eddie opts to steal Richies clothes instead.
Some fun playing off the idea of Ericka stealing Drac's cape and him chasing her for it after she refused to give it back. ("Sorry, Snuggle-bat. It's mine now.") Kind of a fun play on the usual monster-human chase.
From @lovelylivelyv
"I love this! Ericka looks so good in that outfit! And it’s giving me “flying table scene” vibes"
And Me:
"I came up with it for the "I didn't realize how warm humans were" cuddling pics a while back and it's kind of stuck since it's a good casual outfit and both fits Ericka's 30s and Sailor aesthetics. Not to mention it kinda syncs up with Simon later on.
I didn't think of that but you're RIGHT! It kind of makes sense though. Not only from just a "dracula playfully chasing a human around" aspect but also...Both Drac and Ericka are normally two of the most conscientious and hard working people you'd ever meet. Even though Ericka isn't as uptight as Drac can be, they're often the mature leaders of the group...EXCEPT when you get the two of them alone together, in which case they start playing with eachother like a couple of dorky children. Normally started by Ericka somehow. XD As Fae has said, they help the other relax and have fun, bringing out the other's more playful side. There's also alot of similarities between Ericka and Johnny personality-wise. She's not as reckless as he can be, but she's impulsive and playful and got a bit of an adventurous thrill-seeker streak that wants to try almost everything."
The denim one, the oversized one Steve bought because he thought the three-sizes-too-big look was A Look, the one that fits near perfectly around Billy's broad shoulders and toned arms, just a little long at the sleeve cuffs.
His shirt's open, his tits are out, he's in Steve's fucking jacket in the middle of school.
The bastard won't even kiss him but he'll steal his clothes. He'll let Steve burn for him. He'll watch Steve with dark eyes and an under-the-lashes smoulder as girls fondle him up and whisper in his ear and—
And Steve's about four fucking seconds from launching at him like some kind of rabid animal.
Its been this way ever since Billy saved their asses. He's bigger and badder, somehow, but also... Different. Like he's teething for a fuck not a fight more than anything. Vixen in shoddy leather and eyeliner, all yoga girl curls and lips Steve wants to bite.
The energy and dynamic between them is different, too. Before Billy was feral, always at his throat, thought of Steve like shit on his shoe he couldn't scrape off. Now Billy's like a cat in heat, always purring, aloof but sultry and one second away from going cunt up if only Steve could just get his hands on Billy for longer than four fucking seconds.
It started once Billy was on his feet again. He'd prowled into the school, leather jacket and shades, headed straight past Steve and he'd braced himself for the typical shoulder barge, but when Billy brushed past him it was just that.
A slide of their bodies, a gentle nudge as if to say I'm here, and then Billy was gone. In basketball Billy went from attacking to being the one in front, steady, pliant as Steve shadowed him. Kitten-minx glances over his shoulder, plush mouth curved into a smirk as Steve folded over his back, used the inch and a half he had on Billy to his advantage.
The touching grew bolder. Billy would slouch in his seat in class, legs spreading, knee pressing into Steve's thigh as he doodled in his books, because Billy Hargrove was a straight A student who somehow never wrote an actual fucking word in class ever.
At the lockers when Steve was talking to Tommy Billy would lean back or sideways against him, as if Steve was just another inanimate blue locker, never once looking at him but always a burning hot weight against him, the coconut scent of his shampoo lodged in his lungs.
Billy would suck on pencils while staring straight at him. Billy would arch his back and run his hands down his hips in the showers with Steve less than three feet away. Billy would prowl through the halls, hips swaying, coming to heel at Steve's looks or motions like a leashed pet.
Eventually; Billy would straddle his thighs behind the old caretaker's shed, would blow smoke into his mouth with less than an inch between their lips or pour shitty vodka down his throat between classes, because around the kids he's still Pack Mom Steve but around Billy he's something else.
They're a wildfire, a temporary flash of all-consuming heat and danger and then they'll snuff out, burnt to ash and char and smoke.
Eventually; Billy would sprawl out in Steve's bed, ocean eyes hazy, syrupy drawl making fun of Steve's posters and music and closet while Steve lay beside him, always always thinking of rolling over, stealing the smoke-sour breath right out of his lungs.
They're.
They're not a couple.
Not nothing, just...
Something.
Because Billy will let Steve crowd him back against the Camaro now; pressed ankle to chest, mouths inches apart, will look up at him sugar-sweet under his lashes, vicious smirk, lazy drawl until Steve's forced to back away because if he doesn't their first time is gonna be Billy bent over the hood in the school fucking lot, and not once does Billy threaten him, or bite at him, or kill him in broad daylight.
Because Billy's wearing a jacket Steve doesn't ever remember giving him the opportunity to take, and its a primal sort of claim that has Steve vibrating on the damn spot, itching to know if it still smells like him, if Billy's walking around with Steve's scent saturating his soft skin.
Tommy's too busy sucking Carol's tongue right out of her throat to notice so Steve gives in to the baser urge, lopes through the hallway to slide an arm around Billy's tiny little waist, fingers curling in the familiar washed-soft fabric. Billy automatically leans back, like he knows exactly which idiot is brave enough to just grab at him like this.
Like there's only one idiot who actually has permission to.
The jacket still smells like him.
"I like your new style," he murmurs, husky-low, the voice that used to bribe Nancy out of her conservative sweaters and button-up skirts. "It suits you."
Billy shifts, slide of Steve's hip against the back of his, then they're side by side and just two dudes in a hallway again, maybe a little too close but hey, nobody's hands are in pants, so.
It drives him insane all day. They don't have classes together but Billy's suddenly everywhere Steve looks, in his jacket, and his thighs ache with the memory of Billy's weight on them, wonders if one day Billy'd let him fuck him in nothing but that faded denim and silver.
He'd make him bounce on it, leave the jacket open so the denim slid over his chest, scraped and sparked where he was sensitive.
And because they're doing this all ass-backwards maybe Billy will even let him hold his hand after.
After school, waiting for the kids, Steve crowds Billy back against the Beemer, boxes him in, traces where the hem of the jacket rides a half-inch above the hem of Billy's jeans with his thumb.
"Somethin' to say, pretty boy?" Billy purrs, low-smoke whiskey and gravel, cants his hips forwards Its indecent. Its risky. Dangerous.
Everything Steve drools over, burns for in his veins like his next fix when it comes to Billy Hargrove.
"When you let me," he rasps, voice wavering, because in the wild the she-wolf chooses to go cunt up for the stud, makes him prove himself first, "when you let me fuck you, wear this? Wear it please?" he begs.
Billy just smiles, saccharine slow. Thick syrup Steve will drown in.
(Later, two weeks later, Steve will buy a jacket in New York when his parents drag him there for a company dinner. Its butter-supple, somewhere between smoke ash and dark chocolate. Costs his whole shopping allowance for the trip but its worth it because Billy steals it the first chance he gets and Billy lets him kiss him for the first time with his hands fisted in the lapels and Billy switches it out for the denim jacket, winks at Steve in the hallway three weeks later and Steve knows.)
