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ou smell them before you see them.
Like rain in the air ahead of a big storm. The kind that can decimate your house in seconds, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.
A perfect metaphor to describe them, you think. Chaos and violence follow the Winchester brothers wherever they go.
You know you should bolt the moment your fiance greets them at the door to his office. Your eyes follow the imposing Alphas as they stalk across the room towards your partner’s desk, their footsteps silent as they’re swallowed up by the carpet.
When the two men sit down, that’s when you really feel it. Something’s off. Like their scents have soured over time, but it doesn’t stop your Omega instincts from stirring inside you.
Months of negotiations have led to this moment— a truce between the two families after decades of rivalry. A chance to make history and end the bloodshed tainting the streets of Lawrence, Kansas.
When the pleasantries and introductions are dealt with, the conversation steers towards the matter of trade offs.
To make this coalition work, they had previously agreed to merge their specialities, using each other’s contacts to keep them at the top of the food chain, so to speak.
Dean and Sam Winchester are to provide guns to your Alpha’s men, and in turn, your beau gives them a cut of all profits pertaining to the drug shipments he controls.
The conversations and arrangements over the last few months always seem to end positively, but there was something that never felt quite final to you. Like they’ve been holding back on a request until today.
“So if we’re all set, we can move ahead and sign this,” your Alpha’s voice brings you back to the present, your gaze on the stack of papers that makes up their contract.
“Wait,” Dean stalls, holding his hand up.
“Are we not done?” your lover responds, a little confused.
“My brother and I have thought a lot about it, but there’s one more thing we want.”
You watch your Alpha relax into his chair, curiosity pulling at his features.
“Her.” Dean’s almost golden eyes flicker towards you.
The air thickens as your beau lets out an incredulous laugh. “No chance. She’s off the table.”
The older Winchester reaches into the waistband of his trousers and pulls out a small handgun, laying it on the table to face your Alpha. “Then so is our deal.”
“She’s my Omega, I can’t give her away. She belongs to me.”
“Doesn’t look like you’ve claimed her,” Sam intercedes, eyes lingering a little too long on your unblemished throat, “so she’s still fair game, is she not?”
You watch your fiance crack his neck, see the way his features darken and you know the Winchesters have pushed him too far.
“The answer’s no,” he grits.
Without another word, they shrug at each other, seeming to accept his response. Dean flashes him a wide smile as Sam slumps back into his chair, and the conversation quickly changes trajectory. You let out a sigh of relief through your nose, but as the meeting progresses late into the evening, the sour taste continues to linger on the flat of your tongue.
-
Everyone is long gone by the time you leave the office. You do your usual check in with the security detail positioned at the main entrance before wishing him goodnight and take the elevator down to the underground parking garage. It’s deserted when you step out, and in any other situation, you’d probably be glancing over your shoulder in five second bursts, but you know you’re safe here, in amongst your Alpha’s grounds. Nobody would dare touch his Omega otherwise they would risk losing their hands… or heads.
You make it to your overpriced, flashy car and curl your fingers around the door handle, but you fail to make it into your seat before everything turns to black.
-
Every fibre in your being aches when you wake in a room you don’t recognise. A cannula sits neatly in the crease of your elbow, and your wrists are shackled to the metal frame of the bed you’re laying on. From what you can tell, your feet don’t seem to be restrained, but your ankles smart as if they once were.
Your skin feels like fire has burrowed beneath it, singeing your veins, and your stomach rolls as your senses pick up on a familiar scent you can’t place yet. As slick starts to gather between your thighs, forcing you to jolt fully awake, afraid of the implications.
It can’t be your heat. You take your suppressants every morning at seven am without fail. You took them this morning with your orange juice and oatmeal.
But how many mornings have passed since then?
The concept of time feels like a myth here, and even though the room has a window, the makeshift blinds are drawn, blocking out any light trying to break through. It could be the next morning or an afternoon a week later— you have no idea how long has passed since you were ambushed in the parking lot.
At least that’s what you think you can remember. It’s all just a blanket of obsidian, daring you to try and pull back the curtain to take a peek at your reality.
You rack your brain, but trying to think hurts even more— the steady thumping in your temple becomes increasingly uncomfortable.
You start to look around the room, any sign that might lead you to the identity of your kidnappers, but it is as nondescript as they come. The bed you’re laying on is basic, and the only other piece of furniture you can see is a chair in the corner, looking long forgotten.
You try to roll on the mattress, but your movements are impeded by the shackles at your wrists. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you resign yourself to the fact that you’re stuck like this until the owner of the handcuffs returns.
If they ever do.
Tears begin stinging at your eyes, wondering when or if you’ll ever see your Alpha again. If he’s even looking for you once he realised you were missing— if he’s realised.
He must have. You’re his most prized possession, you try to reassure yourself just as the cluck of a weighty lock pulls you from your teary reverie.
Your head feels heavy when you turn it towards the door, eyes flickering as it opens and a man you’ve never seen before enters, carrying a tray of what looks like medical supplies.
As he places it down onto the bed beside you, you notice the piercing blue of his eyes and a wave of serenity washes over you, calming you instantly.
“You’re awake,” he says softly, and you figure he must be a Beta from the way he smells— lavender with notes of sweetest chamomile. It reminds you of the pillow mist on your nightstand. “They will be pleased.”
“They?” you croak, throat sore from lack of use. “Who are they?”
“I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information until my bosses are ready to make their identities known,” he tells you, his fingers expertly preparing a syringe.
You blanch when he nears you, even though your brain reminds you comfortingly that he’s harmless.
“Don’t worry, it’s just saline,” he explains, and points to your arm. “I need to flush this.”
“And what’s that?” you ask, eyeing the bulbous IV bag full of clear liquid.
“Food. They need you to keep your strength up.”
“For what?”
“Do you always ask this many questions?” he smiles.
“Only when I wake up in a strange room with no recollection of getting there, and a needle in my damn arm.”
“I take it this isn’t your first time,” he jokes.
“How’d you guess?” you scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm.
This time the Beta laughs aloud, and it’s like music to your ears. “I’m Cas,” he introduces, even though he seems hesitant. Like he could get into trouble for doing so.
“Y/N,” you reply, before adding, “but I guess you already knew that.”
He smiles, giving you a small nod as he quickly replaces the old IV with the new.
“What is this place?”
“I’m afraid I cannot divulge—” he repeats almost robotically.
“— that information,” you interrupt dejectedly as Cas fiddles with the connection on your cannula, making sure it’s tight. “Gotcha.”
Heavy footsteps sound outside the room, and Cas instantly stiffens. You can see the way his fingers shake as he picks up the tray, collecting the medical waste to dispose of. You want to ask him if he’s alright, but instead you bite down on your bottom lip to stifle it. He’s clearly unnerved, and no doubt sick of your questions by now.
Suddenly the door crashes open, and your eyes widen at the sight of the two men filling up the doorway. Finally, the familiar scent you couldn’t place before makes sense, and now it surrounds you like a heavy mist. Your body reacts against your will at the stench, no longer sour or off-putting, but as if your sense of smell has returned after an illness.
You’ve never inhaled something as decadent in your entire life, and it practically blindsides you, as the sound of the recognisable deep baritone voice exacerbates the aching pulse in your cunt.
No, no, no. Not your heat. Not here. Not now.
“Ah, look Sammy, our pretty girl’s finally awake.”
There’s no mistaking it. You finally know who’s responsible for taking you.
The Winchesters.
-
It’s nighttime when the cramps start. Rolling, pinching, contracting agony that rips cry after cry from your parched throat. If you were in any doubt before that your heat was coming, this confirms it. Your body is feverish with sweat, the thin cotton negligee you’re dressed in clinging to your clammy skin. The throbbing in your pussy is almost as painful as the cramps forcing copious amounts of slick to pool between your thighs.
In normal circumstances, you’d almost be embarrassed by how wet you are, but right now, you can’t even fathom shame while you’re desperately trying to cross your legs just to relieve some pressure in your cunt.
Your underwear is long gone, unaware of when or how, and you actually crave the cotton panties, wishing you had some material to create some friction against your sex.
Writhing against the mattress does nothing to quell a single symptom, and you can feel the frustration inside you mounting as your conversation with the Winchesters that morning— night— who knows when before, rattles through your brain.
“We had to keep you sedated to flush those nasty suppressants out of your system,” Dean explained, running a finger down your bare forearm. “Why you’d want to poison this flawless body with those things, I’ll never know.”
His finger moved— up and over the swell of your breast, and gently circled your puckered nipple. You tried to stifle the need to react, but your body had other ideas. You whined, eyes flickering shut as the weight of his touch caused your hips to cant towards his wandering hands, edging closer to your sex.
“She’s close. I can smell it on her,” he sniffed over his shoulder to his brother. “Another couple of hours or so, and she’ll be ready.”
You let go of a deep hum. “R-ready for what?”
The two Alphas smiled down at you before Dean spoke again. “You’ll soon find out, sweet Omega.”
You almost howl at the intensity of the heat, trying to remember the last time you had one this bad, but you can’t recall— your mind is too preoccupied with the waves of arousal laying claim to your body.
You haven’t a clue when the Winchesters appear at your bedside, neither one wearing anything except a pair of sweats. The sight of their glistening chests and rippling pectorals is enough to send another wave of cramps crashing through you, eyes squeezing shut as you can’t concentrate on anything but the rising tide of arousal deep in your core.
“Is she ready?” You hear Sam’s distinct growl, the depth and husk making your skin prickle with heat.
A hand is shoved between your legs, and gives your cunt a tight squeeze. You keen, rolling your hips against the pressure even though it does nothing to stifle the ache.
You’ve no idea whose hand it is, and you no longer care as they stimulate your clit with the pad of their thumb. A desperate whine escapes you, and you start to protest despite your need for release.
“She’s ready, Sammy.” There’s no mistaking Dean’s voice beside you. “She’s gonna take a knot tonight.”
“N-no, my Alpha,” you cry out in a pitiful state, eyes finally flickering open to stare up at the painfully handsome man above you.
“Ssh Omega,” Dean says, pressing a slick coated finger to your teeth-bitten lips before he brings it to his own and licks it clean. “We’re your Alphas now.”
Fear freezes your heart as the bed suddenly dips between your thighs, and Sam’s rough calloused hands run up your shins. You try to close your legs, but he’s too strong in this instinct driven state, his primal need to mate overriding any other coherent thought.
The younger Winchester nestles between your thighs, licking a wide stripe up your cunt and you mewl into the damp air above you. The room already stinks of sex and pheromones, and it’s making your dizzy.
You come across Sam’s tongue the moment his fingers breach your wet heat. In your heady, lust-drunken stupor, you think your quick and sharp climax is enough to sate you, but the cramps only seem to intensify now that they’ve touched you. Like your body craves more from them, even if your mind is screaming otherwise.
“M-more,” you whine, rolling your hips against Sam’s face, hoping he’ll give you what you’re begging for. You need to come again, and fast.
“Omega bitch wants more, Sammy,” Dean laughs when they switch places, his now naked form snug between your thighs. “Can’t deny her when she’s crying out for it.”
He bottoms out in one hard thrust, his fat wide cock filling you to the hilt. You can already feel his knot swelling as he retreats, and you let go of a chest-bursting scream when he ruts back inside you roughly.
You don’t care that it hurts, or that the burn of his knot helps to keep your pussy gaping as he fucks you with reckless abandon— you just need this heat to end.
The coil in your stomach tightens until the tension is too great and it snaps, your body trembling on the older Alpha’s cock as you surrender to your orgasm.
“God, just look at you comin’ on my cock,” Dean says in awe as your body sags back against the mattress. “So pretty laid out for us like this, ‘mega.”
The praise shouldn’t elicit such swollen pride in your chest, however the docile component that helps to comprise your DNA can’t help but make you giddy.
“Can’t wait to fill up this tight little cunt, make you all round with our pups,” he adds soothingly, rubbing a hand over your stomach. You blanch at his words, and try to wriggle from him, but the fact you’re still shackled to the bed means you don’t get very far at all.
“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” Dean’s tone changes in an instant as he tugs you back the inch or two you’d retreated in an attempt to get away, impaling you completely on his thick cock. “I’m not done with you yet.”
-
Your cunt is bruised and aching by the time Sam has his turn, his hot spend leaking out between your puffy folds. Every inch of you hurts from his voracious appetite— fucking you over and over until he’s sure he’s pumped you full of enough Alpha seed to make sure you end up pregnant. You should be horrified with yourself, but you’ve never felt more satisfied. The symptoms of the heat are finally subsiding, and your cramps all but vanished the moment Dean’s knot popped inside you, filling your womb to the brim with his release.
Sam is still between your thighs, fingering the mess he’s made back into you, the dirty squelch of wetness making shame heat your cheeks.
Dean stands over you, brushing damp hair from your clammy forehead as he gazes down at you with a wide yet macabre grin. You can feel a plea fizzing on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it quickly, realising that even in this cock-drunk state there’s no point in pleading with them to let you go and release you back to your Alpha.
But he’s not your Alpha any more, your thoughts cruelly remind you. The puckered, bloodied marks on either side of your neck have certainly made sure of that.