Chapter Text
You wake up in a ball of sweat and slick, shaking and needy. Everything hurts as your body oozes your scent in hopes of attracting a mate, having figured out that your perfect match wasn’t actually here. You bury your face in his shirt, hoping to push the helplessly needy feeling down and away.
It doesn’t work - but it was worth a try.
Instead, you’re painfully reminded of just how thirsty you are. So you push yourself to your feet, stumbling through the darkroom and out into the hall. It’s early morning, you can hear people eating downstairs as you stumble to the bathroom. Putting your head under the tap you gulp down mouthfuls of water, letting the cool liquid drip down your throat. Water always tasted (at least) thirty times better during your heats.
As you grip the doorframe, intent on heading back to your room, the scent from last night catches your nose. It’s closer - much closer than if he was eating your breakfast, and making your stomach do somersaults. You inch down the hallway (more close to stumbling) until you find yourself at the end of the hallway, outside the door that was practically leaking the scent.
Listening closely you feel oh so dirty and oh so rewarded. Stifled panting mixed with grunts echo in your ears, so faint they were interceptable unless you got as close as you did. A husky voice growled obscenities, surrounded by the familiar scent of rut. You wanted desperately to knock on the door - to make your presence known, but something stops you. Deep, biological instincts of protocol and courting that were drilled in over years and years of “education” prevent you from making the first move. Instead, you drop your blanket just outside the door so that it was pressed against the small sliver of space at the bottom, and duck back into your own room.
You didn’t want to force him into anything. He could take the blanket, he could ignore it. Either way, you were going to curl back in your nest and try to ignore the pain.
Something that proves to be easier said than done as you toss and turn in your nest, struggling to find a comfortable position. You practically bolt up in bed when you hear the click of a door open and shut just as quickly down the hall. You can’t help the flush that spreads across your cheeks as you nuzzle your pillow. The omega inside of you was extremely pleased with the idea that he’d accepted the blanket.
A knock at your door alerts you to the real world and you force yourself to stumble out of your nest once more to open it. Once again Hosea’s standing there, offering you a plate of food that you gratefully accept.
“We heard you up. Stay safe, my dear,” Hosea says softly, his kind words rattling in your empty head.
“Thanks,” you mumble, words feeling heavy on your tongue as you quickly shut the door.
The plate is empty before you’ve reached your nest, allowing you to dive into the blankets and fall into a deep slumber once more.
When you open your eyes once again, your room smells far more like the thick scent of rut. You’re almost worried you blacked out as your nose twitches and you survey your room. No. You’re alone. Nothing happened but a well-deserved nap.
You find the source of the scent coming from the door, and gingerly opening it you find a black unfamiliar blanket, incredibly soft to the touch practically drenched in Dutch’s scent. You’re quick to drag it into your room, wrapping yourself in his comforting scent. The blanket felt heavier and you could feel the beads moving around in it. A weighted blanket. Even better.
It's no surprise that you’re out like a light minutes later, dozing between levels of consciousness as you ride out the day slowly bleeding from pre-heat into heat.
Although, try as you might, the longer the day stretched on the harder it became to ignore the rising urges. You wanted to be held, wanted to be scented, wanted to be cared for in ways that nesting blankets and scent alone couldn’t provide. Your brain practically screamed at you to get up and to go find the alpha at the end of the hall - so close you could practically call out to him. You need his scent. Need it on you, surrounding you, covering yours until you’re nothing but mush curled up in his arms. Safe.
Before you can stop yourself, you’re stumbling out of bed, body shaking with each step as you use the wall to hold yourself upright. You can feel slick dripping down your thighs as you stumble through the quiet house. Mid-afternoon sun shines through the window at the end of the hall as you reach the all too familiar door.
Yet as you reach for the door handle, you hesitate. The room is silent, the heavy (nearly suffocating) scent of rut still clings to the hallway, oozing out from behind the door. This is the wrong move. You should go back to your room and wait for him to find you - to choose you. Not force yourself on him.
A ragged gasp of your name fills your ears and suddenly you’re knocking on the door. There’s shuffling from inside, heavy footfalls that tell you to run, tell you to hide. Yet you remain rooted to the spot as the door swings open, allowing you to take in the renaissance painting before you. Your blanket wrapped around his body loosely, hanging off his shoulder with his hand in front of himself, clutching the blanket in an attempt to preserve his modesty. His hair is messy, curls everywhere, and wild eyes blown wide seem to swallow you whole.
The two of you stand there, rooted to your separate spots, unable to move as you wait for the other to make the first move. His chest heaves, mimicking yours as the two of you greedily gulp down the other’s scent as if you needed it - and only it - to survive.
“Scent me… please,” you beg, almost ashamed of yourself.
“I can’t stop there if you let me start,” he rasps, clutching the doorframe.
“I know,” you whimper, eyes drawn to his white knuckles.
“(Y/N)...” he rumbles, letting go of the doorframe to reach forwards and cup your face, slowly brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Tell me to stop. Tell me no.”
“Dutch…” you mimic, reaching up and resting your hand over the back of his, slowly bringing his wrist to your lips to lay a soft kiss over his scent glad. “Mate me. Make me yours.”
“Are you sure? You know what… you know the consequences.”
“Please. I know what I’m asking for.”
Your feet leave the ground before you finish speaking, your door hitting your back a moment later as he fumbles with the handle. His face is buried in the side of your neck, nose pressed to your scent gland while offering you his in return.
He stops just outside your nest, setting you down inside soft blankets surrounding you as the sound of the door slamming shut still rings through your ears. You know what he’s waiting for, so you reach forwards, pulling him forwards by the edges of your blanket and letting it fall into the nest. Coaxing him forwards until he understands he’s been granted permission.
He demands your attention by nuzzling his face against your neck, wrists smearing his scent down the sides of your body. Your shirt - his shirt - is pushed up to your chest, and the buttons on the cuffs popped open to allow him to smear his wrists against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, need shivering through your body as you feel his hard cock brush against your sex.
He growls, the sound practically vibrating through his body into yours.
“So good. Smell so sweet. So good for me.”
“Dutch, please!” you whine, revelling in the way his scent practically smothers you.
“Ssh, ssh, someone’ll hear you,” he reminds you, trailing his lips up your neck to the corner of your lip. “Wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
“No,” you gasp as his wrists ghost over the scent glands at the tops of your thighs.
“Of course not…” he murmurs, kissing along the underside of your jaw. He pulls back, staring down at you with the same hungry expression, hands stilled on either side of your hips.
“May I kiss you?”
“Please,” you whimper, almost ashamed that you can barely muster more than one-worded answers.
He grins, capturing your lips greedily with his. You drown in the taste of cigar smoke and spit as he kisses you until your bones melt into the sheets. His hands’ ghost across your skin, finding your scent glands and rubbing his own overtop until both of you are satisfied, pulling away from the kiss to gasp for breath.
His lips are back on you a moment later, mouthing his way down your neck once more as his fingers finally - finally! - find your sex. He coats them in your slick before pushing two inside you, marvelling momentarily at how wet and open you’ve become just for him. He grins against your skin, nipping at your scent gland as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. A third is added shortly as he works to prepare you, murmuring sweet nothings you can barely understand against your skin.
Then he pulls them out from you, sitting back on his heels and slowly licks his fingers clean with rapt attention that could only be described as something deeply, pervertedly, religious. You squirm under his gaze as he maintains eye contact with you, his free hand resting flat against your stomach to prevent you from moving too much. When he’s finally cleaned the last of it off his fingers, he wraps his hand around his throbbing penis, lining himself up with you, yet stopping to simply look you in the eyes.
“This is your last chance to back down. You can tell me to go and I’ll listen. We won’t have to speak of this again, just please, be honest with me,” he begs, face flushed red as he squeezes his cock to prevent himself from rutting into his hand.
“Dutch, please, I came to you - I want you to fuck me, please, alpha, please -”
The rough press of his lips against yours cuts off any further ramblings. He fills you completely, pushing his cock into you and stretching you farther than you thought possible. You shudder under him, pulling him closer with your legs around his waist, and wrapping your arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to pull him even closer. He rolls his hips against yours slowly, giving you time to adjust to the stretch of his length.
A needy whine escapes your lips as he pulls away long enough to catch his breath. Rolling your hips against him garners the desired response as he finally starts to move, his pace gradually increasing as you tangle your fingers in his hair. He looks positively radiant above you for the brief moments where he pulls back to allow both of you to catch your breath before crashing his lips against yours in heavy, open-mouthed kisses.
His fingers ghost over your sex and you keen, encouraging him to rub your sex at a pace matching his thrusts. He has no right to be this good at sex, or look that good when you tug his hair, his mouth parting in a little ‘o’ and his eyes fluttering back for the briefest moment. You revel in the image, so dangerously close to your orgasm as you feel his knot start to form at the base of his cock, hitting against you with each thrust.
“Alpha - alpha please - knot me! Fill me!” you beg, no longer caring who hears you.
He responds in kind by nuzzling your scent gland, nipping at the skin just hard enough to draw sparks through your body but not enough to bond you. You shudder underneath him as he strokes your sex faster.
“Come for me, omega. Prove you want my knot,” he growls, his voice ragged and strained as he tries to maintain his control.
You don’t need further encouragement, your body convulsing under him, eager to obediently obey his commands. He groans, pushing his hips forwards once more, his knot slipping into you as your walls flutter around him. You whimper at the sensation of being stretched beyond belief, your stomach slowly starting to swell with his seed.
He uses the last of his strength to turn both of you onto your sides, curling around you and tilting his head to offer you his scent. You bury your face in his neck, taking slow, sleepy breaths as he rubs slow circles across your back.
“So good for me… so good,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep as you curl closer to him.
Words are lost on your tongue as your brain floats between states of consciousness. At some point he pulls the blankets over the two of you, arms wrapped around you, intent on keeping you by his side. You have no protests, curling closer to him and trying not to jostle his knot inside you. Each small movement reminds you of just how full you are, stuffed so perfectly. His broad hand resting over your stomach is all the conversation you need to have to know you’re safe here.
The next few days are filled with nothing more than sex and scenting, with infrequent moments scattered in between for bathroom breaks and food. You know people know - or at least Hosea does - from the moment Dutch answers the door for you to retrieve breakfast. You’re thankful he doesn’t comment, simply handing over the food and disappearing back downstairs. Whatever happened next was something you could worry about when your heat broke. For now, you were going to enjoy the time wrapped up in Dutch’s arms, letting his scent envelop you like the world’s softest blanket. Free from reality and judgement.