#nasty scribbles

Smoke and Stack were expected to be Alphas. 

They expected it. 

You expected it

They hoe ass daddy expected it.

They uncle expected it.

The entire community of Clarksdale Mississippi expected the Moore Twins to be Alphas.

Especially after you presented as an Omega. They chased after you for all to see and when you emerged smelling of sweet omega pheromones after a week. They could all just about guess what would happen.

Stack presented next. The very day he got a whiff of you, fresh from  your heat, he was snarling and snapping as soon as he was down wind of you. Smoke had to wrestle him away.

You didn’t see them for a week. The next time you saw them, Alpha wafted off Stack and you had to stop yourself from doing something indecent, like putting your face in his scent gland in the middle of town. Smoke stood beside him, with the same neutral scent he’s had before. 

After that everyone was just counting down the days. Twins always presented within a month of each other afterall.

And present he did.

It was almost a full month later, as you all piled in your bed, Smoke herded y’all there, tired of you and Stack carrying on. None of you said it, but you all knew as soon as the young man came into his Alpha, he’d be the leader of your little Pack.

That’s why the events of that night were so shocking.

It was a hot July night. You were pressed together in your bed. The oil lamp long snuffed out. 

Stack slept soundly, flush against your side, hand reaching over you, to rest against, where Smokes heart beat. He was at peace until a scent roused him awake. The sticky sweet scent of heat and home knocked into his senses.

He looked at you blearily, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, growling. “Mmph you heatin’ Baby?” 

You groaned softly and turn to him, confused. “Huh?” Your confusion is punctuated with a yawn. “Baby, you know my cycle not for another week—” 

A low whine cut through the air, making you both freeze. 

It doesn’t stop and you turn your head to the left to see Smoke moaning and writhing under the moonlight streaming through the window. When the scent of his slick had hit you, that had been all she wrote.

Smoke had presented as an Omega and his first heat, had thrown you into your own. Stack hadn’t been any better. Two heating Omegas in his bed, One begging for his knot, the other demanding on how he popped it.

Even heating and delirious Smoke was the leader of their Pack.

He wrapped strong rough hands around your hips and pulled you atop him, sliding his dick into your slick pussy, with a desperation only another omega would understand. Then he’d looked at his brother and spread his legs. 

You’d ridden him, while Stack fucked his slicked hole.

He fucked you both, either dragging you under him or Stack on top him. Guiding you in finding your pleasure from his brother's body or slaking his own. 

No one saw you for days. When you emerged the whole town knew The Moore Boys had claimed you. Saw the claims on either side of your neck. Smelt them on you.  No one questioned their lack of marks. Afterall Omega’s aint expected to mark Alphas. 

What they ain’t know was Smoke didn’t present as no Alpha. If they did, there’d be trouble. So Stack drenched him in his scent before leaving the house everyday. Wore his clothes to saturate them in his pheromones as to throw off anyone who aint no.

Everything was fine. 

At least it was for those first months.

But then came Annie, pregnant and glowing.

Followed by Mary, high yella and uppity. 

You caught wind of it all in the  same night. Caught ‘em at the juke joint. Walked in on Mary and Stack and found Annie confessing to Smoke behind the damn building when you ran  out. 

The soft evening light peaked through diaphanous lavender curtains of the isolated stone cottage. Pictures and plants were strewn across surfaces. Bookshelves full of fiction from romantic to horror. Tea cups, cooling of a serving tray.

The image of the cottage would have been peaceful and idyllic.

….Had your boyfriend not just pissed you the fuck off.

“Fuck you mean you gotta hunt,” you asked disbelieving as you looked at your boyfriend, face fully frowned up in displeasure.

Dean had the decency to at least look like he felt bad.

“Sweetheart, it's not that big a deal. Sammy and me just heard about a haunting—”

You feel the anger at his dismissive words suffused your entire body, culminating in heat running up the back of your neck. “”No big deal”?! My birfday weekend is no big deal. The celebration I scraped and pinch and planned and saved for for 6 fuckin’ munts ain't no big deal?”

“Y/n that's not what I meant. Just calm down—”

“Nigga you yeeted that shit right out the window, when you decided to fuck up my mood wit dis bullshit!” You could believe this shit. The fucking audacity and disregard.

“Sweetheart innocent people need our help—”

“Oh don't gimme that! You mean to tell me no other hunters could have taken it? There's  no one else in a network of thousands?” Your body language begged for challenge. Hip cocked, manicured hand resting there, head tilted as you stared him down.

The silence spoke for itself. 

“Oh. That's what the fuck I thought.” You roll your eyes and turn to walk away, to your bedroom. 

The walls were littered with your own photography. Landscapes of the surrounding forest. Of waterfalls. Of flora and fauna. 

Dean asked you about it and you told him you liked to entrench yourself in beautiful things. What's more beautiful than nature? 

He'd said you, but now was not the time to get soft over your corny ass boyfriend. 

There was beauty in your bedroom, but there was also chaos. Clothes and shoes were everywhere, with two open suitcases being at the center of it all.

It was like you said you'd been planning this for months and while you referred to it as a birthday weekend it was a two week long trip to Thailand. 

You'd worked and saved and booked everything for everyone.  Hell you even went as far as getting Ketch to get Sam, Dean, and Jack fake passports.

Your best friend already had hers, so everything was settled. 

Or it was.

You made a beeline for your dresser, covered in perfume and oils. You spot the old worn tea tin marked Harney & Sons and grab it.

It had all your smoking paraphernalia in it. Papers, grass, lighters, etc. It was a habit left over from being a teenager and now it was a familiar comfort.

Looking around and not spotting the rolling tray Castiel got you for Christmas, you push past Dean to go back out into the living room. Seeing an ancient tome on your glass coffee table, you sat on your couch and moved it out the way, before getting to work.

Dean's standing watching. “You can't just smoke every time we fight Y/n.” 

You suck your teeth, but don't deign to look at him. “Fuck I can't.” You empty the contents of your grinder onto your Marley paper, then pick up your dried honeysuckle and add spring to your spliff.  When you’re done you grab your lighter and light up.

“You're not even gonna get the oil burner and the good blunt spray?” 

You went to respond but your phone blared with Saweetie and Doja Cat's voices. “Neenee 🫐🌲🌿🍃💜” flashed across your screen.

You answer and put it on speaker, already anticipating what was going to come through.

“Bitch,” the loud raspy voice of Juniper exclaimed through your speaker. It conveyed several unflattering sentences about her boyfriend.

You took a deep drag from your spliff and held it before exhaling through your nose. “Biiiiitch,” your response sounded, like and irritated. It agreed with her and called the brothers out they names several times over.

Dean looked on, unhappy and upset at being ignored and shut out of the conversation.

“Gurl you already smokin’, aren’t you?” 

You give a humorless laugh, grabbing your half full grinder and another paper. “I’m rolling up again for when you get here. Grab a bottle of Stella and Arbor Mist on yer way gurl. This shit triflin’ and we finna need it tonight.”

“I’m already knowing. These niggas really save no consideration for anybody.” In the background you can hear Sam tryna defend him and his brother’s name.

“Boy! If you don’t—! Jus’ git out. I’m not entertaining this shit. You wanna answer SOSes for other bitches, then go lay up with her den! I have a trip to prep for!”

Juniper switches her attention to you again. “Girl lemme git this nigga outta my house, then I'll pull up.”

You acquiesce and end the call. Dean still stands before you and you elect to a take another drag from your spliff, instead of speaking to him.

“You're really doing this right now? People are dying Y/n, what do you expect me to do?”

You blow the smoke in your mouth out in a ring up from you seat on your couch, exhaling the rest through your nose. “Honesty? Not a muthafuckin’ thing anymore, Dean.”

Dean felt dread build in his chest. As far as he could tell, his name was “Baby”, to you exclusively. It was always “Baby I got you some more rock salt,” or “Baby can you find my rat tail comb” or  “Baby I can’t find my mannequin head, c’mere so I can style this 60 inch bussdown lace front”.

He was never just Dean.

“Y/n come on, can't I make it up to you when I get back?”

You look at him and feel the soft part in you that you wish got to be nurtured more, try to guide your decision, but you knew better than to give a man an inch in disrespecting your time and feelings.

You took a long drag from you spliff, letting the smoke sit in your mouth as you inhaled, before exhaling through your nose. The smoke moved slowly through the air, and you stared up into your boyfriend’s green eyes, as he looked at you, hopeful and imploring.