Stumbled across this in my Notes app today. Apparently I wrote it June 2022? It piqued my interest, so I thought y'all'd like it too
Despite the bullshit advertising hailing from the dawn of capitalism, scents didn’t smell good. They weren’t supposed to. In fact, the omega would go so far as to argue scents were biologically designed to prevent any human from interpreting them as objectively pleasant.
No omega smelled like cherries, or cotton candy, or a newly knitted blanket. No alpha smelled like charcoal, or sandalwood, or the sea breeze on a summer’s day. Something about those marketing strategies always rubbed her the wrong way anyhow. Why were there never any overwhelming gym-bro scent for omegas? Who decided an alpha couldn’t smell like sweetpeas and snapdragons?
As they nestled into their alpha’s neck, the omega pondered the smells twisting and meshing in the air. She knew —from their mother's many chastisements, during simpler days when doing their own laundry was an exciting lesson in adulthood rather than a mundane chore— that her own smell was akin to a sock someone had worn for a week too long. If she were to rely solely on her nose, she would’ve believed the alpha beside her had just been outside working in the desert all day, and somehow got slapped in the face by a monkfish in the process, despite her never having left the house at all. And of course, as a post-coitus cuddling session would imply, there were notes of human musk, natural lubricant, and oily hair. The resulting smell was likely repulsive to anyone around, including the couple themselves.
With a chuckle mixed with a joking retch, the alpha shifted, desperately hoping the stinky (and now-too-warm-to-be-comfortable) omega would untangle their limbs and give them the freedom to shower. The omega, however, held on tighter, shoving their nose so far into the expanse of the neck she was certain she was breathing skin instead of air.
Scents didn’t make the omega horny. It didn’t make her realize the alpha was her soulmate, or suddenly turn her possessive (though she supposed the snuggling behavior could claim otherwise). Certainly, it would never launch anyone into a suppressant-defying mating frenzy.
But the smells together were theirs. Even if the smells were terrible, it was theirs. And that, she believed, was a comfort. Enough of a comfort, at least, to transform the smell of piss poor hygiene into the smell of home, of familiarity, acceptance, love.
Above her, the alpha sighs and rests her chin atop the omega’s hair and takes in a breath for herself. They can’t help but purr as they drift off to sleep.
