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24 - A Cracked Quiet

Author: DiaryOfDaisy
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-05-27 01:09:29

Dinner was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that scraped and stung.

The air in the house was thick with unspoken tension—richer, heavier, tainted by Ezra’s alpha pheromones that hadn’t settled since the school drop-off and the PTA confrontation.

It pulsed faintly in the background like a storm cloud, all spice and sandalwood sharpened with the edge of unspent rage. It didn’t roar, but it lingered, coiling into corners, curling around baseboards.

Daring someone to speak.

The twins ate quickly, as if the silence might swallow them next. Their usual bright chatter had dried up into stiff, occasional glances between their father and Sebastian.

Caleb dropped his spoon once—the clang against his bowl sounded like a firecracker in the stillness, and even that didn’t shake Ezra out of his brooding.

Camden sniffed quietly, and Sebastian didn’t miss the way both boys’ natural scents—still faint and unformed—carried the soothing trace of his lavender, tangled gently with their sister’s cri
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Strawberryboss
Really enjoying there story
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  • (Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children   121: Useful Or Asleep

    Morning still had its teeth in the windows. The house steamed against it—kettle hiss, heater hum, the quiet clink of bowls as Sebastian set them down harder than he meant to. The suspension notice lay open on the table like a stain.“Two weeks,” Sebastian said, lavender tightening until it pressed against the walls. He didn’t sit. He stood over them—Caleb and Camden in their kitchen chairs, knees wide, trying to look like trouble didn’t stick. “When your father comes home, do I tell him, or do you want that honor?”Peppermint spiked, quick and defensive. Caleb laced his fingers like he’d learned to pray overnight. “We—”“You fought.” Sebastian’s palm flattened the paper. Crisp. Final. “First day.”Camden tried that saint-face. Spearmint rolled low, a steadying weather front. “We did the public a service.”“Public service,” Ezren echoed from the doorway, gleeful, milk-sweet, and seven. Zara leaned over his shoulder, conspirator-general. “Suspended!” she sang. “Sus-pen-ded.”“Out.” Lav

  • (Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children   120: Dirty Water

    January bit ears and knuckles. Frost cracked like sugar under sneakers. The bus wasn’t in sight yet. On Elio’s porch, Sebastian was already in triage.“Hold still, Caleb.” Zip. Smooth. Tug. Wrinkles lost the argument with his palm. “You are not leaving my house looking like a rumor.”“Pops.” Caleb tried a half-turn, taller now, chin annoying with pride. “We’re… fine.”“You’re chaos.” Sebastian pivoted to Camden, flattening curls that refused law. “Buttons. We respect buttons.”Camden put on saint eyes. “Or—we respect childcare. Ezren and Zara need heroes.”Caleb nodded solemnly. “Public service is noble. We volunteer for naps.”“You’re going to school.” Sebastian checked laces like they owed him money. Then the twins grabbed him—both at once—peppermint and spearmint lifting warm into the cold. Lavender and pressed cotton met them. They stayed a second too long.“Pops smells like panic,” Caleb said into his sleeve.“Fresh sheets,” Camden murmured at his shoulder.“Let go,” Sebastian wa

  • (Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children   119: Swollen

    Sebastian hadn’t always been like this.There was a time—Ezra remembered it like muscle memory—when waking him meant risking a death glare that could curdle milk. Sebastian had been all sharp lines and sharper words back then, coiled tight even in sleep, too dignified to be held.Now?Now Ezra had a swollen, whimpering Omega practically folded into his chest before sunrise—scent-drunk, glossy-eyed, and melting. Slick clung to his thighs like syrup, his tits ached from fullness, his belly round and firm with the weight of their pups—and Ezra’s cock was already buried inside him.Pregnancy had broken something in him.No—softened it.Sebastian wasn’t just pliant. He was spoiled. He clung in his sleep, sighed Ezra’s name like it meant safety, got moody if Ezra didn’t kiss his shoulders before work. His thighs had grown softer, heavier. His hips stayed spread in his sleep. His breasts were fuller now, sensitive under Ezra’s palms, nipples dark and tender under thin fabric. Even his sc

  • (Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children   118: Scent Of Home

    NB: AN AU WHERE EZRA DIDN'T LOCK SEBASTIAN UP AND SEBASTIAN DIDN'T RUN AWAY WITH THE KIDS.The scent in the house was criminal.Heavy sandalwood and spice clung to the walls like a second coat of paint, woven with warm vanilla and something even softer—a new thread, sweeter and quieter, barely there but unmistakable.Five months in, Sebastian’s scent had changed.Not dramatically. Not enough that strangers would catch it. But the people who lived in that house? The ones who knew him by heartbeat, who buried themselves against his skin when they needed comfort? They knew.And they swarmed.Caleb was plastered to Sebastian’s left side, cheek squished against his belly like a cat finding sun. Camden, not to be outdone, had wormed between Sebastian and the counter, arms wrapped around his waist, breathing slow and deep with every sniff.“Okay,” Sebastian said softly, trying to stir the soup without jostling either of them. “Someone’s about to get a ladle to the nose.”“Just sniffin’, Dadd

  • (Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children   117: Three Heartbeats

    Sebastian descended the stairs on shaky legs, one hand half-covering the fresh bite at his throat. The lanterns in the living room cast a soft honey glow across book-lined shelves, but the scene he’d just left behind still burned behind his eyes like a curse: Lavielle Marrowen—shirtless, tiger-striped, cigarette dangling blocking the doorway while Mia sprawled on the bed, wrecked and glassy-eyed. Even through three walls Lavielle’s blood-orchid smoke and crushed pepper clung to the timber like varnish. Elio glanced up from his seat by the hearth, amber liquor swirling slow in a cut-glass tumbler. Sandalwood logs popped in the grate; cinnamon-and-apple smoke curled sweetly through the room. “Judging by that expression,” he drawled, “I take it Lavielle finally made herself…known.” Sebastian lowered himself onto the sofa arm, pulse still sprinting. “Known? She’s shifted Mia’s centre of gravity six inches south.” Elio winced, more long-suffering than shocked then produced a sli

  • (Not) My Husband: Still The Father Of Our Children   116: The Best So Far

    The room reverberated with afterglow—humid air saturated in sweat, citrus slick, and blooming blood-orchid. Beneath it all lurked a heavier note: burnt amber and spice, the kind of Alpha pheromone that clung to drywall and slithered under doors to haunt anyone in the hallway. Even the bedframe gave a weak, uncertain creak every few seconds, as if its joints couldn’t catch up with what had been done to it.Mia lay boneless on the mattress—legs still trembling, dress bunched up at her waist, thighs glistening. Her makeup was ruined. Mascara streaked under both eyes, hair clinging to her temples like she'd been dragged through a thunderstorm.She looked nothing like the sharp-tongued Greystone attorney who had once taken down two senior Alphas in a televised council debate.No.She looked like a properly bred Omega.One who’d been folded in half, and rutted through the mattress, then left exactly where she belon

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