Ezra was on his knees in the hallway, scrubbing dried juice out of the floorboards with a toothbrush that definitely didn’t belong to him, when the knock came.
He didn’t move at first. The twins were in the living room, wrestling over a remote that didn’t work, the TV blaring static like it was channeling some ancient curse. Mia had taken up silent residence on the front porch with her hoodie drawn up and earbuds jammed in like emotional earplugs. Somewhere upstairs, the toilet made a gurgling sound that implied vengeance. Then the knock came again. Firmer. Ezra exhaled through his nose, wiped his hand on a dishtowel, and got up slow, like gravity had learned his name. He opened the door. Sebastian stood on the porch, framed by the late afternoon sun and the faint glimmer of lavender in the warm air. Not flowers—him. Ezra caught the scent before anything else, soft and floral with a touch of warmth, like the inside of a greenhouse right after a storm. It hit something in his chest, low and immediate. Sebastian looked as polished as he smelled—light tan pants, a lavender button-down shirt, and those dewy dark curls that made it impossible to look anywhere else for too long. He looked like he lived in a world where everything matched and nothing ever broke. Ezra almost hated him for it. “You again,” Ezra muttered, blinking as if trying to reset his senses. Sebastian gave a small, uncertain smile. “Hi. Sorry to just show up—I got the address from the children’s home. They said it was alright. I just wanted to see how they’re doing.” Before Ezra could reply, a scream rang out behind him. “GET OFF ME, CAMDEN! YOU’RE SITTING ON MY FACE!” “YOU SAID PILLOW FIGHTS WERE FUN!” The door burst open behind him and both twins shot out barefoot, one trailing glitter, the other brandishing string cheese like a sacred sword. “Sebby!” Camden screeched, skidding to a stop. Caleb slammed into Ezra’s thigh and bounced off. “You didn’t tell us you were coming!” Sebastian crouched just in time, arms open wide. The twins barreled into him, and Ezra couldn’t help but notice the way Sebastian folded around them—instinctive, soft, safe. And that scent—lavender and warmth—grew stronger in the humid air, making Ezra’s skin prickle. “Surprise,” Sebastian murmured, pressing a kiss to Camden’s messy curls. “You two still causing trouble?” “We haven’t broken anything important,” Caleb declared proudly. Ezra muttered, “Debatable.” Sebastian rose slowly, one hand still resting on Camden’s back. He glanced toward the porch where Mia stood, earbuds still in, hoodie up, but watching. “Hey, Mia,” he said gently. She gave a stiff nod. “Hi.” No smile. But her shoulders weren’t as tense. Sebastian looked back to Ezra, who stood braced in the doorway, scent spiked slightly with stress—spice and something heavier, like earth cracked under heat. Sebastian inhaled it involuntarily, felt it all the way down his spine. “So,” he asked carefully, “are visitors allowed?” Ezra stepped back with a sigh. “You might regret it.” Sebastian smiled faintly. “I’m an Omega who works with kids. I specialize in regret.” Inside, the house was marginally improved since his last visit—less cardboard, more laundry. A makeshift schedule drooped from the fridge like it had already accepted its fate. Marker drawings graced the walls like murals of battle: a dinosaur devouring what might’ve once been a house. Sebastian paused in the living room and took a breath. Sandalwood hit him next—sandalwood and spice and something smoky underneath, like Ezra had been carved from forest fire and kept burning. It tugged at something deep and old in his chest, and he nearly forgot how to stand still. “This place has good bones,” Sebastian said. Ezra dropped into a chair with a groan. “It has loud bones. And haunted ones.” The twins were back on the couch, arguing over a show about magical frogs. Sebastian took the seat beside Ezra without asking, their proximity brushing close, scent currents curling between them in lazy spirals. “You look like hell,” Sebastian said gently. Ezra snorted. “Thanks. I’m on the no-sleep-and-too-much-coffee diet.” Sebastian glanced around—cereal under the table, socks on the chandelier, the faint thrum of Mia’s music. He didn’t speak until his eyes drifted back to Ezra’s profile. “How’s it really going?” Ezra rubbed a hand down his face. “Like I walked into a life I wasn’t meant to live. Megan’s gone. The kids are...they’re amazing, but it’s like she’s in every room, every drawer. I keep wondering what she’d do, how she’d handle it better.” Sebastian nodded slowly. “She’d struggle, too. Even people who plan for this fall apart sometimes.” Ezra’s voice dropped. “I didn’t plan any of this.” “I know,” Sebastian said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not the one they need.” Ezra turned toward him, brows furrowed. “You don’t even know me.” Sebastian’s eyes didn’t waver. “I’ve spent time with them. I’ve heard them talk about you. Especially Mia. She pretends she doesn’t care, but when she heard your name? She stopped fighting. For a minute, she just... listened.” Ezra let that sink in. “She hasn’t smiled once.” “She will,” Sebastian promised. “She’s just trying to figure out where her new place is. You’re all learning how to be something new.” Ezra leaned back, jaw clenched. “I keep thinking... someone else should’ve taken them. Someone better.” “They don’t want better,” Sebastian said softly. “They want you.” Ezra turned his head, and their eyes met again. The air between them tightened—sandalwood and lavender colliding, drawing each other in like tides. Ezra’s pupils darkened slightly, and Sebastian had to resist the instinct to lean closer, to breathe him in fully. “So,” Ezra said after a pause, voice low, “you just checking in? Or is this the part where you offer to save me from drowning in glitter and shame?” Sebastian’s mouth lifted. “Not quite. But I am offering help. A few afternoons a week. I can give the kids consistency. Give you space to think. Maybe even shower alone.” Ezra exhaled, almost a laugh. “That’s a fantasy.” “I’m serious,” Sebastian said, brushing a hand through his curls. “I want to help. I meant what I said—I care about them." Ezra looked down at his cracked knuckles. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I could use the help.” A crash came from the kitchen. “CALEB!” Mia shrieked. “WHY IS THERE FLOUR IN THE SINK?!” “It’s for science!” “YOU’RE FOR SCIENCE!” Sebastian stood with a sigh, adjusting his sleeves. Ezra rose beside him, brushing a fleck of juice off his shirt. “Guess we’re starting now?” Sebastian asked, voice bright. “I’ll grab the mop,” Ezra replied. “You grab the scientist.” “Copy that.” They walked into the kitchen together—toward flour, toward noise, and into something neither of them had words for yet. But both of them knew how it smelled. Like home. Even now.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
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
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
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
Mia didn’t mean to slam the door, but she did.Her old bedroom greeted her like a time capsule—academy awards on the shelf, a busted dresser with a dent from when she punched it at sixteen, and the faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla still clinging to the curtains. It should’ve felt safe.But Lavielle stood inside it, looking violently out of place. And completely at home.Her black suit jacket was still buttoned—bare skin visible at the throat, inked tiger-stripes curling from her neck down beneath the lapels. She was already undoing her belt with one hand, slow, like she was bored. Like she knew exactly how this would go.“Really?” Mia snapped, glaring. “You couldn’t wait five minutes?”Lavielle’s mouth curled as she let the belt hang loose from her hand. “You brought me to your bedroom. Forgive me for reading the pheromones.”Mia’s scent had betrayed her before the door even closed. She could feel it risi
The lawn beyond the Anderson house, two hectares of winter-yellow grass and half-dormant orchard had been roped off with strings of paper lanterns. Tables skirted in navy cloth arced beside an impromptu dance square; borrowed patio heaters hissed like tame dragons. The sun sat low, peach-gold behind the treeline, frosting every breath.Sebastian moved through it all with practiced grace: lavender dish-soap still on his knuckles, a soft cashmere roll-neck skimming the fresh claim-mark on his throat. Ezra ghosted at his shoulder in a charcoal henley and dark jeans, one hand forever hovering at the small of Sebastian’s back—as if the bond would fray if he let go.Guests poured in: clinic nurses with bright scarves, neighbors balancing casserole dishes, the Moreno brothers swaggering in flannel and starting up the grill like they owned it. Mrs Finch held court near the cider urn, her red hat bobbing as she shooed pups away from the powdered-sugar do