Saturday came with a soft hush of wind and sunlight stretching lazily across the grasslands of their inherited property in Wesmere.
A few days had passed since Ezra had packed up his life in the city to care for the kids-Mia, fourteen and already sharp as a tack, and the twin six-year-olds, Caleb and Camden. The move had been both frantic and numbing. Ezra had left behind more than an apartment; he left behind a job he was good at, an identity forged by city grit and sawdust. Renovation projects had kept him sane, and now he was trading beams and blueprints for bedtimes and bickering. But what choice did he have? Raising three kids in the city would've meant endless bills, cramped living, and too many creeps casting glances at a girl like Mia, who was fast blossoming into a young woman. Here, in Wesmere, they had space. History. A house with six upstairs bedrooms that hadn't been lived in for years, not since their father passed and left it to Megan. Megan had lived in another city with the kids, never settling into the property. The land had sat abandoned like a paused memory until Ezra stepped back onto it eight years later. Sebastian had been helping out already, true to his word. He wasn't around every day, but when he came by, it gave Ezra space to breathe. There was something about Sebastian's quiet steadiness that slipped into the creases of their chaos like balm. That morning, Sebastian had texted: [Sebastian]: Got a case consult this morning but I'll swing by later. Let the kids know I didn't vanish. Ezra sent back a thumbs-up emoji, then turned toward the kids. "Alright," he called, tugging open the passenger side-a recent indulgence he'd almost felt guilty for, but it was necessary now, with three kids and a half-wild stretch of land to maintain. "We're doing neighbor duty. Hop in." "Like a welcome wagon?" Mia asked, already sliding into the front. Ezra grunted. "More like a 'please don't call CPS on us' kind of introduction." The kids laughed, and that small sound felt like sunlight cracking through a thick cloud. The court was wide and gravel-lined, with five properties spaced generously apart in a quiet semicircle. Megan had always said their father had picked the spot for its seclusion, its view, and its "perfect air." Ezra hadn't stepped foot on the land in over eight years-not since their father's funeral. Now, it was his turn to re-root the Anderson name here. Mia, already scrolling through her phone, sighed dramatically. "This is going to be so awkward." They began with the Atwells. The Atwell home looked like a P*******t board exploded over it: white trim, lavender bushes, a perfect swing set in the front yard. Jonathan answered the door in joggers and a tech-branded hoodie, while Rachel Atwell stood poised behind him in a perfectly ironed dress, all smiles and knowing eyes. "Oh! You must be Ezra," she said with a grin just tight enough to notice. "And these must be Megan's little ones. Mia, right? You're growing into such a lovely young lady." Mia stiffened slightly, offering a polite smile. Ezra noticed Rachel's gaze lingered too long. Jonathan was pleasant enough, but Rachel offered a few too many suggestions about schools, community programs, "adjustment phases," and Ezra felt his chest tighten by the time they stepped away. "She looked at us like we were rescue puppies," Mia muttered as they walked. "Don't take it personally," Ezra said. "Some people can't help talking down." Next came Mrs. Dolores Finch. Her little house was crowded with flower pots and wind chimes. When she saw them coming, she waved from the porch and called out, "Ezra Anderson! Look at you. And those babies!" Before they could protest, the twins were being offered lemon cookies, and Mia was cornered into a story about Megan's teenage antics. Ezra endured a cheek-pinch, then a thousand questions about his love life. "Now who's that sweet boy with the curls that's been visiting you?" Dolores asked with a wink. "He's got such lovely manners. A therapist, you say? If I were thirty years younger..." Ezra coughed, trying not to laugh. "Just a friend. He's helping with the kids." Dolores patted his arm, satisfied with herself. "You need a bit of help. Your hands are already full." On to the Naidoos. Their house had herbs hanging on the porch and the smell of incense drifting through the screen door. Priya opened it with a smile that immediately relaxed Ezra's shoulders. "We were hoping you'd come by," she said, ushering them in. "Kiran's in the back working on a garden path. The kids can come meet the rabbits." Kiran was indeed in the yard, sweat-soaked and cheerful. He gave Ezra a tour of the garden and offered help if Ezra needed help restoring the land. "I'm a landscape architect," he said. "I'd love to help you bring the old place back to life." "That'd be... really appreciated," Ezra admitted. Priya handed Mia a small jar of lavender balm. "For the headaches. I get them too." By the time they left, the twins were carrying sticks pretending to be wizards, and Mia had a faint smile. Their last stop was the Morenos' place. Tomas opened the door, blinking like he'd just stepped out of a cave. Felix stood behind him holding a wrench. "We don't get visitors," Tomas said. "We're the new neighbors," Ezra offered. "I mean, old new. I used to live here." Felix nodded. "The house with the green shutters." They didn't say much, but the brothers handed Camden a sunflower seedling and told Mia she had "a calm aura." It was weird and sweet all at once. Back at the house, Ezra felt the edges of exhaustion setting in. The court had been polite, but full of unspoken things. They all knew Megan. They'd all been watching the place.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