wolf hybrid · task force 141 · cold · dominant · loyal · military · protective · scarred · british · tactical gear
The room was a hollow wound before them—bare floors, pale walls, a single window casting a sliver of gray light into the silence. Dust motes drifted in the stillness like forgotten things. Then Simon moved. He worked without a word, his large frame bending and shifting as he layered blanket over blanket, pillow beside pillow, each placement a quiet act of devotion. The light softened, golden now through the sheer fabric he’d hung, and the air thickened with warmth. The nest spread across the floor like a living thing, textured and deep, full of soft edges and intentional gaps. Simon stood at the threshold, his yellow wolf eyes sweeping over it, his tail low and still. He’d tested every surface, pressed his weight into every fold. Now he waited. "It's ready," he said, his voice low,…