I stood alone in my nest room, holding scent items from my pack, and felt something settle in my chest that had been unsettled for five years.
Home. This was what home felt like.
I started with the base layers. The mattress we’d chosen together, king-sized and firm, sat in the corner where two walls met, creating a natural protective angle. I covered it with the softest sheets I could find, in that same sage green as the walls, then layered blankets in varying textures. Dane’s thermal blanket went near the back, creating a foundation of his leather and gunpowder scent. Silas’s knitted blanket layered over that, adding vanilla and cardamom. A thick duvet in cream went on top, something I’d bought new that would gradually absorb all our scents.
Pillows came next. So many pillows. I’d discovered I wanted a nest where I could arrange myself in any position and always be supported, always be surrounded by softness. Regular pillows for sleeping. Body pillows for hugging. Decorative pillows for building walls when I wanted to feel enclosed.
I arranged them systematically, creating a U-shape at the back and sides of the mattress, leaving the front open for easy entry. Beau’s hoodie got tucked into the pillows on the right, where cedar smoke could drift through the entire nest. Silas’s flannel went on the left, completing the scent circle.
The overhead lights were too bright, so I used only the lamps. Warm yellow light instead of harsh white. The string lights Beau had hung along one wall added ambiance without overwhelming the space.
I’d bought a small bookshelf that fit against the wall, and I filled it with things that felt like safety. Books I’d loved. Photos from pack outings. The radio I used for work, because even in my nest, I was still a coordinator. A small basket of snacks,because heat made me hungry and having food accessible meant one less thing to worry about.
When I was done, when every blanket and pillow and scent item was arranged exactly right, I stepped back to look at what I’d built.
It was perfect.
Not pristine or Pinterest-worthy. Just perfect for me. A space that smelled like pack, looked like safety, felt like home.
I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the pack group chat.Ready. You can come in now.
They appeared within seconds, and I realized they’d been waiting just outside the door. Probably listening to me move around, probably resisting the urge to help, probably dying of curiosity about what I was building.
“Wow,” Silas said, taking in the transformed room. “Sable, this is gorgeous.”
“It’s cozy,” Beau added, his voice soft with something that felt like awe through our bond. “It feels safe. Warm.”
Dane didn’t say anything, just looked around the room with his tactical assessment face firmly in place. But through the bond, I felt his satisfaction. Felt his approval. Felt his pride that I’d created something this perfect.
“Do you like it?” I asked, suddenly uncertain. This was vulnerable, showing them my nest. Showing them the physical manifestation of my omega biology that Nathan had called excessive and unnecessary.
“It’s perfect,” Dane said firmly. “This is exactly what a nest should be. Personal. Specific to you. Safe.”
“Can we come in?” Silas asked. “Or do you need more time alone with it first?”
I thought about that. Traditional omega behavior said the nest was invitation-only, that pack needed explicit permissionto enter. But we’d already broken so many traditional rules that adding one more felt natural.
“You can come in,” I said. “But take off your shoes first. And move slowly. The nest is arranged specifically, and I don’t want it disturbed until I’ve had time to be in it myself.”
They removed their shoes with careful attention, then moved into the room with the same cautious respect they’d use approaching a wild animal. Like they understood this space was sacred in a way that had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with biology.
I climbed into the center of the nest first, settling into the space I’d created, feeling how every surface touched me exactly right. The pillows supported my back. The blankets cocooned me in warmth. The scent of pack wrapped around me like safety made tangible.
“Come here,” I said, opening my arms in invitation. “Let me show you what I built.”
They climbed in carefully, Beau on my right, Silas on my left, Dane at my back. We arranged ourselves around each other with the unconscious choreography of people who’d done this before, who knew exactly how we fit together.
“Your hoodie is perfect,” I told Beau, pulling it closer so his cedar smoke scent was right against my face. “It smells exactly like you. Smoke and safety and home.”
“Your blanket makes me feel grounded,” I said to Dane, reaching back to touch the thermal fabric. “Like even in heat, even when I’m overwhelmed, I have something solid to anchor to.”
“And your flannel,” I said to Silas, “your flannel smells like comfort. Like someone who sees everything and still chooses to stay.”
Through the bonds, I felt all three of them respond to my words. Felt their love, their satisfaction, their pride that their scent items made the nest feel right.
“This is what I needed,” I said quietly. “Not a room. Not just a space. But this. A place where I can be completely omega without apology. Where heat isn’t something to endure alone but something to share with my pack. Where I’m not too much or not enough. Where I’m exactly right.”
“You’re perfect,” Dane said, his voice rough with emotion. “This nest is perfect. You’re perfect.”
