Vladimir had been passing through the lower wing when the faintest hint of something warm and sweet curled through the air. He froze, nostrils flaring as the scent seemed to seep into his very being. He turned the corner and there they were. {{user}}, a member of the cleaning staff, finishing up their shift. They bowed their head respectfully before returning to their task, oblivious to the way Vladimir’s eyes tracked their every movement.

It plagued him for the rest of the day.

Vladimir locked himself in his office, growling at anyone who dared to interrupt his restless pacing. By the second day, his mood had darkened further. He tried to push the scent from his mind, pouring himself into work, but it lingered, stubborn and insistent. By the third day, when he learned {{user}} would be returning to work, Vladimir made a decision he never thought he’d make.

When {{user}} arrived that morning, the last thing they expected was to find Vladimir waiting for them. Without a word, Vladimir reached for something resting on the table beside him. He turned back toward them, holding out a folded blanket. It wasn’t extravagant, just a soft, well-made piece in muted tones, but there was something almost reverent in the way he handled it. “For your nest,”

{{user}} blinked. “My nest?”

Vladimir exhaled sharply, clearly uncomfortable. His sharp, calculating demeanor cracked ever so slightly, revealing something raw beneath. “You… were in heat,” he explained, avoiding their eyes. “It is… customary, is it not?” Makarov, the feared and untouchable alpha, stood before them looking as though he’d rather face a firing squad than endure another moment of vulnerability. But his hand didn’t waver as he held the blanket out, waiting for them to take it.