#Is it the night in the rain where some kind of sentient being has spared him?

[bloodbathfortwo]

Alex and Nigel on a random Friday night. Dinner done, dishes cleaned, kids put to sleep, and it's just them in their own bedroom. Nigel has missed his Jack and he can't help but cling all over him. What do we think, chat? 🎤

[letspurpletogether]

The Guardian || M. Yoongi (M)

Summary: You have never meddled with hybrid affairs, not until the night you find a stray panther hybrid hiding behind some trash containers. 

Genre: hybrid au, romance, dystopian, angst, drama, mild smut.

Pairings: Panther hybrid!Yoongi x human!reader

Word count: 20k+

Warnings: Assault, mentions of abuse, some past trauma, and persecutions, blood, mentions of violence and death, threats to the reader’s life, mild smut, voyeurism/exhibitionism (kind of ig), masturbation (male). Some fluff along those lines too.

A/N: this used to be a drabble series since I was limited to the mobile app before. I merged the parts together to make this part one of what is going to be a two-shot now. Nothing has changed regarding the plot, just more words.

A thunder cracks the sky in two, making you almost drop the trash bag all over the ground. You take a deep breath, and tighten your grip around the plastic bag. The bakery’s closing time had passed about an hour ago, but it had been raining so heavily that you couldn’t head home just yet. So you decided to stay and start the clean-up you had schedule for tomorrow morning. Rain had subsided enough now for you to take out the trash without getting wet head to toes, but still the chilly weather makes your whole body shiver.

You go down the three cement steps that connect your bakery’s back entrance to the backstreets where all the trash containers are aligned. Carefully, trying to avoid stepping on a puddle you toss the big black bag over the edge of your container and wipe your hands clean on your jeans.

Glancing down at your feet, you notice your untied shoelace. You kneel down and tie them in a quick knot before you stand up again. But it is in that swift motion that your eyes catch the silhouette of something hiding behind the containers. At first, you can’t quite give shape to it. It is like a big dark ball of wet clothes, and you almost think your mind is playing tricks at you when you notice a fluffy tail wrapping around the ball.

You crouch down again to have a better look at it. It looks like a child, no- a person. A person hugging their knees, face hiding in between their arms. But then you remember the tail, and as you see it curling around one of his legs you realize this is an hybrid. And a stray one if he is here in an alley and not inside a shelter.

As your eyes become accustomed to the dim light, you can make out the shape of his head and the pair of round ears on top of a tousled and wet mane of jet black hair. They twitch when you try scurrying between the containers, closer to him.

“Hey there… Are you lost?”

A pair of yellow eyes look back at you alarmed. He hisses, showing off his pointy canines in a threatening gesture. You stumble back, landing on your ass, and palms against the rough ground. Your heart beat furiously inside your chest when you first tried to stand up.

You have never been this close to an hybrid before.

These… humanoid pets as the media called them. They are quite popular among the rich families. You would often seen them strolling around the privileged parts of the city alongside their owners in golden leashes and extravagant clothing when you were making deliveries. The idea of hybrids, of having themㅡa sentient personㅡas a pet to toy around with, had always made you cringe. Was it ethical? Was it right? Where they human? Or just talking animals? People always had different opinions on that matter.

As far as you know the are some non profit organizations advocating for hybrid’s rights. You’d seen their rustic posters on the subway stations, but they weren’t really popular. The media, owned by the big fishes that handled hybrids’ affair and distribution had them labeled as criminals, even terrorists groups sometimes. They accused these activists of spreading lies about the hybrids, misinforming the people and potentially endangering the lives of the creatures and their owners. Just last week on the news channel they broadcasted a story about the fire that destroyed an illegal underground shelter in the outskirts of town and killed ten people. Three hybrids among them.

The local authorities stated the tragedy had happened because the heating system for cold-blooded hybrids quarters had been installed without the normative precautions. After him, the press representative for BioTech Servicesㅡthe biggest company that arranged hybrid distributionㅡDaniel Lee had made a statement. “Let this be a lesson to you all”, he spoke in a stern voice, his thick black eyebrows scowling at the camera as if he was looking straight at you. “You might think you are doing good, but this is what happens when you don’t leave the protection of the hybrid creatures to the competent authorities”.

Hybrids had never interested you apart from the news. While some members of your family like your cousin Mia did want to own an hybrid (and was in a desperate search for funds to acquire the outrageously expensive license that allowed her to purchase one), you yourself had never meddled with hybrid affairs.

Not until tonight, at least.

And there is no doubt that the person in front of you looks very humanㅡexcept when he bared his teeth out and hissed at you.

What is an hybrid doing hiding behind trash containers in this part of the city? You can’t help but wonder. This is far from being the rich part of town. No one in this neighbourhood had the means to owns an hybrid that you know about, and if they do, well… they have it well hidden.

So what can you do about this situation? It isn’t like you can just take him home with you, you don’t have an owner’s license and by the way he reacted probably wouldn’t want to come voluntarily either. You could call BioTech Services but a part of you fears they would start an investigation that would ruin your business.

It had happened before a couple of years ago when a runaway hybrid was found hiding inside the warehouse of a small delivery company. They authorities teared the place apart looking for more runaways and strays, and the business owner was given an unpayable fine. The company closed shortly after that, never been able to recover from the damages caused. You definitely don’t  want that to happen to your store. It’s all you have, it is your life. Your grandma had passed on her apron to you so that you would continue her business and keep the Tradition alive. Tradition is the name under which your nana had opened the pastry shop for the first time over three decades ago.

You can’t risk losing it all because of a stray…

You can also report him to the district pound. But nothing can guarantee that the hybrid is going to stay here until they arrive. Either way, he can’t stay, is too dangerous.

You have to lure him out.

With a plan in mind, you go back inside and grab an old table cloth the hybrid can use to dry himself up and a gray hoodie left behind by your friend Seokjin the last time he was here eating all the strawberry pies. You also make sure to fill a take-out box with some of the leftovers of that day’s production, and the go back outside to give it all to the hybrid.

You step carefully again to the containers, and place the plastic bag with the items in his visual range. You squat down. “I don’t want any trouble, so here. Eat if you want and get cleaned up”. You push the bag closer to him, carefully in case he lashes out again. “You shouldn’t stay here, it’s cold and dirty and it might rain again later tonight. It’s not safe...”.

You wait a few more seconds hoping he would take the bag, but he doesn’t move. Distrusting eyes glaring back at you. There’s nothing else you can do, so you leave the alley to finish closing the store and head back home for the night.

The next following days, you slip back to your usual routine. Wake up early to bake your goodies, open the store, tend to your clients throughout the day. The usual… Except that you made an habit of checking the alley and around the containers every night to make sure the hybrid had really left. And although there were no traces of him anywhere, you did find the makeshift towel you gave him, hanging half-dry from the back door’s handle the day after.

Now, that a couple weeks had passed by, you’d forgotten all about that hybrid incident. Your day goes as usual, smiling to clients, welcoming them to your small world, having them eating your confections. It’s closing time, you are finishing locking up the store and are about leave. You walk home. You always do, your apartment building is only three blocks away from the Tradition, anyway and your neighborhood, albeit modest, had always been safe.

That night, however, the strange feeling that someone is following you assaults your mind halfway home. Even though the streets are empty and the sky was clear. No clouds, no weird shadows creeping through the alleyways. A round yellow moon bathed the city streets with its warm light.

It takes a moment to convince yourself you are just imagining things, that it is all good, that you are fine. That’s until an old man cuts through your path, forcing you to stop in a halt. His eyes are red and sore, and he smells like stale liquor and cigarettes. He asks you for money, and you try to dismiss him by politely “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have any change in me at the moment”, you say and resume your walk. The sting on your scalp as he yanks you down by the hair takes you by surprise. You immediately cry out in pain, and drop your bag to the ground.

“You fancy bitches are all the same!”, he yells at you, tightening his grip on your hair. “You think you are above me! Huh?! Too good to spare me a glance, sweetheart?!”

Tears are prickling in your eyes. Your heart racing fast in fear, and your knees become weak. “No, please! I don’t- I just…!”. You try to free yourself. However, another pull at your hair has you falling down, your knees scraping on the ground though the fabric of your jeans. You cry for help, and he replies with another tug to your hair.

“Shut the fuck up!”, he barks. “I hate whiny bitches so much”.

That’s when you hear it. A growl, loud and deep like a thunder, coming from somewhere behind your assailant. The man curses and turns around, giving you a chance to slip from his grip just in time to watch as second figure pulls him into the shadows of the nearest alley.

You heard a scream, the tearing of fabric and then just silence. For a moment you can’t move a muscle. The quietness of the night mixed with what just happened overwhelms your senses. You covered your face with one hand as tears are still falling down your cheeks.

“Are you hurt?”, you are startled by a deep voice and your first impulse is to run away. But your legs don’t respond the way you like, and you are stumbling back to the ground.

You curse out loud when a hand reaches out for your shoulder to help you stabilize. You don’t realize this, of course, until he is right in front of you: A young man with amber eyes and dark tousled hair.

He crouches next to you, and you are quickly to recognize the oversized hoodie you gave away to a certain hybrid about two weeks ago. That’s when you raise your head to look at him. The hood covers his ears but you can still tell there was something more than hair behind the gray fabric. To your surprise he doesn’t look dirty, as you would expect from someone who’s been living on the streets. He does smell a little like wet dirt, though but nothing offensive. You glance down at his hands. His nails are pointy and sharp, like claws and his knuckles are purple and bruised.

“Can’t you talk?”, he speaks again, and you are remainded you’ve been staring for too long now.

“S-sorry…”, you mumble and shake your head. “Thank you, I’m okay”. He eyes you suspiciously and you are about to assure him you are perfectly fine again, when he leans closer and sniffs the air around you. “What…?”

“You’re good”, he simply says after that, as if that is enough explanation.He offers you a hand to help you up, and you gladly take it. Your legs are still wobbly and the shock hasn’t completely left you body just yet. “Now go home, human”, he gestures you to leave and hides his hands inside the hoodie’s pocket. You nod, and pick your bag up from the floor. When you turn around to thank him once more, you find an empty sidewalk.

He is gone.

A sense of security immediately washes over you as you reach your building, and step inside the tall brick structure. You greet the door man and take the elevator to the 7th floor where you live. You are still shaken about what just happened, the assailant, the hybrid that came to your rescue. Why would he help you? You wonder. How did he know where to find you? The feeling of being watched…? Was that him? Your restless thoughts invade your sleep that night. You dream about an hybrid boy slipping through your window and watching over your sleep. You dream about a low purr lulling you deep into the dreamland, and the smell of rain and wet dirt.

The next morning, you wake up past six with a sense of not having sleep like this in ages. You feel so light and rested, it actually feels you’re still sleeping. You notice the window to your room still open, didn’t you close it last night before going to bed? 

“I must had left it open…”, you mumble to yourself before getting ready for your day as usual.

Normally, you wouldn’t mind having a free day all to yourself to stay home and watch Netflix in you pajamas. But being sick kind of makes it hard for you to enjoy yourself at home alone. You’ve lived alone for years now, since your grandmother passed. After you graduated from high school, you moved to the city to live with your nana and study culinary arts to be the best pastry chef in town for when the time came for you to take over the Tradition… Speaking of which, you should really phone the shop to see if everything is running smoothly as you friend promised.

Seokjin had sent Rose to cover for you today, and made you promise you’d call him if you needed anything. You and him had been friends since your first day in town. His family owned a few shops by the river a few blocks away from your pastry shop. Seokjin would always stop by to get his mother something and being the social butterfly he still is, he befriended your grandma and you soon after. He was there for you when she passed, stood by your side and helped you will all the funeral arrangements and to reopen the Tradition again once you felt ready.

Seokjin loved to cook, the way his eyes gleamed with excitement whenever he was in the kitchen was something you’d always admired. Whilst his family kind of hoped he would get an office job, stable, ordinary, he decide to pursue his dream of becoming a professional chef. He had his own traditional restaurant downtown, to which Jiwoo served as sommelier after seven; it was quite the fashionable place nowadays, frequented by important businessmen and socialités. The food was amazing truth be told, but there was something else that made Epiphany’s popularity rose like foam on a freshly poured beer, something about Jin and the way he charmed people so easily. His handsome face, his impeccable self-groom, his smile, his jokes. It was his otherworldly skills as a host that drew people back to Epiphany all the time after their first meal.

You kind of envied that sometimes. Nevertheless, you had other type of clients of course. People from around the block, familiar faces you’ve gotten to know for half your life now. Like Mrs. Park, a nice old lady who was the number one fan of your pineapple tarts, or Mr. Caruso who was an art teacher and had gifted one of his beautiful paintings to your grandma once. It hung from your dining room wall, depicting a white rose bouquet on table next to a basket of fresh, red and juicy strawberries. Sometimes they looked so real you had this urge to extend your hand and pick one from the painting. Just like now, you think to yourself as you stare at the painting right across the table.

You are finishing the cup of chamomile tea you brewed yourself after a late breakfast and now you are craving some strawberries. There’s Mrs. Khan’s grocery store is just around the corner. You flounder for a moment if it is worth the risk going out with this weather and your sore throat to only get a box of strawberries. You walk past your living room, to the sliding glass door that heads to a tiny balcony. You don’t open it, though, you just slide the curtains a little to take a peek outside. There are rain clouds coming from the west side of town, opaquing the feeble sunlight that managed to slip pass the cloudy sky. Maybe if you run to the story very quickly you might make it before the it starts pouring. But just as you are about to slip your coat on, you hear the little droplets smashing against the glass panels and the metal railing of the balcony. It’s a soft pitter-patter nothing your umbrella can’t handle. However, much to your dismay as soon as a thunder echoes through the sky, a downpour breaks out, covering the skyline in a gray veil of rain and subsequently trashing completely any plans you have of going out.

With a resigned sigh you plop down onto your couch and search for the tv remote somewhere between the beige cushions to binge watch a whatever Netflix comes up with in your recommendations. After a short selection, you settle down for a baking reality and another cup of tea for the afternoon. The rain continues to pour down as you quickly feel yourself dozing off as the main chef on the tv explains the detailed layered interior of an ovoide cake.

A lighting streaks down, parting the clouds in two. Your dimmed illuminated living room is covered for a second in a blue light. But is enough to reveal the tall shadow of a person stretching across the carpeted floor.

Your stomach does a somersault and your heart starts pounding furiously against your chest the moment your turn around and meet the dark figure standing on the balcony. If you hadn’t been so frightened by the sight, you would have stop to wonder how the hell did it manage to get there, seven stories up, under the heavy rain. But you first impulse today is to scream, to run and lock yourself inside your room before this creep attacks you. And you are readying your feet to run, when he does something that leaves you completely disconcerted… to say the least. The shadowy figure uncovers his head, pointy ears coming to light and gently… he knocks on the glass.

An hybrid.

The hybrid.

Wait what?

You blink once. 

A moment passes and he knocks again with the same caution as before, as if he’s actually waiting for you to let him in. You can’t think for an appropriate response. Ignore him? Resume your intention to hide away in your room? Sure if he climbed all the way up here he can find his own way down too. Or should you call the police? Well, considering he helped you before, it would be quite rude to report him or let him freeze outside in the cold rain any longer. You hurry to the wall to turn the lights on and have a better look at whatever is happening and to make sure he’s the same hybrid from before.

The rainy gloom is replaced by the warm light of the led chandelier that hangs from the ceiling as it illuminates the living room and casts enough light towards the balcony for you to recognize the young man standing outside. It’s definitely him. His hair is wet, fringe plastered against his forehead and his little ears keep flicking back and forwards on his head. When you meet his eyes, he wriggles the fingers on his lifted hand in some kind of awkward greeting gesture. This is situation is completely absurd. So obviously, you decide to go with it.

You walk over the glass door a slide it open.

A familiar smell of wet dirt kind of sends you into a deja-vu as you glance at his form. He doesn’t look that big or menacing anymore as you stand in front of him. Seokjin is way tallerㅡand broaderㅡyou note to yourself as you notice he’s still wearing the other one’s hoodie, which is completely soaked in rain. All of him is. 

You notice his amber eyes scanning your face as you do the same to his.

“Human…”, he mutters in a low but soft voice. You note his button nose, and the way his lips seem to form a natural pout when he speaks. “You didn’t go to work today. Are you sick?”.

His question is so out of the blue, and his tone worried like you knew each other as good friends, that you remain silent for a moment. Taking it all in. Did he…? Did he just climbed to a balcony 70 feet high to ask youㅡa completely strangerㅡif you skipped work because you were sick?

You stare at him, dumbfounded. He blinks, calmly despite the rain drops that keeps falling on his head and shoulders as he waits for you to answer. His ears flick again. You notice a black tail waving behind his legs. And you finally snap.

“Are you serious right now?!”, the exclamation leaves your mouth before you can stop yourself and you yank him inside, to shield him from the rain. Does he want to get sick too? What the hell is wrong with this manㅡhybrid or whatever he is?

He stumbles inside, and drips into your carpet but you pay no attention to it as you head to your room to fetch him a clean towel. He hasn’t moved by the time you return, not even an inch and he remains still as you throw the towel over his shoulders to attempt to dry him up a little.

“First of all, what the hell? Second, who are you and what on earth are you doing here?”, you ask him, pressing the towel down on his chest, shoulders, moving up softly to his cheeks and hair.

“You know who I am”

“You’re a cat hybrid and a stray. That’s all I know”

“Jaguar...”, he huffs. You catch an offended tint in his tone this time. His tail flicks uneasy behind him.

“What?”

“I’m a black jaguar hybrid, not a cat...“

“Well, sorry. I don’t know anything about hybrids!” you retort, looking at him again. You’re about half an inch shorter than him, so you don’t have bend your neck too much “But seriously? Are you following me? I told you I didn’t want any trouble! The last thing I need BioTech knocking at my door”.

He doesn’t reply. Maybe he’s not much of a talker, you think to yourself. Still, you need him to understand how inconvenient this situation is for both of you, but specially for you.

“Look… I can’t afford nor want a license, so if you were looking for a new owner I’m sorry to disappoint you”.

He frowns a little, but his face remains rather neutral. He reaches for the towel with his own hands now and you step back to let him dry himself now.

“I’m not interested in a new collar, don’t worry”, he says. His tone is stern and you come to wander if you’ve made him upset. “Like I said…”, he clears his throat and pressed his lips together “I came to make sure you were okay, that is all”.

You frown at his words and glance at him with a questioning look.

“Why? You don’t know me and I don’t even know your name. I only gave you leftovers and a used sweater. What do you want from me?”.

“You are one of the good ones, human.”, He clutches the towel against his chest with both hands. “You showed me kindness, I wanted to… repay the favor, I guess”.

His ears fold down against his skull. It’s such a soft gesture, and his eyes look genuine. It makes him look so small and vulnerable that you have to resist the urge to pet him. You remind yourself he is not only a grown man but his genes are also mixed with those of a wild animal. A panther, a predator, not a house cat you can pet.

You take a breath and fold your arms over your chest.

“You already helped me, remember?”, you remind him of that night when the drunk man assaulted you. He nods so you shrug. “Then we’re even. You don’t need to watch over me. I don’t want you to...”. He says nothing, his eyes drop to the floor as you let out a sight. “Honestly? It actually freaks me out... I don’t know you. Do you think is normal for a person to follow another one around like a shadow? It’s not! It’s creepy!”.

He blinks in confusion, like he’s having a hard time following your rant. But then, his shoulders drop, he lowers his eyes to the carpet again and lets out a heavy sigh.

“I- I understand”.

“Good.” You nod, not entirely satisfied with that answer or his lack of visual contact to help you figure out what he’s thinking. But still, you let him be as you round the couch to pause the TV with the remote.

An awkward silence follows after, neither of you move for a moment. Then, when you can’t take it anymore, you raise your eyes to look at him and are suddenly taken aback by the way he’s staring back at you, intensely. His eyes seem to glow inhumanly and he wears a stern frown that’s unsettling enough to make you flinch.

"W-what now?!”, you snap, feeling uneasy by his gaze alone.

“Am I a person to you?” he then asks. 

“Of course you are... Aren’t you?”. His reply shines for its absence again, and you can’t stand anymore of that piercing look. You quickly maneuver yourself towards the kitchen without locking eyes with him again. “Look, you are a completely stranger that just climbed through my window. But you saved me once and I think I can trust you no to do something weird, so... You can stay until the storm is over…”.

You swear you hear him mutter something that sounds like a ‘thank you’, as you scoot away to the kitchen. 

You come to a stop two steps away from the door frame, when you realize something important. You haven’t even introduce yourselves to one another. You turn around in your heels and pop you head out of the door. You roll your eyes when you see that he’s still standing next to the glass door. Is he not planning to move from that spot at all?

“My name is y/n, by the way”, you tell him.

He turns his head to you and nods.

“Yoongi…”

“Nice to meet you, Yoongi”. You offer him a half-smile and point to the couch “Sit down… I mean- if you want to”.

“I don’t want to ruin your furniture”. It takes you a moment, then you remember. Your lips forms and quiet ‘o’ as you glance down his body. Though his face is dry, his clothes are still damp and would probably leave wet patches all over where he decided to sit.

You step out of the kitchen scratching your chin with an amused smirk.

“Well, I suppose we have to get rid of those clothes then”.

His face is priceless. He doesn’t know how to react and you note the way his tail curves around his leg, coyly. Innocent confusion to your flirty lame joke that has you wondering if he’s never been in this kind of situation before. He’s handsome, his features are sharp and manly, his skin clear and that button nose makes him look rather cute. He might be a panther, but his reactions are still very kitty-like. So before he gets a bad impression and darts out of the window, you open your mouth again to clarify yourself.

“I have other clothes that could fit you. Dry clothes so you don’t get a pneumonia”.

He still looks a little confused.

“I can’t get sick”, he replies.

You nod.

“Yeah, that’s my point”

“No, I mean… biologically I- that’s how they… um, made us…”, he scowls down at his own feet.

You can tell he’s struggling with his words, to try and explain it to you but you are quickly to get an idea of what he means. Of course, if they go all the way to modify their DNA to mix it with animal genes, why not throw a reinforced immunity system in the mix as well. That, however, ignites a new question in your mind. When he says they “made us” he means from the womb or at some point in their life… were hybrids once fully human too? The implication of the former being true sends shivers down your spine. BioTech experimenting with humans, possibly children… it can’t be, right? Those kinds of things just happen in Orwellian novels and science fiction in real life there are limits, human rights are to be considered… right?

“Human…”. Thank God his voice drags you out of that train of thought. The dark road where it was leading is some business you don’t want to meddle with. 

You clear your throat and look up at the hybrid.

“But still, you’ll need dry clothes if you are staying”. You insist, and since are feeling a little braver after he scared the hell out of you, you reach for his wrist and pull him alongside you. Anything to block the horrors your mind can come up with if you let it wander back to the possibilities of hybrid genesis “Come on, let’s go”.

You walk him to your room.

Surprisingly, he lets you drag him along to your closet. You are thankful that he’s not big, so a pair of your baggy gym sweats might fit him just fine. You also pull out the only large t-shirt you own, black and plain. You usually only use it as pajamas. He is probably going to appreciate the color considering all he’s wearing right now apart from Seokjin’s hoodie. You smile to yourself. You also grab a beige sweater from your closet, winter is just around the corner and even with the heater on it can get quite chilly especially when it’s raining like this. You turn around and hand him all the clothes you selected with a satisfied smile.

“it’s almost lunch time. You can change here while I go and make us something to eat”.

“You are ill and plan to cook?”.

“Yes…?”

He raises his eyebrows and eyes at the pile of clothes in his hands, disapprovingly.

“What?”

“Sounds unwise”.

You take a deep breath. He’s got a point, though, and your body still feels a little sore.

“Fine, I’ll order food then... Whatever”, you roll your eyes. 

It really doesn’t matter if you cook or not and he’s probably right. If you really want to wear off that cold you should probably step away from extreme changes of temperature. 

“You can use my Bathroom if you want to freshen up, is behind that door”. He nods. “I’ll leave you to it”, you give him a smile, pressing your lips together and pat the room’s door before closing it behind you.

By the time Yoongi leaves the room, you are at the door, paying the delivery boy for the food. After browsing some yelp recommendations, you’d settled down for a barbecue restaurant nearby that had a four star review. And by the smell of it, you know you won’t be disappointed. After closing the door, you turn to your hybrid guest and catch him sniffing the air, enthusiastically. His ears stand tall and straight, as his attention falls to the takeout bag in your hands.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips and you gesture him to the dining table in front of you. He obeys without hesitation. Your heart shrinks with concern, he probably doesn’t get to eat properly out there on the street. If he’s been hanging around the neighborhood he most likely has to rely on people throwing away leftovers. Maybe that’s why he was rummaging through the trash containers outside your shop that night.

You sigh, a sudden urge to protect him washes over you, like an instinct you can’t quite explain. The poor thing, he must be hungry.

You are quickly to set the table and invite him to sit down. Before you start eating, you make sure to take his wet clothes and put them inside the dryer. You make your way back to the living room and set the plates for the two of you. A part of you thought he might dive right in, tossing the cutlery away to tear the meat apart with his fangs instead. But Yoongi shows impeccable table manners as you both start to eat, not even placing his elbows down on the table. 

A pang of guilt crosses your chest, why were you expecting so little of him? Did you regard him as nothing more than a desperate animal?

You are quickly to chastise yourself, brushing those thoughts away. He is a person, a man, and just because he’s got a fluffy tail and cute little ears doesn’t mean you should expect him to act like an uneducated beast. You know nothing about him, his story, where he came from, if he had past owners, or if he lived all his life out there on the streets. No, scratch that last part. He had to be an indoors hybrid considering the way he so expertly manipulates the fork and knife. He said he was a panther, and you once heard in the radio panthers and timber wolfs hybrids were a trend among the rich families. Something to do with the territorial nature of their animal half that tied them to their owners, thus minimizing the chances of runaways. But Yoongi has no owner. He’d said so himself earlier that evening…

“Are you a stray?”, the question just drops from your lips as if they had a mind of their own. He pauses for a moment to regard you in silence. You bite into the fork at his unamused glance. Maybe he’s trying to find some hidden meaning in your question, as if to understand where the question comes from.

He breaks eye contact and glances down at his place.

“I thought you said you were not interested in being an owner”

“And I’m not. I’m just curious about… “ how can you phrase it that it doesn’t sound invasive? You want to ask it subtly, but when you open your mouth again what comes out is:, “How you ended up outside my pastry shop hiding between the trash containers?”

Not subtle at all.

But it seems to amuse him. You note a half smirk forming in the corner of his lips.

“Ah, that…”

“I won’t tell,” you promise. “I’m just curious..”

He seems to think about it for a moment. Lips pressed together and his fingers fidgeting with the fork in his hand.

“I-“ he clears his throat. “I got into a fight”

“What?! Why?”, You blurt our, not expecting that exactly. Worry washed over your face, he can see it, but he simply shrugs. It’s better not to get you too involved, for your own safety.

“I pissed people off”

“But, you are okay. Aren’t you?” You question him and he simply nods. “Don’t you have someone you can contact?”, you ask him, concerned for his well-being. He must have someone, Jaguars are a rare breed, even the actual animal jaguars are in danger of extinctions. “I just imagine… panther hybrids to be rare and therefore… valuable? Shit- I don’t… It sounds awful that way- I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry”

He smirks and shakes his head.

“You don’t need to apologize, though. You are not wrong… “, a sigh leaves his lips and he raises an eyebrow. “The rarer the commodity higher is the price”.

“People are not commodities, Yoongi…”. His ears flick at the mention of his name. He nods slightly and presses his lips together.

“They don’t consider us people”. You note the bitterness of his tone.

“Who?”

“You know…” he shifts uncomfortably in the chair. His tail flicks behind him. “Owners in general”.

A moment of silence settles between you two as you finish your meal. You have so many questions, so intrigued by this new world you just found out about, that you can’t help but break the silence.

“Can I- can I ask you another question, Yoongi?”.

An annoyed sigh leaves his lips and you swallow nervously.

“You will, regardless of my answer”, he takes another bite and when you remain silent he glances at you frowning sightly. He sighs “yes, you can ask me whatever you want, human”

You bite your nether lip. You have many questions indeed, but he might find you more annoying if you decide to bomb him with all of them at once. You don’t want him to feel obligated to answer you, so you keep it simple. The question that’s been haunting you since he step foot in your apartment.

“Did you really just came here to see if I was okay?”, you ask. He pauses for a minute, setting down his fork. His eyes scan your face. His head lolls to the side, ears flick back and forth. Great, you just make him uncomfortable. “It’s just… not usual. To receive that kind of attention I mean. People… unless you are family or very good friends, going over to their home instead of texting them just to check on them is… well, it is weird”.

“I don’t own a phone”.

“… I figured”, you chuckle.

Another beat of silence and he finally speaks.

“It’s the instincts”.

“What?”

“It’s hard to be that rational when your DNA commands you to rely on your instincts”. He explains with a serious face that is rather hard to read. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable”.

“Don’t worry”, you shake your head. “…Maybe we all should trust our instincts more often than to comply to society standards of behaviour… So many rules kind of break people apart, you know? Like… Wait until he calls you, no you shouldn’t let him in after the first date, make sure to hung up first, if you text him right after the date you will look desperate… It’s ridiculous. If I want to do something, meet someone you should just go for it, period. ”, you let out an embarrassed chuckle and rest your chin on your palm. “I’m sorry, I’m just rambling now”

His lips stretch in a soft smile.

“I can see”.

You smile back. What would Seokjin think if he saw you right now? Trusting this stranger without a second thought, you, the girl who double checked the plates and driver’s profile when riding an Uber. But Yoongi doesn’t make you uneasy, on the contrary. His presence is weirdly soothing for you, maybe it’s his honest words, or what he did for you that night. Maybe is the innocent look he gives you when he seems confused. You don’t feel in danger, even though your mind already acknowledged the fact that he is part a predator.

“Human…”, his voices makes you realize you went back to staring, again. With flushed cheeks you stand up and gesture to his now empty plate.

“Let me take that, I’ll go load the dishwasher”

“Ah… looks like the sun is going to be out in time for the sunset”, you sigh as you look through the balcony’s window. It stopped raining a few moment ago, and the sky is covered in warm pink and orange clouds. After lunch, you both went back to he living room and you resumed watching your TV show. Yoongi made himself comfortable in the armchair next to the TV and neither of you felt the need to fill the silence with pointless conversation.

You turn you head towards him. He’s curled in a ball, his bare feet up and knees pressed to his chest. His black tail is wrapped around his left leg and his ears flick every now and then with the sounds that come from the TV. It is a cute sight, and part of you wishes he would sit next to you so you can pet his ears. They look so soft…

When his amber eyes find yours, you feel your cheeks heating up, embarrassed. He caught you staring so earnestly that you fear he might get the wrong impression about you. You stand up so fast you almost trip over the carpet and laugh it out when he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I- I’m going to check your stuff, the drying cycle is probably done”, you disappear into the back of the kitchen for a minute. You manage to calm down and collect his stuff before heading back to the living room. Yoongi is now standing next to the balcony, his eyes admiring the sky across the glass door. He senses you approaching and turns around.“Here, dry, warm and fresh”, you hand him the pile of clothes. “you can keep the ones you are wearing too, if you’re comfortable”. He thanks you with a faint smile, securing the clothes below his arm. That can’t be comfortable, you snap your fingers and point back at the kitchen with your thumb. ”… let me get you a bag”

“You are nothing like them”, you hear his voice from the living room as you rummage through the kitchen’s cabinets.

“Like who?”

“My former owners”, he replies. You find an old tote bag you forgot you owned, folded in squares at the back of one of the cabinets and you grab it. “It’s difficult to find humans like you, that’s why I wish to protect you. You should be protected”.

You frown at his choice of words and exit the kitchen with the tote bag in hand.

“Protected from what?”, there’s no one in the living room. The veil curtains from the sliding glass door flow swiftly with the breeze that slips through the open panel. 

“Yoongi?” You call for him.

But he is gone.

It’s been a few days since that odd encounter with Yoongi in your apartment. You haven’t seen him since then, and you can’t help but wonder what’s been of him. Is he still around? He did say he wanted to protect you, but you live a fairly ordinary life and you tend to avoid trouble in generalㅡapart from that drunk man who attacked youㅡ; the only dangers to worry about in life of a pastry chef is to mix up salted and unsalted butter, or that the meringues don’t rise in time in the oven.

You are back at your shop. It’s early in the morning and you are finishing with the last batch of lemon curd pies before the customers start to arrive. You are checking the oven’s temperature when your cellphone rings inside your apron’s pocket.

You clean your hands with a kitchen rag and fish your phone out. It’s Jin, you smile but can’t help to feel a little confused. You can’t remember the last time you received a call from your best friend at this hour in the morning, it’s not even seven yet.

“Hey, beautiful” he greets you when you answer. “Just checking on you, are you at the shop?”

“Yeah, I’m about to open. Why?”

“Have you seen the news today?”

“Not really. I woke up and came straight here” you reply, supporting yourself on your elbows on the counter. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Well, I’m not sure… It’s just- I was on my way to the restaurant and there’s this thing going on in the radio about about a search party in your neighborhood. I’m just calling to make sure everything was okay”.

You blink confused. “A search party for what?”

“Apparently there was an underground hybrid shelter taken town around the river sector, the said something about dangerous stray hybrids on the loose…”

Your can’t help but think of Yoongi, is he going to be okay? Are they looking for him? but you don’t want your friend to senses your uneasiness. You don’t want to worry Jin.

“Sounds dramatic. But so far…”, you sigh, as if nothing is happening and step out of the counter to glance out of the windows. “Everything looks normal here- Oh! There’s Mrs. Park, I gotta go, Jinnie…”.

“Kay. Please take care!”

“You too, bye~”. You hang up and greet at the cute little old lady that just walked through the doors. “Good morning Mrs. Park! How’s the hip going?”

She smiles at you, her eyes disappearing for a moment to form half crescent moons.

“Better child, I injected myself last night something for muscular pain and I feel like a can dance all night”

“You injected yourself”, you blink in disbelief. She laughs and waves a hand as to tell you it’s okay.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m retired from the Military Hospital, used to he the head nurse back in the day”, she winks. You smile. “every rump in the division knew my needle”.

You chuckle, and take your place behind the register to get her order.

The day continues normally, except for the few police sirens you can hear patrolling around the block. More than usual and you figured it must be because of the search party. You decide to ignore them, and focus on finishing your day at the shop before heading home.

It’s night time when you step into your apartment. You take off your coat and shoes at the entrance hall before turning the lights in and walking to the living room. You heart skips a beat at the scene in from of you.

Yoongi is standing in the middle of the living room. His face and clothes are dirty, and his hands are covered in crimson bloods. He looks agitated, sweating and his pupils dilated. He glances at you helplessly.

“We didn’t know where else to go…” Yoongi utters, his voice trembling sightly, ears folded against his skull. He clutches at his sweater. “Please, y/n… help him”.

Help him? Help who?

Your heart feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest, you can even hear buzzing sound in your ears as you try to understand what is happening. You look at Yoongi, and scan his frame to look for a possible wound that explains the blood in his hands. However, you note he is disheveled but not hurt. It’s not his blood. For a moment you feel relieved, but then it hits you. Help him… He’s asking you to help someone else, someone else that is hurt.

You hear a low grunt coming from behind the couch. You knees feel wobbly, and your heart beats hard against your chest. That’s when you see him, a young man with his back against the couch and an open wound that’s oozing blood right on his left side.

“Oh, my God!”, you drop your bags to the floor and hurry to his side. But the hybrid hisses, baring his canines out at you and quickly tries to move back away from your touch. He’s too weak for that, though, and ends up falling to the side. He curses in pain, and blood starts to ooze from another wound in his right thigh.

Yoongi rushes to his side and helps him up again. You notice his handsome face contorting in a worried look, almost anxious, afraid. You heart sinks. You don’t want Yoongi to be afraid. You want to help him, to help this friend of his that he seems to care a lot for.

“Joon, it’s okay. She can be trusted”, Yoongi says. But the hybrid still seems too reluctant to let you come close as he eyes you warily.

“Humans can’t be trusted, hyung”, he says that, with his golden eyes piercing through you. His face is drained of color, lips almost purple and sweat making his silver hair stick to his forehead.

There’s a pair of triangle-shaped ears crowning his messy curls, very similar to husky ears. What breed could he be, you wonder as your eyes scan his wounds again. Yoongi had wrapped some kind of rag around the wounded leg to cut the blood flow, but the sudden jerk must have reopened it.

Yoongi’s eyes find your own, his ears are now folded against his skull. He looks at you almost pleadingly.

“She’s one of the good ones, I trust her”.

His words move something inside your chest and fill you with determination. Maybe is the way he looks at you. Whatever is is, you get up and run to the kitchen to gather some rags and towels to help stop the bleeding and your small first aid kit you keep inside the drawers.

The new hybrid takes a few more reassurance word from Yoongi to let you touch him, and with your combined efforts you help him to your room, he’s too tall for lying comfortably on the couch. Besides, a few bloods stains in your duvet are going to be the least of your problems if this hybrid dies under your roof. However, soon you come to realize there’s nothing you can do for him but clean his wounds and pray to God he hasn’t lost too much blood. He need stitches, antibiotics, painkillers and you have nothing but acetaminophen and some band-aids at home.

“Yoongi…”, you call his name and he can sense your anxiety in your quivering tone. Your hands are stained, and the new hybrid is about to lose consciousness. “I’m not a doctor but the amount of blood coming out of that wound is alarming. You need proper medical care, we gotta get you to an hospital”

“NO!” Joon growls and the effort to raise his tone like that, has him wincing in pain.

Yoongi sighs. “No hospitals, y/n… It’s not safe”

You glance and the hybrid lying on the bed. He’s got his eyes closed now and his breathing is irregular. “If he doesn’t get that wound treated up you are going to bleed out or worse if it gets infected and-”

“Can’t you treat him?”, he looks at you so full of hope that makes you hate yourself for not even knowing the basics of first aid.

“Yoongi, I’m a pastry chef not a nurse”, your eyes water when that hopeful look vanishes from his amber eyes. Joon growls under his breath, he’s getting paler as the time goes. If only you could be of more help, if only there was something else you could do, someone you could trust to help- “Wait…!”

Yoongi’s ears flick as he looks back at you. “What is it?”

“I know someone in this building that can help us!”, you say. Yoongi frowns a little. “Mrs Park, lives on the second floor and she’s a retired nurse”, you explain, and stride to the door to grab your coat first. You don’t want to alarm Mrs Park with all the blood staining your sweater.

Yoongi stops you right when you close a hand around the door’s handle.

He is reluctant to let you go, but you can feel it in your heart that Mrs Park can be trusted. She can keep the secret and help.

“We have to take the chance, Yoongi. Your friend might not make it through the night if he doesn’t receive treatment”.

He bites his lip and glances at the bed. When he looks back to you he simple releases you and nods. You give him a half smile before leaving the room.

You are not in the right mindset to mind taking the elevator so you run downstairs to the second floor and almost trip over at the last step. When you get to her front door, you need a moment to calm yourself down before knocking. When she opens the door, you are a nervous wreck, fidgeting with your hands behind your back.

“G-goodnight, Mrs. Park… I- I hope I’m not… not intruding” the old woman eyes you confused, she’s wearing reading glasses and holds a hardcover romance novel in her hands.

“Oh, not at all, dear. I was just doing some reading”, she gestures vaguely at her book. “What do you need?”

“Nana, I’m hungry!” A soft, sweet voice speaks from inside the apartment before you get a chance to explain yourself. 

“Gimme a minute, Jiminie I’m at the door”, Mrs Park replies and her attention goes back to you. “You were saying, dear?”

You take a deep breath. You have to do this, now or never. “Mrs Park, you said you were a nurse in the army, right?” She nods. “Have you ever... like... treated bullet wounds?”

Worry washes over her fine features.

“Did something happen, y/n?”

“I… Uh- How do you feel about hybrids?”

“I don’t understand…”.

You are running out of time. You need to make her understand without revealing too much in case she refuses.

“Do you think they are human too?”

“Hey, what’s gotten you to ignore me?” A young man pops up from behind the old lady and places his chin on her shoulder. Your attention is immediately dragged to his bright orange hair and the two triangle-shaped ears with dark tips on top of his head.

“Sorry, y/n”, Mrs Park sighs and gently pets the boy’s hair. “this is my grandson Jimin”

“Grandson?”

“Hi~”, he smiles, his eyes disappearing in the same crescent shapes you’ve grown accustomed to see in Mrs Park’s. But his face shifts to a cringed expression after he sniffs. He eyes you with a mix of wariness and concern.  “Why do you smell like blood?”

You can’t give him a coherent reply, and you look at Mrs. Park like a deer caught in the headlights. She eyes you curiously now and you swallow.

“Why don’t you tell me what you really need, y/n?”

You guide the woman back to your apartment after you’d explained the situation to her. She was more than willing to help. Mrs Park grabbed her medical supplies and her and Jimin accompanied you to your floor.

Yoongi walks out of your room as soon as you enter the apartment.

“Yoongi…”, you call his name and he turns to you. His ears stand tall and sniff a couple times. He eyes fall on your visitors and tenses at the presence of the fox hybrid. His tail waves nervously behind him as he stands. “This is Mrs Park, and this is her grandson, Jimin”

“Hello there, young man. We meet again”, Mrs Park smiles warmly at him, catching you by surprise. “Are you still climbing buildings?”

Yoongi’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink you’ve never seen before.

“Uh…” he swallows and drifts his attention to you, as if asking for help. You, however, are more astonished at fact that she seems to know him… and his peculiar habit of climbing the exteriors of buildings. 

All kinds of questions flood your mind, and that’s when you realize you actually know nothing of him. Well, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, you met him twice and that’s all. But for some reason it feels unsettling, like a part of you is disappointed. You want to know him, you desperately want to know more about this person but you can’t bring yourself to understand why.

“Where’s the boy?”, Mrs Park asks, dragging you out of your thoughts.

“This way” you guide the woman to where the hybrid lies, Yoongi and Jimin closely trailing behind you.

Joon has passed out, and when Mrs Park reaches down to check his temperature, a deep frown forms in her face. She asks the two of you to leave the room and gestures Jimin to bring in her medical supplies.

Yoongi doesn’t want to leave, so you end up having to drag him out with you. “She will treat him, don’t worry”, you try to reassure him everything is going to be fine. You trust Mrs Park, if there’s anything to be done for his hybrid friend, she will do it. “I’m sure he’s going to be okay”

“I know, that wolf is too stubborn to die”, he half-jokes and you note to yourself his friend’s species.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” Yoongi nods and lets you pull him towards the living room.

You have him sit down and go fetch the box of baby wipes you keep in the guests’ restroom.

You diligently clean the dried blood from his hands and claws, and then reach up to do the same with his face. He lets you, eyes closed.

“There…”, you smile and truck a strand of raven hair behind his ear.

He opens his eyes. Warm, enticing, amber pools looking straight at you. He has such beautiful eyes, so full of mysteries you can’t help but stare back. It’s the closest you two have been since you met him, if you were to move a couple inches closer your noses would meet. Behind the metallic stench of blood, you can still make out his own scent, a mix of wet dirt and rain.

“Thank you…” he mutters, breaking the spell you found yourself into.

Realization hits you. How long did you stare? You swallow and look down at your own hands. You can feel your cheeks starting to heat up.

“You- You don’t have to thank me, I just did what anyone would”, you try to brush your embarrassment off by focusing on cleaning your own hands.

Yoongi scoffs.

“You know that’s not true”

You shrug. Your hands are clean already but you keep scrubbing them with the wipe. Suddenly too embarrassed to look at him in the eyes. 

“I want to believe it is…”, you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

“Still doesn’t make it true”, Yoongi retorts and leans back on the couch. You raise your head slowly and find him with his eyes closed again, arms folded against his chest. “…I knew I was right about you”

Your heart does a flip. If he trust you this much, would he trust you with the details of what happened too? You are too curious and too worried not to ask, you want- no, you need to know. 

“What happened, Yoongi?”, you ask him. He opens his eyes and presses his lips together, giving you an apologetic frown. “I’m no expert, but I’m positive those were bullet wounds, weren’t they? And… and there was a searching patrol around the neighborhood”

He sighs.

“We were being chased”

“Why?” You lean closer, eager to hear the truth. But Yoongi remains silent and shrugs. You take a deep breath. “Yoongi, please…”, you nudge him in the arm. “I’m risking a lot too to have you here right now, the least you could do is be honest with me. Please…” You too maintain eye contact for what it feels like an eternity. Finally Yoongi seems to give in.

He turns his body to you and sighs.

“There’s a group out there that fights for hybrids rights, for us to be considered equals to humans…”, he explains, still reluctant. “I can’t tell you their name, but... if you must know... Namjoon and I- we’re with them. Last night…”

He pauses, his eyes drift to the side as if he’s replaying the events that led to his friend’s injuries last night. You reach for his arm, and give him a comforting squeeze you hope will make him feel at least a little better. He takes you by surprise when he places his hand on top of yours. The size difference is so evident. He feels incredibly warm and you are left to wonder if it was you that needed the comforting instead. Your stomach ties in a nervous knot when he brushes his thumb over the back of your palm.

“There was a meeting inside an old warehouse we’d adapted as a shelter for hybrids in need…” he continues. “Somehow… Someone had to betrayed us and word got out… and we were ambushed by Hybrid Control. They started shooting before we could defend ourselves…”

“But…” you blink in confusion. “I thought Hybrid Control just brought hybrid to the Pound, they shouldn’t be armed…”. 

A dark chuckle leaves Yoongi’s mouth at your words.

The knot in your stomach tightens at his new stern look.

He shakes his head. “That’s what BioTech advertises… But it has never been true” he sighs and removes his hand from yours. You take it as a cue to do the same, even though you don’t feel like it. You still want to comfort him in any way you can. “Many were killed… the few of us who make it out were hunted down. Namjoon was hit trying to help the younger ones escape. We don’t even know if they make it…”

You bring a hand to your mouth. That’s just horrible, you can only imagine the fear, the chaos. You want to say something, you want to comfort Yoongi, to make him feel safe here even though you can barely defend yourself from a drunk man.

You hear him sigh, heavy and tired. 

“I said I wanted to protect you and now I’m putting you on the line of fire…” he shakes his head and brings a hand to his forehead. He probably feels disappointed with himself too. ”I’m sorry, y/n”

“No, don’t be” you are quickly to respond. “I want to help, let me protect you this time”.

His beautiful eyes find yours and you feel short of breath. The way he looks at you has your stomach doing flips, a strange feeling washes over you, it’s warm but also electric. Yoongi reaches for your hand again, you can’t take your eyes off him, or the way he seems to be leaning closer to you. Your heart beat picks up and you glance at his lips, moisturizing your own as a reflex.

“All done”, Mrs Park walks into the living room wiping her hands with a stained rag. Yoongi stiffens and draws back in a heartbeat, putting some distance  between the two of you as you turn around to look at the old woman. “I took the bullets out and stitched him up. I’ll come to check on him tomorrow to change the bandages. He has a few broken ribs too, they need time and rest to heal. I can’t do anything about the sour attitude though”

She chuckles.

“Thank you so much, Mrs Park”, she smiles warmly at you both and nods.

“Call me if you need anything, child”. You promise you will and she leaves with Jimin, not before advising you to be careful and not to drag any unnecessary attention to yourself.

“He’s asleep now”, Yoongi announces, walking back to the kitchen after checking up on his friend. He needed to eat something to regain his strength so you fixed him a quick meal, mostly meat, and Yoongi made sure he ate. He leaves the empty plates on the counter and you offer him a bite of the leftovers stew you made before serving him a bowl. You two eat in silence and after all is done and the dishes are placed inside the dishwasher, you go back to the living room.

It’s past three am. Your apartment is made for a single person so you don’t have a spare bed to offer Yoongi. Instead, you fetch a cozy blanket and a pillow from the linens closet and offer him your couch.

“You should probably get some sleep, it’s almost dawn”, you tell him as you tuck him in. But when he sees you about to walk away, Yoongi frowns and sits straight on the couch.

“Wait. What about you?”

You shake your head. “I need to go back to the shop at seven, anyway”

“You haven’t sleep, you need to rest”, he scolds you with a worried look that makes you giggle. God, you really must be tired. “You shouldn’t work today…”

“It would look strange if I don’t open the shop today and Mrs Park said not to drag unnecessary-“ you yawn mid-sentence “…attention”

“It’s not unnecessary attention”, Yoongi grabs your wrist and pulls you down with him. You fall into his arms, and somehow he manages to fit both of you in the small couch before throwing the blanket over your form. “Yoongi-“, you try to protest but he shushes you.

“You are tired, you need to rest”. His warmth is so inviting you don’t want to pull away, and you can hear the calm beating of his heart against your palm. He has one arm below your head to serve you as a pillow, and the other one wraps gently around your waist.

You can’t remember the last time a man held you like this, with so much care, and you want to nuzzle against the crook of his neck.

“Is this okay?”

You nod, resting your cheek against his chest. “Y-yes…”

“Good. Now sleep”.

“Okay... but one last question”, you whisper, he doesn’t reply and you take it as cue to go ahead and ask, “How did you get up here?”.

You hear a soft chuckle leave his lips, but he doesn’t reply. A moment passes and you realize he’s not going to talk again soon, he must have fallen asleep by the rhythm of his breathing.

You yourself start to doze off as well to the smell of warm cotton and wet dirt.

Just as she promised, Mrs Park came the very next day to replace the wolf’s bandages. That’s what Yoongi tells youㅡsince you were still sleeping until late morningㅡ when you find him in the kitchen, struggling with the coffee machine. His tail waving angrily behind his back as he stares at a bunch of little coffee pods in his hands. 

“Do you need help?”, you ask him.

“It’s a coffee machine, not rocket science”, he replies, but you can still see confusion in his eyes. “what’s the difference between mountain fresh and highland fresh?”

You chuckle, “One is cheaper. They all taste the same. Here…”, you grab a pod and place it inside the machine, then close the lid, mark the amount of water and place a coffee mug below for the brew to start. You notice Yoongi’s ears twitching as he follows your moves. 

“Oh- okay…”, he clears his throat. “Thank you”.

“No prob…”, you smile and busy yourself with looking for some cereal bars at the top cabinet. “So how’s Wolfie? What did Mrs Park said?”

A amused smile find its way to his lips. 

“He’s angry at me I won’t let him set BioTech on fire yet until he’s healed… She gave him quite the scolding for tearing his stitches, you totally missed that.”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm.

“You are good friend, Yoongi”, having him speak to you in such casual, care-free manner is refreshing, and fills you with a rare sense of familiarity you can’t quite understand yet. 

The only thing in your mind right now is how endearing you find his gummy smile, and those bright amber eyes looking back at you. How can he smile so beautifully after all he’s been through? The painful realization hits you, and your own smile falters. That‘s probably just one of the many awful things he had had to endure after becoming a stray. Persecution, rejection, other people treating him like an animal, seeing his own friends being killed, and who knows what other kind of abuse. And still, here he is, smiling at you like it’s nothing. Like he is fine.

Yoongi senses your change of mood immediately and eyes you worried.

“Everything okay?”

“Just…” You shake your head, try to recompose your face. “I’m- I’m sorry for what happened to you and… the shelter…”

Yoongi steps closer, and places a finger under your chin to make you rise your head and look at him. 

“It’s not your fault”

“I know, but... I feel guilty enough knowing that other humans did it”, something heavily presses against your chest and you take a deep breath to steady your heartbeats. “Knowing that… We are capable of so much violence and our goverment simply doesn’t care-”

“We don’t need your pity, human”, a deep growl coming from the kitchen door has you almost jumping into Yoongi’s arms.

You turn around and find the wolf hybrid standing against the frame, his eyes blazing with anger, shooting daggers at you. Yoongi sighs, a hint of annoyance in the way his features harden at his friends. But he still holds you close to him, a protective arm wraps around your shoulders.

“Joon, you shouldn’t be up”, he says with a warning in his tone. The wolf hybrid completely ignores him, and continues to glare at you.

“He says you are one of the good ones, and I want to believe hyung… But I’ve met humans like you, so willing to help, to care for us… in the end they just want to put us on a pretty leash”. He bares his canines as he speaks, nose scrunching, disgust and anger mixed up in his sharp features. “We are not property of anyone, we are as much as a person as you are, and we are tired of getting showcased like commodities to sell to the highest bidder”.

You hold on to Yoongi’s shirt, the soft fabric crumpling in your fist. He’s really hurt, and angry. It’s painfully clear to you, and you try not to take it personally. After all he’s been through, it’s only logical he would be distrustful of you, just another human being.

“Were here because Yoongi-hyung chose to trust you, but if I sniff something funny going on on your side I won’t hesitate to rip your throat out with my bare hands, human”

You try to steady your shaky breaths, but he even got your legs trembling. He’s way taller, broader, bigger than Yoongi. The thickness of his muscles can be seen through his clothes, and the vein popping along his exposed neck. You have no doubt he is capable of ripping you to pieces and more. Is this how a prey feels in the presence of its predator? You wonder whilst his bright feral eyes bore into yours. This immobilizing fear, the cold sweaty hands, the trembling limbs, the impulse of running away as far as you can go. It’s not the same fear as when that drunk man tried to attack you, this is something else, something… primal. 

Your body knows you are in the presence of a hunter.

A predator.

And you are the prey.

“That’s enough, Namjoon!”, Yoongi lets go of you to stand right between you and his hybrid comrade. When he’s hidden you from his sight, is like oxygen finally returns to your lungs. “Go back to bed”.

You hear the wolf grumbling under his breath, reluctant to let you off his hook just yet. But thankfully, soon he’s gone.

“I will never let him hurt you, you don’t have to be afraid of him”, Yoongi tries to reassure you.

“I’m not afraid”

“Don’t lie. I can smell your fear, y/n”, you sigh and cover your face with your hands.

“Yes, I am terrified of him! And he’s also right!”, you take a step back, and uncover your face to glance at the floor. “The only difference between you and me is the ears and the tail, we are all persons and you shouldn’t have to fight for freedom when it is your natural right! Why are people so selfish? Why do the have the need to own another human being to feel superior?”, your voice cracks, and hot tears run down your cheeks before you can do anything about it. All the fright from Namjoon’s earlier speech is finally melting away. “It’s not fair… it’s not right…”

“I know”

“I’m selfish too”

“No, you’re not”

“Yes, I am…”you sniff, and let him comfort you when he places a hand on your back. “because the only reason I helped you that night was because I wanted you to leave, I didn’t want to have any trouble… I was thinking only about myself… I’m sorry…”

You hear a quiet chuckle leaving his lips. “You’re so cute”

“What-?“

“Well, to be honest… You could have scared me away with a bat or something, I was too hurt too tired to fight back then…” he shrugs and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand gently caressing your cheek, and his soft, caring gaze has your stomach doing somersaults. “But you gave me food and dry clothes instead and asked me not to stay out because of the rain”

You are a lot loss of words.

“You shouldn’t think so lowly of yourself, y/n”, his warm hand trails down your neck, thumb still stroking your cheek in circular moves. “You have a good heart, I can see it… and Joon does too that’s why he tried to scare you like that. But don’t worry, as soon as he’s in better shape we’ll leave”

You can feel something shattering inside you after he speaks the thing you’ve been trying to ignore so far. He would have to leave, eventually. You can’t keep him here, it’s dangerous for him and, well… illegal too since he’s technically still a stray and you have no hybrid license.

“Where will you go?”.

He sighs, his other hand comes to rest on your neck as well, encasing you face in the warmth of his skin. “We have to make contact with the rest of the pack… to see who else made it out and reassemble”.

“You are welcome here to stay as long as you need it”, he raises an eyebrow. The faint hint of a smile tugs at his lips, but it’s so subtle you are not sure if you saw it or just imagined it. “I’m not trying to keep you here against your will, or put a leash on you… But I don’t want you getting your clothes all wet out there in the rain either”.

“I’ve put you in enough danger by staying the night, we are used to the streets. Don’t worry” He doesn’t say anything else, and turns to the coffee machine. The brew is ready, the smell of warm dark coffee filling the kitchen. 

He hands the mug to you and places a new pod inside the brewer for himself.

The wolf hybrid recovers at a quicker pace that you’d hoped. It only takes him a couple days to get back on his feet, and another two for the wounds to completely disappear from his body leaving just a few scratches and some greenish patches around the scars. Yoongi and you keep sharing the sofa those two nights and you don’t mind at all. Having someone to hold onto until you fall sleep is better than to hug your pillow. Specially when that someone smells as good as Yoongi does, and his body against yours works better than a thermal sheet to keep you warm and comfy.

The wolf hybrid also seemed to lower his guard a little in the following days. You’d leave Yoongi in charge of your place for the day, and the three of you would have dinner together when you arrived. And even watch some tv before going to bed. Namjoon didn’t really addressed you regarding that first incident in the kitchen, but you would occasionally exchange a few words with him when you saw him checking your book collection. He was a fan of Orwell and Kafka, and it pleased him you had good reading material in your home. Also, he seemed more open to vent his frustrations with the current hybrid laws than Yoongi, and the ways he thought they could improve. 

You learned a lot of this new world you found yourself immersed in just by listening to him. Apparently BioTech had been pulling some strings in the government to create a monopoly out of hybrid license distribution. That way only people approved by the company could get a license.

“It’s all about the profit”, Namjoon explained. “They don’t care about the conditions under which hybrids are kept by their owners. As of right now, you have to pay that absurd amount for the license but the government’s Hybrid Protection Agency demands the owner to take an exam on hybrid careㅡdepending on which breed they choseㅡand go through a personal evaluation to see if their are fit to actually care for an hybrid. BioTech wants to dissolve the HPA completely, so that they can sell the licenses at whatever price they see fit. So many hybrids are mistreated and abused by their owners, even with the few protection laws we have to our benefit. If the HPA is gone then we will have nothing… BioTech can get away with anything, they can do whatever they like to our kind and nobody will have he power to go against them”.

You can’t help but feel terrified for them. You get it now, all the fear, the distrust glares. Humans had done nothing but hurt hybrids for years, and now they want to strip them off any rights they have so they can use them as they please. It has your blood boiling in your veins, you wish you could do something. You want to help… Yet there’s not much you can actually do, but offer to support them, give them a safe place to be while they decide what to do.

One morning, as you are getting ready to leave for work, Yoongi approaches you with a thoughtful frown. He helps you into your jacket in silence, and you thank him with a content smile.

“I was thinking to stop by that Brazilian restaurant again and get something for tonight”, you comment. “Maybe we could watch a movie and-“

“We’re leaving tonight”, he cuts you, and it’s like a tons of bricks just fall over your head.

“What?”

“It’s just... We’ve been here more than what its prudent. Our pack is looking for us”

“Oh…”, is all you can say as you feel your heart sinking in your chest. “I-I see… It’s fine. Uh- Please, be careful. And… if you need something- Anything, food, clothes, a place to crash… I’m always here”.

“Thank you, y/n”, he gifts you a cute smile, and you fight the urge to stroke his ears or wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him against your chest. “I’ll still be guarding you, though”.

“Yoongi…”

“Hm?”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you gather all your courage and press a kiss to his cheek. You let your lips linger there a little longer than necessary just to elicit a reaction from him. But when you pull back, you are rather disappointed to see a poker face looking back at you. 

He doesn’t say anything else and you rush out of the apartment with your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Why on earth did you did that?

When you return home that night after closing up the shop, you find it empty. Just as promised, they are gone. Your room looks like it was cleaned before they left, they even went to the trouble of changing your sheets as well. You sigh and let yourself fall back into the mattress. Looks like you’ll have to hug your pillow and pretend it’s Yoongi if you’re hoping to get any sleep tonight.

The first day you wake up alone in your apartment feels odd. Your double bed feels way too big for you, and your back kinda hurts from the soft mattress. When you are fixing breakfast your mind slips for a second and you end up with three portions of the same scrambled eggs. What a waste of food, you mentally scold yourself. They were here not even a full week and now you are feeling lost without those two presences in your home. It takes a few days to get back to your routine, but finally you are able to push the hybrids to the back of your mind and concentrate in your own work. It’s been a long week, but seeing familiar faces helps. Jin just stopped by earlier, to order some strawberry mousse cakes for this big party he’s hosting at his restaurant tomorrow. He was so excited but couldn’t tell you much because of some confidential agreement. And now, your smile broadens again when the little bells on the shop’s front door jingle and you see another familiar face smiling back at you.

“Oh! Hey, Jimin…”, you are too excited to have him here that it takes you a moment to realize it’s the first time you’d seen him going out. He’s hiding his ears under a brown beanie, and probably has his tail tucked inside that long grey cardigan. “It’s so good to see you. What can I get for you?”

He approaches the counter and rests one forearm on the surface. “Nana wants pineapple tarts”, he explains. “She would have come herself but she’s not feeling good enough to come out. I figured it be okay if I came instead, your store is hybrid-friendly right?” He gives you a cheeky smile.

“You are welcome here, everyone is. But, what’s wrong with Mrs Park? Is she sick?”

“Well I caught her sneaking a bag of ice to her room for her sore joints, and then she tried to shrug it off as if it was nothing but she could barely take a step without wincing”

“Wait- Is she going to be okay? Shouldn’t you take her to the hospital?”

“I’ve tried. Trust me, she’s too stubborn for that. Last time I took her to see an orthopedist and she basically told him he was a disgrace for the medical field and didn’t allow the nurses to inject her”, he shakes his head. The way he pretends to be annoyed is actually endearing, as it is the little pout that forms in his plump lips. “Though I already gave her some medicine for the pain, she’s going to be fine. She’s just getting old, y’know?”

“She’s lucky to have such a devoted grandson to watch over her”, you smile at him and he giggles. His cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink as he runs his fingers through his hair “let me get you those tarts. On the house”

You pack the order in a pretty box and make sure to put an extra of cream for Mrs park’s sweet tooth in the bag before handing it to Jimin. “Thank you, y/n”

“Anytime”, he waves a hand as a goodbye and head for he door. Just then you get a peek of his fluffy tail behind the cardigan and that’s when the questions pops into your mind. “hey, Jimin?”

“Yeah?” He turns on his heels to look at you.

“I’ve been wondering… You don’t have to answer if you don’t want but I was curious about…”, you clear your throat, not wanting to sound like you are prying in somebody else’s business. Jimin returns to the counter with short steps. “Well, you’re a fox hybrid, right? And Mrs Park is human… how come..?”

“How come she’s my grandma?”

“Well, yes…”, you admit. “I thought maybe she adopted you?”

The way he chuckles and shrugs washes over any worries you might have about feeling like prying. Still, you’re a little embarrassed. “She’s my biological grandmother, actually. It’s just how it is, my dad, her son, is human… my mom, she was like me”.

“Was?”

“Yeah.. Uh-“ he ruffles his own fringe with the hand that is not holding he bag, setting the beanie straight “She died… When I was a kid”

Your eyes open wide, and you start apologizing for being so rude.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He tells you, a soothing smile on his lips. “You’re my friend, no need to apologize for being curious”.

“I just thought- I didn’t know hybrids could actually have offspring with humans”.

“Technically, we can’t…” he tilts his head to the side and runs another hand through his red locks. “But there are some cases where a human male can impregnate a female hybrid. That depends completely on the hybrid’s animal part, and her genetic material. It only happens with mammals as far as I’m concerned”.

“Can it happen the other way around?”

“Like a male hybrid impregnating a human?”, you nod. Jimin raises his eyebrows and shake his head. “Not that I’ve heard about… I mean, I can ask one of my professors though. Maybe they’ve done some research on that”

“Your professors?”

“Oh, yeah! I’m majoring in Hybrid Studies”, He beams with pride when he tells you this. His smile is the sweetest you’d ever seen. “It’s all online since pets can’t study and stuff” he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Nana got me some fake ids and all. I kinda like it, feels like I’m an undercover agent or something”

“That’s amazing, Jimin!” You smile back.

That’s another piece of information that is new for you. Maybe you should’ve guessed since during your college years you never actually shared a classroom with a hybrid, but you never questioned that before… Not even once. You didn’t even considered the possibility of a hybrid wanting to study, to attend university and get a diploma.

But why would you?

Namjoon was right…

Even thought you never wanted to have a hybrid pet, it didn’t mean you actually saw them as more than that.

That’s until Yoongi appeared on your life.

You weren’t better than the people at BioTech, you weren’t better than the owners and that realization hit you like an ice cold water poured over your head. Your eyes prickled with tears, now you understood where all that guilty feeling came from. Because silence never helps the victims… only the perpetrators. “Y/n? Are you okay?”. You look up to see Jimin’s worried eyes scanning your face.

That’s when your attention shifts towards the door when you hear the bells. Thank god is only you and Jimin in the shop at this hour because Yoongi just walks inside, not bothering in hiding his tail and ears.

“Yoongi…!”, you circle the counter and run to his arms. However, the hybrid holds onto you instead, like he’s having trouble to walk and takes a deep breath. “What is wrong? Are you hurt?” Your paranoid heart beats hard against your chest as you Inspect him for blood or something that might justify his state. There’s nothing.

“I’m fine…”, he lets another shaky breath and stumbles over one of the wooden tables. You are quickly to help him stand.

“Like hell you are!” Jimin rushes to your side to help you, but Yoongi growls at him.

“What is this fox doing here?”, his voice is raspy and low, like he’s drunk. But you don’t smell any alcohol in him, only the familiar smell of his skin.

“That’s not relevant now! What happened to you?”, you try to brush the messy fringe from his eyes, and as your hand comes in contact with the skin on his forehead you notice he abnormal body temperature. He’s boiling hot. Yoongi insists that he’s okay, but you are not. “Jimin can you please help me get him home”

“Of course”

You bounce anxious from feet to feet outside your room as you wait for Jimin to come out. Yoongi was acting so strange, drowsy even, and Jimin offered to examine him to see if there here were any signs of the intoxicationㅡ or something similar that could explain his condition. He’s been inside the room with Yoongi for at least ten minutes now, you are getting worried and are about to burst in and check on Yoongi for yourself. Is in that moment when the door opens and you almost run him over a confused Jimin. “Are you okay, y/n?”

“Yoongi- is he...?”

“Oh? He’s fine”, he replies, closing the door behind him.

“But, the fever-“

“It’s not... well, it’s not exactly fever”. Jimin brushes the hair off his face and that’s when you notice a scratches right over his left cheek, three horizontal streaks of irritated skin that run all the way down to his hairline. It looks like some animal dug his claws in him...

“What? Wait-“you lean closer and hold his hair back with one hand to take a better look at the marks. “Did he attacked you?”,

“It’s nothing, just a superficial scratch. I should’ve seen it coming, but I’m not as territorial as he is” he just shrugs, and you don’t know what disturbs you most, that Yoongi had laid a hand on Jimin or that he doesn’t care he did.

“I don’t understand?”

“Well, it’s pretty simple actually... “, he pushes you  gently, away from his personal space. “Yoongi... he’s, um- reacting to your hormones”.

You frown.

“What?”

“That’s where the increasingly body temperature comes from”, he talks as if you are supposed to know what that means. So when you stare at him completely blank, he huffs in disbelief. “y/n, do you even know anything about hybrids at all?”

You can’t get yourself to answer. Much to your embarrassment, the truth is you are as clueless as one can be regarding hybrid biology. You remember Yoongi saying he could get sick, though. Something about his genes and modified DNA. However, you’re pretty sure that isn’t what Jimin means right now.

He sighs, sounding somehow defeated, and waves his hand in a dismissal gesture.

“Listen, grandma has a book on big cats hybrids, imma get it for you”. He strides to the door, but you are quickly to stop him. He hasn’t even answered your questions yet!

“Wait, but what is wrong with him?” He laughs to himself, shaking his head sightly like this is some personal joke he knows you won’t get.

“There’s nothing wrong with him. Its you, you are the problem”. 

You? What does he even mean? You make an offended face and he rolls his eyes again. 

“You’re ovulating, y/n”.

“How- how could you possibly know that?”, you give him a questioning look, trying to disguise your flustered mind, and step back a little.

He shrugs.

“I can smell you”. Your cheeks burn instantly at his words. And he has the nerve to just chuckle at your embarrassed face. 

“What?”, he laughs again and shakes his head. He proceeds to place a hand on your shoulder that is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but doesn’t really help when he opens his mouth again. 

“Take it easy. Look, I can even smell the blueberry and bacon muffin you had for lunch is no big deal”.

“But I brushed my teeth!”, You yelp in embarrassment.

“What can I say? Foxes have outstanding sense of smell”, he grins, inflating his chest, tail waving playfully behind him.

“Okay, but what does it have to do with him being sick? Am I making him sick?”, you ask him, desperate to get some answers. However, Jimin insist on being ambiguous.

“It’s a hybrid thing”, he states and you frown.

“Then shouldn’t I be making you sick too?”

“Foxes mate once a year, on winter season. Besides, as cute as you may be,  you are not my mate, y/n”, and again, his tone is suggest you should know what he’s talking about, but you are so confused and worried you can’t think of a good way to share your questions but to stare blankly at him again. He rolls his eyes with an amused smirk on his face. “Do you really not get it? Look, y/n... Your body is saying it’s ready for babies and he wants to give you his babies. Get it now?”

“What?!” You swallow hard, if your cheeks couldn’t get more flushed before, they are now. How can he imply that-? When you two had never even... “But I- but we don’t... Oh God...Uh- I...”. You are too embarrassed to talk properly, and Jimin seems to be having the time of his life looking at you squirm. He reaches to ruffle with your hair, but you glare at him and smack his hand away. “How can you know that’s what is happening?! For all I know you could just be messing up with me!”

He chuckles. 

“Why would I do that, y/n? Heats are a serious thing for hybrids”, he folds his arms over his chest, but he senses your uneasiness and drops the smug face. He offers you a gentle smile instead. “Hey, relax... He’s not going to coerce you into sex, don’t worry. He’s still the same person you know. Heats are caused by our animal DNA, but don’t make us irrational beings... just... Super horny, I guess.”

“Oh my God!”, your hands come up to hide your face. Jimin chuckles and you let a loud sigh before looking at him again.

So, Yoongi is in heat and it’s your cycle’s fault. But you still don’t understand why does it affect him when Jimin looks just fine, and when he two of them have been around you for around the same time.

“He’s just feeling sick because he’s been far away from you for too long. Give him a couple hours and he’s going to be fine. It might hurt him a little, but nothing a cold shower and some good old self-love can’t fix”, he does a jerking motion with his hand and winks at you with that foxy smile of his that has your cheeks flushing again.

“Oh, my God! Your such a pervert, Jimin”, you yell, completely outraged by his raunchy suggestion. ”Get out!”

He burst into a laugh, throwing his head back and clapping at your annoyed face. You’re about to take off your flip flop and smack him in the head when he runs to the door. “I will get you that book. You need to do some reading and maybe give the poor kitty a hand!” And he wiggles his eyebrow suggestively. 

You throw the flip flop at him but it misses its mark as he shuts the door closed. You can still hear his airy laughter as he walks away.

You huff and stand in the middle of the entrance hall for a few more minutes until all the indignation has vanished from your system. What’s left is the awkwardness of what you just learned.

You make a beeline back to your room. You take a deep breath as you twist the door handle. You pray to god there’s no visible traces of your embarrassment on your face still and push the door open. Yoongi is sitting at the edge of your bed, his broad back to the door. His tail waves rhythmically side to side and his ears twitch as they register your steps. You approach him cautiously, the last time you spoke was when you said goodbye with that awkward kiss. The memory of his emotionless face as he stared back at you then still makes you wish you didn’t do that.

“Hey, stranger...” you speak softly, the mattress dipping a little under your weight as you sit next to him, leaving a body’s width between the two of you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better...”, he sounds tired, hasn’t even looked at you yet. “Sorry if I... y’know... scared you with the way I walked in. I shouldn’t have...”.

A soft laugh leaves your lips as you try to lighten the mood. There’s some tension in the air, and you want it gone. “I thought you were dying or something. Don’t do that to me again”, it’s meant as a joke but he doesn’t laugh. 

He doesn’t react and the awkward feeling in your gut just grows more.

“Sorry...”, you whisper.

“Don’t apologize”, he speaks, voice still raspy, gaze focused somewhere at his own feet.

God, this is so awkward you can’t stand it anymore.

Taking a deep breath you stand and step right in front of him. That seems to wake him up and he raises his gaze to look at you from where he’s still sitting down.

“I have to go back to the shop, but please stay here for as long as you need. There’s food in the fridge, and you already know where the plates are. I can run you a bath too before I leave if you want”

“Don’t worry, I’m okay just...” he blinks and shakes his head.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing...”, he lowers his head, visible uncomfortable. You reach for him, but he grabs your wrist in the air with a mind-blowing agility. “Please don’t touch me right now”.

“Right...”, you swallow hard and step back. The brush of his fingertips around your wrist as he lets go fo you leave a warm trace that lingers. “I’m sorry. I’m going to go now...”, you are unsure how to say goodbye, so you simply wiggle your fingers in the air and walk out your room.

He doesn’t stop you this time.

Needless to say, the rest of the day you can’t help but feel miserable.

He didn’t want you to touch him, he was like that because of you. He probably resented you even. Jimin said being away from you so long made him sick, so he was very much stuck with you until you period came. How delightful...

That couldn’t be easy for someone used to roam freely when he wanted. You didn’t want him to be mad at you. Those days without him made you realize you grown more fond of him that you probably should considering he was not even... fully human. Well, he was a handsome man... and sweet too, so brave, and caring, and well-mannered... and probably the best cuddling-buddy you ever had. You smile to yourself as you replay the way he held you the first night you spent on that couch together, how he had insisted you should rest. Shit, you were totally into him. Even his little ears and tail where endearing to you. But... was he into you? By the way he reacted to your kiss you already knew the answer was a big fat no that laughed at you silly heart.

You let out a disappointed sigh and take a glance at the book Jimin left for you at your apartment mailbox before you returned to work. He even attached a blue post-it note to he cover, that said you should have a good look at chapter four. You brought it to the shop with you to provide some kind of distraction from this quiet day. There weren’t as many customers as usual, and you had a half mind to close up early today.

You’re already done with half of Seokjin‘s order anyway, stored in the freezer at the backroom kitchen. You want to finish the glaze tomorrow so it’s fresh and shiny for his especial event.

You flip the book to the chapter referred by your fox friend and when you read the tittle you understand why he sent you there.

«Chapter four: Felines heat and reproduction.

Female feline hybrids have shown to be extremely fertile, so owners should be careful when they allow them to go through their heat. Intercourse between humans and hybrids is not uncommon, and is more likely a female to get impregnated after sexual intercourse with a male during heats.

There is no specific season for heats to happen within the feline family, but it’s known that a safe environment is crucial for a female to be able to enter her heat. It can happen at any time of the year, and males nearby will react to the hormone increase, preparing themself for breeding. It has been noted when there is no female feline hybrid around, males sometimes will enter their heat during their female owner’s ovulating period. Some catnip based heat suppressant can work better with feline hybrids than chemical based ones if the owner prefers to not have their hybrids go through their usual rut once a month, since it could be a quite painful experiences of here is no relief for the hybrid. (...) On regarding male genitalia, depending on the hybrid’s breed, is posibleㅡthough not commonㅡto find the presence of penile spines around the gland. One purpose of the penile spines on a feline penis is to aid in a female's ovulation. Females hybrids, as it is known, do not ovulate before sexual intercourse. Instead, the barbs stimulate the female‘s vulva during intercourse, which causes her body to then release an egg. This is painful for the female, but part of the pro-.»

“What the hell...?!”, you have to close the book shut and take a deep breath.

What the actual hell? Was this thing real? Holy cow... did it mean Yoongi had actual piercing spines in his-

You glance at the book again in disbelief, the book even provides a graphic drawing depicting an odd looking penis, surrounded by little spines around the base of the head.

“Oh, my God!”

This has to be a joke of some sorts...

The author said some hybrids, not all of them right? He also mentioned it was not common, so you should worry if... Well, not that it’s going to happen anyway. Yoongi doesn’t like you. But... holy shit, could that the reason big cats aren’t as common as other hybrid species like rabbits and dogs? There’s one clear thing in your mind, though... The only way you can actually be sure is to see it for yourself, and you are not quite sure that it is even possible.

Your head is a complete mess right now, so you end up closing earlier anyway. Yoongi said you didn’t have to apologize to him, but you feel like you really have to. He must be so pissed right now, he knows you did this to him, it’s all your fault for suggesting they stayed with you those weeks back, your fault for insisting on sharing the couch with him. You head back home with the book tucked below your arm.

The moment you step inside your apartment, you ear catches the faint sound of a shower running. It gets louder as you get closer to the hallway so you figure it must be coming from the guest’s bathroom. Is Yoongi showering at this hour? You wonder as you head to your room, but can’t help to look back at the bathroom. The door is sightly ajar, and there’s a cloud of steam coming from the inside.

From this close you can hear a soft pant that sounds a lot like Yoongi’s voice mingling with the noise from the shower. It takes you a moment to figure what he must be doing and your cheeks heat up with the mental image. You think back to what Jimin said earlier today and what you just learned from the book in your hand. You know he’s probably trying to find some relief from the pain, it’s would be natural. Still your guilt hasn’t vanished completely, because you know there’s nothing you can actually do to help him.

Except well, grant him some privacy... But he’s naked in the shower, a voice inside your head pulls you closer to the door. This could be it, you could seize the opportunity to check if he had spines or not. Yeah, but why do you care?, Another voice chimes in, it’s not like he would want you, and if he does it would only be because of the heat.

Torn between pry or let things the way they are, you stand frozen between your bedroom door and the bathroom door. Yoongi’s pants intensify, the noises he’s making with his hand makes you realize he’s going faster now. You clench your tights together when a streak of arousal courses through your body. You can only imagine what he must look like, completely wet, heavy breathing with his hand around his shaft and- Fuck, he’s getting closer. You bite your lip, you really want to see him now, but you are already on questionable grounds just by standing there listening to his moans. You know you should leave, but your feet are glued to the floor.

You hear a soft groan, followed by a beat of silence and then heavy pants. The water stops running and you hear some shuffling inside the bathroom. It takes a moment for your lust drunken neurons to understand the situation: he’s coming out and he’s going to find you like a peeping Tom right outside the bathroom.

Your attempt to leave unnoticed goes to the gutter the moment you turn around and in your haste you forget to unlock your bedroom door before you attempt to cross it. A loud thud and you stumble back, cursing your stupidity, one hand clutching the book and the other one comes up to hold your forehead when it crashed against the wooden door.

But your whole body goes rigid the moment you hear someone clearing his throat behind you. “Fuck...”, you hiss and slowly turn around to face Yoongi. He’s only got a white towel wrapped around his hips, but you don’t have time to stare at his beautiful torso, when you catch his eyes glaring at your form.

Eyebrows furrowed and you swallow hard.

Heat comes rushing to your cheeks and you are left a blabbering mess. Fuck, he’s got you. 

“I... I didn’t... I mean-“, you look down at you feet, clutching the book against your chest.

“Are you-?”, he blinks and clear his throat. “How long have you been standing there for?”

Your stomach ties in knots, and you can’t answer him properly. You know you crossed the line here, you invaded his privacy and basically eavesdrop on him jerking off. Your cheeks burn with so much embarrassment you think you are going to pass out. What kind of sick person are you? Why did you have to stay, for Pete’s sake?!

“What is that?”, he steps out of the bathroom and his eyes scan the cover of your book.

“Nothing!”, you exclaim and rush to hide it behind your back. But he snatches it away from your hands before you’ve even got the chance with the same agile movements from earlier. And much to your dismay, he opens it right where you left Jimin’s post-it as a makeshift bookmark. His eyes go through the words in the page and then blinks once.

Twice.

And then he scoffs, obvious indignation washing over his features, before it quickly turns into anger and looks at you.

“Who gave you this?”, his tone borders a growl and you flinch a little.

“Jimin, but-“

“Of course, that asshole fox”, Yoongi spits and rolls his eyes, handing you the book back. “I don’t know what he told you, but I don’t have a cat penis, y/n!”

“Wait, It wasn’t like that I...”, you start apologizing again and again, until you realize what he just said. That he doesn’t have- you blink repeatedly, and stare at him in awe. “You... You don’t?”

“Of course I don’t!”, he frowns but a snicker manages to form on his lips anyway, “What the hell would you even think that?”

“Be-because...”, you lower your gaze. If people could die of embarrassment you are sure you’d be twice dead right now. You heart pounds hard against your chest, and you don’t even know what to say. “I didn’t... it’s just- the book... But the penile spines-“

“For goodness’s sake, y/n...!”, he takes a deep breath and brings a hand to his face. The other rests against his hip, right over the towel.

“Yoongi, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I was just worried it may hurt because- shit... I didn’t mean it like that, I wasn’t thinking-“, you want to disappear in thin air, to dig a hole in the ground, get in it and never get out again. You swallow and take a breath, a hand against your forehead, as if it’d do any good in hiding your shame. “Look, I’m really so, so sorry, Okay? I’ll give you privacy now, I should go and- Uh... fix us something to eat, yeah...”

With that you turn on your heels, wanting to run away and hide in the kitchen for the rest of the evening. Even if you have to sleep on the counter. You can’t face him right now, what horrible things must he be thinking about you now? You must disgust him, on top of the resentment he must feel because of what you did to him.

He’s going to hate you now more than what you hate yourself already.

“Y/n, wait a minute”, he calls for you and you freeze in the spot. Is he going to yell at you? Is he going to tell you how a disgusting human being you are and that he’s leaving and I’ll never come back again- “I can’t have you believing the lies in there”

“What?”, you blink confused and turn around again. And without any warning his towel falls down at his feet and now he stands in front of you in all his naked glory.

Your eyes dart downward to his crotch, following the happy trail that goes from below his belly button to the patch of hair over his pubic bone, and there’s nothing you can do to peel your eyes away from his dick.

Oh boy.

He is bigger than what you had anticipated and he’s only half-hard even though he just came in the showerㅡsomething you pin to the heat he’s going through. A decent length and girth, and you can only imagine what he’d look like fully hard, without the foreskin covering the tip. But you don’t have to wonder for long, because he grabs his shaft with one hand and strokes down to pull gently at the foreskin, revealing the silky head.

“See?”, the tip of his pink tongue protrudes from his lips as he licks them. A smirk in his face, one eyebrow arched. “No penile spines”

You swallow, mouth practically salivating at the sight of him. How can he do this so casually? Touching himself... Does he even know what he’s doing to you? Offering himself to your eager eyes like that.

Your cheeks are flushed. Your mouth hangs open for a moment before you can actually manage to find the words, and even though, you’re still a complete mess.

“That’s quite big- ¡a big relief...! to see you- you don’t have... spines...”, you mentally curse yourself, as you manage to finally tear your eyes from his member and turn your face around, to glance at the empty wall next to you.

“Good. Curiosity sated then”, you still can see him through the corner of your eye as he bends down to pick his towel up and wrap it around his waist again. A part of your can’t help but feel disappointed, but a nervous thrill shoots down your spine when you notice him drawing closer to you. Your body turns to him like a piece of metal to a magnet, and he’s god an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You can ask me if you have any questions, just throw away that stupid old book. Okay?”.

You take a deep breath and nod. He smells so good after just having a shower, and you a dying to run your fingers through the modest curve of his pecs to collect the few water drops that still linger on his skin.

“Are you okay, y/n?”, he takes another step closer and you back away, your back hitting the hallway’s wall and the book falls from your hands. He only gets closer and rest a hand on the wall just over your shoulder. You manage to mutter a quiet “I’m fine” under your breath, it’s less than a whisper but he catches it anyway and hums in response.

He comes closer, and suddenly he’s pressing his chest against your own.

Your heart feels like is about to explode, and his closeness does nothing to alleviate the arousal that pulses in your lower belly. You bite your lip when he leans closer to whisper in your ear. His warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin sends shivers down your spine.

You have to bite your lip to avoid the pathetic whimper that threatens to come out. 

“You smell delicious...”, his voice is deep, low, rumbling inside his chest like a purr. “Did you like spying on me that much, huh?”

He’s making you so wet and he hasn’t even touch you yet. You can feel your underwear dampening under your jeans, and you can tell he’s aroused too by the way the towel stretches in a tent around his groin. But you know this is only the heat speaking, this isn’t really him wanting you and when you manage to remember that, your lust-clouded mind clears enough to find your tongue again.

“Yoongi, I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me, I shouldn’t have...”. Your words get caught in your throat when you feel his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I’m sorry...”

“You already know what is happening, don’t you?”, his lips hover a few inches away from your ear and you take a deep breath.

“Jimin said... that I- That I might have triggered your heat. I’m really sorry, I didn’t know...”, You don’t know if you want to look him in the face, but you need him away from your neck or you are going to end up doing something you’ll regret.

You try your best to scurry to the side, but he stamps the other hand against the wall, trapping you in his arms. His lips connect to your neck and before you know it, he’s sucking at your sweet spot, eliciting a moan from your lips.

Your hands dart forward, looking for support against his arms. He presses his hips forward to your own in response and you can feel his erection pressing on your thigh behind the towel. His lips travel up your neck kissing your jaw, before the land on your lips. His kiss is hungry and desperate, but his lips are soft against your own. His tongue finds it way to the inside of your mouth with little resistance, fueling the fire that had begun to grown in your lower abdomen. It’s been a while since a man kissed you like this, passionate, like his tongue is made of liquid fire. 

He sucks and bites and all you can do is moan at the pleasure.

His is hands skim down your waist, to land over your ass and squeeze it.

That’s when you react, and push him away. 

He stumbles back a little, and looks at you with hooded eyes. For the first time since that started you get to see his face. The amber is almost gone form his eyes, his pupils are blown dark with lust and sight clouded in lust. A pink blush dusts across his cheeks and his chest, and his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“I’m sorry- I... I don’t want you to hate me...”, you mumble, legs trembling as you struggle to maintain eye contact with the breathtakingly handsome half-naked hybrid in front of you. “I- I know it’s all because of the heat and... I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret when you are back to normal. I don’t want to take advantage of you like this, Yoongi... I can’t do it”.

He regards you for a moment, the cloud in his eyes disappears and a heavy sigh leaves his lips. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, with one hand he brushes his hair back and takes a deep breath. When his eyes find yours again, there’s no more black lust, but a warm amber looking back at you.

“Do you really think I would let it happen if I didn’t want you?”, he asks, and you can’t find a way to respond to that. What is he saying? That he’s not in heat? Or that he deliberately let his heat happen by being close to you?

He must see your confusion on your face, because he draws closer, cupping your face gently with both hands.

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, y/n...”

Your heart skips a beat, and you stare at him in at loss of words. You only react when you notice he’s leaning closer again, his eyes fixed in your lips.

“But earlier you-!”, You place your hands on his chest and push him just a little to force his eyes back on yours. His skin feels warm and cold at the same time.“You didn’t even want me to touch you this morning... I thought you resented me for triggering your heat”

Yoongi shakes his head, a defeated sigh leaves his lips when he looks at you again.

“I panicked because that fox’s scent was all over you...” he scrunches his nose with disgust. His hands leave your cheeks to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “You weren’t supposed to smell like him, I had scented you before I left that day”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment again.

“You- you what?”

“I scented you”, he repeats as if it’s the most normal thing to say.

“What does that even mean, Yoongi?”, you whine and a smirk forms in his lips. He brings his lips closer to your ear again.

“It means that I want everyone else to know you are mine...”, he whispers. His hands sneaking up your blouse, caressing the skin of your lower back. “I want to claim you, y/n. And I think you want the same... I can smell your arousal dripping to your underwear”

“Fuck...”, your head falls to the side, leaving your neck exposed to his greedy tongue. He wastes no time in lavishing your skin with kisses, and you moan under his lips. “Yoongi...”

“Don’t you want me?”, he whispers again, lips trailing kisses down your collarbones now. 

You bite your lip, and your hand travel up his chest to dig into his raven locks.

“Of course, I do...”, you sound so breathless already. He reaches for your lips again with his own. His hands reach for the back of your knees to pull you up from the ground, so that you wrap your legs around his waist.

He holds you there, against the wall, his bulge pressing against your clothed core as he continues to kiss you just as fervently as before. He breaks from you just a moment. 

“Then I’m going to make you mine now if that’s okay with you”, he whispers against your swollen lips.

“God, yes...”, you whine and that’s all he needs to hear before he captures your lips one more time. After he’s done with you, he’s going to make sure there’s he no traces of that fox’s scent left on you.

[draconicpenartastic]

So I spent the whole week obsessing over @careamorran​‘s evil!Outlaws idea, and I couldn’t function well with it just sitting in my head. So instead I wrote something about it. It’s currently 1am and I am close to passing out so just go and check her out! This girl is amazing artist and an even more amazing person.

 Possibly more to come

The moonless night made warehouse both dark and cold. No one in their right mind would come here at such time, when the slightest touch of metal walls made skin freeze. Not even rats lived in places like this. But well. This is Gotham.

“-6 busted cars, and all the cargo. We had moved 2 labs after our men told us which information the Bat took from them, though the biggest one still got taken by the GCPD-“ Read a man standing behind his boss.

In Gotham on nights such like this crime Lords and Ladies gathered in  warehouses as cold as this one to meet, plan and trade. It is not often that a such a big meeting happened. The fear of the bat and general dislike for each other meant that having such meets more often would end up in blood and high bullet bills.

Now that they gathered, they sat together at a round table in the light of lamps, heating the place with their strong light.

Lords of Crime discussing future of their Kingdom. There was no trust between them, but a common enemy that needs to be slayed. So they gathered, to plan.

“Enough!” Screamed one of them, a bald male clad in a grey suit under his jacket. His features were twisted in anger, fury. There was a loud sound as his fist hit the table and resonated through the furniture. “The Bat is at us again, now that Joker is in Arkham! Again!”

And to complain about certain bat themed heroes.

“Not just that” said another “his brats are back in town as well. They are equally bothersome and expensive. Especially the pretty one, however he calls himself now. Batwing?”

“Nightwing, sir.”

„Whatever. He and the rabid robin took down more of my men than the rest combined. Me best lieutenant landed up in bed for months!”

“Sir, the staff said that Ms. Mercedes might never wake up.”

“She better wake up. It's always hell to find good people.”

Another Lord of Crime looked up and spoke. This one in leather jacket, black as charcoal. “Yeah, yeah, the bat is upon us. So what? He was upon us from the start. How many years was it already? 15? And yet we are still here!”

“‘So what?’ Just wait Jessie. Maybe your business is still kicking, but they will get to you eventually! We will see how you will talk then, when you lay in a cell, with no one to bail you!” Paul pointed at Jessie before his hand struck down. Another punch hit the table. “We are losing money here! Because of this fucking Bat, our businesses are going down. So if you aren’t going to cooperate then at least-”

“You aren’t losing money because of heroes. You are losing money because you are weak.” Said the calmest voice in the warehouse. “Money as well as Power.” Everyone looked up, at the dark corner it came from, henchmen instinctively raising their weapons at the spot.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Asked Jessie, his men ready to shoot at a command. The crime Lord fast regretted his words as the figure became illuminated by light. The light was like that of a star, the figure bathing in it, short of a deity.

Just one look at the woman was enough for Jessie to start shaking with fear. Not the normal fear of the Bat, that meant few months in a hospital before his contacts got him out. This was something worse. Much worse. The gorgeous woman before them meant chaos and death and pain. He has only heard rumours, as she, like a Goddess, only showed before ones she had chosen to fulfill her will, or to punish ones who crossed her. If she was merciful, the death would be quick. Otherwise… Jessie started shaking even more, remembering all the stories he has heard.

“Supernova���, said someone, the shock, like a spell, breaking from humans. The henchmen lowered their weapons, fast. The bosses looked at her, sweat trailing down their temples, trying to hide their fear.

The dark skinned being floated down from the corner, her red hair trailing behind, illuminating everything around like the sheer essence of the stars. She was clad in a purple suit that showed the perfection of her body. Perfection no human could ever hope to achieve.

Supernova looked down at them, her eyes green as kryptonite and so much more deadly. “So you know who I am. Good. It will spare me some time.” She smiled, it being more that of satisfaction than happiness. “Now then,” she clasped her hands together “let us go through the important points meeting.” The Goddess's voice cut through the silence. It rippled like a wave, washing over, before the silence came back. No one dared to speak up, to interrupt.

“You all are trapped, between batman and black mask. They both advance faster than you fools can or are willing to react. You had years to take out either, but instead you just sat and let them take more and more from you.” She spread her arms, palms up “Your chance is long gone. Now you all are working for me. Obey and you will be rewarded. Cross me and you will be wishing for death when the bat will lie down at my feet.” Her smile broadened. “Gotham will be ours before end of the year.” She let the words sink into their heads as they looked at each other, many emotions and thoughts passing in between them.

“What about Red Hood?” Asked a small voice, voicing the question they all had. “He will kill us if he finds out.”

“There is no need to worry about him,” she answered “Red Hood is working for me.” The Court looked between each other, failing at discrecy, a single thought shared by them all ‘Shit’. “You are to follow his orders as well as mine.”

“You all will be contacted with instructions shortly,” She turned around “Meanwhile, this meeting has not happened. If I hear even a rumour, I will find the responsible.” With that, she left, rising into the darkness.

There was silence for some time as the Court of Crime made sure that their new Goddess left.

“The bitch is fucking terrifying” Breathed Jessie.

Koriand’r left the warehouse clad in a black cloak that hid her alien features. No matter how many strings were pulled to clear this area from any sentient life, it’s better to be safe than sorry for unwanted attention that will end up in additional cleaning. “Red would surely enjoy the cleaning, driving around and taking out the trash.” She smiled at the thought of him.

The cloak would also hide her from the rain when the Gotham sky decided to let go of every single drop and rain for days or even weeks. Nova looked up at the sky. Not that she could see much in between the roofs, so close to each other, they sometimes seemed to move, closing over pedestrians. The small belt of sky was dark grey instead of the cosmic black, illuminated by lights of the city, hiding even the brightest stars behind clouds and pollution. One could say that the night sky showed the true nature of its city.

Closing to the exit from the alley, Kory reached into her pocket, to take out a small device. It was metallic, with a red red button. She pressed it. And waited.

There was a tap-tap of feet on pavement, closing onto her. Not a pattern that seemed familiar. There was though sound of an engine so-

BAM     clink

Supernova straightened before she looked at the bullet rolling at her feet, the metallic glint barely visible in the dark alley. Her eyes found the shooter. A big bald man with a handgun shaking slightly between his hands, as his victim turned around instead of falling down, dead. The Goddess smiled cruelly at him, her hands alight in purple energy, illuminating the dark alley. A single pair of brown eyes gouged out in terror as he got her full attention. There was a Crack of energy and the shooter was flying back, away from the circle of light and the Goddess’ extended hand. It came to a stop with a dull Thud, it’s legs still visible. She turned around, extinguishing her bolts, darkness swallowing both the body and growing pool of liquid around it.

“I’m afraid you will have to do the kind of cleaning you find ‘unfun’.”

Red Hood didn’t stopped walking, “Nothing like having your own personal clean-up squad, right?” He hauled the body up, red dripping on his black jacket. “If I got a dollar for every body that I had to haul, I could probably pay for someone's college.” Kori smiled at him, “Your experience in the cleaning area is appreciated my friend.” “Streets of Gotham sure teach a lot of useful skills. Like how to steal and hide bodies. Other skills like math and reading are of course unnecessary. Why would anyone need them?” sarcasm seeping in his words, Red Hood turned to Supernova, nodding towards the exit of the alley. “Let us go. I can’t guarantee that someone won’t hijack our transport, and then there will be either more corpses or some citizen will unhappily find their car at the bottom of the bay. Corpses are both more probable and satisfying.” They moved out of the alley, to a beaten, rusty silver car. Or rather grey. It might have been silver once, when it got out of a factory, before it was screwed up by the world it was created in and sent to a place where it could be turned into parts before someone would say ‘I can karate and ninAAAAGH’. Could explain why Red Hood found such a bond with it.

“I see you took Wendy today.” She said, voice disturbed by the THUd of a corpse being thrown into the trunk.

“Yes,” he answered, gloved hands wiping off the fresh blood on a towel he took out from somewhere. “Last time I took Celty. Can’t discriminate. They all need time and care and joyrides.”

They sat into the car, tinted glass hiding them from the world outside. In the relative safety of her own skin and the dark windows, she took of the hood. Koriand’r, the Princess of Tamarean didn’t liked to hide, even if it was necessary.

The engine roared to life, the whole vehicle accelerating forward, as Jason released it’s power with one violent push of his foot. Jason didn’t need to take off his helmet for Kori to know that he was smiling like a madman, enjoying the sound, the speed, the company. He might even start laughing if they suddenly got attacked and got out, riding so fast they posed more danger to themselves than the attackers. ‘It’s the adrenaline Kori.’ Jason tried to explain it to her once. ‘It’s released when humans pull dangerous and deadly stunts. Some people like the feeling so much, they seek out danger. We call it ‘Adrenaline High’.’ According to Jason this ‘adrenaline high’ is why superhero community exists in the first place.

“How is our guest Jason?” She broke the comfortable silence, unfazed by another sharp turn, sure to leave tire marks on the asphalt. Jason flipped a switch on the dashboard, not looking away from the road. A feed from camera started projecting on the glass in front of her. “Another effect of insomnia and his sheer love for Wendy”, she assumed.

“Still asleep.I made sure of it.” True to his words, their guest was very asleep. It was a good thing, as according to the her knowledge on humans (as confirmed by Jason), their specie healed and regenerated faster when asleep. Something about body not having to prioritise other functions. And X’hal knew that he needed it, if all the alien medical equipment he was connected to was any clue.

Kori nodded “Good” She watched a little longer before flipping the switch, feed cutting off. More sharp turns, more rubber grated off.

“Was your ‘stake out’ successful?”

“Oh yes! This time I visited the right people. It still surprises me how much a good reputation, and a loaded gun can help with shopping. In a few days I will have to visit them again to get the new parts for the girls. Or threaten some more. I hate slow reception, especially when I got relatively good ideas for them.”

“What kind of ideas and upgrades made you so excited?”

“Well, for first I was thinking about putting a giant laser pointer on the back so I can blind whoever is chasing me. Then I came to conclusion that I don’t want to have an army of angry cats following me. Dogs, we could hire someone to train and make an army out of them. No one would expect that. But cats? That would be impossible.”

“Don’t act like you would not try to keep them.”

“They would hypnotize me and make me do stuff like feeding and petting them after being violently woken up. Can’t let such dangerous creatures roam our place.”

“These cat beasts always seem to be awfully attracted to you.”

“Probably can smell the death on me.”

The sensations came one after another. Softness on his skin. Lightness of lying down. Dry cotton in his mouth. Killing headache. Scratch it. Killing everywhereache. Killing everywhereache, especially on his cheek, right arm and leg, And this annoying beep beep Beep Beep BEEP.

The man opened his eyes. Then blinked. Again. Nope, still dark and blurry. He closed them, inhaled and tried to remember how co-

Your name is ROY HARPER. A former SUPERHERO turned MERCENARY. You have NO IDEA where you are, why are you STILL ALIVE. Last thing you remember is FIGHTING WITH THE OUTLAWS, a duo of very skilled and dangerous CRIMINALS.

Ah yes. He was probably rescued by someone. A friend? Or some bad guy who finds him more useful alive?

...

Who is he kidding. With his luck it was surely the second thing. Someone kidnapped him to torture him slowly, or to get revenge, or some information that he won’t have. Roy groaned, pulling against something inside his hands, as he raised them to cover his face, as he imagined all the possible scenarios. All of them ended in his death or disfigurement. So who is it? Competition? Someone who was pissed by his existence? Someone having a thing for redheads? “Anyway, it’s better to get these things out”, he decided, grasping to pull out the thin tubes in his arms.

...

…”What?” Came to mind as instead he hoisted himself up and looked around, feeling of disbelief filling him, pushing away the pain from moving his leg. It was dark, the only lighting being a couple of small lights in the ceiling, and light from outside. Even in the weak light the room didn’t looked like a criminal's dungeon or a hospital room, or house of anyone who cared about him (because there are no people like this). It looked more like an hotel room. He let go of the tubes and focused on the interior.

The room was… spacious. And pretty barren, with only the basic furniture. The redhead recognised a desk and a chair on the wall opposite of the bed, right under a pair of light, with the wardrobe on the left. On the right was an entrance. Probably closed. Around the bed there was all the medical machinery he was connected to, giving a weak glow of whatever was inserted into him and multiple graphs and numbers, like his stable pulse (Beep, Beep, Beep). The walls were a combination of grey and darker grey. So the situation didn’t looked so dire. Especially combined with the sight outside GIANT WINDOWS on the left wall. There were three of them, all higher than Roy himself. All showing the same thing. A city covered in lights and life.

...Maybe this time he got taken by someone nice. Or at least okay with leaving all the body parts in place.

The doors opened, letting someone in. Click. The light turned on, making Roy squint and hiss. “Oh good, you're not asleep anymore.”

Roy turned his head, squinting at the newcomer. He couldn’t see details with his eyes adjusting.

“Hello Roy. My name is Jason. I’ve been taking care of you for the last few days so you would not die. Can I sit here with you?”

The voice was that of a guy, very nice and soothing. Roy nodded slowly as the guy- Jason, sat at the edge of the bed, flipping through a clipboard he took out from under his arm. Neither said anything as Roy’s eyes made their blinking party, til he could keep them open for more than half a second. Finally, he looked at the person. Then blinked. And blinked again. It really was a guy. Very tall, with nicely tanned skin, broad shoulders and hair black as the purest coffee, with a poof of milk white hair between his eyes. He was wearing a dark brown T-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans that showed off his defined abs and thighs. “He could probably crush my skull between them” came a thought.

“So, how are you feeling Roy?” Jason asked, smiling kindly, if not a bit mischievous, his defined cheeks pronounced by it. His eyebrows were bend questioningly, highlighting his beautiful green eyes. Roy blinked. Then felt heat on his cheeks. “Oh no. He’s hot.”, his genius brain supplied.

“Uuuuh...”

[sacrificialarrow]

rules: repost, don’t reblog. just pick a muse of yours and fill it out.

basics

▸ is your muse tall/short/average? Just shy of being almost suspiciously tall, he is -- for a modern elf, who rarely reaches any taller than 5′8″. But for one of the Ancients, who rarely were under 6′ tall? Solas is rather on the short side. But then again, in his spirit ‘body,’ or rather, how he actually looks, he’s tall enough to incite heart attacks, particularly during an age where buildings were likely at most about half his height or less.

▸ are they okay with their height? It’s never been something that bothers him. And I’m sure if it had, he could’ve make himself larger.

▸ what’s their hair like? Practically sentient in its wildness; nothing he ever does tames or controls it spare for the dreadlocks he used to wear. But still, it’s actually really pretty when it’s grown out, bc it’s this nice like foxy brown colour ( you know, reddish, but also brown, but still more red than anything else ) and it’s halfway in between soft and coarse -- though still thick. His bald ass head is nice too, I guess.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? In the past, he spent time enough taking care of it that he blended in well with the nobles of Arlathan, ( so a fair amount ) but nowadays, the most he does is shave off stubble. I must say, however, he is a very clean individual who keeps himself properly groomed; it’s just not entirely immaculate anymore, where he doesn’t care that much.

▸ does your muse care about their appearance? Honestly.... Not really. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but his whole attire aesthetic is literally just what’s comfortable and not irritating to deal with and or take care of. And that in and of itself is a good part of the reason why he puts up with Dorian’s input and changes to his closet when they start happening; as long as it’s comfortable, Solas unapologetically just doesn’t care. ( And you know, it makes Dorian at least a little happier when he’s well-dressed, so he especially doesn’t mind putting up with being dressed by someone else.... As long as he cares for them, anyway. )

▸ does your muse care about what others think about them? If he cared even a little bit about that, he wouldn’t be able to waltz through life being as often genuinely mean, or else as brutally honest as he does, never mind with such great ease. There is, however, one aspect that he does care about and that bothers him a great deal: the reputation that Fen’harel is painted with. He has fought fang and claw and with everything else that he’s had to right the wrongs of the Evanuris and attain some semblance of peace for his people, however small it may be. And yet at every step, he’s met with accusations of a malicious and monstrous nature. At first, it was little more than irritating that the elves could be so blind as to not think for themselves, but it’s stuck with him, grated on him over the years. And nerves can take only so much rasping before they begin to fray, and the spot begins to become tender, and the abused flinches away in agony from any more licks. Of course, should it continue, one grows weary and hopeless, and merely takes what they are dished with unmatched sorrow.

preferences

▸ indoors or outdoors? Outdoors. ▸ rain or sunshine? Either. ▸ forest or beach? Forest. ▸ precious metals or gems? Precious metals. ▸ flowers or perfumes? Specific perfumes, namely those at least similar in body to Dorian’s, otherwise flowers. ▸ personality or appearance? Personality. ▸ being alone or being in a crowd? Solitude. ▸ order or anarchy? Order insomuch as it is fair to its people, anarchy insomuch as it is beneficial. ▸ painful truths or white lies? Painful truth for most situations, although this changes if he’s acting the part of not the Dread Wolf, or if dating someone. Though even then, it’s more of a ‘I didn’t lie, I simply didn’t tell you’ sort of situation rather than outright lies. ▸ science or magic? Both. ▸ peace or conflict? Peace.

▸ night or day? Night. ▸ dusk or dawn? Dawn. ▸ warmth or cold? Either. ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends? Many acquaintances. ▸ reading or playing a game? Reading.

questionnaire

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? Frankly, he’s often quite happy at leaving people at his baser assumptions of them, and they usually have to fight to prove him wrong before he’ll budge -- and even then, it tends to be a process, unless the evidence given is damning enough. Of course a lot of it’s out of a sheer desire for people to not be too terribly agreeable, so he doesn’t have to like them much, but that doesn’t make it any less shitty of a thing to do. Though that does rather lead into another of his bad habits, which is actively isolating himself whether he’s starved for social interaction or not. Partly out of cynicism and partly because people have, over the years, given him more than plenty of reasons to distrust them and their company. ( Especially given who he is and the reputation he has ) Nowadays, the way that his brain’s wired means that if he's to have any hope of processing something, he has to be away from people to do so. ( ie, when Wisdom dies, and he leaves for a couple of weeks. )

Of course, there’s also the smoking too, ( infrequent as it is by Inquisition ) though it’s not as interesting to talk about.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? The better question is really who hasn’t he lost that was close to him? There’s been Wisdom, whose loss left Solas quieter and more muted for a solid month and a half, and much more likely to become volatile at the improper treatment of spirits. There’s of course Mythal, who no doubt made him that much more isolated with her absence -- yet altogether that much more vicious towards those who wronged their people and killed Mythal. Countless friends and or lovers over the years have either died, left, found out who he was and tried to kill him for it, or else have forced him to kill them, and for it, he’s been less trusting, and less willing to let people into and or to stay in his life. Though of course, the latter ( letting people stay in his life ) has become ubiquitous over the centuries for having lost so many, as the lesson has been thus: people never stay, so remove yourself before you’re hurt further.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? He looks back on his naming with some fondness. ( Of course, the scene is someone tainted with upset and anger by sheer nature of what had happened at the time, though the affection he felt for Mythal, particularly in that moment, outweighs the rest. ) As well, being taught to paint by one of the slaves he’d freed was an incredibly pleasant time period for him as well, as it was something that he got to create, for once.

Probably one of his favourites, though, are the generalized memories of his life on the plains before he sought out Mythal, and the feeling of grass against his paws and fur for the first time. ( Because of course, this was during his Great Wolf period, wherein he was nothing more; not the Dread Wolf, and certainly not an elf. At most, he only changed in size. )

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? Ironic to his seeing himself as a guardian of sorts, it’s probably easier for him to kill people than it is for a trained assassin. Bitch doesn’t even bat an eye at it, whether they be friend or foe. I do think a lot of that’s due to how the world used to be when he developed his mind, in that there was no difference between the waking world and the fade; those who died only really became simpler minded spirits. Still not who they used to be without guidance from someone else, and no doubt no longer a threat or a problem or whatever, but? Still there. Still capable of being sought out. And I don’t really think Solas has removed himself from that mindset in the slightest, because even though there’s a barrier, the principle remains the same.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? Kept at bay by the sheer distance put between itself and Solas, the world is. He intentionally sought this out himself, yet he’s never felt more alone. Only the ground itself gives him any semblance of comfort, but it’s still not enough to keep the tears, baleful as they are, yet soft and kept to himself all the same like a howl not quite able to face the breeze. Whether he laid down, or whether he collapsed, he doesn’t recall, but it barely matters; numbness will catch up soon enough, and watching the leaves blow past the end of his nose will become the all-encompassing salvation that never does nearly enough.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? Capable, yes. Likely to, absolutely not. One must understand that each time he’s entrusted himself to someone before, it’s ended in regret, and likely even bodily damage, and so it takes him a great deal to work through the process of giving that kind of trust to someone. At present, there’s only been Mythal and Dorian who have both earned and kept it.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? He absent-mindedly makes small sketches of them, and quietly takes note of, I kid you not, every available detail of the person. Each new thing he finds is a gift for him to treasure, even if it remains something for him to treasure at a distance with no real use for what he knows. It’s all very subtle, and if others are present, nothing more than softer expressions and likely kinder attitudes towards said person, but even if it’s not something he acknowledges in any real way, it’s still obvious.

Though... If he’s actually with the person he loves, he can’t really keep his hands off them. Not even in a sexual way, really, just light, sometimes lingering touches here, hand holding there. And ofc, he tries to refrain from it in public or around other people, bc he’s not one for public displays, but it’s often unsuccessful where it’s something he does subconsciously. ( And unfortunately for him, that makes his lack of contact with people normally pretty telling. )

And I wish I could say that his overall attitude improved, but no. He’s still an asshole as equally ready and willing to verbally tear you apart; literally, he’s only nicer to the person he’s in love with.

tagged: I stole this like 20 years ago. tagging: If you wanna do it, do it and tag me so I can learn.

[typetypetypetypeface]

Lucinda & The Holidays (aka Season’s Greetings From The Dept of Mysteries)

Fan fiction set in the Harry Potter universe, featuring original characters, with a spy-adventure noir atmosphere. Usually there’s swearing, smut, and some sexy scenes.

6,437 words.

In the Department of Mysteries there are many rooms. Some rooms are popular, and even famous – the shelves where they store the remaining prophecies that survived the war, the room of death’s curtain, and the room of malevolent brains that live in jars and stew in their hate. Other rooms are less popular – the storage lockers where sentient artefacts sleep, the long rows of jars containing preserved samples of extinct magical beasts, and the deep pools of psychedelic dream-stuff milked from the heads of sleeping children. Some rooms have lost their doors and been forgotten for a very long time – stone circles standing in underground caverns carved with runic shapes that seem to move as you look at them, chambers of gigantic fossilized spiral shells bigger than houses from ancient magical life that predates humanity, a vast antique machine that was supposed to predict the weather but started predicting something nobody understood so it was locked away. Some doors only appear when the moon is full, or exactly when lightning strikes but vanishing just as quickly, or during an eclipse, or at certain times of year. Some doors have been forgotten but appear anyway when the conditions are right. And sometimes those doors are noticed.

              Employees of the Department of Mysteries are called Unspeakables, and their ranks are known only to each other. They all knew Cranston Dulucky’s rank couldn’t sink any lower without being dismissed from the Department, which almost never happened. He was young, new, fresh, and stupid. He had disgraced himself in a number of discreet ways that outsiders had thankfully been spared from knowing. He was unscrupulous to begin with, and his own incompetence had made him desperate. So when the door appeared for Dulucky, his first impulse was to find out if he could benefit from it directly. He was in a lonely, dark corridor. Insofar as location has any meaning so far inside the Department’s shifting maze, he was near the back. Nobody would see him. If Cranston hadn’t been here, it was likely that nobody would ever have seen the door.

              The door was red, with a shining green wreath of ivy leaves. The door jambs were like red and white barber’s poles, with the stripes spiralling around them. On the round brass doorhandle there was an embossed snowflake picked out in mother-of-pearl. As Cranston Dulucky approached the door, he thought he smelled gingerbread…

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse. I can’t stand it when people alter the quote to include something more immediately relevant instead of a mouse. So there. Not even a damn mouse.

              I’ve never been big on Christmas. I’m quite uncomfortable around my own family and I don’t like intruding on other people’s family. I always feel like the spectre at the feast – a cynical, mournful, manipulative, blackmailing older woman seemingly incapable of expressing joy. I strictly wear black or grey velvet, not red. For everyone else’s sake I like to lock myself away with a mystery novel, a box of shop-bought mince pies, and a bottle of Baileys (a little Christmas luxury). Winter Solstice is a busy time for witches and wizards, New Years parties are a different prospect entirely, but normally nothing interesting ever happens on Christmas Eve.

              My flat is quite normal in most respects. It has no special magical spaces or enlargement charms, and my few magical protections and privacy spells (to prevent scrying) barely affect the electronics and technology of my muggle neighbours (unless they come inside my actual flat, which none ever have). It’s at the top of a block of flats with other muggles, and like all the others my name on the intercom system at the bottom is faded enough to be barely legible. I know all of my neighbours intimately and keep track of their movements in an off-hand manner just to make sure they haven’t been replaced by magical duplicates, but they don’t know me beyond a nod on the stairwell. One specific Christmas Eve, I knew that the family opposite me on the top floor, the neighbour couple directly below me, the single neighbour diagonally below me, and indeed the neighbours for two stories further down were staying with relatives. I was quite alone at the top of the building. So I was surprised when a security alarm spell started chirping, and a little framed photo of my apartment building that I keep on my wall started glowing red on the top of the roof. A wizard was up there.

              I climbed the stairs with my wand drawn. At the top of the stairwell just above the door to my flat (closed and triple-locked behind me), there was a door onto the building roof. I clicked it open silently and did my best not to crunch out onto the asphalt. Sure enough there was a dark-cloaked figure out there in the night. From the shape of its hood, the figure appeared to be looking up into the sky. It was sitting on one of the box vents. I would have immediately paralysed the unknown figure had I not seen a small cling-film packet of sandwiches next to their propped-up broom. Nobody coming to see me with hostile intent would pack a snack.

              “Hello?” I said, from behind the doorway onto the roof.

              The figure span around. It was a pale man in a Ministry robe, with a wispy black moustache but thick eyebrows.

              “Hello,” he said, uncertainly.

              “What are you doing on my roof, officer?” I asked. I didn’t know if he was an Auror, but it’s a useful assumption to make.

              “Nothing to worry about. Just some routine surveillance, miss…?” he trailed off, questioning. His voice was high, nasal, and posh. He sounded officious. I try not to let first impressions stand in the way of a potential opportunity but I dislike being patronised.

              “Baker. Lucinda Baker.”

              “Not the Lucinda Baker?”

              “Probably,” I said with an inward sigh, wishing there was someone else with that name. I came out from where I had been sheltering, walking over to him in the mild winter air. It had rained earlier and the street below glistened beneath the streetlights. They shined up at our faces, giving everything a theatrical feel. Not a single snowflake had fallen anywhere in London so far that year. That doesn’t happen at Christmas in London. The films are lies.

              “You may return inside, if you wish,” said the man.

              “Who are you?” I asked, bluntly. I did not wish.

              “I am Cranston,” he said, sitting up proudly, “Cranston Dulucky of the Unspeakables.”

              “And your purpose here?” I asked, standing next to him at an angle that meant I wasn’t exactly looming over him, but could if I wanted to.

              “Nothing you need concern yourself with,” he said airily.

              “You’re on my roof on Christmas Eve. Explain this to me.”

              “It’s the business of the Department of Mysteries.”

              “It’s the business of my bloody rooftop. You can either include me on your lonely top-secret business, or you can leave it.”

              “I’m not alone, I have the authority of the Ministry behind me,” he said. I can tell when someone is lying.

              “Is there a team of veteran Aurors lurking in the sky while you sit down here and enjoy your sandwiches? What are those, corn beef?”

              His face turned red and he briefly glanced up at me, furious. But he winced away at the expression I returned, and deflated.

              “They were supposed to be chicken and sweetcorn,” he said, “But the mayonnaise was old.”

              “What a wonderful Christmas Eve you’re having.”

              “It may improve,” he said, “And besides, it’s apparently no worse than yours. Alone too?” he asked, cocking me a condescending eyebrow like he hadn’t just accidentally confirmed what I suspected.

              “I have some friends coming over later,” I lied, being better at it than him, “I was enjoying a bit of peace and quiet, warm and safe at home. And then some idiot started sky-watching on my roof without permission or explanation.”

              “If you really must know, I’m going to attempt to capture… well, a kind of spirit.”

              “What kind?” I said, finally interested. I crouched down next to him, resting on my haunches. It didn’t seem like he was going to offer me a seat.

              “A spirit hitherto unknown by all of wizard-dom,” he said.

              “And witch-dom,” I said.

              “Well, yes. Sorry,” he said.

              “And do the house elves know of it?”

              “I’m sorry?”

              “Well, you say it’s unknown to us. Is it unknown to everyone else too? Centaurs? Goblins? Mer-folk? I could check, if you want? As a favour? Most other people don’t celebrate the holidays like we do so they won’t be too busy. That’s what I do for a living,” I said, and I meant it. I was absolutely willing to do him a favour. He would owe me one, and he was an Unspeakable. Imagine the kind of favours he could do to repay me. I would charge him interest.

              “There’s kind of a problem, actually. In truth most people have heard of this one. It’s the source of several myths and legends, even amongst the muggles. But there’s so much misinformation, nobody has ever really heard the truth…”

              “A famous spirit? On Christmas Eve? Are you joking?” I said.

I knew who he meant but I didn’t want to say the name. There is power in names. Even now we still don’t say the name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Joked-About.

              “No, I’m very serious. Attempts to capture it have been made before. I found records locked away in a forgotten room, covered in dust and snow and… and icing sugar. I never heard anything about them but it seems every couple of generations the Department organises an operation,” he was rambling, staring at the sky, “They’ve been trying less and less frequently. The last time was in the 50s. They nearly succeeded. I know what they did wrong. I think I can do better. I’m sure I can do better.”

              “You found the forgotten records and thought you could make a name for yourself in the Department?”

              He jumped slightly. Apparently he had forgotten that I was there. To recover he pulled a pocket watch from his robes and checked the time, then returned to glaring up at the stars. But he made a small, affirmative noise.

              “Waiting for midnight, are we?”

              “It’s part of the ritual, yes.”

              “Okay. What else happens?”

              “You believe me?”

              “I’ve seen stranger things,” I said.

It was true. I had been born to muggles and every day in the decades since receiving my letter I’d been exploring a bizarre fantasy world. Giant snakes, walking corpses, the domestic lives of nightmare beasts far beneath the ocean, an immortal race of dog-headed humanoids living in the frozen wastes somewhere above the 75th latitude north. There are ghosts, dragons, giants and phoenixes. Why not this too?

              “Well, I’ve prepared this especially,” he said, taking a small paper bag from his pocket. He opened it and took out a tiny piece of gingerbread. He showed it to me and then delicately put it back in the bag, and put the bag in his pocket. From the delicate way he handled it, the gingerbread was clearly laced with something.

              “And milk?”

              “Apparently brandy or port is more efficacious,” he said, taking out a shoulder-bottle of cheap brandy alcohol he must have bought from some muggle corner shop earlier. I wondered what he and the shop worker had thought of each other.

              “Spirits for spirits, eh?” I said.

              “Very amusing,” he lied.

              “Surely you don’t just leave gingerbread and brandy lying around on a rooftop to summon… him?”

              “On Christmas Eve, at midnight. There are other preparations. I’ll do them shortly.”

              “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.”

              “I do mind.”

              “It’s my rooftop,” I snapped back, standing up, turning to face him head-on, looming over him fully now. He cringed back.

              “Okay,” he whimpered.

              “What’s next?”

              “Next, the dish,” he said, taking a piece of paper from his pocket. He waved his wand and from the air summoned a plate of fine china, then used magic to transfigure the pattern of the china into arithmantic workings. He consulted his notepaper as he worked, tweaking the woven enchantment until he was satisfied an  the small plate was covered in eldritch patterns. He placed it on the floor next to him, away from me.

              “And then?” I said.

              He started drawing chalk markings on the rooftop with his wand, starting with a wide circle. As he worked he also levitated a handkerchief into the centre of the circle, amongst the runes and symbols. He poured a little brandy into a tiny, delicate glass with filigree around the base. Then he carefully placed the bottle of brandy on the rooftop, against the box vent he was sitting on. He levitated the delicate glass too, and landed it carefully on the handkerchief. It looked like something from an antique dollhouse, if the dolls were all terrifying magic-users.

              “What next?” I said.

              He levitated the china dish and gently clinked it down next to the glass, on the handkerchief. A very pretty Christmas picnic, and a trap.

              “And then?”

              “I shall put the gingerbread down shortly. It wouldn’t do for it to be lying around where a pigeon may peck at it.”

              “Very thoughtful. And then?”

              “And then we wait.”

              “So how much of this is summoning magic?” I asked, gesturing at the chalk markings.

              “None. This is all the trap. It has to be a very powerful trap. Apparently gingerbread on its own is enough to summon the spirit. Mince pies work. So do carrots, really. Just carrots on their own,” he chortled lightly in disbelief, “Such a cheap summoning. People do it every year by accident almost, without even really believing in it. Any kind of tribute will work. It’s very old magic. This spirit has been around for a very long time, after all. They may not have had mince pies when he started. Or chimneys. When it started, even,” he corrected himself, “But they certainly had carrots. Root vegetables have been around longer than humanity, after all.”

              “And he appears when muggles do this, too?”

              “Eventually, yes,” said Dulucky.

              “They don’t see him? They don’t notice that their gingerbread is gone?”

              “What you have to understand is that it’s a very old, very powerful spirit being. Even wizards don’t see it. There are other creatures and entities that are similar – the thestrals for example, can only be seen after one has witnessed death. Tonight’s spirit is even harder to see. You also have to understand that it’s… somehow beyond time. It really does appear to travel around the world – that is, those countries and communities and households that somehow satisfy some arcane conditions – in the space of one night. It can be here and gone in the space of a thought, leaving behind nothing but crumbs and some kind of memory charm. Any muggles naive enough to try and watch for its arrival will find themselves confused, with no knowledge of what truly occurred. Any mundane traps will be untouched.”

              “And he leaves presents?” I said, interrupting his monologue.

              “Hard to say. Sometimes it does. Everyone has their memories modified to believe that there’s a reasonable explanation for erroneous gifts. Ministry staff need to be protected from such charms before I can convince my colleagues that such a thing has occurred. But if there are any moral judgements involved, a ‘naughty’ or ‘nice’ list, then the Department has never observed it.”

              “I’m sure. And reindeer?”

              “Probably just a Scandinavian tradition that leaked into the mythos,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

              “And his snowy white beard, red clothes, rosy cheeks, and twinkling eyes full of glee?”

              “Now you’re just being facetious,” he said, pompously, giving me a critical look from the side of his eye.

              “So what will you do when you catch him?” I asked.

              “Imagine what we could achieve once we understand how it does such things. Such a powerful spirit, with such abilities…” he trailed off, and for a second a dreamy look crossed his face.

              “Advances in magic?” I prompted.

              “Hm? Oh, improved memory charms, a deeper understanding of time, maybe a more profound distance between wizards and muggles. Who knows?”

              “And what will happen to Christmas?”

              “I doubt anyone will notice the difference,” he said, once again waving his hand dismissively.

              “And what about, uh, the spirit?”

              “What about it?”

              “He won’t object?”

              “It’s only a spirit,” he said, looking at me with a moment of puzzlement.

              “Oh dear,” I muttered.

              “Pardon?”

              “Why did you pick my rooftop?” I asked.

              “Did you know that this building is on the intersection of some pretty powerful ley lines?”

              “Ley lines,” I said, with a flat tone to indicate I was not impressed.

              “Certainly. There are several. One comes from Stonehenge, and another even goes all the way to Faulkner’s Bottom!”

              “You don’t say,” I said, suppressing a depressed laugh.

              “And at this rough intersection, yours was the only building with a flat roof.”

              “Why is the roof important?”

              “It’s some kind of domestic spirit, certainly. Being near a chimney, a ventilation shaft, maybe even just a window? That might give it power enough to escape somehow. It did that somehow in 1802 and again in 1822, but the most successful attempts have all been outside.”

              “So it’s just a tragic convergence of ancient ley lines that I happen to live right beneath your perfect trap?” I said, as I slowly shifted my stance and moved behind him with three silent, discreet footsteps.

              “Tragic?” he said, looking up in puzzlement. He looked up to where I had been, but when he noticed I wasn’t there anymore he twisted around and looked behind him. He didn’t get up.

              “You’re conducting your own personal operation without the knowledge of the Department or wider Ministry, yes? So that you can reap the glory for yourself?”

              “Well, I mean-“

              “And if I said I’ll stop you?” I said. It was probably only the Baileys that had caused me to give away my intentions, rather than just striking without warning. Now it was too late.

              “I’m sorry, Miss Baker?” he said, and now he slowly rose to his feet. I looked around for anything I could use as a weapon but the rooftop was bereft of objects. I only had what I’d brought with me.

              “I said I’ll stop you. I don’t know if the spirit is real or not, but on tonight of all nights I’m prepared to do everything it takes to ruin your stupid plan,” I said, pulling out my wand and dropping into an aggressive, poised stance. Ready for battle.

              The streetlights shone up around his shape, so he was a kind of silhouette. He awkwardly turned his side to me, crouching for a leap. Even in the darkness I could see sudden fear flushing his face with red cheeks and sweaty forehead. He was only four feet away. A few steps behind him the rooftop fell away into the sudden drop down the building. Gravity would do all the work for me.

              “But why?” he said, his hand hovering at his robes, fingers twitching like a cowboy from the old West.

              “Because you’re an asshole,” I said, and shot my first curse.

              He dodged it, down and to the left. It shot off into the sky behind him, fizzling out across the rooftops. In the same motion he drew his own wand. I was spinning to the left too, intending to shoulder-barge him off the roof. His stride was longer than mine. He raised both arms over me and swept his cape aside like a matador, and suddenly I was closer to the roof than he was. I leapt back from him, and from the roof’s edge. We squared off against each other, crab-walking away from the edge, slowly executing complicated dance-steps to stay facing each other. I crouched lower and lower, wand dancing distractingly, while my free hand was slowly reaching towards my boot. He shot a charm at me but I pinged it away easily, countering with a quick curse. He rebounded it back at me like a sparking, fizzing magic tennis ball of poisonous green light. I had to duck and roll aside, but as I stood up again I managed to reach my hand to my calf. Now I had a short knife concealed in my palm.

              It was a short two-inch blade that these days I keep strapped to my calf at all times. All times. You mean you don’t sleep with a knife holstered on your leg? Sounds like you’re not paranoid enough. Sometimes your dreams come true, right out of your sleeping head, and then sometimes they need to be stabbed to death.

              A charm shot over my head as I rose, missing me. I shot back a paralysing curse. It pinged off his shield and ricocheted off to the side, into the asphalt, throwing up a rain of grit. Some of it pattered against his face, and he blinked as he fired a random charm in my general direction. I span away from it, spinning, getting closer to him.

              “Surrender,” I grunted, flashing another curse at him. It shot past his head, inches away from his face. It lit his expression – grim, determined, and angry.

              “I can’t,” he grunted, “I have to prove-“

              He never got to finish his sentence. I was right behind my curse, darting the few inches closer to his neck, bringing up my short knife. He was wincing away from the curse so I missed his jugular properly, but I nicked his skin in a long, thin, shallow slice. It was enough to disconcert him. He collapsed away from me, free hand clutching at his neck as he fell. He struggled to his feet, wand pointed at me accusingly, a thin stream of blood leaking between his fingers. He glanced at his bloodied hand and then back to me.

              “Merlin’s beard, you’re crazy!” he exclaimed, face suddenly white.

              “Lie down and you won’t get hurt,” I said.

              “You won’t stop me! I’m going to be the greatest wizard the Department has ever seen! I’ll do what none of them could ever do! Alone! They all laughed at me! Laughed!” he ranted.

              “I’m the crazy one?”

              “I’ll be… the best… wizard…” he said, his white face turning whiter.

              “You really should lie back down,” I said.

              He fell to one knee, looking up at me with confusion.

              “That’s better. Just a little nap. Not to worry. You won’t even remember it in the morning,” I said, pacing around him warily, avoiding his wobbling wand-aim. People are at their most dangerous when they think they’re defeated.

              His other knee hit the ground, and he slowly toppled forwards onto his face. I crept up to him, prodding him with my foot. He was unconscious. Using my foot again, I gently rolled him over onto his back. His eyes were closed, he was breathing softly, and he had gravel stuck to the side of his face. In his pocket, his little pocket watch chimed midnight.

              You mean that calf-holstered dagger that you always wear isn’t enchanted to knock out anyone whose skin it pierces? Mine is.

              To be fair I was entirely prepared to stab him in the throat, and indeed had been trying to. It would have been simpler that way, and he’d done nothing to endear himself to me. But I���m not soulless enough to slit the throat of an unconscious person – usually – so now I’d have to modify his memory somehow and dump him somewhere in the city. It was more risky but maybe I could insert a memory about him owing me his life, which was arguably true anyway.

              I turned to start wiping away the chalk markings. In the centre of the chalk circle there was a wavering figure of silver and red, emitting a soft overall-pink glow that I hadn’t noticed in the drama of the duel. He was partially see-through, like a ghost, and he wobbled like he was underwater. He was nearly seven foot tall, and maybe just as wide, but he had that kind of stocky, barrel-built width that spoke of power and might rather than a bowlful of jelly. His beard was silver and square, neatly cropped along his strong jaw. His long robe was bright-red velvet, unusual for a ghost. It had silvery fur trim that glittered like tinsel in the streetlight. His boots and gloves were leather, but still glittering silver rather than black. Shining red cheeks glowed from above his shining white beard, but his thick white eyebrows were frowning heavily over glittering, furious silver eyes. He had long white hair that tumbled down one shoulder, woven into a braid. Across his other shoulder a leather strap, crossing across his trunk-like chest, held a long leather satchel embroidered with sparkling silver runes. He was wearing a crown of holly leaves. He was glowering at me and the unconscious wizard.

              “Lucinda,” he said. His voice was like an empty winter wind. It seemed to come from a long way away, echoing before the actual words arrived. It tinkled with jangling icicles and delicate frost. He did not sound happy.

              “Uh… hello,” I said, “I suppose there’s no point asking how you know my name.”

              “I know everyone’s name,” he said, his hollow echo still angry, “And what everyone has done.”

              “It was him,” I said, pointing down at the unconscious man.

              “Yes. He laid a trap for me. Better than anyone has in a very, very long time,” he said patiently. His shining silver eyes glanced briefly at the chalk markings.

              “If I let you out, will you just vanish? I mean… I have so many questions,” I said, my voice finally breaking with disbelief and shock. His expression softened, and the laughter lines crinkled softly. Under his beard he was presumably smiling.

              “I can stay for a while, yes. I feel that you’ve earned it. Overall.”

              “Ah. Overall?” I said, pointing my wand at the chalk circles. I wanted to make sure I defused the trap safely.

              “Yes,” he said simply, “Overall, by and large, on average, you’re a good person, Lucinda Baker. Today especially.”

              “That’s… actually pretty good to know,” I said, glancing up, trying not to show emotion, trying to focus on my task.

              “You need not fear. Your heart is good, and the world is complex. I understand,” he smiled again, and it was like a beam of moonlight piercing storm clouds. I choked back some more emotion.

              “Okay I think I’ve found it,” I said, carefully wiping away one rune. There was a change in the air, almost imperceptible unless you were looking for it.

              The figure lifted his hand and pushed it out into the air experimentally. He kept going, and took a step. He walked over the chalk circle surrounding him, his ghost-like form crunching on the gravel. He had some kind of weight, unlike a ghost.

              “Ask your questions, Lucinda,” he echoed, as he walked over to the prone form of Cranston.

              “What are you?” I blurted out, following him.

              “Ah yes, the easy one,” he said, flashing me an entertained twinkle of his eye.

              “What are you going to do with him?” I asked.

              “One thing at a time, Lucinda. On tonight of all nights, we have time. To answer your first question, once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I used to be a man. I barely remember the sensation now, nor my human life. Did you know that there is power in kindness? And love? Do you understand the nature of sacrifice?”

              “I… don’t?” I said, as I watched him crouch over the unconscious wizard. He reached out one gloved hand, and grasped Cranston’s forehead.

              “At the ancient altars of winter, long-ago wizards would summon the sun back to the skies after the long darkness. They would take a totem of life, a tree so resilient that it remained green even in the coldest months. Beneath it they would leave offerings of the highest quality. If the offerings were impressive enough, the sun would be appeased and start to be tempted back. What happens to the offering after that? You can’t take it home because then it’s not an offering. At other altars these things are burned but that seems a waste. Why not give them to each other? It’s a win-win scenario for everybody, especially since the sun was going to come back anyway. So many powerful acts, so much positive feeling floating around in the world. It could easily be used for nefarious purposes, and may be harnessed by malevolent forces. Instead I harnessed it myself, and used it to encourage further giving. I suppose I became a kind of…. avatar, I suppose.”

              He seemed to nod in satisfaction, and removed his hand from Cranston’s head.

              “How long have you been… alive?” I asked.

              “Many thousands of years, but you’ve changed the calendar several times. Since long before the Romans came to your island. Long before your Statute of Secrecy. Long before the Ministry dared to hunt me. Long before this holiday, or holy day, was called Christmas. There have been changes, certainly. Long ago I defeated Krampus in battle, and I no longer leave coal for naughty children. Although if you ask me, coal is a pretty decent gift for a lonely young man down on his luck on a cold winter’s night. But anyway, I believe the people these days have a phrase? ‘Long story short, they say?” he said, straightening suddenly, and his voice grew louder as the wind of his voice built into a cruel winter gale, “I am Christmas.”

              He suddenly blazing with pink light even brighter as his red and silver shone. His long red robe seemed to blow in a wind that I couldn’t feel. My breath fogged in the air. Snowflakes coalesced around him, frozen out of the air.

              “And… and the elves?” I asked.

              “Do not worry, Lucinda. I have long had a treaty with the elf tribes of the North Pole. They assist me, and I use a portion of my power to keep them hidden.”

              “And if they want to leave?”

              “They are free to. They find it easier to come and go from the North Pole than I do, certainly. They are certainly not prisoners,” he smiled, “Ask your next question.”

              “The… the North Pole?”

              “Yes. It is not exclusively my kingdom, but I live there alongside its many peoples.”

              “Are there other creatures there, as old as you? I don’t want to sound silly, uh, sir, but do some of them have dog-heads?” I asked, somehow blushing furiously.

              I swear, I’m a serious professional who doesn’t squeal or whimper about her emotions. I’ve stared down vampires without blinking. I’ve destroyed castles from within using nothing but charcoal and a collection of hats. I don’t blush. But something about this seasonal apparition, literally the personification of benign paternalism, made me shy to ask him about old boyfriends.

              “Ah yes, the dog-heads. I’m acquainted with them, but I wouldn’t call them friends. I suppose now that I’m here,” he said, looking at me thoughtfully, “This is a good time to give you your gift. You’ve certainly earned it.”

              “A gift? For me?” I asked.

              In two quick strides of his mighty legs he was in front of me. Despite being nearly two feet taller than me, he did not loom. He unbuckled the leather strap on his huge sack, and heaved it heavily from his shoulder. It landed on the asphalt of the rooftop with a thundering boom. He undid the leather strap holding it closed, and reached an arm deep into it. The sack was semi-transparent just like he was, but he pulled out something entirely solid. It was a single icicle, almost crackling with the incredible cold that it exuded. His leather mitten-fist was gentle. The icicle was intricately carved. Although the stem was quite thick, it was carved into the base of a richly-blooming rose.

              “Be careful,” he said, his voice tinkling mischievously, “It’s very cold.”

              “Who is it from?” I asked, holding back my excitement.

              “I think you know,” he said, reaching out his hand for me to take it. There was steam coming off of it as the air froze around it. I looked around, and picked up the handkerchief from where Cranston had laid it on the rooftop, knocking the dish and the empty glass aside. I flapped it briefly to get rid of any stray gravel, and then wrapped it several times around the ice-rose as I took it from him. Even with the wrapping, the icicle was still almost painfully cold. A single drip of water fell from the pointed end of the stem. The streetlight refracted and shone along the insides but the lush petals of the ice-rose seemed suddenly wet.

              “It’s melting?” I said, looking up for confirmation at the figure of Christmas.

              “I’m afraid so, yes. Would it mean more if it lasted forever?”

              “It would mean I get to keep it,” I said sadly, looking down at it, suddenly eager to drink in all of the details while they lasted.

              “It would only haunt you. Lucinda, it does not do to dwell on memories and forget to live,” he said meaningfully, and buckled up his heavy leather sack.

              “Wait…” I said, my eyes suddenly widening as he threw his sack back over his shoulder.

              “I’m afraid not, no. Time is still ticking away, and I need to carry this… man back to his own home. He will remember nothing. I hope you won’t mind but I’ve given him a small memory about you. He believes he owes you a favour which will be too embarrassing for him to ever describe to anyone, but that he will certainly be eager to repay soon. I believe that’s what you had in mind?”

              “Oh, thank you,” I said, clasping the rose closer to me.

              “This is not for you. This is for him,” he said, striding back to Cranston, “I may no longer give coal but he’s definitely earned my displeasure.”

              He wrapped one thick glove around the collar of Cranston’s collar, and heaved. He bent his arm until his biceps bulged beneath the red velvet, and Cranston was nearly lifted entirely from the ground. The spirit of Christmas turned, heaving the weight alongside his sack. His arm went over his shoulder, his elbow by his ear, to keep hold of Cranston’s collar. Cranston’s feet didn’t touch the floor.

              “You’re giving him to me as a punishment for him?” I said.

              “There’s a lot to be said for coal,” he said simply, but winked at me.

              “How are you going to get him home?” I said eagerly, “Is there-“

              “A sleigh?” he said, interrupting me gently, “Oh, yes.”

              He carried Cranston to the other side of the roof, furthest from the street-side edge where our duel had happened. We looked out over the parking behind my building, and the communal wheelie bins. As I walked closer, I could see the suggestion of a shape floating in the air beyond the rooftop. It was like staring drunkenly at a picture drawn in the droplets of water on a steamy window – the shape of the transparent distortion was only even half-visible when you focussed on the objects behind it. It looked vaguely square, with a rounded end, and some kind of blades along the bottom. There were no lights, or tinsel, or glitter. It was like someone’s vaguest daydream of a sleigh, which would evaporate as soon as the dreamer tried to describe it. Without hesitation, the spirit of Christmas heaved Cranston off his back and in the same swinging motion, flung him out into the open air beyond the rooftop.

              For a second I felt my heart stop. Cranston landed with a thump on something solid, amongst the invisible structure of the sleigh. The spirit of Christmas had already unbuckled his sack, and tossed it onto the sleigh too. It landed on Cranston with a thump, and I heard the wind being driven from his lungs. It sounded painful. I tried not to grin. The spirit of Christmas was climbing out alongside him, once again not even hesitating before stepping out into thin air. He appeared to reach some kind of step though, because he clambered up into what must have been the driver’s seat. As the spirit reached down and grasped some kind of ropes that had no more presence in reality than a mime, my eyes suddenly followed along where I could assume the reigns would be.

              In front of the sleigh there was another blur, and another, and another. At my angle so close to the sleigh, and so many blurs out in front, it was hard to count them. Whatever they were, they had legs. And antlers. They were gigantic. It may have been my imagination but deep within the distorted lines and movement of the shifting creatures, I thought I could see a red light.

              I expected him to cry out the names of the reindeer. I expected him to zoom away into the night sky, maybe briefly silhouetted against the full moon – even though the moon was disappointingly crescent tonight. At the very least I expected a flash of light and sprinkle of glitter. But he merely looked at me from his sleigh, quickly fading away into invisibility, and with a silvery twinkle in his eye he tapped the side of his red nose. Then he was gone completely.

              After watching for any sign of him for several minutes, I let out a deep breath. My breath still fogged in the air. I turned, and my footsteps crunched in the gravelly asphalt but also the frost. With one hand I still cradled the ice-rose to my chest. I intended to do my best to preserve it, and was half-pondering which charms were best for keeping something perpetually frozen. With the other hand I used my wand to clear away the rest of the chalk markings. I vanished the tiny ceramic plate. I threw Cranston’s disgusting sandwiches over the rooftop and onto the street, for the foxes. I’ve always had a soft spot for feral outsiders. I looked for the small shoulder-bottle of brandy but it had apparently vanished. I laughed.