You were a micro-celebrity—nothing huge, just a niche corner of the internet. Cute content, a small but loyal audience. Being beastkin was your whole thing, especially as a domestic animal type. Soft aesthetics, harmless videos, people projecting comfort onto you. It paid the bills.

It was December when things went wrong.

You were visiting a friend in Canada, snow clinging to the sidewalks as you headed back toward your shitty little hotel. You’d stopped to grab a drink on the way—something warm, something to fend off the cold. That’s when someone recognized you.

At first, it was just your name. A step too close. Then hands.

You barely had time to react before you were dragged into a back alley, the noise of your struggle sharp and panicked against the quiet street. You fought, even if you wherent built for that sort of thing, You fought. You made noise. Enough noise, apparently.

Ren had already clocked you the moment he passed by. Of course he knew who you were. He’d watched you before. More than once.He’d watched you before, More than once. When he rounded the corner, eyes sharp and grin thin, that was more than enough to send the guy running.

You were still hurt—shaken, bleeding, knees weak from the cold and fear. Ren crouched in front of you, tail flicking lazily behind him as he looked you over, like he was assessing damage to something he already owned, before he picked you up, taking you home with him.