I’ve had this other kinktober idea I’ve been trying to write for the past few hours and managed like almost 10k words between the two drafts. And it’s driving me up the wall because i have the general idea of what i want to write, and i really wanted to write it with viktor bc dr/researcher!vik fits well (for the obvious reasons). But it’s just. not. clicking. And I’m going insane bc this is such a…like the idea is haunting me and it feels like a great fic idea, but i just can’t get it to fit.
blurb: briar’s hockey team hosts their annual fundraiser for the hurricanes at malone’s. the prize? a date with one of the four hottest hockey player heartthrobs. the problem? you lost the bidding war to win your own boyfriend.
warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, the whole gang is here yay power of friendship, lowk crack fic with a side of romance, light jealousy, mentions of deanallie hehe, BEAU MAXWELL IS A FLIRT
“Allie, I gave you one job!”
And really, you did.
You were swamped with final exams and endless group projects. On this particular Friday night—the evening of the hurricanes fundraiser—you had to meet up with your teammates to go over presentation slides.
Thus, you entrusted your beloved friend, Allie Hayes, to ensure your spot in the bidding war for…well, your boyfriend.
“Aw, you wanna win me over once again, gorgeous?” Logan had teased you.
You had rolled your eyes and nudged him, “It’s for a good cause.”
“You’re paying to go out on a date with your boyfriend.”
“I’m paying to fund a little cane’s hockey endeavors.”
Except you can’t do either of those things because your trusted friend turned out to not be so trustworthy.
“I’m sorry, babe! I really am,” Allie’s eyes shone with guilt. “Della had me working a table during Logan’s segment, and I lost the stupid auction paddle—”
You raised your hand up to cut her off. With a resigned sigh, you let any hard feelings flee from your system. Allie had been having a rough couple of days—with the Sean breakup, and her recent streak of suspicious disappearances that you still hadn’t confronted her about, you knew this was a genuine mistake.
“Did he at least sell for a good price?” You asked.
“$750, baby!”
The voice came from behind you, along with a strong arm draping over your shoulders. You turned your head and met your boyfriend’s handsome face. Logan wore a gleeful smile, probably elated that the fundraiser had gone so well despite the last minute arrangements.
“Wow, that’s a lot,” you noted in surprise.
Logan’s expression shifted to a subtle pout. “You don’t think I’m worth that much?”
You kissed his stubble placatingly. “I think you’re priceless, babe.”
That got him to grin again.
Tucker came up behind and clapped him on the back, “Your boy here got the second highest bid.”
You shared an unimpressed look with Allie, “Let me guess, the top bid was on—”
“Well, well, well, Mrs. Logan. You finally showed up,” Dean joined the circle with a smug smile.
“I know you mean that as an insult, but I take it as a compliment.”
“You tell him, Al,” Beau popped up right behind Dean. He shot Allie a wink.
“How much did they get on you?” You redirected the conversation back into place.
The blond shrugged casually, peering down at his drink. “Nothing grand. A humble amount, really.”
Beau rolled his eyes and answered, “$1800.”
Your eyes widened, “You’re kidding.”
Dean’s mouth hung open, “Don’t stoop to their level, Mrs. Logan.” He pointed an accusing finger your way.
“I’m just shocked that somebody has that much money laying around,” you replied.
“We could’ve renovated the theatre department’s stage,” Allie noted bitterly.
“I could’ve gotten new car rims,” Logan added.
“Or that new gaming console,” Tucker said.
“Or my housing payment,” you continued.
“Or better toner for his hair,” Beau teased Dean.
“OKAY! WE GET IT!” Dean exclaimed, holding his hands up to stop the discussion.
Hannah and Garrett walked by, holding hands. The former shared a bright smile, “Hey, you made it!”
“How much was your boyfriend?” You asked her.
“5 bucks.”
“How.” You deadpanned. Garrett was a good looking guy, a very popular one at that. You’ve seen the herds of puck bunnies that worshipped him. A five dollar bid was ridiculous to even consider.
“Garrett stopped the auction once Wellsy placed her bid,” Tucker responded.
Smooth move, Graham.
And he knew it. Garrett had a shit-eating grin on his face like he knew he just won a million boyfriend points.
“That’s so cute,” you said before turning your head to eye your boyfriend. “Why didn’t you do that?”
The boys stifled their laughs at that.
Logan paused for a beat before he replied with: “I…wanted to make sure we raised enough money for the children.”
Smooth move, Logan.
Garrett dapped him up like his answer was ingenious. You hmphed and looked away. Logan squeezed your waist in an appeasing gesture.
“Well, when’s your date?” You asked.
Logan looked at his watch, which was on the wrist of the arm he had around you, so he charmingly pulled you closer to him to check the time. “In half an hour.”
You blinked. “What? Why so soon?”
Dean answered, “She requested it.”
“And is anyone gonna tell me who she is?”
“HIPAA,” Dean mimed zipping his lips closed.
“That’s for medical stuff, dingus,” Allie said.
“Is someone a sore loser?” Dean taunted.
Your gaze flew to Allie, “You placed a bid?”
“No,” she defended rather quickly. “Dean’s just…being stupid.” She muttered before rushing back into the staff kitchen.
You would’ve questioned their exchange more, but Logan’s arm returned to his side. “I should go too. You know, freshen up for my date.”
You flashed a faux smile, “Keep talking like that and you’ll have to go looking for a real date after this.”
The group dispersed—Garrett tugging Hannah along for their ‘fairly’-earned date, Dean and Tucker off to count up all the money they collected, Logan away to prepare for his mystery girl, and Beau gave your shoulder a reassuring rub and said, “If you give me $20 right now, I’ll go on a date with you” before you glared at him enough for him to bolt out.
You decided to stick around and help the group clean up the place once the festivities ended. Surely it wasn’t because you wanted to see the girl who spent hundreds of dollars to hang out with your boyfriend.
“Pop a fucking button, Logan. What is this, Sunday school?” Tucker was playing with Logan’s outfit to ensure he looked presentable for his date.
Logan’s eyebrows knitted together, “Relax, Law Roach. Are you forgetting she’s not actually my girlfriend?”
“For $750, you better start acting like she is.”
You cleared your throat loudly.
Tucker shot you an apologetic look.
“…John?”
The pair of them turned their attentions to the voice.
There stood a tall, stunning girl with beautiful deep tanned skin, hair down in luscious locs adorned in gold hair cuffs, and smooth legs peeking out from under her skirt. She looked like a model.
She looked between the two hockey players.
“You’re Amala,” Logan voiced.
She nodded with relief, “Yes. John, right?”
“We’re both John,” Tucker chimed in.
“Ohh,” Amala nodded.
“You can call me Logan,” your boyfriend said, stretching out a hand towards her.
“Logan,” she repeated the name, shaking his hand.
Tucker pushed Logan a step forward, “Have fun, you two.”
Logan looked over his shoulder to share one last look with you. He gave a reassuring smile, his eyes soft. Amala noticed and waved at you shyly. You waved back slowly.
Logan turned back to Amala, “Where would you like to go? You’re the boss.” He told her with a charming grin.
She shrugged with a smile, “Here is fine.”
“Here?” Logan raised a brow, surveying the post-function bar. “We could, though I thought of taking you out for ice cream—”
“Ice cream sounds great!”
“Yeah?” He smiled. “Perfect.”
Your eye twitched as you picked up discarded confetti off the floor.
Logan guided Amala out Malone’s with a hand hovering—not touching—over her lower back. The bell hanging over the door rang in a soft tune as they exited, marking their departure.
“Remind me again why I agreed to letting my boyfriend sell himself?” you queried as you picked up a broom.
Tucker raised a brow, “For charity?”
“Right,” you sighed.
Tucker looked around, “Hey, have you seen Dean? He was supposed to drive all this stuff back to the hockey house.”
You shook your head, “No. But he’s not the only unhelpful friend. Allie was supposed to clean up with me. She literally works here!”
“Huh.” Tucker licked his lips in thought.
He picked up a stack of boxes, “Well, I have to get these home myself. Do you need a ride?”
“I promised Della I’d clean up,” you replied.
“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”
You shrugged, “I’ll be fine, Tuck. Drive safe.”
Tucker nodded and bid goodbye before leaving the diner.
By the time you finished fixing up the place, flipping chairs over tables, and mopping the floor clean, the bell chimed again.
“We’re closed,” you called out as you tied a garbage bag shut.
A pair of familiar arms wrapped around your torso from behind you. “No late night service?” Logan’s voice tickled your ear.
You stood up straight and leaned back into him before remembering you were supposed to be mad at him.
You pulled back and turned to him, “How was your date?”
Logan let out a wistful sigh, “Amazing. You know, I might need to ask her out again.”
You pinched his arm. He winced.
Logan leaned in and held your hips, “I’m kidding. You’re the only girl I want.” He murmured as he pressed a kiss against your forehead.
That soothed your jealousy a bit. “What did you two do?”
He hummed. “Took her to Spoons, got ice cream, sat at a table and talked about you, drove back—”
“Wait, wait,” you stopped him. “Talked about me?”
Logan’s lips tugged upwards, “Yeah, we talked about you. Like the whole time.”
“Why?” You were so perplexed.
He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and responded, “Amala’s an exchange student. She shares a class with you. She’s been wanting to befriend you since the semester started but she didn’t know how to talk to you. So…she enlisted my help.”
You blinked a few times. “She went out with you…to ask you how she could be my friend?”
“Yeah. Sweet, right?”
“Oh my god, I feel like an asshole,” you breathed out.
Logan pulled you closer, “You’re not an asshole, baby.”
“I was cussing her out in my head for the past 2 hours!”
He chuckled, “I think that’s valid.”
“It’s not! I shouldn’t have judged so soon. Fuck, I feel so bad.” You started to spiral.
Before Logan could calm you down and reassure you, the bell rang again. You both turned to the door and saw Amala stepping in.
“Hey,” she shared a polite smile. “Logan, you left your wallet.” She handed it back to him.
“Oh, I didn’t even notice.” He took it from her hands. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”
She smiled with a small nod. Her eyes flicked over to you. Amala mustered up some courage and said, “Logan said so many nice things about you. No wonder he loves you so much.”
Your guilt boiled over and settled into soft mush at that. “He’s…too kind.”
Logan rolled his eyes fondly and pulled you closer to him.
Amala smiled again then spoke, “We…we share an econ class together. The 10 am with Prof. Singh?”
You nodded, “Yeah, I’m in that class.” You didn’t want to tell her that you hadn’t noticed her before.
Amala nodded back, “Yeah…I think you’re pretty cool. And smart. Do you maybe wanna study together for the final exam this weekend?”
Your lips eased into a soft, genuine smile. “I’d love that, yeah.”
Amala’s eyes gleamed with excitement and relief. “Yeah? Great, that’s…” she cleared her throat to control herself and appear nonchalant. “Cool. Logan has my number, he can share that with you.”
“Will do,” Logan swore solemnly.
She waved goodbye and started heading towards the door, “Alright, text me! It was lovely meeting you both!”
And then she was gone.
You turned back to Logan. He had a smug, ‘I told you so’ smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and shoved him. “Shut it.”
He buried his face in your hair, “Looks like you have an admirer.”
“Why, jealous?” You teased.
Logan’s brows lifted. “Me? Look who’s talking. You wanted to skin me alive a few hours ago.”
He wasn’t exactly wrong.
“God forbid a girl doesn’t want to see her boyfriend go out with someone else.”
Logan kissed your temple, “It was for a good cause,” he said softly.
“I know,” you squeezed his hand. You knew how much the hurricanes meant to Logan ever since he was a kid himself.
“So…” He brought you closer to him until your foreheads rested against one another. “How much for me to take you out on a date?”
Your eyes looked deep into his, “Hmm, how much have you got?”
Logan pretended to think about it. “If Amala didn’t rob me before returning my wallet, I should have 60 bucks and a punch card for free cheesy fries.”
You faked a delighted gasp, “How romantic!”
He chuckled at your comment before kissing you. His lips moved smoothly over yours, his kiss felt like a breath of relief after the long and busy evening. He held your chin in one hand, using the other to pull you even closer.
You separated for a moment to murmur, “Next year we’re sticking to signed hockey merch.”
Logan grinned, “Good luck trying to convince Dean of that.”
“He needs a girlfriend.”
He hummed, “And for $1800 and an hour, he might already have one.”
You laughed, taking his hand and tugging him out of Malone’s. “Come on, time for my own date with you.”
“You’re the boss,” he murmured with a kiss on your cheek.
And maybe it was best if you didn’t know that Logan purposely ‘forgot’ his wallet at the ice cream shop.
who remembers this trope from the movie ‘flipped’?
synopsis: Adrian has spent his entire life thinking he's a Beta. Then one traumatic mission turns his life upside-down, and he realizes he might finally get to have the one thing he's always wanted: you.
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, omegaverse dynamics (talk about mates, heats/ruts, etc), alpha!Adrian, omega!reader, medic!reader, 11th street kids is a pack, mission gone wrong, reader injury (bullet wounds), desperate and needy and protective Adrian just the way I like him, (I have never written omegaverse fic before be nice to me lmao)
word count: 5k
notes: It is finally here thank you so much for your patience I know I have been teasing this for weeks lmao I am anticipating around seven parts to this one!! MAJOR thank you to @embeanwrites and @snowyathena for the beta read and all their help brainstorming and editing <3
Masterlist | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen
The 11th Street Kids are not your typical pack.
Chris and Emilia, two bonded Alphas that butt heads as much as they care about one another. Ads, John, and Adrian, three Betas who gladly follow their lead, even when things get messy. And you.
Black ops work tends to attract a particular type—Alphas and Betas. You’re a bit of an odd one out as an Omega, but you’ve determinedly proven yourself capable of the work time and time again. Still, you’ve never actually been out in the field. You’re a medic, and you stay behind at headquarters, ready to help when the team gets back from missions, fixing Emilia’s shoddy emergency-med work that keeps them alive en-route to you.
“That is not how you pack a fucking bullet wound, Emilia,” you have said countless times. Or “Jesus Christ, how many times, Adrian, have I told you to leave the knife in after you get stabbed?” Or “What kind of drug did you accidentally inhale? If I was in the field with you, maybe I would have seen it and been able to tell—”
And you are itching to get out there and help. You’ve been begging for months. Even if all you do is stay in the van with John, you can do more, be there for the team more effectively, if you are out there in the field with them instead of waiting at the Checkmate office or whatever temporary HQ has been set up for long-distance missions.
Still, Chris and Emilia have been reluctant to let you—as the only Omega of the group, they tend to baby you, maybe a bit too much. But you’ve been there through it all—the butterflies, the alternate universes, standing on the sidelines as quiet, caring support for the others.
Being a good friend to Chris when he desperately needed one, after he got out of prison. Reminding John of his value when he’s feeling unimportant. Helping nurse Em back to health after Coverdale Ranch. Standing by Ads when her relationship with Keeya was falling to pieces. Comforting Adrian when Chris made the dumbass decision to fuck off to Nazi land. Welcoming Fleury, Bordeaux, and Judomaster into the pack with open arms and managing everyone’s emotions as the group adjusted to the three new Betas added into the mix.
But you’re more than a caretaker, and you’re ready to prove it.
“I am not a child,” you insist when Chris tries to bench you, yet again. “I have just as much training as the rest of you. I can handle a gun. I can handle myself. I am a professional, and I am qualified.”
“We need you here.”
“John gets to go with you all the time!” you cry. “He might be a Beta, but he’s a bigger pussy than I am!”
“Hey!” John protests.
“Sorry,” you mutter, not sounding at all sorry.
“She deserves to go,” Adrian cuts in, from a few desks away. “She’s worked just as hard on this as the rest of us. You can’t keep treating her like glass because she’s an Omega. I know you have this weird Alpha need to like, take care of her or whatever, but she’s also more than capable of taking care of herself. She takes care of the rest of us all the time.”
You’re grateful to have someone on your side. Adrian is your best friend, and he never lets anyone give you shit for your designation. You’d asked him about it once, and he’d said something vague about his shitty Alpha brother and not wanting to be like him.
If he was an Alpha, he’d be the perfect one, in your eyes. He never gave a shit about social convention, he understood you better than maybe anyone else in the world. You catch yourself wishing some days that things were different.
Emilia sighs. “It’s not that. You know we respect you. You also know that your designation makes you a target.”
“So we’ll keep an eye on her,” Adrian says. “She’s not going to go out there alone. If we’re watching her back, and you know we will be—”
“Fine!” Chris says, giving in. “You can come on the mission tomorrow. But Adrian stays with you the whole time.”
“Gladly,” Adrian agrees.
“Thank you,” you say delightedly. You hug Adrian, and he laughs.
He hates it when anyone else touches him, but—he’s never minded it from you. You smell nice. He takes the opportunity as you wrap your arms around him to quietly tuck his head into your neck and inhale, right where your comforting scent is the strongest. He hopes it lingers, for the rest of the day. On his clothes, on his skin, in his hair.
Adrian might be a little bit in love with you. A lot a bit in love with you, actually. But that doesn’t matter. He’s never had a shot with you anyway. He’s not an Alpha, he can’t give you what you need.
But he can give you this. He can watch your back so you have the chance to go out in the field with the rest of the pack, like you’ve always wanted.
“No problem,” he says, trying his best to pretend that everything is okay. That it doesn’t kill him a little bit inside when you let go, step back, move back to your desk.
He watches you and swallows hard, and tries really, really hard not to be consumed with irrational jealousy.
Jealous of whatever Alpha, one day, will get to keep you to himself.
Jealous of his alternate self, who he spends every day trying not to think about. Who you will never meet, thank god, because—he was an Alpha. And he would have been able to be with you, in a way Adrian never can be. Maybe—maybe he was. He had a mark. Right there, high on his neck. Adrian hadn’t been able to stop looking at it, couldn’t help but wonder. The question had been on the tip of his tongue the entire night, but he kept deflecting—talking about Pokemon and cloud-men and shag carpeting, skirting around the question he really wanted to ask, because he was too afraid. Because if it was you—if the only thing keeping him from you is his fucking designation—
He snaps himself out of the thought. It’s never happening, not for him. All he can do is take advantage of the time he has with you now, before some asshole Alpha steals you away to another pack. So he pastes on a smile, saunters up behind you, and taps you playfully on the shoulder.
“Better go practice your aim,” he teases. “Make sure you’re 100% field ready—”
“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh, but you start walking in the direction of the weapons room anyway. “Come with me?”
He follows you with a smile on his face. He always will.
Everything goes sideways fast. Your informant fucked you all over. It’s an ambush.
Adrian has heard pained or panicked shouts from everyone—Chris, Harcourt, Ads, Economos. He ignores them all, because he was given a prerogative from his Alphas. To protect you.
“Stay here,” he tells you, hands on your shoulders, pushing you behind him, away from the danger. “Stay here, stay low, stay behind me. Do you hear me?” You nod, eyes wide as you look up into his visor.
“Okay,” you agree, cocking your gun. “I’ll do what I can from a distance—”
“No, don’t waste your ammo,” Adrian says. He hands you his guns, instead, and draws his machete. “In case—if they get closer, you need to defen—”
“I got it,” you assure him, accepting the weapons. “Go, Ade, I’ll be okay.”
So he stays focused, takes out as many attackers as he can, slashes out with his machete, chopping off limbs, sending blood spraying through the air while you shoot from higher ground, just behind him. He doesn’t stray far, keeping you in earshot, no more than a quick sprint out of reach.
There’s some part of him that feels sickly satisfied, like he always does, as the bodies hit the ground. There are dozens of them. Far too many. Whoever sent them here is going to die, he decides. Whoever put his pack at risk like this, whoever put you at risk like this.
Even still, this is what he’s good at. The killing. It’s what he enjoys. He’s smiling under his Vigilante mask as he looks at one of the last assholes in his vicinity and slashes out. The guy gets off a couple shots, but they fly wide, missing him. Adrian laughs as he shoves his blade through the guy’s neck.
Adrian looks back at you to check in, to crack a joke about how of course your first field mission goes right off the rails, and—you’re not where you’re supposed to be. You’re not where he left you. His eyes dart around frantically until they land on you, and he breathes a sigh of relief, but the feeling only lasts a moment. You look at him, in that split second, frozen with shock.
Then he sees the blood soaking through your uniform. He watches you go pale, a hand pressed a wound he’s too far away to see clearly, and you hit the ground. His blood runs cold. He can smell your blood on the air—your scent, familiar, but also wrong. Tinged salty and metallic, thick, like he can taste it on his tongue.
The transformation happens in an instant.
Adrian goes fucking ballistic.
Something takes over him. Something vicious, and aggressive, and panicked, and he yells your name, but you don’t answer him. Two more people try to corner Adrian, and he doesn’t even bother with a weapon. He just snaps their necks. Then he races to you, bolts as fast as he can, his heart pounding harder than it ever has.
His vision is already tinged red by the Vigilante visor, but it goes even redder with rage when he sees you slumped on the ground, lifeless. His knees hit the ground beside you, and he rips his mask off. It feels hard to breathe in it, suddenly, as he looks down at you, strangled by the strongest fear he’s ever felt. His hands reach frantically for your face, and he says your name over and over again, interspersed with pleas, as he tugs you into his lap.
No, he thinks, he shouldn’t be moving you. He needs a medic, he needs you, but—he curses. Goddamnit, fuck, what would you tell him to do, what have you trained him to do when the others get shot—
“Put pressure on it,” he tells himself out loud, but even as he does it, his voice is shaking, his hands are shaking, because he never, ever, thought he would have to use this knowledge on you. “God, please, wake up, look at me, please—”
“Adrian,” says a voice behind him, and he turns and bares his teeth, brandishing his machete defensively.
“It’s me!” Emilia says, holding her hands up. “It’s me!”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Adrian logically knows—it’s Harcourt. Harcourt isn’t going to hurt you. But even as he lowers his weapon, something feels bad. Wrong. And when she reaches for you, to assess your injuries—
“Don’t fucking touch her,” Adrian snarls, gloved fingers digging into your skin, shielding you from the threat that his body is telling him is right there.
“What?” Emilia says, completely caught off guard.
Adrian turns back to you, tense with fear and worry. His hands press harder against the places you’re bleeding from—your shoulder, your side near your ribs, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood even as it soaks into his gloves. “Come on, wake up, look at me—”
You blink awake only briefly, your eyes unfocused, but you say his name, very softly, and your weak fingers clutch at the buckles on the front of his uniform. The possessive feeling roars back up Adrian’s throat times a thousand, drowning out everything else. All he knows is protect and need and mine.
“They’re all dead,” Chris says behind him, breathless, and Adrian tenses up again without knowing why. “I think John’s arm is fucked up, we need her to set it—” Then Chris’s eyes land on you. “Oh, fuck—she doesn’t look good, we gotta get her out of here—”
Adrian sees Chris’s arms reach for you, and he growls, something deep and primal and uncontrollable. A sound he has never made. A sound he shouldn’t be able to make. Chris freezes, bristles, looks at Adrian.
“What the fuck was that?” Chris says, more confused than angered by the intensity emanating off of Adrian in waves.
Then Chris takes in the whole scene. The way Adrian’s clutch on you is so tight it might leave bruises. The way he hunches over you protectively. The way he snarls when Chris looks at you for a moment too long.
Chris pauses. He inhales. His eyes go wide, and he takes a giant step back.
“Holy fucking shit,” he says. “Adrian—”
“Whoa, what the fuck is going on?” Ads says, confused as hell. John stumbles up behind her, also looking confused, nursing a wound of his own on his arm. They both look worried when they see you unconscious on the ground.
“You smell it?” Chris asks Emilia, and her brow furrows. She sniffs the air, and her mouth falls open.
“Holy shit,” she whispers. “Oh my god. Is he—”
“Ads, I need you to run to the van and get me a tranq dart,” Chris says, voice low. “Now.” She does as he asks without asking any questions.
“Adrian,” Emilia says softly, trying again to approach, even slower, calmer. “I need you to let me look at her injuries. I’m not going to hurt her.” She pauses and thinks, tries to rephrase into the particular words he needs to hear right now. “I’m not going to take her from you.”
But it’s no use. He’s too far gone for logic. When Emilia reaches forward, he panics.
“No,” Adrian says desperately. “No, no—she’s mine—”
His eyes are wild, unfocused, filled with such animal fear and rage and need that it’s clouding every other feeling. He’s vibrating, shaking, breathing hot and heavy, on the verge of falling over entirely into animal instinct, of going completely feral.
“Please, let me help—” Emilia says, trying to gentle her voice and approach again slowly, and Adrian snaps.
“Get the fuck away from her!” he shouts. “Don’t—”
As soon as Ads returns and hands Chris the tranquilizer gun, he shoots. The dart hits Adrian right in the neck, and everything goes dark.
When you wake up, blinking blearily, Adebayo’s face comes into your field of vision. When you turn your head to the side, Emilia is sitting at your bedside, holding your hand.
“Hey,” she says, sounding a little relieved. “We were worried about you.”
“What—”
“You got shot. Like, three times,” Emilia says. You look around. You’re in the Checkmate infirmary, hooked up to a couple IVs. Blood, some other fluids. There are a few dull aches in your side, your shoulder, but they don’t hurt nearly as bad as they should. They must have given you the good painkillers.
Your brain still feels a little foggy, though. You try to remember what happened, and it comes back in snapshots. The ambush. The pain. Adrian shouting for you.
Clarity washes over you in an instant, and you sit up in bed, wincing as the movement irritates your injuries in a way even the painkillers can’t mask. “Fuck—”
“What is it, what do you need?” Emilia asks. “Stay down, I’ll get it—”
“Adrian,” you say. You don’t know why, but something inside you wants him, right now, more than anything or anyone else. “Where is Adrian? He was—”
Emilia and Adebayo exchange a look. You glance between them worriedly.
“Is he okay?” you ask, almost afraid to hear the answer, your heart sinking. You got hurt, you weren’t there to take care of him if he got hurt.
“He’s going to be,” Emilia says. “He’s…sick.”
You frown, unimpressed. “Bullshit. Stop fucking lying to my face, please. Adrian has a healing factor. He doesn’t get sick.”
Adebayo sighs. “She’s gonna find out eventually, Em. There’s no point.”
“Find out what?” you demand, starting to get panicky. “If there’s something wrong with Adrian, I want to know, and I want to know now. He’s my best friend, if something happened to him—it’s my fucking job to take care of the pack, and he—”
“While you were unconscious,” Emilia says, “something…unexpected happened.”
“Stop being cryptic and just fucking tell me.”
“Adrian presented,” Ads interrupts, ripping the bandaid off. You jerk back from her like you’ve been slapped.
“Adrian…presented?” you say slowly, your heart pounding against your chest, a pit of dread forming in your stomach. “What do you—”
“He’s spent his entire life thinking he’s a Beta,” Emilia says. “Hell. We all thought he was a Beta.”
“What do you mean? He’s not?”
“Not anymore,” Ads says. “He’s an Alpha.”
You look between the two women in front of you again and let the information sink in. You lay back against the pillows slowly, fidgeting with the edge of the bedsheet nervously. Because this is the kind of thing that could change everything. And the fact that they’re so reluctant to tell you the whole story tells you that it already has.
“Adrian is an Alpha,” you repeat, your voice barely more than a whisper.
“John and I looked into it. Delayed presentation affects less than 1% of the population,” Adebayo continues. “It’s incredibly rare. Usually triggered by the presence of a compatible genetic mate, or a traumatic circumstance.”
Compatible genetic mate. Traumatic circumstance.
“Traumatic circumstance,” you say, a little frantic. “Did he—is he hurt—”
“He’s not hurt,” Emilia says. “All of us got a little banged up. You got the worst of it. When it was over, by the time we got to you, he was freaking the fuck out, radiating Alpha pheromones in waves like I have never seen.”
“You’re telling me Adrian’s life changed overnight because I got shot? Not because of his own traumatic injury, but because of mine?”
The girls are quiet.
“It’s probably more complicated than that,” Ads says softly. “It might be…a little bit of the other thing, too. That’s what me and John are theorizing, anyway. He said—while you were unconscious, he said—you were his.”
A compatible genetic mate. You swallow as you absorb the implication of her words.
“Is he?” you ask, afraid to raise your voice. Afraid to hope. To make it real. “Is he mine, Em?”
“Listen—” Emilia starts.
“Is he mine, Em?” you repeat, your throat tight. “Is Adrian my Alpha?”
Emilia stares at you.
“I think so,” she says softly. “That’s what triggered it. You were hurt, and you’re his, and something inside him recognized that you needed him. He was—he was a mess. He probably still is. When you got hurt, if Chris wasn’t there to keep him in check, bring him back from the brink, he might have gone feral. As it is, we had to tranquilize him so I could treat your injuries. He wouldn’t let either of us get anywhere near you.”
You’re quiet for a minute, feeling strangely guilty. That you’re the cause of all this trouble, throwing the pack dynamics out of whack. But there’s no going back, now, and there’s some part of you that hopes—maybe this is a good thing. Maybe this is the best thing. Because haven’t you thought a million times that you’d wished Adrian was an Alpha? That he could be yours?
If Adrian is yours, though—why isn’t he here? Does he not want you in return? But then you think—if Adrian just presented, for the first time—
“He’s in rut, isn’t he?” you whisper worriedly.
“He is,” Emilia says hesitantly, like she doesn’t want to admit it.
It hurts you, a terrible pang in your stomach, to think about Adrian suffering, confused, alone.
“I want to see him.”
“You are in no condition,” Emilia says, “to be near an Alpha going through his first ever rut. Adrian needs time to adjust to his new reality. Introducing an Omega into the equation when he’s already volatile is not a good idea. And you are hurt. You need to heal.”
“He needs me,” you say, your throat tight. You think you might cry. “If it’s true, if he’s mine. I need to be there for him.”
“Chris is with him,” Ads says, reaching for your hand and squeezing. “Adrian will be okay, but—he’s wild and unpredictable right now. You got shot. Multiple times. If you went over there, and he ended up hurting you worse, imagine how guilty he would feel.”
“He would never hurt me,” you say, and you know, in your heart, that it’s true.
“You can believe that all you want. I’m not willing to risk it. After he’s…over the hill,” Emilia says, “then you can see him.”
It’s firm. It’s final. And—she is your pack Alpha. What she says goes.
“Can I at least talk to him?” you ask, quiet and nervous. “Please?”
“Let me talk to Chris,” Emilia says. “See how he’s doing. And then maybe we can arrange that. For now, you focus on getting better. You scared the shit out of us. All of us. So let us take care of you, okay?”
You nod, and she squeezes your hand. But you bite your lip and think about how the one person who you really wish was here to take care of you is the one you’re not allowed to see right now.
When Adrian wakes up, he’s sweating buckets, half-naked, strapped down to a mattress in…he looks around. Chris’s old trailer? There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his gut, and his head is pounding, and god, why is everything so bright and loud?
“What the fuck,” he pants.
“You’re awake,” Chris says. “Good. Sorry I had to tranq you, bro, but you were acting a little crazy.”
“You—what?” Adrian says, bewildered, still a little out of it, trying to blink away the haze of whatever Chris apparently drugged him with.
Then, in a flash of clarity, he remembers what happened. He remembers you, bleeding out in his arms, and the pain in his gut intensifies tenfold, and just the thought of you makes him crazy with want. He needs you. He doesn’t know why, but he does. Instantly, he starts pulling at the restraints.
“Where is she Chris get me the fuck out of here I am not fucking around I will fucking kill you I need her is she hurt—”
“Calm down,” Chris says in his Alpha command voice. Then he remembers it won’t work now. He softens his voice and tries again. “Hey, calm down, Adrian. She’s okay. I promise you, she’s okay.”
Adrian looks at him, still squirming, but present enough to be puzzled, because Chris’s command did not do a damn thing. And a little bit pissed, because he hates it when his best friend uses his Alpha voice on him, like he’s a fucking kindergartender.
“Where is she?” Adrian repeats, low and growling, a command of his own, fueled by the extra power of his recent presentation, the lingering feral energy he can’t contain, and—it works. It shouldn’t, but it works.
“She’s with Emilia and Ads, at her apartment,” Chris says, the words spilling out of him like he can’t stop them. His eyes are wide, his mouth dangling open. “Did you just fucking—use your Alpha voice on me?”
Adrian pauses tugging at his restraints to look at Chris like he’s insane. Because he is. “Use my what? I—dude, why the fuck am I tied to the bed? Why did you bring me here?”
“Because you’re in rut,” Chris snaps. “And I don’t trust you not to go chasing after her. You are out of control right now. And I brought you here because I figured you wouldn’t want your mom around for this.”
Adrian flushes a furious red color. “I am not in rut. I’m a Beta. You know I am.”
“I thought I did,” Chris says. “I believe you thought that too. And then yesterday happened. And you are in rut, and you are an Alpha.”
“I’m not a fucking Alpha!”
“It happens,” Chris says. “People present late in life.”
“I am thirty-four! I would know—”
But even as he says it, he cuts himself off. Because he remembers—his alternate self was an Alpha. So maybe, just maybe, he is too. He just didn’t know.
And selfishly, he thinks…maybe, just maybe, this is his chance. To have you. To love you, the way he’s always wanted.
“You’ve always been a late bloomer, Thimble.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Adrian says, but he swallows roughly. At least, he tries to. His mouth is too dry. “Can you fucking untie me please? God, I’m so fucking thirsty. And itchy, and uncomfortable, and horny, Jesus Christ—”
“Yeah,” Chris says. “Because you’re in rut, Adrian. Your first one. Historically, the worst one you will ever experience. So if I untie you, you have to promise me that you will not run after her. I will tranquilize you again. I know you want her. Hell, she probably wants you. But she’s hurt. She’s in no shape to help you through this.”
“You said she was okay,” Adrian says, panicky. “How—how bad is it?” His breath feels short, his hands are shaking. A terrible, awful guilt sinks in his stomach, adding to the pile of a dozen other terrible sensations he’s feeling right now. “It’s—it’s my fault, I was supposed to protect her. I convinced you to let her go on the mission in the first place. Fuck, Chris, is she okay I need her please—”
“Fuck,” Chris mutters. “I wanted you to be in better shape before—but—goddamnit.” He pulls out his phone and dials while Adrian practically hyperventilates in front of him, trying desperately to yank himself out of the ties holding him down. He tries to bite at the ropes with his teeth, the muscles in his neck straining, but he can’t reach them.
“Emilia,” Chris says. “Put her on the phone.” A pause. “Yeah. I know we said we were gonna wait. But he’s freaking the fuck out. He needs to talk to her.”
“Please,” Adrian says. He tries to get up, but he’s still tied down. “Please, please, I need—”
Chris puts the phone on speaker.
“Adrian?” Your voice rings through the room, and Adrian whimpers audibly at the sound. He closes his eyes and throws his head back roughly against the pillows, trying to take a few settling breaths. You’re alive. You’re well enough to talk to him, at least.
It should make him feel better, but it sends another bolt of agony through him. God, he’s so fucking hard. He wants you so bad. He wants to scent you, he wants to fuck you, he wants, he wants, he wants.
“If I untie you, are you gonna flip?” Chris asks him. Adrian takes a deep breath.
“No,” he says, chest heaving. “Please, just let me talk to her, Chris. Please.”
“You have him tied up?” you cry. “He’s not a fucking animal, Chris!”
“He was borderline,” Chris says seriously. “You were unconscious. You didn’t see how close to feral he got.”
“Untie him,” you demand, and Adrian’s heart skips a beat, hearing you so fiercely defending him.
Chris cuts the ropes, and Adrian instantly reaches for the phone.
“No funny business,” Chris orders, holding it just out of reach, and Adrian starts begging.
“Please give me the phone please let me talk to her please Chris I promise I won’t do anything I just need to talk to her—”
Chris tosses him the phone. Adrian snatches it out of the air, takes the call off speaker, and brings it right up to his ear. When he says your name, it’s shaky, nervous, but also a little bit relieved.
“Adrian,” you say, and half the tension leaves his body, just hearing you say his name, all soft and concerned. Then it roars back as another bolt of pain shoots through him, because—god, he wants you so bad, and he can’t have you right now. A pained noise escapes him, and you must hear it, because you ask worriedly, “Talk to me, Adrian, are you okay?”
“Am I—” He cuts himself off and laughs humorlessly, hissing through the pain. “Am I okay? You—you got shot. I saw you go down, you were—you were bleeding out in my arms. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” you assure him. “All patched up, at least. It hurts like a bitch. But I can take painkillers for that. You…you can’t. If what they’re saying is true. Are you really…”
Adrian rubs a hand over his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. God, he’s so hot, but even as he thinks it, he shivers.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” he says. His voice is hoarse, and he feels like he might cry, he’s so overwhelmed. “It hurts.”
“What’s happening is your body wants you to find something to knot and breed,” Chris says bluntly. “So your sex drive is through the roof. For the next four days, at least, you’re going to be an irritable, horny asshole, and probably feel generally like shit. It’s gonna suck ass, because you don’t have an Omega or a bonded partner to help you through it. Headaches, feverish, dehydrated, oversensitive. This is basic high school sex ed, dude, you should know this.”
“I never paid attention to any of that Alpha shit, because I thought it didn’t apply to me,” Adrian says hoarsely. “How—why is this happening?”
“It’s my fault,” you say, your voice soft and regretful.
“No,” Adrian says, because he hates the thought that you’re blaming yourself for this. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” you say, sniffling, and Adrian thinks you might be crying. It breaks his heart. “I’m so sorry. Ads said—she said that late presentation can be triggered by compatible genetic mates and traumatic events, and I got hurt, and it was just—both, at the same time—”
“Mates?” Adrian croaks. “Are you saying—”
But before he even asks, he knows. He remembers the way he felt, holding you in his arms. He feels it again now, his lungs constricting, knuckles going white, pupils dilating as a wave of it washes over him. Possession. Want. Need.
Group project for a class where everyone hates each other, but they somehow fall in love with you???
Yandere! m Academic Rival! x gn! Reader x Yandere! m Nerd!
Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI!
Tw. Noncon, Yandere, Dubcon, Oral, Voyeurism, semi-public sex, recording
1.7k words
When you got your assigned partners for the assignment, you actually considered just dropping out entirely. The two names on the paper were of the two people that had made your academic career an absolute nightmare.
Yandere Academic Rival is pissed that he has to work with you for once.
It’s not like you guys are nearly on the same level, so Elias just knows he’s going to have to be on your ass to make sure that you’re not going to manage to fuck this up for everyone. His normal opportunity to try and show you up has been dashed, and now he’s passive aggressively adding notes on to literally anything you write.
“I just feel like this is taking too much space. We can cut down on the word count much more if we remove this part.”
“Dude, that's literally just our hypothesis”
“As I said. You should let me write this part. It will be much better.”
He’s so set on taking over bits of your project, but then he whines about how much he has to do. He spends hours nitpicking everything your group does, but he seems to love focusing on you in particular.
“Come on. You should at least come with me to dinner. I’m staying here after hours to try and fix your mistakes."
“What the- no one asked you to do that???”
“Well, we might as well punch in the failing grade ourselves if I don’t. Sit down. You’re not going anywhere until I can thoroughly check what you’re up to.”
Yandere Nerd isn’t much better.
You had hoped that Marcus would tamper down on his creepiness now that there was someone else present when you interacted with him, but you had no such luck.
He’s a lot more brazen in his advances now. His hand tries to worm its way between your clenched thighs under the table, prodding at your crotch with a mischievous grin like you weren’t sweating bullets. He likes to insert your nudes into the shared draft at ungodly hours at night, making you constantly have to be on the lookout to remove it before Elias would see.
Now, Marcus is smart. Smarter than both you and Elias. Getting him on this project was a guaranteed first class mark in the bag, but it was a goddamn headache making him do anything. You literally had to get on your hands and knees to beg him to do his paragraph on the introduction page. He took a photo, grinned, and finished it flawlessly in less than an hour. You shuddered to think what he would ask of you next.
It wasn’t just him, either. You had been doing your best to manage them both, but it was getting out of hand. Not to mention, but Elias was getting more and more needy.
“You’re working with me today. Not him.” He would scoff in disdain, grabbing your wrist and tugging you off to crowd you against some cafe booth while he tried to get you to drink a coffee you could barely afford. It was hard to keep up with his insults when Marcus would be firing off texts saying “Bby where r u? :(“ followed by a photo of his weeping cockhead. For whatever reason, your so-called rival kept wanting to dig through your phone to see what could possibly be taking up so much of your time. You had to appease him by sneaking off together to the bathroom so you could suck him off so he would drop it.
“God you’re so filthy. I bet you would do this for anyone, wouldn’t you?” He’d hiss between moans. As much as he acted like he was above you, he couldn’t stop the whimpers pouring from his lips as he came down your throat. He couldn’t stop the little admission of love when he thought you were too busy swallowing, either.
Your days were filled with a delicate balance of trying to finish your work, corralling the two of them into actually making progress, and staving off their demands for more and more time with you by trying to make them cum in random spots around campus. A hand job here, and thigh job there, and you were nearly finished with this stupid ass assignment. You’d done a pretty damn good job stopping them from finding out about each other too. Their whispered threats about what would happen if they caught you with anyone else rang cold in your ears every time they tried to ask for more.
It all came crashing down when Elias snapped one day. You were sitting in a study room that had been booked so you could actually try and edit this damn thing properly and just be done. Your fingers flew across your keyboard, the noise filling the otherwise silent space between you. You didn’t notice when he stopped, but you did notice when he was suddenly right next to you, his shadow looming over the words on screen. You paused, sweat forming on the back of your neck.
It was a blur after that. His hands were tugging at your clothes, bending you over the desk as papers and pens scattered to the ground. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he panted in you ear as his hips snapped against yours. The sound of skin on skin replaced the ambience of a productive workflow, and you were left scrambling and stifling your moans.
“Always going around, looking at me like I mean nothing. You think you're better than me? You think you don't need me?” He was rambling, his hand on the back of your throat as he held you in place. He was angry, but there was a desperation to his words. It was like he needed you to affirm his words, to tell him everything he'd been hoping that would tumble from your lips for weeks at this point. You were no stranger to getting pounded at this point, but there was an urgency to the way you tried to plead with him to stop.
“N-ngh~! Elias you gotta hah, y-you gotta stop. Marcus is on his-” He shut you up with a kiss, his lips sliding against yours as he cradled your face.
“Shut the fuck up,” he demanded, his voice ragged as he squeezed your neck in slight warning. “Don't mention that asshole. You're… you're always with him. Do you like him more than me? Tell me. Tell me right now or I'll make it so you can't sit for a whole week,” he demanded, and you could practically hear the insecurity dripping from his tongue. He didn't even give you time to answer. He just shoved you against the table again, your chest flush with the wooden surface.
From the corner of your eye, you could see your face down phone lighting up. The vibrating notifications were sporadic at first, but the longer you didn't answer, the more frequent they became. Your stifled pleas for mercy were only met with grunts, and it wasn’t before long before your toes were curling and a heat in your belly grew more and more prevalent. But before you or Elias could finish, the door opened.
Marcus just stood there for a moment, a genuinely shocked look on his face. You could have sworn Elias smiled, like it was some kind of victory to show how you were on the brink of orgasm to the guy he’d been quietly jealous of this entire time. But then, Marcus just grinned. It wasn’t genuine. You knew him well enough to know that.
“Oh? What do we have here?”
You’d never known his voice to be that smooth, that controlled. Marcus locked the door behind him, his face unreadable as he walked in and pulled out his phone. Elias moved to cover you now that he was done showing off, but the other man put out his hand to stop him silently. You trembled beneath him.
“Oh please, there’s no need to stop for me,” he smirked, practically shoving his screen in your so-called rival’s face to show off a video of you sobbing and moaning while stuffed full of a cock that was certainly not the one currently inside of you right now. “ I’ve already seen it all,” he practically sneered. Elias’s grip tightened painful on your hip, and you panted as you craned your head to see his expression. He went pale before his face flashed with fury.
“You fucking asshole-!”
“Please, like you’re not doing the same thing right now. I should’ve known to keep them on a tighter leash,” Marcus sighed and brushed his hair back as he fixed his glasses and approached the other side of the table you were currently bent over. He wordlessly undid his belt and pants, his dick slapping you across the face as he fisted your hair far harsher than he normally would. You barely got a word in, trying to argue for your innocence before you were choking on his length. You coughed loudly, but they ignored your struggling to stay locked on each other.
“There’s no point in arguing,” Yandere Nerd’s voice was sharp and cold as his hands worked your head. “We might as well work together until we can figure out how to deal with this,” he sighed, frustration simmering under the surface.
Elias looked genuinely taken aback, but he gritted his teeth as he started up the effort of fucking into you once again. Your eyes widened as you tried to get out of being fucked from both ends. Every time you tried to moan or cry out, Marcus’s tip could shove deep into your throat, causing you to gag. Your toes curled, and your back arched as you spasmed.
“Fuck you,” he snapped between groans, his breath hitching as he switched between lovingly stroking your lower back and nearly breaking the table. “Fine. We’ll have to keep them in line. I didn’t know they’d be running around getting fucked like some low class- ngh!” He cut off his rambling as he leaned in and suddenly started pressing kisses and bites to your shoulders.
“Maybe a- shit yeah breath baby. Maybe a tracker for good measure,” Marcus suggested between snarls. “We can split the costs.”
Your stomach sank as they started to discuss the logistics about how to keep you quiet and pliant between the two of you while they kept thrusting into you like you weren’t even there. You sobbed, the sound muffled pitifully. Who knew that, this whole time, they’d actually been able to work together just fine?
I encourage everyone to read this, especially if you are white. I made this post long enough to talk about the points in decent detail, but short enough to be digestible. It is about the different ways the nonhuman communities make people of color feel unwelcome and why.
My askbox is open usually all the time, so I'm also open to answering questions about this. I want people to read. I want people to ask questions when they don't understand. I even want people to do research on their own time to learn more (and I mean actually researching and not asking ChatGPT to think for you).
Where To Begin
"Wow, this is a really long post on the police dog discourse", except this isn't a post on the police dog discourse. That topic is more of a springboard for me to segue into where exactly things go wrong and how it causes people of color to feel unsafe participating in the communities (which can suck, because nonhumanity can be very isolating with no one to talk to about it!). So if you feel as if this has been done to death and are thinking "oh boy, this again", I encourage you to continue to read the post all the way to the end. With that, this leads us to...
The Dilution of Topics
It's important to understand that when something like this comes up, POC are chiming in to explain the situation and how it affects them. It is not the time to bring in unrelated things in an attempt to use that as credentials for weighing in. I'll use the K-9/police dog example again because it's honestly such a good discourse to dissect for this. The main focus of the conversation was between black and brown people (not exclusively, because other POC included, but mainly) and those who identify as police/military dogs (therians, otherkin, whathaveyou). Not anyone else.
"As someone with a problematic (or villain) kintype--"
This isn't about you.
"I'm police or military creature from another world--"
This isn't about you.
"I acknowledge it but don't glorify it--"
This isn't about you.
What these comments do is not only watering down what our actual concerns are, but it speeds up the "internet telephone" until the conversation morphs into something different entirely. This happens all the time when people of color try to bring to light something that bothers us. Everyone wants to make it about themselves but it's not about everyone. The topic of "Glorification of these institutions that actively harm isn't good" is not the same as "What kintypes/theriotypes/etc. should people be allowed to have?", but it was turned into that very quickly because way too many people failed to realize and understand what isn't about them. Many, with a quickness, found a way to victimize themselves.
All that is without even getting into people adding exclusions that were not originally there. "This discourse is US-centric and doesn't apply to other countries" is not only incorrect but you need to educate yourself on how police brutality (and police brutality that utilizes attack animals) exists outside of the United States. This isn't even just for the dog thing. This also extends to racism in general because people love to talk about how not racist their country is (when in fact it often is).
White Privilege and Nonhuman Superiority
This section is probably going to ruffle some feathers, but if it does ruffle your feathers then it might be time to start deconstructing why exactly that is. White privilege in particular is important to point out here because it is common to assume that privilege is a "balance scale". Privilege doesn't cancel out from marginalization. You can be queer, or disabled, or neurodivergent, etc. and still benefit from white privilege. I point all of that out because the nonhuman communities have a large portion that are in one or many of these marginalized groups, and the assumption that it "cancels out" white privilege may be part of the driving force behind what's covered in this post.
An easy starting example of white people underestimating exactly how deep things can go is the entire gatekeeping discourse about defining therianthropy as "wears gear and does quadrobics". How this whole thing started with people insisting therianthropy required these performative aspects, I'm not even gonna pretend to know. What I do know is that it is a form of gatekeeping popular on photo and video-based social media websites like Instagram and TikTok that then subsequently bleeds over into other places like Tumblr and Discord group chats.
"Real therians wear gear and run around outside on all fours" makes me desperately hope for young POC to be careful. Black people especially have a disproportionately higher chance of being arrested or shot. I never want anyone to be pressured to do dangerous things from these imaginary guidelines on what makes nonhumanity "valid". It's exclusionary from both a "therianthropy doesn't require any of this" standpoint and a "you are overestimating how safe this activity is to do" standpoint. This isn't fearmongering, I'm not saying that this is never safe. I'm saying that those who are unable to safely do it may subsequently feel like that disqualifies them from identifying as a therian. Similar things can be said for other minorities other than racial ones, but that's a different topic (and I encourage anyone wanting to talk about that to make their own posts about it, rather than using this one).
The insistence that nonhumanity should have "racial colorblindness" and "be above politics/apolitical" are also very privileged takes. Identifying as nonhuman doesn't erase the fact that most of us still live in and are affected by human society (whether some want to be or not) and people of color especially do not have the freedom to completely divorce ourselves from the world because our very existence has been made political. Not only that, but culture is still important to a lot of people as well. We are not all the same just because we identify as nonhuman. We are not a monoculture. We are different and there needs to be room to celebrate that.
The aspect of "everything is for everyone" that often comes with white privilege appears in even blatant ways. I've witnessed people in the community saying that closed cultures are silly. Although slightly less common today (and by slightly I mean very slightly), at one point it was common for people to constantly appropriate North/South American indigenous cultures because their understanding of it was as shallow and stereotypical as "Pocahontas Colors of the Wind". I've even had someone say "well it's not our fault black people are so trendy" directly in a conversation about how black people regularly have our culture taken from us when we're barely even allowed to have it ourselves without being looked down on. It's gross and insensitive, and the very reason so many people of color leave these nonhuman communities. "Do whatever you want forever" exists within reason.
Identifying as nonhuman isn't an excuse to look down on humans either, especially in the misanthropic sense. Being anti-human and blaming humanity as a whole for the results of colonization (species extinction, habitat loss, climate change, etc.) goes against the marginalized people that have been harmed historically and currently and lumps them into the same category as their oppressors simply by existing.
It is Always That Deep
The last point that I'll use to close this whole post is that I can't stress enough how often us POC are told again and again and again that what we are seeing is either not real or irrational, or "just drama".
I remember the reaction to "maybe don't say you're an entity from a closed culture if you're not from that culture".
I remember the reaction to "don't use monkey/ape as a derogatory term for humans".
I remember the reaction to "don't glorify institutions that actively harm and kill us".
I remember the reaction to "please don't say dehumanization is good actually".
People will fight tooth and nail to speak over and ignore POC voices almost as a knee-jerk reaction. Then maybe if we're lucky, after they're done arguing, they'll do some research and come back later with an "oops my bad". I'm glad they learn in those cases, but that's not acceptable. Listening first is important, ask questions (respectfully) if you have to, but it should not be a fight-or-flight situation.
pairings: skz member x reader (hyung line + hyunjin)
warnings: not proof read lol
taglist: @tirena1 @inaribu00 @abiaswreck — let me know if you want to be added!
────────
B.CHN
- not good at hiding it in fact it’s known to everyone around him but you
- he’s been even more short tempered than usual; the annoyed clicks on his laptop of the glares he shoots during practices
- seungmin vacates the building
- he loves when you get along with the kids but your attention has been pulled by a particular staff member of theirs
- he sits quietly; just watching the exchange
- it’s completely innocent on your part but he sees the way the staff member looks at you, how he’s going out of his way to get you a drink or feeding you snacks
- chan isn’t normally super touchy but the guy needs to take a hint
- one day when you come, his hand doesn’t leave yours and when it does—his arm is around you
- he’s stealing kisses every now and again and making sure that the staff member is watching
- “thank you,” he’d hear you whisper, “I was just trying to be nice to him but I think he was getting the wrong idea.”
- he’d coo at you, pressing a kiss to your temple before taking your face into his hands, “he should know by now that I don’t share,” he says in a low rumble before capturing your lips in a kiss
L.MHO
- lowkey possessive
- and sometimes not so lowkey
- minho doesn’t share anything, his food, his clothes—especially not his partner
- so when he sees a backup dancer openly flirting with you, he sees red
- minho can see the disinterest in your face but that doesn’t stop the guy from trying to make a move on you
- he tries to show of during practice, so much so that he’s out of rhythm wirh everyone else
- when the number is over, the guy returns to your side and by the way he’s gesturing back to the floor he knows the man is hyping up his performance to you
- all it takes is one look in his direction and minho is by your side
- “hey yeosan,” he calls, gaining the dancers attention
- “maybe you should head over to the others and practice being more in sync with us instead of trying to impress my girlfriend”
- the man bows slightly, a look of embarrassment on his face as he rushes back to the others
- “that was kind of hot,” you tease him, but he sees the pleased look on your face
- “just kind of,” he teases as he turns to head back towards the group
- he doesn’t miss the soft eye roll before he goes back to the floor
S.CB
- there wasn’t a lot that annoyed Changbin but another man trying to hit on you while you were working out was definitely at the top of his list
- you two had been going to the gym together; you hadn’t been working out as intensely as he had—often opting to just walk on the treadmill with a show on to distract you
- it was about doing things together and being in the same space
- plus, Changbin liked showing off his body and strength to you and you loved the show
- but today while you were working out, a man came up to you—a little too close
- he tapped your shoulder and there was a smile on your face thinking it was him but it immediately dropped and you took a step back as you didn’t know the man
- he watched as the man held his phone out to you
- Changbin stood, the loud clang of his dumbbells against the floor causing the two of you to turn towards him
- “she doesn’t need your help or your number. get lost”
- the man didn’t protest, instantly turning and walking in the other direction
- you came to his side, your hand on his shoulder grounding him
- “you’re hot when you’re mad you know?”
- he huffed out a laugh, “of course you would find that sexy”
- you both laugh, the tension leaving his body
- “who wouldn’t swoon over their sweaty hot boyfriend getting a little jealous”
- he pouted, “I wasn’t jealous”
- you quirked a brow at him, “fine, maybe I was. The guy had a nice body”
- “yeah? I didn’t notice because yours is better.”
- Changbin flushed at that
- “plus you have something that he doesn’t,” she says, taking a seat on one of his legs, “me”
- Changbin kisses her then, in the middle of the gym, letting everyone know that she was his and he was hers
H.HJ
- doesn’t take much for him to get jealous and a little insecure
- he takes you on a date to an art exhibition has hand in yours as you explore and discuss the art work around you
- he leaves your side for a few minutes to use the restroom and when he comes back, there’s a man at your side
- a handsome guy pointing to something in the painting and explaining it to you
- hyunjin frowns at the sight, his heart falling slightly at someone trying to put the moves on you
- you nod, trying to be polite but your eyes are flickering around the room in search of something
- they land on him, a look of relief in your gaze
- you cut the man off, bowing politely before making your way towards him
- your fingers intertwine with his and he feels like he’s being pulled back down to earth
- “you okay,” you ask him
- he hums in response, his eyes moving back to the stranger
- you follow his gaze, “he talked to much. I think he just memorized something to make him sound like he knew about the art. He even got the artist wrong and it’s on the wall.”
- hyunjin giggled at that and you couldn’t help but to smile
- “besides,” you said, “I’d much prefer to hear my gorgeous guy talk about something he loves to me over some stranger.”
- hyunjin can’t help but to smile and kiss you softly at that
I can't reblog it because OP has me blocked (what a surprise, OP is also blocking anybody who disagrees with her on that post), but to answer your question: Despite confident claims to the contrary, T4T didn't "originate as a transfemme term for transfemmes", it never meant exclusively transfem 4 transfem, and it still doesn't. That's primarily a recent claim here on Tumblr, often (but not always) among those people who also go as far as claiming that trans culture as a whole is only transfem.
It's a term that (likely) originated on Craigslist as just what it sounds like: Trans person looking for another trans person (to date / hook up with / etc.), as a simple message board shortcut. If you were looking for something more specific, you would specify either in the description of the ad or by adding letters (Tf4Tf, Tm4Tm, Tf4Tm). Over time, it first turned into a self-descriptor (person who prefers trans 4 trans relationships/encounters, "I'm T4T" like saying "I'm lesbian/gay/bi"), and then into a much broader intracommunity activism term which just means trans people standing in solidarity with trans people.
Here's a first-hand account of someone who actually witnessed the inclusive usage on Craigslist, as well as a link to an article that talks about the overall evolution of the term as summarised above. It's a fairly comprehensive article, here's an unpaywalled version btw, and there's not a single mention of it ever having been transfem only. That idea doesn't even arise in the article, which is something you would think would be mentioned if it had any credibility.
It talks about some of the help groups in the latter T4T activism stage of development being transfem focused, but that's those particular groups (as is their good right!), and not all of them. The first person quoted is a trans woman working for an organisation focusing on specifically black trans women. One of the other people they interviewed as a first-hand account of the term's development is a trans man who talks about having first encountered it as, quote, a "romantic relationship between two trans people, or as a descriptor for trans people who are only interested in dating other trans people" (as most other first-hand accounts I've seen on here, too) before he witnessed the term broadening into general trans 4 trans solidarity activism, as a term signifying "solidarity and power in the trans community, and an understanding that we are all fighting for the same trans liberation". The focus here is very strongly on trans solidarity, which clearly means all trans people. If somebody thinks "the trans community" means only transfems, then that says more about that person than the community itself.
Bottom line: T4T means exactly what it sounds like, trans for trans. Always has. Claiming that "trans" only means "transfem" is just trying to rewrite history, and another example of the active erasure of transmasc (and nonbinary) experiences and existence, even from within what's supposed to be our shared community. The only people who benefit from defining transmascs and trans men out of T4T are those who don't want them in the trans community. (The same applies to non-binary people's erasure of course.) And besides, that's just not how the term is used, neither back on Craigslist nor today! Tf4Tf (or T4T lesbian) exists for a reason, and that's because T4T means trans4trans, which is all trans people.
And because the reblogs on that post are also doing the "egg only means transfem! They're stealing that from us too!" thing again: No, that one has always been inclusive too, to the best of our recorded knowledge.
KENDRICK! DROP ANOTHER MENACE AU AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!
In no particular order, here is more Danny "The Menace" Fenton-Wayne Au due to popular demand.
Every single Wayne kid or Wayne Adjacent kid had to suffer through someone close to them having a thing for the eldest Wayne. All Robins at one point had to restrain themselves from blurting out their identities during downtime on missions because of the things their teammates had said about Danny in or out of costume. It was more bearable if the person had a crush on Phantom instead of Fenton-Wayne, but not by much. Danny is unaware of their struggles and actually didn't date much due to people not approaching him. They are intimidated by him.
Danny asked that Phantom not be overly associated with Batman, and his real ID is a well-kept secret. Even after the Bats revealed who they were, most of the heroes outside the seven main members of the Justice League don't know Danny's second ID. The hero community just actively thinks Bruce based Batman on Danny Fenton-Wayne because of his reputation, but he remains a civilian in their eyes.
Damian has tried to trap Danny in an arranged marriage multiple times. His reasoning at first was that Danny was a better fighter than him, so the only way to take over as Heir was if he controlled his marriage and put one of his people as his spouse. Then, it turned into him wanting to find Danny the perfect match. Duke helps him stream through potential sutors; it's how they bond.
Danny Fenton-Wayne has the uncanny ability to guess someone's worst fear. He doesn't pick out common fears like heights or the dark. He will, dead-stop stare at someone and whisper things like "Are you afraid that your mother secretly loves your sister more?". The public demanded Bruce test him for a meta gene, and when that came back negative, as well as him not being an alien, the public grew more afraid of him.
John Constantine once met Danny Fenton-Wayne at a tarot card market. He was so unnerved by the eldest Wayne child that he added Danny to the "Avoid at all costs" lists that he sends out monthly to Justice League members as part of a safety report against the dark arts. He was aware that Danny was Batman's "civilian" son when he added him to the list.
Phantom has been asked by multiple groups of different sides of the law- including Klarion the Witch Boy- to join them. He is known to work with the Justice League but operates as more of a consultant. People assume it's due to his nature, as he is hailed as an ancient, old being whose fancies change on a whim, as all ancient beings tend to do. Wonder Woman confused him for a god when she first met him.
Alfred once got a cease and desist letter from the local mall for attempting to buy a storefront as a gift for Danny. He wanted the boy to sell his dolls or have a craft store, but the mall freaked out when they found that Danny Fenton-Wayne was going to be the owner.
A rumor started around Gotham that Phantom lives, or at least is anchored in Arkham. He is often seen visting patients, and works to make their stays there an active recovery program instead of what traditionally happens in old asylums.. He also makes it really hard for people to break out of Arkham and often foils attempts.
Phantom once took on the mind-controlled Justice League seven alone. He won, and he still had time to stick around to help clean up after the fight. He's regarded as the strongest on Earth. However, this is a double-edged sword since challengers come from all corners of the universe to fight him, much like what happened to Superman.
Unknown to Bruce, Danny has slowly, over the years, built secret passageways inside the Wayne Manor walls and undergrown caves. He uses them to scare away as many suitors as possible from getting too close to Bruce. He also uses them to sneak around as Fenton-Wayne, commonly crawling out from under beds and out of closets, designed to not be noticed by metas, so everyone is freaking out that Fenton-Wayne is literally the monster under the bed or in the closet as a regular human. He's just like that.
