Sitting in the living room, you note that your boys haven't come back inside yet. After a few more moments of doing your own thing, you go in search of your men, wondering just what was keeping them.
You first hear them as you approach the garage. Yes, hear them, as they're all laughing so loud you're surprised you hadn't heard them earlier.
You find Nikto first, the man hunched over, crouched, house mask pulled over as he dry heaves, making pained nosies as he still chuckles.
Then you look over, seeing Horangi laughing so hard he's wheezing. Mace was doing laps around the area, howling like he'd seen the funniest shit ever.
Krueger was bowed on the ground, silently shaking.
Slowly, taking them all in, you look towards the only man standing.
Kƶnig is chuckling, palming at his face as he leans against a vehicle he was working on. He slapped himself a few times, trying to snap himself out of it.
"And what," you look around, "is so funny?"
Kƶnig takes a deep breath before reaching for something, turning on whatever he'd been repairing andā
Fart noises.
Staring, deadpan, you watch all these grown man breakdown anew as the engine or whatever it was sputtered and made fart noises.
Nikto heaved behind you again.
You sighed. "I might as well have married toddlers." You mutter, unable to hide your grin. These men, you swear.
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Since Designationless! Reader is incapable of having a scent, they aren't capable of even having body odor. And then having no body odor also entails in not being able to sweat which would mean they have something called Anhidrosis, the inability to sweat. This can cause health issues involving overheating and dehydration.
I can just imagine their packmates absolutely doting on them and making sure they drink enough water and are cool enough, especially throughout missions.
KorTac is notorious for taking anyone as long as they can get the job done. Gender, designation, race, religion, mental and physical state do not matter as long as you can complete your task. They are also know to completely disregard pack dynamics. They run a private military; they form squads, not packs. That normally lead to extremely efficient teams that quickly implode on themselves. Except for one team. One team that as always performed way above expectation since their formation and as only kept growing in strength and cohesion.
From an outside perspective, they truly shouldn't be able to work together. A purebred Alpha more than happy to growl orders at you but unable to have a simple conversation because of social anxiety, a Beta so cocky and with so little self preservation that he always gets himself in troubles and an Omega so broken and paranoid from past torture that he would rater stab you in a vital point than open up to you? Truly, Kƶnig, Horangi and Nikto should not make that good of a squad.
Little does most people know their success is all thank to that ridiculously small Omega wearing that giant fuzzy jacket over their military fatigues who clearly isn't afraid to wildly hiss and snarl at any of them. Because; Kƶnig might be the Alpha and Colonel, it doesn't mean he always as to be the leader. Horangi might be cocky, it doesn't doesn't mean he as completely forgotten his more caring instincts. Nikto might be fundamentally broken, it doesn't mean he can't be soothed anymore.
KorTac doesn't form packs, but it doesn't meen one might not form naturally. And it might just have the smallest, feistiest Omage at its leader.
I wasn't planning on posting this yet but I need some feel good chemicals going in my brain before I give my professor the award for being the single most unhelpful teacher I have ever had in my entire life. Mans is actively making my life harder and not easier.
AO3
CW: Mommy issues, lots of negative self talk, general staring at women's bodies even though they just want to be left alone.
Trading shifts, what a simple way to alter the course of oneās life. Something akin to missing a train or a flight delay causing you to miss a connection, some exterior force course correcting you to where you need to be.
Leaning on one elbow on the stainless steel counter studying your text book you can feel your brain melting in your skull. Being a fourth-year medical student had taught you that while one could get a fever hot enough to ācookā the brain in the skull it wouldnāt occur from studying for too long. The voice of your mother itched in the back of your mind, telling you to give up and move on, youāll never be more than a whore.
That had always been her favorite insult to hurl at you. Puberty hit you like a truck from a number of your favorite animes, transporting you into a woman-like body over the course of one summer. You still had the stretch marks.
Your mother hated it and hated you. She would never say that though. The high-powered pick-me lawyer could never let it be known that the only love she had in her soul had to be provided by the attention of a man. Psych 101 had been an enlightening class. You had nearly decided to go for a psychiatric residency before the chemistry classes debased that idea in your head.
When residency was over and you were settled somewhere you had decided to find a therapist to help you unpack all the shit that your mother had endowed you with. Her snide comments, wool-encased bricks lobbed at you from her high tower where she held both the power and the autonomy to keep you a prisoner, pelted you even now despite the years and distance between you.
The only escape you had found had been concurrent and AP classes in high school and a scholarship to finish your bachelorās degree in one year directly out of high school and across the country. You worked your ass off for a few years to be old enough to never need her money again and passed the MCAT on the first try. The local medical school had accepted you at twenty-six, an old maid in that first class filled with nineteen and twenty-year-olds. That is how you had landed at a late-night cafe as a barista. You took as little student loans as possible and that meant working late and rising early for classes.
Coming full circle, you had traded shifts with the owner. Lucky bitch had five of the hottest boyfriends who were also boyfriends you had everseen and the bitch was ace. All that luck wasted on someone who didnāt ride their boyfriends until they whimpered night after night after night. God, you needed to get laid.
She had told you when you agreed to switch though that a group would be coming in to use the private room around midnight. She had warned you not to be alarmed but they would all be covered head to toe and would pay with cash. What she had failed to mention is that all four men who would appear at midnight, like wraiths wrapped in darkness, is that they were fucking jacked. They were ripped. To be frank you werenāt sure how any of them put shirts on or how the fabric didnāt rip like they were Bruce Banner turning green. Every one of them wore a surgical mask.
They all stepped to the counter, menacing vibes a miasma that eddied around them. Several patrons were scattered about the space, in quiet conversation or the clacking of keyboard keys, offering the illusion of safety. Aiming a well-trained smile any customer-facing worker would recognize at the men you greeted them.
āHi welcome in, what can I get started for you?ā
The tallest, broadest one, scanned the menu before glancing down. The demons in your mind began howling when instead of landing on your face his gaze landed firmly on the shadows of your cleavage peaking above the edge of your shirt. You had forgotten you had agreed to this shift until it was too late to change into the high-necked band tees you normally wore. The soundtrack of self-hate had always been easier to ignore if you could avoid drawing attention to your body.
āFour large black coffees, sugar and cream on the side.ā
No please, no thank you. Fine, whatever wouldnāt be the last person tonight even that wouldnāt treat you with the same respect a wandering cat would receive.
āAnd you want all of those hot?ā You tap away at the screen as you wait for his answer.
āYes.ā His voice should be much lower than it is, but it is still pleasant on the ear. The curl of his tongue around the words tells you English was not learned at his motherās breast.
āOkay, your price is pulling up, this system slows down after midnight.ā You roll your eyes at it, āIf you give me a moment I can get that ready for you and let you into the room you have reserved.ā You catch sight of the one with blue eyes that burn trailing those selfsame irises down one collarbone, to the bunching of skin, and then trailing back up to the other side.
The sniping words, whore, bitch, no good wench, nothing more than pussy, tits, and a mouth, fly through your mind, debris in the storm picking up speed. Grown and a world away her words still cut at you like glass.
Four hot coffees are settled on the counter as you count out change and return it to a leather-gloved hand. Did he have to buy specialty gloves to ensure that they fit?
The third man shifted his head toward you from behind his sunglasses before turning back to observe the room. A smudge of black hair peeked from below his hat.
Carrying the key along with several packets of sugar in your apron pocket and the carafe of creamer you can feel the fourth manās eyes digging into your spine directly above your bra strap. No skin had been visible on him since the moment they entered the shop. That level of dedication impressed something in you.
You would have stayed impressed except the man couldnāt keep his hands to himself. Unlocking the door you stepped aside and let the men trail in, careful to keep your back to the wall by the premise of holding the door open with your foot. Once everyone found a seat you set the creamer on the table and turned to leave.
The completely covered one caught your wrist, fiddling with the ties of your bracelet. A friend had given it to you last Christmas when your mother had tried to reach out to āmend fencesā. Turns out she was getting married again and her fiance wanted to meet the prodigal daughter.
The dainty silver beads pressed into your flesh as he dragged a thumb over them.
āWhatās all this about? From a lover?ā
The accent on his words tickles your senses. Then the understanding of his question settles home.
Customer service mode leaves your face and body, the bitch your mother always claimed you to be coming out.
āIt reads fuck off,ā you wrench your hand from his grip and slam the door shut behind you. When you settle back in the kitchen you fire off a text to your boss.
<Heads up, ended up snapping at one of your special customers.
Next, you fire off a message to Quinn, seeing if he could come in a half hour early so you didnāt have to close alone if the layered lechers stayed until closing.
Quinn confirmed he could be in early.
The parade from the conference room occurred as Quinn was arriving, leaving him to hold the door open for them as they passed. Closing duties went faster with Quinn collecting all the dishes for cleaning and you were home and in bed, books prepped for class in the morning on the table.
You woke a few hours later to a reply from your boss.
>Whatever you did they probably deserved it. You know I will back you 100%. But John says they seemed to like you better for snapping.
If you didnāt have to rush to avoid being late for your eleven am class you would have rolled your eyes. They liked being snapped at, that you were mean to them? Yeah, right.
Hell Masterlist | Masterlist
@demothers-empty-blog @beloveds-embrace (boo I hope you like your surprise.)
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In a poly-Tac scenario I like to imagine you're flipping through photo albums of the guys and you discover things that fill in the blanks.
Like Kƶnig? The first few pages of him as a teen/young man are of him all shy and flustered and sweet, a photo of his graduation, him with a study group (head ducked, trying to hide behind his curls), multiple photos of him and his mother...
And then you get to the photos of himĀ afterĀ a few years of service.
Confidence practically oozes off the pages. Photos of him going out drinking, playing pool or a drinking games. Then you flip a page andā well.
Turns out Kƶnig went to both gay and kink bars. Photos of him wearing leather straps across his bare chest as he makes out with past flings, him progressively getting older in them, more confident, self-assured, until you're staring at your colonel, just a few years before he settled and calmed down with all of you.
Horangi finds you gaping at the book, chuckling and passing you his photo album.
Now he started off wild. His graduation photo is literally placed next to one of him sitting inā presumablyā a strip club, two girls kissing him, lipstick smears all over his face, looking like he won the lottery; an after party for him and his then-friends, most likely.
The next few pages carry the same air. Young, free, always dressed well and enjoying himself. Then there's a jump, going from pre military to a few years into his career. He looks calmer in these, more settled. Plenty of him in nature, or at a cat cafe, or printed out selfies of him in different environments. A complete contrast to that party boy of his youth.
Mace joins you on the couch, passing you his.
Photos of him as a kid to his teen years, it's funny seeing how similar yet different these versions of him are. Him skateboarding with friends, him clearly doing a cool move while breakdancing (form slightly blurred at the edges as he spun on his palm), a few of him with his family...
It doesn't change much as he enters the military. Still candid, him existing, a slight smile when he catches sight of the camera. While he has changed over the years, it's mostly been in small ways compared to the other two, like Mace has always known who he was and hasn't seen a need to change.
Nikto's is... sad. Childhood photos, him as a teenager, young adultā and then abruptly, it stops. The last photo is of him before his torture, the scarring. These are all ofĀ Andre,Ā not Nikto.
(Nikto is caught off guard when you suddenly begin taking more photos of him, pulling him into frame and snapping shot after shot, printing them out and adding them to the album.
Just because he was different didn't mean he wasn't living a life anymore, didn't mean there shouldn't be proof of it.)
Krueger settles in with you, passing his album over. Again, it starts off with his early life, but the older he gets, the more scenic photos are mixed in. He's always had an eye for photography, so it's no surprise when his photo album includes more environmental shots and shots of all of you instead. He'd captured many a moment between his lovers, printing them out and adding them all neat inside the book. Most of these you didn't even know he'd taken! But it was nice, knowing these moments were eternalised like this.
You were still going to get more photos of him, though.
More on Kortac x feistiest Omage pack leader because they live rent free in my brain
Kƶnig has always been a good Colonel, but he was always reclusive before the formation of the pack.
Most people assume he was just tired of working with a bunch of bloody idiot, and that's why he was always retreating to his room when not on active duty. What few had realized is that the giant alpha, I was just socially awkward and long to not have to be the one control. Everyone looked at him as if his status as a purebred meant he he automatically needed to lead, and he hated that.
So the first time you snapped at him during your mission, snarled to shut the fuck up and listen, everyone thought he would rip your head off. No one expected him to actually listen or to sit himself not next to you in the common room, but at your feet. Not only did he not disappear the moment they all got back to base, but he was actively looking up at you like ad hung the stars themselves.
That's how you became the de facto leader when off duty.
Horangi, for his part, had always had a problem with authority. No wonder he has so many enemies when he just keeps pissing off the people he owes gambling money to.
He had no problem being cocky and talking back to Kƶnig on the field, and he sure as hell wasn't going to go easy on you now that the big guy was following you around like a lovesick puppy. To him, you are just another person giving order and keeping betas beneath you, even if you had never talked down to him regarding his designation. He was being a dick, but you didn't mind clapping back and reminding his humility was a thing.
That is, until he pushed too far, used something you had absolutely no control over against and you just...broke. No longer are you the feisty little thing leading Kƶnig on a leach. No. Right at that moment your were an omega that to had their limit, someone who sometimes needed comfort just like everyone else, a little thing that couldn't take all of this right now
And that's when something in him changed. Like rediscovering instincts he had long forgotten. A need to care and balance out the pack, something deep down telling him he wasn't lesser, but a valuable and necessary part of this pack.
Nikto truly didn't trust you at the beginning. Sadly for you -or him, depending on how you saw it- is sense of smell had been reduce to almost nothing because of the torture he had endure, making him unable to identify people or their secondary gender by scent. He also could no longer interpret the social cues that were coming with scents.
That's exactly why he had absolutely no clue what you were and your intentions towards him were. But judging by the fact you had both Kƶnig and Horangi listening to your without questions, he could only assumed you were just some other alpha.
So when you got a bit too close for his comfort after a particularly grueling mission, he couldn't help himself and just went for the stab. Imagine is confusion when you, very calmly, still tried to usher him towards a perfectly made nest with a knife sticking out of your side. He was just sitting there stunned as you tried to get him to relax, the two others absolutely going feral with worry over your state.
He would still stab any alpha that got too close without asking, including Kƶnig, But now he knows you're safe. No matter what you are, you're the pack leader and you make some really comfy nest.
