Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Master?” a knock that Diluc answers with a grunt. “There is a letter for you.”

“A letter for me?” he repeats, wondering why Adelinde seems so hesitant when usually she'd stride right up to his desk and hand him the letter and a few choice words about his abysmal work schedule.

The Head Maid nods, holding the letter with both hands so she can read what's written on the envelope.

“A letter from Snezhnaya.”

Diluc's mind is instantly filled with thoughts of blue ocean eyes and bright ginger hair, freckles forming constellations on soft, rosy cheeks and a delicate nose, plump lips stretched on a smile that easily humbles the sun itself–

He coughs to clear his throat and mind.

“Please, give me the letter.”

Adelinde hesitates again and the alpha doesn't blame her. His romance—that now he has no forces or willingness to deny—with the Eleventh Harbinger did not end on a high note. They fought, a proper, wrathful fight between two people who disagreed instead of the usual deadly but playful sparring, and the omega left on the same night, leaving nothing behind but remnants of his warmth, a fleeting waft of his sweet scent and this guilty fool's tears. The subject of the Fatui had never been an easy one to breach between them, no matter how much both dislike their methods, the truth of Diluc's hate and Childe's loyalty still stands. So when he had been called back by his Archon, the winery owner lashed out, upset that he was not enough for the other to let go of his job.

His lover had, rightfully so, pointed out that he had not been enough for Diluc to let go of his hate. Things only got worse from there.

Next day, he found out that Kaeya hadn't reacted any better to the news. Where Diluc explodes in ardent flames, Kaeya freezes in sharp iciness. Two brothers left behind yet again, except this time they caused it.

Despite all that, there's still hope in his heart as he takes the letter with gentle hands and thanks Adelinde with a gentler voice.

Hope that he hasn't been forgotten. Hope that his previous letters haven't been thrown away. Hope that he can at least talk to him.

Hope that breaks when he notices the unfamiliar handwriting.

“Dear Captain Kaeya Alberich of the Ordo Favonius,”

Huh, it's definitely not from anyone he knows from Snezhnaya. Kaeya tries to ignore the throbbing in his heart when he reads such a cold greeting in this elegant handwriting and not a cheery “hey, beautiful!” in a quick buy legible scratch.

He fails, of course. He misses the ginger omega so much.

Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night with Childe's voice in his ear, rageful like the ocean that paints his eyes, and the regret can only be swallowed with the strongest cup of coffee he can make—or the strongest gulp of alcohol he can convince Diluc into giving to him. Kaeya feels even worse when he remembers that such anger had been cold just as his own, for Ajax could match both the explosiveness of Diluc and the coldness of Kaeya, the ocean far too powerful to settle on either; too powerful to settle on neither— as Childe had been when he proposed a poly relationship after the brothers almost attacked each other in possessiveness.

To think that what ended that romance wasn’t the two siblings’ bad blood, but one of the only things in life they could agree on.

The blue haired alpha can only sigh, hoping that whatever this letter brings, it may at least tell him that sweet omega is doing well back in his home country. Maybe, if he’s lucky enough, he might find some clue of his precise whereabouts, so he can at the very least send him a letter—one he’s willing to fill with shameless begging.

“I hope this letter finds you in good health. Please pardon the short nature of this letter, but I am afraid its subject is far too pressing: your relationship with my sweet Eleventh, and the consequences of it.”

Zhongli can only frown as he reads the letter that could only come from the Cryo Archon herself. He has known this handwriting for centuries now, and if that somehow wasn’t enough, the mention of Ajax made it very clear—no one else would call the omega their “sweet Eleventh”.

When Ekaterina gave him the letter, he had dared to hope—to hope as he hadn't in centuries.

He misses Childe every day.

After millennia of comings and goings, the one thing that makes him feel regret as nothing before is breaking his omegas' trust and pushing him away. Zhongli can excuse his actions as part of a contract that didn't take in consideration the possibility that the Harbinger sent by the Tsaritsa would be so endearing, but none of it will ever fix his mistakes of placing his contract above his courting. Now that he actually dares think about it—prompted along by Barbatos and the fluidity of Anemo (or so he says, avoiding to think about the fluidity of Hydro)—, there were many ways to go around the contract, if only to soften the blow, and, in his foolish stubbornness, he chose none.

Now he pays the price, a lonely Alpha longing for his beautiful Omega.

Childe had left a week later, after an adventure with his youngest brother that Aether narrated to Zhongli over some tea, though instead of Snezhnaya, he went to Mondstadt. Barbatos had kept the Prime Adeptus informed with whispery winds, down to the painful news that his chosen omega had moved on and found himself not one but two alphas to court.

Zhongli spent the week after those news raging inside his room, the alpha inside him distressed and jealous.

He is guilty of feeling happy when Barbatos' winds told him of the terrible end that courtship had. He is also guilty of feeling arrogance, thinking how he wouldn't fight with Childe about the Fatui, how he knows better than trying to control the tidal wave that is the ginger, how he wouldn't be so insecure to think his position in Childe's heart could be threatened by his loyalty to the Tsaritsa.

Is he ashamed of those thoughts and feelings? Yes.

Did he thoroughly enjoy them while he could? Also yes.

Shaking his head, he focuses back again on the letter. The Tsaritsa mentioned his relationship with Childe, and that worries him. As a past God of Love, she certainly couldn't be thinking of punishing Childe for having a relationship, could she?

Of course not.

Unless she wants to face the Wrath of the Rock.

“It has come to my attention that you two entered a mutual courtship, as it's usually done before permanent bonding. However, it has also been informed to me that the two of you engaged in pre-bonding sexual activities."

Aether kinda wants to die right now, he's not gonna lie.

To think he'd get a letter—handed to him by a very stiff and very angry Fatuus—written by the Tsaritsa herself where she tells him she knows not only of his on going courtship with Ajax, but also about their sex lives. If Lumine were with him, she'd be on the floor, laughing her way into an early grave, hiccups as loud as his sighs.

Paimon is not faring any better, and he doesn't even know if she knows what "pre-bonding sexual activities" entail.

When Ajax left to go back to Snezhnaya after that ugly break up with the Ragnvindr brothers, Aether had not expected to get one last night with the omega. They have been courting for some time now, after Ajax confided in him that he's very much poly and already in a courtship with the Sixth Harbinger, though they're in the middle of a break because said Harbinger is in Inazuma. Aether, who comes from a world where polygamy is very common—omegas in particular tend to have multiple partners of all three secondary genders—, readily accepted the omega's other relationships.

He admits to not caring how many other partners his omega gets so long Ajax is also his.

He could do without the Tsaritsa butting in their sexual activities, even if he has a feeling this might be important.

“Of course, what my dear Eleventh does in bed and with who he does it is not of my interest, what my Harbingers do when not completing their missions is not a matter I wish to have a say in, however, I see myself obligated to interfere in case such matters bring an inordinate amount of trouble to any of my children. And this is such a case.”

Scaramouche wants to break something.

He's just so close!

And now, the Wicked Witch of Ice is calling him back to that ice hellscape, and for what? To ask about his relationship with that damn fox! He knew from the beginning that being any closer than a fellow Harbinger to that little cunt would only bring him trouble, and yet, look at him.

Look at him and laugh at the fact he sleeps hugging Ajax's letters so the scent can calm him into restful sleep. Look at him and laugh as he doodles Ajax's face on scraps of paper. Look at him and laugh at his desperate cries for his omega during his ruts.

Look at him and laugh, for he's a pathetic fool who spends his days wishing he could go get his omega and mark him forever as his, ending their courtship with a mating bond.

Scaramouche didn't mean to fall for Ajax, but that's what Ajax does. He comes to you with that stupid bright smile and those stupid pretty eyes and that stupid fluffy hair and stupidly beams at you with that stupid earnest personality of his. And you have no choice. You don't even want to find another option to choose, really.

More than charismatic, Ajax is just lovable.

Scaramouche wants to punch his face in.

And he wants to punch the Tsaritsa's face in with twice the strength for pulling him from his mission when he's so close just to—

Wait.

“For you see… my Eleventh is currently pregnant, and the pregnancy makes him inconsolable without his Alpha by his side. However, we do not know which Alpha he calls for, and as of now, he's so out of his mind thanks to his instincts taking over—the Doctor believes is a defense mechanism of an omega without an alpha—that we cannot ask him. Ekaterina has given us a list of possible Alphas, and you're one of them. So please, come to Snezhnaya, or I'll have to take drastic measures.

My regards,

The Tsaritsa.”

Chapter Text

The last time Scaramouche saw the Tsaritsa, she had ordered him to go to Inazuma and steal the Electro Gnosis. He had both hated and appreciated the order, as going back to his creator’s domain put a bitter taste in his mouth, but the chance to steal her gnosis and leave her weakened and pathetic filled him with joy. Part of him even believes that the Tsaritsa is actually aware of his plans to keep the gnosis for himself, maybe she's even thinking of offering him a deal where he gets to keep it so long he's loyal to her cause until it's done. Between him and his “mother”, Scaramouche would be a better ally in her goal to bring down Celestia.

Now, standing in front of her once more with an incomplete mission on his back, Scaramouche doesn’t feel any of the usually frigid air of a stiff ruler.

No, what fills the silence of the throne room is something akin to the tension between a doting parent and their child’s daring suitors.

Because Ajax couldn’t just be trouble by himself, he also had to get himself pseudo-adopted by the Cryo Archon and have her become the trouble. He knew his stupid omega would only bring him trouble the moment their eyes met, dull blue swallowing him like a wave, but the sheer ridiculousness of the situation—the loveless Tsaritsa, a goddess that many agree has abandoned the very concept of love, doting on her youngest Harbinger and protecting him like he's a cub out of her own womb—still knocks a scoff of disbelief from his lungs.

Nevermind the other four Alphas standing near him, if anyone could get themselves a harem of the most unlikely Alphas, it would be Ajax, so he doesn’t really want to bother with wondering what other headaches they’ll bring him.

“I am pleased with your prompt response to my letter,” the Cryo Archon finally starts after a few minutes of icy silence. Her nails dig into the metal arms of her throne, a thin layer of frost crawling down. She’s pissed. “It’s comforting to see my dear Eleventh has found some reliable suitors.”

The words leave her lips in a taunting sneer and Scaramouche really has to hold himself back from calling her the Wicked Bitch of Ice to her fucking smug face. His Alpha instincts—the ones he's not sure were programmed into him by the Electro Archon or the crazed doctor (a puppet with a secondary gender, whose genius idea was that?)—growled in his mind, wanting very much to correct the icy witch. 

In all ways but one, Ajax is his Omega,  and he is Ajax's Alpha.

For now.

Next thing he’ll do, as soon as his feet goes through the doors of the Throne Room, is claim his Omega, so no one can ever again throw on his face that he’s merely a “suitor”. He will mate Ajax, place his bond on that annoying ginger so deep it’ll be recognized even in the worlds beyond the stars.

“I am thankful to you for calling us here,” a tall man with brown hair answers calmly, a hand on his chest as he bows in greeting.

“Morax, I considered not sending you a letter after the stunt you pulled with my sweet youngest, do not make me regret this decision. This is a threat both as the Cryo Archon and as Tartaglia’s Queen.”

Hold up, Morax? God of Mora, God of Contracts, Warrior God, Lord of Geo, Rex Lapis Morax? That Morax? The Morax whose gnosis Ajax was supposed to steal?

“Of fucking course he seduced the guy he was supposed to fight.”

“He has a penchant for that, yes,” the blue haired Alpha by his left comments cheerfully, and the insignia of Mondstadt's Cavalry and the odd shape of his pupils tell Scaramouche everything he needs to know.

“Mondstadt actually let you come? Must be nice not having work to do,” he taunts. He isn't jealous, but, really? A Khaenri'ahn from Mondstadt's Cavalry? Ajax and his tastes.

“Even war knows mates come first and foremost,” the man answers, his smile predatory. Oh, he can see now why Ajax likes him, “as proven by Master Ragnvindr's presence, despite his status as persona non grata.”

Scaramouche's eyes are not the only ones that snap towards the red haired man standing at the farthest left of their lineup. Even him, who doesn't really give a damn and a half at what happens in Snezhnaya, knows about Diluc Ragnvindr and his adventures trying to single handedly end the Fatui after the Good-For-Nothing Doctor and his machinations got his father a one way trip to the cemetery. The Eleventh Harbinger, freshly appointed for the position, had personally hunted the terrorist, and despite his failure at bringing the Tsaritsa's justice, the other Harbingers got their first taste of the beast they named Tartaglia… and the relief that is being on the same side as him.

Diluc looks unbothered by the provocation, red eyes still firmly on the throne, chin carefully lowered so as to not come off as rude. As if he could be any less rude after trying to massacre her people for vengeance. Not that Scaramouche blames him, he has swore vengeance on Dottore for much less; it's one of the reasons he's determined to see the Tsaritsa’s plans through, so he will be able to kill that creepy bastard without consequence.

“Her Majesty allowed me entrance so long I am here for matters related to Tartaglia.”

Huh. He's surprisingly good at holding back for someone who killed dozens last time he stepped foot in the country. What a pretty Omega won't do?

“So stiff~” the blue haired Alpha chuckles, throwing an arm around Ragnvindr. “You should be happier, it the rumors of Tartaglia being the favorite might really be true–”

“They are.”

Silence follows the Cryo Archon’s brusque words.

For an Archon, admitting to having a favorite between their followers is the same as admitting a weakness, and unnecessarily placing a target on said favorite’s head.

Or so it would be, if this weren't the Tsaritsa and Ajax.

If anything, the bond of devotion they share between them only makes them deadlier.

Damn Ajax.

“I favor Tartaglia as if he was my flesh and blood and I will not tolerate any sort of mistreatment towards him. Each of you will be allowed ten minutes alone with him, at the end he will call back whoever he wants to accompany him during his pregnancy. If he shows any sort of distress by your presence or actions, you will leave, either by yourself or as an ice sculpture. Am I clear?”

Five different voices answer her, yet she still looks displeased. Hell hath no fury like a protective goddess scorned. The Tsaritsa may be a Beta, but she surely has the presence of an Alpha—much like Ajax, really; no wonder the rumor that they’re actually blood related never died off even after so long.

The Tsaritsa gets up from her throne to guide them to Ajax personally, walking so gracefully she looks like she’s gliding. The group of Alphas follow her silently, tension building around them like a fog. None of them particularly wants to fight the other, all of them aware of Ajax’s multiple courtships, but there is some feeling of competition born out of the knowledge Ajax would be choosing which of them can accompany him during one of the most important moments of the Omega’s life. Plus, they all want to be the father of Ajax’s first child, it’s a matter of pride for them.

“Who will go first?” the blonde Alpha who had been mostly silent all this time has eagerness in his voice.

“I will,” Scaramouche announced before anyone could answer. “I’m the one who has been courting him the longest, after all.”

“So you’re the one he talks about so fondly!” the Cavalry Captain offers a grin, but the curiosity in his eyes is clear as day.

“Yeah. Can’t say the same about you.”

The conversation ends with a poorly disguised snort from the Archon guiding them.