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The 101 Guide to Disguise Yourself as An Omega

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Calmly, he places the glass in his hold back on the table. The cup is half emptied, the scent of Qing Xin flower wafting from his cup, bringing with it the wave of peace to clear his head from any fog of doubts. Its effect takes no time to be processed, both to him and the guest currently sipping at his own cup. The relaxed maple-colored tail behind his guest is an absolute proof of a sound mind.

Previously, not a few minutes ago, it had wagged from left to right, clearly agitated - uncomfortable, yet now it has draped over the seating, its tip swaying in steady beat.

“Have you composed yourself enough, Childe?” he finally asks.

The pair of white tipped ears perk up, the cup is pushed down as Childe nods, “I’ve been ‘composed’ the whole time, sensei...” he mutters, a little pout tugs at his lips, “...and yes, my request still stands” the tail slaps at the chair's leg at the last few words. As if to emphasize his certainty.

He brings the glass up, sipping the warm tea, and sighs, “Your ‘request’ pertains to some...questionable things,” he gazes at his companion, “...have you considered each risk that you might suffer if I grant you acceptance?”

“Yeppp,” the ‘p’ is followed by a smack of lips, “...I know what I’m going to throw myself into” Childe answers. Firmly, carelessly.

Zhongli takes another sip, quiet. His thoughts are picking apart the request, considering each and every risk as well as the irreversible points that Childe should have known. Yet here the harbinger is, eagerly asking for his assistance for a mission that is sanctified by the Tsaritsa. He briefly wonders if the Cryo Archon was the one behind this. Which is doubtful as Childe’s request runs the risk of permanent change, not mere temporary altercation.

Sure, Childe has raised a safety net in the form of his whole being - a fox, a shapeshifter, the mischief maker - which should lower the risk to a bare minimum. But the probability is there and leaving things up to chance leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He places the glass down, the china makes a clinking noise against the glass saucer, “Very well,” he says with finality, “...I accept your proposition”


It was two weeks ago, when that dreadful letter had arrived by the means of Ekaterina, waving the formal envelope in front of his bored self. The envelope had the seal of Tsaritsa; a prudent message that deserves his full attention. Sealed within was a missive: pay a visit to this merchant from Fontaine in Liyue and ask for him to pay his debt. 

That’s easy, he had thought naively.

What he had missed was apparently quite a crucial part of his mission, spoken in cold, concise words as Ekaterina lays it out on him.

"No killing, sir" 

He halted, halfway reaching out to the door; ears perked straight up. Snapping his gaze back to the calm woman who was holding the missive in her hand, his mouth opened yet the question failed to be worded properly. Despite this, she nodded at his silent inquiry. Her eyes were behind the mask, he couldn’t read the emotion behind them when she opened her mouth again,

"No killing, sir," she echoed, "...that's what Her Highness had written"

“No kill--” he rushed back to the counter, crowded her until the feline bank teller placed the missive back to his hands with a huff. She even pointed it for him, the exact sentence where it says--

“You mustn't shed any blood. Neither yours nor theirs. He is not a target to be sliced apart, but convinced to comply?”

The more he read them, the more he grew pale. He can do negotiation, sure. Childe is quite confident with bargaining; to exchange terms and conditions from one person to another. He especially likes the part when they stubbornly refuse his generosity and ask for lower numbers. 

It is when he is allowed to unleash his own force against them - blade speaks louder than mere words after all. And oftentimes they have hired hands which had varied strength. Those instances were the moment he waited for actually. Sometimes, there were indeed hidden gems among the ragtag group of mercenaries. Or even former knights; trained warriors of high calibre. 

Humans, hybrids, anything that can cross blades with him on equal footing, that is what he waits for during a negotiation; the moment when he can unsheathe his weapon against a worthy challenger.

But no killing? In a mission as sensitive as this? 

Tsaritsa sometimes tests her harbingers, true, it is what Capitano had often said on their yearly meeting - he only ever attended one, but Capitano drilled it to his mind so deeply, he even remembers it word per word. So an occasional odd mission is not...well, odd.

He read the missive once more, mind scrambling to find any path, anything that he could either utilize or perhaps a way to breeze through this task.

There are details in the paper: the exact time he can meet the guy - sometime in a month - the place - Pearl Galley - and even people who might attend said place along with said person - another group of rich merchants - as well as his dynamic - an Alpha.

Why would there be so much detail to the mission, he thought, bemused at how it even tells him of likes and dislikes and--

Ah…

That is indeed one way to achieve success, especially considering his nature and how Tsaritsa specifically addresses this to her 11th harbinger. Sure the venue is nearest to Liyue too, but the time of rendezvous should allow any harbinger to sail here and do the job themselves. 

Tsaritsa had addressed this to him because of one small little detail. Not the best path he would take, definitely, but this is a mission. 

And underneath it: a test.

He would hate to lose against such a simple test, wouldn't he?


“Childe...” 

It is rare for his tone of voice to assume this exasperated inflection as it is also rare that the God of Contract be caught off guard by the happenings of the mundane world. Yet here he is, massaging one side of his temple to the sight of the young fox hybrid sprawling on the bed, poised like a nouveau-riche escort in skimpy clothing.

His disapproving gesture is met with a genuinely confused frown. Tail flicking to one side, Childe relaxes his pose and rises up to sit cross-legged with surprising ease considering the...translucent clothing he has chosen shamelessly to wear. “Is it not how this goes?” the harbinger asks, tilting his head to the side.

Zhongli shakes his head, stepping through the door and closes it with a reassuring click before turning the key. Just as a precaution, he adds a layer of Geo barrier over the threshold - thick enough no noise should be able to escape the confinement of this room. Then, he returns his attention back to the puzzled fox hybrid on the bed.

“Might I ask where did you procure the reference as to how this procedure should go, Childe?”

Childe makes a thoughtful pose, one finger rubbing mindlessly below his chin, “Books? Mostly novels, uh, adult books? The covers are quite obscene and the content surely exaggerate a lot, but they’re the only reliable sources I can easily obtain”

He holds back a sigh, “There are ancient tomes depicting this process in detail which would be preferable in your case. The intricacy of the procedure is delicate; there are steps and requirements before we can proceed with each until it comes to fruition, showing desired results,” he explains, taking a seat on the vacant chair, placed oddly in the middle of the room, “...and since you probably wouldn’t go ‘all the way’ to the end, we should follow through the steps carefully to know when to cease our procedure”

“I thought putting the dick in is a shortcut” Childe replies bluntly.

Zhongli folds his arms, “It is one of the last steps, not a shortcut. There is no shortcut without a greater risk. Applying the dominant’s essence straight to the receptive party’s physical body would surely speed up the process but the significant risk outweighs the time you might save”

He saw gods do this to their mortal enemy, a forceful submission especially to those who think too arrogantly of themselves. Mostly, it is done without consent; to break their pride and humble those mortals who dared to raise their fists against gods and goddesses. It is not done out of affection, that’s for sure and Zhongli does not want such a thought to even pass in the mind of someone he is quite...fond of.

Childe seems to consider his words. Certainly, the harbinger should know the risk, it is his body that will undergo the change after all. Stopping before the point of no return would be pivotal, else Childe will truly turn, changed permanently into something he might or might not agree upon.

A sigh eventually escapes the harbinger, as he puffs his cheeks - a rather childish display of distress - and says, “Is there any way we can cut the process short? Maybe skip some trivial steps and move on with big steps instead?” 

Not a compelling bargain, considering what would happen if it isn't done properly though Childe is indeed pressed by time.

Zhongli nods, “There might be a few steps we can...omit from the process, true,” he watches Childe’s face brightens, ears perking in excitement, “... but, in return, I might need to use my adeptal energy to amplify a few process or even breaks several boundaries if needed be. Are these requirements acceptable?”

Without even a second thought, Childe has nodded rather enthusiastically, plunging himself into something he barely understands.

Consent, however, has been spoken, and it is enough for Zhongli.

“Now, take your current outfit off - yes, they do not help, please wear a bathrobe at the very least. We are not doing this with your…unique choice of threads''


While research might not be his strongest suit, Childe knew when to do some extra leg work. 

Should it be necessary, that is.

He prefers straightforward missions, thank you very much. 

Fortunately, most Fatui that are sent his way are those who can fill in for that role. Ekaterina, especially, excels in this field. She gathers information like a cat sniffing out who has brought the fish from the market. No detail is left unsolved and even if one does slip from her claws, it is usually on purpose. 

If he misses something, she would pester him until he finally returns to his desk and toil over the paperwork until she’s certain that he comprehends the mission inside and out. He only had met her on a mission once before his task in Liyue, but now he’s thankful that she’s the first face he met when he first came here. 

Miss reliable, he had playfully dubbed her and she sighed before informing him that, “My duty does not only consist of babysitting you, sir, please let me do my job peacefully”. So he laughed and bribed her with his home cooked meal, which somehow ended up as a small feast during one nondescript night at Northland bank. 

At least now he knows that most of his subordinates can be bought through their stomach.  

Other than her, he had met Andrei, whose skill sets are mostly fit for management, not information gathering. His are more to keeping them, memorizing names and looks and debts, especially. You need only mention a name and he can give you a short summary of what purchase they made for the past week.

Vlad might be a little too nervous during their first meeting, but he’s observant of his surroundings. That is if he’s not distracted by what kind of topic he should write in his letter. And Nadia is calm and cool headed with surprising kindness that leads her to things that would not be achieved without altruism.

They are usually the ones he would send to do the leg work and turn out to be quite excellent at it too.

This time, though, as he skimmed over the book in his hands, he definitely did not regret that he had forgotten to ask for their help at all. The book has raunchy drawings at the front, a man, a woman, and a...human(?), arranged in various poses of interest that seem to accentuate certain aspects of their physical parts. 

He usually would scoff over such explicit books, not finding them useful or necessary for him. Yet this time, he read over the content, mulled over the words written in amateurish but honest writing. Everything is delivered openly, with details being exaggerated and some things that do not graze the sexual topic being skipped nonchalantly, shrugged off like insignificant dust.

It does have things that he is looking for though, the young teen is right.

Such a shame that he didn’t catch the blue haired teenager’s name, he would love to find him and discuss more about his findings regarding this topic...


Scenting is an important activity for a pair. It reassures them, calms their mind to know that someone they care about is by their side. An Omega, especially, likes to be scented. Their nature to nurture and be nurtured in return makes them sensitive to gestures of affection. Without, they would be starved for any kind of touch. 

Therefore, rubbing his scent all over Childe is actually quite an important process.

An Alpha is territorial. They see other Alpha’s scent as a threat, a declaration of challenge for what they have. Be it their wealth or their mate - everything can be a reason when one is blinded by their raw primal instinct. 

“The first step is actually making the Alpha used to the other Alpha’s presence. It is simply done by spending time together, taking a walk together or any kind of leisure activity that would not trigger the 'alarm’ part of an Alpha’s instinct,” he explains, thumbing unconsciously at the inner wrist of Childe’s hand. 

They have each stripped themselves of their gloves and he’s currently rubbing his own scent on the harbinger’s wrist as a start, “Since we have done so and you show no repulsion of my presence in this distance, I take the liberty to presume that we can eliminate the first step and proceed to the next” 

He watches Childe for a moment, waiting for an answer. Which comes in the form of a nod and an impatient, “Hurry up, then!”

“Alright...” Zhongli says, leaning even closer now, he can smell the scent of wet grass and dew with a hint of sharp citrus from the other Alpha, “...we will stop if you need to catch your breath or reassert your thoughts. Tap the bed twice if your words fail you. Are we clear?"

“Crystal!”

Permission granted, Zhongli finally delves in. Straight to the seam of Childe’s neck to his shoulder, where his scent gland is located beneath the skin. It is where Childe’s scent is the strongest, where he should imprint his own and let it dominate over the Alpha’s scent. 

Since he had chosen to live as mortal does, his scent and pheromones had all but been confined; curbed until only a fraction of it was left. The strength of his scent is now but a smidge stronger than that of an Alpha human or hybrid. It is a requirement for him to keep his disguise up, let none of them perceive him differently than another mortal being that walks the earth for far too long. 

But for this, he has to let go for a bit. Stretch that restraint to loosen its grasp over his scent and let Childe taste it in its purity. Once the strong stench of pure earth seeps into the very air in the room, he can feel Childe’s own scent flaring up, ears straightening in alarm. The harbinger tenses in his embrace, his whole body shudders at the provoking scent; an unspoken challenge to an Alpha’s instinctual mind.

Childe’s hands shoot up, aimed to wrap those deft fingers around his vitals - the throat, the scent gland, both are conveniently in the same place. He, however, had expected that. With a flash of gold and a shove, that attempt is rendered futile when shackles made of pure geo weight both of those hands down, keep those limbs forcefully quiet as he is laid on the bedding. Vulnerable.

There’s a growl from Childe’s throat, a rumble that shakes his chests and Zhongli has to consciously stop himself from threatening this insolent human who dares to growl at a God . Instead, he takes it as a chance to shove his fingers into the open mouth being offered to him, prompting a choking sound out of Childe. 

“Behave, Childe” he murmurs sternly, strongly, as he presses down on the undulating tongue. 

This time, the harbinger thrashes with his legs, bumping his knees to his back and bites down. Hard enough, startling enough that he manages to wound his mortal shell, drawing golden tinted red fluid.

Zhongli clicks his tongue.

A shift later, he pins both of those legs down with one of his own - an easy solution when one can change the property of their body at will. The wound in his fingers is nothing that wouldn’t heal, though he commends that the harbinger manages to draw blood from him. That doesn’t mean that those teeth could stop him, however... 

Childe’s mouth is wet and warm, flooded with copious amounts of saliva as he explores the cavity of his mouth - presses his fingers against fangs and teeth. He holds back, obviously, especially when Childe lets out another choked out sound. The saliva is spilling from the corner of his mouth, where it is not plugged by his fingers.

The Alpha goes quiet for a moment, his dim blue eyes flashing in quiet seething at him, he can see the plotting behind the sapphire like orbs. 

And abruptly, the fox exerts out his own Alpha pheromones, waves of his rainy scent - wet grass and dew on leaves with undertone of something sharply citrusy - that tries to subdue him, to overwhelm him enough so he would relent. 

This time, Zhongli growls.

It's an instinctive reaction, he knows. Childe retorting his effort to bathe the other in his pheromone is a subconscious response. Any Alpha would do so against any other of their kin who dares to try and make them submit. 

But the request implies that he can do anything to rebuke this effort. That Childe has trusted Zhongli to be able to fulfill his end of the deal; to handle the Alpha while Childe reverts to the primal nature of his secondary gender during the procession.

His free hand moves before he can stop it, pressing hard against the scent gland of this impudent Alpha beneath him. Claws grazing over the patch of swollen skin, not drawing blood, no, not yet , but enough as a threat - a promise to slice through the skin. Childe makes a wet sound behind his fingers, legs moving in retaliation to the threat and Zhongli thinks he hears a soft crack from the shackles though it stays as sturdy.

The Vision that had been put aside to put a limit on Childe is glowing from its confinement by their bedside. As if it heeds its master’s call even when not in physical contact with said master. He huffs, sensing Geo and Hydro clashing as crystals explode all around them like fireworks, leaving shards of concentrated elemental energy. This could turn messy if he does not put a halt on its progression.

He takes a deep breath, draws from the endless pool of his strength and speaks in authority, “ Tartaglia, ” he invokes that name, lets Childe remember the responsibility that one name alone brings, “... behave!” 

The effect does not come in an instance. It's gradual; from the slowed retaliation to a halt, then to a tiny purr that is barely audible as Childe finally, finally relinquishes control and lets himself be scented.

They sleep like this, not quite an embrace, yet too intimate to be called simple bed companions. At some point, he does break the Geo shackles and the first thing that Childe does is pull at his hair and mouthing at his scent gland. 

But the Alpha stops there, ears twitching as Zhongli strokes down the spine, ending in the base of that fluffed tail. He feels a single lick - as if merely testing - before Childe scoffs and buries his face to the crook of his neck. 

His scent unconsciously flares up, fueled by the pride of such a show of submission. Though he immediately wrangles that back to himself. No need to flood the Alpha with his scent, a God’s undiluted scent would only make any mortal intoxicated, hardly the perfect state to give consent. 

Sleep claimed them, his scent a lingering aroma that stays until morning.

He wakes up to a curling fluffy tail wrapped around his wrist and a mouthful of ginger locks.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he slips out from the sheet, taking care not to disturb the sleeping harbinger and places his used coat over the other’s sleeping form.

This is a progress at least, he concludes and sets off to go about his day.


Childe wakes up to the scent of another Alpha on him, sticking stubbornly like a blanket on humid days.

At first, his instinct is screaming at him to groom himself, to get rid of this... comforting displeasing scent off of him. Then, Zhongli appears from out of nowhere, bringing with him a warm cup of tea. He calls off his grooming session and accepts the tea, focusing on the soothing scent that comes from the cup instead.

Zhongli lets him take a sip, processes the taste, before he finally opens his mouth, “How are you feeling?” 

He pauses, considering how his body feels.

There’s Zhongli’s scent on him, probably covering him from head to toe, and his instinct wants to get rid of it, but aside from that, his body does not find it physically unpleasant. “I feel like I want to take a thorough bath,” he says honestly, “...nothing else comes to mind-- how did it usually go anyway?”

Zhongli hums, intrigued, “It seems that your physical body is quick to adapt to a new treatment, but as expected, your instinct rejects the change almost as immediately as it has started. It’s normal, quite startling even that you hadn’t fought me even more vehemently”

“Does that mean we pass the second step?” he asks.

Zhongli eyes him, unamused. Though he does seem to deliberate it, mulling over his eager question before with a shake of his head, he is replied:

“This is a repetitive process, Childe, do show some degree of patience...”


They spent night after night like so: Zhongli trying to scent him, before meeting with various amounts of refusal that might or might not lead to bloodshed, then, once Childe finally accepts his ministration, he let his instinct and scent do the rest. With considerable restraint, of course, he doesn’t trust his instinct not to abuse this trust that he won over with patience and effort.

A week later as they are preparing for the night, he turns to ask whether Childe wants a warm drink before they start when the sight halts his words.

The Alpha is laying on his bed, eyes glazing over as his blanket is draped over his lap, head tilted back on the pillow, emitting soft pants. The pose itself seems innocent, merely someone who’s getting ready to tuck in for the night. But the length of his throat, the collar of his robe, loosening to show a little skin from his shoulder--

-- Childe is unconsciously baring his neck.

He pauses at that gesture, wide eyed as the fox seemingly doesn’t register the submissive action he unconsciously does. Zhongli stares at this gesture, careful when he reaches out, bare fingers touching the cheek. Childe makes a soft sound not unlike a purr and rubs his cheek against his touch. 

Swallowing, he shifts, drags his fingers slowly down, down, until he reaches the gland, to where an Alpha should be protective of. 

It feels as if he’s standing at a precipice of something unnamed, a fragile line between right and wrong. That if he makes one wrong move, it will all break apart. So gently, very, very gently, his fleeting touch alights on the warm skin of Childe’s neck. The Alpha flinches, blue eyes flick to his golden pair as pink lips open and a name slips out from Childe, “Zhongli?”

He retracts his hand slowly, lingering for as long as he can on that warmth. 

“How do you feel, Childe?” he asks, cutting his own rapidly straying thoughts.

Childe blinks at the question and the moment finally breaks, “Good? Are we going to start now or what?” he fires back a question as he shoots up to a seat, tail wagging behind him.

So it is done unconsciously, he surmises, the Alpha has sought his touch by instinct alone, showing his vulnerable spot for him.

Taking a deep breath, he lodges this piece of information at one corner of his mind, “Yes,” he says, “...whenever you’re ready”


“Sir, are you feeling alright?”

That is what Vlad greets him with when he strolls out of the Northland bank, setting off for Zhongli’s abode for the night. He grins at the question, throws his arms over the guard’s shoulders and bops him on the nose, “Are you worried about me?” he coos. The guard in his arms blushes, averts his gaze and squirms. 

Childe releases him with a chuckle. One that does not last long.

“So, why the sudden question, Vlad?” he asks, voice dipping into the work tone he uses during business hours. 

Vlad coughs to his fist, seemingly trying to gather himself. Then, with a praiseworthy boldness the guard opens his mouth and says, “I, uh, didn't...mean to offend you but, sir, you...you’re more--" a cough, "--touchy feely lately...” 

His voice is louder than the murmurs around the street, a pitch higher than how he usually speaks, complete with the dust of pink still lingering on his cheeks.

Around them, onlookers have started to look on curiously, their confused gaze openly cast upon them both that the pink on Vlad's cheeks glows red as he quickly apologizes and tells him to be careful on his way. 

He gives the guard a nonchalant wave and resumes his walk. Through the thin crowds of Liyue's evening, among the throng of people hurrying home or waddling to reach diner or tavern to unwind. The breeze gradually cools down as the sun gently sets on the horizon; Liyue seems peaceful at sundown.

His mind, however, is scrolling through his memories, filtering what action might have prompted his subordinate to say so. Childe doesn’t shy away from getting touched or touching anyone, he likes to pat his comrade for a job well done. Or even bumps their fist together after a task done successfully. Those are mere camaraderie...right? Are those too touchy feely? He does that all the time with his little siblings.

...and why did Vlad only bring it up now?

“Am I touchy feely, Zhongli?”

That is the first question he asks as they prepare for the night. 

He sits on the bed, hugging the pillow in his arms tight as he watches Zhongli fixing the collar of his own robe - the soft downy brown robe, lined with ochre seams. When he voices this question, the former Archon quiets down, stopping his attempt to fix the folded edge and mulling the question he has asked.

Thoughtlessly, he takes over, standing and tugging the collar so he can flip the stubborn crease until it’s unfolded and neat. He gives the tidied spot two taps, satisfied by his handiwork, before glancing at Zhongli, expecting an answer from his previous question.

Zhongli doesn’t answer him with words. Instead, his arms reach out and grab him by the shoulders as his body is pulled to the god’s embrace. The hug is awkward though not unpleasant. In fact, it is warm and comforting with Zhongli’s scent puffing to the air as he inhales deeply. What had been a threatening stench now is such a soothing scent, grounding - homely. His stiff hands slowly rise up to settle on the other’s back, returning the hug properly now.

It feels right.

“I...believe...” he hears and feels Zhongli murmurs, the hands gripping at him tightening, trembling, “...you’re sufficiently prepared for the next step...”


It is clear to Zhongli that he has been...presumptuous in deciding that they are prepared for the next step. It is rare for Rex Lapis to judge wrongly, to choose a decision based on instinct alone when intuitively, he knows that it could be incorrect. Yet that is what he had declared mechanically, before he laid Childe on the bed and peeled upon the first and only layer of his clothing.

The most important factor of this whole procession is to let the harbinger experience submission - well enough, he can pass off under the guise of an Omega. 

A fox hybrid is powerful in that regard; assuming a role, wearing a facade so convincing they are barely different from the original. 

But the raw, primal nature of all living beings, is stronger than the fox’s ability. They might look like one role, but they can’t hide their scent nor can they curb their instinctive reaction. The distinction between an Alpha and an Omega is too wide; the two ends of the spectrum line. There might be several tools to help, but even an Alpha fox can't perfectly disguise themselves as an Omega.

Which is why it is not strange in the slightest that his forceful stripping is met with a hiss and snapping teeth taking a bite at his fingers. Along with tousling over the bed, toppling over the bedside drawer and pulling the curtain until one side is ripped cleanly. The poor curtain is now pooling pitifully on the floor as they take their wrestling somewhere else. He doesn’t calculate the damage as he wrangles the harbinger into submission.

And when he finally has Childe - bare of threads - under his hands, panting and resigned to his touch, he has no time to assess the condition of his room. His hands are busy roaming across the expanse of exposed fair skin beneath him, counting the faint and new scars while leaving licks or little nips to the shuddering Alpha’s body. Never piercing through the skin; something that he finds as hard to do apparently.

Grooming, he recalls, is another hurdle to be overcome past scenting. 

Childe would have to get used to this. And by extension he, too, has to hold himself back every time he grooms the other Alpha.

That morning, he stares in quiet amusement at the broken antiques, torn curtains, spilled knicknacks all over the floor, as well as the crack in one of the bed’s legs - an amazing feat as he remembers that he had ordered the sturdiest wood to make the four-posts bed. Childe is still asleep by his side, hugging his bushy tail while exuding his scent. The pair of ears atop his head twitch unconsciously when he places a soft kiss between them--

He pulls away from the softness that is Childe’s fur and ginger locks.

How strange, he muses, that gesture has been unintentional. An instinctive reaction, perhaps? Seeing a potential mate laying on his bed, so vulnerable and open; too trusting of him. The request states to treat the harbinger like he would to his Omega, therefore - he leans back in, inhaling his own scent, mixing with Childe’s rainy fragrance - doing this to the Alpha is aligned with what had been asked from him.

His lips brush against the flushed forehead, leaving a fleeting peck as he rises up and goes about to start his day.

(Blue eyes snap open as the Alpha leaves the bed, blinking owlishly as a hand is raised up to touch where those lips had lingered)


Their...nights have become akin to an all-out battle with Zhongli’s room as the worst victim between them. Sure he has new scars and wounds, no doubt that Zhongli has inflicted on him out of necessity to suppress his retaliation. In return, he sometimes sees his own mark on Zhongli; fading, yes - as a god heals a lot faster than mere mortals - but they are clear as day on the prime adeptus’ skin. 

Yet all of those are no match to the sheer chaotic mess inside the room where he is being groomed by the other Alpha.

Broken glasses from the vase, ripped and torn threads from either the new curtains or their blanket. That doesn’t count how each morning, Zhongli has to request for a new bedding since the mattress where they ‘suppose’ to be sleeping on is shredded. The rug in the middle of the bedroom had been relocated after the first day as Zhongli states that cleaning bloodstains from the silken fabric requires a chemical substance that he doesn’t always have in hand as readily as other cleaning supplies.  

After three days of waking up to a trashed bedroom, Childe finally outright just asks Zhongli to beat him in a spar before they can move to the bedroom.

The former Archon gives him an incredulous look at his offer, taking a deep breath as he asks him a question, “You are pressed with time, are you not?”

“It’s just a change of venue. Imagine how much fun we can have while you exhaust me if we duke it out in the open area!”

Zhongli gives him a look, “Even if it is enjoyable, it could bring unnecessary wounds,” his hand is taken, the former Archon bringing it up to his face as if to inspect it before he feels something warm and damp on the spot where his gloves end, “...and I do not wish to bring you more harm than necessary”

That golden gaze is piercing his own and he involuntarily swallows. 

They hold gaze like so for a moment; him, losing amidst the depth of molten gold, holding something that he can’t identify and Zhongli seemingly fixated with his own faltering gaze. 

“I...” his mind is digging through words, through anything that will usually work to provoke the other party for a fight, “...consider it as a payment for tricking me for months!” he blurts out. 

Zhongli raises an eyebrow at this, a silent inquiry to elaborate that he’s going to purposefully ignore. If he has to be petty to get a taste of that Geo archon power, then he would act the petulant child. It may not work, but judging by the look on Zhongli’s eyes, the former Archon is, at least, considering his proposal.

A minute later, he has his promise for a spar in his grasp.


Wisely, he brings them far from the harbour, away from curious eyes and a distance away from the Adeptus’ abode. No need to alarm them by wreaking havoc near their domain, Liyue has plenty of empty hills and valleys to be recreationally destroyed. Or in short, everyone can have their space and they will still have enough to spar to their hearts’ content. 

Childe is standing across from him as he gives their surroundings one final check, making sure that no living being would interfere suddenly in the middle of their friendly spar. Then, he turns to the harbinger, his spear materializing faithfully in his grasp; its weight, a familiar burden to his hands. 

A smile appears on Childe’s face as he twirls an arrow made out of pure water. 

“Ready or not~”

Then the harbinger draws his bow, the arrow shines, rippling with concentrated hydro. In reciprocation, he launches himself to its path, earning an excited laugh from Childe’s lips as he reacts; the bow and its arrow melts into an amorphous water, rapidly shaping and forming into a spear of crystal blue water as his strike is met head on. 

Sparks of crystallized hydro burst forth and Childe’s grin only grows wider as his feet skid backward. 

And after that--

Ah, how long has it been since he let go like this? To dance once more in the battlefield, his spear as an extension of his hands to smite his enemies. He knows that this is a mere spar, that he will stop if things get worse, that if he wounds Childe too deep, too rough that blood spills excessively, he would cease everything and tend to the brazen fox. He even has a speech ready along with several medicines from the pharmacy.

But in this moment, now, as he swings his weapon, delighting when Childe meets it unfailingly with his own, dare Morax says that he... enjoys it? Minute after minute passes as they clash, manipulating elements to do their bidding just to create an opening for them to seize dominance over the other. He can feel the end of his spine itches, two spots underneath his hair tingling; signs that his restraint is breaking apart, that this mortal body is about to give way for his own true form.

Unfortunately, everything that has a beginning would have an ending. 

He can see it beginning as the sun rolls to the horizon, sending mere rays of light to the earth. Childe is still relentlessly rushing at him; spear of water clashing with his own, daggers made out of pure hydro thrown and caught with expertise that surprises even him. The harbinger would be a fearsome enemy to mortals, that one, he is certain of.

But Morax is a god. Still is, despite having himself stripped of the Archon title voluntarily. 

Childe might have fought with the ferocity of a beast, but against a god, even a beast would eventually cower.

It ends with him pinning the harbinger on the ground, watching intently as Childe pants heavily, weapon dissipating into tiny particles of water. There are cuts on his body, a few shallow ones - Zhongli makes sure that nothing too deep would wound Childe - and bruises from how many times he had been thrown. His spear is planted right beside the head; a declaration of triumph, a promise of threat should Childe refuses to yield.

A tiny sound escapes Childe’s lips. At first it is so faint it can barely be heard. Then it increases in volume as the harbinger’s chest rumbles. Soon a tear is formed at one corner of the ocean blue eye, lips parted to let out the lovely sound in full.

Zhongli’s breath hitches.

It’s a laughter; so sincere and beautiful, radiating with pure joy.

He is stunned, frozen in the moment as he watches how Childe’s eyes crinkle slightly, how his cheeks flush healthily as the ringing laughter echoes across the plain. Even the tip of Childe’s tail is flicking back and forth; the adrenaline rush has yet to leave his blood flow, judging from the quivering limbs.

"That was amazing!" exclaims Childe between his pants.

And Zhongli couldn’t help it, the steps are jumbled inside his mind, his voice is shaky with growls as he asks the important question: 

“Do you yield, Tartaglia?

Beneath him, the Alpha’s eyes widen. He must have noticed that underlying message, the thin thread of his conscience, stretched into a taut, on the verge of snapping apart. How it is open and accessible to him. A smirk is his answer, smug and taunting. Rain and citrus flaring out from his pinned prey as Childe replies him so confidently with two words, spoken like a challenge.

Make me~

It is without a pause nor clear mind that he descends on the fox’s lips; all teeth and saliva as he tries to devour the Alpha. For his part, Childe does not play a helpless prey despite his exhaustion. There are hands raking through his hair, scraping his scalp and pulling when he bites at the lower lip. Their growls reverberate across the air around them as he plunges without hesitation and is met with a nick from teeth to his tongue. 

The taste of blood mingles with their saliva as he retaliates with a scrape from his own fangs, subduing the cheeky tongue who teases him. Their lips shift, moved as he forcefully tilts the other’s head, slotting their lips together better until he can savor every inch of the hot, wet cavern of Childe’s mouth.

His hair is pulled harder, another hand tapping continuously at his nape in frantic rhythm as he feels Childe gasping for air. Mercifully, he breaks the kiss; a string of saliva pink with blood is what’s left between their parted lips, inches from one another. He hears the Alpha gulping greedily for air, his chest raising up and down in an attempt to replenish his lungs. 

Childe looks captivating like this, almost thoroughly debauched as he tries to reassert his breathing, glaring at him still with that challenging glint on his eyes as he moves closer and--

The taste of his own blood is a surprise even to him. But that triumphant look on Childe’s face; that bloody smirk as he licks the stain off of his lips…

He wants it twisted into undeniable pleasure.

Snappily, he dives down to let his teet-- no, fangs graze over the scent gland, prompting Childe’s hand to shoot at something to hold on, finding purchase on his long locks and nape. Below, the harbinger's legs have started to kick out, kneeing his stomach in an attempt to push him away from pinning the Alpha to the ground. He scoffs, slides his knee between the thrashing leg and pushes

That earns him a stutter in Childe’s breath, a quiet grunt - an opening that he immediately takes as he rips open the collar daring to stand in his way and finally takes a bite on that scarred patch of skin, leaving his mark on the shoulder.

He can see the tail swishing wildly, brushing over the grassy plain beneath them as Childe lets out a howl at his bite; pained. His tongue quickly laps over the bitten mark, tasting the blood and the raw taste of Childe in his mouth. It’s pleasant, he mulls, not sweet like an Omega would. Sharp and spicy, a bit sour even, but not intolerable. 

A growl, guttural and deep rattles Childe’s throat as those hands which are tangling between his locks have moved to his shoulder, settled into a position that would be perfect to push him away. He clicks his tongue and grabs one wrist, squeezing until the Alpha lets out a disgruntled whine, wincing visibly though not letting go of his shoulder.

Stubborn, he muses, and finally pulls, forcing the hand down to the grass with a surprisingly soft thud. One flash of gold later, a shackle of Geo has it pinned to the ground. Permanently. Morax does not need that free unless he permits it. He treats the other hand the same, chaining it down to the ground under the hiss and growl from Childe.

One hand shoots up as he cups the pinned Alpha’s face, thumb and index digging deep on that supple cheek, “Yield, Tartaglia!” he says, commands. The restraint he has put carefully around his nature as the prime adepti is slowly unravelling, crumbling into pieces as the harbinger beneath him only grins, squeezing him between his legs, trembling as they are. 

“And I already said that you should make me, sensei~”

That playful tone, unafraid - fearless as if he doesn’t know that he’s poking a dormant dragon with a stick. 

Was it purposeful? Was it unintentional? 

Is he doing this because he knows he’s kicking a carefully constructed wall between him and the god whose name once has been spoken in equal reverie and fear? Or is the harbinger doing this because he always charges straight ahead without fear?

Reconstructing the shackles is easy, a wave from his hand and it bends to his will. From there, it’s even easier for him to maneuver the exhausted body into a presenting pose; head pressed to the ground, arching back and hips raised. 

The classic submissive Omega pose, ready to be bred. 

And what a sight Childe makes: the beautiful bend of his back, the quivering white tipped ears atop his head, the curves of his ass topped with the thick and plump tail, which has straightened in surprise from the sudden change of position, before it curls down, between the legs. A pitiful attempt to hide what has yet to be revealed. 

Morax growls and from the base of his own spine, he can feel his own control dissolves. Thick scaly tail, tapered until it peaks into golden fur has slithered to view, twisting and coiling around the bushy tail. He can feel the softness of the fur, the quiver on its length before his own tail wrenches it away from its spot, pinning it to the curve of Childe’s back, the scaly appendage coiling around the waist, right over the peek of skin that his rucked up shirt exposes. 

The sight of that strip of creamy white entrances him, attracting his hand to push at the gray and maroon fabric, pulls the tail aside to show the bare curve of that back. Where the skin seamlessly shifts into fur; the base of that bushy maple tail. He gives the quivering tail a fleeting stroke, carding his fingers through its well-groomed fur before he ends up on the base, the odd spot between human skin and silky fox tail.

Here, he strokes firmly, watches in amusement when Childe’s hips jerk at the touch, legs smacking against his back as the harbinger opens his mouth and lets out a whine before it is muffled abruptly. For a moment, he keeps his fingers on this particular spot; back and forth it goes as he revels on every sound that Childe lets out, muffled as they are. 

Then, he moves, down, down along the spine as he reveals more and more, pushing the shirt up, up, until it reaches the shoulder blade. Here, he leans down, giving the faint scar there a testing lick before he takes a bite, leaving a single ring of red from his fangs and laps at the blood he draws. 

Underneath him, Childe shudders, the whines shifting into a series of warning growls.

He snorts, fingers dancing along from his contrasting mark across and down to the opposite side of the body, to the front where he squeezes over a pec, now barely covered by the clothings. His other hand takes a hold of the fabric, keeping it bunched up as he starts to roam the front blindly; brushing across the nubs and occasionally, intentionally slowing his exploration when he feels the Alpha’s breath quickens.

Childe’s chest is firm; muscled, yes, but still has that squishiness which seems to attest to how young he is, how youthful the harbinger is. He relishes the feeling under his hand, before he finally turns his attention to the peak of the chest. It’s unfortunate that he can’t see them from here - he gives it a pinch and Childe visibly flinches - but regardless of the lack of visibility, he can imagine.

Thumb and forefinger rolls one shy pink nub, squeezing and tugging as he occasionally breaks the momentum with a flick. It rapidly hardens from his touch, blooms into a bright sensitive red hue and oh, he’s starting to regret not being able to see . Once he’s satisfied with that, he switches to the other, flicking it first before twirling the hardening peak and pinches. 

He would like to see them later, he notes.

For now, he’s satisfied with how Childe reacts to his finger toying with them both. The fervent beat of his heart - that he can feel with a press over the chest - and the jerk of his hips every time he grazes over one sensitive nipple, followed by a muffled mixture of a growl and whimper. 

That growl piques his curiosity. It is not emitted out loud like a threat nor was it followed by the menacing wave of pheromone from Childe, which another Alpha would usually do under this circumstance. The ‘growl’ is let out almost like an afterthought, an obligation that even Childe might have forgotten the reason for. Even Childe’s scent is merely a lingering presence, subdued under his own.

A grin tugs at his lips, there goes step number four. 

As reward, he trails kisses back down the spine, then up to the base of the tail where he gives a teasing lick. This earns him a stuttering jerk from the tail. It doesn’t move, couldn't as his own is coiled tight around it. The fluffy tail is quivering adorably like a fox trapped between a dragon's claws; an apt metaphor considering who they each are.

“What a good little fox…” he murmurs, reveling in how Childe shivers; how he gradually relaxes, the thrashing legs slowing, either from the exhaustion finally catching up to him or the praise he whispers.

His hand tugs at the belt, gripping tight as he pulls them down with one single powerful heave to reveal the bare curve of the Alpha’s ass. He licks his lips as he pulls them further down, exposing slender thighs, marred with scars too just like the upper parts. Yet the sight makes his mouth water, a desire he rarely experienced bubbling into the surface of his mind as he relishes on more of Childe’s body being bared to his eyes.

Then he pauses.

Unconsciously, his hand moves to the inner thigh, the left one as he pushes it further to the left, separating the legs even further as his gaze is fixated at that spot between them. There’s the furled hole, hidden between the globe of Childe’s ass; tight and slightly pink. It definitely looks untouched, pure and virginal.

What had caught his eyes, however, is the spot above the hole, up the perineum where it should be smooth and covered with balls as most Alpha have. His fingers reach between them out of curiosity, tracing the moist seam and swallows as the folds reveal themselves to his sight. It looks equally untouched, as if it has recently been formed, carved into existence when before there was nothing there. Puffy lips along with the rosy color peeks over and he nearly sputters at the sight.

“Tartaglia, what have you--”

His words are cut off when Childe pushes his hips backward and his fingers delve between the inner lips, slippery with the flooding slick. He bites back a moan at how it feels, the thought of how that would feel, wrapped around him surges into his head and Zhongli wants . Twisting his fingers, he slides along the slicking folds, gathering as much wetness as he could. Childe lets out an occasionally muffled whimper as he does so, a rare whine slipping from his lips when he pulls away. 

But no, he would not touch there first…not in this foreign mirage of an opening.

Trail of slick is left along the perineum as his fingers return back up. One hand is gripping at the plump of Childe’s ass, pulling it to the side to show the tight rim of his hole. He presses his wet finger over the wrinkled opening. 

And beneath him, Childe stiffens.

The chain reaction is instantaneous; the rumble of a growl finally regaining its menacing nature as the fox strains against his restraint, bucking his hips in an attempt to throw him off. Easily, he presses his free hand on the bucking hips to quiet the Alpha, his tail squeezing harder on the bristling fox’s tail, “You’ve asked for a shortcut, no?” he murmurs, pressing harder, circling firmly to spread the slick as the hole slowly gives way, unfurling yet still too tight for him to breach, “...let me give you your desired shortcut, little fox...”

When one finger breaches into the tight entrance, the effort to throw him off doubles into something akin to desperation, scent sputtering into existence like a lash to clash into his own. He easily dispels such mindless effort with a push and a growl, letting his divinity seep out of him, ordering the young Alpha to submit. 

And oh, submit the Alpha does, whining as Zhongli pushes deeper, touching spots that Childe must have never been touched before, drawing voices that the harbinger rarely produced. The harmonious moans, the bend of his back or the contrasting flush on that fair skin - every little gesture that Childe makes looks heavenly

After decades of merely witnessing from the sidelines, Morax finally comprehends the satisfaction that is to make a mortal submit. 

One progresses into two as he thrusts in even more violently, intending to leave no spot untouched in that throbbing passage. He parts his fingers, scissoring the inside until the walls separate easily, clinging to his fingers when he pulls away and returns with three. His exploration bears fruit when at a certain angle, the tip of his middle finger pokes at something that feels different than the wet flesh of the canal. 

Something that wrenches a loud keen from Childe, louder than before, louder than the moan that the harbinger has let slip. That voice catches him off guard as he halts his motion, piecing the information together and with one finger, presses into that spot again. 

His fox keens so beautifully, singing an unholy tune.

He repeats this continuously, abusing the bump to no end, until Childe’s lips finally are free from shame; until the harbinger is pleading for him to stop , for more, for him to just do anything else but teasing him like this. 

So he does.

Childe whines when his fingers leave, the hole gaping slightly when he slips out, twitching when he dips a thumb and pulls one corner aside to peer at the pink inside. Beautiful, he declares, swallowing audibly at the way that passage pulses.

He doesn't know when exactly he starts to tug at his own pants as nothing else passes his mind aside from the burning need to be inside. To be nestled snugly between that spasming wall and claims the Alpha as his own. 

There is no need for steps anymore.

Tomorrow, he would look back in quiet shame at how Childe has managed to coerce him - a god -  to this raw primal state, driven only by instinct like a beast. 

But now? Now, he tears through his own fabric and freeing his desire to the world shamelessly. The air is thick with his pheromone, bathing the air around them as his cock slaps against the harbinger thigh, drooling precum all over the supple skin. His head is barely conscious enough to hold back on one last thing, the last strip of his moral conscience keeping his desire in. 

“Sensei?”

Not a minute later, his head is on that twitching entrance, pressing impatiently to make it yield, to stretch it open with his cock. Childe gasps at the feeling, swallowing as he calls out for him once more, a hesitant, “Sensei?” that he replies properly with a snap of his hips forward.

His cock pierces into that tightness without a single pause or break, ushered with Childe’s startled moan. The hole is greedily taking him in, throbbing all around his length as Childe whimpers, his fist curling on the ground, shaky. 

Then, with abandon, he moves. The passage is clinging to him, molded slowly into his shape as he fucks into that wet heat in brutal pacing. He hears the protest slipping from Childe’s lips in fragments, the way he tries to fight back, a valiant, but nonetheless vain effort. A hand moves to curl over the hard length drenched in arousal. It’s quite slippery, but worth the panicked gasp and instinctive cant of hips into his palm as he spoiled it with a pump, swiping the weeping head. 

A thrust to that previous angle shuts the Alpha perfectly, ripping that delicious moan out of him. A spot that once found, is abused thoroughly with continuous slams of his hips against the other, striking at that spot again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until Childe is whining, whimpering, the mewls pouring from his lips like honey; so sweet and addictive that it fuels the burning coil of heat in his abdomen.

Until the slap of skin against skin is deafening him from everything else, narrowing his focus to the sight and the sound of Childe, breaking apart from his cock. His hands are moving in perfect sync with his thrust, squeezing and sliding, fingers gliding over the crook beneath the wide cockhead.

Until their hips meet in one final thrust and he crashes into his peak, spilling his seed deep within Childe, flooding the burning inside with his desire, claiming the Alpha as his.

Until he watches Childe stiffen; taut as an obscene moan that sounds suspiciously like broken parts of his name reverberates the air. It is followed by the cock in his grasp tenses as something wet splatters to the ground and he grunts in satisfaction at the pool of translucent white beneath Childe, slick and cum mixed into one.

The high of pleasure leaves his mind fogged with arousal still, his back bends over the curve of Childe’s back so his lips could find spots to nip at on the vast expanse of marred back. Or licks at the sweaty flushed nape and nuzzles into the crook of Childe’s neck.

Heavy pants shake the harbinger's body, obscene mewls escaping Childe’s lips in stream as he leaves more licks and even nibbles at his shoulder and down to the shoulder blade where he admires his previous mark, giving it a kiss. The respite allows his body to cool down, his mind regaining its logic along with his conscience which immediately tries to grapple for control. 

In this lulling moment as he grooms the harbinger, a new scent graces the very air he breathes. 

It’s Childe, his instinct remarks helpfully; the undertone of citrus, the rain and the dew. It is distinctively Tartaglia's. Yet something else has coated over it: another scent, an additional layer blanketing the scent - something soft and equally sharp, but nearly cloyingly sweet.

Zhongli stiffens.

This is an Omega’s scent.

He looks at Childe: from the twitching perky ears to the swell of his ass and the hole from which he is still sheathed, his length probing deep inside. Nothing visible is changing, not yet--

"Hmngh!?"

As if on cue, the harbinger starts to tremble, a full body spasm erratically shaking the body beneath him. The shackled fists curl until his knuckles turn white.

Zhongli sobers up in a single second, pulling out as his shackles of Geo disperses into mere particles. Those hands are quick to grab at the sheet, gathering the fabric into a tight bunch under the curled fist. Carefully, he slides his hands between the fist and silk, prying them open as gently as he could so he can flip him, allowing him to see. 

Agony settles on the harbinger’s face, his ears folding down, pressed onto both sides of his head. And considering how high the harbinger's tolerance to pain is...

Celestia, he…

He has made a terrible, irreversible mistake.

A gut-wrenching cry spills from Childe’s lips and Zhongli immediately acts.

Brushing his hand over the tousled shirt, he presses his palm over the harbinger’s stomach. Connecting to his divine power in a single take of breath, he strokes over the toned stomach, repeatedly tracing over the shape of a mark. The hue of his mortal skin slowly peels over to make way for the climbing Geo branches criss-crossing up his arms to the tip of his fingers. Soil colored fingers finalize the mark and it glows, faintly.

But still the harbinger is scrunching in pain, attempting to curl in on himself to endure.

With gentleness, he tugs Childe into his embrace; his other hand is placed delicately to the squishy cheek, emitting soothing coolness in an attempt to comfort the harbinger. His finger repeats the treatment he did to the abdomen, tracing mark after mark to channel his power. To at least reduce the pain if only for a fraction.

There is a momentary struggle from Childe, a brief thrashing that requires him to loosen his hold for a bit. During this process, of course the Alpha would be vulnerable; they are, after all, shedding their authority in favor of a less dominant one.

He feels the itch from his head and knows that at this point, keeping hold of his power would only hinder his attempt to alleviate Childe’s pain. 

They’re far from Liyue, he reassures himself as another part of his mortal skin is shed, allowing golden carved horns to sprout between his dark locks. 

Now, he can focus to comfort his mate...


The change is painful.

It feels as if his body is being hollowed out, his organs being rearranged to make space for something he has yet to know. The agonizing pain is even worse than that time he broke his thigh during a mission. Dottore had a field day trying to fix his shattered bone during that time, which was both a fortune - that the doctor focused to find an immediate repair job - and a curse - that he had to subject himself under the doctor’s continuous examination. 

Being a fox means shifting appearances comes naturally for him, so he is not a stranger to modifying his own body. 

But this one, this particular shift as his Alpha gives way to another dynamic is both an internal and external modification. His stomach is pushed aside by something invisible, biological by nature, yet feels too magical and impossible to do by common people. It feels as if the very structure of his whole body is being deconstructed, changed to fit the new role. There's the new organ that forms beside his stomach; a little lower, a tight fit between his torso and the core between his legs.

He barely feels anything aside from the blinding pain, even his previous exhaustion has been pushed aside. 

Then, amidst the unbearable torture, as he thinks he might crack, a cold something is pressed onto his stomach; his vulnerable stomach, where his new organ is currently in the process of being formed. A hiss is about to spill from his mouth when a soothing wave washes over him. Protected, it says and he feels the presence of someone else; an Alpha. 

He almost surrenders himself to this feeling of warmth and safety, but another arm has tugged him into someone’s hold, a cooling palm taking hold of his cheek. His instinct screams at the sudden maneuver, mind fluctuating between ‘safety’ and ‘danger’, switching from one feeling to another faster than he can process them each. 

The embrace grows tighter, the familiar scent of earth and petrichor sweeping in as he inhales deeply. Comfort...a good mate...someone he has spent his nights with, has shared his bed nest with. A purr rumbles his throat as he puts a name over the scent:

Zhongli.

It’s Zhongli.

Morax, Rex Lapis, the former Geo Archon...

Zhongli…” he calls, an unspoken plea slipping in between each syllable.

“I’m right here...” Zhongli answers, gentle, but firm, full of reassurance as he is held tighter to that comforting scent, safer “... I’m here... ” 

And for once, the eleventh harbinger of Tsaritsa, the fearless vanguard that people fear and admire finally rests in a dreamless slumber.


When he was soothing the freshly turned Omega to a much needed rest - before he can transport them both safely back to his abode - he had prepared an apologetic speech for the morning after. He might not know how Childe would feel about the change, but to turn someone against their will into something else - a permanent change at that - is definitely not an acceptable behaviour among mortals. 

What he hadn’t been prepared for is how he wakes up to a series of moans and the sight of the Omega by his side on their shared bed. With legs obscenely wide open, hands digging between them as wet squelches echo in the air and no, there is no doubt in his mind of what Childe has been doing. Even the ears atop his head are twitching to the movement of his fingers, hips gyrating into - how many are there - the fingers inside him. 

He watches, transfixed at the way Childe plugs his mouth with his own hand, muffling each and every enchanting voice he lets out while the fingers that are currently squeezed between his legs move in an almost exasperated motion. The tail beneath is swaying to a rhythm of its own, wild and untamed; excited.

“Tartaglia?” 

Those eyes are fluttering open, showing a pair of fogged ocean blue orbs, glazed over with pure lust and--

Morax tries willingly to bite back a growl. The scent that is emitted from the Omega is mouthwatering; sweet, slightly sour, but inherently Childe in his purest essence. Coated with wants, with carnal desire; unrestrained and open for him to take. 

It dawns in his mind that the Omega has barrelled straight to his first heat after the physical change has settled in - like what a mortal Omega would experience upon presenting for the first time. 

Primal instinct takes hold of his choice of action from then on. Tackling Childe to the bed, ripping the hand away from his prize and watches shamelessly how his mark glows on the spread of Childe’s stomach. The labia beneath which is spread open like unfurled flower petals, glistening with slick. He hungers, he wants -  his tongue unconsciously moves to lick a stripe for a taste and he nearly moans at how sweet it is on his taste bud.

Above him, Childe reacts instantaneously, reaching out to grab at his head. One hand is scraping against his scalp, clawing in desperation for him to go further. While the other is wrapped around his horn and squeezes. That touch sends his instinct to derail from common sense and returns his mouth back to that soaked lower lips before the lewd, slurping sound from where his lips are in contact reverberates across the room.

A good Omega deserves an equally good reward.

With his fingers, he keeps the folds parted wide for him to feast from, partaking at the copious amount of honeyed slick being produced incessantly - drinking every single drop of it like a parched creature finally finding an oasis. Childe sings as he slides his tongue across the inner lips, enjoying the way his Omega slowly melts into the bed, grinding into his tongue with a sigh. There’s a shy touch on his wrist as that soft fox tail slither to coil around his wrist as if wanting him to stay.

Adorable, he smirks, resuming his lavish breakfast with gusto. Occasionally, the double tapered tip of his tongue gets caught at the hole in its core. Where the slick must have been pouring out like flood. He teases it, dipping yet not breaching, earning himself more frustrated growls and broken pleas. From the “Please!” to the insisting, “More” that is repeated continuously as the tail around his wrist tightens, quavering.

But he stays from the entrance, ignoring it in favor of lapping at the slick around it instead.

When the peering nub crowning the folds is revealed, he latches onto it, sucking the shy bud until Childe keens as the pair of thighs squeeze his head between them as if to keep him there, make him stay to please the Omega.

“More...” Childe purrs, fingers pulling at his hair, his horn, holding his face to the wetness that is dribbling even more when he gives more.

Switching his tongue with his fingers, he pinches at the clit, tongue delving through the slicking inner labia before finally ending it with a teasing dip into the flooding hole -  a shallow breach. Childe whines at his teasing, the beginning of a protest is at the tip of his tongue before Zhongli easily slips into his entrance, serpentine tongue dragging across the throbbing walls.

The Omega tastes even more like sweet honey the deeper he goes, his slick generously flooding his tongue as he explores the passage, memorizing the shape and spots that makes Childe mewls with pleasure. One spot in particular is located rather deep; nigh impossible to be reached with a human's tongue - but it has given him the best reaction out of the Omega: an open mouthed moan that is quickly followed by the hard squeeze from the spasming canal. 

What's more adorable is how the bushy tail - coiled around his wrist still - has started to tremble cutely, its tip swinging wildly like the pulses all around him.

Everything he does is out of his instinct; nothing logical or intelligent is affecting his choice of action. 

He is doing what any aroused Alpha would do in the vicinity of an Omega in heat; provoked by nothing but his proclivity to find pleasure. A drag of his tongue across that spot, the flick of his finger against the tiny swell of sensitive nerves atop the folds. Everything he does is purely from that inherent carnal desire and nothing else.

Childe's voice has started to crack when he nudges at that spot again. The Omega's composure has already been broken, but now he is shamelessly grinding his hips to the former Archon's face, desiring more, pleading more. 

Those enticing lips are parting to let out a vulgar, "Zhon--Zhongli," with a hiccup intervened only by moans, "...w-wait ahhngh- too much, wai-- hnghhyaahh~" 

Something wet splatters out from the hole, drenching half his face and filling his nose with the sweet scent of the Omega. At first, it has stunned him; the sight, the voice, everything has stunned him into the near drunken stupor he’s currently in. 

Oh...Childe has climaxed…his mind helpfully supplies.

Thoughtlessly, he laps at the slick, from the cunt to the one staining around his lips and by the Heavens, if the flowers of the gods can produce a nectar, this would be how it tastes like.

There is little rational thought going through his mind when his fingers replace his tongue, entering the loosened hole with no actual logical intention but pure instinct. The inside is so, so hot and moist, slick easing his entry as Childe’s hips jerk, chasing after him.

Zhongli continues, sliding in through the familiar passage until he reaches the spot he remembers so well. Here, he slides out, shy away from the sensitive spot, barely grazing them. Childe lets out a confused whine at that; overstimulated, yet wanting more. He gives the Omega a shallow thrust, playing, teasing around the edge, never firmly touching that throbbing spot.

“Zhongli, please...” he hears Childe pleads, hips canting forward to chase after his touch. 

Expertly, his fingers dance around where the Omega needs the most. Making sure that it grows even more pliant, dipping and circling the tip of his finger over the rim and in, but never truly breaching in. He needs Childe to be relaxed - it has to be painless...

Abruptly, his hand is pulled away, as a frustrated growl rings to his ears and he finds himself face to face with the Omega. Eyes as deep and dark as the ocean depth itself, glossed with unshed tears and the contrasting red hue of a flush across that fair complexion. A hand cups his face, set it firmly until it would take effort for him to avert his gaze. 

“You’re too slow, Morax...” Tartaglia hisses.

With startling strength, he is pushed down to the bed as the Omega smoothly climbs onto his lap, thighs spread wide to give him the sight of that beautiful, glistening cunt, pressed against his cockhead. A grin appears on the Omega’s face and then-- 

Zhongli wants to fuck into that wet heat, drives his cock up until Childe screams for his name.

Each and every drop of Childe’s hips he meets with a snap of his own, emitting sharp wet slap of skin to skin each time they are joined as one. That pretty pussy is practically drooling all over his cock, spurting drops of slick into his stomach when Childe plunges himself into his erection, hands digging to his torso to support himself.

“Haahhh-- you’re so d-deep-- Ahnng? That’s--”

The head of his cock bumps into something further up, pass the spasming wall and the bundle of sensitive nerves that sends stars behind Childe’s eyes.

“Your womb…” he imparts, snapping his hips even harder at the thought of breaching into that tight entrance as the Omega in his lap gains another hue redder. It stubbornly stays close, not yielding even as he continuously ramming into it, taking hold of Childe’s hips so he can, in some way, control how powerful his next thrust would be. His knot has started to swell from the raw instinctual needs seething underneath his abdomen.

Breed, it whispers as Childe rolls his hips teasingly. Breed , it repeats as Morax thrusts powerfully upward that the Omega chokes and sputters. Breed him, the womb’s entrance shudders, opens up a little, but has yet to relent from his persistent assault.

At this point, he knows not of the conscience he should have kept intact. 

His world consists of only Childe on his lap, bouncing on his cock as he grinds into that virginal tightness. The silken heat around his length added with the twist of pleasure on Childe’s face, his beautiful moans and desire being spoken so openly, so obscenely from those lips…

Zhongli leans forward amidst the haze of arousal, teeth and fangs hovering over the scent gland; waiting, like a predator to a prey. When Childe impales himself down in his next drop, he rams himself upward to meet his mate’s hips and the tip of his cock actually punches through that second entrance as the Omega climaxes with a howl. Yes, he thinks, enjoying how his cockhead is immediately squeezed in that brilliant heat. Milked, as Childe grinds into him, rides the rest of his climax until he is sated.

The erratic clenching and unclenching from those wet walls in turn drives him to continue, giving a practiced thrust once before he lifts the slouching harbinger up from his cock. Childe is trying to clench around him, a panicked look flashes briefly across his face before he lets go and the Omega plummets.

“No- hahhhn, Zhog...ohg--, m-much too, too mu --unhhg-- uch, hahh!”

This motion he repeats, chasing after his own peak as with each thrust that welcoming womb allows him further entry. The moans that Childe emits, begging for him both for more and to stop only spurring him to go harder, to thrust harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. His release slams into him abruptly, when the harbinger keens, back arching as his climax catches him off guard as well.

He paints the deepest spot inside Childe white with his seeds as he locks them together with his thick knot.

He...doesn’t come down easily from this. Even Childe has to catch his breath, giving a testing squeeze on his knot - which he jolts at from how pleasant that minute shift is - before he slumps into his hold and they spend their time merely embracing one another; rubbing their scent together until it is blended into one.

When he wakes up next, it is to the sight of Childe leaning on the pillow.

Two slender hands are pulling at those two thighs, spreading them into a wide enticing V that seems to attract anyone’s attention straight to what lies in between. The puffy lips of a used cunt, filled to the brim that it spills the white of his cum-- no, no that wouldn’t do

The last of his restraint is unraveled and he has the pleasure of seeing those tempting ocean blues shifting from widening with surprise to the sultry half lidded gaze filled with wanton desire as he places one of his cocks between the lips of the Omega’s cunt.

They don’t come out of his abode for at least a week.


"I sincerely apologize, Childe…"

Childe blinks at the declaration, taking in the deep, regretful bow that Zhongli has assumed readily, the morning after the last of his heat is flushed out from his system. When he finally has enough control over his senses other than wanting to be stretched open by the Alpha’s cock.

“I have...failed to rein in my instinct, to cease my action before you underwent the change,” Zhongli mutters, his tone is filled with deep regret, a sincere remorse for being incapable of doing something that the former Archon had apparently thought as impermissible, “...I will take full responsibility of your transformation, you need not worry about how to explain this to the Tsaritsa for I will elaborate this to her myself”

While that sounds perfectly reasonable and tempting - imagine him: a mortal, being able to drag Zhongli, a god, to try and explain that said god was being too horny to the goddess whom Childe serves that it results in a permanent consequence - he finds it as unnecessary. Being an Omega or an Alpha does not quite matter to Childe. After all, he has yet to find many who can defeat him with the ease that the funeral consultant and the traveler does and he doubts that his new status as an Omega would diminish his strength. Inconvenience him, perhaps, but nothing that would cripple him permanently.

In fact, he smirks at the sight before him, perhaps being an Omega has its own advantage...

He raises a finger to poke at Zhongli’s lips, a silent request for the Alpha to be quiet for a moment. Zhongli blinks, confused yet obedient

“First thing first, do you regret it?”

Zhongli immediately shakes his head, firm in his gaze and tone as he opens his mouth and answer with, “No, I will never feel regret for our bond”

He watches the Alpha intently, trying to read behind the sincere gaze, the firm answer. When he finds not a single shred of doubt, he smiles and nods.

“Second, while I appreciate your intention to convey this bizarre event to the Tsaritsa, I am perfectly capable and coherent enough to tell Her highness of what had happened and the reason it did happen,” he pokes at Zhongli’s nose, chuckling when the half dragon scrunches his nose, “...and finally...” he trails off, smirking smugly as he pulls at Zhongli’s arm and brushes the shell of a pointed ear with his lips and speaks…

...before releasing him and stepping back still with the smirk tugging at his lips.

That look on Zhongli's face is priceless.

He would love to test how far he can tease the god, but for now he has another person to seduce and a slew of crews to mess with his new dynamic.


Zhongli takes a deep, slow breath, controlling the Alpha in him who roars at that declaration. 

“Little troublemaker fox...” he says fondly, an unwitting smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he watches the Omega leave with a nonchalant wave of his hand and a lazy sway of his tail.

 

“I’ve never said that I would be opposed to being bitched, no?”