Archive of Our Own ^beta

Giyuu had heard, once, when some humans came visiting with their long sticks and cameras, that penguins mated for life.

He supposed that was true.

After all, he had mated with a very loud and fierce alpha, and he had no intention of trading him for anyone else.

But sometimes—just sometimes—he wondered if the universe had been laughing when it paired him with Sanemi.

Because really, who else could bellow loud enough to make the whole rookery look up?

It wasn’t only him, though.

His neighbor, Shouto, was in the same situation. Another quiet omega, another loud, ridiculous alpha. Maybe it was fate. Maybe the gods of the sea had looked down and thought: let’s give these soft-spoken omegas someone who can scream loud enough to scare the seals away.

So now here they were.

Two omegas, side by side, each sitting carefully on their eggs. Giyuu’s had come three days ago, round and warm under the careful shelter of his body. Shouto’s was a week old, safe beneath him as he shifted slightly, keeping it warm.

It should have been peaceful. The wind was sharp, but the sun glinted off the snow. The smell of salt clung to the air. A few other penguins waddled nearby, cooing at their mates.

But no.

Instead of peace, they were treated to the glorious sound of their alphas screaming.

About a fish.

“That’s MY fish, you icy bastard!” Katsuki’s voice rang out across the colony, wings flapping furiously. His orange-and-black feathers bristled as he lunged forward, trying to peck at Sanemi.

“YOURS?!” Sanemi shrieked right back, his beak snapping dangerously close to Katsuki’s face. “I caught this damn fish myself, you spiky-haired shitbird!”

“You waddled over it after I dropped it!” Katsuki snarled. “That’s stealing, you fish-thief!”

“It slipped out of your dumb beak!” Sanemi flared his wings, puffing his chest out. “Finders keepers, asshole!”

The two alphas collided chest-first, sliding clumsily across the ice as they squawked, pecked, and flailed at each other. Other penguins shuffled out of the way, pretending not to watch while very clearly watching.

Beside them, Shouto blinked slowly. “Why they… always do this?”

“I don't know,” Giyuu said quietly.

A pause.

“…Should we stop them?” Shouto asked, tilting his head, his red-and-white feathers catching the light.

“No,” Giyuu replied, shifting slightly over his egg. “They’ll stop when they get tired.”

Sure enough, Katsuki slipped on a patch of ice, squawking furiously as Sanemi tried to pin him with his beak.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Katsuki screeched.

“BRING IT ON, EXPLOSION-FEATHERS!” Sanemi screamed back.

Shouto blinked again. “…They’ll wake the whole rookery.”

“They already have,” Giyuu murmured, watching as several penguins rolled their eyes and waddled farther away.

It wasn’t that Giyuu disliked his alpha. In fact, he loved Sanemi dearly. Sanemi was fierce and strong, the kind of penguin who could fight off rivals twice his size and still have the energy to bring home fish afterward. He was loud, yes—but he was also loyal, protective, and warm when he settled down beside him at night.

The problem was just… he was Sanemi.

And Sanemi plus Katsuki was like pouring oil on a fire.

Shouto seemed to understand.

“They’re very similar,” Shouto said calmly, as if stating a fact about the weather. “Both loud. Both stubborn. Both… unreasonable.”

“Yes,” Giyuu agreed softly.

The alphas screeched louder, tumbling across the ice again.

“…Do you think,” Shouto asked slowly, “that they’ll remember they both already caught fish earlier?”

“No,” Giyuu said.

Shouto nodded once. “Me neither.”

The fight raged on.

At some point, Katsuki managed to grab the fish in question, holding it triumphantly in his beak.

“HA! IT’S MINE, YOU SNOW-BRAINED LOSER!” he yelled, muffled through the fish.

“GIVE THAT BACK, YOU DAMN THIEF!” Sanemi lunged after him, wings flapping like a storm.

They clashed again, sliding dangerously close to where a few younger penguins were trying to nap. The youngsters squawked in annoyance, flapping at them to shut up.

But of course, neither alpha cared.

Shouto sighed, shifting over his egg carefully. “I sometimes wonder if mating for life was a mistake.”

Giyuu glanced at him. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” Shouto said simply, looking down at the smooth shell beneath him. His feathers softened, his voice gentler. “He’s loud. He’s irritating. But he brings me fish. He keeps me warm. He looks at me like I’m the only penguin in the world.”

“…Yes,” Giyuu murmured, a small warmth spreading in his chest. “Same.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the chaos in front of them.

Eventually, both alphas collapsed onto the ice, panting. Katsuki still clutched the fish in his beak, glaring daggers at Sanemi. Sanemi glared back, his chest heaving.

“Not—giving—up,” Katsuki puffed.

“Over—my—dead—body,” Sanemi wheezed.

A pause. Then, very faintly—

“…Wanna split it?” Sanemi muttered.

Katsuki squawked. “HELL NO! IT’S MINE!”

And the fight began again.

Giyuu lowered his head against his chest, sighing. Shouto tilted his head in quiet sympathy.

“They’ll tire eventually,” Giyuu said.

“Yes,” Shouto agreed.

“And then,” Giyuu added, watching as his alpha slipped on the ice for the fifth time, “they’ll come back and sit beside us like nothing happened.”

Shouto nodded. “…Bringing us whatever fish is left.”

“Mm.”

They sat together, silent sentinels over their eggs, while the loudest alphas in the colony continued to prove—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that yes, penguins mated for life.

Even when life meant screaming at each other over a fish.

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End.