Chapter Text
There's a quiet cloud of hushed voices that falls over the group of Omegas as they spot Dokja enter their vicinity.
Dokja tries not to let it get to him. It was the same the previous year, and the year before, and before that. Increasing in intensity, but present regardless. The spectacle of an Omega gone unclaimed for four years in a row is barely less exciting than the event they've all gathered for in the first place.
A mating run.
As far as matchmaking went, there wasn’t room for it to get any weirder.
Once every year, following some age-old tradition of changing seasons bringing about new presentations and fresh ‘meat’, a town or city would list down all unmated Omegas and Alphas. They’d contact them, request—or force—them to participate. Then, they'd decide on a place. That step took far less time than the previous one.
Omegas and Alphas (mostly Omegas) would try to dodge it for endless reasons, but the authorities could be very convincing.
Then, they’d gather at the place. And run. Omegas would go first, try to hide or ready their nerves for what was to come.
Alphas would follow. And claim.
Most of the participants would ideally walk out mated or claimed, bonded for life.
A very animalistic way to go about deciding who bonds with who, and criticised for being so, but the people in power—Alphas—loved it.
The thrill of hunting down an Omega and biting into their nape, claiming them as yours. To be on the fields, like their ancestors were thousands of years ago, to chase, corner and conquer an Omega. Alphas not only loved it, but they also ensured the practice would continue as long as it could, and stay as true to the original as it could. It had only been a few decades since they'd made it illegal to film the claims.
Back then, when the phenomenon came into existence, humans must've had access to an endless expanse of forest lands, spoiled for choice. Omegas would be seeing these lands for the first time in their lives. They’d be lost, scared and distressed. Full of pheromones, easy to hunt.
These days, not so much. Smaller lands, the land being a public park, outside of being a mating ground. If you ran more than one or two times, you could probably memorise the forest layout.
Not that anyone ever did. An Omega, near heat, unmated and ready to claim? No Alpha could ever say no to that. Most of the time, Omegas found a mate the first time.
Dokja felt the weight of a few more eyes on his back as he pretended to be on his phone, queuing up to get registered and tested.
None, except him, of course.
The line got shorter. Dokja was almost done. Someone whispered his name once again, but hadn't controlled their voice, so it came out too loud. Dokja looked up from his phone. A squeak and a hush followed it. Dokja unlocked his phone to check the time once more.
Dokja was now in his mid-twenties. Not a bad age by any measure. Not too young, or old. But in the world of Omegas who had Alphas crawling on their knees for attention a second after they presented, Dokja had been nothing but an anomaly in his small town, where everyone knew everyone else.
Lacklustre at best, and a disappointment to his gender at worst.
After all, he might soon be the world record holder for participating in the most mating runs without an Alpha ever stopping to even sniff him.
Not that the world knew the latter part. They just knew that he was unwanted and had gone unclaimed for five straight years. Technically four, but soon to be five.
What would change this time that hadn't in half the decade before this?
Still, he kept his expression neutral as he leaned down to sign the consent form. When he turned, he saw multiple young Omegas staring at him, their eyes, still young and naive, unlike his colder, harsher stare, were curious. There wasn’t any malice, just a subtle trace of interest. The sort of interest you direct at a mildly interesting book you know won’t change your life, but will ease your boredom and nerves. Maybe to them, he was a museum relic whose secrets they couldn’t help but try to discern the truth of.
The character from a folktale that parents warned their children about.
The volunteer helping him sign up, who clearly didn’t know about him, asked: “Have you ever participated in a run before? Would you like to—” She looked at his name. Perhaps she knew his name, but not his face.
“Oh.”
He sighed.
This is why Dokja had left this town three years ago.
Nothing ever changed here. People's minds hovered around the same old piece of gossip, regurgitated and modified to sustain months of excitement in their otherwise monotonous lives. Instead of the daily troubles the city brought, their issues were constant, repetitive. Dokja would prefer it if their world moved fast, too. Then, he'd be forgotten and left alone.
Even like this, slow and arduous, what ever changed?
Dokja's friends chided him when he expressed the opinion that nothing would be different every time he went on a run. To Dokja, it was the conclusion everyone else seemed too scared to voice out. Out in the city, it was far more accepted to be an unclaimed Omega. Not having anyone interested in you, or not wanting romance in your life at the moment. People understood and moved on. No one looked at you with pity or interest.
No one looked at you like they were wondering if there was something wrong with you.
Dokja wouldn't mind love. He wouldn't mind an Alpha.
By now, he’d come to accept that he was never meant to have any. A clear conclusion that sometimes weighed him down, but an obvious answer the people around him wouldn't let him scribble down as his ending, so he could close his chapter of romance.
Usually unassuming with his lack of scent and aloof countenance, he'd become the anomaly that ruined his town's perfect hundred per cent pairing streak and drove the authorities crazy. Still, day after day, they called him, trying to promise him he would find someone. How he was affecting the balance, tilting the scales. They'd harass him until he promised to participate.
And when he'd walk out of the grounds with no mark and no Alpha, their faces would fall.
As if they were the ones destined to die alone.
“Really? Five years? But he doesn't look so—” A soft voice, gentle, unlike their words, sounding older than the others, perhaps Dokja's age, drifted past the quiet silence of anticipation.
He smiled, to no one in particular. Empty.
Dokja could try to get a boyfriend. Maybe a beta, or a widowed Alpha. But it didn't work like that. Dokja would have to go out of his way to approach a partner, and he'd never seen or met anyone whom he'd want to do that for. No one approached him because, well, Betas usually preferred to date one another, and Alphas prioritised scent above anything else.
Dokja had none.
It was no wonder that he wasn't claimed.
Truth be told, once, Dokja had dreamed of it too. He'd not always been the pessimist who caused people to roll their eyes. To be wanted, for someone to be overcome with such animalistic desire, they'd lose their minds at the thought of him not being theirs.
Looking around at the bright eyes of the Omegas around him, he was sure they felt the same. But life had proved otherwise. His life. No one was coming. No one ever would.
He'd waited, in that lush greenery maintained to sustain a feral desire to claim and fuck, he'd waited. It was a beautiful spot, usually open to the public with guided tours. Dokja knew it enough to know the best hiding spots and the most scenic ones. He knew enough to know the best hiding spots that had scenic views. He doubted anyone knew better than him.
The tree on the northern border of the land that overlooked the mountains. The small hill you could trek to see a river in the distance. Dokja had waited there. He'd seen the sunsets, the slow drifting of a fallen leaf. Between the sounds of grunts, screams and moans, he'd waited.
No one came. Four years. Four years was a lot of disappointment to bear for one person.
It was when Dokja was looking at the vast stretch of green in front of him that it happened. A strange veil of silence fell upon the opening where they were gathered.
Usually, Omegas get a head start for the run, due to their physical disadvantage in comparison with Alphas. Why would such a disadvantaged person be forced to run to escape the same Alphas later on? No one wanted to answer. Regardless, they usually went first. Chivalry. Though this meant that usually Omegas didn't get to see the faces of the Alphas they’d be participating in until one was running towards them at full speed.
This time, the Omegas had gathered in this small opening near the forest as the event volunteers made last-minute changes. The event was in public and with no restrictions on entry except to the main mating ground and forest, so anyone could look at the new batch of Omegas and take their pick.
Including the Alphas that would run with them. This time, due to renovations, the place Alphas had gathered was far closer than expected, so the Omegas could have a look at the Alphas as well.
Dokja had once heard that this was when most Alphas selected their Omegas. Of course, there were some Omegas a lot of Alphas would be vying for, for multiple reasons. A good scent, beautiful face, sensual body, and the works. The other Alphas would know their favourite was in high demand, so it would increase the stakes. Make it more exciting. Stroke the ego of the Alpha who would get chosen.
But Dokja wasn't sure. He'd just heard a few mentions online and between couples he met. He had no experience of being vied for or fought for.
With a quick look around, Dokja realised that most of the Alphas gathered looked like typical… Alphas. Nothing to write home about. Dokja was curious what was causing the low simmer of quiet excitement amongst his group. He was tracking their gaze as he turned around to stare with the rest of them towards a particular spot.
And when he found the reason why, he stilled.
It wasn't just his body. It felt like the world itself had come to a still, like hitting pause on a movie. His breath caught, and his right leg weakened, causing him to lose his balance and almost stumble.
With a single glance, he understood why everyone had gone quiet.
In the small area where Alphas had gathered, a man had just entered. He was near a black car, talking to someone with his head leaned down. The car would be just a regular car if not for that bright logo that signified its value. But rich Alphas weren't rare enough to warrant this response.
It wasn’t the money. It was the man himself.
Dokja had turned too late, so he wasn’t able to see the man before he joined the group of Alphas. He only saw him in glimpses, like the pieces of a puzzle he had to complete himself. Dokja felt his heart rate spike from excitement. It wasn’t just him. He smelled pheromone levels increase around him.
He was tall. Tall enough to be visible in the group of equally tall Alphas. He was walking through the crowd, head going from left to right, as if looking for someone. With this constant movement, Dokja couldn't get a look at his face yet. But through flashes, quick and blurry, he could tell this man was beautiful. Perhaps one of the most beautiful men he'd seen. Beautiful enough that the country was doing wrong by its citizens to not broadcast his face to the whole world.
He was also very well built, his muscles wide and rippling through the constraint of his shirt every time he walked. His shoulders were wide and well-proportionate when compared to his height. He wasn’t the tallest, bulkiest or the strongest looking Alpha around. But he was the most attractive.
Something unknown and foreign simmered at the ends of Dokja’s stomach. The man was a beauty like no other. The way his shoulders stayed taunt and straight when he moved, the straight line of his back and the curve of his waist as he walked. It was that quiet restraint of power. The sensual nature of his walk, confident and poised.
It wasn’t just Dokja who thought that, either. Nearly every Omega around him had turned to look, their gazes following him, bodies turning like boats dancing to the tune of a wild tsunami.
The man had walked until he was behind just a few men, almost at the barricade that circles the ground where Dokja stood.
It was only then that he looked straight ahead. Finally, Dokja got a good look at his face. The heels of his feet, which he found were hurting thanks to him standing on his toes, touched the ground. Placing the last pieces together to form a picture, Dokja finally got a good look at his face. From the eyebrows that had previously hid behind a passing Alpha earlier, from the nose that formed a perfect side profile. From eyes he’d been unconsciously craving to look into.
And what a face it was. Flawless, perfect to a degree where you’d think he was crafted instead of born like the rest of them. His dark eyebrows, with a strong set of eyes now set in a hard stare, as if the man was looking for something, like he was bothered by not finding it.
Dokja’s first thought was wondering how those eyes would look in the throes of desire.
Dokja shifted on his feet. He felt something drip from his opening. The man sniffed the air, inhaling a large breath of the air around them, closing his eyes. His eyebrows furrowed. Dokja imagined he was concentrating. He stared, more shameless and upfront about it. He had a perfect nose, too, set straight. Followed by the ideal nose bridge and lips that were set in a straight line. What would they look like when he smiled? How would they feel to kiss?
For the first time, Dokja understood the desire the world kept reassuring him came easily to Omegas. He wanted that man; he wanted to be pinned down by him. He wanted those lips to bite down on his nape and claim him. He wanted—
The man’s eyes snapped open. His head turned, stopping directly towards the direction Dokja was standing. His eyes glinted with a golden light. He’d turned so fast it looked like it hurt.
And then, he stared directly into Dokja’s eyes.
Dokja’s breath caught. A scent of wood and smoke drifted past his nose. Warm, inviting, like a fireplace, contrasted with the near-suffocating scent of smoke. Burning fire, all-consuming and empowering. His heart, so unused to excitement or anticipation, started beating again. It thudded against his chest. All of a sudden, there was him, and this man, and no one else. Not the other Omegas, not four years of disappointment. Just them. The man didn’t blink, maintaining eye contact. His nostrils flared, as if he was breathing very deeply.
A soft want, stifled and pushed aside for years, rose. Like a weathered plant finding an oasis, it grew. Dokja couldn’t help but get ahead of himself as he blatantly stared back at the man.
A whistle cut the tension. Heads turned towards the volunteer, asking them to get ready to run. With it, a voice.
“Oh, Jihyung, he’s looking over at you!”
Dokja was surrounded by Omegas. Beautiful, young Omegas. All were standing in front of him. All standing in the same direction, the man was looking at.
Dokja looked away. From the corner of his eye, he stole another look. The man hadn’t stopped looking. Dokja’s anticipation settled.
The Omegas all turned to look at the volunteer, stealing glances just like Dokja.
It was time to run.
Dokja is sitting at the base of a tree he found the second time he ran when it happened. He's at a secluded spot near the northwestern border, close enough to the exit, were it not for a mountain range cutting off his, or anyone's, exit. He’s relaxed, a bit irritated, but completely defenceless.
He's surrounded by quiet tranquillity, eclipsed by the soft flutter of winds when he hears it. A faint rusting behind him.
Unlike the other participants of the run, Dokja doesn't react or panic. It wouldn't be the first time someone has passed by him and ignores him completely as they chase the actual Omega they want. Though he doesn’t blame his fellow Omegas. The first few times, he'd reacted with surprise, too. He's used to it now.
He sighs and continues to read, having been allowed to carry his book in a bag like all Omegas are. Alphas aren’t allowed anything. His phone's long died, having been two days since the run began. Dokja chose this spot for its seclusion and quiet, but he figures an Alpha got lost on their way to their mate, so he shifts and tries to ignore it.
Only the sound doesn’t move away. The anticipated distant footsteps get closer. Dokja’s spine straightens.
There’s something about it, the way it moves, almost slithering towards him. In mere seconds, the sound has gone from being half a hundred meters away to a few meters. Dokja hasn’t heard anything in the middle of that closing distance, so he knows the Alpha, or maybe someone else, is allowing him to hear it.
Against his better judgment, he takes the bait. He turns his head around.
There’s no one there.
Dokja’s neck chills. For some reason, he thinks of the far and few cases where Omegas get killed on these runs, and why there have to be stricter background checks for them.
Though there wouldn’t be a murderer in this small town. But if there is, Dokja is an orphaned Omega who the entire town is aware of for being a failure as an Omega. As far as easy targets go, he’s basically presented himself for the kill.
Goosebumps rise, from the spine to the back of his neck, where his flat gland is. He takes in a breath. It’s highly unlikely that this person is a murderer. Dokja cannot be that unlucky. But it’s clear they are threatening Dokja with something.
It’s either a threat, or the Alpha is trying to give him chase. But giving chase, that is, prompting an Omega to run, is a way of courtship. Dokja has never been courted. He hasn't even been asked out.
Thinking of romance causes a man’s face to appear in his mind.
He shakes the thought away. Not the time.
Dokja smells fire. The smell is reminiscent, but Dokja's mind is elsewhere. There's a suffocating sense of dread creeping over his shoulder. It’s dreadful tasting smoke, usually used to invoke fear in others. Impatient and immature, it doesn’t present itself in any other way. It slithers down from his shoulder to wrap itself around his torso, his waist, as if trying to drench his entire self in it. Impatient and anxious, it doesn't hold back its own sense of danger; it doesn’t modify itself to be palpable and sweet. It instead woefully caresses him, trying to make him theirs.
Dokja doesn’t know that this dread had marked him long before today, or the day before. It was in that opening that firewood and smoke had sneaked into his self, nudging and burying itself in him. His body, long accustomed to it, doesn’t sense the intrusion. Wouldn’t have, were it not for the satisfaction that their owner exhibited at finally tracking him down.
In his fear, he forgets to control his pheromones. He has so little that none can smell it until he’s extremely shocked, stressed or aroused. Usually, he is neither.
A soft smell of dark musk and vanilla, not unlike that of an old book, accompanied by dark wood and white flowers overlaid on top, ending in a finish of fresh citrus and the sweet scent of apples, ending in a sizzle. Dokja shifts. The wind carries his scent someplace far.
A man, it sounds like a man, a man who is following Dokja, lets out a low growl.
Dokja shudders. The smoke tightens around his body. A deep sense of unease takes over him.
Murderer or not, intending harm or not, his instincts scream at him to run.
Slowly, as if trying not to alert a predator, Dokja starts shoving his belongings inside his bag. He moves slowly, as if unaffected, the only tell being the goosebumps on his arm. When he stands, quiet and scared, a loud snap of a twig causes him to let out a startled sound of surprise.
Dokja slowly gets up. His heart races, but he tries not to panic.
And starts to walk away.
His steps are slow and quiet, though he’s sure the person, Alpha, maybe, can hear him regardless. He’s giving the person beside him an out. An opening to disengage, to show that Dokja isn’t interested.
Unintentionally, Dokja is under the belief that there’s no way the alpha is here for him. It’s two options: either a misstep from the Alpha, mistaking him for someone else, or a murderer.
Dokja walks for a few minutes, and he hears no one coming after him. A strange mixture of relief and disappointment fills his mind as he tries to set his bag down again, but then—
A sharp crack in the wind. A twig, maybe a branch.
Dokja doesn't look back. He takes off running.
He's slow, slower than he should be, because he's unfit and hasn’t been preparing to run for his life. For a moment, the only sound around him is the lapping of waves against the river bed, his loud heart, mismatched footsteps and his laboured breathing.
Then, another set of footsteps joins in.
They're loud, heavy and powerful. Certain and sure, unlike Dokja’s clumsy run. Dokja’s breathing is the only one audible enough to fill the space.
Through discarded branches and slipping on fallen leaves, Dokja runs.
He wants to turn around. But he knows if he does, he will fall. Branches too close to the ground graze his legs, causing his blood to spill, scent seeping out faster.
Then, as if the person behind has had enough of the chase, footsteps get louder, faster.
Dokja feels the air change before his arm is grabbed, and he's yanked towards someone. The grip is strong and so powerful that Dokja feels it in his spine. Thinking back to every self-defence video he's seen, he tries to twist his leg back to hook his leg with the other person's, intending to throw them off balance. Instead, Dokja's other leg is kicked, right by his knee, and he falls to the ground, limbs entangled with the other person.
He falls face-first, completely vulnerable and in pain.
He immediately throws his hand over his neck, above his gland. Immediately after, a tongue laps at the exact spot. Hoping to meet his gland, but finding his hand instead, the person tics their tongue in displeasure.
Dokja twists his head sideways to yell, nose stinging. But his voice gets stuck in his throat as he sees the man's face.
As if Dokja had hit his head into hallucinating, a person's profile, the same person he was staring shamelessly at earlier, stares back.
His face is even more beautiful up close. The curve of his cock presses on Dokja's lower back. His leg is still twisted with his, and the man leans down on it to make Dokja meet his eyes.
“Let me claim you,” He demands.
Dokja blinks, tries to speak, and chokes on his own spit in disbelief.
And as if running away from the only Alpha he's wanted to be claimed by wasn't embarrassing enough, he asks:
“Are you sure you have the right person?”