Archive of Our Own

Ah yes, the annual omega hunt. Or as others would like to call it: The Run. 

Considered by many to be one–if not the most awaited event held in the heart of the grand Kingdom of Levanter. It was a spectacle of absolute grandeur; celebrated once every three years as a means to continue a long established tradition in the Republic. An event that would last for weeks; merited with an abundant display of festivities and the likes. 

People would take to the streets to indulge, celebrate and mingle with those who shared the same festive spirit. It was cheerful, it was lively and it was vibrant. Exuberance and excitement raised up high, it permeated the atmosphere.

It was truly a wondrous fervor that has enraptured the heart of the great Kingdom.

And of course, it was hell.

The devil's very own playground–as seen through the lenses of those who saw past the decorative deception. A painfully obnoxious facade for a gala that aimed to shadow the barbaric history in which its origin reared its revolting head from. It was nothing but a mere display before the inevitable–a shiny veneer set to cover up the rancid rotting from within. A week of celebration; parades that were taken to the busy streets; all in which will ultimately lead to the wretched main event that was handcrafted by the dark lords themselves.

The same main event which was–as if the misfortune was propagated by the divinities themselves–being held today.

And Minho, for lack of better words, absolutely hated it.

He loathed it. 

He loathed the event and everything about it. Loathed the mass of people who celebrated it with no sense of guilt or even remorse–bastards the lot of them! And he, of course, held a great amount of condemnation towards the Kingdom for still upholding such tradition. A tradition marred with degeneracy, lunacy and malice; of which was embedded deep into their culture. The disgust he felt seeping through his skin as it consumed him in such a visceral way; his teeth would ache with hypersensitivity.

He despised it with every fiber of his being.

It was such a profound feeling–such an unadulterated level of abhorrence; but he, above everything else, was an omega. And the vivid juxtaposition of how he perceived this event in comparison to the rest stem from how it, just as how it's always been during its first emancipation, has never been truly fort to his kind.

This Run…this vile celebration…it was meant to uphold one thing and one thing only. And that is to humiliate omegas. To strip them of any and all autonomy towards themselves and their bodies. A means to undress them of their rights.

It was hell.

It was also the reason why Minho could never fully make peace with his second gender. Why he disliked himself for being an omega.

Hiding his scent was actually the easy part. For all its rigidity and flaws, the Kingdom still wasn’t without innovation of course. Scent suppressors, pheromone blockers and a lining of regulated heat clinics across town were all pretty much available. Each one a product of long, grueling battles waged by what the alphan elites and nobilities would brand as monsters. But to the ones who remembered, the ones who saw it unfold in real time, they were visionaries. Pioneers to say; they were trailblazers who sought to appeal for the rights of such an embattled community.

Minho often wished he had even a sliver of their bravery, an ounce of their tenacity and passion for change. But like most people, he too was still fighting his own battles. A quieter war. It was to no one's surprise that a stigma around Witchcraft had been pretty much tantamount in the world, more so in the traditional and conservative Kingdom of Levanter. Those who worshiped and followed the great primordial goddess Nyx have been assaulted with judgement and disdain. Onlookers vouched for its complete erasure, while some didn't really care enough for it to foster more than how it was already.

And as one of the few blessed servants of the deity, Minho, a young high witch, knew the struggle of legitimizing and introducing Witchcraft as an artform worthy of respect and recognition. The trek in opening his own school, securing funding and support, and teaching them in the Kingdom hadn't been the most easy. But somehow he had set his footing, made a mark, had pulled out the veil and opened the world to what Witchcraft truly was; and established its place in this world riddled with magic. Yet these hard-earned victories wouldn’t have been seen for another decade, or maybe even more, had he not been hiding behind the safety of a beta classification.

And somehow, regardless of the questionable morals behind his action, it was still his right. It was never mandated by law for anyone to declare their second gender to the world. And Minho, of course, took full advantage of that small act of freedom. He has done plenty, put in so much work, achieved many notable milestones in the past years just by doing so. And he knew that so long as he could continue on with living as a beta, so long as nothing blew his cover, he would be fine.

But then again, there was still this one glaring and humiliating obstacle that he had to go through.

Every three years, all unbonded omegas within a designated age bracket were summoned to participate in The Run. It was a state-sanctioned nightmare parading as tradition. And much like Minho, it was despised by nearly every omega in the Kingdom. And yet each year, any and every attempt to challenge its complete abolishment was dismissed, discarded and sanctioned without any regards. Some would also argue that they never even reached the review boards. Never had the chance.

And the rules? Well they were quite simple, honestly. Cruel? Yes. But simple.

As for the mandated order, all unbonded omegas were to be herded at the edge of the ancient wood cradling the city. It was an outskirt that nurtured a lush dense forest. A maze of trees and foliages of which to those who had never been there, was so easy to get lost at. From there, the “flock" were given a half a day’s head start. That's twelve hours to vanish into the wilderness; 12 hours to hide, to run, and well, to survive. And by then, the alphas would soon follow, and maybe the occasional overzealous betas who had a stark preference for omegas, all viscerally latching onto that opportunity to quite literally catch and claim a mate.

It was nothing more than a glorified hunt. A legal abduction dressed up as tradition. 

Hell.

Minho had been lucky to survive the previous hunts he joined in without his facade being blown. But he knew he could only get so far with it. And being forced to join it every three years would mean the chances of him getting exposed while in participation were still very clearly there. He needed to leave the Kingdom. He couldn't keep relying on his own cunningness. Once he survived this year’s run, he was getting out of here. Start a new life somewhere, reestablish his purpose of uprooting the negative connotations that surrounded his goddess and the art of witchcraft. He would start from scratch, but he knew his freedom made it all worth it. He would be okay.

Now The Run. 

The word “degrading” didn’t even begin to cover it. An omega, a person, being forced to flee like prey; to have their future depend on how fast they could run or how well they hid, it truly crossed the line of inhumane. It was a special kind of humiliation ritual only the most vile and wicked could ever see with normalcy.

Though the Kingdom had, in recent years, added new legislation thanks to the work put in by far left omega-rights advocates, wherein a bond couldn’t be officially recognized without the omega’s clear consent. It was progress, sure, at least on parchment. But everyone with eyes to see knew the truth. Once an omega’s heat was forcibly triggered during a bond, the line between consent and not became murky at best. And once the haze lifted, once an omega’s body cooled and their minds cleared, it was often already too late. Bonds were difficult, and in worse cases, they were even dangerous to dissolve. And usually by then, most omegas were already knotted, bred, claimed, mated and pregnant.

Any omega with a pulse knew that much.

Of course, the alphan-centric scientific journalists all claimed otherwise. The media insisted that “forced heat” didn’t “actually" impair judgment and that omegas could still "easily" reject any unwanted bond. And maybe, technically, they could. Minho has heard stories of omegas being able to reject their forced bonds. But then again, even with the few testaments and stories, the statistics still weren't really in their favor. And technicalities, above anything else, really won't do much to protect bodies already claimed or voices already silenced by biology.

Still, forced bonding had dwindled over the years, thanks to relentless pressure from progressive omegan rights leaders. A small win in the middle of a war still stretching, a war far from over. The Run still loomed, ugly, revolting and untouched, a smear of violence parading as a quaint holiday; an annual reminder of the Kingdom’s shiny, gilded oppression.

Minho was on an academic expedition in a completely different province, when he got the letter. The way it was written held no room for questions. Participation was mandatory and refusal meant imprisonment. He already knew as much. Everyone of age was to join the event. And the price? An omega, for a mate. He hated it. 

But even when he felt so strongly against it he knew he couldn't go against the letter’s command. Not for now, at least. Defying the order would mean life in prison. And with that came public scrutiny; exposure. It would ruin everything he worked hard for, everything he’d ever built from the ground up. His carefully constructed beta identity would crumble. His reputation as a high witch educator, tarnished, just like that. And if push really came to shove, he would be forced to settle down with an alpha, probably some random noble, just to compensate for his dishonesty to the Kingdom and to his Majesty.

Minho’s forehead scrunched at the thought. He couldn't let that happen. Mustn't. He still had no idea how they’d even tracked down his location from the Kingdom. But the notice had come, sealed and stamped. 

And so, here he was. 

The pseudo-beta moved through the growing crowd at the edge of the forest, silent and deliberate. He’d traded his usual academia attire for a simple purple cloak, all while still wearing his black witch hat that he earned from his time up in the temple of the goddess Nyx. It was meant to blur him into the shadows, as to not draw eyes. The last thing he needed was attention sent his way, especially during the middle phase of The Run.

Minho’s eyes wandered for a bit as he stood next to a stall that was selling trinkets and other lucky charms. The owner gleefully announcing a promise of either protection for the hunteds, and luck for the hunters. Somehow that had people lining up to the stall, desperate to get their hands on the little charms which Minho knew didn't really work. But people would cling to any and every vanity of hope when it came to these. And well, that's just how people are. And if that was what they needed in order to cope, then the witch would, of course, mind his own business.

Around him, young omegas flirted and flaunted their best traits. They were trying to lure alphas into what Minho thought, and perhaps he could be wrong, were pre-claim arrangements. It was a strategy, he supposed. Better to pick your captor than leave it up to the fates. An alpha who thought you’d chosen them might be more inclined to protect you from the others. Though it wasn't actually guaranteed, he'd respect the strategic hustle.

Minho didn’t bother. He wasn't as big as the alphan kind, but he was built bigger than any average omega. He was more or less adequate, he was lean, strong where it was necessary and with a face he thought wasn't really that eye-catching. He doubted he’d tempt anyone into playing bodyguard. But then again, it's not like he'd needed to. He looked the part of a beta enough, and even acted like one, too. And he knew how traditional the alphas in Levanter were. They all were almost usually aiming for omegas, so Minho knew he would be safe. Add that he also blended in with the other background bodies effortlessly. 

It was perfect. 

He had no desire to be noticed after all. The last thing he needed was to catch anyone’s eye.

Minho was still in the middle of his silent observation when suddenly a voice called out, catching his attention.

“Minho!”

The young witch froze, the voice striking like a cold spell to the spine. A large, all-too-familiar hand then landed on his shoulder, anchoring him in place as icy dread coiled in his veins.

Not now, he begged Nyx and whatever else gods still tolerated him. His heart pounded against his ribs, but he willed it silent. He couldn’t afford to panic–not when he had to make his last scent suppressant bottle, that he'd consumed earlier prior to getting here, stretch the entire Hunt. Not when he was this close to finally slipping away from the Kingdom.

Minho breathed out, trying to calm his nerves. “Chan,” he greeted coolly, shifting his shoulder just enough to dislodge the grip without making a scene.

Right before him stood Chan. Glorious, golden, and infuriatingly loud. The paladin’s sun-polished armor caught the daylight like it had been forged from the sun itself, and his face, handsome in a princely, poster-boy way, was lit up with a familiar, too-eager grin. 

“Hello there, my friend!” the alpha greeted brightly.

Minho could already feel the small start of a headache forming.

Chan was all muscle, might, charisma and the epitome of social standing wrapped in a bodacious charm of buffoonery. He was a high-born alpha socialite with a sword bigger than his common sense. The King revered him as the best warrior of the Kingdom, and somehow that's only one of his many titles. The Golden Boy, Blessed One, The Cross of Levanter, just to name a few. 

They’d worked together on a couple of missions a few times in the past. The most recent was their brief diplomatic mission in the Northern Ridge, which for full transparency, didn't go as well as they hoped. Minho had quickly learned two things that day: Chan could run, and Chan could talk. Unfortunately for him, the alpha often preferred the latter. It didn't help that he also didn't have the best censorship for that mouth of his. It was why their last mission went South actually. But anyway.

“I do admit, I did not expect to see you here, my friend!” Chan bellowed, laughing like they were back in a war tent trading drinks.

Minho didn’t move. Didn’t let his eyes flick toward the treeline, the crowd, the exit, even though every fiber in him itched to run.

Don’t look like prey, he reminded himself. Don’t act like it.

Clearing his throat, Minho offered a thin smile. “I’m fairly positive that you, out of all people, know quite well that all citizens of the Kingdom are…‘encouraged’ to attend this…” He then paused briefly, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat in disgust. “Ceremony.”

Chan nodded with a wince. An expression of sympathy. “Yeah, well, I just thought that you know, you being a beta and all…I just didn’t expect to see you here, not that I think you shouldn't. Then again, it was mandated…“ he trailed off. “But anyway” He scratched at his neck, armor clinking awkwardly as he laughed loudly. “Are you…here to find a mate?” The question ended in an unfortunate chuckle, like he was trying to turn a snake bite into a joke.

Minho schooled his expression to a calm, yet his eyes narrowed slightly all the same. “I have my reasons, much like everyone else who are taking part in this. I assume you have your own as well.”

Chan chuckled. “No, you're right, I mean, I am here, aren't I? Haha.”

It wasn't surprising to see the paladin here. Minho didn't put it past the big oaf to parade his well-endowed glory and chase down some submissive and willing omegas for his own self-righteous satisfaction. But like he said, he has his reasons. And Minho, also having his own, would leave it at that. 

Minho let out a soft breath as a means to calm his unconsciously rising nerves. He didn't know why he was suddenly on edge, but if he had to guess, then it was probably because Chan, an alpha, had taken notice of him while he didn't have the luxury of a suppressant in arms reach. Those weren't allowed during The Run, and well, it was common sense as to why that was; since they hid omegas from the nose of virile alphas. He did think that the punishment for being caught with them while in participation was a bit too over the top. Caught with even one bottle then it's instant prison. But that's just how these dictatorships worked during such festivals. And that's something he truly could not risk.

Chan blinked at the shift in tone but recovered quickly, smiling as if they were sharing secrets. “You're probably wondering why I’m participating despite my immunity to the invitation,” he supplied with a charming grin, continuing their conversation, much to Minho’s dismay of course. “It was the parents, mostly at least,” he admitted with a casual boyish smile. “Said it was time I settled down, claimed a mate, blah blah dynasty this, lineage that, heirs and whatnot.” He rolled his eyes in dramatic exasperation. “It’s a bit of an inconvenience, I must say, considering we’re both on a mission right now. Well, not together obviously, since we did already go our separate ways after that whole incident the last time. Which, might I remind you, I personally carried you out when they started chasing us with spears and cleavers.”

Minho’s mind immediately went back to their last mission, remembering what had transpired during that mess. “You insulted their leader by calling him a bald, egg-shaped man child,” he reminded him, voice and demeanor already tired from this entire interaction.

“It was true, though!” Chan defended, then grinned wider. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Minho let out a breath through his nose as he recalled the event, the sound too thin to even count as amused. “I was riding my broom.”

“Yeah, after I had to physically manhandle you out of their clutches.” Chan grinned lopsidedly. “Again, you’re welcome.”

Minho sighed once again. He knew that engaging in any type of conversation with the alpha would be draining. And like clockwork, he was proven right. “And yet here we both are. What luck,” Minho diverted, already feeling the migraine this alpha was known to induce.

“Right?” Chan laughed boisterously again, all excited, brushing a strand of windblown hair from his forehead. “I thought maybe the stars were trying to tell us something; like maybe you’re meant to help me track down a pretty little omega, and perhaps keep me from accidentally insulting their lineage or favorite flower or something.”

“Fun,” Minho muttered, casting a glance toward the edge of the crowd. The woods loomed in the distance, dark and inviting. The first horn would sound any moment now.

He needed to move.

Chan tilted his head. “What about you? I assume you accepted the invitation for no other reasons than to seek a potential mate.” He stepped closer, voice still friendly, but quieter now. “You are looking for a mate, right?”

The omega tried to pull back subtly, but Chan caught his wrist in one quick movement. The pressure was light, but with enough insistence to freeze Minho once more. The paladin’s eyes, golden-brown and usually so warm with that easy charm he was known for, glinted with something else. Something speculative. Curious. Hungry, even. It made something almost akin to dread twist inside the omega's stomach. An unsettling feeling that had Minho’s instincts high on guard.

“Someone like you,” Chan continued, voice lilting with false casualness, “you’d make a very...interesting mate. You’re smart, powerful…” His voice trailed, eyes darkening for a fraction of a second as if his mind pulled him somewhere where the Sun didn't shine. He said those words as if he was meaning to say something else. “You’ve got that whole aloof, mysterious thing going on. And quite frankly, that is most sexy and appealing to many, let's say for now, omegas.” He leaned in, voice hinting at something. “Maybe you’re not here just for compliance, yeah?” 

Minho felt a cold sweat break along the back of his neck. He didn't like how Chan sounded when he said that; it was as if there was a threat behind his casual demeanor that told Minho he wasn't allowed to find a mate, at least, not just any random mate…

The first horn blared across the field. 

In one sharp motion, Minho ripped his arm free. “As I have said,” he willed his voice to still, but still there was a snap in his intonation, locking eyes with the paladin. “I have my reasons, same as you.” He held Chan’s gaze. 

He felt it, that natural instinct clawing at his chest to look away, to submit, to never challenge an alpha. He did his best to defy it. Willing himself to fight the natural pull of his biology to present himself willingly to a potential mate. And somehow he was doing a pretty decent job, at least, not until the last second. Then his eyes dropped, an unconscious tilt of the head, the smallest bow.

A mistake. A biological reflex. A sign of submission.

And then, before he could overthink, he was gone.

He hastily slipped through the masses with the fluid grace of smoke, vanishing into the press of bodies before the second horn could announce the chase.

Behind him, Chan watched. His golden-brown eyes reflecting something hidden beneath.

He smiled.

The first part of The Run had begun. This was going to be very interesting.

–

The wind blew past Minho’s hair in a gentle breeze.

The Sun had slowly begun its descent, bleeding gold across the canopy as golden-orange hues blanketed the forest in its effervescent glow. 

Minho moved silently through the denseness of leaves and other botanical life as he took to the upper branches. He had already traveled several miles on foot, not once did he stop for anything longer than a minute, before opting to bounce and glide across the treetops with a gentle levitation enchantment he used on a lean branch he picked up. The enchantment made it so that the item served as the levitation device, pulling Minho off the ground and branches with every hop. It drained less of his mana as compared to him fully enchanting himself which made it easier to cover more grounds. It was quiet, efficient, and far less traceable than just trudging through the dirt and foliage down below.

Minho was lucky to have lost Chan, shaking him off as he continued on with his trek. 

The omega was cunning. What he lacked in sheer power or raw stamina, he more than made up for in finesse. Years of living the way he did had shaped him to be a devious phenom; slippery in a way that made him survive all these years while cosplaying as another second gender. He has always been an adept shadow with a plan. And right now, he aimed to fully take advantage of that, if it meant surviving this godforsaken run.

From his vantage above the forest floor, he could spot the movement of nearby alphas before they could even catch so much as a whiff of him. If one ever ventured too close, he’d slip in the opposite direction, often taking the time to lay false trails i.e broken branches, displaced earth, unburied rocks and the occasional scrap of scentless cloth; just to lure them into the more treacherous corners of the woods. Quicksand patches. Crumbling ravines. Thorned brambles so thick even a chainmail would do little to help.

He’d let them chase ghosts and fall into their own traps. Because if this whole barbaric Hunt was meant to turn omegas into sport, then why shouldn’t he enjoy turning the game back on its players?

As he continued on with his journey through The Run, he would often spot omegas amidst the shuffle and snarl of pursuit, either wandering alone or separated from their packs. A quiet shape limping through undergrowth. A lone figure trailing blood or heartbreak. Usually, they were the unlucky ones, abandoned after a group of alphas had already claimed who they wanted. Or survivors of an attempt at a claim. It wasn't a sight to behold if he's being completely honest.

Minho would never risk revealing himself, not even to offer comfort. His own survival and the legacy he wished to uphold still depended on the world believing he was a beta. So no, he couldn't ever take that risk.

But Minho, above all else, wasn't heartless. 

And so he guided.

Muttering enchantments under his breath to manipulate the shadows, whispering prayers towards his deity as to summon illusions, subtle manipulation of wind and sound through the spells he'd worked on to memorize and perfect; it was a tactic either to delay or disorient alphas from harming any more of his kind. Minho would steer lost omegas away from cliffs and snares, redirecting them toward faint paths only other omegas knew as old routes etched into forest memory from years of similar suffering.

He knew the pain and struggles, and if he could help, even if it was only by little means, even if they didn't know it was him, he would. Because Minho, regardless of his facade, was still an omega. Because despite his own urgency to survive, he still wasn't heartless.

The day continued to dwindle as time progressed.

The omegan witch was still jumping and gliding from tree to tree continuing his journey to freedom. He was busy channeling his focus on the enchanted branch he had in hand when suddenly he heard it.

“Help!”

A cry, echoing across the canopy.

His body instantaneously tensed.

The cry came from the East. Sharp. Panicked.

“Someone! Anyone! Please help!” 

Another scream, clearer this time. An omega. Obviously distressed yet somehow still moving.

Minho inhaled sharply, already tightening his violet cloak around his shoulders while also adjusting his triangular hat in the process. His fingers found its familiar fold and drew it over his head, concealing his face in a shadow as he perched against the wide trunk of a sturdy tree.

He then moved with no hesitation.

Because no matter how careful he was about staying hidden, there were some things he still refused to ignore.

The scene before him wasn’t rare, it was something these runs have always procured. Many may have grown desensitized to it, and perhaps Minho too was familiar with what he saw. But it still managed to make his blood run cold.

Down below, a huge hulking alpha had a petite, blonde omega pinned beneath him, his bulk completely shadowing the young omega’s squirming frame. His legs kicked frantically against the other's sides, his baritone shrieks piercing through the thicket as the alpha chuckled low, clearly enjoying the power he had over the lithe thing.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you wouldn't be able to walk for days!” the alpha growled, a sinister grin plastered on his masculine face as he eyed the omega with ravenous hunger. “Gonna claim and knot you right here, right now, little princess.”

“Noooo please!” the blonde omega shrieked as he tried to put distance between him and the towering wall of muscle and alpha musk.

That was it, Minho couldn't take it anymore. His stomach lurched and with that he decided that he's had enough with what he was witnessing.

With a slow inhale he closed his eyes. Clasping his hands together, he channeled his mana to surge through his body, a silent prayer up to his goddess being uttered in his head as he focused on the magic flowing through his veins. Then, shadowy figures slowly emanated around him, surrounding him in a veil of black aura. He muttered a spell under his breath, channeling the power bestowed upon him by his goddess as he enunciated every word with purposeful intent, “Ámpeloi anádite, desmóste to chóma, thérise me dinámi prasiní!” 

As Minho’s eyes glowed violet with his last declaration, the ground responded like it had been waiting as it trembled by the witch’s enchantment.

With a low rumble, thick green vines erupted from the soil, snaking up like serpents on command. They spun and overlapped with each other as the ground broke and opened up from the sheer force and volume.

The alpha’s smirk vanished when he saw what was happening. He immediately stumbled back from his prey, eyes wide in panic. He then shrieked like a child when he was yanked off his feet, flailing helplessly as the vines whipped and wrapped around his torso, dragging and tossing him towards the underbrush just across the field. The impact wasn’t strong enough to kill him, no. Minho wasn’t that cruel, but it would definitely hurt the bastard. And maybe perhaps leave him bruised enough to rethink his entire life choices.

Hopefully.

Minho dropped from the trees, boots landing soundlessly as he rushed to the omega’s side. He grabbed his arm as he helped him up. “You’re safe now,” he muttered, already directing him towards the worn trail carved by the other fleeing omegas. “You need to run as fast as you can.”

But what caught him off guard was that instead of gratitude, he was met with a sharp slap to the chest.

An eyebrow immediately raised at that.

“What the hell was that for?!” the omega who he had saved all but screeched, his wide eyes flashing with obvious disappointment.

Huh? 

Minho blinked. “I beg your pardon?” 

The omega huffed and folded his arms petulantly, nose in the air. “We were roleplaying!”

Minho could only look at him incredulously, because what? “What does that even mean?” He was confused, so very confused.

The omega then rolled his eyes. “Roleplaying! Duh?! Is your sex life that boring or do you really not know what that is?”

Why this little…

“Ugh, this is so annoying, and we were about to get to the good part!”

Minho fought the urge to scream into the void. “Then maybe don’t scream bloody murder next time?!” he refuted.

The omega was about to snap something back when a bark suddenly came from the underbrush.

“Hey!”

And of course, the brusk alpha was already up and recovering, heading his way back to their location.

Minho exhaled through his nose, already over everything. He eyed the larger male as he staggered toward them, hair disheveled, pride clearly more wounded than his body.

“You trying to one up on me, huh, freak?” the alpha growled, spitting a clump of dirt from his mouth as he stomped forward.

“Changbin!” the blonde omega called out, but the alpha’s eyes were strained onto Minho. Clearly enraged.

The witch only tugged his hat down a bit lower, shadowing his features. He said nothing because there was no need for it. As a matter of fact, he’d been called worse.

The alpha stopped in front of him, chest puffed out like an angry rooster, clearly trying to perform for the omega still sulking behind Minho. “Think you’re so tough with your stupid plant tricks?” he sneered, grabbing a fistful of Minho’s cloak and trying to lift him off the ground, using a hand that was clearly still shaking.

Minho didn’t move. He didn’t need to. Because as the alpha leaned closer, peering beneath the hood…he saw them. Those slitted, cat-like pupils glinting in the darkness under the witch’s hat with their purple hue.

The alpha almost immediately flinched like he’d touched fire. He dropped Minho instantly, stumbling back with wide eyes. “What the fuck?! What kind of fuckass monster are you?!”

Minho tilted his head, slow and silent, like a predator considering whether to strike. His face held no emotion, eyes hooded as if bored. But before he could make any move, a loud, confident voice bellowed from across the field catching all three of them off guard.

“By the Oath of Sanctum! I call upon thee, Divine Retribution!”

Suddenly, a brilliant cascade of golden flames erupted from above, crashing down with punishing force onto the raging alpha. The force sent him flying backwards with a howl as smoke wrapped and curled over his own armor while he landed in a bush a few meters away from the witch.

Minho barely had time to blink before a shimmering blur of golden steel slammed into the ground beside the fallen alpha. Chan, resplendent in his paladin armor, had his great sword buried in the earth mere inches from the other male’s face. Holy sigils still glowed faintly along the side of the blade.

Minho immediately casted his look towards him, wide-eyed in surprise. “Chan?!” he exclaimed incredulously.

The holy paladin didn’t even glance back. He was glaring at the other alpha, voice resonating with clear disdain, low and dangerous. “Consider this a warning,” he growled, veins prominent in his neck as he glowered at the injured alpha underneath him. “Lay a finger on him once again and the next blow would have you maimed.” If you ever think of touching what’s mine you will die, he wanted to declare. But his threat was thunderous and deadly all the same.

Minho immediately stepped forward, grabbing Chan’s armored elbow and tugging him back before he decided to bless the guy’s face with a second round of divine justice. The alpha scrambled upright and bolted, crashing through the trees, leaving behind his former bravado.

Minho exhaled a long-suffering breath. “I had that under control, Chan,” he scolded, clearly displeased at the alpha’s sudden interference.

“You should not be engaging in things like that,” Chan replied, his facial features morphing to that of worry now as he finally turned towards the embattled witch. He then walked in step beside him as Minho pivoted away, clearly irritated. “Were you hurt?” he asked.

“What do you take me for, some kind of glass cannon?” Minho scoffed, shaking his head in incredulity while brushing a leaf from his shoulder, taking offense in the very obvious coddling from the alpha. “I was handling it perfectly well before you stepped in, thank you very much.”

“Minho.” Chan’s voice took on a chiding lilt. “You know we're supposed to avoid unnecessary conflicts.”

Minho felt his eyes roll back before he could even register it. “Oh, right, of course,” he interrupted, exasperation high. “Because calling down holy fire from the heavens is completely in line with the non-violent code of conduct.”

Chan looked only slightly sheepish. “It was a measured use of Divine Retribution.”

“And I merely summoned vines,” Minho countered.

“I only did that to ensure your safety,” Chan reasoned, reaching out to hold the annoyed witch’s hand. He didn't like how that alpha had his dirty paws on Minho just minutes ago, it made something dark crawl in the pit of his stomach.

Minho was only quick to pull away. “I told you,” he said, jaws clenched. “I was fine.”

Chan was about to say something again, but before he could respond, a deep, baritone voice piped in from behind a tree, “Heeeeey!”

Minho immediately froze. Of course.

The same omega from earlier practically skipped out into the clearing, eyes fixed only on Chan now. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much for scaring off that mean and awful alpha!” he gushed, practically fluttering where he stood. 

And Minho could have sworn that wasn't how he acted just a minute ago. He stared blankly. “Weren’t you and said ‘awful alpha’ roleplaying just a moment ago?”

He didn’t get a response, though, as the omega quite literally zoomed past him like he was air; immediately beelining next to Chan.

“I just don’t know how I can ever repay you!” he cooed, blinking up at Chan like he’d stepped out of a fairy tale. “You were so brave, summoning holy fire like that, so impressive, so manly,” he preened. “My name's Felix by the way,” he supplied, puckering his lips in what Minho thought was a flirtatious pout.

The witch could only shake his head. It's like he wasn't the one who actually stepped in to yank that alpha off of him but whatever.

Chan, ever the textbook hero, smiled like the valiant saint that he was. “No need for repayment, fair one. I merely answered the call of righteousness. Protecting the weak is my sworn duty.”

Minho rolled his eyes at that.

“Oh, but surely, there’s something I can do for you…” The blonde omega’s voice dropped an octave more as if possible, sultry now, lips barely hiding a smile.

It was obvious what his intentions were, and Minho, now fully ignored, had to bite back an amused smirk. Well this certainly took a turn. He was honestly humored. Taking advantage of the situation, he slowly backed away, already lifting off the ground with a silent hop, barely rustling a leaf, as his magic branch swooped him up, up and away from the two. “I’ll leave you two at it,” he muttered under his breath, gliding southward to put as much distance between himself and the budding romance novel scene as possible.

At the very least the blonde became useful for something. He could keep Chan distracted long enough for Minho to vanish before anyone started another chivalrous pissing contest.

Minho would let them bask in their little dramatics. He knew Chan would get a kick off at playing the savior he deemed himself to be, and given how the omega earlier was an effortless victim, they'd make a great match. 

As per him, though…well, he was already aiming for a notable sanctuary. Once all this was over, he planned on heading to the southeast side of the country of which long sandy beaches were glistening under the radiant heat of the Sun. He's heard from many that life there was quite quaint. He could start over from there, rebuild, restructure and finally live how he wanted to. He'd also be free from the imposing tradition of the Kingdom. He would live, truly live. Silent, simple, isolated, with zero paladins. 

It was perfect.

The omega hopped from branch to branch, few woodland creatures avoided him while some, like a few forest birds, flew next to him. He smiled at them. He was in the middle of compartmentalizing all the things he needed to bring, things he needed to do and prepare for when he finally went to the southeastern side of the country, when a voice broke through his thoughts.

“Minho!”

Minho felt an immediate cold chill run up his spine at the all too familiar and all too loud voice that boomed behind him.

“Oh goddess,” he muttered, already trying to drift higher into the treetops. 

And here he was thinking whether or not he'd start a potion business once he got to the beach side. He couldn't help when his forehead scrunched in frustration. How did he find me so quickly? But before he could completely vanish amongst the trees, a hand caught him–firm, unyielding, as gloved fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him sharply back onto earth. Literally.

“Hey–” he startled, flustered and caught off guard. “C-chan, let go of me!”

The paladin was flushed, his face red, emphasizing the dusts of freckles that painted a definitive texture onto his skin as he inhaled and exhaled harshly. Whether it was from exertion or frustration, Minho couldn’t tell, but all he knew was that he did not look pleased. 

“Then stop disappearing!” Chan growled, voice strained with something else entirely.

Minho could only stare at him, genuinely baffled. “Why did you even go after me?”

“Because you went away!”

“I-” Minho was genuinely stumped at that. “That doesn't even make sense! Of course I am, we're in the middle of The Run!” he argued back, unable to wrap his head around Chan’s reasoning. “And how did you even get to me so fast? Better yet how did you even reach me while I’m up so high?” he questioned frustratingly.

Chan then grinned, teeth baring, still breathing harshly. “You act like I’m not amazing,” he gloated. “I run fast, Lee Minho, you know that.” Chan snapped, breaths shallow, jaw tight. “I can also jump really high.” He flashed his canines like he was gloating himself.

Something in that unnerved Minho. He frowned, tugging his hand back and brushing his sleeve off like it had been soiled. “This Hunt isn't some kind of team-building exercise, you know. You don't have to keep following me.”

Chan didn’t respond.

But something in the way he looked at Minho had the witch’s eyes averting contact. He didn't like this. His eyes then flicked around the woods. “Where’s the omega?” he asked when he noticed the absence of the blonde shrieker.

No answer. Just Chan looking far too pleased with himself.

“Please don't tell me you just left him,” Minho repeated, the disbelief evident in his voice. “Didn’t you consider yourself as a savior of some sort? Like, isn’t that your whole…” he gestured vaguely. “What do you even call it–divine calling or something? Why would you leave that poor omega behind?”

“Meh.” The paladin merely shrugged, as if the subject of their conversation wasn't at all appealing. “I wasn’t interested,” he said easily, but his voice had the bite of a growl buried deep beneath the surface. “Not in him.”

For some reason that…troubled Minho. Chan was still breathing heavily but he had that look in his eyes that made the omega’s skin crawl. Only slightly, though, but the fact that it was there didn't sit well with him.

The witch blinked, as he then cleared his throat. “Well, sorry to hear that he wasn't an ideal mate,” he said, tone a little awkward. “But then again, I’m sure you’ll find yourself plenty of other lovely picks.” Minho was fairly positive that the alpha would've taken a liking to that blonde exhibitionist given how the two had an overlapping dynamic that worked well. But he guessed that perhaps he may have misjudged Chan’s taste. Oh well.

A low sound reverberated from Chan’s throat, the kind of guttural rumble that made the witch’s skin crawl. It was disguised beneath a smile, but that smile was all teeth. Too many teeth. 

“No need to apologize,” Chan said sweetly. “As a matter of fact, he seemed to be more interested in you. I feel as though I interrupted something I shouldn't have. He was crying out for help, while you swooped in to do just that…”

Minho's eyes squinted ever so slightly. “What are you even trying to imply?” His brows furrowed, as he stepped back half a pace. 

“That you wanted him as a mate hence why you tried to stop that other alpha from getting to him first,” Chan growled. 

Minho’s face immediately contorted in even more confusion. “What? I only did that because he was screaming for help. I stepped in before realizing that the entire encounter was part of some...I don't know…some pheromone-fueled mating game.” He gestured exasperatedly with his hand, brows furrowed as he remembered what transpired earlier. He couldn't help but grimace.

Chan was still watching him, too closely. Too intently. Like he was studying something that didn’t quite make sense, and didn’t like that it didn’t. “Funny,” he mused. “You still seemed pretty fired up. Almost protective, like you wanted him.”

Minho wanted to roll his eyes for the nth time but stopped himself. “I was protective,” Minho explained, his frustration growing by the second. “But it's only because I thought he was in danger. Heck I’m certain you did too.” He couldn't help but wonder why Chan was acting like this, like it was such a condemnable mistake for him to take interest in that omega. If Chan still wanted him then by all means, go. He would not be the one to stop the great divine paladin from finding a mate that's for sure.

Chan didn't respond. The alpha’s eyes drifted over Minho’s face like he was searching for something. Assessing whether Minho was being truthful or not. Like he was trying to peel him apart layer by layer. Chan may be daft in some areas but he was still a very sharp and keen warrior. He was basically the right hand of the King and was the image of a noble alphan heritage amongst the entire kingdom.

Minho stiffened. He really didn’t like this version of Chan. This quiet, circling tone he used along with that stern expression he had. He preferred the loud, boisterous, sanctimonious paladin who preached about righteousness while tossing golden fire like flower petals. Not the one who was currently pinning him in place with nothing but the weight of his attention.

“…Why are you still following me?” Minho asked, voice carefully neutral, when he couldn't take it anymore. “Surely there are plenty of promising omegas to impress somewhere else.”

Chan blinked, and just like that, the mask slipped back into place; smile easy, laughter in his voice. “Because I was curious where our favorite grand high witch was sneaking off to in the middle of this Hunt.”

“You do remember the entire point of The Run is to find a mate, right?” Minho decided to resume his walk, not bothering to wait for a reply.

“Oh, I remember,” Chan said, immediately tailing the younger. His voice was lower now, quiet, but somehow… closer. “I am looking.”

“Well it doesn't seem like it.”

“Trust me, my friend, I am.”

At that Minho turned to glance at him, but Chan was already staring, openly, like he wasn’t even trying to be subtle. His gaze flicked briefly down Minho’s figure. Eyes scanning, noting, committing something and everything to memory.

And Minho…did not like the way that felt. He picked up his pace again. “Well, I wish you luck. As per me, I too have my own goals and I really do not need you to babysit me.”

“Oh I’m not babysitting,” Chan said cheerfully. “Just here to keep an eye out for an old time companion.”

Minho stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly looked back at the alpha. 

Chan’s smile widened. “My friend, shall we continue with finding a mate?” He walked towards the witch, still smiling, eyes gleaming with something Minho can't seem to wrap his fingers on. The alpha then brought a hand just over his waist as he started to lead them again.

And that had Minho’s pulse spiking.

He immediately schooled his demeanor, pulling away from the alpha's hold as he now walked ahead of him once again. “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.

And the alpha, still smiling, only followed.

–

Minho wanted to leave. 

He really did. Maybe cast an enchantment where Chan would get trapped, lodged in a crater that suddenly appeared out of nowhere so he could jump away into the trees, never to be seen again. But as it was, the paladin seemed to be quite determined in keeping his company, like they weren't just in the middle of this godforsaken hunt which was still commencing in progress.

Minho could only sigh.

At the very least, the daft, knot-headed, Holy Servant of God made himself somewhat useful.

The forest was pitch-black now, a thick veil of night draped over every crooked branch and uneven patch of earth. The deeper they went, the more treacherous the terrain became. Yet there stood Chan, gleaming like a misplaced star in the dark, his polished armor catching the faint glint of moonlight through the canopy.

A beacon? Not quite. He was more of a flare. Loud, glaring, quite literally impossible to ignore. And like all things that burned too brightly, he screamed danger.

Minho kept a careful eye on him, watching as the paladin meticulously turned a spit of wild fowl over the fire he’d built. Minho hadn’t asked for the meal, Nyx knew he could’ve conjured something better with half a thought. But Chan had already insisted; he’d even thrown that ridiculously thick cape of his over Minho’s shoulders without asking. The warmth was annoyingly welcome, much to Minho’s dismay of course. But the scent clinging to it he could do without.

He didn’t want comfort, he wanted distance. Preferably across several mountain ranges. But somehow here he was, stuck with the annoying oaf in the middle of what could possibly be the worse event known to mankind. Everything was awful. Truly.

“Why are you still following me?” Minho asked again, not bothering to hide his exasperation this time. He tucked the cape tighter around his body despite himself. “The rest of the participants have probably made it past the final lap of The Run by now.”

Chan didn't look up from the fire. “Then why are you still here, Minho?”

That tone, again, casual on the surface, but with an undercurrent of something deeper. Something sharper. It made the witch’s pulse stutter in his throat.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Minho replied, his voice even, yet harboring that coldness that mirrored the night’s air.

Chan hummed as though he’d expected that. “And I don’t owe you one either,” he said calmly, then turned his head to look at Minho properly. “But you ask as though it’s strange I’d want to stay by your side. You and I have been companions even before this hunt, have we not?”

“Have been,” Minho pointed out. “And it was only for a few times. We decided to split up after our last mission, remember?”

“Of course,” Chan nodded slowly, too slowly. “But I can’t help wondering what it would’ve been like had we stayed together. You know. Worked together. Like we were meant to.”

Minho’s brows furrowed. “You mean like the handful of times you nearly got both of us killed with your bull-headedness?”

“That was one time.”

“Three, actually,” Minho corrected flatly. “Three very specific times, all of which could have been avoided had you known the difference between bravado and idiocy.”

Chan laughed softly. “Well, I did say before that being with me meant having quite interesting experiences. There you have it.”

Minho only let out a breath and leaned slightly away, only to feel the weight of the cape still pulling him back toward the Alpha’s lingering heat. It was maddening how effortlessly Chan’s presence filled the space, how he always seemed to be there. That no matter how far Minho moved, the guy always found a way to drift closer.

“I often imagined what it might have been like if we hadn’t gone our separate ways,” Chan said after a beat, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

Minho glanced at him. “Why?”

Chan shrugged, but the motion was too casual, too smooth, practiced. “You’re interesting. Sharp. Difficult to work with, but competent and highly capable.” He looked over, eyes warm but studying. “And I think you needed someone to watch your back.”

“I had my own back,” Minho muttered. “Besides, you snore like a dying warhorse. I can’t imagine surviving a week next to that without setting the tent on fire,” he added. He was caught off guard, though, when Chan laughed, like genuinely laughed. His eyes unknowingly scanned the alpha’s face taking note of his features as the alpha laughed a full bellied laugh.

Chan was clutching his stomach at how hard he was wheezing. His eyes were crescent, while his dimples were on full display. He looked silly, Minho thought, but decided to just keep that observation to himself.

“I do NOT snore!” Chan defended himself, voice ringing with glee.

“You absolutely do,” Minho’s voice was flat, but his lips curled into a small, faint smile. “And it’s not even the regular kind. It’s the kind that makes small woodland creatures flee in terror.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” he said with a raised brow. “Because I’m fairly certain I heard a fox scream and bolt the moment you rolled over that one time in our expedition up Mount Tala.” Minho didn't think anyone could ever snore so loud it could ward off nocturnal predators but somehow Chan managed to change that perception of his. He only slightly shook his head at the memory.

Chan was still chuckling, but then it slowly faded. “Still,” he murmured, his voice now more calm, though it did dip just a tad bit lower. “I was surprised you insisted on going your own way. I’d assumed…well, that we’d at least try to complete our last mission together.”

The fire cracked between them, illuminating the sharp angles of Chan’s face. There was something searching in his gaze now, something heavy with expectation. Minho didn’t like it.

“It was practical,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “More ground, better chances. Less noise.” It was a lie, of course.

Chan tilted his head. “Was that really the only reason?”

Minho’s chest tightened as vivid images of what happened then played in the forefront of his mind. Because I nearly went into heat in front of you, he thought bitterly. Because my body betrayed me and the last person I wanted to get exposed in front of was you.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he replied, the air thickening around his words.

Chan stared at him for a long moment, his gaze flicking briefly to Minho’s lips, then down to the cape he'd given him. “I suppose it’s not,” he finally said, tone unreadable. “But I can’t help wondering if you left because of something else.”

Minho’s fingers twitched. “Well, I suggest you stop overthinking it.”

“I’m not,” Chan said, voice a little too soft now. “I’m just…trying to make an observation.”

That set Minho on edge more than anything. He didn't like that.

Chan’s eyes, warm, unreadable, insistent, only held his. He then laid on the ground flat on his back which surprised the younger.

“You’re gonna fall asleep like that.”

Chan clicked his tongue. “I won't. I will only be resting my eyes.”

One of Minho’s eyebrows rose briefly at that. He already knew. “I swear to all the gods if you snore…”

Chan grinned, eyes now closed. “I don't snore.”

Minho turned his attention back to the fire. He willed his nerves back into a calm. “Sure,” he then muttered, his mind already wandering. 

Minho stared into the fire, its crackling light flickering over his face, but his eyes weren't really seeing it. Not the fire, not the paladin across from him. Just the blurred imprint of a certain memory behind his eyelids.

It was supposed to be simple, surveillance of the arcane fissures amongst the land of Northern Ridge, reinstate a diplomatic connection, and then report back. 

No conflict! the voice of their chief echoed in his ears.

It was a two-week journey, paired with the Kingdom’s most decorated warrior, and of course, the loudest breathing organism Minho has had the misfortune of working with. Apparently that same loud, uncensored mouth of his almost cost them a limb or two. But hey, they were alive, weren't they? Unfortunately, though, that wasn't where Minho’s affinity to bad luck ended.

He’d made it a full day.

Minho could still remember the exact moment he knew something was wrong. The shift in his core, the unnatural warmth that bloomed in his lower belly, creeping like ivy across his skin. His scent spiked without warning, betraying the secret he’d buried under potions and careful calculation for years. He'd scrambled from the temporary camp they'd set up before dawn, cloak barely clasped, knuckles white on around his broom as he fought the tremble in his steps. His heat wasn’t supposed to come for another month. But somehow it got triggered by something.

Chan had followed him in his stagger, of course. Loyal hound that he was.

“Minho? Wait, what’s wrong, what happened?”

He’d snapped then, turning on the Alpha with more venom than he'd ever dared. “Stay away from me,” he rasped, teeth somewhat bared. He didn't mean it. But given his circumstance, he was left with no choice.

There’d been confusion in Chan’s face, real concern and maybe even a flicker of something else Minho had not wanted to name. But he hadn’t pushed, thank goddess. Not when Minho all but ran in the opposite direction, desperate to get distance. To hide. To survive the next three days with his dignity intact.

He’d spent those days warded deep in a cave, muffling every cry with enchantment and magic as he bit down on the edge of his cloak until his throat was raw. 

When it was over and they reunited, he'd told the alpha that from then on it would be best if they embarked on missions alone. It was better, no setbacks and their abilities would be maximized more efficiently, being distributed to multiple places with multiple needs at the same time. 

Chan agreed. Of course he did. For whatever reason Minho didn't want to know. He was just relieved that the alpha didn't push. And with that came the end of their journey together.

That was until now.

Minho was still deep in his reminiscing when he was snapped out of his reverie. A loud, obnoxious snore booming through his thoughts directly triggering his consciousness. His eyes, tired as they were, immediately went to the source.

Chan had fallen asleep.

Of course he'd fall asleep, and of course he'd also snore. 

Very loudly at that.

Minho let out a breath. He didn't know what he felt, everything was just too suffocating, too in his face. Even in the silence of the night he felt choked, and he guessed that this was the effect of The Run. It always left everyone participating in a constant state of restlessness and unease. It also didn't help that on top of participating he had to carry another burden which was to hide what he was. He leaned one side of his face over his arms that were wrapped around his knees. He just wanted all this to be over and done with.

And then, after a few moments of silence later, an understanding settled into Minho’s cool, lethargic expression. 

He could escape, right now. 

He should. 

His eyes immediately scanned the alpha, observing him as he laid on cool earth with no care in the world. He was asleep, but not deep enough.

And so, he waited.

One, two, three, four~ the omega counted each second like a soldier facing execution, his breath even beneath the crescendo of snores that rumbled from the slumbering paladin. It took every ounce of discipline to wait; unmoving, curled within the stolen warmth of Chan’s heavy, velvet-lined cape. But once he was sure, once the snoring settled into its deepest, most oblivious rhythm, he stood. Slow, precise, achingly careful and then, he began his escape.

Minho peeled off the fabric from around his body painstakingly slow, wincing at the chill that immediately clawed at his skin from the cold night wind. His magic-flushed body protested, desperate to remain in the cocoon of heat and scent that lulled him into a false sense of safety. But there was no safety here. At least not while still being part of this event.

It may have been cowardly. And perhaps it was. But cowardice was a luxury Minho had learned to wear with pride if it meant keeping the life he worked so hard to build. He’d been called far worse than a coward. And for years he'd learned to embrace it, if only it meant being free.

Minho’s footsteps thudded softly on the wet patch of soil and twigs underneath his feet. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he slipped out of the camp, disappearing into the blackened forest like a wraith. The moment he hit the treeline, though, he bolted, channeling every last thread of his mana reserves into enchanting his feet, raising his speed. Wind howled past his ears, the trees blurred around him, and he flew, blurring through the canopy not with grace, but with desperate purpose.

And when his mana sputtered out, now depleted, when the burn of overexertion took hold of his limbs, he still ran. He stumbled, tripped and swore expletives under his breath. When he stopped for a moment to catch his breath he ate the last of his rations with shaking hands. 

His scent suppressant was already failing fast, he could feel it, the first threads of heat winding tighter in his gut. He probably had less than an hour or two at most, before his body started singing its traitorous siren song. 

He had to make every second count.

By sunrise, the last horn would sound and The Run would officially end, and enforcement officers would scour the woods to pull all remaining participants off the field. That was his only salvation. A single, narrow window of safety.

Minho crashed into a clearing, chest heaving. He sagged against a downed tree, just long enough to force a swig of water down his throat, shaking fingers fumbling with his pack.

Keep moving, he told himself. Just a little longer. You can make it. Just a little more–

“Minho!”

His entire body went rigged. That voice…that all too familiar voice. Minho’s eyes widened, it wasn’t far. And what's worse is that it wasn’t calm.

“Minho!”

It wasn’t just Chan’s voice.

It was a wounded animal’s howl. Raw. Frenzied. Possessive.

Fear clawed its way up Minho’s throat. No. No, he hadn’t been followed. He’d covered his tracks, he’d masked his scent, it was impossible.

He stumbled upright, abandoning his pack entirely, and ran. Branches lashed at his face and arms as he tore through the forest. He veered downhill, diving behind a massive oak tree that had broken down at the base of the slope, pressing a trembling hand over his mouth to quiet the ragged sounds of his breath. His pulse pounded like war drums.

“Minho!”

Too close. Too gods-damned close.

“Minho! Where are you?!” Chan’s voice cracked, uncharacteristically shaken. “Please just answer me! I woke up to you gone, please, just let me know that you're okay!” Something close to desperation was laced in his voice as he yelled.

Minho’s eyes squeezed shut. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“I just want to protect you, my friend,” Chan said, though his words faltered. The air was thick with tension. “It’s not safe right now. Not with The Run ending. Not when…”

Then, Minho heard it.

The drag of Chan’s boots sounded just above him now. The ground giving slightly under his weight as he circled the trunk of the big tree.

Minho flinched, his heart caught up in his throat, when a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder.

“There you are,” Chan breathed in raw relief, yanking him upright and into a crushing embrace. “Min, y-you scared me. I thought something bad had–”

Minho, for all his worth, was stunned, his body going stiff against the alpha. The arms around him were firm and unyielding. He tried to shove him off, desperate to put some space between them but the alpha only pressed their bodies impossibly closer to each other. Channeling the last bit of mana reserve he had, he started muttering words of incantation as he summoned a powerful force of energy in between them. The impact sent the alpha stumbling back a few feet. His eyes blown wide with both surprise and frustration.

“Don’t touch me!” Minho snapped, voice shaking.

“Minho, what the hell are you–”

“Stay away,” he gasped. “You don’t understand! Leave me alone!”

“Minho, please calm down. I mean only to protect you. Please come back to me.” Chan started stepping forward once again, arms open as if waiting to receive Minho in a warm embrace.

Minho only took a step back. He was shaking. “Leave me alone, Bang Chan!” he gritted, emphasizing every word. 

But Chan only held his gaze, still moving forward, still wanting to wrap his arms around the disgruntled and obviously distressed witch. “Shh, it's okay, Min. I promise I’ll keep you safe,” he cooed, completely ignoring the other's growing anxiousness.

He wasn't listening, causing Minho’s frustrations to boil over. And then, unexpectedly, there was a single shift in his scent; like a jolt traveling up his spine, and that's when his instinct took over. And because of this, he did the stupidest thing an omega could ever do in The Run while in the presence of an alpha.

He ran.

Like prey.

Desperate.

Searching.

Aching for freedom.

It took Chan a bit of time to process what just happened. And when it finally hit him that he was being left to eat dust, he wasted no time as he, with all the will of an alpha scorned, ran.

Fast.

Chasing him down with equal desperation if not more.

“MINHO!” he screamed so loud it shook the forest, causing few of the animals nearby to flee with haste.

The alpha's voice boomed loudly behind Minho but he didn't stop. He would never stop. If anything, the pounding in his chest as he heard it only urged him to run even faster. Branches tore at his cloak, his hat already flew out of his head, mud clung to his boots and he was struggling to catch his breath. 

And yet regardless, he didn’t care. 

The instinctual drive to run away from a supposed predator was too strong; that even when Chan was pleading behind him to stop all this madness and just go back to him he didn't listen. His mind was honed in on one thing and one thing only, escape. He sprinted towards the thinning trees that marked the forest’s edge. That instinct to flee completely overriding his entire being. He ran like he'd never run before. He could feel his lungs burning and his legs were also starting to sore, but he didn't care, didn't stop; only pushed himself further. He had to get out of here. He had to survive.

Minho ran, and Chan was still pretty much hot on his tail screaming at him to stop. 

“Minho!” Chan growled once more. “Stop this instance!” desperation mixed with frustration decorated the alpha’s whole system as he chased Minho across the field of greens.

Every bark of the alpha from behind him served as fuel for the young witch to run faster. Amongst the forest he could see a clearing just up ahead. He was close. So so close. Once he got there it would be easier to escape the alpha and perhaps he could also reach the final edge of the forest which would signify his completion of this damned hunt. 

He could see it, could almost taste the freedom. Just a little bit more.

But then–

A startled gasp choked out of his lips when a strong hand fisted in his cloak, dragging him down to the ground, as he was pinned underneath a solid and flush surface with ease. Minho struggled beneath the heavy press of the alpha’s body. 

Chan had caught him. Of course he did.

“Chan, g-get off me!” He squirmed, panic rising in his chest. “You daft knot-head, let me go!”

“Quiet.” Chan’s voice was low. Dangerous.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Minho cried. “You’re acting like you're in rut, stop this right now!”

Chan’s grip only tightened. “I said quiet.” He then tore the cloak from Minho’s shoulders with a growl and leaned down, nose brushing Minho’s skin right over his scent gland. 

The contact immediately made Minho freeze, his body rigging up like stone. He then bit his lips to stop whatever noise he didn't want to think about was wanting to slip past his throat. And then, that's when Minho noticed it. A glow, something like a faint trail of lilac shimmering from his body.

A gust of wind pulled at the cape Chan made Minho wear earlier revealing the same faint shimmer of lilac. It was a scent trail. Energy that pulsed in the air like a tether.

Minho’s eyes widened in horror. That was tracking magic. No, not magic like incantations or spells or divine weaponries. It was a magic rooted in a natural occurrence. A manifestation of a rare bond trait between an alpha and an omega. And it can only be seen, smelled and/or followed if said alpha and omega were…

If they were compatible.

But that would've only been revealed if his suppressant stopped working…

Minho’s eyes slowly widened at the dawning realization. “No. No, no–this…t-this isn’t happening–” Minho choked out, eyes starting to blur as the gravity of the situation slowly settled in. His body had emanated those scent trails and had clung to the alpha’s cape. Hence why he managed to track him down.

Suddenly, a warm puff of breath ghosted over his neck, followed by the scrape of teeth. He froze once again. It was playful, almost gentle, but still undeniably possessive, and Minho never felt as helpless as he did now.

“You’re an omega,” Chan said softly, reverently. Like a man on his knees in a temple before his sovereign God. His eyes flicked up, dark and wide. “You’ve been hiding it all this time.”

Minho could only stare ahead, completely unmoving as his chest rose and fell with terror while his breath hitched.

“And your scent…” Chan leaned closer, lips barely brushing Minho’s skin, his tongue shooting out to taste the warm, flush expanse. “My Lord…My God…you taste and smell…like you're mine.” He looked completely entranced. Worshipful. Like he’d just found his reason for existing. “My omega,” he whispered, with a kind of finality that made Minho’s blood run cold.

The way Chan said it, it wasn’t just relief. It wasn’t just joy. It was an announcement. As if the realization finally dawned in on him and all of reality finally fell into place.

It was a claim.

And Minho realized, with sick dread curling in his gut. That perhaps this was what Chan was hoping for all along.

And maybe he was right, because Chan? Well chan was over the moon! He was so incredibly happy, elated beyond words! 

Because how on God's green Earth could he not be? His heart–no, his entire being–was alight with divine triumph. It was a rare and holy moment, the culmination of countless dreams and sleepless nights. Minho, his Minho, was finally beneath him, in his arms, exactly where he belonged. The grand academic witch, known across kingdoms for his power, intelligence, talent and poise, was Chan’s fated Omega. The Gods had made it so!

Chan was so happy. So so happy.

He didn't think anything could ever ruin this for him. For them. Because they were fated, blessed by his God, they were made for each other, their souls tethered to one another from the moment they were born. It was magical as it was poetic. So it was truly such a shame that his chosen mate was currently rambling nonsense.

“Please, you absolutely cannot tell anyone about this,” Minho’s voice cracked in panic, breathy and shaking. “You don’t understand, t-this was a mistake. You have to let me go, Chan, please.”

Chan blinked down at him, expression clouding with concern before it melted into something more sympathetic, soft and almost pitying. “Oh, Minho,” he breathed, cradling the back of the Omega’s head, brushing dark strands from his damp forehead. “Darling, don’t worry your pretty little head over that. Of course I have to tell people! You’re my Omega. My fated mate. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this day? I’m going to shout it from the highest towers, I want every kingdom to know.” His voice dipped into a whisper, reverent and trembling. “Even the Celestials above, even your goddess, will all look down and bless us for what we’ve done here today.”

Minho flinched when Chan nuzzled into the warm curve of his neck, inhaling deeply. Finally, he was allowed to drink in the source of the scent that had clung to his cape like a fevered ghost, driving him mad since the moment he awoke alone this morning, frantic and confused. The scent had faded quickly, but now, here it was. Sweet, herbal, tinged with the wild ozone of natural magic, and uniquely, beautifully Minho.

“Chan–Chan, please,” Minho choked, his voice raw. “Please, l-let go, don’t do this,” he pleaded, eyes starting to water, too overwhelmed by everything that's happening. “Please.”

“Let go?” Chan echoed, drawing back to frown as though the very idea wounded him. “Why would I ever let go of you, my love?”

This wasn’t the first time. No, Chan had endured several cruel goodbyes already of Minho slipping through his fingers like mist despite Chan’s endless attempts to make him stay. He’d left letters unanswered, gifts unopened, spells cast to keep them apart, to repel the Alpha's presence like it was poison. But Chan had been patient. Devoted.

He had chased. And now, after so much time and effort and heartbreak, he had finally caught him.

And wasn’t that what The Run was for?

“But why are you crying?” he murmured gently, brushing a tear from Minho’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Why are you screaming when this is exactly how it’s meant to be?”

“Stop!” Minho suddenly screamed, writhing beneath him, clawing at Chan’s arms. “Stop, please–just stop! This isn’t right, you’re not listening to me!”

The Alpha tightened his hold instinctively, afraid the witch would vanish again, slip between the seams of reality and vanish into the trees like he always did. But Minho was exhausted, his body limp and shivering, magical energy depleted after the chase. And Chan took that as a sign that his dear Omega was finally submitting to fate.

“Shhh, love,” Chan crooned, resting their foreheads together. “The Run makes omegas like you panic. It’s all instinct, I know. You’re frightened. But I’m here now. I caught you. You’re safe.” He smoothed his hand over Minho’s side, marveling at the thrum of mana beneath his skin. His omega held so much power, all wrapped up in such a small, trembling frame. The infamous grand witch of Levanter, so feared and respected, and yet so vulnerable when caught in his Alpha’s arms. Chan knew it was divine providence.

“You were born to be mine, Minho,” he whispered. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew. You were the one.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying!” Minho gasped, trying to twist away. “This is all just the pheromones talking, it’s messing with your head! You don’t love me, you love the idea of…of claiming something rare and difficult and–”

Chan stopped his rambling with a quick lick over his trembling lips. That immediately shut Minho up as he looked at Chan with wide, surprised eyes. 

The alpha then laughed softly, shaking his head in adoration. “Oh kitten,” he sighed. “You really are clever. Too clever. All this time I really thought you were a beta! Yet this entire time, you were actually hiding this from me. Hiding your true self.” He cupped Minho’s cheek, tilting his face toward the light. “But I see you now. I see you. My precious omega. My beautiful, feral little orchid.”

Minho let out a broken sound as Chan leaned in and stole a kiss, tender, but insistent. He tasted the salt of Minho’s tears, the tremble of his mouth. So perfect.

He looked back at all the moments he tried to flirt with Minho in the past. He had been drawn to the quiet, enigmatic witch from the very first moment their paths crossed. Something about Minho with his unbothered grace, the soft cadence of his voice, the way his eyes never lingered long enough to give anything away had captivated Chan to the marrow of his bones. And that allure only deepened when Minho rebuffed him.

Chan had spent a lifetime basking in praise. Born into nobility, blessed by the Divine, he was revered as a golden alpha. Always applauded for his victories in battle, admired for his charm, envied for his effortless excellence. He was the son the Kingdom bragged about, the pride of his House. There had never been a challenge he couldn’t conquer. That is, until Minho.

The witch had not just been difficult, he’d been impossible. And worse, a beta. Or so Chan had believed. That made the sting of Minho’s rejection even more baffling. He’d never had to try before. But for Minho, he had done everything.

He’d offered rare herbs that only grew on cursed soil he risked life to harvest. He’d written heartfelt letters under moonlight and left them enchanted to sing melodies of devotion. He’d even commissioned a portrait, one the witch never acknowledged, let alone accepted. Every scathing retort, every narrowed glare, every time Minho turned his back and let a carefully selected gift wilt in the sun, it had felt like being cleaved open.

But oh, how sweet it was now. Now it all made perfect sense. His God hadn’t forsaken him. No, if anything this had all been a trial. A divine test of patience, love, and unshakable pursuit. And he, Bang Christopher Chan, had triumphed.

He hadn’t failed at love. He had earned it. Proven himself worthy of it. And the prize waiting at the end of it all?

Minho.

Minho, who was never a beta to begin with but a strong, powerful and radiant omega, and fated to be his. He now found complete amusement at the memories of how he attempted to court the witch with gifts and letters and the likes. It's no wonder none of those worked, he was courting him like an alpha would court a beta. All this time he should've just trusted his guts and claimed him as an omega. 

Oh he really could be dense sometimes, but nonetheless all that was gonna change. Tonight. Because after all this was over, he’ll ensure that Minho would be his, not just as a companion, not even just as a friend. But as a mate. 

His mate. 

His omega.

Chan eased him back onto the forest floor, unclasping his royal blue cape and spreading it beneath them like a bed of silk. The fabric shimmered in the dappled light. He hovered over Minho, drinking in the sight: disheveled robes, bruised lips, flushed skin, lashes highlighted with tears…oh he was absolutely glowing. His omega in royal blue, such thought should only exist in the fantasy he had in his head; and yet somehow it was drawing closer and closer to reality. Blue really did pair well with purple.

“I always imagined you in my house colors,” Chan murmured. “They suit you, don’t you think? I knew from the beginning that you were the one I’d bring home to meet my mother. You’d wear the crest. Have my name. Bear my children. You're going to be so so lovely.”

“No!” Minho shook his head frantically, struggling beneath him. “Get off me, you delusional bastard! This isn’t love, this is insanity!”

Chan clicked his tongue, a pained look crossing his features. His mate was very clearly distressed, unable to fathom what was happening. It sent something awful wretching at his heart. “I know, I know,” he whispered, brushing the hair from Minho’s eyes again. “You’re overwhelmed. Of course you are, this is such a momentous day. Marriage is scary, I understand. But we’ll be fine, my darling. I’ll take care of everything. You won’t have to worry about a single thing.” He placed a gentle kiss on the omega’s forehead. “I’m going to love and cherish you forever, that I promise.”

“I’m begging you,” Minho whimpered, voice hoarse with desperation. “Please, Chan. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin everything.”

Those eyes, sharp and almond-shaped, glimmering with magic and fury, were wide now with terror. He looked like a cornered animal. It hurt to see, but Chan knew that fear came from uncertainty. Once Minho understood, once the bond was complete, everything would settle.

“Minho,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to that trembling scent gland just above his collarbone. “I know you hate these Hunts. I know they bring out the worst in our kind. But this, this will finally be our last one, yeah?”

A distant horn blew in the trees, long and triumphant.

The Run was over.

And Chan? Chan had won.

“You’ll never have to run again,” he murmured, teeth ghosting over Minho’s scent gland. “You’re mine now and forever.” And then, he bit down.

–

Word of their union spread like wildfire–no, like a divinely lit torch through a parched land. The fabled high academic witch had been claimed, bound, and brought home by none other than the famed divine paladin himself.

Whispers grew into tales within hours: Of how Chan had emerged from the forest, his armor scratched and torn, his eyes glowing with victory, with the witch held bridal-style in his arms. Of how Minho, silent as ever, nuzzled into his chest as though born to be there. Of how a soft shimmer marked the side of the witch’s slender neck, a fresh Alpha’s bond, a mating mark, glowing faintly under the late Sun.

The carriage had waited outside the forest’s edge, golden and crested with the insignia of House Bang. Though crowds had gathered: commoners, fellow warriors and paladins, nobles, mages; a group of practicing witches who came to support their academic head, completely unaware of the reality of it all, and other magic users alike. They all surrounded them with nothing but cheers and appraisal for Chan’s successful hunt and the successful claiming of the grand witch of Levanter. 

And Chan? Well he spared them only a brief moment of his attention. He still waved, still smiled, and still basked in their admiration. After all, he had just returned victorious from a holy mission. Not one of war or conquest. No, rather, it was of fate, of love, of preordained romance. He accepted their cheers with gracious nods, even posed for a few magical captures, but his arms never loosened from around Minho’s slim body.

His omega. Only ever his.

Minho, dazed, flushed from heat and exhaustion, had nuzzled closer; an unconscious plea for grounding. And Chan, ever the attentive mate, leaned down and kissed him full on the lips. Not a polite peck, but a claim. Deep, slow, and indulgent, with his tongue lodging deep in the omega’s orifice and teeth nibbling at everything his mouth hovered over, all until the crowd screamed their approval.

Minho whimpered, blinking up at him with dazed, unfocused eyes. His lips were kiss-swollen, wet and shiny, and his head swirled in a foggy haze. He looked so vulnerable, so helpless and beautiful it had Chan’s heart squeezing painfully in a wonderful way.

The carriage door closed on a final wave and thunderous applause, and Chan sighed deeply. Finally, finally they were alone.

The last of the effects of Minho’s scent suppressant had long since faded by then, leaving behind the true fragrance hidden beneath layers of charm-work and ancient spells. Sweet and sharp and earthy, like crushed violets on sun-warmed moss. It hit Chan in the chest like divine lightning, and something inside him snapped. His rut had been circling the edges of his consciousness ever since he ended up with Minho during this faithful Hunt, but now, now, it surged through him like a beast let loose. And by the great God almighty he was going to revel in it.

Their wedding began that night. Not with garlands or flutes or ceremonial dances. No gaudy rings or awkward toasts from distant relatives. No, marriage to them was a lot more primitive. Though he did think about having that kind of marriage later on. But this wedding took place in the grand master suite of Chan’s private estate, within the sanctuary of silk sheets and creaking bedposts, under the watchful gaze of ancestral portraits and scent-drenched pillows.

He'd stripped off his armor with trembling fingers, desperate, aching. His cock springing free as he finally removed the last bit of his trousers.

Minho was still covered with dirt. His eyes were blurry and unfocused, yet somehow he still grasped what was happening. But even so, he had sat quietly on the bed; thighs pressed together, heat making his limbs tremble as the exhaustion and fatigue brought by everything that happened; partnered with his slowly intensifying heat, disarmed him from any and all fight left in his body. He knew what was to come, but still, he said nothing, he couldn't. Even as Chan dropped to his knees in front of him. Too drained, too exhausted, too disoriented.

“I’ll worship you for the rest of my life,” Chan murmured, kissing up one honey-toned thigh. “My wife. My little flower.”

Minho flinched, but didn’t move. Didn’t run.

So Chan kept going.

He peeled away the witch’s robes slowly, reverently, savoring each layer. Beneath the layers of enchanted fabric was soft, supple skin, flushed from heat and speckled with the tiniest of scars from past battles, thorns and spell-work. His cock twitched as he traced his thumb over a notable mark just under the side of Minho’s navel.

A slight, enamoured gasp left his lips as he then took in the sight.

To say that Minho was beautiful would be a biblical understatement. God truly went and took all His time in divinely crafting his mate.

And Chan made sure to embed all of the omega's graceful and naked glory deep in his mind. “You are so tantalizing, my love,” he praised. “So ethereal and magnificent. You were made for me,” he whispered. “Even my Lord and your goddess would agree.”

A sudden wave of pain crashed over Minho’s midsection and that's when he finally spoke then, but only to whisper, “…It hurts.” His breathing was uneven yet he still sounded so majestic.

Chan growled low, his anticipation building up by each moment that passed. “I’ll make it better, love.” He kissed him. “Let me relieve you,” he said, as he slowly pressed Minho back into the mattress, his hands roaming and touching everywhere. Making sure to map every single detail of the omega's body; memorizing, claiming, revering, worshiping and loving. “I’ll take care of you.”

With that, his mouth soon found the witch’s chest, leaving soft trails of wet, open-mouthed kisses until his lips traveled to one of Minho’s nipples. He pulled back ever so slightly only to observe it for a brief moment, before leaning back down again in one quick succession. He gave a long, claiming lick over the nub which earned him a quiet whimper from the omega, all before completely wrapping his lips around it. 

The soft breathy noises from the omega that soon followed only fueled his desires even more. His cock twitched with arousal and excitement as he then started sucking and licking on it with glorious intent; making sure to not ignore the other one by rubbing and flicking on it using his fingers as well. And goodness him, Minho tasted absolutely divine! And the sounds he made, MY GOD, they were enough to make him cum on the spot.

After he was done with his nipples, he then slid down between his parted thighs. Minho’s cunt was wet with slick and was already flowing, staining the sheets. He felt his mouth watering at the sight of his omega’s flushed pussy just waiting to be claimed and filled. Minho was so ready, even if his face betrayed none of it. Minho was already trembling by the time Chan settled between his thighs, the alpha’s broad hands easing his legs apart with almost too much care, considering how filthy his intentions were.

“Look at you,” Chan breathed, voice reverent as he stared down at the soaked, swollen pussy in front of him. “Dripping so eagerly, all for me.”

Minho whined, barely lifting his head before it dropped back onto the pillows; fingers fisting the sheets in silence. His heat made him pliant, but he still flinched slightly when Chan leaned in and pressed a kiss to his inner thigh; gentle, worshipful, full of reverence and gratitude. As if what he had right now was a blessing from his Lord God Almighty in which he will never take for granted.

“I’m going to take care of you, Min” Chan murmured, more to himself than to Minho. “I’m going to eat you and pleasure you till you’re crying, yeah?” his voice held that cooing tone as he spoke.

And he did.

Chan's tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe through Minho’s folds, savoring the slick that clung to his mouth like honey. He groaned at the taste. Minho was everything sweet, everything earthy, everything dizzying and everything holy. Chan wasn't one to curse, but fuck if this wasn't the best moment of his life. So he dove back in again, pressing his face flush against the omega’s cunt.

Minho gasped, his hips twitching as Chan’s tongue swirled around his clit, lips latching onto it with obscene, wet suction. 

Chan moaned into him, shaking his head slightly like he was drunk on the flavor, on the heat, on everything Minho. He pushed his tongue deeper, sliding it into the tight, fluttering entrance; then back up to suckle again at the puffy nub, alternating between licking, kissing, and burying his face in the witch like he would never get enough.

Minho writhed, moaning helplessly now, breath hitched and uneven; his hands gripping tightly over the velvet covers beneath him. The devoted alpha grabbed his thighs and held him still, utterly focused, pussy-drunk and in love, mouthing the slick little cunt like it was the only thing in the world worth worshipping. 

He ate Minho out to his heart’s content. Drinking up every slick that flowed out of the witch’s magnificently drenched pussy. It was like ichor to him, and he would rather die than to waste a single drop.

The moment Minho started trembling from the overstimulation, his soft cries wet and broken, Chan lifted his head; his mouth glossy with slick, face flushed and breath heavy. He stared down at the wrecked little omega like he was witnessing divinity itself, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip just to savor the last taste.

“You’re perfect,” he panted, fisting his cock, already thick and leaking. “My perfect little mate. So so beautiful, and so so mine.”

Minho didn’t answer. He couldn't, his mind was too hazed with heat, too disoriented to properly form a response. But somehow his legs parted wider when Chan nudged his knees apart, hips canting up in silent submission, in heat-drunk need.

That tiny motion lit Chan’s nerves on fire. And so he ate him out again, making love to his pussy as if it was the driving force of his life. Licking, laving, nibbling, sucking, probing; he did everything just to ensure Minho’s pleasure. Even when Minho only fought the urge to moan, even when he looked like he didn't want to be there yet somehow his body was betraying him, Chan still continued with his ministration. Because he knew that soon enough, his omega would open up to him without restraint, apprehension. And when that time came, he would love and cherish him even more. For now, though, he would let Minho cope with his new life in whichever way he needed. 

And so he continued with his loving assault on the omega's pussy, moaning and groaning with every lick and suck. And when he was finally done, satisfaction evident on his handsome face, he only gave one last kiss unto Minho’s waiting folds; before lining his big, throbbing cock at the entrance. He gently rubbed the tip of his head over the omega's pussy lips, spreading his precum and mixing it all with Minho’s slick and his saliva before slowly pushing in.

Chan groaned, breath shuddering as Minho’s drenched pussy stretched and opened to accommodate his size. His eyes almost circled at the back of his skull as the overwhelming warmth inside the omega wrapped around his cock. 

“Oh my heavens–” the alpha all but choked. “You are so–so tight, my precious kitten,” he growled, pressing deeper. “You’re squeezing me with so much gusto, look at that, baby, you’re already milking me and I’ve barely even entered you.” A choked noise escaped the omega’s throat, his head tilting back slightly as Chan slowly penetrated the beautiful omega; his cock digging deep in his wet cunt. “Oh Lord,” Chan let out a shuddering breath.

Minho whimpered, head turning away, face flushed, as he bit down on his lips to stop the filthy cacophony of sounds that were dying to pour out; threatening to reverberate across the four corners of the expensive chamber.

Chan slowly pulled out, lifting his hips; all the while making sure he engraved deep in his mind the way Minho’s face contorted elegantly at the slide. Once he pulled out just enough, he then bottomed out again with a sharp thrust, hips pressed flush, causing a gasp to lodge onto Minho’s throat. He immediately cooed, wiping the sweat that had formed in the omega's forehead; moving his hair that stuck to his flushed and moist skin in the process. He decided to just stay nestled inside him once again for a moment; basking in the feel of being wrapped in heat and slick, as velvety walls clenched around him like Minho didn’t want to let him go.

And with that, the dance began.

The two moved together through the night, over and over and over again. Chan fucked him with feverish adoration; murmuring praises, demands, and promises between thrusts. He spread the witch open, folding him in half as he pinned him under a mating press, cock pistoning in deep and fast, dragging obscene sounds from Minho’s usually quiet lips.

He then licked the tears from Minho’s cheeks when the omega cried through his third orgasm, cradling him like he was something delicate even as he pounded into him like a beast eager to breed. “You feel that?” he rasped, leaning down, hips rocking slow and deep. “That’s me inside you, my love. That’s my cock fucking your pretty little pussy, right where it belongs.” He then engulfed Minho’s lips with a kiss as he picked up the pace, rolling his hips in rhythmic, toe-curling thrusts, every single one hitting raw and deep. 

Minho cried out with each snap of his hips, the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filling the room, as they mingled with the alpha’s groans and whispered filth.

“Gonna fill you up, yeah? Gonna get you pregnant. We're gonna have such a big family, Min.” Chan growled, voice thick with possessive heat. “‘M gonna fuck you full, hmm? That's what you want, right? My little omega, my wife,“ he moaned at the thought of getting Minho pregnant. “So big, so round and so very swollen with my pups. You're going to glow so radiantly, Min.”

Minho shuddered under him, his body arching beautifully.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Chan panted, spit dripping from the side of his mouth as he continued to fuck him harder, deeper; driven wild by that visceral urge to breed his mate. “Gonna fuck a litter into you–keep you in this bed till you’re too full to move. Everyone’s going to know that you’re mine,” he growled, the sound emanating from the deepest part of his chest. “Only ever mine.”

Minho finally moaned, high and sweet; cunt squeezing around him so tightly it nearly made Chan see stars as the alpha fucked him in earnest. Thrust after deep, relentless thrust, he drove into him, fucking him hard yet reverent. He wanted Minho to feel every inch, every possessive pulse of his cock. The omega could only cling to the sheets, back arching with each snap of Chan’s hips, his soft cries muffled by the pillows. His slick only got wetter and messier; the obscene squelch of it filling the room every time Chan drove back in after pulling out just enough for the bulbous head of his cock to still remain inside.

Minho’s breath hitched sharply as Chan thrusted in deep, so so deep that the head of his thick cock pressed against the ring of his cervix. It was as if it was kissing it. Chan kept fucking him like some wild, devoted beast whose only purpose in life was to breed, and Minho could do nothing but just take and accept everything the alpha gave him. His mind, his soul, his body, his devotion, his cock--Minho accepted everything. And then, one thrust finally caused his cock to breach past the omega’s cervix with a passionate force.

A choked gasp left Minho’s parted lips, eyes fluttering as a wave of heat and pressure bloomed in his lower belly.

He could feel it.

Could feel Chan inside his womb, thick and pulsing, every inch of him nestled where no one else had ever touched. It ached, stretched, burned with fullness, but his body, traitorous and pliant in heat, accepted it all, trembling around the intrusion like it had been made for it. His legs quivered, open and helpless, his back arched into the alpha's weight as Chan held him there, locked inside his most sacred place before the alpha started moving again, hips thrusting deep and hard once more as he let out a primal roar of satisfaction.

Minho couldn’t speak. Couldn’t resist. All he could do was take it. Take everything.Take the way Chan filled him so completely that he swore he could feel his mate’s heartbeat thudding inside his womb, branding him from the inside out. He could only hope that after all this was over, he'd be able to just fully rest.

Dear Nyx, he was so tired...

Chan kissed his forehead, nose, cheeks and lastly his lips. The alpha was desperate, every action filled with unrestrained adoration, devotion and faithfulness. Chan was a feral holy beast who was very madly in love. “I’m not stopping till you’re full,” he whispered against Minho’s lips. “Not till I know it took.” He reached out his calloused hands to caress Minho’s face, golden eyes burning with so much passion and love. “You’re going to be such a wonderful mom.” He then kissed him again, swallowing the sounds and whimpers that flowed out the omega's swollen lips as his hips continued to rock, mounting Minho with raw abandon.

And when his knot finally swelled, stretching Minho's pussy even more, he unabashedly buried his cock to the hilt. He then stayed there, grinding in deep as he came with a guttural moan, thick spurts of cum painting Minho’s insides in a torrential flow of rich semen. “Oh God Almighty!” he moaned loudly, body tensing as his cock twitched and pulsed inside the omega; filling Minho’s pussy with his thick, hot, fertile alpha cum. “Holy Mother of God!” he exclaimed at the sensation of his cock getting milked dry. His cry echoing across the multiple halls of their estate. “Fuck!” He didn’t pull out, didn't want to. He just held him tightly all throughout his raging orgasm; rocking through it and gasping into his throat; cock already hardening again with the insatiable need to do it all over again as he locked them together. 

Minho clung to him weakly, moaning, whimpering, sounding so so beautiful it broke him open. 

Chan nearly wept. He came so hard he blacked out for a second, knot locking tight as his seed flooded his mate’s womb in long, hot pulses. He didn't stop, though. He kept thrusting, desperate to push every drop deeper and keeping it inside.

Minho’s belly bulged slightly, a taut swell forming from the sheer amount of cum that flooded his midsection. Chan stared at it like it was art, his eyes dark with both lust and love. Then he kissed it, murmuring breathlessly, “You’ll take. I know you’ll take. My pretty little witch is going to carry our babies, yeah? I can't wait for it, my love.”

Minho didn’t answer. Just whimpered. But he also didn’t push him away. Body too exhausted, mind too hazy, too overwhelmed and instincts utterly too pliant. And with that, he passed out; finally surrendering to his exhaustion and letting the darkness that consumed him usher his consciousness to sleep.

And Chan, ever the doting and committed alpha that he was, immediately took care of him. “I love you, Minho.”

--

After that faithful day, time seemed to pass by in a blurred spectrum. 

Minho’s heat dragged on for a couple more days and Chan, alpha through and through, rose to meet it. He was nothing if not a loving husband of course.

Every time Minho tried to crawl out from their king-size bed, Chan hauled him back with one hand around his slender waist, whispering, “Not yet, kitten. I’m still trying to take care of you, yeah?” he would say as he slid his cock back inside Minho’s familiar hole with ease, stunning the omega and leaving his body completely weak and pliant under the alpha’s hold. “There, there, that's a good wife.”

And it didn't stop there, no. Chan was absolutely insatiable, so utterly obsessed with the omega that even when Minho was still deep in slumber, he would still take him.

One morning, as light filtered dimly through the thick curtains of the villa; casting a warm, golden hue over the rumpled sheets where two bodies lay tangled together after a night of endless claiming, Minho felt it. 

The omega’s mind was floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. His limbs were still heavy with exhaustion, his breath slow but somehow even; all while the remnants of haze from the night before still lingered in his consciousness. He was laid on top of Chan, courtesy of the alpha, of course, as his head rested against the strong chest of the man beneath him.

Minho was barely awake, but then…he felt it. A slow, deliberate motion inside him–deep, slow thrusts, gentle but unrelenting.

Chan was inside him…and he was fucking him again.

Minho blinked sluggishly, forehead scrunched and eyes barely opening as a soft gasp slipped from his lips. His body was sore and sensitive from the night before, yet the familiar stretch of the alpha’s thick cock moving within him almost instantly made his body react. Against his will his inside stirred as he felt a flush of warmth deep in his belly. He whimpered faintly, head tucked into the crook of Chan’s neck, as Chan only held him close and continued rocking into him from below; slow and tender, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Shhh, baby,” Chan whispered, brushing his lips against Minho’s temple. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

One strong arm was wrapped securely around Minho’s waist, holding him flush against his body. The other hand slid slowly down Minho’s spine, fingertips tracing the curve of his lower back before resting on the softness of his ass, guiding him with every lazy thrust.

Minho trembled, overwhelmed by the gentle pleasure and the warmth that surrounded him in which he had not ask for. He couldn’t move. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was too tired to do so. Add that Chan was cradling him so tightly, so lovingly, like he was something precious.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Chan murmured, voice husky and thick with emotion. “You just…looked so good. You feel too good. I missed you, even in my sleep.”

Minho let out a quiet, breathy sound, head still resting over the alpha’s chest. “Y-You could've woken me up…” He bit his lower lip when a particular slide almost made him moan.

“I know,” Chan only chuckled softly, nuzzling into his hair. “But you were sleeping so perfectly, kitten, I didn't want to disturb you.”

Yeah, because this wasn't disturbing him at all. Minho ever the smart mouth wanted to argue. But as each slide slowly glossed in and out of his pussy, he found himself lost for words as his body, ever so traitorous, was surrendering to it. 

The Alpha’s thrusts stayed slow, deep and reverent, like he was making love to every inch of Minho’s soul and not just his body. There was no rush, no force. Only love. Only Chan. “You’re mine,” he whispered, almost like a vow. “Every part of you. And I’ll take care of you…always.”

Minho felt his throat tighten, eyes prickling with unshed tears. This wasn't real. He knew it wasn't. And yet his body, still sore, still pulsing with the remnants of the night’s passion, responded to Chan with quiet submission. He let himself be held, be cradled, be claimed, his heart beat thumping against his chest as Chan’s cock stretched and slid into him in a way that had Minho’s face flushing with warmth.

“I love you,” Chan whispered, voice soft and just full of hopeless devotion. He was still buried inside him, still cradling him with so much care and tenderness.

Minho could only bury his face deeper onto the crook of the alpha’s neck as he hid in both embarrassment and dread. And when the alpha finally came deep inside once more, he only closed his eyes tighter, as he felt strong arms wrapped securely and adoringly around him, keeping him in place. All while his pussy unconsciously milked Chan’s cock for all its worth. 

Minho, by all means, wanted to disappear.

But somehow it wasn't always sex. No no, Chan was also very hands on in taking care of his omega. He gave Minho massages when he knew the omega's body was pushed a little bit too hard in some of the many rounds of their love/baby making. He brushed his hair with all the gentleness in the world; hands working in complete opposite as to when he was engaged in battle. And he would even carry Minho, often in bridal style which would have the omega flushing red in embarrassment, when his little witch-wife was too exhausted to walk. He was, of course, to be blamed for it. He did all these on top of so many other domestic acts he could think of. Because truly, who was he if not the ever so doting and ever so present alpha mate of thee Lee Minho?

Chan also fed the disgruntled omega witch by hand in between rounds. He'd present Minho with trays upon trays of sweet fruits, custards, desserts and fancy pastries he'd ordered their house maids to prepare with due diligence. He made sure that they were all so dutifully made that they left Minho’s lips sticky and just absolutely kissable. He also ensured that he was always there to help Minho in bathing. Now the omega would often oppose the act, arguing that he was fully capable of doing so on his own. But Chan, ever so bounded by his loyalty and adoration towards the younger, could simply not fathom the idea of not providing any assistance for his beloved mate. So, despite the protests, he still bathed him. He washed his body, shampooed his hair; all while cradling him, pressing their bodies close together.

On some occasions he would let Minho sit on a golden stool while he stood in front of him in all his naked glory. He would massage the omega's scalp in such a gentle and soothing way, lathering and cleaning his soft hair with expensive shampoo that they've imported from another kingdom. It was during times like this that he would gently nudge Minho's face closer to his cock, just enough to tease his lips with the tip. Chan would receive a glare from the grand witch and he'd only smile, completely fond. He would then lightly tap on the omega's lips using a finger or two as if asking for permission. And when the shy witch hesitantly opened his mouth, eyes looking at everywhere but the alpha, the lovesick paladin would take this as an invitation to push his cock inside the warm, wet crevice of Minho's mouth; praising him for being such a good and lovely wife. He never pushed any more than what the omega can take, though. Just let whatever the younger can accommodate rest hot and heavy around his lips and on his tongue. And knowing that Minho was also still too shy to be moving his head on his own, the alpha would help by carefully rocking his hips, letting his cock slowly slide in and out of his kitten's very cute mouth, while also continuing with his act of washing his mate's hair. 

Chan thought it was all too cute and just very domestic.

And once he'd rinsed off the soap from Minho's body, he then would make love to him in warm water; positioning himself in between flushed, shaking thighs and fucking his beloved in their indoor hot spring once again. After, when he carried Minho in his arms as they got out, he made sure that they do it again on the marble floor; gently laying the omega on his back. All while passionately claiming Minho's mouth with his, strong arms wrapped securely around him, as the younger's limbs trembled at getting filled and bred for the nth time; body remaining pliant and expression utterly glazed.

And every time Minho tried to ask for space or even sleep, Chan would just kiss his forehead lovingly. “Just one more. Just one last time, sweetheart, okay? I want to make sure it takes,” he would promise.

Yet it was never just "one more". And Minho could simply do nothing but to just comply.

Now, at the tail end of it all, the omega had finally whispered something else. “Can I sleep…alone? Just for a little while?” The omega’s voice was hoarse, body still trembling with aftershocks, lips pressed in a thin line and thighs marked with hickies and love bites.

Chan blinked.

Alone? Surely he couldn't have that.

But Chan, eager to be seen as the perfect mate, nodded. Placed a gentle kiss to Minho’s temple and whispered, “Of course, love. Go and rest, you’ve earned it.” He then stood up, stretching taut muscles as he pulled on his robe. He made it all the way to the door before he heard it. Something quiet, so quiet he almost thought he imagined it.

A soft, broken cry from the bed.

Chan paused, hand on the doorknob, expression unreadable.

And then, he smiled. His eyes flickered to the ceiling, satisfied with the thought that filled his head. “He must miss me already.” He bit his lips in excitement and satisfaction. 

Delusion, really.

And with that comforting thought, he walked away, making a mental note to return to their bedchamber as quickly as possible, because what kind of alpha was he if he distressed his mate? Surely that's an attitude worthy of being maimed by the swords. That is simply unbecoming of what he wanted to be for his omega.

Later that day.

The cool midday breeze kissed Chan’s cheeks as he stood on the marble balcony, overlooking the waking city. The streets below bustled with early risers, vendors, and messengers darting about with the same energy that hummed inside him. He clutched a steaming mug of chocolate, Minho’s favorite. It was more bitter than he usually liked, but lately, it had grown on him–much like the quiet, adorable witch he now called his own.

Footsteps echoed from behind, measured and deliberate. 

“I have to say, you truly impressed us all,” came the familiar baritone of his father, Lord Bang, as he stepped into the sunlight. He was already impeccably dressed for the day, his silver hair glinting like steel.

Chan turned slightly, arching a brow. “Father,” he noted in acknowledgement.

His father joined him at the small table and helped himself to a fruit-studded croissant from the breakfast platter. “The Grand Academic Witch of Levanter, eh? It's no wonder the entire Mansion is still buzzing with gossip.”

A grin tugged at Chan’s lips as he took a sip of his drink. “Yes, my beloved really is quite something.” His eyes were gleaming with something fond, something proud.

“He is indeed,” his father agreed with an approving nod. “And the fact that you, the chosen one, an alpha born by divinity and holy grace was with him. I couldn’t have imagined a more fortuitous match for you, not with how tense things have grown politically.”

Chan’s smile faltered, and he set his cup down. “Father, come now. You know better than anyone that politics had no bearing on my heart.”

Lord Bang gave him a knowing look. “Of course not.”

“I simply…I love Minho. Truly, madly, deeply. There is nothing in this world I want more than to be by his side.”

“And to be inside him, I’m sure,” the older man murmured into his drink with a smirk.

Chan choked and turned red. “Father!”

Lord Bang only chuckled, waving off his son’s embarrassment. “You’re not exactly quiet about it. Half the House has heard your...devotion since the wedding heat started.”

Chan chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose I haven’t exactly been subtle. But you really cannot fault me on that, father. My mate, he really is something magnificent.”

“You’ve been in love since the moment you saw him.”

“I didn’t even realize it at first. I thought he hated me.” Chan leaned on the railing, watching a group of children race past a fountain below. “But now...I simply cannot imagine a life without him.”

His father hummed thoughtfully, then asked, “And what of heirs? You know your mom and I are expecting to have grandchildren.”

Chan's fingers tightened around the balustrade as he chuckled, fond memories immediately playing in his head. “We've already started trying,” he admitted, cheeks pink. “I want it all. A family. A life. I want to see him glowing with my children, to know he carries our future in his womb.”

Lord Bang raised a brow. “Already so eager, aren't you, son? I supposed you took that from me. God knows how much worse I was with your mom.”

Chan smiled, laughing lightly as he nodded. “I’m ready. And he's…” he breathed, “he's perfect. Even when he's tired, even when he’s unsure, he's still so perfect. And I’ll be sure to take care of everything.” He paused, eyes growing fond. “ Of him.”

“You’ve grown, my son. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, father. I’m sure many challenges will arise as we journey this new life as mates. But rest assured that I will do everything in my power to keep him safe and happy with me, regardless if it takes time.”

Lord Bang nodded. “And your journey back to the Kingdom?”

That was the only cloud in his sunlit sky.

Chan sighed, glancing up at the heavens. “We still have our respective duties to uphold. But I think...I’ll ask Minho to stay behind. At least for now.” The sheer thought of Minho going back to doing missions on top of the loads he already had for being the head of a Witchcraft academy burned something undesirable in the alpha’s chest. “Perhaps the staff and our family could watch over him. At least until I settled everything with the King. I no longer want him exposed to danger. Not when he's my mate now, and not when there’s even the smallest chance he could be carrying.”

His father gave him a long, assessing look. “You’ll have to convince him. That one doesn’t strike me as the type to sit quietly and let others make his choices.”

Chan smiled fondly. “I know. It's  what drew me into him, honestly.” He sounded like a child who was given candy for the first time. “I’ll do it gently. But I can’t take risks, not with him. Not with our child. And most certainly not with our future.”

“Son,” Lord Bang spoke with a knowing edge in his voice. “You had zero intention of finding a mate there even after what me and your mother said, didn't you?”

Chan met his father’s gaze, eyes gleaming with a determined finish. “I would've mindlessly strolled around the outskirt of the forest until the event came to an end.” His answer was both honest yet firm. He truly didn't care about anyone else aside from Minho. 

His Minho.

Lord Bang gave him a long but understanding look.

“This is why I know that we are truly destined for each other. Him being present there was the chance I have long been praying for,” Chan added with an earnest lilt in his voice. “I am wholly his and he is wholly mine. In mind, body and soul.”

His father leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the horizon. “The media is apparently calling it the claim of the century. An esteemed omega, hiding his status for years; and then joining a noble alphan bloodline. Bridging the divide between modern ideals and ancient blood. It’s honestly poetic.”

“It was fate, father,” Chan replied softly, straightening himself. “Written by our gracious God himself from before time began.”

Lord Bang lifted his cup in agreement. “To divine destiny.”

Chan then raised his own. “To a blessed beginning and a hopeful future for me and Minho.”

And as the sun rose higher, casting golden light across the balcony, Chan turned toward the corridor, heart pounding with anticipation. He was already picturing Minho’s flushed face beneath him, already tasting the sweetness of his sighs. He didn’t care what duties awaited him. Not right now.

He had a mate to return to.

And their happily ever after? Well, it was only just beginning.

🐺🐰