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Yoo Joonghyuk had sowed the seeds quite a ways ago.
This sort of hedonism—the innate alpha desire to possess—had spread its filthy tendrils towards Kim Dokja, a fellow party member of his. A beta party member, a competent mage, a gibberish-spewing man who often had nothing good to say. It was unfathomable why Yoo Joonghyuk desired such a person, when he’d desired no other in his life before. A beta, over an omega—such a thing was even more baffling.
At first, Yoo Joonghyuk had scented Kim Dokja discreetly, under the guise of keeping him safe. Keeping unwanted alphas away from him, keeping him firmly under the protection of their party. It’d been done through passing brushes against Kim Dokja, after he’d witnessed the man getting approached by other alphas, the smarmy looks on those faces enough to stoke the rage within Yoo Joonghyuk’s chest.
In a reasonable man’s mind, Yoo Joonghyuk would’ve thought that nobody else would’ve been interested in Kim Dokja—a beta at that. Omega beauties were uncommon, but not unheard of, and there were much better pickings than a beta with a pretty face. But with Kim Dokja’s talent, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he had disappeared one day, stolen by a rivalling travelling band, stolen glory as they proceed to take down the Demon King of this region.
It’d grown and grown, this filthy desire, when he’d bore witness Kim Dokja’s waltzes with death multiple times, when a hole had been punched through his organs, when Kim Dokja had been left bleeding dry.
Only then did Yoo Joonghyuk enact a second part to his plan.
A folk remedy for betas who wished to become omegas. A folk remedy for alphas who hungered for a beta. Such a thing had been spread, noted down in books, ones that had grown mildew with age, dust with disuse.
He’d cracked open one and found out the cure. The thing that could keep Kim Dokja firmly by his side for all of eternity.
It only took Yoo Joonghyuk’s seed. So, with a heavy hand, a heavy conscience, and the heavy weight of his length in his palm, he’d thought about Kim Dokja. Those pale lips, thinned when thinking. That pretty face, stained with tears. How would Kim Dokja smell, once he’d been turned into an omega, coming and begging for more of Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock as he fucked into that tight heat of his.
In no time, his shame spurted right onto his hand. In no time, that shame was hidden in the curry that Yoo Joonghyuk made that night.
Slipped into the food that Yoo Joonghyuk cooked for him, concentrated traces of alpha pheromones, in due time, Kim Dokja would turn into an omega. Slowly, soon enough.
But slow wouldn’t do it. Seeing Kim Dokja dance further, closer to the edge of the cliff, closer to his death during each one of their excursions, the rapid pacing of Yoo Joonghyuk’s heart grew further unsettled. It was then he expedited his process, more and more slipped into Kim Dokja’s food, more and more eaten up under the guise of fattening him.
When Kim Dokja had eventually knocked on his room, begging a Joonghyuk-ah, please—ngh, please help me, it was an inevitability.
The door gapes open, and Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand shoots out to grasp on the small of Kim Dokja’s back, preventing him from stumbling and faltering.
“Kim Dokja—“
“My body—ugh—it feels weird.” Kim Dokja pants against his chest, gripping against the fabric, then hastily grasping against his own. Against his stomach, he pulls on his robes, stumbling further into Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms.
The heat of his body radiates off of him, hotter than molten lava, the scent exuding from him absolutely divine. An omega who recently presented would spread pheromones of the highest concentration, and here, Yoo Joonghyuk is privy to the smell of something that he never knew he’d craved all along. Sweet, indescribable goodness, comparable to a warm, baked treat.
“I’ll help you, Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, “so stay still.”
Quick to obey for once, it’s a nice change of pace, with Kim Dokja’s head lolling around on his shoulder. Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t willing to make Kim Dokja wait, and the pants he’s wearing underneath the robes deftly pool around his ankles. Yoo Joonghyuk pushes him towards the bed, taking himself out of his increasingly tight pants as well, his cock throbbing within his palm, hot against the flesh.
The sight of Kim Dokja, a mess splayed out on his inn bed, is enough for Yoo Joonghyuk to hurry. His black hair frames his flushed face, a halo behind him. His robes are rucked up, revealing his own cock, hard and pitiful and weeping, against the fabric of his robes, against his own chest. His hole is soaked, slick coating his thighs. It’s enough, Yoo Joonghyuk thinks, to enter without preparation.
Kim Dokja simply groans, inebriated by his heat—so much so he can’t even reject the presence of Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock kissing his rim, sinking into his hole inch by inch. His breath hitches, and Yoo Joonghyuk can’t help but revel in that small sound, a sense of smugness permeating through his body.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. “Fuck. You’re—tight.” He breathes, heaving a breath, gritting his teeth, as he sinks further into Kim Dokja’s hole, endlessly clenching against his length, endlessly goading him further in. It’s until he’s bottomed out entirely, his cock pressing against something that makes Kim Dokja writhe endlessly, that he realizes that he’s hit Kim Dokja’s womb.
His womb. Kim Dokja’s newly formed womb.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s initial plan considered none of this—but he’d make do. Now, with a womb, Kim Dokja could be impregnated with his seed. Now, he could be full of Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock, knotted and satiated, stomach round and plump, unable to escape and bound by Yoo Joonghyuk’s side forever.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk growls. “You want to be pregnant, full of my pups, don’t you? You’ll stay here, beside me.”
The sharp slap of his hips against Kim Dokja’s own resounds through his inn room.
“Ugh, ah, hng—”
Kim Dokja writhes, a pathetic keen slipping out of his mouth, a strand of drool dripping down his chin, tears dotting his red-rimmed eyes. A beautiful sight, one that Yoo Joonghyuk could only see before in his dreams. As it always is, reality is a much better thing than anything his imagination could conjure up. His sound only serves as affirmation to Yoo Joonghyuk—that rhythmic clenching being more of a tell than anything that could come from his useless mouth.
Bruising and battering his womb again and again, relishing in the small keens, broken noises slipping out of Kim Dokja’s mouth, the haze of red over Yoo Joonghyuk’s vision grows stronger. To breed, to fill Kim Dokja with his pups, to make Kim Dokja his loyal mate. This obscene desire has burgeoned to the point where it would be a futile endeavor to contain it, and Yoo Joonghyuk, as such, has chosen to embrace it.
It’s when Yoo Joonghyuk flips Kim Dokja’s position, baring fangs against Kim Dokja’s neck, piercing the untainted skin of his nape—making Kim Dokja his mate—that the pulsing and convulsing reaches a peak, a groan slipping out of Yoo Joonghyuk’s own lips, his knot finally stretching Kim Dokja apart. Kim Dokja’s body twitches—only a little—the most he can manage with how spent he is. Yoo Joonghyuk flips Kim Dokja’s face over, chiding a command to breathe, before Kim Dokja finally takes in heaving gulps of air again.
Only when he’s managed to adjust does Yoo Joonghyuk flip his head back over, granting himself better access to Kim Dokja’s now-marked nape.
“You can’t die, Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk laps against the bleeding mating bite, choked sobs coming from Kim Dokja below. “Not now. Not ever.”