Chapter Text
The kingdom of Yuuei is obsessed with dragons and dick, but Izuku only knew about the dragons until his carriage rolled across the border.
The dick is a surprise.
Izuku gapes through the carriage window when he spots the first one, a jade sculpture, taller than a man, just sitting at one end of a village green surrounded by wildflowers.
“What was that?” he asks, wondering if he just hallucinated that it had a foreskin.
His advisor, Toshinori, looks up from his book. “What?”
“That statue.” Izuku motions out the window and Toshinori leans closer to see behind the carriage.
“The phallus?”
“Yes!” Izuku hisses. “Why do they have a giant phallus standing where their goats graze?”
Toshinori chuckles. “Dear Izuku, surely you know about Yuuei’s cultural obsession with dragons. They represent the power that keeps the western continent safe.”
“Of course I do,” Izuku says, trying not to snap at the old man. Everyone knows about the Yuuei dragon pact. “But what does that have to do with a giant phallus?”
“Oh.” Toshinori looks at him like he’s simple. “Well, for them, it’s the same thing. The phallus represents power and also the touch of dragons, which is passed down generationally…”
He goes on, but Izuku tunes him out. The old man has been coaching him for more than a month now—ever since the letter arrived—and there's no need for him to memorize the history of the Yuuei royal family and their pact with dragons when he’s only going to be there for a week.
He gets it. Penis equals power. Dragon equals big penis. It’s the same sort of backwater thinking common in the rural parts of Musutafu where the wise women carry stuffed dolls as tokens of fertility.
When they pass another village with a ten-foot tall phallus standing at a dirt road turnoff, Izuku flips to a new page in his sketchbook, pencil moving rapidly. This one is obsidian black, with an alpha knot at its base. He laughs to himself, wondering if he’ll find the next one incorporated into a fountain and spraying water into the air.
Many things will be strange in Yuuei, no doubt. At least he can entertain himself for these last few miles to the capital.
𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇
When the letter from Queen Mitsuki arrived, everyone was confused.
Izuku is a second cousin to the king, so far down the line of succession that he’s more likely to be called to mop the throne room floor than to sit on the throne. Although he was raised in the castle, playmate to the youngest prince, Izuku’s proximity to power was largely based on the fact that his parents died of fever when he was young and Enji extended the protection of the crown.
So Izuku grew up shoulder to shoulder with Shoto. They shared nannies and tutors. They were sparring partners and confidants. They even shared a room until Izuku’s presentation as omega.
But none of that explains the letter.
Dearest Enji,
[here follows a page of pleasantries]
You’ve likely heard that my son, Katsuki, is reaching the age of majority in the fall and we are looking for an appropriate mate ahead of his rut.
I recall that among your cousins is male omega, strong, artistic, and spirited. We remember him fondly from our visit, many years ago, shortly after Katsuki’s presentation as an alpha in the dragon line.
I wonder if we might discuss the possibility of a match…
[it goes on from there]
Why the hell is the royal family of Yuuei considering a fractional-blood omega from an unimportant kingdom as a match for the Dragon Prince—one of the most eligible bachelors on the continent?
The idea that anyone from the Yuuei delegation would remember Izuku from their visit seven years ago is laughable. The idea that he would have left a positive impression, even more so. At thirteen, Izuku was stick-thin with wind-tangled hair and a face full of freckles from afternoons spent outdoors. Fresh off his first heat with his hair growing in green, he was uncomfortable and uncertain in his body. And given the rarity of male omegas, many others were uncomfortable with him, too.
Since it was unlikely he’d be of use to the royal family, Izuku was largely left to his own devices. He spent most of his time outdoors, sketching wildlife—a hobby that was at least semi-acceptable for an omega, although nobody liked it when he snuck into the forest to find more dangerous animals.
When the Yuuei delegation visited to show off their prized “dragon alpha” prince, Izuku was particularly interested in griffins. He remembers this clearly because Katsuki, freshly presented and brimming with unwarranted confidence, criticized his sketches of their wings, saying the bone structure was wrong and Izuku would know if he had ever seen a dragon.
Izuku had retorted that Katsuki would know it was correct if he had ever seen a griffin.
Their polite discussion culminated in a screaming match. Katsuki grabbed his sketchbook and threw it out the window. Izuku punched him in the throat. They refused to speak to each other for the rest of the trip.
It seems that Mitsuki’s brain logged this behavior as strong, artistic, and spirited.
𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇
The main city in Yuuei is colloquially called the Heights, because it’s perched on the slopes of a mountain. Legend has it that it’s the same mountain the princess Bakugo Mizuki climbed to barter a pact with the dragons about two hundred and fifty years ago, when Yuuei was bleeding out a generation of men to war with the Shigaraki clan.
An omega princess, but a ballsy one. It worked out pretty well for her.
A few dragons can do a lot to turn the tides of war. Mizuki’s betrothed returned home and she bore a child later that year—the first Katsuki. Rumor has it that her husband wasn’t the only one involved. The babe looked like him, save his blood-red eyes that shone like dragon scales.
The child, said to be dragon-touched, was a symbol of the pact, and the legacy bred true in the bloodline. Red eyes, hot tempers, and military prowess. At least that’s the legend, along with all sorts of other silliness like cold resistance, hair spun from dragon’s gold, and scales running down their backs.
Whatever the truth of it, Yuuei’s military is what keeps the western continent safe from invasion, and any person of royal blood on the continent knows where their allegiance belongs.
Despite the early autumn chill, the path that twists up the mountain to the castle is filled with children and other merrymakers, all eager to welcome the Dragon Prince’s potential mates. Many hold tokens of scarves or flowers, wanting to participate in their own way in the selection of Katsuki’s mate.
Izuku smiles and waves, occasionally reaching out his window to take a gift or clasp a hand. These aren’t his people, but their excitement is sweet and cheering. After all, a new person joining the royal family is a big deal for the whole kingdom.
One little girl glimpses Izuku and shrieks, “It’s him! The boy!” before barreling over with a small bouquet of golden flowers. Izuku takes them, laughing at her enthusiasm, only to end up with a lap full of flowers when five more bouquets are tossed in the window.
“That’s probably enough, my lord,” Toshinori says, leaning forward to hook the window closed. “You aren’t accustomed to the cold. Take care of your health.”
“Yes, Toshi,” Izuku says, tone conceding as he gathers the flowers into some order and sets them next to him on the seat. Sparkles of saffron pollen spill out onto plush blue velvet. “I’d hate to lose my shot at the Dragon Prince’s hand because of a cold when there are so many better reasons for him to select a more appropriate mate.”
Toshinori only sighs and drops his eyes back to his book.
The carriage moves slowly through the crush, which gives Izuku ample time to observe the remarkable works of art which decorate the main road. Phalluses, every one. They grow larger and more ornate as the carriage nears the palace. Izuku can’t repress a giggle as they roll past one. He can only see the base because it must be fifteen feet high, but it is carved with veins. The next is alarmingly realistic in pink quartz and surrounded by white marble eggs.
A woman in an apron shoos away the children playing among them, looking adorably as if they had just hatched from a dragon’s clutch.
𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇
King Enji is not amused when Izuku’s bewilderment turns into hysteria and he outright laughs at Queen Mitsuki’s letter.
“Why?” Izuku gasps. “Why would they inquire about me?” Even in his own kingdom, nobody has expressed interest in mating him. Male omegas are unfashionable, and Izuku more than most. He’s nothing like the beautiful, charming male omega Enji keeps on the side.
Enji raises an eyebrow. “Well, it’s not for your royal comportment.” That is obvious. Or his style. Or his manners.
“Can you think of any other reason?” Enji asks, as if speaking indulgently to a six-year-old in the throne room. “Anything else about you that might interest the royal family of Yuuei?”
Oh. Oh. Maybe he could.
“Are there any other male omegas with royal blood?” he asks.
Enji gestures tiredly at Toshinori to answer the question. “Not on the western continent, Lord Izuku.”
“But, still,” Izuku argues. “I’m hardly a good match for an alpha like the Dragon Prince!”
No one argues with him.
“Perhaps,” Toshinori says gently, “They are making an effort at representation among the potential mates for the prince. Ensuring all countries and genders are included.”
It would be a politically savvy move, and it eases Izuku’s mind, even if he isn’t thrilled to be included.
Enji reads the letter again, glasses perched on his nose. “Maybe so, but we won’t squander this opportunity.” It’s always grated on him how little power Musutafu has in the region. “A closer relationship with Yuuei would benefit the kingdom.”
“There’s really very little chance that—” Izuku’s mouth seals shut when Enji clears his throat. He’s being too familiar. Just because he grew up in the castle doesn’t mean he has a voice at this table.
“Izuku. You’ve grown up with an unprecedented level of freedom. But just like my children, you have a responsibility to Musutafu. You will go, and you will represent yourself, and our kingdom, well.”
Izuku swallows down his protests. “Yes, King Enji.”
Nothing will come of it, anyway. Maybe he’ll get a chance to draw some dragons.
𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇
Although the castle is built of cold, gray stone, Izuku’s room is opulent, covered in tapestries and rugs in reds and oranges so vibrant they seem to generate their own heat.
The window shutters are closed tight against the chill, and the fire in his sitting room is stoked high for warmth. One weaving in the sitting area particularly captures his attention. It shows the omega princess Mizuki resting in the curve of a red dragon’s wing. In the flicker of the firelight, Izuku can almost see the dragon breathing.
“Do you need any help preparing for the reception?” Toshinori asks, standing in the doorway of his adjoining room—much smaller and less luxurious.
“No, Toshi,” Izuku sighs, looking at the clothes laid out in the bedroom. He’s gonna be cold.
“My lord, are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wear something more… classic? I brought—”
“No,” Izuku interrupts, waving him off. “I’ll wear this.”
He already won this argument back in Musutafu. The outfit on the bed is classic. Just classically masculine. Izuku isn’t going to wrap himself in feminine, flimsy silks to try and impress some alpha he can barely remember.
Although Izuku does wish that traditional omegan garb weren’t quite so revealing. His outfit was sewn from fine silk by Enji’s own tailors. They spent a week arguing over the perfect shade of green to highlight his hair, and bemoaning the fact that he keeps it cut too short to be fashionable.
The trousers are loose through the legs, but cut low enough that they only skim the tops of his hip bones, leaving his navel entirely exposed.
“That’s where the babies go,” Izuku snarks to himself as he loops a red sash around his waist.
He gets no shirt at all, but a loose, sleeveless jacket, also in green silk. It has a high collar that covers his scent gland as a nod to modesty. Yet it leaves his chest bare and is cut higher in the back to show off his ass, which, he’ll admit, is one of his best features.
“That’s where the cock goes,” he says sarcastically, looking over his shoulder at the standing mirror. Izuku hasn’t worn a traditional outfit in years, and it feels strange. A part of himself he hasn’t seen in a while. Definitely not since he got all that definition in his chest and arms.
The last piece is the long white gloves that reach almost to his shoulder. They aren’t traditional, but Enji’s tailors wanted to disguise Izuku’s muscles. They’re so tight around the bicep Izuku doubts they’re doing any good on that front.
He might wear the outfit, but he doesn’t look the part. Too muscular. Too masculine. Too mouthy.
What a waste of effort. Izuku will do his duty, but it’s silly that Enji and his advisors think this will result in some sort of beneficial trade agreement or relationship with Yuuei. Izuku’s just a token male omega to show how enlightened and egalitarian the Yuuei royal family is.
He’ll get a fancy meal, and hopefully the opportunity to sketch some dragons, and Prince Bakugo can settle on a nice omega girl, soft and demure and wrapped in beautiful colors like a flower about to bloom.
And that’s what should happen. It’s what he wants. But some small part of Izuku dreads being looked at like a failure. A subpar omega.
One of the attendants gathered the flowers from his carriage and put them in a vase next to his bed, a tumble of bright color that warms him just to see it. He recalls the little girl who was so excited to see a boy in the carriage, and draws out one of the golden flowers she gave him. The scent is spicy and comforting, like the summer sun. He pinches off the stem and tucks the flower behind his ear.
One tiny concession to beauty.
𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇
Waiting is annoying. As a diluted-blood royal, Izuku rarely has to do much of it. But here in Dragon Keep Castle, or whatever the hell they call it, he’s a guest, and will be escorted around like one. Toshinori has already gone ahead to ensure his place at the banquet is prepared, so he sits in his sitting room, as far as possible from the fire, because he’s already feeling too warm.
Finally, there’s a knock at the door, jarringly loud for a servant.
“Come in,” he calls, adjusting his collar to stand up properly around his neck.
A man walks in with a swirl of red. He is definitely not a servant.
No, he’s the prince. Seven years later, he’s just as recognizable. Taller, with the same angry red eyes and down-turned mouth. His clothing is a surprise, though. His chest is bare save for a few necklaces that look like honest-to-goodness dragon teeth. Broad shoulders are covered in soft, white fur and a red cape falls to brush the floor. Black pants and fur-lined boots make the contrast of bare skin even more stark.
Izuku never expected the prince to show more skin than himself. Bakugo’s garb is almost omegan, but there’s no doubting that this man is an alpha. Izuku could tell by the size of his biceps alone. By his sharp teeth. By the heady smell of winter and sex.
Did he say sex? Because Bakugo Katsuki smells more like sex than any alpha Izuku has ever met. His presence fills the room—it’s like being plunged underwater.
The prince eyes him, up and down, as he stands.
“You’re Midoriya Izuku?” he asks, as if they’ve never met.
“Yes.” Izuku stands up straighter. When the prince says nothing, he asks, “And you are?”
He gets a snort for his cheek, but the prince answers, finally. “Bakugo Katsuki, the Dragon Prince.” He doesn’t bow.
“You’re just as I remember,” Izuku says. He means it to be scathing, but it comes out breathless. He does remember this scent and how uncomfortable it made him at thirteen. It makes him uncomfortable now, too. It’s unfair for someone so irritating to smell so good.
Bakugo steps closer, and that doesn’t help.
“You’ve changed,” he says. “You grew taller than I expected.”
Izuku bristles. He may only come up to Bakugo’s chin, but he’s average height. “Omegan men aren’t short.”
Bakugo raises an eyebrow. Looks down his nose at Izuku’s curls and mouth. His neck.
Izuku doesn’t want to tilt his head up and expose his scent gland, so he stares straight ahead at Bakugo’s frighteningly appealing collarbones.
He jolts when Bakugo’s hands slip into his open jacket to settle on his hips, warm fingers on sensitive skin, and squeeze like he’s a piece of fruit in the market. The heat of Bakugo’s hands seeps down into his core.
“You feel… sturdy.”
Sturdy? Okay. Izuku didn’t come here to be romanced, but this is bordering on insulting. He plucks the prince’s hands from his hips and drops them. “Thank you.”
Bakugo tilts his head. Narrows his red eyes. “You’re acting awfully standoffish for someone wearing a bedding gift.”
Izuku sputters. “Excuse me?”
Bakugou reaches out and pulls the flower from behind his ear. He holds it between them, watching Izuku. “A golden drake,” he says, while Izuku peers into the lush, overlapping petals like they'll part to reveal some secret.
“I don’t think they grow outside the mountains. Are you familiar with them?” Bakugo asks.
“No.”
“Ah.” Bakugo smiles to show his fangs. “Do you see stamen in the middle?”
Izuku nods, looking at the four little filaments, bright orange and fuzzy-looking.
“Well, their pollen induces a false heat.”
Izuku’s mouth falls open. Oh shit.
“You can eat it,” Bakugo says, voice rasping low. “The whole flower. Or a lover could blow on it, towards your face.” Bakugo does not do that, but Izuku watches his mouth, anyway. “Or”—he strokes a finger through the stamen—"he could rub the pollen on your tongue.”
Bakugo holds his finger up so that Izuku can see the stain of oily orange pollen, and he can barely stop himself from lolling out his tongue to lap it off. He snaps his mouth shut instead.
One deep breath and he shudders. Izuku can smell it now, the pollen of the flower in the air, scent muddled with Bakugo’s—warm and cold like sun melting snow. Fuck. He’s going to start slicking at this rate.
Bakugo smirks and puts the finger into his own mouth, dragging it back out between full lips. “Tastes a bit like molasses, but spicy. Doesn’t do anything to alphas.”
“Of course,” Izuku grumbles. Nothing affects alphas.
“I’ll take it then, that this was not a bedding gift.” Bakugo steps back to put a little space between them and Izuku finds that his brain begins working again. Apparently, its processing power is inversely related to their proximity.
“It was not,” he says, feeling foolish and woozy. “A child gave them to me on the road to the castle.”
Bakugo brushes past, walking directly into his bedroom. He opens the shutters and cold air radiates in. “Be more careful. The mountains are full of dangerous things.” He tosses the flower out the window and then freezes when he sees the vase next to Izuku’s bed.
“Well, shit. A child didn’t put them in a vase for you and set them next to your bed.”
“Uh no. That was one of your servants.”
“Fucking meddlers.” Bakugo walks the vase over to the window carefully, like he’s trying not to shake the flowers. Then he chucks the whole thing out the window.
Izuku hears the porcelain shatter somewhere distant. They’re quite high up.
“Clean bedding,” Bakugo says briefly. “And no aphrodisiacs. I’ll tell your attendants.”
The prince looks over his shoulder at the window and his nipples are hard from the chill. And now Izuku’s are too, from the sight. Or possibly from inhaling an aphrodisiac for the last hour.
“You may want to leave it open for a bit.” He walks up to Izuku and leans close, nostrils flaring. “The pollen is potent and if you walk into the banquet smelling like that, everyone will think you’re trying to seduce me.”
The wind is like ice, but Izuku stands at the window anyway, taking clean air deep into his lungs. And thinking about Bakugo Katsuki.
Was he flirting? The encounter is deeply sexy when it plays back in Izuku’s head like a hazy dream. On the other hand, Izuku was hopped up on slutty flower pollen.
It seems unlikely that the Dragon Prince came to his room and tried to seduce him with words like “sturdy.” He was barely even polite. Just wandered in unannounced like he owns the place and assessed Izuku like an animal at market.
And fine, the prince does own the place, but that doesn’t mean he can neglect the most basic courtesies, even to an omega he has no interest in marrying.
The chill becomes too much and Izuku returns to his sitting room, pausing at a strange sight. Laying on the table is a bound blue notebook with a charcoal-smudged cover. His notebook. The one Bakugo threw out a tower window so many years ago.
He flips through the pages, smiling at the childish sketches of centaurs and griffins. He gets to the drawing Bakugo critiqued and snorts to find notes written in blocky print with arrows pointing at the wing joints.
Then he turns the page and blinks in surprise at a dragon that he certainly did not draw. It’s amateurish and unfinished, page smeared with pencil dust and rubbed-out lines. Along the side, Bakugo has written, “Fuck—this is harder than it looks.” And in a more polished script at the bottom, written in ink, it says, “Sorry for taking your notebook.”
It’s sort of… charming.
There’s a knock at the door, more timid this time, and a female servant enters, head tucked down like she’s expecting a scolding. Or perhaps she already has already received it.
“Our deepest apologies, Midoriya omega.”
Izuku hates being referred to by his designation. He has a name.
“We’ll clean and refresh your chambers immediately. If you are ready, please allow me to escort you to the reception banquet. The royal family is eager to welcome you.”
𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇 𓆇
Designation norms vary by region, but they are always annoying.
Omega or not, Izuku does not need an escort. He can feed himself. He does not prefer a collar, although occasionally he’ll wear a nice one as a treat for a beta with an omega kink. But try to put a lock on him and he’ll bite your damn hand.
Musutafu is quite liberal when it comes to omegas, which means that Izuku has little practice adhering to outdated and unnecessary norms.
It took only one visit to the much more conservative Shiketsu before Izuku was permanently removed from the international relations roster. And he wasn’t trying to make a scene in the slightest. He was trying to follow the rules, but he couldn’t even eat properly from an alpha’s hand, as is the tradition for omegas in Shiketsu.
Apparently, you aren’t supposed to take the food from their fingers, but instead sit primly with your mouth open and wait for the food to be placed on your tongue. Daring to put your lips to an alpha’s fingers is blatant seduction, and not, as Izuku thought, an attempt to get some stodgy old man to feed you meatballs faster.
It’s a fine line, and Izuku clambered right over it, blissfully unaware of his own indecency until the whole room was staring at him in shock.
That’s why he isn’t invited on diplomatic trips anymore.
Yuuei is supposed to be very enlightened when it comes to designation relations—something about that omega princess. She climbed the mountain alone to speak to a dragon, so Izuku is now allowed to feed and dress himself in the kingdom of Yuuei. What a deal.
These sorts of important events, however, always default back the historical roles better left to history.
The reception room is already warm and noisy when Izuku arrives but the hum of voices softens as Izuku steps inside. The walls are covered in a gold-burnished burgundy that shimmers in the firelight from dozens of fat wax candles set into bronze sconces.
Queen Mitsuki stands near a cut-stone fireplace and dominates the space with her heavy jeweled crown and her wide, almost predatory smile. The prince stands at her left, somehow giving the impression of a slouch, despite his perfect posture. He’s dressed just as he was in Izuku’s room, save the addition of a gold circlet that gives the appearance of red dragon wings behind his head. It’s sort of cute.
The queen’s consort, Masaru, is on her right, hands clasped deferentially. The Bakugo dragon genes clearly breed true since the prince favors his mother in both looks and mannerisms. Same lucid red eyes. Same golden coloring. Same irritable twitch in their cheek when the steward announces Izuku as Midorio omega, second cousin to King Enji of Musutafu.
At least they noticed.
Izuku approaches with his best court smile and bow. Omega or not, he does not curtsey.
The prince and consort return the bow while Mitsuki inclines her head. More of a nod, really, since she outranks everyone on the continent, but her voice is warm. “Midoriya Izuku,” she says, loudly enough to emphasize that she does know his name. “Welcome to the protection of Yuuei.”
It’s an old greeting, and rather silly at this point since the entire continent is protected by Yuuei and its dragons, but Izuku knows the proper response. “May the fire of our protectors burn brightly.”
Mitsuki courteously asks about his journey and an attendant hands a black velvet box to the prince. It's probably a gift for him—some standard expression of gratitude that all the prince’s potential mates will receive.
Except the prince opens the box himself. Izuku glimpses something shiny and green before the prince snaps it shut and hands it back, shaking his head. Queen Mitsuki’s smile goes strained and Izuku politely avoids looking while the prince snarls something and starts rifling through the boxes stacked on the silver tray behind him.
Izuku is explaining how exceedingly comfortable his rooms are when Prince Bakugo finally turns back to them. Mitsuki gives him a look.
“Your presence honors me,” he says, as if he’s said the words too many times today already. “A token of my esteem.”
The velvet is soft on Izuku’s palm. “Thank you.”
“Open it,” Bakugo says, eyes on the box.
“Oh, uh, certainly.” That’s very usual. Royal gifts are usually received privately. It’s a bit ostentatious to do it in public, but Prince Bakugo seems intent on it, so Izuku lifts the lid.
Nestled down in black plush is a long, golden earring, glinting back candlelight like a ray of sunshine. Izuku lifts it out and realizes it’s a chain of overlapping dragon scales. They clink together like music.
“It’s very beautiful,” Izuku says. And it is.
“Since you lost your other accessory,” Bakugou says tonelessly. “This is the same color.”
“Oh no, is that right?” Mitsuki’s eyebrows pinch together and she looks even more like her son when she's frowning. “Well, you should wear it then!” She holds out her hand. “May I?”
“S-sure,” Izuku stammers, but before he can move, Bakugo plucks the earring out of his hand.
“I'll do it.” His eyes fall to Izuku’s right earlobe. It’s pierced, of course. Most omegas wear earrings in the right ear—it’s supposed to be a lure, distracting alpha attention from the scent gland on their left side.
Izuku rarely wears jewelry, but he’s pierced all the same and he tilts his head instinctively as Prince Bakugo steps close. He’s exposing the wrong side for a bite, but it still feels far too intimate for a banquet.
Really? They’re really going to do this here?
“Katsuki collected all the scales himself on his hikes,” Mitsuki says, as if there’s nothing strange happening.
Bakugo turns Izuku’s chin and tucks a curl behind his ear. His hands are very warm.
“The gold ones are particularly rare,” she continues. “They’re only found on the bellies and necks of red dragons.”
Bakugo threads the gold hook through his earlobe, soft as the wind. Izuku feels only the slightest tug against his skin, but he can hear the faint click of the scales as the weight settles.
Finally, the prince steps back, reviews his work, and grunts.
“Lovely,” Mitsuki says, turning Izuku’s chin so the earring will catch the light. “I hope we’ll be able to speak more this evening."
Breathless and relieved by this polite dismissal, Izuku bows again and turns into the crowd, looking for Toshinori.
There are eight potential mates at the banquet table. The other seven are all female omegas, and each one stands out in the crowd like a hothouse flower, wrapped in sheer, colorful silks, glittering with chains and jewelry. Like Izuku, a few have the uniquely omegan hair colors many alphas admire—he spots lavender, cobalt, and rose.
Some wear collars, and for a few, the collar might be the most substantial piece of clothing they wear at all. Izuku’s not one to judge. None of them are responsible for the latest trends in omegan fashion, and his chest is bare too. Good thing the room is warm.
The prince sits at the head of the u-shaped table in between his parents, and he looks about as happy as Izuku feels to be here. Izuku feels a pang of sympathy for Bakugo. He may not even want to get married, and it’s certainly a limited set of options in the room.
Although, considering a beta would expand his options immensely. It’s rather old-fashioned for an alpha to insist on an omegan mate, especially one with beta parents. Perhaps it's one of those 'dragon alpha' traditions.
Izuku is seated at Mitsuki’s right, and he receives many glares for the unexpectedly favorable spot. But he ignores them and listens, bored but polite at the next round of speeches.
The food is brought in on large trays, and Bakugo stands and picks up the first plate. Another old tradition although it’s sort of a sweet ceremony, with three symbolic actions. Serving the food represents the alpha’s ability to provide. Tasting the first bite shows his willingness to protect. And finally, feeding the omega demonstrates care and devotion. Some even ascribe meaning to the foods themselves. Vegetables for health, fruit for fertility, meat for strength. Izuku's never paid much attention to the intricacies.
Izuku is served first, and it is heady to see those callused hands scoop up his polished chopsticks. Bakugo feeds himself a carrot from the curry and then deftly selects a morsel of chicken and brings it to Izuku’s waiting lips. The sauce is spicy and Izuku’s cheeks warm as he chews. Bakugo waits, watching his throat until he swallows.
It might be nothing more than ceremony and manners, but Izuku feels that heat go all the way down to his gut as Bakugo looks away.
And then shakes it off, because Bakugo repeats it perfectly, seven more times for seven more sets of plump, parted lips.
It means nothing.
That night Queen Mitsuki regales Izuku with stories of the Bakugou dynasty, many of them edging into legend territory.
Dessert is being served when she tells him of the first Katsuki, the first son of Princess Mizuki and the first dragon alpha, as they like to say in Yuuei. Izuku listens as he eats spoonfuls of vanilla mousse and dainty, white chocolate eggs.
“His mate bore four sons and four daughters,” she tells him. “A very strong omega. Stories say he had green hair, just like you.”