Archive of Our Own

Izuku knows you refrain from speaking too often this late, but even so, this silence is oppressive. His throat feels dry and prickles from the way he repeatedly dry swallows. You at least hum a line from the bard here and there, a musical phrase, but now, silence.

Even your scent is drawn in, leaving the air around you dull to its normally pleasant, light notes. Odd. Izuku normally gets this chance to bask in it, tucked silently in your tailwind, bombarded by every end to your sweet smell. But now, nothing.

Verdant eyes follow you, track and trace you delicately. A hand of yours tucked indecently into your flowing skirts, lifting them and giving a show of the smooth skin of your leg when you stepped. Izuku knew sooner than later that you would tire of the conscious steps you had to take to function in it, and he sighs quietly. Another irritant to your rough week, surely.

He rebels against his nature, the thing in him that wants to shield you from perceived hurts and threats in a way different from what should be your sworn Knight. There is little that he could do in his place, but if he were your mate. . .

Better to not think of if's.

Your free hand is in that of your chamber-maiden's, Mina, a sweet, mated omega, and even more, a friend who bears your weight as you stumble along to your quarters. You overindulged tonight, waved over the maid with her decanter of wine with startling frequency, but he can not fathom a single person who would blame you.

The working folk, the ones who serve at the behest and pleasure of the royal family—your family—are privy to much more than the average layman, which is why Izuku and Mina are quietly attentive to your current state. No matter the amount of time or, quote—"training"—unquote, they are made to receive, the ears still function as normal. They hear as well as you do. Their lips just stay shut tighter.

This does not negate what they remember hearing.

Izuku hears Mina whisper something to you, and when his eyes shift from over the chamber-maids shoulder to the hall before you to you, he sees your response in the form of a slight shake of your head.

"A bath, and. . . that tea. . ." He catches you saying softly, defeated in a tired way, one only a soul who has walked though the storms and currents would know.

Izuku watches Mina's set shoulders stiffen before dropping. The woman throws a look over her shoulder and sets her mouth in a line. "Yes, your highness, right away," she whispers, snapping her gaze back before Izuku can question with his eyes. He knows nothing about this tea, only that you request it only from her and another maiden.

He will see to it that it makes its way to your rooms.

Upon reaching your door, you both stop short of it, patiently waiting for Izuku to flit around you and dismiss the former guards of their duties. The young men salute him, meeting his eyes, before marching off to hear their next assignment.

Izuku opens the door, tilting his head down and holding it for you both to step through. You keep your eyes down as well, forsaking him the gentle smile you normally bestow, the one he recognizes only from the corners of his eyes. Mina ushers you in, telling you to head to your washroom for your bath, stopping and watching you pace towards it slowly.

When the door shuts, she sighs, shaking her head. "They are very persistent now, they will want an answer soon."

The knight looks up, eyes rounding the curve of her cheek. "You think they would disregard her lover?"

"If they decide said lover sounds fictional, yes," Mina frowns, knowing how much it hurts you to be forced to make a decision like this. Ousting your lover, or letting your parents arrange the prosperous marriage to another kingdom. He wishes no such fate on even his enemy.

"They seem real enough," Izuku argues, shifting on his feet. "Though the Princess talks very little to others, she does write extensively, who knows who those letters reach. Maybe a lover." Izuku, your sworn knight, will remain faithfully by your side either way.

Though your spoken lover makes an ache spring in his chest.

If's, if's, if's. . .

"Real or not, they need to come forth and declare the Princess is not alone in her yearning. You heard the King, them or his pick. The Princess is lucky for his grace, and he will not let her forget that so soon. You heard hi—" Mina looks to a corner, glaring before snapping her fingers and pointing at the floor. A young girl scurries their way, and Mina sends her off to find the apothecary, Momo Yayorozu. "Tell her: 'the Princess requests her tea'."

Izuku is intrigued by the girls reaction; her muted beta scent, her wide eyes, her pinched lips, and her quick inhale. She scuttles off soon after, and he follows her bouncing steps with intrigue.

He would love to know, but now. . .

"Have faith in the Princess. She knows well." He defends, shoulders slumping as much as his heavy armor would allow. Feeling relaxed forces the brain to relax as well, though it barely works. You are important to him.

"Yes, but she needs a miracle—and that fast." Mina, stares up at him, thin brows bunched, putting out a mix of her and her mates scent. He nods at her, acknowledging her open request to let Yayorozu in when she comes.

There is a bustle of movement for a bit, little ladies in and out of your rooms, and Izuku keeps watch over all of it, only moving when requested and keeping watch. He vets quickly, knowing the distinct shapes of scents better than faces, glad when it trickles down to few in number. He started to tire of that quickly.

He remembers Momo arriving and entering, sure to let her in quickly to accede to the their Princess' requests. And now he nods as she leaves, bag tight to her side as she nods to him and goes on her way, bland scent trailing after. A healer like her is needed without pause after all.

This illustrious tea. . .

"Alright, that does it." Mina says, slipping from your rooms, silently, how she has done scores of times before.

"The Princess?" Izuku questions, you always at the forefront of his mind.

"Relaxing. She was taken care of," Mina smirks, knowing his streak when it comes to his sworn royal. Izuku cowers a little, tucking his chin and shading his eyes with his helmet, getting a quiet laugh from his friend. "She might be peckish later; I am headed to the kitchens to request her favorites."

"Will I need to check in on her highness—"

"I would highly recommend not," Mina cuts him off. Her face is tight and Izuku closes his mouth soundly. "The Princess is fine, she has dealt with this alone and will be fine in time. . ." She must see his pensive look, and she clarifies. "She told me she would be fine but oblige her—at her request—if you'd like."

Izuku can do that. "Alright."

Mina looks at him with a raised brow. "Otherwise, she is well. This is our Princess, a beautiful, capable young woman, trusted by all, loved by more."

"Hear, hear."

Mina reaches up and slides the front grate of his helmet down, leaving him sputtering before fixing it. The woman is down the hall before he can retaliate.

That woman. . .

The next time she comes, toting platter upon platter of your favorite foods, Izuku presses his toe down on the long train of her dress, looking on innocently when she curses and snags it back.

It is quiet now, after all the foot traffic dies down. Not a bad thing, Izuku finds it more relaxing than worrying. He thinks of what he will write of in his journal when day comes and he has been temporarily relieved from his post by Ochako. The things he heard, what he saw. . . you.

Mostly of you.

You behind your door, licking your wounds, guarded by your sworn protector. The night has been long and rough to you, leaving you worse for wear, fraying at the ends and fatigued. He thinks long and hard of the life he could provide you, the love he could give, the ways he would never be the supposed lover who seems to never want to show their face for your sake.

It could never be him. In both circumstances, tragically.

The Knight straightens up more. The least he can do to help is be here, like he has been for some time now.

Take the time you need. Any of your problems will be stopped at this doorstep, confronted by him first, head on.

You are safe with him near.

⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆

"Knight. . ."

Izuku feels himself stiffen when you whisper from the crack of the door. A quick glance tells him that you pushed it open slightly, something he admittedly had yet to hear. His eyes cannot quite see you from the corner of his helmet, but he brushes this aside.

Your scent slips from your room, sweet, tinged with a touch of melancholy.

His poor Princess. . .

"Princess. . ." he says, low, not moving his head to look upon you just yet. You have yet call for his full attention, and he remembers you saying once that his full undivided gaze is cowing. It made his head ring then, and does now. Still, he would not want to frighten you, not after your day.

He hears your mouth open, hears you take a breath and release it. The door opens a bit more, he can feel the warmth escape from your room, brushing the side of his face and entering the gaps of his armor, gentle as your voice.

"Knight, would you come in?"

Oh. That is. . . not what he expected to hear. This gets his head turning to you, eyes wide. He sees your eyes trace the grated slats of his helmet, looking for his eyes through it as you wet and bite your lips. The glow from firelight illuminates the side of your face, and he feels something build in his chest looking at you. He tamps it down.

"Princess. . ." It would not be proper, he wants to say, even if your siblings, your cousins, even parents, do the same. Your family goading their guards in to drink and tup and play games is inherently unbecoming in manner. You never have indulged, at least not with him. He never struck you as the type.

But, anyone can change, he supposes.

For now, Izuku says nothing. He can not openly deny you, instead he can hope you change your mind with little fight. Izuku does not know what he would do in the same, enclosed space as you, a safe space you have crafted out in the palace.

It is not that he does not want to, he is simply unsure he could control himself with you surrounding him on all fronts. Your visage, your smell, your room, the collection of little things that make you you. You are the object centering his affection after all.

"My Knight, you wouldn't have me ask again?"

Your Knight. . .

Izuku has never been one to deny you, a foolish fallacy he finds himself holed into where you are concerned. This fallacy has little chance of changing any time soon. Try as he might to correct it, he returns to his default after time. Against his nature, some say, but it comes naturally when it is you.

Pleasing you. It may well be the death of him.

"Never, Princess. I will join you."

May this death take him swiftly.

He steps away from the wall near your door, canvasing the hall before nodding. There are other guards posted at the end of the halls leading from your rooms, he scanned the faces of them all, knows who is there. No trouble should find you.

And even if it does, it meets him head on.

He keeps his eyes to the ground when he faces you, looking at your slippered feet with interest. You step back, opening the door wider, and he finally crosses the threshold after a soft word of entry when he stays rooted. And still, Izuku keeps his eyes down. You have yet to tell him why you have had the change of heart, seeking him out to come and join you in such an intimate manner.

You stay behind him, shutting the door and he can hear when you shift and lean against it instead of coming around to face him. It would be improper to turn and look on you without permission, so he stays planted.

"Have you ever been in my rooms, Knight?" your voice filters over his shoulder, and Izuku is suddenly aware of just where he was.

Your room.

Fuck.

"No, Princess."

You hum softly behind him, leaning against the door. "Well, look around." At your behest, and against his better senses. . . he looks.

Your room is beautifully expansive, uncluttered or gaudy looking despite the pure wealth shining through. Touches of you stand out everywhere. An end table housing the little pins you find yourself still digging from your hair. Slippers, slippers, slippers galore, your aversion to the cold floors clear, and near it a basket he predicts is full of woolen socks. The firewood is stacked high near the hearth, and your canopy bed looms in the corner like a refuge.

The pieces of you he has picked up on, from gossip to his correlation all come together, and Izuku nearly overloads. There is a lot he must write in his journal come his temporary relief on the morn, he pictures it already. He prays he has stocked up on enough stationary to get it down.

You brush beside him, a soft sound of your night robe tinkling over his armor, and for the first time since dinner, he looks at you.

It is a mistake.

You flounce around seats before the hearth, dancing your fingers along the back of a cushy chair, and Izuku can not stop his eyes from roaming your pretty nighttime things. The gentle color, the lace etching, the beautiful beading of pictures that glimmer and come alive in the light. . .

He has seen many underthings, most being washed and hanging to dry or air through, many slipped out of the way, some ripped off in a hurry but these. . . These must be worn singularly by people of higher standings like you.

Izuku does not find it a stretch to think they were made for only you.

He had a hard time imagining it any other way. Another person would pale in comparison to the figure you strike.

His eyes rove over your profile, and he watches firelight dance over your skin, looking further and further until his eyes touch the bare expanse of your décolletage, held up by a thin looking strip of fabric in that same muted shade. The top of your robe shifts off of your shoulder, and Izuku's greedy eyes take it in.

Smooth. Your neck and shoulder, both smooth, unblemished. Unmarked.

Would you call a man base if he only had thoughts of marking said skin until it housed only colors of his creation. Would you shun the man who wanted nothing more than to see his mark there, proud, stark, there for all to know and understand and see? Would you kill the man whose mouth waters at the thought? Belly warms, hands itch, teeth ache?

Then call him base. Shun him. Kill him. He is that very man.

Fuck. . .

Izuku's throat clicks when he swallows, and it occurs to him quickly that he has barely drawn in a full breath. He. . . does not remember how.

Fainting would do nothing for him, so he pulls air through his nose and forces out a cough. Your head snaps in his direction, and he holds up a hand when you start towards him. You stop, eyes roving him for hurts as your hand fiddles with the lace edges of your pretty robe, a hand slipping the fallen fabric back up.

Please, look away, he literally—and embarrassingly—choked on your scent.

When his self-inflicted coughing fit is finished, you smile, and gesture to the seat in front of him, slipping into your own after snagging the pillow. He knows nothing of the etiquette required, so he sits only after pulling his sheathed sword from his side. You eye it when he places it on the ground, nearby, in case.

"A broadsword?" You ask, tilting your head, letting out another spray of your sweetly, mulled scent, making him a touch hazy. He nods, silent, hands balanced on each knee as he sits up tightly. "How. . . how long did you train with it?"

"Princess. . ." This is very sweet, you making conversation, but frankly, Izuku can only think about knocking your knees into your chin and sucking your cute little toes into his mouth as he knots you.

"I apologize, I—" you sigh, touching your fingers to your mouth before shaking your head. "I needed. . . someone in here—with me—to," your mouth pulls side to side and Izuku only thinks sinful things. "To drive those things away, I guess. They stick around a while after, you know?"

They do, words, especially the ones that hurt, they haunt you for a while. . . He understands.

He says as much, and you look up in surprise, chest lifting with a breath before letting it out with marked relief. You nod, lips curving into a smile, reaching up to play with your earring before speaking again.

"Knight, would you. . . remove your helmet? I would like to see the face of the man I've invited in," you say, fingers playing with your robe once more, and Izuku. . . Izuku easily complies.

There is no harm in this.

Your eyes flit across his face after he brushes his hair back, undoing the wrap he uses to keep it from his eyes. Perhaps he should have left it. . .

The corner of your mouth lifts, delicate and pretty, and it takes his breath away for a moment. "Thank you." You are very sweet, thanking him like he has done something major for you.

"Princess, you don't have to—"

"I have a wine! It's new, untouched, would you want to. . ."

Izuku scrambles a little, from the interruption, from the question. He should say no. He is your protector, if you needed a friend, he could fetch Mina, or even Ochako, someone who does not feel the way he feels when around you. Someone who can separate you from fantasy and keep you company.

Someone who is not compromised by you.

"My Knight?"

Fuck.

"Of course, Princess."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆

Izuku's only made it two and a half glasses in before he notices something is damnably wrong.

One, this wine, has another layer to it.

In flavor. He can not say he has drunken much wine, but the spirits served to the Knights after dark generally come from the rest of the wine your family and guests fail to drink. They are all good, work well and quell the need for more after a long night.

No there, somewhere, is a deeper layer to this particular spirit, despite it's crystalline appearance. It sits on he back of his tongue heavily, lifts through his soft palate cloyingly, sweetly, mulled to perfection. Warms him completely through and has his him feeling like he could fight a bear and win.

He will refrain from testing that.

Two, it is markedly hotter.

The hearth has yet to be stoked past you asking for him to throw in another log, which should not make such a difference. Not like this. Not leaving him sweating into his Princess' sofa. Not leaving hair sticking his to his head, not making him think of stripping more of his armor.

Three, your scent is coiling around him. Tightly.

This is how the field mouse must feel when the snake has it in a tight grasp. Izuku will not complain, but let it be known, he can not think straight.

Actually, he has not had a single running thought that has not been intercepted by you since he stepped foot into this room. From his dreams of pampering you with gifts and love and affection, to kneeling before you, begging for your attention, to tasting every inch of you from crevice to crevice, to you cradling his face and comforting him, there has not been a coherent thought without you in it.

You are somehow ingrained in him. You were before, but now. . .

They get worse when you sit next to him, spreading your scent directly from the source, arm outstretched near him, gland emitting your light perfume. Mulled white wine, caramel, black tea. He thinks he could get high from it alone.

He tilts his head towards you, watching you take a sip from your glass as you smile with lidded eyes. Izuku thinks he looks the same, flushed to hell, but equally as departed from his corporeal form.

You are simply gorgeous from here. He spends so much tome canvassing the path ahead or looking away, he can never get his fill, and the portraits dotted around do no justice.

He can feel adoration building in his chest.

Something else too. . . He has no name to it.

"—night? Knight?"

"Yes, Princess." He says, choppily, and then, right then, he realizes it was a growl. The thing in his chest. Nothing threatening, just—one of contentment.

Dear Gods. . .

He waits for your disgust, your ire, your reprimand, and you—

Shift closer?

You—you purr back.

"My Knight?"

Izuku's tongue is dumb in his mouth, too heavy, too thick, struggling around an inordinate amount of saliva.

Your Knight, of course, he is here. He pulls the cup to his lips, swallowing what was left in his glass down before he let it slip from his fingers to the, thankfully padded floor. Then, he swings his head over to you, to look at you, finally. It has gotten easier over time spent besides you, seeing you outside of your stuffy dresses and court etiquette, you are quite human next to him.

Mostly. If Izuku looks too long he swears he can see a glow emanating from under your skin. You are simply ethereal to him, too good to be anything but his imagination.

There is something wrong—

"Knight, won't you take off the rest of your armor?" you whisper. He would, for your asking. Decently quick work, even when he has to throw a grin in when you giggle at him fiddling for too long with a hook and eyelet. Finished, toeing the pile away, he sinks back into the sofa, looking at you with wide, glassy eyes. He can feel it, how his brows raise and he barely has to blink. Izuku is gone, willful to your whims, and maybe some of his own.

You snuggle close and Izuku feels his breathing kick into manual, no longer sustained on its own in proximity with you.

Something is amiss. He can not seem to focus, to tell his body what to do and keep it that way. He would not want you being hurt for his lack of awareness, but—

Your purrs now reach into him, knocking into that part of him that gets little love. It warms the ground around it through, shaking the foundations of a single standing barred cell, making that thing pull and shift in its shackles and chains.

He wants to warn you, but he is unable to. No words come to mind. "Princess," he whispers; he speaks to you like it is naughty to do so. He is a young boy in class again, careful of the teacher hearing his chatter.

It carries over, you tilt your head like a young girl, willing to shape the world in every way you can. "Knight," you whisper back, bringing trouble with a wicked smile.

Your fingertips walk across his chest, scratching the embroidery on his tunic, little sigils and such his mother sewed for him, and Izuku's chin pulls down to track their movement. Head laying on the sofa near his shoulder, he hears you sniff twice, close to his gland, and quickly, he draws tight. You know it, shifting to meet his eyes.

"Princess, I don't fee—"

"Knight?" you question softly, "what do you smell like?"

Izuku gapes like a fish. That is—that would be not proper to say. Scents are hardly as quietly kept anymore, but between Princess and sworn guard. . .

"My mother's said a garden in high summer."

"And others?" Others? "Anyone else. . . close to you?"

"Princess—!"

"Can I scent you?" you ask softly, pressing your toes into his ankle. Izuku feels sweat collect on the back of his neck, ready to pool and drip down into he collar of his tunic.

That is definitely not proper. He is not friend, or family, or most importantly—a lover.

You should call your secret lover if you need this sort of affection, why was that not whom you requested?

"Knight?"

"Princess," Izuku sighs, voice gravely and low, "I don't. . . think that would be the best idea. . ." he advises gently, appealing to your nature. That thing in all royals, the part that 'knows better' than common-folk.

". . .You won't make me command you, will you?" That would be you asking twice, something Izuku has never let fly with you around him. "Is my word not your law?"

Izuku feels frazzled for a moment, gasping, pausing in surprise from the stern nature of your words but melting from the honeyed tone of your voice. "Princess—"

"You are my knight, aren't you? Are you not supposed to want what I want?"

"Of course, Princess—"

"Is my word not all you need? Are you not sworn foremost to me?"

You word was indeed law—his law, to abide by and carry through, blindly. And he is yours, to do whatever you please with. He has carried the weight of being yours before he even knew he held affection for you, and after, he felt its weight ten-fold.

"It is, Princess. I am."

"Then none of that matters." you say, brows a bit bunched as you look down your nose at him. And you would be correct; none of it matters.

"As my Princess commands."

He makes a show of his compliance, he softens in stages, just for your amusement. Dinner and a show, he thinks. Hot, sweaty, fuzzy around the edges, he begins shifting his chin up and up until you become blurred from his stilted eyes. His vision of you is still crisp despite it, when you shift to your knees and press your nose to his neck, he tightens all over before letting go with a sigh. It—it feels wrong doing it after he gave his word. After he accepted and acknowledged your will as his own.

His scent—heady frankincense, sweet clove, cutting rosemary—drifts a little further around him, a little too much leaving him for his usual comfort. Izuku never really lets his scent out, people know it as soft, barely lingering before dispersing easily. He has never been the man—the Alpha—with the urge to mark places, people, things, as his with his scent. It felt unnecessary to some degree to him. No, Izuku does not let it loose unless he's home, alone, and in the throes of his quarterly ru—

You purr, close to his skin, sinking down into him until your arm wraps across his shoulders soundly. Your neck slots with his, and Izuku feels it immediately.

No, this is not normal. No, it is not just the hearth. Oh no, this is his quarterly ru—

"Knight. . . I have to tell you something."

Izuku finds his ears ringing, so close to the melody of your voice. There is a magic in you, a magic you rule him with that has his panic stopping to heed your next words as sound gospel, a charter written on his soul, whatever those words may be.

"The wine was a gift, made long ago," Izuku feels his fingers dig into his knees, palms stuck to them even when you made your mission to climb over him. "There is a connoisseur in town, she makes them for the Omegas that choose to court their chosen Alpha back. She sits with that Omega, samples them, and makes the wine. She's very good at what she does."

Izuku has to wholeheartedly agree. She is the best at her craft.

Samples them?

"That gift, when finished, will be given to the Alpha of choice. . ." Your lips ghost over his ear, and he feels a flood of heat fun through him. "My Knight, my Izuku, my Alpha—" Izuku groans, the sound beaten from him with your gentle articulation, "—it was made for you. Given freely, infused with my slick, turned aphrodisiac, and consumed by you."

You drugged him. With your slick, your scent. Forced him into an early rut and now—

Well, he has not a clue what now is. Is this just your one-up? A play for how intelligent you are compared to him. A game to see him wild? The one Alpha who subverts his nature showing his true colors—

"I want you to mate me this night."

Oh, fuck.

"Princess—"

"You. It's been you, Knight, the Alpha I have waited and longed for. One in a group specially chosen by the King, picked of my choosing to vehemently defend me and you—" you stop short, giggling and shifting above him. Your hand wraps around the back of his neck, you lean in, pressing his nose to your bare throat, "—you turned out to be one of the most impossible Alpha's I have ever witnessed. Even when I dangled myself before you like meat. You never lost control to do what your kind does best—claim."

Izuku chokes on the potency of your scent, it growing stronger and filling his head, his lungs to the brim. "So I made myself the aggressor. It took time, it's not what I was bred to do, but for you, a man like you. Someone I wanted—" You giggle a bit madly, like the pure gall of him and the situation goes clear over your head. And in that time, Izuku feels his eyes flutter, rolling up as he suffocates a touch too joyfully.

"Someone I wanted—an Alpha like you—makes it worth the effort."

High as he is currently, he is a touch unsure of that. There are many a thing wrong with him, just things you have not yet seen.

"Or you will make yourself worth it." Well, that makes it easy. He will.

"As you will it, Princess," he mumbles into your neck, and you shiver.

"Just what I wanted to hear, my Knight," you hum, purring as you scratch the back of his neck in approval. He goes a bit jelly, soft around the edges and keens, tongue at the corner of his mouth as he pants for air. "You will mate me this night, and show me what kind of alpha lurks under your skin. I will see it in full, do not hold back on me. Not after I've shown you me."

"As my Princess commands."

"Good Alpha," you say, pulling back and cooing when he falls over himself to follow, lost without your scent flooding his being. "Careful now, I've just gotten you." Your hand pushes him back against the back of the sofa and kindly adjusts his head to lay more properly, after, you pick up the little tea cup full of your tea.

You give a short explanation of what is inside. Tea, of course, to start a heat. You started the bad habit after a few too many upsets, hearing about it from your trips among the common-folk, more specifically, when you would drop into the brothels to kerb your curiosity. The Omegas there spoke of it, and you saw it as your solution, requesting it to lose yourself for a night to pleasure and a state of mind far away from your agitation.

In time, with finishing this pot, it will no longer be induced, forced, but true, sympathetic to Izuku's rut. Sympathetic to your mates.

He lies in wait, watching your hand dart between cup and pot, filling then drinking, filling then drinking. You shake the pot of porcelain the last go, striving for every last drop. Izuku watches you in amazement, single-minded in determination, looking at the junction of your throat where sweat collects and beads. He thinks of tasting it, licking up and up to the juncture of your throat where he will soon sink his teeth.

Oh. This is happening.

You turn back to him, shifting your hand with a smile and running the pad of your thumb over his mouth. They twitch under your touch, Izuku's tongue chasing a moment after you pull it away. You smile before leaning in and pressing your lips over his. He stays still, can not move an inch, palms glued to his knees. Your lips taste bitter, forced sweet by sugar and honey. Izuku smells it, differing from your scent, irritating him slightly.

He opens his mouth after your third long press of lips, only moving his head forward, a touch afraid to, well, touch.

You have no such qualms. You kiss, and pull, drag your tongue over his lower lip all slippery and wet. Deftly, your hand bunches up his tunic, dragging it up to slip your hand under, and he gasps. He hears you purr, tilting your head as your draw back to look at him.

What is a Knight with his stipend to do with it all? Help his mother for one. After that, revel in it.

Your fingers trace under his tunic, tickling over his stomach, strong from labor, soft from indulgence. Lips curl under his as you smile into your kiss, and you continue pressing your fingers into his healthy gut. You comment on it, positively, and Izuku flushes, nodding when you cover him with your palm and rub slowly, scratching through wiry hairs that only lead upwards.

Digging your nails into his pudge, he whines and you giggle, kissing it from his lips. Your tongue pokes against his, and though Izuku originally cringed at the taste of tea on your mouth, it fades, leaving the stark stinging blandness that is tasting another person. He loves it, the nothing taste, when he opens his eyes to it and sees it is you. There are few things he would find better.

"Knight, won't you follow me?"

To the ends of the Earth. He thinks it. You laugh, so he might have said it as well. No clue.

You grab his hand, it is so small in his he feels a piece of himself slip away while you lead him to a door. He follows dutifully if not a bit stiffly behind you. The protector part of him, he thinks, that piece that was trained to perfection in fealty to you.

In front of a mirrored door, Izuku wonders distantly why you would lead him to your closet as your hand wraps around the crystalline knob and twists. A flood of white wine, caramel, cake, comes through the crack before you push it open further, and—

Your nest.

Gods—he completely forgot you would have one. He had not seen one on your bed and guessed you had the washing done for it. But no, it of course has its own space, apart from the communal space that is your room. And to think it hangs here, behind the door he once thought lead to your closet. Of course you would have two though, right? He has yet to see you repeat wearing one of the beautiful gowns you don during the day.

His green eyes rove over your form from behind, wondering just how much of your day and evening gowns took up space in your wardrobe, and how much was allotted your luxurious nightgowns.

"My Knight?" you question sweetly, having since let go of his hand to stand behind the door. It mirrors your position from earlier in the night, when you invited your guard in to rest a while with you. Izuku is glad he accepted, glad he is weak to you and will let you do much of what you want to him with little complaint on his end. Drugged, maybe, but what is that compared to this?

It lead him here, object of your desire, and soon, more.

He looks at his feet, and he teeters toeing off his boots, hands pulling his tunic over his head before he offers it to you. You gape a little at his manners, smiling soon after in glee, pressing the fabric to your nose and inhaling deeply. Izuku watches your eyelids flutter before you let your face free, maintaining a tight grip close to your chest.

"Princess," he says, slurring the s's a touch but fully determined. Izuku is a proper man, his mother raised him alone, but well. He knows what is proper, what makes Omegas swoon and look at him a little differently, and he will perform, even when clinging to sanity by the skin of his teeth. "May I enter?"

You coo at him, shoulders slumping as your eyes darken. He is reflected in your eyes, taking up the pupil as you gaze into him. "Please do, it's all I can think of." Heat is licking at the edges of your consciousness, he knows from the time he had to rush you to a room when you exploded with 'please, mount me' scent months ago. Your tongue had grown loose, you were talkative, too limber and willing, so sweet.

He thinks you will meld well with his rut, and him with your heat, if the things reflected in your eyes and body are any indicator. You are not alone. Rut knocks at the edge of his minds door.

. . .truly, it takes a large battering ram against it.

His stomach rolls as he steps through the gap you leave for him, and he keeps his focus on your face, blood rushing through him at the thought of climbing into your nest. You raise your eyes to meet his, not your chin, peering straight through your eyelashes. You are shorter, smaller than him, something he knows but suddenly has become so conscious over with your open, limber posture and small steps that take you nowhere away from him.

Your eyes are filled with desire, breath hitching with it as you drag your feet backwards, stepping in and leading him to the sturdy wall of your nest. He runs into it, not looking down when his shins touch it, resting on the sturdy wall.

You stand nearly eye level with him inside of your nest, the padding giving you an extra few inches, and Izuku finds it adorable.

"Princess, do I have your permission to look around?" An unneeded ask, so very formal, but, he feels the need to say it aloud. Something to hold his body to, something more tangible than his will.

It has you tittering, glowing and proud. "You may."

His teeth ache, body shaking from held back potential, but he takes it slow. Breaking your gaze, he looks around, taking in the space you made. Candles litter the space, illuminating it faintly, intimately, and incense whips through the air, drawing smoky whisps. He smells mostly you despite it.

Your high windows are drawn tightly shut, covered in gauzy fabric that glows with the moon outside. Around the edges of the room, there are piles of things, pillows, blankets, cots, anything you could need to nest.

Your haven is beautiful. He finds peace in it, and instantly understands why your chambermaid's grouch upon finding out you took your rest there instead of your bed. It would be impossible to coax anyone from this comfort.

"Princess, may I?" He is out of breath saying it, nostrils flaring when he scents a spike in your arousal. He feels a little feral knowing the moment he gets his permission, you will be melded together until you lock and his teeth perforate the soft barrier of your skin.

"Izuku," you say, intentionally, tone clear as a bell, making his heart batter against his ribcage. Your hand reaches out, breeching the imaginary barrier of your nest, and you trail a hand over the hair spanning his chest. Only the hair. It tickles and he breaks into gooseflesh, but moves not an inch. You pull back, mouth agape as you nod, looking at him too closely, "you may."

He trips getting in, devastatingly clumsy while giving chase, falling to his knees and taking the presented opportunity to press his face into your thighs. You sigh above him, breathy and high, approaching closer to heat as the time passes. Izuku lets his hands hover over your thighs, nuzzling you with his cheek as you pet his sweaty hair. The slippery fabric of your nightgown caresses him tenderly, catching on his day old stubble, and he huffs until he can no longer take a breath in. Lungs near bursting, stomach too full, flooded with you. He presses tightly against the front of his breeches, his hips jut forward for friction. There is noting solid before him, and humping your leg like a pup would be, certainly a choice

Take, take, take. It is embedded in the roots of his nature, but he will not let it get the better of him. He turns his eyes up at you, nose slotted between your knees, hands shaking and hovering, asking for permission.

"Touch me." He does.

The material of your pretty nightgown is soft as a whisper between his fingertips, thin and gauzy, light, something mythical.

Something he never gets to feel often.

When all you know is the feel of something rough—metal, burlap, work—it seems unobtainable. But one night, it was real. At the King's behest, the men were greeted with beautiful concubines, and the one poured into silk found his way to Izuku. The man sat on his knee and said something about 'liking the shy ones', insisting that he touch instead of stare. Izuku remembers touching the man carefully, drunkenly apologizing when his callouses pulled at the silk of his dress. The man took no care, keeping the dress on at Izuku's request and riding him into the morn.

And now it is again real. Not silk, something different, something more delicate that catches on his fingers. Not a man, not a concubine, not a thrall, but you, his Princess. His way, his truth, his life.

The fabric bunches over his hands as he presses through and touches you under them. Firm, real, so real under his hands. A plea grows in this throat, coming from him on a whine.

"Princess, oh, Princess," he whispers reverently, pushing you into him, throat clicking as you card through his hair and let him touch you. A facsimile of a purr works in him, and he shuffles somehow closer, pointing his nose up and up. "Princess, you smell—" he cuts himself off with a groan, mouth puffing wet and hot on the fabric in front of your covered crotch.

"Izuku," you breathe, letting him take your weight as he sticks his nose into your quim. His hands grip the backs of your legs, trapping flesh to grip and knead. He feels you heat under the point of his nose, growing wetter, flooding between your thighs. Izuku lets his hands rove up, cupping your ass, pawing over the curve, up to your soft sides, then down, tickling the skin behind your knees and about your ankles.

Delicate fingers curled in his hair, you pull when he brushes past sensitive spots, and he remembers them all faintly, planning in advance to caress and lick and nip them all until you turn into a puddle of a Princess. He wants you dripping before he gets a chance to trail his hand up the insides of your thighs. It is only right.

You shake every now and again, heating under his hands slowly, and Izuku can smell it, smell you coming close and closer. He knows he drank the wine, is already under the effect of your aphrodisiac, but he wants more. Would you bar him from it?

His tongue presses against the front of your nightgown, silk soft under his tongue, growing wet from his salvia. He breathes in, through his mouth, tasting your scent invade his senses in the slightest, most inconvenient way, dismantling him slowly. He pushes, nose bumping into further, feeling the soft flesh hidden from his eyes, and he guides the tip of his nose to its seam, mouth dropped open in a belated reminder to breathe.

He really wants more. Let him have more?

You supplement when he stays still for too long, nose deep, tongue flopped, clearly waiting. "Have me as you like." His ears ring. His eyes flutter.

Of course, you would never be so cruel.

He trips you, bestial in nature, catching you before you can even get the yelp out fully, and lays you in your nest. You are cushioned close to where you dropped his tunic and your fingers close around the garment and bring it to your nose. Izuku hovers over you, growling pleased as his nose inches its way deeper into the apex of your thighs.

Indecent, sordid, whatever another may say about his perverse need to smell your quim, be covered in its essence and drown in it, he would take it. You burn hotly under his nose, scent ripened with heat and desire, he does not believe he would have ever in his life smelled something as sweet and wanting as you.

Wanting him of all people. . . you do dastardly things to him.

He works up, over your belly, then to the valley of your chest that he noses gently. The triangular cups of your bust scratch at his chin and cheeks, and he puffs breaths against your skin. Mouthing your chest wetly, tongue scraping over thin organza, wetting it before dragging up. He traces over your neck, under your chin, over it, to your mouth. Izuku swallows roughly, salt tickling across his tongue, before he dips his head and looks between your lips and eyes rapidly.

"Kiss me." He breaks a little at the breathy tone heating his face, his brows twitching as he gasps back sudden tears before he leans in, and does so. Softly, nose pressing into yours, arms shaking from the effort it takes to not cover you completely and hump you like a feral beast. He rests his body between your legs, you becoming more pliant as the seconds pass, putty under his touch.

Izuku mutters your title onto your lips, muscles aching from effort to keep from shivering and ravaging. Your knees press into his sides, and he jolts, pouting when you laugh below him.

"Touch me." He is, he does.

His fingers curl around the back of your thigh, pulling it over his hip, pressing in rhythmically. His chest makes contact with yours, both heaving, your throats emitting rasping, wheezing sounds. "You dolt," you say affectionately, releasing his tunic to lay hands over his shoulders and pushing, "touch me." You press harder and he tilts his head.

Ah. . . right. Rut brain.

Izuku leans up, looking over there you lay, spread, vulnerable, for him. His hands still shake, but he raises his hand and pinches the cup of your nightgown, pulling and pulling until skin uncovers. Palm hovering, he lets it down, covering your tit with his hand, moaning right after. Your nipple, perked and tight, bores into his hand, and he squeezes his fingers, drooling over you. His thumb brushes comforting fans across your skin, and he meets your eyes when your fingers wrap around his wrist.

"Izuku, more. I want more than just this. . . Have me."

Have you. . .

Izuku's hand stays, but his other reaches for the hem of your gown, pulling it over the stretch of your skin as your breath hitches. He knows that sound, heard it from a poor recruit he was charged with watching over when they fell into heat. Knows it means trouble for him, especially when it is you.

The fabric pools over his wrist and his brain buzzes by the soft, suppleness of your skin, and by the time it reaches your hip, your skin has broken into gooseflesh. Beautiful.

He keeps you gaze a few seconds longer, dragging your gown to heap on your belly, before he breaks the stare to look down.

Izuku's eyes burn.

"Princess."

You lay bare under him, have been bare since you invited him in most likely. There is no hair, instead a swathe of smooth skin, all wet, shining and dripping with slick lewdly, swelled in anticipation. Your clit peaks out, its hood drawing back and surrounding the bud like a beacon, softly flushed and glistening. Izuku looks down, watches a bead of slick leave you, shimmering before falling into the valley of your plump bottom.

"Princess, you're—" he cuts himself off, biting his lip as his nostrils flare.

You catch it. "I am what, Izuku?" you ask, breathless, anxious.

He can not say, will not say, it would be improper. Too much, frighten you off.

"Izuku?" you call again, and he presses his eyes shut. "Knight." you say, and it has him at attention. "Don't hide from me. . . please," you say, looking so out of place and unsure. "Let me see you."

Gods. . .

"You're so pretty, Princess. So very pretty." he breathes reverently, whining at a wave of your perfume.

"Really?" You like hearing that. Lucky for you, he likes saying it.

"Yes," he grasps your knee, pressing it away and watching as your sticky lips peel apart with a click. His mouth waters. "Oh, Gods, you're so pretty. Look at—"

Izuku feels a bit dumb and choppy, so when be brings his hand down, lays his fingers over your mound and lets his thumb press into your clit, he sighs, winded and feverish. You keen—long, high, pitchy—from the touch, digging your nails into his wrist with a bite, and Izuku. . .

"Is this how you touch yourself?" You only let a confused, questioning sound out. "Like this," he rubs his thumb into your clit, circling the pearl before pressing under it to have it rest on his thumbnail. "Is this how you get through your heats, touching your clit?"

"I-Izuku—"

"It's so sensitive, so cute, look—" he swipes back and forth quickly, "you react so sweetly, so honestly." You choke over a moan, lips tightly together, "don't hold back, Princess, let me hear you. Feel as good as you want." He feels insane, hunkering down to look closer, and closer and—"can I taste you?" He needs permission, despite it all.

"Yes!"

He removes his thumb, popping it behind his lips and—

Izuku tries not be a brute, but sometimes. . .

He moves forward, hungry, letting his hand fall from your chest to your hips, grasping them before tilting them up to his mouth. Your gown dips further, gathering under your bust as you kick your feet out near his ears. Izuku's tongue replaces his thumb seamlessly, a different kind of rough on your sensitive bud. He groans into you, drooling and loud, messy as hell, holding you to him. Your thighs clamp shut around him, and he feels a burst of wet, slimy and sticky, against his chin.

Tongue flicking lightly, he breathes ragged and uneven into the air between you, pulling back to look then kiss your clit softly, humming when twitch under his lips, and again when he pulls away and you stick to his mouth. Izuku licks his lips, tasting you. Syrupy, closer to ambrosia than anything he has let touch his tongue.

Addictive.

He dives into your quim with the full flat of his tongue, wide and obscene, fingers pressing into your hips tightly to keep you still and there, close. When Izuku makes his full first lap of you, wiggling his tongue in deeper, he sucks his tongue in and swallows it down, panting after like he has run for miles. It affects him quickly, your natural aphrodisiac, setting his teeth to buzz in his head. He bites against it, hips thrusting forward and meeting nothing.

Redirecting, he kisses at your thighs, nipping at them, sucking little marks there before he grabs the reins and pulls back. That was overzealous of him, and though he keeps his mouth pressed to the downy skin of your inner thigh, he makes not a move as if to avoid the beast that lurks beneath his skin. If it does not see him, nor him it, there will be no problem.

"Izuku."

There is his problem.

He takes a chunk of your skin between his teeth, grunting into the give before releasing and pecking sweet kisses over it, little apologies for the bruise that is sure to bloom. You stay, not jerking or fighting him, and it makes his ears ring.

Tongue first into your quim, he dips his tongue in shallowly, feeling the intense heat of your budding bruise ghost along his face. Izuku tilts his head into it, moaning while rolling his tongue deeper.

Your body is hot, molten around his tongue, pulsing and clenching as you wail out little moans and shiver. Your clit catches the side of his nose, resting there as he guides his tongue deeper into your depths. He pulls it out, sucking up your cunt, pulling soaked lips and labia alike into his mouth as he drags his head up, finishing with a filthy, sucking pop. Your heels catches his ear, and he looks at your face with dark, glassy eyes.

Izuku's throat tingles when he swallows down your slick, going straight down his body and resting in his loins. He chances it, balancing your lifted hips against his chest easily to palm at his aching cock. He can feel the loose skin of his knot chubbing with more blood, alight with it. His teeth scrape over your skin when he growls at it, and he feels when a gush of wet hits his chin. He licks this away, tongue thudding over your clit to make more leave you.

You reach your peak this way, sweat dotting your forehead, laid askew, already fucked if Izuku knew no better.

But he does know better.

After he settles your hips down and crawls over you, he kisses you, and maybe it is the taste of yourself on his skin that sets you ablaze again since you squirm to new level under him. Your tongue licks along his chin, pushing into his mouth wetly when you taste his skin again, and he dutifully drinks down your saliva, humming with you obtusely.

Izuku's fingers pull the front of your night gown down, and you both gasp when your nipples graze. He falls a bit harder atop you, grinding down as your perked nipples bore holes into his skin. A hand cups under your breast, pressing it up and massaging it in his hold. You remain so soft under him, his predator wants nothing more but to rip you apart and eat you whole.

Instead, he has his tongue tangle with yours, pushing, prodding, fighting until you can take no more. You respond so feverishly, somehow on par with his fiendish desire to take and give. And then, it strikes him. He pulls away, looking a touch distressed.

"Izuku. . ?"

"Me, your sworn Knight? I'm what you. . . wanted?"

"Izuku," you sigh, "not now. Touch me, have me. I offer myself to you."

"Princess—" Your fingers raise, shaking, covering his mouth.

"I never wanted just a Knight, I wanted only you. You're all I thought of, my Knight." Izuku feels his nose sting, blocking up as you look at him, half-lucid, hanging on enough to reassure him. "Cast your worries away, Izuku. You're my Knight, yes, but you are want what I want. Here and now. Don't deny me. . ."

"Princess. . ." Izuku falls back onto his heels, hands still away from your body, though this time, working his breeches open. "Princess, do you—are you—is it okay if I—"

"Izuku, if it's what I think you're now worried about. . . I—I am not a virgin."

This is news to him, and he swings his glassy eyes to yours, yours shifting over the room before meeting his head on.

"You're not?"

"No, not for. . . Izuku, there is not harm. I know what I want and I want you, and from now on, only you."

His mind reels from this. "Who?" he asks, a bit boldly.

Your face pinches and you look down your nose at him. "A woman shouldn't tell her exploits, but. . ." you give a little, looking at his hands and biting your lip, "my violin teacher. Long before you. He was there and I took advantage of it. . ."

Izuku has to know. "So if I was—"

"If you were an option, there wouldn't be a contest. You would present the more—appealing choice."

He grins, eyes clearing of their tears and surprise, "you would choose me?"

"In a heartbeat, my Knight." Your legs wrap around his hips and you gather the material of your gown, pulling until he finds his attention again where you desire. "I intend to choose you now, so please, no more talking. Touch me, feel me, move in me."

An easy decision it is, notching the head of his cock at your entrance, guiding it up and down your wet and slippery frills to have you mewl sweetly under him. Your hands reach between you, fingers ghosting over his mushroom tip when he finally works the skin from it. You bite your lower lip, fingers pressing together and separating, looking at the way he strings lewdly between your fingers.

Something profane and utterly loathsome pops up in his head, but he can barely suppress it. His body takes command. He takes his free hand, grasping your willowy wrist and flattening your fingers easily. Izuku holds you still, strokes himself over the soft pads of them, spitting opaque cum over them while holding his breath.

You asked him to show himself to you, his desires, the things he keeps under lock and key.

When he takes a breath finally and pushes your fingers to your mouth, you gape at him, eyes wide and dark, and he spreads your digits over your kiss-bruised lips, your chin. It glosses over them and you stare at him in shock.

For half a second, he feels terrified, but when your mouth parts and a budding drop of his pre slips past your lips onto your tongue, he ascends.

Slick, cum, all of it is biologically addictive, and he grins seeing your tongue swipe the rest from your skin. Izuku knows the feeling, sees when you set your teeth together and swallow, squirming as it draws a heated part through you. He fits his finger past your lips, feeling your cute tongue suckle the rest from the pads of them sweetly.

You love this, the taste of him, the feeling of it, you crave more. Izuku feels it already, how you would slip your tongue under his foreskin, encouraging him to leak for you.

Know though, he would feed it to you just like this if you asked; laying back, thoroughly ravished, glassy eyed and ravenous, slipping his wet fingers into your waiting mouth until you got your fill. He would keep you warm, happy, and sated, high from it.

He is terrible. . .

You like him.

Izuku takes his fingers away, brewing silently before choosing to be.

He has never been the best of leaving good enough alone. "That was improper of you, Princess," your breath hitches, your chin tilting back to find his eyes. He sees the mania in them, renewed by tasting him, and in the seconds that ensue, he slips between your frills and pops himself in with the press of a thumb. Your breath hitches, thighs tensing before he uses his fingers to ease out, teasing. "Your violin teacher?"

You show a slip of your teeth. "Izuku—don't tease."

"I'm not, Princess."

"You are—ah!"

In you, he thinks, he understands the heavens your septa drones about. Only a few fingers and already, his knot fattens a bit more. Izuku tightens his hands around the base, wringing the blood from the skin there until he can form more thoughts than, takeknotbreedbite. It hardly clears, but he refrains from sinking into you entirely, if this only by the skin of his teeth.

If he thinks of it too long, he is sure to implode.

"Take me, Izuku. Make me yours." Your breath catches around your words, hard to get out like you struggle to form them.

It has something in him shying away, cowed by your unbridled affection.

You can not just say that, please—

"Move me how you want." Your hands reach for his, still on his body, touching himself to keep from ruining you. You tug them away, finger wrapped around his wrists, squeezing until he flexes and extends his fingers from the tingling.

"Princess—"

"I give myself to you. Have me," You moan, looking between your bodies and setting his hands on your knees. "Have me how it pleases you."

You are not real.

But you move under his hands, you squirm. Your lungs fill with air and let it out with the sweetest sounds. Your scent swells for him, waxing and waning with your want and his gentle ministrations. You fill the space before him, under him, letting him see and drink his fill. You could be nothing less than an—

"—Angel."

Angel. That is indeed what you are. Otherworldly, drawing from him things he found shameful and hid. His nature, his predilection, the simple way he processes is effected by you, positively, he thinks.

You squeal when he grips behind your thighs and forces your knees to your chest, but he hunkers down, and pants a touch too feral over you. You. . . stay. Not a flinch, just a flash of your eyes and a cry of, 'there!' as gravity takes effect and you suck him deeper.

His hips only get a few inches away from yours when you kick at him. It catches him in the side, and he throws an elbow up on instinct, rumbling deep in his chest when he hears your thin inhale. Side smarting, this only a bit, he tightens his grip under your thighs. Your pretty face is scrunched up, and you breathe quivering little breaths that barely make it through your lungs.

"Princess?"

You whine quietly. "Sorry, I—you're just—bigger." Izuku loses all oxygen he once had in his lungs. "Than—than my fingers, my head aides—I wasn't, ngh!"

Izuku. . . has had failed dalliances because of this problem. It puts a damper on things. He admittedly, knows the palm of his hands better than the feel of a lover because of this. Not to mention the occasional heat aid; they all work a few cycles before loosing all shape.

Izuku should have—

"Don't do that." you hiss, "don't regret, or think about anything else. Not when you're supposed to be—" you have to catch your breath a second, head falling back, sweat pooling in the divot of your throat. "Only think of me, Izuku," you slur lightly. "Let go, be selfish—"

"Princess—I—"

"—And take care of me the best way you know. The way nature intended." Your fingers dig into your nest and you wiggle your hips down on him from your position.

Izuku knows what you mean, but he and his alpha are infamously difficult to the other. He can not say he has let the thing out, maybe pieces of himself, but not that beast.

"I wanted you to take me how it pleased you."

You should not say that. . .

"Your Alpha knows. Stop holding back."

God, is it not enough?

"I want all of you, Izuku. Every piece. Don't drip feed yourself to me."

He. . . he has no reason to. . .

"How else would I be yours? Not wholly."

How else. . .

Izuku shifts easily, pulling from you slickly, pressing your knees to your shoulders, and leaning over you. You take his weight easily, puffing short breaths as he works diligently to balance on his toes, breathing heavily over you. . . drooling over you. Feet set, he leans in again, kissing your nose before nipping it and brushing them together.

He laughs a little at your squeak, rolling his hips slowly through the frills of your cute quim. "Wholly?" You drip on the underside of his cock, the wet parts of his skin cooling in the air despite feeling like he was on fire.

"Wholly?" he asks again, and you yelp as he straightens up to skillfully guide uncut skin from the end of his cock. The mushroom head then starts to toy with your swollen clit, leaking pre over it profusely. He feels his back throb, straight through to his loins, close to knotting the air with how ready he has become in the short few seconds of accepting his truth.

"Wholly," you nod, looking dazed at the way he leaks over your cunt and onto your belly. The rougher skin of his cock does you no favor, and your toes point near his ears. "Yours. No less." Drops of his saliva track down, wetting the straps of your gown.

"No less." he repeats, a little stupid, rut hormones blooming through his once logic driven brain. "Mine. No less." He looks down, licking his lips, and moaning, "oh, you're dripping, Princess." It coats him thinly, making a mess over you both, running down his cock, through the seam of his heavy sac then to his thudding taint. He lays it over you, pointing neatly at your navel, and your breath hitches.

Izuku will go deep.

He feels the tremor run through you at the change of tone, feels another wave of wet, the fluttering of your entrance, beseeching, wanting, needing. Izuku looks down, watching the mess like a voyeur, like he has little involvement with your predicament.

"So cute, look at that," he finally says. His tongue wets his bottom lip, he wants to taste you again, could just by tilting your back more, get his mouth on you and eat you until you cried. He really wants to, badly. . . "Princess?"

"Yes?" you stutter.

"I want to get in you—" you gasp, jerking when his tip nudges to your stretched entrance, leaking to entice the Alpha. "But later, please let me taste you again?"

Izuku grins dopily when you nod profusely. "For now, let me in," he whispers, balancing it out and slipping into you with a raspy breath. You clench around him, and he grips your thighs tighter. "Let me in, Angel, let Alpha in."

"Izuku," you keen, feet now flexing by his head. He tilts his head, the inside of your ankle tickled by his hair. "You—you're in my—"

Not yet. Not to your stomach, not under your navel. He just got in you, he knows nothing more than the first few inches he warmed his cock in a few minutes earlier, those inches giving sweetly to him, yielding and hugging him tightly. He feels familiar already, grinning, knowing the ridges a few inches into your perfect quim.

"You're bigger—thicker—Izuku." Not a complaint, he thinks, but maybe a question.

"Probably?" he answers, "I like you a lot, Princess," he giggles at your whine, "see how I change for you?"

"Yesss."

Soon, its tight again, past the ring that you soaked around his girth earlier, and he presses on, eyes squinting as he grunts. "It's still coming, Princess. M-more to go," Izuku closes his eyes, opening them to watch you stretch to take him. "Not yet, not yet."

"It's still—coming?"

"Not yet," he repeats softly, "not yet," he continues sliding, "not yet."

"Izuku!" You shake beneath him, and he furrows his brows, lowering himself into you.

"You can take this, Omega," you sob at this, hearing it from him for the first time. "You're made to."

"For you," you struggle out, tears dripping down your temples. "For you, Alpha, for more."

"For Alpha, for me," he grows closer, you know it, see it, breathe through it, battle through it. "Look at how well you take it." he coos, tear lining his own eyes and you moan, trembling.

Bottoming out is a beautiful thing. Your walls hug him tightly, warm—hot—and soft, wet, too wet. There—deep, he feels something not wanting to give, vehemently firm against his mushroom tip, sucking when he rolls into you, smacking when he pulls a bit away.

He thinks he will be ruined.

He loves it. He thinks he deserves it.

"It's rubbing against so much, Izuku. Deep, deep in my belly."

"I know, Princess."

"It feels good. You feel good."

"I know, Angel."

". . .Move, Alpha."

". . .Princess."

Your eyes fly up to him, glazed, and looking over his face, your lips curl into a smile, dopey at the edges. "Izuku? Move."

"Princess, I—can't just yet."

"Do I feel that good?" you tease quietly, and he immediately agrees, nodding as he breathes to the bottom of his stomach.

"Yes, I would never tell you otherwise." He thinks he has forgotten how this felt. It lights up parts of his brain once untouched. A pleasant, ridged pressure from all sides, sinking in enough and touching the firmness deep in you lightly, not jabbing, not hurting, just present. Not tight, just, snug, hot, open.

Nothing, no one, no aid could compare to a real body, especially not the one of someone you love—fuck.

He is so fucked. . .

Slow takes you through the first few pumps, but when you wiggle, when you flex your stomach to meet him before he drop down fully, he lets you carry more of his weight. You huff taking it, mouth opening with no sound as he re-centers.

"Stay there, Omega, let me," and the first full thrust, pulled from only the tip remaining has you winded after he digs in fully. "Oh, look at that face," he grins, like his own eyes can stay open more than a second. He barely manages it, but to see your pupil-swallowed irises roll in your head is worth the effort. "Look, Princess," he teases, "look how well you take it."

You gurgle in response, opening your fluttering eyes to focus before moaning, long and high. "Full, so full, Alpha."

"Soo full, Angel, with me. All of me." The skin of his coming knot pools over your cunt, brushing your clit with slight touches that drag sounds from your stomach. "You feel so good, Omega." He bounces over you, turning his head to mouth at the scent gland on your ankle. He feels desperate enough to just leave his mark there, digging his teeth in until it gives and stings and hurts, blooming with color and his mark.

He—Gods, the thought of it. It nearly knocks him back. He licks wide over it, panting over your wet skin, nibbling softly, thinking of how your blood will leak from the corners of his mouth.

He could. He could do it.

"Izuku, Alpha!" you keen below, nails digging into his forearms. He looks down, sees how your neck strains, and focuses in. There. There is where his bite should be, where it can be seen and boasted, healing and crawling in a beautiful design over your skin.

Izuku drops to his knees, spreading his legs wide as he hunkers down to your level again. His thighs spread over yours, and his lower back aches slightly with the angle, but it matters little. He laps into your mouth fluidly, still shaping your insides with gladness. You will remember him in time.

You flutter violently around him, a second time, a second orgasm since he entered you. Izuku opens his eyes a bit and can tell you fail to register it as well, thinking it to be your hunger and desire. A need to have the most of him that you can possible to soothe your heat, in full drive as your tongue and body loosen by the second.

You mumble something against his lips, in the realm of not being able to think straight from him—"your smell, your weight, the way you feel in me, the way you make me feel—nghh!" You call him your Knight a touch too sweetly, and he thinks he has strained a muscle to reach deeper into you when you beg for it sweetly, calling for him to scratch the itch that lies just under your navel.

There? He can do that.

He has gotten good at his, moving himself, moving you, quickly, seamlessly, no words needed. You still whimper when he pecks your mouth and peels his hands from behind your knees, and Izuku apologizes sweetly in response.

"You're fine, Angel. I got you," he whispers, a single hand peeling your hands from around his neck and locking them where his grip has reddened skin on the backs of your thighs. "Hold there, Princess, you've got it, mhm—" Izuku leans forward, bumping his head into yours as he centers a palm over the globe of your ass. In a simple shift, he presses your hips up the slightest bit more, and you yelp, fluttering around him violently.

"Izuku! There! It's right—fucking there—keep-keep—"

"I'll keep hitting it, Princess, you just take it, 'kay? Keep yourself open for Alpha."

He can feel his knot start to fill, tricking blood through slowly as he looses himself in you. He pants into your open mouth in time with you, silently adoring of the way your stomach presses into his with your shuttered breaths. The wet drag, the ridges, the heat, the pleasure he finds in you rewires his brain for the better. And when he angles his cock just so and pushes your leg into your side a touch more, he gets a blast of your scent, filling his head with cotton, and taking him closer than the time before.

"Princess, you feel so—so good, I—" he bites his lips, nerves on end with potential, swallowing thickly. "I'm close, Angel." He is close. Dangerously so, but he can not stop. He needs to be closer. Closer than your next breath.

You must sense it, smell it, feel it. You release your grip, motion him down, and he goes. Your arms welcome his descent, wrapping around his neck as one of his reaches around you and under, keeping your hips up easily. Izuku's other hand cradles the back of your head, angling your face to rest in the divot of his neck. He takes the other, free, unmarked side, kissing up and down it softly, despite his skin chafing grinding.

His mouth is constantly watering, he swallows down as much as he can before he starts panting. He feels deprived of air, so enveloped in your scent, nosing at your swollen gland, he sticks his nose over it, huffs it and chokes. Your moans embolden him, and when your little tongue maps the way around his gland, he lets his do the same.

Izuku shivers when the rough flat of your tongue works his gland into aching, throbbing for release naturally. You persevere, only stopping when he growls or when you react from the treatment he gives you, from neck to between your thighs.

Knot thickening, he scrapes his teeth over your gland, grinding his hips in lazily. Your cunt is relaxed around him, clenching only so often, and it makes him sink deeper. Izuku loves this part, where it feels natural, not forced or like a strain. Even with his aid, his eyes would roll back more often after the elasticity went down.

His knot drags though, catching on sensitive things inside, and you keen, mouth fitting over his gland. Your teeth press in and Izuku can feel your canines, your incisors, down to your premolars, preparing to sink in.

Izuku opens his mouth to do the same, stopping only because this catches up with him.

Mating. His liege, daughter of his King, the Lord of the lands. A woman, the vassal to the land, heir of the throne.

His Princess.

"My Princess," he moans one last time, the sound rising in pitch when your teeth press in and break through. It serves as a reminder of what you were, and now what you will change into.

Izuku's world warps, speeding up, slowing down, dizzying him entirely.

He comes to with a mouth full of your blood and scent and a knot snugly fit inside of you.

Your teeth have yet to leave his throat, so his stay as well. Your tongue laps his blood, and his does as well. Your hips wiggle to test the tie, and his do as well.

He follows after you, force of habit he thinks. Deeper, he thinks he will never be able to stop that. You will always have him as your protective shadow, just with an addition of title.

You look pretty covered in his blood, mouth stained a pretty pinkish-red, striping your cheeks and dripping into your hair. Your teeth are pink too when you smile at him finally, too cheeky and aware he thinks, but he grins back and you giggle.

A connection will lock into place later, when neither of you will be overwhelmed by another person being so close to your heart and mind and thoughts. Only after your marks have healed from their scarred bites will art form, splaying broadly across your throats, boasting love and unity.

Pearlescent, it is all Izuku can see swirling across your skin, pure, gleaming, delicate and unordinary. Your eyes trace Izuku's neck, he can see you thinking of how his mark will form. Likely, like yours, a mirror of it.

Until that time. . .

"Love?" Your breath catches at his new way of calling for you. Your tongue licks across your teeth as you try to keep your mind from wandering.

"Yes, Izuku?"

He smiles, and your breath does hitch this time. "That wasn't enough."

You shake your head, agreeing, feeling his knot go down, but not his cock go any softer. This shared heat-rut cycle falls differently, induced, nothing will come of it besides your mating. No unexpected surprises, just you two.

"It wasn't." Cum leaks from you, and you gasp as he slips from you and his fingers plug you lightly.

"Then, I think I'll put you against a wall this time, yes?"

"Yes, my Love, yes." He growls at this, kissing your bloody lips softly.

"First," he curls his fingers up, letting the mess ooze between them and down, "with my fingers, like this. Let me see your face this time, my Princess."