help me / bakudeku omegaverse /

Part 21

The sunlight spilled gently across the bed, warm and soft, painting the room in shades of gold. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, musk, and lingering pheromones—reminders of what had passed between them, quiet evidence of closeness rather than chaos.

Izuku stirred first, eyelids fluttering open. His chest rose and fell slowly, unevenly, as he took in the sight of Katsuki lying beside him, hair tousled, features relaxed in a rare, unguarded moment. For a while, he simply breathed, letting the heat of Katsuki's body and the scent that clung to him anchor him.

Katsuki shifted, lazily draping an arm over Izuku's side, the faint press of skin against skin comforting in its solidity. His breath was soft and steady, and for a moment, the world outside—the palace, the scandal, the council—didn't exist. It was just them, tangled together, quiet and safe.

Izuku closed his eyes again, inhaling the smoky, citrus notes of Katsuki, letting them fill him. His body hummed faintly in response, not with panic, but with the familiar warmth of safety. A soft smile touched his lips.

Until memory struck.

A flicker at first—just the merest echo of the merchant in the village, of the stares, the shouts, the sudden panic that had gripped him that morning. And then it came back fully: the heat, unbidden, relentless, and utterly consuming.

Izuku's eyes snapped open. Panic hit him like a wave, raw and cold. Words tumbled out, half-formed, desperate, incoherent.

"N-no... I—I can't... nononono... can't... can't... No... I—"

He scrambled, pushing at the sheets, trying to get out of bed, but his body refused. The muscles in his legs clenched painfully, the lingering effects of the heat still clawing at him, teasing his body with arousal that wouldn't fully release.

Katsuki blinked, startled, watching him thrash slightly, confusion and concern twisting his features. "Izu—what the hell?"

"I—it's... not supposed to... I... can't... it's too—" Izuku gasped, curling against the pillows, face buried in his hands. His breaths came in ragged, shallow bursts, every inhale sharp with the memory of lost control.

Katsuki's expression hardened, but the anger was tempered by immediate instinct. He leaned closer, voice low and steady. "Hey. Hey, calm down. You're safe. It's just us. You're okay."

Izuku lifted his head, green eyes wide and trembling. "But... but—this—this wasn't supposed to... I can't... I can't..."

Katsuki frowned, scanning his face, catching the fragments. "Wait. Are you saying... you didn't—"

"It's—oh god—it's the heat! It was the heat, even though... we shouldn't have... I shouldn't have... and you... you didn't... you didn't take advantage... I—I just..." His words faltered into a broken sigh, voice barely a whisper.

Katsuki finally understood, and his jaw tightened. His hand reached for Izuku's, gentle but firm, keeping him grounded. "Shh. Hey. Look at me."

Izuku's chest heaved, eyes brimming. "Alphas—they... they change! They grow... desperate, controlling... beasts! And omegas... we— we lose ourselves! We become animals—l-lustful animals! I—I wasn't in... I wasn't myself..."

Katsuki's grip tightened slightly, anchoring him. "You weren't in your right mind," he said softly, "and neither was I. That doesn't... change anything. I won't hurt you, I won't ever let anything happen that you aren't okay with."

Izuku shook his head violently. "But... it happened anyway! I—I can't..."

Katsuki leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to Izuku's. "I know," he murmured. "And it's okay to feel scared, to be upset. But listen... you weren't alone. You weren't helpless. I was here. I am here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Izuku blinked, shivering slightly against him, letting the scent of Katsuki, the warmth of his body, slowly calm the storm inside. "You... you won't... use it against me?"

"Never," Katsuki said firmly. "I never would. Not now, not ever."

Izuku's breathing began to even out, the panic retreating, leaving behind the raw vulnerability that had defined the morning. He remembered the last few months—the care Katsuki had shown, the patience, the quiet moments of trust, the late-night talks, the long walks, the simple touches that had rebuilt what fear had once broken.

"I... I know," Izuku whispered finally. "Even when I... wasn't myself... I felt... safe. With you. You... you always..." he trailed off.

"I'm not perfect," Katsuki said, brushing a strand of hair from Izuku's face. "I'm still a hothead. Still an idiot sometimes. But you—" He kissed Izuku gently, slowly, deliberately. "You can trust me. Even when it's messy. Even when it's... hard."

Izuku leaned into him, letting the steady press of Katsuki's chest against his own remind him that safety wasn't a fleeting thing—it was a choice, and Katsuki had chosen it, every time. "I... I'm sorry," he murmured, voice shaky. "For... for panicking, for... for leaving... leaving you alone... everything."

"You don't need to be sorry," Katsuki said, holding him close. "You're okay. You're here. And we're together. That's all that matters. Just don't leave again."

Izuku allowed himself to breathe fully, the tension in his chest easing. The pain of his heat dying down again. The bond between them pulsed gently, warm, reassuring—not demanding, not overwhelming. Just two people, learning to navigate trauma and desire, together.

Katsuki rested his chin atop Izuku's head, letting the silence stretch, letting the world shrink down to the heat of their bodies, the steady rhythm of breathing, and the quiet certainty that they were both exactly where they belonged.

And slowly, gently, Izuku closed his eyes again, letting the trust he had in Katsuki—and in himself—ground him.