help me / bakudeku omegaverse /

Part 22

The hours after Izuku's panic passed in a haze of quiet closeness. Katsuki had barely let him move, insisting he stay against his chest until his trembling stopped, until his breathing steadied. Izuku had protested weakly at first, embarrassed, but the steady thrum of Katsuki's scent rolling over him - sharp, citrus cut with warmth - lulled him back into something like calm.

But calm wasn't control.

By late afternoon, Izuku's skin still prickled with restless heat, his body betraying him with surges of need that knotted low in his stomach and left his cheeks burning. The worst of it wasn't even the physical ache-it was the way his scent seemed to bleed into the air no matter what he did, a sweet, heavy draw that clung to the sheets, to the walls, to Katsuki.

He hated it.

And yet... whenever Katsuki leaned close, pressing his pheromones into the room, Izuku felt the sharp edge of his need dull. The bond thrummed, steady and strong, enough to keep him from slipping into panic or unbearable want.

Katsuki noticed. Of course he noticed.

By the time evening approached, Katsuki was pacing. He had already been summoned twice, once by the council, once by his mother, but he hadn't left. Couldn't leave. His jaw worked as he glanced back at the bed where Izuku lay curled, green eyes half-lidded but watchful.

"They'll live without me," Katsuki muttered.

Izuku shifted, voice hoarse. "You... you should go. Just for a little while. They'll-"

"Not happening," Katsuki snapped. His voice was harsher than he intended, and when Izuku flinched, he cursed under his breath. He crossed the room in two strides, crouching by the bed. "Shit. I didn't mean-don't look at me like that."

Izuku blinked at him, cheeks pink from more than fever. "You've been... short-tempered..."

"Because," Katsuki growled, lowering his forehead to Izuku's. His scent flared, wrapping around Izuku in protective waves. "Every damn time I leave, I feel like something's wrong. Like I'm not here when you need me. I can't... I won't leave you alone like this."

Izuku swallowed hard, guilt twisting with relief. His hand crept forward, brushing Katsuki's. "I'm not... upset. Not at you. I just don't want you to burn yourself out. You're... you're the crown prince, Katsuki. They need you too."

"They can wait," Katsuki said firmly, taking Izuku's hand and pressing a kiss against the knuckles. "You come first. Always."

The bond pulsed between them, so strong Izuku felt it hum in his bones. His chest tightened—not with fear, but with something warmer, steadier.

The next few days fell into a strange rhythm.

Izuku's heat lingered, ebbing and flowing like tides. Sometimes it came soft, leaving him needy, curling against Katsuki and whining faintly when the bond pulled taut. Other times it spiked hot, leaving him flushed and shivering, fighting to keep his scent from choking the air. During those moments, Katsuki's pheromones washed over him in strong, steady bursts until the tension eased, until Izuku could breathe again.

It wasn't easy. Izuku was moody, sensitive to every shift in tone or expression, his emotions swinging faster than he could contain. Katsuki, for all his temper, somehow managed to meet each swing with unflinching steadiness. He snarled at servants who lingered too long outside Izuku's door, barked at advisors who tried to delay him, and stormed through the halls like a wildfire just to get back to him.

And yet... the castle grew quieter.

The staff, once wary of the prince's infamous temper, began to notice a shift. His explosions, while still sharp, were shorter, faster, always followed by his return to Izuku's side. The fights that used to echo through the halls dwindled; the tension that used to coil around the servants' spines loosened.

They began to adapt.

Meals were brought quicker, lighter, with herbs known to calm omega systems. The sheets were changed twice daily, fresh and cool against Izuku's overheated skin. Guards shifted their patrols to avoid lingering near Katsuki's chambers, giving the prince and his omega space without being asked. Even the head maid quietly ordered stronger incense for the halls, to mask the sharp undercurrent of Izuku's uncontrolled scent from spreading too far.

Izuku noticed it all, lying restless in bed while Katsuki rushed through council meetings only to storm back an hour later, scent sharp and protective. He hated the helplessness of it—the way he could barely walk without his knees buckling, the way his body betrayed him with sudden waves of need. And yet, each time Katsuki returned, each time his scent filled the room and grounded him, Izuku felt the knot of shame loosen just a little.

One night, as Katsuki stripped out of his council uniform, scowling at the endless documents he hadn't read, Izuku spoke softly from the bed.

"They're helping me."

Katsuki froze, glancing over. "What?"

"The staff," Izuku said, tugging the blanket higher over his chest. "The food, the sheets, the incense... they're trying to make it easier. For both of us."

Katsuki grunted, throwing the last of his clothes aside before climbing into bed beside him. "Good. About time they did something useful."

Izuku smiled faintly, turning into his chest. "I think... they want to help us. Not just because you're the prince. But because..." He hesitated, then whispered, "Because they see how you've been with me."

Katsuki stiffened, then sighed, burying his nose in Izuku's curls. "Dumbasses should mind their own business."

But Izuku felt the bond surge with quiet pride, betraying the truth Katsuki wouldn't say aloud.

For the first time since his heat began, Izuku didn't feel like a burden. He felt... cared for. By Katsuki, yes, but also by the castle that had once felt like cold stone walls pressing in.

By the fourth day, when Izuku could finally shuffle unsteadily to the balcony with Katsuki's arm steadying him, the garden below was brighter than he remembered, alive with birdsong. Katsuki hovered at his side, scowling at the idea of him being outside, but Izuku only smiled, inhaling deeply.

"You see?" Izuku whispered, leaning against him. "It's... calmer. Even the castle."

Katsuki didn't answer at first, just pressed a firm kiss to Izuku's temple, his arm wrapping tighter around his waist.

"Doesn't matter," Katsuki said finally. "Calm or not. You're what matters. Always."

And Izuku believed him.