help me / bakudeku omegaverse /

Part 23

The castle's halls felt different now. For the first time in over a week, Izuku walked at Katsuki's side, steady though still a little pale, his hand brushing against Katsuki's arm as they returned to the prince's office. Stacks of documents, sealed letters, and wax-stamped decrees cluttered the desk—evidence of everything Katsuki had rushed through in order to stay near him during his heat.

They worked together quietly. Izuku read aloud, cross-checked, and organized while Katsuki stamped and signed. It was comfortable, domestic even, until the door opened without warning.

"Finally," Mitsuki said, sweeping inside with her usual sharp grace. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd both fallen into another hole in the earth."

Katsuki groaned, leaning back in his chair. "What the hell do you want, old hag?"

Mitsuki ignored him, eyes flicking instead to Izuku. "Word travels fast. You made up. Good. Then I can expect you both at the banquet."

Katsuki blinked. "The what now?"

"The banquet, you brat. The one planned for the visiting nobles this week." She crossed her arms. "Don't tell me you didn't—"

But Katsuki's expression twisted. He remembered the blur of days spent darting between council meetings, snapping at advisors, rushing through scrolls without reading. He must have signed off on it somewhere.

"Shit," he muttered, running a hand down his face. "No, we're not—"

"Yes," Izuku said suddenly, his voice soft but firm.

Both Mitsuki and Katsuki turned to him. Izuku's cheeks were pink, but his eyes didn't waver. "We'll be there."

Mitsuki's brows rose, impressed, before she smirked. "Good. I'll have the staff prepare." She left without another word.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Katsuki turned sharply. "The hell was that, Izuku? You hate this crap. I was about to tell her no."

Izuku shifted, fingers curling in the fabric of his sleeve. He took a slow breath. "I... I know. I still do. But, Katsuki—this is perfect."

"Perfect?" Katsuki scowled, incredulous.

"To show them," Izuku said, meeting his gaze. His voice was steadier now, stronger. "The council, the nobles, the visiting royals. To show them that you can still be king with me by your side. If I can be the perfect mate for you—even just for one night—it'll silence most of their doubts."

Katsuki froze, concern giving way to shock. "Izu... you don't have to—"

"I want to," Izuku interrupted, surprising them both. His hand reached for Katsuki's, squeezing it with rare boldness. "I don't want to hide behind you forever. Let me do this. For you."

Katsuki stared at him, searching his face. His omega—always shy, always careful, scarred—was the one asking him to stand back, to let him take the lead. Slowly, the knot of resistance in his chest loosened.

"...Tch. Fine," Katsuki muttered. "But we're doing this my way. You get tired, we leave. Someone so much as looks at you wrong, I'll kill 'em."

Izuku smiled faintly. "Deal."

..........

The next days were consumed in preparation. Izuku devoured books on royal etiquette, memorizing when to bow, when to curtsy, how to address dukes and duchesses without error. He practiced his steps in the mirror, balancing a book on his head, his determination bright enough that even Katsuki stopped teasing after the third day.

And when the night came, the castle stilled in awe.

Katsuki stood in his formal attire—deep black and crimson layered robes, gold embroidery licking along the sleeves like flames. His hair was combed back more neatly than usual, though a few stubborn strands still spiked rebelliously.

But it was Izuku who stole the air from every lung in the hall.

He wore a gown of deep burgundy and black, the bodice laced tight with ribbons that crossed like delicate armor. The sleeves flowed into long, sweeping drapes that shifted with every movement, regal and commanding. His curls had been tamed into loose waves, adorned with golden trinkets threaded through—tiny leaves, delicate chains, a circlet resting just above his brow. Every step he took made the gold catch the light, casting him in quiet radiance.

When he appeared beside Katsuki, their arms hooked together, the hall fell silent. They complemented one another perfectly: fire and rose, power and grace. Where Katsuki was sharp and unyielding, Izuku was soft but steady. Together, they looked unshakable.

The banquet began. Izuku breathed deep, shoulders square despite the tremor in his hands. He bowed and curtsied when needed, each movement precise, elegant. His didn't smile, but his emerald eyes sharpened with quiet resolve.

Katsuki watched him closely, protective as ever, but soon he realized he didn't need to shield him.

Izuku handled conversations with surprising ease. When his stutter caught, he pivoted smoothly, asking leading questions that kept others speaking instead. When a noble pressed too hard, he tilted his head just so, feigning interest until the topic shifted away. When the food came and his appetite faltered, he cut portions delicately and placed them on Katsuki's plate, making it look intentional—like a mate caring for his partner rather than an omega too nervous to eat.

To the council, to the guests, to every eye watching—he looked perfect.

Katsuki's chest tightened as he watched. Damn nerd. He's brilliant. A genius. Mine.

Throughout the night, Izuku's composure never cracked. He nodded softly when required, listened intently when spoken to, and let his hand brush against Katsuki's just enough to steady them both. The golden trinkets in his hair gleamed like a crown.

By the time the music began and the nobles whispered behind their fans, the message was clear.

Prince Katsuki Bakugou was not weakened by his choice of mate.

He was strengthened by it.

And Izuku—once a boy who doubted every step, every word—stood radiant beside him, every inch a prince's consort.