Sweet Dreams - Bakugou Katsuki
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Warning(s): Mild Explicit Language, Violence, Major Character Death, Angst
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You both lay broken amidst the ruins of the battlefield, the sky above smeared in smoke and crimson. Shigaraki and his legion held the upper hand now — chaos had chosen its side.
Your body trembled with exhaustion, a deep stab wound tearing through your abdomen, warmth pooling beneath you in steady betrayal. Beside you, he lay motionless, a gaping hole carved into his chest — where a heart should beat, there was only silence and slow, suffocating blood. It spilled from his lips with every fading breath.
You’d spent so long despising each other, built from hatred and scorn. And yet… in that fragile, crumbling moment, something unspoken bound you together — not as enemies, not as strangers, but as two souls slipping from the same edge.
With the last flicker of strength, he turned his head to you, pain etched into every twitch of muscle. His eyes, once sharp with fury, were dull now… distant.
He choked, the word caught in the blood rising from his throat. He coughed violently — it sounded final.
Your voice is a shaky whisper, barely holding together as the weight of everything crashes down.
“We did the b-best we could…”
You wheeze, breath catching on every word. The adrenaline that kept you going — that fragile illusion of strength — fades fast. And now the pain comes. Real and unforgiving. It sinks deep, like ice threading through your veins. You can feel it all now.
Every heartbeat hurts. Every breath feels like it’s being stolen.
And yet, you still speak… because if you don’t, the silence might just kill you first.
He tries to give you a reassuring smile — or something close to it — but it barely forms. The pain is written all over his face, and there's so much blood. Too much.
“Hey,” he breathes out, voice rough and faint, like it’s hanging by a thread.
His hand reaches for you — trembling, weak — and somehow, it still finds yours. His fingers are cold. Shaky. But they curl around yours anyway, like it matters. Like it’s enough.
Another cough escapes him, wetter this time. You feel it before you hear it. He doesn’t wipe the blood from his mouth. He just looks up at the sky, like maybe if he stares long enough, he’ll forget how close the end is.
And yet, even now… he’s trying to comfort you.
You blink hard, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill — but they’re stubborn, just like you. Just like him. The world around you is spinning, distant, but this — his hand in yours — is the only thing keeping you grounded.
With what little strength you have left, you squeeze his hand. It’s barely a movement, but it’s everything. A signal. I’m still here.
The pain claws at you instantly, sharp and unbearable. It radiates from your wound like fire, and you wince, breath hitching in your throat. It hurts more than it ever has — but you don’t let go.
Not while he's still breathing.
He lets out a low groan, the kind that barely escapes his throat. You feel the tremor through his hand as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched from the pain. Another breath leaves him — shaky, broken — like it took everything just to let it out.
“I… I just gotta say something,” he murmurs, voice almost swallowed by the stillness around you.
Slowly, painfully, he opens his eyes again. They find you — heavy with something unsaid, something fragile. And in that look, you see it: the fear, the regret, the last traces of a war he never wanted to end like this.
His hand trembles again, but he doesn’t pull away.
He’s holding on. Just long enough to say it.
“S-Stop…” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “Save… save it for later.”
It’s a lie — and you both know it. But you say it anyway, because it’s the only thing you have left.
“We can stay up all night, just… just talking,” you breathe out, desperate, trembling. “We won’t s-stop. W-We’ll be okay. Please…”
The words fall apart in your throat, slipping out in broken fragments. You’re not even sure he can hear you anymore, but you say them like they might change something. Like they might rewrite this ending.
You shift your aching body, biting back a sob as the pain screams in protest. Slowly, carefully, you rest your head on his arm — what’s left of it — clinging to the warmth that’s already fading.
Silent tears carve paths down your face, mixing with the blood and dirt. You don’t wipe them away.
You just stay there, next to him, begging time to stop.
He lets out a soft, breathless chuckle — not because anything is funny, but because the pain makes everything feel unreal. His breath hitches again, shaky and strained.
“I…” he starts, voice barely there.
He tries to clear his throat, to steady himself, but the effort backfires. He coughs hard, blood bubbling up and spilling down his chin. It’s too much. He doesn’t even try to wipe it away.
Slowly, he turns his head to face you again. His eyes meet yours, glassy but sharp with certainty.
“No,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “I’m not waiting.”
You feel your chest tighten.
“I know I won’t make it through the night.”
He winces, jaw tensing as another wave of pain cuts through him. You see it — how close the end is. How much it’s costing him just to keep his eyes open. Just to speak.
“I… just want you to know something.”
His voice falters again. But this time, not from pain — from the weight of what he’s about to say.
“S-Shut up!” you cry out, the words breaking as they leave you. “Shut-… shut up. Please just—… shut up.”
Your voice cracks, strangled by grief. You don’t even know who you’re begging — him, yourself, the universe — but you say it like if you say it hard enough, this will all stop.
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block it out, all of it — his voice, his blood, the way the truth clings to every word he speaks.
Another sob rips through you, your body jolting from the force of it. The pain explodes in your side again, sharper than before, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t care.
You’re breaking. And you can’t stop it.
He’s slipping away. And you can’t stop that either.
He winces again, his whole body tensing, but he doesn’t let it stop him. Doesn’t even let it show for long. With all the strength he has left, he reaches up — hand trembling, bloodied — and brushes his fingers against your cheek, wiping away a few of your tears.
They’re still falling. He knows they will keep falling. But he does it anyway.
“Shh… look at me,” he whispers, voice softer now — not because of weakness, but because he’s trying to be gentle.
Because in this moment, he doesn’t want you to remember the pain, or the blood, or the chaos still raging around you. Just this. Just him.
His thumb lingers just under your eye, and though his touch is faint, it’s steady enough to hold onto.
Your hand trembles as you lift it, barely steady enough to move, but you manage. Slowly, you place it over his — his blood-warmed fingers resting on your tear-streaked cheek.
You don’t speak. You can’t. Your throat is too tight, choked with pain and denial.
But your eyes flutter open, just like he asked. Just enough to meet his.
He’s still there. Barely. But he’s still there.
And even as everything inside you screams that this isn’t fair, that it isn’t supposed to end like this — you look at him. Because he asked you to.
Because he’s holding on… just long enough to say what he came here to say.
He looks into your eyes — really looks — and for once, there’s no tension, no guarded edge. Just softness. Just him, stripped bare in a way you’ve never seen before.
His chest rises unevenly, each breath harder than the last, but somehow, he still manages a small half-smile. It’s tired, faint… but it’s real.
“You have… beautiful eyes…” he whispers, the words barely holding together as they leave his lips.
Your heart twists. Because even now — as the blood pools, as the night closes in — he chooses to say something kind. Something true.
And somehow, that hurts more than anything else.
“Not as pretty as yours…”
The words slip from your lips in a trembling breath, barely more than a whisper. You don’t even know where you found the strength to say them — maybe it’s the truth, or maybe it’s the ache tearing through your chest, begging you to hold onto something.
Your gaze locks with his, unsteady, shaking — but you don’t look away.
You study every line of his face like it’s the last page of a story you’re not ready to finish. The way his lashes flutter with each breath. The way his mouth twitches at the corners, still trying to smile. The soft, fading warmth in his eyes.
You drink it all in — desperate, pleading — because deep down, some part of you knows.
This is the last time you’ll ever see him like this.
And you want to remember everything.
He lets out another quiet chuckle, broken and low in his throat. The sound is strained, cracked around the edges — and it’s followed by a soft wince, his body curling slightly from the pain it cost him.
“Sh-Shut up, nerd…” he murmurs, voice barely holding together, but there's still a flicker of teasing in it — weak, but familiar. Him.
He takes another shaky breath — longer this time, like he's trying to hold it in, like he’s trying to stay just a little longer.
Then, with what little strength he has left, his other hand reaches up. Slow, trembling, deliberate.
His fingers brush your cheek, gentle despite how unsteady they are. He cups your face like it’s fragile, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go.
And still… even now, he’s trying to comfort you.
A soft, broken laugh escapes you — barely there, more breath than sound — but it’s real. Just for a second. Your eyes close, like maybe if you don’t look at him, this moment won’t be what it is. Like maybe time will stop if you just… shut your eyes long enough.
“I love when y-you call me that…” you whisper, voice cracking as you lean ever so slightly into his touch.
Maybe because it made you feel seen. Maybe because it meant he was still him, even when the world was falling apart. Or maybe just because it made you forget — even for a moment — how this is all ending.
You want to stay here. Like this. In the space between pain and goodbye.
But you can feel it — the way his hand trembles more now, the way his breaths keep getting shorter.
You’re running out of time.
His thumb moves slowly across your cheek, barely more than a ghost of a touch. It’s trembling now, but still full of a tenderness that makes your chest ache even harder.
More blood spills from the corner of his mouth, trailing down as he exhales shakily — like every breath is a war he’s fighting just to stay with you a little longer.
“Yeah… I know you do, you nerd,” he whispers, and even now, his voice holds that familiar warmth, stretched thin by pain but still there. Still him.
His hand stays on your cheek, though it’s weaker now — fingers twitching, barely able to hold on.
Because he’s not ready to let go.
You lift your hand, still shaking, and gently weave your fingers through his — the ones still resting against your cheek. His skin is cold now, colder than it should be, but you hold on like you can warm him just by staying close enough.
A soft smile touches your lips, bittersweet and trembling, but it’s real. For him. Just for him.
You nod slowly, blinking past the blur in your eyes as fresh tears slip down your cheeks and soak into the spaces between your joined hands.
You don’t have to say anything.
And for a moment, everything goes quiet — just the two of you, holding on.
Even if it’s only for a little longer.
His fingers curl weakly around yours, returning your touch with the last strength he has. It’s not much — just a soft squeeze — but it’s enough to send another wave of pain crashing through your chest.
That smile is still there, faint and faltering, blood clinging to the corners of his lips, but it stays. Like he’s trying to make this easier for you. Like he wants that to be the last thing you remember — not the blood, not the battlefield, but him. Smiling.
He takes a deep, shaky breath, and his eyes flutter shut for just a moment — like he’s gathering the will to say what needs to be said.
Then he looks at you again, gaze heavy with meaning, with everything he never got to say before this.
“You… you mean a lot to me… you know that right?” he whispers, voice hoarse and strained, but laced with nothing but truth.
And behind it — all of it — is that quiet, desperate hope.
That you knew, even before he said it.
Your smile falters — slips, crumbles — and then it’s gone, lost in the sob that tears out of you before you can stop it. It racks your already broken body, sending another wave of agony through your chest, but you don’t care.
You lean in closer, pressing yourself against him, trying to feel something — anything — that says he’s still here. Still warm. Still alive.
“T-This isn’t how it was supposed to go…”
The words come out cracked and small, like a child’s — raw and pleading. You’re not even sure who you’re saying it to. Him. The universe. Yourself.
All that matters is he’s slipping through your fingers, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
So you just hold on tighter.
Because you don’t know how to let go.
He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer, trying to offer what little warmth he has left. It’s weak, but it’s there. His hand brushes against your back, the touch a soft, trembling comfort — like he's trying to keep you from breaking, even though he’s the one shattering.
“I know…” he murmurs, voice thick with regret. It’s a whisper against your ear, rough but steady.
His body trembles against yours, and you can feel it — the tremor of his heartbeat slowing, the way his breaths are becoming ragged and shallow.
“I should’ve done better… I should’ve been faster…” The words come out like they’re tearing at him, like each one costs him more than he has left to give.
But he says them anyway. Because maybe, just maybe, if he says it enough, it’ll make this moment hurt just a little less.
Your hand — bloodied, trembling — rises slowly. Every muscle protests, but you ignore it. You have to do this.
You cup his cheek, the skin clammy beneath your fingers, and gently turn his face toward yours. His eyes flutter open again, just barely, as if even now, even like this, he knows it’s you.
You meet his gaze, voice cracking under the weight of everything you should’ve said sooner.
“I should’ve told you…” you whisper, choking on the words. “T-Told you how hopelessly I’m in love with you. A-...A long time ago.”
Another sob escapes you as your thumb brushes against his cheekbone, smearing blood and tears together.
“I should’ve kissed you until neither of us could breathe. I should’ve been faster.”
Your voice breaks entirely at the end, collapsing into a whisper so soft it’s almost not there.
You’re not just mourning what’s happening — you’re mourning everything that could’ve happened. Everything you’ll never get back.
And still, you hold him like he’s your whole world.
His breath hitched, like your words had pulled the air straight out of his lungs. And somehow… somehow, even now, he smiled. Just the smallest curve of his lips — bloodstained, broken — but real.
His eyes closed for a moment, long lashes fluttering against your hand as he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing grounding him to this world.
His voice was disbelieving, soft — like it didn’t quite register, like it was something too impossible to be real. His eyes opened again, searching yours.
And in that moment, he looked at you as though you were the most unexpected, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Like he couldn’t believe you were saying it — here, now, at the edge of everything.
And you could see it — the quiet devastation in his eyes.
He’d wanted to hear those words.
He just hadn’t expected to hear them this late.
“S-So much. So fuckin’ much, Katsuki…”
Your voice is barely more than a whisper, cracked and bleeding around the edges. It slips out like a confession and a goodbye all at once, and it hurts — because it’s the truth. And the truth has never felt so heavy.
You force yourself to look at him, really look — but your gaze drifts, unbidden, to the gaping wound in his chest.
Your bottom lip trembles as you bite down on it hard, trying — begging — for the tears to stop, for time to stop, for this not to be the end. But the taste of iron fills your mouth and your chest starts to heave with quiet, helpless sobs.
Katsuki doesn’t look away. Even through the pain, even as everything starts to dim around him — he looks only at you.
Because you're the last thing he wants to see.
He let out a soft, breathy chuckle — what little he could manage. The sound was broken, shaky… but genuine.
His eyes never left yours.
And this time, there was something in them you’d never seen before. Not the usual fire, not the sharp edges or stubborn pride — but something gentler, softer. Something that belonged only to you.
“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted you to say that…”
His hand lifted with effort, trembling as it rose. He reached toward your face, brushing a strand of hair away with the care of someone who knew it might be the last thing he ever touched.
“I’ve always loved you too, dumbass…”
His voice cracked at the end — not from pain, but from feeling. From every unspoken word that had burned behind his silence for so long.
And in that moment, even with the world falling apart around you, it was just you and him.
Just… goodbye slowly creeping in.
A broken, watery laugh escapes your throat, caught somewhere between joy and devastation. It rattles out of you before you can stop it, your chest aching with the weight of it all.
You look back up at him — and God, even now… even like this…
The blood, the bruises, the fading light in his eyes — none of it takes away from the way he looks to you. Like he hung the stars. Like he fought the whole damn world and still somehow managed to be yours in the end.
Your gaze drinks him in, every inch, every breath, like you’re burning him into memory — because some part of you already knows.
You’re running out of time.
And still, as you look at him — cradling his hand, holding on with everything you have left — all you can think is:
He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
Even in death, he’s your goddamn hero.
His hand didn’t leave your cheek.
It trembled now, weaker with every passing second, but it kept moving — slow, reverent, his thumb tracing small circles against your skin like he was memorizing the feel of you.
Like he was begging time to stop.
His eyes searched your face, full of something raw… something fragile. He was looking at you like this was the last thing in the world he’d ever see — and he wanted to burn it into the very last beat of his heart.
He cleared his throat, voice hoarse and fading.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even sad.
Not because he was dying.
But because you both could’ve had so much more.
And now all he had was this — your face in his hand, and a question that would haunt the silence you’d be left with.
Your voice quivers, raw with the weight of everything you should’ve said long before now. The confession slips from your lips like blood from a wound — slow, painful, irreversible.
“I didn’t w-want you to think I was… weak,” you breathe, your throat tightening as more tears blur your vision. “That I’m some sick person who falls in love with the same man she thought she hated…”
Your fingers curl tighter around his, terrified of the moment his hand might go still.
“I c-couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk you not feeling the same for me.”
Your voice breaks on the last word, and your whole body aches — not just from the injuries, but from the unbearable ache of almost. Of what could’ve been.
And even now, with the world crumbling around you, you wonder what it would’ve been like to love him in the light.
Not on a battlefield soaked in blood and regret.
But in peace. In safety. In time.
He let out a soft, breathless chuckle — the sound fragile, barely hanging on.
But his eyes… his eyes never left yours.
“I could never think you’re weak…” he whispered, voice thin and unraveling.
His gaze burned into you — not with fire, but with truth, with something so raw and open it tore straight through you.
“And I could never hate you…”
He swallowed hard, blinking slowly as the world around him seemed to grow dimmer.
“Even when I thought I hated everyone…” His voice faltered, a flicker of pain cutting through his features. “I never hated you…”
Another sharp breath. His body tensed, a wave of agony rippling through him.
You felt it as his grip on your hand tightened — not by much, but enough to make your chest cave in all over again.
“I—... I know that now,” you whisper, your voice trembling like the world beneath your feet.
Your smile flickers, shaky and pained, but real — as real as the blood drying on your skin and the heat slowly draining from the battlefield.
“I f-feel like I can die easier.”
And somehow, it feels true.
Because now you know. Now you finally know what his heart sounded like when it beat for you. And for once, even with death brushing at your heels, there’s peace in that.
Your hand trails up to his cheek, gentle, reverent — like he’s fragile glass and you’re trying to keep him from cracking too fast. You rub slow, calming circles against his skin, trying to distract him from the agony clawing at his chest.
His eyes flutter under your touch.
But he leans into your palm, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him to the world.
He leaned into your hand like it was the last bit of warmth he had left in him — like he could imprint the shape of your fingers into his memory, even as it all started to slip away.
Your touch was soft… but it was everything.
And then, with a voice so fragile it nearly shattered between his teeth, he whispered—
“I… I don’t want to die…”
His eyes — wide, glassy, pleading — locked onto yours, and it broke something deep in your chest.
Because it wasn’t just fear.
It was want. It was longing.
He didn’t want to leave this moment — you — behind. Not when he’d just gotten to hold you like this. Not when he finally knew you loved him back. Not when the world had finally, finally made sense.
But life doesn’t care about perfect moments.
And time, cruel and indifferent, never slows down.
The words barely make it past your lips — broken, trembling, as if admitting them aloud might make the pain more real. But you say them anyway. Because it’s the truth.
Not like this.
Not here.
Not without him.
You shuffle closer, body crying out in protest, but you ignore it — every scream of pain, every pulse of blood — just to be nearer. Just to feel him, even if it’s only for a little longer.
You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, pressing your face against the warmth that’s already starting to fade. His scent still lingers — smoke, sweat, him — and it’s enough to make your eyes spill fresh, silent tears down your cheeks.
He lets out a small, ragged breath at the feeling of you so close.
His arm tightens weakly around you.
Neither of you says anything for a moment.
You just hold on — to the silence, to the closeness, to the lie that maybe, somehow, this moment could last forever.
His arm curled around you with what little strength he had left, trembling but sure. He held you like he was trying to stitch the two of you together — like maybe if he held on tight enough, the world would forget to take him away.
Your body, warm against his, was the last good thing he could feel. The last real thing in a world that was fading at the edges.
He pressed his forehead gently against the crown of your head, his breath hitching in his throat as he inhaled you — memorized you. It was shaky. It was shallow. But it was filled with every ounce of him that still remained.
And then his grip tightened.
Not violently — no. Just desperate. Desperate in the way only someone who knows they’re running out of time can be.
He didn’t want to let go.
He couldn’t let go.
Not when he’d just found home — and it was you.
“Maybe-...maybe in another life, we’ll be happily married with… two kids?”
Your voice is barely above a whisper, soft and dreamlike — like you’re trying to paint a future over the ruin around you. A fragile little giggle slips out, even as your eyes glisten with unshed tears.
You tilt your head, just enough to look up at him, waiting for him to laugh with you. Waiting for him to promise you that dream.
And despite everything — the blood, the pain, the creeping cold — his lips twitch into a faint smile.
His gaze softens, eyes shimmering with everything he never got to give you.
He chuckled softly, the sound cracked and low in his chest, but still undeniably him. For a fleeting second, it felt normal — like you were lying in bed after a long day, laughing about a future you hadn't even begun yet.
“I bet they’d be real brats just like me, huh?” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, laced with exhaustion… and affection.
His eyes fluttered closed as he pictured it — a messy little family, loud and chaotic and whole. You. Him. Two little firecrackers running around, carrying pieces of you both.
It would’ve been beautiful.
He let out a breath, then pulled you closer — like it physically hurt to have even an inch between you. You felt his arm tighten, shaky and weak, but full of need. He was holding on with everything he had left.
“A-and just as strong, j-just as smart… just as… brave.”
Your voice cracked with every word, the weight of the dream settling heavy on your chest. You pressed your forehead against his, blinking back tears that refused to stop. You wanted to give him that picture — a legacy of love and light in a world that had been so cruel to him.
He let out a soft, broken sound — something between a breath and a sob — as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your skin.
He chuckled again, the sound faint — barely a whisper carried by the wind — but still there. Still him.
“And just as beautiful…” he breathed out, voice thin and ragged.
His head inched closer, the last of his strength spent just to be nearer to you. His bloodied hand never left yours. His eyes, dulling yet warm, searched your face like it was the last light in a collapsing world.
“Just like their mother…”
That smile — small, cracked, fading — it still somehow made your heart skip. Even now. Even here.
The tears finally fell faster. You didn’t stop them.
Because what do you say to the man you almost had forever with?
What do you do when love arrives at the end?
You grin, sheepishly, weakly — like a flicker of warmth in the middle of a storm.
“S-shut up…” you mumble, voice small, cracking at the edges.
Your face flushes despite everything, and for a second — one impossibly fragile second — it feels like you’re just teasing each other again. Like you're lying on the couch at home, not on blood-soaked ground with time slipping between your fingers.
His smile deepened just a bit, like seeing your blush was the only thing holding him together.
He took in how flustered you got, the way your face flushed despite everything. Despite the battlefield, despite the pain, despite the blood.
A small, crooked smirk pulled at his lips — the kind he always gave when he knew he got under your skin.
“I’ll shut up when you make me…” he whispered, teasing, soft, but laced with the kind of ache that only came when you knew time was up.
And even with agony ripping through every inch of his body, he still leaned in — just a little closer. His breath was shallow, his lips trembling as he got near enough that your noses almost brushed. His forehead rested lightly against yours, the contact grounding him. Grounding you.
There was nothing but the two of you now — everything else had faded.
Your smile falters, trembling at the corners as the weight of his words hits you like another wound.
Your gaze drops to his lips — bruised, and stained red — and your chest tightens so violently it steals the breath from your lungs. Your heart aches in your ribcage, desperate and helpless.
Your breathing grows ragged.
Not because of the pain… not just the pain.
This is the moment. The kind that only comes once. The kind that makes your soul scream.
You lean in, forehead still pressed against his, your hand ghosting over his cheek, fingers memorizing every inch like a final prayer.
His voice, though weak and ragged, still held that familiar teasing lilt — the one that always managed to cut through everything else and go straight to your heart.
“What are you looking at, nerd?…” he whispered, his smirk curling just slightly wider despite the pain etched into every inch of his face.
He noticed. Of course he did. Even now, he noticed everything about you.
His hand, trembling but still so warm, cupped the side of your face with more tenderness than you thought possible. His thumb brushed softly along your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.
Your eyes stayed locked on his lips, helpless to look away, like they were a lifeline — a last chance at something real before it all slipped away.
Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper, trembling with every ounce of fear and longing tangled in your chest.
“P-please… I’ve always wanted to—”
The words caught in your throat like shards of glass, but the meaning hung in the air between you — heavy, desperate, undeniable.
You looked into his eyes, hoping he could see it all there: the love, the regret, the ache that had lived in you far too long. Your breath hitched as your fingers curled into the fabric of his torn uniform, grounding yourself in the only thing that felt real anymore — him.
His smirk faded into something softer — a gentle smile filled with warmth and longing — as his fingers reached up, delicately brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.
“Then do it, you idiot… what are you waiting for?”
His voice was barely above a whisper, breathless and raw, as he leaned in just a little more — close enough that you could feel the tremble in his breath, close enough that your heart stuttered.
You shakily pull him closer, fingers trembling as they curl around the fabric of his torn uniform. The pain, the blood, the chaos of the battlefield — it all dissolves into nothing.
The world shrinks until it’s just him. Just you. Just this moment.
Your forehead rests against his as your breaths mingle, uneven and fragile, but finally in sync. Everything else fades — every scream, every fear, every broken piece — leaving only the desperate thrum of your heart as it beats for him.
And nothing else matters.
He let himself be pulled closer, your breath ghosting over his lips — warm, shaky, alive. In that moment, he was drowning in you. The sounds of war faded into a distant hum; the only thing anchoring him to this world was the rapid, uneven rhythm of your heartbeat pressed against his own.
His eyes flicked down to your lips, gaze heavy with longing. He didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t.
Before the thought even fully formed, he leaned in — and finally, finally — his lips found yours.
The kiss was soft at first, trembling and uncertain. But then the urgency kicked in. Like he knew — deep down — that this might be his only chance. That time was slipping through his fingers like blood on the battlefield.
His hand found your waist, holding you as close as he could despite the pain. He poured everything into that kiss — the regret, the yearning, the love he’d buried too long. The metallic tang of blood lingered between you, but neither of you cared.
He deepened the kiss, trembling fingers gripping the back of your shirt, desperate to memorize the way you felt — the way you fit into him like you always had. He kissed you like a dying man — because he was one. And all he wanted… was to stay here. With you. Just a little longer.
You gasp out, pulling away just enough to see his face, your hands instinctively moving to steady him.
“Easy… d-don’t waste your energy, okay?” you murmur, brushing your thumb over his cheek with a shaky smile. “Once we’re back home… we won’t have to stop. Not ever again, hm?”
He smirked at your words, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and affection as his fingers lightly traced just beneath your ribs, leaving a trail of warmth on your skin.
“Who said I plan on stopping… even when we get home?” he murmured, voice rough but teasing, as if trying to hold onto every bit of strength he had left—just for you.
You chuckle, the sound barely louder than a breath, as your eyes soften and you nestle your head gently against his shoulder, finding solace in his warmth despite everything.
“Y-Your lips are soft…” you murmur, a faint smile tugging at your trembling lips, holding onto the moment like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.
He chuckled again at the sound of your laugh, a quiet, strained sound that warmed his heart despite the pain. His hand moved up, fingers trembling slightly as he gently ran them through your hair, his touch as soft as he could manage.
“Yours are softer, dumbass…” he whispered, his voice thick with affection, as if that small moment was enough to make him forget the blood, the battle, the hurt. Just for a second.
You smile softly against him, your heart fluttering as your eyes slowly lift to meet his.
“…Katsuki?” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.
He blinked slowly, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet tenderness.
“Yeah…?” he murmured, his voice weaker now, but still holding onto every bit of strength just for you.
“We—…we won’t die, right?” you ask, voice trembling as doubt and fear creep into your words. “This is just a nightmare? You’ll be next to me when I wake up?”
He exhaled a trembling breath, his fingers weakly threading through your hair as if grounding himself in the moment.
“I promise… you’re not getting rid of me that easy. We’re… we’re both gonna make it out of this,” he murmured, even as the crack in his voice betrayed the fear he was trying so hard to hide.
You choke on your own breath, the weight of regret pressing hard against your chest.
“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking as the words tumble out. “I’m sorry I wasn’t b-better to you. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I let my ego get in the way… I let it ruin everything.”
Your throat burns, your heart splintering with every word. You’d give anything to turn back time—but all you can do now is hold onto him a little tighter, hoping it’s not too late.
A soft, broken chuckle slipped from his lips as he tightened his hold around you, as if anchoring you to the moment.
“Hey… stop that…” he murmured, his voice low, strained but warm.
He lifted your chin with trembling fingers, forcing your tear-filled eyes to meet his.
“Quit apologizing… you’re fine… I wasn’t exactly a saint to you either…” he whispered, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips—one that said he forgave you long before you even knew you needed to be forgiven.
Your voice cracked under the weight of everything unsaid, the guilt, the fear, the aching truth that time was slipping through your fingers like sand.
You clung to him, your hand gripping his shirt like it could keep him tethered to you, like if you just held tight enough, he wouldn’t slip away.
He pressed his thumb softly against your trembling lips, silencing the words before they could fall.
“None of that matters now, okay?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper—raw, ragged, and filled with everything he no longer had the strength to say.
“I love you… and that’s all that matters…”
His eyes searched yours as if memorizing you was the last thing keeping him grounded.
Your eyes widen for a split second, the weight of his words hitting you like a wave.
You feel the burn behind your eyelids as tears rush up, blurring your vision. You manage a small nod—fragile, desperate—because it’s all you can do to keep from falling apart completely.
He pulls you in tighter, his grip trembling but firm, like he’s trying to merge your heartbeat with his—trying to make this moment last just a little longer.
“Say it back, dumbass…” he mutters, voice low and cracking, laced with a desperate edge.
You press yourself gently against him, arms wrapped around his trembling frame as if holding him together could somehow keep him here longer.
“I love you too… so much,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together as you shut your eyes tight—wanting nothing more than to freeze time, to burn this moment into your memory before it slips away forever.
His fingers found their way back into your hair, stroking gently, almost trembling. You could feel it—his strength fading, second by second, slipping through your grasp.
His voice was soft—barely a whisper—but laced with a desperation that cracked something deep inside you.
The words fall from your lips again and again, fragile and trembling, like a prayer meant only for him. Your eyes grow heavier with each breath, your body sinking further into his hold as you repeat it—like it’s the only truth left in the world, like saying it enough times might keep him here.
Every time those three words slipped from your lips, it shattered something in him—in the most beautiful, unbearable way. It was the only thing grounding him, the only sound that still made the world feel a little less cruel. He clung to it like a lifeline, desperate, aching.
He dipped his head, pressing a trembling kiss to the crown of yours, voice barely more than a breath:
Your voice was barely a whisper now, trembling with exhaustion as each word fell from your lips like a final vow.
“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”
You could feel your chest tighten, breaths growing shallow, but you pushed through, because he needed to hear this—needed to know.
“No matter where you are… I’ll always love you.”
And with a soft, fading smile, you let your heavy eyes close, holding onto the feeling of his warmth one last time.
To him, it was heaven—each time the words left your lips, it was like breathing again in a world where everything was collapsing. He clung to it, to you, like a lifeline.
His trembling hand rose to your cheek, gently cupping it, thumb brushing against your skin as his voice cracked with urgency.
“Don’t close your eyes… I’m not done hearing you say it yet…”
His gaze pleaded with yours—desperate, breaking—as if sheer will could keep you here just a little longer.
You whisper with a trembling smile, lips quivering as you force the words out. Your voice is barely more than a breath, thin and strained. Your body feels impossibly heavy, like the weight of the world is sinking into your bones. Every breath drags like fire through your chest, jagged and sharp. The warmth that once lingered in your limbs is slipping away, replaced by an aching cold that spreads fast—too fast.
Your eyes flutter half-lidded, the pain catching up to you in waves. Each throb in your chest is a cruel reminder that time is running out. It’s getting harder to tell where the ache ends and you begin. Every nerve screams for relief, for rest—but your heart aches more for him than your wounds ever could.
Still, you try to smile through the torment. Just for him. Just to keep him from falling apart.
He took in the sight of you—broken, bleeding, barely clinging to consciousness—and it shattered him. His throat tightened, eyes stinging with tears he refused to let fall.
His voice cracked under the weight of desperation. He knew—god, he knew—it was a losing battle. Your body was giving in, your breaths growing shallower with each passing second. But he couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not when you were still in his arms. Not when he hadn’t had enough of your voice, your warmth, your love.
So he begged, even if it was pointless. Even if the world was already slipping through his fingers.
“L-let’s sleep, okay? Just for a bit…”
Your voice is fragile—barely more than a breath—as it cracks under the weight of everything. You press yourself tighter against him, chasing the warmth that’s already starting to slip away. Your body aches, your chest burns with every shallow breath, and your limbs feel too heavy to move anymore.
Your eyes begin to close on their own, too tired to fight it, but you manage one last whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.
“You promised you’ll be here when I wake up… yeah?”
You don’t even wait for the answer—you just need to believe it.
You felt him nod against you, barely there—just enough to hold onto. His breath trembled as it left his lips, worn and slow, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you even closer, what little strength he had left pouring into the embrace.
His voice was faint, almost lost to the silence around you. And even though his arms still held you, you could feel the way his grip was faltering—like sand slipping through your fingers. But for now, that promise was enough.
You whisper the words, your voice barely audible, trembling like a fragile thread holding your heart together.
“I w-wish our children have your eyes…”
A soft, broken smile tugs at your lips as you gaze at him, even while your vision begins to blur at the edges. Your breaths come slower, shallower, as if your lungs are struggling to keep up with your aching heart. You reach up weakly, your fingers brushing his jaw, trying to memorize the shape of him—his warmth, the way his eyes still burned with so much love despite the fear swimming behind them.
“They’d… be so lucky,” you add, your voice catching in your throat, “to grow up looking at the world through eyes as fierce… and kind… as yours…”
He doesn’t speak. He just holds you tighter, his own tears falling silently now, landing warm against your skin. You don’t have to look to know he’s breaking inside. You can feel it in every trembling breath he exhales against your hair, every desperate squeeze of your hand.
And still… you smile. Because even if this was the end, you’d had this moment. You’d had him.
Even if only for a little while.
You felt his voice more than you heard it—low, cracked, strained beneath the weight of everything he couldn’t say.
“Yeah..? Well… I wish they have that pretty smile of yours…”
His words trembled, wrapped in a forced chuckle that barely masked the shatter in his chest. You felt the way his body shook, the uneven rhythm of his breathing against yours. He was trying to be strong—for you, for this—but his voice betrayed him.
His vision was swimming now, blurred by the tears he hadn’t let fall until now. You reached up, brushing your thumb beneath his eye as one slipped free, your heart squeezing at the sight of him breaking down piece by piece.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was loud with everything you both wanted, everything you’d never get to have.
He let out a trembling breath, the corners of his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile—fragile, fleeting.
But the way his voice cracked near the end, the way he held you just a little tighter as if anchoring himself to the promise—it said everything the words didn’t.
Because deep down, you both knew.
That sleep might be the last thing you ever shared.
Your voice is barely a whisper, the syllables shaky as they leave your lips.
You manage the words with what little strength you have left. Your trembling fingers reach up to press a soft, lingering kiss against the edge of his jaw—slow, tender, full of everything you never got the time to say. Then, you let yourself fall into the warmth of his neck, your body giving out as you take one last deep breath.
And in that moment, the world goes quiet around you.
Your kiss—soft, warm, final—burned into his skin like a brand he never wanted to fade.
His voice cracked on the last word as his arms clung to you with the last of his strength. He felt your weight grow heavier against him. Still. Quiet.
He buried his face in your hair, his body trembling.
“I’ll… see you when I wake up.”
But even as he whispered it, the silence that followed shattered something inside him.
The gaping wound on his chest throbbed with each slowing heartbeat, but it wasn’t the pain that stole his breath—it was yours, gone. Your stillness. Your final exhale. It broke him more than any injury ever could.
And in that moment, he knew.
You weren’t waking up.
And neither was he.
His grip loosened as his forehead stayed pressed to yours, tears slipping down his cheeks.
If this was the end… at least it was with you.
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