hansluvs

[hansluvs]

god i fucking hope so 🍎

[hansluvs]

there's this guy i'm talking to.

i've known him since i was in the seventh grade but we were never friends. since then, we've had little encounters here and there throughout the years but nothing special. yesterday, i matched with him on a dating app and he recognised me, and so we began talking.

i don't really want to expect anything from this, from him. i just want to see where it goes and if it'll even progress at all.

he doesn't make me feel scared or anxious or anything, though. which is new, because usually whichever new guy i start talking to always makes me anxious waiting for their reply.

part of me thinks it's fate, because i honest to god almost skipped on him on that app, but then i thought i knew him. and i realised who he was and i swiped right and then.

but part of me also does not want to make a big deal out of this at all. because every guy i talk to starts out like this. and every time, it never ends well.

i guess i'll just have to see where we'll end up

#pouring out my heart to a stranger #he's really cute though #i had a crush on him in the seventh grade #then again in the ninth grade #at the time we were already going to diff schools #but he was friends w my best friend #then we went on a virtual valentine's date during the pandemic #and now we met again on a dating app #it's just a funny silly series of events

[hansluvs]

these two months of 2024 have been five years respectively

[hansluvs]

Not Resonating w the strong woman trope anymore . Life is hard . Sometimes I struggle very badly. It’s ok to feel sad. It’s ok to want someone else to reassure me . It’s ok to ask others for help. No longer will I power on through pain and suffering and grief. I have my community to lean on, lest I ever forget. If I do, I hope God gives me a gentle nudge.

[hansluvs]

- Evelyn Waugh, from Brideshead Revisited (1945)

#prose i will never write

[hansluvs]

Yep. Todoroki.

#im no better than a man #goddamn #hes so.... #now i just keep you warm

[hansluvs]

who do you think they are to each other? / it took me twelve years to find my friend / he was just this kid in my head for such a long time, and I think I just missed him / you dream in a language I can’t understand / you make my life so much bigger, and I just wonder if I do the same for you / this is where I ended up. this is where I’m supposed to be / I just wanted to see you one more time / I didn’t know liking your husband would hurt this much / maybe we were a bird and the branch it decided to rest on one day / who you are is someone who leaves / to arthur, you are someone who stays / if this is already a past life, who do you think we are to each other in the next?

[hansluvs]

born to be an idgafer forced to be a yearner

[hansluvs]

love

different types of love

- familial

- platonic

- romantic

- self love

sometimes people are lucky to have all the types of love present in their lives, sometimes they are not and have only one or two. sometimes they have none.

sometimes we mistake one type of love for another. because the boundaries of love are not clear cut and jagged, they are soft and pliable and they blend and bleed into one another.

a friend can become a sister, a sister a friend. you can love yourself more than you love your significant other. or the opposite could be true. you can think the love you have for someone is romantic, but you really just enjoy their company. these aren't necessarily good or bad things, they just show that love isn't absolute; it's not something that anyone can control or limit or place inside a box.

the platonic love i have for my friends bleeds into familial. the romantic love i thought i had for a boy turned out to be just platonic. that doesn't make my love for them any less than it is. it remains the same. love is something that can strengthen or weaken, but in the end, it remains. always. thrumming underneath our veins, intertwined within our genetic buildup. us humans are made of and for love. it is our very purpose in this world.

#pouring out my heart to a stranger #wrote this in june but got into a particularly soft and sappy mood #i've been listening to 'my love mine all mine' on repeat for the past couple of days and i am delicate #just realised how lucky i am to be able to love so many people and things in my life #my friends my family my cats #the people i admire #the characters i hold close to my heart #they don't belong to me but my love for them does #love love love #such an overrated yet truly underrated thing in this world

[hansluvs]

17 for Spotify wrapped😊💕💕

oh thank GOD, we’re finally at some NORMAL music. 😭 im so glad you both picked seventeen, lmfao.

17. the view between villages [extended version] — noah kahan

feel the rush of my blood, i'm seventeen again

i am not scared of death, i've got dreams again

it's just me and the curve of the valley

and there is meanin' on earth, i am happy

it’s not a song i’ve ever thought to associate with fandom things. 🧐 i just kinda vibe with it because i drive down the same roads i did as a teenager—but okay. 🧐 actually… are either of you podcast drama listeners? my favourite this year was borrasca. it comes with some heavy trigger warnings though, so—!!!! please look them up first if you decide you wanna listen. but i think the view between villages is perfect for it’s main character, sam. 🥺 the resentment for the town you grew up in—and the longing for it, too. 👁️👁️

#omg the view between villages!!!! #it didn't make my wrapped but there was that one week when i first heard it on tiktok that i had it on repeat bc its just so!! #devastating!!!! #but like in a good way? maybe cathartic is a better word for that #but anw the cookies turned out great merms!! #i wish i could send u some 🥹

[hansluvs]

cw: longer drabble but no title because i suck at titles. you are bakugou's photographer. mostly sfw.

“Mr. Dynamight,” you start, sweet as can be while erring close to the side of professionalism in present company, “would you please humor us with a smile?”

Katsuki, hounded by his personal assistant amongst a horde of personal assistants rearranging the lapel of his slightly open white shirt, adjusting his cuff links, dabbing one cheek with powder and blotting excess product off the other, arranging the spikes of his hair, grimaces at you in response. Yet by the time you have settled back behind your camera and adjust your lenses to snap your next photo, his displeased look is replaced with a smirk that is cheeky yet suits his handsome face well, and you are satisfied. 

“Great!” you reply cheerfully. The shutters close, then open, then close again and Katsuki moves surprisingly gracefully with the camera, a naturally adept subject, and grins, smirks, jeers even, all manner of looks to satisfy the demands of the shoot. 

You, on the other hand, are having a blast. 

It’s your biggest gig so far, being an up-and-coming photographer, and the chance to do a celebrity profile for a rising star as Dynamight is one in a lifetime. You still wonder how you managed to get so lucky anyway - even your first meeting was a stroke of serendipity - but you are good at capitalizing on any opportunities once presented to you. 

You reach the end of the shoot and the crew offered to you by Katsuki’s team sets up around you. You stand there behind the tripod, still watching as his personal assistant, well paid but heavily burdened, begins to recite the remainder of your friend’s schedule to him, and he rolls his eyes dismissively at something she says, something that nearly causes a vein to pop on her forehead.

“Listen, I already accommodate so much of your nonsense, so the least you can do is fix that attitude,” she hisses. You wonder if he’ll yell back, but instead his eyes shift to you, and he grins. His assistant watches his attention shift, and she groans then shakes her head before reminding him he has somewhere to be in exactly two hours, and she storms past you, giving you only a millisecond of a glance as her heels click rapidly down the hall. 

You quickly avert your eyes, pretending you didn’t see that altercation, then look down at your camera to review the photos. Katsuki is quick to find his way around you, leaning in close enough that you can smell the cologne for which he is now spokesperson for, his chin nearly rested on your shoulder. You find your body stiffening slightly, but rather than let yourself be quasi-intimidated, you decide to assert yourself in return.

“You should be nicer to her, you know,” you remind him, as you click through to return to the first of the set of pictures to show him.

“I am nice,” he answers quickly.

“Just a little bit more effort,” you suggest, turning slightly so that he can see the way your eyes crinkle when you tease him. He huffs, but his lips turn upward.

“Instead of worrying about my personality, we should focus on how good I look.” You move out of the way, hands behind your back, as he peruses through the stack, one after the other. His brow furrows as he looks, back hunched, and suddenly he is so focused you find it entertaining. 

“Anything not to your liking?” you ask. He doesn’t answer immediately, and that does actually concern you a bit. What if he doesn’t like the pictures? 

You move in a bit closer to look, aiming to catch any mistakes before he does, but he places his elbow on your shoulder which makes your heart skip a beat.

“Perfect.”

You look up at him and feel the apples of your cheek warm ever so slightly. Just before you can say anything else, you hear the door down the hall close loudly. You both turn, remembering that the studio is closing. Katsuki shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll let you know if I need any more pictures taken,” he offers. You nod quickly, then berate yourself for looking a little too eager. But the extra cash can help, and he’s aware of it. He’s aware of a little too much.

He waits as you pack up your own equipment, the most expensive thing you own at the very moment. 

“Do you need a ride home?” he asks. He always does. 

You shake your head.

“I have to make a few stops anyway, and I know Suzume will get irritated if you’re late again to a program.”

“Suzume gets irritated regardless,” he replies, as he follows you out of the studio, trailing close behind. 

“It’s nice to see that you found your match,” you retort. He snorts, but doesn’t respond to that directly, making sure to let the door open for you to go through.

—

You met Katsuki in the wintertime, in the last place you’d expect the star rookie Pro Hero to be. He was the second student in an intimate pottery class of just four, and you had hardly recognized him in a large orange hoodie and khaki pants, the hood he’d been reluctant to take down the course of the entire lesson. You’d gently advised him to at least roll up his sleeves just to keep the clay away and he’d tutted at you, annoyed by the intrusion, but he’d taken the whole hoodie off anyway, and the large scar along the left side of his face, trailing down into the collar of his T-shirt had surprised the instructor and the group of students but it was the awe of recognition.

“I didn’t come here to sign autographs, I came here to make some pots,” he quickly redirected the group. You’d heard that Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was a bit of an asshole, but somehow you’d spared the arrogant nature of his words in favor of the plea in his voice to just treat him normally. No one asked him for an autograph or really asked him any questions further, although you could see the two young women who shared the class with you eye him quite ravenously in between focused spins of the pottery wheel, paying particularly close attention to his fingers as they curved and shaped the clay. 

He didn’t say anything to you or any others after that for the first two lessons.

By the third however, as you washed your hands clear of glorified mud, he took the sink next to you and asked you why you’d come. 

You turned and looked at him, startled by the question.

“To learn how to make pottery,” you answered. Why else does anyone show up to a pottery class if not to learn?

His eyes softened at the sound of your voice, adjusting his tone as he asked the question, and something in that action, the soft warmth of the red of his eyes, disarmed you and put you at unease at the same time.

“No, why are you here really?”

You can barely remember why you answered what you did at that moment, but you remember thinking about that question all night.

“To do something with my hands.”

The faucet turned off and you bowed politely before leaving quickly, unsure of where the conversation might lead you if you managed to continue. 

Things had been particularly hard then. A slew of unfortunate circumstances, then outright tragedies had seemed to sap your energy into nothing, until you were no longer sure of what your raison d’etre was anymore. But learning to do something with your hands, the slip of clay through your fingertips, an oven to refine your work, the precision of colored glaze and something to finally sip warm tea in and hope that it not only fills your belly but your heart - that was promising. 

The next day Katsuki told you he came for the same reason, and a small friendship, perhaps out of guilt that you’d treated him coldly, bloomed. 

Once Katsuki learned about a few of your troubles, the search for a new job being one of them, he’d honed in on your skill in photography, offering you to be his personal photographer for any shoots coming up. You’d asked him why he immediately trusted you with the job, and he shrugged.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” he replied over a plain cup of coffee. 

You blinked, your half-eaten crepe seeming to be as shocked as you were from the smiley face made of syrup on your plate.

“That’s it?”

“If you’re bad at it, I’ll fire you. Deal?”

His directness made you laugh.

“Deal.”

So here you were, editing pictures of Katsuki, a man you know called friend, who’d learned a few more of your secrets than you truly needed to offer him, in the dead of night. Picking up on every detail, there were very few things to retouch; a man as naturally handsome as him is blessed by the camera, after all. 

A message from him on your home screen tells you to sleep and not worry. The pictures are already great as is.

He’s right. He’s always right.

—

The next time he hires you, it’s for a family magazine, and you tease him endlessly for it. He reminds you that he’s argued for hours to insist you get this paycheck and it only slows down your banter for a moment, until you say,

“What does an unmarried, only child, have to contribute to this shoot?”

He blinks and you wonder for a moment if you’ve gone too far. Then he smiles. 

“Are you trying to change that for me?”

Your cheeks warm, yet again, like soft clay unmolded, but he turns to leave and take position, and you are left to ponder on what he meant, thoughts formless.

—

Months later, Katsuki asks you if you’d like to come to a shoot again, but not as a photographer. 

“What’s the theme?” you ask. Katsuki’s half-sitting, half-laying on your couch, having decided not to go to his own apartment to shower, but borrowing yours. Something about renovations. You’re not sure you believe him, and public baths are a dime a dozen, even if he’s possibly too famous to end up at one.

“Heroes and their loved ones.”

You nearly choke on your popcorn, but he seems unfazed by what he said, more concerned about whether or not you’ll need a Heimlich maneuver in the next few moments.

“You couldn’t bring your parents or something?” you ask.

“My mom’s annoying, and Deku is already bringing his mom. Shoto brought a partner, so I think it’s fair to bring a friend.”

A friend. Something washes over your body and you’re unsure if it’s relief or disappointment. 

“Okay.”

—

You should have asked why Katsuki doesn’t have other friends, people he’s known longer and better, but the interview goes well. Shoto and Deku seem very pleased to meet you, Deku asking a million questions, and Shoto asking next to none, but telling you that you seem very nice and that they’re surprised Katsuki could make friends in such a setting. 

“We make art together, I suppose,” you suggest. “That probably makes it easier to connect.”

Deku nods affirmatively. Shoto watches you carefully as though he’s trying to parse out the nuance in your words.

Art. Art is what you make together.

—

The number of selfies in your phone with Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight increase dramatically. It starts off with a few candid pictures taken of him in the background of your selfies, then slowly becomes intentional.

Katsuki offers you a trip that you only realize when meeting downtown will be the next island over. He asks you to bring your camera, and you take pictures together. It’s a week before your birthday, but when he unwraps a box to hand you a pair of bowls he made in secret as a birthday gift, you find your eyes welling with tears.

“Does that mean you like them?” he asks. He carefully allows a finger to wipe away one that escapes and runs down your cheek.

“I love them more than anything in the world.”

—

“These pictures need you in them.”

His head lays in your lap as he leaves through the latest edition of Heroes Weekly. He looks great as usual - you made sure of that - but he’s lamenting the fact that there are still questions on tabloids and forums of where his romantic feelings lie. You let your fingers run through his hair, and he reaches out to grip you gently by the chin and pull you closer into a kiss. 

“We should go public,” he says, as your lips part. 

Yes, but you’re not ready yet. A year has passed and things have settled into place but part of you wants to keep this, whatever you and Katsuki are creating in your hearts, the art of your relationship, to yourself first. 

“Soon.”

He pouts which makes you smile, and then his hand catches yours in his hair then pulls it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. 

“Okay.” He won’t press you on it, and you’re thankful for that. 

“Suzume told me to remind you, you have another program tomorrow at 4.”

He grimaces again and you gently tap his forehead.

“She only messages me because you don’t text back,” you add. He sighs.

“Annoying.”

“All you have to do is listen,” you reply. He shrugs, then rises to a sitting position. You lay against his back for a moment before he turns and adjusts you so that you rest on his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” he asks. The gentleness in his voice soothes you, draws you into slumber. It’s late.

“We should take a painting class,” you suggest as he picks up on your cue and carries you to your bed.

“I’ll fit it into my schedule,” he offers, laying you down. You wrap your arms around his shoulders before he can escape, pulling him back into a kiss.

His eyelids lower, and both of you continue to do something with your hands - rather, your whole bodies.

#my waves meet your shore #this is sweetest thing ever to exist #i will hold this carefully and closely to my heart now it's become an instant favourite #he's still rough around the edges yet soft and pliant and open only to you #i adore him a lot #he makes my whole heart full

[hansluvs]

I just want to be doted on adored worshipped revered loved obsessed over dreamed about touched desired wanted thought about endlessly fancied cherished treasured held dear revered made to feel like a goddess queen etc etc etc etc

[hansluvs]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ....  𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 w/ bakugo katsuki x gn!reader              « 0:00 ─〇───── 0:00 ⇄                             

summary: two times you crocheted katsuki something + one time katsuki realizes something so painfully obvious. (⛦) content: fluff! kissing. reader tears up. reader crochets. comfort!! love confession. sickeningly sweet. i'm a lil bad at summaries. gn pretty sure. (⛦) w/c: 1.6k+

i. your first project, 

the first time you’d crochet him something,  it was a pretty shitty day for katsuki. he had spent a little more than an hour meeting with his friends who, in the most kindest words, were spawns of satan. the constant teasing left him a little drained, the food he left in the dorm fridge was gone, and he was left with a headache throbbing at his temples.

to add on, he hadn’t seen you all day.

so, he goes to your dorm, finding it already open. something he’d always given you mouth on. (what if a stranger comes through? even if it was a little impossible with the amount of security that roamed the halls.) inside, he pauses at the entrance, finding you sitting on your bed, holding a long slender stick with a hook at the tip.

it looked like a miniature murder weapon. “... what the hell is that?” 

seemingly startled, he guesses by the reaction of your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, widened eyes, and a small gasp that left your lips. “fuck me, why the hell are you so silent.”

“hello to you too, princess,” katsuki sarcastically remarks, stepping further into the room. he comes closer til’ he was just about hovering over you.

you pick back up whatever the hell was in your hand. you could still feel his stare, which you quip. “it’s crocheting, tsuki’. i’m trying to pick up a hobby to get off my phone more. its kinda fun.”

katsuki grunts as a reply, moving to sit next to you. it causes the mattress to slightly sink to his weight, whilst he goes to take off his shoes, methodically, all while watching you. 

with your teeth catching your bottom lip, you looked so focused, engrossed, not paying a mind to him. his gaze eventually drifts towards what was hanging from the stick. it’s long and narrow, with a soft-looking material, colored a deep-shade of red, and black. it was a scarf.

it’s edges weren't perfect, a little bumpy and not entirely straight, but it still looked pretty damn good. his crimson eye’s go to meet yours, but he finds you already looking at him. “i was gonna make it a surprise. but i made it for you.”

a nervous smile plays at your lips, “do you like it?” 

nobody has ever really taken the time to create something personal for him — the warmth in his chest, made him just want to crumble, n kiss your pretty lips. it was nothing short of perfect, even the imperfections.

he'd forgotten you were waiting for an answer and a flicker of insecurity hints in your eyes, your words hanging in the air. 

but, he quickly reassures you, his hand traveling,  holding at your chin. “it's perfect, okay?” drawing nearer to you, he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “perciate’ you so much baby.”

ii. just for him,

it starts to become a thing every other week. you would crochet him a piece – either something that fit his, in your words, “grunge” style, or something from the colorful yarn leftover from your old projects. and regardless, he would proudly wear it.

over time, people start to notice. seeing him wear a cute black cat beanie was a little out of the norm for him. and the following week, he would wear the same-stitch, fingerless mittens. everyone knew he wouldn’t buy those by choice. someone had to be giving it to him, someone he cared about. someone, like his girlfriend.

being in a school full of smart heroes had its many downsides.

people start to ask, or he would say, "harass you," to make them things. it starts to piss him off after a while — hearing your continuous no’s, and then them trying to ask again like your answer was gonna change after a minute. plus, it’s not like any of those broke assholes were willing to pay, they were just planning to mooch off you.

and, maybe there was a selfish reason for it.

he didn’t want you to share something you were so passionate about with people you gave no shits about, or lov–  liked. because it would lose its value — lose the stupid special feeling he got.

this surge of events eventually leads to him cursin’ them out for you, because you were just a little too nice to yell, give murderous glares, or deliver creative death threats. which after, they wisely never approach you about it again.

iii. your last gift, for the year of course,

its a cold new year, katsuki watches as a snowflake falls delicately onto your nose. you guys were huddled on the balcony of his parent’s home, thanks to his mom's desperation, and persistence to meet you. and to his embarrassment, his mom and you got along very well, so well in fact you guys exchanged numbers, planning to meet with each other without katsuki himself.

despite his loud protests, you’d forcibly ushered him out in the shitty-ass cold because you wanted to see the snow.  the frigid air embraced you both, his breath left white in the air. katuski’s body pressed the balcony handle, you’d positioned yourself in front of him, his arms encircled your body, his hands holding at your waist.

“you happy princess? m’ freezing here just for you to see the same old snow we see every year.” he complains, even though his crimson-red eyes held warmth, ones that matched your growing smile. you raise your heel pressing a short kiss at the corner of his lips, before retreating. 

“quit being dramatic; it’s so beautiful out here.” you insisted, before your eyes widened, like you’d remembered something, and abruptly, you leave an inch of space between the two of you, reaching for something in your puffer jacket.

there’s a slight furrow to his brows, not understanding why you had to pull away — leaving you out of his grasp. til he puts it together, as you pull out a terribly wrapped item, a gift.

“i told you we didn't have to give each other anything.” 

“yeah, like the $100 dollar gift you gave me today. see, i knew you would do that so i came prepared.” you say, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“now open.” you shove the present in katsuki’s hand, and shaking his head in disbelief, he grabs it, tearing the wrapping off. 

“i know i already made you one. but i saw how … worn out it was.” 

holded in his rough hands, was a scarf. reminiscent of the colors to the one you gave him months ago — the one he had worn all the damn time, sometimes even in the hottest of weather. with how much time he wore it, after a while, the color of that scarf started to fade, with the yarn unraveling.

“here let me put it on for you.” you take it from his hands, draping it around his neck. you watch as he glances down, just admiring it. “looks so pretty, baby.”

this scarf looked more intricate, with the stitch pattern on the scarf resembling daisy blooms. he’d noticed how your crochet skills seemed to improve, the scarf had a cleaner, straighter edge than the other one. 

and for some reason, as he looks down at your gift, a flood of memories of the moments with you, seem to be all rushing to him — your sweet, drawn kisses, the stupid arguments, and your laughter that seemed to always ring in his ears.

moments like those, that laid ahead for the both of you, made him want to look forward to the future, your guys’s future. to wake up next to you, morning breath n’ all, to lazily lounge on the couch and havin’ to forcibly cuddle because of you, to possibly sharing each other's last name. it all swelled katuski’s stupid heart. 

it was so obvious why. with your soft gaze on him.

“i love you.” he blurts out, his eyes fixed at your parted lips.  

“i love you so damn much, it’s so fucking stupid. you turn me into a sap, y’know. everytime i look at you i just can't help but want to smile, want to hold you. everything I do, every thought that crosses my mind, somehow, it goes back to you. …i ” he sighs, his bravado faltering for a moment, red eye’s averting from yours. 

“you don't have to say it back, i just wanted to tell you.” katsuki grumbles, the tips of his ears red as it can be, as he does his best to maintain his ‘i could care less’ facade.

“look at me.” and katsuki does, he’s met with your glistening eyes, stars reflecting. “i love you too, you idiot.”

he couldn’t help but release a soft, incredulous laugh — he was really rubbing off on you. somehow the space between the two of you closes again, your hands fit in his warm jacket. tightly hugging him, as if he was going to leave any second.

“and of course, you had to one up me with a grand ass speech.” you relent, looking up at him, a small pout forming over your features.

“m’ always two-steps ahead. catch up princess.” he replies, a smug smile spreading across his plush lips. his mittened hand moving to hold at your face, thumb brushing along your cheek.

his eyes flicker to your lips, watching as your tongue glides against it. “... can, i?” your lashes flutter at him, weakly nodding. and then your being kissed, slowly, and sweetly. his tongue brushing your bottom lip, savoring you, savoring this moment.  

#my waves meet your shore #THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE SWEETEST THING EVER #like it makes so much sense!!!! #OFC he would show off whatever you make him #like that's his baby's work!!! he's proud of it!! #it's specially made for HIM like he's the real winner #i love how he became a sap like he's just a big softie trying to hide it #but bc of u it gets harder and harder for him to!!! #i love this i love him sosososooso much

[hansluvs]

I'M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS CHAPTER I SWEAR

[hansluvs]

every now and then katsuki will get flashbacks from the war.

he'll bolt up in a cold sweat in the dead of the night with one hand on his chest and the other on the bed sheets to try and center himself. he'll do those stupid breathing exercises his therapist recommended while trying not to wake you because it's 2 o'clock in the morning and he can handle it himself and he, he knows he's safe, here in the shared place you call home, but his eyes are still frantically bouncing around the room looking for an escape route from a non-existent threat and his palms are starting to spark 'cause he's gearing up for a fight and he's— he's getting better. slowly but surely, he is. he hasn't... been like that, in a while.

tonight, though, it's you who gets flashbacks from the war.

behind your eyes you see the moment his chest explodes open and in your ears playing on repeat is the dull thud his body made when he fell to the ground, and your heart's in your throat and you barely even process what's happening enough to scream and now it's 3am and you're crying yourself awake, until your sobs wake katsuki too, and you think he already knows what you've dreamt about because he's opening the bedside lamp and immediately taking you in his arms, holding you close and shushing your cries. he's sliding your hand underneath his shirt and onto his scarred chest, because he knows when you get like this, him breathing next to you isn't enough. you need physical proof, that his—

"my heart's beatin', baby. m'fine."

"i felt— i felt it."

the moment his heart stopped.

"what do you feel now?"

underneath your finger tips, next to your wet lashes and drying cheeks;

thump thump

thump thump

thump thump

"you," you murmur. "i only feel you."

#my waves meet your shore #this broke my heart #you don't understand i stopped everything i was doing and started SOBBING when i saw that he was back #ofc i was happy but deep inside i'm terrified we'll lose him again #he's still in bad shape but he's a fighter HE ALWAYS HAS BEEN #but god i missed him so bad

[hansluvs]

little sketch of katsuki fresh out the shower and reading on his kindle.

#my waves meet your shore #i wanna bite his arm so bad #this is amazing #hes such a beefcake how attractive

[hansluvs]

the commodification of friendship is the most annoying thing to come out of the internet in ages. like actually i love to break this to you but you're supposed to help your friends move even if it's hard work. or stay up with them when they're sad even if you're gonna lose sleep. you're supposed to listen to their fears and sorrows even if it means your own mind takes on a little bit of that weight. that's how you know that you care. they will drive you to the airport and then you will make them soup when they're sick. you're supposed to make small sacrifices for them and they are supposed to do that for you. and there's actually gonna be rough patches for both of you where the balance will be uneven and you will still be friends and it will not be unhealthy and they will not be abusive. life is not meant to be an endless prioritization of our own comfort if it was we would literally never get anywhere ever. jesus.