kateschi

[kateschi]

HEYY so am alive and kicking but currently I have zero ideas in my head SOoo requests are open for the time being 🫡

feel free to drop whatever you have in mind

[kateschi]

I wish the utmost misfortune upon every single fly in this earth

[kateschi]

spare me, please!

synopsis: a quiet night turns chaotic when familiar faces crash the scene. even so, his focus never strays far from you.

pairing: barou shoei x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: bet you didn't expect this huh

barou shoei is many things. ruthless. driven. scary, if you ask his rivals. a walking monolith of muscle, pride, and simmering death threats.

but tonight, under the low hum of neon lights and the glow of a near-empty bowling alley, barou is something else entirely.

he’s yours.

he doesn’t say it out loud—he rarely does. but it’s in the way he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders without a word when he notices the goosebumps on your arms.

it's in how he holds your favorite drink in one hand and your bowling shoes in the other when he picks you up.

it’s in the way he adjusts the laces for you, silently tugging the knot snug and giving your ankle a once-over like you might trip and fall if he doesn’t.

he won't say you're fragile. he just acts like it.

“try not to gutter this one,” he says, sliding into the booth beside you, thigh knocking gently into yours. “I don’t wanna be seen next to someone with a zero score.”

you blink at him, deadpan. “you’re the one who said you liked bowling with me.”

“regret it every time,” he replies with a small quirk of his lips that betrays him.

you huff, tugging his hoodie tighter around yourself. it’s warm and smells like his body wash. the sleeves are far too long, and you hide your hands inside them as you nudge your shoulder against his.

“I think you like having me here so you can show off.”

barou snorts, turning to reach for a fry from the shared basket between you. “you think I need to try to show off?”

you grin, watching him dip the fry into your favorite sauce and hold it out to you without even glancing.

you take it with a quiet “thank you,” and he rumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“you’re always such a gentleman, sho,” you tease.

his widen slightly, and he scoffs. but his ears are already turning red. “shut up.”

“did you remove the crust for your sisters today?”

he pauses.

“…you know they don’t like the crust,” he mutters, but the truth betrays him in his voice.

you giggle, leaning your head against his shoulder. “you’re so cute.”

barou catches your expression and glares. “wipe that look off your face.”

“hmmm, no.”

“oh? you wanna go?—"

the doors slam open like the start of an anime fight scene. you both turn.

“there he is! the king of strikes!”

bachira’s voice is unmistakable—sharp, excited, a little too loud for the dim neon-glow ambience of your peaceful date.

the door clatters shut behind him as three other familiar silhouettes shuffle in behind him: isagi, chigiri, and nagi.

“yo, barou!” isagi calls, already grinning as he spots the two of you huddled in your little corner lane.

barou groans under his breath. “no. no. no.”

you snort beside him, nestled in his hoodie. the sleeves cover your hands and the warmth still lingers in the soft fabric—it smells like citrus body wash and the quiet comfort of home.

you’re nursing a nearly-empty soda and stealing fries from the basket he brought over earlier. he’s been letting you have all the crispy ones without comment, which is how you know he’s in a good mood.

at least he was.

“found you, king!” bachira sings, practically skipping over the edge of the lane. his eyes dart to you immediately. “oh my god. she’s real?!”

“woah,” isagi breathes, catching up to him. “you weren’t joking.”

“I thought she was made up!” chigiri laughs, eyes dancing between you and barou. “like, ‘leave me out of it. I am taking my girl out.’ sure.”

“she’s wearing his hoodie,” nagi says bluntly, blinking down at you like you’re a rare species. “huh.”

“she is real,” bachira whispers, eyes wide. “and she’s so pretty.”

barou’s arm shifts. his body leans ever-so-slightly in front of you.

“leave,” he mutters lowly. “now.”

nagi tilts his head, taking in the cozy atmosphere, the empty plates, the half-finished drinks. “looks like a date.”

“it is a date,” barou snaps.

“bold of you to assume we'd leave you alone,” bachira grins.

“yeah, we came all this way,” nagi hums, flopping dramatically into the seat across from you. “you should share the vibes, king.”

you watch, amused, as they continue teasing. it's funny, really—how barou handles them. he growls and glowers, sure, but there's a quiet patience under it.

he doesn’t actually push them away. not yet. because no matter how loud they are, they’re still his people.

but the moment bachira leans forward and reaches toward the fries—

barou’s hand slams down.

right beside yours.

“touch it and die,” he says.

bachira’s fingers freeze mid-air.

chigiri slowly stands up straighter.

isagi lets out a soft whistle.

nagi, who was halfway through grabbing a fry of his own, just lets his hand drop.

barou turns to them now. his eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s that glint that he usually reserves for the field.

“if any of you say another word,” he says, enunciating with the calm of a man moments away from violence, “or come within five feet of her again—I'll make sure the next match we play ends with you crawling off the field. broken.”

the silence is instant.

you blink.

chigiri lets out a short laugh, like he’s trying to play it off, but even he looks slightly pale.

“noted,” isagi says quickly, hands raised in surrender.

“we’re gonna go…not die,” bachira nods, bouncing back to his feet.

“yeah,” nagi adds. “living sounds good.”

as they begin to retreat in a fumbling mess of backward steps and awkward coughs, bachira shoots one last grin over his shoulder.

“king wants alone time with his queen!” he teases, skipping away before barou can growl again.

“shut up!” your boyfriend snaps, watching them go like he’s calculating who he’ll crush first in their next scrimmage. then, slowly, his hand retracts from the table.

you glance up at him, and you can see the way his blush creeps in. it starts near the collar of his hoodie and travels upward like a fire he can’t control.

you lean in, smiling so hard it hurts. “you really scared them off.”

“they were pissing me off,” he mutters, eyes averted.

“they were teasing you.”

“don’t need them to ruin our time together. won't take it.”

you pause, taking a moment to look at his face. he looks so ticked off, downright pissed over moments wasted not with you.

so you reach up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. he flinches—not out of discomfort, but because he wasn’t ready. you see the way his pupils dilate, just for a second.

“you’re adorable,” you whisper.

“don’t call me that,” he says automatically.

“but you are.”

he scoffs, but when you snuggle into his side and nuzzle your head beneath his chin, he wraps both arms around you without hesitation.

his hands are warm, big, and steady as they hold you against his chest. you try to look up to say something, but he gently presses your face into his hoodie with a quiet grunt.

“don’t look,” he mutters.

“are you hiding your blush?”

“no.”

“you’re totally hiding your blush.”

“shut up,” he says, shoving your face closer as you laugh.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

spare me, please!

synopsis: a quiet night turns chaotic when familiar faces crash the scene. even so, his focus never strays far from you.

pairing: barou shoei x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: bet you didn't expect this huh

barou shoei is many things. ruthless. driven. scary, if you ask his rivals. a walking monolith of muscle, pride, and simmering death threats.

but tonight, under the low hum of neon lights and the glow of a near-empty bowling alley, barou is something else entirely.

he’s yours.

he doesn’t say it out loud—he rarely does. but it’s in the way he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders without a word when he notices the goosebumps on your arms.

it's in how he holds your favorite drink in one hand and your bowling shoes in the other when he picks you up.

it’s in the way he adjusts the laces for you, silently tugging the knot snug and giving your ankle a once-over like you might trip and fall if he doesn’t.

he won't say you're fragile. he just acts like it.

“try not to gutter this one,” he says, sliding into the booth beside you, thigh knocking gently into yours. “I don’t wanna be seen next to someone with a zero score.”

you blink at him, deadpan. “you’re the one who said you liked bowling with me.”

“regret it every time,” he replies with a small quirk of his lips that betrays him.

you huff, tugging his hoodie tighter around yourself. it’s warm and smells like his body wash. the sleeves are far too long, and you hide your hands inside them as you nudge your shoulder against his.

“I think you like having me here so you can show off.”

barou snorts, turning to reach for a fry from the shared basket between you. “you think I need to try to show off?”

you grin, watching him dip the fry into your favorite sauce and hold it out to you without even glancing.

you take it with a quiet “thank you,” and he rumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“you’re always such a gentleman, sho,” you tease.

his widen slightly, and he scoffs. but his ears are already turning red. “shut up.”

“did you remove the crust for your sisters today?”

he pauses.

“…you know they don’t like the crust,” he mutters, but the truth betrays him in his voice.

you giggle, leaning your head against his shoulder. “you’re so cute.”

barou catches your expression and glares. “wipe that look off your face.”

“hmmm, no.”

“oh? you wanna go?—"

the doors slam open like the start of an anime fight scene. you both turn.

“there he is! the king of strikes!”

bachira’s voice is unmistakable—sharp, excited, a little too loud for the dim neon-glow ambience of your peaceful date.

the door clatters shut behind him as three other familiar silhouettes shuffle in behind him: isagi, chigiri, and nagi.

“yo, barou!” isagi calls, already grinning as he spots the two of you huddled in your little corner lane.

barou groans under his breath. “no. no. no.”

you snort beside him, nestled in his hoodie. the sleeves cover your hands and the warmth still lingers in the soft fabric—it smells like citrus body wash and the quiet comfort of home.

you’re nursing a nearly-empty soda and stealing fries from the basket he brought over earlier. he’s been letting you have all the crispy ones without comment, which is how you know he’s in a good mood.

at least he was.

“found you, king!” bachira sings, practically skipping over the edge of the lane. his eyes dart to you immediately. “oh my god. she’s real?!”

“woah,” isagi breathes, catching up to him. “you weren’t joking.”

“I thought she was made up!” chigiri laughs, eyes dancing between you and barou. “like, ‘leave me out of it. I am taking my girl out.’ sure.”

“she’s wearing his hoodie,” nagi says bluntly, blinking down at you like you’re a rare species. “huh.”

“she is real,” bachira whispers, eyes wide. “and she’s so pretty.”

barou’s arm shifts. his body leans ever-so-slightly in front of you.

“leave,” he mutters lowly. “now.”

nagi tilts his head, taking in the cozy atmosphere, the empty plates, the half-finished drinks. “looks like a date.”

“it is a date,” barou snaps.

“bold of you to assume we'd leave you alone,” bachira grins.

“yeah, we came all this way,” nagi hums, flopping dramatically into the seat across from you. “you should share the vibes, king.”

you watch, amused, as they continue teasing. it's funny, really—how barou handles them. he growls and glowers, sure, but there's a quiet patience under it.

he doesn’t actually push them away. not yet. because no matter how loud they are, they’re still his people.

but the moment bachira leans forward and reaches toward the fries—

barou’s hand slams down.

right beside yours.

“touch it and die,” he says.

bachira’s fingers freeze mid-air.

chigiri slowly stands up straighter.

isagi lets out a soft whistle.

nagi, who was halfway through grabbing a fry of his own, just lets his hand drop.

barou turns to them now. his eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s that glint that he usually reserves for the field.

“if any of you say another word,” he says, enunciating with the calm of a man moments away from violence, “or come within five feet of her again—I'll make sure the next match we play ends with you crawling off the field. broken.”

the silence is instant.

you blink.

chigiri lets out a short laugh, like he’s trying to play it off, but even he looks slightly pale.

“noted,” isagi says quickly, hands raised in surrender.

“we’re gonna go…not die,” bachira nods, bouncing back to his feet.

“yeah,” nagi adds. “living sounds good.”

as they begin to retreat in a fumbling mess of backward steps and awkward coughs, bachira shoots one last grin over his shoulder.

“king wants alone time with his queen!” he teases, skipping away before barou can growl again.

“shut up!” your boyfriend snaps, watching them go like he’s calculating who he’ll crush first in their next scrimmage. then, slowly, his hand retracts from the table.

you glance up at him, and you can see the way his blush creeps in. it starts near the collar of his hoodie and travels upward like a fire he can’t control.

you lean in, smiling so hard it hurts. “you really scared them off.”

“they were pissing me off,” he mutters, eyes averted.

“they were teasing you.”

“don’t need them to ruin our time together. won't take it.”

you pause, taking a moment to look at his face. he looks so ticked off, downright pissed over moments wasted not with you.

so you reach up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. he flinches—not out of discomfort, but because he wasn’t ready. you see the way his pupils dilate, just for a second.

“you’re adorable,” you whisper.

“don’t call me that,” he says automatically.

“but you are.”

he scoffs, but when you snuggle into his side and nuzzle your head beneath his chin, he wraps both arms around you without hesitation.

his hands are warm, big, and steady as they hold you against his chest. you try to look up to say something, but he gently presses your face into his hoodie with a quiet grunt.

“don’t look,” he mutters.

“are you hiding your blush?”

“no.”

“you’re totally hiding your blush.”

“shut up,” he says, shoving your face closer as you laugh.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

gonna gobble down two liters of peppermint till i become the queen of it (or till whatever is in my stomach goes away 💔)

[kateschi]

spare me, please!

synopsis: a quiet night turns chaotic when familiar faces crash the scene. even so, his focus never strays far from you.

pairing: barou shoei x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: bet you didn't expect this huh

barou shoei is many things. ruthless. driven. scary, if you ask his rivals. a walking monolith of muscle, pride, and simmering death threats.

but tonight, under the low hum of neon lights and the glow of a near-empty bowling alley, barou is something else entirely.

he’s yours.

he doesn’t say it out loud—he rarely does. but it’s in the way he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders without a word when he notices the goosebumps on your arms.

it's in how he holds your favorite drink in one hand and your bowling shoes in the other when he picks you up.

it’s in the way he adjusts the laces for you, silently tugging the knot snug and giving your ankle a once-over like you might trip and fall if he doesn’t.

he won't say you're fragile. he just acts like it.

“try not to gutter this one,” he says, sliding into the booth beside you, thigh knocking gently into yours. “I don’t wanna be seen next to someone with a zero score.”

you blink at him, deadpan. “you’re the one who said you liked bowling with me.”

“regret it every time,” he replies with a small quirk of his lips that betrays him.

you huff, tugging his hoodie tighter around yourself. it’s warm and smells like his body wash. the sleeves are far too long, and you hide your hands inside them as you nudge your shoulder against his.

“I think you like having me here so you can show off.”

barou snorts, turning to reach for a fry from the shared basket between you. “you think I need to try to show off?”

you grin, watching him dip the fry into your favorite sauce and hold it out to you without even glancing.

you take it with a quiet “thank you,” and he rumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“you’re always such a gentleman, sho,” you tease.

his widen slightly, and he scoffs. but his ears are already turning red. “shut up.”

“did you remove the crust for your sisters today?”

he pauses.

“…you know they don’t like the crust,” he mutters, but the truth betrays him in his voice.

you giggle, leaning your head against his shoulder. “you’re so cute.”

barou catches your expression and glares. “wipe that look off your face.”

“hmmm, no.”

“oh? you wanna go?—"

the doors slam open like the start of an anime fight scene. you both turn.

“there he is! the king of strikes!”

bachira’s voice is unmistakable—sharp, excited, a little too loud for the dim neon-glow ambience of your peaceful date.

the door clatters shut behind him as three other familiar silhouettes shuffle in behind him: isagi, chigiri, and nagi.

“yo, barou!” isagi calls, already grinning as he spots the two of you huddled in your little corner lane.

barou groans under his breath. “no. no. no.”

you snort beside him, nestled in his hoodie. the sleeves cover your hands and the warmth still lingers in the soft fabric—it smells like citrus body wash and the quiet comfort of home.

you’re nursing a nearly-empty soda and stealing fries from the basket he brought over earlier. he’s been letting you have all the crispy ones without comment, which is how you know he’s in a good mood.

at least he was.

“found you, king!” bachira sings, practically skipping over the edge of the lane. his eyes dart to you immediately. “oh my god. she’s real?!”

“woah,” isagi breathes, catching up to him. “you weren’t joking.”

“I thought she was made up!” chigiri laughs, eyes dancing between you and barou. “like, ‘leave me out of it. I am taking my girl out.’ sure.”

“she’s wearing his hoodie,” nagi says bluntly, blinking down at you like you’re a rare species. “huh.”

“she is real,” bachira whispers, eyes wide. “and she’s so pretty.”

barou’s arm shifts. his body leans ever-so-slightly in front of you.

“leave,” he mutters lowly. “now.”

nagi tilts his head, taking in the cozy atmosphere, the empty plates, the half-finished drinks. “looks like a date.”

“it is a date,” barou snaps.

“bold of you to assume we'd leave you alone,” bachira grins.

“yeah, we came all this way,” nagi hums, flopping dramatically into the seat across from you. “you should share the vibes, king.”

you watch, amused, as they continue teasing. it's funny, really—how barou handles them. he growls and glowers, sure, but there's a quiet patience under it.

he doesn’t actually push them away. not yet. because no matter how loud they are, they’re still his people.

but the moment bachira leans forward and reaches toward the fries—

barou’s hand slams down.

right beside yours.

“touch it and die,” he says.

bachira’s fingers freeze mid-air.

chigiri slowly stands up straighter.

isagi lets out a soft whistle.

nagi, who was halfway through grabbing a fry of his own, just lets his hand drop.

barou turns to them now. his eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s that glint that he usually reserves for the field.

“if any of you say another word,” he says, enunciating with the calm of a man moments away from violence, “or come within five feet of her again—I'll make sure the next match we play ends with you crawling off the field. broken.”

the silence is instant.

you blink.

chigiri lets out a short laugh, like he’s trying to play it off, but even he looks slightly pale.

“noted,” isagi says quickly, hands raised in surrender.

“we’re gonna go…not die,” bachira nods, bouncing back to his feet.

“yeah,” nagi adds. “living sounds good.”

as they begin to retreat in a fumbling mess of backward steps and awkward coughs, bachira shoots one last grin over his shoulder.

“king wants alone time with his queen!” he teases, skipping away before barou can growl again.

“shut up!” your boyfriend snaps, watching them go like he’s calculating who he’ll crush first in their next scrimmage. then, slowly, his hand retracts from the table.

you glance up at him, and you can see the way his blush creeps in. it starts near the collar of his hoodie and travels upward like a fire he can’t control.

you lean in, smiling so hard it hurts. “you really scared them off.”

“they were pissing me off,” he mutters, eyes averted.

“they were teasing you.”

“don’t need them to ruin our time together. won't take it.”

you pause, taking a moment to look at his face. he looks so ticked off, downright pissed over moments wasted not with you.

so you reach up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. he flinches—not out of discomfort, but because he wasn’t ready. you see the way his pupils dilate, just for a second.

“you’re adorable,” you whisper.

“don’t call me that,” he says automatically.

“but you are.”

he scoffs, but when you snuggle into his side and nuzzle your head beneath his chin, he wraps both arms around you without hesitation.

his hands are warm, big, and steady as they hold you against his chest. you try to look up to say something, but he gently presses your face into his hoodie with a quiet grunt.

“don’t look,” he mutters.

“are you hiding your blush?”

“no.”

“you’re totally hiding your blush.”

“shut up,” he says, shoving your face closer as you laugh.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

spare me, please!

synopsis: a quiet night turns chaotic when familiar faces crash the scene. even so, his focus never strays far from you.

pairing: barou shoei x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: bet you didn't expect this huh

barou shoei is many things. ruthless. driven. scary, if you ask his rivals. a walking monolith of muscle, pride, and simmering death threats.

but tonight, under the low hum of neon lights and the glow of a near-empty bowling alley, barou is something else entirely.

he’s yours.

he doesn’t say it out loud—he rarely does. but it’s in the way he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders without a word when he notices the goosebumps on your arms.

it's in how he holds your favorite drink in one hand and your bowling shoes in the other when he picks you up.

it’s in the way he adjusts the laces for you, silently tugging the knot snug and giving your ankle a once-over like you might trip and fall if he doesn’t.

he won't say you're fragile. he just acts like it.

“try not to gutter this one,” he says, sliding into the booth beside you, thigh knocking gently into yours. “I don’t wanna be seen next to someone with a zero score.”

you blink at him, deadpan. “you’re the one who said you liked bowling with me.”

“regret it every time,” he replies with a small quirk of his lips that betrays him.

you huff, tugging his hoodie tighter around yourself. it’s warm and smells like his body wash. the sleeves are far too long, and you hide your hands inside them as you nudge your shoulder against his.

“I think you like having me here so you can show off.”

barou snorts, turning to reach for a fry from the shared basket between you. “you think I need to try to show off?”

you grin, watching him dip the fry into your favorite sauce and hold it out to you without even glancing.

you take it with a quiet “thank you,” and he rumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“you’re always such a gentleman, sho,” you tease.

his widen slightly, and he scoffs. but his ears are already turning red. “shut up.”

“did you remove the crust for your sisters today?”

he pauses.

“…you know they don’t like the crust,” he mutters, but the truth betrays him in his voice.

you giggle, leaning your head against his shoulder. “you’re so cute.”

barou catches your expression and glares. “wipe that look off your face.”

“hmmm, no.”

“oh? you wanna go?—"

the doors slam open like the start of an anime fight scene. you both turn.

“there he is! the king of strikes!”

bachira’s voice is unmistakable—sharp, excited, a little too loud for the dim neon-glow ambience of your peaceful date.

the door clatters shut behind him as three other familiar silhouettes shuffle in behind him: isagi, chigiri, and nagi.

“yo, barou!” isagi calls, already grinning as he spots the two of you huddled in your little corner lane.

barou groans under his breath. “no. no. no.”

you snort beside him, nestled in his hoodie. the sleeves cover your hands and the warmth still lingers in the soft fabric—it smells like citrus body wash and the quiet comfort of home.

you’re nursing a nearly-empty soda and stealing fries from the basket he brought over earlier. he’s been letting you have all the crispy ones without comment, which is how you know he’s in a good mood.

at least he was.

“found you, king!” bachira sings, practically skipping over the edge of the lane. his eyes dart to you immediately. “oh my god. she’s real?!”

“woah,” isagi breathes, catching up to him. “you weren’t joking.”

“I thought she was made up!” chigiri laughs, eyes dancing between you and barou. “like, ‘leave me out of it. I am taking my girl out.’ sure.”

“she’s wearing his hoodie,” nagi says bluntly, blinking down at you like you’re a rare species. “huh.”

“she is real,” bachira whispers, eyes wide. “and she’s so pretty.”

barou’s arm shifts. his body leans ever-so-slightly in front of you.

“leave,” he mutters lowly. “now.”

nagi tilts his head, taking in the cozy atmosphere, the empty plates, the half-finished drinks. “looks like a date.”

“it is a date,” barou snaps.

“bold of you to assume we'd leave you alone,” bachira grins.

“yeah, we came all this way,” nagi hums, flopping dramatically into the seat across from you. “you should share the vibes, king.”

you watch, amused, as they continue teasing. it's funny, really—how barou handles them. he growls and glowers, sure, but there's a quiet patience under it.

he doesn’t actually push them away. not yet. because no matter how loud they are, they’re still his people.

but the moment bachira leans forward and reaches toward the fries—

barou’s hand slams down.

right beside yours.

“touch it and die,” he says.

bachira’s fingers freeze mid-air.

chigiri slowly stands up straighter.

isagi lets out a soft whistle.

nagi, who was halfway through grabbing a fry of his own, just lets his hand drop.

barou turns to them now. his eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s that glint that he usually reserves for the field.

“if any of you say another word,” he says, enunciating with the calm of a man moments away from violence, “or come within five feet of her again—I'll make sure the next match we play ends with you crawling off the field. broken.”

the silence is instant.

you blink.

chigiri lets out a short laugh, like he’s trying to play it off, but even he looks slightly pale.

“noted,” isagi says quickly, hands raised in surrender.

“we’re gonna go…not die,” bachira nods, bouncing back to his feet.

“yeah,” nagi adds. “living sounds good.”

as they begin to retreat in a fumbling mess of backward steps and awkward coughs, bachira shoots one last grin over his shoulder.

“king wants alone time with his queen!” he teases, skipping away before barou can growl again.

“shut up!” your boyfriend snaps, watching them go like he’s calculating who he’ll crush first in their next scrimmage. then, slowly, his hand retracts from the table.

you glance up at him, and you can see the way his blush creeps in. it starts near the collar of his hoodie and travels upward like a fire he can’t control.

you lean in, smiling so hard it hurts. “you really scared them off.”

“they were pissing me off,” he mutters, eyes averted.

“they were teasing you.”

“don’t need them to ruin our time together. won't take it.”

you pause, taking a moment to look at his face. he looks so ticked off, downright pissed over moments wasted not with you.

so you reach up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. he flinches—not out of discomfort, but because he wasn’t ready. you see the way his pupils dilate, just for a second.

“you’re adorable,” you whisper.

“don’t call me that,” he says automatically.

“but you are.”

he scoffs, but when you snuggle into his side and nuzzle your head beneath his chin, he wraps both arms around you without hesitation.

his hands are warm, big, and steady as they hold you against his chest. you try to look up to say something, but he gently presses your face into his hoodie with a quiet grunt.

“don’t look,” he mutters.

“are you hiding your blush?”

“no.”

“you’re totally hiding your blush.”

“shut up,” he says, shoving your face closer as you laugh.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

spare me, please!

synopsis: a quiet night turns chaotic when familiar faces crash the scene. even so, his focus never strays far from you.

pairing: barou shoei x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: bet you didn't expect this huh

barou shoei is many things. ruthless. driven. scary, if you ask his rivals. a walking monolith of muscle, pride, and simmering death threats.

but tonight, under the low hum of neon lights and the glow of a near-empty bowling alley, barou is something else entirely.

he’s yours.

he doesn’t say it out loud—he rarely does. but it’s in the way he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders without a word when he notices the goosebumps on your arms.

it's in how he holds your favorite drink in one hand and your bowling shoes in the other when he picks you up.

it’s in the way he adjusts the laces for you, silently tugging the knot snug and giving your ankle a once-over like you might trip and fall if he doesn’t.

he won't say you're fragile. he just acts like it.

“try not to gutter this one,” he says, sliding into the booth beside you, thigh knocking gently into yours. “I don’t wanna be seen next to someone with a zero score.”

you blink at him, deadpan. “you’re the one who said you liked bowling with me.”

“regret it every time,” he replies with a small quirk of his lips that betrays him.

you huff, tugging his hoodie tighter around yourself. it’s warm and smells like his body wash. the sleeves are far too long, and you hide your hands inside them as you nudge your shoulder against his.

“I think you like having me here so you can show off.”

barou snorts, turning to reach for a fry from the shared basket between you. “you think I need to try to show off?”

you grin, watching him dip the fry into your favorite sauce and hold it out to you without even glancing.

you take it with a quiet “thank you,” and he rumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“you’re always such a gentleman, sho,” you tease.

his widen slightly, and he scoffs. but his ears are already turning red. “shut up.”

“did you remove the crust for your sisters today?”

he pauses.

“…you know they don’t like the crust,” he mutters, but the truth betrays him in his voice.

you giggle, leaning your head against his shoulder. “you’re so cute.”

barou catches your expression and glares. “wipe that look off your face.”

“hmmm, no.”

“oh? you wanna go?—"

the doors slam open like the start of an anime fight scene. you both turn.

“there he is! the king of strikes!”

bachira’s voice is unmistakable—sharp, excited, a little too loud for the dim neon-glow ambience of your peaceful date.

the door clatters shut behind him as three other familiar silhouettes shuffle in behind him: isagi, chigiri, and nagi.

“yo, barou!” isagi calls, already grinning as he spots the two of you huddled in your little corner lane.

barou groans under his breath. “no. no. no.”

you snort beside him, nestled in his hoodie. the sleeves cover your hands and the warmth still lingers in the soft fabric—it smells like citrus body wash and the quiet comfort of home.

you’re nursing a nearly-empty soda and stealing fries from the basket he brought over earlier. he’s been letting you have all the crispy ones without comment, which is how you know he’s in a good mood.

at least he was.

“found you, king!” bachira sings, practically skipping over the edge of the lane. his eyes dart to you immediately. “oh my god. she’s real?!”

“woah,” isagi breathes, catching up to him. “you weren’t joking.”

“I thought she was made up!” chigiri laughs, eyes dancing between you and barou. “like, ‘leave me out of it. I am taking my girl out.’ sure.”

“she’s wearing his hoodie,” nagi says bluntly, blinking down at you like you’re a rare species. “huh.”

“she is real,” bachira whispers, eyes wide. “and she’s so pretty.”

barou’s arm shifts. his body leans ever-so-slightly in front of you.

“leave,” he mutters lowly. “now.”

nagi tilts his head, taking in the cozy atmosphere, the empty plates, the half-finished drinks. “looks like a date.”

“it is a date,” barou snaps.

“bold of you to assume we'd leave you alone,” bachira grins.

“yeah, we came all this way,” nagi hums, flopping dramatically into the seat across from you. “you should share the vibes, king.”

you watch, amused, as they continue teasing. it's funny, really—how barou handles them. he growls and glowers, sure, but there's a quiet patience under it.

he doesn’t actually push them away. not yet. because no matter how loud they are, they’re still his people.

but the moment bachira leans forward and reaches toward the fries—

barou’s hand slams down.

right beside yours.

“touch it and die,” he says.

bachira’s fingers freeze mid-air.

chigiri slowly stands up straighter.

isagi lets out a soft whistle.

nagi, who was halfway through grabbing a fry of his own, just lets his hand drop.

barou turns to them now. his eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s that glint that he usually reserves for the field.

“if any of you say another word,” he says, enunciating with the calm of a man moments away from violence, “or come within five feet of her again—I'll make sure the next match we play ends with you crawling off the field. broken.”

the silence is instant.

you blink.

chigiri lets out a short laugh, like he’s trying to play it off, but even he looks slightly pale.

“noted,” isagi says quickly, hands raised in surrender.

“we’re gonna go…not die,” bachira nods, bouncing back to his feet.

“yeah,” nagi adds. “living sounds good.”

as they begin to retreat in a fumbling mess of backward steps and awkward coughs, bachira shoots one last grin over his shoulder.

“king wants alone time with his queen!” he teases, skipping away before barou can growl again.

“shut up!” your boyfriend snaps, watching them go like he’s calculating who he’ll crush first in their next scrimmage. then, slowly, his hand retracts from the table.

you glance up at him, and you can see the way his blush creeps in. it starts near the collar of his hoodie and travels upward like a fire he can’t control.

you lean in, smiling so hard it hurts. “you really scared them off.”

“they were pissing me off,” he mutters, eyes averted.

“they were teasing you.”

“don’t need them to ruin our time together. won't take it.”

you pause, taking a moment to look at his face. he looks so ticked off, downright pissed over moments wasted not with you.

so you reach up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. he flinches—not out of discomfort, but because he wasn’t ready. you see the way his pupils dilate, just for a second.

“you’re adorable,” you whisper.

“don’t call me that,” he says automatically.

“but you are.”

he scoffs, but when you snuggle into his side and nuzzle your head beneath his chin, he wraps both arms around you without hesitation.

his hands are warm, big, and steady as they hold you against his chest. you try to look up to say something, but he gently presses your face into his hoodie with a quiet grunt.

“don’t look,” he mutters.

“are you hiding your blush?”

“no.”

“you’re totally hiding your blush.”

“shut up,” he says, shoving your face closer as you laugh.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

hihi! i love love love how ur blog looks!! i was wondering if u could give a little teeny baby tutorial on how u make ur headers if its not too much of a hassle! just like where u find manga panels, how u edit the black + grey + white to match the colors of ur blog, nd stuff like that :3 tysm!!!

so glad you do!

you just need pinterest and ibispaint x

1. I get all the manga panels off of pinterest, but you just have to hunt thoroughly

2. after you pick the photo then you take it and crop it to whatever size you want

3. then put it into ibispaint

4. you will create a new layer and paint on it with the colors you want. in my case, it looks like this:

make sure you try to make the transition from one color to other as smooth as possible (you can use blur or the smudge tool in the app)

5. then duplicate the layer

6. set the top layer to “soft light” and the bottom one to “hard light”

7. and that’s it! it should look like this

hope that helped <33

[kateschi]

windswept

synopsis: sometimes all you need is a chance to forget.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: oh what i would give to have just one car ride with him

the apartment feels too quiet. too still.

the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, until it settles deep in your chest.

you’re curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, staring blankly at the dim glow of the television.

the muffled noise plays in the background, but you’re not really listening. the weight inside you sits heavy, like an anchor pulling you down, thick like fog that refuses to lift.

you don’t even register the front door unlocking until the familiar creak of hinges cuts through the silence, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the floor.

then—his voice.

“the hell’s up with you?”

katsuki stands in the doorway, still clad in his hero gear, the faint scent of smoke, sweat, and something distinctly him clinging to the fabric.

his red eyes sweep over the room, flickering over the untouched food on the counter, the dim lighting, the way you’re curled up too small.

his shoulders, still tense from the long shift, subtly shift as he exhales, his lips pressing into a firm line.

you try to force a smile, but it barely lifts the corners of your lips. “just… tired, I guess.”

he doesn’t buy it. of course, he doesn’t. katsuki’s always been good at reading you, picking apart the things you don’t say.

his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. he watches you for a long moment before he moves, stepping further inside with purpose. “c’mon.”

you blink at him. “huh?”

“get up.” his voice is gruff but not unkind. he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “we’re goin’ for a drive.”

you hesitate, glancing at the clock on the wall. “katsuki, it’s late—”

“so?” he quirks a brow, already tugging you toward the door. “the hell else are you gonna do? sit here ‘til you rot?”

a small, breathy laugh slips from you despite yourself, the corner of your lips twitching upward. “you sure know how to make someone feel better.”

he scoffs, but it’s softer than usual.

his grip on your hand tightens for just a second before he leans down, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to your temple—so light you barely register it before he’s already pulling away, grabbing his keys.

“just get in the damn car.”

the city looks different at night.

streetlights flicker past in long, golden streaks as katsuki’s porsche hums down the empty roads, smooth and effortless.

the usual chaos of traffic is gone, replaced by open streets and the occasional glow of late-night diners.

the rhythmic sound of the engine beneath you is steady, a soft reminder that you’re moving, that you’re not stuck in that quiet apartment anymore.

you lean against the seat, watching the world blur outside the window.

the cool night air slips in through the slightly cracked window, crisp and clean, carrying the distant scent of rain. it feels… lighter. like you can breathe a little easier.

katsuki glances over at you, his right hand resting comfortably on the gear shift, fingers tapping against it absentmindedly. “feelin’ better?”

you inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs before exhaling, letting it take a fraction of that weight with it. “yeah.”

his fingers still. he watches you for a moment longer before making a quiet, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. “good.”

the conversation lulls, but it doesn’t feel heavy like before. the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the distant hum of tires against asphalt, the occasional flick of a turn signal.

then—without warning—katsuki shifts gears, smoothly taking a sharp turn onto an open road leading out of the city. the tall buildings begin to thin, replaced by wide stretches of road and open sky.

you glance at him, brow furrowing slightly. “where are we going?”

he smirks, flicking a switch near the dashboard. “you’ll see.”

a soft whirring noise fills the air as the roof of the car slowly retracts, revealing the vast expanse of sky above.

a rush of wind follows, tousling your hair and sending a thrill down your spine. the scent of distant rain lingers in the cool breeze.

your breath catches in your throat.

katsuki nudges your knee with his hand, his touch warm even through the fabric of your pants. “stick your head out.”

you hesitate, blinking at him. “what?”

“go on.” his voice is softer now, coaxing, reassuring. “I got you.”

you glance up at the open sky—dark and endless, sprinkled with faint stars—and, slowly, carefully, push yourself up.

the second your head lifts above the car, the wind rushes past, whipping through your hair, filling your lungs with crisp, night air.

the world around you blurs—lights stretching, road disappearing into the horizon—until all that’s left is motion.

you close your eyes, tilting your head back, letting yourself feel it.

the weight that had been sitting heavy in your chest feels a little lighter, carried away by the wind, by the vast openness of it all.

a breathless laugh slips from your lips.

then—warmth.

katsuki’s arm wraps firmly around your waist, securing you against him, his grip steady but gentle.

“don’t do somethin’ dumb and fall out,” he mutters, his voice just above the roar of the wind.

you grin, glancing back at him. “I won’t.”

his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he scoffs lightly, his hold tightening just a fraction. “won’t let ya fall anyway.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

windswept

synopsis: sometimes all you need is a chance to forget.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: oh what i would give to have just one car ride with him

the apartment feels too quiet. too still.

the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, until it settles deep in your chest.

you’re curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, staring blankly at the dim glow of the television.

the muffled noise plays in the background, but you’re not really listening. the weight inside you sits heavy, like an anchor pulling you down, thick like fog that refuses to lift.

you don’t even register the front door unlocking until the familiar creak of hinges cuts through the silence, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the floor.

then—his voice.

“the hell’s up with you?”

katsuki stands in the doorway, still clad in his hero gear, the faint scent of smoke, sweat, and something distinctly him clinging to the fabric.

his red eyes sweep over the room, flickering over the untouched food on the counter, the dim lighting, the way you’re curled up too small.

his shoulders, still tense from the long shift, subtly shift as he exhales, his lips pressing into a firm line.

you try to force a smile, but it barely lifts the corners of your lips. “just… tired, I guess.”

he doesn’t buy it. of course, he doesn’t. katsuki’s always been good at reading you, picking apart the things you don’t say.

his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. he watches you for a long moment before he moves, stepping further inside with purpose. “c’mon.”

you blink at him. “huh?”

“get up.” his voice is gruff but not unkind. he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “we’re goin’ for a drive.”

you hesitate, glancing at the clock on the wall. “katsuki, it’s late—”

“so?” he quirks a brow, already tugging you toward the door. “the hell else are you gonna do? sit here ‘til you rot?”

a small, breathy laugh slips from you despite yourself, the corner of your lips twitching upward. “you sure know how to make someone feel better.”

he scoffs, but it’s softer than usual.

his grip on your hand tightens for just a second before he leans down, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to your temple—so light you barely register it before he’s already pulling away, grabbing his keys.

“just get in the damn car.”

the city looks different at night.

streetlights flicker past in long, golden streaks as katsuki’s porsche hums down the empty roads, smooth and effortless.

the usual chaos of traffic is gone, replaced by open streets and the occasional glow of late-night diners.

the rhythmic sound of the engine beneath you is steady, a soft reminder that you’re moving, that you’re not stuck in that quiet apartment anymore.

you lean against the seat, watching the world blur outside the window.

the cool night air slips in through the slightly cracked window, crisp and clean, carrying the distant scent of rain. it feels… lighter. like you can breathe a little easier.

katsuki glances over at you, his right hand resting comfortably on the gear shift, fingers tapping against it absentmindedly. “feelin’ better?”

you inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs before exhaling, letting it take a fraction of that weight with it. “yeah.”

his fingers still. he watches you for a moment longer before making a quiet, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. “good.”

the conversation lulls, but it doesn’t feel heavy like before. the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the distant hum of tires against asphalt, the occasional flick of a turn signal.

then—without warning—katsuki shifts gears, smoothly taking a sharp turn onto an open road leading out of the city. the tall buildings begin to thin, replaced by wide stretches of road and open sky.

you glance at him, brow furrowing slightly. “where are we going?”

he smirks, flicking a switch near the dashboard. “you’ll see.”

a soft whirring noise fills the air as the roof of the car slowly retracts, revealing the vast expanse of sky above.

a rush of wind follows, tousling your hair and sending a thrill down your spine. the scent of distant rain lingers in the cool breeze.

your breath catches in your throat.

katsuki nudges your knee with his hand, his touch warm even through the fabric of your pants. “stick your head out.”

you hesitate, blinking at him. “what?”

“go on.” his voice is softer now, coaxing, reassuring. “I got you.”

you glance up at the open sky—dark and endless, sprinkled with faint stars—and, slowly, carefully, push yourself up.

the second your head lifts above the car, the wind rushes past, whipping through your hair, filling your lungs with crisp, night air.

the world around you blurs—lights stretching, road disappearing into the horizon—until all that’s left is motion.

you close your eyes, tilting your head back, letting yourself feel it.

the weight that had been sitting heavy in your chest feels a little lighter, carried away by the wind, by the vast openness of it all.

a breathless laugh slips from your lips.

then—warmth.

katsuki’s arm wraps firmly around your waist, securing you against him, his grip steady but gentle.

“don’t do somethin’ dumb and fall out,” he mutters, his voice just above the roar of the wind.

you grin, glancing back at him. “I won’t.”

his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he scoffs lightly, his hold tightening just a fraction. “won’t let ya fall anyway.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

windswept

synopsis: sometimes all you need is a chance to forget.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: oh what i would give to have just one car ride with him

the apartment feels too quiet. too still.

the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, until it settles deep in your chest.

you’re curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, staring blankly at the dim glow of the television.

the muffled noise plays in the background, but you’re not really listening. the weight inside you sits heavy, like an anchor pulling you down, thick like fog that refuses to lift.

you don’t even register the front door unlocking until the familiar creak of hinges cuts through the silence, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the floor.

then—his voice.

“the hell’s up with you?”

katsuki stands in the doorway, still clad in his hero gear, the faint scent of smoke, sweat, and something distinctly him clinging to the fabric.

his red eyes sweep over the room, flickering over the untouched food on the counter, the dim lighting, the way you’re curled up too small.

his shoulders, still tense from the long shift, subtly shift as he exhales, his lips pressing into a firm line.

you try to force a smile, but it barely lifts the corners of your lips. “just… tired, I guess.”

he doesn’t buy it. of course, he doesn’t. katsuki’s always been good at reading you, picking apart the things you don’t say.

his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. he watches you for a long moment before he moves, stepping further inside with purpose. “c’mon.”

you blink at him. “huh?”

“get up.” his voice is gruff but not unkind. he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “we’re goin’ for a drive.”

you hesitate, glancing at the clock on the wall. “katsuki, it’s late—”

“so?” he quirks a brow, already tugging you toward the door. “the hell else are you gonna do? sit here ‘til you rot?”

a small, breathy laugh slips from you despite yourself, the corner of your lips twitching upward. “you sure know how to make someone feel better.”

he scoffs, but it’s softer than usual.

his grip on your hand tightens for just a second before he leans down, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to your temple—so light you barely register it before he’s already pulling away, grabbing his keys.

“just get in the damn car.”

the city looks different at night.

streetlights flicker past in long, golden streaks as katsuki’s porsche hums down the empty roads, smooth and effortless.

the usual chaos of traffic is gone, replaced by open streets and the occasional glow of late-night diners.

the rhythmic sound of the engine beneath you is steady, a soft reminder that you’re moving, that you’re not stuck in that quiet apartment anymore.

you lean against the seat, watching the world blur outside the window.

the cool night air slips in through the slightly cracked window, crisp and clean, carrying the distant scent of rain. it feels… lighter. like you can breathe a little easier.

katsuki glances over at you, his right hand resting comfortably on the gear shift, fingers tapping against it absentmindedly. “feelin’ better?”

you inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs before exhaling, letting it take a fraction of that weight with it. “yeah.”

his fingers still. he watches you for a moment longer before making a quiet, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. “good.”

the conversation lulls, but it doesn’t feel heavy like before. the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the distant hum of tires against asphalt, the occasional flick of a turn signal.

then—without warning—katsuki shifts gears, smoothly taking a sharp turn onto an open road leading out of the city. the tall buildings begin to thin, replaced by wide stretches of road and open sky.

you glance at him, brow furrowing slightly. “where are we going?”

he smirks, flicking a switch near the dashboard. “you’ll see.”

a soft whirring noise fills the air as the roof of the car slowly retracts, revealing the vast expanse of sky above.

a rush of wind follows, tousling your hair and sending a thrill down your spine. the scent of distant rain lingers in the cool breeze.

your breath catches in your throat.

katsuki nudges your knee with his hand, his touch warm even through the fabric of your pants. “stick your head out.”

you hesitate, blinking at him. “what?”

“go on.” his voice is softer now, coaxing, reassuring. “I got you.”

you glance up at the open sky—dark and endless, sprinkled with faint stars—and, slowly, carefully, push yourself up.

the second your head lifts above the car, the wind rushes past, whipping through your hair, filling your lungs with crisp, night air.

the world around you blurs—lights stretching, road disappearing into the horizon—until all that’s left is motion.

you close your eyes, tilting your head back, letting yourself feel it.

the weight that had been sitting heavy in your chest feels a little lighter, carried away by the wind, by the vast openness of it all.

a breathless laugh slips from your lips.

then—warmth.

katsuki’s arm wraps firmly around your waist, securing you against him, his grip steady but gentle.

“don’t do somethin’ dumb and fall out,” he mutters, his voice just above the roar of the wind.

you grin, glancing back at him. “I won’t.”

his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he scoffs lightly, his hold tightening just a fraction. “won’t let ya fall anyway.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

windswept

synopsis: sometimes all you need is a chance to forget.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: oh what i would give to have just one car ride with him

the apartment feels too quiet. too still.

the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, until it settles deep in your chest.

you’re curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, staring blankly at the dim glow of the television.

the muffled noise plays in the background, but you’re not really listening. the weight inside you sits heavy, like an anchor pulling you down, thick like fog that refuses to lift.

you don’t even register the front door unlocking until the familiar creak of hinges cuts through the silence, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the floor.

then—his voice.

“the hell’s up with you?”

katsuki stands in the doorway, still clad in his hero gear, the faint scent of smoke, sweat, and something distinctly him clinging to the fabric.

his red eyes sweep over the room, flickering over the untouched food on the counter, the dim lighting, the way you’re curled up too small.

his shoulders, still tense from the long shift, subtly shift as he exhales, his lips pressing into a firm line.

you try to force a smile, but it barely lifts the corners of your lips. “just… tired, I guess.”

he doesn’t buy it. of course, he doesn’t. katsuki’s always been good at reading you, picking apart the things you don’t say.

his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. he watches you for a long moment before he moves, stepping further inside with purpose. “c’mon.”

you blink at him. “huh?”

“get up.” his voice is gruff but not unkind. he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “we’re goin’ for a drive.”

you hesitate, glancing at the clock on the wall. “katsuki, it’s late—”

“so?” he quirks a brow, already tugging you toward the door. “the hell else are you gonna do? sit here ‘til you rot?”

a small, breathy laugh slips from you despite yourself, the corner of your lips twitching upward. “you sure know how to make someone feel better.”

he scoffs, but it’s softer than usual.

his grip on your hand tightens for just a second before he leans down, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to your temple—so light you barely register it before he’s already pulling away, grabbing his keys.

“just get in the damn car.”

the city looks different at night.

streetlights flicker past in long, golden streaks as katsuki’s porsche hums down the empty roads, smooth and effortless.

the usual chaos of traffic is gone, replaced by open streets and the occasional glow of late-night diners.

the rhythmic sound of the engine beneath you is steady, a soft reminder that you’re moving, that you’re not stuck in that quiet apartment anymore.

you lean against the seat, watching the world blur outside the window.

the cool night air slips in through the slightly cracked window, crisp and clean, carrying the distant scent of rain. it feels… lighter. like you can breathe a little easier.

katsuki glances over at you, his right hand resting comfortably on the gear shift, fingers tapping against it absentmindedly. “feelin’ better?”

you inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs before exhaling, letting it take a fraction of that weight with it. “yeah.”

his fingers still. he watches you for a moment longer before making a quiet, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. “good.”

the conversation lulls, but it doesn’t feel heavy like before. the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the distant hum of tires against asphalt, the occasional flick of a turn signal.

then—without warning—katsuki shifts gears, smoothly taking a sharp turn onto an open road leading out of the city. the tall buildings begin to thin, replaced by wide stretches of road and open sky.

you glance at him, brow furrowing slightly. “where are we going?”

he smirks, flicking a switch near the dashboard. “you’ll see.”

a soft whirring noise fills the air as the roof of the car slowly retracts, revealing the vast expanse of sky above.

a rush of wind follows, tousling your hair and sending a thrill down your spine. the scent of distant rain lingers in the cool breeze.

your breath catches in your throat.

katsuki nudges your knee with his hand, his touch warm even through the fabric of your pants. “stick your head out.”

you hesitate, blinking at him. “what?”

“go on.” his voice is softer now, coaxing, reassuring. “I got you.”

you glance up at the open sky—dark and endless, sprinkled with faint stars—and, slowly, carefully, push yourself up.

the second your head lifts above the car, the wind rushes past, whipping through your hair, filling your lungs with crisp, night air.

the world around you blurs—lights stretching, road disappearing into the horizon—until all that’s left is motion.

you close your eyes, tilting your head back, letting yourself feel it.

the weight that had been sitting heavy in your chest feels a little lighter, carried away by the wind, by the vast openness of it all.

a breathless laugh slips from your lips.

then—warmth.

katsuki’s arm wraps firmly around your waist, securing you against him, his grip steady but gentle.

“don’t do somethin’ dumb and fall out,” he mutters, his voice just above the roar of the wind.

you grin, glancing back at him. “I won’t.”

his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he scoffs lightly, his hold tightening just a fraction. “won’t let ya fall anyway.”

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[kateschi]

windswept

synopsis: sometimes all you need is a chance to forget.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: oh what i would give to have just one car ride with him

the apartment feels too quiet. too still.

the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, until it settles deep in your chest.

you’re curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, staring blankly at the dim glow of the television.

the muffled noise plays in the background, but you’re not really listening. the weight inside you sits heavy, like an anchor pulling you down, thick like fog that refuses to lift.

you don’t even register the front door unlocking until the familiar creak of hinges cuts through the silence, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the floor.

then—his voice.

“the hell’s up with you?”

katsuki stands in the doorway, still clad in his hero gear, the faint scent of smoke, sweat, and something distinctly him clinging to the fabric.

his red eyes sweep over the room, flickering over the untouched food on the counter, the dim lighting, the way you’re curled up too small.

his shoulders, still tense from the long shift, subtly shift as he exhales, his lips pressing into a firm line.

you try to force a smile, but it barely lifts the corners of your lips. “just… tired, I guess.”

he doesn’t buy it. of course, he doesn’t. katsuki’s always been good at reading you, picking apart the things you don’t say.

his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. he watches you for a long moment before he moves, stepping further inside with purpose. “c’mon.”

you blink at him. “huh?”

“get up.” his voice is gruff but not unkind. he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “we’re goin’ for a drive.”

you hesitate, glancing at the clock on the wall. “katsuki, it’s late—”

“so?” he quirks a brow, already tugging you toward the door. “the hell else are you gonna do? sit here ‘til you rot?”

a small, breathy laugh slips from you despite yourself, the corner of your lips twitching upward. “you sure know how to make someone feel better.”

he scoffs, but it’s softer than usual.

his grip on your hand tightens for just a second before he leans down, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to your temple—so light you barely register it before he’s already pulling away, grabbing his keys.

“just get in the damn car.”

the city looks different at night.

streetlights flicker past in long, golden streaks as katsuki’s porsche hums down the empty roads, smooth and effortless.

the usual chaos of traffic is gone, replaced by open streets and the occasional glow of late-night diners.

the rhythmic sound of the engine beneath you is steady, a soft reminder that you’re moving, that you’re not stuck in that quiet apartment anymore.

you lean against the seat, watching the world blur outside the window.

the cool night air slips in through the slightly cracked window, crisp and clean, carrying the distant scent of rain. it feels… lighter. like you can breathe a little easier.

katsuki glances over at you, his right hand resting comfortably on the gear shift, fingers tapping against it absentmindedly. “feelin’ better?”

you inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs before exhaling, letting it take a fraction of that weight with it. “yeah.”

his fingers still. he watches you for a moment longer before making a quiet, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. “good.”

the conversation lulls, but it doesn’t feel heavy like before. the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the distant hum of tires against asphalt, the occasional flick of a turn signal.

then—without warning—katsuki shifts gears, smoothly taking a sharp turn onto an open road leading out of the city. the tall buildings begin to thin, replaced by wide stretches of road and open sky.

you glance at him, brow furrowing slightly. “where are we going?”

he smirks, flicking a switch near the dashboard. “you’ll see.”

a soft whirring noise fills the air as the roof of the car slowly retracts, revealing the vast expanse of sky above.

a rush of wind follows, tousling your hair and sending a thrill down your spine. the scent of distant rain lingers in the cool breeze.

your breath catches in your throat.

katsuki nudges your knee with his hand, his touch warm even through the fabric of your pants. “stick your head out.”

you hesitate, blinking at him. “what?”

“go on.” his voice is softer now, coaxing, reassuring. “I got you.”

you glance up at the open sky—dark and endless, sprinkled with faint stars—and, slowly, carefully, push yourself up.

the second your head lifts above the car, the wind rushes past, whipping through your hair, filling your lungs with crisp, night air.

the world around you blurs—lights stretching, road disappearing into the horizon—until all that’s left is motion.

you close your eyes, tilting your head back, letting yourself feel it.

the weight that had been sitting heavy in your chest feels a little lighter, carried away by the wind, by the vast openness of it all.

a breathless laugh slips from your lips.

then—warmth.

katsuki’s arm wraps firmly around your waist, securing you against him, his grip steady but gentle.

“don’t do somethin’ dumb and fall out,” he mutters, his voice just above the roar of the wind.

you grin, glancing back at him. “I won’t.”

his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he scoffs lightly, his hold tightening just a fraction. “won’t let ya fall anyway.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kateschi]

nothing like the calm after exams frfr 🙏

[kateschi]

I LOVE UR WORKS THEYRE SO DELICIOUS TYYY<333 also ur theme??? ATEEE

I AM HONOREDDDS OMG TYSMMMM SO HAPPY YOU LIKE IT 🥹🩷🩷🩷

[kateschi]

don't make it weird

synopsis: you fix things. he breaks things. somehow, this feels like the beginning of a very complicated maintenance schedule.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!support!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i CAN'T with this man i love him

the door slams open hard enough to rattle the tools hanging on the wall.

you don’t look up right away.

mostly because you’re elbow-deep in the exposed wiring of a damaged support item, but also because you’ve worked in this repair shop long enough to recognize the type.

heavy boots thud against the worn floor. there’s the distinct scent of burnt fabric, metal, and something sharper—nitroglycerin.

it’s a pro hero. and a pissed-off one, by the sound of it.

“oi.”

you sigh, wiping your forehead with the back of your wrist before finally glancing up.

and there he is—bakugou katsuki, standing in the middle of your shop like he owns the place, shoulders squared, posture tense.

he’s still in his full hero gear, minus the gauntlets, which he holds in one hand.

they’re charred, the inner mechanisms partially exposed, the reinforced metal plating dented in places you’re not sure should even be possible.

he shoves them onto the counter with a thud, red eyes locked onto yours.

“can you fix ‘em?”

you lean back against your workbench, wiping grease-streaked hands on your coveralls as you take him in fully.

he’s scowling like someone just insulted his entire bloodline, arms tense, jaw set. there’s a thin cut just above his brow, a smear of soot along his cheekbone.

you doubt he even noticed.

you, on the other hand, are just exhausted.

“you’re bakugou, right?”

his eye twitches. “obviously.”

“then you should know your gauntlets aren’t exactly easy to repair.” you tilt your head, dragging your fingers over the jagged edges of the damage. “who worked on ‘em before?”

bakugou crosses his arms. “support team at my agency.”

“uh-huh. and they kicked you out, didn’t they?”

a muscle ticks in his jaw, which is all the confirmation you need.

you exhale sharply through your nose, finally pulling his gloves toward you for a closer look. the weight is familiar in your hands, but the extent of the damage isn’t something you see every day.

“gonna take a while,” you tell him, rolling your shoulders before reaching for your tools. “come back in a few days.”

bakugou scoffs, a sharp, irritated sound. “the hell kinda shop is this? don’t you people do rush orders?”

“I do if I like the customer.” you flash a too-sweet smile, tapping a finger against the metal casing. “you’re not there yet.”

his scowl deepens, fingers twitching at his sides. for a second, you think he’s going to argue, but then he just clicks his tongue and turns on his heel.

the door slams behind him.

you shrug and get to work.

two days later, the bell above the shop door jingles violently, more from force than necessity. the entrance swings open with enough momentum that it nearly slams against the wall.

you don’t bother looking up because you already know who it is.

heavy bootsteps echo across the floor, purposeful and impatient.

the smell of burnt fabric and faint nitroglycerin lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of oil and metal shavings.

you keep your eyes on your workbench.

“shop’s closed,” you say, voice even, fingers steady as you adjust the wiring on a half-repaired gauntlet.

“don’t care.”

of course he doesn’t.

you finally glance up, finding bakugou katsuki standing in the middle of your shop like he owns the place. his gauntlets—still charred, still in desperate need of repair—hang at his sides.

his eyes are locked onto you.

you nod toward the stool in the corner. “sit there and shut up.”

he grumbles something under his breath—probably about your damn attitude—but he listens, dropping onto the stool with a barely contained huff.

you feel him before you see him. it’s like sitting next to a live wire.

he’s not a man built for stillness, and it shows—the way his fingers drum impatiently against his thigh, the restless flex of his arms, the slight bounce of his knee.

minutes stretch between you, the only sounds filling the room being the quiet hum of machines and the precise clicks of your tools.

then—

“how the hell did you end up doin’ this anyway?”

you pause, fingers tightening around a wrench before shifting slightly to glance at him over your shoulder.

“you mean fixing broken things for stubborn heroes?”

his eye twitches. “s’not what I meant.”

a lazy shrug. “I like making things. always have. didn’t wanna be a hero, but I still wanted to help.”

bakugou hums lowly, head tilting slightly, like he’s actually thinking about it.

which is impressive, considering patience isn’t exactly his strong suit.

another stretch of silence follows, longer this time.

then—

“they done?”

you click your tongue. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

the words spill out before your brain catches up.

and the moment they do—

you freeze.

across the room, bakugou stiffens like a live grenade, head snapping toward you so fast you half expect to hear a crack. his eyes widen, flickering with something unreadable—shock, maybe? amusement?

you’re not looking close enough to find out.

you clear your throat, face heating. “I meant your gloves are cute. functional. whatever.”

a slow shift.

his lips curve, the corners twitching upward into something dangerous, something smug.

“you think I’m cute?”

“no.”

he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, amusement flickering behind his eyes. “you just said—”

“I said the gloves—”

“uh-huh.”

“shut up.”

his smirk widens, but—for once—he doesn’t push further.

and when you finally hand over his gloves, he flexes his fingers, testing the fit, and grunts.

“not bad.”

which, coming from him, might as well be high praise.

he keeps coming back after that.

sometimes his gauntlets are actually broken. other times, you’re almost positive he just finds an excuse to show up.

a busted strap here, a dent there—things that a hero like him could fix himself if he really wanted to. but he doesn’t. instead, he plants himself in your shop, arms crossed, shoulders squared like he belongs there.

you don’t call him out on it.

mostly because it’s kind of nice having him around.

not that you’d admit it.

one afternoon, he leans against your counter, his weight making it creak slightly under him.

his arms are crossed, biceps straining against the fabric of his black tee, and his gaze is unreadable—steady, but not as sharp as usual.

like he’s thinking too much about something.

“oi.” his voice cuts through the quiet hum of your workspace. “you ever take breaks?”

you blink up at him from behind the goggles perched on your head, adjusting the strap absentmindedly. “what?”

“you’re always here.” his brows pull together slightly, a crease forming between them. he looks almost… annoyed. “you ever get out?”

you snort, grabbing a screwdriver and turning back to your work. “and do what? go on a date?”

there’s a pause.

a long one.

the air shifts, charged in a way that makes your fingers tighten around the tool in your hand.

you frown, glancing up just in time to catch the way his jaw clenches.

his gaze flickers across your face, something unreadable swirling in his red eyes before he schools his expression again.

“…you got a problem with that?”

you arch a brow, waiting, watching. “you got a problem if I do?”

his scowl deepens, and his weight shifts slightly, like he’s uncomfortable. his fingers flex against his bicep, a sign of irritation—or hesitation, maybe.

“no. just figured you’d be too busy fixin’ shit for idiots heroes.”

you tilt your head, smirking slightly. “so you admit you’re an idiot?”

he clicks his tongue, sharp and quick. “I am not one of them. plus, that ain’t the damn point.”

“then what is the point, bakugou?”

his gaze snaps back to yours.

there’s something behind his eyes now—determined, stubborn, a little reckless. his lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he hesitates, just for a fraction of a second.

and then—

“you got plans tonight?”

your brain short-circuits.

you open your mouth, then close it, blinking. “you asking me on a date?”

he exhales sharply, like he’s already regretting this, like you’re the one making things complicated. “I’m askin’ if you wanna grab dinner. don’t make it weird.”

you stare at him for a second, screwdriver still clutched in your hand, the weight of his words settling in the small space between you.

it’s not exactly romantic.

but, somehow, it’s so him.

your lips twitch, amusement bubbling up despite the way your heart has decided to trip over itself. “alright, dynamight. you’re paying.”

bakugou scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s something almost…relieved in the way his shoulders relax a fraction. “yeah, yeah. hurry up.”

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