_a/n: AU.


not your (manic pixie dream) girl

B - Bakers, Bookworms, and Bombshells, oh my!
In which Bakugou Katsuki's a regular at a bakery. And no, not because of the fucking angel-faced worker who always has his order ready before he even arrives.


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So he's here again, as he is every Thursday at 2:40-ish pm. He's taken a particular liking to this bakery, a hidden gem his mother had found one afternoon. She'd brought home about half a dozen (unasked for) pastries that day, and for once, Bakugou Katsuki and his birth giver were in agreement over the phenomenal taste of the baked goods—after he had given them a try, that is.

Since then, he had been coming on his own, once a week to get his dose of freshly brewed dark roast (none of that cheap, millennial-loving shit at the local coffee chain, all mediocrity and overhype that're always so disgustingly cramped with high schoolers ditching class.) Instead, he favored this family-ran cafe and bakery that never ran too busy the day he particularly had no classes scheduled, allowing him to do his homework in peace. Fast wifi, no chances of running into deadbeat classmates, or anyone he knew, for the matter, allowing him the privilege of temporarily taking advantage of its spacious setting, minimalist interior design, whilst enjoying the consistent aroma of freshly baked kouign amanns and French baguettes.

Oh yeah, and there's a cute girl that works these mornings. Like, a really fucking cute girl. She's kind of doll-like really, round-faced with big eyes, pink cheeks. Her hair is usually astray, and she likes to have hot cocoa and store-bought mochi on her breaks. Sometimes she forgets to wipe the chocolate off her top lip, and for a godforsaken nanosecond, he thinks that sweets have never been more enticing.

Not that he notices or anything on purpose.

Katsuki's just (cursedly, but) remarkably observant.

He doesn't make himself approachable, nor does he ever return the conversation she tends to initiate on a weekly basis at the register. But she knows his order, has it ready for him by the time he enters, and knows his name through his credit card.

Meanwhile, he picks up observations on her here and there. Doesn't know her name, simply just resorts to mentally referring to her as Bakery Bitch. Doesn't know what school she goes to-Katsuki reduces it to having been some local university like him, considering she's able to work morning shifts. And most definitely does not fucking know why he's even letting himself have these dumbass thoughts to begin with.

Maneuvering past his routine-like chess match thought process, he opens his laptop to finish typing up his final exam paper. He's gotta maintain his position of being at the top of the class, and Thursdays were the only days he ever did his homework. It was convenient being able to get it done here, not too far from both his apartment and his university. The rest of the week he dedicated to the gym after school. His independent balance between academics and bulking up had been going swell, for the most part, until:

"Bakugou?!" the blonde's brows knit together in a twitch before his eyes dart up to see a familiar red head.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Hedgehog Hair?"

His friend (a debatable concept) makes himself at home, shrugging off his messenger bag and leaving it slung along the frame of the chair opposite Katsuki. "I could ask the same for you," he replies. "What's good here?"

Bakugou Katsuki's scowl deepens. His safe haven has been sought out, perpetually disturbed, infected, murdered.

"Fine, I'll ask Peaches over there," Kirishima Eijirou grins, making his way to the counter.

Peaches. It didn't really do her justice, but it was somewhat fitting, nonetheless. He's been hanging around Katsuki too much.

He watches the two interact, a committed grimace painting his usual stone hard features. She giggles, he laughs, and Katsuki's eyes narrow instantaneously (for reasons he can't and won't name.)

It has nothing to do with the fucking girl, he deems to himself, but every-fucking-thing to do with how his balance has been thrown off. Now he needs to find another serene, unpacked, unknown area to do his work in. Preferably one with a dark roast as good as here, spicy curry croquettes, and an angel face to remember his order—one who never fails to comment on the absurdity of the combination, to which he'd roll his eyes at and ignore in retaliation (though before leaving an extra dollar or two in the tip jar without eye contact.) He knows she'd be smiling, but he won't make anything of it.

Girls are a distraction. Romance is unnecessary and requires extra work. Every thought that forges its way into the crevices of his brain in he and Bakery Bitch's small two minute interaction is instantly disintegrated once he gets his shit done and exits the bakery. He thinks that if he had a superpower of some sort, he'd set fire to the weak idea of love in his life—let it incinerate, burn. No matter, this is what he's used to, and now, unfortunately has to alter due to the Fire Crotch bastard who had discovered this place now, too.

"Dude, this stuff is amazing!" Eijirou grins. He's come back to the table with an entire box of various pastries, ranging from custard tarts to red bean-infused waffles. The stupid shit must have blown at least thirty bucks on all of that. This bakery ain't cheap.

"Idiot," Katsuki retorts, packing up his things.

Eijirou craftily pries through the flaky almonds of a particular pastry before jamming the entire thing into his mouth. The fucking animal. After a satisfying gulp, he manages a, "Whaaaat? You can't leave yet. The others from Anthro are on their way, and I just invited Uraraka-chan to come join us on her break."

Uraraka, was it—maybe he'll remember. Maybe. Probably not, he tries to convince himself. He hasn't remembered most of their classmates anyway, despite their shared lunch break, occasional study groups, and social media test leaks.

"And why the fuck would you do that?" the hot-headed blonde asks, unsure of how to feel about Eijirou's… Eagerness? Friendliness? Whatever the fuck it was that got him her name. "Shouldn't you all be at school? The fuck you doin' here for?"

"One, she seems pretty bored. Just on her phone before helping me pick out these goods," his eyes gleam at the mixture of sweet and savory. "Two, lab was cancelled. Three, I found this place on Yelp—five stars, man! And four, what's with the sudden interrogation, Ba-ku-gou? Mad that I interrupted your personal tea-time?"

Eijirou watches in mild entertainment how Katsuki's internal fuming converts to external irritation. As soon as the bell hanging along the entrance door chimes and the familiar gang (Katsuki particularly remembers Half 'n Half and the bastard, Deku, the two fucking asses that always happen to score a point higher than him on every fucking exam) appear, the blonde stands, throwing his backpack over a shoulder as he crudely retorts, "Fuck it, I'm out."

"Ah," a softer voice cuts through behind him. "Leaving earlier than usual, Bakugou-kun?"

His scowl doesn't waver, narrowed eyes flickering up to meet large brown irises. Chestnuts. Although he presumes to look at her coldly, Eijirou notices his shoulders lighten up from its stiffness.

"Fuckin' useless to linger," Katsuki says abruptly after turning away. He swallows thickly, as if he'd been trying to convince himself that it's only a fucking bakery. It's replaceable. Once Deku, that one blonde prick, and the rest of them catch sight of their table, he trudges toward the exit. No point in staying a second longer. A single breath will not be wasted. Even for the likes of that Uraraka chick.

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He makes routine of studying and doing his work in one of the libraries out of town. Wifi access isn't totally limited, just surely slower. No sign of familiar faces. No black coffee, and no spicy snack. It's a fucking let down, but he has some pride in the engagement of sacrificial acts. You win some, you lose some (but not really because you only lose some if you fucking think about your losses like a pissbaby instead of focusing on your goddamn wins.) Bakugou Katsuki is no fucking loser.

So he doesn't step foot into that bakery for the rest of Spring, all of Summer break, and for the first half of his Fall quarter.

It took about three weeks for the need of his usual Thursday Fix to die out. He's always been pretty good at suppression.

As for the girl?

Well, she'd be a fucking idiot if she kept making his order prior to his arrival. It's a waste of her time, anyway. Not his problem.

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Their next encounter is less surprising than the reason behind it.

He first sees her when she pokes her bobble head through one of the library aisles he'd been browsing. He notices her first (shamefully so) and he inwardly curses his natural perceptive ability and keen peripheral vision. Doesn't help that she's totally fucking oblivious and completely unaware of her surroundings. Regardless, he stays put and continues his scope out for the Odyssey. Like hell is he going to initiate shit first.

A few long seconds go by, and Katsuki's irritation grows. He still can't find the book. (Most likely due to some dumbass who placed it in the wrong section since there's supposed to be one available; he had gone through the process of checking—read as: having to ask the librarian, another fucking person, for help, as if he'd been incapable or some shit.) Secondly, she still hasn't approached him, or at least, whispered his name loudly enough to disrupt the silence of the lobby, as he would have expected.

When he cranes his neck, just slightly enough to give him a view of the rest of the aisle, he finds her head submerged in one of the bookcases, her rear end making it impossible for anyone to get past. She's muttering a series of titles to herself, reading and brushing off novel by novel, indicating that she's also clearly in search for something.

Katsuki's about to head toward the opposite direction of the aisle to ignore her completely before he catches sight of a heavy book encased between her arm and her hip—the very one he'd spent his damned time looking for! With a surge of momentum and frustration, an emotional rampage that had been prone to take over at some point within his day makes him snarl, "Oy, gimme that book."

"Eh?" she almost bumps her head at the sudden demand directed to her. She's caught off guard, but manages to pull her head out before meeting the man's seething eyes with recognition. "So this is where you've been!"

Their two second interaction must have been loud enough to disturb the peaceful vicinity, since an annoyed SHH! is thrown from some other unknown aisle in the distance. She flushes in embarrassment. He's left unperturbed. Fuck them for all he cares.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he spits in conceit. "As if you weren't already stalking me."

He knows it's a false accusation, but the deepening pink tint on her face as a result is exactly the reaction he'd been looking for.

"Contrary to your own self righteous belief, this public library is actually located across the street from my house," Ochako whispers back harshly, careful of her voice volume.

"Did I ask?"

She huffs in minor annoyance, before her eyes settle back to its originally large shape. "If you could now just excuse me, Bakugou-kun, I need to find the rest of these books." She studies the list of texts before poking her nose back into the shelves. "Unfortunately for me, most of these have already been borrowed; probably because the quarter's already started."

"Lemme see that," he helps himself in snatching the folded paper out of her hand. He does a once-over, confused at the familiar list designed for lower division general ed. "You're a first year?"

For some peculiar reason unbeknownst to him (call it instinct), he'd been under the impression they were in the same grade.

She laughs lowly, embarrassed. "I took a year off to help run my parents' bakery. They couldn't afford to hire workers, so I offered, of course. But now I'm behind in school." She shrugs, a smile still plastered on her face. "Oh well. Just means I gotta double up on courses!"

"That's fucking suicidal," he comments offhandedly. But it's also pretty dedicated. Which is respectable.

Another SHH! echoes. He ignores it.

Katsuki averts his gaze, contemplating whether or not she was deserving of his help. "You've gotta be idiotic to be taking double the amount of units, you know." College courses were not easy—and if they weren't difficult, depending on the instructor, they typically involved tedious assignments or mile-long papers.

"Well, I'm a hardworker," she negates thoughtfully. He knows. He's seen her bake cookies, frost cakes, package breads, take customers' orders, balance a phone call on catering services, while simultaneously keeping the corners of her lips up. For awhile, he'd thought that it'd simply been her default look. Seeing the fire glow in her eyes and the determined bite of her lip now, he must have been mistaken.

"Suit yourself, Angelface," Katsuki digresses condescendingly, shifting this rather unnecessary conversation to the real business at hand. "But why the fuck do you have the Odyssey?"

"Because I finished the Iliad," she replies in unbothered nonchalance.

"Well, no shit," he grunts. "But those readings are requirements for upper division courses—"

"Then, I suppose I've got a good head start at the game, don't I?" Her smile almost looks smug, like a softer smirk, and Bakugou Katsuki finds it on the edge of threatening (and too fucking deceiving.)

"Uraraka," he growls without hesitation, reaching for it. "Give me the fucking book." The fact that she's either simply reading it for pleasure along with the insinuation of getting ahead of him are equally disgusting reasons and exactly why she deserved it less than he did.

She moves enough to get the book away from his reach, but isn't quick enough to dodge his own body's force when he advances. In the end: she loses balance from her own repelling retaliation and knocks down several hard covers off the case beside her, and he, unfortunately, does not have that goddamned book in his grip and instead, has to hang onto the shelf for support before he plummets face first. His pupils dart for hers in one of his default glares, to which she starts to giggle at.

Fucking aggravating.

"All for a collection of poems?" her giggles erupt louder. "You're full of surprises. You even know my name."

His ears are burning.

The bitch.

"ENOUGH," a third voice booms. The two heads spin to the direction of the source, a clearly disgruntled librarian. "There have been several complaints and absolutely no compliance. The two of you—out."

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"Why in the fucking hell would I help you out?" Katsuki asks, after she'd given him a ridiculous proposition.

They're standing outside of the library, since they have apparently been 'temporarily banned.' He tries not to take note of what her house looks like across the street. Instead, mentally jotting down the matter that she seems to be a constant throughout every shift made to the consistency he tries to maintain in his schedule. Maybe she's to blame.

"Because there's stuff in it for you, too," she says, already used to his selfishness. Before he can retaliate, she pulls out (from god-knows-where, he actually wasn't sure) the infamous book that got them into this very mess. He hadn't realized she'd already checked it out. "I know you've kept last semester's texts."

What the fuck.

"So it's confirmed: you're actually a fucking stalker."

"Kirishima-kun told me, actually," Ochako pointedly corrects. Oh right. He's a regular at the stupid bakery now. "When I told him about how I was going to transition from full-time employee to student at UA, he told me that you're actually one of the brightest of your class, and that you tend to keep all the materials needed for success."

Katsuki wonders what else the dumbass told her, but is careful not to show interest.

"So, I can assume that you've kept, if not all, then most, of the required texts."

His brow raises, testing her, "And if that assumption is correct?"

"You'll let me borrow them," she concludes, satisfied.

She might be cute, but she's still a fucking brat and has deliberately misjudged his character. "Like hell I would."

Ochako swings the book around with a lazy arm to gear his attention.

"No fucking way," Katsuki deadpans adamantly. "I can find that shit on Amazon."

"Doesn't sound like something a 'bright student' would do considering you'd be paying as opposed to borrowing one in mint condition," she responds with skepticism painting her voice. "Are you positive?" This fucking girl knows how to push his buttons. But she does make a point with the unnecessary payment. He's got bills to pay. And the shipment probably wouldn't even arrive for another two to four days or so… and he needs it now.

Feeling his resolve dissipate is probably the worst thing he's felt to date. And by some bakery bitch? Someone's gotta be shitting him.

Katsuki's stare remains cold on her, "My books better be in the fucking best condition when you return them to me. No folded pages, no pencil marks, no stains."

With a genuine smile and a successful gleam in her doe eyes, Uraraka Ochako hands the Odyssey over to him at that. He takes it with apparent annoyance, too headass to thank her.

"Let's go," she motions over to the sidewalk. To answer his questioning, hesitant glare, she continues, "To the bakery, duh."

"Why the fu—"

"Because no one's there, you were kicked out of the library, you need a place to do your work, and there's a coffee and a croquette with your name on it!" She rolls her eyes, grin from ear to ear, sick of hearing his profane whining. Her teeth are blindingly white in the golden hour. "Can't you connect the pieces for once?"

He scowls, aggravated at how bubbly, endearing, welcoming, pretty, and radiant she is.

(The warmth isn't something he's quite used to.)

"Mission complete," Ochako jokes, getting a head start. "Reel in favorite customer. A success."

"Oh, fuck off," he lazily sneers, slouching as he jams his hands into the pockets of his pants after throwing the book into his bag.

He follows behind her without further complaints.

(And when Katsuki lets his mind linger for only a brief moment, he decides that it would be quite easy getting used to something like this—)

It is 5:40-ish pm on a Thursday and Uraraka Ochako looks behind her shoulder as she trails to their destination, shooting a familiar, consistent smile at the view of him tagging along despite his crimson glare and perpetual frown.

(—settling into what is to be the beginning of a new, and probably lasting routine.)

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fin.


_a/n: this definitely came out much longer than I planned…...oops. anyways! this was lowkey inspired by my boyfriend because we met at a bakery heheh but we're nothing like the characters involved lmao.

moving along! I knew for a fact I wanted to do something bakery-related because i am a Bitch 4 Baked Goods and apparently Bakugou is, too according to this piece but i did initially struggle with which character i wanted to be the worker/the customer because the thought of bakugou being forced to work at his parents' bakeshop all grumpy and broody and sassy is probably the most precious thing… but i resorted to the stereotype- go figure. it just seemed more fitting and easier to write for but i obviously did get carried away and still have yet to get their characterization right :/ but i'm hoping to improve as i go! maybe later on i'll do a role reversal if i still have some bakery juice to write out :)

kinda sad because the fic archive for this ship is kinda low! hope people contribute more and more bc the fics i've gotten to read are sosososo feelsy and brilliant and spot on and i need more kacchako in my life