title: Chopped summary: In which Ochako is an awful cook, and Katsuki surprisingly… isn’t. pairing: katsuki/ochako snippet:
“This tastes like shit.”
Bakugou Katsuki spits out his bite of the pasta that had been served before the group of housemates. Since they’d been living together, an arranged schedule determined who prepared dinner for the rest of their class on a biweekly basis.
There were two requirements:
1. Serve everyone. Make sure you make food that everyone can eat, and enough to feed all of them, even if people are absent from dinner. (This rule prevents selfish people—Katsuki—from solely cooking for themselves when they’re the designated chef for the night.)
2. Make sure the food is cooked. If the food made is contaminated, contains expired ingredients, and/or is overall undercooked enough to the point where it may cause illness and thus prevent students from attending class and training, then Designated Chef becomes Designated Housekeeper for a week.
summary: 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 for him before he even arrives. pairing: katsuki/ochako snippet:
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.