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junionigiri · 6 years ago

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BNHA Rarepair Month - Day 21 - Coffee Shop AU

for @bnha-rarepair-month

Summary: Yaoyorozu Momo, a third year neurosurgery resident, has just come from an exhausting duty and is looking for a caffeine fix. In her search for decent coffee, she comes across a new cafe across the street and its explosive owner.

Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Yaoyorozu Momo (BakuMomo)

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: Part 1 of the Cafe/Hospital AU i’m workin’ on~~ hahaha if I ever finish it that is

Also available on AO3/FFNet!

Yaoyorozu Momo is tired. Although to say ‘tired’ is a severe understatement. Right now, though, she doesn’t even have the mental faculties to think of a better word to describe the state that she’s in.

A recap of the past 24 hours is as follows: Five brain surgeries, three of them emergencies, all of them on patients with mutation quirks that made their anatomies vastly different. A report on the genetics of brain cancer. An audit on the people that died or had gotten worse while in the wards. The looming in-service examinations for neurosurgery residents. And finally, just two hours, forty-five minutes of sleep for the past twenty-four hours, interrupted by calls from the ER. Momo would appreciate anyone who can give her a word precise and astute enough to describe how very… ‘tired’ she felt.

She has just hobbled out of the Hosu General Hospital, over six hours overtime, with her fellow resident Todoroki Shouto-kun taking over her shift and shooing her away. Now she’s lugging her large neurosurgery textbook under one arm, using her last remaining brain cells to figure out any decent place to have coffee and read her book until she collapses from exhaustion.

She hums thoughtfully as she stares at the complex of restaurants outside the hospital. Her favorite place, Satou’s Coffees and Cakes, is unfortunately closed on Sundays. Monoma’s Boulangerie et Pattiserie also has decent coffee, but it’s five blocks away. There’s nothing nearby but convenience stores and fastfood joints in front of her.

Really, she’d really rather not compromise her sense of taste just for a much needed shot of caffeine. Call her a ‘boujee’, if one must (and one Uraraka Ochako, OR nurse and her frequent assist, does frequently). Good, handcrafted brews usually come at a high price.

And right now there’s nowhere that serves any decent liquid form of caffeine. She sighs. Perhaps it’s better to head back to her apartment and brew herself a cup there, even though just thinking about making it and cleaning up after herself afterward is so, very tiring.

As she begins to walk to the direction of her condominium, she sees him for the first time.

She doesn’t know why he catches her eye in a fine Sunday morning such as this. Perhaps because he’s scowling so hard while wiping down the tables in front of the small cafe so aggressively that she worries he’ll destroy them. Perhaps it’s also the steady stream of expletives against germs and dirt that would give the Infectious Control services a run for their money.

Perhaps it’s also how the man looks, which is very distinctive. Fluffy, blonde hair that goes in all directions. Red eyes that remind Momo not of blood clots (which she’s had enough of), but of rubies. A nice pair of arms, with cuts of muscles that move nicely as he works on destroying the table with a dishrag. The front of his body is covered by a large, blue apron, but the doctor surmises that behind it is a nice, sturdy body to match those nice, sturdy arms. He isn’t any taller than her, but he looks more than able to carry her in his arms and to throw her against--

Her surprisingly debauched, sleep-deprived thoughts are jarringly interrupted by the man’s bark. “Oi, the fuck are you staring at?”

She’s suddenly face-to-face with the explosive blonde. Yes, explosive is the perfect adjective to describe him, his fiery eyes and hunkering gait. His jaw juts out forward as he continues his annoyed grumbling, much like one of the grumpy English bulldogs Momo’s kin kept back at the family estate.

“Oi, I’m talking to you, Ponytail. Fuckin’ staring at me like I’m a circus freak.” He jabs a finger at her shoulder, and she doesn’t even resist against its push. Now up close, Momo catches a whiff of caramel from his body, and she’s not sure if it’s a comically sweet body spray or his quirk.

She’s appalled by his unruly behavior and lack of manners, of course. Furthermore, she did not just suffer through four years of medical school and one year of grueling internship and three plus plus plus years of even more grueling neurosurgery residency to be baptized as merely Ponytail. She has all intentions of forming an intelligent, indignant remark, all aiming to improve his utterly repulsive conduct. “Excuse me? That’s---that’s Dr. Ponytail to you!”

The blonde clicks his tongue in annoyance and doesn’t back down. Maybe because despite how strong her comeback sounds in her head, it still comes out weak and kind of breathy, like she’s on the verge of a coma. “The hell’s wrong with you? Is your brain still inside your fucking skull, or did you leave it behind in the fuckin’ hospital?”

Momo holds her head in reflex. Wait, did she really just check if her brain was still there? Silly Momo, of course it’d still be there, if both her cerebral and cerebellar hemispheres and her brainstem aren’t there, then she wouldn’t be standing here, dumbly staring at this angry, attractive man as his abhorrent, stupidly attractive mouth dishes out one verbal abuse after another.

There’s a few seconds where the man stops talking and just stares at her with an unreadable expression in those ruby-red eyes. “Hey, I’m serious, do I gotta take you to the ER or something, Ponytail? I mean, Dr. Ponytail or whatever the fuck your name is.”

He’s beginning to reach out for her shoulder, perhaps in an attempt to steady her, but she moves away. Internally, she tries to shake off her sudden empty-headedness and straightens her posture, in what she hopes is a dignified stance. “I apologize. It’s rude of me to stare at you as you’re doing your job,” she manages to say without slurring.

“Yeah, no shit.” Still, the man’s visibly relieved that she’s finally acting like a responsive human being. She notices his eyes run over her from top-to-bottom, side-to-side. “Hosu General Neurosurgery,” he says flatly, as if making a show of how unimpressed he is of her ‘prestigious’ occupation.

There’s a moment of bewilderment when she wonders how he knew, followed by a mental face-palm as she realizes that she’s still wearing her rumpled scrub suit, still unchanged from the past duty.

“Must have been a long fuckin’ night, huh.” He scowls for a few moments, thinking deeply. Next moment he’s clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Come on,” is all he says before stomping his way into the cafe.

Momo manages a confused “Oh,” before she follows him. The signage still reads ‘Closed’, and the man doesn’t flip it to the other side.

The doctor looks around the cafe. It’s not large, and the ceilings are a little low, but the interiors look thoughtful and cozy and warm and she instantly feels better than she has when she left the hospital. Hues of warm oranges and browns meet her eyes and make her think of autumn. Paintings of what look like fireworks and other miscellaneous explosions hang neatly over the wood-paneled walls. White block letters are displayed at the front counter, spelling N T G C A F E.

Odd name for a cafe, but it fits such an explosive barista. As if to prove her point, the man growls at her to sit her ass down anywhere she likes. She gives him the best poisonous look that her tired visage can muster before she obliges.

She picks one of the desks a few steps away from the bar, and from her spot she once again stares at him as he works. A symphony of odd noises from the machines around him accompany his smooth movements. Momo is able to see the back of his broad shoulders, visibly flexing from within his tight black shirt as he tinkers with something or the other. Sees the intense look of concentration in those striking red eyes as he measures liquids in tiny little graded cups. She wonders passively if she’s ever watched anyone make coffee before, and if anyone should look so attractive making coffee the way he’s doing it then…

Oh, lord. She isn’t just staring. She’s ogling at him. Lecherously. Sleep deprivation hasn’t hit her this hard before. She turns away, hopefully before he notices.

She opens up her book and desperately tries to read something. Or at least, desperately tries to pretend to read something. She reads the same sentence about lymphomas over and over until she sees his lean figure enter her peripheral vision.

He sets a glass on a coaster in front of her wordlessly. “Drink,” is all he says, when she looks up at him questioningly.

If she’s being honest, she wants to tell him that every cell in her body is aching for a cup of warm coffee. A steaming one in a tasteful ceramic mug, as black as her hair, perhaps with a spoonful of muscovado sugar if she feels like it. Something comfortable to gently let her down from the light-headed somnolence taking over her brain.

But the coffee set in front of her is cold, with a fine layer of foam above it. She wonders if it’s actually a glass of beer, until she takes in the sweet, coffee scent. She catches herself on time, thankfully--she almost gave in to the impulse of wrinkling her nose in distaste.

She supposes that the most polite thing to do for this man who’s been cussing at her all morning is to at least take a sip of what seems to be his peace offering. So she does--gently, she takes a sip of the drink, and feels her mind… awaken.

Oh my goodness. As the liquid touches her tongue, she feels all her senses snap awake, like a splash of cold water on a hot day. A hint of sweetness fills her mouth, but she’s able to detect that isn’t from added sugar or dairy. It’s foamy and suave, so much so that Momo can’t help a satisfied noise escape from her throat at the first swallow.

Hearing the noise, the blonde man gives her a self-satisfied smirk. “That good, huh, Dr. Ponytail?”

“Yes--this is marvelous,” she tells him honestly, after daintily patting her upper lip free of foam. “The coffee’s crisp, naturally creamy. If I had to guess, it’s from the nitrogen you infused in the drink? It’s very elegantly done. From my first sip, I’m able to ascertain a higher coffee-to-water ratio, but it’s not bitter at all. The beans that you used are exquisite, if I had to guess, probably Arabica, or something from Southeast Asia… I suppose, given the name of your cafe, this is your house specialty?”

There’s a very small flicker of astonishment she sees in his eyes as she gives her honest appraisal of the coffee, but in the next moment he’s back to being irritatingly smug. “You got that right, brainy. Although I named this joint NTG ‘cause of my quirk, not ‘cause of my coffee.”

Momo hums in understanding. “So… you have a nitroglycerin quirk?”

He holds his hand up, shows off the slight sheen of his sweat over his skin. He causes harmless, noisy sparks to form from it. So that explains the sweet smell that hangs off him. “As for you… let me guess. Something to do with brains, I bet.”

She gives him a little teasing smile. “I don’t have a mentalist quirk, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Nah. You don’t strike me as one of those mindfuckers.” He leers at her intensely, as if reading a particularly engaging thriller. She feels her cheeks redden under his gaze, and feels an impulse to train her eyes elsewhere.

After what seems like forever, he gives a low grumble that tickles her ears. “Might be a materialization quirk, I bet. Or something that lets you manipulate structures and shit.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. He smirks in response. “I’ll take that as a fuck yes. And before you ask, yes, I am a fuckin’ genius, myself.”

She pouts at him. “But how could you have guessed that? I didn’t use my quirk around you. At all. Unless… you’re stalking me?!”

He snaps at her. “Who’s fuckin’ stalking who?! You’re the one who stood staring at me like a mouth-breather!”

Valid comeback, but it doesn’t ease her discomfort. She’s painfully reminded of one of the patients she’d seen as a first year resident--a small, purple-haired guy with a sticky-hair quirk who they needed to see after he was beaten up for peeking in the women’s lockers of a local gym. Just remembering it makes her give in to the impulse to push her seat a little farther from the blonde barista, who has the gall to look as offended as she feels. “You say that, but I’ve been through awful things before. And you aren’t answering my question, Nitro.”

The man clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Geez. Whatever. Fuck.” He rubs his face, as if it’s too early for such bold accusations, and grumbles out, “You got the instinct for breaking down the components of something. That’s what material quirk users tend to do. Believe me, I know a freak who fucks around with fabrics and shit, and every time he touches cloth he’d go on and on about textiles and shit.”

Oh. That makes sense. Momo visibly relaxes and releases a breath from her relieved lungs. “I see… Well… I suppose you aren’t a stalker after all, Barista-san.”

Fabrics and shit -- that’s like her senior consultant, Dr. Hakamata. AKA Best Jeanist, the acclaimed neurosurgeon whose unparalleled genius, strict work ethic, and seamless sutures both inside and outside of the brain, have saved many a person’s life.

Also, the most toxic of all her consultants in the hospital. She thinks he’s brilliant, but just the sight of blue jeans makes her and even Todoroki go into arrhythmia. She tries to shake off that image from her head and focuses instead on the exquisite coffee, and the grumpy blonde sitting in front of her with his teeth bared.

“Yeah. There’s only one stalker in here, and it sure ain’t me.” He says this with an annoyingly self-satisfied smirk though. Before Momo can retort, the bell chimes from the door.

“Bakugou?” A melodic voice calls from the entrance. Momo watches as a smaller woman with dark hair, dark eyes, elongated earlobes, and an asymmetric fringe makes a show of freezing mid-stride. “Um… am I that late? I didn’t know we opened this early on Sundays.”

The man--Bakugou, Momo repeats in her head, smiling a little at how appropriate his name is for his larger-than-life personality--snarls at the employee. Really, can this man speak normally without making any dog-like sounds? “We ain’t open yet, fuckin’ Ears! Just that Ponytail here’s gonna die on the street if I didn’t give her coffee! And to answer your question, you’re fucking late, since I got here before you.”

Despite the verbal lashings, the girl doesn’t seem fazed in any shape or form. She shrugs off her leather jacket, showing off toned arms covered in tattoos, and puts her hand out in front of Momo. “So I guess you’re a special customer, Doc? I’m Jirou, I’m one of the part-timers here. Please ignore my stupid-ass boss. We’re happy to serve you.”

Momo smiles as politely as she can and takes her hand. “I’m Yaoyorozu Momo. But please, call me Momo. I work at Hosu Gen. And don’t worry, I’m enjoying myself here.”

“That’s good. I’m real worried that we won’t get any customers if we let our very polite cafe owner interact with the masses,” she says, nudging her grumpy boss at the shoulder, “so I’m relieved that you’re too spaced-out to be offended by this guy, Yaomomo.”

Momo laughs heartily at her remark. She doesn’t mind also being called Yaomomo--somehow, the playful name fits her, and fits the other girl’s personality for thinking of that. She has a feeling that she’ll like Jirou very much. “Oh, I’m offended enough, but thank you for your concern.”

“Whatever, Dr. Ponytail,” grumbles Bakugou under his breath. He stands up and almost pokes Jirou in her eyes with two fingers. “You. Start prepping the damn place. I gotta go in the office to do accounting shit.”

Jirou sarcastically salutes him like the world’s most reluctant soldier and leaves to dress up for work. Bakugou then turns his ruby-red eyes to Momo. “And you. Wouldn’t stand up if I were you. Just sit your ass down and drink up for as long as you need to.”

“A… all right,” stammers Momo, unsure if what came out of his mouth was an order, a threat, or a concerned plea. She watches as his strong figure moves towards the back of the counter, pulls off the apron over his head -- oh lord, that small bit of his back that she sees when he lifts his arms up are made of pure muscle -- and disappears into the office.

“So, Yaomomo--”

Momo yelps and whips her head to Jirou, who is now dressed in her barista regalia, consisting of a simple white collared shirt, jeans, and a similar navy blue apron. Somehow, the girl’s already got a broom out, ready to prepare for the day, and Momo hasn’t even noticed. Wait, how long has she been staring at Bakugou again?

“I see you’re enjoying the view,” continues Jirou, with an absolutely mischievous grin on her face, one that can only be described as shit-eating, if Momo allowed herself to use such vulgarities.

Momo covers her face in shame. Has she been that obvious? And since when has she picked up this unseemly habit of ogling? “Oh, I’m so embarrassed…” she mumbles. “It’s just, I don’t see that type of thing a lot outside the hospital, so…”

Yes, that must be it. It’s not that the staff of Hosu Gen are filled with unattractive people. Far from it, actually--some tabloids have made a feature about how unfairly attractive the doctors of their hospital are (admittedly, it’s not very good journalism). Todoroki-kun, who doesn’t show his face outside of work, even has a fan page made by his very enthusiastic patients. But seeing them everyday, under harsh and stressful conditions, doesn’t do anything for Momo’s interest in dating or even just a sense of attraction.

Jirou snorts, interrupting her flow of thought. “I get it. Baku-boss isn’t bad looking. Even I, a screaming lesbian, can attest to that as much. It’s just too bad he’s a nuke waiting to happen. Hey, maybe you should check out his brain or something--maybe there’s something there you have to chop off to make him… you know, not like that?”

Momo giggles. “You have a good point, Jirou-san!”

“I fucking heard that--get the fuck back to work, Ears!” bellows Bakugou from the office at the back.

Momo and Jirou look at each other and break out into muffled giggles. “Anyway, he’s right. I should get back to work,” the girl says, brandishing her broom in mock enthusiasm. “I also agree that you probably need to sit down as long as you like, Doc. I can tell that you just went through a tough tour of duty.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah.” Jirou raises her eyebrows and gives another salute. “We’re opening in a bit, so I hope it won’t be too messy. Say bye to us before you go home, okay?”

“All right,” Momo says, giving the blunt barista a little wave before she leaves her alone to do prep work. The young doctor then turns her attention back to the long-neglected neurosurgery textbook in front of her, and continues to struggle through the chapters.

Later, the cafe opens, and people start to mill about all around her. There aren’t many people coming in--it’s a Sunday morning after all, and the cafe is relatively new, so nothing and no-one stops her from nodding off in her seat. She’s finished the nitro cold brew by this time, and as refreshing as it is, all the exhaustion of the past week catches up to her. By what must be the fifteenth time her forehead hits the wooden surface of the desk, she smells caramel near her before she feels a not-so-gentle prod at her back.

She sits up, bleary-eyed, and stares at the explosive barista--no, cafe owner, who’s frowning down at her. “Oi, Ponytail. I think it’s time you went home.”

“Mmhm,” she replies quite eloquently, rubbing her eyes. “I’m not done studying yet…”

“If I let your stubborn ass study any longer, your brain’s gonna bleed out from hitting one of my tables.” He isn’t wearing his work clothes, she realizes, when he pulls her to her feet and grabs the heavy textbook from her. “Oi, Ears. You’re in charge while I’m gone. The place better be standing when I get back.”

“You got it, Baku-boss,” Jirou calls out nonchalantly. She looks up briefly and gives Momo a knowing smile before she writes out a name on a paper cup.

In the next moment, Bakugou is holding on to her arm quite roughly and is dragging her out of her seat. “B-Bakugou-san? What are you doing?” Momo manages to stammer out as he leads them out of the cafe.

“I’m kickin’ you out of the premises, is what,” he tells her gruffly as they reach the street. “Doctor or not, people aren’t allowed to pass out in my damn cafe. I don’t like taking paying customers to the fuckin’ ER. Now, where do you live?”

“I--what?”

He makes an annoyed sound with his tongue and glares at her. “I need to make sure you get home without hurting your ass, Doc. Fuckin’ hell, doctors are the worst when it comes to taking care of themselves…”

There’s some animosity when he says the line about doctors. Momo wonders about this briefly before having second thoughts, and instead saying, “Oh, you don’t have to, really--”

Bakugou glares at her, teeth bared, with all the rage of a hungry wild animal who has had his meat stolen from him. “What, you think I’ll fucking stalk you or some shit like that? I though I’ve established that I’m not interested in you that way--”

“It’s not that,” Momo says, gritting her teeth a little for patience. “It’s just that… we’re literally a stone’s throw away from my home.”

She points to a particularly tall building a block away from where they’re standing--a residential complex built especially for doctors who need to be close to Hosu Gen for emergencies. It’s a little run-down, and the space isn’t as big as Momo is used to, but it’s convenient enough that she can sleep in a few precious minutes longer than if she lived in the Yaoyorozu Manor, which is four stations away.

Seeing the ridiculous proximity to his own cafe, Bakugou scowls and mutters something about her not saying so earlier. “Then get your ass the fuck back home, Dr. Ponytail. Ain’t moving from here til I see you there.”

“All right. That’s nice of you, Bakugou-san.” Momo gives him an amused smile. Odd that this barista, who gave her hell for breathing in the same space as him just a couple of hours before, is suddenly acting like a decent human being. Maybe Jirou’s right--there might be a switch inside his brain somewhere that needs to be rewired or something.

Bakugou only gives an annoyed tch and does a shooing motion. Momo takes this as her cue to start walking.

When she reaches the lobby and turns around, she sees Bakugou from a distance, still hulking about outside his cafe with his hands in his pockets. She gives him a quiet wave of a hand and a grateful smile. He just nods gruffly and goes back to the cafe without another word or gesture, as if she doesn’t exist.

Well. Isn’t he a rude one, thinks Momo as she makes her way to inside the condominium unit with a little annoyed scowl. Yet, when the guard asks her if something good happened today, she’s able to give a little smile and what the guard says is a mysterious twinkle in her eye.

When she wakes up from her duty-induced coma in the next sixteen hours, she makes up her mind to visit the NTG Cafe again.

#bnha fic #bnha rarepair month #bakugou katsuki #yaoyorozu momo #bakugou x yaoyorozu #bakumomo #cafe/hospital au #first part of the slowest of burns so nothing happens yet omg #i wanna finish this can i please have extra hours

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