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Summary
Izuku was no cook; but he went about cooking the way he went about everything: wholeheartedly, and totally determined. Just in the short while they’d lived together, Izuku had indulged the building maternal instincts in his chest and took over most of the meal planning and preparation. Bakugou had complained at first, his food was better than Izuku’s, but his complaints stopped the first time he saw a topless Izuku wrapped in a peach-colored apron, wet patches dampening the cloth over his leaking nipples. It was something he wanted to see every day. They burnt dinner that night and fucked on the couch, Izuku still wearing the apron.
But today’s bento bore the fruit of practice. It looked, and smelled, delicious. Soup dumplings bobbed in reddish broth. Unlike Izuku, and like his sire, the pup liked spice. Bakugou thrilled at the reflection of himself in their pup.
Bakugou picked up his spoon and chopsticks, eyeing Izuku through the trails of rising stream. Of course, Izuku had delivered it right off the stove.
Bakugou’s stomach twisted with arousal. “I’m going to eat this,” he pointed his chopsticks at his lunch, then stabbed the ends in Izuku’s direction, “Then I’m going to eat you out. Got it?”
Series
- Part 3 of not to me, not if it’s you