MHA smut

Bad Taste In Good Men

"Yeah, I know," Bakugou said. "But I fuckin' hate coffee and hot drinks."

"Well, what about a matcha smoothie?" Deku turned to check that his pot of almost potato and leek soup wasn't edging past a simmer, absently stirring with a wooden spoon as he spoke. "I know a good one with dates and banana. Good fiber, natural sugars, caffeinated, all that. Won't tear through your kidneys before you're thirty."

"Can you stop thinking about my fucking internal organs," Bakugou said, but he didn't sound particularly pissed, just exasperated as he snorted a short laugh. He tapped the counter twice, like some kind of morse code of agreement as he nodded and started to exit the room.

"Make me that thing, Deku," he called lazily over his shoulder, his voice all proprietary and practically princely. "I need a shower."

That left Deku staring after Bakugou's big, wide back and shoulders. Wondering.

"Well," he breathed out to himself as he returned to the soup. He needed to blend it and cool it, ready for reheating and serving when the Bakugous returned from work. They weren't even up for their breakfast yet, but apparently their son was an early riser.

"Well," Deku said again, trying to shake himself off. "That was something."

By the time Deku blended his soup and doled them out in gallon containers for the fridge and freezer, then prepared the matcha smoothie to sit in a tall glass on the pristine counter, Bakugou was back.

He smelled zesty and fresh, dressed in a black hoodie and matching sweats with vibrant red chrysanthemums embroidered on the chest and up the side of one leg. His feet were still bare and his hair was bronze and wet, unstyled as he padded into the room and opened a cabinet. Deku watched under the guise of pouring himself a coffee as Bakugou placed one of those cheap plastic protein shakes on the counter, haphazardly dumped the smoothie inside, ignoring the splatters and overfill dripping on the marble, and screwed on the lid.

With hot, garnet eyes on Deku, Bakugou lifted the cup and licked the side of it, then flattened his pink tongue along his wrist, where some of the green, thick drink had dripped.

He didn't say thank you, but he vaguely gestured with the cup in some weird cheers to Deku, and promptly walked out of the room.

"Well, shit," Deku said as he grabbed a paper towel to clean up the mess.

The Bakugou son was a cocky dickhead and Deku was going to have a hard fucking time if that guy planned on sticking around.

Not fifteen minutes later, Mitsuki swept into the kitchen wearing a fitted sweater dress in poppy red-orange, her black velvet boots climbing right over her knees to cling at her thighs, her tasteful gold jewelry glinting at ears and neck and slim fingers.

"Good morning, handsome," she greeted him with her usual rushed cheer. She had a way of storming a room like a soldier, sniping everyone with a few choice words and gestures to have a person on their knees in the face of her imperious presence, and evacuating just as quickly, onto greater things. "No time to sit and eat this morning, I've got to run. Smells excellent in here. I'm already thinking about dinner. Make me a coffee to go, why don't you, darling."

"Good morning," Deku said, cheered by her presence. The woman was constantly firing on all cylinders and now that Deku had briefly interacted with her son, he could see their resemblance like the sun and a burning comet caught in its gravity. "Parfaits are in the fridge. I packed a few in tupperware in case you had to run. I'll get your coffee."

"You're a star," Mitsuki said, sounding distracted as she pulled a multi-layered, artful parfait from the fridge with one hand and bringing her phone near her face to scroll and rapidly type with a manicured thumb.