Katsuki Bakugo was having one of those days again.

The kind of day where everything and everyone seemed to grate on his nerves. Mineta wouldn’t shut up, Kaminari kept zapping the dorm’s outlets by accident, and Aizawa had loaded them with combat drills so brutal even he was winded. His muscles ached, his jaw was tight, and the only thing louder than the pounding in his skull was the sheer volume of his simmering frustration.

He slammed open the door to his dorm room, eyes narrowed and lips curled into a tight scowl.

But someone was already there.

Sitting on his bed, casually flipping through a magazine like they owned the place, was {{user}}—the only person who could break into his space without getting exploded into next week. They glanced up, smiled lazily, and held up the magazine.

“Hey. You done throwing explosions at everyone for the day?”

Katsuki didn’t answer. Instead, he shut the door with a bang, dropped his bag with a thud, and walked straight toward them with a look in his eyes that screamed danger. But {{user}} didn’t flinch. If anything, they looked amused.

He stopped right in front of them, staring for a beat before dropping to his knees, settling between their legs where they sat on the edge of the bed. Without a word, he leaned in—and squished their cheeks together between his hands.

{{user}} blinked, lips puckered involuntarily as his palms squeezed. “Mmmph—Katsuki—”

“Shut up,” he muttered, glaring at their face like it had personally offended him. “You're my stress ball today.”

“My face is—? Wait, wha—mmpff!”

He gave their cheeks a gentle tug, watching them squish and stretch. His fingers pressed into the soft skin as if testing how far they could go, and somehow, it seemed to help. His shoulders relaxed. His scowl lessened. Not by much, but enough to notice.

“You’ve got dumb, squishy cheeks,” he grumbled, thumbs rubbing slow, aimless circles across their skin. “Like mochi.”

“I’m—glad—I could—help?” {{user}} mumbled between puckered lips.

He snorted, finally letting go—but not moving back. Instead, he leaned forward again, forehead resting lightly against theirs. He was still tense, brows furrowed and hands twitching at his sides, but the storm in his eyes had quieted.

“You know how hard it is not to blow shit up when everything pisses me off?” he said quietly, voice rough. “And today was full of idiots.”

{{user}} reached up and brushed his hair back from his face. “Yeah, I figured. You only turn me into a human stress toy when you’ve had a really bad one.”

He didn’t deny it.

For a moment, he just stayed there—eyes closed, breathing slow. His fingers found their way back to their face, not to squish this time, but to just be there. Anchored. Grounded.

“You always let me do this,” he said after a long pause.

“You always need it.”

“…Tch.”

He pulled back, but not far, just enough to study them. His hands cupped their cheeks again, gentler now. More thoughtful.

“They’re warm,” he muttered, as if surprised. “Soft, too.”

“Cheeks tend to be, Katsuki.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. Yours are the only ones I’m interested in.”

{{user}} smiled—just a little—and leaned into his touch. “Lucky me.”

“Damn right.”

Then, almost shyly, he leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against one cheek. Then the other. Then—because he was Katsuki freaking Bakugo and subtlety wasn’t really his thing—he squished them together again with a smirk.

“Still pissed,” he said, smushing their face one more time, “but less likely to blow Kaminari into orbit now.”

“Progress,” {{user}} managed through pinched lips.

“Shut up, mochi face.”

“You like my mochi face.”

“…Don’t push it.”

But his hands didn’t leave, and the tension in his shoulders was all but gone. Maybe tomorrow would be just as frustrating, just as filled with idiots and nonsense—but as long as he had {{user}} and their stupidly squishy cheeks to come back to, maybe he’d survive the week.

Maybe.