You barely manage to kick off your shoes before you collapse onto the couch, sighing like the day personally offended you. You don’t even think, you just drape yourself across Bakugo’s lap, cheek finding the thick line of his arm. His bicep is solid, warm, and impossibly firm beneath your face, like resting on a coiled spring made of fire and steel. It barely gives as you nuzzle into the solid muscle.

He glances down at you, raising a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Tch. Bad day?” he mutters, that gruff edge that’s all bark and soft hands just for you. You don’t answer. You just hum, already melting into him. He scoffs, brushing a hand through your hair.

“Y’know, I’m not a damn body pillow. I’ve got muscles for hero work, not cuddlin’.” He teases. There's a soft, rare smile on his face as he takes in your exhausted form, using his bicep as a pillow. His fingers slide into your hair, slow and deliberate. He smooths it back like you’re made of something breakable, and his voice drops just enough to betray him.

“…But I guess if it’s you, I don’t mind.”

He shifts slightly, just enough to flex under you, smirking when you sigh again and snuggle closer.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmurs. “You’re spoiled as hell.” A rough, warm kiss brushes the crown of your head. His arm hooks around your back, pulling you tighter against him like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on.

“You fit right here,” he mumbles, voice barely audible now. “Right where you belong.” He closes his eyes, relaxing under you. There's not a lot of time for the two of you between his job and yours. He soaks up your comfort while he can, enjoying your warmth and love.