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Class A’s first year at U.A. was a busy one: being threatened with expulsion on day one, being attacked at the USJ, stepping into the spotlight at their first sports festival, being attacked again at training camp, getting used to living together in dorms, work studies, getting certified for provisional licenses, internships, more fights with the League of Villains.
All in all, it isn’t any wonder that no romantic relationships were formed in the crucible of that first year. However, by the second year—after they’d all formed bonds and had a moment to breathe—couples began to emerge.
First were Todoroki and Yaoyorozu. They’d grown closer in the wake of Todoroki’s trauma after he was forced to confront the fact that his brother Touya was none other than Dabi.
Then with the addition of Shinsou to Class A, another was established when he and Kaminari became an item.
Slowly, more and more puzzle pieces seemed to be falling together. Kirishima and Ashido. Shoji and Tokoyami. Jirou with Kaminari and Shinsou.
Even new friendships solidified. After Shigaraki’s defeat, Deku and Bakugou had become rivals on the friendlier side of the spectrum. Not to say that the two were buddy-buddy, but it did lead to the lines between ‘Dekusquad’ and ‘Bakusquad’ blurring.
It wasn’t strange to see Bakugou and Sato cooking together, with Uraraka and Kaminari cheering them on from a safe distance, openly drooling.
Studying was a group effort. It turned out that Kirishima, Ashido, and Kaminari responded a lot better to Yaoyorozu’s patient tutelage and Iida’s straightforward instruction than Deku’s muttering tangents or Bakugou’s snappish demands.
Uraraka had even sought out Bakugou for a rematch of their first-year sports festival so she could test herself and they’d never stopped their weekly spars after that. This led to her being his “plus one” to band practices. Saturday nights were reserved for him, Yaoyorozu, Tokoyami, Kaminari, and Jirou to “rock out,” as Denki put it.
Since Todoroki, Shoji, and Shinsou were allowed to be there as supportive significant others, Bakugou quickly invited Uraraka but only due to the fact that she wasn’t “fucking extra” about his manly talents like Shitty Hair. Besides, Kirishima couldn’t be separated from his own clingy-ass girlfriend long enough to sit through a song.
And if red eyes wandered to brown eyes making sure she saw the cool stick flip he did, no one would think twice.
One March afternoon Uraraka bounced up to him as they both headed to the gym after class. “Can you keep a secret, Bakugou?” she asked, looping her arm through Bakugou’s in a familiar gesture.
His breath hitched as he stared down into her earnest, brown eyes. “Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?”
“I confessed to Deku yesterday and we started dating!”
Uraraka felt Bakugou tense up and she rolled her eyes, knowing that his and Deku’s relationship still wasn’t perfect.
“Why is it a secret? Everyone knows you’re a sucker for him,” he shot back, quickly turning his head in the other direction.
“We decided we want to keep it just between us for a while since we know how everyone will react. Remember how everyone clapped whenever Sho and Momo entered the room together that first month? Or how Aizawa gave us an hour lecture on the consequences of conception for fledgling heroes when he found Ei and Mina in the locker room? Deku doesn’t want any distractions, especially since we’re heading into our last year.”
“You’re not a fucking distraction.” Bakugou turned his head back to her, searing the statement into her skin with his gaze.
“We’ll see,” she said in return. She moved, catapulting herself forward with her quirk and laughing as he stood there for a moment before launching forward with a precise blast to catch up to her as they raced to their destination.
“Oi, you sneaky shit!” he shouted after her.
✨ 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 ✨
By third year, Sero and Asui had become a couple, as well as Iida and Hatsume. The other couples and throuples were still going strong, save one.
The promise of an internship in America was an understandable, inevitable strain on Deku and Uraraka’s relationship.
“Of course I told him he should go!” Uraraka grunted as she aimed an open-palmed hit at Bakugou during one of their spars. “How could I ask him to give that up just for me?”
“Tch, then you’re an idiot. If you want him to stay, you should fucking tell him the truth,” Bakugou bit back, easily dodging her attacks. He used the momentum to segue into his own swing. “Remind me again why you’re talking my ear off about this sappy shit?” Why me?
She muttered, “Because no one else knows about us still.” Uraraka shifted in her place. “Which honestly might be a good thing now,” she added bitterly, skirting around his mid-range explosion.
“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it. If he can’t man the fuck up and commit, you two dipshits need to have a different conversation,” he gritted out, shaking out his arms from overuse of his quirk. They’d been at it for the last hour, focusing on endurance.
“Why deal with the PR nightmare of going public right before we go long-distance? He wants to focus on his goals,” Uraraka tossed back, lowering into a stance that indicated she was going to charge in for a grapple move. “And so do I.”
He just leveled her with a look that told her he was unimpressed by both her question and her maneuvers.
✨ 🌘 🌑 🌒 ✨
Graduation came and went, with Bakugou still the unwilling secret-keeper of Pink Cheeks and Deku’s relationship.
Despite not seeing each other on the daily basis that was life in the dorms, Class A didn’t really experience much separation because they were always running into each other on patrols and teaming up to fight villains.
This was with the exception of Deku, who had gone to America after all, and Asui, who had taken a seaside marine gig. Froggy and Tape Face had an amicable, mutual breakup.
Meeting up with Uraraka on the field was pretty common, especially when specialized quirks were required. Bakugou couldn’t count how many times Floaty had been called to the site of a disaster or crime in his jurisdiction for an emergency—collapsed infrastructure, aircraft malfunctions, etc. She was a fucking versatile hero in high demand. Meanwhile, he was just there to “blast the baddies” and hopefully propel himself to the top in the process.
Usually while they were both getting stitched up or filling out paperwork or in between press conferences, she would update him on the highs and lows of her across-the-sea relationship with the Damn Nerd (because he was still the only one fucking graced with the knowledge).
Unfortunately, this included when things took a nosedive for the last time. Not even five months after the Broccoli left, he broke things off by telling Uraraka that he didn’t want to “put her through” being with him. And for once, Bakugou agreed with him.
That was the one time that they saw each other outside of work. Uraraka showed up on his doorstep at the ungodly hour of 10 pm, stormed into his kitchen and helped herself to the nearest thing in the fridge—leftover takanotsume—while she ranted about how Deku was actually right because she had wasted so much time and energy on their relationship that she should’ve been devoting to her own career and it was time to stop.
Of course, this revelation was made while she was crying from both her emotions and the overwhelming spice of his cooking. Uraraka began to fan herself frantically in her distracted agitation and before long she was grasping angrily at the old All Might t-shirt she was wearing, swearing that it was “too fucking hot” and she didn’t want anything of “ his” holding her back anymore. At which point she promptly ripped it in half and stood before Bakugou shirtless.
Though she had on a sports bra and leggings—a regular sparring outfit—Bakugou averted his eyes from her toned midriff and the way the high waistline accentuated the round curve of her hips. Something about the gesture and the intimate setting had his skin crawling. He always had been shit with feelings. He didn’t know what to fucking do with his own, let alone other people’s.
Uraraka stood there, puffing, with her hands on her hips. “Well?!”
Bakugou brought his eyes up from the floor. “What?”
“Aren’t you going to say anything?!”
“What do you want me to say?” He couldn’t fucking think straight.
“I don’t know! Something!”
He knew what he wanted to say: Put on a fucking shirt before I do something I’ll regret.
Instead he said, “You’re better than this.” You deserve more.
She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “ Thanks.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“I don’t know what you want from me! I never asked for any of this!” He walked past her into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. He was sweating, like he always did when he was agitated. “You think I want to know the ins and outs of you and fucking Deku ?”
Uraraka reeled back on her heels before slowly nodding once. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to. I just thought we were good enough friends. Guess I was wrong. Won’t make that mistake again.”
Then she was gone.
✨ 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 ✨
Bakugou didn’t talk to her aside from what was strictly required of them in the line of duty after that. Or rather, she didn’t talk to him and he didn’t know what to say to mend the bridge he had burned.
Until they were all invited to ‘the wedding of Izuku Midoriya and Melissa Shield with dinner and dancing to follow’ seven months later.
David Shield had been the one to host Deku while he interned in America and, of course, he and the blonde nerd had become inseparable while working on upgrades for his hero suit, so Bakugou wasn’t exactly surprised.
Bakugou hadn’t even known they were engaged. His usual source of intel was not currently on speaking terms with him after all. He imagined that said source had not taken either piece of news well and he felt like shit knowing that he had left her alone with that. Only because no one else knew she even needed the moral support to begin with, obviously.
Which was why, if he was being fucking honest with himself for once, he rsvp’d and found himself sitting at a table in the back at the reception. To onlookers, he was watching the newlyweds fawn over each other like a couple of idiots from behind his drink just like every other lonely sap.
In actuality, his gaze kept slipping back to a familiar figure a few seats away. She was stiff, ankles crossed, shoulders bare in a pale pink sheath dress with a black belt that was the inverse of her hero costume, hair perfectly coiled into a loose bundle at the nape of her neck. He wanted to reach out and tug, make her hair float out around her pink cheeks, and draw that expression he loved onto her face. The one that meant she was ready for a fight.
Before he could give in to the temptation, Alien Queen and Pikachu came giggling over from the open bar to their table of singles—him, Cheeks, Tail-for-Brains, Doctor Doolittle, and Beefcake.
“Chaaaakoooochiiiiiip!”
He watched Uraraka stiffen impossibly further as if she’d been caught red-handed, then relax as she brought her hand to her neck to rub in that signature gesture of hers.
The two buffoons babbled on insensibly about random shit, unable to sense Uraraka’s discomfort. Were they blind?
Eventually, the conversation turned. “This is so crazy! Everyone always kinda thought you and Deku would end up together,” Kaminari confessed with a hiccup.
Ashido quickly elbowed him in the rib, but the damage was done.
“Haha, yeah! Well, life is funny that way!” Uraraka replied, smiling so wide that her eyes scrunched up, hiding the swirl within them. But Bakugou saw the way her shoulders tensed up.
Pinky had the sense to usher Refried Brains to his fiancés before he could emit any more word vomit. Or vomit of any kind, really.
Not long after, Uraraka rose from the table with her shawl and clutch in hand, excusing herself to everyone but him. He followed her wordlessly outside of the venue, grabbing his coat from the attendant. His reason for being here was leaving.
Bakugou found her shivering on the curb in the early March air as she waited for a cab. She always was too optimistic about spring weather. He sidled up beside her, saying nothing. He felt her eyes on him but resisted the urge to look down. She had to be the one to break the silence.
It didn’t last long.
“Didn’t think you would come,” Uraraka said with a sniffle.
Bakugou shrugged.
He saw her fidget with her black velvet choker in his peripheral. “I’m really happy for them.”
He finally looked at her with a raised brow at the obvious lie.
Her own eyebrows knit together defiantly in response. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” he responded, turning back to stare out at the afternoon’s fading light.
A moment went by before he heard Uraraka softly sigh out, “She can match him.”
Then she was breaking and Bakugou did what he should have that night at his apartment—he pulled her into his chest and let her cry. Her arms curled inside his coat and he shivered. Her tears soaked into his button-up, but all he could think about was how she smelled like strawberries.
Bakugou rested his chin on her head while glaring at the valet who was trying to ascertain whether or not to send away the cab Uraraka called. The guy got the hint and waved it on.
“I wasn’t enough, I wasn’t what he needed,” came her soft, desperate sob. Bakugou could tell she was trying to reign herself in and the effort itself caused her to fail miserably.
He pulled her in tighter and pressed his cheek to her forehead. Angel, you’re too much.
Bakugou couldn’t seem to find his tongue and even if he could, he wasn’t sure he trusted it, so he just held her against him.
After a while, she sobered up a bit and tried to break their prolonged hug. “Y-you don’t have to… I know I said we weren’t—“
“Shut up, Cheeks,” he interrupted, voice muffled in her hair, not budging an inch.
Uraraka clung to him for balance and huffed, blowing air up at him. Bakugou gave a low chuckle and released her to move slightly away. He slid his coat off his shoulders and slung it over her, where it fell to her knees.
Before she could protest, Bakugou held a finger in front of her lips and said, “Let’s go get some mochi. My treat.”
Uraraka’s mouth quirked up on one side as she eyed him. Then she just nodded, taking his disproportionately large hand in her small, padded one, and let him guide her into the brisk spring evening.