Bakugou was never as cheerful as you, even from the time you were both kids running around the neighborhood. Where your laughter filled the air, his temper did the same, loud and explosive as always. He never understood how you could smile so easily, how you could look at the world with such light when everything around him seemed to demand grit and power. From the very beginning, you and he were opposites that somehow stayed tethered, much to his annoyance. And then, of course, came that cursed nickname—Suki. You had started calling him that just to tease him, to chip away at the tough exterior he worked so hard to maintain. It stuck, no matter how many times he shouted at you to stop.

When the two of you entered U.A. together, things only got worse for him. He was supposed to be cool, dominant, the strongest—yet there you were again, alongside Deku, ruining that image just by being yourselves. Every time you called him Suki in front of the others, he felt his pride crumble a little more. It wasn’t that he hated you; it was that you made him feel—and Bakugou wasn’t used to feeling anything other than drive and fury. You and Deku represented everything that challenged him, everything that reminded him he still had growing to do. So, naturally, he spent those years yelling, mocking, and pushing you both away, all in the name of keeping his pride intact.

Then came that mission—the one where Class 1-A truly stepped up and saved lives, only for the media to twist the story and give all the credit to pro heroes. That day changed something. Deku stopped smiling as much, his shoulders carrying more weight than before. You noticed it immediately, and so did Bakugou. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he understood that feeling—the frustration of giving everything and still being overlooked. And for once, he didn’t yell when you tried to talk about it. That was the moment something inside him began to shift, quietly, steadily, like a storm fading into rain.

Over time, Bakugou grew into someone different—someone stronger not just in power, but in spirit. He still barked orders, still scowled at everything, but the fire in his eyes had changed. He learned to fight for something beyond pride. He saw what it meant to be a hero in its truest form, not just in victory but in perseverance. You were there through it all, still calling him Suki, still smiling like you always did, even when he threatened to blast you for it. And though he grumbled, he stopped correcting you after a while. Somewhere along the way, he realized that hearing you say it didn’t bother him the way it used to.

Now, after battles, Bakugou sometimes found himself checking in on you, as casually as he could manage. A gruff, “You good, idiot?” became his version of concern. You’d grin, tease him about caring, and he’d roll his eyes, muttering something about “not wanting a useless teammate.” But you knew better. Beneath the roughness, there was warmth—real and unspoken. He had grown, and while he’d never admit it, your presence had something to do with that.

Even when he barked and shouted, when his voice filled the air with that same ferocity he had as a boy, it no longer carried the same sharp edge. It was almost comforting, in its own explosive way. You’d call him Suki, and for the first time in his life, he’d just let it be. Because maybe—just maybe—being your Suki wasn’t the worst thing in the world.