From The Ashes | Bakugo x Fem! Reader

𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉

𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘐𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘢𝘮𝘦

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As the days turned into weeks, Bakugo found himself stuck with (Y/N) for nearly everything: combat exercises, quirk management, study sessions—even the mundane parts of hero training. When Aizawa had first assigned him to be her "mentor," Bakugo had been beyond annoyed. "She can figure it out on her own, or she doesn't belong here," he'd said, earning only a raised brow from Aizawa and a flat, "Then make sure she does."

(Y/N) noticed every sigh, every glare, every slight shake of his head whenever she stumbled over something he deemed simple. She couldn't help but feel his skepticism looming over her every move, yet that doubt only seemed to fuel her. She pushed herself harder, determined to match his pace, even if it meant enduring his constant grumbling and side-eye glances. Bakugo might have been relentless, but she wouldn't let his judgment break her resolve.

In combat training, he didn't hold back, barely allowing her a moment to catch her breath. "If you're tired already, then maybe this course isn't for you," he'd say, crossing his arms with that familiar scowl. But for all his harsh words, he wasn't dismissing her outright anymore. If she faltered, he'd jump in with a grudging, "Move your foot like this," or "Keep your center of gravity low." He'd still make it seem like he was doing her a favor he didn't particularly care to give, but (Y/N) couldn't help but notice he'd spend an extra minute showing her proper form or correcting her grip.

Their study sessions were no different. Bakugo had a tendency to take over, spreading his notes across the table in the library, talking more to himself than to her about different strategies and tactics. At first, he'd act irritated whenever she asked a question, giving her a "figure it out" look. But, grudgingly, he'd flip his notebook toward her, pointing to the parts he thought she'd been too slow to pick up on. "Not that hard to follow," he'd mutter, even as he scribbled out a more detailed explanation. And if she thanked him, he'd just wave it off as if her gratitude was somehow an insult.

Despite himself, Bakugo found moments where he'd catch her analyzing something from a new angle, piecing together the puzzle of her quirk control in ways he hadn't expected. He'd scoff whenever she'd pull off something small, but undeniably challenging. In those brief moments, he was almost impressed, though he'd never admit it. His skepticism toward her was still there, but slowly, he was warming to the idea that maybe she wasn't just a "newbie" who Aizawa brought here by mistake.

During a particularly intense training exercise, Bakugo pushed her harder than ever. They were tasked with rescuing "hostages" while simultaneously fending off a group of mock villains. It was a drill designed to overwhelm, to throw students into a panic as they balanced multiple objectives. As expected, (Y/N) kept pace with him, holding her own against the barrage of obstacles.

"Don't fall behind," he snapped, glancing over his shoulder as they maneuvered through simulated debris. "You're gonna slow me down."

She grit her teeth, ignoring the ache in her muscles as she moved with him, matching his pace step-for-step. "I'm not slowing down," she shot back, voice steady despite the strain. To his surprise, she kept up—barely, but she was there, holding her ground and adjusting as she went. Bakugo huffed, momentarily thrown by her resilience, a flicker of something like grudging respect in his eyes. He'd been half-expecting her to give up, to falter, to show that she didn't have what it took. But there she was, digging in and keeping pace.

Later, after they'd completed the drill, he watched as she sat in the common area with her notes spread out, eyes scanning through the details of their training session. Bakugo hesitated, hovering nearby before finally giving in and joining her. "Your footwork was sloppy on the second obstacle," he said, as if his mere presence there was a favor. "You won't last if you don't fix it."

She looked up, a little surprised but nodding seriously. "Got it. Show me what I did wrong?"

He rolled his eyes, acting as if her request was bothersome, but still pushed back his chair to demonstrate, breaking down each step with surprising precision. It was different from how the teachers explained things; his way was less formal, more instinctual, and somehow it helped her see where she'd gone wrong.

As days went by, their interactions became more layered. Bakugo's harshness remained, but it had shifted slightly—he was less abrasive, more quietly observant. He'd watch her run through drills with a hint of something like curiosity, as if trying to understand what exactly she was capable of. If she did well, he'd offer a quick nod of approval, though he'd follow it with, "Don't get cocky. You're still behind." If she struggled, he'd be the first to call her out, but he'd also be the first to point out what she needed to adjust.

The bond forming between them was unspoken and a bit frayed at the edges, built on Bakugo's constant scowling and her stubborn resilience. He was warming to her presence, though he'd never openly acknowledge it. There were still days where he'd grumble about how "some people don't have what it takes" within earshot, but he wasn't pushing her away quite as hard anymore. He was still skeptical, still quick to criticize, but now his criticism came with an unspoken challenge, as if daring her to prove him wrong again and again.

And (Y/N), in her own quiet way, accepted that challenge.

Over the next few weeks, Bakugo and (Y/N) became an almost permanent pair, sparring in the gym, running drills in class, and testing each other's patience at every turn. He was still sharp with his critiques, unrelenting in his expectations, but (Y/N) could feel his initial skepticism start to shift, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Again," he grunted, watching her attempt a sequence he'd demonstrated. She followed his lead, throwing herself into each strike, noticing how he'd watch her footwork, occasionally nodding almost in approval.

By the end of one particularly brutal drill session, he paused as if to say something, then shrugged it off with his usual scowl. "Not bad," he muttered reluctantly.

(Y/N) gave a small nod, catching his fleeting expression before he looked away. It was just a tiny crack in his guard, but it was there. And somehow, that small acknowledgment was enough.

As they packed up, Bakugo glanced over, his expression hard to read. "Just 'cause you're here doesn't mean you're anything special," he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Don't get comfortable."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Didn't plan on it."

He gave a short, approving grunt. His eyes lingered for just a second before he turned sharply and started walking off. "Keep up, or don't bother," he called back, barely glancing over his shoulder.

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