#📖・kimmie’s fic zone 📖

[kimmie2me]

# 03. Unexpected Partners

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.....

If you’d had a time machine, you wouldn’t use it for anything noble or selfless—no epic rescue of historical figures, no preventing major disasters. Nope. You’d drag yourself back a month just to shake your wide-eyed, naïve self by the shoulders and scream, "Don’t do it. Find another department. Any other department. Join traffic control. Herd cats. Just don’t end up here."

Because here was Bakugou personal circle of hell. The past few weeks felt like a marathon in which you’d been tripped at the starting line, dragged halfway, and then left to sprint uphill. In the rain. With weighted vests. There was no mercy in Bakugou’s world, only adrenaline and barked orders that carried enough force to knock the confidence right out of your chest.

You learned, fast and furiously, that he wasn’t just tough. He was ruthless, exacting, and demanded perfection with all the warmth of a drill sergeant who hadn’t had coffee. And coffee—you’d learned the hard way—was something that could make or break a morning. There was The Incident when you dared bring him a cup with too much sugar, only to receive a sharp glare and a grumbled, “What, you think I’m ten?” The next thirty minutes were dedicated to sprint drills so intense your calves whimpered for days. All you wanted to do is figure out what the hell his favorite coffee is! Yes, you're still trying..

And yes, you're still failing.

Bakugou’s teaching methods were a combination of trial by fire and sheer terror. He wasn’t interested in your excuses or half-assed answers. If you messed up, you’d know—usually by the clipped way he’d shout, “Run it again,” or the eye twitch that signaled he was two seconds from ripping the folder out of your hands and doing it himself.

It wasn’t just the shouting, though that was certainly a staple. It was the moments he’d watch you with that hawk-eyed stare, arms crossed and expression set like granite. There were no second chances when Bakugou was breathing down your neck; you either got it right or got ready to count pavement cracks while doing your punishment laps. You hadn’t done so many wall sits since training, thighs quivering like jelly by the time he allowed you to stand.

And it wasn’t just you. Anyone who dared step into his path found themselves swept up in the tornado of his expectations. It made surviving the day feel like a badge of honor, if surviving meant stumbling into your apartment with barely enough strength to fling your shoes off.

One time, you’d accidentally jumbled up a lead in a report, swapping suspect descriptions that Bakugou caught in record time. He’d smacked the paper onto your desk with an incredulous look. “D’you even read this before handin’ it in?” And just like that, your next hour was filled with circuits and resistance bands that made your arms feel like spaghetti. “C’mon, rookie, or should I start callin’ you noodle arms?” The jab stuck, and you groaned whenever he brought it up.

Bakugou’s wrath was tempered only by moments of begrudging silence, the rare instances where you met his eyes and thought you saw a flicker of something softer, only to blink and find it gone. Those moments would have been comforting if they weren’t fleeting, crushed by his next tirade over a misplaced document or a missed clue.

But just as you’d started thinking maybe you’d bitten off more than you could chew, a case dropped that pulled everyone into high gear: a string of burglaries, each more calculated than the last. No dumb luck, no rookie mistakes would fly with this one. Bakugou’s tension was palpable, a crackle in the air whenever he entered the room. He’d pace with his hands shoved into his pockets, muttering curses and theories under his breath like the case had insulted him personally.

Your nerves spiked with each passing day. Bakugou was more relentless than ever, orders flung out faster than you could grab your notebook. And if you so much as hesitated? He’d turn, eyes gleaming like a predator scenting blood. “Keep up, or get out.”

By the time you wrapped up that week’s legwork, you weren’t sure whether to feel accomplished or absolutely wrecked. Bakugou had pushed every ounce of strength and patience from your body, leaving you hollowed out and aching. Yet, for some reason you’d yet to understand, you kept coming back, stepping into the precinct with a quiet determination that only grew as his glare followed you like a challenge.

Time machine, you reminded yourself, scribbling down notes that were half-legible from your shaking hand. You’d go back, find yourself, and whisper conspiratorially, Choose desk duty. It’ll save your soul.

But you didn’t have a time machine. You had Bakugou. And you were starting to suspect he might just make a detective out of you, whether you survived him or not.

.....

The burglaries had started small—a string of break-ins that barely made the back page of the city’s morning paper. But each successive hit grew bolder, more precise, like the thief was taunting the force. By the time it hit their radar, Chief Yagi’s usually calm expression had hardened to steel, and even the more seasoned detectives were exchanging wary glances.

For you, it meant one thing: Bakugou was operating at maximum intensity, his usual scowl deepened to something almost carved from stone. It was an energy you could feel in the air, like the static before a lightning strike. And with that, the pace of your life turned from grueling to almost impossible. Long days blurred into longer nights, the fluorescent lights above burning into your skull as you combed through reports with squinting eyes and a splitting headache. The precinct buzzed with anticipation and tension, everyone bracing for the storm.

You sat at your desk, meticulously cross-referencing suspect details when Bakugou stormed in, clipboard in one hand and the other pressed into his hip like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it entirely. He glanced around the room, eyes sharp as the edge of a blade, before they settled on you. The air shifted.

“Rookie,” he barked, and you jumped, nearly dropping your pen. He didn’t wait for you to recover before launching into his rapid-fire speech. “Listen up, ‘cause I’m only sayin’ this once. The pattern’s changed. Our thief’s not just hittin’ high-value targets anymore—they’re goin’ after places with tech infrastructure. Means they’re not just lookin’ for loot—they’re diggin’ for data, and if we don’t get ahead, we’re gonna be two steps behind with our heads up our—”

He paused, jaw tightening like he was biting back an insult, and then leaned down, bringing himself to eye level. His eyes were an inferno, daring you to miss a word. “You listening?”

You nodded so fast it was a wonder your neck didn’t cramp, scribbling down notes as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did—at least, your peace of mind surely did. Bakugou’s tone wasn’t just demanding; it was drilled into your skull, searing in its urgency.

“Good. Now, look—”

“Oh! Hey, Kacchan!!”

The voice sliced through the room like a record scratch, shattering Bakugou’s hyper-focused tension into a thousand jagged pieces. He physically recoiled, straightening up so fast you’d think he’d been stung. Your pen stilled mid-word, eyes flicking between him and the newcomer with an internal "?!?!?!?!" blaring in neon letters.

Kacchan?

There, standing at the threshold of the precinct like he’d wandered in by accident, was Detective Midoriya Izuku, all soft smiles and bright green eyes. He gave a little wave as if Bakugou wasn’t seconds away from launching into orbit.

“Kacchan, hi! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Midoriya’s tone was impossibly cheerful, and the nickname fell from his lips like it was a greeting between best friends. But from the way Bakugou’s hands twitched, it may as well have been a bomb dropped into a room full of dynamite.

Bakugou’s response was instantaneous, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “What the hell’re you doin’ here, Deku?”

The silence that followed was suffocating, punctuated only by the distant hum of computers and a detective a few desks over clearing their throat awkwardly. Your heart thumped in your chest as if it was trying to escape the awkwardness, and you glanced at Midoriya, expecting him to shrink back. But he didn’t—his smile wavered, sure, but he held his ground, eyes earnest.

“I’m here to help with the case,” Midoriya explained, and it took everything in you not to whip your head around. Help? With your case?

Bakugou’s reaction was as explosive as you expected. “Help? You—”

But before he could finish, a voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough, boys.” Chief Yagi’s voice was firm as he walked in, flanked by another man who exuded calm authority—the infamous Chief Aizawa Shouta. His tired eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene with a raised brow.

“Chief Aizawa and his team are joining us for this operation. And that includes Detective Midoriya.” Chief Yagi’s tone left no room for argument.

Bakugou’s jaw set so tight you could hear the grind of teeth. And in that moment, you knew that whatever the past few weeks had been like? They were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

…

You barely had time to absorb Midoriya’s, let alone Cheif Aizawa's, sudden appearance before Chief Yagi called everyone into the briefing room. This would’ve been a regular meeting for the higher-ups—the kind you’d usually only hear about when Bakugou came out, slamming the door behind him, face redder than the emergency exit signs. But today, for reasons you couldn’t fathom, you were summoned along. Because apparently, if Bakugou was involved, you were involved.

The briefing room was already filling up, the thick scent of coffee and paper lingering in the air as officers shuffled in, muttering greetings and speculations under their breath. Chief Yagi took his place at the head of the room, looking as solid and unyielding as ever, while Chief Aizawa leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, observing the room with the detached but alert gaze of a cat watching a busy street. Midoriya slid into a chair near the front, shooting you a small, encouraging smile. Bakugou, in contrast, looked like he’d swallowed a wasp.

Then, in strode Officer Ashido Mina, bright as a firecracker, with Officer Sero Hanta close behind her, both exuding a casual confidence that somehow didn’t feel out of place even in a room of high-stakes professionals. Mina shot a finger-gun wave at the room, winking in your direction before taking a seat across from Midoriya. Sero plopped down beside her, his grin almost lazy but eyes sharp, taking in everything at once.

Chief Yagi’s voice brought the room to order. “Alright, everyone, this joint task force is in place because the burglaries have escalated. We’re dealing with a team of thieves targeting secure information in addition to high-value assets. The leads point to a complex operation, and that’s where our collaboration comes in.”

He nodded to Chief Aizawa, who spoke in that low, measured tone that commanded instant respect. “We need all hands on deck. Each of you will have a role—whether it’s field, intel, or processing. Officer Uraraka will be on the evidence team, coordinating with the data we’ve collected so far.”

The mention of Uraraka’s name caught your attention, and sure enough, she was at the back, beaming when she spotted you. Her presence was a rare comfort in this sea of intense, stern faces. It had been years since you’d seen her, but it was like old times when she waved, mouthing an excited “Hey!”

“Detective Bakugou, Officer L/N, you’ll be working alongside Detective Midoriya’s team,” Chief Yagi continued, and the very air in the room seemed to vibrate as Bakugou’s scowl deepened. He was in full protest mode, shooting daggers at Midoriya, who looked back with a determined—if slightly nervous—smile.

Once the briefing concluded, Chief Yagi dismissed everyone, and the room exploded in chatter as officers filed out. You managed to navigate through the crowd until you reached Uraraka, who practically bounced on her toes, pulling you into a quick hug.

“Can you believe it? We’re working together!” she said, her voice bright with excitement. “I’ve been doing the fingerprinting, data scans—all the good stuff. Remember when I used to geek out about this stuff in school?”

“Oh, totally! You always aced those forensics projects,” you replied, grinning as the memories rushed back.

She nodded, laughing. “Exactly! And now, look at us! I get to actually do it. And you—you’re working with Bakugou Katsuki, of all people!” Her eyes widened with awe and maybe a little mischief, the kind that reminded you of her knack for getting you into trouble back in the day.

“Working is a strong word,” you muttered, glancing over at Bakugou, who was still glaring holes into Midoriya, ignoring everyone else. “Surviving might be more accurate.”

Uraraka giggled but quickly straightened when she caught Bakugou’s expression aimed squarely at her—a glare so intense that it was a wonder she didn’t spontaneously combust. She cleared her throat, gave you a small, sympathetic smile, and said, “Well, I’d better get back to it. I’ll send over the scans when they’re ready! And hey, catch up soon?”

You nodded, squeezing her hand in agreement. “Definitely. Thanks, Ochaco.”

With a final grin, Uraraka turned back to her workstation, her demeanor shifting from friendly to focused in an instant. You watched her go, feeling a brief pang of jealousy at how seamlessly she slid into her work. But that was quickly overridden by the realization that Bakugou was striding your way, arms crossed and a storm brewing in his expression.

“Done with your little reunion?” he sneered, barely waiting for you to nod. “Good. 'Cause now it’s time for you to actually do somethin’ useful, rookie.” He nodded towards the open case file in his hand. “Let’s go.”

.....

The silence between you and Bakugou was taut, strung up like an overused wire threatening to snap. He stalked ahead, practically dragging the storm cloud that was his mood behind him. You weren’t entirely sure why he’d decided that now was the time to go full boot camp on you, but here you were, heels clicking on the polished floor, trying not to look like you’d rather melt into it.

“Listen up, rookie,” Bakugou started without turning around, his voice a low rumble laced with that familiar bite. He navigated the labyrinth of hallways like a predator circling its territory. You’re gonna make yourself useful if it kills ya, got it?”

You swallowed thickly, feeling a combination of irritation and nerves twist in your chest. You’d learned over the past few weeks that Bakugou had a penchant for the extreme. Everything was all or nothing with him, whether it was paperwork, interrogations, or the way he yelled about the printer jamming (which was only your fault that one time).

“Got it,” you managed, though it came out weaker than you intended. He spared you a glance, eyes narrowing as if daring you to prove him right about all the times he’d muttered under his breath about “extras” wasting his time.

As if on cue, the door to one of the briefing rooms swung open, and Detective Kirishima stepped out, his broad grin a sharp contrast to Bakugou’s perpetual scowl. “Yo! Heard we’re working together on this one,” he said, his voice friendly and warm, instantly cutting through the tension.

Great. If there was ever a time to look capable, it was now. Not that Kirishima would ever point out your mistakes, but being around Bakugou had a way of amplifying your self-awareness until it was deafening.

“Try not to get in the way,” Bakugou snapped, jerking his thumb towards the entrance. You wondered if his eyes had always held that unrelenting glint or if he’d sharpened it specifically for you. Kirishima, bless him, only chuckled, patting you on the back as he passed by.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just on edge about the syndicate case,” Kirishima whispered, though you knew Bakugou’s sharp hearing likely picked it up. His glare confirmed it, but he didn’t say anything, turning his attention to the map on the table instead. Red pins clustered like a rash, each marking a hit by the crime syndicate that had every department in the city scrambling.

The realization hit you hard. The stakes were higher than ever, and the idea of fumbling now made your stomach churn. The last thing you needed was to mess up in front of Bakugou and Kirishima, especially when the latter’s optimism made you want to do better and the former’s disdain made you feel like you never could.

Bakugou laid out the plan, his voice cutting through the thick tension in the room. "..'nd if we’re lucky, tonight’s stakeout’ll give us what we need.” He turned to you, eyes narrowing to twin blades. “That clear, rookie?”

“Crystal,” you muttered, earning a sharp nod.

As Kirishima checked the comms equipment, you shifted on your feet, the weight of what was coming pressing against your chest like a vice. The quiet hum of urgency filled the room as you prepared for the night ahead, a stakeout that promised no sleep, a test of patience, and a confined space with Bakugou’s intensity smoldering beside you.

Yeah. You're soo fucked.

[kimmie2me]

⠀⠀♡⠀ ͏͏͏͏͏͏ᴾʳᵉᶜⁱⁿᶜᵗ ᴾᵘˡˢᵉ ~★彡

⠀༘⋆⠀~⠀detective!bakugou katsuki x AFAB!rookie cop!reader mini series

࿐ꔫ︰ 𐑂꒷꒦₊⠀◞⠀Notes

✦⠀Quirkless au , aged up characters , modern setting, police setting, sfw (future nsfw perchance?) , fem reader, sorta based off "the rookie" , bakugou WILL be a jerk in the first few chapters but that's so canon of him so moving on..

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࿐ꔫ︰ 𐑂꒷꒦₊⠀◞⠀Synopsis

✧⠀In the bustling Musutafu police precinct, you’re a rookie cop fresh out of training, already in hot water after a rookie misstep nearly derails a high-stakes case. As punishment, you’re reassigned to the precinct’s most notorious detective, Katsuki Bakugou—a brilliant but abrasive investigator whose success rate is unmatched, only rivaled by his explosive temper. Working alongside Bakugou is no small feat, as his demanding standards and biting remarks make every shift a test of endurance and resolve.

Assigned to prove your worth to keep your precious badge, you navigate tense patrols, dangerous investigations, and moments of unexpected vulnerability that hint at a deeper connection beneath Bakugou’s rough exterior. When a crime syndicate’s threat looms larger than ever, the reluctant partnership turns into a battle of trust and bottled emotions. Heated clashes and fleeting moments of unguarded honesty blur the line between duty and desire, sparking a tension that neither of you can ignore. Can Bakugou’s ironclad defenses withstand the spark ignited between you, or will they crumble under the weight of what’s been simmering all along?

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀˚｡⋆୨୧˚⠀⠀⠀new chapter every other day unless said otherwise .ᐟ.ᐟ⠀⠀⠀˚୨୧⋆｡˚

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[kimmie2me]

# 02. Street Smarts & Tough Lessons

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.....

The cruiser’s interior was cramped, filled with the scent of stale coffee and the lingering traces of early morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the windshield, casting soft patches of light over Bakugou’s face as he drove. His gaze was fixed on the empty city streets, his expression as sharp and unyielding as if he were navigating a minefield. The quiet hum of the engine filled the silence, an ever-present reminder of the tension simmering between you two.

You shifted slightly, the seatbelt pressing into your shoulder as you stole a glance at him. His grip on the steering wheel was ironclad, fingers flexed as though the leather itself might slip through his hands. His jaw was set, a muscle in his cheek jumping each time he exhaled, a small, annoyed huff breaking the silence.

The morning light softened the cityscape outside, revealing clean sidewalks and storefronts that had yet to see foot traffic. You watched as people began trickling out of apartments, coffee in hand, ready to start their days. The world outside was calm, bright, and indifferent to the tension stewing inside the car.

You tried to ignore the oppressive silence, focusing instead on the quiet streets and the rare passerby. Your earlier rookie mistake hung heavy in the air, unspoken yet potent enough that Bakugou’s simmering irritation seemed to intensify with every block you passed.

When you finally dared another glance in his direction, his eyes remained trained ahead, his jaw visibly clenching. When he did speak, his voice was low and edged with barely concealed frustration, slicing through the quiet.

“Hope you’re actually paying attention this time,” he muttered, eyes still on the road. “Last thing I need is you messing up again.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself for whatever scathing critique was coming next. You’d heard Bakugou had a reputation for being rough on rookies, and he seemed determined to live up to it.

As you both exited the cruiser and stepped onto the pavement, you felt his gaze bore into the back of your head. He walked beside you with a predatory stride, hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes flicking over the street like he was cataloging every possible threat.

.....

“Why the hell do ya walk like that?” he snapped, startling you.

It's literally been not even 10 minutes into this.

“Like what?” you asked, frowning in confusion.

“Like we’re out for a Sunday stroll,” he grumbled, giving you a look that could melt steel. “You think anyone’s gonna wait around for you to take in the sights?”

You stifled a sigh. Apparently, he wasn’t just hung up on your earlier mistake and the fact he's forced to be your partner; now he was criticizing the way you walked.

Bakugou continued, his tone unrelenting. “Look around with some purpose. Head up, eyes moving. You look soft—like you couldn’t catch a runaway kid, let alone handle anything serious.”

Resisting the urge to retort, you lifted your chin, adopting a more purposeful stance. But his gaze remained fixed on you, his scrutiny relentless, catching every slight adjustment in your posture.

“You even know what you’re lookin’ at?” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he followed your gaze. “You’re wasting time, staring at every shop window like it’s got some hidden clue. We’re looking for threats, idiot, not window shopping.”

Your frustration bubbled, but you forced yourself to keep quiet, focusing instead on what lay ahead. This entire shift, he’d been taking every chance to point out your supposed flaws, his tone drenched in disdain. Yet beneath it, there was a challenge, like he was testing to see how far he could push you.

“I get it,” you said finally, barely keeping the irritation out of your voice. “I messed up, but I’m here to learn. You don’t have to keep pointing out every single thing I do wrong.”

Bakugou stopped short, fixing you with a hard stare. “Learn? You think this is about learning?” He gestured to the quiet street, exasperated. “From where I’m standing, you’re barely paying attention to anything useful.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, trying to keep calm. “I’m listening, alright?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Every time we turn a corner, you’re more interested in someone’s shoes than what’s actually going on. You think it’s cute to notice all that?”

“It’s not useless,” you replied, defensive. “Noticing details is part of the job. Being observant is important.”

“Observant?” He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Sure, if you want to notice every detail that doesn’t matter. You’re acting like some over-eager intern, playing cop.” He nodded toward a figure across the street. “See that guy? His hand just twitched near his pocket. What do you think that means?”

Caught off guard, you stammered, “Uh… maybe he’s going for a phone?”

“Or a weapon,” Bakugou interrupted coldly. “Or maybe he’s nervous. Could be anything. You don’t get the luxury to guess.”

You bit back the sting of his words, forcing yourself to hold steady even as frustration prickled at you. “Then what would you do?” you muttered.

Bakugou scoffed, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’d size ‘em up without getting distracted by useless crap. We’re not here to admire the scenery. You’re supposed to notice what doesn’t fit, not give people fashion critiques.”

Your hands balled into fists as you kept pace with him, trying to absorb his harsh words without snapping. You’d heard Bakugou was a challenging mentor, but this felt more like a gauntlet than training.

As you neared an alley, Bakugou threw an arm out to stop you. “Stay back,” he ordered, voice dropping low. “Don’t just breeze past an alley without checking it out. You think muggers are gonna announce themselves?”

You swallowed, taking a step to scan the shadowed alleyway. The sunlight filtered in, casting long, deceptive shadows, and you couldn’t help but feel a prickle of unease. This felt a bit much to be honest, but he seemed dead serious. Might as well attempt to get something out of this..

Bakugou noticed your hesitation and rolled his eyes. “And another thing—quit fiddling with your belt like some nervous kid. If you can’t handle your gear comfortably, you’re in the wrong line of work.”

His words cut deep, and you felt frustration building. “Are you actually going to teach me anything? Or just keep criticizing everything?”

For a long, intense moment, he just stared at you, eyes narrowed in a way that made you feel like he was measuring your worth.

Then, he scoffed, a smirk twisting his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”

Fucking fantastic.

.....

After hours of covering the same old route, checking in with local shops, and keeping an eye on the usual suspects, you finally breathe a little easier. The sun is beginning to rise, and the shift is winding down. You’ve survived it, you think. A few hours with Bakugou and you haven’t completely messed up yet.

You’re starting to feel the faintest spark of relief, the first signs of the end of your shift in sight, when Bakugou suddenly turns, face as stern as ever, his eyes sharp despite the early hour.

“Alright, rookie, that’s enough of your daydreaming. Back to the precinct,” he snaps, not bothering to slow his pace.

For a second, you think you’ve misheard him. You weren’t expecting to be thrown back into another assignment. “What?” you manage to squeak out, your brain still foggy from the hours of patrolling.

“I said we’re heading back to the precinct. That was only the first part of the shift, dumbass.” His voice is like gravel scraping against your nerves. “You think just because you walked around a few blocks, you're done?”

Your stomach drops.

You try not to groan. You had genuinely hoped—prayed—that once the patrol was done, you'd be free for the day. Maybe you could grab a coffee, and take a second to breathe. But no, that wouldn’t be Bakugou’s style, would it? Curse you for getting so used to the usually nothingness with Kaminari.

“No, we’re not done,” he says, almost as if reading your thoughts, though his words feel like a sucker punch to your optimism. “We’ve still got work to do. Don’t get used to thinking you can take breaks just because you’re ‘done.’”

Great. This day is never going to end.

.....

The precinct buzzes around you all day, a strange blend of organized chaos and constant interruptions. It feels like Bakugou has somehow crafted the worst possible introduction into this job just for you—hours of grueling tasks that demand your attention at every turn, all while he manages to keep up a steady, biting commentary that you’d swear is designed to throw you off balance. At one point, he barely glances at you as he flicks through a pile of paperwork, but you swear he’s smirking as he hands you another stack. And you’ve barely started when he’s already moved on, barking orders at someone across the room.

The hours grind by slowly, your feet aching by midday, and your brain’s a blur of unfamiliar forms, barely decipherable police shorthand, and Bakugou’s voice echoing in your head. No matter what you do, he always finds something to comment on—a quiet scoff if you manage something right, a darkly amused grin when you slip up. It feels like you’re in some kind of endurance test, the kind they warned you about in training but somehow didn’t quite prepare you for.

As the day stretches on, a headache starts to throb at your temples. Bakugou’s still charging forward without any sign of letting up, taking you along with him from briefing rooms to meetings to the field, and by the time the clock finally edges close to eleven at night, you’re nearly nodding off on your feet.

Then, as he heads out the door, he turns back to you with a look that makes your spine stiffen, “You better be early tomorrow.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, and you almost choke. Early? EARLY? After everything he put you through today?

You’re still reeling as he strides away, leaving you alone in the emptying precinct, barely able to keep your eyes open. But when you stumble inside, you catch sight of Kaminari lounging against one of the desks, scrolling through something on his phone.

Lucky bastard.

“Hey,” he calls over with a smirk, glancing up and giving you a once-over. “So how’d it go?”

He pauses, and then his expression changes, eyes widening a bit as he takes in your slouched posture, the bags forming under your eyes, and what’s probably a permanent frown from all the things you’ve had to hold back today. “Never mind. You look like that thousand-yard-stare guy. I’m actually kinda afraid to ask.”

You laugh, but it comes out a little too deadened, a testament to your exhaustion. “Day one, and I’m already dead on my feet,” you mutter, rubbing your face. “Not exactly sure I survived, actually.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that new recruit look—like they dropped you into the deep end with weights tied to your ankles,. Man, I kinda wish I took a picture so we could do the 'this is me before my 12-hour shift,' and 'this is me after'” he sighs, giving you a sympathetic wince. “The good news is, it gets…well, easier’s probably the wrong word. But at least you’ll get used to it.”

You manage a weak smile. “Comforting. Thanks.”

He grins back, but then his eyes catch on something over your shoulder. “Oh, hey,” he says, waving over your shoulder. “I’m out, though—good luck. And if you need a rescue mission, just call.” He gives you a wink and a mock salute before sauntering off.

As you turn to see who he waved at, a familiar bright red head of hair bobs into view.

“Hey, didn’t mean to startle you,” Detective Kirishima says, coming up to you with a friendly smile that makes you feel like you might actually be able to breathe again. His energy is a bit much for your current state, but something about him is…nice, grounding. “Sorry, don’t think we’ve met yet,” he adds, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m Kirishima Eijiro.”

You give a tired smile, introducing yourself with a nod. “Yeah, I, uh…definitely know who you are. Heard a lot about the whole ‘Red Riot’ thing.” You gesture vaguely, almost missing his look of pleasant surprise.

“Oh, yeah?” He grins, clearly pleased, but it’s easygoing, lacking the cockiness you’ve come to expect from Bakugou. “That whole title is a bit much, if you ask me. Well, it’s good to meet you, even if it’s been one hell of a day, huh?”

“That’s one way to put it,” you say, sighing. “You could also say I was dragged through the nine circles of hell and back.”

Kirishima chuckles, nodding knowingly. “Bakugou’s a bit intense, especially on new recruits. But he’s actually…well, he’s a good guy underneath. If you’re looking for a tip, though, one thing that might soften him up a little in the morning—”

You raise an eyebrow, almost unable to believe there’s a way to make Bakugou “soften” in any capacity. “What, like a bribe?”

“Sort of.” Kirishima chuckles. “Coffee. He can’t stand the usual stuff most people get him—like, black coffee with no sugar. Everyone thinks that’s his vibe, but it drives him nuts. Just get him something decent. And not with that sugary stuff, either. You’ll figure it out.” He smiles kindly, though he must see the exhaustion in your eyes, because he takes a step back. “But hey, I’ll let you get going. Don’t want to keep you here any longer than you have to be. Good luck, though! And…hang in there.”

He gives you a wave and an encouraging nod, then heads out, leaving you with a sense of surreal hope mingling with exhaustion. You don’t know if coffee alone can really fix Bakugou’s attitude—or if there’s some magic in the world that could make him less impossible—but as you finally drag yourself out into the quiet night, the thought lingers.

Maybe.. it's really that easy?

.....

The morning arrived way too early, especially for someone who’d dragged herself to bed with just enough time to catch a few precious hours of sleep. But here you were, practically clawing your way out of the sheets at an ungodly hour, rubbing at your bleary eyes as you blearily shuffled to your computer. Because today was going to be different.

Kirishima's advice had stuck with you, gnawing at the back of your mind until you finally gave in. If a decent coffee could improve your odds of surviving another day with Bakugou, then hell, you’d become a damn coffee expert. After all, who’d have thought the ticket to maybe, maybe earning a sliver of respect from this guy would be a cup of coffee?

Problem was, you had zero clue what that entailed.

You’d Googled “coffee orders for grumpy cops” and “coffee orders that scream I hate everything” before even realizing how ridiculous it sounded, then quickly deleted your search history in a flurry of shame and annoyance. Next, you’d tried browsing lists of “strongest coffee,” “bold coffee blends,” and “top coffees for strong personalities”—only to end up with pages of coffee snob jargon and fancy words that made no sense. Cold brew? Double shot? Espresso macchiato? Why did coffee need a PhD to understand?

The only thing you usually got yourself was a matcha latte with a splash of creamer, maybe a hint of vanilla. But Bakugou was definitely not a “matcha and creamer” type of guy. No, he probably preferred something bitter, with a kick that could wake the dead. After close to an hour and a mental Venn diagram of “strong flavors” and “no sugar,” you thought you’d finally cracked the code: a triple shot espresso with just enough milk to take the edge off, but not enough to ruin the bite. It seemed… strong. Just like him.

On your way to the precinct, you swung by the nearest coffee shop, eyes darting across the menu like you were analyzing a tactical map. You read and reread each option, carefully cross-referencing every espresso and cold brew with your phone’s coffee notes app (yes, you’d made an app folder just for this).

By the time the barista finally got to you, you’d zeroed in on the perfect drink. Or, at least, what you hoped was the perfect drink.

“A triple espresso macchiato with a splash of milk, please. To go,” you added, hoping to sound decisive even though you were already second-guessing everything. The barista gave you a cautious look, probably spooked by the intensity of your stare. But hey, desperate times.

When the order came up, you took a long, evaluative whiff. It smelled dark and bitter, which you were sure was promising. With a steadying breath and a pep talk (“It’s just coffee”), you marched into the precinct.

You made it in early, nerves a mix of dread and determination as you took up your usual spot in the briefing room, coffee cup cradled like it was some kind of peace offering. You’d barely been there five minutes when you heard Bakugou’s heavy footsteps, purposeful and brisk.

He didn’t even acknowledge you at first, just dropped his bag on the desk with a scowl that could curdle milk. Perfect timing, really.

You cleared your throat, extending the cup his way. “Thought you might want some coffee.”

Bakugou shot you a look, eyebrow raised in skeptical surprise. “Y’don’t know how I take my coffee, so why the hell’d you even bother?”

Your grip tightened just a bit on the cup. Oh, you were very aware of that fact, considering the Herculean effort you’d just put into decoding what he might possibly like.

“Just… thought you’d appreciate it,” you managed through gritted teeth. “Triple espresso macchiato. Strong, no sugar. Figured that’d suit you.”

He eyed it, a shadow of… compilation? Annoyance? You couldn’t tell. With a scoff, he took the cup and, in one quick motion, took a swig. And immediately, he stopped.

For a heartbeat, you held your breath, half-hoping he’d give even the tiniest nod of approval. But instead, he made a face, as though the coffee had personally insulted him. He lowered the cup, glaring at it like it was the last straw in a long line of disappointments.

“Seriously?” he grumbled, looking from the cup to you. “What is this crap?”

Your stomach dropped. You’d woken up ten times earlier than usual, spent your entire morning dissecting coffee like it was a crime scene, and this guy couldn’t even pretend to appreciate the effort?

“It’s a triple espresso,” you said, voice taut with barely contained exasperation. “Supposed to be strong, y’know? Just like you.”

“Oh, so now you’re some coffee connoisseur?” he shot back, holding the cup away from himself like it might explode. “This’s strong, alright. Strong enough to taste like mud.”

You practically felt steam shooting out of your ears. Mud?! After all that research? All that lost sleep? A tiny part of you wanted to take the cup back, drink it yourself, and walk out. But Bakugou, with his unflinching, unimpressed stare, left you no choice but to swallow your frustration.

“Fine,” you muttered, resisting the urge to yank the cup from his hands. “Next time, I’ll just get you water.”

“Good idea,” he deadpanned. But then, with a tiny, grudging glance your way, he took another sip—still cringing, but now eyeing you from over the rim of the cup like he was testing your reaction.

With a huff, you turned back to your desk, grumbling under your breath as you reached for your own drink. So much for softening him up. So much for making things even a fraction easier.

But, just as you sat back down, you caught a glimpse of Bakugou out of the corner of your eye—leaning back, lifting the cup once more. Hope sparked in your chest. Maybe he’d decided it wasn’t so bad?

Then, with a disgusted curl of his lip, he chucked the entire cup straight into the trash can without a second thought, like it was yesterday’s garbage.

In your mind, you nearly screamed. He threw out some perfectly good coffee… in this goddamn ECONOMY?! Your fingers twitched with suppressed rage, jaw clenched so tight you felt your teeth ache. Fuck you, Bakugou Katsuki. Fuck you and your coffee-hating soul.

You settled back into your seat, mentally replaying every penny wasted on that triple espresso disaster, resolving that next time he’d get whatever was cheapest. Maybe decaf, for all you cared.

[kimmie2me]

# 01. New Beginnings

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.....

The buzz of the precinct was a steady hum, a living organism that shifted and grew louder with each burst of activity. Officers hustled past in crisp uniforms, phones rang with persistent urgency, and the air was laced with the faint, acrid smell of burnt coffee that had been sitting in the pot for far too long. You stood in the middle of it all, a rigid statue amidst the chaos, feeling the weight of the day settle in your chest like a stone. The knot of tension between your shoulders tightened with every sideways glance from your colleagues, their whispered conversations just loud enough to remind you that today, you were the center of attention—for all the wrong reasons.

Not long ago, this place felt different. Just weeks ago, you were the fresh-faced rookie who bounced into the station with Officer Kaminari Denki at your side, your shared laughter echoing down the halls like a melody too carefree for the sterile walls of a police department. Kaminari had a way of making even the longest shifts bearable, with his jokes that teetered dangerously on the edge of bad taste and his habit of turning everything into a game. You’d spent countless hours patrolling the streets together, the two of you in sync as you navigated the tangled mess of Musutafu’s bustling districts. It wasn’t glamorous work—breaking up bar fights, issuing citations to street racers who sped down city blocks like they were in Fast & Furious—but it was yours, and you owned every second of it with the reckless energy only a rookie could have.

But things change. Oh, do they change. What started as a routine day had spiraled into the kind of catastrophe that earned headlines and made chiefs reach for antacids. You and Kaminari were on patrol near the West Quarter, an area known for its perpetual state of barely-contained chaos. It had been uneventful enough, the kind of shift that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate would let you off easy for once. But then came the call: a potential lead on a wanted criminal, one whose record read like the script of an action-thriller film, all high-stakes heists and narrow escapes.

Kaminari’s eyes had gleamed with a spark of adventure, the look of someone who lived for the thrill. You matched it, your own pulse quickening with a mixture of nerves and excitement. This was it—a chance to prove you weren’t just the department’s newest pair of boots on the ground. But what you hadn’t counted on was how easily anticipation could slip into arrogance.

The details from that day were a patchwork quilt of half-formed memories, stitched together with regret. The flash of silver as the suspect’s car screeched around the corner burned bright in your mind, a ghostly echo of metal and adrenaline that haunted your thoughts. It had been a chase you thought you were prepared for—a chance to prove yourself in the field, to show everyone you weren’t just another rookie stumbling through the ranks. The road ahead blurred into a tapestry of city chaos: blaring horns, the red glare of brake lights, and the murmur of bystanders caught between rubbernecking and fleeing.

“L/N, we’re losing him!” Kaminari’s voice crackled through the radio, panic simmering beneath the urgency. His fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly you could see the strain in his knuckles, pale against the dark vinyl. He glanced at you, golden eyes wide with the kind of nervous energy you’d come to recognize as both infectious and reckless.

“I’ve got this,” you’d snapped, more to yourself than to him, your heart pounding a war drum rhythm in your chest. The street was tight with the mid-morning rush; cars inched along bumper to bumper, creating a narrow, suffocating maze. But your eyes locked on the gap forming between a lumbering delivery truck and a black SUV. It was risky, sure—your mind whispered don’t—but the scent of opportunity tasted too sweet to ignore.

Before Kaminari could protest, you jerked the wheel to the right, forcing your way into the lane. Tires screamed, rubber burned, and a wave of curses surged up from drivers as you narrowly dodged mirrors and hoods. You swore you could feel Kaminari’s gaze slicing through you, disbelief painted across his face as he yelled, “L/N, what the hell are you—”

The words died in the air as the chain reaction began. The delivery truck’s driver, caught off guard by your maneuver, slammed the brakes, the cab lurching forward and back like an angry beast. Behind him, the screech of brakes was a symphony of panic, a cacophony that would play in your mind on a loop for days. You saw it unfold in slow motion—the delivery truck veering left, clipping a sedan that skidded across two lanes before colliding headfirst into an oncoming car. The domino effect fanned out from there: one crash begetting another, the crunch of metal on metal, shouts turning to screams. The suspect’s car disappeared into the chaos, a silver blur swallowed by the pandemonium.

You froze. For a heartbeat, your entire world contracted into a pinpoint, a silence so complete that even Kaminari’s frantic voice sounded distant, as though you were underwater. The air was electric with the scent of burnt rubber and gasoline, the morning light turning the shattered glass into tiny prisms scattered across the asphalt. The initial shock dulled, replaced by a crushing wave of realization that gripped your lungs and refused to let go.

“L/N!” Kaminari’s voice shattered through the noise, dragging you back to the moment. He had abandoned the car, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the frame. You followed, your legs heavy as lead, your breath a stuttering mess. Around you, people shouted and ran, their faces blurring into one incomprehensible mass of fear and confusion.

“What were you thinking!?” Kaminari grabbed your arm, eyes wild with anger and fear that sent a bolt of guilt straight through your chest. He wasn’t Kaminari "your friend" now; he was Officer Kaminari, forced into damage control because you’d gone rogue. You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came. What could you say? The weight of your decision pressed down like an iron hand on your back, making you feel as though the ground itself might crack open and swallow you whole.

“I—I thought…” Your voice trailed off, lost in the din of sirens that were now piercing the air, flashing lights painting streaks of red and blue across the carnage. The scene you’d created was one out of a nightmare: cars tangled like twisted vines, smoke curling up from crumpled hoods, a woman leaning against her steering wheel, dazed and bleeding from her forehead. The suspect was long gone, his escape cemented by the very maneuver you’d convinced yourself would make you a hero.

Kaminari’s expression softened just enough to let exhaustion seep in. “You thought what, L/N?” he whispered, as if the fight had been drained out of him, replaced with the hollow ache of disappointment. “You thought this was worth it?”

Before you could respond, Chief Toshinori Yagi arrived, flanked by other officers. His face was a masterclass in controlled fury, a storm masked by stoic calm. He didn’t need to say anything—his eyes, lined with the weight of years spent leading rookies like you, spoke volumes. He took in the scene, the wreckage, and the panic, and when his gaze finally met yours, it was like staring into the eye of a hurricane.

“Get those people medical attention,” he ordered, voice steady but clipped, before turning to you and Kaminari. His brow furrowed, the hard line of his jaw tightening. “Inside. Now.”

The aftermath was a blur of reprimands and reports, a haze of sterile office lighting and your own shaking hands as you scrawled down every excruciating detail of your failure. Every line, every word was another twist of the knife, another reminder that this was all you. Your reckless choice. Your mistake.

....

And as you sat across from Chief Yagi, whose patience and grace seemed boundless even now, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. The lines on his face seemed deeper, the gray at his temples somehow more pronounced.

“You’re a good officer, L/N,” he said finally, the weight of disappointment turning his voice rough. “But being good isn’t enough when lives are at stake. Mistakes like this cost more than reputations—they cost trust. The question is, how do you plan to earn that back?”

There was no easy answer, no way to smooth over the raw edges of the guilt carving its way through you. You lifted your head, throat tight but voice steady. “I’ll prove it, sir.”

And in the silence that followed, the echo of your promise resonated with a determination tempered by regret. The kind that comes only when you know there’s no one to blame but yourself.

“You’re better than this,” he had said, voice low but unwavering. It was those four words, more than anything else, that threatened to undo you. Because deep down, you knew he was right. You’d spent the rest of that week in a haze of paperwork, back-to-back debriefings, and whispers that followed you like a shadow. Even Kaminari’s reassurances did little to break through the barrier of guilt that fenced you in.

“Officer L/N,” Yagi began, leaning forward with the practiced authority of someone who’d delivered both commendations and condemnations in equal measure. His fingers tapped lightly on the desk, a slow, rhythmic beat that matched the thrumming of your pulse. “The events of last week were…” He paused, searching for the word. “Unfortunate. But I believe in second chances.”

You blinked, not quite trusting your ears. “Sir?”

He sighed, the weight of leadership momentarily softening the hard lines of his face. “I know the kind of officer you are. This job isn’t just a career to you—it’s a calling. That mistake, as costly as it was, doesn’t erase your potential.” He let the words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “But redemption isn’t handed out on a silver platter. It’s earned.”

A flicker of hope sparked in your chest, quickly tempered by the reality of what was coming next. The chief’s gaze sharpened, a glint of steely resolve slicing through the air.

“I’m reassigning you,” he continued, the finality in his voice sending a jolt of anticipation—and dread—down your spine. That sounded better than handing over your badge. “You’ll be working under Detective Bakugou.” ...Or not.

The room fell into an eerie silence, the kind that stretches on so long it makes you doubt you’ve heard correctly. Your brain scrambled to make sense of it, latching onto the name like it was a live wire. Detective Katsuki Bakugou. The most volatile, unyielding, and infamously difficult officer in the entire precinct. A man who’d sent even seasoned detectives into early retirement with nothing more than his sharp tongue and a glare that could strip paint from walls. This was who Yagi thought you should work with?

“Sir,” you started, carefully masking the quiver in your voice with a layer of forced composure. “I’m not sure that’s… necessary.” You glanced at the brass nameplate on the chief’s desk, as though it might offer some divine wisdom. “Perhaps Officer Kirishima or—”

“No.” Yagi’s tone cut through your protest like a blade. “This isn’t a punishment, Officer L/N. It’s a proving ground. If you want to keep your badge, you’ll show me—and yourself—that you can handle this.” His expression softened, but the resolve remained. “Detective Bakugou is demanding, yes. But he’s one of our best. If you can hold your own with him, then you’ll prove that you deserve to wear that uniform.”

Your mouth opened, words failing as the full weight of what he was asking settled over you like a heavy cloak. The silence that followed was answer enough. Chief Yagi’s eyes met yours, the smallest hint of encouragement in their depths. It was that unspoken trust that twisted in your chest, somewhere between hope and resignation.

“Understood, Chief,” you said finally, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. The choice was clear, even if it wasn’t easy: face Bakugou Katsuki and whatever trials came with him, or hand in your badge and let the dream you’d clung to slip through your fingers.

The corners of Yagi’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile but close enough to suggest approval. “Good,” he said. “Report to him at 0900 tomorrow." You nod and get And, Officer?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t let him scare you off. Show him what you’re made of.”

Oh. If only it was that easy..

As you left the office, the noise of the precinct crashed over you, louder and more chaotic than before. And somewhere in the back of your mind, beneath the nerves and uncertainty, a spark of determination lit up, defiant and unyielding.

....

The next morning, you pushed open the station doors, the familiar jingle of the bell above ringing out like the start of a death march. The precinct was as loud and bustling as ever, but today, the noise had an edge to it—a buzz of anticipation and gossip that seemed to latch onto you the second you stepped inside. A few officers glanced up from their desks, whispers trailing behind you like cigarette smoke, seeping into your ears despite your attempts to ignore them. You clenched your jaw, shoulders squaring with a false bravado that you didn’t quite feel. The corridor stretched ahead, a gauntlet to run before facing whatever fate awaited you.

As you approached, you heard raised voices filtering through the office door—Chief Yagi’s calm tone clashing with Bakugou’s explosive indignation.

“Y’can’t be serious, Yagi! I’m not babysittin’ some rookie!” Bakugou’s frustration echoed, his voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter of the precinct. "Especially not one who’s a fuckin’ hazard!”

“Bakugou, you need a partner,” Yagi replied, his authority clear. “You’ve had too many clashes with your past partners, and I think she’d be perfect for you. She’s got potential and could learn from the best. It’s a win-win!”

“Yeah, right! A win for who? Not me! I don’t need some extra newbie screwing things up for me!” Bakugou spat, clearly unimpressed.

“Trust me on this,” Yagi insisted. “You’re going to be a great team. Just give it a chance.”

The door swung open as you stepped into the scene, and you saw them: Chief Yagi stood with arms crossed, his sharp gaze meeting yours with a nod of acknowledgment. Beside him, Bakugou looked like a live grenade with the pin half-pulled. He stood with his weight on one leg, tapping a foot so aggressively you were surprised the floor hadn’t cracked. His eyes blazed with an intensity that could sear skin, and the muscles in his jaw clenched hard enough to splinter bone.

Great. Just great.

The second Bakugou’s crimson glare zeroed in on you, it felt like the world narrowed to that singular look, full of disdain and barely leashed rage. If a stare could detonate, you’d be nothing but cinders.

“Y’late, newbie,” Bakugou snarled, venom dripping from his words.

You raise an eyebrow as you check your watch, frowning. “What? But... it’s 8:58—”

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Bakugou cut in, stepping forward with an intensity that made even seasoned officers flinch. “Two minutes might as well be ten in my book. Y’think suspects wait ’round for ya t’ decide you’re ready t’ do your damn job?”

“Detective,” Yagi warned, his voice smooth but firm, wrapping authority around Bakugou’s outburst. It was enough to make the blond pause, if only for a breath, before he rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Whatever,” Bakugou spat, the word like a hot brand. He turned back to you, eyes narrowing to slits. “Listen up, rookie. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re the Chief’s charity case or if he thinks you’ve got potential. You screw up on my watch, and I’ll make sure ya wish you’d handed in your badge yesterday.”

The threat hung in the air like gunpowder. You swallowed hard, keeping your chin up even as the knot of anxiety in your gut twisted tighter. “Understood, Detective.” Your tone was forced, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Good,” he said, voice dropping to a growl. “Now move your ass. We’re already behind schedule thanks t’ you.”

With a nod from Chief Yagi that could almost pass as sympathy, you fell into step behind Bakugou, your heart a thrum of nerves and defiance. The day hadn’t even started, and already, you knew that facing Bakugou was going to be the kind of trial that either made or broke you.

But if there was one thing you were sure of, it was that you didn’t come this far to break. Not now, and definitely not because of some bomb-tempered detective who thought he could scare you into quitting.

Bakugou didn’t glance back as he stalked toward the exit, barking over his shoulder, “Keep up, rookie, or I’ll drag your sorry ass out there myself.”

Yeah, this was going to be hell.

[kimmie2me]

# 04. Crossed Lines

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note: hey hey!! sorry for the late chapter!! needed time to write this + a request ill post later!! enjoy!!

.....

After the short interaction wrapped up, you found yourself glancing over at the two other detectives standing beside Midoriya. Both were new faces to you, but the contrast was instantly noticeable—Ashido Mina, with her bright eyes and bubblegum hair, radiated an unshakable optimism, while Sero Hanta’s casual smile and relaxed posture somehow balanced the energy Bakugou’s relentless intensity brought to the room. Midoriya himself, ever the polite one, caught your gaze and offered a small, friendly nod.

You decided that if you were all going to be dealing with a case this serious, a little rapport wouldn’t hurt. But the moment you opened your mouth, Bakugou’s eyes cut toward you, a warning practically glowing in his glare.

“Is this a damn tea party?” Bakugou barked, arms crossed tightly. “We got places to be, people. Let’s. GO.”

“Lighten up, Kacchan,” Midoriya replied with a smile that was almost too casual for the tension between him and Bakugou. He pushed up his sleeves, looking genuinely unfazed by Bakugou’s attitude. “We’re all working together on this one. And a team that’s familiar with each other works better, right?”

Bakugou shot him a glare, muttering something about “wasted time” as he stormed past, but he didn’t outright shut you down again, so… small victories.

“So, you’re the new partner, huh?” Sero asked, flashing a grin as you all walked toward the bullpen. “Must be tough, dealing with Mr. Sunshine over there.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the groan slipped out before you could stop it. “You have no idea. Half the time, I feel like he’s about two seconds away from throwing me out of a moving vehicle. Or into a boxing ring.”

“Oh, trust me,” Mina giggled, leaning in conspiratorially, “he’s all bark… and bite. But he only goes full ‘attack mode’ if he respects you. Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya, clearly having overheard every word of the conversation, nodded with a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, Kacchan... has a unique way of motivating people. If you can even call it motivation," he added, trailing off as though unsure of how to phrase it. And this was the same guy who'd gotten away with calling Bakugou a semi-affectionate nickname—in public!

You were still processing that when Mina gave you a friendly tap on the shoulder. “So, don’t take it personally if he’s a little extra harsh. You’d have to screw up pretty bad for him to really lose it on you.”

Sero grinned. “Yeah, we’ve all been on the receiving end of his ‘motivational speeches.’ Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya again nodded, a hint of nervous laughter escaping him. “He’s been like that since high school. But he’s a good detective. If you stick around long enough, you’ll see why.”

Just as you were starting to relax into the conversation, Bakugou’s voice sliced through it like a razor. “Oi! Enough chitchat. If I wanted a damn pep talk, I’d ask for it.” He shot you a glare, then pointed toward the door. “Move it. Now.”

You exchanged quick, sheepish glances with Mina and Sero, who both gave you a silent “good luck” nod as Bakugou led the way out, practically radiating impatience. Even Midoriya’s friendly wave didn’t fully shake off the weight of Bakugou’s intensity.

As you moved into the hallway with Bakugou just a few steps ahead, you couldn’t help but think: that getting to know these new teammates was going to be a marathon in itself. And given Bakugou’s lingering glare, you were pretty sure he’d do his best to make sure you wouldn’t forget it.

.....

The air between you and Bakugou was thick with unspoken tension as he pushed open the door to a quieter side room, away from the chatter and energy of the other officers. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you stepped inside, the soft thud of the door closing behind you magnifying the sudden silence. Bakugou’s back was to you, the crisp lines of his navy-blue police detective uniform sharp under the bright lights. The tailored fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, the insignia patch visible on his sleeve as he crossed his arms and let out a deep, controlled breath.

“Alright, listen up, rookie,” he started, voice low and rough but without the usual edge that could cut through concrete. His eyes met yours, stormy and electric, a mix of begrudging seriousness and irritation. It wasn’t quite the barking tone you were used to, but it sure as hell wasn’t gentle either. “This isn't some simple patrol. We’re dealin' with a syndicate—real, organized scum who’d sell their own mothers for a payday.”

You nodded, feeling the pressure coil tighter in your chest. He took a step closer, and you resisted the urge to flinch. He wasn’t intimidating by accident; he was all sharp edges and raw energy, a wildfire trying to behave like a controlled burn.

“I know you’re green, and I know you’re not ready for half the shit we’re about to face.” His eyes narrowed, watching for any sign of disagreement. “But that don’t mean you’re gonna slack off. This is your chance to prove you can handle bein’ my partner without draggin’ my ass down.”

You opened your mouth to speak, maybe defend yourself or say something witty to cut the tension, but he didn’t give you the chance. His hand flew up, pointer finger raised in warning. “No. Shut up and listen."

Great. The infamous Bakugou Katsuki motivational speech, part two.

“We’re runnin' recon. Stakeout. The works. This ain’t the kind of gig where you can afford to blink and miss somethin’.” He started pacing, his boots hitting the linoleum floor with a steady rhythm. The room was just big enough that his movements seemed to fill every inch of space, every stride of his reminding you that he was not just a man, but a force. “We watch, we wait, and we don’t move unless we have to. You don’t make a sound unless I tell ya to. You don’t play hero, you don’t get curious, and you sure as hell don’t run your mouth if things get tense.”

He stopped in front of you again, eyes flickering over your expression like he was reading every doubt, every hesitation. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually tone it down. Instead, he leaned in, the intensity in his eyes nearly crackling.

“I’m sayin’ this once, so get it through that head of yours: the second you act like this is a game or hesitate when things get messy, we’re done. Got it?”

The room felt a few degrees hotter, and it took everything in you not to shrink under his stare. You swallowed hard, steeling your nerves. “..Got it.”

His gaze lingered, scanning for any cracks, any sign that you were bluffing. Whatever he saw must have passed his test, because he straightened, arms folding back across his chest as he nodded once, sharply.

“Good.” The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk but something less hostile. “Now, don’t screw it up.”

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the words sinking in like lead. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or more anxious. You took a breath, the reality of it all pressing down on your shoulders.

“So, when’s the stakeout?” you asked, trying to mask the nerves in your voice with a false bravado. It worked well enough in theory—maybe not so much in practice.

Bakugou’s eyes darkened with the glint of a man ready for battle. “Tonight. Gear up and meet me by the west gate at 1900. And remember what I said, rookie—‘cause one slip, and we’re both screwed.”

You nodded again, the weight of the next few hours pressing like a vise on your chest. As you turned to leave, the thought flared back in your mind: Yeah, you were definitely doomed.

.....

The hours between the briefing and 19:00 were a special kind of hell. You sat at your desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood as your nerves twisted into knots that no amount of deep breathing could undo. The department buzzed around you, a chaotic orchestra of voices, footsteps, and the static crackle of radios. But all of it was muffled, like cotton was stuffed in your ears. Your mind was on one thing: tonight's stakeout.

Kaminari, bless his soul, had tried to lighten the mood, sauntering over with that boyish grin and the kind of confidence that only came from blissful ignorance. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You know, if this was a horror movie, you’d be the one who gets possessed first.”

“Thanks, Kaminari,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as your leg bounced under the desk. His joke didn’t help, but at least it was something.

“And then Bakugou would probably shout at the demon until it left you alone,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. That earned him a snort from Kirishima across the room, who was busy checking his gear. Even so, the tension in your chest didn’t let up.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if the demon just possessed him instead,” you said, only half-joking. Kaminari barked out a laugh before leaning in.

“Hey, you’ll be fine. Just, you know, don’t do anything Bakugou said not to do,” he whispered conspiratorially.

You wanted to laugh, you really did. But instead, all you could do was glance at the clock, counting down the hours and minutes until you’d have to face Bakugou’s exacting standards—and hope that you wouldn’t be the reason this mission went sideways.

…

By the time 18:30 rolled around, you were a bundle of frayed nerves. Every glance from Bakugou during prep was a silent challenge, his sharp eyes catching the tiniest missteps—your holster that wasn’t clipped properly, the radio you checked twice just to be sure it was on the right frequency. He didn’t even have to say anything; the weight of his disapproval was enough to make you sweat bullets. You could practically hear him in your head, shouting, “Rookie mistakes get us killed.”

The room felt like it was closing in, the anticipation coiling tighter with every second that passed. It didn’t help that the murmured conversations were peppered with glances in your direction. Even Kirishima, who’d shown up with a reassuring clap on your shoulder and a grin that promised camaraderie, couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had settled over you.

“Alright, everyone!” Chief Yagi’s voice cut through the room like a warm, steady beacon. The tall man stood beside Chief Aizawa, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his eyes half-lidded but sharp. The room quieted instantly, officers shifting from casual banter to focused attention. Even Bakugou, with his constant underlying intensity, straightened his posture.

“This is it,” Chief Yagi began, his voice even and calm, resonating with the kind of authority that settled nerves—at least a little. “We’re up against a syndicate that’s been one step ahead of us for too long. Tonight, we change that.”

Chief Aizawa’s eyes swept the room, pausing on you for a fraction longer than you’d have liked. “Stay sharp. This isn’t your average stakeout. Everyone needs to be on point. One mistake, and they’ll be gone before we blink.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze like an iron chain. Your heart drummed so loudly, you wondered if anyone else could hear it.

“Bakugou, you and your team are the first line,” Yagi continued, eyes shifting to the explosive blond. Bakugou’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk but was probably just his battle-ready scowl. “Be ready for anything.”

“Damn right,” Bakugou muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes flicked to you for half a second, a warning and an assurance wrapped into one.

You swallowed hard as the chiefs finished the briefing, a collective shuffling of boots and gear following as everyone moved out to their positions. The air crackled with anticipation, every officer a tightly wound spring ready to snap. The hallway buzzed with activity, footsteps echoing as your team gathered near the entrance.

And then it hit you, hard and cold like a wave crashing over your head: you were absolutely fucked. All the pep talks, all the reassurances in the world couldn’t quell the gnawing anxiety that twisted in your gut as you stepped into the night, the sky darkening into a canopy of shadows.

“Let’s move, rookie!” Bakugou’s voice cut through, snapping you back to the present. You glanced over at Midoriya, who shot you a small, nervous smile that did little to settle your nerves. Ahead, Kirishima flashed a thumbs-up, his own excitement barely contained.

The night was just beginning, but one thing was clear—you were in for the fight of your life.

.....

You, Kirishima, and Bakugou took up positions in the dense cluster of shadows outside the syndicate's hideout. The abandoned industrial park loomed like a hulking beast, its rusted metal structures catching the eerie glow of the moon. The cool night air should have been refreshing, but it only added a biting edge to the tension coiling in your stomach. Bakugou was already a taut wire, vibrating with his usual mix of impatience and adrenaline.

“Eyes open, no screw-ups,” Bakugou hissed under his breath, the snarl barely masked behind clenched teeth. His glare cut through the dark, landing squarely on you. Great, you thought. Just what you needed—his full, undivided wrath.

“Got it,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of night insects.

Kirishima, bless his eternally optimistic soul, shot you a reassuring smile. “Hey, we’re gonna be fine, yeah? We’ve trained for this. Just remember the plan.”

You nodded, trying to channel even a sliver of his confidence. The plan was simple on paper: observe, gather intel, wait for the signal. But reality had a funny way of chewing up simple plans and spitting them out as complicated messes, and with Bakugou as the lead, nothing was ever just simple.

Bakugou shifted beside you, eyes narrowed and posture coiled tight like a predator about to spring. “Stop movin' like you’re an amateur on a school field trip. You make one wrong move, and they’ll hear us from miles away.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from snapping back. He wasn’t wrong, but damn if the delivery didn’t make you want to throw your boot at his head. Instead, you adjusted your stance, focusing on steady, measured breaths. Kirishima’s eyes darted between the two of you, his smile faltering slightly. He opened his mouth as if to say something encouraging but quickly shut it as Bakugou shot him a look that could’ve seared paint off metal.

“Focus, Shitty Hair. We’re not here for a group hug.”,” Bakugou growled.

Kirishima winced, but to his credit, he nodded. “Right, right. All good here.”

The quiet stretched out, an oppressive blanket that made every creak and rustle sound magnified. You kept your eyes trained on the entrance of the building, fingers flexing nervously at your side. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple despite the chill. You wanted to be calm, composed, the officer Bakugou didn’t feel like he had to babysit. But under the weight of his scalding gaze, the pressure sat heavy on your chest.

Suddenly, a small sound—a metallic clink—broke the silence. Your eyes darted to the source, and before you could register what it was, Bakugou had whirled on you, eyes blazing with fury.

“What the hell did I say, rookie?!" he hissed, barely louder than a whisper but fierce enough to make your pulse leap. “You tryin' to announce our presence with a goddamn megaphone?””

“I didn’t—” you started, but Kirishima interjected, trying to diffuse the escalating tension.

“Whoa, whoa, guys. Let’s just—”

“Stay outta this, Kirishima,” Bakugou snapped, never taking his eyes off you. "I swear, if you cost us this op—”

“Bakugou, I get it,” you interrupted, your voice sharp enough to slice through the static in the air. “I’m not here to mess this up.”

“Then act like it.”,” he shot back, voice dripping with impatience. His eyes were unreadable in the dark, but you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing against you. Prove yourself or get out of my way.

Kirishima shifted awkwardly, clearly torn between stepping in and staying silent. His fingers curled, the tension evident even in his usually relaxed frame. He gave you a small, apologetic look, but there wasn’t much he could do. Bakugou’s word was final.

You swallowed hard and nodded, steeling yourself. The sting of Bakugou’s criticism burned, but it fueled you, sharpening your focus. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking under his scrutiny.

The minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last as the quiet hum of the night settled once more. The weight of the mission, of Bakugou’s piercing gaze, of your own hammering heartbeat—all of it coalesced into a single, suffocating realization.

You were in it now, with no room for doubt or error. As Chief Yagi’s voice crackled softly through the comms with the final “All units, prepare to engage,” you exhaled shakily. The stakeout had officially begun, and there was no turning back.

This, you thought as you scanned the perimeter one last time, the shadows shifting and stretching like specters. Is the worst year of my life.

.....

The first half hour of the stakeout was suffocating in its monotony. Every creak and groan of the old industrial park seemed amplified, stretching the seconds into an eternity. Bakugou hadn’t taken his eyes off the building for a second, muscles taut and ready to strike at the slightest hint of movement. You tried to match his vigilance, forcing your breathing to remain steady as the cold air bit through your jacket. Kirishima shifted beside you, the only sign he wasn’t made entirely of stone.

Suddenly, a low whistle over the comms cut through the night: the signal. Movement at the side entrance. Your pulse spiked, locking eyes with Bakugou, who barely gave you a glance before snapping, “Stay close. Don’t screw this up.”

“Right,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. This was it. Time to prove you were more than just some rookie Bakugou had to babysit.

The three of you crept forward, Bakugou leading with steps too silent for someone with such a loud personality. You mirrored him as best you could, even as adrenaline threatened to unsteady your footing. Kirishima brought up the rear, eyes narrowed and focused.

Just as you reached the door, Bakugou’s hand shot up, signaling a halt. He glanced back, mouthing, On my mark. Your fingers flexed, nerves wound tighter than a spring.

Then, a figure darted out of the building, faster than expected. Panic flared as you reacted just a beat too late. Your foot grazed a loose pipe, sending it clattering against the concrete like a symphony of mistakes.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed with molten fury. “What the hell did I just say?!”

The figure froze, head whipping toward the noise—then bolted, vanishing into the maze of the industrial park.

“Move!” Bakugou roared, his voice slicing through the night.

All three of you burst into a sprint, boots pounding cracked pavement. The cold bit harder as you tore through tight corridors and rusted structures, Bakugou’s curses driving you forward.

Twisting around corners, feet pounding, shadows shifting erratically in the flashlights’ beams—you misstepped, just a fraction too slow on the slick ground. Your ankle twisted, and the world tilted. You yelped, slamming into a metal crate with a clang.

“Split up!” he barked, and you veered right, legs burning, lungs heaving to keep pace. You caught a blur of movement—a flash of dark clothing.

“Contact, west side!” you gasped into the comms.

But as you turned the corner, your target slipped into a corridor cluttered with debris. You leapt over a pipe, skidding on loose gravel, arms pinwheeling. Before you regained balance, a second figure shoved past, slamming you against the metal siding of a container.

“Dammit!” you choked, disoriented. The clatter had already alerted the team, but it was too late. Bakugou appeared from the opposite end, just in time to see them vanish through a gap in the chain-link fence.

He spun to you, fury sparking in his eyes. “Are you serious? One damn job, and you blew it!”

Kirishima came running, breathing hard, eyes darting between the exit and your crumpled form. “We can still—”

“It’s too late, Kirishima.” Bakugou spat, words cutting like glass. He yanked you up by the arm, not gentle. “Lost our best lead ‘cause of you.”

You winced as he let go, the cold fury in his eyes stinging more than the rough grip on your arm. Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by harsh breaths and the distant hum of the city.

Then Chief Yagi’s voice crackled over the comms. “Teams, return to base. We’ll regroup and assess.”

You couldn’t look Bakugou in the eye as you trudged back, the walk a slow march of shame. Kirishima tried a comforting shoulder pat, but it only made the sting worse. Bakugou’s words echoed in your skull, sharp as broken glass.

.....

Back at the precinct, Bakugou wasted no time, cornering you in the hallway, slamming a fist against the wall by your head with a sharp crack. You flinched. His eyes blazed, a cold fury simmering beneath the surface. His jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to shatter, and you could feel heat radiating from him, even in the frigid night air. This was beyond bad.

“What. The hell. Were you thinkin’?” he ground out, each word heavy with fury, barely contained. He was close enough that you noticed the scar slicing across his right cheek—a jagged reminder he was built for chaos. Right now, though, he looked like he was about to snap—and you were the reason why.

Honestly? You didn’t even know. No idea, and that was the worst of it. You didn’t know why you kept screwing up. Or why you couldn’t just…stop.

You swore you wouldn’t cry. Never. But after everything, you could feel it creeping up, your gaze dropping to avoid Bakugou’s glare, which burned with something harsher than anger—disdain. It was like fuel to the fire, but for your tears, if that even made sense.

The weight of his glare felt like it might crush you into the linoleum. Bakugou’s presence filled every inch of the hallway, every jagged line of his rage pressing in on you until even breathing felt like a mistake. But you forced yourself to hold it together, swallowing hard, refusing to crack under his gaze.

"Chief Yagi told me you had potential," he sneered, voice dripping with venom. "Thought I was wastin’ my time watchin' your back, but I guess you’re set on provin' him wrong." His eyes raked over you, assessing, but you could tell he wasn’t finding anything worth the trouble.

Your fists tightened, knuckles white, but you bit back any retort that threatened to slip out. You didn’t have a defense. You’d failed, and he was right to be angry. Still, the weight of his disappointment—and the sting of his words—cut deep.

"I fuckin' knew you'd be a shit partner, if I can even call you that," Bakugou spat, voice low and venomous. He stepped back, shaking his head in disgust. "You're not even worth the time I wasted, dragging your ass through this mess."

Your chest tightened, but you kept your jaw set, refusing to back down or give him the satisfaction of seeing your frustration boil over. You could feel the heat of his words, each one like a slap to the face. But you weren’t going to let him break you.

Kirishima rounded the corner, his face a mask of concern. He caught Bakugou’s shoulder, halting him mid-step. “C’mon, man, go easy. You know we all slip up sometimes. We were all green once, right?”

Bakugou shrugged him off, his glare flicking between you and Kirishima. "Green’s one thing. Getting a lead ruined ‘cause they don’t know left from right? That’s another."

Kirishima's jaw tensed, but he turned to you with a softer look, one that almost undid all your efforts not to crumble right there. "Hey, everyone messes up at some point. Even Bakugou’s had a few rough starts. Right, Bakugou?" he added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed, jaw clenching tighter. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima didn’t back down, meeting Bakugou’s fierce gaze head-on. “But you’re the one who’s always telling everyone to learn fast, right? And they will. They just need—”

“Need to toughen up, yeah,” Bakugou snapped, cutting him off. He turned back to you, his voice low and lethal. "Next time you so much as breathe wrong on a case, I’ll make sure it’s the last time."

With one last, withering look, he stormed off, footsteps echoing down the hall. Kirishima stayed a moment longer, his hand landing on your shoulder, firm but reassuring.

"Look," he murmured, lowering his voice. "Bakugou’s tough on everyone. Hell, he was even worse with me when I started. But he’s all bark, yeah? Don’t let it get to you. You’ll learn. Just…keep at it."

You managed a shaky nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. “Thanks, Kirishima.”

He gave you a reassuring pat, his smile kind despite everything. "Hang in there. If you stick around long enough, even Bakugou’s gotta acknowledge you eventually." He offered a wink, trying to lighten the mood, before heading down the hall after his friend.

The quiet that followed felt hollow, the fluorescent lights humming above as you stood there, replaying every step of the mission in your mind, every slip and wrong move magnified a hundred times over.

You barely registered the footsteps approaching until a soft voice spoke.

"You okay?"

It was Chief Yagi, his tall frame looming gently over you, eyes soft and compassionate. The chief was a man of few words, but each one seemed to carry weight. He’d been the one who vouched for you, vouched hard enough to get Bakugou’s reluctant approval. You didn’t know why he’d stuck his neck out, not when there were dozens of rookies more deserving.

“Yes, sir. Just…reflecting,” you managed, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Yagi’s gaze didn’t waver, his sharp eyes searching yours as if reading every thought that crossed your mind. “Mistakes happen,” he said quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “They’re not what define you. It’s what you do afterward that counts.”

You nodded, hearing the wisdom in his words but not quite feeling it. The shame still burned, Bakugou’s words still echoing like a scar. You couldn’t shake the image of his furious glare, the way his words cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had one job. That’s all he’d said. And you’d screwed it up. Badly.

You weren’t cut out for this, were you? Maybe Bakugou was right—maybe you were just a waste of time. Everyone around you seemed to know exactly what they were doing, but you were fumbling through every step, like a toddler learning to walk. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment, his anger, like it was still seeping into your bones.

You weren’t good enough. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

A pit of self-loathing twisted in your stomach, deeper than it ever had before. You’d come into this job with so much hope, with the idea that you could prove yourself, that you could be something more than just another rookie. But every time you tried, it felt like you only dug yourself deeper. Every mistake you made seemed to stack up, making you a bigger target for Bakugou’s wrath.

Was this the best you could do? Stumbling through every opportunity, letting your partner clean up your mess?

You should’ve known better. You should’ve moved faster, been more careful, not tripped on that damn pipe. You shouldn’t have let the pressure get to you. But here you were, a failure in the eyes of your mentor, your team, yourself.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously. You didn’t cry. Not over something like this. But no matter how hard you tried, the ache in your chest didn’t fade. What if this was it? What if you just weren’t built for this kind of work? Maybe you didn’t belong here at all.

You pushed a hand against the wall, feeling the cool surface beneath your palm as your breath grew shallow. What if you just gave up? What if you walked out the door, out of this damn precinct, and never came back?

You’re not good enough, the thought whispered. And you never will be.

For a moment, you stood there, weighed down by that voice—by the truth of it. And in the quiet of the hallway, with only the distant hum of the building and the haunting echoes of Bakugou’s fury, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you were starting to believe it.

The silence stretched on, the oppressive weight of your own thoughts bearing down on you. The anger that had been bubbling in your chest before was now buried under a thick layer of disappointment—both your own and what you imagined Bakugou’s to be.

But then, a soft voice cut through the dark fog of your mind.

"Hey." Chief Yagi’s voice was gentle, but firm. You didn’t even realize he had entered the hallway until you heard him say your name. "You doing alright?"

You flinched at the sound of your name, dragging your gaze up to meet his warm, steady eyes. Chief Yagi wasn’t like Bakugou—he wasn’t harsh, wasn’t blunt or demanding. His presence was a quiet kind of strength, and it was that quiet strength that seemed to settle over you like a blanket.

“I… I don’t know, Chief.” The words came out like a confession, raw and hesitant. You couldn’t meet his gaze for long, instead focusing on the floor as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "I screwed up. Big time. I… I don’t think I’m cut out for this."

The words tasted like ash in your mouth. They were the culmination of all the doubts you’d been carrying, every mistake you’d made, every misstep that felt like a chasm between you and your teammates.

Chief Yagi sighed softly, taking a step closer, his expression kind but knowing, like he’d seen this before. "Hey," he repeated, his voice reassuring. "Everyone messes up. Especially when they’re starting out."

You shook your head, unable to shake the feeling that you’d let everyone down. "I let everyone down, Chief. Bakugou was right. I—I had one job, and I blew it. You gave me a chance to prove myself..and I failed."

"Yeah, you made a mistake. But you didn’t ruin everything." Chief Yagi’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of experience. "We’re not in this alone, you know? You don’t have to carry the burden of every single slip-up on your own."

His words were a balm to the self-inflicted wound that had been festering. But they still didn’t feel quite enough to wipe away the guilt. "But I keep messing up," you said softly. "Over and over again. I’m just... holding everyone back."

"No," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "What you’re doing is learning. You’re learning, and you’re pushing through. That’s all anyone can ask of you. I see it, you know? The way you push yourself. The way you don’t back down, even when it’s tough."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to feel that tiny spark of hope flicker back to life inside you. But it was hard to see through the haze of failure that clouded your mind. "But what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’m just... a mistake waiting to happen?"

Chief Yagi let out another soft breath, and when he spoke again, it was with the kind of patience only someone who’d been through it all could have. "You know, no one gets everything right the first time. Or the second. Or the third, for that matter. It’s not about getting it perfect; it’s about getting back up every time you fall. And you will. I’m sure of it."

His words sank into you like a stone into water, rippling through the doubt and frustration that had been swelling up inside you. Chief Yagi wasn’t trying to erase your mistake, he was just reminding you that it didn’t define you. That you didn’t have to be perfect to be worth something.

"I’m not saying it’ll be easy," he continued, his voice steady, "but I’m here, and your team’s here. You don’t have to be alone in this, even when it feels like you are."

You swallowed hard, fighting the lump that had formed in your throat. For the first time that night, you allowed yourself a breath, a small sigh that felt like a fraction of a weight lifting.

“I won’t give up,” you said quietly, the words more to yourself than to him, but they still felt like a promise. “I’ll do better. I’ll keep going.”

Chief Yagi smiled, a small but warm curve of his lips that sent a little spark of hope through your chest. “That’s all anyone needs to hear. You’re gonna be just fine, kid.”

He turned to walk away, but before he did, he gave you one last, reassuring glance over his shoulder. "And if you ever need to talk, I’m around. Don’t forget that, okay?"

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. Maybe you weren’t a lost cause after all. Maybe you could get better. Maybe you were learning. And with that, you allowed yourself just a sliver of hope—enough to push through to the next day.

[kimmie2me]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀·˚˖ ੈ‧♪ "⋆ ˚｡♪ "⋆ ˚ chapters !!

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# 01. New Beginnings

Synopsis: After a big rookie mistake in the field, Chief Yagi assigns you to Bakugou Katsuki; the best detective in the department. Initial tension as Bakugou makes it clear he doesn’t want a “nuisance” rookie around. Hint; that's you.

# 02. Street Smarts & Tough Lessons

Synopsis: Thrown into Bakugou's grueling routine, you’re quickly pushed beyond your comfort zone—and he's not holding back on the insults. What was once an easy ride as a rookie has become an intense crash course, and you’re left scrambling to keep up. Perhapes a cup of coffee can change his attitude?

# 03. Unexpected Partners

Synopsis: Tensions peak as Bakugou’s unyielding standards continue to wear on you, and your attempts to keep up feel futile. But when a sudden lead pulls you into an unexpected late-night stakeout together, you're left with a choice: either keep up or fall behind. Not that you have much time, anyway.

# 04. Crossed Lines

Synopsis: A routine stakeout goes south, and a single misstep leaves you at the center of Bakugou’s fury. As frustration and doubt close in, Chief Yagi’s quiet support offers a sliver of hope—but the question remains: are you cut out for this, or just another rookie wasting his time?

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more coming soon!!

[kimmie2me]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꒰ ꒱ྀི tags ٩ ۶　

　　　　 　 　֗ ๑ . . . ̣̣̣︶ ྀི⑅♡ ྀི˖ ࣪𓈊 　₊　⠀　·

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🌸・reblogs of luv 🌸 💌・pretty posts ♡ ✧・reblogged by kimmie ✧ 📞・saving this 4 later・ﾟ✿

—commentary

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—random blurbs / drabbles

♡・late night brain rot・♡ 💕・random lil stories・💕 🍒・blurb by kimmie・🍒 🎀・kimmie’s mini fics・🎀

—personal thoughts

♡!! thoughts from the void !! ♡ 🌸・just me being me 🌸 💫・diary from bakugou's girl・💫

—writing (for my original works/fics)

✧･ﾟwriting from kimmie ✧･ﾟ 📖・kimmie’s fic zone 📖 💌・one-shot wonders 💌 ✿・kimmie’s word garden・✿ 💌・from me to u 💌