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kimmie2me · 21 hours ago

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# 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.

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kimmie2me · 3 days ago

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# 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.

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