The morning sunlight was harsh against the glass façade of Musutafu's Public Safety Center, where Y/N and Bakugo gathered with a group of pro heroes and interning students for their city patrol assignment. The air buzzed with anticipation—cameras from local news outlets lined the entrance, reporters inching closer to catch a glimpse of U.A.'s favorite new couple in action.
Y/N adjusted the strap of their utility belt, heart fluttering under the gaze of half a dozen microphones. They caught Bakugo's eye across the courtyard. He stood with his arms crossed, jaw set, explosions flickering silently in his palms. He looked calm, confident—but Y/N knew better.
A stout police lieutenant stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Miss. L/N, Mr. Bakugo—thank you for joining our summer outreach. Today we'll coordinate with City Heroes Unit Three. Remember: protect civilians first, maintain crowd control, and keep us updated."
Bakugo grunted. Y/N nodded. Inwardly, she wondered how much of this briefing the press would broadcast live. Probably all of it.
Aizawa stood behind them, arms folded, expression unreadable. "Stay sharp. This isn't a stroll through U.A. grounds."
Y/N squeezed Bakugo's shoulder. "No pressure."
He smirked. "Do your job."
They moved out in pairs: Y/N with Officer Kuroda and Bakugo with Detective Fuse, leaving a writhing line of cameras at their back. The city was alive—vendors hawking takoyaki from neon-lit stalls, commuters weaving through crowds, a distant siren wailing its warning. Y/N's quirk hummed beneath her skin, a soft vibration that throbbed with each heartbeat. Bakugo's explosive energy sizzled at his fingertips. Together, they felt like a storm waiting to break.
As they rounded the corner into Liberty Avenue, a flash of color caught Y/N's eye: a news crew broadcasting live next to a shattered shop window. The reporter's voice crackled through a megaphone: "We now bring you live footage of U.A. interns bakugo and L/N on their first official patrol. Fans are calling for details—will they speak on camera?"
Bakugo's lip curled. He strode forward, pulling Y/N behind him. "Ignore them."
Y/N took a deep breath. "Right."
They fell into a rhythm—Bakugo clearing debris with controlled blasts while Y/N scanned side alleys with soundwaves that rippled through overturned crates. They rescued a kitten trapped beneath a rolling dumpster, Bakugo's explosion softening just enough, and Y/N's pulse wave lifting the lid. A crowd gathered, cheering. Phones came out.
"Perfect team," a bystander called.
Y/N offered a tired wave. Bakugo responded with a curt nod.
But the press crews swarmed. "How do you feel?" "Any comments?" "What's next?"
Neither answered. They slipped past the cameras, guiding civilians away from danger.
—
At midday, an alert boomed across their earpieces. A civilian transport bus had stalled at the overpass on Ninth Street. Reports said the brakes failed, and a section of the road was collapsing under the weight. A Pro Hero was already on route, but civilian lives hung in the balance.
"Move," Bakugo said, voice low. "We're on it."
They raced to the site, weaving through stalled traffic and gawking onlookers. The bus teetered on the broken edge, wheels dangling over the abyss. Passengers screamed, clinging to seats.
Y/N's pulse thrummed. They knelt at the bus door, sending out a gentle sound pulse that held shards of concrete in place just long enough. "Hold still!" she called. Bend the debris back—engage resonance to support the structure.
Bakugo hovered above them on a burst of crimson flame, scanning the broken road with sharp eyes. Below, honking cars and flashing police lights painted the scene in chaos.
"Clear the perimeter!" Bakugo roared. His controlled blasts pushed panicked drivers back, creating a safe zone.
Y/N's quirk vibrated through the bus frame, bracing it like steel girders. "Ten seconds," she counted.
Time stretched. Fifty live camera feeds broadcast every second.
Finally, Y/N released the resonance. The bus shuddered—but stayed aloft. A gasp rose from the crowd.
Bakugo dropped beside Y/N. "Nice work."
Y/N exhaled, legs trembling. "You too."
They guided each passenger down a safety chute Bakugo carved into the overpass with precise explosions. When the last person was clear, the road gave way completely with a deafening crack.
Bakugo caught Y/N under one arm as they stumbled. "You idiot—"
Y/N laughed breathlessly. "We did it."
A new chorus of cheers erupted. Flashbulbs popped. Reporters shouted questions again.
Bakugo ignored them. He held Y/N's waist tight. The spontaneous embrace felt charged—electric.
A cameraman's lens zoomed in. Y/N froze. The shot was perfect: Bakugo's chiseled jaw against their temple, arms protective.
One reporter's voice cut through the chaos: "Are those two more than partners?"
Bakugo stiffened. Y/N's heart thumped.
—
The afternoon dragged on with smaller incidents—a kitchen fire in a skyscraper café, a minor quake near the riverfront. With each rescue, the press followed. Each perfectly coordinated move drew more attention. Each time Bakugo brushed a stray hair from Y/N's forehead—as he guided them back from the café blaze—a dozen shutters clicked.
By the time the sun dipped low, they'd cleared three disasters. Their synergy was flawless, like dancers in a deadly waltz. But the eyes on them felt invasive, relentless.
Finally, the city command center radioed them back: "Good work. Return to base."
They trudged toward the Public Safety Center, muscles aching, adrenaline spent.
In the main hall, half a dozen reporters formed a gauntlet. Bakugo adjusted his jacket collar, eyes blazing. Y/N squared her shoulders, quirk humming low.
A reporter thrust a mic forward. "Bakugo, L/N—your rescue last hour: did your personal relationship help coordinate the effort?"
Bakugo snorted. "We're pros in training."
Y/N added, voice steady: "Communication is key. Whether you're partners or not."
Another asked, "Did you two ever hesitate, knowing the other was at risk?"
Y/N exchanged a glance with Bakugo. He nodded once. Y/N said, "Never."
Flashbulbs went off. Reporters scribbled.
Bakugo stepped forward, voice low and controlled. "We did our jobs. That's all."
The press backed off, murmuring.
Y/N's legs felt weak. Bakugo caught her before she swayed. He guided her through a side door.
—
In the quiet of the briefing room's back hallway, Y/N leaned against the wall. Bakugo stood a foot away, arms crossed, but close enough to feel his heat.
"They're never going to let us be just heroes," Y/N said.
Bakugo's brow tightened. "Let them talk."
Y/N shook their head. "It's not just talk. A sponsor just called Aizawa—demanding an appearance fee if we want to keep this internship."
Bakugo ground his teeth. "Then we'll charge them."
Y/N offered a small, tired smile. "It's not that simple."
They moved toward the rooftop—their sanctuary above the city's glare.
—
Under the first stars of evening, Y/N and Bakugo sat side by side on the roof's edge. The city's lights shimmered beneath them like fallen stars. The silence felt precious.
Y/N exhaled. "Red flags," they said. "Everyone's looking for them."
Bakugo glanced at them. "You mean our relationship?"
Y/N nodded. "They treat us like a gimmick. They don't see us as heroes—just a story."
He turned to face them, voice soft. "I see you."
Y/N's chest tightened. "And I see you."
They squeezed each other's hand, leaning together.
"I hate this part," Y/N admitted. "Being under the microscope."
Bakugo's expression softened. "Me too. But we chose this."
Y/N tilted their head. "Did we?"
He brushed a strand of hair from their face. "For you? I'd choose it again."
Y/N smiled, tears pricking. "For me?"
He kissed her forehead. "Because of you."
They settled into each other's arms, letting the night's cool breeze wash away the day's chaos.
Below, the city's din faded to a distant hum.
Up here, under the stars, red flags didn't matter. Together, they were more than a headline. They were a force.
And no matter how bright the glare, they'd stand side by side—heroes in love, heroes in battle, unbreakable.