Sirens ripped through the twilight as Bakugo and Y/N sprinted down the crowded street, the roar of panic behind them. Reports of a quirk‐amplification device in the financial district had a half dozen pro heroes racing to contain it. Tonight, they were no longer interns or news fodder—they were frontline in a city bracing for chaos.
Y/N's pulse quivered like a tuning fork beneath their uniform. Each footfall hammered urgency into their bones. Bakugo shot them a quick glance, eyes hard in the lamplight. "Stay close." His voice was low, authoritative—no sign of the exhaustion that had shadowed him all week.
They reached the banking tower's shattered lobby, glass crunching underfoot. The device—a black sphere no larger than a basketball—hovered above the marble floor, veins of crimson energy pulsing outward. Around it, civilians huddled, phones trained like weapons, confused and afraid.
Bakugo dropped into a combat stance. "You handle the perimeter. I'll neutralize it."
Y/N swallowed. Their quirk—vibrational resonance—could dampen the device's ripples long enough for Bakugo's precision explosion to destabilize it. They nodded, feet already flexing.
As Y/N focused, they sent a low hum beneath the floor. The sphere's pulses stuttered—one, two beats instead of the rapid thrum that had rattled windows. Sweat glazed Y/N's brow. Resonance took every ounce of control they had. If they faltered, the device would overcharge, leveling the block.
Bakugo backed up thirty feet, sparks dancing on his palms. "Now," he called.
Y/N released the final pulse. The sphere shivered, then cracked like an egg shell. Red energy erupted in a controlled blast. Bakugo detonated his gauntlets at the apex—an explosion of white‐hot fury that consumed the sphere in a storm of light.
Silence.
Rubble rained. Civilians stood, stunned. Not a window intact on two floors—but no casualties. Y/N staggered forward, legs trembling. Bakugo caught them, one arm sweeping them inside his jacket.
"It's over," he said, voice rough with adrenaline. "You did it."
Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps. "We did it."
A new siren blared: backup was coming. The press arrived at the perimeter, cameras zooming in on the pair wrapped together amid dust. Live feeds splashed their faces across every channel—Bakugo's jaw clenched in feral relief; Y/N's eyes bright with impact.
Then the earth shifted.
A secondary device—or a trigger left behind—rocked the lobby. A beam collapsed, pinning Y/N's leg beneath it. She cried out, pain searing. Bakugo's eyes went white. He dropped onto his knees, burning hands ripping through debris like a vengeful wave.
"Y/N!" he shouted, voice cracking. He pried steel girders away, instincts and fury fused into one. "Hold on!"
Y/N pressed against his chest, tears stinging. "I'm—fine," they choked. "Just—help me."
Bakugo's explosions cut through the falling rubble. With one last blaze, the beam fell aside. He scooped Y/N into his arms, her weight nothing against his relief. "You idiot," he muttered, voice tight. "Look at you—"
They managed a crooked smile, pain laced with gratitude. "Couldn't let you do it alone."
He kissed her forehead, explosive heat softened into fierce protectiveness. "I'm never letting go."
Behind them, emergency crews poured in. Amid flashing lights and frantic voices, Bakugo carried Y/N away from the wreckage. The city would call it heroism; Y/N would call it their heartbeat. But both knew something had broken deeper than concrete tonight.