In this world, soulmate bonds appear the moment two destined people make physical contact. A mark flares to life — same place, same shape — burning like starlight under the skin.

Bakugo never believed in it. If fate wanted him to have someone, they could fight him for it.

The raid wrapping up had been a brutal one. Smoke clung to the air, mixing with the phlegmy sirens and groans of captured villains. Pro Hero Dynamight kept pace at the perimeter, barking radio orders and refusing medical attention as usual.

That’s when another hero approached the chaos — you.

Newly transferred from an international task force. Calm, collected, stride steady through broken pavement. Dark gloves removed while you directed paramedics with clear, quick authority.

Bakugo turned when he heard another pro call your name.

He didn’t expect the jolt in his chest.

“That’s the new American hotshot?” Kirishima muttered beside him.

“Tch. Doesn’t look like much.”

But he couldn’t stop staring.

Something in him — deep under bone and fire — thrummed.

A wounded civilian stumbled dangerously close to falling. You reacted first, hands shooting out—

—and collided full-force into Bakugo’s as you both kept the civilian upright.

Your palms met.

White heat. A sharp pull. Like a star going supernova beneath the skin.

Bakugo staggered back with a snarl, clutching his right wrist. A mark burned outward from his pulse point— jagged, bright and gold, like a tiny explosion frozen mid-bloom.

Your eyes widened as you stared at your own wrist.

Same mark. Same place.

Matching.

A hush fell.

Bakugo’s breath dropped into something unsteady. Like he’d been struck silent by fate itself.

“The hell—?” he gritted out.

You stared at him, nerves and disbelief tangled.

“I… I think we’re—”

“Don’t.” His voice came out rough, almost panicked. “Don’t say it.”

He tried to walk away.

Tried to outrun the burn tying him to you.

But the bond tugged — a magnetic thread humming beneath his ribs. The further he got, the tighter it pulled.

By the time he reached the medic tent, the pain flared so sharply he cursed under his breath and turned right back around.

You were there. Waiting. Hands fidgeting with the edge of your jacket, but chin lifted in stubborn courage.

He swallowed hard.

“Name,” he demanded — like he hadn’t heard it already.

You told him.

His quirk crackled faintly at his palms, but he didn’t let it explode.

“So you’re my soulmate.” Not a question. A frustrated, bewildered fact.

You nodded slowly.

“I didn’t exactly ask for one either,” you admitted quietly.

Bakugo blinked. Once. Twice.

Then — something softened.

“Tch. Figures fate would stick me with someone who talks back.”

You gave him a tiny smile. He stared like he wasn’t prepared for what that did to him.

Later, when medics insisted he rest, he grumbled but sat on a supply crate near you — close enough to ease the buzzing ache of the bond, but with a single seat of distance like it was his last shred of control.

His knee bounced. Your shoulder occasionally brushed his.

Every accidental touch sent that swirling warmth through both of you.

He finally muttered, low as embers:

“Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

A pause.

Something like fear flickered in his eyes — and hope trying not to show.

You leaned a little closer, voice soft:

“I don’t mind… Katsuki.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

“Oh yeah?” A genuine smirk tugged at his mouth. Arrogant. And flustered.

“Well good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

The soulmate mark gleamed warm against your skin — sealing a promise neither of you had asked for…

…but both already felt like fire under the surface.