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Uraraka Ochako had spent her entire adult life guiding other people toward their soulmates. It was her gift, or curse, depending on the day. A matchmaker witch born with the rare ability to see the glowing red thread that tied two destined hearts together. She could sense compatibility, nudge fate, and coax stubborn lovers into each other’s arms with a flick of her fingers and a well‑timed spell.
She’d united nobles, farmers, warriors, and wandering bards. She’d helped childhood friends realize their love, and she’d soothed the hearts of widows ready to love again. She’d done everything for everyone else. And yet her own thread remained invisible. A blank space where her soulmate should have been.
She told herself she didn’t mind. She had her cottage, her work, her herbs, her enchanted teapot that never chipped, no matter how many times she dropped it. But sometimes, late at night, when the moon was high and the world was quiet, she wondered what it would feel like to be chosen by fate instead of being the one who arranged it for others.
She wondered what it would feel like to be loved.
The letter arrived on a storm‑heavy morning, delivered by a hawk with a scar across its beak. Uraraka blinked at the seal: a snarling wolf’s head surrounded by flame.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Not them.”
The Emberfang Clan.
Barbarian warriors.
Notorious for their tempers, their strength, and their tendency to solve problems by hitting them with axes.
She broke the seal anyway.
Matchmaker Witch Uraraka Ochako,
Your presence is required by order of Warlord Bakugou Katsuki.
A matter of soulmates concerns the clan.
You will be escorted.
Refusal is not an option.
Uraraka stared at the letter.
“Refusal is not an option? Who writes that?”
The hawk screeched at her, as if offended on behalf of its employer.
She sighed. “Fine. But I don't have to like it.”
The Emberfang fortress was carved into the side of a mountain, all jagged stone and roaring fires. Warriors trained in the courtyard, their shouts echoing off the walls.
Uraraka tried not to stare.
She failed.
They were huge.
And loud.
And sweaty.
A warrior led her to the throne room, though “throne” was generous. It was more like a massive slab of stone draped in furs. And sitting on it was Bakugou Katsuki, the barbarian warlord.
He was… a lot.
Broad shoulders.
Scarred arms.
Wild blond hair that looked like it had lost a fight with lightning.
Red eyes sharp enough to cut.
He looked like a man who could lift a boulder with one hand and throw it at someone he didn’t like. He also looked deeply, profoundly irritated.
“Tch. You’re the witch?”
Uraraka straightened her spine. “I am Uraraka Ochako, certified matchmaker witch of the—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He stood, towering over her. “You’re here because my clan is losing their damn minds.”
She blinked. “Losing their minds… how?”
“They’re all finding their soulmates.” He scowled as if this were personally offensive. “Every week, it’s another idiot pairing off. They’re getting soft. Distracted. Making goo‑goo eyes at each other instead of training.”
Uraraka tried not to smile. “That sounds lovely.”
“It sounds like a pain in my ass.”
Ah. There it was.
“And you want me to… what? Stop them from falling in love?”
“Hell no.” He crossed his arms. “I want you to figure out why it’s happening so fast. And fix it.”
She hesitated. “Fix… love?”
“Fix the imbalance,” he snapped. “Something’s off. I can feel it.”
Uraraka frowned. She could sense something, a strange tug in the air, like threads tightening all at once. But before she could examine it, Bakugou stepped closer. Too close. Her breath caught. He smelled like smoke and pine and something warm beneath it.
“You’re staying here until it’s done,” he said.
She blinked. “Staying? As in—”
“Yeah. In the room right across from mine. Deal with it.”
Her heart thudded.
Oh no.
When she opened her door one morning, she nearly collided with Bakugou's bare chest. It was hard, yet the skin was smooth beneath her fingertips. Eyes widened as she realized she was petting the fiercest warrior in all the lands. “Why are you here?” she squeaked.
“I live here,” he deadpanned.
“I meant, never mind.”
He grunted and walked past her, but something strange happened as he did.
A spark.
A tug.
A faint shimmer in the air between them.
Uraraka froze.
No.
No, no, no.
She reached out with her magic, gently, carefully, and felt it.
A thread.
A soulmate thread.
Connecting her…
To him.
Her stomach dropped to her boots.
This was impossible.
Ridiculous.
Unfair.
She’d spent her whole life helping others find love, and fate had decided this was her match? A barbarian warlord who yelled at clouds and probably punched trees for fun?
Absolutely not. She slammed her door shut.
On the other side, she heard him mutter, “What’s her problem?”
Uraraka pressed her hands to her face.
This is a disaster.
Living with Bakugou was like living next to a thunderstorm.
He stomped everywhere.
He growled at people.
He trained shirtless in the courtyard, which was distracting in ways she refused to acknowledge.
He also… helped her.
Constantly.
He carried her cauldrons without being asked.
He barked at warriors who got too close to her workspace.
He brought her food when she forgot to eat.
And every time he did, the thread between them pulsed.
She tried to ignore it.
She failed.
One night, while she was studying the clan’s soulmate patterns, Bakugou appeared in her doorway.
“You’re overworking,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
She looked down. Her hands trembled from exhaustion.
He crossed the room in two strides and took her wrists gently, shockingly gently, in his calloused hands.
“Rest,” he said.
Her breath hitched.
The thread glowed.
She yanked her hands back. “I can’t rest. I have to figure out what’s causing the surge in soulmate bonds.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he said, quietly: “What if it’s you?”
She froze. “Me?”
“You moved into our area a couple of months ago,” he said. “And suddenly everyone’s pairing off. You’re a matchmaker witch. Maybe your magic’s leaking or something.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the truth hit her like a falling star.
He was right.
Her magic was reacting strangely.
Because her soulmate was near.
Because he was near.
And her power, attuned to soulmate bonds, was amplifying the threads around her.
“Oh gods,” she whispered. “It’s me.”
Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “So fix it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because the imbalance is coming from my own thread.”
He frowned. “Your thread?”
“My soulmate thread.”
He blinked. Then blinked again. Then very slowly, very carefully, he said: “…Who is it?”
Uraraka swallowed.
She didn’t want to say it.
Didn’t want to ruin everything.
Didn’t want him to laugh or yell or reject her.
But the truth pressed against her ribs. “It’s… you.”
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Bakugou stared at her like she’d just told him the sky was green.
Then he stepped closer.
Then closer.
Until she had to tilt her head back to look at him.
“Say it again,” he said, voice low.
Her heart pounded. “You’re my soulmate.”
His jaw clenched. “Good.”
She blinked. “Good?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed her hand, not roughly, but firmly. “Because I’ve been going insane trying not to drag you into my arms every time you walk past.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice was a growl, but a soft one. “I knew something was off the second you got here. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus. Kept wanting to protect you. Touch you. Keep you close.”
Her cheeks burned.
“That’s… normal,” she whispered. “For soulmates.”
“Yeah, well, it’s annoying.”
She laughed, breathless, disbelieving.
He tugged her closer. “Witch,” he murmured, “you’re mine.”
Her pulse fluttered. “And you’re mine.”
The thread between them glowed bright enough to light the room.
The clan’s soulmate surge slowed to normal levels.
The threads settled.
The magic calmed.
But Bakugou did not calm.
He hovered.
Constantly.
He brought her breakfast.
He carried her books.
He glared at anyone who looked at her for too long.
And at night, when the fortress was quiet, he sat with her by the fire, letting her lean against him while she read. Forced proximity had become chosen proximity.
One evening, as she dozed against his shoulder, he spoke. “You know,” he said, “I thought soulmates were stupid.”
She smiled sleepily. “And now?”
He kissed the top of her head. “Now I get it.”
Her heart melted.
She curled closer.
“Bakugou?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad it’s you.”
He grunted, embarrassed, flustered, pleased. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.” The thread between them glowed softly.
Warm.
Steady.
Unbreakable.
And for the first time in her life, Uraraka Ochako felt what she had given to so many others.
A love written in fate.
A soulmate found.
A home.
The Emberfang fortress was unusually quiet the next morning.
Too quiet.
Uraraka stepped out into the courtyard with a stack of notes in her arms, ready to begin her daily rounds of checking the soulmate threads that still shimmered faintly around the clan. She didn’t make it two steps before a shadow fell over her. A very large, very warm shadow.
Bakugou.
He stood in front of her like he’d been waiting, arms crossed, hair wild from training, eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart skip.
“Morning,” he said.
It was gruff.
But softer than usual.
“Good morning,” she replied, trying not to smile too obviously.
He stared at her for a long moment.
Too long. Then he reached out and plucked the top paper from her stack.
“You’re not working yet.”
She blinked. “I— I was going to—”
“Nope.” He tucked the paper under his arm. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where?”
He jerked his head toward the far end of the courtyard. “Somewhere private.”
Her heart fluttered.
Private.
That word did dangerous things to her imagination. But she followed him, past the training grounds, past the forge, past the warriors who paused mid‑swing to stare at the two of them walking side by side. Bakugou led her to a quiet overlook carved into the mountain wall. A ledge with a view of the valley below, wind brushing gently through the pines.
He stopped.
Turned.
Looked at her like she was something he’d been trying not to touch for days.
“Witch,” he said, voice low, “I’ve been thinking.”
Her breath caught. “About… what?”
“You. Us. This soulmate thing.”
She swallowed. “Oh.”
He stepped closer. “Yeah. Oh.” The thread between them pulsed, warm, bright, certain.
Uraraka felt her cheeks heat. “Bakugou… what are you—”
He didn’t let her finish. He reached out, cupped her face in both hands, rough palms, careful touch, and leaned down until his forehead rested against hers.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.
She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. Instead, she whispered, “Don’t.”
Bakugou kissed her.
It wasn’t fierce or overwhelming like she’d imagined.
It was warm.
Steady.
Grounding.
Like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he’d ever admit.
Uraraka melted into it, hands curling into the fur lining of his vest. The world narrowed to the feel of him, the warmth of his breath, the gentle pressure of his lips, the way the soulmate thread glowed so brightly she could almost see it.
When they finally pulled apart, she was breathless.
Bakugou looked… stunned.
And then—
A cheer erupted behind them.
They both whipped around.
The entire Emberfang Clan was gathered at the edge of the courtyard.
Every warrior.
Every elder.
Every apprentice.
All of them grinning like idiots.
Kirishima pumped a fist in the air. “FINALLY!”
Mitsuki wiped a tear from her eye. “I knew it! I told you all! I knew it!”
Someone released fireworks.
Someone else started drumming on a shield.
A group of warriors began chanting “SOULMATES! SOULMATES!” at the top of their lungs.
Uraraka covered her face with both hands. “Oh no.”
Bakugou’s eye twitched. “I’m going to kill them.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, laughing despite herself.
He growled. “Watch me.”
And she knew, from the soft look in his eyes, from the glow of the thread between them, from the way he stood just a little closer than necessary, that he was happy too.
And Bakugou leaned down, brushing his forehead against hers again.
“Witch,” he murmured, “that wasn’t our last kiss.”
Her heart fluttered. “I would hope not.”
He kissed her again, quick, warm, certain, while the clan cheered as they’d just won a war.
And for the first time in her life, Uraraka felt completely, undeniably chosen.