Chapter Text
Blurb:
Katsuki
They said the Quirk Marriage Program would save society.
They didn’t mention it would ruin my life.
Pairing me with him—the quirkless nerd I tormented, the one who’s now somehow untouchable—wasn’t part of my plan.
Izuku wants to play hero? Fine.
But this war we’re in? It’s under my rules.
By all means, try me, Deku. Let’s see who burns first.
Izuku
Katsuki Bakugo was supposed to be my greatest regret.
Now, he’s my greatest weapon.
The mission is everything. To win, I have to turn our hate into love, our lies into truth.
But I’ve faced monsters before—and none have been as dangerous as him.
He thinks I’ll break under pressure?
Then he doesn’t know what it’s like to fight a battle you’ve already lost.
Dedication: For those who’ve been forced into boxes they didn’t choose,
and for the ones who dare to break out, even if it means burning everything down.
Chapter 1: The Pairing
Katsuki Bakugo
I’ve been called a lot of things in my life. Hot-headed. Explosive. A ticking time bomb. Those people don’t get it. They’re too soft to understand what it takes to be number one. You don’t claw your way to the top by playing nice or worrying about whether people like you. You do it by winning. And I win.
No one knows the price of it. Not the endless training, the sleepless nights, or the throbbing aches that never go away. They don’t see how deep you have to go into the darkness to come out brighter than anyone else. But that’s their problem, not mine. If they’re too weak to keep up, they can stay in the dirt where they belong.
People think they know me. They don’t. The media runs their mouths about how I’m "unpredictable," "dangerous," or whatever buzzword they need to sell their garbage stories. They call me the Pro Hero who takes risks that no one else would touch, the guy who dives headfirst into infernos because he doesn’t care about the fallout. But they’re wrong. I care. I care more than they’ll ever understand.
That’s why when the government rolled out their shiny new program last month, the so-called “Quirk Marriage Initiative,” I didn’t even bother pretending to listen.
Here’s the gist: they want to breed better heroes. “Quirk Optimization,” they called it. Some scientist with thick glasses and a clipboard full of stats stood in front of the cameras, grinning like he’d solved world hunger. His pitch was simple. Heroes with powerful quirks should partner with other strong quirk-users, ensuring the next generation of defenders would be stronger, faster, and better than us. A legacy of ultimate weapons for a society that couldn’t survive without them.
It wasn’t mandatory—yet. But the pressure? Oh, it was there. Invitations had gone out to every pro hero ranking in the top fifty, with incentives piled on like toppings on a sundae. Generous stipends, sponsorship deals, government-funded housing—hell, they were throwing in lifetime immunity for property damage. That alone should’ve had my name on the dotted line, considering how many buildings I’ve blasted through.
And they knew it. They sent their polished recruiters to my agency three times. Suits with fake smiles who didn’t know the first thing about me. They probably thought they could charm their way into my good graces. Idiots.
I told them all the same thing: shove it.
Not because I give a damn about their moral dilemmas or society’s future. Let’s be real—if anyone’s good enough to save the world, it’s me.
But because it wasn’t time. Yet.
I don’t need some genetically-engineered brat riding my coattails. I refused because the whole thing reeked of desperation. Like they’d already decided that we—this generation of heroes—weren’t enough. Like we were just placeholders until their designer babies were old enough to strap on a cape.
Screw that.
The public ate it up, of course. The program was a PR masterpiece, packaged in sleek ads and inspiring montages of heroes shaking hands with scientists in pristine labs. They didn’t show the contracts or the fine print. They didn’t show how much control those bastards were asking for—what kind of surveillance they’d demand over the lives they helped “create.”
I’d seen the reports. Heard the whispers from the higher-ups in the Hero Commission. This wasn’t just about quirks. It was about ownership. Whoever signed on to this program wasn’t just handing over their DNA. They were handing over their freedom.
I don’t hand over shit.
That’s the part they didn’t understand about me. The media could call me volatile, unpredictable, or even psychotic if it made them feel better. They didn’t see what I was really doing. Every risk, every defiance—it wasn’t recklessness. It was control. My life was mine. My victories were mine. My failures, too. No one else had a say in that.
So when I got that sleek black envelope with the gold emblem of the Hero Commission stamped across the front, I didn’t even open it. Tossed it straight into the trash.
For weeks, I didn’t think about it again. Not until the call came.
It was late—past midnight. I’d just dragged myself home from a double shift, still smelling like soot and burnt asphalt. My head was pounding, my body screaming for rest, when my phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Normally, I don’t answer those. But something about it—something I can’t explain—made me swipe to accept.
The voice on the other end wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t some commission lackey or another journalist begging for a scoop. It was calm and too damn composed. And what they said?
That changed everything.
“Bakugo,” came the smooth, familiar tone of someone I hadn’t heard from in months. “I trust you’ve been keeping yourself intact.”
“Jeanist?” I barked, half-sure I was hallucinating. “What the fuck?”
His chuckle grated on my nerves. “Still as charming as ever, I see. I’ll make this brief, as I doubt you have the patience for pleasantries.”
“No shit,” I snapped, already pacing the length of my living room. “You better not be wasting my time. It’s past midnight, and I’m about two seconds away from blasting this phone.”
“Temper, temper.” His voice was maddeningly calm, like he was humoring a child throwing a tantrum. “This isn’t a social call. It’s about the Quirk Marriage Initiative.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “What about it? I already told those bastards to shove their program.”
“That’s precisely why I’m calling,” he replied, his tone sharpening just enough to cut through my bluster. “We needed someone with your...um...fiery disposition to stay out of the spotlight while we worked behind the scenes. The mission was a delicate one, but I’m pleased to report that it was a success.”
“Mission?” I repeated, my hands curling into fists. “What the hell are you talking about? Since when do you plan ops without telling me?”
“Since it required absolute discretion,” he said simply. “We’ve managed to secure your entry into the program—under a specialized cover, of course. You’ll be going in as a participant.”
I felt the heat rise in my chest, spreading to my throat. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Why the hell would I agree to something like that? I’m not about to play house with some random extra just to boost their goddamn stats.”
“Hardly random,” Jeanist countered, his voice cold but steady. “Your partner has been carefully selected to complement your... unique qualities. Think of this less as matchmaking and more as infiltration. You’ll be gathering intel from the inside—the participants and the program’s true purpose.”
“Gathering intel? I don’t need to go undercover for that! Just give me a list of targets, and I’ll blow the answers out of them!”
“That approach, while true to form, would likely result in collateral damage.” There was a note of dry humor in his voice, but it quickly faded. “This is bigger than you think, Bakugo. The program isn’t just about quirks. It’s about control—over heroes, over the next generation, and potentially over society itself. We need someone on the inside who can act without compromising their position. Someone no one would suspect of playing along.”
I snorted, the corners of my mouth twitching into a smirk. “And you think that’s me? The guy who can barely keep from blowing up at reporters?”
“You underestimate yourself,” he said lightly. “You’ve spent years defying expectations, proving that strength and chaos can coexist. Use that. Lean into their perception of you while keeping your true intentions hidden. That’s your mission, should you choose to accept it.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, the weight of his words sinking in. The idea of being manipulated by those program bastards made my blood boil—but the thought of turning their own game against them? That was tempting.
“And the partner?” I asked finally, though the word felt like acid on my tongue. “What makes them so damn perfect?”
“Let’s just say they’ve been handpicked with your... temperament in mind. You might find they’re more capable than they appear. We were lucky on this one, Katsuki.”
His cryptic tone only pissed me off more, but I couldn’t deny the curiosity eating at the edges of my mind. “Fine, but if this turns into some cheesy reality show bullshit, I’m torching the whole thing.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Jeanist said with a hint of amusement. “Your entry is already secured. You’ll be contacted with further instructions soon. Until then, keep a low profile.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I muttered, already feeling the heat simmering in my palms. “Just don’t get any ideas about micromanaging me, got it? I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Nor would I dream of assigning one to you,” he replied smoothly. “Good luck, Bakugo. The world is watching.”
The line went dead before I could retort, leaving me standing in the middle of my apartment with a phone in one hand and an explosion crackling in the other.
“Infiltration,” I muttered under my breath, a wicked grin curling at the corners of my mouth. “Fine. Let’s see how long it takes before I blow their perfect little program to hell.”
The next day I stormed into Best Jeanist’s agency, the click of my boots echoing down the pristine, polished halls. Everything here reeked of order and control, from the neat rows of hero profiles on the walls to the faint smell of cedarwood in the air. It made my skin crawl.
Typical Denim head.
He stood there, immaculate as always, his tailored suit crisp and his hands folded neatly on his desk. The bastard didn’t even flinch. “Good evening, Dynamight. Punctual as ever.”
“Cut the crap. Who’s this so-called ‘partner,’ and why do I need one?”
Jeanist raised a brow, as calm as if we were discussing the weather. “Patience, Bakugo. Your partner will be here shortly.”
I opened my mouth to tear into him when the door behind me creaked open. Footsteps followed, and then a voice—soft but familiar—floated through the room.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was rough.”
I froze.
What the fuck.
That voice was burned into my memory, twisted up in years of shame and something uglier I never dared name. My head whipped around, and there he was, standing just a few feet away.
Izuku Midoriya.
“What the—” I choked out, my voice strangled by a flood of emotions I didn’t want to name.
The scrawny kid I used to torment was gone. In his place stood a man who looked too sharp, too composed, too... different . He wasn’t wearing a hero costume—not that he’d ever needed one—but the way he carried himself, with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder and confidence in every step, made it clear he wasn’t here to be pushed around.
“Deku?” I spat, my mind scrambling for an explanation. “What the hell is this?”
He glanced at me, his green eyes cool and analytical in a way that made my skin crawl. “Long time no see, Kacchan.”
That nickname. I’m going insane. I hadn’t heard it in years, and hearing it now only pissed me off more. “Don’t call me that!”
Jeanist stepped between us, raising a hand for silence. “Before you say anything rash, Bakugo, let me explain.”
“I don’t need an explanation! This has to be some kind of joke! Him ? You expect me to work with this... this—”
“Agent,” Deku said evenly, cutting me off.
I blinked. “What?”
“I’m an agent,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly calm and that same smile on his face that I want to wipe off. He's always looked better cryi- FUCK. “It’s why Jeanist brought me in.”
“That’s bullshit!” I snarled, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re quirkless! You couldn’t spy on a vending machine without getting caught!”
Deku smirked, an expression so out of place on his face that it made my stomach turn. “And yet, here I am.”
Before I could explode, Jeanist’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough, Bakugo.”
I rounded on him, my hands itching to blow something up. “Are you seriously telling me you trust this guy? He’s a liability!”
Jeanist’s gaze hardened, his usual calm replaced with steel. “Izuku Midoriya has spent years infiltrating the highest levels of quirk trafficking rings and corruption networks. He’s one of the best assets we have, and he’s critical to exposing the truth about the Quirk Marriage Program. Be grateful it was him you were matched with.”
I barked out a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything else. “This quirkless freak ? Critical? You’ve lost it, Jeanist.”
Jeanist didn’t flinch. “And as the Number One Hero, you’re just as critical. The two of you will work together to gather evidence, expose the program’s flaws, and bring it down from the inside.”
“Over my dead body!” I shouted.
“Then consider your career over,” Jeanist said sharply. “If you refuse, you’ll not only lose your hero license, but you’ll also be branded a deserter. Do you want that on your record?”
I clenched my fists so hard my palms burned. “This is insane.”
“It’s necessary,” Jeanist replied. “The two of you will share a living facility as part of the program. You’ll attend its launch party tomorrow as representatives. And, for the sake of appearances...”
I didn’t like where this was going.
“You’ll be married.”
The room spun. “WHAT?!”
Deku didn’t even blink. “Understood,” he said, like we were discussing the weather.
“ Understood ?!” I rounded on him, ready to explode in every sense of the word. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“Plenty,” he said with a small shrug. “But this isn’t about me, is it? It’s about stopping a corrupt system and saving lives. You can scream all you want, Kacchan, but it won’t change the mission. It's only until we expose them, you can get rid of me anytime after that.”
I stared at him, every muscle in my body coiled like a spring. “You’re insane,” I hissed.
“And you’re predictable,” he shot back.
Jeanist stepped in again before I could lunge at him. “This is bigger than either of you. Do your jobs, and you’ll have the chance to change the world.”
I didn’t care about changing the world. I cared about the fact that I was being shoved into a cage with a quirkless bastard I couldn’t stand and forced to play house.
But as much as I hated it, I knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
And it was going to fuck me up.
By a lot.