♪{Unwanted Soulmate}♪{BakugoxOC}

Soulmates

{A/N}
Okay, so this was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but it got too long and I wanted to put more things into detail. Let me know if you thing I should continue this, I probably will even if you don't, but if you do then it gives me motivation to write. So, thanks for reading, and I hope you like the story!!
{End of A/N}
•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A soulmate...

Everyone has one.

At least, they're believed to.

There are different types of ways to be connected to your soulmate.

The most common one is song.

Another is a timer on the inside of your wrist.

There's another one that's a red string of fate, tied around your smallest finger, and on the other side of it, somewhere in the world, is your soulmate.

Some have marks somewhere on their bodies that marks the place their soulmate will touch them for the very first time.

Sometimes there are words that appear on your wrist that read the first thing your soulmate will say to you.

Some have a special kind of heterochromia, and share an eye color with their soulmate. This one isn't very common at all.

A rare one is a streak of your soulmate's hair color in yours that can't be changed. If you dye your hair, the dye won't affect your soulmate streak.

Another way is that you feel whatever your soulmate is feeling.

People are born with multiple soulmate traits more often than not, and it strengthens the bond between the two.

A soulmate, the one person that was created for you, the person that fits you, and the one who will be by your side for the rest of your life, whether it be a platonic or romantic love.

They are your soulmate either way.

That's the course that fate has set for you.

And no one can change their fate.

Fate is inevitable.

It cannot be avoided.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•

“...go...Bak...ugo...”

“BAKUGO!!!”

The ash-blonde in question snapped his head toward the chalkboard and (of course) the angry teacher that was glaring at him. “Were you even listening? I am trying to teach a lesson here, Bakugo,” the man said, sounding irritated.

“Sorry; I got distracted, Mr Aizawa,” Katsuki said boredly, still clicking his mechanical pencil and pushing the lead out little by little.

“What's the excuse this time?”

“No excuse. I just wasn't focused today.”

“Well, get focused. I won't take a failing grade from any of my students lightly; if I get so much as a single grade under a B+, so help me, I will throw whoever turned in that abomination of a history paper into detention and then summer school. Do not disappoint me, understand?”

“Yes, Mr Aizawa!” The class chorused.

“Good,” he said, turning back to his book. “Now, as I was saying, in the years following World War II, large numbers of German civilians and captured soldiers were forced into labor by the Allied forces. The topic of using Germans as forced labor for reparations was first broached at the Tehran conference in 1943, where Soviet premier Joseph Stalin demanded 4,000,000 German workers, and...”