Speak (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

[29; shame]

You drew in a sniffle, hurriedly wiping away at your eyes. Katsuki was crouched down before you, his expression growing increasingly more concerned.

"The fuck is going on?" he repeated. "Why are you crying?"

A small part of you was tempted to try and come up with some bullshit excuse, but you got the feeling he wouldn't buy it this time around. You couldn't keep arguing that you were stressed over school forever. You got the feeling his mark was probably hurting right about now too.

"Sorry," you mumbled, swallowing another wave of tears. "I didn't want you to have to see me like this. I've just been feeling pretty shitty these past few days."

"Okay," Katsuki frowned, "I can see that you're not feeling well. But why?" He extended out his hand to help prop you to your feet but you merely shook him off, pressing your back closer to the wall. Realizing you weren't about to go anywhere, he slunk down to the floor, sitting cross-legged before you.

"I'm pretty sure you've already realized this by now, but I'm not a patient guy." Katsuki was furrowing his brows at you, fingers gripping down onto the fabric of his pants. "Something's been bugging you for a long-ass time, I can tell. And I'm not buying your excuses anymore. We're gonna sit here, however long it takes, and you're gonna fucking tell me what the hell is going on with you."

But what if I don't want to tell? you thought, already wiping away a slow-rolling tear. Admittedly, you didn't have much of a choice. When Katsuki set his mind to something, there was nothing—and no one—that could keep him from getting what he wanted. It was just scary, coming clean with a reveal as big as this.

It felt like this was the last conversation the two of you would ever have.

"So?" Katsuki prodded, eyes flickering with impatience. He watched as you nibbled on your bottom lip. "Are you gonna tell me, or what? And what's your fuckin' problem right now? Why the hell are you looking at me as if you're scared shitless?"

"Because you are scary," you mumbled softly.

"I'm not—what?" He stared back at you, stunned to silence. You'd never seen him look quite so lost for words before. The sensation of bile was climbing up your throat again. "How the fuck am I scary? Is that actually—hey. [Name]," he glowered, "Is that actually how you fucking see me?"

You shuffled your feet against the floor, bringing your knees up flush against your chest. You gave him a slow nod. "Yes. I feel nervous to say things around you at times. It freaks me out, imagining the ways in which you'd react."

"...Wow."

It was the only thing he said. His expression was still sweltering with a mixture of bewilderment and irritation. You hadn't even actually told him what was bothering you, and already he looked as though he was on the verge of exploding.

"You're so full of shit, you know that?" He was glaring at you now, jaw clenched. "All the times you told me that I was a "nice" guy, and you felt "happy" to be around me—so that was all a big fucking joke, huh? You're still convinced I'm some monster who's not good enough for you."

You shook your head. "I'm not scared of you in the sense that I think you'll lash out and hurt me, but sometimes I really do feel anxious around you. It feels like I can't speak my mind without you being upset with what I've said. You're a headstrong person—and I respect that—but it honestly feels like you're not willing to take into account anything that anyone says, if it doesn't happen to coincide with your own opinion." You squeezed down on your knees. Your hands felt clammy and cold. "I'm just saying," you breathed out, "I don't feel as if I can be 100% honest around you and share how I truly feel, because I'm always worried that you'll take things the wrong way and get angry in a second."