Speak (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

[10; we're just different]

[Katsuki's POV]:

"Eh? Katsuki, you've got a soulmate mark? Seriously?"

The blonde gruffed, tempted to roll his eyes in annoyance. He usually did his best to cover it, but sometimes other guys would catch a peek of it in the changerooms. Why dudes bothered to glance in his direction he couldn't understand—those fuckin' pervs should just mind their own business and keep their eyes to themselves. Either way, he'd become accustomed to the bewildered looks and cries of surprise once others spotted his mark. And there wasn't much he could say about it, besides the fact that it was annoying as fuck.

"What's it to you?" he snarled, slipping on his gym uniform. "Worry about your own shitty self."

Katsuki was aware of the fact that he didn't have many friends; or any, really. Sure, he had those same lackeys that had followed him around ever since he was a kid, but he hadn't really considered them friends. They were add-ons, plain and simple, and he noticed the way people would shrink away from him all throughout middle school; out of fear, most likely. Good. Katsuki preferred it that way—he had an image to uphold, and the fact that others cowered from him was just proof that they knew his strength. He was intimidating; a force to be reckoned with, and the tattoo on his hip was anything but.

"I think you would look so much better with a smile."

For as long as he could remember, those were the words ingrained onto his skin. It drove him crazy, knowing that people would read that sentence and get all starry-eyed and breathless. They were surprised. Of course they were. The most head-strong, confident, and menacing guy in the school had a damn soulmate bond like that—one that painted a picture of someone who was weak, and who could be undermined with those simple words. What the fuck did it even mean, anyways? A smile, for fuck's sake. What did it matter if he fucking smiled or not? Who were they to tell him what he should do?

Katsuki didn't like one bit. No, more than that; he fucking hated the mark he'd been born with. His parents had been so excited when they'd first spoken to him about it, commenting how kind and wonderful of a person his soulmate must be. Yeah, right. Their first words to him were basically a critique; a condescending suggestion on how he should and shouldn't act. It made him feel weak. It made him feel vulnerable.

This whole "soulmate" thing was utter bullshit, that much he was sure of.

—

It was the day of the Sports Festival, and Katsuki had been having nostalgia, of all things.

He was sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting room with his feet propped up; his entire class was cluttered close by and either jumping in their seats or squirming restlessly. Damn assholes were nervous, like the pansies they were.

Pathetic, Katsuki thought. It's not like they stand a chance either way.

As obvious as it probably was to most people, Katsuki wasn't the type to get worked up or stressed out over anything. Sure, people could easily piss him the fuck off, because everyone was moronic, but there wasn't anything that made him feel scared. A feeling of weakness like that was unnecessary, and even on the off-chance that he was nervous, he sure as hell wasn't going to let it show. That's why Katsuki was content just to sit back and relax until the signal to enter the stadium went off, but his thoughts had been royally pissing him off.

He'd been annoyed with his tattoo all his life, but it wasn't like him to have flashbacks of his middle school days. Maybe it was because he was sitting around with nothing to do, or maybe it was because he spied you across the room, talking to that shitty nerd and that chick with the round face while you fiddled with the hem of your track jacket. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been staring at you for longer than he would like to admit.