Work Text:
Commissioned Artwork by kalcia
The park was exceptionally busy that afternoon: children playing on the playground, people walking their dogs, going for jogs, taking little lunchtime turns around the park path. There was just one bench free; it was close to the path, but it would have to do.
Izuku settled down, placed his bag to his left, and his lunch to his right. He opened his Thermos, took a long drink, and then turned to his bag to dig out the reason he’d come to a park bench during this very busy time of day.
Great Expectations.
It was the book that Izuku’s English literature professor had assigned them to read. Charles Dickens. 500 pages, all in English. When he had seen the reading list for the class, Izuku had shuddered. Why did he choose this class for his humanities elective?
He could have dropped; he totally knew that he could have. But Izuku never backed down from a challenge, and that’s exactly how he saw this: a huge challenge.
Because Izuku didn’t read like other people. He had a hard time processing words when he read them silently; oftentimes, he found his eyes sliding over the same page, again and again, unable to discern what the words meant, what the author was saying. It made studying really hard, because Izuku couldn’t focus enough on the words to read them silently.
For years, he had struggled with his ability to study appropriately; he knew he could be a good student, but he just had such a hard time with words when they were just on the page! So he teetered on the brink of failure, his mother and his teachers completely confused as to why he just couldn’t seem to learn the material. But then, his second year of high school, his English teacher had suggested he read things aloud. Izuku had never tried that before; that was something adults did for their children before they could read, right?
The teacher had insisted, and so, Izuku tried it. And to his surprise, he found out that he was an aural learner: he couldn’t concentrate when words were on the page, but if they were read aloud, and he could follow along, he could listen. And even better, he could remember.
It was like life had opened up for him from that moment forward; Izuku read everything out loud, everywhere he went. He spent hours in his room, reading, writing down notes in his notebooks, and then reading those notes, as well. His mother was at first confused by his new study habit, but when his grades started to steadily rise, he noticed that she decided to stay quiet and let him do what he wanted.
Izuku’s new study skill allowed him to graduate close to the top of his class, and to have his choice of universities to attend. It brought him all the way to Tokyo; a plane ride away from his home in Sendai, to be sure, but it was Izuku’s dream to be a teacher, to help other students the way that he had been helped, and Tokyo was the best place for him to have that education.
There were times he regretted it (like now, like staring at the first page of Great Expectations), but ultimately, Izuku was happy with his choice.
He just…couldn’t study many places anymore.
He had a roommate, who was nice enough, but who Izuku also didn’t want to keep up all hours of the night. He couldn’t study in the lounge of his dorm, where other students were also studying. He couldn’t study in coffee shops, or in libraries. He supposed he could have rented out a study room, but he was already by himself most of the time, and he didn’t really want to be alone while he studied, too.
So, the park it was.
Izuku opened up his book and started to read.
My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.
Izuku was quickly drawn into the book, murmuring to himself as he read, marking passages that he would want to return to later to reread a second or a third time. Time seemed to stand still; he was no longer aware of the sights or the sounds of the park; he was completely and totally immersed in Dickens’ world.
He only barely registered the shadow that fell over him, the soft creak of the bench as someone sat beside him. Izuku kept reading, kept gasping excitedly over certain parts of the story, when suddenly his book was snatched out of his hands, forcing Izuku to squeak and look up.
“Just what do you think you’re—oh.” Izuku blushed, because holding his book, a most disdainful look on his face, was maybe the hottest guy Izuku had ever seen. He had spiky blond hair that stuck out every which way, and a chiseled, masculine face (Izuku had never called someone “masculine” before, but this person definitely fit that description perfectly). His ruby-red eyes glared at the pages before him, and his handsome mouth was scrunched up in a scowl.
“The fuck you doin’, shitty nerd, reading this shit aloud in the middle of a fucking park?” Oh, so the man had a mouth on him, too. Izuku…kind of liked that. “And Dickens? Fucking fuck; what are you, some kind of bibliophile?”
Izuku blinked; he didn’t know what he’d been expecting to come out of the man’s mouth, but the word bibliophile definitely wasn’t it. He reached out, and grabbed his book back, careful to mark his space with his finger as he closed the book. “What are you doing,” he retorted, “stealing books out from under people’s noses?”
The man’s scowl turned into a smirk. “I only steal books from cute oblivious nerds,” he snarked back. “Which you definitely qualify as.”
Izuku huffed. “I’m—I’m not—” He was going to say oblivious, but he realized with a start that the man had also said cute, and holy shit, Izuku thought he might faint and pass away right there on the park bench.
“Ya are,” the man grinned. “Not that it’s any of my concern anyway.” He leaned away from Izuku, against the back of the bench, and hooked his hands around the back of his neck. “I’m just here to catch a little shuteye while I’m on my break.”
“Oh!” Izuku said, surprised. The other man didn’t seem that old—Izuku had assumed college, but…
“Yeah,” the man said, “I gotta get back to class in thirty. Thought I’d chill in the sunshine for a bit, you know?”
“Yeah,” Izuku said earnestly, “that’s why I’m out here. The sun is nice, and…”
“I thought it would be because you can’t read out loud in other places,” the man commented, closing his eyes and pulling his legs up into a crossed position.
Izuku blushed. “I—I—” How did he keep throwing Izuku off like this?
“Tch,” the man scoffed, his eyes still shut. “You don’t have to stop reading or some shit. Just lemme know when it’s been thirty minutes, okay? I’m gonna snooze for a bit.”
Izuku didn’t know what to say. This person had just…flopped down next to him on the bench, teased him, and now was not only going to sleep next to him, but also asked him to a) keep reading, and b) let him know when thirty minutes had passed?
What else could he do?
Izuku opened his book, found his place, and kept reading. He heard the man huff, and, out of the corner of his eye, before he was drawn back into the story, he thought he saw the man smile.
“Uhhh…” Izuku sat next to the sleeping young man, staring at his face, unsure how to wake him.
He’d never seen anyone so beautiful, so perfect, while they slept.
The young man’s face, which had been so scowly and smirky when he’d been awake, was the picture of innocence when he was asleep. His skin was porcelain smooth, and Izuku hadn’t noticed before, but his eyelashes were thick, and long, and dotted his cheeks when he breathed in and out, slowly. His lips were a plush pink, and full, and Izuku found himself wanting…
No, Izuku, bad. You can’t kiss a sleeping man you barely met.
Izuku dog-eared his page, and closed his book. He leaned over, and gently poked the young man in the arm. “He—hello?” he said tentatively. “You—you said for me to wake you up?”
The young man flailed his arm, knocking Izuku’s hand away. “Fuck off,” he muttered. “Five minutes, okaasan.”
Oh, okay. That was adorable.
“Uhhh,” Izuku replied softly, again reaching out to tap the young man’s arm, “I’m not your okaasan, but you said you have class?”
“Shit.” The young man’s eyes fluttered open. He sat up, rubbed the back of his neck, and groaned. “That was a fucking terrible position to sleep in,” he groused, turning to Izuku. “Why the fuck did you let me sleep like that?”
“I—I didn’t—”
The young man grinned. “No worries, nerd.” He pushed himself up to his feet and checked his phone. “I gotta get to class,” he said. “See ya around…”
“Mi—Midoriya!” Izuku squeaked. “Midoriya Izuku!”
“Midoriya Izuku.” The young man flashed him a smirk. “Maybe next time your shitty nerd voice won’t put me to sleep.” He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Later.” He gave Izuku a wave, and just like that, he was gone.
Izuku sat back against the bench, his breathing heavy and uneven, his hand over his heart.
His voice had…put someone…the hottest man he’d ever seen…
To sleep?
He’d done that?
No one ever thought Izuku had a nice voice. His mother said it was pleasant enough, but most people complained that Izuku got too excitable and his voice was too high-pitched. Which, sure, he got excited a lot, but there was so much to be excited for in life, wasn’t there?
Like a hot guy sleeping to his voice.
A hot guy whose name he had neglected to get.
Izuku groaned. Shit.
How could he have been such an idiot?
He opened his book and tried to read, but now, every word on the page he stumbled over, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how a very very hot guy had sat next to him, had fallen asleep next to him, had called him cute, had…
Izuku snapped his book shut, leaned forward, and rested his head in his hands.
Yeah, he wasn’t gonna get any more studying done that day.
Every day he could for the next two weeks, Izuku came back to the same park bench, at the same time, in hopes of seeing the mysterious young man again.
He knew that the odds were low—he didn’t know who the man was, or where he went to school, or…anything, really…but he still hoped against hope that they might run into each other again.
He was nose-deep in a new book this week—his professor had assigned Jane Eyre next, and Izuku had to admit he enjoyed this much more than Dickens, especially the story of Rochester’s first wife. Why would a man lock his wife in the attic? Surely there had to be some reason other than she was “mad.” What did that even mean, anyway? He was looking forward to reading more about Rochester’s excuses.
He didn’t like the man, and he didn’t quite understand why Jane didn’t like him, either.
“’Ware!” cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr. Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappled his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled. She was a big woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and corpulent besides: she showed virile force in the contest—more than once she almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with a well-planted blow; but he would not strike: he would only wrestle…
Izuku’s foot shuffled against something hard, and he tripped, and fell, nearly landing face-first on the pavement. His book flew out of his hand, and the contents of his bag spilled all over. Izuku groaned, and rubbed his elbow where it hit the concrete, then rolled over and sat up. What the hell?
“Ain’t anyone ever told ya not to read while ya walk, shitty nerd?”
Izuku blinked. Sitting on the park bench (their bench, Izuku tried not to call it), leaning forward over so his forearms were resting on his knees, was him.
He was wearing a black tank top and cargo pants, and Izuku nearly swooned at the way his muscles stretched his skin. His biceps, forearms, pecs…why had Izuku not noticed last time how absolutely ripped this guy was?
Izuku was suddenly hot…like, really, really hot.
It was just the weather, really it was!
Izuku’s eyes dropped to the young man’s feet—he was wearing steel-toed boots (even in this heat? Really?) and Izuku noticed that one of them happened to be…
“Did—did you—trip me?”
The young man grinned. “Now you’re catchin’ on,” he said, getting to his feet and taking the few steps over to Izuku. He held out his hand. “Need some help?” he smirked.
“I—I—” Oh, what the hell.
“Sure,” Izuku said, grabbing his book and slapping his papers back into his bag, before accepting the hand and letting the young man pull him to his feet.
“What’re ya reading that’s got all your attention, nerd?” he asked, still grinning, still holding onto Izuku’s hand.
“Jane—Jane Eyre,” Izuku replied. “And my name’s Izuku, not nerd.”
“Another dumbass book, huh…Izuku?” The young man scoffed, but he did use Izuku’s name, so Izuku had to smile a little bit at that.
“It’s much better than Dickens,” Izuku admitted.
“Tch,” the young man replied, “anything’s better than fucking Dickens.”
“How would you know, anyway…” Izuku wanted to call him by name, but he remembered…
The young man dropped Izuku’s hand, and put his own hands on his hips. “Bakugō Katsuki,” he sneered. “And come on, shitty nerd. I need a nap. So you better get reading.”
“Wait.” Izuku was trying to wrap his head around what was happening. “You—you want me to—”
“Not gonna keep me waiting, are ya?” The young man—Katsuki—was still smirking. “I only got an hour before I gotta get to work. You gonna put me to sleep or what?”
“I’m confused.” Izuku frowned. “You want me to read to you?”
Katsuki’s smirk finally gave way to a softer expression, and was it his imagination, or did Izuku see a faint blush blossoming over his cheeks? “Well—yeah,” he admitted. “I mean, I need the sleep, so why not fall asleep to your boring-ass books and your boring-ass voice?”
“I can’t decide if I should be offended or flattered,” Izuku deadpanned.
“Be fucking flattered,” Katsuki snarked. “I don’t spend time with just any fucking extra.”
Izuku decided to ignore that comment, and settled himself on the bench. He looked up at Katsuki, who was still standing, hands still on his hips.
“Well?” Izuku asked. “You gonna join me, or what?”
Thus began Izuku and Katsuki’s…
Well, Izuku wasn’t quite sure what word would describe what they were doing, actually.
Three days a week, Izuku would meet Katsuki at their bench in the park, where Izuku would proceed to read aloud for an hour (sometimes more) while Katsuki slept. It was an odd arrangement; Izuku wasn’t quite sure why Katsuki couldn’t sleep at home, or somewhere else, especially since he bitched about every single book that Izuku read. And, sure…not everything Izuku read was a winner, but they were the greats of English literature, so surely he was at least helping Katsuki become more…cultured…or something?
Honestly, Izuku wasn’t sure how much of his reading Katsuki actually heard. He would sit on the bench, next to Izuku, his hands tucked behind his head, resting against the back, his eyes closed.
But Katsuki never failed to surprise him.
“So why does Holmes admire Irene Adler so fucking much?” Katsuki grumbled one day, when Izuku was sure he’d slept through most of “A Scandal in Bohemia.” “She cut and ran and really didn’t match wits with him at all. She should have stuck around and hidden the photo somewhere else.”
“You—that’s definitely one way to read it,” Izuku replied, shocked that Katsuki had heard so much of the story that he could have a more detailed response. “But Holmes really respects her because she’s able to predict his movements and counteract them.”
Katsuki didn’t reply; he just huffed and got to his feet. “I gotta get to class,” he said. “I’ll see ya Friday?”
“Um, yeah,” Izuku answered, still in shock that Katsuki had been listening. “Friday.”
And then on Friday, when Izuku read “Eveline’s Visitant,” it again seemed like Katsuki was asleep. Izuku dropped his voice, so as not to disturb Katsuki’s slumber, but then halfway through the story, Katsuki opened his eyes, and hissed, “Speak the fuck up,” which Izuku immediately did. But eventually, as usual, his breathing evened out, and Izuku nearly forgot to read, because he was so busy watching Katsuki sleep.
So, while this arrangement had its advantages (Izuku getting to hang out with a very handsome, very sexy man who also apparently had ideas about English literature), it was also making it very hard for Izuku to get any real reading done.
Because how was he supposed to concentrate when Katsuki was so hot, and smart, and sassy?
He’d taken to reading and re-reading aloud to himself in the dorm, quietly, late at night, long after his roommate (another second-year student at his university called Iida, who was nice enough, but who also insisted on getting exactly eight hours of “beauty rest”) had gone to bed. Izuku found that he wasn’t retaining as much when he sat with Katsuki (for obvious reasons!), and so he needed to review his reading and his notes at night, after Iida-kun had gone to bed. Izuku frequently stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning, and all the late nights were making Izuku exhausted.
But, in the end, it was worth it, to get to spend even just one hour with Katsuki, three days a week.
October came to an end, and as the seasons shifted into the cooler part of fall, Izuku changed from wearing t-shirts to sweaters, and Katsuki from tank tops (how he had worn just a tank top every day for so long, Izuku couldn’t comprehend) to hoodies. Izuku mourned the loss of those perfect arms, but had to admit that Katsuki in a black hoodie looked nearly as good.
He couldn’t help but wonder, though…when it got too cold to meet outside, would that be the end of their relationship? Or could Izuku manage to find a way for them to keep meeting?
He couldn’t ask Katsuki if they could see each other…beyond the park bench, beyond Izuku reading aloud to him, could he? Could he…oh, god, could he ask for Katsuki’s number?
What if Katsuki said no—or worse, laughed? Because Katsuki was beautiful, and Izuku was…Well, his mother always called him cute, but was that true? And…oh, that first day, Katsuki had called him cute, too.
Maybe he would give Izuku his number? Or would he not? Dammit, Izuku had no idea what he should do!
“‘Zuku.” Izuku squeaked, and turned to see Katsuki sitting up and staring at him, hard. “You okay?”
“Ahhh, yes!” Izuku exclaimed, hurriedly looking back to see where he’d left off in The Moonstone. It was by far his favorite thing that they had read together. “I’m so sorry, Katsuki-kun…I didn’t realize that I had stopped…that I had…oh, shit,” he muttered, panic flooding his chest, “where did I leave off?”
“Hey.” Katsuki’s hand reached out, and clasped around Izuku’s wrist. “You tired of reading to me?”
“Never!” Izuku protested quickly, holding his free hand up. “I really—like I said—it helps me study—so I don’t mind if you—”
“You sure? Because if you are…” Katsuki leaned in, and Izuku got a whiff of his cologne: musk, and pine, and…
“Of—of course!” Izuku said—again, probably much too quickly, because Katsuki’s frown became a scowl. “I’m just—” He yawned. “I’ve had a couple late nights,” he added lamely, “that’s all.”
Katsuki huffed out a sigh. “Is that all? Really?” he said, and he reached across and took the book out of Izuku’s hands.
“Ka—Kacchan!” Izuku shouted, then clapped his hands over his mouth. Katsuki looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Kacchan? Where the fuck did that come from? Are we such good friends that you’re calling me nicknames now, shitty nerd?” he asked, clearly amused, and gods, Izuku wanted to crawl under the bench and die. Why had that slipped out? Why had he given Katsuki such a childish nickname? Why?
“I—I—” Izuku was on fire. His whole body was on fire.
“Come on.” Katsuki got to his feet, and tugged Izuku along with him. He snapped the book shut and shoved it in his bag. “Get your stuff, nerd.”
“What? Why?” Izuku scrambled to pull his bag over his head. “We still have…” He looked at his phone. “Twenty minutes! Don’t you need to sleep?”
“Nah. I sleep enough.” Katsuki pulled Izuku along the path. “But clearly, you don’t.”
“Ka—Katsuki.” Izuku was protesting again, and once again, Katsuki ignored him, dragging him out of the park and across the street, into the coffee shop. “I—I don’t really need—it’s okay—”
“Fuck off,” Katsuki snapped. “You can’t fucking concentrate. You need to study. I’m buying you a coffee, and I’ll read to you while you fucking chill out for a bit, okay?”
“But—Katsuki—” Izuku sighed. “That’s not how it works. I need to read, and follow along, so that I can retain it. If you read…”
“Here.” Katsuki pushed Izuku into a cozy chair next to a small table. “What do you want?”
“I—you don’t—because I—macchiato with almond milk,” he said when Katsuki growled and crossed his arms and looked so hot and so menacing Izuku didn’t know whether he should run or strip or both.
“I’ll be back.” Katsuki took the book out of his bag and tossed it on the table, before he turned and headed towards the cash register. Izuku watched him go, then sighed and opened up The Moonstone again. He found the dog-eared page, and started to read quietly, his lips moving, his voice low so as to not draw attention to himself. He was caught up again, in the mystery, in the story, such that he barely noticed when a steaming cup of coffee and a pain au chocolat were placed beside him.
“Here,” Katsuki said, sitting in the big, cushy chair next to Izuku, “you eat. I’ll read.”
Izuku stopped mid-sentence. “Oh, but, like I said…” He dropped his eyes in embarrassment. “If you read, I’ll still have trouble remembering.”
“Here.” Katsuki placed the book on the table between them. “How about if I read, and you follow along, and you can still make all your notes and the dumb shit that you do.”
Izuku was doubtful it would work, but he didn’t want to disappoint Katsuki, who had seen how tired he was, and had taken him all the way to a coffee shop, bought him coffee and a croissant, and now was offering to read to him? Izuku should have felt like he won the lottery, but instead…
All he felt was guilt.
“Why—why would you—you don’t have to—I can’t—” Izuku was having a hard time finding the right words to tell Katsuki, you don’t have to do this for me. You barely know me, and I barely know you. Why would you want to help me like this?
Katsuki scoffed, and opened the book. “Shut the fuck up, nerd,” he retorted, “and drink your damn coffee and eat your damn dessert and let me fucking read to you. Okay?” His ruby-red eyes seared through Izuku, who shivered.
“O—okay,” Izuku agreed, his resolve shattered with one look, with one sound of that gruff voice that never failed to chafe at his soul.
“Now,” Katsuki said, sipping his coffee and then reaching into his pocket, “where were we?”
“Ummm…” Izuku thumbed through the book until he could find the page where he’d left off—somewhere in the Second Period, he thought it was? “H—here,” he said, pointing to the paragraph where he was pretty sure he’d stopped reading. When Katsuki didn’t answer, Izuku turned to look at him, and nearly fell off his chair.
Katsuki was wearing a pair of glasses. Of large, round, silver-rimmed glasses.
Oh, god. Oh, god.
Keep it together, Midoriya…
“Here?” Katsuki rasped, and Izuku jammed a piece of croissant into his mouth to keep from swooning, choosing to nod instead. Katsuki cleared his throat. “Get out your nerd pen,” he added, “or whatever it is you use to take your fucking notes. I—I’m gonna read now.”
Was it Izuku’s imagination, or was Katsuki nervous? Izuku watched as he leaned forward slightly, catching the words in his vision, and began to read, his voice husky, deep, and divine. His lips moved, and Izuku was enraptured by them: the way they formed around the words, the way that Katsuki licked them after every few sentences, the way that they pursed when he was unsure of a word.
Izuku wanted to touch them. He wanted to know: how would they feel, pressed against his own? Against…other parts of him? How would it feel to be pressed even closer to Katsuki, to be wrapped up in his arms?
How would it feel, to love him, and to be loved by him, in return?
Even as Katsuki read, Izuku knew that he was supposed to be reading alongside Katsuki’s words, but he found that he couldn’t look away from Katsuki’s lips, shaping the sounds of language so beautifully, so perfectly, and Izuku found himself daydreaming about those lips, pressed to his; about the long, nimble fingers, turning pages, running through his hair; about those ruby eyes, enlarged through the lenses of Katsuki’s glasses, searing through him like they did the page.
Katsuki read, and read, and yet all Izuku could do was watch him, because honestly? Katsuki was much more enticing than Wilkie Collins:
She turned once more to Mr. Godfrey. With an obstinacy dreadful to see, she went back again to the place where she had checked herself, and completed her question in these words:
“I spoke to you, a minute since, about what people were saying in certain quarters. Tell me plainly, Godfrey, do they any of them say that Mr. Luker’s valuable gem is—the Moonstone?”
As the name passed her lips, I saw a change come over my admirable friend. His complexion deepened. He lost the genial suavity of manner which is one of his greatest charms. A noble indignation inspired his reply.
“They do say it,” he answered. “There are people who don’t hesitate to accuse Mr. Luker of telling a falsehood to serve some private interests of his own. He has over and over again solemnly declared that, until this scandal assailed him, he had never even heard of the Moonstone. And these vile people reply, without a shadow of proof to justify them, He has his reasons for concealment; we decline to believe him on his oath. Shameful! shameful!”
Izuku felt a rap on his knuckles; he yelped, and blinked, and saw Katsuki frowning at him, his eyes narrowed behind the massive frames. “The fuck, Izuku!” he barked. “I’m fuckin’ readin’ to ya, and you’re just starin’ at me? What the fuck?”
Shit.
“Oh, I—I’m sorry, Katsuki,” Izuku said—quickly, much too quickly. “I—I was just—” How could he say, I was too busy watching your lips and imagining making out with you to focus on anything that you were reading?
Katsuki growled. “This ain’t gonna help if you don’t pay attention,” he lectured, and Izuku felt his cheeks grow hot, because of course Katsuki was right.
“O—okay,” he said. “Let’s keep going. I’ll listen, and pay attention, this time, too.”
And he did. At least, he tried to—it was a much more valiant effort this time around, that was for sure. And as he gave himself over to the sound of the words, Katsuki’s raspy voice blazing through them, Izuku found himself drawn into the story once more, and he started to mark passages, take notes, and finally, drink his coffee and eat his pain au chocolat and relax.
Katsuki read to Izuku for a solid half hour, only putting down the book when they reached the end of the First Narrative. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head, “this is a crazy-ass story. Will we find out what happened to the moonstone?”
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Izuku said with a small smile. He finished the rest of his coffee, and looked down at his phone. His smile shifted to a frown. “It’s getting late,” he added, “and I think it’s time for me to get back to campus. I have a late class today.”
“You go to Waseda?” Katsuki asked.
“Yeah,” Izuku answered. He couldn’t believe they’d never had this conversation. “You?”
“Same,” Katsuki replied, “but for chemistry. My folks want me to help out with their business, but I’d rather blow shit up for a living.”
“What’s their business?” Izuku asked.
Katsuki got to his feet. “Fashion,” he said. “Boring as shit, if you ask me.”
“It sounds…” Izuku didn’t know what to say. His mother wore basically the same thing every day, and his own clothes were…
“Boring as shit, and full of fakes,” Katsuki repeated, “which is why I’m glad I met you.”
“Me?” Izuku squeaked; fuck, he sounded pathetic.
“Yeah.” Katsuki looked…almost fond? “You’re such a fucking nerd, and cute as hell, and it’s…well…” Katsuki scratched the back of his neck. “It’s nice to hang out with someone who’s not trying to get to my parents through me, or is trying to backstab me in the lab…chemistry students in my program are fucking catty as all fuck and only out to best each other and try to win awards and internships and shit.”
“It’s nice to hang out with you, too, Ka—Kacchan,” Izuku said, daring to use the nickname and nearly cringing in case Katsuki tried to deck him. But Katsuki stayed silent, gazing at Izuku with those startling eyes. “You don’t—you don’t think I’m—that this thing I do is—”
“Shit, ‘Zuku,” Katsuki said, “we all gotta do what we gotta to get by, and if this helps you pass your classes, who the fuck am I to tell ya to do shit differently?” He frowned. “I just wish we didn’t have to sit outside, or in a coffee shop, all the time,” he added under his breath.
“Maybe we don’t have to?” Izuku said suddenly. His mind was flying along, trying to think about what they could do, where they could go, where they would have the kind of privacy that Izuku’s little quirk required. “Maybe we could…go somewhere else?” he asked, hopefully, helpfully, even though his own mind was drawing a blank.
“Yeah.” Katsuki nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure there’s gotta be someplace we can go. It’s gonna get cold as fuck in a few weeks, and I hate sitting in coffee shops with all these assholes staring at us.”
You, Izuku thought. They’re all staring at you.
Katsuki’s handsome jaw was set. “Give me your number, nerdface,” he said.
“Nerd—nerdface?” Izuku nearly choked on his own spit in his shock.
“Yeah,” Katsuki retorted, grinning. “Cute little nerdface. Give me your number.”
“Why?!” Okay, so Iuzku had totally wanted Katsuki’s number—he had—but now that the moment was here? It was more than a little bit scary.
“So I can text you and tell you where we’re gonna meet next time.” Katsuki still had a huge grin on his face, and it was making Izuku stammer and blush and feel all kinds of things he should not be feeling in a coffee shop.
“Oh—okay.” Izuku took Katsuki’s phone, and texted himself. “There,” he said when his own phone pinged, “now you have my number, and I have yours.”
Katsuki took a deep breath. “Thanks.” He leaned forward, invading Izuku’s personal space—his scent of pine, and musk, was deep, and left Izuku gasping and feeling faint. “You know,” he added, his voice low, and husky, “normally, I hate reading, but when it’s for you, Izuku…” He turned his head, and Izuku thought that maybe Katsuki’s lips brushed his cheek. “I don’t mind so much,” he breathed, then stood up straight, turned, and left the cafe. Izuku gaped after him, one hand over his heart, the other clutching at The Moonstone, his eyes still fixed to the doors through which Katsuki had just left.
What…what were they…what had just…
A ping sounded on his phone, drawing Izuku’s gaze away from the door and down to his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the text, and couldn’t help but blush furiously and smile.
I already got a place for us, the text read. Tomorrow, 8pm? Be prepared to study hard, nerd.
Oh, yeah. Izuku…
He was definitely ready.
Six months later
"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F. W.
"I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never."
“Damn, Izuku,” Katsuki mumbled, snuggling deeper into Izuku’s side, “that’s some heavy romantic shit.”
“It’s one of the greatest love letters I’ve ever read,” Izuku sighed, allowing Katsuki to wrap his arms around Izuku’s torso and press kisses to his bicep. “If you were Anne Elliot, could you say no?”
“She was a fucking idiot for saying no the first time,” Katsuki groused, his teeth now worrying the flesh at Izuku’s shoulder. “Wentworth is a fucking good guy—too good for her, if you ask me.”
“Now, Kacchan,” Izuku chastised gently, “the whole point of Persuasion is that Anne and Wentworth have to be convinced of their love for each other—they need to find their way back, to remember why they were in love, and to discover that their love hasn’t died—it’s just grown, and matured.”
“Kind of like us?” Katsuki’s tongue was massaging the places where his teeth had been, and Izuku had to bite back a moan.
“I can’t believe you convinced me to take another literature class,” Izuku groused instead, turning to set the book on the nightstand so he could snuggle in close to Katsuki. “All because you wanted me to keep reading to you.”
“I told you, nerd,” Katsuki shot back, his teeth now working their way over Izuku’s earlobe, “I hate to read.”
“Then why insist that I take this class?” Izuku teased him.
Katsuki turned red. “Be—because,” he murmured, “IliketohearyoureadandIlikeyourfuckingvoice.”
“I’m sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku said, unable to hide his laughter, “did you say something?”
Katsuki groaned, and launched himself into Izuku’s chest. “I like to hear you read, you damn nerd,” he muttered. “And I like your stupid fucking voice.”
Izuku stopped mid-laugh, his hands pressing into Katsuki’s back. “You—you like to hear me read?” he asked wonderingly. “And…you like my voice?”
“Your voice is dumb as shit,” Katsuki said, his face still pressed into Izuku’s pecs. “It’s high-pitched, and that gets fucking worse when you’re excited, but damn, you read really well and for some reason, your voice—it soothes me. I could fucking listen to you all day.”
“You could?!” Izuku shoved at his boyfriend. “And here I thought you liked when I read to you because it was boring and you fell asleep!”
“Sometimes I do!” Katsuki retorted. “But not because of you—because the books are shit and the plots are shit and how can anyone stay the fuck awake for Dickens?”
Izuku’s anger immediately boiled back down to giggles. “How can…yeah,” he admitted, “I can see your point. But that doesn’t mean that you get to deceive me like that!”
Katsuki snarled, and jumped on top of Izuku, pinning him to the mattress. Izuku yelped, and Katsuki smirked. “That’s the kind of sound I like to hear coming from you, Izuku,” he said, his lips now ghosting Izuku’s. Izuku trembled under his touch, but his own hands reached up, into Katsuki’s hair, tugging him closer into a real, deep, heated kiss, one where their tongues met and their bodies slid together.
“Keep—keep doing what you’re doing,” Izuku breathed, “and I think you’ll hear more of those sounds—just the kind that you like.”
“What I’d really like,” Katsuki whispered, his lips now peppering kisses all over Izuku’s nose, his cheeks, and his jaw, “is for you to keep reading while I keep myself…entertained.” His eyes sparked. “Think you got it in you, nerd?”
“What is this,” Izuku laughed, “some kind of a fantasy?”
Katsuki’s lips found Izuku’s again. “What would you do,” he said, his voice thick and reedy, “if I told you that, yeah, I spent a lot of nights dreaming about you, reading to me, when we first met?”
“Then I’d say you’re wasting your dreams on the wrong things, Bakugō Katsuki,” Izuku shot back.
Katsuki pulled away from Izuku and leaned over to the nightstand. He grabbed Izuku’s copy of Persuasion, opened it back up to the bookmarked page, and shoved the book back at him.
“Here, nerd,” he said, “you read, and I’ll show you that I don’t waste my dreams on anything.”