A/N: It's been a while. I've definitely been in a slump creatively for the past…2 years? Sometimes I read the things I used to write and it's like, how did I even come up with this? How did I know to even string such words together? It's strange. But some very kind reviews recently inspired me to at least post the rest of my old fics. Lol, imagine that this was written December 2016. That's insane. Oh yea, this was a pretty spicy drabble too. Anyway, if you've made it this far, please read and review!

Summary: How she longed to just hear those three words in that beautiful voice of his, in that low and deep-sea timbre that shook her bones, set her blood on fire and made the breath catch in her throat.

Disclaimer: I do not own Boku no Hero Academia, Kohei Horikoshi does.


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Prompt 26: Bedroom/Ballroom

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"What?" Ochako says through a fit of giggles that twinkle like rustling wind chimes. Her eyes crinkle and her apple-red cheeks lift with her smile as the rough pads of Bakugou's fingertips follow her jaw line. They are both splayed out in bed — him on his side while she laid out sprawled on her back — but both their eyes are fixed on each other; fiery crimson locked with earthy brown. The silence, comfortable and warm, stretches as he quietly traces her face with his sharp gaze then, as if reaching a decision, the hill of his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and leans his head closer; foreheads touching and noses brushing as he breathes out.

"Nothing," he finally answers in a low murmur but Ochako can see the distinct echoes of some sort of something in the reds of his half-lidded eyes. She sees hazy traces of the words lodged in his throat, fragmented reflections of the thoughts that he can't string into coherent sentences and the burning, crimson-tinted nebula of his feelings and emotions; bubbling and blooming right underneath the surface of his gaze but never quite breaking through.

But then resolution flashes in his eyes and the silence is broken with the rustle of clothes and sheets as he curls into her and ghosts his lips over hers. A furious spark of electricity ignites in the pit of Ochako's stomach and she cranes her head to peck him on the lips in response; gently demanding more.

He does not withhold. The air rushes out of her lungs in breathless delight as his wet lips fold over hers and his callused fingers thread through her hair. The bed creaks and groans as he rolls on top of her, caging her in the warmth of his arms, and suddenly all she could think was how much her hands wanted to feel him — naked and bare and trembling in her arms. With muscles quivering and chests heaving and skin slick with wet passion — her hands wanted to explore the planes of him that she already knew so well.

She groans her request against his wet, open mouth as she surges against him, back arching away from the bed and giving him ample space to wind his arms around her waist. His wandering hands find and tug at the back zipper of her dress and she lets out a relieved breath as the dress slackens and the straps of her evening gown fall to reveal her shoulders. The angry spikes of his ash-blonde hair tickle her skin as he buries his face into the crook of her neck and Ochako gasps, head rolling back and throat shuddering with her desperate pants as he nips and nibbles and kisses and teases at the exposed milky column of her neck.

The chill of his teeth pressing against her skin sends goosebumps shuddering down her spine and all she wants is for him to paint her pink and red. She offers up the broken syllables of his names — "Katsu…haa…Katsu...ki" — like a prayer, like a mantra, as his teeth burn crescent moons into the canvas of her skin and dapple fiery constellations of pink and red love bites along the line of her collarbone. She wants more of him and quickly pulls and shrugs away the rest of her dress until it falls to her waist and then he's back on top of her and she feels trails of fire where his hands touch her. His hands at her waist. His hands at her side. His hands. His hands. His sinful hands. She is dizzy and delirious with him, her mind filled only with the pleasant sensations of her and him and him and her.

"I love you," she breathes out with a strained gasp. She watches him freeze and pull back, his eyes widening before narrowing into an embarrassed glare. A burning blush floods his cheeks and he slides his gaze away, murmuring incoherent gibberish (peppered with semi-coherent curses) before grunting out a curt, "mhm."

Mhm.

Ochako feels the edges of her smile twitch into a frown. Reality dunks her like cold water and all of a sudden, she feels like a fool — like a fool who loved too much and too carelessly. She pulls away from him and breaks out his embrace, her cheeks burning red with horrible embarrassment and her knuckles bone-white as she sits at the edge of the bed and clutches at the bed sheets.

"Katsuki…," she starts, and then shakes her head. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed but his response was also expected. Her shoulders slump with a resigned sigh before she looks to him, her gaze soft and sad.

"Dance with me?"

"What?" He blinks in wide-eyed confusion before scowling in distaste at the idea. "Like hell I'm gonna dance."

"Come on." The bed creaks as she stands to her feet. She lifts the straps of her dress back to her shoulders in an attempt to somewhat dress herself and then looks back at him, extending her hand in invitation. "Let's dance."

"Fuck that shit!" No way. No how. But his resolve weakens at the quiet wistfulness in her eyes and damn, she is as persistent as ever, patiently waiting with her hand out. He lets out a string of curses before angrily ruffling his hair and leaping to his feet with a heated, "fine!"

He winds his arms around her waist and pulls her flush against his chest. He resolves that he would entertain this shitty-ass dance only for a little bit but is soon lulled into the pattern as they start swaying side to side. She hums a soft tune underneath her breath and presses the flat of her palm against his bare back, rubbing soothing circles as they sway and sway and sway. There is a quiet melancholy in her touch and in her voice and Bakugou's smart enough to know it's his fault.

He swallows hard.

"You know that I do," he finally breaks the silence, "right?"

"That you do what?"

"That I…," and his voice dies in his throat. Again, he just can't find the words. Ochako squeezes her eyes shut and purses her lips together and her grip on him tightens. Of course, she knew that he loved her, in fact, she didn't even doubt it. But heavens, how she longed to just hear those three words in that beautiful voice of his, in that low and deep-sea timbre that shook her bones, set her blood on fire and made the breath catch in her throat.

"I—!" Bakugou suddenly declares, placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her away from him. Ochako blinks in surprise and watches him duck his head in trembling embarrassment. He hides behind the tufts of his ash-blonde hair and his grip on her shoulders tightens as he physically struggles to spit out the words.

"Fuck!" He lets out a rush of air as if he had been holding his breath but then tries again.

"I…," he restarts through grit teeth, "love…you..."

He lifts his head up and he is red-faced and breathless but also visibly proud that he had finally gotten the words out. "You," he repeats and this time it rolls out more comfortably. He straightens himself and looks at her — really looks at her — and for the second time that night fiery crimson locks with earthy brown.

"Only…you."