#tati writes

“W-What happened to being tired from patrol?” you murmur, tilting your head back. Despite his disheveled state, his eyes are alight with wicked interest.

“Thought I’d be nice and be your wakeup call,” he says, thumbing your pebbled nipple, as if to prove his point. “‘Sides… let me be romantic for once.” His other hand joins the fray, delving in between the gap in your legs.

“Shit,” he curses lowly once he realizes you’re wearing nothing but his shirt. “Really?”

“Just in case,” you say softly, a contrast to the now eager swoop of his fingers delving into you, his low groan at the damp heat that eagerly parts around him.

“Barely did anything and you’re already wet.” His voice is breathless with wonder. “God. What did I do to deserve…?”

“I think you can, ah, ask the universe that.”

“You’re right,” he nods sagely, and you would laugh at the serious tone he’s taken if his thick fingers weren’t knuckle deep in you, making your breath hitch with every nudge against your pliant walls. “I’ll have to thank the higher powers for all this werewolf stuff. Imprinting, soulmates—makes it a lot easier to find someone to put up with me.”

Your snort turns into a keen once Embry’s thumb comes up to stroke circles against your engorged clit. Your hand grasps his, and his motions stop, and soon his nose nudges against your neck. Asking for permission.

“Please—don’t stop—“

He laughs again, renewing his motions with a vigor.

As you whine and buck into his hand, it’s not lost to you that the stiff heat pressing against your back is the sign that Embry is just as affected by your reactions. He does always say that he’s a giver; even if the statement is often accompanied with a wry grin as he tends to your needs. He’s subtle, only canting his hips lightly against your backside; if you hadn’t been paying attention, you wouldn’t have noticed.

You jut your ass out, rubbing against his bulge, and he lets out a shaky groan. Then your hand is moving behind you, searching for the hem of his shorts.

You find it, yanking the fabric down as Embry shimmies his hips, helping you in disrobing him. You’re surprised to feel how hard he is already, and glance back to prove your findings.

“Just in case,” he throws your words back at you. “I came prepared.” His grin fades once you start stroking him in earnest. “God…” His hand stills in its movements for a moment, and you sigh impatiently.

“Embry,” you say sternly, “I told you earlier—don’t stop.”

You don’t miss the way his cock twitches in your palm, or the soft fuck, that’s hot that he mutters. “Y-yes ma’am.”

It continues like this: you clumsily stroking Embry with one hand, him fucking into you with his fingers, mimicking how he would like to plunge into you with his cock. That is, until you shift upwards onto the bed, parting your legs and slipping his length in between your thighs till it rests against your engorged labia. Embry’s fingers retreat from inside you, leaving a trail of your juices across your skin as he grasps your hip, his other hand wrist bent awkwardly to keep stroking your nub.

You begin jerking him off in earnest, lightly tapping the head of his cock against your soaked entrance with every upward caress. Embry groans, thrusting his hips into your palm once, then twice, before he stills. The thick, warm viscousness of his cum dribbles along your fingers before you guide him to your entrance, inserting just the tip as Embry’s legs jerk, his cock spraying ropes against your inner walls.

He presses down hard on your clit and you come with a cry, vaguely registering his grunts as your walls constrict around him. Your vision turns white, pleasure crescendoing and centering around the bundle of nerves between your thighs. You vaguely register telling him to stop, your hand clamping down on his. When you come to, it’s to the sound of Embry panting against your neck, to the feel of your combined fluids oozing between your two bodies.

He sighs happily.

“Good?”

“It’s always good,” he mumbles, resting his forehead on your shoulder as his cock softens in your hand. “Magical, if I’m being honest.”

You laugh. “You turn into a wolf and you’re calling this magic?”

He gives you an offended look. “Yeah, babe. Your body, our connection? It’s unreal.”

“A close second,” he adds. “To killing vampires.”

You smack his chest lightly. “Just second?”

“Tied first,” he amends.

You raise a brow. A squeeze to his oversensitive length that has him inhaling sharply. “Better reconsider what’s better. I still have you right where I want you.”

virgin!obito who’s so touch-starved he’s overwhelmed by how much he craves physical touch when you first get together. he’s an adult now, but his traitorous body is like that of a teenager's. you hug him? he’s hard. you’re cuddling? he’s hard. it’s not even intentional; it’s like his body’s instinctive reaction after being deprived of it for so long. he does his best to hide it from you at first, embarrassed as he is. when you hug him, he hugs you back, angling you away from the growing tent in his pants. you’re cuddling—there’s suddenly a pillow between you. for your comfort, he says, all while hiding his throbbing erection.

virgin!obito who is also unprepared for just how sinful his dreams get. he’s used to nightmares of course, so he’s never slept well, but now his dreams are a series debauched fantasies. you panting his name, your breasts bouncing, the cute little pooch in your stomach as you’re on your back, him thrusting into you. more often than not after one of these dreams, he wakes up with his sheets tangled, his undergarments soaked with his seed.

virgin!obito who’s so so sensitive. grunting and rutting against you as you’re making out, clothes on. grip iron-clad on your hips as you rock against him, huffing out a “w-wait!” before throwing his head back and cursing as he comes in his pants.

virgin!obito who has no idea how intimidating the sheer size of him is until you tug his pants off and your jaw drops. he gets self-conscious, wondering if the boulder accident mangled something down there as well, until you say, “…i don’t even know if that’ll fit, ‘bito, what the fuck—”

virgin!obito who, when you do it for the first time and he’s fully buried inside you, has to hold himself still, eyes clenched shut, because holy fuck. his life has been marked by pain and suffering, so much so that he’s used to it—but this? feels heavenly. mind-numbing pleasure that shoots straight up his spine, his balls tight against your ass as pressure builds at the base of his cock. you clench around him once to reassure him that it’s okay to move and—oh fuck, he’s cumming.

virgin!obito who's so so so embarrassed that he came so fast. bottomed out inside you and he was gone. literally hides his face in your neck, won't even respond, just mumbling apologies until you laugh and tell him it was flattering and super sexy and—kami, he's getting hard again.

virgin!obito who finds out that while he's too sensitive and comes too fast, his refractory period is practically non-existent (something something about hashirama's cells and regeneration). he’s not sure. all he knows is that he’s not finished until you come at least twice.

nolongeravirgin!obito who humps pillows when you're gone. so so embarrassing and depraved, but he misses you. and they smell like you, and they're soft, like you, and, and—you wonder why your pillows are always freshly washed every time you get home.

nolongeravirgin!obito who you've opened up to a world of kink. he finds some his favorite to indulge in are: spanking, mutual masturbation (his eyes half-lidded as he watches you touch yourself, stroking his cock and telling you how fucking hard he is, already leaking pre-come, how he can't wait to come inside you, how you drive him crazy—maybe he's a little into dirty talk too; he just gets caught up in the moment and his freaky little fantasies run wild), boob jobs, sloppy makeouts with lots of petting and grinding.

nolongeravirgin!obito who has no experience eating you out, but he's hellbent on making you come. he's not skilled so much as he is intense about it, burying his face in your pussy, shoving his tongue inside you, nuzzling his nose into your folds. he nearly suffocates himself between your thighs. his sharingan capturing your blissful face on mid-orgasm so he can replay it over and over again later on, when it’s just him and his hand.

nolongeravirgin!obito who, when you’re giving him head, is caught between gripping your hair tight, slowly rocking his hips into your mouth, and using you versus being gentle with you, telling you how much he wants you and how good you’re being for him. eventually though the first urge wins out—he’s cursing and groaning your name loud as he unloads in your mouth.

nolongeravirgin!obito who, you can’t exactly call a sex fiend, but you’ve definitely awoken something in him. he can go several times a day, but for your sake, he keeps it to once a day. and he’s always so intense about it; he doesn’t do anything lightly. pounding into you, his mouth on your breast as he mutters how he’s going to fill you up, how you’re going to repopulate his clan. how pretty and cute you’d look swollen with his child. how he’s this hard only for you. how no one else gets him like this.

nolongeravirgin!obito who loves how soft you are, your curves. he’ll zone out in the shower, imagine your body beneath his—stomach pooch, plush thighs, and soft breasts—and his mouth goes dry. the blood pooling to his dick so fast he gets light-headed. has ethical dilemmas when he sees you wearing a loose shirt (on one hand, you’re so cute, the shirt swallowing you up—you look like you need his protection. on the other hand, he’s practically memorized your curves underneath, and his eyes glaze over as heat rolls through him).

“—I’ll clean up after myself, and you can have the bed for now. At least, until I buy another one. I mean—"

It’s the fate of your bloodline. Ever since your great grandfather was saved by his from a vampire, and committed himself to a lifetime of serving his clan. While the vampire species has dwindled in numbers over the years, his clan lingers as one of the only ones left. And apparently Yuuta is a long lost relative of the current head of his clan, Gojo Satoru. As a powerful line, it’s unsurprising that they’ve had human servants at their beck and call.

“—So, let’s do our best?”

You stare blankly at Yuuta’s hand held out to you. The way he said it was as if you two are working on a group project together—not you entering a lifetime of servitude.

His smile wavers. You clear your throat.

"... Are you really a vampire?"

He laughs, and by the way he awkwardly rubs the back of his head, at least it seems like he himself is aware of how ridiculous this seems.

For a moment you have hope. Maybe he's the wrong guy. Maybe, just maybe this was a mistake.

"Doesn't seem like it, huh? That’s what the elders said too….” He smiles, and you can make it out. Fangs poking out between his lips.

Damn. It's not a mistake.

—

He's so—so cheery. He acts so normal and human that it’s starting to piss you off.

He shouldn't be. Okkotsu looks more ghoul than human with his dark circles, his unnatural pallor. He's showing you around his modest apartment ("And this is my room, I—sorry for the mess, I wasn't expecting you so soon!") and annoyingly, it’s also normal.

You settle onto his bed (which is unmade) glancing around his room. It very much reflects the life of a guy in his 20s—minimal furniture, clothes strewn about haphazardly, random books piled atop each other.

It’s hard to believe this guy is set to be the strongest vampire of his generation.

You reach for one of his books on the nightstand—a graphic novel, one of the few books that don’t look like assigned reading—and thumb through the pages.

“Oh! Are you fan of the series, too? I love his work,” Yuuta begins.

You turn the page when—

The paper catches on your skin.

Ouch.

Blood pools out of your finger as if in slow motion, the droplets falling to the ground.

The room goes still.

At the sound of a thud, you glance at him. Yuuta’s hunched over, kneeling on the ground. One hand clutches his stomach, the other clasped over his mouth, where drool seeps through his fingers. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, glowing with what you can only assume is…

Bloodlust.

"S-Sorry,” he gasps out, voice strangled, before practically sprinting out the room and slamming the door shut.

The next day he's normal though as he greets you for breakfast. And if it weren't for the way his eyes glaze over as he notices your bandaged finger, you would've forgotten last night.

You come to a conclusion.

Okkotsu Yuuta is weird.

—

You sniff your hair self-consciously.

Before you, Yuuta digs into his bowl of grilled meat. Human food. While vampires of the past subsisted only on blood, you’re surprised to learn that the newer generation can eat human food.

"It just doesn't keep me full for very long,” he explains through mouthfuls of rice and beef.

But… as far as you know, he should still want blood. Crave it. Yuuta hasn't drank from you at all, and—other than the paper cut incident—shows no sign of wanting to, either. As the weeks pass and your throat reminds mercifully untouched, you're starting to wonder if his bloodlust too was just a figment of your imagination. The scar from the cut’s faded by now, as if it never happened.

Do you smell? Is your blood not good enough for him? Was the smell of it repulsive? Is that why it elicited such an extreme reaction from him earlier? Your family had been serving as human juice pouches for his for generations—what changed?

As you pick at your food, you can’t shake off the thought.

Is it something about you?

—

Yuuta instills in you a false sense of safety. You almost forgot what he is, what he’s capable of. Or specifically—what his kind is capable of.

You’re walking back to his place at night. You’d gone to study with a friend, and time slipped past. It wasn’t a concern until you realized the sun had long gone down, and the moon was bright out.

Footsteps resound behind you.

When you turn around, no one is there.

A sinking feeling forms in the pit of your stomach.

You turn back ahead, walking forward. The distinct feeling of being watched has every nerve ending in you standing at attention, your heart pounding loudly in your ears.

The footsteps cease. You only just manage to turn your head to the side when you get tackled to the ground, a hand with unnatural strength shoving your cheek to the sidewalk.

Saliva drips onto the side of your cheek. You flinch.

“You smell absolutely delicious—”

The brand on your shoulder burns.

Just as you feel the tip of fangs brush your neck, the body is flung off of you. Yuuta holds the vampire up by his throat, an impenetrable coldness in his gaze. The vampire struggles against him, clawing at his hand. Yuuta, with surprising strength for his lanky frame, squeezes and—snap. Breaks his neck.

His body falls to the ground in a crumpled heap.

You're frozen in terror. Yuuta is near unrecognizable. Cold, dangerous. This isn't the Okkotsu Yuuta of the past few weeks. The one who smiled stupidly, ate too much meat at the yakiniku place, and was so gentlemanly that he let you take the bed while he slept on the couch.

No, this is someone much more dangerous. Someone who would snap another vampire’s neck for daring to try and drink from you.

And yet…

"Are you okay?" he asks, kneeling down and reaching a hand out to help you stand.

"I—I should be asking you that,” you say shakily, pointing to the claw marks on his arm.

"I’ll manage.” He reaches forward and gently thumbs your cheek. It stings. When he removes his finger, you realize it’s tinged red with blood. His eyes flash red, but they’re focused on you.

“Let’s patch you up, okay?”

—

Yuuta is not much of a medic, you realize. He dabs at the scratch on your cheek with alcohol, his other hand pinching his nose shut.

“Let me.”

“No, you’re…”

“I’m fine;” he says even as his eyes gleam red. He winces before shutting them, placing a hand over his face. “I’m fine,” he says again, as if to convince himself.

You eye the gashes on his arm which have not yet healed. As he finishes disinfecting your cheek, you decide to do something in return.

You yank down the collar of your shirt. His gaze hones in on the curve of your neck and collarbone.

"Drink.”

He inhales sharply, protests spilling from him. "You... need it to heal, right? Consider this my thanks. For, you know… saving me.”

Yuuta’s brows furrow impossibly. He seems to be fighting with his very nature, his hand clasped over his mouth as he stares at you desperately. But his gaze keeps darting back to your neck, and his eyes practically thrum with his bloodlust.

"Please?" you say breathily.

With a sharp inhale of breath, he leans forward, clutching your arms. His fangs puncture your neck with ice-hot certainty, and the pain hits instantly.

Yuuta whimpers, squeezing your arms as he drinks from you.

The pain gives way to a strange pleasure as endorphins flood your system. Yuuta moans and whimpers as he sucks your blood, the experience oddly erotic. Just when black creeps in on the edges of your vision, he rips himself away with a gasp, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. "Sorry sorry—”

"—t's okay,” you mutter. The room is spinning.

"I never imagined how—fuck—how good it would taste. You're so warm and soft… I didn’t want to stop.” He squeezes your arms again, before staring up at you. His lips are stained red and he licks them, squeezing his eyes shut and moaning softly as he savors the taste. Some of your blood makes a trail down his chin.

“Are you…” He notes your unfocused gaze and presses closer to the bite mark again. You shiver at the sensation of his tongue licking the wound.

"Stay with me, please,” he murmurs hoarsely.

As the last stings of pain fade, you remember that vampires often used their saliva to stem the bleeding of their victims.

—

Yuuta is still hesitant to feed from you, but he does it gradually. Once a week becomes your norm.

And that’s regular—Vampires only need to feed once every 5 days or so. But as you're chatting with your classmate Inumaki on campus, Yuuta appears in your peripheral. You wave but he seems intently focused on your companion, a frown tugging at his features. He appears by your side in record time, waving to Inumaki, apologizing profusely as he drags you away for some “project.”

As soon as you’re alone, he turns to you with a needy expression. "Can I... is it okay if I..."

You tilt your head as he squeezes your wrists

"Oh. I thought I already gave you some the other day?”

He fiddles with the bracelet on your wrist. "Yeah, but… I just—please?” he says, looking at you desperately.

After a pause, you press your wrist against his lips, the same one he drank from a few days ago. As his teeth sink into your wrist, he can’t hold back a moan.

You tell yourself that it’s warm in the room; you’re definitely not blushing at the pretty noises he makes.

—

Pretty soon, scarves and bracelets become your best accessory. Yuuta's favorite spots to suck from are your wrists and your neck, and while at first he seems supportive of you hiding the bites, lately you’ve been catching him petulantly glaring at them, as if they’re in his way.

At least he takes you out to steakhouses to help replenish your iron. Plus, he gets you iron pills and other wellness aids to assist in your recovery.

"You've been hungry lately."

Your observation has him ducking his head. "You noticed." He laughs nervously.

“Something up?"

He’d taken you to another steakhouse sure, his treat, but you can’t help but notice how he’s barely touching his food. A stark contrast to the first time he took you out to eat.

"You know why..." He lowers his voice. "My kind needs blood, right?"

"It’s… for energy, right? Like you need blood to stay alive. Or to stay… strong?”

"It's… not just that. Technically vampires nowadays can live off of just human food. It keeps us weaker, but But it’s… it’s also—well, it's intimate."

He emphasizes the last word, looking at you shyly before glancing away.

"O...kay." You're not following.

"It just… to offer up your blood is an act of devotion. It’s very… it’s something only couples do.”

He stammers out the last part before clearing his throat and digging into his steak.

This is news to you. You suppose it makes sense. Vampires do have strange customs; if you think about the erotic noises he makes while blood drinking, it seems intimate. “Right. But I haven’t sucked your blood.”

His head turns to you so fast, you could swear his neck snaps.

“Do you—do you want to?” he asks, eyes wide and voice high pitched.

You pause. “I mean, is it even the same thing if it’s a human and vampire?”

Yuuta’s smiling, his cheeks flushed as he reaches for your hand across the table. Gently he thumbs the bite marks left on your wrist.

“It can be,” he says softly with a strange look in his eyes.

“My blood probably won’t taste very good to you. But if you want it…” He squeezes your wrist.

—

"Can I suck from here?" His fingers trail across your thigh. A shiver runs through you.

"There?" You squeak out. “Um, sure. I guess.”

He sighs softly as he kneads the flesh of your thigh, lightly dragging his teeth across. That close... you can feel heat curling in your gut. You pray that he can't smell how aroused you are.

"This is where you're sensitive, right?" he murmurs, his teeth ghosting your skin as his other hand comes up to press against your slit. You nearly jolt against him.

Fuck. Looks like he can tell.

Yuuta presses your panties aside and slips a finger inside you as his teeth bite down on your thigh, and you moan. He curls his finger, his thumb rubbing across your clit. Pleasure shoots up your spine, electric, a nice distraction from the sting of his bite.

He drinks greedily, plunging his finger in and out of you. The sound of his gulps and the slick sound of your arousal mesh together. Soon you can feel something tugging inside you, begging to be unwound.

You don’t even realize your hands are in his hair and your hips are canting towards him until he groans loudly.

“Yuu… Yuuta!”

As you come around his fingers, he groans again, taking one more shaky gulp before releasing his fangs, pressing a kiss to your thigh.

He's winded, his cheek against your thigh as he looks up at you with those deep eye bags. Your blood is smeared across your thighs, his cheek. His voice is hoarse, desperate.

You’ll be hanging out, noticing he’s even quieter today, and when you ask him why, he’ll blurt out the lines he’s been practicing in his head the entire time:

“You’re—your hair smells. …Nice, I mean.”

“Thank you…?”

Yuuji is trying so hard to hold back his laughter.

“My eyes tear up every time I look at you.”

“Oh no…?”

It’s a total fail.

Truthfully he has better luck being his intense and slightly off-putting self than actually attempting to flirt. He’s bluntly unapologetic in his devotion to you.

“I would sooner rip my arm off than let someone hurt you.”

and

“Your smile is something precious that must be protected.”

are examples of his straightforward and earnest attempts to convey his feelings.

Also because he spends so much time observing you, it’s like he knows you better than you do. For instance, if you order food and your order comes back wrong, he’ll swap with you so you won’t suffer. He also seems to remember mundane details or things you tell him even better than you do.

🫦 = how they talk dirty to you (18+)

Everything is so new to Choso. Living, assimilating to the human world. Much less feelings—and love at that. Lust is an entirely new territory as well.

His dirty talk focuses mostly on sensations, since he’s also getting used to having a body.

“Ah… you’re tight. It’s like you’re sucking me in.”

“This is where you need me? You’re soaked.”

Once he gets more experience, of course, he gets braver with his words.

“Fuck… I was made for you. Please, please… I’m so close.”

“Ha…! Fuck. Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—you were just so… felt like you were milking it out of me. …I can go again, if you want.”

Lots of whimpers and grunts. Choso isn’t afraid to get vocal.

“Ngh! I’m so close, please. Please let me come inside you.”

“This is how babies are made, right? Please… let me come inside you. Let’s start a family.”

Very intense and pathetic. Also brooding and hot. King of never pulling out (and why would he when it feels so much nicer to have his orgasm wrung out from him by your pussy). It’s hard to say no to his perpetual sad boi who’s whipped for you vibes.

He goes crazy when you’re on top, cowgirl style, controlling the pace. I’m talking head rolled back, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled and falling out of his ponytails.

“Fuck! Fuuck.” He whimpers as you continue to ride him. “I can’t… you’re driving me crazy. I need you. I need to come so bad. Please… please… use me.”

Being without you for days drives him crazy too. Once you teach him how to use a phone and send audio messages he’ll use it to record one of his sessions.

“Ah… I’m leaking everywhere. My cock aches badly. I need to be inside you. Please come back soon.”

“I’m gonna cum. I’m trying so bad to stop but… ngh.” A series of strangled moans and whimpers, breathy whines. “Ah… I came everywhere. I made a mess of our sheets. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it…. Please come back soon.”

Choso is more likely to focus on the sensations you’re giving him, rather than talking about the effect he has on you. Partly because he’s embarrassed to. Buuut if you tell him you really really want him to talk you through it? He’s willing to try. Albeit he needs patience and guidance.

vampire!yuuta who whimpers when he tries your blood for the first time. he’s never tasted anything like it. he’s so vocal—whimpering, whining, and gasping as he drinks your blood, it’s no surprise to find a tent in his boxers. and if he happens to cream his pants, you won’t tell, right?

vampire!yuuta who realizes his favorite place to drink from is your chest. he has to be more careful of course but it’s so so intimate. he likes to play with your breasts, bury his face between them, licking and sucking until you’re trembling beneath him, before he sinks his teeth into your sternum. the first time he does it, he groans loud and long, your heartbeat beneath his teeth. he comes instantly, painting ropes on your stomach.

vampire!yuuta who gets so turned on when you’re having sex and you let him drink from you. his bloodlust and physical lust go hand in hand. who loves it when sex gets messy and there’s blood smeared across his face, your thigh, your wrists. the first time you give him a handjob and there’s blood smeared on your palm—your blood—and it’s staining his cock red? he comes ridiculously fast, with a cry of your name.

vampire!yuuta who looooves to eat you out and then bite your thigh as you’re cumming. orgasms make your blood taste so much sweeter.

vampire!yuuta who gets jealous and a bit territorial when other men are flirting with you, or your attention isn’t on him, that—oops, suddenly your scarf that you use to hide your bite marks and hickeys goes missing. suddenly you’re out of foundation and concealer to cover the marks he left on you.

vampire!yuuta whose species is dying out, and you’re his very cute, very soft and loving girlfriend. surely you wouldn’t mind helping him repopulate the world with half-vampire hybrids? when you tell him you want to be with him forever, he’s babbling about how he’s going to knock you up, how you’re going to have his kids and he won’t be alone in this world, and he’s so so happy—even if he cries a bit as he cums inside, making sure to not waste a drop.

The initial re-introductions had gone over as smooth as one could imagine, with several of your classmates expressing sheer disbelief at Akira’s transformation, and your professor even having to triple-check the roster to prove that it was him. Despite that, you’d still scrutinized every aspect of his new appearance until he raised a brow.

“You know, if you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he offered cockily, and you stumbled. Your gaze inched back towards the task at hand, as you blinked rapidly.

This was definitely not Fudo--maybe he’d been replaced by some kind of alien? Either way, you figured it was rude to ask, and he was still your partner for class. Whoever this was, Fudo or not Fudo. 

“Crack two eggs into the bowl, then whisk for ten seconds,” you read aloud from the cookbook. So caught up in scanning the accompanying illustrations, you failed to see the downright devilishexpression cross Akira’s face.

“And how do you like your eggs? Scrambled?” He leaned in closer to you, his voice dropping several octaves. “Or fertilized?”

You let out a choked sound, your head snapping towards his amused face. Did he just...! You looked away as your professor walked past, pretending to busy yourself with the task. As soon as he was out of earshot though, you cleared your throat. 

“D-Depends. What’s the chef’s suggestion?”

You met his gaze, and it was dark with promise. 

“Well...” Akira shrugged, resting his elbow on the counter. “Your choice. We could start with the scrambling, and then head straight to the fertilizing.” He seemed to take great amusement in seeing your mouth fall open, if his shit-eating grin was anything to go by. “Depends how rough you want it to get,” he challenged, reaching over to grab the whisk from you. As he did, you couldn’t help but notice just how easy it was for him, how much longer his limbs had gotten. 

Jeez, what was he now? Close to six feet tall? And that cocky smirk...

When did Akira get so hot? And how?

“What’s next on the list?” he asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. He snickered as you stuttered out the instructions, before typing his apron back and getting to work.

“You’re pretty tongue-tied.” The observation cut through to you, and you frowned. You were sure that anyone in this situation would be a bit surprised that their meek partner turned into some kind of jacked-up flirt oozing with sex appeal overnight. Did puberty even hit this late?!

“I’m still processing your, ah, new look,” you said.

“Heh. That’s not the only thing that’s changed.” You titled your head curiously. “Gone are the days you can make passes at me,” Akira started, gaze focused on the task ahead of him. “Because I’m not just going to stand around like a blushing virgin anymore.” 

That was a challenge if you heard any. And while your competitor had caught you off guard with his fierce display of wit, you would rise to meet the occasion, you decided then and there. Class quickly devolved into a competition of who could outdo the other in the age-old classic: food innuendos. 

The next class, you were mixing frosting for cupcakes that Akira had already shoved in the oven, when you had an idea. You dipped your finger in the batter before licking it off slowly, making sure to maintain eye contact with your partner as your tongue circled your digit. “Mmm. Delicious.” 

Akira’s gaze narrowed, his mouth parting. Before you could blink, he flicked a whole wad of batter at your chest, where it landed in a streak of goop. “Whoops,” he said, sounding not at all apologetic. “My bad. Guess you could say I made a mess with my baby batter.”

You wiped it off your shirt with a paper towel he handed you, ignoring his snickering. “S’alright. I’m sure it’s hard for you to focus around my fat, juicy buns.”

He snorted, but not before you caught sight of his gaze lingering on your chest, a piece of information you decided to tuck away for later. As if on cue, the timer for the cupcakes went off. Despite the both of you fucking around, they turned out as close to perfect as anything you two had made.

He took a bite into one, groaning at the taste. “Damn, that’s moist.”

You waggled your brows. “Wanna know what else is, Fudo?”

It continued like this for another month at least. Once a week you and Akira would attend class, don your aprons, and wreck sheer torture on any of your classmates unfortunate enough to overhear your overt flirting and innuendoes.  Pretty soon you two had cleared a space towards the back of the class just for yourselves. 

“Need me to toss that salad of yours?”

“Damn Fudo, how are you even able to handle that meat?”

“What’s wrong? Cookie tray won’t fit in your tight, little oven?”

“How am I supposed to make a full-course meal when your ass is such a snack, Akira?”

But after that month, your professor had unfortunately caught on that there was something brewing between you two, especially after hearing you tell Akira to “tenderize you like he did with his meat.” He kicked the two of you out with fogged-up-glasses and cheeks ablaze, telling you to keep things professional in the classroom, citing the code of conduct for students. You and Akira stared at each other for a second, both of you covered in flour from your disastrous attempts at making katsu, before bursting into laughter.

With midterms a week away, this would certainly not bode well for your grade, but paradoxically, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

“I would pin the blame on you, but to be honest, it’s mostly my fault,” you admitted as the two of you walked out the building.

Akira raised a brow at you, shoving his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, you’re the one who’s been making passes at me since the start!”

“I... Look, I don’t deny that! But I didn’t expect to be outmatched.” You sighed as you made your way outside. You sank into a bench as he stood, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring down at you.

“Bet it took you by surprise.” 

You appraised him. He looked the picture of unruffled bad boy. Despite the flour dusting his black shirt. “You did. Pulled the rug right out from under me. Your mind is dirtier than a gutter’s. Mine is the gutter, for reference.”

He snorted. “Don’t say that. You’re pretty nasty yourself.”

Your gazes met, and after a pause, you said, “I mean, I’d totally let you use my easy ultimate bake oven, if you know what I mean?”

He smirked. “Is it because I’m a ‘whole ass rack of meat?’” he said, throwing one of your very innuendos back at you. 

“Well, yeah, of course. But honestly? I would’ve let your little bacon-ass self tap it too.”

Akira looked surprised at this revelation, before he seeming to latch onto something, leaning forwards. 

“So, you do have it bad.”

“Not as bad as the guy whose been aiming batter at my chest all semester.”

“Heh. Thought you wouldn’t notice.” 

“It is. More than a little obvious, Fudo! Know how many shirts you’ve ruined?”

He shrugged before sending you a sly look. “I do have an oven back at my place, too. Wanna get to baking?” he asked, stretching a hand out towards you.

While it turned out you two did little cooking and more of sloppily making out inside Akira’s dorm, you did manage to practice one cooking technique.

(“We can eat watermelon shaved ice and build sandcastles, or use your zanpakto to make ice sculptures, or whatever you want! We can walk along the beach when it’s cooler in the evenings."

Not entirely convinced, he opened his mouth to retort when you pulled out your ace card. Your last resort.

“Plus… I may know a way to get Matsumoto to finish her tasks for a few days.”

“…Fine.”)

He was sold.

Truthfully, he did need a vacation. His sense of duty just made him a hardass about accepting one.

Plus... it meant he got to spend more time with you.

Pressing the back of his hand to his brow—it's sticky, with sweat, he notices sourly—he follows just a few paces behind you as you flit about the beach. Despite himself, he feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips at your childlike wonder.

"Look, 'Shiro! It's a crab."

"We should catch one and cook it for dinner."

“Ahh, look how many pretty shells washed ashore.”

They were pretty, but he could think of someone with more beauty.

"Hm. They're nice."

"Do you want to build a sandcastle?”

"You'll get burnt," he says as he eyes your exposed skin.

Of course he slathered on as much sunscreen as he could before stepping onto the beach. Yet you denied his offer to rub some onto you with a wave of your palm, a simple boast of how you simply tan in the sun.

How opposite the two of you are, yet how well you mesh together.

He's been told he’s cold, like the winter personified, like the reiatsu that constantly shrouds him. You're warm, almost burning in intensity, like the summer heat that threatens to melt through him. You're in your element here.

Nonetheless he’s watching you intently to make sure your skin doesn't burn.

Maybe he also just likes looking at you, so carefree. He could just reach out and press his lips against your sun-kissed complexion—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the urge. The heat seems to be seeping into his thoughts. He crouches down, picking up the bucket that you discarded. He takes a moment to note your height difference. Gone are the days when he was considered too young, where you towered over him. Now he can revel in the fact that you have to tip toe just to reach his chin.

"You're doing it wrong," he says as he observes your sand creation. “That kind of castle would never survive the tide."

He helps you, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as you fleck some sand at him in response to his critique. When you look away, he does the same, a sludge of sand slapping your knee. You gasp and he raises a brow.

He used to hate doing things that made him seem too childish, all too aware of how people saw him—as the young, inexperienced prodigy.

Yet with you... he finds your laughter infectious. Whether it's you giggling at the way a crab burrows its way into your castle, or even at how he gripes about the heat.

He finds he doesn’t mind indulging in these juvenile activities. When it’s with you.

You venture towards the shore in search of seashells as Toshiro pats more wet sand onto the base of your castle. It's only when you call his name triumphantly that he looks up.

His eyes widen.

Not because you're proudly holding up a conch, but because the tide is hurtling towards the shore behind you, threatening to engulf you.

You don't seem to notice.

"Watch out!” He’s moving before he can even speak, managing to grab you before water crashes onto the shore.

In a flurry of waves and movement, the both of you fall onto the sand, his arms cradling you to him. Water threatens to invade his nostrils but he exhales roughly. He nearly swallows a mouthful of it before the tide recedes.

And then he’s propped over you, on his hands and knees, water dripping from his hair onto you, the both of you sopping wet. You cough up some seawater, but you're fine. Toshiro's brows furrow.

"What were you thinking?" he says tersely.

You could've died. You worry him sick. He takes his eyes off of you for a few seconds and you nearly die.

"Were you even looking? You could've drowned—”

He's not sure who leaned in first, but the kiss interrupts him. Despite himself, he can't refuse, clutching you closer to him, pressing his lips against yours insistently.

You taste like salt and the sun and he wants you so badly.

But he also wants to keep you safe.

The two of you break apart with flushed cheeks and short breaths, and Toshiro huffs, pressing his forehead against yours.

"You're ridiculous, you know that."

"Yeah, but I'm your type of ridiculous."

Your giggle breaks off into a gasp as another tide washes over your bodies, this time gentler.