Reblogging So I Dont Lose This!!!

Reblogging so I don’t lose this!!!

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Repost from peach-cream-enmu-archive

He can control himself.

Every time he sees you at Anteiku, he’s in control. He can keep himself calm, smiling softly when you wave at him on your way out, ever the busy little thing.

He can control himself when you ask to sit with him each time you’re able. Coming over with a drink in your hand, the same drink as always.

That drink…what caught his attention in the first place. Sweet, more creamer than coffee, it’d be an assault on his tongue, but you lit up when you took that first sip. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until your gaze shifted and found his. Watching those pretty (e/c) eyes beneath soft lashes, your pupils shrinking slightly as you look all the way across the shop. He blinks once, twice, to try and pull his eyes away from you, but you smile in acknowledgment, slight greeting, before walking to the door and leaving.

Every time he’d see you after that, you’d exchange just that. A small smile. A quick lift of your cute lips before you’re off to whatever it is you do in that day. He’s tempted to keep an eye on you, watch what it is that keeps you leaving so quickly, but Tsukiyama can control himself.

He can control himself when you come over, asking to sit with him. He can control himself when you give him your name and it’s sounds like a song, leaving his ears warm. He can control himself when he gives his own and you practically choke on your coffee. You apologize, saying you recognize his name, having a friend with a finance major who kept up with the stocks of current companies and important families. You seem to tense, pulling yourself inwards and straightening your spine. He relaxes his own posture in hopes you soon mirror his own.

He can control himself that first time he makes you laugh, your hand coming up in front of your lips on reflex. You’re self conscious, he realizes immediately, of your lips, or your smile, or your teeth. Something, something that leaves him only the soft apples of your cheeks visible to his eyes.

You soon fall into a routine of sitting with him anytime you’re free. You talk about your life. You’re not in school, instead working part time under a family friend. That’s why you’re always so quick to leave. On those days when you come in, you work soon after. You have a later shift, or don’t work that day, when you come and sit with him.

He had moved the conversation elsewhere, observing how you’d fidget when talking about your job after learning who he was and that he was in school while you weren’t. You don’t seem to read books much, saying you’re not great at sitting for so long to focus on one thing. You read a lot on your phone he can tell, with the way you seemed to construct your answer carefully when he had asked. He suggested a favorite author nonetheless in case you ever wanted to pick something up, and the way you reacted made his heart race.

You’d asked what they write about, and your eyes widened and you’d leaned forward resting an elbow on the table the more he talked about. You genuinely were interested, not just asking to be courteous. He found himself rambling, to the point he’d almost spoiled an ending. He’d pulled back, with a small laugh and a shake of his head. He could control himself…he won’t overwhelm you.

He can control himself, when on a cold and dry winter day, he encounters something he’d silently hoped he wouldn’t ever with you.

You’d always smelled so sweet. Your blood, something he’d never smelled before. Like sugar, so delicious he’s sure he could eat it if it truly was food. The thought of it even made his stomach turn in the most pleasant way.

You’d sat down as you waiting for your coffee, hands tucking into your sleeves to warm them. Your nose was still cold. Your fingers had gently rubbed the tip of it and momentarily brushed your upper lip. Your fingertips came back bloody.

He’d smelled it the moment it happened, but he could control himself. The change between the cold air outside and the warmth inside must’ve been too sudden. He’d thought he could control himself, with how little blood seemed to trickle out, until you breathed out.

The stream of blood increased significantly, flowing so fast you’d barely been able to cup your hand underneath in time to keep from getting it on your lap. You’d looked around in a small panic, not wanting to ruin the white napkin placed on the table, but you had to. It soaked red so quickly, he couldn’t just sit there. People would see.

Tsukiyama got up and grabbed your arm, pulling you up and towards the bathroom quickly, shutting and locking the door behind you. You’d look up at him with those pretty eyes, brow creased in concern. He grabbed a towel, wet it hastily, and pulled your hand from your face. He’d been controlling himself, until your tongue peaked out to lick your top lip by habit. Your face twisted slightly at the taste.

You closed your lips gently, keeping your tongue out of your mouth to keep from getting it inside your mouth. Tsukiyama stopped your hand before it could come back up. Your eyes met his for only a moment.

He couldn’t control himself.

When your lips parted, his met them quickly. His tongue swiping the blood up from yours. He was right. You were sweet. Your taste blanketed his tongue as he pressed into your mouth, his lips touching yours and your blood dripping onto them. Sitting on his own lips, your smell overwhelmed him. He couldn’t control himself, as his hand came up and cupped the back of your head, lips retreating to take a breath and returning immediately.

He could taste your sweet coffee on your tongue, it’s offending flavor overpowered by your own. He should be more composed than this, but as his lips came back to yours, you welcomed them eagerly. Your eyes fluttered closed, you leaned into him, your warm hand traveled up his chest to his shoulder quickly.

He couldn’t stop the moan that escaped his trembling chest as his hands moved down your sides. How he longed to squeeze your flesh, dig his nails in and draw blood, but that would have to wait. He completely forgot where he was, quickly grabbing behind your plush thighs and lifting you. Your hands moved up to his shoulders quickly and kept you upright before he rested your weight on the counter of the sink. He lifted you too easily, he knew you’d question how he picked you up so easily despite his lean stature. He’d forgotten to limit himself, using his true strength to get you where he needed you.

His hands skimmed your ass as he stepped between your parted legs. You moaned softly as he pressed into your heat. You’d discarded your coat at your table, leaving just your shirt, which he slid his hands under. The flesh of your stomach beneath his hands, finally touching you like he’d craved. Your hands left his shoulders and clumsily unbuttoned his shirt, fingertips touching his chest before brushing up his collarbone and feeling his shoulders beneath his shirt.

He felt it as it happened, his eyes changing. Yours were closed, but he knew that wouldn’t be for long. He prepared himself, for you to pull away, to scream, to push him off. He let you see him, pulling his tongue from your lips with one last caress of yours. When you opened your eyes you were greeted by the eyes of a ghoul.

He watched you. You inhaled sharply and your eyes took his in. The dark depths of his sclera, the bloody red of his pupils. You looked at the veins on his skin right beside his eyes. Your hands slowly pulled back from beneath his collar and he was sure you’d push him away. But they moved to his neck and pulled him back to yours.

He couldn’t control himself, not when you pressed closer to him, your stomach and breasts pressing against him hotly. Your hands sought to touch him so desperately that the strain of his shirt as your hands moved down the back of it popped a button. Your legs parted wider for him and if you weren’t still at Anteiku he’d rip your tights beneath your skirt and take you.

Your heel hooked around is leg in attempts to pull him closer. He did so eagerly, grinding against the soaked seat of your panties. The hand still under your shirt moved up and to your chest. Tsukiyama pulled your bra downand groped your breast. You whined as his thumb brushed your nipple. He wanted to sink his teeth into your flesh so badly.

When you pulled away to breathe you let your head hang slightly. In a moment of tenderness he doesn’t know if he truly has, tsukiyama nudged your head up with his, nose brushing your cheek and foreheads touching. You’re both out of breath, but he wants you to see him. You watch the black of his eyes fade and the red return to the sweet purple that you know.

He looks down and see your nose has stopped bleeding. He grabs the towel, still wet on the counter, and gently wipes the dried blood from your face. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind you. He truly made a mess of you, didn’t he. But as he helps you down from the counter after fixing himself up, he realizes it doesn’t matter.

He couldn’t control himself.

Me, to DJ: [walking back up front from changing trash bins] “what is up my dude—

DJ: “POCKET KETCHUP” [pelts me with a ketchup packet]

So, my stepmom’s friend has 2 cats; both of them were diagnosed at the vet with pica. An eating disorder caused by a few different things like iron deficiency. And the conversation I had with her about it went a little something like this:

stepmom: “my friend with the new cats just had them diagnosed with pica this afternoon.”

me: “oh, I didn’t know cats could get pica. How did she find out?”

stepmom: “well they’ve been eating her drywall in the living room next to the dog gate, and just generally chewing on everything that isn’t food or meant to be chewed on.”

me: “drywall…didn’t I eat drywall in the apartment we lived in when I was super little? And then again when I was at my mothers’ ?”

stepmom, looking up from her book: “and then four years later we found out you had pica. I’m just glad we never had an issue with you eating anything else like screws.”

Fucking. Agreed.

Pregnant people do not owe you an explanation as to why they want/need to get an abortion.

It’s none of your business.

Get over it.

Bethan: “This is what cell division looks like” [T and I sliding our chairs apart in English12 for more leg room