I'll call you right back is crazy holy shit but I get it he doesn't know the cops and shit but woof lmfao

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@katsukikitten
I'll call you right back is crazy holy shit but I get it he doesn't know the cops and shit but woof lmfao

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He didn't once touch the baby bump?
Like not once?
WAIT HOW DID SHE FAKE THE KICKING WHAT THE FUCK DID SHE PUT A MASSAGER UNDER THE BUMP
Togachako time :]
They're so cute
Oh I hate them and I don't know how people like this girl fake as hell
Why did anyone believe this woman had money lmfao well would maybe have money like girl
A COUPLE MONTHS
Girl her credit had to be FUCKED
You could see the ribs on that dog.
I have no respect for hunters that do not care for their own animals nor do they respect their kill.

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after trainiiing
@ariiadnes @caniela @coraes β‘
@katsukikitten
This is wow one of the crazier docs I've seen
I think Leon would let me stack powdered donuts on it if I asked nicely enough.
Don't you want dragon Laios to keep you as part of his treasure?!?!?!!! Don't you want him to just fight his instincts to sink his teeth into your skin but you're so pretty and you smell so so nice and distantly in the back of his mind he has always protected you and you've always been nice to him.
So that protection evolves into something more intense, into the monster he's always wanted it to be when it came to you. Keeping you tucked closely to his side or safely in his den/nest
So far my favorite thing about the world cup is seeing America through the eyes of a traveler, a nice fresh perspective.
They're posting sunsets, talking about storms, about how welcoming the areas they're staying in are.
Of course it's funny to hear them talk about the food. Some of the posts from people from Japan talked about being "defeated" by the free chips and salsa.
It's nice to enjoy that for a few moments.

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back on my dkbk in the club shit because katsuki is definitely holding your jaw open and deku is definitely pouring a shot down your throat
π³π₯π³π₯π³π₯π³π₯π³π₯
Tracing Krauser's scars making him actually feel something. Something that makes him feel weak, vulnerable. He cannot help himself, he is steeled, his emotions only live on the fringes of his mind, if at all.
Yet you bring it up to the forefront.
He cannot have that, growling, pinning you suddenly on your back, his favorite knife in his large hand. The point biting into your skin over your brow, just where his ends.
"I can give ya a scar to trace." It isn't long after that a few drops of blood start to drip into your eye.
Bc I have free will yk
Try not to move so much, handsome π
Should be me

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Leon hung over forced to be behind a desk for a short stint due to an injury forced to listen to my mini crumb vacuum because the cookies I crushed to put in my Greek yogurt got on my mouse pad
Finally he's had enough, his head throbbing as he places his large hand over yours to stop the little device, shutting it off by forcing your thumb to slide the toggle with his.
"Sweetheart, you can't just sweep the crumbs off your desk?"
You turn and glare up at him, big, scruffy, still half tipsy hungover Leon with his whisky breath poorly masked by months expired mint gum. A scoff escapes your pretty lips that his eyes linger on.
"No." Voice filled with disgust as you turn the little mini vacuum back on to finish what you started.
After his lunch break consisting of semisun exposure and flicking his father's lighter he doesn't use to smoke he returns to his desk.
Where the crashing sound of typing, phones screaming in the background, sticky sweet perfumes and the deep gurgle of air passing through the water cooler in the corner awaits him.
It grated his nerves, made his shoulders hunch as he sat on edge to every little sound, the normalcy of it all amplified the volume of simple ambiance thanks to his usual background noise of ringing gunshots, the stench of rotting flesh, and inhuman groans.
He sheds his sherpa lined jacket tossing it on the back of his chair, the office far too hot for his liking. Swivels as he stares at the ceiling, no real paper work for him to complete, he figures someone else takes care of it all for him since he's rarely here.
Finally his eyes fall to where his dusty keyboard sits, sees the small cup used at the water cooler with three white oblong pills, beside it a water bottle and an electrolyte black cherry limeade flavored packet.
Leon isn't an avid drug user but he's more than familiar with the shape of ibuprofen and acetaminophen. He hopes they're extra strength, swallowing them dry but curiosity gets the better of him as he rips the packet open with his teeth. Letting the light red powder pour into the clear liquid watching it turn deep in hue.
The powder clumps together reminding him of blood, how it clots together desperately in an attempt to close a wound, sometimes it's an impossible task.
"Ah," comes your pretty voice behind him, "I shouldn't have given you that flavor."
He tilts his head up, it sounds like you're more or less muttering to yourself as you reach for the bottle of liquid that's quickly turning a deep red.
Leon finds his hand wrapped around your wrist a second time today. His thumb absent-mindedly caresses the small tattoo on your wrist as if to soothe. Your brows furrow, looking down at him and he's seeing a new emotion from his normally grumpy and stubborn coworker for the first time.
A moment stretches between the two of you, slowly the gears in Leon's head turn, were you worried about him? Sensitive over something?
His eyes go back to the drink, the obvious offender here.
"Oh." It hits him, he doesn't dissect it aloud, "M okay."
"But it looks like blood." Blunt yet a pout to your voice.
"I'm curious about the flavor." Giving you an easy smile, quirking one of his brows.
"Ew, Leon." No disgust like before, if anything a giggle hangs in the air. Leon likes the sound of it, likes how it sits in his chest and spreads an easy warmth through his limbs.
"What? Not into vampires?" Licking his sharp canines, now he sees a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder before you slowly remove your wrist from his hand.
"Shut up, Leon." Moving back to your little desk to continue clacking away with your sharp claws, stopping only for a moment, "But if you don't, I've got other flavors."
He watches you flip your hair over your shoulder, back to your firm emails as he looks you over for a moment.
"Okay sweetheart, I'll let ya know if your blood is sweet enough."
"Shut up, Leon."
Since Leon is Italian - American, y'all think he had big Sunday dinners growing up? Since he lost his parents so young I know he must miss those family dinners
Does he miss the smell of sauce starting to simmer at 10 am? Does he miss his nonna sneaking him some of the fresh bread meant for dinner? Accent thick from learning English later into her forties, if she knew English at all. Maybe it was Italian, lovingly hushed words of "Try it, what do you think baby?"
The edge dipped in bright red sauce, sauce that tasted like his Nonna's home. Like her mother's sauce and her mother's before her. Bright eyes, Leon's eyes, staring back at him with a sparkle, with anticipation despite how she already knows he will love it.
"Amazing Nonna." Closing his eyes with a hum, she'll sneak him another slice for before promising next Sunday he would spend the day learning to make it. For now he will wait with hunger gnawing in his belly and in the hours to come, Nonna will sneak a meatball that "wasn't quite the right shape" but really she saved it for him. Another loving hush, a promise that dinner will be done soon, a request to help with the salad or lie out the fresh pasta.
He stares at the bottle of ragu now, mind slowly coming away from his memory to the present. Eyes flickering back to the pot, a small bubble pops, it's too hot. He turns down the heat, pinches off the end of the dollar loaf he got from the store to dip into the sauce.
It tastes nothing like Nonna's, like home.
A shame really, because he never did get the recipe for Nonna's famous red sauce.