[nitroheart]

── 𝐢'𝐦 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥.

before you follow. navigation.  masterlist. selfships.  ao3.

✿ 𝐫𝐞𝐢 ! ✿ thirties. she/her. katsuki's sweet peach & dynamight’s support tech. eighteen+ animanga writing & selfship centric blog. ‹𝟹

interactions @aureira & fic archive @nitroheart-fics

resident of @maplewood-valley

post-it note : rei-dio frequencies collab // rei's surf shack

❤︎ with love, nitroheart — do not copy, repost or feed my content to ai.

[bakubun]

i'm dyingg ˋ°•*⁀➷ omegaverse scent quiz

no pressure tags: @tteokdoroki @notvil @nohoney @nitroheart @cruel-hiraeth @rosesforshoto @itadoreyu + anyone that wants to join :>

You are beauty and poise. You have a gentle and assured nature, but underestimating you is a means for diagnosis. Your presence is calming as one hears the beauty of the month ahead in your gentle and self-assured rattle. You permeate the air around you with a freshly raw scent of sparklingly possibilities. Your aroma is smooth and creamy, with faint yet soothing notes of orange. Your crispy bright scent is grounded in oak moss. A deep smell that is reserved for a generational anguish some people are born with in their bones. Your attempt to hide behind the guardrails of a child lock is misguided. Anyone with enough skill can open you. So make sure that only those with a prescription, or a genuine need, are fueled by what you have to give. Your top notes are: mandarin. Your bottom notes are: oak trees and temporary shortages. Do not be fooled by alphas who might shower you with gifts, money, or unearned love. They will try to make up for a lack of self with useless promises and trinkets. 

[nitroheart]

lmfao this is so funny and I got the same thing

anyone feel free to join !

[frankencain]

was tagged by @eagans to play this or that: trope edition! thank you this was so fun 🐸(also i think we have very similar tastes lol)

slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it (nuance button) // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high-school romance or middle-age romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane

i'm tagging @keresofdeath @queer-ragnelle @rotspecialist @growingsad @cannibalcures @thematicparallel @spiralocean @bugmistake & whoever else wants to do it ✨

[keresofdeath]

ooooo ok v cool

slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it (fuck i will also be using the nuance button...) // reincarnation or character death (actually no idea but i'm probably more familiar with character death) // one-shot or multi-chapter (i don't knowwww that's harrddddd; like i love a good multi-chap but i Will forget to check back) // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high-school romance or middle-age romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates (this one also hard:/) // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane (oughhh why are some of these so difficult)

I've read good stuff with neighbours and roommates. I may not really have a preference? In the case of apocalyptic or mundane, I would maybe lean on the mundane side, but it's still hard to choose...

Anyway, this was fun and I was scrolling back up to check the responses like. Damn... These are similar... I'll tag, uh, @blackkatskauldron, @startcarvingdarling, @misted-oblivion, @bam-here, @love-caleb and anyone else who wants to participate!!!

[blackkatskauldron]

Omggggg this looks fun

slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers (I am hitting the nuance button bc there are excellent arguments to be made here for both) // there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence (I do love the pining tho)// hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss (girl this one is harrrrd)// smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death (the irony of my last two responses) // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage (arranged marriage angst my beloved) // high-school romance or middle-age romance (this one is mean..... Where is my almost too late geriatric romance) // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent (again this one was so harrrrd)// angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane

This was fun!! Thank you for the tagg!!! I feel like my tastes are either starkly angst or comfort lmao (heavy on the angst).......

I am tagging...: @turbo-virgins @whats-her-quirk @annova @polillarockera @yamat0 ! If you want to do this and I didn't tag you pls feel free to join in!

[whats-her-quirk]

ILY KIKI thank you for the tag! (i made the text bigger and green so I can see, sorry)

slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers (aka idiots to lovers/mutual pining) // there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter (i cant choose) // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage (love a waking up in vegas plot tbh) // high-school romance or middle-age romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane

tagging anyone who wants but i'll slap some names here to start!! @kween-katsuki @pricetagofficial @p00pdev1l @misticsilver @cruel-hiraeth @burnishedcrown

[pricetagofficial]

Omg thank you for the tag! I love these games!

slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers (aka idiots to lovers/mutual pining) // there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage (love a waking up in vegas plot tbh) // high-school romance or middle-age romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane

I am tagging @kendymaycry @history-be-written @bluejay-the-geek @aureira @gakutonin aaaaaaaand anyone else who wants to!

[nitroheart]

thank you for the tag <3

slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers (aka idiots to lovers/mutual pining) // there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage (love a waking up in vegas plot tbh) // high-school romance or middle-age romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or genderbent // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane

npt ! @zekeyeagervevo @marleysfinest @punk-spic3y @tiramistupid @bakubun @tteokdoroki @prettyiwa @forest-hashira & anyone else who would like to join :)

[olivebowl]

#notmydynamight starts trending after an interview he does where he's.. calm and not immediately reactive to every stupid question and he actually engages with a reporter and doesn't swear every five seconds...

[cinewhore-deactivated20211003]

[bfbkg]

going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.

pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”

and he just laughs a huff out his nose.

when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”

“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.

“about ten thousand.”

“how many do you have?”

“three hundred.”

he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.

“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.

then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”

he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.

“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”

takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.

“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”

[tired-biscuit]

you know that trope where it’s princess + knight, but they’ve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because he’s thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?

yeah, that’s porn to me.

[katanaski-main]

[8nin]

eye contact with someone you find attractive is so ungodly like you have no idea what you've done to me you bastard

[nitroheart]

I am plagued by the simple thought of watching Bakugo grill shirtless with a backwards baseball hat on.

[nitroheart]

you see the vision...

[nitroheart]

The first time you call Bakugo anything but that, he melts. Thinks his ribs are gonna break from how hard his heart pounds against them as “Katsuki” rolls off your tongue like you were born to say it.

And when you give him a nickname? Kat, Kats, Katsu, Suki — doesn’t matter. It’s lethal damage, makes him stutter over whatever he was saying and he slams his lips against yours to shut you up. But, his mouth doesn’t listen to his brain as he exhales “say it again” against your lips.

[nightlysleeper]

Have some mama might. I really want her to be a gardner with a quirk related to sunshine. I have more drawings on the way. BTW, I've heard several people refer to her as Toshi, did she make that baby through mitoshis??

[tiramistupid]

i want to be his favorite stress relief toy is that too much to ask for???

[yuckmr-deactivated20251218]

"I miss my wife, tails." I say, staring longingly at a picture of a grown ass man.

[lumi-lex]

✧જ⁀ ⋆⚾︎ FEVER PITCH ⋆⚾︎જ⁀ ✧

part one: fake first date

Leon S Kennedy/F!Reader

synopsis: as the social media manager for Raccoon City’s major league baseball team you have a unique opportunity to interact with the players that have charmed the league – one of them being Leon Kennedy. Your current “dating series” ends with him, giving you the opportunity to finally get a good read on the league’s most darling – and elusive – pitcher. 

word count: 3.7k

warnings: alternate universe - professional sports, 20ish year age gap, selfship coded

read on ao3 | masterlist | fever pitch moodboard | divider credit

Getting paid to post to social media and hang out with professional athletes was a pretty sweet gig. In your experience baseball players were some of the easiest people to get along with, and the team you were working with was pretty entertaining. If you weren’t catching them off guard with baby pictures or asking them if they’d still hang out with you if you were a worm, they were all waiting for what your next scheme for online engagement would be and who would get to be in the final cut of the team’s latest official video and who made it to the bloopers. 

This latest one was a little far-fetched, but most of the team and coaches accepted your shenanigans and rolled with it. 

Dating the Raccoons! An extensive series where we get to go on a date with each member of the team and coaching staff. A great chance at a first hand look at how your favorite athletes rest and relax!

It had been a great opportunity for the fans to learn more about their favorite players, while giving you a great chance to get to know them better when you weren’t harassing them with your phone and camera and the latest memes. A few of the players brought their spouses, the couple with kids bright their entire family, and you enjoyed every second of getting to see this side of them. 

Your last “date” was scheduled with the team’s starting pitcher, something everyone in the world thought was intentional to build up to one of the most simped for players in the league — but in all actuality the man was just annoying to try to schedule with. If it wasn’t a physical therapy session it was media appearances or some other commitment that took priority over your plans that had been made with him. You had to wonder if that inability to prioritize anything over his career was why he was still single at his age, it also seemed like he was really only friends with people who were affiliated with the team in some capacity.

“Hey,” you heard him behind you, and you look up from your laptop to see him coming down the stairs to your seat in the stands. “Been looking everywhere for you.”

“Are you rescheduling on me again?”

“Actually no,” he says with a laugh, stopping when he’s standing in front of you. “I’m here to ask for your address.”

“For what?”

“We’re going on a date, aren’t we? I always pick my date up, it’s good manners.”

That had to be a generational thing, because you had never been picked up by a date before — in fact you would prefer that the randoms you met on dating apps or in bars not know where you live. You never knew if someone was crazy, so it was a common safety practice to withhold that information until you felt safe with that person. But this was Leon Kennedy, America’s sweetheart that everyone rooted for regardless of their team alliance, so it was different for him. 

“You aren’t some creepy stalker, right?”

“You’ll have to find out.”

You huff, but pull your phone from your bag to text him your address before turning your phone around to show him that you’d done it. He gives you a thumbs up, letting you know that he’d pick you up at seven before leaving you to go back to your editing. 

He didn’t tell you where you were going, and only said to wear something comfortable when you texted him to ask, so you find yourself sitting on your couch at five-to-seven in some breathable pants and a cute top while hoping that it was fitting whatever events were set to occur this evening. You did know that you looked cute and that was going to carry you through the night regardless of whether or not it fit the date. 

You’re surprised by a knock on the door to your little townhouse, more prepared for an ‘I’m here’ text that would save him the steps of getting out of his car and coming up to your door. 

What’s more surprising is the little bouquet of flowers he has in his hand, but you’re more immediately relieved when you see he was wearing jeans and a tshirt with a light jacket so you know you’re not over or underdressed for your date. 

“What are these for?”

“You’re still going out with me after I rescheduled eight different times, it’s a showing of my gratitude for your flexibility.” 

Flexibility was a very generous word to use, considering this was part of a larger social media project that you were being paid to complete and he was fully aware of  that, but appreciated the acknowledgement that he was making your job harder with all the rescheduling he’d requested. 

The bouquet is quickly placed in a cup of water in your kitchen to be properly tended to once you got home, then you’re following Leon down the small set of stairs and down the walkway to where he’s parked in front of your house.

You hadn’t expected the sleek Porsche that you often parked beside to belong to Leon — he gave off more of a vibe that he was driving a 2002 Corolla into the ground rather than spending the money on something so new. But it fit him at the same time. 

“You are welcome to adjust the seats however you’d like,” he says as he opens the door for you, offering his other hand to help you into the suv. “They’re also heated and cooling.”

“So you drive a spaceship?”

“Not moon ready just yet though.”

You wait until he closes the door to get your phone out, hoping for some charming moments that can go in the video while he drives to your destination. 

“Where are we going?”

“Have you ever gone axe throwing?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “Have you?”

“Nope,” he says with a laugh, grinning over at you with the dusk light behind him casting a halo over his head. You don’t know that you’d ever had him smile so warmly at you before, and to be fair you were usually harassing him with your camera when you were in smiling proximity, so this was a fresh experience. “But it looks fun.”

“Let’s throw some axes!”

You are just the right amount of dressed for this activity, and you’re relieved that the reserved bay Leon got was at the far end of the building with some distance between you and the other patrons. It gave you space to reduce any obnoxious background noise from others for cleaner audio. 

He lets you go first, the handle of the axe heavy in your hands as he takes a picture of you for your Instagram before he steps away so you can throw. It’s much harder than the videos on social media made it look, and you know your arms will be so sore that you’ll regret letting him pick the place. But your axe at least hits the target, and that’s exciting enough that you don’t care if your muscles would be going on strike after this. 

Your competitive nature is delighted when his first attempt misses entirely. 

“It’s not a baseball!” You chide when you notice that he’d taken a pitching stance with his second axe in hand. “You’ll hurt yourself trying to pitch it.”

“And you’re the expert?” Leon asks, looking over his shoulder only to see you pointing at where you had an axe stuck to the large wooden target. 

“Just follow the little instruction paper on the table and don’t try to get fancy. If you hurt yourself for this I’ll probably get fired.”

“You wouldn’t get fired.”

“I can already see the headlines,” you start, holding your hands up for emphasis as you continue. “‘Kennedy out four months for shoulder surgery after throwing an axe wrong for tiktok’. And then the last sentence after they detail your injury will read: ‘Racoons’ social media manager has been released following this incident’ as if I hit you with my car.”

“And then you have to skip town because it’d be your fault we go a ninety-seventh season without making the series.”

“I’d have to change my name,” you laugh, watching as he sets himself up for this next attempt. “I couldn’t work in sports again.”

“I’d put in a good word for you with the football team.” His statement is punctuated with a grunt as he throws the axe, and you roll your eyes when you see that his landed closer to the bullseye than yours did. “Or you can be my personal social media manager.”

“You don’t have any socials,” you comment, deadpan as you stand so you can throw your next axe. “Which, can I ask why? You’re missing out on potential brand deals.”

“Why would I want to be subjected to the bullshit that’s on there? People are weirdly comfortable telling athletes to kill themselves because they lost a game, and I’m better off without more apps on my phone.” 

Those were excellent points, and you definitely saw your fair share of disgusting commentary about the team on the posts that you made for their social media accounts. Some of the biggest crybabies in the world were American sports fans, who often excused their inhumane behavior by saying that if those athletes couldn’t handle criticism then they shouldn’t be public figures — as if being able to handle a ball well made them less of a person and more of an object to be sexualized on a good day and ridiculed to the point of pure dehumanization on a bad day. 

“Besides, I’ve been on a Wheaties box for the last decade and a half. I’m doing fine with sponsorships.”

That box did haunt you on occasion, getting jump scared on the cereal aisle after selecting your oatmeal only to turn around and be face-to-face with the pitcher who often refused to play your social media games if it involved more than him answering a simple question or two. He was probably only doing this because the entire team and coaching staff had all done it too. 

“You look good on the Wheaties box,” you compliment, turning back to face him only to be face-to-chest with your business date for the evening and stepping back with a start. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“Wasn’t sneaking, just getting ready for my turn.” He defends, earning an eye roll and a huff from you as you go to step around him. He matches your step, starting the always awkward two-step that ensued when two people were trying to move around one another but unsure where to go. This persists for what you’re sure were the longest thirty seconds of your life until finally you think to stop to allow him to step around with a burning face at how stupid you must’ve looked while your camera recorded the whole interaction. 

You learn a lot about Leon as you throw axes together for an hour, with a new and significantly deeper appreciation for his figure courtesy of the way his muscles moved under his tshirt as he threw his axes. Watching him pitch had been similar to watching an artist approaching a canvas, with a form that has been emulated for the last decade by little leaguers and college athletes (you once had a high school boyfriend trying to “Kennedy pitch” and dislocated his shoulder in the process), and you assumed that likely he approached everything like he did the pitcher’s mound — with a delicate analysis and deadly precision that only became more fine tuned as he understood the task better. This would be no different; by the time your reservation ended he’d only been hitting the center of the target, much to your annoyance at how quickly he became better than you at this. 

The next stop on your date is an old diner. It’s quiet, the waitress knew Leon by name and tossed a flirty wink your way when taking your orders. His picture is on the wall; a younger version of the man sitting across from you in the booth, a toothy grin on his face as he stands in front of a nicer looking version of this building you’re seated in — a happiness that you hadn’t seen on the Leon that you know. You’re used to tight lipped smiles that look more like grimaces, little smirks when he successfully outted the batter on the plate, and the obviously forced smiles he gave interviewers and your camera. Happiness looked nice on him, but you’d want to know where that visible happiness went.

“This place is cozy,” you comment, getting only a nod from him so you press further. “How long have you been coming here?”

“Probably about as long as you’ve been alive,” he states, not annoyed but you fear the fun from throwing axes might have worn off. “Seemed like your vibe.”

There were a million questions you could ask regarding how he knew your vibe so well despite rarely interacting with you (purely by his design). And you want to ask them all, but instead you settle on the fact that he was sharing this place with you. 

“Seems special.”

“Don’t make it weird,” is his immediate response, tipping the brim of his hat lower as he sipped at his arnold palmer. That told you that it was to be considered special to him that he would bring anybody here — to such a pace that was dear to him and had been a grounding place for him since he was a rookie. Perhaps it was because you were technically a coworker, trusted to act with discretion where needed in regard to the personal lives of the players and coaching staff. There was no way you were considered anything more than an acquaintance at this point. 

Your offer to have the team pay for your dinner was declined, with a statement that a gentleman should always pay for his date — even if his date was recording the whole thing to edit for social media. You don’t tell him that he was only the fourth of the thirty or so men to directly deny the offer, the first three being less tenured outfielders. The coaching staff did deny, but that was only because they had their own cards granted to them by the organization and used them instead of her card to more easily get away with their more expensive restaurant selection. Leon seemed to have a more old fashioned mindset, and you wouldn’t put it past him to scold the entire locker room for treating you less than gentlemanly by taking advantage of your corporate card. 

When he drops you off, he takes the time to get out of the expensive car and walk you to your front door. It feels truly like a real date, complete with the awkward silence at your front door as you hold your keys in your hand. 

“I never noticed the keychain,” he comments, pointing to the limited edition acrylic keychain that featured Rocky Raccoon, the lovable mascot for the team, standing back-to-back with the pitcher who was standing in front of you. “That’s old.”

“Not really. Only about five years, I think.” He scoffs at your defense, but you can tell that he’s definitely tickled by the fact that you were in possession of one of them. “That’s not too old.”

“Were you old enough to drink when you got it?”

“I’m not that young!”

He laughs, the sound oddly melodic as you finally put your key into the slot for your deadbolt. You’d seen him laugh off the field, but never close enough to actually hear his laughter — but you were very familiar with the polite chuckle he’d give you and the other media personalities he would speak with before and after games. Maybe he actually enjoyed you as a person?

“I did have a good time, even if you did bully me the whole time we were together,” you say with a playful pout, leaning back against your doorframe as he shakes his head. “I know it was for work, but thank you for tonight.”

“Believe it or not I was actually looking forward to it,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest as you look up at him. “You’re not as annoying as you think you are, kid.”

“I’m not that much younger than you that you can call me kid.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” He’s proud of the way you bristle a bit, a genuine mirth in those blue eyes that were perfectly illuminated by your porch light. He was so handsome it was annoying, but he called you kid so you weren’t allowed to see him like that. That had to have been a line in the sand drawn to ensure you knew where he saw you in his life; kid, the social media girl who asked his teammates to try tiktok dances or get the latest Love Island predictions — not anyone he was interested in outside of where he had to interact with you.  

But that was okay. You had a job to do just like he had games to win, and you didn’t go into this dating series with the intention of landing a relationship with any of the players. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even know that you would want to date a professional athlete after hearing what some of the partners of players had told you while hanging out with them. Fans were unnecessarily cruel sometimes, and you dealt with it in the comments on posts but they dealt with it in a completely different way. You’d argue it was harder because they loved the player being so heavily scrutinized in their comments section under a post about their anniversaries or accolades for their children — separation from the athlete and their performance did not exist. 

“I know this was a work thing, but I think we should do this again sometime.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, his tone faltering a bit with a new uncertainty that might’ve stemmed from your reaction. “I think you’re cute, and you’re funny. I think we get along well so I’d like to take you out again — but not for the tok-tok part of your job.”

“TikTok.”

“Whatever.” He waves a hand in the air, flippant, because the name of the app truly did not matter to him. But you’d correct him every time because that was your job. “What do you say?”

“What would the team say?”

“Does it matter?”

“A little bit!” 

“Why?”

“Because we work together. I’m not on the field every day like you guys are but I would hate for there to be some weirdness because we’re doing something more friendly than professional.”

“So we don’t tell anyone unless we get serious.” It sounded like he might’ve already been serious, but that’s a comment you keep to yourself as your hand turns your doorknob for no reason other than to have something to do as you stood on your porch with him. “I’m being pushy, sorry.”

“No, it's okay,” you try to reassure, but he shakes his head slowly. “I think you’re great, and I did have fun tonight, I just would hate for either of our work to be scrutinized because of this — especially if it doesn’t work out. You throw one bad game and then it’s all the tiktok girl’s fault for breaking your heart.”

“Nobody has to know, so that scenario could literally never happen if you didn’t want it to.” He’s right, but it could also never happen if you simply didn’t date. “Give me a chance? I’d protect our individual images every step of the way.”

There are a million ways this could turn sour. Starting with the fact that you worked together, including the fact that you were about twenty years his junior, ending with the fact that he was a being equated to Christ’s second coming in baseball form. But you couldn’t say no when you had no hard evidence that it would go sour. No way of knowing it wouldn’t work out, and everything telling you that there was a huge chance it could. Leon was considerate, stable, and kind — even if he did avoid you and your camera like the plague. He said he’d protect you both, and you had no reason to believe that he couldn’t considering the man didn’t have any active social media. 

“Alright,” you finally murmur, a nervous smile settling on your lips as he finds his own. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He takes your hand, pressing a delicate kiss to your knuckles that has a new heat blooming across your face. Old fashioned and romantic, you want to tease him but refrain from doing so in an effort to protect the moment that you’re sure is one to be remembered even if things didn’t work out. “When’s the real first date?”

“You wanna meet up for breakfast tomorrow before game day starts? I can cook a mean Denver omelette.”

“At your house?”

“I mean I can come over here, too, if that’s easier?”

You were a few days overdue for grocery shopping, so going to his was significantly more optimal than him coming back over here, and the other bonus was that you were sure he lived closer to the ballpark than you did. When you tell him as much he grins, with a joke about being fed by the team over the last few weeks that you wouldn’t need to grocery shop — and he wasn’t wrong. You’d been living off of those meals and the leftovers that came with them for a while, and now that the dating series was finally over you needed to fill your fridge again. You’d likely go when they traveled for this next series, heading out to Ohio for three games before they made their hopefully triumphant return. 

Eight is the agreed upon time, he’s texting you his address and your phone vibrates with the notification before he’s leaving you with a hesitant kiss to your forehead and butterflies making themselves very known in your stomach as you watch him make his way down the path from your front porch to his car. It was quite the turn of events, having him reschedule this work date so many times only to end it with a real date scheduled for the following morning. And to think that you didn’t think he even liked you, only for him to actually like you in more than just a friendly way. 

But you had a video to edit. 

[deckitout]

happy 10th anniversary !

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

Postcolonial Love Poem, ‘Wolf OR-7′ by Natalie Diaz

[ID: I confuse instinct for desire - isn’t bite also touch?]