hi, bit of an oddly specific request i know but would you know any 5+1 fics? preferably of the fluffy kind? it's just, i've loved practically every 5+1 i've stumbled upon so
Hi anon! I’m so sorry for the late reply. I haven’t read many 5+1 fics but all of these are lovely reads, I hope you enjoy them 💗
Four Times Harry Fudged Up Draco's Birthday Present…and One Time He Got it Right by @dracogotgame (2018, Teen and Up, 3k)
Harry fails at birthday presents. So bad. It's terrible, really.
Five Times Draco Walked Away, and the One Time He Didn't by tryslora (2012, Teen and Up, 4k)
It is the first Christmas after the war, and Draco and Harry are freshly minted professors at Hogwarts, and alone there for the holidays. Luckily Harry is persistent, since Draco keeps insisting on walking away from him.
Five Times Draco almost got some and the One Time he actually did by theboywiththeskulltattoo (2019, Explicit, 5k)
Patience is a virtue, and Draco is a virtuous man. Or he wants to be. Has to be, now that he's dating Harry Potter, who's basically virtue on legs - and requires more patience from Draco than he'd ever thought.
Kiss-Kiss by who_la_hoop (2013, Explicit, 6k)
“Draco,” Harry said, scandalised, “the teddy bears are watching.” (Or, five times Draco kissed Harry during 'eighth year', and the one time Harry kissed him first.)
5 times Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter weren’t dating (and 1 time they definitely were) by Ingi (2015, Teen and Up, 6k)
These times, at Hogwarts, the most asked question is "Are Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy dating?" The answer is usually no, until it isn't.
5 Times Harry Tried to Propose (and The Time He Gets it Right) by @carpemermaidtales (2016, Mature, 7.3k)
5+1 marriage proposals Harry makes to Draco.
Five Times Draco Went to Potions by Ralph_E_Silvering (2015, Mature, 8k)
Hogwarts Year Eight. Five times Draco goes to Potions and One time he does not. Features Draco/Harry, a very observant Hermione, and Draco's plans to take over the known world, starting with Hogwarts. Enjoy!
The Things We Learn Later by @buttertyrant (2018, Mature, 9k)
It takes a few years of them both teaching at Hogwarts, but Harry eventually realises he's irrevocably in love with Draco Malfoy. Or, five times Draco Malfoy made Harry Potter sad...and one time he didn’t.
And They Say Romance is Dead by @static-abyss (2020, Explicit, 10k)
Harry is in love with Draco Malfoy. This is, quite possible, the worst thing that could have ever happened to him. Not because he doesn't want to love Draco but because now that Harry knows, he doesn't know how he's supposed to tell him. Or, five times Harry tried to tell Draco he loved him and one time he succeeded.
Five Times Draco Malfoy Got Sacked (And One Time He Didn't) by emmagrant01 (2010, Explicit, 18k)
After the Dark Lord was destroyed, Draco Malfoy had to start all over. He had no idea it would be quite so difficult.
do you have a collection of 5+1 fics? or jealousy fics?
here’s a few 5+1s, we shared some jealousy fics previously.
the calm before the crescendo - abovetheruins | M, 6.7k, complete
Alternate title: 5 times Shane Madej was flustered by Ryan Bergara, and 1 time he finally did something about it.
an idea whose time has come - beethechange | T, 12k, complete
Or: 5 times Ryan Bergara sort of joked that they should blow this popsicle stand,
+1 time he definitely didn’t joke about it.
moments of inbetween - softshyan | T, 5.5k, complete
5 times Shane and Ryan fell asleep together accidentally, and the one time it wasn't on accident.
Lost a fic? Check out our fic found tag, and if you still can’t find it, send us an ask!
Sweet Certainty>>“Nicolò,” Yusuf said, his voice turning hard. “You have not washed in weeks. If you do not get into the water right now, I will kill you, then I will throw your corpse in the lake and wash it myself.”
…or, five times Yusuf convinced Nicolò to join him, and one time he didn’t have to.
Poke that bear till the claws come out>>Nicky spun on his heel while the man slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. A soft, adoring smile graced Nicky's face and he was once again the loving and caring man Nile knew him to be.
Five times Nile witnessed Nicky being the softest immortal warrior ever, and one time she saw him feral.
safe haven>>Whether Joe really is more awake than he lets on, or if he just has learned to sense Nicky’s presence even in sleep by now, Nicky doesn’t know. But Joe immediately shifts onto his side, giving Nicky enough space to slip back into bed and into the circle of his arms. Carefully Nicky tugs the covers over them both, mindful of the way Joe shivers as he presses close and leeches all the warmth from him.
Shamelessly Nicky tangles their legs, buries his nose into Joe’s neck, and relaxes like he never relaxes anywhere else. Joe’s arm finds its way around him, his other hand coming to rest in the back of Nicky’s head, thumb brushing through the short hairs there. “I missed you,” Joe mumbles, more asleep than awake, his words so slurred that probably only Nicky can make any sense of them.
-
Or the one wherein everyone gets quality cuddles from Joe.
5 Times Joe and Nicky Tied the Knot and 1 Time They Didn't>>As the title says, 5 snapshots of Joe and Nicky getting married and one time that they didn't
Under the Black>>This is just "5 times Joe and Nicky tried to fuck and 1 time they finally managed it" but it's pirates. I mean you try having sex as your ship gets pulled into a hurricane. It's not going to happen, sorry boys.
Farewell to Faith>>This was so close to being "5 times Nicky killed Joe and 1 time he didn't" but you know what, I decided to write something serious for once. (But it is essentially that)
passed down like folk songs>>“They never get to tell the real story.” Nile says quietly to Andy.
“Real story?”
“Of how they met. I mean before tonight they maybe told it three times? You and Quynh, Booker, me.”
Or
4 times Nile hears Joe and Nicky tell a fake story of how they met + 1 time she hears them tell the real story.
ahead by a century>>“Oh, my little sunshine.” She taps his nose affectionately and Yusuf tries not to smile too big, lest he look too pleased. “That’s very kind of you. With those big bright eyes of yours, I think I’d believe anything you say, though.”
Yusuf pouts. “It’s true!”
Or: 4 times Yusuf used his big, sparkly, anime eyes to his advantage and 1 time someone turned it on him.
and you smiled, because you knew.>>Joe is an incurable romantic. Nicky doesn't really believe in an institution that promises only what he already has.
Or: Five times Joe proposed to Nicky and one time he didn't.
our way of saying 'i love you'>>Andy loved her family. She loved Quynh, though she missed her lover constantly. She adored Joe and his easy laugh. She had loved Lykon and the stories he told. Loved Booker for all his faults. And she was coming to love Nile as well, and knew she would cherish the years she got to spend with her.
But Nicky would always be special to her - the little brother she had never had. There was just something about him that had made her want to protect him - to keep him safe and happy.
~~~
Or, Five times Andy was Nicky’s big sister, + one time he was her incorrigible little brother.
1. Training
2. Spoiled
3. Protective
4. Favouritism
5. Comfort
6. + 1 time Nicky annoys Andy
Allegory to Icarus>>Otherwise known as:
Five Times Joe Died Because He Was Distracted By Nicky’s Ass (And One Time It Was Nicky’s Fault)
“He walked off a cliff,” Andy said matter of factly.
“He what?” Nile demanded.
“He walked off a cliff, right into the sea,” Andy explained. “It took us hours to fish him out."
lighthouse>>Four times Nicky was protective of Joe
(don't) blame it on the moonlight>>“And it didn’t bother you that the guard thought you were -- that we were -- ?” Nicolò asks, for what is definitely the fourth time, as they bed down, hopefully hidden from view by the reeds and trees of the Nile delta.
Yusuf sighs, rolling onto his back. “Do I mind that he thought I would be foolish enough to abandon all reason and take up with one of the men who helped sack Al-Quds? Yes, a little. Not enough to stop from using it as a perfectly serviceable escape route.”
“No,” Nicolò says, “I mean, that you would prefer the company of other men at all.”
Yusuf blinks, bemused. He hadn’t even thought of that. “As a rule, I try not to be insulted by accusations that are true,” he says drily.
OR: Five times they were faking it and two times it was real.
Regret>>Five terrible tattoos Joe and Booker dared each other into getting in order of ascending regret.
The five times Hopper asked Joyce to marry him as a joke, and that one time she asked him.
1.
The shrill of a phone knifed through the silence, almost deafening, breaking the atmosphere of tranquility in the middle of the night, stirring worry in the surface, enough to jolt her awake. Brown irises blinked up at the ceiling, and then at the digital clock glaring red beside her, digits of two and three alarmingly informing her how deep in the night it had been – two in the morning.
Nothing ever good came after two in the morning – that was what her mother used to tell her, and one she had learned through several experiences in the midst of a marriage that had been a far opposite of sweet.
Immediately, socked feet had been casted to the side, soles hitting carpeted floor as she dashed out of the room with a practiced finesse that wouldn’t perturb anyone else. On the fifth ring, she had retrieved the phone from the receiver, fingers clutched around it, knuckles white as she had anticipated what would come next after hello.
Hopper’s voice filtered through – filled with manic and sleep, guttural, almost incomprehensible. She could hear the intake of a breath, could practically see his blue irises darting from side to side as he would ran a hand through thinning blond hair.
“One at a time,” like speaking to her children who’d been in the midst of a rush thanks to overwhelming feelings either caused by excitement or fear. Joyce’s voice had been soft, filled with a mother’s patience.
She could hear another sigh, and then a clear of a throat, a mumble of an apology and a statement that he felt ridiculous for even acting the way he was. “It’s Jane; she’s bleeding.”
And now, it was Joyce’s turn to be frozen in a wave of panic, as bitterness overcame her palate, fear flooding through her. But, before she could spiral further into the terrifying pit of horror and anxiety, he was speaking again.
“God, Hop, you scared me.” She exclaimed, hand against heart as she steadied her breathing, head shaking. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She’d spent thirty minutes in the grocery store purchasing everything a flowering girl may need – various selections of tampons and pads, a few treats, and pain reliever – and then spent fifteen trying to work her way to the cabin. It was exceptionally dark, and the roads had been slippery – this being the start of December and all its snow. She’d missed a few turns, and managed to skid closer to a ditch somewhere in between when she was trying to switch from the main roads in favor of the path that led deep within the overshadowing forestry. It had only been her headlights that had illuminated every turn that looked exactly the same, with Hopper’s cabin the beacon at the end of it, which did little to help.
Before she could even clamber out of her Pinto, he was already racing towards her – a big figure lumbering towards piled snow in nothing but a white undershirt and thin pajamas, clear panic and slight humiliation painted amongst features subjected often in a scowl.
“I could have done it myself, but I…” He trailed off, running a hand against his mouth then over his face.
Joyce nodded in understanding, placing a hand on his shoulder once she was out of the car and giving it a squeeze to offer comfort. She smiled softly. “It’s fine.”
Because it was really. Hopper had been there for her and her sons when she needed him the most. She figured, it was time she returned the favor, and not because she was obliged to do so, but by the fact that she wanted to ease out a few of his worries that crowded and weighed him down. She didn’t want him to go through with all of this alone.
“Thank you for this.” He had stated, glancing at her with eyes soft and filled with relief – it had made her smile wider as they wound up by his porch, his hand resting above the knob of the door.
Jane retreated back in her room, looking less frightened as she had when she had been woken up by sticky vermillion dribbling down the length of her thighs. The door closed with a gentler shut than when she had slammed the bathroom door earlier, and Hopper found himself releasing a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. Joyce emerged from the hallway right after, a tired smile against her face as she glanced at Jim by the couch with relaxed shoulders, and less tensed features.
“She’s all yours.” She had stated as she paused to lean against the table, eyes of piercing brown now dangerously drooping thanks to the drowsiness that was slowly taking her captive. A yawn threatened to escape her lips, one she had tried to contain with a palm of her hand.
Jim rose to his full height. “Thank you for this. I wouldn’t know what I would have done without you.”
She waved him off. “I’m sure you would have done just fine.”
“Yeah, but it would have been messy. And, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t even listen to me.” He had spoken, shoulders being raised in a shrug. “Could you just marry me to make things a little easier?”
Joyce chuckled, and rolled her eyes at him. “So – what – you don’t have to worry about talking to her about the birds and the bees? Not a chance.”
“You mean, you haven’t talked to her about that?” He asked, tone hinted with horror, but there was mirth within the blue of his irises.
She shook her head. “I didn’t elaborate much on it, thought I’d give you the honor.” A snort had escaped her at the look Hopper had given her. He was about to say something when she had opened the door, easily slipping half her body out. “Good night, Hop.”
“Good night, Joyce.”
2.
“I could marry you right now.”
“Don’t be dramatic. It’s just coffee.”
He had been knee deep in paperwork for the past few hours when Joyce had come in with two cups of coffee in both small hands. The holidays had always been an invitation to petty crimes being done here and there. He wasn’t sure what had prompted teenagers and adults to participate in the mischief, but he was sure that he was getting tired of it (his protesting back and the kink on his neck clear proof of such).
“If it hadn’t been for you, I would have died.”
Joyce rolled her eyes. “I’m sure Flo could have prevented you from that.”
Hopper had shaken his head. “No, she couldn’t have. The woman unplugged the coffee machine, claiming I need to cut back.”
“Must have driven you insane.” She smirked as she had taken a sip, leaning her back against the stiff chair she had occupied long ago when she had been here, talking to him about Will’s disappearance.
“You have no idea.” He glanced at her fondly, sharing her gaze with a small flit at the corners of his lips before he drank his share of caffeine.
3.
He was kneeling in front of her when she turned away from the sink. There was a grin plastered on his features – a shit eating grin that had matched the ridiculousness of the scene unfolding right in front of her. He was holding a small piece of wreath with its ends tied to one another as a makeshift ring.
“Joyce Horowitz – “
“ – Hop, get off the floor.” There was smile on her face, chin placed against her knuckles as she leaned against the countertop, trying to manage a look of displeasure and failing.
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Remind me to lower the dose of the cough syrup.” She had stated as she reached to steady him when she caught him wavering dangerously to the side. Hands placed on both sides of his shoulders, Joyce gave him a look. “Come on, big boy, get up. We need to break that fever.”
“You haven’t answered my question, yet.”
“I will when you get up.”
And so he did, in a motion too fast enough to almost send him back on his ass. Assisting him with a hand, she had directed him back to his bedroom, intending to put him back to sleep like he had been before he had caught her by surprise. Sitting him on the edge of the mattress, she touched his forehead with the back of her hand and made a sound of disapproval when she had felt it scalding.
“I told you to stay in bed.” She said as she had taken the glass of water by his bedside and had handed it to him to drink.
Fingers enclosing against the glass, Hopper did his best to drink, eventually managing to wet his shirt by a dribble, causing Joyce to shake her head.
“Go back to sleep. You need rest.”
She waited for him to oblige – a man in his forties grumbling about excessive sleeping and feeling energetic enough to go to work – before she had rounded up the bed to pull the thick covers over him, tucking him in like she would with Jane and Will.
“I’m going to the kitchen and finish washing the dishes, if you need me, just shout. Do not stand up.”
So, Jane hadn’t been kidding when she had called Joyce earlier to assist her dad. Over the phone call, she could recall hearing a few arguments that had been in close relation to one of the few things she had with Hopper in the few hours she was over to take care of him. He was exceptionally stubborn, and the cough syrup had an effect on him that she had found slightly annoying, but mostly humorous. Jim Hopper was a resilient man, but when he was sick, he had the disposition of a baby.
“Joyce,” she heard him say before she could even make an exit, promptly turning around with an expectant look in her eye. “Lie next to me?” And before she could even protest, he added, “please?”
Without a word, she obliged, not having the heart to deny him, especially with that look he had fixed her. Strong arms had been wrapped around her petite frame, the heat of his fever radiating off of him. Joyce allowed herself to be swallowed by him as he rested his head in the crook of her neck. It wasn’t long before she had felt his breathing even out, but before she could wriggle herself free to clean the cabin, she heard him whisper in the tiniest and roughest voice,
“Marry me, Joyce.”
4.
She had been waiting for Will when Hopper ushered her into the clearing, underneath the stairwell where they shared cigarettes between fifth and sixth period.
“Brings you back doesn’t it?” He asked her, cigarette dangling between his forefinger and middle, smoke streaming at the end of it, obscuring his features from her.
She had taken the stick, inhaled and then coughed, that had been followed by a small, short laugh. “Yeah,”
“We should get married.” He said out of the blue, irises of sapphirine finding hers. He was almost smiling, but she could tell there was a sense of seriousness within it, within the stature he was at.
Joyce had taken a drag of the cigarette he had been previously holding, gaze directed ahead of them, onto the parking lot littered with vehicles alone.
“Get out of here. Pursue our dreams.” He added. “Get married.” He stated again, boring his eyes into her when she looked at him with an inquiring look.
She handed him the stick. “You’re joking, right?”
If he was wounded by the question, he didn’t show it. “Of course,”
“Are we even allowed to smoke here?” She asked with a tilt of her head, waving off the memory of the night when she told him about Lonnie.
“Well, I remember Mister Cooper retiring in the seventies.”
5.
He plopped the Santa hat on her head. “Be my Mrs. Claus.”
She pushed it up, allowing her to visibly raise a brow at him. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
He grinned at her. “Maybe.”
“You look ridiculous.” She had stated as she assessed him for the first time. He was in full costume – brightly red and festive, trying to bat away whatever irritation he felt with the whole get up.
“And so will you. Suit up.” He had spoken, pushing the rest of the costume into her small hands. “Or else Flo will have my ass.”
+ 1.
She wasn’t sure how it happened, whether it had been that small kiss shared because of the mistletoe Jane and Will had placed on the door or the movie they had been watching when the kids retired to bed that had prompted this. All she was certain of was the fact that she was having sex with Jim Hopper on Christmas while their kids slept soundly in the rooms next to hers.
Leg hooked on his shoulder, Joyce fully open for him as he seated himself inside of her time and time again, a dizzying pace compared to how it had started. Labored breathing carried through the silence, even as they did their best to keep it to themselves lest they unknowingly rouse someone.
Jim held her with all the gentleness he could muster, face rested at the crook of her neck, kisses peppered causing her to sigh and melt against him. She could feel white heat pool below her stomach as he pressed his thumb against her clit, flicking at it just as he would enter her. Back arching, toes curling, Joyce brought both of her hands to the sides of his face and crushed her lips against his to muffle her cry of ecstasy, walls clenching around his hardened length before letting go. He followed a few thrusts after, body slumped against hers, silence once again sailing as they regained their breathing, heart finally going back to its normal pacing.
Joyce had succumbed herself in the exhaustion their lovemaking had left, letting her eyes close just as Hopper had moved to settle beside her. She would have protested if only he hadn’t made up for the absence by tucking her safe and warm in his arms. It wasn’t a few hours after she had woken up to blue irises staring at her in contemplation, and what she could plainly see as something beyond adoration.
She placed a hand on his jaw, moving to kiss him softly before she had pulled away to settle a few inches apart from him so she could share his gaze. Running her fingers through his blond hair, Joyce smiled up at Hopper, who seemed to be cautious about this whole affair.
“Marry me.” This time, it was her voice she had heard, and not his. A statement made out of impulse, drunken in the haze of the moment, in the love that she had realized she had held for him for so long. He smiled at her, one that was close to be broken by a chuckle, when she had schooled her features to that of seriousness to convey her intent. “Marry me, Jim.” She enunciated each word to tell him what she wanted, to tell him it wasn’t stated as a joke.
He blinked up at her, brows forming a furrow as he visibly processed what she had just stated. All the while, she had held her breath, a sense of coldness enveloping her as the seconds had stretched on, and indicated that she shouldn’t have said that, that she had read him wrong.
She was about to recoil, about to gather the sheets to cover herself, for decency and humiliation’s sake when he had gathered her close to him, and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Buy a guy dinner first.” He quipped, suddenly chuckling, but it wasn’t mockery she heard, but euphoria within it. “Thought I had to be the one to ask you, but yes, of course.”
She wound her arms around him, tilting her head, chin resting against his chest as she smiled up at him. “I love you.”
dothething asked, as a response to just like a ring of fire, when Mike realized his feelings. I personally think the show did a pretty good job of tracking Mike’s feelings for Ginny, so consider this a 4+1 times he should’ve realized something.
read on ao3
catching your lollipop fast ball
Another perfect screwball landed squarely in Mike’s mitt. He couldn’t help but be impressed, not that he really wanted to show it. Couldn't let the rookie get too full of herself, now could he? So, he snapped his gum a few times before popping the ball out of the webbing and snatching it right out of the air. He didn't even bauble the catch.
Baker wasn't the only one who could impress.
“Good,” he finally called, throwing it back to the artificial mound. “Now throw me the fastball I actually asked for.”
Her nose wrinkled, eyebrows furrowing. Without the brim of a baseball cap to cover it up, it was pretty obvious. A little amused, Mike had to wonder if that was how she always looked when she wanted to shake him off. The set of her mouth looked just right, lips pursed in annoyance. He’d gotten pretty familiar over the 17 entire times she waved his calls off her last start.
“That’s not what I’m working on,” she tried, worrying the ball behind her back. There was no doubt in Mike’s mind that her fingers had settled into a screwball grip yet again. Well, if she wanted to dick around, fine. At least the foam mats here in the pitching lanes were a little easier on his knees than the hard packed clay on the field. Mike could wait her out.
“It’s gonna be,” he tried anyway. If he didn't have to spend his entire evening in the bowels of Dodger Stadium, even if it was with someone as intriguing as Ginny Baker, why should he? “There’s nothing you or I can do to tweak that screwgie. Your fastball on the other hand...”
Baker's pursed lips flattened out into a straight line, but she didn't give him an actual reply, instead looking down as she toed the rubber and settled into her windup.
It was a refreshing change not being told to fuck off. Most of the bullpen was too familiar with him for the full force of his captaincy to have much effect on them. Mike should really work with the rookies more often. They had such a pleasing way of deferring to his every call.
Well. Most of his calls.
Another screwball landed in his mitt.
He tilted his head at her in exasperation, rolling his eyes though he was sure she couldn’t see it in the dim light of Dodger Stadium’s pitching lanes or the shadows of his mask. She raised her eyebrows in challenge.
Flinging the ball back at her with more strength than the throw really required, he gave up on reining in his annoyance. Given the way the impact with her glove rang against the cold cinderblock, Mike had a feeling Baker knew it, too. Still, she didn't wince or even shake out her hand, simply climbing back up the hill to set for another pitch.
“Fastball,” he commanded gruffly, giving her the hand sign for good measure.
To be honest, if she didn’t listen again, Mike wasn’t sure what he’d do, but it’d probably involve more than a little yelling on his part. He had a feeling, though, that Ginny Baker would give just as good as she got.
(He kind of wanted to find out.)
Baker huffed but shrugged. She settled into her stance and sent a perfectly serviceable, if unenthusiastic, fastball right down the middle of the plate. If every hitter worth their salt wouldn’t have been all over that pitch like white on rice, Mike wouldn’t have minded the lack of heat.
As it was...
“I hardly even needed a mitt to catch that, Baker,” he taunted, throwing the ball back. “Weren’t you just tellin' me you top out at 87? That couldn’t’ve been more than 70.”
Even across 60 feet, 6 inches, it was hard to miss the stubborn set of Ginny Baker's jaw. It was a new expression from her, but one that Mike had a feeling he'd be seeing much more of before the season was out. She gave a sharp shake of her head, reared back into her windup, and threw again.
Fastball, top inside corner. This time, there was even a slight sting in his palm.
Something like pride fluttered to life in Mike’s gut. And when Ginny grinned, teeth on full display, that flutter kicked into high gear.
Mike cleared his throat, flinging the ball back a little harder than necessary, though it had nothing to do with annoyance this time.
“Good. Again.”
They continued on in this pattern, Mike alternating between approval and goading to get his desired results and Ginny generally rising to meet and exceed his expectations, until Baker’d exhausted her 40-odd pitches. She didn’t protest when he stood and signaled the end of their session, but Mike could still tell that she was itching for more.
Good. It was nice to see that first game really had been a fluke. She really did want this.
Mike jerked his head to the door, but didn’t wait for her to catch up. She had the knees of a 23-year-old. He did not.
Sure enough, it only took a few seconds for her to fall into step beside him on the walk back to the visitor's clubhouse. She shook out her arms and stretched them over her head, bouncing on the balls of her feet even as they walked. Mike marveled at her energy. Hadn’t she done early work—and Jesus, it was work. Parts of Mike still ached from yesterday's tandem work out session—before Kimmel, too? Wasn’t she tired? He sure as hell was, and the game hadn't even started yet.
“Blip said if we win in LA, there’s a club y’all usually go to. You gonna come out, too?”
Mike always did. And usually he left the place with some very entertaining company. But something within him rebelled at the idea of sharing that bit of information. He shrugged it off and frowned, trying to project an air befitting his status as her captain.
“Let’s worry about actually winning first, okay, Baker?”
Her grin, dimples popping and eyes dancing, made him feel a lot of things, but most of them weren’t even remotely related to his status as her captain.
Automatically, he grinned back. Privately, though, Mike resolved to put as much effort as necessary into finding some company for tonight. A little no-strings fun, some relieved tension, and hopefully he'd wake up in the morning with his head on straight again.
Yeah. That was exactly what he needed.
listening to your feminista rants
"This is such bullshit,” Baker muttered mulishly. Mike could just see her now, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping in her seat.
Except, he couldn’t see her.
They were all the way across town from one another, Baker presumably in her suite at the Omni and Mike stretched out on one of the recliners scattered around his pool, trying to convince himself to go inside. If he went inside, though, started getting ready for bed, he’d have to end this phone call. Because while it wasn’t weird to talk to his rookie most nights—about anything from tomorrow’s start to the meager offerings of late night TV in hotel cable packages—it was definitely helped by the fact that Mike stayed out of his bedroom while doing it.
Specifically, he stayed out of bed.
It just— It was better if he did.
“Huh?” Mike was pretty sure he’d missed something. Hadn’t they just been talking about the surplus of fro yo shops in the Gaslamp Quarter and what’d happened to all the real ice cream shops, didn't people know that the novelty of paying by the ounce was not offset by the objective inferiority of frozen yogurt?
Which was definitely some kind of bullshit, but not the kind that would inspire this level of annoyance from Baker.
Well. Maybe it would. The girl did take her food very seriously.
She sighed down the line. “Sorry. Amelia sent me this interview request.”
When she didn’t elaborate further, Mike prodded, “Isn’t that her job?”
He didn’t love talking about Amelia with Baker. Just like he didn’t love talking about Baker with Amelia, but he could suck it up and play it cool for a while. It helped that he hadn't actually seen Amelia today. Mike didn't like to think about the fact that it was easier to talk to his rookie when he hadn't recently hooked up with her agent, though. Too messy for his tastes. Then again, hooking up with his rookie's agent was probably too messy for his tastes, too.
“Yeah,” she agreed, a little listlessly. “She usually does a better job of weeding out the obviously sexist ones. I think she’s been distracted lately.”
Oh, was this another one of her girl power trips? He could definitely deal with that. Ignoring the rest of her complaint and whatever role he might play in it, Mike tucked an arm behind his head and asked, “What's wrong with the request?”
“What isn’t?” Baker muttered under her breath. Mike waited her out until she sighed and offered, “They led off with what they wanted the photo spread to look like.”
“I don’t see what’s so obviously sexist about that.”
“That’s because you’re a dude.”
“That’s probably true.”
It didn't even get a laugh. She was too worked up for his dry delivery to even dent her indignation. To be fair, there was a lot in her life to be indignant about.
“Like—” Baker cut herself off with a humorless laugh, but not for long. "No one sends your agent the list of outfits they want you to wear for a photoshoot and completely forgets to add the interview questions, right? No one would dream of doing that to anyone else in MLB. Just me. It’s just me who has to navigate even the shortest interaction with a reporter like I’m guarding state secrets. All because I want people to focus on how I play the game.”
Mike didn’t tell her that he couldn’t really remember the last time an article about him had included an actual photoshoot. “You’re not wrong,” he said because A) that was what he was supposed to say in this situation, having learned his lesson from listening to Rachel's complaints, and B) she wasn't.
“And no one asks you about your skincare regimen during pre-game pressers. Or cares what you wear on road trips or what you eat on your cheat days or which of the hundreds of guys you’ve been in a four-foot radius of in the past 24 hours is secretly your boyfriend and which ones just want to sleep with you.”
“Well,” he drawled, “if I had a secret boyfriend, I’m pretty sure some people would be interested.”
That earned Mike his laugh. Not quite as bright as he’d wanted and almost in spite of herself, but he grinned at the still water of his pool anyway.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
And he did. There was no denying that Ginny Baker, just by virtue of being the first, was going to be subjected to bullshit her teammates weren’t and never would be. While it wasn’t often that she actually complained about it, Mike couldn’t miss the way it dragged on her. The way her smile was always a shade too harsh in press conferences, her jokes rehearsed. He definitely couldn’t miss the way she always let out a huge sigh of relief the second she got out of the press room, shoulders slumping and exhaustion settling in.
“Yeah, I know.”
That certainty was nice to hear. That was why Mike felt warmth rush through him, flooding his face. It was so nice, in fact, he was still smiling when he finally hung up the call and climbed into bed.
He might’ve even been smiling as he fell asleep.
the way you constantly interrupt me
Well, there was no beating around the bush. This speech blew.
It wasn’t often that Mike couldn’t talk his way out of a corner, but he had a sinking feeling, the longer he went on, this might be one of those times.
Something about the rhythm of it, maybe? It wasn’t up to Mike’s usual standards for all he was hitting all the usual beats and talking points. Then again, he’d gotten a little out of practice. Hadn’t had much occasion to give celebratory speeches these past few weeks.
But today, the Padres had clinched their first series sweep in what felt like forever. And clinched it with a shutout victory, at that. That was certainly cause for Mike to step up and address a few words to his team.
But it was time to start wrapping it up, now. Before they realized he was talking in circles.
He raised his beer one last time to the gaggle of Padres still jostling each other in the open space of the clubhouse.
“This was just the beginning. We keep playing like that, then you better believe the postseason’s got our name on it. Good job, guys—”
“And girl.”
Mike whirled and took in said girl’s defiantly raised chin. He hadn’t put his back to the hallway holding her changing room on purpose, except, yes. He had. Most of these mooks might not know a great orator from a stuttering wallflower, but he had zero interest in finding out if Ginny Baker fell in with the crowd on this front. He had a feeling she didn’t and wouldn’t have any problem with letting him know it.
Funny. It wasn’t often he hated being right.
Next to her, Blip’s arms crossed over his chest, but a grin was pulling at the corner of his mouth as his eyes darted between her and Mike.
For his part, now that he’d turned his attention back to her, Mike couldn’t imagine looking away.
Flush with victory, he couldn’t think of a time she’d looked better. Not even on the red carpet, wearing that ridiculous red dress that should’ve been illegal by any sane standards. Not that he really had a horse in this race, but Mike was pretty sure he preferred her as she was now, still wearing her uniform, a little disheveled from the game.
And what a game!
Tonight, for the first time since she went AWOL from her party, Ginny’d taken the mound and thrown a beautiful game. A work of art, really. Mike had seen a lot of twirlers in his time and if he’d had any doubts about Ginny Baker’s actual skills, this game would’ve taken them out back, shot ‘em, and buried ‘em six feet deep.
And that was just on the strength of five innings. Erring on the side of caution, Al took her out with the Padres up 4-0. It hadn’t seemed like she chafed at the tight leash, though, given the way she draped her arms loosely over the dugout fence to watch the rest of the game.
Then again, Mike could only go based on what he’d observed.
Ginny still wasn’t really talking to him.
Until now. Until this.
He didn’t even tell her off for interrupting him.
“And girl.” He tipped his bottle to her, nodding his head for good measure. A smile flickered across her lips for a second.
Unspeakable relief swept through Mike. It’d been so long since Ginny’d actually addressed him off the field (or the red carpet), he hadn’t quite realized that he’d been craving it, missing what’d come so easily not even two weeks ago.
Jesus, how long had it been since they last talked outside of a game situation? It couldn’t have just been two weeks. He wouldn’t feel so fucking grateful to hear her voice again, without the roar of a crowd underpinning it, if it had only been two weeks.
Since he couldn’t stare at his rookie pitcher in awe quite as long as he would’ve liked, Mike cleared his throat and shifted his attention back to the rest of his teammates. “All right, you mooks. Get your asses in the showers and go home. We’ve got another game to play tomorrow.”
There was roughly an equal amount of booing as cheering, which was about as good a reaction as Mike could ask for.
Because he wasn’t going to push his luck and ask for Ginny to actually smile at him, too.
If he watched out of the corner of his eye as she clapped Blip on the shoulder and retreated to her dressing room, that was his business. It was also his business if he took the first opportunity to follow her.
“Come in,” she called, hardly before he’d finished knocking.
Mike pushed the door open, but didn’t step into her space. It felt important that he didn’t. Not yet, at least.
“That was a good game.”
Ginny turned and blinked, like she was surprised it was him. Since there was none of the anger or confusion that’d colored their interactions the past weeks, Mike tried to take it in stride.
“Thanks,” she replied, looking wary, but not entirely closed off. “Wouldn’t have managed it without that homer in the seventh.”
Mike shrugged, though she wasn’t wrong. When she continued to stare at him probingly, he grinned, a touch too self-conscious to manage his trademark charm.
“You gonna go out with the guys?”
“I thought we were supposed to go home so we could come back refreshed for tomorrow.”
He rolled his eyes. “You think I really expect any of these dummys—”
“You calling me a dummy, Lawson?” she demanded, and that! That was a smile. A real smile from Ginny directed straight at Mike.
“If you go out to the karaoke bar the way Voorhies wants, then there’s no—”
She laughed. “You asshole.”
Since Ginny looked legitimately fond, Mike didn’t even protest. He laughed, too.
“Yeah,” he agreed, more than a little wondering. “That’s me.”
oh, that horsey laugh
Mike was fucking exhausted.
And why shouldn’t he be? They’d played a doubleheader yesterday and suffered through a rain delay at Wrigley today. Yesterday. Whatever.
They were supposed to leave Chicago at 11:00. It was now 2:30 in the morning and they’d only just pulled away from the gate. Mike had been awake for nearly 20 hours now, and tomorrow—today, whatever—he’d have to get up and do most of it again.
It wasn’t the game that’d kill him, though. It was the fucking plane.
Mike couldn’t quite explain the hatred he felt for the endless array of charter planes the Padres commandeered in the course of a season. For a guy who didn’t even go to an airport until he was 18 and heading out for Idaho and his first stop on the way to the majors, air travel doesn’t hold much romance for him. The seats were too close together and now that he’s gotten old, the dry air makes his throat itch and back tighten.
It beat day-long bus rides, though.
If he could help it, he never slept on the plane, hated waking up with a kink in his neck and stiff knees, but he’d make an exception today. He was just that tired.
What Mike really wanted was his bed. And preferably a warm body to share it with. It’d been a while since that happened, though, and he wasn’t holding his breath for tonight. So, he’d have to settle for reclining his seat as much as possible—fuck Margolis sitting behind him; he’d given up a triple and let three runners steal before getting yanked—and sleeping while he could. If he didn’t, there was a good chance his drive home would end poorly.
Nothing quite drove home how old he was getting quite like feasibly believing he might fall asleep behind the wheel.
Thank God most of the team was in agreement on that front. The cabin was dark, only the dim, blue glow of iPads and phones illuminating the space. It was quiet, too, just Al’s sonorous, familiar snoring disrupting the silence.
Until someone had to go and make Ginny Baker laugh.
In spite of how tired he was, the sound of her laugh—loud and more than a little obnoxious but entirely genuine—was enough to make Mike smile automatically in response. He kept his eyes shut, letting her guffaws fade away and send him to sleep.
It wasn’t so different from being on the phone with her late at night, game adrenaline slowly filtering out of his system and his eyes growing heavy. Okay, maybe he’d given up on staying out of bed for all of their conversations, but he was only human. Sometimes Baker talked a lot, and it always put her in a good mood when she could tease him the next day for falling asleep on the phone.
Except Ginny wasn’t on the phone with him. She wasn’t even laughing at him.
Which shouldn’t have been the problem and shouldn’t have fucking bothered him at all.
“Do that again!” she demanded, delight coating every word.
Salvamini’s laugh was more mellow, and if Mike weren’t sure the man was head over heels in love with his wife and family, he’d think he was flirting.
“You’re not gonna figure it out,” the first baseman replied, and there was the soft whirr of shuffling cards. There were a few quiet moments before it started all over again.
“How did you do that?” Ginny demanded, laughing bright and loud and not at all aware that it was nearly 3:00 AM and everyone around her wanted to be asleep.
Still, Mike couldn’t bring himself to yell at them to shut up. He did sit up and glare blearily their way, cutting Salvi off in the middle of saying, “A magician never reveals his secrets.”
Magician. Yeah fucking right. The only people who actually believed that were the guy’s kids. And none of them were over the age of six.
Salvi had the nerve to grin, making Ginny turn to look, too. “Looks like captain’s calling,” he teased, nodding to Mike three rows ahead.
Mike rolled his eyes and flopped back into his seat. He didn’t cross his arms over his chest, because then it would look like he was pouting.
Which he wasn’t.
He closed his eyes. If he tried really hard, he could probably fall asleep in the next thirty seconds. That seemed reasonable.
The soft pad of sneakers against the carpeting of the aisle wasn’t enough to make him open them, but the soft creak of leather and mechanical parts shifting right beside him was. He cracked one eye open and took in Ginny Baker curled up on the seat next to his.
She grinned when she saw she had his attention.
“Did I interrupt your beauty sleep, old man?”
“Don’t need it,” he rumbled, “when you look as good as I do.”
Her responding laugh, though it was absolutely familiar, was quiet this time, just for Mike’s ears.
“You keep telling yourself that,” she murmured, eyelashes kissing the tops of her dusky cheeks as she settled in for some sleep herself.
She was the last thing before Mike’s eyes shut and the first thing he saw when the plane touched down in San Diego, and that didn’t make him feel any kind of way.
Not at all.
i’m gonna miss the hell out of you, baker
His phone should be in his pocket. Better yet, he should’ve left it at home when he decided what he needed to do with his last night in San Diego was go out and get sad drunk all by himself.
(Maybe all by himself. He still hadn’t decided. Which was, of course, the problem.)
It was, unfortunately, neither of those places.
No. It was sitting right on the slightly sticky bar top, mere inches from his third beer of the night.
This was a disaster waiting to happen.
When had drinking and cellphones ever been a good combination? Never, in Mike’s experience.
He couldn’t resist unlocking the screen every so often, though, staring at the text he’d drafted on his way here and still hadn’t sent.
Blip’s warning kept replaying in his head.
You could have just said bye to everyone.
Well. Mike didn’t give a shit about everyone. It stung that Blip was clearly so put out with him, but they’d get it together. Probably once Blip figured out that captaining that gaggle of overgrown kids was no walk in the park and maybe he needed or just wanted a little of Mike’s advice.
And yeah, if he were in the right frame of mind, he’d want the whole team to understand why he was going, but they’d get it after his press conference from Chicago tomorrow. They’d—probably, not all Padres were made equal, after all—figure out what went down.
And if they didn’t, what did Mike care? He wasn’t their captain anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s captain.
Still, there was one teammate he wanted to say goodbye to. One teammate he needed to know understood the whole messed up situation.
Not that Mike quite understood it all himself.
All he knew was that he’d been ready to fight tooth and nail to stay a Padre, but one look at Ginny Baker, going through her stretch and hum routine before taking the mound again made him realize he couldn’t. He couldn’t stay her teammate, stay in her life even, and not fuck it all up somewhere down the line. That was what he did best: fuck good things up. He refused to do it to her, though. No matter how fucking fond he felt every time she yelled at Stubbs for calling his ex a crazy bitch, or lit up the first time her fastball cracked 89, or laughed too long and too loud at terrible jokes, or cut him off to start a story of her own.
No matter how “fond” didn’t even come close to cutting it.
He’d leave his team, the closest thing he had to a family, before he put Ginny’s career in jeopardy.
Because he loved her, okay? He’d fucking fallen in love with his rookie, the first woman in MLB. He loved her and knew she meant more to the game than he ever would. There was no point in denying it now.
Mike laughed a little to himself. All the signs had been there. But it was the fucking humming that did him in. Fucking Katy Perry pushed him from willful ignorance straight over the edge into self-awareness.
Yeah, he’d miss this town and miss this team, but mostly what he’d miss would be her.
And, terrible as this idea was, he wanted her to know.
He drained the last of his beer and unlocked his phone again.
Before he could convince himself otherwise, Mike hit send.
Like magic, a blue bubble popped up on his side of the conversation, just two words, but two words that he thought might change everything. Or enough. God, he hoped it would be enough.
an idea whose time has come - beethechange | T, 12k, complete
Or: 5 times Ryan Bergara sort of joked that they should blow this popsicle stand,
+1 time he definitely didn’t joke about it.
the calm before the crescendo - abovetheruins | M, 6.7k, complete
Alternate title: 5 times Shane Madej was flustered by Ryan Bergara, and 1 time he finally did something about it.
5 times Shane had to overrule Ryan’s “No Homo” + 1 time he didn’t have to. - GhoulBoyBoos | T, 3.9k, complete
There was only one thing that would truly drive him up the wall with Ryan, much more than any debate about ghosts ever could: Ryan’s consistent twitches of “no homo” when any sort of physical contract between them happened.
5 Times Steve Defended Tony and the One Time Tony Heard Him>>Five times that someone insulted Tony and Steve rose to the occasion and defended his honour. Plus the one time that Tony heard what he said.
When I First Saw You>>based on awful au's“The first person you see after your first near death experience is your soulmate” AUexcept in this version, it's the first person you see after every near death experience.5 times Tony found a soulmate+1 time Steve did
i'm in a clique but i want out>>alternatively titled 6 Times the Avengers Thought About Quitting the Team and 1 Time They Were All In This Together. Inspired by the line in Love Club by Lorde.
Work in Progress>>Five times Steve didn't know what he was feeling, and the one time he did.
Five Times Loving Steve Changed Tony for the Better,and One Time It Changed Steve for the Worse>>Tony knows he may never measure up to Steve's perfection, but just being around the man makes him want to try to be a better person.Except, no one's perfect.
I Know>>Or Five Times Tony Almost Told Steve He Loved Him, And The One Time He Didn't.
Fly Away Home>>Five times Tony tries to find his way home.
Seven People who foiled Helmut Zemo's plan of tearing the Avengers apart (one of whom got to do it twice).>>Helmut Zemo's plan, for all its careful planning, intricate timing, and general deviousness, depended a lot on people and the choices they made. And people are, even to the best of minds and at the best of times, rarely predictable. And the Avengers, even when divided over the Accords and struggling among themselves, for better or worse, for too much trust or too little, do not fall to such petty plans so very easily ... .
A story of forks in the road, where the universe might have zigged instead of zagged.
As Little Fuss>>Or, the Five Times Tony Stark Threw Money at a Problem, and the Five Times His Team Repaid Him. [gen fic]
You Wear it Well (Heart on My Sleeve Remix)>>Steve's clothes have an unfortunate habit of disappearing, especially when Tony is around.
[AKA, Five times Tony wears Steve's clothes, and the one time Steve wears Tony's]
Five times Tony Stark didn't listen to Steve Rogers and one time he did.>>Tony doesn't listen, something Steve really should know by now.
Five times Steve Rogers hated Tony Stark. And the one time he really didn't.>>Tony always seems to know just what buttons to press to make Steve hate him.
Your eyes are drawn of charcoal.>>For this prompt over at the kink meme:
Five times Steve draws Tony while he's unaware, and one time he's watching intently.
3 Times Tony Discovered Something About Steve (And 1 Time Steve Reciprocated)>>In which Steve is not a blushing virgin, but is definitely a natural blonde.
Five ways Tony Stark Doesn't Die>>(The movie *is* the happy ending. There are so many ways it could have gone worse.)
24 Things Tony Has Told Steve>>Tony and Steve's relationships, as told by random facts spouted at Steve by Tony. Winner of the 2013 SteveTonyFest fic contest.
Drip by Drip>>Steve’s road to Tony through five cups of coffee.
