WAR IS OVER and by war I mean I just finished ch 67 of book 6!! to celebrate, I am posting my draft of compiled book 6 thoughts to this point. book 6 spoilers ahead! obviously
NB: this will be out of order, because I kind of just wrote down all my thoughts as I went through it, then tried to rearrange them before posting.
also I'm going to be making a part 2 because I have sooo much to say about the azul/riddle pairup in this.
(I'll start by saying that vil and azul are looking absolutely beautiful in these chokers, and I lowkey need this in an outfit later)
actually I'll start by saying that the image of riddle being so banged up in the fight and sleeping on leona's lap is messing with my brain chemistry... that poor child.
I feel like a proud mother when ortho and idia talk about how cool and powerful vil is. like yes, vil is the most special boy and I love him and I'm very happy for him
jamil and azul being similar in their fighting styles? well yes. they're mirrors, your honor. foils. soulmates. thoughh I will say I'm surprised they've been in cramped quarters for so long and azul hasn't made his usual advances. sigh.
also, I've been livingggg for the *people who mostly hate each other have to band together against a common enemy and may even catch morals along the way* trope (who am I kidding, the only ones with morals are vil and riddle. and riddle only has morals because they happen to align with the law). but it genuinely feels like I'm shooting straight serotonin when I watch them interact as a group.
wow, I have been so obsessed with vilkei and leorook that I forgot about my first love (frenemies-with-benefits leovil).
leovil aside, this book definitely has my favorite characterization of leona so far. I absolutely love how smart and competent he is.
also, jamil was getting on my nerves at first in his and leona's scenes. I never once thought I'd side with leona over jamil but somehow... I just know that if I was in leona's spot, I would be so annoyed. we've seen firsthand how competent leona actually is in this book, and being treated like he can't do anything for himself... ouch. and it's interesting how similarly he's acting to riddle. makes me wonder whether azul would react the same way if it was jamil patronizing him.
anyways after finishing ch 67, I really appreciate jamil's growth here!
I also do think it's great that we're seeing exactly why leona actually makes a great spelldrive captain. I love seeing him genuinely complimenting the others' strengths too (never to their faces, ofc ofc).
pomefiore. what can I say about them. what can't I say about them. they're everything to me, your honor. I've never smiled harder in my life. ao3 doesn't have fluff as tooth-rotting as this. my hunter. my poison apple.
the way they're LITERALLY JUST EPEL'S PARENTS. HELP. "mom how did you and dad meet?" this is literally just giving romcom plots, where the kid is trying to find out how their parents met for the entire movie. and this isn't even in a rookvil way; they're just co-parenting epel and I love it. and the spelldrive conversation is so parent-teacher meeting core I love it.
anyway why are they lowkey vilkei crumbing me with this one... rook is talking about cater diamond, that is a fact, thank you.
also leona and azul separately saying they they would prefer even each other over their current partners is so funny to me.
In regarding to Effie/Hayffie (just briefly mentioned but i will include it) I feel like Katniss being a limited narrator (in the sense that she doesn't take a third party approach, and tells her story from the point of view she held while living its events) is something that's important to take in consideration.
What we do know of book Haymitch and book Effie (more so the latter) is limited to what Katniss sees firsthand.
Solely speaking about Effie, Katniss tells us a few things:
1. she's compassionate towards her and Peeta, and towards other victors too ("Oh, not Cecilia..." and her talking about Chaff)
2. Haymitch has an habit of defending her, and she does the same in the limits of her capacity
3. She is very observant; she sees that Katniss isn't able to sleep and gives her sleeping pills. She cares.
4. She was the one who proposed the tokens for the 75th HG.
Of course we don't get her full point of view or opinion, but that'd because Katniss genuinely didn't know, nor does she know about what happened to her in MJ until Flavius, Venia and Octavia tell her.
There is a lot that's said between the lines, that's easily forgettable but that make up her character and give us more context about what goes on with her.
Again, she's a character that's highly open to interpretation, because we don't know anything about her apart from these little tidbits Katniss shows us, and so it goes with Hayffie, if we want to make a stretch.
We only know that they often bicker, but we also see her defend Haymitch's role as a mentor, ally with him for Katniss and Peeta's sake and, again, we are told Haymitch will defend Effie.
And we are also told, in the end, that Haymitch and Plutarch take great pain to keep her alive.
Can't stress enough that the interpretations are endless, but the idea of Effie being more than a morally grey character (like an antagonist, or worse, a villain) is a stretch, given what we do know about her.
So Jesse and Lukas...they're no strangers to love? He knows the rules, and so does Lukas. Is a full commitment what they're thinking of? Lukas wouldn't get this from any other guy
Very true. Jesse would never give him up, let him down, run around and desert him.
Christmas traditions must be followed || Bilbo Baggins x reader
Summary: Bilbo is very set on his Christmas traditions. Although you don’t really care for all of them, there is one you happily participate in.
or
you spend Christmas with Bilbo and fluff ensues
Pairing: romantic, relationship established
Reader's gender: not established, gender neutral.
Warnings: none
Story type: fluff atop fluff with a little fluff sprinkled on top
This one is based off my Christmas headcanon, which you can read here. I felt like writing the entire thing. It isn’t established nor indicated what tolkien race/creature the reader is within this one, so use your imagination.
Some parts are written better than others, feel free to leave critisism!
GIF CREDIT: @lordoftherazzles
“No no! Wrong plates.”
You turned around to see Bilbo standing in the kitchen doorway. You raised an eyebrow at him, readjusting the plates in your arms. You saw the flash of panic behind his eyes as you did so, the man obviously worried you were going to drop his mother’s plates.
“Wrong plates? What do you mean? We always have these plates.” You spoke, setting them down on the table. Bilbo shook his head in disapproval, walking over to stack the plates back up, “Always, except on Christmas.” he stated, setting the plates back safely in the cupboard.
“Oh right, because on Christmas we eat from the floor.” you snorted at your own joke, but the hobbit didn’t look too amused. His bad he didn’t have the great humor you had.
“Don’t be silly, Y/N.” he muttered, opening another cabinet, “we’re using my mother’s old Christmas tableware.”
“Is there anything in this house that didn’t belong to a dead family member?” you retorted, putting back the cups that used to be from his uncle- or something.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
This was the first year you’d be spending Christmas with Bilbo as a couple. You yourself didn't put too much meaning into the holidays, when you were little your parents never put too much time into it; but, it turned out Bilbo really went all out.
It was as much adorable as it was frustrating, how the hobbit was so very set on his family's Christmas traditions. So far, it seemed like you couldn’t get anything right; Bilbo constantly correcting something so it would be perfect. You didn’t really mind, this holiday was obviously very important to him. However, it seemed that maybe he was a bit too set in his traditions (according to you, at least). It had already started when the two of you planned on celebrating together.
“We could celebrate together on the first Christmas Day.” you offered once you swallowed the bite of fish. Bilbo shook his head no, “the dwarves are coming that day.”
“Wait- all of them?”
“Hmhm.” Bilbo nodded his head chewing on a potato. Your eyebrows wrinkled together. “Listen, I really love the lot of ‘em, but thirteen dwarves here? During Christmas?” you questioned, fully aware of the messes that would leave behind.
Besides, it was always Christmas at your place. It’s not like those dwarves ever offered otherwise. They claimed it was because the shire had a better Christmas atmosphere, but you had a suspicion it was actually because of the food. The dwarves knew Bilbo would take good care of them and cook them tons of meals. The hobbit didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he looked to enjoy it quite a bit.
Not to mention it was the dwarves that set the two of you up, so you had something to be grateful for when it came to them.
“I know it’s a lot,” Bilbo muttered, “but I don’t really see them much otherwise.”
You sent him a smile, reaching over the table to squeeze his hand, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve actually missed their company.” the corners of his mouth twisted upwards into a grin, “Even Fili’s?”
“Except his.” You retorted with a snicker, the memory of him dunking your head in your own birthday cake still fresh in your mind. A cake Bilbo baked, nonetheless!
“You kind of had it coming.” said Bilbo, taking another bite of his fish. You peered up at him, a brow raised, “Excuse me?”
“Nothing!” the man quickly replied, “Aside from you replacing his ale with vinegar.”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head lightly as you took a sip of your drink, “That was good, no regrets.”
“Yes I can- tell-” Bilbo sniffed and his nose twitched before he spoke again: “Back to the topic of spending Christmas together, we’re celebrating it Christmas Eve.” he went on to explain: “I’ve always celebrated Christmas on the 24th.”
“Noted.”
“Oh and you have to wear a Christmas sweater,” he added.
“Noted.”
“And you can’t bring any presents.”
“Note- wait, what?!” your mouth fell agape, staring at him in disbelief. You weren’t in on the holiday as much as your boyfriend, but you sure as hell knew that there were supposed to be presents. “Why not?! I was totally going to spoil you!” you exclaimed. Bilbo’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, but he still shook his head, “Nah-ah. It completely defeats the point of Christmas, takes away the spirit.”
“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that and bring you something anyway.” you mumbled, stuffing the rest of your fish in your face with a pout.
“I just won’t open the door.” Bilbo challenged. “You wouldn’t!” you gawked, “You can’t lock me out of my own home!”
“Watch me.”
So far you’ve listened, you wore one of those sweaters (although it itched a little) and hadn't brought a present.
Well, kind of. You did get a mistletoe, but that wasn’t a gift; it was tradition. You planned to put that one somewhere in the house.
However; there were more challenges when it came to the traditions of your dear Bilbo, for example the tree.
“You can’t put that one there.”
“Why not?” you turned around to look at your partner, a golden ornament dangling between your fingers. Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, “You can’t have two gold balls next to each other!” he explained. Trying your best to ignore his choice of words (rather than being a child), you frowned, “but it looks pretty there!”
“It does not! You’ll have two gold ornaments together, you got to move it up a spot.”
“Fine.” you mumbled, hanging it on the desired branch, “but don’t come to me when you can’t reach the peak.”
The hobbit looked up at you with big eyes, to which you quickly broke into a smile. You could never be actually annoyed with Bilbo; not when he was being adorable, anyway. You quickly pecked his pout, “I’m joking, love. Just tell me where to hang what.”
All of it was worth it though, because it seemed to satisfy Bilbo and it filled him with a sense of pride beyond measure. Besides, it kind of made you feel proud of him as well. Bilbo was quite the people pleaser, he would rather have you make a decision instead of him. Except, as it seems, during Christmas. He knew what he wanted to do for the evening and didn’t wander from it and it filled you with delight to see him do so.
Once the two of you were done setting the table (the correct way, this time), Bilbo went to finish the rest of the meal he was cooking you. Your face split into a big grin once he put the pots down, your favorite foods inside.
{}
With bellies filled and dishes done, the two of you decided to sit in the living room and turn on the hearth.
Walking into the living room, you grabbed the sleeve of his sweater, pulling him back into the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, but he just stumbled over his words and his nose twitched as he looked at you in confusion.
You pointed above your head, a smile playing on your features. Bilbo glanced up and his eyes grew wide and his face flushed a red for there was a mistletoe hanging in the doorway. You hung it up there somewhere before dinner, you didn’t quite understand all of Bilbo’s traditions; however this Christmas custom you could get used to.
“It’s a mistletoe.” you stated simply. The hobbit nodded, “I-I can see that, yes.”
“It is said to be bad luck not to kiss under a mistletoe.” you added, pulling the flustered hobbit closer to wrap your arms around his frame. “it’s the tradition.”
“Yeah well-” his nose twitched again as he swallowed, “it’s a completely inappropriate tradition.” You chuckled, “Really?” He nodded, “You can’t kiss someone just- just because they walked under a- a plant!”
A small laugh escaped your throat, he wasn’t wrong per se. You knew your boyfriend better than that though, catching that small glint behind his eyes. “Not even when that someone is your partner?” you asked, your hands coming up to cup his face. His nose scrunched up lightly, “I suppose that I could- ehem- make an exception, in that case.” he muttered, clearing his throat.
You smiled as you leaned in, pressing your lips against his in a soft and loving kiss. The kiss didn’t last that long, but it was enough. When you pulled away you kept him close, brushing your nose against him in a doting manner. “I love you.” you breathed, adoration for the man in your voice. He grinned, pecking your nose, “I love you, too.”
Bilbo moved away from you, into the living room. He turned around, one hand on his hip as he pointed to the mistletoe still hanging above your head.
“That thing better be gone tomorrow.” he warned.
{}
“I have a city, but no houses
I have mountains, but no trees.
I have water, but no fish.
What am I?”
“Wait, what?” you looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, “A city but no houses?”
“hmhm.” The hobbit hummed in acknowledgment, “just think Y/N, you’ll get it.”
The two of you were situated on the couch. Bilbo sitting comfortably with a pipe between his lips and you laying down, your head resting in his lap.
When you first started dating Bilbo, you quickly learnt that he loved riddles. You didn’t really know any, usually needing a million hints before you were able to struggle to the answer, but you soon came to enjoy them. Now, it was pretty much custom to give each other some riddles daily. And, not to pat your own back too much, but, you have improved quite a bit with the help of the hobbit.
“Give me a minute.” you muttered, your brain working to find the correct answer to the riddle. “It’s a hard one.”
“Take your time, you’ll get there.” said Bilbo softly, his hands starting to stroke your hair.
It didn’t take long for you to get frustrated about not getting it, patience never was your strongest expertise. “Give me a hint.” you ordered.
Bilbo, who had now put aside his pipe and put full attention to making small braids in your hair, let out a laugh, “No, I won’t.” You glanced up at him, a pout forming on your face, “Please? As a present?”
“No present policy.”
You shot him a look that said; ‘really bitch?’
“Alright, alright, fine.” he shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips, “think about something inanimate.”
“Think about something inanimate- what the-”
“It’s the best hint I can give you.”
“Correction: it’s the only hint you’ll give me.” you retorted simply, to which the man shrugged his shoulders.
A city but no houses-
What kind of city has no houses?
It took you a few minutes, constantly replaying the riddle in your mind. Eventually a light bulb seemed to turn on in your head, your face splitting into a wide grin for you finally realised what it was.
“A map!”
Bilbo nodded, “That’s it, good job!” Your face grew a soft pink before you mumbled a ‘thank you’.
“Okay, my turn!” you chirped, “What disappears as soon as you say its name?”
The hobbit’s eyebrows furrowed together, “You can’t make something disappear just by saying it.”
“Yes, you can.”
It was quiet again for a minute, but you could basically hear Bilbo’s gears turning inside his brain. “Hold on-” Bilbo broke the silence-
wait a second.
“Silence!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. You laughed as you nodded your head, “you got it!”
Bilbo glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, “it’s getting late.” he stated, “The company arrives early tomorrow, we should go to bed soon.”
“Whatever, I’m comfortable.” you replied, tucking the quilt that was over you closer to your chin. You’ve gotten very much used to this blanket, claiming it as your own as soon as you had moved in. You weren’t surprised if this somehow also used to belong to a dead family member, but you didn’t dare ask.
Bilbo let out a snort, his nose twitching again, but didn’t answer. Instead he went back to playing with your hair. “Have you taken down the mistletoe?” he asked you. You had closed your eyes, relaxing as his fingers threaded through your hair, the corners of your mouth turning upwards. “Nope.”
“Oh- uhm, will you?”
“Nah.”
--------------------------------------------
Not the worst thing I’ve written. Some parts of Bilbo may be a bit out of character but in my defense it is 3am.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Day 5 - Rescue! :)
This one got away from me a little bit, and it’s a bit longer than I’d intended, but it didn’t feel right to end it before the last scene happened, so I just went with it.
And there are mentions of torture in this one, but not hugely graphic.
JustSimplyMe: Ginny getting roofied at a club and Protective!Mike.
Okay, so I tweaked this a little bit, because roofies make me really squeamish, but I think this is still in keeping with what you wanted
read it on ao3
Something strange is going on.
Mike’s not sure if it’s been like this all night or if it only started recently. He should’ve been watching more closely, should’ve known the minute that something shifted. It doesn’t matter that he’s spent most of the evening within arm’s reach, he still should’ve known.
What should be a laid back night out with the team has got a knot of worry eating away at his gut. Because something is... not right. But he can’t put a finger on what.
Okay, he can. It’s Ginny.
(When isn’t it Ginny?)
He just hasn’t figured out why she’s acting so unusually and it’s starting to drive him crazy.
She’s not sloppy. In fact, Mike doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ginny even get drunk on team outings. Tipsy, yes, but rarely drunk. She tends to keep such exacting control over herself.
So, while she’s drunk more than she usually does, it's not anything to raise eyebrows. Well, anyone else’s eyebrows. But there’s definitely something different about her tonight.
She’s... looser. Freer.
She’s all over him.
For her at least. It’s not like when groupies sidle up to him at the bar, flirting and asking for a selfie, tossing their hair and pressing their breasts into his arm or back. That’s not Ginny’s style and if she’d been doing it, Mike definitely would have caught on faster.
The problem is, none of what Ginny’s doing is that different from how they usually are with each other.
She’s just been touching him slightly more than usual: letting her hand linger on the waistband of his jeans as she slides by him at the bar, leaning her head against his shoulder as she laughs at their teammates for a breath longer than usual, twining her fingers through his beneath the table.
And the staring. It feels like Ginny’s attention hasn’t wavered from him all night.
Which is probably a good thing because if Ginny’d touched anyone else half as much as she’d been touching Mike, there would’ve been problems.
(Problems that Mike would’ve dealt with by ordering a double bourbon and sulking, but still problems.)
What should be a celebration, even a slightly bittersweet one, has been overshadowed by Mike overthinking what the hell is going on in Ginny’s head. There’s part of him that hopes her sudden need to be as close as possible is tied to the press release his agent put out this morning: Mike Lawson’s hanging up his mask at the end of the season.
Even if it’s not true, he wants answers. And unfortunately, there’s really only one place for him to turn.
“Anyone know how much she’s had to drink?”
There are shrugs and rolled eyes all around. Nanny Lawson at it again.
“You weren’t counting?” Dusty jokes, turning back to the table.
Mike won’t dignify that with a response. Because they’ll definitely make fun of him if he does.
It’s not until Salvi says, “Didn’t someone buy her a drink, though? When Mike dropped the guard dog routine for a minute to take a leak?” that Mike really starts to worry.
(Worries so much, in fact, that he misses the consensus that, yes, it had happened, but, no, Ginny hadn’t accepted. He also misses the shared looks of amused disbelief as he heads off to find the pitcher, expression stormy.)
What had he missed? Some creep hitting on her and Ginny just needed a little physical reassurance to get over it? Unlikely. It was far more believable that she’d put anyone trying to pressure her in their place without any kind of assistance. And Mike’s sure that he would’ve heard if she’d started a brawl.
Mike’s still puzzling it out, turning it over in his head. She really hasn’t been drinking enough to explain the odd behavior. More than usual, but Ginny’s pretty good at holding her liquor. Unless—
Christ. What if someone spiked her drink?
It makes sense: her slight spaciness and the way she’d had to lean on him to stay standing the last time they’d visited the bar.
She’d never gone to college, probably never learned how to watch her drink. It probably never even occurred to her to worry about it.
Mike sees red at the mere thought, wants to haul the bartender over the scarred oak bar and demand who ordered that drink for her, but he manages to take a breath. Maybe it’s not even true. And anyway, it doesn’t help anyone, but especially Ginny, if he loses his cool right now. Before he gets her out of here.
The fact that once she’s safe, he can come back and tear the place apart with his bare hands goes unsaid.
Feeling marginally better, he seeks out Ginny almost unconsciously. Thankfully, she’s exactly where he left her: leaning up against Blip and Sonny, pouting slightly.
She catches him looking and lights up.
“Mike!” she cheers, tipping against Sonny, who pushes her gingerly back to Blip. The outfielder rolls his eyes, but takes Ginny’s weight easily enough, not that she notices. She waves him over and Mike goes. Not just because she’s potentially been drugged, but because he’s incapable of not bending to her every whim.
Once he’s close enough, Ginny shakes off Blip’s support and twirls into Mike’s arms. He catches her readily, frowning at how much she has to lean on him to stay upright.
“You finally gonna dance with me, old man?”
She’s pouting, which is the only reason he spins her around, only stopping when she stumbles and has to grab his shoulders to remain on her feet. He sends Blip a concerned look and gets a frown in response.
Loudly, not just for Ginny’s sake, he announces, “I think it’s about time we get this show on the road.”
His assessment receives mixed reviews from both his teammates and their various hangers on. Whatever. The guys can handle not shutting down the bar for once in their lives.
The loudest dissension, though, comes from Ginny herself.
“You’re gonna leave, now?” she demands, incredulous. Her fingers tighten on his shoulders like she’s preparing herself to physically bar him from going.
The rest of the team leaves them to it, either to go home themselves or avoid another episode of the Ginny and Mike Show.
Not that either of its leading characters really notice.
“We gotta get you home, Gin,” he murmurs, gentler than he would be otherwise. Ordinarily, he’d tease her into agreeing with him, but it seems unlikely that she’s going to remember this in the morning. He tucks a stray curl behind her ear and does his best not to let himself linger.
(Not that his best is all that good. Not when it comes to this.)
She grins, soft and bright. Her head tilts and god damn it, she looks fucking adorable, but she’s high out of her mind. “Oh, really?” she asks, practically a purr.
Mike swallows and ignores the way she’s looking at him, hates that it’s just the product of some drug she didn’t want or take for herself. “Yeah. Night’s over.”
Something like confusion passes over her face and she burrows closer to his side. When he tucks his arm around her shoulder, more protective than because he likes the way it feels (and God does he like the way it feels), and starts steering her to the door, though, it passes and she sighs happily.
“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” she murmurs, her arm curling around his back and fingers inching under his shirt to hook into a belt loop.
Somehow, Mike manages to pour/lift Ginny into the passenger’s seat of his truck—suddenly the woman is part octopus, all clinging limbs—and drives her back to the condo she calls home. Though the thought of directing his car back to his house crosses his mind, Mike blots it out quickly. The idea of Ginny in his house is one he doesn’t want compromised by the fact she’s only there because some asshole was trying to take advantage of her.
Just thinking about it makes his hands curl around the steering wheel, knuckles going white with the strength of his grip. Ginny doesn’t seem to notice, fiddling with the radio and humming along once she finds a song she likes. He’s a little surprised that she hasn’t passed out, but there’s always a chance that whatever got slipped into her drink wasn’t the average roofie. His mind tries to cycle through other possibilities, though it’s not as if he’s at all familiar with that kind of drug.
He pushes the whirring thoughts from his head in favor of getting Ginny safely home. It’s not such a hard task when Mike concentrates on the tuneless, if contented, humming coming from the passenger seat. He lets her lull him into the easy rhythm of muscle memory (easier with the reminder that she’s fine and nothing happened), navigating San Diego’s late night traffic on auto pilot.
It’s only the catch of her door releasing and the flare of the overhead light that knocks him out of his stupor. In a flash, he’s out of the car and jogging around the front to give Ginny a hand. For her part, she’s remarkably steady on her feet, but still takes the offered support.
He leads her up to her door, watching as she fumbles her keys. Ginny giggles a little, leaning on him as her usually able and agile fingers fail to get the right key, once she finds it, into the lock.
Mike doesn’t tease the way he usually would, too worried about whatever is working its way through his system to come up with a good joke, but he does gently extricate her keyring from her grasp to open the door himself.
Ginny turns up to him, grinning. “Taking charge, captain? I think I like that.”
Mike rolls his eyes to keep himself from taking her words seriously. “Goodnight, Ginny,” he says instead, already taking a step back.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she pouts, stopping him in his tracks.
Mike’s conflicted. On the one hand, he needs to be far far away if Ginny’s going to keep looking up at him through her eyelashes and biting her lip. On the other, he’s going to feel awful just leaving her here to wake up confused and potentially scared in the morning. And right now, making sure that Ginny’s okay absolutely trumps driving back to the bar and tracking down the piece of shit that did this to her.
He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that nothing happened and Ginny is safely back at home, before nodding.
“Give me the tour, rook.”
This isn’t the first time he’s been to her condo. Though, the extravagant housewarming that Evelyn and Amelia had orchestrated hadn’t given him much opportunity to explore beyond the state-of-the-art kitchen, well decorated living room, and back deck. Mike had ducked into the powder room to splash water on his face when the sight of Ginny leaning on the kitchen island, head tipped back in laughter, had devolved into a long, inappropriate train of thought all about other scenarios that involved Ginny bent over that counter.
Mike’s got a feeling that powder room won’t be making the tour tonight.
Not with the way she’s grinning at him, hardly even bothering to turn on the lights as she leads him up the stairs to her lofted bedroom.
With every step he climbs, Mike tries to tell himself that he’s just going to make sure she gets into bed, has a trashcan and a supply of aspirin handy for when she wakes up. Every time he manages to get himself halfway convinced, though, Ginny turns back and smiles at him. And when her grin makes his heart beat faster, he forcibly reminds himself of what an awful fucking excuse for a man he’d be if he does anything to act on the way he feels.
Eventually, though, they make it to the top of the stairs.
Mike’s somewhat relieved to find a little sitting area, a neglected desk in the corner, that forms something of a pause between the landing and her bedroom. If he’d stepped right into the intimacy of Ginny Baker’s bedroom, it would have been so much harder to stand firm. Sure, he can still see her messily made bed from here, but he can probably convince himself that this space still qualifies as a public area. It’s just an extra place to hang out with friends. It’s not weird that he’s here. Not at all. Just as long as he doesn't go any further, everything will be fine.
Ginny, however, is less content with him staying put.
She grabs his wrist and tugs, pouting a little when he digs in his heels. Strong as she is, she’s still drunk and high off of God knows what. There’s no way she’ll get him to take one more step.
“Nice place,” he observes, trying to keep his tone neutral as he pretends there isn't a pouting pitcher latched onto his arm, doing her damnedest to get him into her bedroom.
Why couldn’t she have just passed out? Sure, it would’ve been a pain to haul her up here, but it would’ve been worth it for how easily he could’ve gotten her tucked into bed. He’d get her settled and then be out the door (or more likely, camped out on her sofa downstairs so he could check and make sure she hadn’t choked on her own vomit in the middle of the night) without any fuss.
But he’s pretty sure a fuss is what he’s going to get.
Ginny finally stops pulling at him, having finally realized that he’s staying put. Instead, she peers up at him through her eyelashes, head cocked to the side. “It is,” she agrees, leaning into him as she’s been all night. Her hands fall away from his wrist, but before Mike can feel relieved, they settle on his hips, fingers weaving into the belt loops there. “But it’s hard to appreciate from so far away.”
Mike, God help him, stares intently down at the bold seductress that’s taken over Ginny. His jaw works side to side, but he can’t come up with a good response. There’s no way he’ll regret not giving in, not when the alternative is fundamentally betraying the trust he and Ginny have built, but he’s also sure the way she licks her lips and her gaze falls to his is going to haunt him for the rest of his natural life.
Before she can lean in even more, Mike finally finds his voice.
“Ginny, we can’t.”
She frowns, pulling away slightly. The little pucker in her brow would be adorable if it weren’t for the flash of hurt in her eyes. “Why not?”
“Because we’re still teammates,” he reminds her, gentle. No need to freak her out and tell her that someone spiked her drink.
“But you’re retiring.”
“Yeah. At the end of the season.”
Ginny smiles at that, sidling back into him. Her fingers tangle in his belt loops again, anchoring their hips together. She takes a few step backwards, and Mike mindlessly follows before realizing how much closer her bed suddenly is.
“Maybe I don’t want to wait for the end of the season.”
Her face tilts up to him and it’s all Mike can do not to lean down and finally find out what she tastes like. He groans, disengaging her fingers from his jeans, and pulls away.
“We can’t do this.”
Ginny doesn’t follow him, but her arms come up to wrap around herself. “You already said that,” she says hollowly.
A hand scrubs over his face and Mike sighs, “I know,” slumping as he realizes how hurt she is.
“Why did you follow me up here, then?” she demands, a lick of anger overriding her lost confusion.
“Because you asked me to.”
It’s obviously more complex than that, but it all boils down to the same fact: Mike would do just about anything for Ginny. To protect her, keep her safe, make her happy.
“Well, now I’m asking you to kiss me.”
Mike swallows, but still has to answer, “I can’t,” around the lump in his throat.
Ginny’s face falls. If she’d been sober, Mike’s sure that she would’ve done a better job of hiding the dismay. Then again, if she’d been sober, he wouldn’t have to keep her at arm’s length right now. They’d both probably be making themselves very at home in that bed of hers.
But she’s not, so she also doesn’t manage to hold her tongue.
“Don’t you want me? Did you change your mind?”
Her chin wobbles, but there’s no sign of tears. Not that that makes Mike feel any less wretched.
In a heartbeat, he’s back in her orbit, gathering a slightly resistant Ginny into his arms. She only relaxes when he admits, “Of course I want you.” It comes out huskier, more raw, than he intended. But this is the first time he’s told Ginny about his feelings for her in so many words.
In any words, even.
“Then why keep saying we can’t?” She sniffles a little into his shirt.
“Because I need to know it’s you who wants this and not whatever you’ve had tonight.”
Immediately, a switch flips and the tears disappear. Indignantly, Ginny rears back, jabbing him in the chest with a long finger.
“I’m not drunk!”
“Gin—”
“Fine. Maybe I’m a little tipsy, but—”
“It’s not just that.”
She frowns, her lower lip jutting adorably towards him, though she’s clearly still annoyed. “Then what?”
“I think someone slipped something in your drink.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. He wants to kick himself. Ginny’s already emotional, he doesn’t need to layer panic and anxiety on top of whatever she’s feeling.
Rather than panic, though, her frown deepens as she processes the information. “You think someone spiked my drink at the bar?” she checks.
Mike just nods, unsure of whether or not he needs to brace himself.
He does. Just not in the way that he’d thought.
Because rather than freaking out or yelling or withdrawing completely, Ginny laughs.
Full on, gut busting, full-throated gales of laughter.
“Ginny, stop laughing,” he practically begs, at a complete loss. “It’s not funny.”
She complies, though a few giggles manage to burst through the calm she tries to affect. Finally, though, she manages to look up at him with a mostly straight face.
“It is, though,” she replies, smiling in the face of his confused frown. The way her hands lay flat against his chest helps soothe the sting of her abject amusement, at least. “Mike, you watch my drinks better than I do. When would someone have had a chance to spike one?”
“What about the guy who bought you a drink while I was in the bathroom?” he counters a little too triumphantly.
Her brow furrows again. “The drink I didn’t take? I’m pretty sure even the strongest roofie can’t affect someone who doesn’t drink it.”
“You didn’t drink it?”
“Nope,” she responds, the word popping off her lips. Her hands slide over his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers gently carding through the hair there. “Only one guy bought me drinks tonight, and would you look at that? I went home with him.”
There’s not much Mike can do in the face of Ginny’s goofy grin other than grin back. Gingerly, as if he’s waiting for her to come to her senses, his own arms wrap more firmly around her. Ginny doesn’t protest, just slides even closer with a happy little hum.
Mike’s lost track of the number of times that Ginny’s tilted her face up to him and rocked forward tonight, but she does it again. Not that her lips find their intended target. He turns his face at the last moment and her mouth connects with his bearded cheek.
She pulls away with an exasperated huff.
Sheepishly, he explains, “You’re still drunk.”
Ginny doesn't even bother to argue, which he appreciates. “Would you feel better if we slept on it?” she asks, her grin and the tilt of her head giving away just how indulgent she’s feeling.
Mike rolls his eyes. It would, though.
That’s apparently more than enough answer for Ginny, who unwinds her arms from around his neck and takes a step back. Mike takes a deep breath and takes a backwards step of his own, heading for the stairs. Before he can take another, though, her incredulous voice stops him.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. So we can sleep on this.”
“Stay.”
“Gin—”
“Listen,” she interrupts, sounding entirely sure of herself. “You’re already making me wait longer than I want, even if I understand why. But don’t think that I’m also going to wait for you to drive your ass over here after I wake up tomorrow morning and repeat this conversation back to you. Okay?”
Mouth twitching in the face of her annoyance, he nods.
But Ginny apparently isn’t done.
“And I know this won’t change your mind and you’ll probably ask if I meant this at least four times tomorrow morning, but I’m going to say it anyway.”
She swallows, a look of determination that Mike is all too familiar with crossing her features.
“I don’t want to wait for the season to end to be with you. We have been waiting so long already. I know a few months aren’t going to change the way I feel about you, but I’m ready to be happy now. And I am so, so sure that you’re going to make me happy.”
She pauses for a long moment to stare him down, to make sure that he’s paying attention. Mike is sure, no matter what comes next, he’ll never forget a single moment of Ginny telling him that he’ll make her happy. What could top that?
Of course, he thought too soon because Ginny wasn’t done bowling him over.
“Because I love you, old man. Even when you’re crabby and make me give up the window seat on the plane. Even when you won’t shut up about your glory days. Even when you’re so protective you make up a drug scare just so you have a reason to take care of me. I love you.”
Speechless for once in his life, all Mike can do is cross the space between them, take Ginny’s hand, and press a tender kiss to her palm. He looks into her eyes as he does, trying to convey just how much he is with her. How much he loves her, too.
Much as he wants to kiss her, wants to sweep her into his arms and show her how deep his love for her goes, he knows he needs to wait. Just one night, to make sure that this isn’t some drug-fueled confession that she’ll walk back tomorrow. He doesn’t think it is, doesn’t think that any drug could mimic the vulnerability and honesty shining out of Ginny’s perfect face, but he needs to know.
And Ginny, thankfully, understands.
She smiles, tangling her fingers with his as she pulls him towards her bed.
Once they’re both settled in, the lights out and curled intimately around one another, Mike lets himself think about how much he hopes she’s right. About being happy now rather than waiting. About being the one who can make that true for her.
He wants that future so badly he can taste it.
The last coherent thought he has before drifting off is that there are worse things in life than being in love with someone who’s right about everything.
(Maybe not everything. In the morning, he only asks if she’d been serious three times before finally giving in and kissing her, slipping an “I love you,” into every breath and pause.)
