#i love him he's absolutely stupid but also diabolically smart but also Needs Help and has anime eyes

[ssaalexblake]

every time i see gifs of the gallery scene in spyfall part 2 i just think of how that bitch spent so long picking an outfit to confront her in that he grew a whole ass beard. 

[transsexualhamlet]

sherlock holmes reactions part six (aka me losing my mind over the final problem)

Hi, I am once again reminding you all that I've formed a parasocial relationship with the crackhead detective 👍 This made me overly emotional for the fact that he didnt even die

But like

hhhmmmmmmmm those were certainly an interesting 14 pages

Yeah, I already made a post about how the final problem relates to yuumori's final problem and how incredibly sexy it is but yes now I'd just like to relay to you how absolutely heart brocken i am over this lol I will eventually get to reading the post hiatus stories i just. I haven't emotionally recovered from this yet

Yelling below the cut somehow this reaction feels longer than the story itself. but it's about half cracking jokes and half sobbing so be prepared

I mean, starting off strong with "well yknow since i got married my and sherlock's Very Intimate Relations had to be modified and all but we hadnt seen each other in a while so it was kind of jarring to see him crawling in my second story bedroom window clutching Wounds and closing the shutters absolutely fucking wasted losing his mind over some dude named moriarty"

We've been over this but. Oh my god why are they gay

I just like????? Imagine how fucking bizzare that would be to just see your old homie crawl into your window bleeding on your floor and asking to exit the other way in case he's followed like "hey bro can we Talk i hope you're not busy" WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO, SAY HE IS? Imagine watson just like "no dude I'm fucking busy go get killed"

But legitimately. That's certainly something. And like, I see a lot of books starting like this lmao but. Holmes's stuff usually starts off kind of easily with watson going "yeah so lately ive been Experiencing Sherlock Holmes" and spend 20 minutes on exposition with them having a Conversation but no. mans just fucking escaped a hitman and went directly to his boyfriend's house having apparently Never Before In His Goddamn Life mentioned his actual nemesis to this guy. How the FUCK has watson never heard of him before.

And how sherlock starts talking about it isn't any less funny he's just like "UHHH SO THERE'S THIS GUY. THIS ABSOLUTE MAN. AND HES REALLY IMPRESSIVE I MEAN HES LIKE SUPER FUCKING SMART AND HES LIKE DOING CRIMES????? SO I LIKE. I NOTICED AS I DO BUT HE NOTICED THAT I NOTICED AND I MIGHT HAVE MADE A LITTLE FUCKY WUCKY DUDE CAN YOU HELP ME LIKE. FLEE THE COUNTRY" and watson's like my dear sherlock What The Fuck

Im also loving how he calls moriarty a "mathematical celebrity" awhi;grih;oaewhhta;ioh;iaewh;ii;oewh;eh;rg mans just. ok lol hes a Math Celebrity that had to quit his math teacher job because EVERYONE JUST KNEW HE WAS A CRIME LORD LIKE THEY TOOK ONE LOOK AT HIM AND WENT MANS DEFINITELY HAS BODIES IN HIS BASEMENT I DONT WANT HIM TEACHING HERE

But yeah, it was interesting to see what the big deal about og moriarty was... especially since the deal simply did not deliver. There was not really a big deal. It's like reading the first chapter of a book and immediately skipping to the climax. Everything is so hyped up and clearly having been building for years and you just get like NO CONTEXT. I swear Moriarty wasn't goddamn mentioned any time before this. He's just suddenly the big guy and watson has just never fucking heard shit about this guy.

What's so funny about this whole situation is that I just. Cannot objectively know anything about Moriarty at all because sherlock just... does not go into what this dude's alleged crimes even were, other than. The fact that he like. Does them. He's just really involved in crimes. How? Why? For how long? In what way? For what purpose? NO FUCKING CLUE HE JUST. HE JUST DOES. And there's nothing to really suggest that Moriarty was honestly a really evil guy. They're all like trust me he was just. he was just really bad but show absolutely No examples of being such. The most evil thing we saw Moriarty do personally was call sherlock stupid for letting him get into the apartment. And even then he immediately followed it up with complimenting him lol

yeah, my impression of Moriarty was like. I expected him to be worse, honestly. I expected him to be like a cartoon villain because he was kind of made out to be one and then he's just honestly a really polite and refined guy?? Mans strolls the fuck into 221B like hi shawty and it is Not like yuumori obviously man's holding a gun but like. What the fuck they are just. They have never met before but They Clearly Have and it's. its so weird

Like honestly I don't dislike og moriarty. He's really what william tried to be (and fucking failed, but beside the point) but like. Dude's so powerful and for what. He just walks into the apartment with No Pretense like why sherlock holmes is that a revolver or are you just happy to see me oh my goodness you are a dolt why would you hold the gun that way. disgusting. disgraceful. dreadful. Oh my god. I love him I'm sorry

abngnahhghifeah;iewh and Why does sherlock describe him like that hes like "MANS A REALLY REFINED LIZARD /pos" HIEHIFEHW:HGIHOEWFEEW FOR WHAT. FOR W H A T

baaaaaaaaghhhhhh but likeeeee they went STRAIGHT to "you know what I'm here for" "you know how I'm going to respond" "well then" "yeah" "mhm" "damn well it really do be like that sometimes" "ur really smart by the way" "im fucking aware let's kill each other as we both Thought in our Minds" "yes lets" AHDHDHDHDFS WTF THIS IS INSANE

But damn uh. mutual destruction my beloved this is very different from sherliam but im not. im not. opposed to it tucks hair behind ear

I just. Holy shit they really went "if you destroy me I will ensure that we both go down hand in unlovable hand" "I wouldn't mind that"

Annnnd I just noticed that the actual lines for this part kind of. that kind of happened in chapter 31 when sherlock was like i would Gladly die to take down the lord of crime and william was like. hahahah yeahNO NO NO NO

BUT SERIOUSLY THO IM LOSING MY MIND OVER HOW SHERLOCK SAYS THIS WHOLE THING TO WATSON AND HES LIKE DAMN SHAWTY HES LIKE THE REASON FOR HALF THE CRIME IN THIS CITY BUT HES SO NICE THO??? LIKE I EXPECTED HIM TO BE TOUGH AND EVERTHING NO HES JUST SOME POLITE PROPER UNDERSTANDABLE MAN WHO JUST HAPPENS TO BE VERY DIABOLICAL shawty is having a Crisis

And then watson is like wowww that was cool you wanna spend the night and sherlock is like "UNFORTUNATELY BESTIE I AM BEING FUCKING TRACKED DOWN ID LIKE YOU TO NOT DIE WITH ME"

This bit gave me a Moment Moment because oh my god. Then watson is like "no shut up i'm coming with you i don't care" and i just had to Take A Minute because THEY SWITCHED PLACES AAH SHERLOCK IS TRYING TO KEEP WATSON SAFE NOW AND WATSON IS NOW MORE RECKLESS BC OF HIM AND. AHHHH

Completely random but. How sherlock still refers to 221B as "our rooms" to watson even though watson hasn't lived their in years........ shawty i am emotional.........

SO THEY GODDAMN FLEE THE COUNTRY TOGETHER BC WATSON SAYS THEY HAVE TO STICK TOGETHER AND SHERLOCK HAS A MOMENT WHERE HE'S LIKE YEAH NEVERMIND PLEASE GO HOME WATSON AND WATSON IS JUST LIKE. NO. AND HSERLOCK IS LIKE. DAMN OK I HAVE NEVER HEARD YOU SAY THAT BEFORE

But. Ok as funny as this is. They have this fucking Conversation on the train to switzerland where sherlock is like "I have not lived in vain" and watson is like "YOURE NOT DYING" and hes like "i have not lived in vain. like i said. this will not be a bad way to die" UHHHHHH DAMN SHAWTY

hhhhhh and it just Gets. it. it. it Gets. These fuckers get to switzerland and they stay in a hotel and then leave for reichenbach but watson gets this goddamn letter telling him that hes needed at the hotel to basically save this lady's life. And he doesn't. Like. he doesn't even want to go he's like FUCK IT SHE CAN DIE IM NOT LEAVING YOU but sherlock convinces him to go fULLY KNOWING THE LETTER WAS FUCKING FAKED BY MORIARTY JUST AS A PLOY TO GET HIM ALONE

AND THEN HE JUST. WENT ANYWAY AND WATSON HAD TO WATCH HIM JUST LIKE GODDAMN WALK OFF INTO THE SUNSET LIKE "LITTLE DID I KNOW THIS WOULD BE THE LAST TIME I WOULD SEE HIM BUT IT JUST. IT HAD THAT VIBE YKNOW"

God I just. Wow sherlock really did that huh. He really went and did that. And I went over it in the post about this compared to yuumori but it just RUINED me how watson just. Never saw what happened and there's just so little information about it that all they have is these assumptions and pieces that just suggest that these guys met up, walked up to the goddamn waterfall having a nice civil conversation about how talented and smart they both were at this and how they revealed their methods to each other and complimented them because of course they did

And they just sat up there talking to each other so long and Moriarty legit waited politely or even possibly was the one that suggested he write a letter to watson in which sherlock just went "damn lol moriarty's pretty nice actually anyway uhhhh sorry watson ily ✌" and just like. left it up there in his damn cigarette box

But just like. damn the insinuation that moriarty just sat there and watched while he wrote that entire goddamn letter, sealed it up, and then got up and went alright buddy let's go but it makes no goddamn sense if they wanted to actually kill each other and assure they themselves would survive I could name like 23 different ways they could have managed it so easily and they Didn't. they were really set on mutual destruction huh. There's no way they were even trying to do anything but Die Together at that point and that's Something huh

It absolutely baffles me how they could say that these guys had plummetted like, holding each other tho. Like. ok lol but How Do You Even Know

It was certainly a ride. But the fact that Watson had to actively try to think like Sherlock to figure out what happened in the scene was just. The cherry on top. Especially after they'd consciously started to switch roles in this i just. Damn.

In conclusion uhhhhhhhh gay people real I suppose

[megaphonemonday]

knock your socks off

for @monkshoodr who sent me this prompt forever and a half ago and has been very, very patient. (also, everyone go look at the All-Star Work Out socks)

prompt: Ginny decides to switch to the high socks/tighter pants version of the uniform and Mike can't concentrate catching/realizes he has a latent knee sock fetish. rating: mature

read on ao3

It started with the All-Star Game.

Not the massively inconvenient set of feelings that Mike’s developed for Ginny Baker. Those definitely predated the All-Star Game. He’s known he’s been in love—head over heels, hopelessly in love—with Ginny since before he even admitted it to himself. No, this was something new.

And it started at the All-Star Game.

Last year, if he was going to be honest. But where last year, Mike had noted the fact that Ginny looked pretty fucking amazing in her short pants and the Padres throw-back colors and skimmed right past that observation, today was different. Because today, Mike Lawson was going to spend an entire inning crouched sixty feet away with an unimpeded view of Ginny’s calves and the tall socks covering them. He’d never actually had to do that before.

So, it started with the All-Star Game and the ridiculous uniform MLB had designed for the occasion. He should’ve known it would become a thing from the first over-enthusiastic knock on his hotel room’s door.

Knowing only one person in Miami would demand his attention like that, he took his own sweet time in answering.

“Couldn’t get enough of me, Baker?” he’d asked with a smirk when he finally opened up for her. They’d caught a plane from their three game Philadelphia series together, landing in steamy Miami less than an hour ago. They’d even shared a car to the hotel, rode the same elevator to their floor, and only parted ways because their rooms were on opposite sides of the hall.

Ginny ignored him, demanding, “Have you seen the rest of the uniforms?” as she pushed her way inside.

“Uh, no?”

She whirled on him. “Why not?”

“Because I haven’t?”

She just stared at him, unimpressed. Mike sighed and nodded over to the official MLB-branded package waiting on the room’s desk. “Why don’t you just show me what it is you want me to see?"

Ginny jumped at the invitation, tearing into the package without further ado. 

He’d already been acquainted with the bright orange orange jersey they’d wear for Work Out Day. Last week, one of the team photographers had herded him and Ginny into an impromptu photo shoot for the San Diego Padres All-Stars, thrusting the jersey into his hands and telling him to smile. Mike snorted. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever wear on the field, but it certainly wasn’t anything to smile over.

“Orange not your color, old man?” Ginny’d teased at his side. She held the jersey before her, Baker and 43 displayed proudly for the camera. At his sardonic glare, she grinned, a touch diabolical. 

Of course, that was the picture they used. Ginny Baker’s sunny, mischievous grin alongside Mike Lawson’s grumpy exasperation.

The internet had a field day.

"You thought the orange was bad?” she asked in the present, her smile taking on that same wicked edge. Mike swallowed dryly and it had nothing to do with whatever clothes she wanted to show him. It maybe had something to do with the cutoffs she was currently wearing, though. “Just wait.”

Well, Ginny was sorely disappointed when Mike didn’t react to the floral under brim of the hat she produced from the box. Or the matching socks. They were pretty hideous—Jesus. Were those fish hiding among the flowers?—but he wasn’t going to satisfy her by registering an opinion.

He crossed his arms across his chest, the picture of bored indifference. But that was a hard facade to pull off when Ginny licked her lips and left Mike wondering if he’d imagined the way her eyes traced appreciatively over him. He cleared his throat and her gaze snapped back to his.

“Have you never seen what I had to wear during rookie pranks, Baker? This is nothing compared to that.”

She pouted, just a little, and Jesus Christ. She really needed to stop doing that when they were alone in hotel rooms if they weren’t gonna talk about this thing while they were teammates. 

“I was, like, eight when you were a rookie, Lawson. I’m sure I would’ve been scarred for life, though.”

Yeah, he really didn’t need that reminder.

Just like he didn’t need a reminder of just how good Ginny’s legs could look. 

But that was exactly what he got that All-Star break. Ginny was so delighted with the brightly patterned socks that she made sure to show them off with short pants during workout day and the Home Run Derby following it. Since lots of other players were doing the same, Mike couldn’t really complain. 

He could, however, complain about the sheer volume of lingering gazes on her shapely legs and thin excuses everyone else made up to have a reason to come over and chat. They were supposed to be practicing. Not fucking flirting with his pitcher. At least most of them didn’t stick around too long, not when they caught sight of his judgmental glare.

Unfortunately, Mike also couldn’t complain about the fact that Ginny didn’t seem to mind at all, not when she’d been so uncertain about her place here last year.

It was nice to see her so settled. So happy.

Still, it was a good thing he hadn’t been asked to participate in the Home Run Derby this year. Undoubtedly, he would’ve asked Ginny to be his pitcher. Didn’t matter that he hardly ever hit off her, Mike couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else on the mound for him. If she were in her regular uniform, at least. As it stood now, Mike doing Either way, the sight of her on the mound in this get up probably wouldn’t do much for his ability to focus on the ball. He’d be laughed off the field. 

Because as much as Mike admired her perfect figure, it was almost background noise at this point. Ginny was beautiful. It wasn’t fucking news. She was smart and talented and fucking funny, too; the way she looked was only part of what made her Ginny Baker. 

(If he did get lost in his thoughts—and, sue him, he couldn’t help himself sometimes—he made sure to do it in private, never when they were on the field together. There were only  so many more games for Mike Lawson behind the plate. Maybe no more All-Star Games. He wasn’t going to waste them ogling Ginny. 

There’d be plenty of time for that later.)

In retrospect, it was that kind of cockiness that probably led to this. 

This being Ginny taking the mound in her second All-Star Game and Mike finally getting to be there for it. For her.

He watched her jog in from the bullpen, listened to the roar of the crowd as she took a minute to bask in that sound, that adulation. Jesus, he was fucking proud of her. 

But he also kind of wanted to strangle her.

Because rather than focusing on getting Ginny through her one inning against the greatest of the American League, hopefully without a repeat of that monster homer last year, all he could see was Ginny’s legs. Specifically, her calves sheathed in an awful turquoise, black, and orange sock that disappeared into the high cuff of what were absolutely not her usual pants. 

Her usual pants didn’t fucking cling to her hips and thighs the way this pair did.

Mike knew Ginny’s uniform inside and out. Knew that she buckled her belt with the fourth hole and couldn’t borrow anyone’s hat because hers was so much smaller than anyone else’s. Knew that she hated the short sleeve undershirt and changed her shoelaces at least once a month. And, okay. He knew that her regular pants were a little baggy. Having once or twice felt Ginny’s ass—From a friendly slap, okay? Nothing weird—he knew the regular uniform pants didn’t do her justice. Honestly, most of the uniform didn’t do much for any of her. 

Although, Mike could maybe admit that seeing his uniform on her instead might get him to change his tune.

Ginny draped in his jersey, a brilliant smile lighting up her face as her fingers worked open the buttons…

He shook himself. That was a dangerous fucking road when he wasn’t in the middle of a game.

Mike focused in on the fundamental rule of the game—Keep your eye on the ball!—and not the way Ginny’s ass and looked on her leg kick. But once he told himself not to think about it, it became practically impossible to think of anything else. 

What the fuck? This had never been a problem before. Not like this. He’d always known exactly how beautiful Ginny is and been aware of her sculpted, toned curves just as long. He’d known about it compartmentalized. There was Ginny on the field and Ginny off it. His brain calling the shots and his— Well. Definitely not his brain. 

So, what the fuck had changed now?

His eyes traced down her form and stuck on the new, glaring change.

The goddamn socks. He just couldn’t look away from them. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like for Ginny to wrap her legs around him, or throwing one sock-clad leg over his shoulder and driving—

Equally mortified and turned on, but struggling not to show it, Mike hunkered down and signed for another screwball. Ginny leaned in, staring right at his crotch, and it took every measure of self-control in his power not to do something stupid. At least he’d only have to catch an inning, tops, for her. Then she’d be out of the game and he could focus on what might be his last All-Star appearance and hit a few bombs while he was at it. Prove that he deserved to be here and wasn’t just some dirty old man leering at the beautiful woman on the field.

This didn’t need to be a problem. 

(When Mike finally managed to wrestle himself and his sex drive into some semblance of control, he wandered over to where Ginny’d taken sat herself down in the dugout. She studied the field intently, but standing right next to her, Mike could see the dimples threatening to make an appearance. After her three outs, one strikeout looking even, Ginny deserved to be pleased with herself.

So, he nudged her side and waited until Ginny turned her attention to him. Mike lifted his chin and grinned down at her. Her lips twitched in response and she nudged him back before returning to watching the National League’s at bats. 

Which was exactly what Mike should be doing. But, like magnets, his eyes didn’t turn to the field, but to something much closer. Those ridiculous socks. He must’ve stared longer and harder than he realized because before Mike knew it, Ginny’s leg was extended before her, almost like she was giving him a better view.

His focus darted back to her face.

Her head tipped to the side to better examine what were apparently palm trees silhouetted on a blue and orange background. What the hell ever happened to the days when stirrup stripes were as varied as a ballplayer’s sock choices got? Who was actually out there, designing socks?

When Ginny looked back at him, she grinned and shrugged. “How could I not show these bad boys off?”

How indeed.)

And it wasn’t. 

Not, that is, until Ginny decided that she wouldn’t go back to the long pants when they reunited with the team. No, the high cuffs, tall socks, and unimpeded view of her strong, lean legs were here to stay. 

Mike was in some deep shit.

Not least because he'd already gone on the record talking shit about this.

(To be fair, his opinions were formed long before Ginny Baker had been more than a faint blip on his radar, a name he’d started hearing more often lately, but not one he paid much attention to. How was he supposed to keep track of every pitcher in the Padres system? More importantly, how was he supposed to know how he’d react to them, well, one of them, in a pair of knee highs?

It’d been a long rain delay in Cincinnati, and the guys were going a little stir crazy. They’d already run through Kangaroo Court and doled out the appropriate fines. Conversation was getting a little raunchy, but Mike was wary of intervening when it wasn’t anything that offensive. Or dangerous. 

So, he lolled in his chair and watched as Blip, finally settling into his place on the team, grinned at the whole clubhouse.

"It’s weird to wear socks in bed, right?"

"To sleep? Nah, my girl’s got super cold feet. She made my balls jump back in my body whenever she used to touch me with ‘em."

Blip squinted at Stubbs for a long moment before drawling, “… No. To have sex.”

“If you take off your shoes, you should take off your socks, too,” was Sonny’s hot take.

Mike frowned as he considered that. It seemed sound, but he didn’t want to come down on one side or the other yet.

“Well, tell that to Salvi,” Blip crowed triumphantly, throwing a loose batting glove at the first baseman.

“Dude, I told you that in confidence!” he hissed.

“You telling me you wore socks when you knocked up your wife?” Mike demanded, finally wading into this nonsense. He’d never really wanted to imagine any of his teammates’ sex lives, but now he couldn’t get the image of Salvi’s dirty socks sticking out from the bottom of a comforter.

He shuddered. A similar reaction ran through the clubhouse.

Salvamini hunkered down in his seat, arms crossed over his chest and practically pouting. “No,” he muttered, petulant. “Penny wears ‘em.”

“And you’re into that?"

“Well, she got pregnant, didn’t she?” laughed Dusty, all the way across the room.

The first baseman rolled his eyes, but where Mike would’ve kept his mouth shut and let the razzing die out on its own, Salvi felt the need to defend himself and his weird preferences. 

“It’s not like she just wears regular old socks. She’s got these tall ones that go up, like, over her knees. Almost like thigh highs, right? And they’re really soft, especially when—”

And that was more than enough of the sexual escapades of Mr. and Mrs. Salvamini.

“Knee socks?” Mike interrupted incredulously. “Like that pair Butch here hasn’t washed for three weeks ‘cause he’s a superstitious wimp?”

“Yeah, but on a hot girl."

“Fuck you man,” shouted Butch good naturedly.

A round of laughter rang through the clubhouse. When it settled, Mike was shaking his head.

“If she’s got to put something on for you to get it up, you’re doing something wrong, man.”

Salvi sputtered, trying to deny, but it didn’t matter. The rest of the team was already ragging him, towels and insults flying through the room, and that was the end of that.

Until, of course, everything had to come back and bite Mike in the ass.)

God help him, if anyone figured him out—and he wasn’t exactly being subtle—he would never hear the end of it. Never mind he’d already made some decisive declarations on the subject, this would blow the lid off his pretty carefully constructed system of divulging just enough to seem interesting while keeping the most personal details private.

He didn’t mind, exactly, the fact that the guys knew which women he took out or went home with. That was fair enough when he’d picked up so many dates in their presence. What Mike did mind, though, was them knowing any other specifics. He liked his privacy, damn it, and if his nosy goddamn teammates sank their claws into this new preference of his, they wouldn’t stop until they’d drained him of every last detail.

And that was all without adding Ginny to the mix. Bad enough that he could now admit the appeal of the whole socks in bed thing. Could more than admit to it, in fact. If the guys found out that it was Ginny who’d inspired this turnabout, it would be the end of Mike Lawson as the world knew him. 

Which was what he got for falling for someone with 23 built-in big brothers and all the baseball bats their over-protective asses could desire. 

Well, Mike had managed to keep the rest of his feelings under his hat, he figured he’d be able to keep this under wraps, too. But where he’d at least had a little time to get used to his developing interest in his pitcher, this... thing with Ginny’s goddamn socks hit him out of nowhere. 

And it hit him hard.

While basically every fantasy he had lately starred one Ginny Baker, now they all featured these ridiculous knee socks, too. It didn’t help that her taste ran a bit wild, favoring novelty designs and patterned stirrups far more than the classic Padres blue. (Not that picturing Ginny in a plain navy knee high was all that different from Ginny in stripes or tie dye or camouflage, not when she wasn’t wearing much else and Mike’s hands and lips got to wander freely.)

It wasn’t enough that they—and the woman wearing them—haunted his dreams. 

No, this was a solidly real world problem. Each and every one of Ginny’s starts, Mike was faced with the uncomfortable prospect of either A) getting distracted behind the plate by the shift of her Achilles tendon under her socks as she wound up or B) trying to make out the lines of her sliding shorts beneath newly snug pants when he played first base and spent so much time watching her back. 

Neither was ideal. 

(Nor was getting a hard on while wearing a fucking cup, but Mike had long ago accepted that particular development in his life.)

He tried subtly pushing her back towards the long pants, though he was careful to mostly stay out of it himself outside of a few snarky comments early on. Mostly, he stirred up curiosity around the clubhouse. Sooner or later, someone was bound to ask why she’d changed in the first place. The media certainly hadn’t wasted any time in speculating about it.

Sure enough, not even two series into her newest fashion statement, during a round of drinks at some hole-in-the-wall in Denver, Sonny took the bait. 

“So, Baker,” the other pitcher drawled after a long pull from his bottle, “when do you think SportsCenter is gonna stop talking about your style choices?”

“They’ll get over it,” she said, clearly underestimating the media’s fascination with her every move. After her break up with Noah Casey at the beginning of the season, it’d taken three nearly flawless starts for commentators to stop speculating about her supposed heartbreak. Like hell some dweeb like Noah Casey could break Ginny Baker’s heart. “I mean, I wore high cuffs in high school and no one gave a shit about it. Besides, it’s been helping my game.”

Sonny snorted and Dusty shook his head, but both were smiling fondly. 

Ginny was taking none of that. At Mike’s side, she drew herself up and stared down her teammates, ticking reasons off on her fingers. “Defines the strike zone when I’m at the plate. Less fabric means less drag. Speeds up my delivery on the mound. Same for running the bases—”

“How often are you on base that it even matters?” Blip teased from across the table.

She wrinkled her nose. “My batting average this season is way better than it was last.”

“Baker, I could get a better batting average than you last season blindfolded,” Mike laughed, elbowing her but really wishing he could snake his arm around her shoulders and drag her into his side. She elbowed him back, but didn’t go for any of his really soft parts or shift away from him, so he figured they were fine.

The truth of the matter, though, was that Ginny really was doing better than she had last season. And she wasn’t the only one. The Padres tore up the back half of July and showed no signs of slowing down in August. Even Mike’s game had picked up, particularly at the plate. Sexual frustration was one hell of a motivator.

Nonetheless, Mike didn’t think most of the team’s turn around had anything to do with one pitcher’s sudden shift in fashion sense. Apparently, though, he was alone on that front. 

Once Tony Gwynn, Jr., during a live broadcast, laughingly threw out the possibility that Ginny’s uniform change up was responsible for the Padres’ sudden offensive surge, any hope of her going back to the long, slouchy pants went out the window. The fact that Don Orsillo, as well as basically everyone in San Diego with a Twitter account, latched onto the suggestion with a vengeance only sealed the deal.

It didn’t matter that Ginny’s own batting average was still solidly below .200, baseball players loved a good superstition. 

Even Blip, who could almost always be relied upon to be a calm voice of reason refused to take Mike’s side. Then again, the man was disgustingly superstitious what with the MC Flash shirt that always managed to make Mike’s locker smell like leftover pot roast.

In short, those fucking socks weren’t going anywhere. 

(Mike’s mind certainly wasn’t crawling out of the gutter any time soon. His post-game ice baths had started serving a dual purpose: making sure he could walk through the clubhouse without wanting to down a whole bottle of painkillers and making sure he could walk through the clubhouse without treating everyone to a show from Little Lawson. Honestly, he wasn’t sure which was worse.)

After another three weeks of being distracted by Ginny and her collection of truly ridiculous knee highs—seriously, he was pretty sure people were sending her more every day—Mike was losing his mind. He’d started wondering if he could sweet talk or bribe the clubbies into leaving Ginny’s old, long pants in her locker again. Nothing else had worked. Pretty quickly, though, he realized it’d never work. Most of them liked her more than him. They’d never go along with it.

Maybe he could do it himself, though. Or sneak in and steal her socks? Even just one out of every pair...

This was getting ridiculous. 

Mike huffed and slumped in his chair. Behind him, the clubhouse was in shambles, his teammates having celebrated their tenth straight win pretty hard. He’d joined in for a while, too, because today, the Padres had secured the number one spot in the NL West. Today, they were behind only the Cubs in the National League. Today, they could all practically smell the late October air. He was as pumped as everyone else.

Right up until Ginny’d come running at him, smile as bright as it’d been on the mound. 

To be fair, she’d thrown a hell of a game, shutting out the Pirates in eight nearly perfect innings. She had every right to be pleased with herself. 

But maybe she didn’t need to express it by throwing herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, in the middle of the clubhouse. Not least because his back wasn’t quite as sturdy as it’d once been.

Automatically, Mike’s hands went to Ginny’s thighs to support her. On its own, that was more than enough to send his brain into overload, but combined with an utter awareness of where her ankles and the awful tie dye socks covering them—the left was smudged with a bright grass stain from when she’d dived off the mound to field a bunt—crossed at the small of his back, he had no chance.

As many filthy fantasies as Mike had had about Ginny, he’d mostly managed to keep them off the field and out of the clubhouse. Until now.

That kind of self-restraint had disappeared because it was far too easy to imagine himself in this exact position. Holding Ginny as she clung to him tightly. Just with far fewer clothes. And far fewer spectators. 

Ginny, though, just thrust a fist in the air and crowed, “Watch out, Cubs! Here we come!”

This was followed by a roar of agreement from the rest of the Padres. He assumed. 

Honestly, Mike wasn’t aware of much more than the woman in his arms. 

He could only stare up in reverence at Ginny, her face tipped back to the ceiling, looking utterly triumphant. Somehow, though every other sound had faded away, he could still hear her laugh. He could feel her fingers curling around the back of his neck. He could smell the tang of sweat and dirt still clinging to her skin. Almost in slow motion, Ginny’s face tilted back towards him and her wild, victorious grin turned softer, something just for Mike. 

Awestruck, Mike finally admitted to himself it wasn’t really about the socks. Yeah, he liked them, but he liked the woman wearing them even more and he wasn’t going to deny it for one second longer. For whatever reason, they’d tipped him over the edge and out of stubborn denial, but Jesus H. Christ. 

He was so fucking in love with this woman.

And there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

That funny little smile remained planted on her face the whole time Ginny unwrapped her legs from him and slid to the ground. She didn’t break eye contact once and Mike could feel his heart thundering away in his throat. It took him far too long to take a step back. All he wanted was to pick her up again and quite possibly never put her down.

Of course, the bubble had to burst, the real world had to catch up with them. The real world and the realization that this was the last place where he should be thinking about sex—and so much fucking more—with Ginny Baker.

So, he’d stepped away and hit the showers. 

One very cold shower.

Now, at least, he was clean and his dick was no longer uncomfortably hard in his cup, but he was still trying not to lose his goddamn mind. 

It seemed like a losing battle.

He’d made it through the last few months of the last season, the off season, and the first half of this one dealing with his attraction to Ginny if not well, then at least adequately. There’d only been that one moment outside Boardner’s where he’d almost let things unravel. Otherwise, he’d been so good.

Right up until the fucking All-Star Game and the fucking socks. 

What the hell was it about those goddamn socks? 

In a matter of days, they’d crumbled his self-restraint and denial, which had been the only armor he had against Ginny’s magnetic personality. Ginny’s perfect smile. Ginny’s goddamn legs in those goddamn socks.

He’d spent his career around dudes in those exact same socks, and even if Mike could admit that a lot of those guys had objectively great legs, he’d never been been so obsessive about them. The cursory porn search he’d conducted in his free time hit closer to the mark. Which wasn’t such a surprise. Who didn’t like videos of hot girls, no matter what they were wearing on their feet? 

Honestly, though, nothing he found quite measured up to Ginny and her high cuffs.

Mike sighed and leaned forward, his back twinging. So much for carrying Ginny around for the rest of his natural life. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, straightening with a grimace. 

“Didn’t Kiki just work you over, old man?” came a low, musical voice to his right. “Do you need to go see him again?

Mike didn’t even jump at the interruption. He just turned and leveled Ginny with a squint. She grinned sunnily back at him. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have teammates trying to climb me like a jungle gym, I’d spend less time on his table.”

Inexplicably, Ginny flushed and looked down. She was back in her street clothes, sneakers, leggings, and a lycra zip up. Things Mike had seen her in a million times before. Maybe that was part of it. He’d gotten used to Ginny in her immaculate work out gear, it was just another part of her. In spite of the fact that the high-performance spandex clung to her legs much more determinedly, gave a much better understanding of her every curve, Mike still found he preferred her in uniform. 

She fidgeted for a moment, adjusting the straps of her backpack. It seemed like Ginny was right on the verge of saying something, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a rushed, “See you later?”

“You know where to find me,” he replied, waving her off and only watching her leave out of the corner of his eye. 

What? The day Mike Lawson didn’t take a minute to appreciate the sight of Ginny Baker walking away was the day he should be put out of his misery. 

Fortunately, if not for his sanity, that day wasn’t coming any time soon. 

Mike was prepared to grit his teeth and get through the rest of the season. Now that denial was no longer an option, he’d have to. It’d be harder than it was last season, but it wasn’t as if this development changed things much. More importantly, Ginny’s decision to not talk about them hadn’t changed. Mike could keep it in his pants long enough to respect that.

At least, he thought he could.

When this was an issue that was confined to the field and the clubhouse, it was easier to maintain a professional facade. Not least because he was constantly surrounded by guys who’d gladly remind him if he ever forgot himself.

But when Ginny invited him over to her place, the newly furnished condo she’d leased after spring training, Mike had a sinking feeling that, given half a chance, professionalism was about to fly out the window. 

As he rang the bell, he firmly reminded himself that this visit was purely business, never mind the fact it would take place in Ginny’s home. It was one thing to stop by her hotel room on the road to run through scouting reports, but this felt different. Far more intimate. 

It wasn’t. It was game prep.

They’d run out of time to go over the Twins lineup in the clubhouse. Between meetings with his agent to talk contract negotiations and Ginny’s appointments with Nike, it was lucky they’d even made time for this. But since she hadn’t pitched during their away series earlier in the season and had never gone up against most of their batters, they agreed an after hours consult was necessary. The Padres’ hold on the top spot in the West wasn’t quite secure enough to write off this late interleague series.

This is work, he told himself. Work. Work. Work. 

The mantra dropped abruptly into silence the minute the door swung open.

Mike closed his eyes for a moment and fought the urge to groan. “What the hell are you wearing?” he managed to ask, remarkably clear for the way his jaw was clenched tight. 

Ginny actually looked down, like she needed to double check before answering. When she looked back up at Mike, she shrugged one shoulder and the hem of her oversize sweatshirt crept up her hip, exposing a wedge of skin. 

The bagginess of her top did nothing to offset the scantness of her shorts or the long expanse of her leg they revealed. Well, thigh. The lower half of her legs were covered in a pair of knee socks. 

The same socks she’d been so excited about back in Miami. The same socks that started him down this depraved path to begin with.

“I got cold,” she replied with a shrug, stepping back to allow him in. 

“So put on some pants.”

“They’re all the way upstairs.”

Mike rolled his eyes and vowed not to let his eyes wander further south than Ginny’s neck tonight. 

That resolution lasted until they settled on Ginny’s couch. He would’ve preferred the dining room table for the added formality—distance from Ginny and her ability to effortlessly send him spiraling—but it was currently covered in promotional gear from Nike and her other sponsors. 

Ginny sprawled in one corner and Mike took a more upright post in the other. They flicked through their individual notes for a moment, which was how they always started these meetings. They’d collect their thoughts and then one of them would begin and the other would tell them how wrong they were. Before the arguing began, though, it was nice. Quiet. Usually. Today, only Mike was quiet. Ginny frowned and fidgeted, crossing her legs and uncrossing them. Letting one dangle to the floor and curling the other beneath her. Finally, she settled on stretching them out over the middle cushion, towards Mike.

That, of course, wasn’t enough.

No, Ginny had to slouch down against the arm rest as she frowned at her iPad, her toes insinuating themselves beneath his thigh. Mike kept his eyes firmly on the screen of his tablet and struggled not to do anything stupid. 

Still, he couldn’t resist a dry, “You need some more room? Want me to sit on the floor so you can take over the rest of the couch?”

Her head tipped to the side in consideration, a funny little grin quirking up the corners of her lips. Finally, she replied, “You’re good. You can keep my feet warm.”

“Glad to be of service,” he snorted, and turned his attention back to his heat maps. “Now, let’s talk about Sanó.”

They settled into their regular rhythm after that, although Mike didn’t usually give into the tunnel vision of prepping Ginny for the upcoming game with such a single-minded intensity. He was so focused, in fact, that he didn’t even notice when her feet wiggled out from under his leg and landed squarely in his lap. He also didn’t notice when one hand dropped from his iPad to settle heavily on her ankle, thumb sweeping along the arch of her foot.  

He didn’t notice until Ginny let out a low little hum, her toes wiggling. Practically against his inseam.

Mike didn’t quite drop her foot like a hot coal, but it was a close thing. 

“Uh,” he stuttered, eyes darting to Ginny and away before he could really get a read on her expression, “sorry about that.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her shoulder rise and fall. “It’s okay. Felt kinda nice.”

At that, his eyes landed on her face. She was looking down, but that did nothing to hide the flush staining her cheeks. The last time she’d been so pink, he’d just teased her for trying to climb him like a tree or something. 

And. That was a thing, wasn’t it? Mike had a sudden and distinct memory of watching MLB Whip Around with Blip once and Evelyn passing by as footage of Trout knocking out a homer hit the screen. 

“Mm,” she’d sighed, with real feeling, “I would climb that man like a tree.”

He’d laughed and Blip scowled and he hadn’t thought about it again. Until now. 

Mike’s gaze turned more assessing as he considered this. Slowly, deliberately, he ran the pad of his thumb down the arch of Ginny’s foot again. Her toes curled and her head jerked up, wide eyes landing right on him. 

“What’re you doing?” she rasped, though if she wanted him to stop, Mike couldn’t tell. Her foot remained firmly in his grasp.

“You said it felt nice.”

Ginny’s head tilted to the side once more. It was her turn to consider him. A complicated mix of emotions flickered across her face, too fast for Mike to catalogue fully. He knew there was uncertainty and anxiety and maybe even hope before her expression settled into that steely resolve he knew so well.

She leaned forward, her heels digging into his thigh. Reflexively, Mike’s fingers tightened, mostly to keep them planted well south of where his dick had begun to stir to life, but he didn’t take his eyes off her for a second.

“What if I said something else felt nice? Would you do that, too?”

Mike swallowed hard, his heart already thundering away. His mouth was drier than Death Valley, but he still managed to respond, “I guess it depends on what it is.”

A smile flickered to life. Ginny finally pulled her feet from his lap, but only so she could scoot from her end of the couch, boxing Mike into his. He’d never been so happy to be cornered. 

“Depends on what?” she breathed, just the slightest sliver of space separating them.

Mike never answered. The thin thread binding up his self-control snapped. Before he could quite believe, it, he had Ginny’s face cradled in his hands, his lips pressed against hers. She was too close, too tempting for him to do anything else. 

If she was surprised, it wore off quickly, her mouth moving against his in a hungry, insistent rhythm. She swung a leg over him and landed right in his lap, never once breaking off the kiss. Her mouth fell open against his and Mike wasted no time in sweeping his tongue inside, reveling in her taste. She’d been stealing his gum. A soft little sound of displeasure escaped her throat when he pulled away, but he needed to breathe. He’d been too focused on Ginny—her warmth, her weight on top of him, her tongue sliding against his—to do anything as mundane as breathe.

“God, I love you,” he sighed, once he had the oxygen.

That had her pulling away. Not far, since he still cupped her chin in his palms, but far enough. 

His eyes fluttered open and he was greeted by the sight of Ginny Baker, flushed and staring at him in astonishment. Mike’s thumb swept across her cheekbone, and she blinked, shaking herself a little.

“You do?”

“I do,” he assured her gravely before lightening his tone. “Even when you insist on wearing these ridiculous socks, I love you.”

She huffed out a chuckle, but still leaned back in to murmur against his lips, “I love you, too. Even when you criticize my wardrobe.” And then she was kissing him again, this time taking control of the pace herself. Not that Mike was going to complain about that. 

No, he let Ginny lead and focused on all the other things finally open to him. His hands fell away from her face, skimming down her body, a cursory exploration that he would enjoy fleshing out later. One worked its way under her sweatshirt while the other palmed her knee, fingers splayed down over the top of her socks. Somehow, they felt so much softer than the identical pair sitting abandoned in Mike’s closet. He stroked along the edge, fascinated by the contrast between her warm skin and the fabric.

Apparently, though, his appreciation didn’t quite come across.

Ginny broke away from him, though she couldn’t resist pressing a quick peck to his lips before pulling away fully. Mike chased her and she laughed, high and breathy. “Let me get these off,” she panted, rising a little to pull at the toes of her knee highs.

“What? Why?” he blurted, his grip on her tightening. 

She stilled and looked down at him. A confused, but delighted, smile stole across her face. “I thought you hated the socks,” she said, settling more firmly into his lap. “You kept— You just said they’re ridiculous! I thought it’d be easier to keep our distance—”

He snorted. “The only thing I hate about them is having to see you in them every goddamn day. Do you know how good they make your legs look?”

“Maybe you should tell me,” she murmured through a bright, dimpled grin. Her fingers curled into his hair and Mike sighed happily.

“Maybe I could show you,” he countered, letting his hands run down the taut line of her calves.

“I think I’ve already got a pretty good idea,” she teased, rocking her hips pointedly. 

He responded with a grind of his own. Ginny gasped and he didn’t bother concealing his filthy grin as he growled, “Not sure that ‘pretty good’ is good enough, Baker.”

“Then by all means, Lawson,” she replied, voice only a little unsteady, but undermined by her thighs squeezing firmly around him, “show me what you’ve got.”

Oh, he definitely would.