#and i’m pretty sure karen was also supposed to be there

[karaspal]

it’s such a shame pkj has written so little of supergirl given how well of a grasp he has on the character. he is one of my favourite modern-age writers to write kara. and the thing is, he pitched a supergirl story. one with her and thao-la called “supergirls”. and dc said “nah, we have other plans.” when they didn’t even???

guys, literally look how pkj talks about kara. he gets her fr.

“I love Kara I think Kara is one of the best DC characters. I've seen a bunch of different versions of Kara. In my ear, she is almost like a mother hen to all other Kryptonian adjacent characters, since she is more Kryptonian than anyone else, having lived and grown up there in a way that Clark never did. Even though she's sort of younger than Clark via some, you know, sciency reasons she's really older kind of in other ways. And I see her as kind of the matriarch of the EL family really. She's not always portrayed that way. But that's how I see her. I love writing Kara.” - PKJ

like, hello? he recognises kara as the smartest person in the room, writes her as mature, capable and confident, yet still headstrong and cocky, and what is more important, he doesn’t use krypton as the trauma that will always haunt kara till the end of her days, but rather as a found memory she carries that she gets to share with other people.

i’ve said it before, but one thing kara should always be is the holder of krypton’s spirit, but with enough time passing, it should be more about celebrating krypton’s spirit vs mourning it. it’s not fair for kara to stuck in the same cycle of anger for her planet forever. of course she should mourn her planet at first, but with enough time passing she deserves to heal. she doesn’t deserve to be haunted by it for the rest of her life. the bitter memories should bleed into found ones.

[yoohyeon]

Some random user liked a post of me complaining about my neighbours earlier and f that user cause why are my neighbours playing music and screaming at pass 3am out of a sudden it’s like they predicted it

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

black friday - m. murdock

a/n: an old work i finished because i decided y'all are owed something cute and fluffy. shoutout to all my girlies who were in codependent relationships for so long that they needed to figure out who they were again after ! as always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! warnings: lots of fluff, lots of kissing, lots of talks about a bad ex, reader is rather shy at first, cursing probably but it's late and i'm probably forgetting so much im so sorry also a lot of suggestive behavior because they're in love word count: 4.5k summary: you have a list of things to do within a year of living in new york. matt helps you check everything off- oh, and you fall in love with him, too. it's not on the list, but you do it anyways. pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: black friday - tom odell "i wanna go party/i wanna have fun/wanna be happy/could you show me how it's done?/ you look so pretty/pretty like the sun"

For a long time, you thought you’d never get over your ex.

For a long time, you believed that you were it for each other. You’d go the whole nine yards—Kids, a quaint house in your hometown, Sunday dinners.

And for a long time after he broke up with you, you thought you’d never let yourself love again. How could you? How would you allow yourself to be set up for failure, after letting someone know every part of you?

You had been dating him since high school and had been living with him in your first apartment when he broke it off.

Sometimes, it was amazing, and you were never happier. But most days, it had been full of anger and talking him off the ledge all the time. It was makeup sex after arguments you couldn’t remember now.

So, when he did break up with you, you decided to use it as an excuse to run far, far away from your small town. And you found yourself in Hell’s Kitchen.

You land a job at a small law firm, and at first, you just work as a meek little office assistant.

Nelson, Murdock & Page grew by the day, and for a while, you felt out of place. It wasn’t that you were abused or worked to the bone, you just struggled to make friends, and you weren’t very social while getting over your ex anyways.

So, for about two months, you did your job quietly, laughing quietly at the bickering of your bosses, thanking Karen Page for her advice, enjoying coffee with Foggy Nelson, and of course…

Never muttering a word to Matt Murdock. He was just too intimidating. Besides, you still felt like your ex’s eyes were watching your every move, even thousands of miles away, even now.

Then one night, Foggy couldn’t handle it anymore. So, he approached you quietly at the end of a long workday, with a simple phrase.

“This week’s been crazy, huh? Hey, a few of us are going to the bar tonight, did you want to come?”

What were you supposed to say? ‘No, my ex who I don’t talk to wouldn’t like that?’

Please.

“Oh, Uhm.. I don’t know, who else is going?”

“It’ll be me, my wife, Marci, Karen..” He said.

“Sure, I’ll come.” You smiled, before you could stop yourself.

“Awesome! I’ll send you the address! I’m so glad you’re tagging along!” He grins. You’re thrilled too.

“Me too, it’ll be fun.” He begins to walk away but then he turns back around with a snap of his fingers.

“Oh! And Matt is going!”

Why wouldn’t he tell you that in the first place? Why was your face burning? Why was your heart racing?

“Oh, Great.” You told him, now suddenly conscious of everything about that night.

• • •

At the bar, you wound up ordering a drink before you went over to your friends—Well, Coworkers, you wouldn’t call them friends yet, thanking the woman behind the bar.

Then, you made your way over to them where Foggy was playing his wife in Pool—and losing horribly. So, you sit with Karen and Matt, where there is conveniently one seat available, right between the two.

Karen excitedly said your name as you approach adding a, “I can’t believe you came!” Which, ouch, but, fair.

“Well, Foggy was right, this week’s been awful, so I wanted to relax.” You smiled, sitting with them.

“I’m glad,” she said, before asking, “So, why’d you move to New York?” She knew you weren’t from here, so you figured the question would come up eventually.

“Just needed a change of pace from a small town, you know?”

“I do,” she nodded, “Do you like it here?”

Did you like being alone all the time, feeling like you’re always doing something wrong? Like you should run back to your hometown and beg your ex to marry you?

“Yeah, I love it. It’s so different in a way I wasn’t really prepared for, but it’s great.” You lied.

Matt’s blind. Why did it feel like he has this burning gaze into your skin?

“Did you go to college in your hometown, too?”

“Yeah,” You smile. You loved College. You were an early education major and had even gotten your masters in your small community college. You loved teaching, and if you hadn’t moved, you’d have stayed at the school that hired you after student teaching there. But, when you got to the city, you were unable to find consistent work because the demand for teachers was so high.

So here you were, working as an office assistant for a small law firm.

Karen glanced down to her glass and frowned.

“I’m going to grab another drink, do either of you want anything?”

“I’m good, Karen.”

“No, thank you.”

Silence. Sickening silence.

Then, he spoke.

“Do you know how upset I am that you got your drink already?”

What?

You furrowed your brows, confused.

“I’m sorry?”

“I wanted to buy you a drink, but you beat me to it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You repeated, a light blush on your face.

“Well, I figured it might be nice to wipe the slate clean, considering you haven’t spoken more than ten words to me since you started working with us.”

That was true. There’s just something that feels so wrong about it, even though you worked with him,

“I’m sorry,” you said again, and he just laughed.

“You say that a lot.”

“I’m sor—” You caught yourself, clearing your throat. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, you speak to everyone, just not me. So, I listen and I’m pretty sure you apologize more than anything else.”

Your face was beet red.

“Okay, Okay, I get it. I don’t talk a lot, especially not to you. It’s something I’m working on, I have a whole list of things I’m working on.”

That’s true. You had an actual list of goals you have before your first year in New York is up.

“A list?”

“A list.”

“May I?” He asked, and you sighed, pulling out your phone, your list nestled deep into your notes app.

“Apologize less and talk to you is at the top.” You told him. “Then it’s get a job I love,”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry, Boss.” You took a sip of your drink, “Move into a nicer apartment, and uh..” You sighed softly. “Get over my ex.”

He tilts his head.

“Your ex?”

“The reason I moved here. He broke up with me about six months ago, but we were together for so long it feels like an impossible task.”

Matt knows the feeling.

“It’s an easy enough list. We can help you.” He says, “When did you move to New York?”

“May 1st.”

“Okay, then by May of next year, you should have everything accomplished.”

“We?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna help you.”

“Oh, so now it’s you and not all of you?”

Now it’s his turn to blush.

“You’re rather talkative now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like it.”

• • •

Talking to Matt is easy, you discover quickly.

It’s the apologizing that gets you.

You’re staying late at the office about a month later, while Hell’s Kitchen is amid a blistering heat wave.

You feel like you might die. You’re editing a closing argument Foggy wants to practice when Matt calls your name gently.

“Can I see you in my office for a second?” He asks. You follow him into his office, not really thinking much of it.

“What’s up?” You ask, sitting in the spare chair in his office as he closes the door behind him, going to the seat at his desk.

“Well, remember that list we talked about?”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t heard much from you this week.”

That’s true, it’s just been sort of a hectic time with cases piling up. You can only do so much work AND talk to your favorite coworker. Yes, Matt had quickly become your favorite person at the office, even after just a month of really trying to open up to him.

He learned about your ex, your holiday traditions and that you hate peppermint.

You learned about his parents, his favorite dessert, and that he dresses up every night to go fight the criminals of New York.

Okay, you technically weren’t supposed to learn that, but you had stopped by his apartment early to drop off a file you were working on, and he had just crawled home and was still in his suit when he answered the door, forgetting completely that you didn’t know.

So now You knew how he was able to tell that you lied to Karen that night at the bar.

“I’m—” You start to apologize, but then you stop yourself. “I’m not sorry, I’ve been busy and so have you, but I do miss talking to you, though I am not sorry.” You say, and he grins.

“That’s my girl.”

Huh.

Your stomach swirls and you beam at the praise.

Wait, what?

You brush it off, before asking,

“Does Daredevil still come out to play even though it’s a hundred degrees out?”

“Will you have your window open with a few bottles of water open for me?”

“Always.”

“Then yes.”

Talking to Matt is rather easy. You have a feeling that soon the apologizing will follow.

• • •

October is the month of figuring out what you want to do with your life.

Sure, you love working in the office, but you are going crazy. You’re under stimulated and the hours are consistently long.

So, you try a lot of things.

You bake, you cook, you take exams, you work tirelessly to try and figure out where you want to work and where you’ll be happiest.

You try doing hair but find yourself uninspired.

You think you might like being a nursing assistant but turns out, you don’t like blood.

But part of you knows your heart isn’t in it, for two reasons.  

For one, you want to teach. You want to be teaching young kids’ addition and their spelling and stars. You desperately want to be a great influence in their lives.

And the second thing is..

You don’t want to leave your coworkers.

You love spending time with Karen and Foggy. For a long time, you didn’t have friends outside of your relationship, and they are the best friends you’ve ever had.

Foggy spends long coffee breaks cracking jokes with you and asking for your sandwich order, telling you that you have to stop by his brother’s deli for one of his signature subs. Then he tells you this long-winded story about how his mother wanted him to be a butcher, not a lawyer.

Karen is your favorite girl. She’s not only drop dead gorgeous and ridiculously smart, but she is also kind like no one you have ever met. She texts you when you forget to let her know you’ve gotten home safe, there is always a coffee on your desk when you get there and for your birthday, flowers are on your desk, scribbled with a cute note in her handwriting.

And then, there’s Matt.

He’s your best friend and knows you better than anyone. He loves having you right in the office where he can hear your heartbeat and smell your vanilla coconut perfume. He tells you about his dad and you tell him about your folks.

He knows your Chinese and Thai food orders like the back of his hand, always ordering you some when he gets his. You describe the movies you’re watching in detail, and he hangs on to every word. There is no one who sees you more than him, and he’s quite literally blind. When you tell him about your dream to go back into teaching, he encourages it.

“When I was a kid, I’d have benefited so much from someone like you.”

He asks you to do his makeup for his Halloween costume, no matter how badly it irritates his skin. He likes the idea of your hands so close to his face.

But you’re both critically aware of how, not only is the market flooded, but you’re dreading the day you leave your little office job.

So many people have asked if the two of you are dating. And you both always laugh, because.. because you just love each other in a way that you can’t describe. But no, you’ve never thought about dating Matt Murdock.

Until this one day.

It’s like any other day, really. You have your friends cramped in your tiny apartment and you’re just waiting for Matt’s arrival before you eat dinner for the night.

Karen, Foggy and Marci sit at your little table as you finish cooking, and Marci just glances over to you.

“You need to move to a better apartment.”

“I know, I know,” you laugh, “But she’s so cozy! I love it here!” It was, and is, all you could afford, but you grew to love it.

“Yeah, and I love having leg room.” Foggy chimes.

“You know what, Nelson? You could just, pay me more so I could move somewhere nicer?”

“Touche.” There’s a knock on the door, so you grin and head over there, opening the door for Matt.

And you need to take a second.

He’s holding your favorite bottle of wine, and he’s in these nice dark jeans and a gray sweater under his peacoat.

This thought strikes you.

This thing you thought you’d never feel again after your ex.

Matt Murdock is hot, and you have got to have him.

This is it. The thing you can’t deny any longer. You have a massive crush on the devil that disguises himself as your favorite person. To you, he is an angel.

“Hey,” you say breathily, as if you have it out for yourself. Surely he’ll know. “You didn’t have to bring wine.” You told him, a soft smile on your face.

He steps inside as you take the wine, leaning in to kiss your cheek gently, something he has found himself doing every time he enters your apartment. It’s your routine.  He loves this aspect of your dynamic because he has known that he’s wanted you for months. You’ve just been so caught up in everything that you didn’t see it.

“It’s no trouble, thank you for having us,” he says gently.

So this is it.

You just can’t deny it.

You have a massive crush on Matt Murdock, and there isn’t a thing you could do about it. Except maybe kiss him. But for that night, you just kind of relax and pretend you’re already dating him. That’s something you haven’t done in a long time.

You’re beginning to feel like yourself again.

• • •

Nelson Family Christmas celebrations are something of legend for you. For months you’ve heard about it, and you’re on your way to the deli with a handful of presents and two trays of cookies.

You’ve decided that just once, you want a holiday away from your family. Truth be told, you really don’t want to spend your holiday without your best friends.

You have on this stunning outfit—A red sweater, a black skirt and these warm black stockings. Boots to die for.

You know Matt can’t see your outfit, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to dress up for him. It’s weird. This crush thing has been getting out of control.

You’re greeted at the door of the Deli with a crowd full of blonde-haired New York Irish-Italians, and they’re all lovely. You put your presents down and place your cookies on the dessert table. And you love Foggy’s family. They ask you questions constantly, and Foggy’s sister-in-law talks to you for a while about her career in the local high school system.

It’s a joy to meet so many people so full of love.

So, you go over to Foggy as he’s yapping and say gently, “Hey, where’s Matt?”

He grins.

“Why do you want to go kiss him under the mistletoe?” He teases. Your face goes red.

“Shut up! Where is he, Franklin?” You glare and he laughs, patting your arm.

“Upstairs in the hallway.” He says, and as you walk away he calls, “Go get ‘em, Tiger!” You glare and grab a cookie on your way up.

And you find him, standing in a quiet corner of the hallway. You go to open your mouth and he turns to you.

“Merry Christmas,” he leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Matty.” You hum. “Guess what type of cookie I have.”

He sniffs the air and shakes his head. “Give me a taste and I’ll guess.” You hand him the cookie and he put it in his mouth halfway, raising his eyebrows to you.

“What?”

He gestures to the cookie in his mouth, and you laugh, realizing that he wants you to bite the other end, ala Lady and the Tramp. So you lean forward and take a bite, and he eats the rest, inches separating your face as you enjoy your treat.

People chatter down the hallway and Christmas music plays from somewhere. There are so many different foods and people, and all Matt can focus on is the vanilla coconut scent of your perfume. When you’re both finished eating your cookie, his hands find your waist.

“Matt, what are you—”

You don’t get the chance to finish because suddenly he is kissing you in the dark hallway of your friend’s family Christmas party. The kiss is wonderful. He tastes of the cookie you two shared. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

You need more kissing practice because it’s been so long. But you get the feeling that Matt won’t mind helping you out if this is another thing you want to add to your list.

When he pulls away, he’s a bit breathless but he says one thing to you.

“Chocolate chip peanut butter.”

“What?”

“That’s my guess for the cookie type.”

“Wanna kiss me again to confirm?” He grins and his hands travel down, just slightly to feel the materials of your skirt.

“That’s my girl.”

• • •

The next two months fly by in a whirl of kissing Matt, trying to find a teaching job and enjoying your first real winter in New York.

By the time March rolls around, the clock is ticking for you to be able to find a job in this school year. And then, Foggy and Matt get you the best gift ever.

“Mrs. Future Murdock,” You send Foggy a glare.

“Watch it.”

“Okay, listen—You remember that rich guy that was wrongfully accused of tax evasion?”

“Yeah, why?” You’re cleaning up your office space for the weekend, excited to go to Josie’s, have a few drinks and unwind with your very handsome boyfriend.

“Well, he’s a super intendent for a large school district in Hell’s Kitchen.” Your head snaps up to the two.

“What does that mean for me?” You raise an eyebrow.

“There’s an older teacher there who needed to have surgery and we thought, hey, we know a teacher who could sub in.”

“…Who?”

“You.” Matt says, and you grin. “Your interview is Monday.”

You gasp and hug Foggy quickly, before making your way over to Matt.

“You are the absolute best.” You kiss him quickly and his hands, as they often do, find themselves on your hips. “Thank you.”

What a lovely lovely man.

“Don’t thank us yet, you still need to get the job.” Right.

Your night at Josie’s is lovely but you spend the rest of your weekend prepping for the interview on Monday. It goes well, but something in you is telling you to stay anxious. Why? You have no idea.

It takes two weeks for them to get back to you. But you walk into the office of Nelson, Murdock & Page with a big grin. You walk right into Matt’s office, who glances up to you when you walk in, your heart racing.

“Hey, Sweetheart, I—” He cuts himself off when you walk right up to his desk and pull his chair out before finding yourself on Matt’s lap.  Your arms wrap around his neck and his arms find your waist. Before he can say much else, you kiss him quickly, and he grins into the kiss. Eventually, when you do pull away, Matt asks, “Everything okay?”

“Matty, consider this to be my two weeks’ notice.”

He gasps happily.

“Oh my god! How awful it is that you’re leaving us!” He grins, kissing you quickly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you for getting me the interview.” You tell him, “You know if I do well, the teacher might let me coteach with her next year.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Our list is almost done, baby.”

“Your list, not ours.”

“Yeah but you’ve been helping so much.”

“You’re easy to help.”

“You’re easy to love.”

He blushes and decides to kiss his girl again.

• • •

 So, in April, a month before your year is up, you find yourself needing a new apartment. The rent is getting crazy, and it’s nowhere near the school you’re working in. Especially considering that the teacher you’re subbing for decided she wanted to retire so you’d be taking over for her full time come Fall.

Plus, your apartment is small and cramped, especially with Matt’s stuff slowly invading your place. You discuss this with him one night. It’s late and he’s covered in cuts from his Daredeviling.

“I hate apartment hunting.” You whine, and he hums, kissing your head gently. “Nowhere is good enough. Too far from the school, too far from you, too expensive.” You complain.

“Why don’t you move in here?”

Huh. Why hadn’t you thought of that? Was it too quick to be moving in with him at this point? Maybe, but something told you Matt wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“Really?”

He grins.

“Really. It’s close to the school, a good price, and rather close to me.” You grin and kiss him softly. It’s your favorite habit.

So, two weeks later, you’re hauling boxes into your boyfriend’s apartment. You take a few drawers of his dresser and some of your nicer outfits find their way into his armoire. Your mugs sit comfortably next to his in his cabinets. Your cabinets.

Your throw blanket is draped comfortably across his couch, and your shoes lay next to his.

Your lotion sits next to his first aid kit. You love dating Matt Murdock.

You love that next month will be one year since you moved to New York, and your life is sort of coming together. Glorious Matthew Murdock is your boyfriend. Your job is amazing. Your apartment is wonderful. Matt Murdock is your boyfriend, and he is amazing at kissing you.

• • •

So, Matt knows May is your year since moving to New York. He knows you guys could go to Josie’s and have a normal old time at the bar…

But he wants to do something special for you. So, he asks Foggy, Marci and Karen to get dressed up and go to a bar on the nicer side of town. Not that you don’t love Josie’s but your one year in New York calls for a special occasion.

You decide to wear a nice satin dress and he loves running his hands over the soft fabric. To Mat, you are perfect in every way, and every day he falls deeper and deeper in love with you.

So on a warm May night in Hell’s Kitchen, you sit in a bougie bar with your best friends, boyfriend and enjoy a year since you moved to this wonderful place you now call home. And a year and four months since your ex broke up with you. Truly, for a long time, you thought you’d never get over him.

Now, Matt is all you see.

At some point, a little tipsy, you kiss Matt’s cheek gently and tell him you’re going to grab another drink.

“Do you want anything?” You ask softly.

“Just for you to come back soon. I’ll miss you.” Oh, Tipsy Matt was your favorite.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” You kiss him quick and head off to the bar. You order another drink and wait patiently, taking in just how happy you are in this moment.

Then, a familiar voice calls your name, and you glance over and you can’t believe it.

Your ex-boyfriend is right in front of you, and for a moment, you convince yourself you must be drunker than you realized.

“Wow, you look fantastic!” He says a grin on his face. Was… Was your ex ever… attractive? You can’t remember if he ever was. Especially not since dating Matt.

“Oh, Thanks..” You smile softly, trying to be polite but to get out of here quickly and get back to the arms of your loving boyfriend.

“Are you here with anyone?”

“Yeah.” You told him. “Some of my good friends, and—”

“So, you’re not seeing anyone?” You furrow your eyebrows. When did you say that?

Then, there’s an arm around your waist, and you know whose it is in an instant.

“Hey, Sweetheart.. Is everything okay?” Matt asks, smiling to you. Oh, he knows. He knows big time.

“Everything is great.” You turn to your ex and grin. “This is Matt, He’s my—”

“Fiancé.” Matt ends.

Fiancé?

“Fiancé?” Your ex asks, bewildered.

“Mhm. Got engaged a few days ago, that’s what we’re here celebrating.” You said gently, leaning your head against Matt’s arm.

“Engaged, but you’ve only been here for a year!”

“Well, I wasn’t about to wait around for you to ask me to date you again.” You glance over to Matt. “Besides, when you know you know.” You say softly.

Matt leans in and kisses you gently, “When you know, you know.” He echoes.

Your ex is wildly uncomfortable.

“I thought you said you’d always love me.” He says, and he has that intimidating tone to his voice that you hate.

“Yeah… Me too.. Guess I was wrong. You have a nice night, Okay?” You smile and take your drink, turning to head back to your friends. Your ex is bummed out but leaves you alone, and Matt grins to you further.

“When you know you know.” He hums.

“Fiancé..” You echo. He shrugs gently.

“I like the sound of it.”

“Me too.” You say gently. “I love you.”

“I love you, Sweetheart.” He kisses your cheek. “So… A year in New York.”

“Yup. My list is all done.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I talk to you all the time, and I don’t apologize unless it’s necessary. I love teaching and my job. My apartment is stellar, and… I think it’s safe to say I am over my ex. I upgraded. In fact, my upgrade is so much hotter than anyone else I know.”

Matt leans in to kiss you, a grin on his face, but he mutters a soft, “That’s my girl,” Before he does.

[spotsandsocks]

Fuck it Friday 💚🧡🩷❤️💜💙

Hello my friends, thanks for the tags @eddiebabygirldiaz @inell @repressedqueen @tizniz @loveyouanyway @loserdiaz

So today I’m doing something a bit different cos why not.. this week I got a comment on an older fic from ao3 user starspangledwriter (hello) that lead to a lovely conversation about the Buddie of it all and why they mean so much to me. The person I was chatting to suggested it might be nice to share here, so I am.

And also just to say this is what i think we writers love/hope for with comments, it’s not about wanting people to say nice things (which is obviously lovely) but having a chat about my beloveds and the story I created.

And speaking of the story… here it is if you want to check it out.

Fifteen Minutes 1.4k

“You look happy.”

Buck smiles at Eddie because he’s right, he is happy. He hasn’t been for a while but today he is, he might not have everything he wants but right now he’s happy to be in this place with these people.

He takes a deep breath and says that around his smile  “I am.” He scans Bobby and Athena’s living room takes in its occupants all chatting and laughing together. “Everyone I love is here.” He looks at Eddie expecting to see him smiling but he’s sees a frown instead. Eddie doesn’t look at him when he says,

“I didn’t see Taylor arrive. Is she here?”

Oh yeah that. He hasn’t actually told Eddie yet has he.

“Um no” he says casually. He can see Eddie trying to process that, he’s adorable when he’s confused.

“But you just said.”

“I know what I said.” He replies also not looking as he confirms the news that Taylor is not here and that he’s worked out he doesn’t love her. There’s a pause, he can’t resist a quick look at Eddie so he catches it when it finally clicks.  Eddie says  “oh”  and Buck sees a smile flash across his face like quicksilver before he wipes it away. There and gone again, so quick Buck might have imagined it. He’s pretty sure he hadn’t though. There’s another moment of silence before Eddie asks the question good friends are supposed to in these circumstances.

“You ok?”

“Yup like I said everyone I love is here. I’m perfect.”

He should probably distract Eddie or he might get interrogated as to why he’s broken up with his girlfriend and that’s a conversation he’s not keen to have. He doesn’t like lying especially to Eddie and any explanation as to why he did what he did is going to reveal more than he’d like.

He can practically hear Eddie thinking, his mouth opens and he just knows the next sentence is going to start with why so Buck jumps in.

“Did you know the Ancient Greeks thought there were 7 types of love.”

Eddie’s expression changes instantly and settles into something softer as he says “No Buck I didn’t, but I guess I’m about to find out huh?” He thinks Eddie looks quite happy about it. No one else looks at him like that when he’s infodumping. It makes him feel warm all over.

“Well” Buck twists towards Eddie and leans in without thinking.

There’s philia that’s family love so like how I feel  for Maddie and Chim. Bobby and Athena too really and Hen. That’s for the people you love and trust cos you know they’ll always be there for you.

Eddie nods.

“All of  us have kinda got agape; that’s universal love for others, it’s why we do what we do, help people.”

And like Hen and Karen they’ve been together for years so they’ve got pragma that’s long lasting love, it’s just there warm and steady. But they’ve got eros too, that’s you know,  desire and stuff.”

Eddie chuckles “I guess Bobby and Athena have that if the firefighter role play is  anything to go by.”

“Eww I just told you they’re like my parents, why would you do that to me. It was bad enough first time round.” He shakes himself to clear the image and Eddie laughs.

“What else? That’s only five.”

He carries on “Well there’s ludus” he’s hoping to skim over the last two “that’s about sex without commitment, just for fun.” He doesn’t say that’s what he had with Taylor and that was why he’d ended it. He doesn’t say he wants something different from life now and that he’d thought he could find it with her but he'd been wrong.

Eddie purses his lips and nods “ok” that seems to be it, Eddie seems happy to move on from that one too.

“And there’s the love parents feel for their kids that’s called storge.”

“So what I feel for Chris and what Bobby feels for you?”

He can feel his cheeks heating “You and Chris yeah, for sure”  he looks over at Bobby, it’d be nice if Bobby felt like that. His thoughts must be written all over his face or maybe Eddie’s just good at reading him.

“I think he does” Eddie says gently, Buck shrugs the colour high in his cheeks.

“What about you and Chris?” Eddie asks. Buck hesitates, cheeks getting pinker by the second. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to answer that. Which answer Eddie wants. He risks a look at him, he looks the same, smiling fondly. He waits and when Buck doesn’t answer he says “You're allowed to feel it you know, say it, if you want to.”

“Am I?” All his doubts are on show.

And the rest is on ao3 🩷

Tagging for FIF if anyone wants to share anything at all!

@hoodie-buck @monsterrae1 @shortsighted-owl @bi-buckrights @fiona-fififi

@rogerzsteven @bekkachaos @thekristen999 @ronordmann @hippolotamus

@stagefoureddiediaz @spaceprincessem @underwaterninja13 @wildlife4life @exhuastedpigeon

@weewootruck @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @elvensorceress @jesuisici33

@daffi-990 @diazsdimples @steadfastsaturnsrings @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @actualalligator

@rainbow-nerdss @shipperqueen6

[stevieharringtonwifeguy]

5 times Steph and Eddie refer to each other as husband and wife +1 time they make it official

Part 1 (also on ao3 here)

...............................................

Stevie probably should have shut this all down weeks ago.

The kids have been calling her mom since before she even came out to them, so she’s admittedly kind of given up on stopping that one. The problem is now they’ve gotten Eddie in on it.

Well, Eddie’s not calling her mom. If he started doing that, she thinks she’d no longer be fit for public. She’d have to crawl in a hole and never come out, like how old cats sometimes wander away to die alone, except she’d be dying not of old age but of the mortification of an unrequited crush. So luckily, that isn’t happening.

But now, as she arrives at the Wheelers’ house to pick up the kids after a D&D session, she’s forced to confront the fact that Eddie calling her mom is not apparently the worst thing that could come of this whole thing.

It starts when she’s getting on Dustin’s case about leaving his shit all over the basement. These kids treat every space they’re in like they own it, but Stevie is very aware how hard Karen had to work to convince Ted to let Eddie host Hellfire here, and she’s not about to let that hard work go to waste just because the kids left the basement a bomb site.

Dustin rolls his eyes at her nagging, lets out a long-suffering sigh and a “Yes, mom,” and Stevie has barely finished giving him an obligatory sisterly noogie before things get out of hand.

“If Stevie’s our mom, does that make Eddie our dad?” Lucas says, casually, completely unaware that putting ‘Eddie’ and ‘dad’ in the same sentence has just completely broken Stevie’s brain.

Eddie, though. Eddie smells blood in the water. He’s got that look on his face, that one Stevie usually loves, the one he always gets right before he commits to a bit with overdramatic vigour.

Sure enough, Eddie immediately prostrates himself over the couch, hand to his forehead, looking the picture of a lovelorn idiot. “Stevie,” he says, sounding genuinely heartbroken. “It’s just been so hard, raising our kids alone since the divorce.”

Stevie scoffs. “You’re raising our kids? You get them for a few hours once a week, pretty sure I’m the one shuttling their ungrateful asses to and from school every day.”

“Ungrateful?” Dustin splutters, as if he doesn’t show up at Stevie’s door at entirely random times of the day and demands she drive him to whatever nerd shit he’s got going on next.

“You’re right, that’s unfair,” she says, and then before anyone can get a word in: “You’re lovely, Will, always so polite. But the rest of you little shits. Ungrateful.”

Will smiles serenely as his friends immediately erupt into complaints, and Eddie ignores them all to prostrate himself at Stevie’s feet.

“I know I haven’t been around often, but baby, won’t you give me another chance?”

Stevie thinks she’d probably give Eddie anything he asked for, as long as he’s asking on his knees before her. It’s definitely a good look for him, and it’s only the clamour of the kids around her that keeps her face from going bright red.

She’s gotta play it cool here. Roll with the ridiculousness, always the best way to deal with Eddie, to keep him grinning at her like that, his whole face lit up like sunshine.

“Well…” she says, pretending to think it over, like she wouldn’t marry him in a heartbeat if he asked for real. That would be a bit much, given they’ve only known each other for a year and some change. “I suppose… although I’m not seeing a ring.”

Eddie grins like she’s fallen into some trap, and immediately slides the ring off his right hand- her favourite one with the big round stone in the middle that she likes to play with sometimes when they’re smoking together- and holds it up to her, a challenge in his eyes. Well. Only way out is through. She holds out her hand for him, the left one, and he slides the ring gently onto her ring finger. It fits perfectly.

“There you go,” he says, softly. His eyes are so warm, like pools of melted chocolate, and Stevie feels like she might drown in them. Her whole world has narrowed to the man on his knees before her- she’s distantly aware of the kids around them losing their minds (she’s pretty sure Mike is gagging, but that’s so far from her mind right now it might as well be happening on a different planet).

Eddie smiles up at her. “There’s my wife.”

“Your wife,” she whispers, unbearably fond. Stevie wants to hear him call her that for the rest of her life.

This really isn’t helping with her crush.

Sound filters in slowly, the world around them coming back in with the hushed whispers of the kids. Honestly, they’re quieter than she thought they’d be after this display, although the way Mike is rubbing his ribs suggests that this peace was hard won. They round the kids up pretty easily after that, with surprisingly little complaining as Stevie harangues them into cleaning up their shit. Eddie helps, occasionally glancing up at Stevie and looking quickly away with a fierce blush.

Later, after Stevie’s dropped off most of the kids and it’s only her and Will left in the car, riding home in silence as Stevie fiddles with the ring still on her finger, she tries not to read too much into everything that just happened. Will isn’t helping.

“So,” he says, in that sly, quiet way of his. “How long have you and Eddie been together?”

Stevie splutters. “That’s not- we’re not together. That was just- you know how Eddie is, he’s… theatrical.”

Will hums noncommittally. “He is. I don’t think that’s what that was, though. You like him, right?”

If this was any of the kids other than Will, Stevie thinks she’d deny it. God knows Dustin couldn’t be trusted with that information. But Will, quiet, sensitive Will- she thinks he’d get it.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I really do. But it’s not- he doesn’t like me like that.”

She pulls up to the Byers’ house and parks the car in the drive. They both sit for a moment, basking in the silence. After a moment, Will suddenly leans over the gearshift, wrapping Stevie up in a weird, slightly uncomfortable hug. It feels nice.

“For what it’s worth,” he says as he pulls back and opens his door, “he looked really happy when he called you his wife. Even Eddie’s not that good of an actor.”

With that, he gently closes the car door behind him. Stevie watches as he runs up to his front door, and waves when Joyce comes out to greet him.

She drives most of the way home on autopilot, fiddling with the ring on her finger and thinking of Eddie’s face as he’d placed it on her hand. His gentle smile, his warm, chocolate eyes, full of something like love. His fingers had been rough with callouses as they’d brushed against hers, but still soft in a way that had nothing to do with his skin.

Maybe, she thinks, as she enters her quiet mausoleum of a house. Just maybe.

She goes to sleep that night, alone in her bed, with her last sight before unconsciousness being that of a gleaming ring on her left finger, and dreams of a husband who loves her.

[farfromstrange]

heyyy can you do Matt Murdock Smut where him and brat!reader are in a heated argument and the reader is short and small, is feisty and takes no shit.

During the argument he says

“watch who the fuck you’re speaking to, I am not one these idiots who take shit from you”

and the reader is like

“I’m not watching it, no prescription with it, even blind at this point…. what are you going to do about it?”

Matt responds

“im going to put you in your place”.

The reader responds

“you can put me in my place, might a fact since you think you’re supposed to scare me and intimidate somebody I have a solution for that”

So the reader drags a chair to hover over him. Both a face to face banter and Matt laughs at her.

During this smut he is teasing the reader saying

“why did you go quiet? Aint so talkative now hotshot?”

Matt degrades her and calls her little girl and is pounding into her until she admits she will stop being a brat and obey Matt.

Please and Thank You!

Hi! Thank you so much for your request (and I am terribly sorry for the long wait). I started this a few days ago but I couldn't find a proper end. I adapted pieces of the dialogue so they would fit, but I used what you told me to, so I hope you like it!

Feisty | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You and Matt get into an argument and he decides it's time to put you in your place again and remind you who you belong to.

Warning: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, PWP, established relationship, Dom!Matt, Brat!Reader, cussing, strong language, teasing, degrading, praise kink, vaginal fingering, mentions of oral (f!receiving), rough sex, unprotected p in v, hair pulling, choking, slight breeding kink (?), marking kink, use of "good girl", semi-public sex (office sex), orgasm denial, fluff in the end

Word Count: 3.2k

A/n: This is some filthy shit. The other requests are coming, by the way. I'm just trying to find ways to continue them. My inbox is still open for your thoughts and requests, but keep in mind that it might take some time for me to finish them. I also always have an open ear for anything else you guys feel like sharing. Enjoy! (and thank you for the request, lovely!)

18+ under the cut!

Sometimes, Matt makes you livid. Like, beyond compare, makes-you-clench-your-fists-and-want-to-punch-a-wall livid. He can be the sweetest and most caring partner, but there often comes a time when you want to scratch his eyes out. Today is one of those days. 

You’re not sure what prompted this argument you find yourself in, but it was bound to escalate from the second you muttered a silent, “Fuck you!” Under your breath. 

Foggy and Karen are out, it’s late and you are both way too overworked. You thought you could get away with hiding your investigation into one of his high-profile cases from him after he explicitly told you to stay away from it, but after watching Karen, you got motivated and it wasn’t until the clock struck twelve today that he opened his files to evidence he surely hasn’t put there and he realized what you were up to. Needless to say that his worry has made him angry. He doesn’t understand how you can be so reckless and won’t take a simple ‘no’ for an answer, and it frustrates him to no end that you refuse to have a proper conversation about the danger you put yourself in and the position he now finds himself in. You’ve made your case pretty straightforward, but you refuse to listen, and that’s what drives him up the walls. 

So when you tell him, “Fuck you!” Under your breath, all self-control and tendency to try and be kind snaps in him. 

“Watch who the fuck you’re speaking to,” Matt says. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the amount of pressure he puts behind delivering his words suffices just enough to get his point across, “I am not one of those idiots who take shit from you!”

Other couples fight too, there is no denying that, but there is something that happens almost every time you and Matt get in such a situation. Your words turn into ticking time bombs, and you are quick to explode. He thinks he’s in control, you refuse to bow down, and then the situation escalates to the point you wonder if the neighbors think you two are anything but healthy. And maybe your fights aren’t healthy, but you love each other and you always find common ground. Eventually. 

But not right now. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of doing what he says or admitting whatever mistake he thinks you made. You were just being yourself, really. 

“Watch it?” you repeat, the words rolling off of your tongue like sour candy. “I’m not watching it. In fact, I’m going to act blind just like you and not even remotely watch it.  What are you gonna do about it?”

He chuckles darkly. “I’m serious, you better watch it sweetheart or I’m gonna put you in your place,” he says. There is something about his silent anger that sends shivers down your spine. 

You’re not scared of him; Matt would never hurt you. The exact opposite of fear happens whenever he talks to you that way, and you want to know how far you can push it because this argument is silly and he’s going to realize that soon enough. But you are not one to back down without a fight, and if you want to get what you so desperately crave, he needs to fold first. But God, he is so hot, and he looks even more alluring with his sleeves rolled up and his cheeks flushed like that. 

He towers over you as if he owns you. You’re a good few inches shorter than him, but that has never stopped you before. He likes to make fun of it, you like to make him regret it. You complete each other and yet you tear each other apart just the same. 

You mimic his stance with your hands on your hips and your head slightly tilted and you know it drives him mad. “You can put me in my place. In fact, since you think you’re supposed to scare me, I have a solution to make it easier for you,” you say. Your voice still sounds like sour candy, but he can’t stomach it. He’s almost allergic to it. All he wants is to stuff your smart mouth with his tie, tie you up and fuck you until you can’t walk straight anymore. Perhaps then you will realize that you can’t do everything without facing the consequences. 

Your vision is red like the towel held before a bull in the ring. Reaching for his office at the dinner table, you drag it out and place it before him. You climb on it, making sure you are face-to-face now and you cross your arms. “There, done,” you say. 

Matt takes a moment to register what you’ve done, and you think you’ve finally won, but then he opens his mouth and laughs right at you. That bastard. 

“Don’t laugh at me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not seriously telling me what to do, are you, sweetheart?” 

“Maybe I am. It’s not my fault you’re being such a dick.”

Bad idea. 

Suddenly, his arms are around your waist. He picks you off the chair and throws you over his shoulder. It’s almost effortlessly how he carries you over to his desk and throws you on it, the wooden legs shaking under the weight. 

“I’m being a dick?” he growls, leaning over you and trapping you against the desk with his arms on either side of you. “I think you need a reality check.”

You try to wriggle out of his grasp as you snap back, “What are you gonna do, hm?”

He smirks. “What am I gonna do with you? You’re being a brat, don’t you think that’s gonna have consequences?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“No. Fuck you!” He swiftly pulls you off the desk and spins you around, arching your back far enough to press your chest flat to the wooden surface. “And I mean that quite literally,” he says. 

You gasp when he grabs the hem of your skirt and roughly bunches it up around your waist. The comeback you had planned out gets stuck in your throat when his hand collides with your bare ass cheek. He gives them both a firm squeeze and his grip is almost territorial, as is the growl that comes straight from his soul into your ear.  

“Why did you go quiet? Ain’t so talkative now, hotshot?” he says. 

He doesn’t waste time. Don’t get me wrong, Matt Murdock could spend centuries between your thighs and it would keep him alive long enough to draw orgasm after orgasm out of you as he devours your sweet little cunt like his last meal over and over again. He could stuff you with his fingers all day and then leave you empty just to be craving more. He could rub your clit as hard as possible, then go slow and gentle until your body quivers with the magnitude of an earth-shattering orgasm that has you screaming his name in ecstasy and makes his neighbors complain. He could do it and he loves to do it, but today, he is anything but a patient man. 

Your panties are soon a mess of ripped fabric on the floor of his office. The wetness seeping out of your pussy hits the cold air and you hiss, but all you get in return is a low chuckle. “What’s wrong?” Matt coos into your ear. “Did my pretty little slut forget how to speak?”

There are many buttons he can push to make you obey, even though you don’t often seem like it, but the way he talks to you is by far the easiest to shut you up. 

He slides his middle finger through your slick folds, gathering the wetness and spreading it over your clit. You jolt. He’s being rough already, and when he shoves his finger inside of you, you moan. He curls it up and hits your G-spot without a single struggle, but that’s all he does. He tells you without words that he knows what you want, but he won’t give it to you. Instead, you hear his belt buckle hit the floor, and then it's the tip of his cock that is rubbing through your arousal. 

Your walls clench around thin air. Your cunt barely lets him in, but he pushes inside of you anyway. The pain mixes with pleasure, your legs squeezed so tightly together, you can feel him bulge your stomach from where your torso is pressed against his desk. All air leaves your lungs. Left behind is a gurgled scream that makes him smirk into your shoulder blades as he licks a long stripe over the back of your shirt. 

You reach back to touch him, but he slaps your hand away. “Only good girls get to touch,” he says, “and you haven’t been a very good girl, have you?”

“No,” you sob. His cock is so deep inside of you now, brushing your cervix with every relentless stroke and you hate it. You hate him for pulling this card because he knows you can’t resist. 

Tears are streaming down your face. 

“Pathetic. Always talking back at me but when it’s my cock inside of you, you suddenly can’t speak.” Matt grabs a fistful of your hair at the same time he slaps your ass. “I shouldn’t even be fucking you right now because quite frankly, you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve my cock and you certainly don’t deserve to come, not like this.”

You clench around him as if to keep him so deep inside of you. “Please, don’t stop. I’m sorry!” your voice echoes through the office in a desperate cry. Your fists are locked up, trying hard not to touch him, but it’s torture. You want nothing more than to put your hands on him, maybe even push him away because God, he is so deep, you’re not sure you’re going to survive. 

Every inch of your body yearns for him. He hits all of the right spots over and over again, and he drives you higher up the precipice, ready to push you over, but you know he won’t let you. It’s the way he purposely avoids touching your clit that tells you that you have to work for that orgasm, but it’s almost impossible when you can’t speak. Every word turns into a moan when he hits the sweet spot inside of you, your eyes roll back and you let out a broken scream of his name. Surely, Foggy and Karen could hear you from home. 

He slaps your ass again, relishing the feeling of the flesh jiggling at the impact. Your skin is hot and sweaty, and there is a clear imprint of his fingers on your hips and your rear now, too. He feels your erratic heartbeat and tastes your arousal in the air. Your muscles clench wildly, and you try your best not to move. You’re moaning, you’re so loud, but no words are coming out of your mouth. It’s just you and him and his cock that manages to make you feel things no man has ever made you feel before. You’re in heaven but at the same time the bus to hell is about to leave, and he is not yet done punishing you. 

Matt grabs a hold of your throat and hauls you back into his chest. “What was that?” he asks, his voice now a desperate puff of air too. 

“I’m s- ugh!” You can’t help yourself; you reach for his hip as he delivers another hard thrust directly against your cervix. 

He slaps your hand away again. “Answer me!” 

“I’m sorry!” Instead, you place your hands on your chest. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- to- fucking hell!”

His grip tightens around your jugular. “Thin ice, sweetheart,” he barks. 

“Please, Matty, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to! I thought I was… I was doing the right thing and I- ah!”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry!”

“Uh-huh, what else? Come on, this isn’t an apology when I can tell your tight little cunt is just desperate to come all over my cock. That’s the only reason you’re apologizing and I am fed up with your fucking attitude.”

He wouldn’t let you come that easily, it becomes crystal clear to you.

Matt pulls out of you entirely, cupping your cunt with his large hand, and starts rubbing your clit. It’s a pace you have gotten used to, but the strength he puts behind the pressure he applies once again renders you speechless. 

He smirks, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Oh, you’re so wet for me. You’re dripping. I could smell you even from the other end of the city. You’re so desperate, it’s pathetic. You need to come so badly, don’t you? You love when I talk to you like the dirty little whore you are, hm?”

“F-” You bite your lip until you can taste copper on your tongue. “Matthew!” He delivers a hard blow to your clit and you jolt, every fiber of your being high with electricity.

The pain only adds to the arousal that is flooding out of you, or it feels that way because he simply won’t stop, even when you beg him to. You could utter your safeword, but as much as it hurts, his punishment feels so damn good, your body just wants to let go and come. He just has to let you come, and you hate him that he is playing games that make it even harder for you not to.

“That’s not an answer,” he says. 

“Yes,” you choke out, “I love it!”

“I can feel how close you are, baby. You’re squeezing me so tightly.”

“Please, just- I’ll do anything, just let me come!” He has you right where he wants you. 

“Is that so?” He makes you feel so stupid, but you love it. 

“Yes!”

“Then tell me what I want to hear and maybe I’ll put my cock back inside of you. If you don’t, well… I’ll make better use of that big mouth of yours since you love to tell me how much bigger you can be, see if you can swallow as much as you like to chew, but I doubt it.”

Matt’s the cruelest when he stops right before you can tumble over the edge. You grip the desk, your chest heaving with abandon as the orgasm dissipates. He turns you around and grabs your chin roughly between his fingers. “Talk,” he demands. 

You swallow, his brown eyes wild, but you could never be scared of him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and then, hoping you’re right with your assumptions, “I’ll stop being a brat and do as I’m told,” you say. “You were right, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, just please! Please…”

The faintest hint of a smile shows on his face and finally, he leans down to kiss you. It’s a heated kiss, his tongue already halfway down your throat, but you take that as an invitation to touch him. 

Your ass hits the desk’s surface and he spreads your legs again. This time, he slides in a little slower, sensing the soreness of your muscles. Though as soon as his cock is sheathed deep within you, his hips start snapping in the same relentless rhythm from before again. 

You cling to him and the desk, pulling at his hair and just hoping he will have mercy on you this time. As his pelvis grinds against your clit, his tip brushing your G-spot followed by the relentless assault of your cervix, it doesn’t take long for you to fly to the top of the cliff, ready to fall off. 

He kisses you again. “Good girl,” Matt murmurs. 

The praise makes you clench. 

“Such a good little slut.”

He knows exactly how to use his words, the fine line between degradation and praise that blurs into pleasure. He doesn’t hurt you with malicious intent, he hurts you just right where pain and pleasure meet, and he does it because he loves you. He may not always seem like it, especially while you’re fucking, but this is what you both crave, this is what you both need, and he does it perfectly every single time. You can’t get enough of him, he is everywhere, and you couldn’t bare to lose him. 

This time, it is you who kisses him. He can feel the vulnerability in your touch, how your nails no longer dig into his skin but rather caress him. You’re close, clenching, and your moans seem so close to his ear, his cock starts to twitch. He can feel the pressure building alongside yours. 

He changes the angle of his thrusts a little, grabbing your thigh and pushing it up against his chest. “Tell me,” he pants, “Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, “You.”

“That’s right. And whose pussy is this?”

“Yours!”

“Yeah. You have such a fucking big mouth, it’s infuriating. But it’s my mouth. Everything about you is mine, do you understand? No one else gets to have you like this, touch you like this, or see you like this. You get that?”

“Yes!” you cry out as you throw your head back, and his hand is right back at your throat. 

Matt grunts. “Good girl. That’s a good-” he thrusts forward hard, “fucking-” he pulls out and thrusts back in, bottoming out fully, before repeating the same motion as he finishes with a loud, “girl. Now fucking come for me!”

Your body responds to his command before your brain can even register it. The orgasm crashes into you like the wave of a tsunami. Your thighs lock around his hips, you’re shaking, you’re falling, and your moan turns into a scream that is barely muffled by the hand that is still choking you, still holding on as the warmth of his cum fills your abused cunt.

He crashes your lips together, swallowing your noises. With every anguish thrust, he makes sure his cum stays seated deep within you, a reminder that you are no one’s but his, and he’s the only one who gets to mark you like that. Always. 

You wouldn’t want it any other way. 

The moment after is silent. Only your labored breathing fills the air. Matt buries his head in your neck and he holds you there. The roughness from before it’s gone. He is gentle now, seeking your comfort and maybe something else he can’t describe. You melt into his touch. He holds you close and you do the same for him, stroking your hand through his hair. You’re both breathless but you’re calm, and all the stress from before falls off of your shoulders. 

“You okay?” you ask once you find your words again. 

He nods, silently at first, but then he slowly lifts his head. “Did I hurt you?” he asks. 

You’re quick to wipe the guilt off his face. “I’m perfect.”

“Okay, good.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I was worried there for a second.”

“You could never hurt me.”

“That’s not entirely true”

“Matthew-”

“I could tell you you’re hot when you’re feisty, but that you’re wrong about 98% of the time.”

You feign a gasp. “Ouch!” you press a hand to your chest. “That was harsh.”

“See?” he smirks, and it tells you that he has found back to himself rather quickly. “Told you,” he says. 

With a chuckle, you pull him down to press a kiss to his swollen lips. “I love you,” you say. 

And Matt is quick to return the sentiment with an even gentler kiss, “I love you too.”

You know that the next time you two fight, you will act the same, you won’t shut your mouth and he will once again find himself agitated enough to fuck you against every surface he can find, but if he knows one thing it’s that he wouldn’t have it any other way, and he loves how feisty you are regardless of what you say or do. He’s head over heels in love with you, and you are a real keeper. 

At least with you, he will never have a dull moment again in his life. That counts for more than you could possibly know. And as he’s holding you close, his cock still buried deep inside of you, he thanks God for putting you on his path. 

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞 (& i love your new icon!)

Thank you! Spooky Bobby my beloved!

81 for 🪞:

---

“That’s a good call,” Eddie nods.

“So, thanks for not brushing it off,” Buck says. 

“Why would I brush it off?” Eddie asks. “I do love her. She’s a sweetheart and she makes you so happy.”

Buck’s chest does that little fluttery thing it’s been doing more and more around Eddie lately. Like his body wants something his brain knows he can’t have. 

“Thank you,” he says, ignoring it.

Eddie nods. “Of course. Now, should we get set up?”

“Pumpkins and a fuck ton of newspaper are already on the table.”

▪️▪️▪️

Like a lot of days lately, it ends up being another one that feels close to perfect. 

Dove finds the gutting process of the pumpkin more thrilling than the actual carving, which is probably good, because only Eddie’s ends up looking very good. Buck is not a natural at this. They roast the seeds, and make them into a snack, which Buck is much more useful at. It’s all good fun, filled with laughter and once again, more photos than Buck realizes he’s taking. 

If the fourth chair at Buck’s kitchen table keeps glaring at him, he tries not to think too hard about it.

It’s the one thing in life that he really can’t do anything about. 

iv.

Bobby returning to the 118 only makes everything that much better for Buck. To be fair, he’d gotten the biggest break away from Gerrard by taking parental leave. So his suffering was interrupted, unlike everyone else. Especially Chim, who became Gerrard’s replacement go-to guy to scrub the crapper in Buck’s absence. 

But now Bobby is back and Gerrard is gone. Mara is back home with Hen and Karen. The morale at the 118 is significantly improved. Work is fun again. Just another part of his life that is settling into a sense of rightness. 

One morning, towards the end of a twenty-four hour shift, Carla brings Dove by the station. The same way she used to do with Christopher. Except, Chris never arrived red-faced and teary-eyed. Dove, in contrast, shows up completely miserable.

“Someone had a bit of a rough night,” Carla says when Buck meets them in the engine bay. “I think she needs her daddy.”

Buck has to stifle a visible reaction to the use of that word. He swallows back a thick, nervous sort of emotion, and crouches in front of Dove.

“What’s wrong, Dove?” He asks.

She doesn’t answer. Just reaches out her arms for him with a pretty devastating pout. He doesn’t think she’s really done anything like this, outside of that night of the fire, or when she was sick with the stomach flu. So something is wrong. 

Buck pulls her into his arms and lifts. As he hoists her up, straightening his body out to stand again, she tucks her head in between his collarbone and chin. Like she’s using him as a place to hide. Again, not really the way they usually hug.

“It’s all okay,” he tries to reassure her. Then he looks at Carla. “What happened?”

“Nightmares,” Carla explains. “A few over the course of the night. She’s tired.”

“Oh, sweetie,” he says. “I’m sorry. Nightmares are the worst.”

“I want you to come home,” she whines into his neck. 

Eesh. Well, he supposes there’s not long left in the shift. But he also isn’t sure if this is a great precedent to set. He doesn’t know the right thing to do. 

“Dove, honey,” Carla says. “He’ll come home soon. You get to see him now.”

Buck turns slightly to see Bobby watching them from the top of the mezzanine. He shoots him a questioning sort of look. A desperate sort of look. Bobby seems to understand. He gives Buck a sympathetic smile and nod. Buck exhales, relieved.

“Okay, Dove,” Buck says. “I can’t come home right now, but I do have another idea.”

“What is it?” She asks. 

“This is a really special idea,” he says. “Something that can only happen when it’s really important, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles. 

“I think if we ask my captain really nicely,” Buck says. “He’ll let you hang out here for the rest of my shift.”

“Really?” She asks. 

[livesincerely]

this pounding in my heart just won’t die - ch. 2

Rated E, A/B/O.

Also on Ao3. Chapter 1 here

00000

‘Taking him home,’ actually translates to ‘taking him to Eddie’s house,’ which is the exact kind of thing—has the exact kind of implications—that Buck normally doesn’t let himself think about for too long.

But now? Now, riding in the back of the ambulance, flushed and sweaty and painfully empty, his teeth clenched against the overwhelming heat sizzling just under his skin?

Now, when Eddie’s holding him close, a hand curled protectively around his hip as he murmurs assurances against his hair, his head tucked against Eddie’s shoulder and his lips pressed to his pulse? When Eddie says he wants him?

It’s hard not to read too much into things, is all he’s saying.

It’s hard not to hope.

But after an agonizingly long journey, they finally roll to a stop.

“Buck,” Eddie prompts when neither of them move. “You still with me?”

“Yeah,” Buck manages, rising on shaky legs. “‘M with you.”

Before he can take a single step, Eddie’s there, steadying him with an arm around his waist. He helps him climb out of the ambulance, then, together, they hobble up the drive.

“Hen and Karen are gonna take Christopher for the next few days,” Eddie tells him, leading him into the kitchen. “Let me pack up some clothes and stuff for him real quick and then we can get you settled.”

“Need a hand?” Buck offers, all but collapsing against the far wall—he’s pretty sure if he sits down, he won’t be able to get back up.

Eddie just looks at him: a familiar mix of fond and exasperated.

“Do I need a hand from the guy who can’t even stand up on his own?” Eddie wonders, in the driest voice imaginable. “Somehow, I think I’ll manage.”

“Smartass,” Buck pouts. “I was just asking.”

“And I’m just telling you, I’ve got it,” Eddie replies. “Pull up a chair before you pass out, idiot.”

“I’m fine.”

The Look only intensifies.

“I’m fine enough,” Buck concedes. “You know, I think there’s still a load of laundry in the dryer, I could just—“

“Or, maybe,” Eddie cuts in firmly, flattening his palm over Buck’s sternum to hold him in place. Buck’s heartbeat kicks into double time. “You could stay here and let me handle it. I know the concept of ‘self-preservation and taking it easy’ goes against the very nature of your being—“

“Hey!”

“—but I’d really love for us to get through this relatively unscathed. You’re already feverish,” Eddie continues, reaching up to brush the back of his hand over Buck’s clammy forehead. “And your scent is just…”

“Is just…?” Buck murmurs hoarsely.

Eddie takes another step forward, caging him against the wall with an arm on either side of his waist. His eyes trail over him, lingering on Buck’s mouth for a long moment before dropping lower, his nostrils flaring.

“Smell like you’re aching for it,” Eddie says, and there’s a rasp to his voice that sends a thrill of heat sparking up his spine.

And what is Buck supposed to do except want him?

His throat works, his mouth painfully dry. “Eddie.”

Their eyes meet again, the scant space between them buzzing like an electric charge.

They breathe together for one second, two seconds. Then Eddie threads a hand through Buck’s hair and tips his head to the side, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat.

Buck just barely manages to choke back a whine. His hands clench and flex uselessly at his sides, then somehow find their way to Eddie’s hips: a wordless plea, urging him on, begging for his touch.

There’s a hot puff of air against his collarbone, the whispering touch of Eddie dragging his nose down his throat, tugging the neck of his shirt aside for better access. Then he’s mouthing at his scent gland, nipping and teasing at it until Buck can almost taste the mark he’s leaving there, the claim he’s bruising into his skin.

“Eddie,” Buck gasps.

“I know,” Eddie growls, and god, the scent that’s rolling off of him is absolutely insane—rich and smoky and fucking delicious, sweetened by the sizzling edge of arousal.

Buck tugs him closer. “I want—“

“I know.”

Eddie pulls back a hairsbreadth; his chest is heaving, his pupils surrounded by a thin ring of lovely ruby red. Buck feels his own eyes flash gold in response, his hindbrain purring yes, alpha, please, mine, please.

“I—“ Eddie’s eyes drop back to his mouth. Then he tears himself away, staggering back until he’s put several feet of space between their bodies. Buck misses his warmth like a lost fucking limb. “I gotta— Chris. A bag for Chris.”

Buck forces himself to stay flat against the wall; it honestly might be easier to hold back the tide.

“Chris,” he agrees, because Chris. “But… hurry?”

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Eddie promises. “Just hold on for me, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Everything’s gone all hazy and distorted, broad strokes that all run and melt together like a watercolor. He feels a little floaty, feels a little drunk, almost—drunk on the sound of Eddie’s voice in his ear, of his scent in his nose and his mark on his throat—and the heat bubbling inside of him settles reluctantly into a low simmer.

From somewhere far away, Eddie’s voice repeats, “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” he sighs.

———

Buck drifts—for seconds or minutes or maybe for hours—tethered to his body but existing somewhere outside of it, when something nudges at the edge of his consciousness.

“—ck? Buck. Buck. Evan.”

Buck blinks, then blinks again, and the world comes back into sharp, angular focus.

“Oh. Hi,” he murmurs, slurring his words just a little. “All done?”

“All done,” Eddie confirms, because Eddie’s standing in front of him again, one hand curled around his shoulder, solid and grounding. “You still hanging on for me? I thought I lost you for a second.”

He frowns, searching his face like he’s surprised to find Buck right where he left him, then continues, “You didn’t have to— You could’ve at least sat down.”

“It’s— You told me to wait for you,” Buck explains, a little helplessly. “You told me to stay.”

Eddie inhales sharply.

“Jesus, Buck,” he rumbles. His hand tightens around Buck’s shoulder, his eyes deep and dark, and that decadent smell of rich-cocoa-spice teases at his nose once again. “I’m gonna have my hands full with you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, probably,” Buck admits, lowering his gaze. “So, uh, sorry in advance, I guess—“

“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie says, almost an order. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“It’s my heat,” Buck explains, or tries to. His head is starting to swim again, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “It makes me all…”

Eddie’s hand slides up his neck to cup around his jaw, his thumb sweeping over his cheek. Buck can’t help but nuzzle into the touch, lashes fluttering.

“Dropped you like a sack of bricks, huh, querido?” Eddie says in that same, rumbling voice.

Buck feels himself flush, honey-thick desire seeping through his veins. Instead of searching for any more words, he just nods.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Hey, look at me.”

Buck’s eyes dart up immediately.

“Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with this.”

Buck doesn’t know what to do with the praise, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He shifts on his feet, then stammers, “It’s— I mean, it’s you, Eds. I’d trust you with anything.”

Eddie’s eyes shade even darker.

“We should—“ Eddie stops, waits a beat, lets out a slow, deliberate breath. “Let’s move this to the living room, yeah? We should probably talk before we go any further.”

Buck’s stomach lurches like he’s missed a step coming down the stairs, anxiety and anticipation twisting him up inside. He manages an attempt at a jerky nod and Eddie’s hand curls around his wrist, coaxing him away from the wall and out of the kitchen.

He settles gingerly into one corner of the couch, fingers digging into his thighs. Eddie settles next to him—close, but not nearly close enough, but also way too close, actually, the phantom heat of his body just enough to tease at him—and the weight of his gaze is like a physical thing, unrelenting and inescapable.

He bites his lip, trying desperately not to squirm.

“Buck,” Eddie says after several long moments of silence, and he shouldn’t be allowed to sound like that, all whiskey smooth with just a hint of growl. “Sweetheart, come here.”

Buck’s on him in an instant, tucking himself under Eddie’s arm and curling as close as he can.

“Sorry,” he manages, sucking in these huge, gasping lungfuls of Eddie’s scent. “I know we need to have an actual conversation, but I genuinely cannot think about anything except how much I need you to be touching me.”

“No reason we can’t do both,” Eddie says, shifting them around until they’re reclined back against the cushions, their legs tangled together. “It’s not exactly a hardship to get my hands on you, Buckley.”

“Eddie,” Buck whines, thin and needy, tucking his face against his throat. “You can’t just— I’m holding on by a thread here, man.”

“We’ll make this quick, then,” Eddie determines, tugging him closer. “Just tell me how I can make this good for you. Whatever you want, whatever you need from me, it’s yours.”

“That’s a dangerous offer to make,” Buck points out, keeping his voice light. “You sure you know what you’re getting into? I might ask for too much.”

“Not sure there’s any such thing,” Eddie says easily.

Buck thwaps him lightly across the chest. “I’m being serious.”

“Who says I’m not?”

“Eddie.”

“Evan.”

And god, the way his tongue curls around his name has his heart skipping several beats in his chest.

He’s still searching for something—anything—to say in response when Eddie’s hand slides up to cup around the nape of his neck, urging him back just enough so that they can look at each other.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, and he’s so stupidly, painfully handsome that it makes his whole body throb. “It’s just me. It’s just us. All you have to do is let me take care of you.”

“But—“

“Tell me,” he commands gently, “what you want.”

“You,” Buck chokes out. “Just you, Eds. Whatever you’ll give me.”

“And what if I want to give you everything?” Eddie asks. “What if I want to be the one that gets to hold you, that gets to fall asleep next to you every night and wake up with you every morning? What if I want to lay you out and work you open until you’re trembling on my fingers, gasping for it, begging me to fuck you? What if I want to keep you?” Eddie pauses then, like he isn’t cradling Buck’s still-beating heart in his hands. Slowly, he finishes, “What if I want to love you?”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, an impossible hope blooming in his chest.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” Eddie asks, steady as ever, holding his gaze.

“You— You’re serious?” Buck asks. “You really…?”

He doesn’t get any further than that, but Eddie just smiles at him like he makes perfect sense, his expression wondrously soft.

“I really,” he confirms. “More than anything.”

“Please,” Buck whispers. He can’t say it any louder—he feels like he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces if he tries. “Eddie, please.”

Eddie’s eyes fall to his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, so perfectly goddamn considerate, and Buck can’t take it anymore.

He lurches forward and slots their mouths together in a frantic kiss.

And Jesus fucking Christ.

Because Eddie doesn’t just kiss him back. No, Eddie captures his mouth like he owns it—like he’d staked his claim a long while back and is only just now collecting his due. And Buck’s more than happy to let him, leaning into every touch, reveling in the feeling of fingers in his hair and nails scratching at his scalp, aching to be plundered and conquered.

Eddie nips at his lip, then fucks into his mouth with his tongue, teasing at his soft palate until Buck is making these needy little whimpers, his hips twitching helplessly. The arousal buzzing under his skin is stoking itself into a roaring inferno, refusing to be suppressed any longer.

As if sensing the change—the sudden, runaway train inevitability of his heat—Eddie’s hands slip up under the back of his shirt, caressing his overheated skin, then splaying wide and possessive over the small of his back. Buck moans against his mouth, every nerve ending alight with sensation, and the noise he makes when Eddie ducks his head to suck a bruise into the space under his jaw is high and thin, eager and wanting.

“Dios mio,” Eddie mutters, sounding almost as riled as Buck feels, and he grabs for his hips, pulling at him until he’s straddling him, one knee on either side of him.

And fuck, it’s good. He settles into Eddie’s lap, arching into the firm press of Eddie’s dick against his ass, grinding his own erection against Eddie’s stomach, and oh fucking fuck.

Eddie shoves his face against the curve of Buck’s neck as their hips rock together, sparks dancing up his spine.

“God, I want you so fucking bad,” he growls.

“Then have me,” Buck says, pulling him back in, their mouths sliding together, hot and slick. “Eddie—“

“Smell so fucking good,” Eddie mutters against his lips, wrenching Buck’s t-shirt over his head and tossing it away. “Bet you taste even better.”

He lavishes kisses all along Buck’s collarbones, teeth dragging over the hollow of his throat. Then he ducks his head, trailing a path of bites and bruises over his chest, swirls his tongue around one of Buck’s nipples, before taking it gently between his teeth and tugging.

“Eddie,” he gasps, clutching at the back of Eddie’s head. “Eddie, oh, fuck—“

There’s something wild—something primal and possessive—about the way Eddie’s touching him. It’s there in the sting of his teeth and the strength of his grip, in the way his scent smolders off his skin, the rough bite of his voice, and Jesus Christ he’s so wet he’s sopping with it, wet and leaking from tip to tail.

“You drive me insane,” Eddie says, switching over to heap the same attention—torture—on the other side, his mouth hot and wet. Buck whimpers, hips twitching and thighs trembling. “Looking at me with those big blue eyes, moaning my name like it’s your favorite fucking word—“

Eddie’s hands slip lower, kneading at his ass for a brief, greedy moment, then using the leverage to pull Buck down into Eddie's next grind up, dragging their hips together, hard and slow and filthy. Buck chokes on another aching, hungry little noise, not sure if he wants to squirm or writhe or maybe just beg.

But Eddie makes the decision for him: his grip tightens to something closer to bruising, rocking them through another toe-curling thrust, and oh.

Oh, oh, oh, ohohohoh—

“Eddie,” Buck mewls—sobs, almost—scrabbling at his shoulders for purchase, unmoored in a sea of pleasure. “I— I’m—“

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie urges, his expression ravenous as they rut wildly against each other, careening head-first towards that perfect peak. “Just like this, baby, I’m right there with you. Let me see how pretty you look when you come.”

And Buck can’t do anything but obey. Bliss crashes over him like a tidal wave and his hips jerk as his cock pulses, hot and sticky in his pants. Eddie groans, low and guttural, and follows him right off the ledge, his breath hot and damp over his skin as he sags against him.

“Holy shit,” Buck swears when he figures out how to string the words together, slumping against Eddie’s chest. The sweet release of his orgasm has him feeling loose limbed and a little fuzzy, and he nuzzles in to tuck his nose under Eddie’s chin, all but purring at the delicious scent of pleased, preening alpha wafting off of him. “I think you might’ve killed me.”

“Better not have,” Eddie replies, curling an arm over his sweaty back and trailing his fingers over the ridges of his spine. “‘Cause I’m nowhere near done with you yet, Buckley.”

“Oh, yeah?” Buck says, leaning in for a long, lingering kiss. “Gonna show me a good time, Diaz?”

“Said I was gonna take care of you, didn’t I?” Eddie rumbles, nosing at his jawline. “And I like to think I’m a man of my word.”

“Big talk,” Buck teases, already a little breathless with anticipation for round two. His skin is buzzing, that flame of desire building once again, pooling low in his belly. “Sure you can put your money where your mouth is?”

“How about we move this to the bedroom,” Eddie offers, arching an eyebrow in challenge, that smug motherfucker. “And I’ll show you exactly where I can put my mouth.”

“And what if,” Buck starts, pitching his voice somewhere low and husky, reaching up to let his knuckles graze over the swell of Eddie’s Adam’s apple, then lacing his fingers together behind the nape of his neck, arching his back and pouting just so. “I want you to rail me right here on your couch.”

Eddie smirks up at him like he knows exactly what he’s doing, his eyes half-lidded and heavy. It’s fucking delightful.

“Maybe later,” he says, taking him by the chin and drawing him into another syrupy kiss. Buck’s eyes flutter shut, melting into his touch. “The first time I fuck you, it’s going to be in a bed.”

“Guess I should’ve figured you’d be a traditional kind of guy.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie admits easily. “And there’s the fact that I’ve been imagining what you’d look like, flushed and panting, splayed out across my sheets, begging for my knot, for years now.” Another wicked smirk. Buck can’t look away, utterly entranced. “Pretty sure my imagination won’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

“You— We need— Bed,” Buck finally manages, his voice nearly trembling with want. “Now, Eddie. Or I’m gonna fucking tackle you.”

It’s an honest miracle that they make it to Eddie’s room in one piece. They’re still tangled up in each other, mouths moving frantically as they peel each other out of their sticky, sweaty clothes, leaving them strewn about like a trail of breadcrumbs as they stumble down the hall.

A few more steps and a brief struggle with the doorknob. Eddie grabs him around the waist and walks him backwards until his legs hit the mattress, and Buck falls back onto it with a soft thwump. Eddie clambers on top of him, blanketing his body with his own, and that sudden, full-body press of bare skin against bare skin makes something in his brain pop and sizzle like a blown fuse.

“Eddie, Eddie,” Buck gasps, feeling like he’s shot straight past skin-hungry into skin-starving.

He curls his fingers around Eddie’s biceps, then slides his hands down the tanned, muscular expanse of his back, needing to map out every inch of him. He wants to lick him all over, wants to trace his tattoos with his tongue until he knows each one as well as he knows his own.

“Fuck, Eddie, please—“

Eddie settles down into the cradle of his thighs and leans in to capture his mouth once again. They kiss and kiss and kiss, hardly parting to breathe, neither willing to abandon the plush heat of the other’s mouth.

“Eddie.“

“I know, baby, I’ve got you,” Eddie says, nipping sharply at his lower lip, the sting of it just sweet enough to savor. “I’m not gonna keep you waiting.”

“Touch me,” he pleads, squirming restlessly. He’s hot all over, that flush of desire prickling at his skin, so hard—so empty—that he can hardly think straight. “Eddie—“

Eddie shifts up and around until he’s plastered against Buck’s flank, holding himself up with a forearm braced above Buck’s head. He trails his free hand down Buck’s chest, over the wings of his ribs and across his stomach, then fits his hand under Buck’s knee and gently eases his legs apart.

“Jesus, Buck,” Eddie groans, dragging two fingers through the mess of slick coating his thighs, the touch just barely ghosting over his aching hole. “You’re so wet for me, querido.”

“For you,” Buck promises, looking at him from under his lashes, craning up just enough to drag the flat of his tongue over the twin scars on each of Eddie’s shoulders. “‘S all for you.”

Eddie lets out a low string of swears, grabbing a fistful of Buck’s hair and tugging him into another heated kiss. “You’re an absolute menace.”

“Your menace,” Buck says, mouthing at the sharp line of his collarbone.

Eddie’s eyes flash, the hunger smoldering in his gaze sparking into a proper blaze, and Buck can feel the length of him pressed against his hip, hot and heavy and perfect.

“But you know when to be good for me,” he murmurs, something sharp and predatory prowling behind the rasp in his voice. “Don’t you?”

Mother of God.

“Yes,” Buck whimpers. “Yes, yes. I’ll be so fucking— Oh, fuck.”

Eddie finally, finally presses two fingers to the throbbing, slick-drenched rim of his entrance, and fucks them knuckle-deep inside of him.

Buck moans, arching shamelessly into the sensation. Eddie’s fingers feel so much better than his own—the angle and the stretch and the fact that it’s Eddie, it’s Eddie that holding him down and fucking him open, Eddie that’s giving him everything he’s been dreaming of since forever—and his cock twitches against his stomach, wet and leaking.

And it’s not like Buck actually needs that much prep, really, but Eddie keeps his thrusts nice and slow, exploring the wet heat of him like he has all the time in the world. He twists his wrist and scissors his fingers, kissing at the side of his throat, and Buck whines and whimpers, shivering all over with how badly he wants it.

“Eddie,” he says. He can’t get enough air into his lungs, his vision fuzzing at the edges. “Need you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie says, crooking his fingers just so, dragging another whine past Buck’s lips. “But I’m not done here with you yet.”

“Need it so bad,” Buck insists, canting his hips up, trying to draw him deeper. “Eddie, I’m— I’m ready, I need it, please, please, give it to me—“

Eddie pulls out and presses in, just a hair faster, then fucks a third finger into him. Buck’s voice breaks around a moan. He clings to Eddie’s shoulders, hips jerking against open air, searching for friction, for more.

“Gorgeous, desperate thing,” Eddie murmurs, his voice low and rough against the shell of his ear. “Begging so sweetly for me. God, I could take you apart just like this.”

“Eddie.”

“You said you’d let me take care of you,” Eddie reminds him, his fingertips dancing against his prostate. Buck’s thighs shake, pressure coiling deep inside. “Let me take care of you.”

He feels like he’s trapped in a wildfire—like there’s an unending wall of flames bearing down on him, everything washed in a haze of pleasure—and he realizes far too late that he’s about to come on Eddie’s fingers.

“Oh, fuck,” he keens, his chest heaving. “You’re gonna make me— I’m— I’m gonna— Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Eddie starts targeting his prostate like it’s his fucking job, utterly relentless, his eyes fixed on Buck’s face, on his open, panting mouth, and Buck couldn’t hold on if he tried. He shakes and shudders his way through a spine-melting orgasm, his eyes rolling back into his head as he falls to pieces in Eddie’s arms.

Eddie holds him through it all, his touch turning gentle as he fingers him through the last of the aftershocks. He presses a kiss to his temple, to his cheek, then to the corner of his mouth, nuzzling in close. “Good boy.”

Then he rolls him onto all fours, grabs him by the hips, and sinks his cock into him in one long thrust.

A broken, ragged, wrecked little noise punches its way out of Buck’s throat. He falls down onto his elbows, already overwhelmed, fingers clenched in the bed sheets as he scrabbles for something, anything, to hold on to.

Eddie fucks him hard and fast: like he knows instinctively just how Buck needs it, how he needs his knot like he needs the blood in his veins. The bed frame rattles underneath them, creaking in protest with every thrust, and it’s hard to tell what’s louder: the slick smack of skin against skin or Buck’s mewling cries.

“Feel so fucking good,” he groans, working an arm underneath Buck’s sweaty torso and hauling him up against his chest, grinding in deep. The new angle has every nerve in his body going off like fireworks, burning through him with every heartbeat. “So perfect for me, always so—“

Eddie trails off, panting against his throat.

His mouth drags over his skin as he searches for new places to tease, the rich, spiced-chocolate-sweet of him clouding the air. It coils all around them, melding perfectly with Buck’s own scent as he nips and licks at his pulse point, strong enough to fill his nose, coat his tongue, sink into his skin, and god he wants it like he’s never wanted anything.

Wants to be claimed. Wants to be owned.

“Alpha,” Buck whimpers, the word almost falling out of his mouth, and Eddie’s hips jerk, his rhythm faltering as he swears. “Alpha, please.”

“Mine,” Eddie growls, deep and guttural and possessive. He reaches around, grabs Buck’s thigh, hoists it up to wrap back around his waist. Buck’s whole body turns liquid, his voice breaking around a sob. “My omega.”

“Yours,” Buck agrees. He hardly has the breath to beg with. “Eddie, I’m— I’ve always been yours.”

“You’re gonna come for me,” Eddie orders, his knot starting to catch against his rim with every stroke, sending zips of lightning flashing behind Buck’s eyes. “Gonna come on my knot, aren’t you, baby? Hermoso, guapisimo, luz de mi vida, come on, come on—“

Eddie’s hands clamp down like vices, his hips snap forward, sharp, and that’s all it takes to fling Buck into the abyss, pleasure and release flooding through him like a sonic blast. Eddie manages another handful of sloppy thrusts, then he’s following right after him, his knot locking deep inside as Buck’s body milks him for every last drop.

Buck comes back to himself nestled in a sweaty heap of limbs. He turns instinctively towards where Eddie’s spooned up behind him and inhales, smiling sleepily when he catches the smoky, smothered-embers scent of satisfied, exhausted alpha.

“You back with me, Buck?” Eddie asks, trailing gentle fingers over his cheekbone. “How’re you feeling?”

“‘M great,” Buck decides, sinking blissfully into his hold. He’s pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life like this, wrapped up in everything that is Eddie Diaz. “‘M… perfect.”

Eddie chuckles against his shoulder, low and throaty and wonderful. “Good to hear.”

“Wha’ about you?”

Eddie’s arms curl around his chest, pulling him that much closer. Their bodies fit together like a matched set. “Never better.”

00000

@summerofbuddie

[buddiewho]

Bobby and Athena are couple goals, aren’t they? The whole conversation with Maddie and Bobby adamantly saying she needs to get a hold of Athena, I kept thinking about what Buck had to be thinking…it felt like a “that’s love” moment, you know? You remember? That feeling Buck had once before, and now he might have a better understanding of it to step back and see that there is someone he too would do the same for. “You can have my back, anyday.” “You can have mine.” “I got you…” I had not expected season 8 so early on to reignite the Buddie fuel. Friends, I’m really feeling giddy…there is something on the horizon. The construction is clearing on Sunset. No more detours allowed; only more steps made closer to each other. 

It is time to take the leap. Though, I’m still very guarded because when you get your hopes up and then…also, just to add: I do think that Buck and Tommy are okay for now. While I have enjoyed (I know some don't) what is being presented, I have never thought of them as long term. Honestly, I suppose it’s how I’ve treated every romantic relationship Buck and Eddie have had, (which is kinda sad), but I do think you can have several meaningful and stressful relationships along the way to understanding that the right person has been in front of you all along. Right?

Okay, so this is longer than I anticipated. Not really surprising. All right, so this thing with Gerrard…hmm, I’m not sure what to make of it. Some have said that Buck may be completely unaware of how Tommy leaned into Gerrard’s attitudes and participated in the hate speech and all of that crap, but I think he’d know this by now whether or not we’ll see a direct conversation. Pretty sure Buck will partly know what Gerrard thinks he is going to do by taking him under his wing. Gerrard is only going to get more pissed when he realizes he cannot change Buck and never will. We know Buck struggles with saying no, and is a people pleaser, however, I do think that the “rebellious” part keeps him from being molded into some kind of drill sergeant who will kiss Gerrard’s feet. Also, I kind of want things to unfold and be revealed that Gerrard only got this position because of the politician that is trying to screw up Hen and Karen adopting Mara. Somehow, I feel like that’s gotta come back around and then the Fire Chief or whoever will get their heads out of their asses and put the 118 back together under Captain Bobby Nash.

[andaniellight]

Couldn’t stop thinking about Frank and Matt’s love-child so I made a couple of them...

I haven’t decided whether they should have names or not, but... The oldest is 4 years old, and has Frank’s everything (physical look, mostly, but maybe even personality-wise) except the eyes. The kid has Matt’s “weaponizable”(?) eyes, and it’s a hazard to anyone whenever the kid sticks to Matt’s side most of the times (the kid loves Foggy way too much, and Frank raised him well enough to be a remarkably helpful pair of hands on daily basis) (”the kid is my most favorite if I’m being honest, but don’t tell anyone.” - Karen and... basically countless others I suppose (Matt knows this either way.))

The middle child, on the other hand, physically looks like Matt (hair color and bright stare). Unfortunately has Matt’s temper as well. (”Cranky as all Hells if things don’t go his way.” - Frank) Literally will copy everything older people would do, he’s a clever kid. He knows when to listen well, even though he would throw tantrum the most. (“To be fair, he’s pretty much Frank’s partner in crimes,” Matt admits, massaging his temples.)

Lastly, the youngest is just two years younger than the middle child. Daddy’s (Frank’s) beloved girl, obviously. The loveliest with the sweetest smile and personality. Somehow understands unspeakable things like an angel??? The most considerate little baby, Matt still finds it hard to believe that, despite she shares the same hair color and physical features as Frank’s, Frank calls her his mini-me. (”I mean, yeah, sure, she’s mini-Matt but keep in mind that she’s ten thousands lovelier than him.” - Frank (and maybe also Foggy + Karen).)

[meangirlsautism]

MEAN GIRLS FORTNITE HEADCANONS

to preface this… realistically do i see any of the plastics playing fortnite? no. do i think it’s funny as hell though? yes. so i’m just going to pretend here, bear with me

in regards to any of the 2004 mean girls characters, i say they wouldn't play. since obv fortnite wasn’t out yet, but i also think that they, esp the plastics, would think they’re too cool for it

2018 / broadway versions though…

made this all the way back in 2019. don’t remember the context at all. but yeah. it fits. broadway janis would play fortnite, sure

broadway plastics MIGHT play it too. since if regina plays the sims just to create people and kill them? sure, she can play fortnite too, why not. and ofc gretchen and karen would play along w/ her. and like.. pretty sure fortnite was still pretty hot in 2018 so. yeah! hell yeah!

the 2024 versions… began to think abt these headcanons BC of the 2024 versions. they originated the idea i guess. even if i more realistically see the broadway versions playing it? well. no. bc the bway plastics r still the popular mean girls. the 2024 guys felt like.. a different breed of popular mean girl. hence why i see them playing fortnite. i suppose? man i don’t know don’t look at me

WHATEVER . just pretend they’d play the game ok. with that out of the way:

regina

such an asshole

def loves snipers and shotguns.. probably the heftier guns

even though she’s rly good at using them all / typically has no preference

but if there’s a sniper or shotgun… she WILL be taking it

i know the current season doesn’t have snipers, i’ll just talk abt the guns in a broad sense i suppose

i could go more in depth as to which guns of each category they’d like but. i’ll only do so if asked i guess (i only started playing in august of 2023. so chapter 4 season 4. meaning i have very limited knowledge on different guns and such)

ANYWHO. she’s such an asshole in this game

will absolutely chase you down if you choose to run

(you wont get far)

and she’s like… such a dick w/ the sniper as well

a pretty decent player. is not humble whatsoever

def buys shit. mainly skins and such

she likes some of the icon emotes, but isn’t absolutely crazy abt them

doesn’t get to level 200 just to get everything in the battlepass. she does it to show off and brag

despite that, she probably still buys the battlepass. bc she can

very good aim!

def a toxic gamer. she gets mad a lot

gretchen

trying her best

mainly there bc regina is playing it and wants the plastics all to play w/ her

is a normal person and likes like. assault rifles and such

def the guns w/ the medium bullets

maybe a tactical assault rifle if she feels like it

isn’t insanely picky though

right in the middle.. not too heavy not too light

not the greatest player

once again, she’s trying her best

regina often berates her over the stuff she should’ve done differently

HATES being the last one alive on her team

if regina and karen (and sometimes cady) are down, she FREAKS out

(doesn’t happen much, but it happens)

she haaaates the pressure of it

esp when regina is just gonna get mad at her when she fails

HOWEVER she does get good kills every once in a while

regina compliments her on it, and gretchen feels like all the times she’s fucked up was worth it

(it’s not)

but regardless, it puts her in a good mood

absolutely LOVES the emotes i think

especially the icon emotes

def does the synced emotes w/ karen a ton

(to regina’s annoyance) (she’s just trying to play the game)

gets the battlepass bc everyone else is doing it

tries to get everything she can

mediocre aim, once again, she is trying

karen

carries

im dead serious

saw someone recently say that she’d be surprisingly GOOD at the game and like… you know what? you’re right

but unlike regina, she is very humble abt it

it fits her character i think. plus the thought of the “dumb” character actually WRECKING others in an online shooter video game is soooo funny to me

so yes, she carries

LOOOOVES THE EMOTES

absolutely one of her favorite things about the game

she WILL emote any chance she gets

she’s not trying to be rude, she just loves making her character do silly dances

karen: [emotes after killing a whole team]

gretchen: karen… that’s not—

karen: what?

gretchen: that’s not nice

karen: but i’m happy :)

gretchen: i know… that’s just— no…

on the other hand, regina emotes (IF she even emotes) to be malicious 100%

anyway. likes the lighter weapons. w/ the light bullets and such

like pistols and smgs

thinks the characters are cute and fun

enjoys leveling up the battlepass and getting everything

shockingly good aim

cady

debated on whether she’d be rly good or rly bad

and i think she’d be rly bad😭

but like… endearingly bad

maybe after a while of adapting and playing and shit she gets better

but at the beginning… she sucks so bad

and yet regina INSISTS on letting her play w/ them

makes gretchen a bit… sad

since gretchen is constantly being called out by regina whenever she messes up, but when CADY does something bad, regina is usually silent. or says something mildly encouraging

has absolutely no idea what’s going on

like. regina gretchen and karen could be engaging w/ a team and cady will just be like :)? what? where are they?

they are right in front of you

her aim is pretty much nonexistent

at the beginning at least

after a bit, i DO see her getting a lot better

but at the beginning? she is ASS

maybe janis and damian help her out a bit

doesn’t rly? care about the skins or emotes much

think the animal skins are cute though

however. she still has a bunch of shit bc regina buys stuff for her

cady: oh.. that skin / emote looks cute—

regina, already getting out her wallet: done

cady: what? oh, i didn’t mean—

regina: done

and she gifts it to cady

also gifts her the battlepass probably

even if cady does jack shit with it

she’s just there to have fun, so the leveling up and getting the stuff doesn’t rly mean much to her

and then she’s like… conditioned to do this shit. probably by janis

she plays w/ the plastics one day and suddenly she’s like… good

and has a bunch of new shit and like 😭😭😭😭 HUH

not as great as, say, regina or karen, but. she’s still pretty decent

unsure what guns she’d like, probably no preference

probably goes w/ a certain gun depending on who she’s playing with LMAO

janis

likes to say she’s REALLY good but really she’s just.. good. you know

she plays a lot though

likes getting the cool looking skins and such

def gets the battlepass i feel

also gets to level 200. also to show off. but to get everything too (even if she doesn’t admit it)

ALSO likes snipers and shotguns.. bc she’s an asshole

and she’s also pretty decent w/ them

her aim is okay, not the best, but its playable

doesn’t rly care abt the emotes. ESP not the icon emotes

thinks they’re cheesy or whatever

def gets the dumb, goofy ones though

like. the ones that arent dances probably

plays with cady and damian

likes to try and teach cady her ways (she is a toxic gamer)

gets angry real easily. esp when players use the seasons obligatory unfair item for like 10th time

MAYBE emotes after she gets a good play

and it’d be one of those emotes that REALLY piss you off if someone were to use it against you

damian

LOOOOOVES the emotes. like so much

ESP the icon ones

probably better than janis. and janis knows this. but neither of them say anything

(he is a good friend)

unsure what guns hed prefer tbh…

i think he’d like shotguns. and maybe like ? pistols and smgs and such

is def more help to cady than janis

he translates janis’ toxicity into like.. actual terms for cady

and cady just goes like. ohhhhhh

every single time it happens

don’t have much to say abt aaron and kevin sorry aaron and kevin. however. kevin has def played fortnite since it came out in 2017 for sure. its basically canon. aaron probably wouldn’t gaf much but for cady and regina… maybe he’ll play a bit. he IS a teenage boy so ,.. maybe he plays it? but i think he doesn't rly care for video games that much

may add more onto this... since i only wrote these out like 2 days ago. we shall see

[jackfrombaskinrobbins]

daredevil fam x teen!intern!reader [pt. 1]

CLICK HERE FOR PT. 2

type of writing: headcanons / scenario

word count: 1.5k

request: yes / no

original request: DYING over your matt post– i'm a sucker for casual family hcs with teen readers, it's always the cutest !! could i request something similar like the whole team (nelson, murdock, & page) taking care of an intern? just a teen who usually takes care of filing ends up wandering into the whole found family dynamic they have set up? thanks !

dynamic: daredevil fam (nelson murdock & page) x teen!intern!reader

characters: reader, matt murdock, foggy nelson, karen page

a/n: hiii tysm for this request!!! i love found family hc's too -- especially with daredevil bc i feel like i haven't seen many :( if y'all ever have more daredevil requests like this i would be more than happy to write them!!

taglist: @nutellani @thecloudedmind

(fill out this form if you'd like to be on my taglist!!)

-----------------------✰----------------------

your school had an internship program.

basically, during the last few weeks of the year, everyone in your grade was matched up with a company to go be interns!

and sometimes that led to summer jobs which was cool

anyways so you were pretty excited

you had been looking forward to getting your assignment for a while now.

you had told the people who assigned the internships that you were interested in law, and you were holding out for a good assignment

but you were kind of worried because a lot of people were interested in law as well

so finally the day came

and you were confused to see someplace called “nelson, murdock, and page” listed there

like who the heck were these people

even worse, a couple of the really egocentric & mean kids got internships at landman & zack.

LANDMAN & ZACK

and they were really rubbing it in.

“y/n, where did you get assigned?”

“uh.. nelson, murdock, and page.”

“huh, never heard of them. i got assigned to landman and zack!!! aren’t you happy for me?”

blech

anyway the first day that you were supposed to go came finally

the one upside to being assigned to nelson, murdock, and page was that it was fairly close to where you lived

like only a block or two!!

you honestly weren’t sure what to bring so you kind of overpacked

well not crazy but still

you probably wouldn’t need three packs of pencils AND two staplers

but hey, this was new york! anything could happen.

you took a deep breath as you walked in, and as you approached the door, you could hear what sounded like an argument inside.

“listen karen, i’m not gonna take it anymore! the shamrock shake is gross!!”

btw i agree with that statement not that it’s relevant but still its nasty spearmint is blech

oop back to what i was writing

“foggy, you’re wrong. it’s what really makes spring for me!!”

“hey, you two. there’s someone outside.”

and just like that, the two who were arguing turned to face the door. 

you gave a sheepish wave, embarrassed that you hadn’t just walked in.

“aw, no way!! are you the intern? uhm… your name… uh..” said the shamrock shake hater

“y/n.” said another man, the peacekeeper, it seemed. 

you had remembered the internship assigner telling you one of the lawyers was blind

and judging by the red glasses, this was the one.

“yeah, that’s me. you must be murdock… i think.”

“call me matt.” he said, extending a hand for you to shake.

then the woman, (shamrock shake lover), also extended her hand.

“i’m karen. it’ll be nice to have someone new around here!!”

“yeah”, said the shamrock shake hater, “nice to have someone to do all the filing!”

“oh.. filing?” you asked, brow furrowing. 

you could feel yourself deflating a little bit.

“don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of interesting stuff for you to do y/n.” matt spoke, a small smile on his face.

“foggy, how about you show them how to do it?” karen said right after, pointing at shamrock shake hater.

foggy, now.

“aw, karen!! you know i’m no good at filing!!”

“that’s a lie. you just pretend to be bad at it to get out of doing it.” karen replied, and matt nodded.

a big dramatic sigh from foggy

“al-RIGHT, al-RIGHT! jeez. c’mon y/n. seems like we have work to do!!”

you couldn’t help but laugh bc these people were ridiculous

in a good way

at least for now!

turns out foggy WAS good at filing

and apparently you were too!!

he made a game out of it to see who could unlock the cabinet & put the folder in the right spot first

and not to brag, but you always won :) 

he even bet his lunch that you couldn’t beat his time!

“don’t mess with them, foggy. i think they’ve shown they can run circles around you.” karen laughed as he challenged you

and yet he still did it!!!

and you won!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!

so you had a delicious sandwich & chips for lunch courtesy of foggy nelson :D 

the rest of the day was pretty nice too

like most of it was filing but matt told you about some of the cases they were working on

and karen was so sweet like y’all were gossiping fr

she told you about all the crazy stuff that happened at the firm

and honestly, you were so glad you had been assigned to this firm

because were the people at landman & zack having this much fun???

no i don’t think so!!!

plus it helped that they all hated landman and zack too

foggy told you all about how stuffy and uptight everyone was there

so it was kind of a relief!

-----------------------✰----------------------

I HAD TO DO THIS IN TWO PARTS SO HERE'S THE SECOND ONE

CLICK THIS FOR PT. 2

[lonesome-witching]

Engagement Talks

Sequel to the Mole Men and the Diamond Ring. As requested by @rabbitofdeath-atcastleaarrggh. I am posting this in between classes so sorry for the brief introduction.

You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

Robin wasn’t sure what Karen was feeling right now. She also wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. A dozen apologies were burning on her tongue.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your blessing first. I wasn’t planning on everything going so fast. I had only just purchased the ring. I was planning on asking for your blessing first but then last night happened and I just fell in love even harder and I really couldn’t contain myself.” Robin was babbling, she was nervous. For some reason she felt like she had done something wrong.

“It’s alright, Robin. Everything is alright.” Karen smiled. “I know you make my daughter happy and that truly is what is most important to me.”

“Good, great.”

Nancy put her hand on Robin’s knee. A calming gesture. A bit of comfort in this uncomfortable situation. It helped. It helped calm down Robin’s nerves just a tiny bit. Just enough to look up at Karen and Joyce and see the absence of anger.

“I will admit I’m a little surprised. It doesn’t seem like the two of you have been together for that long.”

“About as long as you and Joyce, mom,” Nancy replied.

Robin looked from her girlfriend to Karen and back.

“Oh.” It was merely a sound. Yet in it the shock was evident.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating for a while. Friends first, of course, and then it just kind of happened.”

“It is actually a pretty funny story,” Nancy added with a soft smile.

“We’d love to hear it,” Joyce said.

“We had been friends for a while and I clearly was falling in love with Nancy. I kept bothering Steve with all of it. Constantly talking about how amazing Nancy is—”

“And I accidentally,” Nancy stressed the last word, “overheard part of their conversation.”

“I panicked, like full blown ramble panic. Worse than usual.”

“It was endearing.”

“It was annoying.”

“Anyway, that’s when I asked her out. Officially,” Nancy finished the story.

“When did you get together?” Karen wasn’t trying to hide her smile.

“A few days later, Nancy was the one to ask.”

“And that was about a year ago.”

“That is about a month longer than us,” Joyce exclaimed. She sounded almost delighted. “What do you think? We could have a joined wedding and all.”

“Joyce, they’re only 18.”

“Which is old enough to marry,” Nancy interrupted.

“Yes, and I am delighted for the two of you. But perhaps you should enjoy your engagement a bit longer.”

[sesamestreep]

there's something fiction about the way that reality's going

(read on AO3)

SUMMARY: It's bad enough that Foggy has to spend his Saturday morning giving bad news to some overly-ambitious campaign manager. It's unforgivable that he turns out to be hot, of all things. [AKA - The West Wing AU] A/N: here's part 1 of that west wing au i've been talking about writing for months. I put copious notes (including a mild content warning for the 90s as a time period in general) on AO3, so I'd recommend reading there if you want more info. big thanks to @firstelevens for talking me off several ledges during the writing, editing, and posting processes for this fic!

“You know what’s sick, Karen?” Foggy asks, as he rounds the corner of her desk.

“Sick like bad, like the flu?” she asks, not looking away from her computer. “Or sick like good, like a skateboard trick?”

“Sick like disgusting and perverted.”

“Ooh, I am not sure I want to know.”

“Too bad,” he says, as he tosses his duffel bag into his office. It collides with a filing cabinet, but doesn’t knock anything over, which is pretty good from this distance. “I have reached a new level of depravity.”

“Congratulations?”

“Thank you. Ask me how.”

“Must I?”

“Yes.”

Karen sighs. “How did you reach a new level of depravity?”

“I found myself thinking, while flying with the President on Air Force One, ‘god, this sucks!’”

“That’s your new level of depravity?” she asks, unimpressed.

“Karen, I’m telling you I’m bored of flying on Air Force One! The President’s private plane is boring to me. The novelty—of Air Force One—is gone!”

“And that’s all?”

“‘That’s all’?! Karen, I—”

“I heard you the first twelve times," she says. "You’re a real sicko, Foggy, I get it.”

“This revelation means less to you than I anticipated,” Foggy says, idly fiddling with the things on her desk. 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she says, filing something. “I kind of thought you picked up a new, exciting fetish while in Pakistan.”

“Unfortunately, no. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

“There’s always next time,” she replies. “Did you bring me back anything?”

“Also no. In my defense, you didn’t tell me you wanted a new, exciting fetish while I was there.”

“A good boss would know without having to be told.”

“Oh, no. They’ll take away my ‘world’s greatest boss’ mug for this!”

“You don’t have one of those,” she says, frowning.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Looks like we’ve both got some work to do,” she says, turning her attention back to her computer.

“Speaking of that, what are you doing here on a Saturday?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Almost always, but in this case…”

Karen looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “Foggy, you have a meeting.”

“I don’t schedule meetings for Saturday mornings,” he says. “And certainly not after I’ve been away in Islamabad with the President for three days and on a plane for 15 hours.”

“Yes, but this is Marci’s meeting,” Karen says. “The one you promised to cover for her, since her cousin had to move her bachelorette weekend up two weeks to—”

“This weekend. Fuck!” Foggy closes his eyes. “Oh, I should not have agreed to this! This was so stupid. I’m so jet lagged right now and I’ve been wearing the same suit for like two days.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Ew, why?”

“I packed in a hurry and I miscounted—you know what, forget it! I would still smell like airplane, regardless.”

She steps around her desk to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not even that—Good god! That is not what airplanes are supposed to smell like!”

Foggy sniffs his shirt and winces. He was kind of hoping he was just being dramatic. “Pakistan is a very populous country,” he says, weakly. “And we were in the capitol, so lots of people, in close quarters…”

“So, unless this guy has a sinus infection, he’s going to be able to smell you from down the hall.”

“Karen, please! I am begging you…”

“Do you have another suit?”

“Not one that smells better !” Foggy exclaims. “Do I have time to go out and buy a new suit?”

“Your meeting is in 30 minutes, and I’m guessing you still need to read the briefing packet Marci left you, so you know what this guy wants to talk about.”

“This is the guy from the Bryant campaign? Mitchell…something?”

“ Matthew Murdock, yes.”

“I know what he wants to talk about,” Foggy says, waving a hand at her.

“Oh, just read the damn packet!”

“I need to find something to wear that doesn’t smell like I walked here from Islamabad, okay?”

“I’ll ask around,” Karen replies. “You prep for the meeting.”

“You’re going to ask around ?”

“Yes."

“To see if someone in the building has a suit I can borrow? 

“Foggy!”

“I feel like you’re vastly underestimating how weird of a request that is!” 

“Not all men are as suspicious as you.”

“Most men are more suspicious than me, firstly,” he says. “And secondly, even if you found someone in this office to accept this absurd request—on a Saturday, no less!—suits are supposed to be tailored. I’m going to look weird in someone else’s suit!”

“What’s worse: looking weird in an ill-fitting suit or smelling weird in this one?”

“Maybe he will have a sinus infection,” Foggy muses.

“Yes, because praying for that is less weird than my plan,” Karen says, with an eye roll. “Wait, you have a gym bag!”

“In my office? Yeah…”

“And last week, that budget meeting got rescheduled and you couldn’t go to the gym after work because it was already closed when the meeting wrapped up!”

“Yes! Why are we excited about this?”

Karen’s practically bouncing on her feet. “Because if the bag is still here but you didn’t go to the gym, that means the clothes are clean!”

“You want me to meet with the manager for a congressional campaign in my gym clothes?” Foggy asks.

“Your clean gym clothes!”

“I can’t meet him in my gym clothes!”

“Why not?”

“It’s unprofessional!”

“It’s Saturday! You’re…laid back! You’re chillin’!”

Foggy shakes his head at her, because it’s extremely clear to him that she’s never said that word in another context before in her life. “Just chillin’ at the White House! Now there’s a TV show I’d watch!”

“ Foggy !”

“It could be like this President’s version of FDR’s fireside chats! You’re a genius, Karen!”

“I’m being helpful and you’re being such a dick about it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’re right,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders in a conciliatory gesture. “And I appreciate it. But I can’t wear gym clothes to this meeting.”

“It wouldn’t be that weird! You could come up with an excuse—”

“No, I understand. It’s just—I barely look good in a suit. I can trick people into taking me seriously in a suit. If this guy sees me in basketball shorts, he’ll never take me seriously.”

“You look good in a suit, no qualifiers,” Karen says, firmly. “And honestly, it would probably be charming to him if you were in gym clothes. And lastly, you are the deputy chief of staff at the White House, Foggy. People take you seriously. You are serious.”

“That was wall-to-wall bald faced lies, but I do love you for it,” he says, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “And if I’m being honest with you, I’m nervous about the optics of dressing casually for a meeting where I know I have to give someone bad news.”

Karen frowns. “What’s going on?”

“The campaign this guy is running, it’s Bryant’s campaign in the 21st district in New York State. It’s a district that, historically, a Republican always wins. From what I know, and what Marci’s told me, this guy wants more help from us, and more funding from the DNC, to get Bryant elected instead.”

“But we’re not going to do that?” Karen asks.

“No, we’re not.”

“Why not?”

“Because Bryant sucks,” Foggy admits, with a small, mirthless laugh. 

“Worse than the Republican who’s running?”

“He’s the incumbent and we know what to do with him, at least.”

“Still,” she interjects, frowning deeper, “it’s not…great…”

“It’s political maneuvering to be sure,” Foggy says, “but that’s the business we’re in, like it or not.”

“Yeah, so…”

“So, showing up to this meeting looking ready for an aerobics class and then telling this guy he’s up a creek and the DNC isn’t going to throw him a paddle might be a bad look. At least if my suit’s wrinkled and I smell bad, he can write it off as me being an overworked staffer.”

“Which, you are.”

“Exactly!”

“Yeah, okay. I get it,” Karen says, moving back to her desk. 

“I have a few minutes?”

“Yeah, read the thing on your desk.”

“I don’t need to—”

“Marci wrote it so you could—”

“Marci’s secretary wrote it, and you know that.”

“And Marci’s secretary’s work has less value than Marci’s because…?”

“Ah, okay,” Foggy says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll read the thing.”

“Do you need coffee?” 

“Desperately.”

She nods. “Okay, I’ll get you some, so you can read.”

“Thank you. And while you’re at it, see if Jeri’s secretary is in and ask—”

“Excuse me,” a voice behind them says, and they both startle.

“Hi, can I help you?” Karen asks, automatically and politely, as she turns to face the man.

“I hope so,” he says. “I’m looking for Karen Page.”

“Then I can definitely help you,” she replies, cheerfully. “That’s me.”

“Oh, excellent,” the man says, offering her his hand. “I’m Matt Murdock, from the Bryant campaign. I have a meeting with Mr. Nelson at 10.”

“You’re…from the Bryant campaign?” Karen asks, hesitantly. 

Foggy knows how she feels. Absolutely nothing about this guy says ‘campaign manager’ except for the quality of his suit. He’s so glaringly handsome in a professional-athlete-who-also-gets-modeling-gigs kind of way that it takes Foggy a full minute to clock that he’s wearing sunglasses indoors (something a professional athlete/part-time model would do) and carrying a white cane. Bryant’s campaign manager is blind. That’s almost as unexpected as him being hot.

“Yes, I know. I’m a little bit early,” he says, either willfully or obliviously attributing Karen’s surprise to the wrong thing. 

Karen recovers quickly, though. “Not to worry,” she says, finally taking his hand and giving it a polite shake. “We appreciate your punctuality.”

“Well, I appreciate that handshake,” Matt offers, charmingly. “Very commanding, very firm!”

Much to Foggy’s amusement and vague annoyance, Karen lets out a hopelessly charmed laugh at that. “Thank you, I—uh, I do my best.”

Foggy gives her a wide-eyed look, and she gives him a helpless and slightly embarrassed one back. He shakes his head before inclining it towards Matt, who either hasn’t noticed him or is avoiding acknowledging him, for whatever reason.

“Would you be so kind as to let your boss know I’m here?”

“That, uh, won’t be necessary,” she says. Karen never stammers. This is so funny. “He’s, um—well, he’s right here! Foggy, are you ready for Mr. Murdock?”

Foggy does his best to hide his smile. “Am I ever!” he says, gamely, and steps forward to shake his hand. “Franklin Nelson, at your service. Everyone calls me Foggy, so you should too!”

This, somehow, catches Matt off-guard, which given his otherwise smooth and unflappable exterior, is kind of impressive. He very clearly expected to wait to be seen, and possibly hoped to have more time to flirt with Foggy’s assistant, judging by the looks of things. 

“Hello,” Matt says, stiff with awkwardness. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Foggy replies. “Delighted to make your acquaintance! I am holding out my hand for you to shake, for the record.”

“Oh, right. I’m so sorry,” he says, as he hurries to take it. 

There’s an awkward moment as he sort of guesstimates where Foggy’s hand is before making contact and Foggy’s left to wonder if he could have made that less weird somehow and feel slightly embarrassed that he doesn’t know the protocol for this situation. And he’s already feeling pretty embarrassed that he smells like a 15 hour flight in front of this very handsome stranger, who can probably smell him even more than the average person. Unless that stuff about depriving one sense making the others stronger is bullshit, which it might be. Foggy’s tempted to ask but that seems likely to make the situation more awkward still.

Matt’s palm is a little rough in places, which is kind of nice. Foggy’s is, he knows, not even a little bit rough. He’s got the smooth baby soft hands of someone who has always been an indoor kid and then grew up to be a lawyer. No calluses to speak of whatsoever. It makes him wonder where Matt, likely a lawyer himself, got his from. And now he’s been holding this hot guy’s hand for too long. Perfect.

“Well, why don’t you step into my office?” he asks, dropping it quickly.

“You’re sure? I know I got here before our appointment.”

“No trouble at all,” Foggy says, with more enthusiasm than he feels. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, yes,” Karen pipes up. “We have coffee, tea, soda, water—”

“I’m good,” Matt says, with another charming smile in her direction. Foggy’s still waiting for his. “Thank you, Karen.”

“Yes, thank you, Karen,” Foggy says brightly, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Actually, Foggy, could I borrow you for a second?”

“Absolutely.” To Matt, he says, “You can go right in and I’ll be with you shortly. There’s a chair in front of the desk, where…chairs normally are in an office.”

This, for whatever reason, makes Matt snort in amusement, which is somehow better than getting a smile out of him. “Yes, I think I can manage,” he replies, and moves towards Foggy’s office.

“Great. Be right there!” Once he’s gone, Foggy leans in close to Karen. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to point out that you should have listened to me and worn your gym clothes after all,” she says, flipping through a file on her desk disinterestedly.

“Yes, yes, I know. Karen Page the Wise, let her instincts never be doubted again,” Foggy says, miming genuflection.

“Do you still want a coffee?”

“I’ll grab it when I’m done. Hopefully, this won’t take long,” he says. He leans in even closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “By the way, is this guy a real campaign manager or is he just auditioning to play one on TV?”

“ Foggy ,” Karen exclaims, with an eye roll. 

“I’m sorry, but he’s, like, stupid handsome!”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she sniffs, feigning disinterest.

“Uh huh,” Foggy says, unimpressed. “Well, he noticed your firm handshake, that’s for sure.”

“You really are more perverted than when you left, aren’t you?” Karen says, amused. “Now, get in there and disappoint that beautiful man.”

“Lucky for him, that is something I’m very good at.”

Karen snorts at that, and returns to her work. Foggy goes back to his office and is pleased to see that Matt has managed to find a seat.

“Sorry about that,” he announces, as he settles into the chair behind his desk. “We’re a little bit scattered this morning. I just got back from Islamabad about twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, I appreciate your time.”

“Don’t mention it. Listen, Michael…”

“Matthew,” he says, surely seeing through the power play but not pointing it out. “Matt, if it’s all the same.”

“Right, sorry. Hey, at least, I knew it was one of the gospels from the Bible, right?”

The unbothered, generically pleasant expression on his face doesn't falter as he says, evenly, “There is no gospel according to Michael in the Bible.”

“Maybe not in yours,” Foggy replies, hoping he covers his nerves well enough that Matt can’t hear anything in his voice. “There’s a Saint Michael, though, right?”

“Yes,” Matt says, cracking a barely-there smile. “He’s an archangel, too.”

“An angel and a saint? Sounds like a lot of work. What’s his deal?”

“His ‘deal’?”

“Yeah, like what’s he the saint of?”

“Oh, like his patronage?”

“Yes,” Foggy says, snapping his fingers. “Like is he the guy to pray to when I’ve got a hangnail or a flat tire?”

“No,” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “He’s considered the patron saint of police officers, the military, paramedics, the protector of the Jewish people and the Vatican, as well as Germany, the Ukraine, and Brussels.”

“Wow, can you do that for all the saints?”

“A good amount of them,” Matt replies. He shrugs before adding, “I went to Catholic school.”

“That must come in handy.”

“You’d really be surprised how little it comes up,” he says, drolly. 

“Really?" Foggy asks. "Not even when you have a flat tire?”

“I would probably call AAA first, in that scenario. The saints tend to take their time.”

“Solid point.”

“Listen, Mr. Nelson—”

“God, please, like I said: call me ‘Foggy’. I’d do the classic ‘Mr. Nelson is my father’ bit but I’m pretty sure no one calls him that either.”

“‘Foggy?’ Really?” Matt repeats, incredulously. 

“Yes, it’s—not important why. It’s just—it’s what everyone calls me.”

“Fine,” he says, leaning forward in his seat. “Foggy, then. As much as I appreciate the opportunity to show off the benefits of my Catholic upbringing and education, I didn’t come here to talk to you about the patronages of various saints.”

“Yes, I knew that, actually. I’m sorry. I was stalling.”

Matt slumps back in his seat at that. “You’re going to tell me you can’t help me.”

“Listen, if this had been my meeting from the start, I would have told you not to bother coming down.”

“In your colleague’s defense, she did tell me that.”

“Well, then, I’m surprised you did it anyway.”

“You wouldn’t be, if you knew me better,” Matt replies, with so much confidence it borders on cocky. He gets five percent hotter in Foggy’s mental estimation from that alone. 

He clears his throat. “Your candidate is running for a seat in New York’s 21st district. Democrats never win in the 21st. It’s simple math.”

“Yes, historically, this district goes red in elections, but that doesn’t mean, with the right democrat and proper funding from the DNC—”

“That’s true,” Foggy allows.

“So, what’s the issue?”

“You don’t have the right democrat.”

“I…what?”

“I’m saying, Bryant isn’t the democrat to flip the 21st.”

“According to whom?”

“According to me.”

“Is there anyone else I can talk to, then?” Matt asks, clearly keeping his patience on a very tight leash if the state of his jaw is any indication. Not that Foggy is admiring his jawline at a time like this.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Foggy, I came down here—”

“A waste of time, as promised, but hey, at least you made a new friend!”

“You and I are not friends.”

“I meant you and Karen," Foggy says, blithely, "but ouch.”

Matt's jaw somehow clenches even tighter. “I want to talk to someone who’s going to take me seriously!”

“You are talking to someone who’s taking you seriously,” he says, earnestly. “Trust me, Matt. It’s not you, it’s your candidate.”

“Well, that’s a new one,” he says, deflating.

“Bryant is a centrist—”

“It’s a Republican stronghold!” Matt exclaims. “Who else has a chance to flip the seat? Do you want to put a diehard socialist on the ballot instead and see how they do?”

“More than anything in the world, yes,” Foggy replies. “But this isn’t about what I want.”

“The incumbent is a right wing clown and he lends legitimacy to their rhetoric. I think the country would be better off with him out of a job. I’m sorry that the White House and the DNC disagree, but—” 

“You’re right.”

“I’m right?!”

“You’re right,” Foggy says. “With an asterisk.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Just a tiny footnote, really. He is a right wing clown, and he should be voted out of office, but he’s also a boon to the DNC.”

“How exactly does that make sense?”

“Every time he opens his mouth, the DNC pulls a quote, puts it on a direct mail campaign, and raises tens of thousands of dollars off of their members’ outrage. As long as we keep him in front of a microphone, we can basically print money for ourselves.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “What a reassuring thing to hear from a representative of my government.”

Foggy laughs, unexpectedly, which just makes Matt glare in his general direction. “Technically, we are the only ones who should be printing money, but that’s beside the point.”

“Are we at least approaching the point sometime soon?”

“You’re familiar with the phrase ‘better the devil you know…’”

Matt sighs. “‘Than the devil you don’t’. Yes.”

“Bryant’s the devil we don’t know. Dashwood’s the one we do.”

“Bryant is a democrat, Foggy.”

“Barely, and I don’t want it to be my job for the next six and a half years to make sure he’s not going to be the swing vote on every measure we want to get passed through the House. And it will be my job, Matt.”

“Well, if you keep selling out viable democrats like this, I don’t think you can count on re-election as a matter of course like you just did, so let’s call it two and a half years to be safe.”

Foggy leans forward onto his forearms. “Sweetheart, you don’t have a viable democrat on your hands, and that’s the nicest way anyone in this building is going to put it, so let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

“Easy for you to say,” Matt replies, standing. Foggy mirrors him. “I appreciate the condescension, by the way. No one’s called me ‘sweetheart’ in a long time.”

“No trouble at all,” Foggy says. “Feel free to stop by anytime you need your ego stroked.”

Matt laughs, or really huffs, putting his hands on his hips. He’s either getting a second wind on this argument or they’re about to get into a fistfight. He might have made that last retort too flirty. Some guys, by which he does mean most straight guys, will really take any opportunity. Luckily, a knock at the door cuts their standoff short.

“Foggy, the President wants anybody who’s available in the Oval Office in five,” Marci says as she barrels in without waiting, before her eyes land on Matt. “Oh, sorry to interrupt.”

“Marci, this is Matt Murdock, from the Bryant campaign,” Foggy says, begrudgingly. “Matt, this is Marci Stahl, deputy communications director. I believe your original meeting was supposed to be with her.”

“Yes. Hi,” Matt says, cheerfully enough, but the set of his shoulders remains tense.

“Matt, so nice to meet you,” she trills, giving Foggy a wide-eyed look over his shoulder as they shake hands. Of course she immediately clocked how attractive he is. Sometimes he thinks that an unfortunate side effect of them dating and then staying friends for so long is that they basically have the same brain. “I’m so sorry for sticking you with Foggy here. There were some scheduling issues with my calendar.”

“Not to worry,” Matt says, tightly. “Foggy’s taken excellent care of me.”

Marci purses her lips in amusement. “Isn’t he just the best?” she says, grinning at Foggy sadistically. “If I had my way, I’d foist all my downer meetings on him, because he always handles people so gently. Not my strong suit, I’m afraid.”

Foggy rolls his eyes, but Matt beats him to the punch. “‘Downer meetings’?” he asks, deceptively pleasant.

“Yes, well, it’s a pity about Bryant, but you’re young, as I can now see. You’ll have other campaigns, ones you can actually win.”

“We haven’t technically lost this one yet.”

Marci gives Foggy a look, before shaking her head. “So true,” she says, giving Matt’s arm a squeeze. “Anyway! Safe travels! Foggy, like I said, five minutes.”

“I’m in the middle of a meeting,” he replies, annoyed.

“It’s the Cruz case.”

“That’s going to—”

“It came back 5-3 against,” she says, cutting him off with a significant look at Matt. “That’s why I canceled my trip. We’re all hands on deck.”

Foggy sighs, but only because it would be inappropriate to swear. “Okay.”

“Five minutes.”

“I said, ‘okay’.”

Marci nods and departs in her usual cloud of Chanel perfume and hyper competence, her heels clicking down the hallway until the sound fades completely. Foggy rubs his face, thinking miserably about how this is just the beginning of what will most likely be a very long, bad day. He’s going to need to send Karen to his apartment to get him some clothes. He’s going to need twelve coffees, ideally right now, but he’s got to deal with Matt first. When he looks over at him, he’s standing there, shell shocked.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, because he honestly is. “She’s—it’s not always like this.”

Matt seems to spring back into action like a spell has been lifted. “It’s fine,” he says, picking up his briefcase and his stick. “You have to get going.”

“It’s not—”

“Don’t say it’s not important, for my benefit. It sounds important.”

“I can walk you out,” Foggy says, coming around the desk towards him.

“I can manage on my own,” Matt says, not unkindly but not meekly either. The implication that he wants to end this interaction sooner rather than later is barely implied. 

“Of course. It was, uh, lovely to meet you.”

“Sure,” he replies, not reciprocating the sentiment but extending his hand as they pause in front of Karen’s desk. Foggy takes it and gives him a firm handshake. 

“Karen, could you—?"

“I’m fine,” Matt interrupts. “Thank you, though. Karen, a pleasure.”

“You too,” Karen offers. “The hallway behind you leads right to the exit. You’ll need to sign out with security.”

“Thank you,” he says, and departs without further fanfare.

“How’d he take it?” Karen asks Foggy, once he’s gone.

“Super well,” Foggy chirps. “In fact, we’re thinking this summer for the wedding.”

“That’s fast,” Karen says, barely hiding her smile.

“What can I say? When you know you know.” He sighs deeply. “Marci told you about the Supreme Court thing?”

“Yeah. You want me to go grab you a change of clothes from your place?”

“Yes, please. You need my keys?”

“I have your spare still,” Karen says, as she gets up and puts on her coat. “Need anything else while I’m out?”

“The world’s largest coffee, with as many espresso shots as the law allows.”

“Got it,” she replies with a nod. She’s already on her way out when he grabs her by the elbow to stop her.

“Am I, like, the world’s biggest asshole?” he asks, earnestly. “And be honest, because I feel like the world’s biggest asshole right now.”

“You’re not,” Karen says, immediately, squeezing his arm. “You’re the best person I know, but you’re jet lagged and overtired and stinky and now you have to spend the rest of your day talking about the death penalty. That would put anyone in a bad mood.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “Thanks.”

He lets her go, then, because they’ve all got work to do, but her words don’t reassure him like they usually would.

Foggy waits on the sidewalk out in front of St. Patrick’s the next morning with ten minutes to spare before the 10 AM mass gets out. He finds himself wishing he had cigarettes, which he only ever wants when he’s nervous and needs something to do with his hands. He’s complained about this before, unwisely, with his mother in earshot, which had led to her snapping at him to take up knitting if he needs something productive to do with his hands. The worst fight he can ever remember having with her was when she found cigarettes in his room when he was home from college once. What is it about being within spitting distance of a Catholic church that brings up all his repressed guilt like that?

He probably could have brought coffee, but he’s not sure if Matt declined yesterday to be polite or if he genuinely doesn’t drink it. Either way, Foggy couldn’t begin to guess how he’d take it, so it’s probably better to just skip it entirely. He doesn’t need to bribe him, and he doesn’t need anything to occupy his hands. He’s senior staff at the goddamn White House. He doesn’t need to be nervous.

Over his shoulder, he hears the sound of voices starting to drift over from the doors and of footsteps on the stairs. When he glances over, he sees crowds starting to form at the entrance. He remembers, suddenly, from a few christenings he was forced to attend for various cousins, how much people like to stand around and gab after mass and hopes that, by virtue of not being at his own church, Matt won’t be stuck talking to a bunch of old ladies for too long.

Thankfully, it’s only a few minutes later when he emerges from the crowd, easy to spot with his glasses and his stick, head down and separate. Foggy hesitates for a second, worried this will be an intolerable intrusion on something, well, sacred, but he did go out of his way to talk to him. It will be even less excusable if he doesn’t go through with it.

Matt’s head swivels in the correct direction when he hears his name called and Foggy would guess he’s good at identifying voices, both in general and in his line of work, where schmoozing and networking are so essential. Matt’s already at a disadvantage, not knowing people by sight, so he can only imagine he’s found a way to compensate for it. He’s guessing he knows who it is before Foggy even says, “on your right,” and approaches him.

“Foggy?” Matt asks, and he’s not sure if he’s guessing or just expressing surprise.

“Hi,” he says, and it comes out weirdly shy, because of course it does. Matt’s still dressed nicely, like he was yesterday, though he’s ditched the tie and thrown a sweater over his dress shirt instead. It’s like he knows about Foggy’s childhood crush on Mr. Rogers. 

“Hi,” Matt says, with a laugh. “Did we—don’t tell me this is your church.”

“Yes, I moonlight as an organist at St. Patrick’s. Just for the tips, though.”

“I—what?”

“Sorry, I’m kidding. I don’t go to church here. I went to see you at your hotel, I was hoping to catch you before you checked out, and the receptionist said I’d just missed you and that you’d gone to church.”

“She told you where to find me?”

“No, I guessed. I mean, St. Patrick’s is the closest Catholic church—you mentioned Catholic school yesterday, so I figured it was the best bet—and of course, it’s, you know, historic and beautiful, with all that stained glass and the, um…”

Matt tips his head to the side, considering him as he fumbles for words. He looks amused, at least, and not deeply offended, which is probably a good sign. He also looks like he’s waiting for Foggy to admit defeat, which is never going to happen.

“The acoustics are probably also good,” he finishes, pathetically, and Matt laughs, not like he did yesterday, all guarded and cynical with disappointment. He laughs big and unrestrained and maybe even delighted. Foggy gets the sense that he’s a little surprised by it himself.

“Yes, the acoustics were wonderful,” he says, and his eyes are crinkling attractively at the corners.

“I’m an idiot,” Foggy says, in the direction of his shoes. He doesn’t need to hide a blush from Matt, he figures, but he does it anyway.

“No, that was…” Matt takes his time searching for the word, and Foggy’s heart races. He shakes his head, helplessly. “‘Acoustics.’ You're cute.”

“I…” Foggy has fully lost his train of thought. He tries to remember a single time he has said something coherent in his entire life and fails. His brain has shut down, possibly permanently and forever.

“Sorry, that came out wrong," Matt clarifies, after a moment's pause. "What I meant was, that was a cute thing to say.”

The part of Foggy that was wondering if it would be weird to ask a guy who just got out of church if he was, perhaps, a friend of Dorothy immediately withers and dies on the spot. That was the straightest point of clarification he’s ever witnessed in his life.

“Well,” Foggy says, remarkably normally after the emotional journey he just went on, “you don’t know this, since you can’t see, but you were right the first time. I am adorable.”

Matt, thankfully, laughs at that too. “I’ll defer to your expertise on the matter.”

“I appreciate that.”

“So, you were looking for me at my hotel?”

“Yes!”

“Can I ask why?”

“I—right. That is the sort of thing that requires explanation.”

“Yes, it is,” Matt says, patiently.

“I wanted to…apologize for yesterday,” Foggy says, letting the words flow out on an exhale. “You didn’t catch any of us on our best day, and while nothing I said to you was factually incorrect or inaccurate to our position, I feel like you weren’t treated with the respect you deserve and I really regret that. None of that is how we do things, and it’s not who we are. I hope, at my best, it’s not who I am, either.”

Matt doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. After a moment, he says, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry about it. I fully acknowledge that I ambushed you—at a church, of all places—so I’ll just…”

“I appreciate it,” Matt says, suddenly. “The apology, not the ambush. Although, I guess they’re sort of intertwined at this point…”

“Sure,” Foggy laughs.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I felt bad. It was badly done, and I wanted to try to make it right.”

“Still, I’ve been in professional politics for almost a decade now, and I can count the number of heartfelt apologies I’ve received on one hand. It’s not the sort of thing everyone does.”

“Well, it’s a thing I do, when I’m wrong. And I was. I’m genuinely sorry.”

Matt acknowledges this with another tilt of his head. “You weren’t wrong about everything, unfortunately.”

Foggy frowns, trying to parse what this means. “I’m not sure I—oh my god! Matt!”

He winces. “Do not gloat!”

“I’m not!” Foggy practically shouts. “I won’t. I promise! But, if I’m understanding you correctly, you know?”

“About Bryant? Of course I do! I work for him!”

“That begs the question of why?”

“Why do I work for him?”

“Yes!”

“I’m not in politics just for the love of it, Foggy. I’m a professional political operative, I need the work!”

“Yeah, but Bryant?”

Matt makes a face at him. “Do you imagine there’s a seller’s market out there for blind campaign managers?”

“No, but—” Foggy pauses and really considers this. Matt keeps things upbeat, from what he can tell, brushing off references to his disability easily enough by all appearances, but it must actually be brutal out there for him. “No, you’re right. It’s got to be tough. Even for someone as good as you.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it to flatter you. Considering you’re working in a district that virtually always votes red, and you’ve got a dud for a candidate, your numbers are very impressive. I mean, unless you’re handing out headshots at campaign stops, I don’t understand how you’re doing it at all.”

“Headshots?” Matt asks. “Of me?”

“Okay, don’t you dare try some sort of aw, shucks routine with me. I know you know you’re handsome.”

Matt laughs, tucking his chin in a remarkably shy gesture from such a confident asshole. “That’s a good one, though. Headshots. I’ll have to write that down.” 

“Maybe the 21st district will flip after all.”

“Okay, I know I’m not that handsome.”

Foggy wants to argue the point, but he’s also done enough embarrassing himself for one day and it’s not even noon yet. He’s got to stick to the matter at hand. “Listen, what I said yesterday—”

“Consider it forgotten. Really.”

“No, uh, what I said reflects the opinion and the decision of the White House, even if the delivery left something to be desired. But the administration, specifically the President, wanted me to be clear with you that, Bryant aside, if you ever found a viable candidate, we’d get interested in a hurry. We remain very impressed by your work, if not your candidate.”

Matt appears intrigued by this. “Did anyone happen to specify a better candidate by name?”

“Well, the suggestion was raised that you might fit the bill.”

“Raised by whom?”

“That I couldn’t say,” Foggy demurs, and Matt does that little head tilt again, so he mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key before he realizes Matt can’t see or appreciate it. It’s also a very dorky thing to do, so that might be for the best. 

“You want me to run for office?” Matt asks, instead.

“It’s just a suggestion,” Foggy says, putting his hands up defensively. “Something to think about for the future.”

“The distant, distant future, maybe…”

Foggy shrugs. “Sure. Either way, you’ve made some friends in D.C. this time around. Your next campaign will be easier, I promise.”

“Well, I have to make it through this one first,” Matt says, grimly, running a hand over his jaw in distress. God, even distressed, he’s still ridiculously handsome.

“Hey, if all else fails, you can always pray to Saint Thomas More.”

Matt gives him a baffled look. “What?”

“You know,” Foggy says, putting his hands in his pockets, casually, “the patron saint of statesmen and politicians.”

Matt’s smile of delight and comprehension is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, which is a sentiment Foggy would have dismissed as overly and unnecessarily poetic and saccharine probably twenty minutes ago. His words to Karen yesterday— when you know, you know— come back to haunt him and it is so unfair and yet completely expected that this would happen to him, of all people. He’s known this guy for probably thirty minutes total and still, he knows Matt is special. That this is the beginning of something, even though it probably isn’t going to be what he wishes it could be. This is, bizarrely, a talent of his. He knows when someone is going to be important to him, usually right from the start. He knew it with Marci. He knew it with Karen. He knows it now too. 

Son of a bitch, he thinks. This might hurt.

“Where did you learn that?” Matt asks, his voice gone kind of breathless around his smile.

“Not to brag, but I have access to many things in my line of work,” he replies, trying to stay casual, despite the revelations, “including several volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica.”

“Fancy,” Matt says, with a laugh. “I appreciate the tip.”

“I couldn’t find the saint to pray to specifically for car trouble, but Saint Christopher or Saint Frances of Rome are the patron saints of drivers and Saint Catherine of Alexandria is the patron saint of mechanics, so any of them would do in a pinch. In case you were wondering.”

“Saint Christopher,” Matt replies, “is the patron saint of all travelers, actually.”

“Show-off!" Foggy exclaims. "You didn’t even have to look that up!”

“Every Catholic household has a medal or something for Saint Christopher kicking around,” he says, with a smile. “You didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid to say.”

“What gave me away?”

“Oh, everything. I can spot a Protestant at fifty paces, especially the Christmas-and-Easter variety. It’s like the first thing they teach you in Catholic school.”

“Sure. I mean, what else are they going to do with all that time they’re not teaching you how to put condoms on bananas?”

Matt laughs another one of those big, unexpected laughs, almost staggering back with the force of it. “Yeah, abstinence only makes for very short lesson plans.”

“I’m guessing you all managed to figure out the basics anyway, just from the CDC data I’ve seen,” Foggy says, fully blushing all over with the pride of making Matt laugh and his own stupidity at bringing up Sex Ed in a moment like this. Sometimes he just truly cannot stop himself. 

Before Matt can confirm or deny that he knows how to use a condom (seriously, what’s the matter with his brain?) Foggy rushes to add, “Also, thank you for giving me the credit of going to church on Easter. My mother will be pleased to know I’m fooling people into thinking I’m a nice young man, rather than being obvious with my true heathen nature.”

“You are a nice young man,” Matt says, softly, with the appearance of having sobered slightly. Maybe Foggy shouldn’t have called himself a heathen. Maybe he was being too obvious, the coded aspect of the code word too unfortunately crackable. Oh, well. “At least, I assume you’re young? I’m guessing, from the sound of your voice.”

“I am. I mean, I guess I am. Is 34 young?”

“For the deputy chief of staff for the White House?” Matt asks, eyebrows raised. “Yes! Are you serious?”

“Well, then.”

“You’re my age.”

“And?”

“You’re very successful.”

“I got lucky," Foggy says, with a shrug. "I was in the right place at the right time. That’s all.”

“Yes, because being in the right place at the right time is something to scoff at in our line of work,” Matt says, looking unimpressed. “And definitely completely negates the fact of you being good at your job.”

“I don’t know if I’d call that a fact, per se…”

“I’ll settle for it being my professional opinion, then, and people generally pay me good money for that kind of thing.”

“Well, I left my checkbook at home, unfortunately,” Foggy quips, and is rewarded with a sharp, almost shark-like smile from Matt. “All I can offer you is my gratitude. I mean, unless—?”

“Yes?” Matt asks, when he doesn’t immediately finish his thought.

“Well, you probably have to catch a flight or a train or something soon, right?”

He nods, brow furrowed. “Yeah, my train is out of Union Station at 1:30. Why?”

“Nothing, I—I’m sure you’ve got to—and I should, probably—”

“You should probably just say whatever it was you were initially going to ask me,” Matt says, head tipped, once again, with interest.

“Right,” Foggy laughs. This is so, so stupid. “I was going to say, if you had time, I could buy you a cup of coffee, to complete my apology for yesterday and to chip away at your consulting fee.”

Matt visibly hesitates, which, of course he does. Foggy made the world’s worst first impression and insulted him yesterday. He apologized for that, sure, but Matt’s still probably not pleased about the DNC’s decision and this wasted trip to D.C. to talk about it. One pleasant conversation doesn’t make them friends or anything. 

“That's not necessary," he eventually replies, though not with a great deal of conviction, which is strange. With anyone else, Foggy would assume they wanted him to insist, but somehow he has trouble imagining that's the case here. "I'm sure you'd like to get back to your Sunday plans."

"My Sunday plans are this conversation and going into the office to debate the finer points of the death penalty. You have a pretty low opinion of yourself if you think your company ranks lower than that."

Matt seems to relax at that, oddly enough. “So," he says, with a self-deprecating smile, "this is probably the part where I should admit to an unhealthy amount of curiosity about where you’re at with the Cruz case.”

Of all the things he expected Matt to say, that certainly had not occurred to him, which means he blinks in surprise for what turns out to be a little too long.

“Sorry,” Matt says, mistaking Foggy’s pause for something it isn’t and wincing in apparent embarrassment, “I heard about it on the news. The Supreme Court’s decision, I mean, and I’ve been following the case for a while. When Marci mentioned it yesterday—I shouldn’t have said anything, but—”

“No, not at all,” Foggy says, hurriedly. “I’d honestly love to get your opinion.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean, you just admitted to following the case, and you’re a lawyer by training, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“Right, so that, and you know the political landscape we’re situated in at the moment as well as anyone, running this campaign, dealing with the DNC. Even if you want to give me your opinion as a Catholic, I’ll take it. It’s…we’re basically taking all bets, at the moment, if that’s not insulting to admit.”

Matt laughs lightly. “Not insulting. I think on average there was a majority of flattering sentiments in there.”

“Good,” Foggy says, sighing in relief. “That’s how it was intended.”

“I take it the President hasn’t made a decision on whether to stay the execution or not?”

“No, that’s why I’m heading into the office on a Sunday. We’re all trying to figure out our options.”

“Well, I have thoughts.”

Foggy laughs this time. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“I will, however, defer to you on the subject of where to get coffee in this neighborhood,” Matt says.

“Oh, right. Well, actually, if we cross up here—”

Foggy steps forward to gesture in the direction he means before he remembers that it won’t do much good. At the same moment, Matt steps forward too, towards Foggy, and holds out a hand in what looks like a conciliatory gesture. Foggy pauses, waiting to hear his objection or question, and not thinking too hard about how close they are now.

“Could I—that is, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, as we walk, could I hold onto your arm?” Matt asks, and he doesn’t sound embarrassed so much as tired. Foggy gets the sense that he doesn’t like asking for help or relying on people very much. “It makes navigating the sidewalks and everything easier. If not—”

“That’s fine,” Foggy interrupts, feeling only slightly bad that he’s this eager to comply. He’s mostly doing it to be nice, but there is a small part of him that’s excited because a cute guy will be touching him, which feels sort of bad. “I mean, I’m happy to—”

“Thanks,” Matt replies with just a small quirk of his mouth. If he’s noticed Foggy’s eagerness, he’s not calling it out, which is kind of him.

“Do you…know where my arm is?” Foggy asks, like a moron, making Matt laugh.

“It’s, well, it’s in this general vicinity, right?” Matt’s middle finger ends up jabbing into Foggy’s stomach, which is ideal, of course. Now Matt knows he doesn’t have abs of steel, a thing he was definitely going to pretend to have until directly contradicted. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Foggy says, and just grabs Matt’s hand to get it over with. It’s not important or monumental in any way—they shook hands yesterday, so it’s not even the first time they’ve touched—but his pulse starts to race nonetheless. He places Matt’s hand on the crook of his elbow as quickly as he can without making it weird. Except that now he’s trying to remember the last time he held hands with someone and upon consideration, he thinks it’s been a while, which makes him sad to think about. 

“That’s my elbow,” he says, stupidly, because anything else he could say at this moment would somehow be more embarrassing, which is impressive.

Matt laughs, just a little huff of amusement, but his eyes crinkle adorably again and that’s good enough. “I figured that out,” he says. “Thank you, though.”

“Right. Um, so as I was saying, if we cross the street here, I know a place only a few blocks away. Hopefully, it won’t be too busy on a Sunday morning for us to get a table.”

“Okay,” Matt says, nodding. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“Great,” Foggy says, but doesn’t move. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, not sure where this temporary immobility is coming from. “I, uh, I’ve never done this before.

“Gotten coffee?”

“No, uh, that I’ve done, actually, if you can believe it," Foggy says, with a laugh. "I’ve never led someone before? I just don’t want to make you trip or anything.”

“It’s just an extra precaution,” Matt explains, calmly. This is probably something he explains a lot, Foggy realizes with some amount of shame. “I can get around fine on my own, but especially someplace new, this helps.”

“Should I point out obstacles or something? Does that help at all?”

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Matt says with a smile that might be at his expense. In which case, Foggy thinks, it is fully worth it. It’s a good smile.

“Yeah, sorry, I just—”

“You can point things out, that’s fine, but I trust you won’t lead me into any open manholes or anything like that.”

“That’s a lot of trust, man,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs. “I mean, you’re talking to someone who loves some Looney Tunes shenanigans.”

“Well, then I guess if someone paints a wall to look like a train tunnel, we’re both in a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll try to be strong,” Foggy says, “and vigilant.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Foggy realizes this is probably the moment they need to actually start walking, otherwise they’re just two guys who have linked arms outside of a church. He moves hesitantly in the direction of the crosswalk, tugging Matt gently along with him, and it doesn’t feel anywhere near as awkward as he was expecting. It just feels nice.

“You see?” Matt asks, leaning against his arm. “It’s just like walking with a person!”

Foggy digs his elbow into Matt’s side in retaliation, which just makes him ping-pong away from him before bouncing back, already laughing. “Have all the fun you want,” Foggy says. “Just remember, your life is in my hands.”

“And how very capable they are,” Matt says, mildly, still grinning. 

Foggy feels himself blush and he’s very thankful at this moment that Matt probably can’t tell. It’s the only advantage he has in this situation. Naturally, of course, he decides to cancel out that advantage immediately by saying something stupid.

“By the way, this is what I normally smell like,” he says, as they wait for the walk signal.

Matt raises his eyebrows at him. “Oh?” he says, while giving nothing away, like a total bastard.

“There’s a lot of good reasons not to take a meeting straight off of a fifteen hour flight, it turns out,” Foggy says, trying not to die of embarrassment. Maybe Matt hadn’t noticed. He thought he’d just been too polite to say anything. “I want it on the record that I, you know, shower regularly and wear deodorant and everything.”

“Noted,” Matt says with another cryptic smile. He might even inhale a little bit deeper, though Foggy might be imagining that. 

“Fine, I might even smell a little better than normal. But that’s all you’ll get out of me!”

So what if he had put on cologne that he usually forgets to wear? It was a drop if it was anything. And he only did it because of what a clusterfuck yesterday had been. He’d felt he had something to prove to Matt after that conversation went so poorly. 

Matt, of course, seems to be enjoying himself immensely. “I’m impressed,” he says, as they cross the street. “If you’re willing to go to these lengths for the likes of me, I can only imagine what you’d do for someone important.”

He doesn’t mean it like that, Foggy reasons. It wasn’t intended to make him sound like, well, a bit of a whore, but it lands like that, for whatever reason. Like he’d been strategically deployed by his superiors to smooth things over, to butter Matt up to avoid burning a bridge they might want to cross someday. But, as much as he’d love to slather him in butter right now, that is not the case and, unfortunately, it’s also not a way that Foggy’s allowed to think about this person.

“You’re important,” he says, after a moment’s pause. “We’re fucking democrats, Matt. Our whole thing is that we think everyone is important, right? And, even if you somehow weren’t, I’d still be here. Even if no one asked me to be.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Of course not,” Foggy says, more breezily than he feels. “But my point still stands. I know all this stuff with the DNC is discouraging, but don’t let it sour you on all this. You could very well be the future of the party.”

Matt laughs, nervously. “I don’t know about that.”

Foggy shrugs, which he trusts Matt can feel. “I’ve been told I have good instincts for this kind of thing.”

“Now that I can believe,” Matt says.

When Foggy turns to look at him, he finds Matt already regarding him with interest. He thinks again of his conviction from earlier that this is no irrelevant run-of-the-mill meeting—one of dozens he'll take this week, and hundreds he'll take this year—but rather the beginning of something important. He feels certain that this won't be the last he sees of Matt Murdock and wonders if the same thing is going through Matt's mind too as they walk together. If he's willing to be honest with himself, he can admit that's not just something he suspects will be true; it's something he hopes will be true too.

🏳️‍🌈 💖

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

Okay so since ❄️ is finished I'm gonna replace it with ⚡️ since I REALLY need to finish that chapter. Enjoy!

48 for 🔼:

---

“And if it takes Buck with him…” Chim says.

“We might never find him,” Hen finishes. 

Bobby grits his teeth. “Then let’s pick up the damn pace.”

🔼

Buck bangs on the side of the metal walls of his makeshift prison.

“HELP!” He screams. “HELP! HELP ME!”

He feels sort of pathetic, if he’s being honest. He’s supposed to be able to help himself. And honestly? Usually he can. He spent years on the road, bouncing from place to place, with only himself to rely on. But here he is, for the second time this year, trapped and helpless. Except last time, his team was there. This time…

He’s on his own. 

“HELP! I’M HERE!”

This is probably useless. 

He should probably give up. 

Except, then he starts spiraling about giving up, a little. Because, what if he dies? What if he actually just dies out here? From his perspective, he’s just dead. But what about Shannon and Chris? They’d be, like, kind of traumatized, right? If he died immediately after helping them. And Eddie! Eddie would feel bad. Eddie made him leave the house. Then there’s Maddie. She’d be pretty bummed to lose her only sibling. She was pretty pissed when he had the damn embolism. So that’s, like, at least four reasons not to stop trying. 

Buck has to survive. God, what a chore.

He keeps banging on the side of the metal.

“HELP! I’M TRAPPED!”

And then something strange happens. Something that makes him sort of feel hopeful, but in a cautious way. Like, the hope could also be dread very quickly. 

The water levels start to decrease. 

It’s not sudden. Not a huge, swirling drain. 

---

48 for 🧟‍♀️:

---

“They were firefighters?” Athena asks. 

Chim nods and points at the ground below. “He was my old captain.”

“The racist piece of shit?” Hen asks.

“The very same,” Chim confirms. 

“They came here to take our kids,” Hen says. 

“What?” Bobby demands. 

“They wanted child soldiers,” Athena adds. “To train up for some new world order.”

“Oh my god,” Karen exhales heavily. 

“What’s worse?” Athena adds. “I think there’s probably more of them where these two came from.”

▪️▪️▪️

There are three possibilities. 

First - the best option - Sal and Gerrard, as Chim says he was called, are anomalies. Two batshit individuals who thought they were starting something. Delusions of grandeur. Meaning, the threat is over. Possible? Yes. Likely? No. 

Second - slightly better - they’re not alone, but their ranks are small. Maybe this was a real body blow to them. Whoever they are. Maybe the loss of two of their men will be enough to deter them from trying anything. At least for a while. Maybe the library will be seen as strong. Not to be trifled with. 

Third - and this is the worst option - all this will do is piss off a heavily armed group of ambitious men. Not a great position to be in. Especially considering the two automatic weapons their dead members carried with them. 

They can’t ignore the possibility that the latter option is the truth. They have no way of knowing for sure, so they have to operate under the worst case scenario. That’s how you’re prepared enough to survive. As brutal as it is.

Athena and Hen clean themselves of Sal’s blood while the others get to work preparing for option three. They hide the evidence of children that’s visible from the outside of the building. They go through their intruders’ things. Guns. Ammos. Knives. Bindings. Gags. Anything they can keep and repurpose, they do. The rest, they leave in the Hummer. 

---

15 for ⚡️:

---

Eddie’s not entirely sure what to do. He’s not up for a lot, to be honest. Moving and work in what has felt like an endless rotation these past two weeks has left him sore and tired. But he wants to make a good day of it. Just the two of them. 

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Eddie asks Chris. “We could say goodbye to the house? It’s our last day with it.”

“Say goodbye to the house?” Chris asks. “What would we even do? Wave?”

Alright. Sass.

---

15 for 🪞:

---

 “It hurt. It hurt seeing other mothers with their babies when I wasn’t with mine. When… I don’t know. When I guess I didn’t trust I ever would be again, in a permanent way.”

Chim crosses the kitchen to give her a hug and a kiss on her temple. 

“That was never going to happen,” he tells her.

“I know that now,” Maddie says. “And I know that Eddie will get Christopher back, too. But maybe he’s in more pain than he’s saying. And maybe he thought he could be there for you and Dove, but when faced with it, it’s too much.”

Buck sighs. “Yeah, that… That makes sense.”

“Damn,” Chim mutters. 

[baddygab-bi]

Episode: Love is in the air

I was trying to figure out why I didn’t love this episode, and I think it’s because of how inconsistent this whole season has been with knowing their characters and their season arcs.

And it all goes back to what I’m pretty sure happened mid-season.

Mid-season there was a shift in the direction that a few of the plot lines were taking. Things like them building up Buck to not be able to understand his place in the baby’s life, things like Buck’s coma building him up differently so he’d understand more about himself, Buck’s quest to find happiness, all of that. But something happened and that was all changed to him being 100% understanding of the baby, and the coma being used to say absolutely nothing except a romantic plot. And his quest for happiness? Gone.

Since then everything has felt off. They couldn’t follow through on stuff because things had changed and they had to figure things out and how they’d end.

Tonight’s episode I didn’t love because, like always, it was so on the nose and in the way that’s not good. They prefaced every single thing with a line “it’s magic” “it’s magic” “it’s a sign” “it’s a sign” we get it, “it’s lazy writing.”

The love interests are tacked on. I would be 100% unsurprised if they push Buck and Kameron together. Eddie is only with Latinas, because for some reason the show has now done that 3 times so that’s not a coincidence.

Also, about Marisol… When that actress was originally hired, she was brought in as a co-star with no way to know she’d return. Meaning, she was brought in for that call, got paid $3K a day, that was it. There would have been no chemistry read. She wouldn’t have met any of the main cast until she arrived on set that day. The fact that they now have her as Eddie’s love interest truly feels like they needed to find someone to squeeze in last minute, and picked her. We know nothing about her, we’re just supposed to like her. But my thing is that, she was never supposed to be a love interest, we don’t know the chemistry between the actors. I didn’t love her line readings (I’m a legit professional working actor, I have actor thoughts). Eddie is a major character on this show, we would see or hear or know his love interest well. Karen isn’t seen all the time, but when she is it’s big and important and we’re aware of her at all times with Hen. Eddie’s love interest has to be able to hold her own. She was literally a love interest brought in for a punchline.

Also… Was Chris doing a project on how missions wiped out Indigenous tribes? And the school was having them build models of it? With the church part being the super important part in the model? Because what the heck?

I was correct in thinking that the blue shirt was simply a wardrobe thing and that they had him in one of Oliver’s wardrobe cast-offs.