Summary: When Matt and Elektra spot you sitting at a bar alone, they want to spend some "quality time" with you😏
Warnings: protected and unprotected p in v, oral (both female and male receiving), vaginal fingering, face riding (pls let me know if I forgot something)
Word Count: 3,3K
A/N: I made my favorite couple married here because I am desperate for them to be happy together😩 I’ve been wanting to write a threesome like this for a long time and it’s finally the right time. HERE IT IS! I’m really happy about how it turned out😍 I'm sorry this is a bit long cuz I wanted to write all of my fantasies with them😏🥵 I hope you like it!!!! Please let me know what you think❤️
18+ MINORS DNI
The busy, bleak day wore you out. It was one of those days that nothing went right. First, your alarm didn't go off and you were half an hour late to work. Then, the supplier came in with the wrong delivery which he was pretty sure was the right one. On the meeting afternoon, your boss asked to see a preview of your upcoming presentation and you just froze and babbled some nonsense. That's because you didn't even form the idea of the presentation which you simply pushed forward and forward, procrastinating. In the end, it was a long and exhausting day. However, you didn't want to go home, sit alone and mope around. You needed a drink. That's how you ended up in this fancy hotel bar that is right next to the office.
You were on your third Martini, getting tipsy when someone tapped your shoulder. You instinctively turned to look and you were faced with a beautiful woman, looking at you with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
"Hello," she said settling on the stool right next to you. The smooth, velvet tone of her voice made your hair stand on its ends.
"Hi?" you responded, questioning.
"Are we disturbing you?" A deep, smooth voice came from the stool on your other side. Turning to him, you saw a handsome man in a tuxedo. Even though he was inside, he was wearing sunglasses.
You were intrigued so you simply said "No."
"Good," the woman replied sitting taller now, exposing her collar bones and chest. Her red dress had a deep neckline which displayed her breasts in the most delightful way. You couldn't take your eyes off of the marvelous view. When she caught you ogling, she smiled and you looked away, embarrassed.
She leaned into you, presenting you with her divine scent. "You caught my eye and I've wanted to meet with you," she reached and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. "So pretty," she murmured.
You felt a blush slowly creeping up to your cheeks. Her voice and the way she talked warmed the blood in your veins.
"My name is Elektra and this is my husband Matthew," she introduced.
Matt gave you a dazzling smile "Nice to meet you, sweetie. You can call me Matt."
You smiled shyly "Nice to meet you both." You introduced yourself too.
You chatted with them, getting to know each other. You learned that Elektra runs a private business and Matt, to quote Elektra, was a really good lawyer. You also found out that Matt was blind. You were surprised considering the way he moves like he can see.
They were really charming and good conversation makers. As you talked and talked, they felt safe and trustworthy. They also bewitched you with their beauty and brains. Matt and Elektra were truly a dangerous duo.
Moreover, they were possibly the best-looking couple you've ever seen. The attraction and chemistry between them were filling the space with electricity. Their energy fueled yours and you felt alarmed and alive.
"You're here, drinking by yourself and being seemingly upset. Rough day at work?" Elektra guessed.
You eased into her presence and answered with a nod.
"Aw, poor girl," she pouted. "However, I think we can make your night so much better. Right, Matthew?"
He chuckled "Absolutely." Matt leaned into you, whispering "See, honey. My wife... wants you and she gets everything she wants."
When you got what he implied, you took in a sharp breath. They want to have sex with you? A threesome?
"I-" you didn't know what to say.
Elektra's hand slid onto your thigh, slightly squeezing. She deeply gazed into your eyes. You felt Matt put his hand on your waist. Heat pooled down at your core.
Elektra came closer and placed a kiss on your neck, which sent shivers down your spine. "Come on, it'll be fun. Trust me," she whispered. "Just a one night stand."
Her hand reached and slowly caressed your cheek. "You're so beautiful. Imagine all the ways we can play with you." You felt Matt's hand on your right boob, squeezing slightly. Elektra's hand on your thigh reached between your legs, cupping you. You gasped and shuddered. "We can make you cum so many times, over and over."
"What do you say?" Matt whispered into your ear.
All the logic left your body with their touches and words. "Yes," you answered.
Elektra giggled and hold your hand, making you get up. Matt talked to the bartender "Close her tab and add it to ours." They walked you to the elevator, their hands never leaving you. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Elektra pushed you to the mirror and kissed you hard. Your body was flushed with hers as he worked your mouth. The slight strawberry taste from her stimulated your taste buds.
Matt was just standing at the side, his head dropped down. There was a smirk on his face.
Elektra's hands gripped your hips, pushing herself to your core. The friction made you release a moan into her mouth. You heard the elevator doors open and Elektra stepped away, leaving you gasping for air.
Matt chuckled "Come on."
Elektra held your hand as you made your way to their room. Matt unlocked the door with the key card. "Ladies first," he gestured inside.
Butterflies in your stomach were going crazy as you stepped inside, Elektra and, finally, Matt following you. He closed the door. You walked and stopped before the bed as Elektra approached you.
She gave you a quick kiss with a reassuring smile. "You're so beautiful. So deserving."
The hem of your shirt was lifted and she removed it slowly. Suddenly, Matt was beside you, his sunglasses lost now. He put his palm on your back and kissed you. His kiss felt as good as Elektra's. His hand found the clasp of your bra and undid it.
As you were introduced to his taste, Elektra slid your pants down. She kneeled down and her hands caressed your thighs. She peppered kisses all over your thighs. She got rid of your panties and now her mouth was on your core. She planted a kiss on your clit, making you moan into Matt's mouth. His hands were on your tits, kneading and pinching.
"You taste so sweet," Elektra murmured.
Elektra grabbed your ass, pressing you to her face. The way her tongue worked inside you and on your clit made your knees weak. You held on to Matt's shoulders. He hold you steady and moved on to kiss and suck on your neck. Elektra slowly slid two fingers inside you. Your head fell back, moaning. She sucked and tongued your clit as her fingers moved in and out fast.
Matt held your hand and guided it to his clothed erection. He was so hard in his pants. You rubbed him over his pants, feeling the warmth and length of him. He released a satisfied hum into your neck. "Fuck, yes."
Elektra curled her finger inside you, hitting that magical spot. You threw your head back and came with a cry. Matt held you tight as your body shook with pleasure. Elektra prolonged your bliss and kept sucking and licking. You couldn't take it anymore "Please..." you pushed her head away. She lifted her head and gave you a big smile.
Elektra got up and gave you a kiss. You tasted yourself on her tongue. "You cum so prettily," she whispered into your mouth.
Your hands reached around her body, finding the zip of her dress. You pulled it down and she laughed. Matt slipped her dress down her body. When it pooled down at her feet, she stepped out of it. She wasn't wearing a bra so she displayed her beautiful body only covered with a small fabric between her legs. Fuck, she was doubtlessly the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. Matt caught your reaction, the way you sucked in your breath and became frozen. He chuckled "Yeah, she has that effect on people." He planted a kiss on her temple. Elektra closed her eyes and hummed blissfully, smiling.
Your hands came down on her hips, gripping. You guided her to the bed. First, she sat and then pulled herself up on the bed, resting on her elbows. You settled on the bed on your knees. You leaned into her and slowly slid down her panties. As you threw it aside, you saw Matt from the corner of your eye. Now, he was naked too. He sat on the small sofa, his head laid back and his hand lazily stroking his hard cock. He had various scars on his body yet they couldn't take anything from his beauty. You took in his strong body; his defined abs, muscled arms, and thighs.
You turned to Elektra. She gave you a foxy smile and opened her legs, baring her cunt "Eat me out, pretty princess."
You obeyed as you came closer to her on your hands and knees. You looked up and saw her giving you an assuring nod. You wanted to please her, give her everything she wants. You dived in licking from her entrance to her clit. She lifted her hips with a light moan. Your hands found her thighs, holding her down tight. Her hands became intertwined with your hair.
As you feasted on her, you felt Matt's presence behind you. His hands came down to your ass. "Lift your hips, sweetie," he softly said.
You looked up, locking eyes with Elektra. She understood your hesitance. "Do you want him to fuck you?" she said.
You were ashamed but you didn't give in to that feeling. You nodded shyly. Elektra giggled, her hand on your hair caressed the side of your face "That's a good girl. Lift your hips then."
You went back to give Elektra her well-deserved pleasure as you lifted your hips. Matt reached down and his fingers slid into you. "Fuck, so wet." He planted a small kiss on your shoulder as he lined his cock with your entrance. You felt him slowly entering you, stretching you in the most delicious way. He was wearing a condom which you didn't even see him put on. You moaned deeply and the vibrations made Elektra lift her hips to grind on your face. Your mouth felt like heaven to her. Halfway in, Matt slammed into you. He let out a grunt, as your velvet walls wrapped around his dick delightfully.
He gripped your hips and slowly started to fuck you. Every thrust made your eyes roll in your head. It felt so good. All of you were lost in the sensation. All that mattered was the pleasure.
You moved on to suck on Elektra's clit as your middle finger slid inside her. She gasped and then, moaned. The room was filled with moans and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Matt was about to go insane. The feeling of your wet, hot cunt, Elektra's moans, the smell of her, and your arousals. It was all too much. He nearly came with these senses.
"Fuck... you feel so good, baby," he muttered. You whined in response.
Elektra was enjoying herself and when you added a second finger she was over the moon. You pumped your fingers in and out as your mouth never left her clit. Curling your fingers, you hit her g spot. She released a loud moan, throwing her head back. "Oh my God, yes..." she exclaimed. "Don't stop!"
Matt slammed into you harder now. You fingered Elektra faster and pushed your hips to meet his thrusts. All of you were chasing your orgasms now. Everyone moved in unison to meet their needs.
Elektra was the first to come, falling apart under your fingers and mouth. You licked her way through orgasm. Her loud moans were music to both your and Matt's ears. Her legs shook as her body trembled and you kept eating her out.
Matt reached down and started circling your clit, his thrusts never knowing mercy. You felt the coil tightening in your stomach, you knew what was coming.
You lifted your head and as you gasped for the air, you said "Please... gonna cum."
He slammed you even harder, in a way that you didn't think would be possible. He was hitting it so deeply, so raw. Your orgasm slowly crept upon you, it built up and built up. Then, snapped. You came with a loud cry, stars blurring your vision. Your legs shook unable to keep you lifted. He gripped your hips tighter, fucking you relentlessly. Your fluttering walls were milking his cock. You felt his pace falter and his grunts grew louder. A few more thrusts and he came, burying himself inside you.
All of you just stayed still, trying to catch your breaths. A veil of bless wrapped your bodies. You were hyper-aware of every inch of your body.
Matt slowly slid out of you and you rolled onto your back to rest. Matt walked to the trash, disposing of the condom. Elektra pulled you to her embrace. You felt so safe and welcomed in her arms. She caressed your face "You did so good." She planted a kiss on your forehead.
Matt laid beside Elektra, spooning her. She eased into his embrace with a big smile. "I told you she'd make us happy," she said.
Matt smiled "Yeah, you were right."
"I'm always right, Matthew," she replied, grinning.
You don't know how long you laid there with them. Elektra was right. They really made your night better. They possibly caused you to live the best night of your life. You stripped away from your thoughts when the bed shifted.
Elektra was leaning back and rubbing her ass on Matt's dick. Matt gave a small frown "Already?" he asked.
"Mhm," Elektra answered. Matt laughed, his hand coming over her body to grab her tit. You joined them, kissing and sucking Elektra's neck. She suddenly escaped both your and Matt's embrace, sitting up.
"What..." Matt got interrupted by her shushing. She reached her hand out to you "Come here, baby."
You also sat up and joined her. She leaned into your ear "Suck him off and get him ready for me. Okay?"
You looked down at Matt's semi-hard cock and nodded. You placed your hands on his thighs, hearing the breath he let out. You reached and wrapped your hand around his dick, giving him a few strokes. You leaned down and licked a stripe from its base to the tip. Then, you took him into your mouth. Matt released a soft moan as you slowly bobbed your head. You were teasing him, he knew.
You sensed a movement and looked up, seeing Elektra sitting on Matt's face. She was facing you "Go on, I wanna watch," she said.
You leaned in and teased his tip with your tongue, then sucked. His hips lifted from the bed as he moaned into Elektra's pussy. She literally rode his face but her eyes never left you. You wondered if he could breathe.
"Mhm.. soo good," she moaned. "Such a good boy, my Matthew." He replied by whimpering and lifting his hips more. You took him in all the way and hollowed your cheeks, sucking him off dry. You repeated it over and over until Elektra told you to stop. You moved back, giving her space.
She left the throne of her husband's face and straddled Matt's hips, guiding his cock into her. She slowly sank down, and she closed her eyes, letting out a delighted moan. Matt's hands reached and grabbed her hips. She opened her eyes and looked down at him and smiled. The view before you was mesmerizing. It was clear as day that they were madly in love.
Elektra turned to you "Pretty kitten, are you just gonna watch? Go sit on his face. I promise he's really good at it," she winked. You looked at Matt and he gave you a cunning smile.
"I don't know... I'd never done that," you said shyly. "What if I hurt you?"
Matt laughed "I'll be fine and you're gonna love it. We can't deprive you of one of the greatest pleasures of life. Plus I like it."
"Okay, then," you said but you were still nervous. You moved on the bed and straddled his face, hovering. When you were trying to figure out how to sit, Matt held your thighs and guided you down to his mouth. With his first lick, you arched your back. You were trying so hard not to put your whole weight on him but his tongue strikes made you weak in the knees. He heard you struggle "Sweetie, sit down" he commanded. "Not hover!"
His grip on your thighs tightened as he pushed you down. You were fully sitting on his face now. His tongue dived into you as his nose brushed your clit. You let out a deep moan.
"There we go," Elektra chuckled. She reached and caught your nipples, playing with them.
Elektra rode Matt like there's no tomorrow. That's how she liked to fuck. To the death. She lifted her hips, only leaving his tip inside, and then, she slammed down. A huge grunt left Matt's lips but it was muffled by your cunt. Elektra did the same thing over and over, making him and herself go crazy.
Your shy attitude was long gone when you got familiar with this new feeling. Now, you rode his face confidently. The moans he left made you even needier. You held onto his hands on your thighs and you rode faster, rubbing your clit on his nose.
Elektra, also, rode him harder. Leaning into him, she steadied her hands on his chest as her hips kept pounding down. She was out of breath, looking so goddamn beautiful. You smiled at the thought so you reached out and held her face, bringing her closer to you. Your lips crashed with hers as Matt pleased both of you.
You broke the kiss "Oh... I'm..." you couldn't speak properly as your orgasm neared.
She grabbed your face in both hands "Hold it, we're all gonna cum together."
You tried your best holding it as she kept riding him. Her legs were trembling so Matt's hands left your thigh to grip her hips, holding her still. Then, he rutted inside her so hard, so deep. She threw her head back moaning loudly.
She looked back at you, holding your eyes "Cum, baby. Now!" she said.
You finally let go, cumming on Matt's face and riding your high. You moaned and whimpered, your legs shaking frantically so you hold onto Elektra. Dizziness hit you as his tongue still worked inside you. Elektra came with a cry, her body trembling over his. Her orgasm hit her hard, she'd definitely collapse if it weren't for Matt's strong hands holding her up. Matt fucked his way to the peak of his pleasure and spilled inside Elektra as his muffled moans and grunts accompanied his spasming abs.
Elektra slowly got up and threw herself next to Matt. Her legs were weak and her whole body felt sore. You lifted yourself off of him and laid between them. Matt let out a sigh. All of you were completely worn out.
"That was... perfect," she looked at you. "Aren't you glad you joined us, sweetie?"
You giggled "I am." You played with the ends of her hair as Matt's arms tightened around you. "Thank you for giving me the best night of my existence."
Elektra saw the adoring look in your eyes. It was clear that you worshipped both her and Matt. It made her heart swell.
"Maybe this wasn't just a one night stand," she muttered.
Your eyes grew big in response. Your heartbeat faltered. Matt chuckled "Go to sleep and we'll talk about it in the morning," he said.
You settled between them more comfortably and they both wrapped you in their magical cocoon of love. You drifted off to a peaceful sleep with a big smile painted on your face.
Warnings: codependency, Matt has what can be described as a panic attack because he thinks the reader is hurt,
Author’s Note: matt <3 matthew <3 daredevil <3 the devil of hells kitchen <3 avocado at law <3
Summary: Matt asks you to move in with him because he thinks he needs to be near you at all times otherwise you die.
Genre: fluff
I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator
(not my gif) (this gif sends me EVERY TIME)
Matt knew better than this. He knew better than to love someone. He had told himself that having friends and lovers was wrong. He had very fleeting gentle things with some women but in all, he should not get his emotions involved. Be charming, touch, then go. That was it.
He couldn’t bring himself to get rid of Foggy or Karen solely because they just refused to leave. Foggy would probably be with him till the end of the time. Karen couldn’t leave the craziness alone.
He couldn’t get rid of you because he just could not bring himself to let you go. He was strong but not that strong. Not strong enough to hear your voice one last time. He prepared himself of course, in case he went out one night and didn’t come back. But then it would be you losing him, not him losing you.
He knew better than having your arm under his hand, holding you close to him. He liked to think that as long as you were touching, he could protect you. Your breathing was even but you weren’t asleep. You were tracing things into his bare chest, writing a large elaborate double d to emulate his suit.
“I should have had you design it,” he said, facing the ceiling. You laughed and it shook him as well as you.
“It would have been awful. All one shade of bright red, they would have seen you from a mile away.”
“You wouldn’t let me go out like that,” he said.
“You’re right.” You lifted your head. “I would have added a scarf. In case you got cold.” Laughter bubbled up into his chest. He rolled onto his side. You put your hand on his leg, covered by the bed comforter. It was Wednesday, he had to go to work. It was far too early for you to be awake and yet here you were, happy, smiling.
“Foggy’s going to call in five minutes,” he said. “To make sure I got up.”
“What a wonderful friend. I would never do that.”
“Yes you would,” he argued. This was what love felt like. He had deeply appreciated people before. He probably loved Foggy as well. But this, this is what people got married over. This was honeymoon type love, the kind that old couples had in diners, the kind that people wrote songs about and described in movie monologues. He thought he had that with Elektra but he knew now, he had never had that love until you.
You brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead before standing up.
“I’m gonna go.”
“Are you sure I can’t employ you?” You giggled, shaking your head.
“You don’t pay enough for me to make my rent. Karen already told me, she gets muffins for pay sometimes.”
“They’re very good muffins.” He could hear you putting your clothes on. He slid out of bed so that he could find a suit to wear for the day. “You know, there is a place you could stay.”
“Yeah? Where’s that?”
“Can you do me a quick favor?”
“Yes sir.”
“There’s a stack of bills on my dresser. Check the address for me?” You walked to the dresser and picked it up.
“It’s your address.”
“Could be yours too.” Your heart beat went up, he could hear it, mostly because he was tunning into it. He couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or excitement which didn’t help him a whole lot in the worry department of his mind.
“You serious Matt?”
“Yeah. I need someone to water the plants, if I die.” You jumped back on the bed and kissed him. You were on top of him, laughing, your lips on his. He couldn’t help but feel the happiness rising in his chest and coming out of his mouth in giggles. When was the last time he giggled? College? “Is that a yes?” he asked, your hands on his cheeks.
“It's a ‘I’m calling Foggy to help me with my boxes as I speak’!”
“Does this also mean you’ll work for me?”
“Ah ah ah, don’t try anything further, let me bask in this happiness. Then we can talk about making you my boss.” He smiled and rested his head on the pillow. His phone rang. You picked it up before him and answered it. “Foggy!” You clicked the speaker button and rested the phone on Matt’s chest, sitting beside him. Matt put his hand on your thigh.
“That makes sense. This makes sense. Karen wanna take a gander on why Matt is late?”
“Why even bother?” Karen asked, her voice muffled from them being in different rooms.
“I’m moving in with Matt,” you said into the phone. Foggy chuckled heartily.
“So he’s never gonna be on time again?”
“Would you like to help me with my boxes? Once I pack them that is.”
“I would love to but can you please let him come to work first.” You nodded, laughing.
“Thank you Fog. He’s getting dressed now I’ll walk him there myself.”
====
You were still smiling when you walked away from Nelson and Murdock. You had your arms wrapped around yourself, a hazy look in your eyes. You were just really grateful. Grateful for Matt, grateful for Foggy, grateful for life. It had been a really good morning. It may have been chilly and you may be a little bit frozen in the lips but it was okay.
You should probably start packing boxes now.
====
“Are you gonna have her read you the morning paper? Oh is she gonna make breakfast?” Foggy teased, as he had been the entire day.
“I think it would be cuter if he made it,” Karen said, packing up her bag. She was munching on a muffin.
They were both clearly very happy for Matt. They adored you. It was about time he had something steady in his life that he let stay. Matt adjusted his glasses, a thin smile on his face.
“Are you done?” Foggy pat his friends back.
“Nope.” The three of them walked out the front door. “I thought she was gonna come get you so you could pack boxes for the next five hours,” Foggy commented.
“She’s not here?” Matt asked. He listened intently for any sounds of you. He could probably recognize your breathing if he tried hard enough. But no, your voice wasn’t there, neither was your footsteps walking up to him.
“No,” Karen said. He recognized that voice. It was Karen's famous ‘something is wrong’ voice. He didn’t like that.
“Maybe she came to her senses and decided to ditch you,” Foggy said with hope in his voice. Matt shook his head.
“Are you sure she’s not here?” he asked, more of a statement than a question. There was a pause as their eyes pursued the crowd. With each passing second Matt got slightly more restless. That twitch in his mouth, the hand tightening around the folder of legal work he was holding.
“She’s not here,” Karen said finally.
Then he was gone, down the street. Karen rushed up behind him, refusing to let him go.
“Maybe she’s just late, we should wait,” she said, walking as quickly as she could in heels. Foggy decided to follow them after a split second of contemplation.
“She’s not late,” he said, mind racing.
“Matt, don't you think you’re being a little rash?” Foggy asked, grabbing his arm. “I mean, I know what you’ve been through with everyone but it is normal for people to be late you know. You’re foraging a codependent relationship.”
“Yeah and there will be no relationship if she’s dead,” Matt argued.
“Where even would she be?”
“I thought once she moved in with me it would be better, she would be closer-”
“Matt-” Foggy started but was quickly spoken over by Matt again.
“Fisk is gonna find her after he finds me and then he’s gonna find you Foggy and you Karen and-”
“Where are we going?”
The three of them turned around where you stood. Your hair was up, sweat on your forehead, a different outfit then the one you were wearing earlier. It was pretty clear you had been packing up boxes all day but Matt couldn’t exactly use context clues to see that. He sped over to you, hugging you tightly.
Karen and Foggy chose to stay silent.
“Woah. Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find the tape and I was closing boxes and-” You pulled away, looking at Matt’s face. “Matt? Where were you guys going? Getting drinks without me or something?” Karen cleared her throat and Foggy scratched the back of his neck.
“I thought you were dead,” Matt admitted, voice rough and quiet. Your eyes went wide.
“Why would you think that?”
“You were late,” Foggy chimed in. “I tried to reason with him-”
“It’s okay,” you said quickly. “I’m sorry I was late. I won’t be late again.” Your hand held Matt’s who was clearly still coming down from an emotional trip.
“I overreacted,” he breathed.
“No. Come on, I’ll take you back to the apartment. Foggy I will be texting you for help with boxes. Karen you should come and bring drinks while Foggy and Matt bring things up the stairs.”
“Making a blind man do your bidding has bad karma,” Foggy said.
“Not when he looks so good picking things up.” You kissed the back of Matt’s hand.
“See you then,” Karen called.
===
You walked into your apartment quietly. You hadn’t really spoken on the short car ride. Emotions still hung in the air. He was clearly still worried, you were concerned that he had been so scared.
“Is me moving in a ploy to make sure no one can hurt me?” you asked finally. You grabbed his hand, pulling him around the box he was about to hit. You moved some boxes away from the couch and he sat down. He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Would you not move in if I said it was?”
“No, I’d still move in. I would just know your reasoning.” He felt you sit beside him. “Matt I’m probably gonna be late again,” you told him quietly.
“I’ve watched so many people I love die,” he whispered.
“I won’t be one of them.”
“How do you know that?” His voice had a tinge in it he never used for you. Disappointment, maybe about himself.
“I don’t. I just know I can handle myself.”
“Not against Fisk.” He shook his head. “I can’t be with you all the time and you could be killed any of those precious minutes,” he said, thinking about every time you had ever been beside him. All the minutes he was with you.
“Matt you won’t be able to love anyone if you let this get to you.”
“I know. I’ve been trying. I’m annoyingly fond of you.”
“I’m not gonna say sorry.” You stared at his face, trying to telepathically let him know how much you loved him. “You’re not gonna get rid of me Matty,” you whispered.
“I don’t want to get rid of you. It’s selfish and it could get you killed.”
“Well, think of it as selfish on my part.” You put your hand on his knee and scooted closer to him. “I selfishly will not let you leave me behind.”
“It’s not an admirable quality.”
“Yes it is.” You stood up. “Help me finish packing so we can never get rid of each other for real.”
“Work with me. Please.”
“My therapist would say that this is codependent of us.”
“Codependency is needed when you’re in my line of work.” You smiled gently and grabbed his hand, forcing him up. He let you take him, stumbling into you. You grabbed his thick upper arms. He snaked his arms around your waist. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
“How would you know?” you teased.
“Because I’ve touched every inch of you. Paints a wonderful mental picture.” You scoffed, trying to get away from him but his grip on you was iron thick.
“Oh he’s charming and smooth.” You kissed his jaw. “Let me work.” His stubble brushed your lips, a feeling you loved.
“Why can’t I just touch you a moment longer?” he asked, voice low and gravely. You booped his nose. He was so surprised you were able to wiggle away.
“You’re cute Murdock. Pack the silverware.”
===
You were not used to formal clothing but you didn’t hate it. The blazer fit you, as did the shoes. Matt walked behind you into Nelson and Murdock. You met eyes with Karen who was sitting at the front desk. Her chin dipped, a surprised smile on her face.
“Oh no way he convinced you.”
“He thinks someones gonna snatch me away during the day.”
“Foggy was right. You’re the codependency poster couple,” Karen said, leaning back in her chair. You gave her a slight bow as Foggy walked into the room.
“If it isn’t my fellow lawyer and favorite filer.”
“Oh, I’m stuck with the filing?” you asked, laughing. Matt pat your back.
“You’ll get two baskets of muffins if you're lucky.”
“I hate you Murdock.”
“You’re safe.” He kissed your forehead and walked towards Foggy.
“You’re gonna hit a wall!” He walked swiftly into the interrogation room, as he always did. You smiled to yourself and crossed your arms.
“You’ve picked a real gem,” Foggy said.
“Yeah and he got me. Karen, what needs to be filed?”
The day had started just as every other had since she had joined the convent. In her bit of down time that afternoon, the young sister had found her way to the garden. She sat under a tree, reading away as the laughs of children in the park over the fence amused her ears. Everything was peaceful, until she heard the familiar voice call from an open window above, beckoning her back inside.
“Sister Vienna!”
Her footsteps squeaked and quickened as the young girl flew through the halls. She nearly falls as she slides past the door, only to grab onto it and pull herself in.
“Yes Sister Mag-whoa, my goodness!” she crossed herself, taking in the bloody lump of a man laying before them.
“Who is this? We should call -”
“No, Sister Vienna. Matthew will be staying with us while he recovers.” Father Lantom explains. The young nun nods, breathless as she stares at the battered man laying there, slowly approaching the elder sister.
“It is not to be known, That he is here.” Sister Maggie clarified, and gave Vienna a stern look. The young girl took a deep breath and nodded.
“What can I do, Sister?”
“You shall mind him, as he heals.” Maggie told her. “He will need constant care, and due to my obligations with the children taking precedence, you will be at his side for most of the days ahead. Sister Mary will relieve you now and then for your training, and other duties, but he is your responisbility.”
“Yes, Sister Maggie.” Vienna agrees, eyes scanning over the man in the bed. He looked like he’d been to hell and back, and she was concerned he might not come through the night.
“Good, now let's finish his wrap before he comes to.”
Day 3.
Matt hadn’t woken that evening, or the following day and night. It was as Vienna was changing his chest dressings on the third day that he woke up, and grabbed her wrist.
“Who are you?” his gruff, tired voice hissed, his grip digging to the bone.
“Sister Vienna. Are.. are you alright? You’ve been out for days.” She paused in unwrapping his gauze and looked at him, placing the soft compress down, and wriggling free of his grasp.
“Where am i?” Matt moaned. His mind was muddled from the explosion. His senses were a mess. “Sister…? The church.” he seemed to relax as the fog lifted slightly.
“Close.” Vienna said, laying his arm beside him on the bed to resume her work. “The orphanage. Third floor. What did you get yourself into?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” The man grunts and rolls himself up, and attempts to get to his feet ,but he is spinning, and falling. Sister Vienna is swift, and catches him, and sits him right back down.
“None of that, Mister.” she lightly scolds. “You really dont have the strength, And I don’t have the temperament.” She resumed working on his dressings, while one hand held the sulking man in place.
“ ‘m fine, lemme go.” he whines, barely making an effort to swat her hands away from him.
“Don’t make me get Sister Maggie.” she muttered, pulling a barely audible grumble from Matthew. Vienna rolls her eyes at his whining. She finished changing his dressings, and got him laying down again.
“Once you can walk we will have to find a place for you. The children are beginning to ask many questions.” She said, cleaning up her mess.
Matt hummed in response, half listening as he began to fall back asleep. Every inch of him was drained, and his mind weary.
Day 8:
Vienna had found him, half into the basement window, trying to get back into the church crypt undetected. It was clear he was hurt when she approached, the blood on his face illuminated in the dim light of the room.
“Oh, Matthew. Matthew what did you do?” She hums softly, pulling him the rest of the way inside, and sat him on the bed.
“Nothing, Jus lemme be'' he grumbled, as Vienna pulled the mask off him, throwing it to the floor. She tilted his head back, and used the sleeve of her cloak to wipe away some of the blood on his face.
“Not just yet. You need a good bath.” she said, and let him sit there to slip into the adjoining room, turning on the tub.
“Sister…” he groaned, though he followed her to the bathroom, weakley tugging the black shirt from his body, discarding it. He finishes stripping and slides into the warm water, the bubbles hiding him well. Vienna grabbed some towels and came over, rolling her sleeves up and kneeling beside.
“I’m not going to force you to tell me about whatever stupid thing you did,” she breathed. “I know you're hurting more than you've let on…and I know you're losing your faith.” She slowly scrubbed the drying blood from his skin as he sat in the water, head hanging.
“But, as your friend, or at least I hope,as a friend.. I am here for you.” she picked up a cup, and lightly tilted his face to the ceiling, dumping water through his hair. “And the Lord never lets us have more than we can handle.”
There’s a dry, defeated chuckle from Matt, and it hangs in the air as Vienna chooses to ignore it, while she massages his head with shampoo. They sit in silence, the dripping water the only sound around them.
“Please, Don’t tell Sister Maggie.” Matt quietly pleads, as Vienna towel dries his hair after rinsing the conditioner. “She’ll know why I did it, and I…” he trailed off. The young nun was quiet for a moment, as she put the pieces together.
“Your secret is safe with me, Matthew,” her touch was soft, as she kissed his forehead. “Don’t stay in too long. You’ll raisin..” she told him, squeezing his shoulder
Vienna dries off her hands and arms, and pulls her sleeves down, and sets a new set of towels by the tub for Matt before leaving. A deep pit of worry in her stomach. She heads up to the sanctuary on the way to bed, spending the next hour on her knees at the altar, praying for her God to heal him, inside and out.
Day 12.
She wasn’t sure how they had gotten to this topic. And it was frustrating. Matt had been teasing her now for almost 20 minutes, after she accidently let slip she hadn’t done more than hold hands with a boy, years ago when she was still in the orphanage.
“O-Of Course I’ve kissed someone before.” Vienna huffed,lying through her teeth. She crossed her arms as she watched Matt unwrap his hands. “I might be a nun-in-training but I have kissed someone..once.” She shrugged.
Matt laughed. “Y’know I can tell you’re lying, sweetheart.” his voice was smooth as honey and he moved, to wrap his hand around her wrist.
His touch set a flame under her skin, the rosy flush crawling up her arm, to settle on her cheeks, and nose. Vienna tried her best to keep her heart steady, but she couldn’t help the flutter. Matt smiled as he felt it under his hold, and he slowly pulled himself up from the bed.
“Well who said you could know I was lying?” She fought, making no attempt to release herself from his grip.
‘Oh? Is it a problem..? I’m so sorry.” he says, The false regret dripping from his smirking lips. Vienna’s eyes flicked to his lips as he stood close to her now.
“Well, yes, quite. It - It is my privacy. My heart. You can’t listen to it.” She stammered. The heat from his touch followed his hand as it slowly brushed up her arm, and when it settled against her cheek, a spike of warmth found its way to her belly. No..just under. Was this the temptation the elders had warned her of, as she began her journey here?
Matt’s laugh echoed in her chest. “Oh, I guess I won’t then.” he hums. “Sorry For the intrusion, Sister. I’ll try not to do it again.” he pulls his hand away, the tension in the air still thick.
“As you should.” Vienna breathed, trying to regain her composure. She watches his hand move further away, and finds her hand reaching for his, fingers just barely brushing his hand. Matt pauses at the feeling, half turning back to her, his own body almost..yearning for the woman.
Vienna sat down to continue her chores, trying to focus, keeping her back to Matt. As she folded the clean sheets, her mind began to drift away. Hands touching, breaths hitching, thick tension she hadn’t felt before. All because of Matt. Matt had plagued her thoughts since the day he’d woken up. Sometimes she swore she could still feel his fingers digging into her wrist. She couldn’t figure out why.
She must have froze in place as her thoughts consumed her, because Matt had noticed. And his voice cut through the air so smoothly. “Sister Vienna? Is everything alright? You’re not usually this quiet?” she could just hear the smirk on his lips.
“Just folding laundry matthew. Just because I am here does not mean I must be social.”
“Right.” Matt chuckles, and sets his book to the side, and walks over. “Tell me, Sister. What’s on your mind? You still upset that I caught you lying?” He's teasing her now, goading even. Matt wanted a reaction from her.
Vienna’s blood began to boil, and she dropped the sheet she was folding and stood. She turned and took some steps to Matt.
“Why is this such a deal for you huh?”
“It’s not. Its….cute” He chuckles, head tilting as he listened to her.. Eyebrows arching as he hears the little flutter of herheard.
“Cute?”
“Cute. You’re going to throw away something you’ve never had, or felt? For all eternity? Surely you should have some experience before you decide to be chaste in the name of the lord.”
Vienna had no reply to that. She stammered as she stared at him. “Well -I - It’s my calling, It’s - what I am supposed..”
“Do any of us truly do what we are supposed to? What’s a taste of the fruit before your oath? Better than a taste after?” Matt stepped closer, his hand trailing up her arm to her shoulder.
Vienna’s heart hammered in her chest. She swore the congregation above could hear it, let alone Matt. As he grew closer, she made No effort to stop him. She..couldn't find fault in his words. His hand traveled from her shoulder, ever so slightly his fingers resting on her pulse point, palm resting on her collarbone. Vienna looked up at Matt, and let out a soft gasp, seeing their faces inches apart.
“You’re a bad idea.” Her voice is soft, barely audible. But the tug on Matt’s lips is tell enough he heard.
“I’m sure I am.” he breathes, and his thumb is on her chin, tilting her head back. Holding it in place as he leaned in, and pressed his soft lips to hers.
The kiss fills Vienna with lust, and confusion. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, eventually settling them on his hips. It lasts, maybe 15 seconds, but…They are the best 15 seconds Vienna has experienced. When Matt pulls away, and even he is astounded by the feelings the kiss brought on.
“Thank.. Thanks… i think?” Vienna breathes, grabbing the unfolded pile of sheets and rushing off upstairs to complete it, her face a bright red, her lungs struggling to breathe deep enough. Matt listened to her run off, and leaned against the post behind him, his own mind racing. Cooking up thoughts he shouldn't about a nun.
Neither of them would sleep that night.
Day 14.
It had been 2 days since the kiss, and Vienna had been off for her usual duties. She couldn't help but think. Had Matt done the same with sister Mary, who watched him in her absence? Was she fooling herself into thinking it was only her he’d done this with? Her mind wandered as she walked back to the church from the diner down the way, the brown paper bag clenched in her fists. Once inside, she bows lightly to the father, and finds her way to the crypt, where the now familiar sound of punches and grunting polluted the air.
The way Matt’s arms rippled as he went to town on the makeshift punching bag captivated Sister Vienna, almost immediately. There he was, in nothing but his sweatpants that barely held onto his hips, sweat dripping down his back. She found herself frozen to the spot on the last step, eyes boring into him, memorizing every inch of his arms, shoulders, chest.. Anything she could see.
“Did you need something, Sister Vienna?” he asked as he took a step back, hand held out to stop the bag from swinging back into him.
The poor girl felt her mouth go dry. His senses still astounded her. But what else could she expect from ‘The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’? “I- I brought you some lunch.”
Matt walks over to the stone bench and sits to unwrap his hands. “Alright. Thanks.” he said, pulling the gauze off his knuckles and setting it beside him, before taking the tray from the young Nun.
She nodded, and unhooked the bag of laundry and unpacked it, setting everything back where it belonged. Her Mind was wandering as she quietly organized, thinking back to Matt’s bulging arms, the popping veins.. And oh god, the soft grunting noise in rhythm with his hits. She could feel the warmth in her stomach growing as she thought about it, finding herself craving his kiss. His … touch. Lord, forgive me.
She cursed herself inwardly for the impure thoughts that had flooded her mind. She straightened up, and flattened out her tunic.
Vivian turned on her heel and nearly fell back when she saw Matt right behind her. His hand quickly wrapped around her waist to catch her. “You alright, sister? I know I promised not to listen in but sweetheart, I can feel it from across the room.”
“Feel what?”
“Your heartbeat. Your sweat…your…” he trailed off, and his grip on her side tightened. The smell of her reaction to him was filling his brain with thoughts that would make a better Catholic shudder.
“Well, I… It is rather hot down here..” Vienna wanted to move. She knew she had too, but..she couldn’t. Despite telling herself to walk away, her feet stood glued to the floor, inches from the Devil himself. Her eyes drifted to the clock, as the temptation bubbled up inside of her. She had time. When she looked back at Matt, and saw the stupid grin plastered on his face, the temptation - no - the need boiled over, and she closed the gap between them, her lips finding his.
Matt had never been caught off guard by a kiss before. But Sister Vienna had gotten him. He kissed her for a moment, enjoying the familiar taste of her. He then pulled back. “ Sis - Sister Vienna,” he laughed. “Your solemn vows are this afternoon.” he reminded her, loosening his hold on her.
“Hm?”
“Y’know.. Poverty.. Obedience… Chastity?”
Her whole body stiffened. Oh shit. That was today. She looked at Matt, and looked at the clock. Then back at him. She had but seconds to make a decision. She felt his thumb stroke against her back, and the feeling started up inside of her again. Vienna took a deep breath.
“Well, right now? At this moment, If I am going to forsake my vows and go to hell, I might as well do it with the devil himself.” Matt’s laugh filled the air.
“Good enough for me, Sis-”
“Just Vienna.”
“Good enough for me, Just Vienna.” His grin returned, and Matthew pulled her flush against him, both hands firmly holding her hips.
He pressed his lips back to hers, drinking in the feeling. Something inside of him was stirring, and his tongue slowly opened the kiss. Vienna welcomed his tongue with her own, her hands resting against his shoulders for a moment, before one slid around the back of his neck, fingers stroking at his hair. Matt groaned softly into the kiss, and his hands slipped further up Vienna’s back, towards her cap and veil.
Vienna let him take it off of her, her hands sliding down his bare chest. Matt slowly ran his hand over her hair, and landed on the pins that held it back just so. He pulled them from their place and let each clatter to the floor, before running his hands through her hair.
Vienna tilted her head back at the sensation, breaking the kiss with a soft sigh. Matt takes the opportunity to attack her neck with heated kisses. Vienna lets out soft whines at the feeling, heat spiking down to her very core. Matt notices her pulse pick up, and smirks to himself, pausing in that exact spot to suck a nice rosey-red mark onto her neck, then continuing the kisses. He leaves a few more marks all down her neck, everytime she moans.
“Matthew..” she breathes, tugging him back by his hair. He pouts a little, blushing. Vienna looks at him, reaches up to take the button off her tunic and drops it to the floor. Matt’s hands find home again on her hips. He grins.
“Do all nuns go mostly naked under their cloaks?” He teases, finger tips running along the waistband of her underwear.
“Wouldn't you like to know.” Vienna giggles in response, pulling a groan from Matt. She finds his hands with hers, and slides his hands up her body, blushing deeply. She rests his hands on her chest, and Matt smiles, giving her tits a firm squeeze through the bra. He then slides his hands around her and unclasps the bra, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then, he grabs her hand and walks her over to the bed, and kisses her.
Vienna finds herself a little more confident now, and her hand settles on the waistband of his sweats, while the other tangles itself in his fluffy brown locks. Each time she tugs, Matt grunts and his hips rutt against her. She lets out a soft moan at the feeling, and Matt gently walks her the rest of the way to the rickety little bed. It hits the back of her knees, and she squeaks. He laughs and gently lays her down before sliding over her, kisses returning to her warm, soft skin. He starts at her jaw and then licks along her neck, pulling giggles from Vienna as they tickle her in some places. He slows them down as he trails her collarbone. He listens to her breath for a moment, and she shifts under him, whining in impatience.
“Matthew..please.” She breathes out. “Touch me. Please, for the love of all that is holy, touch me.”
The needy-ness that soaked Vienna’s voice had Matt rock hard and ready to go feral. He didn’t need to be told twice. His hand finds her tit, and his lips find the other, licking to her nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His fingers pinched at the other nipple, dragging breathy moans from his partner. He switches sides, and groans into her skin. Her smell alone was intoxicating this close.
He slowly migrates the kisses further down her body, his hands sliding down to her thighs. When her breath hitches, he pauses in the kisses, finger digging into her thighs, just below the apex. “You alright up there, Vie?” he asks; not moving a muscle, waiting.
Vienna nods, but it takes a moment for her mind to clear just enough for her to remember. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Don't stop.” She says, pushing hair from his face. “I want whatever you can give me.”
Those words sent a shockwave through Matt, and his hands tensed in their grasp of her thighs, pulling them apart. He slides his fingers along the inside of her thighs, until he is met with her clothed cunt. The dampness of the fabric pulled a laugh from Matt, as he ran his finger along it, pulling shivers from the woman above.
“So wet, and I have barely even touched you. I am going to enjoy this..” he mumbled out, helping her shimmy out of the underwear, tossing it away. Matt moans out as he ducks back between her legs. He slowly slides a finger through her folds, covering it in her slick, and then he slipped the finger inside her.
Vienna gasped as he touched her, the new sensation rushing both to her head and to her core. She feels a little light headed, cloudy even. Matt starts to fuck into her with his digit, and Vienna lets out a soft moan, leaning up on her elbows to watch him. Her eyes widen slightly as she sees Matt’s tongue appear, and connect with the sensitive flesh before it. Her head drops back as his tongue bee-lines it for her clit, swirling around the nub, as he sped his finger up. He kept the rhythm going for a while, and as she neared her first peak, he slipped a second finger into her hole, and continued the pace.
He licks along her folds, before placing his thumb on her clit to run small quick circles. “Cum, vie. I know you can do it...” he praised, kissing her mound. Vienna felt like she couldn't breathe, the feeling inside of her was building, and she grasped at the sheets below her, eyes falling closed. Matt hooked his fingers inside of her, and she choked out His name, as every sense exploded. She swore to her God above that she saw the whole universe, that moment.
Matt licked at her juices softly, before kissing back up her body, planting soft kisses on her lips. She returned them, her arms hooking around his neck, holding him in place. Matt straddled her leg as they kissed, his hardness pressing into her thigh. He squeezes happily at her tits, and ass, before pulling away to shimmy his sweats off, kicking them from the bed.
Vienna’s breaths hesitate as Matt settles his hips between her thighs, giving his aching cock a few strokes, his voice shuddering. He tilts his head gently. “You ready, Vie?” there was a moment of pause.
“Yeah. yeah I am.” she breathes, adjusting ever so lightly under him.
Matt nods, and guides himself to her core. He runs the tip of his cock through her soaked folds, before slowly pushing inside of her. A hiss is pulled from Matt’s lips, as he feels her nails dig into his shoulder. He stops, allowing her to adjust.
“Sorry, okay, okay I’m good.” she breathes, loosening her grip on his shoulders. Matt chuckles lightly, and turns his head to kiss her hand.
“No Sorrys needed.” he hums, bringing one hand down to rub gentle circles on her sensitive clit. Matt gently rocks his hips, and slides home inside of her.
“Fuck, you feel so good around me.” he breathed, leaning down to kiss along the soft, sweet skin below him as he began to rock his hips at a steady pace. Vienna squeaks at his words, and her walls clench around him. She’s quiet under him, until he hits the spot, and she lets out a sudden loud moan.
“There you are, shit.” Matt’s hand gently grabs her knee and moves it to the side. “Thought i had you fucked out already”
“‘Sgood, Matthew, ‘sgood…” Vienna whines, as her body starts to heat up again. Her walls clench around Matt’s cock, and she feels every inch as he thrusts. Her eyes flutter shut, and her mouth hangs open in a moan. Then, Matt’s lips come home, and his thrusts slow. He pulls her hips to his, and holds her in place. Then he rolls underneath her, setting her down over him, cock twitching inside of her.
Vienna lets out a soft whine, and wriggles as he sits her on top. She places her hands on his chest, drumming her fingers on his pecs.
“Follow my lead,angel.” He breathes, and squeezes her hips, before slowly grinding her against himself, and then lifting her up, and letting her slide back down on his cock. Vienna picks up on the movements quick, and takes over, grinding herself on his cock for a while before starting to bounce.
“That’s a good girl. There we go…I’ll have you a slut for me in no time.” he grins, a hand sliding around her ass to give it a spank.
Vienna’s brain is so focussed on crossing over the edge of the cliff, that his words aren’t even landing. The smack on her ass brings her back for a moment, and a breathless “Matthew” leaves her lips. Her thighs begin to tremble, and she whimpers. Matt takes his control back, holding her hips and fucking up into her, meeting herhalf way with his thrusts.
“Oh god - oh god!” She stammers out, nails digging into Matt’s pecs, as she feels herself fall right off the edge, her body white hot, and weightless as the pleasure streams through her veins.
“For you, Angel? I could be.” Matt grunts as he fucks her through her orgasm, chasing his own. Her sweet cunt is like a vice around him, and he finally holds her down to his body as his cock twitches and spills inside of her, groans falling from his panting lips.
They both sit like that for a while, coming down from their highs. Matt Then rolls her back onto the bed, slipping his spent cock free and heading to the sink. He comes back, and is halfway through cleaning her up, when the cellar door creaks open, and footsteps start down the stairs. Fuck. Matt had missed them.
Vienna hears the door, and is up in a flash, dashing across the room just in time to pull her cloak over herself while Matt sat on the bed with the sheet drawn over his lap.
“Sister Vienna! Are you down here? It’s almost time for you - Oh Lord in heaven!” Sister Maggie gasps, and crosses herself at the sight of them both. “What.. Matthew, what have you done? Sister Vienna. Your vows are in less than an hour. What are you thinking?”
“I…I’m thinking I can’t join the sisterhood, Sister Maggie.”
“I should think not, Vienna. I should think not” she tsked at the young girl holding her cloak over her naked form, while Matt sat on his bed trying to stifle his cocky grin.
“Just like your father, you are, Matthew.” Maggie said, finger pointlessly aimed at the naked man on the bed. Maggie collected the veil and cap from the and set off back upstairs.
Tags: @sobachka-korol @bunnywritesmarvel @dumpsterfirecee @h-llfire @castlesnchurches @shedaresthedevil @mattmurdockspainkink @phoebe-danvers @saintmurd0ck @buckypascal @freshabogados @splendiferous-bitch Lmk if you don't want to be tagged ily all <3
[All this is, is me typing out as much as a I can in a blurt about what I want and don't want in this fic I'm trying to script out lolololol. Not real fleshed out content.]
Anyways new obsession alert. I want to write the most heart ache inducing matt Murdock fic. But I am physically incapable of dedicating that much brain power. So here are some incomprehensible bits and pieces. I have read those massive ao3 fics that sit at the top of the matt Murdock tag when you sort by word count. They are super good btw! Reading so many blissful slow burns make me want to try and conduct something of my own.
Uh, so angsty. Yep. That’s for sure. That’s what I want.
Over the time it has taken me to accumulate my love for fics, I have acquired a real hankering for pain. Not to the catholic level of internal grief though. I find the most raw way for me to even entertain the idea of me writing is for me to have a feel of the main character. (Should it be a Y/N moment? An elaborate OC that I literally cannot bring myself to explain to a reader lol?... So I think I am going to stick with Y/N or something similar.)
I know for sure... I don't want my character to be a Mary Jane or another kick ass vigilante. It’s not off the table as good digestible content, it is just something I know I won’t be capable of writing well. I also don't have my ass completely into the marvel lore, nor have i completed the series yet. (I am rationing the wee amount of content I can.) This leaves me with a short and sweet glimpse into the dare devil world. I need the interactions to be based in hells kitchen, that's where he stays. That's his city and his pride. And since he is a big boy who de-marauding the streets. I cannot write him off and out of town. One man for the town and he simply cannot take a vacay. Its not in his mind I don't think.
So I have to bring our character to hells kitchen. That's the first order. Then I have decide who she meets first. Will she meet our masked defender or matt? If she meets matt first there are so many options:
There are many different accessible areas I can write about. I like how many insertable point there are leading up to college. Bro was taken into the care of religious folks to, so maybe I can play with that element. But also I want to do connections. College insert? As a college commuter I feel that no matter how I insert our character I will have to be really creative to get a on campus king with a commuter. Shits so distant. Speaking from experience. But I am also strangely compelled to explore that idea the more i type oh my. I will not defeat my slow burn heart and “he was my friend since childhood” myself like that. I need a meeting point, intrigue, interactions, lingering feeling, and maybe just the raw edge of a huge possessive whore matt Murdock when we all root for this hypothetical duo. So that's off the table. I- I have decided to switch to paper notes. I literally have free time tonight so I will be sketching out the barest of bones for what this fic can and will be.
Casual. Just as regular degular as it can get. A lobby? A very public and coincidental moment. But matt is likely hyper aware on most fronts. I don't know if I can go about this without hitting yall with an unwarranted connection yaknow. Too pick me that way.
There was a point here. Its in my head and I don't feel like typing it anymore. Officially getting brainstorm paper rn.
I have simply felt the need to stop punctuating this. These are my <3 notes <3.
“Wait, oh my god, please tell me you met the British guy.”
“Okay, yeah, I did meet him. So weird.”
“I mean, you guys know I have a thing for accents, so I was so excited when they said they hired a guy from London. Like, come on, talk about sexy. But that guy? Ugh. The vibes are terrible. I’m extremely disappointed.”
“Tell me about it. Why did they hire him, honestly?”
“I heard he’s like, a genius Egyptologist or something.”
Or: As the semester begins, you hear whisperings of a strange new professor in your department and decide to seek him out yourself.
Rating: E/18+ only (no adult content in this chapter, but it will happen eventually)
WC: 5k
Tags/warnings: professor/student relationship* (eventually); smut (eventually); Reader is a "blank slate" but has a backstory
*This is a work of fiction. Do as I say, not as I fictionalize. Don't fuck your professors, and don't stand for anyone who abuses a position of power.
[series masterlist] [main masterlist]
The divinity school café is, by far, the most underrated study spot on campus, and you would like to keep it that way.
First of all, the name is a pun—the Grounds of Being—which is cute in a twee sort of way. Second of all, it’s close to where most of your classes are held, so you can get there in less than three minutes when you need a caffeinated pick-me-up in the middle of the day. Lastly, it is (so far) underdiscovered by underclassmen, which means it’s the perfect place for a stressed-out grad student to take up residence.
And take up residence, you have. In a summer that mostly consisted of archival research and thesis writing, the Grounds of Being became your second home. With the entire University of Chicago campus mostly cleared out for the summer, you have free reign of all of the best study spots and an entire table at the café to spread out your materials.
Now that it’s August, though, O-Week festivities have begun and underclassmen are unavoidable. The campus is overrun by bright-eyed, optimistic freshmen following their orientation leaders everywhere, and it’s nearly impossible to go anywhere without stepping on one of them. You had to fight your way through a crowd of first-years singing school chants to cross the street to the Grounds of Being, and it was almost enough to make you turn around and hole up in your apartment until the end of the week.
Then you remembered the reason you left your apartment—your roommate is working to the sounds of the Mario Kart soundtrack—and decide to forge ahead.
When you arrive at the coffee shop, it’s mercifully quiet. Only two baristas are milling around behind the counter and a handful of students occupy the cafeteria-style tables in the seating area. You order your regular (an oat milk latte), swipe your dining card to use up some dining dollars, and plant yourself at your favorite table. Laptop plugged into the wall. Water bottle on the left. Notebook on the right. It’s a familiar, comfortable routine; you could do it in your sleep. The barista calls your name and you get up to get your drink, and then you don’t get up again for almost three hours.
You were overdue for a marathon work session anyway. Despite spending your entire summer buried neck-deep in thesis research, somehow you still feel behind. Classes begin next week, which means your thesis group will also start meeting next week, and you’re terrified that you’re going to show up with notes and an outline only to find out your classmates are already finishing their first drafts. That fear of being behind everyone else is what pushed you out your door this morning, and it’s the same fear that motivates you to push through three hours of work now.
Somewhere near the third hour of research, you finally check in with your body and discover that your back is aching and you have to pee.
When you return from the bathroom, three girls have sat down at the opposite end of your table. In the time you’ve been here, the café has started to get crowded: most of the tables are starting to fill up and a third barista has started their shift. You settle back down at your seat as one of the girls reaches for a packet of sugar off the table and stirs it into her drink. The ice in her coffee clinks against the plastic cup and she takes a sip.
“Did I tell you that I got to meet some of the new professors last week?” she asks her friends.
One of her friends looks up from her laptop. “Should we care?”
The third girl looks at the second girl slyly. “Sure, if any of them are cute.”
“They’re not,” the first girl deadpans.
“Oh,” her friends say, sounding very disappointed.
You stifle a laugh and sip the dregs of your coffee. Rating professors on their attractiveness—it’s an age-old hobby, as much as the university tries to discourage it. You tell yourself you’re listening to learn intel on staffing changes at the university, but really, you just love to eavesdrop on gossip.
“They’re mostly adjuncts, I think, but there’s a couple of visiting professors too. One of them is from Paris, can you believe it?”
“Your obsession with French men is bordering on alarming. They eat cigarettes, babe.”
“That’s hot.”
The third girl butts into the conversation between her friends. “Seriously, none of them are cute?”
The first girl snorts. She sips her coffee and swirls the ice around. “No, tragically. I mean, one of the visiting professors has like, girlcrush potential, but then she started talking and I was way too intimidated. Like, she was saying words that I didn’t even know were words. Don’t tell my English advisor that.”
All of the girls laugh. You start to tune them out. You were halfway through annotating a source when you got up to pee, and you really need to get back into it. Your advisor sent over an entire file of sources to review before your next meeting, and you’re so close to getting through all of it. At this point, unless one of the new professors the girls are gossiping about could hold your hand and lead you through the tangled mess of your thesis, you couldn’t care less about who they are. You could care even less than that about how cute they are.
“Wait, oh my god, please tell me you met the British guy.”
“Okay, yeah, I did meet him. So weird.”
“I mean, you guys know I have a thing for accents, so I was so excited when they said they hired a guy from London. Like, come on, talk about sexy. But that guy? Ugh. The vibes are terrible. I’m extremely disappointed.”
“Tell me about it. Why did they hire him, honestly?”
“I heard he’s like, a genius Egyptologist or something.”
“You would think a genius in anything would know how to iron his shirts.”
The girls dissolve into laughter again. Even though you literally just told yourself to focus on your work, the mention of Egyptology snags your attention. If this new, strange professor with allegedly terrible vibes is an Egyptologist, that means he’s technically in your department, which means he might become your problem. From their description, you’re picturing a wizened old professor from a movie, almost like Dr. Brown from Back to the Future. Or Gandalf. The image in your mind is very clear: old as the hills, with a cloud of puffy white hair, sporting ill-fitting clothes like they were bought at somebody’s grandfather’s estate sale. It’s an amusing image and not all that far off from some of the historians you’ve met over the years.
One of the girls pauses. “Hang on, Egyptology? Since when do we have an Egyptology department?”
Her friends look at each other and shrug. “I dunno.”
“Me neither.”
For half a second, you consider inserting yourself into their conversation and explaining all of the nuances of the Ancient Studies department, but you manage to hold yourself back. If you go down that rabbit hole now, you’ll waste forty-five minutes getting into the weeds about it. To your relief, the girls’ conversation meanders to lighter topics, and you’re able to tune them out and bury your head back in your research.
After all, there’s less than a week left until the semester begins. With no time to waste, you simply can’t afford a distraction.
☾
Later that evening, you find yourself laying in bed and staring at the ceiling unable to sleep. You know it’s your fault—it was a bad idea to consume three cups of coffee after lunchtime—but you’re still annoyed about it anyway. When you tap your phone, the screen illuminates your entire bedroom with blue light and tells you it’s just past one in the morning.
Ugh.
Rolling over onto your side, you switch from staring at the ceiling to staring at the wall. It’s late and you shouldn’t entertain your anxious nighttime thoughts, but it’s hard not to. With every day that passes between now and the start of the semester, your anxiety ticks higher and higher. This summer has been a blissful respite from imposter syndrome and the pressures of your master’s program, but you eventually have to leave this little oasis.
One thing you have to confront is the fact that your parents still think your history degree is a bad economic decision. Another thing you have to deal with is your controversial thesis topic—repatriation of stolen artifacts—which seems to draw the ire and condescension of old-school historians in your field constantly. On top of all of that, you still have to confront the fact that you’re at a top-tier school and it still feels like they made a mistake letting you in. No one told you that the biggest challenge in grad school, other than maintaining a decent sleep schedule, is feeling like you’ll never belong and don’t deserve your place.
Alright, that’s enough of that.
Spending all night spiraling into a pit of despair is not on your to-do list for today. Already bored of your brain’s cruel tricks, you reach for your phone and start scrolling through your notifications as a distraction. The vast majority of them are from your university email: newsletters from various clubs you signed up for and don’t have time to attend, offers from the campus store that you definitely never signed up for. Among that pile of rubbish, there’s a new email from your department.
Welcome Back to Campus!
When you click on it, you see that it’s a pretty standard email. It provides updates on departmental activities, spotlights a few students who did interesting work over the summer, and lists new hires in the department for this semester. Some of the names are familiar from the spring course catalogue. There’s a professor from the University of Jordan that you’re dying to take a class with, so you write down her email in your notes app, fully intending to plead your case and beg to be let into her class as an override.
The other names on the list don’t mean much to you. In your half-asleep-but-still-not-asleep-enough state, all of their biographies start to blur together. It’s a veritable alphabet soup of awards and publications and postdoc appointments at prestigious universities. You skim their bios and stop only when something catches your attention. Towards the middle of the pile, you finally seize on something intriguing.
Dr. Grant’s primary research interest is the Ennead, particularly the study of Egyptian religious artifacts and the repatriation of Egyptian cultural heritage from international institutions and governments.
Now that’s interesting. You scroll up to look at the professor’s name: Steven Grant, PhD, visiting professor from University College London. You write down his name and email. His research area is intriguing. After all, you need to consult with an Egyptology expert for one section of your thesis, and it sounds like this guy might have the answers you need.
In the midst of drafting an email to Professor Steven Grant, you yawn—finally. If you had the presence of mind to zoom out on this situation—laying in bed past midnight, unable to sleep from caffeine overindulgence, drafting emails to beg for help from professors you don’t even know—you might have recognized this is an unsustainable way to spend your evenings. But you’re too exhausted to think, so you just finish drafting the emails, drop your phone on your bedside table, and roll over onto the cold side of the bed.
☾
The first week of the semester is a blur. Your friends return from their time away from campus and you spend the first week catching up with them, reading syllabi, and starting the readings you’ve already been assigned. On Wednesday, you have a meeting with your thesis advisor, and she praises your progress over the summer. Her feedback makes you glow with pride. One day you’ll investigate the direct correlation between the academic feedback you receive and your self-esteem, but that’s a problem for later. You just let her praise carry you through the rest of the week.
On Friday, you go out to Woodlawn for drinks with friends. By the end of the first round, you find yourself choking down envy as your friends recount their stories from the past summer. While you spent most of the past three months holed up in your apartment, they were scattered all over: in DC interning for the government, halfway across the counter working at museums, overseas at dig sites. One of your friends even decided to give up on academia for the summer and trained as a park ranger in Utah.
While he regales you with stories from his time out west, you glance down at your phone. It’s just in time to see an email pop up on your screen from a UChicago email address.
An email from a professor at eleven PM on a Friday? While not unheard of, it shows a shocking lack of work-life balance.
“That’s weird,” you mutter.
Kate, who’s sitting closest to you, overhears your comment. “What’s weird?”
“This email I just got.” You skim the message and then pass your phone to Kate. “Is it just me, or is it kind of rude?”
She squints down at the screen, like squinting will somehow counteract the alcohol in her bloodstream and make the text more legible. She shrugs and hands the phone back to you. “Kinda. I mean, all professors write emails like that, don’t they? I spent like thirty minutes revising an email to my advisor last week, and all he sent back was ‘k thx.’”
You snort out a laugh and give your phone one last look. On one hand, you weren’t even expecting a reply to your cold email from the Egyptology professor, so it’s pretty nice of him to actually give you the time of day. On the other hand, his email is kind of curt. That’s not to mention his response is rather strange: he wants you to come to his office hours to have your questions answered. Your questions were not complex enough to warrant that, were they? Was it bad etiquette to cold-email him and ask for help, and now he’s dragging you to his office hours to reprimand you?
It wouldn’t be the first time. For as many wonderful professors that you’ve met in your five-plus years in academia, there have been a handful of them who seem to think you’re a naive little girl wasting grant money on a pipe dream. It would be unpleasant if Dr. Grant turns out to be of the latter type.
Kate nudges you with her elbow. You take that as a sign to put your phone away. After all, it is a Friday night. You’re out with friends. There are better things for you to be doing than mulling over rude emails from professors you don’t know.
You shove your phone back into your bag and tune back into your friends’ conversation. The email—and the mysterious professor who sent it—will just have to wait.
☾
The second week of the semester flies by too, and you still haven’t properly responded to that email. It’s not that you’re putting off going to his office hours—it’s just that you don’t have time. Between your classes, your thesis, your TA position, and trying to keep yourself fed and watered, you don’t exactly have a spare moment to haul yourself to the top floor of Pick Hall to be lectured by a professor who writes rude emails and will probably tear your thesis to shreds.
Okay, so maybe you’re avoiding it. Just a little bit.
Still, that email sitting unanswered in your inbox nags at you. The more progress you make on your thesis outline, the more obvious it becomes that you do actually need to consult with an Egyptologist for it. Considering Egyptian artifacts are some of the most commonly trafficked cultural heritage in the world, you can’t afford to leave the entire topic out of your thesis just because it’s not your area of expertise. Now there’s an expert on campus, just one floor above your department, and you still keep putting off responding to him.
On Tuesday, you think about going to his office hours, but then your inbox gets swamped with emails from undergrads in the course you’re TAing for and you’re forced to administer academic triage. On Wednesday, you consider setting up an appointment with him, but the professor who teaches the Women Writers of the Ancient World course invites you to her office hours to plead your case for an override, and you can’t miss that opportunity. By then, it’s Thursday, and Thursday is basically Friday, and you don’t fancy getting into a one-on-one academic debate when it’s almost the weekend.
So week one turns into week two, and week two into week three, and it’s almost a full month into the semester before you finally find time to consult with Professor Grant. After sending off an email to confirm your meeting, you look up his page on the Ancient Studies department website. He doesn’t even have a staff picture.
God, this guy must be so low-tech, you think.
Armed with absolutely nothing about this man—not even a photo of him—you have no idea what to expect when you finally go to his office hours. You just hope he doesn’t chew you up and spit you out. Really, at this point, that’s all you can ask for.
☾
Dr. Grant’s office is on the fourth floor of Pick Hall. His door is made of nice, dark-finished wood, which is a rarity in this brutalist monstrosity. For a moment, you just linger outside, taking a deep breath and summoning your courage. One would think you would get over the anxiety of office hours by your second year of grad school, but you still feel as nervous as you did going to office hours as a first-semester freshman.
When you knock on the door, you swear someone responds with “come in,” but you don’t see anyone when you step inside. By no means is the office empty, though: there are papers scattered everywhere and Egypt-themed knick-knacks on every flat surface. On the desk is a large computer monitor and a still-steaming cup of coffee. Still, among all the detritus of work, there’s no sign of the professor you’re here to see.
Hesitating at the threshold, you knock again on the doorframe. “Hello?”
“Oh, hello,” someone says. From behind the monitor emerges a dark-haired man.
A young dark-haired man. The fact that he’s not eighty years old is the first thing you notice. His bright red glasses are the second. For an otherwise drably-dressed man, they’re quite a fashion statement. You realize you’re staring and drop your eyes to his desk.
You cough a little and adjust your backpack from where it hangs off your right shoulder. “Hi. I’m looking for Professor Steven Grant. Is this his office?”
The man nods. His curly hair flops over his forehead. “It is, yeah. I’m Steven. Er, Professor Grant, not to be overly familiar. I’m sorry about the mess, by the way—setting up shop was a bloody disaster.”
While the professor’s appearance doesn’t match your expectations in the slightest, his thick English accent definitely does. He sounds almost comically British, like London personified. It’s pretty incredible, actually.
“Please, sit,” he continues. “And if there’s paper on the chair, just chuck it on the floor. It won’t make any difference, clearly.”
You drop your backpack next to the chair opposite his desk. There is a stack of papers in the chair, as he said there might be, but you don’t shove them on the floor. Instead, you gently transfer them onto the corner of the desk and try to make sense of the man in front of you.
By all accounts, you were expecting the new Egyptology professor to be old-school. After all, he doesn’t have a photo or any kind of social media presence and his emails read like they were written on a typewriter. You were expecting someone older. Judging by the looks of the man opposite you, your assumptions couldn’t be more wrong.
For one, he’s not old. He looks to be in his late thirties or early forties at the oldest, with thick dark hair with no signs of gray. The red glasses make him look a little older, and also a little like an eccentric librarian, and when he pushes them up his forehead you realize they were hiding dark circles under his eyes. He’s also not dressed the way you were expecting. In your head, you were picturing an old-fashioned, tweed suit academic, the kind of guy who gets his clothes dry-cleaned every week. Dr. Grant’s clothes are wrinkled and ill-fitting, like he borrowed them from someone a size or two bigger than him.
What had those girls said at the café? They said something about his wrinkled clothes and his terrible vibes. The former is accurate; you have no idea about the latter.
Despite the mousiness of his ensemble, you can’t help but notice that Dr. Grant is also very, very handsome. It’s hidden a little by the ill-fitting clothes and the Miss Frizzle glasses, but there’s no denying it. The sharp cut of his jaw, his dark eyes—everything about him says intense, distinctly male beauty, and you really don’t know what to make of that.
You sit forward and start to introduce yourself.
“I know who you are,” he says. Then, like he realizes that was rude as soon as he said it, he sighs. “Sorry. I meant to say, I know who you are ‘cause I read your message. The questions you sent were excellent. That’s why I didn’t want to respond by email.”
You nod slowly. So—he doesn’t want to chew you out for demanding advice? “Thank you. I was worried they were…well, a bit much, I guess.”
Dr. Grant waves his hand dismissively. He rifles through the papers strewn across his desk. “No, no, not too much at all. They were very interesting. Hence why I didn’t want to respond via email… I printed it out… at least, I thought I printed it out. Sorry, give me a minute.”
Before you can think of a way to reassure him that it’s fine, Dr. Grant locates what he’s looking for. He holds up a piece of paper triumphantly. “Ha! Here it is. I knew I’d printed it out. I’d lose my own head next.”
He hands you the paper. As soon as you see it, you recognize it. It’s your email, printed out and marked up in blue pen. Next to each question in scribbled notes in old-fashioned handwriting: answers to your questions, citations for relevant articles, questions directed back at you. You don’t even process the words written on the page—you’re still stuck on the fact that Dr. Grant printed and annotated your email.
“Oh, wow,” you say, skimming the paper. “This is— this is so helpful. Thank you. I wasn’t expecting you to be so, um, thorough.”
Looking embarrassed, Dr. Grant shrugs. “S’alright. It’s a habit. You get me going and I won’t stop. That’s what they tell me, at least.”
Nodding vaguely, you look closer at his notes. Some of your questions have straightforward answers, but the more analytical ones are annotated with sentences bordering on paragraphs. Crammed onto one sheet of printer paper is enough information to build out an entire section of your thesis. Those girls at the café might have been skeptical about this professor’s qualifications, but these notes tell a different story. Even his messy handwriting tells you something about him—from the looping characters, you get the sense that his brain works too fast for his hand to keep up.
When you look up from the paper, you realize Dr. Grant is studying you like he’s waiting for your response. He only seems to realize he’s doing it when you meet his eyes. He blinks owlishly and looks askance.
“Thank you, seriously. This is great. I really appreciate it,” you say.
Admittedly, you’re a little confused as to why he would have you come to his office hours just to pick up a piece of paper, but the last thing you want to do right now is seem ungrateful. He’s handing you weeks’ worth of research on a silver platter. You’re more than happy to walk all the way here to get it. As you puzzle over that, Dr. Grant gestures towards the paper. When you hand it back, he leans over his desk and points to your third question. You had asked about Howard Carter’s excavation of Tutenkhamun’s tomb, which is something you don’t fully grasp even after months of research about it.
“This is a very interesting question, actually,” Dr. Grant starts.
Then he doesn’t stop.
What started out as a brief answer to your question quickly becomes an impromptu lecture. You scramble for your notebook in your backpack to start writing down what he’s saying—names, dates, article titles, author names. His expertise is extraordinarily wide-ranging, but what is even more surprising than that is how different this man is from the person you saw when you walked in. When Dr. Grant talks about his work, the mousiness disappears like a curtain was drawn aside. He gestures animatedly as he explains everything from the problem of assigning national origin to ancient artifacts to the minutiae of legal documentation of object provenance. You find yourself shaking out a cramp in your hand as you scramble to write it all down.
Finally, he pauses to take a breath. It seems to settle in that he’s been talking for about ten minutes straight, and all of the chagrin rushes back in. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to talk your ear off. I dunno what gets into me sometimes. It’s like I get possessed, innit?”
“No, no, it’s great. This is great.” You hold up your notebook page with all your frantic notes in an attempt to reassure him. “Actually, I do have another question. You said the Carter papers are digitized, right? Which archive holds them?”
Dr. Grant blinks, like he’s surprised you’re still interested. He puts those red glasses on again and rolls his hair behind his monitor. “Hang on,” he says, and the sound of mechanical keyboard clicking fills the room. “Let me look that up. I think it’s the Griffith—at Oxford, that is—but I’m not one hundred percent on that.”
While he peers at his computer screen, you let your eyes wander around the office. In some ways, it looks a lot like other offices you’ve been in—the stacks of paper everywhere are par for the course among professors in this department. The number of knick-knacks is a little unusual, though. Some of them look shockingly authentic, including the golden scarab that Dr. Grant seems to be using as a paperweight. It must have been quite the gift shop where he got it. You’re about to ask where he got all these trinkets when he finally appears from behind his monitor.
“It is the Griffith Institute, I was right.” He turns his monitor towards you and encourages you to lean in. “Here, look. You can see all the documents online, if you like. It’s all been digitized.”
You look at where he’s pointing on the screen, but it’s a little hard to focus. With the way you’ve leaned in, you’re very close to Dr. Grant. He smells like fresh laundry and something sort of woodsy. When he points to the screen, you notice both hands are bare—no ring.
A shiver of discomfort ripples up your spine. You draw back and out of his personal space. “Great, thanks,” you say, and scribble a note in your notebook.
Maybe Dr. Grant also noticed the uncomfortable closeness, so he retreats back behind the safety of his desk and tilts his screen to put a barrier between you. “Right,” he says. “Great. Aces. Happy to help.”
Interacting with this professor is reminiscent of a pinball machine. He oscillates between meek and confident as if he’s a little metal ball being batted around. It’s fascinating.
Before you leave, you sneak in a few clarifying questions, but then your phone dings to remind you that your next class starts in ten minutes. As you re-pack your backpack, you offer Dr. Grant another thank-you for his time. He says you’re welcome any time, and you get the sense that he actually means it. After all, it’s not like there’s a line of students outside the door waiting to talk to him—you’ve been here for half an hour uninterrupted.
Standing up, you push your chair in and turn towards the door. “Thank you,” you say again.
“Like I said, anytime,” he repeats.
You nod and turn to leave. As you head out the hallway and down the stairs, you find yourself turning the interaction over and over in your head before you’re even outside. Already, you can tell you’re only certain of one thing: you have no idea what to make of Steven Grant.
☾
Later that day, you get an email while making dinner.
From: Dr. Steven Grant
Subject: Egyptology lecture
Forgot to mention: will be discussing Howard Carter in NEHC 20605 on Tuesday. Feel free to drop by.
SG
You study your screen for a long moment, until the smell of burning broccoli reminds you that your stovetop is hot and you’re supposed to be cooking. You poke at your stir-fry with a wooden spoon in one hand while you use the other to add Dr. Grant’s Egyptology lecture to your calendar for next week.
Even if you have no idea of what to make of this man, it seems like you aren’t done with him yet.
You will find here direct links to all the fic recommendations I made. Those fictions do not belong to me, they belong to the amazing authors who wrote them.
areudirty
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
kianamaiart
snowghoul
izzy806
baratheonpilled
