The Angel Of Hell's Kitchen

The Angel of Hell's Kitchen

Summary: The office assistant for Nelson, Murdock & Page worries when her secret passion is discovered by her coworkers, but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen shows her how much she’s loved for who she is.

Pairing: Matt Murdock X Reader, Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson X Marci Stahl

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I’m excited to share this one-shot with you because it’s my first time writing for Matt Murdock! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

The Angel of Hell’s Kitchen (Fanfiction Masterlist)

“Past due…past due…ah, a first notice!” Foggy glanced up from the stack of letters in his hands and grinned. “It’s always nice to have some variety, isn’t it?”

“Things’ll start looking up for us soon, Foggy,” (Y/N) promised, her happy mood unaffected by her friend and employer’s typical over-worrying; as the one and only office assistant of Nelson, Murdock & Page, she was allowed to indulge in her personal love of organizing and that morning, she was hard at work manually in-putting their next three weeks of appointments, consultations and court dates into their online calendar. “‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. They toil not, neither do they spin-’”

“‘And I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’” (Y/N) looked up in surprise as Matt finished quoting the Bible verse, his brows rising in surprise over the rims of his red-tinted glasses. “Matthew 6:28. I never knew you were Catholic, Miss (Y/L/N).”

She chuckled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Counselor Murdock, but I’m just a simple theatre nerd. It’s a verse used in the play Lilies of the Field, based off that 1960’s film starring Sidney Poitier. I played one of the nuns back when I was a sophomore in college; the habit was pretty uncomfortable to wear and my German accent was atrocious, but it was still a fun experience.”

Weiterlesen

‘Sad brain protocol’ may just be the best idea I have ever heard. I will absolutely be incorporating that into my every day life.

Sad brain protocol is SO USEFUL and I regularly make use of it! A friend of mine came up with it and all of us have used it at one point or another. It seemed like such an emotionally aware thing that I figured Foggy could use it with Matt, who regularly has sad brain. And because other readers have asked, too:

The Ten Rules of Sad Brain Protocol:

Any designated friend not in Sad Brain Territory may invoke Sad Brain Protocol on a friend they suspect is in Sad Brain territory. Likewise, you can call it on yourself and alert a friend, one who is a designated Sad Brain Wrangler. If you do not have a Wrangler friend, you follow what rules you can.

Wranglers and Sad Brain Havers can switch when needed, as long as whoever is the Wrangler is in the right headspace.

Sad Brain Protocol must be agreed to and discussed ahead of time by both the designated Wranglers and Havers.

Sad Brain Protocol must only be respectfully invoked by both the Sad Brain Haver and the Sad Brain Wrangler. No joke invocations. Sad Brain Protocol is essentially a Big Red Button, so pushing it is to be taken seriously.

If Sad Brain Protocol is invoked over an event, the Sad Brain Haver must tell the Wrangler exactly what was said or what happened word for word. The Haver must not change the wording or actions, even for story effect, even if they feel guilty, or even if they think something unsaid was implied or obvious. If the Haver cannot remember the exact words or events, they must tell the Wrangler. This is because Sad Brain can often twist or color things.

The Sad Brain Haver is not to make major decisions that could have Very Serious Consequences without checking in with the Wrangler, or, if possible, for a period of 3 days (this is why Foggy mentions in fic that this is meant to help Matt not burn his life down, and stopped him from dropping out of college). If a major decision can wait for 3 days and the Wrangler calls to wait, the Haver must wait. If you are solo with no Wrangler and have called the protocol, you must call a wait on yourself to stop any impulsive decisions (I sometimes imagine Foggy himself telling me to wait when I don't have access to a Wrangler in the moment; I find it helps to imagine someone trusted, fictional or not).

The Wrangler must treat the Haver with respect, even if the Haver's reaction seems irrational, ex: hopelessness or anxiety over something seemingly fixable.

The Sad Brain Haver is not to play Sad Brain Olympics with the Wrangler. There is no, 'Well you don't understand because my depression/anxiety is worse.' The Wrangler's job is not to be the Haver. Their job is to guide the Haver away from bad decisions influenced by Sad Brain.

Likewise, the Wrangler must treat emotions as valid. There is no, 'Why are you sad Matt? It's not a big deal!' The Wrangler isn't there to kill or shred the emotions. Just to pull them back from what happened or what will happen so that clarity is achieved, especially with any major decisions.

While chronic depression, anxiety, or things like BPD are often catalysts for Sad Brain Protocol moments, none of those are required. Sometimes you're just having a really shitty time, and there's no shame in invoking Sad Brain Protocol when that happens.

Happy Trans Day of Visibility 2023! I love being trans – the part that makes it difficult is the transphobes.

Tell me in the replies/tags/reblogs what trans joy looks like for you. :D

Transphobes do not touch this post.

Image ID: 10-image cartoon comic featuring Joey, a boy with short hair. Image 1: Joey smiles and gesticulates to the title of the comic which reads: “Accessing gender-affirming care as a minor has allowed me to experience trans joy as a transgender adult!”. The words “trans joy” are in large block letters the color of the trans flag. Image 2: A younger Joey wearing a sweater and boxers receives his first T shot from a nurse. The text reads: “I started testosterone 5 days before my 17th birthday after spending the year jumping through a bajillion hurdles. Today, my home state is trying to criminalize my care and specifically shut down the trans specialty clinic that cared for me. Throughout all of this false ‘debate’ about best-practice medicine, I have seen no politicians, reporters, or cis allies talk about trans joy.” Image 3: A younger Joey in a hoodie stands at the stove cooking. He is happy, and there are music notes around his head. The text reads: “When I realized that I was trans years earlier, the world became lighter. I suddenly had answers for why I felt the way I did, and I knew that I wasn’t alone. I found myself humming and singing again”. Image 4: Joey is posed stretched across the frame. He’s wearing suspenders and plaid pants and throwing up a peace sign. The text reads: “I discovered my fashion sense for the first time. I had never been happy in any clothing, but realizing that I was a boy let me explore and find the clothes that made me feel great”. Image 5: Joey’s hand holds up a phone, and on the screen are thumbnails of videos of his face. The text reads: “Most trans people can tell you the day they started hormones (or another transition milestone). It’s like having a second birthday! I’ve got a digital diary recording my monthly changes from the first 2 years.” Image 6: Joey sits on the ground next to a friend, and they are both drawing in notebooks and smiling. Joey’s friend has glasses, an undercut, earrings, and facial hair. The text reads: “I have the most wonderful trans friends who enrich my life every day. I am so lucky to be part of such a loving community”. Image 7: Joey holds hands with his boyfriend, who is a taller boy with long hair in a ponytail and facial hair. The text reads: “Realizing that I was a boy made me realize that I was gay. Up until then, I just thought that I couldn’t experience attraction at all (which is also perfectly normal, by the way!). A wonderful boy and I fell in love 5 years ago, and we get to watch each other grow. Image 8: Joey is shirtless and holding a toothbrush while his boyfriend hugs him from behind. They are both smiling. The text reads: “He often reminds me of how good I look, and boy do I know it! I love my trans body. It’s perfectly me!” Image 9: Joey is shirtless and showing his chest and top surgery scars. The text reads: “Like most places, my clinic does not refer minors for surgery. But when I turned 18, I got top surgery to remove my (bountiful) breast tissue. It’s one of the best things to ever happen to me. I adore my chest. I’ve been freed.” Beside a small doodle of a cat, the text reads: “My cat sleeps on my flat chest every night”. Image 10: Joey has his arms behind his back and is addressing the reader. The text reads: “In the midst of purposeful misinformation and frankly genocidal language and laws, I’d like us to remember the joy of getting to be ourselves. Gender-affirming care not only saves but enriches lives for people of all ages. The joy of being oneself is what the Right wants to eliminate. It is imperative that we preserve and encourage the continuation of trans joy by allowing all trans people to safely thrive.” The comic is dated March 31, 2023. End ID.

#100 with Matt for the kisses pls bc I need all of the Matt kisses to mend my heart after that jealousy prompt (and it could kind of lead into this 😝) 🥰x

I was so desperate to connect them together but we need so much writing to be able to get from here to there. SO instead, I decided to give this heartbreaking ask a part 2 and give it a happier ending!! I hope that makes up for how mean I’ve been 💀 happy valentine’s day babes!! @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce

Send me a kiss prompt ✨

#100 - “it’s always been you” kisses

Your eyes peeled open slowly, your mind fuzzy and your heart calm. You went to move, only to realise that you weren’t alone in your bed. That’s when it all started to come back to you.

Last night, Matt showed up at your door, beaten and bruised and barely able to stand. He was leaning against your door frame when you opened up, his mask in his hand and his arm around his middle. The only words on his lips were “I’m sorry”.

You brought him in, tended to his injuries and helped him get cleaned up. Your heart ached in your chest the entire time. You loved him so much but couldn’t have him. He was very clear; he’d told you that he lost his feelings for you and he didn’t believe he could come back from that. He broke your heart to a million little pieces but it wasn’t enough to make you hate him.

You couldn’t hate him, you couldn’t move on from him, you couldn’t love anyone but him.

You gently turned your head to look at him, his eyes closed and eyelashes resting against his cheeks.

He looked peaceful, angelic, despite the bruises on his cheeks and temples and the stitches by his eyebrow. His arm was around you, even though you tried very hard to stay as far away from him as possible while you slept.

You could feel your heart expand in your chest, your eyes welling up with tears the longer you looked at him.

I love you

I love you and I wish you still loved me too

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned over, suppressing your sobs as you faced away from Matt.

You couldn’t stop the crying, you couldn’t stop the pain. It consumed you.

Too afraid you’d wake him up, you pushed yourself off the bed, stifling your sobs as you got up.

“Are you okay?” He asked you, his voice thick with sleep, “you’re crying.”

“No, no,” you lied, even though you knew he’d see right through it, “I just had a bad dream.”

“I know when you’re lying,” he sighed, sitting up in bed as you turned around to face him, wiping the tears from your eyes with your sleeves.

“Why wont you love me?” You asked him, your voice low and sad, breaking his heart in his chest.

“What?” He asked softly, his chest feeling like it was caving in on itself.

“You must know how important you are to me,” you whispered, your fingers pulling at a loose thread on your sleeve, your eyes cast down, “you know how I feel about you. And you act so unaffected by all of it like I never meant anything to you. Why am I not good enough for you?”

Within the next second, Matt was off the bed and in front of you, his palms against your cheeks, his fingers wiping your tears away. Pain was etched across his beautiful face, his eyes sadder than you had ever seen them. He was distraught.

“I was trying to protect you,” he whispered, his thumbs caressing your cheeks softly, “I wanted to keep you out of harm’s way. And the only way I knew how to do that for sure was to push you away from me. It wasn’t fair to you. I hurt you far worse than I thought.”

You stayed quiet, your fingers curling around the fabric of his t-shirt at his chest, your eyes staring at your fingers, processing what he was saying.

“I never stopped loving you, ever,” he said, nudging your head up to face him, “it was hurting me too. To not be able to hold you, talk to you, tell you I love you more than anything and hear you say it back. I just would have never forgiven myself if anything happened to you because of me.”

“But something did happen to me because of you,” you told him, “I was in pain. It hurt to hear you say you didn’t want me anymore. It hurt to believe it.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, pushing his forehead against yours, “I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you so much.”

He dropped his hand to cradle your jaw in his palm, his lips almost touching yours, “it’s always been you.”

Not another word needed to be said. Your lips met in a kiss that felt like ice meeting molten lava. It was passionate, deep, hard and soft at the same time. You held each other close, too afraid that if you let go, the other would disappear.

“I will never stop loving you. I can’t.”

This Is A Code F (fic; matt murdock x reader; rated T)

this is fluffy nonsense but wheezy sick devil is an idea I’ve had for a bit now and finally delivered. May it be an appropriate apology for the angst in TRT rn.

Ship: Matt Murdock x Reader Rating: T. Some swearing and some nude shenanigans but nothing major.

Summary:

You’ve never seen Matt get the flu before, but despite Foggy’s warnings, you’re not all that worried. Matt’s sick. How difficult could it be to look after him?

Really difficult, as it turns out, because Matt Murdock does not do anything by halves, whether it’s attacking mobsters or feverishly perching on the banister like a wheezing gargoyle.

Time to get the cough syrup. 

Wordcount: 4,507

Warnings for this chapter: language, nudity, sickness. You know what you’re in for. This is true love, in sickness and in health. Let’s do this.

You’d never actually seen Matt get sick.

It never seemed to matter how busy he was or how many sick people he was around. He never hesitated, either, to care for you when you were sick. Regardless of your level of contagion, you could count on him to be nearby, hovering and eager to provide whatever hot soup, warm tea, and sick-day cuddling you needed. At this point, you were pretty sure he used some sort of secret meditation trick to turn his antibodies into miniature Hulks. His body laughed in the face of the common cold, turned its nose up at the stomach flu, likely because it got stabbed on the weekly and anything less seemed a bit underwhelming in comparison.

That was why you knew something was off when you woke to find Matt standing beside the bed, swaying and soaked in sweat.

“Matt?” you asked warily, furrowing your brow.

He shivered, swinging his head back and forth. It was a clear attempt to orient, and an attempt that didn’t seem to do him much good based on the way he almost stumbled as he stepped away from the bed.

Matt didn’t stumble. Not unless he was hurt.

“Matt, Matt!” You scrambled out from under the blankets and over to his side of the bed, already rolling through a list of possible injuries—another gunshot to the head, hit by a car, internal bleeding, bitten by a diseased raccoon while defending a citizen, picked a fight with a Much Larger Bad Dude. You’d learned by now never to rule anything out when it came to Matt. Had he slipped up yesterday, gotten hit maybe? He had been unusually tired last night, but ‘tired’ was more of a default state for Matt than an outlier, and you had a feeling he slept standing up more times than he’d admit, using his red shades as cover while he catnapped.

It would be just your luck if he’d added another head injury to the mix.

“Matt, hey, you ok?”

“Don’t… feel right,” he said thickly, sounding so congested you probably could have walked him past the fish market without so much as a wrinkled nose. He took another uneven step towards the doorway. “Need… Just need… tea. ‘M fine.”

You quickly threw your legs over the side of the bed, reaching for him. “Matt, wait, you’re gonna hit the—”

“Fine,” he slurred insistently, before promptly running into the doorframe.

That was the start of your morning, and it only got worse from there.

Weiterlesen