kittenmurdock

[kittenmurdock]

[kittenmurdock]

Wanna bite his biceps.

MATT MURDOCK LOOKING FINE IN WHITE 🤤

[kittenmurdock]

matt murdock the type to tell you to watch your mouth if you say "oh my god" when his dick is in your guts :'))))

[kittenmurdock]

Melting.

just domestic cuddling w/ matt but with cockwarming, not even inherently sexual just a need for comfort and being as close as possible 💖💖

nonnie i am sick with longing (*ﾉ︿•̀ﾉ)

matt murdock is so close it makes your brain melt a little.

you’re curled up against his chest, skin-on-skin, legs tangled, the whole length of him full and inside you. there’s no rhythm, just the steady beat of his heart under your cheek and the way his palm rests warm against the small of your back, stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin. keeping you anchored against him.

he’s not going anywhere. and neither are you.

you squirm, trying to shift even closer, like your body hasn’t realized you’re already flush, already tucked as close as you can go.

“hm? what is it, sweetie?”

you mumble into his neck, soft yet grumpy. “wanna be closer.”

matt huffs a soft laugh, so close you feel the air vibrate against your ear.

“any closer and we’ll be fused into one organism.”

you grumble and work a hand under him, around his back, tugging him closer, stubbornly.

then suddenly, arms tighten around you all at once, dragging you in like he’s trying to squeeze you into him.

you gasp, a breathless little oof as the air’s knocked out of your lungs.

“—matt!” you wheeze, squirming until he eases up.

“did it work? did we fuse?” he teases, cheeky.

you sigh and sink into him, worn out. you run a thumb over the soft stubble over his chin. “dunno. i can still see you.”

“well... i can’t see you, so.”

you snort, and flick your fingers weakly against his chest.

he takes your hand and lifts it to press a kiss to your knuckles like it’s instinct. his mouth finds your temple, your forehead, the top of your hair—soft kisses in a row like he can’t help it.

masterlist

[kittenmurdock]

Not the Northstar 😫

worth waiting for ; benjamin poindexter

creator's note: first time writing for deex woohooo let's see how it goes! (shoot me rn i hate loving this man...or maybe love hating this man. dunno)... thinking of making a continuation of this but huuuh idk

warnings: angst with comfort... kinda, mentions of mental health, reader takes pills (SSRIs), blood/injury, grief, psychological manipulation, implied PTSD, strong language, trauma, not proofread.

word count: 3.8k

It was a stormy night.

Nobody warned you of the rain that was yet to come. Not even the weather app on your phone. But inconveniences didn't really matter anymore—not when your life is one itself.

Droplets of water began to fall one by one. It slid down from the windows and slowly started falling in little groups of water. They formed an unsteady rhythm against roofs, concrete, and glass.

You had your hands inside of the pocket of your hoodie, seeking warmth from the humidity around you. You walked through the rain alone, boots splashing against puddles of water. Isolation has been a part of you for a while. Ever since the death of Foggy Nelson—a friend to you, a brother to Murdock—you never really had anyone to yourself.

Not even Dex. Benjamin Poindexter.

Because he wasn't yours.

He was Fisk's. To control. To order around like he was just a shell of a man. He wasn't loved by him, not even close. He was just another pawn. A worthy one, to say the least.

Fisk wanted him alone. He kept Dex all to himself. He isolated Dex from the rest of the world, because to him—they block his path—they become a liability and make Dex soft. Weak. Distracted.

So he stood alone, and so did you.

The rain had soaked your hoodie. It clung onto the skin beneath the soft cloth and made it feel like you were stripped from your clothes. Bare. One of your hands reached up to the hoodie and tugged it away from your side, but you didn't make a fuss out of it. Didn't complain or mumble under your breath. You just sighed and continued walking through the empty streets, where ghosts float around and flowers wither.

You took a turn, now walking through a small alleyway. It smelled of piss and garbage—but that didn't stop you—nothing did. You just held your breath and pray you don't taste bile in the back of your throat. After a few seconds of holding your breath, you escaped the stench. A small, weak noise squeaked from your throat as soon as you took a deep breath.

You stood in front of the building of your apartment.

The automatic door opened, and you entered the building. Your hands reached up and pull the hood down from over your head. You strolled to the elevator, pressed the button to your floor and entered the confined space as soon as the doors opened. The music hummed in the elevator, and you found yourself already thinking of all the things you'd do once you get back to your apartment.

Shower, eat, sleep.

The usual, boring schedule. This was a regular day of your life—where chaos was stripped away and boredom creeped up—you found yourself pulled into this… cycle. The door opened with a ding and you walked into your apartment. You took the keycard from the pocket of your jeans and opened the door.

Then, you continued with your routine.

Until you didn't.

You were drying your hair when the knocks from the door came. You mumbled “wait” under your breath, as if the person on the other side of the door could hear it.

You left your bedroom and stood behind the door, peeking through the peephole—expecting some kind of mail or a random kid ding-dong ditching on you.

But it was neither of them.

And your heart dropped. Quite literally. You felt yourself tense up at the sight before you. Dex. Eyes hollow, scar on his cheek and blood sliding down from his temple and dripping down from his chin. He was standing there, waiting patiently for you to open the door, as if he'd heard your footsteps and decided to wait, even if he was a little impatient inside.

“Fuck,” you mumbled underneath your breath.

You leaned away from the peephole, contemplating all of the choices. All of the things that you could do. Ignore him, open the door for him, punch him, call the police—how does one even prepare for a situation like this?

Before you could even decide, you found your hand sliding the chain off and twisting the knob without thinking.

There he was.

His eyes looked at you—truly looked at you—not staring through or staring ahead. He was soaking in the sight before him, and you were too. He was bulkier than the last time you'd seen him—his skin was paler and the pupils in his eyes lacked anything behind it.

“Hi,” he greeted, his voice rough from the lack of use.

You wanted to shut the door and punch yourself in the face for getting yourself into a situation like this. You wanted to shove him away and jump out from your window.

But he was here, and you had already opened the door for him.

“Hi, Dex.” You greeted back. Far too casual.

His mouth parted, as if he wanted to say something else. He wanted to say something—an apology or some kind of reunion speech—but he didn't. He stopped himself before he could, and you stepped aside so he could enter the room.

Dex stepped into the apartment, the scent of rain still clinging to his jacket, mixing with the damp, musty air of the hallway. He didn’t make a move to shake the water off, leaving tiny droplets trailing behind him as if he didn’t even care. You closed the door behind him, the sound of it echoing too loudly in the silence that filled the space between the two of you.

The apartment felt smaller now. A few feet from the door, and the tension was already suffocating. You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t know what to say. A part of you wanted to yell at him, demand why the hell he was here, but another part, a much quieter part, feared that if you said anything too sharp, he might just snap.

He didn’t sit down, didn’t move around, just stayed there by the door like he didn’t know how to exist here, didn’t know where to place himself. His eyes were still on you, but there was no malice, no hatred in them—not anymore, at least. Just that endless blankness that you used to think was just a mask. But it wasn’t, was it? It was the real Dex.

His lips pressed together for a moment, and the quiet lingered until he finally spoke again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

His voice was hoarse, almost like it had been a long time since he’d used it, a long time since he'd trusted anyone enough to speak. And that stung more than it should’ve. Because you knew what it meant—how alone he must’ve felt, how far gone he had to be to stand in front of you now, bloodied and broken.

“Do you want me to call someone?” You hated the words as soon as they left your mouth. It was a reflex, something you knew you were supposed to say, but it felt wrong, like you were pushing him away before you could even give him a chance.

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

Another silence. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was louder than it had any right to be, the only sound in the room now besides your breathing. You wondered if you were making him uncomfortable. But you didn’t ask. You weren’t sure you were in a place to.

You glanced at the cut on his temple, the blood still fresh, darkened in streaks down his skin. “You need to clean up.”

He gave a brief nod, as though he was barely registering the injury at all, but didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to want to take his jacket off, like he was somehow attached to it. You caught yourself staring at the blood again, at the hollow look in his eyes, and you hated how you weren’t sure whether to help him or keep your distance.

“I’m not… I’m not staying,” he said, as if it mattered, as if it would somehow explain everything. He was already backing up a little, his eyes darting nervously around, unwilling to make himself too comfortable. “I just need… I just need a minute.”

The rain outside started up again, a soft patter against the windows. It reminded you of the way you used to be able to shut everything out with just the sound of falling rain. But now, the rhythm only highlighted the awkwardness of the moment, the desperation in the air, thick enough to make it hard to breathe.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to fix things between you. Between all of you. It wasn’t like you were friends anymore. It wasn’t like you ever really had been, not in the way people normally were. You had both just been caught up in the chaos—together, but never really together.

“I know,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you expected it to be. “Just… sit. I’ll get something for your head.”

He didn’t fight you as you moved past him, toward the kitchen, towards the only thing you could think to do. He slouched into the couch, all that weight pressing into the cushions as if his body couldn’t support itself anymore, his face turned away from you like he was ashamed to be seen. Or maybe like he didn’t even care. You grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wet it, and returned, standing in front of him with it.

He barely looked at you when you knelt down, and there was a moment where you thought he might push you away—where you thought he might resist your help—but he didn’t. He just sat there, eyes half-closed, letting you press the cloth to the gash on his temple.

The blood came off easily, but the bruising was already starting to form. The damage was done. Whatever had happened out there, it wasn’t just a physical wound. It wasn’t something a towel could clean.

“I’m not…” He tried again, his words breaking the silence between you. “I didn’t come here to make things harder.”

“I know.” You didn’t know if you did know, but you said it anyway, because it felt like the only thing you could offer him. It wasn’t the comfort he needed, but it was the closest thing you could give.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You finished cleaning the cut, your hands trembling ever so slightly as you pulled away. You stood up and took the towel back, suddenly unsure of what came next. Maybe you could kick him out. Maybe you should.

But you didn't.

“What happened?” You asked quietly, your voice a little softer this time.

Dex’s gaze flickered to you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, but he didn’t look away. For a moment, you thought he might say nothing, like usual. Like he always did.

But then he spoke.

“I killed—”

“No, I meant what happened. With you. What did they do to you?”

A beat.

“Fisk… he didn’t want me anymore. I—he…” His voice broke for a moment, and he quickly shut it down, running a hand through his hair, as if to regain some kind of composure. “I was a weapon. That’s all I’ve ever been to him. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

There it was. The truth, raw and unfiltered. You weren’t sure what to say, how to respond to something that heavy, especially from him.

“I’m not a weapon,” Dex continued, his voice suddenly filled with an emotion you hadn’t heard from him in a long time—regret. “I’m not supposed to be.”

And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw it. A crack in the armor. A hint of vulnerability. It made you want to reach out to him, but you couldn’t move. You were both too far gone for that.

Instead, you huffed. It almost sounded like a scoff—almost.

“No one's supposed to be a weapon.” You paused, “but they become one anyway. Not by choice, not really. Y'know that?” He didn’t answer.

You placed the towel aside and sat down on the floor beside him, looking down at the floor for a moment. Then, you leaned your head back—resting it on the couch before staring up at him. Looking at him, not waiting—just letting the moment pass.

“You’re not a good person.” The words left your mouth before you could stop it. But your voice—it held no judgement, just stating it—as if you didn't need any other reassurance. Then, the corner of your mouth twitched. You weren't smiling, but you weren't frowning either. Your eyes drifted away from his face and onto the ceiling, contemplating for a moment.

“But so am I.” You added.

The silence engulfed the conversation, and you found yourself sitting through this moment of silence. For once, life didn't feel like it was rushing you—life was just… there. No quick turns or sudden changes of plan. . His eyes roamed all over you, from the curve of your mouth to your wandering eyes. The words caught in his throat as if he didn't know how to say it out loud. He swallowed his saliva before leaning back on the couch. The silence was heavy. Always too heavy for him. But there was nothing else to say, no, not really. Even if something in the back of his mind screamed still at him to say something

He didn't.

Your eyes went back to meet his hollow ones. He was still looking at you. A gaze between emptiness and something close to admiration, maybe? You didn't know. But you didn't want to press, didn't want to push this into something further than it already is.

So, you rubbed a hand over your face and stood up from the floor.

“I'm gonna go make tea,” you mumbled to him, loud enough for him to decipher.

Dex didn’t answer. He just nodded once—barely noticeable—and let his gaze fall to the floor, like he was ashamed of something, but he hid it behind rage. Anger.

You moved to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the overhead light. The soft amber glow under the cabinets was enough. Familiar. Quiet. You filled the kettle with water, the metallic hum of the faucet and clink of steel echoing too sharply in the quiet. The kettle clicked onto the stovetop and you flicked the burner on, letting the gas catch with a muted whoomph.

Steam hadn’t started yet, but you leaned against the counter anyway, arms folded, staring at nothing in particular. Just the way the condensation gathered on the kettle’s side, the way the blue flame flickered underneath. Normalcy in small doses. It was all you could cling to tonight.

Behind you, Dex hadn’t moved much. You could feel it, the heaviness of him on the couch like gravity had a stronger hold on him than it did on anyone else. Like the earth itself wanted to drag him under. And maybe he was tired of resisting it.

“Chamomile or peppermint?” you asked, voice neutral, like he wasn’t some psychopathic killer—like he was still the Dex that you’ve known.

He blinked slowly. “Whatever you're having.”

You grabbed the chamomile. Something about it felt right—something calm in the middle of a storm. You didn’t rush anything. You didn’t speak much, either. There wasn’t a single word that could make this easier. There was no quick fix. You knew that. He did too.

The kettle let out a soft whistle—not a shriek, just a whisper of pressure releasing—and you poured the hot water into the two chipped mugs you kept in the cabinet above the sink. One had a faded logo from some forgotten diner. The other had no logo at all. You picked the plain one for him.

When you returned to the living room, you found he was still sitting in the same position, like moving would make this real. Like if he held perfectly still, he wouldn’t fall apart.

You handed him the mug without saying anything. He took it carefully—fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped his hands around the warmth. You sat beside him, the edge of your thigh brushing his. Not intentional. Not entirely avoidable, either.

Steam curled between you.

He took a sip. Winced slightly. Maybe it was too hot. Maybe he wasn’t used to warmth anymore.

You both stared ahead now. The television was off. The curtains drawn. It felt like a liminal space—like the outside world didn’t exist, and all that did was this tiny apartment filled with ghosts and steam and silence.

“I wasn't sure if you'd come back,” you sighed in between sips. “Wasn't even sure if you'd be—uh, alive.”

His gaze flickered over to you again. Assessing. Analyzing. You didn't look at him, you were looking down at your cup of tea—shifting your attention elsewhere—not to the man beside you. He didn't reply, nor acknowledged your statement. He just looked at you and took another sip from the cup.

You were tense, clearly tense. Maybe from the tension, or even from him. From the consciousness that you'd been sitting beside a murderer. A trained assassin. And that it was wrong. It felt wrong. He didn't let that observation slip away from him.

Then, you placed your cup onto the table. Took something from your pocket. Something orange and slightly translucent. Shifted slightly to angle it away from him. Trying to picture everything as casual and nothing out of the pocket. He felt the suspicion rise and the gears inside of his head slowly turning, but he didn't say anything. Not yet.

Lexapro.

You opened the bottle, wiggled a few pills out of it, and took them in your mouth. You swallowed them dry.. Even if it left a bitter taste from your mouth and down to your throat. You pressed the lid back on and shoved it back into your pocket.

He watched. Brows furrowed, gaze shifting from blank to intense. Way too intense. Like you had been hiding something from him this whole time. Well, you were—and he had a million questions running through his mind. Few sounded more like accusations.

He didn’t say anything right away—but you felt it. The way his posture shifted just slightly, like he was trying not to react, like he was holding something in. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the mug. That blankness was gone from his expression now—replaced with something tight and unreadable.

“Since when?” he asked finally, voice low and even. Too even.

You didn’t look at him. You were still staring at the empty space where your cup used to be, suddenly wishing you hadn’t done that in front of him. You weren’t ashamed—just… tired. Too tired to explain anything.

“A while,” you replied flatly.

His eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t tell me.”

You blinked, then turned to him slowly. “You weren’t exactly reachable, Dex.”

His mouth parted like he wanted to argue—like he wanted to say something about how that wasn’t fair—but he couldn’t. He knew it was true. He’d vanished. He’d left. You weren’t the one hiding.

You exhaled through your nose. Sat back on the couch. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” he said sharply, a little too fast. “You’re on—what, SSRIs now? You’ve got a prescription? What, you’ve been seeing someone?”

You didn’t like the tone. Not angry, not concerned—just picking at it, like he was peeling scabs off skin that hadn’t finished healing. A small scoff escaped your lips as you leaned against the armrest.

“Yeah, I've been seeing someone. That doesn't change a thing.” You replied almost dismissively. “Everybody's got their own issues, if you didn't know that, Dex.”

His gaze searched for yours, eyes darting from your lips to your own eyes. He clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the mug. He wasn’t angry. He was never angry at you—because the majority of the time—you were right. He was frustrated at himself for not catching on this. On the pills and on you.

“I should’ve caught on to that.” He muttered underneath his breath, his words were barely audible, but you heard it.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You retorted rather softly. “You were busy with Fisk. Prison stuff, psych ward and shit. You couldn’t have caught on to that.”

And again, you were right.

He huffed at your words, not bothering to argue with you. Not now. Not ever. He took another sip before placing the mug down onto the glass table. He stood up from the couch, ignoring the ache in his muscles and the sting from his wounds.

“I’m go—”

“—No.”

Your hand caught onto his wrist, fingers wrapping around it. You felt his pulse beneath his sweaty skin. How it quickened by the second. How it stuttered the moment you touched him. As if he’d never had anyone touch him with tenderness in months.

“Where will you go?” You questioned. “Fisk is still out there. You’re—fuck.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound devoid of humor and rather filled with bitterness. Like you didn’t believe the words that just came out of your mouth. Like you wanted to hate him for what he’d done. To Foggy. To innocent civilians.

His head twisted, taken aback by the sudden touch. He looked at you, pupils blown and brow twitching. You weren’t looking up at him, you were just… staring past him. At the walls that seemed to be more interesting than him.

“You’re still… wounded. It’s late and—I don’t want to take any chances.” Your voice lowered into a whisper. “You can stay here for the night, really.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. Like he was waiting for a catch or some kind of cruel joke behind your words. But he didn’t find any. He was just met with… care. Concern. Not some cheap performance of empathy, not some kind of fake sympathy. It was genuine.

The rawness of your words and the vulnerability of your voice almost made him feel like he was worth waiting for. Like he was truly someone to you. Like he wasn’t just a weapon. He felt special.

He nodded. Slow. Unblinking.

“Okay, ‘s that a yes?” You questioned.

His eyes stayed on you.

“For the night.”

And oh, how he wishes to stay here longer. Weeks. Maybe months. Or maybe forever.

Because you didn’t kick him out like he was a stray. You let him in, even after everything he’d done. He wondered, if you’d ever done this to anyone else. Accept them for who they are, like some loyal dog. It takes guts to be as kind as this.

But it didn’t matter, not anymore.

Not when it felt like he’d found his home. His North Star, if he was even worthy enough for them.

And maybe this was fate. Maybe he never needed to find them. Maybe he was supposed to stumble upon them. Like this.

And, honestly?

He wouldn’t want to find a North Star any other way.

Not when he’d found you this way.

kruegerspillow © 2025 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work to post it around. reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[kittenmurdock]

he looks so hot here fuck like look at his arms fuck can he please please please fuck me

[kittenmurdock]

Fuck yes.

//hi i know this is the pot calling the kettle black but.

"matt murdock who fucks you so hard and makes you cum" "matt murdock who is a sex god" IM TIRED OF IT. BRING BACK YEARNING.

matt murdock who does not believe in soulmates until he meets you.

matt murdock who learns you, who memorizes you-- your favorite foods, your hatred of certain textures, the last color you painted your nails, the things that make you tick, the way your breathing changes when you've had a long day.

matt murdock who finds himself distracted when he hasn't heard from you, wondering if you're doing okay.

matt murdock who sends flowers to your office, just because.

matt murdock who goes from bachelor with only beer in his fridge to keeping the pantry fully stocked with snacks for whenever you get hungry.

matt murdock who feels his skin start to burn when you give him the gentlest of touches-- a caress of his arm, a hand on his shoulder. it drives him crazy.

matt murdock who is intoxicated by the mere sound of your voice, learning all the different tones you take in various situations, the way your voice softens when talking to anyone you deem a baby (cats, dogs, kids, drunk foggy), or the way it hardens when you're dealing with someone you find annoying (clients, assholes at the bar, etc)

matt murdock who gets drunk with his best friend one night and leaves you 27 voicemails, ranging from twenty seconds long to fourteen minutes, all rambling about how much he loves you.

matt murdock who spends months trying to hint that he likes you, buying you lunch, asking if you need anything, always pouring your coffee just the way you like it, asking if the book you finished was good and letting you ramble about it for twenty minutes.

matt murdock who has the biggest, fattest, most disgusting crush on you.

matt murdock who blushes whenever you enter the room.

matt murdock who yearns. yearns for you.

and yeah, also, he fucks. of course. get yourself someone who can do both. get yourself someone who makes you cry from overstimulation AND spends hours kissing literally every inch of your skin because he can and he wants to.

get yourself someone like matt murdock, who can only be described as head over heels in love with you.

[kittenmurdock]

Sorry I’m late, but thank you for the tag bb!

first time starting a tag game teehee but found this picrew and just had to get the gang on it, so rb w urs!!

tags: @bunni-v1 @mini-ism @luminique @strawb3rry-saturnzbarz @pinksandss + anyone who wants to join ♡

[kittenmurdock]

It’s so good I’m gonna cry

Ba-Bum (just a soft lil blurb)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Plus Size!Reader Word count: 841 Summary: You both agreed to stop trying. The vitamins stayed. The calendars disappeared. And then, one night, half-asleep in his lap, Matt freezes. He hears it. A third heartbeat.

Warnings: + Emotional mentions of infertility struggles + a pregnancy reveal + soft crying + supportive partner behavior + a little chaos + a lot of love 🥹

Available on ao3 as well! 🫶🏻 https://archiveofourown.org/works/66714571

— ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ —

You both agreed to stop trying.

It had started full of hope and excitement—calendars, vitamins, whispered promises in the dark. But the months began to pass, and one test at a time slowly turned into four or five.

Maybe it was too early. Perhaps they were false negatives.

But nothing ever changed.

There was only one moment when your tears couldn’t be contained. You and Matt had been putting away a few little onesies...ones you bought too early, too hopefully. You told yourself it was just for now that you’d be getting them out again soon.

But as your fingers folded that soft cotton, the quiet truth pressed down hard: maybe that moment just wasn’t coming.

Matt didn’t say a word when he heard your sniffles and could taste the salt in the air from your tears. He just wrapped himself around you from behind, arms tight, forehead pressed to your shoulder—his way of apologizing when he didn’t know how to fix it.

You had that moment. And then you let it go.

Not the dream, but the pressure. The grief. The weight of disappointment. You kept taking your vitamins, more for your own health than anything else. You stopped counting days. Stopped checking apps. You started dancing in the kitchen again. Tickle fights on lazy Sundays. Laughing under the covers.

Not thinking about timing or tests.

Just loving each other in that quiet, peaceful way that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Months passed like that.

And one night, you were curled up together on the couch—a rerun murmuring softly in the background. Your head rested in Matt’s lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair, the other hand drifting across the soft curve of your belly, his usual rhythm when he could tell you were close to nodding off.

Then—

Ba-bum.

He froze.

Ba-dum.

It wasn’t yours.

Ba-bum.

Not his.

Too fast. Too small.

He held his breath, hand stilling. Then, slowly, carefully, he laid his palm flat against your stomach. It was probably just in his head. A fluke. A fridge hum.

Until—

He swears it got faster.

As if it were reacting to his touch.

His voice came out hoarse.

“There’s a heartbeat.”

You stirred in his lap, blinking blearily. “Huh?”

“Honey, there’s a—” he swallowed hard. “I can hear it.”

You jolted upright. Your hands lifted defensively like you were about to defend against an intruder.

“Where do you hear it coming from?”

Matt barely stifled a laugh, but his voice was serious when he said,

“In your body, sweetheart.”

His hand returned to your belly.

“Right here.”

You squinted at him.

“Matty…you’re messing with me. It’s gotta be the microwave or the fridge again.”

He shook his head, brushing his thumb gently over your shirt.

“No. It’s in your body, baby,” he said softly. “I’m pretty confident about the jurisdiction.”

You turned toward him, searching for something—anything lighthearted in his tone. But there was no teasing there. Just that focused stillness. The kind he only wore in the courtroom…or when everything was about to change.

And then?

You launched off the couch.

“Where are you going?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“To get a damn test!” you called over your shoulder, feet pounding down the hallway. “Even though apparently you’re the test now!”

Matt groaned and buried his face in his hands, exhaling like it might help calm his racing heart.

(Spoilers: It did not.)

By the time you were digging through the bathroom drawer like a woman on a mission, Matt was pacing in the living room like a man possessed.

Hands on hips. Arms crossed. Hands in his hair.

“Do we even have a pediatrician?”

“Matthew—!”

“Okay, okay! I’m calm. Totally calm. Should we baby-proof the windows? What kind of car seat do we need? Should we get one of those fancy air filters for the nursery? Do we have a nursery?? Where are we even putting the— ”

The bathroom door creaked open.

You stood there, hand trembling as you clutched the test to your chest. The other wiped at your eyes, but he could still hear the catch in your breath—feel the shift in the room, soft and full of something he hadn’t dared hope for.

You didn’t even need to speak.

Matt’s whole world went still.

And then, he dropped to his knees.

Gently, so gently, he slid his hands around your waist. Pressed his cheek to your belly. Breathed like he was praying. Like this moment was sacred.

“Hi there, little heartbeat,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Guess we’ve got some catching up to do.”

You cradled his head to you, the tears slipping freely now as laughter bubbled up too. Something inside you...something that had been waiting and waiting...finally exhaled.

And Matt?

He just stayed there, whispering to your belly like he was already in love with someone he hadn’t even met yet.

Because he is.

Because he’s Matt.

And this? This is the moment everything changes.

— ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ — ♡ —

[kittenmurdock]

Ikr 😭💖

heres a silly doodle of the murdock circle on matts couch, idea from @foxmurdock in the discord!!

i think i got everyone

@bunmurdock @mutt-murdock @mewmurdock @swanmurdock @fairymurdock @kittenmurdock @kit-murdock2 @jellyfishmurdock @ravensmurdock @sirenmurdock @pupmurdock @lambmurdock @ottermurdock @bumblebeemurdock @moth-murdock @parker-murdock @deermurdock @froggy-murdock @starmurdock @https-murdock @robinmurdock it wont let me lag you idk why :((

[kittenmurdock]

The creativeness 🤭🫡

heres a silly doodle of the murdock circle on matts couch, idea from @foxmurdock in the discord!!

i think i got everyone

@bunmurdock @mutt-murdock @mewmurdock @swanmurdock @fairymurdock @kittenmurdock @kit-murdock2 @jellyfishmurdock @ravensmurdock @sirenmurdock @pupmurdock @lambmurdock @ottermurdock @bumblebeemurdock @moth-murdock @parker-murdock @deermurdock @froggy-murdock @starmurdock @https-murdock @robinmurdock it wont let me lag you idk why :((

[kittenmurdock]

BRO NOT THE NIGHTGOWN MAN 😭😭😭

It’s always sunny in Hell’s Kitchen

[kittenmurdock]

It’s okay bb! I’m glad you’re back! 😩🫶🏻

i found a cool tag game on twitter and i really wanna import it (o^ ^o)

this picrew + the last song you listened to :]

no pressure tags: @blood-loving-leech @overtaken-boredom @lesbianthatyaps @kameonerd566 @hexedvampire @laczki @anonymous-shxtposter @fleurafae @flovqy + anyone who wants to do it <3

[kittenmurdock]

Just saying you were so gone that I got a notification from tumblr saying you just woke up from “Hibernation”I’m gonna cry 😭💀

well hello people of tumblr *waves hand* that probably didn’t notice i was gone until this very post 🙂↕️ well lots of things happened irl since ddba finale funnily enough. but IM BACK!! HOPEFULLY!!

[kittenmurdock]

Wanted to share this on my Matt Hyper-fixation account!

No Pressure tags! 💖💖💖

@deermurdock @fairymurdock @foxmurdock @https-murdock @jellyfishmurdock @kit-murdock2 @bunmurdock @lambmurdock @parker-murdock @pupmurdock @sirenmurdock @starmurdock @swanmurdock @moth-murdock @bumblebeemurdock @mewmurdock @ravensmurdock @froggy-murdock @sharkymurdock

& Anyone who wants to join! It’s fun!

i found a cool tag game on twitter and i really wanna import it (o^ ^o)

this picrew + the last song you listened to :]

no pressure tags: @blood-loving-leech @overtaken-boredom @lesbianthatyaps @kameonerd566 @hexedvampire @laczki @anonymous-shxtposter @fleurafae @flovqy + anyone who wants to do it <3

[kittenmurdock]

Bro 😭😭😭

Having Matt Murdock as a Yandere is so funny to me because he will confess every single unhinged shit he do.

Father Lantom? Getting real tired of his ass.

“Forgive me, father. For I have sinned.”

“What is it now, Matt?”

“I jerked off to her chewing gum.”

“...Get out.”

[kittenmurdock]

Harsh truth 😔

I’d be so disappointed if Karen ended up with Matt after everything. When they were together, he emotionally cheated on her with Elektra. He constantly lied to her. Now, Matt is getting jealous and flirting with Karen while he’s still with Heather. I love Matt but he’s not a good boyfriend. Karen deserves better. If we don’t get Kastle, just let her thrive on her own.