daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #12

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Daredevil Prompt Post #12

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This post is for prompts involving characters from Netflix's Daredevil.

Now that The Defenders prompt post is live, all crossovers between anyone in the four individual shows should go over there. Prompts only including characters that appear in Daredevil should still go here.

Rules:

General
1. YKINMKATO. Play nice. Respect others. If you don't like something, scroll on.
2. All comments must be anon. If you would like to be politely banned to avoid anon-failing, leave a logged-in comment on the mod post or pm the mod account.
3. Subject lines should only be changed if you're posting a prompt or a fill (indicators like OP or Author!Anon should go in the body of the comment).
4. RPF is allowed. Crossovers, characters from the extended Marvel Universe and comics canon are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 TV show in some way.
5. Prompts focusing on characters from other Netflix Marvel shows or the comics should go on their respective prompt posts, but crossovers with Daredevil can go here.
6. Drop a comment on the mod post if you have any questions or problems.

Prompts
1. All types of prompts are welcome.
2. Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing or characters, keywords, kink).
3. Warnings are nice, but not mandatory. Get DW Blocker if there's anything you really don't want to see.
4. Reposted prompts are allowed once one round has passed - e.g. prompts from post #2 cannot be reposted until post #4. Please include a link to where it has been previously posted.

Fills
1. When posting a fill, either add [FILL] (or something similar) to the subject line, or change the subject line to the title of your fill.
2. Announce your fill on either the Completed Fills Post or the WIP Post.
3. Long fills can either be posted over multiple comments, or posted on AO3 and linked back here.
4. Multiple fills are always okay.
5. Fills can be anything! Fic, art and vids are all welcome.

Please post any prompts related to Season 2 of Punisher over on the dedicated Punisher prompt post, and put SPOILERS in the subject line!

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I want to see Matt somehow acquire a ton of cats (like +8 at least).
Maybe he kept begrudgingly feeding strays and let them stay? Maybe a client payed them in kittens? Maybe both or some other creative was. I don't know.
Give me Matt and a ton of pet cats!

+ If he somehow keeps it a secret for awhile from Foggy
++ Claire's reaction- because she is allergic and I'm pretty sure Matt doesn't know that.
+++ Matt is fiercely protective of his fluff balls--
ex.)
"No, Foggy. I don't have a problem. Their just cats. Who doesn't like cats? You even said I should get a pet before!"

"Yeah, Matt. A dog. One to help you see, so you don't come to work looking like it was your first night at Fight Club. And that was before I knew the reason you always came in looking like you had been in a fight- was because you had actually been in a fight!"

This is so cute and fluffy, I need this level of adorable in my life and so does Matty.

(Wow, this got dark. Warning for suicide mention)

"Don't bullshit me. Your suit has white fur on the black bits and black fur on the red bits. Either you chased someone through a mink farm, or you got a pet."

"Did you get knifed? You have defensive wounds all over your hands"

"Matt, you have three evenly spaced cuts running straight across your wrist. That doesnt happen by accident. Is it a coping mechanism or are you trying to kill yourself?"

This is simultaneously adorable and depressing.

As a former cutter whose cats love to climb up my arms and leave marks that make everyone look at me suspiciously, that basically sums up my reaction every time.
"Aww, kitten wants to play. How cute- ow ow ow dammit, right across the wrist. Why? How am I gonna explain this?"

He would maintain in all future tellings that he did not pass out in the alley. He was meditating.

On his back, granted. Behind a Dumpster. Meditation is a flexible art.

When he pulled his focus away from the constellation of pain (right ankle, almost sprained; right rotator cuff possibly torn; a spray of welts across his chest because bullet proof does not mean impact proof) he was immediately aware of a cluster of tiny heartbeats inches away from his ear and the musky smell of cat filling his nose. He turned his face towards the noise and got a mouthful of fur for his troubles.

"Mrr?"

One cat, he realized. One very pregnant cat, who had decided the crook of his right shoulder was a nice place to lie down. At least she hadn't tried to climb on the shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbled, pushing himself upright with his left arm. The cat made another noise of protest at being disturbed, then yawned. "Me too," Matt told her.

She heaved herself upright and tried to waddle into his lap.

"No," Matt said, gently pushing her back. Judging by the snatches of car radios and late-night TV he could pick up, it was nearly four, when the first trickle of early-risers started their days; he needed to get off the street.

The cat wormed her way under his hand and beached herself across his thigh. She was purring.

He let his hand rest on her back; there were at least eight distinct flutters inside her belly, maybe nine, giving her the overall feel of a particularly fluffy cantaloupe. He had no idea if eight kittens was a big litter or not. He had no idea how close to delivering she was. He remembered a stray cat giving birth in the sacristy at St. Agnes, when he was fifteen, the smell of blood and fluids overwhelming in the small room. How many kittens had there been originally, five? Not all of them had made it.

With some effort, the cat rolled onto her back, dirty paws tucked up to her chest, warm and heavy between his legs. He had the feeling she was looking at him.

He was gonna have to walk home anyway, to avoid making his injuries any worse.

"Fine," he said, and scratched absently behind the cat's ear. She twisted her head and caught one finger in her mouth, not hard enough to penetrate his gloves. "But you still have to let me stand up."

Carrying a fat, squirming cat in his right arm was...not a good idea. Definitely a rotator cuff problem. He managed to get her to settle in the crook of his left arm, where she promptly went to sleep, while he limped home from shadow to shadow.

Dawwww! So sweet. Sorry, Matt, you got adopted.

This is so cute! I love it.

Cute!

<3 <3 <3

Please, sir? May I have some more?

(And when the mama cat went belly up, I promptly thought "No Matt! Don't do it! Its a trap!")

(AA here: I don't know where this is going I just wanted more of this dumb baby and also the cat.)

He wasn't stupid; he sequestered the cat in the bathroom with him while he rushed through a quick, cold shower and bandaged himself up. She seemed content to curl up on top of a folded towel and observe these proceedings, purring intermittently while he wrapped his ankle and rubbed the welts with iodine. When he let the wrapper from a gauze pad fall to the floor, she batted at it for a moment, then lost interest.

She was less sanguine when it was her turn in the bath, but Matt had spent rather a lot of afternoons in his childhood harassing alley cats, first by assignment from Stick and later because it passed the time. He had the advantage of size and opposable thumbs, and he wasn't about to risk a flea infestation just because he was feeling sentimental.

She had teeth, claws, and a mournful, ear-splitting yowl. It made for an alarmingly close contest.

When he was done, he had to go another round with the iodine and band-aids. The cat bolted from the bathroom at the first opportunity; he heard her take up a position near the front door and begin grooming furiously.

Matt's freezer was well-stocked with a variety of ice packs. He got one for his ankle and one for his shoulder, and stretched out on the couch with them tucked into place. He'd be able to diagnose the rotator cuff problem better once the swelling went down, and the swelling would go down faster with rest and meditation.

Rest and meditation, which would both be easier without about fifteen pounds of wet cat on his diaphragm.

"Excuse me," he said. (Actually, the first thing he said was "Oof!" as the cat heaved herself gracelessly onto his solar plexus, but then--) The cat began to knead his stomach, claws catching slightly on his t-shirt. The same claws which had recently been rending his flesh. She was still damp all over, but she smelled distinctly better, so there was that.

Matt nudged at her, but she just butted her head against his hand (which had three different band-aids on it). "This wasn't an invitation," he told her, nudging her harder.

She flopped onto her side, which at least distributed her weight more evenly across his torso. She also started purring again.

He sighed, which had absolutely effect on the cat or the dampness soaking into his shirt. "This was a bad decision," he muttered, but he turned his attention away from the weight on his stomach, back to his own breathing.

He wasn't even aware of when meditation gave way to sleep.

He started awake to someone on the street yelling "It is ten o'clock in the goddamn morning--!" and the cat pawing at his nose.

She had wiggled her way up his chest, incidentally putting pressing on some of the bullet wounds, and was tapping insistently on his face with one paw. The ice packs had both melted, so fully half his shirt was wet and sticking to him. "What?" he asked the cat, catching her paw in his good hand.

She meowed and pulled her paw free. Then put the other one on his chin.

"Fuck off," he mumbled, and levered himself upright. She meowed again, and this time he heard the rumble of air in her stomach alongside the kittens. Right, of course, she was eating for nine. He dredged up his mental list of what was in the pantry, wondering what was cat-appropriate...and if he gave her food, he'd need to rig up a litterbox, too. Which meant litter. Which...was not happening, with the way his shoulder was still throbbing, because he couldn't carry a heavy bag and his cane in the same hand.

He put some milk in a cereal bowl for the cat and called Claire. "Rate your pain on a scale of one to ten," she said immediately.

"Hi, Claire," he said.

"Did you just wake up?"

"Dozed off on the couch," he admitted. "I think I tore my rotator cuff."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Uh, parkour?"

She sighed loudly. "Is it urgent? I can't be leaving here early, I just got this job."

"I've got ice. And a sling. I think."

"All right. I'll come by around seven and you're paying for dinner."

"Thank you."

At his feet, the cat threw up.

---

Half an hour, two rolls of paper towels, half a package of deli ham and one dry shirt later, the cat curled up on his lap while he did some research.

There were plenty of animal shelters in New York City, but the first few he called either admitted they were at capacity, or talked about a massively pregnant cat with such obvious strain that he felt safe assuming. He did managed to get an appointment the next day with a veterinarian--within walking distance, even--to at least confirm that the cat and all the kittens were healthy.

Then, running low on options, he called Karen.

"Are you hurt?"

"Why does everyone--never mind," because he already knew the answer. "And I'm not. I mean I am, but that's not what I was calling about. Technically."

"How bad is it?"

"Just tweaked my shoulder," he said, which was also technically true. "But I can't carry anything with that arm for a while and I...I need cat litter."

There was a suspiciously long silence on the other end. "Did you get a cat?" Karen asked warily.

"No. Well, sort of. I'm not keeping her."

"But there is a cat."

"Yes. Why would I ask you to bring me cat litter if there wasn't a cat?"

Karen did not answer that, which Matt probably should've been grateful for. "I'm taking my lunch in about forty-five minutes, I can run you some supplies. Are you at home?"

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"All right. See you then."

He put his phone down and gave the cat an absent pat. Now that she was clean and fully dry, her fur was soft and silky to the touch. He couldn't feel any sign of a microchip, but she had to have been a pet once, to be this affectionate with a human. Somebody had lost her--or she had lost them.

"You're making me maudlin," he informed the cat, who sort of yipped at him in reply.

(AA: yeah, okay, I am stretching the definition of "minifill" at this point...)

He had a list of non-cat-related things he needed to do, but somehow he ended up staying there on the couch with the cat in his lap until he heard Karen disembark from a taxi out front. The cat protested being shifted aside so he could get up, then immediately claimed the warm spot he'd left behind. Matt put coffee on, and tried to finger-comb his hair into submission, while he listened to Karen make her way upstairs. It sounded like she was carrying a lot more than just litter...

Her knock sent the cat bolting into the bedroom. "Hi," Matt said as he opened the door. "Thank you for--what is that?"

She lifted the large plastic...thing in one hand. "Litterbox. The dome has a spot for an activated charcoal filter, which, I don't know if that'll necessarily help with your, uh, problem, but I figured better safe than sorry. Where is it?"

"Hiding," Matt said, and stood back so she could get inside with the bags. "You didn't have to get all, uh, all this."

"I might've gotten carried away," Karen admitted. "But I also know that cat pee is literally the worst smell in the universe, and then I thought, well, if I think it's bad..."

Matt hadn't thought that far ahead, actually. "I appreciate it. What else did you get?"

She set the bags on the table and started unpacking them. "Wet food, dry food, scratching board, y'know, so it's got something to dig its claws into besides your furniture, uh, that came with a bag of catnip, a couple of toys...oh, yeah, and the litter."

Matt picked up one of the toys, a teardrop-shaped bit of felt with a bell inside. It took him a moment to realize it was supposed to be a mouse. "How much do I owe you for all this?"

"Mmm, let's say twenty-five and we'll call it even."

There was no way all this stuff cost less than fifty dollars, but contrary to rumor Matt could occasionally swallow his pride. Especially when Karen was in full caretaker mode. He was lucky to still be in the circle of people she felt like taking care of, after all. "Thank you," he said quietly, and went into the bedroom to find his wallet.

The sound of litter hitting the plastic pan piqued the cat's attention; her heart was still racing, tail lashing the floor, but she crept to the bedroom door to watch Karen set the box up. Definitely somebody's pet, once. Matt nudged her with his foot. "Hey, asshole, come say hi."

"You can't call--oh my god, it's so cute!"

The cat, if anything, crouched lower to the floor.

"I, uh, she kind of followed me home from work," Matt explained.

Karen remained kneeling, but she turned so she was facing the bedroom and stretched out a hand. "I figured that. You didn't really name her Asshole, did you?"

"Of course not." Matt decided to take a gamble and popped the lid on one of the cans of wet food. That brought the cat running, though she shied away from Karen along the way. "I haven't named her because I'm not keeping her."

Karen gave a low whistle. "I can see why. That is a very pregnant kitty."

"I noticed, yeah." She wolfed down the wet food like her life depended on it, and Matt reached for the paper towels again just in case. "I'm taking her to a vet tomorrow and hopefully they'll have some leads on a shelter or something. The once I called weren't very enthusiastic."

Karen nodded. "In that case, I probably bought way too much food."

"Eh, it's all right. Shelters take donations, right?"

The cat finished devouring the food, and signaled her appreciation by rubbing up against Matt's shins and purring like an outboard motor. Karen tried reaching out a hand again, and this time the cat deigned to give her a sniff. "Do you want to know what she looks like?" Karen asked.

Colors, right. Cats came in colors. "Sure."

"Hmm. Her top parts are kind of a gray-brown tabby pattern. You know, stripes." She managed to get in a few scritches between the ears. "But her legs and face and belly are all white. And she's got such blue eyes, they're so pretty."

Matt ran a hand down the cat's soft flank, trying to picture it in his head. "So what you're saying is I have at least two different colors of fur on my pants."

"I wasn't gonna say anything," she said, with a wobble in her voice that probably meant she was suppressed a laugh. But then she straightened up and asked, "How's your shoulder?"

He shrugged with his left. "Hurts. The sling's mostly to remind me not to move it too much."

"Did you--are you gonna see a doctor about it?"

"My, uh, the nurse friend I told you about. She's gonna come by and have a look." He was trying not to think too hard about whether it would need surgery, and how exactly he would explain the rest of his...everything...to a doctor if it came to that.

Karen nodded at that. "Okay. Well, let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."

"I will. Thanks again, Karen."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Then she bent down and addressed the cat. "Don't let Matt call you an asshole, sweetie."

"She bit me," Matt protested. "And she threw up all over the floor."

"All cats do that kind of thing."

"Well, then all cats are assholes."

He saw her out and went back to the couch. Within ninety seconds the cat was at his side, pressed against his thigh with her feet tucked up under her body. "I'm just being honest," Matt told her. "From one asshole to another."

The cat did not deign to reply.

I'm the OP for this prompt, and, oh my gosh, I LOVE the little (no so) minifill you have written! You have kept them all in character so well! <3
Matt saying to Karen "'So what you're saying is I have at least two different colors of fur on my pants.'" Made me laugh so hard! I have four cats (Well, technically all but one are the whole family's so I am not really a crazy cat lady) and they are all different colors, so I totally understand this issue!
Poor asshole cat, she just wants a little Matt love! (Heck, don't we all?)

I LOVE THIS. Matt needs to cuddle with a friendly cat, it'll be good for his mental health. The cat feels a lot like a real cat, and Matt feels really in character --- he'd try not to take the cat in at first, and he totally wouldn't name her (even though it will help fill the probably aching void in his life post-S2). Overall, really good job! I'd totally be interested in reading more if you were to write more. Also, an aside: the way the cat is described sounds a lot like my kitty, who is very friendly. So I got the added bonus of picturing Matt sleeping on the couch with my cat.

Claire came by as promised, and Matt had Thai take-out for her as agreed. "Have you taken anything for pain?" she asked him while carefully palpitating around the joint.

"Just some ibuprofen. And I've been meditating."

"And does that--" Claire paused, and Matt heard her breathing change, just before she let loose a massive sneeze into the crook of her elbow. "Sorry. Does the meditation actually help healing or does it just help with the pain?"

"A little of both," Matt said. She sneezed again. "Bless you."

"Thanks. Sorry." She leaned back and rubbed her eyes, and Matt caught a whiff of salt in the air. "Let's see your range of motion."

Her verdict, "Keeping in mind that I'm not a human ultrasound and you're not a medical professional," was that the tear was minor enough to forgo surgery. "As long as you actually rest-rest it, as opposed to your usual definition of 'rest it.'"

"I know what rest means," Matt protested, but his heart wasn't in it. He knew he wouldn't be much good to anyone without full use of his dominant arm, and that he could still end up needing surgery if he exacerbated the tear. But sitting at home these days, he could only think about how many people he should've been helping, and what he'd sacrificed to have the chance. "How long?"

Claire sneezed again. "I'm gonna say two weeks minimum," she croaked. "Though you can probably start very gentle stretching in a couple of days. Christ, I cannot be getting a cold now...."

Matt paused halfway into his shirt. Claire's breathing had sounded normal when she arrived, but over the past twenty minutes the pitch had gotten a little higher, a little rougher, like her sinuses were swelling. That plus the watery eyes... "I don't think--"

The cat--who had been slowly creeping out of the bedroom since Claire sat down--chose this moment to fling herself onto the couch between the two of them. Claire yelped and jumped back. "Oh my god, what is this."

"A cat?" Matt did not like the conclusion that was forming in his mind. The cat stretched forward to sniff at Claire's knee; he hauled her back by the scruff. "You're allergic, aren't you?"

"Little bit," Claire said tightly. "Also not really a cat person in general, though it kind of makes sense that you are."

Matt was concentrating on the cat, who apparently liked Claire way more than Karen and really wanted to investigate her. "I didn't--wait, what? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing in particular," Claire said dryly, but he suspected she was smiling. "Just that you come and go as you please, you're territorial, and I found you in an alley."

"That is--I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." He had to use both hands to keep the cat contained in his lap. "Stop that," he told her. "Why didn't you snuggle up to Karen like this?"

"I think cats can sense people with allergies," Claire said, standing up. "Or maybe it's something about not liking eye contact?"

"Well, that explains why she likes me so much," Matt muttered.

Claire laughed, and then she sneezed, and then she said, "Okay. I appreciate the pad thai, but I am not going to be able to stay here much longer without some Benadryl and maybe a gas mask."

"I'm sorry," Matt said. "I would've warned you if I knew you had allergies."

"Well, now we both know, so in the future I'll be prepared," Claire said, putting on her coat.

"I'm not keeping her," Matt explained. "She's just here until I find a shelter with room for nine."

"Nine...? Oh, man, you are a human ultrasound." She grabbed her purse and the take-out container and sneezed again. "Right, getting out of here. Let me know if the pain gets any worse."

"I will. Thanks for coming by."

"Thanks for--achoo!--dinner."

He let the cat escape his lap, and she immediately made her way to the other take-out box and began nosing at it. A moment later, she recoiled, sneezing from the smell of the curry. "Serves you right," Matt told her, but he also offered her another can of wet food as a diversion so he could actually eat in peace.

this continues to be utterly adorable

He slept badly that night. Partly because he no longer did much sleeping at night; partly it was the background simmer of unspent energy and the effort it took to ignore the cries, the sirens, the gunshots reverberating for blocks. He meditated some, and stayed up late listening to some random podcasts without really processing what he was hearing, and then he tossed and turned in search of a comfortable sleeping position that didn't stress his shoulder.

The cat slept well, mainly on him, though when he moved to the bed she claimed one of his pillows and tried to mash herself against his head whenever he laid still for long enough. Occasionally, she snored.

"I hate you," he mumbled into a wall of fur at once point, but the cat did not respond.

He got his revenge when it was time to leave for the vet appointment, because about the only accoutrement Karen hadn't provided was a carrier. Matt considered several solutions, and ended up stuffing the cat into his gym bag, which he could carry over his shoulder to keep his hand free for his cane. He then had to pause and go yet another round with the first-aid kit, but he considered this worth it.

The receptionist at the vet's office did not find Matt's solution to the carrier problem as clever as he did. She also had no problem filling out the forms for him, though. "What's your pet's name?"

"She's not--I'm not planning on keeping her, so I haven't named her."

"All right, I'll just put her down as Kitty Doe."

Accord to the vet, Kitty Doe was probably less than two years old herself, and Matt was right about the number of kittens. "That's an unusually large litter," she added. "You might have to hand-feed some of the kittens if she can't produce enough milk for all of them."

"Any idea when she's due?" Matt asked, because he had already explained again that he wasn't keeping her. Them. Whatever. (He had substituted "fell while taking out trash" for "hid behind dumpster to meditate after vigilantism-related parkour accident.")

"Oh, she's definitely in the last week or two," the vet said confidently. "Nesting behavior should already be kicking in. Might even be why she glommed on to you, if she still associates humans with safety."

"Well, that's flattering," Matt said, stroking the miserable, hunched-up mound of fur on the exam table. "Do you have any recommendations for shelters I could call?"

The vet hemmed and hawed for a bit. "I can email you a few numbers, but to be honest, Mr. Murdock, a lot of places are still working through their after-holidays rush, especially the no-kill shelters. I know a few that would be willing to take her, but not necessarily any place that should, if you follow."

"I do."

"We can post a picture on our Facebook page for you," she added faux-brightly. "See if we can find someone to take her off your hands. Or at least take in some of the kittens, once they're weaned."

"And, ah, how long does that take?"

"Generally we don't recommend separating kittens from their mother until they're about eight to ten weeks."

If he'd known he was signing up for three months of foster father duty, he might've reconsidered taking the cat home with him in the first place. In for a penny, though... "Guess I need to add cat food to my grocery delivery, then."

They chatted a bit longer about brands of food--he was apparently right to be suspicious of the dry food Karen had bought, which smelled primarily of corn--and vaccination schedules, and the cat was actually quite happy to get back in the gym bag as an alternative to the unfamiliar exam room. The receptionist took a picture with her phone, and promised to send him contact information for the shelter along with an electronic copy of the bill. "And if you decide on a name, just let us know and we'll update her records," she added brightly.

"I'll keep that in mind," Matt promised.

Back at the apartment, the cat hid under the bed for several hours after being liberated from the bag. Matt found a nice-sized cardboard box out by the dumpsters and brought it up to his apartment, lined it with some old towels and the spare cotton sheets he no longer had much use for. For a little extra incentive, he sprinkled the inside with some catnip. "There," he told the cat when she poked her nose out to investigate the smell. "This is yours."

She gave a small, plaintive meow.

"C'mon, it's from the garbage, you'll feel right at home."

She rubbed against his leg instead, and then tried to eat the baggie of catnip. Matt sighed.

This is just too cute istg. Will you be putting it up on AO3?

Oh this is so lovely! I'm happy you expanded from a mini fill :)

Loving this, it's too cute. Hoping to see more soon :)

i love this i love this i love this, you should post this on AO3! its v charming and i hope to hear from the kitties 10 again!

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing in particular," Claire said dryly, but he suspected she was smiling. "Just that you come and go as you please, you're territorial, and I found you in an alley."

HAHAHA I love this

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Daredevil Prompt Post #12

Matt and Cats

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Minifill: Mat and Cats

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Minifill: Mat and Cats (Part the Second)

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Minifill: Mat and Cats (Part the Fourth)

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Mini-ish fill: Matt and Cats (Part the Fifth)

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Mini-ish fill: Matt and Cats (Part the Sixth)

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