Significant Owl

The Hand can never have her now.

Inktober Day 7: Dust

More Whumptober fic!

Thanks to @pixelbypixelfanfic for looking it over, and @whumptober2019 for organizing it.

3. Delirium

Foggy had learned to live with it, the feeling of dread that today would be the day Matt would get himself killed.

So they’d gotten into little habits, rituals to reassure him: Matt would tell him when he went out, and he’d leave a message when he was back home. Foggy knew him well enough that, from his voice alone, he could tell how banged up he was. But Matt hadn’t even been late to work once in two weeks, which would have been worrying before they’d instituted the Protocol. But they had, and so it was okay; it was just Matt recuperating from a rough night. Well, ‘just…’ It was just their normal now. And Matt had been doing good lately, coming in to work with a spring in his step instead of the occasional limp. So Foggy tried to be happy for him and worry less, he really did.

AU in which Matt (ostensibly) attends Harvard instead of Columbia 

(nsfw)

Inktober Day 2: Crimson

Something quick I wrote up. I guess this is post S3.

*~*~*

“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”  

~ Leonard Cohen

*~*~*

During the few hours of fitful sleep he gets, Matt dreams in red.  

“Yeah, I killed your old man.  I killed lots of fathers,” Sweeney boasts.  “And now I know your name, nothing’ll stop me from bloodying the street with your corpse!”

Standing before the ugly mobster, Matt is a child again.  Shivering and bereft in that alleyway as he clutches his father’s dead body.  Only this time he’s not alone.  He’s got Elektra beside him, and he’s shaking not out of fear, but rage.  He has to reach up to throw the first punch, but it’s a solid upper-cut and lands on Sweeney’s jaw with a satisfying crack.

“Yes!” Elektra murmurs in his ear, “Do it again!”  Matt lets out a roar and unleashes blow after blow, feeling himself growing taller with every punch.  In his dream Matt has the satisfaction of seeing the smirk he pummels off of Sweeney’s face, the bloody rivulets his fists create in glorious shades of red.  By the end he’s the one towering over Sweeney, and the man is reduced to a pulpy mess that seems barely alive, barely human.

“Finish him!” Elektra commands, but Matt is suddenly frozen with indecision.  Elektra huffs a sigh of impatience and steps in, her hands wrapping around the back of Sweeney’s head, his blood staining her nails dark red.  There’s a sharp snap as his neck breaks, and Roscoe Sweeney disintegrates into dust as his body falls.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Elektra asks.  Now there’s only the two of them, and Matt’s own hearbeat is deafeningly loud in his ears.  Elektra reaches for him, and her hands are suddenly everywhere at once.  Caressing his face, stroking his cock, and scoring deep, deep grooves down Matt’s back that he never wants to heal.

Matt wakes with a start, momentarily surprised not to find Elektra pressed against him, or a dead man’s blood still smeared across his knuckles.  Instead there’s only the morning sun shining into his sightless eyes.  The familiar smells of his dorm room surround him: Library books, unwashed laundry, his and Foggy’s scents mingling inextricably in the air.  Only a few weeks ago, Elektra’s voice had echoed in this very room.  Saying “Σε αγαπώ,” and “Je t’aime,” and “I’ll always love you.” The way she’d whispered “Matthew” had lit a spark deep inside his soul…

 Originally I was going to stick to 100-word drabbles for these prompts as I’m also working on another project, but obviously that didn’t work out very well. 

Inktober Day 1: Sparring