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cellophaine · 3 years

Text

History of You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Lingered Affection!Reader

Word Count: 2090

Warnings: A bit of angst. Brief description of collision.

Author's Note: The event of this fic took place when Matt and Reader were still in a relationship, therefore, the break up didn't happen!

I don't know how to feel about this one. I think I did an okay job? 😭

Take a shot every time I use the word memory/memories lol (actually, please don't do that, for safety reason)

Prompt requested by: @a-space-witch <3 Thank you so much for the prompt! Your request called me out on my tendency to pile on the angst lol. I love it!

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He was so close. So close to home. Just a few rooftops away, and he would be home with you. Matt imagined curling up with you underneath his silk blanket, and the excitement sent a shiver down his spine. He would have you for the whole weekend, and he couldn't wait. You had been busy with an important project down in Soho for the past two weeks. With your conflicting schedules, sleeping next to each other for few hours before either you had to rise first was something you could only afford. He remembered how you wouldn't leave before giving him a kiss — quick, fleeting but always so affectionate, as if you poured your heart and soul into it with the hope that he knew you meant it. Every morning. He wouldn't have to chase the feelings of those moments anymore since you were done with your project last night. You should be at his apartment by now, all warm and cuddly and his.

 As he approached the roof door to his apartment, the absence of your heartbeat made his excitement wavered. He was back a little bit earlier than he usually did, but that shouldn't change the fact that you weren't… here. Unlocking the door, he stepped down the stairs carefully, light on his feet, seeking you out. The apartment was deprived of your scent, your breathing, your heartbeat that he knew better than the Bible itself. He felt the empty couch, searching in his vacant bathroom. Finally, he slid the door to the bedroom open, patting the cold bed as if he didn't trust his senses anymore. He needed to feel you. But you weren't there.

 His heart started on a stuttering rate, as his worries for you climbed, and climbed, and climbed. He frantically searched for his day phone, opening it to an announcement of a voicemail from you. He let out a short breath of relief before letting it play.

"Hey, Matt. I'm on my way back. I'm taking a cab right now, and I should be at your apartment soon. I can't wait to see you."

 "I hope your night was good, and nobody gave you a hard time. If somebody did, I hope it wasn't something too serious. Anyway, I should be back soon."

There was a pause on your end. He could hear your soft breath, the little humming noise you made when you were about to say something —

"I … love you."

"I love you."

The first tone was hesitant, unsure, but you cleared your throat and repeated the words with more volume and assurance. Matt knew you had a hard time saying the word 'love' to him, and he didn't pressure you, letting you be on your own pace. Unconditional love and affection seemed to be a sensitive and foreign topic for you, and even though it killed him inside, he never once pressuring you on telling him. The fact that you diligently made a consistent effort to say it to him more often brought warmth to his chest, playing with the oxytocin in his brain.

"Okay, I'm going to go. The cab driver is looking at me weirdly. I'll see you later."

Your little whisper drew a small smile on his face, but it did little to soothe his elevated heart rate. The automatic machine alerted him the voicemail was sent almost three hours ago. So where were you?

 As if they could hear his thoughts, the phone in his hand rang loudly in the quiet space, startling Matt. The phone announced an unknown number, and he answered the call with a brief moment of hesitation.

"Hello? Is this Mr. Murdock?"

The female voice from the other end belonged to someone unfamiliar.

"Yes, this is him. Who am I speaking to?"

"My name is Alana. I'm calling from Bellevue Hospital …."

Whatever came next scattered in fragments of information. Your name. How urgent it was for him to come. And how he was your emergency contact.

 Matt staggered through the door of the hospital, overwhelmed by the chaos. His palms were clammy; his breathing was more than a struggling intake of air. He numbly went through the protocols with the help of a nurse, as if someone had driven a knife through his heart and left the weapon there. He was bleeding inside, and every little move hurt, but he had to keep moving. For you, had you simply beckoned his presence, even if he were on the verge of death himself, he would crawl to you on the last draw of his breath.

 Standing outside of your hospital room, the doctor in charge of your case quickly and carefully informed Matt of your situation. You were caught in a collision just outside of Garment District about four hours ago. You were taken to the hospital along with the taxi driver almost immediately. After being in the ER for a while, you finally stabilized and now resting in your designated room. The doctor went on to say you were lucky to be alive, but not enough to avoid severe head injuries.

 Matt's knuckles had gone ghost white on his cane as he listened to your beating heart. Weak, but steady. You were alive, and that was the only important thing.

That was four months ago. After many diagnoses and even more prescriptions, you were sitting beside him on the floor of the Van Gogh exhibition, with a gaping hole in your memory. It hurt to be this close to you, yet, he didn't feel close enough. To you, he was only a stranger. But to him, you meant so much more. His lifeline. His home. His safe haven on the worst days, and the best.

 You didn't remember him or anyone from the recent years of your life. But he knew you. And damn him if he didn't even try.

 —

 Matt Murdock. Matthew Michael Murdock, as he reluctantly introduced himself when you asked for his full name when you first woke up. The man in front of you might be a stranger to you, but it wasn't a coincidence when he was your emergency contact.

 You wanted nothing more than to get your memories back. You didn't understand how, but Matt was the key to something. Something important. You wanted to know more of the guy who had been by your side the moment you woke up to your full physical recovery. And it seemed like he wanted to stay with you for every moment after that. You couldn't help but smile at the notion. You wouldn't mind that idea for just one bit.

 During your stay in the hospital, Matt brought you your favourite food, ensuring you eat enough. He brought you your sketchbook and pencil case, knowing how much you were itching to draw again after your arm had healed. He brought you the books you left at his apartment with a bookmark, knowing how much you disliked dog-earing the pages.

 One day, after assisting you on a walk around the unit you stayed in, Matt reluctantly pulled out a folded piece of fabric, placing it on your lap. You looked at him quizzically, probing him for an answer.

"You said you liked wearing my clothes … from before. I'm pretty sure you have some of them at your place. So I figured I could bring you something. Maybe it can help you with the memory."

You winced, patting at the soft material.

"Wow. Out of all things I thought I would be, clothes thief wasn't one of them. Stealing clothes from a blind lawyer, nevertheless. I really screwed up, did I?"

Matt laughed softly; his hand came up to tilt your chin, tilting your face up. His thumb made a gentle caress at your bruised jaw. The slight warmth from his hand was foreign, but you didn't turn away. Instead, you welcomed it, approaching an alien territory that you once walked through.

"It's nothing that you have to worry about. I loved it when you wore my clothes. I still do."

He loved it. He loved it. As if Matt had cast a spell on you, you went still, your cheeks grew warm at his confession, and your heart did a little somersault in your chest. Matt recognized what he just said, abruptly let go of your chin and cleared his throat, pulling away from you.

"I'm sorry. Maybe it's too much, too soon. I can take it back —"

You held his hand that was placed atop the hoodie, giving it an assuring squeeze. His hand was large and warm, and you didn't want him to leave.

"No, I want to keep it here. Thank you."

Those loving gestures didn't stop once you were able to walk on your own. Matt took you out to places you two had been to together. He was a tour guide in the city of your lost memory. That art supplies place seemed more extensive than it looked with shelves after shelves of paints. The bookstore that you often visited with books lining up to the ceiling. The restaurants where you got your comfort food, where you had your first date. He even took you to your favourite bodega, where there was a chubby cat called McGee who ran to greet you, brushing up on your legs affectionately.

 As you sat here, Matt couldn't help but reminiscing his first time here. First time, and first kiss with you. This was a first for you too, as ironic as it sounded. Matt got to experience all of the memorable moments with you again, but unlike those first times, it was him showing you your world.

 You poured your focus on the show around you, marvelling at the vibrant colours and movements. Turning to Matt, your words died on your tongue as you saw his face.

"Matt? Is everything okay?"

He nodded, giving you a smile that didn't quite reach his face.

"I'm fine. I just ... I remember the first time we were here."

You scooted closer to him, your knees touching.

"Was it ... bad? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's not like that at all. It was ... perfect. It was a perfect day."

You didn't know what else to say but your mind. Anything but this suffocating silence, for you knew you couldn't snap your fingers and make yourself remember.

"Look, I know that this is ... fucked up. The whole situation. And it's unfair to you. You didn't have to stay around at all, you could have left me, and I wouldn't even know any better. But you chose to stay with me. And I ... I can never say thank you enough. I have nothing to offer —"

You choked on your words. Matt's large palm cupped your face, soothing your nerves with gentle touches on your cheek.

"— and there's no guarantee that my memories will be recovered."

You swallowed, preparing yourself for what you were about to say.

"I know that this might not be what you want, but even if my memories don't come back, I want to give this, to give us, a chance."

You bit your bottom lip, waiting for a response from Matt. This could be the end of you and him. As much as you cherished his company, you wanted to give him a choice, to stay or to leave. He deserved that much.

Your name was a tender, adoring whisper on his tongue as Matt pressed his forehead against yours.

"I want to be with you, with or without your memories, for as long as you have me."

You let out a long sigh of relief, angling your lips to press a lingering kiss on his cheek. He smiled at the small action, this time more genuine than the last. You had come to admire his grin and the way it changed his face.

 You put your head on his shoulder, looking out onto the endless flow of colours as he stroked your shoulder fondly, holding you closer to him. There was more than enough evidence of Matt in your life before the accident. The field trips and the little things in your apartment showed you things that you couldn't remember. Clothes that weren't yours. Braille tags on your stuff. The unscented toiletries next to the scented ones. The number of finished and unfinished works you did with Matt painted all over them. The way you didn't know how he came into your life seemed to matter less.

Wouldn't that be so bad?

No. Not at all.

#memory loss tw #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x you #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock au #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fluff #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil au #daredevil imagine #daredevil fanfiction #marvel imagine #no use of y/n #fluff #cellophaine 100 followers event #lingered affection

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shipersanonymous · 4 years

Text

A Flash fan fiction ❤️

By ShipersAnonymous and Annasorayasmith

....

I remember.

I remember it all. In flashes of red. The agony. The betrayal. The sound of my heart breaking. The silence as they each forgot about me.

As they left me behind.

I remember. And I don't intend to forgive.

..................................................................................

Author's Note:

A-hoy there shippers!

So I've been biting my tongue to keep this in cause I'm terrible at keeping secrets! But it's finally here!

I can't tell you how over the moon I am at this collaboration with @annasorayasmith who trusted me enough with her thoughts and let me put them into words.

I've never done anything like this before and this story has so much it's a challenge to find out which angle is better suited to tell the story (their all so good!). I hope that together we can do the story justice and hope that you enjoy it!

We've mixed a little Godly mythology into this with a bit of romance, a lot of familial drama and a splash of angst! It's a Barry/Eobard fic but to my shippers out there don't worry West-Allen will still form apart of this wild mix!

To my lovely co-author, thank you a million times over for sharing your imagination with me and believing in my skills enough to let me copilot. I look forward to reaching our destination but I'm stoked for the journey we're embarking on!

All aboard!!!

XOXO

💜🖤

*************Cliffhanger Warning*************

Prologue

His chubby fingers curled over the bar of gold that formed part of the crib’s frame. With curious eyes, he lifted himself onto the tips of his toes and peered inside. A flushed face, wrinkled and topped with a thin sheet of glossy, auburn hair, rested soundly against the mattress. The creature looked so small and fragile, like if he reached in hard enough he could hold its head between his infantile hands and squeeze with enough pressure to make it burst.

He smiled at the malevolent thought.

As if sensing his darkened intent, the babe’s lips trembled before a holler, loud and panicked pushed out of them.

Strong voice for such a tiny thing.

His mother came rushing in, the worry in her eye unmistakable, fuelling his hatred. She swooped the hollering child into her arms and pressed it against her bosom. With the honey milk voice she used to reserve just for him, a song echoed from her chest and ruffled the clouds that they called home. The love in each note pronounced. The admiration and affection clear in each word.

The lullaby breaking his heart.

He shuffled to his mother’s side with his head hung in sadness. With the gentleness mastered only by a child, he tugged at her skirt for attention.

“Ami?” he called, a name he’d lovingly kept from his days as a babbling infant learning to speak, but his call went unanswered. Her attention had been captured by the creature that now laid still in her embrace.

The embrace stolen from him.

“Ami?” he tried again and this time her gaze turned towards him, her body continued its gentle sway as she danced with the little god.

“Achilles, my sweet, hush a moment and let mama put Apollo to sleep.” she pleaded softly, the affection in her golden eyes shining through like the rays of the rising sun. He could never deny her a wish when she smiled at him so warmly. So he swallowed down his pride with hopes that his good behaviour would win her favour enough for him to keep her love. As she carried on singing and swaying, he diligently held on to her skirt.

His tiny palm began to sweat and he tightened his grip. His unripe muscles thumped with a dull ache and stiffness, yet little Achilles persisted.

He was too afraid to let go.

At last she replaced the child in its bed of gold and turned her full attention onto him. His heart beat hopeful that his determination had paid off and when she smiled down at him he reached out his arms, begging her to pick him up. Needing to be encapsulated by her warmth, reassured that he hadn’t lost her. Instead she knelt down before him and drew him in for a hug.

“My sweet, sweet Achilles. I’m afraid I no longer poses the strength to carry you like I used to. You’ve grown so much,” she says once they pull apart and her eyes sparkle with a gleam of sadness, coloured by a hint of maternal pride. But little Achilles, small as he was, failed to read the emotion on her face and simply attached meaning to her words.

Was he now too big because she had a smaller model to compare him too? Was she now too weak because her strength had been exhausted on the creature that lay fast asleep in his crib? Regardless of the reason, there was a single common thread in both explanations.

Apollo.

This fiend he had to call brother had stolen from him the one thing he treasured most. The one fortune the stars had granted him. The love of his mother. He could feel it in the core of his very being.

“Iris!” his father’s thunderous voice boomed from a distance and she turned her head towards the sound.

“In a minute my lord,” she called back.

“Your father is in need of me, I must make haste. I plead thee, Achilles, do not wake thy brother,” she asked and he nodded.

As a reward for his compliance he received a kiss on the forehead before his mother took her leave. He waited till he was truly alone and approached the sleeping babe. Peering into the cot once again, he was filled with a dark determination to see his beloved mother rid of the parasite that harmed her so. With no one there to bare witness his eyes flickered a deep red and the corners of his lips turned up into a grin that rid his childish face of all its innocence. The old woman had warned him that the child that grew within his mother would bring nothing but misery. If she was right about that she must have been right about his quest.

It was his destiny to save his Ami. To rid the heavens of the abomination that shared his father’s blood with him. To be a hero that only a son of Zeus could be. As the seed planted itself into his naïve little heart and took root, the red glow died out of his eyes but it did not disappear completely. It simply slumbered behind the hazel of his irises, awakening each time he laid eyes on his bother.

…

The red in his eyes glows brighter than ever before as Eobard, triumphantly gazes down at a semi-conscious Barry. The loud roar of thunder drowns out Barry’s pained whimpers but the grimace on his bloody and bruised features is enough to appease Thawne’s sadistic hunger for the time being.

The blood stained rain drops, drip from his fingers to pool at his feet where it joins the river of red streaming from Barry, whose breaths are shallow. Each inhale agonising as it vibrates through his shattered ribs. Each exhale bringing him closer to his end.

Barry’s vision is blurred from the swelling of his eyes and bloody rain that wets his lashes, and yet he can still make out the haunting red orbs that glow like demon flashlights.

“W-Why?” he manages to whisper, searching for closure. A reason for his sudden and unjustified demise. Eobard let’s out a spine chilling cackle that slices through the night air, bleeding into the symphony of the storm.

“Poor, unsuspecting fool,” he spits.

“So naïve!” he punctuates his point with a kick to Barry’s side. The young man groans out in pain, a soft, tortured sound as he is too weak to scream.

“So unaware…” another kick.

“…Of the gift you’ve been granted. The honour bestowed upon you. So unworthy of the blood of Zeus.” A sneer of disgust crosses his lips as he gazes down at the weak, trembling figure at his feet. The thought that he is somehow connected to the whimpering mess, shames him. It dulls the glory of the Godly name bestowed upon him.

“Your existence is a mistake! A universal miscalculation. An error bound to bring misery to who’s ever path you cross.” Eobard sneers as he takes the two steps needed to close the distance his kicks had opened between them. Barry simply lays on his back, barely conscious, his eyes closed, his mind flipping through his memories with Iris to help ease his physical pain.

Her smile. Her touch. The sweet smell of her skin. The softness of her lips. The feel of her hair between his fingers. The lively sparkle in her eyes.

“But I intend to fix that.” Thawne declares as he sinks down on one knee and violently grabs Barry by the collar. The brisk movement sends a shock wave of pain through the injured boy’s body and forces his eyes to open as much as the swelling will allow.

Fear slithers into his heart.

“It’s why I was born. My destiny. And believe me when I say….”

Thawne holds his free hand up for Barry to see and though his vision is still impaired, Barry hears the moment his hand begins to vibrate. It’s a gut twisting sound that creeps into his bones and paralyses him. He’s never heard it before but something in him recognises it as a bad omen.

Death is coming.

“… that I’m going to enjoy the honour of ending your worthless life.” An evil smile of satisfaction thins Thawne’s lips as the prospect of his victory gives him the last bit of strength he needs.

A bolt of lightning lights up the sky with the brilliance of stadium lights.

A thunder clap, deafening like the roar of a mighty lion, rattles the wet earth.

Thawne, oblivious to it all, begins to lower his deadly hand onto Barry’s chest.

#the flash #barry allen #eobard thawne #iris west #gods #speedforce #flash fan #fan fiction #flash fiction #romance #drama #family drama #heartache #Multiple dimensions

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