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seventh-district · 8 months

Text

and it tastes so bittersweet

“You never answered my question, you know?”

Your words are more of a gentle nudge than an accusatory statement, hoping that maybe you can coax another secret out of the crypt of a man sitting before you.

You watch a small smile surface on his features, and he bites it back before it can grow into a full-fledged embarrassed grin.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy if I tell you.”

The sincere hesitance in his voice pulls a surprised laugh out of you.

“Matthew, I already know you’re crazy.”

Your words are dripping with affection, no malice to be found behind them, and you watch as his shoulders begin to shake with poorly hidden laughter.

You spend a dark evening in bed with your effectively immortal partner (in crime). The two of you open up to one another, eventually getting a taste of each other in a way that you hadn't anticipated.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 7,446

Content Warnings: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga] [SH / NSSI] [blood] [blood consumption] [death] [watching someone get shot] [bleeding] [violence] [vague & foggy traumatic memories] [scars] [DIY heart transplants] [implied murder] [sensual/sexual(?) desire that is hinted at but never acted upon aside from a few little kisses] [you and Matt are both wanted criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other <3]

There isn't any explicit sexual content in this fic, but due to its dark and graphic nature, it's still NSFW. I wrote this from the same perspective with which I watched the entire Malenkee Saga - that of an adult. I've recently become aware that some people view Malenkee/Viewer as being a child. While I don't know why, given that Matt literally confesses his romantic interest in them at one point, and Jim clearly states that his videos aren't for kids, I still feel the need to clarify this.

This fic is not intended for anyone under the age of 18.

The small bead of blood trailing a thin line down along your forearm is darker than it used to be.

There’s plenty of things you’re sure you’ve forgotten in this life, numerous aspects of your past that you can no longer recall with any amount of certainty. After enough years pass, any particular memory you think back on could have just as easily been a vivid dream. But you’re quite certain that your blood used to be red.

It looked green, blue, violet even, as it coursed through your veins, thinly veiled by the skin of your wrist. But whenever that skin was opened and the liquid took the path of least resistance, flowing out in a slow, steady stream across your skin, it was always a deep, vivid red.

The liquid that’s now pooled in the crease of your elbow and is quickly congealing into a sticky, tacky puddle is solid black, though.

It’s not the lighting. Yes, the room is fairly dark, but even when you set your blade aside in favor of palming around in the sheets and find your phone, it’s flashlight shining a spotlight on your arm, it’s still black. You straighten your arm out, twisting it under the light, inspecting it with a dull sense of curiosity. This is far from the most unsettling thing you’ve ever witnessed, but still, it is a bit odd.

Why is it like that?

When you tilt your arm, you half-expect the little puddle of semi-liquid to follow gravity’s pull and slide downward, but it stays put, practically having adhered itself to your skin already. It hasn’t fully dried yet, refusing to spread out and tinge your skin a shade darker like it used to. It just clings to you, growing more viscous by the second.

After staring at your arm in dumb silence for a minute, trying to think of any reasonable explanation for this anomaly, your mind suddenly offers up an unpleasant yet helpful memory.

This is the same viscous black liquid that you watched escape from the bullet hole that one of those bastards put in Matt’s neck.

You felt it before you saw it, hot and wet, spraying across your face as your eyes snapped closed. It was the only sensation you could process aside from the deafening ring in your ears.

As the ringing faded out, it was replaced with the sound of Matt’s heartbeat growing ever weaker, ever slower. You blinked your eyes open to see him sprawled back on the floor in front of you, all but lifeless. The bottom of his mask had ridden up his neck, allowing you to clearly see the entry wound, slowly weeping a thick, black liquid.

Every following aspect of that memory remains as much of a blur to you as it felt when you experienced it firsthand.

Two pulses, yours rapid and his slowing, their alternating beats a pulsing pressure in your ears, your arms, your fingers.

The pressure on your wrists increasing exponentially before vanishing altogether as the chain holding your handcuffs together snapped, its links unable to withstand the newfound force you exerted upon them.

The floor falling away from you as your body rapidly stood, moving of its own accord, acting upon long-forgotten instincts to summon strength you didn’t know you could possess.

As the seconds passed in slow motion, you began to feel less like an onlooker and more… like a commander.

Your body the puppet, your mind the puppeteer.

Now, you’d been making attempts at reconnecting yourself with your unique set of abilities ever since Dimi had made you aware of them. You hadn’t managed to get very far with them, though. The fact that no one was entirely sure of the scope or extent of your abilities didn’t help matters either. How do you train a muscle that you can’t feel anymore?

Dimi had suspected that you may have been capable of more than just telepathy, suggesting that your mind very well might be capable of transferring more than thought. Perhaps it could transfer energy. Perhaps it could transfer force. Perhaps it could… manipulate your environment. Bend it to your will.

So, he’d worked with you to the best of his ability during the time you spent together, to try and help you find that power again. To your genuine shock, his suspicions had been correct.

Though, you never got farther than lifting so much as a paperclip by the time that he…

By the time that Matt…

By the time…

You hadn’t gotten very far with your telekinetic efforts.

For some strange reason that up until that point you had yet to understand, every subsequent encounter you had with Matt left you feeling… more like yourself. Or, maybe… more like some version of yourself that you used to be. For the life of you, you couldn’t describe why, but the more time he spent around you the more you found yourself capable of.

While you laid in the hospital recovering from your… memorable encounter with that man behind the white mask, you filled your free time with practice. Any time you were alone in your room, you’d put all of your energy and focus into lifting the heaviest objects you could see.

Anything to keep your mind off of whether or not you’d ever see Matt again.

The chair beside your bed was too heavy. As was any of the other actual furniture or equipment in the room. So you set your goal a bit lower. Working your way down from heaviest to lightest, you tried at every object in the room until you were able to move something.

You ended up spending a lot of time opening and closing drawers, as well as misplacing all manner of small objects that week, much to your nurse’s growing confusion, and Dr. Roberts’ subtle amusement.

After being released from the hospital, you were finally able to test your abilities on a wider range of objects, and from there your days consisted entirely of keeping yourself alive, honing your abilities, and finding Matt.

You hadn’t gotten much more adept by the time you found yourself in his company once again.

The events that played out that day gave you confirmation of what you’d already suspected, though.

He definitely made you stronger.

Simply being in close proximity had been enough for you to feel the effects, but you had no idea how much potential power he truly held until he literally pulled it out and handed it to you.

Looking back, you’re still not sure if it was the life he gave you or simply the traumatizing experience of having him shot point blank in front of you that spurred you on.

It was probably both.

You’re quite sure that he had no clue what he was doing when he offered you part of himself. Hell, you’re fairly certain that he doesn’t even know what he is, let alone what you are or what you’d be capable of if given access to whatever kind of power he holds.

He was genuinely just trying to give you one more chance at life.

There was no way in hell that you were just gonna take it and run. He’d saved your life, so it was only fair that you return the favor.

The two poor men they sent to execute Matt and take you in never stood a chance. Their guns flew out of their hands before they could even take proper aim at you, and the fight was over before it even began.

Bits and pieces of that day flash in your mind, blurry and out of order. You do your best to sort them.

You remember your nails tearing into skin.

You remember screaming. Begging. Prayer.

You remember muscle tearing, blood flowing, bones cracking.

You remember the weight of a human heart, cradled in your hands.

You remember the brush of your bloodied knuckles against Matt’s skin as your trembling hands lifted the tail of his shirt.

Even now, trying to parse through it all threatens to send you into another migraine, so you just let the memory settle back into the haze of your foggy mind.

The only thing that matters is that the two of you walked out of that room alive, with two hearts beating in each of your chests.

The bathroom door leading into your bedroom swings open slowly, allowing light and steam to flood in. The widening fraction of light spreading across your floor and the smell of soap on hot steam is enough to snap you out of your thoughts, and you realize you’re still sitting there pointing your phone’s light at your bloody wrist. You quickly turn it off, your pulse rapidly increasing at the realization that you’re about to be found out.

You snap your head around to face the motion in your periphery as Matt steps out of the bathroom, looking down as he ties a cloth rope around his waist, cinching his robe closed. As he does so, he speaks to you, meandering his way a few paces over towards the bed.

“You were right, doll! This extra robe of yours fits me quite well, don’t you think?”

His hands land on his hips as he raises his head in a proud display, gracing you with that unabashed grin of his that he has such a penchant for hiding.

This might be the first time that you regret being able to see his facial expressions, though.

You watch as his eyes dart from your face down to your lap, to the blood staining your exposed skin, to the way the light from the bathroom bounces off of the sharp, shining blade resting on your knee. You watch his expression shift from one of relaxed joy to one of panic in about two seconds flat.

He’s sat himself down on the mattress in front of you before he even speaks, his hands anxiously hovering over you, not sure what to do but needing to do something.

“Love, what happened? Why… what…”

His voice is soft and sincere when his eyes look back up and meet yours.

“Did you do this to yourself on purpose again?”

You didn’t have the decency to try and hide this from him, but you do have enough of it to at least look guilty at having been caught. Your head drops in a nod of confirmation, and you mutter a small “yeah… I’m sorry…”

You don’t see the slow shake of his head, but you hear the sadness in his voice when he speaks.

“No… no, you don’t need to be sorry, love.”

Your eyes catch the movement as his hand draws closer to your face, hesitating and hovering a few inches away.

“May I… touch you?”

You nod again slowly.

“Of course.”

You feel the pads of his fingers gently come to rest along your jaw, still soft and warm from his shower. He carefully angles your head up to face him.

“I just want to know why… Are you hurting? What’s… what’s upset you? What drove you to do this tonight?”

You close your eyes and shake your head slowly, contemplative. This side of your self injury is something you hadn’t really explained to him yet, so it’s understandable that he thinks it’s because something’s upset you.

How the fuck are you gonna explain that you were just doing it tonight because it feels good?

“I’m not upset, Matt. Honestly! I just…”

You dare to meet his gaze again and he’s still eyeing you with a level of concern that is far too sincere, far too unconditional, far too gentle.

You wouldn’t think a man that has taken as many lives as he has could ever look at you with such innocence in his eyes.

The saddest part is that you really don’t think it’s an act. He really is just… an enigma.

Well, it’s not like it’ll be the craziest thing he’s ever heard, right? Maybe… maybe he’ll understand.

“I’m not sure how I can explain this to you, honey…”

You glance away from his face, and your eyes catch on the way the sleeve of his robe has slid up his arm, exposing the skin there. Countless raised black lines litter his forearms, and you figure you’ll start out with a question for him.

“So, uhm… you’ve cut yourself many times, right?”

His eyes dart down to his exposed wrist, quickly flicking over towards yours, and then back up to meet your gaze again. He nods as he hums a questioning agreement.

“Mhm?”

“And… like we spoke about before, it’s usually because you’re trying to relieve some sort of pain that’s inside your mind, yeah?”

He nods again, brows furrowing in concern.

“Well, uhm, have you ever just… felt the urge to do it even when you weren’t in any pain? Maybe even when you felt good? Have you ever just… wanted to cut because it feels nice?”

He seems to take in your words for a moment, his gentle grip on your jaw loosening entirely as his hand lowers down to find your wrist instead. He carefully cups the back of your forearm, bringing it further up towards him to get a better look at the rapidly healing lines.

“Is that why you did this tonight? Because it feels good?”

There’s none of the mocking or confusion you feared would be in his tone.

“Yes. I just… it’s been a while since I’ve even done it, what with… everything that’s been going on lately. I’ve scarcely had the time! And- and it��s not like something happened today that upset me, I just… I don’t know. Sometimes something will happen that reminds me of how nice it feels to get hurt, and… I get that urge again.”

His fingers tap rhythmically against your skin as he hums in contemplation, eventually responding with another question.

“So… what happened? What reminded you of how good it feels?”

Oh, yeah. That’s a good question, actually.

Hah.

“Well…” you huff a small laugh at the memory.

“You remember how I was trying to cut that strip of hard plastic yesterday?”

His head nods curtly as he recalls your attempt, realization already seeming to dawn on his features before you can finish explaining.

You can’t help but smile at him a little.

Smart boy.

“And you remember how I gave up and tried snapping it in half with sheer force?”

It’s his turn to smile a bit, his lips quirking up to the side in a knowing smirk before he parts them and finishes your explanation for you.

“And it snapped, broke into several small, sharp pieces, which flew in all manner of directions.”

You nod your head in silence, letting him tell the rest of the story.

“One piece flew up and scratched you… right…”

He reaches up, carefully grazing the pad of his thumb across the apple of your cheek.

“…here.”

You can’t help but sigh and lean into his gentle touch, recalling the way he worriedly sat you down on the bathroom counter yesterday afternoon. You could feel his fingers trembling, muttering about your reckless behavior as he applied ointment to the very minor wound.

“That’s all it was, honestly. That’s all it took to make me crave this feeling.”

You both glance back down at your wrist, still cradled gently in one of his strong hands. Silence lingers for a moment, and you eventually break it with a scoff.

“That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

He pulls in a deep breath, his thumb grazing over a patch of your skin littered with old white scars. His voice is oddly calm, almost… resigned when he speaks.

“…no. I don’t think it does.”

Your gaze flicks back up to meet his eyes at his unexpected acceptance.

“You don’t?”

His eyes meet yours for a moment before he slowly releases his grip on your wrist. You lower it back down to rest on your lap as his focus shifts to his own arms, rolling one sleeve up to better showcase his scars.

“I don’t. I guess… I can understand it, in a way.”

It’s only now that you realize he never answered your question earlier.

“Yeah?”

“…yeah, but… it’s not exactly the same for me.”

You wait for a moment, expecting him to elaborate, but his silence remains. You can’t imagine what could possibly be so different about it for him that has him reluctant to tell you.

“You never answered my question, you know?”

Your words are more of a gentle nudge than an accusatory statement, hoping that maybe you can coax another secret out of the crypt of a man sitting before you.

You watch a small smile surface on his features, and he bites it back before it can grow into a full-fledged embarrassed grin.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy if I tell you.”

The sincere hesitance in his voice pulls a surprised laugh out of you.

“Matthew, I already know you’re crazy.”

Your words are dripping with affection, no malice to be found behind them, and you watch as his shoulders begin to shake with poorly hidden laughter.

You add onto your response with a little more reassurance.

“And I’m right there with you, you know? I’ll be impressed if you’ve got some reason for doing this that genuinely shocks me. So, just hit me with it.”

He glances up at you again, his laughter fading as he composes himself, and you still see a trace of hesitance in his gaze.

“Do you really think there’s anything I could learn about you at this point that would make me shy away from you, Matt?”

His shoulders shrug, and he mumbles his response through his teeth as they chew nervously at his bottom lip.

“…maybe?”

You reach out to grab at his hand before catching yourself, pulling back a bit.

“May I touch you?”

Consent goes both ways, after all.

He nods his head in a definitive “yes” and you take his hand in yours with all of the same gentleness that he graces you with. You idly play with his fingers a bit as you lean forward, ignoring your own injury in favor of focusing on him.

“You don’t scare me, Matt. I know you’re different. Very different. But… so am I, you know? We may be two different kinds of strange, two different kinds of crazy, but… I think we compliment each other’s differences. Uhm… besides, I think we may be more similar at this point than either of us really know.”

His expression shifts to one of confusion at that, and you’re quick to divert the topic back to his confession.

“I promise you’re not gonna freak me out, regardless of your reason for cutting. You can tell me. I want to know.”

He pulls in a deep breath, steeling himself before he speaks.

“Well… it’s true that a lot of the time I do it to… relieve the pain… inside me.”

You nod your head, silently urging him to continue.

“That’s not the only reason, though.”

One of your hands leaves his, trailing your fingertips softly down the heavily scarred skin of his inner arm.

He looks away from you when he finally says it.

“I like the way it tastes.”

Your motions come to a halt at his words, and you sit there just blinking and breathing for a moment as it sinks in. His muscles begin to tense as his fear spikes, and he’s about to apologize, get up and run out of the room in embarrassment when you finally start laughing.

He doesn’t know if he wants the floor to swallow him whole or if he wants to sit here a little longer, taking in the sound of your beautiful laughter. Even if it’s at his expense.

You crane your neck around to look up at him from where you’ve nearly doubled over yourself in your laughter, and finally speak.

“Is that all? Is that what you were so afraid to tell me, Matt?”

His confusion is written all over his features as you lean back up, one hand coming to rest on your chest as you compose yourself. The poor thing sounds so confused when he answers you.

“Uhm, yes?”

You smile, shaking your head at him fondly, as you’re quick to put his fears to rest.

“That’s nothing, sweetheart! I promise you.”

The tension in his muscles visibly relaxes, and he manages to hold your gaze as he speaks this time.

“Really? It doesn’t… turn you off?”

You watch his eyes widen at his sudden realization of what he said, and he’s quick to clarify what he meant as a furious blush dusts his cheeks.

“Not- not like that! That’s not what I- oh, bloody hell…”

You bite back your knowing grin, maybe a bit too eager to watch him fluster himself like this.

“You know what I meant, don’t you?”

You decide to relieve him of his growing embarrassment, nodding as you reassure him.

“It’s okay, love, I know what you meant. And no, it doesn’t freak me out. Nothing like that, honestly. I actually… it’s… hm.”

His brow furrows a bit as you search for the right words.

“It’s curious.”

You think for a moment, before a silly question pops up in your mind. You’re teasing him with it before you can stop yourself.

“You’re not… a vampire, are you?”

Your lighthearted tone works in accomplishing your goal of getting him to relax a bit, and you watch him laugh a little as he shakes his head in denial.

“No, I don’t think so, pumpkin. It’s… not like I crave it, and I certainly don’t need it to live, I just… enjoy it?”

You hum in acknowledgement, failing to keep your mind from offering up a mental image of him making such a discovery. You picture him cutting his skin open just to bring his wrist to his open mouth, tongue lapping at the pitch black liquid that escapes the broken skin.

The… pitch black liquid…

He watches your smile fall as you lose yourself in your thoughts, a look of intense curiosity replacing it. Your head snaps up to look at him, stating the obvious like you’ve just had a revelation.

“You have black blood.”

He blinks at you for a moment, before slowly nodding his head in agreement.

“I do.”

“Has it always been black?”

He glances away from you, his eyes landing on nothing in particular as he gazes into the distance behind you, trying to recall.

“As far back as I can remember, yes.”

You hum as you think, knowing that you likely won’t be getting any solid answers as to the man’s true origins tonight.

No matter. Even if neither of you ever manage to figure out why he is… the way he is, that’s not something you’ll lose sleep over.

Looking down at your own wrist, and the now dried blood adhered to your skin, another question comes to you.

“What does it taste like?”

He seems a bit thrown off by your shift in question, but recovers quickly enough, trying to find a way to describe it.

“It’s… uhm… hm. I don’t know! It doesn’t really taste like any food I've ever eaten, so I don’t know how to compare it.”

Well, that answer is coming from a man who’s genuine favorite food is sopping wet bread, so, you’d be taking his description with a pinch of salt anyways.

With your curiosity now peaked, and with a newfound solid excuse to indulge yourself once again, you allow your impulsive nature to take over. Quickly picking the blade up again, you bring it to the soft skin of your inner arm, near your elbow where the veins are better hidden, and make one fast, shallow swipe across. Just enough to draw blood.

Matt nearly shouts your name in horror as he reaches for your hand holding the blade, keeping a firm yet gentle hold on your wrist.

“What was that for?!”

The panic in his voice is enough to make you wince in regret, and he catches your reaction, misinterpreting it as fear. He lowers his voice significantly, doing his best to keep it level.

“I’m… I’m not mad at you. I’m not going to hurt you. I just… what was that? Why’d you do it again?”

Your eyes stay locked on the fresh cut, watching the blood slowly leak from it. You note how it moves slower than usual, far quicker to congeal and coagulate, moving more like a quick-drying glue than normal human blood.

You act quickly, before it can dry any further, bringing your arm up to your mouth and pressing your tongue flat against your skin. Dragging it upwards, you chase the short trail it made all the way back to the source, sliding the tip of your tongue across the cut a few times before pulling away.

You close your eyes, taking a moment to focus on the taste.

…

He was right. It doesn’t taste like anything you’ve had before.

If you had to compare it to something, the closest you could get would be…

“Bittersweet.”

Your eyes snap open as you utter the word, and you meet Matt’s gaze again.

You couldn’t decipher the mix of emotions currently written on his features if your life depended on it. His tone is nothing short of bewildered when he finally speaks.

“What?”

You crack a smile at him.

“It tastes bittersweet! But- you’re right. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it either.”

At an obvious loss for words, his mouth opens and closes a few times in silence, reminiscent of a fish.

Cute.

You give a light tug on the hand of yours he’s still holding, and his grip tightens slightly. You huff a small sigh, understanding his reluctance to let you go. You offer him a compromise.

“You can take the blade if you’ll give me my hand back, love.”

He reaches up with his other hand and carefully plucks the sliver of stainless steel from between your fingers, reluctantly loosening his grip on your wrist.

You shoot him a grateful smile, immediately reaching down and dipping the pad of your index finger into the little puddle of blood that’s since formed atop the cut. Pulling your hand back, you eye the way it clings to your skin before your eyes flick over to Matt, watching you with what you can only identify as horrified curiosity.

You bring your finger up towards his lips, and to your slight surprise, he doesn’t back away. Attempting to appeal to his recent confession, you offer him a soft-spoken question.

“Aren’t you curious what I taste like?”

You watch his eyes flick back and forth between yours and your blood-soaked fingertip, and you prepare yourself to pull back. You ready yourself to apologize for being so forward, and for scaring him the way that you did. As soon as you make the first move to pull away, though, he parts his lips and finally speaks.

His confession is nothing more than a soft whisper.

“Yes. Please.”

There’s an immediate shift in the air as he speaks, and you watch a sudden, desperate hunger make itself visible in his gaze. He reaches out, fingers slowly closing around your wrist once again as he brings your hand further towards him.

You watch in rapt fascination as his eyes close, he parts his lips, and the pad of your finger is gently pressed down against his waiting tongue. His lips close tightly around your fingertip, and slowly, reluctantly, he pulls your hand away.

No traces of blood remain as you glance at your finger, and you watch as he swallows, his eyes blinking back open a moment later.

You suspect that you shouldn’t feel as much pride as you do when you notice his blush having returned in full force.

Your eyebrows raise as you cock your head to the side in question.

“So? What do I taste like?”

Finding his voice, he clears his throat as his gaze wanders from your eyes, to your smile, and finally down to your blood-stained wrist.

“Better than I do, poppet…”

He can’t help himself as he reaches out a hand, moving towards your wrist before stopping and glancing up at you, wordlessly requesting your permission. You nod, a loving smile gracing your features, and in the back of his mind he wonders what he ever did right in this life to deserve someone like you.

He swipes two fingers through the small puddle of blood that’s yet to finish drying, his touch feather light and obviously trembling. Bringing his fingers back to his lips, he cleans them of your blood quickly, like a man starved.

“A damn sight better than I do, that’s certain.”

You ignore the heat you feel rising to your own cheeks, and counter his compliment with a little playful banter. Taking on a flirtatious tone, you bat your eyelashes at him and wave away his words.

“Why, Matthew, you flatter me!”

That seems to work in breaking the tension a bit, and he chuckles at your theatrics before he speaks.

“I’m serious though, doll. Your blood really does taste better than mine.”

You glance down at the dried blood and quickly healed cuts adorning your wrist, the previously open wounds now sealed off, replaced with thin black raised lines. Just like…

Just like the ones on Matt’s arms.

It’s at this moment that you realize that you never showed him the discovery you made while he was in the shower.

“You know what? That’s… actually a bit odd. I figured mine would taste pretty similar to yours…”

You trail off in thought, and Matt cuts in, his own curiosity now peaked.

“Why’s that?”

You reach out for your phone once again, turning its flashlight back on.

“Well, because… uh…”

You point the light at your wrist, clearly displaying the dried bloodstains on your skin. They’re solid black, and so are your new scars.

“It seems that my blood is black now, too.”

Matt’s eyes widen at the realization, looking back up at you in genuine confusion.

“Wait- but- why? It used to be red! I know it did! It- it got all over my hands when I was pulling all those safety pins out of you…”

You nod in agreement.

“You’re right, it was red then. But I think… something happened since then that caused my blood to take on the same properties that yours has.”

You turn the flashlight back off, placing your phone aside.

“What do you mean?”

There’s that soft, innocent tone of his again. He truly has no idea how giving you one of his literal hearts may have also passed along part of his… DNA, parasites, black magic… whatever the hell he’s got coursing through his veins.

Maybe those bullets to the head really did do a bit of damage to his cognitive skills.

Or, maybe being alive for 160-something years just begins to erode your mind at some point.

Looking up to respond to him, you let your eyes wander across Matt’s features.

His long brown hair is still messy and damp from his shower. A few shorter pieces cling to his temples, framing two small round scars from his past unfortunate run-ins with the cops. You know there’s a third one, from another, older, more… traumatizing entry wound hidden by the hair above his left ear. You felt it one night before you saw it, when you’d been carding your fingertips through his hair. As the two of you laid together, one of your nails had caught on the raised textured skin while you idly scratched them along his scalp.

You’ll never forget the way he sobbed into the sheets, holding onto you for dear life as he shakily recounted the events that gave him that specific scar.

You’d never wanted to kill someone as badly as you did that night, when Matt told you bits and pieces of what that horrible man had done to him.

Hard to kill someone that’s already dead, though.

None of the scars from his various bullet entries have a matching exit wound. So, since you can’t very well take him to a medical facility to have him studied, you really have no idea how his body handles getting shot. It could be anything from simply adapting to living with multiple bullets in his brain, to something more far-fetched like his body managing to dissolve any foreign objects that enter it, and mending itself like nothing ever happened at all.

It’s not like that’s any more far-fetched than his body’s ability to store, remove, and receive hearts like they’re some sort of accessory to be swapped out whenever the situation calls for it.

An ability that has been gifted to you as well, apparently.

Your eyes follow the trails of wet hair that cling to his neck, snaking their way down to his collarbones and disappearing beneath the plush fabric of the robe you’ve gifted him.

Reaching out, you glance at him for permission to touch, and once granted, you gently tease the ends of his hair out from beneath his robe. Laying it out across the cloth covering his shoulders, you nod in approval. That must be more comfortable than wet hair clinging to his skin.

As you move to draw your hand back, you stop as your fingertips trail over his most recent scar. Yet another black, raised circle with little tear lines running out from the center in all directions, reminiscent of a star.

A permanent reminder of the time you witnessed a man blow a bullet hole in your beloved’s neck.

You run the pad of your thumb across it, feather light, and resist the urge to lean in slowly and press your lips to the mark. Shaking yourself out of your contemplation, you struggle to remind yourself of what you were just talking to him about.

Lord, maybe he transferred some of his memory issues over to you as well.

You think hard for a moment, and it eventually comes back to you.

“Do you remember when you gave me your heart?”

You watch him blink back into the present moment himself, and can’t help but notice the way his gaze had been lingering on your lips.

“Of course I do, poppet.”

Pulling back, you allow your hand to drop from his neck, trailing downward along the curve of his shoulder and following the length of his arm until you’re once again holding his hand.

“Well, as you know… I got a whole lot stronger that day.”

He nods, smiling as he recalls the events of that day in his own mind.

His unusual reaction to the memory draws a question out of you.

“What was it about that day that’s got you smiling, huh?”

Your tone is teasing, but the question is genuine.

His answer is immediate.

“You saved me.”

Oh.

“Why wouldn’t I smile at the memory of that?”

You quickly shift yourself forward a bit on the bed, and hold your arms out in an obvious request for a hug. He happily leans in, allowing you to wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face in his neck. Your voice is muffled by the fabric of his robe when you speak, but he hears you all the same.

“And I’d do it again. You know that, right?”

You feel him nod against you, as well as the vibrations that emit from him as he hums an affirmative against your shoulder.

“As many times as it takes. I’ll do it again.”

He pulls you closer, holding you a bit tighter as he breathes his response.

“I would too.”

After a long moment just spent holding him, you pull back, still needing to finish your explanation. You stay close to him though, and lace the fingers of your hands together as you speak.

“Well, I think you gave me more than just your heart that day. I think along with it, I also gained your regenerative abilities, and as a byproduct of that- your black blood.”

He lets out a little contemplative “huh” as his mind connects the dots you laid out before him, and he smiles again.

“That’s a good thing, then, isn’t it? I mean, it’ll just help keep you safer if anything… bad… happens to you in the future!”

His ever-positive outlook shines through in his response, and for once, you fully agree with him. This is a good thing.

“You’re right! I think this is really good. Although, hopefully I won’t have to actually fall back on it, but it’s a good thing to have. I mean… it’s not like I plan on either of us running out into the face of danger any time soon. I think we’ve had about enough unfortunate confrontations for a while, don’t you?”

He nods emphatically, his smile fading to a small frown as he sighs, recalling everything the two of you have been through together.

“I agree, doll. All I’ve wanted to do is go home with you from the first time I met you, and now that we’re finally here… I don’t really want to leave.”

He follows his words with a hint of embarrassed laughter, as if there’s anything else you’d rather be doing either.

“Matthew, you know I’d happily lay in this bed with you until the sun burns out.”

He fixes you with a strange, worried look.

“When’s that gonna happen?”

It takes everything you’ve got not to laugh at the sincere worry in his voice. You try to keep a straight face when you answer him, and you feel yourself failing. So instead, you lean forward, planting your forehead into the soft cloth covering his chest in the way a cat headbutts their owner in a show of affection.

“Oh, you sweet thing. Don’t you worry about it, I was just joking.”

If the two of you somehow manage to still be alive when that star eventually dies… well, you’ll just have to burn that bridge when you get to it.

He seems satisfied with your answer, and brings a hand up to cradle the back of your head as you lean into him.

As you sit there for a moment, breathing in the scent of his soap mixed with the detergent you washed his robe in, your mind wanders to yet another unanswered question.

Pulling back, you look up into his eyes as you tell him.

“I still don’t know what your blood tastes like.”

He huffs a small laugh.

“I mean… like I said, doll, I can’t really describe it.”

He thinks for a moment, continuing.

“Besides, I really don’t think it’s as good as yours. Yours is… sweeter, I guess.”

Well now you’re more curious than ever.

“Well I think mine tastes kinda bitter, so… maybe it’s a thing where you like mine better but I prefer yours?”

He hums as he mulls the suggestion over, shrugging.

“Maybe!”

You nearly shove your face back into his chest at the realization that he isn’t gonna get the hint if you keep approaching it like this. You love him to death, but this fool couldn’t catch a hint if it hit him in the hands.

“Do you… think there’s any way that… maybe… I could taste yours sometime?”

You give him your best puppy-dog eyes, pushing aside the embarrassment you feel for requesting something so… intimate… from him.

You watch the realization dawn on his features, and you await his answer with baited breath.

“Oh! You really want to taste mine?”

You nod your head eagerly, giving him a small, shy smile.

“Well, I mean- of course you can! You can have some right now if you want it!”

You watch him lean back from you a bit, re-rolling his sleeve from where it’d fallen back down to cover his arm. You try to not be shocked at his eagerness and willingness to give you what you request. He’d probably cut off his whole arm and give it to you if you asked him for it. Especially if he thought it’d do anything to make up for the whole finger-removal scenario.

His willingness is a gift, and you swear to yourself that you’ll never abuse it.

You watch him reach over to where he’d placed the blade, noticeably out of your reach, and as he picks it up you suddenly remember your manners.

“T-thank you, Matt. You don’t have to do this for me.”

He smiles at you fondly.

“No need to thank me, doll. I’m more than happy to satisfy my poppet’s curiosity.”

He continues talking as he brings the blade to his wrist.

“Besides, I’m a bit curious myself…”

He quickly makes a small, shallow cut, mirroring the way you made yours, and you watch the blood rise to the surface of his skin. He places the blade aside once again, and immediately reaches out a finger, dipping it in his blood and offering it up towards your waiting lips.

Now that the shoe’s on the other foot, you fully understand why he turned red as a tomato when you did this for him.

It’s terribly intimate.

Taking the tip of his finger between your lips, your eyes close and you lose all focus as the taste of him hits your tongue.

This is genuinely the best thing you’ve ever tasted in your entire life. Holy shit. If yours tasted anything close to this good to him, then you need to applaud his restraint, because good god do you wanna latch onto his arm and drain him dry.

You refrain though, allowing him to take his hand back. When you open your eyes again, he’s eyeing you with hesitance.

“Is it okay? I mean- like I said- I don’t think it’s nearly as good as yours-”

You accidentally cut him off in your eagerness to assure him that it’s incredible.

“Are you joking? You taste amazing, Matt!”

That familiar heat rises to his cheeks as you unabashedly compliment him.

“Way better than mine, honestly.”

His response sounds unconvinced.

“Really?”

You reach out a hand towards the half-healed cut on his wrist, asking him the same silent question that he asked you. He nods, and you swipe two fingers through the remaining blood, bringing it to your lips and savoring the saccharine taste of him.

After another brief moment of losing yourself in the experience, you bring your attention back to Matt. You catch the way he must have been staring at you the whole time, and you give him a warm smile, leaning forward once more to ghost a kiss across the warm skin of his left cheek.

“Thank you.”

He flushes even darker than he already was at your combined proximity and display of affection, and he stutters out a blissed-out, lovestruck response.

“O-of course, doll. Any- ahaha… anytime…”

Your own smile can’t help but grow as you admire him, with his half-lidded gaze locked on your lips. You’d almost go so far as to venture a guess that the act of consuming each other’s blood imparts a slight sedative effect, given the way you feel and the way he looks.

Glancing back down to his wrist, you watch the cut finish closing up, now fully replaced with another little black line. With any lingering hesitancy having flown out the window by now, you bend down, placing a tiny little kiss over the freshly-healed cut. You revel in the way you hear his breath hitch as you do so.

Looking back towards Matt, you blink sleepily up at him.

“You ready for bed, love?”

He subtly nods in enraptured agreement, and the both of you move to rearrange yourselves on the bed. You settle into your respective positions, with you on his left and him on your right.

Draping the sheets over both of your bodies, you pull him close to you, and breathe deep as you feel him fully relax in your arms. You gently rest your head on his chest, and reach down, searching for his hand to hold. Tangling your bodies together, you begin to take notice of the quiet beat of your hearts, gradually falling into sync with one another.

As your eyes close, you feel his lips press a gentle kiss to your forehead, followed by his soft voice, whispering quietly into the night.

“G’night, poppet. I love you.”

You smile in your half-asleep state, mumbling your response as you softly squeeze his hand.

“Love you more, Matt.”

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

#Jimち ASMR #Malenkee Saga #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #🧷 Matt 🔨#dead dove do not eat #cw horror #cw sh #cw death #cw injury #cw blood #cw gun violence #cw blade #gun mention #death mention #blood mention #blood drinking #cw body horror #i guess??? maybe???#idk man. this whole fic is just. weird and dark and i'm doing my best to tag everything that calls for a warning #but that's all i can fit in the 20 detectable tags #am i worrying too much abt tagging this and it's actually not that dark? perhaps. but i really can't tell! so i'm being overly cautious #like. does this need a dead dove warning? i have no fuckin clue! i don't rlly think it's that bad. but i'd rather still use it just in case #like. if you've watched and made it through the actual video series that this fic originates from then you're probably fine #but if ur just stumblng across this and have no clue what tf this is about. then yeah you need a bit of a warning #anyways. i'm doing all this warning and explaining for a fic that'll probably get 0 notes (which is totally fine!)#bc i'm of the mindset that you should post everything as if you have a large audience. cause you never know who'll see it #anyways pls enjoy this raw look into my psyche and uhhhhhhh don't think abt it too hard. i'm normal. i'm very normal and sane #:)

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