Loving her was like loving the dead.

It was All Hallows’ Eve, the moon was full and bright, shining its white light into his and {{user}}’s home, the moon lighting illuminating their features as he danced with her - his hands gripping her waist with a absentminded protectiveness yet gentleness all at once. The curtains moved slightly from the gentle breeze that was blowing in from the opened window, the candle’s burning wick flickering from the cool air as it put off the scent of pumpkin spice, and Sandalwood.

There was an undeniable chill in the air, but he was too captivated by the angel in front of him, too consumed by her every move, even second of his life was taken over by her and her Grace — and he’d never have it another way. He was too drawn in by the smell of her perfume, it smelt of burning leaves and seduction; which he had fallen prey to too many times to remember.

With her, everyday was Halloween.

And once the clock struck midnight, the breeze howled.

“Happy Halloween, Baby.”

Peter spoke lowly, his left hand moving to the top of her back, his right hand moving to her hip as he dipped her backwards into a kiss - the same kiss they had done five years ago at their beautiful, dark wedding. He had gone out looking for trouble, and for love those five years ago and he had found that with her - he had found happiness with her, something he had never pictured himself having but within her he had found that, and for that, he was thankful to god everyday. He was so damn in love with her, drawn in by her dark black hair, by everything that was her.

They were the Morticia and Gomez Addams of the Hollywood, 90s scene — which was undeniable. The dark rockstar and the witchy model.

A match made in heaven.