I know it didn’t win the poll but I humbly ask you to write that RZ! Micheal Myers size kink fanfiction whenever you have the time and if you are feeling up to it🙏
{this is so late and I sincerely apologize TvT}
Sedatives
Tags: Dub-Con, Size Kink, Rough Sex, Choking, Manhandling, Reader is mentions to be a nurse some time ago, blood, knives, overstimulation, Michael is a warning himself.
a/: this will most likely be one out of 2 parts anon im so sorry TvT
Sweet thing you were, you’d give the shirt off your own back if someone in need called for it, so giving and so trusting to even the most hardened criminals. It was a wonder how someone like you graced the halls of Smith’s Grove Sanitarium. You, a star-eyed nurse fresh from medical school. The scum and slime that riddled the halls of the hellish “sanctuary” you’d been accepted into. You skip down the halls with your checklist and medicine cart in tow. You were kind. You were happy. You’d given patients who’d hadn’t seen the sun in years the same kindness as one would give to an old friend. But you favored one more than the others.
Michael fucking Myers.
Silent halls.
Odd shadows.
Creaking wheels.
The usual ambiance of Smith’s Grove had finally settled within your nerves after a long long few months. You, with your now worn in uniform, counted the rooms with an intent gaze. On the left, even numbers, and parallel to them were odds. Though it was a weird concept, there was a reason. Those on the left, the doctors deemed ‘safe’ and had the possibility of rehabilitation.
Inmates that resided on the right wing however, well you didn’t quite know if you’re being honest, you weren’t allowed to even breath the wing’s direction yet. But one digresses. Your low heels made a blunt click click click upon the cold floors as you neared your station, medicine cart in tow. Your manicured hand reached for your ID, ringing yourself in as the loud pang alerted you of the unlocked status of the door, which was shoved open by your hip as you passed a polite nod to security. Your trek was cut short however, your overseer tugging you aside with a rather harsh hand.
“ You’re the medicine girl right?”
medicine girl…right. Giving a curt nod he sighed, his breath reeking of cheap coffee and some kind of alcohol. His orders were short, clipped and rather rude. Though the next words he uttered left your mouth gaping like a fish out of water.
“ You’re doing both wards. Kirsten…had an incident. “
Fucking hell.
So now, here you were, approaching your last patient for the night. With security stalking behind you with scowls as they glared at patients through the tiny windows. You gulps, it was never patients that scared you, no. It was the sleazes that worked outside the cells. Their wolffish stares and ugly grins. You shook your head, you were approaching Michael’s cell.
You didn’t know much about him, only whispers of the monster, the brute that killed most of his family. A grade A killer, someone that should be locked away from society if not for Mr. Loomis’s need to study him like some kind of bug. But, you being you, wouldn’t let that stop you from being kind. That’s what irked you most about people here, these patients were still human at the end of the day. They still bled, they still died, they had interests and dislikes and personalities. You sighed, eying the dainty wrist watch. ‘ Just an hour and a half..’ you thought as some scum of a man unlocked the heavy metal door. Eying you as you motioned him to move aside.
“ Careful, he hasn’t seen such a young thing like you in a while…might finally remember he’s got a cock. “ the guard, who’s tag read Pierson, chuckled, elbowing his colleague. You could feel their gaze raking across your body, internally you gagged. Lurching forward was a far easier than you wanted to admit, medicines and needles clattering at the motion as the door slammed behind you, leaving you to jump.
Michael’s room was…interesting looking at it.
Buzzing overhead lights gave some relief as you tended to your cart, organizing the arrangement of pills and sedatives in their respective cup to serve to the inmate, who’s back was turned to you, fiddling with another mask that would surely find its way with the rest that perched upon the greening walls. Finally, you found the correct assortment. Smiling to yourself, you turned to face the mountain of a man.
“ Alright Mr.Myers, here’s your dailies! Dr. Loomis upped your sedatives so if you feel a bit off thats the cause! “ you chirped, leaving the cup a bit of a distance. Like you’d heard from the other nurses, Michael gave no indication of acknowledgment, hands stained with the glue-water mixture. The masks on the wall drew your attention, though you didn’t dare raise a hand to touch the precious things, knowing how it felt to have your art defiled by ignorant hands. “ You have a lovely night Mr. Myers! The mask are gorgeous as well! Truly a work of art. “ you smiled, warmth radiating from your aura.
Blaring alarm and sunlight slipping through your blinds awoke you from what you’d considered a good sleep. Friday, the day you’d longed for for months it seemed, not because there’d be shitty slashers on a seemingly endless marathon due to it being the month of October, though that was a plus; but no, it was finally your day off. A day all to yourself and a night to hand out candy to doe-eyed children in differing costumes. Groggily sliding out of bed was a task, though your feet planting themselves onto your cold floor was more than a wake-up call. Your quarters were homey, and cozy. More than enough space for you and your cat, Cilantro. Speaking of the greedy feline, who mewed her greetings as she weaved between your legs as you made your way to the bathroom.
“You can wait Lantro, not like you’re gonna starve any time soon. “You yawned, stretching your arms as your back cracked. The cat, however, didn’t seem to agree with your sentiments in the slightest as she mewed louder, seemingly in response to you. You closed the door in the thing’s face in return.
Your morning was everything but eventful, though watching your neighbor’s children chase each other around their yard with dollar store skeletons and spiders, which left a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, sipping on your morning brew with a content glaze within your eyes. Though boredom was beginning to seep through that feeling. Your laundry had been put on, dishes had been washed and put away, and just overall tidying had all been done within the span of a few hours. What now? You hadn’t planned this far ahead, not like medical school and internships gave you time to establish any friendships, and a relationship was the last thing on your mind. Besides, the scum that you worked aside left such a stain on your mind when it came to potential partners. Nurses, smoking and degrading the patients within the yellowing walls gave you looks of contempt and the doctor’s hands planted themselves onto your skin for a good many moments too long. Yeah…so no relationship prospects in sight for you.
Catnapping and folding laundry made up most of your day, finding the hours slip through your fingers like fine sand. The dulling sky held many stars, blinking into the blanket of dusty oranges and desaturated blues. You, still donning a simple jumper and pajama pants you're sure you’d stolen from some childhood friend you’d long forgotten in your adult life, pity. Trekking towards the door, donning a thick knitted blanket and Cilantro in tow, you made your way to your rocking chair, an antique thing that could use a paint job, but you didn’t mind. Propping yourself upon the old chair, the wood creaking beneath you, sighed, watching your breath cling to the air. Though despite your day of relaxation, you still carried a weight on your shoulders.
“Fucking hell…” you groaned, head thrown back with a displeased expression.
Night lurked within your walls, a heavy silence bearing over your domain as you tossed and turned, comfort fleeting from you, and time ticked by one second at a time. Poor sight you were, desperate for sleep to claim you, for relief to wash over you in a cool wave. You, sweaty and annoyed, threw your comforter away, allowing the cool air of your tiny room to chill your skin, a shitty fan doing little to aid. Thoughts floating back to your job, the patients, the assholes who worked your nerves to no end…Michael. Your breath hitched as you began to think the patient over. How the veins in his hands flexed as he steadily layered paper and glued to form a face. How his eyes followed doctors and nurses, in a way you could only be akin to a predator stalking its prey.
Intense.
Calculating.
Your fingers buried themselves in your soaked hole, your moans echoing off the walls as you brought yourself to the edge. Your back arched as your vision whitened, whimpers rolling out of your throat, riding out your height. It was easy to imagine it was Michael bringing you past this edge; how easy it was to imagine it was his rough fingers dragging down your body, toying with your clit. Attempting to steady your shaking breaths and legs was no easy feat. You stared at the ceiling, sweat clinging to your body as the thoughts of Michael dissipated, the reality of just how taboo this was finally setting in. He was your patient not your patient, but still! A sigh escaped your lips as you rolled onto your side with a wince, your muscles aching as you attempted to find some escape from your sleep.
October 29
Your uniform felt tight, almost suffocating as you placed the small plastic cups of pills in front of patients. You felt pity for them, abandoned and left to rot within the confines of the state, drugged up to a compliant lucid state. Their blank, watery eyes left you feeling hollow every time you turned your back on them after administrating their daily medication alongside the mush the penitentiary called food. It was fucking sick how they treated these mentally unwell people that needed help above all else.
But today, today was different.
Today you felt watched, more than usual. One could akin this to the feelings prey has before the predator strikes, but who was your predator? You shook your head, instinctively wiping your hands upon your dark scrubs, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you approached the behemoth of a man that you’ve affectionately dubbed your ‘favorite patient’.
Michael Myers was quiet, always. His face was always covered with a mask, if not the mop of messy blondish hair. Despite his silence, you found it rather easy to read him, perhaps it was due to the fair amount of time you’d spent tailing after Dr. Loomis, half-heartedly acknowledging his rambles about Michael that you didn’t believe. It was odd, you, a mere 2 years younger than he was, and two completely different people. Sometimes, between shifts or hiding with the smokers out back, you’d think about what life for Michael would’ve been like if life had been kinder, softer. A childhood filled with joy, love, and comfort is what every child deserves in your mind. You don’t think Michael was born a monster, but one born of circumstance.
Squeaky cartwheels echo throughout this part of the rec room. Patients and staff alike avoided the very space Michael inhabited, for fear of becoming victims of the Boogeyman of Haddonfield. You, however, were either stupid or brave, and right now you didn’t quite know which one was worse. Michael sat slump, his head hanging low, though you could see his neck jerk in your direction as you approached.
“Morning, Michael! “You chirped, gently sliding the plastic cup of assorted medicine to the man. He was quiet, eyes flicking to you for just a moment before slowly reaching for his dailies. You faced the wall as he downed them. You began to wonder what his face looked like; you’d seen his face in files. When he was a boy, his cheeks were rosy, and round, and his eyes still clung to some semblance of childhood innocence. You tried to picture him grown. Perhaps his face was made of nothing of right angles, maybe he looked like his mother? Questions ran through your head as Michael placed the cup down. It made you want to gag knowing he always downed his dailies without water, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Water was readily available. Ever the gentle creature you were, Michael watched as you sat across from him, folding your hands in your lap. You tried not to stare, honestly you didn’t, but there was something about him that made you just want to...stare. His hands were large and calloused from the years of nimble working of paper machete masks that donned his cell walls. It was the same hands that killed his sister at the age of 10. The same hands you’d fantasied about the night before.
He remained stoic, eyes finally meeting your face. It felt as if he was searching for something, a hint of malice or pity. He’d find none within your feature, nothing more than a genuine want to know something about him. Michael found you pretty enough, kinder than the nurses and doctors and specialists that buzzed around him like an annoying fly, poking and prodding with annoying tests and needles and a constantly changing dose of medicine that left him feeling ill. You, however, never buzzed. You may have lingered a tad bit longer than was necessary, but it was never in a pestering way. He’d notice how your hands toyed with the hem of your scrubs. They were always dark in color, but never stark black. Muted maroons and soft navies were your usual attire, something Michael found himself fond of.
You were simple. Not easy but you stuck to a schedule.
Michael liked that about you. He almost found himself longing to touch you, to feel you as you rose and walked away. A heavy metal door slammed behind you. It was decided in his mind then and there that you were his. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield wanted you for himself.
October 30
Smith’s Grove had befallen silent for the night, strangely enough. Everyone seemed tense, on edge as every little creak and crack was greeted with a jump. How odd people acted, you thought, making mental notes on what you needed to do before clocking out. It was already a quarter till 4 PM, and the ending of your shift never made you as happy as it is now. You practically skipped through the halls, ready to finally leave Michael with his usual goodbye before your departure. His cell neared, and the heavy scent of wet paper and Elmer’s glue lingered the closer you got.
You knocked, knuckles brushing against the reinforced doors as you entered the cell. Masks hung from the walls like hunting trophies, and one could only wonder how Michael found the creativity to even create such pretty things within his conditions. You’d hum, continuing to eye the brightly colored masks with your arms folded across your chest. You knew not to touch them; it was basic respect after all. Your constant lingering seemed to pay off though, as you nearly squealed when Michael offered a quiet ‘mmh’ in greeting. Sure, it may not seem like something much, but anyone who worked with the behemoth of a man would tell you, that Michael Myers does NOT do anything except eat, sleep, and make those masks; but with you, it was like he was a different entity all together. He was calmer, in your easy. The weight that he clung to within his shoulders seemed to lessen. You both sat quietly, content in each other's company. It was when your watch chimed that Michael stiffened, breathing heavily through his nose whilst you rose, offering a weak smile as you trekked towards the door, promising you’d see him tomorrow, you promised!
omg we need more eric draven!! Ur writing is AMAZING
A/N: ask and you shall receive ^.^
Outside the Window
Cold fingers traced the small of your back as silence hung within the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. It was comfortable though, the silence, the feeling of his skin against yours, no matter the chills it brought along with it. Eric lay beneath you, just as content as you, puffing at a half-smoke cigarette. His makeup was smeared, his hair was wet, and he smelt of rain and smog, but he was here, with you; that's all you could ask for. You both were content living this way, happy to simply exist within the same space and not worry about anything or anyone, not anymore.
The seemingly perpetual rain fell just outside the window. Sometimes, you'd see if you could count them, which was impossible to this day; you'd gotten to 794 last time, someone you doubted you'd be able to do again. Eric had been lingering all day, humming broken tunes and nibbling the end of a pencil, hastily scratching down lyrics. You'd what from the perch you'd chosen, a hot mug held close to you as you smiled, simply watching. Eric liked watching you too. He enjoyed watching you sleep, eat, hell, even breathe. It was what made you human, something he longed for now that he'd lost his own mortality not long ago. He adored the things that made people human now that he could notice them. Their individuality, their uniqueness. It was all that he longed for, seeing as now he wasn't quite human anymore, but you were. He loved watching you age, watching you grow as he couldn't anymore.
But he could love you like he could, and that's all that really mattered in your heart. Because outside the window was cold. Outside the window was meanness, cruelty, and hatred. Outside the window, there wasn't him or the life you built together.
imagine older bf Mike smoking you out in his shitty little Accord. He claimed it was bc he doesn’t like your lipgloss wetting the blunt but he just likes tilting your head back himself and blowing the smoke into your parted mouth.
OR
imagine Mike making you cockwarm him while he smokes. Every time you move or whine he spanks your ass. By now your ass is red and he still hasn’t finished the joint
I'm not sure if you write for anymore but can I please ask for Bloody Painter with a size kink 👀
CW:None, wrote this before going to bed
Tall!Helen
Helen Otis isn’t ‘big’ per se, but he’s tall. Standing 6’2 without his usual boots, it’s clear that he towers over most of his victims. No different with you. Helen doesn’t care what size you are, truly, but he adores the height difference between the two of you. He finds it so much easier to persuade you into letting him pose you like a good little muse. He loves how his height gives him some kind of authority over you (at least in his mind). Helen obsesses over it, the difference in heigh plaguing his sketchbooks page by page. It drives him up the wall when you crane your neck to look at him.
Tall!Reader
He loves studying you, it’s not often he finds people taller than he is, so when you came along it was like some kind of sick prayer was finally answered. Helen dedicates entire sketchbooks to just you. From pen sketch of you making food to water color paintings of you sunbathing. Helen adores you and the size difference you both have
A/N: hello ghoulies resident mom over this blog, aka Mod888, and I’d like to thoroughly apologize for our lack of posting. My health hasn’t been the best as of late and with schooling piling up on both of us, we thought we should take a break in order to push out content we’re both happy with! Please enjoy and forgive me as this is it’s been a while. ~ Mod888
CW: HABIT an Evan are dicks ngl, sub!afab!reader, reader isn’t ,human (ngl this might be a second part to Forelsket), choking, spanking, slight bondage, spit kink, slight size kink
his hand was cold as it crept up your throat, the calloused fingers mapping out your jugular with light touches, a stark contrast to the hand buried in your hair, scratching at your scalp with blunt nails. It would almost be comforting if not for your current…position. Your knees would surely be aching and bruised in the morning, but you couldn’t, more akin to wouldn’t complain, not like you could with Evan’s cold hand now clamped over your lips.
“ you know, I think I like you better when you’re quiet bun. It’s so much better when you’re not running that bratty fucking mouth. “ Evan, or what was masquerading around New Jersey as him, gave a loose grin as he worked his fingers into your scalp. Some might wonder why you stayed, and the answer was simple really. Evan dicked you down better than anyone else.
you fought against biting his finger, you really did. it was honestly a sad sight, you beneath Evan with one hand wrapped around your throat almost daring you to move without his word to. The image the mirror reflected had you rubbing your thighs together, aching for the least bit of friction. Evan laughed, a sharp, mocking sound from his chest. He knew you liked this, you liked him taking your breath away, like the way his hands looked wrapped around your pretty throat that’d been marked seven ways to Sunday with hickies and bite marks. You liked everything he gave to you. The hand around your throat retreated, not without protest from you, though you found your pouting cut short as Evan worked you upon the bed by your head; gentler tugs as stalked around your body. There was a brief moment after your body hit the plush blanket below, and an even briefer moment before your hazy min could register Evan’s body atop of your’s. His chapped lips pressed against your neck as his calloused hands found their home grazing your legs.
“ I know baby, I know how bad you wan’ it right? “ Evan purred into your neck, his breath tickled. He was right about you wanting it, wanting him. You nodded as best as you could, shifting and squirming beneath him. Against you sopping core, you could feel the bulge of his cock. Evan’s shallow thrusts against you made it so much harder to stay quiet, your whines and moans making your lover laugh against your throat. “ Oh baby you’re being so good, tired of being a goddamn brat now that you fucking want something huh? “ you keened as Evan’s hand made it’s way towards your cunt. Evan chuckled as he continued his assault on you delicate neck, before rising to click his tongue. “ Oh no baby, if you want something you have to ask you know that! “ he bellowed. You, deprived of what you ached so badly for whined. Well, cried actually, fat tears welled in your eyes as you blabbered, yet your begging fell upon deaf ears as Evan continued to drag his fingers against your slit, reminding you he’d never willingly give anyone anything, and that included you.
A/N: This is lazy and rushed. I’m sleepy and dealing with family right now so please excuse this horrid thing.
RZ! Michael Myers, AFAB Reader, Feminine Terminology Used, reader is lowkey highkey delusional
Green.
Green like freshness.
Green like new.
Green like envy.
Green like the jealous pit that lingered within his stomach every time he saw you talking to the neighbors. The same pit that ever only grew in size when it concerned you. You, his darling little mouse, so friendly, so kind. It’s what drew him to you, you know. Kindness wasn’t something that stayed within Smith’s Grove, nor was it catered to. Kindness was snuffed out, diminished at the first sign, but not you. Never you. It was an honest mistake really, you being there. Taking the fall for something someone else did, so valiant weren’t you? Oh, and then you met Michael. Just a boy he was, barely breaching 5’8 at the time, and then you came in, practically skipping. You were a mere year younger than him at the most. The nurses, god fucking damn those nurses, were rough with you, he was and would never be rough with you. Michael watched, a lot. He likes to watch you. You’re quite pleasing to look at in his eyes. You were kind to everyone despite everything the staff and patients did to you. You, his own personal sun, his warmth in this filth-ridden world.
You were his.
And he was your’s.
After your departure from Smith’s Grove, a sad day indeed. You didn’t leave Haddenfield. In fact, you moved back into your old house, fell back into a steady routine. It stayed like that for a good few years, you shedded that girlish immaturity of your’s. But you remained kind, warm. Your days at Smith’s Grove weren’t forgotten, your mind lingered on the boy you’d tried to befriend those handful of years ago sometimes you’d try and visit, though once again in vain. Soon, you moved on, or tried to. You lead a simple life, one that suited you. Work and home. That’s mostly what your days consisted of. Though the news blaring of a highly dangerous patient’s escape from the Sanatarium. Though the name was what made you drop the glass you’d been washing.
Michael fucking Myers.
Any normal person would be scared, terrified even. But you? Not a thing, well not a thing any one word could describe. He was alive after all of this? Something, a small string in your heart pulled for him. You knew how the staff treated the patients within those walls, how they treated Michael. It made you sick, and the memory of Dr.Loomis’s ‘interviews’ left you scarred. Michael was young then, still a boy.
The days were long, dull. Blending together with one another. People’s fear left them paranoid, and paranoia leads to other erratic behavior. Just the other hour an older couple practically had a melt down when they say some kid’s preparing for Halloween. It was sad, but not any of your business. Still, you continued your routine. Though your garden needed tending to. It was something you’d picked up from a grandparent, now it was just something to keep you busy, something to care for. The crisp October air was a pleasantry you’d taken comfort in, letting you wear your comfort jumpers to your hearts content. You knelt, the cold dirt hardened as you plucked at the weeds, tugging a few carrots, and clipping sweet peppers for dinner, though a chill ran down your spine. Not of fear, no, but of a feeling of being stalked. Like prey sensing their impending doom at the awaiting jaws of a predator. You straightened your back, head turning to study the surrounding neighbor’s yards and short stretch of wood.
The hair on the back of your neck bristled.
Him.
Michael was big, bigger than you thought a man could get. An orange mask covered his features, but even then you remembered those eyes. Oh his eyes.. Dr.Loomis was wrong, at least to you. Because Michael looked at you you’d hung the stars and moon themselves, like you were the holy being prophesied to save him. But in a blink, he was gone. You’d think yourself crazy had it not been for his eyes. The same eyes you’d felt drawn to in your youth.
That night you found little sleep. Creaking of your house made his presence know. He wanted you to know. Michael knew how to be quiet, how to make himself invisible, but he wanted you to know he was looming just a few feet away.
“ Michael. “ you announced, voice hoarse. The creaking stopped.
~Time Skip~
You’d gotten used to Michael’s presence, sure, the fact he’d eat any and everything sweet within your house and the neighbor’s was a bit..odd, but everyone has their quirks right? Some days, he’d stand behind you whilst you cooked, almost close enough to touch you. It took a long while to build that up, you weren’t complaining. But Michael was greedy. He wanted everything from you and more, it was the least he was owed after you left Smith’s right? It was the least you could do for him after he keeps your house protected! He encroached slowly, it started off with simple touches on your ankle, then you’d awake with his hand on the inside of your knee and so forth. And here you were now, underneath the mountain you called your house husband.
Michael’s cock throbbed in your heat, this was what? Your fifth orgasm? Sixth? Neither one of you cared enough to keep count. You were so faced out, crossed eyed and drooling at this point, and Michael was panting, guttural moans bordering whine erupting from his throat. He’d mumble what sounded like broken sounds of your name and ‘mine’, you couldn’t quite make it out even if you weren’t so cock-drunk. Michael’s hand crept from beside your head and made its way to your throat, he didn’t choke you, simply felt how small you were compared to him. How delicate you were beneath him. All his. The mere thought has his cock aching, and the look you gave him was delectable. Your perfect lips parted, he stilled. Awaiting your words with a bated breath. “ Please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-“ you begged. The sweet whines you gave Michael were his salvation. You were his heaven begging him for entry. You were his God. His Heaven, his Hell. All gift wrapped into one, perfectly flawed being and all his for the taking. Michael groaned, a guttural sound, his head falling beside your’s, his dark blond locks falling over his face. The night was still young, and your pleas only egged him on further.
Michael’s thrusts quickened, his tip kissing your womb. He could feel you getting close, after all your were practically milking his cock as it was, but now? Your weeping cunt was like a vice. You wrapped you legs around his broad waist, whining and keening for him to bring you past the edge again, despite being so sensitive already. Needy baby, weren’t you? Michael smiled, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as you came. Your vision turned white as you tightened your legs around Michael, spent body trembling as you began to go limp. Michael’s head rose from your shoulder, blood staining his teeth as he stared you down, his eyes blown with lust. His kiss swollen lips quivering lips muttering silent words before uttering a statement that had your core aching once more.
“ Not done. “
Author’s Comments: OKAY SOOOO I’m a day behind and it’ll most likely stay that way because my schedule this month is packed as hell already. Mod 800 is currently on break for reasons I will not disclose nor discuss and I will most likely be handling the rest of KinkTober. This is kinda rushed and once again English is neither Mods first languages so please be considerate. Thank you ghoulies!
Of course, though I am going through a bit of writer’s and artist’s block, so i deeply apologize for the quality.
A/N: Angst w/comfort, reader is depressive, something quick might expand on this later though. Eric is…eric.
Hands a bit too cold to be considered normal traced the plain of your stomach, the skin warm beneath his calloused palm. Eric was many things, a murderer, spiteful, any name under the sun one could think of, but in the current moment he was envious. Envious of you, sleeping beneath the many blankets of his bed, practically a nest for the both of you now. He was envious of your warmth, your liveliness, your mortality. There may have been a time when he’d daydream of what his life could have been like in his older years, hair graying and fading and worn band tee shirts. But those days would never catch up to him, but you still remained. Fuck if you didn’t stay glued to his side. He remembers seeing you after he was brought back, the black tears staining your cheeks as you tried to look through him, trying to rationalize the sight before you.
You sat upon the brick wall of what was once a shared apartment, bottles and cans thrown haphazardly around the creaking floors. You, a husk of the person you used to be, in the middle of the mess, eyeliner running down your cheeks and eyes hollow, eyes once so full of life and contentment, now dull, sharp even. If his heart could, it would break at the sight of you. He stalked you from his shadows, not yet ready to face you. Oh how he longed to hold you, to remind you he’d take care of you like he promised so long ago, to simply feel your skin against his would be enough. But Eric remained still, continuing to watch you gulp down more cheap vodka like it was water. Erin grimaced, he didn’t like the sight before him. He saw himself lingering within your behavior, saw his influences in your mannerisms. You, none the wiser to his position before you, didn’t even jump when his footfalls fell upon your ears. Maybe you were to drunk, or maybe it’s because you were to far gone to care.
“ Look dickhead, I don’t know what the fuck it is you want but I-“ your cold remark was cut short, far to short with a familiar laugh, a laugh you hadn’t heard in over a year, actually thats a lie. It was the same laugh that had been haunting your nightmares for so, so fucking long.
“ Such harsh words from such a pretty girl, you kiss your mother with that mouth pretty? “ Eric drawled, nearing you. You, bottle just an inch from your agape mouth. There he was, face painted a sickly white and black smeared haphazardly across his eyes and lips. It was like time stopped, only the two of you existing at once. Eyes welling with tears, you stayed silent. What could you do? You were there when they put him into the cold hard ground, there to pick up Sarah when her mother couldn’t give less than a fuck about her. You. Eric, now squatting before you, searched your face, for any sign of emotion, emotion he didn’t find. You wanted to scream, to hit yourself and down the rest of the bottle, telling yourself you were dreaming, but you couldn’t. His cologne had long since faded from everything that was left behind, but here now you could taste it. Mouth gaping akin to that of a fish out of water, the bottle fell, clattering onto the floor as your hand reached to his face. Just a touch. Just something to tell yourself this was real, that he was real. With a trembling finger, you pushed the wet stray hairs from his painted face, moving to trace his jaw. He was real this time, a tangible thing before you blessing your teary eyes with a pained smile.
That was a long while ago, he’d yet to find a real reason to pass on yet, though the Crow had quit trying to urge him now. The night was young, though the city lights didn’t make it seem that way, still, you napped, curled underneath the blankets. Eric let out an audible sign, cold fingers mindlessly tracing shapes onto your skin. He’d give anything, anything at all, just to fully feel the true extent of your warmth again, the warmth he felt when he was alive, not just a walking corpse. Eric longed to be the softer man he once was for you, but he knew as well as you did, that man was gone. But for now, he’d be content with this, relearning and healing alongside you.
