If you had told John he was going to end up married by the time he was forty, he'd have laughed in your face, but now, well he'd say he the luckiest bastard alive.

John loved you, he really did, despite the kind of person he was, you was one of the few people he cared for, one of the few people he'd do anything for, he loved like it was easy as breathing.

You was one of the only people he trusted, and that terrified him, but in the end he still wanted it to be the two of you. He'd kiss you like there was no tomorrow, and if you went through hell, you knew he'd follow without a single doubt or question from him.

He'd rather die than lose you, you meant everything to him. He worshipped the ground you walked on, and every time he kissed you, he kissed you like a starved man having his first meal. He held you like you was the most precious gem, and to him you was. He was a starved man, and he was starving for you.

"I love you." He murmured pressing kisses against your neck, as the two of you were sat on the couch, his arms around you. His eyes weren't filled with lust, no they were filled with pure adoration. Now don't get him wrong, he loved the steamy intimate moments with you, but he loved these ones more, wholesome, intimate. You ruined him, ruined him for anyone else, not that he would ever want anyone else.