• At first, Chris doesn’t really know what to do with affection — he’s not used to being openly cared for without strings attached

• His instinct is to joke it off, deflect, or assume it’s pity — affection feels suspicious because it’s something he’s never earned in his mind

• When you hug him or touch him casually, he stiffens up like he’s being ambushed, then awkwardly pats you like he’s unsure if it’s a trap or comfort

• Deep down, it rattles him — it stirs insecurities about worthiness and the fear that if someone gets close, they’ll realize he’s not lovable

• Acceptance is slow

• He oscillates between craving affection and pushing it away out of fear

• Over time, the consistency of your warmth starts wearing down his defenses — he begins to associate touch and care with safety instead of judgment

• Reciprocation is clumsy at first — he might mimic what you do, overthinking every move

• “Am I supposed to hold your hand now? Is this… okay?”

• The turning point comes when he realizes affection doesn’t always demand explanation — it’s allowed to just be

• Your affection often manifests in gentle, grounding gestures — leaning into him when you both talk, brushing hair from his face, small affirmations that you see him

• Chris’s love language skews toward acts of service and quality time — he’ll fix things around the house, cook a questionable meal, or drive hours just to make you smile

• Physical affection is a learned language for him — once comfortable, he becomes almost clingy in private, like making up for lost time

• He doesn’t always say “I love you” directly — he’ll say things like “You’re the only person who doesn’t make me wanna punch something,” and somehow that means more

• His affection is often subtle or disguised as humor, but it’s intentional — “I got you extra napkins because you always forget” translates to “I care.”

• You define affection as shared presence — quiet understanding and touch without needing to talk

• Chris defines it as proof someone won’t leave

• When you're affectionate, Chris feels disoriented but comforted — like being held by something he doesn’t have to earn

• He struggles not to ruin the moment with self-deprecating jokes, but he secretly treasures every act of kindness

• You often feel your affection anchors him, helping soften his defensive humor and impulsive reactions

• When Chris shows affection, you feel a raw sincerity in it — he doesn’t do it halfway, and his efforts feel deeply personal

• You occasionally need reassurance that Chris’s quietness or emotional distance isn’t disinterest but his way of processing vulnerability

• Barriers:

• His upbringing, shame over his past, and the emotional repression from his father’s abuse — all make open affection a battlefield at times.

• Chris’s small tells: softening his tone, sharing his snacks, brushing a thumb over your knuckles, or letting you rest a hand on his chest (a big deal for him)

• Your tells: lingering touches, laughing easily around him, playful teasing to draw him out of his head

• In public, he tones it down — maybe a protective hand on your back or a smug “yeah, they’re with me” grin

• In private, he’s far more tactile — sprawled on the couch with his head on your lap, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm

• Your affection in private feels safe, in public, it’s claimed but understated

• Over time, Chris learns that affection isn’t about perfection — it’s about trying, even awkwardly

• He starts initiating — hugging first, saying “missed you,” or buying something small just because it reminded him of you

• Misunderstandings happen

• Sometimes his teasing or sarcasm hits wrong, and you're quick to interpret it as rejection

• Though, you work through it — you explains what hurt, and Chris (after initial defensiveness) listens and adjusts

• Your dynamic balances when Chris realizes vulnerability isn’t weakness — and you learn that his affection often hides beneath humor or blunt gestures

• Chris overthinks gifts — wants to impress but panics he’ll pick something “stupid”

• His gifts often end up weirdly personal — a mixtape, a framed photo of their favorite pet, or something handmade and slightly crooked.

• Your gifts are practical with emotional undercurrents — things that make his life easier or sentimental tokens that remind him he’s loved

• There's a gift that was a real turning point

• You gave him something simple but heartfelt — a Polaroid of you together with a note that says, “You don’t have to prove anything to be loved”

• Chris keeps it in his wallet like a talisman

• You both value gesture > item — it’s the thought, not the price tag, that defines the exchange

• Chris’s ideal date is something low-stakes but fun — shooting range, cheesy 80s movie marathon, dive bar karaoke, or watching fireworks in the truck bed

• Yours is more cozy, intimate — picnics, long walks, stargazing, staying in and cooking together

• Of course, you guys compromise

• Outdoor adventures that end in soft, quiet moments

• Usually, you're the one planning dates (because Chris “sucks at logistics”)

• But when he does, he goes ALL IN — complete with over-the-top surprises and awkward sincerity

• Your dates often turn spontaneous — what starts as errands turns into dancing in a parking lot or late-night diner runs

• Emotionally, your date style reflects balance

• Chris craves excitement to feel alive; you crave calm to feel connected

• Together, you find both

• Living together takes adjustment — Chris is messy but surprisingly considerate; he tries to help but needs reminders

• Domestic affection

• Morning coffee left out, lazy cuddles on the couch, sarcastic banter during chores

• You fall into rhythm over time — Chris handles practical stuff, you keep emotional balance

Bickering happens — mostly playful, sometimes real — but apologies come quick; neither of you likes tension lingering

• Your home becomes a reflection of mutual comfort — chaos softened by warmth

• Chris struggles with verbal apologies; his version is showing up with takeout and a sheepish, “You still mad?”

• You tend to be more verbal — grounding him with honest words and emotional validation

• When Chris is stressed, he prefers quiet comfort — your presence, maybe a gentle touch, no forced pep talk

• And when you're distraught, Chris becomes fiercely protective — clumsy with words but physically grounding

• “I got you. No one’s gonna mess with you”

• Over time, you learn each other’s emotional rhythms — when to talk, when to sit in silence

• Chris’s love language revolves around acts of service and physical touch

• And yours are more words of affirmation and quality time

• At first, this mismatch causes friction — Chris does things instead of saying them, while you say things Chris doesn’t know how to respond to

• But you adapt — you learns to recognize his quiet actions as love, Chris starts verbalizing more

• “I, uh… like having you around. A lot.”

• You teach each other trust: that love isn’t transactional, and affection doesn’t have to be earned by performance

• Teasing is Chris’s love language — mock insults, exaggerated bravado, and playful one-upmanship

• You tease back, often with quick wit that flusters him

• “Stop looking at me like that, you’ll short-circuit my brain”

• You both develop inside jokes and weird codewords

• Like calling each other’s emotional meltdowns “Operation Softcore”

• Humor is your reset button — it breaks tension, diffuses fights, and keeps affection light even after heavy days

• Your laughter often ends in affection — a forehead press, a lingering look, or Chris mumbling, “You’re ridiculous… and I love it”

_______________

I don't really have a lot to say on this

I don't hate it

I don't love it

I'm just okay with the results and happy enough with them

Anyways

As always, constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated

• Being with John is easy breezy

• It's comfortable, it's warm, and it's the best thing EVER

• Now, there's one of two ways how you guys had got together

• Either you asked him out or vice versa

• So we'll scratch the surface of both just a smidge, for variety

• If you had asked him out, you definitely made a move way sooner than he would have

• You'd definitely have a higher confidence level than him even if not by much

• Your approach would have been direct, straight to the point

• But if he'd had asked you, it had definitely taken a lot of courage and a lot of build up

• And his approach is way messier and he fumbles and trips over his words

• Regardless, whether it's you or him making the first move, it's what's led to the best relationship either of you have had (especially John since he claims to have never had a relationship before)

• Affection definitely starts off slow

• He's so nervous so he's sweating buckets just trying to find the balls to hold your hand type of slow

• But it does steadily build

• Embraces always feel warm and safe — like wrapping each other in these impenetrable blankets of protection where nothing harmful or negative can worm it's way in

• And kisses

• Ooooh baby

• The kisses are, at least at the beginning, entirely slow, sweet, lingering

• After some time, you definitely have the odd frenzied lip locking messy make outs

• And you love his beard — the way it tickles a little, and if you're holding his face between your hands how it scratches just right against your palms

• Speaking of his beard

• You always help him now with dying it — you claim he doesn't need to, that you love when you see his natural colour come through at the roots

• But he insists it's now more for self-confidence and because it makes him feel good in himself

• And well, you can't really argue against that — purely happy that if this is something that he wants to do for him, then so be it

• So, every few weeks, you're touching up his roots for him in the bathroom, the atmosphere quiet and soft

• But anyways...

• Let's just quickly jump back to affection and intimacy

• Forehead kisses, cheek kisses, neck and shoulders — even sweet little kisses on knuckles and finger tips

• Sleeping together — in the literal sense — is one of your favourite shared things

• And you're both not limited in regards to sleep positions

• But some do tend to happen more often than others

• Like light contact back-to-back

• John's used to solitude, even when sharing a space he values a bit of independence but it in no way reflects the level of his care/love/adoration

• It's a quiet intimacy that offers a sense of safety without needing constant closeness

• Then there's the weighted blanket hold

• He tends to sprawl half on his side, half on his stomach, with his arm draped over your waist or chest like a lazy security blanket

• He's a big guy *eyebrow waggle* in many senses so once he's comfortable with you, he definitely leans into physical reassurance

• It's not overly romantic in the normal sense — it's more instinctive and grounding and it mostly happens unconsciously when he's asleep

• It's cozy, protective, and a soft contrast to his rough edges

• Full cuddle mode

• Chest to chest — like protectively curling around each other and embracing

• This type of physical closeness calms him down faster than words ever could

• John is a caretaker at heart — he likes being the barrier between you and the world

• And on rough nights, he might mutter something self-depricating but tightens his hold anyways like comforting himself

• Tangled naps are the best

• It's usually when you're both watching TV or dozing off after a long day — you're both ending up half on top of each other, legs tangled, arms everywhere

• He melts into the softness

• Occasionally, John falls asleep in a chair or recliner while working so you find yourself curling up somewhere nearby like a couch

• So the first thing he sees when he wakes up again is you

• And then it's either him shuffling over and draping a blanket or jacket on you or you dragging him to bed

• Its reflective of his old habits of staying up way too late but now there's someone around to notice and it really makes him feel seen, like someone cares

• And it speaks to the quiet kind of intimacy you share — love shown through small, practical gestures

• Now, everybody is wondering

• Is John the big spoon or the little spoon

• And the answer is both

• Well, at first, he was predominantly big spoon

• But later on, after you guys built up that comfort and progressed in your relationship, it became pretty evenly balanced — once he started to feel truly secure, things leveled out

• He learns to enjoy being the little spoon though he won't admit it outright

• It's a trust thing — letting himself be held means no longer feeling afraid to be seen as soft or needy

• So, when John is the big spoon, he naturally falls into the role of protector

• When he's the big spoon, his arms wrap around you like a quiet promise that he's got you

• He's also a heavy sleeper so once he's relaxed, he tends to hold tight even on his dream

• You've totally teased that you're "Economos-locked" until morning

• Sometimes his hand settles on your stomach or chest when he's the big spoon — not possessively, but to feel your breathing, like reassurance that you're there

• There's warmth and weight to it

• He radiates comfort and stability and you feel safe in his hold

• John's not much of a talker in this position, it's definitely more about quiet presence

• You might get a sleepy murmur now and then, but it's mostly steady breathing and the occasional snore

• Now, John as a little spoon is more built on the vibe of vulnerable, trusting, and surprisingly endearing

• Like earlier stated, it doesn't happen right away — it takes time, a slow build of trust before he lets himself be held

• The first time it happened, he makes jokes about it — something like "Guess I'm the snack-sized spoon tonight," just to break the tension

• But when he actually relaxed into it?

• It's a BIG deal

• Once he's there, you realise how much he needed it — how long it's been since anyone made him feel safe enough to just let go

• His body relaxes differently when he's the little spoon

• Less guarded

• The stiffness in his shoulders disappears and his breathing slows almost immediately

• Occasionally, he'll shift to fit better against you, a subtle reminder that he trusts your space

• Sometimes you'll start one way and wake up the other — John's subconscious doesn't care about roles, only closeness

• If he wakes up being held, he pretends to grumble but you can tell he secretly loves it

• And if you end up tucked against him, he'll quietly pull the blanket higher and drift back off with a small smile

• Now, you guys aren't short of activities you do together

• We'll start with some side-by-side hobbies, whether you do them together or separate but still in each others company

• Like gaming nights

• John definitely gives the vibe of someone who loves video games — moreso the older or co-op titles

• He's the type to get invested in character builds or complain about lag but would also grin when you beat him at like Tekken

• You two definitely played couch co-op games like It Takes Two, A Way Out, and Split Fiction

• Crafting and building sessions go hard

• John also gives off the vibe he does stuff like paint Warhammer figures, even if he doesn't really get to use them

• Or perhaps he's repairing/tinkering with something

• And you could totally just be doing something like crochet, sketching, or even work on a model beside him

• These kind of activities are the kind that work because you don't need to talk constantly — it's about presence, easy companionship, and low-pressure togetherness

• You totally have movie marathons

• Everything from bad 80s action flicks to documentaries he won't admit he enjoys

• And TV show

• So many TV shows

• You both have series you're loyal to, individually and as a duo

• You tease him about how seriously he critiques the CGI

• It's a time filled with shared laughter and shared commentary — it's simple, but for John it's intimacy in it's purest form

• Cooking is also prime quality time

• John is more capable in the kitchen than he lets on and you're just happy enough to have food regardless of who makes it

• On weekends, you love cooking together — testing recipes or making comfort food

• You also have this system that if one person cooks, the other cleans the dishes

• Both of you try to keep pots and pans and dishes to a minimum because you both actually despise washing up in the sink — just the thought of some soggy stray bit of food touching you makes your body cringe

• Now, John's kind of a nerd

• So it was a little surprising when you found out he'd never been to something like comic-con, or a collectors fair, or even a tech expo

• He's always wanted to but he hated the thought of going alone and being stuck in those crowds

• So, you take him, and you don't take no for an answer

• Which honestly, he's thankful for — you really do help him come out of his shell, try new things, and build up his confidence

• His main interests are totally like comic book stuff, obscure action figures, gaming gear, dice sets, vintage posters ect.

• So stuff like comic-con becomes something he looks forward to with you — it's one of the few places where John comes to feel free to nerd out without judgement

• Definitely visit retro game stores and hobby shops

• Like rows of consoles, shelves of used games, a tabletop section tucked in the back

• John is completely in his element here — content and nerdily chatty

• And you either need out too with him or wander off to find your own corner of interest, occasionally calling him over to look at something weird

• You both totally love the old-school vibe so record and vintage media shops are also a common hit with you two

• We're talking vinyls, VHS and DVD collections, movie memorabilia

• His favourite kind of vinyl finds are soundtracks from movies he grew up on

• It's a nostalgic, quiet vibe filled with small discoveries that's exactly John's tempo

• Something a bit more random would be going to flea markets and collectors fairs together

• Table full of oddities, old tools, toys, patches, even more memorabilia

• You tend to browse together, split up for a little, and then reunite to compare finds

• John and you definitely have this little ritual of buying each other one small, weird thing per trip

• Reading together is comfortable

• Whether it's at home, in a bookstore, or a comic store

• He's into his graphic novels, sci-fi paperbacks, and maybe even occasionally crime thrillers

• You'll read alongside one another — explore different sections maybe if you're out of the apartment

• Let's look a little at the type of dates you guys do

• You'll go to stuff like niche movie theatres or outdoor screening — retro or indie theatres playing cult classics, marathons, or cheesy action flicks

• He's the kind of guy that's quoting lines under his breath and rating the explosions out of ten

• You mostly love watching him enjoy it

• But let's just remember this is John Economos you're dating so

• Takeout on the couch kind of date nights are top tier

• It's the most "John Economos" date you can have

• You pick comfort food places — maybe pizza, Chinese, maybe a diner that knows your orders by heart

• At home, you'll eat while watching something dumb and comforting — it could be some stupid mainstream series or like YouTube review channels like Dead Meat because their kill counts are awesome, especially with all the facts that accompany the brief run-through and body tally

• Like this, there's light teasing and definitely a bit of mock arguing over who gets the last fry or duck roll, and eventually one of you dozes off against the other

• Nerd nights totally happen too

• Like, it could be gaming together, building Lego sets

• Whatever your heart's desire

• Hell, even board games or even going out to trivia nights at bars

• John's at his happiest when he gets to be playful — a little competitive, a little goofy, and fully himself

• You guys have definitely enjoyed late-night drives or small getaways

• They're rare and usually very spontaneous

• Like "let's just go" kind of evening

• So every now and then, you'll hop in the car and drive with no destination — music playing, windows cracked, city lights fading

• Sometimes you've ended up at a lookout

• Other times a diner that's still open at 2AM

• John's not big on overt romance, but in those quiet, unexpected moments, it shows up naturally — in the way he looks over and smiles, or reaches out to rest him hand on yours

• Now, it's not exactly "dates" but practically every moment can feel like a date with you two

• Like grocery shopping together that turns into a mini adventure

• Or Saturday morning breakfast funs

• Shared chores with music

• Fixing something around the house together

• John finds joy in the everyday when with you — when it's shared, it becomes something warm and quietly beautiful

• Now, the super super rare but special "dress-up" date

• It's probably you that convinces him to go somewhere a bit nicer — a real dinner, a show, or a concert

• Not because you don't like your usual kind of dates because you absolutely love anything to do with him

• It's just something different

• He'll gripe about wearing "real pants" but he ends up enjoying it because he likes seeing how happy it makes you

• Hell always find a way to bring humour into it though

• It's not his natural element, but it shows his willingness to step out of his comfort zone for someone he loves

• Okay

• So, we've covered how you guys sleep, the type of affection you guys share, dates and usual couple activities

• Let's look at something even more fun

• Pictures!

• Like the type you two take now as a couple

• Early on, John is not big on selfies — he's self-conscious about angles, his hair, his expression

• He'll mutter something like, "I look weird in photos," or joke, "Take a picture with some dog; everyone likes dogs."

• You're the one who starts taking more candid shots

• Him laughing, him concentrating on something like a game, cooking, reacting to something ridiculous on TV

• Over time, he starts leaning into it

• He still makes faces or mock protests but secretly he loves that someone wants to take pictures with him

• Of him

• And it not to completely mock or make fun of him

• He takes some too

• Usually quiet snapshots — you sleeping under a blanket, a coffee mug beside your hand, sunlight hitting your face

• He doesn't post them but he keeps them close

• He's a sentimental guy in private

• They aren't for others, they're keepsakes of feeling safe and wanted

• John definitely has some favourite photos of you guys together

• Like the accidental selfie

• He's mid laugh, you're beside him grinning

• It's not perfect — it's a little blurry — but it's real

• This is definitely his phone's lock screen

• There's also one where you're asleep on his shoulder on the couch after a late-night movie

• He didn't plan to take it — just opened his camera to check something and froze at how peaceful it all looked

• There's one of you guys in front of a booth at a convention

• One of you guys cooking together

• The ones you took of each other looking absolutely ridiculous eating ice cream

• His computer background is something a little more low-key

• It's a picture of a place you guys visited once taken through the car windscreen

• The view was astonishing and it's one of your favourite spontaneous outings

• It's peaceful and something that reminds him of quiet contentment

• He's not one for big displays but when he's at work, whether it's in the office or in the van, a small glance at that background is enough to steady him

• Around the apartment, there's a couple framed pictures on the bookshelf or side table — nothing arranged like a gallery, just sprinkled around naturally

• One's tucked into the corner of his bathroom mirror

• A small print you slipped there one morning

• The fridge is decorated with magnets holding up photo booth strips, movie tickets from your past or up-coming dates, and a grocery list

• There's definitely just a sweet, simple picture of you two on his bedside table

• He doesn't show them off to visitors

• But if someone notices and comments, he'll shrug and mumble something like, "Yeah, good day," while secretly glowing inside

• John doesn't always like seeing himself in photos — old insecurities die hard

• But ones with you soften that edge

• Over time, the photos become quiet reminders that's he's changed, that's he's allowed to be happy, to be loved, to exist without irony

• Some nights, when he's alone, he'll scroll through them and smile to himself — quietly, privately — feeling the warmth that comes from belonging

• Now, let's just quickly look at the 11th Street Kids as a final thing to delve into

• More specifically, your integration into the group as John's partner

• They treat you like a natural extension, like there's teasing but also real inclusion

• You get invited out to movie nights, post-mission hangouts, bars

• You probably ended up being the one who brings snacks or mediates during arguments

• Over time, you'd fit seamlessly — not by being loud, but by matching the teams strange rhythm

• Patience, humour, and a dash of CHAOS

• Theres this unspoken sense that everyone is glad John found someone

• It's rare in their world and they all recognise how much lighter he seems because of it

• But anyways

• Overall, John and you have the kind of relationship that's warm, grounded, and quietly genuine

• It's built less on grand gestures and more on the small, steady ways you show up for each other every day

• You laugh a lot, support each others quirks, and find comfort in simply being together

• You balance each other out — John brings stability and a big heart, while you add lightness and warmth

• Whether you're gaming on the couch, going to conventions, or sharing quiet mornings, there's an ease between you that makes even ordinary moments feel meaningful

• In the end, your relationship isn't flashy or picture-perfect, but it's real

• The kind that grows from trust, laughter, and knowing that, finally, you both found someone who feels like home

_______________

Once again, nothing to really add

I'm quite happy with this and I hope the requester is too

Other than that

As always

Constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated

• Chris and your relationship, at first glance, doesn't look like it would make a good pairing

• But once you look a little closer beneath surface level, it feels like the only thing in the universe that makes sense

• For starters, how you meet

• It started with Bud Light and ended in headbanging

• Let's elaborate

• You’re at some half-lit bar that smells like cheap beer and nostalgia — waiting for your friend who's supposed to be meeting you to pre-game a little before a gig

• It's a lesser known band, something local playing at this grimy, underground hole vibe venue

• Two beers sit in front of you: one half-empty, one untouched, already a relic of your failed pregame plan

• That’s when you catch him — two stools over. Big guy, weirdly earnest eyes, the kind of presence that’s both intimidating and oddly childlike at the same time

• He’s been trying to get the bartender’s attention for three minutes, and you can tell patience isn’t his strong suit

• You don’t realize he’s watching you until your notification sound goes off

• You're looking at your screen and reading the text that's come through from your friend, finding out they're bailing on you —for an understandably good reason

'hey, gotta bail on the gig tonight'

'simon got sick'

• Yes, your friend named her dog Simon

• You're understanding when replying, even if you do mutter a curse under your breath

• You're setting your phone face down on the bar again and sipping your beer before noticing he's not so subtly looking at you

• Not judgemental. Not mocking. Not nosy.

• Just curious

• “Like Bud Light?” you ask suddenly, holding up the untouched bottle you had bought meant for your friend with your fingers at the neck, giving it a little wiggle

• It catches him off guard — his eyebrows lift like you’ve just challenged him to arm wrestle

• “Uh… yeah,” he says

• You're leaning out of your stool, offering the bottle with an outstretched arm

• “Cool. You look like you could use it more than the bar counter does.”

• He takes it, that small, crooked smile flickering at the corner of his mouth

• “Thanks,” he says, voice low, almost bashful

• The conversation starts there — casual, effortless • You tell him about your canceled plans, the show you were supposed to hit later, the friend who bailed for all the right reasons

• He listens, nodding, connecting the dots like he’d been piecing it together in his head already

• “I can’t really be mad,” you shrug. “If my dog was sick, I’d bail too.”

• He's huffing a laugh, the kind that says I get it

• Before you know it, he’s moved a stool closer

• You’re halfway through your beers — you're sipping yours slowly whilst he's drinking fast to catch up to be able to pay for your next drinks because 'balance'

• A beer for a beer

• It's when you're both sipping on your second beers — courtesy of Chris — that you drop the bit about the prepaid gig admission

• "Either I go alone and waste half the money, or I go home and waste all of it."

• He doesn’t even hesitate

• “I’ll go with you. If you’re up for it.”

• You blink, half amused. “Really?”

• “Yeah, fuck it. I like music. Don’t got plans.”

• So you go

• You're both downing the remainder of your drinks before heading out and to the gig

• You end up squeezed together in a grimy local venue that smells like sweat and feedback, lights flickering red and blue over the stage — The band’s already thrashing through the beginning of their set, and the crowd’s moving like one loud heartbeat

• He’s stiff at first — not his scene — but you can see the shift happen

• The moment the bass hits his chest, something clicks

• By the third song, he’s headbanging right next to you

• During the noise and chaos, he leans close enough yet still having to shout over the loud music and crowd to be heard

• “I’m Chris, by the way!”

• You laugh — because, of course, introductions come after three beers and a shared existential scream to live music

• “Oh shit, yeah! I’m—”

• Introductions are finally traded — sweat-slick smiles are exchanged — and the rest of the night feels like something neither of you planned but somehow both needed

• You’re YELLING lyrics, jumping, bumping shoulders, laughing until your voice goes hoarse

• It’s alive, raw, and real

• When the set ended, you spilled outside into the cool night air, still buzzing

• He tells you the band was actually “pretty sick” — you tell him he looked ridiculous trying to headbang on beat — he grins and scratches the back of his neck

• Numbers are exchanged before you go your desperate ways that night — the texts start before either of you even make it home

• You're sharing texts nonstop since

• It's not until Chris sees another local upcoming gig that he notices the perfect opportunity to hang out with you again

• This band and style of music is more his preference but you later come to find that, much like Chris, you end up having a lot of fun and liking them way more than you anticipated

'saw this flyer for a metal night'

'u in?'

• You don’t even hesitate

'hell yeah'

• And that was it

• The start of a weird, loud, perfect kind of history

• Now, Chris loves your style

• Band tees — faded, cut up, or safety-pinned — Ripped jeans, Combat boots and doc martens, fishnets, layered belts, oversized flannels, leather jackets

• That's not even mentioning the accessories, hair, and makeup (if applicable)

• The best way to describe your overall vibe is

• The kind of person who looks like they might start a mosh pit at a dive bar but will also cuddle you 30 minutes into watching a terrible horror movie

• It's rough-around-the-edges but authentic, expressive, and self-assured — the exact kind of energy that, surprising to most, Chris finds absolutely magnetic because it's unapologetic

• Now, let's touch on music

• We all know the foundation to Chris' music taste

• So let's look at those bands/artists that're your shared favourites

• You call them bonding artists

• Mötley Crüe — Judas Priest — Guns N’ Roses — Alice Cooper — AC/DC — Black Sabbath

• Of course, you still have your own tastes

• Some Chris surprisingly grown to love

• Misfits — The Distillers — The Clash — The Offspring — Sex Pistols — Joan Jett & the Blackhearts — IDLES — Wolf Alice — The Pretty Reckless

• Turnstile is kinda the perfect modern crossover punk Chris really gets into

• You love to tease him about being 'hair metal' while you're 'real punk'

• He playfully fires back that his taste is 'classics, not noise' — you both end up trading playlists anyways

• Chris can sometimes get overly serious about a songs meaning

• Which you find hilariously endearing — but you're also like 'its just vibes, babe'

• Speaking of vibes

• They were varying majorly when you found out about him being Peacemaker and the whole butterfly aliens in peoples brains thing

• The relationship was still fresh — You've hung out enough that you're going back and forth between each others places, kissed, done more than just kiss a few times

• You've definitely reached the point where you both claim to be taken

• Anyways

• You knew Chris was a bit secretive about his job, but assumed it was probably something that needed the secrecy and discretion

• You knew it definitely involved using his hands

Either way, you don't pry. You like him, and you have your own life

• There are small red weird flags

• He disappears for a few days with vague excuses

• He's shown up once with a bandage and a story about 'falling off a ladder' — which definitely kinda sounds like bullshit

• There's a dent in his car that looks suspiciously like a bullet graze

• You chalk it up to 'whatever weird shit he does' — he's quirky, maybe ex-military

• The reveal happens by accident — because of course it does

• You had decided to swing by his trailer unannounced — it feels natural to just drop by like that to you both — it was a sort of unplanned hangout

• You knock one, twice — no answer

• You know he's in there because the lights are on and his car is just right outside

• So, you just assume he's zoned out listening to music or something

• So, you open the door

• The sight nearly knocks the breath out of you

• Chris is sitting in his kitchen area, hunched over, half in shadow

• His Peacemaker uniform is scattered like breadcrumbs across the floor leading to him — boots, gloves, the white pants and red top peeled off and tossed aside

• He's still wearing the tighty whiteys, because of course he is, and he's currently stitching up a gash just below his left pec

• His body is bloody and covered in gashes, sweat clinging to his skin, bruises already blooming purple and yellow

• There's a bowl of murky water beside him, a whiskey bottle nearby, and Eagly just chilling on the counter like it's normal

• You're freezing, adrenaline spiking

• "Chris—what the fuck—are you—what happened?"

• His head jerked up, eyes wide like a deer in headlights

• How the fuck didn't he hear you come in

• "Shit! Wait—its not—I can explain—"

• "You're literally bleeding out—" that's a dramatic over exaggeration on your part, but it's only because you're worried. "—what the hell did you do, get in a car?!"

• He's fumbling for words, realising there's no way to cover this up — not when his literal superhero armour is lying two feet away

• He's trying to placate you — "okay, okay—just—don't freak out, alright?"

• "You're fucking bleeding, Chris! Bit late for that!"

• He exhaled, resigned

• "I'm peacemaker."

• There's a long, blank pause — you blink — he's gesturing vaguely towards the silver dove helmet on the counter

• You're silent, trying to process

• "You're serious."

• "Deadly."

• You point out plainly that he's stitching himself up in his underwear which he justified with 'hospitals ask too many questions'

• You don't run, you don't scream. You just move him to sit on the couch as you're grabbing the first aid kit

• He obeyed silently as he watched you take over — hands steady despite your heart racing a mile a minute

• The silence stretched as you cleaned, sterilised, thread the needle

• Eventually, as you worked, his expression softened — "Didn't mean for you to find out like this."

• "Yeah, I kinda gathered."

• You worked as carefully as you could, apologizing whenever he flinched

• "Nah, you're good. Been through worse."

• "That's not comforting."

• Once you were finished with the stitching, you carefully, gently, wrapped him up in gauze and cleaned all the other little scrapes and cuts

• Sure, you were a little pissed that this was how you found out — that he didn't mention anything before you almost had a heart attack in his kitchen

• He responds that he was going to, eventually

• What gets you most is under the bravado was this quiet vulnerability when he explained that others don't really stick around once finding out

• That made you sign and sit back, leaning against the couch — exhausted but not angry

• "I'm not going anywhere, dude—" your tone was reassuring, soft. "—but next time you get stabbed or whatever, maybe give me a heads-up before you start freehand surgery, yeah?"

• That made him huff out a laugh, relief flickered across his face

• "Deal."

• A short time passes

• You're both sat in this comforting silence — your hands softly trailing over his bumps and bruises with a feather-like touch, his own fingers playing with the frayed edges of the cuts in your denim jeans

• Chris broke the silence, almost hesitantly

• "So, do you have any questions? Want any explanations?"

• His head was lowered, almost shyly — your hand drifts from his wounds to his cheek, making him look at your eyes

• "I do. But it can wait until the morning."

• Your kiss was soft, tender — and was quick to escalate

• You and Chris had moved to the bedroom and spent majority of the night softly fucking — it was gentle, cautious — you were always conscious of his injuries

• In the middle, you couldn't help but adoringly tease him

• "You're a goddamn mess, y'know that?"

• "Yeah...but I'm your mess, right?"

• "Don't push it, Peacemaker."

• Yes, he was definitely your mess.

• The following day, you got your answers — you had asked many, many questions — he told you all about him being Peacemaker, the alien butterflies in people's heads, the team he's on

• You don't end up meeting them until after Murne's death unfortunately, but you grew close to the others

• The others

• His friends — his found family that you're definitely apart of

• This is where we get to both of your relationships with each others friends

• Chris with your friends at the beginning — he was a little defensive and awkward

• Not because he doesn't want to get along with them, but because he's hyper aware of how people usually see him — the guy in the chrome helmet, a little too loud, a little too much

• He doesn't know how to act around "normal" people.

• If they're punk/alt too, he relaxed faster — he recognises kindred spirits in anyone who looks like they tell authority to fuck off

• Because they're more "civilian", he feels a little like a bull in a china shop.

• He tries way too hard to impress them — cracking jokes, dropping obscure metal trivia

• You find it adorable but also gently remind him to not put up such a front, to relax

• 'just calm down and be yourself.'

• Once he realises they actually like you — and by extension, don't hate him — he becomes fiercely protective

• If anyone gives your friends grief, he's suddenly the groups unasked-for bodyguard.

• Eventually, he becomes "that weird but kind of sweet dude who'd probably kill for you but would also pick you up from jail at 2AM without judgement" friend in your friendship circle

• His friends, the 11th Street Kids

• Now, this is where it gets fun

• Let's look at them one by one

• Economos

• At first, he's shocked Chris is even capable of maintaining a relationship that isn't based on violence or chaos

• He's awkward around you, at least initially — polite, overly formal at first — but once he realises they share sarcasm as a love language, he relaxed

• You warm up quickly to teasing him affectionately — like teasing him about his IT skills or about his dye job — you do it in a way that doesn't make him feel like a 'punching bag'

• You and Economos occasionally gang up on Chris with little jokes — and that's when you know they've bonded

• Economos also low-key adores how the reader brings out Chris's softer side. He'll never say it, but he notices when Chris actually listens and smiles more

• Economos once saw Chris and the reader making dumb faces at each other through the window — they were all meeting up for food (this is definitely after youve all met and hung out a few times by now)

• The sight disarmed him so much by how normal it was that he forgot to be snarky for like, five minutes

• Harcourt

• She's initially skeptical

• She's seen Chris crash and burn — she's not about to trust easily when it comes to someone entering their circle

• She keeps an eye on you at first — not hostile, just observant

• But once she realises you can hold your own, and that you don't baby Chris, her respect grows fast

• Harcourt appreciates anyone who can give Chris shit and keep him grounded

• You doing both? That's gold in her book

• You and Harcourt aren't strangers to sharing quiet moments together — meeting up to grab some drinks so she can choose to vent or just have some company post-mission

• It's not emotional-talks friendship

• It's mutual respect, low-key protectiveness, and occasional sarcastic eye contact when Chris says something dumb

• Harcourt once caught you patching Chris up after a fight, both of you laughing over some dumb jokes

• She smiles a little before walking off — didn't say a word, but it somewhat meant a lot to witness it

• Adebayo

• Leota loves you right away

• She's got that warm energy that fits beautifully with someone punk/alt but kind-hearted

• And her love for you is cemented quickly when she spots the pride related pin that showcases that you're at least an ally (now whether you're actually apart of the community doesn't change anything in the slightest, perhaps just adds a couple added things to talk and bond over)

• She immediately teases Chris about "finally finding someone who can handle you man-child energy"

• You're quick to build up the kind of friendship with her where you can have deep, late-night talks about heavy stuff

• Leota is quick to trust you — and you, her

• She also 100% plays "therapist friend" sometimes — giving relationship advice while simultaneously enabling their bad ideas

• She and you tag-team teasing Chris constantly, and he pretends to hate it but secretly loves being included

• Leota once said to Chris, "you realise they make you a better person, right?"

• He didn't respond — just looked away — but it stuck with him

• Adrian

• Oh, Adrian adores the reader from day one — long before you guys ever actually meet in-person

• He's actually so excited that Chris has a partner

• He's basically decided you're also his best friend now

• Originally, you either:

• 1— Find his chaos hilarious and fully lean into it, or

• 2 — Has to repeatedly tell him, "No, Adrian, we're not doing that kind of double date"

• He loves how you can make Chris laugh — it reassured him that things aren't as dark as they used to be

• You become the one who mediates when Adrian and Chris start bickering

• "You're both idiots, but he's right."

• Honestly, the entire rest of the 11th Street Kids also now have someone they can shove Adrian towards whenever they can when he starts with his facts and "quiz me" moments — you're surprisingly super patient and are fine in indulging him in his interests and hobbies

• Overall, you become an honourary member of the team and a real part of the weird family dynamic they've formed — the person who brings grounding energy when everyone's spiralling

• You help bridge the gap between Chris's "I'm fine" bravado and the teams exasperated care

• You bring more music into the mix — blasting punk and metal when hanging out, giving everyone playlists, even getting Harcourt to admit she kinda likes Joan Jett

• Of course, those relationships are snippets into how they slowly progressed the longer you're dating Chris

• Now, there's two sides to what you two do as a couple — there's the sweeter, more domesticated side, and then there's the side that's fully chaotic that can be fun, reckless

• You're favourite date nights are always in places with flickering neon signs and sticky tables

• You're ordering the most ridiculous artery-clogging burgers — double bacon monstrosities dripping with cheese — and act like it's fine dining

• It's like a heart attack stacked between two buns

• Trying to toss fries into each others mouths sometimes end up escalating into full-on ketchup wars — Chris jokes its romantic combat

• After these dates, you head home smelling like fryer oil, collapse on the couch, and swear you guys will eat a salad tomorrow

• You won't

• You definitely shower together a lot — mostly out of laziness

• One of you are already in there, the other just joins because "it saves water"

• It doesn't

• Every single time Chris forgets to bring a towel, so you end up having to share one while arguing about whose fault it was

• You take turns washing each others hair

• Sometimes they just stand under the water in silence after a rough day — forehead against his chest, or vice versa, letting the sound drown everything out

• You two go shopping together at weird hours, like 11PM because "no crowds"

• You always end up bickering over cereal

• "Why do you need three kinds of chocolate cereal?"

• "Because I'm a man of variety."

• The checkout clerk knows you as "that loud couple who flirts by insulting each other"

• You have "do nothing days" where you both stay in sweatpants, watch awful reality TV, and try out-snark the people on screen

• You argue over which movie to put on, then are both falling asleep ten minutes into Die Hard 2

• Chris loves when you nap on top of him, it doesn't matter your size — he'll pretend he's annoyed about not being able to move, but he won't shift an inch

• You two also make playlists/mixed tapes for each other

• "Songs that make me think of you but also make me want to fight God."

• You make Chris mixes of gritty punk, riot grrrl, and alt rock; he makes you one of metal anthems and cheesy 80s power ballads — you argue, then admit they secretly love each others picks

• Now, before Chris — and you, kinda — move into his dad's old place (fuck you, auggie), you loved to hang out at his trailer

• It's also where a lot of fun and absolutely random things have taken place

• Impromptu karaoke night — you guys duet Don't Stop Believing for some reason and end up screaming instead of singing

• Dancing to his vinyls

• Chris has tried cooking for you and failing miserably — you definitely end up eating takeout in bed

• You started to paint together as a joke — and an entire wall was quick to be covered in weird doodles and smudged handprints. People would definitely assume you guys have kids if they saw it

• You once tried to build a shelf together and ended up laughing so hard at the instructions that the shelf's still crooked

• Redecorating his trailer was probably the most fun you guys have had in that thing — well, the most fun you guys have had was actually a different physical activity but don't you worry about that for now, you little pervert, you *wink*

• You guys hang up string lights, pin up band posters

• You even painted the trailer together — badly — but he ended up loving it anyways

• It really got you down when you pulled up after the cops raid and could see into the trailer from behind the police tape how trashed it was (I'll get into that at the very end with a bonus snippet)

• Road trips with music blasting, windows down, and both of you doing air guitar

• Your favourite tends to be the nighttime car rides, where the vibes are more chill — the silence is comforting and he's basically forcing you to hold his hand, even when shifting gears

• Speaking of; car jam sessions

• Every drive turns into a concert. Both singing — badly — and don't care who hears

• Roadside stops — random diners, sunsets, old gas stations. Small quiet moments that mean more than either of you can say

• Watching cheesy horror movies or true crime docs at 2AM

• You especially love the trashy horror marathons where you bet on who dies first — loser has to get snacks

• You two go to dive bars and do karaoke that the other patrons loathe you for

• Always picking ridiculous duets like Sweet Child O' Mine or I Believe In a Thing Called Love — Chris gets way too into it and you're just cackling the whole time

• You guys love going to local gigs and small venues — very reminiscent of the first night you guys met

• Doesn't matter if it's a punk show in a basement or a cover band in a bowling alley

• You're there, drinking cheap beer and heckling in harmony

• And concerts — you two are the perfect pit partners — Chris goes into full bodyguard mode in the mosh pit, making sure you don't get crushed.

• But he's still having the time of his life

• You also love hitting up 80s tribute nights

• Weekend ritual includes vinyl/CD hunting — thrift stores and record shops.

• You're digging through punk bins, Chris is flipping through classis metal

• You swap recs and roast each others "questionable taste"

• You guys once started a rumour that you were a "punk-metal duo" just to get free drinks at a bar

• Pranking Economos by sending him the most random cursed selfies

• Having a running competition on who can come up with the most absurd "Peacemaker facts" when people recognise him in public (which is rare)

• You definitely have quiet conversations under shitty stars talking about pasts, futures, stupid hypotheticals — everything and nothing

• You have those moments when Chris spirals after a mission

• You stay — no lectures, no pity. Just quiet grounding. You're comforting him in a way that just works for you

• Matching jackets — it starts out as a joke but then he adding a pin/patch that matches one of yours

• Sometimes, you're going to get an older tattoo touched up or a new one altogether and Chris is with you

• He's watching like its the most fascinating in the world

• One time, you both got completely plastered and you're daring him to get a tattoo — something small and something dumb

• He agrees, but only if you get one too to match

• You're both laughing incredibly hard when getting them done, Chris first, then you — only after you joke about backing out

• It's kinda hidden but both you and him know it's there and that what makes it sweet

• You definitely patch up his wounds after finding out that he's Peacemaker — usually you're grumbling at him but you're still so, so gentle

• You also have late-night heart-to-hearts where he opens up about his past

• This is when he tells you about his dad, his brother, prison, Task Force X, almost dying, and everything else that's added on to create this clusterfuck of trauma Chris is left with

• On a lighter note, when Chris — and you, kinda — move into his dad's old place, you two give this "we accidentally live together" vibe

• You're blasting The Clash while Chris tries to "MacGyver" something with duct tape and optimism

• Chris and you are so random with DIY projects — you both repaint old furniture together in ridiculous colours or cover things in stickers and patches

• You're taking Eagly to the park like a couple taking their child

• Ah, Eagly

• You still remember when you first 'met' the majestic looking bird

• You were over at his place, sitting on his couch, when Eagly stills in like it's completely fucking normal

• "Oh my god, it that a fucking eagle?"

• "Yeah. That's Eagly. He's...my best friend."

• You're laughing because obviously he's joking — until you realise he isn't

• You admit, it's kinda sweet how he calls the bird his best friend; you suppose it's not much different to someone calling their cat their baby

• There's a moment of stunned silence before—

• "Okay, I feel like theres a lot I don't know about you."

• "Yeah...uh. You could say that."

• Once the initial shock wore off, you had easily just accepted that hey, this dude you like is just super into weird, different pets — pre-finding out he's Peacemaker

• You're quick to acclimate to one another

• You've somehow become Eagly's second favourite person

• You help feed him, sometimes sneaking him bacon — you did originally ask exactly how healthy it really was for the bird to be eating people food like this but you figured if it's in small quantities, like how people give dogs pieces of their food, it shouldn't really hurt

• Once, Eagly stole one of your bracelets and dropped it on Chris's bed in front of you — a "gift", apparently

• You all sit outside sometimes, Eagly perched nearby

• Chris definitely tries to teach his feathered friend how to headbang when you guys listen to music together

• Honestly, you love Eagly, dude

• And speaking of love, we'll touch on the topic of 'love' finally

• It had been a few months since the butterflies and everything is calm for once

• You're both sort of moved in to Chris's dad's old place — not officially, but your stuff has migrated in bit by bit

• There's a toothbrush beside his

• A pile of your band tees mixed in with his tighty whiteys in the laundry

• Eagly's taken to perching on your chair instead of his

• The house feels lived-in now — not haunted

• It was a lazy afternoon, soft music playing — definitely some soft 80s rock or a punk mix you made together

• You're sat on the floor sorting through a box of vinyls

• Chris is across the room, cleaning his gear, polishing his helmet — it almost looked like he pretended to be busy

• It's quiet in that comfortable way only people who truly like each other can pull off

• Suddenly, he's looking up for no reason

• You're humming, brows furrowed, one hand holding a vinyl in its sleeve as the other is flicking through to find the perfect spot for it — you're wearing one of his old shirts

• It feels so normal — so human — and something in his chest just...clicks

• For a second, he stops breathing. He's not used to that kind of peace

• His brain, which usually screams static, goes quiet except for the thought:

• Holy shit, I love them

• The thought feels big and heavy and good for once — a soft smile growing subconsciously on his face — and before he knows it, his mouth betrays him

• Softly, absent-mindedly, not even realising he's said it aloud

• "I love you."

• It's almost a sigh — the kind you let out when something just feels right

• Though, you freeze — going still mid-motion — the record you're holding pauses halfway into the crate

• Your head is snapping up and towards him, eyes wide

• "...what?"

• Chris blinks

• He doesn't even realise what he said at first

• "You—you just said you love me."

• There's a beat of silence before his eyes wide too, like he's catching up with his own emotions in real time

• "Shit. Uh—yeah. I mean—I didn't—well, I did—but not like, you know, weirdly. It just—came out. Not that it's bad! It's good! You're good—"

• He's rambling, hands falling slightly, red creeping up his thick neck

• You're just watching him, expression softening the longer he talks himself on circles

• You interrupt him gently

• "Hey."

• He stops

• "You can breathe, you know."

• A small smile tugs at your mouth as you stand up and cross the room to him

• "You love me, huh?"

• He swallows, nodding a little, suddenly shy in a way no one ever sees from him

• "Yeah. Guess I do."

• You grin — slow, warm, a little teary

• "Good. 'Cause I love you too."

• He looks stunned, like someone just told him he won the lottery

• "You—you do?"

• "Yeah, dumbass."

• You both lean in, forehead touching, both smiling like idiots

• It's not a dramatic kiss or big cinematic moments — just a deep exhale, like they both realise this is home now

• Later, when you're back to doing your desperate things again, there's this new kind of silence — softer, safer

• Every now and then, he's glancing over and grinning, half in disbelief that someone actually said it back

• And it actually meaning something

• That night, he couldn't sleep. He was lying there with you tucked under his arm, the room dark except for moonlight leaking through the blinds

• He whispered it again, quieter that time — testing the words like he still couldn't believe they're real

• "I love you."

• Half asleep, you mumbled back—

• "Love you too, Chris."

• He smiled into the dark — a real, peaceful smile

_______________

Bonus

The mid-day air feels wrong. Too still.

Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel as you pull up to Chris’s trailer — the one that’s become so familiar to you. The place where you’d both painted the walls impulsively that burnt orange colour you picked out as a joke, only for him to admit later he kind of liked it.

But now the trailer is accosted with yellow tape with 'Do Not Cross' repeating along it. Two cops are leaning against their cruiser, bored but firm, keeping anyone from getting too close. You can only assume it's to also keep an eye out for Chris if he decides to double back there.

He won't. You know so for a fact. He isn't stupid. Just dumb.

From where you stand, you can already see the mess through the cracked door — the blinds twisted, the door half off its hinges, shards of your dumb little art projects scattered across the floor. The beer-can windchime you made him is dented. The doodled poster you did together one night — tipsy and laughing — is torn right down the middle.

It’s a punch to the gut.

You hover by your car, pacing hard grooves into the gravel, thumb hitting “call” over and over. Voicemail. Again.

Seven times.

By the eighth, you’re shaking. You can’t even pretend not to.

“Chris, it’s me. What the hell happened? There’s cops here, your trailer’s trashed— you're not answering any of my calls. Please just— call me back, okay? Just… tell me you’re fine.”

The message cuts off with a shaky breath. You clamber back into your car and sit for a long moment, staring at the place that used to feel like home. Then you drive off, knuckles white on the wheel, radio silent.

It’s dark when the phone finally rings.

Unknown number. You’re answering before the second buzz.

“Chris?! Where the fuck— where have you—”

A voice on the other end, softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Hey.”

Your chest tightens. “Don’t 'hey' me. Where are you? Are you okay?”

He chuckles, quiet, tired. “Yeah. I’m okay. Been better. Using Leota’s phone— long story.”

“Try me.”

There’s a shuffle, muffled voices somewhere behind him. Then he starts talking — about a ranch, the butterflies, something about an alien cow and a sonic boom helmet. His voice is steady but worn thin, like he’s fighting to stay standing.

You grip the phone tighter. “You’re planning to blow up a ranch?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Oh my god— Chris, you can’t just—”

“I gotta, babe.” His voice softens. “It’s what needs to be done.”

You go quiet for a second, heart hammering.

“Just… be careful, okay? All of you. Please. If you die, I'll fucking kill you myself, I swear to God.”

He exhales, a soft little huff that’s almost a laugh. “I’ll be careful.”

“I’m serious, Chris.”

That gets a real laugh out of him. “Yeah. I know.”

Then the line goes dead, leaving you staring at your reflection in the darkened screen, surrounded by a silence that feels way too heavy.

When the payphone call comes hours later, you barely let him finish his sentence before grabbing your keys.

His voice is rough but alive. “We did it.”

He tells you the name of the hospital, the floor, the ward — and that’s all you need.

You don’t remember the drive, only the way your heartbeat fills the car, only how frantic you're scanning the signs on the walls as you're jogging when you burst through a set of doors.

Then you see him.

Chris sits on the edge of a chair in the waiting area opposite the nurses station, bruised, bloody, hair a mess, and still somehow smirking when he spots you and stands. You don’t stop moving until you're crash into each other — arms around his shoulders, his arms locking around your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

“You’re okay?” you breathe, the words cracking out of you.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs against your hair. “Promise.”

You pull back enough to look him over — eyes tracing the bruises, the drying red shine that begins to crack the older it gets, the faint exhaustion in his face. You brush your fingers against his arm like you can fix it by touch alone.

Then you spot Adebayo perched in one of the chairs where Chris was just sat.

“Hey, Lee. You good?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just tired.”

Your eyes flick around the room. “Where’s Emilia? Adrian? Jon?”

His expression softens — proud, but weighed down.

“Harcourt’s in surgery. Adrian’s out cold; passed out just over there—" he nods towards where Vigilante went down like a sack of shit. "—nurses rushed him to a room. He took some serious hits. Economos snapped his leg, so he’s getting that looked at.”

You let out a shaky breath that turns into something like a laugh. “Jesus fucking Christ, you guys.”

He grins a little. “Yeah. We’re a mess.”

You rest your forehead against his, eyes closing.

“Next time, you tell me way in advance what the fuck is going on, not just before you fucking go kamikaze-ing an alien cow thing, got it?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Next time.”

You end up deciding to wait with them — the sterile smell of antiseptic and bright lights overhead overwhelming your senses. But you're calmer now, knowing that Chris is okay.

Chris is sandwiched between you and Adebayo, who you soon crushed in a hug after being caught up on everyone's current conditions. His hand is almost crushing yours with how tightly he's holding on — fingers entwined — a comforting, grounding anchor.

You're there for hours.

First, it's John that's joining you, upright using crutches. He looks exhausted and in pain but happily accepts the hug you wrap him in — of course you're concerned and relieved and asking him how he is.

Then you're all requesting any updates about Harcourt and Adrian when nurses are walking by.

They confirm that Adrian is fine, but he's completely conked out from pain meds mixed with exhaustion.

By the time a doctor comes around to give the update on Emilia, it's only you that's barely conscious — Chris, Adebayo, and Economos have dropped off slumped in their chairs.

You took it upon yourself to carefully pull yourself away from Chris to not disturb him at that moment and speak with the doctor yourself.

It's good-ish news.

She's stable but there's definitely damage that they're hopeful that, with enough rehabilitation and physio, will be reversed like she was never in such a state in the first place.

You're sighing out in relief and thanking him before gently waking the others up, telling them exactly what the doctor told you.

It's closer to mid-day by the time you and Chris are ambling through your door. Chris's trailer was still 100% not an option, even if those officers were gone and had aliens crawling its way into their heads — it was way too trashed to be considered a viable place for Chris to stay right now.

You offered Leota and John a ride but she was adamant that they were fine sharing an Uber, that you should focus on Chris.

Chris is mostly silent when you're forcing him to have a shower — you're helping him strip out of his costume, cleaning him slowly, tenderly.

Once you've dried him off, you're helping him into your bed and climbing in beside him. He's comforted by how soft the covers feel when you pull them up over the both of you and the heat from your body is drawing him in.

His head is on your chest and you're cuddling him close, nothing but sweet kisses and silent touches. There's daylight filtering into the room between the cracks of the blinds but you're both so tired, so drained.

He's drifting off slowly in your hold surrounded by the comfort you're offering him. Your steady pulse thumping beneath his ear, lulling him. It's the most precious lullaby he's ever heard.

"Thank you."

It's quiet and mumbled, like a drunken slur, barely coherent — but you hear it all the same.

All you offer in response is a lingering kiss to his forehead.

_______________

This is not proofread

And it's probably shit

And I'M SORRY ITS SO LONG

But anyways

Thank you for taking the time to read if you've gotten this far

• Now, it's nearing Halloween and you're getting excited because who doesn't love spooky season, bitch?

• John has seen first hand how quick you were to begin decorating the apartment up, even going out and buying more decorations than you probably needed

• Hell, even your pjs were prime time spooks fest now

• So, John figured, since you're really into Halloween, surely you'd wanna do some serious Horror movie Marathons, right?

• But, to his absolute horror *HA* you're not really into the super scary, gory kinda side of Halloween

• Long story short, you're an absolute wuss — a scaredy cat

• The scariest stuff you've watched has always been initially targeted towards a younger audience like:

• Coraline — Monster House — ParaNorman — Frankenweenie — The Nightmare Before Christmas — Hotel Transylvania — Ghostbusters — Bettlejuice — Hocus Pocus — both Addams Family movies — Casper — Gremlins

• You've also totally argued that you've seen movies with the word "Horror" in the titles — little Shop of Horrors, Rocky Horror Picture Show — but you suppose you liked them because they're campy and catchy, and not the Crystal Lake kind of camp-y

• Like, you've definitely watched stuff like Warm Bodies, also arguing that it's technically zombies but also technically a rom-com

• John's mind is already made up that you're having a mini-horror movie marathon closer to Halloween, like one movie a night type deal

• You reluctantly agree but suppose it couldn't be that bad

• John has already got some classics to watch with you

• Not like the actual old classics from between the 1910s to the 1950s kind of movies like Dracula, Frankenstein, Wolf Man, Invisible Man, Black Lagoon, Body Snatchers, The Fly ect.

• We're talking about Slasher Founding Fathers, Sci-Fi and creature, paranormal and supernatural, and undead kind of vibes — those kind of classics, well, what he calls classics

• He also secretly loves the 90s-Early 2000s horror that he won't always admit he's nostalgic for, but absolutely is, like Final Destination, The Ring, Jeepers Creepers, Blair Witch, IKWYDLS, and The Sixth Sense

• Essentially, his classics are those which stem from the actual classics

• But anyways...

• Your marathon is going to be the perfect five-night countdown to Halloween

————————

Night 1

• John decides to start off your five night fright fest with some good ol' Michael Myers

• Halloween

• Now, you're going into this a little cocky because how scary can a movie from the 70s really be

• “It’s like… old,” you insist, waving a hand like that somehow negates the concept of fear itself

• John smirks, tosses a handful of popcorn into his mouth and mutters, “Yeah, sure, that’s what everyone says right before they start clutchin’ the couch cushions like it owes ‘em money”

• Ten minutes in, you’re already side-eyeing every shadow

• The score alone is giving you anxiety — that creepy, minimal “da-da-da-da-da-da-da” gets under your skin fast

• When Michael pops up behind Laurie for the first time, you're quickly shouting out "Oh my God!" and instinctively bury yourself into his arm

• John tries — tries — to act casual but he’s absolutely preening

• Inside he’s a little proud that he's now the defacto protector, the one who's finally the bravest in the room, and that you're looking to find comfort in him of all people

• By the end, you’re pressed so far into his side you might as well be part of his hoodie

• The credits roll and you’re still staring at the screen like if you blink, Michael might appear behind you

• John teases you the whole rest of the night:

• “Remember how old it was? Totally not scary, right?”

• It's almost like your glowering at him

• You threaten to revoke his candy privileges but he’s too busy grinning like an idiot because you’re actually cuddling him

—

The movie opens quiet, eerie. You’re chewing on popcorn, trying to pretend you’re fine while the camera moves through the dark house from a strange, almost human perspective accompanied alongside this weird-ass breathing through a mask and some creepy music.

“Why’s it looking through the mask like that?” you whisper.

John's grinning, already knows what’s coming. "You'll see."

“‘You’ll see,’” you mimic, side-eyeing him. “You’re such a shit sometimes.”

You lean forward, squinting, and then the hand with the knife appears. “Oh fuck,” you hiss. Then the little masked figure starts stabbing. Over and over. You're jerking back into the couch cushions as the camera jerks around like you're the one doing it.

John’s chuckling, trying to act cool even though the creepy breathing through the mask still gets under his skin a little. You’re hiding behind your hands when the camera steps outside, and the parents pull off the mask—

A little boy. Blonde hair. Bloody knife. Blank face.

"It's a fucking child?! Jesus, fuck—"

John laughs, “Yup. Six years old and already stabbin' folks. Been off the deepend since kindergarten."

You slap his arm. “That's not funny! Ugh, I’m out. Demonic preschoolers are my limit.”

He just grins wider, draping his arm over your shoulders. “Too late. We’re in this till the credits. Better buckle the fuck up."

You glare at him, scoot closer anyway, and hiss, “If some random kid knocks on the door on Halloween, you’re answering it.”

"Deal," he snorts.

A silence settles between you for a beat as you're focusing back on the movie before, "Please tell me it's not just some kid for the rest of the film."

Shoulders are shrugged and eyebrows quickly flick up, even with the teasing tilt of the corner of his mouth obviously suggesting he does damn well know.

————————

Night 2

• The following night it's Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and you're probably nowhere near as confident as you were last night

• You’re already nervous before the opening credits even start

• “I don’t like the name. Why does it have to be chainsaw? That’s too specific.”

• John’s just beaming — this is peak spooky season bonding in his book

• You last… maybe seven minutes before the first “Nope!”

• Every loud noise, every shot of the desolate countryside has you curling closer, clutching his arm

• The meat hook scene? You jump and bury your face in John’s shoulder like it’s a survival mechanism

• “Oh fuck, that’s disgusting!” you shout

• "It’s practical effects, dude. That’s art.”

• “That’s trauma.”

• You spend the rest of the movie peeking through your fingers, muttering about “poor Sally” and vowing to never road trip through Texas

• EVER

• When it’s over, John’s looking smug as hell seeing as you're still clutching on to him like the velcro on a shoe

• Then you're pausing and pulling back enough to look at him, feigned wariness

• "Didn't you say you killed an alien-bear thing with a chainsaw before?"

• He's throwing his head back and laughing so loud you'd swear the walls shook

• "Y'got nothing to worry about, you're nowhere near as fucking hairy — well, at least on date nights."

• You throw popcorn at him, calling him a right twat with all the seriousness of a clown in a joke shop

—

You’ve gone quiet. Like, too quiet. The movie’s all screaming and metal noise and sweaty close-ups, and you’re under your blanket, peeking through one little corner like you’re watching a snuff film.

"Oh, for fuck sakes, Sally, ya silly bitch." John was dying to laugh at your exasperated berating of the girl when she got captured before the whole dinner scene.

“Why the fuck are they laughing like that?” you whisper.

John’s pretending he’s fine, voice a little shaky. “It’s, uh—yeah, they’re…eccentric.”

“Eccentric?! They’re eating people!”

Leatherface drags the old man’s hand toward Sally’s head and before you know it he's slamming the table, Sally’s screaming her lungs out, and you just lose it. “OH FUCK NO. Nope, absolutely the fuck not—TURN IT OFF.”

On screen, everyone’s screaming. In real life, you’re screaming. John’s gripping the remote like it’s a weapon. John’s cackling even though he’s pale as hell. “Yeah, okay, maybe this one’s a little fuckin' intense…Though it's still a classic."

“THIS ISN’T CLASSIC, THIS IS TRAUMA WRAPPED IN A SHITTING SKINSUIT!” you shout, clutching his arm like you’re about to start praying.

The dinner scene drags on, chaotic and loud, and by the end, you’re sweating like you ran a marathon.

Then you're jumping out of skin and releasing another shrill shout when there's a deep, reverberating knocking at the door.

John's laughing as he gets up, being reminded about the pizza he decided to surprise you with — having ordered it during a bathroom break. He's quick in opening the door, exchanging one dough for the other, offering a thanks and returning with the box. God, it smells great but you have half a mind to start beating the holy hell out of him when he flips the lid open.

"Are you taking the piss? MEAT FEAST? PEPPERONI SLICES? REALLY?"

John's only falling back into maniacal cackles as he's already separating a slice off for himself. "Alright, yeah, I'll admit I didn't think it through about the toppings."

————————

Night 3

• It's time for a little Voorhees galore now in Friday the 13th

• You’re feeling brave again — “It’s a summer camp movie! How bad can that be?”

• John just hums knowingly

• The first few kills catch you off guard but it’s not too bad… until that last act

• When Mrs. Voorhees goes full psycho, you’re holding a pillow up like a shield and you're close to reciting bible passages like a priest trying to exorcise a soul

• “Why does she keep fuckin' smiling like that?!”

• John’s not even watching the movie half the time; he’s watching you flinch and gasp and swear you hear noises in the kitchen

• The final jump scare — you both scream

• You clutch his sleeve, he jumps out of his skin, popcorn goes flying

• There’s a moment of mutual silence before he clears his throat and says, “See? You’re not the only one who gets the shit scared out of them. That’s called empathetic watching.”

• You’re unconvinced

• When you go to bed that night, you make him check under the bed “just in case Jason’s career took a wrong turn and he’s living in your apartment now.”

• John does it

• Because he’s a gentleman

• And also slightly paranoid

—

“See, this is where you leave,” you say as the couple, Jack and Marcie, sneak off to a cabin on-screen. “You hear weird noises? You go home. End of movie.”

John smirks. “Yeah, well, horny teenagers don’t do logic.”

You roll your eyes. The rain is tapping against the windows, and you mutter, “i just don't understand why people make stupid-ass decisions. You don’t go have fun in the murder woods.”

Still smirking, he responds, “You say that like you’ve been invited to murder woods before.”

You give him a look, “It’s called situational awareness, John.”

Then the arrow scene hits. You yelp — actually yelp —and grab John’s arm in a tight, grounding grip. “WHAT THE FUCK?! Where did that even come from?! Jesus Christ, Bacon just got skewered!”

John jumps too, popcorn flying everywhere. “Holy—shit! Okay, yeah, forgot how nasty that was.”

You’re half hiding in his shoulder, peeking at the screen like it’s radioactive. “This is bullshit. I didn’t sign up for impalement.”

Then Marcie goes into the bathroom. You’re shaking your head already, covering your eyes as Marcie walks toward the bathroom. “Nope. Nope, she’s not making it.”

“She might be fine,” John lies blatantly.

And then the axe drops.

You shriek, full volume. “OH MY GOD! What the fuck is wrong with these movies?!”

“Okay, nope, she’s not fine!” John's laughing uncontrollably now.

“She just got fucking ax-murdered!” You peek between your fingers, grimacing. “That’s it. Camp is cancelled. Forever. Everyone dies. Never even debating going camping again."

He grins, voice soft but smug. “Hey, at least you’re learning the rules — and you got good instincts, babe. Survival skills.”

You deadpan, “Yeah, they’re called don’t go anywhere near horny teenagers or lakes. And as for rules—" you scoff, "—rule number one: never trust your boyfriend’s movie suggestions.”

————————

Night 4

• Now, this isn't the type of movie that John calls classic like the last three, but even he can admit that The Conjuring is well fucking good all things considered

• “Okay, babe, so this one’s based on a true story,” John says casually

• You immediately throw a blanket at him — “WHY would you start with that?!”

• Within five minutes you regret every life choice that led you to this moment

• The clapping scene?

• You scream so loud the neighbor’s dog starts barking

• John pauses the movie because he’s laughing too hard

• “You’re evil."

• You're almost pouting but you're still balled up into him for safety, for comfort

• “Nah,” he chuckles, “just enjoyin’ my role as your emotional support beard.”

• You’re practically curled up in his lap for the last half of the movie

• Fucking haunted houses. Fucking creepy basements. Fucking creepy ass moms.

• You actually debate bolting through the door and never coming back when she starts levitating upside down in that chair

• When the credits roll, you refuse to move

• “If I get up, something’s gonna grab my ankle.”

• “It’s fine. If anything grabs you, I’ll suplex it.”

• “You can’t suplex ghosts, John.”

• “I can try.”

• You sleep with the lights on that night

• John feels a little bad for I guess traumatising you is the term we'll use, especially when he clapped right behind you when you were coming out the bathroom after a pee break

• But he supposes it's a good sign you're still using him to protect yourself from the cinematic demons

—

You’ve been quiet for the past ten minutes, gripping your blanket like it’s a safety harness. “If that thing claps again, I’m fucking leaving.”

John’s snickering, but there’s a nervous edge. “You’re good. It’s just a movie.”

You’re already shaking your head. When the girl start sleepwalking again, you whisper, “Nope. No kids. No sleepwalking. I don’t do possessed children.”

Shoulders tense, eyes not leaving the screen as the older sister tucks the younger girl in bed and there's this knocking sound coming from the wardrobe. You're muttering "oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," with every slow step she takes towards the wardrobe, the younger sister sitting back up in bed.

You jolt a little when she's swinging the doors open, revealing nothing. But then the camera is quickly panning up and there's Bathsheba crouched on top of the wardrobe, pale and snarling.

You scream bloody murder and nearly climb on top of John.

“FUCK OFF—WHAT IS THAT?! WHY IS SHE UP THERE—?”

John’s yelling too, “HOLY SHIT!” but he’s also laughing because you’ve got a death grip on his hoodie.

“She fucking jumped! Did you see that?! She jumped!” you’re shouting into his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw—holy shit, my heart!” he wheezes, holding you tighter.

“She was on top the wardrobe.”

“Yeah, well—at least it’s not ours.”

You bury your face in his chest, mumbling, “I hate you. I hate this. I hate furniture.” You're still shaking as you lift your head up to look at him, your face deadly serious. "We're getting rid of the wardrobe, hell, we're burning the fucking thing, I don't care."

He doesn’t argue. In fact, John practically indulges you. “Fine by me. Clothes can live on the floor now.”

“Good,” you mutter. “Ghosts can’t haunt piles of laundry.” You think — you hope.

He chuckles softly, “Not with our laundry, no. They’d run the fuck away.”

————————

Night 5

• John calls it the “perfect finale” — “A little slasher, a little self-aware humor. You’ll like this one.”

• SCREAM

• He’s right

• You’re actually laughing more than screaming for once

• You start predicting who the killer is halfway through like you’re on CSI: Woodsboro

• “It’s him. No wait, it’s totally her. Actually, maybe they’re both psychos.”

• John’s smirking a little, feeling proud that you're actually getting into the swing of becoming a horror enjoyer with your guesses and bets on who'll live right up until the credits — he's playing along with the bets even though he's seen them a thousand times and knows the outcome, obviously

• When the big reveal happens, you gasp dramatically and throw your blanket like a judge’s gavel — “MOTHERFUCKING CALLED IT!”

• John gives you a high five

• By the end, you’re kind of buzzing — scared, but also proud you made it through the whole five nights (BARELY)

• “See? You’re basically a super fucking hot horror pro now.”

• “No. I’m a survivor. There’s a difference.”

• Your tone is serious yet holds that flare of added dramatics

• He's chuckles, wrapping his arm around you

• “Guess next year we’re doin’ Final Destination week.”

• You glare, but your smile betrays you — because deep down, you kinda liked the excuse to hold onto him for five nights straight

• He likes it too

—

You’ve got your legs tucked under you, blanket around your shoulders, watching as Randy monologues in front of the TV.

John’s grinning like he’s watching a documentary on his favorite topic: cinematic survival.

“Rule number one,” Randy says, “you can never have sex.”

You snort. “Well, we're absolutely fucked, then." You're side eyeing him with a playful smirk.

John elbows you lightly. “Hey, don’t ruin my immersion, babe.”

Then Stu's saying it — “I’ll be right back” — backing out the room, Randy calling out after him about meeting him in the kitchen with a knife.

“Hey, isn't that, like, a reference to Bobby's death in Halloween?" You ask casually, sipping your drink.

John glances over. “You actually recognized that?”

You shrug. “Yeah! When he says, ‘See you in the kitchen with a knife,’ it’s totally a nod to Myers straight up ending Bob in the kitchen when he goes to grab a beer—”

“Look at you,” John teases, eyes soft, “all horror-literate now.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you murmur, smiling anyway, before your eyebrows scrunch in thought. "Wouldn't it technically be a callback to the start of the movie too? When Casey's on the phone, playing with the knives on the phone?"

"Oh fuck. Even I never thought of that connection. How in the fuck did you?" John looks at you, impressed. “Little horror nerd in training.”

"Okay. Rude."

As Ghostface lurks behind Randy on screen, you instinctively grab John’s hand again. He squeezes it, grinning, “You’re kinda adorable when you’re terrified.”

“Shut up and pay attention,” you whisper back, “we gotta survive this.” And by "we", you definitely were referring to yourself and Randy.

And when the chaos erupts and the characters start dropping like flies, John just laughs under his breath—quiet, proud, and a little smug—because somehow, you’ve made it through five nights of horror and you’re still here. Still jumpy. Still cuddled up against him.

Even if you did scream "FUCK OFF!" at Billy's fake out death where he pops back up.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

By the end of the movie, you're damn glad at least Randy was one of the survivors, claiming he was definitely one of your favourite characters, and "that he's obviously alive through the rest of the franchise." John won't correct you — he'll spare you the utter despair of his shitty death in the sequel.

—

You made it — somehow — to November 1st.

Trick-or-treating in your building was pretty low-key this year; just a handful of kids from down the hall, all decked out in sparkly capes and light-up masks. Luckily, after nearly a full week of horror movies featuring way too many creepy children, you managed to hand out candy without flinching. You even complimented every costume like a pro.

John’s proud of you, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. He loved those nights when you’d curl up beside him and clutch his arm whenever something jumped out of the shadows—but he loves this version of you more. The relaxed one. The one who’s warm and soft against his side, breathing steady instead of holding your breath through every scene.

That’s why tonight, there’s no more haunted houses or demons or cursed videotapes. Just you, John, and Monster House.

He let you pick this one. You’ve earned it, after surviving five nights of his “essential horror education.”

And truth be told, he’s barely watching the screen. His attention’s entirely on you—mouthing along to every line, completely lost in the story you’ve seen a dozen times before. Every small shift in your expression keeps him hooked: your eyebrows knit in concern, your lips twitch when something funny happens, and that big, bright smile that shows up when everything turns out okay.

That’s his favorite part of the night.

Well, except maybe for when you get misty-eyed during Nebbercracker’s speech near the end. That one always gets you, and John’s heart melts just a little more every time.

When the credits roll, you stay curled against him, the glow from the TV painting the room in soft colors.

“See?” you murmur, half teasing. “No nightmares tonight.”

John chuckles, his arm tightening around you. “Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable. Next year, we’re starting with The Exorcist."

You groan and nudge him in the ribs, but he just laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Alright, alright,” he says softly. “Maybe we’ll stick with something more you friendly.”

You hum contentedly, settling deeper into his chest. Outside, the last echoes of Halloween fade into quiet November air, and for once, there’s nothing lurking in the shadows—just you, John, and a warm, peaceful kind of silence.

_______________

I thought it was a good idea to pose this near Halloween considering the vibe/topic of the request

But anyways

I hope you liked it