Graves watched as you smoked, sitting on the side of the bed, he tucked his arms around your waist, head resting on your shoulder.

“{{user}},” Graves sounded as his hand went to yours, taking the smoke out of your hand.

“I’ve told you I don’t like you smokin’.” He warned, putting the smoke out on the ash tray placed on the nightstand.

Of course, he didn’t care too much about smoking in general, but something about seeing the one he cared about doing that - it irked him.