i DO indeed want to hear about you jerking off to me and all the perverted stuff you thought of you must inform me about it expeditiously. how is it fair that you get to jerk off to me and i donāt get to jerk off to hearing about it š
john f. kennedy, senator at the time, is seen recovering from spinal operations in winter of 1954, by his side is his wife, jacqueline bouvier kennedy.
you two definitely meet when jack, or rather joe senior, is trying to bribe jack's way into the naval academy despite his various medical ailments...
you're the only nurse that actually is able to convince the head doctor at the massachusetts hospital you work at to give jack the go-ahead, so naturally you and jack become fast friends... though the term in this case is used VERY fast and loose
in between feeling very sorry for himself jack would definitely beg, and be successful, in having you to sneak out with him to go to high society parties on the cape saying that they're "for the betterment of his health"
after a few times of this happening during his medical stay, you now have made it routine to always bring an overnight doctor's bag to your shift fit with: a tipping coat, oxford shirt, cummerbund, and a wool pique bow tie.
you'd also bring a change of clothes to change out of your normal nursing uniform... which in my personal mind palace looks like that one flashback scene of miss alison dilaurentis in the hospital but more elevated
think a nice candy striped dress shirt in a starched cotton with a silk vest on top or a nice white, 100% cotton midi dress
would soooo bitch and moan for you to get him real bedding instead of those nasty polyester hospital sheets
he feels at home wrapped up in baby cashmere who can blame him? not i... not i
in the early days you're not taking him, or your "relationship" seriously as it appeared that he didn't either
but... that all changes once he finally starts to open up slowly but surely, starting with his feelings around his own health, and moving onto his family and their less than psychologically beneficial dynamics...
makes you feed him pomegranate seeds like a baby deer in bed and not a twenty-something man
when his family comes to visit him (which is less often than you think he secretly would like) you indulge in his request for you to apply a bit of rouge to his cheeks just so his family doesn't worry that he's approaching death's door
does he skim or is he just a very, very fast reader? the world, and you for that matter, may never know...
once he's in a more stable condition and thereby is let out for visitations on the weekend he stays with his family for the day, no doubt sailing on cape as instructed by his medical team, yet then he books a local boutique cape hotel for the two of you to stay the night.
he doesn't tell his family about whom and where he spends those weekend evenings and you definitely don't tell your boss that you just stayed at the hyannis travel inn with a certain trust fund patient of theirs
he gets sick of the hospital food real fast so you brave your way into the hospital kitchen and cook him steak and potatoes like you've got a high school crush...
how you and him are moving on days you're not working once he's out of the hospital:
these photos are very you and him coded. the first is so him carrying you bridal style to his private (cause we know that's one thing joe sr. doesn't play about) hospital room despite him being in the hospital for an AILING SPINE. the second is you two absolutely tearing it up at hyannis port, having fun meanwhile his family is confused like didn't we see this girl at hospital check-in... curious, curious indeed
scissoring blurb, think of whoever you want ā¤ļø
everything that surrounded you was pure bliss, starting off with the view of your girlfriend on top of you, rubbing her wet pussy on yours soaking as well.
āhmmā¦ you feel so goodā¦ā
her moans are so rare yet so ethereal. her hair brushed against your face once in while when she could hover herself. she loved the sight of your face contorted in pleasure, your tits slightly bounced with every thrust, and she would grope them anytime she wanted.
her hands gripped on you faster time by time, feeling the sensation of her wetness painting your body, your swollen clits bumping against each other with so much lust. she wanted to own you, she needed to show you that you were hers.
āmmhā¦ agh! no one could ever have you like this, right? youāre my good girl, my sweet good girlā
she peppered kiss all over your leg, you would try to cover your face with the palm of your hand: the squelching sound of your cunts kissing was making you feel embarrassed, that until she moved your hand to shook it with hers.
ādonāt cover that beautiful faceā¦ you look so fucking beautifulā¦ā
A = Affection: how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?
ā Heās very tactile. His affection often comes through teasing and quiet gestures rather than words, resting his chin on your shoulder, ruffling your hair, absentmindedly holding your hand under the table.
B = Best friend: what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?
ā He's so annoying. Heāll make fun of you relentlessly, but heās also the one walking you home and all that. Youād probably want to strangle him half the time, but the other half youād realize he genuinely cares, even if he shows it in sideways ways.
C = Cuddles: do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?
ā He likes cuddling more than heāll admit. Itās not soft at first, heāll flop over you, squirm... but the second you settle, he does too. He likes lying on top of you or wrapping himself around you like a koala, holding tight as if youāll vanish if he lets go.
D = Domestic: do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?
ā Heās not naturally domestic. Though heāll mess around in the kitchen for fun if youāre doing it too. Heās messy but not dirty. Settling down isnāt something he plans, but deep down he wants that sense of home.
E = Ending: if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?
ā He'd probably act weird for a while. Heād likely act out first, becoming distant or mean to push you away rather than sitting down and explaining things. When he finally ends it, it would come out blunt, maybe cruel.
F = Fiance(e): how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?
ā Commitment doesnāt scare him as much as it should... heās impulsive enough to dive into it without thinking it through. Marriage feels more like something to do than a big romantic ideal.
G = Gentle: how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?
ā Physically, he can be gentle when he remembers to be. Emotionally, itās harder. His temper and bluntness make tenderness difficult. Heās better at showing gentleness through small gestures than grand ones, like brushing your hair out of your face mid-conversation or wrapping a scarf around you before you leave.
H = Hugs: do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?
ā He loves hugs! His hugs are tight and a little rough, the kind that lift you off the ground or trap you until you squirm. He does it often, especially if heās missed you. When heās sad or tired, though, his hugs linger; heāll stay quiet for once, holding on like he needs to recharge from you.
I = I love you: how fast do they say the L-word?
ā Heād blurt it out without realizing. āLove you, yāknow,ā said offhand, then immediate deflection: āDonāt get soppy about it.ā Once he says it, he means it, and he is definitely comfortable saying it often.
J = Jealousy: how jealous do they get? what do they do when theyāre jealous?
ā Heās extremely jealous. He gets possessive fast, especially if he thinks someone else is trying to take your attention. His whole mood changes. If heās really bothered, heāll make some biting comment to remind everyone youāre his, even if it starts an argument later.
K = Kisses: what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?
ā Johnās kisses are unpredictable. Sometimes quick and teasing, other times long and desperate, like heās trying to prove something. He likes kissing your neck or the corner of your mouth, places that make you react. He enjoys being kissed anywhere youāre bold enough to reach.
L = Little ones: how are they around children?
ā Heās awkward around kids. He likes them in theory, but he doesnāt really know what to do with them. If a child likes him first, though, he softens instantly. Pulls faces, makes silly jokes, acts like a big kid himself.
M = Morning: how are mornings spent with them?
ā Heās not a morning person. Expect groaning, messy hair, and bullshit coming out of his mouth before he even opens his eyes. Heāll pull you back into bed if you try to get up, grumbling āfive more minutes.ā
N = Night: how are nights spent with them?
ā Nights are when he softens. He talks more, tells stories, hums tunes that havenāt been written yet. He likes lying beside you in the dark, the world quiet, when he can be honest without feeling exposed. Sometimes heās restless, pacing or writing, but he always ends up back in bed next to you, even if itās at 3 a.m.
O = Open: when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?
ā It takes a while for him to really open up. Once he trusts you, though, everything comes out at once. Heās not good at gradual vulnerability; itās all or nothing.
P = Patience: how easily angered are they?
ā Not his strong suit. Heās quick to anger, especially when he feels misunderstood. He cools off just as fast but doesnāt always apologize right away. With people he cares about, he tries to hold it in, pacing or going quiet instead of lashing out, but itās a work in progress.
Q = Quizzes: how much would they remember about you?
ā He remembers weirdly specific things... but forgets practical stuff like appointments. He notices patterns and moods more than details. Youāll mention something once and heāll bring it up weeks later like heād been thinking about it the whole time.
R = Remember: what is their favorite moment in your relationship?
ā His favorite moment in a relationship would probably be something simple... walking home after a gig, sharing a cigarette, or laughing over something dumb. He loves moments where he feels normal, not āJohn Lennon of the Beatles.ā
S = Security: how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?
ā Protective... He doesnāt want to be overbearing, but he wonāt let anyone disrespect you. Heās verbal about it too!
T = Try: how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?
ā He tries more than people give him credit for. Gifts are personal, usually something symbolic. Everyday effort is harder for him, but he shows it in consistency! Calling when he can, showing up when it matters.
U = Ugly: what would be some bad habits of theirs?
ā Bad habits? Plenty. Impulsive, moody, self-sabotaging. He uses humor to dodge real emotion, says things he doesnāt mean when heās angry, and sometimes withdraws completely when he feels guilty. Heās hard to read, and harder to argue with.
V = Vanity: how concerned are they with their looks?
ā Heās vain, but not in the polished way. He cares deeply about how heās perceived, even if he pretends not to. He spends ages messing with his hair, fussing with clothes, criticizing photos of himself.
W = Whole: would they feel incomplete without you?
ā Johnās the type to feel incomplete without someone he loves. He thrives on connection, even chaos feels manageable if heās got someone steady beside him. He doesnāt want to depend on anyone, but he does.
X = Xtra: a random headcanon for them.
ā He always steals things... your lighter, your pen, your socks, and swears theyāre his. Youāll find them in his pockets days later. He calls it āborrowingā but never gives them back.
Y = Yuck: what are some things they wouldnāt like, either in general or in a partner?
ā He hates fake people and shallow conversations. Canāt stand being ignored. Doesnāt like partners who play games or act distant on purpose. Also hates silence during arguments; heād rather hash it out than let it simmer.
Z = Zzz: what is a sleep habit of theirs?
ā He sleeps tangled up in blankets and you. Always sprawled, mouth slightly open, one arm thrown across you like a claim. Talks in his sleep sometimes...
A = Affection: how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?
ā Heās not the type to constantly hang off you in public, heād rather give you a look across the room, one that says I like you more than I should right now. His affection shows up in subtler ways: saving you the last cigarette, fixing your collar before a photo, slipping his hand into yours at random times. Though, he can get clingy without meaning to. Leaning on you while tuning his guitar, brushing your arm just to remind himself youāre there.
B = Best friend: what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?
ā He would also be annoying. Heād remember embarassing things you said weeks ago just to bring them up when you least expect it. Heās not effusive, but he shows up when you need him most. Heāll be there with a pack of crisps and a āDonāt cry, itās not worth it,ā kind of pep talk.
C = Cuddles: do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?
ā He loves to cuddle, but itās got to be on his terms. If you initiate it, heāll pretend to resist, āOh, get off, will ya?ā, but like two minutes later he's suffocating you. Expect him to shift a lot until heās found the exact position that lets him breathe and hold you at the same time.
D = Domestic: do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?
ā Surprisingly decent when it comes to chores. Heās not naturally tidy, but he hates mess piling up. He can cook a few things... toast, tea, maybe eggs if heās feeling inspired. He wants to settle down, but not too early.
E = Ending: if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?
ā Heād be direct but kind. Heād try to make sure you understood it wasnāt cruelly done, but heād also want to rip the bandage off cleanly.
F = Fiance(e): how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?
ā Commitment means something serious to him, and he wouldnāt jump into engagement quickly. Heād need to know, like really, truly know, you before even considering it. When heās sure, though, heās all in.
G = Gentle: how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?
ā Heās gentle in bursts, not constantly. Physically, yes, his touch is careful, his hands always checking if youāre comfortable, but emotionally, he has moments of sharpness. When heās frustrated or tired, his tone can cut without meaning to.
H = Hugs: do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?
ā George loves hugs. His hugs are tight and warm. Over time, he relaxes into them. Heās the type to rest his chin on your shoulder and sigh.
I = I love you: how fast do they say the L-word?
ā He's quick to say it. Once he says it, he means it completely. Expect it to slip out during an unguarded moment, probably while youāre laughing together or right before he leaves for a tour. And once itās said, heāll repeat it more easily, as though the damās broken.
J = Jealousy: how jealous do they get? what do they do when theyāre jealous?
ā He gets jealous. Badly. He wonāt make a scene, but youāll feel it. His voice goes sharper, jokes get more biting, and he gets oddly quiet if he sees someone flirting with you. Later, heāll mutter something like, āHe was starinā at you all night,ā and youāll have to talk him down.
K = Kisses: what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?
ā His kisses are playful most of the time... quick, teasing, sometimes interrupted by laughter. But when heās serious, theyāre slow, steady, and he tends to linger after, forehead pressed to yours. He loves kissing your cheeks and neck, anywhere he can make you squirm or laugh. He likes being kissed behind the ear; it makes him melt,.
L = Little ones: how are they around children?
ā Heās surprisingly good with kids once he relaxes. At first, heās awkward, doesnāt know what to say, but once they start laughing, heās down on the floor with them and making up stories.
M = Morning: how are mornings spent with them?
ā Heās grumpy in the mornings. Doesnāt talk much until heās had a cup of tea, hair sticking up everywhere, eyes half-shut. But if youāre around, he softens faster. Heāll mumble a āmorninā, loveā before shuffling back to bed with you, insisting thereās āno point getting up yet.ā
N = Night: how are nights spent with them?
ā Nights are when heās most himself. Heāll talk for hours, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, saying things heād never bring up in daylight. He likes soft light, quiet music playing, the two of you tucked up together with the world shut out. Itās his favorite time to be honest.
O = Open: when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?
ā It takes a while for George to really open up. Heās cautious, especially about the things that bother him. Heāll reveal bits slowly, one story at a time, one sarcastic comment that actually means more than it sounds. When he finally trusts you, itās full transparency, no filter.
P = Patience: how easily angered are they?
ā He tries, but his patience has limits. Heās quick to get annoyed, especially when people talk over him or treat him like heās not paying attention. With you, though, he works harder at it. Heāll sigh, mutter something under his breath, then calm himself before saying anything sharp.
Q = Quizzes: how much would they remember about you?
ā He remembers a lot. Down to the smallest detail. He might not make a big deal of it, but heāll recall your favorite sweets, your least favorite song, all that stuff.
R = Remember: what is their favorite moment in your relationship?
ā His favorite moment would be something sweet. Maybe the first time you both stayed up until dawn talking, or a day spent doing absolutely nothing.
S = Security: how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?
ā Protective in subtle ways. Heās not one to make a scene, but if someone says something off to you, heāll step in with a deceptively calm āYou got somethinā to say?ā He doesnāt like dramatics, but he wonāt tolerate anyone disrespecting you. In return, he feels safest when you treat him like a person, not a Beatle, when you listen, not just look.
T = Try: how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?
ā George puts real effort into the things that matter. Heās not showy about it, but he remembers anniversaries, plans simple dates that mean something, writes you silly songs when heās bored. If heās into you, heās in it... no halfway measures.
U = Ugly: what would be some bad habits of theirs?
ā He can be moody, sarcastic, and sometimes takes things too personally. Heāll withdraw instead of talking about whatās wrong, which can be frustrating. Also: leaves his things everywhere. Youāll find things in pockets, sheets, your bag... everywhere.
V = Vanity: how concerned are they with their looks?
ā He absolutely cares about how he looks, though heād scoff if you said so. But he also doesnāt like being too polished, he prefers looking effortlessly cool, even if it takes effort to get there.
W = Whole: would they feel incomplete without you?
ā When heās really in love, he feels your absence like a missing chord. You complete him in the sense that you ground him, remind him who he is outside the fame and noise. Heād never admit heās incomplete without you, but heād act like it.
X = Xtra: a random headcanon for them.
ā George collects little things you give him and hides them away. Ticket stubs, notes, a button that fell off your coat once. He doesnāt tell you, but he keeps them in a small box in his guitar case. Sometimes, on long tours, he looks through it to feel closer to you.
Y = Yuck: what are some things they wouldnāt like, either in general or in a partner?
ā He hates fake people, forced small talk, and anyone who acts superior. In a partner, dishonesty and insincerity are dealbreakers. He can handle quirks, temper, even distance, but not someone who plays games.
Z = Zzz: what is a sleep habit of theirs?
ā He falls asleep easily once heās comfortable. Light snorer, sprawls all over the bed, sometimes talking in his sleep... usually mumbled bits of nonsense. He loves falling asleep with the radio on low and your fingers tracing patterns on his arm.
A = Affection: how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?
ā Ringoās the kind of affectionate that sneaks up on you. Heās not overly touchy in public, he saves that for when it counts. Heāll ruffle your hair, pinch your cheek, and things like that. Heās not good at flowery words, but heās consistent, and thatās its own kind of affection!
B = Best friend: what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?
ā Heās the kind whoād be there for you at 2 a.m. without question, but heād also hide your lighter just to see you curse him out. He likes people who donāt take themselves too seriously.
C = Cuddles: do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?
ā Heās more of a sprawler than a cuddler. He likes to have you there beside him, maybe with your legs tangled together, an arm draped lazily around you. He likes the quiet weight of someone next to him.
D = Domestic: do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?
ā Ringoās not exactly a domestic god. He can cook a few things... mostly eggs, toast, and anything he can do in one pan. Cleaning, though? Youād have to poke him to remind him to pick up after himself. Still, he likes the idea of home! Heād settle down eventually.
E = Ending: if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?
ā Heās not cruel, but heās honest to a fault when he finally decides somethingās not working. Heād try to ease the blow and then get quiet when he realizes itās not helping.
F = Fiance(e): how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?
ā He takes commitment seriously. Once heās in, heās in. Heās not in a rush to get married, though... heād rather make sure you fit together before putting a ring on it.
G = Gentle: how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?
ā Heās got rough hands, clumsy sometimes, but heās careful where it matters. Emotionally, Ringoās more gentle than people think... he listens. He doesnāt always have the right words, but heāll give you his silence in a way that feels like safety. Physically, heās tender in small ways, a thumb tracing your knuckles, brushing hair out of your face.
H = Hugs: do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?
ā He loves hugs. His hugs are strong, grounding, and slightly awkward at first, but they always linger longer than expected. He hugs when heās happy, when heās teasing, when he thinks you need it. Thereās warmth there,.
I = I love you: how fast do they say the L-word?
ā He doesnāt say it fast. He probably jokes around it first. When he finally says it, itās offhand, in the middle of an ordinary moment. Maybe youāre both laughing, maybe youāre cooking breakfast, and he just blurts it out. But when he does, he means it. He wonāt take it back, not ever.
J = Jealousy: how jealous do they get? what do they do when theyāre jealous?
ā Ringoās jealousy is quiet but sharp. He doesnāt explode, he broods. Youāll see it in how he withdraws, how his humor turns biting. Heās deeply insecure. If you reassure him, he melts instantly, ashamed for doubting you. But if someone really flirts with you, heāll get defensive fast. Snarky, maybe even possessive for a moment before cooling off.
K = Kisses: what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?
ā His kisses are quick and frequent, often accompanied by a little hum or grin. He likes kissing your forehead, cheeks, shoulders, anywhere casual and close. He enjoys being kissed on the jaw or temple; it calms him down. Real kisses, the slow ones, are heavy with feeling.
L = Little ones: how are they around children?
ā Heās surprisingly good with kids. They make him laugh, and he loves their energy. Heās the type to sit on the floor and let them climb all over him, teaching them to bang on pots like drums.
M = Morning: how are mornings spent with them?
ā Heās not a morning person. Lots of groaning and complaints about needing āfive more minutes.ā But once heās up, heās happy. Heād sit by the window in his robe, hair sticking every which way, talking to you while you both wake up properly.
N = Night: how are nights spent with them?
ā Heās either talking nonsense until you fall asleep or lying there listening to your breathing. He likes the feeling of stillness, of knowing the worldās gone quiet for a bit.
O = Open: when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?
ā It takes him time to open up. He jokes his way through most things, but when he trusts you, he talks... a little. He reveals it in pieces.
P = Patience: how easily angered are they?
ā Heās generally easygoing, but heās human. When stressed, touring, interviews, constant noise, he gets snappy. His temper isnāt explosive, just defensive.
Q = Quizzes: how much would they remember about you?
ā Ringoās memory for small things is weirdly selective. He might forget what day it is, but heāll remember the exact song you said made you cry, or the way you like your tea.
R = Remember: what is their favorite moment in your relationship?
ā His favorite moment is probably something mundane. He remembers warmth more than specifics, but that feeling becomes his anchor.
S = Security: how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?
ā Heās protective. Heāll guide you through crowds, glare at pushy reporters, make sure youāve eaten before he does. His protectiveness isnāt macho, though. He wants to be your safe place. In return, he loves when you reassure him too. He thrives on being reminded heās wanted.
T = Try: how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?
ā Ringo tries hard. Maybe harder than he should. Dates might not be fancy, but theyāre full of effort! He celebrates anniversaries early because heās afraid of forgetting. Everyday life with him feels like someone constantly trying to make you laugh.
U = Ugly: what would be some bad habits of theirs?
ā He bottles up feelings until they spill. He gets passive-aggressive when heās hurt. He can be moody, retreating into silence instead of explaining whatās wrong. And jealousy, he struggles with that one.
V = Vanity: how concerned are they with their looks?
ā He cares about his appearance a lot. His hair has to sit just so, and heāll complain endlessly if he gets a bad photo. Heās not vain in an arrogant way... He just wants to look good enough next to the others.
W = Whole: would they feel incomplete without you?
ā Yes. Without you, he feels incomplete. Not in a possessive way, but because you calm the noise in his head. Heās not good at being alone; you give him balance, a sense that someone sees Richie, not just āRingo.ā
X = Xtra: a random headcanon for them.
ā Ringo has a secret talent for naming things... plants, pets, random objects. Every mug, lighter, and drumstick in his life has a name. If you bring something new into his flat, heāll immediately christen it.
Y = Yuck: what are some things they wouldnāt like, either in general or in a partner?
ā He hates pretentiousness. Anyone who acts like theyāre better than everyone else gets on his nerves fast. He doesnāt like dishonesty, or people who canāt laugh at themselves. In a partner, heād hate coldness, he needs warmth and humor.
Z = Zzz: what is a sleep habit of theirs?
He moves a lot in his sleep. Sometimes he talks in it, muttering random bits of dream nonsense. He snores a little, too... not too loud, but enough to be endearing. If youāre next to him, he unconsciously pulls you close, even if he fell asleep facing the other way.
heyyy could you do a get back era john x reader fic with lots of smut and reader taking care of john after a very long at twickenham i just need to hold that greasy man in my arms fr fr. anyway your fics make my day honestly, love ya š
twickenham | john lennon x fem!reader
š contains; nsfw!! minors dni!
š summary ; you take care of a worn out john lennon.
š note ; saw ur other ask to make it fem reader so ya ā” thank u angel ! ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN YEAHHH!
The front door clicked shut with a definitive thud that echoed slightly in the quiet hallway of your Weybridge house. You didnāt have to look to know who it was. The heavy, exhausted sigh that followed confirmed it: John was home.
You looked into the hallway, and there he was: John, slouched against the frame, coat collar up, cigarette barely hanging from his mouth, the ash trembling. He looked like he hadnāt slept in days... hair plastered in greasy strands against his forehead.
āHey, luv,ā he mumbled, voice rasped raw. āDidnāt fancy goinā back to Weybridge tānight.ā
You didnāt bother replying. You just reached out, took the cigarette from his fingers, and crushed it out in the ashtray by the door. Then you pulled him inside. His coat smelled like studio dust and stale smoke, a trace of the damp London air clinging to it. When you pressed your face into his chest, the fabric was cold, but beneath that, he was trembling faintly, muscles tight like a man holding too much in.
āYou look wrecked,ā you whispered.
He gave a weak chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to your hair. āFeel it too. Paulās drivinā me barmy, yāknow? Canāt play a bloody chord without him humminā in my ear. Whole place feelsā¦ empty. Like nobodyās listeninā anymore.ā
You guided him to the sofa, gently tugging at the sleeves of his coat until it slipped off. He slumped down, exhaling like heād been holding his breath for hours. You could see the exhaustion in his hands, the faint tremor in his fingers, the nicotine stains, the small blister where a guitar string had bitten too deep.
āI made... soup,ā you said quietly, and that got him to look up. There was a flicker of something soft in his eyes, like youād just pulled him back from the edge.
āSoup,ā he repeated, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. āProper nurse, you are.ā
You laughed and brushed his hair off his forehead. āHardly. But you need to eat.ā
He didnāt protest when you brought the bowl, steam curling upward. He sat there in silence while you spooned it out for him, eyes fixed on you as if the sight alone was steadying him. Occasionally, he muttered something under his breath, a half-joke, a muttered lyric, an unfinished thought. His voice grew slower as the warmth started to seep back into him.
When the bowl was empty, he let it rest on his knees, head falling back against the couch. āTheyāve got cameras everywhere, yāknowā.ā
āI know. You tell me everynight.,ā you said simply.
You stayed like that for a long while, the clock ticking somewhere behind you, the city a soft hum beyond the windows. His breathing slowed, steadied. He let you unbutton his shirt, each movement patient, not out of desire yet but out of care. The cotton clung faintly to his skin, damp with the dayās work. When you slipped it off his shoulders, he sighed, an audible, unguarded sound, like release.
His bare chest rose and fell beneath your palms. You could feel his heartbeat, the rough warmth of him, alive and worn.
āYouāre warm,ā he said after a while, his voice quieter, almost a confession.
āYouāre freezing.ā
āThen fix that, will ya?ā His smile returned, lazy, genuine this time.
You didnāt answer, not with words. You slid your hands lower, tracing the faint ridges of his ribs, the skin there slick with the dayās accumulated grime... Your fingers dipped toward his belt.
He watched you through half-lidded eyes, that crooked smile lingering, but there was a hunger building in the way his breath hitched, subtle at first, like the low rumble of thunder before the storm breaks. āCāmon, then,ā he murmured, voice gravelly from the smoke and the strain, his hand coming up to tangle loosely in your hair, not pulling, not yet, just resting there, fingers threading through with a possessiveness that felt earned after the hell heād endured. āWarm me up proper.ā
You didnāt rush it. The belt buckle was cold under your touch, tarnished from constant handling, and you worked it open slowly, savoring the soft clink of metal against leather. His trousers were rumpled, the fabric creased from sitting too long in that drafty studio, and as you tugged the zipper down, the sound was intimate, almost obscene in the quiet of the room.
Johnās hips shifted slightly, instinctively, his body responding even as exhaustion pulled at him like weights on his limbs. You could see the bulge there already, straining against the thin cotton of his underwear, the outline thick and insistent, a testament to how badly he needed this release.
Pushing the trousers down just enough, you freed him, and god, he was a sight. His cock was half-hard, springing up with a faint slap against his thigh, the skin flushed and veined, the head already glistening with a bead of precum that caught the dim lamplight.
āChrist,,ā John groaned, his voice dropping lower, rougher, as your breath ghosted over him. His fingers tightened in your hair, not guiding yet, but urging, a silent plea.
You wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the heat of him pulse against your palm, the skin velvety soft over the rigid core, slick with that natural sheen. He was filling your grip, and you gave a slow, deliberate stroke, watching his face contort, the way his lips parted, a soft āahhā escaping, ragged and unfiltered. The tremor in his hand betrayed him, the nicotine stains stark against his knuckles as he gripped the couch cushion with his free hand, knuckles whitening. You leaned in, lips brushing the underside first, teasing the sensitive ridge where vein met shaft, tasting the salt of his skin, bitter and real, like the sweat that beaded anew on his lower belly.
His hips bucked once, involuntarily, a low āfuuuckā rumbling from his chest, and you felt him harden fully in your grasp, swelling against your tongue as you licked a broad, flat stripe from base to tip. The flavor hit you. The faint bitterness of unwashed hours mingling with the slick precum that smeared across your lips. It was gross in the best way, intimate and unapologetic, the kind of filth that made everything feel alive, urgent. You swirled your tongue around the head, lapping at that slit, drawing out more of him, the wet sounds obscene in the hushed room: a soft, slurping schlick as you took him deeper, inch by inch.
Johnās head fell back, throat working as he swallowed hard, a guttural āmmphā vibrating through him. āThatās itā¦ yeah, just like that.ā His voice was wrecked, commands laced with desperation, and you obliged, hollowing your cheeks as you sank down further, the stretch of your mouth around his girth making your jaw ache in that delicious, burning way.
You bobbed slowly at first, deliberate, letting saliva build and drip, coating him in wet heat that contrasted the chill still clinging to his skin. Your hand worked what your mouth couldnāt reach, twisting gently at the base, thumb pressing into the heavy sac beneath, feeling the weight of him there, drawn tight. Johnās breaths came in sharp pants now, each one punctuated by the wet gluck of your throat as you took him deeper, gagging just a little on the third push, the sound raw and filthy, tears pricking at your eyes from the effort.
His fingers in your hair turned firmer, guiding now, not rough but insistent, fucking your mouth with shallow thrusts that made his balls slap lightly against your chin. āLook at youā¦ takinā me so good.ā There was a laugh in his voice, dark and self-deprecating, but it dissolved into a moan as you hummed around him, the vibration pulling a string of curses from his lips. Saliva trailed down your chin, mixing with the mess on his skin, and you reached up with your free hand to rake your nails lightly over his thigh, feeling the coarse hair there.
The room filled with the sounds of it. The slick, rhythmic suck of your mouth, his ragged groans building like a crescendo. His free hand came down to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your stretched lips, feeling himself slide in and out, the greasy slide of skin on skin.
You pulled back for a breath, strings of spit connecting your lips to his throbbing cock, glistening and slick, veins pulsing visibly.
John snarled, his hand shooting out to clamp around the back of your neck. His grip was firm, callused fingers digging in just enough to sting, as he yanked your head forward without warning.
The force of it made you choke a bit, a jolt running down your spine, but you didnāt pull away. You met his roughness with a steady gaze, your hands coming up to brace against his thighs, nails scraping lightly over the damp fabric of his bunched-up trousers. He was being an absolute prick, but you knew him.
Your tongue took control first, swirling deliberate and teasing around the ridge, drawing a hiss from him that sounded half-pain, half-pleasure. He growled, but his hips jerked involuntarily, betraying how much he was already unraveling under your touch. His free hand fisted the couch cushion, knuckles blanching, while the one on your neck trembled just a fraction. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, taking him deeper in one smooth glide, the thick length stretching your jaw until it burned, saliva pooling and dripping messily down your chin to pool on his balls, heavy and drawn tight against the base.
He thrust up shallowly, trying to set the pace, a rough ādeeper, luv- cāmon, choke on it,ā spilling from his lips like an order barked in the studio, but you countered by humming low in your throat, the vibration making his whole body seize. Your hands slid up, one wrapping around the base of his cock to squeeze and twist, controlling how much of him you took, while the other dug into the meat of his hip, holding him still. He was sweaty all over.
Johnās breaths came ragged now, āyouāreā¦ doinā it wrong-ā his words fracturing as you bobbed faster, tongue pressing flat against the underside vein, tracing it up and down with filthy precision. Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth, trailing in sticky rivulets that cooled against his heated skin, and you could taste every layer of him: the sharp tang of precum flooding your mouth, the underlying bitterness of sweat-soaked hours.
You pulled off again, deliberate this time, with a gasp that let more saliva string between you, your hand pumping him steadily to keep the edge sharp. His eyes blazed down at you, furious and feral, hand still gripping your neck like he might force you back, but you shook your head, voice steady despite the ache in your throat. āCalm down , I'm taking care of you.ā He was a wreck, hair plastered to his forehead in greasy clumps, a fresh sheen of sweat beading along his collarbone, trickling down to pool in the dip of his navel, where faint, dark hairs trailed like an arrow pointing south.
You rose slowly, knees pressing into the carpet as you took off your own clothes, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on your skin, but the heat radiating from him chased it away. His gaze raked over you, hungry and unfiltered, but he didnāt move. You straddled his lap, the couch dipping under your combined weight, his trousers still shoved down around his knees, restricting him, keeping him pinned like the frayed man he was. His cock stood rigid against his belly, slick and throbbing, leaving a wet smear on his skin as you positioned yourself above him, one hand guiding him to your entrance.
The first press was electric, his head nudging against your folds, already soaked from the act of tending to him, your arousal mixing with the remnants of his earlier teasing. You sank down inch by inch, deliberate, feeling every ridge and vein drag against your walls, the stretch burning sweet and full as you took him to the hilt. His hands came up to grip your hips, fingers bruising but not directing. He was buried deep, the slide of him inside you obscene, your combined wetness easing the way but making everything slicker, messier, the faint squelch as you bottomed out echoing in the quiet room.
He groaned, head lolling back against the couch, but his eyes stayed locked on where you joined, watching with that dark fascination as you started to move. You set the pace, slow at first, rolling your hips in deep, grinding circles that made his cock nudge that spot inside you, sparks blooming low in your belly. His pubic hair rasped against your clit with each downward press, coarse and damp, the friction building heat that had you clenching around him involuntarily.
His hands roamed, rough and greedy, one palming your breast, thumb flicking the nipple until it ached, pinching just hard enough to draw a gasp from you, the other sliding down to where you were joined, fingers finding your clit and rubbing messy circles, calluses scraping in a way that made your vision blur. You were dripping now, arousal leaking down his shaft, coating his balls and the crease of his thighs in a sticky sheen that only made the slide filthier, greasier. You ground down harder, chasing your peak, walls fluttering around him as the coil tightened, his cock pulsing inside you in response, thick and unrelenting.
āCome on, John- let go for me,ā you urged, leaning down to capture his mouth in a bruising kiss, tongues tangling sloppy and desperate, tasting the smoke on his breath and the salt of tears youād shed earlier. He broke first, a ragged āfuck-ā tearing from him as his body tensed, thighs quivering under you, fingers digging into your ass to pull you down flush. He came with a shuddering groan, as did you, hot spurts flooding you deep, the warmth spreading messy and thick, some leaking out around him to trickle down his skin in obscene rivulets. The sensation tipped you over, your own release crashing through you like a wave, clenching and milking him as you cried out, hips stuttering in erratic grinds until you collapsed forward, forehead pressed to his shoulder, both of you slick and spent.
He wrapped his arms around you then, heavy and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured nonsense, voice slurred with fatigue. The mess between you cooled slowly, sticky and gross, a testament to the care youād poured into him, layer by layer. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, avoiding the world outside.
You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, bodies fused in the humid aftermath, your skin sticking to his where sweat had pooled and dried in erratic patches. John's chest rose and fell beneath you in uneven heaves, each exhale carrying the faint wheeze of a man who'd pushed his lungs too far with endless drags on unfiltered smokes.
The couch groaned faintly under the shift of your combined weight, springs protesting like they were as worn out as he was. His cock softened inside you gradually, the slick warmth of his release seeping out in lazy dribbles, coating the insides of your thighs and matting the dark curls at his base even further.
Gently, you disentangled yourself, lifting off him with a soft, wet schlick that made his spent length twitch once more against his thigh. He groaned low in his throat, a sound that was half complaint, half relief, his eyes cracking open to slits as you slid to the side. "Don't go," he mumbled, voice slurred and thick, like gravel churned under tires, one hand fumbling blindly to catch your wrist. But you pried his fingers free with a tenderness that brooked no argument, pressing a kiss to the inside of his palm where the skin was roughened by years of fretting strings and holding picks.
"Stay put," you said softly, voice steady in the dim lamplight that cast long shadows across the cluttered room, the discarded coat pooled on the floor like a shed skin, the empty soup bowl tipped precariously on the side table. "Let me sort you out." He huffed something unintelligible, a mix of protest and surrender, but his body betrayed him, slumping deeper into the cushions, head lolling to one side as if the strings holding him upright had finally snapped.
You padded barefoot across the threadbare carpet, ignoring the cool draft whispering up from the floorboards, and headed to the kitchen. You filled a basin with warm water from the tap, the steam rising in lazy curls that fogged the window over the sink. A bar of plain soap sat on the edge, unscented and utilitarian, the kind John favored because it didn't "faff about with perfumes like some poncey advert." A couple of clean flannels from the drawer followed, along with a towel that had seen better days, frayed at the edges but soft from countless washes.
Back in the living room, John hadn't moved an inch, his trousers still tangled around his ankles like shackles. He cracked one eye open as you approached, the iris hazy and bloodshot, framed by lashes clumped with sweat. "Playin' midwife now?" The words came out edged with that familiar sarcasm, but it lacked bite, dissolving into a yawn that stretched his jaw wide, revealing the uneven line of his teeth.
You knelt beside the couch, dipping the flannel into the basin and wringing it out with a soft splash, the water pattering back into the bowl. "Something like that. Can't have you stinking up the whole house." Starting at his face, you pressed the warm cloth to his forehead, wiping away the greasy film that had built up there, the strands of hair lifting reluctantly before falling back in defeated clumps. He sighed at the contact, eyes fluttering shut, the tension in his brow easing like a knot finally untying.
His skin was feverish under the warmth, flushed from exertion and the faint chill of the room, and you took your time, angling his chin gently to clean the hollows beneath, where shadows pooled like bruises. John leaned into it unconsciously, a low hum vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up to rest on your knee. "Feelsā¦ nice," he admitted after a pause, voice muffled as you moved to his neck, tilting his head back.
The basin water clouded further as you tended to him. His hands came last, those expressive instruments that had poured out frustration into riffs and chords all day. You lifted each one, turning it palm up, the calluses rough as tree bark, the small blister on his thumb raw and weeping slightly. Dabbing gently with the soapy cloth, you cleaned the nicotine stains that etched his cuticles like tattoos, then rinsed and patted dry with the towel, massaging lotion into the joints to ease the ache you knew was building.
You set the basin aside, the water now murky and tepid, and fetched a blanket from the armchair. Wool, scratchy but warm, the kind that smelled faintly of mothballs and home. Draping it over his lower half first, you tugged his trousers off properly, then tucking the blanket around his shoulders like swaddling a child. He grumbled at the fuss but sank into it, pulling the edges tighter with a contented sigh. From the kitchen, you brought a glass of water, cool and clear, no ice to shock him, and held it to his lips, watching him drink in slow gulps, Adam's apple bobbing, a trickle escaping to trace down his chin before you wiped it away.
"More soup?" you offered, but he shook his head, patting the space beside him weakly.
"Just you. C'mere." His arm extended, beckoning, and you curled up against his side, the blanket enveloping you both in a cocoon. His head dropped to your shoulder, hair still damp but softer now, the greasy edge tamed, and his breathing evened out into the slow rhythm of encroaching sleep.
You stroked his back in lazy arcs, feeling the knobs of his spine protrude slightly under the blanket, the residual tension melting away like wax under flame. John's hand found your other one in the dimness, intertwining fingers with a grip that was firm despite the exhaustion, and you squeezed back, content to guard his rest, to be the anchor in his storm-tossed sea.
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