Johnny deserves to be a little manic, I think. As a treat.
He's got so many problems but manic episodes really fit. They fit for him flying off the handles and they fit for him spending all that depressive time in the Pistis too.
I think he absolutely struggled with some form of mh (i always lean toward depression or early bipolar) prior to the military and then you throw loss of a limb and that ptsd on top and the math is mathing.
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you really bring graves to life! if it was the other way around, and reader needed a ride home, how do you think graves would act? do you think he would lord it over reader
Ahhh, thank you so much!!! I really like writing for him, which is funny because I used to HATE him LMAO. (Like, seriously hate him.) I think if the roles were reversed and it was reader calling from the hospital, he'd be a little more vulnerable at first, at least until he realizes you're not on death's door. I don't know if I'd say he's holding it over your head, but he is definitely taking advantage of the fact that the medication's making you're a little more honest to tease you. Sorry it took me so long to reply, but I got possessed and couldn't help myself, so here's a little blurb under the cut.
CW: fem!reader, hospitals, medical inaccuracies, drugs (medically prescribed), no explicit smut but extremely suggestive, jealous!reader, pre-relationship, dialogue heavy, word count: 941
He walked out of the meeting the second your name flashed across his phone screen. “You alright, darlin'? You don't normally call.”
You yawn into your phone, but all he can focus on is the steady beeping in the background. “Mhm, had to have surgery, need someone to drive me home. Didn't know who else t' call,” You admit freely— probably thanks to whatever medication they gave you.
He ignores the glares and questions as he cuts the meeting short.
Despite being close to an hour away from the hospital you're at, he manages to make it there in half the amount of time– he'll worry about any tickets later.
“Hey, sugar, you're lookin' like you're held together with spit and a prayer.” His tone is teasing, but you can see the worry in his eyes as he slowly walks towards your bed, taking a seat right next to it.
You pout at him, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint he has not to pull you into a kiss. “Are you calling me ugly?”
He chuckles and shakes his head at you. “Darlin', I don't think you could be ugly if you tried.”
You grin at him all loopy, eyes hazy from the drugs. “Good, I don't want you to think 'm ugly 'cause I don't think you're ugly.”
“Really now?” He raises an eyebrow, amusement written all over his face.
You nod at him all wide-eyed and lean in close— as if sharing a secret. “You're actually really hot. 'S not fair, makes it hard to talk t' you sometimes.”
Before he can say anything, the nurse walks in and hands him a stack of papers. He tenses up as he glances down at the care instructions.
She smiles reassuringly at him. “Don't be nervous, it wasn't anything major; in fact, if it weren't for the pain medication, she'd be perfectly fine to go home on her own. That's just some information regarding after-care, follow-ups, and a list of medications given.”
He doesn't realize how tense he was until his body relaxes. “Thanks, doc. So she's all set to go?”
“I have to grab her work excuse, but after that, you’re free to head home!”
“She doesn’t need-”
Your hand slaps over his mouth. “Thank you, Joan!” you say just a little too loudly.
Your fingers trace along his jaw as the nurse— Joan, he now knows— walks away. “She was so into you,” you scoff, your hand trailing down his chest, practically groping him through his shirt.
“Who? The seventy-year-old nurse?” He at least has the decency to hold back his laughter.
“Yes! ’S gross,” you huff, crossing your arms and leaning back against your bed.
A smirk takes over his face. “You’re jealous ain’t you?” his tone is smug— too smug. He doesn't expect you to nod along and admit it.
“Hey! I have an idea,” you shoot up, gripping his shoulder tight. The glint in your eye tells him whatever you’re about to say is going to be an absolutely horrible idea. “Let's have sex in the hospital bed, that’ll show ‘er.”
You immediately prove him right. “I can list twenty reasons off the top of my head why that’s a terrible idea, sugar.” He hides his smile when you look at him, mouth open, all offended.
“Name one, bet you can’t,” as you insist on arguing with him, all he can focus on is the warm feeling in his body.
“For starters, it’s public indecency.”
You don’t even hesitate before retorting. “Not if we don’t get caught,” you grin— thinking you’re so clever.
He decides to move on. “You’re three sheets to the wind right now,” he says.
You roll your eyes dramatically. “I want you even when ‘m sober.” You frown as he scoffs, pulling him closer towards you. “Seriously, I think about you all the time, Phil. Like, last week when we had that meeting, and you had your legs spread wide, all I could think about was crawling under your desk and sucking your dick.”
He nearly chokes at your words.
“And don’ get me started on when you roll up the sleeves on your slutty white button-ups,” you groan, running a hand up and down his bicep.
“Slutty?” he mumbles to himself, trying to ignore the way his cock’s straining against his jeans.
“Just wanna make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”
He’ll never admit it out loud, but his face flushes red. “Don’t worry about that, darlin’, the way I look at you should make it obvious enough— even to little old Joan.”
“Oh,” you softly mumble. Your body’s tingling— not from the drugs— as his thumb gently brushes over your cheek. “Does that mean you’ll kiss me?” you ask breathily, face leaning in so close to his that your noses touch.
He scoots closer to your bed, wrapping his arms tight around you. “First thing in the mornin’ when all these meds wear off,” he promises, lips pressed against your forehead.
It’s silent for a moment, the two of you staying like that, finally enjoying the feeling of holding each other after craving it for so long.
You speak up, your voice coming out quiet and shy. “Will you let me suck your dick too?”
He refuses to blink for a second, knowing that if he closes his eyes, he’ll be plagued with images of you on your knees, glancing up at him. He can practically hear the wet noises of you swallowing his cock— a shiver runs down his spine at the thought of your face painted in sticky white.
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