#shush shh sh I dont want to hear it

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

My dearest Lumi,

Firstly, I want to congratulate you on your follower milestone. You exude talent and grace and I am beyond grateful that you’ve chosen to share your gift of writing with the world. You deserve every ounce of praise.

Secondly, I’d like to put in a request for said follower milestone. I would love if you’d write something for my favorite little lovable pot wash. His presence in Alford Plea makes me smile in abundance and he fills me with immeasurable joy. I have wracked my brain for like three days and just can’t come up with a solid premise so I’m leaving this one up to dealers choice.

You’re the best 💕

No solid premise?  No problem!  Here’s some softness for our little lovable pot wash 🤍🤍🤍

(Written for the follower milestone!)

He works in one of the best restaurants in the city, which is as fantastic as it is annoying, because it means that you hardly ever see Johnny at normal hours.  His shifts can start at half seven in the morning or two in the afternoon, and they’ve easily gone on for fourteen hours some days.  It’s not entirely unusual for you to be pulled out of deep sleep for a minute or two almost every other night—you’ll hear him try his best to be quiet sneak into your shared flat at and you’ll sleepily wonder if he’ll stick around the next morning long enough for you to make him some coffee or have breakfast together. 

And, of course, when he’s not working or sleeping, he’s studying. 

Your flatmate’s biggest and most well-kept secret is his university degree, one he’s determined to see through while he continues to work.  You wonder how he isn’t closer to burn-out, but you know him.  You’ve known him for a long time.  

He’s one of the hardest working people you know, the most cheerful, the life of the party, radiant and glowing, both inside and out, and you love him you love him you love him—

The front door clicks quietly shut and then—“Bonnie?”— and you smile.  

“In here,” you call out, and hop off the couch to grab him a beer.  He meets you halfway—when you close the fridge door, his goofy smile greets you—and oh.  The man makes your heart flutter, even after all this time.  Especially after all this time.  “Hi,” you whisper, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.  “Alright?”

“Better now,” he says, smiling.  In a few fluid moments, he’s taken the bottle of beer in his hands, used his teeth to open it like the complete savage that he is, lifted you up and set you on the counter.  “So much better now.”  The words are muffled on account of his face being buried in your neck, arms naturally going around you.

The actual time Johnny can spend with you feels like it comes in peaks and troughs, but never his affection—you’re always spoiled in that regard.  

You’ve never bothered labelling this thing you have with him because you don’t need to.  You share the lease of your flat, just as much as you share the good and the bad of your lives.  He’s your best friend, your flatmate, your confidant, your pillar of support, just as much as you’re his bonnie, his emergency contact, his mother’s favourite, his his his.    

“Mmpf—smell nice,” he murmurs (the words muffled against your skin make you shudder and you feel goosebumps along the length of your arms, but Johnny never notices).  Only when he pushes away from you do you get your first proper look at him.   

He looks tired, so so exhausted, but even then, nothing can hide the fact that he glows.  His eyes are melted lazulite under the dim kitchen lights, all the colours of the bright blue sea melted into one.  They hold you captive, and you almost miss his tired babbling.

“...knew it was gonna happen, but right now?  Been just months, wasnae expectin’ it, hen!”

“Wait, what?”

“What?”

You roll your eyes and try to get him to repeat himself.  “What weren’t you expecting, what happened?”

Your words make him roll his eyes mockingly, and he boops your nose lightly.  “You weren’t listenin,’ bonnie?  Simon.  The mad lad’s only gone and married his lass!”

“WHAT?”  Your brows kiss your hairline in shock, and you’re left gaping at him.  “Seriously?”

“Seriously!  Saw her rock on her finger today, massive thing!”  He shakes his head with a smile, and you know it’s in fondness for Simon and his new wife.  “Said Simon wasnae havin’ her hide it anymore.”

“God!  Married!  It’s so…grown up?”

“Suppose so, bonnie.  Nice, though.”  He pushes himself away from you and chugs  half the bottle of beer you’d given him.  “Debrief on the couch?” 

“Yes, please,” you groan and jump off the counter, massaging your buttocks.    

You follow him outside and he plops on to the couch, but there’s no sign of his usual routine of turning the telly on for some football.  You watch as he puts his beer on the coffee table (completely ignoring the coaster, of course) and leans his head back against the couch, looking deep in thought.  

Johnny looks beautiful in that angle, you think—broad shoulders leaning all the way back, his neck exposed and looking ripe for your mouth, your tongue on his skin.  You watch in a daze as he brings his hands up to rub his eyes with his palms, then stretches lightly and relaxes.  “Come sit wi’ me, bonnie,” he says, without opening his eyes, and you’re walking towards him without even registering the fact.  

He draws you in effortlessly, and each time, you fall into his orbit without even the pretence of resistance.     

“It…bothers you?  The fact that Simon’s married now, like a real adult?”  You busy yourself, looking anywhere but him, mindlessly moving his beer onto the coaster.   

“Naw, bonnie…no, it doesnae bother me.  I just…dunno, just bein’ a twat.”

“Maybe,” you say without preamble.  “You’re not…jealous?”

“Shit.  Maybe ah am,” he concedes.  “Dunno, it’s never bothered me like so before.”  He turns to you with a sceptical look in his eyes.  “Ye don’t want it?”

“Marriage?”

“Aye.  That and…to fall in love.”

Ah.  Your mind thumbs through the collection of moments you’ve felt over the years—moments where you’d been so sure that you’d crumble before him, beg him to feel about you the way you felt about him.  The memories flip in your consciousness painfully  until you have a measured response for him.  One that doesn’t give you away.  

“Doesn’t everyone?” you whisper.  

“Aye, of course.  But it’s different.  Girls are supposed to want it more?”  He says the words with a mischievous grin, and you have to scoff at the obvious attempt to rile you up. 

“That’s very feminist of you.”

“Just saying’ what ah’ve heard!”

“And yet, you’re the one bitching about it, John.”

“John?!  Ach, bonnie, you cannae call me that!” he says in mock-horror, hand reaching up to grasp at his chest.  And then he smiles at you again, sincere and full of light and so, so him, that you return in, almost involuntarily.  “Ah’m happy for him, of course.  He’s happy.  In love.  Happy.”

You laugh out loud before you can help it and take a second to notice his glare.  “Sorry, sorry!” you wheeze, sounding decidedly not sorry.  “You sounded like you wanted to fuck him there, for a second, I’m sorry!”

“Aye well, he’s handsome, no?  I’d go fo’ him!”

“...yeah.”  You sigh dreamily as you think about Johnny’s boss—tall and handsome, with arms the size of trucks—and the appeal is obvious.  You’ve met Simon several times over the years, and he’s only ever shown you respect and polite interest.  He’s not exactly your type, but even you can’t turn your nose up at a man that looks like Simon does.

“Okay, that’s enough daydreamin,’ brat!”  Johnny laughs, knocking into your shoulder with his own.  “Lustin’ after a married man.”  He shakes his head dramatically.  “Yer shameful.”

“Nah.  I’m happy for him too!  And…you needn’t be upset about this, Johnny—”

“I’m no’ upset at all—”

“I know.”  You put your hands up in surrender.  “You can be happy for your friend, and for Simon, and you can want it for yourself too.  Nothing wrong with that.”  You try to keep your voice calm, but understanding.  After all, you know all too well the feelings of both, coveting and being happy for your friend.    

 “Guess not.  N’ these things take time, do they not?  It’ll happen?”

“It’ll happen,” you confirm.  “Just need to find the right person and feel the right feelings for them.”    

“Gosh, this conversation’s makin’ me miserable!  Hate bein’ single, y’know?  S’not good for me.”  He leans against the backrest again, and turns his head just so he can look at you.  “We’re both single at the same time in a long time, bonnie.  Ye realised that yet?”

“Shit.  Yeah, you’re right!  Wow.  I hadn’t realised that!”   In fact, you hadn’t stopped thinking about it.             

“We oughta do somethin’ abou’ it?”

You hope to god your laugh only sounds nervous to your own ears, and that you don’t like a character in a Sunday morning cartoon with your shifty eyes that don’t dare stray in the direction of Johnny’s face.  “How about, tomorrow, I pick you up after your shift and buy you a drink?  We’ll even stop at that nasty chicken shop you like after.  So you can’t complain that I don’t do anything nice for you!”  

His eyes melt, and you along with them.  “Thank ye, bonnie.”

“Always.”

You can’t help but smile when his eyes radiate pure happiness at your words.  It takes so little to make Johnny happy and you want to spend a lifetime doing it.  So lost are you in the thought, that you don’t notice the twitch in the muscles of his forearm at the look on your face, how his fingers tremble as they cup your cheek.  When he kisses your forehead gratefully and leans away from you, you don’t hear his heart speed up or his shaky exhale, don’t feel his clammy palms.   

“And you’ve ne’er felt it, eh?  The right feelin’ for the right person?” he quotes you.

“No,” you lie.  I love you.  “You?”

“No,” he lies.  “But…maybe someday, eh?”

“Maybe someday,” you agree, easily.      

#soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ask #xintothewoodswegox #lumi's follower milestone #super soap sunday #request #lumi writes #love you woodsy #no one talk about how old these requests are #or the fact that I'm quickly reaching another milestone lmaooo #shush shh sh I dont want to hear it