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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: CT-5597 | Jesse/CT-6116 | Kix
Characters: CT-5597 | Jesse, CT-6116 | Kix
Additional Tags: Inspired by Fanart, Humour, Drunkeness, Self-Doubt, Cloneshipping | Clone Trooper/Clone Trooper Relationships (Star Wars), AU/Everyone Lives, jessix, Dialogue Heavy
Series: Part 5 of Jessie/Kix, Part 95 of 100x500
Summary:
Stella! Hey Stellaaaaa!!! Streetcar anyone? Only itâs Star Wars with Jesse and Kix?
totally didn't mean to forget about this for two weeks.... hopefully this is enough sustenance! i recently started school again, so updates will likely slow.
also i'm a firm adhd (and dyslexic) johnny/autism simon truther so if something doesn't make sense, it's probably because i'm thinking of them as neurodivergent.
ao3!
ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)
I Promise, I'll Be Worth The Wait
Simon and Johnny have been learning your schedule.
For a few mornings in a row, while Johnny is still asleep, he can hear you in your room, just a wall over, shuffling out of bed and putting your kettle on before he hears the hum of your TV going, presumably keeping you company as you get ready for the day.
You get back home every day around 1650. Johnny pokes his head over to say hi quickly before leaving you to decompress. Youâre always asleep by 2300. Then you wake up at 0600 the next morning, and youâre out of the flat by 0730.
They know your whole schedule by the second week. By then, they have become fixtures in your life, as reliable as the old Honda Civic youâve been driving for five years. You can easily knock on their flat with the knowledge that theyâd be happy to help, whether it be a cup of sugar, advice on how to fix your blender that somehow got broken in the move, or just a little company.
It was no surprise when they invited you over to their apartment for dinner, making sure to plan it perfectly so you arenât fatigued or grumpy from work.
Johnny is keyed up during the two days following the dinner, constantly asking Simon questions at the worst times possible. Such as how the other night while Simon was awake and Johnny, for once, couldnât sleep:
âSi.â Johnny shook Simonâs shoulder, earning a grunt from Simon. âDo ye think bonnie likes pasta?â
âFuck if I know.â He grumbles. âGo to sleep.â Johnny mutters something about being discriminated against but he does, eventually, go to sleep.
Or when they were going grocery shopping:
âOh, oh! Bonnieâll love these!â He said, holding up a pack of digestive biscuits, making Simon sigh.
âYeah, Johnny. Iâm sure they will.â He says flatly before looking back at the bread. Five minutes later, Johnny shoves a roll of Smarties into his face.
âNobody donât like Smarties.â He says, almost proudly.
âJustify it however you need.â
Johnny is still not satisfied when theyâre making dinner (together, as Johnny had insisted), rattling off about every piece of information heâs gleaned from you so far- where youâre from, your favourite colour and food and your birthday, too. No doubt, Johnny is smitten with you.
If heâs being honest, he doesnât know how to feel about his boyfriend getting a crush on someone new- he was falling hard and fast while Simon would only really call his attraction to you surface level. Sure, you seem like a rather intelligent person and potentially someone he could dare to trust, but he isnât as outgoing as Johnny is. He canât know someone for a month and then want to know everything about them- it just isnât how his brain works.
And if heâs being really, really honest, heâs scared. Johnnyâs never been so enamoured before. Itâs always been a fleeting attraction, long enough to last a week or two. He feels a little sidelined, jealous, even. Enough so that while following this line of thought his hand slips as heâs cutting carrots for the shepherdâs pie and accidentally nicks his thumb, snapping both Johnny and himself from their thoughts.
âAw, Si!â Johnny exclaims, immediately putting his potato masher down and reaching for the first aid kit they keep stored underneath the kitchen sink. He coos all about his poor Simon while running Simonâs thumb under cold water and then delicately putting a bandaid over the wound, his warm hands over Simonâs cool ones. Itâs then Simon acknowledges that maybe he simply missed Johnny, as all of his time recently has been spent obsessing over you. He canât help it, Simon knows, but still.
âGotta be more careful,â Johnny says when heâs satisfied with the condition of Simonâs thumb. He grunts and that is that.
Johnny is like a dog that night, chasing his tail while he waits for Simon to join him in bed, mad with excitement. He needs a steady hand when heâs like this, Simon finds- something mindless and easy enough to tire him out.
Tonight that means that Johnny is cradled to his chest, two burly arms keeping him in place. Pressure on the body helped regulate, as he had learned in a seminar he had dragged Johnny to once.
That pressure now works wonders, because Johnny is out like a light despite all of his fidgeting. In some ways, it feels like he has a magic off-switch for Johnny, which really shouldnât be as cute as it is.
He hums under his breath while Riley noses open the door, jumping onto the bed and curling right in between their legs. Maybe she could smell something coming off of Simon and came in as a precaution. The thought makes Simon look up at the ceiling.
âYeah, alright. I didnât need to sleep anyways.â He whispers.
The next morning Simon makes the finishing touches on the menu for the night. Johnnyâs been texting you since he woke up, probably distracting you from your job. Even still, he doesnât have the heart to make him stop. At some point you stop texting Johnny because he gets up just to start bothering Simon- âWhatâs that, Si?â or âGimmie a kiss, yeâve been ignoring me,â or âDid ye take the dog fir her walk?â.
When Simon is content with the state of their house at 1300, Johnny jumps his bones and drags him to the bedroom out of sheer boredom. Simon keeps his entire 95 kilos on Johnny for the better half of some three hours, out of spite, mainly, boring Johnny to the point where he fishes out his phone and does⌠whatever it is Johnny does on his phone. Simon never really took to newer phones, nor what the younger people did on those phones.
(Because he could never enjoy the mindlessness of a screen. Heâs weary and old, he feels it in his bones, his bad back, his knobbly knees, and he knows that emptiness of those âTickTacksâ that Johnnyâs endlessly showing him will only serve to agitate him. He knows logically he only has a year or two on Johnny, really, but they were such opposites he rarely ever felt it. Johnny has reassured him multiple times about it, but it never stopped Simon from thinking (knowing) that Johnny deserves better than an old sod like him. They might be feral dogs together but Johnny has more humanity than he, easier to nurture and to be put back into society than him.)
Maybe itâs a force of habit but he uses a flip phone that can only call and text (if barely). It suits him just fine, though, making it hard for any distractions.
So maybe he feels a little smug when Johnny goes:
âShite, they said they gonnâ be here in twenty.â A pause. âFifteen fecking minutes ago!â And then Johnny is off like a rocket, rolling Simon off of him and then wiggling away and rushing to put on the clothes he set aside for the occasion, cursing rapidly while trying to fix his hair while putting on his slacks. Simon watches lazily before deciding to follow suit and put on his clothes, too.
âMask or no mask?â He asks absentmindedly. Johnny doesnât respond, too preoccupied with fixing his bedhead. He decides on no mask.
By the time Johnny deems himself decent, the doorbell rings and he curses before scrambles to open the door for you. Simon takes longer than Johnny to leave the bedroom, taking care to not rush, so when he inevitably enters the living room, youâre chatting with Johnny while pulling off your shoes. It looks like youâve come straight from work, if the sterile hair and scrubs are anything to go off of. You wave hi to him, a tiny smile on your face.
He and Johnny pull the food from the oven where theyâd been keeping warm while you sit, so politely, on the couch. Hands in your lap and feet tucked to the side, youâre a vision, Simon thinks as he puts a plate full of cobbler on their dinky little dining table.
You sit in a circle, the three of you. Simon serves you and Johnny your plates, letting you talk in peace while he listens, maybe chiming in gruffly when he knows what the conversation has shifted to. The conversation flows and ebbs in a way that Johnny alone couldnât manage- itâs refreshing, having someone new, someone normal at that. Someone who understands the mundane process of civilian life, who, better yet, has only ever known civilian life. Thereâs a spark of amusement in Johnnyâs eyes as he listens to you talk about work and your college and friends and the gruelling weight that is existence. You are heart-breakingly normal and they simply canât get enough.
When Johnny leaves the table to use the restroom, though, you go quiet. It makes sense, as he has barely said a word to you for the hour and a half youâve been here. He decides to change this by:
âHow do you stop a baby from choking?â
This startles you.
âUh, CPR?â
âYou let go of its neck.â
It shocks a laugh from you, your eyes widening, caught off guard. Simonâs face stays stony but it softens by a fraction just from the sound of your laugh.
âThatâs terrible.â You say when youâve regained your senses, still giggling a little. He shrugs.
âItâs funny.â He counters.
You promptly shovel a bite of pie into your mouth, but it canât hide the small smile on your face.
Two hours in, Johnny breaks out the wine. Itâs not good, per se, but it goes nicely with the food Simonâs made. The wine loosens you up and makes your laughs come easier. Youâre so beautiful when you smile; neither of them can help but try to coax more from you. When youâre more properly eased, maybe another hour or two in, youâre laughing at everything.
(âI went to the zoo last week, but there was only one dog in it.â
Youâre already giggling in anticipation.Â
âIt was a shih tzu.â)
By then, dinner is over, and you canât be trusted to handle with washing up the dishes. Instead, the alcohol made you curious; you had wandered over to their record player and plopped yourself right before the crate full of records they kept. You could hardly recognise any of them, admittedly. You end up being drawn to an album thatâs just sickeningly 80s- thereâs a wispy, almost hypnotic landscape of a beach with a random red electric guitar to the right while a guy wearing a pinstripe suit with very strong shoulder pads stares off to the distance with a very motivational look on his face. Itâs so silly that it makes you laugh quietly before putting it on the turntable.
Itâs jazz, you find. Itâs comforting and smooth and, wow, youâre feeling quite tired. Maybe they wonât notice if you just close your eyes for a minute.
(They do.)
Johnny coos at you and takes a few pictures of you curled up against the table the record playerâs on, nodded off. Then Simon picks you up, Johnny fishing through your pockets for your keys. They carefully deposit you on your bed, tucking you in, before Johnny pens a little letter for you when you wake up.
Hi bon,
you fell asleep when me and Simon were doing dishes. i think you were listning to one of our records. it was lovely, though, thank you for coming!!!!! :D
xxxxxxxx Simon and Johnny
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
âThe scene that preceded this nauseous carnival â afterwards, rats must have come crawling over the floor round the two sprawled bodies â was in every way worthy of Dostoevsky.
Drunkenness had committed us to dereliction, in pursuit of some grim response to the grimmest of compulsions.â - Georges Bataille, âThe Blue of Noonâ (1957) [p. 12]