You Know What I'm A Slut For? When A Character Visibly Drops A Ruse. Like, The Way Their Face Changes

lilac - chapter 3

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn’t have the time anymore. good thing both miguel o’hara and spiderman do.

wc: 5.2k

tags/warnings: domestic dispute, unhappy relationship, pining, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violence, allusions to suicide, mentions of strip clubs

author’s note: got a lil carried away with my emotions for this one ngl

Your pink pen pressed harshly down on the science quiz you were grading, smearing a pit of the sparkly ink as the searing noise of an electric guitar being tuned submerged your little apartment from the floors to the ceilings. You glared up from beneath your brows, a predator chained just inches from her prey, as Ferris and his band of four barked and howled between themselves in your living room. From your perch at the tiny dining table, you watched them, your knuckles paling around your pen. They had moved the furniture around to make room for their equipment, shoved your couch, your armchair, your coffee table - fuck, even your television stand - against the walls so that they could spread out and practice for a gig the drummer had managed to score; probably by going down on the manager of the place, but you’d never say that out loud.

Unless they provoked you - which, with every ticking, prolonged minute that passed, you were getting closer and closer to your inclined tipping point.

Sniffing quietly, you shook your head and tried to go back to grading your quizzes. So far, your class had done a fairly good job. A few percentages below eighty, but not many. No matter what score they got, however, you were sure to place a sticker on the corner of the page. Of course, as you had expected, Gabriella O’Hara’s score was a perfect hundred. A small smile graced the corner of your lips. She was a bright kid, you’d give her that. While she needed a little extra help in mathematics from time to time, she practically excelled in every other subject. You scribbled out a little note praising her for a job well done before beginning to move on to your other papers.

From the living room, another glass-shattering, skin-crawling shriek was raised from Ferris’ guitar. You twitched in your seat, subtly raising your eyes to watch the band. Your boyfriend was downing his second beer of the day, despite it being barely eleven in the morning, and he had his feet propped up on some chick’s - the new keyboard player, because the last one stormed out of the group after realizing what a bunch of asswipes they were - and idly strummed a lazy medley on the taut strings of his guitar. It was hooked up to the speaker, so every note that he twanged out was amplified tenfold.

Downstairs, your neighbor knocked against their ceiling with a broom. Telling you all to shut the fuck up, no doubt.

Taking a deep breath, you put on your best smile - which looked more like a grimace, actually - and cleared your throat. “Babe,” you said tightly, drawing Ferris’ attention away from the keyboard player. He regarded you with a roll of his head and hand on the strings to stop the vibrations. “Maybe it’s time to pack it up. You’ve been…” You hesitated. “Practicing for almost two hours now. Why don’t you save some of the music for the paying customers tomorrow instead of the neighbors?”

To your chagrin, like he was dumping fuel across the little flame that had flickered to life in your chest, he shrugged a shoulder and went back to his guitar and the girl across from him. “We’ll leave when we’re done,” he replied nonchalantly, eyes never meeting yours again. “Still got some more songs to run through.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed and went back to your work. “You look real fucking busy.”

“If you’re so tired of listening to us,” your boyfriend snapped suddenly, “why don’t you find somewhere else to go? This is my place too, you know.” He exhaled a venomous sigh and downed another swig from his bottle. “Always on my ass.”

By now, the rest of the apartment had gone silent. The other band members glanced between the pair of you, movements suddenly stiff with tension they had no idea how to release. It felt like no matter what they did, it would light the fuse on either one of you.

Feeling your cheeks heat and your palms become sticky with embarrassment, you swallowed thick and nodded your head slowly. Then you stood, began to gather your papers, and stuffed them into your purse.

“Hey,” said the band’s drummer, a pudgy guy with thick lenses that had, actually, always been nice to you despite their leader’s obvious intentions, “if you need us to clear out, we can. We can find another place to set up where we’re not bothering you.”

You released a short huff, sounding more akin to a snarl than anything else. It seemed your judgment in men really was shit; you’d chosen the wrong fucking band member. “That’s okay,” you spat as you tugged on your shoes and checked that you had your keys. The drummer’s face flashed with guilt and you felt bad for a moment, but then your eyes flickered to where Ferris had wandered into the kitchen to fetch himself another drink. Like a raging wildfire, the flames in your ribcage roared and seared your insides, making them feel like you’d implode upon yourself if you stayed here - in your own damn home - any longer. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

With that you exited your apartment and slammed the door behind you, not stopping your frantic escape from Ferris’ snarls and rolling eyes until you hit the street down below. Before you on the road, traffic moved at a sluggish pace. Horns blared and street lights flickered. Shop fronts gleamed in the sunlight and bells over doors jingled. As you took a long, deep inhale that granted your lungs a wave of fresh air and your eyes with a certain wetness in the corners, you realized your crumbling relationship with your boyfriend was such a trivial little thing in this city. Nothing was going to stop, halt in its tracks, just because your world was falling apart.

Life went on. There was nothing you could do to stop that.

Plopping yourself down on the bus stop bench, you placed your head in your hands and tried to keep yourself from crying anymore. You couldn’t let anyone else see you cry, because what if they did, and they turned out to be like Ferris? Told you that you were being dramatic, that you needed to pull yourself together and be a girl? Fuck, you didn’t think you could handle someone else telling you that. You didn’t need anyone else against you; it already felt like the entire world was.

What you needed, desperately, terribly, pleadingly, was someone else in your corner.

In your pocket, your phone chimed with an incoming text. Wiping away the tears sitting heavy against your lids, you pulled it out. It was an unknown number; your cyber security app had blurred the message, waiting until you accepted to see it. You swiped on the blurred screen, then clicked open the message.

Hi, it’s Miguel O’Hara. I hate to cross any lines here, but Gabriella is having a hard time understanding the homework assigned for this weekend. I tried to help, but it’s beyond me. Some sorry excuse for a geneticist I am, right? Anyway, I was texting to ask if you’d be able to meet us somewhere today and help Bri. I was thinking the public library? We’re going to be headed to the park afterward for soccer practice… you’re welcome to come along. She’s eager to show you a new trick she learned yesterday. Again, excuse my forwardness. We understand if you’re not available. :)

You sniffled slightly, rereading the text over and over again, trying to stuff down the fluttering feeling arising past the flames inside you. Your head snapped up and you were on your feet in less than a moment, hailing the first taxi that passed you. When you climbed inside, the driver asked you where to.

“The public library,” you said, and managed a smile at him in the mirror.

Half an hour later, you sat at a desk in the middle of the study section of the New York Public Library, already having drawn out fresh sketches and examples of the mathematics homework you had assigned for this weekend. Your foot bounced with anticipation under the table, and you found yourself constantly glancing over your shoulder at the wide, arched doorway that let into the private section.

You’d tutored students outside of class before, so you shouldn’t have been so excited. You’d met with them in diners and cheap restaurants, outdoor pavilions when the weather allowed, hell - you’d even sat with them outside their cramped apartment buildings on overturned milk crates and used cardboard as a back for the worksheets while their parents were busy working three jobs and balancing five other kids on their hips at the same time. You weren’t one to judge; you knew how hard it was out here for some people. You were a teacher; it was your job to love and nurture and teach your kids, no matter who they were or where they came from.

So you shouldn’t have been this excited to tutor one of your students. Even if she did have a smoking hot dad.

Small, quick-paced footsteps - like thunderclaps along the ground in the nearly-silent room - pricked your ears and turned your attention to the doorway. A wide, easy grin broke across your lips as you spied Gabriella breaking away from her father’s side to rush toward you and your table. In her arms she carried a wrapped bouquet of flowers. When she reached where you had risen from your seat, she pressed her face into your belly in lieu of a hug.

“Hi, Miss Y/N,” she said, rather loudly, then presented the flowers like they were sterling silver encrusted with diamonds and jewels unimaginable. An ear-to-ear smile stretched from one of her ears to the other. “These are for you.”

Miguel arrived behind her, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a gentle grin of greeting gracing his beautiful face. He tilted his head at you for a moment, then ruffled his daughter’s hair and said, “What are they for?”

“A thank you,” Gabriella rushed to say as you accepted the bouquet. “For coming to help me.”

You tried to squash the butterflies that fluttered through your stomach when he smiled at you, instead pushing your focus to the flowers clutched to your chest. They were fresh blooms, a collection filled with pinks and purples and a few yellows here and there. “Well, thank you so much, sweetheart,” you said as she rounded the table to go and sit by her father. “They’re beautiful.” You took your seat again and carefully set the gift beside your purse. “And you don’t have to thank me. I was already out today anyhow, so it wasn’t any trouble.”

“Really?” said Miguel. He pulled the bag from over his shoulder and gave it to Gabriella for her to begin pulling her schoolwork out. He quirked one of his thick brows, his sad-looking eyes meeting yours. Jolts of excitement, and pleasure, and adoration went sprawling down your spine all at once, like back to back shocks of raw, untamed electricity. “I figured you would have been staying in during a tourist weekend like this.”

You wanted so badly to tell him just what you were doing out, why you weren’t at home enjoying your two days of free time between your two jobs - one that required every bit of your soul and heart during the day, and another that required every bit of your body during the night. You wanted horrendously to confide in him the troubles plaguing you like an illness only he could cure you from, wanted him to secure those thick, sinewy arms of his around your form and hold you tight, assure you in that husky tone that everything would be alright.

But instead, all you said was, “Can’t let tourists drive us locals from our stomping grounds, can we, Mister O’Hara?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, his eyes stuck upon your form even after you’d pulled your attention to the worksheet Gabriella had pulled out.

For a long while, the three of you sat at that table in the library. You taught Gabriella the maths lesson over again as many times as she needed it, helped her with the more challenging problems on the worksheet, then made up a few on the spot to give her for the extra practice. You even tilted around your textbook so that Miguel could see it and gave him a rundown of the next few lessons so that he could help her the following week, should she need it.

It was perhaps an hour or so later when you sat back in your chair, watching as your student set to work on the few practice problems you’d given her. You shut your eyes for a moment, exhaling a long breath, and allowing your brain to shut off for a moment. You’d succeeding in getting Ferris and his stupid, stubborn fucking attitude off your mind for a time, but now you were faced with the realization that sometime today, you’d have to go back home. You’d have to see him again, most likely get into another argument that would lead to one of you sleeping on the couch the next couple evenings.

Most likely you.

“How are you doing?” came Miguel’s voice from across the table.

You thought for a moment he was speaking to his daughter, looking over her work, but when no reply came, you opened your eyes and realized he was talking to you. You blinked a few times, watching as he smirked kindly and crossed his arms over the table. Fuck, he was so easy to look at. He was wearing a t-shirt against the sunny day today, giving you a generous view of the muscles in his arms. They sloped down to his elbows, and further still to wrists wrapped in Gabriella-made friendship bracelets, to large, wide hands that were callused at the fingers and bruised at the knuckles. You wondered briefly if he boxed during his workouts.

Sliding your hand up your face, you gave him a tired smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Despite only speaking to one another a few minutes every time at pick up and drop off, you felt you could talk to him better than even the girls at your nighttime job. “I’m alright,” you said, then added, “Just… tired, is all. Lots on my plate right now. Work, stuff at home, the whole ‘masked vigilante swinging around the city’ thing. Well… you know how it is.”

It was not the last detail that seemed to faze him. It was the second. “Is everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, like that of a curious puppy. The lines beneath his eyes deepened a bit, the untamed hair atop his head slipped to his temple. “Sorry if I’m overstepping a boundary, or anything like that. I just -”

“No, you’re alright.” You reached out to finger at a petal on one of the flowers in the bouquet, fondly brushing the delicate thing as if it would disintegrate if you handled it any rougher. His eyes followed your movements deftly. “And, everything’s… okay. Sort of… okay.” You sighed and pulled away from the flower, instead opting to rub at your temples. “Just drives me out sometimes, you know? Everything… happening in those walls. Sometimes it gets too much.”

“You’re never out on the streets, are you?” Suddenly his gaze had turned serious and stony, his mouth set into a hard line across his chiseled expression.

You swallowed thick, feeling the dropped baritone of his voice hit the bottom of your belly and head south to your core. You shifted slightly in your seat, crossing your legs over one another to mask the subtle movement. “No, never.” Forcing yourself to chuckle, you dropped a hand to the desk. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mister O’Hara. I’m just fine.”

Before you realized what was happening, Miguel had reached out to brush his long, thick fingers over your knuckles. Your skin was suddenly alight with a blaze you didn’t even know existed. He leaned forward slightly across the table, lowering his voice so that only you heard it in the cage between your ribs. “It’s alright to ask for help, you know,” he murmured quietly. You were caught in his gaze, unable to pull yourself away. “If you ever need something, some place to stay… our door is open.”

Your tongue had ceased its ability to work, your heart its ability to beat properly. You could only stare at him, wide-eyed, as he settled back in his chair. Miguel O’Hara had just offered you his home. Fuck - he knew. He had to have known. Maybe he could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice when you whispered; maybe it trembled too much. Or maybe he could just sense it, feel it from the bottomless pit in your soul screaming out for someone to pull it back into the daylight.

Just when you trusted yourself to speak again, both your and Miguel’s phones alerted at the same time. Across the study section, other devices went off, as well. Simultaneously, you pulled out your cells and read the messages scrawled across the screens.

“Jesus,” you muttered upon scanning the message. A kidnapping had just taken place not a block from the library. Car details and plate numbers were attached, along with an urging for anyone with information to call the authorities. “This city gets worse every day.”

Miguel glanced up at your words, hesitated, then looked down at Gabriella. She was still busy with her work, tongue stuck out gently between her pink lips. You sensed him tense from across the table.

“...Miguel?” you asked, tentative to use his first name. “Is everything okay?”

After a short, brief moment, he seemed to make up his mind about something. He stood from his chair so abruptly that it squealed softly against the tile floor, throwing the backpack over his shoulder and rounding the table. “Excuse me just a second,” he said, already heading toward the doorway. “I have to make a call. Ten minutes, tops.” Then he was gone, jogging too quickly and hurriedly to be making a phone call - or so you thought. You wanted direly to follow him, see what he was doing, but you couldn’t. You had your student to take care of.

Inhaling shortly, you turned to Gabriella only to find her staring at the doorway her father had disappeared through. You were quick to find something to change the subject. “These flowers are so pretty,” you told her and nudged the bouquet slightly. She met your eyes, your gentle smile, and it seemed Miguel’s sudden absence was wiped from her mind. So was the inner workings of a nine year old.

“I got to pick them out,” she said proudly, then went back to her worksheet. “But it was Daddy’s idea to get them for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You did your best to maintain your smile, trying not to grasp at your chest and stop the oncoming heart attack making its way through your systems. It had been Miguel to get the flowers? “Yeah?” you said in a small voice.

Oblivious to your strained tone and the excited bouncing of your leg under the table, the little girl nodded and hummed. “Uh-huh. He like-likes you. He told me so.”

Holy fucking goddamn son of a bitch.

You cleared your throat because you knew if you talked about this any longer, you would explode into a little cloud of confetti. Then you’d never even get to see him again, look at him in this new light because fuck, was it a new light. It was a new light you could dance under, twirl and sing and jump under, because no one was going to judge you anymore, and even better, now you could invite him to be under it with you. And you knew you just might have a chance of him saying yes.

And fuck, what a dance that would be.

“Are you excited for the field trip to Alchemax on Tuesday?” you asked her, recalling the months it had taken Washington Elementary’s principal to get permission to bring classes there. She had insisted it was an important place for them to visit, considering all the work they were doing as of late. You guessed your suggestion for a trip to the zoo had been vetoed. “Your dad works there. Maybe we’ll see him. You can brag to all your friends that he’s a fancy scientist.”

“Maybe,” she said, scratching out a wrong answer on her paper. “He works on the seventh floor. I’ve seen his work badge thing. We probably won’t be able to go up there.”

“Here’s hoping we can,” you said to yourself beneath your breath.

Ten minutes passed since Miguel’s sudden disappearance, and then another. Thirty minutes was just approaching, as was the beginnings of sundown, before you sensed him approaching you from behind. Turning in your chair, the first thing you noticed was that he was out of breath, sweating at his temples and down his neck slightly. God, he looked good like that. But then your rational side kicked in. Had he been running somewhere?

“I think that’s enough homework for today,” he said as he reached the table and ruffled Gabriella’s hair again. She batted his hand away, but nonetheless began to pack up her things. As she did so, he switched his gaze to yours, tilting his head in that way he did. “We’re going to head to the park, kick a ball around for a while. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

Numbly, because now that you knew he not only liked you, but like-liked you, you heard yourself accept and follow them out the doors of the library and onto the street. The deep purple sky felt a bit brighter than before, and the steps you took together, side by side, seemed a little closer than necessary. The sidewalks were cramped, sure, but not enough so that your hands needed to brush every few seconds. Not enough so that your shoulders bumped when you stepped off curbs to cross roads.

The park was quiet this time of day, occupied only by a few elderly couples leaning against walking canes and teenagers out past their curfews sprawled out on benches making out like they knew they were going to die tomorrow.

How long had it been since you had kissed Ferris? The saddest part of you knew that you couldn’t recall.

For hours, you sat on the sweet-smelling grass of the park’s lawn and watched Miguel and Gabriella scrimmage, kicking around a ball worn by years of scuff marks and green stains from fields. The breeze blew their matching hair this way and that, the dying sunlight illuminated their identical smiles as they round about one another in only a way a parent and a child could know one another. You cheered when either scored a goal. You laughed when they called one another names. And when they urged you to come join, even though the night was throwing itself over the sky and the stars were beginning to wink down at the park, you got to your feet and played.

You realized, through your aching laughter and the grass stains on your knees, that you hadn’t been this happy in a very, very long time.

That night, after you had wished Miguel and Gabriella a goodnight and walked home, after you had found Ferris crashed out in bed and the dishes still in the fucking sink, you found yourself sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building. It wasn’t quite silent up here, not with the helicopter chopping in the distance, or the occasional honk of a car down below, or the dog barking three stories down, but it was better than facing the quiet of your own home. You knew you would go mad in between those damned four walls, listening to your boyfriend snore and the clock in the kitchen tick and the floorboard creak when you walked to the bathroom.

You couldn’t face the quiet, not after the wonderful, deafening, blaring joy of this afternoon.

You let your legs dangle off the edge of the rooftop, sitting back on your hands and staring at the glaring screen of your phone. Your thumb ached slightly from scrolling through anything and everything you could find to keep yourself distracted. The newest clean energy replacement from Alchemax. The latest from politics. The child that had been kidnapped this afternoon, now home and safe, thanks to Spiderman snatching the kid from the backseat before plowing the speeding car with the kidnapper into a metal gate.

There came the soft, muted noise of a weight landing on the power box on the rooftop behind you, and you whipped around to find a familiar - but no less startling - red and blue figure sitting perched on the metal edge. Spiderman tilted his head at you, balanced on the balls of his feet despite the hulking frame of his muscles.

“Just came to check up on you after the other day,” he said through the mask. His eye lenses moved as his eyes roamed your figure. “Didn’t know you were this far gone.”

Clicking your phone off anxiously, feeling your heart thunder in your ears, you gave a little laugh and looked down at the drop beneath your feet. “I think if I was ready to end it,” you joked in return, “I’d go for something a little less traumatizing for pedestrians.”

Spiderman was still for a moment. Then he extended his wrist, and a string of web shot across the rooftop to stick to the space on the lip beside you. He used it to yank himself across the tarmac of the roof, landing again on the balls of his feet on the edge. He shifted himself, resting his forearms overink his thighs, and turned his masked gaze to the city before you both. Golden lights twinkled from skyscrapers and apartments and office buildings, creating a constellation of life between windows. The night air was crisper up here - as crisp as it could get, what with the smog from arsonist fires and churning factories and gas emissions - and the stars seemed to shine just a touch brighter.

“So… how are you doing?” the vigilante asked, keeping his gaze on New York. “After the robbery, I mean. Something like that, it can… stay with you.”

There came a fluttering in your heart. But rather than express such a sensation, because you had every right to be wary about giving yourself away anymore, you said, “It wouldn’t be the first thing like that to happen to me. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.” You lifted a hand to the star-lit city, crowded to the rim with life and hatred and love. “We’re in New York. What more can you expect from a city like this?”

For a long while, neither of you said anything more. It was strange being so close to the man everyone had been talking about for the couple weeks he’d been active - so close you could lean right over and pull that mask off. But you kept your distance.

Spiderman took a breath and said, “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “As if I typically sleep at this time anyway.” Then you turned to face him again, locking your ankles together over the edge of the rooftop. The breeze swayed your hair back and forth, like you were suspended underwater. The tension in your lungs certainly felt that way. “Did you enjoy the show the other night?”

He was still for a moment. For two. Then he met your gaze through his mask, his eye lenses narrowing. Even through the cover that hid his face, the heat of his eyes scorched holes through you. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Feeling slightly bolder than you had a moment ago, you lolled your head at him. “You know what I mean.” You sniffed, leaning back on your hands. “Did you follow me? Or was it just a coincidence that Spiderman showed up to my club the day he saved my ass?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“...Sure.” You felt a flutter of embarrassment within you, of doubt and guilt. What if that hadn’t been Spiderman that night at The Menagerie? What if it was some other guy, with some other scar on his collarbone, and you had gotten it all wrong? Despite your sudden worry, you refused to let your confidence waver. “So… do you make it a habit of checking up on every person you help?”

For the first time, you watched and listened as he cracked a smile and chuckled. The lenses over his eyes narrowed as his cheeks rose and his mouth spread into a smirk. You watched the bit of mask over his lips stretch. “You got me there,” he drawled in that low, husky tone of his that made you cross your legs a bit tighter, squeeze your thighs tighter. “Just… couldn’t really get you off my mind. You’ve got courage, saying no to that guy. That’s admirable.”

You felt your cheeks flush. Spiderman? Calling you brave? What an ironic sense of humor the universe had.

“I guess someone has to stand up and say no,” you murmured into the breeze.

“Yeah. Someone has to.”

Moments turned into seconds, and those turned into minutes. You almost wished you could stay like this forever; here, on the rooftop with Spiderman, with the breeze rustling your hair and the car horns beeping and the rest of the world forgotten.

But all too soon, it was over.

Spiderman rose to his full height in a seamless transition, turning his head to face the street away from you. “Should get back now,” he said, then switched his gaze down to you. You wondered, behind that mask, what color his eyes were. “Sure you’re not going to jump?”

You felt yourself smile. “Promise, Spiderman.” You watched as he nodded his head, then prepared to catapult himself off the building and swing onto the next one. Before he could, however, you called out. “And hey,” you said, drawing his attention, “if you ever drop by the club again, ask for the Monarch.”

He stared at you for the longest moment. Then he turned, stepped off the lip of the rooftop, and disappeared.

You didn’t bother leaning over, watching him spring a web from his wrist to flip through the air and parade down the street above the cars and streetlights. Instead you looked back to the city’s skyline far above yourself, silhouettes of buildings framed by a rich violet horizon.

Perhaps one day, you would see what it looked like without all this smog and the army of dark clouds hanging over it.

But for now, you were content with watching it darken until it was nothing but black and purple.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quantii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead

(strike through means blog could not be tagged)

“they were flirting with you” and how was i supposed to know such a thing when everyone speaks in codes and puzzles

If Obi-Wan had actually stayed on Mandalore with Satine after the Civil War and left the Jedi Order, it would've made The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones peak comedy.

Like, Qui-Gon would still be sent to Naboo and end up on Tatooine, he'd still meet Anakin and take him back to the Temple. But, in this AU, he survives the battle on Theed and takes Anakin as his padawan. And the entire Order would be making jokes:

"Congrats on the new padawan! Hope he sticks around longer than the last one!" "We'll keep this one off the bodyguard missions, eh Qui-Gon?"

So one day little Anakin’s like "hey master, what happened to your last padawan?" And Qui-Gon's like "oh he ran off with a girl, yeah he's royalty in the Outer Rim now".

And it's all fine and dandy until Anakin’s nineteen and they get assigned to protect Padmé, and Qui-Gon takes one look at this kid's face and thinks "You've got to be fucking kidding me, this shit again??"

A Harmless Drink

Summary: After an exhausting day, Commander Fox decides to pay you a visit with a bottle of wine he isn't supposed to have

Pairing: Commander Fox x Senate!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Tags: Mutual Pining, Alcohol, Friends to (eventual) Lovers

! link to ao3 !

’Panic’ isn’t a word in Commander Fox’s vocabulary.

And even now, as he rushes through the wide corridors of the Senate Building, swiftly dodging oncoming senators and wandering droids, he isn’t in a state of panic. If anything, Commander Fox is just annoyed. As per usual.

Fox knows he’s getting weird looks from people, a few senators even gasping as they stumble out of his way. The Senate has had its fair share of security breaches, all of which the Commander and the rest of the Coruscant Guard have handled with the utmost efficiency.

It’s not a strange occurrence to see one of the Guards running through the halls, presumably going to deal with some emergency… but Fox guesses this is the first time they’ve seen a member of the Coruscant Guard running through the halls not with a blaster in hand, but with a rather large bottle of the Chancellor’s most expensive wine.

Fox is sure he hears another clone laugh at him as he skids around a corner and rushes down another hallway. Muttering a few curses underneath his helmet, Fox ignores all the different reactions his hurried appearance has caused. Right now, he has more pressing matters to worry about, well, one matter actually.

Despite many scheduled meetings and appearances, Chancellor Palpatine opted to spend his afternoon catching up with some old friends from the Chommell Sector, who decided to spontaneously drop by. Fox can’t recall every time he either clenched his jaw in annoyance or rolled his eyes during the guest’s time with the Chancellor.

‘Who are these people?’ He thought to himself, knowing that both he and the Chancellor had much better things to do than entertain guests ‘You can’t just stroll in and decide to chat to the Chancellor for a few hours’.

Well, as it turns out, you can. Or at least these people can.

After hours of reminiscing on old times, they finally left. But just when Fox thought the disruption was over, Palpatine sighed, taking out the bottle of wine and loudly proclaiming he meant to give it to his departing friends but completely forgot.

With the Commander’s luck, he was then picked by the Chancellor to quickly catch up with the group and give them the present before they boarded their ship.

This would have been an easy task to complete if the guests had just left but a lengthy ten minutes had already passed by the time Palpatine realised he still had the wine and sent Fox on his mission. The second the Commander was given the bottle of wine and left the Chancellor’s Suite, he began his sprint, knowing it takes approx. 12 minutes to get from the Suite to the closest landing pad.

Hearing some loud farewells from around the corner, Fox presumes he’s made it just in time, breathing a sigh of relief. Dashing out to the landing pad, he abruptly comes to a stop.

A confused group of Vurk politicians suddenly halt their goodbyes and turn to face the Commander, confused looks spreading across their faces. One of the older Vurk’s peers down at the bottle in Fox’s hand. “Oooo is that for us, Commander?” He asks, fingers twitching with anticipation.

“Kriff” Fox mumbles to himself, shoulders deflating as he realises he’s completely missed the Chancellor’s guests and that they’re probably exiting the atmosphere by now.

“Hmm?” Another one of the Vurks asks, not quite catching Fox’s response.

With his grip tightening on the bottle, Fox huffs, turns on his feet and leaves. He’s in no mood to deal with politicians right now, the thoughts of returning the bottle to a disappointed Chancellor deepening his annoyance.

If he didn’t look like a fool running through the corridors of the Senate Building beforehand, he sure feels like one now. Trying to look as if he’s walking with purpose, Fox holds the bottle tightly beneath his arm with no real plan of what to do now.

Judging by the orange hues of the sunset glaring through the windows, Fox only has another ten minutes on shift. After that, he’s supposed to have seven hours to eat, sleep, shower and do any additional paperwork before the beginning of his next shift. Though being the Commander of the Coruscant Guard means Fox rarely gets those full seven hours without some kind of call to duty.

Slowing his pace, Fox starts to think of a plan. If he takes a slight detour then he may not make it back to the Chancellor’s Suite in time.

Of course Fox is aware this doesn't fix his slight problem, only prolonging the inevitable sigh of disappointment the Chancellor will give him. If Palpatine isn’t informed that the bottle of wine didn’t reach his guests today then he will be tomorrow… but on this occasion, Fox prefers it to be tomorrow.

Turning down one of the smaller side corridors, Commander Fox heads in the opposite direction of the Chancellor’s Suite. His steps become quick and confident. Fox knows exactly where his detour will take him.

***

Why are you still here? That’s the one question your mind keeps going back to. The last Senate meeting was over two hours ago and even that, you didn’t need to attend in person. You did simply because you had nothing better to do.

Your days have recently become boring and you hoped that attending the Senate meeting in person might liven things up. Unfortunately, it didn’t. In fact, the most exciting thing you’ve witnessed all day was Senator Binks walking into a door… which admittedly happens more often than not.

Leaning back on your chair, your eyes leave the paperwork scattered on your desk and glance around your office. You’ve been appointed senator of your homeplanet for just over a year now and yet your office still looks foreign to you, as if this is your first time entering.

The dull grey walls blend in with the ashened floor, making the office look more like a prison cell. In fact, the only object that actually distinguishes your office from the empty office spaces a few corridors away is the couch the previous senator had brought in.

He was old and apparently had back problems and so he spent most of his day lounging around on the oddly shaped couch. You, on the other hand, rarely sit on it and instead prefer to stay hunkered down by your desk.

And yet despite how dreary the room is, here you still are, spending your evening skimming through policies and motions other senators hope to put forward.

What a life.

You’re about to go through another pending motion when there’s a sharp knock at the door. You immediately sit up straight, eyebrows raised at the sudden noise.

“Yes? Come in” you call out, your fingers drumming on your desk.

The durasteel door slides open and familiar maroon armour enters the room. It’s an automatic response when you rise to your feet, an act of respect to a man with such high authority. “Commander,” you greet “is everything alright?”.

Fox stops just short of your desk. His hand twitches for a moment and he has to stop himself from saying “At ease, soldier”. Usually they’re the only people to ever show him this level of respect, with many senators seeing him as an armoured assistant most of the time.

But not you, you’ve always given Fox the respect he deserves.

Maybe that’s why he constantly feels a pull towards you, always wondering where you are in the building and what you’re doing. Respect, and of course, he has to think about you for security purposes too. But that’s it, or at least Fox has convinced himself those are the only two reasons why you constantly invade his brain.

He clears his throat “Yes, everything is fine, I just… I uh”.

Goddammit, why is he here? Fox has had all this time to think of a reason to visit you on his walk here and yet the very thought is only crossing his mind now. Thankfully, you speak again, brushing past his awkwardness.

“Is that wine?” you squint your eyes, convinced your gaze must be deceiving you.

Letting out a laugh, you continue with your barrage of questions “Commander, are you drinking on the job?”.

He watches as you raise an eyebrow, your eyes glued to the bottle in his hand. Fox would feel flustered if it isn’t for your disarming laugh. Hell, if droids had your laugh instead of repeating ‘roger roger’ all the damn time, Fox is sure he would have forgotten how to shoot and died in his first encounter with them.

The ghost of a smile graces his lips as he finally manages to reply. Lifting his arm to look at the bottle, he simply asks “You think I’m a wine drinker?”. You laugh again and it makes his chest tighten.

Although you’ve overheard many troopers complain about the infamously ‘by the books’ Commander, you enjoy his company. Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t give clones a chance, practically viewing them as droids with heartbeats. You, on the other hand, much prefer their company over the likes of senators or even some jedi.

You’ll always remember the first time you officially met the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Beforehand, one of the other senators pointed him out to you, warning you to steer clear as it was well known Fox was very cut and dry, never kissing the asses of pretentious senators who believed they were the chosen one. But when you actually met Fox, it was after you had already befriended Thorn and Hound.

Since you were genuinely interested in getting to know the clones, Hound thought it would be a good idea to show you their private quarters, assuring you it was all above board and not a breach of protocol… yep, that was a lie.

You spent all of 5 minutes in their private quarters, listening intently as Thorn gave you a very in depth review of their nutrition bars, a food they must rely on as a snack to get them through their shifts. He even gave you a few to take with you but that’s when Commander Fox appeared behind you. Sheer annoyance emulated from him and within a few seconds, he was escorting you out of their private quarters.

Neither of you knew it then but that was the start of a beautiful friendship, one where you often annoyed the Commander yet he always put up with you.

“No, I never imagined you as a wine drinker,” you admit, crossing your arms as your posture becomes more relaxed. Although his eyes briefly flick down your body, Fox tries to ignore how your hips sway with your change of stance. Thinking for a moment, you conclude “You’re definitely more of a cocktail kinda guy”.

For the first time today, Fox rolls his eyes not out of annoyance but in an affectionate way. “Very funny” he comments sarcastically.

“So why are you carrying around a bottle of wine, Commander?” You query, lips tugging upwards when you hear an audible sigh leave his helmet. That’s a normal indication from Fox that you’re in for one hell of a story.

Fox steps forward, placing the wine on your desk and subconsciously leaning against the solid structure, his body weary from the long day. Taking this to mean the formal part of his visit is over, you sit back down, your head propped up by both of your hands as you eagerly wait for him to begin.

Maker, if you could see yourself; a relaxed smile on your lips, body instinctively leaning in his direction and your eyes, kriff, your eyes, sparkling with curiosity as you give the Commander your undivided attention. It makes his heart stutter, heat rushing to his cheeks.

Usually he only gets this kind of attention from senators when they’re yelling at him to do a better job or expecting him to save their ass from whatever threat happens to grace the Senate.

Fox starts from the beginning, describing how obnoxiously the Chancellor’s guests wandered in and telling you everything that’s happened until now. You laugh at various parts, especially when he goes off on a tangent about how arrogant the guests were.

This is one of your favourite things about Fox, his rants are always so hilarious. Not many people laugh at what the Commander says and most of the time Fox doesn’t see the humour in his rants either. But that only makes it funnier to you.

He’s so blunt in his description of the Chancellor’s guests, not hesitating to mention how one was obviously trying to hide their bald spot and how another spent half the time trying to fish some snot out of their nose.

Usually Fox doesn’t elaborate this much when speaking to others, keeping his renditions brief but when it comes to telling you about his day, he likes to add in little comments or mention details he normally never would.

Besides, if mentioning some extra details means you’ll keep your attention on him for just a little bit longer, then it’s worth it.

Once Fox tells you why he took this detour, you gasp dramatically “Commander, it’s not like you to ditch your duties”.

He scoffs, his plastoid shoulder pads rolling as he shrugs “I’m not ditching my duties… technically, I’ve been off duty for the last minute and a half”.

“And before that? When you were still on duty and complaining about your dear old Chancellor’s guests?” you goad, though you know you have a better chance at beating Count Dooku in a lightsaber fight than getting the Commander to admit that he was, in fact, ditching duties.

“I was informing a senator of the current proceedings within the Senate,” he replies, authority laced deep in his voice as he gestures to you “it’s imperative that senators such as yourself are aware of any unidentified guests entering the facility”.

Goddammit he’s good. “Touché, Commander,” you reply “and the wine? What are you going to do with it now?”.

“I’ll have to return it to the Chancellor tomorrow when I relay what happened to him,” he states “I’m sure he’s already retired to his private quarters for the night”.

“Really?” you try to hide the slight disappointment in your voice but Fox is quick to pick up on it.

“Why?” he scans your face, trying to identify what he’s said wrong “What do you propose I do with it?”.

You have the perfect idea in mind but first you shrug, wanting to downplay your plan “Well I’m sure your brothers would appreciate a bottle of that size, it’s sure to lift a few spirits”. That earns another scoff from him, just as expected.

“Or…” you continue, looking at the time on your holopad “you are off duty and Maker knows you deserve a drink and I don’t know, maybe you could share some with your favourite senator?”. You flash him a cheesy smile to seal the deal. This is a hard bargain to sell, you’re well aware of that but if you don’t try then you’ll never know.

Fox thinks for a moment, his helmet tilting down at the bottle. How do you have such a hold on him? When the group of Vurk politicians even suggested taking the bottle, Fox was well and truly over the idea but with you? He can’t believe he’s actually considering it. I mean, would the Chancellor really know any different if Fox simply didn’t mention it again? Surely he would just assume the bottle was given to the guests and that would be the end of it.

Damn it, is he malfunctioning right now? Fox can feel your gaze on him and before you can backtrack your idea, he says “I guess there’s no harm in it…”.

A tingle of excitement surges through you. Now this is exactly what you need after such a boring day but you want to make sure. “Is that a ‘yes’, Commander?” You pry, holding your breath in anticipation.

“It's a ‘you’re an extremely bad influence’,” he corrects you before adding “but it’s also a yes”.

The second a bright grin spreads across your face, Fox knows this decision, while very risky, is completely worth it. “Yes!” you exclaim, jumping up from your seat and making your way around the desk and closer to Fox.

Fox holds the bottle steady and twists the cap off, breaking the seal before handing it to you. “I don’t have any glasses,” you caution, unsure whether that’ll be an issue “so I hope you don’t mind sharing”. You wait for Fox’s reply, not wanting to start downing the bottle without his blessing.

He gives a short laugh “That’s not an issue to me”.

With that as his sign of approval, you take a moment to brace yourself before bringing the mouth of the bottle to your lips. While you take your first gulp of wine, Fox moves his hands up to his helmet, unclicking it and finally taking it off. It’s something he doesn't do often while in the Senate Building but he can’t exactly drink the wine any other way.

As you bring the bottle away from your mouth, you're too busy dealing with the strange bitterness of the wine to notice his sudden change in appearance.

“Wow,” your face involuntarily scrunches up, your arm holding out the bottle to Fox “that’s a lot stronger than I expected”.

Fox settles his helmet on your desk, making sure to avoid placing it on top of your paperwork. “Too strong for you?” he teases, a smirk playing on his lips “Well, that’s really saying something”. Satisfied with where his helmet is placed, he turns to look at you.

Your mouth falls open as his gaze meets yours and for a second, you forget how to breathe. It’s strange to think this is the first time you’ve seen Fox without his helmet on, yet with the current situation the galaxy finds itself in, it’s not something you’ve ever found weird.

He doesn't look like the rest of the clones, well of course he does to some degree but unlike most of them, Fox understandably has many dark circles under his eyes.

Although he looks clean shaven, the inklings of a 5 o’clock shadow enhance his jawline. He has a few scars scattered across his face, the largest one looking like it came from some sort of animal. Perhaps that’s how he got his name.

But the Commander's most distinguishable feature is his hair, a salt and pepper mixture of the usual dark hair of clones with silver hairs scattered throughout, presumably from the amount of stress he’s constantly under. Maker, why does he hide under that helmet all day? Probably because of the amount of people who would be throwing themselves at him if he didn’t wear — oh kriff, you’re staring.

Fox looks at you with a furrowed brow, wondering just how strong this wine is. “Fox - uh, Commander - sorry,” you stutter, the words spilling from your mouth “um, here, it’s your turn to drink”. You practically shove the bottle into his hands.

Fox doesn't comment on your rattled demeanour, taking the bottle and deciding he should judge for himself how strong this wine is. Taking a swig from the bottle, he holds the liquid in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing. It’s definitely strong, a sharp pang hitting his taste buds. Thankfully, it doesn’t last long and the rich aftertaste helps ease the intensity.

“It certainly has a kick to it” he determines, taking a moment to examine the bottle’s shiny label before passing it back to you.

“Do you want to sit?” You ask, gesturing to that damn couch as you take the wine from him. Fox nods and you both get settled on the couch, the Commander sitting very formally with both feet planted on the ground in contrast to you, curled up with your feet tucked in by your body.

“Sorry for staring,” you blurt out, swiftly taking another drink before you elaborate “it’s just that I’ve never seen your face before”.

Fox smiles to himself for a moment before shifting his gaze to you, endearment in his eyes. “Yes you have” he corrects you.

“Huh? No, every time we talk, you always have your helmet on,” you protest, absolutely certain you’re right.

“You’ve still seen my face before this” he says drily and it takes you a couple of seconds to catch on.

“Oh,” your eyelids drop “just because I’ve seen other clone’s faces doesn’t mean I knew what you looked like”.

“That’s exactly what it means actually” he shrugs, taking the bottle from you. Fox knows he’s slowly starting to wind you up but it’s one of the few joys he has.

“You could’ve been a droid under there for all I knew,” you reply exasperatedly “besides, just because you’re all clones that doesn’t mean you all look like carbon copies of each other”.

Yes, it does, but after another gulp of wine, Fox is more interested in how you see it if not the obvious. “How so?” he inquires.

You have an obvious answer. Not every clone you’ve seen is as attractive as Fox. Although you’d love to give this answer, you haven’t had enough wine to start shamelessly flirting with the Commander just yet. Instead you opt for the teasing answer.

“Not every clone is greying as fast as you, Fox”.

Fox takes another large gulp of wine after that, his eyes rolling yet again. “That’s Commander to you” he mutters.

“Oh I’m so sorry, not every clone is greying as fast as you, Commander”.

You’re lucky Fox likes this about you. You can dish it just as well as you can take it, never shying from a confrontation or an opportunity to tease him. Placing his free hand on his knee, Fox mutters “That’s it, I’m going to see if Senator Amidala would like some of this wine instead”.

He doesn’t even get a chance to move before your hand is on his shoulder. “What? Wait! But I haven’t even told you about my run in with Senator Aak” you hastily reveal. It was only last week Fox had been complaining to you about the senator so you know he’ll appreciate a good story of how you got the better of him earlier in the day.

He doesn't answer immediately, trying not to draw attention to your hand still being on his shoulder in fear you’ll quickly remove it if he does.

Settling back down, he nods “Go on”. Fox tries to keep his face neutral when you remove your hand, instead putting your open palm in front of him.

He huffs, feigning annoyance as he gives you the bottle. Happy with your small victory, you take a hurriedly swig of the wine before telling Fox all about your earlier encounter with the senator.

It isn’t very exciting, especially in comparison to what Fox has to deal with but you know he’ll be happy to hear you won a debate against Senator Aak. After all, your mutual dislike of the senator is one of the many things you both happen to have in common.

As you tell him all about your interaction, Fox relaxes more and more, the both of you casually passing the bottle to one another.

Admittedly, Fox can’t recall the last time he’s had a drink. He knows it was probably at 79's but he rarely gets enough time off to genuinely unwind and whenever he does, he’s usually interrupted and called back to work. The more you talk, the less Fox pays attention, the warm feeling in his chest urging him to take this time to fully admire your features.

You blabber on with your story, subconsciously scooting closer to the Commander as you continue to relay what happened. Although you don’t feel too tipsy, the fuzzy feeling in your head is a clear indication the wine is finally starting to set in.

It feels weird to have the Commander’s attention on you. It’s something you’ve had numerous times in the past but to have it and actually see his face is a whole new experience. You can see exactly what he’s looking at and each small change of his expression, which is actually pretty daunting.

“You should’ve seen the look on his face,” you continue with your story, trying to ignore how his brown eyes shine like dews of honey “he was so flustered that I actually called him out and he was trying to think of a rebuttal but… wow, your eyes are really pretty”.

Ok, maybe you’ve had enough wine.

You watch as Fox realises what you said, the sudden shift of conversation catching him off guard. “Oh… that was the senator's rebuttal?” He questions, wishing he paid more attention to what you were saying.

“No, I uh, sorry, that just came out,” you laugh nervously, trying to do some damage control “sorry, that was unprofessional of me to say”.

Fox holds back a laugh, a smirk creeping up on his face as he swirls the remainder of the wine around the bottle “Yeah cause this is completely professional”.

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him as you scoff “You know what I mean”. Fox’s smirk only gets wider, noting how you’re much more physical when you’re tipsy, seeking out any reason to touch him.

Could you possibly feel the same? Fox never truly saw that as a possibility until now, knowing duty must always come first and that he should never indulge in such fantasies… but if you feel it too then maybe testing out the waters wouldn’t hurt.

“No, I don’t think I ‘know what you mean’” Fox tests you.

You let out an audible sigh, knowing he’s being difficult on purpose. Fidgeting with your hands, you break his fierce gaze. How are you supposed to explain your sudden desire to compliment him? How can you let him know how much you yearn for him without blatantly saying it out of fear of rejection? Is that even possible?

“I just- you know how… I don’t know… c’mon, you have to know what I mean” kriff, it’s a struggle to get the words out.

Rolling his shoulders, Fox takes the opportunity to subtly lean closer to you. If it isn’t for the sensation of his hot breath hitting against your cheek when he speaks, you’re certain you would have missed what he says, his voice a mere whisper “You’re cute when you’re flustered”.

The comment makes you impulsively look back up to him, your eyes widening when you see his full attention is on your lips. You want to melt under his gaze, to pull him close and finally show him how you feel. “Commander…” is all you can get out, your throat tightening as you inch closer to him, eyes shutting.

Fox does the same, edging closer until his nose softly brushes against yours, the touch so intimate it almost makes him gasp with anticipation. He can hear the thudding of his heart thunder through his ears and he prays the thickness of his armour deafens the noise to you.

Your mind is whizzing almost as fast as the speeders outside but you try to ignore it, wanting to live in the moment and not think of the repercussions this might cause. Both of you continue on slowly, a warmth capturing your lips as his mouth hovers over yours.

Before the commander can fully press his lips to yours, a quick ping sound goes off, closely followed by a ringing noise you recognise. Fox sighs, knowing what it is too. Keeping his eyes shut, he lifts his arm up to his mouth, pulling away from you.

There’s a brief second you think there’s some hesitation in Fox but you know duty will always come first.

“What?” His voice is gruff, obviously not appreciating the interruption.

A familiar voice answers “Commander, there’s an altercation taking place outside the Chancellor’s Suite, sir. Senator Clovis is demanding to speak to the Chancellor over some, uh…”. There’s some scuffling and you hear Senator Clovis in the background, impatiently demanding they get out of his way. “Uh… some policy, I think, sir. We’ve already informed him that the Chancellor has retired to his private quarters for the night but he’s not interested in listening to us”.

Fox lets a few seconds pass before answering, mulling over what his head is telling him to do versus his heart. With restraint in his voice, he firmly replies “Keep him there, I’m on my way”.

Although this sort of reply is to be expected from the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, you can’t help the way your heart sinks. Yet, you force a smile as you quietly say “Duty calls”. Fox looks at you with sorrowful eyes, unsure how to respond and so he simply nods.

With the wine in his hand, Fox stands, suddenly feeling quite dizzy. He tries not to let it show, knowing he has a job to do.

You stand too, following the Commander as he goes to the desk to retrieve his helmet. Placing the bottle where his helmet was, Fox gives you one more sympathetic look before obscuring his face with the helmet, clicking it back into place.

Kriff, you miss his face already. Would it be unprofessional to rush over and take it back off? Ask him to comm his brother back and say he has more pressing matters at hand? You swallow, knowing this isn’t a viable option.

Turning to face you, Fox loosely gestures to the bottle “You can keep the wine”.

“You sure you don’t want to chug the rest before you go?” you joke, yet the disappointment is still clear in your tone “If you have to go deal with Senator Clovis then you might need the extra encouragement”.

“Chugging wine seems more your style” Fox teases, tearing his eyes away from your face and walking to the door. Like a lost puppy, you follow him again, not wanting to be without his presence.

With his hand hovering over the door’s command panel, he shifts his head to look at you one more time. “I…” Fox has so much he wants to say to you yet the words refuse to come out “thank you… for the drink”. He scrunches his eyes shut, glad you can’t see his face anymore. Out of everything he could have said, that’s the best he’s got?

He hears you shift and his eyes spring open, just in time to see you lean up and place a kiss on the side of his helmet. “No, Fox, thank you” you reply.

In a rare occurrence, the Commander is too stunned to speak. His brain short circuits and he has no idea how to respond. Never did Commander Fox think he would be envious of his helmet, but right now, he would do anything to have felt that kiss. Your lips so close yet so far away.

With an abrupt nod, Fox exits your office, waiting for the durasteel doors to shut behind him before taking a moment to process what has just occurred.

With Fox gone, a smile creeps up on your face, an electric feeling buzzing in your stomach. Proud of yourself, you walk back to your desk, sitting down with the bottle of wine in hand. Taking a quick swig, you revel in your small victory as for once, Fox didn’t correct you when you didn’t use his official GAR title of Commander.

If he’ll let you get away with that then maybe you should kiss him more often.

Silly doodle bc it was the first thing I thought of when I saw Pomni.

I love opening up this website first thing like the morning paper and immediately seeing multiple posts like "how to get rid of the evil clown on the dashboard". like oh is this what we're doing today

u know whats wild. everyone on here like 20 and when i first joined everyone was like 14 15. u ask anybody n they been here for years. nobody new on here. staff locked the doors n were all Stuck Inside

DELETE THIS POST

today is video games’s birthday.