#Fuck it we bawlin with the tags

[richardazer]

Mayo meme with car duo and Lark

Car duo save me save me car duo

If only I was able to make their heads bounce to the beat it would have been so much better but unfortunately I don't have the tools or the patience loool

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

Hi! I would fling myself off the roof for:

Number 3: "I want to taste you so badly."

And/Or

Number 8: “Kiss me, I can't wait any longer."

Please! 🙏🏻

P.S. You’re one of my favorite writers and you do horny so damn well. So uhhh…thank you and please never stop! 😊

"I want to taste you so badly." additional tags: lovey dovey shit, petnames, drunk horny ian, public sex, they're tucked away in a hedge maze but the risk is still there, this got long somehow oops you can find a fill for #8 here :)

It’s Debbie’s wedding day. And as Mickey stands in this restored historical property that she and her bride somehow managed to score, he’s gotta give props where props are due.

This shit is fully realized. Fairytale but classy. Dreamy lights strung over stone facade. Fresh, color-coordinated bouquets in the middle of every linen-draped table. 

Damn. 

He apologizes - he was not familiar with her game.

Now that the ceremony and dinner are over, he’s got a lot of time to sniff everything out and appreciate it. Lots more elbow room, what with his husband off on the dance floor with his family, celebrating their first wedding that’s finally gone off without a hitch. A historical moment.

“We really gotta show up for her, Mick,” Ian had started saying at the mere whisper of a wedding date. “Make moves. After everything she did for ours.”

And even after his tease, “Alright, you put on the dress - I’ll start bawlin’ my fuckin’ eyes out,” Mickey had agreed. Of course.

And now they’re here. Everything’s come together with a lot of elbow grease and a little light florist-threatening where it may or may not have been needed. (It was. Debbie was more than fine with it.) Everything’s going according to plan, and that includes his husband’s drunk little shimmy over to him, Mickey clearly in his sights even before the music transitions into something slow and romantic.

The song change has something flashing in Ian’s posture, like he’s delighted by the fate of it all as he reaches his hand out for him, still a few good feet away.

Goofball.

Mickey has no choice but to give in, endeared as all fuck as he helps close the distance and is immediately wrapped up in drunk husband. Flushed skin… Nice cologne… Those big hands slip under his suit jacket and fully wrap around him. Pull him in close. “Hey there, handsy…” 

“I love you,” Ian murmurs into his neck, in a way of greeting. Sappy motherfucker. “Love the fuck outta you, Mick…”

Mickey allows it. Fuck anyone who’s got something to say - it’s not his fault they’re like this. He is gonna make fun of him a little, though. “Uh huh. Love you too, ya lightweight.” 

His own drink sloshes up the side of his glass - high enough to envision the table’s bouquet getting a whiskey bath. 

Yeah, he’ll just set this down real quick.

“Havin’ fun, huh…” He’s seen it with his own eyes. Has been enjoying it, actually, watching Ian tear up the dance floor and be stupid with the rest of the Gallaghers. “Gettin’ all sweaty…”

Ian hums, unbothered by this as he leans down to rest their foreheads together. “Could get sweatier…”

“That right?”

“Saw a room in the back…” He nudges his nose along Mickey’s. Brushes their lips together in suggestion as they fall into the slow, swaying rhythm of the love song playing overhead. “Getchya outta this suit…”

It’s a good idea, obviously. Mickey fucking loves this idea. But, “Told me to keep ya on a tight leash tonight,” he teases. “No funny business ‘til we’re back at the hotel. Remember any of that?” To further his point, he reaches behind himself, dragging those wandering hands back up as they start to drift downward under his jacket.

His response goes about as well as he imagined it would when Ian had proposed it this morning. “Who said that.”

“You, darlin’.”

“Mm. Mm-mm…” he denies, his hands beginning to creep back down the small of his back in spite of it all. “Not me…”

Mickey huffs out a laugh. Allows the touch just a little longer, but then corrects him again, before too much of this very good idea becomes a possibility. “Hang onto that, stud.” For later. Much later. When the song isn’t changing to something uptempo and just screaming for Ian to participate. “Go help Lip - poor bastard just pulled somethin’, looks like.”

With a great big inhale, Ian makes his displeasure known. “Come with.”

But, “Will in a bit,” Mickey counters. “Wanna check out back.”

“Out back…”

“Heard they got a statue of some naked dude out there.”

He can feel the smirk of suggestion that’s starting to creep across those lips. “Oh…?”

Gotta stop him before he starts up again. Distract him - ease back so he can look right into those heavy-lidded eyes while he sets the plan. “I’ll check it out - let ya know… Meet ya for another slow one soon…”

This seems to strike a chord in Ian’s wine-soaked brain. The deal of the century. And as if fate is reaching out its hand again, the music switches over to a song that’s got the inner circle shouting for Ian on the dancefloor.

“Go,” Mickey insists, kisses him back when Ian plants a quick one on his lips. 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Another kiss. “Okay bye.”

“Bye.”

“Love you.” 

“Love ya.” One more. 

And then he’s high-tailing it back into the crowd, leaving Mickey to watch after him with a fond shake of his head. 

He picks his drink back up. Takes a sip, indulging in just a few more moments.

Damn, he loves that motherfucker.

_ _ _

It’s not that Mickey wants to deny his man - especially not when he’s all drunk and horny and love-struck like this - he’s only doing it because Ian asked him to. You know, before getting sloppy off pinot noir.

He’s in good hands in the dance circle, though. His opportunities to act up drop astronomically without his better half being there to touch up on. 

And all marble dick jokes aside, Mickey does actually wanna snoop around outside. So that’s how he finds himself here, a good unknown amount of time later, posted up at the edge of the garden’s miniature hedge maze.

He hears someone call it a labyrinth in passing, but it’s a fucking hedge maze. Labyrinths are supposed to have monsters and shit in them, aren’t they? Debbie probably woulda had to pay extra for that.

Mickey pushes it from his mind and takes another drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke drift up into the stars. It’s a clear night. Perfect weather. Real quiet out here too, most of the celebration locked away in the estate. 

It’s why he can hear the steps coming up behind him so easily, the stride and weight of them already getting his chest to swell with pleasant, familiar anticipation. 

It only grows when he turns around - when he’s met with Ian’s playful little grin as he stops in front of Mickey not to kiss him like he expects, but to pluck the cigarette from his lips, without a word, before making his way to the labyrinth’s entrance a few feet away.

Mickey watches after him. Feels that pleasant anticipation curl into something curious as Ian takes a drag, flicks playful arch of his eyebrow Mickey’s way, and then slips through the opening in the hedgeline.

An invitation to play.

Oh, fuck yeah.

Mickey pushes forward, eager to not let Ian get too much of a lead on him. As soon as he steps into the maze, though, it becomes clear that won’t matter at all.

Because right away, he’s forced to make a decision between left and right, with no signs of which way Ian just chose. 

Alright then, left it is.

“Ay,” he calls out, just on the off chance he’ll get a response. Shit’s twisty-turny in here. Tall, perfectly trimmed hedges that have gone dark green in the shadows stretch out before him. “Red…”

Of course Ian doesn’t answer.

He turns again. More choices. Right this time. “Gonna make me call a search party for your drunk ass…” he calls, only half kidding. 

Another choice - straight, left, or right. 

The stomped out cigarette keeps him on track - straight ahead - pulse beginning to quicken with his steps. 

Because this is fun, but he doesn’t know how long it’s gonna stay fun. Doesn’t know exactly how many more blind turns he’s got in him before things start to get a little too real. 

“Ian…” One more choice - he’s decided. One more turn and then if he’s not right in front of his husband he’s gonna make it everyone else’s problem. “Ian, if you don’t-...”

The rest evaporates into thin air as Mickey’s steps gradually fall off, all his determination leading him through the corridor and into a hidden resting place tucked in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s small - moonlit and flanked on all sides by the tall hedges. And in the middle…

Holy shit, there it is.

Mickey takes a careful step forward. Takes in the statue erected in the middle of the clearing - all the dips and curves of the pose - how he lounges back on one hand, the other raised to the crown of leaves around his head. 

It’s weirdly profound.

Strangely breath-taking.

Gets Mickey so caught up in the moment of it all that he doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it’s too late - until he feels the hand wrap around his arm and tug, gently pulling him around until he’s come face to face with the man he’s been searching for.

His mouth falls open and Ian helps himself without a word, pinot noir and hunger on his tongue. Mickey laps it up. Lets himself be eaten alive, heat rushing into his chest and his face and his-

Ian lets out a tasty little breath as Mickey shoves him away, light and playful with it, but still hard enough to get a few steps between them - room to breathe and size each other up.

And fuck, he looks like something out a movie. 

The shrubbery walls are tall, but the two of them are out of shadow’s reach, silver moonlight settling over Ian’s flushed face…his kissed, parted lips…how a couple bangs have fallen over his forehead…

Somewhere between the dance floor and here, he’s gotten his tie undone completely - has left it hanging and the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, his suit jacket just begging to get pushed off his shoulders right where he stands.

Holy fuck.

If this is what labyrinth monsters look like, Mickey might not mind getting lost.

“You lookin’ for me…?” Ian smirks, and it’s crazy how something so normal can sound so slutty when he’s panting like that.

Now is the time for Mickey to stop this. Now is the time for Mickey to remind him that they’re supposed to be behaving until the wedding is over.

“C’mere,” he says instead, already rushing forward - already wetting his lips and parting them so Ian can lick right into his mouth again.

It’s sloppy. Handsy. Ian is drunk and horny and love-struck and it’s too hot to deny anymore. It was never gonna happen anyway. 

Dewy grass gets trampled under their dress shoes as Ian walks them backward without breaking off. Mickey can’t see but he trusts him - even like this - anticipates the sturdy marble before his lower back even slots against it. And then he’s trapped, blissfully, between the infamous naked statue and his husband’s crowding warmth.

“Fuck, Mick…” Ian breathes out. His fingers work at the knot in Mickey’s tie so he can loosen it - pop open the first two buttons of his shirt - tuck his fingers into the edge of his collar and then pull, burying his face into the newly exposed side of his neck.

It’s got Mickey lighting up, all the way from the tips of his toes. Of course he goes right for his weak spots. “Jesus Christ…” This statue better be good at keeping secrets.

Because Ian’s mouth is running, words and lips pouring over Mickey’s skin, “Need you, baby…” up and up and brushing over his ear, “Wanna taste you so bad…”

A shudder works up Mickey’s spine, even as he hears himself say it. “What, here?”

“Here.”

“Now?”

“Now.” His warm palm cups Mickey’s cock over his pants and starts rubbing just to prove it. “Right now. In here. Lemme taste you - I don’t wanna wait anymore…”

And Christ, he’s supposed to say no to that?

No fucking way.

Mickey reaches down for his belt, undeniably hard where Ian continues to give him attention. “Quick,” he insists, though. “People been goin’ in and out all night.”

That doesn’t seem like it’s gonna be a problem for Ian. He’s already getting on his knees - fucking up his slacks with wet grass stains - helping Mickey get his belt open and pants down just enough and fuck…

“Fuck…” 

Fuck…Ian’s licking him up and swallowing him down right away, getting him good and sloppy like it’s the only thing he wants to concentrate on right now. His drunk ass really has been craving this.

Mickey lets his head tip back into the moonlight. Lets out a bitten groan from the tight, wet heat working up and down his cock. Feels his breath quicken as those fingers slip through the spit that’s dripped down to his balls, and then slide further back to start circling over his hole.

“Oh fuck,” he huffs out, his laugh breathy and surprised. “Fuckin’-...Jesus, Ian…you horny bitch…”

It’s affectionate, of course. They both know it. If anything, it just makes Ian lean into it harder, something low rumbling in his chest before he draws his hand back to spit in it - loudly - and then goes back to playing with his hole.

Yeah, he’s definitely a monster.

But he is quick, Mickey will give him that. They’re moving fast, the combination of time and Ian’s drunk, hungry mouth making things sloppy in a way they haven’t really been since they were teenagers. 

This is so much better though. Obviously. This is fucking perfect, nasty in that shameless way. That ‘you’re my husband and I think you’re so fucking hot and I’m gonna do whatever I fucking want to you because I know you’re just as into it’ way. Jesus, if his teenage self could see them now-

The sudden redirection has Mickey spinning - literally - gets him facing the statue, his arms coming to hold himself up in its lap as Ian tugs him backwards ass-first and-

“Jeeeesus…” Mickey’s eyes roll shut in pure, utter pleasure, reaching to hold himself up by the crook of the statue’s elbow as Ian’s tongue starts lapping over his hole like he’s got no time to lose.

They don’t, really. 

Realistically. No matter how time is going in and out in this fucked up little maze.

Anyone could make a turn at any of the four hedge breaks and walk right into this - Mickey, bent over in some naked statue’s lap, his ass completely out and being absolutely devoured by his husband while three fingers deep.

Another shudder runs down his spine, his toes curling in his shoes. 

Wait a minute, is that hot?

Fuck, he’s getting close.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Mickey finally gets his hand squeezed into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, freeing the things he’s hidden there just for this.

He gets the corner of the gold packaging between his teeth and then tears, carefully, only spitting the extra bit onto the ground once he’s turned over his shoulder and held the rubber within reaching distance.

It’s got Ian coming back to Earth a little bit.

Has him pulling away, his mouth and chin glistening in the moonlight as he blinks owlishly at the condom, then looks up at Mickey, then back down to the condom again, processing with heavy breath and stilled fingers.

Mickey can already hear the shit he’s gonna get for this later. All sorts of mess about how he said he’d keep Ian at bay but then brought condoms and lube anyway - in his fucking jacket no less. 

“Okay, but I was right to. Was I fuckin’ not?” he defends himself.

And Ian has absolutely nothing to say to that right now - he couldn’t possibly - instead he focuses on the task of wiping his face while standing and getting his pants open and grabbing the condom Mickey undid for him, unrolling it on himself as quickly as possible.

It’s all while Mickey gets the packet of lube torn open and put to work. Because suddenly time is very real to him. It’s slamming forward, the crickets seeming louder than ever but holy fuck, is he turned on. He might want this shit even more than the one who’s been slobbering after it all night.

So he hangs on, literally, going back to grabbing at the crook of the statue’s elbow as Ian slicks up the condom and then presses forward, sinking inside him perfectly.

Fuck yes…

“Oh god, baby…” he breathes out, and it’s shaky and right in Mickey’s ear - right where it sends tingles down his whole body.

Mickey bites down over his bottom lip, his nostrils flaring as Ian starts to fuck him against the statue. It’s just like everything else tonight. Good and greedy and sloppy, wine slurring the usual rhythm of his hips, but it doesn’t matter one fucking bit when they’re both this turned on.

It also means it’s gonna boil over quickly, both of them just a little too desperate to hold anything off. And that’s okay too. Mickey’s here for the ride no matter how it goes - how quick and fumbly and messy it is. Sometimes it’s more fun that way anyway. 

This is one of those times. This is Mickey falling forward into the statue’s lap again, reaching blindly above him for Ian, who swoops in to press his lips to the side of his neck, words slurring and heated and sexy. 

Mickey gets his hand in the top of his hair and he knows he’s fucking it all up - the gel is getting all over his fingers - but that doesn’t matter right now because the new angle’s got Ian’s cock rubbing up just right inside him, pleasure pooling and curling in his belly and drawing everything to a steamy, delicious boil.

“...m'gonna cum,” Ian moans and it’s one of the most romantic things they’ve ever done, Mickey thinks - fucking in this garden labyrinth - coming together under the stars and the watchful eye of some beautiful, fucked up little statue.

It’s definitely up there, at least. And Mickey’s not gonna factor in that he’s got marble cock and balls in his face as he starts to catch his post-orgasm breath.

From where he’s slumped on top of him, Ian buries his face right back into Mickey’s neck, his declaration winded and endearing. “Fuck… Love you so fuckin’ much Mick, oh my god…”

It’s enough to have Mickey buzzing - aftershocks and true, sometimes disgustingly obvious adoration.

“Love ya too,” he breathes out. Then, “Kinda wanna put my ass away though…”

A giggle tickles at his neck, Ian clearly entertained by his request. “Gonna come dance with me…?”

God… “Uh huh…”

It’s all he needs to say for the great weight atop his upper half to release, Ian finally granting them both enough room to pull up their pants.

They straighten themselves up with coy little grins at each other. While Ian re-ties his tie for him, Mickey tries to slick all that red hair back into something not obviously post-fuck. 

And this might actually be the most romantic thing they’ve ever done, he decides instead. Even when they both finally declare each other ready for the dance floor, but find themselves lingering at the different openings in the hedges.

Because wait…

“Fuck…” Mickey realizes. “How the hell do we get outta here?” 

[ send me a smutty one-liner ]

[ao3feed-danganronpa]

For All The Ghosts That Are Never Gonna Catch Me

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/GhJPK1V

by HotGarbage

You try to make out the words, you try to make out who it is, but it’s so hard that it makes you want to cry even more, at least with the minimal comfort you can gather from Shuichi you’re able to breathe without feeling like you’re drowning. “... give… you… important… eyes only.” is all you can make out and you blink away tears, it’s gotta be… Kaito…? Right? You try to think, it’s not Shuichi because he’s beside you, it’s not Himiko because you can’t smell green apple in the air near you, and it’s not Maki because, just like Kokichi, she preferred to offer comfort away from others.

Words: 1741, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Dangan Ronpa Series

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Oma Kokichi, Saihara Shuichi, Momota Kaito, Harukawa Maki (mentioned), K1-B0 (Dangan Ronpa) (Mentioned), Yumeno Himiko (mentioned), Shirogane Tsumugi (mentioned), Monokuma (Dangan Ronpa) (mentioned)

Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Reader, Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito (implied)

Additional Tags: chapter five fucked me up idk what to say, i got some rough news while writing this but we keep bawlin, Himiko gives sour apple vibes idk, spoilers (obviously), how did that body get removed..., panic attack described, Vomit, some words repeat 3 times just cause thats what i do mid panic attack, Angst, hurt with dubious comfort???, Hurt No Comfort, shuichi is a good friend, reader has no pronouns, depictions of gore

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/GhJPK1V

[fromthewifecage]

Never Trust a Cowboy with a Computer (aka Erron Black X F!Reader)

I actually wrote this several months ago, and kept stalling and being an idiot. About 1 month ago I asked the wonderful @tomoka0013 & @gojihime99 if they could help edit it. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! SO many kisses to you both :D Basic premise is Erron Black X F!Reader. Reader handles the Black Dragon IT  and they have a rather huge crush on Erron (because who wouldn’t?) Reader is about to go out to the cinema with Kabal & Tremor buuuuut… dun dun dun….. shenanigans ensue, This is Chapter 1 of 2. Chapter 2 is written but needs me to have a shout at it. If people like this then I’ll try to get it out within a week (Chapter 2 contains the smut). If you do like, then please like and reblog as Tumblr is hiding my tags and no-one will see this otherwise. Your support means more than you’ll ever know x

Never Trust a Cowboy with a Computer

Chapter 1 For once, the absolutely only time in recent history, your hair was behaving. Thank the Gods! Actually, was there a God of Hair? Hmmm, maybe Kano would know? His stories of meeting Gods were always fascinating, even though he would always exaggerate his role and prowess in encounters with said Gods. There was simply no way on Earthrealm that Kano would have stolen the Thunder God’s hat without being zapped into the Netherrealm. Plus, Kano had never produced the hat, so whenever he would have one too many beers and start on another night of tall tales, you’d nod along and feign complete belief in his words. Maybe one day you’d get to meet a God? Not likely whilst you were stuck behind a computer for hours every day. Especially working along side Erron-sodding-Black. He’d gone through at least 5 computers this year, 2 in the past three weeks! You’d swear he was doing it on purpose. In your steamiest daydreams he was deliberately breaking his computer so you’d have to travel to the ‘Black Dragon Boyz office’ (and yes, they did spell it with a z) to spend precious time un-fucking his computer. Every time it happened, you swore you were just going to tell him to go bother someone else, or get his arse down to PC World and find some spotty 17 year old work experience boy to bother rather than yourself. After all, you were doing just as an important job for the Black Dragon as he, well, almost. He might be a super amazing dead-shot sniper capable of assassinating even the most heavily guarded target, but you weren’t just IT support, you were a Black Dragon member too. You spent much of your time hacking into Special Forces super secret files, reading General Sonya Blade’s horribly dry mission reports, or transferring money from one Swiss bank account to another before you could be traced. Well, that was why Kano had hired you. Yet these past few months you’d been dragged to broken computer after broken computer by the obscenely handsome aforementioned Erron Black at least once a week. You hadn’t minded the first few times, after all, any time spent in Erron’s company made you all giddy and wibbly-wobbly inside your knickers. His voice honestly did things to you, actually made parts that shouldn’t tingle at work, tingle. He had warm eyes that seemed to sparkle whenever he spoke to you, or caught you staring at him, not that you stared at him. Much. OK, maybe a little. ******  Keep reading after the cut!!! *********

He had a smile that was likely illegal in half the known world. Long, strong fingers that you so often thought about, especially when you’d watch him dance a coin across his knuckles when he was thinking, his trick to keep his fingers supple. No, no no. No thinking about him. He obviously wasn’t interested in you. He was a simple man when it came to that. You’d seen him make moves on people who caught his eye, he’d watch them for a while, then walk up to them, give them a smile, tell them plainly what he wanted, and then watch them walk off together whilst your heart dissolved into self pity. A few months ago, you’d made a real effort to try to stop flirting with him. No more lingering looks while spending more time than needed helping him with his computer. The man was multi-talented with most things, just not computers. Probably didn’t help he didn’t grow up around modern technology. You’d gently teased him about being old and doddery around computers and he’d taken the jokes well, and really, you missed joking around with him, but it was for the best. Kabal jostled with you for mirror space, smoothing down his hair and giving the mirror a big grin. Why was it so easy for men like him? He could probably roll out of bed after 2 hours sleep with his face in a half-eaten curry and he’d still wake up handsome (the git). Whereas it took a lot of fussing to even get your hair to behave, let alone look nice and shiny like Kabal’s did. Maybe you could make a small shrine in the corner of your bedroom to the Hair God? You nodded to yourself, thinking Kabal must have done that. “Come on, you look beautiful. Now get your coat and scarf, and we’re outta here. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss it!” Kabal fussed with his coat buttons. Always unable to keep still, the man practically radiated excess energy. “I will be sad if we miss the film.” Tremor stood up from his own desk, the building shaking ever so slightly with the enormous man’s movements. “Not as sad as Kabal. He’ll start bawlin’ if he misses his boyfriend’s new film.” Erron spun round in his brand new swivel chair, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Johnny Cage is NOT my boyfriend and I don’t even care about missing the film.” Kabal bristled with indignation. He did care about missing it. He cared a lot. “I don’t even like his films, or him. I’m just watching it ironically.” Erron laughed. You felt that laughter, deep inside and it demanded attention. Bastard. “Suuuure. Enjoy your boyfriend.” “He is NOT my boyfriend!” This was going to end up in another fight. Last week Kabal had called Erron ‘Old Man Withers’. Erron had retaliated by drawing on Kabal’s Johnny Cage calendar. The moustache and glasses actually suited Johnny Cage. So Kabal put a mouse in Erron’s desk drawer and recorded Erron’s scream, playing it every so often while  laughing, and it had gone on until Kano had forced them to apologise to one another, in front of everyone. This happened probably twice a month. It got to where people made bets on how long each feud would last. The longest feud had lasted 23 long days before Kano had flipped. “I do not want to be late.” Tremor tugged open the office door, the handle would need replacing. Again. You followed after the huge man, Kabal behind you muttering about revenge. “Hey, Sweetheart, you goin’ too?” It took a second before you realised that sultry Texan drawl was aimed at you. “Oh, yes. There was a spare ticket since Kira’s still stuck on a job.” Oh shit, you should have offered it to Erron instead. You’d been so excited to be included in the cinema plans that you’d been selfish and not asked if Erron had wanted to go. “But……” Erron’s face scrunched a little and he turned to his computer and hit a few keys in quick succession. “It ain’t workin’ again. Sorry, darlin’.” He gestured to his computer. “But… I only fixed it this morning! What have you done this time?!” You dropped your bag to the floor, and peeled off your coat with a frustrated groan. You were going to get fired as there was no way Kano would believe this. You were completely and utterly incompetent. No other reason. Your fault. “It’s those darn computer gremlins again.” He gave you an apologetic smile and shrugged. You sighed and waved goodbye to Kabal and Tremor, both eager to watch Ninja Mime’s latest adventure, and this one was in SPACE, so it was going to be amazing, and you were missing it. You stomped over to Erron’s computer, your mouth twisted into a grumpy pout. “That is it. No more computers for you! you want to do some work; then you can bloody well do it on a typewriter.” Erron replied with a “Heyyyyyyy” and another laugh. The throb between your legs from the laugh can just sod off. No more. Not when you were going to be unemployed and unemployable after this. Who was going to hire you? What could you put on your CV? ‘Failed IT support worker’? ‘Only capable of turning a computer on and even then it’ll probably turn itself off again when you’re not looking?’ ‘Can steal FBI or Special Forces secrets but can’t keep an old man’s computer running for more than 3 minutes before it’s broken again’? ‘Want to play Solitaire? Well don’t ask me, best try the sudoku in the newspaper instead’. You were so engrossed in sulking you didn’t notice Erron get up from his comfy chair to stand behind you as you perched on the crappy stool with no back (it had no back because Tremor had tried to sit on it). It was only when strong hands found your hunched shoulders and began kneading at the tightly knotted and sore muscles that you looked away from the ‘blue screen of death’. “I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you, Sweetheart.” By the Gods his fingers were truly magic. His thumbs were rubbing magic circles into your shoulders and it felt soooo good. “Mmmhhhhh?” Maybe he was a God, the God of massage. Your eyes closed and your head rolled back. Heat radiated from where his fingers touched you, heat that only got stronger when it reached your face and between your legs. He found one particularly knotted muscle and you couldn’t help but groan your pleasure as his thumb circled the spot. His chuckled reply tugged you back to your senses and you quickly shrugged his hands off you. Thank the Gods you had your back to him so he couldn’t see your positively flushed face. You quickly got back to tapping away at the keyboard but your hands were shaking so badly from the intimacy you struggled to hit the correct keys. “You sure you got that, Sweetheart?” The computer made indignant beeps at your clumsy fingers. “Says the man who has trashed enough computers to practically bankrupt Kano.” Your hands continued to shake and your thwarted desire swerved into anger. “I’ve made you mad.” “I haven’t been out in FOREVER, and just as I’m about to go out, YOU go break your computer. AGAIN!” “Ain’t my fault your boyfriend doesn’t take you out.” Why did he sound almost happy about that? Hang on… You span around to face him. “What boyfriend?” “You know, the dwarf.” “The.. what?” “Your boyfriend, the hairy dwarf.” His arms folded, his weight shifted to one hip. He didn’t seem too happy talking about this mystery boyfriend. “Is this some sort of joke?” You honestly had no idea what he meant. Maybe he was drunk or Kabal had told him this for a laugh. “I don’t think so?” One of his eyebrows rose in puzzlement. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t have a hairy dwarf boyf.. why do you think I have a hairy dwarf boyfriend?” Maybe you had a secret boyfriend so secret you didn’t know you were in fact dating him? Piotr, who ran a very seedy strip club in the seedier part of the city, was a dwarf, (and you only knew him because Kano was friendly with him), but he was balding. Who did Erron think you were dating? “You said you did. You know, you were talking about him being all small and his hair got everyw…. He’s a cat ain’t he.” Erron had the good grace to look embarrassed at his idiocy. “Obviously.” Was Kabal recording this? This was ridiculous. “Shit.” “Yup.” “Then.. uh.. you should go catch up with Kabal and Tremor.” “I still have your computer to fix.” This was going to be such an awkward few hours. Sitting in the office whilst neither of you spoke since you both felt like idiots. “I can do that.” He threw out a warm smile. “Really. The man who can’t even use a mouse without breaking it, can fix this mess?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. If he even so much as looked at the computer it would probably catch fire. “I maybe exaggerated my lack of skills.” His smile turned, and slid from warm to worried. You were going to kill him if this was going were you suspected it was going. “I maybe might’ve deliberately caused the error.” He held up his hands in surrender. Yup, definitely going to have to kill him. “I maybe did some classes a few years back when I was at a loose end.” “…… I’m going to kill you.” “How ‘bout I make it up to you? I take you out for dinner, there’s this patisserie we can go afterwards for the best pastries in Moscow. Hell, you wanna watch that film, let’s go.” His eyes pleaded with you not to hate him, but right now you really did. “I have a hairy dwarf who’ll be better company, thank you.” That he was possibly asking you out and that he wanted to actually go out on a date wasn’t registering. All you could think of was the waste of time and how humiliated you felt. Everyone probably knew and had laughed at how utterly clueless you were. Kano was going to fire you for being shit at your job - after he’d finished laughing. “Heyyy, Sweetheart. I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend time with you.” He really did sound sorry. His eyes went all soft and warm and apologetic and Gods he was beautiful and you really did want to believe him. “You really thought it was accidental?” He tried to hide a smile and couldn’t stop one eyebrow from raising quizzically at the thought that you had been utterly clueless. “Well… you’re… there weren’t computers around when you were young…younger, I’m just an idiot aren’t I?” The-all-too brief warmth and fuzziness from thinking maybe there might actually be something there between you dissolved back into embarrassment from being tricked so easily. You grabbed your coat and bag and left the office whilst Erron stared after you.