#remembered fever is song of all time wow skin is clear again

[sungtaro]

hi eri beloved!!! i'm going to ask... enhypen and then how about le sserafim too for the ask game! muah!

hay bestay ! my answer for the fimmies is here [love that we sent them to each other hehe]

enha [i stan]:

favorite member / bias line: jungwon + sunoo my babieees!

which member I’d fight (& why): ... jay ... djksgnjsdh i've noticed there is ... a lot of overlap between boys i'd like to fight and boys that are sarah boys JKDNJHSGBJ

favorite song(s): FEVER absolute god tier to this day ... also 10 months, shout out, upper side dreamin, and blessed-cursed !

favorite thing about the group: i really enjoy the music and their choreo. i haven't kept up much with their other content as much as i did in the beginning, but i always tune in for the music and performances!

something i’d like to see from them: i'd really love to see a fully committed cute concept i'm not gonna lie hehe

send a group !

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.2

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

The BEAUTIFUL art pieces were done by @clownwry and @elishevart ! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 😭❤️💋

ch.1 - ch.3

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was way more nervous than he was letting on.

She had long, pretty brown hair, braces over her teeth, sneakers, a skirt, and a sweater that allowed the cold air to pass through it. Her cheeks were slightly chubby with youth and nosy, as well as her nose, due to the freezing weather. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly, and though they were clouded with fear and confusion, Ford swore he could see sparkling behind the clouds, sparkling that made itself well-known when she asked if she could make him a sweater or when she saw his hands.

She had long, pretty brown hair, braces over her teeth, sneakers, a skirt, and a sweater that allowed the cold air to pass through it. Her cheeks were slightly chubby with youth and nosy, as well as her nose, due to the freezing weather. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly, and though they were clouded with fear and confusion, Ford swore he could see sparkling behind the clouds, sparkling that made itself well-known when she asked if she could make him a sweater or when she saw his hands.

Ford would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy Mabel’s company, but she was practically a stranger, and keeping a random girl in his house that was located in the middle of the woods was fishy and Ford couldn’t help but feel like it was illegal. But he couldn’t leave her out in the snow and send her on her way to find her home and family, so he decided to keep her warm or healthy, simply because it was the right thing to do.

But then she said she had no parents to call. Only a brother, who was lost, too. Ford can remember the old rule: If you’re lost, stay where you are until you are found. So he then decided that she could stay here until her brother found her, which should be by morning at the latest.

Still, he felt uneasy, so once Mabel was settled in front of the TV, Ford excused himself and went into the kitchen to make a phone call. There was only one man who would have better judgement in this situation than him.

The phone rang a few times. Ford checked his watch to make sure it was a reasonable time to call. It wasn’t Sunday, was it? But then the ringing stopped. “Howdy! This here Fiddleford McGucket.”

“Hey there, buddy.” Ford smiled to himself at hearing that cheerful voice. “How have you been?”

“Stanford Pines! Good t’hear from ya!” Fiddleford cheered. “M’just fine, just fine! How are ya?! Ya haven’t gotten eaten by monsters yet, have ya?” He laughed, making his old friend chuckle along.

“No no, I’m alright.” Ford almost brought up the reason he called, but then he remembered something very important to Fiddleford. “How are Emma-May and Tater?”

“OH! They’re doin’ great! We’re all very happy n’ doin’ well! Ya won’t believe how big Tate’s gotten since ya last saw him! He’s already crawlin’!”

“Wow, that's great to hear.” Ford sat in a chair at the kitchen table. “Has he said his first words yet?”

“No, not quite. Actually, he’s extremely quiet. Not a lot of baby-babble.” Fiddleford chuckled. “The doctor says that’s perfectly normal. Tate’s so smart, he’s reachin’ for specific colors n’ such, n’ ya can tell he’s thinkin’ a lot n’ knows what’s goin’ on, he just got nothin’ t’say.”

“I was very shy when I was young.” Ford commented casually. He didn't feel like mentioning why. “If Tate is anything like either of his parents he’s very intelligent.”

“Oh, he’s so much like both of us it’s scary. Ya know Emma-May, so clever n’ quiet n’ such. Tate’s got all that. But he already looks so much like me! But he’s got his mama’s hair! N’ Santy Claus brought ‘im this fun little fishin’ game where ya fish for plastic fish with a pole with a magnet on it, n’ he loves it! I can’t wait to take ‘im fishin’ when he’s big enough! Ya really outta give yourself a break n’ come down for a visit, he’d move to see his Uncle Ford again.”

Ford’s face felt hot. “Perhaps. Spring is when a lot of anomalies are active and breeding, so i would prefer not to miss that, but maybe I could visit for a weekend before that…”

“Well, no pressure, I won’t assume anythang until ya tell me to, just know there’s always a bed for ya here.”

“Thank you, Fiddleford. The same for you and your family. The clean air will do everyone some good.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Fiddleford sighed happily and perked up. “So! Whatcha callin’ for? Not that I’m not happy just t’chat, but ya never call.”

Ford laughed and shrugged to himself. “I suppose I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“No need t’be sorry, Stanford, just wanna know what’s up.”

“Well, I was hoping to get your advice on something.”

“Shoot.”

“Um… well…” Ford rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to tell him this. “I heard some unusual sounds outside today…”

“What kind of unusual sounds?”

“Cracks, like lightning. And some faint yelling.” Ford answered. “I thought it might be a tree branch or a new anomaly to catalogue, but when I opened the door a young girl was standing there in the snow with no coat.”

“Heavens! Is she alright?!”

“She’s okay, no frostbite. She was cold, but after sitting by the fire, drinking some hot chocolate, and changing into some dry clothes, she’s okay now.”

“Well, good.”

“So of course I brought her in. I tried to call her parents, she probably got lost playing…”

“Sure.”

“... but she says she doesn’t have any parents.”

“Oh.” Fiddleford sighed. “Oh. Now, wait, are ya sure she didn’t just say that so ya wouldn’t call?”

Ford chuckled and said, “I first thought that too, but she looked too sad to be lying.”

“Okay, I see. Does she got somebody ya can call?”

“She says she has a brother, but he was out there, too. So he is probably out there looking for her and therefore nowhere near a phone.”

“Fair enough, okay. So, I reckon y’all are waitin’ for him t’come ‘round.”

“Yup.”

“Well sounds to me like you’ve handled this all pretty well.” Fiddleford said confidently.

“You think so?” Ford asked. “I can’t help but feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m missing something. Am I doing something wrong?”

“Nonsense, buddy, you’re doin’ great.” Fiddleford assured. “Look here, ya can’t just leave a young gurl out in the snow t’try t’find her way home...”

“I agree.”

“... so ya really got one option n’ that’s t’keep an eye on her n’ let her in as a guest. N’ ya tried t’call, but nothin’. The best thang ya can do right now is be there for this lil’lady n’ just be kind t’her. N’ if nobody comes for her by mornin’, why don’t ya go into town n’ see if anybody knows her, then they can help y’all out.”

Ford nodded, then remembered that his best friend couldn’t see it, so he said, “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“You’re welcome. N’ hey, are ya okay?” He asked seriously.

“Yes, yes I’m okay. I just want to make sure I do this right.”

“O’course. I understand. Ya want me t’come down there n’ give a hand?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’m sure Mabel will find her brother in the morning.”

“Mabel, huh? Well, if y’all don’t, please call me. N’ even if ya do find her brother, call me. Keep me updated.”

“I will. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Anytime, Stanford.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Mr. Ford gave Mabel the remote for the old TV and went into the kitchen, she decided to use her awesome detective skills to figure out what year it was. If it was before Grunkle Stan lived here and opened the Mystery Shack, she must be pretty far back in time. But she had no way of knowing if it was 1999 or 2005 or the 50s.

The TV was old, but so was Grunkle Stan’s in her time. So Mr. Ford could have had this TV for a long time and didn’t want to replace it. 

Okay, so when was the TV made? Mabel didn’t know. Dipper would have known.

Okay, Grunkle Stan mentioned watching TV when he was a kid once or twice. So at least Mabel was when Stan was a kid, okay. 

Mabel turned the TV on and it was in color. Okay, so she wasn’t too far back in time. But the TV was playing a commercial for clear skin. The picture was gritty and all the people in it had puffy hair and long socks and oh my god was that woman wearing legwarmers?! Mabel grinned at seeing her favorite fashion on TV, but then her face dropped. When was she?

She tapped her chin and tried to think of how to know the date without being suspicious. She could ask Mr. Ford, but that might be suspicious. Mabel decided to start flicking through channels to try to guess what year she was in based on what was airing. A lot of shows were about cowboys, space, or game shows. Huh. Okay.

All the TV shows were definitely older. Nothing her dad would watch from when he was a kid, so if Mabel had to guess by everyone’s crazy air, the cheesy TV shows, and the music occasionally playing, she was in the 70s.

Huh. Okay. But she needed an exact year. So Mabel turned off the TV, saw an old radio on a desk, and turned it on to listen.

“... cuz it’s cold doesn’t mean you can't boogie, folks! So grab someone you wanna get warm with, turn up the music, and get your bodies warm in the coolest way possible! Here’s Night Fever, by the Bee Gees!”

Mabel grinned at the disco music. Her personal favorite song from these guys was More Than a Woman, but Night Fever would do. For a moment Mabel forgot her mission, jumped off the couch and left the blanket behind, and in the over-sized gray t-shirt Mr. Ford gave her while her clothes were drying, she danced along to the music, singing the chorus since those were the only words she knew.

“When you reach out for me. Yeah, and the feelin' is right,

Then I get night fever, night fever. We know how to do it! Gimme that night fever, night fever. We know how to show it!”

Mabel laughed at herself as she spun around in her socks and tried to do the point-and-hype dance she didn’t know the name to, but everyone did it when a disco song played.

Little did she know that Ford had returned to check on her, and was smiling at her as she shook her hips and waved her hair around and had fun. He leaned against the doorway and planned to let her dance in peace, but when she did a spin and saw him, she grinned and took his hand. “C’mon, Mr. Ford, come dance with me!”

Ford chuckled and shook his head. “No, no! I can’t dance!”

“You got two legs that aren’t broken?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can dance! C’mon!” Mabel encouraged, let him go when they were both in the middle of the room, and she started to dance again. “Don’t make me dance alone!” She even pulled an evil move and gave him puppy eyes. Rude.

Ford smiled slyly at her and hesitantly copied her boogie moves. It was true that Ford never liked to dance, but there was no one around but Mabel, and though he had only known her for an hour or more, he was sure she would never make fun of him.

And he was right.

“Wow! Look at you, Mr. I-Can’t-Dance! Yeah!” Mabel hopped on the couch, standing, and took Ford’s hand. “Here, I’ll spin you!”

Ford laughed and allowed it, doing a single spin, but then scooping her in his arms to dip her and then let her down, making her laugh as they continued to dance. 

“Alright alright, you crazy cats, that was Night Fever by the Bee Gees! It's a snowy day here in the heart of Oregon, with snow flurries coming in harder all night, but it should clear up by morning and be a fun day to go out and play! The date is January 26th, 1978 in case you gotta write a check or mail a thank you note to a friend or family member. I’m still writing letters for Christmas! We’ll be right back with some of your favorites after a word or two from our sponsors, so don’t go anywhere!”

Mabel stared at the radio. “Wow, 1978.” She breathed. Her parents were only kids right now, maybe only six or seven-years-old. Wow.

Ford chuckled. “I know, I’m still in the bad habit of writing ‘77.”

Mabel realized her mistake, but was grateful her host misunderstood her. “Me too.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for dinner. How about some ramen noodles?”

“Yes, please! Can we play a game after we eat?”

“Sure. I don’t have many board games, but I do have a deck of cards.”

“Do you know any card tricks?!”

“A few.” Ford admitted, wiggling his fingers. “There are some advantages to having more fingers than average.”

Mabel grinned up at him and followed him to the kitchen for dinner.

[sweetboybucky]

Morning Light

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1500

Warnings: Surprise surprise - it’s sappy. 

Summary: Bucky learns something new. 

A/N: Wow, it’s been a while. I’m so sorry for being gone so long. I’ve missed you all, but I want to thank everyone for being so patient, supportive and kind these past few months. Life has been kicking me in the guts for a while, but things are starting to look up again. I’m happy to be back. 

This is my piece for the beautiful @barnesrogersvstheworld ‘s 4k challenge, and my prompt was, “For me, there is only you.” This one was heavily inspired by the gorgeous song, “Follow the Sun” by Caroline Pennell. Attie - you asked for soft, sweet Bucky. I hope I delivered. This one is for you, my love. 

*** Familiar notes slip through warm air.

The song is filtered through a golden sunrise. Coaxed from worn, vinyl strings. Drawn through a little ukulele resting in your lap, all light wood and pretty grain and sun yellow accents.

Chords meet ears with measured precision. A practiced elegance you still manage to find in the threadbare sweater you stole from him and the fuzzy socks on your feet, a peaceful kind of grace he’s grown so fond of. Sprawled across the armchair, bathed in early morning light.

Bucky finds himself smiling at the sound.

It catches him every time, the melody he’s heard more times than he can count since first finding you playing in the gray of the compound, the song that drew him to you. Every moment it rings through the apartment brings warmth with it. Chases the cold from the world, from his fevered mind. Paints his world with sunlight.

His heart feels softer as he looks at you, abandoning his book to study the careful way your fingers move against the slim neck. Listen to gentle hum of lyrics he’s long since memorized that you sing under your breath. Trace his gaze over your sweet face.

Steely eyes watch you play for a few more moments. Tongue dragging over full lips, flesh fingers picking at a loose thread in the silky material of the blanket draped over his legs.

And his next words are a surprise even to him, even as his mind works up the courage to say them. The quiet, “Will you teach me?” that falls from his lips making your hands still.

You tilt your head just a little. Smile at him, surprise coloring your voice as you ask, “What?”

He clears his throat, a flicker of anxiety resting in his chest. “Will you teach me to play?”

“Didn’t know you had any interest in music,” you say, more affection than teasing in your tone. It only takes a moment for you to stand. Step over to him, settle next to him on the couch. Curl into his side, ukulele still held tightly in your hands. He tucks you under his arm, brushing his fingers against smooth wood, thin strings.

“Ma always liked it,” he tells you, thankful that the words find a way around the lump forming in his throat. “Becca did, too.” A cool, metal palm settles on the side of your face. Fingertips ghost over your cheekbone, thumb brushing along your lashes as your eyes flutter shut, a content noise pushing past your lips. “And I like that song, love when you play it.”

Something impossibly fond, almost indulgent, settles over your features. Lingers in your eyes as they open to look up at him, in that soft smile stretching across your face.

“Okay, Buck. I’ll teach you.”

Warm lips press to his shoulder. His neck and his jaw. And then you’re nudging him, making him sit up and turn. Moulding your chest to his back, moving the ukulele to his lap and adjusting his grip on it, hands gentle against his own.

Laughter falls from his mouth as you hook your chin over his shoulder, give his neck another kiss. His tone is teasing, fond as he asks, “You give everyone you teach this special treatment?”

Arms squeeze tight around him, your hair tickling the side of his face as you rest your cheek against his.

“Never, Buck. Only you.” He tips his face toward you. Lets his nose run along your hairline, soft and sweet. Chuckles a little when you squeeze him once more, chide with a quick, “Now, quit distracting me.”

The contrast of the instrument and striking metal makes Bucky’s breath catch as he looks back down at the ukulele. But your hands are covering his silver fist soon enough, thumb stroking over the plates in a placating gesture, lips brushing across his jaw as you move his fingers the way you want them. Settle his first and second finger one fret down on the second and third strings, his ring finger finding its place on the third fret of the string between his first two.

It’s a clumsy movement. Awkward positioning with the unforgiving material. And it feels strange.  Wrong. Almost like he should stop, until your other hands guides his right to fall down the strings, breathe life into the chord.

Warmth blooms within him at the sound, familiar and comforting and created by his hand. Like a beautiful, live thing.

“There,” you whisper, and Bucky swears he can hear something like pride lacing your tone. “That’s the first chord, you got it.”

“You make it look so easy,” he tells you, but there’s a smile on his face anyway. One that grows as he turns his head to glance at you, rest his forehead against yours and lean into you a little further.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Already made one chord sound so pretty.”

“Nothing like when you do it,” he murmurs. “Prettiest thing in the world when you play.” And it’s the truth. It’s more real than anything he’s ever felt, the adoration as he listens to your soft voice singing the lyrics, hands drawing music from thin strings.

The answering laugh he gets from you is quiet. Charming in that easy way you always seem to be. “Softie.” Your fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “You wanna learn the other two in the song now?”

It gets easier as he learns the few other chords, settles into the feeling of playing. Feels sweeter when he can string them together, match up the pieces of the melody that led him to you, the notes he’s ingrained in his heart. Even sweeter still when he feels your warm breath on his cheek as you say, “See? Already a pro.”

He huffs a short laugh. Turns until he’s by your side again. Tucks you against his body, beneath the curl of his arm. The ukulele lies still in his lap, fingers following the grain of the light wood.

It’s such a small thing, the weight of the little thing against him. The memory of the notes filling the air fresh in his mind, something he brought to life. Something he could share with you.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice more tender than he means it to be, settling his nose in your hair and breathing you in.

“Always,” you answer, pushing further into his side. Pressing up to kiss his lips, lingering and gentle, before resting in the crook of his arm again and looking up at him, saying, “But you better not use your master ukulele skills to impress someone else.”

“Never, darlin’,” he murmurs, the full extent of his conviction carefully hidden. “Never anyone else.” You tip your head into his hand when he rests it in your hair, start to grow heavy and loose against him. “For me,” he whispers, unable to hold the words back, “there is only you.”

He sees the answering flicker of light in your eyes. Affection bubbles through his veins, strong and dizzying. It strikes him in the deepest part of his heart, love smoothing over everything else in his mind.

And with it comes those memories he’s stopped trying to tamp down, bubbling to the surface. The sound of quiet music echoing against pale walls. Flashes of a record player crooning in the living room. A warm embrace, a soft voice in his ear. And then later, much later, small feet standing over his own, laughter and bright eyes staring up at him, adoration flickering through the little face he still remembers more clearly than nearly anything else.

A flare of grief crawls under his skin. Makes him ache for the things he’s lost -

He lets his eyes fall to you again. Catch your gaze, the tender, almost protective expression on your face. Thinks of you all those mornings he needed you most, when the ice crept back under his skin and the dark folded into his mind, as you held him in your arms. Kissed his skin and whispered the lyrics he’s grown so fond of, the song that always brings him back to you  -

But adore the things he’s gained.

“Me too, Buck,” you tell him, gentle but fierce and sure in that way you always are with him. “Never anyone but you.”

He smiles sweet through his soul. “Play it for me again?”

Your laughter is warm and light against his shoulder, expression bright and fond. “Always, you big sap.”

The weight of the ukulele lifts from his lap as you hold it in your arms again. The pads of your fingers are quick to cover the frets, hands pulling an easy timbre into the air. Bucky tucks his arm further around your shoulders. Presses a quick kiss to your hair.

His eyes trace over the shape of you, a blissful smile curling over his lips as morning light dusts across your face, painting your movements in the softest gold.

MAIN TAG LIST:

@solarbarnes II @akamaiden II @my-meant-to-find-blog II @marvelous-avengers II @jack4xx II @buckyforbreakfast II @theglowstickofdestiny II @bucky-at-bedtime II @notimetoblog II @deceivedeer II @teawithbucky II @veronicalei II @part-time-patronus II @thunderous-flower II @thelostverse II @delicatecapnerd II @pizzarollpatrol II @laurfangirl424 II @stevieboyharrington II @yknott81 II @bucky-smiles II @buckysb-tch II @a-watson-in-search-of-a-sherlock II @heartssick II @spxder-bxck II @bottled-starr II @buckybarneshairpullingkink II @yenneffersstuff II @fangirlfictionmain II @creideamhgradochas II @queenofstarliqht II @dessinemoiunehistoire II @ellaxiv II @mercurie-evans II @princess-evans-addict II @desibarnes II @miss-nxvxcaine

[smolbeandrabbles]

Cruel Summer - Harold x Reader (Adore)

Author’s Note: So...! I decided to make a convoluted plot even MORE convoluted! And also bring back one of my favourite ideas with Phil, only make it a real affair this time 

He deserves some love - because honestly, he’s a super sweet cinnamon roll ��💙

Disclaimer: Adore characters / plot not mine but sometimes you do have to ask yourself questions, right? / Aha-! Look another song from ‘Lover’

* If you’ve seen the movie then I’ve changed some plot points around... 

Premise: You’d been yearning for him for a long time... And this summer presents you with only your wildest dreams. Perhaps you both shouldn’t, but they deserve it...

Words: 3015

Warnings: Student/Teacher affair / Affairs in general / swearing / Sexual connotations

A/N: So... I tried to edit this on mobile and basically it deletes everything! So all that info you just read had to be re-written and I can’t remember what I said. So apologies you gotta put up with this second version instead! 😑 _______ Fever dream high In the quiet of the night You know that I caught it Killing me slow, out the window I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes What doesn't kill me makes me want you more And it's new, the shape of your body, It's blue, the feeling I've got And it's a cruel summer It's cool, that's what I tell 'em, No rules, in breakable heaven but It's a cruel summer With you Said "I'm fine", but it wasn't true I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you And I snuck in through the garden gate Every night that summer just to seal my fate And I screamed for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? ---

It was never supposed to be like this. But it was. An elaborate game within a game. An affair for the sake of having one?? 

He was the hot teacher you always got to fantasise about in the back of class, and that was all fine, in your head. But after semester you got to return home... and started dating his son. And you weren’t sure if you weren’t doing that because of him...

But the longer this relationship lasted, your fantasy began to calm down. You were nearly sure it was dying away, because Tom was sweet and you liked being with him. And you could look at Harold and smile and talk to him and not feel your heart beat stutter or… heat build in a way that made you bite your lip hard and tap your pen against your notebook so loud your friends often grabbed your hand to stop you… Tom made you feel like you were living that late teenage summer romance you were supposed to be in. Like you finally belonged in something with someone….

 Until that all came crashing down. And Harold had been the one to find that out and come to you. He didn’t have to; but felt it was his responsibility. You were both being cheated on. But he was at a loss for what to do next. Straight divorce and back to Sydney? Your parents still lived here, there was less escape for you when it wasn’t term time... and you didn’t really want to leave them just yet. You were also confused as to why he would sit across from you and talk about this so late at night – seeking advice about something so complex from someone so young? You wondered if he might be thinking the same thing you were – or if that was because suddenly all those feelings came rushing back to you – like Tom was just a temporary distraction from the real thing. And this time they would show you no mercy.

It had been a small, not entirely innocent suggestion, if your respective significant others were having affairs - why not start one yourselves? At first that notion had horrified him - heck you were his student. Of course it would. And he was still a married man - you’d scoff at that because it clearly didn’t stop his wife. But once it was out there you couldn’t go back either; because if he rejected you you’d still have to sit in his classes all year. Added to that - in Sydney you were far away from both his family and yours. And you wondered if that was the factor to tip it. He could have you here and there. And in Sydney, away from campus it wouldn’t have to be one big secret. That escape across the country held the tantalizing prospect of sinful freedom. If Harold stayed faithful, like the kind of man he seemed like he was, then when he was in Sydney, he had no one. And when he was here... well, did he even have a wife anymore?

**

So, fantasy became reality. And it felt like the biggest immorality ever committed; but also the greatest decision you’d ever made. At every twist and turn it was who was going to catch you out? Your families? The faculty? Your friends? Soon enough the family part stopped being a care, because it’s not like anyone in his had a leg to stand on. And you started realising that Tom was a cover... and an excuse. If your parents asked, you could simply say you were spending time with him – you doubted they would mind, or get the idea to interrogate him. They got it; you were young, they did that kind of thing all the time at their age. Alas, if you were actually doing any of this with Tom… You would spend the day with your ‘boyfriend’ pretending everything was fine (both of you living the sham that this was still real; but also believing the other was none the wiser) and then in the evenings both of you would sneak off and slip into your other lives.

It made dinner at their house interesting. If people could read thoughts... If everyone sitting here had to be honest just once… Well, everyone around that table was cheating on someone with someone else - it just so happened that two of you around the table were together. And when Ian and Lil sometimes came around too and all 6 of you were there. Wow... Only then it was strange, because Harold would act like a husband again, and Tom like a good boyfriend. And with arms all around the right people you knew it was likely the entire table was jealous.

 Still. There was that one evening Tom went off for a walk, and Ros followed suit... leaving you two at the table semi-awkwardly. There was a good 5 minutes silence before anyone decided it was safe to speak. “If they had any idea.” You leant across the table, a quizzical expression on your face – they would have to walk to their own affairs. Yours was sitting right here. And you wondered how they didn’t think they were making things obvious. Or was that only because you knew. “Maybe they do and that’s why they left?” “How long do we have...?” You almost didn’t dare breathe the sentence for fear of footfalls back on those stairs. He gave a shrug “I wouldn’t expect Tom to be back until the morning... I still wouldn’t suggest the house... but the venue is up to you... Darling...” You rose from your chair and rounded him, small smirk on your face as you ran your fingers up his arm; savouring the gentle shiver you could feel over his skin, you bent low to whisper your choice – making sure your lips grazed his cheek before you stood and left… It was barely a mile, and minutes if he drove you… Harold could have you home and be back before either of them – nobody any the wiser…

What scared you a little about it was you’d never done this with Tom before... or anyone. And now you were here doing this you didn’t want anyone else... But it wasn’t supposed to last, there was no agreement. The arrangement was just a bit of fun to get even. No strings. No falling in love.

That was a stupid promise to make... How could you not completely fall for him? It was hard to think of anything else every moment you weren’t with him – it was hard to think of a time you’d ever wanted anyone so badly as you wanted him. It was even harder to imagine that anyone else would take care of you the way he did; maybe that was because he was so much older. That his son was your age… You weren’t sure. And you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. But at the end of the day (or in fact any part of the day where it was possible) there was no way you could feel as good as the feeling of being tangled up with him like this. There was a certain elation in something so sinful – but how could something that felt so good, and so right, be so wrong? What if it wasn’t? What if the universe was simply course correcting… How you would sigh like that against his lips at the feel of him inside you; how he fit just perfect. That couldn’t have been wrong, this couldn’t have been a mistake. Somehow everything had been twisted and messed up to lead to this moment in time. And maybe that’s where everyone was supposed to be. Except it made no sense… How could you have all supposed to have been liars and cheaters… and whatever the heck a bunch of teens-turning-twenty-somethings in relationships with adults twice their age were? What was wrong with all of you!? Trouble was you’d tried to have a long hard look at yourself in the mirror. And you’d thought about stopping it. But why should Tom be allowed to get away with it? Often Harold would look at you and open his mouth and you thought he would say it; he seemed like he’d be the one to end it. When too far was really too far. But maybe no one could turn back now… You spent all of that long hot summer stealing everything; all those glances back to the house from the beach, where you could just about make him out checking you were all safe down here as tide came up. When Tom would kiss the salt from your shoulders and you wished it was Harold instead. Every spare moment of just ‘running into him’ when you knew Ros was at work and the boys were out surfing again, how you would just take walks with him that just bordered appropriate with the way your arms brushed – and when anyone would pass you’d talk overly loud about what you were hoping from for the next semester. How when it was clear no one would be around your fingers would link and you would bite your lips together and look away from him so he wouldn’t see how much he made you blush. That would make you too much like a kid… How you could steal so much more than that if you were just careful enough, you could all be in the same house and you could still get away with kissing him – that was the ultimate in risky and tactical – and you wondered if you both lived for the rush of that. How sometimes Harold would do things you would expect of the father of your boyfriend – like sometimes he’d put his arm around you, or hug you close and kiss your cheek as you left. And everyone else would see something appropriate. Oh no, not at all… There was never anything quick about the physical intimacy though. No 5 minutes here or there or in the back of a car… oh no. This was tactile, and you couldn’t count the number of times you’d woken up in his arms in a hotel room. Won’t they be worried? …Are you kidding? You think they’ll notice? What do you tell your parents? …I’m with Tom. …Hah… How many times one of you would sneak around the back of the others house – your parents had held a party and invited Tom’s family. Big mistake, your garden was secluded and couldn’t be seen from the house. You’d grown up here all your life, so you didn’t even need to worry about the glance back when he wandered down after you – just drag him to you by his belt and undo it – claiming his lips for your own and trying to ignore that gold band on his finger as he ran his hands over you and tangled them in your hair. And when you both arrived back at the party 30 minutes later and apparently no one noticed, that’s when you knew you were gonna get away with this. He watched you when you wended your way to their house from the coast with Tom, all the way back, and when Tom was preoccupied with carrying his board or talking to Ian you let your eyes linger on him too. And the way you would use that outdoor shower they had like you were on some kind of photoshoot; and you knew that every one of those glances that you sent his way were teasing; each one more than the next…. How he’d light his cigarette and take long slow drags, and you would move your hands over your body and sift them through your hair as the water cascaded over you. How you bit your lip and both of you were caught in a stare that meant the other couldn’t look away. And sometimes Harold forgot what buttons were and the breeze from the sea would catch his shirt – and you couldn’t help but try and keep your vocalizations quiet as that throb of desire did more than just run through your body. It screamed at you to run up there and undo the rest of those buttons for yourself. His little smirk told you he knew you were mentally undressing him, so you closed your eyes and pushed yourself back against the wall – and all you could see was Harold all over you and wish he really was. And that was a mental image that stayed with both of you, because when you opened your eyes again he was gone… and when you got home the first thing you did was turn your shower on again to finish that fantasy for yourself… And later that day you got to relive it all over again… ***

Eventually, the tension snapped - and you and Tom has a screaming match so loud the whole town probably heard it; “I’m in love with someone else-!” “Well it doesn’t even f**king matter-! I am too-!” “Yeah-! I f**king KNOW!!!” That hit hard, you could tell and Tom wanted to know how and when and then who... who was with you because he was with someone else?! But you walked away. Because you couldn’t even stand to look at the man you should be loving, when it was his father you really wanted. Not that Tom apparently wanted you anyway.

 So for a few days you stayed at home. And your parents knew it was all about the breakup... As if this relationship had been all that real to begin with. And you were wallowing in your own self-pity and misery, and kicking yourself for almost not feeling how you were supposed to feel. You should be disgusted at yourself for what you were doing, you should have hated him for admitting he loved someone else. You should have been crying over the way you’d yelled at each other.  Instead you were worried you didn’t have cover enough anymore to see Him. Trying to think of ways you could make up with Tom to have cover, that both of you could fake this relationship to be with who you wanted to be with. But he would ask who; and you got the feeling that hypocritically he wouldn’t like you cheating anyway. That bridge was burned. Why bother going to the house if you didn’t have a boyfriend there anymore? why be involved at all... Well, apart from Harold being your teacher... That should have been reason enough to stop though; and you had college email – and those questions should really be left to the semester itself. Using that as an excuse to knock on his door was weak at best; and it was starting to look like the only one you might have. But you craved him; you wanted his touch all over your skin. And when you weren’t lamenting about how you’d ruined your cover – you were locked in your room and creating that sensation for yourself. It was hardly the same though… And one evening you lay wide awake, staring at your ceiling. When even your music couldn’t send you into a bout of weird dreams, you came to a sickening realisation that had you sitting bolt upright to reach for your phone and dial a number you didn’t have. This was supposed to be no strings attached payback. It didn’t matter to either of you when and how it ended. But, it was no longer just an affair.

**

You summed up enough courage to do something even stupider than just reveal everything in a fight. And although you had left your house fine with a deep breath, your vision was blurring by the time you got to their house and tears were running down your face as you ascended the steps. It was too much, and it took you a great effort to reach that last step - by that time you were trying to catch your breath from your sobs and your chest hurt. Nothing worked, and it was getting hard to swallow the lump in your throat too.

Which means you must have looked a mess. You didn’t know who was in, but you could hear Tom and Ian calling to each other down on the beach, so you wouldn’t have to face your now ex. What the hell you were supposed to do if you stumbled into Ros you didn’t know. You hoped beyond hope that was a bridge you would never have to cross in such a state as this.

You padded towards the open door way, just trying to calm yourself down a little.

You didn’t even manage to make it all the way before Harold met you, curse your loud crying. Curse everything in the world right now, you wanted to run to him and hold him and have him run his hands through your hair as you cried, but you knew that wasn’t possible. So you stood on his balcony crying as he watched you with heartbreaking concern. “Sweetheart, Tom isn’t here...” You shook your head violently “I’m not here for Tom...” “Oh...?” He stepped out but you took a step back, you took as deep a breath as you could manage but the tears still ran. “Why are you here Y/N... what’s wrong...” There was fear in your eyes, fear that heightened the same response as him. Because there was honestly mixed too that he knew was about to hit hard Your voice waivered, and you knew how weak and pathetic you sounded, but you had no choice – your body, your heart, your minded compelled you; “I need to tell you something.” “What is it, darling...?” He took another step that you didn’t concede, and he watched fresh droplets rolled down your face. You held your nerve, and his gaze. You couldn’t take hiding this... And knew you were about to tear everything else apart.

“I love you.”

---

@dennismitchell @happyskywhale @wltz-bby​

#MendoTagSquad.