#his little frowny face as he fixes the bar kills me

[daddy-long-legssss]

I was shaking so hard then Philadelphia, me whammy fell out. What's your excuse? +

[jiminjoo]

my holy jikook fic rec pt.3

third part of my holy jikook fic recommendation series. hope you like it! 

(also part one and part two are here) click keep reading for the part three!

You Broke My Heart (but I broke it myself) by Rose_gold715

Jimin's fiancé has abandoned him on his wedding day, and Jeon Jungkook, Jimin's first love and worst heartbreak, is back.

“i love it. i was having a problem finding a nice fic and this fic saved me !”

parallax by gangbang

jungkook needed help realizing that he'll always love jimin: past, present, and future.

“amazing, i love the author and I enjoyed this so much.”

friday nights (with you) by kstorms

How a random night at a karaoke bar leaves Jimin with two new friends and a frowny, terribly handsome crush.

“characterization is on point, i love this awkward kookie”

Can You Give Me My Breath Back by DeadpanSnarker

Six months till the tournament that would decide Jungkook's future. Six months where he and his team were in dire need to monopolize the ice-rink that had taken a liking to Uni’s new sweetheart. Where Jimin made a bet with Jungkook, which, if Jungkook lost, he would have to be taught how to ‘truly’ skate.

Or as how Jimin had phrased it, ‘By the time I'm done with you, you’ll have fallen in love with figure-skating’. Surely things didn’t work out in Jungkook's favour.

In their fickle game, Jungkook is in for sex and Jimin is in for love. By the end of the six months, perhaps he would like figure-skating, but he would have adamantly fallen in love with the figure-skater.

“very enjoyable read, the dymanic between them was done well but i think ending was rushed a little bit.”

A Glass of Water by Rose_gold715

Namjoon is maybe a little over protective of Jimin and takes it upon himself to find out the identity of his new boyfriend. The others are absolutely no help.

Or,

Jungkook and Jimin are dating and everyone knows except Namjoon.

“funny and different, a jikook fic written from namjoon’s perspective”

As You Are by jonghyunslisterine

Jungkook's looking for a model for his Shibari exhibition. Jimin just needs some money.

“vulnerable jimin is always nice to read.”

past the point of no return by busan_brat

Jungkook has never been the one to give up on things that mean the most to him.

Jimin isn't an exception to that rule.

Open Your Heart, I'm Coming Home by DeadpanSnarker

‘Falling for you was my last violent act unforgiven by the gods.’ It is about time Jungkook and Jimin put down their cameras and looked at everything with the walls let down; it is about time they both saw things without any addendums. Little did Jimin know that this is the story of the one time when his heart doesn’t choose wrong—as few reassurances as existed. Little did Jungkook know that it is such a fine line between trying to make a wound scar-over, and inadvertently reopening that wound—as little harm as intended. Still, who would have thought it would take two tragedy-laced tattoos, one back-when photograph, and one double-edged short-film to fix two broken hearts—to bring them together.

In short, this is the story of bright sparklers, long rides, and bittersweet falls.

International playboy (don't answer) by blt_prf *WIP

oH I FUCHKED UP I FU UCKED UP YOUR'E NOT NAMJOON

yeah what I've been trying to tell you

or

the one in which Jimin manages to mess up everything in one night and accidentally texts the guy he has a crush on

all about your heart by bonnia

Jungkook has to exercise incredible control not to think about Jimin, naked, just a room away. He’s not a pubescent boy. And it’s just Jimin.

(Jimin, whose hands fit so perfectly into his. Jimin, who’s got the greatest thighs Jungkook’s ever seen and whose weight feels so perfect when he’s feeling playful enough to sit on his lap. Jimin, whose body is moves with fluid, sinuous grace that only a dancer could achieve — )

Okay, so maybe it isn’t just-Jimin.

(or: jungkook and jimin end up sharing a bed after a hotel room mix-up)

Falling for you again by  Rose_gold715

Jungkook loses all memory of the last five years of his life.

Jimin is scared he will never love him again.

“every version of jungkook belongs to jimin, that’s all I’m going to say”

maybe baby by gangbang

there's something weird in the air! jimin has a sneaking suspicion it might be a love potion.

“it’s kinda jimin/everyone but end game is still jikook,like always *winks*”

time slip by namakemono

Jimin wakes up in the year 2017, which is very strange, considering the fact that last he checked it was 2013.

Primal by Rose_gold715

Jimin goes into heat and Jungkook sees Jimin's unguarded, unrestrained Omega side for the first time.

“very well done abo fic”

100% success rate by bonnia

Legend has it, that whenever Kim Taehyung unleashes the ;) face, things do not bode well for Jeon Jungkook.

But legend also has it, that Jeon Jungkook has a penchant for making terrible decisions.

(or: in which jungkook has a crush the size of manhattan, taehyung is his alleged wingman, and jimin is only wilfully oblivious)

Late Night, Early Morning by cest_what

Jungkook just wants somewhere to sleep.

“it was soOoOOo cute”

your body is a place to stay by jonghyunslisterine

In which Jungkook juggles a five-year-old daughter, Jimin the pretty bookstore employee, and coworkers who like to tease him too much. 

Push-up (push me down) by mintsugakookies

Jungkook needs to finish his work out and Jimin's lips are his motivation

or

"Jungkook is that kind of person who will ask Jimin to lay underneath him while he is doing push ups and every time he lowers himself he kisses another part of Jimin’s face."

“if you want a fresh air from all this big angsty fics, this is what you need.. short, sweet and nothing else.”

my, what big teeth you have by  jonghyunslisterine

Jimin's locked in a cellar with Jungkook on the night of the full moon, and the only way to stop the werewolf from killing him is by becoming his mate.

3, 2, 1... Bang (Me) by DeadpanSnarker

Three things you need to know: Jeon Jeongguk was the reason Jimin('s life) was hard; Kim Taehyung was the reason Jimin and Jeongguk became ‘sinnervers and partners’; (Kinky) Online games were dangerous, kids. Innuendoes thrust aside, Jimin would consider his relation with his ‘crush’ quite successful. How better could it go from silently crushing and pretending he wasn’t head over heels, to a shameless one night stand and pretending everything was still the same, to teaming up in a sexual game of life and death, really?

Their story would later be known as a twisted version of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Or alternatively, The Big Bang – a conspiracy theory.

“it turned out very differeent than what I expected when I first started to read but I guess it was good :D”

Finally by Rose_gold715

Unloved and outcasted, Jimin runs away from his mate and his pack. Jungkook comes after him, and saves Jimin in more ways than he could imagine.

a dream come true by ito

“you know once in a while you need a fic that “no plot yes smut” 

Hey Mickey! by yoongidontdoit (sammyinnerdglasses)

Park Jimin, star cheerleader, has it bad for the doe-eyed, shy freshman star of the lacrosse team, but the kid doesn't have any idea how hot he is. Jimin sets out on a mission to get senpai to notice him.

won't say i'm in love by vminism

Jimin’s there in a flash, because of course he is, he always is. Spinning around on his heel and reeling Jeongguk in with an arm around his neck.

mine (hands on your body, i don't wanna waste no time) by gothguk

Jimin has expectations for his first summer back home from university; Jeongguk somehow manages to single-handedly destroy them all.

two sides; same story by namjoone

Okay, so maybe Jimin thinks his neighbor is hot.

A little.

Okay, maybe a lot.

White T-shirt and Brown Timberlands by Rose_gold715

Jimin is filing for divorce after eight years with Jungkook. He needs to let go, and yet, he wants to hold on a little longer.

“is it obvious yet that i like this author little bit too much.”

Dream Maker by graesun, Polkari Seuta (VeritasEtVita)

Oh, dream maker, you heartbreaker / wherever you're going, I'm going your way.

Several days in the lives of Jimin and Jungkook living off instant ramen and lots of kisses.

[pendragonfics]

He’s a McGregor

Paring: Thomas McGregor/Reader

Tags: female reader, alternative canon, gardening, slow build, fluff and angst. 

Summary: Bea's next door neighbour, Reader can't help but fall for Thomas the moment he steps foot into her life. Too bad that life is complicated.

Word Count: 3,602

Current Date: 2018-05-10

Every Sunday, near religiously, you would always be at the farmer’s markets. Even the days when you felt a tad ill, or, the night before you had a fun night out at the pub with friends. It was a fact known around the town that, despite divine intervention, or perhaps the Queen herself, there was never anything in your life which could stop you from setting up your fresh produce stall at the farmer’s markets.

Your friend, Bea, would tease you whenever she had the chance about this. She was a painter – a quite good one, if anyone asked for your opinion – and lived in the cottage just beyond the little woods which separated her and the grumpy Mr. McGregor’s homes. But, despite being neighbours, and, friends for nigh five years, Bea was more like a sister to you than anything, and, together, you shared your love for the rabbits and the other creatures who lived in the woods.

Today, with cinnamon tea cakes made with your eggs and apples from the orchard, you sat on her cottage’s little balcony and enjoyed the silence of Saturday mornings in the company of one another, and a cup of Earl Grey. You were sure that if there were unexpected guests they would be aghast at the sight of two spinsters, sitting in the warmth of the English summer. You, with the dirt of your garden still under your fingernails, and she with the flecks of paint on her face.

But then again, there seemed to be visitors approaching on the driveway, and silently, you and Bea turned to one another as if to question whose visitors they were. Bea’s drastic chance to the country meant all her family were still in the metropolitan regions of England, and your family weren’t local, and scattered over the globe like indecisive dice.

“That’s a nice car,” you intoned.

The old Land Rover was only a nice car the person deciding it was nice or not was a someone who was interested in vintage cars, and since you were, it was one. It had to be from the early seventies and was a shade of military green which made you wonder had ever been a good colour for anything to be painted.

“It’s an old car,” Bea quirked her lip. “I’m not expecting any visitors…”

You shook your head. “Me neither.” With a sip of your tea, you added, “Must be someone for the late Mr. McGregor’s property. Maybe they’ll renovate it to be a halfway home or sell it for charity. Then something good’ll come from that horrid old man’s place.”

The both of you chuckled.

It was then the Land Rover pulled up before the McGregor house. From the car, stepped out a man; he was tall, in the way which made you wonder if all his limbs were long, or if it were just his legs. His hair was a dark shade of red which looked almost brown, and he wore a fancy suit like he had walked straight from the city, into his car, and somehow wound up here, up in the Lake District.

You and Bea shared a glance, and biting your lip, you took a deep sip of your tea. It was then your mobile phone took to vibrating upon the table beside your saucer, your screen lighting up with a reminder that your rising dough was ready to be baked.

“I’ll leave you to this handsome stranger,” you set your teacup down, gathering your things. Bea sighed, and doing the same, the both of you made to clear the table before you went on your merry way to bake bread. “Be nice,” you remind her, setting the teapot beside her sink.

But when you exit her front door, you catch the eye of the newcomer, whoever he is. Despite the fact he’s as stiff as a beanpole and as frowny as a barn owl, you give him a small wave, and, take the trail through the woods to your awaiting dough.

---

You wake two hours before sunrise, and pulling on your big galoshes, you begin the task you do every Sunday morning. Harvest. It’s a lovely thing, really – you spend the week coercing your tomatoes to blossom from verdant to rosy, nurturing your cauliflowers to become the size of dinner plates. Not everything is harvested every week; you’re still waiting for your squash to ripen, and your thyme is still not mature enough. You feel almost like an eccentric witch when you harvest for the markets in the morning. A gardening witch, you’d be, the sort children read about in fairy-tale books. Then again, if someone came to steal anything, you’d never ask for their firstborn in a million years (you very much preferred to sleep through the night, thank you very much).

Soon enough, your produce is washed, loaded into the back seat of your 1979 Volkswagen Beatle, and just as the sunrise stains the tops of the trees and the world around, you’ve washed the dirt from yourself, and are dressed and ready to go to the markets. When you park, you’re soon seeing familiar faces; Betsy from the library selling preloved books, Mr. Johns’ miscellaneous trinkets, Mrs. Zawadzcy has her potted plants on display.

“Morning, __________,” Betsy gives you a wave from behind her table. “Ooh, your vegetables are looking quite lovely today!”

You wave her off. “They look quite lovely every day, Betsy,” you chuckle, toting the box of potatoes onto your designated trestle table. “How about the books, any nice titles you’ve got there?”

“Oh, nothing good,” She shrugs, and giving a big sigh, adds, “The kids these days only want to read longwinded romances between people who’ll never be together.”

You thank her, moving your produce around in a sort of display. “and how about your book? How’s writing going?”

Betsy laughs.

Sundays are often fast, perhaps because you’re focused on selling your vegetables, or, because there isn’t a way to tell the time other than the distant bong of the town clock, or the cries of tired toddlers. But today, when the sun was high enough to be in your eyes, you saw Bea approaching hurriedly, her jacket buttons mismatched, hair awry.

When she made it to your table, you raised an eyebrow. “You look like you saw the gatekeeper of Hades, Bea.” You chuckle, giving Mrs. Zawadzcy’s nieces a wave as they walked by. When your friend did not laugh it off, you frowned. “Is everything alright?”

She gaped. “Alright? No! The man, from yesterday, you remember him?”

“We watched him,” you nod, wrapping up Mr. John’s usual order of carrots in brown paper. As you exchanged produce for coin, you added, “He drove in a terribly old Land Rover, how can’t I?”

Bea gave an exasperated shudder. “Yes, well, he’s a McGregor.”

You paused. Remembering that you had thought he had Bean handsome, you blanched. You were a lovely person, whom mostly everyone labelled as kind, or forgiving. But there was one – no, two, people in this world who deserved no forgiveness; whoever decided to kill off Eccleston’s rendition in Doctor Who after a single season, and Mr. McGregor.

“Oh,” you replied.

She nods. “Oh, is just about right, __________!” Bea runs a hand through her wild hair, and adds, “He comes into town as if he’s Bean here all this time and demands – demands! – that I keep the rabbits away from his property!”

“Sounds like a real prick to me,” you intone.

Bea agrees, and navigating her way around the trestle table, throws herself into your arms. With a sigh, you console your neighbour and confidant. You know just how much she disliked the old Mr. McGregor – you both shared that passion fervently – and you know just how much she loved the rabbits who lived around the woods between both of your houses. She’d even named them; little Peter was her favourite.

“Hey, why don’t you send the bunnies my way, until he cools off?” You suggest, withdrawing from the embrace. “I’ll leave my gate open, too; I’m sure they’ll think they’re in heaven.”

---

The first time you find yourself speaking to new Mr. McGregor, you’re in your bathers, trying to get beetroot stains out of your favourite blouse in the creek that runs between all three houses. Normally, you would be fine to be spotted in your swimsuit, but, it’s a terribly cold morning, and you’re wearing a haggard old woollen jumper as you do the task as to not die of pneumonia. And, then, add the tall, mysterious new neighbour to the scene, and your face is flushed with embarrassment.

“Morning,” you wave to him, your hand clutching a bar of laundry soap.

He frowns, pausing mid-step to focus, “What are you doing?”

You show him the blouse. “Beetroot stain. I’m too stubborn to throw my shirt away, and too stingy to go to town to pay hard-earned quid for a washing machine.” You huff playfully, and pushing your hair back, go back to the chore of blotting the blouse. “Oh, and I’m your other neighbour, too, I’m __________.” You explain. “Not just some village weirdo who’s washing clothes in the creek.”

He nods, putting his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m Thomas. Thomas McGregor.”

You grin, understanding. You weren’t sure when Bea said ‘He’s a McGregor’ she meant he was a relative, or even alike in spirit, but, it seemed he was both. “Ah, that explains the changes you’ve done to the garden,” you say, gesturing to the garden’s walls.

Thomas hums. From his pocket, you hear his car keys rattle, as if he’s wondering whether to leave the terribly awkward conversation between the both of you and go off to do better things. But instead of bidding adieu, he surprises you.

“You can use my laundry, if you like,” he suggests.

“Really?” you wonder.

You’re unsure if you’re incredulous, or just shocked. The other McGregor used to call you a ‘Spinster Wench’ – a direct quotation! – and every year would grow the larger pumpkin at the local fair’s competition. He was a bitter man, intolerable and bitter. You’re not sure why you expected this McGregor to be the same, and yet, he’s being nice.

“I mean, until yours is able to be fixed,” he adds hastily. A digital tone sounds from his pocket, and the moment is broken. Checking his phone, he makes a face, and goes off toward his car. “Sorry, got to dash.”

“It was nice meeting you, Thomas!” You call after him as he climbs into his Land Rover.

He drives off, down the driveway, and at the end, takes the turn toward town. It’s not until an icy breeze from the heavens above goes through your bones that you remember you’re dressed less than favourably for October. Coming to your senses, you gather your things and rush home.

When you’re inside, you throw your wet clothes into the kitchen sink. It’s then you dash toward the bathroom adjacent to your bedroom, and spinning the bathtub’s tap on so fast, you’re not sure why the knob doesn’t spin right off and hit your head.

It’s then, standing in the bathroom, amid the slowly-heating steam and the crudely self-painted walls, you feel a sting, a reminder. You don’t acknowledge this feeling until your whole body is immerged under the terrifically hot water, when your hair is wet, ears full of water, and eyes closed.

You’re lonely.

Your parents had been so happy in your childhood memories; those sepia-toned mind-pictures were the stuff of dreams. But that was just it; they were dreams, and children knew nothing about adults, and adults were sometimes only playing pretend romance when they were really seething in sadness and regret. Your mother left when you were twelve, moving to Santorini with a brand-new girlfriend and a half-dozen dogs and communicated in post-cards, and your father went when you were old enough to live alone, and took to New Zealand, and married into a blended family.

Maybe they’re why you’re alone, trying not to fall into the same trap of it all. Why you’re reminded of your shortcomings when meet the new neighbour, you’re not sure, but, your heart beats faster at just the thought of him.

Your lips breach the surface of the bathwater, and taking a deep breath in, you replace it with a sigh. With your bones thawed from the freezing autumnal coldness, you sit back, the warm water tumbling down your forehead, and smile to yourself, realising something so obvious.

You like him.

---

It’s colder this morning, and while Bea’s away for the holidays to visit her family in the city, you’ve got the rabbits staying in the warm of your renovated atrium. You’re as much in love with the rabbits as Bea, treasuring them all so very much. It keeps them out of trouble; little Peter has been up to so much trouble lately, and you’re doing your all to wean the bunnies off the thrill of annoying Thomas.

You’re constantly seeing him; when you meet at the letterboxes, when you’re passing in the street with your reusable bags after your weekly trip to Tesco, or when you’re using his laundry still because you’re still not able to afford a new washing machine. Every time you share words, you fervently defending the local wildlife against his raging distaste for it, and all the while, you’re doing your best to hide the blossoming feelings you have for him.

When you find out he’s got no plans for Christmas, you blink. Surely a man like himself isn’t going to be spending the day alone, yet, he plans to.

“You can’t be alone for Christmas,” you shake your head in disbelief, looking to him as you filch your mailbox of its contents. “Even Harry Potter had a proper Christmas in book one, and he had no family!” you protest.

Thomas frowns. “I’ve never read Harry Potter,” he says, and adds, “and I like Christmas alone.”

At this, you throw your hands in the air. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that. It’s just not the __________ family way.” You sigh, and tucking your bills beneath your armpit, you add, “You’re having Christmas lunch with me.”

He raises a single eyebrow, and asks, “The __________ family way is to force people to socialise on Christmas?”

You shake your head. “My family haven’t really talked to me for years,” you laugh it off, and add, “The __________ family way is to avoid confrontation as long as possible, and then run away from it when it comes to you.”

He nods. “and you’re not like your family?”

You turn toward your car where it’s idling. If the car was a sentient object, you would expect it to be anxiously waiting for you to stop flirting with the too-handsome-for-you man. As you walk away, you call over your shoulder, “Hell yeah!”

The day after, you let the bunnies into your garden during the warmest part of the day. During the colder months, you didn’t sell produce at the markets. It was harder to garden when the earth was colder than whatever cruel God had written your life’s fate. So, the rabbits were free to take what root vegetables they could want and turn the soil over with their searching paws.

It’s then when you hear footsteps tramping their way through the forest pathway, and glancing above the fence, you see Thomas. “Hey there, neighbour,” you smile, standing to greet your guest. “Let me guess, you’re here to excuse yourself from Christmas lunch?”

He shakes his head. “No, the opposite.” He gives you a small smile. “Just making sure what time you’ll want me over?”

“How about eleven?” you suggest. It’s then you feel Benjamin nuzzle against your ankle. With a smile, you pick him up, and hold him close to your chest. “If that suits you, that is.”

Instead of answering, he asks, “How can you stand those rabbits?”

You glance at Benjamin. His winter pudge is thick this year, and he snuggles into your hands further when your hot breath touches his exposed nose. With a small smile, you look to the other rabbits; Peter, Mopsy, Flopsy and Cottontail are all investigating your potatoes, sniffing at what exposed vine they can see.

“When I was very small, I had a rabbit. Her name was Brum.” you say softly. You notice the odd look on his face, and you add, “I really liked the show when I was little. Don’t judge me, I was eight.” You look down to Benjamin once more and give him a scratch behind his ears. “I had Brum for years, honestly, but, she died the day before my parents told me they didn’t love each other anymore.”

You swallow, trying not to think of it. You’re a grown woman, and it has been years, and yet, it hurts still. Why does it hurt still?

“Anyway,” you take a deep breath, and bending, place Benjamin back upon the ground. “So, I’ll see you at eleven, next Tuesday?”

Thomas nods, and otherwise silent, he says, “See you next Tuesday.”

---

When the world warmed itself up again, so did the mischief of the rabbits. Bea shared all the stories of her family’s Christmas antics for months following the festive season, and you finally had enough money scraped together to buy yourself a replacement for your washing machine. You were happy to have it, yes, but now there was no excuse to pop on over to Thomas’ home and chat while the machine cleaned your mixed colours.

Bea was confused. “Why didn’t you use your spare key for my washing machine?” She asked, one day over tea and biscuits. Your silence was your answer, and with an understanding hum, Bea gave your back a pat, and cooed apologetically. “Oh dear,” she said, with a sigh, “I see.”

While her paintings improved with the warmer weather, your garden took itself back to life, and once again, once your crop was invigorated, back to the markets every Sunday. You had Bean at the markets the day Bea texted you furiously.

He blew up the burrow, came the first one.

And the tree hit my house!!

You were left blinking at the phone as it vibrated with every furious update, too stunned to reply. You couldn’t reply, not until you served the plethora of customers lined up for your fresh produce at the trestle table. Not until you worked your way out of the shock.

You refused to believe anything, and when you drove home in your Volkswagen, you almost stalled the car in the driveway when you saw the still-clearing dust in the air and the tree in Bea’s home. But you didn’t stall, and when you saw Thomas’s face over his fence, you pretended you didn’t see him, and drove around to your home.

Bea was waiting for you on the porch, head in her hands.

“I can’t afford the rent as it is,” she moans, tears in her eyes. “but the insurance?” You gather your friend into your arms, and together, you sit on the steps to your house in the embrace of one another. “He’s a McGregor, of course he hates the rabbits,” she whispers. “Why did I expect him to be any less?”

You’re silent. How did you ever like him? How could – how did you ever fall for him? Who blows up trees with no regard for the outcome? You hold your friend close, her head on your heart, and together, you sit there until the chill of the evening breeze tickles sense into you both. When you separate, you lead her inside for tea and comfort food, or, really, any leftovers you have.

Into her teacup, Bea whispers, “I’m going to have to move back to the city.”

You recoil, aghast. “No! No, Bea, don’t move! I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you weren’t around, honestly,” you plead. “We’ll get the money, I promise.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not just that…I don’t think I can stand to be near him after this.” She pauses, and adds, “Oh, __________, I’m so sorry. I – what are you going to do?”

You frown. “What?”

Bea places a hand on yours. “You’re in love with man,” she replies, as confused as your answer as you are with her rejoinder. “and you’re in the middle of all this.”

You shake your head, and with a curt laugh, you say, “I’m very sure that your house being hit by a blown-up tree completely outweighs my terribly judged crush.” You pour more tea into your cup, and add, “And don’t think you’re still sleeping at your place while there’s a bloody big hole in the roof. I’ve got a spare room.”

Bea makes a noise that sounds like the words thank you as she sips her tea. “What would I do without you, __________?”

You chuckle, moving to clear the table. “You’d have nobody to stop you from moving back to the city, for starters,” you retort, your words putting a little smile upon her face.

“You’re too good to me,” she says simply.

From the kitchen sink, you reply, “But that’s what friends are for!”

---

There’s a FOR SALE sign on the McGregor house not even half a week after the tree incident, and by the end of the week, Thomas has packed up and left without so much of a goodbye to any of you. Even the men in the hardware store in town who he got to know quite well say they miss him. But you saw him nigh every day, and you miss him more; more than perhaps you should or have ever let on to Bea.

But Bea can’t take living in your spare room much longer; it’s Bean months, and yet, she’s looking for a cheap place to live away from here. Any words you share aren’t enough to keep her, and anything you try and get anyone else to do isn’t enough; Betsy from the library can’t sway her, nor Mr. Johns or Mrs. Zawadzcy.

So, you do what you can only do; you let your best, and closest friend go.

You can’t stand to wave her off when the UBER arrives to take her to the train station, and instead, say your goodbyes at your gate, and take to pottering around your garden to take your mind from things. Your lettuce does need some love, and tending to it, you can’t help but think of all the almosts that this past year has entailed.

You almost bared your heart to Thomas.

You almost fell too hard for him.

You almost confessed to him about your feelings, in the months after Christmas.

You almost miss him now.

When your watch beeps upon the hour, you’re reminded that Bea’s already on her way down the road. Saddened again, you almost don’t hear a voice calling your name, and leaves crunching under foot.  

But that’s when you glance up.

You’re met with the familiar head of dark auburn hair, those green eyes. His face is a little red, hair wild, yet, he’s as handsome as ever and your stomach ties itself in knots at the sight of him. Thomas approaches the other side of your fence, wearing a fancy coat, and in his hands, is a fist full of flowers.

“Hi, Thomas,” you breathe. “What –,”

“I had to come and make things right,” the words burst from his lips, the lower one wobbling. He holds the flowers to you, and adds, softly, “I’m sorry for everything, I’m such a prick.”

You blink, accepting the bouquet of flowers. You look at the flowers, noticing that they’re the same sort of wildflowers that grow in the woods between your house and his. “Thomas – I –,” you can’t form a sentence, taking to stammering instead, “What are you doing here?”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m stupid. Incredibly. It took me a year to realise that I’m a horrible person. I’ve come back, and I hope you don’t hate me, __________.”

You consider the hand-picked bouquet. “I could never hate you, Thomas.”

There’s a small smile on his face. “Let’s start over.” He says, quickly adds, “Hello, I’m Thomas McGregor. I’m incredibly stupid when it comes to realising my feelings, and I hate Harrods.”

You can’t help but giggle.  “Hello, Thomas, I’m __________. I distance myself from people because my parents were loveless assholes and I think I’ve loved you for a whole year.”

He eyes light up. “I don’t just think I love you, __________.” He says, leaning over the fence, closer and closer with every word. “I know I love you.”

You feel your fingers loosening around the flowers Thomas gave you, and on their own accord, your hands take the lapel of his fancy coat into your fists. In the moment, your body on autopilot, your lips are on his lips, your breath mingling with his breath, and for the first time in your life, you notice the absence of the sting you’ve always felt.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit forward of me –,” you mutter, breaking away.

But Thomas shakes his head. “__________, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he says. Standing straight once more, he adds, “But I meant to say, Bea’s not leaving, I’m using my inheritance to pay for the damages, and –,”

Over his shoulder, you see Bea giving you a big thumb’s up, with a wide grin. Eyes back to Thomas, you all but growl, “Oh, shut up and kiss me again,” you say. “We’ve got a year to make up for.”

[ontheperiphery]

ticket to ride

kim taehyung x reader, college!au fluff word count: 1.8k

you’re not sure what compelled you to offer a favor to someone you barely knew

Aimlessly scrolling through social media to kill time waiting for your friend, you’re dismayed to find that you showed up at the shopping plaza so early that you had scrolled through almost all your media feed, twitter, tumblr, instagram, snapchat. You frown slightly at refreshing your more face-paced feeds like twitter, but finding little more content to consume, you reluctantly resign yourself to tapping open your last resort: facebook. Communicating with college acquaintances was important, you supposed, but just fresh out of finals, you wanted to enjoy at least a bit of your summer break without considering how everyone you knew seemed to be more successful at finding meaningful summer jobs or internships than you.

At least that’s what you told yourself but here you were scrolling through the frustrating app anyway. Like a fool.

So you sat at a shaded bench and texted your friend where to meet and scrolled past videos recommended to you via algorithm, events you may or may not be interested in attending, grad pics you at least paused on to reply with your congratulations, and hm. Taking a minute to read a little closer-

“Hey! Y/n, what’s up?”

“Oh,” you look up with surprise to greet your friend, “hey Namjoon, not much.” You ask if he wants to grab some food before shopping and conversation picks up from there. It’s not until you both are both nearly finished with your meals that you absently sip at your iced tea and ask, “Would it be weird to offer a ride to someone who needs one? If you don’t know them that well?”

“No?” Namjoon answers while snatching a fry from your tray, “you’re doing them a favor so if anything they’ll be thankful to you.”

You huff in response because that wasn’t the kind of answer you were looking for and though you shoot Namjoon an unamused glare, you wait another moment before responding in hopes that he actually had more to say.

Chewing thoughtfully he nods, “well I guess…since it’s you though, it’ll be ride of awkward or no conversation.” Namjoon pauses again, making eye contact with your still present glare.

You snort at his words.

He then hums in affirmation, “see? You’re not really one to keep a conversation going. Anyway, did someone ask you to take them somewhere?”

“I guess” you concede, “I’m not the best conversation buddy” Your eyes narrow as you swat at Namjoon’s hand attempting to sneak another one of your fries. “But I dunno. Earlier I saw someone who needs a ride to the train station and it kind of works for me because I’ll already be in the area that day and it’s on the way home…” Letting your words trail off you take another sip of your drink only to receive the discordant sound of exaggerated sipping and no more tea.

“And you just wanted to be nice?” Namjoon fills in oh so helpfully.

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t see a problem,” Namjoon shrugs, “even if you suck at making small talk make them sit in the backseat and listen to music or something. Or maybe they’ll be talkative enough to make up for it.”

Your eyebrows still scrunch together with doubt and Namjoon takes the opportunity to swipe another french fry, although he accidentally topples your drink cup in the process. The empty clatter immediately snaps you out from your distracted consideration of Namjoons advice.

“Thanks for the input,” you mutter dryly with a fixed glare.

Namjoon only smiles sheepishly in response.

-

Flopping on to your bed with a huff, just about ready to fall asleep, you pull out your phone to set an alarm for the next day. You had errands to run in the morning, and thanks to Namjoon’s prompting, you sent a message offering a ride to, it turned out, a good friend of his. According to Namjoon, the kid was friendly and you had nothing to worry about, but if sound logic and good advice was enough to assuage your doubts, you probably wouldn’t still be lying wide awake contemplating the problems of tomorrow.

Eventually you fall asleep to the soft hum of your nerves calming in the silence and solitude of your room.

-

The next day arrives and brings a consistent stream of stress in the form of almost-mishaps. From snoozing your alarm one too many times and running out to drive to your volunteer shift without grabbing more than a granola bar, realizing you forgot your drivers license and making a detour back home to grab it on the off chance you’d need it, arriving late to deliver some stuff you were selling to make moving out easier for one of your roommates and finding that the buyer was even more late than you, nothing truly went wrong but your day was chaotic enough to have you exhausted and ready to nap for a week to make up for it.

But you didn’t have that kind of time and settled for a quick lunch as poor compensation.

Your phone lit up with a message from the person you barely knew but offered to drive to the train station. It had been a while, but you two had shared a class a few academic quarters ago and sometimes passed by each other at general body meetings or events for a mutual org. Although you don’t remember ever having a one-on-one conversation or spending time together without other mutual friends present, you resign yourself to a first for everything. Fingers metaphorically crossed as you pulled up to the agreed meeting place with your to-be-passenger, you rolled down to window and waved to the waiting figure nearby, hoping you would be recognizable.

“Oh! Hey, Y/n,” he smiled, excitement clear as the brightness in his expression, “was just about to message and make sure it was you.”

Chuckling sheepishly in response, “hey Taehyung. Yeah, I’m kind of glad you were able to notice me. Do you want your stuff in the backseat or in the trunk?” You gesture to his luggage and carry-on and briefly wonder if courtesy required you to step out of your car to greet him and help him with his stuff. But then he’s already wheeling his bags towards the trunk of your car as you push the button to open it accommodatingly to watch helplessly in the rear view mirror and hope with all of your being that you weren’t being rude.

Thankfully you remembered to also unlock the car doors and Taehyung hops into the passenger seat beside you without trouble and offers an iced tea with boba. You blink, pleasantly surprised as he gives another bright grin that somehow lights up the space around him even as the corner of his lips aren’t upturned in the way you’re used to smiles doing. And yet, his smile was incredibly endearing and happiness is contagious and the boy teases a thank you and a grateful smile from you before you even realize it.

Given that you had driven friends and roommates to the train station before and didn’t need directions, you were able to drive comfortably and popped in the straw to your drink, delighted that he chose a flavor that you enjoyed.

Taehyung only shrugs off your attempt and another thanks, upholding that, “hey, you’re actually being a big help to me, you deserve it. It’s for you.”

“Hmm I guess. Thanks, still,” you reply with a small huff and a smile.

You’re not sure if Taehyung thinks you still need convincing, but he has some way of filling up space. In conversation, in the car, from talking about his thankfulness that you were willing to brave the traffic that was inevitable from people driving home from their jobs during this time of day, how lucky he felt from not needing to call an uber or lyft which surely would’ve cost him a pretty penny in this traffic, to firmly insisting that he treat you out to a meal or something when he was back in town. He didn’t mind if you had to brake less than smoothly if other vehicles on the road drove more recklessly than you, easily continued conversation from your shorter responses, and just, had some way of making and filling space.

The both of you were animatedly talking about your pet dogs back home, sharing fond and nostalgic memories and before you realized and could transition the conversation to proper thanks and appreciation of Taehyung’s company, you had arrived at the train station and just a few seconds away from arriving at the pick-up/drop-off curb.

Facing you, Taehyung had yet to notice, “Ahhh, it’s been so long since I’ve seen Soonshim y-”

“Hey uhh,” you interrupted a little less than gracefully, softened with a smile, “I’m really sorry but we’re here.” You felt awful for cutting him off, but hoped your unease didn’t make its way into your expression.

“Oh…listen, Y/n, it was really nice of you to drive me!” Taehyung replies without missing a beat, “have a good summer break I really hope you don’t have to deal with a lot of traffic on your way home-”

You both jump a bit at a loud beep from a vehicle behind you, supposedly waiting for their turn to pull up in the drop-off zone as well and you already feel the imaginary time limit weigh on your shoulders. Your mind drifts back to the hassle of the day’s previous errands. Right. Because nothing today was allowed to go smoothly.

Your thoughts were the mental equivalent to keyboard smashing and while you regretted the forced and quick goodbyes with Taehyung and again, helpless waiting in the driver’s seat as he retrieved his bags from your trunk on his own, Taehyung tried to wave off  the concern in your possibly frowny-face and gave one last beaming grin directed at you.

“Have a great summer!! Thanks again!” you hear, past the hum of outside clamor and vehicles pulling up and leaving.

Letting your mind focus instead on the traffic that never eased up on your way home and the soft hum of your favorite playlist, you tried not to think about how much lonelier it felt whenever you turned your head to your right and took unusual notice of the empty passenger seat.

-

Stop-and-go-traffic came and went and you grew increasingly relieved the closer and closer you got to home. It wasn’t until you safely arrived and tiredly lay down on a nest of pillows and blankets still gathered on your living room couch that you looked at your phone to notice a new message.

[5:15pm]kim taehyung: thank u again for taking me to the train station!!! HOPE YOUR DRIVE HOME IS EASY AND LIGHTER TRAFFIC THAN YOU EXPECT!! pls let me take you out sometime for food when you have time!!! or I can drop off food anytime during the school year

You smiled at Taehyung’s energy that carried over so naturally over text, and replied as promptly as you could now that you were no longer driving. It feels almost natural to continue conversation with him and you’re glad that none of your fears over the favor came to fruition.

[5:48pm]you: you’re welcome!! im back safe and sound :)

[5:48pm]you: I hope you have a safe trip as well!

[5:49pm]kim taehyung: tHANK YOU! when I get home ill tell soonshim u said hi

Attached was an image of a very cute dog and you allowed a fond laugh to express the warm happiness filling your chest.

Yeah, Taehyung sure had some way of filling space.