#hot rod has shit like ‘baby on board’ [he’s the baby] and other stuff

[gayemeralds]

tf rollback hot rod would be LITTERED with stupid fucking bumper stickers. every autobot is like “isn’t that kinda… demeaning?” and hot rod is like no it’s so cool check THIS one out “my other ride is your mom”

[dreamscript]

sankofa | myg x reader x pjm

sankofa; // “se wo were fi na wosankofa a yenkyi”

You, Yoongi, Jimin, playing in the woods. The perfect three - until now. Now you’re childhood friends breaking apart, emotional rollercoasters, children feeling wronged. There’s something missing and you’re fighting against it.

     ➟ yoongi x reader x jimin

     ➟ slice of life au.

     ➟ 4.1k of angst with a restful ending          ↳ tw: suicide mention

Summer is something else. Yoongi and Jimin and you under the hazy sun, green forest grass prickly through the thin towels you lie on. Cicadas make their loud, buzzing, hissing sound, competing with the flitting birds and fleeting squirrels. In front of you the lake shimmers, its murky waters bright. Trees line the clearing, overwhelmingly green.

“Can we fish?” Yoongi asks. “I don’t want the worms to get gross from the heat.” He’d spent all last night digging them up, completely overturning a corner of Jimin’s backyard before giving up and plowing through his father’s garden.

“Sure,” you reply, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Jimin, you wanna join?”

No response. Jimin remains spread eagle on his towel, Gathering Blue opened upside down on his face. Sleeping.

“Jimin.” You poke him. When that elicits no response, you shove his shoulder, a bit harshly. The book tumbles off, exposing him to the bright sunlight.

“Nn-whaaat,” he mumbles, slinging an arm over his still-closed eyes.

“I asked if you wanted to fish with me and Yoongi.” To your left, Yoongi rolls his eyes, already stringing the fish rods and tying on the hooks. The worms in his plastic bug terrarium are limp and unmoving, save for one on top which wiggles weakly.

“Mmm,” Jimin mumbles.

“What was that?” you ask.

“We need an actual response from you, Jimin. Words,” Yoongi adds.

“I said sure,” Jimin says, still lying on his back. His speech is slurred.

“Then get up.”

“‘m lazy. ‘elp me.”

With a sigh and a groan, you roll your eyes and get on your knees, tugging at Jimin’s arms. They’re limp, just like the worms that Yoongi pierces through the hooks. You tug harder, enough to pull him up into a sitting position.

Slumped forwards, he rubs his eyes sleepily and looks up at you, wide eyes blinking open. They are brilliant, bright and evocative. And then he smiles, and it’s contagious. You smile and laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Yoongi gives one of his eyebrow raises and claps his hands sarcastically.

“Now let’s fish, losers,” Yoongi says, shoving the rods your way.

You guys end up catching nothing, but it’s fine since it was more about the camaraderie than the fish.

“It’s hot.”

“It’s ‘cause we’ve been sitting still in the sun for so long. I need to cool down.” Yoongi grabs his tank top and uses it to wipe the sweat from his face.

Jimin can’t swim, but he doesn’t mind it when you and Yoongi jump into the lake together and have fun without him, splashing water at each other and playing one-versus-one Marco Polo. He laughs uncontrollably when Yoongi blindly drives himself in a circle, arms flailing, as you artfully maneuver about him, out of range. When it gets too hot he lets his feet dangle in the water.

“You know Jimin,” Yoongi says, wiping his wet locks back, “Why don’t you try learning how to swim? I can teach you. My brother worked as a lifeguard last summer.”

Immediately, Jimin shakes his head. “Um, no I’m good, thanks.”

Yoongi gives him a look, puts a hand on his knee. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah Jimin, c’mon. You’ll be fine! And then you can swim in the water! Tha’d be so fun!” you encourage.

“No,” Jimin says. “I don’t wanna. It’s scary.”

“What, the water? You literally drink that stuff every day!”

“No,” he says. “Like, what if there’s something down there? Like a barracuda?”

“But there isn’t!” Yoongi says, somewhat frustrated.

“But how can you know? You can’t see what’s in there! For all I know, a barracuda could be down there, waiting for me to go deep enough to bite my legs off.”

“But there isn’t--”

Jimin refuses, vehemently shaking his head.

“Let it go, Yoongi,” you say. “It’s a fear he’s had since he was five. C’mon, let’s eat lunch.”

 The food is bagged sandwiches cut on the diagonal, slapped together the night before, the mayonnaise having soaked through and the slices soggy. Chips and PopTarts and Coke lie in the cooler, up for grabs.

“Man,” Jimin says, “I don’t want school to start.”

“We’ve still got a month and a half,” Yoongi replies through a mouthful of sandwich, “Don’t think about it just yet. Else you’ll spend the whole time worrying instead of enjoying.”

You nod vigorously in agreement.

 <<<>>> 

 “I miss summer already,” Yoongi grumbles, methodically picking the tomatoes from his sandwich. “I can’t wait to be done with the semester and be done with Ms. Scola.”

“She’s only strict because she’s preparing you for high school, Yoongi.”

Yoongi shoots Jimin a glare. “No, she’s being a--what’s it--bitch because that’s what she is!”

“Hey,” you say, flicking Yoongi on the forehead. “Language.”

He rolls his eyes. “Everyone in my grade uses those words now. It’s the cool thing to do. Only babies don’t curse. And plus, you’re not my mom.”

Through his mouthful of sandwich, Jimin mumbles, “Yah she ith, tha’th wha’ all the paren’th th’ay.”

“Whatever. Point is: I can’t wait for summer to come around again. I wanna fish some more… Oh, and Jimin, we gotta teach you to swim still!”

“Noo,” Jimin whines. “I’m scared. I don’t wanna.”

“Oh what, still scared of barracudas in the lake?” Yoongi pokes him teasingly. Jimin pouts and says nothing. “Okay, okay fine. Once the community finishes building that pool, we’ll take you there to play and stay in the shallow end, okay?” He gives him a smile. Jimin nods, tentatively.

“That’ll still be a while, though,” you say. “The board says it won’t be done until we’re in 8th grade, 9th for Yoongi. That’s an entire two years.”

 <<<>>> 

 The cafeteria table is empty. The table that you, Jimin, and Yoongi sat at every day. Empty. Usually one of them is there waiting. With a sigh, you sit down, set down your tray and begin to eat.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Yoongi come in, hanging with a few boys from your math class.

“Yoongi!” you shout, waving at him. The only acknowledgement you get is a flick of his eye in your direction. And then he looks away, mumbles something to his friends who point at you and continue on into the kitchen. You frown.

“Bit sensitive today, isn’t he? Maybe it’s an 8th-grader thing.”

You jump in your seat, whirl around. Jimin is sitting a foot away from you, a playful smile on his face.

“Jimin, fuck, you scared the shit out of me!” You hold your hand over your chest for good measure. “When’d you get here?”

He props one of his hands underneath his chin and tilts his face sideways, a sweet, lopsided smile on his face. “The same time you got here.”

 <<<>>> 

 Soft flakes of snow, gentle as falling feathers, land onto Jimin’s eyelashes. Yoongi peers into his eyes as he piles up snow and throws it into the air, watching the explosion of white until both him and Jimin have to close their eyes.

At their feet lay an intricate network of snow tunnels, just barely enough to slide through, the corners too tight for even you to turn. It is still four days of work’s worth.

Up ahead, you dangle from the deck, ready to jump onto the firm pile of snow below.

“Three! Two! One!” Jimin and Yoongi count down together, laughing. You jump and they catch you with their smiles, you landing firmly and giving them the thumbs up.

At noon sharp Yoongi helps Jimin crack eggs into mixing bowls and Jimin beats him in a game of who-can-mix-the-fastest. By one o’clock you’re messily spreading homemade buttercream onto the cakes with a butter knife and, ten minutes later, Yoongi is spreading it all over Jimin’s face with his hands, and Jimin has half of Yoongi’s face coated in crumbs.

White stars peek out from the holes of the sky when Yoongi walks Jimin home, side by side, sleds dragging in rhythm.

“We’ll both be back tomorrow,” they promise. “Tomorrow.”

 <<<>>> 

             You sigh, shake your head, and erase your answer for the hundredth time. School has been getting harder these days, teachers more strict, curriculum increasingly rigorous. Yoongi and Jimin used to always be there to help you, but this year Yoongi is taking another course, and Jimin…

            “C’mon, you can do it.” You look up from your paper and see Jimin, who is examining the problem. He looks up at you and smiles encouragingly. “You’re close,” he says. “You’re just making a stupid mistake.” To his left, his homework is already finished.

            “Or maybe I’m just stupid,” you mumble, glumly staring down at the smudged writing.

            “Don’t say that,” Jimin says. He reaches out and ruffles your hair. “I think you’re very smart. But every smart person makes mistakes. And that’s okay.”

            You pout and bite the end of your pencil. “That’s cute. But thanks for the support, Jimin.”

            He beams. “No problem. Anyways, keep working. I’ve got to go pee.”

            When he leaves, you look at your spider plant, chin resting heavily on one hand. “They’re all going away now, aren’t they? Jimin, Yoongi… They’re all drifting farther away from me.”

            The plant remains silent.

            “Each day I don’t think about it is a day I start to forget.”

(Jimin doesn’t come back.)

 <<<>>> 

             Three days into Yoongi’s no-contact streak, you’re assigned to work as project partners.

Both of you reluctantly, slowly, look at each other, awkwardly maintaining eye contact as if to establish the fact that no, it’s not like I want to partner up with you or anything, I’m only doing it because you’re asking and I’m nice so--

            “Alright, let’s just get this project over with.” Yoongi saunters up to your desk and pulls up a chair directly across from you. The project paper is on your desk and he leans over to study it, reading upside down and incredibly close.

Conversation for the most part is as normal, but pertinent only to the project. It’s during the last ten minutes of the class and a good time of normality that you finally get the courage to talk to him like, well normal. Non-project-related things.

“Hey Yoongi--”

He turns to look at you. “Yeah?” His gaze is intense.

“Did you want to go pick up some flowers with me?  Jimin--”

Immediately, he interjects. “Stop. Don’t talk about him. Don’t mention him around me.”

You fall silent. Then:

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

 <<<>>> 

             The sky is so saturated in reds and oranges and purples that sometimes it’s hard to tell where it stops and the ocean begins. Your silhouetted figures dance along the horizon, feet splashing across the lagoon, sending endless ripples into the sky.

            The very beauty of it all is so overwhelming that when Jimin lays down to rest, Yoongi takes the chance to pull you close and then drags you both further along the horizon, leaving Jimin to stare into the purpling sky alone.

            “Hey,” he says, smelling of sea salt and ocean air, “I need to tell you something.”

            “Hey,” you reply. “I need you to tell me something.”

           You shake your head. “I can’t, it would be mean to Jimin…”

            “He’ll get over it,” Yoongi says, almost rushing to meet you. “It’s probably just a phase, a middle-school sort of thing. C’mon, he’s already talked to me about it before.”

            “Yeah, and that didn’t seem to go so well for you two,” you retort. “Before you know it, he’s going to talk to me.”

            “Tell him to get over it,” Yoongi says. “It’s Jimin, after all. He’s always been our smiley, happy, best friend. And I don’t think anything in the world can change that.”

 <<<>>> 

 During the switch from lunch to your afternoon classes, Yoongi stops you. He grabs you by the arm, his hand hot on your skin.

“Hey,” he says, tugging you out of the crowd and into a relatively quiet hallway. You look up at him and, as if suddenly remembering something, he lets go. “Are you free after school today?”

“Um,” you say, confused. He hardly talks to you like normal anymore, refuses to even hear Jimin’s name from you, and now he’s asking if you’re free? “Sure, yeah.”

 <<<>>> 

             “What’s up?” Jimin asks, unzipping his lunch box. As per usual now, it’s just you two sitting at the lunch table now. Yoongi no longer comes by, as if repulsed by something. You’re guessing it’s probably you.

As if reading your thoughts, Jimin looks down at the table. “I’m sorry. I think Yoongi doesn’t come by anymore because of me. I don’t think he likes me.”

“No,” you say. “It’s because of me.”

“Oh come on,” Jimin says, taking out his sandwich. “You know I’m involved in it, too.”

You look at him, sipping your juice box. “Yeah. I know.”

Jimin is walking out of the door now, lunch gone. “I guess we’re not walking back to school together today? We used to always do that, you know. The three of us.”

“Yeah,” you reply, teeth hitting against the straw of your juice box. “We did.”

 <<<>>> 

 You and Yoongi remain in tense silence, you standing in the corner of the empty classroom corner, him leaning against a wall, arms crossed. He looks as if he is thinking about something he can’t quite put into words.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, slowly. He refuses to make eye contact and continues to stare straight ahead, out the window.

“Look Yoongi, if it’s about me and Jimin--”

“It’s fine,” he interjects, looking at you with stormy eyes, clearly hiding a stronger, negative feeling underneath. “I’m just learning to put it all behind me. I want to forget about it all.”

<<<>>>  

Yoongi refuses to even look at you anymore. It’s as if he’s a storm incoming, brewing angrily from afar. And you know why, now. You’d suspected it from the start. But you still refused to accept it, wanting to hold onto all of the traditions and happiness.

Where had all those good times gone, anyways? Somewhere far, distant. Somewhere you were starting to forget.

 <<<>>> 

             “So, how are you and Yoongi?” Jimin asks. “You two haven’t been getting along recently, it seems.”

            You clench your fist. “Don’t worry about it. It’s dumb.”

            “But I am worrying about it.” Jimin peers at you from the couch. It’s his favorite spot. “Tell me. Please?”

            “Fine.” You turn to him. “Yoongi’s mad at me. Indefinitely. That’s all.”

            “And why’s that?” Jimin is standing a few feet from you. You remain silent. “C’mon, tell me,” he prods.

            Yoongi? Why’s he mad at you? You remember the conversation and begin to feel your emotions building up.

            “Tell me,” Jimin repeats. He’s sitting at your kitchen table now, hands folded neatly on his lap.

“I don’t know why Yoongi is so mad at me!” you shout, frustrated. “Well no, actually I do know why, but it’s not my fault! And he thinks it is!”

Jimin looks up at you, his face is passive. “What is your fault?”

You turn and look at him, eyes narrowed. “Oh--you know, you know what happened, you know--and he thinks it’s all my fault! He won’t even let me bring you up, can’t stand it!”

“So whose fault is it?” Jimin asks.

You’re pacing now, anger growing. “I don’t know!” You throw your hands in the air, let them drop to your sides. “Just because we got into an argument before it happened doesn’t mean I’m the one at fault, no one’s dramatic enough to go and and do that after just one argument!” You look at him. “Right?”

“Then whose fault is it?” Jimin asks again.

“Not mine!” you cry out in frustration. You turn away from him. “Yoongi can’t blame it on me! He’s your best friend, he’s with you all the time, and plus, he also got in an argument with --”

“But I’m your best friend too.”

“I mean yeah - but like,” you say, beginning to cool down. “But like it’s different, you know, Yoongi is blaming it on me, when we both, you know, got into arguments and--”

“So whose fault is it?” Jimin asks again.

“It’s not my fault,” you reply, sounding more unsure. “It’s, it’s…”

You turn around, but Jimin is already gone. The cream colored curtains billow in the breeze coming from an open window.

“...our fault.”

 <<<>>> 

  “So.”

“So.”

“I’ve already had this talk with Yoongi before,” Jimin begins.

“Yeah, I know,” you interject. “He told me. That you talked with him.”

Jimin looks a bit broken. “Oh? So you already know, then?”

“Depends. What were you going to say?” you’re bracing yourself, continuously rethinking what Yoongi told you, it’s just a phase, there’s not a thing in the world that could possibly change Jimin forever. Nothing bad is really going to happen. That stuff just doesn’t happen to us.

“Well I, I,” Jimin stammers. He fidgets with his shirt. “I’ve just been feeling so - so - empty inside. Like, everyone feels like holograms and things just don’t make me all that happy anymore. I searched it up and, and I have depression. It’s a mental condition, you see? And my parents don’t really believe in it, like, my mom told me I don’t even have the guts to kill myself and my dad says I’m not that mentally bad.”

“Jimin, I’m really sorry to hear that,” you say, sounding more confused and flustered than sympathetic. “Are you sure it isn’t a phase, or something?”

“I’m sure. It’s not, it’s not! I’m telling you this because I need help, you see? I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.”

You give him a tentative smile. “Hey, Jimin, I know it’s been a stressful time for you, with school and everything. But I’m sure it’ll be fine; just go out, have fun. Destress. Do things that make you happy. Easy, you know? Just gotta be more optimistic… stop being so pessimistic about life, I guess. See the positive stuff.”

“Things don’t make me happy anymore. Positivity is a sham. No one understands,” he says, broken. “No one.” And then he takes off.

Gone.

 <<<>>> 

 Yoongi takes one look at you, turns around, and slams the door shut, but not before you wedge your foot in the door crack. He turns. You glare.

“We need to talk. About Jimin. Trying to just bury this all in the past isn’t going to work. Forgetting is not the right way of going about this.”

“For you, maybe,” Yoongi says. ��Now leave. We’re not talking about this anymore.”

“No.” You stare him dead in the eye. “It’s not fair to Jimin, forgetting about him, about our friendship. So please. Let’s have this one last talk.”

 <<<>>> 

 Jimin doesn’t smile much anymore. In fact, he hardly smiles at all. You almost forget what it looks like. And then you forget that he is even there anymore.

He leaves a note, taped onto your window, on at 3 a.m. and gone by 4.

Maybe in my next life you’ll teach me to swim.

 <<<>>> 

 “Listen - Yoongi. I know it’s been hard on the both of us these past few months, ever since Jimin left us.”

In his room, Yoongi turns to look at you, seething. His eyes are full of pent-up rage, emotion, grief. He’s lost something, you’ve lost something, and you’re both feeling wronged.

“Stop,” he says lowly, eyes narrowed. “Stop talking as if you could understand.”

“And stop talking as if I couldn’t. He was my best friend too.”

“No, Shut UP!” Yoongi roars. “Shut up! Jimin is dead. You don’t understand how hard it is for me to live every day without him.” He closes his eyes, sucks in a huge breath. “I can’t think of a day I’ve gone without him.”

Yoongi takes in deep, shuddering breaths. “He killed himself. And it’s almost as if you don’t care at all about that sadness. It feels like you drove him to it.”

Unknown tears are streaming down your face but your voice is still clear. “And you? What do you think you did, huh? Nothing? You think that you’re completely innocent, don’t you? Must be nice getting to sit here and think that all the blame is on someone else!”

Yoongi grits his teeth.

“Well, wake up call, Yoongi,” you spit. “You’re in the wrong, too. We both know what happened to you and Jimin before he came to me, how you both ended in a split before going to the beach and I felt it, you know? I felt it so bad it was the only thing I could think about that entire trip. That beautiful sunset, the lagoon, I wanted to enjoy it all with you but instead I couldn’t. Because something was missing from my life and it was us. Our friendship. And don’t think I don’t remember what you told me then, either. Because I do. And I listened to you. I listened to you because I didn’t know what the fuck else to do, and now we’re here because we were too dumb and naive to think anything bad could happen to us.”

 <<<>>> 

 The forest is misty at 4 am. Grey, thick, clouds float through the trees like ghosts. You’re running, because something bad is going to happen, something. The only sound is your panting and footsteps stomping and bending the blades of dewy grass.

“Jimin!” You call, looking about wildly. “Jimin where are you?”

In the distance you hear a noise; you push your legs ever harder, sprinting through the fog. But you’re slow, as if running in a dream, mind moving faster than body, body moving faster than legs.

And then there is the lake. Bubbles, bubbles. Jimin’s shoes by the edge of the water, the pair you and Yoongi bought for him for his birthday, unlaced. Bubbles, still. You run faster. The bubbles are gone. You jump in, body immediately seizing from the cold.

You can’t see anything, so you blindly grope around, listening for the sound of another body. Jimin, he couldn’t be down here, he shouldn’t be. The boy who was too afraid to learn to swim because he was scared of barracudas and the murky mysteries that lurked underneath. The boy who always sat at the edge and never further.

“Jimin,” you try to say, bubbles spewing from your mouth. “Jimin, where are you?”

There is no response. You stay until your lungs burn and you have to resurface to get air. Jimin is gone.

<<<>>>

“I didn’t mean it--I valued him so much I didn’t think it was true, okay?” Yoongi wipes away at his reddened eyes, snot and tears smearing in a translucent mess.  “Anyways, what’s the point now? Huh? He’s gone. Every day I try to forget and put it all behind me so I can move on with my life. I think you should too.” He says the last sentence with conviction.

“No, I want you to remember--”

“And don’t you think it’s a little selfish of you? To make me want to do something that clearly hurts me so much?”

“Look, Yoongi,” you say. “I know. I fucking understand. And I’m fucking sorry. But listen up, you stubborn ass! Just forgetting your problems isn’t the way to go; any four-year old should know that! Just because you close your eyes doesn’t mean the milk isn’t spilled and the glass isn’t shattered. If anything, you gotta remember the happy moments and learn from the sad. Forgetting about things isn’t going to save your future friends and will only give you some semblance of happiness. Jimin was a huge part of your life--as he was in mine--so he was also a huge part of your happiness too and you can’t discount that.”

You and Yoongi are glaring into each other’s eyes, hands at each other’s collars, both taking in deep breaths.

“There’s nothing wrong with going back and remembering all the good times that we are both forgetting.”

 <<<>>> 

             Your reflections are distorted by the flowers--white lilies, Jimin’s favorite--that one by one you and Yoongi drop onto the lake. Side by side. Because even though he’s not actually there to wrap his arms around your shoulders, Jimin is still with you, with Yoongi, dropping the flowers right into the lake beside you as he peers into the murky waters he was so afraid of.

But it’s okay, he says. Because he has two best friends who are there to keep him company. And help him remember happiness.

 <<<>>> 

 sankofa; “se wo were fi na wosankofa a yenkyi”:

it is not taboo to go back and fetch what is at risk of being forgotten.

an: (its been 5ever ik my dudes) i wrote this for my long fiction for my writing sem and my professor never got around to reading it like she just put in our final grades for the semester without even looking at our final two portfolios lmao

[imagine-loki]

F#*king marry me already

TITLE: F#*king marry me already CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1 AUTHOR: Valarie Ravenhearst2 ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine Loki trying to propose to you, trying to make it the most perfect occasion. But every time that it comes to the big night, something happens, like you getting sick or have to work, so it keeps getting put off because he wants it to be perfect

RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: the usual stuff ;)

I don’t know why I bother running when I’m stressed; all it does is get me more pumped up. As I continue jogging down the footpath I can see a group of older teens, further along, messing around with skateboards. As I get closer one of them tries to do some trick but stacks it and falls to the ground just in time for me to run into him – sending me flying over him and tumbling along the pavement. 

I’m fine. 

But fuck I’m pissed. If it’s one thing I’m good at: is taking a hard hit or falling and not hurting myself. It’s walking casually when I always hurt myself with my ‘random gravity checks’. Though, depending on my mood, I’m more than good at pretending that the damage is worse than it is. And God help the people who catch me on a bad day. Like this guy.     Mentally checking my body one last time before I move, I can hear his little friends laughing and making noises of exasperations.

“OHH DAMN…” One of them exclaims and I finally push myself up, just as the other boy rolls to his feet.

“Shit girl, I’m sorry.” He begins. Okay, don’t lose it. He’s just a kid. Maybe a drop-kick motherfucker but still a kid.

“Don’t you watch where you’re going?” I adjust my ponytail.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“Oh, you didn’t see me coming towards y’all. Bet you didn’t see all these other people just walking on the street as well. Fuck, that’s really fucking bizarre: all these people walking on the footpath. I bet that must really bother y’all. All of us just getting in your way.” I place my hands on my hips. His friends laugh whilst he looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or not.

“Look I’m sorry, are you okay?” He continues. No, I’m fucking not, I’ve had a shitty day and you picked the wrong day to fucking mess with me.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine I get bowled over by idiots on skateboards all the time.” I smile charmingly at him and a few of his friends whistle, encouraging me to keep messing with him.

“Can I help you or anything? Help you home, or get your number to check on you later?” He boldly runs his eyes up and down my body with what I assume is an approving nod; quirking his eyebrows suggestively, “make sure you’re okay.” He’s not seriously hitting on me? Was he dropped at birth? I arch a brow which says are-you-serious?

“I think I can manage.” I smooth my shirt out before going to turn.

“Well, can I still get your number?” He asks again. This kid has fallen too many times off that board.

“Why, you need a babysitter?” I question, evoking a roar of praise and whistling from his friends. He tries to laugh it off and shrug, but he clearly isn’t happy about his ego taking a blow in front of an audience. I turn and head back into a run leaving behind a trail of whistles.    At least he had the smarts not to make some kind of comment after; ‘cause he would have received a punch square in the nose for it.    I mean, come on! The fucking skate park is right across the fucking road! Is it really that difficult for them to walk a hundred meters, instead of being public nuisances and endangering the community? They’re one of Loki’s pet hates; he always makes them trip when they get in his way on the street LOKI!     I glance at my watch before swearing under my breath. Shit, I forgot I’m supposed to be having dinner with him in thirty minutes. I pick up my pace, sprinting the last ten blocks home.     Jogging up the stairs to the seventh floor to my loft, I burst through the stairway door huffing like a woman in labour by the time I get my door unlocked. “Hey.” I wheeze as I enter hastily. Loki casts his emerald eyes up at me, whilst leaning against the kitchen bench. The buttons of his white shirt working overtime to prevent keep his muscular body contained; his raven hair pushed back and sitting obediently off his face. “I’m sorry I know we had plans. I lost track of time.” I manage to exhale as I get to the fridge, grabbing out my water bottle - chugging down gloriously cold water. I take a few long breaths to try and get my heart to stop thumping like an agitated hummingbird. Once I sound like I’m out of labour I smile and lean over the bench, kissing him on his thin lips. “I’d hug you but I’m all hot and sweaty. I’m going for a shower.”

“It’d have to be only five minutes if we’re to make our reservations.” Oh, that voice could soothe all my worries away; though currently, it has an annoyed prickle spiking its silkiness. I stop at the stairs, spinning with a guilty grin on my face. He rolls his eyes with a sigh, looking back at his paper in front of him.

“Baby…” I pout, shuffling back over to him, sliding my arms around his waist. “Don’t be angry,” I mumble against his shoulder. Lord, he smells so divine … which makes me more aware of how disgusting I feel compared to him. “I’m sorry hunny. I just had a really shitty day and I forgot about dinner. Then I went for a run and this punk kid tripped me –”

“What! Are you okay?” Well, that got his attention. He straightens like a rod; his godly power showing as his eyes burn with fury; scanning me for injuries.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. Don’t worry I handled myself.” I smile to try and ease him; his nostrils flare as he exhales angrily. “I’m okay sweetheart, it was an accident,” I admit with an eye roll. “He apologised and I gave him a mouthful; it’s fine.” I cup the sides of his face. “Look I’m sorry about tonight; I just really don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’m sorry baby.” His anger slowly subsides but only to reveal his disappointment once more. “Look I’ll make it up to you; I’ll call up tomorrow and book us a table for Friday.”

“It took me a month to get a reservation.” He sighs, attempting not to appear so disheartened.

“Yes, well you don’t know the chef. I do.” I pull his head down to mine. “Don’t look so sad.” I pout and kiss him again. “It’s just dinner. We go out for dinner all the time.” He just rolls his eyes. “Come on, I’ve got something better for us to do tonight.” I lead him by the hand, heading back towards the back wall to the bathroom. “How ‘bout you have desert first and I’ll make dinner later.” I grin wickedly, prying a slight smirk from him. Backing into the bathroom, I begin unbuttoning his shirt and they gladly give way. He makes good work of removing my tank top and slides down my running tights with ease. We hastily switch to discarding the remaining of our own clothes before we go at each other with a burning desire. Our actions become more passionate as he pushes me up against the wall; my legs wrap around his waist. The water begins cascading by itself – perks of dating a sorcerer. His eyes glow with lust filled ferocity as we grin wickedly at each other as he carries me into the shower.     And I can tell you: he certainly didn’t stay sad for long. We skip dinner completely and just have second servings of dessert in the bedroom … and thirds … and fourths.