12:00 pm. It was a cold and windy night, which was quite unusual for Los Angeles, California. But then again, this wasn’t an average night. You could just feel it on your skin. Something wasn’t right, and you were going to get to the bottom of it.
You looked down at your hand, knuckles white from nervously gripping onto the crumpled paper note. You decided to read it again, just to be sure you were at the right place. “Denny’s. Devonshire Street. Midnight. Be there. Come alone.”
You sighed heavily, and looked up at the building in front of you, looming in the darkness. Yep, this was it. The inside was dark from what you can tell by looking through the windows. You slowly approached the steps leading up to the large, glass doors. As you walked up each step, you reconsidered this whole thing. What if it was some sort of trap? What if this was where you were going to die? But, the ominous interior of the so-called “restaurant” was beckoning you inside. It’s as if this was your destiny. Cold, unavoidable, and mysterious.
You finally made it to the top of the stairs, and you peered through the glass double-doors. The inside still looked as dark and empty as before. Your shaking hand made it to the door handles, and to your surprise, the door swung open quite easily. They were expecting you. You stepped inside, but still not a sound besides the shuffling of your feet.
A light comes on. Just a single spotlight over one of the empty booths. As your eyes adjust to the sudden shock of light through the inky blackness, you notice a menu on the illuminated table. It was propped up against a napkin holder, opened to the first page. As you approach it with caution, you notice a golden key set on the table in front of the menu. You lean in to read the page, but realize that there weren’t any food items listed, except for one: pancakes. In every space where there should be a breakfast item, it was replaced with the word “pancakes”. Your stomach begins to rumble. You are hungry… hungry for answers.
Grabbing the menu and the mysterious key, you keep walking through the room, occasionally bumping into tables and chairs in the dark. You make a left turn somewhere and another light comes on. It’s a bit dimmer this time, so it’s not as bad on your eyes. It’s the light at the doorway of the kitchen. As you make your way towards it, you hear a sound behind you. Some sort of creaking noise, like you were being followed…
You whip your head around, but there was nothing there. Just the same empty tables and chairs. You must be imagining things now. Yeah… just imagining things. When you walk into the kitchen, all the lights come on simultaneously. At least, inside of the kitchen that is. There’s nothing abnormal about it. It’s just a regular old kitchen. Something about it seems oddly familiar though. You’d like to think it’s just a bit of déjà vu, but you’re sure you remember this location from before.
You start looking around for some sort of secret entrance or hidden door, but find nothing. You must have missed something… there’s got to be a clue. You look through pots and pans, bags of flour, loose floor tiles. Anything to reveal what to do next! Just then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a poster on the wall. That’s it! It’s what the menu was trying to say. The poster had a badly photoshopped stack of pancakes on it, so there has to be something important near it. You run towards it, and rip the poster from the wall to discover a metal safe built into the wall. It was pretty plain except for a keyhole, which obviously fit the key from before. You shove the shiny, golden key into it’s designated spot and turn it. Instead of the safe opening though, the entire wall split into a doorframe! The key must have activated the entrance, and it’s finally time to see what you’ve been waiting for.
When the door swung open, it revealed another dark room. You take a deep breath, and step inside. The second your foot passes the doorframe, a set of extremely bright lights come on, and your eyes are momentarily blinded once again. When they adjust, something beautiful is revealed. Something magical. Something one can only dream about.
Wait a minute. This can’t be real… this isn’t real at all! This is just a dream! It’s just a dream!
You woke up covered in sweat, tears running down your eyes and your pillow soaked. You were gasping for air, your breaths coming in short and fast. You glanced out the window from your bed, and noticed that it was morning. It was just a dream after all, but it was exactly what you needed. You’ve been waiting for some kind of vision, a sign, a dream. And now, you’ve got it. Before you lost the image in your mind, you raced to your desk and opened up your laptop, desperately waiting for it to start up. You plopped down into your rolling chair, and typed in your password. It was ‘pancakes’, of course. You pulled up one of those electronic sticky notes that hang around on your desktop, and began typing in the description of that magical image you saw in your dream. Yes… this is it! The inspiration you’ve been hoping for!
“A stack of pancakes, but the butter on top is larger and zoomed in, and it’s photoshopped to look like an ice cream scoop with a cherry on top and sprinkles. It’s a pancake sundae!”
You cease your furious typing, take a deep breath, and stretch out your arms. This is the kind of genius your Denny’s blog needed.
Ever Since Author: letsjustsee Word Count: 10.5k Summary: Louis once again went to leave, but before he could reach the door he heard Barkley jumping off the bed behind him. The giant dog accosted Louis before he could get through, nudging Louis’ legs with all his weight and making him stumble, and Louis had to grab the doorframe to steady himself. “What the heck, Barkley?” Louis was mostly talking to himself, aware that Barkley couldn’t actually understand him, but he had never witnessed the dog acting so oddly. He turned around when he heard a quiet murmur coming from the bed. “What?” He hadn’t been able to make out what Harry said, but at Louis’ question he sat up in bed, hair already wild from the pillow, eyes heavy, and Louis’ stomach gave a little flip. “He wants you to stay.”
Or, a very fluffy AU where Louis finds a lost dog that he wishes he could keep - until he meets his owner, who he wishes he could keep more
sterek, "the guy i fucked last night woke up this morning, disoriented and looked at me, and said "oh, you're hot." and went back to sleep."
Stiles scrubs his hands over his face. It’s still awfully early, too early to be awake, but his brain decided to snap out if a peaceful slumber, and now he’s sitting up in a bed that isn’t his, covered in light green sheets. There’s a guy lying next to him, on his stomach, hugging the pillow, and Stiles lets his eyes wander of the wide planes of his back, the tattoo between his shoulder blades, the dimples on his lower back. His face is turned away from Stiles, but Stiles still remembers: the sharp cheekbones with the impeccable stubble, a chiseled jaw, strong eyebrows and a set of eyes that stripped Stiles bare in a way that was both scary and hot.
All things considered, last night was a success.
Still, Stiles doesn’t usually fall asleep in the beds of his one-night-stands, never stays over, and he can’t believe he did last night. But the guy–Derek, his name’s Derek–asked him, softly, between open-mouthed, hot kisses to Stiles’ throat, and Stiles forgot the word no even existed. Which–what. This hasn’t ever happened before. Usually, it’s easy to say no; Stiles doesn’t like the awkward morning afters.
So he looks at Derek one last time, and sighs. Derek is something like a walking wet dream, and the sex was mind-blowing. Stiles wouldn’t mind another round, or ten, but Derek’s still sleeping, and Stiles broke one of his principles already. He won’t be the creeper who stared at Derek while he slept, which would probably reduce the chances of a repeat performance. If they ever ran into each other again, that is.
Stiles grips the sheet to throw it back and climb out of bed when Derek snuffles–he snuffles, Stiles is going to die–shifts, head turning to Stiles. He blinks against the early morning sunlight, eyes small. His hair is a mess, there’s the imprint of the pillow’s creases on his cheek: Stiles is sure he’s pretty much ruined forever. This is it. He’s wrecked. This shouldn’t be happening. It was just a one-night-stand.
Derek squints at him sleepily. “God,” he says, voice sleep-rough. “You’re hot.”
Stiles is pretty sure his brain can’t quite decide where to send all his blood: to his face or to his cock.
“Um,” Stiles says intelligently, fighting the urge to card a hand through Derek’s hair.
Derek nuzzles into his pillow again, eyes drooping shut. “Mhm,” he hums. “Thought the alcohol induced an obscene fantasy ‘bout your eyes. And your mouth. And just–you.”
Stiles stares at him, helplessly.
“Not a fantasy,” Derek points out, soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He blinks his eyes open again, reaches out to grab Stiles’ hand. Derek twines the fingers together, rubs his thumb over Stiles’ skin, and it feels perfect; feels like something he’s done before, like it’s natural.
“I don’t like to be objectified,” Stiles says, because that’s the first thing his brain supplies.
Derek laughs softly, closing his eyes again, as he brings their joined hands to his lips, presses a tender kiss on Stiles’ knuckles.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, lips grazing the skin of Stiles’ hand. It sends shivers down Stiles’ vertebrae.
Stiles lies back down, on his back, their hands in the space between them, and he turns his head to look at Derek, whose features have relaxed again, peaceful, as he drifts off to sleep one more time.
“Stay,” Derek asks quietly, voice petering out into a sleepy slur.
So Stiles stays, because apparently, he can’t say no to Derek.
“P-please. I really can’t control myself anymore.”
Whipping your head around, you aren’t sure if it is the lust intoxicating your consciousness or if there is actually a half-naked Jungkook watching intently as your boyfriend kneads your ass. What the fuck is going on? One moment you were fooling around with Namjoon in his room, and the next his roommate was standing by the door, cheeks flushed as his chest heaves up and down. You slowly withdraw your hand from under Namjoon’s shirt, the desire to trace lazy swirls on his chest suddenly nonexistent.
“Jungkook. God, what the fuck?” You feel Namjoon’s warm hands on your bottom shift to lift you on to the mattress, leaving you needy and greedy as he turns to address the younger man. Your boyfriend scoots himself to the edge of the bed, his long legs dangling over the wooden frame as he runs a frustrated hand through his pale, pink locks. “You choose now of all time to bring this up.”
additional notes: god, i love loki. anyway. here’s a lil drabble for him. my favorite snake. my daisy. my cinnamon apple.
“A catnap,” you repeated. The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out, Loki at your heels. “You know, short sleeping sessions during the day to relax and recharge. But to be honest I’m usually more tired afterward.”
Loki wrinkled his nose. “Sounds useless.” He could admit that he was like a cat in many ways; he would sleep seventeen hours daily if it weren’t for you or the rest of the team urging for him to make the most of his day. He didn’t see any point in dozing for a short while, falling into a deep sleep, and having to drag himself out of it again.
“I told Thor about them a week ago. I thought he might tell you. He loves them! Wakes up feeling refreshed. Maybe you’ll like them too.”
His scowl deepened. “I suppose you bring that up to make me jealous, hm?”
“Not at all!” You widened your eyes at him, feigning innocence, but he saw right through you. “I just know that you like sleeping a lot, so naps could be good for you! Trust me, I’d sleep the day away, too, if I could but it’s…It’s not the best.”
Loki frowned, remarking the note of shame in your voice. He’d spoken to Thor; he knew of your past, how hard it had been for you when you were first discovered by SHIELD and brought in to join the team, how you had spent most of your time in your apartment and were little more than a ghost when you were outside of it. You were, as you put it, “fine now!” but he had his doubts, and if this meant easing a bit of your conscience…He couldn’t say no. “Fine. Let’s try it.”
Your eyes lit up. “Yay! Okay, let’s go.” You held out your hand to him; he merely stared disdainfully at it. “Group naps are better, trust me. We can sleep in my room, that way no one will bother us.”
He rolled his eyes and took your hand, allowing you to pull him down the hall and into your room. He had been in your quarters before; you were always inviting him in for some reason or another: to watch movies, to read in peace together, to laze around on hot days because his Jötunn-level coldness was a good match for your elevated temperature. Once, you’d jokingly called him your personal popsicle, but Bucky and Sam had (lovingly) given you so much shit for it that you refrained from ever calling him that again. Your room had become a sort of second home for Loki, and he would never tell you, but he was grateful for it. He tried to express his gratitude in subtle ways, like by taunting you a bit less or trying whatever food you brought for him to try. By far the most generous he’d been was when he let you take him to a mall and find Midgardian clothes for him.
“All right, what side do you want?” you asked him, rummaging through your closet for an extra pillow.
“This one.” He sat on the side closest to the door.
You turned around, pillow tucked under your arm, and grinned knowingly. “So protective. Willing to put yourself between me and whatever danger comes to find us.”
He rolled his eyes and took the pillow from you. You snickered, crawling across the bed to take the other side. You curled up with your back to the wall, drawing the covers around you until you were all but cocooned within them. You blinked up at him expectantly. “Go on. Get comfy.”
Loki lay down, turning onto his side to face you. You looked ridiculous. “Are you going to share the blanket or am I to freeze in your ice chest of a room?”
Resentfully, you relinquished some of your covers, allowing him to arrange them comfortably over his legs and waist. Then you smirked, wiggling closer to him. “I can keep you warm,” you crooned.
He grunted and closed his eyes. “The blankets are enough, thank you.”
He could practically hear your disappointment.
You were shifting around in your sheets.
He waited a full five seconds before opening his eyes. You were staring at him with those pitiful doe eyes, lower lip poking out in a pout. “Get over here,” he relented, opening his arm to you.
Your face lit up, and he pretended that it did not please him immensely. You scooted over to him until you were cuddled up against him, tucked safely under his arm. You lay with your head tucked under his chin, your knee bent over his hip. You were warm, and soft, and perfect. He sighed into your hair, feeling finally at peace.
“Sweet dreams,” you murmured, draping an arm over his waist.
“Y/N, my friend, do you know where—” Thor stopped in his tracks, eyes widening at the sight of you and his brother wrapped up in each other, sleeping soundly. You were absolutely clinging to Loki, and he to you. From the looks of it, neither of you had awoken at the sound of Thor’s admittedly loud entrance.
“By the nine,” Thor muttered under his breath, shaking his head not with disappointment but with disbelief. “Congratulations, brother. You’ve found yourself a beloved.” He could not approve more. He saw your cell phone lying on your nightstand and briefly considered taking a photo of the two of you. Not sharing it with anyone, just leaving it on your phone for you to keep. He decided against it. He was still new to Midgardian technology; who knew what trouble he might run into. He was a good brother and an even better friend, after all.
So he fetched the Falcon and the Winter Soldier and got them to do it instead.
A/N:My first published smut ayy.. I was stuck on this for a while but last night lordt I just went on one and finished it at like 4am lmao… Ty to my FLOwer (@nctreacting) for helping me out with this 💕
This happened because someone asked me how hot Clint was. And I answered with: I want to be his best friend, drink beers with him and then the two of us would have drunk sex and be like,“OH SHIT,” in the morning.
Your head was pounding, throat dried and your body was sore.
What the hell happened last night?
You tried to recall the events that led to this massive hangover, but all you could really remember was staying late at the bar with your best friend, Clint. The others had left around 11, but the two of you stuck around drinking well into two in the morning.
“Fuck,” a low voice came from underneath the covers next to you. “My head is pounding.”