#lullatriesprompts

[1u11ablues]

​❝ good morning. no, don’t get up, it’s raining, let’s stay in bed a little longer… ❞ (Company Boss Simon 'Ghost Riley' x Reader)

Warning: Implied nsfw.

Petrichor scented the room. Outside, the wind lilted, enticing you to ignore the cold air running in from the window. A siren tempting her victim to freeze to death. 

You wouldn’t care, typically, but the rain slanted in a way that aimed straight into the little room you’ve found yourself in.

You got up to gray. As is the typical colour pallette for the English, with their rain and their clouds and their rare sighting of sun. One could get sick of such things, eventually…

Strong arms slithered up around your waist.

Oh, right. You forgot why you were in this unfamiliar room to begin with.

A night out with your colleagues. Mr. Riley, your boss, making a surprise appearance. You, trying your best not to make it too obvious that you were crushing on him. Even going as far as to pick a seating as far away from the head of the table, but-

How were you to know that he likes to sit with his employees more?

Flashes of images greeted you as you remembered. Him never letting you pour your own drinks out. Making sure your water is always refilled. Him eating with one hand because his big arms made it hard for you to fit both of yours on the table to eat comfortably—and he insisted that you used both of yours.

God, maybe he’d noticed you stealing glances at the way his free hand rests on his thighs, how his fingers almost dipped in and pointing down where his trousers seemed to have trouble hiding a gift.

When your mind started heading towards sinful territories, you excused yourself. Said you were coming down with something. You decided to stop by the washroom to cool your overheated skin off before calling for a ride, but when you exited, was greeted by your boss with a first-aid pack that seemed tiny for his hands.

“Need anything from here?”

You should’ve just said no and dashed right out. But the people pleasing tendencies won that night.

“Paracetamol,” you simply said, reaching a palm out, expecting him to pop open two pills and send you home. Well, you didn’t expect him to actually stepped forward and placed the back of his knuckles against your temple, gauging your temperature.

Thank god you were actually feeling a little warm.

“There’s a clinic down the road. Let me,” and before you know it, your purse was in his hands, and he urged you with only his presence on your back.

When the clinic came into view, you finally admitted that you weren’t really that sick.

“We should check, just in case,” he spoke, the sight of your purse trapped underneath his arm and torso the only thing keeping you distracted from total humiliation right then and there.

“It’s fine, sir. A good night’s sleep is all I need,” you assured. Funny how life decided to laugh and throw in a heavy storm as extra.

“We can’t drive home in this weather,” he complained, hair wet from the downpour, and his arms on grand display. What is it with men and their habits of rolling the sleeves of their shirts up?

“There’s a motel right across,” your idiot mouth suggested, thinking it will only be a while to wait the rain out.

Well, now you’re wet and shivering and it’s almost midnight with no signs of the storm passing. In a one bed motel room with its fluffy duvet and warmer sheets than the death fabric clinging to you.

“I think you should get in bed, love,” he suggested when he noticed you looking at it longingly. Also a wet and shivering mess, stood guard, looking outside the window. “Hang your wet clothes to dry and get warm under the blanket. I’ll leave soon as the rain stops.”

Neither of you seemed to be having the best of luck that night.

“Sir, I think you should do the same. It doesn’t seem like it’ll stop soon.”

“Fuck,” he cursed just as his lips began to pale, stripping down hurriedly before jumping into the bed beside you.

It took a while for him to warm up. Perhaps too long for your comfort.

“Are you still cold, sir?”

He nodded with a twitch of his jaw.

Worried, you pull the covers up until his head is covered. Having no other ideas on how to warm up a man that doesn’t involve touching him.

Eventually, you had to put that suggestion forward, anyway. You called down and requested for warm tea to be sent up, and after he’d downed a cup, braced yourself for your question.

“I’m plenty warm, sir. I’d like to share some of it with you, sir.” I’m not trying to take advantage of you, sir.

In hindsight, you should’ve expected the difficulty that comes with cuddling someone you’re attracted to, skin to skin. 

So something twitched. Jerked. Leaked and stained.

By then, the elephant is the room.

“I’m not known to keep a warmed woman wanting,” he joked with his arms under his head, “but there’s always a first time for everything.”

You scoffed.

“You say that as if your dick isn’t trying to lift the covers off me.”

“I never said I’m not. Wanting.”

“What happens in this room stays in this room?”

Neither of you couldn’t believe the words that naturally tumbled out of you. But it was too late to reel in the rampant thoughts that should’ve been spoken with your inside voice.

What happened next was a flash. It took all but seconds before he pulled you into a crashing kiss. Hovered over you as his lips trailed kisses down your body, stopping just before the apex of your thighs.

Foreplay was too intimate when you know this moment was stolen.

“You’re all but ready,” he echoed your thoughts before pushing in. 

That did the trick of stoking the furnace in him right up. He was no longer shivering from the cold, but from the high of his orgasm as it painted your stomach—both of you trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum. Everyone knows how thin motel walls are.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, settling into a sleepy embrace behind you after he’d cleaned you up. 

Fatigue and bliss kept you from overthinking. But now, in the wee hours of the morning—storm still somehow going strong—your worry blossomed.

Thoughts keep you from falling back into comfortable slumber until the arm pulls you up close to the body behind you. An ongoing heater now that he was able to warm himself up.

“Good morning,” a sleepy murmur came out of him.

Your shiver had nothing to do with the cold blasting into the room. You got up to try to close the windows back up, but stopped by his hold.

“No, don’t get up.”

“It’s raining, sir. I need to close the window before the room gets wet.”

He pressed you firm onto the bed. Sat up and jogged straight to the window to shut it close tight.

“Please, call me Simon,” he said, gazing straight into your eyes. “And please, let’s stay in bed a little longer. We’ll think about the consequences of this later.”

When life throws you a storm…

[1u11ablues]

50: “I could never get sick of you.” (Price x Reader)

This was an odd day to begin with. John was home, for once, not in another country or cooped up at the base.

You'd always done errands alone, but today—your older lover decided to tag along.

"We just needed to pick up some milk from the store," you say to him as he drives you around instead, when you were so used to taking the bus. His hand resting on your thighs, and yours, playing with his fingers.

In the end, the trolley had more in it than the milk you promised. He'd moved up front to pay for the month's worth of groceries before you could even look at your bag for your purse.

You tried not to feel guilty. After all, he should be spending his break actually taking a break.

"I'm sorry," you apologised, watching as he carried everything within a single trip. "I'm sure you're tired. I would get sick of driving myself here and there, too." You scoffed.

"I could never get sick of you, doll," he shook his head as he replied, brows knitted in that stern expression you love. "If I had it my way, I would take you everywhere you wanted to."

[1u11ablues]

“Could he make you feel as good as i do?” (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Your back pressed to him as skin slapped against skin. It was a rushed kind of pace, something two people can only share within walls or the cover of shadows.

Yours were one of the storage rooms of the facility.

"Could he make you feel as good as I do?" Metal hand nudged your chin to the side so he could leave a kiss on your temple as he fucked you messy, "is this pretty pussy satisfied when Stevie's done with it?"

Both of you knew the answer to that. Your relationship with Steve was fulfilling on all sides but one. That's where Bucky came into place.

"Steve should've start paying me for this. Keeping you fed, doll, it's a full time job."

[1u11ablues]

“Time and time again, I’ve told you not to do this to me. I can only worry so much.” (Steve Rogers x reader)

You chanced for a full breath. What resulted was a stabbing pain in your abdomen, confirming both to you and Steve that, yes, you'd broken more than one rib during that 'collision' in that bar.

But hey, in your defense, the man started it first.

This would be a good story to tell back at the facility, if only you can get through Steve Roger's fussing first. Your mentor. Occasional lover. 

"Time and time again," he shook his head disapprovingly as he took a medkit to the rest of you that he could tend to himself, "you do this. You're getting self-destructive, trooper."

Also, full-time worrier. Bucky was right, it seems. Steve takes on strays like it was nobody's business.

You smiled. The blood crusting on your lips crumbled and fell down your shirt. All—for some odd reason—a symbol of victory, for you. Some kind of badge to flaunt.

"You should see the other guy," you joked. But, deep down, you knew something was wrong. Something had been wrong for months, now.

"I've told you not to do this, sweetheart." Tender words offset by the sting of antiseptic on the cut on your forehead. "I can only worry so much."

[1u11ablues]

“you’ll feel better if you talk about it . I’m here to listen.” (Stardew Valley Shane x Reader)

Dark liquid filled the scotch glass. Shane requested non-alcoholic, so you'd obliged, though looking at the weathered expression he'd come into the Saloon with…he might need more than plain soda.

"Are you sure you don't want something stronger?" You ask.

He shook his head. "I'm trying to quit."

Oh, you thought.

You were a new hire—Gus' distant niece—still learning about the people of Pelican Town.

But you respect that.

You slide the glass to him. "Free of charge. You'll feel better if you talk about it. I'm here to listen."

"Thank you," he said, a tired smile on his face.