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wistericaine · 15 days ago

Text

'golden girl's hoodie' | james potter

streamer!james x streamer!reader | fluff | wc: 457

summary: james wears your merch on stream

James knew that he was going to get clipped.

You had recently released a new merchline for your viewers—a project that you had been working on for hours. Endless hours, truly. Between contracts and producing and designing, he knew that you were exhausted.

So, he decided to do a bit of the promotion for you.

Not to say that you hadn’t done any, or that yours wasn’t adequate. It was more than adequate, if he was being honest. He just really wanted to help.

And maybe wear your merch on stream.

“Yes, chat. I know, chat.” he chuckled. The chat had been flooding with messages about the hoodie he was currently wearing, most of the fandom not even knowing that the two of you interacted. The ones that did were most likely getting a karma of some sort. He knew that they had been shipping the two of you together for a while now.

“Do you not like it?” he raised an eyebrow, standing up so that the chat could see it better. “There’s other designs, of course. This one just fit me better.”

Said hoodie also had been signed by you right at the bottom of the logo, your signature sticking out in bold white littering.

He laughed at the way that the chat seemed to move even faster at the sight.

“You guys are ridiculous.” he rolled his eyes. “Make sure you go buy some!”

“Jamie?” you called out.

James turned around the corner, toothbrush in mouth as he let out a garbled ‘yes love’ to you.

“Did you happen to promote my hoodie recently?” you asked James curiously.

The two of you were meant to be having a relaxed and calm breakfast that morning. A respite from the marketing and the meetings that you’ve been having to do the past couple of weeks in order to get merch and events booked.

The keyword here was meant.

Almost as soon as you sat down, your inbox had been flooded more than it had ever been. Mentions of you and James, your merch, and a hoodie were the only things that you caught before deciding to just mute Twitter for the day.

“Uh—” he mumbled, spitting out the toothpaste before flashing you a toothy grin.

“James.” you sighed fondly.

“It’s comfortable!” he defended himself. “Listen, I was only going to wear it on stream because we were playing a horror game. It’s not my fault they kept pointing it out.”

“Did you have to point out the fact I signed yours specifically?” you asked.

He rolled his eyes at that. “Semantics.”

You rolled your eyes back. “You��re ridiculous, Jamie.” you laughed.

“Your kind of ridiculous thought.” he winked at you. How right he truly was.

hello everyone, i hope you guys enjoyed! i've recently been falling in love with the idea of the marauders as streamers, so i'm making aus for them! if you can't tell by my posts, i have thought a lot about this au in the past 24 hours. original inspo for this au. thanks so much for reading!

nav . masterlist . library blog . side blog

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 9 months ago

Text

53 / 2.7k / Alejandro being a man who knows his own sex appeal (with medic reader)

kinktober keywords: medical kink, healslutting, healing sex (so-called)

...

"Excuse me?"

Alejandro pauses at the door, looking back at you blankly for a moment before repeating himself. "You're with me," he says again, slower this time as if to make sure you've heard him. "We have things to discuss in the medbay."

Typical.

You follow him with your arms stiffly crossed.

He leads you to the medbay in relative silence, pushes open the door once you arrive, and gestures for you to walk inside first.

"Sit."

You don't. "What is there to discuss?"

His voice rasps with irritation. He tries to soften it when he speaks again. "Just sit. I'm not asking again." He nods at the table. "I'm suffering too much tension. You already know how I want to relieve it.”

You stare him down for another long moment. Then you yield--just a little--and push yourself up to sit on the edge of the examination table. "Not advisable with your injuries."

"I'm fine," he says. His gaze drifts to your legs, where your skirt has exposed several tantalizing inches of skin. "I prefer your brand of medicine."

nsfw ⬇

"I know you don't care about your injuries, Colonel, but I do."

"I know. It's your job to care. That's why I'm here. And who better to give me release than you?" He lets his fingers graze your knee and lifts them up along your inner thigh. "I need your help. You're going to be a dutiful doctora for me, aren't you?"

Your heart rises into your throat. That tone of voice. You swallow to ground yourself. How can you keep letting him do this to you? How are you still this weak? You shift, wanting to squeeze your thighs together. But Alejandro steps closer, standing between them.

He runs his hand up your leg, stopping just before his fingers brush the edge of your skirt. "You need to help your commanding officer, don't you?"

"You're hardly my commanding officer.

"Semantics," he purrs. His other palm goes to your inner knee, coaxing your legs to spread apart some more. "You're my medic, are you not?

Pulling rank on you? Does he really want to play that game? "I'm not your anything.”

"You think you're the one who's really in charge here?"

"It's not about who's in charge."

"Oh?" He almost finds your snark amusing. Almost.

"You're injured," you snap.

That makes him laugh. "That's what makes you the perfect one for the job," he tells you, letting his hands drift further up your legs. "You can't walk away from a poor soldier telling you he needs your help, can you? Even if he's being a bad patient. Not that you'd ever bring it up to your superiors. Or mine."

"No, I wouldn't. But I'm not going to help you risk popping your stitches just because you want to get your dick wet."

"Always so blunt, doctora. Always so crass. But I have faith you won't let that happen." His hands on your legs press you back on the table until you're leaning on your hands to support yourself.

He pulls the crux of your legs flush against him. The position forces you to either lean back and spread your legs to ease your weight off him or to let him pull your full weight onto his thigh and straddle it. You swallow, eyes darting down to the way your skirt is riding up. You swore you wouldn't do this again. You leave the base with your team tomorrow. You’ve already gone too far with him too many times. "Alejandro..."

"Mm," he rumbles in response to the way you say his name. He grinds his thigh up against you just to see you clench around his leg.

God damn him. There's nothing worse than a man who knows his own sex appeal.

You grab his collar, pull him forward, and close your lips around his pulse point.

He leans into your touch and braces his hand on the table next to your hip, enjoying the way your teeth graze against his skin. His hands find your hips and pull you flush against him. "That's it," he mutters. "This is what I need. Give it to me."

You push off the table and round on him to shove him against it instead. "Get on your back. You're not in any shape to top."

"So demanding." But he takes a seat on the edge of the table. "I suppose if my doctor says I'm not in any shape to top, I'll listen to her."

"For once."

"For you," he murmurs. He falls back on the table and props himself up on his elbows. He lets his legs part. His eyes drag over your body, wanting to see you naked again. "Show me how you take care of a wounded soldier."

But you don't bother stripping your clothes off--just skim your underwear down your legs and climb up onto the table to hover over him. Your eye falls to the stitches disappearing down the neckline of his shirt and running down his right pectoral. You instinctively check it for inflammation or discoloration, but it's clean. Just fresh and tender.

He watches you go through the motions of checking his stitches. He knows that you wouldn't be coming onto him if you didn't think he could do this. But it’s still irritating how focused you are on the state of his injury rather than letting yourself get carried away with his body in other ways. You leave tomorrow. There might not be a next time.

“You always so thorough, doctora?” he asks, a bit of an edge to his voice. “Or are you just stalling?”

"I'm exactly as thorough as I should be," you snap, grabbing the button and zipper of his pants and undoing them with quick, rough movements. "Regardless of what other rules you have me break."

His eyes darken as you take the initiative, but he can’t deny that he likes watching you get demanding. He lifts his hips to let you tug his pants partway down his thighs.

“You break the rules for me and I'll make sure no one can touch you for it.” His hand snakes up to your hip. “You want this? Go ahead. Take it.”

You let yourself sink down on him and hold in a breath as he fills you. You fight to keep your wits about you and you don't quite succeed.

He lets out a low, guttural moan. One hand grips the edge of the table as if he’s trying to hold onto control of himself, but then he gives up and lets his fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place. "That's it,” he hisses, letting his head fall back against the table. “So warm.” He rocks his hips upward, pulling you down at the same time as if he can somehow get you any closer than you are.

You flush as he pulls you forward and runs his tongue up the side of your neck. But when he starts to pump his hips against you in earnest, you push yourself up and force him to lay flat on the table again. "I told you to lay here. Don't move or you'll pop your stitches and we'll have to stop."

"Don't threaten me, doctora," he growls. But his hands fall away from your hips. He lays them flat on the table to show that he's not going to move them. "You both know you couldn't stop him if he wanted to take charge.

Still, he does like the way you're sitting on top of him. he'd just like to do something about the fact that you're still fully clothed. "Lose the shirt," he orders.

"No."

His jaw clenches. "Don't push me. You make me lie here at your mercy, and I'm not used to being controlled like that.”

He knows perfectly well that he can't command you to do a single thing. You, as his doctor, are the one calling the shots here. And despite the fact that being ordered around in his own base annoys him more than anything, you're still breaking the rules to ride his cock.

And you're slipping past the point of no return.

You pump up and down slowly, fighting to keep your breath even. You tell yourself this isn't for you, it's for him. As demanding as he is, as much of an ass he can be, this behavior is an expression of frustration. Of need.

But you make the mistake of looking down at him, and your hips stutter at the heat in his eyes.

He watches you with a need you rarely see in a man.

“Dios, doctora," he mutters. He wants you. Needs you. He runs his hands up your thighs, but he doesn’t try to take over. He lets you keep the control. For the time being, you’re the one calling all the shots. But that doesn't mean he'll be nice. "Faster," he mutters, gritting his teeth. “You can do better than that.”

He watches you as you begin to move faster, your breath coming in pants. He keeps his hands on your legs, but otherwise doesn't move. He lets you do the work--lets you take what you want from him. At least until your muscles begin to clench around him.

You bounce faster. You're still convinced you're keeping your head on straight when you jolt and gasp in a sudden fit of pleasure. An orgasm washes over you. You didn't expect it--didn't mean to do it.

A hoarse sound escapes his throat at the sudden tightening. “Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You feel so good." The way you jerk in pleasure forces a rough exhale from him. His grip on your hips gets tighter as he fights to keep his hands there, wanting to grab you and push you down in the heat of the moment but restraining himself. “I knew you’d be good to me. You give in just as good as you put out.”

You pant wordlessly. You still for a moment, shuddering in the pleasurable aftershocks. But then a clatter in the next room reminds you there's no time to waste. You get to moving your hips again, sluggish but dogged, to give the colonel the release he needs.

"That's it. Just keep going," he says. His voice is thick with desire, his body tensing as he approaches his own peak. "No te pares," he gasps. "Please, don't stop. Just keep going. I'm close." He's not used to begging, but he can admit to himself that he needs this, and he needs you.

You do as he says, slamming your hips down onto his over and over to jar him loose. The pace is brutal and that’s how he needs it. This is his medicine. He lets out a string of unintelligible Spanish at your pace, his hands squeezing your hips as the fire in his lower abdomen burns hot. He grits his teeth and locks his eyes on yours.

“Madre del Dios, you’re going to kill me,” he mutters. “You’re going to have me bleeding all over again.”

"Don't you dare," you growl. You keep a sharp eye on his stitches to watch for signs of strain.

Alejandro is too far gone to notice. “Or what, doctora?” he asks. He reaches up and hooks two fingers into the neckline of your shirt. The weight of his arm alone threatens to pop the button wide open. “Are you going to punish me?”

You grit your teeth and let him open up your uniform top to see your body as you bounce. You even help him along with undoing the buttons. To shut him up, you tell yourself.

He falls silent. His eyes fix on your chest, on every square inch of skin. "Oh, you are beautiful." He's rapt at the way your body moves. "Teasing me like that. Teasing a wounded man."

Wounded, your ass.

You keep it up, knowing he's close. But before you can stop him, he pulls you against him again, teeth at your chest, pulling a cry of protest out of you at the sharp pain. His hips buck hard. You struggle a little, but you let him pull you close, letting him nip and bite at your skin. He wants to mark you as his, even if you’re only his to own for the moment.

“Take it,” he growls, his voice rough.

"Alejandro-!"

He lets out a guttural, feral moan as his climax washes over him.

He rocks your hips together slowly, riding the waves of his release. He doesn’t let go of you, even though it’s over. You shiver, unable to do anything but let him move your hips for you. He just needs this a bit longer.

Finally, he releases you and lets his head fall back against the table. His eyes flutter closed. His teeth leave indents in your skin. Nothing major, but there will be marks all over you that will be there for a while. Proof of what you've done here with him.

“You wear me out.”

"Good. You need more rest," you mutter, easing off him.

He lets out a huff of almost-laughter. He lets you sit back on the table next to him and swipes a sweat-damp lock of hair out of his face.

“I have to admit… you’ve got an interesting bedside manner,“ he says.

"And you are the worst patient I've had the displeasure of encountering on this base. That's a high fucking bar, too."

“I never liked to stay still for the doctor.” He props himself up on the table on his elbows and looks over at you. “You’ll have worse patients in the States, surely.”

You stand up gingerly, testing your shaky legs before you walk. "You need to watch yourself. No drills. No resistance training. Only physical therapy. You got that? If you tear your stitches again, there will be hell to pay."

“I can handle it,” he insists, a note of irritation creeping into his voice now that you’ve turned the topic to his injury again. “I won’t tear any stitches, I’ve done this before. I’m plenty tough. I can handle a drill or two.”

You round on him and jab your finger into his chest. "No. No drills or else. I'll ban you from training altogether if I have to."

"You’ll ban me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Try it. I'd like to see you try to keep me in bed with your panties on."

"It won't be me. It'll be Rodolpho. He's just as worried about you."

That gets him. He knows damn well that every other Vaquero wants him to heal up. "Fine. No drills. But only because I don't want to spend the next few weeks with those pendejos lecturing me. They're a bigger pain in the ass than you are."

You scoff and turn away. "You were singing a very different song a minute ago."

"And then you start going all doctor on me.”

"Yeah, well. You've clearly demonstrated you're capable of taking orders when it suits you. You're just choosing not to."

The corner of his lips curve in a smug little smirk. “I take orders I'm willing to follow,” he says. “I don’t do well with people telling me what to do. You just have a way of making me forget that.”

Of course. He'll let you get away with ordering him around when he feels like it. And when he's not in the mood, it's a hell of a time getting him to listen to you. Typical.

"Do whatever you want, then," you tell him, buttoning up your uniform. "But don't come crying to the next medic when you bust a stitch. If you're so self-reliant, if you know everything, then you fix yourself."

"Oh, I will, doctora." He lets out a little huff as you leave the room, rolling his eyes. Of course you’d get pissed at him, just like that. He doesn’t bother to call you back and apologize. He’s not the sorry type. Not even if this is the last time he sees you go and it's you going off in a huff.

As a matter of principle, he won't give you the satisfaction of crawling back.

But you’ll still come around. You always do.

...

more Alejandro / masterlist

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diazheartsbuckley · 10 months ago

Note

🎓🎓🎓

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

⛪️⛪️⛪️

Hello dear 💗

Make me write ✍🏻

NSFW under cut

🎓 🎓🎓🎓

“I could get fired if anyone found out about this” Eddie breathes out against the soft curve of Buck’s neck, slipping his hands underneath the hem of Buck’s shirt. A wave of heat connects with his fingertips, almost luring him in and at that moment, he knows that he’s lost. Lost in the feeling and taste and smell of one Evan Buckley. And he knows that he wants to stay there for as long as he possibly can.

Firm hands connect with his hips, pulling him closer and then make their way into Eddie’s hair, slightly tugging at it and Eddie hates how easily that sends all the blood rushing from his head to his already aching cock.

“Better make it worth your while then” Buck murmurs, opening his eyes to look at the man in front of him and their lips connect in a sloppy, passionate and almost dirty kiss as Buck yanks at Eddie’s shirt, sending buttons flying everywhere around them.

“Mhm… I really liked that shirt” Eddie breathes out against Buck’s lips, then glances down at his naked chest and Buck just smiles, looking immensely pleased with himself.

“Liked being the keyword here, professor. Semantics are important, you taught me that” Buck whispers before his lips graze against Eddie’s bare nipple.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

“Why the hell do you never know when to shut up?” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth and Buck’s smile just grows bigger, knowing whatever Eddie is going to do to him is going to be the best thing that ever happens to him.

“Guess you haven’t given me reason to shut up yet, lieutenant” Buck tilts his head as he slowly unties his sweatpants, letting his fingertips slip beneath the waistband as he never loses eye contact with the older man.

It sends Eddie’s blood pressure rocketing to see Buck touching himself and he’s barely even doing anything - until he is. Eddie sees Buck’s hand grabbing around his own cock and he slowly begins to jerk himself off without ever breaking eye contact.

“Enough!” Eddie raises his voice but Buck doesn’t stop, it only seems to egg him on and soon he begins to moan too, panting Eddie’s name as he touches himself. It only takes Eddie four long strides before he makes it across the room, grabs Buck by the wrists and pins him up against the wall, ass pressed against his cock and he can tell that it’s giving Buck exactly what he wants.

He backs away and to his surprise, Buck stays in place but reacts to the sound of Eddie opening his belt buckle, pink lip tugged in between his teeth as he watches Eddie getting fully undressed. “Instead of mouthing off, I think we should put that mouth to good use” Eddie spins Buck around and Buck almost instinctively drops to his knees in front of him and all of the dirty fantasies that Eddie has ever had about this moment could never do the real thing justice.

⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️

“Los Diablos Rojos? Eddie, those guys are bad news” Buck says, frowning a little. He hears how it sounds, coming from him, as if he hasn’t done regrettable things in his life and as if he hasn’t made people hurt and suffer.

But Eddie is out of that life now. At least he’s supposed to be. And Buck feels an instant wave of anger and guilt washing over him, because he has a feeling that this has something to do with him. They’re using Eddie as leverage to make him back out of a deal with another gang.

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me that” Eddie mumbles, a bitter taste in his mouth forming in his mouth as he gets a moment to think about his past.

This is why he doesn’t let anybody in. This is why he doesn’t trust anyone. Because people get hurt. Because he gets hurt. And the last thing he wants is for Buck to get hurt.

A tag for the wifey @tizniz 💗

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 on abc #buddie wip #buddie fic #evan buck buckley #edmundo diaz #buck x eddie #make me write #priest!eddie x mob boss!buck #bratty probie!buck x lieutenant!eddie #college au #buddie smut

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