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coconutcordiale · 2 years ago

Note

wasted and strawberry lace with sub!rooster for the 1k celebration 💗💗 love u mae!!

your ecstasy (i'm floating away)

pairing- rooster x afab reader

synopsis- sometimes bradley just needs to get out of his head a little

warnings- 18+ minors dni (glen don't read this either ik you want proof rooster's a bottom but this is not the droid you're looking for) sub bradley, dom reader, dirty pics, teasing bradley while he's supposed to be working, unprotected piv, orgasm control, subspace, established relationship so kink negotiation is implied to have happened pre-fic, lots of anxiety and rooster's bummer of a life

length- 1.9k

an- thank you so much jo ily!!!! this is weirdly not just filth it kind of turned into a character study almost? my b

for the prompts wasted; ‘i know baby, I know’ & strawberry lace; lingerie. I had two other requests for {wasted} which’ll get posted separately the muse is just very fickle right now

i think of this as part of the heart in danger (rooster x roommate) universe but can definitely be read separately there's only one comment about it. also let's hand wave the fact that rooster would probably not be allowed to be on his phone while getting briefed on a life endangering mission

the link to lingerie is not very inclusive, if that bothers you feel free to skip the link. it fit perfectly so i had to use it. but as always envision whatever you want :)

title courtesy of dopamine - børns

The problem with being back in North Island is that no matter how many renditions of Great Balls of Fire Bradley does, that pit of uneasiness still sits like a rock in his stomach, reminiscent of the last time he was here.

He remembers being so heavy, having such a chip on his shoulder going through TOPGUN the first time around that it’s a wonder his jet was ever able to get off the ground.

So, when faced with Maverick - the one person who purposely ensured that Bradley was well and truly alone - for the first time in over a decade, the anxiety simmering deep within him starts to claw its way to the surface.

And it’s not just Maverick. It’s all too much; the idea that he might die serving the Navy, die doing the same job his mom always wanted to keep him safe from, die flying as close as he can to a blonde guy with a mustache that he barely remembers – his only real memories of him consisting of brightly colored shirts and deft fingers flying over piano keys.

Or maybe it’s even worse if he burns in trying to emulate the guy that never believed he was ready in the first place.

No time to be thinking about the past, Hangman spat at him. As if Bradley doesn’t know that, how high the stakes are. As if he doesn’t know that he’ll be a danger to the entire team if he doesn’t get his overanxious mind under control; like he��d still be thinking about this given the choice not to.

If only he could just get his brain to shut up for one goddamn second.

He’s pulled from his internal self-pity by his phone, nearly jumping in his seat at the vibration. He really needs to get it the fuck together.

Wanted something fancy under my new button-up today, what do you think?

“Christ,” Bradley mutters, flipping the device over before anyone sees the lingerie you’ve so kindly sent him a picture of, a sinful black lacy little thing, while he should be paying attention to Maverick.

“Feathers ruffled, Rooster?”

Bradley tries to keep his eyes from rolling, he really does, but Hangman’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to him, always has been. No amount of team bonding and dogfight football can fix that.

He flips the blonde off while Mav’s attention is on Fanboy, not trusting his tone to stay calm. When Hangman finally turns back to the front of the room, he texts you back as sneakily as he can with one hand and his eyes fixed forward.

Are you trying to make me jerk off in the bathroom like a teenager?

I don’t remember saying that was allowed, Lieutenant.

Fuck.

Bradley drops his head back and stares at the ceiling, trying to control his breathing. Whenever you use his rank against him it always spreads heat under his collar.

It only means one thing.

He’ll count his lucky stars that you were able to come with him to North Island, even if there is a death sentence at the end of it. Because you’ve always been able to read him better than anyone.

You must’ve sensed how much he needs this, needs to be taken out of his head for a little while. How his brain’s been running a hundred miles an hour, ever since he got called back.

It’s not something you do all the time, more often than not he likes to take the reins, likes to lay you out and take you apart.

His cheeks still get ruddy with embarrassment sometimes, thinking about how domineering, brushing against the edge of mean, he was with you the very first time you crossed the line from roommates to something more. But he knew what you needed, what you were too scared to ask for.

As it turns out, just as much as he knows what you need, you do the same for him. Like you know everything’s too much for him this close to the beaches of southern California.

That every day his flight suit has sat unpleasantly against his tanned skin. The straps holding him into his F/A-18 have felt like they were in danger of rubbing his skin raw.

Since the moment you both headed stateside his mind has supplied him with endless possibilities of what could go wrong, and probably will go wrong in this mission.

He hasn’t been able to finish one coherent thought. That’s the thing about your mind spinning with possibilities – eventually, they come too fast to really register them. He’s halfway through one nightmare sequence when his brain moves on to another.

Every day he’s come back to you, watched you answer work emails while perched at his Navy-issued hotel room desk, and felt a sob catch in his throat as he considers what he’ll leave behind if he gets chosen for the mission.

He almost wishes he could wash out, but knows his stupid, bull-headed pride won’t let him. That as much as he doesn’t want to be, deep down he’s still the same eighteen-year-old screaming in Maverick’s face for pulling his papers, for telling him he’s not good enough. No matter how much he tries to hide it, the chip on his shoulder hasn’t quite filled itself out.

Sorry ma’am. I can be good.

He can practically see your smartass grin when he gets your response, a simple two words that have him counting the seconds until he can bolt out of the debrief.

Prove it.

You’re still wearing the lingerie that’s sure to haunt his dreams for the next several deployments, that’ll be stuck in his head when he’s suffocating on other pilots’ egos and wishing desperately he didn’t have a bunkmate. It’s pulled to the side, his eyes transfixed on where you’re letting him thrust his thick cock into your wet heat, his feet flat on the bed so he has enough leverage to fuck up into you.

“Stop, baby,” you say, and Bradley knows his face crumples like he’s in pain, but he immediately halts his movements, hands tearing at the bedsheets in protest of the orgasm quickly being ripped out from underneath him.

You run your hands down his chest, nails raking red marks across his pecs, the sharp sting his only tether to reality.

“Plea –” He tries to beg, but it gets lost in a groan as you swivel your hips on his cock, too slow for him to build back up to the edge.

It feels like you’ve been at this for days and distantly, Bradley can tell he’s shaking with need, breathless whines leaving in a stream without his permission as you whisper how gorgeous he is like this. He’d preen under the attention if he weren’t currently floating, as close as he ever gets to flying when he’s on the ground.

He can feel the wetness beneath his lashes, spilling hot tears onto his cheeks as you move to cup his jaw, your harsh grip offset by affectionate strokes across his cheek with your thumb. “I know, baby, I know.”

Sounds are leaving his mouth, he thinks his hands are reaching for you, but he doesn’t know what world he exists in right now, his mind light and high in the clouds.

“You need to cum, don’t you?”

Bradley leans into your touch, the soft pads of your fingers giving him something to focus on, something to ground him as he tries to wade through the fog to understand your words, to be good for you.

Your fingers tighten on his jaw, just on this side of painful, bringing him back to Earth. “I asked you a question, Lieutenant.”

He nods and you tut, the disapproving noise lancing him, your displeasure bringing more burning tears to his eyes.

You look down at him, his world narrowing to the soft light behind you, glowing around your head like a halo and the smile that Bradley has dreamt of on every aircraft carrier he’s had the displeasure of being on since he met you.

“Words, Bradley, you know better than that.”

He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about the whine that rips from his throat, high-pitched and reedy. His head is empty, a lone yes rattling around his brain like the last piece of candy in those little cardboard boxes you get at the movies.

“Please, princess.” The words force themselves off his tongue, syllables falling out of his mouth slowly like molasses. “Need you, need to cum inside you.”

He should probably be calling you ma’am or something more deferential given your current situation, but at this point, it’s truly a feat he was able to get any words out at all.

"Good boy."

When you tangle your fingers in his curls and tug, another drawn-out moan leaves his lips involuntarily.

You smirk. Bradley thinks he’ll be seeing that coy, self-satisfied look on the back of his eyelids every day for the rest of his life.

“You’ve been so good,” you murmur, sultry and bringing more heat to his cheeks, which he didn't even think possible after they've been flaming for hours now. He wants to keen, wants to bottle up your praise and live with it inside his ears forever, but you’ve started moving your hips again, building your rhythm back up and it drives any coherency from his brain.

“Cum for me, baby, fill me up,” you whimper, leaning down so your words are hot in his ear, sending sparks down his spine.

His thrusts turn erratic at your permission, hands gripping your hips for dear life as his head falls back, exposing the thick line of his throat. Your hand stays on his jaw, moving down his neck, thumb rubbing softly over his pulse as his climax snaps through him, every muscle tensing and releasing as his vision whites out.

He’s boneless, afloat, mind blissfully, finally blank. For the first time since he got the order to return to California, his chest feels light.

Your hands are carding through his curls, voice soft and melodic when he comes to. It warms him all over. “You back with me?”

Bradley nods, face tucked into your neck. He hears the crinkle of a wrapper, opening his eyes to spy a piece of a Nature Valley bar inches away from him. He wants to roll his eyes, tell you he’s fine, but decides he’s too tired to argue, taking the snack between his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, princess,” he mumbles through a mouthful of granola bar.

“I needed it too,” you admit quietly, like you don’t want to ruin the calm that’s taken over your shared hotel room by being too loud. “I know you can’t tell me anything about why we’re here. But it can’t be good, right? It was nice, to be in control for just a little. I feel a bit better now, more settled.”

“Me too,” he agrees, nuzzling the soft skin behind your ear before nosing his way to your mouth for a kiss.

He tries to pour all his love into the press of his lips against yours, hoping it’s enough.

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