Pairing: Rooster x (F) Pilot Reader
warnings: mentions of alcohol, a bit smutty - 18+ only, minors DNI
The smell of cheap beer and coconut sunscreen smacks you in the face the minute you step through the doors into the Hard Deck. Or, maybe it was Malibu rum. Either way, you were home. Making your way over to the bar, you take in the sights and sounds of North Island's favorite hangout spot. Naval officers laughing, pool balls clacking against each other, and Penny ringing the bell on a poor soul who set his phone down on the counter.
"Penny!" you grin as she turns toward your voice.
"Siren! I didn't realize you were in town! Can I get you anything?" Penny squeezes your hand affectionately before grabbing a glass underneath the bar.
"Two pints of your finest lager, Miss Penny," a booming voice interrupts you before you can answer, placing a hand on the small of back, "Anything she wants is on my tab". Rubbing your eyebrows, you turn around and get met with the one man you were hoping to not run into during your time on the island.
"Bradshaw," you mutter as Penny slides the beers toward the two of you.
"How have you been, darlin'?"
The last thing you want to do right now is entertain the brunette aviator who always seems to have a shit-eating grin on his face. You've hated Bradley Bradshaw for as long as you can remember. It pissed you off that despite how timid he was in the cockpit, he always managed to one-up you throughout your time both in the Naval Academy and at Top Gun.
"Leave me alone, Rooster."
"I don't think that's how you should treat someone who just bought you a drink," he cocks an eyebrow at you.
Rolling your eyes at the man, you can't help but notice how good he looks compared to the last time you were on North Island together. His hair has lightened in the sun, and his mustache finally went from looking pubey to a real pornstache. He looked bigger than he used to, biceps tight to his ugly Hawaiian shirt. It wouldn’t surprise you if he bought a size too small to show off his muscles.
“You’re insufferable, Bradshaw.”
Sliding off the barstool you had staked claim on, you head toward the pool table where a few other aviators you recognize, including your wingman, Hangman, are racking up for a new game.
“What?” you whip your head around, a harsh snap in your voice.
“You look good,” Rooster eyes you up and down with a mischievous smirk. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious about your decision to don a sundress rather than your normal khaki uniform. Your inability to let Rooster know he’s frazzled you, however, outweighs self-consciousness, and you stomp away with a scowl painted on your face.
“Looks like Bradshaw’s got your panties in a twist, huh, Siren?” Hangman wiggles his eyebrows as he hands you a pool cue.
“Please never put Bradshaw and my panties in the same sentence ever again, or I’ll leave you out to dry when you need it the most,” you narrow your eyes at your wingman.
“So, you just expect us to believe that you aren’t dressed like that to get Rooster to cockadoodle-do you all night?” Coyote teases.
“That was the most disgusting thing you could’ve ever said to me.” Shaking your head, you shove the pool cue into Coyote’s chest. “Break ‘em before I get Penny to ring the bell on you.”
On your first shot, you sink four different balls before scratching.
“Nice shot, Siren,” Rooster snickers as he saunters up to the pool table.
“Like you could do better,” you roll your eyes, taking a swig of your beer.
“Is that a challenge?” Rooster tilts his head, stepping forward to close the gap between the two of you.
“Ohh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Roost,” Payback widens his eyes, “Siren is ruthless when it comes to pool.”
“Wait, Siren, we weren’t done!” Coyote protests.
“No, no, let them,” Phoenix grabs his arm, “I want to see this.”
Rooster sinks a striped ball on the break, and two more before missing a pocket by inches. Not to be outdone, you sink two balls with one shot and two additional before your turn ends. The two of you go back and forth until Rooster sinks the 8-ball, an obnoxious smirk growing on his face.
“Are you fucking joking?” you mutter as your chest grows hot with rage.
“Guess you weren’t so ruthless after all, darlin’,” Rooster shrugs his shoulders.
“Shut the fuck up,” you down the rest of your beer, slamming it on the table before heading back over to the bar. You needed more alcohol, and you needed it now.
Penny took note of the rage on your face and poured you a double shot of tequila without saying a word, placing the biggest lime slice she had on a plate next to it. Downing the shot, the liquor burned the back of your throat, making your eyes water.
“Damn, Siren, it was just a game,” Rooster chuckles, placing his empty pint glass down on the counter. You face the aviator, and all you see is red. Your chest is pounding and your thoughts are racing with adrenaline.
“Will you just leave me the fuck alone?” you shout, storming out of the Hard Deck. Hangman tries to catch you before you get to the door, but you shrug off his hand because all you want is to get out of there.
“Thanks for ruining my night, jackass,” you mutter, kicking a mound of sand next to your car over.
Looking up, you lock eyes with the mustached aviator you just screamed at. Except this time, the smug look has been wiped off his face, and his chocolate brown eyes are filled with concern.
“What do you want, Bradshaw?” you set your gaze at your feet, continuing to kick sand around.
“I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
You throw your head back and laugh, “Because you’re sooo concerned about how I feel.”
“Why the hell are you like this?” Rooster suddenly gets defensive, “I’m just trying to be a decent friend.”
“Friend?” you spit, “We have never been friends. Why would I want to be friends with someone who always has to prove that they’re better than me?”
“When have I ever done that?” Rooster barks back.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been showing me up for years! I fly a maneuver perfectly, you somehow fly it better. I get a 98% on an exam, but you get a 100%. You get chosen for the better squadrons and have the admirals practically bowing down to you when you know that I’m the better aviator.”
“Better? You’re fucking reckless, and it scares me shitless every time you go up in a jet!”
“You don’t know anything about me and don’t pretend that you care about me either!”
“Siren, would you just shut the fuck up and let me explain myself for once?”
Before you realize it, Rooster has you pinned to your car, lips pressed onto yours. Your brain initially protests, but you start to kiss back, your hands making your way to his face. Rooster’s large, strong hands caress your hips and ass as he moves his lips down your neck, leaving small occasional bites.
“I still fucking hate you,” you mutter, gasping when his lips meet the sweet spot on your neck.
“Mhm,” his mouth vibrates against your neck, making your stomach do flips.
“Roost—“ you moan into his hair, trying to push your hips into his to create friction.
“Oh, baby girl, we can’t do that out here,” Rooster places both of his hands on your cheeks, “Everyone can see us.”
Rooster plants a kiss on your forehead and smiles at you, “Early call time tomorrow morning, (Y/L/N).” He spins on his heel, getting into his bright blue Ford Bronco, parked two spots down from you. Still processing what just happened, you don’t make any move to stop him.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Bradshaw?!”
“See you at the hangar, baby girl!”
A/N: i haven’t written in forever so please let me know if you like it! ask box is open for requests :)