Name: y/f/n
Callsign: Icarus
Profession: United States Naval Aviator
Affiliation: United States Navy
Rank: Lieutenant
Icarus.
In Greek mythology: a minor character known for flying too close to the sun. Close enough to get burned. A risk taker. Not necessarily one to be idolised but one that many adrenaline junkies like myself can relate to.
They call me Icarus, not because I crash and burn-I haven't managed that yet- but because I have a bad habit of pushing things to the limit. Both in professional and personal settings. But life's no fun without impulsive bullshit right?
That's why I'm here I suppose, in an old pub on North Island, awaiting the mission of a lifetime. Or the end of a lifetime depending on how you look at things. Glass half empty, glass half full and so on. Hey- maybe my ego will be the death of me. It's hard not to be cocky after graduating at the top of your class at Top Gun.
God I make myself laugh.
I park my motorbike and walk inside.
Cups hang from the ceiling and a beautiful woman stands at the bar. I slowly approach, order a drink and wind my way through the human obstacle course to the back where the large pool table is located.
Here they are, the best of the best. A group of Top Gun graduates, the best in the navy, all here for the same thing- to prove we're the best so we can float our ways into enemy territory like fuzzy little bees in metal deathtraps and partake in combat that no living pilot has ever experienced- or so I hear.
That's what Uncle Tom "Iceman" Kazansky said.
I throw my jacket over a chair as I'm beckoned over by Phoenix to play a game against her, only to turn and be met by a tall, blonde guy in a floral shirt (unbuttoned with a bright white shirt underneath) and sunglasses.
"Rooster!" Phoenix exclaims, beaming at the tall man.
He smirks and dramatically whips off his glasses, before positioning them on his t-shirt.
"We should play in teams. You and...whats your name?" He looks to the smaller guy who's sitting behind us by a wooden pillar.
"Bob." He states nervously.
"I meant your call sign-"
"...Bob."
"Woah- I didn't even see you there, this guy's a stealth pilot!" Another tall guy jokes- this one much more egotistical than the others, it practically drips off his words.
"Actually I'm a Flight Officer-"
"No sense of humour I see." The same one scoffs, rolling his icy eyes.
"Shut it hangman. No way- Bob you're my new flight Officer? Grab a cue. Us two vs Rooster and Icarus here. Loser buys the next round." Phoenix declares and the game begins.
A couple of hours and a couple of drinks later and we're all enjoying live music.
After winning by the skin of our teeth (best 2/3 matches) Rooster decides to walk over to the piano, put his sunglasses back on his face and gently start to play.
This quickly escalates into a rock/jazzy sounding piece of music.
"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain," His playing intensifies.
"Too much love drives a man insane," He throws his head back.
"You broke my will- but what a thrill- Goodness gracious GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!" He belts, nodding his head with every chord, hard enough his glasses fall off.
The rest of the officers and I crowd around the piano and join him in his shenanigans.
The bar soon fills with life as people laugh and sing along with the skilled performer.
Like I said: impulsive bullshit now, harsh reality later.
Tomorrow isn't gonna be fun for anyone.
YOU ARE READING
Bradley Bradshaw (Rooster) x Reader
FanfictionBasically I was reading this book on Tumblr called Icarus. Y/n's callsign isn't Icarus in that but it's gonna be in this. The title inspired me. Oh and you should go check out their story bc it's really good @/liza-webber on Tumblr. I hate myself f...
