#asshole!jake | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missadmyre · 2 months

Text

Secret Trio + Detentionaire Physique HCs

Randy Cunningham

-he gains scars/wounds due to the suit not always being able to sense an attack quickly, thus not being able to register enough magic shield(?) to protect him (it ain't a robot y'all)

- because of his scars, he mostly skips getting dressed at the boy's locker room during Gym class

- he dresses at the bathroom stalls, though there are times when either Bucky or Julian had caught him shirtless in the bathrooms, they quickly learn to shut their mouths once they realize that "oh shit, this guy has lots of scars, might beat us up if we say anything"

- most of his scars are caused either because of incisions, scratch marks (Tengu!Howard's claws) or those black and blue bruises/blunt trauma because he keeps getting flung onto the walls

- there are burn marks scattered on his torso due to the incident; one time, Jake lost control of himself and turned into a feral dragon because of some drug he inhaled, wasn't a very good time for both parties.

- there's two large scratch marks on both side of his hips because of Danny, who wasn't able to control obsessive urges as a ghost, thanks a lot Vlad, you traumatized them both

- he doesn't have the broadest shoulders but he has pretty damn good legs

- is very flexible

- he does gymnastics and acrobatics on a daily basis

- broke the school record of having the highest jump - his legs are far more muscular due to him always kicking at his opponents

- man has thighs for days

- he has excellent grip strength

- he managed to crush a watermelon using his thighs, go figure

- on a side note, the reason why his chest (specifically, where his heart is) is bare of any scars is because that is his sensitive spot

- the skin on his chest is very thin, so he tries his best to dodge an attack or at least lead the scar somewhere not near his heart

- there are times where his scarf is used against him (ie. choking, to swing him around) so he has faint marks of strangulation around his neck

- very docile than the others

- which is why has longer legs

- he excels more at meelee combat, his weakest is ranged combat

- the Nomicon taught him martial arts; karate, judo etc., which very much amplified his leg power

- you see those heightened senses he has? Yeah let's abuse that.

- he's not that sensitive (he can still enjoy loud parties and crap) but there's a limit to it.

Danny Fenton

- he can only gain wounds/scars when he is on his human form, though there are times when villains had been able to slip through that slit of a moment and managed to damage him while transforming in/out as the Phantom

- his scars mostly consist of large burn marks, chemical burns (from handling ectoplasm as a human), incisions and blunt trauma

- is the only one that have chemical burns

- the large gash on the right side of his torso is from the time when a yokai was able to slash him when he was transforming into the Phantom

- it was also the first wound that Randy was able to heal using the Art of Healing (feelings ensue~)

- he earned some scratch marks from Tengu!Howard, who clearly doesn't like him (he still doesn't know why that roasted chicken hates him, but damn well he does he enjoy teasing the guy)

- has the broadest shoulders

- bro doesn't pull his punches, LITERALLY!

- he has way bigger hands than Randy and Jake

- he punches more than he kicks, thus earning him a pretty heavy fists

- I feel bad for the human that would be unfortunately in the way of Danny's punch

- his biggest achievement is being able to knock down Biffy with his punches in just 10 seconds

- Biffy still hasn't forgiven him for that

- is trying to not get scars on his face due to the fact that his parents had once suspected him of being a gangster when they saw the little scar on the left side of his chin

- thankfully Jazz is able to cover up for him (I mean, getting that scar from shaving? Please)

- his weak spot are definitely his face and legs

- his legs are not the most steady due to him getting way too used to flying, kick him hard on the ankles and he'll fall immediately

- most chemical burns are seen on his hands, he got them from when ectoplasm would sometimes leak out of some Fenton weaponry (most notably, the Ecto Foamer) and he wasn't able to notice it as a human

- the strangling scar on his right wrist came from the long hours of getting cuffed in Ghost Prison, it was so bad the scar stayed even on his human form (he managed to escape but it still hurt y'know)

- his skin color is somewhat pale-ish tan

- since he's half dead, his wounds either don't heal or just heal very slowly, that's why he's careful not to get hit

- on the occasion that he did get a wound but his body wasn't able to heal it, he'll ask Randy for his Art of Healing

- he excels on both hand-to-hand and ranged combat, he has far more experience with guns/laser guns but he still takes lessons of gun handling from Lee

Jake Long

- most of his scars are found on his chest

- his scars include burn marks, scratch marks (Howard! Really?!), strangulation marks on both wrists and neck, a cauterized wound and incisions

- has the most burn marks than anyone on the trio

- the scratch marks from his arms came from his habit of scratching himself when trying to hold his anger

- my man still keeps getting picked on because of his height

- because of his recent molting, there are still dead skin flaking off of him, especially on his back

- the cauterized scar he has is something he both has good and bad memories to; when Jake lost control of himself as a dragon, he literally had to be put down in order to have Lee just treat his wounds, sadly the bandages weren't enough so they had to cauterize the wound using his OWN flame, at least Randy was comforting him through all that

- y'know kung fu, yeah he mastered that

- is very flexible in using both his hands and feet to fight AS a human

- in Dragon form (s1 design bc wtf is that shit from s2), he's a bit more feral as animalistic urges kick in

- it's because of that kind of behavior that he sometimes run straight into danger, earning him all kinds of wounds

- he has stitches all over his back because he got whipped one too many times at the auction incident (he still gets the chills everytime he thinks about it)

- it's also because of that incident that he gained strangulation marks on his neck and wrists because they treated him like an animal, cuffing him and all that

- to get those muscles, he went through a training arc

- you think Howard hating Danny is bad, well check out these two

- Howard and Jake are like, two pets that are fighting for their owner's love (or attention, Howard isn't going to touch that garbage fire called the Ectoham x Longham relationship)

- the moment Randy turns around, they are fighting all over the place, thus having the most scratch marks

- his weakness is his height, surprise surprise!

- when he's on his human form, it's hard to land a hit on an enemy who's clearly way taller than you

- when he's on his dragon form, his big height often causes him to trample or not be aware of unnoticeable traps

- he also can't balance himself when in dragon form, especially when he flies since his wings aren't the type to be able to easily dodge obstacles (it's just hard to make an adjustment when it's a sudden decision and you're up in the air)

- because he breathes literal fire, he always has a hot temperature, those who knew him just let's it be it but when other people touch him, they would question if he has a fever

- his appetite is very big because... energy, the problem is that he has very high metabolism, so while he looks malnourished, he's actually taken what, like 2 boxes of pizza a minute ago (and about to take another one right now, dammit Spud, you're wasting too much money)

- have the sharpest nails there is, mostly likely because of his dragon form has it that it also integrated to his human form

- despite not being able to balance himself AS a dragon, he actually does quite well AS a human, being able to stand on poles/tightropes and shit

- those meditation lessons from his Gramps really did help huh

- he excels at hand-to-hand combat

Lee Ping

- he doesn't get that many scars since he doesn't fight opponents as much as the Secret Trio

- but when he does get a wound, it's mostly just blisters, on some cases, he would have burn marks or incisions

- since he always crawls through vents or tight spaces, he always has blisters skidded all around his arms and legs

- the burn marks came from when he would accidentally get hit from those robot's laser guns on Detentionaire (do they even have a name? But seriously, they hurt like hell, believe him)

- the large stitch across his torso is a very painful memory to look back on (he got captured by Cassandra and was about to get experimented on since he has the power to nullify any and all mind control, he was cut open and was about to be dissected when Biffy, Cam and Holger had caught up to him and set him free from there operating table, the other surgeons got killed while Cassandra got away)

- there are faint scratch marks on his shoulders BUT that is due to the tazelwurm sometimes sheathing it's claws on him accidentally (thank you Howard! Wtf did this guy do to you?)

- by far the most slimmest out of everyone in the group

- which is good because he's got to fit into those tight spaces to do "Lee Ping Spywork"

- can do basic gymnastics

- he's learned some basic and advanced self defense from the Serpent/Li, since he thought it would be useful if his younger brother can beat the shit out people when necessary

- the tallest (not including Biffy) out of the group

- has a scar caused by a stab wound somewhere in his right leg caused by Kimmy when she got transformed into some vicious tazelwurm hybrid, she got killed by Holger but he didn't know it was her (those who knew aren't planning on telling him that he just killed a person or he'll freak the fuck out)

- Biffy doesn't know she got killed, Lee isn't telling that information unless he wants a Biffy going nuts all over the place

- only him and Brandy know about Kimmy's death

- he can fence, he picked it up again when he saw the Secret Trio trying to train with long bladed weaponry so he tried to get some experience in being able to wield a weapon

- handles guns way better than the Secret Trio

- has the weakest punch, they all make fun of him for that

- he is the group's healer, he knew first aid very well and he isn't afraid stitch and treat a wound that is way too tender for the Secret Trio to heal

- he only knew how to stitch wounds because he experiments on his body (would it close if I do this kind of stitch? How about here, is it thin enough?)

- because of his experiments, he isn't able to register pain anymore, his poking and prodding at his skin nullified any jolt of pain

- wears gloves on his left hand because there is a lichtenberg scar on it that is colored toxic turquoise green, he ain't letting Barrage see that and be reminded of the pyramid incident

- which glows when the pyramid subconsciously gives him a power boost or something (heightened strength and senses)

- at first he tried to cover it with bandage but since it glows, it didn't work so they settled on the black glove

- excels in ranged combat

HEIGHT COMPARISON [FULL PICTURE]

#rc9gn #secret trio #rc9gn fanart #american dragon jake long #danny fenton #dp fanart #danny phantom #Implied #ectoham #Longham #Jake x randy #Randy x Jake #Feral Howard #lee ping #detentionaire #Howard may not be that much of an asshole in this au #But he does bite #Or scratch

61 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 2 years

Text

Leave 'em Hanging - Part 1 Under The Radar Mini Series

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin never loses. That is until he sets his sights on the one target that might bring him to his knees.

Warnings: angst, fluff, brief soft Jake, jealousy, asshole Jake. My HC is that he’s a softie behind doors, and no one can convince me otherwise.

W/C: 4.3k

Rating: M (mature)

Characters: Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Lieutenant Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, fem!reader (You. Call sign: Huntress). Mentioned/Small Parts: Lieutenant Natasha "Phoenix" Trace, Penny Benjamin, Lieutenant Javy "Coyote" Machado.

Pairing: Hangman x Fem!Reader (call sign: Huntress)

Bingo: @anyfandomfluffbingo Square Filled: writers block.

Notes: no descriptions of reader body type or ethnicity. Takes place before Top Gun: Maverick. First time recruits at Top Gun.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // @cockslutpadalecki

Graphics: gifs @unicornships // title card made by me on canva. @writercole gave me the divider.

Master Lists: Under The Radar // Main

Leave ‘Em Hanging

Every night there’s a new target. Hangman sets his sights, throws them a flirty, million-dollar, brighter than the sun smile, and like a dart heading straight for the bullseye, he never misses. Never. Not once. Jake doesn’t remember a time when he’s ever been rejected, simply because it’s never happened. He knows how to play the game—he reads people, knows if he needs to play the short or the long game.

You’re a player in the long game. He doesn’t mind, the chase is part of the fun, and you're a formidable opponent. But in order to play the game, you’re required to be within his presence.

Every time the door opens at The Hard Deck, he’s looking up from the pool table. Or he’s intermittently scanning the room in case he missed your entrance. There’s no one else that catches his eye tonight. Of course, there are women who eye fuck him every time he makes even a second of eye contact, but they don’t compare to you.

“Hey Phoenix,” he calls across the table, “Huntress not coming tonight?”

She shrugs. “She said she was; maybe she changed her mind.”

He waits maybe thirty minutes after that before he tells the rest of the team he’s calling it a night, and he takes some shit for ducking out so early, but he has a mission.

When he arrives back at base, he checks the common room, gym, and kitchen but doesn’t find you. He knocks with purpose on your closed dorm room door and waits. Nothing. He knocks again, harder, “Huntress, you in there?”

“Go away.” It’s muffled and sounds pained, but he hears it and straight-up ignores it.

“Can I come in?”

Silence replies, so he twists the handle and opens the door enough to fit his head through the gap.

He sees your silhouette on the bed, but the room is shrouded in darkness. Towels hang off the curtain rail and are taped to the wall to block out the smidge of light the curtains can’t quite keep out. The bathroom door is open a crack, and there’s a thin line of illumination on the carpet. He suspects it's to aid you in finding the door in the darkness you’ve created.

He opens the door wider, asking, “You okay?”

“Migraine,” you grumble, and your face scrunches in pain as the light from the corridor hits you. He quickly steps inside and shuts the door, blocking the light again. You explain, “I get them sometimes. Been a while since it’s been this bad, though. I think it’s you.”

“As long as I’m on your mind, sweetheart, I don’t mind how.”

Despite the pain you're obviously in, he sees your mouth twitch with a small smile before you throw your arm over your eyes and turn away from him. He waits a beat for you to tell him to leave or something, but you say nothing. “Anything I can do?”

“No, thanks, I just gotta ride it out.”

This hadn’t been part of his plan. But he’s nothing if not adaptable, and he can make it work. “I’ll be back.”

----------------------

You hear Hangman leave the room but not the soft click of the door closing. You lie there for a moment, contemplating getting up and closing it properly, not wanting a breeze or something to open it fully and let the light from the corridor flood in, but you’re not sure you have the strength to stand up.

It's only a couple of minutes before you hear him return. He shuffles around the room, coming to the side of the bed and moving away again, then you hear the click of the door closing.

“Sit up,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Trust me,” he says, and without seeing him, you know he’s got that cocksure grin on his face. “Sit up for a second.”

You're not sure you do trust him, but you don’t have the strength to argue, so you roll onto your back and sit up. He’s opened the bathroom door wider so more light filters in, but it's low enough not to cause you too much pain.

He climbs onto your bed, slotting himself behind you, one leg on either side of your hips, back leaning against the headboard. His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard him speak, and it’s laced with concern when he instructs, “Lay your arms palms up on your legs.”

Now you're intrigued as to what he’s doing, so you follow his instructions. You feel the bed dip as he leans over to the nightstand, and then you feel the cold on your wrists where he places an ice pack on each.

He gently tugs on your shoulders, and when you lay back against his chest, he starts rubbing circles on your temples. You're not sure how much time passes, but his fingers must start to cramp because he switches to massaging your shoulders. He finds a tough knot, kneading deeper and harder, you feel some of the tension leave you, and the ache begins to subside.

Despite wanting silence, you let out a low hum of satisfaction. Jake’s smug smile is evident in his whispered question. “Feels good, right?”

“Yeah, it’s helping.” You have to give credit where credit is due. “How’d you know how to do this?”

In the silence that follows, you expect some cocky, sex-infused answer - like, “I dated a massage therapist that was good with more than her hands.” - but what you get is a glimmer of honesty.

“My mom suffered with them; she’d spend days in bed, unable to move. This,” he digs his fingers deeper into your shoulders for emphasis, and you groan again. He chuckles slightly but continues, “was the only way my dad could help her.” He pauses, and you wait, wondering if there’s more to be found in this glimpse of what makes Jake tick. Almost timidly, he whispers, “It’s weird. Even though my mom was in pain, it was my favorite way to see them. It was so intimate. My dad always looked kind of lost; he didn’t know what to do, and maybe it helped, or maybe it didn’t. But they always just seemed happy to be together.”

You're not sure he’s finished, and you like that he’s opening up, so you remain silent. But like a flash of lightning, the moment has passed. You feel his fingertips lightly brush your neck, and maybe if you weren’t in so much discomfort, it would have sent a shiver down your spine, but you’re too tired.

His lips ghost over your ear as he whispers, “But you know there are other ways to cure a migraine.”

And there it is. Jake is gone, and Hangman has returned.

You slap his leg and feel the vibration of his chuckle go through you. The massage continues, and finally, the migraine is a dull ache, and you think you’ll actually be able to sleep.

“Seriously,” he says, “sex helps.”

You’re almost asleep when you reply, “Rain check.”

Being stationed in San Diego has its perks. Namely, the beach, and on days off, you like to work on your tan. Of course, the boys have to tag along, and they can’t take a day off from the competition, but you have no qualms about watching the volleyball game. The whole team is a sight for sore eyes, and the sweat and dirty sand that clings to their bodies is a delight.

Every time Hangman scores a point, he shoots you a wink, and despite your best efforts to deny the attraction, he’s wearing you down.

Since the migraine encounter, he’s been less sleazy in his approach. He still flirts. He’s just switched tactics, using thoughtful gestures, like stocking the common room fridge with your favorite flavored water and playing your favorite songs on the jukebox at The Hard Deck. There are also the light touches in unnecessary situations, or how he ensures you don’t walk back to base alone and reminds you to take the medication the doctors recommended to keep your migraines under control. If you didn’t know any better, which you do, you’d actually believe he was concerned about your wellbeing and not actively trying to add another notch to his bedpost.

The pretty boys only hold your interest for a spell, and you lay back, letting their frolicking become white noise while you focus on the ocean waves. You drift in and out of a light slumber, waking long enough to turn onto your stomach to even out your tan.

The sun's heat disappears for a moment, and again rolling onto your back, you see the dark, ominous clouds in the distance. A storm seems to be drawing closer, but the clouds pass, and the sun returns to warm your skin. The boys seem to take the clouds as a sign to finish their game, and all make a mad dash into the water, and you laugh as you get comfortable again. Might as well enjoy the last few rays while you can.

Moments after you’ve settled again, a shadow looms over you, and you open your eyes just as a soaking wet Jake lowers himself to lay flat on top of you.

“Ew, Seresin,” you whine, wriggling to get him off of you. He just laughs in your ear as he props himself up and starts doing press-ups with you trapped beneath him.

He holds your eyes as he dips and rises again, a dirty smirk making his eyes sparkle as his hair, which still annoyingly remains immaculate, drips onto you. “Knew I could get you wet without trying,” he jests.

“But I’m wet in all the wrong places,” you snark back, smiling up at him.

“Well, let's go back to base, and you can show me all the right places.”

You chuckle, “Oh baby, if you need an anatomy lesson, it’s a hard pass from me.”

He laughs, and you can see he’s impressed by your wit. Before Jake can think of a suitable reply, Coyote pipes up, “We better get back before that storm hits.”

You collect up your stuff, flicking as much sand off your towel as you can as the wind picks up. Everyone walks fast, trying to outrun the weather, but just as you hit the pavement, a distant rumble of thunder sounds, and large raindrops discolor the sidewalk. Everyone starts running, towels over their heads for shelter, except you.

Hangman stops mid-run to turn back and watch you still walking, nothing covering your head.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, waving you forward as if that will make you run.

“Why?” you laugh. “We’re already wet. What’s a little rain gonna do?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners as he drops his arms. He strides toward you with such determination and purpose in his expression you half expect him to throw you over his shoulder to get you to move faster. He doesn’t. He slides a hand across your cheek and draws you into him, lips pressing against yours in a hard kiss. You're shocked for half a second before you react, gripping his waist and pulling him closer. You’re thankful for the rain. It helps cool the desire teeming in your veins. He deepens the kiss, hand moving to hold your neck, tongues finding a pleasurable rhythm.

God, this boy knows how to kiss. Soft yet demanding, controlling yet tender.

He drops his towel to use his other hand to cup your ass and squeezes, groaning into your mouth as it makes you press deeper into him.

By the time you both need to come up for air, you can taste his sweat mixed with rain water and whatever products are in his hair.

He pulls back an inch, sincerity and yearning in his pretty eyes. “I want you so fucking bad.” You can feel how much he means it, his stiffening cock pressing against your stomach.

“Well, I did give you a rain check,” you say, “and it is raining.”

He smirks, and just as you expected him to do earlier, he bends at the waist, grabs the towel he dropped, and then throws you over his shoulder, heading toward base.

“Woo!” he hollers, pleased with himself, and smacks your ass.

Jake is hypnotized by your kiss. Since he met you, he’s thought about it - a lot. While watching porn, he’d imagine it. When he was with other women, he’d wonder, if only momentarily, how they’d compare.

Trapped beneath him on his bed, tongues dirty dancing, hands groping and clawing his back under his shirt, hips grinding, his imagination was wildly inaccurate. It’s like a sugar rush, a surge of energy coursing through him, and he wants more even while still in the moment. He wishes he could bottle the feeling.

He doesn’t expect to ever get you into his bed again, so he’s going to make it last. Reluctantly he climbs from atop you and takes a mental picture of your kiss-swollen lips, chest heaving trying to catch your breath, lying in his bed.

He walks backward, stripping off his wet t-shirt and shorts before sitting in the chair in the corner.

He grabs the toothpick from the cabinet beside him, knowing he’ll probably need something to bite down on to control himself, and pops it in his mouth. “How about that anatomy lesson,” he teases.

Your smirk turns devilish as you flip over onto your stomach, rising to all fours. You linger for a moment letting him get a good look at your ass, and as you crawl backward off the bed, he has to stop himself from growling. He doesn’t want you to know just how much power you have over him.

You stalk closer to him, straddle one of his legs, and steal the toothpick. You kiss him again, rolling your hips, and this time he can’t control his rumbling growl.

When you pull back, he can see how proud you are of yourself. You unhook your bikini top, slipping it off your arms and discarding it at your feet. He watches with rapt attention as you grope and fondle your freed breasts. A brass band could strike up a song right next to him, and he wouldn’t notice.

Your back arches as you pinch and pull on a nipple, and he feels the heat of your arousal through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms.

He wants so badly to touch you, but he’s enjoying the show too much, so he digs his fingers into the arm of the chair. You replace your hand with his, directing him to pinch your nipple in the same way you had.

“Lesson number one,” you start and guide his hand down your body. You place two of his fingers directly on your clit, “this is your throttle. Too much pressure, you’ll overshoot; too little, you’ll never get there.”

He circles his fingers, applying steady pressure until you react, letting out a shaky breath and grinding down on his leg.

Jake tugs the waistband of your panties and lets them snap back into place. “Let’s take these off.”

You stand up, and Jake hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down to your feet without taking his eyes off of yours.

“Beautiful,” he whispers. He stands and kisses you feverishly, slipping two fingers through your wet folds. “I’m gonna take you higher than any jet ever could.”

“Your mouth is writing checks your body better be able to cash, Seresin,” you snark.

“I’m a man of my word,” he promises, walking you backward toward the bed. “I’ll have you so strung out and cock drunk you won’t remember your name.”

What are you doing, Seresin?

Jake asks himself for the millionth time in a matter of days. He’s propped up against the headboard, watching you sleeping peacefully in his bed. You’d fucked after making him come with your mouth, and he’d returned the favor. He’d cleaned you up, and then you’d both talked for a while before sleep overtook you.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching you, but he does know he needs to find a way out of this situation. He’s not even sure how it happened. It was supposed to be a one-hit-wonder, a hit it and quit it situation. Yet somehow, he’s fallen asleep with you in his arms every night for nearly a month.

Earlier that day, he’d observed you across the hanger talking to Coyote and Rooster. You put your hand on Rooster’s arm one too many times, and Jake’s jaw clenched with an unfamiliar emotion. Rooster said something, and you laughed, a genuine one that makes you bend at the waist and hold your sides.

He didn’t like it. Liked it even less when he realized he was jealous. He scoffed to himself, and Phoenix shot him a funny look, but he averted his gaze, shaking the ridiculous notion from his mind. But the day dragged on, and he felt it every time you were next to a male that wasn’t him. He was puffing his chest and getting hot under the collar.

He’d felt smug when you’d told him to take you home after a few drinks at the Hard Deck, proud that he was the one you were going to bed with.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, and you stir. Your eyes flutter and open, instantly landing on his. “Are you watching me sleep?” you ask groggily, eyes falling closed again.

“You’re pretty when you drool. Dreaming about me, sweetheart?” he jests, shuffling down to lay flat.

You groan, rolling onto your back and wiping a hand over your mouth. Jake strokes your stomach with his fingertip, and you stretch your body out. “I should go to my room.”

Before he’s thought it through, he says, “Stay.”

No, Jake doesn’t know how it happened, but he knows why he keeps coming back to you. He needs you around because you make his heart beat faster and his mind slow down. He never knew he needed that, but now that he has it, he’s not sure he can live without it.

What are you doing, Seresin?

Jake’s being a coward. Avoiding you. Scared of your wrath. Apprehensive about the end. And it is the end. Whatever it was between the two of you, it’s over. He’s made sure of that. He figured a way out, and he took it.

He’s not sure his heart is beating, but he can see that yours is beating double time as you barrel toward him in the Hard Deck. The one place he can’t avoid you.

You ignore Penny’s greeting, and she takes no offense when she sees the fury twisting your features.

Hangman stands tall; shoulders pushed back, chin held high. He sees it in your eyes. You desperately want to strike him, but you won’t. You have too much respect for Penny to force her hand and make her eject you. Rules are rules, and Penny doesn’t allow violence in her bar. There are no second chances, one strike, and you’re out. That’s part of the reason he came here. He’s certain the sting of your strike would scar his soul, and he doesn’t need another soul-deep reminder that he’s a complete asshole.

“Oh shit,” Coyote says, “you’re in trouble. Good luck, buddy.” He claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder and then moves to sit beside Rooster.

“Outside now,” you demand through gritted teeth.

He steps aside and dramatically motions for you to lead the way. If he’s doing this, which he is - he has to - he may as well go all in, so he mutters, “after you, my love,” loud enough for you to hear as he follows.

“Rooster, get back here,” Coyote calls, and Hangman turns to see Rooster leading the rest of the class.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not missing her kickin’ his ass!” Bradshaw says excitedly.

Good. An audience will make it worse. He can really lay it on thick.

You take four steps off the porch into the sand and spin to face him, digging your feet into the sun-warmed grains, squaring your shoulders. He’s not so much of a coward that he won’t face you, so he stands a foot or so away, out of striking distance and the team crowd the deck watching the show.

“Say whatever you gotta say.”

You purse your lips, nostrils flaring; if he didn’t feel so shitty, he might have found it adorable. “You told them I was suffering from migraines.”

It was the only way he knew how to let you go. Out of sight, out of mind. He knew that by telling the Admiral about your medical issues, they’d send you away for a minimum of two weeks for tests.

“I’m grounded. They're sending me to Seattle for a medical to determine if I can continue with the program.”

He shrugs, unfazed, knowing the outcome of telling your superiors before you did. He knows he does this every time he worries he’s getting too attached. He does something to sabotage it, but you deserve better. Better than him. He might be what you want, but he’s not what you need.

“Say something!” you demand when the silence persists.

“I did my duty,” he explains, “you’re a liability. You can’t watch someone’s six if you’re practically blinded with a migraine.”

“I haven’t had one for weeks, and you know it, the medication was working.”

“So you say,” he counters, “but I wasn’t gonna risk my ass or my fellow aviators.”

He includes you in that group, but he makes sure it sounds like he’s excluding you because that's what he needs you to believe.

“You’re really gonna stand there and pretend you did it because you care about them,” you sneer, motioning to the group over his shoulder.

“It is what it is, sweetheart,” he says casually, seeing your hands clench into fists at your sides.

“Bullshit!” you yell.

He scoffs. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to admit it. You didn’t have the balls to end things, so you went to the admirals so they could do it for you by sending me away.”

Fuck. Busted.

But the fact you're onto his plan just cements the notion that it's time to end things. Knowing him well enough to be able to see through his bullshit is a red flag that it's time for you to give up on him. He’s hopeless. You should find somebody else that'll love you like nobody else, not in the limited way he loves you. And he hopes whoever he is, gives you something real. The more it hurts thinking of this man who will be able to love you right, the more he knows he’s doing the right thing. He’s not sure you know he loves you, he never showed you or said it, and he knows it'll be too late when you're with some other guy.

“Admit it,” you demand of him again. “Say it. You’re afraid that what you feel is something real.”

He swears his heart drops to his feet. The pressure of the G-force is nothing compared to the pressure he feels to stand up and be the man you need. Truth is, he doesn’t know if he’s capable, so it’s best he sits down so you can see the man behind him. Otherwise, he’s only standing in your way.

“I didn’t expect much from you,” you continue when he remains silent again. “But the least I expected was a little respect.”

“Respect?” he asks, in a tone that begs belief. Even as he says the words, he knows he deserves whatever you give him after. But he’s sure they’re the words you need to hear to make you give up on him. “After all the things you let me do to you, you think I respect you?” He waits a beat and watches the anger shimmer in the tears pooling in your eyes. “Oh sweetheart, you really thought this meant something? That's adorable.”

You're on the beach, not on The Hard Deck grounds, so when you step forward and punch him square in the face, technically, the only thing you're breaking is his nose.

He tastes copper as he watches you walk away, but his mission is complete. Notch on bedpost achieved.

He turns to the audience, and Rooster is approaching him with a deep scowl on his face. “Y’know for a minute there, she actually made you seem like a real boy, Pinnochio,” he says, “but you really are just a complete asshole.”

Rooster takes off in the same direction as you, and Jake knows that if anyone can, it's Rooster who can make you feel better and fix the damage he’s caused. You deserve better than him. And Rooster is definitely better. Not that Jake would ever admit that aloud. Because while he’s the better pilot, Rooster’s the better man.

Part 2 - The Fall

----

Look a handy reblog button!!

#Hangman x reader #Hangman angst #jake seresin #Top Gun Maverick #Top Gun #Glen Powell #Miles Teller #Rooster #reader fic #jake seresin x reader #angst #smut #fluff #asshole Jake

733 notes · View notes