Summary: Jake has proven he’s an asshole; you shouldn’t be surprised when he proves it again at graduation. But at least graduating means you’ll be free of him, or does it?
Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, injury described, fluffy Rooster, sex references.
Pairing: past Hangman x Fem!Reader, Rooster x Fem!Reader, Hangman x OFC.
Notes: no descriptions of reader body type or ethnicity. Takes place before Top Gun: Maverick. First-time recruits at Top Gun.
A/N: I am blown away by the response to part 1, thank you for every like, reblog and comment. I hope this part doesn't disappoint.
Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch / all mistakes still belong to me.
Graphics: title card made by me Dividers: @writercole
Master Lists: Under The Radar // Main //
The Fall
It’s here. Finally. The day you and your fellow classmates graduate Top Gun. Jake’s assholery got you set back two weeks with having to have medicals, but you're filled with an abundance of pride that after putting in some extra work and with Rooster’s help, you’re standing beside your colleagues on the deck of the USS Enterprise.
The speeches are finally coming to a close, you’re all congratulated and told, “now the real hard work starts,” and you can’t wait to get out there. The formalities are done, and you get to relax and celebrate with your families.
Rooster’s mom and dad have passed away, and after the Jake incident, the two of you have grown closer, so he huddles with your family. He and your father start talking about football, and you know the conversation will be a lengthy and passionate one. You catch Rooster’s eye and mouth, “are you okay?”
He winks and gives you a thumbs up with a big smile before focusing back on your dad. You take a deep breath, breathing in the atmosphere. You scan the deck of the ship, watching happy reunions of families that have been separated for a while, the proud smiles of parents and siblings. It’s electric and joyful.
“Oh, he’s a handsome one,” your mom says, and you follow the subtle point of her finger.
Jake.
Like mother, like daughter, you guess. He sees you both looking and gives a dull smile with the tiniest of waves, but you give him nothing in return - not even a dirty look.
Jake’s tried to speak to you all of four times. But you don’t make eye contact unless you have to or by mistake and only speak to him when absolutely necessary. You don’t even bust his balls, make no snide comments or react to him in any way. You haven’t since the night you broke his nose, almost two months ago. Figures that it healed perfectly aligned with his dumb face as if nothing had ever happened.
You turn your back on him and focus on your mother. “Yeah, that’s Jake Seresin,” you mutter.
“Let’s go say hi,” she suggests, already making a beeline for him. “I want to meet the rest of your class.”
“No, Mom!” you say, but it's too late; she’s already five steps away and not listening. You have no choice but to chase after her.
By the time you’ve caught up, your Mom has introduced herself and is shaking Jake’s hand while he introduces her to his parents. “And this is Amelia,” he says, pointing to the pretty blonde woman beside him. You assume it's his sister. “Everyone, this is Y/N Y/L/N, also known as Huntress.”
“Oh, hi!” Amelia says happily, rushing to clasp your hand in a friendly handshake. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Hi. I’m sorry I don’t know who you are,” you shrug, “Seresin isn’t much of a sharer. Are you his sister?”
She laughs brightly and rolls her eyes as if she’s used to the question. But the way she gently wraps her small hand around Jake’s bicep, you know before she says it aloud, your assumption is wrong. “No, I’m his girlfriend. It’ll be three years next month.”
Three years. It rings in your ears like a siren. You see Jake’s whole body tense up, and you know he’s panicking. You feel a little sick. He’s made you the other woman.
“Wow, three years. Maybe it’s time you make an honest man of him,” you jest and not so gently punch Jake on the arm. You hope you hit the nerve, and it goes numb. Amelia laughs with you, a slight blush on her cheeks.
Jake’s mom asks your mom a question and the group seems to focus on that. You can feel Jake’s eyes boring into you, and when you finally look at him, his expression is both pleading for forgiveness and thanking you for not throwing him overboard without a life jacket. He mouths, “Thank you.”
Not ‘I’m sorry.’ It makes you furious. He’s never sorry because there are never any consequences to his actions. He smiles that perfect teeth smile that makes his tanned skin glow, and everyone forgives him. Not this time. Still, you’re not going to embarrass Amelia and cause a scene.
In return, you mouth, “go fuck yourself.” You know he understands as his shoulders slump and he averts his eyes. As soon as it seems polite to do so, you excuse yourself and go in search of Rooster.
“Three years!” you practically yell at Rooster back in your dorm later that night. “Three fucking years, and she has no idea. I mean, how many women have we seen him take home?”
Rooster listens without interruption to your rant. He should be used to it by now. Outside the confines of your room, you're completely and utterly impartial to Jake. Bradley jokes that you should have an acting career because you're so good at feigning indifference, but you don’t hold back inside your dorm and when Rooster is a willing ear to vent to.
“And now he’s made me the other woman! I should go break his nose again.”
“You should,” Bradley agrees from his spot on your bed. “I wholeheartedly agree and approve of this idea.”
You chuckle, but only because your tears for Jake Seresin ran dry a long time ago. “I’d just get my ass suspended.”
“Okay, I take it back. I like your ass, and I don’t want to see it suspended.”
That makes you laugh properly. He’s a goofball, but he always makes you smile. He waits until you’ve stopped laughing and then looks you dead square in the eye, “as much as I love to see your ass pacing up and down while you moan about Hangman, can we open our letters now?” he asks.
“Fuck yes,” you say, forgetting about Jake and grabbing the sealed envelopes from your nightstand.
You both rip them open and unfold the piece of paper.
“San Diego,” you both yell simultaneously. It's the assignment you wanted.
Bradley’s smile is so broad it's almost funny, but before you can comment on how thoroughly ecstatic he looks, he’s hooked an arm around your waist and pulls you into him. His lips press against yours. For a moment, you think he’ll step back and make an overly dramatic “mwah” sound. But he doesn’t. He holds you tight, and when your arms slip around his neck, his tongue prods your bottom lip, and as soon as your tongues meet, you melt against him.
Breathlessly, you part, and his cheeks have a crimson hue. “Sorry, I just… I’ve wanted to do that for a hot minute, and this just seemed like a good time. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head, clearing the shock. “Unless you don’t want to do it again?”
“I absolutely want to do it again,” he says and follows through in doing it.
There’s a loud knock on your door, and you both jump apart as if whoever it is can see through the wood. You look at one another and burst into a fit of laughter before you open it.
It’s Jake. Not surprisingly, the laughter dies immediately.
“Y/N, let me,” he starts, but you're already closing the door on him until he slams his palm against it. “Let me explain, please.”
“I don’t need an explanation, Seresin. I already know you’re an asshole. I shouldn’t be surprised when you demonstrate it time and time again.”
“Hey, Bagman,” Bradley calls from behind you. “What assignment did you get?”
“San Diego,” he smiles, smug as if he expects he’s the only one.
Fuck! Now there’s really no escaping him.
“Us too,” Bradley answers for you, and Jake’s face loses its color a second before you slam the door closed.
A few months later.
The adrenaline is still pumping through his veins when he watches you step off the helicopter. The mission failed; Jake fucked it up trying to prove a point. A point he no longer remembers needed to be made, and as a consequence, you had to bail. The few seconds between ejection and seeing your chute were the longest of his life.
He wants to hug you. To make sure you’re real, that his mind isn’t playing tricks on him, and you’re not actually burning in the fireball that became your jet. He can’t. He won’t because he knows you’d more than likely break his nose again if he ever tried. Still, that wouldn’t hurt more than the heat of your disregard toward him.
He’s not sure how to explain it but losing you, you not talking to him, it’s like a deathless death. Numbing and dark. And he desperately wants to be revived.
As you get closer, he sees the scratches on your cheek, a rip above the left knee of your jumpsuit, a nasty-looking cut still oozing red, making you limp. It must have been a hard landing, he suspects, amongst trees.
“Huntress,” he says. You look through him. There’s that indifference shining through. You don’t even care enough to call him out on his shit for screwing up the mission. That’s probably what hurts the most - your indifference to him. “Y/N, please,” he pleads.
Despite the pain it must cause, you stand to attention, and Jake sees Admiral Hart over his shoulder and immediately does the same, falling in line next to you.
“We lost comms. What the hell happened out there?” Admiral Hart asks.
This is it - strike number three. Jake will have his marching orders and be gone before the sun sets.
“I made a miscalculation, sir,” you say before Jake can. Jake looks at you, and your expression is non-negotiable. You’ve chosen to tell the lie, and he has to go along with it. It will only land you both in more hot water if he contradicts you now. Still, you're taking a risk. Neither of you knows at which point communication was lost, so you could be digging your own grave.
Yet you keep shoveling. “I made a bad decision, and it cost us the mission. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Sorry?” He shouts. “Nine months of planning and infiltration just went up in smoke, along with your eighty million dollar jet, and you’re sorry?”
It’s a rhetorical question, and you both remain silent.
“You’re done here. Lieutenant Seresin, escort Lieutenant Y/L/N to medical, then back to the dorm to gather her things and directly to my office,” he commands before focusing his gaze on you. “I’ll have a new assignment for you by then.”
“Sir,” Hangman starts, but you take a step forward and interrupt him, speaking louder, “I understand, sir.”
Jake’s trying, he really is, but you can’t bring yourself to forgive or forget. It’s all still too raw. Every time you see him, you fight the urge to shy away with embarrassment. You're not embarrassed about the things you did. The things you're into are nothing to be ashamed about. But you are ashamed that you opened up and trusted someone who so very clearly didn’t deserve to see those parts of you, emotionally or physically.
Though you never respond when Jake brings it up, he just kind of talks at you; he’s still never said he’s sorry. Not that you’d ever believe him if he did apologize.
So why did you step up and take the blame for something he did?
You knew the fuck up was enough to be reassigned. No doubt you’ll be grounded for some time too. So why take the punishment when Jake deserves it and more?
You tell yourself it's the reassignment, knowing there was a way out, a way to be free of him without giving some weak ass excuse and asking for a transfer.
“Y/N,” Jake says as you limp your way toward the Admiral’s office, bag slung over your shoulder. “I’m going to come clean.”
“No, you’re not!” you snap, still facing forward, refusing to look at him. “We’ll both be punished, and where’s the sense in that?”
“Where's the sense in you taking the fall for me?”
“Cause it gives me an out,” you admit. “I get to get the hell away from you, and there’s no price too high to pay for that.”
He stops dead in his tracks, and you continue walking. “You don't even care enough to hate me, do you?” Jake asks.
His tone carries so much sorrow, and it’s begging you to disagree. You almost feel sorry for him. But you tell yourself you feel nothing for him.
“Nope,” you say, without missing a beat. “I’d say it was nice knowing you, Seresin, but I’d be lying.” You throw a peace sign over your shoulder.
Admiral Hart must take pity on you as he allows you to say goodbye to Bradley. He’s pacing the common room when you eventually find him.
“What the hell happened?” he asks, seeing you limping, and rushes toward you to help. He cups your face assessing the scratches and bruises forming. “Some guys said the mission was a bust, and you had to eject?”
“I did, but I’m fine,” you reassure him, “I busted my knee up pretty good, but otherwise, I’m good.”
“What happened?”
Hangman.
“It doesn’t matter,” you say and avert your eyes.
“Y/N,” Bradley tries again, knowing your avoidance in answering means something.
You sigh and drop to a seat on the arm of the nearest chair. You don’t want to get into yet another discussion about Hangman. There are only so many times you can confirm someone is an asshole, and you’re running out of colorful ways to say it. “You know what happened.”
“Hangman,” he asses correctly. “He fucked up and blamed you.”
“He didn’t blame me,” you're quick to say. “I told them it was me.”
“Why?”
You don’t know how to answer that in a way that makes any sense, so you stay quiet.
“Y/N!”
“Bradley, can we not?” you ask, volume raised. “I don’t have much time. Transport is waiting.”
“Transport?”
“They grounded me for a year, and I’m being reassigned.”
“What? No. That's not fair.” he starts to ramble about Hangman and how he needs to step up and take responsibility. He’s so animated, arms flailing, pacing back and forth, fists clenching and unclenching. “I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when I’ve just got you.”
“Bradley, Bradley,” you coo, standing in his path and putting your hand on his cheek. “I’ve been reassigned to Maverick.”
His relationship with Maverick is strained at the best of times, but you wanted him to hear the news from you. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before wrapping his arms around your waist.
“We don’t have any time, do we?” Bradley asks sorrowfully.
No, you don’t. You’ve only really just started your relationship, it’s been tough to find time with training and being in a new place, but you were working on it. There’s a deep pit in your stomach, and it dawns on you, perhaps too late, that your desire to be free of Hangman has cost you, Bradley. You want to take it all back, go to the Admiral and tell the truth, but you’re not sure if the punishment for lying will be worse.
“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice cracking, and he dips to kiss you softly.
“We’ll make it work,” he whispers, “I swear. We’ve got some time off coming up; we can go on vacation.”
“We’ll make it work,” you promise the same before he kisses you harder and deeper.
Six months later.
It’s nice to be back on the old stomping grounds. The Hard Deck hasn’t changed, and Hangman hopes it never does. The nostalgia is rampant. A memory of you surfaces in every corner he looks into, making him smile.
The jukebox, where you spent a few hours discussing music and kissing him whenever your opinions aligned. The bathroom, where unbeknownst to Coyote and Rooster as they sang a warbled version of “Danger Zone,” you gave him the best head of his life. He can’t hear that song without his cock twitching. The beach where you broke his nose. Even that, as painful as it was, makes him smile because it was a time when you cared enough to hate him.
He throws the third dart and hits the bullseye, the point embedding next to the other two. “That’s a fluke,” Coyote states, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’m just that good, my friend.”
Coyote retrieves the darts and hands them back to him, holding a hand over his eyes as he lines up the next shot. Bullseye.
“Ah, here comes trouble!” Coyote calls across the bar just as Jake prepares to fire again.
Jake turns to watch you maneuver through the crowd toward them, and Coyote steps up to envelop you in a hug. “What’s up, Y/L/N?” he greets.
“Surviving, Machado,” you reply, coming out of the embrace. You catch his eye and nod once, “Lieutenant Seresin.”
“Oh, someone’s still mad,” he jests to cover the seething jealousy that he can’t greet you in the same way.
“Water under the bridge,” you say, to his surprise. But there’s still an edge to your tone as if you’re saying it because you have to, not because you genuinely want to.
“Wow, okay,” he smiles.
“But I’m sure if anyone can find a way to burn that bridge, it's you, Hangman,” Rooster says, coming up behind him.
“Oh, I have no doubt,” you laugh and high-five Rooster.
It’s nice to be back on the old stomping grounds, but he realizes nothing has changed. He’s still hung up on you, and he still despises the relationship you have with Rooster.
I did not mean to press post now, I was getting it ready for tomorrow, but its too much hassle to delete and start again so here you go. A day early 😍😂
I rarely write here on Tumblr, but this has to be said. If you know or happen to come across Joseph Quinn’s father’s Twitter account, don’t share it with anyone, especially on TikTok and Twitter. Please, respect their privacy.
I understand that sometimes, we want to know more about our favorite artists/celebrities, but we have to keep in mind there should be a limit to our actions.
edit: Yes, I know his father’s twitter account. I accidentally stumble on his account while I was looking for images of Joe on google. I thought this might also happen to other people that’s why I made this post. And yes, I have no plans on sharing his father’s twitter account as show of respect to them.
I glide the fruity stick across my lips and rub it in as a final measure. I give it one final sniff, the sweet smell of passion fruit hitting my nose.
As I do, I hear a knock on the door.
"It's open !" I say and in walks my Eddie.
"What are you up to ?" he says,as he stands behind me towering me.
I look at him through the mirror and smiled.
"Oh just trying this new chapstick I got." I hold up the small peach container for him to see.
"It tastes really good and the smells really good too."
He raises an eyebrow, "Can I have some ?"
"Sure." I hand him the small container expecting him to grab it from my grasps but instead I feel his hand on my chin as he tilts my head back and gives me a long kiss on the lips.I close my eyes and melted on to his touch like a candle to a flame.
He pulls away for a second as my cheeks heat up from the gesture. I look up at him as he licks his lips. My eyes widened and my mouth still slightly open.
"You were right. It does taste really good." He says, a large smile plastered on his face.
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