
Multi-stan TV show binge watcherMy username origins from my reading orgins of the first three ful series that I ever owned, the harry potter series, divergents series, and the twilight series
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Normalize Not Forcing Connections. If Someone Doesn't See The Value In Having You By Their Side, Don't
Normalize not forcing connections. If someone doesn't see the value in having you by their side, don't try to convince them.
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More Posts from Harryedwardtris
this may be my fave pic of jungwon like he is such a cutie patootie đđđ

This has been playing for 2 hours now and i still can't stop watching it
The way he rolled his eyes???? Please i'll keep giving him head just to see that look
How can he be real thođ so fucking fine
Who Did This To You? (Hangman)
Pairing: Hangman x Female!Reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 10.2k because I have no self control
Summary: In your most vulnerable hour, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin is the one to find you, and the one to ask you the ultimate question. "Who did this to you?"
Warnings: Mentions of Abuse and DV (NOT committed by Jake), nongraphic description of resulting injuries, a very one-sided bar fight, mention that a character is going to therapy, insults and confrontation by a past abuser. (This story is a who did this to you trope. While it is only dealing with the 'who did this to you' aftermath of what was done, please keep that in mind.)
Notes: This is just an excuse to write the who did this to you trope. This is self indulgence at its finest.

âWho did this to you?â
Your head shot up a little too quickly at the unexpected company, and the world began to spin all over again. With a groan, you laid your head back on the bartop, hoping the flat wood would help the world right itself faster.
Youâd been lying there with your forehead pressed on the cool wood of the bar, sitting directly under an air vent, for the better part of thirty minutes. The Hard Deckâs AC was working overtime to keep the heat outside, and the rush of cold air blowing down the back of your shirt was doing wonders for your sore arms and back.Â
âHurricane, who did this to you?â
You hadnât been expecting anyone to be there. Everyone else was down at the beach. You thought youâd have some time alone to lick your wounds and cover your bruises and emotionally recover from what had happened that morning. Penny was too busy watching Maverick. The aviators were too engrossed in a new game Maverick had invented called dogfight volleyball, and the bar was technically closed at this hour. You thought you could slip by and start your shift sight unseen.Â
âHurricane,â The voice was firm, but not demanding. Underwritten with a tone of concern that was very uncommon to that particular voice. âHurricane,â it repeated.Â
You opened your eyes and rolled your head to lay facing the voiceâs direction and made eye contact with Hangman.Â
You knew it was him before you turned, but for some reason you still did.Â
Backlit by the sunâs rays bouncing off his perfect golden hair with an open button-up billowing in the sea breeze, he stood in sharp contrast to your current state. Like an angel stepping out of heaven and into hell.Â
In some ways, this was your worst case scenario. Hangman was definitely not your favorite pilot and was very close to your least, and he was certainly not your friend. You were at best frenemies and even that was a stretch. The pair of you had been constantly bickering and making snide comments behind the otherâs backs since practically the moment you made eye contact with each other. He intentionally made your life difficult behind the bar, and you rang the bell on him on multiple occasions.Â
He was responsible for everyone calling you Hurricane. Youâd come crashing through the doors on your first day working at the Hard Deck with a torrential downpour following you in from outside. A drowned cat wouldâve looked less soaked through and pathetic than you, and the moment Penny introduced you to the squad, heâd made a snide remark about the Hurricane you brought with you. The rest was history. It became like a callsign to them; your name long forgotten by most. The only pilot who didnât call you Hurricane now was Bob, and it ground your gears just a little bit more every time you heard it.Â
On the other hand, this mightâve been the best case scenario. Hangman wasnât someone who was going to make a big show of this. He wouldnât rush down to the beach and ask for help. He wouldnât fawn over you or ask you if you were okay a million times. He wouldnât expect you to cry on his shoulder and incessantly pick at you until you broke down.Â
âWho did this to you?â Hangman took a step in from where heâd frozen in the door out to the patio.
His expression was like his voice, hard and firm with undertones of the worry that anyone would be feeling in this situation. Hangman wasnât the nicest guy you knew, but you knew from the other pilots stories of the many times heâd saved their lives that he wasnât evil, and you didnât doubt for a moment that heâd at least be somewhat concerned even if he didnât care particularly for you.Â
âYou already know who.â
It was true. Devin had been in the bar about once a week for the last six months that youâd been dating. Heâd made the rounds through the aviators, none of whom particularly liked him but all of whom had been polite enough not to say anything⌠except Hangman.Â
The second Devin left after his first introductions, Hangman had made his distaste known. âSomethingâs off about that guy,â heâd said before the door even closed. Phoenix had teased him about being jealous that his snarky banter was no longer the center of your world, but youâd seen it for what it was. A combination of being angry he wasnât the center of attention and looking to defy you at every turn that was a uniquely Hangman blend.Â
Hangman approached you slowly, taking one deliberate step at a time. Every step with such obvious forethought that it gave you the time and the option to back away. A detail you wouldnât have expected from such an ego-centric man.Â
You didnât back away. Hangman was a lot of things, most of them negative, but you could say with absolute certainty that you werenât afraid of him. For all the times youâd yelled at him, youâd never been scared of his physicality, and for all the times he'd yelled at you, his hand had never so much as twitched.Â
Standing beside you, under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights that threw your skin into sharp relief, Hangman had a full view of the damage.Â
âThat fucker,â his voice was a harsh, raspy whisper, âIâm gonna kill him.â His hand seemed to lift of its own accord. Flat, open palmed and always within your line of sight, he reached up and stroked his fingers along your cheekbone with a feather-light touch.Â
âI already dumped him.â You donât know why you felt like explaining yourself to Hangman of all people, but maybe it was the determination in his eyes. The way he stared down at your cheek like his eyes could will the twing of pain away.Â
Hangman gave a half-hearted, inattentive nod. âThatâs certainly a start.â He looked like gears were turning in his head, like he hadnât given up on his first idea.Â
A flood of memories came back to you.Â
âThe only active duty pilot with a confirmed air-to-air kill.â Coyote, introducing Hangman.
âWe call him Bagman, cause heâll kill anyone and get anyone killed. He doesnât seem to mind.â Omaha commenting on Hangmanâs aim at the dartboard.Â
âThatâs his second air-to-air kill.â Bob, telling you what he could about the mission theyâd just come back from.Â
âHangmanâs deadly in the sky. I wouldnât wanna cross him.â Rooster, finally being honest about what he thought of Hangman, after the blonde saved his life.Â
Hangman had killed before, and in his line of work, with his level of skill, likely would again. He definitely didnât mean what he said, certainly not literally. He wasnât about to rush out to his truck and go hunting Devin in the streets, but it wasnât something he of all people would say entirely jokingly either.Â
You slowly sat up in your chair. The world was spinning less now. Whether that was because the nausea was finally passing or because Hangmanâs hand stayed on your cheek, grounding you in the moment, it was unclear. âI appreciate your concern,â you hedged, âbut really, Iâm fine. I can handle myself.â
Hangman snorted and let his hand fall away. âObviously you can; you already kicked his ass to the curb on your own. Doesnât mean Iâm not gonna kill him for good measure.â Hangman hopped up on the bar and swung his legs over.Â
You probably shouldâve objected to his comfort level invading your workspace. Penny was very explicit that no one was allowed behind the bar who didnât work there and even more explicit that that applied to all naval aviators. Somehow, though, you doubted Hangman would rat you out, at least not today.Â
âAre you going to tell Penny?â Hangman mozied around behind the bar, picking up a rag and tossing it over his shoulder. He was looking for something, but he didnât seem inclined to ask. You werenât any more inclined to offer.Â
It wouldâve broken whatever moment was passing between you. Caring? Camaraderie? You werenât sure, but there was certainly some level of understanding that remained largely unspoken.Â
Hangman found what he was looking for in short order anyway. He flipped open the ice cooler and pulled the rag off his shoulder, filling it with a scoop of ice and tying the ends.Â
âNot now,â you were disinclined to bring it up to Penny.Â
The Hard Deck was a Navy bar, and Penny had made a lot of powerful friends. Hell, you had a lot of powerful friends if you were willing to use them; one of them, or at least a powerful person who was willing to help you, was standing right in front of you. You could only imagine what would happen to Devin if you told anyone. All of it would be deserved of course, but you doubted most of it would be legal. And that really wasnât what you needed right now, and you werenât ready to have that conversation anyway.Â
âHold this to your cheek. You wanna get the swelling down,â In a reversal of roles, he leaned against the bar in the place that was normally yours and offered you his makeshift ice pack.Â
You took it with a quiet, âThank you.â
Hangman nodded with a thoughtful expression, watching your hand raise it to your cheek, âIâll let you tell them in your own time, but youâre going to go to someone to help you through this until then⌠professionally.âÂ
It wasnât a question. He wasnât leaving room for debate. It was an order as plain as any he got in the Navy.Â
You nodded wordlessly against the ice pressed to your face. It was a reasonable expectation, a reasonable request. You werenât sure if you needed it or not, but you supposed that was the point. You werenât sure. Better to go too soon than too late.Â
âGood,â Hangman sighed, seeming relieved, and pushed off the bar. His muscles flexed with the motion, bulging against the short sleeves of his open button-up shirt. They remained tense as he crossed his arms over his chest. His teeth gritted behind his closed lips. âIâll keep him out of the bar.â
âHangman, you really donât have to-âÂ
âHe hurt you.â Hangman cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. He looked serious, deadly serious. âThatâs all I need to know. Heâs not welcome here anymore.â
Before you had the chance to respond, not that you were entirely sure how you would, Hangmanâs eyes left yours, staring at something over your shoulder out towards the beach.
âDo you have any makeup for that cheek?â
Your head turned, and you saw the outlines of Penny and Mav, arm in arm, making their way back to the bar. âYeah,â you replied, âBut my shoulder is a different story. I need to go findâŚâ
Hangman jerked his button up off his shoulders and balled it up, tossing it across the bar to you. âGo quick. Put this on.â
âHangman, I-â
âGo.â Hangman urged, and you ran off before Penny could see the two of you.
â------------------------------------------------
Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket, but you didnât have time to check it.
You thought you knew what it was. Phoenix demanding to know why one of Jake Seresinâs shirts was wrapped around your shoulders. Hangmanâs werenât as distinctive as Bradleyâs, usually solid colors with a barely-there logo on the pocket. None of the guys had noticed you were wearing it, but you knew Phoenix had the moment she came back in from the beach. Sheâd shot you a disappointed, skeptical look and immediately begun whispering to Bob as they walked away with their drinks.Â
Penny hadnât been much better. She hadnât identified which pilotsâ shirt it was like Phoenix clearly had, but she was two steps away from asking when the evening rush began to pour in without any sign of slowing down.Â
The Hard Deck was slam-packed, and none of the bartenders had a second to spare. The newest class of TopGun recruits were graduating within a week, and it seemed that everyone had turned out for the upcoming occasion.
The bar was crowded with faces new and old. All of the graduating pilots were scattered around, and most of their instructors had made their way in at some point. Some of the pilots had families, wives and girlfriends, who had flown in and accompanied them to the bar that night. There were more than a few old friends in town to visit or siblings using the graduation as an excuse to get away.Â
Even most of Mavâs squadron was there. Pennyâs old flame had claimed a spot by one of the dart boards, and his lieutenants were all taking turns trying to dethrone Hangman as the king of darts. Normally, they would have migrated to the pool tables by now, but the bar was too crowded for even TopGunâs finest to leverage their way into skipping the line to have a game.Â
One of the soon-to-be graduates hunkered down at the bar, some asshole who was billing himself as the new and improved Hangman, kept snapping his fingers at you to try to get your attention from behind the bar. You were dangerously close to ringing the bell on him the next time he did it, and Pennyâs fingers were clearly itching to do the same. Tragically, neither of you thought that was a very good idea. Tonight mightâve been the one night where it was simply too busy to ring the bell.
There were so many people you couldnât see past the sea of bodies pressing in around you, and it was a miracle that you didnât bolt from the claustrophobia.
Marg after marg. Old fashioned after old fashioned. Beer after beer. The line never seemed to stop, and it was taking its toll on you. Tonight was simply not your night.
âGo,â Pennyâs hand touched your shoulder and made you jump, spilling some of the tequila shot you were trying to hand off. âIâll clean that. You look like you need a break. Take five.â
Normally on a busy night, you wouldâve protested, insisted you could hold down the fort and done your best to help Penny push through the rush, but not that night.
Your shoulders slumped in relief, and you ducked under the gap in the bar without much of a second thought, pushing your way through the people towards the door to the kitchen. There was a âbrokenâ stool by the door to the kitchen that was in fact not broken at all but had a sign taped to it that said it was specifically so it was open for when workers were on break. The seat provided some much needed relief for your aching feet and even more aching shoulders.
Shaking cocktails was really aggravating the bruises just beneath the button up wrapped around your shoulders, and you found yourself hurting almost twice as much as normal this shift. That mightâve been why you felt like you were moving in slow motion the whole time. That or the sheer number of people had simply made the task seem insurmountable.
You were just closing your eyes and leaning back against the wall when your phone in your pocket buzzed again.
It wasnât really a conscious decision to check it, more habit than anything else. And really, you hadnât expected it to be anything that bad. You hadnât heard from him all day.Â
But there it was. His name. His name a half a dozen times over the course of your shift. Each text progressively more urgent and pressing than the last.
âIâm still coming to pick you up from work.â
Bile rose up in your throat, and you suppressed the overwhelming urge to bolt. The room was suddenly too hot and too crowded, and there were too many faces. Faces you recognized and faces you didnât. A wash of faces that was the perfect place for him to hide, to wait, to lurk around for the opportune moment to reveal himself.
You couldnât do this, couldnât deal with this. Not here. Not now. Not in front of all these people. Not alone.Â
You did the first thing that came to mind.Â
It was stupid really. You couldnât explain why it occurred to you, why you acted on it so immediately, why you thought it was a good idea at all. It probably wasnât; it could just as easily have backfired in your face as anything else. But your gut told you it was what you should do. Really, your gut didnât so much tell you as wrench you in that direction with an undeniable force.Â
âHey can I talk to you for a sec?âÂ
Hangman was an easy man to find, even despite the crowd, strutting around the dart boards like he owned the place, which he very nearly did, rubbing the other pilots noses in his shots that were somehow better blindfolded than theirs were with sight.
You interrupted him boasting loudly to Fanboy and Payback about how he didnât even need to practice. Perfect marksmanship just came naturally to him. The rest of the pilots were all gathered at the high tops near the darts boards, mostly rolling their eyes. They were having some kind of tournament, or rather a competition to see if anyone could take Hangman down.Â
Payback seemed almost too happy for the interruption, but Fanboy was a bit more perceptive, at least at the moment. Fanboyâs eyes darted away to Phoenixâs table, and you saw the jerk of his head when he caught her eye. Funneling the female aviatorâs attention in the direction of what was unfolding.Â
You, wearing Hangmanâs shirt since he disappeared for half an hour earlier that day, asking to talk to him alone near the end of your shift. You knew exactly what it looked like.Â
âSure.â Hangmanâs tone was completely casual, not giving anything away, but when his back turned on his companions, his eyes were burning. You quickly looked away from his gaze and led him from the group.
âI wasnât checking my phone.â The words were tumbling out of your mouth the moment he was out of the othersâ earshot. You didnât even bite your tongue long enough to turn around. âHeâs been texting me my entire shift. He was supposed to be my ride home tonight, and I think he might show up soon.â
When you faced Hangman, you knew the panic in your voice and in your eyes was painfully obvious. Now that you were semi-alone with him, with someone who knew, there was no hiding how much it jarred you. Your hands fumbled with your phone trying to show him the flood of texts youâd gotten, unnoticed, over the last two hours.Â
Hangman didnât look down even as you turned the phone to show him. His jaw was already clenched; his expression was agitated, visibly angry. His eyes werenât looking at you or the phone. They were searching the faces in the crowd similar to the way yours had only moments before though far more thorough. The honed, trained eye of a military fighter pilot meticulously picked through the crowd for its target, finding nothing.Â
âCould youâŚâ You hesitated to ask. It was such a ridiculous request. Just yesterday, Hangman wouldâve been your absolute last choice to be in this position with; you wouldâve risked handling it alone before asking for his help. But here he was. The only one who knew. The first one you asked. âIâll give you a round on the house for it. I just⌠Would you mind giving me a ride home? I donât want to stumble on him alone.â
Hangman didnât hesitate or pull his eyes from where they continuously scanned the crowd, as if his gaze alone was enough to keep a threat at bay. âNo beers required, Hurricane.â The words seemed to be coming out of his mouth even as you offered. Like heâd already decided what he was going to do the minute you told him the problem. âWait here a sec? Iâll handle it.â
Hangman walked the short distance over to the bar, glancing back over his shoulder at you every few steps like he was making sure you hadnât disappeared, and flagged down Penny. Something on his face mustâve told her it was urgent because she forwent several regulars and big tippers demanding drinks to beeline towards him. He leaned over the bar and whispered something in her ear, gesturing back in your direction.Â
Penny looked concerned, and she nodded along with what Hangman was saying until he turned to leave.Â
âIf Penny asks,â Hangman put a hand on your shoulder, a firm grip holding you to his side as he led you through the throng of people towards the exit, âa guy was bothering you, and I drove you home cause you were scared of him.â
âNot entirely a lie,â You mumbled, shifting closer into Hangmanâs side.
No one tried to stop you. No hands reached out for you. No one called out your name. You made it through entirely unscathed. You could feel eyes on you, but they didnât raise the hairs on the back of your neck. You doubted, highly, that they were Devinâs. More likely, Hangmanâs squadron were watching him retreat from the bar with you under his arm without so much as a goodbye. More likely, they were plotting and planning the questions they were going to hound the two of you with the next time they saw you. More likely, Phoenix was pointing out to everyone that you were wearing Hangmanâs shirt.
â------
âDoes he have a key?â Hangman didnât break the silence until heâd turned onto your block, until heâd brought his truck to a slow crawl, looking for your tiny, inconsequential cookie cutter house in a row of tiny, inconsequential cookie cutter houses.Â
Yours was pretty much the only house without a Navy flag or Navy paraphernalia of some description sitting in the yard or stuck to a car in the driveway. The neighborhood was not far from the Hard Deck which was not far from the base, and the tiny houses geared towards first-time-buyers were crawling with Navy pilots and newlywed military couples who wanted to live offbase.
You were on the second sidestreet, the third house on the left. Hangman already knew the way without instruction. Penny had conned every Top Gun pilot with a car into driving you home at least a couple times. And while Hangman was usually the pilot she was least willing to ask, he was also the only one who was guaranteed to always be sober.Â
His question came out very sober. His usual lilting, teasing tone had dropped off somewhere today and never fully returned.Â
âHe did. He⌠he told me he lost it, butâŚâ You both knew better than to believe that.
Hangman pulled into your driveway and flicked the truck into park and turned it off. âTomorrow Iâll drive you to the hardware store, and weâll change the locks.â
âYou donât have toâŚâ
âDo you feel safe with him having a key?â Hangman cut you off. He was looking down at you with just a touch of condescension, so classically Hangman. Like he knew the answer already, like he knew you knew the answer already, and that you were silly if you pretended not to or refused him.Â
You knew where this was going, and you thought about lying, just to relieve Hangman of whatever false sense of duty or obligation he had imposed on himself by being the one to find you at the Hard Deck. But it was way too late. Hangman wasnât stupid, but he was incredibly, irritatingly stubborn. And heâd already set his mind to helping you through this. âNo.â
âThen tomorrow morning Iâll change the locks.â Hangman threw his door open and hopped out of the truck. It slammed closed behind him as he circled around to your side. You made to open your door, but Hangman beat you to it. âAlarm services are expensive,â He continued, offering you a hand, âbut they make door jammers that have sound alarms on them at least, and my sister bought some cheap window versions a while back that I could help install.âÂ
You took Hangmanâs hand and dumbly followed him up to your door as he rambled on about extra door locks and doorbell cameras. All options that you could pick up tomorrow for him to put in.Â
âThatâs too much effort,â You halfheartedly protested as you spun your keys around trying to find the one to your front door.Â
There really werenât that many keys. There were a couple to the Hard Deck, one to the shed where Penny kept beach supplies, and one to Devinâs place that you hadnât returned. They were all distinct shapes and colors, but you couldnât seem to focus long enough to find the plain silver key to your own door. Maybe because you knew there was another one, exactly like it, somewhere across town at that moment.  Â
âNot if it makes you feel safe.â Hangman leaned back against your door frame, his eyes skimming up and down your block as if he was still on alert in the crowded bar, still looking for signs of trouble, signs of him.Â
âWould youâŚâ Your words trailed off as you watched his darting eyes. The question came bubbling up before you could stop it, before you even really thought of it. It was less a question and more a response to his vigilance, to the thought that his vigilance might be warranted and necessary.Â
âWould IâŚ?â Hangman didnât let it go. His eyes turned to look at you.
You chewed at your bottom lip, debating if it was worth asking, debating if it was necessary.Â
He probably thought it was, if his mannerisms were any indication, if his talk about alarms was any indication, if walking you to your door and watching your back were any indication.Â
âWould you come in?â
Hangman raised a doubtful eyebrow, sure you didnât mean what those words usually meant.
âNot like that, itâs just⌠Youâre right. He probably still has a key, and if we canât fix it till the morningâŚâ
Understanding seemed to wash over his face, and Hangman kicked himself up off the door jam. âIf itâll help,â he immediately conceded. âIâll sleep on your couch.â
âItâŚâ You hesitated, but only for a moment. âI think it would.â
The silence inside your home was almost palpable. It was late enough that going to bed wouldnât have been awkward for either of you, but neither of you were tired. And neither of you seemed up to faking being tired just to get away.Â
Hangman sat on one end of the couch, and you sat on the other. At some point, you mustered the effort to turn on the tv. The local news was a quiet, bland drone of background noise cutting through the still air around the two of you.
You felt like you should say something. Maybe âshouldâ wasnât the right word; maybe you wanted to say something. But either way you didnât know where to begin.
You had only ever been alone with Hangman when he was dropping you off as a favor to Penny, times that were filled with snarky jokes and constant nagging from both of you, and earlier that day in the bar. You werenât close. You werenât friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was only here because he was in the right (or wrong, depending how you looked at it) place at the right time.
âThank you,â That seemed like a good place to start. âFor today, thank you.â
âYou have nothing to thank me for.â Hangman countered quickly. His eyes stayed on the tv, though they were clearly out of focus staring at the screen.Â
âI do though. You couldâve told everyone.â
âYou werenât ready for that.â He added it under his breath, countering without cutting you off.
âYou couldâve left me to finish out my shift.â
âNot with him coming to the bar.â
âYou couldâve left after you dropped me off.â
âHe has a key.â
âYou couldâve turned and walked out the door when you first saw me at the bar.â
Hangman let out a heavy sigh, not of annoyance or exasperation but a sigh weighed down with duty and concern. âNo, I couldnât.âÂ
Your eyes met his over the center of the couch, and a breath rushed out of your lungs under the intensity in his gaze.
â-------------------------------------
You woke up in your bed, mouth open, with more than a little drool pooling on your pillow.Â
You had no memory of falling asleep there, of getting into bed, of going to your room at all.Â
You remember being on the couch, talking to Hangman. You remembered the way his eyes, intense, open, and honest, compelled you to speak. The way you couldnât bite back the story pouring from your lips. The story of Devin asking you out, of falling for him in those early weeks, of how he changed after you committed to him. The story of what he did that night, of his buddies who sat back and did nothing, of the jokes you heard the three of them cracking as you ran from the room.
You remembered Hangman crossing the space between you and putting a hand on your arm, how cautious he was touching you, how much time he left you to pull away, how gentle his touch was against your skin. You remembered throwing yourself into his lap, sobbing into his shoulder as he held you against his chest and rubbed soothingly up and down your back, whispering promises that that asshole would never hurt you again.Â
You didnât remember anything after that. You mustâve fallen asleep in his lap.
Sitting up, you found the answer to your unasked question.
A folded piece of notebook paper sitting on the pillow next to you:
âThought the bed would be preferable to sharing the couch with me. If Iâm wrong and you wake up in the middle of the night and donât want to be alone, you can always wake me up. If not, Iâll have coffee ready for you in the morning. - Jake.â
As you read, his words the night before echoed in your head to the beat of a nonexistent drum as you read the note once, then twice, then a third time.
âNo, I couldnât.â
You carefully folded the paper up and tucked it in the top drawer of your bedside table.Â
True to his word, Hangman was wide awake, standing in your kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee when you walked out of your room.Â
âH-Hi,â you stuttered.
Last night, in the comfort of darkness, with exhaustion clouding over your mind and his arms holding you close, it had seemed the most logical thing in the world to open up to Hangman. And with the light of day glinting through the windows, with him dressed in the button up heâd wrapped around you the day before, with him lounging back against your counter as he sipped from your favorite mug, with an overconfident air that was too comfortable for any normal personâs first time in your home⌠It was odd to think that feeling hadnât changed, that you still felt able to bare your soul to him, that you didnât feel a need to run back into your room and get changed or freshen up, that you were perfectly comfortable being seen by him like this, a tired quaking mess with puffy red eyes.
Part of you expected to walk out into your kitchen to an epiphany that youâd made a horrible mistake, that Hangman was exactly as much of a cocky asshole as you thought he was two days ago. But the epiphany never came.
âMorning,â Hangman took a sip of coffee and set the mug aside. He looked casual, at peace, like this was just another day, like heâd done this a million times. âIâm ready to go whenever you are. I found the toolbox in the bottom of your coat closet. Hope you donât mind. Weâll probably need a few things if weâre gonna do anything more than replace the locks.â
âY-Yeah,â You grabbed a mug off the drying rack and crossed the room to pour yourself a cup of coffee from the pot beside him, your shoulder brushing passed his as you poured. âSounds good.â
âHey.â Hangman seemed to immediately pick up that something was plaguing your mind. He didnât reach out for you like last night, quite the opposite. He took a step away and turned to face you, crossin his arms over his chest, âIf you want to be alone, Iâll head out. Iâll go to the store, pick up the locks, and change them myself. You can have time to yourself if you need it.âÂ
âNo,â You immediately countered his obvious misinterpretation of your mood. âI-I donât think I want to be alone. Iâm just⌠antsy I guess.âÂ
He didnât seem to fully buy it, but he let your excuse hang. âOkay then, weâll head out when youâre ready.â
â----------------------
All day, as Hangman worked around your house first changing the locks then installing alarms then fixing a window that wouldnât lock and then righting a wobbly chair leg that had absolutely nothing to do with your safety, neither of you mentioned the note he left or you crying in his arms or falling asleep on his lap or his quiet âNo, I couldnâtâ.
â--------------------------
You made a vow to yourself when Hangman finally left your house late Saturday afternoon. You were never going to ring up his card at the Hard Deck again. It couldnât really repay what heâd done for you, the feeling of safety heâd brought to you in what was probably your most vulnerable moment so far on this earth, but you knew he wouldnât want anything more showy. Hangman loved being the center of attention, but somehow you knew he wouldnât want attention for this.Â
True to your vow, the next Saturday evening, Hangman was on his third beer and had, unwittingly on his part, not paid a dime.
The Hard Deck was far less crowded that night. The graduating Top Gun candidates had all flown away, and only those currently stationed at the base, mostly Maverickâs squad, and some locals remained. A few dozen patrons milled around a room far larger than they needed with maybe a dozen pressed up to the bar. Most of the dozen fell under your responsibilities at the moment. Penny had, unintentionally, abandoned you not long before when Maverick had wandered in and taken up his usual stool.Â
Omaha and Halo, the first aviators to arrive, had claimed one of the pool tables early in the night, and the rest of the squad had started rotating through matchups. It appeared Fritz was on a hot streak, one that was no doubt about to end as his next opponent in line was Hangman.Â
All seemed right with the world. The constant buzz of voices, the crooning of the Goo Goo Dolls song that Bob had selected on the jukebox, the ready flow of beer to your usual patrons. Everything was fine.
Until the door opened one last time. Not that places of business ever âexpectedâ anyone because they hardly sent out invitations to come buy beer, but you really werenât expecting anyone else that night. All the regulars were already inside.
The door banging against the wall as it was flung open was enough to draw your surprised eyes up to the entryway.Â
Face lit by the sun setting over the beach through the windows on the opposite wall, he was unmistakable as he marched into view flanked by his two buddies. They immediately began scanning the room.Â
Your breath rushed out of your lungs, exhaling in a gust that you couldnât hold back any more than the wind.Â
No, no, no. He wasnât here. He couldnât be here. He couldnât confront you here. He couldnât corner you alone.
There was no time to think, no time to check with Penny if it was ok to leave your station, no time to get to the door or bolt out the back.Â
âIâll keep him out of the bar.â
It was your first instinct when you saw the text the weekend before, and it was your first instinct when you saw him that night.
âHurricane?â Penny called after you as, without so much as a word in her direction, you ducked under the gap in the bar and made a beeline for the pool tables.Â
You barely heard her, and if you did, it didnât register.Â
âJake,â his real name leaving your lips was enough to draw most of his coworkersâ attention, all those in earshot at least. You grabbed his arm the second he was within reach, inadvertently clawing his skin with your nails as you pulled him up from where he was hunched over the pool table lining up a shot.Â
Jake laughed and shrugged off your arm before he even turned around and saw who it was. âHey,â he rubbed at the red marks in his skin, âI was justâŚâÂ
The words died on his lips when he turned and saw the panic in your eyes. It was brimming up inside you, overflowing and choking you off from every other sensation except the desperation for Jake to understand.
He knew better than anyone that there was only one thing that could make you look like that, feel like that. His head jerked up immediately in the direction of the door, as if he could sense the direction of the impending doom.
You watched the lighthearted smirk that constantly plagued his lips fall away. You watched the light in his eyes cloud over in darkness. As his gaze went up over your shoulder to the door, where one of the three men with angry expressions and dark eyes spotted your back amongst the khaki uniforms and began moving.Â
Jakeâs arm twisted in your grip and grabbed you by the elbow, jerking you unceremoniously behind his back. There was no time for pleasantries, no time to be nice about whatever he was about to do.
âFanboy, stay with her.â Jake ordered over his shoulder to the nearest aviator. His gaze didnât waiver from the three men approaching, even as he issued commands. Â
Most of the aviators in Mavâs squad were scattered around the room. Mav was at the bar talking with Penny and Halo. Fanboy and Coyote had been watching Hangman school Fritz, who was being hyped up by Payback. Rooster was at a table not far from the pool game talking to a pretty girl. And Phoenix and Bob were half spectating from their perch by the jukebox discussing something that had gone wrong in a training run that afternoon.Â
Fanboy caught you and held you up as Jake pushed you in his direction. âWhatâs going on?â
Jake didnât answer. He side-stepped in front of you, half blocking you from view, and walked to the edge of the pool area. There was a buffer zone between himself and you. He was the first line of defense, and he was giving the second, Fanboy, room to react.Â
âYou fucking bitch!â If Fanboy didnât know what was going on before, he instantly caught on.Â
Fanboyâs arms tensed around yours. His back went rigged, as if a commanding officer had just called him to attention, and he curled away, pulling you back behind him and putting his body in front of you as a shield. Even with Fanboy hovering in the way, his body didnât hide Devinâs eyes. They sought you out around Jakeâs frame and over Fanboyâs shoulder; they found you huddled up behind the Navy uniforms and the fancy stars pinned to the pilots chests. No number of medals pinned to Jakeâs chest could stop the chill that ran down your spine in response to the venom in Devinâs tone. You wanted to look away, but the daggers in his gaze skewered you in place, held you hostage.Â
You wanted to curl up and hide, preferably behind Jake... Well, preferably in a home far away from there wrapped in heavy blankets with many deadbolts between you and Devin with Jake vigilantly standing guard at the door.Â
Devin tried to walk straight past Jake, like he didnât even see him. Jake wasnât having any of it.Â
A thick, muscular arm stuck out across the length of Devinâs shoulders as he tried to pass, holding him back.
Devin wasnât a very big guy. He was well toned, but he was no naval aviator. He was no Jake Seresin. Jake had about an inch on Devin, but his well built frame made up for their near identical height. Devin had never been one to hit the gym hard while Jake certainly was, and it showed. It showed in the way a single arm without so much as a brace didnât move even as Devin walked straight into it.Â
If the rest of the bar werenât looking when Devin shouted that you were a bitch, they certainly were when he glared up at Jake. âOut of the way you fucker!âÂ
Jake getting out of the way was about the last thing you wanted to happen, and Jake seemed disinclined to oblige either. His arm didnât move from where it blocked Devinâs path, even as Devin glowered up at him.
The staring match lasted only a moment before Devin, impatient as always, gave up and turned back to glaring at you. He shouted, unnecessarily loudly, across the minimal distance between the two of you, âYou changed the locks on me?âÂ
There was shuffling behind you and the sound of something clanging onto the pool table.Â
You couldnât bring yourself to turn your head away from Devin, couldnât look away, couldnât let him out of your sight. But there was the sound of footsteps as first Coyote, then Fritz, then Payback came into range in your peripheral vision.Â
None of them knew what this was about, but it didnât take a rocket scientist to figure out where this was going. And any idiot could tell whose side they would be on in a fight between Jake and Devin.Â
âShe didnât. I did.â Jake declared at a similarly loud volume, pulling Devinâs attention back on him, demanding Devin shift his focus off of you. âYou got a problem with that, you take it up with me.â
Devin took a step back, finally abandoning his futile attempt to confront you in favor of squaring up to Jake.Â
As Devin stepped back, the trio of pilots stepped forward. Fritz approached first, joining Fanboy in front of you. Payback followed after Fritz, lingering halfway between him and Jake, a bystander ready to step in if things got out of hand.
Coyote, however, had no questions about how any altercation would go down. His hand came down as he walked up behind Jake, slapping down reassuringly on Jake's shoulder to let him know he wasnât alone. Coyote flanked Jake at such a close distance that it made it impossibly clear that, if this turned into a fight, it would not be three on one.Â
It wouldnât even be three on two for that matter. Devinâs buddies, who had crossed the bar with him had hung back a few feet, giving Devin the space he wanted to scream at you or confront you or whatever else he had been planning before Jake intercepted. The duo found themselves with two bar tables between them and Devin. One of which was, ever so unfortunately for them, occupied by none other than Bradley Bradshaw and his drinking companion.Â
Devinâs friends would be forgiven for not realizing that they were offering up the chance to divide the group in half. Bradley, per usual, wasnât in his Navy uniform, and a guy in a faded Hawaiian shirt didnât exactly look intimidating. At least not while he was sitting down chatting up a pretty girl.
Seeing the escalation Coyote invited, and flashing his eyes to where you cowered behind his squadmates, Rooster got to his feet with a slow, lithe push off the table in front of him and turned his back on Devin. Not even bothering to give the belligerent asshole, currently one on two against Hangman and Coyote, the time of day, he turned his entire attention to the backup Devin brought with him.Â
Never in your life had you been scared of any of the naval aviators, but there was something especially intimidating about the incredibly casual way Bradley put himself alone in a fight against two men. His relaxed stance, completely unbothered by the numbers game he was playing. His head, cocking to one side to crack his neck, and then the other.Â
âYou the latest pilot sheâs spreading her legs for?â Devin snarled up at Jake, completely oblivious to what was going on behind him and unconcerned by Coyoteâs presence.Â
Jake was entirely unphased. His voice was calm and steady even as Devinâs got more and more red with each passing moment. âNo, but I am a friend. And if you have a problem with her youâre gonna have to go through meâŚâ Jake added as an afterthought, âAnd him,â jerking his head to Coyote.
âYou think sheâll fuck you if you play hero?â Devin spat out the word fuck as if the thought of you and sex in the same sentence disgusted him. âYou donât gotta try that hard to get her to spread.â
Jake shrugged and casually dismissed the comment. âThatâs really not my business or yours.âÂ
âShe is my business; thatâs my girl.âÂ
Devin jabbed a finger over Jakeâs shoulder in your direction without looking away from Jake, and you instinctively shrunk further back behind Fanboy. Until you felt the material between your fingers, you didnât even realize that your hand had reached up to fist the back of Fanboyâs uniform.Â
You didnât know, logically, why you were afraid. Whatever Jake was doing, he was doing a marvelous job of keeping Devinâs eyes off of you. You were absolutely certain that Devin would have to knock Jake out to get to you, not that he could even manage that. You were also absolutely certain that even if he did, heâd still have to make it through Rooster, Fanboy, Fritz, Payback, and Coyote, not to mention the dozen Navy guys from other squads currently spectating who would jump in to assist, or Penny or Mav. There was just something about his finger pointing at you, accusing you, that made that feeling of helplessness bubble up inside you again, that made you feel pinned, trapped under his hand.
âIâll do whatever I want with her.â
It was like Jake knew or could sense your growing bubble of fear. He leaned ever so slightly to one side, like he was simply shifting his weight from foot to foot, before standing back up straight in between Devinâs finger and you. Â
âNot anymore.â Jake declared firmly. âYouâre already about a mile closer to her than I want you to be.â
That declaration made Devinâs lips twist up into something akin to a smirk. âIâve been a lot closer to her than this.â
Jakeâs shoulders tensed, and for the first time it seemed like Devin got to him. âI know exactly how close you got.â His voice darkened, and you could practically picture the look in his eyes, practically knew it by heart from the night you told him what Devin had done. âWhere Iâm from, we donât treat women like that.â
Devin laughed humorously, heading tilting back to let the single tone ring out in the air. âWell we arenât where youâre from. Thatâs my girl, and Iâll do what I want with her.â
You shivered involuntarily, like someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of your shirt. It sent a chill through you to think of Devin alone with you, doing what he wanted with you. You remembered what he did the last time he had that power over you. You couldnât let it happen again.
âNo,â It took a moment to register that Jake was the one snarling, not Devin, not even you. The word came out in a hiss between his teeth. âYouâll do what she wants. And right now she doesnât want you here.âÂ
For whatever reason, Devin was getting to Jake. The unshakeable, unflappable Jake Seresin was rising to a rolling boil under the surface of his skin, and there was nothing he could do to hide it. From the tone of his voice to the tension in his shoulders, to the way his fingers twitched in and out of a fist, Devin and what he was saying was under Jakeâs skin.
Devin saw it; you could tell. You couldnât see his eyes around the bodies between the two of you, but you saw his posture change, his stance open up and his chest puff out. He leaned in and sneered, âShe needed to be put in her place. She looks better roughed up anyway.â
You felt their eyes on you. The squad. The whole bar. None of them were actually looking at you. None of their heads turned, but you knew every one of them was staring at an image of you in their minds. Maybe they all figured it out before. Maybe they knew when Devin walked in or when Jake escorted you home. Or maybe they didnât know anything at all, but either way Devin just gave them confirmation.
Payback was no longer content to play the bystander. His shoes clicked on the floor, echoing in the silence that existed throughout the bar as Jake and Devin sparred. He flanked Jakeâs other side, shoulder to shoulder with him as Coyote had been since the confrontation began.Â
Coyote didnât move an inch except for the hand at his side that clenched into a fist.Â
Jake took a step closer. But for the inch of height difference, he stood nose to nose with Devin as he said, âWhere Iâm from, a man lays his hands on a woman, and you take him out back and put one between his eyes.â
Devin pushed up, mustâve stood on his tiptoes to do it, to close the gap with Jake, to put himself on the same level as the pilot. âSheâs mine, you fucker.â Flecks of spit, visible even at your distance, splattered against Jakeâs cheek. âGet the fuck out of the way.âÂ
Devinâs hands came up and shoved Jake in both shoulders, hard.
Jakeâs shoulders didnât give an inch. His feet didnât budge. His posture didnât change.Â
Jakeâs voice dropped low, so low you barely heard it. If a single soul in the bar had been focused on anything other than the confrontation at hand, if the jukebox hadnât run to the end of its queue of songs and left the bar in silence, if any more distance had been between the two of you, you wouldnât have heard the rough, guttural retort from somewhere deep inside Jakeâs chest, âYouâre really, really gonna have to make me.â
Without warning, Devin swung.
He was standing too close to Jake, almost chest to chest with the taller aviator. There was no good angle from which to strike, and his arm took a wide arc away from his body to get the necessary momentum and distance to hit at Jake with any force.
It was like it moved in slow motion, Jakeâs head turned, his eyes following the direction of the swing as it approached his face.
You gasped and clung tighter to Fanboy, who blindly reached back to clutch your arm, pulling you in closer to him.
The fear, entirely for Jake, was also entirely unnecessary.
Jakeâs head leaned to one side and effortlessly avoided the blow. Devin stumbled a couple steps to the side as his momentum carried him past Jake.
It gave Jake the space he needed to counter, not with a wide, slow hook around to the side of Devinâs face, but with a swift, firm uppercut to his jaw.
The connection sent a crack echoing through the bar, and Devinâs entire body went slack before he even hit the floor.
Coyote caught his arm before he could collapse, not that it did Devin any good to be under Coyoteâs care instead of Jakeâs. Coyoteâs grip was so tight on Devinâs upper arm that you were sure it would bruise not just the skin but the muscles underneath.
Jake bent down over the other man and bent a finger up under his jaw. Devinâs head tipped up into Jakeâs face without any protest and fell back to bob loosely to one side the moment Jake wasnât supporting him any more.
âHeâll be out cold for a while.â Jake declared, glancing up to give Coyote a nod.
Coyote dropped his grip on Devin and let him crumple unceremoniously to the floor.
âNow,â Jake left Coyote to deal with Devin, stepping over the unconscious body on the floor as one might step over a puddle in the street. He ambled over to Rooster, whose presence had been more than enough to hold off Devinâs two buddies for the brief ten seconds of fighting, if it could even be categorized as a fight.
âAre you two,â Jake wagged a finger between Devinâs two friends as he came shoulder to shoulder with Rooster, âthe ones she told me helped him out last week? Cause I gotta bone to pick with them too?â
âNo, we didnât!â The shorter of the two declared loudly. âLook, we donât want any trouble.â
Jakeâs head turned to glance back over his shoulder, and for the first time since Devin confronted you, you made eye contact with Jake.
His eyes were hard, cold, unfeeling. He wasnât angry anymore. He wasnât upset or worried or fearful or any of the other emotions you felt warring inside of you. The mask was back on, the unflappable exterior that only you had seen beneath before tonight. He wasnât waiting for them; he was waiting for you. A good soldier, waiting for his orders.
Imperceptibly to everyone but Jake who was watching you like a hawk, you shook your head. This had gone on long enough already tonight. You just wanted it to be over.
âWell then,â Jake turned back to the two friends in tow. âWhy donât you take your buddy and get out of here?â Jake stepped close, towering over the shorter one as he added, âTell him if he comes back round here to bother her again; I will spend the rest of my life making sure heâs too afraid to even look at another woman.â
Beside Jake, Rooster began casually cracking the knuckles of his fist one by one, presumably for emphasis.
There was a dull thud that drew the quad of menâs attention back towards Devin.
Payback was squatting over the unconscious man. Heâd seemingly been rooting through the other manâs pockets. The sound of his wallet dropping back onto Devinâs back was the noise that drew the menâs eyes and everyone elseâs watching as a result.
Payback was waving a credit card in the air in Jakeâs general direction.
âGood idea,â Jake wandered over and snatched up the card. âCall it payback for disturbing the bar tonight.â Jakeâs teasing smirk was back as he used Paybackâs callsign. He abandoned the group to amble back towards Penny at the bar, and his absence seemed to break the tension.
The patrons, scattered around, all began slowly turning back to their tables. The conversation was quieter, hushed whispers that were no doubt mostly about the fight theyâd just watched ensue, but their eyes seemed to have drank in their fill of the scene.
Under the watchful eye of Rooster, with Coyote and Payback standing by, Devinâs two friends draped their friend unceremoniously across their shoulders. Despite the struggle they were clearly having, not a soul offered to help as they stumbled under his weight out of the bar.
âI hope they have to drag him to the car.â
You jumped and turned your head to find that at some point in the chaos Phoenix and Bob had come up on the other side of the pool table as a last line of defense.
âPlease, I hope they faceplant in the gravel.â
You let out a humorous laugh at Phoenixâs comment as your body finally slumped under the weight of the evening, resting back against the pool table with a huff of air.
âAre youâŚâ
âFritz, if you ask me if Iâm okay, I will walk out of this bar right now.â You held up a finger to silence him.
You were not okay. You would be okay, one day; you knew that much. But that day was not today.
In the distance, like you were hearing an echo from the other end of a long tunnel, you registered the bell ringing for a free round. Your vision was tunneling too, but you could make out Jake was leaning across the bar, ringing the bell himself as he slammed Devinâs card on the bar in front of Penny.
Maverick, always present in front of Pennyâs bar, slapped him on the back and whispered something in his ear, but Jake seemed, for once, thoroughly uninterested in his commanding officer.
His eyes, you thought, appeared to be focused on you. He left the bar before he even got his own free drink and headed straight back towards the pool tables.
Coyote and Rooster tried to talk to him, but he brushed him off. By the time he reached Fanboy, still awkwardly hovering in front of you, his destination was clear, and Fanboy slid right out of his way.
âCome on,â Jake held out a hand to you. âPenny wonât mind if you donât finish out your shift.â
It wasnât a tunnel you were looking through now so much as a camera, the lens zooming in and zooming out, narrowing and expanding your field of vision around Jake.
Jake, the only thing in the world right now that felt safe, that felt ok.
You numbly, clumsily, flung your hand out to grasp his, and as his fingers laced through yours you thought you might have a different answer to Fritzâs question, not that youâd ever voice it.
âââââââââââââ
âThank you.â
It was about an hour after you and Jake had left the bar.
Heâd walked you out the back door of the Hard Deck and down the beach for the better part of half an hour before the two of you wordlessly agreed to find a comfortable spot to sit down in the sand.
The silence had been more comfortable than you ever thought silence with Jake could be. Every time heâd driven you home from the Hard Deck, heâd felt the need to fill every available moment with some kind of noise, compulsively turning up the volume on the radio or making snarky, sarcastic commentary about anything that passed by the window. Silence was not Jake Seresinâs forte.
Yet the silence between the two of you had felt like a comforting blanket, wrapping you in understanding. He already knew what happened between you and Devin; the hard part of that explanation was over. He already knew why Devin was there that night, what must have prompted him to show up, what he was hinting at in front of the whole bar. He knew nothing else about you, but he knew this, knew every detail of the most painful moment of your life, and he accepted it without question, gave you what you needed without question, helped you without question.
âYou donât have to thank me for doing the right thing for once in my life, Hurricane.â Jake murmured. âItâs a nice change of pace.â
You wished you could deny that, say that Jake was a great guy, say that he always did the right thing or that he was a good man. But the truth was he often wasnât. He was flawed, deeply so, rude when it was uncalled for, inappropriate when the moment was serious, lewd when he should have been respectful, confrontational when he should have been kind. He was as flawed as any other human being, maybe more so.
But when you needed him he was there. When no one else was there, he was there. And that, to you, forgave any multitude of sins.
âWhat did Mav say to you when you left?â
âWhat?â Jake did a quick double take, looking down at you beside him. âOh,â He chuckled to himself. âHe said, âGood man, no push-ups tomorrow when I shoot you down.ââ
âWell,â you smiled, âI owe you a lot more than a few push ups.â
âYou owe me nothing.â
You squeezed his hand, his fingers which had been laced in yours since he led you out of the Hard Deck, âHow about a second chance? If I remember correctly we didnât get off to the best start.â
Jake smirked, âNot a chance am I starting over. Youâre still my Hurricane.â
lord kill me now pt.2
boaf




PARK SUNGHOON???? LIKE HELLOO???