#Accountant Services In Phoenix | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

princessmisery666 · 2 months ago

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The Full Seresin Service - Part 2 of 3

Series Summary: You and Jake have been dancing around each other for a while. The Dagger Squad set it up so that the dancing stops, but a case of miscommunication could ruin it all.

Summary: The rules are set, the deal is made, and the Full Seresin Service begins. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: Fluff, flirting, teasing, smut, miscommunication.

W/C: 5.2k

Characters: Unnamed female reader (you/she/her), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado.

Pairing: Hangman x Female Reader. Phoenix x Coyote.

Notes: Reader has a call sign.

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - thanks for saving the smut section 😄 // all mistakes are mine. Special shoutout to @writercole

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

I do not give consent for this or any other of my works to be reposted/reworked or translated on to any other account or platform.

You take your bottle of wine and a glass to the room. Your credit card will not thank you, but you don't care right now. You need to drown your sordid thoughts of Jake dropping that fluffy white towel and showing you what’s beneath it.

While juggling the bottle, a glass, your phone, and book, you manage to slip the keycard in and elbow the door handle down, using your butt to open the door and shuffle into the room.

“Oh crap,” Jake grumbles.

He grabs his T-shirt from the end of the bed, but it's too late. You’ve seen it all, and it doesn’t help that he cups himself, the fabric of the shirt perfectly shapes his cock. He has to be doing it on purpose.

“Sorry,” you say, but don't bother turning around now that he’s partly covered up.

“What are you doing back here?” It’s more of an accusation than a question. “I saw you in the bar.”

“I didn’t feel like reading after all,” you say, walking further into the room and placing the bottle on the nightstand. “What are you doing back here?”

“I lost concentration too,” he says, “came back to change, was gonna work up a sweat in the gym.”

“You brought gym gear?”

“Like you didn’t.”

Urgh. You hate that he knows that you did. You never planned to do a full workout. After all, you're on vacation, but you’d have done some light cardio at least.

You backtrack, annoyed at yourself that you're predictable or that he knows you're better than you like. “And I didn’t say I lost concentration. I’m not that easily swayed.”

He snorts a chuckle, “Could’ve fooled me.” His cocky smirk spreads wide. “You can’t keep your eyes on my face.”

Of course, your eyes betray you, drifting down to his crotch and back up again. “Well, that’s because I’m not blind, and I saw everything and can still see it ‘cause you're holding it like a…a…dick.” You realize your mistake and quickly try to correct it. “I don’t mean a dick like a cock. I mean, you’re a dick!”

Jake laughs, an actual stomach laugh, and you do not take to being laughed at lightly. You grab a pillow from the bed and launch it at him. Naturally, Jake, being Jake, catches it with one hand and replaces the tee with the pillow.

“Better?” he asks smugly. “Now you can’t see it.”

“Whatever,” you sneer.

“That’s not a yes.”

“Jake,” you scold. “You promised you wouldn’t annoy me. And you’ve already annoyed me by letting Javy and Natasha set this whole thing up, so just stop, please.”

“Wait? Set what up?”

“Don’t play dumb ‘cause I know you’re not.”

“Pretend I am.”

“The whole fuckin’ dagger squad set it up so we’d team up and win to send us here to…” Your arms flail around, searching for the word, but it doesn’t help, and you drop them, defeated. “I don’t even know what.”

Geez. You hate how flustered he makes you. When you are face to face and not in a cockpit, you always have to be careful about what you say. You're always conscious of how he can misconstrue something or turn it into innuendo.

“Cosmo, I swear I didn’t know anything about that.” he pleads for you to believe him. “Coyote gave me the ice cream clue, but honestly, at the time, I thought he was playing me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly. “We’re here now, so can we just do what we said we’d do and stay out of each other’s way.”

“I will, I promise,” he states. “But I really need you to know I had no hand in setting this up. Us teaming up or winning, or you walking in here and seeing me naked ‘cause that’s disgusting, creep-level shit, and I swear it’s purely coincidence. Coyote texted me about you, and I needed an outlet, so I was going to work out, I swear.”

“Fuck,” you huff, “Coyote and Phoenix strike again. She texted me, and I needed to stop thinking about it, so I came back here to drink away my…”

“Feelings.”

“Thoughts.” You correct with an incredulous look. “I don’t have feelings for or about you, Hangman.”

“That’s bullshit,” he states. “You avoid being alone with me ‘cause you don’t trust yourself.”

Shit. He really does know you better than you thought. But you're saved by the bell, or rather the knock on the door. You walk to answer it and hear Jake moving around. You hope he’s dressing to go to the gym.

You take the ice bucket from the concierge and thank him before closing the door. So as not to get another peek at Jake, you keep your head down as you make your way back to the wine on the nightstand. You pour a glass and put the bottle in the ice. If Jake weren’t there, you’d probably swig from the bottle. You need to be done with the conversation and Jake.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he says sincerely. “If you answer me one thing.”

You gulp half a glass of wine and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What?”

“Why are you resisting this?”

“Honestly,” you sigh, turning to face him. He’s pulled on a pair of boxer briefs but nothing else. It makes it slightly easier to talk to him. “I’m not a true member of the Dagger squad. You all have this deep bond I’ll never be a part of. I had to earn my place, and sometimes, I’m still an outsider.”

“That’s not true,” Jake argues. “You’re one of us. None of us ever think otherwise.”

“Maybe,” you shrug with a half smile. “But you have a reputation, Hangman. You’re not exactly the stable relationship kind of guy. A couple of weeks with someone is the most you can manage. I know if I gave in to you, you’d get a ‘atta boy’ and proud slaps on the back, but me, I’d lose the respect of our friends.”

“You mean the friends who set this up?” he asks.

He has a point, and he knows it too. You're silent for too long, and he slowly makes his way around the bed to stand in front of you. “You want this as much as I do. We make a good team. Scrap that. We’re the best team in the air. I wanna know if that translates to the ground, too. There’s something between us that each of us is trying to ignore and clearly failing miserably.”

You laugh lightly because he’s right. “There’s nothing but lust between us, Jake,” you counter. “We want what we can’t have, the low-hanging forbidden fruit.”

“Ouch,” he laughs.

“Don’t pretend you're not an easy lay,” you jest.

The dig of his promiscuity doesn’t deter him. He steps closer, his eyes soft and his tone sincere. “Give me a chance,” he suggests. “A weekend pass. We’ll keep it between you and me. We’ll eat the forbidden fruit, and it’ll be our secret.” he winks. “No one has to know.”

He’s right. Again. No one would need to know, and they’d have no way of finding out. Sure, Hangman could be a douche and tell them, but what proof would he have?

He’s already wearing you down, so there’s no need for the extra, “I promise I’ll make it the best weekend of your life. No-holds-barred. Full Jake Seresin service,” but it’s nice to know he’s committed.

“You know I’m seeing someone. Klay, remember him?”

“Please, that fizzled out a week ago for you,” he jeers. “You’ve seen him a total of three times in the last five weeks. Two of those were drinks at the Hard Deck, and I gave you a ride home. If I know you as well as I think I do, you’ve got a text saved in your notes telling him you don’t want to see him again. You're just waiting for the right time.”

You really need to put some distance between your personal and professional life.

“I have two conditions,” you say.

He nods, smile already morphing to an air of smugness. “Anything.”

“Whatever does or does not happen, we remain professional. It doesn’t affect our work.”

“Done.”

“No one knows anything,” you say sternly. “They can guess and speculate, but nothing is ever confirmed.”

“Done.” he holds his hand out for you to shake, but you have other ideas. Stepping into his personal space, you deliver a gentle kiss to his lips.

His reaction is immediate. It’s a flurry of caressing, groping, and clothing being removed. A hand cradles the back of your head, and the other finds purchase on your hip. The press of his flesh against yours is electric, and you shiver as his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip.

Jake moans as you open up to him, deepening the kiss. His hand slips to your ass cheek as he slowly shuffles you both toward the bed, pink lips now suckling on your neck. You laugh as you both tumble onto the mattress when he misjudges the distance. He’s quick to follow as you shuffle toward the headboard, his mouth latching onto a breast, and his tongue swirls over the taut nipple.

“F- fuck,” you whimper as you arch into him.

Sharp teeth gently graze the nub, and he mumbles, “You have beautiful tits,” as he shifts to suck the neglected nipple into the damp heat of his mouth. Jake’s hands rest on your hips as he knees closer between your legs. A hand replaces his mouth, kneading your breast as he sits up. “I’ve wanted you like this for a long time.”

“Well, now that you’ve got me, what’s your plan?” you snark, eyes mere slits as you stare up at his pretty face. The smirk you typically want to smack from his smug features is now inexplicably sexy as he pops a brow.

“Well, I was thinking maybe a little begging…”

The hard pinch to your pebbled bud contrasts with the soft brush of fingers up your thigh, and your walls clench as goosebumps race across your flesh.

“Maybe a little screaming.” Jake leans forward and presses a hand into the pillow next to your head as the other splays over your stomach, thumb lightly brushing your clit.

You tilt your hips, seeking friction, and he chuckles, shifting his hand up and away from where you need him. Refusing to give him what he wants so easily, you bite your lip to keep the plea locked away.

“Now, now, none of that. I want to hear you.” Jake nips at your bottom lip, pulling it from between your teeth. At the same time, he slips two fingers into your already slick heat, causing you to jerk and moan loudly. “There we go.”

Not wanting to give him the upper hand – you silently chuckle at the unintentional pun – you reach down and encircle his dick with a gentle squeeze.

The steady pump of his fingers falters as he growls, “Shit!” But he grasps your wrist to halt any movement on your part. “Nope. Not yet.”

“Jake,” you whine, dragging out his name. “That’s not fair.”

“I haven’t heard any begging yet.” The pressure of his grip increases, and he pulls his fingers from inside you, slowly licking each one clean as he stares you down.

You hate to admit how easily he got you worked up, but your body betrays you. You’re right on the precipice, and you want him to send you over the edge in the best way. Loosening your hold on his throbbing dick, you whimper, “Please…”

“What was that?” He releases your wrist, capturing your hand and entwining your fingers as he pushes them into the pillow above your head. “Do you need something?”

The smug smile is back, and you have reverted to wanting to slap it off his face, but instead, you give in and plead, “Please… please… I want you to make me come,” while plotting your revenge.

“That’s better.”

He squeezes your hand and swiftly pushes his fingers back inside you as his thumb circles your clit.

Jake is as adept with his hands in the bedroom as he is in the cockpit of a fighter jet. Within moments, you’re screaming his name, your free hand gripping the back of his neck, your inner muscles contracting tightly around the fingers pressed against that sweet spot.

“Damn,” Jake groans, “that’s so hot. But we’re just getting started.”

Jake struts into the bathroom and presses himself to your back, resting his chin on your shoulder. He smiles at your reflection in the mirror while you set your toiletries out on the countertop. He lived up to his reputation, and after a few rounds of him making you come with his tongue, fingers, and cock you decide to shower to give you both some time to recover.

“You're getting all clean just for me to make you dirty again,” Jake smirks, kissing your shoulder and scrapping it away with his teeth.

“You can get me as dirty as you like,” you say, “but I need to shower.”

“Seems like a waste, but okay.” he shrugs and holds up the room service menu. “Do you want more wine or water?”

“Both,” you chuckle, “we’re gonna need to hydrate.”

“Copy that,” he says before smacking your ass and walking back into the room to put the order in.

You overindulge in the shower because the water pressure is impressive, and the waterfall showerhead is calming. You also need a minute, or ten, to get yourself in check. The sex is phenomenal, but Jake has surprised you. Shockingly, he’s respectful, attentive, and not as selfish as you expected. He constantly checked in to make sure you were okay, and that you liked what he was doing, and though he rarely needed it, he asked for direction.

You recognize this is dangerous ground to be walking on, but it’s only a weekend, two nights of surrendering to your desires, and then it’s over. You can do this.

There’s little point in dressing again. Jake is sure to have you naked and moaning again soon enough, so once you’ve showered, you opt for a t-shirt and clean underwear - you need to be somewhat presentable when room service arrives.

You're pulling the garment over your head as you leave the bathroom, but you freeze as soon as your head is free.

Jake is standing beside the prepared table, wearing nothing but a smile and a white towel slung over his arm. The dimmed lights and the candles dotted around the room create dancing shadows on the walls. The table is set for two - silver serving trays with large round lids hiding the delicious-smelling delights beneath them, and a bottle of wine is cooling in the ice bucket. A single rose in a slim vase adorns the center of the table, with a small gift-wrapped box set in front of it.

“Jake,” you gasp, unable to hide the shock.

His smile is full of charm and pride at the reaction. “I told you,” he says, walking closer, “full Seresin service.”

“I’m getting more naked butler vibes,” you jest, accepting his offered hand and letting him lead you to the table.

He laughs, pulling out your chair, “Same thing.” Quickly, he rushes around to his side, picking up the gift and handing it to you as he sits down. “I swear I picked this up before the whole setup and sex thing. It‘s meant as a thank you for letting me join you.”

Intrigue has you ripping off the fancy bow and paper with perhaps too much enthusiasm. It’s a bottle of your favorite perfume, thoughtful, expensive, and unexpected.

“You said it was your favorite back at the store,” Jake explains.

“Thank you.”

It’s a lovely gesture, and though you don’t want to think about it, you can’t help but wonder how many women have been charmed by the Full Seresin Service. He clearly knows what you want, the romance of it all, but come Monday morning, this will all be a distant memory.

The following day is a blur of sex. Jake doesn’t hold back, and you each teach the other a thing or two. He takes a shower around four and has some kind of epiphany while seemingly enjoying the fancy shower because he exits with a wide grin and a burst of enthusiasm.

“Do what you need to get ready for a fancy event,” he says.

“What?” you question, watching him pull on sweats. “I didn’t pack anything to wear to a fancy event, Jake.”

“Trust me,” he says, sitting on the chair and slipping his sneakers on. “Take a shower, do your make-up, leave the rest to me.”

“Where’re you going?”

He grabs his wallet and phone, swipes the room key from the top of the dresser, and gives you a swift kiss. “Trust me,” he says again, leaning back to look at you. “I won’t be long, you’ve got an hour.”

He’s true to his word, and less than an hour later, he returns carrying three shopping bags and a proud smile.

You’ve applied light make-up and styled your hair, “You look good.” Jake compliments. “Here,” he hands you the largest bag and one of the smaller ones. “Take them in the bathroom, but don’t come out until I tell you.”

He’s far too excited, but you don’t protest his instructions, intrigued by what the big surprise is.

In the bathroom, you pull the garment out of the bag - a long, bronze, cowl-neck chiffon dress. It’s beautiful and undoubtedly expensive because he’s already removed the tags. There are strappy heels to match in the other bag.

You slip the dress on over your head, careful not to touch your hair, and it instantly makes you feel sexy. The fabric is soft, and the color looks good on you.

“Ready when you are,” Jake calls.

After putting the shoes on, you take a few extra moments to check your reflection, twisting left and right. It’s not the kind of dress you can wear underwear with, and you shuffle your panties off. Now, the gesture of the dress makes a little more sense. You assume there’s something in it for Jake, too.

Jake gasps as soon as you step out. “Wow.” his mouth remains in the O shape while you twirl for him. “Damn, you look… wow.”

You look him up and down - black suit pants, formal shoes, his shirt and jacket are the same bronze color as your dress. He looks edible, but before the drool can escape your mouth, he’s in your space.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close to him. He nips your ear. “Maybe we forget the rest of the plan, and I’ll just fuck you in this dress instead.”

“I mean, that is the deal,” you laugh, scrapping your nails down the nape of his neck, “but I’m intrigued about the rest of the plan.”

“Come on,” he grins, taking your hand and leading you out of the room.

The room is filled with joy. Everyone is smiling and happy, people chatting and dancing, eating the canapes being served by the wait staff. Jake feels giddy. He has no other word for it and brushes it off as the atmosphere in the room, but he knows better. It’s you, or rather the two of you.

It feels right. Like the last puzzle piece falling into place after months of trying to figure out the complex picture.

Jake senses you’re nervous, eyes darting around the room, sipping your drink too often. “Relax,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on the small of your back.

“How can I?” you ask, “we’re gate crashing a wedding.”

“Act like you belong,” he advises, “We look like we belong. Stop worrying.” He catches a server as they pass, grabs two fresh glasses of champagne from the tray, and hands you one. “To the bride and groom.”

“Whoever they are,” you toast.

Jake keeps his hand on the small of your back as you each watch the celebration for a while. It’s not only to assure you he’s there but also to make sure anyone looking, and he’s seen a few men looking, knows that you're with him.

“So, Jake,” you start, wistful and light as you turn your back to the room and focus on him. “Is this your end goal? Marriage? Kids? The whole nine yards?”

“Definitely,” he nods, “someday.”

You can’t hide your expression, even though you try by taking a delicate sip of your drink.

He cocks his brow. “Why does that shock you?”

“It doesn’t, not really. You're a family guy. I’ve seen that on family days and heard you call your sister, but” you grimace around in an apologetic tone, “you don’t exactly pick the settling-down types.”

“Ha,” he laughs. “Okay, that’s fair.” He sobers a little, mind reeling at the list of exes he knows you're aware of to have made that conclusion.

“You tend to go for the jealous, insecure, toxic type,” you explain. “And that’s not to say you’re not as toxic sometimes, but there’s a pattern.”

He scoffs in offense. “Wait a second, when have I been the toxic one?”

“Laura.” You say without hesitation. “You let her believe you and me were screwing because you wanted to break up with her.”

“No, no, no,” Jake corrects, “you got that all wrong. I did break up with her and she assumed it was because of you. That’s not my fault.”

“Did you explicitly tell her we weren’t sleeping together?”

He shrugs, laughing around the rim of his glass. “No, ‘cause I was too busy trying to sleep with you.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. “And Nicole?”

“Okay, yeah, she was just a crazy person.”

“I know!” you remember. “She threw a bottle at me in the Hard Deck. If it weren't for Nat’s cat-like reflexes, I’d have a scar right now.”

“That was some kung-fu master shit she pulled. I think that’s what made Coyote fall for her.”

“Don’t change the subject, Lieutenant,” you say. “What about Kate? I had to pretend to be your pregnant wife to get her to leave you alone.”

“Point made, toxic, jealous, and insecure.” he agrees. “I guess I’m not ready to settle down yet, so I keep making bad decisions.”

“Well, what’s one more?” you wink.

His heart skips, and he feels a little sick. You’re not a bad decision. In fact, you're probably the only good decision, women-wise, he’s made since he was a teenager.

You're the take-back-home type of girl. The kind of woman he’d proudly introduce to his family. Though the predecessors who had the privilege didn’t work out, he feels if it were to end the same with you, you’d forever be the ex that his family continued to invite to family functions, and his mom would sigh and tell him he’d lost a good one every time she saw you.

“You are not jealous, insecure, or toxic, Cosmo,” Jake says.

“Exactly,” you laugh. “So clearly not your type.”

He doesn’t correct you, even though you are absolutely wrong. “What about you?” Jake asks. “You want the whole nine yards?”

“I guess, with the right guy.” You finish your drink and put the empty glass on the table. “Okay, if we’re doing this,” you say, “let's do it right. Mr Seresin, may I have this dance?”

He accepts your offered hand and leads you to the dance floor. A few people give you odd looks, trying to place who you are, but it’s easily ignored.

Jake’s raging boner after one and a half slow songs and perhaps too much winding and grinding for a public place is not so easily ignored. “Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, and he gladly takes you back to the room.

The sex after the wedding was mind-blowing. Jake doesn’t know how, but every time, it gets better. He feels the butterflies in his stomach every time you touch him, casual touches, a brush of his hand, a lazy sleep-hazed kiss.

It’s Sunday afternoon, the last night, and Jake knows without a doubt that he’s not ready to let this go. It’s not just about the sex, which is fucking - excuse the pun - amazing, but it’s the intimacy of it all too.

You're different. In the confines of the hotel room, you're freer, shameless, and adventurous, revealing secrets that only make him want you more. The pillow talk is deep and meaningful and, at other times, fun and light. Both make him want to talk to you as much as fuck you.

He lies on the bed, watching you pack your suitcase. The items you won’t need in the morning. “Urgh,” you groan, “I hate packing.”

“Me too.”

“I wish I was that last-minute kinda person,” you say, folding a clean t-shirt and placing it neatly in the suitcase. You haven’t had much use for the clothes you packed.

Jake cocks his brow at you in the mirror, “You are wasting precious fuckin’ time.”

“I know,” you say with an apologetic grimace. “The weekend pass expires at midnight. But I can’t not do this.”

He laughs lightly, shuffling off the bed, and saunters over, slipping his arms around your waist while you organize your things. “Worth the price of admission?”

“Absolutely.” You smirk at his reflection in the mirror. “Ten out of ten. Would highly recommend.”

“Repeat customer?” he asks, sucking in a breath and holding it while he waits for your answer. He can laugh it off as a joke if the reply is negative, but he hopes it’s positive.

“I’ll leave the money on the dresser,” you squirm out of his embrace, turning to kiss his lips quickly. “Gigolo Jake.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he admits, delivering a harder kiss to your cheek. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

The shower is running, but he’s not under the spray. Instead, he’s naked, sitting on the cold closed toilet lid, texting Coyote.

He’s breaking the rules. He knows he is, but he needs to talk it through with someone because what he’s feeling is new and confusing.

<Hangman: I need you to promise me this stays between us. Not even Phoenix can know.

>Coyote: What’d you do now bro?

<Hangman: Promise me.

>Coyote: Promise.

<Hangman: I slept with her.

>Coyote: So?

<Hangman: Repeatedly.

>Coyote: I’m confused. Was it bad or something?

<Hangman: No. It was…

He struggles to find the word, and his cock twitches while his memory replays the last twenty-four hours.

<Hangman: Phenomenal. I wanna do it again and again and again.

>Coyote: 🤣🤣🤣. Sorry to tell you but that’s what happens when you like someone Jake. You go back for more.

<Hangman: Not me.

>Coyote: Except now you feelin’ some type of way and you’re freaking out.

<Hangman: YES! What the hell man?! It was supposed to be a one-and-done!

>Coyote: Man, I'm the wrong person to ask. I never meant for Nat and me to be a thing but now I can’t imagine not being with her.

<Hangman: Not helping.

>Coyote: Sorry bro. It is what it is now. Embrace it.

<Hangman: Embrace it how?

>Coyote: You could start by telling her you actually like her. Do some of that Seresin Speciality romance stuff.

<Hangman: She has a tattoo low on her hip, a fighter jet in the night sky. I swear there’s a H in the stars. I can’t stop looking at it. It’s like it’s meant to be.

>Coyote: Wow, you sound like you’re way below the hard deck.

He’s not wrong. Jake’s flying below a level that isn’t safe, and he can either pull the ejection handle or do some pilot shit and finish the mission.

>Coyote: Phoenix says she’s all for grand gestures and actions speaking louder than words.

<Hangman: 🙄way to keep a promise.

>Coyote: She can read too dude. Sorry.

<Hangman: I forgot you have your text size big enough to read from the moon.

>Phoenix: 🤣 He does! Now quit stalling. Go tell Cosmo you like her.

<Hangman: I might have an idea or two for a grand gesture. Thanks for the tip.

>Coyote: Hey I’m not straining my eyes and having to wear glasses and not being able to fly.

It probably would have been easier to start a group chat.

Jake decides not to reply. He’s wasting water. Setting his phone on the countertop, he steps into the shower.

He’s not ready to say goodbye to the weekend and go back to reality, and grand gestures should happen somewhere nice and memorable. He needs to set things in motion.

“Cosmo,” he calls out.

“Yeah,” you yell back.

He doesn’t want to scream it at you, so he asks, “Come here, will ya?” while he lathers his hair with shampoo.

He sticks his head out of the shower as you enter the bathroom. You chuckle, smiling as you swipe soap suds off his brow before they trickle into his eye. It’s a sweet and delicate touch, but it sends his heart racing.

He clears his throat. “You’re not scheduled to work till Friday, right?” he asks, though it’s unnecessary because he’s always aware of your schedule.

“Yeah,” you sigh. The reminder brings a touch of reality to the room.

He feels a wave of nerves but ignores them, hearing Coyote’s voice in his head, ‘Embrace it.’ “How about we stay a couple more nights? I’ll upgrade you to the Premium Seresin Package.”

You chuckle and look a little sheepish when you reply. “Um….yeah, okay. But the same rules apply.”

“Yeah, obviously. I wouldn’t want…”

His phone chiming interrupts, and simultaneously, you both look at the message preview.

>Coyote: Go chase that flying jet and make her see stars…

“Really?!” you scoff. “Couldn’t even make it back to base before you go shooting your mouth off! What happened to ‘no one has to know’?”

“Cosmo, wait,” he calls as you leave, slamming the door. As quickly as he can, he rinses the shampoo from his hair. “Shit!” There is no towel hanging up, and he has no choice but to exit naked and dripping wet.

You shove your feet into your sneakers, carry-on slung over your shoulder, suitcase zipped and ready to go. “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit!”

“It wasn’t bullshit,” Jake says, grabbing your wrist to try and get you to slow down.

“Don’t touch me.” You snatch your arm away. “I can’t believe I trusted you, Hangman. I should’ve known you’d hang me out to dry, too!” You sneer, and the disgust in your expression breaks him a little.

He ignores the jab of hurt that stabs through him, trying again. “Cosmo, I swear it’s not what you think.”

You grab your suitcase handle and march toward the door, but Jake is closer, and he steps in your path.

He pleads, “Please let me explain.”

“Move.”

He doesn’t, and instead of asking again, you shove into his shoulder and drag your suitcase behind you. The wheels hit his toes. “Fuck!” he yells, hopping around on one leg, clutching his injured foot before falling onto the bed. “Don’t leave, please, Cosmo.”

But it’s too late. You're out the door and gone.

Part 3 - Didn't Know Then What I Know Now

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#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #fic #tgm #fluff #tgm fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #coyote #phoenix

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alizha · 1 month ago

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𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 '𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉 | 𝑷𝒐𝒆 𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 | 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕

Rating: E Word Count: 6,969 (nice) Tags: nsfw, f/m, friends to lovers, porn with plot, sex pollen, cunnilingus, piv sex

Summary: Your lives run concurrent to each other for nearly ten years. What's it going to take to break out of the push and pull of your attraction to Poe Dameron?

masterlist | cross posted to ao3

You’re eighteen the first time you ever see Poe Dameron. The way people talk about him, you’d think he was some sort of mythical creature. A manticore or a phoenix, like the one in the stylized New Republic insignia on your sleeve.

Hosnian Prime is a hostile world that you’ve just entered. It’s not scorching and dry or filled with poisonous gas, but it is cold and sterile and filled with ruthless cutthroats. Except they’re really just young people your own age who would do anything to get ahead of the competition in the medical academy. Because you’re all already competing with the surgical droids, diagnostic scanners, and a whole host of medical AIs.

The flight academy is also on Hosnian Prime, and it seems every girl in your year is familiar with the name Poe Dameron.

He’s twenty-one. You can’t even remember the first time you heard his name. Though you get the peculiar feeling that he must have some character flaws that all the secondhand accounts fail to mention in between all that talk about his skills and his looks.

It happens on neither a notable day nor at a notable time. He’s at the river walk with his friends, you’re on a stroll with a group of your fellow medcorps privates.

“That’s him. Poe Dameron,” they whisper. “He’s one of Antilles’ best. Mother was a Rebel hero.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you glance up as you pass him. For a brief moment, you’re looking at Poe Dameron, and he’s looking at you. Then, the moment is gone, and you don’t think about him again for as long as his reputation will let you.

❖ ❖ ❖

When you graduate from the academy and fully enter the New Republic service, there’s only a handful of your classmates left. The transfer from the academy to the naval base on Hosnian Prime is trying to say the least. Longer hours, smaller rooms, and more noise.

And Poe Dameron is there. He’s twenty-three and you’re twenty. The mess hall cheers when he walks through the doors.

“He’s so impressive, isn’t he?” a former classmate to your left titters. Her mouth forms into a frown when she sees your blank expression. “Come on. He’s just been promoted. Commander of his own squadron.”

“And he’s so young,” another girl adds.

There’s no way of expressing how insignificant any of this is to you without sounding bitter. So, you settle on saying, “Good for him,” in the most neutral tone you can conjure.

When you’re at blaster practice a few days later (because even though you joined the Navy to become a doctor, you’re still expected to learn how to defend yourself), Poe Dameron is at the shooting range. One gallery over with a couple of his pilot buddies. You don’t know who the officer on duty is, but they must be friends with Dameron because no one says anything about the ruckus they’re causing.

You hear their boisterous laughter, snippets of their conversation: “Blasted into oblivion… Flew circles around them… Told ‘em to punch it!” It dulls your concentration and makes you grit your teeth.

Shoulders back, feet apart. Hold the blaster like you’re not letting anyone take it from you. Breathe.

You squeeze the trigger, and in rapid succession, you hit all your targets. The sound of the blaster fire overtakes the hum of their laughter, and the conversation fizzles out. It isn’t until you lower your blaster that you realize the range has finally gone silent.

“Nice shot!” Dameron’s voice breaks the silence.

You turn to look at him, but he’s already scurrying out of the gallery, pulled along by his friends.

The rest of his time at the Hosnian Prime base, the two of you barely speak. There are only occasional nods and brief ‘good mornings’ as you pass each other in the halls. And then, in a month’s time, he’s gone. Deployed to some space station on some important mission. Inconsequentially, life goes on.

❖ ❖ ❖

Mirrin Prime is your first and only foreign duty station. The last of your classmates are gone—scattered across the galaxy at other New Republic bases or space stations. Luckily, being in the service creates a shared experience that is good for fostering a quick sense of camaraderie.

The medcorps seniors take you under their wing. They show you the ropes, teach you the best places on base to study, and take you to the local hotspots. There’s one bar most of the New Republic service members seem to prefer, tucked away on the basement floor of a building in the seaport district.

Poe Dameron’s squadron has been stationed at Mirrin Prime for over a year already, and you would have had to be living under a rock to not know it. He’s twenty-six, and you’re just about to turn twenty-three.

He’s always been this famed figure, fawned after by all, but now his reputation seems larger than life. The ace pilot, made commander in his early twenties, with somebody different on his arm every week. You scoff, despite yourself.

“What?” Miri asks. “It’s true. He could have practically anyone in this bar.”

“Then, he’s a bigger sleazeball than I thought,” you mutter under your breath. Getting into this with your friend isn’t really something you wanted to do. So, you try to laugh it off. You just don’t understand the fascination.

One night, he’s at the bar at the same time as you, and to your utter bewilderment, he slides into the stool beside you while Miri and Kryscha are getting more drinks. You’re about to tell him the seat is taken when he opens his mouth.

“Lemme guess, they don’t serve swill like this to rich girls like you on whatever Core World planet you’re from.”

His voice is smooth as Corellian whiskey. And paired with that playful look, you almost don’t hear him at all. It’s the first time your eyes and his meet so directly. But after a moment, your brain processes his words. You refuse to let him see you speechless.

“I’m from Taanab.”

One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Close enough. I’m Poe Dameron, by the way.”

“I know who you are.” Then, after a beat, you realize you should reciprocate. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” he says, interrupting you cheekily. “I remember you from Hosnian Prime.”

When your friends return, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of Poe Dameron at their table, he invites the three of you to join him and his friends. You pass for tonight, but Miri and Kryscha are happy enough to go along with them. You can’t pass forever, though, and when your friends all start to invite you out for the chance to have a drink with Poe Dameron, commander of Rapier Squadron, you start to cave.

That’s how your acquaintance with Poe Dameron begins. More and more each time you meet, you’re convinced all the high praise he receives is just a bunch of hot air. He’s really just a cocky flyboy with a lot of reckless tendencies and dumb luck.

He proves your point a few months later when he’s brought into the medbay after a nasty crash, and you’re the medic on call. You can’t help the way you storm in, heart beating in your throat in anticipation of the chewing out you were planning on giving him.

And no, it’s not because you’re mad at him for inviting Kryscha out on that date last week. It’s not envy you feel swelling in the pit of your stomach. It’s frustration that Poe thinks he’s too good to best, too good to get himself killed.

“Hey, you,” he says weakly when he sees you walk in, and the scolding you prepared dies on your tongue.

You patch him up roughly, tie his bandages on a little too tight. He squirms beneath the undue strength of your hands, even stifles a few groans and covers them up with a chuckle.

“I can’t tell if you’re mad at me or if you’re getting some sort of weird pleasure out of this.”

“Please.” You fix him with your scowl. “Don’t joke about this. You’re lucky you look worse than you actually are.”

“Will my looks be spared, you think?” He hisses as you pat the scrape along his cheekbone with bacta.

“It’s a long shot, but I think they’ll survive.”

That’s the closest you’ve ever come to admitting Poe Dameron is an attractive man. Even now, you’re inches away from his face, his bloodied shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, and your fingers hover over the musculature of his bared shoulder. All the evidence you need right in front of you, and you still won’t say it outright.

The months roll by, and all the while, the ever-expanding shadow of the First Order looms over the New Republic. Miri is deployed on a diplomatic mission alongside Rapier Squadron and comes back with stories about Poe that sound a little intimate. But you think you’re reading too much into it until Miri starts grabbing drinks after work with Poe alone.

❖ ❖ ❖

When Poe’s rotation at Mirrin Prime is nearly complete, he’s twenty-eight. You’re twenty-five.

He’s angrier than he used to be. Still flippant, but there’s an undercurrent of unrest in his voice when he speaks up about the New Republic’s leniency toward the First Order. He clenches his jaw and patrols trade lanes in the sector when what he wants is to be daring.

He gets his chance when one of those routine patrols goes sideways. Apparently, his droid picks up a distress call from a hijacked freighter he’s been tracking. Four Rapiers engage. Only three return.

You finally get the holocall you’ve been expecting. Poe Dameron is waiting for you in the medbay. His head got dinged sometime during the engagement over Suraz.

“I was being careful. I promise.”

He says it for your benefit, but it rings like a lie. You gently move aside his dark curls to apply bacta to his stitches.

“So you’re not going to do anything stupid?”

Poe cracks a grin at that, suppressing the wince that results from the coolness of the bacta against his warm scalp. “Now, why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” You’re too tired to think of something witty right now, so you pass that off for him to do.

“Why don’t we make a wager? If I come back alive from whatever it is I’m about to do, you go out for a drink with me.”

Your fingers stiffen up, and you quickly withdraw your hands to your sides. Even when you’re expecting something crazy to come out of his mouth, Poe still manages to surprise you.

“No, thank you.”

You turn to wash your hands and gather your things, and he lets you leave without another word. When you mention the short encounter to your friends at supper, unnerved and quite frankly a little angry that her friend, Poe Dameron, would deign to ask her to have a drink with him, they burst out into uncontrollable laughter. As if nobody in their right mind would relate to how you feel about it.

“Seriously? So, you turned him down then,” Miri asks.

“Of course.”

She shakes her head like you’re being ridiculous. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. It’s not like we were ever anything serious.”

“It’s not that,” you insist.

“Then, what is it?”

You close your mouth with a snap. There’s an answer waiting on your lips, but you’re afraid that it’ll sound like you’re being judgy. You simply do not want to be another person to fall over themselves trying to spend a night with Poe Dameron. Your refusal would likely do little to temper his ego in the long run, but it was really just about the principle of the thing.

When Poe disappears, not long after your conversation in the medbay, you can’t even be surprised. Command is furious. His squadron mates are brought in for questioning.

In the midst of the confusion, you’re sent with a different squadron on a mission to a space station in the mid rim. A hologram message from Miri fills you in. Poe has returned and been detained.

By the time you return from your mission, he’s gone without so much as a note, along with what was left of his squadron. There are rumors he’s joined the splinter group of the New Republic led by General Leia Organa.

❖ ❖ ❖

It’s not long after your twenty-seventh birthday that you and a few of your fellow medics decide to defect to the Resistance too. You’d heard Poe landed his own command of an entire attack wing in the Resistance.

Sure enough, one of your first missions sees you working with a few pilots from one of his squadrons. He’s just gotten back from one of his own operations and is there to personally brief his men. His lips quirk up at the corners when he spots you approaching.

“This one’s trouble, so keep an eye on her,” he says teasingly. “Make sure everything’s in order before you head out.”

He dismisses the pilots to finish prepping and turns to look you over like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. You bite back the acid that threatens to spew out of your mouth at him for leaving without a word.

“Been a while. How you doing, sweetheart?”

No, he doesn’t get to do that. “I have to go, Dameron. They’re waiting for me.”

You go to shove past, but he stops you with a large hand on your shoulder. Looking at him this close reveals shallow lines of age at the corners of his eyes and the plane of his forehead, eyes sunken in, and a hollowness to his cheeks that you never noticed before. Nearly a decade has slipped by without you even realizing it.

“It’s good to have you on board.” He says it with an authenticity that he reserves for serious occasions, few and far between.

You answer with a nod, and he releases you. He waits and watches from the hangar until your ship makes the jump to hyperspace.

❖ ❖ ❖

The sound of blaster fire rings in your ears as you sprint through the unfamiliar hangar, an insistent hand on the small of your back pressing you on as you swerve to avoid stacks of cargo and startled droids. You want to turn around and snap at the man the hand is attached to, but the situation you find yourself in is a little too precarious for personal gripes.

“Shouldn’t we go back and help?!” you yell over the twangs of ricocheted shots on metal.

“No time!” Poe says as he ushers you into the cramped cockpit of the light freighter he’d flown you in on. “Besides, we’re the ones they’re after. I need to get you out of here.”

“But—”

The words you were about to speak fade away under the roar of the ship’s engines. You barely have time to throw your bag onto the floor and slip on your headset before Poe launches the ship out of the hangar. He narrowly avoids scraping the ship against the edge of the entrance on the way out.

“Kriff! The only thing I need protecting from out here is you!” you shout, grappling for a hold of something to keep yourself steady as you struggle to strap into your seat. The high-pitched sound of two TIE fighters screeches behind, followed by more blaster fire.

“You sure about that?” he retorts, sending the ship into an evasive dive.

You’re pretty sure Poe stalls for as long as he can to show off a few of his flashy maneuvers to no one in particular, hooting victoriously in his usual self-satisfied manner after each one. Finally, he lines up a shot and takes out both enemy fighters in quick succession.

“Did you see that?!” Poe cries.

You fight the urge to let out a frustrated scream. “We didn’t have time to go back and help, but you somehow had time for that? Honestly, Dameron, just get us the hell out of here!”

“Okay, okay,” he says, finally punching in the proper coordinates to make the jump to hyperspace. Once you’re hurtling through the familiar blue tunnel, you breathe a small sigh of relief and relax the tense muscles of your shoulders.

“Aw, stop your pouting, Doc. We made it out in one piece, didn’t we?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I wouldn’t call losing an entire shipment of medical supplies a win.”

That purchase had taken weeks to set up and cost the Resistance a not-insignificant sum. Kalonia was gonna kill you.

“It wasn’t worth the risk. You’re more valuable than a bunch of bacta and synthplast,” Poe says.

From anyone else, those words would have sounded like a compliment. But this is Poe Dameron, and taking harebrained risks is almost second nature to him. The unexpectedly charitable comment rolls off you like water off an airtight seal. It takes a lot of restraint to hold in a scoff, but you’ve had plenty of practice.

He’s always been impossible.

“Didn’t you manage to salvage a few things?” Poe jerks his head toward your discarded bag. You’d only had enough time to shove a few handfuls of supplies into it without checking what you were taking once the shooting started.

“A few bandages and some pain medicine? Regardless, we should have gone back and helped,” you mutter, folding your arms across your chest. “Not just for the supplies. We were meant to refuel before heading back.”

“Don’t sulk. It’ll be fine. And I’ll put in a good word with the major for you,” Poe says.

And with that, your self-control falters. You let out a short laugh. As if he were so important that his word would do anything to lessen the failure of your mission.

“No, thank you. I think I’m good,” you bite out at him.

He pauses to scrutinize you pensively. “I honestly thought you were just having a bad day, but you really don’t like me, do you? I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realize it.”

A bad day, he says. That’s one way to describe it. But his accusation finally catches you off guard and you sputter a bit.

“A-are you sure you’re not just used to getting special treatment from everyone else?”

He shakes his head. “Look, it’s okay. I know I’m not everybody’s cup of tea.” He lapses for a moment, thoughtful, then adds, “I mean, I’m most people’s. But not yours. There’s no accounting for taste, but I respect your opinion.”

You groan quietly and dig the heels of your palms into your eyes. He’s teasing you. Or he isn’t, and he’s disguising a genuine wound behind a glib attitude. Part of you doesn’t wish to know which is true, so you unstrap yourself from your seat and hoist yourself up onto your feet.

“I can never tell if you’re screwing with me,” you mutter as you duck out of the cockpit and shut the door behind you.

You’re not running away. You’re not. You’re just tired and overwrought from this mission. It’s going to be a few hours before the ship reaches D’Qar, so you might as well try to relax. Luckily, there’s a space in the main hull for you to put up your feet. And although you’re not looking for it, you fall expeditiously into an uneasy sleep.

❖ ❖ ❖

The feeling of the starship lurching out of hyperspace jerks you awake. Even though you’re groggy from your nap, you know it’s too soon for the ship to have reached the Ileenium system already. You stretch out your arms and get to your feet.

“Poe?”

He doesn’t look up at you as you squeeze back into the cockpit. His focus is fixed on the nav computer, brows knitted and his lower lip drawn into a soft bite between his teeth. There’s an ever-growing sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Poe, what’s going on?” you ask carefully.

“We, uh…” He chuckles sheepishly. “We ran out of fuel.”

“What?”

“Now, you don’t have to say ‘I told you so.’ I admit, we should have fueled up before we left.”

“You think?”

Poe finally turns to meet your furious gaze with those big brown eyes of his, exuding innocence. “In my defense, I was trying to save our lives.”

At this point, you’re trying your best not to smack yourself in the forehead in frustration. First, you fail to complete your mission. Now, you were going to need rescuing on top of that.

“Okay, what do we do now? Did you get in touch with the base?” You don’t even know why you’re making such an effort to keep your voice steady and calm.

“Great question,” Poe says in a chipper tone that puts you on edge. “We’re getting picked up by a New Republic patrol. They should be here in just a couple hours.”

Maker, you knew what that meant. It meant the Resistance couldn't spare a ship to pick them up, so they’re letting someone else who was already in the area do the rescuing. And it meant more time than expected spent in close quarters with Poe.

You’re still feeling awkward from earlier. Maybe you should head back to claim the hull for yourself to wait it out alone. You’re just about to do just that when Poe speaks up again suddenly.

“Hey, I don’t suppose I could have some of that medicine? I think I pulled something running away earlier.”

“Whatever.” You wave your hand dismissively and drop back into your chair, staring out into the starry void.

He gets up and shuffles around behind you. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

Poe doesn’t answer. It sounds like he’s fiddling with something now, like a stick lid. You let out a beleaguered sigh and turn just in time to see him jimmy the opening of a small canister.

“Wait—,”

It opens with a pop and releases a loud hiss. Although you can’t see anything, the noise is a clear indication that Poe has just released something into the air. Instinct takes over, and you spring up to smack the canister out of his hand. It clatters to the ground, and he gives you a strange look.

“What was that supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!”

“What was even in that thing?”

A thousand scenarios race through your head. It could have been anything. Poe likely inhaled most of whatever came out of that canister. “Do you feel anything?”

He contemplates for a moment, then shakes his head. “I feel normal.”

“Okay, that’s a good sign.”

You get up and walk over to where the canister has rolled against the wall. When you pick it up to inspect the label, you have to rub your eyes to make sure you’re reading it right.

“Uhm… you’ll be okay, Poe. Don’t panic, okay?”

He jumps to his feet. “I do not like the way you just said that. What is it, Doc? Poison? Just tell me.”

You fight against a furious blush. Before you can form an answer, Poe’s eyes widen slightly and his head snaps up to meet your gaze. He may not have felt anything before, but it’s clear the effects have started to take hold now.

“What’s happening to me?” he asks, his voice calm but shaky.

There’s a flush spreading over his face that you’re sure matches yours. Perspiration shines on his temple, and he swallows as his blackening pupils flicker around restlessly. They hone in on your mouth when your tongue darts out to wet your suddenly dry lips.

“Experimental drug. Mostly black market.” You pause to bite your lip anxiously. “Acute aphrodisiac. It was developed to artificially increase populations of an endangered species native to the Tapani sector.”

Poe moans into his hands and rubs his knuckles into his increasingly bloodshot eyes. “Okay, that explains… things.”

Embarrassment burns through you, hot and bright. Not for Poe, but for yourself. Because in spite of yourself, there's a lick of desire that shudders down your spine at the sight of him. You turn abruptly to hide your face. What kind of sick person would react this way to this?

You try to turn your frustration around on him. “Why would you mess around with something when you don’t know what’s inside it?”

Behind you, he lets out a groan that sounds as if it’s been muffled against his fist. If he hears your question, he doesn’t have the patience to respond. “How long is this going to last exactly?”

The answer is too mortifying for you to push out of your throat. You wrap your arms around yourself self-consciously. There’s only one way to make the effects of the drug go away. And if you don’t do it, he’ll be in excruciating pain for hours.

There’s not just the waiting for the New Republic patrol to consider. There’s also the matter of getting towed to the nearest system. And if there’s no one who can treat him there, he’ll have to endure refueling and getting the rest of the way to the Resistance base on D’Qar.

You steel your resolve and try to make your face as neutral as possible when you turn back to him. “You don’t have to be in pain. There is something we can do now to neutralize the drug.”

He laughs weakly through his discomfort, and that makes you raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re not seriously suggesting what I think, are you? That-that’s just crazy. Right? Doc?”

Indignantly, you anchor your hands to your hips and frown. “What is it that you think I’m suggesting?”

Poe is quiet for a moment as if he’s waiting for you to give up a jest. But when you only watch him expectantly, he drops his tight smile and says, “Oh, you are serious. No. No. It’s out of the question.”

“I’m suggesting I help out a friend,” you sigh. “Why is that so unthinkable?”

“By having sex with me?” He shakes his head with a scoff.

His tone grates at your nerves. “Well, thanks for that. I thought you were willing to fuck anything that moves, but I guess I’m the one exception to that rule.”

You storm out of the cockpit and mash the side of your fist against the release to close the door behind you. Poe throws himself through before the door can shut completely and grabs you by the shoulder.

“Wait! No, that’s not—,”

You’re about to send your elbow straight into his gut when he doubles over with a cry. He releases his grip on your shoulder and flails wildly until he gets a hold of the wall, letting out a long groan.

“Dank ferrik,” you mutter as you slide your arm under his. He leans against you as you lead him to the sofa where you’d taken a nap earlier. Even through the fabric of his shirt, his skin feels scorching to the touch.

“You have to believe me. It’s not that you’re not a beautiful woman. Because you are. Beautiful, I mean.”

His voice is thin like he’s not getting enough air. You push him to relax against the backrest with a shush.

“Would you just take it easy? I don’t care about that. You’re only putting yourself in more pain.”

“No.” He takes your arms in his hands to cease your ministrations. “You need to hear me. This isn’t how I want this. It’s all wrong. That’s why I can’t have sex with you.”

His gaze is too direct, too piercing. You have to force yourself not to look away. “W-what?”

“Ideally I’d like to have sex with you because you like me,” he says through a groan. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he bites back his pain. “Not because you feel obligated to sleep with me when I’m on the brink of passing out.”

You sigh and crouch down so you’re at eye-level with him. “Poe. I don’t feel obligated to. I want to help you.”

“Doc, no. Okay? And that’s final.”

He shuts his eyes and sucks in a breath through his teeth. And it’s in that moment that it all hits you.

He’s choosing now to be chivalrous. To absolve you of your guilt for causing the continuation of his pain. But you want no part of that. Carefully, you reach out one hand to cup his stubbled face, and the muscles of his jaw jump beneath your fingers.

“I’m not gonna let you suffer.”

His eyes flutter open in time to watch you lean forward, putting your face millimeters from his. They stare transfixed, first at your eyes, then at your lips.

“It’s always been hard to resist you. But I don’t think I can control myself right now.”

His words shoot straight to your core. You’re practically hovering over his lap now. He clenches his fists at his sides—one last desperate attempt to hold himself back.

“You don’t have to,” you breathe.

Then, everything snaps, and Poe is sitting up straight as a knife, mouth crashing onto yours. He kisses you like a man starved. Desperate, without thought for breath, his hands grabbing at your hair and the nape of your neck.

He swallows every gasp before they can even tumble from your lips, knees parting so he can wrench you flush against his chest. His stubble is merciless on the soft skin of your face, and the small moans he emits between nips compounds the growing ache between your legs.

It’s nice. It’s all way more than nice, but he needs more than this to quell the effects of the drug. You reach down between your bodies and feel around and—

Kriff. The bulge at his crotch is already as hard as durasteel. Poe lets out a whine as you squeeze him through the fabric of his pants.

“Not yet,” he whispers, shoving your hand away.

Before you can protest, he flips you onto your back on the sofa and dips down to capture your lips with his again. His tongue slips past your teeth, drags against the roof of your mouth. The pressure of his fingertips on your neck is bliss. When he moves to press a kiss to your throat, your heart starts to beat rabbit-fast in your chest, breaths coming in short bursts.

Poe claws at your arms, grabs at your chest and hips over your clothes, too far gone to bother removing the layers. Your own hands slide under his shirt and along the damp skin of his back, fascinated by the way his muscles ripple beneath your touch. Driven by need, you shove your face to the crook of his neck and mouth at the cords of his throat. His taste bursts across your tongue.

The moan he releases makes you clench your thighs together, and you realize the sheer amount of slick that’s managed to accumulate at your center. Shame heats your face—you’re getting hopelessly turned on by a drugged-up Poe. You’ve refused to be another notch in his belt for almost a decade.

“Hey, look at me.”

He takes you by the chin and tilts slightly so you’re looking into his eyes. They’re nearly black, but there’s still something warm in them that eases the tension in your shoulders. He’s still Poe. He’s still your friend.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He rocks his hardened length against your thigh, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m not.” The words are leaving your mouth before your brain has time to think. They shock him as much as you. For a long moment, all you do is stare at each other, chests heaving. Then, Poe rips the waistband of your pants and underwear down to your knees.

He growls your name into the juncture between your neck and shoulder and dips his index finger into your cunt without preamble. The sudden intrusion makes you lift your back off the sofa, gasping. Another finger joins in, then another, as Poe groans eagerly.

“I’m not sorry,” you pant, hips squirming. “I care about you, Poe.”

“I care about you too. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.”

His head disappears and suddenly he’s positioning his face between your legs. Hot breath fans across your soaking folds as his fingers continue to fuck you unrelentingly. A shudder runs through you in anticipation.

“I’ve thought about tasting you for years,” he murmurs.

Even now, when he’s hovering over his goal, Poe can’t help but love hearing himself talk. You make a frustrated noise and glance down at him. His eyes make contact with yours just as he flattens his tongue against your clit.

All your thoughts dissipate at the molten hot feel of his mouth. There’s no build up, no softness. Just the firm swirl of his tongue and the slide of his fingers, desperate and frenzied like years of longing are pouring out of him at this very moment.

There’s nothing to hold on to, so you fist your hands above your head as you cant your hips. Poe doesn’t mind your writhing. Seems to savor the way your body reacts to his touch. Perhaps he’s dreamt of how you would look pinned beneath him like this.

Pleasure builds at the base of your spine as he moans into your cunt like your sweetness is everything he’s imagined and more. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, a cry finally rips from your throat.

“O-oh! That’s—,”

“You like that?” His voice is so low and husky it reverberates in his chest. Makes you shiver deliciously.

“I need to fuck you now.”

An eagerness forms on his face as you kick your pants off the rest of the way and press your foot into his chest. Obediently, he wraps his fingers around your ankle and straightens, lets you push him down until his back is against the armrest. He flashes you a dark smile as he languidly kisses his way from your ankle to your calf.

“If I’d known you were so keen, I would have done this ages ago.”

“Shut up.” His teasing rips a hole in your pride, but you can’t think of anything more clever to say.

“Yes, Doctor,” he says, winking.

You scoff and make quick work of the closures of his trousers as Poe grips the swell of your hips. He was being way too cocky—you want to smack that smug expression right off his face. The effects of the drug must have been quelled by what the two of you have done so far, but it’s going to take release for him to be cured completely.

With his free hand, Poe reaches past the waistband of his underwear. When he eases out his cock, it’s flushed an angry red and already weeping at the tip. He must be frustrated from the neglect, aching from need. Curiosity compels you to wrap your fingers around his searing thickness, and his mouth falls open with a moan.

A thrill runs through you. He’s beautiful like this. Dark brows drawn together, plush lips parted, and head tipped back to reveal his sharp jaw and exposed throat covered in unshaven shadow. No, he’s always been beautiful. You’ve just always been too stubborn to admit it.

“Please.” His voice comes out like a whine, but a part of you still clings to the idea that his plea is just him indulging you to get what he wants.

Every secret resentment you’ve held against him over the years bubbles to the surface. “I can’t stand you, you smooth-talking, arrogant, laserbrained ass.”

You roll your fist hard over his cock. Poe bites his lower lip to muffle a cry, dazed by the mixture of pleasure and pain.

“You’re gorgeous. I adore you,” he moans, splaying his fingers over your thighs. The strength of his grip makes your mouth water.

Swiftly, you raise your hips up and position the head of his throbbing member at your fluttering entrance. When you sink down, taking the length of him inside you, you both groan. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t feel like defeat.

“Stars. You feel so good.”

He urges you to move, shoving your hips forward in a grinding motion. You squirm above him as you struggle to adjust to his size. When he pushes you back, his cock hits something inside you that makes the edges of your vision go white. You keen his name, and he quickens his pace, guiding you back and forth atop him.

“Say it again. Say my name like you only want me.”

“Poe,” you sigh, driving your hips against his. You clench around him, desperately chasing the sweet release that was just out of reach.

He releases a soft grunt as he lifts up off the armrest and captures your bottom lip between his teeth. You wind your arms under his and dig shallow crescents into his back with your fingernails as he drags the bite out then flicks his tongue over the resulting sting soothingly.

“I’d be yours if you asked, Doc,” he murmurs as he tangles his fingers in your hair. “All you’d have to do is ask.”

You nip at his lip in retaliation, hard enough to draw a yelp from him. “Stop bullshitting me, flyboy.”

Poe’s fingers close around a handful of hair, and he gives it a short tug. You gasp as your head falls back and his lips latch onto the side of your throat. He brazenly sucks a mark into the delicate skin there and grins at his handiwork.

“Brat.”

“Sweetheart.”

He bucks up into you, his cock reaching deeper inside you than his fingers ever could. In a few simple moves, he’s turned the tables and taken control again. The irritation rises in you in tandem with the heat of pleasure building in your belly.

“I’m being serious. It’s not the drug talking,” he says between pants.

You know that. At least while he’s fucking you, the drug has no effect on him. You roll your eyes at him and just focus on riding him. But Poe doesn’t give up easy. He whines your name.

“Leave me alone,” you mutter, grinding down and taking him in to the hilt.

He sucks in a breath and shakes his head. “I can't.”

Rough fingers find their way to your clit and draw tight circles over the bundle of nerves. His other hand slips beneath the fabric of your bra and toys with a hardened nipple. Poe handles your body with the same confidence he has when operating the dash in his X-wing. It’s the last straw that puts you over the edge, and suddenly you feel like you’re taking off into the stars.

He fucks you through your orgasm, plunging into your cunt over and over as he lets broken moans tumble from his mouth indiscriminately. “Beautiful. I’m close. So close.”

You surrender to the frantic rhythm of his thrusts, boneless and hanging on to his taut shoulders for dear life. When his hips begin to stutter, you clench down on him, earning you a strangled cry of your name. Poe drives up one last time and spills inside of you, and the sensation of his hot spurts makes you whimper and shudder over him.

When he collapses back onto the armrest, he takes you down with him so that you’re lying flush against his heaving chest. Everything sounds so distant, so far away compared to the roar of blood pumping in your ears. You stay like that for a while as the both of you try to recover.

“Did that… work?” you ask finally, breaking the silence filled with only the sounds of your combined breaths returning to normal.

“You could say that,” he says. He glances down at you. “Oh, right, the drug. The pain’s gone. Don’t think it’s coming back.”

“Good.”

You start to shift to pull yourself off his softening cock, but he presses a hand against the small of your back to hold you still. Inquisitively, you look back up to meet his gaze. Warm brown was starting to return to the edges of his eyes as his pupils receded.

“Listen, sweetheart. I know you think I’m a flirt. But the truth is it’s just my way of staying in control.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you let out a tired exhale through your nose.

“It’s true. C’mon, best pilot in the Resistance? I’m just a conquest for these people. Turning them into conquests puts the power back into my hands,” he says. “None of them want me because they actually know me.”

“What are you saying?” you ask, your heartbeat high in your throat.

Poe’s fingers dance lazily across your back as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m saying you’re not a conquest. I wasn’t just chasing after you out of some sick, twisted need to bed the one girl I couldn’t have.”

You lift yourself up slightly to get a better look at him, and the softness of his expression threatens to break your heart. He brushes his knuckle against your cheekbone and tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. The gesture is so tender and intimate, it makes your stomach flutter.

“Let me prove it to you. Let me take you out properly when we get back. I promise you, you won’t regret—,”

“Poe,” you say, cutting him off and taking his chin between your thumb and index finger. “It’s a date, alright? So shut up.”

And with that, you lean down to kiss him again and feel him smiling against your lips.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #ao3 #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x you

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sitp-recs · 1 year ago

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15 fics with Harry pursuing unusual careers

I love the adrenaline and potential angst within the Auror partners trope as much as the next guy, but we can all agree that our mental health improves 10 times when we see Harry leaving the Ministry, embracing other possibilities and making his own destiny. This rec list hopes to celebrate those creative, disruptive, feel-good fics that are not afraid to come up with the most absurd positions and original job titles. They can be fun, smutty, depressing, hopeful or cathartic; there’s a little bit of everything in here and I’m hoping to bring some hidden gems into everyone’s radar, too. Happy readings!

Twisted Wizards by Enchanted_Jae (T, 3k)

Draco is just putting his life back together when Potter comes along and mucks it all up again. Job: storm chaser

The R. Correspondence by noeon (T, 7.5k)

While working on the Bagshot papers, Draco makes an important discovery for British Wizarding History. Now if only Harry can keep him alive long enough to enjoy it. Job: private security consultant

Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by @fluxweeed and @lastontheboat (T, 10k)

Or: the one where Harry has writer’s block and Malfoy isn’t helping. Job: writer

Home County, orphaned (G, 10k)

Harry is an architect and the reluctant part-owner of his own firm. Malfoy works at The Ministry but doesn’t actually have a proper job title even though what he does sounds as though it’s pretty important. Job: architect

A Working Title by mindabbles (E, 12k)

Another in the long line of absurd biographies finally drives Harry to a desperate act. How desperate he doesn't know until his ghost writer shows up at his door. Job: Daily Prophet columnist

An Improbable Bout of Summer Madness by acari (E, 16k)

Draco had planned a quiet, peaceful summer holiday with his son. The last thing he expected was to find Potter here, in Draco's little Cornish retreat. Making fudge in a shop? The idea was too ludicrous for words. Job: fudge shop owner

The Strongest Affinity by @eidheann (T, 17k)

Trouble finding a wand for Scorpius leads Harry and Draco to something they never imagined. Job: wandmaker

Phoenix Repair Services by carpemermaid (E, 20k)

Draco hires a suspiciously private wizarding handyman to fix his kitchen when he returns home to find it destroyed. He expects a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and a pudgy gut to show up. Instead, he gets Harry Potter—with a utility belt and a charming smile—who is more attractive than he has any right to be. Job: Handyman

The Snitch-Maker by Omi_Ohmy (T, 21k)

Draco is content with his Snitches, with the tap tap tap of his hammer, and the tiny gears and sharp scent of metal in his workshop - until one day Harry Potter appears, asking for help to solve a rash of Snitch-tampering in the Quidditch world. Job: QUABBLE official (Quidditch representative)

Silhouettes in Sunsets by Pie (T, 22k)

Draco Malfoy was a Gringotts accountant by day and a luthier by night, making musical instruments that sang the language of the player’s heart, language audible only to the ears of his soul mate. Harry Potter was a struggling quill pal to the children of war and the owner of Hedwig’s Owl Emporium on Diagon—haven for future pets, owls retired from services and orphaned chicks. Job: Owl Emporium owner

Better To Burn Than To Fade Away by Ren (E, 23k)

Harry Potter is a legend in the world of broomstick racing. He's won almost every cup, trophy, and bowl – except for the historical London-Nome which has been on hiatus for the past several years. Now the London-Nome is starting again, and Harry will do anything to pull off one last big win. Job: broomstick racer

Doing the Lambeth Walk by @blamebrampton (T, 26k)

There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Job: Owner of a Social Housing and Care Centre

All Roads by @korlaena (M, 36k)

Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out. Draco doesn’t want to face the truth about himself, but he’s stuck between Harry and his duty, and he’s out of options. Job: Magizoologist

Whimsical by strawberryrose (T, 42k)

In which Draco is completely out of his depth (until he isn’t), Harry builds something improbable with the help of his friends, and everyone bonds over food. Job: amusement park owner

What Shall Not Be Unearthed by @iero0 (E, 49k)

At the northernmost point of Shetland, surrounded by pointed cliffs, towers the Ootsta Lighthouse on a small isle in the middle of the open sea. Little does Harry know that he's not the only new lighthouse keeper. Draco Malfoy is as obnoxious as he always was, with his posh tone of voice and his luxury yacht jumpers. Job: lighthouse keeper

#Sitp recs #Drarry reclist #HBD Harry week #odd jobs

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hechiima · 2 years ago

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It's tax season and I don't wanna do mine so instead here's my hcs about AA characters and taxes that literally nobody asked for.

Phoenix: does his own taxes until Apollo shows up then foists the WAA taxes onto Apollo. Does he always do his own taxes correctly or give Apollo the right numbers? Perhaps not. But hey, if they're wrong the IRS will let him know, right? He hasn't been audited yet. 🤷🏻

Edgeworth: has never filled out a tax form in his life. Only knows how taxes work on a theoretical level. Because he's stupid rich and has foreign income, his taxes are wildly complicated. That is what Stephanie, his accountant is for.

Franziska: same as Edgeworth. She also thinks it's stupid that she has to pay American taxes when she's not here.

Apollo: actually capable of doing taxes. Does not use turbotax, thank you very much, because he does not trust them and they are evil. He will check and double check his taxes himself. He has also somehow been conscripted into doing the WAA taxes. Unfortunately, he's not sure if his calculations are correct there because he frankly doesn't trust the numbers that Phoenix has given him. It makes him Wildly Anxious. Terrified of the IRS.

Athena: TurboTax dot com babeyyyyy.

Klavier: also rich and has complicated taxes so he has an accountant to do his. He offered his accountant's services to Apollo but Apollo just ended up double checking the accountant's numbers so he's not sure if the accountant actually saved Apollo any time or grief.

Simon: with Athena on TurboTax dot com. He didn't do taxes for years on account of the being in jail thing so he's not sure what's going on. He also doesn't care that much and his taxes aren't that complicated so he just sorta throws his w2 at Athena and assumes she knows what's going on.

Godot: jail :) No income :)

Gumshoe: free file. He cannot afford turbotax. 😔

Pearl: doing fraud (accidentally)

Maya: doing fraud (negligently)

Trucy: doing fraud (for fun and profit)

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #franziska von karma #apollo justice #athena cykes #klavier gavin #simon blackquill #Godot #pearl fey #maya fey #trucy wright #dick gumshoe #i just think about mundane things these characters do a lot okay #and taxes is as mundane as you can get #tom talks

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characteroulette · 3 months ago

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Hey I'm not done analysing AJ yet. Here's another one on it's theme --

The overarching theme of Apollo Justice (AA4) is your lack of autonomy. You are not the protagonist of this game. Your decisions don't really matter in the plot; yes, you make the choices which progress the game, you're the one puzzling out the truth to these cases, but you aren't the one who is in control. This is emphasized through small hints in the dialogue (Apollo knows he's out of place between Phoenix and Kristoph's spat, he feels Klavier leading him along both in Wocky Kitaki's case and in Machi Tobaye's case, and Phoenix once again is the one truly in control for the final case), narrative choices (no matter how hard you try, you must present that forged card. You have to present the envelope recreation. You have to present that forged diary page.), and even how we're connected to each client.

Each of our clients wasn't our choice to take. Kristoph was going to defend Phoenix until Phoenix requested for Apollo to take the lead. Alita comes to us only after Trucy hands her a flyer. Klavier tells us that Machi requested our services. Phoenix assigns us to Vera's case without telling us until the last moment.

Even in the flashback case, Phoenix didn't exactly choose to be Zak's lawyer. Kristoph would have defended him if not for Zak's deciding to remove him and choose someone else. (I can't explain what Phoenix is doing there, but it's possible Zak called around in his search for a new attorney and just so happened to land on Phoenix.)

Our clients are the ones who chose us in this whole game. We had no say in the matter; we're just here to keep the plot moving, to walk through the doors which were opened for us in the end.

This is, of course, not followed through in Dual Destinies or Spirit of Justice (because those games are furthering the themes of the Investigations games). It is, however, followed up in Dai Gyakuten Saiban / The Great Ace Attorney.

The very first decision we make in TGAA is about who will take on our client. Who is going to take up our defence? It's a non-choice, of course, because Ryuunosuke is panicking and wants to protect his friend. He can't trust that his best friend believes in his innocence, and through the course of the trial, has to stand more and more with this choice he's foolishly made.

We see his conviction to make this decision evolve through each case. He's fully willing to prove his own innocence once more in the second case without even thinking about it. He's pressured into defending his client in the third case, showing his own conviction faltering as it's slammed into his face that his choices no longer matter. He grapples with what it means to actually decide to trust one's client in the fourth case, deciding in the end to take that leap of faith due to his own faith in his best friend. And then the fifth case, he's the one actively choosing to defend his client, since she continuously tries to reject his help.

I really believe this is where the series would have gone had we kept the same themes from Apollo Justice into its sequels. An exploration on being told our choices don't matter, but then making those choices anyway because they do matter. It's the same sort of feeling that exists in Justice for All's final case; our decision on whether to plead Guilty or Innocent at the final hour before salvation arrives may be a non-choice, but it mattered to us. It mattered, even if the narrative pushed past it and didn't actually take it into account.

We're on the rails, but that doesn't mean what happens can't affect us. We might not have any sway in the narrative, might be led along right to each answer by the nose, but we're still choosing to continue. I think that does matter in the end.

#Momo writes stuff #Essay time for Momo #Ace Attorney #Dai Gyakuten Saiban #DGS #TGAA #The Great Ace Attorney #Spoilers #Apollo Justice #Meta #Analysis #Literary analysis brain goes brrrrrr #Momo is unhinged about Ace Attorney #Anyway I just love AJ #Fave game in the series alongside aa1 #Apollo my absolute beloved #Just noticed this and went. Huh!

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pricekongcpas · 6 months ago

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#price kong #best accountant in phoenix #top accounting services #price kong accountants

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basiatlu · 1 year ago

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what are your favorite drarry fics? :)

I will only pick 7 and it might not really be my top seven to be fair as I’ve read probably hundreds. I’ve only just a few days ago gotten an ao3 account so I can save them yeesh. So here are 7 Drarry fics I’ve read and immensely enjoyed!!

In no particular order:

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound // E rating, Auror partners

An Issue of Consequence by faithwood // E rating, 8th Year setting

Slithering by astolat // E rating, set soon after DH

Azoth by zeitgesistic // E rating, hogwarts apprentice partners in Alchemy

Draco Malfoy and the Mirror of Ecidyrue by starbrigid // T - E rating, an epic and completed canon rewrite concerning Draco going back in time to before his 1st Year at Hogwarts

Turn by Saras_Girl // E rating, I cried, disgustingly, like when I rewatched Kiki’s Delivery Service as an adult post college burnout.

Eclipse by Mijan // T rating, written and set after Order of the Phoenix, huge Draco arc with lovely magic and mystery and a very, very long hiking trip.

And a bonus of anything written by bixgirl1 as I’ve read almost every one of their fics and I’m obsessed.

There are lots others like Running on Air of course and just gosh so, so many others I think it’s unfair not to list them. That’s the wonderful part of this fandom. It’s so rich and active it’s hard to taste it all. Oh yeah and most of the fics I’ve read are from over 3-4 years ago or older because I’ve been working through the search result on Ao3 in chronological order like a cracked walnut with a nasty case of completionism.

#fic rec #drarry #shushbosh

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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The IRS will do your taxes for you (if that's what you prefer)

This Saturday (May 20), I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on May 22, I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On May 23, I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

America is a world leader in allowing private companies to levy taxes on its citizens, including (stay with me here), a tax on paying your taxes.

In most of the world, the tax authorities prepare a return for each taxpayer, sending them a prepopulated form with all their tax details — collected from employers and other regulated entities, like pension funds and commodities brokers, who must report income to the tax office. If the form is correct, the taxpayer signs it and sends it back (in some countries, taxpayers don’t even have to do that — they just ignore the return unless they want to amend it).

No one has to use this system, of course. If you have complex finances, or cash income that doesn’t show up in mandatory reporting, or if you’d just prefer to prepare your own return or pay an accountant to do so for you, you can. But for the majority of people, those with income from a job or a pension, and predictable deductions, say, from caring for minor children, filing your annual tax return takes between zero and five minutes and costs absolutely nothing.

Not so in America. America is one of the very few rich countries (including Canada, though this is changing), where the government won’t just send you a form containing all the information it already has, ready to file. As is common in complex societies, America has a complex tax code (further complexified by deliberate obfuscation by billionaires and their lickspittle Congressjerks, who deliberately perforate the tax code with loopholes for the ultra-rich):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/11/the-canada-variant/#shitty-man-of-history-theory

That complexity means that most of us can’t figure out how to file our own taxes, at least not without committing scarce hours out of the only life we will ever have to poring over the ramified and obscure maze of tax-law.

Why doesn’t the IRS just send you a tax-return? Well, because the tax-prep industry — an oligopoly dominated by a handful of massive, ultra-profitable firms — bribes Congress (that is, “lobbies”) to prohibit this. They are aided in this endeavor by swivel-eyed lunatic anti-tax obsessives, like Grover Nordquist and Americans for Tax Reform, who argue that paying taxes should be as difficult and painful as possible in order to foment opposition to taxation itself.

The tax-prep industry is dominated by a single firm, Intuit, who took over tax-prep through its anticompetitive acquisition of TurboTax, itself a chimera of multiple companies gobbled up in a decades-long merger orgy. Inuit is a freaky company. For decades, its defining CEO Brad Smith ran the company as a cult of personality organized around his trite sayings, like “Do whatever makes your heart beat fastest,” stenciled on t-shirts worn by employees. Other employees donned Brad Smith masks for selfies with their Beloved Leader.

Smith’s cult also spent decades lobbying to keep the IRS from offering a free filing service. Instead, Intuit joined a cartel that offered a “Free File” service to some low- and medium-income Americans:

https://www.propublica.org/article/inside-turbotax-20-year-fight-to-stop-americans-from-filing-their-taxes-for-free

But the cartel sabotaged Free File from the start. They blocked search engines from indexing their Free File services, then bought Google ads for “free file” that directed searchers to soundalike programs (“Free Filing,” etc) that hit them for hundreds of dollars in tax-prep fees. They also funneled users to versions of Free File they were ineligible for, a fact that was only revealed after the user spent hours painstaking entering their financial information, whereupon they would be told that they could either start over or pay hundreds of dollars to finish filing with a commercial product.

Intuit also pioneered the use of binding arbitration waivers that stripped its victims of the right to sue the company after it defrauded them. This tactic blew up in Intuit’s face after its victims banded together to mass-file thousands of arbitration claims, sending the company to court to argue that binding arbitration wasn’t enforceable after all:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/24/uber-for-arbitration/#nibbled-to-death-by-ducks

But justice eventually caught up with Intuit. After a series of stinging exposes by Propublica journalists Justin Elliot, Paul Kiel and others, NY Attorney General Letitia James led a coalition of AGs from all 50 states and DC that extracted a $141m settlement for 4.4 million Americans who had been tricked into paying for Turbotax services they were entitled to get for free:

https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/turbotax-to-begin-payouts-after-it-cheated-customers-new-york-ag-says/ar-AA1aNXfi

Fines are one thing, but the only way to comprehensively end the predatory tax-prep scam is to bring the USA kicking and screaming into the 20th century, when most of the rest of the world brought in free tax-prep for ordinary income earners. That’s just what’s happening: the IRS is trialing a free tax prep service for next year’s tax season:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2023/05/15/irs-free-file/

This, despite Intuit’s all-out blitz attack on Congress and the IRS to keep free tax-prep from ever reaching the American people:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/20/turbotaxed/#counter-intuit

That charm offensive didn’t stop the IRS from releasing a banger of a report that made it clear that free tax-prep was the most efficient, humane and cost-effective way to manage an advanced tax-system (something the rest of the world has known for decades):

https://www.irs.gov/pub/irs-pdf/p5788.pdf

Of course, Intuit is furious, as in spitting feathers. Rick Heineman, Intuit’s spokesprofiteer, told KQED that “A direct-to-IRS e-file system is wholly redundant and is nothing more than a solution in search of a problem. That solution will unnecessarily cost taxpayers billions of dollars and especially harm the most vulnerable Americans.”

https://www.kqed.org/news/11949746/the-irs-is-building-its-own-online-tax-filing-system-tax-prep-companies-arent-happy

Despite Upton Sinclair’s advice that “it is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends on his not understanding it,” I will now attempt to try to explain to Heineman why he is unfuckingbelievably, eye-wateringly wrong.

“e-file…is wholly redundant”: Well, no, Rick, it’s not redundant, because there is no existing Free File system except for the one your corrupt employer made and hid “in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying ‘Beware of the Leopard.’”

“nothing more than a solution in search of a problem”: The problem this solves is that Americans have to pay Intuit billions to pay their taxes. It’s a tax on paying taxes. That is a problem.

“unnecessarily cost taxpayers billions of dollars”: No, it will save taxpayers the billions of dollars (they pay you).

“harm the most vulnerable Americans”: Here is an area where Heineman can speak with authority, because few companies have more experience harming vulnerable Americans.

Take the Child Tax Credit. This is the most successful social program in living memory, a single initiative that did more to lift American children out of poverty than any other since the days of the Great Society. It turns out that giving poor people money makes them less poor, which is weird, because neoliberal economists have spent decades assuring us that this is not the case:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset

But the Child Tax Credit has been systematically sabotaged, by Intuit lobbyists, who successfully added layer after layer of red tape — needless complexity that makes it nearly impossible to claim the credit without expert help — from the likes of Intuit:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/29/three-times-is-enemy-action/#ctc

It worked. As Ryan Cooper writes in The American Prospect: “between 13 and 22 percent of EITC benefits are gulped down by tax prep companies”:

https://prospect.org/economy/2023-05-17-irs-takes-welcome-step-20th-century/

So yes, I will defer to Rick Heineman and his employer Intuit on the subject of “harming the most vulnerable Americans.” After all, they’re the experts. National champions, even.

Now I want to address the peply guys who are vibrating with excitement to tell me about their 1099 income, the cash money they get from their lemonade stand, the weird flow of krugerrands their relatives in South African FedEx to them twice a year, etc, that means that free file won’t work for them because the IRS doesn’t actually understand their finances.

That’s a hard problem, all right. Luckily, there is a very simple answer for this: use a tax-prep service.

Actually, it’s not a hard problem. Just use a tax-prep service. That’s it. No one is going to force you to use the IRS’s free e-file. All you need to do to avoid the socialist nightmare of (checks notes) living with less red-tape is: continue to do exactly what you’re already doing.

Same goes for those of you who have a beloved family accountant you’ve used since the Eisenhower administration. All you need to do to continue to enjoy the advice of that trusted advisor is…nothing. That’s it. Simply don’t change anything.

One final note, addressing the people who are worried that the IRS will cheat innocent taxpayers by not giving them all the benefits they’re entitled to. Allow me here to simply tap the sign that says “between 13 and 22 percent of EITC benefits are gulped down by tax prep companies.” In other words, when you fret about taxpayers being ripped off, you’re thinking of Intuit, not the IRS. Just calm down. Why not try using fluoridated toothpaste? You’ll feel better, and I promise I won’t tell your friends at the Gadsen Flag appreciation society.

Your secret is safe with me.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/17/free-as-in-freefile/#tell-me-something-i-dont-know

[Image ID: A vintage drawing of Uncle Sam toasting with a glass of Champagne, superimposed over an IRS 1040 form that has been fuzzed into a distorted halftone pattern.]

#pluralistic #earned income tax credit #eitc #irs #grover nordquist #guillotine watch #turbotax #taxes #death and taxes #freefile #monopoly #intuit

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