A collection of all my throuple drabble asks. These feature various CE babes with a gn!reader and various dynamics. The one thing they all include is three people figuring it out.
I chose not to include warnings on the individual stories, but know that some of them contain explicit language, adult/sexual themes, and all are intended for an 18+ audience. MDNI
You were about halfway through laying checkered tablecloths on the many folding tables arrayed across your backyard when Lloyd came out with another armful of chairs. "It's too fucking hot for this," he grumbled as he came to a stop next to you. "Why'd I agree to help?"
You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. You were too used to his grumbling. "Because you're a caring partner who understands how important this is to him."
He dramatically rolled his eyes right back. "I thought being non-monogamous was supposed to get me out of all this picket fence bullshit," he complained snidely as he still continued to neatly set the chairs around the table.
"Come on," you stopped him, pulling on his arm so he'd look at you. "You know how much all this stereotypical suburban dad stuff means to Andy. It's really important to him that we're accepted into our new neighborhood and he's expressing that by throwing a barbecue."
"I don't give a shit if these squares accept us," he mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you and nosed along your neck.
You couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, I can't say that I really do either. But he does. And we're going to support him and make sure this goes off without a hitch."
"Fine," he sighed, "but he's gonna owe us tonight." His tone turned lascivious as he wiggled his eyebrows at you with a smirk.
You were still laughing, the tablecloths forgotten as the man in question came rushing out with a large tray of meat. "People are going to start coming over any minute now, and I haven't even started the grill!" he worried.
You stepped forward to try to calm him down, but Lloyd beat you to it. "Settle down, cupcake," he said warmly, both hands on Andy's shoulders. "We'll get the grill going. Get yourself a beer. This is supposed to be fun, right?"
Your heart warmed as you watched Andy sag into him with a quiet "Yeah, you're right." The three of you might be a relationship no one expected to work, but you wouldn't trade your two idiots for anything.
Pairing: Dark Ari Levinson x Female Reader (Sugar)
Summary: After trying to improve your life gets you nowhere, you enroll in The Rogers Academy as your last resort. But your first meeting with your new adviser has you rethinking that decision.
Word Count: ~2.7k
Warnings: Dark fic, patriarchal dystopia, intense sexism and mysoginy, non-con touching, pain and bruising, dacryphilia, forced nudity of a sort, angst, explicit language All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by me
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
A/N: Oh no, I made myself sad and horny. 😭🤭
Big thanks to both @paperweight91 and @stargazingfangirl18 for talking all of this through with me and giving me so many ideas. I had too much fun with this one. 🫣
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
You tried to keep your breathing even as you were led down the long hallway. You had no idea what waited for you in your initial appointment with Mr. Levinson, your new adviser, or this program as a whole. Only that you needed it to go well.
The hall monitor who had come to escort you to your meeting hadn’t introduced himself. He’d barely said anything to you as he’d guided you across the campus. But you’d been able to feel his eyes on you the entire time. Leering at you.
Not that the provided uniform felt particularly revealing, surprisingly. You wore a plain black skirt that ended right above your knees, a silk white blouse that was low-cut, but billowy enough that you didn’t feel particularly exposed and a pair of black heels that you were trying to learn how to balance in. The only aspect you’d left in your room while getting changed was the thong they’d supplied. It made you uncomfortable just to look at it, so you’d opted for your cotton panties instead. It wasn’t like anyone would see them, so you were sure it’d be fine.
And anyway, the leering wasn’t an uncommon sensation. It happened wherever you went. It was just a fact of being a woman. But it always made you so uneasy. Scared. It was part of why you were here—the hope that securing a husband might stop you from feeling so vulnerable all the time.
Well, that was what led you to look for something better. It was the crushing disappointment of that job fair you’d gone to that had directly led you here.
Your bills were mounting, the building where you lived (in a studio apartment you shared with two other women) was decidedly unsafe—the front door wouldn’t even latch properly now after someone had broken in a month ago—and extreme couponing would only get you so far at the grocery store. Steady employment was too hard to come by as a woman, but even the odd jobs you’d tried to live off were drying up. You’d need to find something more reliable if you were going to survive.
So when you’d seen the flier for the Women’s Job Fair, it’d felt like a godsend. But when you got there, everything on offer was menial, demeaning, and minimum wage. And there were so many women there, overflowing out of the convention hall. So many more women than jobs on offer. And with that many applicants, there was no reason any of these companies would hire someone who could barely speak to strangers. Someone who shied away from ever being touched. Someone whose voice could barely be heard. Standing in the middle of that sea of people, having been turned away from booth after booth after booth, you felt so hopeless. Crushed.
And then you’d seen the table for The Rogers Academy.
You knew the school’s reputation. Of course you did. It was the spousal prep academy on the East Coast. And the man you spoke to had been so kind. He’d ducked his head close so he could hear you without making you feel like you needed to stretch out of your comfort zone. He explained everything to you slowly and carefully. He’d even taken you to a smaller, much quieter room to fill out the application when he noticed you getting overwhelmed. He walked you through all of the questions and then found the best light to take your picture to make sure you were putting your absolute best foot forward. It felt so much less scary than all the other booths you’d been to.
Of course, you were sure you wouldn’t get in. There was no chance. But you didn’t think you had any other options. You had to try. This was your last hope. Did you want to be someone’s wife? No, you didn’t think you did. Especially not a stranger. But you wanted to be on the street even less. And this might be the only way to protect yourself from that.
When you got the call that you’d been selected, you couldn’t believe it. And that’s when the panic set in. But you couldn’t chicken out. Not now. Not when you actually had a chance to be taken care of. That was something your mom never had. You couldn’t waste this opportunity.
But actually, being here was a little terrifying. You were surrounded by strangers. You weren’t sure what the expectations here were. Absolutely everything ahead of you was new. You felt very alone.
Before you were ready, your escort stopped in front of a heavy wooden door in a hallway full of them. He knocked three times and opened the door. “I’ve got Sugar here for you, Ari.”
“Thanks Jimmy,” a deep voice from inside the room said. Your escort pushed you into the office and shut the door behind you, disappearing from sight. There was a heavy, antique-looking desk immediately in front of you, with a large but empty leather chair behind it and a wall of shelves with other antiques you didn’t recognize on sight. As you awkwardly turned to try to find who was here, the voice called to you. “Come on in, Sugar.”
You turned to find a small sitting area in the corner of the room. A big wing-backed leather chair over a plush deep burgundy rug with a low dark wood coffee table in front of it. The man casually sitting in the chair was big enough to fill it, long legs, broad shoulders, a thick chest. His golden-brown hair was longer, coming down in the front to frame his face. His skin had a sun-kissed glow to it that you could see even in the dim, cozy lighting of his office. He was beautiful. You could see that even through your fear. “Mr. Levinson?” you asked quietly, nervously wanting to confirm he was who you were supposed to meet with.
He smiled, big and wide. “That’s me. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. But you can call me Sir.” His eyebrow rose, just a little bit, when you didn’t respond verbally to that, but then he continued. “Come a little closer. Let me get a good look at you.”
You took a few cautious steps forward until he raised his hand to signal that was good enough. His eyes raked down you in a way that made heat course through your entire body. Your hands twitched at your side, wanting to cover yourself up, even though you were already fully clothed.
“Now turn around,” he commanded, “nice and slow for me.”
You did as you were told, wobbling slightly on the high heels you’d been made to wear. When you’d made a full circle and were facing him again, his expression was warm and pleased. “You’re a very pretty thing.”
Your face, impossibly, got even hotter at that. You ducked your head down to avoid his gaze.
“You say ‘Thank you, Sir,’ when you’re given a compliment.” His tone was gruff, demanding.
Your eyes shot up to meet his, for just a millisecond before your gaze was on the floor again. “Thank you, Sir,” you said, barely a whisper. It was all you could muster right now.
He hummed, the sound a rumble in his chest. “Well, we have plenty of time to work on that. Come on, Sugar, come have a seat.”
You looked around, confused. There weren’t any other chairs around the coffee table. In fact, the only other place to sit in the entire office was the chair behind the desk, but that seemed private. You were sure he didn’t mean for you to sit there.
You looked back at him, your face an open question, and he chuckled. He spread his legs and patted his thigh. “Right here, sweetheart.”
You took an involuntary step back. That… No. You didn’t- You didn’t think you could do that. But when he spoke again, the gruff, frightening tone was back.
“Don’t make me say it again. Let’s not start off on the wrong foot, Sugar.”
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You could do this. To secure yourself a future, you could do anything. Couldn’t you? You forced yourself forward. Once you were within his arms’ reach, he grabbed you and manhandled you so that you were sitting across both his legs. You didn’t even have time to gasp.
“There you go. Nice and comfortable,” he rumbled. One hand came up to rub soothing circles across your back. “I just wanted to take a few minutes to get to know each other better. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. As your adviser, it’s my job to make sure you understand and follow all the rules here, do well in your classes, and learn as much as you can. I’m here to do whatever I can to help you be the most successful version of yourself.” The hand that wasn’t on your back briefly landed on your knee and then slid under your skirt to grasp the inside of your thigh.
You didn’t take time to think. Of its own volition, your hand flew up to grasp his wrist and push him off you. It didn’t take long to realize your mistake as you felt his entire body go stiff beneath you.
“Take your hand off me right fucking now,” he growled, right in your ear. He didn’t raise his voice, but you could still feel the intense anger radiating through it. His hand stayed where it was on your thigh, tightening his grip now until it hurt. You cried out in pain and released your hold on him. But his grip on you didn’t lessen, it tightened even a little more. “You will not touch any of your instructors without explicit instructions to do so. You won’t push any of us off when we touch you. That’s unacceptable. The entire point of you now is to be touched as we please. We’re preparing you for your husband, who will own your body. It stopped belonging to you the moment you set foot on this campus. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand, Sir,” you said quickly but so, so quietly, trying not to choke on the tears that were forming.
He squeezed your thigh again, even tighter now. You were sure there were bruises forming. “Loud and clear,” he demanded.
You forced yourself to breathe, even as the tears tipped over your lashes, down your cheeks. In and out. Then as loud as you could manage, your voice audibly shaking, you said, “I understand, Sir. I’m sorry.”
Ari’s hand on your back resumed its ministrations, shockingly soft and gentle as his other hand eased its grip. “Good girl,” he purred, then leaned over to place a gentle peck on your cheek, right over one of the tear tracks. “Your tears are just as pretty as you are, Sugar.”
You tried to curl into yourself as much as you could at that, even with his hands on you, even on his lap. You didn’t get very far.
“What did we say about compliments?” he asked, a warning note in his voice.
You blinked your eyes closed and more tears fell. “Thank you, sir,” you forced out, as clear as you could around the lump in your throat.
“You’re so welcome. As I was saying, I’m here to help you. Some of these lessons might be hard, but I’ll be holding your hand, guiding you, the whole way.” The hand on your leg started to move its way up again, towards your core. It took everything in you not to squeeze your legs together to try to get him to stop. You couldn’t help but gasp when his hand brushed against your cotton underwear. “Oh!” he exclaimed, surprised. “What’s this?” Then he removed his hand from you and pulled up your skirt so he could see your underwear. You were wearing a sweet baby blue pair, covered in tiny cherries. He let out a little moan. “How’d you know cherries are my favorite?” He let go of your skirt to run his thumb over the front of you, right over one of the cherries. You jumped at the contact. “Take them off and give them to me.”
You went stock still, every single part of you. “What?” you breathed out, barely even a whisper.
“The regulation uniform includes a thong. I know it was given to you. But you decided to break the rules and wear something of your own.”
“I–“ you started and tried again, trying and failing to put some strength into your voice. “It made me uncomfortable. I thought–“
“You aren’t here to think,” he said, sharply. “You’re here to listen and do what you’re told. So now you’re going to take off your panties and give them to me.”
You nodded as your tears picked up again, too scared to fight. You moved to get off his lap, but his arms tightened around you.
“I didn’t say you could get up. You can take them off right here.” His words were stone. There was no give to them.
You hung your head and did your best to wriggle out of your panties while staying on his lap. You felt awkward and humiliated as you tried to retain your balance on his thighs. His hands never moved from you. Once you’d finally freed them from your ankles, you handed them to him, unable to meet his eyes. With a smirk, he put them in his pocket. You hoped the ground might open up and swallow you whole at the thought of him keeping them.
“Now,” he said, leaning forward to look at the clock on his wall, both hands casually resting on your legs, “you’ll have lunch next and then your initial personal grooming evaluation with Mr. Hansen, before the Welcome Seminar and dinner this evening. I think a good punishment will be to spend that whole time without any panties on, like a little whore. Hopefully it will remind you why it’s important to follow the rules. And then, when I see you tomorrow, the first thing you’ll do is hike up that skirt to show me that you’re wearing the full uniform. Understood?”
You nodded as you were filled with dread. The end of the day felt ages from now.
He pinched your thigh through your skirt, and you yipped. “I expect a verbal response when I ask a question, Sugar. Do you understand your punishment?”
“Yes, sir.” Your skin felt on fire. You were afraid that if you tried to stand up now, you might collapse.
One of his hands moved to your chest and pressed flat over your sternum. “Feel that heartbeat,” he said, almost to himself. “Hummingbird fast. Are you scared, Sugar?”
“Yes, sir,” you choked out, terrified of not answering him.
“Aww, there’s no reason to be scared, sweetheart. As long as you’re a good girl, we’re gonna take such good care of you. Make you perfect for the lucky man who will call you his.” He stretched his fingers, so it felt like his gigantic hand covered your entire chest. His thick pinkie glided over one of your nipples and you whimpered. Pressed up against him, there was nowhere to hide. “Alright,” the hand still on your leg tapped twice, “up you get.” You tumbled off his lap as he stood up, your legs buckling beneath you. He caught and steadied you. Your eyes couldn’t help but flick to where his pants were tight around his crotch. He just grinned as he noticed where your eyes went. “That’s a compliment too, Sugar.”
“Thank you, sir,” you recited, numb and defeated and focused on just standing on your own.
“Such a good girl,” he cooed, then stepped away. “I have work to do now, so you’re going to go stand by the door and quietly wait for a monitor to come take you to lunch.” Then he turned his back on you and walked to his desk, sitting down behind it, and not paying you a second more of attention.
On shaky legs, you took your place at the door and waited, your heart sinking. You wondered how you would possibly survive months of this, as you tried to keep your cries quiet.
Summary: It's the start of a new term at The Rogers Academy for Exceptional Wives and the faculty is meeting to take a look at the new class.
Word Count: ~2.7k
Warnings: Dark fic, patriarchal dystopia, intense sexism and mysoginy, non-con oggling, explicit language All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by me
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
A/N: Welp! Here it is! 😂 This is the one where the pairings are decided, but we won't actually meet any of our readers until the individual sessions.
This is usually where I thank the mutuals who let me ramble in their DMs until an actual story was born, but this time I have a gigantic thank you for every single one of you! Everyone who got excited about this idea, left comments or reblogs on the many posts about it, sent me asks about aspects I hadn't even considered yet. All of you who's enthusiasm was so contagious and who really inspired me to build this world. Thank you thank you thank you! It's been so fun hoeing out with you all about this!!
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
The conference room was buzzing. This was Steve’s favorite meeting of the term. It was everyone’s favorite meeting. New Term Faculty Kickoff. There’d be another meeting this week for the rest of the Academy’s staff. But this one, this one was always the most fun.
Jake and Curtis had brought snacks. People were helping themselves and chatting, catching up after having been off for the last month. He usually ran his meetings with a lot more structure than this, but hell, if they couldn’t have fun during this one, when could they??
“Alright, guys,” he finally called out. “Let’s get started.” They’d moved the tables to the side to hold the snacks, so now everyone took a seat in the chairs that were gathered in the center. There wasn’t much formality in this meeting. The only thing that really mattered was that everyone could see the screen.
“Okay, I only have a few items to go over before we get to the good part. So, if you let me get through this quickly, than we can deal with the reason you all showed up today.” That got the laugh he was looking for. Everyone was in great spirits.
“I hope you all had a great break and are rested and ready to dive into a new term. First, as I’m sure you’ve all noticed, Johnny isn’t here. He’s snowboarding in the Alps, apparently.” Steve suppressed an eye roll. He had the best staff in the country, but it was still like wrangling cats sometimes. “So for this term, Ari will be teaching morning yoga, while Lloyd will take over the rest of physical fitness, rolling that into his usual personal grooming curriculum.”
Curtis scoffed. “You just want to be able to walk around them all when they’re in Lycra and bark orders,” he said to Lloyd.
Lloyd preened. “You bet your ass, I do. Best term ever.”
Steve continued. “Otherwise, there haven’t been any staffing changes, so all of your admins and monitors will be the same.”
He glanced down at the notes on his tablet. “I wanted to highlight a couple new initiatives we’ve started. Ransom and his marketing team have broken into job fairs, specifically the ones targeted at women.” At the sound of laughter, Steve chuckled himself. “I know, I know, what do they need job fairs for? But the idea payed off. We had a record number of self-enroll applicants, and our wait list is now bursting. So, great job, Ransom!” There was a brief round of applause and Ransom gave a quick nod, looking characteristically self-satisfied.
“On the other end of the spectrum, I’m very excited to announce that thanks to Andy diligently working his connections in the DA’s office, we are now an official alternative to prison for all sentencing and plea deals of adult female defendants. At our own discretion, of course,” he added with a grin. They obviously wouldn’t take just anyone. “This is great news because for every enrollee we take from the county, we’ll get a large stipend, and we’ll still get to collect their full bride-price at the end of year auction. So a huge congratulations to Andy for this deal!” There was more applause and Steve let himself feel all of the immense pride that filled his chest looking at the team he’d assembled.
He was the fourth generation of Rogers men to run this school. Started by his great-grandfather almost a hundred years ago, it’d grown into one of the most prestigious wife-training institutions in the country. Definitely the most prestigious on the East Coast. It’d survived economic depression, world wars, political upheaval. It was even widely credited with helping found the movement that had turned the tide against the growing threat of women’s liberation fifty years ago. Steve took his place in that history extremely seriously. The work they did here was important. He’d worked hard to modernize their curriculum and recruiting strategies, never forgetting that the most important lesson they taught here, no matter the subject, was obedience. That was what led to happy lives, happy families, for all involved. And it was that belief that was threaded through every decision he made here. And all the people he’s brought together to help this school meet it’s full potential.
“Alright, now that that’s done. We can get to why we’re all here.” Steve paused as everyone cheered. He could already tell this was going to be an especially rowdy kickoff. “Thanks to Ransom’s impressive recruitment efforts in all areas, we’ve got a full slate of private training sessions booked, so that means our group class is a little smaller this year. There will be just one advisee for each of us.” As he expected, there were grumbles, but he was quick to cut them off, “As most of us will be juggling multiple one-on-ones, I didn’t want to give anyone more than they could focus on in the group class. Plus, we have a few special cases here that I think might require some extra attention.
“As usual, any conflicts here as we make our selections will be decided by seniority-“
“Damn it! That isn’t fair!” Jake predictably called out. He was by far the newest instructor here and as such, complained loudly about their system every term. “I always just get stuck with the last one.”
“Stop whining,” Lloyd said with an eye roll that moved his whole body. “It’s never stopped you from falling in love with every single one you’ve gotten.”
“I don’t do that!” Jake objected. “I-“
“Oh my god,” Ransom interrupted. “Can you just shut up so we can get to the good part?”
Steve saw Jake’s chest puff up and the beginning of movement to get out of his chair, so he quickly brought the big screen at the front of the room to life, already on his first slide, containing a collection of pictures of a young woman with big eyes, blown wide with fear, that couldn’t quite make contact with the camera. There was a closeup of her face, along with a few full body photos in which she was clad only in her underwear. With her hands and posture, she tried to cover up as much of herself as she could, but her figure was clear, as were the sweet little blue flowers that dotted her cotton panties. “Alright,” Steve said, slightly louder than necessary to put an end to all the chatter. “First we have Sugar. She enrolled herself, thanks to Ransom’s new job fair gambit, so she’ll take part in the auction at the end of the term. As you can see, she’s very shy and fragile.” He paused. Ari was already leaning forward, just like he’d expected. “She’ll need a gentle hand,” he added with a mean smirk.
“Yeah, I’ll take her,” Ari called out the moment Steve finished speaking.
Curtis snorted. “Of course, you will. You love the shy ones.”
“They’re never shy for long with me,” Ari answered. “She’ll be a slobbering whore by the time I’m done with her.”
“No one else even had a chance to say anything,” Jake grumbled but went ignored as everyone else hooted at Ari.
As Ari had seniority over everyone but Steve, Steve moved on. “Next we have Baby Doll.” The pictures that filled the screen were of a woman with exhausted eyes, mouth in a thin line. She didn’t try to cover herself, but it was obvious that all of her muscles were tensed, desperate to run, especially her hands which were curled into tight fists. Her bra and panties were plain and cheap, worn out. “She’s the first in our new partnership with the county judicial system. Convicted of larceny and assault, we’re her last chance to avoid serious jail time. Andy, as you’re the one who put this program together, I doubt anyone would mind if you jumped the line and claimed her.”
Most everyone nodded their assent, except for Jake, of course, who opened his mouth to object. Steve cut that off with the harshest glare he could muster. Jake, thankfully, sat back in his chair with a scowl.
Andy leaned forward, carefully examining the pictures. After a long pause, he nodded with excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, I think I can do something with her. Get her back on the straight and narrow.”
“Excellent,” Steve said, making note of that on his tablet. Then he braced himself for what was about to happen as he clicked over to the next slide.
The room erupted immediately. Mostly mean-spirited cackling only broken up by Lloyd’s very loud booing. Steve sighed. “Yes, as you can see, Pumpkin is back.” He had to raise his voice to be heard above the din. The screen showed a woman with eyes demurely cast down, pretty lingerie framing her body, arms at her side, not even twitching to cover herself up. Her posture was… okay, but there were several things Steve would correct just at first glance. That was the thing about Pumpkin. Even after going through the program once, she was fine, but she wasn’t perfect.
“That bitch completely tanked my stats!” Lloyd yelled, throwing an arm at the screen. “All because Barber found a speck of dust during her final.“
“It was more than a speck,” Andy responded calmly. “And the meal she made was atrocious. I’d fail her again without significant improvement. No question.”
“Well, I’m not getting saddled with her again! No fucking way.”
Steve sighed. This was going about as well as he expected. “Anyone else interested?”
“Make Jensen take her,” Ransom sneered.
“What?” Jake threw his hands up in outrage. “No way! I want one of the shiny new ones!”
Just as Steve was about to try to force the issue, Curtis spoke up, with a sigh and an eye roll. “I’ll fucking do it.” He acted put-upon, but there was something gleeful in his eyes, something mean. It was why Steve was relieved it’d turned out this way. Curtis wouldn’t let her get away with anything. Not this time.
“Thank you, Curtis,” Steve said sincerely, while Ari clapped Curtis on the back.
Curtis responded with a shrug, but Steve could tell he was excited, underneath everything else.
“Okay, moving on,” Steve called out, and the room fortunately calmed down. He clicked over to the next slide. “This is Honeybun.” The pictures on the screen left so much to be desired, even for an initial intake. Her bra and panties were mismatched. Her eyebrows were overgrown. She looked at the camera head-on, no deference at all, and her smile was crooked. One of her bra straps had slipped off her shoulder. And she was slouching. Steve’s hand itched to reach through the screen and make her straighten up himself. “As you can see, we have a lot of work to do. If we assume her house-management matches her appearance, which I think it is safe to do, it’s no surprise her husband has come to us for help.”
“Jesus Christ,” Andy muttered, swiping a hand over his mouth.
“Anyone interested in straightening her out?”
Lloyd tilted his head from side to side in thought, but Steve knew this one wasn’t really his style. No, that one was next, so he was glad when Lloyd ended up shaking his head.
“I’ll do it!” Jake called out, too fucking eager, and Steve could already see the hearts in his eyes.
Goddamnit, the absolute last thing Steve or this school needed was Jake swanning over a student who already had a perfectly good husband paying the tuition fees. There was a decades in the making reputation to maintain. “No,” he said, loud and clear. “I’ll do this one myself.”
Jake threw his head back in irritation. “Then why did you even ask?” he whined. God, he was such a child. Maybe that was why he was so good at teaching the motherhood classes.
As he was about to return to his presentation, Ari caught his eye with a knowing smirk. Okay. Maybe keeping Jake out of a scandal wasn’t the only reason he’d jumped for this one. Maybe, seeing chaos like that had something thrumming inside him to impose his own order. To take a mess and turn it into perfection. And do it with his own two hands.
He swallowed roughly and cleared his throat, which just made Ari’s smirk get bigger. Steve ignored him and moved onto the next slide, which immediately caught everyone’s attention.
Lloyd threw his head back and laughed. “That one’s definitely mine,” he crowed.
“Princess,” Steve said, gesturing to the pictures of a woman in expensive lingerie snarling at the camera, blocking the view of her body with both middle fingers. Pure rage swirled in her eyes. “She’s obviously here because her husband’s at his wit’s end.”
“He have any limits for us?” Lloyd asked.
“None at all,” Steve shook his head. “He just wants results, doesn’t care how we get them.”
A cruel smile crept onto Lloyd’s face. “Excellent,” Lloyd said, and Steve could already see all the deviant ideas forming in his mind.
As Lloyd had seniority over the only two that were left, Steve moved on without anymore conversation. A sweet smile and bright eyes came on the screen. “This is Kitten.” She wore a an adorable matching set of pink cotton underwear. She stood a little awkwardly, like she was embarrassed but still trying to do what she was told. “She enrolled herself and is so excited to have been chosen. All she wants is to learn how to be the best wife and mother she can possibly be.”
“Mine!” Jake’s hand violently shot up into the air. “Mine. That one’s mine!! I’ll take her!”
Steve sighed. “Ransom, any objections?”
Ransom just shrugged. “No, that’s fine.” He barely even glanced at Jake, drumming his fingers on his leg impatiently.
“Yes!” cried Jake, pumping his fist in the air.
But Steve didn’t pay any attention to that. He was stuck on Ransom, whom he now realized had been uncharacteristically quiet this whole meeting. His posture was stiff, coiled tight, like he was waiting for something.
“Well. Okay, then. That means Ransom, you’ve got our last one. Sweet Pea.” Steve pulled up the last slide. A young woman stood in a gorgeous, expensive set of lingerie. Her posture was perfect, her eyes downcast. Her arms were relaxed next to her side. “She comes to us from an old money family of excellent standing. They’ve sent her here to ensure the best match she can possibly get.”
Ransom didn’t say anything, just nodded. But the expression on his face was that of a man who’d won something.
Steve turned off the screen and pushed a few final buttons on his tablet. “Alright, the complete files for each of your selections should now be in your inboxes. With that, I’ll let you all go. Let’s have a great term!”
Things broke up quickly. Everyone milling out, chatting amongst themselves, leaving the mess for the cleaning women who’d come after hours.
Steve caught Ransom before he could leave. “You knew she was enrolled this year.” It was a statement, not a question.
Ransom shrugged, smug. “Our grandfathers are friends. And her brother is such an asshole. Thought it might be fun to crush his beloved little sister and rub his face in it.”
“As long as you remember that we need to return her in one, marriageable piece.”
Ransom nodded. “I know what the goal is.” As he left the room, Steve made a mental note to keep an eye on that situation.
Ari was the last one left and strode over to Steve with an easy grin. “Good crop this year,” he said.
Steve nodded. “You’ve got a fun one.”
Ari smirked. “Yeah, you too. You’re excited. I can tell.”
“Well,” Steve smiled, “what’s the point of a job like this if we don’t get to have a little fun?”
Warnings: unresolved angst, possibly unrequited feelings, self-deprecation. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Summary: Curtis knows what's best for you, even if others disagree.
Word Count: 802
Twelve Days of Krismas 2025
Masterlist
A/N: Just gonna apologize for this one ahead of time. 🫣 I spun my three angst roulette wheels and got Curtis Everett - Left unsaid / Unmade confession - Avengers Tower/Compound. I hope you enjoy?
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
“Okay, but what if you tried–”
“No,” Curtis growled out again, not looking back down at the man on the ground, technically his boss, as he reached into the open panel of the quinjet with his reader, his eyes on the diagnostic panel in front of him.
“I just think that it might be–” Tony tried again from the foot of Curtis’s work platform.
Curtis finally turned around with a frustrated grunt. “Tony, if you want to fix it yourself, be my guest. Otherwise, leave me alone to do the job you hired me for!”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You’re no fun, you know that? Next mechanic I hire, I’m gonna make sure ‘knows how to have fun at work’ is one of the key selection criteria. Find someone who–”
Curtis tuned out Tony’s blathering when his attention was caught by a peel of laughter coming from the other end of the compound’s hangar. The sound was instantly recognizable. At least to Curtis. He’d know your voice anywhere.
His eyes found you quickly, over by the entrance, doing equipment checks with Natasha and Steve. Ostensibly. Right now, your head was thrown back in glee, your arms wrapped around your stomach. The sun shining in from the open gate caught your hair, creating a halo around your head that Curtis thought maybe he was the only one able to see. Nat and Steve were grinning at you, proud of your reaction to whatever joke they’d told. Even from this distance, he could see the way your eyes crinkled as you laughed. God, he wanted to reach out and touch you, to–
“Are you ever going to tell her?”
Tony’s low voice cut through the haze Curtis always felt when you were near. His gaze cut away from you, back to the guts of the quinjet. He reached in, trying to focus on the work, hoping that might quiet his thoughts. Snuff out his longing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I just think that if you tried actually talking to her about it, you’d find that she might feel the same–”
“There’s nothing to tell her, okay?!” Curtis threw down the wrench he’d been holding in frustration, but immediately regretted it as it clanged loudly down the steps of the high platform, catching the attention of your group at the entrance. “I just–” he said, much quieter, then stopped, shaking his head. “No.”
“Curtis,” Tony sighed, but didn’t say anything else as they both noticed you making your way towards them.
“Hey Tony!” you called out as you got closer. “Why do you even have mechanics if you won’t let them work?” There was a beautiful, open smile on your face, and mischief sparkled in your eyes. Something clenched in his chest even just looking at you. “Morning, Curtis,” you greeted warmly as you got to the base of his stepladder. “This guy giving you trouble?”
“No,” Curtis said, not quite looking you in the eye, trying to keep his voice even. “Just… Tony being Tony.”
“Yeah,” you said with a laugh, elbowing Tony in the ribs. “I bet.”
“Actually,” Tony started, in a tone that filled Curtis with terror. “We were just talking about–”
Curtis shot Tony an intense glare, praying that it would shut him up. He understood that Tony only wanted to help; he did, but his optimism was misdirected. You were a superhero. You risked everything, every day, for the fate of the entire planet. And who was Curtis? Just some guy. One with a checkered past and a menial job. He’d never deserve you. He understood that. He just wished everyone else would.
Tony put his hands up in surrender, deciding not to butt into other people’s business for probably the first time in his entire life. Curtis’s relief was cut short when he noticed Steve had moved a little closer, his attention now on your conversation. Yeah. Curtis had thought he’d noticed Steve paying more attention to you lately. That was fine. That made a lot more sense. A much better fit. Much closer to what you deserved.
“Listen,” Curtis grunted, more gruffly than he’d intended, “if you all want to be able to fly to your next mission, you need to leave me alone to actually do my work!”
He regretted it immediately, when the smile on your face stayed where it was but dimmed considerably. “Right, yeah,” you said, your gaze bouncing away from him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to add to your bother.” You turned away slowly. “Come on, Tony. Time to go annoy someone else.”
But Tony stayed as you walked away. Of course, he did. “You’re going to regret this,” he said, quietly. Sadly.
“Yeah, maybe,” Curtis agreed as he watched you leave the hangar, Steve turning to follow you. “But she won’t.”
Relationship: Cole Turner x female reader (with a side of dark Andy Barber x reader)
Warnings: unresolved angst, coercion, period-typical references to God, threats of violence and death. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Summary: You finally give in to a powerful man to save the one you love.
Word Count: ~1.9k
Twelve Days of Krismas 2025
Masterlist
A/N: This is my favorite of all of the stories I've done for this event so far. For this one, I spun my three angst roulette wheels and got Cole Turner - Forced marriage - The Wild West. I never would have guessed that I'd enjoy writing something in this setting so much. I blame all the Deadwood I've watched. 😅 I hope you enjoy!
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
“All you need to do to make all of this end is just say yes.”
You couldn't stop wringing your hands together, even as your bonnet was clutched between them, anxiously crushing it. You didn’t say anything, didn’t even acknowledge the man beside you, or his offer. You couldn’t do anything but stare at Mr. Turner, Cole, behind the jail cell’s bars, the cuts and bruises on his face, the tiny space you now knew he’d occupied for the last two days, the sad, pleading look he gave you. You were also well too aware of the small group of Pinkertons gathered behind you at the jailer’s desk. They were here, just like you, at the behest of the man beside you. The man who had the resources to bring them all the way to this little corner of nowhere. The man who had the resources to buy this whole outpost if he wanted to. The man who would not stop until he got what he wanted.
You turned to him, but you couldn’t yet bring yourself to look at his face, so you stared at his shoes. They were fine, surely expensive, and recently shined. You wondered if you got close enough, you might be able to see your own reflection in them. You marveled that he was able to walk these dusty streets and still be able to retain that shine. Almost like even the dirt knew that it was useless to go against him.
At that realization, at the uselessness of all of this, you finally looked up and gave him your answer. Your voice shaking, you replied, “Yes, Mr. Barber. I’ll marry you.”
“No!” Cole shouted from his cell, launching himself at the door.
Barber didn’t react to that at all, didn’t give a hint that he’d even heard him. He just smiled the smile of a man who knew he’d won. “Excellent. The train back to Boston leaves in the morning. I’ll send one of my men to collect anything you might need to bring with you. And a chaperone to bring you to the station and make sure you get on the train.”
“And you’ll let Mr. Turner go?” you pressed, needing to make sure your sacrifice would be worth it.
He nodded. “Tomorrow he’ll be released, once we’re on our way to Boston and can be sure he won’t try to interfere.”
You didn’t like the idea of not seeing it happen, not being sure that he was released and not harmed further. “Do you swear, Mr. Barber?” you asked. “Do you swear that he’ll be able to go back to his farm and be left alone?”
Barber looked you in the eye and said, gravely, “Tomorrow, once we are gone, he will be released from this cell, safe and alive, to go back to his farm. And neither my associates nor I will have any more dealings with him. You have my word.”
For a full beat, you didn’t break eye contact with him. You just stared, searching for the truth of what he was saying. You didn’t trust him. You didn’t think you ever would. But here, now, on this, you believed him. It was the only thing you could do. You nodded and exhaled with relief a small, “Thank you.”
He smiled. It was softer than you’d seen from him. He reached out and ran his fingers down your cheek, then leaned in and gave you a gentle peck on the cheek. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe. You’d never been touched like that by a man before.
Cole continued his protests behind you, but went ignored by you both. You, because you knew if you turned to look at him now, you would not be able to contain yourself in front of this audience. Barber, you surmised, didn’t acknowledge it because Cole was no longer a concern to him.
“You’ve made me very happy today,” Barber said, lowly, just for you. You didn’t know how to respond to that. All you could do was look down demurely.
He turned to go and held out his arm for you to exit the jailhouse ahead of him. You stayed where you were. “May I say goodbye?” you asked, unsure of what you would do if he said no. Praying that he didn’t.
Barber finally looked over at Cole, a sneer on his face. “If you must,” he said, brusquely. He pulled a beautiful silver pocket watch from his tailored waistcoat and glanced down at it. “But I have other matters to attend to.” He stepped back to you, even closer than before. He grasped one of your gloved hands where you held it in front of yourself, and gave it a squeeze. “I will see you tomorrow, my darling.” Then he put on his hat and stalked out of the jailhouse, two of the Pinkertons following closely behind him.
You watched all three men leave, waiting until they were truly gone to rush the jail cell. “Mr. Turner! Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assured you, extending one hand through the bars, which you immediately grasped tightly between your gloved ones. “But you– Please don’t go through with this. Not for me.”
“And what should I do instead?” you asked. “Let him take everything from you when I have the power to stop it?”
“If he wants my farm, let him take it,” Cole growled. “Whether for his railroad or any gold he imagines he might find there, I don’t care. I’ll happily let him have it if it means I can start over again with you.”
At that, the tears you’d been trying so hard to keep at bay finally started to gather in your eyes. “And if it’s your life he decides to take, what then?” Because you knew, without a doubt, that that is what it would come to if you continued to refuse him. The bruises on Cole’s face and his place in this cell were a testament to that. Mr. Barber’s goal may have been land when he first arrived here, but you saw in his eyes the way his goals changed as soon as he met you.
“So you would give him your own instead?!”
“Mr. Turner–”
“Cole,” he interrupted you, pleading. “Please, if this is truly the last time we’ll speak, please call me by my name.”
“Cole,” you said quietly, reverently, and you felt the way it caused his hand to tremor in your grasp. “I must confess, it is already what I call you when I speak to myself.”
“I think of you so much,” he whispered, and your eyes flickered to where the remaining Pinkerton sat in the jailor’s chair, but the man was paying you no mind. “I think of the life I want to give you. I think of what you’ll look like as you grow old with me.” He paused, his gaze falling away from you, to the corner of the room. “I think of your belly swelling with my children. How beautiful you’d be.”
Flames licked against your cheeks at his words. No man had ever said anything nearly so forward to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel scandalized. All you felt was your heart breaking.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, mistaking your silence for offence. “I’m too forward. Too crass. Barber’s right. A fine lady like you? He can give you so much more of what you deserve.”
“I'm not nearly as fine as all that. And I don't reckon he'll ever be able to give me half as much as you could, but I would sacrifice my happiness a thousand times if it meant I could be sure that no harm would come to you.”
There was no other word but devastated for the look Cole gave you at that. But you had no other choice. If you continued to resist, Barber would kill Cole and take you anyway. This was all you could do.
Someone cleared their throat behind you. You startled; you’d forgotten anyone else was here. “Miss,” the Pinkerton began, nodding his head at you respectfully, “we need to be gettin’ you home, give you time to pack.”
“Just a few more minutes,” you pleaded. “I’ll be quick; you can wait outside.”
The man gave you and then Cole a wary look, but then nodded his assent, presumably deciding there wasn’t much impropriety either of you could get up to while separated by bars.
You kept an eye on him until he’d fully exited the building. Once he was gone, you moved as close to Cole as you could get. “It breaks my heart to leave you so. I know–” Your tears were starting to fall now, and you released his hand so you could wipe them away. “I know I should leave you cleanly, give you a chance to forget all about me and find a life and a happiness that doesn’t bring so much pain.” He opened his mouth, to argue with you, you knew, but you kept talking. “Selfishly, I can’t abide the thought of you never thinking of me again, even though it makes me cruel.” You hurriedly took off one of your gloves, trying not to think too hard about what kind of woman that made you. You passed it through the bars. “Please, take this token, and if it’s not too much, if all this doesn’t make you hate me, keep it close to your heart, where I so wish I could be.”
Cole looked up at you, his eyes glistening, and you almost gasped. You’d never seen a man cry before. But Cole had never been like other men, especially not out here. He didn’t say anything, just took the glove from your hand with one of his own, but then with the other, he grasped your fingers, not letting you go. So gently, he raised your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles, with a reverence you’d never known before. Your mind whirled at the fact that half an hour ago, you’d never felt a man’s lips on your bare skin, and now you’d had two. The difference in how they’d made you feel could not be put into words.
You wanted to sob when he raised his head up and dropped your hand. He took your glove and put it inside his vest, right over his heart. “I’ll keep it close,” he said roughly, “just as I wish I could do with you.”
You nodded, afraid you would have no voice if you tried to speak again. You needed to leave; there was no reason to tarry any longer, but you couldn’t make yourself move. Thankfully, Cole spoke again. “I reckon the Almighty forsook me long ago, just like he has this whole uncivilized place, but if by some chance that isn’t true, you and I will see each other again.”
All you could do was nod, his hope too much for you. You had none to match it. You put on your bonnet and gathered your skirts. “Be well, Mr. Turner,” you said, then turned around and left the jailhouse.
You didn’t pause to collect the Pinkerton, trusting he’d fall in step behind you. He did, calling out to you, “Miss, your glove.”
“I lost it,” you said to him without turning around. It nearly came out as a growl, trying as you might to cover up how thick your voice had gotten. “This place is treacherous.”
Relationship: Ari Levinson x gender neutral reader
Warnings: angst, exes, explicit language, adult themes. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Summary: You run into the worst possible person while trying and failing to get back home after the holidays.
Word Count: ~1.4k
Twelve Days of Krismas 2025
Masterlist
A/N: My first real Ari story! Huge thanks to @bigtreefest for helping with the Ari of it all. I spun my three angst roulette wheels and got Ari Levinson - "Why wasn't I enough?" - Airport terminal. I hope you enjoy!
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
You see him before he sees you.
It’s been a hellish week. Home for the holidays. You regretted it the moment you walked into your parents’ house. And now, finally able to escape, you’re stuck at the airport, flight delayed indefinitely due to mechanical failure. You wish they'd just officially cancel it so you can make other plans. As things are, you're stuck waiting.
You think that things can't possibly get any worse, before a big hubbub at the end of the concourse catches your attention. Oh god. No no no no no. You never wanted to see him again, but especially not today. The source of the noise is Ari fucking Levinson being hounded by a group of teenage girls trying to get selfies with him.
You turn away as quickly as you can and walk in the opposite direction, but it’s too late. Your name rings out between the gates and duty-free shops. Despite your best instincts, you turn around to see him shrugging off the teens and hurrying towards you. You can’t leave now, so you wait. It gives you time to become acutely aware of the fact that you’re in leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, with tennis shoes that have seen better days. Your hair is a mess. As he gets closer to you, you can see that he’s wearing stone-washed jeans and leather boots that are artfully half-undone. He’s got on a plain white tee that hugs his pecs with the deepest vee you think you’ve ever seen. There’s a pair of Ray-Bans tucked into it. To top it all of, he’s wearing a beautiful deep blue jacket. His hair’s a little shorter than you remember it, maybe, but it’s perfectly styled, dark brown but sun-kissed. He looks like a fucking rock star. Because that’s exactly what he is.
He gets to you too soon, with that big, cheeky grin on his face that’s seared into your memories. “Holy shit!” he laughs, full of wonder. “I can’t believe it’s you. It’s been way too long!”
He pulls you into a hug before you have a chance to reply, so you end up softly saying “Hey, Ari,” right into his big chest. Everything, right down to his smell, is exactly as you remember it. It hurts just as much as it feels like home.
When he finally releases you, he’s still grinning like the cat who got the canary. “Please tell me we have time to catch up. How long til your flight boards?”
No time at all, you try to get yourself to say. It’s boarding right now. But when you actually open your mouth, what comes out is, “Uh, delayed indefinitely. So yeah, I guess I have time.”
His smile drops only slightly, into something sympathetic. “Oh man, that sucks.” His expression quickly bounces back. “But shit, kinda feels like fate, doesn’t it?” His gaze darts around the concourse, noting all of the eyes on him, just like they always have been. “Hey, come have a drink with me in the lounge. I want to hear everything.”
The first-class lounge. Of course. “Ari, my ticket won’t get me in there.”
He’s already walking ahead of you. “What?” he asks. He barely looks back, like the thought of basic economy has never even occurred to him. “They’ll let you in, you’re with me. It’ll be fine.” And of course he believes that. He’s Ari Levinson. Self-confidence has never been his problem. It’s one of the things that’s gotten him so far.
They do let you in, of course, they do. All he’s ever had to do is smile and brush his long hair out of his face, and people are bending over backwards to get him what he wants.
You sit down at the bar, and he orders some surely very fancy gin that you’ve never heard of. You just get a beer.
You wait for him to say something, but he’s just looking at you, like maybe you aren’t really there. Like maybe if he fucks up and blinks, you’ll just disappear. It’s unnerving. But it’s also always been so warm in his attention.
But you can’t deal with the silence, even if you have no idea what to say. “So, were you back home for Hannukkah?”
He finally looks away from you long enough to take a drink. “No,” he says as he sets his glass back down. “I’ve had shows all through December. Now going back to LA for a couple of days before flying out to Paris for a New Year’s Eve gig.”
“Wow,” you say, taking a healthy pull of your own beer, “look at you. The glamour never stops, huh?”
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but there’s a hint of exhaustion in his voice as he says, “Sure, that’s one word for it.” Another sip of his gin, then, “You went home? You have a good holiday?”
“I went home,” you say with a shrug. You let your silence answer the rest of it.
“Ah,” he hums, when it’s clear you aren’t going to say anything more. “I’m sorry that’s all still… the same.”
“Thanks,” you say quietly. You don’t say anything else. You don’t know how to do this. How to just sit here with the biggest heartbreak of your life and talk like everything is normal.
Like a reflex, he reaches out and puts his hand on your knee, curling into you, mimicking how the two of you always used to sit at bars together, balancing on the barstools as you leaned into each other, and you’re instantly catapulted ten years into the past. To the endless months on the road, going from dive bar to dive bar, sleeping together in the back of the tour van, spending all your money on gas and fast food and cheap beer just to get to the next gig. Watching him play from your place manning the merch table, swept up in how he looked under the spotlight, how he could captivate a crowd, how he shone with all that raw talent. Leaning over his shoulder as he wrote lyrics, as he wrote about you, as he wrote the songs that would make him famous. Laughing, laughing, laughing, making out, making love. Dive bar after dive bar after dive bar. The only constant for either of you during that whole time was just each other. You thought it always would be.
You feel the tears on your face before you realize you’re crying. You see the startled-sad-worried look on his face and turn yours away. “Why wasn’t I enough?” you ask without meaning to, your voice thick.
“What?” It sounds like it’s been punched out of him.
“I only ever needed you, wanted you, that was it. I never needed any of this extra shit, the fame, the money, the status. But you did, I guess. And then you stopped needing me.”
“What are you talking about?” His voice is rising with pent-up feeling. You see the bartender look over in your direction. You can’t bring yourself to care. “That’s not–” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You’re the one who left!”
“Because I could already feel myself being pushed out the door!” It feels like a shout, but you’re pretty sure it comes out as a whisper. “After the record deal and those first studio sessions–” you shake your head now in frustration and sadness and anger and your heart breaking all over again. “Once all of this was a possibility,” you fling your arms around at all of the first class accommodations, “there wasn’t room for me anymore. I could feel it.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a frustrated growl, and then his phone vibrates on the bar top. You glance at the notification from the airline’s app. “Your flight is boarding,” you say, tone flat. You get up, furiously trying to wipe the tears from your face.
As you turn to go, his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. His grip is desperate. “Fuck my flight,” he rumbles at you. “Please. Stay.”
