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daddy!ari levinson x baby!reader | kinktober 2022 summary | you try not to get caught when cockwarming ari.

for more drabbles: [#kinktober 2022] tag!

warnings | size kink, breeding kink, dd/lg, dom/soft ari, smut

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CONT.

“I—oh!” You startle when Ari thrusts his hips up to yours. How his dick is still hard inside of you, you can’t grasp. Instead, you’re reduced to a blabbering, silent mess when you grab his biceps in an attempt to pull yourself together. 

“You’ve been sleeping on me, sweetheart.” The man says gruffly, kissing up your neck. He whispers in your ear, “Didn’t I tell you to pay attention to Daddy?”

He loves that you’ve been cockwarming him the last hour, a blanket draped over the two of you. No one—not Bucky, not Sam, not any of his friends that he invited—knew what he was up to. No one got to hear the small gasp escape you when he pushed your panties to the side and slid himself in to the hilt. The stretch burned because you’re still a little baby, still adjusting to Daddy’s big dick.

And fuck if Ari doesn’t love that you can’t take him. Every resistance gives him that adrenaline rush, every inch of him that your cunt takes a feeling of victory.

He’s been sitting with a smug smirk for an hour—he knows that much. And that your pussy has been squeezing him, desperate for his cum. 

So when you drifted off the last hour, sucking on his thumb, his heart filled with warmth. Widened to leave a space for you and no one else. Got him so hard he wondered if you’d take his cum mindlessly in your sleep. 

Ari pushes his hips upwards while shoving yours towards him, diving deeper into you. You grab at the back of his hair, whimpering into his skin. Sinking into him. 

“Just stay like that, baby. Let Daddy do all the work, hm?” 

“But—” Your eyes steal a glance at the men on the other side, and he sneaks in to pinch your clit. The immediate aftershocks have you squeaking and bucking your hips into him once more. 

None of the men move from their spots—good. He’d probably have to kill them if they got a glimpse of the desire in your eyes and parted lips.

“I thought you liked it when Daddy filled you up. When he pressed your little button.” 

Ari relishes in your thighs trembling, in your head shaking as you try to get it together. Another press against your button, this time it’s timed with a deliberate thrust that no doubt leaves an outline on your stomach. 

“Come on baby—just give Daddy what he wants.”

hoax [ari levinson] [two]

hoax | trapped in an arranged marriage and unrequited love, you'd do anything to stop making ari despise you.

pairing | dark!ari x naive!sunshine!reader

warnings | p in v, lots of angst, self depreciation, pregnancy, ari is essentially an asshole, cheating, car accident, explicit smut; 18+

notes | inspired by @evansbby and her dear diary au + her feed !!! sorry for taking so long- this is about 6k right now, and there will definitely be more angst coming... hehe

buy me a kofi! drabble requests/asks! main!

CONT. THREE.

He doesn’t love you, and you know it.

You feel the resentment rolling off of him in waves whenever you walk by, cautious to not let anyone else see it. Everyone around him—his whole empire—does, though. Maybe they don’t know that he fucks you hard and fast like a feral animal, apathetic since the first night when you gave your virginity to him. 

You can still recall it, clear as day.

Maybe they don’t know that the housemaids in the house treat you like shit, cleaning Ari’s room but leaving yours in a worse state than when you exited. 

Maybe they don’t—and you hope that they never will—know that you love Ari.

He hates you. It’s simple. You’re the girl that ruined his happily ever after with the one he truly loves, the villain in the story. It makes sense that Ari didn’t want to see you at all.

But still, you want to try and make amends. Try and let him see that even though you’re married, you can be compatible. I mean, it’s not like you’ve been desperately searching on the internet possible MBTIs that he might match with, and then seeing if they work with yours.  

And it’s not like you cry every night hoping that he ends up with you, like all stories do. Too bad that you still can’t realize that you’re not the main character in the story. Sharon is, and you’re all living in her world, you being the background character so desperate to speak up. 

“So, is there some business meeting I wasn’t invited to?” You joke. “Because you seem to be missing dinner a whole lot.” 

On good days, you get a grunt in response. Other days, like today, he brushes past you. Your cheeks heat, and you sneak a glance at the employees cleaning the hallways, smirking at you and shaking their heads. 

“Okay, listen,” you say as your, well, husband, enters the room. It’s not even yours, it’s his. There are separate beds and rooms because he can’t stand being beside you, and that’s the worst blow anyone can receive. The wall itself is an insult, an obvious barrier to your relationship.

He’s only using you for sex, and you should stop expecting more. 

If kicking you out after and having you hobble down the hallway isn’t enough of an indicator, you don’t know what is. 

“Do you,” the words are hard to digest, but you say them anyways, “do you think I can have more respect in this house? I know you don’t like me, but I’m living in this house too.” You trail off, back leaning against the door like you forgot to stand up straight. 

His actions are worse than a gunshot wound. That’s the thing about Ari: he’s indifferent. Without even sparing you a glance, he pulls over a hoodie. A casual outfit. Which can only mean one thing.

He’s going to Sharon’s. Her perfume scent is already on the hoodie, like she’s worn it one too many times after sex. And the fact that he put it on when you were trying to have a serious conversation with him?

It hurt. Really hurt, like the immediate tears in your eyes kind. 

“Maybe there’s a reason why you don’t receive respect,” the man says quietly, like it’s a given fact. And every thought about setting things right crumbles. 

Right. Of course. You’re still the young girl living in a day dream, hoping for a Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet. And you thought that it’d be Ari. Ari noticing your needs and taking care of you. Ari realizing you accidentally skipped a meal writing and bringing it to you, giving you small pecks in between bites. Ari who would cuddle you, murmuring soft I love you’s before sleeping. 

But it’s not like that. It’s you asking the staff whether he ate or not, when he’ll be home. It’s you noticing that his favorite snacks are almost gone, heading to the grocery story and  making sure it’s filled the next time he heads down for a midnight meal. It’s you who drapes a blanket over him when he naps on the couch, tired from working excessive hours a day, whispering an I love you that will never get a response. 

The worst kind: unrequited love. Like your colleagues, even you don’t understand why you’re so committed to him sometimes. But the thought of being with someone other than him hurts more than dealing with this. And so you’re stuck, in an endless cycle of being his punching back. 

Of an endless, toxic cycle of trying to shape yourself like Sharon. 

You slump to the floor, hands over your face, steadying your breaths. One. Two.

You heave.

And then you release a heavy, shaking sob into the void. 

“What— you’re really going to drink that much?” Your friend’s mouth opens in shock. “You never drink that much.”

Another beer. There’s barely a burn anymore, the scalding feeling disappearing. When you don’t reply, she continues, “And if you’re going to die tonight, at least ask the bartender for a shot instead of beer. One hits you harder while the other makes you wallow in depression more.”

You snort and stare down at your wrist, tempted to place two fingers to your neck. Because for the past few hours, your body’s been drastically getting more numb, enough to make you wonder if you have a pulse or not. The dingy bar she brought you to is quiet, only a few customers in sight. Though humid and floor coated with spilled alcohol, it’s oddly less like a bar, with its chaotic fairy lights and paintings of nude women slapped on the walls. 

“Is this because Sharon was spot hanging out with your husband’s sister?”

Bingo. You visibly flinch at that. 

“You know it’s not a big deal, right? They’ve been friends since like college or something.”

Sharon Sharon Sharon Sharon. She’s all you can think about. What keeps you up at night, what haunts you during the day, and a reminder that you’re better off gone in this world. 

She’s also the reason you’ve been keeping your mouth shut when talking to Natasha—Nat. No one knows about her and Ari. No one knows that you spent his card yesterday buying things left and right—Prada bags, expensive cars, even going as far as buying a whole store out. Not only was there no comment, but the guilt like you committed a grave sin grew. 

You buried the body by donating your items to charity. At least someone will benefit from this arrangement. 

“Hey,” Nat lays a hand over your trembling one. All you want to do is sob and curl into a fetal position, but you plaster on a smile, dark eyes and all. 

Let the tabloids have a field day with this. 

You want to say that you’re reduced to nothing inside, but you still feel the knife, shoving and twisting inside of you whenever your husband makes a comment. These days, you obsessively scroll on the Internet ticking off mental disorder symptoms. Making sure that you don’t check off all the boxes, so there’s not another flaw you have to worry about. 

But that’s the thing: if you’re so far in, you’re unaware. 

“You having issues?”

“No,” you croak. Repeat it again, stronger. “No issues at all.” 

“Then why did you ask me to meet you?”

“Isn’t it enough to miss you?” Isn’t it enough to know that someone will come when I ask? 

She raises an eyebrow. “Okay.” 

Another gulp of the beer. You remember when you met Ari’s sister, how her eyes burned into you with disapproval. The passive aggressive remarks turned into full-on rude ones that Ari let happen over the dinner table. It started with your physical attributes—don’t you think you need to go on a diet?—to your carelessness—Ari’s wife should never spill anything, it’s unbecoming of you—to just… you. 

“I don’t know why Ari married you,” she told you when you came out of the bathroom, “and I don’t know what you want from him. But just know that Ari will cut you off one day if you want money. If you want a heir, I doubt he’ll support the baby and you.”

You had stared at her in shock—how can someone say something so vicious and cruel with a straight face? It had never been clearer that the two were related. 

“I’ll write you a check. 10 million. Leave anytime within the year. Let me know when you cave.”

A month ago, you might have gained the courage to spit in her face. Now, you crumble under the jabs she throws at you. 

“Do you know any jobs?” You blurt. “I need a job.” 

Her eyes widen. “You’re asking me for a job? Did you forget that I live in a crammed studio apartment with cockroaches for neighbors?” 

Well, you’d rather live with cockroaches than snakes. 

“I’ll take any job,” you murmur. “No matter how sketchy.”

“You can’t ask your brother for one?”

A shake of your head. Getting your brother involved would only make things more complicated. He might rope Ari into it, and that would make life harder. 

“Your husband? I doubt he would approve if it’s dangerous for you.”

Unable to stop it, a bitter laugh escapes you. Natasha catches on. It’s part of the reason how the two of you became such close friends. Though you’re expressive and try to be optimistic, at your lows, you shut down, not wishing to inconvenience anyone. She’s good at reading the mood, and even better at figuring out your thoughts. 

And she’s a fixer.

You need one of those in your life right now.

She rubs her lips together. “I don’t know. I don’t want you to get hurt—you can’t even fight! What are you going to do if someone decides to rob the store and you’re faced with a gun?”

Someone did almost rob you weeks ago. Not with a gun, but you can’t imagine how dying a swift death doesn’t sound appealing. 

“Alright,” she sighs. “Damn, I knew you were secretly stubborn.”

For what feels like in forever, you smile. 

Good thing you got the job, you think nearly weeks later. You thought about this happening to you sooner or later, but didn’t think it’d be this far out. 

“What are you doing in my room?” The man snaps. Ari. You straighten your spine out of fear, fingers trembling as you take a step back. The drawer is still open, the black card inside of it.

“The workers said that they accidentally put my card in your room, and that you told them to tell me to retrieve it—”

“I have better things to do than mess with a useless bitch.” 

He might as well slapped you with the way you reel back. “Excuse me?”

“What, you’re going to act like you don’t understand what I was saying now?” Under his breath, he mutters, “Sharon was right.” 

“I don’t—”

“You’re going to hoard everything now? You don’t need another card. Everything is provided for you. The workers get you groceries, and someone supplies you with clothes of your size every two weeks. They make sure that they have all the basics, from your shampoo to the eyeliner you’re always bitching about. We have a driver to drive you around, and it’s your fault if you don’t use it. And if you’re still not satisfied…” He shrugs. “You can always beg your brother. I’m sure he’s more angelic than I am.” 

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is happening. You don’t even know whether to laugh or to cry. It’s like you’re frozen in time, needing to process the words and see if this truly happened to you. You’re awful with confrontations—what should you even say? What will make him speechless? What will make him hurt as much as you do?

Every day, he tears another vein out of you. It’s like blood is constantly gushing out of your wound, and he turns a blind eye to it. 

If he knew anything, he would’ve seen that you left not to go party, but to go wash dishes and avoid jeering men wanting a feel of you. If he knew anything, he would’ve noticed you trembling when coming home, from both the cold and the fear that someone will stab you alive. That it won’t be an amateur robber approaching you next time, but someone who carries a weapon with them. If he even showed the slightest interest, he would know that you haven’t called your brother since the wedding. 

You never knew you could feel this little. That the variety in your emotions can minimize to one: heartbreak. 

Is this the way you’re going to love him? Letting him step over you? Reading about his charm and endurance on tabloids, but never be able to see it in real life? 

It’s tiring. Most of the people at work don’t know that you’re Ari’s wife. You’ve never gone out to events together, but instead of saying you’re locked in, it’s mentioned that you don’t like to go out often, that Ari likes to shield you from the world of vultures. Of prey. 

 Not like you’re already eaten alive. 

“Did you two have a lovers’ quarrel?” The photographer jokes, jutting his hip to the side. “Show me the chemistry the newspapers have been gushing about!”

If only he knew. This isn’t a simple quarrel, but a war. An endless one with no stalemate. The whole crew quiets at his words. Other than the light shining on the two of you, the rest of the large room is dark, like an endless void of negativity. Ari glares at the man who lowers his camera, inspecting the distance between the two of you. 

“Come closer,” the man demands, ignoring the stiffness in Ari’s shoulders. “There’s too much distance. Put your hands on his shoulders, and you, sir, can put your arms around her waist.”

You flush at his simple commands, eyeing your husband’s scowl. But this was to show the media that the two of you were still getting along, since they now caught onto your lack of presence. Heck, Sharon appeared in tabloids more than you did, titles of FRIENDSHIP OVER MARRIAGE? circulating. 

They were picture perfect—more so than you and Ari. With the way you two can’t even hold hands, it’s clear the you’re sleeping in different rooms. That you’re the problem, because Ari can smile for everyone but you. 

It’s like everyone is holding in their breath when you lay a hand on Ari’s pecs. Your breath hitches at the contact—the type that’s only rarely initiated when he fucks you. Leaving you a mess and having you clean up for yourself. Ari’s finger hooks a finger around the belt loop of your jeans, and either neither of you are breathing, or it’s just way too silent in here. God, your thoughts don’t make sense, either. 

Underneath the palm of your hand, you imagine that his heart beats faster at the contact. 

It doesn’t, but you’re entranced by its steady thuds, the stability and reassurance you crave right in front of you. 

This is too close, too. Closer than you’ve ever been. Close enough that you can look up and peer at his beard. Close enough that you can press your face into his chest, initiate a hug. 

Close enough that you can act like you’re a couple. 

You curl your fingers inward and breathe in his scent. Without even knowing, your forehead brushes his shirt, and the photographer yells with glee, “Yes! That’s it! There we go!” 

The finger around your belt loop tightens like a warning. Step back. But there are no words, no sounds except the shuttering of the camera. And with that, you gain the courage to gaze into his eyes boring into you. 

You imagine that this is a different universe: that you two are lovers, that his eyes crinkle with warmth and desperation to kiss you, that he wraps a hand around your neck and brings your mouth to his. 

It’s his pride that causes him to keep staring at you, but you don’t care what the reason is. As long as one hand is restrained from touching his beard, you’re fine. 

Your lips part—what should you say? Crack a joke? Be honest? 

All words are stuck in your throat.

The two of you remain in the same position for the rest of the photoshoot.

Just two people in the world interacting. 

Sometimes, they’re just not meant to be together. No matter how much you push and shove and hope for it to be. 

It’s embarrassing, how you let Ari do anything to you. The control he has over you is scary, too, but you let him. It’s the third time since he took you to bed, and you find yourself silently pleading with him through your eyes. 

Please love me. Please say something. Please please please please. 

The second time, he slapped a hand over your mouth and used you, grunting and groaning when he came inside you. He isn’t gentle this time, either, gagging you and fucking you like an animal. He doesn’t go slow and steady, instead fucking hard enough that the sound of your skin slapping against one another echoes through the room. You feel his thrusts inside you, see the outline of his cock protruding your stomach. 

You squirm when Ari thrusts his hips up to yours. How his dick is still hard inside of you, you can’t grasp. Instead, you’re reduced to a blabbering, silent mess when you grab the blankets. You can’t touch him. He doesn’t allow any other contact except him entering inside of you. 

His hand circles your clit, and you buck underneath him as he plays you like an instrument. It’s all a silent performance, nothing more, nothing less. 

And when you come, falling into oblivion, you only wish you had more of him. 

Liquid lurches out of you as you bend over the toilet, hand grasping the test for dear life. You’re choking and sobbing and the shaking is turning onto full of body quakes. Hot and then cold, you wipe the sweat dotting along your forehead. Your head is pounding and if you remain here for a few more minutes, you’re going to faint on the toilet ground.

Arms trembling, you lower your cheek on the cool tile, closing your eyes. 

Of course. You should’ve realized that something was wrong the moment you stepped into work tonight. Could’ve had the realization earlier if you noticed something off about throwing up in the morning. 

Dear God, you had to be the most naive person on earth. Until when are you going to keep doing this to yourself? How long do you have to suffer to even out your sins, and start living a normal life? 

I’m pregnant. The two words are incite to your mind both life and death. Hope and despair. You stare down at the test, clenching your teeth together. The first thought that comes to your mind is unbearable, and you hate that you’re thinking it: what if this baby splits you apart even further?

The next is just as sickening: should I get an abortion without telling Ari?

But then you remember how you used to work as a kindergarten teacher. See the little kids run around talk excessively, making adorable expressions. How they eyes shined bright with excitement when you told them something that you, as an adult, was used to. They thought everything was fascinating, and helped you see the world in a different light. And then you compare it with your childhood, with your deadbeat father who made you quiver in fear. How you spent every second holding your breath, checking the hallways before stepping out of your room, on constant alert that you just drained. 

If you’re going to have this baby… you want to be sure. You want them to grow up knowing that there will be no one else like them. To show them the true meaning of unconditional love—that you’d go through hell and back for them.

You place a hand on your stomach, hands trembling. Throughout your life, you’ve been told that your heart is a little too big, with endless space. A fatal flaw, in your opinion, since you end up loving what you can’t have. 

But this is yours. Part of your DNA. Someone who will have their own mind one day and someone who will love you, for a short while at least. The desperation for decent human interaction is sated by your work, the customers acting like normal human beings. Like your college friends, before you entered this snobbish world that is too political, too dehumanizing. 

It’s okay, you reassure. I can do it. I can bounce back. I can be positive.

I can do it.

“Why are you—” Ari slams the door behind you the instant you come in. When you first opened it, you saw him pacing, yanking open drawers and cabinets. “Did you take it? Where is it?” His eyes are frenzied, and he grabs at your arms. “Do you have to take everything from me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cry. He’s the one in your room. The one who opened all your drawers without question, the one shaking you. The one in his usual outfit, about to see Sharon. Even the mattress you placed in the floor is messed up, the blankets scattered to the ground. You fight the tears building up in your eyes—do you always have to be so wrongfully accused? At the very least, you thought that the two of you entered some kind of silent truce since the photoshoot, since you both decided to avoid one another.

But then this happened. 

“Sharon’s ring. Obviously it’d be you—who else would it be?”

You swallow the scoff. It’s clear that he doesn’t care about the state of your room. At the sleepless nights. At the lack of this being a home. At the very fact that you’re so scared to settle in this place, that you can’t decorate or live the way you used to. 

At how every shred of the past you is tattered. 

“Don’t touch me!” The shout is out of shock more than anything. Immediately, you shield your body away from him and cover your stomach. It’s instinct—you don’t think, just protect. Ari notices it immediately, and his breath hitches. 

“You’re pregnant?” 

Does it even matter? Having a baby in this atmosphere? In the midst of a falling marriage? Now you wonder if that’s selfish, to have a young child suffer under this, too. Would it be discriminated like you are? 

You would die before putting them through that. And this may be out of character for you, but you would kill before allowing him or her to think that they are worthless. They can despise you as much as they want—as long as Ari loves them, as long as they are loved and respected. 

“You have an engagement ring for Sharon?” 

You don’t know if it’s the fact that you’re pregnant, but suddenly, you want more. You know that you’re selfish, asking for more from a man who will never give it to you. But since the first day, he’s been slipping through your fingers, while you’ve been giving and giving and giving. 

And now there’s a reason behind your questions, a motive for your desires: you don’t want your child to wonder where their father goes in the middle of the night. You don’t want Ari pacing the halls waiting for Sharon to call back. There will be no questions of “Where’s Dad?” before nighttime, because you’ll make sure Ari will always be available to them… even if you’re not. 

Ari blows out a breath and rubs his beard. “You weren’t my first choice for a wife—is that what you wanted to hear?” 

You’re stunned into silence, shame filling your cheeks. 

Of course. 

He was your favorite. You’d choose Ari in a heartbeat.

But no one will ever choose you.

You’ll never be anyone’s favorite. 

I don’t think I’ll make it… 

The last page of your journal is open, and you frown. Did Ari come in this room? No, you’re pretty sure he left for work a few hours ago, though you can’t be positive because you left to get some lunch with Natasha. But none of the drawers are opened, and nothing is out of place. 

You did think about writing this morning, maybe you forgot to close it? But you thought you did? Brushing your index finger against the rough paper covered with tears, you recall the thoughts that plagued you when writing this.

“I can’t let him down,” you whisper, closing your diary. Your baby will be beautiful, you know it, with how gorgeous and handsome Ari was. You can’t deny how lonely you are, though. Even when you smiled at him and tried not to be affected with the way the maids sneered at you, and the way his men glared at you, it hurt. It hurt being lonely, and it hurt more that the man who slid the ring on your finger didn’t do anything about it. 

With a sigh, you find the magazine. The two of you on the front cover, staring at one another. 

It’s so obvious that there’s no love in those eyes—Ari looks dead, even. Now, there are more rumors speculating whether him and Sharon are a thing, while the other have—no doubt Ari’s side controlling the media—continues to mention what a power couple the two of you are. 

Maybe this is a good thing, though. Maybe it’s better to stop holding onto what you never had. You trace your hair, comparing it to Sharon’s curls and sophisticated demeanor. The expensive, handcrafted dresses she wears around Ari as she links arms with him. The way the corner of his eyes crinkle when he stares down at her. At least she can love him in all the ways you couldn’t. 

Natasha asked you a couple of days if you’re going to stay married to him forever. Bold of her to assume that there’s something wrong with your relationship with him, even bolder of her to be right. Though you replied that you should, now you’re not so sure.

Divorce is always an option, she said. Why are you staying with him? What for?

For so many reasons. For him. For your child. For your brother.

What about for you? Your mind asks. Aren't you just as important?

Then, another thought: Maybe it is time to let him go. 

Ari is different. There’s this odd shift in the atmosphere: he doesn’t exactly hate you, but he doesn’t know what to do with you. Kind of trying to get rid of a body without causing it any harm. His eyes trial after you as you walk out of the kitchen, and you shoot him a tight smile. 

“When’s the last time you visited the doctor?” 

Another weird thing about that—he shot the doctor endless questions, from your eating habits, to what you can and can’t do, to how the baby will thrive. It’s a completely different direction from what you expected—and you realize he’s now tolerating you because you have a baby inside. And that he might actually be excited to have a child, and that makes you hopeful.

Since purging your violent thoughts out onto the page, you’ve managed to bounce back once again, feeling much better than the last couple of weeks. The absence of Ari, the quietness surrounding him, and you fitting back into your usual routine helps, too: work until you can’t walk anymore, head back home (halfway with Natasha, the other half alone where you fear your life), knock out, wake up in the morning and try not to throw up, cook yourself a meal that also doesn’t make you throw up, and head to work (alone). 

Anyone else might tell you it’s an awful schedule, since half the time you’re not trying to spill your breakfast out to customers. But you’re starting to like the easiness of it. All the workers there at the pub are getting used to you, too, treating you like a younger sibling, entrusting you in their circle.

For what’s supposed to be a risqué place, it’s surprisingly comfortable. Everyone’s really nice there, and you have to stop yourself from bouncing on your toes just from the good vibes Natasha gives you. And there are compliments—lots of them—sent your way, which goes to show how nice everyone else is. Super nice. There’s no other way you can describe it, other than that you love it there. 

Maybe this baby is bringing you good luck and good fortune. Maybe the baby is part of the reason why your mood is so much better lately. 

Maybe the baby is saving you. At least, you’d like to think so. 

“Since we went together? Zero?” 

“We should visit again,” he mutters, taking a sip of coffee. Now there’s always questions to his actions. Like, what does that mean? An implication that you’re not taking care of the baby well enough? 

“I take walks,” you blurt, then blush as he raises his eyebrows. It’s another thoughtless sentence, but whenever you’re around Ari, you seem to have a lot of those. 

And this is when it once again gets weird: usually he’d glance away with a glare, but this time, his eyes linger on your pink cheeks. His stare becomes more heated before he clears his throat and motions to the table for you to sit. 

You hesitate, knees locking in place. Should you run?

“Sit,” Ari mutters, followed by your name. And the throaty, commanding voice cuts off your thinking. You plop yourself on the chair that Ari’s pulled out for you, and clasped your hands over your lap, fighting the urge to bounce your knee. Eyes darting from the employees to Ari to the ground to the chandelier on the ceiling, you don’t notice Ari speaking until his finger taps the counter.

“Have you been paying attention to what I’ve been saying?” His voice is stern. Softer than the curt tone he’d often address you with.

“Uh, no,” you squeak. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. I was…”

“Getting distracted,” he muses. He’s still staring at you, giving you the attention you’ve wanted so badly. You haven’t seen him for two to three weeks, and now he has a sudden personality change?

Did God hear your prayers? Did the universe swap the Ari you know for a caring one? 

“You’re spacing out again.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, chewing on your lower lip. “I’m listening, I promise.” 

Ari sighs. “Forget about it. Just make sure to clear your schedule next Friday for the doctor’s appointment.” 

Your eyes widen. “Are we going together?”

This time, his eyes say, What do you think? Then, he gets up, excusing himself to go to work.

He never excuses himself, just leaves. 

You watch as he buttons his cufflinks and runs a hand through his hair—simple acts that you haven’t been exposed to in your marriage. A flutter of butterflies erupt in your stomach when he dips his head in your direction, but tamp it down faster than someone stepping on their lit cigarette. 

The door clicks shut.

You sit there on the counter in wonder of what happened. 

You’re doing this thing where you reinvent yourself. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you take a walk downtown, breathing in the fumes that’ll most likely kill you, and letting the honks and shouts of street vendors call out to you. In reality, it's just an excuse to splurge on yourself. Though chaos is the last place you thrive in, you can’t help but love feeling disconnected here—you’re not a particular person, just another one on the street. 

That, and you’re craving some bagels. Since caffeine is not exactly the best idea when you’re pregnant—you never liked coffee anyways, but sometimes it’s a necessity while working—you’re channeling all that to the food you eat. 

Ari never gave you his card back, and you haven’t talked about it, either. So you’re just using your hard earnings to stock up on carbs, or to eat outside the restaurant and watch the New Yorkers.

You love how each of them have a charisma that you’ll never have. How they have the ability to walk down the street without the fear that someone is judging them. With that, it’s so obvious that you’re not cut out for this future, CEO wife duties. Before this… it’s awkward imagining a before. But you’d walk down this street rushing to class, to your masters in literature that your brother funded. 

Gatsby. Frankenstein. Rochester. All these imaginary characters, leading to dreams of being published one day, dreams that your brother kindled before Ari crushed it. No—dreams that your brother only supported so he can exploit you one day. You never got the support you wanted, the words of affirmation you craved. Even now, you’re drowning, something stuck in your lungs that prevent you from breathing. 

But back then. Back then you’d walk by and see Ari’s face on a billboard while waiting for the light to turn green, and feel your heart crashing against your chest like waves, wondering if this is unrequited love. 

How wrong you were then. Because this moment, having everything but nothing at all, is unrequited love. 

You see the same building now produce a picture of you and Ari, captioned, POWER COUPLE? Thank God majority of New York doesn’t care, but you lower your head anyways in case someone might recognize you. You slump and chew your bagel, letting the breeze lift strands of your hair, letting nosey puppies bump their nose on your ankle and walk past you, back to their owner. 

It’s then you see it: that dark blonde strand in curls, the heels, the blazer that if you always wore, looked like a young child wearing her mother’s clothes. The straight spine as she carries herself like she knows how to wrap the world around her finger—she probably does.

Sharon. 

And you know who’ll trail behind. She’s already beaming back at him, hands swinging to point a finger and laugh. If Ari didn’t wear his wedding band, if you didn’t chain him down, you know he’d grab that hand, just like you know you need to leave, just like you know that this bagel suddenly tastes stale and bitter. The expression that he gives her is soft like usual, but something feels… off? Maybe it’s the knit in his eyebrows? The hands in his pockets, like he’s restraining himself more than usual? The way his eyes swing around, to see if anyone is eavesdropping them? 

Though you’re most likely hallucinating.

You get up, eyes glued to the concrete smashed with cream cheese and bagel crumbs and other liquids that you don’t exactly want to stare at for long. From the corner of your eye, you see Sharon run to the street, calling after your husband. 

It all happened so quickly. In the blind of an eye, yet not at the same time.

You see the car coming and closer to Sharon, you move before Ari does. It’s almost funny, how when in danger, most people think of themselves, clearing out without a word, not even warning the girl you’re supposed to hate. And by the time Ari realizes—by the time he starts shouting—he is unable to reach her, and she is standing there, frozen. 

Adrenaline kicks in. You run, sprint, anything. Just a desperation of please please I didn’t mean it I don’t want her dead please I can’t Ari will hate me more Ari doesn’t deserve this I already ruined his life—so how can I let it be ruined even further with this?

You reach her. Tires are screeching. The car is coming to a stop—desperately. Now people are screaming. 

Your hands reach out to shove her, to save her. She tumbles to the ground, out of the vehicle’s reach.

How ironic you don’t think of yourself. 

The last face you see is Ari’s, panicked, arms outstretched, voice incoherent, reaching for you.

Or maybe you’re hallucinating that, too. 

The world turns black. 

part two is up whoooo

hoax [ari levinson] [one]

hoax | trapped in an arranged marriage and unrequited love, you'd do anything to stop making ari despise you.

pairing | dark!ari x naive!sunshine!reader

warnings | p in v, lots of angst, self depreciation, reader is a virgin, ari is essentially an asshole, cheating, explicit smut; 18+

notes | inspired by @evansbby and her dear diary au + her feed !!! she's literally the sweetest and a master at writing <333 super super nervous for this first place but hopefully you enjoy. thanks for reading anyways!

buy me a kofi! drabble requests/asks! main!

CONT. TWO.

“This is my husband?” Your mouth runs dry at the picture your brother gave you. “But why so suddenly?”

The man in front of you shrugs. “Do you have to be so skeptical about it? It’s probably a love match.”

Though his glass walls show the view of the city, it still manages to feel like the walls are closing in on you. A sense of dread churns your stomach, not one of excitement. Because you’ve seen that mischievous glance, the expression one where he’s satisfied after he ruined someone’s life.

This time, that someone might be you. 

Since Ari and your brother have been acquaintances—and even that term is used loosely, as they only see one another during public events—you gained an interest in the billionaire. The rivalry between them. He shows up on countless tabloids, all debating whether he found his true love or not. 

And then there were the Playboy magazines that you stashed under your bed. Even now, your cheeks flush at the lack of clothing Ari is wearing on the front cover.

No wonder women throw themselves at him. You couldn’t blame them. 

“What did you do?” You whisper. “Don’t tell me you meddled in his life.”

“I didn’t,” he cuts you a sharp glance. “Don’t overthink it. I promise he’s the best husband you’ll find.”

With that, he waves you off. Dismissed.

You should be hurt that he can exploit you so easily, especially when you’re blood related. It’s not tough skin that causes you to walk out the door with the slight dignity you have left, most shattered to remains. It’s the knowledge that you’re numb to the fact that no one will stand up for you.

Not even yourself.

You stare down at the invitation that your brother created, one for personal associates. You’ve heard so much about Ari. How gentle he is when taking you out on a bed, how he loves lavishing his girlfriends with gifts and doesn’t mind PDA, loves it in fact. You can imagine he’d be constantly touchy—he would need you by his side so that he can wrap an arm around your waist. And you’d let him. 

The contrast between his soft, yet firm personality when doing press releases or taking someone out to dinner and when he dominates the bedroom doesn’t go unnoticed, either. You can’t imagine how someone thriving as much as he is wants to settle down. 

Dear God. You slap your hands over your cheeks. The schoolgirl crush on him has to go, but here you are. Unconsciously, your finger is tracing the last name, too. Levinson, the name you’ll adopt. 

Instantly, your mind is taken up by thoughts about him. The soft smile he’d reserve only for you. The way you’d have full access to run your hands through his hair. The way the two of you will glance at one another, and know what each other is thinking.

The full on romance movie, what you’ve stayed up nights dreaming about. Soulmates are real, and if by some way the two of you are linked together now, it must be fate. 

Your lips quirk up in a smile, and your heart flutters. Maybe if you try hard enough, he’ll begin to love you. 

Maybe, just maybe, this can work. 

Think optimistically. And whatever you do, don’t cry.

You write the mantra down in your journal, your vision growing hazy due to your emotions. But you have to get these past few months out of your system, or these memories will drive you to the brink of insanity. 

You have to forget to swallow his contempt once again. Forget before being reaffirmed his hatred for you. 

Once the news was out, the magazines declared it a love match. You convinced yourself that it is—until you saw the glare he gave you, the grunts he responded with, the way he despised every little action you did. You were the enemy, no better than your brother. 

Like you haven’t been exploited enough, he had to throw you into this, too. And he refused to even acknowledge you. The fact that he went with you for wedding planning was so that you wouldn’t choose anything excessive. Short and private is what he wanted—most likely to save himself from further humiliation. 

How does this wedding dress look? 

You had to get the most expensive one? He snorted. You’re just like your brother. Gold diggers, both of you.

You remained silent that drive home, fighting the tears in your eyes, lower lip trembling and nails biting into your thighs. Better for him, since he didn’t want to talk to you in the first place.

What kind of ring should we get? You remembered asking, staring up hopefully at him. If there are workers around, maybe he’ll play the part. 

Fucking choose one instead of prancing around, he snapped. Your persistence never failed in the moment, pointing at each one and wondering what he thought about it. Halfway through, he got a phone call and removed himself, forcing you to wait with the employees, who refused to do anything without Ari’s permission. So you fiddled with your phone, glanced at your dress, and went out searching for him. 

In one of the dim-lit hallways, he paced.

I’m not marrying the bitch because I want to, Sharon. No, love. No—don’t hang up on me. Fuck. I’m coming over tonight, okay? Just hang on.

The desperation lingers in his voice as he runs a hand through his hair. Devastated, that was the expression written all over his face as he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. Leaned against the wall, murmuring, fuck. Each word a dagger to your chest, you stumbled back at the impact. Because of course. Of course someone as good-looking as Ari would have someone that he loves. Of course he wouldn’t love you, not only because you were related to your brother, who ruined his life, but because there’s nothing about you that’s redeemable. 

There’s a reason why your parents abandoned you when you were younger. You couldn’t be what they wanted you to be: dominant, smart, a leader. No, as a follower through and through, they left the moment they could. A car accident, with all their inheritance given to your brother. 

It’s like someone is ripping your heart out, and you suck in a wheezing breath. Stare down at your ringless hand. Not that the ring will make a difference: it will only symbolize how you’ve ruined what he had with someone. Something good, judging by the way he looked so heartbroken. 

Your nose began to sting, and you stared at the ceiling so that tears wouldn’t ruin your makeup. Get it together.

Except, you’ve taken all the steps that you could in this relationship, this arrangement, whatever it was. Any further and you’d fall of the cliff, destroying it completely.  

By the time you get to the wedding, how disgusted he looked after kissing you, you felt like hurling yourself. Still do. The pen quivers in your hand, and you place it on the desk. It’s the darkness that hits you. The truth.

You are not enough. 

Yes, he was your first kiss. Yes, you were inexperienced. Yes, you loved him, even then. Even when there was nothing to love. Even when people close to you questioned your relationship, you defended him. Because every time you saw him, your heart hurt so much you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe because of the way he treated you, like he was a perpetrator dunking your head underwater and leaving you there to die or survive. 

You saw how he’d sneak around and go to Sharon’s every night. When you moved in in the beginning, you sat in the hallways because your room was uncomfortable. A ghost room—one made to live and die in—not settle. 

And against the wall, you’d hear his gentle words. You imagined the I love you’s were directed to you. That he would stare down at you and say him, thumb caressing your cheek. 

You stopped heading out into the hallway in the middle of the night. The mattress topper is relocated next to your bed, on the floor, and that’s where you sleep. 

Not that it matters, since the maids never come by and clean your place. At least cleaning takes your mind off of things. 

Cooking, too. Sometimes the workers forget, but that’s okay. You have to learn how to cook sooner or later, you know? Though it’d be nice if there’s someone who helps clean up your knife cuts. Or worries about the blood gushing out of your index finger. Asks about your scars. 

Or when you come back late at night, it’d be nice if someone greeted you. Yells at you in concern where you’ve been. Asked if everyone was nice and polite towards you, if there were any odd guys lingering around. If you’ve nearly been robbed.

You really wish someone had asked that the time you almost did, knocked against a brick wall and coming back in bruises with a slight limp.

No one batted an eye.

In fact, they probably think you cheated on Ari, because their treatment towards you become worse.

What you wanted most, though, is someone to ask you if you’re okay. That, when they see your puffy eyes and flushed face, they’d at least act like they care. 

You’re lonely. So, so lonely. It’s the worst feeling: like you’re the only person left in the world when really, you’re surrounding by people. 

It’d be nice if someone appreciated you like you appreciate them. Even getting a hello on the street is hard nowadays, and those who approach you are just vicious people wanting an insight on what it’s like married to Ari Levinson. 

At least you didn’t have sex with Ari yet. You’re pretty sure that’ll only make you fall into him deeper. Ignite a feeling where you don’t want to be just surface level with him, but bone-deep. Enough so that it’ll be impossible to separate the two of you, one always attached to another. 

But you’ve always been told that you daydream a little too much. That you never choose to live in reality. 

Well, you know now how dangerous it can be. 

“Ari,” you whisper, dead into the night as he pulls you into his bedroom. “What are you doing?”

There’s a candle in his room—no doubt gifted from Sharon. Your heart flutters at the sight of his disheveled hair, the way he hunches and leans over to take you in. He’s big. And tall, towering over you. There’s still a sense of security that you get around him. 

At the very least, you know he won’t let you die. 

He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. “Fuck.”

“What’s the matter?” You say. It’s the first time you’ve spoken in weeks since the wedding. “If you need anything—”

“I need you to shut the fuck up.”

“Ari—”

He steers you to the bed, and you fall back against the plush sheets, leaning on your elbows, disoriented. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Can you let me consummate our marriage without making me want to throw up?”

“But why so suddenly—”

“Because I need a heir, okay? Because your brother’s—no, your—fucking blackmail is still lingering, alright? Isn’t this what you wanted? To make me treat you like a whore?” 

Now it’s your turn to become quiet. Tears gather behind your eyes, and you stare down at the bed. At the warmth of his blankets, with the knowledge that this is Sharon’s territory. She probably slept here one too many times, way before you did.

You didn’t belong here, but you let him do what he needed. For some odd reason, you still trust him, like the naive person you are. Here you are, still clinging onto the shred of hope—no less than the edge of a paper—that he’ll change his mind and choose you. 

There are no kisses. Ari kissing you means that it’s over with Sharon. Kisses mean something, you realize.

The act of undressing yourself is hasty. You’re brimming with nervousness, and confused. Self-conscious, but too scared to cover yourself up. You don’t know what the consequences are if you do. Why are you naked, but he’s fully clothed? Is this normal? You doubt it, but you can’t say anything because you’re not the expert. Peering up at him beneath your eyelashes, you watch as he rubs his thumb against your clit and pushes his middle finger inside of you.

Oh God. You release a gasp at the stretch. At the slight burn. At your arms and thighs quaking as warmth gathers near the bottom of your stomach. Ari’s eyes are dark, hooded. He looks feral, like a wolf about to devour his prey.

“Poor baby,” he mocks. “How are you supposed to take me if I can’t even fit my finger in? Want me to shove you in half, is that it?”

You can’t even answer, reduced to a puddled mess. Writhing on the bed, you latch onto his arm, head thrashing back and forth as he continues his steady rhythm. Small gasps and whimpers leave you. 

“Ari!” You cry when he pinches your clit.

“What? I thought you wanted me to touch it. It’s been neglected, hasn’t it?” His thrusts become harder, deeper, and your body sings in response to the music that he plays. Your head becomes dizzy, and you moan, eyes falling shut. 

“Don’t be lazy—look at me.” Another finger plunges inside of you, and you buck your hips, a cry leaving you. Too focused on him, you don’t hear him unzip his pants and take his cock out until he aligns it against your pussy. 

And dear God, it’s huge. Veiny. You stare at it in wonder—how will it even fit? He fists his cock and slaps your ass. “Lay back down.” 

It won’t fit. It can’t. A sense of panic flows through you when he pushes the tip in. The moan you release is nearly unconscious, nails digging into the bedsheets. 

“You can’t even take it, huh? I’m not even halfway in—what a disappointment.”

No, don’t want to disappoint Ari. “I can take it,” you murmur, determination settling in. “I can.”

Truth is, you can’t. He’s thick. Overwhelming. Even with a few inches in, you feel the burn due to the stretch. 

“You’re tight,” he mutters. “Take in a deep breath, okay?”

Is he… caring? You do as you’re told, sucking in a lungful of air, just in time as he thrusts all the way in. 

“Ah!” Instantly, the pain encapsulates you, like someone ripped you apart. Blindly, you clutch at his biceps, oblivious to Ari’s harsh breathing as he attempts to restrain himself from pounding into you. Fuck—he didn’t think it’d feel this good, but you’re milking him and clenching his dick without even knowing. And you’re tight, so tight.

Tight that he can’t control himself anymore. His mouth latches onto your skin—your neck, where he leaves a hickey, down to your nipples, where he swirls it with his tongue and sucks. Desperate to meet him, you buck against him, sliding him in deeper. 

The groan you both release is simultaneous. 

You’re both lost in your own haze: you trying to adjust to his thickness, him trying to get you to relax. In a few minutes, he has you under his spell once again, and you start grinding against him. Ari’s hand grips your hips, and he thrusts in harsher this time, pain mixing with pleasure. 

“Fuck.” His fingers trace your stomach where the outline of his cock is, like he’s entranced. And that’s when he goes feral, pounding into you so hard that you both hear the sound of skin slapping against skin. You blindly reach for him, for something to latch onto, and he pins your arms above your head, panting. 

You can feel your climax: the moment your gut clenches, the moment where the euphoric feeling rushes through you, the moment you feel lightheaded. 

“Ari!” You cry as you cum, clenching around him. 

Saying his name was a mistake. 

In a moment, he rips himself off of you, the gentle man you thought you saw gone. You must’ve been hallucinating, but the evidence is all there: the blood on his cock, the heavy panting, and the regret lingering in his eyes. The two of you stare at one another in silence as his gaze hardens at the evidence leaving you. 

He wants to kill you, you can see it. You immediately throw the blankets over you, attempting to cover yourself. For some reason, the magical moment gone, shame spreads throughout your veins. Shame. Hurt. Guilt. 

You just made Ari cheat on his girlfriend. His lover. He didn’t come—maybe that’s the one thing making him feel less guilty. And you.

“I’m so sorry,” your voice trembles, and you reach out towards him. The murderous expression intensifies, and you stop. 

The door slams in his wake, leaving you as the villain.

Days later, the bed is replaced.

hoax [ari levinson] [three]

hoax | trapped in an arranged marriage and unrequited love, you'd do anything to stop making ari despise you.

pairing | dark!ari x naive!sunshine!reader

warnings | so much angst it's unreal, depression, miscarriage, car accident, 18+

notes | i return with an apology for taking so long and also a future apology for containing so much angst. please note that this chapter has very short sections, mostly cause the reader's thought process comes in bits and pieces before exploding later, and as she starts on her own journey of independence. on a brighter note, i ended it being pretty hopeful... ?

buy me a kofi! drabble requests/asks! main!

CONT.

When you wake, the world is a nightmare. There’s a heart monitor beeping beside you, an IV injection in your arm, the lights are too bright, and you can’t find anything positive about this situation right now because you’re so groggy. It feel like the world fell on your head and shattered your bones. Your lower area hurts like hell—

—the baby.

Your eyes flutter open, and you hear a deep voice calling your name, whispering it. Bringing you back, helping you breathe, gripping your hand. Your hand is curled around his finger. His index finger. It’s locked tight, and like a steady rope, you grasp onto it.

Ari. 

He freezes when you stare at him directly. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, hair ruffled and new wrinkle lines on his face. He stares at you like you died and came back to life. 

“You…” His voice cracks. 

And for the first time since you met him, he breaks down and cries.

The nightmare worsens. You stare at the wall. You can’t digest anything. It’s been another week—maybe two. Time is flimsy now.

“Now that she lost her baby…” 

“Miscarriage…”

“Depression…”

All you hear are bits and pieces of information that they feed to Ari throughout the days. He refuses to leave your side. The most contact that you two have is you latching onto his wrist—his index finger—and communicating through your eyes. 

Sometimes they mean something: Ari will lurch to get some water, or dab your face with a towel. Other times, they don’t: they’re a silent communication of your pain. Those times, quiet tears streak down your cheeks as you mourn for your baby, for yourself, and for him. Those times, Ari feels like his heart is breaking—another sin he needs to take to the grave. 

Those times, you wonder why you just didn’t die. 

On top of that, you’ve lost your voice. 

Not lost it, but you just don’t want to speak. Words are meaningless, anyways. The words you loved so much, written on the page, are a fluke. Like a temporary high that makes you feel good, but then reality crashes down.

Sharon comes by.

There’s a ring on her finger. 

Her expression is one of guilt.

You throw a cup at her.

It hits the wall.

Ari wakes up from dozing off in the chair next to you. 

When you sleep, you feel his lips touch your forehead. You dream of his endless apologies, and hallucinate him crying again. 

In the morning, you stare at him dozing and reach up to cup his cheek in your hand. 

You hope he’s happy with her. 

You’re discharged. Luckily, no major areas are shattered. Even though you wobble and clutch Ari’s arm to help you walk, overall you’re fine. 

It’s a miracle you’re alive—even more so that you’re mostly fine, recovering rapidly in the hospital.

But your baby is gone.

And that’s the first word you say, “The baby.” 

Your voice is hoarse, cracking. You crumple in the living, not caring who is watching, who’s judging you.

Fuck them. Fuck them all. 

“What the fuck is going on?” You hear Ari shout through the kitchen. He rushes over to you and cradles you to his chest. His heart is beating rapidly. You tremble. 

“The baby,” you repeat, and cry into his chest. “The baby.”

“It’s okay,” Ari murmurs. He holds onto you tight, like he still can’t believe you’re here. “You’re okay. You’re here.”

But you’re not. Not really. 

The last six months comes in bits and pieces, back to you now. Ari was in and out, mostly there, but you were so numb that you couldn’t remember or process anything. 

You see a therapist. You come to terms with your loss. You start rebuilding yourself. 

Hope flickers again. 

“Hey, sugar.” Andy leans his hip against the counter, sliding a glass your way. In one swift motion, you grab it and refill the beer, sliding it back to him across the countertop.

“That was pretty smooth, wasn’t it?” You ask, excitement in your voice. You saw Nat perfect the act, and worked on doing it, too. Andy often helped—it’s nice because he’s not a lightweight, either, and always taking care of you. It feels nice to have someone hover over you and catch you when you’re tripping—something Natasha usually does. Her and Andy shift in watching over you, had been for the last few months, and you appreciate it.

Genuinely. 

Even in this dingy bar, working became your happy place. You love the jovial atmosphere, the honesty lurking in the walls and spilling out when someone has one too many drinks. It’s a nice change to see everyone’s flaws so out in the open, when you’re suffocating and being concealed within Ari’s home. 

And it’s feels wonderful to laugh—have it bounce off the walls—and joke around with people who won’t judge you. 

“It was,” Andy replies, leaning in closer, a smirk on his face. “You gonna let me walk you home tonight, or reject me again?”

You shift on your feet and glance down at your ring. “Sorry, Andy. I’m married.” 

But are you? Darkness lurks in the corner of your mind, the one you tried to shut out for months. 

The truth is, you’re lonely. Even though your parents and brother are ruthless politicians, you grew up dreaming of fairytale romances. You want to hold someone’s hand. You want to cuddle with them. You want to tell them about your day and gasp over the most meticulous things. You want to do the simplest tasks together, like making breakfast.

You want to see someone grow, and grow old with them. 

“Sugar,” he murmurs, clasping your hand. His thumb runs over your ring. “If your husband is letting you work here with a bunch of drunk men—”

“He trusts me,” you defend. You always defend Ari.

Even if he’ll never defend you. 

Now you wonder if this is out of instinct, or if you truly believe the words you say about your husband. 

“It’s not about trusting you, darling.” Andy laughs softly. “It’s about trusting these men who can force themselves on you in a heartbeat. It’s about protecting you—and fuck, I think I’d give my life to do that.”

You gently tug away from his hold. But he notices, letting you slip away for the moment. 

“I’m flattered,” you mumble. “But like I said, I’m married.” 

“Alright,” the man is back to his usual self, grinning at you. “I can respect that for tonight.” 

You aren’t sure what to categorize this as, actually.

Your body trembles against Andy’s, and you can’t help but bury your nose into his chest. The cold air stinging your nose reminds you all too well of the deep breaths you inhaled when the gun pressed against your forehead just moments ago. The cool metal against you haunted you, forcing you to seek the warmth of a heartbeat.

Any heartbeat. Even if this felt wrong. 

Thank God Andy—your coworker—arrived the time he did. 

Click. Give me what I want. You squeeze your eyes shut as you quiver again. Even the slightest twitch sent pain throughout your body. Your shoulders hurt from how he shoved you against the wall, and your elbow stung from the scratch the robber gave you, forcing you on the ground as you attempt to writhe away from him. 

Guess coming home late did turn out to be dangerous after all. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Ari booms—and you jolt. So out of it, you didn’t realize that Andy walked you up to the door of his mansion. You knew you two were close by, but you didn’t even register the gates creaking open. 

This all feels like a dream. 

Ari’s eyes rove over you, and you wince, suddenly self-conscious. This isn’t how you wanted to appear to him. You don’t want him to lose more trust in you than he already does. 

Your outfit is also disheveled, the buttons of your top nearly ripped off, heel broken from how much you ran. 

You never felt such genuine fear when running. The need to look forward and survive became your priority in an instant. Even the thought of looking back caused you to stumble, and you forced yourself to think about only one thing: coming home. 

Then the stranger grabbed your collar. 

And your face when he punched you. Your jaw is no doubt tender and bruised. The ghost of his fingertips clenching your jaw before he nearly kissed you lingers along with the fear of acceptance at the time. You were going to give in, going to give up. You curled up on the ground, digging your face into the cold cement, thinking that maybe if the man wasn’t too rough, if you shut down, you could make it out alive.

That maybe once he used you and disposed of you like everyone else did, it’d be okay. You could make it through, time and time again.

He acts before you can say anything. In the blink of an eye, Ari grabs your coworker and punches him right in the nose. There’s a defining crack in the air, and before Andy can even get himself together, Ari shoves him against the door. His head bangs against the hard wood, and a groan fills the air.

“I’ll kill you,” Ari’s voice is deadly. Sure. He doesn’t even let the man move an inch, hand wrapped around Andy’s neck. 

“Ari!” You grab his arm, attempting to retract him from Andy. It’s no use, but it does catch his attention. With the porch light washing over your face, he can see more clearly the purple staining your face, the panic in your eyes. Feel the tremors in your fingertips as you run on adrenaline, the expression of someone who’s minutes from breaking down.

And damn if it doesn’t feel like a blow to the chest.

It hits him: he wasn’t there to protect you. He wasn’t there to fix it, to prevent the issue, to shield you so that you wouldn’t have such plain fear written all over your face. 

His hand tightens around your coworker’s neck. 

“Ari, please. It’s not a big deal, I swear.” 

Not a big deal? Not a fucking big deal? A quick up and down of your body and he can see the scabs forming on your arms, fingerprints around your wrists, the slight limp in your step. With the way you’re talking right now, it’s like you tripped over a tile.

Laughable, when this is anything but. 

“Yes,” you murmur. “Andy came and saved me just in time.”

He freezes. Just. In. Time. Ari shoves your coworker to the ground and sweeps you up. Eyes wide, you clutch his shoulders when he says, “Get him out of here. I never want to see him again.” 

There’s no talk between the two of you. Just the click of his shoes as he carries you, almost like you’re a delicate flower, to the counter. He places a towel on it before setting you down gently, taking your wrist in his hand. Another reaches up to graze the corner of your jaw—you wince. 

“It still hurts a bit,” you manage, choking on the pain. 

Ari’s eyes blaze again—you swear he’s going to murder someone tonight. 

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, hanging his head. 

“At least they didn’t rob too much from me, right?” You joke, but your body is still trembling. 

Is she talking about money? He hadn’t even been thinking about it, yet of course you would still think that this is what this arrangement is about. Hadn’t notice any of the changes in him, how he’s trying. The chill he felt when he saw you hanging onto another man, barely even able to stand up straight. 

“You won’t see him anymore, you hear me?” 

“Who? Andy?”

“Whoever the fuck that man is.” 

Excuse me? You blink, taking in the hard lines of his jaw and no-nonsense glare. 

“No,” you snap. Immediately, regret fills you when he turns around, an eyebrow raised. Uh oh. But you’re too angry to apologize. For once, you want to make him understand. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“So what? You want your independence back? You see how far that got you, huh? It almost got you killed tonight.”

“It was mine first!” You shout, and the pain echoes throughout his library. And I didn’t even want it. I wanted you. “You can’t control me!” 

You know you’re acting like a brat for no reason. You should have a better control of your emotions, but you hated this. Hated how you had nobody to rely on. How Ari is scolding you when you want comfort right now. 

And the fact that you died—God, almost. You had shitty luck, dying and coming back only to face this again. There are just some unlucky people in the universe, and you knew you were one of them. 

“Besides,” you whimper. You—you told me I should be more independent. That I shouldn’t get in your way and spend your money. So that’s what I’m doing.”’

Ari can’t even say anything—the words won’t come out. How can he say that he feels like an asshole for the way he treated you for the past few months? He can’t believe that he thought that you were a part of your brother’s blackmail, when you’re a pawn. A pawn that carries so much guilt. 

He tried to make up for the past few months by treating you like he'd treat any other human being—nodding at you in the halls, or stopping to ask how your day is—and you looked at him like he hung the stars for you. You were that desperate to get along. 

And fuck, that made his heart ache. Because you should have gotten that basic courtesy. You should’ve complained more, acted out more. 

But seeing you now, he knows you internalized the pain. Swallowed every bit of his anger and kept it all to yourself. 

He doesn’t even know if Sharon will do that. 

Before you can stop them, tears start streaming down your eyes. You were going to die today, unloved. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sob, putting your head in your hands. You have no idea what “this” is. Being married? Being unloved? Being ignored? Treated like dirt? “I just want—I just want someone to tell me it’s okay. Someone who’ll hug me and- and—”

Ari crushes you against his chest, strong arms wrapping around you. Out of pity, you know that much. But his heartbeat makes it feel like you arrived home. His smell that you’re breathing in erases the stench of trash from the alleyway. The warmth radiating from his suit replaces the cool metal of the gun. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking. A change from the domineering and charismatic man that everyone else has known. “Fuck, I— You don’t understand how sorry I am. I should’ve treated you better since you came here, I should’ve protected you, I should’ve cut things off with Sharon, I should’ve realized… I should’ve realized that in pushing you away from myself, I broke you, too. But baby, I’ll do anything to fix this.”

And you cry. You cry knowing that this will never happen again, that he’ll never sympathize with you like this ever. You cry because you’ll never be home to him.

You cry because this simple gesture is breaking you. 

It’s been a few days since the incident. When you meet Ari in the halls, he does a visual check-up on you until he’s satisfied. Sometimes he’d ask if you ate the medicine the doctor prescribed you, if you slept okay. Once you answered his questions, he’d grunt and walk away. You took a week off of work, Natasha telling you to get better.

Neither of you are talking about what happened, the moment between the two of you. But you remember walking into your room yesterday, the black credit card on your nightstand, mattress topper placed in its proper place. 

And that makes you spiral. You remember when you used to clench his arms when he fucked you, stared into his eyes, hoping, please choose me. 

This is me trying. 

And you tried. With the baby. With everything.

But then the car accident happened, and your relationship did a 360. You turned away, while Ari took care of you. The last few months were fuzzy, but the need for Ari was still just as strong. But you’re scared for the moment that he’ll turn away. Be gone the moment you needed saving again.

You don’t want to lose yourself in loving him again. 

“Are you heading out tonight?” You ask, shoving around the food on your plate. Your appetite’s disappeared drastically, and you force yourself to eat the nutrients… only to throw some of it up. Ari leaving for his ex-girlfriend didn’t help, but you can’t complain when you were the one who basically tore them apart, right? As a romanticist, you are the villain in the story: the least you could do is not complain when he leaves. 

The man in front of you—who you can’t believe you married—grunts. “I’ll be back.”

“Have fun with—” You pause. Are you two even close enough for you to call his ex-girlfriend’s name? Still his current lover. You mull over the last few weeks, where you headed to the doctor’s appointment together and ate dinner in respective silence. It was pretty nice, actually. The first dinner that Ari stayed through. He probably hated looking at you, but he did, for a whole hour and a half.

“Sharon,” you blurt as the man moves to open the door. “I genuinely mean it, I swear. I hope you have a good time with her.” 

The smile you’re wearing resembles more of a grimace, but it’s fine. It’s fine. At the very least, you wanted to be friends before the baby came. You just have to keep the act up for a few more minutes, until Ari is gone. Then you can break down all you want. 

Ari pauses from where he is. Turns. His voice is low when he asks, “You think I’m visiting Sharon?”

It’s fine. He didn’t want you to know. It’s fine. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” you force out a laugh. “She did come first in your life, and I might have to concede to that. I mean, I’m sure that if I had a lover—”

“Fuck no,” his voice slices through and adds to the tense atmosphere. “You have someone else?”

Andy, he thinks while clenching his teeth. Fucking Andy thinking he’s good enough for you and being cocky for no fucking reason. He’ll tear him apart tonight—the man already had several violations.

Oh, God, this is awkward. And he looks ready to shoot you. “Uh, no, but I’m just saying that if you have one there’s nothing wrong with… it?” 

He stares at you for a few seconds. Clenches his jaw. “I’m not visiting fucking Sharon.”

The door slams in his wake. 

I’ve been at war, you want to tell him. Not just with Ari, but with myself. With the world. 

“Ari…” You slide over the divorce papers, the discreet ones you got with the help of Natasha. He doesn’t glance at the papers at first, but you make sure it catches his eye when you close his laptop, putting this on top. 

There’s an extended silence between the two of you, and it’s like the walls are caving in around you. 

“I think it’s time,” you whisper, unable to make your voice louder. There’s something about this profound silence that causes your heart to beat a little faster, hands to shake a little more. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

His eyes drag from the paper to yours. You swear you see a flicker of heartache, but you doubt it. 

“No.” 

“No?”

“Did you not hear me?” He snaps. “We’re not going to divorce.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I’m your husband!” 

“No,” you laugh, cynical, and cover your hand over your forehead. “I didn’t have a husband. I may have fought for one, but he was never there.”

“Is this because of the baby—”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ari.” Your voice cracks. “If someone saw me like this, they’d wonder why I didn’t leave months ago. They’d think I’m stupid for wasting my life away for someone.” Your lower lip trembles. “You know what’s funny? I still would. Waste my life away for that someone like an idiot.”

He’s silent. You sink to your knees, almost begging him. “Please. I don’t think either of us can pretend that we’re right for each other. Maybe in another universe we are. Wrong place, wrong time, you know? But if you liked me even a little bit… I hope you can sign.”  

“I won’t,” he says.

“Is this really about a child, Ari?” You whisper. “Or is this something more?”

Ari doesn’t say anything more, but his eyes come to meet yours. And for the first time, you see a hint of vulnerability in them—emotions that he’s choosing to show you. You’re always weak when someone tells you how they feel, suddenly desperate to do anything for them as long as they crack a smile. For a long time, that’s what you felt about Ari. Loved him so much that you couldn’t breathe, would stop if he told you to.

“Maybe,” you amend. “Maybe we just need some time away from each other then. To think about it, and to have a clean slate.” 

He shakes his head, and you grip his index finger, breath hitching. The first time you’ve gripped his finger like that was when you were first married and went out on the streets so the tabloids can capture your “post honeymoon phase.” When the paparazzi got too close, you, not used to the spotlight, wrapped your hands around his index finger. And he let you hold on tight, like a single thread connecting the two of you. On that day, you felt protecting. Felt safe. 

And you remember: doing that same gesture in the hospital. He gripped your hand like it was a lifeline to your heart. You gripped it like he was a steady rock that’ll keep you safe, hoping that he’d protect your heart, too. 

You clear your throat. “I haven’t asked for much since I came here. I’ve been living off of my own expense and the basics that you’ve provided me, and for that I’ll be grateful. But what if I ask for more? What if I want Sharon gone? What will you do then?”

Ari repeats, “I can’t let you leave.”

“But you can’t make me any promises, either.”

“I can,” he says. “I’ll honor our vows—”

“They’ve all been broken,” you murmur, mustering a soft smile. “I think we both need time to consider the divorce Ari. Maybe as the seasons pass, we’ll get used to it.”

This fight will go around in circles, you can see it. So when he opens his mouth, you squeeze his fingers like you did that day. Ari glances down, eyebrows drawn together. For a second, you wonder if he remembers that initial moment himself. If that moment, and the one at the hospital, was as pivotal to him as it was to you. 

Especially when he curls that finger around your hand like he used to.

When he was younger, Ari’s parents divorced. It’s not something he’s proud of admitting, and it’s not a traumatic memory that haunts him, either. It’s just that one day, he came home, and his parents announced it to him. His dad had been cheating on his mother with his secretary—typical and something Ari kept to himself for months. Not like it was a family secret, either—he heard his mother’s cries during the night, but didn’t say much because she kept a strong front. 

If someone asked him who he wanted to live with, he would’ve chose his mom.

He got Dad. 

Mom moved out with all her stuff, the things that made the house cozy and livable. Mom moved out without him because when they went to court, Dad won, since Mom didn’t have a reliable income. Mom held him to his chest and cried her eyes out, so much so his hair was as wet as coming out of the shower. 

Bit by bit, the house became gray and empty. Dirty. Cluttered. Loud, with Dad yelling at the housemaids he fucked and forgetting about Ari unless he fucked up, too. 

More and more, he yearned for his mother. The mother who promised she would come back for him. 

His younger self repeated the words like a mantra: Mom loved him. Mom came back for him every weekend when Dad was out. Mom brought him whatever bills she had and made sure he ate. Mom cleaned his room. Mom hugged him. Mom smelled like lavender. Mom—

Mom died three months later from a car accident. His father forgot about him, remarried, and had a younger sister. One Ari adored but felt too fucked up to take care of. 

And then, Sharon came along and pieced it all together. 

But now, you’re leaving. You who brought home ridiculous things from thrift stores or who knows where and hung abstract paintings in the living room because then you both gave off the image as being “philosophical.” You who drew little hearts next to your name and Levinson in your little notebook he kept snooping at. You who gifted him the brightest smiles that he now craves, reserved just for him. 

You who looked at him as if he hung the stars and moon for you. 

The pictures disappear. The smell of you disappears. The little sweaters and blankets you scatter around the house because you get cold easily disappears. The baby books disappear. 

All that remains is a stuffed teddy bear in the corner of your room—the one he gave you as a wedding gift. You adored it. It was always nearby you, and you constantly commented that you’d give it to the baby when it was born. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He fucked up.

He fucked up everything.

He breathed in your scent from the fucking teddy bear, breath releasing almost in a whimper.

He craves you. 

He’s obsessed now.

Ari glances at the shelf above the fireplace he installed in the living room. At the wedding picture the two of you took, the bright smile you wore, your head leaning on his pecs as he towered over you. 

He got to where he was through feral determination, starting from the ground up when his father went bankrupt. He raised his sister and himself, got a scholarship, threw away everybody who wasn’t useful to his career. Retracted himself. Up until now, he thought Sharon—Sharon who stuck with him through everything—was the one person he could rely on. 

But Sharon changed.

And so did he. 

Staring down at the stuffed animal, he released a bitter laugh. 

“What am I doing, talking to a stuffed animal?” He muttered. 

But it was symbol.

He’ll get you back. He’ll become worthy of you. 

He’ll honor his vows. 

“You know, you’re more in tune with your emotions now, and I don’t know if I like it,” Nat says, munching on a salad. “It’s like you’re a woman constantly on her period so you either get hysterical or cry over everything.”

You punch her—lightly. But Nat, always the dramatic one, wobbles over her stool and makes a dramatic cry of falling to the ground.

“She hit me!” She cries out, and you laugh. 

“I did not.” You take a bite of your own salad. “And it’s not that, but I feel sorry that there’s two people in this small apartment now…”

You brought all your stuff over, or most of it. Some of it you wanted to leave behind, but they were ambiguous items like a pillow or a dish or a coffee mug. Besides, Natasha’s apartment was small, with one room and a living room and a counter dividing between it and the kitchen. You both alternated sleeping on the couch and the sofa, and on Fridays, you cleaned the place. 

Nat blew out a breath. “Nah, it’s so much easier to commute with you to and fro from work now. Plus, I was thinking about renting this place out. It’s so much easier when I have a reliable income, I mean roommate, to help me pay rent.”

“Have I been a bank account to you all this time?”

“Now, now,” she wiggles a finger. “I did not let you live with me so you could get snarky. Geez, what happened to the sunshine you?”

You smile at that—she’s slowly coming back, bit by bit. Every day, the hollow ache from being away from Ari grows, but you’re returning.

Love comes at the price, you realize.

You both quiet down, but then Natasha pipes up, “Have you heard from him?” 

It’s been a month. 

“No,” you whisper. 

Your phone pings.

A text.

From Ari. 

You left this here. 

It was a picture your wedding ring next to your stuffed teddy. 

Then: we need to talk. 

hoax [ari levinson] [four]

hoax | trapped in an arranged marriage and unrequited love, you'd do anything to stop making ari despise you.

pairing | dark!ari x naive!sunshine!reader

warnings | uhhhhhh at this point angst is a norm, + childhood trauma??

notes | in my defense, ari is also going through a groveling period and will in the future continue to go through one. i want to put him through an unbelievable amount of rollercoaster rides. also sorry if this isn't my best work :) uni flew by so i wrote this here and there when i had time.

buy me a kofi! drabble requests/asks! main!

CONT.

The text remains unread for the next few weeks. In truth, you scroll down to your notifications to see it every single minute, heart contracting at the two items Ari gifted you in the beginning of your marriage. 

Though, that’s not the only gifts you’ve been receiving. Around 10 PM or so, when you got off of work, there would be a box in front of the doorway. At first, it was general presents that you still fought the urge to both cry and smile at: flowers, your stuffed teddy, a bracelet, a necklace—jewelry. But then it started getting personal, as if bits and pieces of you was returning to him: fluffy pink slippers you squealed over last month, telling one of Ari’s business friends’ wives, a beanie in preparation for the winter time, smaller, rose-gold hoop earrings because the ones you wore last time weighed heavily on you, and you winced taking them out. It makes you wonder when and where he got this information from, and you glance at your friend chewing on some Chinese takeout, peeking from your phone. 

“What? Did Arisshole send another text? Like, please babe, take me back?” When she imitates him, there’s no deep, baritone voice that makes you shudder, no charisma, no deep blue eyes that make you forget to breathe. Natasha sounds like a frat boy—she could be with how much she mocks them—and with how much she swears on her life that Ari had to be in a frat back in his college years. 

Still, a smile creeps on your face, and you fiddle with the chopsticks. “Your frat voice is improving.” 

“And your tactic to get over him isn’t.” She leans over to steal an orange chicken. “I thought you were learning to be independent.”

Independence is a lot of things, you think. It’s crying in the middle of the night because you realized you were delusional for the past months about Ari loving you. It’s wanting to hate yourself for risking your life for someone you realized you could care less for. It’s creating your own love story where you gained the happily ever after, and then swearing that you’ll reach it out on your own. But above that, it’s longing. It’s a push and pull that drives you to the brink of insanity, but at least you feel as though you’re getting somewhere. 

“You’re visiting your parents this week?”

Natasha takes your change in subject easily. Says, “You want to come?” 

“No. The time alone might be good for me.”

“Sure, babe.” She hums. “But if you ever need anybody…”

“Do you think it’s stupid that I still want to be with him?” You blurt out, and the sudden question makes your roommate pause. 

“Not exactly. The heart wants what it wants, you know? But he treated you like the dirt on his shoe. He genuinely treated you like crap, and I hated that you stood there and took it. You swallowed every god-awful part of him until it broke you, and now it’s as though you have nothing left. And it’s just so unfair because he doesn’t deserve it.”

Your hands ball into fists at all the questions that you’ve asked yourself for the past few days. 

“But what do I think now?” She shrugs. “I’m not too sure. But I know that since you’ve been here, there’s at least a good barrier between you guys. I like to think that you feel safe here enough to start building yourself up again. And if he does something shitty to you, this time you won’t take it, but you’ll throw it back in his face.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you should.” With a raise of her brows, Natasha smirks. “And I’d pay to be in that front row seat when it happens.” 

Oh no. Oh no. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of Nat’s apartment, the door hinges bent and almost broken, it barely even staying in place. It creaks and nearly falls when you shove it open, shaking out of fear. Your mind goes in overdrive—who would do this? What did they take? Are they still in here? Should you call the police?

Would it be costly to call the police? Was it worth it? Would they do anything? 

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to go in, feet glued to the ground. Maybe you should call someone. Let Natasha know? 

You peek in. Take one step past the doorway. Another.

Fuck. 

Everything is trashed. Everything is gone. Dishes are shattered, the bookshelf is scattered on the ground, and cabinets are left open. You wince as your toe stubs a shard of glass on the ground and bite your lips in case the thief is still in your apartment. Hopping to your room, you can’t think. Any normal person would’ve slapped you for heading deeper into your apartment, but you have to know what they took.

You have to know if you could pay Natasha back for this somehow.

Opening your room, your hands come to your mouth to contain the shocked gasp. The bed is in ruins, your computer and devices are gone, clothes are everywhere, and the curtains are swaying back and forth from the open window. 

Your hands tremble at the memory of the last time you’ve been confronted in such an aggressive manner. When you fumble for your phone, your nearly drop it several times and type in the passcode wrong. You can’t call Nat—she’s already done so much for you and you don’t want to inconvenience her. Some part of your brain—the much more logical one—yells at you to call your brother, but deep down, your heart knows it would just be another jab at your failures, and a spew of questions. Like, “Why aren’t you living with Ari? What did you do?” 

You take in a deep breath. It’s okay. You’ll call insurance and the police late tomorrow. You can fix the mess before Nat comes back. You can do it.

It’s okay. You rearrange your bed and the scattered pillows on the ground and curl yourself into a shaking mess. Your heart is in your throat, and you suck in sharp breaths to steady yourself. This isn’t the first time that nobody is there for you. You only have yourself, and that’s enough. 

But instinct kicks in when the sun rises. With you half sleeping and half fighting the urge to scream with every creak and groan echoing throughout the apartment, you can’t handle it anymore. Before you even know what you’re doing, the phone is ringing, and the line turns quiet. You can hear his soft breaths through the phone, like he just woke up from a nightmare or ran miles and miles. 

“Hello?” His voice is soft, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. “Sweetheart?”

It’s the endearment that causes you to break down. You fall to your knees, heart aching. This is worse than a drunk call, this is you depending on Ari, this is you trying to get over him but still being pulled to him, even after everything he did to you. This is you taking a chance to rely on him again, even though your heart can’t really trust it. 

But you blubber anyways: “Nat— Apartment—”

“What happened?” He sounds panicked. “Love, take in a deep breath, it’s okay, I’ll—” Ari catches his breath, like he realizes he can’t go. Not without your permission. 

It causes you to sob harder. “Someone broke in—I’m scared.” 

“What?” He stops, and something in his tone shifts. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t go inside. Don’t hang up. Get out of that fucking sketchy area and I’ll pick you up at the Japanese sushi restaurant nearby, alright? It’s 24/7. Go eat something there while you’re at it.”

“But—”

“I’ll handle it,” Ari murmurs. “Just listen to what I say.”

Ari comes into the sushi place like he owns it—even while wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. His hair is still perfectly in place and his face is set in stone. It hurts that you don’t see these parts of him anymore, though it’s not like you saw much in the first place anyways. 

“What happened?” Ari rises the moment he sees your disheveled state, the dark bags under your eyes and noting the clothes you wore yesterday.

“Nothing,” you smile. It’s getting easier to lie to him, now that you’re out of his grasp. And with the knowledge that you two are on the track to divorce, that you can’t burden him any further anymore… it stops you from telling him how you feel. Besides, he’s already seen too much of what he doesn’t want to see, with the robbery, and you breaking down in front of him. 

“It’s not nothing,” he insists, calling your name out softly. His eyebrows are knit together, and his concern brings you back to the tattered furniture, the stolen money, and broken items. Your nose starts to sting, and you close your eyes, hoping the feeling will fade. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t,” you croak, “I don’t want to bother you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’re not a bother.” Ari glances down at your hand, where the ring is—or used to be. You usually wear it, but you’re not today. “And why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

Oh, God. That thief probably took the ring, too. That one sends another onslaught of tears, and you suck in a sharp breath. But when they begin to fall, it isn’t you who wipes them.

No, it’s Ari, his thumb caressing your cheek. It’s him coming closer so that you can rest your forehead against his chest, so that your skin feels the warmth radiating from him. 

“Natasha’s apartment—” Your voice cracks. Stupid Stupid Stupid. “I know, I probably did something wrong. I tried to spend the night cleaning it—”

“You slept there?” His hands land on your shoulders, eye level with yours. “Fuck. Are you insane? I thought you just got back from work or some shit and saw its state.”

“I didn’t—”

“What if he came back? You could’ve died! Did you see that state? It’s fucking unlivable—you should’ve gotten a hotel or some shit.”

“You already saw?” Shame fills you. 

He gives you a look. “Of course I fucking did. It’s worse than a dumpster.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “Don’t—”

“Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that.” Ari runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. Past the sound of your sniffles, you swear you hear some curses mixed under there, too. For once, he seems agitated, constantly shifting next to you or laying a hand on your shoulder. As if you would be the one to run off this time. 

“Come live with me again.”

“What?” You meet his eyes, and his grip on your shoulder moves down to catch your wrist. Like he needs to grab your hand but can feel the distance forming, know you’d run off if he does. 

“Is it that hard to give me another chance?”

And that’s it. The dam breaks. Hot fury flushes through your veins, and you don’t even comprehend what you’re doing in the moment when you place your finger in his chest and say, “Do you really think you were a good husband?” 

He freezes. But you can’t stop. “Do you really think I enjoyed being the side piece, Ari? Do you think I liked it when Sharon had you and I meant nothing? Do you think I was a gold-digger who only followed you around for the money?”

“Love—”

“Stop calling me endearments!” You cry. “I know you changed because of the baby. And I thought, finally, there’s something that I can talk about with Ari. But you know what I also thought? I thought, what if the baby hates me too? What if the baby can’t stand me like his Dad does?”

“You didn’t even know what was going on in your own household, do you? I never did anything to you. I never interacted with you or your employees. I cleaned my own room. I cooked my own food. I asked for a little bit of respect and you told me that I don’t deserve it. I couldn’t eat certain foods, and felt nauseated but ate it anyways because I thought it would make you happy.”

Ari remains silent as your voice rises. 

“Why do I have to be the side piece to you? Why am I something you’re ashamed of? Why can’t I ever be enough?”

The words echo throughout the shop, and all of a sudden it’s like you’re transported to the small dishes stacking together, the squeak as someone turns on the sink water, and the quiet murmurs of the staff watching you, since you’re both the only two customers. 

And you’re just… just… 

“You’re not the side piece,” is all he says. As if it’s that simple. As if the months where you felt the aching loneliness, nothing compared to now, doesn’t matter. Your head throbs, and you close your eyes. 

“That’s why I said we should divorce. Because sometimes people aren’t made for each other, and I think that the more I see you, the more it becomes clear to me.” 

The wooden seat is hard as you adjust yourself again, pulling your knees up to rest against the table. Ari is still in the same position he was in when you blew up, and against your morals, it makes you feel better for putting him in this state. For giving him a taste of what you went through. Your heart can’t stop running at all the words you threw at him, and you wipe your trembling palms on your sweatpants, linking them together. Unconsciously, the same way that Ari would, one hand holding onto your fingers like a lifeline. 

Part of you—a large part—hopes he regrets it. 

And until the police comes to report to Ari, neither of you say a word. You doze off to their voices, Ari constantly glancing back at you as he talks to the officer. To be honest, at this point, you don’t really care what happens to the apartment at all. You don’t care what weight Ari will pull, or if he will at all. This whole interaction is exhausting, and you don’t know if it’d be possible for you to feel safe with Ari and be in love with him like you used to. 

But it’s nice that you hallucinate a kiss on your forehead, and the softest murmur of, I’m sorry, I’ll do better. It’s heartwarming that you hallucinate someone pushing your hair behind your ear, tracing the slope of your nose, loving every feature of you. 

It’s enough that you hallucinate the feeling of someone holding your hand to their chest, the thrum of their heartbeat enough to pull you under. 

And then he invades your workplace. You didn’t think you are a person who likes to categorize. Home life, work life, friends, family. 

It’s not fair, you think. It’s not fair that he can play you and call you back now that it’s most convenient for him. 

“Another glass?” Andy asks a little too cheerfully. It’s clear that your coworker is doing his best to rip your ex-husband off, but instead of snarling at him, Ari nods. Almost as though he is reluctantly succumbing himself to the alcohol, using it as a numbing pain. 

He just continues drinking and drinking. The expensive whisky—though you can’t imagine that it’ll taste that luxurious—in your bar is taken out one by one, and your eyes bug out with how much this man in front of you can consume. Whenever you two ate together, he would take light sips of wine, as though he was a lightweight like you are. You can’t imagine the sophisticated figure back then chugging alcohol like his life depended on it. 

Nat checks you by the hip and whispers in your ear, smug, “See? I told you he was a frat boy.” 

Though you steal a glance at him, Ari wants to snort at the assumption. He was above a frat boy in his college days. Rather than chugging a cheap beer at parties, he networked with the upperclass and grew his company from ground up. Worked his ass off to get what he was. Valued the money he earned than anything other than his mother and half-sister. Until you came and dug up the ugliness that he thought he hid so well, even in front of Sharon. 

From the beginning, Ari married you because he had to. The whisky burns his throat as he chugs it down, and he almost wants to retch at the amount he’s consumed on an empty stomach. But it’s a hell that he’s living to live with, because he enters it at the thought of it. He can’t even deny what he thought when your brother showed you a photo of him—even after the threat, even after him hitting Ari’s weak spot: that he never had anything to himself. He thought he had his mother, but his mother left him the moment it became inconvenient for her.

His father was crawling back because now he’s rich.

His half-sister hates it when he blows up or when he does something that’s too “upper-class” for her. 

Sharon was his—or so he thought. He knew every time he met with her that the control was slipping from his grasp,  and it pissed him off. Inherently, he thinks, we were too different. Sharon craved the young version of him that could be manipulated, once again, that thought problems could be solved with sex and fights could be fixed with money. 

Because that’s what he grew up seeing.

Because that’s what he became—another version of his father.  

But with you, it’s more than losing control. He can see it now as you scurry by him without even blurting out a “hello,” like you usually do, without your face flushing in embarrassment and without you ducking your head to hide that blush. He’s losing you. And Ari never tried to control or hide himself. You accepted him as he was. 

Fuck. The thought runs through his mind again, and he takes another chug. 

He’s drunk.

“Please,” Nat wrinkles her nose and grabs the glass cup away from him. “He’s been in here long enough, and if he throws up on the floor, I’m going to throw him in the dumpster behind.”

“I’ll help,” Andy juts in a little too cheerfully. The two of them share a high-five, and you swear they’re becoming the two devils on Ari’s shoulders somehow. 

“He’s usually not like this,” you defend. Because he’s not. This is a man who looked as though he lost his will to live, though you couldn’t figure out why. 

Nat and Andy share a look.  

“Well…” she starts, “you weren’t exactly awake after the accident. I swear Ari was going to fire every employer in the hospital and flip the whole building upside down.” 

You stop midway to the back of the kitchen, and swivel around to face her. A small smile spreads on your face, and you hunch your shoulders together as if to protect yourself. “Thanks, Nat. But you don’t need to lie to me.” 

“I’m not lying!” She protests. “I thought he only had two emotions on his finger, too.” 

“Goodbye, Nat.” Your voice is flat as you push her towards the door. “Let me clean up in peace.” 

“Don’t go home with him! Come back to me!” With a flurry of exclamations that steer closer to nagging and with Andy rolling his eyes and dragging her out the door, the bar turns quiet. It’s your turn to lock up tonight—which wouldn’t be an issue without a man who weighs twice, if not more, the size of you. You sigh and grab a rag. Might as well clean while he comes to his senses. Maybe Ari is the type to sober up quickly and walk out on his own two feet.

“Why did you leave your teddy bear behind?” 

You glance up from wiping the countertop, eyes widening. Sleep came in chunks because you were so used to holding onto the stuffed doll, along with the weight of a thick blanket pressed on top of you. That, and it was a reinforcement of your marriage with Ari, that he cared enough to gift you something. Or possibly make his secretary do it. Whatever. 

“Did you go into my room?” You recall the picture that he sent you. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Ari starts and sits back down. His arm is locked around your waist, and you suck in a breath when he rests his forehead on your stomach. When his hand tightens on the flimsy shirt you wore, you freeze at the humidity that creates a barrier between the two of you. 

It takes a moment for you to comprehend, but it hits you as the wetness on your shirt grows. 

He’s crying. 

The one that you think is as stoic as a rock, nearly immovable in his will, is breaking down in front of you. And you can’t contain the surprise that is written across your face, the sharp breaths that Ari takes in as he shudders under your palms resting on his back. The way your hands tremble too, and you clamp your lips together to prevent any unconfined emotion from escaping. A noise escapes you, but you’re not sure what. 

All that matters is that you don’t cave under this drunk version of him, the one that might tell you hidden truths, but is a coward that he can’t say it sober. 

“When you had the baby, when you swallowed every single bad part of me, I knew I had to change. I thought I would bit by bit. But seeing you on the ground… the guilt…” 

And even if he is telling you, you’re clearly not ready to hear it right now. Just the reminder of the accident is enough to send your stomach lurching and heart squeezing at everything that happened. You’ve never felt so empty before—you swam in darkness. Eating didn’t matter. Sleeping didn’t matter. In your dreams, you’d see a boy smile up at you, bits of his front teeth gone because he pulled it out. 

You screamed at the doctors and nearly ripped them to pieces, projecting your loss at them. Though you did know who to blame—yourself—you also couldn’t take more beatings. 

It seems like yesterday that it all went down. But it’s weeks, months ago. And there’s not much nostalgia that lingers with that information.

 Only pain. 

You tug his arms away from you and clean up the rest of the tables in silence. There’s beer spilled here and there, making your shoes stick to the floor—the one piece that may be grounding you to this Earth right now. Eyes filled with tears, the wooden tables blur into a black, teardrops taking on the shape of crumbs enough that you can’t tell the difference of what you’re wiping. 

“Let’s get you back home,” you murmur once you’re done. His driver is already outside from your call earlier. The main issue is getting Ari out of the bar without him crushing the two of you to the ground. Because you’d much rather let him sleep than feel the small bits of gravel digging into your back. Still, you manage to get him out the door by clinging onto his arm. Not that it does much, but it’s enough to stabilize him.

“Okay, let me lock up.” You pull out the key from your pocket, and fumble with the lock. You can’t afford another incident with Nat’s apartment. Though there’s no clear perpetrator, the thought of someone like that out there sends shivers down your spine. 

“Come back,” Ari murmurs, and pulls you to him as soon as the lock clicks shut. Sucking in a breath of surprise, your body slams against the brick wall harder than you thought, and you wince. But the weight of him—almost so that you can’t move without being aware of every part of him pressed up to you—is more comforting than you realize. Because even though this man is wasted, a carnal part of you knows that he won’t make you do anything you didn’t want to. “Come back.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you attempt lightly, trying to play it off. Trying to get him home and forget that this side of him exists, because everything is so much easier when he’s the bad guy. Easier to avoid, easier to love less. 

“You can’t leave me,” he whispers in your ear. He nuzzles the area under your jaw and near your neck, and you try not to gasp when he presses small kisses there. Like he knows that that’s your sensitive spot, can read you like a book.  “Not like everyone else. You were the one good that was truly mine.” 

“I—” There’s nothing to say to that. I can’t believe he’s thinking about this. “Let’s talk about this when you’re sober, Ari.” 

Said man gives a mocking laugh. “There’s no point. If I wake up sober, you won’t be there anyways. You’re just as bad as her, you know? It’s like you’re a ghost—no one would’ve ever thought that you lived in my house once. Sharon left louder than you did, screaming and crying at me and making a scene.”

He shakes his head. “But it’s like you’re a whisper in the wind. I swear I thought the last months were hallucinations. Like I had no wife.” 

“Let’s talk about this later,” you beg. “When you’re sober.” When I can handle it.

“You promise?” His voice is a mirror of your own when you waited for his time. Waited for him to decide to see you. Waited for him to initiate.

“Promise.” 

Ironic, how the tables have turned. 

Ari asked you to meet him in his house. In his own territory, in the place where you lived during your marriage together. And you can’t tell what his game plan is: remind you of what life used to be like? Let nostalgia hit you like it’s your first time walking up the steps of his home, hoping for a fairytale ending? 

“Head to the kitchen,” he says once he opens the door. “I have a meeting after this so I’ll change and meet you there.” 

“Uh, okay.” You take in a deep breath, fighting the urge to grab onto his hoodie like a young child. 

But you can do it. This time you won’t back down so easily if the staff harasses you, especially because you don’t live here. But as you wander the long corridor, more empty now that you boxed the sunset pictures you hung, you see that Ari truly doesn’t care much for decor. A giggle almost comes out at the thought of how pink and colorful the house used to be during your residence, until the reality of you not living here anymore crashes back. 

But the surprise comes when you the staff places sushi in front of you. The sudden shift from neglecting your needs to almost… adhering to it is an odd change. Though it’s probably because Ari invited you as a guest into his house, rather than a “welcome back.” That, and you can’t believe that they’re acting like this when Ari isn’t around, either. 

Come to think of it, when you reflect on seeing the employees work as you walked through his house, you didn’t notice half of them. But you should, since you tried to connect with every single person Ari specifically hand-picked here. Thinking that you got along with them, maybe life could be bearable in the moment at least. That you could do things with someone, that you could bond since Nat was so far away back then, too.

Part of you wants to ask, but it’s probably better not to probe. Either Ari believed that they weren’t competent enough or maybe they relocated to another one of his homes.

“Please, try it.” Rather than walking away the moment they slide the plate over, their hands are folded together, backs straight. Like… they’re nervous? 

“I’m sure I’ll like it—”

“You like the sushi?” Ari comes down from the stairs, slinging his suit jacket on. What’s more shocking is when he sits next to you, elbow on the table, a casual posture. But the workers in front of you seem to be vibrating with nerves, especially as he cuts them a hard look. 

“Mr. Levinson!” The chef blurts. “We didn’t know you were joining, er, Miss… we can make you a plate!”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure. “Mr. Levinson can have my plate if he’s hungry.” 

Ari sounds weird right now to say, especially in front of the new chef. And it’s not like you’re friends now, either, at least you don’t want to get your hopes up for it. Possibly acquaintances, because that would make more sense. Acquaintances with a lot of history between the two of them and needs to go to the therapist to make up for it. 

“My meeting is in half an hour,” his fingers go to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing into one of your shoulder blades to ease out the tension building in your shoulders. It’s crazy how perceptive he’s been lately, noticing how you fumble conversing with someone new, or how you struggle to eat in front of a stranger because you’re paranoid about them picking on your eating habits. “I’ll eat after.” 

You smother a giggle at how the chef then trips left and right for words. It is true—Ari is an intimidating man, and you’ve been in that position countless times. With the dominance and charisma that he carries around, it’s impossible to not want to please him. 

Not that you’ve ever gotten a praise from him, but still. 

Facing you once again, Ari nudges the plate closer to you. “Eat one.” 

The fact that he’s concerned about your eating habits only adds to the complex feelings you have towards him. You smother any possible warmth or butterflies stirring inside of you, and give him a slight, awkward smile instead. 

“Okay,” you whisper, dabbing the California roll—you love the bland flavors—into the soy sauce, and taking a bite. 

It’s good. It’s exactly what you craved for the last few weeks, and you devour one after the other. 

 “You like it?”

“Like it? It’s the best thing I had all week! Not that I craved it, but I craved it.” Another bite. 

For some odd reason, he smiled. It lit up all his features as his eyes crinkled, filled with gentleness, enough to make you pause. Did something good happen to him? 

“Good,” he murmurs. “Eat a bit more. Or you might have to see me threaten the chef, too.” 

“I don’t think I have any delusions of you anymore,” you joke, but the words feel more like knives than needles to him—slashing him and leaving him to bleed rather than pricking at him. He remains silent and lets you trace shapes on his palm. So he caves into one of his simple desires, hooking his pinky onto yours. The gesture causes you to make eye contact with him, something he hopes that you’re not afraid to maintain from now on.

“You saw the worst of me,” he admits in a hushed voice, and it pains him to say so. “But I wish you’d give me a chance to show you my best parts, too. Though, that night wasn’t exactly my best moment.”

“No, don’t worry about what you said that night,” you blurt out. “Drunk people say odd things, you know? I never understood why people say that drunk people spill unspoken truths. It’s all a scam—”

“I meant every word I said. So while I appreciate it, don’t discredit every word I said, lov—” Ari clears his throat and nudges you to eat another piece instead. Takes a sip of the water placed in front of him, trying to fight a smile at your eyes peering up at him in curiosity. You’ve always been curious, but terrible at asking.

“Sharon felt right to me,” he admits. “When I first met her, I was spiraling. And she loved to pick up my pieces and place it together. She was good with my sister, who I had trouble relating to. And she knew what happened with my mother, since we grew up in the same area together for years. It felt like fate to me—she was there at the right place and the right time.”

“Timing is important,” you hear yourself say. “I’m glad you—”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence,” he mutters, voice gruff. “It’s been over with Sharon for a long while. She changed, and not for the better. I should’ve known the moment she persuaded me that the media would better portray us as friends so she could get everything she wanted. And when she suddenly wanted to get closer and even get married when you came along? It was too coincidental.” 

You blink. What? Since when did he and Sharon end it? You’re pretty sure that you saw another article about the “Best Friend over Marriage?” article circulating, though you tried to avoid them for the most part. 

“Are you okay?” 

He snorts. “I had more than enough time to get over Sharon.” 

“Oh. Well. Uh. Okay.” Speechless, you nod your head and decide to eat another piece of sushi instead. You can empathize with him—heartbreak is painful—but he looks a little too relieved to get it off his shoulders. Like his time with Sharon didn’t matter that much overall. Even you can’t imagine how long their friendship was. How can that long period simply be over?

Ari sighs. “My father and your brother paired together to arrange this marriage against my will. I didn’t agree to it, and was about to get away with it at first, but your brother insisted. Blackmailed me almost.” 

“How?” 

The wry, mocking smile returned and he shakes his head. “He figured out my biggest weakness. My mother.” 

You remember seeing his step-mother there at the wedding, and she seemed friendly enough. In the way that she still hated you but decided not to show it. His father never showed up at the wedding, but with the venom that’s attached to even admitting it, Ari probably didn’t invite him. But his mother? 

“She wasn’t at our wedding.”

“Oh, well—”

“She’d dead, love,” he cuts off, unable to stop the endearment from escaping his mouth. “She died in a car accident when I was young and my father remarried.” 

Oh God. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and pat his hand once. Your heart goes out to him, and though in the past you would’ve made a move to give him a hug, you don’t know what boundaries to break now between the two of you. But still, your heart clenches at the thought of a younger version of Ari having to grow up faster than he wanted to. Out of his will, because he had to adjust and take care of himself. I mean, sure, your mother also died when you were young, and so did your father. But at the same time, you relied on your brother to take care of your basic needs—that much you’re grateful for. 

“I didn’t know—”

“Of course he wouldn’t talk about it. He thinks that we’re an embarrassment.” Ari shakes his head and clenches his jaw. “But your brother? I don’t fucking know how he found out, but he wants some shares. He wants us to be linked. And I would rather let him fucking ruin me than let him allow the media to paint my mother as anything otherwise. 

“And I thought you were included in that,” he barks out a laugh. “How can I think that someone like you was included in this?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur.

“Me neither,” he says, and his voice contains a tinge of regret. “But I wish I knew earlier.” 

Pairing: Sad!Steve rogers x female reader

Summary: Sirius, the brightest yet loneliest star in the galaxy.

Word count: 700

A weak person can always be spotted in a crowd, whether it's the builders on the subway with hands too tired to hold themselves up right on the journey home after a long day of work, or the bags and tear stains under the nurses eyes, concealing each and every secret the brain no longer has the capacity to handle, or the accountants slouched over their desks, faces in the palms of their hands, eyes squinting at the screens infront of them as they turn cloudy. However, the signs are more difficult to spot in those who believe being strong is their only choice.

Steve rogers was deemed as the 'Strongest Avenger' amongst his comrades, although tony would definitely have something to say about that if he was here. Due to his long hundred years of life, it seemed pretty obvious that after all those years of experience and change, most would have given up a long time ago, but not Steve Rogers. Steve had always kept up his golden boy status in public, not even a strand of his blonde, wispy hair out of place or pimple on his soft, creamy skin could take away his shine. He believed if people knew the real him, his reputation would suceed him if they knew the truth hidden behind his brave front.

Steve enjoyed sitting by the ocean, it helped that the cabin they had been hiding away from the world in was a short walk away from the beach. Water had always calmed Steve, he related to it in a way. Like a mirror, it has the ability to shows us what we cannot see in ourselves. The way even the calm and still ocean could turn in almost an instant to crashing waves, seeking destruction, it was almost human. Human like him.

"St-Steve?" Your voice called out, closing in on him.

He gave no response as he sat on the rusted bench amongst the pebbles and sand, staring into the sea. Almost as if he didn't even hear the voice calling his name.

"Steve" You said again, only when he felt your hand on his shoulder, caressing him gently did he turn to look at you. His eyes and nose were red and puffy, tears staining his cheeks. Your heart broke seeing him so distraught.

"Oh, sweetheart" you whispered, as you sat next to him, pulling him into a hug, as he accepted your embrace, his thick arms wrapped around your much smaller frame. His skin was cold and blistering, which was all you needed to understand that he had been out there for far too long.

"I'm so tired" he sobbed into your shoulder, your hair becoming wet with tears. You shushed his cries pulling him impeccably closer than he already was. You sat in silence for a short while, thinking about everything that led up to this moment, everything steve had been through and every decision he made that led to you.

“You know, Sirius is the brightest most beautiful star in the entire galaxy, yet the furthest from any connection to other life forms, deeming it the loneliest star to have ever existed” you whispered gently as he slowly looked up from your shoulder, his vision still clouded from the liquid drops of salted sadness.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore” you said gently. “I’ll always be here for you steve, no matter what happens, no matter how far from each other we end up, just look up to the night sky and you’ll find me.”

“I love you” he sputtered, his azure gaze blazing in admiration. “And i love you, forever and always” you repeated back, using your thumb to wipe his tears, caressing his milky skin. Kissing his soft lips faintly. Your other hand massaging his blonde locks as he curled into you.

The blue sky now turned black watched over you as you held each other, the pale moon shined down almost replenishing the light that had previously been lost. “We’re going to be okay, as long as i have you, and you have me, nothing in this godforsaken world can hurt us.”

AAH! my first ever fic! what do you guys think?!🥺 any feedback would be much appreciated whether its negative or positive!💞 please reblog and comment! Much love, cherry🍒❤️

Warnings: 18+, choking, face slapping, degredation, slight daddy kink

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

The sound of locks being turned woke you, your head snapping to your left as you quickly sat upright on the cold floor, your mind whirring at a million miles per hour, trying to rake through memories of how you could have possibly ended up in this mess.

“Rise and shine pumpkin” a male voice called out sinisterly, the door to the dark cellar opening letting the outside light shine in, you blinked rapidly as you waited for your eyes to adjust to the bright light. “Wh-where am i? Who are you?” you ask, voice trembling.

The man slowly came into view, he was actually pretty attractive all things considered. His expensive loafers sqeaky clean, his muscles bulging in his tight black polo and at just the sight of his 90s porn stache, you felt your heat becoming wet. Shame running through your veins as you looked up at him, eyes watering with innocence.

“The names Lloyd, I’m sure your wondering how you ended up here. I can say your not the sharpest knife in the drawer sweets, but thats just how i like them” he said accentuating his last few words, his cold blue eyes piercing into you as stood, leaning his body weight towards you.

A strike of panic surged through you, without thinking of the possible consequences you bolted towards the door. Running as fast as your legs could take you, your heart beating out of your chest. Needless to say, you didn't get very far before Lloyds muscular bicep wrapped around your neck, dragging you backwards. You yelp as you attempt to wiggle out of his grasp, to no avail. "You really shouldn't have done that sunshine."

He spins you around, holding you tightly against his chest as his hand roughly wraps around your neck, forcing you to look up into his eyes as his masssive body towers over your much smaller frame. Suddenly his hand strikes out against your check, your head whips sideways, your skin instantly turning red. Your eyes fill up with tears, squealing as you stare at him in shock.

He slowly backs you against the wall “I'm sorry sweetheart was daddy too harsh on you?" he chuckled.

"Dumb little girls like you just bring out that side of me."

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

pairing: steve rogers x reader

Warnings: 18+, slight daddy kink, lots of pda, choking, face slapping, thigh riding, hair pulling, degradation.

₊♡₊˚🎀・₊✧

He watches you across the room barely paying attention to Bucky and Sam’s conversation as you prance around in your pink mini skirt, only allowing you to have worn it since he was with you.

Your tight cropped shirt showing off your toned stomach which was now a nice shade of tan, caused by the amount of sunbathing you and Steve had done on the two week holiday break that iron man himself had graciously gifted you.

Your golden jewellery shining underneath the disco lights Tony insisted on getting when you all moved out of Stark tower and into the compound. Steve’s eyes leave you for a split second, engaging in Sam’s rambling.

Pool stick in your hand, you lean over the table ready to shoot your shot, too tipsy to notice your skirt riding up against your thighs exposing the light blue panties he picked out for you for everybody to see, wiggling your hips you lined your eyes up with the ball, every male (and female) gaze in the room suddenly fluttering to your ass.

Bucky notices this instantly, following their eye lines he lets out a low whistle “Think you’d best go and get your girl rogers.”

Steve’s focus is already out of the window, not even picking up on Sam’s hushed “god damn.”

Within a split second steve is on his feet making his way towards you, his thick thighs pounding across the room and at the sight of his biceps straining against his dark blue polo connecting to tensed fists.

Tony’s guests watchful eyes abruptly return to whatever they were doing before the sight of your pretty behind distracted them, the guys you were playing poker with making excuses as to why they had to leave, feeling the scene, not wanting to be the main attention of the super soldiers anger, confused as ever you begin to stand.

Swiftly you feel his familiar hands pushing you back down against the table, hips meeting your behind, you practically moan at the feel of his cock straining against his pants, pressed in between your asscheeks.

“Pretty girl…” oozed out of his lips, a smile grazing against your teeth knowing exactly who’s behind you “Stevie baby!” you say excitedly, making your second attempt to stand straight

“Ah ah ah” he whispers softly yet so harsh at the same time “You like acting like a slut baby? is my attention just not enough for you anymore, hmm?.”

“What are you talking about stevie” you giggle lightly, not understanding what he’s upset about, suddenly his large hand wraps around your ponytail, pulling your hair back roughly causing you to yelp, in both pain and pleasure.

“You know exactly what i’m talking about, you stupid little brat, you like shaking your ass for everyone to see?” he growls, his grip on your hair tightening.

You begin to try and defend yourself yet your lips don’t even have the chance to part before he’s dragging you away from the public eye and into a supply closet down the hall.

The second the door to the small room closes, steve’s on you in a flash, pushing you up against the wall, his knee sliding in between your legs pressing against your pussy, already soaked for him due to his man handling tactics, his veiny hand running up your chest and to your throat, gripping tightly against your throat as you choke for breath.

“God your such a stupid fucking whore sometimes” he shakes his head, you don’t dare try to speak knowing your already in enough trouble, “Grind against my thigh baby, i know you want to, you dumb, stupid little girl” he lets out in a condescending tone.

“Daddy please” You whimper as you began to grind your hips into his thick muscle, your clit throbbing against his jeans, as you rutted against him he started to feel your slick dampening his thigh.

“You can do better than that, speed it up dirty girl, before you make this even worse for yourself.” he threatened, your speed picked up instantly not wanting to anger him further, steve already knew you were getting close as your moans got louder, your mouth blabbering incoherent sentences.

Just as you began to feel your insides tighten, the familiar flood of pleasure was snuffed out within an instant as he gripped your hips, removing his thigh from between your legs.

“You didn’t really think i was going to let you cum after the show you just put on out there, did you?” he teased, you cried out desperate for that soothing release you had previously been so close to, whimpering and begging him to let you cum.

His hand lifted from your throat, hitting you across the face, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to get his point across, your cheek instantly turned a light shade of pink as your eyes welled up with tears.

“Cut that shit out right fucking now” he warned, “the next time i hear a noise come out of those pretty lips you’ll have wished you didn’t wear that damn skirt tonight” he growled as he stroked the cheek he had previously hit.

“Oh and you’d better hope those perverts are praying for you because you’re in for a very, very long night little girl.”

@evansbby LORD.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHH! BABE!!! this is fucking insane!!!!💝💝💝💝you never fail to amaze me holy shit what a masterpiece💓💓 so so worth the wait💞🫶🏻💞🫶🏻

im super sad because i was team steve all the way but the number of times she had to say no and try to leave does not sit right with me at all😔but then ari was the exact same… but ari was comforting her! like actually genuinely cared! UGH YOU HAVE ME SO CONFLICTED😔😔 ari definitely did something to steves sister (im not sure if you mentioned how old she is but if shes readers age then maybe hes an ex of hers???) but i dont believe ari that he broke up with sharon, i think hes lying

steve needs anger management!! asap!!😣and wanda. dont even get me started she is such a shitty friend i instantly do not like her one bit😭

i would still have to say that im team steve🥺hes my baby and always will be🥺💞💓💖💕💗 sorry ari!😔🫶🏻

ANYWAYS ENOUGH OF MY RAMBLING, this was incredible, you always know just the right way to keep us on our toes and wanting more, i personally want to thank you for the dedication and effort you put into writing these stories🫶🏻 it does not go unseen!!!💕💖💓💝💞💗I LOVE YOU BESTIE!!!!🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑☆.｡.:*

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: mean jock!Ari Levinson x naive!reader, mean jock!Steve Rogers x naive!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smutt, noncon, dubcon, daddy!kink, dd/lg vibes, choking, spanking, anal play, fingering, size difference, innocence kink, naive reader, 18+ only, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You never thought you'd be stuck between two beefy basketball players who have it out for each other - but which one do you choose?

𝐀/𝐍: This is part 3 of my fic, Wicked Games. I'm literally so nervous about posting this. This is 21k words long. I hope you enjoy and forgive any mistakes!

“I told you, Wanda. I barely remember anything from last night,” you say, balancing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you manoeuvre the vacuum cleaner around your room. You’d woken up feeling like shit – hungover and with a terrible headache to boot. But a warm shower and some skincare later, you’d decided to do some chores in order to clear your mind. “I do remember you ditching me though.”

“I didn’t ditch you!” Wanda screeches from the other end of the line, and you wrinkle your nose, holding the phone away from your ear before she speaks again. “Curtis told me you’d left, and then he took me back to his place! I left you a message and everything, but maybe it didn’t send because the service was so shitty.”

You hadn’t received her message until you got home last night, along with about a dozen more from Ari which you also still hadn’t looked at, let alone responded to.

“Wait, you went home with Curtis?”

Wanda giggles, “Yeah. I didn’t think someone as popular as him would ever be interested in me but he was! And he was so good, and gentle too, and–”

You stay quiet, letting her gush on and on about her magical night with the basketball player, ooh-ing and aah-ing and gasping at all the right places. The truth was, the moment she’d mentioned Curtis’ name, the memory of him cornering you on the dancefloor and giving you drink after drink had all come back to you. How he’d offered to take you upstairs before Ari had interrupted… Oh, but what did that matter? It’s not like you didn’t already have your hands full with a basketball player of your own…

“So, what about you?” Wanda finally asks, “Do you really not remember anything?”

You inhale deeply, “I remember talking to Ari.”

No. You remembered more than that. You remembered the thumping music, the flashing lights, the crowd surging around you. His hands on your hips, his lips on your neck. His words in your ear. How he’d fucked you right there in front of everyone… All of that had come back to you in the shower this morning, but you’d been trying not to think about it ever since. All you could really do was persuade yourself that it was too dark and crowded for anyone to have seen that.

“Ew. Not that two-timer. Please tell me you didn’t fold.”

Scrunching your eyes shut, you bite your lip, “We hooked up.” You weren’t going to delve into the details of where you’d hooked up with him, though.

“OH MY GOD, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS?!” Wanda screeches again, and you press your lips together. It was a valid question, but you just weren’t in the mood for a lecture.

“You ditched me and went home with Curtis. Please spare me the lecture, Wanda.”

She’s silent for a handful of seconds, “Okay fine. But how did you get home? Did Ari give you a lift?”

You frown, “He must have. I don’t really remember–”

At that moment, your eyes land on a blue and white varsity jacket draped over your desk chair, and your heart jolts all the way up to the roof of your mouth. Wanda’s voice prattles on, but the phone falls slightly from your hand.

Steve. You’d met a guy called Steve last night. It was slowly coming back to you now. How Ari had broken your heart in that bathroom, how you’d felt so alone and heartbroken the rest of the night. Blurred bits and pieces slowly join together like a jigsaw puzzle in your mind… Steve had found you, and you’d talked to him. And then…? Ari and Steve had faced off, and you’d chosen to leave with Steve…

You couldn’t remember anything after that. But surely Steve had called a cab and dropped you home, right? You had no recollection of what happened in the cab, however. You just have a vague memory of feeling cold and Steve giving you his jacket while you were both in the backseat. But that was the gentlemanly thing to do, as was dropping you home after the terrible night you’d had thanks to Ari.

“Hello? You still there??”

You blink, pressing the phone back against your ear, “Uh, yeah, I’m here. I don’t know what happened after that, but I got home safely so I guess that’s a win, right?”

Wanda agrees, before launching into a detailed account of how Curtis had let her sleep over and he’d even gotten her coffee in the morning after allowing her to sleep in. You sit there, half listening and half staring at Steve’s varsity jacket on your chair. Inexplicably, your fingers itch to touch the soft material, to hold it against your nose and see if you can detect a scent to try and remember more of what had happened last night. You have a vague memory of how heavy and secure it felt around your shoulders, but you can’t recall anything else no matter how hard you try.

A distinct rattling against your doorknob distracts you momentarily, and before you know what’s happening, your door flies open, and Ari appears. The spare key you’d given him clenched tightly in his fist, and a scowl on his handsome face.

“Why the fuck have you been ignoring my messages?” He snarls.

Seeing him now, seeing his devastatingly handsome face, his hair which is slightly wet at the ends, as if he just showered. His grey tank that clung to his body and showed off those incredible, tanned biceps. Oh God, seeing him now just makes you feel all weird, hurt and angry and helpless and yet so attracted to him all in one. And you wonder if all these conflicting emotions show on your own face as you stare him down.

You sniff in what you hope is a dismissive way, “I’m on the phone with Wanda right now.”

It takes him two seconds to cross the room, snatching the phone from your hands before speaking into it gruffly: “Fuck off, Carla.” He hangs up while you gape at him in shock and annoyance, before throwing your phone to the other end of your bed. “Answer me. I won’t repeat myself.”

He’d been messaging you nonstop all night and even this morning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them. Not after how much he’d hurt you last night in the bathroom.

“Why would I reply to your messages when I have nothing left to say to you?” You say, priding yourself on keeping your voice level and calm.

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair like he usually does when he feels insulted or frustrated, “Watch your tone. That’s no way to talk to someone who’s been worried sick about you since you let that asshole abduct you last night.”

Your jaw drops open, “Worried sick? Are you for real, Ari? You weren’t worried sick when you left me in that bathroom even after I begged you to stay with me.”

Ari blinks, crossing his arms over his chest, “You remember that?”

You side-step your vacuum and square up to him (as well as you could possible square up to someone who is almost double your height). “I remember how heartbroken I felt, how hopeless and drunk I was. And you… you didn’t even care! Not even a little bit…” Your voice breaks, and you hate it and you wish you were stronger but you feel your shoulders crumple and your eyes well with tears.

“Aww, baby…” Ari’s strong arms wrap around you, and he pulls you into his solid chest. And he smells so good, like fresh soap and aftershave, and his embrace is so familiar, so safe, and you hate him for that. “Don’t cry, baby. You know I hate it when you cry. Look, I didn’t want to leave you, but I had to. Sharon was making a scene and multiple people were looking for me.”

At the mention of her name, you push him away immediately and take a few steps backwards to create some distance between the two of you. No, you wouldn’t let him sweet-talk you this time, you wouldn’t fall victim to his manipulations. You were going to stand your ground.

“Don’t, okay? You don’t need to make all these excuses because you basically laid it all out on the table last night, Ari. I remember everything.”

“Baby, listen–”

“No, you listen! You strung me along for weeks, telling me you’d make me your girlfriend one day. I told you I’d do anything for you. I let you fuck me wherever, however you wanted! I begged you to stay, but you told me you already had a girlfriend, and now I know that if it came down to it, you’d always pick her over me. So, I’m done.”

You swallow back your tears and stand with your head held high, heart pounding at everything you’ve just said. But you also feel exhilarated, liberated because you’ve never voiced your thoughts to him like this before. And he just stands there, eyes narrowed as he stares you down and yet he says nothing, and you wonder if you’ve finally rendered someone like him speechless.

With triumph, you turn on your heel, walking past him and into your bathroom. You have nothing to do in there but you busy yourself with rearranging your lotions and creams, determined to ignore him until he leaves.

“I could take you out tonight,” he calls from the bedroom, “Like a real date. We could go to one of those Italian restaurants downtown. And we could stay at a hotel after that, I can easily get us a penthouse suite at the Hilton, I know you’d like that.”

You would like that. In fact, your heart lurches in excitement. A romantic, public date with Ari? Oh, that would be incredible! But your happiness is short-lived when you realise that none of it meant anything if he was still with Sharon. That meant this date would probably take place in the shadows of the night, with him on edge over someone spotting the two of you together. And you refused to be his second-choice, his dirty little secret, any longer.

“I’m not interested, Ari,” you mutter, pretending to read the label of your shampoo bottle. A minute passes before you look up, disappointed when he doesn’t answer. Had he left? Oh, you were hoping he would’ve stayed longer and grovelled a bit more. Or even grovelled at all because he still hadn’t apologised. You resist the urge to call his name as you stare hard at your shampoo bottle, so hard that the label blurs. Still nothing. You sigh before leaving the bathroom, heart sinking that he left.

But Ari’s still there, standing in the middle of your room. Deathly still, and in his hands is Steve’s blue and white varsity jacket. Shit. You’d completely forgotten it was there.

“This is his.” Ari says softly.

You don’t say anything.

His blue eyes meet yours, narrowed and accusatory, his jaw tense with contained anger. He holds the jacket up as if it’s a piece of damning evidence in a murder case, and you’re the convict on trial. You see a glimmer of betrayal on his face, and his lips press into a thin line.

“Why is this here?”

Your mouth suddenly feels dry. It’s like his demeanour has completely changed in the past thirty seconds. You’d never seen him so calmly angry before. It’s almost eery.

“I asked you a question.”

You chew on your lower lip, “I-I was feeling cold, so he–”

Again, he closes the gap between you with just two long strides. But this time, he pushes you against the wall, his hand going around your throat and giving you the strangest sense of dejavu.

“Was he in here? Did you let him fuck you?”

He shakes you when you don’t answer, and his fingers squeeze your throat threateningly.

“No, okay!” You say, feeling your windpipes close. Of course, you and Steve hadn’t slept together – all he’d done was give you a ride home, right??

“Did you let him touch you? Did you!?” He shakes you again, “Did you hook up with him? Tell me the fucking truth.”

“NO! Get the fuck off me!” You cry, pushing at him feebly.

“Do you remember everything? Tell me right fucking now, because if you don’t remember then that means that asshole took advantage of you while you were drunk.”

“I REMEMBER EVERYTHING, OKAY?!” You lie, “Nothing happened. H-He gave me his jacket because I felt cold, then he dropped me home. Nothing else happened, just let me go!”

Ari does let your throat go, but his menacing eyes never leave yours. You’ve never seen him so… affected before. He was always so cool, collected, so nonchalant… but right now, he almost looks frenzied. The sneer never leaves his face as his hand slips up to grab your jaw instead.

“Are you sure?” His every word is enunciated slowly, in a frighteningly level manner as he stares you down. “You better be fucking sure, because I know guys like him. He’s a fucking slimeball who would’ve been happy to touch you even if you were unconscious.”

Your heart sinks at that, but you know Ari’s just speaking out of anger. Steve had been so sweet, and he’d never do that. You were sure of it…

“All he did was give me a lift home!” You try to wiggle out of Ari’s grip but he holds you firmly against the wall, his huge body pinning you flat against it similar to how he had last night when he’d fucked you. Out of nowhere, a wave of anger surges through you, the memory of him using you and disposing of you flashing through your mind once again. And now he had the audacity to get mad at you for going home with someone else? The next words out of your mouth are spiteful:

“But it wouldn’t be a problem if I did hook up with Steve, would it? I mean, it’s not like I have a boyfriend.”

Quick as a wink, Ari flips you around, till your cheek is rammed up against the cold wall, and you can practically hear the angry rumble from his throat. He roughly yanks your shorts down your legs, along with your panties too. You struggle against him, but your protests die as his palm cracks down on your bare ass hard.

“Don’t you fucking even think about that.” Ari hisses, smacking your ass four times in quick succession.

“Stop!” You squeal, pushing back against him but he’s too big and strong, “Stop, you jerk! It hurts!”

“Don’t you ever even entertain the idea of hooking up with someone else.” Ari growls in your ear, his unforgiving hand raining slaps down on your poor, ass which already feels raw, “You’re mine. I own your whole fucking body and nobody else can touch you. Say it.”

You sob in pain, fighting against him, “No! You don’t respect me, you don’t–”

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” he says through clenched teeth. Roughly, he pulls your pyjama shorts down, and your panties are quick to follow. His palm collides with your ass over and over again, alternating between your two bare cheeks with unforgiving slaps whilst ignoring your cries of protest. “I had you first. That means you’re mine, and he can’t have you. No one can have you unless I fucking say so.”

Your eyes widen, his words chilling you down to the bone. Never before has Ari ever sounded so serious, so scary. You swallow harshly, before gasping when he pinches your ass meanly. It hurts, you feel like your ass is on fire as he resumes slapping it over and over again. His other hand holds you tightly by the hip to keep you in place – otherwise, with the force of his smacks, you’d have gone flying across the room.

“Stop it, Ari! Fucking stop it!” You beg, trying to keep resilient despite the fact that your backside is stinging so bad. The last thing you want to do right now is start crying and fall into a submissive stupor that has you begging for his forgiveness and approval. And you know that very well could happen, because that’s what’s always happened in the past when he’s punished you.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“No! Fuck you!” You weren’t gonna give in to him. Not this time.

You squeal when his hand presses against your lower back, bending you over slightly. He spreads your glowing ass cheeks, swiping his finger up your slit. You squeeze your eyes shut when you hear him smirk at your wetness. Your body can’t help but respond to his touch… but it’s your mind and willpower that you need to keep strong right now.

“You won’t say it, huh? What, you decided to develop a mind of your own overnight?” He gathers your wetness on his finger, steering clear of your clit completely as his finger moves upwards instead. You clench involuntarily when you feel his digit probe your asshole, “I make all your decisions, you got that, sweetheart? I own you. I decide what you do, who you talk to, all of that shit.”

Oh, how was he so possessive over you when he couldn’t even call you his girlfriend? You just couldn’t understand him…

He forces his pointer finger into your asshole, making you scream out loud at the intrusion. He’s fingered your ass before, but never as roughly as now. You bite down on your lower lip – you’ve already screamed once but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of doing it again. His other hand leaves your hip to grab your hair, pulling your head back.

“Say you’re mine, or I’ll add another finger.”

“How can I be yours when you’re the one who doesn’t want me to be your girlfriend!?”

Ari scowls, and yet he doesn’t respond. Instead, he continues to spank your ass. And his finger continues to pump in and out of you, and you find yourself biting your lip now to suppress your moans.

There was just something so carnal, so raw, about him finger-fucking your ass. He was stoic and angry right now, but in the past Ari would always tell you how obsessed he was with your butt. How cute and round it was, how it drove him crazy when you bent down in your cute little skirts. How you had the type of ass that was always just begging for a smack. And he’d always find reasons to “punish” you, insisting on spanking you for the smallest of offences. He’d told you that he loved how needy you got when he spanked you, and how he knew it got you horny when he fingered your butt.

But right now, it seemed like Ari was more fuelled by anger and jealousy than lust. And a part of you, despite everything, the neediest and most insecure part of you is happy that he’s so jealous. That he’s so affected by the prospect of you getting with Steve. And yet… Yet it clearly isn’t enough to get him to leave Sharon for you…

“I own you.” He grunts in your ear, “I don’t fucking care if you say it or not. But you’re not gonna speak to Steve Rogers again. Do I make myself clear?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, probably because he knows you won’t right now. There’s a shift in energy, you both can feel it. You know he can sense your mind fighting against him harder than ever before. It’s in the way you keep your mouth clamped shut, despite inwardly wanting to moan in pleasure.

Ari slips his hand down your front, cupping your mound as he continues to finger your butt with his other hand. You suppress another gasp, fighting the urge to press against his palm. You hear him smirk again from behind you, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit. You exhale loudly, thrill shooting straight down to your core.

“Don’t think I give a fuck about you giving me the silent treatment,” he says into your ear, “Daddy can still make you cum harder than anyone else ever could, and you’ll cry like a fucking baby while you do it.”

His words go straight to your pussy and you clench hard. Your hips move on their own accord, thrusting forward to hump straight into his hand before you still them. But it feels so sinfully good, your clit rubbing against the hard heel of his palm. And it doesn’t help that he knows exactly how to move his hand against your bundle of nerves, circling and pressing and rubbing at you.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

“There she is,” Ari murmurs cockily, “There’s my girl. I guess the little baby didn’t lose her voice after all…”

“I mean, fuck you.”

He snorts, rapidly pressing his finger in and out of your puckered hole with such force that he rocks you forward, making your pussy press deliciously against his hand.

“You’ll listen to me,” he says beguilingly, licking the shell of your ear, “you’ll do exactly what I say. I don’t care if you want to throw a tantrum right now and act out and pretend you don’t want me anymore. I own your pussy, and I decide when we’re done. Not you. Me.”

You drop your head in shame, the pleasure in your tummy making you almost dizzy. Your body sags, surrendering to him physically as he mauls you. The tight walls of your ass swallow his finger up each time he thrusts into you with it, the force jolting you forward, making you dry hump his hand. Your ass burns and yet it feels so sexy, and you know you’re losing yourself; you know you’re losing the battle…

“Say it. Say who’s making you feel this good,” Ari breathes, rubbing your clit sensually, coaxing you to rut against his hand, to chase your pleasure while he dangles it in front of you like a carrot. “Nobody else will ever make you feel like this, you got that? Just me. So, say it.”

“Ari,” his name falls past your lips in a choked whisper, and you scrunch your eyes shut as you cum violently. You spasm in his arms, pussy walls clenching and releasing over and over again as you squirt all over his hand.

“That’s a good baby,” Ari coos, holding you up because your legs feel like jelly, and you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. “It’s okay, you can be mad at daddy all you want. But I know what’s best for you, and I lo–” He pauses, clearing his throat and pressing his lips down on your neck, kissing and licking at your skin, “I own you, you got that?”

You don’t answer, and he walks backwards with you in his arms. He lays you down on the bed before making a show of licking your cream off his fingers. You lie there, watching him and trying to catch your breath. Coming down from that orgasmic high, a dark feeling manifesting in the pit of your stomach. You’d let him get to you…again.

“We’ll go out tonight,” Ari announces, “I’ll pick you up around nine, and we’ll go wherever you want to go.”

“No.”

His eyes narrow, “What?”

It takes you a second to gather up your strength to sit up. Your orgasm has weakened you – or maybe it’s the emotional weight of what you’re about to say next.

“I said no, Ari. I don’t want to go out with you.”

He blinks, but doesn’t say anything. You take that as your cue to continue.

“I’m done, okay? I’m serious this time. I don’t wanna be with you if you’re still with her.” You suck in your breath, looking somewhere beyond his shoulder because it’s too intimidating to meet his gaze. “I don’t wanna go on a date that starts at nine in the evening when it’s pitch-black outside, just because you can’t risk being seen with me. I deserve better than that.”

Ari crosses his arms over his chest, regarding you carefully and yet he still doesn’t say anything.

“A-And I deserved better last night. I didn’t deserve to be left alone in that bathroom. I was high, and drunk, and I begged you to stay with me,” you bow your head, “I-I deserve someone who isn’t embarrassed of being with me in public, Ari.”

“I’m not embarrassed of you, I just can’t–”

“You can’t risk it, I know. You have a girlfriend. And I wish to God it was me, but it’s not. So, I’m done trying to persuade you.”

He scoffs, “You don’t mean that. You’re just in a mood, but you’ll come crawling back to me the moment you start feeling needy again.”

You shake your head sadly, “Think whatever you want to think, Ari. I’m done.”

Sighing lowly, you keep your head bowed as you pick at a loose thread on your quilt. You can’t bare to look at him, because a part of you knows that looking at him would make you melt and then he’d have you back eating out of the palm of his hand. But you were done this time, you were so exponentially done, and–

“Listen to me,” In a flash, Ari grips your chin harshly between his thumb and forefinger. Forcing you to look into his menacing eyes that flash with indignation and anger. “If you end this now, then that’s it. We’re done. I won’t ever speak to you again.”

Your heart jolts, stunned by his harsh words. But that was what you’d decided you’d wanted, right? For you and him to be done? Or had you wanted him to grovel, apologise, break up with Sharon and shack up with you? Nevertheless, you try to remain strong.

“Okay. That’s fine.”

“I’m serious. I know you think this is some kind of game and you’re playing hard to get, but I swear to God, I will leave this room and never even look at you again. Is that what you fucking want?”

His face is inches from yours, and you try to read his eyes. Try to understand him on any level, try to detect if there’s an inkling of care behind those eyes, even an iota of love or adoration for you. A desperation to stay with you, be with you. But you can’t. His face is unreadable, like a mask. And so a lone tear breaks free and meanders down your cheek, and you speak in a broken whisper:

“Maybe it’s for the best…”

He backs away as if you’ve stung him, or flung a vial of poison right in his face. His eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, chest rising and falling with each breath as he glares daggers at you. And a large part of you just wants to take it all back, to jump into his arms and burst out crying like you always do, and he’d make you feel better for the night and then leave before you woke up tomorrow. No, you had to stay strong.

Easily, like he’s slipping on that damned mask once more, Ari’s features morph from anger to nonchalance, and he straightens up and shakes his head.

“Fine. Then we’re done.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something else before thinking better of it. Instead, he turns and leaves without a second glance back at you, his fists balled up at his sides.  

It’s only when he’s gone, and the door slams shut with a crushing finality, that you allow yourself to burst into tears. Loud, wracking, sobbing tears, and one word falls past your lips in a choked whisper:

“Bye.”

***

Heartbreak felt strange. For one thing, it was constant. You missed Ari all the time in the days that followed. You thought it would get easier after a few days, but two weeks later and you still felt like your heart had been sawed in half. And every time you’d see him on campus, your heart would jolt.

In the past, he’d always smile at you or give you a wink – even if he was with his girlfriend. Now? You may as well have been invisible for all he cared. He never looked at you, or whenever his eyes did glance in your direction, it was like he’d see right through you or over your head. You didn’t exist to him anymore. And it hurt.

But isn’t this what you had wanted?

Well, yes. And yet, you can’t fathom how it’s actually happened. A large part of you had expected him to come crawling back to you like how he had last time. You’d expected your phone to blow up with texts and calls from him, expected him to show up at your door at midnight for a booty call, even. But nope. Radio silence. You and Ari were well and truly done and he’d moved on.

And often, when you were getting ready in the morning, your gaze would fall on the blue and white varsity jacket still draped on your chair and wonder if it was time for you to move on to someone else too…

But Ari still plagued your mind, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to contact Steve or even if you wanted to. After all, all he’d done was give you a ride home when you were messy drunk and probably at your most unattractive. He probably wasn’t even interested in you like that…

“Oh my Gosh, Curtis is coming this way. Do I look okay? Do I need to powder my nose again?” Wanda hisses at you. The two of you are sat on one of the wooden tables in the campus courtyard. She quickly grabs your compact, not waiting for you to answer as she scrutinises her reflection in the tiny mirror.

Oh, right. Another important advancement in the past two weeks: Wanda and Curtis were now a thing. Which made it even harder to avoid Ari, who was Curtis’ best friend. Even now, as you look beyond Wanda’s shoulder, you can see Curtis walking towards her with Ari right next to him. To your relief, Ari hangs back, getting his phone out instead.

“Hey, babe.” Curtis pulls up behind Wanda, wrapping his arms around her while she throws your compact back at you so she can squeeze his bicep. It hits you in the face and you huff to yourself as you put it away, pointedly trying not to look at the two of them while they start to make out. Watching them be a happy couple especially stung seeing as your own “relationship” had ended in such a disaster.

Looking beyond them proves to be a mistake, however. Ari’s now been joined by Sharon, and the two of them are also wrapped up in a kiss. God, what was with everyone? You scowl and look down at your lap.

“What’s wrong with your friend, sweetie?” Curtis asks Wanda, his voice dripping with smug amusement. You almost scoff out loud at the use of “your friend,” as if this man hadn’t been flirting with you the night of the party two weeks ago. You still haven’t mentioned that to Wanda – not when she’s so happy with him now.

“Oh, nothing. She’s always moody nowadays.” Wanda says flippantly, pulling him down to sit on the bench next to her as the two of them continue to kiss obnoxiously. The buzzcut-haired man squarely grabs her breast and gives it a squeeze – right out in the open! But Wanda only giggles, letting him pull her into his lap and feel her up as their make-out session takes a quick, R-rated turn.

“That’s my cue to leave,” you mutter to yourself, gathering your books and standing up. The happy couple doesn’t even glance your way or even acknowledge you’ve said anything. You sigh, wondering whether this was what the rest of your college experience would be like. You’d had your fun at the start of the year and now you were doomed to be the third wheel to these two…

“Oh my gosh, you’re the girl from that party, aren’t you?”

A high-pitched voice knocks you out of your hole of self-pity, and you almost run smack into… Sharon. She’s standing by your wooden table now, hand in hand with Ari, who looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

“H-Huh?” Your mouth suddenly feels dry. You’ve never spoken to Sharon before – and how could you? How could you even look her in the eye after you’d spent weeks and weeks sleeping with her boyfriend?

“You’re the girl from the party,” Sharon repeats, elegantly raising her voice over the obscene making out sounds coming from Curtis and Wanda. “I was pretty drunk but I remember you! You were in that gorgeous red dress, right?”

Your heart’s racing, and you wish you could disappear. Instead, you nod and force a smile.

“Yeah, that was me. Hi.”

“I thought so! You have to tell me where you got that dress, girl! I honestly couldn’t stop talking about it. I mean, just ask my boyfriend!” She nudges Ari, who is trying his best to appear nonchalant, ignoring her as he texts someone on his phone. Sharon rolls her eyes before continuing, “I was totally off my face drunk, but if I remember anything, it’s that dress.”

You nod, forcing a tight smile. “I was pretty drunk too. And the dress is from this website called White Fox Boutique. Look, I have to go–”

“Did you get home okay?” Sharon interrupts, her face morphing into a look of concern. And God, you hate how kind she’s being. It would have been easier to swallow the fact that you’d slept with her boyfriend had she been a bitch. Not a ray of literal sunshine who was so pretty to boot – with messy blonde hair cascading down her back in perfect waves, and the sparkliest blue eyes. No wonder Ari had chosen her – she was absolutely stunning, and even more so up close.

“Yes, I got a lift home–”

“Oh, that’s right! You were with Steve Rogers, that guy from St. Jude’s!” Sharon says excitedly, clasping her manicured hands together before grabbing Ari’s bicep, “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend now. Although it’s a good thing we both had our boyfriends there that night to get us home safely.”

Ari snorts, finally deciding to contribute to the conversation: “He’s not her boyfriend.”

“Um, okay. And how would you know that, babe?” Sharon smiles sweetly up at him.

The brunet freezes, glancing at you for a nanosecond before he clears his throat. “That guy couldn’t hold down a girl if his life depended on it. He’s too volatile.”

Sharon rolls her eyes, “You’ll have to excuse my boyfriend. He has this weird rivalry thing with Steve Rogers. They’re both basketball players, you see.”

You nod, trying to pretend like this is all new information to you. “Uh, right. Well, Steve isn’t my boyfriend, actually. I only met him that night and he was kind enough to give me a lift home. Speaking of home, I gotta g–”

“You and Steve would make a cute couple,” Sharon muses, “you guys looked good together that night.”

You smile awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other and not knowing what to say. She clearly had an excellent memory of that night considering she was off her face drunk for the majority of it.

You hear Ari huff while you’re wracking your brain for an excuse to leave. Sneaking a glance at him, you find him frowning, his hands curled up into fists by his side. Oh, he was affected! Did that mean he still cared? A lightbulb goes off in your head…

“M-Maybe I will go out with Steve. We’ve been texting a lot since that night.” Your voice comes out shaky, the lie feeling foreign on your tongue.

Ari glares daggers at you, “That’s a bad idea.”

Sharon slaps his chest lightly, “Don’t be rude! I think that’s a fabulous idea!”

The brunet bristles and looks down at his girlfriend with an annoyed look on his face, “Don’t you have a class you need to be getting to?”

“I do but–”

“Go.”

Your eyes widen at his gruff tone, and you’re even more surprised when Sharon nods at his command. What was it about Ari that made every girl around him bow down to his authority so easily? You’d been guilty of it too in the past…

“Okay, grumpy-pants,” she says easily before turning to you, “it was nice meeting you! I’m Sharon, by the way.”

You tell her your name.

“Cool, I’ll find you on Instagram. You can text me the details of your dress there!” She says happily, and all you can do is nod while Ari continues staring at you with a steely expression on his face. Clearly, he was bothered by the idea of you and Steve texting! So what if it wasn’t even true?

You stare back at him defiantly, finally feeling like you’ve gained the upper hand in the two weeks since you two have been apart.

In response, Ari narrows his eyes, grabbing Sharon as she’s about to walk away. Your heart drops when he kisses her right in front of you, his gaze fixed on you as his lips move against hers. You feel your face grow hot, then cold, then hot again, heart feeling like someone’s shredding it into pieces. How could he? Your eyes well with tears, but you fight to keep them at bay because you can’t cry here, not in front of everyone.

He continues making out with her, being as obscene as possible as his eyes lock with yours, and you just stand there, frozen and gormless, not even able to look away. Finally, after what feels like ten years, they break apart. Sharon giggles, and Ari slaps her ass before sending her on her way. You wish you could gouge your eyes out.

“You’re unbelievable.” You mutter lowly once Sharon is out of earshot.

“And you’re a liar.”

“What?”

Ari steps closer to you, “I can always tell when you’re lying. You’re not texting Steve.”

You roll your eyes before pushing past him, “It’s none of your business anyways.”

Curtis – you’d forgotten he was even there – breaks a kiss with Wanda to grin up at you. “Don’t mind Ari, he’s just been extremely crabby lately. Not getting laid does that to people.” He goes in for another kiss, adding against Wanda’s lips, “Same can’t be said about you and me, huh, sweetheart?”

Ugh.

“Wanda, I’m leaving. Are you coming?” You ask, doing your best to ignore the two basketball players.

“What? Uh, no, I’m busy,” your friend answers distractedly before Curtis pulls her back in for another kiss.

“You’ll stay away from Steve if you know what’s best for you.” Ari says quietly.

Great. Was he seriously threatening you now?

“I’ll do whatever I want,” you raise your chin up at him defiantly once more.

Ari scowls, running a hand through his hair. You know him well enough to know that he does that when he’s frustrated. “Look, I’m being serious. It’s for your own good–”

“Why do you even care? I thought we were done, Ari.”

“We are done.”

“Then leave me the fuck alone, okay!? I’ll date whoever I want to date.”

“Not him.”

“Yes, him.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“We’ll vacate this bench if you two need the space to fuck.” Curtis offers jokingly, but both of you ignore him as you stare each other down.

Finally, you huff, attempting to sidestep him but he’s way too big and easily blocks your path. A second attempt, and he blocks you again – and this time he has the audacity to smirk amusedly. That boils your blood, and you glare up at him. How dare he try and tell you who you could and couldn’t date? When he just made out with Sharon five inches away from your face not even two minutes ago!?

 “Just listen to me for once,” Ari grabs your wrist but you’re quick to tug it back. His scowl deepens, but he doesn’t grab you again, “Steve is bad news. He–”

“He can’t be any worse than the guys I already do know.” You cut him off pointedly before turning around and walking away without a second glance.

***

“I can’t believe I let you drag me here.”

You’re all too familiar with the university’s basketball court – you used to come here all the time to watch Ari play. That didn’t mean you wanted to be here now. In fact, it was the last place you wanted to be, and you’d told Wanda that several times but she wouldn’t hear any of it.

Wanda rolls her eyes, “Curtis is playing, and as his girlfriend, I need to be there for moral support.”

You wrinkle your nose; she’d only been going out with Curtis for a few weeks now and yet she was running around acting like Curtis was the president and she was the first lady or something. She didn’t really have any time to be your best friend anymore. You and Wanda had bonded at the start of the academic year – doing everything from attending society meetings together to having movie nights and sleep overs.

But now, it was all “Curtis wants me to go to this new club with him,” and “Curtis says that it’s okay to bunk lectures once in a while!” and “Oh sorry, I can’t hang out tonight – Curtis’ schedule just got cleared up so he needs me to go to his room.” It made you wonder whether you’d been this insufferable too when you were with Ari.

“Moral support? Wanda, this isn’t even a proper game. It’s just a practice,” you remind her, “and anyways, I don’t know what I’m doing here. It’s not like I’m dating Curtis.”

“Of course not, you’re not his type at all. I just couldn’t show up alone, that’s just sad,” says Wanda before she spies Curtis in the corner of the court with a few other teammates, all of them stretching and doing warm-ups. She waves at him like mad, blowing kisses in his direction. He shoots her a quick smile before turning around to talk to a nearby cheerleader.

You spot a familiar figure, tanned, tall and muscular with his long brown hair pushed back with one of those metal wire headbands that men wore, barking out a game plan to the rest of his team. Ari. You freeze.

“Wanda!” You hiss, tugging hard at her sleeve, “You said that Curtis told you that Ari was sick and wouldn’t be at practice today!”

Wanda blinks, “Oh. That was a lie.”

“What!?”

She shrugs, “Come on. I needed you here today and I knew there was no way you’d come if you knew Ari was here. Hey, does my lip gloss look okay, by the way? I’m gonna go say hi to Curtis.”

“Don’t leave me all by myself!”

Wanda rolls her eyes, tugging her arm out of your grasp, “You’ll be fine. I’ll be right back anyways. In the meantime, just find us a good spot to sit. Somewhere close to the front where Curtis will be able to see me.”

And she’s gone before you know it. Great. The last thing you needed right now was Ari thinking you’d come here specifically to see him play. And with his big head – that’s exactly what he’d think. You contemplate just leaving – you could tell Wanda that you’d had a medical emergency or something. Or maybe you could just sit somewhere in the back or hide in the bleachers, and Ari would never have to know you were here. He was too busy ordering his team around, he hadn’t noticed you yet anyways, and maybe you could–

“Sweetheart, I was hoping I’d see you here.”

A warm hand grasps your waist, and your first reaction is to jump back and smack whoever’s touching you in such a forward way. But then you turn, being met by a sturdy chest covered by a blue and white St. Jude’s basketball jersey. Golden hair. Sparkling blue eyes. Angelic face.

“Steve!” You exclaim, before realising that you sound way too happy to see someone who is essentially still a stranger to you. You clear your throat, trying to sound more casual. “Wh-What are you doing here?”

“Our court is being renovated, so we got permission to practice here with your team.” He flashes you a bright smile, his hand still on your waist, his thumb stroking you from over your blouse. His eyes rake over you unabashedly, and you find yourself growing hot under his gaze. “This is a really pretty outfit you got on, sweetheart. Is it for anyone in particular?”

You were wearing a pink blouse and cardigan set, with a matching pink tennis skirt which had unfortunately shrunk in the washing machine. You’d still worn it though, promising yourself you wouldn’t make the mistake of bending over and giving everyone within close vicinity a good eyeful of your panties.

“Oh, uh, no, not for anyone in particular,” you babble. You feel nervous around him, but not necessarily in a bad way. “Thanks for getting me home safely that night, by the way. I, uh, I meant to thank you the next morning but I didn’t have your number or anything.”

Steve nods, shooting you a wink, “That’s alright, princess. I think it’s me who should be thanking you for that night.” His hand slips down to your hip, giving it a warm, meaningful squeeze.

You frown, “Why would you be thanking me? I didn’t do anything.” Your Uber ride home with Steve was still a blur to you, but you doubt anything eventful had happened during it. “Oh, don’t tell me I kept you entertained with all my drunken chatter. I’m sorry, I do that sometimes, and I was so embarrassingly drunk that night.”

He blinks, before a slow smile spreads across his face, “Baby girl, don’t you remember?”

“I remember me being a total embarrassment, and you being a total gentleman. You even gave me your jacket and I still have it now!” You say brightly, picturing his varsity jacket still hung up on your desk chair back in your dorm room. “I wanted to return it to you but you never called, or texted, or…” your eyes widen when you realise what you’ve said, “I mean, not that I expected you to call me. I understand that all you did was give me a lift home. I’m not insinuating that you had to call me, or that you’re attracted to me–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve easily grabs your chin before his thumb brushes upwards over your lips, effectively shutting you up. His eyes are intense, and so close, his lashes fanning his cheekbones as he looks down at you, “I am attracted to you.” He says squarely, before chuckling, “I thought that much was obvious. I should’ve gotten your number that night, baby girl, but you’d been drinking a lot.” His eyes glint as he licks his lips, “And I’d never take advantage of you when you were drunk.”

Oh, he was such a gentleman! Of course, he’d never take advantage of you while you were drunk! Unlike dumb, stupid Ari! As if on cue, you look beyond Steve’s shoulder, the tiniest part of you hoping that Ari’s watching this interaction between you and the blonde. But the brunet is busy warming up now, grunting as he does his push-ups in the corner of the gym, his tanned, muscular arms bulging. You almost bite your lip before focusing back on Steve.

“Give me your phone,” Steve says suddenly, and you’re obeying him before you’ve even registered what he’s asked. He smirks, taking it from you and typing his number in, saving it before handing it back to you. “You’ll text me tonight, won’t you?”

Was he asking you or was he telling you? Either way, you find yourself nodding.

His eyes bore into yours, “Say it, then. Say you’ll text me tonight.”

Oh, he was so intense! But you don’t seem to mind one bit. Again, you nod. “Y-Yes, Steve. I’ll text you tonight.”

He gives you a relaxed smile, “Good. We can discuss where I’ll take you on our first date.”

A thrill ripples through you. A date?! You’d never been on a date before! Oh wow, this was–

“Hey, you guys!”

Sharon’s bright voice echoes across the gym as she makes her way over towards the two of you. Sharon. Of course. Of course, she’d be here – she was a cheerleader. And she looked beautiful as she always did, with her blonde hair piled up in a messy bun, her cute cheerleading outfit accentuating all her curves perfectly. You’re hit with a sudden wave of insecurity – would Steve forget about you now that she was here? – but you try to keep it at bay.

The truth was, Sharon had requested you on Instagram a few days ago as she’d promised she would. And you’d had to follow her back, which was painful enough seeing as half of her pictures were her with Ari. But she was sweet when she texted you asking about where your red dress was from, and a few more mini-conversations and a bit of small talk later, clearly, she thought the two of you were friends.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Sharon squeals, giving you a quick hug which you reciprocate whilst wondering why exactly she’s so happy to see you. She nods at Steve with a humorous twinkle in her eye, “And you’re Steve Rogers, aka Ari’s best friend in the whole world.”

Steve snorts, “Yep. That’s me.”

She giggles, looking from him to you and back to him again, “Let me guess. You guys are a couple now.”

You shake your head, “No, we–”

“–We are.” Steve cuts you off, winking at Sharon before wrapping his arm properly around your waist and pulling you into him. Your eyes widen, cheeks feeling hot. You weren’t at all used to public displays of affection like this, nor were you used to anyone being as forward as Steve was being right now. After all, this was only your second time meeting him- how was he already telling people you were together? And why weren’t you objecting to it?

Sharon clasps her hands together excitedly, “Yay! I told her you guys would make the cutest couple.”

Steve chuckles, and your eyes widen when his hand meanders downward. His palm settles on your ass, cupping it as he casually speaks to Sharon. She’s in front of you, so she can’t see it, but your eyes nearly bug out of your head as you feel his big, warm hand cup your ass through your tennis skirt, even giving it a squeeze.

“Careful, Sharon. You might get in trouble if your boyfriend sees you talking to me.” Steve jokes airily, as if he isn’t kneading your ass cheek at the same time. Your face is on fire, but you also feel your walls clench, turned on by the extra attention he’s giving you as he nonchalantly talks to someone else. It’s hot.

“Pfft, no way. Ari doesn’t care who I talk to, he’s not really the possessive type.”

“Interesting…” Steve murmurs softly, almost to himself.

“Look, there he is now,” Sharon waves across the court, “Hey, babe!”

You follow her gaze, watching Ari as he dribbles the basketball casually. Upon hearing her voice, he looks up. He’s got a disinterested look on his face as he nods in acknowledgement at Sharon, but then his eyes meet yours. And it’s like the whole world freezes over, and your body freezes and your blood freezes.

Ari’s face contorts from disinterest to shock as he drinks in you standing with Steve. You feel your chest tighten, as if your body can’t decide between feeling triumphant that you’re making Ari jealous, or upset that you’re making Ari jealous. Either way, you hear Steve smirk, and then he pulls you closer, giving your ass an even harder squeeze that has you yelping.

The shock on Ari’s face quickly morphs into hatred and disdain. He’s all the way across the court, and yet you can see his knuckles redden as he grips the ball so tightly you fear it may explode. A part of you wants to move away from Steve out of respect for Ari, but you couldn’t do that even if you wanted to. Steve’s grip is like iron around you, his palm glued to your ass as if he owns it.

Almost like he’s doing it on purpose…

You don’t know what to expect from Ari, but you brace yourself nevertheless as he makes his way over. But the dark look on his face has melted away, and by the time he reaches you, he looks cool as a cucumber, almost as if he’s slipped on a mask of nonchalance at the drop of a dime. You always wondered how he did that so easily…

“Why aren’t you out there cheering me on?” He asks Sharon, pulling her into his chest and pointedly kissing her. Your blood starts boiling once more and you subconsciously sidestep closer to Steve, lifting your chin up in defiance in Ari’s direction. The brunette side-eyes you and clutches Sharon closer in return.  

Sharon beams up at Ari, “I was talking to Y/N. I’ll go in a second, because the squad is starting a new routine today and I want us to get it down in time for the next big game, and–”

But Ari’s no longer listening to her; him and Steve have now locked gazes much like how they did weeks ago at the party.

“I’m not sure why you even decided to show up today, Steve.” Ari breaks the steely silence first, “No amount of practice could help your godawful team beat mine.”

Steve smirks, undeterred. Pointedly, his arm tightens around you. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Something tells me you’ll be distracted tonight.”

Ari – somehow – looks equally unbothered, never breaking eye contact with Steve. You think you see his lip curl into a snarl for a millisecond, but it’s gone before you can be sure. “Even distracted, I’d still beat your ass.”

The blond snorts, “Your overconfidence is going to cost you, Ari. It’s what made you lose her.”

“Lose who?” asks Sharon, but she quickly grows distracted by the cheerleaders that are in the corner of the court, “Ugh, I gotta go. They’re trying to practice the pyramid and we need six of us to make it work. I’ll catch you later, okay? Please don’t try to kill Steve while I’m gone.” She kisses Ari’s cheek before waving at you and Steve and skipping away.

That just leaves you, standing frozen by Steve’s side while the two men lock eyes in their silent battle. And why does it kind of hurt, the fact that Ari hasn’t looked at you even once throughout it? In a way, you’re relieved that all they seem to be disagreeing over is basketball and who would beat who (aka lame boy stuff). But then that in turn makes you wonder: Is Ari not even affected by Steve’s arm around you? But then why did you even care if he was or wasn’t affected? And how was Steve being so forward, and, and, and–

“I-I gotta go. Wanda’s calling for me.” You lie, slipping out of Steve’s grip and scurrying away. The energy bouncing off both of them made you feel nervous, on edge, almost unsafe. You look back over your shoulder now to see them still staring at each other. Cold, barren stares that seemed to have grown more intense now that you’d left. It makes you gulp, and you wonder if it’s just a basketball rivalry between them after all – or it it’s something more.

“Where the hell have you been? Didn’t I tell you to find us good seats?” Wanda rolls her eyes, grabbing your hand and yanking you over to the last remaining front row seats. You try to clear your head of any thoughts of Ari or Steve, instead marvelling over how many people had showed up to watch these two teams play together in what was just a practice match.

“I was, uh, I just saw Steve.”

“Who?”

“He’s the… he gave me a lift home the night of the party.”

Wanda wrinkles her nose, about to say something before she grows distracted, “Look! There’s Curtis! The game’s about to start!!”

You never held much of an interest in basketball, even when you used to watch Ari play. But now, you pay attention carefully as the teams hit the court. Ari’s team have maroon jerseys and Steve’s team are in blue. They huddle on opposite sides of the court before the coach blows a whistle and they start playing.

“Look how good Curtis looks in his jersey,” Wanda gushes.

Ari looks pretty good too, you almost say out loud. And Steve too.

Both Ari and Steve were very similar on the court. Both the respective captains of their own team, you observe them ordering their teammates around, calling out strategies and gameplans, hyping the players up. They moved around similarly too, both so big and beefy and yet so fluid and lithe when dribbling the ball across the court. They were both clearly the most talented players out of everyone, yet you couldn’t tell who was better between the two of them.

“C’mon Rogers, is that the best you can do!?” Ari taunts after shooting an easy three-pointer about a minute into the game.

Steve rolls his eyes before beckoning one of his teammates closer. He’s a brunette with “Barnes” printed on the back of his jersey. The two of them confer for a few seconds while Ari and Curtis laugh and gloat with their own teammates. Then the coach blows the whistle again.

You zone out for a while, the maroon and blue jerseys becoming a blur as they whiz across the court. A bunch more points scored, the roar of the crowd, Wanda shrieking happily every time Curtis scores or jogs close to your seats. You, however, are much more interested in the way Steve had brazenly felt you up just now before this practice match had begun. Or how Ari hadn’t even looked at you when he’d come over to confront Steve. Or how…

“You fucking tripped him.” Steve seethes, the frustration in his voice carrying across the court and making you refocus on the game which has suddenly halted. The blond looks pissed, a borderline lethal look on his face as he kneels down next to his teammate. The brunette, “Barnes” is on the shiny floor, clutching his knee in pain.

Ari shrugs, “No I didn’t.”

Curtis snickers behind him.

Steve gets to his feet and shakes his head, but he barely has time to react before Ari throws the ball at him. Hard. It hits Steve squarely on the chest before he catches it, his jaw twitching as he does.

“C’mon, Rogers. You got a sub for your friend or are we gonna have to call it like last time?” Ari grins.

The brunet called Barnes limps to his feet, “Nah, I can play.”

Ari frowns. But the coach blows the whistle and the game resumes. This time, you pay closer attention. You note how Curtis is playing dirty, shadowing Barnes till he’s nearly on top of him, even trampling on his feet a few times.

And it’s meant to just be a practice game, but Ari and Steve look like they’re playing in the basketball world championships – or whatever it was called, it’s not like you would know. Both look stone-faced and determined, stealing the ball from each other multiple times, blocking each other, not letting each other shoot. They seem to be within a game of their own, one which was mental almost as much as it was physical.

“Is that all you got, Steve?” Ari taunts as he steals the ball from the blonde.

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve mutters, stealing the ball straight back.

Back and forth it goes, neither of them letting the other shoot. Taunting and jeering each other every chance they get.

“What’s the deal with them?” You find yourself asking Wanda, your eyes glued to the court, “Why do they hate each other so much? Has Curtis ever told you?”

Wanda shrugs, “All I know is that the last time our team played against Steve’s, he lost it and got a yellow card, making his whole team lose. Curtis told me that. Basketball is a competitive game, Y/N. I thought you knew that.”

This seemed more than just a silly sports rivalry, though…

“I fucking saw that, you bald fuck!” Steve rages at Curtis, halting the game once more. “If you trip another one of my guys one more fucking time–”

“You’ll what? Blow your top off and get another yellow card?” Ari smoothly steps in front of Steve, squaring up to the blond with a smirk on his face, “Not a single person in here would be surprised, pretty boy.”

In a flash, Steve has hold of the front of Ari’s jersey, “Keep fucking talking–”

Ari doesn’t back down, and your heart begins to thud like crazy as you watch them. They’re quite close to where you and Wanda are sat, but you have to lean forward to hear what exactly they’re saying.

“Not so fucking smug now, are you?” The brunet sneers lowly. “Thought you could dangle her in front of my fucking face? But you can’t keep a girl, pretty boy. And you can’t keep your cool either.”

They’re like two Adonises, one as ripped as the other. One every bit as tall and built as the other. One every bit as handsome as the other. And both with an equal look of hatred on their faces, a kind of deep-seated hatred that made you uncomfortable, that chilled you down to your bones as you sit frozen in place, watching it all unfold.

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve murmurs threateningly, a blue vein in his forehead looking like it’s about to pop.

Ari smiles coolly, “Or what? Gonna let your team down again, Rogers? Maybe a yellow’s not enough for you, maybe you’re aiming for a red card this time, huh?”

“A red card’s worth splitting your fucking skull–”

“ROGERS, LEVINSON, BREAK IT UP!”

You jump when both the teams’ coaches blow their whistles, making their way over to the two captains. Curtis drags Ari away, and a guy with “Wilson” on his jersey, as well as Barnes both pull Steve in the other direction too. A five-minute recess is called, and you can’t believe what you’ve just seen.

In his team’s respective corner, you watch as Ari snatches up a bottle of water and takes a long swig before pouring the rest of it over his head, as if to cool himself down. Swivelling your eyes, you see Steve in his team’s corner of the court, his hands curled into fists by his side as Barnes and Wilson speak lowly to him. But his blue eyes seem far, far away. And his jaw remains tensed, a dark, almost unreadable look on his face.

The game resumes, but this time it feels different. The dynamic between the two men is completely juxtaposed from what it was the night of the party. Then, Steve seemed in control, laughing as Ari lost his cool. Now, it’s the complete opposite. Ari seems to have recovered from the scuffle, resuming his taunts and insults as he dribbles the ball up and down the court like a pro. But Steve is somewhat out of it, still playing well but almost as if he’s out-of-sync with himself, as if his mind is elsewhere.

And Ari seems to have picked up on it.

“What’s the matter, Rogers? About to lose it again?” Ari snickers after he’s dodged Steve and scored another three-pointer.

Steve says nothing.

St. Andrews (Ari’s team) is up by three points. There’s no scoreboard as it was just a practice and not an official match, but there’s a freshman in the front row – Jake Jensen – who’s acting like a play-by-play commentator.

“Will Steve Rogers lose his marbles and cost his team another match?” Jake speaks into his headset in a suspenseful tone, “Will this all-star athlete crack under the pressure? Will he succumb to the opposition’s tireless taunts? Will the golden boy lose his cool once more? Will he–”

Steve swiftly tosses the ball aside, and the ref barely has time to blow the whistle to call for a time out before the blond grabs Jake Jensen by the collar and hoists him up in the air as if the freshman weighs nothing more than a feather.

“You say one more fucking word, I’ll shove this headset up your fucking ass, got that?” Steve shoves Jensen back in his seat before throwing the poor freshman’s headset at his face, knocking his glasses off. Jake swallows and nods, his mouth clamped shut and a frightened look on his face.

You bite your lip and watch as Steve returns to the game. He’s still got that far-away look in his face, as if he isn’t quite one hundred percent there. He also looks agitated, rattled, unnerved. You feel wary of him, and yet at the same time you also feel a pang of pity, a part of you wanting to go up there and give him a hug despite the fact that you don’t know him like that.

The game starts up again, and quite frankly, you really just want this damned practice to end already. The atmosphere is so intense, so thick, you could practically cut through it with a knife. Steve scores a point, then Ari does, then Steve, then Ari – it’s almost like they’re playing a one-on-one match and everyone else on the court is a paid actor.

“You’re losing your edge, pretty boy,” Ari starts his taunting once more, “Do it. Lose it. Let everyone down, Rogers. Show everyone what a–

“GODDAMIT, JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

 Steve explodes. What happens next happens very quickly. Steve, in a fleeting fit of rage, throws the ball straight at Ari’s face. Hard. Except Ari dodges it just in time. You hardly register what happens after that, and –

THWACK.

The ball hits you right in the face.

Commotion around you. Yelling. Whistles blowing. People talking. Whispers of your name. You think you even hear a snicker from right next to you. And yet you hardly take in any of it, trying your best to catch your breath. Your ears are ringing, your face burning with immediate pain.

Oh god, oh god, oh my god!

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Ari roars at Steve.

You try and find your voice, try to voice that you’re okay, try to grab for Wanda’s hand but it’s like you’re stunned into place. And truth be told, you’re not okay. The whole right side of your face where the basketball hit you hardest throbs in pain. You can even feel the tears brimming in your eyes. Oh, but you can’t cry here, you just can’t! But it hurts! Oh, it hurts so bad!

The next thing you know, you’re being scooped up into someone’s muscular arms.

“Are you okay?” It’s Ari. You blink several times to clear your fuzzy vision. Were you imagining him? No, his arms feel very solid and familiar around you as he lifts you up, carrying you out of the crowd and to the side of the court.

“It hurts!” You can’t help but whimper, feeling like a baby. A disoriented, helpless baby.

“Oh my gosh, is she okay?!” You hear Sharon run up to you two. Shit. Ari wouldn’t be caught dead holding you in his arms in front of his girlfriend, would he? Despite your disoriented state, despite all the pain, you brace yourself for him to drop you.

“Go get some ice,” Ari orders her. “There’s an ice box in the locker room. Go.”

You’re too preoccupied with your throbbing face to really notice Sharon’s reaction, but she dutifully does what he tells her.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay,” He murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m sorry,” Now you hear Steve’s voice, a scuffle which was him probably pushing past people. You try to straighten up in Ari’s arms so you can look at the blond, but dizziness overtakes you. You can still hear him though, despite the ringing in your ear, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“You stay the fuck away from her,” Ari growls.

“Shut the fuck up, I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m talking to you, asshole. You’ve already done enough.”

Ari walks away with you in his arms. You’re finally able to look over his shoulder as he carries you, and catch one last glimpse of Steve just standing there. He’s staring at his hand, flexing it in front of him as if he can’t believe what he’s just done. But it wasn’t his fault, was it?! You can’t think straight, and your face throbs with pain if you try to touch it.

“I can’t fucking believe him,” Ari fumes, as he walks the two of you into a bathroom off the side of the court. You welcome the privacy, being away from the multiple pairs of eyes that had been ogling you when the basketball had hit your face. He gently sits you down on the sink before grabbing a first aid kit that’s conveniently in one of the drawers. “I told you he was trouble, didn’t I? Now he’s physically attacked you in front of everyone. He’s a fucking psychopath–”

“Ari, it hurts,” you interrupt, your voice all wobbly.

The brunet’s features soften. He’s got an ointment in one hand, but he uses his other one to brush your cheek, coming up to stand between your dangling legs.

“This’ll numb the pain.” He says, his voice soft like a cloud. And you’ve never felt this type of softness from him before. Especially not in the past few weeks whilst he’s been giving you the cold shoulder. He spreads the numbing ointment over and around your eye, and you sigh, feeling a little relief.

“That’s a good girl,” Ari murmurs, his hand coming to rest on your leg and giving it a squeeze, “He got you straight in the eye, that dumb fucking prick. It’s definitely gonna bruise, but you’re doing so good, baby. You’re being such a brave little girl.”

Oh god, the way he was speaking was giving you butterflies! Why was he doing it? Did he still care about you?!

“Why are you being so nice?” You blurt out, the pain on your face making you deliriously bold.

Ari snorts, squeezing your thigh, “Baby, I can be nice. You know that.”

Well, he’d been awful these past few weeks. He’d been awful to you the night of the party, too. And yet… You can feel yourself slipping, getting lost in his blue eyes that seem to be sparkling with earnesty, and– No! No, you weren’t going to let yourself go there. Not this time!

“Y-You weren’t being so nice to Steve tonight.” You accuse, trying to shake off the romantic tension that seems to be creeping up on both of you, trapping you in that bubble of desire that you always seem to find yourself in alone with him.

Ari scoffs. “Don’t defend that asshole, not after he gave you a black eye.”

“He didn’t mean to!”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him? That he was bad news?” Ari’s hand doesn’t leave your bare thigh, and you’re acutely aware of his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Now he’s gone and hurt you just like I knew he would.”

“You were goading him the whole time, Ari!”

“That doesn’t give him the excuse to physically assault you.”

“That’s not what it was!” You try to frown, but it makes your eye throb with pain, and you wince instead.

“Well, either way, you’re never gonna see him again after tonight.” Ari declares.

Your jaw drops open, “Excuse me?”

He meets your gaze squarely, the hint of an amused smile touching his lips, “You heard me. He’s too volatile, and if you had listened to me, you’d know that.”

“He only blew up like that because you wouldn’t stop insulting him!”

It’s his turn to frown, “He blew up like that because that’s who he is.”

You regard Ari suspiciously, “How do you know him so well?”

Ari sighs, suddenly devoting all his attention to screwing the cap back on to the ointment bottle. He takes his time, carefully placing the bottle back in the first aid kit before he refocuses on you. You expect him to answer your question, but instead he cups your face (the side that hadn’t been hit by a basketball).

“Sweetheart, the bottom line is that he hurt you.” Ari’s voice drops a few octaves, his face suddenly so close to yours, so close that you can see his long lashes flutter as he blinks, “I didn’t like that.”

You bite your lip, goosebumps running up and down your arms. You feel a sudden sense of dejavu – being in a bathroom with Ari alone like you were all those weeks ago at that party. The bathroom where he’d left you. “Wh-Why didn’t you like it?”

“You know why.” He moves even closer, his lips looking so plump and pink…

“No. Tell me.”

“Because I care about you. And I’m sorry for leaving you alone that night.”

Tenderly, he kisses you. And you don’t even fight it, easily melting into it despite everything. Despite how much you’d coached yourself not to fall for him again. His lips just feel so good, so natural, so him. And he’s holding you so gently, almost like you’re made out of glass. It’s like it’s a different Ari that’s kissing you now, so different from the man you’d gotten to know, from the man who’d hurt you and lied to you countless times.

The two of you pull apart, before instinctively pulling back in for another kiss. And you don’t know if it’s you or him that initiates the second one, but it’s like there’s an invisible string between the two of you, keeping you connected no matter how hard you try to run away.

“Ari,” you whisper against his lips, “Ari, what does this mean?”

He says nothing, continuing to peck at your lips. His hand slips up your skirt, but you quickly grab it to halt him. No, you needed answers this time before you took it any further.

“Y-You said you care about me.”

“Yeah, I did. I do.”

“Are you going to break up with Sharon?”

Silence.

And just like that, the bubble pops. You crash back down to reality. Your black eye throbs, your heart throbs, and now your head’s throbbing too. Sighing sadly, you push Ari away.

“Hey, look, I’ll figure something out.”

You shake your head, “I don’t have time for you to figure something out, Ari. It’s either me or her. Because honestly, Sharon doesn’t deserve this and neither do I. And I’m not going to start sneaking around with you again if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ari doesn’t say anything, but his eyes look torn. He opens his mouth as if to say something before clamping it shut again and sighing. Running a hand through his mane, he leans forward as if to kiss you again, but you turn your head, not wanting to give in to the temptation a second time.

His silence is all the answer you need. With a heavy heart, you sigh.

“We need to pull the plug on this – whatever this is.” You say firmly, “and maybe it’s time for me to see other people so I can properly move on from you.”

Immediately, Ari’s eyes narrow, “What, like Steve? I already told you he’s dangerous.”

“He likes me and he’s not afraid to be seen with me in public!”

“He’s not afraid to physically assault you in public, that’s for sure.”

Round and round the two of you went, in this never-ending circle of fighting then making up then fighting again. It needed to end. You had to end it.

“Steve asked me out earlier today, and I think I’m going to go.” You scoot off the sink, feeling a bit shaky on your feet but overall alright enough to walk away.

“No, you’re fucking not.” Ari blocks your path, looking frustrated beyond belief. “Look, the only reason he even asked you out is because he wants to get back at me.”

Your jaw drops open for the second time in the span of five minutes. Angrily, you push past him, “You’re a fucking dick, Ari.”

“I’m not saying it to hurt you, I–”

“No, just shut up!” You interrupt, “Another guy asks me out and you can’t help but make it about yourself, can you? Because God forbid a guy likes me for me, right? Fuck you.”

He opens his mouth to as if to say something, but the door to the bathroom pushes open at that exact second.

“There you guys are!” Sharon huffs, looking red and out of breath, with a bag of ice in her hands. “It took me ages to find the ice box, are you okay?!”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You answer, but she insists on icing your eye for you. It makes you feel even worse, standing there and allowing her to gently press the ice against your injury. The physical relief is instantaneous, but you feel icky on the inside. Yet again, you’d kissed her boyfriend behind her back. And it was even worse since you and her were kind of friends now.

Ari slips out of the bathroom without another word, and you watch over Sharon’s shoulder as he leaves. As he disappears down the corridor until he’s just a shadow, and only then you allow yourself to let out a long sigh. There. It was done. You and Ari were over now.

Forever.

***

“Sorry again for the black eye,” Steve says, his hand pressing against the small of your back as he leads you up the cobblestone pathway to his front door. “I promise I don’t usually have to resort to violence to get a girl to go out with me.”

It’s been a week since the fateful basketball practice game. Steve had texted you that very night, apologising over and over again for throwing the ball at your face. You were forgiving, naturally. It wasn’t his fault, and it’s not like he was aiming for you anyways. After that, the conversation had quickly flowed over to other things, and you found Steve easy to talk to over text. It wasn’t as intimidating, and he led most of the conversation, telling you how he’d love to take you out that weekend. The two of you had texted all week – and it was a welcome distraction from Ari, anyways.

Now, you giggle, feeling all glowy and special because the day of your date is finally here. You’re outside, the sun is shining and Steve’s confidently taken your hand in his. In comparison, you can’t even remember the last time you’d held hands with Ari – or if you’d ever held hands with Ari for that matter.

“That’s alright, Stevie. Just as long as you promise not to do it again, I don’t think I’d fare well as a battered and abused wife.” You answer before your eyes widen once you’ve realised what you’ve said. Had you just referred to yourself as his… wife? On your very first date? God… What the fuck was wrong with you?

But Steve only smirks, pulling you up the stairs leading to the front door of his house before yanking you into him, taking you by surprise. Your face collides with his hard chest as he kisses the top of your head. Your cheeks immediately go hot – he was so forward sometimes! No. All the time. He was incredibly forward all the time. And you don’t think you mind it in the least.

“Trust me, sweetheart. If you were my wife, I wouldn’t have allowed you to run around in that slutty little outfit at practice in front of so many feral basketball players.” He says, grabbing his keys from his pocket and going to unlock the door.

You bite your lip, “Are you calling yourself feral?”

His gaze is intense as he looks back at you, but then he chuckles, “Baby girl, with you prancing around in that tiny excuse of a skirt, who wouldn’t be feral?”

Your eyes widen and you stare down at the floor again, cheeks forever hot at his way with words. Steve smirks, pulling you inside. You find yourself in a massive foyer. You’d never seen anything like it, because the front door to your family’s house back home simply led into a living room. But this place was all marble floors and crystal chandeliers and grand staircases – like a fairytale palace.

Everything leading up to this moment had felt surreal like a fairytale. Steve had picked you up promptly at 4pm, just like he said he would. And he’d checked every box on the imaginary first date checklist in your mind that you didn’t even know you had. His hair was all windswept and gorgeous, starting to grow longer down his neck. His face was clean-shaven, blue eyes sparkling as he’d kissed you on the cheek when you’d opened your dorm room door to greet him.

With your hand grasped tightly in his, he’d tugged you to his car. Held the door open for you, helped you inside and he’d even secured your seatbelt for you.

“I’m so excited!” you’d blurted out when he’d got into the driver’s seat. And Steve had smiled, leaned over the console and kissed your forehead, murmuring in agreement. And it had made you swoon, your eyes widening at how forward he was, how comfortable he was with you when this was only the first date.

And then he’d grabbed your chin and looked at you with those intense eyes, “Baby girl, you know what would make this date even better?”

Entranced, you’d asked him: “What?”

His features had hardened for a second, and his grip on your chin tightened all of a sudden too, “You don’t mention Levinson tonight. Or ever again. Not when you’re with me. You got that?”

Your jaw would’ve dropped open had he not been holding your chin so hard. But you’d shaken your head hastily, not wanting to do anything to upset him or ruin your first date, “O-Of course, not, Steve, I wouldn’t, I–”

“I’m serious,” Steve had said softly, and yet he sounded almost threatening, “I hear his name come out of your mouth even once, and I’ll be very angry. Got that?”

“Y-Yes, Steve.”

“And if I find out you’re dating me just to make him jealous, I won’t be happy. Understood?”

You had swallowed harshly. Was that what you were doing? Oh, you didn’t even know! But you decided to focus entirely on Steve after that.

“I understand.”

And then he’d changed, letting go of your chin and shooting you a winning smile. His demeanour relaxed once more as he’d started up the car, and all the tension in the air dissipated. He began complimenting your dress, your hair, telling you how beautiful you looked and how much fun the two of you would have tonight. His warm hand patted your bare leg, and then it stayed there for the duration of the car ride, making you relax, making it seem as if that moment had never happened.

And that’s how you’d ended up at Steve’s house. And sure, it was a bit strange that you were at Steve’s house for your first date with him. But he’d said something about checking on a few things at home before he took you out. It was a casual date anyways, so you didn’t mind. Plus, he looked so handsome and earnest in his pressed white shirt and navy jacket, how could you ever say no?

“This place is huge,” you can’t help but marvel.

Steve shrugs, “I guess. It’s pretty empty nowadays – my parents are both surgeons and they travel overseas a lot to perform big surgeries. And I live on campus at the frat house, so it’s just my little sister here now. I like to check in on her every now and then.”

Oh, he was so sweet! Nothing like Ari, who was looking worse and worse by comparison. Ari, who never took you out on dates. Who only ever wanted you for sex. Whose love language seemed to only consist of lying to you, and the only times he was ever sweet was when he was manipulating you…

And yet… despite everything, your mind flits back to the way he’d carried you off when Steve’s ball had hit your face. How tenderly he had stroked you and tended to you. How sweetly he’d kissed you, making the butterflies in your tummy grow alive with excitement and nerves.

Stop, stop, stop thinking about Ari!

“So, where are we going for our date?” You ask brightly, letting Steve grab your hand again as he pulls you through a large, carpeted corridor.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Steve says vaguely, “But I thought we could hang here for a while. Do you want anything to drink?”

He leads you into a modern yet grandiose looking front room, with luxurious leather couches and a fireplace and an ornate coffee table that looks more expensive than your whole house back home. There’s also an open plan kitchen, also modern and minimalistic, and Steve drags you over, pulling out a chair and pushing you down by the shoulders to sit at the marble island.

“Water is fine.” You answer politely, not wanting to ruin your appetite before the date itself had even begun. Again, you start to wonder what he has planned for you two… A cute café? A posh restaurant? An aesthetically pleasing diner, even? Your heart somersaults excitedly at all of the potential prospects. The closest you’d ever gotten to a date before this was Ari ordering Nobu to your dorm room and the two of you eating on your bed while you forced him to watch Gossip Girl with you on your laptop…

 “What’re you smiling about, gorgeous?” Steve interrupts your thoughts.

“Huh? Nothing.”

He shakes his head and gives you another one of his charming, lop-sided smiles, “You sure you want just water? We’ve got some good bottles of wine down in the cellar. Or I could mix you a drink, although I’ll warn you now, I’ve been told I’m a bit too generous when it comes to measuring out the alcohol.”

Your eyes widen – was it a thing to drink before a first date? You didn’t know, since you’d never been on a date in your whole entire life. Would you look dumb if you just stuck to water? Could he tell how much you were currently overthinking things? It’s not like you were against drinking – it’s just that you had done so much of it on the night of the party that you were looking to steer clear. Plus, you wanted to be completely sober for your first date, and–

Steve chuckles, “Okay then, water it is.” He tosses you a bottle of still water and you catch it gratefully. Unscrewing the cap and taking a swig, you watch him as he moves around the kitchen island, settling down on the seat next to you before grabbing your chair and pulling it over till you’re very close to him.

“I’m really happy you said yes to this date, baby girl,” he says in that intense way that he speaks, all up close and his blue eyes sparkling like a crystalline lake where the sun’s hitting it just right. It reminds you of Ari’s eyes, actually – and it was crazy how both Steve and Ari had the exact same shade of blue eyes.

“Oh, uh, I’m happy too,” you say shyly, gulping as he pulls you even closer, his hand coming to rest on your bare thigh. He strokes your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake before he fingers the lacy hem of your sundress.

“And I love this little dress you’re wearing,” His voice lowers, and your lips part as you watch his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows, his face so close to yours. “I love that you wore it for me today, sweetheart. You did wear it for me, didn’t you? Just me?” His grip on your leg hardens slightly, but you’re too busy focusing on his long lashes to even notice.

“Y-Yes, I thought it would look cute for our date,” you breathe, acutely aware of his fingers playing with the soft material of your dress, lifting it up slowly.

Steve smirks, “You do look cute, in your pretty pink dress that you wore just for me.” He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you forward, his eyes hooded and lips hovering over yours. Just an inch away, and your heartrate quickens, and you move closer–

“Steve! I thought I heard you come in!”

You and Steve spring apart when a girl appears in the doorway of the kitchen. But her wide smile is immediately replaced by a look of embarrassment and even fear the moment she sees that you’re there too.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company…” she stutters, backing out of the room.

“Kira, wait, don’t go,” Steve jumps up and grabs the girl’s arm before she can escape, “Come meet my date. Babe, this is my little sister, Kira.”

For some reason, when Steve had mentioned his little sister living here earlier, you’d automatically just assumed there was a pre-teen running around somewhere in the house with a live-in nanny chasing after her. But Kira looks about the same age as you, and she also looks somewhat petrified. Standing there next to her brother, wringing her hands together and barely being able to make eye contact with you.

“Hey, Kira, it’s nice to meet you.” You say pleasantly, and she returns your smile awkwardly for a nanosecond immediately looking back down at her feet, as if she felt embarrassed in her own skin. She’s pretty, with pale skin and blonde hair just like her brother. But Steve was big, assured and confident, whilst Kira looks extremely shy, with a slight build – much smaller than him. Her hair is scraped back in a tight plait down her back, and her glasses were slightly crooked on her face.

“Hey,” she whispers softly, and she looks at you for a second or two, but seems to grow alarmed when you meet her gaze. Quickly, she looks to the floor again, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

“She’s the girl I’ve been telling you about,” Steve says to his sister.

Your heart swells, and you beam up at him, “You’ve been talking about me?”

He gives you a wink, “Of course. You’re practically a household name, sweetheart.”

Kira clears her throat, backing away slowly, “I-I should go, uh, it was nice meeting you–”

“Stay, Kira, please!” Steve says, “We’re leaving in a second anyways, then you’ll have the whole place to yourself.”

The poor girl looked extremely awkward, and a part of you feels sorry for her as she stands there quietly, with Steve beaming next to her.

“I like your sweatshirt.” You say after a few seconds of silence.

“Th-Thank you,” Kira answers, glancing down at her front before shooting you another quick, tight-lipped smile. “I – uh – I thrifted it a while back.”

“I love thrifting! I’m new to the city though, so I don’t know any of the good places.”

“Kira could show you around!” Steve suggests. You nod politely. Kira smiles too, but you can tell she still looks mortified. You try not to make it obvious, but you’ve noticed how her hands are shaking as she keeps them clasped in front of her. A part of you can relate – you still get shy and awkward around people you don’t know, too.

Kira starts backing out of the room again, “I – uh – I’m so sorry, I have a report, I–”

“No, please! You’re good!” you say, “It was really nice to meet you!”

“You too,” she answers, before leaving the room and closing the door gently behind her.

A few beats pass before you speak.

“She seems really nice,” you say, taking another sip of water.

Steve nods, looking distracted as he watches after his sister through the glass pane of the door. His smile from earlier is still plastered on his face, but it no longer seems to reach his eyes. The atmosphere, the air itself, suddenly feels heavier, different in a way, and you can’t quite pinpoint what it is.

When Steve finally looks at you, he’s got a dark look suddenly shrouding his face. But he smiles nonetheless, grabs your hand and pulls you up to your feet, “Yeah, she’s great. I know she didn’t talk much but that’s only because she tends to get really anxious around people she doesn’t know. But I promise you, she’s a good kid.”

“I totally understand.”

“No really, if you get to know her, she’s a lot of fun. She doesn’t really go out much…” His voice trails off, but you feel him squeeze your hand tighter as he leads you out of the kitchen and into a spacious corridor.

“I get that,” you answer honestly, wondering if you should say anymore or whether it would be overstepping. But Steve still looks distracted, and you want to show him that you’re present and attentive and interested in what he’s telling you – which you are. “Honestly, I get it. Does she have a good group of friends at her college? I know that friends can be–”

“She went to your college.” Steve interrupts you.

 Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “She goes to St. Andrews’? No way, that’s so cool! I don’t think I’ve seen her around but that’s probably ‘cause the campus is so big, but wow, I–”

“No, she used to go there,” he says, stopping in front of what you assume is his bedroom door, and turning to look at you with a peculiar expression. Steve, always so forward with his emotions, but right now his blue eyes gaze at you with a look that’s almost unreadable, and his words come out blunt. “She doesn’t go there anymore. She dropped out.”

Oh.

You can feel his hand clutching yours very tightly, his grip almost crushing. And yet, despite the physical contact, he seems far away. Like he’s lost in his own world, like there’s something brewing inside his head but you can’t seem to read him and figure out what exactly it is. His full lips are pressed into a thin line, and his other hand grips the doorknob tightly for a handful of long seconds before twisting it and pulling you into his room.

“Steve, I…”

He shuts the door before turning to face you once more, and he’s still got that stormy, distant look on his face, a look you’ve never seen before now. It’s almost eery, how quickly his demeanour had changed. Just a minute ago, he was being charming as hell…

But then his face suddenly relaxes, lips twitching into that lop-sided smile of his. The familiarity of it relaxes you too, makes you not fully notice how it still doesn’t reach his eyes as he tugs you into him.

“Why did she drop out?” You breathe.

Steve’s face is so close to yours, his blue eyes blazing and his jaw tensing and untensing almost rhythmically. He sucks in a breath, his charming smile freezing on his face as he looks somewhere beyond your shoulder.

“She just didn’t have the best time there,” his eyes darken, the grip he has on your hand not relenting in the slightest, “There were some people – one person – who just…” He trails off once more, before his gaze suddenly snaps back to you, and he clears his throat, “It was just one of those things where she decided it was best for her to drop out. That was last year, and she’s taking some courses online now.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. That must’ve been so tough for her,” you exhale, unaware that you’d been holding your breath in.

He nods, and you watch him closely. His eyes twitch before he smiles once more, pulling you towards his bed, “Yeah, it was.”

He backs up till he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling you on top of him till you’re straddling his lap. Automatically, your arms wind around his neck, and you don’t think you’ve seen a more intense-looking pair of eyes than his in that moment. Neither of you say anything, but his fingers dance up and down your bare legs. Slip up your hips and give them a squeeze, and you bite your lip.

He kisses up your neck, the first few being feather-light before they grow more frenzied. His hand cups your ass through the material of your dress, giving it a squeeze that has you breathing hard.

 Wait, what was happening? Just a second ago he was opening up to you about his sister, and now…?

“Steve, what’re you – ah – wh-what about our date–?”

He’s got a glint in his eye when he looks up from kissing your skin, “I didn’t forget about our date, sweetheart. I just thought we’d take a little detour first.”

Oh. Okay. It’s easy to grow distracted when his kisses on your skin are making the butterflies spiral and flutter in your tummy. You want to melt into his arms, let him kiss you all the rest of the day and all night too. Let him take you on this amazing first date that he’d painstakingly planned for you, and in doing so erase the thought and touch of Ari from your mind completely, till your body forgets about the man you’ve been nonstop thinking about for the past month. Maybe this was it, maybe it was time for something new. Someone new. All Ari ever wanted from you was sex, but Steve? Steve was different.

“I wasn’t – ah, Steve – I have to say, I wasn’t planning on kissing you until the end of the date, definitely not before it,” you giggle, pushing at his chest to try and get a word in as he tugs the strap of your dress aside and trails his lips down your shoulder blade.

You feel him smirk against your skin, “Don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll be a gentleman and save our first kiss for the end of the date, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do other things right now.”

You feel your core thrum with excitement at his words, and you look up to beam at him except he’s too busy pushing your dress down to meet your gaze. The sun shines through the open window, making his hair glisten golden, and you wonder if the sunlight makes his eyes glimmer like that too. But he’s not looking at you.

“Steve,” you push at his shoulder, “Steve, won’t we be late for our date?”

His fingers find the zipper at the back of your dress, and with ease he unfastens it before looking at you, and his eyes are so dark, “Who’s planning this date, sweetheart? Me or you?”

You giggle nervously, “You, of course. But–”

“Who’s in charge?”

“Y-You, but–”

“No, no buts. We’ll go when I say we’re ready to,” he runs his hand down your bare back through the gap created by the open zipper of your dress, his calloused fingers running over your sensitive skin and making your heart skip a beat. His tone is distracted, and yet there’s a finality and authority to it that makes you listen to him.

Before you can think of a response, he grabs you by the waist and pushes you down on the bed before climbing on top of you. You gulp, a huge part of you so turned on by how in control he is, and yet it’s such a contrast from the easy-going Steve’s you’ve gotten to know today. But at the same time, you get a strange sense of dejavu, as if you’ve been in this situation before with him… But that wasn’t possible at all, was it?

“Stevie, please, my hair and makeup’s gonna get ruined!” You laugh, trying to bat him away as he kisses down your chest, pulling your dress down with him, “I worked really hard on it, you know!”

You wait for him to quip back, say something funny or charming to reassure you and make you feel all warm inside. Like how he’s been doing today ever since he picked you up from your dorm room. But he doesn’t reply at all, too focused on tugging your dress off. It’s crazy, almost as if his personality had completely switched since he’d dragged you from the kitchen into his room. He seems distracted, frenzied, unresponsive almost as he licks and nips at your chest.

And a large part of you wants to give in. You know your panties are soaked through, and it would be so easy to just relinquish control completely, till you did that thing where you went all dumb and submissive. But then… what about the date? You’d been looking forward to finally going out with a guy, really going out instead of just hanging out in a bedroom…

Was that all you were worth?

“Steve! Stevie, c’mon. I don’t wanna wrinkle my dress before our date–”

“Then just take it off,” he yanks at the fabric hard, and you hear a rip.

“My dress!” You cry, but he pins your arms above your head with just one of his hands before you can survey the damage. His face is hovering over yours, so close that his nose brushes against yours, and yet despite the closeness, his eyes look so far away. So dark and far away, even the sunlight from the window doesn’t seem to reach into them.

“Steve, please slow down–”

“C’mon, baby girl. The innocent act is cute but everyone knows you’re not exactly a prude…”

“Huh?”

His kiss swallows you whole, and his lips are so soft, so warm. They mould perfectly against yours, and you momentarily forget everything, your arms winding around his neck as you kiss him back. For a few seconds, it’s magical. It’s different from kissing Ari – but not at all in a bad way. When Ari kissed you, it felt like the whole world stopped moving, like everything came to a halt except him and you. But with Steve, it felt like the world was spinning doubly fast, making you feel light and heady and excited, like you were in the midst of a whirlpool, like Steve was consuming you whole.

But only for those precious few seconds, before he bites down on your lower lip, and you feel a jolt of pain. He ruts against you, his movements rough and animalistic. You make a sound of protest, but it’s drowned out by another loud rip, and you feel your dress coming further undone.

“Hey, stop!” you manage to pull away, the metallic taste of blood invading your tastebuds. You wipe your mouth, heart beating faster than a drum. You look down at your dress – the front of which has been ripped down to your waist, and a horrified feeling spreads through your chest. “M-My dress…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he tries pressing his lips against yours again but you dodge him.

“It is! H-How am I gonna go on our date if my dress is all ripped?”

Steve blinks, “We’ll figure something out, sweetheart.”

“No, wait! Please… I was looking forward to–”

He cuts you off with another rough kiss, his hands spreading the tear of your dress to expose your bra. He palms your breasts through the lacy material, and you don’t know whether to give in to the pleasure or address the sinking feeling in your chest. You’d gotten all dressed up for him, for this date! And now?

“S-Steve, can we please just stop for a second – ah!”

He pulls the cups of your bra down, his mouth latching on to your nipple. And oh, it feels so good! And yet…

You push him off you, “Please, Steve. Slow it down!”

Steve blinks, his eyes looking so deeply stormy, so dark and far away despite the fact that he’s making direct eye contact with you, “That’s strange.”

“What’s strange?”

He grips your chin roughly with his thumb and forefinger, “Playing hard to get isn’t really your strong suit, so I don’t get why you’re doing it now. You didn’t do it the night we met.”

He’s back on you once more in a flash, when his words haven’t even properly sunk in. His lips brush past your collarbone, kissing back down to your bare breasts. He circles your nipple with his tongue, grabbing your hands and squeezing them before bringing them up to his abs. Your breath hitches, the feel of his mouth on you… and his body, so hard and masculine and big, it’s got your mind clouding over. You almost forget what he’s just said…

You force out another giggle, although you don’t much feel like laughing anymore. “What do you mean? Look – ah! – please just stop for a second –”

“That’s not what you were saying the night of the party,” Steve mutters against your neck, pushing your hand past his waistband, his grip too strong for you to pull away from. “You clearly didn’t have a problem spreading your legs for me then.”

Your blood runs cold. What did he mean by that?

He gets rougher, biting and sucking on your nipples, manhandling your body till he’s got your legs spread and he’s slotted himself between them. Lewdly, he thrusts his clothed dick against your panty-covered pussy, and you suppress the need to moan. Your entire body’s screaming for you to just lay still and let him do what he’s going, because it feels so fucking good. And yet, once more, your palms press hard against his chest to push him off.

“Steve, stop, I don’t think–”

“Shut up.” He bites down on your nipple harshly and you gasp, continuing to push at him. How had his whole demeanour changed in such a short amount of time? Where was the sweetness and the charm he’d shown you less than half an hour ago?

“Wh-What, Steve, I–”

“You heard me. Don’t act like a nun all of a sudden, not when you let Levinson fuck you in the middle of a party in front of the whole fucking world.”

Your heart drops all the way down to the pit of your stomach. Your blood freezes up, making you go deathly still. You feel like there’s poison in your veins all of a sudden, turning all your insides into black tar. Your hands stop pushing him, dropping to your sides like you’ve forgotten how to use them.

Steve stops too, blinking suddenly as if he’s just woken up, as if he’s just been doused by a bucket of ice water.

“Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that–”

“Get off me.” Your voice sounds oddly thick, and you feel the sudden urge to cry.

Steve doesn’t budge, still on his knees on top of you. He frowns, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I said I’m sorry.”

“Get off me. Get off me. GET OFF ME!”

He does, regarding you carefully as he stands up beside the bed. Watching as you scramble to your feet, feeling disoriented, confused, hurt, used, upset – oh, and so much else! So he knew about what you’d done with Ari the night of the party… But for him to use it against you? After being so charming and perfect all day? You don’t know what to think anymore as your mind feels like it’s moving a hundred miles per second.

Steve sighs, reaching for your hand, “Baby, I didn’t mean–”

“I’m going home.” You say quietly, fixing your bra back into place before reaching behind you to zip your dress back up. Praying to God that you don’t struggle with the zipper just this once. And by some miracle, you get it zipped up in one go. Not that it does anything to rectify the fact that the front of your dress is torn down the top. Another wave of tears threatens to spill from within you.

Steve’s eyes narrow, “Home? Why?”

You stare at him incredulously before quietly making a beeline towards the doorway, holding the front of your dress together almost pitifully. You need to get out of here, get out before he sees you burst into tears.

Steve grabs your arm before you can get to the door.

“Look, let’s just go on our date. We can talk it out, I just said I didn’t mean to say that.”

You shake your head, “I just want to go home.”

His eyes flash dangerously, and you find your heart beating faster than normal as you shrink back, trying to tug out of his grip but to no avail.

“I fucking apologised.” He says sharply, “I’m taking you out now, so stop trying to leave.”

“You never wanted to go on a date with me.” You say shakily, tears welling in your eyes. And that’s when you realise it, like it’s just dawned on you that all of this… him asking you out, picking you up in his car, acting all sweet, introducing you to his sister… All of it was just so he could get you into his bed.

All men were the same. Ari, Steve, all of them…

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I do want to take you out, so let’s just go.”

Steve tugs hard on your arm, making you cry out in protest. His eye twitches, and he reaches down towards your face as if to tuck your hair behind your ear. But you can’t help but flinch, and then another realisation slowly dawns on you. You’re afraid of him.

You tug with all your might, freeing your arm from his and shaking your head profusely.

“I-I-I need to go home. Just, please. I need to–”

“GODDAMIT, I SAID I WANTED TO TAKE YOU ON THE GODDAMNED DATE.”

There’s a loud crack. You duck in fright, hands covering your face. When you peak through the gaps of your fingers, you see Steve breathing hard. His fist, driven straight through the wall, has created a massive hole and several cracks in the plaster.

Silence. Except for the sound of your heartbeat. You don’t even think you breathe; you’re so paralysed with fear. You watch Steve as he slowly removes his hand from the wall, as he examines his fist with an unreadable expression on his face. He flexes his fingers, and his whole hand looks red – as does his face. His jaw is tensed, almost to the point where it’s vibrating.

And then he looks at you.

“Look, I’m sorry. Sometimes I…” his voice trails off, and he shakes his head as if trying to clear his own thoughts. “Let’s just go on the date, okay? Just let me explain–”

“P-Please, just let me go home,” you beg, and it comes out as a broken, scared whisper. You can’t take your eyes off his fist, or the gaping hole in the wall. You’d seen men punch through walls in movies, but never in real life. Your heart still hadn’t calmed down, and now you’re even more sure you have to leave.

 “Goddamit, why can’t you just listen to me?” He takes a step towards you and you flinch, cowering back once more as if he’s going to hit you next. Instead, he freezes, taking in your expression. He swallows, blinking several times. “Look, let’s just calm down. This doesn’t have to ruin the date, you can borrow something from Kira and I’ll buy you a new dress, alright?”

“I c-can’t, I…” you don’t even know what to say to him. What could you say? That you felt unsafe? Afraid? Not to mention, betrayed and used too? How could he possibly expect you to forget all that and go out with him?

You take a deep breath, tightly holding the top of your torn dress together with one hand. You dart towards the door, hoping to slip out without him catching you. But he’s too quick, and once again takes hold of your elbow just as you exit his room and come out into the hallway. This time, you can’t help the tears as they spill down your face.

Steve’s blue eyes flash once more, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Didn’t you hear what I just said? Borrow something from–”

“Let me go, Steve,” you tug once, before growing more panicked and tugging again, harder. “Let me go, let me go, let me go–”

“I’m sorry you feel scared, I didn’t mean for that. Sometimes I get like that – just stop fucking struggling for one second, okay?”

“Steve, let her go.”

Both of you look up to see Kira standing in her doorway across the hall. Steve’s grip loosens momentarily, and you take his distraction as your opening. You break free, hastily making your way down the stairs. You don’t dare look back, focusing on the steps beneath you because the last thing you want to do right now is fall.

“Let her go, Steve. Just… Just sit down.” You can hear Kira say.

“No, she can’t just leave. I need to–”

“Please, Steve. You’re freaking out again. I’m gonna have to call mom and dad if you don’t sit down right now.”

And that’s all you hear, both Steve and Kira’s voices fading as you descend further down the stairs. Through the kitchen, your shoes pitter-pattering over the marble floors of the lobby. The ornate front door is heavy as you pull it open, escaping to the fresh air outside. You don’t dare look back, too scared to see if Steve has followed you or not.

You’re halfway down the porch steps when you hear the door open behind you. You’re about to break into a run lest Steve grab you again, when–

“H-Here.”

It’s Kira. You turn around and she throws you something soft. A pink hoodie. Despite your frazzled, haphazard, frightened state, you can’t help but feel gratitude. You quickly put it on, and it smells sweet – like candy perfume. It solves the problem of your ripped dress, and yet it does nothing to calm your frenzied heart, or stop the tears that drip past your cheeks. You back away from the town-house quickly.

“Thank you, Kira. I need to go, I need to–”

She nods as if she understands, “W-Will you be okay?”

You bite your lip to stop from bursting into full on tears. All you can think right now is that you need to get away. Far, far away. Somewhere quiet where you can think, where you can straighten your thoughts out, somewhere where you’re alone. Away from Steve, away from Ari, away from boys like them, away from everyone.

You leave, hoping she’ll understand. After all, she’d helped you – and it wasn’t her fault that her brother had been so… so…

Oh, you don’t even know what’s just happened! Your speed walk turns into a slow jog before you all but break into a run, only slowing down once you’re off his street. How had he just said all those things to you? How had he known about Ari fucking you at the party? And what did Steve mean by you spreading your legs for him the night you’d met him?

He thinks you’re a slut, you realise. All he ever wanted from you was sex, and you were stupid, stupid, stupid to think this first date was going to be something special. Or anything at all apart from sex.

You feel like crying, screaming, sobbing, pulling your hair out. But you can’t do that here, not while you’re on some random street so close to Steve’s house. Instead, you take a few deep breaths to gather yourself. Wait until you get home, wait until you’re alone in your room, you coach yourself, desperately holding on to the single thread that’s keeping you together right now. When inside you feel all torn – he’d torn up your heart just like he’d torn up your dress.

You call an Uber, luckily only having to wait a minute or two before it arrives. The ride home is silent, you just stare out the window and try your hardest to keep your tears at bay. Oh, why couldn’t you be like those other girls? The ones who could easily find a boyfriend who loved them for them? Boyfriends who liked to hang out, go on dates, cook together? Why did no boy ever want that with you? Were you only ever worth their time when you spread your legs for them?

You feel numb by the time you reach your dorm building. It feels like you’re wading through cement as you forlornly walk inside, not even noticing the familiar car parked outside. You fish your keys out of your purse only to find your door already unlocked. You swing it open, ready to just burst into tears and sob into your pillow and–

“I broke up with her.”

Ari is sitting on the edge of your bed – you’d forgotten he still had a key to your dorm – with a bouquet of pink roses his hand. Pale pink, delicate, tied together with a pink satin ribbon. But you didn’t care, not anymore.

He stands up as you walk in, slowly shutting the door behind you. You hardly register him, your mind still racing with thoughts of: Steve used you; he didn’t really want you. No man could ever really want you. They all just want one thing. They all just–

“I broke up with Sharon,” Ari repeats. “It’s over between me and her. I told her I wanted to be with someone else.”

You still don’t say anything. He may as well be speaking in gibberish.

“Go away,” you say, but it barely comes out as a whisper.

Ari grabs you by the shoulders, his blue eyes sparkling. And he looks so devastatingly handsome, his hair brushed back, wearing a crisp white button-up as if he’s gotten ready just to tell you all this. “You were right, I should’ve done it a long time ago. But who cares, we can be together now.”

“Go away.”

“I told you I’d make you my girlfriend, didn’t I?” He says cockily, thrusting the pink roses into your hands. And yet the bouquet feels like nothing, like you’re holding on to air. Ari doesn’t seem to notice your lack of enthusiasm as he continues, “And now we can do all that shit you always told me you wanted to do. I’ll take you out somewhere nice, in fact we can go right now, we can–”

“Go away.” You say it much louder this time.

He hears you, his brows etching upwards in a frown as he regards you almost suspiciously. As he looks at you, really looks at you, slowly drinking in your shrunken demeanour, your dishevelled hair, the numb look on your face, the dried tears on your cheeks, how your eyes don’t quite meet his.

He squeezes your shoulders before his hands freeze, and you look up to see him staring at the hoodie you’re wearing. You see a flicker in his eyes, but it’s so fleeting it’s almost like you imagined it. He inhales deeply.

“Where did you get this?” He asks, before he grows distracted when his gaze flits over to your dress. Your poor, torn dress. His frown deepens, slowly turning into a snarl, “Who the fuck did this to you?”

You shrug out of his hold, feeling like you’re a million miles away, “Just go away.”

Ari’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tensed up as he surveys you carefully. His hold on your shoulders never loosens.

“He did this to you, didn’t he?”

“Go away.” You feel like a broken record.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Ari’s features harden like stone, his fists curling at his sides as he surveys you. “I knew this would… Fuck, I can’t fucking believe–”

“DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME!? I SAID GO AWAY!”

You erupt like a fucking volcano, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as if you can’t hold them in anymore. But you feel more rage than sadness: rage at him, at Steve, at yourself. You throw the bouquet of pink roses at his chest. Hard. They bounce off him at fall to the ground in a dejected heap. The look of seething anger on Ari’s face is replaced with one of shock, and then concern. But was it even real? Was it ever real when it came to you?

“Just get out of here, Ari!”

“He’s a piece of shit, and I’ll fucking kill him, alright? I promise he’ll never hurt you again.” Ari says it slowly, trying to step closer to you but you immediately push him back. One shove turns into two before you lose it, your tiny fists landing on his chest over and over again.

“I DON’T CARE, OKAY!? I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU DO JUST GET OUT OF MY FUCKING ROOM!”

You scream it at the top of your lungs. You’re pretty sure everyone in the building heard you, but you don’t care. You don’t care about anything anymore. All you want to do is be left alone.

“Hey, hey, stop. Calm down.” Ari grabs your fists in his hands but all you feel is trapped. Like you did back in Steve’s bedroom. Like Ari’s about to administer his sweet manipulations once more so that you end up in bed with him. It was all you were good for after all, wasn’t it?  You jerk away from him, shaking your head fiercely.

“GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!”

“What the fuck did he do to you?” Ari looks like he’s at a loss, and yet at the same time he looks livid, “Hey look, you’re okay now. He can’t hurt you anymore, you’re okay. Just calm down–”

“Get out!”

You scream it over and over again, till your throat feels hoarse and yet you still don’t stop. You just want him out, want him gone. You push at him again, and then again, and he’s so strong and solid that he doesn’t even budge, and this makes you even more upset. He’s looking at you like you’re crazy, but there’s also a softness in his eyes but you don’t know if it’s real or if you even want it to be real anymore.

“Baby, you’re okay. Just calm down, you’re safe now, I won’t let him hurt you again.”

He sounds so soft, so kind, so unlike himself. He’s acting, you think to yourself. Acting just like how Steve was acting. He doesn’t really care about you. Neither of them do. You’re the idiot. You’re the fool. You’re the slut.

“GET AWAY FROM ME OR I’LL FUCKING SCREAM!”

Ari is the most stubborn man you’ve ever met, and he never takes orders from you, that much you know. And yet, by some miracle, he backs off. Maybe he sees how broken you look, how there’s nothing he could really do in this moment that wouldn’t just make you angrier, and push him away even more. You also believe there’s a large part of him that wants to genuinely kill Steve – for whatever reason – probably pride – and yet, you don’t care.

And so he does leave, but not before promising once more that he was going to murder Steve Rogers. He says some other things too, but you’re too distraught to even take them in. He tries to touch you again, but you bat him off, screaming even louder. Finally, he just leaves, an unreadable look on his face and his hands still curled into fists, undoubtedly going to find Steve.

And that’s when you collapse to the floor, the tears uncontrollably rolling down your cheeks as you cry and cry and cry. You grab the pink roses, and in a fit of uncontrollable rage, you rip them apart. Rip flower from stem, petal from petal, throwing them on the floor with such vitriolic rage and sadness all rolled into one.

Ripped flowers. Ripped dress. Ripped heart.

AHHHHH OMFG OKAY!

I want you guys to know that I literally don't even know if I like this. I do but I also don't... Basically I'm super insecure about it. Nevertheless, please do tell me what you think!!!! ANY SHOCKS?? ANY SURPRISES?!?! OMFGGGG.

I prepared a few questions, although you guys don't have to answer them!! These are just for fun hehehe.

So... whose team are you now on? Team Ari or Team Steve? Hehe.

Why did Steve's mood suddenly change during their date???

IS WANDA A GOOD FRIEND?!?!?!

Any ideas NOW on why Steve and Ari hate each other?? What could it have to do with... I wonder...

ANYWAYS thank you guys so so much for reading! I love you all so so much, please reblog and give me feedback as I live for that and sajdjag IDEK ENJOY ENJOY ENJOY

dear writers, if i like your fic and don’t reblog it instantly, i pinky promise you its because i’m saving it for later so i don’t lose it, i will absolutely be re blogging once i have had the time to read it🫶🏻

ahh! i hit 50 followers! i know its a very small milestone but im super happy about it!🫶🏻🫶🏻

send me requests for prompts/drabbles, any chris evans character or rafe cameron/bucky barnes asks are very much welcomed (smutty of course)

i find it alot easier to write when people share their ideas with me (because im lazy)🙈

quick ransom drabble to satisfy my once a week need to be dominant🥴

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

thinking about coming home from a long day at work, you step into your home placing your keys on the rack beside the door, your heels click gently against the floor incase Ransom is asleep, not wanting to wake up your sweet boy, you head towards the stairs, making sure they don’t creak as you reach your shared bedroom

“m-mommy please don’t st-stop, oh god”

his pained voice whines, you creep towards the door pushing it open slightly, low and behold, ransom is sitting up against your headboard

one hand massaging his balls, desperately wishing they were in your mouth, imagining your tongue rolling over him as you suck his sensitive skin, his other hand travelling upwards to grip his heavy cock, slowly stroking as pre cum leaks from his swollen tip, his face scrunched up, tears streaming down his cheeks

“fuck fuck fuck, suck my balls so good mommy, want you to swallow my cum, drink it all for me” he babbles to himself

as you open the door further it creaks, his eyes shoot open and the sight of you in your work attire alone has his shaft twitching, warning him his release is near

your top buttons on your blouse undone, showing just the right amount of cleavage, your heels clicking against your tiled bedroom floor as you move to shut the door behind you, all while maintaining eye contact and god your tight skirt showing of your soft thighs that he he cant wait to be in between, lapping up your pussy juices while you tug on his brown locks, grinding your hips into-

he can’t hold back any longer, his body begins to twitch, he fights against his heavy eyelids as he looks into your eyes, his mouth dropping open with a loud whimper

“yesyesyes mommy, oh god, fuck fuck”

“mhh so sensitive”

“so much cum all for you mommy”

he babbles, his load shooting out endlessly in thick white spurts, covering his abs in his juices

“m sorry mommy, m so sorry” he cries as he lets go of his dick as it slaps against his abs, his swollen pink tip pulsing against his stomach, cum still dribbling out of his pretty cock

you climb onto the bed, his thick arms reach out wrapping around your smaller frame, his cheeks and mouth soaked with tears and drool, hiding his face in your neck while he breathes in your soothing scent

“couldn’t wait until mommy got home, huh? so needy” you coo gently at him as your hands wipe away the drool leaking down his chin “what were you thinking about to get yourself so worked up baby boy?”

“you always you” he cries as you sooth him with gentle kisses along his broad shoulders, you lightly push him away from you as you move his hair out of his face, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips against his

he moans gently, his body still shaking from his previous orgasm, your tongues intertwine with one another, his cock growing hard again already

you push him down, his back once again resting against your headboard, you shift onto your knees as you lean down, your lips parting to suckle on his tip making him cry out

“M-MOMMY” he pants, hands flying out to paw at your bedsheets, ransoms cock turning red, proving his overstimulation

you shush him as you continue licking and drinking up his cum, your mouth overjoyed as you taste his sweetness with a slightly salty tinge

“i know your sorry my sweet boy but you broke one of our number one rules, remember baby? no touching without mommy’s permission”

he knew that. he definitely knew that. but you were working and he was just oh so desperate and horny for your tight cunt he couldn’t help but touch himself

“so your gonna sit there and look pretty while mommy laps up that sweet cum of yours and then maybe mommy will put your cock inside her warm pussy, sound good? good boy”

ran nods his head gently “yes mommy” his pretty blues staring down at you, knowing he’s in for a very, very long night tonight.

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

thankyou for including me in this lovely list!💞

Week 3 Reblog Masterlist

Welcome to Week 3 2024 or Week 211, as always, fics would be listed in the order I read them.

I hope you enjoy it!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

♥ You can check my reading guidelines here.

♥ You can check my masterlist here.

♥ You can check my main reblog masterlist 2024 here.

♥ You can check my January reblog masterlist 2024 here.

♥ You can check Week 2 2024 here.

♥ You can check Week 4 2024 here.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

𝙺𝚎𝚢𝚜: 💛 ᵒʳᶤᵍᶤᶰᵃˡ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

💜 ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ

🖤 ᵈᵃʳᵏ

❤️ ˢᵐᵘᵗ

💚 ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

💙 ᵃᶰᵍˢᵗ

🧡 ᶜᵒᵐᵉᵈʸ

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

This is the list of the fics I read and recommend in Week 3 2024:

Hot neighbor (Brock Rumlow X Reader) by @e-dubbc11 💚

A threat beneath the nice veneer (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @witchywithwhiskey❤️

A line without s hook (Clint Barton X Reader) by @mqctavish 💚 💙

Signed (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @abbatoirablaze 💙

Competition (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @ultralightpoe 💚

Safe sound (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @demonsandmischief 💙

Hot coco kisses (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @elixirfromthestars 💚

Sealed (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @abbatoirablaze 💙

New world order part 3 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @queen-of-the-avengers 💚

Kissing booth (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @buckys-wintersoldier 💚

First kiss since 1945 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @sergeantbarnessdoll 💚

Delivered (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @abbatoirablaze 💙

Sirius (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @chxrryhansen 💚 💙

Eat dessert first (Frank Castle X Reader) by @flightlessangelwings ❤️

Returning the stones 1 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @royalwriteroftheuniverse 💚 💙

Back and forth part 31 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @anika-ann 💚

Whispers (Brock Rumlow X Reader X Frank Castle) by @itwasthereaminuteago❤️

Magic in mistletoe (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @mrsbuckybarnes1917 💚

The dignity of his choice abridged (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @ronearoundblindly 💚

Only you (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @sunvmars 💙

Jennifer fic (Jeniffer Check X Reader) by @imyourbratzdoll❤️

Thanks to those troglodytes (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @profeyandere 💙

The fate of a fae part 3 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @mrs-barnes-rogers-writes 💚

Adoption (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @buckys-wintersoldier 💚

Midnight kiss (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @ronearoundblindly 💚

Make it up to me (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @domripley ❤️

Steve fic (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @krirebr 🖤❤️

Cauterized (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @dizzy-after-dark 💙❤️

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

nomad steve is a big fat fuckin MUNCH. idc idc idc. nobody can change my mind. that man eats pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner. he is STARVED.

you wake up? his head is in between your thighs. your working? he wants you to sit on his face while you do it. your doing the dishes? best believe that man is on his knees tongue deep inside your pussy desperate to have you cream all over his face. making comments like

“you just looked so good baby i couldn’t help it, had to get a taste of you”

“you like it when daddy sucks on your clit while you finish your chores? yeah? fuckin dirty girl”

“fuck honey, cum in daddy’s mouth, come on give it to me”

“pussy tastes like fuckin heaven”

one thing he does not stand for is hovering. when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit on it. he’ll be grabbing your hips, pulling you down onto his face, his rough beard rubbing against your thighs while his tongue explores your dripping heat and you know damn well he eats it in the morning so he can smell your pussy on his facial hair during the day, his tongue darting out to lick over his moustache, savouring the taste of your juices.

your spread missionary as he suckles and nibbles on your clit, his fingers fucking into you at a desperate pace, missing the taste of your cream even though he’s already had you twice today, his mouth opening wide as you writhe and squirt on his tongue, watching him as he moans and grunts, his hips rocking into the mattress beneath him as he fills his boxers with hot n sticky ropes of cum

“jesus christ” he breathes, “got me cumming in my pants like a damn teenager sweet girl, thats how fuckin good your pussy tastes.”

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Concepts

This blog contains 18+ content only, your media consumption is your own responsibility, all dark content will be labled as such. Read at your own risk.

This event is no longer open to requests!

Cherry’s Concepts!

Submit your request to the form above and receive a drabble. All you have to do is choose a character, kink and dialogue! Please leave your username so i have a way to tag you once your concept has been posted, if you wish to remain anonymous that’s perfectly fine too! please note most drabbles are likely to be 800 words or less.

You can find all of my completed concepts below! All posts will be tagged as ‘chxrrys concepts’ 💞

『𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒』

Steve Rogers + Throat fucking + “Look at the mess you made.”

Steve Rogers + Breeding + “You look so pretty like this.”

『𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍』

Ari Levinson + Sex infront of a mirror + “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Ari Levinson + Man handling + “Are you fucking crying?”

Ari Levinson + Public sex + “Beg for it.”

『𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍』

Lloyd Hansen + Man handling + “Be a good girl and open wide.”

『𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍』

Rafe Cameron + Non-Con + “Look at the mess you made.”

『𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓』

Curtis Everett + Chase kink + “What did you just say.”

『𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒』

Bucky Barnes + Breeding + “You can run but you can’t hide.”

Bucky Barnes + Piss play + “Look at the mess you made.”

© Chxrryhansen. Do not copy, translate or repost my work to any other platforms. Plagiarisation is not accepted.

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Concepts 1/50

Character; Ari Levinson

Kink; Sex in front of a mirror

Dialogue; “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Requested by; @cevansbaby-dove

As always, this blog contains 18+ content only, your media consumption is your own responsibility, all dark content will be labled as such. Please read at your own risk.

₊♡₊˚ 🍒・₊✧

Ari’s hands were bulging as he tightly gripped the wheel of his truck, his foot pressed hard against the accelerator as you watched his jaw clench. You sat in silence as he pulled into the driveway of your home, maybe you had gone too far this time?

Ari had previously been working away for a week and decided to take you out for a nice, expensive meal as an apology gift for leaving you all alone for so long. It was sweet, but that wasn’t what you wanted, you were frustrated. Sexually. After years of having rough, kinky sex everyday, a week without it felt like years.

So, you did what you do best, firing up an attitude all night, complaining that your food didn’t taste good even though it was your favourite, shrugging him off whenever he tried to reach for your hand across the table, giving him one word answers with unnecessary attitude as he tried to engage in conversation with you, to no avail.

His final straw was the flirtatious wink you gave the cute waiter as he passed you the bill. Ari had swiped his card, leaving no tip and grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the restaurant in a flash.

You climbed out of his truck and shut the door gently, not wanting to anger Ari any further than you already had. “Upstairs, now.” he commanded in a stern tone as he ran his fingers through his thick brown locks. Your feet were quick to shuffle towards the stairs leading to your shared bedroom, Ari trailing not far behind you.

You entered the room and sat on your bed, the smell of him not yet faded from his time spent away, but nowhere near as prominent as usual.

As soon as your thighs hit the sheets, his muscular arm flew towards your throat, his hand gripping tightly against your neck as you choked for breath

“You stupid, stupid fuckin’ girl” he growls, forcing you to look up, ensuring you maintain eye contact by giving your throat a tight squeeze

“You’d better strip and you’d better do it fast before i make this ten times worse for you, you little brat.” he released your throat with a slight push.

You were quick to take off your clothes, sliding your top over your head and your pants over your ankles. Peeling off your soaked panties.

“All i wanted was to come home to you, take you out for a nice meal, wine and dine you, then come home and make sweet love all night long” he said disappointedly while he himself stripped down “But you just had to be a spoilt fucking brat, after everything i do for you”

He was already rock hard as he pulled his shaft out of his boxers, stroking his thick cock, his thumb swiping over the precum leaking from his tip. You whined, wishing desperately to taste him in your mouth instead.

Ari bent down, placing his knees outside of your own, his hands resting against the mattress on either side of your head, caging you beneath him.

He rubbed his swollen tip up and down your pussy lips, coating himself in your juices. He was quick to push his thick mushroom head against your entrance, sliding into your hole as you moaned pornographically.

“yeah? yeah, you missed my fat cock, huh?” he moaned and your walls clenched around him as he burrowed his head into your neck, biting down on your soft skin, making sure to leave a mark as his thick beard rubbed up against you.

“look at yourself baby” he gripped your hair in a tight fist and pulled up your head “look how ruined you look beneath me” you were forced to stare at the gigantic mirror directly above your shared bed, in the dim lighting you could see each muscle in Ari’s tanned back straining as he pummelled his cock deeper inside of you. Fucking into you with more force than he had ever used before.

He was right in what he said, you looked wrecked and he had only just started. Your hair flying out in all directions and your makeup smudged across your face. But you didn’t care, it felt good to see yourself being claimed by him.

“Oh g-god, Ari i can’t take it, s’ too much” You babbled, trying to plead with him as his hips rocked against your own

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

He chucked “Can’t hear you over the sounds of your wet fuckin pussy sweetheart” he picked up his pace again, thrusting harder into your soppy cunt. “Shoulda’ known, only good girls want to make love, dirty little whores like you just want get fucked.”

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Concepts 2/50

Character; Steve rogers

Kink; Throat fucking

Dialogue; “Look at the mess you made.”

Requested by; Anon

As always, this blog contains 18+ content only, your media consumption is your own responsibility, all dark content will be labled as such. Please read at your own risk.

₊♡₊˚ 🍒・₊✧

Steve’s thick hand gripped your throat securing you against the wall as he forcefully pushed you down onto your knees “Are you going to be a good girl?” You shakily nod your head, you had never been the target of his anger before, the aggressive look in his blues making you regret riling him up earlier that evening.

“Words, angel” he growled, his grip tightening against your throat. “Yes daddy” you mew gently, in complete contrast to his aggressive manor.

You watched as he removed his belt and pants, stripping down into his boxers. His muscles prominently glowing in the faint lighting from your shared bedroom. Using his dominant hand he pulled his cock out of his boxers, his shaft standing thick and proud, desperate to be inside your tight throat.

Precum leaked from his tip, dripping onto your lips as he gripped his cock, jerking himself off in front of your face. Your tongue darted out, tasting his salty goodness. You moaned as the salty tinge swirled around your taste buds.

“Open wide, dirty girl” his tone was rough as you stretched your mouth as wide as you could, flattening your tongue against the bottom of your mouth, drool leaking down your chin.

Your head was fuzzy as he forced his fat cock down your throat, your lips automatically wrapping around him, throat hollowing. “F-fuck.. take this fucking cock you little whore.” he moaned.

His hand moved to the back of your head, gathering your hair in a tight fist as he pushed your head further down his length, your nose now pressed against his pelvis while he bottomed out in your throat.

Your cheeks flushed pink as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, his hips began to frantically snap back and forth as he fucked his cock into your throat. You squirmed as your pussy dripped, your juices leaking onto the floor beneath you.

“S-shit.. look at the mess you made, my bratty girl” he teased as you moaned around his length. “You want daddy to touch your leaky cunt? Shame.” he laughed “You should’ve thought about that earlier but you were too busy being a whore and teasing daddy.” he spat.

“Gonna cum in your throat so deep you’ll be tasting me for weeks.”

He groaned as his grip on your hair tightened, his cock deep in your throat, holding you still around his shaft as his hips spasmed. Thick ropes of cum began to fill your throat, his spend leaking out of your lips and down your chin as you desperately tried to swallow everything he gave you.

“You’re my slut.. only mine.”

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Concepts 3/50

Character; Curtis Everett

Kink; Chase kink

Dialogue; “What did you just say?”

Requested by; @torntaltos

As always, this blog contains 18+ content only, your media consumption is your own responsibility, all dark content will be labled as such. Please read at your own risk.

₊♡₊˚ 🍒・₊✧

Your chest heaved rapidly as you desperately attempted to fill your lungs with the air you had previously lost whilst running for your life through the shrubs and bushes. As you came to a halt you leant your weight against one of the imposing towers of bark.

Snap.

The sudden sound of a twig giving way had your ears perking up, your body freezing instantly. Your intake of breath becoming erratic as your eyes scanned the dense forest.

Seeing nothing but overgrown vines you took your first step, preparing to sprint.

“Gotcha.” a deep voice sounded in your ear as a thick hand covered your mouth.

The man spun you around to face him, his body large and buff, towering over your own. His broad shoulders tapered down into his thin waist and his hair freshly shaved into a buzzcut of some sort. His mossy forest of a beard covered the lower half of his face as his indigo blues bore into you.

“Fuck you, Curtis.” you spat aggressively into his hand, the small amount of light in his eyes snuffed out in an instant.

“What did you just say to me?” he growled.

His muscular arm darted away from your mouth and towards the back of your head. His hand gripped your hair in a tight fist, baring your neck as he pressed his nose against your throat, inhaling deeply, he groaned at your sweet scent.

His cock now straining against his pants, desperate to be inside your tight inner walls, fucking you until you were filled with his warm load, watching it leak out of your soppy cunt.

Your legs weakened at the sensation of his breath on your throat, his lips wrapped around your earlobe, nibbling gently as you shuddered in pleasure.

“Whats that saying…” he pondered sarcastically, leaning his weight into your much smaller frame.

“Finders keepers.” he whispered lowly.

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐩

pairing | daddy!andy barber x little!reader

summary | you’ve found your favorite way to help your daddy with his grownup work.

warnings | smut, ddlg, riding, unprotected p in v, sooooo soft daddy andy, so much fluff, lots of pet names

notice | my blog is not suitable for those under the age of 18. if that applies to you, please navigate away from this page.

the large house was quiet, save for your timid steps making the floor creak every so often. you had no idea of the time, but you knew it was way too late for him to be working still. as you padded your way towards his office door, you contemplated turning around, going back to your room, and forcing yourself to go to sleep. after a battle with your thoughts that lasted probably all of a half second, you gathered the courage to give the door a knock.

“come in,” he said. you turned the knob, peeking around the door frame. “come here, pumpkin. what do you need?” he asked softly, taking note of your reserved expression. “can i sit on your lap, dada?” he offered his hand, and you took it, letting him pull you up onto his lap. he situated you facing the desk, one arm wrapped around your waist, and one making notes in his book. his hand gently resting on the inside of your thigh made you squirm slightly.

“you okay, bubba?” he knew what you wanted the minute you stepped into his office; you always got a certain look in your eyes when you were needy. regardless, he wanted to hear you say it. wanted you to come to him when you needed him. your head lay on his shoulder as he pressed kisses to your temple, trying his best to coax what he wanted out of you.

you let out a sigh, pulling his hand to your lace-clad core. “ah-ah, sweetheart. daddy’s not letting you get off that easy. use your words, pretty girl.”

“can you touch my princess parts, daddy?” you whispered, turning your head slightly to catch his eye. “what’s the magic word, baby?” he asked, his face softening as his gaze met yours. “pretty please with a cherry on top?” you pleaded, pupils dilating.

“it must be serious if you’re putting a cherry on top,” he chuckled, “how about this: do you want to help daddy with his grownup work?”

“yes, of course dada!” you gasped. “how can i be of service?” you asked, putting on your best big girl face.

he turned you around to face him. letting you straddle his waist, he led your hand to the waistband of his jet black sweats. “i need you to be my very special helper. can you do that, bubba?” you nodded eagerly. “good girl. now, i need you to reach in and take out daddy’s cock, okay? then i’ll tell you what to do next.”

you tugged down his pants slightly, his boxer briefs coming with them. as he kicked his pants off his ankles, you moved to stroke him, but his hand stopped you. “did i tell you to do that?” he asked, his tone authoritative but still with a hint of softness.

“sorry, daddy.” you replied shyly. “it’s alright, baby. you just have to make sure to be a good listener, like we always talk about. can you do that for me, angel?” you pressed a kiss to andy’s cheek as you nodded again.

“good girl,” he repeated, “now what i want you to do is let daddy put his cock in your special place.”

“gonna feel good, dada?” you asked as andy pressed soft kisses to your jaw, moving down your neck. “it’s gonna feel so good, baby. gonna feel so good in your tight little pussy.” he grabbed your hips and swiftly lifted you, gently lowering you down on his cock. you whimpered as he buried himself in you. “look who’s soaking wet for me.” he said, raising an eyebrow.

you rested your head on his shoulder as he began to do his work again. “feels good, daddy.”

“you’re taking me so good, angel. bein’ such a perfect girl for me.” you let out a soft whimper every now and then, when he would shift in position. while the fact that andy was inside of you was exhilarating, the warmth of his skin and his hand rubbing your back was making you tired. “daddy?” you raised your head from his shoulder.

“what is it, baby?” he searched your face.

“i’m sleepy.” you whined, lowering your head a little so your cheek was touching his. rubbing your back, he murmured, “why don’t we get you upstairs, babydoll?” he kissed you softly as you began to moan in protest, those moans quickly turning to sounds of desire.

“don’t wanna go upstairs, daddy. wanna play with you.” you stated breathily, grinding your hips against his.

“my pretty girl wants to come on daddy’s cock, hmm?” you nod profusely, gripping his shoulders as you rode him. “ride me just like that, pumpkin. tell me when you’re close, okay baby?”

“okay, daddy.” your words were mangled by your moans, which turned more strangled and breathy as you quickened your pace. you used andy’s neck to muffle your sweet sounds, moving closer to him and allowing the gap between your bodies to close.

“jesus christ, cupcake. that pussy’s so fuckin' sloppy. you getting close?” you nodded, whimpering. he reached down between the two of you and rubbed your clit. “your little button must be so sensitive, huh bunny? barely given it any attention.”

“gonna come, dada. i’m gonna come.” you fell apart on his cock, going limp and leaving it to him to hold your weight. “you’re gonna make daddy come too, squeezing me like that.” he released inside of you, moaning gruffly in your ear.

as you both came down from your highs, you sighed heavily into the other’s neck. “‘m sleepy, dada.” you whispered.

“i know, bubba. why don’t i take you upstairs and we can get some sleep?” you nodded meekly as andy scooped you up and began to carry you up the stairs.

you arrived to yours and andy’s shared room. he set you down on the bed, grabbing wipes from the nightstand drawer. “gotta make sure your princess parts are nice and clean, okay babybug?”

once he finished cleaning you, he climbed into bed with you. the covers engulfed you both as you tucked your body into his arms, his intoxicating cologne making you sleepy. “you smell good, daddy.”

“thank you, buttercup. it’s time to go to sleep, though.” he kissed your cheek.

“night night, dada. i love you.”

“i love you, babydoll. goodnight.”