Daddy!chris Evans - Tumblr Posts

softdom!ari levinson x naive!reader | kinktober 2022 summary | ari wants nothing more than to make you completely his.

always wanted to do at least a drabble for kinktober haha. isn't really explicit, but you get to see dom ari peeking through + naive reader interaction in college!

warnings | size kink, breeding kink, dd/lg, dark ari

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CONT.

It’s adorable, how you always try to take charge. Except the moment Ari would say something, murmur at you to sit down, you would, innocent eyes peering up at him, asking to be rewarded. 

And you were so small, like a baby. A dumb baby, one who annoyed him to no end. He wanted to fuck you until you cried, thrust into you until he saw the outline of his cock from your stomach, have you begging for his dick—for him—to breed you, fuck you, touch you, for days. 

He learned over, to the side twirling a piece of your hair. Beside him, you stiffened, eyes moving away from the professor. Once you realized it was him, your shoulders relaxed, and you sent him a wide smile. One that remained oblivious to his dark thoughts completely. It took him months to make you feel comfortable towards him, to get you to open up so that he could trap you in his web. 

A few more months and maybe he’ll knock you up. He could do it right now, even, if you still weren’t so skittish sometimes. So stupidly bent on getting your degree, when you could let him do all the work. After all, it was only a couple more months until he inherited his father’s company. With the fortune that came with it, all you needed to be was a proper housewife. A mother, and a perfect one you’d be. 

Ari moved to kiss the side of your neck when you attempted to focus again. A hand came to rest on your hip when he sucked on a certain spot, and you squirmed at the contact. 

“Ari… people are watching,” you whisper. Like that’s ever stopped him. If anything, he creates another mark on his blank canvas. 

“Mhm, pay attention to the lecture, baby.” 

He bet you can’t, wiggling in your chair because of how wet you were. You didn’t even understand how your body worked—so naive, you didn’t have the slightest clue. But he knew that you missed sitting on his lap, bouncing on his thigh and sucking on his thumb like a pliant baby. You depended on him for everything: and he would make it stay that way. 

“What do you want for dinner tonight, love?” 

Your lips turned in a frown at the question. “But you always choose,” you said back, searching his eyes for something wrong. Nothing, except for his cock straining to fuck you and his hooded eyes. 

Satisfaction spread through his chest, along with possessiveness. 

“That’s right,” he whispered in your ear, shifting your hair so the rest of the class could see his mark on you. You had no idea how insane you made him, how he turned feral around you. “Because you can’t do anything without me, can you?” 

softdom!ari levinson x naive!reader | kinktober 2022 summary | you're convinced you can take him, but you can't

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

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CONT.

“I want you!” You cry, wiggling on Ari’s lap. God, he’s so infuriating. Every time, your best friend leaves you panting and wanting him, but then he pulls back, smug. Sometimes stiff and restrained, making you wonder if there’s something wrong with you. As you squirm against him, his hands go around your hips, stilling your movements, and your breath can’t help but hitch when he stares down at you, eyes hooded and intense. 

It’s this Ari that you’re unfamiliar with. Daddy, he whispered in your ear when he fingered you once, and you cried the name without a second thought. He likes to be called that—Daddy. And you realized that you liked saying it, too. You feel safe around him—though you shouldn’t. 

When he leans in, you shrink back. Like a prey realizing that they don’t have the upper hand anymore. And when he jerks his thigh so that it hits you right there, you fight back a whimper. 

“You can’t take me, baby,” he says softly, mocking you. He’s disappointed that you can’t handle it, and it just makes you more determined. “You’re so tiny, my cock would split you in half.” 

It can’t be that big. But your mind turns to mush when he grinds you against his thigh again, tugging on your hair to devour your mouth. His tongue runs along your lower lip, and you clutch his shirt, reduced to cries and please.

You just want to feel full. Full of him—and that’s what Ari wanted. Wanted you reduced to a jumbled mess like a dumb baby so that he could fuck you senseless. Until you squirt around him, until you pass out. 

“But… Ari,” you whisper. “I can take it.”

“Mhm. Like you took my finger the other day?” The thought of it drives him insane, so desperate to fuck you. Just this morning, during your sleepover that you thought you had, Ari woke up with his nose against your panties. It only took him mere seconds to rip off the shred of fabric and reduce you in a puddling mess while he ate you out. 

To help ease your ache, he told you, and you believed him. 

He doesn’t even need a proper excuse anymore: you’d let him do anything. 

summary | ari goes feral over you softdom!ari levinson x naive!reader | kinktober 2022

for more drabbles: [#kinktober 2022] tag!

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

buy me a kofi! drabble requests/asks! main! not me being on a roll with these ari drabbles,,

CONT.

It doesn’t take long for Ari to convince you to sleep with him. You, wanting a baby—plural since he’s not letting you go without breeding the fuck out of you—and him, being the perfect candidate. 

Isn’t that what best friends do? He asked, and you listened. 

Except Ari can’t control himself when he slips into you. The moment he breaks you, you cry out and tug on his hair, writhing around on the bed. The image in front of him is gorgeous, and makes his cock harder inside you. Because fuck, you’re so tight, and your tears gives him the power he craves. The Daddy! slips out of your lips and he growls, leaving bites all over your skin as you stretch around him.

Except, as your hips buck up involuntarily, he sees it: the outline of his cock protruding your stomach. 

And that makes him absolutely feral.

“Daddy!” You squeal when he thrusts against you, skin slapping against skin. He grunts at your pleads, slamming into you until you can’t form a coherent sentence anymore. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He mocks. “You asked, begged, for this for months. I’m just giving you what you want, baby. Like a good Daddy.” 

summary | you think you can go unpunished, but steve has other plans softdom!steve rogers x naive!reader | kinktober 2022

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

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CONT.

“Steve! I’m sorry!” You cry, writhing on the bed. 

“Clearly not sorry enough, baby,” he grunts, pulling out before you can come. You clench around nothing, and another sob escapes your lips. 

You didn’t think Steve would take his punishment this far, edging you instead of spanking you. Yes, it was probably your fault that you used his card and spent too much money, money that you usually don’t like spending. Half of it you spent on donating food and clothes to charity. And, well, the other half you justified in spending it for him, since he had a habit of ripping your clothes off.

Which was fine. It was probably the intention behind it that’s getting you into so much trouble right now. You pissed that Steve—Daddy—has been busy for the past few days, neglecting you. Sure, he left you kisses, but he left for the company quickly after that, leaving you wanting. Wanting him. 

Something that he’s been making amends for for hours. When his tongue licks your slit, and he sucks harshly on your clit, you release another desperate whine. 

“Daddy! Please!”

“Finally the proper name. My dumb baby forgot what to call me, didn’t she? Makes sense, since she thought that Daddy didn’t care about her anymore. Since Daddy didn’t give her the attention she wanted—that’s why you acted out, isn’t it?”

You can’t answer. Can’t think. You can’t grab at him either: he tied your hands and ankles to the edge of the bed. Instead, you’re resorted to babbles. 

He slips his cock in again, and you cry at the sensation when he starts to thrust. A hand comes to wipe your tears, and Steve leaves kisses on your neck and along your jawline. 

“It’s too much! Please!”

“Please what? Please let me come? Please forgive me?” 

“I’m sorry! Sorry!” You choke on the words, and with a growl, Steve slaps your ass. 

“Never again, you understand me baby? You’re Daddy’s, always.” 

Once the words leave his mouth, you can’t control it: the orgasm strikes you, toes curling and back arching. You nearly black out, the few seconds as you come becoming hazy. Steve comes inside of you, and you milk him as he kisses you, still thrusting, slow and steady. 

“Ready for another round, baby?” 

summary | ari takes care of you when you're sick dom!ari levinson x sick!reader | kinktober 2022

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warnings | kinda fluffy, actually. just ari taking charge + reader falling into subspace??

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CONT.

“Ari—”

“I got it,” the man in front of you grunts, moving towards the kitchen. Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. 

Great. Not like you ruined the friendship before it began—what friendship is there between the two of you anyways? I mean, it has been a few years since the two of you first met, and the man in front of you couldn’t stop glaring and turning quiet whenever he was around you. Your friend Natasha introduced the two of you, her saying that this was her best friend. Since then, he was pretty much stuck with you. 

Like now, with you being sick, and him coming over to take care of you since Natasha asked—practically begged—him to.

And you’ve never been more uncomfortable sitting in silence. 

For one, he’s intimidating. Plus, though you’ll never admit it, you seem to melt around him. Since he shoved the cocky football player attempting to get handsy with you in college, you felt… safe. Around him. And shy. And everything else. 

Like you knew that he would take care of you no matter what. The reassurance that you can depend on him. 

“Sorry,” you murmur when he brings you a glass of water. The man stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. 

“Stop apologizing.”

The sorry is stuck in your throat again, so you just nod instead. Ari sighs—you’re sure you’re an annoyance to him. Who would sign up to take care of someone who was younger than you and could barely form coherent sentences? There were thousands of girls wanting his attention. 

Your grip on the cup loosens, when he places it on the table, crouching in front of the sofa. His hands are on either side of your thighs, as he stares up at you. Observing you. Heat crawls up your neck, and you fight the urge to bury your head in the blankets. 

“Do you need anything else?” The words are surprisingly softer than expected. 

“You can go,” you blurt. “I don’t want to hold you up if you have anything.”

He does—since he’s the CEO. It’s ridiculous that he’s putting back meetings for you. 

“I’m staying,” his voice is firm. “Until you get better.”

“I’m feeling okay,” you squeak, and attempt to get up. “I can search the fridge to find something to make for dinner.” 

“Baby.”

You freeze at the nickname that leaves his mouth. Isn’t that… for lovers? 

It must have the effect he intended, though, because Ari gently places you back on the sofa, pulling the blankets around you. But this time, he places himself below you, so that you’re straddling his thighs, and that your chests are touching. In order to steady yourself, your fingers splay across his chest, and he sucks in a tense breath. You shiver—not from the cold. The whole time, he’s staring at you, eyes hooded. 

And you can’t discern whether it’s embarrassment or nerves—maybe both—but you bury your face in the crook of his neck: your safe spot. Whether you’re watching scary movies or forced to go to another party with Natasha, that area has been a haven for you, blocking out your surroundings. 

It’s not until now that you realize how… odd this is. How this is something that friends don’t do. 

Except you don’t know if you care. Because you’re falling into some headspace, where you can let all responsibilities go and have Ari handle it—he always does. In fact, you want Ari to take charge and tell you what to do. 

You feel his hand, big enough to engulf yours, come to rest on your hip. You squirm when his thumb rubs circles on your skin, an arm snaking around your waist to press you closer together. 

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t lift a finger—you understand me?” 

STOP LMAO I CANNOT

&& thanks so much for reading, it genuinely means a lot and i always love seeing your reactions !!

summary | ari goes feral over you softdom!ari levinson x naive!reader | kinktober 2022

for more drabbles: [#kinktober 2022] tag!

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

buy me a kofi! drabble requests/asks! main! not me being on a roll with these ari drabbles,,

CONT.

It doesn’t take long for Ari to convince you to sleep with him. You, wanting a baby—plural since he’s not letting you go without breeding the fuck out of you—and him, being the perfect candidate. 

Isn’t that what best friends do? He asked, and you listened. 

Except Ari can’t control himself when he slips into you. The moment he breaks you, you cry out and tug on his hair, writhing around on the bed. The image in front of him is gorgeous, and makes his cock harder inside you. Because fuck, you’re so tight, and your tears gives him the power he craves. The Daddy! slips out of your lips and he growls, leaving bites all over your skin as you stretch around him.

Except, as your hips buck up involuntarily, he sees it: the outline of his cock protruding your stomach. 

And that makes him absolutely feral.

“Daddy!” You squeal when he thrusts against you, skin slapping against skin. He grunts at your pleads, slamming into you until you can’t form a coherent sentence anymore. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He mocks. “You asked, begged, for this for months. I’m just giving you what you want, baby. Like a good Daddy.” 

softdom!ari levinson x naive!reader | kinktober 2022 summary | you're overstimulated

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

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CONT.

“Daddy! Please!” You grip his bare shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“But you’re doing so well, princess,” the man in front of you says, one hand on your back as he thrusts up into you. You whimper at the sensation of being so full, stretched. Ari’s big—too big, in fact, and you were crying when you slipped his cock into you. 

The stretch is too much, and you fall onto him when he slaps your ass.

“Come on, you can take it, baby.” You can make Daddy proud. Hoping to not disappoint him, you move your hips. But it’s hard, with Ari usually moving for the two of you. You can’t think, your thighs are quaking, and you’re so sensitive, that even the slightest shift causes you to clench around him. 

Except, Ari wants that fourth orgasm. He’s eaten you out and fingered you, and now he wants you to milk his cock. 

He thrusts up again, and you moan, unable to form a coherent sentence. When he slips his thumb in your mouth, you peer up at him and suckle it. 

“Fuck. Baby.” Another grunt. Another thrust. Another slap. “You’re adorable like this, naked and pliant. For me.” 

Ari can imagine the ring on your finger—the ring he’ll give you in a few days. You’re practically his wife already—but at least the ring will give him an excuse to permanently move you in here. An excuse to tie you to the bed and have his way with you for days, fucking you until you’re limping, until every shift causes his come to spill out from your cunt. 

Yes. He can imagine it, alright. 

And he wasn’t one to daydream—no, he’d make his dream become a reality. 

daddy!ari levinson x naive!reader | kinktober 2022 summary | your friend matches you for an odd arrangement.

for more drabbles: [#kinktober 2022] tag!

notes | part 1? idek if i should continue this but i want to hehe.

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

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CONT.

A sugar Daddy? You asked a week ago, the whole thought laughable when your friend brought it up for you. Both because you thought the concept didn’t exist, and because who would want to take care of you? You’re so used to cleaning up for other people that you couldn’t remember the last time someone made time for you. Except she frowned at you and explained that it was more than that, and to walk in with an open mind. 

She didn’t explain that the man would be intimidating. And handsome. Very, very, handsome, his rugged look accentuated by his beard and wide posture. He’s also probably over a decade older than you, though he doesn’t look the part. Even the waitresses are entranced by him, and you can’t blame them. You glance around the restaurant he chose—you’re pretty sure it’s above your bank account—hoping for other customers to walk in. Was the talk of a queue all a myth?

You hear him call your name—Ari, that is—and can’t help but peek up from taking a sip of water. Frankly, you don’t have the guts to meet him head on. And Ari loves that about you. Your natural submissiveness, the way you fidget with your fingers, the way you’re looking up at him with stars in your eyes. You have no idea who he is, but fuck, does he know everything about you.

Every. Little. Thing. 

Hiring an investigator does wonders to satiate one’s curiosity, usually. 

“What do you want to eat?” His tone is gentle, coaxing. He needs to bring you out of this shyness, have you become comfortable with him enough to initiate physical contact first. And so that you could perch on his lap as he feeds you.

Cockwarming is another subject—if one more waiter tests his control he’ll just shove his cock in your virgin hole and have your cunt milking him while you eat, though he doubts you can multitask. He’s sure that in moments, you’ll go dumb on his cock. Not that he’ll mind. Ari wants nothing more than to take care of every single need of yours. 

“Whatever you want,” you blurt, glancing at the menu and trying not to wince at the prices once again. “Maybe I’ll get the salad?”

In your defense, it’s the cheapest on the menu. The fact that you don’t come from a family where you can afford to eat at a Michelin star restaurant is probably laughable to this man. This wall-street, billionaire. It’s hard to ignore the designer labels on his suit, and compare it to your target t-shirt and thrifted jeans, both articles of clothing something you were proud about. You recall your jaw dropping when your friend pulled up his networth, bragging about how she managed to hook you up with him. 

Connections. Imagine having that. 

Ari clears his throat, and you startle, head snapping up. 

“There we go,” he murmurs. “I’ve been trying to get you to look at me since we introduced ourselves.” 

The playfulness and edge in his tone causes your cheeks to flush, and you mumble an apology. 

“Mhm. I’ll be paying tonight, so feel free to order whatever you want.”

“Oh, no—” Your eyes widen. “I couldn’t possibly impose you like that.”

“Alright.” The smirk catches you off-guard, too. He motions the waiter over, and you clench your fists. God, you hated ordering. Half the time, the employees would dismiss your order, often getting it wrong. Or they’d treat you like dirt, forcing you to pipe up and defend yourself.

Not that you do a very good job. 99% of the time you just left humiliated or with an apology—when it should be the other way around. 

Ask for a salad. A salad. It’s literally two words! What could go wrong. 

“What would you like?” 

Ari motions for you to go first, and that’s when you feel it: your shoulders stiffen first, and you open your mouth for nothing to come out. Oh God. You’ve rehearsed this line nearly a thousand times in the short few minutes, yet why couldn’t you say anything? Panicked, you fumble for the menu to point at what you want. 

“I got it, baby,” Ari chimes in, laying a hand over yours as he orders for the two of you. In one smooth move, he entwines your fingers together, his thumb leaving soft, circular strokes of comfort. 

This is most embarrassing night of your life, but you can’t even protest that you can do it yourself. The immediate reaction is relief that he’s capable of taking care of you, and that he didn’t bat an eye when you couldn’t do such a simple act. You’re in your own little world that you barely catch what Ari orders—an expensive meal, one with lobster and high-quality meat. 

You nearly squeak out a protest, but his stare tones you down. 

Perfect, Ari thinks. He’s already on edge, obsessed with the image of you going dumb on his cock. Since your friend showed him a picture, he’s been hooked on your innocent smile and soft gestures. How your lips would part so that his thumb could slip in, how you’d lean against him because you don’t have the stamina like he does. Fuck, this arrangement definitely should be solidified by the end of the night. He doesn’t even care what label that you want to put on it—as long as you’re going to be his. 

 “Do you have any questions for me, baby?” 

The endearment catches you off guard, those owlish eyes peering up at him for direction. You have so many, but opted out of writing a list. Once you spiral, you often couldn’t stop.

But the most prominent is: “Do I call you Daddy?”

The quick internet search you did made your gut clench with… want. The ferocity of your desire to have someone dominate you, praise you, and guide you was, frankly, shocking. In fact, the whole topic still sounds taboo to you, something that shouldn’t be discussed in the middle of the restaurant. 

The man in front of you leans in, tone deepening. “What do you think, baby?” 

“Yes?” Your mouth is dry, palms sweaty. 

“You want to try it out for me?” Ari has no doubt that you’re already getting wet from the encouragement in his tone. You’ve been on the edge of arousal and curiosity for the past half hour or so, with how much you were squirming and avoiding his gaze. 

Cheeks flushed, you whisper, “Okay, Daddy.” 

It sounds right. 

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!

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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.

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

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

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.” 

Can I request little reader X Chris Evans 🥺👉👈

From your last fic, that point where she says, here's your dog." Same scenario... Like maybe Chris hears that you are not faithful to him or something and is mad about it. little baby is playing with doger and he yells at her and says he's not her dog etc etc. Is very mean until she probably runs away and he realises his mistake and tries hard to find her? Plenty fluff.

Thank you 🥺❤️

my little baby

pairing: daddy!Chris Evans x little!Reader

warnings: angst, DDLG relationship, fluff, Chris accuses the reader of cheating, lots of crying.

a/n: thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy!

Chris didn't know why he was letting this article get to him.

there were always going to be articles accusing you of cheating on him, but he should have learned to not let it affect him.

but when there were pictures of you out to lunch with another guy, he was livid. instead of confronting you about it, like any decent person would do, he just ignored you. not the smartest idea.

you had no idea why your daddy was ignoring you, but you assumed it was because he didn't love you anymore. you concluded that you must have done something to make him hate you, and you were just waiting for him to tell you he didn't want to be your daddy anymore.

you didn't know what you were going to do when that day came, but you could only hope to win him back over, but nothing worked.

you stopped trying, and just enjoyed the time you had left with Dodger until you weren't allowed to see him anymore.

you were playing with Dodger in yours and Chris's bedroom, when he came in. he had just gotten home from set, and he looked tired.

"hi, daddy." you said, and frowned when you got a grunt in return.

"I did all my chores," you said, hoping that would give you more of a response.

you got another grunt. your lower lip wobbled, and you turned to face him. "why are you mad at me?" you asked, tears rimming your eyes.

he rolled his eyes and scoffed as he took off his jacket. "don't act like you don't know." he said, and you furrowed your brows, his angry attitude causing you to become even littler, your speech being affected.

"what I do?"

Chris rolled his eyes at you again and faced you. "don't play dumb, y/n. I saw the pictures. I know you're cheating on me. so I don't know why you're still here, playing with MY dog, when there's clearly someone else you'd rather be with." he spat, and you broke down in silent sobs at his accusation.

you sniffled, and Chris lost it. "enough with the damn tears! you're only crying because you got caught, so fucking quit it already!"

you looked up at him. "I not cheatin'!" you exclaimed, and Chris rolled his eyes.

"then why are there pictures of you with another guy all over Instagram and Twitter?!" he yelled, and you finally clued in to why he thought that, but it just made you even angrier.

you stood up and faced him. "dat was my fwend! he's gay!" you said, before crying more and walking fast towards the door.

"I weave. you pway with your doggy!" you spat, and ran out the door. you heard Chris swear and come after you, but you continued running, increasing your speed. your eyes locked on the front door just as you realized that Chris was chasing after you, and made a beeline for it.

"Y/N NO!" Chris yelled at you as you opened the door, but you didn't stop. you weren't allowed to leave the house without him when you were little, but you didn't care about the rules at the moment, only getting away from the mean man.

you ran out the door and down the driveway. your feet hurt like hell as they pounded against the rock driveway, but after a few seconds it stopped, and you realized it was because Chris reached you and picked you up.

"hey! stop!" he said, as you sobbed and struggled against him. "C'mon. inside." he said as he struggled to get you and your flailing limbs in the house.

"NO!" you screeched, but to no avail. he carried you inside, and sat you on the couch. he crouched in front of you and tried brushing the hair out of your eyes but you wouldn't let him. "'TOP! NO TOUCHING!" you screeched while sobbing and Chris backed up and sitting on the coffee table, respecting your boundaries.

you curled up in a ball and sobbed, not looking at Chris as he started talking.

"baby, I'm so sorry." he said, but you sobbed harder. "I should have talked to you instead of assuming and believing the internet. baby, look at dada, please?" he asked and you shook your head.

"baby?" he begged, a hint of tears in his voice, and you shook your head.

"NO! you think I cheated on you! I hate you!" you expressed, and Chris couldn't stop his tears that fell as you said the last three words.

"baby, please just look at me." he begged and you shook your head again.

"go away!" you begged back, and he tried once more.

"honey, I-"

"GO AWAY!" you screeched, and he finally complied, walking out of the room and giving you space.

you didn't move for hours, eventually falling asleep on the couch from exhaustion. Chris had tried earlier to bring you dinner but you yelled at him again and he hadn't bothered you since.

eventually Chris ventured back down the stairs to try and coax you to bed, when he found you asleep on the couch in nothing hut your leggings and a t shirt, trembling ever so slightly.

he sighed, and scooped you up. he carried you up the stairs, and laid you under the covers in bed. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, and grabbed the spare comforter from the closet that he had for cold winter nights, and headed downstairs to the couch. he laid down on the couch and fell into a restless sleep.

that was, until 4 am, when he was awoken by sobbing and a weight on his chest. he looked down and teared up when he saw you sitting on the floor in front of him, your head on his chest facing him and sobbing.

you noticed he was awake, and your sobs increased. "I sorry dada." you sobbed, and Chris sat up slightly. he ran a hand through your hair and shushed you but you continued apologizing. "I not hate you. I wove you." you sobbed, and Chris sighed.

"can dada touch you?" he asked and you immediately gave him consent. he lifted you up and settled you onto your chest before lying back down.

"I know you don't hate me, sweetie. and even if you did, I wouldn't blame you. I should have come right to you when I saw those pictures, instead of letting my anger and jealousy grow and exploding on you." he said, and smiled internally as you watched him with hopeful eyes. "I especially shouldn't have exploded on you when you're little. you didn't deserve that. I am also insanely sorry that I said Dodger was my doggy, not yours. he's both of ours, and you're so attentive, caring and loving with him. he's just as much yours and he is mine." he said, squeezing you tighter to his chest.

"gonna punish me for runnin' away?" you asked, fear making your voice waver.

he shook his head. "no. never. I scared you and you thought I didn't love you anymore, right?" he asked, and you sadly nodded. "well, I love you so much my little girl." he whispered.

you smiled at him and your eyes began to flutter shut, Chris humming a tune as you drifted. just before you fell asleep he pressed a kiss to your head.

"I love you, my little baby."