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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.

“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.