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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

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Title: New Hire [3]

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Pairing: Alpha!Mob!Ari Levinson x Naive!Omega!Reader

Summary: After escaping your demanding, violent father, you get your first job nannying for Ari Levinson.

Warnings: Manipulation, Obsessive behavior, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Ari, Dubcon, Darkfic, Breeding, Smut, MINORS DNI, Dead dove: Do not eat

A/N: 👀 i know we’ve all been kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop with Ari and Kitten, so here we go! i’m working two jobs now, so i don’t have a lot of spare time left over to write—as a result, i kind of went waaaaaaay overboard with this chapter. i split it into two, just for ease of reading, so i really hope y’all enjoy! floral divider by @firefly-graphics

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

“I’m not leaving till I see my daughter!” You can hear your father’s raised voice clearly, like he’s yelling at you from inside the car rather than the driveway. Ari’s stern hand on his shoulder seems to make him even angrier.

“So what, you got her locked up here like your own little toy, and what? No fuckin’ ring on her finger, I’ll bet,” he sneers, and it’s like you’re seventeen again. Seventeen again and listening to him tell you you’re used and ruined because you’d let the Baker boy come sniffing after you—

“Liam we’re going to go inside.” You hate the way your voice shakes, the way your stomach clenches with old fear. As you turn around, you try to swallow down the panic so that Liam doesn’t see it on your face. “And we’re not going to look at, or talk to the man outside, okay?” You repeat it like you heard it from your therapist when you’d first left your father. Don’t engage. You don’t owe him anything. You are your own person.

You are free.

“I don’t like that man.” Liam says quietly from the back seat as you unbuckle him. “He’s scary.”

“Yes,” you agree, glancing at the man in question over your shoulder. “He is.” Liam clamors over the middle console and into your arms. You don’t want to stay in the car, listening to him shout. You take a deep breath, gathering what little courage you feel, and pull on the door handle. Immediately, his cursing fills your ears while you cover Liam’s with your hands, steering him quickly towards the stairs.

“Oh, there she is,” he snarls. “I taught you better than that, you little bitch! Abandoning your responsibilities to this family, all so you can sit on some Alpha’s fucking knot—”

“Enough!” Ari’s voice is like a clap of thunder. His huge hands are knotted threateningly in your father’s shirt. “You come here like this, you fucking threaten my mate—” He bares his teeth angrily. “How’d you even fucking get in here, you slimy piece of shit?”

“I’m here because Peter-fucking-Quill sent me,” he spits, and your chest goes even tighter at the name. “On account of you fucking his mate.”

“What?” It’s your voice that acts as a knife through the tension, and both men turn to you. You know Peter Quill—or, well, you knew him. Before things had gone bad at home, turned sour like milk left out to spoil, and you’d had to switch schools—because your fancy Catholic school was too much money—you’d played with Quill. He was only a year or two older than you, but he was always… kind, for lack of a better word.

You never thought you’d hear that name again.

“Then he needs to come himself.” Ari’s voice is low, barely above a growl. His shoulders are stiff and squared, his knees slightly bent like he’s ready to soak a blow. “Because as far as I’m concerned, it’s my mark on her neck.” Ari shoves your father, and he stumbles back a few steps. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot messengers. But it is fucking tempting.” Trembling, you begin to lead Liam up the stairs.

“You tell Quill he’d better send someone more fucking qualified next time.” You hurry inside, one of Ari’s men holding the door open for you as they usher you inside. Faintly, you can hear Ari, his orders mixed in with frustrated swears.

“King, you mind telling me what the fuck you were thinking, letting him get past the goddamn gate?”

You’ve never seen this many people in the house before, men in black, guns bulging under their clothing. The man Ari called King’s gaze flicks around nervously before settling on you. Ari sees it too, and almost immediately, his hostile posture softens.

“Kitten, why don’t you take Liam upstairs?” He turns to you with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be up in a little bit, I know that was… scary.”

“I…” You have questions—so many questions. “But Ari, he—”

“Upstairs, Kitten. Now.” His voice brokers no room for argument, bordering on an Alpha command that your body jumps to follow. You spare one last look for the strangely crowded kitchen, and then take Liam’s hand and lead him up the staircase to the second floor. You put out a few of his favorite coloring books and games to distract him while you go change your clothes.

Your feet begin marching in the direction of your old room, and it’s only when your hand rests on the brassy doorknob that you remember it isn’t your room anymore. You stand there in front of the door, your hand hovering over the knob. So much has changed in the past three months, and you wonder if they’ll ever stop changing. It’s like you’re at the center of a whirlwind, and each time you get your bearings, you’re whipped about by the storm until you’re just as lost and confused as ever.

Three months ago, leaving your father’s house had been the hardest, most confusing thing you’d ever had to do, but you had done it, and you had done it by yourself. You’d navigated the help wanted sections of every newspaper, typed out your resumé on the ancient library computers, all for your father to find you again.

It’s okay to start over, that’s what Dr. Nicholson says. It’s okay to do things over until you get them right. You wonder what she’ll think of these new developments as you force yourself to turn around and head down to the other end of the hallway, towards Ari’s room—your room. You’d missed last week’s therapy session—it isn’t like you could show up with Ari still knotted inside you. The thought makes your face heat hotter than a stove-top, and you bite your lip against the embarrassment.

You’re due for another session in a few days, and you’re actually looking forward to it, to being able to decompress and just talk without fear of reprisal. As you shrug out of the sundress, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Though you try not to, it’s impossible not to see the neat ring of teeth marks sunk permanently into your flesh.

Ari is proud of how clean his bite is, you know it—you can feel it through the bond when his teeth slide home like keys into a well fitting lock. You remember running your fingers over your mother’s own mating mark as a child, the flesh knotted and bumpy to the touch, like your father had torn into her like an animal. A shiver runs down your spine as you recall his words—

Peter-fucking-Quill sent me. On account of you fucking his mate.

You weren’t mated before Ari—the smooth, unbroken skin above your mating gland had told that truth far better than your mouth ever could. So what had he meant by that? How could you be Peter’s if you were already Ari’s?

Your body is still singing with tension and unresolved anxiety, winding you tight like a spring as you search through Ari’s cavernous closet for something to wear. The possessions you do have feel meagre in comparison, like you’re a pauper dressing up as a prince. You emerge from the closet wearing shorts and a button up shirt—one of Ari’s—tucked into the waistband.

When you poke your head into his room, you’re pleased to find that Liam has only made a moderate mess, having somehow managed to get into the finger paints that you keep having to hide in increasingly difficult to reach locations. He looks up at you with a wide, gap toothed grin, and holds his masterpiece up for you to see. His little hands are stained green, and you expect they probably will be for the next four to six business days, but your heart still melts as he brandishes his paper proudly.

“Look, I painted everybody,” he replies, bouncing excitedly on his toes. He peeks over the top of the paper, and then back up at you. “This is daddy—he’s going to work, that’s why he has his suit on. And then, then there’s me, and right here is you!” He taps the paper again, for emphasis. You giggle, taking the paper gingerly.

“Wow, Li, this is amazing! Is that my dress?” You ask, looking down at him as he puffs his chest out with pride. “This is so good! You know, I bet dad is going to want to hang this up somewhere,” you say conspiratorially, and he laughs, before his face falls a little.

“What if he doesn’t see it?” He kicks at the rug. “Dad’s always working.” You can almost hear the sound of your heart cracking open at Liam’s innocent admission.

“You know what, let’s go put this on the big mirror in the bedroom. That way he’ll be sure to see it, okay?” You hold Liam’s hand as he leads you down the hallway, and the two of you hunt for scotch tape to hang his painting as you strain to hear what’s going on downstairs. It’s useless, the walls are too thick and well soundproofed for anything but the barest murmur of conversation to make it through.

As you’re finishing up taping Liam’s drawing, a shudder runs through you, your hairs standing on end. Alpha is looking for me. You don’t know how you know it, but you do, like feeling eyes on your turned back.

“Dad!” Liam’s exclamation has you turning to face the large figure in the doorway. Ari doesn’t stop him as Liam goes crashing into his legs, and he scoops up his giggling son, ruffling his hair. “I drawed something for you.” You move out of the way, stepping aside as Ari sizes up Liam’s masterpiece.

“Li, you know we’ve got to frame this, right? You’re just a regular Picasso.” It’s like you’re watching Liam’s confidence grow in real time, a pleased expression gracing his little features, though you doubt he actually knows who Picasso is. “Is this what you guys were doing while I was working?”

Working. You still don’t really know what Ari even does, though you don’t doubt that he’s important. All the men downstairs, Ari’s fierce demeanor… the answer plays at the edge of your consciousness, but you don’t grasp for it, too afraid that you might be right. As Ari chats with Liam, you excuse yourself, wandering down to the kitchen to get some water. It’s like no one was ever there, and if you hadn’t had to drag Liam through a veritable sea of men in tac gear, you might have thought you’d imagined it.

You can’t help but peek out of the front door, just to make sure your father is really gone, that he isn’t just lying in wait outside to ambush you again.

“Thought I would see what was taking so long, Kitten. You know Liam won’t start the movie without you,” Ari rumbles, his breath ghosting across the shell of your ear. You whirl around, almost dropping your glass.

“Ari, I… I just wanted to see,” you admit. “If he was gone.”

Ari’s lip curls, his eyes narrowing. “He’s gone. I made sure of it.” He pulls you against his chest, burying his nose in your curls with a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry.” The apology falls timidly from your lips before you can stop it. It’s a force of habit more than anything, the desire to placate before it becomes a problem. “I… I don’t know how he found me, I-I did all of the things Dr. Nicholson told me to, I—” Ari cups your chin.

“Shh, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.” His calloused fingers are gentle on your face. “You did the right things. It’s not your fault.” Your fingers tangle in his shirt as Ari rubs soothing circles on your back. “He found you because he went to Quill, baby.”

“Quill?” You dredge up the image of him young and roundfaced from your memory. It’s easy to tell Ari is… reluctant to continue this line of conversation. You can feel his discomfort prickling in the back of your skull through the bond, but more than that you can see it written plainly on his face.

“I’m not sure how you know him,” Ari says lowly, “but Peter is a… business associate of mine. Was.” He runs a hand through his hair. “How do you think your father got that nice new house on the good part of the island? How he got those debtors to stop calling? He went to Peter, Kitten. And he made a deal.”

Your head is spinning. The answer is right there, but for some reason, you refuse it.

“A deal?” You repeat the words dumbly.

“For you, Kitten. He promised Quill you.”

—

You’re restless that night, tossing and turning until Ari pins you underneath him with a stern, sleepy grunt. He can’t stop your mind from spinning though, and you don’t sleep until the sky outside begins to turn pink.

Your father had sold you—like cattle. Traded you when you’d become useless to him.

What kind of parent does that?

Your dreams offer no answers, only more questions. When had he offered you up like cattle? And what kind of man accepted a person as fair trade? You know your father has never been good with money—even before your mother died. Your chest goes painfully tight at the thought of her. You wish your mother was here, now more than ever. You can’t help but wonder what she would make of all of this, if she would approve.

In the morning when Liam wakes the two of you up with far too much pep, you’ve only managed to struggle through a few hours of sleep. He chatters excitedly about his dreams and you do your best to listen, nodding eagerly as he describes the superpowers he’d used to save the universe. Ari rolls over onto his side, and you don’t miss the way his eyes rest heavily on you, his full lips pulled into an easy, satisfied smile.

He scampers off to pack his backpack for the day—one of his favorite activities, even over summer break. Ari’s hand settles on your thigh, warm through the thin sleeping shorts you wore to bed.

“You didn’t sleep well last night, Kitten.” It’s an observation, a statement of fact. Embarrassed that he remembers your sleepy grumbling, you duck your head, nodding.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you awake,” you tuck an errant curl back behind your ear. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about everything.” Your stomach churns again as you recall your father shouting at you from the steps outside, his eyes bright and frantic. I hate him.

You hadn’t ever actually thought it consciously before, how much you despise the alcohol soaked man who’d showed up to shame you only yesterday. I hate him.

It feels like his arrival has started something, put things in to motion that you can’t see, things you don’t understand. But Ari does. You can practically feel him gearing up for something, something big—readying himself. Ari’s beard rasps against your cheek as he leans in to kiss your temple.

“He won’t be back.” He says it with such conviction it’s hard for you not to consider it an absolute truth. There’s an unspoken threat that sends a shiver down your spine, one that speaks to the roughness that lurks just underneath the placid, casual mask that Ari wears all the time. You’ve already seen it slip a few times—at the amusement park, with your father. It makes you wonder what he’s really capable of.

You can tell he wants to say more, that the conversation isn’t quite done yet, but the shrill ringing of Ari’s phone cuts through the moment like a sharp knife. He reaches for it, irritation written in the downturned corners of his mouth and narrowed eyes. He gives you one last, distracted kiss before sitting up, the sheets pooling at his waist.

“Yes?” You can’t hear the person on the other end of the line, not clearly, but you can tell they sound upset—frantic, almost. “Slow down, Drysdale. I said slow the fuck down,” Ari growls into the receiver, dragging a hand down his face. “Quill sent what to Fowler?” You still at the mention of Peter, but Ari taps your ass sharply with the palm of his hand, and you squeak.

“Business,” he mouths at you. “I’ll find you when I��m done.”

Though you aren’t pleased about being effectively dismissed, you scoot off of the edge of the massive bed and pad towards the shower. Liam is downstairs, and you walk into the living room just as his improvised karate routine is finishing up.

“Look how high I can kick!” He says loudly, lifting his leg up the way you know they’d taught him in his karate class.

“Liam no!” You’re too late, his little foot intersecting with one of the framed photos on the coffee table. You wince at the sound of breaking glass before rushing over and sweeping the errant six year old off of his feet to check for cuts. Sheepishly, Liam clings to you, embarrassed tears leaking down his little cheeks.

“No cuts, right bud?” You ask as you turn his hands and feet back and forth, squinting as you look for shards of glass. “Nothing hurts?”

“N-no, but…” he trails off, pointing at the shattered frame. It’s a nice picture, Liam up on Ari’s broad shoulders as the two of them grin widely at the camera. You’d taken that picture—at Liam’s birthday, just a few months before. “I broke it.”

“Yes, you did, but what’s more important is that you’re okay,” you say, wiping the errant tears from his chubby cheeks with your thumbs. “Dad can always get a new picture frame.” Your humor doesn’t deter him, however, and Liam looks at the stairs nervously. You place Liam carefully on the couch as you sprint into the kitchen to grab the broom and dustpan.

“He’s gonna be mad at me,” Liam sniffles, rubbing at his red rimmed eyes as you clean up the mess.

“That’s not true, pal. Dad’s not going to be mad—”

“He is!” Liam insists. “That’s his most favoritest picture in the house, he said so!” He’s getting worked up now, his cheeks splotchy and red as he becomes more and more upset. Frustrated tears begin leaking from his eyes again, and you feel your chest go tight.

“Liam, I promise dad isn’t going to be mad,” you say placatingly, setting down the broom to rub his back as he sniffles. “Would it make you feel better if we got another one?” The mall isn’t far away, certainly close enough for the two of you to pop over and be back before Ari even notices you’re gone. “We can go get him a new one so he won’t feel sad, okay?”

This seems to be an acceptable compromise to Liam, who nods tearfully. “Okay.”

Of the several cars sitting in the garage below the house, you select an unassuming black Wrangler, making sure to buckle Liam into his seat before climbing into yours. It starts up easily, and you shoot a quick text to Ari—one you’re sure he won’t even see before you’re back—before taking off. Liam is singing some kind of made up song to himself as you pull out into the wealthy suburb that Liam and Ari—and now you—call home.

The mall parking lot is as crowded as it usually is, and you hold Liam’s hand tightly as you navigate between the cars. Still, he tugs on your hand impatiently, eager to get inside. He hasn’t been on a real outing since the amusement park—your face burns hot at the memory—and it shows, with Liam bouncing excitedly on his toes as he drags you into the mall. You make him wait as you squint at the map, looking for the bright red You are here!, labeled at the bottom entrance.

“It looks like there’s a nice frame shop this way, Li. We can go pick out something cool for dad.”

“Okay!”

Though the frame shop is distinctly not an environment for six-year-olds, Liam handles it like a champ, using his “inside” voice the way you’d taught him, and handling the delicate glass with care when he dares to pick something up. Like his father, he seems to be rather choosy, squinting at several picture frames before dismissing them.

“What about this one? This one’s cool.”

“That’s not cool,” Liam says decisively, turning his nose up at the one you hold in your hands. You stifle your own laughter as you imagine what Liam thinks cool is. I don’t think they have any frames with Spider-Man on them. “This one, this one!” He holds up the gilded gold frame excitedly, standing on his tippy-toes to show it to you. “I like this one.”

“I like this one too, Li,” you take it from him gingerly, holding it up to the light. It really is pretty, something you could see sitting in the spot the other picture had occupied. “Lets take it up to the register.” As you wait in line, Liam begins shuffling his feet, darting out to grab things from baskets near the register before putting them back. You’re honestly amazed Liam’s attention span has lasted this long, and you don’t fault him for his boredom. So when he pulls on your arm and points to the ice-cream booth just outside the store, you nod.

He’s just right there. I can see him.

You turn back to the line, playing anxiously with the heavy black card Ari had given you the day before. You haven’t used it yet, but then again, you haven’t needed to. You glance over your shoulder as the person in front of you finishes up. You can see Liam’s little blond head as he bounces excitedly, waiting his turn in line.

“Is this all today?”

“Y-yes, that’s it, thanks.” You turn back around embarrassedly, placing the card on the counter with a sharp click. The older woman behind the register runs it before handing it back, and you watch her begin to wrap the frame in newspaper.

“Your son is adorable, you know, so cute,” she says, and your cheeks warm. You’re not sure how to respond, how to parse out the complex nature of your relationships in a way that is easy to understand—mostly because you don’t understand it yourself. In the span of a week you’ve gone from nanny to step-mother, from employee to mate, and the transition still has you reeling.

“Yes, he is.” You manage a weak smile as you turn to scan the crowd for him again, looking for the soft, wavy blond curls that denote his presence by the ice-cream stand.

But you don’t see him.

The panic that seizes you is immediate as you turn fully, eyes wide as you search the crowd again and again—but come up empty. The cashier’s voice is nothing but a dull drone in your ear as you push through the people behind you.

“Liam? Liam!” There are people stopping to look now, their attention only adding to your distress. He was right here, I just saw him, he was right here—You feel terrified tears beginning to gather in your eyes as you call for him. “Did you see a little boy? Blond, blue eyes, he’s missing his front tooth?” The man behind the counter looks at you helplessly.

“I, I mean I think so, I’m sorry, it’s just so busy—!” You try to calm yourself, wiping at your eyes as you continue looking, your purchase at the frame shop completely and utterly forgotten. It’s only been a few minutes, but it feels like you’ve been looking for hours, wringing your hands as you jog through the mall.

Something gold catches your eye, and you turn towards the main doors. There’s a man in black, all black, his clothes bulky and ill fitting—reminiscent of the way Ari’s men had looked yesterday. The outline of the bullet-proof vest under his shirt is clearly visible, as is the large hand wrapped around Liam’s tiny forearm.

“Liam!” You’re barreling towards him before your body even has a moment to register that you’re moving, and you slam into the man’s back with your shoulder. He lets out a surprised, pained shout as Liam sobs your name. “Let go! Let him fucking go!” You’ve never fought anyone in your life, but you feel grim satisfaction as you rake your nails down the man’s face and smell the coppery tinge of his blood under your fingernails. It’s his surprise that allows you keep hitting him, raining blows down all over his face and chest as he tries to shield himself from you, cursing.

“Get off me! Fucking crazy bitch—” He shoves you off with a snarl, and you scramble over to Liam, panting as you put yourself in the way, shielding his smaller body with your own. Adrenaline has you on a tightrope, unable to move or blink as you watch the man get to his feet. The world around you rushes back in to your ringing ears—there’s someone saying to call the police, another group of people attempting to block the exit, to hold the man here—but you can’t process any of that.

You turn to Liam tearfully, running your hands through his hair and over his face. He presses into your chest, his little arms going around your shoulders as he sobs uncontrollably, snot and tears running into your hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you murmur as you rock him back and forth, your eyes still wide as you stare unseeingly past him. The relief is almost as big as the fear, and with both of them swirling inside of you, it’s impossible to calm down.

“I-I-It-w-was s-s-so s-s-scary,” Liam’s words are barely discernible through his tears. There are people talking to you—at you, really—but you don’t have the bandwidth to respond, only clutching Liam tighter when anyone approaches, like a feral animal. All you can focus on is Liam, keeping him pressed to your chest as you try to analyze every possible new threat.

Keep away, your hindbrain snarls, and you feel your own lip curl to mirror it. Baby’s not safe, not safe! You’re dimly aware of mall security attempting to detain the man who’d grabbed Liam, the sound of sirens—

“Kitten.” And then there’s Ari, kneeling in front of you as he cups your chin, strokes your hair; checking you over in much the same way you’d done Liam only minutes before. “Kitten can you hear me?” You nod numbly, still holding tight to Liam as Ari tries to pry your fingers loose. “Good, baby. You did so good, protecting our boy.” His hands are gentle as he helps you stand up. You can’t explain the rush of warmth that fills you as you inhale his scent, the deep sense of comfort that washes over you as you begin to process his nearness.

Alpha is here.

Safe.

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