#dark!nick fowler

The whole plot blossomed as a girls' trip. Your typical Spring Break getaway, but then it just so happened that Kelly booked the airBNB attached to another group of coeds, and those rowdy leaders happened to include the one and only, Jake Jensen.

It's like all year you've been circling each other. A shared elective, run-ins at parties you didn't want to be at, collisions in the campus cafe. It could be your steady diet of romcoms and cheesy novellas but you can't help but hope this is it. The perfect opportunity for him to confess the same feelings fluttering in your chest everytime you meet.

That same giddy bubbling brews on your stomach as you battle your reflection. You wish you'd thought to buy a new swimsuit. This old black one-piece speckled with little white daisies is so amateur. It's too safe. Too simple.

"So," Zoe leans on the door frame in a sheer sarong and blood orange bikini with strongs cross crossed at the back of the top and around her hips, "the guys texted. Said they got us a good spot at the beach."

"The guys..." You murmur as you pull on your crochet cover-up.

“It’s gonna be awesome! I know you were expecting it to be just us girls…”

“Totally cool.” You assure her.

“We got the cooler loaded up. Did you have anything to put in it?” She asks.

“Erm, oh yeah, just uh, one sec.” You abandon your efforts to turn your pumpkin into a royal carriage. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.

You slip past Zoe and grab the four pack of organic sodas from your room. The blackberry tonic is zero alcohol but the glass bottles could fool anyone. You tear through the cardboard and slip them in with the cans. You’re sure to bury them in the ice to hide the labels.

You help Shella, the fourth of your group, carry the chest out of the house and haul it up into the back of Kelly’s tiny Kia. You squeeze into the back seat and hug your beach bag as you try not to jitter with nerves. Be cool. This is your chance. You and Jake on a beach. You try not to think about him without a shirt…

The drive is interminably long. You squirm as you rehearse your lines in your head. Don’t be too obvious. Be like Zoe. Be chill. Be nonchalant. Aloof, if you will.

Finally, you get to the beach. Well, the parking lot. It’s packed with SUVs and cars with bicycles strapped to their rooves and fenders. You help Shella with the cooler again as Zoe and Kelly shoulder their bags and gab about their fresh manicures.

You make your way down the narrow path between scruffy patches of roots and leaves and come out into the open swathe of sand. Kelly holds up her phone and squints, flicking up her sunglasses. “He said they’re around here… somewhere.”

A frisbee flies in your direction and Zoe yipes as it skims her sunhat and hits you in the shoulder. You wince and scowl. She turns to pick it up as her name wafts through the air.

“Colin!” She turns and flings it at him meanly.

“How else was I gonna get your attention?” He scoffs as he approaches, the hair on his chest speckled with sweat and his nose slightly sunburnt.

“Maybe don’t,” she sneers. He chuckles.

“Come on, babe, I got a strawberry kiwi vodka with your name on it.” He purrs.

“That won’t work on me.”

“It did last time,” he snickers.

“Shut the fuck up!” She exclaims.

He winks and turns, hooking his arm through hers. She lets him as he saunters forward. You follow with Shella as Kelly waves at the rest of the group. Your feet sink into the sand with the weight of the chest. 

You catch sight of Jake as he grins at Kelly. Your heart flips. You slow, lost in the haze of the sweltering sun, or maybe your ridiculous crush. Shella huffs.

“They never do the hard work,” she grunts.

“Oh, sorry,” you hike up the cooler.

“It’s heavy as fuck,” she gripes.

“Hey, ladies, need some help?” A deep voice startles you as someone appears behind the chest. 

Shella squeaks and you look up at the man. He’s older; there’s silver glimmering in his short hair and speckled through the thick stubble on his chin. He doesn’t wait for either of you to answer as he catches the handles, his knuckles pressed to yours.

“Oh, thanks, dude,” Shella says with a glint in her tone. “That’s like, so… valiant.”

The man chuckles. “That where you’re headed?” He gestures ahead to the group of guys with your companions.

“Uh, yeah, that’s us.” You answer.

He glances at you, his brow tweaks. “Really? You hanging around those chumps?” He easily holds the cooler. “Can’t even carry a heavy load for pretty girls like you?”

“Yeah, they suck,” Shella rolls her eyes and lets go. She turns and struts ahead. “Zoe, you bitch–”

You slowly detached from the cooler. “Um, thanks. That’s… nice.”

“No problem.” He starts forward and you walk awkwardly beside him. “What’s your drink of choice, huh? Tequila? This thing full of rose?”

“Aha, er… blackberry tonic.” You drone as your eyes stray ahead, clinging to Jake as his gaze finds yours.

“Tonic? Interesting.” The man remarks.

“Uh huh,” you utter mindlessly as you near the group, waving at Jake with a dumb grin.

The man grunts and sets down the cooler on the blanket spread out beneath another, a pair of sandals, and several crumpled towels. He stands straight and stretches. You turn as his shadow casts over you.

“Oh, well… thank you. I’ll let you get back to your own… er fun?” You sway nervously.

“Sure, doll face. And you can start yours.” He winks and stares at you. You squirm and chew your cheek. “Nick, by the way.”

He holds out his hand. You look at it; his fingers are thick. You hesitate at the old fashioned gesture but accept and murmur your name.

“Almost as pretty as you,” he smirks and lets you go. “Don’t get too wild on that tonic.”

He backs up slowly then finally turns. You watch his broad corded back as he retreats. His body doesn’t betray as much as the grey in his hair.

You quickly spin around as you hear Jake’s voice. You quickly slip in between Kelly and Shella. You smile at him. “Hey.”

“Hey. Didn’t see you earlier.” He drawls and pauses to sip the foam from a fresh cracked can.

“I was unloading the car.” You say.

He stares at you, silent for a moment. His throat bobs. Is he just as nervous as you?

“Oh, so, how’d you do on that Lit exam? I totally bombed.” He intones.

“I did okay.” You hide your disappointment. You don’t want to talk about class. “Er… how’s baseball?”

“Season’s over. Training won’t be for two months. Not much up.” He shrugs.

“Oh…”

“Jake!” Zoe trills as she skips over. “You said you were going to show me that butterfly paddle.”

“Did I?” He turns away from you.

You deflate, just slightly. Well, you can’t expect to be the main character. You’ll get your chance. You just need to shake your nerves off.

Jake strides off with Zoe towards the water. You turn as Shella digs out a can from the cooler. You’re tempted to bum some vodka off her but you’re not one for drinking. It just makes your head hurt. You just need to breathe and get yourself together.

You grab a tonic and struggle with the metal cap. Right. You didn’t think of that. You look around; Colin’s getting handsy with Kelly, his eyes darting out to Zoe in the water, and Shella’s shaking her head at Chase as he flexes, and Hayden smacks his arm to make him stop. Somehow you always end up the odd one out.

You swallow and near the group still ashore. No one notices as an argument breaks out between Chase and Hayden about the barbeque back at the airBNB. Shella blows a raspberry and tells them they’re both stupid. 

You chuckle and Chase sneers at you. “Oh, you’re here.”

You wince. “Sorry, I–”

“And what’s that you’re drinking?” He snatches your drink before you can back up. “Horse piss?” He pretends to read the label. “Lame. Soda?”

“Hey, give it back.” You reach for it and he drops it past your grasp. It spills on the blanket beneath your feet.

“Fuck, now look what you did.” He spits.

“No, you–”

“Chase, you’re a dick.”

“She fucking laughed at me.” He kicks the bottle and turns his attention on Shella. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you, baby.”

You pick up the bottle and frown at the dregs left in the bottom. Hayden ignores you as he pretends to be distracted with the strings on his swimsuit. Colin and Kelly get closer and closer to each other at the corner of the blanket. Great… maybe you can go out and hang with Zoe and Jake.

You lean the mostly empty bottle against the side of the cooler. You toy with the tails of your cover-up and eye the water. You search out Zoe and Jake. They’re splashing each other out in the tides.

You lift your coverup over your head and put it on your beach bag. You cross the blanket and stop short. As you step into the sand, you watch as Zoe and Jake tangle up in each other.

Time slows down as they sway around and your chest pits as they get closer and closer. Their lips meet and your breath is crushed from your lungs. Your eyes sting as Colin snarls loudly.

“The fuck, Zoe?!”

Kelly squeals as Colin throws his can in the sand and shoulders past her. She scoffs and watches him. “Ew. Fuck off, dude. Ugh!”

Chase cackles as he drapes his arm around Shella. “Amateurs.”

Hayden looks up from a book and sighs. You swallow tightly and look down. You quickly flick away your shock and horror with your lashes. You force a smile.

“Is… there a bathroom around here?” You croak out.

“I saw one on the way in. Out in the lot.” Kelly says. “What a fucking douche, huh?”

“Not really. Zoe is objectively hotter.” Chase snorts.

“Fuck off, micro dick.” Kelly retorts, earning another laugh from the jerk.

“Dude,” Shella pushes his arm off her. “You’re a dick.”

“Big one,” he taunts as he grabs his shorts.

“Um… gotta go.”

You flee quickly across the beach, forgetting your bag and coverup for the flurry in your stomach. You don’t think anyone realises or cares about your heartbreak but you can’t sit and stew in it with them. You hurdle up the jagged path to the lot, sandals clapping under your feet, and barge into the bathrooms.

You hide in a stall. You grip your head and focus on breathing. You can’t be upset over something that never was. The whole thing with Jake was never really anything. It was all in your head. Yet, it hurts so bad.

You should’ve known. You’re not good enough. You’re not a TikTok hottie like Zoe or a breezy blonde like Kelly; you’re you. Plain, unassuming, nothing special about you. But Jake isn’t like those other guys; he’s sweet and smart and… too good for you.

You shudder and stare at the stall door. Someone knocks. Dang.

“Sorry, uh…” you flush the toilet then open the door. 

You squeeze past the impatient beach body and stop to wash your hands at the sink. You step out and head back to the path. You can see them on the blanket; Jake and Zoe are back and still all over each other. You can’t make yourself go back.

Just walk it off. You get to the end of the path and head in the opposite direction. The smell of greasy fries and onions tug at your nose. There’s food trucks parked at the other end of the sand. You clomp through the sand in your flip flops, running from the reality behind you.

Shoot. You left your bag behind. You can’t even treat your lovesickness with a dose of fried carbs. 

You stop between the lines, resisting inevitability. You’ll have to go back eventually. Not yet. You’re still too frazzled. You have to play it cool. You can’t let anyone know how stupid you really are. Deluded, even.

“Hey,” you’re startled by the same deep voice as before. “You again.”

You turn to that man. Nick. He has a shirt on but it’s unbuttoned and shows off his muscles. You bat your lashes and try to smile. You can’t.

“Do you like strawberry?” He offers.

He has two cups in his hand; some sort of slushy.

“Um…”

“I asked for cherry but they made the wrong one first time so I got a freebie.” He says. “But I can take the strawberry if you’d rather cherry.”

“Hm, oh… don’t you…”

“Here with a buddy. He’s got kids. I needed a break and he’s into keto or whatever. No sugar.” He explains. “Hate for it to go to waste.”

“It’s nice of you but…” you stare at the cup. A thousand times on campus they warned you about taking drinks from strangers but they meant fratboys and their raging hormones. This guy’s older and he’s there with a dad. He could even be a dad himself. “Okay, that’s… sweet.”

“You seem like you need it. Doing all the work.” He holds out the light pink cup. “You look sad. Your friends got you like that?”

“It’s really not… you know, college drama.” You shrug. “Really. I’m sure you have bigger problems.” You accept the cup. It’s so cold it hurts your hand. “I’ll let you enjoy your alone time.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I just didn’t want to be around screaming grade schoolers.” He says. “I don’t mind a pretty girl.”

You shake your head. “Right. That’s…”

“Coming on a bit strong, huh?” He smirks. “I get it. I saw the way you were looking at that guy. He’s real cute. Totally you’re type.”

You move out of the way as the lines around you shift. He gestures you out from those waiting for their orders. You slowly retreat as he follows.

“I’m not his…” You mutter.

“Really?” He asks. “Doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“You…” you stop and face him. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not for lack of trying.” He insists. “It’s Spring Break. College goes by fast. Live while you’re young. All those cliches.” He stops to suck on the straw. “Trust me.” He licks his lips. “It really does pass you by.”

“Maybe it’s not a bad thing.”

“Not too late to turn it around.” He looks around, “hey, there’s shade.” He points. “Sit, drink, it’ll help.”

“I…” you glance down the beach. “Sure.” You turn and follow his finger to the shady spot beside the tree. The sand is cooler there. “Thanks, again.”

“No problem. Maybe some of my luck will rub off on you.” He says.

You turn and he offers his hand. He helps you sit before he settles in next to you. This isn’t how you expected this vacation to go but it seems like you expected too much. You bend your legs, leaning your forearms on your knees, and cradle the cup.

“Gonna try it?” He asks.

“Oh, uh… yeah.”

“Cheers.” He holds up his cup.

You move stiffly. You tap your cup off his then drink. He does too. It’s so sweet your cheeks pinch. You blink.

“Oof, sugary.” You say.

“Just a little,” he agrees. You peek over and find him watching you. “So, college girl, what are you studying?”

“It’s lame. Ugh… infrastructure planning. You know, city streets and whatever.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“Not really.”

“No, it is. That’s good work. I mean, imagine the chaos if there was no one doing it? No stop signs, no street lights… no rules.” He stops and hums. “As much fun as that can be, there has to be some order.”

You push your shoulders up. It’s like he’s insinuating something but you’re not sure. You think you’ve learned your lesson. You won’t read into things. They’re not that deep.

“I guess. My dad said it will get me a good job. Good retirement plan. So… that’s life. Always trying to figure out how to pay the bills.”

“You’re not far off.”

“What… do you do?” You ask.

“Security.” He says. “Boring stuff.”

“Oh, like… a guard or something?”

“Or something.” He says. “Really, not very interesting.”

“Right,” you nod. You take another drink. You examine the cup. There’s layers to it, the ice separating from the liquid.

“My buddy didn’t really think this out when he picked the dates. Place is crowded.” He says. “But I can’t complain. Meeting pretty girls and all.”

“Yeah, lots of them around here.” You drone.

“And yet, there’s only one I’m looking at.” He muses.

You look at him again. You drink nervously, draining all of the sugary liquid. So fast, it clogs your throat. You cough and cover your mouth, planting the cup of ice in the sand on your other side.

“You see, the young ones don’t get it. Boys. But a man, a real man sees exactly what you are, doll face.” He touches your shoulder. You flinch and turn back to him. “You’re the prize. Sweet thing like you.”

“Oh, um…”

“Smile for me. Please.” He pets your skin.

You stare at him, stunned by his forwardness. Moreso, burning in your own flesh. You gulp and smile. He bites his lip.

“You really are something, doll face.” His fingers follow the strap of your swimsuit. “This is… nice too.” You look down at your swimsuit. “Daisies… so innocent.” He growls. “Can I pluck your flower, doll face?”

You blink at him and a gloss softens your vision. You furrow your brows and try to flick away the glaze. You rub your eyes.

“Um, I should… go.”

You get up to your knees and waver. You fall back onto your bottom. You grab your head as it bobbles on your neck. “Oh…”

“Shh, honey. It’s so hot out here, sweating and all. You shouldn’t be drinking so fast.”

“Was there… alcohollll.” Your voice drags on your tongue.

“Not much. Not enough to…interact with the good stuff.”

“Inter… inter…” you babble.

He hushes you again. He gets closer and stretches his arm across your back. He hauls you up but you can’t stand on your own. You have no choice but to lean on him.

“Better get you somewhere safe before the beach police see you. Public intoxication is more than a ticket.” He drawls.

“Wh-what?”

“I got you, doll face.” He purrs as he ushers you away from the beach and past the shady tree.

“What are you–what’s going–” You slur. “Something’s… wrong.”

Your feet are heavy and clumsy. He’s quiet as he urges you on. As you get to the parking lot, he’s as good as carrying you.

He takes you to an SUV. The locks click loudly. He pops open the hatch. The seats are folded down. He peers around then scoops you up. He puts you in as you gurgle, eyes rolling under your lids.

“It’s alright, doll face.” He coaxes as he brings your wrists together and uses a bungee cord to secure them. “I know how to treat a pretty thing like you.” He ties your ankles too. “I know better than to let a good thing go so easy.” He shoves a folded cloth in your mouth and wraps another strip around your head. “I’m gonna make all those dreams you had about that silly boy even better.”

Still, your grip tightened around the strap as you stopped at the bottom of the metal steps, headset crackling softly in one ear while the rest of the lot moved around you in controlled chaos.

Someone shouted for a runner near the mouth of the alley. Someone else cursed over a missing prop weapon that apparently had been signed out by second unit and never returned. A golf cart rolled past carrying two makeup artists, one assistant director, and what looked like half a corpse slumped between them, the dummy’s rubber arm bouncing obscenely with every bump in the pavement.

Normal set stuff.

Mostly.

You told yourself that like it helped.

The back lot smelled like hot dust, burnt coffee, fake smoke, and cable rubber warming under the late morning sun. All around you, people moved with purpose. Crew in black shirts, utility belts, and radios. Grips hauling stands over one shoulder like they weighed nothing. Costumes darting through with garment bags lifted above their heads. Across the lot, some of the stunt team were packing up from the tents, hauling mats, crash pads, and rigging cases toward the far side of the back lot where the rigging bay was being set up, all broad shoulders and bruised elbows, laughing too loudly over some story you were not yet familiar enough to be included in.

That was fine.

You were new.

Not brand new, not green enough to be useless, but new to this. New to a production this big. New to call sheets that looked more like military briefings. New to trailers with names printed on plaques instead of gaffer tape. New to actors whose faces were on billboards and stunt coordinators whose reputations could make or break careers with one phone call.

You had worked on sets before. Smaller ones. Cheaper ones. Productions where half the stunt mats had duct tape on the seams and lunch was whatever sandwiches had survived under cling wrap by the time you got to them. Jobs where everybody did a bit of everything because there was never enough money, never enough time, never enough hands.

You knew how to work hard. You knew how to keep your head down. You knew how to listen the first time and remember the important things without needing someone to repeat themselves.

But this was different.

This job had weight.

This was the sort of production people talked about before they talked about you. The kind of line on a resume that made someone’s eyebrows lift. The kind of opportunity you were not supposed to get by accident.

Except, in a way, you had.

The usual stunt team assistant had been pulled across to another unit two days ago when scheduling went sideways, and your name had been offered up like a solution before anyone had time to argue. You had been useful enough on smaller jobs, organised enough that someone remembered you, quiet enough that no one minded having you around.

And you were cheap. 

That was how you got here.

A swap-in. A patch job. A temporary fix with a headset and a clipboard, trying desperately not to look like one.

You adjusted the strap of the harness bag on your shoulder and glanced down at the tablet tucked under your arm.

Barnes, B. Harness suit. Back lot sequence. Rigging prep before movement rehearsal. Confirm notes from yesterday’s fall reset. Check left shoulder adjustment. Relay any changes to Jensen

Simple.

Practical.

You could do practical.

You liked practical. Practical had steps. Practical had labels. Practical told you where you fitted. As long as you followed the list, checked the bag, confirmed the notes, and did what you were there to do, nothing could go wrong.

At least, that was what you kept telling yourself while you tried to force down the ugly little voice in your head whispering that you did not really belong here. That sooner or later someone was going to realise you were a swap-in, a patch job, a cheaper pair of hands wearing a headset and pretending that made you part of the machine.

Your mind kept circling back to that morning, when you had first arrived and made your way toward the stunt tents with your pass flipped backwards and your stomach sitting somewhere near your throat. You had been trying to follow the site map without looking like you were following the site map, which meant you were already distracted when Nick Fowler stepped out of his trailer in sunglasses and a white shirt that probably cost more than your rent.

You had almost tripped over your own feet.

You had not stared.

Not really.

Maybe a little.

Everyone stared at Nick Fowler eventually. That was half the reason he was Nick Fowler.

Movie star. Leading man. Studio darling. The sort of man who looked unreal even when he was just standing near a craft table, one hand curled around a takeaway coffee, smiling at someone from publicity like whatever they were saying was the most fascinating thing he had ever heard.

You had seen him on screens before. Everyone had. You had seen him bruised beautifully in action trailers, brooding in expensive suits, bleeding from the mouth in close-up while some trembling heroine touched his face. You had seen him sell violence like romance and romance like a threat.

Seeing him in person had been worse.

Not because he was nicer. Not because he was warmer. Just because he was real in a way celebrities were not supposed to be. Tall. Broad. Dark-haired. Ridiculously composed while half the crew orbited around him like he had his own gravity.

He had looked effortless, which somehow made him harder to ignore. Like the whole lot bent around him without him needing to ask. Like even standing there with one hand curled around a takeaway coffee, smiling at someone from publicity, he already knew the light would find him.

You had dragged your attention away before anyone caught you looking.

Since then, you had been doing a very good job of not thinking about Nick Fowler.

Mostly.

Your earpiece popped with static.

“Stunt assist, where are we on Barnes?”

You pressed two fingers to the mic at your cheek, shifting the bag higher before you answered.

“Outside his trailer now. I’ll confirm notes and bring him to rigging.”

“Copy. Don’t let him wander. Wilson wants him moving in 20mins”

You looked up at the plaque on the trailer door.

B. Barnes

Right. No pressure, then.

You breathed in through your nose, out through your mouth and tried to shake the heat out of your palms. The harness bag was heavy against your hip, the tablet hard beneath your arm. You could feel the faint press of your lanyard against your chest, your pass flipped backwards because of course it was. You fixed it quickly, smoothing your thumb over your own name like that might make you feel more official.

You belonged here.

You had been hired. Assigned. Trusted with a task.

Small task, maybe, but still.

Do the small things properly and people gave you bigger things. That was how this worked. That was how you built a career without a famous last name, without family in the industry, without anyone waiting around to open doors for you.

You checked the call sheet again even though you did not need to.

Trailer: Barnes. Location: Row C.

You were at Row C.

You were at Barnes.

You had the harness.

Everything was fine.

A crash echoed somewhere behind the facade buildings, followed by three people yelling at once and then laughter when someone shouted, “Reset!”

You flinched anyway.

Great. So professional.

You squared your shoulders, climbed the two metal steps, and lifted your hand to knock.

Your knuckles had barely touched the door before a voice called from inside.

“Yeah, come in.”

Low. Male. Unbothered.

You shifted the bag once more, balancing the tablet under your elbow, and pushed the door open with your free hand.

The air inside the trailer was cooler than outside, touched with expensive cologne, clean laundry, and the faint stale sweetness of coffee that had been sitting too long. The blinds were half-drawn, slicing the room into strips of dusty light. A couch ran along one wall, a small table crowded with water bottles, protein bars, tape, pens, and a notebook. A jacket had been tossed over the back of a chair. Someone’s boots sat near the kitchenette, one upright and one on its side like it had given up halfway through being put away.

And on the couch, stretched out like he had never once hurried for anyone in his life, was who you were looking for.

At least, that was what your brain decided in the first second.

Because there was that strange, startling hit of recognition. Dark hair. Broad chest. Long legs. Blue eyes lifting from his phone as you came in, sharp enough to catch you before your thoughts had properly settled. For one stupid, breathless moment, all you could think was how much Barnes looked like Fowler.

You had been told they were brothers. Half-brothers, technically. Different dads. But you weren’t someone that let stuff like that matter to you, not like it did some of the others who loved a good industry gossip on set.

But looking at him now, half-dressed in costume, white tank clinging to warm skin and hard muscle, one arm thrown along the back of the couch while the other loosely held his phone, you would have believed twins. He looked the part of the movie star too well. Too at home with it. Lounging in the dim trailer, browsing his phone like the whole production could wait until he felt like standing up.

You had expected practical.

You had expected someone focused. Maybe a little blunt. Maybe already halfway into work mode, asking if Wilson and Torres had changed the reset again or whether the shoulder adjustment had been fixed after yesterday.

Instead, he smiled.

Slow.

Amused.

Like you had arrived at exactly the right time for something, only you had no idea what.

You hesitated for half a breath, just long enough for your nerves to kick you in the ribs.

Do not be weird.

Do not stare.

Do your job.

“Hi,” you started, clearing your throat, stepping fully inside and letting the door fall shut behind you. “Sorry to interrupt. Their starting to set up over on the rig." 

His eyes moved over you, not rushed. Not subtle either. From your headset to the tablet under your arm, down to the harness bag hanging off your shoulder, then back to your face.

“You are?”

Something about the question landed strangely, but you pushed past it.

“I’ve got your harness suit for the back lot sequence, and I was told to check if there were any notes you needed relayed before prep. Sam wants you moving over there in twenty.”

The man on the couch looked at you for another beat.

Then his smile deepened. 

“You’re new.”

It was not a question.

Heat prickled at the back of your neck, but you managed a small laugh, the kind you used when senior crew made jokes you were not sure were jokes yet.

“That obvious?”

“A little.”

“Good to know I’m blending in seamlessly.”

His eyes brightened like he enjoyed that.

You shifted your weight, suddenly too aware of how small the trailer felt with the door closed.

You didn't want to say you felt unsafe. Not exactly. Just closed in. Quiet in a way the lot outside had not been. The kind of quiet that made every rustle of fabric and soft hum of the air conditioning stand out.

You put the harness bag down on the little table nearby, careful not to knock over the crowded line of water bottles and tape rolls, then unlocked your tablet with a quick swipe of your thumb.

The checklist opened where you had left it, all clean boxes and neat little notes, but the time in the corner of the screen seemed to glare back at you. Twenty minutes sounded generous when someone said it over comms. It felt much smaller standing here, watching him lounge on the couch like the whole back lot was not already shifting around the space he was supposed to fill.

He did not seem phased by it. Not even a little.

You anchored yourself to the checklist anyway.

“I just need to confirm a few things before we head over. Yesterday there was a note about the left shoulder sitting too high after the second reset. Was that adjusted at fitting?”

He blinked at you.

Not blankly.

Worse.

Entertained.

“Left shoulder,” he repeated.

“Yes.” You looked up. Expecting a proper answer. “On the harness.”

“Right.”

He sat forward then, phone forgotten on the cushion beside him. The movement made the muscles in his arms shift under the tank, and you hated that you noticed. Hated more that he seemed to notice you noticing.

“Shoulder’s been giving me trouble,” he nodded.

That was not really an answer.

You tapped your fingers lightly against the edge of the tablet.

“Okay. Is it still sitting wrong, or was that corrected?”

His mouth twitched.

“You tell me.”

You stared at him. What? 

He stared back, utterly unhelpful.

For one dreadful second, you wondered if this was some kind of stunt team thing. Some hazing-adjacent test for the new assistant. Make her ask the same question four ways and see if she cracked.

You did not crack.

You smiled politely.

“I can check once you’re in the suit,” you offered, thankful you had experience outside of your scope now “I just need to know whether there were notes from fitting that haven’t made it back to rigging.”

“Notes,” he repeated again, like the word amused him.

“Yes. You had a notebook yesterday, apparently?”

That made him pause.

Only for a second.

Then he looked around the trailer as if he had never seen the inside of it before.

“Notebook,” he murmured. “Yeah. I’ve got that somewhere.”

He stood.

You took an automatic half-step back, not because he moved toward you exactly, but because he unfolded from the couch with a kind of lazy height that changed the dimensions of the room. He was taller than he had looked sitting down. Broader too. The tank hung tight around his body, low around the neckline, exposing the hard line of his collarbone and the hard lines of tones mussel. 

Not helpful.

Very much not relevant to the task.

He moved toward the small table and began looking through the clutter with no urgency at all.

Not searching. Browsing.

He picked up one notebook, flipped it open upside down, glanced at a page, then set it back on top a roll of athletic tape. He opened a drawer. Closed it. Picked up a pen. Looked at the pen like it had personally failed him. Put it down again.

You watched in growing concern.

This wasn't what you had expected. 

Maybe he’s tired? The thought came to you.

Maybe he had taken a hit yesterday. Stunt people did that. Got rattled and refused to admit it because the whole job was pretending impact did not hurt.

Or maybe Bucky Barnes was just odd.

That was allowed.

Plenty of people on sets were odd. You had once worked with a fight coordinator who refused to step onto a green mat unless he had eaten exactly two bananas. A lead actress on another job had cried because someone changed the brand of sparkling water in her trailer. One gaffer had called every cable by a different woman’s name and somehow everyone knew which was which.

Compared to that, a stunt double being mildly strange about his own notes was not the end of the world.

Still.

You checked your watch.

Sixteen minutes. Fifteen. This was taking too long. 

“Sorry-” The word came out tighter than you wanted, clipped around the edge of your nerves before you could smooth it over. Your fingers tightened around the tablet. “I don’t mean to rush you, but we’re tight on prep, and surely you remember what you wrote down? Even just the basics would help.”

He glanced back over his shoulder, and the blue of his eyes caught you for half a second longer than you wanted. Too bright in the dim trailer. Too amused.

“You always this bossy?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

His smile widened, morphing, sharper this time, like he had hooked a finger under the edge of your composure and found it interesting when it lifted.

“I’m not being bossy,” you pulled back. “We're on a schedule.”

A quiet laugh left him.

Warm. Low. Much too pleased.

“Schedule,” he repeated. “That what we’re calling it?”

You did not know what to do with that.

So, you did what you always did when you did not know what to do.

You went back to the work.

“We really need to get you into the harness for this quickly so we can get going." 

His gaze flicked to the harness bag.

Then back to you.

But somehow the air in the trailer changed around it.

“Do we?” he asked, the way he said the word made your stomach knot. 

You stared at him again.

“Yes,” you nodded slower this time, because surely he was joking.  “That is generally the idea before a rigging rehearsal.”

He smiled like you had given him exactly what he wanted. That, more than anything else so far, should have warned you.

But you were new, and nervous, and painfully aware of the voice in your ear that could crackle to life at any second asking why Barnes was not at the back lot yet.

You did not have time to untangle why Bucky Barnes was being weird.

You had a harness suit to fit, notes to confirm, and a reputation to build one completed task at a time.

So you set your tablet down on the small table, unzipped the bag, and pulled out the harness.

You held the harness out to him.

His eyebrow lifted as he looked at it, then back at you.

“What happened to we?”

You blinked.

He stepped closer, still smiling, taking the harness from your hands with the same lazy ease he seemed to do everything else.

“Pretty sure it takes two people.”

Your fingers flexed uselessly at your sides, suddenly empty. While you he stood in the middle of the trailer with one foot already through the lower opening of the harness and that same lazy almost-smile still cutting across his mouth like he knew you were trying not to look. watching as he stepped into the harness, sliding it over his pants.  “You said we’re on the clock,” he added, blue eyes fixed on you like this was all far more entertaining than it should have been. “Better hurry and help.”

Your eyes narrowed, focusing on him.

Which was irritating, because of course you were trying not to look.

Or at least, not to look in any way that could be mistaken for anything other than professional attention.

Professional attention was allowed. Necessary, even. You had to look at the way the harness sat over his hips. You had to make sure the leg loops were not twisted. You had to check the waist belt did not catch on the costume pieces he was already wearing.

You had to assess whether the shoulder straps were going to sit correctly once you brought the upper section into place.

That was work.

 You weren’t looking at the body that was underneath.

Get it together 

The fact that his tank had ridden up slightly when he stepped into the rig, exposing a narrow line of skin above the waistband of his pants, was not relevant.

The fact that he had the kind of torso that made fitted wardrobe choices feel deeply unfair was also not relevant.

"I think you're supposed to start helping now." He prompted. Snapping you back into the moment as you reached out to help. 

You gripped the loose strap hanging near his hip and pulled your focus back to where it belonged.

“Can you turn slightly?”

He did.

Slowly.

Because apparently even following a basic instruction needed to be done like he had an audience.

You kept your expression neutral as you stepped in closer and gathered the back panel of the harness, lifting it so it would not snag. The trailer seemed to shrink around you the moment you moved into his space. The cool air conditioning still hummed overhead, but it did not quite reach the warmth collecting under your collar.

He smelled good.

That was your first mistake, noticing that.

Not the stale coffee smell of the trailer. Not sweat or fake blood or the faint chemical tang of makeup adhesive you had come to associate with stunt prep. Something cleaner. Expensive. Warm against the cotton of his tank and the bare skin near his neck. 

Made your head feel a little heavy. 

Stop it.

You swallowed and reached for the left shoulder strap.

“This is the side that was sitting high?”

His gaze dropped to your hands.

“If you say so.”

Your fingers paused on the hardware.

A flicker of irritation cut cleanly through the nerves.

“I’m asking because the note says it was sitting high yesterday.” going back to the earlier conversation. 

“Makes sense.”

You looked up at him, brows pitching. 

He looked back down at you, entirely too calm.

For a second, the tablet on the table might as well have been screaming.

Thirteen minutes.

You could feel the time slipping under your skin, every second too loud, every silence too stretched. Somewhere outside, a truck reversed with a shrill electronic beep. A voice over comms crackled faintly through your earpiece, distorted and distant, someone calling for a prop reset on another unit.

The whole production was moving.

Waiting.

And he was smiling at you like this was the most relaxed part of his morning.

"We can make adjustments once I'm in." 

“Right,” you breathed, more to yourself than him. “Okay.”

You stepped around him and guided the rear strap up between his shoulder blades. The motion brought you close enough that your knuckles brushed the warm line of his back through the thin cotton of his tank.

Barely anything.

A touch that meant nothing.

Still, his head turned slightly.

You saw it from the corner of your eye. The small shift. The attention sharpening.

“You done this a lot?” he asked.

“Done what?” You asked trying not to lose focus.

“Strapped men in." There it was again. That edge under the words. That little hook hidden in something that could have been innocent if he had not sounded so pleased with himself. 

Your jaw tightened. You fed the strap through the guide loop and tugged it flat.

“I’ve worked with stunt gear before.” You didn’t want to play the game, but he was drawing you in.

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“No,” you returned before you could stop yourself, “but it’s the answer I’m giving.”

He laughed. Not that anyone outside would hear. Just a soft, low sound that curled in the small space between you and made your stomach tighten in a way you resented immediately.

“You always like this when you’re nervous?”

Your hands stilled.

“I’m not nervous.”

“No?”

“No.”

He hummed like he did not believe you. You didn't believe you. Not with the way your pulse felt in your throat. 

You reached for the buckle at his side a little too sharply.

The metal clicked louder than it needed to.

“Arms slightly forward.”

He obeyed, but his mouth was still curved when you stepped around to face him again. You had to lift the front section of the harness against his chest, lining the straps beneath his arms and checking that the straps sat flat over the tank. It was a normal adjustment. Routine. Something you had watched a dozen riggers do without blinking.

Except your fingers were near his ribs now.

His very solid, very warm ribs.

And he was watching you.

Not the harness. Not your hands.

You.

“You got a name?” 

You glanced up, startled despite yourself.

“I gave you my name.”

“Did you?” His head tilted slightly, smug curiosity 

“Yes.”

“Huh.” His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was pretending to search his memory. “Must’ve been distracted.”

Of course he had been.

Because God forbid anything about this be straightforward.

Maybe this is just… a family thing. Barnes being related to a movie star, bad habits had rubbed off. 

You told him your name again, clipped and professional, while you pulled the right strap through the buckle and flattened it with your thumb.

He repeated it once, like he was checking the shape of it.

Then his mouth tipped.

“Nah,” he decided. “Too formal.”

Your fingers paused.

“I’m sorry?”

He hummed, eyes narrowing with smug concentration. “Maybe new girl.”

“No.”

“Bossy.”

“Definitely not.”

“Schedule,” he tried, like the word entertained him all over again.  "Call sheet?" 

You gave him a flat look.

His smile only widened.

“Got to find something for you,” he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to your hands before lifting back to your face. “I’ll figure it out.”

Your fingers slipped on the harness.

Only slightly.

His smile widened.

You hated him a little for noticing.

“You work with Wilson long?” he asked.

“No. I was brought in when Mara got pulled to second unit.”

“Mara.” He looked amused. “That why you look like you’re expecting someone to yell at you?”

“I don’t.” You pointed out 

“You do.”

“I’m focused. If you could to-”

“You’re wound tighter than this thing.”

You pulled the waist strap snug before you could think better of it.

Not hard enough to hurt.

Just enough that his breath shifted.

A small thing.

Barely there.

But you caught it.

His gaze flicked down, then back up to your face.

For the first time since you had walked in, something in his expression sharpened past amusement.

Your pulse gave one stupid, traitorous kick.

“Sorry,” you muttered, immediately easing the strap back a fraction. “Too tight?”

“No. But what guy does like something tight?"  Then he smiled again, smooth as anything. “Just checking if you knew what you were doing.”

You gave him a look before you could stop yourself.

“I do know what I’m doing.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

There was absolutely no reason for that to make heat crawl up your throat. Maybe it was delay reaction to his 'tight' comment. 

You dropped your attention back to the buckle.

“Can you widen your stance a little?”

He did not move right away, cocking an eyebrow in question. 

“For the leg straps,” you added, because apparently everything required legal clarification now.

“Right.”

Still smiling, he shifted his feet apart.

The movement made the loose lower straps fall against his thighs.

You stared at them.

At the straps.

Only at the straps.

Mostly.

Then you crouched.

It was fine.

It was work.

You had knelt in front of people for harness checks before. Dozens of times. Men, women, stunt performers, actors who complained the entire way through basic safety fittings, background performers who sweated through their costumes from sheer terror before they were even clipped to a wire.

This was nothing.

This was a leg loop.

A buckle.

You reached for the strap hanging near his right thigh and guided it around, careful not to brush more than you had to. The black webbing was stiff between your fingers, the metal hardware cool. You fed it through the keeper and tugged it flat, checking the lay against the seam of his pants.

Above you, he was quiet.

Too quiet.

You tried not to think about the angle.

Tried not to think about how close you were kneeling. How his legs framed the space in front of you. How the trailer door was closed behind you. How anyone walking in right now would probably get the wrong idea before they got the correct one.

Your cheeks warmed at the thought.

No. Absolutely not.

You were not going to invent embarrassment before it happened.

“Does that pinch?” you asked, tugging the strap once to check the tension.

“No.”

“Any restriction when you move?”

“Depends what kind of movement you mean.”

Your eyes closed for half a second. Not everything had to be a joke. Why couldn’t he take this seriously.

You opened them again and stared very hard at the buckle.

“Rigging movement.”

“Right.”

He sounded like he was fighting a smile.

You moved to the other leg before you could say something that got you fired. The second strap was sitting twisted from where he had stepped through. You leaned closer to untangle it, slipping one hand beneath the webbing to flip it flat.

Your knuckles brushed his inner thigh.

This time, the breath he took was not quite as easy to miss.

Neither was the way your own chest tightened in answer.

You froze.

Just for a second.

Then forced yourself to continue.

“Sorry,” you managed, voice low and careful. “Strap was twisted.”

“Don’t apologise.”

The words were softer than the others had been.

Not less amused exactly.

But lower.

Closer somehow.

Your fingers worked faster.

Too fast.

You had to redo the loop because you had threaded it wrong the first time, which only made the heat in your face worse.

You could feel him looking down at you.

You did not look up.

“You really are new,” he murmured.

That cut differently.

Your hands tightened around the strap.

For a second, the embarrassment flared hot enough to burn clean through the nerves.

“I know how to fit a harness.” You objected

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“You implied it.” Why was he making this so hard? You were both part of the stunt team, that was supposed to mean something.

“I implied you’re nervous.”

“We're on a schedule.” Again, as a professional that should mean something to him.

“There’s that word again.”

You pulled the strap snug and sat back on your heels, looking up before you could stop yourself.

“Because we are on one.”

"I'm sure they'll wait." 

The amusement in his face did not disappear, but it changed shape.

His head tilted slightly, blue eyes running over your flushed face, your tight mouth, the headset hooked over your ear.  For one second, he looked almost interested in something other than the game.

Then the trailer door opened.

Everything happened at once.

The burst of bright daylight.

The sound of the lot rushing back in.

Your head snapping toward the door.

The man standing there.

Dark hair. Broad shoulders. FX bruises blooming ugly along his cheek and jaw, fake blood smeared at his hairline, the tank torn and dirtied like he had already been thrown through half a building and come out irritated about it.

A notebook was gripped in his hand.

The notebook.

For one impossible second, your brain refused to organise what you were seeing.

Because the man in the doorway looked like the one above you. 

Well, not exactly.

Not now that you were seeing them. 

Brothers

How had you mistaken Nick Fowler. 

The Nick Fowler.. 

IDIOT 

The man in the doorway looked like him, but rougher. Harder. Real in a way the one standing above you had only been pretending to be. 

This one looked made of impact.

Muscle. Timing. Balance. Bruises.

And he was looking at you.

Assessing eyes. Focused. 

Kneeling between Nick Fowler’s legs.

Your hands still on the strap at his thigh.

The blood drained from your face so fast you felt dizzy.

“Oh my god,” you breathed.

Nick looked down at you.

Then over at the doorway.

Then he smiled.

The real Bucky Barnes did not.

His jaw tightened, eyes cutting from you to Nick with a kind of cold, immediate understanding that made your stomach drop through the floor.

For half a second, no one moved.

No one spoke.

Then Bucky’s voice cut through the trailer, low and sharp.

“Nick.”

Not loud. Worse.

Controlled.

Nick lifted both hands slightly, like he had been caught stealing biscuits instead of actively ruining your life.

“What?”

You scrambled backward so fast your heel caught on the edge of the open harness bag.

The tablet clattered against a water bottle behind you. Something rolled off the table and hit the floor with a small, useless sound.

“I-” Your voice broke. You pushed yourself up too quickly, nearly knocking into Nick’s hip, then lurched sideways to put space between you and both of them. “I’m so sorry. I thought- I mean, you were- the trailer said-”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you.

For one terrible second, you braced for the anger.

For the sharp correction. The look that said you had just proved every ugly little thought in your head right. Swap-in.

Patch job.

Cheap pair of hands. Could not even tell the talent from the stunt double.

But his expression shifted.

Not soft.

Not exactly.

But the edge of it moved away from you.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You blinked. Yes you had. 

Nick made a small sound, almost a laugh.

Bucky’s stare snapped back to him.

“You think this is funny?”

Nick shrugged, still standing there half-strapped into Bucky’s harness like the whole thing was a mildly inconvenient party trick.

“Honest mistake.

“No,” Bucky shot back. “An honest mistake is correcting her when she walked in.”

Nick’s mouth curved.

“I didn’t say I was you.” Nick shrugged, crossing his arms. 

“But you let her think it didn't you?” The accusation there. 

Your fingers curled uselessly around the strap of the harness bag, though you did not remember picking it up. Your ears were hot. Your chest felt tight. You wanted to shrink so small you could slip under the table and disappear between the water bottles and protein bars.

Nick glanced at you again, eyes still bright with the remains of his amusement.

“She was doing fine.”

Bucky stepped fully into the trailer

The space, already too small, seemed to lose another foot of air.

“That’s not the point.” 

Nick sighed, finally sounding bored.

“Come on, Buck.”

Bucky’s expression darkened.

“Don’t.”

One word.

Flat enough that even Nick paused.

You looked between them, your humiliation tangling with a new, horrible understanding. This was not the first time. Whatever this was, whatever Nick thought he was playing at, Bucky had seen it before.

Maybe not exactly like this.

But close enough.

Close enough that the disappointment in his face looked old.

Nick rolled his shoulders like the harness was annoying him now. Like you had inconvenienced him by not staying an easy joke.

“It was harmless.” Nick shrugged again, easing his weight on his back foot..

“You don’t get to decide that.”

The words landed hard.

Not shouted.

Not dramatic.

Just clear.

And for some reason, that made your throat sting worse than if Bucky had yelled at you instead.

Your earpiece crackled suddenly, too loud in the silence.

“Barnes, rigging bay in five. We need eyes on the line.”

You flinched.

Bucky glanced at your headset, then back to Nick.

“Get out of it.”

Nick’s brows lifted.

“The harness?”

“My harness.”

There was enough threat under it that even you understood the conversation had ended.

Nick looked at him a beat longer, then huffed a laugh and started unbuckling the waist strap with exaggerated patience.

You moved automatically.

“Here, I can-”

“No.”

Both brothers said it at once.

Your hands jerked back.

Nick looked entertained by that too.

Bucky looked like he might actually hit his brother.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Bucky inhaled once through his nose, slow and tight, then looked at you.

“Can you wait outside?”

There was nothing cruel in it.  No sharpness meant for you.

But it still hit like a dismissal.

Like being sent out of the room because you had made a mess too embarrassing to clean while you watched.

You nodded too quickly.

“Yeah. Of course. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to-”

But you were already grabbing your tablet, nearly dropping everything, shoving it against your chest with one hand while the other found the harness bag. You did not look at Nick. You did not trust your face not to betray exactly how stupid you felt.

The trailer door handle felt too cold under your palm.

Outside, the daylight hit hard.

The lot was still moving. Still loud. Still normal.

No one out there knew that you had just knelt in front of a movie star because he had let you think he was someone else.

No one knew that your cheeks were burning hot enough to hurt.

No one knew that your first real task for Bucky Barnes had gone so badly that the actual Bucky Barnes had found you with your hands on Nick Fowler’s thigh.

You stepped down from the trailer and stood beside the metal stairs, clutching the bag and tablet to your chest like they might hold you together if you squeezed hard enough.

Behind the closed door, the voices started.

Muffled.

Low.

Angry.

You closed your eyes.

Great.

Perfect.

More delays..

Behind the trailer door, the argument was still happening in low, muffled bursts, both voices too thickened by the walls for you to make out every word. That somehow made it worse. Your brain kept trying to fill in the blanks, offering up every possible version of what they might be saying in there.

Who  is she?

New assistant.

Is she stupid?

Apparently.

You opened your eyes again.

No.

You were not doing that.

You were absolutely not standing outside Bucky Barnes’ trailer, inventing new ways for people to think badly of you like the actual situation was not already doing enough damage by itself.

The lot had not stopped moving just because your stomach had dropped through the floor.

That felt unfair, somehow.

Crew still crossed between trailers with coffees and clipboards. A pair of background performers in half-applied grime laughed near the barricades. They had no idea how much of an idiot you'd jsut made of yourself. 

From across the back lot came the metallic clank of rigging cases being unloaded. Voices called measurements. Someone whistled sharply. Somewhere someone shouted something that carried over the false-front buildings before being swallowed by distance.

Everything was still happening.

The whole production kept breathing around you.

You clutched the harness bag tighter against your chest with the tablet. 

It was stupid, because the bag was not a shield. It could not cover your red face or erase the last ten minutes or explain why you had been kneeling in front of Nick Fowler like some ridiculous, humiliating punchline.

Nick Fowler.

You pressed your lips together until they hurt.

That was the part that made you want to crawl out of your own skin.

Not just because he was famous. Not just because everyone knew who he was. Not just because you had seen him that morning in sunglasses and that expensive white shirt and had, unfortunately, almost tripped over your own feet.

Because you had not recognised him.

Not properly.

All the context and behaviour clues had been there.. 

You had looked right at him and turned him into someone else because the trailer door told you to.

Because you were so desperate to be good at this that you had trusted the practical things over your own eyes.

The thought made your face burn all over again.

You shifted on your feet, tablet pressed flat to your ribs beneath one arm. Your headset felt too tight now, the little foam mic sitting near your cheek like an accusation. You could hear chatter through it, fragments of work continuing without you.

“-need the soft pads moved-”

“-copy, bringing wire team over now-”

“-where’s Barnes?”

Your shoulders jerked.

You lifted a hand halfway to your mic, then froze.

What were you supposed to say?

Harness problems?

No. Absolutely not.

Before you could decide, someone else answered over the channel.

“Barnes is on his way. Hold rigging.”

Bucky.

It had to be Bucky.

Your throat tightened.

You should have answered. You should have been useful. Instead, you were standing by the metal stairs like a child sent outside a principal’s office, waiting for someone to decide how much trouble you were in.

The voices inside rose suddenly.

Not loud enough to catch every word, but enough to sharpen into something recognisable.

Bucky first.

“-always do this.”

Then Nick, smoother, lighter.

“-wasn’t that serious.”

Then Bucky again, lower and harder.

“Not to you.”

You went very still.

The words were muffled, but they landed clearly enough.

Nick didn't take other seriously.  

Your fingers eased slightly on the harness bag before tightening again.

You hated that it made you feel better.

Not entirely. Not enough.

But a little.

Enough that your next breath came easier.

At least Bucky knew.

At least he understood that the joke had not landed where Nick thought it had. That it was not harmless just because Nick had been entertained. That you were new enough for the whole thing to feel dangerous in ways Nick probably never had to think about.

Nick Fowler could turn a mistake into a story people laughed about over drinks.

You could turn the same mistake into a reason no one trusted you with anything important again.

The trailer door opened.

You straightened so fast your back nearly popped.

Nick stepped out first.

Of course he did.

He had managed to free himself from most of the harness, he looked exactly the same as before. Untouched. Unbothered. Hair still perfectly disordered. Tank still fitted in that unfair, casual way. Mouth still curved in that smug smile, as if whatever had happened inside had amused him more than it should have.

You wished he looked even a little embarrassed.

He did not.

His blue eyes found you immediately.

There was a different shape to his attention now. Not less playful, exactly. Maybe more deliberate. Like the joke had worked, but your reaction had interested him more than the setup.

“Sorry about the mix-up,” he offered.

It sounded almost sincere.

Almost.

Then his mouth tipped at the corner.

“Straps." 

Your jaw tightened.

Of course.

Of course that was the one he was keeping.

You did not answer.

Mostly because you did not trust what might come out.

Nick’s smile widened, like your silence gave him something too.

“Guess I’ll see you around." 

Behind him, Bucky appeared in the doorway.

Nick glanced back over his shoulder, all easy charm and deliberate provocation.

“Don’t look at me like that, Buck. I’m going to makeup. Apparently I have to go be pretty for a living.”

Bucky’s expression did not change.

“Go.”

Nick put one hand over his heart.

“Wounded.”

“You’ve already held us up long enough.”

Nick’s mouth curved, smooth and smug.

“Lucky no one gets cross when I’m late.” He spread his hands a little, like the whole world had simply arranged itself around that fact. “Perk of being the talent.”

You wanted to hit him on Bucky’s behalf.

Just a little.

Professionally.

Nick laughed under his breath and started down the steps, passing close enough that the faint expensive scent of him caught in the air again. He paused beside you for half a second, just long enough to make the moment feel intentional.

“Careful with him,” he murmured, voice pitched low enough that it almost belonged only to you. “He takes everything seriously.”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet.

You looked up at him despite yourself.

“Glad to be around some one who does.” You snipped, before you checked yourself. 

For the first time, Nick’s smile faltered.

Only a fraction. Long enough to let you see that something had landed.

Then he recovered, eyes brightening with something sharper than amusement.

“There she is,” he said softly. "Bossy suits you Straps." 

You had no idea what that meant. You were not sure you wanted to.

Nick moved off before you could respond, walking away from the trailer like the lot belonged to him. A passing PA nearly stopped dead when she realised who he was, then recovered so abruptly she almost walked into a lighting stand. Nick gave her a lazy little salute and kept going.

You watched him for two seconds too long, then forced yourself to turn back.

Bucky was still standing at the top of the trailer steps.

The contrast hit harder now.

With Nick gone, there was really no mistaking them.

Not really. Not in how they held themselves. 

The similarities were still there. Same dark hair. Same blue eyes. Same kind of face that made you understand, unwillingly, how genetics could get arrogant. But Bucky wore his differently. There was no polish to him right now, no easy charm laid over every movement. He looked like the job had already happened to him before the cameras had even rolled.

FX bruises darkened one cheekbone. Fake blood crusted at his hairline. A split had been painted across his lip, so convincing your eyes kept catching on it. Dust clung to his black tactical pants and the harness already fitted over him looked lived in, not decorative.

He looked tired.

No.

Not tired.

Tightly held.

Like all the frustration that should have had somewhere to go had been compressed into the line of his jaw and the fingers wrapped around the notebook in his hand.

His gaze moved over you quickly.

Not the way Nick’s had.

Assessing, yes. But not lingering. Checking. Like he was taking stock of damage.

That made you feel worse, somehow.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted before he could say anything.

Bucky exhaled.

Not quite a sigh.

Not quite frustration.

Just a slow release through his nose as he stepped down from the trailer.

“You don’t need to keep apologising.”

“I do, though.” The words came too fast, tripping over each other. “I should have checked. I mean, I did check. I checked the map and the door and the bag and everything, but I should have- I don’t know. Asked more clearly. Or realised sooner. I saw Nick this morning, which makes it worse, honestly, because I did know what he looked like, I just-”

“You were sent to my trailer.”

You stopped.

Bucky’s voice was steady.  Firm enough to cut through the spiral before it could fully get its claws into you.

“He was in my trailer,” he continued. “With my stuff. Letting you think he was me.”

Your mouth opened.  Nothing came out.

“That’s on him.” Bucky pointed out finishing his thought.

You looked away quickly, blinking hard at the row of trailers across from you. Someone had left a coffee cup balanced on the edge of a metal step. A smear of lipstick marked the lid. Very normal. Very specific. Ridiculous thing to focus on while your chest felt too full.

“I still feel like an idiot.” You dropped your head. 

“Yeah. That’s usually part of Nick’s games.” It was how he answered, his voice had changed, that made you look up at him properly. Not dramatic. Not wounded. Just worn-in. Like a bruise pressed too many times.

“He does that a lot?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, but there was no humour in it.

“He gets a kick out of slumming it.” Bucky's eyes flicked away after he said them.

Your embarrassment loosened just enough for irritation to slip through.

“That’s a pretty rude way to put it.” You didn't like the implied idea that pretending to be his brother Nick thought of it as 'slumming it' that was just..ick. 

Bucky looked back at you. For a second, you regretted saying it.

Not because you did not mean it, but because he was still technically the person you had been assigned to assist, and you were already standing in the ashes of a professional disaster. Calling him rude was probably not the recommended recovery strategy.

He did not even look offended.

If anything, something in his expression shifted again, the tightness easing by a fraction.

“You’re right.”

That caught you off guard. Expecting him to be a little more defensive of his family.

“Oh.”

His mouth curved faintly. Barely there. Not a smile so much as the ghost of one.

“It is rude.”

You shifted the harness bag higher against your side, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands now that you were no longer using them to hold yourself together.

“I just meant… I don’t know. People work hard here.”

“I know. Nick’s rude.”

There was no defensiveness in it.

Only agreement.

That made you look at him properly.

He was still watching you with that focused, assessing gaze, but it did not feel like judgement now. More like attention. Like he was listening to what you actually meant instead of waiting for a reason to laugh.

It was disorienting after Nick.

Bucky glanced toward the back lot, where the rigging bay was still being built in organised chaos.

“I’m used to him talking like that,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I should.”

You did not know what to say to that. Luckily, your earpiece saved you. Static popped sharp against your ear.

“Stunt assist, Barnes, we need you over on the back lot. They’re ready to start preparations.”

You jolted, hand flying up to your mic.

“Copy,” you answered quickly. Too quickly. “Moving now.”

Bucky was already looking toward the rigging bay.

The switch was immediate.

Whatever tired frustration had been sitting under his skin flattened into focus. His shoulders settled. His grip on the notebook changed. The performer, the professional, the person everyone had actually been waiting for slid into place with almost unnerving ease.

There he was.

The practical you had been expecting.

“Better get moving,” he pointed out. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, grateful for the instruction. Grateful for work. Work had steps. Work had rules. Work did not require you to know what to do with the strange little ache left behind by someone defending you. “Yes. Absolutely.”

You started walking beside him.

For the first few strides, neither of you spoke.

That was probably for the best.

The lot was busier the closer you got to the back end. Trailers gave way to temporary pathways and cable ramps. Crew moved around you in quick, practiced arcs, everyone holding something, checking something, calling something into a radio. The false-front street opened onto a wider paved area where the stunt tents had been half-collapsed, their poles stacked in piles while the rigging team built the next world out of steel, cable, pads, and controlled risk.

A crane arm cut across the sky. Two wire techs stood on ladders adjusting a line. Crash mats were being laid down in overlapping blocks. Someone had marked the ground with strips of bright tape, arrows and Xs mapping out where bodies would be thrown and where they had to land.

It looked like chaos if you did not know what you were looking at.

You were starting to understand that chaos was just another kind of choreography.

Bucky walked through it like he belonged to the rhythm.

People nodded at him as he passed. Not the wide-eyed recognition Nick attracted, but something steadier. A grip lifted two fingers from around a coil of rope. One of the wire techs called, “Barnes,” without looking up, like his arrival slid a missing piece into place.

Bucky lifted the notebook in acknowledgement.

You tried very hard not to feel like you were trailing after him with your professional dignity leaking out behind you.

“You should know,” he said suddenly.

You looked over.

His eyes stayed forward.

“Nick does that thing where he acts like everyone’s in on the joke.”

Your grip tightened around the tablet.

“Right.”

“They’re usually not.”

There was no easy way to answer that.

So, you did not try to make it easy.

“I wasn’t.”

“No,” Bucky said. “You weren’t.”

The acknowledgement was simple, but it settled something in your chest.

Not all of it.

Enough.

You stepped over a cable ramp, careful not to trip this time. Bucky’s hand lifted slightly at your side, not touching you, just there for half a second in case you needed steadying. You noticed. Pretended you did not. He dropped it again before it could become anything.

Your face warmed for an entirely different reason.

Great.

Apparently embarrassment had layers.

When you reached the edge of the rigging bay, Sam Wilson turned from a conversation with one of the wire coordinators, already frowning at his watch.

“There he is,” Sam called. “Thought I was gonna have to send Torres with a cattle prod.”

Bucky’s expression barely changed.

“Trailer issue.”

Sam’s eyes flicked to you, then back to Bucky.

Something passed between them.

Something quick.

Not enough for you to understand, but enough for your stomach to tighten again.

“Uh-huh,” Sam said.

You stepped forward before silence could make it worse.

“I’m sorry for the delay. I-" The right thing to do was explain. You'd messed up. 

“A trailer issue,” Bucky cut in.

Repeating himself. Not harshly.

Protectively, maybe.

You looked at him.

He did not look back.

Sam’s brows lifted.

Then, to your surprise, he let it go.

“Fine. Jensen wants eyes on the fall reset, and Torres needs your notebook before he starts arguing with the tape marks like they personally offended his family.”

Bucky held out the notebook.

“Where’s Jensen?”

“By the west line.” Sam jerked his chin toward the rig. “Trying to convince production that gravity costs extra.”

Bucky almost smiled.

Almost.

You caught it and immediately wished you had not, because it made his whole face shift in a way that was stupidly unfair considering there was fake blood on it.

Sam looked at you again.

“You good?”

The question was casual.

Too casual.

Which meant he knew enough to be asking carefully.

You straightened.

“Yes. I’m good.” Putting a smile on your face.

Not entirely true.

But true enough for work.

Sam held your gaze for half a second, then nodded.

“Great. Stick with Barnes for the reset notes. If Jensen changes anything, I want it logged before lunch. And if Torres starts improvising, throw something soft at him.”

“Copy.”  You relaxed. Work.

Blessed, beautiful work.

You unlocked your tablet again, the checklist still open, the neat boxes waiting like none of this had happened.

Bucky shifted beside you. You took a second, you still had to run through the list with the right person. 

"Shoulder -" You started but Barne tapped the left strap of his harness.

“Was sitting high yesterday.”

For a second, all you could do was stare.

Then your brain caught up.

“Yes.” You glanced down at the tablet, grateful enough for the practical question that you almost smiled. “I was told to confirm whether the adjustment from fitting was holding.”

“It was better after wardrobe loosened the seam under the arm,” he told you, voice even, efficient. “But it still pulls when I rotate into the second fall. I wrote it down because Jensen wanted to check whether the line was dragging or if it was the costume.”

You typed quickly, relief moving through you so fast it almost made you dizzy.

Actual information.

Clear. Useful. Specific.

This was what you had been expecting all along.

“Okay,” you murmured. “Second fall rotation. Possible line drag versus costume restriction.”

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

He looked toward the rig, then back at you.

“Left hip catches if the lower strap twists after the roll. Not every time. Enough to be annoying.”

You added it.

His attention flicked to the screen, watching your fingers move across the screen. 

“You type fast.”

“Useful survival skill. People talk fast." 

This time, the almost-smile did become one.

Small.

Brief.

Real enough that it did something annoying to your pulse.

“I bet.”

You looked down at the tablet before your face could do anything stupid.

Around you, the rigging bay continued to take shape. The morning had not fixed itself. Your embarrassment had not vanished. Nick Fowler was still somewhere across the lot, probably turning the whole thing into a story that made him sound charming and everyone else sound too serious.

But Bucky Barnes was standing beside you, giving clear notes like nothing about you needed second-guessing.

For the first time since you had stepped into his trailer, you felt your feet find solid ground.

Not completely.

But enough to stand on.

Enough to keep moving.

Enough to do the job.

Hello this is stalkers anonymous. A bespoke service dedicated to listening to our clients without judgement, offering an outlet to vent, tools or advice. My name is Sarah, how can I help you this evening?

Hey Sarah, you sound pretty, I'm Nick.

Oh uhh thanks. Hi Nick how can i help you today?

Can you put me through to VIP, code 355OC7.

Sure thing, putting you through now.

Good evening Mr Fowler, you're through to Mark at VIP, how can I help you this evening?

Hey Mark, I need a refill on a few items, busy week. 

No problem at all, you want to talk about it?

I really do.

Its been 3 weeks now since I took you back, since I was able to remind you of how much I love you. 4 years we were together and you thought you could just leave? You had to know that would never happen.

We were separated for 4 long months before I finally had everything I needed to bring you home and the last few weeks have really tested our relationship. 

I've lost count of the amount of times I've had to spank you, of how many times I've had to fuck your mouth until you cried so you'll remember who you belong too. But my favourite thing? Tying you up and making you orgasm over and over until you're begging me to stop. Until you are nothing but a puddle on the bed, legs shaking, body bent to my will. 

See, we may have been apart for a while but I still know how your body works, how to make you come apart for me whether you want to or not. 

I love the look in your eyes when I come down with the rope, when I pull out a vibrator or wand and you begin to beg me not to touch you, yet within minutes you are begging for release like I knew you would. 

Today I'd had enough waiting, enough of wanting to feel you wrapped around my cock again and so I slipped a little something in your water. Not to knock you out, just something so you couldn't fight me while I finally fucked you into oblivion. 

It worked a treat, your body was immovable but you were still there, you could still feel everything, you could still moan and scream when I hit the right angles. 

When I bottomed out in your tight little cunt I almost came right there, feeling you clench around me just how I liked, how you always used too. Fuck it was heaven. 

I fucked you harder than I ever had before, ramming my hips into your pelvis with no remorse as I re-claimed you at last. You'd come twice before I felt my balls tingle and tighten and I finally came into that sweet pussy, filling you to the brim.

I watched as it trickled out of you, the way I used too, relishing in the way it spilled down your crack onto the sheets, the mixture of our combined pleasure. 

You screamed when I tried to hold you after, told me to fuck off, so I did, but I'll be back, I'll always be back.

Sounds like you've had a great day Mr Fowler.

It was fucking phenomenal. Of course she had to ruin it at the end by being an ungrateful bitch but still.

She'll come around, they always do eventually. Some are more stubborn than others. 

Stubborn is putting it lightly. 

Well, what was it you wanted re-ordering sir?

I want some more of the paralysing drug you sent me, worked a treat.

Of course! That's no problem, shall I send that to your usual address?

Yeah, please.

Okay, I'll get that sorted. Also while I have you, you may be interested in this orgasm device we have. It's a reverse strap on you can attach to your loved one that allows you to leave the room whilst you continue to stimulate her. Sounds like it may be useful for you if you're using overstimulation as a punishment?

Fuck, thats incredible. Mark you may very well be the best man I know. I'll take it.

Ha, well thank you sir. I'll sort that out for you as well. Is there anything else I can help with today?

No thats great, thanks.

No problem Mr Fowler, have a great evening and happy stalking.

The hands dragging you through the halls and towards your boss were painful, digging into your skin so hard you knew that movement in the coming days would be difficult. Muscles bruised and torn, skin scratched, all by your “coworkers” who were angry that you'd betrayed them.

Well they could choke for all you cared, you hadn't signed onto this job so that you could kill a bunch of innocent people just to get to a vault. You weren’t a saint, you were a hacker, and a thief, just like everyone else, but you had standards, you had to if you wanted to stay out of jail.

Nick should've remembered that about you. 

You growl in more pain as you're dragged into a dark room and tied down firmly to a heavy wooden chair, the ropes burning and chafing. You spit at the others as they walk out, and then you wait as you hear his footsteps coming towards the open doorway. You roll your eyes. Nick Fowler was always dramatic.

You scowl as he kneels in front of you, turning your head away when he goes to cup your cheek,

“Don’t play coy with me, baby. What did you do with the information?”

“The deal was off the second you killed those people, asshole,”

You meant it. Nick Fowler would never get that crucial information he needed now. It didn't matter what he did to you.

Your eyelids were heavy as you worked them open. It was the same feeling as being ripped from sleep with an alarm. But the alarm this time was the panic in your chest. Your head was throbbing, but as you tried to raise your arm to feel for a bruise you realized your arms were firmly tied against your body.

“Mm-whaa-?” You mumbled incoherently. The room - wherever it was - was inky black, save for the wall sconces casting a yellow-y light over the crevices of the room. They hurt to look at, but you forced your eyes to open. It helped in a way to keep your eyes focused on what looked like upside down champagne flutes that hung on the wall flowering at the ends and opening up like petals.

The rest of the room, as you looked around, slowly became less gray toned. Everything was simple and muted. Nothing too punishing to the eyes or to the senses. No bright patterns or colors. No textures that would shock or surprise. It was all very simple down here. The wall furthest from you had a plain, wooden, long table with drawers underneath that you could tell had intricate brass knobs. There was a mirror that seemed to be placed above it, but you could tell it was actually bolted to the wall.

In fact, looking at any of the furniture you could tell it was in some way and bolted down. Even though you're nestled in the corner, you can tell it was a large stone fireplace. Though, something told you that it didn't actually lead upwards after all. 

There were no windows around so you couldn't imagine there was any way for the smoke to actually escape. There's an arm chair placed in front of it. It seemed to be a smooth fabric but with a tall back and curved arms looked really comfortable. In your mind's eye, you could even briefly envision yourself curled up there with a book…

You saw, from where you sat on the floor, there were rugs strung about. One large one right in front of the fireplace. Another one nestled to the wall to the right where you noticed a door.

The door itself looked to be heavy and metal, slightly rough and gray. You forced your eyes back up to the walls, which by the two sconces light, you saw were painted a very gentle, almost muted, red. You couldn't help but think of how cozy and welcoming everything looked despite the fear that had continued to race down your spine and into your stomach and made your toes tingle.

You wiggled your toes a couple times.

They moved within your shoes and you still felt your socks on.

Right. Clothes? What am I wearing? You asked yourself.

Shoes, socks, and pants. But, they weren't yours. They were too big for you; baggy around your ankles and thighs. The waist was cinched tightly but loose enough that you could still breathe. Your shirt though, that was still yours. You pressed your chin down, trying desperately to see anything in the light. You could tell it was still a shirt you had on earlier, but the texture was weird against your stomach and a strong scent of stale dry coffee assaulted your nose. The smell foreced memories from back when it happened earlier. 

How long ago was earlier? You had no idea.

You had to suck in a breath to force down the worry and panic that was clawing back up your throat again. Itching for you to scream. Though you feel like you know better than to scream, screaming would cause too many problems.

Your eyes trailed down the chair rail that lined the room. There's nothing really there except at the very end. Tucked neatly in the corner was an intricate bed. Queen sized with what looked to be the softest pillows and blankets you could ever think of.

It was too far away. Though every corner in the room was equally far from you, this place for sure was a square. The bed seemed impossibly further away. Maybe it's just because looking at the softness you knew it was nothing like the floor you were sitting on.

And finally, in the middle of the room, a simple dining table with two little chairs. You couldn't tell if they were wood or metal framed, but they looked comfy and like they were meant to belong in a familys home.

Besides the mirror on the wall, there was aslo frames adorning the empty patches on the wall. Over the bed, on the fireplace mantel, anywhere the wall would otherwise seem barren. They all had different frames. Some wood, some plastic, some metal, some to make the picture look like it was floating between the glass.

It was what you would have thought a person would get if they had gone to the thrift store and just bought whatever frame was available, buying whichever one was cheapest.

But there were no real pictures. Some of them still had the default picture inside of them. Some of them are empty, but they all looked very particularly placed. You wiggled your arms some more trying to loosen them from what you can only assume is rope. Maybe even a thick bungee wire, it was hard to tell. You hoped it was rope because that seemed most plausible, bungee wires seemed like it was planned.

Well, of course all this was planned. Nick must have known what he was doing.

Truly, he invited you to his place in broad daylight -- in the middle of the day -- in front of your family. Everyone knew you're going to his place and yet somehow someway you were still here. You were still missing. Was there anyone else who knew it yet? You had no idea. Hell, it could have only been a couple minutes since you made it to his place. You couldn't tell, there were no windows to gauge the time. There was no clock on the wall, no semblance of time passing except the growling of your stomach.

Even through your dizziness and your headache and the nausea clawing up your throat, you manage not pass out. 

Or vomit. 

Or scream. 

There was that voice in your head that told you screaming was a bad idea. The smart little voice in your head. So, instead, you sat there feeling the tears well up in your eyes and slowly dripped down your face.

They annoyed you with the way they fell. Some of them trailed down your cheek. So slowly you wished you could wipe them away, but you couldn't. The way your elbows were pinned to your side, sticking into your waist, the way your hands were stuck just under your butt, sitting on them pressing into the floor. They ache and you can barely move them.

And all you could do was cry. 

The door suddenly opened. It was loud and vicious as it creaked and swung out into the room. You couldn't see very well as you tried to look past the tears. Nick - who had pushed his way in - shut the door quickly behind him.

Wherever that door led; it was dark. There was no way out as you watched him shut the door. The mechanical whirring latched it shut as he pressed his finger against the handle, locking it with a solid beep. 

“N-Nick?” your voice was shaky and uncertain. It was still the hope in your head that your mayor was here to save you.

“Shhh” he cooed, his voice deceptively sweet. He walked towards you like you'd walk towards a wounded animal: cautiously. As if you’d try to jump out and bite him.

You pressed your heels into the floor and tried to push yourself back against the wall where you're only met with more walls. No escape, no freedom. It was sturdy against your back. You sniffled, your lip trembled, his body was blurry through the tears as he stepped closer. He crouched in front of you and gently cupped your face.

“I'm so glad you're awake. You've been out for so long.” he whispered, his thumbs brushing across the tears, framing your face, rubbing them away. You sniffled and he didn't hesitate to wipe the snot away either. It'd been dripping from your nose. “I was starting to get worried I'd given you too much… but it's going to be all right.”

Your throat felt raw and painful as you spoke, “What do you mean? What happened, Nick? Why am I here? Please let me go. What happened? I just want to go home.”

The words tumbled out of you faster than you could even conceive them. You're blubbering, you knew it. Your lips ache, they were chapped, but your stomach growled louder. 

Nick quietly chuckled. not something cruel, but something soft and gentle. There's a certainty in his eyes that you didn't like. It might have been a certainty that would’ve had you impressed at any other time. “Do you want some dinner? I bet you're really hungry. Did you have lunch before you'd come over? You really need to eat more if you're going to be here more often.”

“more often? Nick, what are you talking about? Please just want to go home.” your lip trembled, his thumbs froze at the corners of your mouth. “Where am I?”

“You are home,” Nick stressed, his eyes flashing with anger as you continue to try and push back. You sucked in a hard breath, stopping yourself from talking more. You bit your inner cheek to try and stop yourself. You could taste the blood, but it was okay as long as you just stopped talking. “ You're home. You deserve to be here.”

Clearly, the two of you had two different versions of ‘deserved’. What was appearing to be a hell for you was framed as the perfect, quaint life for Nick. He saw the questioning in your eyes, the curiosity, though it was hard to tell how hard he had try to look past the fear. 

“Living here with me. Come on… We both know that's the best you can do.” Nick smiled. He stood up, not bringing you up, leaving you to sit there on the floor. He walked towards the cabinetry - the one that the mirror sat on top of - pulling out what seemed to be just packaged chips. Your mouth watered at the unspoken promise of salty and oily chips, though your body would probably prefer something much heartier. Right now, you would take just about anything.

“Nick, there's so much I still have to do,” you tried to reason, unsure what you were actually reasoning for, “The library - there's the kids reading circle tomorrow that I have to help with.” Your voice trembled at the thought.

You watched his back. How he froze, his hands flexed and crinkled plastic packaging. He looked tense with his head hung slightly, but it caught the flecks of the silver and gold in his hair from the sconces on the wall, the orange light softened his body. You knew it wasn't softening his expression as he turned around, his backlit face was casted in dark shadow. It was a frustration he couldn't quite contain no matter how happy and certain he tried to sound 

“You don't need to do any of that tomorrow,” he said to you, “ Maybe later. Maybe if you've proven I can trust you. Gosh, I want you to go back to the library, Smarts. The kids need your help there. You're so passionate about those books. It’d be a shame to take you out of your natural element. It’s like caging a wild bird. I wouldn't dare do things like that.”

He walked over to you slowly. his feet calculated against the floor, solid steps, wearing outdoor shoes. You noticed part of you winced as he stepped on the corner of the nice rug.

You kept your mouth shut, not daring to make him mad.

“You’ve just got to be good for me, yeah?” His voice was light, but his face was stern as he crouched infront of you, “No scratching. No biting. No running. No talking back. No misbehaving.”

You nodded slowly, head bobbling on your neck so freely you thought it’d fall off. Nick opened the bag, the scent of plain chips made your mouth water. He reached in and grabbed a chip, raising it and feeding it slowly into your mouth. You couldn’t process the flavor, the texture, or anything about it as you stared right into Nick's eyes. Truly, your mouth felt numb.

He cracked a smile, enough to make you feel a little better. Fuck, were you already developing stockholm syndrome? Was that what was happening? God, were you this weak? You could just-

“You talk in your sleep, did you know that?” Nick whispered, almost in awe. He gave you another chip, “You whisper and your brows cause a little wrinkle right-” he brushed over your pinched brows with his pinky, pressing between them, “-there.”

He fed you chips over the next few minutes. You found yourself studying his face more. When his eyes were slightly glossy and his mouth relaxed, you knew you were ok.

“Alright,” he breathed out, “I have some real food in the oven, but when I saw you woke up I figured you needed some company.”

You blinked at him, still tasting the salt that lingered on your tongue. Though the oil wet your mouth, your throat was dry. Your eyes flickered over the room, “Oven?”

He let out a breath, like a faint laugh that didn’t quite reach, “It’s the one upstairs, sweetheart,” his fingers brushed over your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then slowly pulling away once he reached the curve of your neck, “When you show me you can behave, you’ll get to go up there again, okay?”

“W-wait so you’re keeping me down here?” You whispered. Your voice was breathy. Nick had worked to calm you down with chips, but chips would only subdue you so much.

“Just until you understand how much you deserve this, Smarts,” He cooed, “And then you can keep working at the library -- you’ve made it so beautiful -- but then you wouldn’t have to worry about the money any more. I’d keep it funded… All you’d have to worry about is our kids.”

“Kids?” You mumbled, eyes growing wide. But he just kept talking. Your chest grew tight, breath ragged.

“I’ll be there too, of course, won’t make you a single parent. You really live up to your nickname, between you and the teacher here, our kids will be so goddamn smart. They’ll have my kind of determination, your kindness… Isn’t that just perfect?” He seemed to be in his own little world for most of the time he spoke. Eyes focusing on you only at the end.

“K-kids?” You hoarsly mumble, almost whining. A sudden cold sweat prickled your forehead and back, your breathing was erratic and tense, your fingers trembled as you tried to grip something on the floor.

“Of course, you want them, I want them… It’d only make sense for us.”

“But-”

Nick’s gaze hardened, he shifted onto his knees and blocked you into the corner. His body shielded you from all of the light, hand roughly gripping your shoulder, “After the Sheriff brings the papers from my office, we can talk about it more, Smarts. It feels only right to do this in the right order.”

“Order-??”

He was getting frustrated again, “Yes. Order. Goddamn- Date. Move in together. Marry. Kids.”

It was too much. All at once your world was crashing down around you. He was so nice with the chips and wiping away your tears and your snot. You shook your head, faster than you meant to, it was giving you a headache. Pain pierced through your face and head, your breathing made you lightheaded. You were babbling “no” over and over as blackness started to creep into your vision.

Nick’s hand shot out fast, gripping your face hard enough you worried for your jaw bone, “What the fuck were the simple rules I gave you?”

He didnt wait for a reply, “There are five big ones, Smarts. But the one you’re going to need to get drilled into your fucking skull is ‘No misbehaving’. Now, it’s that broad for a reason, got it?”

You were forced into a brief moment of clarity, “Yes Nick, I'm sorry Nick.”

In such a short amount of time you made many calculated assumptions.

The time doesn't matter. Just focus on when he is / isn’t here

Nick physically being around also doesn't matter, he had a camera somewhere

Don’t ask to go upstairs or imply you’re ready to leave

If he asks a question, answer modestly

The last one was what gave you moderate comfort as you curled up in bed. Nick, in all his grace, had given you a book to read.

“Tomorrow morning, if you’re feeling up for it, you’ll take a shower. Yeah?”

The smell of lasagna still bit through the air though he’d taken it back upstairs over an hour ago. You’d been untied from your corner -- it was rope -- but the cuff on your ankles were led by a chain back to that area. You’d sat on the bed, curled against the plush pillows, looking like a moth as you used the bedside lamp.

“Sure, Nick,” you looked up at him and nodded. Truthfully, you wanted to shower now. Your teeth were grimy and your breath smelled like garlic. But you didn’t want to do anything nearly that personal around him.

He stood there infront of you, hesitant. It seemed that he was ebbing and flowing between states of understanding and caution with you, and annoyance and anger. You could feel his conflicting emotions rolling off him in waves, so you tried to reread the same line for the fifth time.

“... Do you want to be alone tonight?”

You cautiously tipped your head up. His brows furrowed and he swiftly tried to relax his clenched jaw. Wetting your lips, you slowly asked, “Like, uh, like in-”

“To sleep, sweetheart.”

You nodded as he impatiently finished your sentence, “I, yes please, I would.”

Nick studied your face, you resisted looking away. There was an ache in your gut at the way he looked at you. Anyother day you’d’ve swooned. Blushed and gotten flustered. Maybe even gone to Honey and sheepishly tell her all about the look he gave you.

That yearning became nausea once you registered it was just a fucking good poker face.

“Alright.” Nick let out a long sigh, his fingers twitching against his hips. He stepped towards you, his arm stuttered when he reached out and crooked his finger under your chin, “There’s a spare sleep shirt under the bed.”

He pressed a lingerie kiss to your forehead, taking a moment before pulling back. Your fingers clenched the book till your knuckles went white, you stared vaguely forward.

“Goodnight, Smarts,” Nick said. You felt his eyes linger over your lips before darting across your body. His adams apple bobbed in his throat as you locked eyes with him, “I love you.”

He pressed the handle, the soft grind of the lock opening before he turned the handle. You smiled, mouth closed but it was enough to make your cheeks hurt.

Maybe you were over playing it. But it didn’t feel like it. Maybe you were giving up too soon. But maybe there was nothing you could do.

“I love you too, Nick.”

You hated -- more than anything else -- not knowing how much time was passing. You wanted to believe that you got dinner at a reasonable time, but if you fell asleep, who knew what time you’d wake up.

Would he even wake you up for breakfast? Would you even get breakfast? Or was he leaving you a lunch to eat for whenever you were hungry? He still had work, right?

You didn’t let yourself cry again, or outwardly panic and freak. So maybe you screwed your semblence of time by disasociating and trying to read a few more pages.

But the pages were growing damp from your clammy hands. And when you laid your head down the pillow would get wet with tears.

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

You’d wake up in your bed at home; to the sound of your little sister using all the hot water in the shower, to the sound of your brother annoying your mom, and to the light filtering through your curtains.

And in the morning, after you’d woken up in your bed and had breakfast and drank coffee, you’d walk to Honey’s cafe to tell her about your dream.

And in the morning -- after you’d woken up in your bed and had breakfast and drank coffee and walked to Honey’s -- Honey would laugh at your dream, hand you some French fries, and remind you that you were to tutor his nephew.

And that it’d probably be a bad idea to tell Mayor Fowler about your silly dream.

If you were lucky, you'd find yourself a big, bad wolf to play with.

After adjusting the cape around your neck, you spritzed yourself with your favorite perfume and carefully set the bottle on your vanity. You always set it to the right of your jewelry box. Strangely, it wasn't in its usual spot the last few days. Just like your robe wasn't yesterday. You swore you set it on the left hook, but when you got out of the shower it was on the right.

It would’ve been easy to write it off as a roommate messing with you, but you lived alone.

“I really need to stop watching scary movies before bed,” you mumbled as you went to your dresser and shut your underwear drawer. It was ajar a few days ago. Had you left your place in such a hurry that you forgot to close it?

The ding of your phone pulled you from your thoughts, giving yourself one more look in your vanity mirror before you went to get the device.

“Two minutes away!” Kiki messaged you.

There was a slight chill in the air as you went outside to wait, but that wasn't why you shivered. Every once in a while, you had the feeling someone was watching you. Like a pair of eyes following your every move. It didn't make sense. There was nothing about you worth watching.

It didn't stop a chill from sliding down your spine as you looked over your shoulder every time you left your home. Or when you thought about the random things that moved around your place. As far as you knew, no one knew where your spare key was. You lost sleep wondering if some creep snuck in. If someone did break in, they didn’t take anything.

But if someone went into your place and didn't steal anything, what did they want?

“Nice costume.”

You jumped at the sound of a familiar voice, almost dropping your phone as you turned toward it. “Nick, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he smiled, but didn't sound sorry at all.

“Sure you are,” you smiled back, your heart slowing to a steady beat again as you wondered how he managed to sneak up on you.

Nick Fowler moved into your neighborhood a few months ago. He usually kept to himself, but made it a point to give you a nod when he was going to or from work. While you wouldn't say you were friends, he was friendly enough with you and didn't bother anyone. He even helped you fix your cable when it went out some time back. As far as neighbors went, he was a good one.

And a handsome one.

The man turned quite a few heads when he unloaded boxes from the moving truck and you didn’t blame anyone for looking his way. With his athletic build, he carried the heavy items with ease. He had the bluest eyes you’d ever seen and his short, dark hair only helped to make them stand out more. The scruff surrounding his lips and along his chin looked long enough to leave a delicious burn if it ever touched your skin. You hardly ever saw him smile at anyone, except you. And he smirked at you on more than one occasion.

Like he had a secret he was itching to tell you.

“You okay?” He asked, taking a step closer. “You seem a little jumpier than usual.”

“Just a little tired. Haven't slept well the last few nights.”

“Is everything okay?”

You debated telling him what was going on since he sounded concerned, but decided against it. You didn't need to burden him with that. Besides, nothing was wrong. Just the spooky season getting under your skin. “Oh, yeah. Everything's fine. I’ll probably end up crashing when I get back.”

“Well, I'm here if you need anything,” he said after a moment. Those blue eyes of his meticulously looked over your costume. “So, you have a fun night planned?”

You almost tightened your cape around your body to hide from his gaze. Not that his attention wasn't flattering. It was kind of nice. Plus he was single as far as you knew and you never noticed him bringing anyone around. “Yeah. Going out with a friend."

Nick frowned a little. “He isn't wearing a wolf costume, is he?”

You swore there was a hint of jealousy in his tone, but you were probably imagining it. “No, she isn't,” you said, smiling as his shoulders relaxed.

“Well, it’s a great costume. You honestly look good enough to eat,” he said, chuckling a bit when heat crawled up your neck. “Sorry. I hope that didn’t sound bad.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I appreciate the compliment,” you said, both of you smiling as the warmth continued to move up to your face. “Do you have any plans?”

“I may watch a movie,” he said, running his fingers through his short hair. You tried not to stare at the veins in his hands or the way his sweater hugged his muscular frame. “It's too bad you can't join me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, not expecting his offer. Was it an actual offer? He hadn't invited you over to his place before. “Is it a scary movie? I like them, but sometimes they…”

“Scare you?” he guessed, his smile sympathetic as you nodded. “Well, you don't have to worry about any bad guys with me around. I can keep you safe.”

You smiled softly before Kiki pulled up to the curb. “Maybe another time?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, seemingly disappointed as he nodded toward the car. “Have fun at the carnival.”

Your smile slipped a little as he walked toward his place. “Thanks,” you called out, quickly getting into the car.

“Hey! Isn't that your super hot neighbor?” Kiki asked as you buckled yourself in.

“Yeah,” you replied, looking in the mirror as she drove off. Nick had stopped before he went inside and watched as the two of you drove away. It made you shiver. “He kind of invited me over to his place.”

“What?! And you're in here with me?” she asked, lightly smacking your arm. “You should've gone with him or invited him to come with us. You could’ve gotten laid tonight.”

At the reminder of your recent lack of sex life, you sighed. There was nothing wrong with having fun, but you wanted a bit more than that. Not like anyone had shown interest in you as of late. There was the guy who lived across the street who flirted with you weeks back, but he pretty much avoided contact with you the next day.

You wondered if he moved out since you hadn’t seen him since.

“You were already on your way and I didn’t want to just invite him,” you said, loosening your grip on your purse when your fingers began to ache. “It's weird though. He told me to have fun at the carnival, but I don't remember ever telling him I was going.”

How did he know?

“Maybe he guessed. Or maybe you mentioned it and forgot. I mean, you did say you haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“That's my own fault,” you said.

“Well, lack of sleep could be messing with your memory. And may I remind you that I told you to stop watching scary movies? They always make you jumpy,” she said, glancing over at you as her smile faded. Nick even noticed your jumpiness. “Look, we can skip this and go tomorrow. I don't mind.”

You shook your head and brushed the strange feeling off. She was right. Those films made you paranoid and she didn't need to deal with that. “No, it's okay. We deserve some fun.”

“You want some real fun, go visit your neighbor when you get back. He looks like he knows how to fuck.”

“I'm sure he does,” you giggled. You had no doubt about that. “But I'm not going to find out tonight.”

“You might. Who knows? He may even show up at the carnival to hunt you down.”

You both laughed, your smile bright and happy again. No one was going to hunt you down. No one was watching you. Your life wasn't some creepy movie. You just needed to relax and have a good time.

The carnival was in full swing, booming with cheerful music and shouts from people on the brightly lit rides. As you followed Kiki though, you kind of regretted not taking Nick up on his offer to hang out. Not even thirty minutes after you arrived, your best friend bumped into a hot guy. Literally bumped into him and almost spilled her drink on his shirt. Both of them had hearts in their eyes and they had been attached at the hip since. While you were glad she was having a good time, you were starting to feel a bit like a third wheel.

You also had that impression that someone was watching you again. Your skin prickled as you looked to the left and right, wishing the feeling would go away. It was silly. No one was looking at you. Everything was fine.

“Hey,” you said, tapping Kiki on her arm as she laughed at some corny joke. “I think I may explore on my own a bit.”

Her face fell as she looked between you and her new beau. “You sure? We can-”

“I'm sure. Really,” you assured her. She deserved to have a good time and would've encouraged you to do the same if you bumped into a guy. “I'll text you in a bit so we can meet back up?”

“Or I can give you a ride home.”

Surprise was written all over your face as you spun around. That was the second time Nick made you jump today, an amused smile on his face as you held your chest. He was in the same outfit you saw him in earlier, but he now had a sticker on the left side of his chest that stated, “Hi! My name is NICK”.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, his smile immediately fading as you took a breath. Your tone was a lot sharper than you intended. “I'm sorry. You just scared me again.”

Nick peered at you before he sighed. “Didn't mean to scare you or eavesdrop. I got bored watching the movie and decided to check this place out,” he said, glancing down at his feet for a moment. “I tried waving a minute ago, but I guess you didn't see me.”

You felt like a bitch. Maybe that was why you thought someone was watching you. It really was all in your head. “Sorry, I didn't see you.”

“Sorry I scared you again,” he said.

“It's okay. Really.”

“Well, neighbor, since you're here, you two should hang out,” Kiki suggested, giving you an encouraging smile.

What did you have to lose? “Would you like to join me?”

Your neighbor's smile was back on his handsome face. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

Kiki nudged you forward, moving you closer to Nick as your stomach flipped. “Text me when you leave or if you still need a ride.”

“Don't worry. I'll take care of her," Nick promised as she walked off with her new guy on her arm, leaving the two of you alone. “Lead the way."

“Okay," you said, maintaining a bit of distance as you walked beside him. You had no clue if you wanted to play games or go on a ride. “Anything in particular you want to do?”

“You.”

Your head twisted in his direction so quickly you almost hurt yourself. “What?”

“I said ‘boo’,” he said, pointing in front of him. The two-story, brightly lit funhouse had a bunch of random words on the panels, including “boo”. Why did you think he said “you”? God, you needed to get a grip. “Should we do that? It could be fun.”

With a small laugh, you nodded. “Fun in a funhouse,” you said, stopping when the carnival worker at the entrance held up his hand.

“I’m about to go on my break. Come back in thirty minutes.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said, shrugging a little at Nick. Maybe you could find something else to do.

Nick, however, didn’t budge. “That’s quite a break. Tell you what,” he said, taking out his wallet and pulling out a bill. The worker’s eyes lit up when he saw the amount. “Why don’t you take your break and let us go in anyway? We won’t cause any trouble.”

“Stay the whole time for all I care,” the guy said, taking the money with a toothy grin and letting both of you go past to walk up the steps. “Enjoy!” he added, roping it off with a “closed” sign before he walked away.

“Go ahead,” Nick urged, waiting for you to finish going up the stairs first.

The normally whimsical music sounded strange to your ears. Maybe it felt spooky since you knew you were the only two that would be inside. Or maybe it was because the movie you watched a couple of nights ago took place in a funhouse. A group of teens went in. Nobody made it out. No, this wouldn't be anything like that.

“We really could’ve just come back,” you said, holding onto the railing as the stairs shifted back and forth. You didn’t hear Nick follow right away. Glancing back, you swore you saw him check out your ass. Not that he could see much thanks to the cape.

“You might have decided to leave before we made it back this way,” he said as you came across a spinning barrel. Just staring at it made you slightly dizzy. “Not that it would’ve been a bad thing if we left since Kiki ditched you so quickly.”

“She didn’t ditch me,” you argued as you stepped into the barrel. The sound of a laughing clown filled your ears as you did your best to walk in a straight line. “She deserves some fun,” you added, regaining your balance once you stepped onto a normal floor again.

Nick followed you so silently that you didn’t realize he was right behind you until his lips touched your ear. “So do you.”

Hot air shot out of the ceiling above your head with a piercing whistle, giving you an excuse to jump away as your heart pounded. His eyes sparkled in amusement at your reaction. “Like I said, fun in the funhouse,” you teased, putting your hands along the walls as the hallway grew narrow. It was still large enough for you to squeeze through.

“Especially since we have the place to ourselves,” he reminded you.

A shiver rolled down your spine. You wondered exactly what kind of fun he wanted to have and if you should’ve chosen your words more carefully. “You know,” you began as you stumbled into a Hall of Mirrors, frowning as you realized there wasn’t an open door or space to move through. Which mirror did you have to push to get to the next room? “You didn’t say why you were wearing a nametag.”

“It's my costume," he said, tilting his head like the answer was obvious.

You glanced around to see if any of the mirrors had any smudges, anything to give away which direction to go. They were all clean. “And what exactly are you supposed to be?"”

He smirked as he met your reflection in one of the mirrors. “I’m dressed as your neighbour who’s gonna fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my name."

You nearly fell into the mirror and he quickly caught your arm to keep you upright, the grip a bit tighter than you expected. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me," he shrugged a little as he stepped closer. “Almost wore a wolf costume so I could chase you down. The subtle hints I've dropped aren’t working, so I might as well spell it out for you.”

You tried to figure out if he was joking or not. Your reaction was to giggle. A nervous, soft laugh that seemed to wipe his smirk away. “Is that why you came here tonight? You were hoping you'd fuck me?” you asked, remembering your earlier talk with Kiki. “I don’t even remember telling you I was coming here.”

He tapped his ear. “I heard you on the phone with your friend.”

“I was in my bedroom when we made those plans. There’s no way you could've…” you trailed off, a sense of dread pooling in your stomach as he stared at you. Did his eyes always have a dangerous glint to them? “Nick, how did you hear that phone call?”

“Take a wild guess, sweetheart.”

You swallowed a little. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’ve been messing with me.”

It sounded crazy to your ears and you didn’t want to believe it because blaming it on irrational fear was easier. But the single, unashamed nod he gave you almost made you crumble. “I never told you what I do for work, but I’m good with setting up bugs and cameras. And such a sweet thing like you living so close, I couldn't help myself,” he explained casually, like he wasn’t admitting to something completely messed up. “You make such pretty noises when you touch yourself.”

“You watched me,” you whispered, your head spinning when he smirked. He watched you in your intimate, private moments. What else did he do?

“Knocking out your cable gave me the perfect excuse to get inside your place without raising suspicion. You never would've invited me over otherwise. Though you really should be more careful where you keep your spare key. Made it way too easy for me to make a copy.”

You held your stomach to keep from getting sick. So many thoughts raced through your mind as he advanced on you. Why had you ignored your instincts? Did your attraction to him partially blind you? “Why?”

“Because I wanted to. Because you’re mine. Take you pick,” he said, wrapping a hand around your neck before you could move back. “You have no idea how tempted I was to break down your door and fuck you after watching the footage. Or every time I snuck into your place. I even moved things around in the hope you’d turn to me and let me 'help you' figure out what was happening, but you didn’t. You kept your distance. Your little ‘hard to get’ act was cute, but a man can only take so much.”

Each word he spoke added a new layer of dread and alarm. He squeezed a little when you tried to pry his hand away, tears blurring your vision. Shouting wouldn’t do you any good, but it didn’t stop the screams in your mind. “I wasn't playing hard to get. I liked you,” you managed to say.

“And you weren't trying to lead that flirty neighbor on either, but you're too sweet for your own good. Don't worry. I took care of him. He'll never bother you again,” he smirked as your blood ran cold. What did he do? “Or anyone else for that matter.”

The man was insane. “Nick, you-”

He cut you off when he pressed his soft and warm lips against your mouth. You were two seconds away from biting into his bottom lip when he spun you around and shoved your front against the closest, normal mirror. It didn’t budge. “I’m tired of waiting for you to come around,” he said, yanking your cape off. “Tired of just watching when I know you belong to me.”

You froze, unable to fight or yell when he shoved your costume up. No one would hear you over the sounds of the carnival and the worker running the attraction wasn't close by. Why weren’t you fighting? Why couldn’t you do anything to stop him?

“Nick, let’s talk,” you tried to reason. “Please, you don’t have to do this.”

The sound of him tearing your underwear away made the first tear fall. “We're past the talking stage,” he snarled, kicking your legs apart before you whimpered. You weren’t sure if it was the sound that softened his gaze or the sight of your tears. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

His words did nothing to soothe you when he undid his pants. “You are hurting me,” you whispered. He hurt you by bringing fear into your life when he could've just asked you out.

“Am I?” he asked, parting your opening with his fingers. He chuckled darkly as he pushed a digit in with no warning. “Then why are you so wet?”

You whined in denial, but he was right. Arousal trickled along your thighs, your hole aching with the need for him to fill you with something larger than his finger. What was wrong with you? “No,” you moaned.

“Don’t deny me,” he growled, nosing along your neck before he bit down. You yelped, the sharp pain making you tighten around his finger. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re going to have so much fun together.”

Your body betrayed your will as he played with you and you were thankful momentarily when he pulled out. The relief was short-lived when you looked over your shoulder, just in time to watch him unzip his pants and take his hard cock out of his underwear. He’d break you with his size. “You can’t, please.”

“Yes, I can,” he said as he pressed the head of his cock against your sopping wet entrance. “Now be good and take what I give you.”

“Don't-”

“The only thing I want to hear you say is my name. Let’s let your pussy tell me how much you want me.”

You screamed as he pushed inside, your walls burning as you tried to accommodate for the size of him. He hadn’t prepped you nearly enough, though your arousal took some of the pain away. He didn’t pause to give you a chance to adjust either, as if the wet sound of you sucking his cock in gave him permission to take what he believed belonged to him.

“Fuck, your pussy feels better than I imagined,” he groaned, your resolve cracking as you opened your eyes. He forced you to meet his gaze in the mirror and you watched in horrid fascination as he took you. The surrounding glass showed every angle of his claim, your reality becoming more and more distorted. He surrounded you. Consumed you. “And it’s all mine.”

You made a small sound as you braced your hands on the glass, forced to feel every drag of his cock. The more he moved, the more you tried to grind your hips back against his. It was shameful for you to like it, humiliating that you wanted to get off because of him. It was as if your body no longer belonged to you and maybe it never did. Otherwise, why would you want this?

“When I get you home, I’ll take my time. Get you addicted to my cock,” he grunted, smiling at the glazed look in your eyes. “I’ll record it. Make you see how much you love it.”

“Nick,” you gasped when he put his hand around your throat again, a silent command not to close your eyes or look away. You moved a hand to his wrist when it became harder to breathe. He loosened his grip enough for you to inhale and slid his hand down to your chest, squeezing one of your breasts with a moan. You moaned, too.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Look at you. Look at us,” he groaned as he thrust faster. The hand on your chest moved back to your throat when he reached under your skirt. “See how perfect we are together? How well you take my cock? You know you belong to me.”

The sloppy sounds of your cunt got louder as he found your clit and rubbed it quickly. It was almost too much, but you craved more. What was the point of denying him when your pussy kept trying to pull him back in? Why fight the inevitable pleasure when your body surrendered to him?

You weren’t sure how much time had passed and it didn’t matter. You were lucky to remember your own name. He was fucking you dumb and you wondered why the fear faded. You knew it would return when he finished, but you felt ecstasy for now.

“My fucking slut. Never letting you go,” he said, pinching the bundle of nerves with a smirk as you breathed his name. The familiar twist of pleasure grew and his name was the only word you said as dark indulgence flooded your veins. You were going to come and there was nothing you could do to stop it. “So come for me. Right. Fucking. Now.”

The rough demand made your fluttering hole squeeze around him almost painfully. You struggled to hold back, but the release washed over you like a tidal wave. All you could do was helplessly pant as you trembled, his soaked cock thrusting still so he could join you in sweet bliss. And you wanted it. You wanted him to come inside you.

You could hate yourself later for wanting it so badly.

“You. Are. Mine,” he growled, his name falling from your lips as he tipped over the edge. You spasmed around him still as he finished, your cunt filled to the brim. “Mine.”

You gasped for air as he buried his face in your neck, your body shaking as you pressed your forehead against the glass. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Maybe once you had the strength you'd run. Scream. Cry.

“Look at me,” Nick breathed, his lips touching your pulse. You blinked some of the haze from your eyes as you lifted your head, your heart still racing out of control. Minus the darkened tint in his cheeks, he looked normal. Not a hair out of place. Like he hadn't forced himself on you. “Didn't have to be like this, but it would've happened no matter what."

You nodded, believing him. He took you in the middle of the funhouse without a care of getting caught. He got what he wanted.

“And don't even think about running away from me or I'll chase you down,” he added.

Feeling his spend slide out of you as he pulled out helped the reality of the situation sink in. He took you and you didn't stop him. “I won't,” you answered in a small voice you didn't recognize as he tucked himself away and fixed his pants.

“Good,” he smiled, retrieving your cape from the ground and wrapping it back around you. “Because I'd hate for anything to happen to Kiki. Such a nice coincidence that some guy bumped into her, isn't it?”

You shook your head quickly, tears forming in your eyes again. “No, don't hurt her,” you begged. If what he said about your neighbor was true…

Nick cooed as he framed your face and gently kissed your lips. It was so tender and you almost believed he was capable of being good. Almost. “Be mine and I won't.”

He said it casually, but his eyes told you not to defy him. “I'm yours,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” he said, pulling a hand away to check his watch. “Time's almost up. Let's go.”

You had a hard time moving your feet, but he put an arm around you to help. It was like you were drunk, unable to see or think straight as he quickly found which mirror to exit through. You just wanted to go home, but he took your safe haven away.

Was Nick Fowler your villain or was he an antihero for doing whatever it took to get you?

“Don't worry. We'll let Kiki know you got home safely. You can even tell her I asked you out tonight,” he said, flashing a smile at you that made him look like he'd take a bite out of you. “And when we get back to my place, I'll get you addicted to my cock like I promised.”

So, what do we think? Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

You bit your lip and sucked in a harsh breath when you heard the door open and then close. Sucking in a deep breath, you felt your heartbeat speed up as your whole body turned rigid. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The clicks of his Italian shoes against the wooden floorboards of his harm proof house got louder and louder until they were a few feet away from you. 

"Where is my favourite little savage?" Your jaw clenched at how he cooed his words, fist choking the duster you were cleaning the furniture with, back still turned to him as you willed him to disappear. "Beastie~" he called out again, this time more condescending, in that disgusting mock-disappointed tone of his, "now, you know what happens when you disrespect me with this kind of behavior."

Your head dropped along with the duster at his words. Oh. If only you had heeded your best friend's warnings and not dated this sick man. If only you had known just what kind of a disgusting and hopeless dynamic awaited you at the end of it. If only you had caught on in time.

Though you weren't sure a man as powerful as Nick Fowler would have stopped at taking no for an answer. 

He probably would have taken you as though you were a possession he was entitled to anyways. 

Maybe you were always supposed to end up here. 

"Come on, now, beastie. It's been 2 whole days, didn't you miss your husband, hm?" One that you had been fooled into marrying. "Come here and show me that pretty face like a good wife that's happy to see her man."

You blamed yourself more than anything. 

How did you not see this coming? 

Resolving to succumb to your role as his primal little wife that he had forced you into being, beating (strictly only your ass or boobs) and fucking every one of your refusals out of you every time you tried to stand your ground, you slowly spun on your heels. 

Not like your body put up much of a fight whenever he did.

He knew all your weaknesses. 

"Ah, there she is~" you walked to him with your head lowered and covered with the long hair that he had made you grow out. "Let me see that beautiful face" his voice was almost demanding as his fingers wrapped around your forearms. 

A whimper left you at the feeling of his warm fingers. You hated your traitorous body that always submitted to his touch. But he was the only physical or human interaction you had been confined to for a whole year now. You had been alone in his huge house for 2 days now as he had gone off for a business trip, leaving you with food and your rule list which included chores to ensure mobility, Nick had promised to be back home exactly at this time today. 

He had harm proofed the house a long time ago to avoid any incidents. All the food that you two ate was delivered to the door by his men that you weren't allowed to answer as you never wore clothes because Nick liked you best in your natural state and also because he could not bear to see you attend to anyone other than him.

"Oh hello, little heathen~" you knew he purposefully used these words to irritate you and to express his power over you. He knew how much you hated them. But you had no choice. Any kind of rebellion or display of annoyance would lead to a disciplining session, as he called them. 

Beautiful little beasts like yourself need to be disciplined before they can be introduced into society. 

Though he never would.

He was far too selfish.

"Fuck, you're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you, beastie~" moving your hair out of the way, he cupped your face with both his hands and kissed your soft unibrow. Your face burnt in humiliation as you tried to move away but he restricted you by the vice grip one of his hands formed on your chin. "How do you do it?" His fingers caressed the soft fur on the top of your lip now, pecking your mouth a couple times. "So natural," it was your chin now. "So primal," the kisses peppered down to the valley between your breasts, his stubble much stiffer than the soft mat of hair between your boobs. "All mine" his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close and latched his mouth onto one of your nipples. 

"Nick~" you had intended it to be a protest but it came out a needy whine. You hated it. How wet your powerlessness to his rules regarding your body and appearance made you was something that repulsed you. A moan left you now as your fingers snaked through his short hair, the man's body slowly guiding yours to the couch behind you two as he took his sweet time praising and enjoying your breasts. 

You would never admit it. But how he worshipped you in a form you would never have allowed yourself to be in did unexplainable things to your body. What you found embarrassing and even unattractive was the epitome of true beauty to him was astounding to you. 

Sure, he was condescending about it sometimes but that was only to either get a rise out of you to make you slip into his little games or when you would clench harder around him when he would call you humiliating names. 

Fuck. You hated it. All of it. 

"Look at these pretty little fat fuck handles" a loud moan escaped you when he harshly spanked one of your now well pampered boobs, ass perched against the rest of the couch. "So perfect." The noises of the suckling of his lips as he painted the skin of your chest with marks of his love was loud as one of his hands spread your legs. "Gonna fuck them full of milk one day."

You bit your lip in embarrassment as you visualized through your closed eyes how your bushy core must be looking. 

"Would you like that, beastie?" Your hole clenched around the air at his words. "I bet you would. Finally serving your natural purpose..." His words were so wrong. "So pretty and round you would be." A shaky whimper escaped your mouth when his hand cupped the curve between your legs, fingers toying with the hairs before they reached your pussy lips. 

"Nick…" Your voice was full of desperation, pussy dripping against your will. But he worshipped you so well. And at your worst, if you would say so yourself. 

He smirked as he kneeled your legs, kissing the older love bites and marks, one hand still greedily toying with your chest like it would disappear if he let go. "Did this bearded clam miss me?" You absolutely hated him. 

"Ni-ck…!" What had started as an agitated protest morphed into a gasping moan when he prodded your desperate entrance with the tip of his thumb. 

"Sounds like it did" your face burnt hot as he pressed wet kisses along your marked thighs, leaving soft bites occasionally as his thumb teased your wet folds, the squelching noise loud in his otherwise quiet house. "Don't know why you pretend to hate this when all I wanna do is love you." His lips had finally reached your petals, nose burying in your bush as his hot breath caused your core to tingle. "At least your body gets it."

A loud moan fought its way out of your mouth when he swiped his warm tongue across your flesh in a vertical motion, the suddenness and sensitive state of your pussy causing your back to arch. "Nick!" Your fingers tugged at his hair and he took it as a cue to push one of his fingers up your leaking entrance. 

"Fuck, still as tight as the first time I fucked it dumb. You're just perfect, aren't you?" His husky voice and the warmth of honesty in his words added to the pleasure. God, you were such a narcissist. That had to be it. 

"Nick…" Your hips started to sway to assist the rhythm of his slender digit. "Please…" You requested as you looked down, pulsating with need as the darkness of his eyes made you clench around his finger. 

He had such a way of making you feel like the smallest thing ever next to him. 

So naked. So exposed. So vulnerable. 

"You want more, my heathen wife?" You desperately nodded along to his condescending words, whining and biting your lip when he teased your flesh with a kiss, the stubble around his lips teasing and tickling your sensitive core. 

"Yes, Nick! Please, more!"

He added another finger to your slippery cavern, feeling his cock stiffening in reaction to how tightly your hot ring of muscles choked his fingers. "Such a slut" Nick tortured you with his kitten licks and kisses. "Always acting so high and mighty, pretending to hate this, but leaking like a punctured whore needing a cock fix whenever inspected." Your toes curled as his fingers stimulated your walls, lips sucking at your clit. "You can play games with me all you want, beastie." Your husband's voice was muffled against your cunt. "But you know you love this."

Whenever you were close, like right now, you would end up saying the most vile of things that both he and you would chastise you for later. It was always unintentional, but whether truthful or not was something you dared not ponder over later. 

"I do, Nick! I do!" You sobbed from the pleasure, back arched as you looked like a literal Goddess, if Nick said so himself. "Please, Nick!" His fingers lapped at your folds, fingers fucking you fast and rough, now allowing you time to adjust and clench as his blue eyes watched your perfect form darkly. 

Your skin was glowing from tiny droplets of sweat under the daylight coming in from the windows, natural and unplucked eyebrows furrowed in pleasure and concentration as your teeth dug into your bottom lip, the upper one trembling just a little as the soft fur atop it adorned your features in a way so beautiful and unique that he could bet it was only limited to you. How your breasts that were the perfect size and shape trembled with tremors due to how you fucked yourself against his fingers while your gorgeous thighs trembled. 

Nick moaned against your pussy, the action causing vibrations of pleasure down your spine as one of his hands palmed his cock and eyes enjoyed the sight of your pleasure drunk body, lewdly moving against his own. Like a snake in water. 

Fuck. 

You truly were the most gorgeous thing to ever come into existence.

"Nick!" The way you said his name alone could easily tip him off. And the way you hissed in pleasure, praises and thanks forcing their way out of your mouth that he loved to do the most vile things to cause an ache in his balls. Your pussy clenched around his fingers and maintained their hold as you exploded, throwing your head back as you cried out his name over and over, chest heaving as your vision blurred. 

"Fuck, I missed you~" you whispered through the ringing of your ears, pushing him back and against the floor with the heel of your foot as you launched yourself on his clothed form, rubbing the rest of your orgasm out against his thigh. 

Nick smirked as one of his hands squeezed your ass cheeks. "Ah! There she is! My primal little whore-" you shut him up with a rough kiss.

You had a lifetime to antagonize over your actions. But it would be a damn shame to waste this pleasure that was melting your insides into a puddle.

Was it so bad, really? All the man wanted to do was to protect you and worship you. In this moment, you were ready to assure anyone that worse existed out there.