#nick fowler

[jjcre8]

𝗦𝗘𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗔𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗡 as 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗙𝗢𝗪𝗟𝗘𝗥.

THE 355. (2022)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Private Eye

Summary: you do what you have to to cover for your drug dealer dad.

Character: Nick Fowler, Destroyer Chris (to come later), trailer park reader

Warnings: dubcon, coercion, extortion, mentions of abuse, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.

Sister series to this.

Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️

A glaze of sweat covers your forehead. You nearly swat yourself as the trickle along your temples feels like a crawling bug. You flick away the moisture and shield your eyes against the beaming sun as you pass Mr. Carlo's trailer.

You pause just past the corner and squint as the unfamiliar car parked down the gravel roadway. There isn't often a face or vehicle in the park you don't recognise. The only people who come here, live here. Why else would they want to hang around?

As you stare, the front window rolls down. You back up and hide behind Mr. Carlo's double wide. Your dad always warned you about it.

The car is too clean for a place like this. It could be a mistake. Louella had that man coming round in the shiny mustang for a while. He bought her lots of pretty things. New things.

You peek around again. A man gets out of the car. He pushes the tails of his jacket back and something on his belt flashed. A badge or gun. Either isn't good.

He peers toward you from behind his dark sunglasses. You reel back and his the wall of the trailer with your shoulder. You stumble as your feet tangle. You have to tell your dad.

You hurry around, head low and dive between the trailers. You know exactly how not to be seen. It's how you exist.

As you come in sight of your dad's trailer, you rush out from between the two lots across from his. You slam into and unexpected wall. You stumble back and look up at the man in his blue suit and dark sunglasses. The one with the shine on his belt. You gulp.

"Hey," the man says coolly. "Think I'm lost."

You gape up at him, squirming. "Oh? Uh..."

"You seem like you know your way around." He says.

You flinch. He saw you. He followed you.

You're going to be in so much trouble if your dad finds out you left someone back home. If they bust his stash again...

"Sorry, sir. I have to--"

"Run away from me. Hide. Again?" He challenges. "Pretty flighty."

"Um, no sir," you tug on the frilly edge of your cardigan as heat nestles along your nape. "It's real hot so I was going inside--"

"Going to raise the alarm." He crosses his eyes. "Evading an officer is an arrestable offence."

"What? No, I--how--" you stammer.

"Now, you keep resisting and I'll have to take you into custody."

"Resisting?" You squeak. "No, sir. Not at all--"

"If you don't answer my questions, that's resisting." He warns.

You quiver and wipe away another sheet of sweat. "I'm sorry, sir." You glance over at your dad's trailer.

"Something in there?" He asks.

You shake your head. He clucks.

"Come on. Too hot out here. I'll ask my questions in the car."

"What?"

"You're coming with me or I cuff you right now." He snarls.

You waver on your feet and your eyes sting. At least he isn't trying to get in your daddy's trailer. Then you'd be in for it.

"Okay, sir."

"Let's move," he points you back the way he came. "Name."

You flinch then give your name, with a sir on the end.

"Age."

You fess to that too.

"So what are you scurrying around for?" He challenges as he comes up to his sleek car. The locks click loudly. "Get in."

You do as he says. He drops into the driver seat as you shut the door. You fidget as your eyes dart around.

"You're hiding something."

"No." You blurt out, too fast. He chuckles.

He reaches to his belt. He pushes back his jacket and you look down. You gasp.

"CIA. You'll only get yourself in deeper if you don't start telling me the truth." He tuts.

"Please, sir. I can't --"

"Bad girl," he shakes his head. "I really don't wanna hurt you but --"

"Please," you pout.

"Well, how about we go back to your trailer and have a look inside?" He asks.

Your face drains and you clasp your hands together. "Please, don't do that, sir. He'll be so mad at me."

"Who'll be mad?" He intones.

You bat your lashes at him. "My daddy, sir."

"Daddy up to no good?" He wonders.

Your lip trembles and you nod, letting your head sink in defeat.

"Huh, well, that's too bad. A young girl like you getting caught up in a grown man's business." He taps his fingers on the wheel. "I could... Forget this."

You wince and peek up at him, "you can?"

"Now, I don't wanna be mean to a sweet thing like you. So I'll make a deal. Turn a blind eye to whatever rock your daddy's cooking up."

You lift your head and frown, "I don't know what it is."

"Shhh," he hushes you as he puts a finger to his lips. "All you gotta do," he pulls his finger away from his mouth and hooks it in your collar. "Is lift up your shirt for me."

You lean away from him and shield your chest in embarrassment.

"Sir?"

"Hey, it's not like I'm asking for the moon. Just a peek."

Your lip puffs out and your cheeks pinch. Your whole body is on fire. You can't believe what he's asking.

"And you'll leave my daddy alone?" You whisper.

"Sure, thing, sweetheart. It's not a big deal, is it? Girl like you. Bet all the guys want a look. You give it to them?"

You shake your head furiously.

"Well, then, don't I feel special." He chuckles and leans back, pushing his shoulders wide. "Well?"

You look down then up. You can feel the bite of the belt buckle already. It's nothing, is it? Just skin.

You touch the hem of your shirt and slowly lift up the white tee. You push back your cardigan as you raise the cotton. You stare at the ceiling as your nipples perk up at their exposure.

He hums. "You don't wear a bra with those? Mm mm mm. You really want me to believe you're not a slut?"

You squeak and look at him, mortified.

"I'm not, sir."

He laughs as his hand slides down his thigh. His eyes stick to your chest. He purrs.

"Those are nice." He reaches to cup your tit. You whimper. "Warm." He squeezes. "Give me that sweater."

You stare at him. You let the shirt fall but he catches it and keeps it above your tits. He tilts his head back and forth as he admires them. You slip out of the thin yellow cardigan.

"Good, now leave it in the seat." He tugs down your shirt. "Get out and walk away."

You're choked to silence. You reach for the door handle and step out. You turn back to lay the sweater on the seat.

"You're gonna walk all the way home like that." He nods at your chest. "Everyone's going to see what a slut you are."

You look down and let the door shut. Your nipples poke against the cotton. You shudder and turn away, crossing your arms.

If your daddy knew what you just did, he'd use more than the belt.

[sebssoulmate]

THE SHORT HAIR RETURNS

[pic from sebstanarchive on twitter/x]

[navybrat817]

Ooo Ficlet Friday!

Any chance for something with Nick Fowler, little spicy. Maybe not respecting personal space because you’re his and why should he, even if you don’t know that yet.

Sending all the love and best vibes for the weekend!

I didn't get to add too much spice, and this does go into semi-dark territory, but I hope you like it!

All Nighter

Pairing: Soft!Dark Nick Fowler x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 530

Warnings: Sexual harassment, possessive behavior

Ever since you started working for him, the handsome Director of the CIA had no sense of personal boundaries. The man always found an excuse to touch you whenever possible; the small of your back or your hip whenever he guided you through an open door, rubbing your shoulders while you sat at your desk, brushing up against you when you were at the copier. At first you told yourself he was just a touchy-feely person, but you noticed that he never put a hand on anyone else and kept a respectable distance.

So why was it different with you?

“Sweetheart, where’s that file I asked for?” Nick called from his desk.

You counted to three in your head. It was bad enough that he made you stay late, now he was adding pet names on top of it? You were seriously considering filing an HR Complaint against him. “One moment, Mr. Fowler,” you replied, making sure all the needed papers were in the folder.

Nick didn’t look up when you walked in, too busy reading the piece of paper in front of him. “Set it right here,” he said, tapping a spot close to him.

“Yes, sir.”

That made your boss lift his gaze, his blue eyes glancing at you from head to toe. You almost faltered when you walked around the desk to set the file down, his stare too dark, too lustful. “Did I tell you how nice you look today?” he asked, brushing a hand along your backside. You tensed up when he did it again. “You look nice every day.”

“Mr. Fowler-”

“What happened to ‘sir’?” He leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “I like how that sounds.”

You took a breath. “You can’t keep… doing that,” you said, taking a step back.

His hand gripped your wrist, preventing you from moving back any further. “What exactly am I doing?”

“Touching me and using pet names with me. You’re my boss, and that crosses a boundary,” you explained. Holding a position of power didn’t give him the right to abuse it.

Nick didn’t release you as he stood up, and your heart only raced faster when he tugged you close. “You think I’m crossing boundaries now, sweetheart? I haven’t even bent you over my desk yet,” he smiled, like a wolf about to eat the lamb.

You tried not to let it show how nervous you were, but everyone else on the floor had gone home for the day. “You can’t just-”

Your mouth snapped shut when he gripped your chin and leaned in close. “I can’t do whatever I want because you’re mine,” his breath ghosted your trembling lips before he let you go, your legs shaking where you stood. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Nick sat back in his chair and opened his file like he hadn’t said or done anything. You didn’t understand. Why you? It didn’t matter. You had to quit. You could find another job. Maybe-

“You won’t quit, and you won’t talk to HR. So, why don’t you just relax and order us dinner?” he said, his voice crawling over your skin. “We’re going to be here all night.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️

[alicedopey]

Nick Fowler era is the best era ❤️

sebastian stan being back in his nick fowler era just when i’m writing „illegal” is the best thing ever for me, no one talk to me

[daydreamgoddess14]

Celebration ficlet request #1 (lol)

Nick Fowler

Mafia or CEO AU

Love at first sight

Collision

Nick Fowler, my beloved 🫠🫠 I love him, Susie. I love him so much!

Nick Fowler CEO AU x Reader

Read it on AO3

Warnings: language, fender bender, surviving love at first sight with Nick - surely that would absolutely need a warning. I couldn't do it.

Word Count: 644

1000 Follower Ficlet Masterlist

Masterlist

You didn't see it.

It was a genuine mistake - you’d always sucked at parallel parking. You pulled forward, lined yourself up, and reversed.

You were watching the car in front, trying to work around how it was parked half over the line. So you forgot about the one behind.

Annoying, because it wasn't exactly a small car.

The black SUV loomed over your little KIA.

“Fuck. Shitting fucking shit,” you hissed, pulling forward and straightening up.

In the rear-view, the other driver was already out, arms crossed, glaring.

You jumped out, didn’t even check for damage, and went straight to the SUV.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“I know. I know. I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. “I didn’t see it—”

“It’s huge.”

“Yeah. Yep. I see that now.”

You fumbled in your bag for a pen, a scrap of paper, anything.

“My boss is gonna flip, lady -”

Your hands were shaking. Tears welled, your vision blurred. You could hear him ranting as you dug deeper into your bag.

“- Oh, great, and now she’s crying? Seriously?”

The doors to the grocery store slid open.

“I’m not fucking crying,” you snapped.

“Hey.” A new voice. Much calmer, cooler. “What’s going on?”

You looked up. The taller man had appeared without a sound - suit, sunglasses, a jaw that could cut glass. The driver immediately stepped back.

“Boss,” he said, too quickly.

Of course. Of course he was the boss.

And now you had really screwed up.

The taller man stepped closer. His eyes raked over you both - you front and centre - thrown under the bus by Mr SUV to save his own skin.

Mr SUV was flustered. “She clipped the bumper, boss, I was just -”

He raised a hand. Just a small gesture. The kind that made everything stop.

Then he turned to you.

And looked.

Not at you, not past you - into you.

It took your breath away.

Not because he was stupidly good-looking (which he was - of course he was), or because his suit probably cost more than your car.

It was the way he blinked once, slowly. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter than you expected. “I’m Nick. Are you ok?”

You nodded. “I’m so, so sorry. I have my details -”

He tilted his head. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

He didn’t move. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

You swallowed.

And then he smiled. Just a little. “Don’t worry about the car. Really.”

Behind him, the driver sputtered. “But sir -”

Nick didn’t look away from you. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine. But maybe you were. Because suddenly, your chest wasn’t so tight anymore.

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and busied yourself again in trying to find a pen.

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit and passed you his. When you looked up again, he’d taken off the sunglasses.

“Sir, we’re gonna be late for your next meeting.” His driver said gruffly.

“Cancel it. Cancel the whole afternoon. This is more important.”

You. He meant you.

“Oh, no - I’m not, it’s fine -” you started, but your voice wobbled.

He smiled unexpectedly. His eyes - the most beautiful shade of blue you’d ever seen - crinkled at the corners.

"I’ve been looking for an excuse to ditch that meeting,” he said conspiratorially. “Now I have one.”

“Right. The car.” You winced. “Shit, I really am so sorry -”

“Forget the car. I have.” His eyes didn’t leave yours. “I’m just glad I came out when I did. Otherwise I’d have missed you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I think I’ve been waiting to.”

Your breath caught, waiting for him to laugh it off, but he didn’t.

He didn’t backtrack, just held your gaze, openly and honestly like he’d meant every word.

And somehow, you believed him.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Beauty ||

Summary: When Nick had said he would love you in every shape and form, you hadn't thought much of it and had laughed it away… Oh...

Pairing: Soft Dark Mobster!Nick Fowler | Wife!You.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Nick Fowler. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Soft Dark!Nick, dubcon, filthy trash that's been crushing me for some long days, primal kink (? Omg I don't know he basically forces you to grow out your hairs because idk okay?), humiliation, dacryphilia, taming, power imbalance, captivity, spanking, fingering, oral (reader receives it), boob play, angsty-ish, breeding kink. Basically mobster husband Nick worshipping you in his own twisted way.

Note: Coping with my genes through this story and I am not sorry. All mistakes are mine. Feedback is much appreciated 🩷

MASTERLIST

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. 

[paperjunk]

[ramp-it-up]

Appreciate the support!

Run to You

Summary: His job was to protect you. You were supposed to keep your distance. But history and heat don’t fade.

Word count: 5.7 K

Pairing: Nick Fowler x Pop Star!Reader

A/N: This was written for @artficlly's Spin the Trope Challenge. My tropes were security guard x one bed. I was inspred by the movie The Bodyguard starring Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner, IYKYK. 😍 Sorry it's so late 😬 This is supposed to be a one shot, so…. This was a nice break from Bucky, and I hope you like it! Tell me how you feel by reblogging, commenting, sending asks, dm'ing and the like. Interaction is life.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Angst, flashbacks, deception, lies, Prague, idiots in ---, Nick being Nick, cheating, talk of violence, Dom Nick, bratty reader, insinuations of oral (m receiving) and anal. Slapping, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), raw p-in - v, size kink, praise kink, talking you through it, a tiny bit of aftercare if you squint. Angst.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Nick had promised himself he was done with this kind of work.

High-profile gigs. Celebrities. Chaos.

He preferred quiet contracts now, private clients who didn’t need headlines and didn’t pull the kind of stunts that could get themselves killed. 

Keep them alive, keep it clean, cash the check, move on.

But when he was offered this job, he came.

Not because of the money. Not even because the threat was as credible as they come.

Because it was you.

And no matter how much time had passed, or how badly it had ended, you were the one name he couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t just the fact that you were a multi-award-winning pop star with a voice that sold out arenas and an ass that had half the world obsessed. 

It wasn’t even that you were worth millions, and an icon the industry would burn down cities to protect.

It was because maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see you again.

And annihilate anyone who thought about hurting you.

He’d told himself he wouldn’t think about Prague.

About the balcony, the whiskey, and the way you’d looked at him like he was the only thing that felt real in a city full of flashing lights.

He’d definitely told himself he wouldn’t think about the aftermath. How you’d gone silent the second you found the burner phone in his jacket. How you’d walked out without a word, without a backward glance, like the three nights you’d spent tangled together had been nothing.

Yet when he pushed open the door to that rehearsal hall and felt the room tense, he knew two things instantly:

One, nothing had changed. Two, he was screwed.

You were at the center of the chaos, perched on a speaker with your knees tucked under you, a vision of messy perfection, hair in pigtails, lips slick with gloss, still in the sweat-dampened tank from soundcheck.

Nick felt that he had x-ray vision because all he could see were those famous nipples and the taste of you came back vividly. 

He forced his eyes away and checked out the room.

Even mid-tour, even with managers and stylists circling like bees, you didn’t look breakable.

But Nick knew better. He also knew, with the kind of certainty that he hated, that the people threatening you didn’t care how untouchable you looked on stage.

Off stage, you were just another soft target.

—--

The room didn’t exactly quiet when he walked in, but it shifted like someone had thrown a weighted blanket over the noise.

“Everyone,” Val, your manager, called out brightly, voice cutting through the hum. 

“This is Nick Fowler. He’ll be leading security for the rest of the tour.”

You didn’t look up at first. Not until she said the name. Your head snapped up. And for a second, everything stopped.

The man you’d met in Madrid, back when you’d burned out and taken a year your label barely tolerated. The one person who hadn’t cared about your history as a child star, your co-star ex, or the vultures waiting to pick you apart.

The man who’d traveled with you to Prague and sat with you on a balcony, whiskey in hand, his fingers tangled in your hair as he murmured “Princess” against your throat.

The man who turned out not to be who he said he was.

Jack Carmichael never existed. Only Nick Fowler, ex-CIA, hired by your label and someone else you still didn’t know, to protect you, monitor you, and drag you back when they thought you might slip too far away to make them money.

Heat flared in your chest.

Val, oblivious, kept smiling. “Nick, this is…”

“I know who she is,” Nick cut in. 

His eyes found yours and didn’t waver. Not an ounce of apology. Not even a flicker of discomfort.

Your pulse spiked, and a rush of anger along with something you didn’t want to name. You stood slowly, forcing your voice not to shake.

“Absolutely not.”

Val blinked. “What?”

Nick’s mouth curved slightly, the faintest ghost of a smirk.

“Nice to see you too, Princess.”

The nickname hit like a lit match to gasoline, causing every nerve in your body to spark

“The fuck is he doing here, Val?”

“Saving your life,” Nick said, his tone maddeningly calm. “Someone wants you dead. I’m the one who makes sure that doesn’t happen.”

Val shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you both. 

“The threats escalated last night. They broke into your Malibu place. We don’t have a choice. He’s the best.”

Nick’s eyes stayed locked on you, unblinking, cool, and too familiar.

It was infuriating.

And worse, you hated when he looked at you like that.

As he brushed past you on his way out, his shoulder barely grazing yours, his voice dipped just low enough for only you to hear.

“Relax. I’m not here to start anything… just to keep you breathing.”

But there was something in his tone, a faint edge that told you he hadn’t forgotten Prague either.

—--

Nick was silent, but you could feel him. Always a few steps behind in the tunnels, a shadow at the wings, a quiet presence near the dressing rooms.

Close enough to clock every angle. 

Far enough to look like nothing but the job.

He swept the exits, murmured into his comm to his second, Jake Jensen, and adjusted crowd plans. 

When your choreographer lost his mind over the new LED platform, Nick didn’t even glance up, just leaned on a barricade, eyes tracking every moving piece like he was calculating how fast he could get to you if everything went to hell.

You tried to ignore him. To bury yourself in the music, in the comfort of routine.

But you felt it every time.

The weight of his attention. 

The way his eyes caught on you, never long enough for anyone else to see, but long enough for heat to creep up your spine before he looked away like nothing happened.

You felt like a mouse he was stalking, and you were always wary, lest you fall into his snare.

Because Nick Fowler taught you a lot in those three short days and nights in Prague, about how high you could climb the peaks of pleasure with him as a guide. Nothing was like his touch, his mouth, and his cock carved a space no other man could quite fill.

Not even your boyfriend Cameron. You needed to be careful and in control at all times around Nick Fowler.

By the time the crew cleared for lunch the next day. and the hall quieted, you’d worn down the batteries on your phone trying to drown the tension out of the air with music. You doubled back to grab your charger and stopped in your tracks.

The door to the small security lounge was cracked, a soft glow spilling into the corridor. 

Inside, Nick sat with one ankle hooked over his knee, tablet in hand.His brows were drawn, expression unreadable, as he tapped back a few seconds on the video.

You didn’t need to see the screen to know which one it was.

One of your older videos, the one that cut to that infamous red carpet. That dress was sheer, crystal-studded, and you had nothing on but a flesh-colored thong beneath. The camera had eaten you alive that night, and the world hadn’t stopped replaying it since.

Nick rewound again. And again. Slowly watching the lens trace the line of your body.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, your stomach doing that thing.

“Should I send over a signed copy? Or are you just planning to keep pirating my content for free?”

His thumb paused, but he didn’t even flinch. He set the tablet down and met your eyes, calm as ever.

“Professional review,” he said, voice flat. “Knowing what people see when they’re looking at you helps me assess risk.”

You arched a brow. “Risk.”

“Exactly.” His gaze didn’t waver. “That dress pulls more than attention. It makes some people stupid. Stupid gets dangerous.”

“Mm.” You tilted your head, pretending to think.

“And rewinding it three times? That’s just part of the security briefing?”

Nick’s mouth ticked, barely.

“Just making sure I didn’t miss anything.”

Your chest felt tight, whether it was irritation or something else, you didn’t care to name.

“Well, don’t strain yourself, Fowler. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep on my behalf.”

His gaze dipped down the length of you before returning to your face.

“Sleep’s not really on the table these days, Princess. Not until I make sure no one gets to you.”

He stood then, brushing past you on his way to sweep the next checkpoint, the faintest trace of his cologne trailing behind him, clean and sharp, and enough to make your toes curl even as your jaw tightened.

—---

Cameron was waiting when you stepped into the green room.

Golden-boy actor. Studio polish. Smooth British accent. All easy charm. Everything Nick wasn’t.

He was attentive.

He held your hand in public, texted good-morning photos from set, and remembered your tea order before soundcheck.

He touched you gently, kissed you slowly, and whispered that he missed you in the quiet hours when you shared a bed between shoots and shows.

It wasn’t electric, but it was solid. Predictable.

And you never lost control.

He rose when you entered, slipping his phone into his pocket, his smile warm. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you into a familiar hold. You relaxed a little, because you genuinely cared for him.

He was safe.

“You disappeared,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Thought we were grabbing lunch.”

“Rehearsals ran long,” you said lightly, though you felt the faint knot of tension in your stomach. “Platform drama.”

He chuckled, as he brushed his thumb along your back. 

“Skip the PR dinner tonight, then? Room service. Just us?”

You nodded, letting yourself lean into his warmth because it was steady. But even as his lips brushed your temple, your pulse was tracking the echo in the hallway. 

And sure enough, there was a knock.

“Five minutes,” Nick’s voice carried through, an extra edge of aggression that wasn’t there earlier. “Press call’s moved up.”

“Your bloke’s a ray of sunshine,” Cameron muttered, jaw tightening faintly.

You forced a small smile, but your mind was already following those footsteps back down the hall.

—--

The show went off without a hitch.

Two encores, the crowd screaming your name so loud your ribs thrummed with it, and every light and cue landing like clockwork. By the time the stage lights cut and the last ovation died down, sweat clung to your skin and adrenaline still buzzed in your veins.

Nick and Jake were already in motion before you hit the wings, their dark suits like moving shadows through the chaos of crew and equipment. Jake cleared the hallway, murmuring into his comm, while Nick fell into step beside you without a word, his eyes tracking every shadow, every stray tech crossing the corridor.

They were efficient. Silent. Always watching.

And you were done with it.

So when Cameron met you at the dressing room, new fit, still glowing from the performance, his hand sliding to your waist, you didn’t even let Nick get a word in.

“Changed my mind. Let’s go out,” you murmured against Cameron’s jaw as he helped you with your mic. “One club. One drink.”

Cameron grinned, fingers brushing the back of your neck. 

“Your security detail’s gonna love that.”

“I don’t care,” you whispered. 

And you meant it. You were tired of being shadowed and managed.

Nick was waiting by the door when you emerged, Jake a few paces back. His eyes flicked to Cameron’s hand at your waist, then back to you, unreadable but heavy enough to make your pulse skip.

“Where are we going?” 

Nick’s voice was flat, but Jake glanced up from his tablet, already frowning.

“The Mayan,” you said breezily, like it was a done deal. “Just for a drink.”

“No,” Nick said, no hesitation.

“Yes,” you shot back, tilting your chin. 

“Unless you plan on locking me in my hotel room until the tour ends.”

Nick didn’t blink.

“That can be arranged.”

“Jesus,” Cameron muttered under his breath, smoothing his hand over your back. 

“It’s one drink, man. Relax.”

Jake stepped in, voice calm but firm. 

“The place has two narrow exits and no controlled entry. We can lock it down, but it’s not ideal with the current threat level.”

“Then lock it down,” you snapped, your temper rising. 

“Or sit in the car and brood. I’m not spending another night staring at four walls because someone out there doesn’t like me.”

Nick’s jaw ticked once, but he didn’t argue further.

“Fine,” he said at last, voice quiet enough that it didn’t sound like a concession. “But when this goes sideways, we leave. No discussion.”

—------

The club was a bad idea.

You knew it the second you walked in, the crush of bodies, the bass pounding through your ribs, the way phones lit up like fireflies the moment someone clocked Cameron’s face next to yours. But for a little while, it was intoxicating.

The music thrummed through your veins, Cameron’s hand on your hip grounding you just enough, and for a few beats you felt alive again. 

Not managed. Not contained.

Until someone screamed.

It was hard to see through the strobe haze, but Jake’s voice cut through the chaos over Nick’s earpiece, sharp and clipped.

“Got a breach. East entrance. Unknown with a blade. Moving fast.”

The crowd surged. Shouts rose over the music. A flash of metal cut through the chaos near the bar, and suddenly Nick was there, one hand curling around your waist, the other steady on his weapon as Jake intercepted the would-be attacker with brutal efficiency.

“Move,” Nick ordered, his voice low and lethal.

The air was hot and heavy with sweat and bass, bodies pressing in from every direction, until Nick’s grip tightened and the world shifted. His chest was solid and cool against your overheated skin, his jacket rough against the bare skin on your back as he hauled you up into his arms.

Every step he took carved a path through the chaos, the crowd shoving and shouting as his heartbeat stayed maddeningly even beneath your cheek.

And every pulse of it reminded you of Prague, the way his chest had felt under your palms as he’d pressed you into the balcony railing, whispering “Princess, breathe for me” against your mouth while his hand moved lower, teaching you how to hold yourself together and come undone at once.

Your stomach knotted, heat sliding through the adrenaline haze.

Through the corner of your eye, you caught Cameron stumbling after Jake, pale and wide-eyed as he was ushered into a separate car. He didn’t look at you, too busy trying to keep up.

Nick set you in the back seat of an SUV, slid in beside you, and barked the destination into his comm, his hand still locked around your wrist.

“Safehouse. We’re dark until further notice.”

You jerked against his hold, glaring up at him even as your pulse hammered. “I didn’t ask to be…”

Nick’s gaze cut to yours, cold and unyielding. Whatever protest you had died in your throat.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, voice low and steady, the calm that always made your skin prickle. 

“You’re done calling shots tonight.”

His hand lingered a second longer than it should have, his thumb brushing once against your pulse, before he finally released you.

But his eyes stayed on you, unreadable, as the SUV peeled into the night.

—--

The SUV sped through the city, headlights cutting through the dark. Jake’s voice buzzed over comms, calm and clipped, but Nick hardly heard it. The air in the back seat was already humming, thick with leftover adrenaline, and something else.

Your pulse was still echoing in his hand. The memory of the rhythm it had been in Prague when you’d clenched around him, biting his name into his shoulder as he showed you how far pleasure could take you. 

But you’d flipped it, too, dragged him under, made him taste what it was to be caught in something messier than lust.

Love was something he’d sworn he’d never do.

He told himself not to think about it. Not tonight, not now, with you inches away in a dark car and his jacket still carrying the ghost of your perfume. 

Or the faint sting of your nails where you’d clutched his neck as he carried you out of the club.

You sat rigid beside him, chin tipped up like a challenge. But he saw it, the tremor in your knee, the way your fingers spun your ring to keep them busy, the faint catch in your breath when the SUV hit a bump and his thigh brushed yours.

Most people he’d dragged out of danger folded once they were clear, shaking, crying, clutching for reassurance. 

Not you. 

You sat there daring him to notice that his proximity affected you. 

Or daring him to do something about it.

Nick flexed his hand against his thigh, trying to burn off the electricity crawling through his veins, but his mind slipped anyway. 

Back to Prague. 

Back to the rasp of your breath in his ear as he’d murmured, “Princess, don’t stop. Take it for me.”

Back to the way your body had shivered around him as he taught you exactly how to break apart, how to climb higher until your legs trembled beneath you.

He could lock those nights away for months. 

Years. 

And still, here they were, slamming back into him now in the dark, your shoulder a breath from his, your scent in his lungs. He dragged his thumb over a ridge of scar tissue in his palm, his old habit to ground himself. 

It didn’t help much.

“Status,” he murmured into his comm, voice low.

“All clear,” Jake’s voice replied.

“The second team’s ahead, the perimeter's clean and the cameras are live.”

Nick gave a brief acknowledgment and let his eyes cut toward you. The streetlight glow skimmed across your face, catching the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin. 

You weren’t looking at him, your gaze stayed on the blur of buildings sliding past the window, jaw tight.

He knew that tension. The sharp line of it. 

The way it coiled under your skin, prickling just beneath the surface. It wasn’t fear. 

And it wasn’t only anger, though he could feel that radiating off you too.

“We’ll be at the safehouse until I get clearance,” he said finally, his voice calm but pitched lower than it needed to be.

That got you to turn your head, your eyes catching his with just enough defiance to spark something hot in his chest.

He didn’t look at you, but he could feel it, that spark of defiance bristling beside him, the way your head turned just slightly toward him like you were about to argue.

For a second, he almost wanted you to. 

Just to see if your pulse would kick again under his fingers like it had in the club. But you stayed quiet. And Nick kept his gaze forward, cataloging the last two turns before the safehouse.

The hum between you didn’t fade with the silence. It only coiled tighter, hotter, until the building finally appeared in the darkness ahead.

—----

The place was silent when Nick pushed the door open.

Every sound, the faint hum of the fridge, the creak of old floorboards, the soft click as he locked the door behind you felt amplified.

He swept the room in seconds, the same way he’d swept dozens like it before. Blinds down. Corners clear. Window locks checked. 

The space was bare-bones: one couch, one bed, a kitchenette that looked like it hadn’t seen use in months. Temporary. Functional. 

Exactly what he needed.

What you needed, even if you didn’t like it.

Nick holstered his weapon and finally turned toward you. 

You were still by the door, arms crossed, looking composed instead of frayed. You might’ve steadied on the way here, but he could still see the adrenaline riding you, the quick rise and fall of your breath, and the way your knuckles whitened against your arms.

“You’re staying here until I say go,” he said, voice low but even. 

“No clubs. No midnight walks. No arguments.”

You arched a brow. “And if I don’t?”

He didn’t move, but his gaze locked on yours. The silence stretched, your mouth twitching like you were daring him.

That got him to close the distance, not all the way, but enough that the air between you shifted. The faint bite of his cologne cut through the sterile room, his presence filling the space in a way that made your pulse jump whether you wanted it to or not.

His voice dropped a shade lower, softer but edged.

“Then I do my job. Which doesn’t involve asking twice.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it. 

“Is that a threat?”

Nick’s mouth ticked, not quite a smile.

“No. That’s a reminder.”

His eyes flicked down briefly, to your throat, where your pulse fluttered, before lifting back to yours. Just that flicker, but it sent heat curling through your chest.

He didn’t reach for you. But he didn’t look away, either.

“You remember Prague,” he said quietly. 

“You remember what happens when I stop holding back.”

Your fingers tightened on your arms.

“And what if I’m not interested in a repeat performance?” you shot back, voice cooler than you felt.

Nick’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Then we don’t have a problem,” he said evenly. “But we both know what you want.”

Then, as if the tension wasn’t hot between you, Nick stepped back, unclipped his comm, and set it on the table with a soft click.

“You know fuck all, Fowler. That’s probably why you washed out of the CIA and now you’re just another rent-a-cop to the stars.”

His calm gaze didn’t waver, but his jaw flexed once. His eyes flicked to your mouth, quick and deliberate, before sliding back to your eyes.

“You keep pushing,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

“Same way you did in Prague. But if you keep pushing, Princess, you don’t get to pull back when I finally respond.”

The words landed like a live wire, sparking down your spine.

“And if I want you to?”

Nick raised his hand and his thumb brushed hair back from your temple, a slow, deliberate pass, just enough to make your stomach twist. His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.

“Then we stop talking about it.”

He stepped back, making you want to chase him. It was maddening.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his tone flat again. “We’ll talk about Vegas security in the morning.”

But then he turned away, leaving your chest tight and your pulse climbing all over again.

—--

The safehouse didn’t sleep easy.

Not with Nick’s voice still curling around your body. Not with his words replaying every time you shut your eyes.

Nick claimed the couch, more to keep distance than comfort. You drifted in and out on the bed, half-hearing him move through the place, boots on the floorboards, water running, coffee brewing.

None of it was the reason you couldn’t sleep.

The reason was him. A man built of stillness and steel, pacing in the next room.

You remember Prague. You remember what happens when I stop holding back.

Sometime past two a.m., the soft creak of floorboards pulled you out of the spiral. You sat up, blanket slipping to your waist, just as Nick appeared in the doorway. A dark henley and sweats replaced his suit, hair still damp, the faint scent of soap following him.

He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes drifting over you in the half-light. Controlled, but heavier than before.

“You’re still awake,” he said finally, his voice low enough that it sank into your skin.

You met his gaze, tugging the blanket higher even though you weren’t cold.

“Hard to sleep when someone’s circling like a guard dog.”

One corner of his mouth ticked, not amusement, not annoyance, but something tighter. He pushed off the frame, closing a few steps until he stood at the edge of the bed, close enough to feel his warmth.

“You want me to stop pacing?” His tone was soft, but it landed heavy.

“Or you want me to stop pretending I don’t know why you’re still awake?”

Your breath hitched. He moved to the footlocker, pulled out plain black sweats, and tossed them to you.

“Take a shower. Get out of that club gear. You’ll feel better.”

You looked at the sweats, then back at the locker. 

“No underwear in there?”

“This is all we’ve got. Improvise.”

Your stomach tightened at the thought, but you huffed and took the clothes, locking the bathroom door behind you. You stared at yourself in the mirror, towel in hand, trying not to imagine how easily you would beg.

—--

The problem was, Nick couldn’t control his cock around you.

Nick prided himself on control.

In the CIA, your body was just another weapon. But with you, none of that held. Didn’t matter how many ops he’d run, how many firefights he’d walked away from steady and calm. 

The second you stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, drops of water sliding down your collarbone, those thighs glistening in the dim glow of the safehouse light, every ounce of discipline went right out the window.

You didn’t flinch under his stare. You stepped closer, your eyes locking on his, testing him again. His pupils blew wide.

“Kiss me,” you said.

Nick didn’t hesitate.

He leaned down, one hand wrapping firmly around your throat, the other gripping your thigh like it was nothing to lift you. His fingers slid along your ass into the slick heat between your thighs, and you gasped as the towel slipped, your hips rolling against the thick ridge in his sweats.

He kissed you hard and deep, until you made that sound in the back of your throat the one he could never forget, the one that always undid him. Then he set you down carefully, watching your chest heave as you panted.

He tasted you off his fingers, his voice low, dangerous.

“You’re wet for me. You want the Princess treatment?”

Nick stepped toward you, and you backed up even as your eyes locked on his. He caught the edge of your towel and pulled, letting it drop to the floor as his gaze raked over you, slow and hungry. His tongue dragged over his bottom lip.

You slapped him, sharp and unexpected.

He smiled, unbothered. Thrilled, even.

“There’s my answer.”

His hand closed around your arm, not harsh, but firm, and in one smooth motion, he spun you and pushed you down so your chest hit the bed. His grip slid to your hips, hauling you up so that your ass was high, his palms spreading you as he dropped to his knees behind you.

The first swipe of his tongue made you jolt, fingers clutching the sheets. He held you steady, mouth working you open, slowly at first, then deeper, harder, until your thighs trembled against his shoulders.

Nick pulled back just enough to speak, his voice low, and his breath hot against your pussy as he pushed down his sweats and started stroking himself.

“Does Pretty Boy know the Princess likes it rough?” His tone sharpened, a ghost of a smirk at the edge. “That this pussy only curves to my dick?”

And Christ, that dick.

Nick wasn’t blind. He knew what you thought the first time you saw it. Long and thick and heavy in his hand, a weapon he’d never needed to advertise. 

But when blood rushed hot through him, when you dropped to your knees in Prague and he pulled it out, he’d seen your eyes widen as you realized exactly what you were dealing with.

It was sizeable, thick and gorgeous, with a perfect mushroomed head and just enough of a curve to hit exactly where you needed it to. It was the kind of cock that felt made for your mouth, made for your cunt, and the reason no other man ever stood a chance after he’d been inside you.

Talk about a concealed weapon.

Nick’s hand dragged down your spine as he ate you out, until it settled at the curve of your hip. You were trembling, your breath catching with every lick of his tongue and suck of his lips until he finally pulled back, his mouth slick as he wiped it with the back of his hand.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice calm enough to make your pulse spike.

His cock was already thick and aching as he climbed on the bed behind you.

You’d always done this to him. He could’ve gone months without even jerking off, no trouble. But one look at you, hips tipped high, cunt slick and wanting, and he was already leaking, already twitching in his grip.

Nick gripped your ass, spreading you open as he leaned forward, dragging the blunt head of his cock over your soaked slit. You whimpered, the sound vibrating through the thin walls, and his jaw flexed as he leaned close to your ear.

“You wanna feel that curve, don’t you?” he rasped, his voice low and rough. 

“This is why no one else can fill you properly, Princess. This dick was made for you.”

He pushed in slow, the stretch deliberate, letting you feel every inch. You gasped, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he bottomed out, the subtle bend hitting deep, right where he knew you needed it.

“Jesus, fuck, Nick,” you moaned, voice ragged.

“Yeah,” he muttered against your shoulder, his hand sliding up your stomach to grip your throat, tilting your head so your cheek brushed his jaw.

“Say it. Let me hear it.”

He started to move, long, deep thrusts, controlled and steady at first, each one driving his cock into you until your body shuddered. He angled his hips just so, letting the curve of him grind against that spot that always made your breath stutter and your thighs shake.

“Nick, please!” you gasped, the words breaking on a moan, almost singing.

He growled low in your ear, his thrusts picking up, hips snapping harder, enough to make your teeth rattle. 

“That’s it. Take it. Take every inch. You wanted the Princess treatment, didn’t you? So take it.”

His fingers found your clit, circling in time with his thrusts, and your moans pitched higher, your body arching, every nerve lit.

“Come on,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot, his thrusts relentless. 

“I can feel how close you are. Come on my cock, Princess.”

You shattered around him, your cry muffled against the mattress as he held you through it, grinding deep until your shudders eased. Then he flipped you onto your back, his eyes dark and wild.

“Not done,” he rasped, hooking your legs over his forearms and driving back in, rougher now as he chased his own release. You could see it in his face, the tight jaw, the blown pupils, the flicker of restraint barely holding as he buried himself deep, again and again.

When he came, it was with a low, rough groan against your neck, his hips pressing flush to yours as his body shook with the force of it.

Nick stayed there for a minute, his weight heavy but grounding. Then he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his fingers brushing your jaw with surprising gentleness.

“Now,” he murmured, a faint smirk curving his mouth, “you can sleep.”

He eased out of you slowly, guiding you down to the mattress. You were still trembling, your breath soft and uneven. He pulled the blanket over you, pressing his mouth to the side of your throat, a kiss softer than anything he’d given you all night.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his hand smoothing along your ribs until your pulse slowed beneath his fingers. “Sleep now. I’ll handle the rest.”

And for once, you didn’t fight him. The exhaustion from the club, the scare, and everything after pulled you under.

—----

The next morning, Nick was already up and dressed, his holster back at his hip. The coffee pot gurgled faintly from the kitchenette.

“Get dressed,” he said, his voice as flat and professional as ever.

“Jake’s cleared everything. Threat’s neutralized. We’re moving.”

You stared at him from the bed, the sting of his detachment hitting harder than you wanted it to. He didn’t meet your eyes as he checked his phone, tapping out a message.

“Back to your hotel,” he added. “Your schedule picks up this afternoon.”

And that was it. No trace of last night, no softness, no hint of the man who’d kissed you until your knees gave out or murmured in your ear while you came apart. Just Nick Fowler, ex-CIA, the shadow your label had shoved back into your life.

By the time you were dressed and back in the car, you could feel the wall going up between you. 

His, yours, both.

When Jake pulled up to your hotel, Nick didn’t walk you in. Just gave a short nod, his blue eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses in the morning light before the SUV pulled away.

Inside, your phone buzzed. Cameron’s name lit the screen. You didn’t hesitate before pressing the button forcing the smile into your voice as soon as he spoke.

“Hey Love. Are you okay?”

“Hey,” you said softly, sinking into the plush hotel chair. “I’m good. Are you busy? …No, I’m back now. Can you come over? Yeah, I could use the company.”

You didn’t mention the safehouse. Or Nick. Or the way your thighs still ached in the best and worst ways.

Some things, for now, needed to stay in the shadows.

[twerkforambrose]

The 355 (2022) Sebastian Stan

[lunamarvels]

Appreciation post for some of Seb’s other characters that I love 🫶🏻

[nodyourbeautifulhead]

You're Suppose NOT to LOVE the VILLAINS !!

The Villains:

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out Of Heaven 15

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Sleep is deep and dulcet. Heavy and warm like a freshly dried duvet. Thick and soothing. 

A soft breeze rolls up your skin. You shiver as slowly you rise up from the depths. You twitch and grumble, clinging to that somewhere else. 

You push your hand under the pillow and bury your face in the down cushion. The wind tickles you again. And a third time. 

It isn't air at all. It's something firmer, something more deliberate. Nick drags his touch up your side again and presses himself to your back. 

"Princess," he drawls as his length rests rigid against your back. "I was dreaming of you." 

You hum and try to catch his hand. He pushes against your effort and slips free. He cups your chest and nuzzles your head. 

"You can stay like that," he cooes into your hair. 

Your eyes flick open as his hand grazes down to your hip, past it, and his fingers curl into the flesh of your thigh. He pushes his foot between your ankles and lifts your leg with his. He sidles down on the mattress and angles until he's prodding at your entrance. 

"Nick--" you choke on the harsh consonant as he sinks into you all at once. 

"Oh, baby, just as good as I remember." He purrs as he bottoms out. "Shh," he brings his hand back up to tickle your throat. "Just relax. Close your eyes." 

You shudder in a breath and it catches behind your ribs. You put your hand on his hip, begging for a rest. As good as it feels, as warm as he is, you're exhausted. 

He hushes you again and angles to press his lips to your cheek. He thrusts into you, slow and long, small wisps of air escaping your coarse throat. He squeezes tighter, just until it burns. 

"Princess, you treat me so right." He growls. "You're a good girl, huh?" He pushes in until you squirm. "My good girl, right?" 

You bite down and nod, flicking back the tears on your lashes. Those words make your chest bloom like no others. All you want to do is keep him happy, even if you aren't. 

💜

“Smells good,” Nick stretches as he enters the kitchen. 

“Blueberry pancakes,” you smile. “Hope you don’t mind. I saw the fruit in the fridge--” 

“Had to make sure we had everything we need,” he puts his hands on his hips, just around the towel barely clinging to him. His hair is damp from his shower. “Not that I need anything but you, Princess.” 

You smile and flip the flapjacks. They’re perfectly gold, the berries about to burst. 

“You make those a lot? Your dad’s luckier than he says.” He purrs as he leans on the counter. Close, watching you. 

“No, uh. No. He doesn’t like blueberry.” You keep your eyes down. 

“Ah. Well, I’m sure he’s missing out,” Nick says. He reaches over and grazes his knuckle against your cheek. “You are glowing, you know that?” 

You look at him. “No? I am?” You don’t feel like you are. You feel empty. Exhausted. 

“You had a good time yesterday, didn’t you? And this morning?” He traces along the corner of your lip. 

“Of course.” You giggle. “I... I had... fun.” 

“Fun? Is that all I am?” He presses on your lower lip. 

You hesitate to answer. He brushes along the soft flesh and pushes his finger into your mouth. You gasp and turn your head to look at him. He dips his finger further in. 

“I like your mouth. It’s cute.” He rubs your tongue. “I bet it feels nice.” 

You stare at him. You think you know what he wants. You grip the spatula. 

“Nrrch,” you garble around his finger. He pops it out and sucks your saliva off. His blue eyes shine at you. “They... they’re going to burn.” You say. 

“Sure, baby.” He leans on his elbow and adjusts his towel. “Later... can I show you... you know how I made you happy. On the boat. With my mouth...” he shifts his weight. “You could that for me.” 

“Erm...” you move the pancakes onto a waiting plate. “Maybe, uh, yes. Sure. Sorry, I... I’m tired.” 

“I know, baby, I know. But we got time. We can go slow.” He stands straight. “Just like we have so far.” 

There’s a tinge in his voice. You’ve gone slow, too slow. He’s impatient. You feel bad. You don’t want to disappoint him. 

“Okay. Yes,” you hold out the plate of pancakes. “I’ll do it.” 

💜

You reach into your purse and pull out your phone. You sneer at the empty bars. You raise it higher, hoping for a signal. 

You angle it around. Your battery is dying too. Shoot. You need to login and check your school stuff. You’ve already been offline for too long. 

You go out onto the deck. The sunlight pours over you as the trees rustle over the sparkling coastline. The water laps distantly. Still nothing. 

“What’s the matter, princess?” Nick startles you. You whip around and lower the phone. “You don’t got another boy on the side, do you?” 

You make a face and shake your head. “No. Never.” 

He laughs. “I know.” He nears and reaches for the phone. “You don’t need this here.” 

“I... I... my homework,” you utter. 

“You work too hard, baby.” He slips the phone into his chest pocket. “You can take a few days off.” 

“Few days?” You echo softly. “Is that how long...” 

“We’ll feel it out. Oh, come on. You’re a smart girl. You’ll catch up,” he steps closer and runs his hands up and down your arms. 

He slows and feels the fluttery fabric of your dress. The pink colour is like a perfect summer rose. There isn’t much to it. It stops just at the top of your thigh, the straps are thin, and the bodice barely clings to your chest. 

“You wanna learn something. What we talked about earlier?” He plays with the hem of the skirt. 

“I don’t... I don’t know. If you want...” you voice turns to dust. 

You didn’t forget. You couldn’t. You keep thinking about what he wants. 

“Hey, look, come here.” He takes your hand and pulls you through the doors. 

He guides you inside and to the front room. He sits you on the cushy couch and sets your phone on the table behind the armrest. He turns to you and cradles your face. He leans in. 

“Let’s just kiss. Have some fun.” 

He slips his hand up so his thumb and index frame your ear. He presses his lips to yours. You meld into him so easily. It’s like every time he touches you, all your thoughts just drift away. 

As you lean into him, you put your hand on his thigh. He tilts your head back and dips his tongue into your mouth. You moan as you let him in. You surrender to him completely. 

His warm flows through you, it surrounds you, suffocates you. As much as you want him, that’s not what consumes you. It’s how much he wants you. 

He shifts, turning to pin you against the back of the couch. You trail your hand up to his chest. He growls as he devours you. His saliva smears around your lips. 

Your insides boil. You want more. Even as the thought makes you hurt, you want him. You want this. It scares you but somehow, that makes it better. You don’t understand it, you don’t understand him, but you’re tired of trying to figure things out. 

Let it happen. You’ve never done that before. You always try, sometimes too hard. You’re always trying to reach higher and higher. No. You don’t have to with him. 

His hand slips around the back of your head. His thumb pets your hair and he leans his forehead against yours. He exhales as he pulls his lips from yours. 

“It’s okay, princess. Just do what I tell you, okay?” He purrs. 

Your lashes flutter. “Okay...” 

“Put your hand in my lap.” His voice grits in his throat. 

You wince and fist his shirt. You steel yourself and let go. You rest your hand on his thigh. 

“Higher,” he growls. You obey. 

“Undo my zipper.” 

Zipper down, button undone. 

“Alright, good girl. Can you feel me? I already need you so bad.” He rasps. 

You giggle. Nervous but excited. 

“Take me out.” You do. “Now hold onto me. Like before. You know what to do, don’t you?” 

You grip him. You pump your hand up then down. He shakes and his fingers curl into the back of your neck. 

“Mm, like that.” He hums. 

You pump him, feeling him tense, basking in his delight. He tickles your knee and pushes his head back against the couch. He puts his feet flat. 

“Okay, okay,” he groans. “You just slow down or I’m not gonna last, okay?” 

You slow. 

“Your mouth. I need it.” He begs as he pushes on your neck. 

You resist for a moment. You look at his lap. You watch yourself playing with him. He’s thick and veiny. The swollen tip glistens. 

You shake and slowly hunch over. You move back on the cushion and hover your lips right above him. You take a breath and press your lips to him. You kiss it and pull back. 

“Mm, baby, that’s cute.” He pets your head. “More.” 

Your lip trembles. That fluttering in your chest isn’t so nice anymore. It’s like thumping. You’re scared. 

He drags hand up to back of your head and pushes you down. Your lips meet his tip. You have no choice but to open to him. 

You taste the salt dribble on his tip. You stretch your lips and press your tongue to his rigid flesh. He lets you back up before you can choke. You puff through your nose. 

“Sorry, baby.” He strokes your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m just... excited.” 

You nod and force yourself to take more of him. He groans louder and grabs your shoulder. He twitches. 

“Oh, princess. Can’t you feel how weak I am?” He whines. 

He does sound weak. For you. You pull back and glide back down. You have to stop. You can’t take any more than that. 

“Don’t force it, alright?” His thumb rubs your shoulder muscle. “That’s good.” 

You keep your rhythm. His voice unravels above you. Your mouth drags sloppily up and down his length. 

“Your hand. Yeah, both.” He rasps. 

You bring your hand around him, using it with your mouth. It’s easier. Your jaw aches but you don’t stop. The way he squeezes your shoulder and pets your head, the way his voice drones on and one. It makes it all easier. 

“Faster,” he snarls. 

You go faster. You nearly gag as you do. The spit leaks out onto your hand and smears over your cheeks. It dribbles under your palm. The motion has you dizzy and yet, you don’t, you won’t stop. 

“Oh, god, oh g--” 

He grabs your shoulder and pushes you off him. You land against the couch, breathless. He frightens you as he gets up and straddles your stomach. You squeak as he pumps his dick, grab your chest as his jaw clenches. 

Suddenly, his cum spurts out and strings up your chest and neck, a few strands on your face. You lay frozen against the arm rest, paralysed, palms out as if begging mercy. 

He grunts as he empties the last few drops onto the dress. He hangs his head and trembles. His hand stills and he peels it away. His dick glistens as the taste of him lingers on your tongue. 

Nick whistles and lifts his chin. He grins and raises himself above you. He brings his knees between your legs as he opens your thighs up to him. 

“Princess, can I have more?” He lowers himself over you. “Tell me I can. Tell me I can go inside.” 

You blink and stare at him. His cum cools on your skin. You shakily wipe it off your cheek. 

“Nick,” you hold up your hand and look at the glean of his cum. “I... when you... before...” your eyes glisten. “I’m not on anything.” 

“No?” He wonders. 

“Like... a pill. Birth control.” you murmur. “I...” 

“Baby, you don’t gotta worry about that.” He brushes his nose against yours. “Not right now.” 

[sebssoulmate]

AHHH they’re so cute!! And his hair!!

[pics from: sebstanmedia & vbarn3s on twitter/x]

[navybrat817]

Please for ficlet friday V-day edition...Nick Fowler and

“I don’t care who they are, I never want to see you talking to them again!”

I decided to make a small follow up to All Nighter, lovely! Hope you enjoy!

Micromanager

Pairing: Soft!Dark Nick Fowler x Female Reader

Summary: Nick doesn't like you talking to another man.

Word Count: Over 720

Warnings: Sexual harassment, possessive behavior, jealousy, tension, noncon kissing and implied noncon, Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Barnes?” you asked, setting his water and a manila folder on the spare desk.

“Please, call me Bucky,” he said, scooting his chair in so he could look over the file. “And this is fine, thank you.”

Bucky Barnes worked for SHIELD instead of the CIA. The organizations worked together from time to time, and it usually wasn't by choice. Too much ego, too many secrets each wanted to keep from the other. It probably explained why Nick had been in a mood before Bucky showed up and you couldn't imagine that it would improve much once he left.

Good or bad mood, you were going to be on the receiving end of whatever it is he was feeling.

“Well, let me know if you do, Bucky,” you smiled.

“I will,” he gently smiled back, his gaze lingering as you went back to your desk.

The soldier was extremely handsome, his blue eyes kinder than your boss’s. He was bigger than your boss, too. Stronger. He seemed like a decent man overall and you wanted to ask his help, but you didn't. You couldn't.

What would you say if you did? That the Director of the CIA became fixated with you and was harassing you? Forcing you to continue to work for him because he decided you were his?

Your heart sank when you heard your name behind you. Turning, you saw Nick standing in the doorway and expected to meet his gaze since he called for you. Your boss, however, glared at Bucky. He looked like he was two seconds from putting a bullet in his head.

“Yes, Mr. Fowler?” you asked to get his attention, something you didn't want, but it was better than him staring daggers at Bucky.

He blinked and slowly looked your way. “Can I please see you in my office?” he asked, a pit forming in your stomach when you got to your feet. “Barnes, you can continue looking over that file down the hall. Room 3.”

Bucky looked up with a frown. “I don't mind looking-”

“That wasn't a suggestion. That was an order,” he cut him off, a dark smile on his face. “You know all about following orders, right?”

Bucky’s nostrils flared when he shut the folder and stood, but he gave you a soft smile. “When your asshole of a boss is done talking to you, could you please bring me another water to Room 3? I’d appreciate it.”

Your mouth fell open and you merely looked between the men as they narrowed their eyes at each other. Not many were bold enough to call Nick an asshole to his face. There was history there that went beyond organization rivalry, and the longer they stared, the more uncomfortable you felt.

The staring contest finally ended when Bucky gave you one last smile and took his leave, but you felt like you couldn't breathe.

Nick gripped your arm once you were alone, pulled you into his office and shut the door. Your heart thundered in your chest when he locked it. “You were being very friendly with Barnes, weren't you?”

“I was treating him like every other guest,” you said evenly, wincing when he pulled you closer.

“Sir,” Nick said through his teeth.

“Sir,” you whispered, more frightened than you felt since he first made his intentions clear. “Please, let me go.”

“Why? So you can run to him?” he asked, backing you against the door and caging you in. Did he sense that you thought about asking him for help? “You’re mine. Not his.”

You didn't want to belong to Nick. “I know. He works for SHIELD and I was just-”

“I don't care who he is. I never want to see you talking to him again!”

You closed your eyes when his breath fanned your lips. Nick had an air of cockiness around him, but you had never seen his jealous side. It frightened you.

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” he whispered, some of his anger dissipating before he kissed you. A mark of ownership. “Just stay the fuck away from Bucky Barnes.”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, shivers wracking your body when he kissed you again.

Because you were going to feel every ounce of Nick’s jealousy before the day was through.

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[holylulusworld]

Mommy, dearest

Summary: Your marriage is over, and you seek revenge.

Pairing: Unnamed husband x Wife!Reader

Future Pairing: Nick Fowler x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, awful MIL, false accusations, mentions of cheating, mentions of attempted rape (no description, nothing happens), injured reader, strong reader, I mention incest as an insult (nothing happens), caring Nick

A/N: Did you find the Easter eggs from movies and TV shows? 😏 // You can imagine any character from any show/movie/game for her husband. I left it up to your imagination.

Reverse Trope: Divorce of convenience

A/N: This story is part of my reverse tropes’ collection.

Reverse Tropes Bingo Masterlist

You changed your life once because of a man. You can do it again.

The only difference is that you do it because of a broken heart this time – not out of love.

Your broken ribs hurt like a bitch as you slowly walk down the stairs of the luxurious estate you called your home for the last three years.

You wish you could say every memory you made was a joyous one within these walls, but they are not.

There’s one thing that kept you from getting true happiness with your husband. A thing called Mommy Dearest. The woman hated you the second you dared to take her son’s attention from her.

She didn’t give you a chance to become a part of her family. From the beginning, she was nothing but vile toward you. Everything you did was wrong. She made clear that you are never going to be good enough for her son.

Until now, you endured all of her jabs and snide comments. Today, you reached your breaking point.

After you got attacked at your husband’s house, during one of his infamous parties, things changed completely.

Your mother-in-law dared to tell your husband you cheated on him with the man trying to force himself on you. You made it out alive, but not without three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and bruises all over your left side. He didn’t succeed in raping you but got you good.

What hurts the most isn’t your injuries or your mother-in-law’s cruel words. No. You could’ve survived the physical pain and her venomous words.

What hurts the most is that your husband, the man you believed loved you unconditionally, didn’t even let you explain what happened last night.

You didn’t fight for your love this time. The moment he called you a cheater, a whore, and a gold-digger, you decided he was not worthy of being your husband and the sacrifices you made for your love.

A duffle bag and a worn-out backpack are the only things you will take with you. There’s nothing else you’ll need until you get out of the state.

“She’s still here?” You hear your soon-to-be ex-mother-in-law snarl as you walk toward the front door. “Wait, wait!” She gets in your way, blocking your path to freedom and a heartbreak-free life. “Did you not forget something?”

“The rings are on the vanity,” you snap at her and try to walk past the monster ruining your relationship. “If you’d excuse me now, I’d love to go back to the hospital and let them check on my broken ribs.”

“Lying bitch,” she snarls and tries to slap your cheek, but you are quick to catch her hand midair with your right hand, hissing in pain as you forget about your shoulder and your broken ribs for a second. “Give it all back.”

She looks at the necklace around your neck and the bracelet around your right wrist. “My mother gave me the necklace, so fuck off.”

Your husband scoffs as you take the bracelet off and throw it in his mother’s face. “But you can keep that piece of shit.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied and points at the expensive shoes and jacket your husband bought for you. You laugh and shake your head.

“So be it,” you say, stepping out of your shoes and kicking them at her.

Next is the jacket. You throw it at her. You hiss in pain when you strip your blouse and pants off, revealing the bandage around your ribs and the bloody gash that opened again on your leg.

“Here, take it all. Do you want the underwear too?” You smirk when she blanches. “You can have it. Maybe your dearest son finally fucks you when you’re wearing it.”

Your husband inhales sharply, and she fakes a sob, putting her hand on her heart. It’s not the first time that you made a crude comment about his mother’s obsession with him.

“What happened? Was he too rough?” If you hadn’t cried your eyes out last night, you’d do it right now.

“Why don’t you ask your driver, Scott, the one your mother fired after he drove me to the hospital last night? He could tell a different story, but Mommy Dearest stopped him. Maybe, one day, you’ll realize you kicked the best thing ever happening out of your life after one of your business associates tried to rape me.”

“You dare to lie about one of my friends, too? He’s a good person.”

You laugh in his face. “Friends? You call someone following me into our bedroom to rape me a friend. You stand there and call them a good person after everything he did to me?”

“Only because he made the mistake of falling for your trap doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.” He replies, but his eyes are glued to the gash on your leg. “Mother wouldn’t lie to me.” He watches you wince when you pick up your luggage. “Stop acting like you’re hurt.”

You nod slowly. “Oh yeah. I forgot he’s one of Mommy’s friends, and she told you I fucked him, so it must be true. Facts and my injuries don’t speak for themselves.” You turn your head to look at your mother-in-law, smirking. “Go ahead and get your boy. He’ll be lonely without a woman’s touch. Maybe if you drug him too, he’ll get it up for you.”

sc“Bitch!” She snarls, but you only laugh in her face. You’re beaten black-and-blue, your ribs hurt like a bitch, and the scratch on your leg burns like hell, but damn, watching her face twist in anger is the best painkiller.

“Dito,” you coo and walk toward the front door in nothing but your undergarment. “Rot in hell. Both of you.” You don’t look back. Stepping out of the door, you slam it shut and exhale sharply.

You can see the bodyguards look in your direction when you open your duffle bag to throw some clothes on. They’re unsure if they should help you or not. Scott got fired because he helped you.

“It’s alright, guys. I know you know what really happened from Scott, but I don’t want any of you to lose your position. How about you don’t dodge a bullet for that old hag, and we are even?” They chuckle and nod. “Take care.”

Walking away, your head held high, you smirk to yourself. They don’t know hellfire will rain down on them soon…

Standing in front of your secret little hideout, you sigh deeply. When you left your old life behind three years ago, you never thought of coming back here.

Still, you kept your backup plan. Maybe it was your past telling you not to get too comfortable, or you always knew that the blooming relationship with your husband was meant to fall apart sooner rather than later.

So, you kept your secret little hideout for the unavoidable fallout.

You hesitate for a second, index finger hovering over the touchpad. You inhale and exhale before pressing your finger to the fingerprint scanner. The first lock unlocks, bringing you one step closer to your past.

The gate opens, and you step toward the next security measure stopping you from entering. “Soylent Green is people.” You recite your password to deactivate the voice recognition door access control system.

Finally, the door unlocks and slides open. You get a flashlight out of your backpack and enter the room.

The moment you step inside, you feel like your past envelops you with confidence and strength. You forgot about the strong and stubborn woman you used to be to match your husband’s image of you.

As you step toward the middle of the room, a voice stops you from overthinking things. “Please enter a password or this unit will destroy itself within sixty seconds.” The countdown starts, and you wait for the first ten seconds just to feel the thrill again.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."You give the voice recognition security system your password, unlocking another mechanism.

The lights turn on automatically. You look around, checking on every item before grabbing the satellite phone placed right next to a laptop. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

There’s no other choice than calling for backup. If you want to take revenge on Mommy dearest and your husband, you will need the devil’s help.

You dial the number burned in your memory, taking another deep breath. Waiting. Hoping he will answer.

“I knew you’d come to your senses,” Nick casually says, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Are you ready to come home?”

“I need your help.”

“Of course, you need my help.” You bet he leans back and grins as you wait for him to turn you down or agree to help you. “If you want me to help you, I want something in return.”

“We have the same interest for once,” you reply. “You wanted him, you'll get him. I have everything you’ll need to bring him, his mommy, and the whole fucking business down.”

“What did he do?” For a second you believe you heard worry in Nick’s voice. “Y/N? Did he hurt you?”

“Physically…no.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I want to bring him down, that’s all.”

“Three years late, but fine, I’m on my way. Tell me where and when…”

Nick Fowler waltzes into your hideout like the cocky bastard he is. He smirks and is about to scold you for falling for your target.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t have…” Nick stops in his tracks. He looks you up and down, frowning deeply as he recognizes, within a few seconds, that you are sheltering your shoulder.

“Who did this to you?” He’s in front of you faster than you can blink. “Y/N, answer me. Did he do this to you? You said he didn’t hurt you?”

“It was…” You look away, ashamed. “I got weak, I guess.” You sniff because you are angry at yourself for not being more cautious around your mother-in-law. “There was a party at our house. My mother-in-law handed me a drink. I felt…”

“She drugged you.” Nick squares his jaw. “Did she hurt you? Where are you hurt?” He carefully touches your shoulder, making you hiss in pain. “Y/N answer me.”

“I felt dizzy and walked upstairs to lie down. My husband was busy with his mommy once again. I didn’t drink the whole glass. Only nipped at the drink.” You explain while Nick moves his hand under your shirt to examine the damage your attacker did.

“Three broken ribs,” he curses under his breath. “I told you that bastard will get you killed!”

“It wasn’t him but his mother plotting against me. She sent one of her friends, a slimy bastard I despised from the beginning, to fake that I cheated on my husband.” You inhale sharply. “You know…he tried to force me.”

“I’ll kill them all.” Nick angrily replies. “I hope you got that bastard good, darling.”

“He lost a few teeth, and his pride and dick got hurt. If not for the drugs, he’d be dead,” you reply with a smirk. "It’s nothing, really. I had it worse. You should see the other.”

“I’ll get you out of here, and you will let a doctor check on you. On our way, you’ll tell me everything about him, his mother, and their business.” Nick searches your face, eyes boring into your soul. “No tricks.”

“No tricks,” you breathe out. “I want to watch them burn.”

Nick moves his arms around you, nuzzling your neck. He hates himself for pushing you away, right into the arms of another man. Nick let you go once; he won’t make the same mistake twice.

“I will raise hell for you…”

Part 2