"New Experiences"
(Soft Dark!)Mayor!Nick Fowler x Librarian!Reader
(they/them) "Smarts"
A/N: Smarts is back! I still have a few more instalments of this world to do, though I feel that most will come at the end of the month since college classes, work, and life is just catching up way too fast
Word Count: 3531
WARNINGS: use of nicknames ("smarts"), kidnapped, aftereffects of being drugged, Stockholm syndrome, BIIIIIG basement partner energy (siri, i thought of you)
For the Small Town Fic 2026 writing challenge w/ @thezombieprostitute
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.