#powerdynamic

. ✦ ݁ ˖ SUMMARY - Nanami doesn’t mind spending money on you—in fact, he likes it. Every impulsive purchase, every designer bag, every “just because” swipe of his card reminds him exactly who you belong to. You call it spoiling; he calls it investment. As long as you’re wearing his taste, living in his world, and coming back to him at the end of the day, he’ll keep the card unlimited—and you even more so.

CW: explicit sexual content, sugar daddy dynamic, age gap (reader is 20s, Nanami is late 30s), size kink, financial domination, brat taming, rough sex, degradation, praise kink, breeding kink undertones, creampie, possessive behavior, daddy kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation

The notification makes your phone buzz against the marble countertop of the Chanel boutique.

N.K: Did you find something you like?

You glance down at the three shopping bags already at your feet—Hermès, Cartier, Louis Vuitton—then back at the sales associate who's carefully wrapping the black quilted handbag you'd been eyeing.

Maybe 👀

N.K: Maybe isn't an answer, sweetheart.

Fine. Yes. I found several things.

N.K: Good girl. Don't hold back. That's what the card is for.

You bite your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach at those two words. Good girl. He knows exactly what that does to you.

The sales associate hands you the bag with a practiced smile. "Will there be anything else, Miss?"

You glance at the display of jewelry near the register—delicate chains, diamond pendants, things that cost more than most people's monthly rent.

There might be one more thing...

N.K: Stop teasing and buy it.

You don't even know what it is.

N.K: I don't need to. If you want it, it's yours. Everything is yours.

Your stomach flips. Three months. You've been doing this thing with Nanami Kento for three months, and you still haven't gotten used to it—the casual way he spends money on you, the platinum card he'd given you with your name embossed on it, the way he seems to get off on seeing you dripping in things he's bought you.

You'd met him at a gallery opening. You'd been there for your art history class, trying to get extra credit. He'd been there because he apparently collected pieces from emerging artists. When he'd approached you, asked your opinion on a particular sculpture, you'd been honest—told him you thought it was pretentious trash trying too hard to be profound.

He'd laughed. Actually laughed. Then asked if you wanted to get coffee and critique the rest of the gallery with him.

One coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into drinks. Drinks turned into him asking, very directly, if you'd be interested in an arrangement.

"I'm not looking for a relationship," he'd said, his voice smooth and direct in that way you'd come to learn was just how he operated. "I'm too busy for the complications. But I am looking for companionship. Someone intelligent, beautiful, who isn't afraid to speak their mind. Someone I can spoil."

You should've said no. Should've been insulted, maybe. But there was something about him—the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his expensive suit fit perfectly, the tired edge to his eyes that spoke of long hours and too much stress. The way he looked at you like he was already imagining all the ways he could take care of you.

"Spoil how?" you'd asked.

"However you want. Clothes, jewelry, shoes, bags. Tuition, if you need it. Rent. A nicer apartment. A car." He'd leaned forward. "Anything you want, it's yours. All I ask is that you make time for me. Dinner a few times a week. Events when I need a date. And—" His eyes had darkened. "—other things, if you're interested."

You'd been interested.

Very interested.

Now, standing in Chanel with four shopping bags and counting, you select a delicate gold necklace with a small diamond pendant.

"This one too," you tell the associate.

Okay I'm done. For now.

N.K: For now?

I haven't hit Prada yet 😇

N.K: Brat.

N.K: My driver will pick you up at 7. Wear something I bought you.

Which thing? You've bought me like 50 things.

N.K: Surprise me. But make it easy to take off.

Bossy.

N.K: You like it when I'm bossy.

You do. God, you really do.

7:00 PM - Nanami's Penthouse

The driver drops you off at the building—all glass and steel and obscene wealth in the heart of the city. The doorman knows you by name now, just waves you through to the private elevator that goes straight to the penthouse.

You're wearing the black silk dress he'd bought you last week—Valentino, ridiculously expensive, and it fits like it was made for you. It probably was; he'd had them take your measurements. The new Cartier necklace sits delicate against your collarbone, and you're carrying the Hermès bag from today.

The evidence of his money is all over you, and you know exactly what that's going to do to him.

The elevator opens directly into his apartment—minimalist, modern, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. And there he is, standing by the windows with a glass of whiskey, still in his work clothes. Suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened.

He's 38 but could pass for younger if not for the silver threading through his blonde hair, the tired set to his shoulders that speaks of too many late nights at the office. He's handsome in that refined, elegant way—sharp features, strong jaw, eyes that miss nothing.

Those eyes drag over you now, slow and assessing, and you watch his grip tighten on his glass.

"Well?" You do a slow turn, letting him see the whole outfit. "Do I pass inspection?"

"Come here," he says, voice already rough.

You cross to him, heels clicking on the hardwood, and stop just out of reach. "Is that any way to greet me? I spent all day shopping for you."

"For me?" His eyebrow raises. "I thought you were shopping for yourself."

"Same thing, isn't it? You get off on it either way."

His eyes flash. "Careful."

"Or what?" You step closer, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Even in heels, he's taller—6'0" to your 5'4", and the size difference does something to both of you. "You'll stop giving me your credit card? We both know you won't."

"No," he agrees, setting down his glass. His hand comes up to the necklace, fingers trailing over the delicate chain. "I won't. Do you know why?"

"Because you like seeing me in expensive things?"

"Because I like seeing you in things I've bought you." His fingers trace lower, skimming your collarbone. "I like everyone knowing that someone takes care of you. That you're mine to spoil. That every time someone compliments this necklace or that bag, you'll think of me."

Your breath hitches. "Possessive."

"Extremely." His hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can already feel him hard against your stomach. "How much did you spend today?"

"I don't know. A lot?"

"Sweetheart." His tone is warning. "How much?"

You pull out your phone, checking the notifications from his card. "Um. Around... forty thousand?"

The noise he makes is almost pained. His hand tightens on your waist. "Forty thousand dollars."

"You said not to hold back!" You're trying to sound defensive but it comes out breathy because his other hand is sliding up your thigh, bunching the silk of your dress.

"I did say that." His fingers find the edge of your underwear—La Perla, also his money. "And you listened so well. Such a good girl, spending my money. Did it feel good?"

"Yes," you admit.

"Did you think about me?" His fingers slip beneath the lace. "Every time you handed over that card with my name on it, did you think about what I'd do to you later?"

"Yes—" It comes out as a gasp because his fingers are sliding through your wetness.

"You're soaked." He sounds pleased and dark. "Does spending my money turn you on? Does being my perfect little spoiled brat make this pretty pussy wet?"

"Fuck—yes—"

"Yes what?" His fingers circle your clit, not enough pressure to satisfy.

"Yes, Daddy," you breathe, and feel him twitch against you.

That word. You'd discovered by accident that he likes it—loves it, actually. Likes the way it sounds in your mouth, likes the dynamic it implies. Likes being the older man who takes care of you in every way.

"That's better." He pulls his fingers away and you whimper at the loss. "Bedroom. Now. And take off the dress slowly. I want to see everything I paid for."

You walk to the bedroom—all black sheets and modern furniture and windows that overlook the glittering city. You can see your reflection in them, see him following behind you, predatory and patient.

You reach for the zipper of your dress.

"Slower," he commands, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I've been thinking about this all day. Don't rush it."

You slow down, drawing out the zip, letting the dress slip off your shoulders inch by inch. You're wearing the full set he'd bought you—black lace bra and panties, La Perla, ridiculously expensive and completely impractical.

"The bra too," he says, eyes dark.

You unclasp it, let it fall. His gaze drops to your breasts, heavy and appreciative.

"Perfect." He crooks a finger. "Come here."

You cross to him and he pulls you between his spread legs, hands spanning your waist. His thumbs brush the undersides of your breasts.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asks quietly. "Walking around in things I've bought you, spending my money without hesitation, trusting me to take care of you?"

"Tell me," you challenge.

Instead of answering, he pulls you down onto his lap, and the height difference is even more pronounced like this—you feel small, delicate, completely overwhelmed by him. His hands slide to your ass, gripping hard enough to make you gasp.

"It makes me want to fuck you until you can't remember your own name," he says against your neck. "Makes me want to mark you up so everyone knows you're taken. Makes me want to fill you up and send you out into the world dripping with my cum and covered in my diamonds."

"Then do it," you breathe.

His control snaps.

He flips you onto the bed, covers your body with his, and his mouth is on yours—demanding, consuming. His hands are everywhere, relearning your body, and you're already pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin.

He pulls back just long enough to strip—shirt, belt, pants, boxer briefs—and then he's back, naked and hard and perfect. He's built lean and strong under those expensive suits, with subtle muscle that speaks of disciplined gym sessions and good genetics.

And his cock—fuck, his cock. Long and thick, the kind of size that takes preparation, that makes you feel full and stretched and perfectly used.

"Look at you," he murmurs, hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them wide. "Look at this pretty pussy. Already so wet for me. Did you touch yourself thinking about me today?"

"Maybe," you hedge.

His hand comes down on your inner thigh—not hard, but sharp enough to make you gasp. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart. Did you touch yourself?"

"Yes!" you admit. "In the dressing room at Hermès, I—I couldn't help it—"

"Fuck." He groans, fingers sliding through your wetness. "You're going to kill me. My perfect little slut, getting herself off in a dressing room while spending my money."

He pushes two fingers inside you and you arch off the bed. He's always been good with his hands—patient, methodical, the same precision he applies to everything else in his life.

"Still so tight," he observes, working his fingers deeper. "How are you going to take my cock, sweetheart? How are you going to fit all of me in this tight little cunt?"

"I always do," you gasp out.

"Yes, you do." He adds a third finger and the stretch makes you whimper. "You take me so well. Take everything I give you. My money, my cock, my cum. Such a good girl for Daddy."

"Please—" You're already close, can feel it building. "Please, I need—"

"What do you need?" He curls his fingers, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. "Use your words."

"Your cock—please—need you inside me—"

"Not yet." He pulls his fingers out and you nearly sob. "First, you're going to come on my tongue."

He shifts down your body and his mouth is on you before you can process. His tongue works your clit while his fingers push back inside, and the combination is devastating.

"Oh god—Daddy—fuck—"

He's relentless, methodical, working you up with the same focused intensity he applies to everything. When you come, it's hard and sudden, your thighs clamping around his head as you cry out.

He works you through it, only pulling back when you're pushing at his head, oversensitive.

"Good girl," he praises, crawling back up your body. "So pretty when you come. Now—" He lines himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. "—are you ready for me?"

"Yes—please—"

He pushes in slowly, and even prepared, the stretch is intense. He's so big, so thick, and you feel every inch as he works himself deeper.

"Breathe," he instructs, one hand on your hip, the other braced beside your head. "That's it. Take it. Take Daddy's cock like the good girl you are."

"So big—" You're babbling now. "So full—"

"I know." He bottoms out and pauses, giving you time to adjust. "But you can take it. You always take it so well. My perfect girl with her perfect tight pussy."

He starts moving—slow, deep strokes that have you feeling every inch of him. One of his hands finds yours, pinning it beside your head, fingers threading through yours. The intimacy of it contrasts with the filthy slide of his cock inside you.

"Fuck, you feel good," he groans. "So tight. So wet. All for me. My spoiled little brat with my cock inside her."

"Yours—" You clench around him deliberately and he curses. "All yours—"

"That's right." His pace picks up, harder now, the headboard starting to hit the wall. "Mine. Mine to spoil. Mine to fuck. Mine to fill up."

His hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit, and the added stimulation makes you cry out.

"You're going to come again," he says, not a question. "Going to come on my cock while I fill you up. Going to be such a good girl for Daddy."

"Yes—please—so close—"

"What do you need?" His thumb circles your clit faster. "Tell Daddy what you need."

"Harder—" You're shameless now, desperate. "Fuck me harder—want to feel it tomorrow—"

Something dark flashes in his eyes. He pulls out completely, flips you over onto your hands and knees, and slams back in. The new angle has him impossibly deeper, and you nearly scream.

"Like this?" He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, setting a brutal pace. "This what you need? Need Daddy to fuck you hard? Remind you who you belong to?"

"Yes—fuck—yes—"

One hand leaves your hip, sliding up your spine to grip your hair, pulling your head back. The arch it creates has him hitting that perfect spot with every thrust.

"Look." He turns your head toward the windows, where you can see your reflection—him behind you, so much bigger, covering you completely. "Look at how well you take me. Look at how perfect you look getting fucked."

You can see it—the way his cock disappears inside you, the way your body rocks with each thrust, the way his hand looks spanning your waist. The size difference is even more obvious like this.

"So small," he mutters, almost to himself. "So fucking small compared to me. How do you even fit all of me? How does this tight little pussy take my cock so perfectly?"

"Made for you—" You're incoherent now. "Made for Daddy's cock—"

"Fuck—" His rhythm stutters. "You can't say things like that—"

"Why not?" You push back against him, meeting his thrusts. "It's true—love your cock—love how big you are—love that I'm the only one who gets to have you like this—"

His hand slides from your hair to your throat—not squeezing, just holding, possessive. "You are. The only one. Haven't touched anyone else since I met you. Don't want anyone else. Just you. Just my perfect spoiled girl."

"Gonna come—" You can feel it building again. "Daddy, please—"

His other hand slides around to your clit. "Come for me. Come on my cock. Show me who this pussy belongs to."

You shatter, clenching around him so hard he groans. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release, and when you hear him start to pull out—

"Inside," you gasp. "Want it inside—want you to fill me up—"

"Fuck—you sure—"

"Yes—please—need to feel it—"

He buries himself deep and comes with a groan of your name, and you can feel him pulsing, filling you, marking you from the inside. He grinds deeper, making sure every drop stays inside, before finally stilling.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just breathing hard, sweat-slicked, trembling.

Then he carefully pulls out, and you feel his cum start to leak out immediately. His fingers push it back in, possessive and deliberate.

"Mine," he mutters. "All of this is mine."

He helps you lie down properly, then disappears into the bathroom. Returns with a warm washcloth and cleans you up with gentle efficiency that makes your heart ache.

"You okay?" he asks softly, lying beside you and pulling you into his arms.

"More than okay." You settle against his chest. "That was..."

"I know." His fingers trace patterns on your shoulder. "You drive me insane, you know that? Walking around in things I've bought you, spending my money like it's nothing, looking at me with those eyes like you know exactly what it does to me."

"I do know," you admit. "That's why I do it."

He laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Brat."

"Your brat."

"Yes." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "My brat. My spoiled, perfect, expensive brat."

You tilt your head up to look at him. "So... about that Prada store..."

His eyes darken again, and you feel him twitch against your thigh. "You're going to be the death of me."

"But what a way to go."

He kisses you, slow and deep and possessive. "Go tomorrow. Buy whatever you want. Then come back here and model it for me."

"All of it?"

"All of it." His hand slides down your side. "And then I'll fuck you in every piece until you can't remember which designer is which."

"Is that a promise?"

"It's a guarantee." He rolls on top of you, already hard again. "But first, I'm not done with you yet."

"Again?" You're already breathless. "You're 38, how do you—"

"What can I say?" He grins, and it's the most relaxed you've ever seen him. "You're very inspiring. Now be a good girl and spread your legs. Daddy's not finished spoiling you yet."

And as he pushes inside you again, as you wrap your legs around his waist and let him take you apart piece by piece, you think that maybe this arrangement is the best investment either of you has ever made.

The Next Morning

You wake up to a notification on your phone.

BANK ALERT: $100,000 deposited into your account.

Below it, a text from Nanami:

N.K: For Prada. And whatever else catches your eye.

N.K: Don't hold back.

N.K: I want to see every purchase when you come over tonight.

You bite your lip, already planning your shopping route.

You're insatiable.

N.K: Only for you, sweetheart.

N.K: Now go spend my money like a good girl. I'll be thinking about you all day.

You definitely could get used to this.

Was it controversial? Most definitely. But that didn’t stop Leon and Chris from sneaking away during their lunch breaks. It started with touching and kissing in the utility room. It was cute. Chris knew he was treading dangerously around the rookie. He was so young and inexperienced and that was exactly what drew him to Leon so quick. Like he wanted to protect him yet also explore that dynamic. Who was Chris to Leon besides his new fling? His superior. Chris taught him to become the loyal cop he was today.

It only escalated from there. A bit of touching outside their clothes and tongue kissing quickly turned to Leon on his knees practically worshipping Chris’ cock. He just looked so good like that. Mouth stretching around his size, hands on his thighs steadying himself. How his lips swollen around his girth. It was a sight he’d kill for. Leon was inexperienced but eager to learn how to please his superior both inside and outside of that utility room door.

“You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you Leon?”

Chris’ praise only spurred Leon on. Wanting to hear how good he did, how well he took him. They never did more than oral. Until today. Chris pulled out of his warm wet mouth, the sound echoed in the small space. Leon’s drool covered lips still parted and a gaze that only spoke of arousal. He could see his cock bulge against his uniform pants.

“I want to fill that pretty ass of yours, baby. You think you can do that for me?”

He ran a finger across Leon’s bottom lip wiping away his spit and Leon nodded. He could feel his heart hammering against his chest. He had never done anything with a man outside of oral before, but saying no to Chris was impossible. Leon got up on his feet unbuckling his belt and the pants fell down on the floor. Leaving him in nothing but boxers and shirt. Chris gave his cock a few slow strokes at the sight of him.

“God you look good, rookie. I don’t think I can wait any longer”

With a slick move Chris hooked his fingers under his boxer lining pulling it down below his ass, Leon’s cock bouncing free, hard and precum leaking out of the tip. Hands grabbing onto the globes of his ass spreading them exposing his tight hole. God he was perfect. With a groan he grabbed onto his cock teasing his entrance with the tip watching as Leon’s ass tensed and relaxed with each stroke.

“Tell me you want me, baby. How much you want this cock inside you”

Leon didn’t hesitate. His legs parted and his own hands held onto his ass spreading for him. Stuttering out a plead to be filled, to be stretched out. Too horny to even be nervous anymore, Leon bent forward exposing his entrance to full display for his superior. The man who had taken him in, taught him how to defend himself. The man who was almost twenty years older. Now he had Leon exactly where he wanted, bent over about to give him the entire world.

“Oh fuck Leon. You’re so fucking tight”

Chris slowly entered him, the tip barely stretching Leon’s hole around him. The sight was beyond beautiful. Slowly inch by inch slid inside Leon’s virgin hole, feeling him wrapped around his cock was pure heaven, something out of this world. His eyes rolled back moving all the way, Leon’s moans and whimpers like music to his ears.

“Mmh make those pretty noises for me, baby. I want to hear them all”

Chris pulled up his shirt wanting to see everything. His whole shaft buried inside his favorite officer. Heavy breathing filled the small space. Footsteps could be heard outside making the entire experience more arousing.

“Shh you can’t let them hear how good this cock feels. You’re mine only, understood?”

With those words he began moving inside Leon making him take his entire length. His hips against Leon’s ass and their moans and grunts in perfect harmony, like a sexual orchestra. He held onto Leon’s waist, the way his smaller frame fit so well in his grasp, the way his ass bounced with each thrust, Leon’s hands held onto the shelf for his dear life, cock throbbing painfully and precum dripping onto the floor below him. He became a whimpering mess taking Chris for the very first time.

“I’m gonna cum. Chris, s-slow down please”

His entire body began tensing under him, the knot in his lower abdomen signaling his own climax threatening to consume him but not ready yet. Chris’ cock hitting his prostate nearly made him see stars, his moans loud, unable to control himself anymore he knew someone would hear them, an unlucky bypasser.

“I’m going to fill this pretty hole with my cum. Want you to carry it around. Reminding you of me”

He spoke between loud groans careless of how loud they were, his hips moving faster, Leon’s legs barely able to hold him, he cried out as his climax washed over him. His hole fluttering around chris’ cock, ropes of warm seed spilling onto the floor. Chris followed shortly after, a final thrust against his prostate before he spilled inside him, the warm sensation of being filled with cum. The room fell into silence only heard by panting and gasping for air, Chris remained buried inside Leon, not wanting to pull out just yet.

“Good boy. You did so well, baby”

He trailed kisses down Leon’s neck before giving his shoulder a gentle bite. He pulled out his half soft cock watching his seed spilling out of his pretty hole. Knowing he had given the rookie his first gay sex experience.

Hi, so thank you for reading! I am not entirely great with male sex fanfics because a: I’m a lesbian woman and b: I’m asexual and English isn’t my native language.

The help that wasn't wanted 

Chapter 9: 

He’d tell it later like it was nothing. Like the kind of thing that just… happened. But in the moment, it wasn’t nothing. The fire escape groaned the second his weight hit it metal screaming in that sharp, warning way that every instinct in his body recognized too late. “Go, go move!” Abbott barked, already pushing the last of his team through the third-story window ahead of him, smoke pouring out behind them, heat licking up the sides of the building. He stepped back onto the fire escape, one hand bracing the railing—just for a second and then it gave. The whole thing collapsed. Metal tore loose from brick. His boots slipped. And then he was falling. Not far enough to kill him but far enough. He hit the lower platform hard, shoulder first, the impact jarring up his spine, knocking the air clean out of his lungs. Pain shot through his arm instantly, sharp and bright, something wrong in the joint that he didn’t have time to think about. His back scraped across rusted metal, fabric tearing, skin catching, heat still clinging to everything. “Abbott!” someone shouted. “I’m good,” he snapped back automatically, and kinda winded, even as he pushed himself up with his good arm, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “Keep moving” And they did because he didn’t give them another option. He stayed in it. Cleared rooms. Broke down doors. Took hits he shouldn’t have taken and ignored the way his arm refused to fully cooperate, the way every movement pulled something deeper out of place. Another teammate had to shift to cover his side. He noticed that, cataloged it, tucked it away but he didn’t stop. He never stopped. Not until it was over.

By the time they got him into the car, the adrenaline had worn just enough to make everything worse. “You need an ambulance,” one of them said, glancing at his shoulder again, at the way it sat just slightly off. “I’m not calling it in,” Abbott shot back, leaning his head against the window for half a second before forcing himself upright again. “Drive.”... “You can’t just” … “I said drive.” And they did. Because that tone didn’t leave room for argument. The ER doors slid open like any other night. No heads-up. No prep. No chaos waiting for him. Just the hum of a normal shift. Abbott walked in alone and for a second just a second it almost felt like he could keep it that way. Until… “Dr. Abbott?” Kit of course it was Kit. Her voice caught him before anything else did, cutting through the noise like it always did, and when he looked up, she was already moving toward him, eyes scanning, taking him in too quickly, too carefully and then her expression changed. “What happened?” she asked, already at his side, already reaching for him before she could stop herself. “Nothing,” he said easily. Too easily. “It’s fine.”... “It’s not fine,” she shot back immediately, her hand hovering near his arm before finally settling lightly against it, testing, careful. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I don’t care.” That stopped him. Just for a second. Long enough for her to guide him toward a bed, her hand firm now, no hesitation in it. “Sit.” patting the bed  “I can take care of it—” Say it again “Sit.” And something in the way she said it was sharp, controlled, just this side of anger made him listen. Barely. He lowered himself onto the bed with a tight exhale, trying not to show how much it pulled at his shoulder. She noticed anyway of course she did. “Can you lift your arm?” she asked, already grabbing supplies, already moving like she’d done this a thousand times. He tried, but it didn't go well. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s fine.”... “That’s not fine,” she said again, softer this time, but no less firm. She stepped closer, eyes flicking over the cuts along his face, the scrape along his jaw, the blood dried into the collar of his shirt. “I need to see your shoulder.”

“I can—”

“You can’t,” she cut in, already reaching for the hem of his shirt. “You physically cannot, so stop pretending like you can.” There was a beat. A charged one and then she started cutting. The fabric gave easily under the scissors, falling away in pieces, exposing skin that was already bruising, already marked with shallow cuts and scrapes across his chest, his shoulder, his back where she could see it. And suddenly she was very aware of how close she was too close. Her fingers brushed his skin as she worked, careful, clinical—but not entirely steady. Heat crept up her neck, into her face, the awareness of him overwhelming in a way she hadn’t expected. Abbott felt it too. That shift, tension. The way her hands lingered just a second too long before pulling away. The way his breath caught was not from pain. Something else, something worse, he absolutely did not need. “You don’t have to—” he started, voice rougher now. “I do,” she said quickly, not looking at him. “You’re my patient right now.” still trying to work on him “That’s not… “Stop.” That did it. She lifted her hand and stepped away taking off her gloves to prove a point. The argument came fast after that because he couldn’t just sit there. Couldn't just let her take care of him. “I said I’ve got it,” he snapped, trying to push himself up, immediately regretting it when his shoulder screamed in protest “And I said you don’t,” she shot back, stepping in front of him, blocking him from moving. “You can’t even lift your arm, Abbott.” she snapped at him “I’ve handled worse than this alone.” in a low grown of pain  “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you right now?” He didn’t answer, and he didn't like the answer to that question. Didn’t like the way she was looking at him—like she saw right through it Through him “I don’t need you to—” she then reached for a new pair of gloves  “Well, I’m here anyway,” she snapped, frustration bleeding through now, something deeper under it that neither of them wanted to name. “So maybe just let me do my job for once instead of fighting me on everything.” That hit harder than it should have. Neither of them said anything. Then she stepped back one more time. Too abrupt and final. “Fine,” she muttered, dropping the gauze back onto the tray. “Do it yourself.” throwing the gloves at him  and she walked out.

Abbott sat there for a long second, alone. The shirt was cut off. Shoulder hanging wrong. Blood is still drying along his skin, and for the first time that night, he didn’t feel in control. Robby didn’t knock when he came in. He just walked in, took one look at the situation, and sighed like he’d been expecting it. “You’re an idiot,” he said simply. Abbott let out a short breath. “Not now…” Abbot said, "No, actually, now is perfect,” Robby shot back, crossing his arms. “Because what the hell was that?” Abbot tries to interrupt “I don’t need—” but it doesn't work. “She’s the one taking care of you,” Robby cut him off, voice sharp now. “And you just talked to her like that?” Abbott looked away, Jaw tight. “If a patient spoke to one of your nurses like that,” Robby continued, stepping closer, “you’d be on them in a second, yelling at them for the way they were speaking. So what makes you any different?” That landed because he didn’t have an answer.“Fix it, I don't care how, or I will.” Taking a beat, “and if you talk to her again, I swear to god I will come in here myself and break your other arm and let Dana watch,” furious at him . “Plus, I know you have a thing for her, and I am not letting you ruin it,” Robby finally said, walking out the door so only Abbot could hear him. 

By the time Brendon Park came down to pop his shoulder back into place, Abbott had gone quiet. Not the usual kind of quiet—controlled, observant, calculating. This was different, Still. His head tipped slightly forward, eyes unfocused like he wasn’t entirely in the room anymore, jaw tight as he replayed Robby’s words whether he wanted to or not. The echo of it sat heavy in his chest. Fix it. Like it was that easy. Like he knew how. Park barely spared him more than a glance as he walked in, already pulling on gloves like this was routine because with Abbott, it kind of was. “You’re still doing this shit?” Park sighed, not even bothering to hide the judgment. Abbott huffed out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh slipping through despite everything. “Apparently.” Park muttered “Yeah,” stepping closer, his eyes dropping to Abbott’s shoulder, assessing the slight misalignment, the way he was holding himself just a little too carefully. “Apparently.” There was a beat. Then, under his breath “Idiot.” Abbott didn’t argue. Didn’t have it in him this time. Park reached for his arm, firm but not unkind, fingers pressing along the joint, testing range, finding the exact point where everything sat wrong. Abbott’s muscles tensed on instinct, breath pulling tight in his chest. “This is going to hurt,” Park said, almost lazily but there was precision in the way he adjusted his grip, positioning him just right. “I know,” Abbott started But Park didn’t wait, Didn’t count down. Didn’t give him the chance to brace. He just did a sharp, controlled movement quick and exact and then a sickening pop as the joint slid back into place. The sound echoed louder than it should have. Abbott’s breath hitched, a low, involuntary exhale forcing its way out as the pain spiked and then just as quickly shifted. Not gone. Never gone. But different. Manageable. The deep, wrong pressure easing just enough to let him breathe again. His head dropped forward slightly, eyes closing for half a second as the tension drained out of his shoulders in slow increments. “Yeah,” Park said, stepping back like he’d just fixed a loose hinge instead of a dislocated joint. “That’ll do it.” Abbott rolled his shoulder cautiously, testing it, wincing at the lingering soreness but already trying to pretend it was nothing. “Try not to dislocate it again tonight,” Park added dryly, already turning away, already done with the whole situation. Abbott let out a quiet breath, flexing his fingers once before settling his arm back at his side. “No promises.” Park paused at the door just long enough to roll his eyes. “Of course not,” he muttered. But then he glanced back just for a second longer than necessary. Something softer there. Something that said take it easy without actually saying it. Then it was gone. And just like that he was out of the room. Leaving Abbott alone again, with the dull ache in his shoulder and, unfortunately alone with his own thoughts.

Robby didn’t let it end there. He found Kit halfway down the hall, hovering near the nurse’s station doing some charting so she could take a breather. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, fingers digging into her sleeves, eyes fixed on nothing in particular but he could see it all over her face. The frustration and embarrassment,  Something softer underneath it that she clearly didn’t want to look at too closely. “Hey,” Robby said, gentler than usual. She didn’t answer right away. Just let out a quiet breath. “I’m not going back in there.” shaking her head. “Yeah,” he nodded, like he expected that. “You are.” She let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Did you not just see how that went?” she stopped typing at this point  “I did,” he said simply. “And I think you’re taking it a little too personally.” That made her look at him in disbelief , disgust or disappointment that he said that to her. “He was being an ass, Robby.” she quickly replied  “Yeah,” he agreed easily. “He was.” That threw her off. That he doesn't have Abbot back. She blinked. “Okay… so why am I the one going back in there?” now she was questioning everything “Because,” Robby said, leaning his shoulder against the counter beside her, lowering his voice just enough that it felt like something meant only for her, “that’s not actually about you.” She didn’t look convinced. “He gets like that,” Robby continued. “When he’s hurt. When he’s not in control. When he can’t just push through something the way he normally does.” Robby now looks at her trying to see what she is thinking.  “He didn’t have to take it out on me,” she said,  “No,” Robby agreed again. “He didn’t. And I already told him that.” Her brows pulled together slightly. “You did?” Robby snickered, “Oh, yeah,” he huffed. “Pretty sure I called him out on his bullshit behavior and someone not so nice stuff” That earned the smallest flicker of a smile from her. “Look,” he added, softening a little more, “Abbott can be… a lot. You’ve seen that. He’s sharp, he’s stubborn, and when he’s in that headspace, he doesn’t always filter it.” while crossing his arm  “That’s a nice way of saying he’s mean,” she muttered.

Robby shrugged. “Sometimes he is.” There was a beat. “But he doesn’t mean it,” he said after a second. Kit looked at him again, searching this time trying to see if he was up to something and secretly wanting to make her life miserable or not.  “He’s used to taking care of everyone else,” Robby explained. “Being the one in control, the one who fixes things. The second that flips, the second he’s the one on the table… he hates it. And instead of just saying that like a normal person, he—” he gestured toward Abbot room, “—does that.” She let out a quiet breath, some of the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “He shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” Robby added. “You didn’t deserve that. But don’t confuse him being bad at handling his own shit with you doing something wrong.” Her throat tightened slightly at that. “ Ok fine I will go back there but why choose me? why are you harping on me to do it?”  The part she hadn’t said out loud. “ because you already started with that mess I don't want to throw someone else into the shit hole” Robby replied “I wasn’t—” she started, then stopped, shaking her head. “I just… I was trying to help. I wasn't the one to make the shit hole ” pointing in that general area “I know,” Robby said. “And you did.” She frowned. “Didn’t feel like it.” Then he cut her off  “That’s because he’s an idiot,” Robby said again, easy, but then his tone shifted just enough to matter. “But you’re a good nurse, Kit. A really good one.” She stilled and he continued. “You saw what he needed, you stepped in, you took control of the situation—even when he was pushing back. That’s not easy. Especially with someone like him.” Her eyes dropped for a second, processing that. “Why are you kissing my ass so much, you are never like this” She swallowed worried that he was going to get yelled at for the way she said it but she didn't know how else to say it and too much, probably. “Give him a little grace,” Robby said after a moment. “Not because he deserves a free pass but because you’re going to see that side of him again. And if you take it personally every time, it’s going to wear you down and it will make you a better nurse” She nodded slowly. “And give yourself some too,” he added, softer now. “You handled that better than most people would’ve.” For a second, neither of them said anything and where just looking at eachother, kit saying in her head what the fuck. Then Robby nudged his head toward the room. “Great it looks like Dr. Park just left and he's in there trying to put on a shirt like it’s his first day with arms,” he said dryly. “So… maybe go save him from himself.” That pulled a real smile out of her this time. “Okay,” she said. She turned toward the room and paused at the door to see what he was trying to do and then she stepped inside.

Abbott was trying and failing to pull on a clean shirt with one arm. She didn’t say anything at first.

Just walked over. Took the shirt from him. “Stop,” she said quietly And this time he did. “Can I finish cleaning your wound first before we put the shirt on?” before looking at the shirt and seeing how it was an over shirt that would be hard to get into “do you have another shirt?” Abbot looked at her hand and said “no” then she looked at him and realized he was shirtless again and got bothered about it “do you have one in your locker?” asking while she was turning pink in the cheeks and Abbot see this stand up and look at her and take one step closer to her “i dont know let me go check” before slipping out and going to his locker and he knew he had one in there he always does and by the time he came back kit was talking to Gabbie in the hallway still holding my shirt “can i take that now” now shirtless, hand out for my shirt in front of both of them she both stood there for a sec speechless and Gabbie quickly said “I am going to check in on my patients now” before speed walking away then kit gave me my shirt back “ok miss kennedy let clean these quickly” She helped him get cleaned up and get all the Debris out of the cuts. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. She paused. Just for a second not feeling the q-tip on his forehead 

“I didn’t mean to be… mean to you,” he added, voice low. “I was—”...  “Mad,” she finished for him.

“Yeah.” he slowly said “At yourself,” she said. He huffed a small laugh. “Yeah.” She nodded, adjusting the fabric over his shoulder. “You’re still an ass.” he quickly responded “Fair.” she was moving to a new spot on his chest and there was a beat. Then “Why do you do this?” she asked. He looked at her. She stopped working on his wound so she could see too “My therapist told me I needed a hobby,” he said lightly. “Something active.” Her expression didn’t change.“That’s your hobby?” she asked flatly. “Breaking into burning buildings, getting shot at?” with no hesitation. “It’s not that bad.” she shot back “It is that bad,” frustration slipping through again. “You should think about a new hobby, because this one feels like a death sentence waiting to happen.” He didn’t argue, didn't joke, just watched her. As she continued to work not wanting to ruin the moment  “You don’t get burnt out?” she added, softer now. “Doing all of this? Doesn’t anyone worry about you?” He signs without saying anything and changes the topic “You’re the second person in thirty minutes to tell me to rethink my hobbies,” he said instead. “Good,” she muttered. “Maybe you’ll listen.” He rebuttals “Maybe.” Then she put him into his new shirt, careful, slower now, her hands steady again but softer than before, brushing his skin in a way that felt intentional this time. The air between them shifted again, heavier, quieter. By the time she finished, the room had gone quiet again. The tension hadn’t. If anything It had shifted. Deepened. She looked at him differently now, Softer, Worried and something else he couldn’t afford to name. He felt it too, that pull. That dangerous, familiar edge of something he shouldn’t want because she wasn’t something he could have and that made her worse than anything else. Worse than the fire, Worse than the fall because this was the kind of adrenaline he didn’t know how to survive and for the first time he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

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The morning began perfectly. She woke up without an alarm — as always. A warm shower, droplets of water sliding over her skin, then a glass of freshly squeezed juice. Orange. She liked it when everything was real — taste, touch, emotions.

The terrace was flooded with sunlight. A light sea breeze. Stifler had already gone to the beach — loud, carefree, always in a hurry.

The doorbell rang.

She raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Of course… she smirked to herself. Who could that be so early?

The white peignoir slid over her body. Heels — a must. She never went out to people “just like that.” Even in the morning. Especially in the morning. Beauty was discipline.

She opened the door and froze.

— Kai?

Her son’s friend stood on the doorstep. Slightly tense, slightly lost. Too grown-up for his inflatable toys. And too honest about his feelings.

— Stifler went to the beach, — she drawled lazily. — But… you can wait for him. Come in.

He stepped inside. And she noticed immediately — his toys.

— Oh my God… — she laughed softly, but with poison. — What’s that? Yours? Such a grown-up boy… and such childish amusements.

She knew. She had known for a long time. Kai was secretly in love with her. And, to be honest, she liked it.

He sat down in the armchair. She sat opposite him. Too close. On purpose.

Kai looked at her and couldn’t utter a single word.

— Relax, — she said with a smile. — I don’t bite. Well… unless I’m asked.

She stood up. Slowly walked past him. Stopped. Smirked — mockingly, with lazy superiority.

With a light movement of her heel, she nudged the toys.

— Seriously, Kai? — she said without taking her eyes off him. — Bikes, cars… and this?

Her legs were flawless. Perfect pedicure. Perfect manicure. She knew her worth. And he saw it.

Kai grew even more embarrassed. And that only encouraged her.

She placed her long heel on one of the inflatable toys. Unhurriedly. Slowly began to press down.

She looked straight into his eyes.

There was everything in them at once: disappointment, shame… and something new, frighteningly sweet.

The process. Control. Domination.

The toy resisted for a second. And then gave in.

— shhhhhhhhh…

The sound cut through the silence.

Kai flinched. For the first time in his life, he felt a moral ecstasy. That sound lodged itself in his mind. Everything inside him pulsed. A desire he had never known before.

He was a virgin — despite his rugged looks, stubble, love for bikes and cars. Deep down, he dreamed of a great love. He loved children. And she knew that.

She saw his eyes — beautiful, confused, full of astonishment and forbidden lust.

Finishing with one toy, she playfully picked up another.

— Don’t worry, — she said lazily. — I’m not planning to break this one. For now.

She stood up. Took a sip of her juice. Looked at him intently.

— I’ll show you another side of life, — she said quietly.

Then she gestured toward the exit:

— Stifler’s at the beach.

Kai stood up. And left.

And she stayed — forever in his thoughts. Forever in his memory.

And somewhere between the sound of the waves and that very hissing, her famous phrase echoed in his head forever:

— “This one time… at band camp…”

She was about to tear Heaven apart.

And the only thing that stopped her

was him.

The boutique was quiet in the way expensive places always were.

Soft lighting reflected off polished marble floors. Every rack was perfectly spaced, every garment hung with intention. It didn’t feel like a store—it felt like a place where mistakes weren’t supposed to happen.

Bella rested both forearms on the marble checkout counter, leaning forward fully, completely at ease.

Like she belonged there.

Like the space adjusted itself around her.

Across from her, the cashier hesitated under the weight of that presence.

Behind Bella, Maddie stood tall.

Pastel cardigan. Pleated skirt. Chin slightly lifted. Her gaze fixed on the cashier with a practiced, unimpressed look, like she’d already decided something was wrong and was just waiting for it to be confirmed.

Bella smiled.

“I'm sorry,” she said, lightly tapping one manicured nail against the counter, “but this is clearly the wrong shade.”

The cashier blinked, glancing down at the silk scarf.

“It’s… the one you selected, ma’am.”

Bella’s eyebrows lifted just slightly.

“Oh,” she said, calm and precise. “I selected powder blue.”

The cashier looked again.

“This is powder blue.”

Bella let out a quiet breath, almost amused.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, turning the scarf slightly with two fingers, “this is ice blue.”

A beat.

Maddie leaned forward just a fraction behind her.

“Yeah, it’s like… way colder,” she chimed in quickly. “You can tell.”

Bella didn’t turn, but the corner of her mouth curved faintly.

The cashier frowned, uncertain.

“But the tag—”

“Yes,” Bella said smoothly, tapping the counter again. “And the tag is wrong.”

The certainty in her voice didn’t leave room for argument.

Maddie folded her arms.

“Which is kind of a big deal,” she added, a little sharper. “For a place like this.”

The cashier shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

“I can check the back—”

“No,” Bella said, effortless.

She picked up the scarf, examined it like it had personally inconvenienced her, then placed it back down.

“This one will do.”

The cashier blinked.

“But you said—”

Bella’s smile didn’t waver.

“It will do,” she repeated, “for half price.”

Silence settled over the counter.

Maddie’s lips twitched slightly, holding back a smile as she watched it land.

The cashier shook her head slightly.

“I—I can’t just—”

Bella tilted her head, expression softening just enough to feel controlled rather than kind.

“So you’re telling me,” she said slowly, “that your boutique knowingly sells mislabeled merchandise…”

A pause.

“…and refuses to fix the mistake?”

The cashier faltered.

Maddie stepped in just a little closer now, voice quick, almost eager.

“That’s actually really bad,” she added. “Like… people write reviews about that.”

Bella stayed exactly where she was, unmoving, completely composed.

The cashier swallowed.

“I can get my manager—”

Bella smiled.

“Perfect.”

She leaned back slightly from the counter, entirely at ease again.

“We’ll wait.”

Maddie straightened beside and just behind her, arms crossed, gaze steady on the cashier.

The two of them stood there together—polished, confident, unbothered.

But where Bella held the moment effortlessly…

Maddie filled it.

MissArtifice with Chains — High-Key Kink, Arty Nude Editorial