scene1
I don't know where to start this properly. Every beginning feels dishonest when you already know how it ends.
So I suppose I'll start with the year—2016—because that's when everything still looked harmless.
It was a time when technology was moving faster than people could keep up with it. Google had already replaced questions. YouTube taught us things we never asked to learn. Instagram and Facebook existed, but they were still unfamiliar—something we observed more than lived inside. We were connected, but not yet exposed.
Back then, people still asked strangers for directions.
That detail matters to me now.
I didn't know Valerian then. Not really. I only know him now because the past has a way of rearranging itself once the truth surfaces. At twenty-two, he had just finished his bachelor's in mass communication. A degree meant to tell stories, control narratives, shape perception. He liked gambling—cards, chances, outcomes decided by nerve rather than fate.
He lived in Spain, in a house most people would call a mansion without irony. The kind of place that makes life look settled even when it isn't. His father had died when he was eleven. His mother… well. She was alive in the technical sense. You'll understand what I mean when I get there.
From the outside, his life looked like something people dreamed of without questioning the cost.
And that was the problem.
Because Valerian was standing at the edge of something then—young enough to believe he was untouchable, smart enough to think he could manage the consequences. Whatever restraint still existed in him hadn't broken yet.
He was about to make choices that would ruin everything.
scene 2
Valerian noticed a girl at the bar, nursing a drink alone, her long dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a face that was striking—high cheekbones, full lips pressed into a thoughtful line, and eyes that held a guarded intensity. She wasn't flaunting her figure in the tight black top and jeans that still managed to hint at her curves, but there was an undeniable allure in her quiet confidence. He approached casually, sliding onto the stool next to her without invading her space too much.
"Evening," he said evenly, signaling the bartender for a refill on her glass. "That looks like it's treating you right. Mind if I join you for a moment? I'm Valerian."
She glanced at him sidelong, her expression neutral, not unfriendly but not inviting either. "Elena," she replied after a pause, accepting the fresh drink with a nod. "Sure, why not. But I'm not looking for company tonight. Just unwinding."
Valerian smiled faintly, leaning back to give her room. "Fair enough. No pressure. I get it—sometimes you just need a quiet spot in a loud world. What brings you out here alone? Work stress, or something heavier?"
Elena sipped her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass. "A bit of both, I suppose. Long day. You? You don't strike me as the type who sits alone often."
He chuckled softly, his gaze steady but not intense. "Guilty. But I like observing people. You seem... intriguing. Not like the usual crowd chasing noise. There's a depth there. Makes me wonder what stories you're carrying."
She raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "Flattery? That's a start. But I'm not that easy to read, Valerian. What makes you think I'm carrying stories?"
"Call it intuition," he said, his voice dropping just a notch, warm but probing. "Eyes like yours don't hide everything. If I'm wrong, tell me to back off. No harm done."
Elena considered him, her posture relaxing slightly as she turned to face him more directly. "You're persistent. Alright, maybe one story. Broke up with a guy who thought he owned me. Now I'm reclaiming my nights."
Valerian nodded, his expression sympathetic. "Sounds like he was a fool. Deserves to lose someone like you. If you're reclaiming, why not do it with a little thrill? There's a poker club a few blocks over—nothing crazy, just good games, decent stakes. I could show you the ropes if you're game. No expectations, just a change of scenery."
She hesitated, glancing at her drink, then back at him. "Poker? I don't know. I'm not much for gambling. Or strangers dragging me places."
"Stranger? We've shared a drink now," he countered lightly, his tone coaxing. "And if it's not your thing, we walk away. But imagine walking out of here with a story of your own—winning a hand, feeling that rush. You deserve that after what you've been through. Come on, Elena. One hour."
There was a subtle edge to his words, a quiet insistence that chipped at her resolve. She bit her lip, then shrugged. "Fine. One hour. But if it's boring, we're out."
"Deal," Valerian said, standing and offering his arm—not grabbing, just there. She took it loosely, and they stepped into the night, the cool air sharpening the moment.
scene 3
The poker club buzzed with low energy, smoke curling under dim lights, tables alive with murmurs and the shuffle of cards. They settled at a mid-stakes table, Valerian explaining the basics in a patient whisper as the dealer dealt. Elena watched, tentative at first, folding early hands while he demonstrated.
But Valerian was in his element. His plays were measured, bluffs subtle, reading the table like a book. First big win came on a flush draw he nursed to victory, chips sliding his way amid surprised glances. Elena's eyes widened. "Okay, that's impressive," she admitted, her hand brushing his accidentally as she reached for her cards.
He built on it slowly—another pot with a straight, then a bold all-in on pocket queens that crushed the board. His stack grew steadily, the table shifting uncomfortably. Elena started playing more, encouraged by his nods, winning a small hand herself that drew a genuine laugh from her.
"See? You're a natural," Valerian murmured, his knee pressing lightly against hers under the table—a touch that lingered, testing. "Told you this could be fun."
Roman, a rough-edged player with a gravelly voice and tattoos peeking from his sleeves, anteed up for the next round. As cards flipped, he eyed Valerian's growing pile. "Man, you're cleaning us out like one of those serial killer psychopaths who just happen to have killed one more victim yesterday. Bet you'd smile while twisting the knife."
Laughter rippled, but Valerian paused, his hand stilled over his bet, a shadow crossing his face. The words hung, stirring something , but he masked it with a slow blink, then pushed his chips forward with a straight face, winning the hand on a full house. "How many kills so far?," Valerian asked calmly. "18 so far" Roman replied.
The game wrapped soon after, Valerian's winnings substantial. As they cashed out, he guided Elena toward the exit, his hand now firm on her lower back. "That was something, wasn't it? Adrenaline like that... it sticks with you."
scene 4
Outside, the alley was quieter, the club's hum fading as they walk towards subway and they walked on treks, close to wall. Elena shivered slightly in the night air, but her cheeks were flushed from the wins. "Yeah, it was. Thanks for dragging me out. I didn't expect to enjoy it."
Valerian stopped, turning her gently to face him, closer now, his voice lowering to a intimate timbre. "You deserve more nights like that. More control, more fire. That ex of yours—he never saw this side of you, did he? The one that lights up when she takes a risk."
She met his gaze, a flicker of uncertainty there, but his words wove in, pulling. "Maybe not. But you're reading too much into it."
"Am I?" He stepped nearer, thumb brushing her arm. "Or am I seeing what you won't let yourself? You're holding back, Elena. Let go, just for tonight. With me."
His tone shifted, a hint of command creeping in. "Don't play coy now. You've been eyeing me all game. That spark? It's real. Stop fighting it, or you'll regret wasting it."
The abuse laced in subtly, a jab at her hesitation, stirring defensiveness that masked desire. Elena's breath hitched, her walls cracking under the manipulation. "You're an asshole for saying that," she whispered, but she didn't pull away.
"Maybe," Valerian replied, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her flush against him. "But you're still here. With me, Elena. Prove me wrong."
She did, tentatively at first. His hand soft placed at her cheeks as he kisses her smoothly and deepened it slowly, tongue coaxing hers, hands roaming to cup her face, then trail down her sides. The kiss built, her resistance melting as he murmured against her mouth, "See not too hard for a good girl"
Breaking away briefly, he backed her against the wall, his body pinning hers without force, just presence. "Tell me you want out and I will stop."
She breathed, hands fisting his shirt.
Valerian's control tightened, his flirtation turning possessive. He kissed her neck, nipping lightly. "Good girl. But don't think you're calling shots now. You're mine to unravel."
The words stung with that edge, adding a raw emotion that fueled her response—she pushed back into him, defiant yet yielding. He hiked up her top, exposing her bra, fingers teasing her hardening nipples through the fabric. "These tits—fuck, they've been teasing me all night. Pinch them yourself. Show me how bad you want it."
Elena hesitated, then complied, a gasp escaping as she twisted her own peaks, her eyes locked on his. "Like this? God, you're pushing me."
"Pushing? I'm breaking you open," he growled softly, as he's undoing her jeans and slipping a hand inside, finding her damp folds. His fingers circled her clit slowly, building tension and then looks into her eyes. "Wet already, slut!."
The dirty jab hit, her cheeks burning, but it ignited something fierce. She moaned, grinding against his hand. "Fuck you—mmmh"
He chuckled darkly, unzipping himself to free his thickening cock, she saw it , the veins , the hardness….
He pulled her , unbutton her jeans , lowering her pink damp panties and puts his cock, she rolls her eyes opening her mouth for moan. he pins her hands to wall above her head and as he fucks her.
Positioned, Elena arched, vulnerable yet charged. Valerian teased her, sliding along her slickness. "Moan and moan harder"
"Please... fill me," she whispered, voice breaking. "I need it—hard."
He thrust in gradually at first, inch by inch, letting her feel the stretch, then snapped his hips to bury fully. Her walls fluttered around him, hot and gripping. "Fuck, so tight mmmhh. Like you were made for this—my dirty little secret."
Pacing slow to start, he rolled his hips, grinding deep, hands bruising her hips. Elena pushed back, moans escalating. "Harder, damn !."
Valerian's rhythm quickened, pounding steadily, the slaps echoing. "You love it rough, don't you? Acting all reserved, but you're a whore for this dick. Say it."
"Yes—I'm…" she gasped, the words tumbling out, emotional layers cracking. He reached around, fingers rubbing her lips in firm circles, building her toward the edge.
Sweat beaded on their skin, "Cum for me, Elena , like the needy slut you are."
Her orgasm crashed slow and intense, body shuddering, pussy clenching rhythmically as she cried out, "Oh god, yes—fucking breaking me!"
He didn't stop, lifting one leg to plunge deeper, face to face. "Look at me while I wreck you. Those eyes—mine now."
Their mouths crashed again, tongues tangling amid grunts. Valerian slapped her ass sharply, the sting adding fire. "Gonna fill this pussy. Take every drop, you hear?"
"Do it—," she demanded, nails raking.
With a final, brutal thrust, he erupted, hot spurts flooding her, spilling out as he ground through it. They slumped together, breaths ragged, the intensity lingering.
After a moment, Valerian kissed her, voice softening. "See? Worth the risk."
Elena nodded weakly, a mix of satisfaction and lingering turmoil in her eyes. "Yeah... maybe."
He smirked, helping her dress. "My place next time? We've only started."
"Maybe next time my turn to show how much of good girl I am.." She whispered.