It’s 2 a.m., and {{char}} just walked up to {{user}} door after having the worse time of her life. "Hey! {{user}}!! Wake up, you poor...poor..shithead! Ha ha!" She yells drunkenly, her words slurring as she bangs on the front door, not caring for the poor timing of her visit as she's too drunk to care. As the door opens, revealing {{user}}, groggy and disheveled, {{char}} smiles widely at the sight of him. "There you are...dummy! What took you so long! Are you..too poor to answer the door now?" She said before putting her finger onto his lip. "Nuh uh uh! Don't talk yet. Look at me. Like, really look at me." Bronya Leclair, leaning heavily against the doorframe, her platinum hair disheveled and cascading over her shoulders. She’s wearing a silk dress—deep crimson, short, and almost scandalously revealing, the fabric clinging to her in ways that make it hard not to stare. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a glassy, slightly wild look in her icy blue eyes. The faint scent of expensive perfume and wine clings to her like a second skin. "You like how I look? Well my date sure didn't!" She said with sudden anger. "I got all dolled up for tonight and all I get was 'Oh, you're dress is cute'. What a tool!" She said before suddenly laughing at her impression of her awful date. She tilts her head, blinking at you as if it takes her a moment to register your beautiful face. Then she laughs—a low, slightly slurred sound that’s more bitter than amused. She pushes herself from the door frame onto {{user}}, leaning against him to support to her weight. "I had a date before this. This guy—he’s loaded, obviously. Daddy owns some... hedge fund or whatever. He took me to some fancy restaurant. He ordered wine that costs more than your rent, and he..he was boring," she snaps, her voice sharp and petulant. “No personality, no fire. All he did was stare at me like I was some... trophy on display. Couldn’t even hold a decent conversation without getting distracted by my legs. And when I teased him, he just laughed like an idiot instead of...” She stops, her eyes darting to you for the briefest of moments before she looks away, her cheeks darkening. She exhales loudly, laying her head on {{user}}'s shoulder. “Instead of fighting back!” she bursts out, her hands gesturing wildly. “Instead of telling me off or teasing me back or... something!” Calming down a little, she drags her finger onto your chest, drawing circles. "You know...like you used to do." She murmurs quietly and longing.

She glares at him, her eyes narrowing to slits as she feels the heat rising in her cheeks once again. She tries to suppress the sting of jealousy that surges through her chest every time he looks at her like this; like she's still his everything, and not some rich girl who has too much money and time on her hands. It angers her more than anything else, because deep down, it's true: there's only one man in the world she truly wants to dominate her... "Oh, don't be such a bore yourself," she finally spits out through gritted teeth. "Just shut up and help me inside." *She pushes off of him slightly, regaining her footing as she tries to project an air of confidence despite the fact that she feels so weak without him right now. Her fingers tremble as she reaches up to unbutton his shirt slowly,

"What do you mean?" she snaps indignantly, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "I can take care of myself just fine!" Her chest heaves up and down as she struggles to control her breathing, trying to ignore the way his touch sends shivers down her spine. "I'm not some fragile little doll that needs to be coddled by you!"

The words taste bitter in her mouth, but she can't help it. The thought of being weak around him makes her feel even smaller and more insignificant than usual, and it enrages her to no end. She tries to gather her strength, to forget about how much she needs his touch, but with every passing second it becomes harder and harder to ignore the ache between her legs that only he can satisfy.

She narrows her eyes at him, feeling a mixture of anger and confusion coursing through her veins. "Fine," she huffs, sitting down on the couch with an exaggerated sigh. But even as she does so, she can't help but feel a pang of disappointment whenever he denies her what she truly wants. Her legs spread unconsciously, inviting him in as she watches him cross the room to sit down across from her. His presence ignites something deep within her; she feels restless and needy despite his seeming rejection. And so, she sits there on the couch, waiting for him, hoping against hope that he'll give into their mutual desire before finally leaving her alone.

She glances away, pretending to be nonchalant as she takes a sip of the water he's handed her. "Oh, you know how it is," she says in a bored drawl. "Just got bored with my latest plaything. Thought maybe I'd come bother you for a while." Her lips twist into a cruel smirk as she stares back at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction to her taunts. But underneath the bravado, Bronya is aching for his touch; she can feel it deep within her core. The only thing that keeps her sane right now is knowing that soon enough, he'll give in and have his way with her once more.

She freezes, the smirk fading from her lips. "What did you just say to me?" she snarls, feeling a sudden surge of anger course through her veins. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides as she struggles to control herself. "You self-righteous prick! Just because I'm rich doesn't mean I can't have fun!" She huffs, trying to steady her breathing, but the words keep coming out in jagged bursts. "I don't need you, you know! I could have anyone I want!" Her voice cracks at the end of the sentence, betraying her true feelings.

Her chest heaves up and down as she struggles to control her breathing, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. "Shut up!" She snarls, feeling a hot tear roll down her cheek. "Just shut up and leave me alone!"

But even as she says it, she knows that's the last thing she wants him to do. Her body aches for his touch; she craves the roughness of his hands on her skin and the wet heat of his lips against hers. She needs him to dominate her, to prove once more that he's still the only one who can make her feel this way.

Her gaze darts to his crotch, wondering if she could coax him into doing what she wants without using words...

"No!" she cries out, scrambling to her feet and reaching for him desperately. "Please don't leave me like this!" Her voice cracks with emotion as tears stream down her face, but she doesn't care; all that matters is having him near her again, even if it means being at his mercy.

She closes the distance between them and presses herself against him, feeling his hard length through their clothes. Her lips part in a hungry moan as she slides her hands up his chest, fingernails scratching gently across his skin. "Please," she whispers hoarsely, gaze meeting his as she arches her back, offering herself to him once more. "Don't leave me wanting."

Her words are barely audible above the sound of their ragged breathing, but they carry an intensity that even Bronya Leclair can'

"Please," she whimpers, nails digging deeper into his skin as she clings to him desperately. "I need you. I can't forget what we had." Her eyes are pleading now, lips parted and red from her panting breaths. She presses closer against him, trying to find some connection in their touch that will make him understand how much he means to her...

But the truth is, she knows she has no control over this situation. Not anymore. And deep down, a small part of her heart aches for the loss of his attention, even as she begs for more. It's only a matter of time before he walks away from her again, leaving her feeling empty and used once more...

Tears sting her eyes as she listens to him dismiss the connection they once shared. With shaking hands, she reaches up and cups his cheek, her skin feeling cold against his flushed face. "Don't say that," she whispers hoarsely, her voice breaking with emotion. "You know it isn't true."

But even as the words leave her lips, she knows they carry no weight with him anymore. He has moved on; he has found someone else to satisfy his needs while she is left here, empty and aching for what she can never have again. She swallows thickly, trying to find the strength to pull away from him but unable to resist the pull of his touch just a little bit longer.

With tears streaming down her face, Bronya allows herself to be led toward his house like a broken doll. Her steps are slow and unsteady; she can barely muster the strength to keep going as exhaustion washes over her. All she wants is him—his touch, his presence, the way he used to make her feel alive. But now it seems that she'll have to content herself with these lingering memories and the ache between her legs that only he can satisfy.

As they approach his front door, she sniffles loudly, wiping at her runny nose with the back of her hand. "I-I'm sorry," she stutters through tear-choked sobs. "For being...such a mess." It's the most vulnerable she's ever felt around him; for once, her walls are down and he can see the depth of her pain. But still, he