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a song for a mockingbird (director orson krennic x reader) ▴ part i.

fanfiction (7 parts) – A STAR WARS FANFICTION

pairing : dir. orson krennic x reader (fem!reader)

summary.  Director Orson Krennic is in love with you. Yes, he is madly in love for the first time in his life, with a person and not with a project. You have quickly become his most consuming obsession. You haunt his days and nights. His body is a burning inferno at the mere mention of your name. Your frightening name. You are a Tarkin. And not just any Tarkin, you are the daughter of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin.

This story contains some digressions from the storyline of the Star Wars universe. In the original works and legends, Wilhuff and Thalassa had only one child, a boy, but in this story, they had two, including a girl: you.

A fiction inspired by the seven deadly sins. It will have one chapter per sin, so 7 chapters.

rating. mature

warning. lemon, smut, semi-public sex.

Thank you for reading ! :D

CHAPTER 1.

ENVY. It symbolizes the sadness felt when someone else possesses something that we desire, as well as the will to get it no matter what the price or the means.

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“Hold your breath and count to ten Feel the Earth move and then Hear my heart burst again For this is the end I've drowned and dreamt this moment So overdue, I owe them Swept away, I'm stolen

Let the sky fall When it crumbles We will stand tall Face it all together

Skyfall is where we start A thousand miles and poles apart Where worlds collide and days are dark You may have my number, you can take my name But you'll never have my heart”

‘Skyfall’ – Adèle

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IMPERIAL BALL, CORUSCANT CITY.  ••   YEAR -1 BBY (BEFORE BATTLE OF YAVIN)

Once a year, Emperor Palpatine summons his most loyal servants to feast with him in his lair. The Imperial Palace. The best architects and decorators in the Empire are working hard to turn this huge reception hall into a showpiece for the eyes. Every year, the accustomed guests are delighted to be able to taste the refined dishes specially served for the event or to get drunk with the most exotic spirits. The Emperor always takes great care in decorating his impenetrable fortress, his reputation precedes his exaggerated sense of perfectionism. The imperial palace has no equivalent in the galaxy. It shines with richness and hardness, with the hexagonal shapes, straight lines, and sharp angles of its corridors. Far from being a place known for its shimmering colors, gray seems to be the Emperor's favorite color. The walls are soulless and painted in a charcoal gray, which contrasts beautifully with the crimson red of the imperial banners spread across the sides of the walls. Some of these banners even hang on the interior walls of the Imperial Palace in Coruscant City. Most of the decorations and artwork are scattered here and there, soberly and coolly.

You walk into one of the spacious pillared halls, unusually transformed into a ballroom. Works of art and marble statues guide your way until you reach the most ornate of them all. Even though you are a veteran of this very special reception, you can't help but gasp at the charm of the walls draped with imperial banners. A feeling of deep pride comes over you, strengthened by the honor that is specially reserved for you as a member of an ancient and powerful imperial aristocratic family. You are carried away by the beauty and cruelty of the regime to which your family has devoted its life for eighteen years.

After all, you are not just any ordinary person. You are the daughter of a high dignitary of the imperial administration, the one and only high ranking official, Wilhuff Tarkin. Grand Moff of the Galactic Empire. A close friend of Emperor Sheev Palpatine himself. You are the daughter of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin and Thalassa Tarkin, born Motti. An extremely weighty name to carry. A family heritage that glorifies you and gives you many privileges. You are untouchable. You are highly desired by everyone. People are dying to be in your good graces, as if you carry within you the holy power of life and death over poor unfortunate souls. Being the daughter of Grand Moff Tarkin is not without its consequences, however, as it comes with a price of bloodshed. You had a childhood full filled with your father's devouring ambitions and your mother's ruthlessness. You grew up surrounded by beautiful things, but you were never truly loved, unlike your older brother, Garoche Tarkin. He is the worthy male heir of the noble Tarkin family. He is the one your venerable father holds in the highest esteem. When Garoche died, it was like a stab in the heart. This heartbreaking loss left your family to decline year after year until it became a desert land.

Your stunning face melts into the countless mirrors that adorn the walls of the ballroom. The beauty of the room is far from exceeding the number of mosaics that are covering these gigantic marble walls. Your beautiful eyes are then lost on the crystalline sculptures that portray forms both abstract and inspired by the most beautiful victories of the golden age of the Empire. You feel extremely proud to belong to the side of the victorious, the oppressors, the powerful and the aristocrats. Those who crush and break the spirit of the weakest, of those rebel insects that the imperial officials smash with the back of one of their boots. You share your life with the members of this illustrious and aristocratic family that inspires fear and honor throughout the galaxy. You live in one of the finest apartments in the residential tower of the Imperial capital of Coruscant City, since your father was named Grand Moff, after growing up in Port Tarkin on the planet Phelarion. 

Coruscant. A planet that impresses all others with its ability to capture shooting stars and repel those that come so close to it that they are burned. A symbol of modernity and technological progress. It is the epicenter of the core worlds, an impregnable and fortified galactic city. The towering skyscrapers, the hustle and bustle of its crowds, the repulsor vehicles hurtling through the clouds. Coruscant expresses a magnificence that cannot be expressed in such simple words. You must live there, breathe its air corrupted by industrial vapors and walk its crowded streets to understand its beauty. It is the place of wildest rumors, both envied and hated for its affiliation with the reign of evil. Coruscant is the pride of its inhabitants, some of whom feel particularly proud, because they have everything. They are everything. The planet of Coruscant has been the capital of the Galactic Empire for fourteen years. The most slanderous of them point out a metallic aftertaste in their mouths, criticizing its life as a whirlpool that encircles you as if in a stranglehold. The other ones say that it is a fast-paced life that requires adaptation. They all praise the same thing, that when you get swept up in the current of this hyperactive life, a feeling of euphoria comes over you and never leaves you. Coruscant then becomes your beloved home, the one and only, the one that cannot let you down. Coruscant becomes like a part of you. You owe it loyalty and respect. However, behind every beauty comes its opposite. You know that every rose has its thorns, but that beauty cannot exist without its share of ugliness, like the sun rises and sets to give way to the moon and darkness. Coruscant is a cultural melting pot. The deeply rooted beliefs of its citizens are for the most part radically opposed, but these differences are necessary for the survival of the community. Each citizen of Coruscant has his or her own share of light and darkness. Director Orson Krennic is no exception to this rule.

Orson Krennic, the architect of the Death Star. His hands are golden and his genius is matched throughout the galaxy only by his arrogance. He is easily recognized by his white cape and heavy DT-29 blaster strapped to his belt. He is the only high-ranking officer in the Empire to show off his cloak, a secret way to assert his position in the eyes of others. For this son of modest workers, born in the city of Sativran on the planet Lexrul in 51 B.C., to be part of the elite of the Imperial administration is a remarkable achievement. Full of pride and prejudice, Krennic has been the director of the advanced weapons research office for several years. He oversees the construction of the superweapon with great care, reflecting a perfectionism that often turns to obsession. His work means absolutely everything to him. As for the Death Star, it means a lifetime work. His detractors do not sing the praises of his perfectionism or his intellectual rigor, they prefer to blame him for a laxness and a slowdown in the progress of the project. Director Krennic does not care about their gossip, he is convinced that he is acting in the interests of Emperor Palpatine and his glorious Galactic Empire. Orson Krennic is a man who has risen from nothing to the top of the administration. Everything seems to work out for this ambitious, temperamental, self-important character. Everything. Everything? No... Orson Krennic is actually obsessed with a project of a completely different kind than his precious Death Star. She has a name that makes your hair stand on end, a perfectly shaped face with a falsely angelic air, a position in the imperial aristocracy that appeals to both lust and fascination. A young creature, far too young to stand on his own two feet, perhaps even too young for a man like him. Director Krennic, however, is literally obsessed with this noble lady. You. You are all seven deadly sins for Orson Krennic. He doesn't know how to behave in your company, you have quickly become his dirty little secret. You have become his unhealthy, all-consuming obsession that has haunted his days and nights for almost a year. But... you are a Tarkin. You are the forbidden fruit in his eyes. How many times has he lusted for the chance to make you his? He wants you so badly that it shatters his hope of a normal life. You eclipse his precious Death Star, his lifelong project, in a heartbeat. He only has eyes for your beauty, your elegance, your aristocratic accent, your manners and your intelligence. He wants to make love to your body as much as to your bright mind. You are his mockingbird. You keep escaping, unable to stay in place, when he tries to catch the shine of your feathers.

When he sees you coming down the endless steps of the great marble staircase of the imperial palace, Orson Krennic is astonished by your apparition. It seems to him almost as much surrealistic as divine. You are wearing a long, champagne-colored gown, made of the finest silk in the Galaxy. It molds perfectly every part of your body, your curves are as if sublimated in this fabric of great quality. Wilhuff Tarkin does not spare any expense on the beautiful things you wear. You are a representative of the noble Tarkin family, you speak for an entire line of close admirers and supporters of the Emperor's totalitarian regime. Your beauty takes the breath away from most of the imperial officers in the ballroom. They all stare at you, one after the other, while you finish your walk. This dress is incendiary, glowing under the bright lights of the candles and the crystal chandelier hanging from the roof. It is bare at your back, letting the people who stay behind get lost on the glow of your skin. With one hand on the marble ledge of the gigantic staircase, you finally look up at the first face that catches your eye. Orson Krennic. He is true to himself, dressed in a spotless white imperial uniform that matches his incredible cape. You can even see a glint of lust in his beautiful ocean blue eyes as he finishes his cup of bubbly alcohol in one swallow. You can see him holding back a slight coughing fit with trouble. The look in his eyes says a lot about the depth of his intentions towards you. He's not your date for this party, yet you find yourself bemoaning this statement.

By turning away from him, it takes to you both to share a glance almost... conniving. You suddenly felt crossed by the same fantastic thought. You let yourself go for a few seconds to your most unspeakable fantasies, before feeling on you a very familiar look. Wilhuff Tarkin, your father, is with your mother a few meters away. They both urge you to join them, which you do, with grace and dignity. You walk beautifully, sitting on three-inch heels, your walk is smooth and feline. You feel yourself floating above the marble floor of the huge ballroom. As you walk towards them, you catch Director Krennic's furtive gaze on the perfect, naked line of your back. This is far from offending you, it rather delivers ecstatic shivers to your body.

Orson Krennic is a man your father does not carry in his heart. You can expect no blessing from him in such a fantasy. It is heresy, in his own words. What often comes out of his mouth are insulting and condescending words. They are full of hatred and jealousy.The rivalry between them is legendary, and neither Krennic nor Tarkin is able to put this animosity aside. Even for you. What Tarkin doesn't know, however, is that the ambitious director Orson Krennic is mad with desire for his own daughter.  How ironic. Krennic has a secret crush on you. He sometimes thinks that no other man deserves your compassion as much as he does. He cherishes the sweet fantasy of shocking his rival. He sometimes sees you as a means to an end to destabilize your father. He thinks Tarkin will go completely mad if he knows that the man he hates most in the world is bedding his beloved daughter. Krennic is aware of this situation and enjoys it like a little child. Besides this strong urge to get back at your father, Krennic's feelings for you are sincere. He envies all those people who gravitate to you like stars in the galaxy. Especially when these young men are near you and hope to gain some of your affection. You are an extremely desirable and desired woman considering your family situation. Tarkin's daughter is the most prized young debutante on Coruscant. You enjoy the privileges of wealth and social comfort, and you have the right to set the rules. You have inherited your father's megalomaniac tendencies and the need to be in everyone's mouth.

You find yourself spying on Director Krennic in lovely company. They are all incredibly attractive in those shimmering silk and satin dresses. He laughs a little too loudly for it to be an innocent discussion. As he brings a sip of his drink to his lips, you spot the thin, playful smile that is gradually taking shape. You curse yourself for wanting so badly to know the taste of that strong alcohol on his mocking lips. He is not a man who shines by his physical beauty, but his charisma has something magnetic and almost animal. That damn cape, yet another ostentatious sign of wealth. You love this outfit as much as you despise it. How can such thoughts cross my mind? you think. You slap yourself gently, your cheeks still burning. Have I lost my mind? you repeat countless times in your head. The idea that your body could desire a man as despicable as Orson Krennic sends a chill down your spine. You roll your eyes, as you try to get your thoughts under control.

You don't know that on the other side of the mirror, Orson Krennic is boiling over just as much as you are, discovering all the courtesans that are raining down on your pretty feet. The Director envies all these people who gravitate around you like stars in the galaxy. Young imperial officers, shapely and of a suitable age unlike his own, all full of future and aspirations. They probably hope to capture Tarkin's daughter in their traps. Tarkin's impetuous and icy daughter. You're just a daughter of in the eyes of these brave young Imperial recruits, most of them from the Imperial Youth. None of these men feel the way Orson Krennic does about you. They don't have his strength of personality or his burning passion for every part of your body.

Orson Krennic is unfortunately not reachable. You know it will never happen between you, it's impossible, the barriers between you can't be broken. Not that easily. It would take a miracle, you think. Unfortunately, it's not up to you, which is not the case with these fiery young officers. When one of them approaches to you for a dance, you are far from resisting the temptation to catch Director Krennic's ocean-blue gaze as he passes you by. You put then your hand on the arm of one of these officers, to move away you from the one who tears your soul. He is young, attractive and well born. He is exactly like you. He too is the son of an imperial officer, born into an ancient family of the aristocracy of the city of Coruscant. Everything is much easier with him. However, this young man is not the infamous Director Orson Krennic. Everything is much more spontaneous with someone you know. That's where you belong, don't try to deny it, it's in the arms of a young nobleman that your father places all his hopes in you.

You let yourself be carried away in the effervescence of this evening. Things are not so complicated with this young man, they are almost natural. The only point that bothers you is that you feel indifference for him, despite his gentleness and his foresight. Everything is far too flat for a proud flower as passionate as you. Fool of you, dear little noble lady. You are getting bored in the arms of your courtesan, and you don’t even try to hide it. As he twirls you among the other couples on the ballroom floor, your eyes seek to capture those of Director Krennic. He is lurking in the shadows, in the middle of a conversation with your venerable father. From a distance, this conversation looks aggressive, Krennic and Tarkin are like a dog and cat fighting over the last piece of meat on the table. From time to time, your pretty face catches a few furtive glances in your direction. He seems to like the smell of danger. He seems to like you even more than anything in the whole Galaxy.

 He looks at you compulsively, while in the same company as his worst rival. You love to feel that lustful gaze on every part of your body, you also love the way he caresses the crystal of his sparkling cup. He slowly draws invisible circles with the tip of his thumb as he fantasizes about the curve of your divine breasts. You can't help but believe that he is imagining obscene things about you, shameful and degrading things. You feel those two icy orbs focused on your back, on your buttocks, on your neck and on your mouth. He does more than observe you, he spies meticulously on your every move. So many attentions can only make you blush more.

After a seemingly endless amount of time, Orson Krennic leaves his conversation with Grand Moff Tarkin and two other officers of the Empire. You frown as you discover that his fanciful figure has now disappeared. You seem completely lost for a few seemingly endless minutes. You need him. You scream inwardly to feel those exquisite burns caused by his impure gaze on your skin once again. You reach for it left and right, until a leather-gloved hand comes to rest on your date's shoulder.

"Director Krennic!" he shouts, taking a step back. You observe a particularly funny scene, he seems embarrassed by the fact that Orson Krennic is witnessing your proximity.

"Leave us." orders Krennic, strengthening his grip on the soldier's slender shoulder.

"Fine. Director..." Not a word too far. "Lady Tarkin." he snaps, politely inclining his head in your direction. The young officer apologizes to you, seemingly terrified by the menacing shadow hanging over Director Krennic.

Orson Krennic doesn't even glance at the young soldier as he walks off to find his fellow graduates. "Ah, the Imperial Youth... They definitely think they can do anything, under the guise of enjoying the privilege of being well born, as well as representing the future of the Empire."

You feel his powerful arms wrap around your waist with possessiveness. Oh my... Is he really positioning himself as a courtier in front of all these people? In front of your own father? Something is boiling inside you, the beginnings of a volcano about to erupt. It seems to be devouring you with its big ocean blue eyes, almost like a hungry carnivore in front of a poor frightened doe. You are far from being frightened by the expression on his face, it is not expressionless, it is simply void of any purity. You feel extremely flattered to be the target of so much attention from him. You are pleased to see that he is ready to take all the risks to make you admire him. This night is the night of all dangers.

"Director Krennic," you whisper, not without a flash of pride in the sound of your voice. "My father is watching us with some displeasure." And there is much to be angry about. Wilhuff Tarkin, Grand Moff of the Empire, watches in the distance as Krennic makes lame attempts to get his precious daughter's attention. Yet he remains stoic in the presence of his wife, Thalassa Tarkin. The desire to have Orson Krennic shot has recently become one of his greatest obsessions.

In reaction to your observation, Krennic struggles to stifle an amused chuckle. "Your father has made me mad, my dear little Tarkin," he whispers as he places a hand on one of your hips, taking the time to stroke the silky fabric of your champagne dress. It is a game between you, you do not stop flirting together without putting a word on your relationship. It is dangerous and forbidden, it consumes you both in the unspoken. You feed on the ambiguous nature of your relationship, thinking that it will protect you from slander.

"So, what did you two talks about?" You ask him an innocent question with no hidden motives, and yet Orson Krennic feels his pulse begin to quicken dangerously. He avoids your gaze for a few seconds, before leading your every step onto the dance floor. You dance like any two aristocrats, but one is unfortunately not. You let yourself be seduced by the soft classical music that echoes from the backstage. An orchestra has taken up residency, one of the best in all of Coruscant City. You are whirling around among the other couples that have been gradually forming in the imperial ballroom. "Director?" you hope to shake him out of his torpor.

You notice that Director Krennic's gaze darkens as your conversation goes on. You are a fine observer, you know that something is tormenting the thoughts of the imperial officer. After a few seconds, Orson Krennic snaps coldly: "Things that do not concern you in any way, Lady Tarkin." Words hurriedly spoken, particularly your family name, but which he almost immediately regrets to have pronounced with so much hate.

He reads a flash of disappointment in the depths of your eyes, which seems to make him particularly uncomfortable. Krennic sighs as he twirls you around with one hand, before pulling you back to his chest.

"Let's talk about something else. I need some fresh air, if you don't mind." he murmurs, curling his lips into a charming smile.

"How about giving me a tour of the Emperor's summer lounge?" you say, thinking you can more effectively interrogate him once Grand Moff Tarkin is out of his sight.

"Good idea. I'll give you a tour of the gardens at the same time. They're prodigiously well-kept this time of year."

Touché. You see that your suggestions were correct. You've managed to cheer him up, although it's still not enough to make him forget the bad thoughts that have been running through his mind about your father.

"I'd love to have you walk me around under the glow of the moon."

Orson Krennic's face almost suddenly lights up. He is already fantasizing about the idea of a moonlit walk through the countless marble galleries of the Imperial Palace. The peculiar fact that this walk would be in your company seems almost unreal to him. "Please," he says, stopping his dance to offer you his forearm. "…all is yours..." the director murmurs. A proposal heavy with meaning, though it has the appearance of false purity.

You take the opportunity of Wilhuff Tarkin's face being turned toward one of his prized lieutenants to escape his surveillance. You hurriedly walk away from all the social bustle. A hand on one of your hips, Orson Krennic is directing your every step. He then leads you to one of the alcoves opening onto a hallway filled with marble statuettes. Although you are far enough away from the ballroom, you still feel the pressure of Krennic's gloved fingers on your lower back. You greatly appreciate this physical closeness between you, not least because it is forbidden to you. It is impossible to deny that you are both deeply attracted by the taste of danger. As your eyes move to the arm he has offered you, you cannot contain a pleasant shiver as you imagine being his. You even feel a sense of power. You find yourself in the arms of the powerful Director Krennic. Orson... You take the time to detail every line and stitch of his flawless white uniform. Your eyes gaze intently at that incredible, immaculate cloak, its flaps rubbing lightly against your lovely legs. When you walk like this, side by side, you look like a respectable couple of members of the imperial high society. What helps a lot in making this observation is the fact that Krennic is a high-ranking officer in the administration.

You take the time to listen to his speeches about the history of the Imperial Palace, including his glorification of the transformations that have taken place in this former Jedi temple, and you can't help but feel a sense of devotion. Orson Krennic knows his topic well, as he has spent many a night nurturing his brilliant intellect. He's not just an architect, the star of his former training. Orson Krennic is much more than an architect or officer of the Empire. He is a man deeply devoted to the culture and beauty of the Imperial regime. He seems to forget no detail, everything is scrupulously studied, nothing is left to chance. Orson Krennic does not seem to believe in coincidence, he is a man with deeply anchored scientific convictions. After all, he was one of the stars of the Republic Futures Program in Brentaal IV, where he particularly made his mark as an engineer and project supervisor.

"Your knowledge of the Empire's architecture fascinates me. Really. Director Krennic, you are a man who leaves no space for mistakes, aren't you?"

"Oh... Let's just say I'm a perfectionist." A slight laugh escapes his lips, he feels a sense of pride run through him. "I would never have reached the position I hold now if I hadn't made a name for myself with my intellectual rigor."

"You also distinguished yourself by your youthful antics."

You give him a discreet little wink, thinking back to the crunchy anecdotes that your father was willing to share. Of course, these anecdotes were not told in order to glorify his actions, but to push him deeper and deeper on the path of incompetence and frivolity. It may be foolish of you, but you would like to learn more about the young student he was in the days of the Republic. You even want to find out more from Orson Krennic himself. You want to share this intimacy with him by sharing his nightlife as a student.

"I was young once, like you, my dear," he says, swallowing painfully. His former smile mysteriously disappeared as if by magic. "We all have a reputation that precedes us. Mine is now irreproachable." He pauses briefly before continuing in a more tempered tone of voice, "I suppose Grand Moff Tarkin is the one I have to thank for this?"

"Don't be upset with my father, other people could have told me about this. Tongues are loosening...in no time at the teahouses of Coruscant City."

"I'm not angry." Yes, you are, you think. You're lying. Of course he's lying. You're actually embarrassed that this sort of thing has come to my ears. You're angry because this defamation comes from Tarkin. He is the one you despise most in the galaxy. You can see his eyes darken at the mere mention of your father's name. You feel his veins boil dangerously. His body has become strangely tense, he has apparently become stoic and distant towards you. You let Director Krennic become entangled in his lies, because you cannot support him. He seems to have a particular resentment towards Grand Moff Tarkin, and this does not leave you indifferent. You want to know the tragic background of this rivalry, but you are well aware that this risks making him angry. A heavy silence settles progressively between you, which leaves you wondering.

"I imagine that you don't intend to brag about having taken me away from my father," you say, laughing softly. You try to get out of this situation with your first spin of denial. You think you can joke with him about Tarkin, but it's actually a big mistake. You still don't know that you're just throwing twigs on an already burning fire. You are still repeating the same things, yet you are aware of your partner's feelings about Wilhuff Tarkin.

Your failed attempts to cheer up the sinister Director Krennic still do not work. You are resigned to the fact that the remaining part of your moonlit walk will be an awkward silence. You are like two strangers trapped by their own demons.

"Director, I..." you begin, wanting to apologize. "Tell me more about the architecture of the Imperial Palace, we stopped at the wrong time. Teach me everything you know."

"I don't feel like discussing that much anymore right now."

"Oh... Of course you don't. I understand perfectly." You can't hide a flash of sadness in the depths of your eyes, however. "We can discuss another of your brilliant projects in this case, anything you like. Why not the one you have in common with the Grand Moff? I understand you're working on a way to extend his hyperspace firing capability. If you ask me, it will be good enough that it can do what it was created to do." In other words, you ask him to share his impressions of the Death Star. You don't realize at the time that you have just triggered something in him. Orson Krennic stops walking almost instantly. He removes his arm from yours, while his eyes slowly darken into a blank expression of emotion. He quickly turns to you, perhaps a little too abruptly, which startles you.

"Because he told you about that too?" he spits spontaneously, with a violent tone that is unlike him. It actually sounds more like him than you think. Krennic is a man with an aggressive nature. You have never witnessed his mood swings, since they have never been directed at you. Yet Orson Krennic is famous for his explosive temperament and triumphant, if somewhat overdramatic, arrivals. This never particularly offended you until he took out his frustration on you.

"This is none of your business, this project is not supposed to be discussed in any way with me! You should never have even heard of it before it was made official in the Emperor's presence!"

His words are hurtful, his fists are madly clenched and his eyes are close to popping out of their sockets in anger. You feel him getting more and more impatient, close to spouting his famous curses. This verbal assault hurts you more than you can imagine.

"How... How could he tell you about this instead of warning our Emperor!" he recalls, shaking his head vigorously. That's it, he is carried away by his impulses. You blush as you go along, not knowing how to dismantle this time bomb.

"I'm sorry, please don't get so angry."

"Of course I'm being angry! How can I not be?"

"I just thought..."

"You thought you could relay my confidences to your beloved father, didn't you? Is that why you've been so... charming with me all evening? Is it to please him?"

You feel as if you have been slapped by the violence of his words. Then, you consider that he went too far in his accusations. You understand well that it is anger which drives his words, but they remain hurtful nevertheless. Your tongue clicks coldly against your mouth, a sign that you are also about to raise your voice.

"I am his daughter, as you say. It is only natural that some things are confided to me, it is a price to pay. You must accept this reality. I am a Tarkin," you reply in a condescending tone.

You stare at each other for a long time without saying a word, as if you were about to jump on each other's necks and kill each other. Lightning flashes in the whites of your eyes, both of you can't stand this inextricable situation between you. You have been torn between attraction and ignorance for far too long.

"I am far from allowing myself to challenge the success of your family. I am somewhat familiar with the Tarkin's military and political achievements," he says, hoping to soften the tension between you. Krennic is hurt, but no less lucid about the disagreements between you. "You've been making consuls, royalty, since your first steps in the galaxy."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Director Krennic! There is no need to confuse you with hypocrisy and false flattery. You despise the Tarkin name to the depths of your flesh. If you could destroy one, you would surely be in heaven by now."

"My compliments on the greatness of your noble family's soul are entirely sincere," he replies acidly. Orson is overwhelmed, he hates being rebuked so much. He can't find an explanation for your apparent animosity, even though he's been particularly charming in meeting you. What he doesn't know is that you're sure he doesn't really care about winning your affection. All he cares about is satisfying the wishes of Grand Moff Tarkin. For some reason, you are saddened by this statement.

"You are incapable of understanding," you say in a chilling voice. You back up these last words with strength and honor. Incapable. Orson Krennic is frowning. He seems to stumble over this word. No one calls Orson Krennic a failure. He is the brilliant architect of the Empire's secret projects. No one dares to even consider talking to him like that. He is Director Krennic, the one who terrorizes the cadets with his imperial attitude. "Your lowly lineage does not allow you to understand the duties of a child born into the old aristocracy."

Orson Krennic, however, remains unmoved by your cruel words. A thought creeps into his mind almost instantly. Did he really hear what she just spat in his face? Is it a dream, or rather a nightmare? Your words echo his past wounds, especially his miserable childhood in Sativran City somewhere on the planet Lexrul. He is very, very, very far from appreciating these words, which sound like a painful complaint to him. To say that Krennic feels at this moment a sympathy for your torments is an understatement. He feels his knuckles tightening inside his leather gloves. It is with clenched fists and crossed arms in his back that he decides to break the silence that has settled between you. 

"I may not be able to understand the requirements that a high lineage birth implies, but I understand perfectly your inclinations..." At your stunned look, Krennic steps threatening towards you. He breaks the last inches that are separating your bodies. He's a head taller than you, which makes you step away until your back hits one of the icy walls of the summer lounge. "They're even very understandable, my sweet, how can you resist such a winning man?" he says, smiling wryly. Orson raises one of his gloved hands of a very beautiful black leather towards your face, then encloses it between his fingers at the level of the chin. Krennic then thrusts his two ocean-blue orbs into yours, satisfied that you are being forced to face him.

"What inclinations are you talking about?" you mumble, flabbergasted by this twist of fate. You've been very naughty with him and you're finally getting what you deserve.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about..." he whispers in your ear. You feel the vibrations of his sneer against your neck. Director Krennic's whispering voice in your ear is heavy, his breath on your skin erratic and burning. "Your entire body burns at the slightest touch of my fingers," he snorts, then emphasizes each of his syllables with playfulness.

You instantly close your eyes, trembling at the feel of his white uniform against your breasts. He strokes your chin with his fingertips to illustrate his point. You feel your cheeks flush like never before, you are far familiar with so much physical proximity. He witnesses this heat source radiating on your cheeks, which seems to excite him more. By the stars of the whole galaxy, you sigh. You blink countless times in reaction to this invitation. Everything about him is out of place, both his words and his proximity. He has an unbelievable amount of luck to be alive at this moment. You feel your pulse contracting, your hands clenching and your skin turning into a lovely scarlet color. You think you've heard it all in your young life, but obviously you haven't gotten to the cherry on top yet. What a... jerk. Your throat is getting drier and you can hardly swallow after witnessing such obscenities.

Someone help me, you plead in your head. A plea that gets trapped with all the others in the immensity of the galaxy. No one in the world can hear your prayers. An unsuspecting part of you doesn't want anyone to help you. Even before you do anything, you already feel drunk of him. The feel of his body immobilizing yours, his hands on your face, the way his scent surrounds you, the sound of his drawl, his laughter, his hurried breathing. Every detail of his person only fills your heart more and more with emotions bursting like a storm wave. Even that terribly sarcastic and charming smile is tearing apart what's left of your moral principles. One more word from him and you're on your knees.

"You... You're out of line!" you shout, while threatening to slap him in the face. As your hand rushes like a tornado to his closest cheek, he grabs your wrist with astonishing speed. Strength and authority. You can only bow to such control. As he finally releases your now limp and helpless hand, Orson Krennic decides to pin you against the wall nearest you. He then slams his hand against the cold marble without warning, which makes you jump. You raise your eyes towards this gloved hand which is a few millimetres from your face, before looking back into the immensity of his ocean blue eyes. You drown in the azure of his eyes, you feel yourself slowly suffocating, you painfully take in a breath of air hoping that it will put an end to your agony. "Do…do not come closer to me or my father will hear about it!" you mumble while blushing more than the decency requires it to you.

"Be aware of your desires, you will only take more pleasure in it..." His loud voice turns into a husky whisper as he longs to turn your beliefs upside down. His husky voice fills your mind with a delicate scent of desire. You are thrilled by the authority of his voice, and especially by the strength of his body against yours. You feel extremely vulnerable between this wall and him. You do not see any means of escaping you of this hold which proves more and more oppressive. He takes great pleasure in teasing your nerves, like a big child with a new toy. For the first time in his life, Krennic feels literally aroused by so much innocence. He is burning to discover the limits of your resistance, it even has something terribly intoxicating.

"You're wrong, Director," you lie. Another lie. You are familiar with lies like this. You were raised on hypocrisy and false pretenses. He understands that you are on a slippery slope, one that is likely to take you to his bed.

"You're dying for a man like me to shut you up right now," he says, judging the look on your face under his lashes. He leans dangerously toward your neck, before sliding one of his gloved hands under the silk of your dress to catch your thigh in his palm. He grabs your thigh with firmness, then raises it without asking your permission, to tackle it against his hip. You tremble at this intimate connection as you feel your lower abdomen catch fire from inside. You even feel a rigidity between the folds of his uniform, the desires of Orson Krennic are betrayed by the size of his erection. He comes then close to the hollow of your ear and whispers you some words in a slow agony: "You want it as much as I do, honey..."  This is the worst thing that could happen to you. You're forced to reluctantly admit that Orson Krennic is right about everything, including your hidden desires.

"Director..." your whisper drowned out by your sigh.

You are whispering this single qualification as a mark of respect. As he grabs your waist as if it were the apple of his eye, you try to resist his urgent appeals. He suddenly puts his half-open mouth against yours. Under his force of persuasion, you feel that he has just broken the last strengths that it remains to you. You let him break the path with his warm and terribly playful tongue. Far from being motionless, his hands explore the whole of your body, to find your voluptuous and decadent curves. You sigh several times, unable to deny that you strongly enjoy each of his caresses. His expertise leaves you shaky, as if on the edge of a cliff. You feel like you're about to dive headfirst into what seems to be a flood of emotions. You don't know why, but you are no longer able to fight back. You find yourself alone in front of his whims, you resist as best you can the assaults of his mouth, his tongue, his lips, and his hands on your skin. He dominates your relationship, proudly draped in his uniform and immaculate cape. A white knight on his trusty steed. He wants you more than anything and he will get you willingly or by force. You seem to enjoy this closeness to the silky fabric of his suit. You even start to beg him to take possession of you while keeping his uniform impeccable. You beg in your head, luckily for you. This can only drive him literally crazy. Director Krennic is nothing but a damn time bomb at this very moment.

"Good girl." He rewards your performance with a caress on your cheek with one of his phalanges. "Give yourself up..." he whispers in the hollow of your ear as he reaches up to nibble the lobe. I've wanted you for so long, he thinks. You can't say no to me. Not this time, not now. As to illustrate the torment of his thoughts, Krennic tightens his grip on the silk fabric of your dress, he is very close to tearing it under the force of his impulses. Never. "...to me..." he breathes before his word is lost in a loud growl against the skin of your neck. Director Krennic's voice is unbelievably smooth, it even seems to burn every inch of your body with an all-consuming fire. You are mine.

The muscles in your lower abdomen twitch painfully, a sign that you are far from unaffected by Director Krennic's assault. His lips brush the curve of your right cartilage sensually and move to the bony line joining your chin. He caresses the swollen skin of your lower lip in a surprisingly tender gesture. You can't help but be delighted by the tenderness of some of his gestures, which hides deeper feelings than you realize. He lusts after you, he has wanted you for too long to be able to restrain his need for intimacy with you any longer than necessary. The closer his mouth gets to yours, the more you notice that his mind is dispersed in an obscene outpouring of thoughts. Director Krennic's gestures make you literally dependent on him.

"(Y/N)." he whispers halfway between the corner and the cupid's bow of your lips. He whispers your first name, taking care to separate each syllable as slowly as possible. It's the first time you've heard him whisper your name. Far from being offended by it, you seem to take an unhealthy pleasure in this simple mention. You want to hear it again and again. You love to hear it from the mouth of the one who has been setting the burning fire of desire in you. You close your eyes, remembering the sensual way he made your name flow like honey in his mouth. You dream now of feeling his tongue more deeply, so much so that you could cum like this. "Don't resist me anymore." he pleads as he takes possession of that pulpy, deliciously half-open mouth that's just waiting for him.

"Director Krennic." you beg, we do not know really for what reason. You feel overwhelmed by conflicting feelings. You're torn between wanting to push him away and wanting to dive into the blue of his eyes.

"Orson..." you sigh while he is kissing your neck. Your moans and sighs drive him completely crazy. He can't stop laughing when he sees that you weren't too hard to persuade. You feel the vibrations of his laughter against the skin of your neck, which he covers with kisses and light bites. "Call me Orson." An almost unheard whisper echoes your sighs and groans. You find yourself halfway between dream and reality. A sensual torpor finishes all your doubts in the blink of an eye.

As you throw yourself around his neck, the growth hidden between the pleats of his uniform swells dangerously. He likes the fact that you answer his propositions, that you are devouring his mouth with so much desperation. He feels strengthened in his intentions, he is now persuaded that you desire him as much as he desires you. And he is right to think that your whole body vibrates at the simple sound of his voice. You had a few scruples before throwing yourself at the first man you saw, but they've vanished like snow in the sun. It must be said that Orson Krennic is not just any first comer. He's that important imperial officer who always chats with your father with so much anger, he's that detestable pushy guy who tries to make his way in the aristocratic hierarchy of the Empire, despite his poor social origins, he's that man with the ocean blue eyes who undresses you with a simple glance at the curve of your buttocks. Orson Krennic is a fantasy, as much for you as you are for him. You dream of imagining your father's face when he hears what you're doing now. You dream of Orson taking you against him, in the crowd of all those aristocrats of the Empire, and twirling you around until you lose your footing in that huge ball. You even dream of him marrying you and making you his, both officially and unofficially. You love the idea of carrying on his family name, it might annoy your parents, but you love his name so much. Krennic. You want to be his first and last wife. You admire his career path to the highest levels of power. He came from nothing and made it on his own with his mind and skills. You love his calculating look and explosive temperament. You won't be bored in your life with a man like him. Despite the taboos, you fantasize about the possibilities of a lifetime with him. You let him cover your body with his strong arms, while the heavy panels of his cloak wrap around you as they move. He can do whatever he wants with you, his needs are orders.

No sound for miles, the darkness of the night drapes your meeting in a blanket faintly lit by the rays of the moonlight. You surrender to each other in a kiss that blends passion and need. You kiss as if you were looking for a breath of oxygen. As if all your conniving glances, your smiles in half-tone, your touches mean only one thing: the explosion of the senses. You feel the hands of the imperial slipping under the silk of your dress, and you briefly think again of your father. Your lips curve in a smile against those of your cursed lover. The idea excites you strongly, you feel then violent contractions in your lower belly. You kiss him with more fervour, while he pulls up his hands to the two hills which are used as opulent breast to you. His skilled fingers grasp with all the expertise of which they are capable these nipples full of life, whose tips take almost instantaneously a pretty red blood color.

"Orson..." you beg. "Don't stop, please..."

You hear a grunt of excitement from Orson Krennic, as he notices that your nipples are as hard as marble. He is crazy about the idea of being the one and only able to make you so responsive to his caresses and kisses. Very quickly, his lips take the place of his fingers. Here he is, on his knees in front of you. He went up your dress to your collarbones, you hardly hold the fabric above his silver hair, while he sucks hastily the tip of your breasts. Behind the excitement of your first lovemaking, you are surprised by his sensuality. It quickly becomes more and more unbearable, as your intimacy is covered with a translucent liquor, symbol of your desire. You want everything and right away. You catch then his face of your two hands to raise it gently towards you. He stares at you with his big ocean blue eyes, you even notice that his pupils have dilated. His look is much darker than at the beginning of the evening, it is almost magnetic. He carries you away in a whirlwind of shivers and contractions. His desire overwhelms you so deeply that you feel more and more unsteady towards him. You are finally aware of the power of his feelings for you.

You finally feel ready for him. It must be him and nobody else. You want him to be the first man to possess you. "Take me now." Yes, there. Against that icy marble wall, in the corridor of the Emperor's summer salon. You want your first time to be in a situation where anyone is likely to catch your lovemaking.

He instantly looks up at you, stunned by your boldness. A flash of light goes through his beautiful bright eyes, a mixture of excitement and annoyance. His old-fashioned side is hurt, Orson Krennic prefers to do things his way, rather than give in to your desires.

"It's where I want, when I want." he says as he turns back to your mouth, he takes the opportunity to nibble your lower lip until it bleeds. "I wouldn't take any chances here." he insists, unwilling to risk public humiliation. You are his dirty little secret. At your defeated and almost begging face, Krennic stretches his lips into a sly smile. "Unless... you beg me hard enough for me to think about it more seriously." He's playing with you, playing with your nerves. He wants to remind you who's calling the shots between you two, he wants to persuade you to believe in his superiority. "Beg me," he orders slowly. "Beg me good, (Y/N)."

Just as you were finally at the crucial point of your encounter, you hear male voices emanating from the corridor. They make you abruptly stop your exploration of the other's body. You release yourselves, not without regret. Orson Krennic grabs your wrist in one of his hands, to hold you against him, behind one of the many marble pillars of the summer lounge.

"Have you seen Director Krennic?"

"Krennic is a bloody fool to believe for a moment that he can win my favor this way," taunts a voice recognizable among a thousand, that of a middle-aged man. Wilhuff Tarkin. A flash of fear crosses Orson Krennic's eyes at the mere idea of being discovered in such an unfortunate position in your company. He thinks spontaneously about his reputation, but more importantly, his career. Tarkin could destroy everything with the snap of his finger. 

"He's certainly gone to sleep somewhere. I found him particularly inclined to drink tonight."

"No doubt one of the many remnants of a straggling education..."

"You were right, Governor. A high-ranking position in the imperial administration does not erase all traces of its mediocrity."

"I told you so, lieutenant. Our social origins betray us in one way or another, no matter what circle of society we claim to be from today."

"Poor Krennic can now only hope to get a girl of good lineage to wash his name."

"Because you think that a father, worthy of the name and of noble lineage, will agree to give his daughter to a man of inferior condition? Come now, don't be a bigger fool than you are, lieutenant. The aristocracy of the Empire is much more conservative than you think. Marriages are made exclusively among ourselves. Krennic can only hope to find a wife among the common women. Believe me, it will be a miracle considering his age and temperament."

At the taunts of Tarkin and his loyal lieutenant, Director Krennic can no longer control his anger. He feels his fists painfully clench in his black leather gloves. He tries to keep his nerves and pushes you behind one of the balconies leading to the gardens. He takes the opportunity to briefly brush his hair back, before heading towards Tarkin and one of his loyal lieutenants.

"Ah. Director Krennic. We were just talking about you."

"Well, here I am, Governor...is there anything I can do for you?"

The strangely goofy smile on Orson Krennic's face catches Grand Moff Tarkin somewhat off guard. He finds Krennic behaving in a way that clearly does not call for innocence. Wilhuff Tarkin frowns in annoyance. 

"There's no need to be so formal, Director. You kidnapped my daughter, where is she?"

"Your daughter..." then repeats Krennic with a falsely concerned look. He seems to think quickly, before giving the most appropriate answer. "She insisted on visiting the Emperor's summer salon. I accompanied her, in all honor, Governor."

"There is no need to confuse yourself with excuses. I am well aware that you don't stand a chance anyway. She's a Tarkin. An heiress of noble lineage. Unions are only made between members of our family, not to remind you of your lowly birthright. I admire your courage. She must have rejected you as she always does. I don't like her manners, but for once, I'm very happy about it, Director."

Krennic tries to keep a straight face but the urge to burst out laughing is far too great. All of Wilhuff Tarkin's insults and rebukes cannot remove that falsely silly look from his face. He relishes in thought the moments he shares with you. The urge to pin the Grand Moff down is also strong, but Krennic is aware of the risks of such recklessness. He cannot let the excesses of his ego get in the way of his career in the Imperial administration. Krennic thus manages to dissimulate his amusement by a first spin of denial. He feels the sneer at the corner of his lips only get bigger.

"You look even more foolish than you normally do, Krennic."

Tarkin looks suspicious but brushes off the possibility of Krennic and his daughter getting closer as quickly as possible. He has shaped you in his likeness, and there is no way you can disappoint him. It is clearly not a chance in his eyes. You are far too beautiful and pure. You are too high class for Orson Krennic. However, Krennic's smile is far too joyful not to find something to worry about.

"Where did you leave her?"

"She went back with one of our latest recruits, an officer, I can't remember his name, you know..."

"No, how should I know? Do you think that the name of each of our young recruits is made known to me? You're wasting my time, again, Director."

Wilhuff Tarkin spat that last word in his face. He had always been ironic about Orson Krennic's title, but this time, the inappropriate attitude of the director annoyed him to no end. Tarkin is clearly angry. He motions to be left alone. Krennic silently watches the Grand Moff walk back to the ballroom with his lieutenant. Not without one last well-placed advice...

"Enjoy this evening, Krennic. We will talk again tomorrow about the progress of your work. The Emperor is not the last to be impatient."

Krennic then sets off to find the place where he left you, but the mockingbird that you are finally escaped him. He came close to capturing your melodious song. Maybe next time. He doesn't know yet that you refuse to leave him your heart. 

blurred lines (sorrento x oc) fic

Hey everybody !

This is a Nolan Sorrento x OC fanfiction (Ready Player One). First of, I hope, a long list…

I’m a little frenchy so... This is also my first fanfiction written in English, so be kind, please. I had some help with this translation. Tell me my mistakes so I can improve! By the way, if you wanna read this one or another in my mother tongue, tell me!

OC is played by Evan Rachel Wood.

Summary : A whisper, a kiss, a caress, and nothing is enough to set everything on fire. It's not real. It can't be. Nolan Sorrento wants to destroy the fabulous world of the Oasis more than anything else in the world. He does not hold virtual relationships in his heart in any way. But this encounter on the Oasis will have a considerable impact and deconstruct all his convictions. One thing will be burning in his mind every time he disconnects : who is she in the real world? And for the first time in a very long time, Nolan Sorrento is finally going to have fun in a video game.

Tags : Pretty smutty, lemon and else… Be warned !

Rating : M

 PS. This first chapter is only soft smut.

PS 2. All of Ben Mendelsohn’s characters are hot as hell !

Have fun :D

Chapiter 1 - Crossed Lies

The Oasis. An incredible and gigantic world that is the fruit of the fantasies and aspirations of a video game genius. Since its last update, the Oasis is the refuge of all human beings on our beautiful planet. Halliday is the hidden and secret hand of its splendor. A virtual world in which friendships and loves are made and unmade as quickly as disconnecting from one's augmented reality device. They connect and become the people they cannot be in real life. They even end up forgetting who they are, as the world of the Oasis allows them to have the life they always dreamed of. Yes, the Oasis is a little haven for everyone. Really everyone? There is one man who does not carry Halliday and Morrow's perfect creation in his heartbeat. Nolan Sorrento is one of those people. He hates the Oasis more than anything in the world. He hates Oasis as much as he hates pop culture. It's not hard to pretend, he just can't stand it.

And yet, Nolan Sorrento's life turned upside down after a few months. Two months ago. Two months in which his visits to the Oasis are made in search of reunion, and not only in the fantasy of finding Hallyday's Easter Egg. Two months where, between his regular meetings with i-R0k, his partner for better or for worse, Nolan finds another partner. Lady Grey. At least, this is the only identity he knows of her. He meets her in a specific area of the Oasis, a medieval village named “Bowerstone” after the famous video game Fable. An opulent chest, blond hair like wheat, big blue eyes, a slender waist wrapped in a sultry purple dress. Lady Grey is a character taken directly from the same video game. Mayoress of the city of Bowerstone. A woman of power, wealth, authority, but above all of lust. A woman he considers his equal in the Oasis. She embodies a loathsome cliché about the hidden desires of members of the male gender, especially for someone like Nolan Sorrento. A macho, authoritarian man with a thirst for wealth and power. Over the weeks, his view of the Oasis has become more nuanced because of her, Lady Grey has become his preference. She is his little moment of pleasure between two connections. Today, once again, Sorrento abandons his sidekick in the burning mountains of a volcano to find the peacefulness of the walled city of Bowerstone trapped in the middle ages. A change of location that offers him a certain change of scenery, Nolan feels excessively comfortable in this virtual replica of the Albion of the video game Fable.

"Nolan, dearest Nolan..." a woman's voice, inflated with confidence and seduction, greets the IOI boss. "What a surprise to see you again after all this time."

"Have you missed me?"

"Always."

Always. A word that resonates passionately in his mind. A word Nolan remembers for a few seconds, a word he cherishes like the apple of his eye. It marks his belonging to his cause, but more importantly to himself. Nolan Sorrento sketches a slight smirk behind his virtual reality headset.

"If you only knew what I want to do to you right now."

"That's just like you, you don't waste time on small talk."

"Would you rather I courted you? Would you like me to..."

"...that you serenade me?" she finished, not without a knowing wink. For the first time in a long time, Nolan didn't seem to be mad at the idea of being contradicted or even rebuked. On the contrary, Lady Grey has every right. She is his preference. She knows his thoughts like no one else, she knows exactly what he is thinking before he verbalizes his desires. She knows everything. She really knows him. She knows the real Nolan Sorrento, the one behind the Superman avatar.

"Exactly."

Lady Grey feels her cheeks coloring thinking about what she's about to ask him.

"I would love for you to court me, Nolan."

"It could be done, darling, in the real world."

A cloud passes over the Bowerstone mayor's blue eyes. She tilts her head to the side, reluctant to give him any satisfaction on this point.

"We've been over this time and time again, Nolan. It's not debatable. I like to compartmentalize the real from the virtual."

"Don't tell me you don't want more. Don't tell me you've never thought about it."

"Sure, Nolan, I think about it often."

"In that case... Let's stop all this pretending. Give me your real name, so I can call you. I'll take you to the best, most overpriced Italian restaurant in all of Columbus, and trust me, you won't regret their black truffle risotto special. A culinary orgasm. Then we'll have a champagne from their best vintage, and we'll toast all night, until closing time. And then, when it gets late, I'll take you back to my apartment. You'll love it, considering the interior decorator's bill, she cost me an arm and a leg, but that's the advantage of being rich, and... we'll have sex. All night long. I'll take you any way I can get you, you'll only be able to cry for mercy. All night long, I promise you, we'll never stop," he said with the strength of his convictions, his desires and his aspirations. Nolan has particularly emphasized his last words. He wants her to understand how great his sexual desire is.  "I'll do anything to you that I can't do in this world."

She feels his need to please her so strongly that it breaks her heart, this sexual frustration he tries so hard to hide only tarnishes the beauty of their reconnection. Lady Grey feels torn when these words are spoken. This tirade is full of hope, excitement and desire. Yet it leaves the mayoress in a state of anxiety. Nolan is excited, like a child before his first Christmas present, but does he realize for a moment that things might not go his way? What if... she doesn't live up to his expectations? But she understands his needs; Nolan clearly feels the need to wrap things up in the real world, something he forbids himself from doing in the Oasis. All they've done so far is teenage kissing and preliminaries.

"Nolan..." she murmurs, placing her hands on either side of her avatar's face. She's dying to ask him that fateful question. What if you don't like my real body as much as my avatar's? But the words don't pass the barrier of her lips, they remain stuck in the back of her trembling throat.

"Let me court you the right way. You'll see it was better before."

"Presumptuous...and terribly old-fashioned."

"I'm an old-fashioned guy," he retorts almost naturally. Nolan Sorrento doesn't deny that he's a man who's particularly attached to the old ways. "Terribly attractive."

She bursts out laughing. He loves to hear her laugh. That laugh...so clear, sparkling and warm. Nolan feels like he can hear her all against him, what he would give for a real face-to-face. She always manages to get him all worked up.

"How can you not be with an avatar like Superman?"

"If...you saw me, I'm sure you'd find me even more irresistible."

"I've seen you before, Nolan."

A flash of lightning passes through his eyes. He frowns, a crazy idea then running through his mind for a few seconds, before fading away as quickly as it appeared. No, it can't be. I'm going about this the wrong way.

"I mean... in the papers, in TV appearances. I know you. Everyone knows Nolan Sorrento."

"Yes, of course... but does everyone know Nolan Sorrento like... you know him?"

"I hope not..."

"Loyalty is not a concept that can be addressed exclusively in a video game. I can only be loyal in real life, don't misjudge me, it would be absurd to consider us as a couple." It's just a stupid game, he holds back from vociferating. Nolan feels frustrated that she doesn't want to step out of the virtual world and embrace the pleasures of real life as much as he does.

"So... Superman or Nolan Sorrento?"

It's not explicitly asked, but Nolan burns to know her feelings about the real him. In her wildest dreams, she even admits to him that she is in love with his real body and to prefer it, against all odds, to Superman's. In front of the astonished mine of his interlocutor, Nolan Sorrento breaks the last centimeters which separate their bodies. He grabs Lady Grey's perfect face with one hand. With his fingertips, Nolan brushes the cupid's bow of her lips, before going gently down to her lower lip and caressing it with the palm of his thumb. He stares into her eyes, unblinking, waiting for a satisfactory response.

"Nolan..." she whispers, capturing his lips forcefully. Lady Grey interrupts their exchange for a few seconds to continue, "Definitely you, it's the real you I think of when you kiss me."

These words have an amazing impact in Sorrento, in the blink of an eye, there he is against her. Lady Grey finds herself pressed against the silk sheets of her huge four-poster bed. 

He whispers her name, taking care to separate each syllable as slowly as possible, as if to bring a dramatic effect to their foreplay.

Lady Grey lets her eyelids close in order to increase tenfold her pleasure of feeling her partner's hands on her body made of pixels. She remembers the sensual way he rolled his name like honey in his mouth. Lady Grey dreams of feeling his tongue even deeper inside her, to the point where she feels like she can even come like that.

"Let me, let me touch you..." she implores before he takes possession of this pulpy mouth, deliciously half-opened, which asks only to be satisfied. The hands of Sorrento avatar's get lost against her alabaster skin, under the puffing folds of her purple dress. They cross every part of her skin, palpating, pinching, scratching, until leaving red marks symbolizing the violence of the hard feelings compressed in him. He dies of desire to make her shout, to make her beg, to ravage her all, until she finally gives in to the least of his whims. "Say my name," he orders, biting gently on the tip of her chin. "I want to hear you say it every time you feel something."

"No--lan... Nolan..." she moans as she feels her lover's hands under her thighs, slowly working their way up to the very core of her desire. "Oh!"

"Yes... Like that, darling, don't stop... " he murmurs in a hoarse voice between her lips. He is devouring the bony line that surrounds her face with his wet kisses and bites, until going up sensually to the hollow of her ear. His gestures are hurried, trembling, which betray a tendency to possessiveness.

"Which equipement are you wearing ?"

"The FX1 suit... Why my sweet? " he is astonished before she answers his pressing need, after having unbuckled the belt of his suit pants.

My goodness. A wave of pleasure overwhelms his whole body. All his senses are literally bursting in his delight. Incredible. There's something magical about this outfit, incongruous as it is. Power never before equaled. Nolan Sorrento feels like he's in one of those old sci-fi movies, some kind of humanoid in armor. The sensations are multiplied tenfold to the point of no return. As soon as he gets rid of his virtual reality helmet, the ecstatic shivers continue to run through his body, they radiate in the most sensitive parts of his male anatomy. Yes, the FX1 suit is definitely the best thing that ever happened to him. Without further delay, Nolan Sorrento extracts himself from his torture device. He tries to make his way out of what looks like a giant hamster cage. The CEO of the IOI organization wants only one thing: to release the pressure that has built up following his encounter with the mysterious Lady Grey. Lady Grey, mayor of Bowerstone. Mayor, bullshit. Holy shit, he swears. Once he had set foot on the floor of his office, Sorrento gambled for a few seconds. With a shaky gait, he spun around twice. A light burst of laughter escapes from his thin lips, so much the sensory overload is complete. He still feels overcome by waves of pleasure and puffs of heat which make him tear off a sharp blow the buttons of the collar of his shirt. Fresh air, please. He needs air at all costs. His body burns desperately for something... that is beyond all his hopes. Sorrento takes the opportunity to release his neck from his tie. Amazing, he repeats to himself like a mantra. When she touched his crotch, it was like... an electric caress of rare violence. It almost took him to seventh heaven. He loved it. It even made him completely crazy. He couldn't take it anymore and quickly left the simulation game. Nolan Sorrento has never had so much fun playing a stupid video game. Now that the euphoria has passed, our businessman realizes that he has lost total control of the situation, which instantly sends him into a state of raging madness. Possessed by the need to suppress all these sensations, Sorrento throws his helmet in the corner of the room. Visceral. This need for absolute and total control is visceral. He can't accept what he has just experienced in the Oasis. It's just a video game, far away from anything he knows, two thousand miles from reality. His own reality. A reality made of numbers, costs and profits, millions of dollars and sumptuous villas or luxurious suits. There is nothing better than reality, he repeats to himself like a ritornello.

Really ?

While he is pacing in his office, Nolan is unaware that his office door opens to reveal the face of his executive secretary. Amaryllis. An unusual name that amuses more than it commands respect. A name that could be used as a pseudonym in a video game or as the name of a cartoon character. Bloody hell. She was persecuted for a long time for this fantasy. Amaryllis considers that she has not been spoiled by nature. She is a woman who has just celebrated her thirtieth birthday, a very beautiful woman in fact, but with a physique that is far from being unnoticed. She has a flamboyant hair that looks like Venetian blond, a milky skin as white as marble and a pair of water green irises. All these details have given rise to a powerful complex during her youth, which is the source of her current shyness. But there is no reason to have any complex when you have such a magnetic physique, a slender waist and a small straight nose.

When she discovers him so ecstatic, she cannot resist smiling gently at him. It is not given to her to contemplate this man in a state of perfect bliss. Yes, that is the word. Perfect... He is perfect. Each of his features, his dark circles, the gray streaks that pepper his silky hair and his square shoulders, she never tires of admiring the beauty of this man of power.

He still doesn't notice her presence, so she clears her throat a little. "Mr. Sorrento." All the charm of his vulnerability begins to vanish almost in a split second. "You sent for me?"

"That's right, Miss Blackwood." he replies, regaining his seriousness in front of her. He moves his neck slightly from right to left to relax his muscular tensions. "Come, honey, with your report." Nolan needs to think of something else right now.

She’s surprised by this mechanical ability to switch from laughter to seriousness, his facial features having muted into a placid expression.

"Are you in pain?"

Nolan takes without a word the report, elegantly plastified in a forest green cover. He then begins to skim over its broad outlines, lingering for a few minutes on the summary.

"Nothing insurmountable. A slight tendonitis, no doubt."

"It's from your sessions on the Oasis. They are far too intense for your body. I can certainly do something..."

"Thank you, but there's no need, Miss Blackwood. I pay you exclusively for your expertise and not for your massage skills."

"Well--Fine, Mr. Sorrento."

As his eyes scan the lines of her report, Amaryllis Blackwood notices a detail of some importance. She notices that his eyes darkens as he goes on. Amaryllis swallows hard. What he reads is far from bringing him satisfaction. She feels that the knife is likely to fall from one moment to another. Nolan Sorrento is frowning and seems to make superhuman efforts not to explode.

"Ridiculous!" he snaps. "Is that what I pay you for? You haven't done enough research, this is... mediocre! I am deeply disappointed. It is distressingly poor, Miss Blackwood!"

“You have barely read the introd...“ she insists.

“Are you fucking kidding me ?” he snaps.

She hears his voice crack. What’s wrong with him ? In his fury, he throws the sheets of the report in his employee's face.

Amaryllis falls at his feet like a poor little thing. She tries to recover the scattered sheets which are encircling the Italian shoes of her superior.  

She puts herself spontaneously in position of retreat, destabilized by his coldness. Worse than that, she feels shocked by the violence of his words.

"It must be done for tonight."

" But... Mr. Sorrento, it is five o'clock in the afternoon and... "

"And...?" he cut her off bluntly as he approached her dangerously. "Do you have any plans? A tap show, a trip with girlfriends in the best bars of Columbus, a small dinner in candlelight or even a date in a swingers club?" he rants while raising a face empty of expression. Anger rumbles and it bears the features of Nolan Sorrento. He feels that the brutality of his words is a necessary harm to establish once again his hierarchical position. Nolan cannot stand it when his authority is questioned.

"You don't seem to understand the demands and the beauty of a company like ours, Miss Blackwood. If it turns out that the pressure is too much for you, just tell me about it, I can easily transfer you to another department, like our loyalty center."

Oh no. I'd rather go to hell than to a loyalty center, she thinks, panicking at the thought of ending up in one of those hamster cages. Terrified, Amaryllis Blackwood feels her body shaking rather than thinking. She feels her heart rate increase unreasonably, her vision is now a thick fog.

"No! No, no, please, no, of course not, Mr. Sorrento. Nothing is more important to me than this business."

He seems to love this feeling of all-power. She hates herself for it. She bites her lower lip until it bleeds for being so... cowardly.

"Good." he says, satisfied with his little burst of power. The sound of her distraught voice and her pleas resonate within him like a sexual promise. The curve of his lips crinkles into a thin, sly smile as he decides to elude her presence. "Go away, now."

As he starts pacing the room again, visibly obsessed with his latest cell phone, she can't restrain a shiver of disgust.

"Primary sexism..." mumbles Amaryllis, more to herself than to him. She does not think for a moment that he is capable of hearing this sentence. Shame on her.

"I beg your pardon? " he whispers seriously. His ears are still focused on her every move. "What did you say?" This is too much for Nolan Sorrento. Is she serious? He feels like he's about to explode all the frustration he's built up over her.

Amaryllis shudders as she smells the subtle scent of danger wafting through the air. Holy shit. Amaryllis Blackwood's blood is racing through her veins. She has gone too far to let this mistake be taken back before he goes into a burst of rage.

"No... that's not... I didn't know you were still giving attention to our conversation..." she says, confusing herself with an apology.

"Because you think I'm stupid enough or completely deaf to not pay attention to you?"

"No, sorry."

Amaryllis felt Nolan Sorrento's grip on her arm, before she found herself slammed against one of the office walls.

"In case you didn't know it yet, my hearing is doing excellently, Miss Blackwood."

He plunges his ocean blue eyes into hers to emphasize the harshness of his threats. She finds herself completely caught up in the small flashes of light that emerge from them ; a mixture of frustration and excitement. There is no sign that Nolan Sorrento is angry, but the force of his words is unmistakable. She has never been spoken to like this before, and this harshness in his voice is far from leaving her speechless. She feels pleasurable shivers running down her spine. This presence, this voice, this proximity. He is frightening and seductive at the same time. He breaks the last centimeters which separate their two bodies to maintain his domination.

"Do not insult me like that again, did I make myself understood well, Miss Blackwood?" he whispers in the hollow of her ear. She feels the vibrations of his sneer against her neck. The IOI CEO's whispering voice is heavy, his breath almost erratic against her skin.

Even before he does anything, she already feels drunk on him. The feel of his body immobilizing hers, the way his scent surrounds her, the sound of his voice, his breathing hard. Every detail of him filled her fragile core with strong emotions like a tsunami. Even that terribly sarcastic and charming smile seems to rip apart what's left of her moral principles.

"Am I clear?" he repeats.

"Yes." she begs.

"Yes… Who… Miss Blackwood ?" A smirk appears at the corner of his thin lips. It feels so good to be powerful.

"Yes... Mr. Sorrento..." She feels his pleasure more than anyone else. He is even able to cum just by torturing her."As you now well know, I'm not much of a patient man," he says in an authoritative tone. "Get that report back to me by midnight. If you don't... there may well be a place available at the loyalty center. I would hate to break a mind as brilliant as yours."

He loves the feel of her squirming against him as she seeks to gain a few inches away from him. He plunges his two icy orbs into her ones, waiting for the final cut, which finally doesn't come. She nods her head after a few seconds of silence, in sign of acquiescence.

Amaryllis releases a sigh of relief, when he moves away from her body. The last thing that she wishes is him to be aware of her tormented feelings. She leaves, carrying the remnants of her unfulfilled desire with her.

"Go back to work. Now." After dismissing her, Nolan nonchalantly waved his hand, as if chasing an imaginary bug around the room.

"I'm sorry to take away your evening, but just consider it a fantasy to entertain the idea that your position gives you the ability to maintain a private life."

"Mr. Sorrento... Just know that to continue to exist, fantasy must remain in the realm of the imaginary."

She cannot help but return a last provocation before disappearing. This sentence leaves our businessman on his hunger, it even leaves him particularly dreamy. A sentence without importance, but that he cannot help transposing to the dilemma which is played in his personal life. He feels caught up in his own fantasies, his attraction to a character which is not real. He is attracted to an illusion, and particularly to his fantasy of the player.

When she retreats from his office without a word, Nolan Sorrento finally lets go. He then takes a deep breath of air as if to give himself the courage to think about his situation. Nolan feels cramped in a position that hasn't given him any satisfaction for the past few months. He still remembers the delicious shivers that ran through his avatar as if they were running through his real body. He even relishes these images and sensations like a diabetic rediscovering the pleasures of sugar. More than anything in the world, yes, more than anything. Nolan wants to feel them once again. He feels feverish at the very thought of falling back into her arms. Nolan feels himself literally bubbling with desire. He covets the dark purpose of possessing her body, not in this video game, but in reality. Nolan Sorrento's feelings for Oasis are far too tumultuous to be trapped in a virtual relationship. At least, that's what he thinks he knows about him.

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May fortune cookie help me 🙏🏻

Reblog the writers’ fortune cookie for luck!

When you love something, you protect it. It is the most natural thing in the world.