Ben Mendelsohn X Reader - Tumblr Posts

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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the taste of betrayal (nolan sorrento x reader)

oneshot - two parts

pairing. nolan sorrento x reader (ready player one movie) – fem!reader

summary. this oneshot in 2 parts takes place during one of the scenes of the film. during the false "hostage-taking" of Nolan Sorrento, the reader finds herself alone with him while her compatriots try to recover the codes allowing to locate Art3mis at the loyalty center. the reader is part of the group of our happy heroes. this oneshot does not follow the scenaristic framework of the film.

rating. mature.

nb. (Y/N) = Your Name

Thank you for reading !

WARNING: lemon, smut, masturbation, soft domination.

PART ONE

"Hey... tell me... how much is he paying you?" he whispers, leaning in a bit close to you as he settles into his leather seat. He looks pretty comfortable, you think.

Nolan Sorrento is a man of power. Like all men of power, he knows only two ways to get out of a perilous situation: blackmail or corruption. Offering money is what comes to mind almost instantly, as if a big paycheck would be enough to erase years of suffering and misery. In Nolan Sorrento's world, this is unfortunately the case.

"I have plenty of money, I can even give you a golden bridge!"

"Shut up!" retorted Daito, the ninja from your clan on the Oasis.

He takes on a bored look, while the IOI CEO lets out a heavy sigh of despair.

"Oh really?" as you whisper in a low voice, you don't believe for a second that those two can hear you.

"But, come on... Aphrodite!" replies Daito with an outraged face.

Aphrodite is the name of your avatar in the OASIS. A Greek goddess, nothing more, nothing less. She is what you secretly aspire to be; a woman honored by men, fulfilled and envied, a powerful, free and sultry woman. In real life, you are just out of school. You've spent so many years on your damn thesis that you've never had any real social contact. You've sacrificed everything to be on top. The life of this goddess of love is mostly part of your fantasies. You are a special beauty, your classmates have always liked you. You were even ranked in the top 5 of the most beautiful girls in your class during your university studies. You just never had time to enjoy the joys of dating, drinking and sleeping around. You've always had only one passion in life: your studies. You've been called a little stuck-up, yes, that's what you are. A little geek completely out of touch with the reality of relationships.

"I was joking," you hastily correct yourself, wishing those words had never left your mouth. Even if you mean it sincerely, it's not a very smart thing to say in front of your friend Daito. Deep in your heart, you are burning with the desire for glory and wealth with the proposals of the powerful Sorrento. You can't hold back an embarrassed laugh that is well appreciated by Daito. Poor boy. He is still a naive teenager. Unfortunately for you, Nolan Sorrento is not. He pays close attention to your words. A small chuckle at the corner of his lips reveals a lot about what he really thinks of you.

"My goodness! I believed it for a split second!"

"Daito!"

A voice can be heard from the other room, Asche's. He sighs in despair.

"They need me... Can you take care of it... ?"

"No problem."

You make a slight gesture with your hand to let him know that you are still in charge of keeping an eye on the despicable Sorrento. Despicable, despicable bastard... But not less terribly sexy. You share a conniving smile with your friend. When your faithful companion, Daito, leaves to find the other members of the group, you find yourself alone confronting Sorrento. Nolan Sorrento. The all-powerful CEO of the IOI. Holy crap. What is he going to tell you to destroy what's remaining of your scruples? It's a secret you've been keeping inside for five long years, ever since the day the infamous Hallyday Easter egg race began on the Oasis. A dirty little secret that could compromise your integrity with those who share your adventure on the augmented reality game. You are madly and irresistibly attracted to this evil jerk. They are incapable of understanding because they are only teenagers. You are much older than them. You are twenty-six years old. You are a woman now. A beautiful woman, full of fire and unfulfilled fantasies. Somewhere you are saving your soul for the one and only, Prince Charming on his white steed. You even imagine that a strong man like Sorrento is the other part of your happiness in this world. You are dying for him to be your soul mate. But how to reach a man like him, and above all, how not to disappoint your extremely high expectations? You thrill like a child with her first Christmas present, but do you realize for a moment that things might not be as you wish? What if Nolan Sorrento doesn't fulfill your expectations? You are in love with a fantasy. You only know him from what you've read in the papers or seen on TV. You don't know his personal situation, his inner demons, his emotional capacities, his tastes, his passions, his night terrors, his ambitions or his angers. Are they compatible with yours? That's why you tried to work for him after you got your PhD in game science. You specialized in character design. Your friends don't know that, and thank God. You think they can't understand this obsession with the big bad IOI businessman. No one knows that he's the reason you studied video games at Harvard University in Massachusetts.  You've tried to get into his company three times, but you've never been much of a talker and interviews terrify you to the point of asking your recruiters to stand up. Out of a lack of courage, you chose not to pursue it. You were afraid of literally falling apart in front of him. Your scores on all three pre-interview exams were excellent. This is not surprising for a mind like yours, a graduate of one of the best universities in the country. In fact, you need only one thing to touch your dream with your fingertips: courage.

Nolan Sorrento's soft voice brings you back to reality. He speaks to you, full of the magnetism that has brought him to his current position at the IOI. You look at him in silence, not wanting to disturb the intensity of this moment between the two of you. You study every line, every wrinkle and every salt-and-pepper lock with the greatest attention. He is even more attractive in real life than in front of a TV screen. Your eyes then deviate to the suit that surrounds his torso, which you assume is particularly muscular. There is something magical about this outfit, as incongruous as it is. You think he looks like he's in one of those old science fiction movies, some kind of humanoid in armor. You assume that his sensations are enhanced to the point of no return.

Nolan spontaneously turns to you and can't hold back a slight amused laugh as you stare at him. His lips curl up into a mischievous smile as he finally realizes there is a flaw in the system. This team is far too tightly bound, everyone's aspirations are far too divergent. He remains silent and settles a few more inches into his chair, legs crossed. He understands that you are on the fringe of the group, you proved it to him by appearing interested in his suggestions. He feels that there is a way, even a small one, to get out of this situation. You are his way out.

"Are you listening to me, (Y/N)?"

"I... What did you say?"

"I was telling you that we were finally getting together as right-minded people," so Sorrento repeated, spreading his hands to come and fill the gaps between his fingers.

You try to keep a straight face, but you can read his game perfectly well. He is trying to manipulate you into betraying your friends. They are your friends, don't forget that. He... He is desperately alone.

"Listen to me carefully... I can give you anything your heart desires: stocks in the company, designer dresses or just cash, sweetheart, it's up to you."

"I'm not your sweetheart," you reply sharply.

You bite your lower lip so hard to stop yourself from going back on your words. This is what you've wanted for so many years, but you are aware that he doesn't mean it. It's just another way to infantilize you into thinking you've reached some level of intimacy. You're boiling over inside at the thought of such familiarity, but this is not the time to fall into that kind of fantasy. He's just playing with your nerves, because he's realized that you're particularly sensitive to his charms. Nothing more. Don't be fooled, you are much smarter than that to fall into his trap. "Ok... (Y/N)... I get it, you don't trust me and that's understandable. After all, I tried to trick you. Well... Do you really think your friends will stay loyal to you if I make them the same kind of offer? They are not like you, you seem to be more educated than all of them together. (Y/N). You have all the chances in life, but them... I'm sure one of them will end up thinking of their own interests. They all do it, we all do it, it's human nature. So I'm telling you this because I like you. Think of yourself for once. I can give you absolutely anything you want." "Anything that... I want? ", you whisper in a breath, both taken aback and inevitably drawn in by the CEO's warm words. Nolan Sorrento's words ring pleasantly in your ears. His "I like you" finally gives you a reason to hope for something. You feel yourself weakening slowly in the grip of a deep dilemma with your unacknowledged desires. You want to believe in the sincerity of his words, something that can hang up your fantasy to reality.

"Everything, (Y/N), absolutely everything."

A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine at the soft sound of his voice. More, you want more. The words that escape his mouth flow like honey on his tongue. You want to hear him whisper promises against your ear. You feel your skin about to burst into flames like a forest fire. Promises, beautiful words. He is capable of turning your whole world upside down, with a simple snap of his finger, nothing resists such a powerful man. You are well aware of this weakness, even if you try to fight desperately against this volcano which burns in your belly. A repressed part of your soul desires him even for this reason. "You're lying." "Never in a million years!" he exclaims, backing up even further in his chair. Sorrento seems turned around by this unwarranted accusation. It's as if you've given him the slap of his life. As if the very idea that his word could be questioned was deeply offensive. "Order and I execute," he says, accentuating the smooth tone of his voice.

"As if you have any idea what I might want?"

"Sold! Let me guess. If I win, you give me that gun nicely and everything will be fine. No lawsuits. (Y/N). I promise you that. I'll even give you a nice big paycheck."

Sorrento interprets this silence as a hesitation from which he can gain some advantage. He then leans towards you, taking his spine off the back of his leather chair. "You are a beautiful girl, well...a beautiful woman. You're older than your friends, what's the idea of having such dubious company? You could have a lot better, honey, I have a lot of young friends I can set you up with."

A flash of lightning passes through your eyes as Sorrento seems to be getting it more and more wrong. He just doesn't consider for a moment that you might prefer men of his age. This leaves you significantly offended, which is not lost on Nolan.

"Oh... I went too far. Sorry, let's forget it, we got off on the wrong foot. It is not a man you are looking for. You are beyond such considerations... You prefer women, perhaps?"

"You'll never find," you despair. "And if I win?"

"If you want me to stop chasing you, I will."  

"And if I don't want to...?"

A curious request that leaves our CEO particularly confused. It's like exposing a part of your body. This no longer goes unnoticed in the mind of Nolan Sorrento. He seems to read you like an open book, you see him scrupulously analyzing your gestures as well as your mumblings, specifically the slight trembling of your lower lip. A flash of light crosses his face for a moment. As he tenses up against the leather of his massive chair, his lips widen in a disturbing way, causing a mocking sneer to appear at the corner of them. Sorrento gets up from his chair and slowly walks towards you. His step is heavy but determined, and his eyes are focused on you, stripping you of a single glance. "Stay where you are, Sorrento!" your cry is lost in the back of your knotted throat. You nearly choke on your saliva as he breaks through what you consider your security barrier. He enters your territory with no regard for your tortured state of mind. Your poor body trembles, you would like to run away from everything he represents. And yet, you feel helpless to get out of this twist of fate. "Or I..." "Or... ?" he continues, dragging out his words, bringing a dramatic twist to his sentence. "You kill me?" he cuts in with a laugh. An amused, almost mocking laugh full of dirty thoughts. God, you hate that laugh, you find it contemptuously arrogant. This time you guess that he is in a particularly playful mood. He tilts his head slightly to the side, a charming smile on his face that reflects nothing but patronization. "I doubt it..." You swallow painfully as you realize your mistake. He's got it all figured out. What to do... He is coming... He is close by... What should I do? Your legs shake to the point of being unable to move backwards, you feel as if you are in shock. You feel almost cathartic. No one has ever spoken to you like this, something seems to make your body move against all odds. This voice, this breath, this smell.... It is both frightening and seductive. You mentally slap yourself for having that thought in such a place, as he breaks the last few inches between your bodies to reinforce his dominance. You feel surrounded like a prey facing a hungry predator. You bite your lip almost too violently, the blood starts to flow against this red and swollen flesh. Sorrento takes the time to put his index finger on the curve of your lip. He delicately collects a fine drop of your blood, which he then brings to his mouth to taste you. There, it is the drama. Your tremors blind what's left of your sanity at the mere sight of the sensual movement of his finger between his lips, as he licks the last drop of red liquid from the tip of his tongue. A flush of heat invades your being, your lower abdomen contracts painfully, and you even come to secretly wish that he could reserve this pleasure for the most sensitive parts of your female anatomy. As he moves a little further in, your bodies brush against each other through the fabric of your clothes. He manages effortlessly to pin you against the nearest wall, holding your body against his with one hand. With his other hand, Nolan moves his fingers to the outside of your face. A light caress of his fingers on your cheekbones makes you blush. You can't hide your lack of experience in things of a physical nature. He just smiles at you, one of those smiles with that little wrinkle at the corner of your lips that takes you to fantasy land. You let his thumb scrupulously brush one of your cheeks, a sigh escaping almost instantly from your painted lips, under his touch. It is rewarded by a new caress, this time much slower, which ends in the hollow of your neck. You burn... You burn at the thought of his hand descending in slow agony to your chest, and even lower, to the center of your pleasure. He doesn't do it, but you can imagine him doing it with his eyes closed. You feel like you can even stroke your fantasy with your fingertips, it's right in front of you. "I think I guessed it..." he says, taking on a warm, drawling tone with a hint of desperation. You feel as if you can hear a plaintive whimper against your ear. "Give me that gun... And it will be all yours." "No..." you beg him not to pursue this, as you feel this one may go off the rails. You feel overwhelmed by powerful and conflicting emotions. "You lie..." You begin to dryly push her body away, which falls back into the back of his chair. Don't give in to his siren songs, think of everyone who is counting on you. "I promise you I won't, honey, look at me. I never make business promises for nothing." He seems to take offense at your lack of confidence. Sorrento grabs your chin between his long, thick fingers to bring your face even closer to his. "Then why the look?" "I'm just... surprised." "The idea is... so laughable?" "No, no, not at all!" he waves his hands vigorously. "On the contrary, I feel extremely flattered." He pulls you closer to him and says, "I'll let you into a little secret.... You've always been my favorite of all these idiots.... (Y/N)... I secretly hoped that you would somehow decide to work for me." He whispers these words with infinite tenderness in the hollow of your ear, his lips brushing your lobe. You feel his warm breath spreading and radiating to the back of your neck. Shivers run down your spine as his grip on the gun begins to weaken more and more. Sorrento feels it, as he closes his fist on the hand that holds the weapon. She is so pure, so beautiful and so vulnerable, he thinks. She is mine. He witnesses the ecstatic tremors of your body burning with desire for his authority. You openly expose your weaknesses by revealing the afflictions of your poor heart. Nolan Sorrento has been part of your wildest dreams for far too many years. "Say something and everything will be yours, (Y/N). Everything. Everything your heart has desired for so many years..." What a fool. He knew your feelings all along and still played with you. A slight sense of shame taints the beauty of the moment. You close your eyes tightly, wanting to resist the temptation to give him the gun. Everything is an illusion in the Oasis. You even regret that this is only a rescue operation. You yearn to feel the weight of Nolan's body against yours. His real body. In real life. There's nothing better than real life. "I'll be yours." And there you go, your mind racing at the very moment those four little words and ten letters come out of his mouth. Four words and ten letters that have kept you fantasizing for so many nights. These words crush all your scruples like a boot crushes a parasite. And like a robot, you lean towards his ear to confess the inevitable. You tell him everything you had planned to do against him. You throw it all away because a part of you seeks his approval. A part of you wants him more than anything in the world. Nothing can stop the flow of your words. You collapse, moaning in a breath as you feel his hand move against your buttocks and he forces you to sit on his lap. He tries to pull more of you, drawing you against his feverish body. His powerful hands encircle your hips, which are then positioned against his. With a simple movement, your pelvis rubs against his, he seeks this closeness, he is consumed by a burning inferno at the idea of being filled. Your body no longer belongs to you. It desires madly to be his. It proves it to you every second by acting against your will. You feel so overwhelmed that you lose all sense of time. Your hips move against his, in a slow agony, insatiable and possessive. You feel that the center of your desire is now a burning desert land. Your confessions have a surprising effect on him. You are both carried away by the taste of betrayal, it has the effect of a powerful aphrodisiac. "Tell me more... " his voice whispered against your ear is heavy, the breath on your skin is erratic and burning. Then he strokes your chin with his fingertips. "Prove to me your loyalty, (Y/N). " he pleads with you, sensually emphasizing each of his syllables. You slowly close your eyes as you feel chills run down the line of your back. You feel your cheeks flush, far from familiar with this form of closeness. Nolan Sorrento is the first to see the heat radiating from your cheeks, which seems to excite him even more. You wear a small tweed dress, mid-thigh, and underlined by a jacket in real black leather. He takes advantage of his hold on you to run his fingers over the curve of your buttocks under the layers of fabric. From there, his hands brush your skin with envy, while deepening their exploration lower and lower. This waiting is nothing but hell for you, these waves of heat melt your body. Your breath gets lost amidst the encouragement you materialize with squeaks, you still refuse to moan like a poor little thing. "Show me you're a good girl." His fingers first brush the cotton of your underwear, his caresses gentle and unintrusive. You feel that your sighs are as important as his, he wants you to like it above all. He needs your approval, it's the only thing that seems to be holding back the unleashing of his passions. A kind of vulnerability emerges from him, you finally realize what really lies beneath the surface of the ruthless businessman. Your moans are more than enough to bring a smile of satisfaction to his face. He doesn't hold back a slight chuckle, as he deepens his caresses towards what is already soaked with your desire. The suit you're wearing is magical, allowing you to feel his fingers on your privates as if they were really there. Drunk with his caresses, you respond to each one with a thrust of your pelvis, hoping to feel them deeper inside you. You think that it is not enough, the limits of the OASIS are such that they do not allow an enjoyment to the height of the vertigo which feeds your fantasies. But this, Sorrento does not know yet. Nolan starts to press with his fingertips the entrance of your intimacy before attacking the nerve center of your pleasure. He refuses to give in to the urgent need you have to feel his fingers on your skin, he prefers to stimulate your parts through the cotton that covers your intimacy. He wants to play with your nerves even more, without going directly inside, but creating enough sensations to reveal the wild personality inside you. You are dying for him to rip off that thin piece of cloth... You feel your eyes moisten at the same rate as your underwear, so much so that the palm of his hand is soon covered with your shameful moisture. You beg him with your beautiful eyes to tear off the cotton fabric which encloses your intimacy, but he does not give you satisfaction. Nolan plunges his two icy orbs into yours and contemplates the expression on your face, a mixture of euphoria and frustration. You complain that he seems to take great pleasure in giving you half of everything. His eyes darken as he watches you squirm, his fingers keep working inside you, so that after a few minutes your panties are completely soaked. Far from being horrified, this excites him greatly, then an incredible thrust against your body makes you gasp. You imagine him well ridden, and especially in you, going and coming more and more violently. Nolan tears off this underwear of a sharp shot, by taking care not to leave any remains of fabric between him and you. He then brings his hand to his nose and gently inhales your scent, making you even wetter, as you hear him sigh with desire. "Is that what you want then, (Y/N), flesh against flesh...? " he whispers as he quickly works his way down to your bundle of nerves, circling it between his thumb and forefinger with short, measured squeezes. You immediately go into a fit of muffled, discontinuous moans. Your hips agitate frantically against his hand while desiring much more of him. As if he had pressed a magic button, you're off to heaven. "Yes... of course you do..." he says as he nibbles on your earlobe, not stopping what he's doing to you underneath. The end of his sentence ends with a laugh, unfortunately muffled by the sound of your moans. You are intoxicated by his voice, his smell, his warm tongue in your ear and his fingers on your pleasure-soaked intimacy. He then puts firm pressure on that small spot of flesh, now hard and bloody. We can see in the depths of your eyes that your feelings are contradictory. It is necessary to say that all capacity of reasoning is lost in the whirlwind of these dizzy sensations. With your mouth half open, you feel ecstatic. You feel a furious desire to beg him to capture your lips with his, then to penetrate you very slowly of each of his fingers. Your half-closed eyes almost beg him to finish what remains of your ethical conscience. He alternates the caresses on the flesh ready to explode and your intimacy thus offered. Nolan finally decides to leave your clitoris to put a finger in you, then a second one. These comings and goings of his fingers are hasty and impulsive, you then start to lose all reason while shouting his name. He puts his hand against your mouth to muffle your cries. You love the way he touches you, especially the little sucking sounds he makes every time he goes inside you. You're in love with the way he makes love to you with his fingers, you can't help but arch your body under the shaking he gives you. His fingers work between your wet walls, you feel this heat that envelops your interior and makes you understand that he is the only one in the world to make you beg. His movements are now precise and violent, you feel yourself being pounded by two of his fingers, while his thumb continues to move over your clit in infinite slowness. He is much more gentle and tender with your flesh button, well aware that the sensitivity is such that you can't take any abuse from him. You feel the wave of pleasure begin to surge from your hairline to your toes. You feel it distinctly hit you like a first and true orgasm. Your muscles tense painfully and the contractions in your lower abdomen are now rushing, launching you into the best orgasm of your life. You can be surprised by your friends at any time. This only amplifies your pleasure to the point of explosion with one last press of Nolan's thumb on your flesh button and two of his fingers violently hitting your G-spot. He senses you're about to release, so he grabs your chin to force you to look into his eyes as the orgasm runs through your body. Your eyes never leave each other, you feel yourself absorbed in the ocean blue of his pupils dilated with excitement, while yours widen under the waves that ride your body. Nolan Sorrento has eclipsed all your previous orgasms in a snap, as if they never counted. You stagger and sweat on top of him, wondering what it's going to be like outside the OASIS. You want his mouth, but he isn't ready to give it to you yet. You want a kiss from him, his tongue against yours, but he refuses to kiss you. You don't deserve it yet in his eyes. You have to prove yourself. You cling to his lips, desperately, waiting for his commands, ready to satisfy any of his needs. "Keep them from destroying everything I've put so much effort into building." Anger and bitterness mingle in the tone of her husky voice. Nolan Sorrento can't stand failure anymore. Unfortunately for you, that's not enough in his eyes. He wants more loyalty from you, not just secrets, but real action. You know what you have to do, there is no other way to achieve your dream.

"This is an illusion. We're not really here." And now you begin to confess to him the irredeemable. You tell her about Wade and the others' plan. You are falling for his beautiful ocean blue eyes, his sly smile, his warm voice, his musky, vanilla smell, his irresistible accent. Nolan Sorrento is your cryptonite. "We're still in the Oasis."

Sorrento is as studded by your bravery as he is by your loyalty. Your words are full of impact and fragility.

"You are in my flux..."

You answer with a timid nod. He immediately feels a wave of anger come over him, coupled with an urge to smash everything and slaughter those damn kids. They dared to hack his connection to the OASIS. How could he let himself be trapped so easily? Sorrento remains silent for a few minutes before emerging again. Calm, Olympian, dignified. "Thank you."

"I...Mr. Sorrento."

"No." He starts to cut you off with a wave of his hand. He sweeps his gaze around the room, his eyes empty of emotion. "Shut up. Not now. Not here."

"I'm sorry." "We can't go on, (Y/N)." You feel like your heart is breaking into a million pieces. Nolan's words sound like they are tearing you apart. You sense the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. It's strange to react like this, to feel like you've been left behind when you haven't accomplished anything yet. "I hate this fucking place," he finally says. You can feel the disgust for all of Hallyday and Morrow's work in the depths of his voice. "There's nothing better than reality for a first time."

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

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. smut, public sex, fingering. not for kids.

comments. sorry for this long, SO long absence. irl was... disturbing and inspiration downward. i am back then. i got so much plans for this fiction. i’m also planning to work on a lot of things.

Thank you for reading ! :D

                                                    CHAPTER 3.

GLUTTONY. Gluttony is the disordered desire to eat or drink something one likes without needing to, meaning in the absence of hunger or thirst. According to Epicureanism, gluttony is opposed to the search for happiness because it leads to unnecessary pleasure. Gluttony can be linked to any other form of craving.

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“Slow down you crazy child, You're so ambitious for a juvenile, But then if you're so smart tell me,

Why are you still so afraid? Where's the fire, what's the hurry about? You better cool it off before you burn it out, 

But you know that when the truth is told, That you can get what you want or you can just get old, Slow down you're doing fine,

You can't be everything you want to be before your time, Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight, 

You got your passion, you got your pride,

But don't you know that only fools are satisfied? Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true, When will you realize...”

‘Vienna’ – Billy Joel

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

                                                              ▲▼

“I must admit I was surprised by your message. It's been a while since we had lunch together.” says a deep, smug voice, a middle-aged man - much older than Orson Krennic, much older than you, but most of all, much wiser than all the men who have surrounded you for years. There is only one. Grand Moff Tarkin.

Moff Tarkin stands elegantly in front of you, cross-legged, in a chair made of a combination of purple velvet and varnished wood. A Renaissance style chair - ancient and distinguished. You have left the choice of meeting place to your beloved father - one of the most luxurious restaurants in the city of Coruscant. You are not unfazed by this, given the many family gatherings you have had since your birth on Phelarion. You listen to his inquiries with a worried expression as you realize what you are about to ask him. Wilhuff Tarkin is right - he is right about everything, as usual. It's been a few months since you had lunch together, but it's been years since you've been in such a... friendly situation.

“Indeed, Father, and I deeply regret it. I must tell you personally. We've been separated for... a few years now.” you admit, uncomfortable with the idea of mentioning the reasons for this distance. Since Garoche's death. You feel like mentioning it, but you don't, because you're afraid of upsetting your venerable father. Garoche is a particularly sensitive subject for every Tarkin still alive in the galaxy. Wilhuff Tarkin is not fooled, however, and seems to understand what you are refusing to tell him. His face darkens for a few seconds, which is far from lost on you. As Tarkin remains silent, you swallow and say : “I need to talk to you about important things.”

Tarkin raises an eyebrow as he puts his spoon back on the cup, but does not open his lips. He just looks at you with a smug look behind his long, dark lashes. Behind this smugness hides a curiosity, which he doesn't express, but which remains deep in his eyes. He puts his two icy orbs on you, which makes you shiver despite yourself. Wilhuff Tarkin may be the powerful man who raised you - but he is still a terrifying man - even to his own family members. “All I ask is that you be open-minded enough.” you say, with some anxiety in your voice.

“I'm listening (Y/N).” Wilhuff Tarkin says as he adds a little sugar to an amber liquid inside an elegant, oval-shaped porcelain cup. “I'm listening to you carefully.”

“It's about Eadu.” you reply in a calm tone, giving him the impression of being serene, which is far from being the truth.

“Eadu?” he wonders. Tarkin can't hide his surprise at the mere mention of this planet, which has been the headquarters of a major Imperial cystography laboratory for years. “Why are you referring to Eadu?” His eyebrows frown almost mechanically, he doesn't seem to like it, he must certainly fear the worst from you. A part of him is regretting having been so careless in his confidences about the imperial projects. You've never shown the slightest sign of interest in them, much to Wilhuff and Thalassa's displeasure. It's not like with Garoche. You were never like... Garoche.

“You mention Eadu so much as a great pride and...” you say, before interrupting yourself by gently biting your lower lip. You search for your words to avoid rushing him. You need to get him to believe you. Your true reasons for your interest in Eadu are far less noble than you are trying to make your beloved father think. Tarkin must continue to ignore your relationship with Orson Krennic. For both your sakes. “...I thought you might want to show me personally this facility.”

Tarkin glares at you from behind his dark lashes. He gives you a slightly aristocratic, smug look, but you never take it personally. Wilhuff Tarkin acts this way with everyone.

“So, you're asking me to take you to Eadu to see our work.” he repeats, detaching each word in a somewhat suspicious tone. You swallow, feeling that you have failed in your task. “Where did you get this sudden interest in our science bases, my dear?”

Your blood freezes, your heartbeat quickens in your ribcage, and soon you experience the painful sensation of the taste of acid coming from your gut, mixed with the metallic taste of blood trickling down your lower lip. You bite it carelessly under the unbearable weight of your racing heart.

“You.” You lie. It's the right thing to do. Bring the attention back to him. Wilhuff Tarkin loves himself. It can only work, it's the best move ever. “I ask to honor you, Father.”

“Mmh.” That sounds convincing. Well, partly, at least. Tarkin shifts his steely gaze from yours to his still-steaming cup of tea. He takes a couple of sips, taking his time before giving you the satisfaction of a weak, concise smile. At that point, you know it's a done deal.

“I'll make a note of that. I am pleased, I must confess. I was blaming your lack of involvement in the affairs of the Empire on your mother. However, your choice of Eadu worries me a little.”

“Why should I be concerned?”

“Eadu ... is one of Orson Krennic's favorite installations.” Tarkin admitted, wincing at the mention of his most hated rival's name. “I would like to avoid any form of contact between him and my only daughter.”

“I have no interest in Eadu for Orson Krennic, father, that is...” Lies. “He will not always be there.” You nearly choke on all your lies as you bring your cup to your dry lips.

“Certainly, certainly...” He sighs. “Krennic is still a problem.”

You have no idea how the subject got so out of hand on Orson Krennic, but the damage is done. Wilhuff Tarkin is both irritated and bitter at being forced to recall his dear, sweet rival.

“Father,” you whisper in a firm but gentle voice, after a brief pause. No more silences and cold tempers. Wilhuff Tarkin must finally make his intentions clear about what he wants to do with the director. A fire burns in you like an inferno, the flame of curiosity. An unhealthy curiosity, but you desperately need to understand what is wrong between them, what your father blames Orson Krennic for so badly. “What exactly do you blame him for?”

He seems to be gauging your question with a hint of patronization, judging by his piercing gaze, and proudly raised chin. For a few seconds you even wonder if he intends to give you any satisfaction. Wilhuff seems to growl softly. You sense that he disapproves this bold behavior, as he immediately snaps his tongue against his palate in annoyance. Have you gone too far in your questioning? “Forgive me, this does not concern me. Forget what I have...” you repeat in a sorry tone before he abruptly cuts you off. Wilhuff lifts his hand towards you to shut you up. You try to catch yourself as best you can, because the last thing you want to do is to make your venerable father angry. You don't want to bring his attention to your deeper motives. Wilhuff closes his eyes for a few moments, deep in thought, before reopening them to yours. His gaze is intense, sharp, and seems to have the ability to pierce your soul from within.

“I blame him for some things,” he finally says, taking a sip of his tea between his thin lips. Tarkin acts as if he hasn't come to be annoyed by it, as if it were nothing. You complain about this imperturbable temperament, but nothing can get to Wilhuff Tarkin. No matter what you do or say, Tarkin keeps a cold facial expression.

“Orson Krennic does not come from an officer's upbringing, he is constantly trying to prove himself without really caring about his colleagues. He is confident, arrogant. Krennic is annoying. He tries to distinguish himself in the wrong way, believing that wearing a cape grants him privileges that exist only in his fantasies. If you pay attention, girl, you'll see that he takes a puzzling pleasure in flying it in a spectacular way.” At the same time, Tarkin waves his hand nonchalantly, as if to keep an invisible bug away from him. “Orson Krennic is the kind of person who dresses and behaves in public in a way that screams ‘notice me’. Furthermore, he sees his purpose in destruction, not caring either how he will be remembered, but simply because he is the one who initiates it.” said Tarkin in one breath, coldly and calmly. “Ah. I forget one important detail: he also has a serious drinking and partying problem, which highlights his deep need to be the center of gravity. When he was at Brentaal IV, he had a reputation for late night antics, partying and fighting. Knowing all this, my daughter, do you finally understand that Orson Krennic is not a respectable Imperial officer?”

Under the weight of this accusation, you feel your heart rate accelerate dangerously. Tarkin is right about everything, absolutely everything. Orson Krennic is not the most respectable officer in the Imperial High Command. Orson Krennic is unstable and unpredictable. Orson Krennic spends most of his time yelling at others, claiming that this makes him a ‘leader’. Orson Krennic is not a man that a young woman like you, noble and well educated, should fall in love with. You should not fall in love with a man like Orson Krennic. Under no circumstances. He will only break you. He will destroy you. Only your eyes will weep over the ashes of this destructive, passionate, impossible love. Why not fall in love with a younger imperial officer who is well liked by your family and who will bring you the honors and tenderness you deserve? A young man your own age, not someone more than twice your age. Someone who can express his emotions in ways other than pounding his fist on the table.

“Why all the questions, (Y/N)?” he says, looking at you with his steely eyes. “Do you have something to confess to me about him?” Tarkin points out something else to you. His voice is disapproving as he begins to see the impossible between the two of you. His question sparks a furious urge in you to scream with all your heart that this is the case, but you don't. Instead, you collect your thoughts and ideas. Instead, you gather all your energy to squeeze the power of your feelings.

“No, of course not, Father,” you say, giving your best dramatic performance. You then display a disgusted moue, far from interested by someone so prefabricated. “I've always wondered about that, and I've already talked about it with Mother...”

“You've mentioned Krennic to your mother?” Tarkin interrupts you a second time, seemingly astonished. You see the puzzlement in his eyes, an unreadable gleam. Something unusual, you're not used to getting his attention. Tarkin is still inexpressive, and now he raises his eyebrows.

“I actually had this discussion with her, because I was about to ask you a favor...”

“A favor?” he repeats, his face turning livid. “In what sense?” Tarkin blinks twice, his long fingers tightening around the porcelain cup in his hands. “What does this have to do with Orson Krennic?” The Grand Moff worries that he might understand what you're getting at.

“I would like to play an effective role in the upbringing of our worthy and illustrious family.” you say with conviction, attempting to calm his unfounded fears. Wilhuff Tarkin was stunned by this admission, thinking you were just a perfect doll, useful for forging new alliances with the noble families of the Empire. Despite his best efforts, unlike your brother Garoche, you never showed the slightest interest in the Tarkin family's influence. Wilhuff was always upset by this, but he eventually accepted it. Garoche made up for this obvious disinterest before he was killed on a mission on the planet Atoan.

“Mmh.” Tarkin seems thoughtful. “Continue, please.” He sets the porcelain cup half-filled with an amber-colored liquid on a circular receptacle made of the same material. “I am listening carefully, (Y/N).” Grand Moff Tarkin responds by raising his hand slightly toward you. With his palm facing upward, Tarkin gently curls his fingers, one after the other, into his hand. With this gesture, he invites you to share all your thoughts with him without fear of judgment. It's something you don't know yet, because Tarkin's thoughts are foggy, but you've finally gotten his attention. All of his attention. He wants to know more about you, secretly hoping to expand his reputation through you, just as he did with Garoche. Maybe you'll be more useful to him than he thinks. You have a pretty face and a full head. You can easily serve his interests and attract the confidences of his rivals. One name comes to mind, Orson Krennic. What he wouldn't give to bring down his eternal rival. What he wouldn't sacrifice to finally have all the rights. However, he prefers not to mention the sordidness of his thoughts for now, hoping instead that his intuitions are right, and that the effort comes from within.

“My choice of Eadu is not entirely disinterested, I confess, father.”

“I knew it.” Of course he knew that. He's the Grand Moff. He knows everything.

You pause for a moment, then cheerfully continue, “I can see for myself what's going on there and report back to you on the actual progress...”

“What about Krennic?” he says after a short silence, gently touching the edges of his lips with that incredible soft cotton towel. Tarkin is not losing his mind. Tarkin is waiting for you to elaborate on all your thoughts, also concerning Orson Krennic. Wasn't it you who spoke of your desire to see him spread the name of Tarkin? You gave him only half the information, leaving him in suspense. Tarkin's ears hissed as your lover's name escaped from your painted lips.

“I...”

As you carefully prepare a lie, you almost naturally cut yourself off, noticing a more than familiar shadow in the back of the hall. Right before your eyes. There it is.

In the blink of an eye, it seems as if the entire world collapses beneath your feet. Recognizable footsteps rise in the small dining room of one of Coruscant City's finest restaurants. You can recognize this step among thousands of others. For a moment, the fruity smell of your morning brew becomes overwhelming, flooding your brain, until nausea and dizziness violently assail you. Orson Krennic. Orson Krennic's steps. His perfectly polished black boots are walking through the restaurant with a conquering rhythm. When you look up from your cup of tea, you see the uniformed figure of Director Krennic. A luxurious white uniform, typical of the agents of the Empire's Department of Internal Security, to which he belongs. There he is. He stands upright like a soldier, his chin raised in scorn, his ocean-blue gaze scanning all sides of the room like the radar of one of those imperial droids. As you stare at him, you notice the expression on his face is dignified, even amused. Krennic is happy to be showing up in this restaurant, while you are sitting with your father. Is this really a coincidence, or did he know you would both be there at noon? His white cape floats between his legs as he walks almost too unnaturally to be a common human. Orson Krennic. He is perfection incarnate. His elegance erases any scruples you may have had after that savage night in your parents' bedroom. Tremors shake your body – you are helpless against this overwhelming wave of emotions. You feel complications progressively taking shape in front of you, but you can't stop them from reaching you. What is he doing there? An immense black hole comes to take possession of your mind, reducing to nothing any capacity of reflection, while your thoughts are scrambled by the intensity of your feelings. You feel torn between excitement and fear at the idea that Wilhuff Tarkin might understand what is happening between you two. As you are led to talk about Orson Krennic, he magically appears. Cruel coincidence.

Ironic, isn't it? Krennic greets you from the sidelines, before turning his attention to one of the waiters.

You watch him silently, hoping he will stay away from your table. After a few seconds, he brings his gaze back to yours – both of you then stare at each other from a safe distance.

“(Y/N)?” your father hisses, catching the desperate feeling that sparkles in the back of your eyes. Wilhuff Tarkin faces you – and turns his back to the restaurant entrance – unable to see the cloaked figure of Director Krennic. For now, at least.

His bluish gaze has locked onto yours. Krennic has this fabulous talent of reading you like an open book, exposing you with his beautiful icy eyes. You feel yourself blushing strongly, hypersensitive in front of these attention marks far from having any hidden motives. You are torn between passion and reason. One of the oldest dilemmas in the world.

Krennic finally approaches you with greetings, encircled by two death troopers. His special escort causes your father to grunt. You can easily see Wilhuff Tarkin's dark eyes begin to roll slowly toward the roof – he is annoyed by Orson Krennic's ostentatious ways. Everyone then looks on in surprise at Krennic and his men. Wilhuff Tarkin is tired of the spectacular and exaggerated arrivals of the director of the Empire's Advanced Weapons Bureau. His upbringing is such that he does not speak of it or show any sign to anyone, but you are well aware of your father's facial expressions, knowing him better than anyone, and you know that his veins are boiling with a dull, icy anger.

“Governor, what a surprise to find you here... I had no idea Coruscant was such a small city!” snaps Krennic, filled with irony, while he is faking sympathy to perfection.

“Not small enough, if you want my opinion, Director.” he retorted curtly, not even looking up at his troublesome colleague. It must be said that the mere sound of his voice gave him a furious desire to get up and throw the porcelain cup in his face. It is a dragging voice, and its accent from the outer colonies horrifies the Grand Moff to no end. No matter how hard Krennic tries to hide it, some words are hard to spare. And it's worse when he gets angry, he loses all composure and accentuates his syllables unreasonably.

You discreetly roll your eyes at your father's cynicism. It's not like he's capable of making any effort, the Tarkin-Krennic rivalry is as legendary as it is deep-seated.

“I apologize to you to have interrupted this gathering, but I have some business to attend to. Governor,” he greeted, then anchored his two bright ocean-blue orbs in yours. “Milady.” Although he was on his way out and apparently in a hurry, Kennic did not forget to bow his head in your direction to show his deepest respect. A natural cordiality for someone of your rank, however, which let your heart burn like a great blazing fire.

“What a fool...” mumbles Tarkin once Krennic has moved far enough away to not hear his slanderous growls.

“With all my respect father, you are clearly overstating the situation.”

Words come out of your mouth at the very moment that Wilhuff Tarkin's dark eyes come to return their attention to you. Quickly enough you realize that you have made your first slip of the tongue – maybe it was just a weakness slip. Tarkin looks surprised by your boldness, but he is not necessarily unhappy about it. He has always blamed his wife, Thalassa, for the fearlessness and lack of self-initiative that so defines your noble education.

“Do you think I'm wrong about him, child?”

“I think you should simply give him a chance to make himself agreeable to you and show you what he is capable of doing.”

“I see that your mother has done a poor job in bringing you up, she has failed to teach you a precious value, my dearest (Y/N). Your sensitivity will lose you, if not today, one day soon. In this world, either you are strong, or you are weak,” he said, moving his pale lips briefly, before taking another sip from his cup of tea. Again, the same haunting speech, which you know perfectly well after all these years spent under the control of the cold and terrifying Wilhuff Tarkin. “Poor thing.” he sighs with a false esteem for Thalassa’s work, his wife, on your poor education.

Tarkin brings you down to earth several times. He is astonished that you find any interest in him. In Orson Krennic’s. He hardly tries to crush what is between you with a look of disgust. He's not a fool, he sees it, he feels it. Orson Krennic is attracted to you, and it leaves him confused - he is torn between anger and interest. Why is that? In a way, Orson Krennic's impulses of his own heart can serve his darkest purposes.

“But...” As your thoughts spill over to Orson Krennic's flowing and flawless cape several feet away, it's Wilhuff Tarkin's suave voice that catches your attention. That “but” is unnaturally soft, so you can't help but feel the twist coming. “Well, seeing as you're so insistent that I give him a chance... So be it, I agree to give in to my daughter's whims for once.” It was as if a dagger had been stabbed into your heart. Barely opening your lips, expecting to ask him to clarify something, you observe your father snapping his fingers to summon one of his faithful lieutenants - who was standing at a table away from you. “Lieutenant, bring me Director Krennic.”

“Father...” you’re mumbling in pain.

“Hurry, boy.” he adds harshly.

It's too late. He's gone to join Krennic at the bar to murmur a few words in his ear. From the corner of the restaurant room, unfortunately, you cannot hear fragments of their conversation, but you can clearly read something in the expression on Orson's face... unexpected. Krennic is surprised, perhaps even frightened, by something the young lieutenant is whispering to him.

As the director comes up to you, his chin proudly lifted and his gaze locked in yours, he announces himself in a drawling, slightly cocksure voice. “You wished to see me, Governor?” breathes Krennic as he comes forward with a confident step, along with a death trooper who follows him like the shadow of his own fucking white cloak.

“Indeed, Director Krennic.” Tarkin's voice disrupts his contemplation of your magnificent person. Your gazes remain locked together for a few seconds, before Krennic turns it away so as not to awaken the Grand Moff's suspicions.

“My daughter insists on you joining us, Director.”

“It wasn't exactly phrased that way...” You try to justify yourself as you feel the Director's annoyed look burning on your bloody cheeks. Full red. Red as blood with shame. You’re nothing more than a poor little animal right now. Hunted until blood turns to molten lava and runs through your veins, paralyzed as hell by its frozen words. You immediately turn your attention away from the two high officers who are watching you with their piercing blues eyes.

“Of course, just please, (Y/N), don't be shy. You said you wanted to invite the director at our table,” Tarkin insists with barely disguised pleasure. In his eyes shines a glint of cruel amusement, much more familiar. “Sit down, Director.” It is an order. “Come here. (Y/N), please, let him sit in closer.” Krennic complies despite himself, taking a seat on your right, facing Tarkin’s one. “She's being modest with her expectations. I am more than willing to satisfy her curiosity... That’s what a good father must do, isn’t it ? She obviously blushes of joy and her eyes sparkles with excitement at the mere thought of you joining us.” Tarkin shamelessly comments, while he’s hailing a waiter to bring a third set of cutlery for Krennic. “My beloved daughter, Director, used to think that can bluff the old man in front of her, nevertheless, your scientific achievements especially catch her eyes, as mine, for a long time.” You just want to die right now. Now, really, really, really now. Please, God may help you.

Tarkin is pressing you hard in front of Krennic because he knows you made fun of him. He wants you to pay for it. What a fucking, sordid punishment. So, you keep quiet, to avoid aggravating your already delicate situation. What must be Orson Krennic’s thoughts on this shit ?

“My achievements?” gasps Director Krennic, raising his eyebrows in astonishment at the Grand Moff's false kindness. He’s terrified. Did he know ? Does the Grand Moff’s already know everything about the both of you ? “I…”

“Yes, Director.” Tarkin interrupts playfully. “Your achievements.”

There is a silence between the three of you. A particularly awkward silence. It is Wilhuff Tarkin who has put you in this state of stress.

“Well, director?” Tarkin raises gently, clinking the back of his silver spoon on the porcelain rim of his floral-patterned cup. “Please, talk to me. You, who are so eloquent. Why don't you tell about your accomplishments in person?”

Wilhuff Tarkin's insinuations lead you to believe that he knows something, no matter how questionable. How could he know? No... Tarkin is merely suspicious. Tarkin knows that Krennic is attracted to you, as you are to him. He has smelled the air around you and felt that deeply sexual electrical tension between you. He probably realized the depth of your arousal just by observing you devouring the imperial's authoritative, white-draped figure with your hungry eyes. When Orson Krennic walked in, a gentle heat began to emerge from your body. A very strong sexual heat, mixed with the smell of your arousal. Right between your thighs. A shameful wet feeling, smearing your black lace underwear. That significant smell, you smelled it. You made the choice to ignore it. You are in the middle of a public scene. You can't act like an overexcited teenager at her very first prom. Orson Krennic has you on edge. He's the only man capable of making you feel insecure in front of your own father. Like right now. He's next to you, sitting nonchalantly in the chair, legs crossed.  

When the waiter returns to you with a porcelain cup and a plate, he doesn't even say a word of thanks. He completely avoids the waiter's arrival. Embarrassed, the young man finally leaves after mumbling a few words of apology to you, believing he has offended the director. This is not the case, the director is simply a snobby man. Orson Krennic turns you on. Orson Krennic's behavior turns you on. You love it when he shows a snobbish authority, when he despises the people around him, when he has a conquering walk, when he twirls his long white cloak with elegance, when he whispers a few words in a seductive voice, when he gives you that charming smirk. That signature smile: arrogant and naughty at the same time. You realize now that the pleasant feeling in your stomach is growing, as you look at Krennic and Tarkin challenging each other under your eyes. You love to see them challenge each other. For you. No matter how hard you squeeze your thighs, the heat rushes through you like lava from an erupting volcano. The moisture keeps building, traveling from the lace fabric to stick to the inside of your trembling thighs, while the air around you become more electrified.

“I can finally imagine what my daughter enjoys so much about you. Your blind confidence in your skills and in other people's opinions of you is remarkable.” A false compliment. A compliment disguised as a terrible insult. Wilhuff Tarkin moistens his lips with the amber liquor of his spiced tea, while Orson Krennic mentally storms off.

“That confidence, Governor, got me where I am today. I wouldn't part with it for anything in the world. I assume that this is a deep disappointment to you.”

“There are many things that disappoint me...” replies Tarkin with a drawl, walking his gaze to Krennic's left. He reveals his first cards with this well-placed understatement, clearly directed at you.

Tarkin's voice momentarily snaps you out of your wild thoughts. He speaks to Krennic, looking at you with his steely eyes, with the intention of reading your soul. To pierce all your secrets. Wilhuff Tarkin discovers the director's effect on you while talking with him. No one can ignore the delicate pink color of your filled cheeks. Nor can anyone ignore the delicate warmth that covers your forehead. Damp and wet. You are moist and soaking wet.

Tarkin's attitude hurts you, but you've been quiet since Orson sat down next to you. Krennic's furtive gaze does not miss him. He quietly lays his palm under the table against your knee, giving you the bravery to stand strong. You can face anything together. It feels good. It magnifies the pleasure you feel inside. It increases... the wetness between your thighs. Orson Krennic sniffs softly, a little loudly, as the smell of sex fills the air around you. A sneer on the corner of his lips, he pretends nothing, while congratulating himself for putting you in such an exciting state of nervousness.

“I can now finally see what my daughter enjoys so much about you. Your blind confidence in your abilities and in other people's opinions of you is remarkable.” An insult disguised as a compliment. Wilhuff Tarkin moistens his lips in the amber liquor of his spiced tea, while Orson Krennic gets mentally pissed.

“That confidence, Governor, has put me in the position I occupy today. I would not part with it for anything in the world. I suppose that disappoints you deeply.”

“There are many things that disappoint me...” replies Tarkin with a drawl, walking his gaze to Krennic's left. He reveals his first cards with this well-placed insinuation, clearly directed at you.

Tarkin's voice momentarily snaps you out of your wild thoughts. He is talking to Krennic, looking at you with his steely eyes, determined to read your soul. To find out all your secrets. Wilhuff Tarkin discovers the effect he has on you while talking to the director. No one can ignore the delicate pink color of your full cheeks. Nor can anyone ignore the fine particle of warmth that covers your forehead. Steamy and soaking wet. You are wet and damp.

Tarkin's attitude hurts you, but you've been quiet since Orson moved in next to you. Krennic's furtive gaze does not miss it. He discreetly lays his palm under the table against your knee, giving you the courage and support you need to endure. You can face anything together. It feels good. It magnifies the pleasure you feel inside. It increases... the wetness between your thighs. Orson Krennic sniffs softly, a little loudly, as the smell of sex fills the air around you. A grin at the corner of the lips, he does not pretend anything, while congratulating himself to put you in a state of such hot tension.

After a few minutes, he finally changes his position.

The hand of Director Krennic loosens from your thigh, moving in a sensual caress towards the inside, which is far from leaving you indifferent. He moves slowly over your flesh exposed to his view, and to him alone. Orson Krennic finishes to spread out the fluid sides of your dress made of lace and of satin, ivory color and covered with a golden tulle voile. Your skin feels so feverish, now, that this mere contact produces the effect of a burning and painful tingling in the bottom of your stomach. Your belly contracts gradually, by chaotic jolts. You feel that your insides are writhing with a rather familiar pain, those of the aching pulsations of your clit. You figure out what he's going to do to you, in front of everyone. Without anyone knowing. Your flesh spot begins to throb in a thrilling way, like the heart of a hunted animal, paralyzed by the cruelty of its hunter. In response to this unexpected intrusion, you move your palms on each of your thighs, spreading his fingers then tightening them around your quivering flesh. You try gently to push back his leather-gloved fingers. Krennic freezes under the table as he confronts your father with a remarkable coolness. He states his latest progress on the Emperor's top secret project with a confident tone, clearly wanting to dominate his exchanges with him. He doesn't like the way Tarkin seems to want to claim ownership of the project. He speaks in a low, authoritative voice. That voice literally drives him crazy. Meanwhile, Krennic's hand is moving again. You bite your lip, as you thought it would have stopped him from exploring. You realize that Krennic is very pleased with this game. Touching you beneath the table and rubbing his vicious fingers all over your beautiful pure white dress, right under your father's nose, puts him in a state of monumental arousal. Which you can see, with a glance at his crotch which is hidden in his raven black uniform pants. Seeing him like this makes you swallow violently. You are witnessing his massive erection under the restaurant table. For a second, you want to be as bold as him and unbuckle his belt to put your hand inside his uniform, but you don't. Not in front of your father. Not in front of your father. You fight it. You settle into your seat, wanting him to stop exploring. You cross your legs at least three times, but Krennic keeps putting his hand against your left thigh, gradually deviating it inward. Even though you discreetly pull your dress back into place, he persists in wanting to lift it up and work his way down to your lacy panties. So fine and delicate. For a moment you regret having worn such transparent underwear. A simple touch of the tip of his thumb under the leather of his glove and your intimacy reacts quickly. You feel your clitoris slowly but surely start to swell inside your underwear. Krennic grunts at the same time in response to a sharp remark from Tarkin.

“Governor, no offense... you hold me in esteem far below the accomplishments I have already achieved for the Empire.” Krennic says through his gritted teeth. His jaw is clenched with anger at being so publicly belittled. In front of you.

“I wish I had another one, but it's been twenty years since you made a reputation for yourself by being sloppy… This project is riding on its last legs, director.”

“It's not, it's been on track for a few years...” justifies Krennic, sounding outraged. He struggles to keep his composure, the urge to overturn the table with an elbow furiously itches.

“Since Galen Erso's return as head of your scientific team, do you mean.”

Orson freezes. As his hand closes over your privates a little too roughly, you sense his fright. You struggle to stifle a squeak. He’s making you pay for your father's insolence.

There is a pause in the conversation among the three of you. Tarkin's face is victorious. Krennic finally speaks again, in a dangerous voice. So low that it is threatening, and at the same time his fingers are even bolder against your soaked underwear. His index finger grazes the thin slit of your intimacy through your lacy panties, and he notes pleasantly the shameful moisture that covers it. Krennic perseveres by pressing. With short squeezes, he lures your wetness. Orson is now staining your underwear even more than it already is, and you just want to beg him to stop all this right now, or to take you violently to the table of the best restaurant on Coruscant. The leather of his glove picks up all your moisture, so he can use it as a lubricant, to penetrate you in one stroke. He first pushes his forefinger between your well-spread intimate folds under this repetitive stimulation for about ten minutes. He pushes into you with your underwear, which prevents him from going all the way deep inside you, but it's more than enough to make you gasp. Your mouth bleeds from biting your lip or the inside of your cheek, eager to make this far too spontaneous reaction go away to be quickly hidden. Every inch of your body desires Orson Krennic, even if he doesn't have to, even if the circumstances now don't allow him to give in in any way.

So, the more Krennic talks to your father and seems completely oblivious to the mess he's making under the table, the more you feel like you're choking. Blood rushes to your intimate area, especially to the core of your clit. Well swollen, as hard as a rose thorn. The small peak is ready to be stroked and pushed to orgasm under the expert fingers of Director Krennic. It rises gently against the lace fabric of your underwear like a hard arrow. Krennic can feel this mountain rising under the leather. Occasionally, as he pushes his index finger longer or harder into your vagina, the rest of his fingers curled in the palm of his hand stroking you. He notices your hardness. Your tiny erection. Your aching clitoris. But he doesn't linger on it for the moment and thank God. You couldn't help but squirm in your chair. His gestures are already making your body a slave to your lowest desires, your most primal urges. You congratulate yourself for having managed to keep a mask of impassibility in public. Drinking a few sips of your tea, you hope to stifle your sighs by drowning in the amber liquid.

The worst is yet to come.

Tarkin and Krennic are now discussing the complex details and mathematical terms of the super laser's development.

Meanwhile, Krennic brings his thumb up, continuing to penetrate you with large, firm strokes of his index finger. He pushes the lace deep into your body. Tarkin doesn't notice the sordid game going on between you under the table. His gaze often falls on you, two icy orbs. Those eyes stare hard at you, as if reading you and advising you not to whimper or blush. It is always at this moment that Krennic pushes a finger in deeper. He wants a reaction from you. Miraculously, you manage to resist. The only thing your father can read in you is the flush on your cheeks and the sweat beading on your temples. Two things that are more than enough to confirm his initial suspicions about Director Krennic's effect on you. Tarkin doesn't know how far Krennic's lustfulness can go. Nor does Tarkin know that you are already... close. Lucky for you both.

Finally, he removes his sticky finger of your intimate fluids from your panties and slides it down to your nerve button, that blood-soaked blossom of flesh. And that's it. Krennic is tired of pumping your vagina. He's going to target the core of your pleasure. A long shiver runs down your spine and dies in the hollow of your back. What you realize is that the task of hiding what's going on under the table is going to be more intense than expected. Orson savors the spongy sensation of your clit. He doesn't touch it with his fingertips, but you can feel him enjoying the hardness of your little organ. He has fun taking it between two of his fingers, at first, and running it along its length. He squeezes the clitoris to make sure it's big, which makes you spasm. The painful throbbing sensation starts all over again. Your clitoris is in pain. Literally. You feel it pulsating. You feel it contracting, twitching under the uneven pressure of Krennic's fingers. You want to rip it off, take off your panties and tell him to take off his gloves. To tell him to be honest. To run his tongue along your intimate lips, to caress the walls of your vagina and suck your nerve bud to pain. You don't. You can't engage in such lovemaking in public. So, you just sigh at length, a little too lasciviously to be completely innocent. Tarkin looks up at you for a few seconds, thinking you are laughing at what he has just explained to Krennic. Under the intensity of that steely gaze, you arch your back further and lower your head to the depths of your teacup. You would like to disappear at once.

While you beg him inwardly to stop, or to start caressing him in a circular way, to better relieve you, rather than pressing him with so little force, he finally grants your wishes. Krennic has been torturing you for a few minutes, not stroking you enough to bring you to orgasm, but brushing and squeezing your organ enough that you feel a painful, throbbing tension that rushes you for relief.

He finally changes his approach. Krennic mercilessly closes his thumb and index finger. He presses on them until they take your breath away. These pressures are irregular, as he sometimes alternates with a short pause, before restarting with the same precision. When he stops, his finger crashes against your nerve core. You feel ecstatic pulsations and a kind of impatience at the idea that he comes to rub it. More than a desire, it is now a physiological need. With skilful circular movements, he makes you touch heaven in front of your own father. Up and down. Endlessly. Up and down. Slowly, then strongly. It starts with a simple touch and turns into a caress. His movements are repetitive because he sees how it works wonderfully on you. You squirm painfully in your chair, squeezing your thighs against his hand, praying that he will pull it out before anyone notices.

The pleasure increases, but not enough. There's a distance between you. Your panty fabric. You want him to take it off.

It's the last obstacle between you and your orgasm. “Governor?” a voice bellows, your father's lieutenant. He approaches Wilhuff Tarkin's back before whispering a few words in his ear. As you finish your cup of tea to hide the look on your face or the sound of your voice distorted by the pleasure rumbling inside you, you realize that Tarkin seems annoyed by his lieutenant's words. He claps his tongue against his pallet as a gesture of disapproval, before slowly standing up, firmly pressing his palms against the white tablecloth.

“Please excuse me for a moment. I have some business to attend to.” That call sounds the death knell. Now you know that once Tarkin is gone, nothing will stop Orson from going through with his taunt. Tarkin has been the only shield. Your protection.

Nothing will stop him now. “What a filthy little girl you are... you're asking for more, you're mooning over me in front of your own father... do you mind if I do naughty things to you in front of daddy? Because it turns me on a lot.” Krennic whispers as he brings his face close to yours for a while, whispering those words in your ear. He doesn't kiss you, doesn't bite your lobe, doesn't devour your neck. He brushes up against you, which is even worse. He grazes your cartilage with the tip of his lips, while deliberately blowing his hot breath into your ear to awaken a hoard of shivers down your neck.

He loves to see your hair standing on end for him. “That's not true...”, you moan lasciviously, while you try to push his hand away as much as you can. It’s fucking vain. Krennic is much stronger than you.

He pushes your wrist to impose his presence. “You want me to make you scream in his face, don't you?” breathes Krennic in a provocative tone.

Out of the corner of his eye, the director watches your father, who has gone out through the main doors with his lieutenant to settle an emergency hologram communication. “Stop what you’re doing to me immediately. This is not right, Director...”

Krennic insists even more in response. “I told you to call me Orson,” he growls, angrily.

“Naughty girl.” He stops stroking for a few seconds, and a sigh of relief escapes your lips at the thought that he has finally regained his senses. Instead, he pushes aside the fabric of the lace underwear. With just a few fingers, Orson reaches into the naked flesh covered in viscous fluids. A moan comes from your mouth. It's just... divine.

You've been waiting fifteen minutes for this sensual caress from him. A smile on his lips, Krennic then whispers in a caressing voice, “You want to know how many of my fingers are enough to fill you up ?” Indecent. Vulgar. Exciting. You are sweating.

You close your eyes. Then, without waiting, he comes to slip his fingers in the orifice of your vagina, between your hot walls. He introduces one of his gloved fingers, slowly but surely, to prepare you to receive him. “Let's see... One... two... three... Tell me which way you want me to finger you. Deep? On the top?” A second finger, then a third came to add to his deeper and harder thrusting. Krennic has big hands, beautiful masculine hands. Powerful and venous. His long, thick fingers are enough to fill any orifice, even more with his black gloves. He expects to squeeze moans from his poor victim. “You want more, don't you? Me fingering you deep and long... Me fucking you until the death of you.” That's what he intends to do, any minute now. But before that, he wants to hear you beg for his sex.

Krennic's narcissism is unsurpassed.

He fucks you, there is no other word. His gestures are strong, controlled, and insidious. Three fingers come and go, penetrating you to the guard, to the pain. He fucks you quickly, amused by the slight sucking noises that come out every time he moves away from your intimacy, only to come back in. He almost feels like he's fucking a river. You are twisting against his hand, in a state of confusion. Your locks stick to your temples and forehead. No matter how much you fight him off, he'll have the upper hand. He will always have it.

You find yourself wanting to end it. “Tell me how badly you want me in, sweetheart...” whispers Krennic. He wants you to beg him to finish you off, before he gets your father back. You're not going to run for him, are you? Then you realize that Krennic will never stop. You must come now... You must not let your father see this performance. You will not be able to hold back.

Not even in front of him. “Make me... Orson, please... Now...” you beg desperately against his cheek. Your breathes intermingle, at the indecent proximity of your faces, as well as your hands. Slowly, you wrap your fingers around his to encourage him to turn to the soft, sensitive little corner you enjoy so deeply. The one that makes you explode in no time. Your hips discreetly wiggle against your chair, to deepen Orson's caresses. He perseveres, smiling with a silly little smile. His fingers get into a faster, more precise rhythm, while his thumb returns to caress your clit. With strokes of pressure, his glove against the spongy texture of your nerve-filled organ. A few more strokes and it's over. A few more and... you'll cum. You'll cum in this restaurant. Orson tortures you, deliberately slowing the pace. You are pleading with your big eyes, a gleam of pure desperation shining in them. Soon, soon, you'll cum... A few more strokes on that spongy, blood-swollen and extremely sensitive clitoris.

A few more thrusts on that sensitive area deep inside your vagina, which Krennic fills with his curved fingers.

Once again... You feel the wave, it insidiously takes hold of your body, making you bend your back. You feel those tingles which symbolize the tension that rumbles through you. Like a thread that you pull until it finally bursts. All your muscles tense up, your pelvis arches, your belly presses against the edge of the tablecloth. Your breasts peak out in sumptuous mounds through your dress. Krennic doesn't touch them, so as not to be caught in such a delicate position with you, but the fact of contemplating them beneath the lace of your dress makes him even more hard. One hand against your mouth, you try to hide your soft squeaks and groans as the pleasure comes out to drive you crazy. You are biting your hand under the burning, sadistic gaze of Orson Krennic. He wants to see you lose all control. More and more your intimacy is rubbed, provoking your orgasm. Under the table, it's a real fire.

You’re observing the people around you in the restaurant, all those couples or small groups laughing while having an aperitif or having lunch together carefree. Just then, Tarkin's silhouette finally appears in the background of the hall. Crap. Tarkin returns, apparently in a bad mood. Krennic abruptly stops stroking you. Pulling his fingers away from you, leaving you angry and frustrated. Burning like a dry desert.  On the verge of an orgasm that unfortunately couldn't take possession of your body.

You rage, then tighten your robe tightly in the hollow of your fists. “Forgive me. I had an urgent communication.” murmurs the Grand Moff, apparently indifferent to what is happening between you now, as he wisely takes his seat again with a cold expression.

“Good timing, Governor.” Krennic says, while he’s wiping his glove on a corner of the tablecloth. “I was just telling your daughter that I had to leave. I've abused enough of your generosity.” He jokes mockingly about your little intimate and very pleasant encounter, as he stands up.

With a light gesture, Krennic throws back the flaps of his white cloak. You observe him getting up, and, above all, moving away from you with flashes of light in his eyes. How can he leave you in this state?

Close to cumming with a mere caress...

Krennic knows you'll want more. You'll come back to him to finish you off. And finally, you will be his for good. He will fuck you against the nearest piece of furniture. He will bring you to your knees. You will forget all loyalty to Tarkin to embrace his.

As Krennic leaves, your father turns his attention back to your face, still confused by what has just happened. A victorious smile spreads across his face, like a carnivore about to feast. Tarkin feels he has exposed enough of Krennic's flaws to convince you to follow his philosophy. As you part your lips to say something, Tarkin raises his hand and cuts you off in anticipation.

“As for what you were telling me about a few minutes ago...” Tarkin gives off a magnetic aura that sweeps you along in its trail. “It is agreed.”

“Father, forget what I told you...” you mumble, believing you heard a negative answer, before changing your mind. Excitement is such that a heartbeat or two misses, causing you to gasp in surprise. “Do you seriously mean what you just said?”

“Of course, I do.” he replies as naturally as possible. “I even think it's an excellent thing to study precisely what we are achieving for the glorious Empire.” Tarkin finishes his beverage, before placing it gently back on the table. “You will accompany me, initially, to the Death Star. Then we'll see what you learn there.”

Tarkin offers you a very strange alternative, and at first you don't realize how perverse his intentions are.

“Really?” A smile settles on your rosy lips. You finally feel like you're on the same page. Better than that, you feel that he trusts you.

You do not ignore what the Death Star is. Once you're in the inner circle of the most powerful, you're sure to have access to valuable information. You are far from being the exception. You often have a front row seat to Wilhuff Tarkin's fantastic designs. You listen wisely to what he's trying to teach you, his unstoppable philosophy, the project of a lifetime. You cannot disappoint him, so you must let yourself be shaped in his image. His doctrine is also yours.

“But... the Director...”

“Any problem with Krennic?”

“No, none.” you lie shamelessly. “It seemed to me that you did not want me to be brought into contact with him.”

“Good.” Tarkin seems satisfied. “You two will talk, it's good for your learning, whatever I think of his pushy personality, he's someone with a knowledgeable background.”

“What should I do?”

“You'll have to simply endure the director's presence in my absence.”

“He will be aboard the Star?” This seems to surprise you half to death – you're actually very good at feigning surprise. Orson has already told you about it, but Tarkin is not supposed to know about it.

“For two weeks only.” Tarkin's gaze hardens almost instantly. You see his features tighten, which seems to make you strangely happy. It's amazing what a simple eyebrow frown can do to you. You feel like a winner. “I didn't quite understand the reason – Krennic is always so messy in his explanations... He must go somewhere else in a few days.”

“He's doing great things for the Empire,” you say in an arrogant tone, while you’re wanting to challenge him.

You can't help but stand up for him in the face of your father's injustice. He judges it with amusement - the corner of his lips curves into a smug little sneer.

Tarkin lowers his two cold orbs to the contents of a carafe, of pure water, before returning his penetrating gaze to yours. You expect a sigh, but it doesn't come. Instead, he looks at you with an inquisitive look. His fingers reach for his silver spoon, and he gently places it next to a porcelain plate. All Tarkins are maniacs. “That's not good enough,” he says in a voice as cold as a winter breeze.

He pauses briefly, letting you slowly relax in your seat. “You're looking more like your mother every day, (Y/N).” Is that a compliment or an insult – you're unfortunately not sure about that. Part of you wants to believe it's a sign of affection on his part. Wilhuff Tarkin brings up your mother's blind fanaticism – the one she feels for him. You apparently feel the same for Orson Krennic.

“Has Director Krennic done something wrong?”

“Krennic is always doing something wrong.”

“The Director has always been perfectly respectful in my presence.”

“Of course, Krennic is quite a charming man when you get to know him,” he teases.

Something inside you burns as you think back to the moments you shared – you and him. Intimate moments that stay in your memory.

“Your relationship is far from being an equal one. Don't forget to remind him that you are my observer, and as such, you have authority over him. Obviously, you are here to learn. I would hope that you would bring back some things that are... unnatural.”

“I thought I was here to learn.”

“Sure, you'll learn things from him, but you'll teach me things too.”

You finally understand his apparent gentleness, especially the ease with which he agrees to send you to Krennic. For a split second you thought he really cared about you. He’s hoping to take advantage of Krennic's weakness to get you to share his confidences with him. You didn't think he would make you, his spy. That puts you in a complicated position.

One important fact you don't know yet is that Orson Krennic is unaware of your upcoming arrival, not to mention its purpose. You naively think he'll be happy about it. You don't know that he wants everything from you, except to see you dragged into his battle station on the blessing of his worst enemy.

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