Angst With A Happy Ending(?) - Tumblr Posts

Cant do angst without hurt/comfort its just in my blood to make them happy after

FUN FACT: I tried to replicate Ford's speech bubble like his writing in the journal! (not so fun fact: I'm sorry if u guys can't decipher the fancy text)

Ok but like the angst-

The fluff-

Jungkook-

I cant-

The absolute BESTEST angst i have read like ever, srsly jk made me soooo mad and then i melted and i LOVED how she didnt just immediately get back together and the fact that he cooked for her waking early everyday during the break, my heart cant-

Honestly loved Sora's character too and yoongi and oh my god miso-

And the drabbles made me fucking melt 🥺🥺🥺

This whole thing was like 🤌🤌

Ok cool im done i swear, also exvuse the gramatic and other errors ols my keyboard is like fucked rn

4-7-8; series masterlist

pairing: jungkook x reader

glimpse: you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.

alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

warnings: semi-heavy angst (pls take a break when necessary!!), emotional constipation, no cheating happens here btw (neither physical nor emotional), self-loathing, miscommunication, based on the moral dilemma of whether or not it’s okay to be friends with ur ex, intense yearning + specified tags in each installment!

notes: thank you so much for all the love for 478 ♡ i rlly love reading all your feedback and thoughts!! send them in here :)

cross-posted on ao3.

01: part one 

02: intermission

03: part two

04: intermission 02

05: part three; finale

phase one drabbles:

the first meeting

the wedding band habit

miso meets yoongi

the hickeys

the jealousy

tiny bowls for tiny babies

the one with the doubt

maybe physical affection isn’t so bad

the everyday risk

the groveling

phase two drabbles:

the babymaking

jungkook’s birthday

couvade syndrome

the argument (latest!)

Literally crying happy tears 🥹 such amazing story telling and omg everyone needs to read thjs

With Love, Jay

pairing: guitarist!Jay x violinist!fem-reader

synopsis: Who knew young love could be so alarmingly disarming? Your new neighbor had you before a hello, his cute smile and charming first impression; you were doomed from the start. But what happens when it’s not your attention he was playing for? Will your efforts to make things work fall short or would they have him falling instead?

w/c: 14.7k 

warnings: one sided pining, ANGST….,but a happy ending, jay annoying, Y/N is too nice </3, other than that there’s nothing! lmk if i’m missing something!

a/n: okayyyyy those requested this Jay best friend to lovers AU with a lot of angst…. this for you. i wasn’t sure how to feel about this since i’m not super confident in my angst but nonetheless please and enjoy and can you guess who’s the next installment in the series ? :* likes and reblogs are encouraged! 

happy readings! - With Love Series

playlist;

Keep reading

Wowowowow! Soo good🥹 got me cryin buy in the best way possible lol💕

when I think of love (I think of you)

genre: soulmate au, college au, fluff and angst

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

word count: 8.9k

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

There’s a word for it, something that’s whispered behind closed doors, shunned like a bad omen you can’t quite shake. 

Glitch. A cruel twist of fate. A failed soulmate match. 

Something you’ve been since the countdown on your wrist ticked to 00:00 two long years ago and left you just as lonely as ever. Something you’ve been fighting since destiny carved itself into your skin with a dull, lifeless shade of gray. 

But fate is a funny thing. And love, as you’ve learned, is often found in the most unexpected places. 

or, 

In which fate, in all its cruel, incandescent scheming, leads straight to Yang Jungwon. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The overhead fluorescents in this particular lecture hall always manage to leave you with a pounding headache that even a strong dose of Advil can never quite seem to mitigate. 

“And with time, these bonds only strengthen, until a point is reached in which both parties would experience immense pain were they to be separated, willingly or not.” Well, it’s either the lightbulbs or the sound of your professor’s droning. Today, his words are slightly muted where they reach your ears, as if you’re hearing them underwater. It’s information you should be taking in, or at the very least be taking note of since it’s sure to appear in course content later on, but you can’t get your mind to cooperate.

Intro to Soulmate Theory. An absolute joke of a class. The very foundation your society is built around. A nagging reminder of the deficiency that stains your left wrist. 

Unwittingly, you tug your sleeve down further. There’s no need, not really. You made sure it covered the mark fully before you left your dorm this morning. Just like every morning. But long standing habits are rarely broken, and the last thing you need now is yet another reminder of what makes you different, what makes you wrong.  

But there’s little time to ponder this particularly cruel stroke of fate before your professor is pushing forward, unconcerned with the fact that his students may be affected by his lecture on more than an academic level. 

“As per the syllabus, you’ll be completing projects with an assigned partner on a topic of your choice. I encourage you to use a wide variety of resources to reflect and encompass several points of view and ideas surrounding soulmate theory.” 

Several points of view. Yeah, right. In your experience, any arguments against the traditional soulmate model have been met with nothing short of anger and ridicule. 

Although it makes for a frustrating life, it makes for a simplistic assignment. No matter how incompetent your assigned partner, you’re sure it will be easy enough to meet up once or twice and regurgitate common sentiment on how the soulmate system is nothing short of a wondrous gift to humanity. 

Glancing at the clock one last time, you silently thank whatever cosmic forces caused your professor to wrap up class fifteen minutes early. You’ll have enough time to grab a coffee before your shift. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you slide your laptop into your bag before standing up from your seat. No matter what bullshit this particular class dragged you through, today will be a good day. You’re sure of it. 

With one final scan of your area, you head to the front door of the room without a glance back. 

In the very back corner of the lecture hall, tucked neatly out of both sight and mind, Yang Jungwon exhales a long sigh before gathering his things. 

…

“Oh, you are an absolute goddess.” 

Playful frown tugging at your lips, you ask “Why is it that you only praise me when I come bearing gifts?”

Alina takes a moment to respond, too engrossed in the matcha latte you just handed her to concern herself with your question. 

Despite her inclination to only offer compliments as payment for caffeine, she’s hands down your favorite coworker. With Alina, even the slowest of shifts have a way of passing quickly with lots of laughs to fill the silence. 

Sliding into your seat next to her, you turn on your desk computer. “Any new applications to process today?”

“Nothing yet,” Alina glances at the empty inbox to confirm her answer. “This time of year is usually fairly slow. We tend to get more applications at the beginning of the semester and around the holidays.”

“Right.” You nod. “That makes sense.” Times when people are new to campus. And times when people are lonely. 

You had been the latter when you submitted your application. Last year was your first year of university, and although the writing on your wrist had already faded to black by the time you enrolled, living on campus meant you were away from your family and friends for the first time. 

You pushed it off as long as you could. It hurt something in you, pride perhaps, to seek help from the Student Support Center over something that you’d been grieving in private for the better part of a year. 

But loneliness is what finally did it, what finally pushed you to seek support from the university for your condition. For the permanent reminder of cosmic cruelty etched into the soft skin of your left wrist. 

For the second time in the span of an hour, you find yourself tugging at your sleeve. 

You suppose it’s the same thing—injured pride, a deep sense of shame, that has you wearing long sleeves even in the summertime. It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with the failure etched into your skin. You know what you’d find if you looked. A matte gray 00:00. A reminder of what could’ve been, what should’ve been. 

You remember when there was a different number displayed there, one that got smaller and smaller with each passing second. One that glowed a bright, glossy red instead of the dull, lifeless gray it is now. 

Just like everyone else, you’d been born with red numbers on your left wrist. There was no sign then, at your birth, that you were different, that you were a glitch. 

Just like your family, just like your friends, just like your classmates, your number was normal, albeit a bit smaller than most. 

As a child, you’d reveled in it—the comparative smallness of your countdown. It wasn’t unusual for people to have to wait well into their twenties or even their thirties to find their soulmates. But a quick calculation revealed that your countdown would tick to 00:00 just after your seventeenth birthday. 

It feels stupid now, like some sort of cruel joke, that you ever thought yourself lucky. 

Because two years ago, with just seconds to go, you had been waiting in a park close to your school. It was that cosmic energy again, that divine sense of something, that told you this particular park was where your life was destined to change, where you were going to meet your fated soulmate. 

Like everyone else, your timer had run out, and he was there. Handsome and a year or two older than you, if you had to guess. A perfect stranger that you felt like you already knew. A soulmate destined only for you. 

But unlike everyone else, your completed countdown, that ever coveted 00:00, didn’t transform into a glossy, shiny deep violet that signified the successful completion of a soulmate match. 

No, instead it had turned to the same faded gray that mocks you now. 

Confused, your brow drew together as you locked eyes with the man that was supposed to be a culmination of everything clicking into place. 

At a second glance, the wrongness of it all began to sink in. The way he walked toward you with slow, reluctant steps. The way his mouth pulled tight at the corners like he wanted to prevent any words from escaping. 

The wedding ring wrapped around the finger on his left hand that you thought would belong to you. 

It was an accident, he told you. A drunken mistake between him and a girl he met at university. One he wasn’t serious about, but damage had been done nevertheless. A single night that was meant to be a blip, a passing moment in time, but turned into a child. One that the two of them decided to raise together. 

A child that had them both decide to forgo the fate written on their wrists and forge a new life of their own. 

It hurt, he told you, to see you, to know that he was causing you pain. 

But his mind was made up and you knew better than to plead with a man who had fought and forsaken destiny itself. 

It wasn’t your fault. He’d told you that day, and you’ve heard it countless times since then. From your parents. From your closest friends. From your own tear-stained reflection in your bedroom mirror. 

But blame with nowhere to go always had a way of ending up on your shoulders, and reassurances never stopped you from pondering possibilities on sleepless nights. 

What if we had met sooner? What if he never met her? What if they never had a child?

In the end, it was pointless. Fate had been written and rewritten. The stars had aligned and shifted and still remained terribly out of reach. There was nothing you could do, nothing to be done. 

But it didn’t stop the loneliness from seeping in. It was loudest during the quiet moments, but it never truly left. It didn’t matter where you were—in class, with friends, surrounded by people, or completely alone. There was always an overwhelming sense of loss, of loneliness that followed where you went. 

And when the burden of it all felt too heavy, you’d bitten the bullet and applied to your university's support program for glitches, although none of the staff dared to use that word. 

It’s where you’d met Alina. And although she had a bright red number still ticking evenly on her wrist, she’d had a friend who shared your fate. Who let the loneliness consume her instead of accepting help. 

Even if it wasn’t through firsthand experience, Alina knew the pain of failed matches intimately. After a handful of weeks, you’d found genuine friendship in her and she was the one to recommend you for a job on the support team. 

You’re grateful beyond words for her, for all of it. For the people and the friendships and the moments that remind you life is worth living, even on the hard days. 

So you’ll take her compliments with a smile, even when they come at the expense of a matcha latte from her favorite campus cafe. You’ll take the hard days and the good days and all the little moments in between, and at the end of it all, you’re confident there will always be something to smile about, even when your heart feels so heavy you’re afraid it might sink right out of your chest. 

“The matcha’s good?” You ask, even though you know the answer. And if you didn’t, it would be apparent from the fact that it’s already half gone. 

But something in you still smiles, still feels a little lighter when Alina turns to you with a grin and says, “of course.”

…

If there’s one place you still find it difficult to extend optimism towards, it’s your damn Intro to Soulmate Theory course. Although an important element of sociology and objectively relevant, it does more to remind you of your abnormality than just about anything else. 

Thankfully, your professor’s cadence is beginning to slow, a surefire signal that class is wrapping up. You glance up at the clock. Could you really be so lucky as to get out early two classes in a row?

At the front of the lecture hall, your professor peruses his notes one final time. It’s all you can do to suppress a groan when he starts speaking again, and not to dismiss you.

“Before we end for the day, as I mentioned last class, you’ll be completing your next assignment in partners. The instructions, rubric, and due date can all be found on the syllabus, and you’re welcome to email me or attend office hours with any additional questions you may have. I’ve already taken the initiative to pair you, so please listen for your name.

“Kim Sunoo and Lee Heeseung.”

As he moves through the seemingly endless list of names, you begin to tune out. Have there always been this many people in this class?

When you finally hear your name, your attention snaps back into focus. 

“... and Yang Jungwon.”

Yang Jungwon. 

It’s a name you’ve heard in passing, maybe, but he’s not someone you’re familiar with. Standing, you begin to look around the hall. You figure it might be easiest to exchange information now, but if you can’t find him, you could always look up his email on the class list later.

Ultimately, it’s him who finds you.

“___?” At the sound of your name, you turn to face him. Dark hair and eyes, you’re surprised you don’t recognize him more. As it turns out, Yang Jungwon has the kind of face that makes you want to keep looking. The kind of face you’d search a crowd for. 

“Yeah,” you affirm, somewhat breathless. “Yang Jungwon?”

“Just Jungwon is fine.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you want to go ahead and exchange information? I get my final training schedule later today, so I can message you when I have a better idea of when I’ll be able to meet up.”

“That sounds good.” Nodding, you hand over your phone for him to input his information. As he types, you watch a strand of hair fall over his eyes. “Training schedule? Are you an athlete?”

If he’s put off by your probing, he doesn’t show it. “Mhm,” he nods. “Taekwondo team.”

“That’s cool.” Accepting your phone back, you type your name into the newly created chat. “Here, I’ll send you a message so you have my information too. I work in the afternoons, but I have a pretty consistent schedule. Once you have your training times, we can figure out when we’re both free.” 

Checking the message that comes through with a ding, Jungwon nods. “Perfect.” He hikes his bag further up on his shoulder, pausing for a moment before turning his gaze towards the door that the rest of the class is heading towards. “I’ll see you around, then,” he says before turning to do the same. 

And if you let your gaze linger just a little too long on his retreating back, you’ll be grateful that no one is paying you enough attention to notice.

…

Dinner cleaned up, skincare completed, and the events from the day blurring into a sleepy haze is when his first message reaches you. 

9:36pm Yang Jungwon I got my final training schedule. Looks like I should be free Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after 4 if that works for you?

Double checking your work schedule, you type a reply. 

9:38pm You I work on Tuesdays until 6 but I can do Thursday at 4. 

9:39pm Yang Jungwon Let’s plan on Thursday then 👍 Meet you at the library? I’ll reserve a study room on the first floor. 

9:40pm You Sounds good, see you then!

With the semester well underway, Thursday is quick to roll around. A handful of minutes before four finds you wandering through the first floor of the library, working to locate the study room Jungwon texted you the number of earlier. 

After a minute of searching, you find it, half surprised that he’s arrived even earlier than you. 

Early and straight from practice, you assume, if the still drying strands of hair that indicate a recent shower are anything to go by. 

“Good call on the study room,” you add after your initial greetings. “I always forget how packed the library is once the semester really gets going.” 

“Right?” Jungwon agrees. “I have a friend who swore by them last year, and now I’ll never go back.”

“Sharing the study room secret?” You grin. “That’s a true friend right there.” 

“Yeah,” something softens in Jungwon’s gaze, a distinct fondness in his eyes that tells you he’s thinking of more than just study rooms. “He is.” 

“So,” you continue, not wanting to waste time getting started. “I glanced over the instructions on the syllabus, and it seems pretty straightforward.” Switching to the open tab with the syllabus, you confirm. “Looks like we just need to pick a topic in soulmate theory with some kind of recent research developments and explain why the new research is significant and how it has changed, challenged, or confirmed existing theory.” 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you force yourself into the familiar state of detachment you always revert to when discussing this particular topic. 

“I don’t know if you have a topic in mind already,” you shrug. “I’m pretty much open to anything.”

He pauses for a moment before answering. “What about—” Dropping his thought into silence, Jungwon seems to reconsider. “Never mind.”

“Is there something you’re interested in?” 

“No.” Jungwon shakes his head. “I doubt there would be any recent research, anyway.”

“Okay.” Part of you wants to push further, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “I just looked up some recent research topics, and it looks like there’s been some more development in theory related to countdown colors and location-based soulmate matches.” Ignoring the way the gray on your wrist suddenly seems like the most prominent thing in the room, you mold your voice into an even tone. “Do either of those sound interesting to you?”

He considers for a moment. “Maybe location-based matches?”

Releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, you nod. “That sounds good to me.” Turning back to your computer, you add, “Let’s both find a few publications to reference and then we can take notes on them before we meet up next week. The final paper is due in four weeks, so we can outline next week and then start the actual writing.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees, “that works for me.”

In the minutes that follow, a silence settles around you. It’s not horribly awkward, but part of you is still itching to fill it with something. 

Finally, you bite the bullet. “Would it be okay with you if I put some music on? Just something instrumental.”

“Sure,” Jungwon nods. 

Grateful, you open your study playlist and begin it on shuffle. The first notes play out, an easy piano melody that cuts through some of the stagnance. 

A handful of songs and journal articles later, Jungwon breaks the rhythm. “Clair de Lune.” A small smile turns the corners of his lips up. “This is on my study playlist too.”

You offer a small smile in return. “You like this song?”

“Yeah.” He nods. The quiet melody sings through the air, floats around tentative glances, delicate breaths. Lands lightly on two sets of shoulders. “You know, you’re better than me. I always end up turning on my regular playlist and then singing along to the songs instead of actually working on anything.”

That earns him a full blown smile. “Believe me, I do that more than I probably should, too.”

A shared grin later, the two of you are back to your own laptop screens. 

Despite the fact that you don’t switch your playlist, you find yourself distracted for the rest of the session. Not by the music, but by the fact that it’s all too easy to picture Jungwon in the comfort of his dorm, headphones on as he sings along with whatever’s playing in his ears, forgotten assignments scattered across the desk in front of him. 

…

Despite your newfound fondness of your project partner, you have a feeling that Intro to Soulmate Theory will continue to be your most dreaded class until the end of the semester releases you from its twice-a-week morning monotony. 

Life seems determined to prove you wrong, though, because just as the professor is settling into his position behind the podium, a body slides into the usually empty seat on your left. 

Startled, you glance up. 

“Jungwon?”

“Hey,” he smiles. “I’m glad I made it on time. I thought for sure I’d be late.” 

He finishes settling into his new seat before sliding something onto your desk. “I brought this for you, by the way.”

Eyes catching on the iced coffee in front of you, you try to do anything but balk. 

“I noticed you have one sometimes in this class. I wasn’t sure what your order was, so I had to guess based on color. And I mean, light brown can be just about anything with iced coffee, so I hope you like it.”

“I—thank you.” The fondness in you swells. For just a moment, it feels like something bigger, something more. Something you haven’t felt since… Since an afternoon you’ve worked hard on forgetting for a long time. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Jungwon shrugs.”I was stopping by the cafe anyway.” He gestures to the coffee on his desk. “Besides, it’s what a partner’s for.” 

“Well thank you,” you repeat. “I—” Whatever you’re about to say is interrupted by the beginning of the lecture. 

You’re not sure if it’s the caffeine or the boy at your side, but something has today’s lecture flying by. You’re not sure if you’ve even blinked once before the professor is dismissing you for the day and you leave Jungwon with an unfamiliar lightness in your heart and a promise to see each other on Thursday.

…

Thursday afternoon finds the pair of you back in the same study room, laptops open and project outline halfway formed. 

This time, the drinks on the table in front of you are courtesy of your wallet. It’s too soon to say for sure, but you have the feeling a tradition of sorts may be blooming. 

You can’t say that you mind. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, to have someone to share it with. It doesn’t matter if it’s small, if it’s nothing but an unexpected coffee to make a study session pass just a bit faster. It feels nice. It feels… special. 

The same instrumental study playlist filtering through your laptop speaker, you both share a small smile when Clair de Lune begins to play. 

It’s pleasant, you realize. A project that you were dreading has become something you look forward to, and you’re sure it’s because of him. 

Despite the fact that you’re poring over research that would sting like a slap in the face under any other circumstance, Jungwon’s presence soothes the ache, keeps the reminders of a fate lost to time and circumstances at bay just by occupying the seat next to you. 

You’re not sure what it is, not sure why it seems to reach you somewhere that’s remained untouched for years, but the more time you spend with him, the more you start to like it. 

That odd sensation that almost feels like butterflies in your stomach. The stilted rhythm of a heartbeat that almost feels like it’s running a little faster. That warmth that sits high on your cheekbones almost like a flustered blush whenever he catches your eye for a little too long. 

A million little almosts. A million little possibilities. A million little somethings you thought ended with the dead countdown on your wrist two years ago. 

You don’t let yourself voice these thoughts, don’t even let your mind linger on the connection for too long. 

If it does, it will twist and tarnish whatever is taking flight into something ugly, something rotten. Will convince you that your happiness is borrowed, that it will only come back in the form of future misery. 

That the semester will end, the class will wrap up, the project will be submitted. 

Yang Jungwon will be nothing but a moment in time. A blip on a radar. Time will continue on with its incessant march and the countdown on your wrist will remain unchanged. 

That it doesn’t matter how many almosts the two of you share. Your fate was written in the stars and unraveled by a man who didn’t want you. 

You’re a failure. A glitch. 

Pretty words and sideways glances and unexpected gestures of kindness won’t change that. 

Yang Jungwon will move on from this project, from this class, from you. 

His countdown will keep ticking if it hasn’t turned to a shiny violet yet, and you will be nothing but a forgotten memory. 

You’re not sure why it’s so upsetting in this moment, this series of truths that have been both apparent and unavoidable since you first made eye contact with Jungwon. But something about the way they swirl in your mind now has you desperate for air, for space. 

You try to offer some halfhearted excuse about stepping out for a moment, and you barely note the concern that flickers across Jungwon’s features in your panic induced stupor. 

You hear your name. Hear it followed by the gentle question, “Are you okay?” 

But it’s muffled. It’s all wrong. 

In your haste to escape, you knock over the gift, your gesture of goodwill in the form of the coffee you brought Jungwon. 

You watch, horrified, as it seems to fall in slow motion, hot, dark liquid spilling over the table. 

“It’s okay,” you think you hear him say. But it’s not. It’s not. 

He reaches for his bag, pulling out a handful of napkins. Instinctively, he rolls up his sleeves to wipe up the excess liquid. 

And that’s when you notice it. The inky 00:00 on the inside of his left wrist. 

It’s not violet. It’s not shiny. It’s a dull, muted, lifeless gray. 

A reflection, a twin, a copy of your own. 

His eyes fall to the same spot as your own, and he’s pulling his sleeve down just as quickly as he rolled it up. But it’s too late. You’ve already seen. 

Shared pain. Shared shame. 

It grounds you. Reaching out a hand, you take a handful of napkins off the top of the pile. 

“Here,” you offer, voice unbearably small. “I can help.” Hollow words and a hollow sentiment. As luck would have it, spilled coffee is the least of your shared concerns. 

Nonetheless, the two of you wipe up the remainder of the spill in silence, a gentle piano melody weaving its way around the silence, wrapping itself around both of your wrists, threading an invisible string between two lost souls, two shared fates. 

“It didn’t get on your computer, did it?”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head, reaching out his hand to grab the soiled napkins from you before discarding them in the trash can. “Just the table.”

“That’s good.” A moment passes. Two. “I’m sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for, what you should be apologizing for, but you take the easy way out. “I should have paid better attention to where your cup was. You can finish mine, if you want.”

“It’s okay.” Running a hand through his hair, he adds, “I usually only drink it hot.”

“I can get you a new one—”

“Really, it’s okay.”

And it is. You can tell that he’s not upset, not about the coffee. But the tension is still there. 

You saw it. You have the sinking suspicion that he knows you saw it. 

And you’re at a crossroads. You can act as if nothing happened, pretend that you saw nothing and return to your half finished project outline. 

But you’ve had friends and family tiptoe around you, and it never left you feeling anything but more empty, more unwanted, more of an anomaly. 

You don’t want Jungwon to feel those things. So you try your best, in a steady voice, hiding the shake in your hands underneath the cover of the table. 

“You know,” you nod towards his arm, taking care to keep any signs of judgment clear from your voice. “I actually work at the Student Support Center. I know it’s rare, but there’s a whole department dedicated to helping people that… struggle with soulm—”

“I think we should just work on the project.” Jungwon is tight lipped where he avoids your gaze. The way he tugs on his sleeves has you wanting to press matters further, to push just a little further until he knows that he has you on his side, but you’ll respect his wishes. The last thing you want is to increase his discomfort, and you have the feeling you’ve already done just that. 

“Okay, yeah.” You take a deep inhale. “I overstepped. I’m sor—”

But Jungwon just shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.” 

…

But you do. 

You worry about it when you head home for the evening, accidentally leaving the oven on long after your dinner is finished cooking. 

You worry about it as you try to fall asleep, unsettled by thoughts of Jungwon suffering the same pain, the same shame you’ve been hiding the last two years. 

You worry about it when you arrive at class the next day, two coffees in hand. 

Your worry turns to dread when Jungwon never comes, coffee going cold where it sits untouched on your desk.

You worry when you arrive at work, the handful of messages you’ve sent still unanswered no matter how many times you check your phone. 

10:47am You Hi Jungwon, sorry if this is annoying but you weren’t in class today and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay

10:58am You I’m really sorry about the other day at the library. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

1:32pm You Hey let me know when you see this. I just really want to make sure you’re okay. 

You’ve typed and deleted a million more, unsure of how to best approach the situation. You don’t even know if he considers you friends, really. 

Your shift passes in a blur until Alina asks if you’d be up to pull a double, since someone on the evening shift called out sick. 

Usually you’d be hesitant, but right now you’re desperate for any sort of distraction and agreeing comes easy. 

But you’ve forgotten one key thing. In your old schedule, evening shifts were always your favorites. Primarily because they’re significantly  slower than the rest. Most students preferred to schedule their visits during the day, which left you with plenty of time to catch up on assignments between tasks. 

It’s an especially slow night tonight, the near torrential downpour tearing through the campus an added deterrent to anyone wanting to venture outdoors. Unfortunately, this only leaves you with more time to ruminate over Jungwon, whose name has yet to light up your phone screen. 

You wish you knew more about him. Wish you knew who his friends were so you could reach out to one of them to check in on him. 

You’re halfway convinced you should just go through everyone on your class list and send emails until someone knows something when the sound of a bell chimes out, signaling the opening of the center’s front door. Peering over your computer, you squint, trying to make out the person who’s just entered. 

As they draw nearer, a familiar form begins to solidify. 

“Jungwon?” You brow furrows in confusion as you stand up out of your seat. A million emotions flicker through your mind. Annoyance that he’s been avoiding you and your messages. Confusion as to why he’s here. Above it all, relief that he seems to be okay.

 But then you take him in fully. 

He’s absolutely soaked, down to the bone, rain matted hair falling over his eyes while his clothes cling a little closer to his frame with the added weight of precipitation. There’s a frantic look in his eye, a panic that you recognize all too well. 

“Jungwon,” you repeat, letting your strides eat up the group as you close the distance that still separates you. He’s shaking, you realize, once your hands reach up to smooth some of the hair away from his eyes. Trembling like a leaf and dripping onto the floor. He still can’t match your gaze, still has yet to breathe a single word to you. 

“You’re shaking.” You can’t help but point out the obvious. With determined movements, you reach for his hand, finding no resistance as you envelop it in your own. Tugging slightly, you pull him into a nearby room, stopping only to grab a warm blanket and to begin brewing a warm cup of tea. After a moment, you wordlessly offer him both. 

A million questions bubble in your throat. You breathe life into none of them. Silence settles around the both of you. Not entirely unpleasant, but brimming with something heavy.

“I just,” he finally breathes and you feel your heart clench in your chest. Seize like his pain is your own. “I couldn’t be alone.” There’s a tremble in his breath when he adds, “Not tonight.”

“You’re not.” You shake your head, drawing closer as you take a seat to his right. “I promise you. You’re not alone.” 

And you won’t let him be. Not after the time for your shift to end comes and goes. Not when the sun starts to peek its head over the horizon, painting the sky in the pastel watercolors of a new day. 

You don’t move until he does. Until he asks in a small voice if you’ll meet him in an hour at the coffee shop you now both frequent. 

Until you honor his request with a nod and a promise to see him again soon. 

…

The coffee shop is mostly empty this early in the morning. The corner table the two of you occupy feels private, secluded. A place fitting for revelations. 

Jungwon begins all at once, coffee warm between his hands. 

His match was supposed to be in a park, too. 

It’s interesting—the research you’ve been reading supports claims that soulmate bonds tend to prefer open air, areas surrounded by nature. 

Jungwon’s fate was set in stone later than yours, only a year ago today. Shared fate. Shared pain. Shared shame. 

A park, his favorite one. A place he went often, a place he loved. He hasn’t been back since. 

Not when that eerie, cosmic, magnetic pull of destiny tugged at him until he was sitting on a bench, next to the rose garden in full bloom. 

Not when his breath stopped the second she arrived, not when he knew, he knew it was her. His destiny. His soulmate. 

Not when he stood up to greet her, to meet his future with a wide smile and open arms just as the numbers on his wrist drew closer and closer to zero. 

Not when he watched, with a distinct sort of dread building in the pit of his stomach, as someone on the opposite side of the garden emerged. Not when time ticked on, revealing with every steady second that this stranger had the same intentions, the same plan, the same countdown, the same fate. 

Not when he watched this stranger meet her first. 

Not when he watched in abject horror as smiles lit up both of their faces. 

Not when he looked down at his own wrist, vision blurred through the onset of tears, as the bright, ruby red faded to gray instead of the violet it was meant to be. 

Not when he was a failure, a miscalculation, an unfortunate needle in a haystack of perfection, of success stories. A glitch. 

Not when he watched the love of his life fall into the arms of another man and leave him. Alone. Lonely. Forgotten. 

Even now, in the seat across from yours, you can see the toll it takes on him. 

So you reach for comfort in the only way you know how, in the unique twist of fate that led two unlucky circumstances to cross unlikely paths. 

Laying your left arm on the table, you pull the end of your sleeve up. 

It’s not a lot. But for now, it’s enough. 

…

There’s an odd sort of balance, a sense of comfort that comes with understanding and being understood. It’s not like before, but you and Jungwon fall into a new kind of easy rhythm. One that both understands the most intimate pain and shame of the other while still keeping them at an arm’s distance. 

It’s not solace. But it’s something. 

You’re off tiptoes and on solid ground. And when you meet Jungwon for your next Thursday study session, there’s a new kind of fire in his eyes. 

“I think we should switch our project topic.”

It takes a concentrated effort not to spit out the drink of water you just took. “What?” At this point, your outline is finished and you’re well into writing your report. The thought of redoing all that work with a week and a half to go is nearly unbearable. “Why?”

He doesn’t falter. “I think we should do our project on glitches.”

You recoil as if you’ve been slapped. 

Glitch. It’s a word people tiptoe around, whisper behind closed doors. Not meant for respectable society and certainly not in a university research paper. 

You don’t even need a second to consider. “No.”

“What?” It’s Jungwon’s turn to look surprised. “Why? I mean, we’re both—”

“I said no.” The shock on his face has you supplementing. “Look, I’m just not comfortable with it. Besides, we’ve done so much work on this topic already. It doesn’t make sense to switch.”

Only a fraction of what you’ve said seems to resonate. “Not… comfortable,” he echoes, twisting the words like they’re indecipherable. 

He doesn’t continue, but you can sense the urge to press further in the tense set of his shoulders. It’s a sensitive subject made even more so by the way he tiptoes around it.

“I can tell you have something else to say.” Annoyance creeps in, like an old friend, like a dangerous reminder. 

“It’s nothing.” Jungwon shakes his head. “I guess I just don’t…” He trails off for a moment. “How can you not be comfortable? I mean, you’re a glitch like me. Aren’t you curious at all? About why we glitched? If there’s anything we can do to fix it?”

And there it is. The lingering fear you’ve been working for two years to overcome. The deep seated insecurity that it’s your fault. That something is fundamentally wrong with you. “Fix me, you mean.”

“I mean, I guess you could look at it that way, but I’m more curious about what kind of solutions there are. I did some research the other day, actually, and there’s this one scholar who thinks that all glitches happen for a reason, that you can still meet your soulmate and get your countdown to turn violet if—”

“Stop!” Your voice is too loud for the small room. “Please,” it’s a whisper now, but somehow just as poignant. “Just stop.”

The crease doesn’t leave his brow. He still doesn’t get it, and he tells you as much. “I don’t understand why you’re so against it. I mean, we finally have a chance to look into why we gli—”

“I said, stop.”

Jungwon looks as if you’ve slapped him. Dumped ice cold water over his head and left him out to dry. There’s an accusation in his words when he says, “I thought you would understand.” And you do. You know how flowers wither when they go without water. You know how love blossoms and blooms and dies all within the span of a single breath. You know what it feels like to have a constant reminder of your most intimate pain seared into your skin, your soul. 

He won’t match your eye. Just aims for the heart instead. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who understands. Who knows what it’s like. To lose the only thing in life that really matters.” Jungwon’s voice is small, but it’s teeming with frustration, with anger. There’s an unmistakable fury in his eyes when he finally lets his gaze fall on yours. But where he expects to find an apology, or perhaps some sort of agreement, he is met only with a fury to rival his own. 

“Fuck you.” It’s barely decipherable under your breath, but he catches it, even if just barely. 

“What?”

“I said fuck you, Jungwon. How dare you. You think you’re the only one that’s ever been hurt, that you’re the only person that this stupid fucking system screwed over?” And now your anger is rising, ebbing and flowing like waves against a shore, weathering over all the sharp pieces and jagged edges that time hasn’t yet managed to erode. Spilling over onto the table like his forgotten coffee from weeks ago.

“Why do you think I work at the support center? Why do you think you’ve never seen me in a short sleeve shirt?”

You’re angry and you’re hurting and you understand his pain. Feel it reflected in your own, under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch, an ache you can’t get rid of. You don’t know why he wouldn’t just listen to you. 

“At least you get to wonder what might have happened.” You don’t mean to do it, to throw his hurt back in his face. To compare pain, to stack your scars against each other and measure them like there’s a winner and a loser in this game. “I met my soulmate. I met him and talked to him and fell in love with him and he still didn’t want me. It doesn’t matter what some scholar says. You can’t fucking fix that.”

You’re halfway to the door before you can find it in yourself to add, “You’re hurting and you’re lonely and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve that pain and you never will. But I refuse to do this again, to spend the rest of my life thinking there’s something wrong with me, that it’s my fault, that I can fix myself if I just try hard enough. My match glitched. I’m a glitch. But I refuse to let that be the only thing I am.”

The door shuts behind you too loud. Your footsteps feel too heavy as they eat up the ground between you and the library entrance. The air feels too cold as you walk back to your dorm. 

The silence is too loud as you sit alone in it. 

And the mark on your wrist is too gray no matter how you look at it. 

…

Jungwon is antsy. Even with the space of a day between him and your argument, he’s brimming with a sort of uncontained energy that will only spell trouble if he doesn’t find a way to clear his head. He needs to talk, needs to process, but he’s not sure who to go to, who to talk to. 

It’s then that he comes to the startling realization that under any other circumstance, the person he’d want to reach out to, to spill his hearts and guts out to, is you. 

It’s been weeks, a handful of days, a smattering of hours, since you became a name in his mind. A person with an identity outside of the pretty girl that sits in the sixth row of the lecture hall, and yet. 

And yet. 

He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to reach for his phone, to send a message, make a phone call that would land home. But that’s where his better judgment catches up. 

Because he’s not sure what he’d say. An apology is in order, surely. He still sees the way pain etched itself into your features, the way your shoulders caved in at his suggestion for a topic change. 

He’s not sure if it’s something that can be remedied with words, but he is certain he never wants to see that look on your face again. 

An apology it is, then. But for what? And why?

If he’s honest with himself, he still doesn’t understand. 

So he lets his confusion carry him to the only place he thinks he might find an answer. 

The girl smiles, a generic greeting falling from her lips before she looks up at the sound of the bell over the door ringing, signaling a visitor. 

Alina, it must be, if your descriptions are anything to go by. Another person that Jungwon’s become familiar with in the past few weeks, albeit only through secondhand accounts. 

And you must have done the same for him, because she’s quick to make the shock that flickers over her features with something careful, guarded. 

“Hi,” she says then, standing from her seat. “I’m Alina.” She looks him over one more time, something akin to a sigh escaping. “You must be Jungwon.”

Alina, as it turns out, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He understands why you like her so much. 

In a matter of minutes, an account of your last library session has been reconstructed, laid bare in front of eyes that know you best. 

Alina is silent for a moment, turning over arguments from an invisible debate in her mind. Finally, she says, “It’s not my story to tell.” He figured as much. “But I think she would, if you asked.”

Jungwon nods. It’s permission. From an indirect source maybe, but hope flutters through his chest all the same. 

There’s a pause before she speaks again. “What I can say is that she’s done a lot of work to move on. To find meaning in her life outside of the number on her wrist. To stop feeling… incomplete, like a problem to be solved.”

And I threw those fears back in her face. 

The despair must play out on his features, because Alina is gentle when she says, “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like, but I do know how it feels to grieve for what could have been. It’s easier sometimes, I think, to let that consume you. To spend your life trying to get as close to that lost future as you can, even though you know it will never be quite right. Even though you know you’re chasing ghosts.”

Alina folds her hands across her lap, lacing her fingers together. 

“She made the decision to let those ghosts rest, to let that part of her life go. To find something else worth living for instead. For the small moments, maybe. For joy, for love. All those things that she still gets to feel.” That you still get to feel. Alina doesn’t say it, but Jungwon hears it all the same. “Those things that nothing, not even fate, gets to take away.”

Jungwon glances at his wrist. It’s covered, but he can feel the weight of it, of the gray numbers that he knows, deep down, will never fade. Will never change. 

And for the first time in a long time, they don’t feel so heavy. 

“I… Thank you.” For telling him. For helping you. For being here. “For all of it.”

“Of course.” Alina smiles. Lets her fingers fall to her sides as she stands, brushing invisible dust off of her lap. “Joy is even better when it’s shared, no?”

Joy is even better when it’s shared. 

For the first time in a long time, Jungwon smiles. A real smile, a face-splitting, uncontrollably wide smile. One that reaches all the way to his eyes. 

It’s still there when he’s walking back to his dorm, when he sits down at his desk, when he turns on the last playlist he was listening to earlier just for something to fill the silence. 

After a handful of moments, a familiar melody lilts through his speaker. 

Clair de Lune. 

Looking at the computer in front of him, he thinks fate just might be a tangible thing. 

He feels it in his throat first and then the base of his nose. That telltale sting that comes at the first sign of tears. 

He lets it. Lets them fall. Hard, long sobs that wrack his body and leave him gasping for air. Sorrow and grief and anger and joy all tangled together in one. 

Because Jungwon is done mourning himself, the ghost of a life that has haunted him for the last year. The weight of possibilities that time cannot undo, that sheer will alone cannot change. 

Joy is even better when it’s shared. 

And he thinks he’ll start with himself. 

…

The unexpected knock on your front door comes just too late at night for you to feel entirely comfortable opening it on your own. Footsteps padding as silently as possible towards the entrance, you run through the short list of people you think could possibly be at your dorm at this hour and come up blank. 

Against your better judgment, you undo the latch, opening the door slowly like that will somehow deter any unwanted visitors. 

The sliver of space reveals not a threat, but someone that has your brow pulling downwards, relief quickly replaced by confusion. 

“Jungwon? How did you—”

But explanations are not at the top of his priority list. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, releases all at once. “I don’t…” a pained expression crosses his features. “I’m not good with words, and I don’t know what the best thing to say is, but I’m sorry. I never should have said those things about you, about us. I—we’re not glitches.” He pauses, frowning. “I mean, we are, but that’s okay. We’re okay. There’s nothing to fix, and I’m sorry that I made it sound like I think otherwise. I…” He trails off again, swallowing a lump in his throat. “You have to know that I think the world of you. I would never, never want to say or do something that makes you—oof.”

His words die with the sudden impact of your head on his chest, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders. Shock renders him immobile for just a moment before he’s melting into your touch, returning your embrace with one of his own as his arms twine around your back. 

It’s all there, wrapped up in this moment. A solid foundation. A warm place to land. Things that futures can be built upon. Things that can breathe life into possibilities, into almosts. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his neck. 

“For what?”

“For being here.”

You mean it. He knows it. 

“It’s the only place I wanted to be.”

He means it. You know it. 

…

“Where are you taking me?”

“You know, the more you keep asking that question, the less inclined I am to answer.”

“We’ve been walking for thirty minutes,” you argue. “Don’t I deserve some kind of explanation?”

“That’s what the coffee was for.” Jungwon grins, one of those real ones that lights up his eyes. One that has you returning a smile of your own, despite your complaints. “To distract you through the physical labor.”

“Well, we can’t all be on the taekwondo team.”

Jungwon just rolls his eyes. “We’re almost there. I promise.”

And despite it all, you believe him. Because it’s been months since you turned in your project, since your class ended, and he’s still here. Still a permanent fixture in your life. Still responsible for so many moments you look forwards to, so many moments you look back upon fondly. 

Because despite the gray numbers on your wrists, you’re both dressed for the weather. Welcoming summer heat with short sleeves and smiles to match. 

Because there’s no one else you’d walk thirty minutes towards an undisclosed location for. 

Because there’s no one else that understands you the way he does, gray soulmate marks aside. Because to him, you’re just you. A person capable of joy and anger and grief and love and all of the beautiful, wonderful, messy things that come with being a human. Not something to fix, not a person to mend. 

Because you think you might love him for it. 

Because you know you do. 

And when you finally arrive at an oasis of a park ten minutes later, sprawled on a picnic blanket overlooking a pond, you’ll turn to him and whisper some nonsense about recent studies showing that soulmates often find each other surrounded by nature. 

He’ll roll his eyes, brush a strand of hair off your forehead while he tells you that he doesn’t care, that it doesn’t matter, that it’s all a bunch of nonsense anyway. 

And it will feel like coming home, like resting after a long day, like basking in the first rays of sunshine as winter finally spreads its wings into a glorious spring when he intertwines his fingers with yours and tells you that he thinks you’re beautiful. 

Fate is a funny thing, you’ll think to yourself as his breath tickles your neck, sends shivers down the length of your spine. And no matter how many nights we’ve spent berating it, resenting it, cursing it, I’ll always be grateful that it has led to this. Or maybe we led it, grabbed fate by the collar and forced it to bend to our whims like the masters of destiny we are.  

Whatever it may be, I’m glad it brought me here. 

To joy. To love. 

And most of all, to you. 

IM SO HAPPY THIS GOT A PART 2!!! It was soo good and aimi calling y/n mom 😭 got me crying of happiness!

MAKE OFFICIAL — l.heeseung

PAIRING: dad!heeseung x stepmom!reader GENRES: fluff, slight angst WC: 5.2k+

WARNINGS: a bit of discussion, mention of bruising and blood, mention of food, gently suggestive at the end.

NOTES: honestly can't explain the amount of requests i've had for part two. i tried to put together a bit of everything... i thought of something a bit more distressing, but with a child in the story my pedagogical heart softened, so i didn't get something as distressing as that (thank goodness)!!! i hope you enjoy it.

part 1 | masterlist

"Seriously, I need to make this really official" Heeseung sighed, drinking some of his beer and placing the mug on the bar table.

Friday was the day to drink with the guys and talk as much as they could without the girls being around. And that subject was ideal for him to broach with the guys.

Looking ahead and noticing the attentive gazes of his best friends, he knew that this silence wouldn't last long, and besides, Jay was already finishing another sip of his drink so he could answer.

"Let me get this straight" the boy wiped his lips off any traces of alcohol, glancing at Jake and Sunghoon, then fixed his gaze on Heeseung who was sitting in front of him "You want to make the relationship you're having with my sister official?"

"Yes" Heeseung replied.

Jay remained silent for a while longer, choosing to take another sip of his beer.

"After more than a year you've been together?" Heeseung knew that the emphasis was ironic on Jay's part, and judging by the looks on the faces of the other two seated, he knew they were thinking the same thing too.

"I know, but it's just that there's never been a request, you know?"

"Do you want to ask y/n to be your girlfriend officially?" Sunghoon asked him. Heeseung nodded in agreement, playing with the stem of his beer mug without facing any of his friends this time.

"Dude, you made it official a long time ago" Jake laughed a little "You two live together, share the care of Aimi, and treat each other like married couples. Do you know what that is?"

Looking at it this way, Heeseung could tell that they had been official for a long time. He decided to trust what he felt from the day he kissed you for the first time in the living room of his parent's house, where you showed that you wanted to be with him and, above all, seemed to want to take care of Aimi as much as he did.

Heeseung was right. Little by little he introduced you to the little one's life, like simple things: picking her up from school, having dinner sometime at Heeseung's apartment. Aimi even cried one night when you said you'd go home and come back the next day. In conclusion, that was the first night you slept at Heeseung's apartment, wearing one of his t-shirts with Aimi's arms around you at a slumber party in the living room.

It was only a matter of time – or routine, as you both liked to think – that you picked up some clothes and left them at Heeseung's apartment. Or that you went to pick Aimi up from school because her father was leaving work late.

This brought you closer to his daughter. It brought you even closer as a couple. And neither of you could answer when the exact day was that you moved into his apartment. Neither of you could say when you started bathing Aimi and waiting for Heeseung on the sofa, to have dinner, read a story, and sleep as a family.

His friends were right, it all became even more official as he thought about the events of the last year. You never considered leaving him because he spent time with his daughter, as others had told him. You kept your promise by spending more time with her than her father did. The two of you even established things together for her upbringing, and you didn't even know how to tell Heeseung that the role of mother was filling your heart with joy.

It wasn't something to think about, nor did he think he'd have someone under his own roof playing mother to his daughter. But while you were there doing everything without a hint of effort, with a smile on your face and sometimes even tears in your eyes at the little girl's achievements, or even in moments of fever or something. He knew he had made the right choice.

"But if you want to" Jay's voice snapped him out of his reverie, making Heeseung sigh and face the boy who was now looking directly at him, "you can think about how to officially ask her."

"I need you all to help me" he said.

"We'll help" Jake smiled.

"Go to the beach tomorrow, just you and her" Sunghoon finished his drink and leaned back on the bar stool, running his hand through his hair before placing it on the table and drumming his fingers "We'll babysit our princess Aimi and you and y/n can enjoy the official proposal."

"I don't know, sometimes I think Sunghoon thinks so well" Jay whined, pretending to be thrilled.

But the reality was that the idea had been incredible.

"That's when you're not swearing at me" he retorted.

"But you deserve it!"

Jake rolled his eyes at Heeseung, leaving Jay and Sunghoon to continue the discussion while the other two thought about and came up with a weekend plan for the official proposal.

Perhaps something simple and completely romantic, as you liked and he knew very well. Jake could help you find a hotel facing the sea so that you and he could go for a walk in the evening and he could propose.

Heeseung was already getting anxious and, even though he knew you would accept, it was as if he was back in his teens. His stomach churned and his heart pounded as he smiled at Jake and thanked him for his help.

Heeseung's fingers gripped the leather of the steering wheel tightly. He was trying his best not to speed up any more than he had to, but he knew that he had already gone over the limit since he had received his call to meet him at the hospital.

He didn't even know if he had parked correctly when he stopped the car, let alone hear if anyone had said anything to him. Heeseung just ran into the building in search of the waiting room where you had informed him.

Heeseung could have sworn he was going to throw up at any moment.

Hi love, can you meet me at the hospital? Aimi and I have a little problem...

What kind of fucking problem was it? Because Heeseung's eyes were already blurring as he found the hospital room.

He stopped his hurried steps when he looked down the corridor and found you. You were talking to a doctor, with gray hair and a well-pressed lab coat. As Heeseung wandered his eyes over the two of you, he noticed Aimi lying on your shoulder.

That habit had remained from when the two of you first met. He thought it was the most adorable thing in the world that it had been his daughter's place of comfort. Almost every night, she would lie on your shoulder on the sofa and fall asleep before going to bed to listen to the story Heeseung told her before going to sleep.

One night he himself lay on your shoulder to see if it really was magic or if his daughter just liked to rest everywhere... He woke up two hours later, almost drooling and with you focused on the television, laughing softly as he got up, completely tired from the nap he had taken.

So yes, your shoulder was an extremely comfortable place to sleep.

But why was Aimi wearing a bandage on her head? Why was Heeseung running back toward the two of you? He almost screamed when he saw his little girl with that, already imagining a thousand scenarios where she'd had some suture, where that gray-haired doctor had bullied her and he was sure to end up with him and that lab coat that he now found ugly.

"Hey" he said as soon as he got close enough to the three of you.

"Hey, love" you greeted him first, turning towards Heeseung and feeling his lips on your forehead. The man bent down enough to kiss the top of Aimi's head in the process.

"So, you're the father?" the doctor asked, he just nodded.

"What happened? Is Aimi all right? Are you all right?" he could hear the tremor in your voice and felt like he was going to cry at any moment. You gave him a weak smile and then looked at the doctor.

"Usually mom is more nervous than dad," he laughed, "but I see you're the one who's calm around here, Mrs. Lee."

Mrs. Lee.

"But everything's under control now. Aimi was under observation for two and a half hours and has been released to go home."

"Two and a half hours?" Heeseung said loudly, almost scaring the little girl resting on his shoulder. He apologized to his daughter while looking at you and then at the doctor.

The man saw that he had said too much, or even knew that it wasn't a matter for him to deal with, so he just said goodbye and gave the two of you his contact details in case you needed to come back. You knew you wouldn't, so you just took Heeseung and Aimi home.

"Shall we?" you asked, cradling the little one in your arms and ready to leave the hospital.

"Two hours? What the fuck is two hours?"

"Heeseung" you warned him.

Swearing in Aimi's presence. He hissed an apology as he walked with you to the car.

"How did you get here? Two hours ago?" the irony in his voice already indicated how angry he was.

"Heejin brought us, I couldn't drive" you whispered after you reached Heeseung's car.

He carefully and calmly put your daughter in the back seat, into the car seat, and then buckled the seat belt. As soon as he closed the door, you didn't move.

"What?" he asked.

"The keys. You're not going to drive like that." He would have asked you 'like what?'. Not when you knew him so well and knew that he was shaking so badly with nerves that he could barely hold the wheel again.

So choosing to hand over the keys was the right thing to do. Heeseung going in the passenger seat and you taking the wheel to get home.

"Now can you please explain to me what's going on?"

You sighed loudly at the stoplight, looking over to find Heeseung's eyes already fixed on yours.

"Aimi fell at school and hit her head" you said. "It was absolutely nothing serious, but the nursery called me and I just thought I'd ask Heejin to bring us."

"And you didn't think to call me at the time?" he tried not to raise his voice out of nervousness, his heart completely racing at that moment.

"I knew you'd freak out more than you are now, and I think I only made things difficult because I was afraid you'd get sick."

The intention was valid and indeed true. Knowing Heeseung and how one hundred percent concerned he was, it might have been possible for the boy to faint while receiving the news of what had happened to Aimi.

There was a moment of silence while he thought about what to say. Heeseung knew you were right, but at the same time, he let his feelings go to his head, not even thinking about what was coming out of his mouth.

"What about taking care of serious matters about Aimi together?" he still looked at you, even though his attention was on the road now.

"I was just as worried about you as I was about her" your voice tried to be as soft as possible for him, both to calm him down and so as not to wake the sleepy little girl in the back seat.

"And you only let me know two hours later. Right!" he laughed humorlessly "If you were really worried about me, you would have told me what really happened and not deprived me of taking you and her to the hospital."

"Heeseung..."

"Why did you tell me at the hospital, y/n? Why didn't you wait until we got home?" he raised his voice without even realizing it.

"Heeseung" you called him again, but he didn't hear.

"Were you going to wait for me in the living room of our apartment with a heart bandage on her forehead and tell me it was a surprise?"

"Lee Heeseung!" you altered your voice a little more, stopping at another traffic light and looking at him in the process "Code orange" you finished when he looked back at you, feeling that the boy was analyzing every inch of your face.

"Dad?" Aimi called out. He turned on the spot and held her hand, seeing that his daughter had gone back to sleep.

Code Orange was a language the two of you had created so that you could use it when moments like this happened. Any argument, any disagreement around Aimi and all you had to do was say Code Orange to remind each other that she was there. And then you'd stop whatever you were saying so as not to scare her.

He didn't say anything else. He kept holding Aimi's hand until you drove home.

The routine has been the same since the three of you arrived home together. The only difference was that Heeseung kept quiet while you went to the kitchen and you walked with Aimi on your lap to the bedroom to get her things and prepare a bath.

Heeseung felt he'd blown it the moment he heard you talking about Code Orange.

He knows he crossed the line. He knows that it all hit him at once and with nerves and worry, things got completely out of hand.

Unforeseen events tend to happen in people's lives, and Heeseung knew that this triples when you become a father. He often heard from his parents, or even your parents, how things could get out of hand.

He remembers exactly the day at the amusement park when he was taking it easy with you and whatever was going to happen between the two of you. Heeseung was always on alert in case something happened to his daughter, but on the night he decided he was going to kiss you for the first time, Aimi got a fever. She felt sick and ran to meet her daughter. That unforeseen event was the first you two had experienced together.

Heeseung remembers every little event when the two of you had to change course just because things hadn't gone according to plan, and he hadn't let it get out of hand because he knew that unforeseen events happen. Becoming a father was already an unforeseen event in his life and each thing that happened made him prove his point.

He then ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by the whole thing because it wasn't that the official request had been completely sidetracked. It was because he was so worried about Aimi and ended up arguing with you just because he let his nerves get the better of him.

In our year-long relationship, he had never argued so seriously with you about anything. It wasn't the first time you'd done something with Aimi and told him hours later, but Heeseung knew it was because his heart was racing with the name of the two of you and the word little problem in the same sentence. You've never had a problem.

"What the fuck, Heeseung!" he wanted to tear his hair out as he remembered your stern eyes on him, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly because he knew you didn't want to argue either. Whether in front of Aimi or not, neither of you wanted that.

Making amends was the only thing to do, but how? The request to make it official was already ruined and he had to come up with a plan B that he had no idea about, not least because the main plan hadn't even been his idea in the first place.

Sighing and throwing his head back, Heeseung opted to scour the app on his cell phone in search of something to eat. He wasn't in the mood to cook and didn't want to search the cupboards for something instant for the three of you, especially since he knew you'd been away from home too long and would need something substantial.

So he walked slowly to the bathroom which contained a huge bathtub, where you used to bathe Aimi every day while Heeseung prepared the food or did anything else. At your daughter's request, since she said she liked to talk to you during that time.

"I was too strong" Aimi's voice interrupted Heeseung's thoughts, as he stopped in the middle of the corridor and noticed the bathroom door open. He took a few more steps, enough to see that the bathtub was full, lots of colored foam that you only put in on days when Aimi really needed it – today was one of those days – and you were sitting on the floor, facing her.

"Of course you did, I'm so proud, actually" you said so encouragingly that Aimi clapped her hands, raising some foam and laughing along with you when one of them splashed onto your pants.

"I love you" Aimi told you.

"I love you too, my love" came your reply immediately. Heeseung sighed lovingly.

"Like my mom?"

Silence. Heeseung felt his throat go dry and didn't know why you hadn't answered Aimi's question. Whether you were thinking about something or whether it had caught you off guard as much as it had.

The truth was that yes, you loved her as your daughter. But neither you nor Heeseung rushed into things, not least because he wanted you to feel comfortable, and also because he didn't know how you felt about it. Your relationship with Aimi strengthened so naturally that outsiders thought you were mother and daughter. And when asked, no one denied it.

"Do you want me to be?" you asked after a while.

At that moment, your hands brushed some of the soap out of her hair, while Aimi played with some rubber animals floating on the water.

"I want to. I want to!" the little girl's excitement almost makes you cry if it weren't for the little arms around your neck in a tight hug. You didn't even care if you got wet or not.

And at that moment Heeseung felt his heart fill up. A few more steps he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes watering and only noticed when the scene in front of him became a little blurry. He had to blink a few times to keep the tears at bay.

"Dad! Dad!" Aimi greeted the boy, releasing herself from your embrace and making you turn quickly towards him "I want y/n to be my mother."

"Do you?" he asked.

Even though it had been in a soothing tone because of Aimi, you knew that the question had been asked as much for her as for you. Because as soon as his eyes shifted in your direction, you just nodded and turned your attention back to the little girl.

"I really want to" she sounded just as excited as the first time she'd said "Dad, did you know that mom y/n didn't let go of my hand today?"

"Really? And you want to tell me what happened at school?"

"Mom, can we let Dad in on the bath talk?"

She had never called you mom. Neither you nor Heeseung had heard it from her in the whole year of their relationship. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your mouth and you only realized you were about to cry when you heard Heeseung sniffling softly behind you.

"Of course, if he wants to" you tried not to let your voice get shaky.

Heeseung didn't want to risk saying anything or he'd cry even more, and he was grateful that his daughter was excited and didn't realize that both he and you were emotional. He sat on the toilet seat while he listened to Aimi tell the story.

How she defended herself against a little boy who picked on her at school. She also told how he didn't want to let her go down the slide, so she fought with him, but when she went down she hadn't been paying attention and hit her head on the tunnel before going down.

Noticing now that the little girl no longer had the bandage on her forehead, he saw the small cut. Something completely superficial and which probably shocked the teachers and even you because he thought about the amount of blood that came out. Confirming this as soon as you said it yourself after Aimi had finished counting the parts she could.

"How about we finish this bath and order dinner?" Heeseung let out a long sigh after laughing at some of the other things his daughter had said, hearing her giggle too.

"Sushi?" Aimi's eyes lit up at that.

"Are my girls okay with sushi?" he asked.

"We are!" you and Aimi replied together, and then Heeseung got up to order dinner.

It could have been considered a long wait until he ordered through the app, waited for it to arrive, and set everything up in the room. But he did it so calmly that you had time to finish Aimi's bath, dry her off, and put her pajamas on so that you could go into the living room and have dinner as a family.

"Can we watch it?" the little girl asked, smiling when her father agreed and let the two of you sit down on the sofa to eat.

Dinner was filled with laughter and more stories from little Aimi, a few comments about the cartoon the three of you were watching, and even the repetition of food because, according to her, it was so tasty.

After another hour the little one fell asleep on Heeseung's lap, which was something new because she always preferred to stay on your lap before she fell asleep. So maybe that's why he had the biggest smile on his face.

"Do you want some help?" you asked as you turned off the television.

"All right, I'll put her to bed" he whispered.

"I'll put her to bed then," Heeseung nodded in agreement and got up.

He walked off towards the bedrooms, leaving you to tidy up for dinner while he took great care to walk with his daughter on his lap without waking her. This had been done by him countless times, but he seemed to have lost the practice after you came into their lives because Aimi always called on you to do it.

And he loved this connection between the two of you so much. That's why he was happy. Because you had done something that he had always been used to doing alone, and by returning to it, things were fitting together more and more in Heeseung's mind.

Placing Aimi on the bed, he kissed her on the top of the head and smiled at the sleeping figure of his daughter. She was sleeping so peacefully that she didn't even look like she had bumped her head during the day – and faced a little boy at school – but Heeseung pretended not to have heard. He wanted to leave it to the girls since it was a bathtime conversation.

"I love you, little one" Heeseung whispered to Aimi as soon as he had tucked her under the covers, turning on the lamp before slowly leaving the room.

Now he needed to think about how to apologize to you and how to start this conversation. Maybe saying he loved you could also be a good thing, right? Or he could use the puppy-dog eyes tactic because that worked with you sometimes.

No, it was quite serious, he couldn't joke about it.

What would Heeseung do anyway? He started to panic as soon as he got to the living room and everything was tidied up. So you were probably already in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes, and as soon as he entered the room, you realized it was true.

"Did you get it?" you asked when you saw him standing in the kitchen doorway.

"I never miss a beat" he smiled, even though your attention was on the dish you were washing.

Not even a glance in his direction, not even a smile from the corner of your lips. Nothing. Heeseung wanted to scream and run away, but he chose to approach in slow steps and stand behind you.

At first, your posture seemed intact because you didn't notice that he had come so close, but when his hands found your waist and he pressed your back against his chest, you stopped everything you were doing.

Heeseung felt your body stiffen for a few seconds and then calm down as he slid his hands down your exposed skin from your hips to your belly and hugged you from behind.

"I'm sorry" he whispered with his lips between your hair.

"What?" you understood a little garbled because he hadn't said it clearly, but you wanted to be sure of the words or if you weren't thinking too much.

Meanwhile, you wiped your hands before forcing yourself to face him with Heeseung's hands still on your waist.

"I said I'm sorry" his voice could now be heard more clearly. Heeseung looked deep into your eyes as he heard you sigh softly.

"Heeseung, I—"

"No, I need to talk first. May I?" he asked. Your nod encouraged him to speak even though he didn't even know what he was doing in the first place.

Heeseung never got to that part where he needed to fix what he'd done or saw the person in front of him willing to listen to him. He had also never felt so much love – apart from his daughter – that made him feel complete.

He looked into your eyes, seeking even more approval as he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours.

"I'm sorry I was an idiot and broke the orange code" he whispered, a breath of air from his lips going straight against your skin. The sensation was so familiar, yet it always made you shiver "I'm sorry because as well as being worried about everything that happened, I was so frustrated."

You raised one of your hands, placing your icy fingers against his skin. Heeseung shivered at the touch, not because of the temperature, but because your hand was touching him.

"Frustrated with what?" your touch wasn't enough, you had to caress his cheek so lovingly and then slide your fingers to the back of his neck that Heeseung swore, right then, that he had to kiss you.

And he did. But it was as quick as it started because he wanted to talk and needed to get it off his chest.

"Earlier today I was with the boys and I had the desire to make things official with you" the boy felt each word come out so freely as his hands rested against your waist. You continued to caress the back of his neck and this time kissed the corner of his lips when you noticed that he seemed nervous before saying the next words "I was going to take you to the beach tomorrow. The boys would stay with Aimi and... Well... I'd officially ask you..."

Your hand stopped caressing him. He didn't know if that was good or bad, so he momentarily moved his forehead away from yours so that he could look into your eyes. They were attentive to Heeseung. Every movement, every word, everything that came from him.

"I know that after we become parents, unforeseen events happen and I've heard this from my parents, from yours, from colleagues who are parents. It really does happen" he explained so seriously that you found the pout that formed on Heeseung's lips cute "And I was frustrated because, as well as knowing that we wouldn't be able to go to the beach tomorrow, Aimi got hurt and I couldn't be there for the two of you."

"But you're with us every step of the way..."

"I know, love. I know that" he brought his face close to yours again "I think one thing joined another and I only saw the shit I'd done after you warned me. So I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault" you said softly, causing Heeseung's heart to calm down a little.

He knew he was lucky from the moment he met you. He just didn't feel like he deserved it at this moment when everything seemed to make him feel bad about what had happened. Even with you telling him that everything was fine, the way Heeseung found to further derail his apology about you was to kiss you.

For real this time. Then he put one hand on your waist and brought the other up to your face to push away the hair that insisted on staying there.

Taking one last look into your eyes, Heeseung smiled before joining his lips to yours. The kiss started slowly, just longing for that touch as the wet muscles slid over each other. You allowed him to press your body to his as the kiss began to intensify, seeming more needy, urgent, and with a euphoric Heeseung pulling you even closer to him.

Neither of you felt like stopping it, both of you wanting anything that was stopping you – the clothes – to be out of the way and for everything to work out the way you both wanted it to. But before anything else, the air search was clear, so he slowly stopped the kiss, leaving his mouth still pressed to yours.

"I think the officiating was done by someone else today" Heeseung said a little too breathlessly, hearing your ragged breathing against his skin as well.

"What do you mean?" you asked.

He smiled, opening his eyes and seeing the sight of you with red, wet lips right in front of him. Something he would never get sick of seeing.

"I overheard some of the conversation in the shower today" Heeseung began. His lips went straight to your forehead, leaving them resting there as he whispered, "Her calling you mom for the first time just made me sure that making what we have official doesn't need a right place or need to be done by me."

"Heeseung…"

"I love you, y/n" he said, his lips coming away from your forehead so that he could look at you one more time as he spoke "I love you and I've known that we've been official since that first kiss in your mother's living room."

"I love you, you idiot" you said, your heart racing and full of love. You hugged him and kissed the tip of his nose as you lifted your feet to reach him "And that was definitely the best official request in the world. No beach can top that."

He laughed at your comment and pressed his lips to yours again, but without kissing them this time.

"Now how about you bath me too? I've had a busy day and I think I need to relax."

"You're worthless, that's for sure" you laughed, but under no circumstances would you deny Heeseung's request.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

Stars to my moon |chapter-8|

Genre: Soulmateau! Idolau!Angst;fluff;drama;romance, polyamorousAu!

Pairing:ot7×f!OC

Summary: He took big strides, halting right in front of me as he bends to my eye level, causing me lean back a little. I could feel his breath fanning my face, looking into his eyes, I could see a storm of anger into them.

"We have been nothing but considerate of you and your feelings, while all you've given in return is rejection and cold shoulder since day one." He grits out.

when Selene's 22nd  birthday doesn't go as she expected,  her world turns upside down, making her resent her soulmates. Will she ever come to accept them in her life or will she continue to run away holding onto her past love?

Bouncing his leg up and down, chewing on the pen, he couldn't help but wonder what was happening across the hall.

With a sigh, he slams his pen down on the table, getting up to pace around the room.

Taehyung was trying to concentrate on his music, wanting to take his mind off the fact that the other members were in Selene's new apartment, trying to help her settle in, but the thought of everyone with her: enjoying, and making new memories was unsettling to him.

Not because he didn't want to share her or was possessive over her, but because he wasn't there with them, he won't be included in those memories. 

Setting his ego aside, he finally gives in to the urge to stalk across the hall. However, voices could be heard even outside her apartment since the door wasn't locked. And Taehyung could perfectly recognize those voices and what they were saying as he approached the place.

"Hey, is this you?" Jimin asks, most probably to Selene.

"What? Heyy! Give that back! You're not supposed to see that just yet!" 

"Oh no, No. Others need to see this." Jimin says, just in time for Taehyung to watch the further occurrence from the doorway. The scene had his steps halted and jaw clenching. 

Jimin was running around the messy sitting room while Selene chased him, swearing at him while they both laughed. They looked like a normal, happy couple there, and Taehyung was happy for his friend but what had him step back and turn around to go back to his own place was not the thought of giving them privacy but the fact that, he too, wanted to be included in her life but was afraid of the rejection.

This wasn't the first time he had caught Selene with his members and one of her other soulmates. Just this morning, Selene was happily cooking together with Jin; the way her aura glowed with serenity and happiness was a rare sight to see. One he had never had the luck to see before then. Not just that, but he had also seen her talking with Namjoon at the ungodly hour of the night. Both, getting to know each other and sharing their troubles. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop but overheard that her mother was the one who convinced her to give them a chance. He was so thankful for her mother but couldn't help being jealous of their relationship. Out of all of them, Namjoon would be the one who knows Selene even just a little. 

Since tomorrow she had not but glanced at him one time when they held hands to not get sick. And now seeing her like this with Jimin- he understands that the problem is not about them being her soulmates anymore. It was HIM being her soulmate. Lord knows what he has done besides giving her the piece of mind that she desperately needed. 

With an anxious mind and furious steps, he gets back to his room and falls into his twirling chair. Mind going over the possibilities of confronting her for the not-so-subtle ignorance of his existence. Because he had to, or he would lose his mind pondering over the why. 

The only question remaining was HOW? He breathes out a sigh of annoyance. He didn't want to do anything that he would regret later.  Something that would cause an even bigger rift between the two. 

Taehyung gets up from the chair, running his hand through his hair. The sound of footsteps coming towards his room with a huff interrupts his brainstorming. He peeks out of his room to find out who the sound belonged to, finding his hyung searching for something in a hurry.

"Hyung! What are you doing?" He asks, fully stepping out of his room.

"The company called; they need me in. And I just can't find my fucking will to go. All I wanted to do was sleep for a while." Yoongi says with a huff making Taehyung crack up. 

Yoongi; after having woken up late in the morning, got the news of getting the day off to help Selene settle in from Jin, and needless to say, he was ecstatic. And no, not to help her. But for the bliss that he will get sleeping after having done so. 

"Forget that. What are you doing here when everyone is there having fun, huh?" His Hyung asks with a pointed look.

He looks down and shakes his head. "What does it matter, hyung? If I am there or not?" 

"You know it does. Everyone wants you there."

"Not her. She doesn't want me there."

"And why do you say that? Has she said something to you?" Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

He laughs, "She'll say something to me when she acknowledges my existence. That's the point, Hyung. She is acting like I don't exist. She has gone and made amends with every one of her soulmates except me. She doesn't want anything to do with me. She's got everything she would want in them anyways, the brain, the beauty, and the heart. Where would I even fit in? There is no place left." 

"Don't say that. You need to give her some time. She might still be a little upset at you, or maybe she is afraid just like you. Don't go jumping to conclusions." Yoongi consoles him, putting a hand on his shoulder.  Taehyung nods, not believing him fully but letting the hope creep in. 

"Now, let's go. Everyone is waiting." Yoongi takes his hand and leads him to her apartment. 

Stopping at the door, "You go in. I'll join you guys for dinner after." Saying this, Yoongi disappears down the hall.

With a sigh, he musters up the courage to bear getting ignored by his soulmate again. Gulping down the hurt and anger, he tries to stay calm and impassive as he steps into the apartment, not letting his steps falter.

But, as he steps into the apartment a second time that day the picture playing in front of him is much worse than before. And he broke.

Selene tastes the food from the spoon and then forwards the spoon to Jungkook, who starts jumping with mad brows after tasting it. Making Selene nervous,

"What is it? You don't like it? is it too spicy?"

"Aani aani." He retaliates.

Namjoon laughs as he shakes his head. "He always does this when he likes the food. It's his way of expressing that the food is good." 

She laughs, and others don't miss this opportunity to tease the maknae.

"AArghhhh... Jkayyy..." 

Jungkook hides behind Jin, hands touching his ears softly; something he does when he's shy, with his bunny smile. They all have this belief that Jin's broad shoulders can save them from anything in the world. I know, Funny. But cute. 

Back to the topic at hand, The reason Taehyung broke was not their smiles nor the family-like atmosphere but the fact that Selene is even friendly and smiley towards someone who is not her soulmate. That means the problem is him only. Maybe he went too far when he called her a bitch, but well, she was acting like it. And he won't let regret fill his heart. He did what he did for his best friend, and they are happy now. Trying. Because of that. He just needs to find a way to mend his relationship with her.

 Taking a deep breath in, he approaches them. His heart, beating fast. The hope that maybe she will acknowledge him or just pass him a small smile was there. But well, what is the point of false hope, right? Because she didn't. As he approached, Jimin comes by his side, talking about what just took place, oblivious that he had already seen it and let it scratch at his heart.

Everyone takes a seat, curiously watching Selene cook with Jin and Jungkook helping her. 

"She is making something from her culture. Gazpacho?" Jimin looks at Selene, confirming if he said it right. 

"Gazpacho and Paella (Pa-yay-ah)" she teaches him and he repeats it back to Taehyung. 

He nods. One thing he notices is not once during this exchange did Selene look at him directly. She corrected Jimin with a small polite smile and went back to doing her thing. He closes his fist, trying to drink down the hurt. 

The cooking goes on, Selene doing most of the work, with Jin and Jungkook teasing and fighting each other in the back. These guys really do start anywhere, but what can one say? That's what makes their relationship exceptional. 

Hoseok and Namjoon talk as the latter say something that makes Hobi laugh so hard; he starts clapping his hand. 

"Care to share?" Selene raises an eyebrow at them. A small smile played on her lips.

Hoseok shakes his head, making the motion of sealing his lips. All the while trying to contain his laughter. Namjoon hangs his head, also trying to hide his dimpled smile. 

Meanwhile, Taehyung had to chew on the hurt and anger he was feeling. He is going to ask her tonight why she is behaving like this to him. He can not be in the dark anymore. His patience has run out. He now just needs to find an appropriate time for it.

                                                    --------

Trying to ignore Taehyung has turned out to be a much harder task than I thought it would. His presence is big. Even when he quietly sits on the side, he attracts attention. But that is something I can't give in to. 

The way I have seen it, Taehyung has had some problems with me since the start. why wouldn't he? the way I treated them, ignored our connections, no one deserves that kind of behavior. And I am not ready to broach that subject with him yet because I fear he might reject me. I suspect nothing major will happen to me if one or two of my soulmates out of seven refuses to be with me, but still, he holds a piece of my soul. The puzzle of my heart will not be completed if even one of them refuses to be with me. 

The quiet, frowny look he wears whenever he is near me is painful to watch. How bad would you feel if your presence became the reason for the frown on your soulmate's face? I don't ever want to experience this again. But the connection between our souls has been pulling my gaze towards him and even with my resistance I had sneaked a handful of looks at him whenever he wasn't looking at me. Better yet, glaring at me.

That's what it has been like with him. He gives me glares, and I try my best to ignore them in order to avoid the hurt. 

I sigh softly, making up an excuse to leave the kitchen while the dish simmers. Asking Jungkook and Jin to see it doesn't get burnt.

With their nod, I make my way toward my new bedroom. The decor is all beige and white. On the shelves above my bed sits my plants, giving the room a home-y calm vibe. I take a seat on the side of my bed, smoothening out its wrinkles. I wish someone could smooth out the wrinkles in my and Taehyung's relationship just like that. 

I get up, looking for my phone. Maybe my mother could help me and give me some advice on how to approach him. 

I look on and inside my bedside table but have no luck; I move onto the shelves, my closet, and under the pillow, but I don't find it anywhere. Where the fuck did I put my fucking phone! 

A sigh of frustration leaves my mouth. I should ask one of the guys to call on it. I never put my mobile on silent, so it should be easy to find. 

I look down at my feet, carrying me out of my bedroom.  God, I need to go to the salon. My toenails are in very poor shape. I huff out at my own ignorance. I never let my salon date pass. 

Just as I look back up again, a hand clasps around my own, and I am suddenly being pulled into the dark hallway, opposite of where I intended of going, might I add.

The person slams me against the wall, one hand still holds my own, pressing it against the wall beside my head, and the other rests above my head.

"Wha-" my curse dies out on my tongue when I see who the culprit is.

Collecting myself, I ask, "What are you doing!?" trying to break my hand free from his grip.

"No." He interrupts me, refusing to let go of his hold on me. "What are YOU doing, huh?" 

"What!?" I ask at his accusing tone, oblivious of what the fuck he is on about,

Gritting his teeth, he answers, "Why are you ignoring me?" 

Hearing his question, I scoff, going into defensive mode. "Excuse me! I am ignoring YOU?" 

"Yes." 

Alright! If he wants to pretend that he wasn't the one acting all prideful and ignorant before, I'll play along. He's going to be the one regretting either way.

"Well, don't you think that might be because you deserve it? You don't think you did something that would lead to me ignoring you, Taehyung?" I ask him absurdly, still trying to get my hand out of his grip, which he still refuses to let go

"No. I don't think so. All I did was put some sense into you and pushed you in the right direction." He gets closer to me. So close, I can feel his breath on my face. 

"Reallyyy!? Excuse me if my memory doesn't serve me right, but weren't you the one who called me a bitch?" I cock my head.

"Um, Weren't you the one acting like a bitch and planning to leave your soulmates?" He throws it back at me. Offending me, boy.

"You all were practically strangers to me! What the fuck had you expected!? I would bear out my heart to you, trust you and accept you all in a matter of an eyeblink!!? Just because you are my soulmates!? That is ABSURD!" I breathe heavily, my heart racing fast. 

All my life, I have avoided confrontations. Talking about what I think is hard for me, showing any emotions is a no-go. It is something that I just can't do. Eric was there all the way. Still, it wasn't easy for me to completely be vulnerable in front of him. But this man! He just knows how to push my buttons. God, He is making me talk, and I do not like it. Still, I won't stop now. Not now, This has to be said.

"NO!" he slams the wall beside my head, getting more close to my face; I have to look sideways to avoid contact as he speaks, gritting his teeth. "IF you were acting all cold and ignorant because you wanted to take time to KNOW us before committing and diving into this, it would have been fine; it even would have been welcomed. But you did all that not to know us but to push us away to get back with your past lover! How had YOU expected us to react!? Did you think we would be okay with you stomping all over us to get back to your boyfriend? The same boyfriend who left You for his soulmate. Do you really think he was worthy of your love and sacrifice?"

"No! Don't you dare bring Eric into this. Whatever happened, he is still my friend, and he left me because he cared for all the lives that would have been affected by this, as in Yours! Also, I have never wanted ill for any of you. I would have sealed our bond, and we all could have been happy with the ones who we would choose."

"You really think we could have chosen someone else when we knew you were out there, that at last, we were going to be together because you're the one destiny wants us to be with." He asks, his eyes going soft. Looking into them, for a second, I forget that we were fighting; this is the first time he has let me see the vulnerability in his eyes, and something tells me being vulnerable isn't easy for him as well. 

Looking away, I say, "Anyway, moving on. After talking with my mother, I have decided to give this a chance. so why are you bringing this up again when I have already apologized?" 

"That's the thing Selene, You have apologized and mended your relationship with everyone. Everybody except me. How do you think I feel about that?" His eyes gave out an emotion I couldn't put my finger on.

"I don't know. I didn't think you'd care." Shrugging, I tell him honestly.

"Why did you think that?" 

"Because you don't like me from day one, and you've been ignoring me like a plague, and you are always glaring at me. What else am I supposed to think? You don't act that way when you care, Taehyung." I sigh as I tell him.

The way he has been acting has hurt me, even if I don't have the right to say so. I know I hurt them first, but I get it now, and I want to know them now. And his unspoken rejection stung.

"You think I am ignoring you?" He asks, a bit surprised as he finally softens his grip on my hand, backing away just a little. 

"Yes, obviously." Even when I know that I could free my hand now that his grip has loosened, I don't. I let him hold my hand. Craving the little connection our souls are getting from our little encounter.

"What makes you think that?" Pure confusion displayed in his eyes.

"I don't know? The fact that you never talk to me? Leave the room when I enter? Avoid making any eye contact?" 

"I don't avoid eye contact; you do. And I don't talk to you because you are always preoccupied with someone. And I leave the room because-" he abruptly stops. His expressions tell me he said something he thought he shouldn't have. Still, I push.

"Because..? Because what Taehyung? Because you don't want to be near a bitch like me? Because you don't want me near your friends? Because you think my personality is so hideous that you can't look at it for-"

"Because it hurts, dammit!" Shouting, he interrupts me. "Because it hurts to see you all smiley and happy with the others and ignoring me. Even with Jungkook, you act like you guys are such good friends while you avoid any interaction with me, your own soulmate." He whispers, making me completely shut up. 

When I don't say anything, he looks up with misty eyes. "I know you don't want me. Why would you, when you have everything you could ever want in those three? They're the brains, beauty, and heart. But you're the only soulmate I have. And I want to be with you, even if I have to be at the bottom of your list." 

Hearing him breaks my heart; I didn't know he felt like that. I never intended for him to question himself. Freeing my hand from his grip, I touch his cheeks, making his eyes stay on mine. "No. You never were and never will be at the bottom of my list, Taehyung, because there is no list. I never approached you because I thought you didn't want me. I want all of you. All of you hold a piece of my soul; it won't be complete if I don't have you." 

Taehyung doesn't say anything for a minute, only looking into my eyes. As if to ensure himself of the sincerity behind my words. When he finds what he is looking for, he shuts his eyes as he comes closer and rests his head against mine, hands covering my own that are still holding his face. 

"Thank you," he whispers. "I really needed to hear that. You have no idea how much I had been thinking about it, but to see that you don't feel or think that way is a huge relief like a weight lifted off my shoulders." 

"Well, it's true. And stop looking down at yourself. You are the brain, beauty, and heart, as well as much more. And I am sorry. I should have come to talk to you instead of making any assumptions. I would very much like to know you, Kim Taehyung. If you will let me." I whisper back. Completely baring my heart out in front of him. Because he had as well, and I want him to know that he will not be the only one making efforts in this relationship. We need to start on the right foot again, and that's what I want to make this into. A fresh start.

"I wouldn't want anything more. Thank you. And I'm sorry for calling you a bitch too." He apologizes in his deep, hoarse voice, sending my stomach a tingle.

"I forgive you. I kinda was being a bitch that day." I chuckle, and he follows.

"Yeah, kinda." he says with a teasing smile.

We keep staring into each other's eyes, forgetting that a world outside us exists. 

After a couple of minutes pass of us drinking each other, I whisper, "We should get back. Everyone must be wondering." 

"Uh-hmm, We should." he agrees but doesn't move.

"Taehyung!" I push at his chest slightly.

"Alright." He backs away but takes my hand, intertwining our fingers, as we move toward the kitchen.

It has been the most intimate and vulnerable moment I have had with any of my soulmates. And I am glad it was with him, since we both are afraid to be vulnerable. 

I laugh, remembering how fast we went from screaming at each other to stripping off our defenses and exposing our thoughts.

"What?" he asks, curious to know the reason behind my amusement.

"Nothing. Come." I shake my head, leading him down the hall.

                              ----------------------------------------------------

"Can someone please call and ask Suga Hyung if he'll be here by dinner?" Jungkook asks, too eager to eat the food after having a taste.

"He said he'll be here; why do you want to disturb him?" Jin says, making the younger hit his chest and thus, starting a banter.

"I am hungryyy!! And when Suga hyung gets into work, the concept of time doesn't exist for him. Just ask!!" He whines, not having the patience to savor the delicious taste of the dish again.

"If you are too eager, call and ask him yourself. I am not going to make him annoyed again after last time." 

At this, Jungkook pulls out his doe eyes, shining so brightly suddenly, as if on command.

Jin sighs in defeat, "You know, you take advantage of that too much." 

He does his bunny smile, happy at his win.

"Alright, but I won't make the call. Let's make the only person he won't be annoyed by call him." Jungkook nods. And they both, at the same time, scream, "J-Hopeeeee!!!!" 

The latter jumps at the sudden loud voice, "Yah! I am in the same room as you; Why are you shouting?" 

"Hoba, call yoongi and ask him when he'll be home." Jin orders in a stern tone.

"Hyung? Did something happen?" Hoseok asks, a little worried since Jin doesn't use his hyung card much, but when he does, they all get serious.

"Yeah, I need to talk to him. Call him." Jin says and turns around, winking at Jungkook, who gives him a thumbs up for the acting. 

He looks at his Hosoek hyung, fumbling to get his phone out in a hurry to make the call. He knows his Yoongi hyung wouldn't scold him either. It's just that he is too lazy to call.

Snickering at the thought of their conversation, he opens up a packet of chips Selene offered him to get his mind off dinner until it's served. 

He scans the room, observing everyone as he sits on the hand of the couch beside Jin. 

Jimin and Namjoon, talking among themselves as the latter says something to make the former surprised. Jimin's lips jut out, and his eyes go round.

Jin is talking to Selene and Hoseok, but the lady's mind isn't on what Jin is talking about but on something else. She nods, having no idea Jin is spewing about how he regrets the one time when Jimin asked him to bet if the Dolphins can breathe underwater. 

He follows her line of sight, only to find that her attention wasn't occupied by something but rather someone. 

On the sofa across her sits Taehyung. Both soulmates, not being able to keep their eyes off each other. Jungkook could practically see them radiating tension. 

But that's when it hits him. Last he knew, they weren't really on good terms with each other, so how the sudden change? He hadn't seen them talking. And it's like a light turned on in his head; he recalls how both of them, so conveniently, disappeared at the same time. 

A mischievous glint appears in his eyes, ready to tease his brother.  

"V Hyung?" He calls but fails to catch the attention of his hyung as he only hums and never looks his way.

He grins as he clears his throat, ready to call him once again a little louder. "Taehyung Hyung!" And just as he wanted, not only Taehyung looks his way but the others as well. Curious as to what made the maknae raise his voice.

"Where did you run off to before?" 

He watches as Taehyung gives him a look of confusion before opening his mouth, "What?" 

"You ran off somewhere before. You don't remember?" He quirks an eyebrow: silently challenging him.

The latter furrows his brows, and then suddenly remembering, he goes, "Oh, Ahem! I went to the restroom. Why?"

"Nothing, you were just gone for quite a while. What were you doing for so long?" He questions further.

"He must have been taking a big shit," but instead of him, Jin answers, making the room burst out in laughter. Taehyung and Selene join in as well, albeit fake. 

"Yeah, you caught me, Hyung." He chuckles nervously.

"There is no reason to be ashamed of that Taehyung-ah. We all take shits." Jin says, making everyone snicker again. 

"Oh, and Selene! Where had you run off? You took your time as well." Jungkook stirs the bowl again.

"Oh uh, I uh, went to um call, my mom, yes! But I uh, couldn't find my phone, so I was just looking for it." Selene stammers, continuously looking between him and Taehyung, not keeping eye contact with him. As if, if she did, she'll be caught red-handed. 

"Oh? But your phone was in the kitchen with you, no? So why would you go look for it in the bedroom?" He quirks an eyebrow at her.

"I didn't go to call my mother. I was in the bedroom when I thought to call and check on her, and thus my search began." 

"And why did you go to your bedroom, exactly?" He questions with his hand on his face, fingers rubbing his chin in thought.

"Oh! Quit bothering them, Jungkook-ah. We know what you are trying to do, and we all know what happened." Namjoon speaks, not having the heart to see them more flustered.

At his statement, Selene looks down, while Taehyung stares at Selene with his boxy smile.

"Really? Is it that obvious?" Selene asks. 

"No, not for the blind people. But unfortunately, we can see, and you guys have practically been leering at each other ever since you came back." Jimin says, chuckling as he elbows Taehyung.

"Who came back?" a voice calls out, making everyone's head snap in its direction.

"Argh! Finally. How long do you take!? I have been waiting for forever!" Jungkook says as he stands up, and instead of greeting Suga, he runs past him, patting him in the back and towards the kitchen. Grateful for not having to wait any longer.

"Yah! Jungkook! I'm the eldest; I will be having the first plate!" Jin calls out, running not far behind him.

"First try to keep up, old man!"

need to read a fanfic that is so sickeningly sweet, so devastatingly sad, and filled with such gut wrenching angst that it makes all of my bones immobile and leaves me bed ridden for at least 5 days.

—𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞—

pairing. ex! Natasha Romanoff x fem! reader

summary. in a day you simply wanted peace, two unexpected visitors showed up. for one of them, you were glad.

warnings. smut! I am NOT responsible for your content consumption! — making out, thigh riding, strap on usage, cursing, angst (w happy ending), soft dom Nat.

notes. my first language is portuguese, so I apologize for any grammar errors. feel free to give me advice, though!

divider credits: @cafekitsune ★

Natasha Romanoff was known as a cold, ruthless woman, who never cared for anyone besides herself. Most of the people didn't know this was due her past — the Red Room was always in complete secrecy, so they feared her. She was already used to it. Whenever she started something with someone, in the next day, she had an empty bed as a gift. To be completely honest, she always felt used. Men and women touched her, to leave her in the morning.

That changed when she met you.

You could say you'd changed her completely, for the best, of course. She became more open with you, learned to express herself better and was not known as the most selfish Avenger in the team anymore.

But just like people say, not everything is a bed of roses.

Instead of using that achievement to improve your relationship, she began to care a little too much about her team of superheroes. At some point, she was no longer paying attention to you.

Reports this, reports that. Missions and more missions. "I have to go somewhere with Cap." "I have to train with Tony to a mission." "I can't, I'll have to go with Clint."

When you confronted her about this, begging for her to understand and willing to help her change, she decided that it was a better option to part ways. You were devasted, and she saw it. That made her heart ache — someone actually lov— liked her enough to want to stay.

This was the one and only reason Natasha didn't forget about you. The only reason she thought about you everyday. The only reason she teared up whenever entering her car and seeing the polaroid with the heart pendant you gave her hanging on her rearview mirror, that she didn't dare to take down.

Today, you were leaving work, heavy tired steps echoing on the pavement's wooden floor as the moonlight illuminated the room. The building was already empty, the streets, darker than your thoughts.

As you started walking to the nearest bus stop, you heard quick footsteps behind you — it was already late and usually there was no people on the streets like this. You turned your head, "you gotta be kidding me".

"Hey, Y/n!" Peter exclaimed, running to catch up with you. "I didn't know you were going to be here at 11:30pm."

You rolled your eyes and took a sharp inhale, but like always, tried to be polite. This so called coworker of yours was always looking at you, following you everywhere, and asking you things, not always work-related. You always made it clear that you weren't interested in men, and he insisted on saying he could 'change your mind'.

"Hey, Peter." you replied, faking a smile and nodding. "You need me to review your documents again?"

"Oh, no. I was just wondering if you wanna go on a date with me. Did you see the restaurant that just opened over there? I could treat you to—"

"No, I don't." you cut him off, more harshly than you intended to. "Look, Peter, I'm sorry. But I don't want anything to do with you, alright? So if you want, go ahead and find somebody else."

You shook your head, not even waiting for his reply and picking up the pace again, quickly rushing to the bus stop. That's when the guy showed you a side that you just suspected, but preferred to believe he didn't have

"C'mon, Y/n." he grabbed your arm, nails digging into your skin. "You won't broke my heart, will you? You're such a gentle, beautiful, kind woman. You will give me a chance."

You cleared your throat, feeling him get closer, and thinking about a certain Red Head — how she would gently, delicately graze your skin with her fingers, so softly whispering into your ear and bringing you to her embrace—

"Back off."

"Oh, no." he laughed. Such a creep. "I won't back off. And if you don't cooperate, I'll make you give me a chance."

Your hands trembled now, silently praying to whoever was seeing this just call the cops or do something. You didn't know the guy anyway. He didn't talk to anyone at work beside you, and you never got to know him, you would never. That's when it would be a good use to have a spy girlfriend. Just the last thing you expected to happen was to hear the sound of a gun cocking behind you, and a very familiar female voice.

"She said back off."

Relief unconsciously washed upon you as your arm was released, only because of the gun, though. You knew that if if wasn't for her, who knows what could've happened there. Peter left, annoyed, but the Russian swore to herself that she'd make his life a living hell.

"... Natasha?" you whisper, turning around with a confused and even scared frown.

"Yes," she worriedly rubbed your arm, shooting you, slowly making the feeling of the disgusting hand fade away. "Are you okay?"

"I am..." you nodded subtly, leaning into her touch. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I saw a woman being harassed. What was I supposed to do? Mind my business?" she said, obviously avoiding your question.

"You know this is not what I mean." you frowned, carefully letting go of her caress and wrapping your arms around yourself.

Natasha sighed, trying to think of a way to explain herself. 'Oh, I'm here because I miss you so much I can't even sleep anymore.'? No, it wouldn't do.

"I... followed you."

"Oh, great, so I'm being stalked twice today." you hissed, making Natasha look down with your harshness.

"No, Y/n.. I'm here for.. personal reasons. I saw you leaving work, and I noticed that guy following you. I decided to follow too, until he grabbed you and I knew I had to intervine." she explained quietly.

The fact she had said 'personal reasons' deeply hurt you, but you couldn't do anything, you had broken up after all. You nodded, and prepared yourself to walk tp the bus stop again.

"Wait," Natasha quickly stopped you, her eyebrows furrowed. "I won't let you go home like this."

This was something about the old Natasha you knew, the protective one. It was okay, you were tired, and a ride would be no harm. "Where's your getaway car?"

She smiled softly at your joke, and tilted her head. "Around the corner."

You two walked silently towards the vehicle, as she unlocked the doors with the keys and you entered the passenger seat. You threw your bag on the backseat before you could focus on the environment around you, and see the polaroid of you and Nat with the heart pendant you gave her hanging on the rearview mirror.

Natasha noticed your gaze as soon as she entered the driver seat, clearing her throat and starting the car's engine. "Couldn't bring myself to take those down."

You stayed silent, but your eyes could tell everything. I'm glad. Oh, I'm so glad.

Natasha remembered your address as if you hadn't broken up nine months ago, and when you reached your place, you too much disappointed for your own good.

"Thank you for the lift," you whispered, turning your body to be able to grab your bag from the backseat — in the exact same moment Natasha turned to unbuckle her seatbelt — your fronts touching, which made you two a little startled.

The problem was that you didn't pull away, neither of you. You slowly turned your head to meet Natasha's gaze, your face so close to hers you could feel her breath. Familiar. It was pure instinct, almost muscle memory, of the times she always kissed you goodbye when dropping you somewhere.

You didn't even notice your hand going up to hold the back of her neck, much less when she placed her hand on your thigh, and leaned in so your noses brushed. Natasha closed her eyes for a brief moment, almost savouring your closeness, your aura enveloping her once more. Then your lips barely, barely grazed, breath hitching, as she couldn't take it anymore.

The redhead pressed her lips against yours, giving them a long peck. It was surprising how much time you lasted without air. You didn't break the kiss, just darted the tip of your tongue out to lick her bottom lip, begging for entrance. She gave in, trying to pull you closer but being stopped by the goddamn control panel. As soon as you felt her tongue touching yours you realized that this was going too far. You pulled back harshly, leaving you two panting for air and a disappointed Nat.

"Do you..." you shakily breathed. "... wanna come in?"

"Mhm." Natasha hummed, turning off the engine. "Can I?"

You didn't answer, just opened the door and slipped out the car. As you entered, you could practically feel Natasha's eyes burning the place. How you didn't take down any picture of yours. How her stuff was spreading across the pavement. It gave her a sense of... hope? Of course, since she was in the same situation.

"So.. are you seeing anyone?" you asked her while kicking off your heels and leaving them by the door.

"I think you know the answer for that." the redhead practically hissed, making your head snap towards her.

"But I want you to say it." you retreated. "I want you to look at me in the eyes and tell me you didn't forget me. I want you to look at me in the eyes and tell me the reason of why you came to my town again and followed me when I left work. I want you to tell me the reason of why you kissed me just like we always did before."

"I didn't! I didn't forget you, Y/n!" Natasha snapped, looking away and tucking the loosen strands of hair of her braids behind her ears. "I didn't forget you and I never did. Alright? Happy now?"

"Is that so?" you laughed humorlessly, crossing your arms. "I thought you cared more about your superheroes buddies. Where are they now!?"

"I left them." Natasha replied, looking at you again with a mixture of anger and pain. "I left them and came back, to you, Y/n."

You froze at her words, swallowing your saliva. "... okay?"

"I came back here, because I wanted to at least a chance to explain myself. I wouldn't be able to live knowing that I hurt you, and that you think that I did it on purpose. So please, just give me a chance."

"...go on."

Natasha sighed in relief, exhaling the air she was holding. "I'm sure you know my story. You were the first one to know everything about it, about me. And I'm also sure you know you're the first one to ever love me. No one else ever loved me like you did."

You leaned against the kitchen counter, listening carefully to her words, ready to give her time and patience, like you usually did.

"... I didn't know what I was doing, Y/n. Every other relationship I had, ended in less than a week. Love is a weapon and it's letal for me, for people like me. I was, I am startled by all of this, by this fuzzy warm feeling that you always gave me, that you still do, in my thoughts.. the Avengers were my first family, and when I panicked, I tried to hang on to them. In order not to hurt you, and myself." she didn't even realize the tear rolling down her cheek, and shook her head. "That's it. I'm sorry for everything, but Y/n, you will always have a piece— you'll always have my whole heart in your hands. I'll get off your hair n—"

You couldn't. Not anymore. You rushed towards her and grabbed her face, cutting her off with a deep kiss. She was taking aback, but her hands traveled to your waist, pulling you flush against her, your fronts pressing. Nothing changed. Natasha pushed you backwards against your room's door, her tongue entering your mouth and dancing with yours. You could feel yourself getting lost in her, damn it, once more. It was like she had this spell on you — you were trapped, and didn't complain.

"Y/n," the russian uttered, hands slipping inside your shirt and giving your waist a squeeze. "I've got to have you again, at least for one last time. Please, just this once—"

Tired of her rambling, you smirked and grabbed her by the jacket, pulling her into a kiss again and dragging her into the room, slamming the door shut. Natasha took this as a 'yes', and her hands, under you shirt, went to unclasp your bra, making it fall to the ground and a groan of relief escape your throat. Before she could remove the rest of the fabric of your body, you stopped her, pushing her down to the bed.

"I always wanted to do that," you started to slowly, so slow that it almost tortured her take off your clothes, stripteasing for her.

"Shit, Y/n." she quickly started to get rid off her jacket, snd everything else she was wearing. You were careful not to trip on the pile of clothes on the floor, and walked over to her again, straddling her leg on the edge of the bed.

Natasha's hand grabbed your hips roughly, keeping you in place and it didn't take two seconds before you started to grind on her. "Nat," you breathed, arms going to circle her neck.

"Who else touched you like this while I was away?" she growled in your ear, pressing your body against hers. "Answer me,"

"No one," you whined, giving her a subtle shake of your head. "No one, Natty. J-just myself,"

"My poor girl," Nat began to roam her hands up your sides, her lips pressing kisses on your jawline, "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help,"

"You're here now..!" you gasped, your movements faster, as she began to move her thigh to stimulate you more.

"And I don't plan on going away," Natasha murmured, tilting your head to look at her in the eyes. Even in your high, you could make sense of her words, and the weight they beared.

"Nat!" you moaned, closing your eyes shut. "I need... please.. I—I need you, inside me."

Natasha almost lost her mind with that, grabbing your hips and pinning you down to the bed. She reached her arm out for the drawer that she hoped your strap still was, and luckily, she was right. "I'm gonna fuck you like never before, Y/n." she attached the silicone cock to her hips with urgency, holding your hips in place as she ran the tip of it across your folds, making you whine in need.

"Don't tease me," you gently gripped her arms on your hips and looked at her with dreamy eyes. She couldn't resist — but your walls were so tight she had to put a little effort to enter you.

"Holy fuck, baby." she moved her hand to brush your hair behind your ear, giving you a little time to get used to the length. "So fucking tight for me,"

"I—" you breathed, interrupted when Nat started to slowly move in and out you, her red hair falling into your face. You moaned, putting her hair up in a makeshift ponytail and with your free hand, holding her neck. "God, I missed you,"

Natasha pounded faster in you with those words, your moans only getting louder by the second. She grabbed one of your legs and placed it over her shoulder, allowing her to hit your g-spot repeatedly. You thumb went to your mouth, wetting it and starting to rub her clit — she couldn't say she expected that, her soft moans saying everything.

"Cum with me," you breathlessly requested, eyes fluttering close. Natasha didn't have to be asked twice. Her hips slammed into yours, the wet sounds of her thrusting echoing the room. "Natty!"

You back arched, head thrown backwards as your orgasm hit you. Natasha's legs shook, her weight falling onto you and your arms immediately wrapping around her, keeping her close.

"Don't make me go away,"

"I could never."

[TEASER]

Chapter One: words existed (but yours broke my heart)

(available on Ao3, find on thenightsoftingles)

Genre: Angst, Slow burn, Unrequited Love, Misscommunication.

Pairing: 2min.

──────────────────

i. It's stupid now— come on.

Minho Hyung hums, sitting across from Hyunjin who was eyeing Jisung wildly. Concerned, if Seungmin is to correct himself.

Probably stupid.

But wasn't he?

It was the look of Minho Hyung that cracked him.

Fond, soft─ concerned when Jisung huffed and coughed a little, and Minho Hyung, ever the caring hyung, pushed the glass of water in front of him.

Like Seungmin did. Blindly to his heart. The to and fro stopped when they agreed not to play anymore.

Seungmin reassures himself again that he wasn't jealous of Jisung, but jealous of himself to be so stupid to think that he was jealous of Jisung.

"You did not!" Jisung gasps dramatically.

Ah, turns out Minho Hyung bought Jisung cheesecake, too.

──────────────────

ii. Felix takes a deep breath in between his speech, eyes closing when Seungmin gently towels the clean and wet dishes.

Minho Hyung doesn't like half-job done. He owns the kitchen of the cuties' dorm, rhetorically.

"All I say is, come with me and Innie to this brand new, cute cafe and-"

"You should go."

"What?"

"You should go with Innie."

Resilient. That is what his heart is. Like a stupid, possessive organ whose only function is to pump blood.

The noise of thump thump thump hurts his ears with guilt when Felix's smile falters. It falters, then it falls.

Être fleur bleue.

──────────────────

iii. "I know that you hate the skin. I peeled it. You will eat them when you feel like eating." No, it was not a demand, but closer to a command.

Seungmin is picky and does not get his hoard without whining, at the very least to a cat with claws. And this?

His ocean is no longer getting pulled or pushed, it's thrown upside down by this moon.

What are you doing to me, Hyung?

Seungmin sits there still, the plate of Apples is still untouched, now covered with another plate.

The ocean flip-flops. It squeezes behind his chest, trying to be free.

Calm down you pot, Seungmin hisses to his heart silently.

He thinks what it'd be like to be Minho Hyung's favourite.

Avoir un cœur d’artichaut.

──────────────────

iv. Seungmin lets himself breathe in and out.

He lets himself be pushed in the careful bursting biceps of a muscle-bound, big sweetheart.

He lets his hyung nuzzle closer to him.

It takes him time to answer, and Changbin waits. Like he always does.

And Seungmin, ever the coward, replies what could be a half lie, "As if I will be anything but fine."

No, Seungmin supplements to his Porcelain pot. Changbin cannot fill that space.

Even if he tries to. Even if Seungmin is to try and think about something other than the cold, freezing water.

The water body that he is finally getting used to.

──────────────────

v. As if conversationally, he reaches for more skewered meat and when he realizes that the plates are empty, he rises immediately.

Purchasing his time.

"The only one who is botherful," Minho says through the died-down laughter, picking up more meat from the kitchen station, "is you, Kim Seungmin."

He finishes and Seungmin hears something shattering.

When Minho doesn't get another snarky reply from Seungmin, he turns around and sees him standing near the kitchen.

The words are made to hurt when it is required to. But your words... they hurt the most.

Seungmin's lips are drawn in a thin line, and when he speaks, it quivers. "You know, Hyung", he takes a ragged breath to stop shaking, "You can just say that you hate me."

It's quiet. It's too quiet.

The shattering continues. Each piece of the Porcelain pot continues to fall into the black void, back to the burning pit of fire, making such a loud noise that Seungmin's ears ring.

Or: Seungmin and Minho share a Porcelain pot. Once it breaks, everything shatters between them.

──────────────────

WangXian fic out!

At a cultivation conference in Lanling, Wei Wuxian's impulsive words turn his world upside down. Suddenly, he and Lan Wangji find themselves at the center of an unexpected engagement rumor. Now, with the entire cultivation world believing them betrothed, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji must navigate a precarious dance of pretense and growing feelings. As their little ruse deepens, so too does the undeniable pull between them.

"Yeah, well, maybe we are!" Wei Wuxian had declared impulsively. Little did he know how prophetic those words would become. A tale of miscommunication, accidental confessions, and a love that was perhaps always meant to be.

DESPAIRDUO HURT/COMFORT!?!?

Thatcher, stood outside leaning against the cold, rough brick wall of the MCPD. Beside him, Adam sat down idly on the floor, staring up at the bleak, gloomy night sky. It had been tough for both of them after all the shit that went down back at Adam's place. Adam was still scarred, they both knew that. His life had been flipped upside down, the guilt of his past wrongful actions crushed his self-worth, and his new unwelcome body had completely shut him down. He would rarely speak, and his monotone words would only rasp vague responses towards Thatcher's questions.

Thatcher knew how it felt to get his identity snatched away from him, to be replaced and pushed away from his friends. But it wasn't the same for Adam. Adam is the replacement, Adam was the one who pushed his friends away. He had no control over it. It was all wrong, but it was never truly him. Adam was stupid and blind, always under the influence of alternates. Yet over the last three days, Thatcher yearned for Adam to regain his self-worth, to love himself, to see how he's not a sadistic alternate and how he's much more than just a cog in the machine.

The demons belittled him, they mocked his parental care and love for a criminal that was of the same species which had murdered his best friends in cold blood and single-handedly destroyed the population of Mandela County.

Calmly, Thatcher gazed up at the sky, taking comfort from the cigarette that was in between his fingers. There was no sound. No cars, birds or people. no anything that made a place lively. He continued smoking, and the smell of tobacco filled the cold air. It stayed silent for a few minutes.

"Give me one."

"Huh?" He quickly looked down to his left in surprise.

"Please."

"Adam...?" He didn't expect that. At least not so soon. Adam had never outright demanded for something. Especially something like a cigarette. He'd isolated himself and always felt ashamed whenever Thatcher made an attempt to talk to him. As if he himself was nothing but a burden.

This excited Thatcher even more. Although it was a surprising request, it was an opportunity to finally connect with Adam.

"You... You want a cigarette...?"

"Yes." Adam looked up at him. his face was blank and serious as always. Except his eyes had hints of lingering desperation. As if he needed this badly. Thatcher was weak. He couldn't say no, especially to Adam.

"Alright, kid." He reluctantly handed over a cigarette. Despite his eagerness before, he almost regretted saying yes. He knew the dangers of smoking and Adam's body seemed fragile, especially internally. The night when all his bones broke and snapped was burned in his brain. It trapped his mind from sleeping every night, including today. His desperate attempt of setting all of Adam's bones back in place and wrapping it up in very bare cloth only healed him a bit, that was something Thatcher felt slightly felt proud of. Yet, that entire interaction haunted him, every single moment during the day and the night.

"But, why?" He couldn't help himself, if he wanted to understand Adam, he'd need to make the most of every interaction between them.

Curiously, he waited for his answer. The night grew colder and the silence drew out. Adam's blinding white irises stared at him thoughtfully. Awkwardly, Thatcher shifted uncomfortably and his gaze dropped a few times before quickly reciprocating his eye contact. He couldn't mess this up, not now. It was unbearably silent, but he knew he had to stay patient. And so he did.

Finally, Adam blinked out of his trance and looked down.

"I want..." He sighed sadly.

"...to feel... Again." He tensed up and folded in on himself with his long arms wrapped around his legs and his head buried in his naked chest. He shuddered miserably and went stiff. The cigarette was still in his hand, but it was crushed from the pressure of his fingers.

Thatcher's heart sank. He felt so much determination for him. He knew how he felt. For the past 17 years, his only shred of hope was Dave, but nothing felt complete. He never felt whole.

"Oh kid..." He muttered out of sympathy, he reached out for him but immediately retreated his hand. He didn't want to disturb him but he wanted to comfort him so badly.

Instead, he slowly crouched in front of him.

"What do you feel like right now?" He asked gently, keeping his voice low.

"Empty, as if... I'm starving... But not of hunger." He quietly said, still crouched in his stiff, painful position. He never looked up, but Thatcher still tried.

"Y'know, drugs isn't the way to feel better," "and I know it's quite hypocritical of me to say that, but don't take me as an example." His words were gentle and calm. Thatcher shifted into a more comfortable cross-legged position, facing Adam.

"I-I'm not trying to lecture you, kid. But, I... am here for you." Adam's entire body slightly jumped from that in surprise. It was a good sign. Thatcher continued.

"I know that things... Haven't been the best for us, but, I care for you. I... am not scared of you, not at all, kid." Adam shivered and trembled, Thatcher could hear the poor boy catching his breath.

"Stop it." He pleaded, voice breaking. Thatcher reached his hand out, softly patting his hair.

"Listen, you've had your identity ripped apart from you. I know how that feels."

"Shut up."

"And-"

"Shut UP." Adam's voice distorted even more at that last word, breaking and trembling out of anger. Thatcher scooted closer and began to soothingly ruffle his hair. Thatcher continued when he felt Adam relax from it.

"You've been wronged, Adam, by THEM. You're also a victim, no matter what you think."

"NO! I am THEM. I wronged OTHERS." He sobbed, his head finally turned up at Thatcher. Half his face was still covered by his lanky legs but his eyes and nose bridge was visible.

He could do this, he was finally making progress. His heart ached for the poor, weeping alternate in front of him.

"Adam..." He slowly moved his hand down to wipe his tears. Adam flinched suddenly, his eyes widened in shocked.

"Lieutenant, why?" He asked shakily.

"Why are you doing this... For ME?" He still cried continuously

"Because you deserve it, kid. No one deserves to go through what you're living right now. You have regrets, I know. So do I, but you can resolve them. I know you can." Now Adam was fully facing him, his entire body was relaxed and Thatcher continued to rub his face gently.

"You are so much more than what those alternates say you are. You... are much more human than me." "I-I have ruined lives myself," He thought of Ruth. He thought of the Heathcliffs. He thought of every single phone call that he never went and helped.

Adam stared at him in awe. The tears stopped.

"And I will NOT fail you too, kid." He declared confidently. His heart pounded hard and he locked eyes with Adam, his gaze never wavered.

For a moment, it was silent. Thatcher slowly put his hand down next to him. His pulse raced quicker, had he made a mistake?

Suddenly, Adam lunged at him, all muscles tense. Thatcher gasped and froze, his heart skipped a beat. Why? He's different, he's not a normal alternate!

Unexpectedly, Thatcher felt two boney, long arms wrapped around his torso and his vision was blocked by a flat, thin-skinned chest. He felt a surprisingly light weight on his legs.

"Kid...?"

"Thank you...So much, lieutenant..." Adam mumbled, if it weren't for how close they were he probably wouldn't have heard it. Thatcher's heart bloomed inside, and he gladly hugged him, feeling his cold, almost-watery back and his slightly protruding spine.

Adam eased up in his arms, carefully resting his pointy chin on top of Thatcher's head. Thatcher exhaled in relief and enjoyed the heartfelt moment.

The night continued its gloom above their heads but they weren't afraid, not anymore. Thatcher reflected back on the nightmarish encounter back at Adam's home. Ever since that, he felt even more despair whirling in his heart. But now, he felt like his youthful self back in the 1990s, full of hope and determination.

Everything had changed again, but not for the worst. Now, Thatcher finally had a goal, to not fail his kid and to protect him forever in this merciless world. He'd no idea where these overprotective, parental feelings came from, but, he knew he always wanted a kid.

Adam's grip tightened on him and his breathing became even. Thatcher smiled genuinely and reached his arm out full-length to pat Adam's head.

"Come on, kid," He softly whispered. "Time for bed."

This might be a bit annoying y'all but just a reminder its on ao3, :D

Ik it's unfinished but comments and Kudos motivate me to keep going y'all.

Basically Flint Hatcherfield moves to Paris and buys the burnt remains of the Opera Garnier with plans to renovate. To leave behind a dark past is never easy. But when a certain heartbroken opera ghost gets disturbed that makes everything harder! Will romance perhaps blossom or are they both too messy for that to happen?

I promise I won't make many posts about this!

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 i.

fanfiction (7 parts) – A STAR WARS FANFICTION

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

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

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

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

rating. mature

warning. lemon, smut, semi-public sex.

Thank you for reading ! :D

CHAPTER 1.

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

 --------------------------------------------------

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

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

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

‘Skyfall’ – Adèle

 ----------------------------------------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You also distinguished yourself by your youthful antics."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I just thought..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you seen Director Krennic?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where did you leave her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

fanfiction (7 parts) – A STAR WARS FANFICTION

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

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

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

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

rating. mature

warning. lemon, smut, masturbation, oral sex.

NB. Thank you for your comments and likes! I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm working hard to make sure the next ones live up to your expectations. I hope you enjoy this second chapter... :D

It's a little longer than expected, sorry.

Well. I am currently thinking about how to end this fanfiction.

There will certainly be a happy ending (I love them too much not to let it be otherwise!) but ... for whom? For (Y/N) or for Krennic?

For Krennic, the happy ending of his dreams is not necessarily the one for (Y/N). He hates Tarkin more than anything, so his goal is to get him out of his way permanently. Hm...

As for (Y/N)... She is torn between the love of her father and the love of a man. Her happy ending cannot be expected without her father's blessing and respect, cruel as he may be. Tarkin, however, will never give Krennic his blessing. One of them will get his own happy ending, even if it means the worst ending for the other.

I look forward to your suggestions! (a)

Thank you for reading! :D

CHAPTER 2.

GREED. It is the fact of depriving oneself of everything in return for nothing. It means the accumulation of wealth and it is sought only for its own sake. It is a state of mind that consists in not wanting to be separated from it.

-------------------------------

“When the days are cold and the cards all fold,

and the saints we see are all made of gold.

When your dreams all fail,

and the ones we hail…

are the worst of all.

I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you.

But with the beast inside,

there's nowhere we can hide.

No matter what we breed,

we still are made of greed.

This is my kingdom come, when you feel my heat,

look into my eyes, it's where my demons hide.

Don't get too close, it's dark inside.

At the curtain's call, it's the last of all,

when the lights fade out, all the sinners crawl.

So they dug your grave, and the masquerade,

will come calling out at the mess you've made.

Don't wanna let you down,

but I am hell-bound,

though this is all for you.

Your eyes, they shine so bright,

I wanna save that light.

I can't escape this now,

unless you show me how.”

‘Demons’ – Imagine Dragons

----------------------------

ORSON KRENNIC'S APARTMENT, RESIDENTIAL TOWER 500 REPUBLICA - CORUSCANT CITY  ••  YEAR -1 BBY (BEFORE BATTLE OF YAVIN) 

The mockingbird that you are escaped him. Once again. He looked for you in the huge ballroom, but you apparently went back to your apartment and pretended to have a bad headache. Your father, the Grand Moff, believed you without any hesitation. It actually suits his purposes that you are not in the area. He has caught Director Krennic's special interest in you, and he is not at all pleased. You found each other, but you both avoided your responsibilities. You were close to committing an irreparable act that could seal your fate forever. You decided to run away, you were afraid of complications. You were afraid of drowning in the blue of his eyes, and you were right to take your chances. You turned away from his advances, but he lost himself in those of other women during that evening. Overwhelmed by his urges and frustrations, Orson Krennic found no other option but to return to his customary indiscretions. He went out of his way to forget your voice, your flowery perfume in the laughter of other young women more accommodating and friendly. Orson Krennic despises the easy way out, but this time she became his mistress for the night. Everyone saw him leave the party with a woman. You must have heard about it, your father did not hide to show, once again, the depth of his disgust for Orson Krennic's bunny-hot tendencies. He wanted to discredit him in your eyes, and it almost worked. A frivolous, annoying woman clearly made for him, according to his own words.

This woman is young, much too young for him, but after all, whether one has money and social status, does it really matter? Orson Krennic is also not sure he remembers his first name. It starts with an M and probably ends with an A or an E. He didn't really listen when they were introduced, because all he's looking for is not yet the woman of his life, but simply the one who will spend the night in his bed. This girl is beautiful, sophisticated and extraordinarily foxy. She wears an elegant outfit that perfectly molds her curves, certainly with the idea of triggering a wave of excitement in her path. Without further delay, Orson Krennic takes her to his quarters in one of Coruscant City's most beautiful residential towers. 

“Come here,” he commands, leaning his hand back to slowly bring his long, leather-gloved fingers inside. With this one gesture, Orson Krennic motions the sumptuous creature to approach him. He is giving her an order. It is not even a suggestion, it is an order. She obeys, because she thinks she can get much more from him. Orson Krennic has a particularly sultry reputation in the Empire. A ladies' man. This reputation has preceded him since his early years as an engineering student on Brentaal IV. 

Before she's even a few feet from the leather couch Director Krennic has slumped into, she gets a new request. “Be a good girl and get us something to drink.” He then indicates with a simple nod a luxurious cabinet in a corner of the small living room.

“You have a weakness for strong spirits, is that right, Director?” she says as she grabs two crystal glasses elegantly carved with geometric shapes. She then grabs a bottle that looks like a particularly aged whiskey, and spills some into each of the glasses. She remains contemplative for a few moments, apparently captivated by the amber color of the liquid.

“That is enough. Come over here, now.” Krennic stares at her for a long moment before snickering nervously. Of course, strong liquors are usually the most expensive. Owning a whole cabinet of them is a visible sign of social and wealthy success. So, of course, Orson Krennic likes hard liquor. He likes everything that is close to a rare and expensive thing. It is a way for him to break with his middle-class origins. Today, Krennic is no longer that poor boy deprived of all that life can offer to those in power. He is now making up for years of suffering. “Your name is... Meera, isn't it?”

Meera's cheeks flush as she imagines she is getting special treatment from Krennic. She nods softly as she hands him his drink, not without taking the opportunity to stroke his long fingers as her hand goes by. She thinks she is quite unique in the eyes of Orson Krennic, because he seems to know her first name. Orson Krennic does not care about her first name. It is only to make him look good that he gives her this little pleasure. Tomorrow, Krennic will probably have forgotten his first name, if not his face.

“Yes, my Director...” whispers the sparkling Meera as she breaks the last few inches that separate their bodies. “May I call you... in a more familiar way?”

Krennic moves his head negatively in response to Meera's request. He remains frozen at the thought of another woman other than you screaming his first name at the moment of her orgasm.

“That will be Director Krennic for you,” he replies with a raised eyebrow, the tone of his voice betraying his impatience. “Meera. It is a common name.” he criticizes by slamming his tongue against his palate in a disapproving sign.

A criticism undoubtedly inappropriate that a woman worthy of this name cannot approve. He seems relatively annoyed that his young conquest for the night is not up to your standing. Meera, however, is not known for her dignity or her manners. She is a gold digger, a beautiful woman, an upstart who hopes to marry a man in the upper echelons of the Empire. Orson Krennic has no regard for those women who sell their charms to the highest bidder at society parties. Women like this one, Krennic has met dozens of them in his long career. 

“I can be any woman you want me to be tonight. I can be any name you want tonight. I am all yours, Director Krennic.”

He remains silent for a few seconds, analyzing his nightly partner's words without feeling any particular attraction to her. Orson Krennic does not care about this woman at all. The only reason he brought her back to his private quarters was to be consumed by another woman than the one who haunts all his thoughts. A thought crossed his tortured mind almost instantly. He wants to call her by your first name, to bring the fantasy closer to reality by pretending that you are there with him. But he stops himself from cracking at this furious urge to draw a parallel between you and this harlot.

“I expect no less from you...” he retorts condescendingly. Orson Krennic does not doubt it one moment. He rules in his private apartments, no one can refuse him any favor. It is already a great honor for Meera to be in this sacred place. “Show me that you are a good girl.” He ends his glass in one shot.

Meera approaches him gently, she finally throws herself on his mouth and kisses him in surprise for a few seconds. Then, she comes to put a light kiss at the corner of his lips, before starting to go down to the lower abdomen of his partner. She begins to unbutton this extraordinarily well inflated crotch trapped in his uniform pants. Krennic remains surprisingly stoic, although the patience is clearly not one of its qualities. She doesn't let him say anything anyway, the buckle of his pants is already on the ground, and her teeth are imprisoning the fabric of his underwear. She goes down gradually and slowly, until the erection of the officer is finally in the free air. Meera’s hands are lost against his small buttocks, that she presses with firmness, while sliding her tongue along the blood swollen sex by the desire of Orson Krennic. It is only after tortuous minutes that she takes it in full mouth. Her lips are luscious, made to satisfy the most demanding imperial officers in all of Coruscant City. Krennic can't hold back a sexist comment as he discovers how easily this woman surrenders to the first rich man she meets. 

His mutinous tongue explores every inch of her skin, enjoying the warmth that radiates from her bulging, purplish veins. Meera relishes every bit of this fleshly embrace, at the very second when her mouth is implacably embraced in his intimacy. The young woman appreciates to feel the Director Krennic in full erection, ready to explode his pleasure in her. This sadly gives her a sense of gratefulness that turns out to be twisted in the mind and heart of Orson Krennic. When he sees her take his manhood in her mouth, the only thing that is occupying his thoughts is not Meera, but you. He thinks of you intensely, while she works to give him unforgettable sensations. Meera's fingers press almost nervously against the imperial officer's buttocks, through the thick fabric of his black uniform pants; a color that contrasts strongly with the immaculate whiteness of his jacket and cape. He keeps her forehead against his pelvis, accentuating her lingual movements with simple hip movements. His hands go through the golden hair of Meera, they embrace her wicks with possessiveness, while she leads him in a state close to the ecstasy. Krennic decides to drive her in and out against his powerful verge with one hand on the back of his head. Grunts and sighs of contentment escape Director Krennic's thin lips. She is obviously good at things sexual, in fact she is extremely good. He enjoys feeling the caresses of her tongue on his sensitive spots, as she ventures onto his scarlet foreskin. He feels on the verge of orgasm, his whole body begging to be delivered. He feels the muscles of his penis to contract little by little, his bluish and purplish veins having even doubled in volume. His brain is in full collapse, as Meera's tongue wraps around his sex, giving him multiple spasms that make his ability to think that much tougher. 

“Stop it.” he says without giving her a look. “I'm turned on enough.” He grabs her slender wrist in an effort to extract her mouth from his manhood. It is ready to explode, and it is not how he wishes to finish his evening. Meera puts her beautiful green emerald eyes in the ocean blue of those of the imperial. She quickly realizes that they are about to get fucked.

She is naked and offered, she is under his every whim. He can do whatever he wants with her. Holy God. How good it is. This is exactly how Orson Krennic likes easy sex. No complications, no commitments, just a powerful encounter between two bodies in need of release. Orson Krennic does not bother with conveniences to carry out his small business. He does not even care to undress. No. He remains dressed and only the zipper of his uniform pants is opened to allow this flesh union. He slams his partner with an unsuspected vigor against one of the walls of his living room, the apple-shaped breasts of the young woman collide with the coldness of his bay window. Its nipples harden almost instantaneously under the blow. He grips then this slender size of a hand and the wall of the other, before plunging his virility in this offered intimacy. He fucks this woman, vulgarly speaking. His comings and goings are almost compulsive, deep and fast. He pounds his partner hoping to be able to drown his spirit in this unbridled part of fucks in the air. 

He wants more than anything to drown in this woman, until he is unable to think straight or remember your face, your moans or your sweet smell. Krennic hides his torpor, this is not the time to admit his troubles. He thinks he can solve his issues in the same old fashioned way, then with women and drunken parties. But he doesn't know that turning a blind eye to his struggles is the only way to plunge further into madness and denial.

From time to time, he scratches the naked body of the beautiful Meera. He leaves marks, his marks, on some parts of her body. That excites it strongly to mark what it states to belong to him of full right. The signs of his scratches, of his bites, of his sucking, of his kisses are everywhere on her perfect body. Krennic maintains his thighs firmly on both sides of his body, his hands slip sometimes, but he quickly reasserts his catch before her legs fall on the ground. He finally takes off his hand of the wall to catch the beautiful and long blond hair of his partner in the palm of his hand. He applies a sharp pressure, allowing to bring back the head of the young woman behind, then against his neck. He is not a lover illustrating himself by his softness or his patience, no, Orson Krennic is an impetuous and violent lover. He is devoured by his impulses and by this passion which betrays his impatience. He is certainly not when his mind is like now: a time bomb. His thoughts are too scattered, Krennic is powerless to control the waves of regretful emotions that flow into his brain. In his worst moments, the Empire's star architect breaks down to his primal and bestial needs. The woman he takes with so little thoughtfulness is only one of the many symptoms of his emotional distress. She expresses a deep discomfort that he is incapable of identifying without losing his professional ethics.

Meera sweats and breathes of pleasure by feeling the blood flowing towards her intimate parts. He holds her generous breasts with one hand, to bring her pelvis even deeper against his. Her face boils under the sharp assaults of her torturer, while he starts to drive her body until the orgasm. When he finally breaks, Meera is unable to contain her desperately erotic cries. Her body is traversed by vibrations and ecstatic shivers. She shakes unreasonably against his pelvis, she even begs that he never stops. She implores him to continue to violate her until the end of her orgasm. That brutally finishes the last forces of the Director Krennic. He cannot also contain more his orgasm, releasing himself in a fast but not less powerful throw. Krennic then releases his grip, noticing that his nails have sunk deep into the young woman's white flesh. Thin streaks of red blood dotted Meera's bouncing buttocks, as well as her lower back and inner thighs. She is drenched in both her own pleasure and in her partner's desire. Both of them are still wrapped in the vertigo of their enjoyment. In thanks for their wild and passionate lovemaking, Krennic takes the opportunity to place a kiss on her shoulder, before moving away from her. Orson Krennic takes no pleasure in the violence of this flesh-and-blood relationship. It is not as pleasant as it could have been in your arms.

"All the pleasure was for me, Director Krennic." she breathes warmly, undoubtedly she hopes to rise to the top of the power to the arms of a man as powerful as Orson Krennic. 

The pleasure was all hers. But which pleasure? An emotionless, expeditious and unbelievably violent act. That's all this woman has inspired in the director of the Empire's advanced weapons bureau. He answered the young woman's compliment with a slight amused laugh betraying a slight embarrassment. Far from being satisfied, Krennic was actually bored to death in her arms. She was just another damsel, beautiful on the outside, but as rotten as an overripe fruit on the inside. There was no pleasure from her, none, because this woman is not you. You are the only one Orson Krennic desires, at this very moment, when he has just made wild love to a real beauty. She is not you. Do you realize how much he's dying for her to be you? Deep down, this Meera is just a way for him to consume himself in the brutality of a highly alcoholic sexual encounter in order to put you out of his mind. He must get you out of every part of his mind at all costs, you're causing him a lot of trouble. You're a distraction, you interfere with his work, you interfere with his professional relationships, you interfere with his ongoing successful career. Yet he can't stop thinking about the last few hours he spent with you at the annual imperial ball. He came so close to owning you, like one of the many acquisitions that decorate his rich apartment in Coruscent City. He came so close to capturing the impossible, something that all well-born men aspire to possess at some point. The mockingbird that you are has escaped him, and Orson Krennic still can't get over it.

After what seems like an endless silence, Orson Krennic's voice finally echoes in the huge living room, it is mechanical and icy. “You are free to leave now.” And this is how he dismissed, certainly not in the sweetest of ways, the beautiful Meera. Faithful to himself, Orson Krennic remained in retreat by buckling the belt of his precious uniform. He even took the opportunity to dust off the sides of his jacket, in a surprisingly maniacal gesture. He likes to be impeccable in all circumstances, including after sexual things. “I don’t need you anymore.”

This burst of monotony which escapes from the tone of his voice does not leave the young woman indifferent. Meera is offended, but she does not show any apparent sign so as not to annoy Director Krennic with her states of mind. She sees very well that he is not the kind of man to comfort a damsel in distress. He doesn't care about others, about women, all he cares about is himself. Meera is aware that this is strictly forbidden to her. She knows exactly what to expect from a man like Orson Krennic. His reputation is known throughout Coruscant City, he's not a man who gets emotionally involved, he's not a man who falls in love at first sight, he's not a man who would give up his heart to another human being. Orson Krennic loves only one thing in life: his perfect career. Orson Krennic is only obsessed with the Death Star, the project of a lifetime. How can you stand next to such a high-tech marvel? Women are only trophies on his arms, delights that soothe his frustrations and lighten what remains of his ethical conscience. No. Orson Krennic does not fall in love with a woman, it is the women who fall in love with him. Never. That has always been the case since he was a teenager. But you... You... You came into his life, like a thunderbolt, and turned all his beliefs upside down. He suffers from not being able to express his feelings, love is nothing but a weakness. You are a nightmare disguised as a beautiful dream in his eyes. 

In a way, Orson Krennic is relieved that he didn't take the next step with you. You're a huge risk he's not yet willing to take to satisfy his sexual needs. He often thinks about the consequences that an affair with you could have on his professional life. He considers the idea of consummating the affair, right under the nose of his long-time rival, Wilhuff Tarkin. You are the only weapon that can destroy him. You can ravage his entire life, destroy his advancement in the Empire's hierarchy, shatter his entire plan and take away his ultimate, lifelong project, his precious Death Star. If Wilhuff Tarkin ever decides to destroy his entire life and everything he holds precious, Orson Krennic can certainly never be able to recover. Are you ready to carry this burden on your shoulders? Krennic himself isn't sure he's willing to risk all that for... Why, after all? For one hot night in the gardens of the Imperial Palace? So it's just sex? No. No, and that's what's been devouring his soul little by little for a year. It destroys him because it's not just about sex. He can have all the women he wants with a snap of his fingers. What's consuming him are the feelings he has for you that he's keeping bottled up inside.

“It's a blessing in disguise,” he murmurs to himself, as he stands in front of one of the impressive bay windows of his apartment.  He holds his glass of strong alcohol and raises it a few times to his lips. He savors the intensity of the ingredients that have macerated for a long time to make this alcohol so exceptional. Exceptionally expensive, unaffordable for the average person, but not for Director Krennic. Director Krennic can afford anything. He can have it all. Absolutely anything. Lots of things that are of no use to him, but which satisfy an urgent and impulsive need. He can buy a lot of things, except what really matters in his cold heart. Your love is something he unfortunately cannot afford. It's a blessing in disguise, he repeats to himself, hoping to convince himself that he made the right decision. It's the wisest decision he's made in his life. But then why does it leave a sadly bitter taste in his mouth? Krennic finishes his glass in one go, before putting it back on the piece of furniture on his right, with a loud noise. He then ties his hands behind his back and observes the panorama that his apartment offers him of the hyper-center of Coruscant City. He's had an apartment in the prestigious '500 Republica' residential tower for a few years. To think that you have been only a few floors away from each other for so many years... This revelation grips his heart painfully, Orson feels helpless. He is deeply troubled by what seems like a puzzling reaction for a man like him, who strives to maintain a safe distance between his emotions and others. Emotions and feelings are only barriers to his rise to the upper reaches of power. You have no place in his thoughts, and even less in his heart. 

Orson Krennic stands in front of his bay window for a good twenty minutes, losing himself in his own reflections before returning to what matters most in his life. His work. He decides to put away his bottle of alcohol for the evening, and to go back to work on his last drawings. The days will necessarily go by faster if he keeps busy, that's what everyone always says. So the days go by, one, then two, then finally seven. Seven days. Yet nothing has moved an eyelash in the tormented thoughts of our renowned architect. Seven fucking days. He kept thinking about you, wondering why you abandoned him before the evening was over. He tried to ignore you for the first three days, but the temptation was too strong for him, so he sent you a message via your datapad. You didn't bother to reply to his message, nor to the second and even less to the third one that followed. Do you realize that Orson Krennic is not so easily ignored? No one in the world would ever behave that way to him. No one who values life as the apple of his eye, anyway.

It's particularly late today when Orson Krennic walks through the door of his apartment after a tiring day. He is inclined to check his messages on his own datapad, or even his comlink, naively hoping that you have left him a holographic recording. Krennic quickly brushes this possibility out of his mind; he feels he knows you well enough by now to say that you don't mess around with messages either. You've made your intentions clear to him over the past seven days. You don't want to hear about him again, especially not about what almost happened between you. What Orson Krennic doesn't know is that you think about him as much as he thinks about you. You're just trying to fight the urge to return his messages. You desperately want to see him and touch him in the flesh. You find yourself bound hand and foot in a dysfunctional, highly toxic, obsessive relationship. 

Orson Krennic's azure eyes are lost in the vastness of the starry sky, from which some imperial ships are still speeding by, despite the late hour of the night. His eyes are almost empty of all emotion, cold and calculating. He scans the comings and goings of these ships aimlessly. He probably expects to find the courage not to blame himself for having taken such a dramatic choice. A move that necessarily takes him away from you, but which is important under the circumstances.

After all, you haven't heard from him for seven long days. Do you realize how frustrated you are making him feel? In that case, if the decision is made and all is well in the best of worlds... Why this dramatic look?

▲▼  ------------------- TARKIN ROYAL SUITE, 500 REPUBLICA RESIDENTIAL TOWER – CORUSCANT CITY ----------------------- 

ONE WEEK AFTER THE IMPERIAL BALL.

It can be said that the apartments of the imperial couple aspires to a degree of sobriety, despite the richness and variety of the furniture and ornaments. The rooms of the royal suite are spacious, painted with neutral colors, such as beige or various shades of chocolate. A touch of crimson red on the curtains brings a touch of nobleness to the interior decoration. The furniture is made of varnished solid wood and carved by the best artists in the planet. The draperies, curtains and sheets are mostly hand woven in noble and satin materials, like wild silk or a beautiful shiny satin. As for the trinkets, they are mainly related to the origins of the Tarkin family. They are relics of the culture of their people, there are statues, vases, mirrors, unique decorative objects and even lamps with floral prints. The paintings that beautifully decorate some of the walls portray scenes of epic galactic battles and ancient cultural legends. All are unique and expansive pieces, though there is a noticeable lack of showiness. 

One work stands out from all the others, however, a gigantic painting of the Tarkin family, sitting above an artificial fireplace in the main living room. Thalassa, Wilhuff, the now deceased Garoche and... you are shown with your best smiles. All four of you stand with dignity, all looking like respectable people. Faithful and loyal servants of the Empire. What a joke. It just looks like a charade to you, you have never really been as close as in this painting on the wall. It portrays something unrealistic in your eyes, it shows a united, conventional and loving family. You criticize the painting for giving the illusion of a family unity that has long since broken down. You complain that the loving family depicted in the picture is only a reflection of pretenses and one-sided love. Wilhuff has no love for your mother, even though the painting shows them apparently devoted to each other. He prefers to burden himself with a romantic relationship with a young female officer in the Imperial Navy. The only thing that is true about this painting is the love that Wilhuff and Thalassa have for their son Garoche. Sadly gone, they have since felt a huge emptiness in their hearts. A hole that you are struggling to fill, despite all your best efforts. You are now the hope of your parents, the one who will make them proud and less miserable for having lost Garoche. You are like the last wheel of the carriage, you fix the broken pots, you are their emergency door. You carry an immeasurable weight on your frail shoulders, so failure is obviously not an option. 

The Tarkins' apartment is royal in name only. It is sober and elegant, far from being like Director Orson Krennic's. Despite the wild rumors circulating in the tea rooms of Coruscant City, the Tarkin family is a modestly illustrious family. None of its members need to show off their power in such an ostentatious manner. None of them really have anything to prove to those around them. They all bow to the superiority of the Tarkin family. The mere mention of this illustrious family name sends electric shocks and cold sweat down the spines of their rivals. Yours also calls for great respect and pride. (Y/N) Tarkin or Lady Tarkin. You are the jewel of the Tarkin family. Your father's hopes were pinned on you after the tragic death of your beloved brother, Garoche. You're staying in one of the best suites in the 500 Republica residential tower, located on the upper floors. It's been a few years since Grand Moff Tarkin and his close family moved into Coruscant City. You experience the hustle and excitement of a bustling, working hypercenter on a daily basis. You love the bustling nature of Coruscant City, a change from the peaceful countryside you were raised in on the planet Phelarion. You often long to fly away from your parents, to have your own adventures and pursue your wildest dreams.

They love you, of course, but sometimes you still have doubts about the power of their feelings for you. You never communicate the true depth of your feelings within the Tarkin family. You understand each other, but you don't love each other like a traditional family. Your egos always override your emotions, leaving a gaping hole in your hearts. You are now used to this coldness, it doesn't traumatize you as much as it did during your childhood. You love each other, but you are not allowed to say it. Like a taboo or a dirty little secret, you must remain dignified in all circumstances, and especially discreet about your own feelings. You've always lived in the dark, it doesn't even shock you now. This is how the Tarkins are made, with white marble and the coldest snow. It's hard, very hard, to grow up with so few love and warmth. This icy education, typical of the great aristocratic families, is nevertheless the only thing you know. It is your only reference and your model for a fulfilling family life.

You have pleaded for months to have your own apartments, somewhere in the huge residential tower of Coruscant City, or in another of its prestigious mansions. However, this was not without counting on the possessiveness of Thalassa Tarkin, your mother, who is also known for her intransigence. She has always insisted to your father to keep your request a distant fantasy. Yet you want more than anything else to finally stand on your own two feet, to live your life far from your parents' recommendations. The life of a Tarkin is far from being a pleasant one. It is full of challenges, morals, social behavior, prohibitions and taboos. It does not leave any space for the blossoming of a flower as passionate as you are. It does not give you the opportunity to choose the man of your life. Wilhuff Tarkin has always been particularly harsh on this issue. You are a Tarkin, and in so doing, you are a sort of extension of his own person and reputation. You are the glory and achievement of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin. You cannot disappoint him in any way, let alone fall in love with a man of lower status than yourself. A man like Orson Krennic is not an option in your venerable father's eyes. Not only is Orson Krennic an imperial officer who was not born into the aristocracy, he is also Wilhuff Tarkin's sworn enemy. Are you willing to bring dishonor to the Tarkin name, and especially to the Grand Moff himself, for such a frivolous man? He has a reputation for sleeping with all the hotties in the Empire, for getting the stares and flirty winks in his wake. You don't know if he is worthy of your attention, if this isn't just a way for him to get to your father. You are certainly only a sordid weapon in the eyes of the powerful architect. You're just a puppet in his expert hands, gloved in beautiful black leather. That's why you refuse to fall in love with him. You will never give your heart to a man as pushy and seductive as Orson Krennic. Not in a lifetime. Not even in a million years. 

So why do you have that sad smile on your face when you see your latest messages on your datapad? You find yourself lying on the huge canopy bed that you use as your haven, while your parents are out. Wilhuff and Thalassa Tarkin have gone to a private party with the Emperor and other supportive couples. They offered to let you join their festivities, which you kindly declined, saying you needed to rest. In reality, you're just scared of Emperor Sheev Palpatine. You hate all the socializing and endless dinners with him. Yet he is a close friend of your father's, and the two of them have served in the same places and risen together in Coruscant City politics.

Wilhuff Tarkin is even one of the few people Emperor Palpatine trusts. He has blindly followed the dogmas of the Imperial regime since its establishment, without discussing or criticizing the Emperor's orders. Your father likes to praise his own achievements, as a true visionary and tactician. He climbed the political and military ladder on his home planet of Eriadu, and then surrounded himself with important connections in Palpatine's inner circle as a senator, as well as in the business world. Wilhuff Tarkin is a man of rare cruelty who leaves no opportunity for human error. You even fear him at times, despite the filial bonds that unite you for better or for worse. You struggle to understand his complex psychology, so struck by his coldness and his high standards. You didn't really know him as a child, it was mainly the governesses working for your mother who took care of your education, although your mother occasionally cared for you. You grew up within the cold walls of the family manor on Phelarion, your mother's planet. Wilhuff, your venerable father, spent most of his time serving the Emperor's purposes, first as Moff of the Seswenna sector and then as Grand Moff, all the while working to make your brother the Navy's greatest asset, before his tragic death less than a year after the advent of the Galactic Empire in 19BC. For you, Wilhuff Tarkin remains a distant relative. The coldness of your relationship is the perfect example of the lovelessness you suffered during your childhood. You are far from resentful of him, you are desperate for your father's love. You think that one day you will exchange the same tender look that a father and daughter in a traditional family do. It's nice to dream, isn't it?

Lying on your bed, you are dressed in a silk nightie, paired with a long robe made of the same material. The color is a beautiful crimson red, like that used on the imperial banners on the walls of the Imperial Palace and the tapestries in your parents' apartment in Coruscant City. A blood red, evoking the consuming fire of passion and abandonment. A color that is more like you than you can imagine yet. You don't even realize that the flames of passion are desperately burning inside you at the mere mention of a man. An imperial officer whom your father despises to the depths of his soul. 

You scan the latest news on the datapad given to you by your father. A sad smile graces your pink lips, exactly the same as the one you had when you discovered his first message. The first of a very long list. With your fingertips, you continue to scroll through the messages in your inbox, unable to convince the most rational part of you. You get lost again and again in his last lines, which ask for a response from you. Orson Krennic is courteous in each of his messages, calling for a meeting somewhere in Coruscant City. In one of them, he even offers to take you on a tour of one of his research stations. You can't help but get a chuckle on your lips as you think about joining Krennic at his place of work. You understand that behind this proposal, there are some disguised words of apology. He is certainly annoyed with himself for having lost his temper last time, and this is a way for him to show you his daily life. He wants to share things with you, but does he do it especially for you? You want to believe, even for a moment, that these proposals are special and that he is not making them for any other woman but you. 

You spend long minutes re-reading his words without ever getting tired of them. As you are about to close your datapad before falling asleep, a notification suddenly attracts your attention. A message from Director Krennic has just appeared before your astonished eyes. Is it fate or a combination of fortuitous circumstances?

“Lady Tarkin. I regret that I did not meet you at the Emperor's private reception this evening. Your father reported to me that you were unwell. I can understand many things, Lady Tarkin, though they are unpleasant for me to read. Please take care of yourself. Respectfully, Director Orson Krennic.”

His message pierces your soul from both sides, it is no longer acceptable to leave such an upsetting message unanswered by you. You decide to give in to the temptation to play a seductive epistolary game with him. What harm can there be in answering a simple note?

“Director Krennic. You ask me to call you by your first name, but you continue referring to me by my title? Be careful not to choke on your ambitions. I've had my mind on things this evening. Cordial greetings, (Y/N) Tarkin.” 

His reply was not long in coming. A few minutes later, a new notification catches your eyes still awake. 

“Lady Tarkin. I am truly disappointed to read this. We were particularly surprised not to find you there. If I am the reason for your discomfort, you should know that I only made a brief appearance. My respects, Director Orson Krennic.”

As your conversations progress, the words of courtesy are disappearing to give way to increasingly short and instantaneous messages. You communicate about everything and nothing, the weather, the geopolitical situation of the galaxy, Orson's work... Although he takes great care in venturing on this sensitive subject.

“You're still not sleeping.”

Your lips stretch into an amused smile, as you realize that he, too, can't get to sleep because of your intense conversation.

“How could I? You've been exhausting me for a good hour already.”

However, something disturbs you in the message you just wrote to him. You are regretting that you hit the send button so quickly.

“Am I holding you up that much? You do surprise me, (Y/N). I thought you had more endurance.”

You may be young, but you're far from stupid. You understand his insinuations better than anyone. Somehow this makes you blush intensely. You are particularly excited about the idea of 'flirting' with Director Krennic through computers. There is something dangerous and reassuring about your correspondence. You're not in front of each other, the messages are coming by the second, there's no risk in revealing parts of your intimate thoughts. There's no risk at all, right?

“We missed you tonight.” Wrong. He missed you tonight.

“I'm not avoiding you, if that's what you mean.”

“Why didn't you join us, then?”

“I'm not comfortable in his presence.”

By 'his presence' you imply, of course, the Emperor's. You are grateful for Director Krennic's thoughtfulness for not attacking you on this admission. After all, he must not feel particularly good in his company either. Emperor Sheev Palpatine is not a man who is easily made comfortable.

“Doesn't a Tarkin have to be at every social gathering?”

You can't help but smile as you read what he just sent you.

“What about you then?”

“These endless parties bore me. It is a considerable waste of time on my work. I am an extremely busy man, you know.”

“That's what my father tells me too.”

“What does he say?”

“I don't think you need to know.”

“So that's it?”

You narrow your eyes at his last message. He takes a few minutes of thought before elaborating on his point. 

“You ran away because of him.”

“Because you think you know me?”

“Indeed, far better than you know yourself, Lady Tarkin.”

“What would have happened anyway?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Your fingers are impatient, tapping on the holographic keyboard of your datapad, seeking to feed your curiosity like a hungry woman. That's what you are, you are hungry and thirsty for him. You hesitate a few moments before sending your answer. You realize that your conversation has just crossed a more intimate stage. You're not sure how it's going to go.

“You already know.”

He's playing with you, what a creep. This game is extremely kinky and he expects you to beg him to tell you dirty things. But you want to, right? More than anything. You feel the desire rumbling in the hollow of your spine, as well as between the folds of your nightgown. You're not wearing any underwear, so you feel a moisture slowly covering your crotch. You feel a thicker and thicker aroma particle forming at the level of your intimacy. 

“It’s a yes or a no? Please, elaborate on your point, Lady Tarkin.”

Your fingers are trembling on the holographic keyboard of your datapad, as the urge to answer him yes grows stronger and stronger in your mind. Curiosity and a taste for danger make these conversations even more exciting than they already are. You are hoping that it is impossible to hack into your personal conversations.

You put the datapad back on the pillow at your side, wanting to keep yourself from diving into a discussion that is too dangerous for both you and him. You take the opportunity to pour yourself a glass of wine, before returning to your private quarters with a crystal glass and a bottle. You think that this night will be very, very, very long and full of twists and turns. You're definitely going to need some alcohol.

“Have sweet dreams.”

You frown as you find a new notification after five minutes. He seems to be ending your conversation and you are suspecting that he thinks you are asleep.

“I can only make it about you.” 

“Oh. I was sure you had finally fallen asleep,” he replies almost instantly. “What about your dreams?”

“Those are not things to ask a lady.”

“You're very bold to play these little games with me. You started this one, you must finish it. If it is only a lack of experience, I can easily fix it.”

“In what sense?"

"In any sense you wish.” 

A flush of warmth then fills your entire body. You are burning with the desire to explore what he is capable of performing on you.

“Would you like a taste?”

“What you're implying is inappropriate, Director.”

For a few minutes, no messages are delivered to your inbox. You sigh desperately, thinking that he himself has dozed off, in the middle of your virtual interactions. 

“You think your own behavior has the highest morality?”

He's offended, and you sense it, even if it's just a message. He's certainly pissed off, and rightfully so. You play with him since the beginning of the night, you are exchanging messages more and more suggestive. You let him dream a shape of intimacy in your company to better break all his hopes. Orson Krennic is a man who is not used to being told no, and even less to being frustrated with such impunity. 

You firmly tighten your wine glass between your fingers, waiting feverishly for a message from him. You are still surprised at how quickly you have become addicted to your correspondence. You wonder what he is doing at this very moment, and if he is indeed alone at this late hour of the night. Maybe he is with someone, considering the time he seems to take to answer you. This idea provokes strange reactions in you. A destructive feeling takes possession of you, sweeping away all your reasonable thoughts like a blast. Don't pretend to ignore it. A hint of jealousy takes over your thoughts, plunging you even deeper into the confusion of your feelings. Jealousy is the worst of all plagues, it leads to letting the irrational take control of a mind as brilliant and wise as yours.

Then finally, there you see a new notification on your instant chat feed. You jump up on one of your silk ears, clutching your datapad like the apple of your eye. You scan the last few lines of your conversation with your trembling fingers. A new message. From him. His last message.

You take a sip of your drink to give yourself enough strength to read his words. What you see a few seconds later nearly makes you spit out the entire glass.

“I suppose you were less... reluctant in the midst of your father. You need him to confess your burning desire to me? In front of him perhaps? Would you find that arousing?”

By all the stars in the galaxy. He didn't say that. No, no, no. Don't tell me he went that far. You blink countless times as you reread his message. You can't believe what you're reading for the tenth time. The shock is so great that you suddenly close your software to disconnect. What an idiot, you think as you put your datapad under the nearest pillow. You put your glass back on the bedside table, exhausted, and lie down on the side of the canopy bed. Orson Krennic's words echo over and over in your head. You are angry, but do you even know why? He has spoken some truths, that's what makes you so angry. You can't help but be aroused by this funny game. And that's what's even more sordid. Finally, you are deeply shocked by his provocations, particularly by the fact that you are unable to fight him. You went to great lengths with him during the annual reception given by the Emperor. You even asked him to go further with you, you burned with desire for his uniform. Orson Krennic. Come on, you're dying for him to take you to the moon.

“Orson...”

A whisper leaves your mouth, and before you realize it, your hands have already found their way under the silk of your little scarlet nightie. You then think back to the moments shared together, during the famous Emperor's reception, seven days ago. Blinding flashes enslave your tired and excited mind, snatches of burning memories of unfulfilled desires. With your eyes closed, lying on your back between your beautiful sheets, you try to visualize the body and face of Director Krennic above you. You are intoxicated by his voice, his smell, his warm tongue in your ear, his fingers on the tip of your breasts, your belly button, then your intimacy soaked with your pleasure. Your hands are in fact his hands. You seek, trembling, the way towards the center of your pleasure. You know your body perfectly well, so it's no surprise to you to explore your intimate lips. They are wet with a translucent mixture, symbol of a repressed excitation. You exercise then a firm pressure on this spot of nerves, now hard and filled with blood. Any reflexion capacity is lost in the whirlwind of these dizzy sensations that your own intimate stimulation gets to you. Half-opened mouth, you are crossed by more and more ecstatic shivers. You feel a furious desire to be filled. You are dying for Orson Krennic to come and take possession of your lips and your body, but he is not there.

You hardly fight back a moan, before you begin to ravish your body with one finger, then two, and finally three. You are alternating caresses on the exposed flesh of your nerve button and that of your intimacy. The comings and goings of your fingers are hasty and impulsive, causing you to quickly lose all reason as you cry out his name. Orson. You picture your lovemaking, which you imagine to be passionate and rushed. You fantasize about him touching you and loving you with his fingers. You imagine that it matches yours perfectly. You suddenly arch your body under the jolts of your touch, as your fingers work their way between your wet walls. You feel soon an intense rise of heat to wrap your interior, you are more and more close to release. Your head is full of obscene pictures. Your movements are now more expeditious, while your thumb continues to work on your clitoris more frantically. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to orgasm, and you want it more and more as the seconds go by. Your clitoris is full of blood and ready to literally implode under your precise stimulation, you even feel embarked in these breathtaking sensations. You desire more than anything to ride your orgasm, you are so close and yet so far. While writhing against your sheets, your fluid-soaked fingers continue to caress your parts, until the pain becomes so unbearable that you must stop everything.

Your lips whisper the same name, then scream it over and over. Orson, Orson, Orson… You are about to cum with your own hands when someone starts pounding on your apartment door. You frown, annoyed that someone is interrupting you at the most crucial moment of the evening. You get up hastily and try to tie the belt of your gown around your nightie as best you can to hide the wetness of your body. As you walk through the door to the spacious living room, the sound of the door getting louder and louder. You grind your teeth while wondering what is the reason for this impatience. I'm coming, I'm coming, you protest inwardly. 

By closing your hand on the handle of the door, you take a deep breath of air to encourage you to cross the step. You even take the opportunity to check your reflection in the mirror of the large living room, making sure that everything is in place.

“Dir... Director?” you babble as you open the door on Director Krennic. He is holding the corner of the wall with one hand, the other in the air with a closed fist, ready to pound on it for the third time. He stares at you with round eyes, obviously disturbed by your almost hypnotic appearance. Everything about you is perfect, right up to your slightly untidy night clothes and your messy locks. 

This vision is so enchanting that it makes him momentarily lose the gift of speech. He feels his heart miss a beat, so much he is subjugated by your natural beauty. You are wearing only a simple nightie with an extremely thin robe, the fabric is so thin that Krennic is able to see the secrets of every detail of your female anatomy. He also spots on your skin a strange glow, what he assumes to be a fine sweat particle. He also notices that the strands of your hair mysteriously stick to your temples. Where is this sweat coming from? What have you been doing all this time? His thoughts even brush over the idea of you doing something inappropriate while thinking about him. Krennic feels his body tense up almost instantly at this realization. With a brief movement, he pulls one of the flaps of his heavy white cloak down to his thigh, to hide the size of his crotch.

“Orson.” he corrects as he stands in your doorway. He seems to cringe at the way you call him. His eyebrows are furrowed in displeasure. You don't know what he wants from you, this late at night, but you don't think even he has a clue. “Didn't we already take care of that issue?” You realize he is clearly referring to the intimate moments shared during the Emperor's Ball. No, you're not dreaming, he's attacking what's left of your moral principles.

“Director Krennic” you reply, proudly raising your little chin to him.

You refuse to let him tear your soul apart again. You won't give him the satisfaction of falling into his arms. Not this time. You're strong now. You know how to say no. You stick to your guns, he's not a man for you.

“Someone obviously forgot to memorize his protocol in front of an heiress of the great nobility of the Empire.” you point out arrogantly.

You take care to correct his disappointing manners by confronting him, once again, with the social differences that exist between you. Unfortunately, this does not bring you the expected reaction since he only laughs softly. Softly and warmly. His voice is husky, his accent is well marked, his laugh is mocking but sexy at the same time.

“Someone was less reluctant a few days ago...” he remarks with a soft chuckle. You see a slight smile appear on the corner of his delicately pink lips, which you dream of kissing. An amused and mocking smile at the same time. His signature smile. Oh, by all the stars in the galaxy. That smile... That smile will be your downfall. As for his gaze, his eyes shine with a familiar glint, you've already had the pleasure of meeting it at the imperial ball. A glint of envy and possession. Oh yes, Orson Krennic dreams of possessing you completely.

To make everything worse, you notice that your own body is about to betray you in the cruelest way. Your cheeks are turning red like it's not permissible. You feel a sudden contraction at the level of your lower abdomen by thinking again of what it happened at the imperial ball. Desire is already burning inside you, flowing through your veins and is also the cause of that wetness between your legs. You are already lost anyway, he is already aware of the effect his body has on you. Everything else, all these words, all these insinuations, are just sordid foreplay for Orson Krennic. He only takes a sick pleasure in testing your limits to better embrace you in his perversion. 

“We have already agreed that this was an error of judgment on my part, Director. We had both abused on the pleasures of alcohol, we got entangled in a situation that does not intend to happen again.”

You sigh at the end of your tirade, proud that you were able to clarify things with him. It takes a lot of courage to hold back your own desires, but you've managed to pull off this miracle. Maybe he'll finally leave you alone. It's obviously a load of crap, but you made your choice not to disgrace your father's name.  

Yes, yes, yes... What a bunch of lies. Orson Krennic looks at you with a small, satisfied smile at the corner of his lips. His eyes brighten almost naturally as he realizes the torment of your feelings.

“Have you finished?” he replies, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. He begins to stroke the fabric of his uniform at his hips, not far from his prized DT-29 heavy blaster. Even when not on duty, Orson Krennic keeps his signature weapon. He's chasing invisible dust, a way of showing his complete and utter disinterest in everything you've just told him. You even wonder if he really did listen to you, or if he just preferred to lose his attention on the line between your breasts.

You press another word from you forcefully as you lock your eyes in his, “Never.”

“Well, well, well. Very well in fact.” Bullshit, he wants to answer you. However, Orson Krennic remains strangely silent, like the calm before the storm. He doesn't even bother to take you back, it's useless, since he is well aware of your lies. “Do you know how much good your lovely speech makes me feel?”

You half-open your lips, ready to throw another moralizing speech at him, but you find yourself trapped in the intensity of his gaze. He puts a finger on your fleshy lips and draws the line of Cupid's bow very slowly to shut you up. 

“Tell me, honey, how many hours did you practice in front of your mirror before you were able to come up with a glowing statement for me?” he says ironically. “It sounds almost...desperately attractive.”

Long minutes pass without either of you uttering a single word. You stare at each other for a long time, your eyes confronting the ocean blue of his, while thoughts far from innocent flow into your respective minds. In Orson Krennic's dreams, he sees himself grabbing your waist to pin you against the nearest wall, before kissing you with all the passion you deserve. In yours, you slowly pull down the thin strap that holds your silk garment, to reveal your aroused and completely naked body.

“What... are you doing here?” you finally ask after a short pause. You try to take a relatively casual tone, but your discomfort is clearly perceptible thanks to the slight tremble in the sound of your voice. You draw the last of your forces to throw his finger away from your mouth with a sharp movement. 

“You weren't answering me anymore, my dear little Tarkin, so naturally I was worried about you,” he confesses, carefully observing every detail of your barely covered skin. His eyes even allow themselves to scan the curved shape of each of your nipples, which are pointing feverishly against the silk fabric of your nightie. It's impossible to miss those two slight spikes that are hiding an inner sexual tension you haven't been able to release yet. 

“Well... I thank you for your caring. It's all right, I had just... dozed off during our conversation.”

You can't really see it, but your cheeks turn a lovely scarlet color to the point of matching your nightwear. Your lies are making you even more beautiful than you already are under normal circumstances.

“Drowsy, mh...” he repeats, falsely convinced. He doesn't believe for a second the bullshit that comes out of your mouth. Your lies even seem to amuse him more than anything else. “Of course you were...” And I'm going to be made Grand Moff instead of your father. He laughs in thought. He sniffs the air for a few seconds to check his suspicions. He can feel the heat of your desire, which makes him even more excited. 

Orson Krennic places one hand against the edge of your apartment door, while the other one sits on one of his hips. This position makes you sigh inwardly, and then you are dying for him to grab you and take you in every sexual position possible. You want to rip the buttons off his perfect uniform, to wrap yourself completely naked in his immaculate cape, and to feel him come and go in you to the throbbing rhythm of the ocean waves. As you become aware of the outrageous nature of your thoughts, you feel yourself blushing even more than you already do. He notices almost immediately the change in color on the skin of your cheeks. A sly sneer begins to appear at the corner of his lips as he decides to build up the tension between you. It's palpable in the air, carrying you both away.  

“Would you dare to doubt my good faith, Director Krennic?” you snort more coldly than you mean to.

Director Krennic doesn't seem to mind. He looks you up and down, a head taller than you, before taking a step towards you.

“It is true that a young woman of such good condition cannot lie to a respectable member of the high imperial administration. Shush. There is no need to answer me. I already know your inclinations in this matter.” 

With a movement of his hand, Orson Krennic makes you understand that it is useless to try to dispute his words. So much authority and firmness at the same time make your blood run cold. 

“It doesn't seem to me that I invited you in.”

Your eyes flash with anger, but he doesn't care.

“I take the right to do so,” he retorts, finally entering the living room, deliberately brushing against you as he goes. He then takes great care to examine the decoration of your parents' apartment with a critical sense. “Charming suite. I see that good old Tarkin is not as flashy as I thought. Sober and elegant. Everyday pleasant, comfortable, it lacks a bit of craziness though. Flat and empty of emotion. It sounds exactly like Wilhuff Tarkin.” You see him spinning around twice to get the full view, and this reaction infuriates you to no end. You hate the fact that he's here, spying on every detail of your private life, leering at the family trinkets or the color of the walls. He walks around your living room as well as his own. You can see him taking a few knick-knacks in his leather-gloved hands to analyze them from every angle. “The Grand Moff has an exquisite taste for works of art,” he says, looking like he's having the time of his life. Sometimes he comes to check the dust, letting his gloved finger rub the surface of the cabinet for a long time. You sigh at his dramatic and manic tendencies. Krennic delicately pulls out one of the works of art meticulously lined up on the cabinet and turns to you. A winning look on his face as he shows you his discovery. A small bronze statuette, covered with gold leaf here and there. “I prefer my own suite. I'll show it to you sometime. You'll love the masterpiece.” In other words... his own room. “You see, I personally designed and supervised the decoration of my private quarters.” Of course, as a renowned architect, things can't be otherwise.

“Good old Tarkin...” you repeat, stunned. You carelessly shake your head from right to left, before repeating your threats. “When my father sees you, here, he...”

“Is your father here, among us, at this very moment?” Krennic quickly puts an end to your sentence, he takes care to loosen each of his syllables to bring more emphasis to his words. He then pretends to look left and right with a dramatic air, obviously self-satisfied with his theatrical performance. 

“No... He's out.” you whisper, looking down at the door left wide open behind you. “You know it perfectly well, since you met him tonight, and that's the only reason why you think you can get away with entering my private apartments!” You let yourself be overwhelmed by your impulses, Krennic goes further and further over the line. You cannot stifle a sigh of exasperation in reaction to his provocations. 

“Your apartments.... They didn't look so private to me last time, my little Tarkin.” he scoffs, proud of his sexual allusions.

He wants more than just an angry tone or a rise in your voice at home, he wants to see you on fire for him. Director Krennic is such a jerk. You can't stand the sadistic game he plays with you anymore.

“That's enough! Put that back, now.” you snap, snatching one of your father's trinkets from his gloved hands. You then put the precious porcelain vase back on top of the commode, before flipping around in your fury. “You... You're out of place. Again. I've had enough of your ways!” You turn furiously in one quick motion that slightly twirls the strands of your hair back. The scent of your delicate perfume of flowers and spices suddenly fills the air, which does not escape Orson Krennic. He smells your perfume, mixed to your smell with a satisfied look on his face. He doesn't seem to pay attention to your little demonstrations of power. He knows perfectly well that only one word from him is enough for you to melt like snow in the sun under the heat of his voice. Then you put your hand on the door handle. “Leave my apartment, now. Now.” you order, your beautiful eyes plunged in his.

He puts a few seconds to understand this turnaround, obviously surprised by a reaction that he considers completely disproportionate, that said.

“You already dismissed me, Lady Tarkin? Ah, my poor heart bleeds, my dear!”  Krennic gives the look of being offended, but it's just an act. He stands in the middle of the living room, one hand on his chest as if to illustrate his words. He doesn't intend to move one inch in the direction of the door. Not now, and certainly not after all that you've been exchanging on your respective datapads. An outrage deserves punishment, right? He then pauses dramatically, his ocean blue eyes shining with excitement and amusement. He seems to take great pleasure in playing with your nerves. “I was hoping for a voice answer from you.”

Krennic keeps up the provocations because he is well aware that they work perfectly on the little Tarkin that you are. You are aware that the cruelty of his words is matched only by the strength of his own sadistic amusement. A sneer appears at the corner of his thin lips as he decides to break the inches that separate you. This boldness has something to surprise you, but you let him approach you without pushing away his advances. It is useless to deny the strong sexual attraction which radiates from you. 

“You can go back in your apartments... I... answer you as soon as possible...” you murmur weakly by feeling the weight of his body against yours. A tension settles gradually in your lower abdomen. You waits for the final cut to fall. You can imagine lustful scenarios in your head, projecting your most shameful fantasies. You wait for him to come and take you by the waist, the neck, the hair, who cares in the end, all you want is for him to take you. It's hot, terribly hot in this room. Like a burning hell.

You feel him approaching you slowly, his body soon immobilizes yours, his arms are a few inches away from your burning hips, his teasing lips curl up in a charming smile. He behaves like a hunter in front of an extremely rare bird, a mockingbird. He will continue to make you sing, and you will sing, but this time it will be for him and no one else.

“Do you... perhaps need a little help?” he whispers, tilting his head a few millimeters from yours. Your lips are nearly brushing shyly against each other in rhythm with your words. His breath is hot, it spreads ecstatic shivers along your neck, up to the hollow of your breasts which discover themselves as you go along. You do not immediately realize that one of your straps is slipping carelessly towards the edge of your shoulder. “Your robe is burning with eagerness...” 

His eyes are gradually lowering to that half-bare chest. He admires the fleshy form of this nipple bursting with life, the rounded and generous curve of your breast, the arching of your chest. Your breast is now exposed to the open air, to all eyes, but especially to his. He does nothing, absolutely nothing, to cover you properly. Instead, he fantasizes about grabbing it in the palm of his hand to make you cry out for mercy.

“Do something about it instead of wallowing in indecency,” you reply in an accusatory tone. It's something he doesn't expect to hear from you, but it seems to amuse him.

“Do you really want to discuss morality with me?” he scolds. “Because in this game, you are losing badly, sweetheart. You claim great moral principles, a family heritage and an ideal of purity, you stand as the fervent defender of the nobility of heart and soul, but you have shown me that you are anything but a devout. Be careful not to choke on your sanctimonious sermons, my dear. So many lies coming out of such a pretty mouth are not without consequences” 

You take on a deeply outraged facial expression, but that falsely ingenuous look doesn't work with him. Orson Krennic reads you like an open book. He is well aware that you are trying to play a game with him. You're lucky, he's in a playful mood on this promising evening. 

“Look at you, you're half-offered to the first person who comes along,” he points out, pointing to his near-nakedness with a simple wave of his hand. “You want my help? Very well. I grant it to you. Beg me.” he says with a striking monotony. A shiver runs down your spine as you discover how far Orson Krennic can go. “Go ahead. No, no. Don't say a word. Pleasure is all mine. I know you'll thank me later.” You watch as his eyes darken as his pupils dilate with excitement. “I am waiting, dear Tarkin one.”

Krennic becomes more insistent, while moving his face very slowly so that his lips keep marrying yours, but not giving in to the temptation to plunge his tongue into your mouth. He only stirs up the desire between you, he wants to awaken the charnel urges that slumber in you. He wants to confront you with the intensity of your own desires by taking you back to the intimate time you shared during the Emperor's reception.

“Why would I beg you?” you gasp, confused for a few seconds. You don't understand his thinking. It's a damn warning, but you don't see it yet.  

He brings his hand close to your half-uncovered chest, with a simple movement, Krennic pushes your nightie aside. He takes the opportunity to grasp in the palm of his glove that perfectly shaped apple that represents your breast. 

“Director...” your whisper is lost in a first moan, when the sensation of his hand on your breast gives you delicious shivers. “...Krennic.”

“Beg me.” he orders. 

Beg him, but for what? To stop everything or to continue his sweet torture? Your thoughts are racing, contradicting each other with each caress and the touch of the roughness of his leather glove against your fragile, warm skin. You want to tell him no, to dismiss his caresses, his body, all of him, but it's already a burning inferno between your thighs. 

“Director, stop!” you implore before feeling a firmer pinch on your breast. You realize he's perfectly serious about asking you to beg him. He doesn't want to hear your protests or reproaches. “P... Please.” A grunt escapes your lips, weak and plaintive, it's somewhere between a whimper and a protest. It's not what he wants to hear from you.

“Beg again.” he repeats.

His grip closes relentlessly on your left nipple. He grabs the tip of your breast between his index finger and thumb, strongly, to make you tense with pain. You are amazed at what a simple pressure on the most sensitive part of your breast is doing to your body. When he presses further on your nipple, you gasp, not only with pain, but with pleasure. For a few seconds, he enjoys torturing your breasts with short, firm squeezes and then with circular strokes. He leaves you no break, your moans are like a melodious song to his ears. The tip of your breasts is already full of blood and ready to explode. Your nipples are as hard as marble, to the point of hurting. Krennic doesn't take gloves with you, he likes to see you all twisted up against his uniform, stripped of your precious dignity. He appreciates your ability to resist, but he knows it can't last much longer.

“I did it already!” you protest, closing your eyes, unable to bear his calculating gaze on you. He shows no mercy with your body, after all, it is still not enough in his eyes.  

With the tip of his thumb, Orson Krennic makes gentle strokes on your nipple. He loves the spongy feel of that little piece of flesh, he can even feel the slight cracks that run through it, like ridges with nerves. He sees that the painful hardness expresses your excitement in the most beautiful way. With his other hand, he slides the second silk strap of your nightie off to expose your entire breast. He remains strangely silent for a few seconds, just long enough to enjoy the sight of your breasts. They are beautiful and perfectly symmetrical. Well swollen, like two beautiful apples ready to be greedily crunched. Krennic then proceeds to take each breast in the palm of his gloved hands, encouraged in his boldness by the burning of your body.  The moans that escape from your lips are very responsive to his requests. He furiously palps the tender flesh of your breasts, like to evaluate their density, before pressing them at the rhythm of a slow agony. From right to left, from top to bottom, he does not leave out any direction in his torment. Your heart rate accelerates dangerously, your muscles weaken and your skin blazes like a forest fire. Soon you feel yourself on the verge of fainting. 

“Beg harder,” he orders, taking advantage of your weakness. When he abandons your breasts to attack without any mercy the bottom of them, you know then that he has just pressed a magic button. All your morals disappear with a snap of the finger, and you're begging. Not to stop his sweet torture, far from it. You're begging for him to never stop touching you.

“Tell me... are you begging for me to release you?”

An ambiguous question, as it leaves no chance for any hesitation. He cannot ignore your moans and sighs of pleasure. He's playing with you again, what he wants is to hear you confess your pleasure. He wants you to comfort him in his behavior, even if it costs you your honor.

“So?” he gets very impatient. 

You beg once more, while leaning your forehead against his neck. Orson Krennic is completely intoxicated by your moans and sighs burning against his skin. He himself can't hide his massive erection any longer. It distorts the folds of his uniform pants, it even makes him grunt from time to time in pain. Orson Krennic is exhilarated by your arousal, the smell of your skin mixed with your delicate perfume, as well as the smell of your hair. He loves more than anything this headstrong smell, it is yours, the one that feeds all his obsessions day and night.

Looking down at Director Krennic's hands, you can't help but find something fascinating about them. They are large and strong, gloved with beautiful black leather. He knows exactly how to use them, and more importantly, where to use them. You are divided by conflicting emotions, a part of you is repulsed by your reactions, while the other is desperately in need of him. A simple touch from him and there you are, shivering and begging. You obey his orders, reluctantly, you implore his pity. Except that he has none, he expects some things from you. Things you refuse to give him. Words you refuse to say out loud. You are not one of his conquests, you are far from being a simple number in the intimate life of Director Orson Krennic. You are more than that, which is what you want to prove to him by stubbornly refusing him. You can't have compassion for easy girls.

"It is not appropriate, Director..." you sigh while arching yourself more against his hand. Your body no longer obeys you, your pleas for reason go hopelessly unanswered. "You're out of line..." You struggle to say these few words, they get lost between your moans. Krennic feels your body starting to weaken under the expertise of his fingers. He then slides a hand to your back to protect you from collapsing. 

"Beg me to stop, then," he says, not even trying to hide his sadistic amusement. The carnivorous smile that graces his lips speaks loudly about his true intentions. 

"You know very well that it is impossible."

Unaware of what is escaping from your mouth, you half-confess to him that you like what he does to you far too much to really want him to leave you alone. You refuse to let him stop his caresses, they are whispering in you much too deep and sensual vibrations. He has built up a tension in you that desperately needs to be relieved. You want more than his hands, you find yourself wanting his lips and teeth to replace them. Unfortunately, he doesn't do that until you clearly verbalize your needs. 

"Tell me why, dear?"

His husky, smooth voice is now a whisper in the hollow of your ear. You hear him in a distant way, as the gestures of his fingers pressing the end of your breasts become unbearable. You do not manage to hear his words distinctly any more, the pleasure which he lavishes to you is from now on the only thing which intoxicates your spirit. You are dreaming about him kissing your nipples full of life, abusing them with his raspy tongue, the tips of his white teeth hitting their tender flesh until they leave lasting scars on your skin. 

"You... you know me far too well." This answer seems to call out something powerful in him. You notice that an unreadable expression takes over his face. A strange glint shines in the depths of his ocean blue eyes. A glint that you haven't had the pleasure of discovering in him until now. 

You are sharing a conniving glance, and for a few seconds, it is then as if the whole galaxy has stopped spinning. A lustful flash crosses your eyes, desperately hooked on each other's gaze. Orson Krennic is the first to crack under the pressure. He grabs you with his powerful arms, lifting your body to settle you against him, your legs spread on either side of his hips. You reinforce your support by joining your legs at the bottom of his back, in order to not collapse on the ground. He then grips firmly your naked thighs under the fabric of your night dress to strengthen his hold. His hands cherish your soft and perfect skin, while his lips are furiously moving against yours. You are finally both there. He's taken a huge step in lifting you up into his arms to bring you back against him. Your now bare breasts are caressing the thick fabric of his white uniform, your nipples are touching his icy badge. You gasp at the pleasurable and unexpected friction, but that's not what's stirring your body at this moment. It's his hands that follow the curve of your bouncing buttocks, they slipped under your clothes when he lifted you. They are brushing almost naturally the line of your intimacy which is left to the expertise of his fingers, since no underwear obstructs his exploration. He then discovers your moist intimacy of your desire. He collects some of your fluids between his gloved fingers, proud to be the one responsible for it. A moan escapes from your parted lips, as Krennic growls in frustration against your mouth as he realizes you broke your kiss. 

Orson Krennic seems to know the configuration of your apartment inside and out, as he makes his way to one of the rooms in the royal suite. You strongly enjoy him carrying you like a princess in the arms of a knight in armor and white cloak.

“No, wait, this is the room of...” you mutter, interrupting your kiss for a few seconds. Krennic blinks several times as he realizes what you're implying. You don't know that you've just given him a brilliant idea. His eyes widen slightly as his thinking skills reach their peak. 

He captures your lips a second time in a kiss even more fiery than the first in response to your warning. You don't understand, at first, what's wrong with him. You feel as if you've told him he's been promoted to Grand Moff in place of the current one. There is no doubt about his lustful and perverse intentions. He seems to have understood very well what you are trying to tell him, but he does not care. Whether it's your own room or your parents' room, all he cares about now is enjoying your fluids between the satin sheets of a huge canopy bed. The fact that it is Wilhuff Tarkin's bed is somehow the cherry on top.

“From your father, yes, I am well aware of that, my little Tarkin,” he finally says, pulling away from your mouth with regret, in order to resolve your insecurities. “Give me this one moment of victory.” 

No... Honestly, are you really going to do it on your parents’ bed? On the bed of Wilhuff Tarkin, his nemesis? It's a wicked thought, then you feel like you're just a toy in Director Krennic's skilled fingers. 

With a blow from one of his leather boots, Krennic pushed open the door to the Tarkin's conjugal room. It was exactly like the entire royal suite, sober and elegant, without frills. The complete opposite of Director Krennic's private quarters, which you don't know yet. He ruthlessly breaks into this holy place for the sole purpose of defiling it. The idea of making you shout his first name in the sacred temple of his rival is not only terribly exciting, but also diabolical. Krennic is a particularly devious man. It's a memory that will stay with him forever, a memory he can even freely relish in his worst moments. His own daughter, you, finally his. Here. At home. He gets a hard-on from just putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

Without interrupting the languorous kiss he's giving you, his hands slide further and further down your body, making sure you're still wrapped around him. The feelings he brings to your body make you roll your eyes with pleasure. You are enjoying the shivers that run through your body so much that you almost tumble backwards without Krennic's support. You feel the vibrations of his laughter against the flesh of your neck, which he is nibbling, before you are caught in his strong arms and violently thrown onto the canopy bed. He undertakes to undo the silk belt which is imprisoning your nightgown, and gets rid of it by throwing it in a corner of the dark room. Then came the turn of your nightie, which he made slide down along your voluptuous body, while caressing your soft skin with his fingers.  

“Orson!” you cry out before he joins you in crushing his body against yours. His strong, skilled hands trap your wrists above your head, your fingers caressing the silky fabric of your parents' sheets. Your body arches against his wanting a more sexual rubbing. You desire more than anything to intoxicate yourself with his body, the smell of his aftershave and his cologne.

“It's better this way, isn't it?” he chuckles as he feels you squirm under the weight of his body. “How badly do you want me?” his whispering voice against your ear gets heavier.

He is still waiting for more pleas from you, but mostly a confession. He wants to hear that you want him, here and now. 

“I beg you...” you beg, giving him exactly what he wants to encourage him to continue his exploring of your body. “I want you more than my reason.” 

You don't lie to him, you want him more than your damn principles, more than your upbringing, more than your own father. This is what you are yearning for at this very moment. When it's just the two of you, that's exactly how you feel. You're tired of him tearing apart your soul and your heart, you're just a wasteland in his gifted hands.

“I have to start somewhere...” he whispers as his hands move against your intimacy, searching for the most sensitive points of your voluptuous anatomy. 

Krennic quickly finds the way to your button made up of flesh and nerves, that he then encircles between his thumb and his index, by carrying out skilful pressures. This instantly sends you into a crisis of muffled, discontinuous moans. You try to hide your discomfort by grabbing a pillow to position it against your mouth. What he immediately pulls back to you, not accepting any obstacle between him and your crimson face. He refuses to allow you to escape him, even if it means hiding your face or the expression of your eyes. Krennic looks into yours, trying to catch every spark of joy or surprise in your gaze. You are his ingenue and he wants to capture your innocence. You can't hide behind anything, you are finally naked and offered to him. You are his. Krennic doesn't want you to spoil the pleasure of reading your pleasure in your eyes or in the expression of your half-opened mouth. He wants you to come because of him and for him. He wants to make sure he's the only man in the galaxy who can make you come this much. As your hips shake frantically against his hand, Orson grabs your wrists for the second time, to pin you against him. 

“You are mine tonight, my dear,” he says in a husky voice, accentuating his last word sensually. “You won’t be able to escape, but that's not what you want... is it?”

“No...” you confess. Running away, what a strange idea.

You slowly close your eyes, savoring the chills that run down the line of your back. Krennic takes opportunity of his hold on you to run his fingers over the curve of your buttocks, while holding your wrists above your head with one hand. He then caresses your skin, drawing arabesques and geometric shapes around your belly button, all the way down to your pubic area. The touch of his fingers on your skin makes you feel a violent discharge. You can't wait any longer, you beg him with your beautiful eyes to continue what he started in your intimacy, instead of playing so cruelly with your nerves. He refuses to give in to the urgent need you have to feel his fingers against your private area, preferring to stimulate what's around, like your lower abdomen, your pubic area or the inside of your thighs, before he gets down to it.

“I don't know if you're deserving of being taken tonight,” he murmurs, vaguely pensive. “Have you been a good girl to me?”

This waiting is just a slow agony for you, you can't stand those hot waves that make your body bend to his spoiled child's whims. You feel your breath getting lost in the middle of your moans and squeaks. He then considers you ready for a well-earned treatment. His fingers follow the fine line of your intimate lips, before spreading them apart to introduce his index and middle fingers into your vagina. Your inner lips are shapely, pink and slightly swollen with excitement. He likes very much what he sees, your body excites strongly his, it is up to his most decadent fantasies. He strokes your wet walls, looking for the most ecstatic points for you, while watching each of your reactions with sadism. His caresses are gentle and not very intrusive now. He enjoys your sighs, appreciating to see you also fulfilled by his gestures. This strengthens his macho thoughts, there is only him, who is likely to make you as hot as a little kitten in heat.

Your moans are more than enough to make him smile with satisfaction. He laughs softly, proud to find you in a state of pure abandon. Krennic decides to reward your docility with deeper, much deeper strokes, towards what turns out to be your G-spot. His movements are straightforward, accurate and quick. He doesn't feel any remorse at the idea of deflowering you with his fingers. He suspects that you've already explored this place yourself, as a few hours ago. Your pelvis arches more and more against his palm, enjoying the way he makes love to you with his fingers. He seems to know the best places to make you lose your mind. It's not enough for you though, you're dreaming of mind-blowing dizziness, the real, overwhelming orgasm. You hurry to wriggle under him to make him understand to accelerate his rhythm until you have reached your longed-for deliverance. You are drunk of his caresses and you respond to each one of them by a move of your pelvis. 

“Orson...” you implore, when he interrupts his strokes in your vagina to move to your pleasure point. You grunt in displeasure as he still finds a way to tweak your nerves at the crucial moment. A wave of heat shoots through your entire body, causing you to cry out in grace. Emotions are far too strong to allow you to put several words together in a sentence. He is well aware of this, because he is highly amused by it. 

“Yes, my sweet? What's the matter with you? Speak up, come on. Explain yourself.” he mocks by finding that your cheeks are violently burning under his fingers on your bundle of nerves. “We're less chatty now, aren't we? Where are your so beautiful principles and sermons about morality and purity?” he laughs warmly against your ear. You like to feel the vibrations of his laughter on your skin, they go down to the back of your neck and end with shivers down your spine. He's having a great time with your state of ecstasy. Although your eyes are half closed, you can see a mocking smile on the corner of his thin lips, a glint of pure lust mixed with wickedness sparkling in his ocean blue eyes. “You and I know now that this is all nonsense. Your impure eyes are begging me to take you, and not in the noblest of ways...” 

Director Krennic's words make you tense up, despite all the good it does your body, you wish to fight back. You try to release your wrists, the pressure is more and more unbearable. You only hurt yourself more, Krennic refuses to release his hold on you. He even strengthens his grip, which makes you wince with pain. 

“No, no, no. Stay still. It's not happening, honey. I'm running the show.”

Orson Krennic giggles as he kisses you, his lips perfectly matching yours, while his hands continue their exploration. This kiss is powerful, passionate and full of life. He muffles your cries at the same time as he expertly presses his thumb against clitoris. He plays with you hoping to show the wild personality inside you. You're dying for him to rip away what's left of your scruples, but it's not on the cards yet. You feel your eyes moisten at the same rhythm as your intimacy, so much so that the palm of his hand is quickly enveloped in your shameful wetness.  Krennic puts his two ocean-blue orbs into yours, contemplating your facial expression, where he discovers a mixture of euphoria and frustration. You complain that he seems to enjoy giving you half of everything. 

His eyes darken in desire as he feels you squirm under his imperial officer's uniform, which he has refused to remove, in order to maintain an apparent posture of dominance over you. You are naked, but he is not. It's a way to strengthen his hold on you, and after all, he has understood that you love his uniform more than anything. 

He has always noticed your furtive glances at his perfectly polished leather boots, his silver belt, his immaculate white uniform or his impressive cape. He knows you're obsessing over what makes him an officer of the Empire's high administration, what gives him a title and a social position that can arouse both your admiration and your devotion. He knows that you need a man of high rank by your side, considering your education in one of the most valued imperial aristocratic families. Krennic is not a blue-blooded man, unfortunately, and this is something that weighs heavily on him, considering the social background of all his colleagues. He often feels lonely, thinking that children of modest workers are not sufficiently well represented in the Empire. He can't make a name for himself that has been around for generations, nobility being what he sorely lacks. So he tries to show you that although his pedigree, he is still brighter and more ambitious than most of imperialists of noble blood. Orson Krennic wants you to feel admiration for him. It is something he is obsessed with, apart from not being part of your family circle, Krennic aspires to climb one by one through the ranks of power. And for that, Orson Krennic is willing to make any sacrifice.

You feel Krennic's excitement as you see the large bulge inside his uniform pants. It makes you gasp, you picture him surprisingly well mounted, but most of all, going in and out of you violently. Krennic brings his hand to his nose to gently inhale the scent of your desire, which makes you even more sweaty than you already are, when you hear him sigh with desire. His movements are now precise and violent inside you, you feel yourself being pounded by two of his fingers, while his thumb continues to work slowly on your clit.

After a few minutes, Krennic releases your aching wrists and stops his caresses. You watch him with big eyes, completely confused and saddened that he could let go of the tensions of your body so easily. His smile nevertheless attracts your curiosity, you think that an unholy idea crosses his wicked mind. And you were right to think so, because he begins to kiss your upper body, while going down to your pubic area.

You quickly realize what he's about to do, and the thought of it makes you blush.  You don't know what might happen below the belt. You don't know if the sensations will be the same or if they will be increased tenfold. You are very afraid of this sensory overload. Krennic strokes your belly button and lower abdomen with his lips, leaving a wet trace on his path. When he starts kissing your intimate, fleshy, fluid-soaked lips, it's as if a magic button has been pressed. Your hands grab the satin sheets of the four-poster bed to embrace them frenetically. Your muscles tense up under Orson Krennic's lingual caresses, you crave more until you are dizzy.

Sensations are unique, sensual and sweet. You love to feel his tongue running through your intimacy and playing with the entrance to your vagina, pretending to penetrate you once or twice, before moving up to the nerve center of your pleasure. He aspires your clitoris with his lips, sucking that little spot made of blood and nerves, while caressing its perfect curve with his tongue. These sensations run through you with violent jolts and spasms that make you arch your back. While he does all these good things to you, his hands hold your thighs with firmness, his nails sinking into your flesh. 

“Orson, please, harder.” you beg as the orgasm is now two more strokes away from his tongue. “I don't want... you to stop.” You even feel close to crying with happiness, so many sensations fill you beyond all your fantasies. You grab Orson's face between your hands, savoring the warmth that comes from his cheeks. Your fingers work their way up to his silky silver hair, which you begin to pull into a tight embrace. “Make me… Make me yours…” 

You feel that your clitoris is now twice its normal size, the blood having flowed extremely fast in it. In fact, a simple lingual caress now gives you the sensation of a powerful electric shock in all your intimacy. You want more than anything to be overwhelmed by the next shock, the one that will lead you to a perfect orgasm. It must be said that he does it wonderfully well. He knows how to take you to paradise with just a few strokes of his tongue. He takes almost meticulous care to ride the wave of pleasure inside you, savoring the slight spasms of your body as he teases the bulging curve of your clit with the tip of his tongue. It's raspy and incredibly hard, making the friction between it and your nerve-filled button extraordinary powerful. Those strokes come and go more and more quickly as you rub vigorously against his mouth. Krennic switches between circular and horizontal strokes, to see what thrills you most before settling on a steady rhythm to bring you to climax. You arch brutally to make him understand your need for deliverance. A move which carries you in a whirlwind of burning and throbbing sensations. It seems then as if all tensions built up these last minutes have just exploded in your face. You can't help but scream your pleasure, having never been smacked by such a powerful release until now. What Orson Krennic is doing to your body is so good. It's something magical, with an aftertaste of coming back to me. After your orgasm, Krennic immediately moves up to your face.

“Good girl.” he whispers against your chin, before capturing your lips to share your own fluids with you. “You’ve come for me.”

You're drunk on his kisses so badly that you immediately ask for more. You cling to his lips desperately wanting him to make you feel the power of these vertigoes again. You are like intoxicated by his kissings, it takes you away into madness. This is something you have never been able to experience with anyone before. Orson Krennic is a damn good lover. He kisses in a way that matches yours perfectly. You think about spending the rest of your days hanging on his thin and pensive lips. His kisses are thrilling, full of power and possessiveness. You love the alcoholic aftertaste that ends each one, it gives a little sweet taste to his lips. You can't bring yourself to disobey his orders. Just as you refuse to break off your lingual interactions, as if that would make him not want to take the next step with you. You cruelly need his body pressed thus against yours, his pelvis marrying wonderfully yours, his burning and insatiable desire in you. You whisper his name, Orson, again and again. Nothing seems to break the magic of your meeting. He leaves scars on your skin, they are bright red and you can see the marks of his teeth on the slight bumps they have made. You don't care if your body is bruised by his mouth or by his hands, all you want more than anything at this moment is to melt into him. You want him to ravage your entire body and leave you shaking, begging and desperately obsessed with his every move. You want him to take you, and not in a gentle way. You want your connection as strong as your feelings: tumultuous and challenging.  

But... he still won't take you. You don't understand what he's waiting for, what seems to be holding back the surge of his passions in you. 

He likes to provoke you, because he loves to feel those ecstatic shivers on your skin when he kisses you. He also does it because he loves your warmth, your wetness and the red color of your face. As for you, you can't get enough of purring with pleasure as he tries to pull you out of your skin. How hot, you are. Your whole body is a fiery desert, moist and trembling for him. You feel like a drug addict, yearning for his skin, his mouth, his tongue. You almost feel like you're in the middle of a fever, as the tremors of your recent orgasm still run through your entire body. These shivers are mixed with the dizzying rise of heat which leaves you breathless. You touch your thigh skin out of curiosity, and find that it is soaked with your sweat.

“Sweet dreams, dear little Tarkin,” he whispers before nibbling your earlobe. Warm breath from his husky voice creeps insidiously down the back of your neck, sending an ecstatic shiver down your spine. “I know you'll come back to me.” Orson Krennic has personally made sure of that.

He reluctantly pulls away from your burning body. He takes a moment to readjust his haircut and the folds of his uniform from the large mirror hanging on the wall above the bed. Obviously, the idea of taking possession of your body on the satin sheets of his rival is more than tempting, but a good intuition advises him to leave before he comes back from his evening.You want to scratch him, slap him and hurt him to leave you in such a state of arousal. His smirk is the only thing that fills your memory as he leaves you lying on the Grand Moff Tarkin's canopied bed.

You glance at the bedside table, puzzled by the fact that something about it has particularly disturbed him. Krennic looked at the datapad for a long time before pulling himself away from you. You quickly realize as you glance at the built-in clock that your parents are about to return any minute. After all, hadn't he written on your datapad that he just wanted to give you a taste?

“Oh my…” you whisper, speechless for once in your life.

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.

--------------------------------------------------

“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

----------------------------------------------------

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.

                                                              ▲▼

pairing: Sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending, fluff, established relationship

content warnings: emotional neglect, some swearing, hoon is kinda a workaholic ig?, I don't think there's anything that really needs warnings other than this is sad but lmk if I miss anything!

summary: your boyfriend comes home late after promising to be home on time for once, only to find that you're nowhere in sight...

notes: this is another one that I'm not sure how to feel about ;-; but I hope you guys enjoy it TwT fun fact, the whole thing was inspired by an rp that I did with an ai where the robot somehow managed to call me by another person's name while cuddling XD

I'm making a general taglist for my fics so if anyone would like to be added please either send an ask or a DM ^w^

Everything below the cut is NOT proofread

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

  The white noise of your favorite movie buzzes through your living room, conversation and dialogue that you’d learned by heart filling the cold space with a false sense of familiarity. You sit cross-legged with your back pressed into the arm of the L-shaped couch in front of the tv, resting your chin on a plushie held close to your chest, looking not at the flickering screen to your right, but at the clock hanging in your kitchen–the only room in the house with the lights on. 

  9:17 pm, it reads. Roughly three hours and seventeen minutes since your boyfriend would typically get home from work. 

  Three hours and seventeen minutes since you’d been waiting on a barstool by the kitchen island where you both usually took your meals. 

  A tiramisu cake and a bouquet of flowers laid out in front of you. 

  Waiting.

  Waiting.

  So much waiting. 

  After an hour or so, you’d gently slid the cake back into its box, distracting yourself with the task of putting the flowers into a vase before they could wilt. 

  ‘He’s late again,’ you think sleepily, eyes struggling to stay focused on the clock, ’he promised he wouldn’t be tonight.’

  Your vision blurs as the long hand hits 12, eyelids too heavy to keep open, mind wandering to the conversation you’d shared with Sunghoon that morning. 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

  “What time will you be home from work today?” you asked sleepily, sitting up in your nest of blankets, having woken up to find that he was already in the process of pulling his socks on, careful not to wake you. 

  “I don’t know, Love, you know how crazy things have been with this update, I might be late again,” he said absently, looking around for his glasses. “Where the fuck did I put them?”

  He runs a hand through his hair frustratedly, leg bouncing in agitation. It made your heart ache slightly in your chest, disappointment, guilt, and worry mixing confusedly in your stomach. 

  You loved Sunghoon, more than almost anything else in your life, he was the man you’d chosen as your partner, who you’d decided to stand by through thick and thin. But ever since the game company he worked for had started work on a new update, you’d been seeing less and less of him. Always coming home late, tired and stressed, mind wandering and absent even when he was sitting right in front of you. You understood, you really did. Between the two of you he was the one with the bigger income, the burden of taking care of you, of making sure that the two of you could build a future together, was on his shoulders. And it was a responsibility that he did not take lightly. 

  But still. 

  In moments like that, where you slid off your bed to fetch his glasses off the nightstand–blanket wrapped securely round your shoulders to fend off the cold that permeated your apartment since the heating had started to malfunction–moving round the bed to stand in front of him… you couldn’t help but feel like he was breaking your heart. Just a little. 

  It was in the way he only met your eyes briefly when he took them from you before standing and gathering the rest of his things, sighing in what could’ve been frustration or relief, it was hard to tell. 

  It was the way he didn’t stop the flow of movement steadily taking him away from you and towards the office till you called his name twice, stopping in his tracks and fixing you with a look that, though probably unintentional, made you want to bury yourself under your mountain of plushies and hide. 

  “I’m going to be late, (y/n), what is it?”

  You winced. You couldn’t help it. Unaccustomed to hearing him say your name with so little emotion. “Just… could you come back on time tonight?” your voice is barely more than a whisper, tapering off into silence the longer you force your eyes to meet his. “Unless you can’t of course! I’m not saying you have to do anything, I understand that you’re busy and you can’t really dictate when or how things get done but just that it would be nice if you could be home on time tonight since-”

  “Okay.”

  “Huh?” 

  “I’ll make it home on time tonight.” 

  His voice was softer than it had been a moment ago, giving you the courage you needed to meet his eyes. They were still heavy with worry, brows drawn together to dig a permanent crease into the middle of his forehead, but they weren’t quite as cold or distant. He was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time in what felt like forever. 

  It wasn’t much, you knew that. But it was still enough to ease the knot building in your throat. Enough to bring a small smile to your face as you nodded. “Mnm! Okay, I’ll see you tonight then.”

   “Mnm, alright,” he said, a small, slightly strained smile coming to rest on his own lips.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

  The apartment was almost completely dark when the lock to the front door chimed, alerting the darkness that someone had arrived. The figure that stepped through was slumped over, backpack sliding off one shoulder with his jacket, shoes abandoned haphazardly. 

  It took a moment for Sunghoon’s mind to catch up to his body, for it to fully sink into his bones that he was home. That he was home and it was nearly 11 pm. Home and the tv and kitchen light were both on, white letters onscreen asking the room if anyone was still watching Netflix. 

  Something in the kitchen caught his eye, a handmade vase his sister had given you for your birthday set out on the kitchen island, filled to the brim with pink, white, and purple flowers he did not recognise. 

  ’Oh’

  It was his birthday. 

  That’s why you’d asked him to come home on time. 

  Sunghoon groaned, face twisting with what could only be described as pain as he quickly set his bag down by the front door and made his way to your shared bedroom. You were usually asleep by this time, unable to pull all-nighters the way you used to back when you were in high school, always out like a light by no later than 10:30 every night. 

  ’But she still stays up every night waiting for you,’ a voice in his head hisses.

  ’I know… fuck I know she does,’ his own voice replies, panic setting in when he finds your room empty, the bed neatly made, not even a dent to show that you’d been laying in it while working on your laptop during the day. 

  ’She’s not here… are you surprised? How long did you expect her to wait?’ the voice whispers, a chill cascading down his spine.

  The panic sets in with more vigor, wrapping round his throat and sending his tired mind into overdrive as he checks the bathroom, your home office, and finally the dark living room. Fear telling him that this was it. 

  He’d really gone and done it now. 

  He wasn’t a complete fool. He knew the moment you stood in the middle of your bedroom floor instead of closing the distance between you and wrapping your arms around his waist, choosing instead to clutch your favorite duvet like a lifeline, wincing when you heard his voice, all because you wanted to ask him to come home… he knew right then that he’d been an absolute idiot. 

  He’d meant to come home early, to be there to make it up to you, to apologise properly, tell you that he’d take some time off as soon as the update was done and dusted. 

  But he didn’t. He let work sweep him up again. Drowning in error messages and buggy code till the sky outside his office windows was filled with the flickering lights of the city at night. 

  And now… now you weren’t there. 

  He’d left you alone. 

  He’d left you alone too long and you were gone. 

  You were gone. 

  You were gone and-

  ’Oh.’

  There you were. 

  The relief when Sunghoon sees you–curled up on the couch, partially hidden by a small pile of blankets and stuffed animals–is immediate.

  He doesn’t really register the way he sighs your name, shoulders relaxing, body melting into the floor the moment he’s in front of you, hand brushing a few messy strands of hair out of your face. The need to feel the warmth of your skin, to confirm that you really are there in front of him more an instinct than a conscious decision. 

  You mumble something in your sleep, tilting your face away from his cold fingertips, eyes fluttering open. “Hoon… hi baby… welcome home,” you say tiredly, shifting under your blankets in an attempt to pull yourself up. 

  Sunghoon feels his heart crack in his chest. Why were you smiling at him? You should've been angry. You should've pushed him away, demanded to know why he was back so late, why he'd been neglecting you in the first place. 

  “Baby? My love… why are you crying?” you ask, reaching for him through the haze of sleep still clinging to your limbs. 

  Choking back a sob, he leans closer, tucking his head under your chin and doing his best to wrap an arm around you from his place on the carpeted floor. “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, though the tears soaking into your sternum say otherwise, “just missed you…”

  Your vision blurs at his words, a thread of steadily building tension and worry that had been constricting your heart for the past few weeks snapping. “Oh…” your voice shakes slightly, lungs shuddering as your breaths begin to feel lighter, “I’m right here you goose, what’re you crying for?” 

  “Who says I’m crying,” he says, hoarse with tears. 

  “Right right,” you laugh despite the dampness now soaking through your own cheeks, “because my baby never cries, huh?” 

  “Never,” he sniffles, nuzzling closer.

  You stay like that for a while, eventually urging him to sit more comfortably on the couch, allowing you to settle yourself on his lap, his arms still wrapped firmly round your waist, hands occasionally kneading whatever part of you he was in contact with as if he needed to assure himself that you were there, solid and real. 

  He waits until he feels your heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, trying his best to calm down so his own can match yours, beat for beat. The way it–in his opinion–should. 

  But it wouldn’t, there were words lodged in his throat, and every time he tried to get them out he felt that same panic wash over him, sending his heart into a frenzy. 

  You could feel like beating against your cheek, could sense that there was something he wasn’t saying from the way his grip on you would tighten almost imperceptibly, stiffening as if he was bracing himself for something. A part of you wanted to push him, prompt him and ask what was going through his head, why you’d woken up to the sight of him crying in the dim light of your living room. And you would’ve if he hadn’t beat you to it. 

  “I’m sorry, (y/n).”

  “What do you mean? For being late? I know you can’t help it, Hoon, it’s not some-”

  “No! I mean yes, I’m sorry for being late tonight but… I mean… I mean for everything… for not being… here, with you, like this… as often as I should be, I’m sorry,” he says, the hands at your sides nervously fidgeting with the fabric at your hips, nervously looking between your face and the static tv screen behind you. 

  Sunghoon had never been good with words. You’d learned early on in your relationship that he preferred to show how he felt through his actions. Yet here he was, fumbling through an apology because… because… 

  “My love… did you think I’d left?” you ask, gently cupping his face with one hand, urging him to look at you. 

  Puffy red eyes still wet with tears, messy unkempt hair from running his hands through it all day, tired and probably as emotionally spent as you’d ever seen him and still… still he was the most beautiful person in the world to you. He nodded, hiding his face in your chest again, hands stilling. 

  “Well,” you sigh, resting your chin on top of his head and running a hand through the hair at the back of his head, combing through it in a way he swears only you can, “at least you know you’ve got things you need to make up for…”

  “I know… I forgot for a while… but I know…”

  “That’s okay then,” you breathe, leaning back to kiss his forehead. “But Sunghoon… baby… darling… the love of my life… my little pookie bear… “ you both giggle a little at the pet names, “You know I’d never leave you over something like this right? I was sad, and hurt, and I still expect you to make it up to me by never doing this again but… I still love you, it only hurts because I love you… I’m not going anywhere.”

  Sunghoon pauses for a moment, letting your words sink in. You think that when he looks up, lips slightly parted, it’s to say something in response, but you really should’ve known better. 

  Slowly, giving you enough time to pull away should you choose to, his breath mingling with yours before he steals it away with a soft, lingering kiss. Neither of you is in any rush to take things further. 

  It feels like a small eternity before he pulls away, like time stills for you both, but then he’s pressing his lips to your jaw, butterfly kisses tickling you down to your pulse point, making you giggle so you almost miss it when he says, “I love you too… so much…” 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

  It isn’t until the next day when you’re shuffling into your home office dressed in one of his oversized jerseys, complaining about a meeting that he remembers the flowers he’d seen on the kitchen island.

  Pulling out his phone, he makes good use of his detective skills (and google lens), remembering all the times you’d spoken to him about the language of flowers, and the meanings behind certain blooms. 

  He wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or cry once he’d figured it out, opting to dig through the cabinets for a pack of waffle mix to fix you some breakfast instead. He had a lot of apologies to make…

Baby’s Breath: pure everlasting love

Pink Camellias: longing for you

Forget-me-nots: true love memories, do not forget me

emergency contact | park sunghoon x reader

prompt: weeks after your breakup, sunghoon finds out that he’s still your emergency contact. pairing: non-idol sunghoon x implied female reader genre: angst with hopeful/happy? ending; second chance romance??; exes to lovers??? word count: 2800 note: i’ve had a cute fic idea that i wanted to write forever…but this is not it. the sad demons have visited me once again. hope y’all enjoy nevertheless and any feedback is much appreciated <3

sunghoon was miserable. 

it had been three weeks, five days, two hours, and thirty-two minutes since the two of you had gone no contact.

he wished he could say he was happy to be single, that he was no longer “locked down” and “whipped” as his friends had always called him. but the so-called “freedom” felt like hell since it meant losing you.

at first, he kept telling himself that time would heal the pain. “it’s natural,” he had repeated like a mantra, “she was your best friend and lover for years.” but no, this heartbreak was inhumane. his desire to see you, apologize endlessly, and spend days holding you until you could feel every ounce of his love was gnawing at his soul. if anything, it got worse by the minute.

he had tried so hard to balance work and the rest of his life, using the excuse several times that he was securing this future for your shared life with him. that one day, you’d be able to reap the rewards of his efforts and live comfortably together without stress.

but what was the use of all of that now? the future he had worked so hard to create was ripped out from his hands by no one other than himself. 

you had accused him of being too busy for you. dates canceled at the last minute, a birthday forgotten, and all the texts left on read had built up to the argument that ended it all. he was always good at fighting, a little too good. he had retorted that you weren’t being supportive, and he was never one to sugarcoat his words. his tongue was sharp, and he did nothing to dull its blade.

but there wasn’t too much yelling on your part, and he thought that that hurt more. he wanted you to fight back, to stand your ground because he knew deep down that he was being the asshole. his toxic thought was that by you fighting back, this meant that you were still fighting for your relationship. but instead, you just stared with silent tears and a blank expression. seeing the indifference in eyes that had previously held so much love was a sight that would stay with him forever. so, in fear of you leaving, he ran instead.

he was a coward, leaving your shared home to run back to the apartment he had still technically owned but hadn’t lived in for more than a year. he locked himself away for a few days, but the realization that you hadn’t attempted to contact him burned more than he could put into words. you were done with him. he had hurt you, had the audacity to be the one to run, and now he had lost you.

he had even run from his job. he couldn’t stand to walk into the same building he stayed in when he forgot dates with you. his coworkers wouldn’t stop asking what happened to him, why he looked so rough. he even found an empty container that had once held lunch you made for him. but his final straw was getting promoted. his first instinct was to call you, but he remembered the sad truth before he could dial. any ounce of pride was washed away with shame in that moment. that same day, he quit without notice.

so there he was: miserable, alone, and unemployed with nothing left to run from but memories. he had spent the last week going through his phone and saving your pictures together in a locked album. he wouldn’t dare delete them, but he couldn’t stomach looking at you either.

he wished he could get drunk and sleep away the pain. he had tried, he definitely did - but that night, he dreamt of you. you were smiling at first, eyes ever full of love. you were speaking, yet he couldn’t hear you. but he could see how your words started to gradually look sadder, and slowly, tears started to fall as your grin dropped. he woke up that next morning crying with the conclusion that he would have to face this heartbreak sober.

but another day of scrolling through albums had stopped abruptly when he saw the notification that changed everything.

SOS i called emergency services from this approximate location after my watch detected a hard fall. you are receiving this message because i have you listed as my emergency contact.

sunghoon had to remind himself to breathe.

he had purchased that watch for you as a “just because” present months ago. you had complained of bad sleep and he wanted you to use it as a way to track your slumber. he hated seeing you tired. he knew that the watch had a fall detection function, but it had never been used before.

his heart was in his stomach as he went to his favorite contacts page and selected your name for the first time in weeks.

“please,” he begged, all notion of running away from you leaving his brain, “pick up please.”

but you just weren’t answering. so he tried again and again and again.

for a moment while the line attempted to connect, he wondered if this was how he had made you feel for months - desperate for a sliver of attention from him. but instead, he was desperate for a sign of life.

finally, after about two minutes of trying to reach you, his body moved of its own accord. before he knew it, his car keys were in his hands and he was out the door.

the car ride there might have been the worst part. the speed at which he drove at almost defied the laws of physics. other drivers were cursing at him but he wasn’t registering anything except the thought of your safety. he just needed to get to you.

why did he run? why didn’t he try to talk it out? if he was so afraid of losing you, why did he do the one thing that would guarantee that? he should have been there like he promised to be from the beginning. you would have been safe with him.

when he pulled up to the house you had shared for so long, he suddenly felt the world slow down. why were emergency services there? you should’ve canceled them by now.

he had to double park as the ambulance was blocking the driveway. why were they here?

the emts and police had arrived at the same time as him, which both increased his anxiety and soothed him. for one, that meant he had been quick enough. but why did you need them?

“sir, do you know–” an officer had approached him as he stumbled to the front door. all he could understand was your name. why were they asking if he knew you? of course he knew you. you, the love of his life. you, his soulmate by every meaning of the word. you were you. and you were safe.

as if sensing his distress, he felt an emt worker pull him to the side as the same officer prepared to break down the door. seeing this, sunghoon finally returned to his senses.

“w-wait! sorry, i have a key.” sunghoon’s hands were shaking. the only way that door had unlocked was by pure muscle memory because he didn’t understand what he was doing at all.

as soon as the door opened, sunghoon tried to step in. finally, he was close to you. 

the officer, however, pulled him back.

“sir, you should wait here. we need to make an initial search before you can go in.”

“what, why? if she’s in there, i want to see–”

“sir, it’s just in case we find something we wouldn’t want you to see.”

all of sunghoon’s hesitation and fear went out the window at those words. his body flew automatically as he ran inside.

he screamed your name as he rushed in, ignoring the yells of the police officers who followed him in. as it had been for almost four weeks, his only thought was you. he just needed you.

he checked the ground floor first, eyes scanning the open space in less than a second as his body avoided an officer trying to grab him. sunghoon then moved to the staircase, long legs prepared to skip steps to reach you. then suddenly, he heard the voice his ears had been longing for,

“sunghoon?!”

his head shot up. there you were, finally. he saw the sadness, confusion, and fear all flash your face as you registered the emergency workers behind him. you looked exhausted and unruly, but he had never felt more in love.

he didn’t even remember climbing the steps, but suddenly he was at the top of the staircase and you were in his arms. 

you could feel him trembling as he held you. you took his face into your hands to look at him, “sunghoon? what’s wrong? why are you here? is it my parents? is someone hurt?” you watched as his mouth opened but no words came out. after a few seconds, one of the officers spoke from the bottom of the steps,

“ma’am, we received an alert from your device that a hard fall had occurred.”

suddenly, you understood everything. taking sunghoon’s hand gently, you led him down the stairs, afraid he’d fall from shock. he followed you silently, but his grip tightened seemingly with every step.

that’s when you noticed your shattered watch on the third step.

you let sunghoon go and you could hear his deep breath when you did. you picked up the watch and offered it up to the officer as an explanation, “i’m sorry officer, it looks like there’s been a misunderstanding…”

the officer nodded in understanding, and dismissed the emts, “got it, ma’am. we will still need a formal report for our records since this was registered as an emergency call.” he motioned to your couch as he took out a pen and paper.

you reached for sunghoon’s hand once more and led him to sit with you. in the moment, you knew he needed you more than you would ever understand. so, as you explained to the officer, you held his trembling hand, rubbing soothing circles with your thumb.

“i was doing laundry here downstairs and had taken off my watch to prevent it from getting wet,” you recounted, “i put it on top of the basket of clothes that i took upstairs. i remember tripping a little going up the stairs - i didn’t fall, but that must’ve been when the watch fell."

"what about your phone, where is it? i'm sure your boyfriend must've tried to call you."

sunghoon slowly nodded at that, turning to look at you. you smiled sheepishly, "i left it upstairs and it was on silent while i folded the clothes. i’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

after finishing up your statement, the remaining officer prepared to leave. as he walked out the door, he gave a soft smile to the both of you,

“glad to see it was a false alarm, ma’am. you had this gentleman quite worried - ran so fast i couldn’t even grab him!” the officer laughed, “you two have a nice day now! sorry about your watch, though!”

after he shut your door, the silence enveloped your home. you closed your eyes and breathed deeply to prepare to speak to your ex-boyfriend. but as soon as you opened them, sunghoon started to cry softly.

he hugged you tighter than he ever had, and soon enough, his face was buried in your neck. his cries were silent, but you could feel his body shaking as his tears soaked your shirt.

“sunghoon…” you started, stroking his back, “i’m sorry i worried you, honey.”

you knew you shouldn’t be calling your ex pet names, especially an ex that had run from you without properly ending the relationship. but your heart still held so much love for him that it flowed out naturally. and you knew he was crying from more than just worry, so you doubt he minded at all in the moment.

his crying slowed down as his arms took to loosely wrapping around your waist instead. he pulled away from your neck to rest his forehead on yours. from this angle, you could see his swollen eyes and red nose - a sight so rare in all the years you had dated. he was never a crier after all.

but memories of several late-night conversations rushed your mind. he always said his number one fear was your death, and now you could see he had never lied about that.

he could see your mind go elsewhere so he called your name softly, “don’t say you’re sorry. i’m so happy, these are relieved tears. and i just really, really missed you.” he croaked out. you knew he had more to say, so you just nodded, letting him go on.

“and i’m sorry, baby. for everything. i shouldn’t have run, i shouldn’t have tried to egg you on to fight me back. i shouldn’t have even fought anything you said that night. you were right. i didn’t prioritize you. in my attempt to secure you for life, i let you go instead. i’m so sorry, i never wanted to break up.” he was rambling in earnest now, afraid that no words would make you take him back.

you listened quietly as he went on for a few minutes after that, hand continuing to rub his back, “i know honey, i know.”

“baby, you need to understand that i almost died thinking you almost died today,” you could’ve laughed at how dramatically he spoke, “i couldn’t breathe right thinking that our last conversation could’ve been an argument. that you wouldn't have ever known just how deeply i love you and need you. i have so much regret for how i treated you, but if you’d give me the chance, i have all the time in the world to make it up to you…let’s go on that vacation i promised you. we can leave tomorrow if you’d like.” he smiled hopefully at you.

“hoon,” his heart soared at the use of his beloved nickname, “what do you mean? don’t you have work? can you really leave with such short notice?”

“i quit my job.”

“excuse me?”

“no job that made me work that much is worth it. i’ll find one with better work-life balance…after our vacation. if that’s what you still want of course…” he spoke more quietly, as if afraid of rejection.

you sighed. you really should be realistic with this - you two had been broken up for a few weeks at that point. you knew the love was still there, but was this a good decision?

while there was still some hesitation on your part, you couldn't help but notice how gingerly he held you. his arms were still around your waist loosely, yet there was something desperate about their hold. you knew he was holding back from hurting you - you could tell how tightly he wanted to hug you.

he was so shaken up at the idea of you being hurt that he rushed over there despite the two of you not being on speaking terms. for someone who had trouble communicating how he felt sometimes, you knew his actions spoke louder than words. he always acted brave, but there was so much he feared. and you knew losing you was always at the top of this list.

you could also feel how he was simply soaking in the sight of your face. his eyes were shy, yet determined. he wasn't going to risk missing another second of staring at you. a part of you grew conscious, but you knew he was just taking in what he had missed for weeks.

“what about…” you started and almost giggled at how he perked up, “we take it slow - another two weeks or so to talk everything out and relax? to get us to a good place again before you hold me hostage in some foreign country?”

sunghoon smiled softly, kissing your forehead. you leaned in naturally to his warmth, to his touch that you missed so much. “that sounds like a great idea, love.” he spoke, “we’ll get you a new watch too. and i’ll do all the itinerary planning and packing whenever you’re ready, okay? i love you.”

“okay. and i love you too. can’t wait to enjoy your unemployment with you for now!”

one smile and nod from you had him taking you into his arms once more, relishing in your being. he was back where he belonged. he had experienced the scariest reminder ever that he needed you, and sunghoon was never letting you go now.

THE STORY IS OUT!!! @itsmethegodzillafan so far it’s a A/N but chapter 1 will be tomorrow hopefully 🙏

ITS FINISHED >:3