I have a fantasy that Daisy Ridley and I are on a plane together and it crashes. We both end up on a deserted island, just us two. Daisy, being a petite, younger, brit knows close to nothing of how to survive, while my years of being a boyscout has taught me how to make fires and live somewhat off the land. We'd spend years together on this island. She would come to rely on me for human company and I would do the same for her. For the sake of our sanity, of course. Eventually, we'd fall for each other and we'd make passionate love for hours on end. After a few years of fucking each other, some debris would wash ashore allowing us to finish the construction of a raft, a la Castaway.
During the voyage home, Daisy and I would get separated, but we'd both make it home. Her, picked up by a luxury cruise, me by a commercial grade fishing boat. We'd both think that the other had died. I would make it home a month or so later, while she was taken home immediately, being Daisy Ridley washed up on a cruise.
Upon returning home, I turn on the television and see her on Letterman doing an interview about her time on the island. I watch the whole thing from beginning to end, and she speaks nothing of our survival together and our relationship. She's telling everyone that she survived by herself for half a decade. Broken and with anger in my heart, I take my savings and go on a trip across the sea to London. I find my way past Daisy's security and break into her room while she's alone.
Standing behind her, I cough loudly to get her attention. I say "Did you miss me?" She begins deeply sobbing. Barely able to talk through the enormous gasps for air, she chokes out an excited "yes!" At this point, we fuck. The greatest fuck we've ever had. The most passionate, beautiful fuck that ever fucked. Then, after I come a few times, I ask to hotdog her ass. Then, while I'm doing that one last time, I bash her brains in with a lamp.