#Broadway Showcase

[sparkoflena]

SCREAMING. CRYING. THROWING UP.

[the-blossica-fan]

Hello hello! If nobody has asked yet, Fatutu and Barcarola Actor's AU!

Raises the Actor's AU flag

Hell yeah the kind of ask that's present in every patch 🔥🔥🔥

Barcarola is quite the prodigy in this AU. Her parents made sure she would exploit every opportunity she had in the acting and music department. To be honest, she's more of a musical actress than a drama actress.

She'd rather participate in musicals, so this could be considered the first time she's exploring different corners of acting.

Her paper originally wasn't meant to be Barcarola but a person from Cremona, like an extra, however, after seeing her potential they decided to change her to be one of the main characters of Last Evenings On Earth.

Fatutu was already on set by the time Barcarola was cast, so they already had their main characters covered, considering every other character has appeared before so casting for MCs wasn't as extensive as before.

Barcarola was really, really nervous. She could understand singing and having lines in between, but having full lines of dialogue was something she wasn't used to, so she messed up quite a lot. Thankfully, there were other members who had an equally bad memory for lines, such as Kamuta and Regulus from time to time.

Thankfully, the role of Barcarola wasn't that hard to follow. Her personality is a bit different, with Barcarola (actress) being more shy and less outspoken than her character counterpart, but it wasn't hard to get in character.

And no, her name is not Barcarola. It's a similar situation to Tooth Fairy, she simply adopted the name and now her real name is a mystery for most.

Fatutu has been a part of the crew for a while now, actually, she just never appeared as anything other than an extra. She wasn't trained to be an actress but she managed to befriend the crew enough to make them want to give her a chance, after some acting classes of course. It did take some time for her to finally get a leading role in the series, but she did.

Fatutu had some struggles at the beginning, but she's a quick learner, she had little troubles adjusting to the scripts and the emotional moments of her acting.

She's pretty different from her character in some aspects, but similar in others. She's not as stubborn or clearheaded, but she is a lot more hyperactive. Although they do share similar ways to cope with things and the same determination, otherwise she would have never gotten this far.

Kamuta Is not her actual brother, she does have one but he's not much older than her. Kamuta was hired to play the part, and well he was quite as messy as her before the classes. She found it hilarious but also wanted to help him get better at acting.

She didn't really get along with Teo due to their different personalities but Solene became a good friend of hers.

And Regulus too, although sometimes she wishes she could place tape on her mouth.

When it comes to Barcarola, even Fatutu thinks she has a lot of potential in other fields of acting, so she's her #1 hyper when it comes to that.

Maybe Fatutu may not take acting for a long time, this and a few advertisements on TV being all she has acted in her life, but she could try going for something different. Maybe scriptwriting, Noire does support the idea.

[howtonerdoutovereverything]

Lindsay Mendez looked me in the eyes and answered my question with some advice I needed to hear so badly I am going to scream

[slashingdisneypasta]

Professor Callahan x Fem!Student!Reader || Drabble

Plot: Callahan gets vicious, defending you in front of the whole damn class.

Inspired by Ezra using his power as a teacher in this scene of Pretty Little Liars for gross personal reasons with Aria. (Start at .57)

Warnings: Teacher/student affair themes. Fight, bad romance and sexual references.

You could not believe what you were hearing; Callahan was tearing into a student- which was not entirely out of the ordinary. But this wasn't him smug and mean, this was him pissed off. Because of you.

Half the class was watching in fear, afraid the professor was just in a bad mood and they could be next, but you felt like the other half were looking directly at you; at the back of your head. At the side of your face, searching for a reaction.

Knowing something is wrong here. Knowing what you've done.

You didn't know what to do. You were frozen in place; your knuckles white wrapped around eachother in your lap as you fight not to say anything.

All the guy did was oppose your opinion in a debate- like he was supposed to. It was a simple one, but the guy got personal; he got too heated and he called you a dumbass (You didn't care, you were getting heated, too- it was hard not to in a class like this, and you weren't a fan of his opinions. You could still feel the word 'idiot' at the tip of your own tongue.), and Cal immediately spoke before you could- his razer fast wit clicking into place faster then you could have de-escalated the argument. He went from sitting back half-on his desk, one calf folded casually over the other, to ram-rod straight, as close to the guy as he could get without wading in between the desks. Cal's eyes glued to him while he took the poor guy down 30-something pegs, humiliating the guy in front of the whole class until he had his head bowed pathetically and nothing to say.

It wasn't fair. Callahan was completely abusing his power and everyone in the room knew it.

Which wasn't entirely out of character- but you were afraid that they would see through him. Or you. And they'd see how bad this instance was, how gross. That he was abusing his power to defend the student he was currently fucking.

The interaction lasted less then a minute, but Callahan got his point across, and continued to stare down the guy for further torturous moments, while the rest of the room was crickets. You refused to even move, eyes on him hoping he would glance over and see you and come to his goddamn senses. But he didn't.

... The horrible scene ended when Callahan finally shifted and looked up at the clock, before rolling his shoulders of any stress and heading back to his desk like nothing at all happened. "Alright everyone, class's over, get out."

Everyone did as they were told as fast as possible, especially the guy- he barely stuck around to unplug his laptop before shooting out of the classroom. He certainly didn't wait around to ask questions about the homework. The classroom was empty in a minute.

Then it was just the two of you. He knew you were there, but he didn't look around or acknowledge you, the dick; just peacefully flipped through a book on his desk as if he wasn't an insane person. Didnt he think him coming to your defence like that was going to cause suspicions?? If not, then he's not nearly as smart as you thought.

...

You cant stay quiet. "What the hell was that??" You finally ask, slamming your books down on your desk as you get up out of your seat.

"... the hell are you talking about?" He asks, playing dumb which you absolutely don't care for. No.

You round the desk so he can see how pissed off you are, and you can see his face too. See how nonchalant he really is- which is not at all. He looks pent up and frustrated. "What the hell is wrong with you??"

"Oh, so I guess you liked the way he was talking to you??" He smirks, shrugging. "My bad. Next time I'll encourage that." He sneers, sarcasm dripping off his sharp tongue.

Narrowing your eyes, you fight not to leave right that moment. Leave, transfer classes, and never see him again. This isn't worth the risk, whatever this is isn't worth your education. How could you have been so dumb?? "Ugh, you're being impossible. You know that was dumb. What if people are suspicious now?? What if someone tells- I dunno, another faculty member?? Someone with more power then you?? You could be fired for fraternising with a student."

"Thanks for the tip. I had no idea." Still, with the nasty quippy sarcasm. You roll your eyes, and move away from the desk with the intent to gather your things and leave.

"I'm out of here."

Before you can even reach your things though, Callahan turns around and grabs you by the wrist. "Oh no you're not." He drags you back, right into his body this time. "If you ask me, you're at fault here- you're the one who couldn't handle herself in a simple debate."

NOW you're pissed. "What!?" You were holding your own! Its not your fault the guy went out of line and Callahan felt the need to jump in- you didn't ask him to do that! He wouldn't have, for anyone else in that class.

"If you could handle that, if you could control your emotions in the classroom, I wouldn't have noticed your distress and felt the need to defend you- be a grown up and not a silly girl, and this wont happen again."

Instead of engaging him in that ridiculous line of accusation (Suddenly you're a child?? You weren't too young to have been in his bed, last night, were you?), you stop everything. You make yourself calm. Then you lean into him, and v e r y c a l m l y say "You're an asshole." Then wrench yourself free of his hold and storm to your desk. Furiously you stuff everything into your bag and throw it over your shoulder, turning to stride out of the old classroom when Callahan follows you and corners you against the door before you can open it. "Fuck!- " You curse, glaring hard at him. "Let me out!"

When he grabs your jaw and pulls you suddenly into a deep heated kiss, you're shocked and outraged; you drop your bag heavily to the floor. Let him force you between the door and his body. When he pulls back, you glare even more harshly at him. "... was that supposed to do something??" You ask breathlessly. "I'm still just as pissed off at you."

"Yeah, well I don't care. Get on your knees." He tells you gruffly, breathing heavily from the fight.

You gape, stunned. "You get on your knees!" You snap back, beyond pissed off that he would dare-

That he has the balls to- To try, and-

Right now!???

You're furious with him!

But your heart falls in utter surprise that almost takes all the fight right out of you, when he shrugs his shoulders in that perfectly tailored blazer, a spiteful-shitty-smug look on his face, and goes down. Eyes wide, you stare at him (This old man) down there on his knees fully prepared to eat you out amidst being pissed off, in shock and... a little bit of desire. Sometimes you hate this man-- but he looks so good on his knees. Even with that narcissistic smirk on his face.

"... fuck you."

"Thats the idea."

[gardenof-eda]

You ever just remember things? I loved this band in high school, they were local but making it big especially when they toured and partnered with Johnny Craig.

I had a boyfriend who gave me his sweater with the bands logo all over. What do you think I did? I wore that thing until it became a rag. I was as infatuated with the meager gift as I was the boy who gave it to me. I wore it to school one day and much to my dismay, the bassist and his girlfriend attended the school. They saw me in the sweater and I believe the words “Nice Sweater” weren’t meant as a compliment that day. It could have been my anxious adolescent ears hearing a tone that wasn’t there but it is how I remembered it. I was horrified for whatever reason like their opinions would ever make any difference in the things I liked or how much I loved my little hoodie.

Oh to be a silly high school girl.

I am so fond of those memories now, the boy, the sweater, the band. They’re all memories that visit from time to time and are always more than welcome to stay.

[biggoldbelt]

Disney Entertainment Showcases Unrivaled Storytelling Power on Opening Night of D23: The Ultimate Disney Fan Event

THE UNMATCHED POWER OF DISNEY STORYTELLING ON DISPLAYFROM DISNEY ENTERTAINMENT ON NIGHT ONE OFD23: THE ULTIMATE DISNEY FAN EVENT Exclusive First Looks from Highly Anticipated Releases, Major Casting and Title Announcements, and Star-Studded Performances Electrify Sold-Out Arena Earlier at the Anaheim Convention Center, Guests were Dazzled by Panels, Presentations and Immersive Experiences from…

[tfbsafeageappropriatedance]

Can’t we appreciate THE BIG FACT that this was danced in 100% character shoes?

As a classic jazz dance and dance history buff, this rendition to Michael Buble’s cover of “Feeling Good” from The Roar of the Greasepaint - the Smell of the Crowd is PERFECTION!

And I don’t have to mention that to my brain, many dance competition renditions remind me of those FOLLOWING GIFs:

[lostcatinthedark]

THIS OMG 💯 Jimin's theatrical nature is one of my favorite things ever.

Jimin as a Method Actor

As a nerd, when I write a think-piece or analysis, I have to define my terms and goals for this piece to start out. My post is about how I think, while not trained in the Method, Jimin really embodies method acting in music videos and on stage.

Method Acting: Common to popular misconception, Method acting is not about being “in character” throughout the course of an acting project. Instead, an actor who uses “the Method” draws upon either past emotional memories or a deep analysis of a character’s motivations to embody the truths of the role that they are playing.

The Jimin quote that gave me this impression was when he told WeVerse Magazine in the interview dated 7/31/2021, “I never noticed before but the songs do sound different depending on what I’m wearing. Sometimes I danced all excitedly when I wore casual clothes, but when I wore a suit, something about the song sounded sexy. There’s a different vibe when I dance alone versus when I dance as part of a group, so I visualize how I should dress to make my dancing look cooler every time.” This response tells me that he uses costuming to get into character on stage, and it’s always a slightly different character that still fits with the theme of the story. There are several videos on YouTube comparing how he changes the vibe of GoGo, Boy With Love, and Dynamite among others depending on the styling. It’s a sort of “obvious in hindsight” thing that made me watch a lot of Jimin fancams and really look at the subtle differences he incorporates.

The whole interview is really interesting, especially coming from the puff-piece prone in-house magazine, because Jimin is very open about his process. He mentions earlier in the interview that he had to modify his process for the English trilogy, and that it was more difficult for him to dance to concept-less songs.

I’m paraphrasing, but he described the Butter dance as difficult to execute at first before he had to find the groove through amalgamating the approaches of other members to the song. The way he contrasted the two song groupings was interesting: previous songs and albums were “a concept” where he “wanted to show off something about myself in that context”; the English trilogy was based in “following the feeling of conveying the feelings I want to share with others”. In short, he struggled without enough storytelling in the dance to develop a character to embody on stage. In my book, that’s Method acting.

You even see it in RunBTS episodes. I think the production team of that show is aware of it, because he’s way more prone to acting whiny/silly and doing aegyo when he’s been styled really young or cutesy, and much more adult in his playfulness/mischief when dressed his age. It’s all in the way he holds himself, in my opinion. It also makes him a great model, because he can sell any outfit concept.

I think it’s also why his parts are generally the most-replayed in Music Videos, despite not being one of the two fandom-designated actors. Every time you see him in a music video, even if it’s a short part, he is firmly in character, defined by the song concept, album concept and the outfit in that scene. Look at LY:Her for example. There’s a clear difference between the Intro: Serendipity Jimin and the DNA Jimin, despite them being on the same album and sharing a common theme of idealistic, naive love. Serendipity is about the dreaminess of first love, expressed through the character of the Little Prince. In DNA his character is still dreamy at times, but overall resolving to convince a partner of your commitment and he is much more naturalistic (by which I mean less ethereal) in his portrayal of the DNA character.

He stars in Intro:Serendipity, playing a character that apparently Koreans compared to the Little Prince. It’s a French science fantasy novella (I read it as a pre-teen) about a child prince who learned life lessons as he travels across planets, eventually ending up on Earth and sharing his experiences with the narrator. The whole music video seems to be based upon that character and novella, and Jimin does a really good job of portraying a dreamy, slightly otherworldly feeling in that performance, including staying composed and calm while doing stunt work. Instead of relying on dance and costuming, here he is actually acting wordlessly as he lip-syncs to the camera, and he made an iconic piece of art. I love this music video.

In DNA he is one of the seven member cast, with four outfit changes and choreography to set the tone for the performance. He is almost entirely a supporting character in this music video, so I’m judging the four character variants purely on split-second vibes. Anyone reading this has seen the music video, so I’m calling the outfits sparkly jacket, white sweater with red stripe, yellow jacket, and navy heart shirt. In the sparkly jacket he has a slightly untouchable, suave vibe, in the white sweater he smirks a little, in the yellow jacket he’s dancing playfully and is a little bro-y in the non dancing couch scene, and in the heart shirt he’s back to a dreamy character like Serendipity but with an extra edge. I don’t even know if the differences are intentional or subconscious, but it’s deeply impressive and makes him a phenomenal dancer to watch on screen. I’m a ballet fan, so wordless character embodiment is a favorite medium of acting to watch.

If you go through all their music videos and focus on Jimin, he’s always doing this. He’s got an idea in his head about what his character is, how it relates to himself (see the above quote about how he approaches concepts), how his character interacts and plays off of the other members, and how the styling influences the character’s presentation. Even more impressively, it’s all in micro expressions, not overacted or very noticeable at first glance. In other words, he quietly plays his character in the background when not in focus, but takes over the scene when it’s his part.

He definitely leaned into this tendency in his solo work. He kept the sets and abrupt scene changes fairly minimal in his four solo music videos, with 3/4 having one set and Like Crazy having 5 interrelated sets (dreamy blue intro, house, club, bathroom, black set with couple) that tell a story. The reason I think so many of his fans, especially the ones who got into BTS pre-English trilogy, love his music videos so much is because of the deeply well-thought out storylines that influence the sets, costuming, and scene changes. I’ll probably follow this post up with a Like Crazy storyline MV analysis of my own, through the lens of what his character is portraying as opposed to declaring what he’s trying to say, but this is a long enough ramble as it is. But overall, I think that Jimin’s method acting ability is a important contributor to his IT factor that many fans overlook when trying to explain his stage presence.

[cuteandhughesy]

Love Looks Pretty On You | Jonathan Kovacevic

summary: dating one of the members of the new jersey devils roster was frowned upon, and breaching that rule could result in the loss of your job—however, when johnathan kovacevic comes into the picture, the rules seem to fade away

[word count] 15.5k

warnings: NSFW! workplace romance | forbidden relationship | coach!reader | suggestive dialogue throughout entirety of the fic | shameless flirting and teasing | fluff | lil bit of angst | kissing | alcohol | smut | phone sex | (f + m) masturbation | oral (f receiving) | protected p in v | suggestive themes | read at your own discretion

a/n: based off this lovely request! this is a player i’ve never written before, and before this request I wasn’t too familiar with (just his name and the team he plays for) so i’m so happy to have learned and now share! but i’m actually really happy with this, so I hope you love.

🎵 love looks pretty on you by nessa barrett

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

part1: job of your dreams

you toy with the long stick of liquid eyeliner, biting the most sensitive part of your inner lip as you contemplate your next move. your eyes dart back to your own reflection, examining your usual makeup look that you'd just finished. is winged liner too much?

today is the first day of your new—dream—job. a job which before jessica campbell paved the way to woman leading jobs in the nhl, you never imagined you'd achieve...but here you are—in your bathroom, minus 1 hour until you needed to show your face at prudential center and contemplating if you wanted to add a small black wing on your eyelid.

you want to come off sophisticated and put together, and you can't decide if liner is the perfect way to showcase that...or the complete opposite. you look down to the drugstore branded stick, and with a rough sigh, you slot it back in your drawer—nestled between other coloured pencils you're always hesitant in using and a stack of blotting sheets you always forget to grab before heading out.

you leave your warm bathroom without another glance at the mess of makeup left on your bathroom counter, hastily making your way through the hallway and towards the kitchen—you still need to get your coffee ready. the sound of your feet padding along the hardwood has you cat, hazelnut, chirping sweetly, jumping off the back of the couch in favour of weaving through your legs.

you almost trip, and you curse gently. "hazy, baby, please—i'm nervous enough already? the last thing I need is to fall and break my nose beforehand."

she blinks her wide green eyes at you, and obviously that's as much as an answer you're going to get out of your sweet kitty. you sigh, carefully walking around her and to the previously brewed coffee pot. to keep with the professional vibe you're hoping to give off, you opt for a sleek black travel tumbler, filling it dangerously high with decaf—although the chances of you leaving it in your cup holder is so high, you could've chose a rangers branded tumbler and it wouldn't of really mattered.

you fasten the lid, turning and meeting the eyes of hazelnut—who's now sitting comfortably on your kitchen island, her striped tail wagging happily. you give your cat a nervous, closed lip smile. "wish me luck!"

and in some twisted way like your cat can understand you, she meows once, a slow blink of her eyes following. it has the nerves bubbling in your stomach settling down ever so slightly, and you finally feel like you can drag yourself out the house.

just before you open the door, you double back and speed walk back into your mess of a bathroom, pulling the top drawer back open and grabbing not only your blotting sheets, but the eyeliner as well—throwing them both into your purse.

the drive to the arena was filled with your own personal ferris wheel of nervous anticipation and self deprecation—accompanied by your cheesy pop playlist full of tate mcrae, the wicked broadway soundtrack, and everything in between. you're so focused on not only the road ahead, but with the thoughts of how you'll make the best impression on the men that you'll be helping coach.

the professional hockey players that you'll be coaching. it's so surreal, and just as exciting—so much so that you're not even positive it's completely sunk in, despite the butterflies in your stomach reminding you every single minute.

by the time you pull into the parking lot, you're only just realizing you left too early—the practically empty parking lot and time on your dashboard undeniable evidence as such. you turn off your engine, unbuckling your seatbelt with a deep breath. you fall back into your seat, attempting to get a grip on your sweaty limbs and racing heart.

"fuck it." you chime, digging through your purse while simultaneously flipping your visior down—the mirror lights shining in your face. you grab the eyeliner, and with another sigh, you begin lining your lashes, creating the smallest wing. you pull back, and surprisingly enough it looks really good��good choice, you think to yourself.

"okay," you smile, "now just the other side." talking to yourself has always been your favourite pass time, as clinically insane as that may seem. there's no friend—or critique—like yourself, and sometimes you needed you to tell yourself things—like the choice to bring your eyeliner for example...smart.

you drop the felt tip to the middle of your lid, and slowly begin dragging it outwards. you're pretty sure your tongue is poking out as a concentration method, and you can only hope none of your new team members are around to see the way your face is contorted.

a soccer ball smacks against your window, making you jump. the tip of your eyeliner follows the line of your face, a thick black line going all the way back to your hairline. "shit!"

shocked, and still flustered from the sudden scare you whip around to look through the driver's window in an attempt to see what the fuck just occurred. a battered soccer ball rolls away from your tires, back in the direction it came from. your eyes follow the pattern, slowly trailing the line until you're landing upon...oh it's a man.

a man who is jogging towards your car with a sheepish expression on his face. you open your door and quickly get out of the car just as the man stops in front of you—his guilty expression not yet letting up.

he's actually quite handsome, you think. beautiful tawny skin with a hint of dark stubble lining his sharp jaw and chin. he's also tall, like intimidatingly so—it has you feeling tiny in comparison.

"i'm so sorry," he starts, voice gravelly in a way that has your stomach swooping. "soccer has never been my sport of choice...for obvious reasons." the man gestures between the now still soccer ball and your open car door, a small, but hesitant grin taking over his face.

if you were angry before, you're not anymore—any remarks dying on your tongue at the sight of the attractive man in front of you. you clear your throat twice, blinking to regain focus—this is the last thing you needed to be thinking about on a day as big as this one. you're not sure exactly what to say, but you know the words that leave your mouth next aren't the right ones. "yeah, soccer sucks."

his eyes twinkle with amusement, his grin growing slightly. behind you, a small brunette with killer curves and a phone in her hands calls for him. "johnny, can you at least throw the ball back! i'm missing prime content—wait, luke come back!" the girl in question attempts getting luke hughes, an nhl player you're well familiar with, to participate in whatever video she's filming—clearly one that involves the soccer ball between you and johnny.

he picks up the ball before tossing it back in her direction, which another player who looks like dougie hamilton catches. johnny turns back to you, eyes following the black line on your face. "you've got makeup..." he trails off, gesturing to the area on his own face.

you gasp slightly, memories of only moments ago when you'd totally not only messed up your eyeliner, but your face makeup. "fuck," you curse hurriedly, darting back into your car and pulling the mirror as close to yourself as it can go. you're in an awkward position, half in your car while your ass juts out.

johnny clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he attempt to draw his eyes away from your backside—your ass and thighs that are perfectly hugged by the heather gray slacks you're wearing.

you lick your thumb, swiping the liner—but it only makes more of a mess. "double fuck." you pull yourself out of your car, turning back to the 6"5 god behind you. he's blushing now, eyes not quite meeting yours as he attempts to calm himself down—johnathan doesn't think he's ever been this turned on from dress pants in his life.

"do you have a napkin? or maybe some tissue?" you ask him, seemingly unaware of the tension in his shoulders and flickering gaze.

slowly, he shakes his head. "no, I don't, i'm sorry." his face falls as yours does. he hates the way your clear disappointment makes him feel...fuzzy. johnathan steps closer, his mouth opening as he tries to finds his wording. "but, I can help...If you want. ill just use the sleeve of my sweater, I can wet it and clean you up..." his eyes twinkle, an awkward chuckle leaving him. "you can even lick the sweater if you prefer."

you look up at him with what you can only describe as a combination of amusement and disbelief. johnny has already pulled his black sweatshirt over his fist, closing the distance between you with one large step. "you can lick it, I don't mind."

he's kind of relived that you don't want to lube up his sweater with your spit, because then johnathan would be really turned on. he nods, wetting the edge of his sweater before bringing it up to the side of your face, gently wiping away the mess of eyeliner smudged along there.

despite how odd this whole interaction is, you can't help but feel rather enamoured with the mystery man—a man who obviously plays for the new jersey devils, or at least works for them. but based on his stature and the size of his quads peeking out from his athletic shorts—you're thinking it's the former.

his eyes are filled with nothing but concentration as he wipes away the makeup off your skin, his sweater soft against the side of your face as he works. you watch as his tongue pokes out the corner of his lips as he focuses, and that has a smile blossoming on your face.

"okay," he begins quietly, using the other side of his sleeve to dry your skin. "you might want to double check that, but I got it all off—well, my sweater did." johnathan laughs that awkward rumble again, and you can't help the way it makes your heart leap.

so much for being professional.

"thanks." you hum, smile growing. "i'm y/n."

he breathes in something that feels like relief, shoulders dropping slightly as the tension he'd been feeling earlier begins dispersing. "johnathan."

your brows pull in confusion, but your grin stays. "that girl called you johnny, is that what you prefer I call you?"

"you can call me anything you want." the words slip from his tongue before he can think them through, and johnathan hates the way his cheeks flush at his own words—but he loves the way your cheeks do.

"okay," you hum, turning to grab your purse from the passenger seat of the car. you take a glance in your visior mirror, and surprisingly he did a really good job at fixing your makeup—the wing is a little wonky but all the men you'll soon be surrounded with won't notice...you hope. you stand up straight, shutting the car door with an echoing thump.

the parking lot has begun filling up, various hockey players and team members making their way inside—most participating in the game the admin girl had set up by the entrance.

"i'll call you johnny then." you hum lowly, adjusting your purse on your shoulder as you begin making your way towards the entrance doors—heels clicking the pavement as you do. considering you're actively meeting and speaking to one of the guys you'll be coaching, slapping on the faux confident personality came as second nature.

it's not that you weren't confident in your job ability to coach these professional athletes—you were more than prepared and qualified for such. but, you've never been super confident in your personal life, especially when it has to do with attractive men who you really shouldn't be forming an attraction for.

regardless, you glance over you shoulder—eyeing his frozen stature and slightly agape mouth accompanied with an amused, flushed expression. "you coming, johnny?"

your question seems to snap him out of whatever daze he'd been trapped in, blinking three times quick as he begins moving, catching up to you with two strides—honestly, screw tall men with their long limbs! or maybe you just want to actually screw them...you can't decipher that right now.

much to johnathan's dismay, as soon as you enter the building, you are swept away by a member of staff, leaving him to stand awkwardly by himself for a fleeting moment until he realizes what the fuck he's doing. before the devils on ice practice today, they'd all been called in early for what keefe and fitzgerald described as an 'introductory meeting'—whatever that means.

it's not long until he's walking through the threshold of the large room, finding most of his teammates and various members of staff already in there. some sitting and chatting, while others haven't yet taken a seat, but instead stand beside the long rectangle tables as they discuss whatever they might be discussing.

johnathan takes his seat beside brett pesce and curtis lazar, greeting his teammates with a closed lipped smile and quick nod, stretching his long legs out underneath the table. they make small talk as the rest of the team filters into the room, following suit and finding various spots throughout the room to take their seats.

it's not 10 minutes later that the head coach and general manager of the team join them—smiling politely as they come to a stop at the front of the meeting room. fitzgerald clears his throat, and although the room has begun quieting down at the authority figures presence, it completely silenced as he begins to speak. "thank you all for coming so early, we appreciate your time for such a special meeting."

special? johnathan thinks, frown tugging at his lips. what's so special about this meeting?

the GM continues, an easy expression on his sunkissed face. "as you know, we've been looking for a new fit for our open assistant coaching position behind the bench. sheldon and I wanted to make sure that this person was not only qualified, but was fun, exciting and above all knowledgeable...." he trails off, smile growing. "with that being said, id like to introduce you to our newest member of staff: assistant coach, y/n y/l/n."

it's then that johnathan notices you—you and your ridiculously faltering pants and sexy eyeliner. he swallows nervously, eyes darting around the room like he's done something wrong. he hasn't, so he's not sure by it feels that way. he should've known that you and your new, pretty face had something to do with the introduction meeting sprung on the team.

beside him, brett snickers. "how are we supposed to focus with that talking to us?" his words are hushed and slow, brett's eyes never once leaving your figure as you begin introducing yourself to the room.

that comment makes johnathan feel the upmost angry, and suddenly he feels very inclined to punch his defensive teammate in the jaw. but, he thankfully doesn't. what he does do though is narrow his gaze, shrugging his shoulders roughly. "learn."

johnathan doesn't wait for brett's reply before turning his attention towards you, catching the tail end of your introduction. he kind of feels like a sleaze anytime his eyes wander over your body, studying the curve of your hips and the round, full display of your breasts under your high necked cotton top. it also doesn't help that he knows what your ass looks like bent over, or how he knows that you smell like peaches doused in brown sugar—that he knows how your skin feels underneath his spit covered hoodie.

a low groan rumbles in johnathan’s chest—thankfully it’s not loud enough to draw the attention of any close teammates, because he really doesn’t want to explain that. subtly, he adjusts in his seat, palming his semi-hard bulge as if he's trying to tell his dick to cut it out. you're acting like such a douche, he thinks.

you stand on the other side of sheldon keefe, half listening as he goes over some minor details before the start of ice practice. you can't help the way your eyes wonder, analyzing the new faces of various players you'll soon be coaching. jack hughes, who looks tired and like he'd rather be anywhere else this morning. then there's curtis lazar, who is the complete opposite of the middle hughes brother—eyes wide and alert as he nods along to his head coach.

then like a magnetic pull, your eyes find johnathan's—or rather, johnny. he's not looking at sheldon like his table partners, but instead his gaze lingers on you. immediately you feel warm, interlocking eyes and not wanting to look away. the faintest smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, so faint that you're not sure if it's happening or if you're imagining it.

he's stupid hot. like so hot your entire body is on fire. it's dangerous and wrong—it's tempting. not only is he easy on the eyes, but he seems sweet and slightly awkward. which is the perfect combination to have you falling. subtly, you raise an eyebrow at him in silent question.

johnathan blinks, looking away from you. just before you can feel embarrassed about the situation or feel like you read him wrong, a more prominent smile pulls at his lips, eyes flickering back to yours in a fleeting moment.

you're in trouble.

for the entire time you're on the ice, even when you're going through drills and giving words of encouragement as well as discipline, you can't help but find johnathan through the sea of various faces staring at you.

it's truly like a magnetic force, and your body feels drawn to his—even though you've barley talked to the guy. you know interpersonal relationships with the athletes is frowned upon, especially when you're in a coaching position. the hiring staff made sure you were well aware of that before you were hired.

to which you told them it wouldn't be a problem—but now here you are, watching the sweat trickle down johnathan kovacevic's neck as he catches his breath with some other players next to you. and you're almost annoyed at yourself, because you really like this job, and the guys are all so welcoming and kind—well, to your face at least, and that's honestly all you can ask for.

you don't want to risk your dream job for some silly little heat of the moment crush—you can't. but as you get home a few hours and a tour of the arena later, snuggled on the couch with hazelnut beside you and a slice of cold leftover pizza in your hand—you're googling him. you dive into articles and video interviews that when he speaks in them, your belly twirls around in excitement.

but you know you're fucked when you start scrolling through his google pictures, mentally taking note of which ones are your favourites. your cat keeps giving you looks, like she knows you're doing something you shouldn't be.

but you just can't help it—stupid magnetic pull.

the next day comes with a little less stress, and a lot more excitement. you go through your morning routine with steady hands, and a content smile. todays schedule looks a little different than yesterdays, as today you'll actually be put to the test—coaching alongside keefe, colliton, and mcgill during a game.

you head to your local gym before lunch to get in a workout—hopefully burning all lingering nervous thoughts and energy out of your system. after a few hours out of the house, you make your way back home, feeding hazelnut some blueberry salmon treats before hopping into the shower.

as you dress yourself for the game, you don't contemplate anything—you know the exact outfit and makeup style you want and unlike yesterday you're leaving the black eyeliner behind. you're taking the mess up yesterday as a sign, and that you're better off looking professional without the black wing lining your eye. but then again, it's the reason you met johnathan—which, yeah you can't stop thinking about him.

but you can't start thinking about how you can't stop thinking about him or you'll spiral into a panic—which isn't ideal—so you're avoiding that itch in your brain for now. you make sure hazelnut has an appropriate portion of biscuits and water before heading out, driving to the arena.

it goes by in a bit of a blur, with various interviews and introductions that you needed to complete as the new assistant coach of the new jersey devils—which is still so surreal, and the cameras, athletes and smell of the ice rink is even more. soon enough the lights are dimming, and the beginning chords of the national anthem begin.

you try your best to stay straight faced and forward, but keeping your eyes from wandering is something you have no control over. the stands are packed, which is an electric feeling—but even with the buzz of the crowd and the various athletes in front of you, there's only one face you're seeking out.

your gaze lands on him, trailing over the number 8 on the side of his jersey and the tail end of his last name on the back. johnathan looks really good in red, you think—it complements his tan skin and dark hair almost perfectly. speaking of his hair, the curly locks are in a disarray, wet from the water he'd poured on his head during warmups, and frizzy from the towel he ran over his head afterwards.

he takes a deep breath, his cheeks puffing out as he exhales. johnathan shakes his limbs out before resting his chin on the end of his hockey stick. like he can feel your stare, his eyes flicker towards you, and your heart almost stops as your eyes lock.

he squints almost playfully, the smallest grin on his face as the anthem comes to a close. you blush, the overhead lights flickering back to life as the first period begins. johnathan fully turns in your direction, but his eyes find one of the trainers—calling for a fresh set of gloves.

the sleeves of his jersey are rolled up just enough for you to ogle his arms—veins under damp skin that look so tempting…you want to run your tongue along them. your breath hitches just as he catches the new gloves, eyes landing on you once more.

johnathan was well aware of your wandering eyes, not matter how subtle they were. it has him feeling giddy in the best way, and just before he takes his seat, he winks at you—so fast and soft that he's not even sure you've seen it.

but you did, and you force yourself to look away before you get caught. fuck the risk, you need him.

part2: wandering eyes and fluttering hearts

it's seems that the universe has plans for you and johnathan kovacevic—you can't tell if they’re positive or negative yet...but you know it's got something up its sleeve.

not only do you have to fight your urges to pounce on johnathan during work hours—like meetings, practices and games—but it also seems like you're running into him everywhere, and your desires for him are growing stronger every time you spot him out and about. whether he's letting his hand brush against your lower back as a playful greeting in the frozen isle of the grocery store, or seeing you in the lineup of a cafe and tapping his card before you have the chance to pay for yourself—none of it is helping.

johnathan is ridiculously kind, and an even better listener—you've learned such in the now two months you've been with the devils. where as some of the players aren't always friendly, and snap in frustration at you (even if they're not mad at you specifically), johnny was different. it's safe to say you've developed an embarrassing crush on a man who is technically below you on the professional scale. you know it's wrong, and you know you're his superior, but you can't help the way you feel—despite the ethics of it all.

and johnathan doesn't care either—he's been nonstop thinking about you since your wild, makeup smudged eyes met his through your cars window. everything about you is tempting and exhilarating, and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep his hands to himself. the way you seem to look at him with a certain twinkle in your eye, and blush anytime he comes in close to ask you a question, isn't doing him any favours—it seems like most days end now with his large hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, stroking himself to relive the tension you bring him.

the best tension imaginable.

he's not sure what the rules are when it comes to interpersonal relationships within the nhl, but johnathan doesn't care because he'd be willing to never even look at a hockey puck again if it meant he got to kiss your lips even once—he's down bad.

just before your third month of employment with the devils, johnathan cracks. it's late at night, too late for him to still be awake when an early morning practice awaits him—but he can't find himself to sleep yet, not with thoughts of you running through his head.

the bottom of his phone rests against his bare chest as he thumbs through his list of contacts like he's on autopilot. johnathan pauses as he reaches your name, thumb halting on the gray contact icon. just the thought of your pretty lips framing your smile has his dick twitching in his pyjamas pants. johnathan sighs.

all the players had the coaching staffs numbers, so it's not like it was only johnathan who obtained your contact —so reaching out would be that crazy, right? he groans to himself, running his free hand through his tousled dark hair. johnathan only contemplates for a moment longer before opening a text thread. "fuck it."

he readjusts the cellphone in his hands, typing out a message. 'are you awake?'

johnathan clicks his tongue, deleting it before he can hit send. he shouldn't be giving into his temptation like this, especially as an athlete who practices control. it's too late, and probably too risky. he drops his phone to his chest, letting his eyes flicker shut—trying to calm his instincts.

his phone buzzes.

'hey' it's your number staring back at him—and he knows that because he's been memorizing the seven digits for the 25 minutes he's been contemplating texting you. but here you are, lighting up his lock screen with your simple greeting.

across the city, you lay in your own bed—too hot and too awake to focus on anything other than your phone. you gnaw your lip as you await for a reply—if johnathan is even awake to see it. you know there's a morning practice, and the chances of him even noticing your message tonight is slim. just as you plan on turning off your phone, it vibrates with an incoming message.

'is this a you up text?' you can practically hear his rumbly voice through his text, a smirk pulling at his tempting mouth.

you breathe a laugh—one that is tinged with nerves. you were risking a lot by sending that that message, and you're well aware of how much shit you could get in—but what's so wrong about a hello? your skin has been on fire for weeks at the mere thought of johnathan, and you're finally willing to do something about it. no matter what.

you quickly send a reply. 'is that what you're hoping for?'

johnathan re-reads your message three times, and each time his blush deepens, travelling down his taunt chest. 'not telling' he sends back, and before you have a chance to reply, he types another message. 'I was about to text you.'

you gulp gently, a million questions plaguing your mind. 'oh yeah? about what?'

at this point, johnathan knows he's in too deep to start acting coy and secretive now—there's no point of pretending he doesn't want you, no scratch that, need you. 'about having dinner thursday night. my place.' it was the perfect opportunity to spend time with you—thursday night had no games and no weird evening practice or meetings. it was free. for both of you.

you and johnathan both know having dinner somewhere out in jersey was too risky, because anybody could see you and put two and two together. the chances of getting caught by fans or teammates is too high. so him suggesting dinner at his place was making your belly spin—even though it was seemingly the bare minimum (but let's face it ladies, what man even gives the bare minimum anymore).

'if I say yes, can we order in ramen?' you tag a playful emoji on the end to showcase some playfulness. your eyes don't leave the bubbles that move along the bottom of your screen, a soft grin on your face as you wait.

'i'll order anything you want, y/n.'

it's two antagonizing days of anticipation, both you and johnathan doing your absolute best at acting as nonchalant as possible—pretending like you haven't been sending flirty texts and borderline risky snapchats to one another (an app that you both had to download because you're both acting like horny teenagers) for the last two days.

when thursday comes, you're practically buzzing with excitement. after a meeting in the late morning, you get home and take an extra hot and long shower—double washing your hair with an expensive shampoo, exfoliating and shaving every inch of your body.

you lounge around in your housecoat until you have to start getting ready—two hours before you're supposed to head to johnathan’s apartment. you opt for your usual makeup and natural hair, and you decide on your favourite jeans and black long sleeve—keeping it casual, but still cute.

hazelnut blinks at you from her spot on your closed toilet seat, a tiny purr leaving her stripped body. you pause the last flick of your mascara wand, eyeing your cat. "what? should I change?" she blinks again, and you smile like a crazy person. "you're right, I think it's perfect."

your cat chirps like she agrees, and it makes you laugh, coating your lashes in the final coat of your favourite mascara. "okay hazel baby," you start, eyeing your small collection of fragrances. "which perfume gives off i’m sophisticated but also I want to have sex vibes?"

her head cocks to the side, and you sigh. "sometimes I forgot you're not human," you reach out and give her a few affectionate pats. "johnny is going to be so surprised when he finds out I talk to my cat." you mutter to yourself, eyeing the perfumes once more. before you can overthink the decision and ultimately be late for your date, you spray yourself with your usual perfume—praying that it's a scent that johnathan loves.

the drive to his apartment only takes about 15 minutes, the traffic not too much considering it was an uneventful thursday evening. the security guard lets you through the gates after you told him you're a visitor—the sweet old man must've got a heads up from johnathan about your arrival.

you park in the first available spot, unbuckle your seatbelt and send him a message, 'i'm here, should I just come up?'

not even 10 seconds pass before he answers. 'i'm on my way down to get you' you smile as you read johnathan’s text, opening your car door and stepping out into the clean but stuffy parking garage. it's not a minute later you hear him call your name, the sound of his voice sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine. you grin as he approaches, "hey."

his smile mimics yours. "hey yourself." before he can decide against it, he pulls you into a quick, but sweet hug, squeezing your waist affectionately—and you go easily, your grin growing ever larger as your engulfed in his chest. he pulls back, "you look really nice...wow."

you watch as johnathan’s gaze wanders over your body, like he can't decide if he wants to undress you with his eyes or simply just admire you clothed. it has your belly swooping, anticipation tingling your body. "thanks, johnny." you hum lowly, taking the time to let your own gaze wander him.

johnathan looks so handsome—a crisp black shirt, and light wash jeans wrapping around his large thighs so deliciously. much to your embarrassment (or maybe your liking), he catches your stare, and a deep smile settles on his face at you clearly checking him out. "let's go upstairs."

you nod, slightly dazed and already turned on, letting him slide his fingers between yours and pull you in the direction of the elevator. the tension between you is undeniable, and the flirtatious glances you keep giving each other on the ride up to his floor are almost embarrassing. you're both so infatuated with one another, and you haven't even been close to kissing yet.

johnathan opens his apartment door, and the smell of soy sauce and steamed vegetables hit you—your stomach lowly rumbles and your mouth begins watering at the thought of food. he gestures for you to enter first, and he follows behind, shutting the door with a soft click. "the food was early, i've been keeping it warm in the oven—hope that's okay."

his apartment is really nice, with dark furniture and exposed brick. it's definitely a man cave, but not in a single, frat boy kind of way—but a sophisticated, busy manly way. you run your fingers over a dark green throw hanging over the back of the leather couch, a small playful grin pulling at your lips as you shoot him a look over your shoulder. "you know johnny, you're not supposed to leave the oven unattended."

he's in the kitchen, and because the apartment is mostly open concept—minus the bedroom—you can see him perfectly. johnathan opens the oven door, a breathy laugh leaving him as he takes out the various takeout containers. it's definitely not healthy for a professional athlete to be eating salty, delicious japanese cuisine, and if you were a meal specialist, you'd be frowning. but you're not! so you're not complaining.

"guess im just a risk taker." he hums, placing some of the ramen broth next to the cooked broccoli container—popping the lids off both.

you walk towards the island, leaning against the counter top to watch him work. you practically ogle his body as it moves—muscles shifting and contracting under his shirt so temptingly. you remove the lid off the spring bean take out container, a small grin on your face. "i'm hoping so ."

all the food is on the counter now, and that leaves johnathan to grab some dishes for the both of you—opening the cupboard beside the microwave and grabbing two sloped bowls and match plates. "are you always so confident?" he questions, placing them on the counter in front of you. he pulls open one of the drawers on his side of the island, pulling out two of each utensil. "like I don't know, you always seem to know exactly what to say...it's hot."

you blush, his compliment laying heavy on your heart. you take one of the bowls, loading some of the vegetable mix into it. "no actually, my confidence is mostly fake." he hums in surprise, spooning some beans into his bowl. you continue, "like i'm confident in my job, but when it comes to things like this—like you—I gotta fake it."

johnathan’s brows furrow while he contemplates which meat he wants in his ramen. "what?! like me? what does that mean?" he shoots you an amused look, before inevitably choosing beef and adding it into his bowl.

you laugh once, rounding the island to better reach the small styrofoam container of green onion. "yeah, I don't know you make me...feel things."

"what kind of things?" he questions lowly, the sound making your head spin. johnathan knows damn well what you're insinuating, and as soon as you say the words out loud, he may pounce.

you put some liquid into your bowl, completing the ramen bowl. you break apart one of the many pairs of chopsticks—there's enough food on the island to feed the entire team and some, so the twenty odd pairs of chopsticks don't come as a surprise. you twirl the utensils through the coil noodles, "i'll tell you later."

johnny barks a laugh, a nod following suit. "okay, fine." he watches as you bring the noodles to your mouth immediately, and he stops adding broth to his bowl. "just be careful cause it'll be really hot-"

his warning is cut short as you jump, your mouth hung open as you attempt to fan the hot food in—so hot that the steam is pouring from you like a dragon. "fuck, oh my god." you curse through the mouthful of burning noodles. you can't believe you didn't think to give it a minute before shoving the food in your mouth, and now it's so hot that you can't even chew the food without pain. you're left to only fan yourself and wait.

johnathan abandon’s his bowl on the counter, walking towards you in two quick strides. a curse falls from his mouth, "okay, hold still." he instructs you firmly, but yet softly—large hands enveloping your head as he holds your face. slowly, as if to not startle you, johnathan begins blowing into your mouth, his breath coming in fast bursts that help cool the food in your mouth.

he's so close to you and his touch is so gentle that you can't do anything but blink at him dreamily, watching as he cools the food in your mouth like it's nothing. a moment passes, and his blowing stops. "better?" johnathan questions, pulling back just enough to gauge your reaction.

you nod, slowly starting to chew the significantly less boiling hot noodles in your mouth. he smiles gently, and drops his hands from your face almost reluctantly—already he misses the warmth of your skin under his touch.

thankfully the rest of dinner goes smoothly, and you blow on every single bite loudly before attempting to put it past your lips—which has johnathan laughing in amusement, sometimes even joining in on cooling your food, which should not be so hot, but it is. you're almost tempted to burn your mouth again just so he will hold you and blow into your mouth once more.

you're not even surprised at how well you and johnathan vibe and communicate—somehow it just all makes sense, and that really doesn't help the crush you have for him. after finishing your two bowls of ramen and johnathan’s three, you both clean up, easy chatter flowing between you. it's refreshing, and feels so right—you almost forget that it's wrong. 

soon enough you find yourselves in his living space, sitting on the shaggy rug you claimed you needed to feel—your backs resting on the worn leather couch. you've got your knees bent towards your chest, balancing a wine glass between your two fingers and the top of your knee cap—looking over at johnathan as he laughs at the tail end of your story.

"okay wait," he smiles, eyes twinkling with the upmost amusement. "so your best friend just threw them on his lawn?" he questions, searching for confirmation that, yes, he did hear you correctly. he shifts, turning himself even further in your direction—so close that you can feel the heat of him against your side.

you nod, your own smile softly gracing your face. "yup, 20 boxes of instant mashed potatoes that turned into mush during the rainfall." he laughs once more, finding the story about your best friend and her revenge plan against her ex amusing.

"oh wow, remind me to never mess with her." johnathan teases, taking a sip of his mulberry wine. you follow suit, bringing the thin rim up to your lips and taking a gulp—the flavours spicing your tongue just the way you like. you've always had a hard time turning down wine, especially when a guy who looks like johnathan kovacevic is the one offering it. worse case, you'll just stay the night.

his eyes flicker with something you can't decipher, swallowing his sip of alcohol as he eyes you. "so what about you?"

you swallow, brows pulling in question. "what about me?"

"ever instant mash potato a guys lawn?" he asks with a tempting, playful smirk.

you laugh, placing your now empty wine glass on the rustic, chest style coffee table—the sound a gentle clink in the otherwise quiet apartment. you shake your head, "no, i'd be too scared of getting caught."

he purses his lips softly, brows coming together to create a small indent above his nose. johnathan hums quietly—the sound so charming you almost pass out. "I think you're braver than you think, y/n."

oh, you think—breath catching in your throat. johnathan’s eyes on you are too much, but somehow not enough. you can't decide where to look, your eyes darting all over his face to try and drink in as much of him as possible.

johnathan's breathing changes, his lungs working overtime like he can't quite catch his breath—the way you're looking at him having him feel nothing but breathless. his tongue swipes along his bottom lip, gaze finding your plump, wine stained lips.

he blinks, turning away to place his wineglass next to yours—there's a sip left in his, but he doesn't care to finish it. "you should probably go," johnathan mumbles, eyes finding your lips once more. "otherwise i'll end up doing something stupid like kissing you or..." he slowly trails off, taking a deep breath before he meets your wide, glossy eyes.

"or what?" you prompt, tone all hopeful and quiet.

johnathan hums deeply, the sound shooting signals straight down to your core—you clench your legs together to soothe the ache you've been feeling since you got here. he licks his lip again, slow and deliberate. "...or undressing you."

you almost whine—it's pathetic and johnathan finds it so unbelievably hot. you flush even deeper than the shade the wine has left you, and you slowly bring your lip into your mouth, nibbling on the edge. "maybe I want you to kiss me...and undress me."

he practically moans. "y/n...you can't say that unless you mean it." his words are almost like a warning—an out of the tension building between you. johnathan is giving you the opportunity to walk away, and not break the rules because of him—no matter how bad he wants you to. johnathan's fingers twitch as he desperately tries to keep to himself, watching you through half lidded eyes as he waits your response.

but you don't want an out—you want him. slowly, you shake your head, legs sliding down and away from your torso. the stretch is nice, but it does no favours for your throbbing core. "I wouldn't unless I did." you whisper, pushing up and onto your knees. gently, but confidently, you swing your leg over his lap and sit on him. johnathan's jaw goes slack, watching through his lustful gaze as you move.

he can't take it anymore—he needs to get his hands on you. johnathan's palms slide up the sides of your thighs, squeezing the flesh through your jeans. subconsciously you begin moving your hips, leisurely grinding your clothed core over his. your breath hitches, forehead resting against his. "I need you, johnny."

that's all it takes for johnathan to attach your lips together, kissing you like he's been wanting to since he first saw you. it's like your mouths are made for one another, perfectly moving and caressing and sliding around one another's like you've been doing it for years.

his hands slide to cup your ass, giving you a firm squeeze before he helps grind you over his clothed core—not once stopping the bruising, messy kiss you're engaged in. his lips feel so good it hurts, and if you were to die in that moment you wouldn't be upset. your hands card through his thick strands of hair, scratching his scalp in a way that his him sighing into your kiss.

suddenly, johnathan pulls away, leaving you to whine in disappointment. his glazed over eyes flicker open at the same time yours do—eyes locking. "i've been dreaming about this—about you." he says through heavy breathing, fingers flexing against your lower back.

"you have?" you ask through a moan, your covered clit perfectly sliding over his hardening length.

he nods, leaning in and pressing a hot kiss against your jawline. just when you think he'll stop, he moves farther down, littering kisses against the line of your jaw until he reaches your ear. "I want to please you." johnathan whispers before nipping at your lobe.

you sigh, pawing at the hem on his shirt. "please." you lift the item of clothing completely off, exposing the expanse of tan, defined muscles that you've only ever had glimpses of before this moment. you jaw goes slack, fingers absentmindedly racking down his pecks and abs. "oh my god, you're so hot."

he laughs once before kissing your lips firmly—a wordless thank you. johnathan's hands slip underneath your shirt, dragging it up and off your body like its second nature—leaving you in your polka dot bra. "shit, been dreaming of these too." he mutters, palming your tits. "you've been driving me crazy for weeks with these tits, baby."

all you can manage is a moan, hips moving on their own accord as you chase the tension building in your core. a whispered plea leaves you once again, and it has johnathan gripping your backside tightly and sifting you onto your back, skin melting into the soft, shaggy rug.

you exhale shakily, fingers fisting the carpet right next to your head as johnathan begins trailing kisses down your sternum, and further towards your belly button. "that feels good." you say, hips twitching under torso.

johnathan lifts his head, eyes twinkling with playfulness as he locks his gaze on your face. "can I taste you?" you nod eagerly, and his smirk shows once again—one of his hands fiddling with your button until it pops open. johnathan sits back on his heels, and you shiver at the lack of his body heat on top of you—but as he begins sliding your jeans down, exposing your damp paintes, you quickly forget about anything but that.

he shutters, licking along his lips as he locks in on your skimpy underwear. you bite onto your bottom lip, but your smirk isn't even hidden by that. "I need you so bad, johnny." the sight of your almost shy grin has him faltering, fingers itching to get you naked—and he does, hooking his fingers through your underwear and pulling them away from your wet core.

johnathan can't wait any longer, laying flat so his face is mere inches away from your throbbing pussy—licking his lips at the sight of your arousal pooling and slowly dripping onto his rug. "fuck, you're soaking wet for me, baby."

your hips jump upwards, desperate for some friction. you don't think you've ever been this turned on in your entire life, and for god sakes all you've done is a little amateur dry humping. johnathan's words further rile you up, and you can't help but whine out like a cat in heat.

"that noise," he breathes, spreading your legs even further apart with his large hands. "keep making it." johnathan doesn't give you a chance to answer before he's licking a firm strip up your folds, spreading your arousal with his tongue.

"oh...fuck." you curse, eyes fluttering with bliss and pleasure, johnathan repeating his movements in a lapid, expert manner. his long fingers flex on your thighs, digging into your flesh to continue holding you open—giving him the most range on pleasing you.

he sucks your clit into his mouth before swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud—a movement that has you approaching your peak quicker than expected. you breath hitches, nails digging into the rug. "oh, fuck i'm close."

johnathan moans against your clit before dipping back to your entrance, thrusting his tongue into your sopping hole—a squelching noise echoing through the room. he doesn't let up, and it has you reaching your peak, a frantic 'i'm cumming' leaving you in a hurry as your walls spasm on his tongue.

your ride our your orgasm while johnathan licks against your clit lazily, sending jitters through your body. it's ethereal, and so fucking good—you can't decide if you want to scream or sob. your eyes blink open, finding him hovering over you once more. "you okay?"

you hum blissfully, hands running over johnathan's arms and unapologetically squeezing and feeling his biceps. "better than okay." you watch him smirk briefly, his fingers tilting your chin up in an affectionate way before sliding back and caressing your jaw. and like the sex god he apparently is, his thumb parts your lips, rubbing along the surface before leaning in and kissing you.

you could be kissing for only 2 minutes, or it could be 20–time has completely slipped away from both you and johnathan as your lips move along one another. you can feel his hard length through his jeans, pressing against your thigh like a rock—you can also feel your own arousal building back up, dripping down your ass like you're some pornstar.

you disconnect your lips, pulling back just enough to talk. "I want you to fuck me." reaching towards his belt, you begin fiddling with the buckle, the metal clinking together as you unfasten it.

he kisses the corner of your mouth. "I must be dreaming."

you smile, tugging his zipper down. "you're not." johnathan assists you the rest of the way, briefly standing so he's able to completely rid of his jeans. just before he tugs his boxers down, he curses lightly—smile never wavering. "hold on, baby. need a condom."

you get the pleasure of watching him jog into his bathroom in the retrieval of protection—his ass looking mouthwatering under his fitted black briefs. without even thinking logically, your hands slide down your body until you're finding your wet folds, gathering your arousal and bringing it to your clit—circling the bundle slowly.

johnathan finds you like that, condom wrapper half torn in his hands. "you can't do that baby," he groans, "i'm already dying here."

you giggle, the sound broken by a moan at a powerful circle around yourself. your breath hitches, eyeing his almost completely naked body like you're an animal. "take your underwear off, johnny."

he's already in the process of removing the last article of clothing on himself as you ask, releasing his angry, heavy cock from the restraints of his briefs. the sight of him—the sheer size of him—has you gasping. johnathan drops back down between your legs, pulling the condom over his aching length.

you help guide him to your entrance, breathless as his tip brushes your slick folds. johnathan's eyes find yours, "you sure?"

too pent up to speak, you nod—eyes filled with nothing but need and aching, desperate to finally feel all of johnathan. and with that, he eases his entire length into you, stretching you perfectly—your walls molding around him like you're made for him. you let out a choked whine, watching his cock disappear into you. "oh fuck."

he bottoms out, balls resting against your ass—twitching as your gummy walls flutter over him. you can feel him in your stomach he's so deep and long—it feels like he's everywhere. "god, you feel so fucking good." johnathan babbles, already drunk on your pussy. he can't wait a moment longer, and begins thrusting, sliding in and out of your pussy easily due to your leaking arousal.

you're both so horny and worked up and only a few minutes of deep, passionate thrusts, messy kisses and hushed affirmations, that you're both growing close to your respective releases. you're whining like it's the only thing you know how to do, wrapping your thighs around johnathan's torso and he ruts into your hole—stabilizing yourself as best you can. it's a bit difficult when you feel like jello, but it's so good that you're not even caring.

"I can—oh fuck—can feel you fluttering baby, you gunna cum?" he breathes, the rhythm of his thrusts begin to falter as he nears his first orgasm of the evening. but he holds on, focusing on your spasming hole and pleasure pulled face.

you nod, jaw slack. "so close."

johnathan pushes even deeper into your pussy, which you didn’t think was possible, but he does it—tip kissing your cervix with every delicious rut into you. his hand finds yours, and he interlocks your fingers together—grounding not only himself but you to the moment.

"please don’t stop," you mewl desperately, grip tightening around his warm hand as you find the tipping point of your orgasm. "i'm cumming." and you do, walls clamping down on his cock as your reach another toe curling release.

johnathan's brows furrow in concentration as he focuses on your orgasming pussy, groaning as he thrusts into you three unrhythmic times. "holy shit, me too, fuck." his seed shoot into the latex, hot spurts of cum filling the condom wrapped around him.

you smile at the feeling, pressing a firm kiss against the front of johnathan's strong shoulder—nipping his skin with your teeth playfully.

he grins, still nestled in your warmth. "stay with me tonight."

you don't need to be asked twice, and soon enough you're being ushered into the spacious shower of johathan's apartment—the two of you washing one another in the most intimate, soft way. you're completely ruined for anyone else, and now you'll never be able to stay away from johnathan. the way he looks at you, dressing you in his clothes for bed while you're hair is still wet and face flushed—it's something you'll never forget.

you fuck again in bed, riding him slowly as breathy moans leave you both. you're not even fully naked this time, johnathan's college shirt pulled up and over your hips as he holds onto your love handles, helping you slide up and down his length. you both fall asleep in a breathless, tangled embrace—soft conversation and adorning smiles shared before you both let your eyes flutter closed.

part3: kiss it better

from that moment on you're pretty positive you're falling for johnathan kovacevic. the morning after your date, you both wake up frantically, afternoon practice sneaking up on you. just before you left, all tangled mess of hair and mascara stained eyes, johnathan grabbed your wrist gently, tugging you close to him. "can we do this again? I don't just mean the sex..I mean the dating and talking and everything in between."

to which you responded with, "yes please."

for the next few months you and johnathan find yourselves in a very secret relationship. you're going on dates late after games, lounging in his apartment or your apartment until you both fall asleep. hazelnut approves, and you think she likes your boyfriend more than she likes you. johnathan is always sending you flowers, and ordering you food when you're cranky—which obviously makes you emotional and clingy. you watch each other's favourite movies, and you're the queen of stealing his clothes. and oh my god the sex.

johnathan is like ridiculously good when it comes to pleasing you—kissing, sucking, licking and pounding all the right spots until you're on the verge of tears. sex with him is addicting, you don't think you had as much intercourse since like...ever—not even when you were a horny driven teenager.

johnathan will never get tired of your flushed skin and pulled face—jaw fallen slack while you whisper johnny over and over like a prayer. he is as obsessed with you as you are with him—if not more so. he's only had two serious girlfriends between meaningless hookups in his lifetime, and neither of them felt like this.

it has the both of you getting a little...risky, to say the least. your gazes linger on one another for just a second too long while you're at work, johnathan stands close while in huddles, and his fingers brush the back of your hand in passing almost every time—it's dangerous but neither of you can help it.

2 months into your forbidden romance, you're both dressing (in separate homes, unfortunately) for the new jersey devils charity gala—an event where everyone dressed in beautiful gowns and/or sharp suits to mingle, participate in raffles and raise money for charities.

johnathan was expecting you to look phenomenal based on the mere fact that you always do, but when you walked into the decorated rink, covered in a soft cream silk dress that dipped low down your back—leaving little to the imagination—he just about ripped it off you right in the middle of the bustling room.

you knew you were in trouble by the way your boyfriends gaze followed you throughout the first hour of the evening, tongue swiping his bottom lip or biting it in an attempt to not run over to you and destroy you. it also doesn't help that you want him to, god damn you feel like you're in heat looking at johnathan—standing with staff and teammates in a perfectly tailored suit, sipping some champagne like a slut.

so from across the room when he gestures for you to follow him, you listen easily. it's only a few antagonizing minutes later when your boyfriend is pulling you into a coat closet, lips finding yours instantly in a heated exchange.

"you look fucking edible." johnathan groans against your mouth, hands running over your body and squeezing your flesh through the silky dress. he nips at your jaw, igniting breathless laughter from your heaving chest.

you drag his face back to yours, pressing your lips to his once again. the kiss isn't only hot, but it's risky, especially in the closet that holds all the jackets and personable teams of team and staff members. but as johnathan drags your dress up one leg, slipping his hand underneath the cream silk—your mind goes blank. two long, strong fingers brush your exposed core, spreading the sticky wetness that's pooling between your folds.

he curses lowly, the tip of his middle finger prodding your entrance—but then, the door handle rattles, curtis lazar's voice growing louder as he begins opening the door. you and johnathan pull apart, jumping to opposite sides of the room and pretending to look busy—stifling through various coats and jackets.

thankfully, curtis saw nothing and is to aloof to the tension lingering between his teammate and assistant coach. from that moment, you and johnathan both know you need to get a grip, and if you're not careful, your reputation and relationship will be destroyed.

so with that in mind, you both make sure while you're at work, you're strangers. johnathan doesn't look at you, and you don't let your gaze linger on his. and this crisp tuesday evening, surrounded by thousands of fans packed into the prudential center, it'll be no different. you're his coach, and johnathan is strictly a player to you. period.

everything is normal—how it should be, really. well, everything expect the lingering turning in your stomach and heat warming your skin uncomfortably. you've not been feeling the best today, and there's been a constant queasy feeling in your belly since you got out of bed.

you've done your best to try and ignore it, brush it under the rug until it goes away—but it's proving to be persistent, and as the hours tick by your symptoms are getting worse. you know you probably should've called in, but you didn't—and now your feeling dizzy watching the players skate past the bench.

a deep exhale leaves your lungs, eyes darting to the foam covered floor beneath your feet. the crowd has your head pounding and ears ringing—this isn’t good. your stomach feels like a shaky roller coaster on the verge of turning upside down and ruining your day.

the lights are impossibly bright as you look back up, and that's when you know something is wrong. weakly and with dwindling vision, you shuffle closer to sheldon, subtly nudging his side. "I think i'm going to be sick."

his brows raise, turning his full attention to you—keeping his face neutral as to not raise suspicion. "you've been pale since you walked in here—please, go get checked out. i'm getting worried, and I don't need us to be distracted."

you attempt to laugh, but it comes across as a painfully hushed groan. sheldon gently guides you in the direction of the hallway, and into the arms of a medical staff member. after you tell ronald, said staff, what's going on he's shuffling you down the hall and to the direction of the medical room.

you don't make it inside before your knees give out, falling to the floor as you go unconscious.

johnathan skates back to his bench after a 1:30 shift, chest heaving as he desperately fights for air. he throws one gangly leg over the boards, followed by the other—but he freezes as he notices you're no longer present.

his brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and worry. you were there when he left the bench, and you seemed fine—a little pale and quiet but still ordering the team around like the confident, sexy woman you are. but now you're missing. johnathan tries not to show emotion on his face, but he can't help but to look over his shoulder every few minutes to see if you've returned.

by the time first intermission begins, you're still nowhere in sight. johnathan is glad nico brings attention to your sudden absence after keefe's speech, because johnathan is dying and anxious about not knowing your whereabouts.

"coach y/l/n left to get checked out by medical because she wasn't feeling good. i'm not sure of her condition but I understand she will not be coming back tonight."

sheldon's words have johnathan's stomach dropping down to his ass. before he has to head back out to the ice, he shoots you a quick text—letting you know that he'll be at yours after the game.

the rest of the game goes by in a flurry of anxious waves and painfully slow minutes. he can't get out of his gear quick enough, speeding through a shower so he's able to quicker get on the road—get home to his girl.

johnathan definitely breaks a few laws on the way to your place, but he can't help it—he knows nothing about your state, only the brief text of acknowledgment you sent him in response, and he’s started to get really fucking worried.

the doors unlocked, and johnathan kicks his dress shoes off beside one of hazelnuts feathery toys, walking into your silent apartment. he finds you on the couch, still in your work clothes. the door shutting had your eyes blinking open, vision slowly focusing just as your boyfriend kneels in front of you.

"hey baby," he mumbles, running his hands over your sweaty forehead. "what's wrong my girl?" his eyes flicker over your dewy, pale skin, a frown pulling on his face at the sight of your obvious discomfort and exhaustion.

your cat perks up at the sound of his voice, and immediately jumps off the back of the couch to run against johnathan's legs. you pout, "i've been feeling sick all day, and it just got worse. I didn't even make it to the medical room before passing out, johnny." tears begin gathering in your eyes, making clear vision even more impossible—you feel awful. "it was really scary."

instantly he's leaning down to kiss your head. "i'm sorry baby. did they give you some meds?" he asks against your hair.

you hum—the sound strained. "yeah. they're making me tired."

he fusses over you for a few moments longer, pressing comforting kisses to your damp face—but he doesn't want you to be in uncomfortable clothes for any longer. johnathan strips you of your clothes and quickly changes you into your favourite sweats before slipping behind you on the couch—pulling you into his chest.

you're kind of out of it and all you can really register is your boyfriends dark button up under your cheek, his hand rubbing your back and the sound of sex and the city playing from your tv. it's so numbing and relaxing that it quickly has you falling back to sleep, soft snores passing through your dry lips.

you wake up the next morning in your bed, eyes slowly focusing as you catch the sight of johnathan pulling his suit pants back on in your bedroom—the morning sun streaming the the cracks of your curtains.

"hey," you start, voice croaky. "what's going on?"

your boyfriend whips around in your direction, shoving one arm through his dress shirt. "hey, sorry I didn't want to wake you up." he rounds the mess of blankets half off the bed, kissing your head. "how was your sleep?"

"I don't even remember you getting here yesterday." you admit sheepishly, rubbing the sleep out of your eye. "I was so fucked up, god."

"it's okay," johnathan reassures you sweetly, buttoning up his shirt. "you really had me worried—you looked so sick."

you cough, a sickly dry sound that is a rough reminder of the illness lingering your body. but as you eye your boyfriend, seemingly getting ready for morning practice, has all thoughts of sickness leaving you—replaced with panic. "oh my god, i'm going to be late for practice."

you try and get out of bed, but johnathan is quicker—gently pushing you back to the pillows. "you're not going—I dealt with it all through your phone, okay. and I must say, keefe was rather relieved that you're taking the day."

"oh," you hum with a small grin, body naturally melting into your bed. "okay. you going now?"

johnathan nods. "yeah. gotta stop at home and change quick, but i'll be back later." he tosses last nights suit jacket over his shoulder, "need anything brought back?"

you smile, "just you."

he smirks all slow and syrupy down at you, cupping your cheek with his warm palm. "okay baby—can I have a kiss?"

you slap your hand over your lips—which are rather crusty and has you cringing. "I don't want to get you sick." you say, words muffled against your palm.

johnathan brows pull tightly, his smirk not letting up. "I don't care baby." his words have you faltering, dropping your hand and puckering your mouth for a kiss—which he happily obliges in giving you.

later while he's getting changed, pulling his shin pads on, he hears jack asks about your whereabouts beside him. johnathan isn't sure if he's just speaking out loud, or asking him directly—but he turns his full attention to the middle hughes brother. "she called in sick today."

jack kind of makes a curious face, one that says and how would you know that?

and the following day when johnathan doesn't come to the rink because he's sick...jack has the smallest inkling that he may know why the defence man knew about you're whereabouts.

part4: you’re made for me

you think your least favourite part about being on the road is the lonely feeling you get lying in an empty hotel room—left with only your thoughts and the hum of the heating unit.

it doesn't help that johnathan is in the same hotel…on the floor below you, and you can't even see him. you're not long back from the game, a win nonetheless, and the vegas night life is still buzzing in the street below. you knew some of the guys would be heading out for a few hours to enjoy the casinos—but you heard your boyfriend decline curtis' invitation.

so you know he's in his room—but wether his roommate is with him is unbeknownst to you. you miss him, and are in desperate need of hearing his voice. you hum, grabbing your phone off the charger beside you—thumbing your screen until his contact comes up.

you've got him saved under the soccer ball emoji—ever since you two started getting serious, you knew that having johnathan saved as his name was risky, especially when he had a habit of sending you toe-curling texts. and the same goes for your name on his phone, and instead of the previous use of your full name, he's replaced it with the name of your favourite tv show character.

hey, you send. are you alone?

a beat passes and then your phone begins to ring, the soccer ball emoji filling your screen as johnathan calls you. your grin, biting your lip as you slide over the answer button.

you lift your phone to your ear, excitement bubbling and settling deep in your belly.

"i'm alone." johnathan answers lowly, the slow smirk evident through his voice.

you sigh softly. "didn't want to go out tonight? celebrate the win? mr. two point night." your voice is playful, and kind of sexy—it has him already palming himself through his sweatpants.

a low groan leaves him, the sound leaving you flushed in the other line. you already can tell the turn this conversation is going to take, and you're not opposed to it one bit. he laughs, the sound doing a million things to you and your needy clit. "got those points for you, baby."

"whatever," you grin, hand slipping under your loose pyjamas shirt, resting on your lower belly—absentmindedly tickling just below your belly button.

"you okay?" this question is more serious, because above all else, johnathan cares for you, and if you're texting him, he wants to make sure nothing is wrong before he asks to see your boobs like a schoolboy.

you nod, and then remember he can't see you. "yeah, just miss you." you admit shamelessly, fingers dipping below the band of your sleep shorts. your breath hitches as the pads of your fingers brush over your folds, slipping through the wet mess that's been building since you picked up the phone.

the sound has johnathan groaning again, his own hand slipping under his sweatpants and finding his now rock hard and aching cock. he’s been thinking about this moment since he say your game day skirt—hugging your ass delightfully. he squeezes the base, igniting another strangled moan from his chest. "yeah?"

you hum lowly, teasing your entrance with your middle finger before trailing back to your bundle of nerves, circling yourself slowly. "I wish you were here."

a small curse leaves his lips. "what would you want me to do...if I was in your room right now?" johnathan questions, his large hand sliding up the entirety of his length, fisting the tip three times before coming back down to the base.

you inhale sharply, but you're breathless regardless. your thighs tighten around your slow moving hand, trapping yourself—your body reacting to your boyfriends words instinctively and leaving you overwhelmed already.

"don't be shy," he grins, squeezing himself. "i'm so fucking hard, baby—your voice is so sexy."

you whine helplessly, johnathan’s words pushing you into a flaming pit of lava—igniting your body in molten flames. "I'd want you to tease me, run your fingers over my soaked shorts until i'm begging you for more." you admit, cheeks flushing even deeper at your dirty words.

there's something so weird about phone sex, but with johnathan's breathing against your ear, and the throbbing between your legs, you're starting to feel very different about the idea. it’s exciting and so fucking hot—mostly because of your sexy boyfriend on the other line, prompting you.

he curses, pulling himself out of his sweatpants so that his cock is standing fully erect. he hisses at the air touching his sensitive skin, running the pad of his thumb over his leaking slit. "holy—fuck me—and then what baby?

"and then..." your breath hitches as you slip your middle finger into your wet entrance, your throbbing pussy sucking you in, down to your knuckle. "then i'd take you out of your pants, and lick up your shaft—slowly—before sucking the head of your cock just the way you like."

"i'm gunna facetime you, okay?"

your stomach drops in excitement. "okay." you slip out of yourself before completely removing your shorts, just as the incoming facetime lights up your phone. you answer it giddy, gnawing on your lip as johnathan's face fills your screen.

he smirks, eyeing your plump pink lips and rosy cheeks—the lust clear in your gaze. "you look so fucking pretty."

your smile grows, and even the way your teeth enclose around your bottom lip can't hide the fact. "johnny," you hum slowly, legs falling open to reveal your core to the empty hotel room. "I need to cum so bad."

he licks along his bottom lip. "set the phone up so I can see."

your vagina throbs pathetically, grabbing a pillow before leaning forward and resting your phone against it—the angle giving johnathan the perfect view of your glistening pussy, the outline of your perky nipples under your shirt and flushed face. he groans, stroking himself as he gets off the bed and moves towards the desk.

johnathan props his phone against the lamp, angling the camera so you're able to see his cock. "slip your pretty fingers in that pussy, baby. wanna see you fuck yourself like I would."

he watches your chest heave as you attempt to catch your breath, hand slipping down your covered stomach and back down through your soaking folds. with a moan, you ease your middle finger and ring finger in your entrance.

"fuck." you whine, head falling back as you begin moving your fingers shallowly, not quite thrusting into yourself, but not staying still either. the perfect amount of stimulation that has your toes curling.

johnathan's jaw goes slack at the sight of you and your hand—a ring of creamy arousal pooling at the base of your knuckles before dripping onto the bed. it's embarrassing how close he is to cumming, fucking his hand while he pretends it's your gooey walls enveloping him instead. "that feel good?" he asks, voice husky. "you're so sexy."

you lift your head, lips parted as breathless sighs leave you. "feels good—wish it was your fingers." a high-pitched whine bubbles from your throat, the palm of your hand rubbing against your clit perfectly. through lidded eyes, you watch johnathan. his abs clench as he fists himself, the smallest drop of pre-cum trialing down the underside of his delicious cock.

you gasp, orgasm hitting you in a white hot surprise, leaving you fluttering around your hand as your release drips off your fingers.

the sight has johnathan following suit, ropes of hot cum shooting from his head as his eyes train on your fluttering pussy and blissed out face.

a beat passes, both of your still working on coming down from your high and catching your breath. johnathan smirks all lazily at you through the screen. "I'm gonna fuck you so good once we get home, yeah?"

his promise has your core jumping all over again, and if johnathan has to fist his hand once more in the shower before bed—that's nobodies business expect yours (because obviously he sends you videos on snapchat).

thankfully the road trip is only two more days, and you get your hands on your boyfriend as soon as you're back in the enclosed walls of his apartment.

a few weeks pass since then, a whirlwind of games and practices that leave you holding your breath and clenching your thighs—you'll never get over how handsome johnathan looks all sweaty and damp, and it never fails in sending butterflies straight down to your pussy.

it seems like weeks until you get a free evening, but eventually it comes, and you take the opportunity for an at home date night—realistically the only ones you can have. johnathan cooks you mouthwatering pasta, and you get to watch him work over the stove from the kitchen island—checking out his back muscles over the rim of your wine glass.

anytime he catches you doing so, he pauses to lean over the island and give you a heart stopping kiss. it's romantic, and you think you may love him.

you eat your food next to one another on the couch, your feet tucked under his thigh while you watch she's all that. johnathan is the kind of boyfriend you dreamed of having since you were little—kind, compassionate, sexy, funny and a little awkward (plus a sex god, but 6 year old didn't know about that).

soon enough your empty bowls are abandoned, and you’re on his lap while your mouths move together. just before anything starts to escalate—johnathan's hands fiddling with your bra—a knock on the door pulls you apart.

"kovy?" an all too familiar voice calls on the other side of the door. "we know you're home. saw your car." we? as in plural? as in there's multiple of his teammates on the other side of the door?

you go stiff on johnathan's lap. "is that curtis?" you question wildly, words barley above a whisper.

he squeezes the flesh of your hips, nodding once. "and brett and erik." johnathan admits through his teeth. "i forgot they wanted me to come out tonight—someone's birthday."

one of them knocks again. "open up you little shit." the voice who sounds like brett laughs, sounding already a few drinks in.

"oh my god," you hiss, getting off johnathan's lap, pulling your discarded hoodie over your head. "oh my fucking god."

johnathan moves quickly, taking your empty bowls to the sink. "one second!" he calls in their direction, running a hand through his messy hair after wetting the dishes.

"are you fucking naked or something?" erik questions, leaning against the wall with an amused expression.

you hear curtis snicker. "he's probably jerking off."

your boyfriend looks at you, eyes full of guilt. "i'm so sorry baby, I totally forgot." he grabs your arms firmly, keeping your attention on him. "i'll get rid of them, okay? I promise."

you look almost scared—blinking up at him like everything is falling apart before your eyes. after all, you're a door away from being caught. "okay."

he nods, kissing the side of your pouting lips before guiding you to his bedroom. "just stay in here, okay? and if you hear me say watermelon, jump into the closet."

if you weren't so anxious you'd probably laugh. but obviously you don't laugh, sitting on the soft mattress as johnathan gives you one more hurried look, shutting his bedroom door with a soft click.

he quickly makes his way to the front door, pulling it open to reveal his three teammates—all of them with splitting grins on their faces. "we've been texting you, man! you forget about us?" brett grins, slapping johnathan's shoulder as the three of them walk into his apartment.

he chuckles awkwardly. "yeah, sorry—meant to text you but i'm not feeling up to going out tonight."

"boooooo," curtis drags out loudly, spinning on one of the bar stools like it's a carnival ride. "boring."

erik picks up the wine glass you left on the coffee table, a visible print of lipgloss on the rim. "you got a girl here, johnny?"

"no." he says all too quickly, face pale and red all at once. "I mean, not anymore. she left."

brett smirks, grabbing the glass out of erik's grip. he inspects the mark closer, that shit eating grin never leaving his face. "you know who wears lipgloss like this? coach y/l/n."

on the other side of the bedroom door, you feel like you're going to faint. you press your ear further against the wood, listening in.

the barstool squeaks under curtis' weight, a mixture of a disgruntled groan and laugh leaving him. "why do you know what kind of lipstick our coach wears? fucking weirdo." much to johnathan's delight, curtis' response has all three boys moving on from the marking on the wine glass. which, thank god because he had no clue how to respond to that observation.

erik eyes the ending scene of she's all that, a knowing grin on his face. "so if she's gone, you're gunna come out with us, right?"

"not really feeling it." johnathan reiterates with a shrug, subtly grabbing your keys off the counter and tucking them into his pocket.

brett groans like a naughty kid, sluggishly making his way back to the door. "fine—we'll let you beat off in peace." the other two follow suit, sending johnathan snarky little grins as they leave.

he rolls his eyes, a tiny grin pulling at his lips. "whatever—have fun." as soon as johnathan can't hear his teammates loud voices anymore, he's shutting the door and flicking the lock. he bounds back to the bedroom, and you pull open the threshold before he has the chance—your eyes wide with unshed emotion and stress.

it has johnathan feeling nothing but guilt, and he wastes no time wrapping you in his arms. "are you okay?"

you nod, but then stop. "no. I thought we were fucked—especially with the lipgloss, oh my god johnny."

he kisses your head three times, each one longer than the last. you sigh into him, letting johnathan hold you like the delicate flower you feel you are in that moment.

you hate this feeling—because secretive behaviour makes you feel dirty. and with the secret you're keeping, you're much more than just dirty. you're breaking the rules, and risking not only your job, but johnathan's. the last thing you want to do is ruin his reputation—you fucking love him for fucks sake.

it’s not even about you anymore. because for him, you’d leave everything if it meant being with him. but you know johnathan, and he would never let you give up your job for him—ever. but you can’t keep going around like this, it’s running you.

you pull back, swallowing roughly as you drop your arms from around his waist. “we can’t do this anymore.”

he freezes. “what do you mean? can’t do what?”

you blink. “johnny…” your voice is laced with a knowing edge, because you know johnathan knows exactly what you mean—you can see it on his face. you look away, as you can’t bare to look at him any longer, it may kill you otherwise. “if we keep sneaking around, it’s going to end badly—it almost blew up in our face tonight.”

his brows furrow, cupping your face firmly so that you have no choice but to look into those eyes you love so much. “but I didn’t-It won’t if we do this right.” a rough swallow makes his adam’s apple jump, looking over your face like he can’t decide where to go. “tell me what I can do to change your mind.”

a tear falls down the round of your cheek, and the sight stabs him right in the chest. you shake your head, licking the salty water off your cupids bow. “I just…I think we need to stop.”

his hands fall from your face, and he runs them through his hair—pulling at his root until it hurts. johnathan respects you, and he loves you—even if he thinks you don’t love him in this moment. he will fulfill any wish you ask of him, and he’d do it with a smile, because you’re the most important thing in the world. so he nods firmly. “okay. if you want to stop, we’ll stop. I don’t care what’s happening. all I care about is you.”

you nod—too many emotions lodged in your throat to speak. johnathan reluctantly hands you your keys, your fluffy keychain tickling his skin for the last time. you pluck your purse that’s wedged between the pillow and side of the couch, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way to the door, leaving without another look in johnathan kovacevic’s direction.

part5: love looks pretty on you

as soon as you get back to your place you break down in embarrassing sobs—falling onto the couch while hazelnut licks your chin. although you think she just likes the taste of your tears, rather than it being a comforting thing, but you pretend it’s the latter.

as much as it hurts you and you regret it, you know breaking things off with johnathan was the right choice. you don’t want to burden him, or hold him back—you can’t be that girl. so as much as you want to call him and tell him you’ve changed your mind, you don’t. it’s for the better, even if you have a hard time believing it right now.

the next week is nothing short of painful. you can feel johnathan’s eyes on you constantly, but you’re strong in ignoring him—going about your drills like he’s just another face in the crowd. if keefe notices something is up with you, he doesn’t say anything. which honestly seems worse than if he was to ask.

johnathan is no better. he’s slacking on the ice, and it’s showing even during practice—slow and uncertain and clearly distracted. he can’t stop thinking about you, or looking at you. johnathan cant help but think about all the things he wish he said to you, before you ended it.

how he’ll always care for you. how he’d quit hockey for you if that’s what you wanted. how he’s never felt about someone the way he feels for you. that he loves you.

it’s lonely without you. he misses your laugh and your smile and the way you kiss his peck every morning when you wake up. johnathan even misses hazelnut and her persistent chirping.

he so desperately wants to get you back. show up on your doorstep with flowers and a speech that would probably make you cry. but he doesn’t do that—because it would go against your wishes, and break whatever trust you put in him. it’s killing him, and he can only hope you’re happy.

—

you’re lingering with the uneasy feelings that come with a loss, tossing your purse on the counter before kicking off your heels. although the loss was a team issue, you can’t help but remember how johnathan was -5 tonight, and how exhausted and defeated he looked the entire game.

you can’t help but speculate—scratch that, there’s no speculation. you know it’s because of your breakup, and that makes you feel really shitty. if it’s still affecting him this much, hell if its still affecting you this much, you can’t help but think it was the wrong choice to make.

months of a healthy relationship down the drain for…what? because you were scared? that’s not you. johnathan brought out the best in you, he listened and cared for you like nobody before. in jersey, you’re alone. no friends or family close by to talk to or spend time with, only hazelnut. but with johnathan you had family. and you fucking threw it away.

your eyes flicker to the clock on the microwave. it’s almost midnight. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating your next actions. are you really about to do this? show up to your exs door and what? apologize? beg for him back?

you don’t know. but you know you love him, and you think letting him go forever will be the worse decision of your life.

coaching is a dream job. working with athletes in such an authoritative manner is a dream—it was your dream. but you have a new dream, and his name is johnathan. and if there’s one thing you’ve always lived by, it’s that to never give up on your dreams, especially for someone else. but that’s not what you’re doing—your dream has shifted, and you’re following its path in hopes of fulfillment.

before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re slipping on the first pair of shoes you see—a pair of heart print sandals that aren’t appropriate for the spring chill. you grab your keys and nothing else, getting into your car and following the familiar route to johnathan’s apartment.

the doorman recognizes you by now, and he lets you in with a smile. you’re anxious on the way up the elevator, a million things to say running through your mind—but as the doors open on johnathan’s floor, your head goes blank.

you force yourself to knock, a quiet sound that is barley heard from the bedroom at the back of the apartment…but johnathan hears it. he trudges over to the front door, nothing but a black hoodie and his boxers on.

as soon as the door is pulled open, revealing you in summer shoes and your game day pant suit from the game, johnathan is exhaling lowly. his eyes dart around your face, analyzing you. “you okay?”

your stomach clenches. he’s so fucking caring. “you’re my dream, johnny.” you blurt out, definitely too loud for this time of night.

his brows furrow, like he’s not sure what you mean. and fair enough, you think, because what does that mean? you continue shakily, “I love you. so much that it actually hurts. I would give up everything if it meant being with you forever—and I know you’d never let me, because you care about me and my dream. that’s why I ended things, as stupid as that sounds, because I didn’t want to put you in that situation. I didn’t want you doing something crazy like requesting a trade or fucking retiring early so that I could work for the team—because I knew you would do it.”

you swallow, but your mouth is so dry it almost hurts. “but you’re not going to let me forget about my dream, johnny—because you are my new dream. and if you love me, you’ll let me live with my new dream. being with you is all I need.”

johnathan shakes his head in amused disbelief, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “c’mere.” he mumbles, fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you into his apartment—only lit up by the lamp next to the tv. “you love me?” he asks, fingers leaving your wrist in favour of tucking some loose hair behind your ear—the strands that have escaped your once tight braid.

you nod all too quickly, “so much. i’m sorry.”

johnathan’s smile deepens, cupping your face like he’s done hundreds of times. “it’s okay, baby. I don’t care that you ended things with me—well, yes I care because I love you too—but if that’s what you needed in that moment, I would give it to you over and over again. even if it killed me.” he wets his bottom lip, looking deep into your watery eyes. “are you sure?”

there’s not hesitation in your words—there never has been with johnathan. “positive.” you nuzzle into his palm, “I love you so much.”

he leans in close, lips brushing yours. “I love you.”

and as he leans in and kisses you, you know that everything will work itself out. you’re not worried about the outcome, or what the future holds for your position with the team, but as long as you have johnny to come home to—it doesn’t matter.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

playlist

glitch by taylor swift

stuttering by jack & jack

cry your heart out by adele

fantasy by mariah carey

love looks pretty on you by nessa barrett

sports car by tate mcrae

babydoll by dominic fike

[chaaistained]

hi chaai! do you have any ideas on where to shift to?

ideas on where to shift .*+

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we’ll get the obvious out of the way, there are many different locations you can shift to anon !! and i personally don’t know what your interests and hyperfixations are :( but ! i still want to help in any way i can ≈ so here are a list of general ideas and suggestions and maybe some inspo into different realities to which you (any of you!) can shift !! and ofcs you can tweak it all to your liking xx

sink into self indulgence …

—» shifting at its core is self indulgent and the first example i can think of is your favourite childhood books, movies and shows — the kind of self indulgence where you go back to what made your life sparkle as a child, what made you believe in the impossible, what made you wish the impossible was real, whether it’s fairies, dragons, mermaids, or monsters going to high school, you should take a trip down memory lane and figure out what had you rushing to finish your meal to go watch the latest episode, or work hard at your homework so you could buy the next edition of the game. there’s also the media consumed in your teenage years, the kinds of media that helps you feel like you were escaping and yet at the same time like you were understood

examples include : hogwarts , narnia , my little pony , monster high , ever after high , how to train your dragon , percy jackson and the olympians , h2o , pixie hollow , barbie fairytopia/mermaidia , hilda , bridge to terabithia , wizards of waverley place , minecraft , power rangers , tmnt , disney princesses , little women , gilmore girls , studio ghibli , etc.

—» there are also the realities where you play a part in the bigger picture, you are a significant piece in a vast and intricate puzzle, you stand among your peers, your friends, as someone to be recognised, maybe you’re looking for some thrill? some excitement? some sort of battle or mystery or revolution where you can fight for the underdog or reclaim some form of power — be careful if you do choose to explore these places, but i’m sure you’ll handle it just fine

examples include : marvel/mcu/the avengers/spiderverse , dc/justice league/the arrowverse/smallville , the hunger games , the walking dead , arcane , supernatural , teen wolf , the maze runner , the vampire diaries , pretty little liars , gossip girl , mean girls , outer banks , criminal minds , brooklyn nine nine , the rookie , dune , star wars , avatar: the last airbender , james cameron’s avatar , jurassic park/world , pirates of the caribbean , twilight , etc.

—» conversely, your dr doesn’t even need to be fantastical, sometimes, the things that bring us comfort are in fact the most relaxing, they slow our lives down for whatever time we spend engaging in them, they let us unwind and unravel any burden we’ve unknowingly put on ourselves, the dr doesn’t even need to be based on some form of media, it could be your dream life and/or career

examples include : better cr (HIGHLY RECOMMEND) , cafe/barista , librarian , farmer , florist , artist , museum curator , boarding school , summer camp , bookstore owner , writer , painter , photographer , chef , designer , animator , game developer , director , etc.

—» but maybe you would like a career in the spotlight, where you can finally show the world what you’re capable of, the talent and skills that you know are innate to your being and you just need the opportunity to showcase it

examples include : actor , pop star , band member , kpop idol , youtuber , broadway singer , talk show host , dancer , professional athlete , model , travel vlogger , socialite , royalty , etc.

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when all is said and done, shifting is inherently a form of self love, you’re picking yourself and you’re choosing to shift and experience a reality that will fulfil you in some way !! the ideas in this post are not the limit, there is no limit, [cue mean girls’ “the limit does not exist” scene] so let your creativity take control and let yourself indulge in what makes you happy

cuppa queries; order in — ask responses

2025 © chaaistained

[hotvintagepoll]

Do you have any opinions on modern (post-1970s) movies that you feel capture the essence (in a good way) of Old Movies?

No, unfortunately. That doesn't mean I don't like modern movies or that modern movies aren't good, but modern movies—and here I'm really using modern to mean post-2010, so contemporary movies—have different standards for pacing, characterization, budget, and production that make it harder (or impossible) to capture some of the magic of old movies. Even when modern movies clearly try to emulate that old-movie feeling—I'm thinking of La La Land, The Artist, The Shape of Water, In the Heights—they play the homage too broadly, or they ignore crucial components that make the original films work.

There's kind of too much to go into here without writing a full essay, but essentially, the Old Hollywood system—ugly, failed beast as she was—made some movies simply more accessible to make, due to the ongoing storage of props, sets, master craftsmen, crew, and onscreen talent that could move from one movie to the next without pause. If you needed a dancer, he was already on staff. If you needed a fancy bed, it was already in the warehouse. That kind of longterm storage is invaluable if you want to crank out movies quickly and cheaply because it saves so much time on individual negotiation and sourcing. Modern production companies have to work out individual contracts for every actor on every film; crew members have to negotiate rental contracts and source pieces from scratch; if you need someone with specialist skills, you have to contract them specially at a high rate, which a lot of small companies can't (or won't) budget to do. There's sand in the wheels where there needn't be any. It's wasteful, and costly, but that's the system modern movies are made with.

Which all means that even if the modern movie system wanted to make a classic movie musical just like the old ones, they couldn't, because the talent isn't already there—it hasn't been trained up enough, and there's not that breadth of knowledge you can only get from people who have been allowed to work in the same department in the same place for decades. Movies like La La Land fail, for me, because they present themselves as descendants of Fred Astaire or Busby Berkley movies, while missing the bit where Fred Astaire was a master of his craft. When you watch Fred Astaire dance—or Moira Shearer, or the Nicholas Brothers, or Ann Miller—you are watching a true artist at work, purposely showcased by the studios because they already have them on contract. Modern movies, on the other hand, tend to take people who already have star talent (as actors) and try to convert them into dancers/singers—or they pull dancers/singers off of Broadway, but then they don't have the star power built in. You end up with lackluster musicals where no one truly knows what they're doing, or they do but they're not built up enough by the studios to sell. And that's me discussing just on-screen talent for musicals—there is a huge loss behind the scenes, as well, for all kinds of movies, where roles that would have been filled by union crew who moved continuously from one job to the next have been swapped for freelance labor who live with immense turnover, financial insecurity, and knowledge loss. You could hand me the budget and I could try to make an old movie, but the industry itself has changed so much it's impossible to recapture that charm of steady, niche talent, the amazing possibilities of bonkers set design, and the ability to take a risk on a smaller movie because the other films being produced by the same studio can help balance the budget.

I've talked way, way too much about all of this! Sorry, I just have a lot of thoughts—and the one above is just one of them; the talent loss and storage issues are only facets of a much bigger problem that extends to how we watch movies today, how we market them, what we expect of them, and what's allowed in them. It's a crying shame because the talent is still there, but times change and so does the industry, for better or for worse. (And, just again to clarify, I don't think modern movies are bad—they're just missing a lot of the juice old movies got to play with, even if there's more talent available than ever before.)

[averagecygnet-blog]

one thing I absolutely adore about tgwdlm is how completely and irrevocably a stage musical it is. it HAS to be a stage musical - the medium is so deeply baked into the story that it truly would not translate to another medium.

some reasons why:

the musical style is old-fashioned in a way that screams classic broadway. you can't get away from it, especially in songs like "lah dee dah dah day" and "show stoppin number". and it's not just the music, it's the dancing too - have you ever seen a kickline in a movie musical, once, ever? or jazz hands? gimme a break

along similar lines - all the broadway references! hamilton of course, but also wicked and mamma mia and jekyll & hyde

all the attention deliberately brought to the lighting and set! the performers in "la dee dah dah day" loudly saying "lights down!" when it's over; ted, paul, and emma striking the stage after "show stoppin number"; the lighting panels used as sirens, TVs, showcasing hudgins' alexa, and more; ted wheeling the big meteor prop off the stage after "let it out". they don't let you forget that we're in a theater.

all the hokey ass miming and special effects???? charlotte and hudgins having their guts ripped out is flashy and fun onstage because of the intestine props. emma and ted having blood capsules in their mouths. paul, emma, and zoey violently shaking when pantomiming being in a helicopter. ted running in place, moving forward or back to suggest movement across the road. it's all so fun and consistently reminds you that this is a stage

double-casting as intentional obstruction of the truth. we're used to seeing one actor play several roles in a musical, so when a familiar face shows up in a new costume we assume it's a new character. but it was zoey flying the helicopter to clivesdale, and I think it was zoey in the hospital at the end as well. you couldn't pull that shit in a movie because movies don't double-cast.

the role of the audience, the laughter and gasps and reactions and applause, especially the applause at the end when emma is begging the audience members to let her use their phone and demanding to know why they're clapping; sure movies have audiences too but the presence of the audience as part of the story makes a point about societal ideals as something we all have a part in that a movie just couldn't make in the same way

on a related note - emma's sudden awareness of the stage and the audience as the horror trope where the person realizes they're trapped and will imminently die. she knows she can't escape because it's just a fuckin loop. she knows no one will save her because they're all clapping. you couldn't do that in a movie because in a movie there is a fourth wall, whereas on a stage there's nowhere for the characters to run away. on a stage the characters can look you, the audience, directly in the eye, with no camera or screen between you

I will literally never shut up about that curtain call

god damn what I wouldn't give to watch this show performed live

[citizenscreen]

NBC broadcasted a live production of the Broadway musical "Peter Pan," starring Mary Martin, on March 7, 1955, as part of the "Producers' Showcase" anthology series. A record 65 million viewers tuned in.

[islandoforder]

ricky putting protection from good and evil against the fae on misty during the broadway brawl is SUCH a good showcase of how clutch this spell can be when used well

[ghostlypawn]

i can understand why someone may look at the material of great comet and decide that a modern direction is the way to go, i mean, the anachronisms are literally written into the score. even in the original broadway production the modern elements are visually present. so to set great comet in a modern seedy club isnt completely dissonant. the difference to me, however, is that those anachronistic elements have thematic purpose and by changing them you ultimately dull a lot of moments. having a modern set could be utilised as moscow being a modern unknown world that natasha has yet to explore, its a world anatole is familiar with which is reflective in his gaudy electronic musical motifs whilst natasha's sweeter classical motifs clash with the visuals of a gritty stage. in a similar way, this is also true of pierre who feels distant from moscow society. what i think changes about this though is that, for natasha, it makes moscow seem like a bigger spectacle than anatole (and i think its important for natasha's motives that anatole is the bigger spectacle). natasha goes to moscow and lives with her older traditional aunt. she goes and visits her traditional fiancés family. its only when she sees anatole for the first time does she experience the excitement of something new, something shes never experienced before. its only at anatoles arrival do the modern electronic beats fuse with the traditional/classical sounds we've grown used to, a refreshing excitement for both the audience and natasha. and so imo it makes sense for the set to reflect that disruption of tradition with anatoles entrance rather than have the traditional elegance be absent from the beginning. in the original production i think this was actually showcased with the lighting; the show had a candlelit feel with chandeliers and table lamps only for the audience to get flashbanged with LED lights as anatole makes his entrance and for the audience to get overwhelmed with flashing rave lights as we follow his character in the next scene, it's the same weirdly intoxicating feeling natasha felt, you try to look away but you cant stop looking. its also why i prefer the comet to circle back to that traditional lighting, as anatole leaves moscow he takes his electronic aura with him and the chandelier glows as if a natural order has been restored.

thats not to say i dont think a modern set would never work or couldnt be thematically interesting. if i were to take a modernist approach i would evoke the feeling described above through costumes instead. having natashas costumes start very traditional/period-accurate and slowly fusing with modern clothing would echo anatoles corruption of her and how natasha forces herself to be what he wants. similar to most of their scenes, anatole/dolokhov/balaga/helene lend themselves to modern visuals. i think by making all the costumes glaringly modern you lose the contrast of natashas two worlds, the contrast of andrei and anatole. (in the original production its really the ensemble who wear the modern elements which i think plays into that idea of moscow feeling overworldly and unusual to natasha.)

i think the people who really suffer with modern costuming are pierre/sonya/marya. sonya/marya exist as a reminder of who natasha was before anatole and eventually their role is to try to ground natasha back into the real world they live. the modern elements are almost fantastical in nature, theyre a dream natasha's lost in. traditional costume is realistic and thus brings natasha back into the real world. pierre, to me, can exist somewhere in the between. andrei is the past, anatole is the present, pierre is the future. he is also the person who connects andrei and anatole, he is a perfect middle ground and i think his costume could reflect this. it makes sense for him to dress more traditional as he doesnt fit in with the kuragins/moscow society. i could see some modern elements being incorporated into his costume to suggest that he has a place in that world more than he believes. but i dont think it works if he's entirely modern because to an extent, he's right, he doesnt fit in with that world musically at all and he's the one to rid moscow of its electronic sound (by banishing anatole). he's the one who restores the balance because he has experience with both worlds. the bolkonskys also suffer with modern costuming re: andrei being the past and his family need to reflect that old stuffy dusty feeling natasha has become dulled by. because of all this, if a production has a modernised set AND costumes, i think the first 20 minutes (until the opera) can feel a bit discordant and almost confusing.

alls to say, i dont think a production of great comet having a minimalist set is inherently abysmal and harrowing. i mean take a look at the australian production, there were very few qualms about that. (they did however stick with semi-traditional costuming as some characters had clear 1800s inspired dress or russian-feeling elements to their costumes.) im interested to see if i can find a visual story with the all-modern clothes in the west end production and at the end of the day i would watch a bunch of strangers in jeans perform this show in a parking lot and still have good time so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ we live to love another day

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan on How ‘The Apprentice’ and ‘A Different Man’ Tackle Comfort, Curiosity, and Confronting Our Fears

By Brandon Lewis

It’s an embarrassment of riches to have two transformative, awards-worthy roles in one career. But what does it mean when you have two in the same season?

Sebastian Stan finds himself this year in rarified company, including the likes of Kate Winslet, Sigourney Weaver, and Jamie Foxx, with two acclaimed lead performances in The Apprentice and A Different Man. Both films have been received warmly so far: Stan just received Best Actor nominations for both films at the Golden Globes, winning for A Different Man, while The Apprentice landed on the BAFTAs longlist in six categories, including Best Film. The industry reception is remarkable, given both films’ uphill climb with their production and distribution. A Different Man was shot in 24 days in New York at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic and was delayed because of last year’s Hollywood strikes. Meanwhile, the Apprentice struggled to secure U.S. distribution after its buzzy Cannes premiere due to legal threats from Donald Trump and general hesitancy about how it tackled his early days. With all the hurdles, it would stand to reason that there is some vindication in seeing the fruits of labor pay off.

“It’s surreal,” Stan told me about winning the Golden Globe and his films’ positive overall reception. “You never really know the outcomes of any film when you go and make it. You’re always just hoping it’s going to turn out well. When you get into this wild time, that is the fall, when you’ve got so many films coming out and major studios contending, you just don’t know if your movie will even cut through. So, getting to the Globes, you can’t help but feel grateful because this is the win. It’s an amazing moment getting both of them seen.”

The Apprentice and A Different Man aren’t just linked by their complex but rewarding awards season journeys. Stan found key similarities between the 45th president of the United States and Edward Lemuel, a fledgling actor with neurofibromatosis who undergoes an experimental treatment to reverse his condition, only to find himself playing a fictionalized version of himself in an off-Broadway play.

Stan explained, “[Donald and Edward] are two different forms of narcissism, of extreme narcissism. When I think of narcissism, I think of denying and suppressing who we really are and inventing another person. When the distance between your true self and this other invented version grows because you’re suppressing and lying about yourself, you have to create a bigger and bigger lie. It starts to have consequences that affect you and everyone around you. I always saw both films as a denial of reality and a loss of humanity.”

In The Apprentice, Stan plays a younger version of Trump, reared by infamous lawyer Roy Cohn (played by Golden Globe and SAG nominee Jeremy Strong) to become one of the dominant cultural forces of 1970s and 1980s New York. The film, directed by Ali Abbassi, showcases Trump at his most timid and insecure, a far cry from the bloviating tabloid fixture who would upend domestic and global politics thirty years later. Under Cohn’s tutelage, Trump would evolve into an overwhelming force that no one, not Cohn, his wife Ivana (Maria Bakalova), or the financial and political realities of the 80s, could contain, let alone control.

Stan describes the story of Donald Trump as an abandonment of empathy and morals in pursuit of transactional goals and the proliferation of the lie at the center of one’s narcissism. But what is Trump’s lie? “What I see in Trump is a very broken, pained, paranoid, insecure little boy,” Stan answered. “And I don’t say that to simply go, ‘He’s human, and you should feel bad for him.’ I say that to highlight the flaws that might get in the way of this person having power or moral authority. I don’t know if that’s a person I would necessarily trust.”

When it came to playing Trump, Stan drew inspiration from multiple sources, including scores of footage that helped him understand the mannerisms and visual markers that have shaped people’s perception of Trump as a businessman and a politician. He also drew inspiration from his childhood, split between Eastern Europe and the United States. He was born in Constanța, Romania, in 1982, back when the country was a socialist state, part of the Eastern Bloc. Following the Revolutions of 1989, when most communist and socialist governments fell to a wave of liberal democracy, he and his mother, Georgeta Orlovschi, moved to Vienna, where she worked as a pianist. They moved to New York when he was 12 to pursue the American Dream.

For Stan, playing Trump allowed him to unpack what pursuing the American Dream meant. “When I came to America, my mom said to me, ‘We’re here now, and I’ve sacrificed my life, and you’ve got to make something of yourself because you have this opportunity that so many kids are not going to have.’ I hear that, and it drives me, but I also feel this burden of responsibility and pressure of ‘What if I fail?’ I find with many people…you see them accumulating more things, and it’s never enough. There’s always something else. To me, The Apprentice is part of this ideology and the American Dream. When is it enough, and what does it do to a person? I think my journey through Vienna and coming here and trying to understand what it means to be an American influenced me 100% with that part and probably what drove me to do it.”

The key challenge of playing Donald Trump, of course, is playing a man who has subsumed every section of culture, especially in the last decade. He has been caricatured, parodied, and defied countless times, not to mention the nonfictional portrayals of him that are a constant presence on cable news, broadcast networks, and social media platforms. It should be an insurmountable task, but Stan succeeds in bringing this titanic figure back to Earth, teasing out subtle nuances and traits that break through the overwhelming idea of Trump and focusing on the man himself, warts and all.

“I really wanted to try and find out who this person was,” Stan said. “Going back in time and looking at some of the early footage, I saw a vulnerability and insecurity there that I didn’t know existed, that seemed buried deep underneath this bravado. I wanted to know more about that and how he became what he became. What scared me the most was, knowing that he’s so well known and in our faces everywhere, that it would be near-impossible to get anyone to even spend two hours trying to figure out who this guy was.”

Knowing that his performance would be measured against caricatures and impressions, Stan lasered in on elevating the earliest elements of the Trump persona. “What helped was that, in his earlier years, he was less,” Stan explained. “There was a lot less of what you see now, these things that have built over time. His voice didn’t sound like it does now; his mannerisms weren’t as specific. The challenge and the fear was knowing that if I did a little too much too soon, I would lose everybody, and I would just be thrown in there as another kind of impression.”

Stan’s embrace of Trump’s vulnerability and insecurity is most acutely realized in one of the film’s standout scenes: Trump grieving the loss of his brother, Fred Jr., in his bathroom. In a prior interview with Maria Bakalova, she revealed that the scene was shorter on the page. However, Abbassi kept the camera on them and let Stan and Bakalova continue in the bedroom, improvising the rest of the scene.

“In the script, the moment was him alone in the bathroom and breaking down, and then Maria walks in and finds him, and he quickly cleans himself up and says, ‘Nothing happened.’,” Stan explained. “We shot it a couple of times, and there was this take where, in the moment, I froze, and that was the truth of the scene. She walked in, and I knew we were not shooting the scene we were supposed to. But we stayed in it and explored what happened and, fortunately, Abbassi kept rolling, and it carried us into the bedroom, and we got in bed, and she put her hand on my hand, and [all that emotion] started to happen in the moment.”

Stan continued, “That was an experience that’s so reflective of my process. You can go home at night and do all this preparation and envision things going a certain way, but nine times out of ten, they don’t go that way. You surrender to the director, the other actors, and the moment. The beauty of acting and what I love about it is that, if you stay open, there’s a way it can go where you didn’t see it that ends up being closer to the truth, and want it always to be as close to the truth as possible.”

Seeking the truth is equally central to A Different Man, which premiered at Sundance last January and has steadily built acclaim throughout the year, including the Silver Bear for Stan for Best Leading Performance at the Berlin Film Festival. The first half sees Stan as Edward, wearing prosthetic makeup designed by Mike Marino to approximate neurofibromatosis. As Edward, Stan assumes a physicality that appears to be in constant apology for taking up space in the world and making others around him uncomfortable. The psychological block behind that physicality keeps him isolated, even as he forms a friendship with Ingrid (Renate Reinsve), his next-door neighbor and budding playwright. While Edward is cured of the neurofibromatosis and assumes the identity of Guy, Stan retains subtle, detailed whispers of that ungainly, apologetic physicality, cluing audiences into what Edward hasn’t gained from his transformation: self-esteem and self-acceptance.

“Our muscles hold memory,” Stan explained. “There are certain things, like trauma, that will always be there. Edward changes his physical appearance, but he’s never confronted any of the things about himself that he feels most in pain about on an internal level.” Stan accessed the emotions to conceive and convey that pain by wearing the prosthetic makeup out in New York City during breaks in shooting. “When I was walking around, I noticed that everything in me was so self-conscious. I felt people walk by me, and some would look, some would ignore me, but everything in my body was telling me to go into myself and just get through the street and to my destination as quickly as possible. So, as a result, I was walking a certain way, and I felt powerlessness, and I realized that was not going away for Edward. When he’s not conscious of it, he’s falling back right back into who he was because there was no growth there for him. I think, as Guy, he ends up going down this path that he thinks will supply him with all these things that he’s watched other people have for years, but it’s actually made his life quite boring.”

A Different Man confronts that dissonance head-on with the arrival of Adam Pearson’s Oswald. Oswald similarly has neurofibromatosis but lacks Edward’s (now Guy’s) self-hatred. He has a dazzling personality that is more than enough to capture everyone’s attention, including Ingrid (Edward’s lover and director). One day, they go to a karaoke bar, and after casually flirting with a server, Oswald gets on stage to perform. Edward watches in a potent mixture of shock, fascination, and rank devastation as the audience is enraptured, not by Oswald’s condition but by his warmth and confidence. Stan doesn’t say a word but conveys a lifetime of crippling heartbreak and self-disgust that sets Edward on the path of self-destruction that defines the gonzo final act. It is one of the year’s most affecting scenes.

Recalling the karaoke scene, Stan shared insight into Edward’s headspace in that gripping moment. “I think it’s the first time that Edward is confronted with this reality and denial of self in a very real way. I think he’s fascinated, curious, and looking for validation. He’s hoping that other people will judge Osward the way he’s judging Oswald in that moment because, by judging Oswald, it helps keep his lie alive. I think it’s fear and fascination and that he’s no longer able to run from what he’s been denying, which is that, ‘Oh, this could’ve been me. I could’ve owned myself, and I would’ve been fine.’ He’s dealing with that, and from that point on, it starts to grow until the end of the movie.”

Stan’s partnership with Pearson was key to realizing Edward’s journey. “I felt that whatever I was going to do was always going to be, or would have to be in lockstep with Adam. I was really in service to him and Aaron.” The two quickly got on the same page about what they hoped to accomplish with the film, with Pearson as a “lighthouse” to understand what it’s like living with a disability. “There was a lot of conversation around how he grew up, his childhood, his experiences, even what he encounters daily online. [There’s been such a] loss of humanity, sensitivity, and empathy online, how we attack other people and do it anonymously. The fact that Adam can go out there every day and outwit these people and has had to do that for so much of his life is inspiring and brave. I wanted to understand how someone gets to that.”

Edward and Donald Trump are the latest additions to a collection of roles that Stan has curated in his career that explore the darkness that resides in people, ranging from TJ Hammond in the TV series Political Animals to Bucky Barnes in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. According to Stan, it’s been by design. “I think I’ve been curious about gravitating to things that feel complex or I don’t understand right away. I think sometimes, when we have discomfort with certain films, that can translate into ignoring something altogether. And one of those things, to me, is that we are not perfect people. We’re all susceptible to going in very different ways. We all walk around with some version of an angel and devil on each shoulder. Every day is a decision we make to go out in the world and either hurt somebody or help somebody.”

Stan continued, “I think what I’m supposed to do as an actor is keep exploring humanity and how diverse it is. So I love when there are roles that feel closer to the truth that it’s not always just black and white, or a good guy and a bad guy. It’s complex. What’s interesting to me is just how big that scope is in terms of being a human.”

In that vein, The Apprentice and A Different Man collectively serve as the thesis statement of Stan’s career thus far, shining a bright light on the messy complexities of man, told through wildly opposite but uniquely linked perspectives. What ultimately links them is what audiences are willing and unwilling to confront about their interactions with the world around them, whether political ideology or social stigmas. Stan hopes that people watching either or both films come to understand their limitations, whatever they are, and embrace curiosity and empathy.

“I still feel like there is a discomfort around these subject matters that I think confront us on a level that we’re afraid to go to,” Stan said. “I think that sometimes people are curious but are afraid of being curious, and, as a result, they’d rather look the other way and not confront anything. I was lucky enough to be in two complicated films that are confronting people in certain ways. Some people got it, and others are not ready for that yet, but I’d rather be on that side than on the safe side. I hope that, with these two films, people don’t turn the other way.”

A Different Man and The Apprentice are both available VOD on Amazon and other platforms.