#The Devil's Hour fan art | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sydnikov · 1 year ago

Text

the ink on your skin || N. Hischier

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Nico Hischier / gn!Reader

Word Count: 10.5k

Summary: You’re a successful tattoo artist right in the middle of Newark, New Jersey. One of your many clients just so happens to be a teammate of Nico Hischier, and he and his girlfriend, Natalie, play a game of matchmaker to get you talking. While you’ve never been a huge fan of hockey, getting to know Nico gets you instantly addicted to the sport as well as him. Friendship quickly turns into holding hands, kissing, acting like a couple but holding off on a label… And then, finally, right as you’re drifting apart, Nico swoops in and turns it into something more.

Warnings: Cursing, some angst, lots of anxiety talk, Tw*tter mentions, mostly fluff, poorly proofread

A/N: This is for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten for @wyattjohnston ‘s Winter Fic Exchange 2024 😁 I’ve been wanting to write for Nico for a while anyways so this gave me the perfect opportunity, and I really enjoyed having a bit of a personalized reader insert to play around with. I hope y’all enjoy! Loosely based on the lyrics of “Tribulation” by Matt Maeson

“Fuck, man, that hurts,”

You chuckle, lifting the needle of your tattoo gun for a few seconds before continuing your work. “I’m almost done, I swear,” you reassure, hiding your smirk as you take a napkin to dab away at the excess ink surrounding your linework.

The very man you’re tattooing, Jonas Siegenthaler, or ‘Siegs’ as you affectionately call him, is someone you’ve known for years. He is also a regular of your tattoo parlor, and right now is getting a lion on his right wrist shaded in.

Playing professional hockey, he doesn’t have much time to spend keeping up with a healing tattoo, but Jonas scheduled an appointment with you a week ago after his team, the New Jersey Devils, were eliminated in the playoffs. With three months to himself, he told you that now is the perfect time to get started on shading his wrist again.

Jonas curses again as the needle goes over the underside of his wrist, and once again you can’t hide back your laughter. You’ve been a tattoo artist for quite a few years now and are fairly used to the varying reactions your customers have, but expletives always manage to get you to break character. With any other client you’d at least attempt to be stoic, but you’ve been friends for long enough to know he doesn’t mind.

Finally, you finish your work, wiping away the remaining ink and powering off your tattoo gun. “Alright, Siegs, that’s it for today.” you say, wrapping his wrist with the proper coverings. Once you’re done sanitizing your own hands, you admire the art on his skin for a moment.

Jonas does the same, sitting up with a giant grin on his face. “It looks amazing, as always,” he looks like he wants to touch his newly-inked skin, but refrains when seeing the warning on your face.

“Okay,” you say as you lead him to the front of the store to ring up his aftercare supplies. Jonas is no amateur when it comes to tattoos by any means, but you feel the need to remind him anyway because athletes in particular always tend to lax out on tattoo aftercare. “You know the drill, but I’m still telling you anyways,”

Jonas just raises an eyebrow, listening to you list off all aftercare instructions as if he hasn’t been coming to you for years. Strangely enough, he couldn’t actually think of a time you’d hung out with each other outside of your working hours. He’ll have to change that, he hums to himself, especially after seeing the small New Jersey Devils flag you have hung on the wall.

“Have you ever been to a Devils game?” he asks as you’re handing him his aftercare supplies.

“I don’t think so, no. You know I don’t pay attention to hockey that much.”

“You should,” Jonas pushes, following you as you shuffle around the entrance of your parlor, likely looking for some supply he wouldn’t know the name of. “We’re a blast. And playoff hopeful again next season,”

You shoot him a wry smile, the both of you knowing it would take a lot more convincing to get you to leave the comforts of your shop to watch a sport you’ve never kept up with before. “Yeah? I’ll consider it,” you deadpan.

The defenseman takes no offense to your words, instead finding them to be a challenge. Mischievously, he grins. “Your consideration will turn into a yes, just you wait,”

“Sure,” you laugh, changing the subject. “You get an uber yet?” It’s relatively early in the day, so competition for booking one shouldn’t be too difficult.

Jonas shakes his head, unlocking his phone at the reminder of needing to leave. “Nah, my teammate is picking me up. He’s our captain, maybe you’ve heard of him—Nico Hischier?”

You think back to news articles you’ve seen online from late April when the Devils made the playoffs for the first time in years and you think you may have heard something about the team’s captain, but otherwise you don’t know much.

“I thought everyone would have gone home by now,” you say instead. It had been a week since their season ended, after all. Maybe this Nico guy had captain duties to attend to? You figure it’s nice of him to pick his teammate up from getting a tattoo either way, though.

The hockey player hears the curiosity in your voice, wondering how you would react to meeting his captain. “We’re both from Switzerland, so we both agreed to fly home together once we were all finished up here in Jersey. Getting my wrist shaded was the last thing on the list, thankfully,”

You make a noncommittal noise of understanding, your curiosity officially peeked by this ‘Nico’ guy. If you’ve learned anything about how the Swiss act from Jonas, you’re definitely looking forward to seeing if this captain was anything like his teammate.

Soon enough, the bell above your door is ringing as a man enters the parlor. You assume it’s Nico Hischier because of the Devils beanie he’s wearing, and because he looks out of place standing in your little parlor on the opposite side of town where his team plays. You wouldn’t know he has several tattoos himself.

You meet his eyes for a moment, and it almost looks like he’s caught off guard by the sight of you before he spots Jonas. He’s tall, you note to yourself, his shy smile endearing as he greets his teammate with a pat on the back.

“Nico!” Jonas greets happily, engaging in a short conversation before he turns his arm up to show his newly-shaded ink. “This one hurt like a bitch, but it’s looking beautiful now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” the man who you now know to be Nico confirms, admiring your work on his friend’s skin. “You did this?” he suddenly asks, the deep timber of his voice catching you off guard.

“Yeah,” you say, a little breathless. He’s beautiful. You think to yourself, confused about why you suddenly feel so hot when you purposefully keep the temperature in your shop cool. “Jonas is one of my regulars.”

Nico hums in response, eyes flitting back and forth from the lion on Jonas’s wrist and back to you, undoubtedly curious about how long his teammate has known you, and why he feels disappointed that he can’t see the rest of the ink decorating your own arms.

He himself is no stranger to tattoos, but he doesn’t have many nor do his look so intricate on his body like they do on yours. I need a new tattoo artist, he thinks, then mentally slaps himself because what?

With your cheeks feeling like they’re on fire, you turn away from the two hockey players in front of you to try and hide the embarrassment you feel. Unbeknownst to you, your movements make the light catch the dainty jewelry decorating your ears and nose, and Nico now undoubtedly finds himself in awe at your retreating form.

Who are you? He thinks. Siegs is a shit for not introducing you sooner. And then he rolls his eyes at himself again. What the fuck is the matter with him, anyways? He must have gotten a concussion during the playoffs, or something.

“You’re a regular?” He looks to his friend, subtly asking how long you’ve known each other. “You must like them, then,”

Jonas never prided himself on being intuitive; Nico’s prying went right over his head. He says your name with a fond smile, briefly looking to you as you mess around your desk again. “Oh, yeah, they’re the best. They’re fucking amazing with a tattoo gun, not to mention a huge Devils fan, too,”

You just so happen to overhear their conversation. “No, I’m not,” you scowl, but quickly retract your statement because Nico is looking at you like you just kicked his puppy. “Well, I mean, I’m a fan but not, like, a huge fan. I’ve never even been to a game,”

“Siegs, you should’ve brought ‘em around sooner, what the fuck!”

“I tried,”

Nico continues on like he didn’t hear him. “You’re coming to opening night. On me—on us, yeah?”

You’re much too in shock to comment on his slip of tongue, instead staring wide-eyed as he looks at you with determination. Nico just met you, but feels this compelling need to know you beyond the fact that you’re his friend’s reserved tattoo artist.

“You might as well just say yes,” Jonas speaks up, having caught on to your hesitation. “He won’t stop until you do,”

“Damn right.” The captain agrees, crossing his arms to further cement his point.

You’re drawn to the muscles that flex under the material of his shirt, and okay. Wow. With the way your body is heating up you would think that you’ve never been attracted to another human being in your life.

Quickly, your eyes dart back up to Nico’s, and you flush when you see he’s already caught onto your admiration of his body. He raises an eyebrow, teasing, and then you finally blurt out your response lest he call you out. “Well,” you start, clearing your throat when your voice comes out hoarse. “I guess that could be fun, yeah?”

Nico’s infectious grin at your agreement has you returning one of your own, flushed at the way you already knew your life would be a much happier one if you got to see him smile like that at you forever.

The two Devils’ players left soon after that, but not before you exchanged numbers with Nico Hischier himself while a smug Jonas watched from the background. “So I can send you the tickets when the time comes,” he’d said.

It was a perfectly believable excuse to you, but Jonas clapping his teammate on the back as if it were some kind of accomplishment had you questioning if Nico planned on texting you before their opening night.

You forced yourself to forget about it, though, in the meanwhile. You still had two more clients after they left, and you couldn’t exactly do your best work if Nico’s chiseled face and soft eyes wouldn’t leave your head.

And then a sharp pang struck your heart as you figure you’re just being delusional again. Reading too much into a situation that had no call for it, and imagining the way he looked at you like there was something behind your guarded eyes he wanted to explore.

No, you quickly put an end to your thoughts, steeling your resolve as you march back into the shelter of your shop. You aren’t putting yourself through this. Not again.

In a world of meaningless hookups and disappointing endings, you were a damaged romantic who would have once given the world if asked. But that hope for the future you envision with rose colored glasses is long gone, destroyed along with the pieces of your heart that shattered the last time you let yourself get too close to someone.

You decide then and there, with the image of Nico Hischier and his look of awe the moment he first saw you, that you weren’t going to ever grant him the ability to break you like the last person who did so years ago.

Despite the politeness he exudes, you half expect him to start making a move the moment he lands in Switzerland. You think he’ll start with a text that says, ‘Hey, how are you?’ and once you respond (because you will) he’ll send you pictures of him in his homeland, ones that require a compliment or an inquiry about what he’s doing.

You think you have him figured out. Men are predictable, you would know—their brains all work the same, and that includes how they hit on people they’re interested in.

However, you’re surprised to find that a text from him never comes. There’s no message awaiting you in between tattoo sessions, no ‘how are you’ or a picture of a ski lift or whatever it is people do in Switzerland. It irritates you because you don’t have Nico all figured out like you thought.

If you couldn’t place him into the typical group of uncommitted assholes you’d come to learn, then just who is he?

The answer escapes you for many months after. You certainly don’t text him, but you do find his Instagram after drinking one too many glasses of wine and scroll through his pictures. Nico isn’t very active online is what you gather, for his last post was back in May after they got eliminated from the playoffs.

It makes him endearing, much to your displeasure. People glued to their phones and still use Snapchat as their main form of communication irritate you to no end.

Not Nico, though…

He stays on your mind for the entirety of summer, because you just couldn’t get the memory of his eyes out of your head. It panics you a little because it feels like you’re forming a crush, and your last one didn’t exactly bode well for you.

Whatever. It’s just a small, meaningless feeling that just so happens to have stuck. Nico probably wasn’t even going to send you a ticket for opening night.

This is what you tell yourself as September rolls around, the NHL preseason starts, and your stomach sinks deeper and deeper the closer the Devils’ opening night comes.

You’re thinking about him again right now, much to your displeasure, as you finish wiping down one of your stations after your last client of the day left. It was a busy one, and you’re grumpy because your neck hurts from leaning over for so long.

You accidentally knock over your cleaning spray in the midst of your aggressive cleaning, and just as you pick up the bottle there’s a quiet knock on your shop’s door.

“I thought I flipped the closed sign,” you mutter, exiting the room you were just in and walking to the lobby. You’re unable to make out who it is outside, the only striking feature being that they’re tall.

You open the door warily, speaking before they get the chance to. “Sorry, we’re closed for the night. You can come back tomorrow morning or call to book an appointment—”

“I’m not here for a tattoo.” He interrupts you with what sounds like amusement, and you freeze because you would recognize that voice anywhere.

You look up to meet his eyes, and are struck with the same dark brown that’s been haunting your mind for months.

“Nico,” you say, shock written all over your face. You lick your lips, trying to find something to say. “You’re… What are you doing here?”

“I still have the address saved from when Siegs sent it to me,” he admits, aware that’s not what you’re really asking. Facing you now, he finds himself nervous. You hadn’t changed much, except for maybe the addition of another piercing in your right ear, he thinks.

But you were so unlike other strangers he’s met in the past; they know who he is, all about his life, whereas you look at him like you’re not sure what to think.

Nico finds it refreshing. You’re intriguing, someone to figure out—not to mention he really likes your tattoos. And piercings. He fights the urge to trail his fingers up your sleeves to reveal the art decorating your skin.

You’re raising an eyebrow at him, and then he realizes he’s been silent for a good minute while he’s been staring at you. He releases a quick breath, “You still want to come to opening night, right?”

“I do,” you say, foregoing acting coy. Fuck it, you actually did really want to go. “Why? Is there an issue?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he reassures, giving you a quick smile. “I’d just rather explain the ticket situation in person than on text,”

His reasoning sounds understandable to you, but you fail to pick up on why he still seems so nervous. It’s just a ticket to a game, right?

“So since it’s just you,” he starts, hesitantly. “You’ll be sitting with, um. You’ll be in the wives and girlfriends section.”

Truthfully, Nico wouldn’t be shocked if you decline after hearing where you’ll be sitting. He himself probably would have, because who, as a stranger, wants to sit with the players’ significant others?

He watches your reaction, holding his breath. But all you do is laugh a little, shrug nonchalantly even though internally you’re shitting your pants.

“Okay, but you do know I’m neither a wife nor a girlfriend,” of you, you want to add, but keep that last part to yourself. Even though over the course of these last few months your mind definitely imagined it.

Your expression is teasing, the corner of your lips quirked up into a small smirk that has the tension falling from Nico’s shoulders. You aren’t mad. This is a start.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking rather sheepish. “I didn’t know if you’d be okay with that,” he mumbles lowly, meeting your eyes. If you look closely you think you can see a rosy hue covering his cheeks.

“It’s just one game, yeah?” You muse, secretly pleased at the fact that he’s the nervous one this time, not you. “Nothing wrong with that,”

Nico lets out a breathless laugh, relieved knowing you won’t be caught off guard when you come to the opening game in October.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Nothing wrong with that all.”

He stays for a few more minutes after that, your conversation surprisingly pleasant with little awkwardness as you shyly ask about his stay back home, and he gladly expresses his joy at being back in Switzerland for a few months.

His unabashed enthusiasm to share his life with you catches you off guard, but you find that you like learning these little things about him. It defeats your whole purpose of not letting yourself get close to him, but you push that worry to the back of your mind for later.

Nico does eventually leave, but not before giving you a hug that leaves your heart racing. One of his hands came to rest respectfully at the small of your back, and you could have sworn you felt his lips brush your cheek before he pulled away.

“See you soon,” he had grinned, his eyes dark and enthused.

Feeling corny and rather irritated with yourself, your fingers brush the spot on your cheek, swearing you could still feel the heat of his lips.

You still don’t hear from Nico even after his visit, and you’re once again struck by the fact that you still can't tell what his intentions are. You find yourself checking your phone anyway, going so far as to stalk his Instagram. Again.

This is most definitely becoming a bad habit. A very bad one. You think to yourself as, one day, you find yourself staring at your screen once more, weeks having gone by with the brown eyed boy still on your mind.

With another client in just over two hours, you find yourself using the break to get some work done on your laptop at the desk in the lobby of your shop. You aren’t very productive, but it makes you feel better about your wandering imagination being so distracting.

Just having happened to save a finished spreadsheet of your recent clients and their pricing, a man is pushing open the door to your shop. You quickly determine that it’s some type of delivery based on the package he carries before he drops it onto your counter.

He reads out your name from a paper, glancing up at you for confirmation of your identity. “Yes, that’s me,” you say, eyeing the unknown sender label. “Do you know who sent this?” You haven’t placed any orders recently, so it isn’t something from you.

The mailman shakes his head, giving you a polite smile before wishing you a good rest of your day. You wave to him offhandedly as he exits the shop, and then find a pair of scissors to carefully cut through the tape holding the box shut.

As if you’re opening Pandora’s box, you’re wary as you unfold the cardboard, your fingers brushing against thick fabric before carefully taking it out.

Unfolded and spread out across your desk, you freeze. You’re lucky no one else is here in the front to see you because your face is a deep shade of tomato red, and you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

Before you lay a jersey for the New Jersey Devils, and you know even before turning it over that it has Nico Hischier’s surname and number printed on the back.

As you’re staring at the jersey in awe, your fingers trailing over the brand new and surely expensive fabric, your phone pings with a new message.

It’s from a number you’d memorized months ago even though you’d never once used it to communicate. A text from Nico Hischier greets you as you unlock your phone.

UPS sent me a notification that the package I sent you arrived. I hope you like it. Looking forward to seeing you next month :)

“Oh, he’s good,” you say out loud, your smile growing even wider if that were possible. Your heart’s tempo picks up, and your fingers fly across the keyboard to respond.

You’re still not sure what he’s about—what are his plans here? Does he like you? Is he flirting for fun or does he have intentions to go forward?

You try not to overthink it as you finalize your response, pressing send soon after.

I just got it. I have to say, you’re bold. I guess I have no choice but to wear it now considering how much it probably cost you.

As if he were waiting for a response, a new message appears almost instantly.

It’s no big deal. Really. Just want to make your first game a memorable one. I’ll sign the jersey for you, too.

Careful, hot shot, I might start thinking you have other intentions here.

You wouldn’t be wrong.

September passes quickly, and before you know it October 12 is here and you’re nervously walking through Prudential Center to the section your seat is in.

You don’t stick out as much as you think you do, which is relieving because everyone around you is too focused on getting to their own seats and discussing the game.

You know you don’t fit the typical bill of someone coming to support a professional hockey player, considering what you think you are to Nico is… Complicated.

Your arms are covered in small but meaningful tattoos, and your ears are decorated with piercings along with the lone stud on your nose. You wouldn’t think someone like Nico would find it all attractive about you, but he’s said so numerous times over call and text.

You think about said communication as you finally sit down, a good thirty minutes before the game starts because nobody else is around you yet.

After Nico sent you his jersey, it’s like the floodgates opened from whatever was holding the two of you back from talking. Despite your reservations, he enraptured you from the get-go and you just couldn’t stop yourself from falling.

Nico is a really good texter, surprisingly. None of the lower case bullshit or long response times you’d expect from a sports player, but instead the exact opposite.

He doesn’t give you the feeling of talking to a child, an immature man who doesn’t know what he wants; in the time spent between him first using your number and going to the game, you’ve noticed how his responses are thought out and intentional. He responds quickly, but not too quickly to make you think he doesn’t have a career to focus on, and he makes you smile when he adds those cute smiley faces after the end of his texts.

You think you’re enjoying Nico Hischier a little too much to be normal, but you choose not to focus on that as you’re greeted by an unknown woman tapping your shoulder.

“Hi!” She says, giving you a welcoming smile that instantly puts you at ease. “Nico said he invited someone to come tonight. And Jonas,” she adds the last part like it was an afterthought, then gives you a slightly apologetic look. “He didn’t have time to tell us your name, so he just said to look for piercings and tattoos. I’m assuming that’s you?”

You’re not offended by others using your slightly unconventional looks to point you out; you’re proud of all of your piercings and the ink decorating your skin. You wouldn’t be you without them.

Slightly overwhelmed at the amount of words that just spewed from her mouth, though, you hide it well as you damper your nerves to respond. “Hi. Yeah, um, that’s me. They both - Nico and Jonas - really wanted me to come tonight.” You don’t include the fact that it was all Nico who sent you the ticket, showed up at your shop, and had been texting you nonstop for the past month.

The woman grins, seemingly relieved she had the right person. “Nico never brings anyone around so we were all pretty excited to meet you. I’m Natalie, Jonas’ girlfriend, by the way.”

Natalie is the exact type of girl you’d be expecting to date a professional hockey player. She’s blonde with a lithe figure, bright blue eyes and a face that could be on the front page of a magazine. She fits in with this crowd, not you, but you try not to let that bother you as you focus on her being the woman who makes one of your good clients happy.

Jonas has mentioned his girlfriend numerous times before, singing nothing but praises, and he’s even shown you a picture. Now that she’s in front of you, you instantly recognize her.

“I thought I recognized you,” you say. “I’m Jonas’ tattoo artist, he talks about you all the time,” maybe you were exaggerating a bit, but. Siegs wouldn’t mind. You were buttering him up to the ‘love of his life’, after all.

“He’s mentioned you too, oh my gosh, now it’s all clicking!” Natalie instantly gasps, sliding into the seat next to you. “You’re crazy talented. All of his tattoos are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you grin, a little bashful. “He’s a great guy. I enjoy working with him.”

Natalie smiles back, and soon the two of you are joined by the rest of the WAG’s as the puck drop grows closer. Just as you’re about to pull out your phone, Natalie has seemingly managed to break free from whoever she was talking to.

“So, how do you know Nico? Jonas didn’t mention much about you coming, it was mostly Neeks who asked us to greet you,”

Neeks? You file that nickname away for later, and then your face grows red because you’re not sure how to answer her question.

“We actually met because of Jonas, funny enough. He was getting his wrist shaded, right after they got eliminated from the playoffs, and he asked Nico to come pick him up from my shop when it was done.”

“I remember,” Natalie says. “We were flying to Switzerland right after he was done. Sorry, you can continue,”

“You’re good,” you chuckle. “But yeah, then Jonas mentioned how I’d never been to a game, and Nico is who managed to convince me to come tonight.” You keep it simple, vague. No need to provide a complicated answer, mostly because you didn’t know how to reply without making it seem like you and Nico hadn’t been flirting for weeks now.

She looks like she’s about to say something, but suddenly the lights are dimming and an announcer is speaking, his loud voice booming throughout the arena. The next thing you know the lights are coming back on full blast, the puck is dropped, and ten hockey players are whipping across the ice at lightning speed.

Holy shit, you want to say, the sounds of screaming fans and players slamming against the boards rather overwhelming to you but in a good way. It has your blood pumping, and while you don’t understand much of anything - like why the refs blow the whistle randomly or what certain penalties mean - you find that you’re having a good time with Natalie keeping you company, explaining things as they occur.

“That Red Wings player is going into the box which means they’re down a player, and—oh, look, there’s Nico!” She’s pointing to the ice, and you have to squint to follow her line of sight, but you quickly recognize the Swiss captain’s profile and fight the muscles in your face from breaking into a smile.

Alas, you end up losing that battle as a grin manages to fight its way onto your face anyway. You know he can’t see you from so far up, but you like to think he tries as the Jumbotron focuses on him and catches his eyes peering up into the general direction of where you’re seated.

To downplay your excitement at spotting him, you ask, “What’s Jonas’ number?”

“Seventy-one,” Natalie answers, about to say something else, but interrupts herself as she along with almost every other fan in the arena jumps up out of their seats to shout obscenities at the referees.

Yeah, you think to yourself, comically scared of the aggression these hockey fans show for their team. This will take some getting used to.

Almost three hours later, the Devils manage to secure the win for their first game of the season. They almost blew it, or that’s what you hear from others around you, but you’re just glad to have something to congratulate Nico for when you go to meet him outside the locker room.

Speaking of, you along with the other WAG’s are walking down there right now, and your nerves from before the game are coming back full-force, stomach-twisting, vomit-inducing and all.

You’re standing next to Natalie as she talks with two other girls, and you’re content to just listen because your nerves aren’t allowing you to do anything else.

Then, as if the universe were tuned into your thoughts, the locker room doors open and multiple Devils players come streaming out. They’re freshly showered, back in the suits they arrived at the arena in, and you don’t even bother to hide your eagerness as you look for Nico in the crowd.

You spot Jonas first, though, as he catches sight of Natalie and bounds over to her with open arms. “Good game,” you think she says, then says something even quieter and that’s when Jonas sees you standing next to them.

He says your name in shock before a broad smile stretches over his face. “You came!” And then he’s also bringing you into a hug, looking all too happy to have some of his favorite people surrounding him.

“I did,” you laugh, pulling back after a moment. “It was really fun to watch. I’m glad you guys won,” you kind of wince at the end, knowing their win was shaky at best, but he looks like he appreciates the humor all the same.

“Yeah, we are too,” he says, then looks as if he just remembered something. “Nico was coming out right behind me, and—oh, there he is! Neeks!” He calls his captain’s name abruptly, and you swivel around to see Nico Hischier in the flesh heading towards you.

“There you are with the nickname again,” Nico chuckles as he approaches, then embraces his friend as if they didn’t just see each other a minute ago.

When he pulls back, his eyes quickly find yours, and unlike the first time you met there’s no awkwardness as Nico gives you a wide grin before wrapping his arms around you.

“You came,” he says into the top of your hair, and you can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn’t give you time to speak before he’s pulling back only slightly, enough to see your face from below peering up at him.

You take in the sight of him above you, rendered speechless as this image of him smiling so happily will likely replay in your memory forever. Nico is pure ecstasy, delight incarnate as those dark brown eyes likely have you painted in a way you could never see yourself in.

Finally finding your words, you duck your head for a moment, embarrassed at the blush you know is on your cheeks. “I wouldn’t miss it,” you say, referring to the game. “You played great, Neeks,”

Nico playfully leans back, lightly groaning at hearing you tease his nickname. “I should’ve known they’d say that in front of you,” he sighs, but you can tell it’s in nothing but jest as his smile remains. “Thank you, though,”

And now it was his turn to be bashful, as the blood rushes to his cheeks. What a picture you’re sure the two of you were; both pairs of hands still holding the other and equally flustered expressions on your faces. You find that you don’t mind the contact, though, despite having a slight aversion to touch. Nico’s warmth is comforting, and you rather like being close to him.

It’s not until Jonas coughs loudly from behind you that you and Nico finally release your hold on one another, and you turn to see he and Natalie looking at the two of you with barely contained excitement.

You meet Nico’s eyes, both of you struggling to hide your laughs at Jonas and Natalie’s failed poker faces. “Nice assist, Siegs,” you say to break the lingering tension, and the four of you come together like you’d all been close friends for years.

As you’re all leaving the arena through the exit the players use, Jonas and Nico walk ahead of you, exchanging teasing words and lighthearted insults, while you and Natalie watch from behind.

“So,” Natalie chirps, looking at you expectantly. “What do you think?”

You’re not dumb. You know she’s asking about Nico, thinking this is the first time you’ve talked to him since you first met him at your tattoo shop.

“Hockey? Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” you say, snickering when she sighs at your avoidance. “I’ll have to go to more games.”

“Not about hockey, about Nico,” Natalie says, whispering his name as if it’s taboo. “We aren’t blind. That was a long hug, and Nico literally never brings anyone here. Ever.”

“Technically, Jonas offered to bring me to a game first,”

The spunky blonde ignores you, offhandedly waving her arm. “Semantics. He also keeps turning around to look at you. Like right now.”

What? You instantly look ahead and see she’s right, your eyes meeting Nico’s. His face turns red as he sends you a shy smile, and then he turns back to Jonas who is still talking beside him.

Natalie observes the interaction, a small grin on her face. “You’ve both been talking long before now, haven’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” you chuckle bashfully, slightly embarrassed your interactions allow her to pick up on your chemistry so quick. She shrugs, increasing her stride to stand in front of you as you reach their cars. “A little. But I’ve known Nico for a bit now, he’s a good guy. He likes you, too, I think.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before Jonas is wrapping an arm around Natalie’s waist, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “We gotta get going, yeah? Early morning tomorrow,”

Nico’s hand is brushing against your arm as he moves to your side, unable to tell if the resulting shiver from his touch is from the slight chill in the air or just him. “We have a game in Arizona, a back-to-back,” he clarifies, answering your unspoken question.

“Ah,” you say. “That sucks.”

“Not this time. I’ll have plenty of good things to think about on the flight.” He winks at you, perfectly implying what those ‘good things’ are.

Your face turns red just as Jonas pretends to gag. “That would be our sign to leave. Right, babe?” He attempts to lead his girlfriend away, but Natalie suddenly gasps and runs back to you.

“I forgot to get your number,” she says, thrusting her phone into your hands. “We’re definitely hanging out again.” And, well, okay then. Who are you to deny her?

Jonas and Natalie drive away in his fancy sports car, which leaves you to walk Nico to his own. It’s quiet between the two of you, comforting because you’re both content to revel in each other’s company. Your hands occasionally brush - purely Nico’s fault - until he gathers the bravery to lace your fingers together just as you approach his car.

He doesn’t drop your hand, not even as he turns to face you once you come to a stop. “You have a ride home?”

You shrug sheepishly. No, you hadn’t really thought that far. “I was just planning on ubering…”

Nico scoffs, as if the very thought offends him. “Yeah, no. I’ll drive you home.” At the apprehensive look on your face, his confidence wavers slightly, and he mindlessly rubs his thumb over your hand to calm his own nerves. “If you’re okay with it, of course,”

Why does he have to be so cute? You give in instantly, the tension melting from your bones as, boldly, you use his grip on your hand to tug him closer. “That would be great, Nico, thank you.”

While his car, like Jonas’, is also expensive, you feel comfortable surrounded by the dark material and the scent of Nico’s cologne. The radio is playing softly, and he’s humming along quietly while strumming the fingers of his hand on the steering wheel. His other is resting on the gear shift, but you can tell by the way his hand keeps twitching that he wants to move it closer to you.

If you’ve learned anything about Nico within the weeks that you’ve been talking to him, it’s that he is huge on physical touch. He said it over text, but in person it’s even more obvious because his hands are rarely to himself when he’s next to you.

As the minutes go by, you finally give in to his body’s desire with a laugh as you reach over to tangle your hands together, now resting in your lap. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you liked touching, were you?”

Even with the darkness surrounding him, you can easily spot the maroon flush blooming across his cheeks. He briefly looks to you, unable to hide his grin before turning his attention back to the road. “No,” he laughs, gripping your hand reflexively like he’s testing out the contact. “I wasn’t.”

You’re both significantly more loose after you give in to your want for the other, and the rest of the ride is silent save for the occasional song lyrics mumbled by Nico. Almost too quickly he’s pulling into the parking lot of your apartment complex, and you’re disappointed when your hands release as you climb out of the car.

“Can I walk you to your door?”

“Sure.”

Like the car ride, the walk to your apartment is comfortably silent, and this time Nico doesn’t hesitate when taking your hand. He smiles when you shiver, but doesn’t say anything which you appreciate.

The elevator is stopping at your floor almost too soon, and you find yourself not wanting the night to end. You’re enjoying his company far too much, and you really like holding his hand. Imagining yourself doing this on a regular basis is overwhelming and definitely freaks you out a little once you come to a stop at your door.

“Here I am,” you chuckle, a little awkwardly. So… What do you do now? Thank him? Hug him? Kiss him?

You go to say something, anything… But Nico beats you to it. “Thank you for coming tonight,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I couldn’t see you from the ice, but I liked trying to pretend I could see you watching me.” He winks, then, and you don’t bother denying that yes, you were watching him the entire time.

You still try to be humble, though. “Thank you for getting me a ticket,” you say, trying to decide how forward you should be. His eyes sparkle, though, as you talk, like he can’t get enough of your voice… “All the girls were nice. Welcoming. It was fun pretending I was one of them.”

“I want you to be,” Nico blurts, almost breathless. “‘One of them’, that is. I think I like you,” he laughs like he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

You’re unable to take your eyes off him, those dark brown of his bearing into you. The color is warm, just like Nico because he reminds you of a summer day and if he's the sun, then you’re a mere leaf desperately searching for his light.

“I think I like you too,” you admit, a little quieter, a little shy. You still don’t like being touched, but as his hands come to cup your cheeks you decide that you do like the feel of his calloused skin against yours, and then he’s dipping his head to capture your lips in a kiss you don’t know you’ve been waiting for.

You melt instantly, sighing into his mouth with relief. Nico’s kisses are long and smooth, and you’re happy to let him lead before he’s pulling back all too soon, his beard scruff leaving the skin around your lips burning pleasantly.

Fluttering eyes open, leaving you with the distinct feeling of coming up from underwater. Nico looks just as elated as you feel, gazing at you from dark brown eyes filled with adoration. His thumb runs across your bottom lip, and then he’s stepping back respectfully.

“I’ll call you when I get back to my place, yeah?” He says, and you’re glad he seems just as eager to continue talking as you are.

“Yeah, that… That works,” English has left your head, and you stumble over what to say next. Nico has left you speechless, literally. “Drive safe.”

He flashes you a blinding smile, and then disappears back into the elevator.

“Oh fuck,” you say to the emptiness of the corridor. “Fuck. I’m so fucked.”

Nico calls you when he gets home, just like he said he would. He also calls you the day after that and the day after that, and when he can’t call because of a game or practice or whatever, he’s texting you.

You’re swept up in the world of Nico Hischier; his friends have become your (albeit, surface) friends, Natalie has taken you under her wing, and as the weeks go by you’re regularly attending games in the WAG section.

There’s no label on your relationship, and while you like that you’re taking this slow, there's still this desire to kiss him in front of everyone after a game won, to show the hockey world that this man, this man right here is yours.

You don’t act on it, though, as much as you may want to. You have this fear that because your appearance isn’t so conventional, that Nico would get hate for being seen with you. Everyone around you subtly hints that this fear of yours is irrational, but you know better.

As the new year comes and goes - it’s the best way you’ve spent new years in forever because Nico kisses you right as the clock strikes twelve, under the flashing lights and his cheering teammates around you - the Devils’ season continues to dominate. They’re projected to make the playoffs again, and you’re going to just about every game now to show your support.

What you don’t realize is that the fans’ scrutiny of the players only grows the closer the end of the regular season comes, and their attention also shifts to the significant others. WAG playoff jackets are apparently a thing, and you hear from Natalie how the designs for this year are already in the works.

Nico hinted one night that he wanted you to wear one by mentioning he can’t wait to see you when they’re in the playoffs. You gave him a slight look of suspicion because he said it in a way like he’s anticipating something, but he only shrugged cheekily when you tried prying.

Everything comes to an ugly head, though, when you discover hockey Twitter. You’ve obviously known of the app, but you only download it when you hear how the hockey coverage is extensive and you decide you want to keep up with all NHL news more easily.

That’s when you stumble across a term called ‘puck bunnies’, and how there are accounts dedicated to the players’ dating lives with information as trivial as who they’re being spotted with.

Anxiety takes control one night when you’re scrolling through a gossip page, and you succumb to the urge to search Nico’s name. To your horror, there are posts mentioning how a new person (you) has joined the WAG’s at games, and fans have spotted him leaving with this new person consistently.

You can’t find anything mentioning your identity, but you do find criticisms of your appearance. A lot of them. And, really, you knew this was going to happen, it was just a matter of when. The thought doesn’t comfort you, though, as your stomach drops when past girlfriends of Nico are brought up.

They’re all blondes, the occasional brunette, too. Of course they are. You figure anyways that part of the reason you were so intriguing to him to begin with is because you’re so unlike anyone he’s ever dated before. It still doesn’t make you feel better.

You have unconventional piercings, tattoos and quite a lot of them, and you don’t have the money to splurge on expensive clothing like these models do. A word a lot of these hateful posts use is ‘downgrade’, and your insecurities start to agree.

Why does Nico even like you? What do you have that these other girls don’t? From the looks of it, you’re the first of, well, you that he’s ever dated.

You hate it. You hate all of it. Twitter, stupid puck bunnies (how demeaning, too?), your incredibly strong feelings for Nico, and the thought that you aren’t good enough for him.

Now, what you should be doing is calling him. Hell, even Natalie. You know you need to talk to someone about what you’ve found, get some reassurance that the online gossip is purely just that: gossip.

But, well, you’ve never been reasonable. Anxiety and overthinking has ruled your life since you could talk. Instead, you stay silent, stew in your self-loathing and scroll through more of the disgusting Twitter thread.

You let these strangers’ words get to you, their biting insults swimming around in the back of your mind over the next few days all while everyone else is none the wiser.

Especially Nico, who thinks everything is fine until it isn’t. He’s busy with the team, leading with a grace only a captain could possess, and playing his heart out every game to ensure their spot in the postseason. He thinks your distance is because you know how busy he is and simply just don’t want to bother him.

Which, he appreciates you respecting his career, but your shortened responses, curt replies, and frequent denials to come to his games start to signal warning sirens in his head. You aren’t an open book by any means, but this… Nico finds it startling. He knows something is wrong.

So he pries. He texts you more than normal, during video reviews where he’s supposed to be paying attention to replays and right after practices, too. One could say he’s being overbearing, and in the midst of all your self-loathing and depressive overthinking, you snap.

Nico had kept texting you, over and over again, asking for your schedule over the next few days along with continuously asking about when you could see him next. Your fingers moved faster than you could think, and then you pressed send on a message you keep telling yourself you don’t regret.

I just don’t have time, Nico, jesus. Let it go.

The read receipt had appeared under the message less than a minute later, and not another text came through. You’d most definitely had a slight mental breakdown, wanted to call him and apologize and kiss away the frown you’re sure is marring his beautiful lips, but you try convincing yourself it’s for the best.

You don’t deserve all the good that Nico Hischier brings into your life. He’s far too good for you—everyone else seems to think so, too.

And so, that’s that. Nico doesn’t text you anymore and you certainly don’t text him. You’d burned that bridge with no hesitation, and any sparks that were growing between you are certainly extinguished now. This is what you tell yourself, anyways, even as you still can’t stop yourself from tuning into the Devils games over the next few days.

You throw yourself into your work, even more than before. You switch around scheduling for different clients, place multiple sessions right after the other so the buzz of your tattoo gun is too loud for you to think of anything else.

It works, for a time. But you can only do it for so long, and it doesn’t stop you from watching recaps of Nico nor does it keep you from noticing how off-kilter he seems. You’ve come to realize that whenever the captain is off, so is the rest of the team, and the Devils go on a losing streak over the next two weeks that kills you almost as much as you’re sure it’s killing them.

You still don’t contact him, though. You keep your distance, avoid the bars you know they frequent and dodge Natalie’s attempts at meeting up, too. You’re sure she knows you and Nico aren’t talking, either because of how badly he’s playing or because Jonas told her, and you don’t want to give her an opportunity to pry.

And Nico, well. He’s very obviously a mess. He’s snappy, overwhelmed, angry at the littlest things; he broke his stick against the wall during one practice because Jack had passed him a puck, but Nico botched the play just like everything else in his life, apparently.

A perk about being the captain is that none of his teammates have the guts to come up to him to bluntly ask him what’s wrong. On the other hand, his teammates follow his lead to a T, which means that as a result of his foul mood and horrible playing, their spot in the standings has noticeably suffered.

You don’t leave his head, not when he’s in the middle of a game or lying wide awake in his bed until the early hours of the morning. Many times he contemplates breaking the barrier you’d put between the two of you, to ask what he did and if there’s anything he can do to fix it. Nico thinks it’s his fault, that maybe he came off as too clingy…

He knows of your past, knows you’re so wary to jump into relationships for a reason, and figures he just did something to scare you back into seclusion.

The abrupt silence between the two of you builds, and Nico is so frustrated with himself and with you that when they play a division rival, the Philadelphia Flyers, his pent-up aggravation is released and he plays the best hockey he’s probably ever played before in his life.

Nico has never done drugs, but he’s positive the adrenaline pumping through his veins is similar to the rush of dopamine one would feel right after. He’s high off the elation of winning, and it gives him the courage to finally do something about the mounting irritation from his lack of contact with you.

He leaves the rock as soon as he’s able, breaks a few traffic laws in his haste to get to your shop as quickly as possible. It’s a long shot, showing up this late at night on a Friday, but he knows your habits and he knows you.

As he swerves into a parking spot, his gut tells him he’s right. You’re here. You have to be.

Unfortunately for you, Nico is right. You are, in fact, holed up alone in your shop, postponing the lonely ride to your lonely apartment in place of searching for something to do.

You watched the Devils game in the midst of distracting yourself, because of course you did. You saw how the players’ growing frustration led to pure determination that ultimately secured them the win.

You’re proud of them. Proud of Nico. You want to text him, do something, but… then there’s rapid knocking on the doors, and you’re peeking around the corner to catch a glimpse of the likely drunkard trying to break in.

You’re about to just wave them off, gesture towards the sign hanging on the window you know is switched to close, but the man outside speaks and you’re frozen.

“Please, baby, let me in,” the voice is laced with pure desperation, and oh, now you can see him as clear as day. He mouths your name through the glass, and you don’t have the strength to send him away.

You reluctantly unlock the door, shying away from his touch when he tentatively puts a hand on your arm. Nico is having none of it, though, and quickly grabs your hand to tug you back towards him. He’s had enough of your silence, isn’t going to let you walk away so easily this time.

When you don’t meet his eyes, he lets out a heavy breath, squeezes your hand once, then, “What the fuck is going on?” and you’re still silent, still avoidant, refusing to look up at his face. He says your name, voice anguished as he begs again, “Talk to me, please?”

You dodge his questions. “Why are you here, Nico?”

Nico reads your body language, watches as you refuse to meet his eyes and finally break away from his touch. He realizes he still affects you, and that you pushing him away is purely because you’re in your own head and don’t know how to get out of it

“Did you see my game?” Nico eventually asks, realizing he has to approach this gently, like you’re a wounded animal and in a sense, you are.

You did, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. (He knows, anyway). So you just shrug, pretending to fiddle with the random shit on your desk.

“So that’s a yes,” Nico mutters to himself. Then, he speaks up, louder, so he knows you hear him. “I scored a goal tonight.” he pauses, waits for your reaction.

You look up then, only for a moment, squinting your eyes in what looks to be a glare. “Congratulations.”

The way you look at him screams paranoid, insecure, and suddenly Nico is hit with the memory of a conversation he had with a fan a few days ago. She was young, in her early teens and certainly not out of highschool so he didn’t take her gossip too seriously, but…

“You guys are so cute!” he remembers her squealing, shoving her phone in his face. It was a blurry picture of the two of you holding hands walking out of the arena, that much he remembers. “Everyone’s hating on them online but they’re all just jealous you’re taken now.”

Nico had been signing her jersey when she said that. He raised an eyebrow, was tuning her out slightly. “Hating? On Twitter? Shocking,” he had laughed. “Does anyone take them seriously?”

The girl - whose name he now doesn’t remember - had shrugged. “A few obsessed people, yeah. Don’t go on Twitter if you want to keep your sanity. I’d tell your… friend that, too.”

Except he didn’t. Her words went through one ear and right out the other, and it’s like a halo of light just lit up his head because oh, Nico understands now, and he feels his stomach dropping over the thought that you’ve been living with this for weeks now.

Nico scoffs at your sass but it sounds more like a laugh. He knows what to do, now. “Signed a few fans’ jerseys after the game, and then I remembered an interesting conversation with this one girl a few games back. It was really enlightening. Wanna know what she said?”

You know what’s coming. You’ve already seen what people say about your rumored relationship with Nico, and you think he’s just telling you this to definitively end whatever you started with each other.

Words escape you, but what does manage to come out is a choked up, “Not really”, under your breath.

“She said people talked about us online. Were saying a bunch of bullshit about how you ‘aren’t my type’ and that I’m too good for you. Can you believe that?”

Nico takes a few cautious steps towards you, leans over your desk to gauge your reaction. He sees the light sheen in your eyes, the way your hands tremble as you attempt to look like you aren’t hanging on to his every word.

But Nico sees right through you. He understands immediately, in that moment, why you’re pushing him away, and it breaks his heart into a million pieces.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, softly. “You didn’t think I agreed with them, did you?”

You try to respond, but you cut yourself off by letting out a sob as the overwhelming emotions catch up to you.

Nico immediately rounds the desk, his own eyes tearing up as he wraps his muscular arms around your body in a protective hug. You’re shaking as you bury your head into his neck, spurting apology after apology.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”

“I know,” he shushes, one hand running through your hair while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. “I know. It’s okay,”

“Why don’t you hate me? You should hate me,”

“I could never hate you.”

You don’t let go of Nico, not even as he slides down the wall with you in his arms. It’s behind your desk, so you’re hidden from view. The thought that he did this on purpose so you can break down in peace only makes you cry harder, and yet he doesn’t falter in his comfort.

“Is this why you went silent on me?” He eventually asks, gently, so as to not startle you. “Because of… Twitter?”

You nod imperceptibly, feeling rather embarrassed now that it’s said out loud how much online gossip has bothered you. It wasn’t just because of that, though. “It’s stupid, I know—”

“No, no it’s not. Your feelings aren’t stupid.” He says immediately. “I’m sorry you found those things online. I wish you would’ve told me, or something, that way I could’ve reassured you,”

“I should have,” you say. You almost lost him, this person you care about so deeply. “You scare me so much, though, you know?”

Nico jerks, aghast. “No, no, not like that,” You reassure, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I mean… What I feel for you scares me. Like it’s too good to be true,”

You’re nervous to continue, but then his fingers begin tracing the tattoos on your arms and you shiver because of an entirely new reason, other nerves forgotten.

“And, I don’t know. I guess I was looking for reasons to doubt… Us. Which is wrong, I know. And then I found the Twitter thread, and I let their words confirm what I was already thinking.”

One of his hands trails up the back of your neck, gently massages the skin there for a moment, and is then carefully smoothing over some of your older piercings, admiring how the jewelry looks against your skin. He’s working to calm you down, and it’s working because you then realize you've forgotten how to speak.

“Um,” you swallow, throat dry. “You’re here, though,” you finish lamely, finally meeting his eyes in awe.

“I am.” He affirms. The hand on your arm joins the other to cup your face, and then your eyes flutter shut as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “And I’m not going anywhere, yeah? Not unless you tell me to fuck off. ”

“Okay,” you whisper, assured and now content as his arms go back to curling you into his chest. “Okay. Sounds good.” And then a thought strikes you, like the deprivation of his life you’ve been forcing yourself to deal with has had enough. “When’s your next game?”

Nico’s face breaks out into a beautiful smile, one that takes your breath away. “There’s one at home next Thursday,” he says. “I think Natalie might hurt me if I tell her that you’re still too busy, so does this mean you’ll come?”

“Can’t have that now, can we?” you murmur, matching his grin. “But yeah, yeah, I’ll go,” and back to cool nonchalance you go, unable to take the love rushing through you.

Finally, you find the strength to lift yourself off the floor. He immediately grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together. As you stand in the middle of your shop, smiling goofily at each other, he looks nervous again, and his thumb smooths over the back of your hand reflexively.

“I’ve missed you,” Nico admits, looking down at you shyly. “Didn’t realize how much I liked having you in my life.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely upset with yourself for shutting him out. “I missed you too. A lot.”

“So we’re good now, then?” he looks anxious, like he thinks he still did something wrong. “You’ll talk to me next time?”

“We’re good. I’ll talk to you,” you swear. And you’re serious this time. It hurt you just as much as it hurt him to fall out of contact for weeks. Terrifyingly enough, you’re sure it’s because you’re falling in love with him.

You’ll hold back from saying those three words for a little while longer, though.

“So,” you say after a moment. “Catch me up? On everything I missed?”

He grins again, and you think it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. “Can we recap back at my place?” At the suggestive look on your face his face quickly turns red. “I just miss having you in my bed,” he mumbles, and at your laugh just starts dragging you to the door.

“Wait, wait, I need to lock up!” Nico playfully groans, squeezes your hips with a mocking “hurry up” and then you’re running out onto the busy streets of New Jersey like two reckless teenagers looking to elope.

It’s healing, freeing, and dangerous all at once because you can’t stop giggling and Nico can’t stop kissing you, and as you look at his face outlined by the red of a stoplight you think, I could fall in love with him.

You’re sure he’ll catch you when you hit the bottom, too.

A/N: I was planning on including smut but since I wrote this with a gender neutral reader not even I could make that work LMAO regardless, I hope you still enjoyed! I haven’t written a 10k+ fic in a while so I had a lot of fun with this one. As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3

────────────────────────────────

Taglist: @ballsakic @bbbbruins @bbnhlqueen7 @iwantahockeyhimbo @sebbyaho @heatherawoowoo @matsbarzal @teuvomakesmesmile @typical-simplelove @grittysbattinggloves @stars-canucks @besthockeyfics @ilyasorokinn @drei-mrssvechii @tanninetanya @insomniren @sidcrosbyspuck @yagetintoit @2manytabsopen @huggy-hischier4394 @estapa94 @spacesurfing @ellswilliams @shoesjr13 @cixrosie @poufsouffle21 @fratboyharrysgf0201 @jovye

Add yourself to my 18- (SFW) Taglist here!

Add yourself to my 18+ (NSFW) Taglist here!

723 notes · View notes

70sscifiart · 1 year ago

Text

The Last-Minute Sci-Fi Gift Guide

There's only one thing worse than procrastinating on getting gifts for your loved ones, and that's procrastinating on putting together a guide to help out everyone else with all those gifts. It's Dec 12, so you can decide for yourself which I'm doing.

Art book: Worlds Beyond Time, $32

If you follow this blog, you might have heard of this one. I published Worlds Beyond Time: Sci-Fi Art of the 1970s this year after five years of work on it, and I think it's really good! 400+ images, 100+ artists, with lots of fun art history and jokes.

Also, it's just $20 right now if you order through my publisher and use the code SKIPTHELINE! Cheapest it's ever been!

Card game: Coup, $14

In this "social deduction" card game, you play as a government official in a future dystopia who needs to backstab their way into power. Everyone starts out with just two cards in this bluffing game, so the tide can turn pretty quick when players start assassinating each other's cards. The fast pace makes it a good gift for someone who loves spies but thinks they don't like card games.

Game to play over Zoom: Bad Spaceships, $3

If a bluffing game stresses you out, try Bad Spaceships: It's a collaborative world-building game in which you roll dice to see what area of your spaceship connects to another, forcing you to spitball exactly why this is the case. As the game puts it, you might fix the hull by playing Tetris, or charge your weapons in the swimming pool. You're basically getting weird prompts to tell a story that can evolve over the course of the game.

It's such an indie game that it comes as PDFs you download from itch.io, but you can play it just as well over Zoom, if you're looking for an excuse to catch up with your old digital nomad college friend.

Movies/TV: Streaming service gift card

Gift cards are all well and good, but you can personalize them by recommending a few of your favorite shows as well. I suggest:

Hulu: Cowboy Bebop

Apple TV+: Severance

Criterion Channel: Ravenous, Paprika, Strange Days

Paramount+: Yellowjackets

Amazon Prime: The Devil's Hour

But to be honest, this entry is just an excuse to talk about the new Max show Scavenger’s Reign. Inspired by the work of French artist Moebius and with a clear debt to famed 70s animated film Fantastic Planet, this stylish sci-fi show features a bunch of humans trying to survive on a beautiful but hostile alien world. Perfect for lovers of fictional nature.

Vintage sci-fi

This Etsy shop has some good stuff, like the 1971 Frank Kelly Freas NASA poster above, a bit of history that I even mentioned on page 167 of my art book.

Penguin science fiction postcards, $28

These postcards have a ton of very cool sci-fi covers I've blogged in the past – great value if you want a lot of art for a low cost.

Meteorite pendant necklace, $34

I think we all know what kind of rock your loved ones need around their neck: A chunk of meteorite straight out of the 1576 Argentinan meteorite fall.

Book recs

For astronauts: Packing for Mars by Mary Roach, The New Guys: The Historic Class of Astronauts That Broke Barriers and Changed the Face of Space Travel by Meredith Bagby

For comedians: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, Even Greater Mistakes: Short Stories by Charlie Jane Anders

For sleuths: Six Wakes by Mur Lafferty, Drunk on All Your Strange New Words by Eddie Robson

For crafters: Knits of Tomorrow: Toys and Accessories for your Retro-Future Needs

For the resistance fighters: The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley, An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

For slasher movie fans: Clown in a Cornfield by Adam Cesare

Syd Mead "Biomorph Vehicle" button down shirt, $49

T-shirts aren't classy enough for the world's coolest visual futurist, Syd Mead. I haven't actually bought this incredibly odd shirt, but I really need to.

Art prints (and more) from 70s sci-fi artists

Artist shops can be surprisingly hard to track down on the internet, but here's a short list of ones I've come across. All of these artists are featured in my book (except one), so you can read up on them before you commit to a print.

Michael Whelan

John Harris

Syd Mead

Don Maitz

David B Mattingly

Peter Andrew Jones - Jones was one of just a few artists who declined to be included in my art book, but he has a distinct, colorful style that I would have loved to have featured!

Finally, here's one extra bonus, just for everyone who made it to the end of this article: The UK-based educational charity Centre for Computing History sells three big officially licensed John Harris posters featuring these three artworks, famous for their use as covers for Sinclair programming manuals.

It's a great deal that I've never seen mentioned anywhere, and Harris' work has a timeless quality that makes it great for an unassuming wall decoration. If you're outside the UK, the shipping costs will be a pain, but there's no better deal for a classic sci-fi poster.

#gift guide #sci-fi #sci-fi gift ideas #gift ideas #retro sci-fi art

262 notes · View notes

seeingivy · 1 year ago

Text

better than revenge

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

previous part linked here

an: this is 11k and tweets on tweets. buckle in. if you find the typo in the tweets shut up

songs mentioned: see you again by tyler the creator ft. kali uchis, end game by taylor swift, and vampire by olivia rodrigo

The following morning, the buzzing energy in the townhouse is almost palpable. Not only because you’ve finally completed the set and the last four people have arrived – Erwin, Bertholdt, Ymir, and Historia – but it seems that your intense energy from the night prior seemed to have transferred over to everyone else.

You’re almost too embarrassed to walk downstairs to the frantic chatter – that coupled with the fact that you’ve heard Connie name drop you almost four times – and it seems that Eren seems to be feeling the same when you walk out into the hallway to find him awkwardly lingering by his door.

“Hey.”

Eren looks up, thrown out of his spiral of thoughts, as he gives you a smile and then looks down at your lip. It’s a little sore, the tiniest bit swollen from the tattoos that you got yesterday, and you can see that his is the same.

“Hi princess. How’s your lip?” Eren asks.

“Good. I guess I should be thankful that your name is only four letters and not nine letters like Bertholdt or something.”

Eren smiles.

“Let’s see it then.” Eren responds.

You oblige his request, pulling down to show him the inner of your lip and watch as he smiles at the little ink. He follows suit after, making a rather dramatic display of crouching down to your height before pulling his own lip and showing you his.

“You know, life really does imitate art. Because now, my name really will be forever on your lips.” you respond.

“I sure hope not. You’d be slashing my head off sometime in the near future if that were true.”

You smile.

“You know, that doesn’t sound that bad to me.”

“But you have to kiss me after. You know, if it were up to me, I think life should imitate art. Like at least ten times, for scientific purposes.” Eren responds, shrugging as he gestures for you to follow him.

You shake your head, inexplicably unable to respond to the harmless flirting this time around, as you gesture for him to join you downstairs. The two of you walk in tandem down the steps, sparing each other one last smile, before you get hounded by the likes of Connie and Jean.

And surely enough, the second you make it down to the kitchen and the dining table at the side, you’re met with the sight of Connie air-playing fan edits on the TV screen for everyone to watch.

You and Eren take the spot behind Connie on the couch, and Eren smacks him on the backside of his head, before you two watch the edit. It’s of Eren singing Glimpse of Us in the background, except the video’s edited to be showing videos of him and Hyla, before juxtaposing them with videos of him and you.

“Speak of the fucking devils. Don’t tell me you actually got matching lip tattoos? I’m half convinced you assholes are just lying to piss me off at this point.” Connie asks.

The two of you look over and grin at each other.

“Why are you watching fancams of us on the TV?” you ask.

“Edit accounts are a form of art. Look at this one.” Connie responds, sliding to the next video on his phone.

This one is in a similar vein, videos of you and Eren from the red carpet to the backdrop of you singing Style. You’re not sure what it is, but the video fills you with an insurmountable amount of joy, especially when Connie scrolls up the comments – most of them being about how people can’t stand how Eren seems to look at you.

“Connie. Why have you watched this entire YouTube video?” Eren asks, pointing to the little thumbnail at the side.

You follow the line of vision to where he’s pointing to an hour long video, entitled “eren and y/n creating love for an hour straight.”

“There’s no way you watched that entire thing.” you respond.

“Watched it? Bitch, I recorded half of those videos for Y/N-Jaegers back in the day. Please put some respect on my name.” Connie sneers, as he leans forward to put the video on.

You turn to Eren, as the gears start turning in your head. You can tell that he’s following your lead – in fact, thinking the same exact thing as you – as you discuss it over.

“I mean, kind of makes sense. S’how we did it the first time.” Eren responds.

“I’d argue that it’s almost poetic to do it the same way. Plus, the resurgence of Y/N-Jaegers would be crazy, just for PR sake.”

“I agree.”

Eren reaches forward, yanking on Connie’s ear to catch his attention. He leans back, before swatting Eren off, and standing to face the two of you.

“Do you have your phone, Connie?” Eren asks.

“Yeah.” Connie responds.

“Then, use it.” Eren responds.

You give him a grin, waiting for Connie – who albeit, in his confusion lifts his phone – before you both pull down your lips and show off your new tattoos. You watch as Connie’s eyes nearly boggle out of head as he moves closer to the two of you, his excited voice filling the entire room as the group of them all start huddling around you.

Mai and Mikasa look positively appalled, quietly whispering about how painful that must have been, while Reiner and Sasha break out into their own side tangent about how oppressive lip tattoos must be since they limit your food options so greatly.

You and Eren laugh as you shuffle back into the kitchen, leaving the group of them to their devices as Connie uploads the video, and the two of you reach for the yogurt in the fridge. The piping hot, spicy ramen seemed like it was just going to burn your entire lip off, so you decided against that for today.

You lean forward to read the little schedule on the fridge, though the filming is considerably light for the week. Considering the fact that almost everyone was here now, or arriving within the next hour, you were going into serious rehearsals for the ensemble showcase that you had planned. Though you were really only in it for one verse.

Wednesday, March 27th, 10:00

Eren and Y/N - REDACTED #1

You frown.

“What the hell is redacted number one?”

Eren spins to the side, crouching down so his chin is just hovering over your shoulder. And the fact that he lowers his voice, to the gravelly octave, makes the hair on your arms stand up on its ends.

“Levi not talk to you about this yet?”

“No. We’re too busy talking about award show stuff. You know how he loves to lecture.”

Eren looks over at you, his eyes borderline smoldering, as you can’t help but look away. It was getting harder and harder to look at Eren after your godforsaken realization last night.

“From what I hear, what they’re lecturing you about is actually very valid.” Eren responds.

You scoff.

“You know, they’re so annoying. I’d appreciate it if they kept my conversations with them as private as they keep their conversations with you.” you respond.

“Well, they were actually trying to get me to convince you to not use your triple threat performance on me. Not when you’re already performing twice that day, with me at the centerpoint.” Eren responds.

When you had first pitched your idea for the awards show to them – and humbly begged them to give their ensemble showcase moment up to include the Jujutsu Kaisen cast – you had let them know that your intentions were from the get go.

And when Eren had created the perfect segway for them with the song requests, Hange had slipped theirs in a week prior with maybe the most difficult request that you had been given yet.

write a song about danny and sareen

And even more than just writing it, Hange had made it very clear that they were expecting you to sing it at the award’s show at the end when you finally got to do your triple threat performance. That you couldn’t sing another song about Eren, when winning that award, was always going to be about them.

Hange’s more theatrical than Levi. Because Levi just gave you the cue card that they have read off of that night, that had your name on it. But Hange had gone the full ten miles and given you the little trophy that you never even got to hold, with the note that came attached from the Institute.

You can still see it now in the dull, gold looping.

Dear Y/N, Danny, and Sareen, Congratulations on your accomplishment! Included in the box is the trophy and a golden glass case to display it in. Please call the offices on Glass Avenue to discuss timings for interviews and your performance at one of our four award shows next year. Best, The Institute

And annoyingly enough – despite the fact that it was your name on the trophy, their names were inscribed on the box.

It was enough to irritate you into writing the song that Hange wanted you to sing. And at this point, you were itching to give them a run for their money too.

“They didn’t need you to convince me. I gave in eventually.” you respond.

Eren shrugs, before dipping his own spoon into your yogurt. Eren had instinctively given up the last strawberry one because it’s your favorite, but clearly, wasn’t very attached to his decision.

“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to make it about Danny and Sareen in the first place.” Eren responds.

You shrug, leaning against the back of the fridge. The metal is cold on your back, as you let the freezing cold yogurt soothe the burning in your mouth.

“Well, I only came back here for Marco. Because he won’t ever get to act again. Then when I started to do this, I was only doing it for you – because you did it for me first.” you respond.

“And now?”

“I thought back to what Historia had said to me, when she finally dragged me out of that house the first time. She had brought up Hange’s speech, the one way back when that made me even interested in acting in the first place. About showing the real you and all that.” you respond.

“And?” Eren asks.

“Well, Hange brought that up to me, when I originally said I wanted the third song to be about you. Not that you’re not important to me, but…being a triple threat was what I always wanted. And really at the core of it, I just wanted to be as unapologetic as Hange was. I guess when they put it that way, it was almost stupid not to make the song about them when they’re the one who got to take the sanctity of that award away from me.”

Eren smiles. And before he can respond, you’re tackled by two pairs of arms nearly strangling you around your neck, your line of vision telling you that Eren’s experiencing the same bombardment. Ymir and Bertholdt are shaking his entire frame and jumping at his side – and your ears don’t deceive you when you hear Historia and Erwin bellowing in your ear.

You pull back, wrapping your hands around Historia’s face.

“You crazy bitch. Don’t tell me you actually got a fucking tattoo again?” Historia asks.

You grin, pulling down your lip to show the group of them.

“Well, I’d be a fucking liar if I said that.” you respond.

Erwin, in his theatrics, places a hand over his chest and the other one on the top of your head.

“That’s my girl. Always had such a sound moral compass.” Erwin responds.

You can’t help but wrap your arms around him as Erwin lifts his hand and gestures for Eren to join him at the other side. He still smells the same – the lingering scent of Old Spice deodorant and a very husky perfume. And when he pulls back, you can’t help but feel your heart squelch when he puts a hand on both of your cheeks and beams down at you two.

“You’ve always been our little trail blazers, you two. I’m so proud of you two.”

You turn to Eren and smile, before looking back at Erwin.

“We’re proud of you too, Erwin!” Eren responds.

You turn your head to the side, giving Eren a confused look.

“Don’t flatter me, Eren. I’m not above crying in front of you children.” Erwin responds.

“I’m offended you would even think that, Erwin. Don’t you know who I am?” Eren responds.

You shake your head as you turn towards Ymir and Bertholdt at your side and leave Eren and Erwin to hype each other up for what was probably going to be the next thirty minutes at your side. You had already given up trying to understand Eren and Erwin’s relationship years prior.

“Hey, kid.” Ymir says.

“I’m older than you.” you respond.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I have someone I want you to meet.” Ymir responds.

You follow her line of vision to the opening of the kitchen, to find someone lingering against the frame of the door. There’s a girl standing there, with tan skin and a short pixie cut – nervously knitting her fingers together. She’s smiling at you, rather brightly, and you can't help but feel like you’ve met her before.

“Y/N. This is Sofia, my fiance. Sofia, this is Y/N.” Ymir states, gesturing for the two of you to shake hands.

You oblige, her hand warm and the shake firm, as you try to hide the shock in your face. With the rush of everything that was going on, the information that Mikasa had shared with you days prior had been floating around in the back of your mind but you were never able to ask Eren to put it to rest.

And now there was another lingering question mark hanging.

That Ymir had proposed to Historia, but that she said no. That she begged her and Historia couldn’t bring herself to do it. But even despite that, they were still sleeping on the same mattress when you came back for the first time, for Marco’s funeral.

And now she’s engaged to someone else.

“Hi Sofia. My name is Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Her eyes light up as she squeezes your hand, which you now realize is still locked in with hers, as you look back up at her and smile.

“It’s really nice to meet you too.” she responds.

“You know, you look really familiar, but I can’t exactly place why.” you murmur.

You look to your side to find Ymir grinning at Sofia, as Sofia can’t help but groan in response.

“I told you she would remember you.” Ymir states.

“That doesn’t count as remembering me! A lot of people can look familiar to people!” Sofia responds.

You smile, rubbing your palms together, as you look at the two of them. The thought of Historia a few feet away talking to Jean and Mikasa has you sweating, nervously passing your eyes over just to make sure that she wasn’t watching the entire interaction go down.

“Have I met you before?” you ask.

Sofia sighs, the slightest pink tint in the apples of her cheeks.

“This is so embarrassing. I met you and Eren a couple years back, at one of those conventions with the panels and stuff and –”

The recognition is instant.

“Oh my god! You were wearing a shirt with my face on it! With your sister, right?” you respond.

“I fucking told you she would remember! She has really good memory.” Ymir responds, this time goading her on.

You shake your head at Ymir, before placing your hands on both of her biceps and squeezing.

“Sofia, wait. I really remember that because it actually meant the world to me at the time. I’m sure you…know about Scott Clarkson and all that mess and –”

“I want that man dead and I’m so serious.” Sofia deadpans.

You laugh.

“You and me, both. But yeah, that day was actually the first time that Eren and I had ever met him in person. And the entire event in general was just so uncomfortable and left a weird taste in my mouth and you…you really made me feel like I was doing something important and I actually thought about it for a really long time.” you respond.

Sofia smiles, before she reaches forward and wraps her arms around you. The embrace is overwhelmingly warm, as you eye Ymir behind her back, who's just shaking her head at her demeanor, almost insinuating that this was what she did all the time.

“I’m really glad. I really meant what I said back then and I’ve always been a big supporter all this time. You’re really brave and courageous and –” Sofia stars.

“Okay, Sof. Enough. You’re going to make poor Y/N’s head bigger than it already is.” Ymir groans, as you turn back to your side.

“That’s really sweet of you. How is your sister?” you ask.

You’re not sure what it is, but it’s almost like you’ve thrown ice on the little warmth that was pooling in the conversation. Because her face slightly droops and Ymir’s quick to put a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

“Ah. She passed away a few years ago.” Sofia mumbles.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up and –”

She smiles, enough to give you the faintest glimpse of her dimples. They remind you of Eren.

“That’s okay. That’s actually where I met Ymir. At the grief group.” she responds.

“You went to a grief group?” you ask.

“Well, not originally. I was there with a friend, a while before Marco died. Met her there. We were already dating when Marco passed away, but…we just figured it wasn’t the best idea for Sofia to come to the funeral with…you know. Historia.” Ymir responds.

So why did she sleep with Historia on the mattress?

“I’m glad you’re here with us now. It’s really nice to meet you. And I love weddings, if Ymir can humble herself enough to invite me to hers.” you respond.

“Shut up, bitch. You’re so annoying.” Ymir responds.

That’s what she says. But it sounds more like are you crazy? Of course, you’re invited.

“Anyways, I hope you come to set later. Eren and I are going to be filming something if you want to watch.”

“For sure. I’d love to see it.” Sofia responds.

You look over your shoulder to find Levi, Hange, and Eren waiting near the edge of the kitchen island, gesturing for you to come over now that you’ve caught their attention. And as the four of you embark out towards the set, Levi explains what redacted scenes are to you.

You spare Historia one last glance as you walk off the set and can’t help but feel a bitter taste in your mouth at the longing look she’s giving Ymir.

“You know, this sounds an awful lot like method acting to me.” you murmur, spotting the sly grin on Levi’s face.

“Eren told me not to call it that. He said you might strangle me. Or him. Or both of us combined.”

“He would be right about that.” you respond.

He’s leaning against the edge of the vanity, as the makeup team tasks themself with drying and prepping your hair to perfection, while Levi coaches you through what you now understand are the two redacted scenes that Levi has asked you and Eren to film.

You just think it’s lazy script writing. Levi thinks you’re annoying for calling it that.

With your combined permission of course, Levi has decided to let you method act through the two scenes that he originally had planned out. While he was allegedly entirely faithful in your ability to deliver lines, he wanted to see if what the two of you could produce out of real shock, in the moment as your characters, was something better than what he could write.

Hence, the vague scene that you and Eren were going to be filming. To your understanding, the pair of them were each going to give you and Eren a set of prompts and you were just supposed to act your way through the scene based on what they told you to do.

“Can I know my prompt then?” you ask.

“You understand, right?” Levi clarifies.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just supposed to go based on what you tell me.”

Levi hops off of the counter, this time leaning closer so that you can actually make eye contact with him in your line of vision.

“But really. I don’t care how badly you want to say something else. You…you have to go based on the direction that I tell you.” Levi responds.

It’s almost annoying, the way he’s coddling you through the entire thing.

“Okay, I get it. This is my entire job, you know?” you respond.

Levi scoffs.

“Fine. Eren’s going to ask you something. I want you to shoot him down.” Levi states.

You lean your head to the side, much to the annoyance of the makeup artist, who moves your neck back into place. You shoot her an apologetic smile, before thinking back to Levi.

“You want me to shoot him down?” you ask.

“He’s going to ask you something. Or insinuate it – and no matter how badly you want to do whatever it is, you have to tell him no.”

Levi gives you a curt nod before he walks back out to the set to put things in place, as you put the outfit resting on the hangar on. You reach up to mess with the little fringe of your bangs, pulling down the undershirt and the jacket as you prepare yourself for the scene.

When you walk out on set, the group of them are all sitting on the sidelines, giving you excited smiles. You give Sofia a little wave at the front of the sidelines, returning the little finger hearts that Gabi and Falco point towards you as you reach for your cue.

And when Levi calls action, the lights on the entire set dimming and the chatter breaking down to silence, you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you see Eren at the top of the little landing, his back facing towards you.

“Eren! Everyone has been looking everywhere for you!”

At the sound of your voice, Eren lifts his hand to his face and sniffles, almost like he’s wiping away tears, before you stand at his side. He refuses to meet your eyes and now that you’re standing at his side, you’re not sure how you missed this before.

They cut Eren’s hair.

A small part of it – because it’s out of the usual man bun that he’s been sporting since you came back to set and instead loosely frames the sides of his face.

It might be your favorite look yet. And all you can do is stare.

He still refuses to meet your eye, withholding it from you. You follow his gaze to the bottom of the landing, to see the kid that Levi had introduced you to a week prior, who was going to play Ramzi in the script. You had yet to film the scene – since you’re almost positive that Levi was going out of order at this point to save time and note it.

“The boy from the market? What happened?” you ask.

“Nothing yet.” Eren responds.

Eren’s voice has that same gravel, almost hollow, like he did the day that you filmed the table scene. It’s almost haunting when his voice sounds like that – so devoid of motion and strained that it makes your chest pang.

You wonder if that’s what he sounded like in the years that you didn’t talk.

“What do you mean? Wh-what is this place?” you ask.

“After the war left them with no home, they all gathered here to live. They’re just like us.”

Eren’s throat bobs at your side and you can feel his eyes clenching in your peripheral vision.

“One day, their regular lives ended and everything was taken away from them. They were deprived of all of their freedoms.” Eren states.

And almost in a split second, Eren finally averted his gaze from looking down and meets your eyes for the first time. You’re not sure what it is – surely something from the makeup team that’s making his eyes look fuller, rounder – but the eye contact is almost excruciating this time. Your first instinct is to turn away.

“Y/N. Why do you care so much about me?”

You can feel your cheeks burning. That was the last thing you were expecting him to say.

“Huh?” you repeat.

“Is it because I saved you when we were little? Or is it because I’m your family?”

You swallow hard, the block in your throat stifling. It’s almost like you can’t even push air out of it, like you’re opening your mouth to try and nothing can make it past – enough to fill you with a panic like you won’t ever speak again. Because you have the faintest inkling of what’s going to come next…why Levi was so adamant on asking if you would be able to follow his instructions.

“I-”

“What am I to you?” Eren asks.

Everything.

It’s the first word that comes to mind when he asks.

“Ev–”

You pause, as you feel the sweat accumulating on the edge of your hairline, fighting the urge to reach up to wipe it off. Levi’s voice is excruciating in your head.

He’s going to ask you something. Or insinuate it – and no matter how badly you want to do whatever it is, you have to tell him no.

It’s almost painful. Having to say it when it isn’t true. When in reality, you know that you’re acting and Eren knows that you’re acting too – that this is just part of your job. But to even strike him down in the fake way, after weeks of building it back together, seems cruel.

You sigh, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath, before you look back up at his eyes. The deep green is enough to accumulate the thinnest film of tears in your eyes.

“You’re family, Eren.”

And after you mutter it, it’s visceral…an almost physical reaction from Eren. Because you can see the way his breath hitches, the way he hesitantly steps back – quite literally physically recoiling. And the regret sits heavy in your chest and you have to drop your eyes – because you can’t even bear to look at him.

“Cut!” Levi calls.

It’s enough to snap you out of the heaviness, as you shake your head at the resounding amount of chatter that follows. You can still feel your heart racing as the makeup team is quick to rush to your side – quickly powdering the sweat that had accumulated on your cheek as they do the same with Eren – and you can hear Connie and Reiner mumbling about how brutal that was to watch on the side.

You look back up at Eren, whose hollow look hasn’t left his eyes and you give him a halfhearted smile – which he doesn’t return. Instead, he turns back to Levi and Hange, who are murmuring over the shot in the viewfinder.

“Did we get it?” Eren nearly shouts.

“We got it. You killed it guys.” Levi responds, still fixated on the shot.

“Do you still need me or can I go?” Eren asks.

“Eren–”

“You’re good, Eren.” Hange responds.

Eren’s almost too quick with it, the way he yanks the little mic pack off the little sleeve in his jacket and hands it to the crew. And with his long bean stalk legs, he’s disappeared from your side before you can barely even process that he was standing there in the first place.

You can’t bring yourself to talk to Eren until two days later, on the eve of his birthday and two days before the award show. Not because you’re actively avoiding him, but it seems that he gets so wrapped up in quite literally everything else he has to attend to. Though really, it feels like that the slight air of comfort that you had was completely shattered by filming the scene together.

There’s a quiet knock on Eren’s door. He’s preemptively pissed off…and the quiet irritation that had been festering in his chest for the last few days was about to come to a head on Connie and Lana, who refused to take a hint.

He had made it infinitely clear that he wanted to spend the early hours of his birthday alone. That he would be fine and dandy to celebrate with everyone the day after, but he needed the time to process some things alone.

The tension diffuses when he realizes that it’s you at the door. There’s an almost timid look on your face, as you balance a little white box in your hands, and peek your head past the closet.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No, of course not. Come in.” Eren responds, patting flat on the comforter for you to join him at his side.

You give him a smile as you set the little box down, crossing your legs over each other to sit at his side. You lock your hands into the pits of your knees as you turn over towards him, taking a second chance to admire that his hair is the slightest bit shorter.

“I really love your hair, Eren.” you respond.

There’s an immediate flush in the apples of his cheeks. He reaches up to it, nervously pushing a hand through the strands before he drops it all together.

“Thank you. The length was starting to get really fucking annoying.” Eren responds.

“I liked the man-bun but I think this type of thing really suits you.” you respond.

Eren looks over at you and gives you a halfhearted smile. And that quiet ease returns, maybe faster than Eren would have liked. The quiet moment of hurt that he was holding on to was absolved the second you smiled at him.

Eren can hear Connie’s voice in his head – calling him down horrendous.

“What can I do you for?” Eren asks.

“It’s almost your birthday.” you state.

“Congratulations, Y/N. You know how to read a calendar!”

You scoff, before lightly shoving him in his side.

“Shut up. I wanted to do something for you.” you respond, before lightly pushing the box in front of him.

Eren gives you a weary look, before he opens up the little box. It’s a frosted green and white cake – with four candles in it. It’s a strange arrangement since they’re all numbered candles, making the number 2,345.

“I guess I stand corrected. You really don’t know how to read a calendar.” Eren responds.

Eren turns to the side, with the most annoying look on his face, as he turns to you and grins.

“Okay, Y/N. Repeat after me. The year is 2024.”

“Shut up, asshole. I was trying to be sweet.” you grumble, as you hike your knees to your chest.

Eren rolls his eyes.

“What’s so sweet about getting the age wrong on my cake?” Eren asks.

“It’s actually to make up for every birthday of yours that I missed, dumbass.” you respond.

Eren can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“What?” Eren asks.

You shrug, before reaching down to adjust the candles from pushing into each other.

“The last birthday I got to spend with you was your twenty-second birthday. I can imagine that the years’ that followed weren't exactly pleasant…that…that they might have been a reminder of what happened on the beach.” you start.

That was the understatement of the year.

“And it’s my fault that I missed your birthday. So, I thought that…we could make them up now. Hence the candles for three and four, for your twenty-third and twenty-fourth birthday. And today’s your twenty-fifth…it’s the least that I could do.” you respond.

Eren thinks it’s rather unfair that he always seems to be at a loss of words when he’s with you. Instead of being able to spill out what was really racketing through his brain – that it was getting infinitely harder to swallow down his feelings, that this was almost melting the resolve that he had made with himself to let you make the first move – he opens up his arms instead.

You oblige, leaning forward and resting your chin against his shoulder, as you feel Eren scoop his arms around your waist. It’s almost like he’s resting his entire body weight on you, because you can feel his face digging into the softness of your neck, as you absentmindedly reach up for his hair, feeling the edges that were just freshly cut. The faint scent of the hairdressing spray still lingers.

He’s quiet for sometime, but it’s only fitting that when he does break the silence, it’s with something annoying.

“A cake with no plates is crazy, Y/N.” Eren mumbles.

You laugh, as you reach inside the box for the two forks you tucked inside the box. You hand him one, as he tucks the ends of his hair behind his ears, and looks up at you.

“Game plan. You eat all the frosting and I’ll eat all the cake.” Eren states.

“Huh?”

“Okay, that’s a little selfish. But it’s my birthday. And I just really hate frosting.”

The thought that comes to your mind is enough to startle you, just in the slightest.

Eren really is your soulmate.

It’s stupid. A stupid comparison to make when the person that you’re comparing him to is Ricky James of all people. But you can’t help but think about that stupid memory, from before the Met Gala. Ricky had bought you that stupid cupcake – and very irritatingly swiped the frosting off of your finger.

And the two of you bickered because you both preferred the frosting as opposed to the actual cake. And naturally, Ricky was never going to be the type to give up his frosting for you.

It was sweet that way, with Eren. And you’re sure that the thought of invisible strings and single threads of gold tying you to Eren are really only on your mind because that’s what you sang to him the last time you got to spend his birthday with him, but it almost seems too perfect.

That Eren likes the cake, but you like the frosting. That you’d always finish the cake if you were eating it together.

Unbeknownst to you of course, Eren is fully aware of the fact that you are overly fond of the frosting on the cake. And that you have no idea that he really hates eating the spongy cake part and prefers the frosting too.

But he doesn’t like the frosting nearly enough to not even think twice before offering it to you.

You only grace the red carpet for five minutes. You and Eren are above that at this point. But from what you were able to discern from Twitter backstage, after practicing your first set with Eren, it was eventful enough without you there.

Sukuna splashed a glass of wine in Ricky’s already swollen eye from last week. Hyla tripped and fell when she got out of the limo. You and Eren spend a good amount of time reading through the stuff on your feed – and the perfectly timed blind items that you had submitted to every paparazzi company but the WBS were coming out just as you planned them.

And surely enough, every single one of them was getting caught off guard when they were asked on the carpet – and couldn’t scramble a perfect PR response out.

There were three blind items that were yours and the rest were strays. And you were fully intent on making sure that everyone, Danny and Sareen, knew that it was you who submitted them by the end of the night.

First, that Ricky James had thrown an insanely murderous bitch fit at the front of the Institute Offices in New York when he found out that he had been replaced as the opening act, by Eren of all people.

Which, according to your sources, was true.

Second, that the producer for the critically acclaimed Ribbons album, Sareen Clarkson, had been cheating on her husband with industry plant John Stasny, who is twenty years her junior and had previously been linked to several famous actresses, like Historia Reiss.

Which was also true. It had only been a few hours since it had been leaked, but the shit train that followed wasn't pretty.

If you were going to call her a fame fucker, you were going to make sure that everyone was going to understand the reference.

And the third was that stupid magazine cover that Scott had mailed you and Eren.

This was seemingly the last pillar that had to fall in taking down Scott Clarkson and his empire – or at least putting the tiniest bit of a dent in it.

The only reason that the WBS was successful in the first place was the same reason that his label and movie company thrived the way they did – they were big enough to eliminate all the competition.

But when it came to something like a tabloid, that centered around reporting on drama, it was almost natural to take them down in this way. If they were the only ones that lacked the information, then they’d be the only ones who would drop the ball on reporting it – and therefore, people would have to divert their attention away to someone else to get the information.

The foundation seemed a bit bare, but you were already too far in to oppose it at this point.

You feel a little tap on your shoulder and you turn around to find the two people who were going to be accompanying you for your first performance.

The dopplegangers of you and Eren – from the Girlfriend and Because I Liked a Boy Performance.

“Hi guys!”

You reach forward and wrap your arms around both of them as they return the gesture and warmly hug back. Thankfully, they were more than happy to oblige with your second request – third for Penelope if you counted Girlfriend – to pretend to be you and Eren.

You almost felt bad for marking this as their legacy so many times, but they were more than happy to oblige – citing the free food and the hefty paychecks as more than enough compensation.

“Right, well. Eren, this is Penelope.” you state.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ve met before. Hi.” Eren responds, the look on his face so painstakingly awkward that you almost feel bad for the prank that you’re about to play on him.

“And this is Scott.” you respond.

It’s insanely bad timing, since you accidentally mention it while Eren’s taking a swig of his water bottle. And due to the shock, he consequently spits the entire contents back into the bottle and gives the three of you wide eyes.

“Your name is fucking Scott?”

“No, it’s Jason. Y/N paid me three bucks to say that.” he states.

Eren looks at you, giving you a downright murderous glare, as he puts the water bottle down.

“You bitch.” Eren grumbles

“It’s funny!” you respond.

You shake him off as you turn back to Jason and Penelope and eye the little wardrobe rack on the side.

“Okay. Hair and makeup is ready for you two whenever you are. And just remember, that if anyone asks you about the outfits –”

“Mine is based on Selene, goddess of the moon.” Penelope states.

“And mine is Poseidon, god of the sea.” Jason adds.

You grin. The two of them give you a passing wave before they walk off to the other side of the stage and Eren makes a dramatic display of shuddering.

“What?”

“Don’t they like…freak you out?” Eren asks.

“Why would they freak me out?”

“They literally look like us! And they’re literally dating too which makes it even weirder!”

You give him a weird look.

“They aren’t dating.” you respond.

Eren wraps his arm around your shoulder, before twisting you to the side of where their dressing rooms are – where the two of them are standing, kissing.

“That looks really friendly to me.” Eren states, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“What the hell?”

“It’s weird!” Eren whispers.

You shiver.

“Ew. I don’t like that.” you respond.

“Levi should hire them to do the kiss next week instead of us. Sure, they’ll enjoy it more than we will.”

You can feel your cheeks burning. You know that it’s not what he meant – surely, that it couldn’t have been what he meant in the slightest but the sting still hits all the same.

“Jesus. Didn’t realize you were so opposed to kissing me.” you mumble.

Eren’s eyes go wide.

“I’m not opposed to kissing you!”

“You just suggested that Levi and Hange should literally offer a salary to two people who kind of look like us just so you wouldn’t have to kiss me.” you deadpan.

“No! I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Well…don’t be weird about it! You don’t have to…want to kiss me. I know we’re just working and that it’s all like method acting or whatever. I’m not going to get offended if you don’t want to it’s just–”

Eren looks agitated. If Sukuna was standing here, you know that he would have no self control and probably piss him off more by asking him if he needed to take a shit.

“Y/N, just listen. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable because I wrote a kiss into the script and told Levi and Hange that they can’t write it out this time.” Eren responds.

And just as fast as his eyes go wide, his cheeks are bright pink this time as he suddenly busies himself with worrying about his costume to change the subject.

It’s a hopeful thought and you’re clearly speaking faster than you’re thinking. Because it’s probably against your better judgment to assume that he wrote the kiss in just because he wanted to kiss you.

You say it anyway.

“You wrote the kiss into the script?” you ask, giving him a grin.

“My costume seems like it’s going to be tight, right? It looks a little short at the legs? We should see if we can get this fixed in the next twenty minutes before we go on, so I don’t look like an idiot, you know?”

You place a hand on his shoulder, to stop him from bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and keep him standing on the ground.

“You can relax. I was just messing with you. And your outfit looks fine, I think we should change now so we can make sure I don’t go swinging into the audience with the equipment.”

Eren waits for you to finish changing before you walk over to the little makeshift hang-glider that you guys requested. He chooses to ignore commenting about how much he loves it when you wear red for the time being and focuses on making sure you don’t plummet to your imminent death from the moon you’re going to be hanging off of.

Eren watches as you shuffle on the little seat, before he reaches around you and secures the little belt around your waist. You watch as he tightens it not only twice, but three times, before he reaches for your hand and secures the microphone around it next.

“You know, I understand securing me to the moon but I think the microphone is a little much. I’m not going to go dropping it.”

“I’m sorry for being overcautious. I’m not a big fan of…stints that include hanging in the air for so long.” Eren responds, as tightens the strap around your hand again.

You pale. Of course he hates these type of things.

“No. No…I’m sorry. I totally forgot about that…I-I didn’t even realize that this might be really nerve wracking for you. We can take this part out if–”

“No, no. I like the set design. How about you just promise to come back to me in one piece?” Eren asks.

You sigh.

“Of course.”

And Eren gives you a gleaming, two dimpled smile in response, before he taps your side and walks over to his cue. As they send your little glider into the air, you can actually see the entire audience from the little break in the curtains at the top – and can spot a very annoyed Ricky James sitting front and center.

With pink wine stains on his shirt.

You look down at Eren, who looks up from his spot, and spares you one last thumbs up before the music stats.

You have to give your props to Eren’s team for working out the set exactly as he wanted it. With the ocean on the left, you in the moon on the right, and Jason and Penelope doing their little slow dance on the beach in the middle.

Eren: You live in my dream state Relocate my fantasy I stay in reality You live in my dream state Any time I count sheep That's the only time we make up, make up You exist behind my eyelids, my eyelids Now I don't wanna wake up

Eren: 20-20, 20-20 vision Cupid hit me, cupid hit me with precision I wonder if you look both ways When you cross my mind (Yeah), I said, I said I'm sick of, sick of, sick of, sick of chasing You're the one that's always running through my daydream, I I can only see your face when I close my eyes

And surely enough, they lower you from your little vantage point behind the curtains to the bright flashing lights and the resounding cheers of the crowd – that are barely muffled out by your ear pieces – as you sing your part.

Y/N: Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever? I said I'm 'bout to go to war And I don't know if I'ma see you again

As Eren sings his second verse, they’re quick to lift the moon back up and off the stage in time for you to climb off – and for you and Eren to replace Jason and Penelope on the beach in the center.

You and Eren hadn’t really practiced this part, though in hindsight it was simple enough. You just had to keep leaning in until they dimmed the lights – to make it look like you and Eren were going to kiss each other.

Y/N: Can I get a kiss? (Can I get a kiss?) And can you make it last forever? (Oh, forever) I said I'm 'bout to go to war (Go to war) I don't know if I'ma see you again (See you again) Can I get a kiss? (Can I) And can you make it last forever? (Can you) I said I'm 'bout to go to war ('Bout to) And I don't know if I'ma see you again

It’s excruciating to do it. To pretend – and in that second, you decide you’re going to kiss him anyways. Because he wraps his hand too perfectly around your neck to pull you closer and instinctively closes his eyes.

And then it’s overwhelmingly embarrassing. Because the exact second you time moving forward is when Eren leans back, because they’ve pulled the curtains. And runs off to the side curtains, as you awkwardly stalk back.

You try to swallow down that pit of shame in your throat as he turns back towards you, handing you an ice cold water bottle.

“That was great! But was it really hot up there? Your face is all pink.” Eren asks.

“Uh, yeah. I kind of had a panic up there.”

Eren twists the cap off and instructs you to drink, biting cold enough to taper that burning heat in your cheeks, as he instinctively shakes his head.

“I said come back in one piece.”

“I am in one piece.” you grumble back, getting ready to go stalk off to your dressing room until you had to face him again four performances later.

Eren doesn’t follow when you make it all the way to the little room, as you lean back in the chair and resort to massaging your temples.

Too close. That was way too close.

“Hey?” Eren asks.

You can see Eren poking his head into your dressing room, bright green eyes curious as he looks down at you.

“What?” you ask.

“The answer is yes.” Eren responds.

You glare, in irritation.

“To what?”

Eren bends down, pressing a kiss right into the thrumming pulse of your temple.

“You asked me if you could get a kiss. Well really, you asked me seven times if you could get a kiss, but I’ll spare you the entire show.” Eren responds, tapping the frame of the door and giving you a bright smile before he steps back out.

You sigh. The quiet moment of hurt that you were holding on to was absolved the second he smiled at you. And multiplied into the biggest, searing feeling in your chest when he kissed you.

There’s seven people in your dressing room after the fact. And one of them is Satoru Gojo, who counted as an additional ten people, which is when you take the sign that it’s probably time to duck out of there.

You had three options – Connie and Eren who were having way too much fun with your special props, a group that had both Historia and Ymir in it, or Sukuna – who was standing by himself in the corner.

There was a very obvious choice.

He gives you a noncommittal nod as you walk up to his side and link your arm in with his. He’s nursing a tiny glass in his hand, which he offers to you. You know him well enough by now to know that it’s going to be some taste buds descreating drink, but decide to drink anyway.

And surely enough, it burns all the way down to your esophagus, making you physically recoil as you hand the glass back to him.

“Jesus. I feel bad for your liver.” you respond.

“I actually don’t drink that much anymore. My liver is just fine.” Sukuna responds.

“There’s no way. That just destroyed like…a quarter of your lobule.”

“What the fuck is a lobule?”

“The functional unit of the liver!” you respond.

If looks could kill, Sukuna would have murdered you then and there. It’s at that moment that Eren and Connie run up to you, Eren quickly placing his hands on your cheeks to angle your face up towards him and place the little crown on your head.

“Très magnifique!” Eren murmurs.

“Wow. Who taught you French, Ratatouille?”

“Does that count as a self-diss? You taught me French, ma lune.”

You lightly shove him in the side, as everyone reaches for their cues on the stage and you crawl to the revolving stage underneath with Eren and Sukuna. And surely enough, Levi and Gojo delivered well on their promise with their prop guy.

He perfectly replicated that god forsaken throne Scott was sitting on in that stupid magazine cover. You snag the little crown Eren placed on your head off to admire the work on it – the gold handiwork. You place your hands in the middle and test the fragileness, noting that it takes little to crack the pieces – before you place it back on your head.

“So, who was on the right? Eren or Lana?” you ask.

“I was on the right.” Eren responds.

The group of you flinch as the music starts blaring above and take it as a sign to stick your earpieces in. And right on timing with the chorus, you can hear the screaming get louder – which you’re positive is people just overreacting to the fact that Gojo’s the first person in the ensemble showcase when he shouldn’t even be in it in the first place – and tap your hands nervously on the handles.

I wanna be your endgame I wanna be your first string I wanna be your A-Team (whoa-whoa, whoa) I wanna be your endgame, endgame

“Sukuna. There’s pins right there, there’s no way she’s not going to jostle the crown off before she hands it to Lana.”

“Got it.” Sukuna responds, shuffling away as you look back up to Eren.

He looks down at you, tucking your hair behind your ear, which has your heart pounding in your throat.

“Pretty dress.” Eren whispers.

You give him a shrug, before laying down the fringe at your sides.

“Nice suit.” you respond.

“Eh. It’s kind of digging into my neck.” Eren responds.

You stand up, rocking back on your heels, as you turn to face him. You reach forward, reaching for the top buttons of his dress shirt and task yourself with unbuttoning them.

“You know, you could at least take me on a date first.” Eren grumbles.

You hum in response, giving him a smile, as you stop at the third button and reach forward to readjust the layers of his necklaces. His skin is soft and warm underneath your fingertips and it gives you an insanely inappropriate thought.

“What are you thinking?” Eren murmurs.

“Nothing.”

“You’re thinking something naughty.”

“Ew. You have such a disgusting choice of words, Eren.” you whine.

“What was it?”

“Nothing, Eren. I was thinking about how pale you are.” you respond, letting go of the chains and reaching back to sit in your little chair.

Eren reaches forward, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you back. He’s quick with his other hand, securing it around your waist and holding you steady against him. His lips hover right by your ear, the gravel of his whispering makes you nearly squirm.

“What were you thinking?” Eren asks.

“Nothing, Eren. Really.”

“I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen that look in your eyes before…and I know what it means. What were you thinking?” Eren asks.

You groan, squirming out of his embrace.

Where the hell did Sukuna get lost?

“I just thought about something that people would notice, that's all. But we don’t–”

“What was it?”

You groan, before tucking your hair behind your ears.

“I’m wearing red lipstick. And that’s a fairly…exposed patch of skin. People would notice if I–”

“If you kissed me. Alright, go ahead and do it then.” Eren responds, angling his neck closer to you.”

“Eren.”

“C’mon. It’s almost our turn. You have to be quick with it.” Eren responds, gesturing frantically with your hands.

You awkwardly step forward, placing your hands on the sides before you pinch your eyes shut and press a lingering kiss to his neck. You can feel Eren lightly tilt his head back and inhale sharply the second you make contact – but you chose to ignore it.

You pull back and examine the mark, though it’s rather faint. Eren clocks it fast enough, as he gestures with his hands again.

“Another one won’t hurt. C’mon.” Eren whispers.

“Okay, yeah.” you respond.

You press your lips to his neck again, this time earning you Eren’s hand squeezing into your side – where it was resting at your waist – as you pull back and admire the mark. You look back up at him, feeling an itching sensation all over as you give him an awkward smile.

“You guys are fucking insane, you know that?” Sukuna mutters.

“Sukuna! Where the fuck did you go?” you respond, angrily snatching the little pins from his hands and securing them into your hair.

You sit back down on the throne, as you hear the little countdown ringing in your ear, and prepare yourself to sing the last portion of the song. You can feel both of their hands on your shoulders – squeezing hard – as you lift the microphone to your lips.

Big reputation, big reputation Ooh, you and me, we got big reputations, ah And you heard about me, oh I got some big enemies (hey) Big reputation, big reputation (yeah) Ooh, you and me, we'd be a big conversation, ah And I heard about you, ooh You like the bad ones too

You rustle the crown off of your head and hand it to Sukuna, who walks over to the edge of the stage and tosses it right to Lana in the front row. Who takes it in her hands and breaks it in half before throwing it behind her back.

I hit you like, "Bang" We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't And I bury hatchets but I keep maps of where I put 'em Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me And I can't let you go, your handprint's on my soul It's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks So here's the truth from my red lips

I wanna be your endgame (endgame) I wanna be your first string (me and you) (first string) I wanna be your A-Team (be your A-Team now) I wanna be your endgame, endgame I wanna be your endgame (oh, I do) I wanna be your first string (first string) I wanna be your A-Team (A-Team) I wanna be your endgame, endgame

The last part is the most nerve wracking. You had to abandon your sweet post of sitting in between Eren and Mikasa at your table for your last performance of the night – which was going to be announced by Danny and Sareen.

It’s like sitting on pins and needles, getting your hair done and slipping into the sparkly but scratchy dress. And surely enough, when you wait on the edges of the curtain and watch them stage your set – of a grand piano and little star decals – they join you at your side. You can feel your hands shake, nearly dropping the trophy in your hands, as you spare them a glance.

They’re shorter than you remember and frankly, less intimidating too. That coupled with the fact that Danny has a bright pink eye and the slightest bit of dried blood around his nose.

“What happened to your face?” you sneer.

Danny rolls his eyes.

“Ask your boy-toy.” he responds.

You fight the urge to smile, and make a mental note that Eren deserves every bit of your praise when you see him next, as you turn your head back to the stage, where the announcer is presenting the highlights of your career on the back screen. And surely enough, the two of them awkwardly jostle their arms in with yours as the three of you walk out together.

You stare blankly out in the audience. And refuse to smile.

You can see Eren sitting front and center as he gives you the smallest thumbs up in support.

“One of our crowning achievements is getting to work with this lovely young lady right here, on some of our most famous albums, like The Lucky One. Please give a well deserved round of applause for the unstoppable Y/N L/N, who will finally be gracing us with her triple threat performance.” Sareen states.

You note the drag in her voice when she says the word finally. And you fight the acidic feeling that accumulates in your mouth as you’re suddenly acutely aware of the fact that you’re standing next to the two people you hate the most – who continue to take credit for the one thing that’s yours.

“Out of the three, Y/N has chosen to mimic the signing performance that awarded her this coveted prize. She will be playing her brand new song, vampire, on the piano. A true testament to all the work that the three of us put together as a team, in molding her into a skilled pianist.” Danny states, sticking his hand out to Sareen as the two of them walk off and take a seat right at the front.

You can feel your skin steaming as you place the award on the top of the piano and sit down at the keys. You’re able to catch Sukuna’s striking pink hair moving on your left – to the seats behind Danny and Sareen – as you take that as your cue to start performing.

Hate to give the satisfaction, asking how you're doing now How's the castle built off people you pretend to care about? Just what you wanted Look at you, cool guy, you got it I see the parties and the diamonds sometimes when I close my eyes Six months of torture you sold as some forbidden paradise I loved you truly Gotta laugh at the stupidity

“Eren. You okay? You’re shaking the entire table.” Lana asks, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

Eren absentmindedly looks down and notices the nervous shaking in his leg, as he turns to his side and spares her a glance. He can note that Lana's concerned because this is starkly similar to the last time the two of them were here together.

When you were singing your isolating, heart-shattering piano ballad about him, while he was hanging his head in between his legs. After you had slapped him, after you had yelled at him after everything that had happened.

That was far from it. It was the way your hands were shaking on the piano keys that was stressing him out. He needed you to make it through the entire thing. Desperately.

“I’m nervous. I think she’s going to cry.” Eren whispers back.

'Cause I've made some real big mistakes But you make the worst one look fine I should've known it was strange You only come out at night I used to think I was smart But you made me look so naive The way you sold me for parts As you sunk your teeth into me, oh Bloodsucker, famefucker Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire

You’re crying.

Because all you can think about is how the two of them were just standing there, arms linked in with yours, in a moment that was supposed to be yours. That every moment that was supposed to be yours was theirs – and that even at the end of all of that, their still the one standing their proud with their careers when you had to suffer at the hands of it.

That taking your career was one thing, but taking advantage of the fact that you knew nothing was another. Because you were a teenager, who was so attached to her dream that she'd do anything to get it, especially when people at the top – were promising it to her.

All at the expense of Eren and his feelings. At the expense of your relationship.

You can feel your hands shaking, your vision entirely blurred as you feel the tears start to pour out of your eyes – your singing voice coming out entirely strained as you continue to push your keys on the piano. And you’re able to strain enough until you get right to the bridge and pause.

They had a responsibility to look out for you as an adult. And did the exaxt opposite.

You reach back to the slicked back bun and snag the pink ribbon that was secured into the little hair tie. The same pink ribbon that was dangling from your hair the day you were stranded in that godawful rain. And yank it straight out of your hair and wrap a little bow around the bottom of the award.

You wipe the wetness on your cheek, coming back with the slightest smudge on the back of your hand, before you press your hands into the keys and continue singing. The continuation has people rising out of their seats – and you don’t fail to notice that Eren’s the first one to do it – as you finish the song.

You said it was true love, but wouldn't that be hard? You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart I tried you help you out, now I know that I can't 'Cause how you think's the kind of thing I'll never understand

I've made some real big mistakes But you make the worst one look fine I should've known it was strange You only come out at night I used to think I was smart But you made me look so naive The way you sold me for parts As you sunk your teeth into me, oh Bloodsucker, famefucker Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire

You take the award and stand up from the bench of the piano to walk straight off the stage, directly to where Sareen and Danny are sitting in the front. Sukuna’s taken the hint to leave the open chair he was sitting in between them and retreats back to his original, as you place the award in between the two of them.

“Congratulations. I hope it was everything you ever wanted, assholes.” you seethe.

You slam the award down onto the open space between them, enough for them both to jump up in their seats and spill a glass of wine down the length of Sareen’s dress, as you angrily march back to your seat. And surely enough, Eren and Mikasa are waiting there with open arms, ready to wipe your glittery tears away.

And as the cameras drop and they cut to commercials for four minutes, you lean your head against Eren’s shoulder as Mikasa pours you a glass of water.

“So fucking good. So fucking amazing, Y/N you–” Eren whispers.

"Eren even punched him in the face earlier, Y/N! It looked like it really hurt." Mikasa murmurs.

You look up at Eren, and he's grinning so hard, that you can't even fight the urge to not smile back.

"Why'd you punch him?" you ask.

"You slapped Scott Clarkson for me. Why am I not allowed to punch Danny for you?" Eren asks.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and look to your left to find Hange and Levi standing at your side, which really only brings on a more powerful stream of tears. Levi instinctively opens up his arms as you lean against his shoulder instead, Eren standing closeby with Sukuna at his side now.

“Was that everything you wanted Hange?” you groan.

Hange smiles.

“And more, kid. I, uh. Actually have something for you.” Hange responds.

“What’s that?” you ask.

Hange gestures to Connie at the side, as he produces a small, golden trophy in Hange’s hands.

“I really don’t give a shit about this anymore. S’kind of how it goes with this type of thing. But, I know this award, this one in my hands specifically meant the world to you back in the day, so I want you to have it.” Hange murmurs.

You frown.

“Hange. You can’t just give that to me.” you respond.

“You gave yours away because it gave you more pain than it was worth. Mine did the same for me at the time too. But, it gives me joy to give it back to you, because really, you deserved it. Back then, but even now too.”

You take the little golden trophy in your hands, noting that it’s much smaller and really not even as shiny as the one that they had just handed you, and press it close to your chest.

“Hange, thank you so much. You have no idea what this even means to me.” you whisper, as you wrap your arms around their neck.

Hange spares Eren a glance over the shoulder and gives him a big thumbs up, coupled with Levi’s approving smile.

It’s the rare times that Eren’s overthinking habit comes in handy. When he’s able to think ahead and fix things before they happen.

“I have an idea, kid.” Hange responds.

Levi and Hange give you a three day break when you get back to set. You’re not sure what exactly it was that came out of you when you did your last performance, but it was almost like it drained the life out of you. Eren nearly had to drag you back onto that plane and consequently, to your room, when you made it back to the set.

He thinks that you’ve finally let go of what you’ve been holding on to. And that you can finally move forward now.

You told him that Marco must have been haunting him overtime for the past few days, which earned you a hearty laugh from him.

And surely enough, on the fourth day, you’re able to muster your legs down to the kitchen – to a group of well meaning cheers from the group of them – as you read the little slots on the schedule pasted on the fridge. And surely enough, Levi was going to throw you right back into the thick of it.

Wednesday, April 6th, 8:00 AM

Eren Head Decapitation

It’s a stupid caption. If you didn’t know what it meant, you would even laugh at it.

But you had read ahead already – and knew that it meant that it was finally time for you and Eren to get that kiss scene out of the way.

next part linked here

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanloll @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi @najaemism @ilovekimchi123 @youraggedybitch @xoyumiqls @leafguitar @spiidergirlsworld @luvs4kim @levin4nami @florichun @hoonmyluv

297 notes · View notes

mrs-stans · 2 months ago

Text

The Actor Roundtable: Daniel Craig, Paul Mescal and Colman Domingo on Impostor Syndrome and the Dark Roles Women Love

Adrien Brody, Sebastian Stan and Peter Sarsgaard bond over the pressures of delivering a standout performance: "I had a panic attack every night."

BY SCOTT FEINBERG

Former James Bond Daniel Craig, The Pianist Oscar winner Adrien Brody, Euphoria Emmy winner Colman Domingo, Marvel superhero turned Emmy nominee Sebastian Stan, consummate character actor Peter Sarsgaard and Oscar-nominated heartthrob Paul Mescal range in age from 28 (Mescal) to 56 (Craig); hail from around the world (America, England, Ireland and Romania); and forged very different paths to stardom. But they all share one thing in common: Each gave a standout performance in a 2024 film — or, in Stan’s case, two — that led to them congregating in mid-November at Soho House West Hollywood for THR‘s annual Actor Roundtable.

Their characters are unforgettable: a Jewish architect who survives the Holocaust and comes to America (Brody in The Brutalist); a gay American addict in 1950s Mexico (Craig in Queer); an incarceree who finds purpose in art (Domingo in Sing Sing); an angry young man set on destroying the city that betrayed him (Mescal in Gladiator II); a TV exec who oversees live coverage of a terrorist attack at the 1972 Munich Olympics (Sarsgaard in September 5); a disfigured actor who undergoes facial reconstructive surgery (Stan in A Different Man); and a striving young Donald Trump (Stan in The Apprentice). So, too, was their conversation.

Let’s talk about how these projects came to you. Daniel, after your Bond chapter — five films over 15 years — how did you wind up hearing from Luca Guadagnino, whom you’d met before any of that?

DANIEL CRAIG I had no plan whatsoever. I was like, “Maybe I’ll never work again.” But there’s a movie I did quite a few years ago called Love Is the Devil, which Luca is a big fan of. I play the reverse role in that movie [the younger man in a gay relationship rather than the older one, as in Queer]. But everybody gets old! Luca wanted to adapt Queer for many years. The rights finally came free not that long ago, and he approached me. I’d have swept the floor for the guy because I think all his movies are exceptional and individual.

Colman, how did you wind up working on a film with a cast comprising mostly nonprofessional actors, 85 percent of whom had been incarcerated at one time at Sing Sing prison and had been through the program that you guys depict in the film?

COLMAN DOMINGO My director, Greg Kwedar, and his co-writer, Clint Bentley, have been volunteer teachers at Sing Sing for years. They kept saying, “If we can capture what we’ve learned from this Rehabilitation Through the Arts program, wouldn’t it be great to do a film about that?” Greg said he put the idea in his drawer and then pulled it out a couple of years later and wrote a quick treatment, and at the end, luckily enough, he wrote down, “Colman Domingo.”

“For years, sometimes I’d bow and get a cab across town and take my bartending shift,” says Domingo.

Paul, nearly a quarter century after Ridley Scott made Gladiator …

CRAIG You weren’t even born, were you?

PAUL MESCAL I was 4. (Laughs.)

… Ridley begins planning to move forward with a sequel and sees you in Normal People?

MESCAL My dad showed me Gladiator when I was 13 — I was obsessed with the battle sequences. But Aftersun and things like that [indie movies], that’s my bread and butter in terms of what I’m drawn to as an actor. But if I was going to make a big film? And Sir Ridley Scott comes asking? Ridley organized a Zoom, which lasted half an hour — he spoke with me for 10 minutes about the arc of the story, 10 minutes about his dog and 10 minutes about Gaelic football, and then it was offered to me. (Laughs.) I was like, “I could go and look at the first film and see what Russell did so excellently.” But that felt like a mistake because that’s not my lane. If Ridley’s entry point to me was something like Normal People and Aftersun and All of Us Strangers, I was keen to, where possible, draw a performance style from those films and try to bring it to something bigger.

Peter, you were working on the television series Presumed Innocent when you first heard about September 5. The director, Tim Fehlbaum, had made two prior, lower-profile films. What convinced you to ask for time off from Presumed Innocent to go and do this, 21 years after acting in Shattered Glass, another great film about journalism?

PETER SARSGAARD Believe it or not, it started at a concert. Sean Penn, who was in the first movie I ever did, Dead Man Walking, was there, and we hung out for most of the evening. At the end he said, “There’s something coming your way, by the way.” I went, “Oh, great.” He produced this movie. So when I met Tim, to be fair, I was already like, “Sean likes this guy.” Then Tim started talking about all this real footage, and I saw Jim McKay, this sports announcer who delivered the terrible news [on Sept. 5, 1972] without making it about himself, and I thought, “That type of person and sincerity has really been lost.” I started thinking it was a really interesting idea to go back to the first time that a live camera ever covered a crisis situation. Then Tim showed me pictures of all the real [original newsroom] equipment that he had, and a lot of the shit worked — it wasn’t greenscreen on the monitors behind us; we were watching actual images from the Olympics and cutting to the real Jim McKay. I’d say the lead is almost Jim McKay. We’re supporting him.

“That type of person and sincerity has really been lost,” Sarsgaard says of Jim McKay, the anchor who covered the events of September 5.

Adrien, your director, Brady Corbet, is 36. His two previous features are nothing on the scale of this one, even if the budget on this one was less than $10 million. What made you want to be a part of it, 22 years after playing another man traumatized by his experience during World War II in The Pianist?

ADRIEN BRODY There’s a real richness to the storytelling, and it speaks to many things historically that are quite relevant today but also very personal to me. My mother is a Hungarian-born photographer and artist, Sylvia Plachy, and has been a beacon for me in all my artistic pursuits. And her hardships and her parents’ — my grandparents’ — hardships of fleeing Budapest in 1956 during the revolution, losing their home and leaving everything behind and escaping under a bed of corn on the back of a truck and eventually immigrating to the United States? They’re obviously not related to my character and his personal struggles, but I felt very fortunate to be able to represent that immigrant experience. We’re all on a quest to find something of meaning that leaves behind something of meaning, and that’s also the quest of my character, as an architect. Brady is also very much like László. I often just look at my directors and try to channel them. That’s my trick. (Laughs.)

Brody, the youngest actor to win a best actor Oscar, says that experience is the ultimate teacher: “You do not listen until you fail or until it really hurts.”

Sebastian, Donald Trump is probably the most famous — and most imitated — person in the world, so I imagine it might have been a little intimidating to be asked to join the long line of people who have portrayed him.

SEBASTIAN STAN So much of what Adrien just said resonated for me in terms of wanting to be part of something that stands the test of time. I had a personal thing with the American dream because I came to this country from Romania when I was 12, and my father helped people escape illegally. I had heard all about the American dream and have been trying to this day to figure out what this dream is and what it gives us and what it takes away. That overrode any sort of fear about doing it because it was him. I played this little game with myself where I crossed out the names [of the characters], and there was still a Michael Corleone sort of story. And here was this filmmaker [Ali Abbasi] who was European, who’d fled Iran, who’s fearless and whose last film was all about his previous country, coming into this with a fresh perspective, not wanting to play for any team, just removing all judgment. I thought, “Can we just try to find out who the hell this person [Trump] is? What’s beneath this character?” And when you peel back the layers, you get to the core of a powerless child who has been enacting a sort of vendetta of revenge that we’ve all been subjected to, to no end. I think that we as artists, as actors, have to keep reflecting the times that we’re in as best as we can, no matter how ugly they are.

For Sebastian, there were two big-swing projects this year, the other being A Different Man.

BRODY Double feature. That’s so impressive.

STAN It’ll never happen again. It was thanks to the strike.

Stan stars in two Oscar contenders, The Apprentice and A Different Man. “It’ll never happen again,” he says. “It was thanks to the strike.”

Sebastian, your character in that film has neurofibromatosis, a form of facial disfigurement, and you were only willing to play him because your director and co-star wanted you to, right?

STAN With this one, I definitely feel like I took a little bit of what Adrien said about playing your director because [director Aaron Schimberg] also wrote it, and it’s so much about his experience of being a disfigured man. Sometimes I was like, “I’ll just copy.” But he’s been trying to figure out how he can get us to see a movie that represents this disability, and he was finding it very difficult. In his previous film, he hired Adam [Pearson, an actor who has neurofibromatosis] to be in it, and he got backlash because people were saying he was exploiting Adam, so the movie didn’t get seen. But if he was casting an able-bodied actor to play a disabled person, then he’s not really representing, and nothing happens. So he found a way with this movie of doing both.

These performances were ballsy. At what point did you feel most in danger of failing?

CRAIG Every day I was thinking, “This is all failing. Where is this going?” From the moment I got there in the morning until the moment I’d leave at the end of the day, it was like, “What the fuck?”

DOMINGO I was working with men who had the lived experience of being incarcerated, and every day I was like, “I don’t want to be a fraud.”

SARSGAARD If you play a real person — Nixon or somebody like that — it requires a different level of acting. When you play a Roone Arledge, nobody cares [because he’s not instantly recognizable]. You can just take whatever you want from the person. (To Stan) To succeed at what you did [playing Trump] is a whole other level.

STAN I was having panic attacks every night. There was not enough time to gain weight, and the prosthetics test failed badly, so I was fucked. And not only that, but the director, two weeks out, goes, “Originally, I was going to cast a woman to play Trump.”

BRODY That’s reassuring.

STAN “Why are you fucking telling me this two weeks before?! I’m going to die.”

Sebastian Stan in The Apprentice and A Different Man.

Most of you have played recognizable people at some point. What makes the difference between an impersonation and a performance?

DOMINGO You’ve got to find their soul. You’ve got to go deeper. When I played Bayard Rustin [in 2023’s Rustin], I had teeth knocked out and an accent and a wig, but I was like, “I can’t let that be the performance.” You’re required to find their soul.

MESCAL Sometimes those things help though, right?

DOMINGO Yeah. The physical helps.

BRODY You have a responsibility to represent the physicality and something that’s familiar.

STAN I always think of that Apollo 13 scene when they dump all the stuff on the table and they take a triangle and a circle and they’re like, “You’ve got to take this and make it fit into that.” With real people, you have targets — you know where you’re aiming.

SARSGAARD Well, you guys [Stan and Jeremy Strong, who played Roy Cohn in The Apprentice] anchored each other. You fed back to the other person, “This is who we are.”

DOMINGO (To Stan) When I watched what you did, I thought, “Oh, he’s taken away any judgment [of Trump].” I thought that was exceptional because everyone has an opinion about him, but you’re like, “No, I’m going to do the soul work.”

STAN Thank you. I always think of the great [acting coach] Larry Moss. The Intent to Live was a big book for me, about “everyone has a big emotional need.” Is it to be loved? Is it to be heard? Is it for approval? I mean, everything for Trump, from my perspective, is about power. It’s, “I want to be the most powerful person in the world.”

Mescal was 4 years old when Gladiator was released: “This is a mad experience for me, just to clarify. I’m 28 years of age.”

You’ve all worked in the theater — in fact, Paul, you’re soon doing A Streetcar Named Desire off-Broadway. Is there something about being onstage that makes you a better screen actor?

MESCAL Yeah, I think so. Somebody said to me that film is a director’s medium — they have the canvas and you’re the paint — but stage is very much a writer’s and an actor’s medium. Once previews are over, that’s your stage, that’s where you go and play. More broadly, something like Streetcar obviously has a very famous performance history, as does something like Gladiator II. Once I’d been cast in Streetcar, I was like, “I can never go back and look at the film until the dust has settled on it all.” And being onstage, you’re acting in a wide shot the whole time — there’s no hiding, there’s no going again. On a Ridley set, a lot of it feels theatrical because it’s not wide shot then tight coverage then medium shot; it’s all happening in one go.

He has a zillion cameras going at once?

MESCAL It depends. In the scenes in the cell, he would get as many cameras in there as possible — maybe he’d get to five, trying to cram a sixth in the door. Whereas when you’re shooting the battle scenes, it’s 12.

SARSGAARD Twelve?! (Laughs.)

MESCAL Twelve cameras, easy. Camera operators dressed up in costume like Roman soldiers.

DOMINGO Really?! That’s fantastic. (Laughs.)

MESCAL So you save time with the amount of takes that you’re going to do because the coverage is there. But you also gain a sense of freedom because continuity goes out the window.

Daniel, you’ve often returned to the stage in New York. For some of the more theatrical characters that you’ve played onscreen, like Benoit Blanc, I imagine that’s helpful?

CRAIG The first movie job I ever did, I went on the set and the director kept saying to me [complimenting him], “God, you’re so still!” I was like [to myself], “Because I’m terrified!” On the stage, because I’d been doing that for so long, there was just the freedom to be. I didn’t go into film knowing how to do that. That I had to learn — and I’m still learning to this day how to be as free on film as I can be on the stage.

“Oh, it doesn’t go away,” says the Bond actor on imposter syndrome. “But I think as soon as you think you can do it, you can’t.”

A lot of actors are surely thinking about you all, “They are exactly where I want to be.” But that hasn’t always been the case. Colman, your story of the past 10 years is so inspiring. You were almost ready to hang it up, right?

DOMINGO Not almost. Full-out.

You acted in the musical The Scottsboro Boys on Broadway and got a Tony nomination, then you acted in it again on the West End and got an Olivier nomination, and then you came back to the U.S. and …

DOMINGO I was a journeyman actor for years. Sometimes in the same night, I’d bow and then get a cab across town and take my bartending shift — I couldn’t give it up because I was getting $400 a week. That had been going on for many years — I’ve been working for about 34 years now. I came back to New York and was really disheartened because I was still going in for under-fives [auditioning for parts of less than five minutes of screen time], and I just thought, “My talent is not being used. And I don’t want to be bitter about it.” Because you start to feel a little bitterness. After feeling disrespected in an audition, I’d take the sides and put them in the trash before I walked out. Then there was a series of auditions and no’s — like eight no’s in one week — and one just broke me. It seemed perfect for me. The casting director and everyone said it was perfect. I went and met with the director and the producers. And then there was the most insane reason why I didn’t get it. [Domingo has previously said that the audition was for Boardwalk Empire and he was told that the part required a Black actor with lighter skin than his.] I pretty much collapsed in the gym [upon being told that]. I was crying and thought, “This is going to kill me. I have to leave before it kills me.” And right when I said, “That’s enough,” a friend said, “Hey, my managers have been wanting to meet with you.” I said, “No, I’m good. I just dropped my manager, and I’m about to drop my agent and do something else.” He said, “Just meet with them.” I did. Honestly, I felt like it was the worst meeting I’d ever had because I went in there with my arms folded and said, “I know myself. I don’t fit in certain boxes. I know what you see is different, but I do all these different things. But I don’t think that there’s a place for me in this business.” They said, “Give us six months and we’ll make some changes together.” My first two auditions after that were for a Baz Luhrmann series and for Fear the Walking Dead on AMC. I thought, “Fear the Walking Dead? I don’t do things like that.” But then they sent me this monologue that felt like I was doing Richard III, and I thought, “This is beautiful.” Television was starting to change, and I felt like there was a place for me. I booked both jobs — which was odd to me because I hadn’t been booking anything, and those were off of self-tapes — and that gave me a new footing in the industry. I want to be useful in this practice of being an artist. I think what we do at our best is we’re in service. This is a service job. And I want to be in service to this work. (Chokes up with emotion.) I’m glad I stuck around.

We’re sitting here talking during the weird circus that is known as awards season. Some of you have been through this before. Adrien, 22 years ago you went through it with The Pianist, and at 29 you became — and to this day remain — the youngest person ever to win the best actor Oscar. What do you know now that you wish you knew then?

BRODY Oh, that’s a lovely question. No one’s ever asked that. I don’t “wish I knew” because you can’t. You only learn things through experience. CRAIG You wouldn’t listen. My younger self just wouldn’t listen. He’d be like, “Whatever. Blah, blah, blah.”

BRODY It’s absolutely true. You do not listen until you fail or until it really hurts. For a shift to occur, there has to be enlightenment. Enlightenment comes oftentimes through suffering or hardships. I’ve had a very blessed life and career, but it’s never been easy. The thing to know is there are many chapters. To be at this table, both physically and metaphorically, is a triumph, honestly. And there are wonderful, positive career bonuses from accolades. But I think at the end of the day, everybody at this table will tell you that it’s the work — the experience of getting it and making it and enduring it and feeling great about the accomplishment of leaving it — that is the beauty, the joy. I’d been acting professionally for 17 years before that [Oscar]. To a lot of people, I was an overnight success, but I’d been kicking around, paying dues. And it was a remarkable thing, but it was kind of jarring.

MESCAL This is a mad experience for me, just to clarify. I’m 28 years of age. CRAIG Yeah. Why are you here? (Laughs.)

MESCAL When I was in drama school, I became hyperfixated on watching actors that I really admired talk about the work that they do. So I’m sitting here and I’m like, “What the fuck is going on?” For me, anyway, there’s this latent imposter syndrome.

CRAIG Oh, it doesn’t go away. I walk on the set thinking someone’s going to go, “Bluff.” It’s always there, that self-doubt. But I think as soon as you think you can do it, you can’t.

Peter, you once said that after playing a rapist and murderer in Boys Don’t Cry, you were disturbed to find that out in the real world, you got more female attention than ever before.

SARSGAARD Why did I say that? Oh my God. Yeah, that was true.

That’s obviously an unexpected response to your work. What have you all noticed about the way people interact with you in the aftermath of seeing these performances?

MESCAL People think I’m a tough guy. We had a premiere in Dublin, and we were walking past the pub, and there were these Irish lads, and for the first time ever, they were like, “Go on, the Glad [as in Gladiator]! Just walk!”

BRODY No one has seen this movie yet. But it’s funny, people will say, “My mom really likes you.”

DOMINGO Oh my God. Isn’t that the wildest thing? “So you don’t, right?”

What would you be doing today if you had not become an actor?

SARSGAARD I really like being around young people, and I’ve had some experiences with teaching, so I can imagine that route.

STAN Yeah, maybe something with young people because that’s always going to humble you.

CRAIG Serving cocktails on the QE2. DOMINGO I wanted to be a chef. I still cook as an amateur — I love food. MESCAL Something that would enable me to play Gaelic football. BRODY I used to paint and draw before I was acting, and I loved that. I rediscovered it later when I put down acting for some time.

Which living actor with whom you’ve not worked before would you most like to work with?

SARSGAARD It’s going to sound schmaltzy, but I’ve never acted with my wife [Maggie Gyllenhaal] in a movie. We did a film together — when we first met, I got her a part in this movie that I was doing, and she did one scene where we made love. But then the whole film was actually out of focus — we shot it for nine weeks — and the whole film was gone. MESCAL No way. DOMINGO What?! BRODY Oh my God, that’s horrible. MESCAL Michelle Williams. BRODY Robert De Niro. STAN Cate Blanchett. CRAIG All you guys. DOMINGO Adrien Brody. BRODY Brother, that can happen!

#THR #Actors Round Table #Sebastian Stan #Colman Domingo #Daniel Craig #Paul Mescal #Peter Sarsgaard #Adrien Brody #The Hollywood Reporter #THR Actors Round Table #The Apprentice #A Different Man #Sing Sing #Queer #Gladiator II #September 5 #The Brutalist #mrs-stans

46 notes · View notes

petercapaldi-press · 28 days ago

Text

INTERVIEW

Peter Capaldi: 'We didn't rehearse for The Thick of It. I could never remember my lines'

The Doctor Who star talks about the new series of The Devil's Hour, having a sinister voice, and how society has stopped investing in young people

(Photo: Yoshitaka Kono/Amazon Prime)

Helen Brown

October 18, 2024 5:00 am (Updated 8:58 am)

Peter Capaldi can trace the moment he “became the go-to person for the darker, more disturbing parts” back to 2013. “I was recording a voiceover for an Anchor Butter commercial,” he says. “They had a nice, cosy slogan, ‘Anchor butter: Tastes like Home.’ I did the line to the best of my ability, but they said: ‘Could you make it a little less sinister?’” He grins and shakes his head. “I thought, ‘It’s all over now! But if people want to buy sinister, that’s alright. I’ll give it to them!’”

Zooming onto my computer screen, he’s edgy in a crisp black blazer and a black shirt buttoned tight up to the jugular. This means that his pale, gaunt face seems to float above his collar like a ghost train skull – an effect he can enhance by tilting his head forward so that shadows blot out his eye sockets and hollows his cheeks.

This happens when he rocks forward laughing at the recollection of how that Anchor butter experience would be his last commercial voice over – “because I could no longer do it without irony, without indicating my distrust of the whole process”. Capaldi was 55 at the time. He’d just finished a seven-year stint playing foul-mouthed spin doctor Malcolm Tucker in the fourth and final series of Armando Iannucci’s political comedy The Thick of It (2005-2012). And he was on the brink of sending a whole new generation of children scuttling behind their sofas as the Twelfth Doctor in Doctor Who, bringing an unprecedented existential chill into a show that had “obsessed” him from childhood.

Although this was always Capaldi’s take on Doctor Who, he tells me he was “never scared, not at all” by the programme when he was a boy. Instead he recalls the science fiction and horror films he devoured as “a gateway to the imagination” for a creative child. Capaldi, the son of Italian immigrants who ran an ice cream business (and were neighbours of the Iannucci family), famously wrote to the BBC, aged just six, to say that “when I grow up I want to be an actor so I can help Doctor Who”. By the age of 18, he was writing fanzines about the show and bothering fan-club directors by expecting a direct dialogue with the producers of his favourite show.

It may seem like Capaldi was destined to play the Time Lord – but his working-class background forced him to take a roundabout route into acting. He didn’t get into drama school because he didn’t know enough about the audition process to have prepared monologues, and went to art school instead, where he became the lead singer in a punk rock band called the Dreamboys. “Art, music, horror films… all these OBSESSIONS,” he chuckles now, grateful for the government grant that enabled a working-class boy to imagine a career in the creative arts was possible. “Art school was the right place for me and my parents couldn’t afford it. Back then there was a belief in investing in the potential of young people, which seems to have gone. That’s terribly wrong, denying that potential.”

That said, Capaldi did get into trouble in his first year of art school for “spending too much of my grant on curries and lager and not enough on art supplies”. He recalls finding a letter his tutor had sent home to his parents, warning them he would be chucked off the course if he didn’t pull his socks up. “Luckily I got to the letter before my mother did, hid it and worked harder.”

Capaldi fully expected to metamorphose into a director at this point. But – despite an initial invite to the Weinstein party – it didn’t happen for him. Looking back, he’s relieved not to have been sucked into the Hollywood system. “It is rare for British directors to flourish over there,” he says. “The traditional path is that they do an independent movie and the Americans love it. They get you on the phone and suddenly you’re making a film with some big Hollywood star and that does OK. But the next one doesn’t and it all begins to fall away… I think that may have been what would have happened to me…” He rakes a hand through his shock of white hair and chuckles ruefully. “Luckily it all fell away much more quickly than that in my case!”

But after “one really terrible year when there was no sense of anyone being interested in me in any way shape or form”, he was rescued by the plummy-voiced actor Martin Jarvis (who had appeared in Doctor Who in the 60s, 70s and 80s), who cast him in a radio play. Everything picked up from there. Which led to Malcolm Tucker.

I’ve always thought one of the things that made Capaldi such a compelling Doctor – and now such a deeply unsettling Gideon Shepherd – is the way he seems to transmit unpredictability. The combination of the mad-scientist hair and restless energy lend him a crackle of cosmic instability that makes you think he could glitch between dimensions at any moment. He suspects he learned this working on The Thick of It.

“Armando [Ianucci] was obsessed with filming everything live,” he says. “Although a lot gets made of the improvisation we did, he wanted the script word-perfect. But there were no rehearsals, so the performances were alive, full of attack.” He says there was added jeopardy playing Tucker because he “had so much material to learn I wasn’t always certain of my ability to grasp it all. Sometimes I would have to stick an extra ‘f***’ in while I searched for a word.”

He hung onto that tension when he was cast as the Twelfth Doctor and says it “helped me keep things vital at times when we were down to a last take, shooting in a car park in the rain and the latex was all coming off the monster.” Some people, he says, “will have seen my Doctor Who through a Malcolm Tucker filter.”.

He agrees that The Devil’s Hour is, in many ways, a kind of Doctor Who for grown-ups, “plugging into a creepy cosmic thing I’ve accrued”. Instead of latex monsters, his character is battling “real, adult fears”. The show confronts us with rapists and paedophiles; torture, murder and mutilation. Blowing through the chilly heart of the series is the dread of isolation – the fear that even our parents and children may not know or love us. Perhaps that they’re not even real.

“The show has been really popular,” mulls Capaldi with mild surprise as we wind up our chat. The actor tells me he’s a vulnerable person, “scared of all kinds of things as a father and as a grandfather… as a sentient observer of this world, what’s NOT to be scared of?” For this reason, the man who’s planning to spend his Christmas Day watching the new Nosferatu film suspects horror shows like The Devil’s Hour offer an essential release valve.

“There’s a calming quality about going into this dark, nightmarish world. Then getting to the end, watching the credits roll and being reassured that it was all a pretence.”

‘The Devil’s Hour‘ series two is on Prime Video

#interview #peter capaldi #2024 #the devil's hour #the i paper #the thick of it #doctor who

25 notes · View notes

tavyliasin · 1 year ago

Text

Villain-Fucker Angst Hours

Good timezone, darlings~ Are you ready to get all up in your feelings? No? Me neither, loves, but here we are regardless so the words are going to flow as they usually do... This is focused on Raphael from Baldur's Gate 3 and his fandom, but the latter section can easily apply to any villain fandom.

Self-Analysis of Devil-Fuckery, Or Why Do I Adore Raphael When He Is Very Obviously Evil: A Short Essay by TavyliaSin (Who Still Cannot Name Anything With Less Than A Full Paragraph) ((NSFW)) (((Game Spoilers)))

The following may discuss heavier topics, but without specifics, so whilst it should be safe for most to read without triggering any difficult memories please be aware of Raphael's entire vibes, the content and context of his story, and I'd also like to mention that this isn't a "woe be us for we are terrible people" piece, it's actually more about:

"There is an inherent kindness and warmth to much of the Raphael fandom, and I think there could be some common threads behind that, pulling us all in closer in a comforting blanket that we wrap around each other to keep out the cold of the world."

So, what in the nine hells am I on about? Well. Raphael-fandom is a wild and wonderful place to be. The rest is in sections, so feel free to skip through to what you feel is relevant to your interests. I am so prone to waffle I should open a restaurant~

Who Are Fans Of Raphael? What Do They Want?

We are feral, unhinged, all sheets to the wind "I want that devil man, carnally, and there is no force in all the planes that could stop me". There's the vanilla to the extreme and every level in between, tops, bottoms, versatiles, Doms, subs, and switches - there are a whole lot of people who would love to get their hands on either (or both) of Raphael's forms, for a simple smooch or something far more spicy~ [edited in] To add on to this, not all of us even desire him in a sexual way, for many it is romantic, soft, or even just the rather pleasant thought of spending an evening with drinks by the hellfire because he would be fascinating company. Aces, Aros, and AroAces may all find themselves well within the devilish corners of fandom too~ which is a whole other essay~ [end edit] So, I see you. I'm one of you. Extremely loud and utterly hingeless in my fan appreciation for Raphael. He's one of my favourites to write about, I seek art of him, and the same goes for his mirrored other half, Haarlep, who I arguably love more despite there being far less content of them in the game.

And the Fandom? The Vibe?

From my experience in the Raphael Fandom areas, we have a very deep and abiding understanding of consent, respect, and treating each other with an absolute and uncompromising kindness. We've had talks about keeping each other safe in fandom, exchanged details of people we have encountered who need to be avoided, even shared details between moderators of different fandom servers to pre-ban people proven to be creeps and/or art thieves. We've also discussed consent, including the issues with it in the game, and how areas of the story can only really be considered dubious at best and could easily be triggering for people. And these discussions have been open, honest, fair, and with the acknowledgement that most of us love these scenes anyway. So there's a sense of care that runs through everything, behind the horny-posting and fan content, behind the endless thirsting after our favourite fictional characters. We have a depth of kindness that warms my sinners soul every time I see it.

What Does This Have To Do With Self-Reflection, Raphael, or Villainy In General?

Well let's look at Raphael. He's a villain, obviously. He's manipulative, devious, and inherently evil by his very nature. He keeps Hope chained in his basement, constantly subjected to endless torture. There's also mention of how Gortash was sold into his service at a young age, clearly not an enjoyable experience given the other details and how things turn out (particularly as Raphael would need Gortash's own plans to fail entirely in order for him to succeed in his own and get that crown). And as fans, we accept that. We don't sit making excuses, or trying to say "well actually Gortash is a little shit and Hope probably deserve it", and we don't shy away from or conveniently ignore those darker sides of him with malicious intent to enable more evil to flourish. What I noticed, when I allowed the thoughts to continue, is that there is a theme here.

If Evil Can Be Loved Then So Can I

That's the core. Of course, darlings, I am not claiming to be a heinous monster. I certainly do not have a laundry list of crimes that would make the devil himself say "Uh, that's a bit much." But I sure as fuck treat myself like I do sometimes. You see, I think a lot of us have that tendency, to judge ourselves far more harshly than anyone else. Our patience, understanding, and forgiveness for others runs deeper than the Mariana Trench, but when it comes to our own flaws? One minor mistake and we think ourselves to be the worst beings ever to disgrace the earth. Thus, the villainy we see reflects how we are treating ourselves. So by loving and accepting all of those things that should be terrible, hated, we are actually learning that no matter how poorly we think of ourselves that we can be worthy of that same love and acceptance. We are extending the affection we are unable to show ourselves to someone we see the worst parts of ourselves amplified within. And that's why villains attract the people with the most kindness. The most forgiveness. Because it takes someone with a truly huge amount of empathy to find love for the embodiment of evil.

Or, IDK, maybe villains are just hot and we're too far down to care.

But wait, before you go!

THERE'S SOMETHING WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT.

All of this is about FICTION. We should never be accepting of the kinds of evil we see in the game irl. We do not owe anyone kindness if they do not show it to us.

What is hot in fiction is not always OK IRL.

Look after yourselves out there, remember that consent is key in all things, and please do try to learn to love yourselves, darlings, you are worthy of it and you should judge yourself by the same standard you judge others. If you are in doubt, if you are worried, if you feel afraid - reach out, talk to someone. There are many who will listen.

Treat yourself as you would treat a friend. You deserve that much.

Oh, and all Raphael fans who understand kindness are welcome around me, any hour of the day, I adore our little fandom circles and would gladly collect all of us together. I'm following a lot of you as soon as I find you, like hunting shiny pokemon~

See you in Avernus, my darling Little Mice, may we all find joy in the Cambion's Embrace~

#baldurs gate 3 #raphael #bg3 raphael #villain fucker #personal reflection #analysis of the inner mind by a complete amateur #listen the thoughts get loud then I write them down darlings it happens all the time #love yourself please #you are worth more than you give yourself credit for #and keep loving those villains! it's good for you!#be kind to yourself #and be kind in the community #did this even make sense? well it's there now so tough #DMS are open for fellow fans with excellent taste~

184 notes · View notes

hoesoflamentation · 3 months ago

Text

depressed about obey me at 2pm on a workday, bc all i keep thinking is how while the fans are screaming that solmare abandoned us, the same fans genuinely abandoned obey me long before they announced no new updates…

‼️ by failing to appreciate all the detail paid to the art & music & rhythm gameplay in nightbringer, simply because it wasn’t obey me og and we didn’t want anything new (seriously, go back and play og if you don’t believe me… the audio is crunchy, the animations aren’t nearly as fluid, the art isn’t rendered half as well)

‼️ by complaining about the price of vip subs, when those of us who played og from the beginning remember the days when there was no sub option and your only choice to beat the events was to play every level and hope your cards; your only way to get that ur card was to pay microtransaction after microtransaction, close your eyes, and pray. in og, i could never finish an event bc i couldn’t level up my cards enough. in nb, i have ranked in the top 500-1000 without a single microtransaction. not to mention how HARD it used to be to level up your cards in og… to this fucking day i still don’t have a single devil flower on a ur card in og. not a single one.

‼️ by moaning that they would have to pay for fully-voiced dates after the devs released 2 full seasons of anime, monthly events, cards with special voiced dialogue, FOR YEARS all for free. like, do we realize how much creative work goes into all of this? do we realize how good we had it? the gameplay system awards so much ap that you could easily play for 2 hours straight as a f2p player. idk how many om! fans play other gacha/otome games but do you know how rare that is? no waiting for tickets or story keys. and never needing to pay “diamonds” for a choice in the main story. we had it so good, and yet the fandom never stopped complaining abt it.

when you look at it this way, it’s no wonder the company rushed the holiday events and is bolting the doors asap. forgive them if they don’t feel bad for those of us crying about obey me after we’ve spent the last 1.5yrs since nb came out doing nothing but talking shit about how bad it was compared to the og, when that WASN’T EVEN TRUE. the way i see it, the fandom has been dying a slow death since nb not because they tanked the franchise, but bc so much of the fandom started to become entitled and whiny at that point.

nb was never actually a bad product. it just wasn’t og. so many ppl resisted the change for the sake of it, meanwhile the gameplay experience, the graphics, the audio, the f2p experience, even the vip experience was so much better in nb than in om. if you’re out here calling it a cash grab, i can only assume you don’t believe in paying artists for their work or paying for the media you consume. i have been here since 2020. i have seen this fandom in all its iterations, gone from 1000 likes on every fic i write to 50-100 likes on a good day.

now that the love we used to have in this fandom is gone for so many of you, we can only HOPE that solmare DOES see the financial value in om and wants to keep making money off us enough to keep the franchise around. at this point, i am dying for them to release another limited edition plushie or some other kind of merch as a cash grab; at least then i’d believe this fandom wasn’t dying.

if you wanted them to keep going simply for the love of the game, any hope of that ended the minute we became an ungrateful and toxic fandom... tumblr is one of the only pure places left for om fans and even here i see the toxicity. i am so fed up with the twitter and reddit bitching & whining of it all, truly. i never missed om og but every day i miss the way the fandom used to be before nb.

#letters from hales💌#obey me #obey me solmare #obey me shall we date #obey me og #obey me nightbringer #rant

38 notes · View notes

ivys-head-is-spinning · 10 months ago

Text

Get to know me!

Hello, my name is Ivy! I decided to do a get to know me thing so here we go.

Pronouns: She/They/He

Queer. Mostly into girls, somewhere ace and I don’t care all that much about pronouns.

I'm a minor. Be normal please.

Type one diabetic.

Autism and ADHD with a side of anxiety and depression (maybe ocd too idk). Self diagnosed and HEAVILY researched. Believe me I did months of research before I allowed myself to use the words and I spoke to my therapist so don’t come for me. I am just simply not able to get official diagnosis right now but I’m going to as soon as I move out (hopefully)

Jewish ✡️ and Canadian 🇨🇦

Don’t interact with me if you are sexist, homophobic, transphobic, antisemitic, ableist, racist, a pedophile or any other shit like that. I will block you.

My newsies strike name is Fidget!

♋️🦀 and INFJ

I vent a lot on here btw. Gotta do it somewhere.

My special interests:

NEWSIES (mainly that's what I post about)

Disney

Broadway and musicals- the one's I've seen live are Hamilton, Wicked, & Juliet, Lion King, Frozen, Hadestown, Little shop, Six, Aladdin, New York New York, Anastasia, RENT, The Devil Wear Prada musical, Mamma Mia, Without You (which is Anthony Rapp’s solo show), New York New York, Water for Elephants and The Outsiders. (and a few others but I was too young to remember.) The musicals I've seen online are Newsies (duh), Dear Evan Hansen, Heathers, The Prom, West Side Story, If/Then, Lempicka, Falsettos, Great Gatsby, Bandstand, Waitress, Legally Blonde, Bonnie and Clyde, 21 Chump Street, Ordinary Days, The Last 5 Years, In the Heights, the Mean Girls movie musical (the actual musical is next on my list) and Tick... Tick... Boom!

I also love The Violet Hour, In the Light, In Pieces, and Warriors (these are all musical concept albums you should go listen to)

Julie and the Phantoms

Music! But only the very specific artists that I like. Some that I love include Age of Madness (Jeremy Jordan's band), Laura Osnes, Ben Platt, Sara Bareilles, Idina Menzel, All Time Low, Olivia Rodrigo, Chappell Roan, Eden Espinosa, Christy Altomare, RØRY, Disney, Shoshana Bean, Negative 25, musicals, really anything sung by Jeremy Jordan (or other broadway stars I like but that's a whole other list)

Currently hyper fixated on Newsies, warriors concept album and Supergirl!!!

Other things I like include:

Plants

Stars

Axolotls

Octopuses

Fun facts

My marble collection

Tangled the Series

Supergirl tv show (the one with Jeremy Jordan)

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

My tumblr moots

Arts and crafts

Fan fiction

Stuffed animals

Music

Singing

Dancing

Acting

Find me on ao3 @ javidiscannon99! Please go read my Newsies fic.

Matching profile pics with @ya-what--ya-erster

Ask me about my ✨special interests✨

Please send me questions, and feel free to DM me I’m always up to chat as I love making new friends on here (fair warning I’m a little awkward and struggle with social cues lol)

Cheers!

Ivy

(here’s the link to my ask game!)

#newsies #broadway #musicals #disney #hellaverse #ask me anything #get to know me #bandstand musical #theatre kid #ivys ask game!

62 notes · View notes

deathbyclown · 5 months ago

Text

Buggy's Performance Pairing: Buggy x Mihawk Rating: Explicit Words: 2300

Summary: Buggy forgot his date with Mihawk and now he's expected to perform.

Warnings: Dubious Consent (Mihawk uses Buggy's lower half while he's entertaining his followers as a punishment). Exhibitionism. Misuse of Buggy's devil fruit ability.

AO3 Link

(inspired by this Shuggy art on Twitter)

Sometimes when Buggy felt tired while performing all day, he liked to split himself and leave his bottom half on one of the cushy couches while his top half continued to entertain his followers. This evening was no different; It was getting late, nearing midnight, the crowd of his subordinates were drunk, high, and very rowdy. At this point Buggy was just leaning over his banister, chatting and joking with his followers below. He was in the middle of a joke when he felt a hand on his leg. He twitched, and turned his head to see who the hell was touching him.

The blood drained from his face as he saw Mihawk sitting next to his lower half, his hand trailing up Buggy’s leg. He forgot their date. Shit. Shit shit shit. Buggy even made a big show of saying he was going to blow Mihawk’s mind, that he’d give Mihawk an amazing performance.

But then as he was getting ready he started drinking, and some of his followers stopped by, and he started telling some of his stories and one thing led to another and he was performing in front of his adoring fans and his evening with Mihawk slipped his mind.

Now Mihawk was here, however many hours after Buggy was supposed to meet him. He didn’t look angry, but his fingers slowly tracing up along Buggy’s thigh put him on high alert. It felt nice, and Buggy knew it was too good for him to have deserved it.

Buggy floated into the intimate space of his balcony room but Mihawk put up his hand, making Buggy pause at the archway.

“Continue your performance, no need to stop on my account. It’s obviously very important.” Mihawk said, his voice deadly calm.

Goosebumps rose over Buggy’s skin, he knew he fucked up bad, and something was about to happen, but he had no idea what.

“Hawky, baby!” Buggy started but Mihawk fixed him with a cold look as he shook his head. Buggy snapped his mouth shut, internally freaking out, trying to think of someway to make this right.

“Go on. Perform, clown. You have an audience waiting for you. Or, will you leave them hanging as you did with me?”

“N-no! Hawk-” Buggy stammered desperately, but was interrupted by Mihawk once again.

“Go.” He said so firmly that Buggy immediately turned around and returned to the balcony.

Oh this was bad. Mihawk wasn’t even letting him get a word in. Normally Mihawk would let him say his piece, let him ramble, and usually he found it so endearing that he would forgive Buggy. But this? Mihawk was pissed, and Buggy was about to be punished. No amount of cute jokes or batting his eyelashes would smooth this over.

Buggy returned to his audience, who cheered at his re-appearance, already offering up more drinks and clamoring for his attention. Buggy tried to continue entertaining the crowd but he was distracted, trying to pay attention to Mihawk, only half listening to what his followers said, taking sips from drinks he couldn’t taste, telling jokes but not properly finishing the punchlines.

But Mihawk had yet to do anything, had yet to punish him. Just kept stroking his thighs, his attention rapt on Buggy. Maybe he really just wanted to watch Buggy? Perhaps he wasn’t as mad as Buggy thought?

Buggy let his guard down, getting absorbed in the attention from his adoring subordinates. He got lost in the cheers and laughter, doing his favorite bits, moving into crowdwork, listening to personal anecdotes from his followers before jabbing and teasing, the whole room roaring with laughter.

Buggy was obnoxiously laughing at his own joke when he stopped short as he felt Mihawk lift his lower half and undo his pants. He froze, mouth open ready to speak but no sound came out, the whole room suddenly very loud. He peeked behind him and watched Mihawk strip his lower half naked. Mihawk looked up at him, a mischievous glint in his eye.

He raised his eyebrow as if in challenge as he pulled Buggy’s lower half onto his lap. Buggy got the message loud and clear. He promised Mihawk a performance, and he was expected to follow through.

Buggy swallowed hard and returned to his audience, forcing a smile on his face as he felt Mihawk’s hands on his bare skin.

He tried to act normal, telling a rambling joke that he knew by heart. Mihawk ‘s calloused fingers cupped Buggy’s flaccid cock, lightly squeezing his balls, just on the side of unpleasant before dipping underneath him, a fingertip brushing over his rim. He was proud of himself for not stuttering despite the fact that his lower half was being MOLESTED by his hot angry boyfriend. He did however make a weird high pitched sound when he felt something wet and cold slip between his ass cheeks. The crowd laughed, thinking it was part of the bit, but he was struggling to keep his voice level as he felt Mihawk rub cool slick lube over his rim, the temperature warming soon enough from his body heat.

Buggy stopped mid sentence, his mouth dropped open and his hands gripped the banister as Mihawk pushed a finger into him. He wanted to be in there with Mihawk, kissing him and teasing him, running his hands over his chest, tracing the angles of his face, making his cheeks pink with flashy compliments. Buggy turned his head, hoping that he’d been through enough punishment. He got the idea! He shouldn’t have left Mihawk hanging!! He tried to subtly come back into the room, but Mihawk fixed him with a glare that told him not to try it.

Buggy returned to the balcony, asking his followers to share their most embarrassing stories, anything to keep himself from having to talk. He gasped as Mihawk pushed two fingers into him but for the most part he did his best to keep his face under control. He tried to listen as one of his followers had the stage. He would be expected to respond and comment.

He bit the inside of his lip trying not to whine aloud. Mihawk tried to push a third finger into him but it was too dry. He pulled his fingers out and Buggy let out a little sigh of relief. Mihawk pushed the tip of the lube into him and squeezed, the cold slick gush made his insides clench. Buggy shrieked and as all the heads turned to him he turned it into a laugh, pointing at a random follower and telling them it was their turn to talk. He was starting to sweat, his armpits damp, his forehead sticky. Mihawk easily pushed three fingers into him and he couldn’t hear a single word being said. Only the blood rushing in his ears. It felt so good, his fingers stretching him, making him ache, making him so aware of being penetrated. If Mihawk used his other hand to stroke his cock, he could cum like this. And that made him want it so badly, he wanted to feel his calloused hands on him.

Mihawk pulled out his fingers and in an instant his dick was pressing against Buggy’s rim, his soft head easily breaching him.

Buggy grit his teeth, trying to keep a straight face as Mihawk sank into him. His hands gripped the banister hard enough that he could feel it creak under him. He suppressed the moan bubbling in his throat, swallowing hard, his eyelids falling shut for just a moment as Mihawk bottomed out.

So good. He always felt good. And, again, Buggy felt regret for not showing up to their date tonight. He could be in there right now, controlling the pace, touching his dick and riding Mihawk, running his fingers through Mihawk’s soft dark hair. But now he was nothing more than a sex toy.

Buggy’s face flushed at the thought, his dick twitching and he realized he might be kinda into being used by Mihawk like this. Or maybe it was the audience watching him get fucked while having absolutely no clue. Whatever it was, his skin felt like it was sparking, his whole body was electric. There was no way he could form any coherent thoughts, let alone speak to his audience. He was doing everything in his power not to make any noise, but he had no doubt he was making faces. There was no way to control that anymore, not with Mihawk so deep inside of him. He was notoriously expressive! Thankfully, only a handful of people gave him confused, concerned looks. Everyone else seemed to be chatting amongst themselves as Buggy pretended to listen. But even pretending was becoming hard to to do.

Mihawk gave him a small reprieve when he bottomed out, but after a few slow thrusts he gripped Buggy’s hips hard enough to bruise and quickly brought Buggy’s ass up and down on his cock. Mihawk maneuvered him like he weighed nothing, like he was just a fleshlight, Buggy’s hole nothing more than something to get Mihawk off.

Buggy let out a quiet groan, biting his bottom lip as soon as the sound escaped. Ok yeah, he was definitely getting off on being used. He could feel his cock dribbling precum as it bobbed, bouncing as Mihawk brought him down faster and faster on his cock, his hips slapping into Buggy’s ass. He wanted to hold onto Mihawk, wanted to beg him. He needed to be touched, needed to have his dick stroked, needed the angle of his thrusts to move just slightly in. But he was in an agonizing limbo, the pleasure plateauing, where it felt good but there was no way he could cum like this. He felt frustrated, and he was sure it was clearly showing on his face. But he couldn’t be bothered with that right now. He needed more but it’s not like he could ask for it! He just had to take what Mihawk gave him.

Buggy hung over the banister of the balcony, panting, his eyes unfocused and hazy. Was Mihawk just going to fuck his ass and then leave? Is that what his punishment was? This was so unfair!

Buggy moaned loudly and immediately clamped a gloved hand over his mouth, his face burning with embarrassment as many heads turned to look up at him. Mihawk pulled his knees up and the change in angle had his dick rubbing inside of him just right, brushing over his prostate. Oh Buggy could cum like this.

Buggy swallowed hard and stuttered out an excuse that he was bored, trying to mimic the previous moan, accidentally letting out another real one. A few of his followers stepped up and offered to entertain him. He accepted with a sigh of relief, all eyes turning to the newest distraction.

Mihawk pounded into him, heat curling and building inside of him. Buggy swore under his breath, pressing his forehead to the banister, his eyes rolling back. He was undoubtedly making a spectacle of himself, drawing attention, but it was this or moaning out loud again. Buggy’s whole body trembled, struggling against the sounds threatening to fall from his lips, the pleasure so intense he could cry.

Buggy bit into his gloved fist, groaning as he came, his cock twitching as he spilled, totally untouched. Well, that was a first.

He panted into his hand, covering his mouth to suppress the whine being forced out of him. Mihawk didn’t let up, still fucking him relentlessly, hitting his prostate, and Buggy squirmed in discomfort. His cock ached, staying hard despite cumming.

“Chairman, are you alright?”

Buggy’s head shot up, no doubt looking crazed, staring into a sea of concerned faces.

“Y-yeah!” Buggy’s voice sounded unnaturally high and strained. He had to bow out before he really humiliated himself.

“Just- ah! Partying too hard! I’ll-” Buggy groaned and grit his teeth. Mihawk was going to push him to another orgasm and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

“I’ll leave the rest to you! G’night!” Buggy rushed out, slinking away as fast as he could flopping onto the floor of the private space. He looked up at Mihawk with tears in his eyes.

“P-please, no more, I can’t do it anymore.”

Mihawk just huffed, not changing his pace. Buggy dropped his forehead to the floor with a thump, moaning aloud now that he didn’t have an audience. Mihawk was going to be the death of him. Stupid sexy vampire.

Buggy clawed at the floor, his body twisting, his dick weakly twitching as he came again. He moaned pitifully into the floorboards, his whole body shivering, letting out a whimper as he felt Mihawk cum inside of him.

He laid there panting as Mihawk pulled out of him, a gush of fluids coming out, dripping onto Mihawk’s lap. Mihawk moved Buggy’s legs off to the side and stood. Buggy couldn’t be bothered to look up. He relied on touch and sound alone. The room stayed quiet so he had to assume Mihawk left or was watching him struggle. Buggy felt arms around his torso and he was lifted off the ground. He looked up at Mihawk who cradled him in his arm. He brought him to the couch and he ran a thumb over Buggy’s stubbled chin.

“That was quite the performance. You did a good job. I’m impressed.” Mihawk said softly, tracing his jawline. Buggy sighed, satisfied, his eyes slipping closed as he pressed his face into Mihawk’s touch. Mihawk suddenly gripped his chin and Buggy’s eyes shot open to look at Mihawk, whose golden eyes bored into him.

“But if you ever abandon me again we’re done. You understand me?”

Buggy’s whole body broke out into goosebumps and he nodded stiltedly, his mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, Hawks. I won’t do it again.” Buggy promised, launching himself at Mihawk, holding him tightly.

Mihawk relaxed into the hug and wrapped his arms around Buggy in return.

“Let’s go back to your room. Let me clean you up.” He murmured into Buggy’s ear, scooping him up.

“Yes please.” Buggy pressed a kiss to his cheek and let himself be carried. Like hell if he was ever going to to make another promise to Dracule Mihawk.

#buggy #dracule mihawk #bughawk #buggy x mihawk #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #hawkeye mihawk #fanfic #smut #fanfiction #exhibition kink #dubious consent

21 notes · View notes