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theladycarpathia · 2 months

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Billy’s not expecting the call from his dad.

“Billy?” Hop sounds distant, the faint sound of an idling engine in the background. Billy blinks, because his dad is at work and as far as Billy knows that usually means sitting behind a desk at the station and arguing with Flo.

“Don’t you have paperwork to be doing?” Billy says and Hopper snorts. There’s the sound of background traffic that’s then shut out by the clang of a car door.

“Don’t give me cheek, I am still the chief,” Hopper says as though that means anything in a small town where the most crime that they get is some drunk idiot attempting to rob the gas station.

“Yes, sir,” Billy quips and changes the channel. No one else is home and he’s bored. Jon and Joyce are still at work, and El and Will are doing weird nerd activities. The diner didn’t have a shift for him today and he doesn’t have a date, so he came home. He’d half expected someone to be here, instead of getting stuck with a protein bar and old reruns.

“That’s more like it,” Hopper says and then clears his throat awkwardly. “I was just wondering…are you definitely single?”

“Dad,” Billy says, attention now fully away from the TV set. Hop’s called him before, to ask him shit like do they need milk and to take the trash out. He doesn't call to talk about Billy's love life. They never talk about that, not after that time Hopper came in his room without knocking. “What is your next question, because this could make the next family dinner a little uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Hopper gripes. There’s the sudden cackle of laughter in the background and Billy sits up.

“Are you with someone?” he asks and then sucks in a breath at the implications. “Did you put me on speaker?”

“I may have done,” Hopper says, sounding sheepish. “I just picked up a young man outside the movie theatre and he’s about your age…”

“I’m nineteen!” the mystery guy hollers from the backseat. Hopper keeps talking like the guy hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t know, I just thought he was your type.”

Billy presses a hand to his temple, unable to believe that his dad has just said those words. “What’s my type?” he asks, wondering if he’s going to combust right here and now. Hopper makes that little awkward throat clearing again, like he can’t believe the situation either.

“You know,” he says stiffly. “Sort of…pretty.”

Oh God. Billy can never look Hopper in the eye again.

“You think I’m pretty?” the guy asks curiously, and Billy can’t blame him for sounding a bit weirded out.

“I think you look like a lot of the doe-eyed pretty-boys my son brings home,” Hopper snaps. Despite his obvious discomfort, Billy can’t help the rush of affection at Hopper trying to be supportive. Neil would have beat the shit out of him. Hopper tries to hook him up with appropriately aged delinquents in the back of the police car.

“A lot?” the guy asks and Billy flushes. He then regrets it because he has no idea if he even wants to impress whatever guy Hopper has picked up.

“It’s not a lot,” he says defensively because Hawkins isn’t exactly big on the gay scene. His last boyfriend he met at Tina’s Halloween party and to be fair, if you wear a kilt and not a lot else to a party in October, Billy’s absolutely going to beg you to rail him in the downstairs cloakroom. The relationship hadn't exactly worked out.

“Look, I get the feeling I’m never going to hear the end of this so here’s the situation,” Hopper says, sounding tired. “This is my son, Billy. He’s about to finish high school, he likes cars and burgers and loud music. He has shit taste in men even though he’s attractive, clever and a smart mouth. Billy, this is Steve. I was on my way back from the mayor’s office when I caught him peeing in an alley. Judging by his big brown eyes and the fact that public nudity doesn’t seem to be a problem for him, I thought of you.”

“Aww,” Billy drawls, sitting back on the couch. There are lights in the drive so someone has just arrived home. Which is good because he needs to tell everyone this story so they can give Hopper shit about it over dinner. “Pops, that’s so sweet.”

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Hopper says, like he hasn’t already done everything for Billy by getting him out, giving him a home. “I’ll take an extra polaroid when I process him.”

“I had to take a leak!” Steve protests and Hopper sucks in air through his teeth.

“There are public bathrooms, kid, I’ve heard those work pretty well. Billy, help your mom with dinner when she gets home.” Sucks for Hopper, it’s Jon heading up the path, keys dangling from his fingers. Billy can’t wait to tell him this story.

“Or what, you won’t bring me any more dates?” Billy asks, but he’s only half-joking. Hopper means well and kind of fucks it up a lot but this time he might have hit it right on the money. He thinks he might like Steve.

“Do I get a picture?” Steve asks. “Or does the Hawkins Police just pimp out young innocent men with full bladders?”

Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to like Steve.

“I have a picture on my desk,” Hopper admits grumpily. There’s the jangle of keys in the door as Jonathan lets himself in. “You can look at it if you’re good.”

“And what if I’m not?” Steve asks and Jonathan walks in just in time to raise his eyebrows at Billy.

“I can help punish him, if he’s not,” Billy suggests, and Hopper hangs up the phone just as Steve begins to laugh.

This has probably been done before because it's based on that famous tumblr post but it's so dull during school holidays I have nothing to do but write. And I have no in progress Harringrove fics which is probably a problem I should fix.

#harringrove #ficlet #billy hargrove #steve harrington #jim hopper #hopper being a well meaning but slightly awkward dad has my heart #he'll tell this story at their wedding #as revenge for billy telling everyone that hop set him up #seriously though I have a dozen fics in progress rn #not one of them is harringrove #what's wrong with me

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20th-century-man · 1 year

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Showgirls in their dressing room at the London Casino theatre in Soho / photo by George Konig, 1950.

At that time, British law allowed nudity onstage under the condition that the performers remained immobile, so the performances could be considered art, the girls the equivalent of nude statues in museums.

#Showgirl #London #George Konig #1950 #photography #1950s

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rwrbmovie · 10 months

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RE: intimacy & the intimate scenes

Quotes from interviews on #RWRBMovie about the intimate scenes and the intimacy between Alex and Henry

This post will be updated as content is released

Click here for the other roundups

Notice something missing? Here's my inbox

Last updated: August 9

From Glamour

Red, White & Royal Blue, the book, is—I'm not sure how to put this any other way—famously horny. For the movie adaptation, intimacy coordinator Robbie Taylor Hunt was enlisted to ensure that physical intimacy between Henry and Alex was told in the best and safest way possible. “He was incredible,” Zakhar Perez says of working with Taylor Hunt. “In London there are these brand of mints called Smints, and we called him the Smint Lord because we would always come up to him and ask for a mint or Listerine strip. I didn't want my breath to be offensive to Nick as soon as we get on set and have to be intimate with each other…” He continues, "A great thing about having rehearsals is that we'd have an hour a day set aside to be with Robbie. It was just like a dance. I grew up in theatre, and Nick's done musicals. We're both very musical people. So Robbie found it easiest to talk to us in musical terms—there's a musicality to intimacy. There'd be lots of counting. Like, ‘1, 2, 3, 4, grab. 2, 3, 4, squeeze.’ That's what was going through my mind as we did it, to get it in your body. Once your body remembers it, you can let it go. The muscle memory is so strong. Then it's just about getting your mind in the game.” Adds Galitzine, “It's a very vulnerable and trusting space. Taylor and I had to rely on each other because we really wanted to tell that story honestly and feel that we weren't hindered by any of our own boundaries that we were setting up. It becomes a sort of wonderful choreography that all serves to facilitate these two young men who fell in love with each other. Robbie was really helpful in educating me in the physical language of the character.”

From GQ

As our tea gets cold and our time draws to a close, we quickly touch on what it was like to film Red, White & Royal Blue’s more intimate scenes. To fight the awkwardness of being surrounded by the film crew, Zakhar Perez and Galitzine would whisper jokes and try to make the other one crack up. “There’s a playful teasing that never veered into anything nasty, which was a lovely dynamic to be a part of,” says Robbie Taylor Hunt, the film’s intimacy coordinator. “But also they just treated each other like colleagues and co-creatives in a really nice, collaborative way.” “There’s so much choreography to sex…ual scenes,” Zakhar Perez says, laughing, recounting the sheer amount of time and energy (and the occasional blow-up mattress) that went into rehearsals. “It’s a crazy thing to be intimate in that way with your friend,” says Galitzine. “And we want people to fall in love with these characters, because their love has to be real.” “Our guards were down during the rehearsals,” Zakhar Perez adds. But as soon as someone would yell “Cut”? “One of us would say something stupid, like, Get off me!”

From People

When Red, White & Royal Blue got labeled with an R rating from the Motion Picture Association, López admits he was surprised by the stamp. The MPA cited "some sexual content, partial nudity and language" in its rating. "I think I was a little surprised at the R rating just because, while I never was encouraged to limit what we were showing or limit what I was depicting, the scene is what I intended to show. It plays exactly how I wanted it to play," López says of a sex scene between the two leads. The Tony winner explains that he had free rein to include whatever he felt necessary onscreen while depicting the love story: "It's the movie I set out to make." He adds, "I essentially decided to hedge my bets, in that I wouldn't step a toe over the line of PG-13 into R when it came to language, when it came to— there's no violence in the story, of course. But I would just do what I felt was right for the story when it came to the sexuality of the film and let the chips fall where they may."

From Out Smart Magazine

The director explains that giving the film’s sex scenes the royal treatment was an important factor for him. “One of the things in the novel that I knew needed to be in the film was the fundamental truth that these two people have really good sex with each other, they are very attracted to each other, and they find ways of expressing it physically. I inherently knew that there were a multitude of ways that we were going to express intimacy in this movie and that we were tracking the progression of their closeness. They sort of meet-cute and not only go from being enemies to lovers, but one of them is not fully aware of the extent to which he’s into guys before they meet. I thought a lot about the intimacy themes in the movie as a way of bringing them incrementally closer and closer together. “By the time we got to the real lovemaking scene in the movie, I knew that I wanted to create something that was beautiful, loving, and tender. It’s not about maximizing an opportunity to get as much sex in the movie as possible. It’s about maximizing what I’ve got in order to tell the story effectively and honestly, in a way that the people for whom the movie is being made understand that it is being made for them.”

From Hindustan Times

Red White And Royal Blue also features a sex scene that was so empowering in terms of how it chooses to focus not on the body but on the gradual understanding between what two people in love want from each other. Did you always have a specific direction in how you wanted the scene to be shot? My answer to your question is your question! That is precisely how I wanted to shoot it. It is undeniable that these are two beautiful men but what was more important to me was this be a scene of true intimacy between these two characters. I always knew I wanted to shoot those scenes primarily on their faces. I knew that what we would read in their eyes and their faces was much more powerful a storytelling tool than what I could have shown in a wider shot using their bodies, and it allowed them to thoroughly act that scene rather than simply perform that scene. I love that question because the way you phrased that question is exactly the way we talked about the scene- as we planned it with my intimacy coordinator, and as Taylor, Nick and I rehearsed it. Yeah, so you could just your question and turn it into my answer, because that's precisely it.

From TV & Satellite Week

The two leads were equally keen to make their characters’ relationship evolve believably. ‘Nick and I felt a responsibility to bring to life these sexual moments that are in the book in a real, grounded way,’ says Zakhar Perez. ‘The intimate scenes were choreographed and specific when it came to whether it was a moment of passion, or a tender experience. In a relationship you go through different stages, and we got to explore those throughout the film.’

From PinkNews

“I don’t think you can tell the story of Alex and Henry without talking about their very enjoyable sex life,” he says. However, the sex isn't just thrown in for the sake of it, each has a purpose and nuance. López likes to think of the scenes as songs in a musical. "It needs to progress the story, it needs to progress your understanding of the character. If it doesn't, then it doesn't belong," he explains. The two lead stars worked with an intimacy co-ordinator to ensure the scenes were done carefully and safely, but were also realistic. “We need to actually believe that Alex and Henry have really great, connected sex,” López says. “That, as a queer man, was really important to me to convey.”

From Observer

Hollywood has a tendency to shy away from gay sex onscreen. But this movie goes all in. Did you get any pushback about that? ML: When I was pitching myself for the job, this was part of my pitch. Basically, “If you hire me, you’re getting this.” I let it be known from the get-go that this was going to be in the film. And, of course, there were negotiations throughout the process of what exactly it would be. But I was adamant from the start that this film honor what’s in the book, which is that these two characters have a very healthy sex life. They are very, very into each other, they have great sex, and a lot of it. So that was important to me. It was really important to me as well in a mainstream love story. We talked about this as a rom-com and there other times we talked about it as a love story. As a love story, it was really important to me that the audience understand that these two young men are deeply connected—emotionally, intellectually and physically. Their physical connection is a huge part of what binds them. It would have been absolutely the decision I would make if it was a man and a woman. So I was going apply the same storytelling and requirements on my queer film that I think anybody would on a on a heterosexual film. I will say Amazon didn’t give me a hard time on these scenes. I got support. I got notes, of course. But that’s what happens when you don’t have final cut. There was a lot of support for this story being told as we all knew it needed to be told.

From MetroSource

Our sex is beautiful. The way we have sex is beautiful. Our intimacy is beautiful. Consensual sex between two humans is a beautiful thing, and it’s one of the wonderful things about being alive. The book is very steamy, very sexual, and I really love that about the book. I knew that I’d be committing heresy if I didn’t bring that into the film. A sex scene in a movie is like a song in a musical. It really does need to either charm you or teach you something about the characters and move the plot along. The other thing, too, is that you’re asking two performers to do something that is really vulnerable, and you don’t ever want to ask too much of them, and you don’t ever want to make anybody feel uncomfortable or forced into doing something. We were conscientious about how we approached each one of these scenes. I spent a lot of time with my intimacy coordinator mapping them out. We really paid particular attention to what story are we telling with each and every one of these intimacy scenes so that we could turn around and speak to Taylor and Nick and explain to them exactly why we were asking them to do what we were asking them to do. Beyond just sort of the mechanics of the filmmaking, to tell the story of Alex and Henry and not include the fact that they are very passionately, physically attracted to one another, is to not tell the full story of Alex and Henry.

From Windy City Times

Robbie Taylor Hunt was the intimacy coordinator on the film. How important was that for this film? ML: It was essential. I think that if someone doesn't like working with intimacy coordinators, then they are missing the point. Robbie was an important partner in creating this. In essence, it was a way of protecting the actors and making them not just feel, but be, safe. It is no different than working with my director of photography or my costume designer. We use stunt coordinators with stunts, so in the same way, I wanted to use an intimacy coordinator. Robbie helped me articulate what I wanted to show and execute it. He was invaluable to me.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb movie #matthew lopez #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #tzp #robbie taylor hunt #roundups

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bluebeerg · 9 months

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"I’m changing my major to Joan. But that was before I was lying prone in this dorm room bed with Joan."

Fun Home, Sydney Theatre Company (2021)

Co-Produced with Melbourne Theatre Company [1] [2]

#fun home #fun home musical #stc fun home #mtc fun home #sydney theatre company #my gifs #dean bryant #ryan gonzalez #maggie mckenna #emily havea #marina prior #lucy maunder #adam murphy #partial nudity #ive never really made gifs before so this is just sharpening them #not like theres a high demand for gifs of this production dhsajkh #extremely self indulgent gifset and is largely just for myself #but yeah here

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pigeonwhumps · 1 month

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Rules

Pets of the Silver Screen masterlist

Taglist: @maracujatangerine @clairelsonao3 @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @bbu-on-the-side

Multiple times over the years, Agatha learns the rules.

2.1k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, kidnapping, collar, beating, stress positions, dehumanisation, non-con nudity (non sexual)

Agatha juts her chin out, poise perfect despite the tip-toe position she's been forced into.

"My name is Miss Agatha Stanbury, daughter of Lord Kenneth Stanbury. Let me go and you may get out of this alive."

Foster Montgomery smirks, pressing his knife into her neck, blood beading along its edge.

"I think I'd rather keep you. Nobody's going to find you, certainly not after I'm finished with you." He drags his knife down her front, slitting her clothes. They mostly stay on, but it must be a very sharp knife to manage that. "Take them off."

"No."

He holds up the knife, reminding her. "What did you say?"

Agatha swallows but keeps her poise. She's going to be an actress, she can pretend she has nothing to fear.

"I said no. You have given me nothing to wear afterwards and I will not follow your disgusting commands."

"I have more suitable clothing for you later, if you earn it. But if you won't obey willingly I'll have to do it for you."

Agatha's barely had a chance to process the statement when she's slammed to the ground. All her bones are jarred and her nose explodes with agony. A boot seems to grind her into the floor as Montgomery removes her clothing piece by piece.

She hates herself for thinking it, but at least he lets her keep her knickers.

He grunts in satisfaction, and hauls her to her knees. She shoves his hands away and stands, but is back on her knees in less than a second.

"Stay." He reaches behind him and picks up a leather collar complete with tag.

Agatha doesn't move when he reaches out and buckles the suffocating leather around her throat, but not out of obedience. She just doesn't think she can.

She reaches up to touch it, but Montgomery smacks away her hand before she can.

"Don't even think about it. I'll only ever remove it if you need a punishment that might interfere with the collar somehow, so if you do so yourself I'll assume that's what you're after. But you do still deserve a punishment. Bend over."

Agatha swallows hard, the soft leather and cold metal buckle pressing against her throat. She doesn't move. She only came down for the season, she's not going to obey a kidnapper who's apparently obsessed with turning her into a pet.

He couldn't find a volunteer? There's enough of them.

She pitches forward onto her hands and knees as he pushes her over, pulling her knickers down.

"Bare flesh is best for this. Pets obey. They don't say no. They don't talk back. You need to learn this."

Agatha has never had such a thrashing in her life as she receives then. No-one's ever drawn blood before. She's not passed out enough by the end to receive a reprieve though – he orders her to clean the house, and woe betide her if he finds a speck of dust or blood.

She experiences it all as if from miles away. As if from the gathering she's supposed to be at right now, with entirely different rules. She's not in her body, most of the time, and that's probably for the best.

That day and the next, she learns the rules of being Foster Montgomery's captive.

1) Don't say no.

2) Only speak when spoken to.

3) Don't talk back.

4) Address other people as sir or ma'am.

5) Always obey immediately.

6) Don't remove your collar.

7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.

She adds an extra one from herself, too, which she knows is true. Montgomery giving her a collar is not just him being a sick bastard, it's theatre, another part of the pretense. Because even if he were to parade her in front of those she loves, everyone knows that only pets wear collars.

8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.

Over the next few months, the rules don't change. The chores are hard, and the punishments harsh, and a lot more of her is scarred now. Very little of what Montgomery does has any logic to it.

But she still can't find an escape. She fears she's sinking into it.

When she's hired by Hayes Fletcher, more rules are added to the list.

9) Don't talk to the other pet.

10) If you disobey, it won't just be you who's punished.

Eloise won't receive whippings, of course, and no canings during the shoot, but she can be put in stress positions, or starved, or have a bucket of water dumped over her head before being left in the unheated studio overnight. And Agatha has absolutely no desire to subject her to anything other than a good hot meal and somewhere better to sleep.

Rule 7 is underlined dramatically by the inspector's visit. In the aftermath, Agatha's arm and back throbbing, blood pooling on the frozen stone floor that her toes are just able to touch, Eloise whimpering from her own position, Agatha makes sure to add another two rules to herself (though the second is altered after Eloise's angry objections).

11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.

12) Don't break the rules. Even Only if Eloise agrees to do so.

Agatha could possibly escape during the transatlantic crossing. She thinks about it. Even jumping overboard might be better. But she needs to see Eloise again. Be sure that she's alive and physically unhurt (from the sinking at least, Agatha has no doubt she'll have been hurt since). Tell her that she's brave, and a hero, because if it had been anyone but fellow pets she'd saved, if she was anyone but a pet herself, her actions would've been lauded, but instead it's Hayes Fletcher who's being praised for having such a good pet. Which isn't right, it isn't fair, and Agatha can't leave Eloise on her own.

That's when Agatha solidifies the last rule for herself, that's been brewing since she first met Eloise but she's never stopped to think about it before.

13) Her and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.

Then the Great War comes.

Foster Montgomery signs up to fight. He leaves Agatha in Hayes Fletcher's care, who lends her to the munitions factory, for good publicity and probably money (money for Fletcher? Money for Montgomery? She doesn't know. But neither man is big into philanthropy). Eloise isn't there. Agatha follows the rules Montgomery has already given her, hating the fact that they keep her alive.

Another few rules are added.

14) Don't become emotional.

15) Never make a sound.

16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.

That last is... profoundly obvious, at times. When the rest of the workers get to go home at the end of their shifts and she is kept working, or if there's no-one else at all, locked in the breakroom until morning. When she's fed less than the others, or when she's beaten, or–

It's so obvious, even more so than when she was hired by Hayes Fletcher. She hates it. And she's so alone here.

The war will be over by Christmas, right?

1915. Foster Montgomery is dead, and Agatha desperately wishes she could thank his killer, if anybody even knows. She gets a new tattoo, signifying her ownership by Hayes Fletcher (luckily, she knows his rules, there's no new ones to learn there). The Munitions Act comes into force, and the regular bombing raids start.

Monkey's paw. She's not alone anymore, but it means that Eloise, and several other pets, have joined her in the munitions factory.

She teaches Eloise what she's learned about staying out of trouble where possible. They have a dedicated bunkroom now, pets crammed in on old bedding on the floors of the worst-maintained rooms. They learn that only a few owners have paid for their pets to be taken to air raid shelters.

Hayes Fletcher hasn't.

Night after night they spend, trying to stay calm as bombs rain down around them. Occasionally they're still chained or tied up at night, for punishments, and when that happens Agatha worries the most.

She learns one more rule.

17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

The war ends. By a miracle, her and Eloise are both still alive. Hayes Fletcher goes back to producing films, albeit with less success. Agatha watches as pet liberation campaigns grow, and the next decade approaches with force. The world seems a little more hopeful, things seem to be changing.

Except for her and Eloise. Stuck with the horrible, spiteful little man, punishments getting worse as he gets more frustrated and blames them for it (or maybe he simply has nowhere else to put his anger). The world's moving on, votes for women are coming, and she can't help but think of what her life might be like if she hadn't been kidnapped all those years ago.

She remembers rule 7. And the last time was dreadful, and another attempt could get them both killed, but she mentions her rule to Eloise one night and Eloise agrees. They have to try, don't they? Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.

A week later, the film studio burns down in the middle of the night. Arson, probably. By the time the fire brigade arrive to the burnt out husk Agatha and Eloise are already sneaking onto a train to London.

"If the both of you want rules, I can give you some," says Ira, clearly reluctant, "as long as we can go through the ones you already have first. Is that all right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Ira nods. "Why don't you write me a list then? We can go through them while Eloise is busy."

Agatha takes the paper and pen she offers, wincing as she sits down, heart skipping a beat. She's still not used to it.

At the end of the session, her list reads:

1) Don't say no.

2) Only speak when spoken to.

3) Don't talk back.

4) Address people as sir or ma'am.

5) Always obey immediately.

6) Don't remove your collar.

7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.

8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.

9) Don't talk to the other pets.

10) If you disobey, it won't be just you who's punished.

11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.

12) Don't break the rules. Only if Eloise agrees to do so.

13) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other. (Ira says she can get rid of this one partially too, but she's not so sure. Not yet)

14) Don't become emotional.

15) Never make a sound.

16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.

17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

The new rules are easy, and straightforward, and Agatha doesn't entirely trust them. The list now reads:

1) You belong to yourself.

2) You will never be punished, no matter what you do.

3) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.

4) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

Agatha kneels on the floorboards, trembling. It's her turn today, Ira asked her to clean and she said yes, she's not sure why except she's so used to not being allowed to say no.

She hopes she's done well. She hopes she's done well. She hopes she won't be punished.

Ira doesn't do punishments. But all the same, she hopes she won't be punished.

There's footsteps, then they stop.

"Agatha?"

"I've finished cleaning, ma'am."

A hand on her shoulder. "Agatha, please look at me. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Come on, look up."

Agatha obeys hesitantly. And gasps. Ira's eyes are dark and warm and how could Agatha ever have thought otherwise? Ira gets down to her level as Agatha grasps her hands tightly, pulling her into a rare hug.

"Rules one and two, Agatha."

"I belong to myself," whispers Agatha, still clutching Ira tightly, "and I will not be punished."

Ira's two rules. The only two she'll ever make.

1) I belong to myself.

2) I will never be punished, no matter what I do.

And there's a third, that Agatha has added herself, that she thinks she probably can after so long. Rule number 5, now Ira has been proven correct and number 3 has been partially removed (Agatha does not only have Eloise now).

5) Ira keeps her promises.

#whump #whump writing #bbu community #bbu #box boy universe #box babe #multiple whumpees #pet whump #kidnapping #lady whump #whumpee and whumper #whumpee and caretaker #pets of the silver screen #agatha stanbury #foster montgomery #ira waterhouse #not happy with the list formatting but nvm #historical whump

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selarina · 2 years

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Mundane Maybes

→ Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Summary: A compilation of the mundane with your best friend with benefits — Suna Rintaro.

Content Warnings: friends with benefits, fluff, smut (MINORS DNI), cunnilingus, nudity, teasing, birthday, theatre, unedited, some underlying angst perhaps?

Word Count: 4.5k words

Author's Notes: Please comment and interact with me because I genuinely feel like I'm posting into the void.

This is part 3 but can be read as a stand-alone.

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

The doorbell rings once again, but not a single muscle moves in the room.

You heave a deep sigh as you slump further back into the couch.

Your eyes flit down to the page number of the book you’re reading, and then up to the paragraph you stopped at. You close the book a moment later, gently setting it down on your stomach.

You turn to face Suna, who is on his phone. The two of you have been lazily lounging on Suna's vintage, drab olive couch for far too long.

To get his attention, you extend your leg to nudge Suna's thighs with the tip of your feet. He does not move, simply ignoring you as he impassively drags his thumbs across the phone screen.

You scrunch your nose at that. You lift your book up to your eyes again, your gaze flitting to where you left off. You get a couple of words in before you are forced to hear the doorbell ring again.

Groaning, you nudge him harder this time.

That seems to get his attention, seeing as he immediately winces, his hand reaching out to soothe the aching muscle.

"I'm going," he grumbles under his breath, as he stands up to check.

When you look up, you see his figure, only dressed in sweatpants. You're used to seeing that a lot these days, and you always take note of how well they cling to his body.

His bangs fall in front of his face as he crouches to rummage through the massive pile of dried clothes placed on the bean bag. No doubt, a result of him piling it up over the previous few weeks due to extended practice sessions.

You return to your reading. Your eyes flit across the page to find where you have left off. The now familiar and dreadful words catch your eyes, and you begin to read them before you hear more shuffling. You groan, your eyes leave your book, rising up to fix a glare on Suna's figure shuffling in, yet again.

“Wha—” your brows raise before a smile breaks across your face and you burst out into soft giggles.

Suna stands there, expression unamused. He seems to have worn your white tank top in a hurry. He places his hands on his hips as he glares holes through your skull.

You take a deep breath, blinking your eyes just a bit. That imagery awakened something visceral inside you. I mean, he looks really good.

Your hands almost immediately reach for your phone to take a picture of him. You capture one, two, three — three pictures, before he barges towards you.

Your eyes widen. Caught off-guard, you stagger in your movements as you attempt to hide your phone. You tuck it into your t-shirt on the spur of the moment. And you feel a soft thump, as it sits atop your boobs.

He stares down at you, deadpanning, “Now, why would that stop me?”

Shaking his head, he reaches down to grab you. You squeak and you start kicking him with full force.

Your shorts begin to skirt higher and higher as you jostle in place before his hand catches onto your ankles.

You jostle for a little longer, trying to get out of his grasp before giving up.

He waits for the defeated expression on your face before he smirks. He squats down in front of you, carefully letting go of your legs when he knows you've found your balance. You place them beside him so they're perfectly framing his squatting figure.

You look down at him, his heavy gaze meeting yours before he tentatively places his hand on your thigh.

"Mmph. Someone’s at the door," sighing, you remind him.

He hums, "Yeah." His thumb glides back and forth, caressing your exposed thigh.

He reaches down to kiss the fat on your thighs, gradually moving up to your inner thigh until he's met with the obstacle of your shorts.

His hands reach up your thigh to your waist, before they grab onto your waistband. He fiddles with it as he continues to leave soft kisses.

"They've been waiting for a while," you say, despite the fact that your legs instinctively spread wider for him.

"Then they can wait longer," he says as he nudges closer into your center and tightens his grip on your thighs.

You reach for his soft hair and let it flutter from your fingers, slowly caressing him as you push him deeper into you before he detaches from you.

And then… nothing. Nothing. He just gets up to his feet and walks away, towards the bean bag.

Your thighs feel abandoned, and the sensation of his hands on your skin lingers.

You cinch your eyebrows as you sternly say, “You will pay for this, Suna Rintaro.”

You put in the added effort of crossing your hands because you want him to know you're annoyed and very horny.

He takes your tank top off himself and tosses it to you, leaving your hand rushing to catch it.

You huff before your eyes land on his figure once again. He has put on a simple black t-shirt as he stands there smoothing his ruffled hair down.

He turns your way, "Can't wait, sweetheart." A smug smile adorning his face as he walks away.

—

Today is relatively nice but it’s been slow, slower than usual at least. Everything is drawling as you go. Even your brain.

You're walking home now, it’s breezy but the remnants of the afternoon heat envelop you this evening.

On your walk, you notice the often empty road is occupied by a group today. The group is led by two people – two girls who are holding hands as they walk languidly, shoulders bumping as they walk side by side. Behind them is a couple or, so you presume – the guy has his hands around her waist as she drags her feet heavily through the pavement. Her eyes stay focused on her shoes, before they suddenly flit up to find your face.

A moment later, she smiles at you.

You smile back at her with a little nod.

You keep watching them as they walk past you, taking their soft bubble of laughter and noise with them.

You feel a significant shift in the air as you open the door to your house. It’s warmer. The hair on your forearms rises up at the sudden shift. You walk in, discarding your shoes, and then dropping your keys into the burgundy glass bowl. You walk further in, your hands reaching to turn your lights on.

You think it’s fine if it’s a little warm inside tonight. Maybe you’ll go up to the roof when you’re done making dinner. It would feel nice to come back into the warmth after that.

You run your hand through your hair, and you cringe at the grease before you make your way to the shower.

—

You’re in the kitchen now. Your hair is loose, almost dry but still damp at the ends.

You feel the soft ache in your muscles from the long day as you stretch. Stifling a yawn, you start placing food ingredients onto your off-white kitchen slab. You’re halfway through when you hear the doorbell ring.

That's.... odd.

It's 11:57 pm, according to your phone. Your eyes flit up to the clock in the living room to reconfirm. It is 11:57 pm.

No one shows up unannounced at this hour. If anyone was to show up you would know in advance.

You run to your room and grab your pepper spray, as you hold your phone out with your other hand. Your emergency contacts are on display.

Sighing softly, you take tentative steps to your front door. You stop right in front of your door, trying to catch any sounds from outside.

You hear some rustling.

You take one step closer, and you hear soft, disembodied voices singing… Happy Birthday.

As you open the door, you scrunch your nose to a louder, but still soft rendition of "Happy Birthday" from your shivering friend, Yuri.

She is holding what appears to be a soft pink box, presumably containing a cake. Suna stands next to her, holding a bouquet of flowers.

Your features relax for a moment, before they contract all over again.

You put your phone in your pocket before slapping Suna's shoulders with no real force. His brows scrunch as his palm reaches for the hurt area.

"Who thought this was a good idea, I'm holding pepper spray," you glare at the two of them.

"Ah. I'm sorry, babe. I didn't think of that," she says, "but I really need to pee, so please please let me in. You can scold me later."

Your features soften once more before she impassively stresses, "Now!"

You open the door wide for her. She hands Suna the cake and rushes in.

Your eyes trail her figure before you turn to him. Your features soften at the sight of him. There’s barely any room to see his face with the flowers and the cake concealing his face.

His hands struggle to hold the flowers and the cake. He adjusts by moving his hands to accommodate both.

You can see his face a little better now. He offers a smile. A genuine smile, before he trails into your house, playfully singing, "Happy Birthday to you..."

—

You’re tired. You’re happy but you’re so tired. There’s an elusive sort of warmth to it. It’s sometime past 3 am, you’re wine-drunk and Yuri’s passed out in the hall as you wash the dishes.

You're humming a weary tune as the water drips from the closed tap. You don’t remember where it’s from but it’s been on your mind this entire week.

You scrub through the dishes diligently, one after the other before a noise from behind startles you out of your haze.

You turn and you’re conscious of Suna’s presence now. His sleeves are rolled up as he wipes the kitchen table clean. He raises his head for a brief moment, “Go on,” he says before he picks up the disinfectant to spray some onto the slab.

You continue humming as the two of you clean up.

—

You want nothing more than to pass out in your haze as you fall onto your warm bed. But you decide to stay up for a bit because Suna’s here on the other side of the bed.

He’s not here for any reason particularly... he’s just there to keep up with your muddled but thoroughgoing commentary. He adds insights every now and then, but he mainly focuses on peeling an orange for you.

You're speaking in fragments, it's vague and probably rubbish because your thoughts wander to him.

You think about how he feels like a friend today. Just a friend and it feels nice. It's been hard to define what you two have, you haven't been dwelling on it but it's nice to be reminded that he's your friend.

“I love you,” you say abruptly, but surely.

He doesn't say anything right away. In fact, he doesn't react at all.

"I love you," he says after a moment, and neither of you say anything else.

You stare at him as you smile, and he Huff's through his nose before he smiles back. A genuine smile, although it's worn out compared to when he first arrived tonight.

You flop back into your bed, your hands grabbing the bed sheets to pull over yourself. Suna sets the orange peels aside as he approaches you to help.

His hand gently shakes the top of your head, just above your forehead. "Goodnight" he says before the lights are turned off.

—

You hear some cars approaching distantly. Your eyelids flicker open, only to shut immediately after. It's still dark out.

A moment passes and the sounds aren't that distant anymore. They're nearby and getting closer, like a blur of light clearing out into a perfect image.

You eyes open again. They don't flicker shut this time. You're annoyed. Annoyed that your sleep was interrupted.

You're fully awake you feel a nauseous sensation of sweat and heat, even though it seems to be cold, temperature-wise.

You twist around in place, adjusting your blanket to let your body breathe, but it doesn't seem to work.

Defeated, you lay still on your bed as you stare at the blank ceiling. You turn your head.

Suna lies at an arm's length. You can't see his features clearly but with the faint streetlight seeping through the windows, you can see that he is sleeping peacefully.

He looks serene, in contrast to your own restlessness.

"Suna," you call out to him. Not particularly loud.

No response.

You try again, "Suna." You're a bit louder this time.

No response, again.

"Suna," you nudge him with your feet this time, and he's up in a swift. He turns to you, eyes wide awake.

He's always been a light sleeper, but especially during off-seasons because he sleeps in a lot so he's less sleepy at night. Often, he keeps you up to watch a movie, cook some food, play a card game, and sometimes fuck your brains out.

"What happened?" He asks.

"Nothing, I can't sleep." He doesn't say anything.

A brief moment later, he says, "Well, I can," as he turns his body away from you to faux a sleeping figure.

"Suna," you whine but your voice is a little hoarse.

He turns back to face you completely this time. "What do you want to do?"

You actually try to ponder over this but come to nothing after a minute or two.

"I don't know," you groan, as you adjust your blanket again.

He doesn't say anything after that. You don't either. The two of you just lay there — you as you stare up at the ceiling, and he stares at your faint figure in the dim light.

"Okay," you hear him say. "Come here."

"What," you make a noise of confusion before his hands grab your waist to pull you closer to him.

You have a deep sigh, as you try to look at him through the darkness.

He holds himself up on one hand, putting weight onto his forearm while his other hand reaches just beneath your t-shirt, right below your belly button. His hand lays warm against your skin.

He leans down, towards you. You can see this even in the darkness before his lips find yours.

You immediately reciprocate the kiss. His lips are hard on your mouth and you feel the molding of his mouth movie against yours.

He stops kissing you but doesn't move further away from your lips. You can feel his breath upon your face, right on the side of your nose.

He inhales sharply against your nose then moments later releases a shuddering breath as he slots his mouth against yours again.

When he pulls away, you feel Suna faintly on your lips. He's hovering, only an inch away.

He leans down again to press a kiss below your ear this time as his hand draws circles, barely scathing the hem of your shorts.

“You're hot,” he says as his hands reach down to cup your clothed cunt, as he applies the gentlest of pressure to your clit.

You swallow. “You can barely see me,” you say.

"That's not what I'm talking about, but you're still hot," he says. Your cheeks flush, as you scoff. "If I make you cum, will you go to sleep?"

"Hmm," you nod.

"Good, open up," he says, applying more pressure to your cunt. It has you opening your legs for him to give him more leeway.

He continues to rub you through the thin cotton fabric of your underwear. You know that you’re absolutely soaked, you can feel it as he continues with his ministrations and, you're certain he does too.

You scrunch your face a bit before a noise escapes from your mouth.

"Shh, try to stay quiet for me. Yuri's in the living room, remember?"

"Y-Yes," you try.

"Good," he places a peck on your lips before he reaches under your underwear.

It’s not long before you shudder and clamp your thighs around his hand. A wave of exhaustion immediately passes through your body, as your orgasm recedes.

His fingers come up to linger on your lower stomach, as you heave.

After some heavy breaths, you turn to him and kiss his jaw softly, "I'll go clean up.”

—

The seat you’re on is uncomfortable, and you’re cold. You should’ve carried your jacket.

You start to pick the sides of your nail. Fiddling with your rings, picking against your skin. Fiddling with your rings, picking against your skin.

You should’ve taken your time. You’re too early. You sigh; not stopping.

You look up again, after a few minutes, as you notice a herd of people swooping in to find seats. You take the bag sitting on your lap to place it onto the seat next to you, just in case.

You feel a presence looming beside you before he gets here. You turn your head, subtly, grinning softly once you see him.

“Sorry I’m late,” you hear him whisper against your ear as he takes the seat next to you, moving your bag to place it on his lap.

“S’okay,” you whisper back, slumping back into your seat, comfortably this time.

He doesn’t say anything else. The two of you just wait for the show to start, comfortably lost in your own bubbles.

“Ladies and gentlemen," a voice of a man, presumably old, interrupts. It jolts you out of your reverie. "The performance will begin in five minutes. For a better experience, we ask that you turn off your phones or put it on silent," the voice chimes off.

You look down, once more checking if your phone is on silent. After confirming, you start to fiddle with your rings. You pay close attention to the tiny stars that sit on your middle finger ring before it's obscured by Suna's hand sitting on your own.

You turn to face him, acutely aware that his hand still sits on yours.

“Didn’t bring a coat?” He asks, his hand is so warm against your own. You wonder if your rings sit cold against his hand. You wonder if he can feel your finger softly caressing his palm.

Your finger stills. “Forgot,” you say.

He releases your hand. "Sucks for you,” he says.

You roll your eyes in tandem. Your finger starts caressing your empty hand.

A few moments later, the lights dim, and you find yourself covered in Suna’s jacket.

The scene starts a moment after the curtains open; a yellow hue is cast upon the man. The man, he deeply sighs before he begins.

“It is a restless moment. She has kept her head lowered, to give him a chance to come closer."

Your hands pull Suna's jacket closer to your body.

"But he could not, for lack of courage. She turns and walks away.”

Your ears are then filled with the violin's lilting melody as you become startlingly immersed.

—

“I liked it,” Your body is swaying as you walk under the night sky, your shoulder barely brushing against Suna’s. He has his hands in his pockets as he keeps with your pace.

From where you are walking, you only have to tilt your head a bit to notice the mellow twinkle in his green eyes.

Your eyes leave from his eyes, fliting down to notice that his shirt is slightly frumpled, a result of spending too much time sitting.

Your eyes move up to the street you’re walking on, it’s barely filled with only a swarm of trees enveloping the road in front of you. You find only a handful of cars parked across every alternate house.

“It was depressing,” he says. “We knew it would end in a tragedy.”

“That’s probably why I liked it,” you add. “Doomed narratives and whatnot."

"I see the appeal,” he says. A moment later he adds, "Too bleak for my tastes though."

You scoff light-heartedly, "Too bleak for Suna Rintaro, is it?”

His hands reach out to pinch your cheek, which leaves you squealing, unseriously. He always was a soft one, despite his contrasting outwardly look. You reach out to pinch him on his hand, which makes him stop.

You gently massage your cheeks before the two of you keep walking down the moonlit street, legs growing weary with each step.

"Can we get a cab home? It’s cold," he says.

You repress the urge to say that it's your home. On some level, it feels like a home for two.

You pull his jacket off, and wrap it around him, pulling it closer you say, "Okay, let's get you home."

—

Your house, as it turns out, was freezing because you had left the big window in the living room open on accident. Fortunately, you always shut the door to your room, which is why you're sitting on your window sill, swaying your legs back and forth as you wait for the food you ordered.

Suna turns on the small lamp next to your bedside and turns it to face where you're sitting. Your eyes squint when it directly faces your face, he turns it over to face the window instead, after which he walks over to the switchboard and switches off the large light above your bed.

You find yourself intently staring at the source of the yellow hue that is illuminating the room. This light is always cozy and homey, like lavender scented bedsheets.

You don’t dwell on it. You don’t get to, because Suna’s flows into easy conversation about the play. It seems to have appealed to him in some way, even though he keeps complaining about it, he’s passionate about it.

You don't linger on it. You don't get to because Suna flows into a conversation about the play. It appears to have appealed to him in some way, and despite his complaints, he seems to be passionate about it.

You chuckle as you agree with him on a point he made. You’re not sure if you agree because you weren’t listening. You’re a bit preoccupied with the way he looks, hanging his head low in the glow of your lamp. He’s on his phone, presumably tracking your food, but he looks pretty.

It's not a newfound realization per se, but he's pretty in this moment, and this moment — it's pretty too. Like, oranges in the heat of the sunlight, or like blueberry cheesecake on a Thursday evening.

—

The soft thum in your head grows louder by the second as you commute back home. You’re starting to develop a bad headache, you can tell.

You reach out for your key far before you reach your door, you’re eager to slip into bed and sleep this off. Fiddling a bit, you get yourself inside. Carelessly discarding your shoes, throwing your bag onto the couch before you hear a faint sizzling coming from the kitchen.

As you curiously made your way into the kitchen, a peppery smell filled the air, making your stomach growl.

Your head continues throbbing against your skull, as you rush to find a seat.

You cross your legs to sit comfortably on the chair at the kitchen table before putting your head down on the table sideways, as you stare at Suna, and ask, "What are you making?"

Wordlessly, he sets down a plate in front of you, and then he serves you. It looks like an assortment of vegetables, and chicken. You say nothing, as you devour it whole.

Meanwhile, Suna monotonously finds a seat next to you, as he curiously watches you, his food remains untouched on his plate.

“Are you okay?”

Your mouth is full of food, so you choose not to speak. He waits patiently for you to finish swallowing and chewing.

“Head pain, not sure why,” you tell him. His nose scrunches in concern, but you assure him that you’ll sleep it off. He nods, still scrunching his nose as he watches you trail into your room.

When you wake up, you feel nauseatingly sweaty. You look down to see you’re still in your work clothes. You twist on the bed for a bit before you get up to take a shower.

After the shower, your trail into the living room where Suna’s watching a volleyball match. One of his own. Ah, he must be studying.

You decide to sneak into the kitchen and eat something, before you hear, “You’re up.”

“Sorry for just dozing off without saying much,” you say.

He walks up to you, and his hands reach for your face, hands tucking your hair back as he asks, “Feel better?”

You nod.

“I’ll get you some medicine from the cabinet? Have some before you sleep.”

“I’m fine, but I’ll have some before I sleep,” you squeeze his hands and make your way into the kitchen, a little startled by the intimacy of it all.

You can feel him follow right behind you.

“I’ll heat some food up for you,” he says, and you simply nod as you sit in the dining room.

You eat in silence before you’re halfway through, and you say, “Really want to get wine-drunk right now.”

“Not a good idea,” he says.

“I know,” you pout. He huffs, taking both your plates to wash. You don’t offer to do them this time. Maybe you’re too tired, maybe you will allow yourself to be coddled today.

You put your head down on the table as you hear the water turn on once he reaches the sink. It’s faint but you hear him hum as he does the dishes, and you find yourself smiling in your tired daze.

“Come on,” you find yourself being shaken, as you abruptly sit up.

“It’s okay, you fell asleep. I was just cleaning up,” he says, patting your head. “Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

You nod, wordlessly as you follow him. His hand holding onto yours, as he pulls you gently.

You plop yourself onto the bed, ready to fall asleep before he brings a white tablet, with a glass of water. You look up and drink down the tablet.

He places the glass on your bedside, and he’s about to walk away before you call out to him “Suna.” He turns to look at you, “Sleep with me?"

He doesn’t say anything, and a moment later, “I should probably get home actually. Practice starts again, tomorrow.”

You look up, blinking. “Right," you don't mention how your house is closer to his training club. You don't mention how some of his practice clothes are lying on his shelf.

“I’ll lock up. Don’t worry. You get some sleep.”

You shut your eyes, suddenly uncomfortable in your bed. You squiggle around trying to find the perfect spot but you're unable to. You eventually fall asleep, only after the medicine kicks in.

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