#ricky bowen has bpd

[hrtbrkwthrs]

i just started hsm the series and i can see how ricky has bpd

THANK YOU ‼️‼️‼️ spreading the ricky bowen bpd agenda!!!!!

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt 5 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18 and he and reader are both 18 and in their senior year!!

additioanlly we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot, so as the series goes on he'll start expressing more symptoms of mental illness and bpd, and he gets worse before he gets better. also obviously i'm not a professional and this is for entertainment purposes only, I have done research but PLEASE take this with a grain of salt or several.

!! contains spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 7.8k

genre: slice of life, hurt/comfort, smut

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: actually proof read thanks cici, anti nini/nini being a pick me, one sided angsty gina pining, reader has professional theatre experience, brief vague mention of your parents marriage falling apart, carlos is struggling, a few paragraphs of ricky spiraling about his mom/wondering if she ever loved them, ricky has some flashbacks about that, nini is a self centered bitch, nini writes sad songs about heartbreak in her little mitchie's song book, reader was in matilda annie and hairspray when she was younger (unspecified as to who), one good boy, a GRATUITUOUS amout of titties/nip play, partially clothed sex, cockwarming/cum plugging, subby boarderline puppy boy ricky, ricky's in subspace a little bit with you, cuddling as aftercare, ricky's mommy issues are so bad (sorry freud), slowburn red x ashlyn, nini is an unprofessional menace

summary: after a fun, only somewhat chaotic photoshoot, you're gearing up for the blocking of when there was me and you, until rehearsal grinds to a halt with the release of some troubling news. ricky finds solace in your arms once again, and is enamored with the way you always know how to solve whatever problems are thrown your way.

song recs: I can't handle change - roar, truth justice and songs in our key - hsmtmts cast, you're my world - atlas

a/n: I finished the second half of this in like a day because I was so anxious about a check up because I hate medical stuff but the chapter's done and it went well. I'm getting my wisdom teeth out next week so I'll probably be so busy distracting myself from that I knock out like 5 more chapters /hj

anyway this was supposed to be short and it's almost 10k cause I have no self control lol anyway ENJOY <333

tags: @yesv01 @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @hopefullhearts @pikzel @demirunner @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames

You exit the girls dressing room, running towards Seb, who just left the boys dressing room. 

"Oh my god!" You exclaim, floored by his costume. It's pink and sparkly, and fits perfectly - even the heels. It's everything he was imagining. 

"I know!" He replies, matching your energy perfectly. You’re so happy that Seb loves his costume. Miss Jenn even added in a subplot and solo about Ryan finding himself beyond being Sharpay’s brother. He’s absolutely killing this role, breathing new life into it, and you couldn’t be happier for him. He’s still a little nervous, so you and your friends are making sure to hype him up.

You hear it before you see him, a hush falls over the room as everyone on stage around you falls silent. Someone tries (and fails) to hold back a loud snicker while a few people gasp.

“Alright, let’s do this!” 

You turn around at the familiar sound of Ricky’s voice, and he’s happy he got your attention. He’s met with a myriad of reactions at the questionably styled wig, but he only cares about yours. He’s only looking for yours. He gives you a look, a little quirk of his eyebrow that silently asks what you think. You smile radiantly, overjoyed to see him in costume for the first time. You feel like a mother sending her kids off to the first day of school. You have the urge to get pictures before the day is over. 

Standing downstage of you, Nina stares at him with her mouth open in a dramatic gasp, eyes following him as you move closer to each other. 

“Oh… my… god. There is so much to talk about.” She says. She watches Ricky closely, waiting for some kind of reaction to her words, but his eyes are glued on you. She tries again, letting out another very loud laugh, “I literally can’t even.” 

“I think he looks great!” you say with a sincere bubbling smile. You reach up, adjusting the alignment of his wig, the way the hair falls. He’s sure it looks much better than it had when he’d tried to put it on by himself. You tug gently on his hoodie strings, making them even lengths. He watches you closely while you do. He loves the feeling of you fixing his hair and clothes, he wishes there were more things for you to fix. You smile up at him, and irritation prickles in Nina’s chest at how close you are to him. 

“You gotta get the hair flip down,” you say, jerking your head to the side in example. He follows your lead, copying the gesture, and you go back and forth like that for a minute, quoting Troy Bolton and making each other laugh. Your eyes widen as realization strikes. 

"Oh my god, I know what this reminds me of…" you gasp, pulling out your phone to search for something, “I’ll text it to you.”

"Okay…" Ricky chuckles, smiling in anticipation and watching you type. You glance up when you hear Carlos telling Seb how amazing he looks. You pause typing and walk a few feet closer to them. 

"I know, he looks fucking amazing!" You say with a radiant smile, and Carlos thoroughly agrees. 

Spotting an opening, Gina makes her way over to Ricky. 

"Wow," she says with a smile, really taking him in. "You look great, Ricky." Just as she’s working up the nerve to playfully nudge him on the arm, he smiles, motioning over to where you’re talking to Carlos and Seb.

“Yeah, she said the exact same thing,” he smiles, greeting you as you walk back over, “Gina agrees with you.”

“I know!” you smile, radiant, “Not a lot of people can pull off the whole 2007 Mitchel Musso look, but you’re really making it work.” 

His heart pounds when you talk like that. Your words, your praise, your attention give him a sort of high he’s never felt from anyone else before. He craves it, and he always craves it more than he expects to.

“You think so?” he asks. Part of him knows he’s fishing for your attention, but the sweet look you give him, so excited to see him in costume for the first time makes it worth it. 

“Yes!” you exclaim, vibrancy rubbing off on him, “You look fantastic, Ricky.” 

His heart pounds loud in his chest, cheeks flushing at your words. Behind you, Gina’s stomach sinks. Old feelings of discouragement get more and more stirred up inside her the longer she stands there, watching the way he looks at you. It’s almost too much to bear by the time she cuts her losses, making up an excuse about getting something from her bag that she’s not sure either of you hear. 

Nina watches this, her gaze flicking between you and Gina. A gross feeling coats her stomach. She expected to stay friends with Ricky, expected to still be close to him. More importantly she didn’t expect so many girls to just throw themselves at him. It’s disrespectful. It’s disrespectful to how long they were together. She and Ricky have been friends since kindergarten, they have history. They’ve known each other forever, and… it’s just funny, she thinks, that you and Gina think you can just swoop in and replace her like that. Before she can fester in this feeling much longer, Big Red has everyone line up. 

“Okay, Chad,” he calls, pointing stage left, “Taylor, Troy, Gabriella, Sharpay, Ryan… good.” 

Everyone gets lined up and spaced out correctly, as Red lines up the shot. 

“Jump on the count of three.” he states, and begins to count down. The sound of everyone’s feet hitting the floor at very different times echoes through the auditorium. Red squints at the result on camera, which is nothing short of a complete mess. 

“Wait, what happened?” he mutters. 

“Where to begin.” 

“Where do I start…”

You and Ricky say at the same time. You lean forward a little to share a look, a silent conversation exchange you both understand, both of you leaning past Nina to do so. She looks between you for that split second, then Ricky gets right back in line without even looking at her. 

“I think you went early,” Seb says to you.

“Wait,” Gina interjects, “are we jumping on three or after three?”

“Yeah, the count of three. Ready?” Red replies, doing nothing to clear up the confusion. 

“Red,” you say, and he looks up at you. Ricky watches you with a little smile, knowing you’ll no doubt know exactly what to do to get things back on track. “Are we jumping on the third or fourth beat?”

“Third,” he says, like it should be obvious, “on the count of three.” You nod, and turn to the others. “It’s one two jump.” you clarify, hopping as you do so to demonstrate. Your hair bounces and your skirt flounces and your heels make a little clicky noise as you land, and Ricky thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He’s ready to try again, now fully confident the photos will turn out perfect thanks to you. Next to you, Seb lets out a puff of air. 

“I think I broke a heel…” he says, and you turn to take a look. Something itches at the corner of your mind, then it clicks. 

“Hold on, I saw some glue back here somewhere…” Red flashes you a thumbs up as you run into the wings, searching for the bottle of gorilla glue you remember seeing earlier. After digging around in the stage right wing for a minute, you see it on a shelf, next to what looks like a bucket of old paint. You stretch up as far as you can, but even in these heels, you can’t reach it. Before you look around to see if there’s something you can knock it down with, you turn back to the stage. 

“Ricky?” you call. He looks over at the sound of your voice like a puppy, scurrying over to you without a second thought. 

“Yeah?” he smiles. You point up to where the glue is.

“I found it up there, but I can’t…” 

“Oh, I got it.” he smiles, touching your arm. He reaches up and hands you the mostly full bottle. You thank him, squeezing his arm appreciatively.

“Thank god you’re tall,” you chuckle. His chest puffs up at your words, a soft heat creeping up to his cheeks. He watches you as you and Kourtney fix Seb’s shoe, how cute you look when you’re focused. 

“There,” you state, “as long as the glue holds…” Seb puts his heel back on, and does a few test jumps. The glue seems to hold, and Kourtney sends you back in line, adjusting one last part of Seb’s costume. You type something into your phone, texting it to Ricky as you head back to the front of the stage. Ricky catches the last half of what Carlos is saying. He’s clearly frustrated at the lack of productivity.

“...You leave the earth, you land.” 

“We just need to get back on the same page,” you say. Ricky pulls out his phone at the familiar sound of your ringtone he set. You must have sent him the thing you remembered. As he passes by, Nina sees your name at the top of his phone, framed by hearts. His screen is full of texts between you, but the last text Nina sent him got left on read? Ricky never leaves her on read. She scoffs at how oblivious he is to your blatant attempts to steal his attention from her.  

“Uh,” she says loudly, a performative smile on her face as she holds back a laugh when he gets closer to her, “I can’t look at Ricky, is that a problem?” 

He doesn’t look up, instead he looks at the text you sent him. It’s an image accompanied by the caption ‘you today’, and when it finally loads, he recognizes it instantly as a gif from the Elijah Wood ‘will you wear wigs’ interview. It catches him by surprise, and a loud screaming laugh tears from his throat. It’s so sudden, so sincere it brings a laugh out of you too. Everyone else either starts laughing with you, or looks completely shocked. 

He slaps a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the noise without much success. A smug satisfaction settles over Nina before Ricky starts to type something into his phone. He starts laughing again, tucking his phone back in his pocket, and when he shares a look with you she realizes it wasn’t her that made him laugh like that. It doesn’t sit well with her. You’re biting your lip, trying in vain not to laugh too loudly or obviously while everyone stares at the two of you, small chuckles echoing through the room. 

“Okay.” Carlos says curtly, very clearly done with this bullshit, “Let’s take five.” 

“Thank you, five.” you say automatically, and Ricky puts his hand on your back as you start to walk offstage to get some water. 

“On five or after five?” he mutters, basking in the laugh you let slip out. Behind you, Nina lets out a shrill laugh at the comment, clapping her hands together in a way she’s sure will get Ricky’s attention. Her smile grows stale and evaporates as you sit next to each other without looking back once. 

“So, why are you supposed to say thank you five?” Ricky asks as you take a sip from your water bottle, today filled with lemon and cucumber slices. 

“It’s a call and response so the crew knows you got their instructions.” you say. He nods, and you continue, “You usually say it after a break is announced, when places are called, when they tell you how long until curtain, that kind of thing.” you conclude. Your knowledge about theatre never fails to amaze him. Hearing you talk about it makes him want to learn even more. 

“When I was in Annie it seemed like something technical was always going wrong, so the call times were all over the place. It was a hot mess, but it was still so fun.” You reminisce with a smile. That’s not the first show you mentioned you’ve been in, Ricky recalls. He can tell you have… probably the most experience of anyone here, but he doesn’t think he’s ever asked how many shows you’ve been in. He would have remembered if you told him. 

“How many shows have you been in?” he asks, watching your expression carefully.

“Uh…” you look over to where your castmates sit scattered about, then back to Ricky. You give him that look that means you have something to tell him when it’s just the two of you. “A lot. It’s a long story, though, I’ll tell you later.” You finish in a hushed voice. He loves when you talk to him like that, he loves the closeness between you in these moments. 

You know you should probably mention you used to do professional theatre in New York before you moved here, but you always hesitate to bring it up. The last thing you want to do is sound like one of those theatre kids. Besides, you haven’t been in the professional circuit since middle school. You stopped in between shows a few years back when your parents' marriage got really bad and your dad left, and you couldn’t exactly perform while moving across the country, but you’re so deeply glad to be back in theatre now that you’re settled in. 

Your mom was also worried about how much pressure was on you, being in a professional environment so young. She promised you that after you graduate, once you’re older, she’ll drive you all the way back to New York herself if you still want to do theatre professionally by then. You couldn’t argue with her, it was a lot to deal with that young, and your shitty dad didn’t make it much easier. She’s been able to watch the joy return, see your face light up when you tell her about how rehearsal is going, the progress you and the cast and crew are making, and you can’t deny she made the right call. 

You think it’s good for you to act just because you love it for a while. You want the full suburban high school theatre experience, so if that means keeping a low profile and not being one of those douchebags who always brags about “doing professional shows” then you’re happy to keep that under wraps, but as you watch Ricky’s face while he rambles to you about how much more fun it is to be in costume than he expected, you feel like you can tell him. He knows you well enough to know your intentions, know that you’re not bragging about it. 

At their next rehearsal, Red is relieved at how relieved Ricky seems. 

“It worked! I just… I really made sure she knows how much I like her, and…” Ricky laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you, for the advice, bro.” he lets out another bubbling chuckle, his mind clearly somewhere else. Red squints, wondering if it means what he thinks it means. 

“Did you guys…” he starts slowly, not even needing to finish the sentence. The flustered look on Ricky’s face is the only answer he needs. 

“Uh…” he says through yet another flustered laugh, the feeling of your mouth around him, the way you taste still fresh in his mind. He locks eyes with you from across the room, and feels his pulse speed up. “Yeah. I’ll fill you in later.” 

Red playfully punches Ricky’s arm.

“I’m glad it went well! Cause I care about you, but also because I live vicariously through you.” They both laugh.

“Believe me, there’s plenty to catch you up on.” Ricky says, a wistful smile on his face, watching you talk to Natalie. 

“Maybe we should get started. Or at least start warming up.” you say. Everyone’s wondering why Miss Jenn and Carlos aren’t there yet. You can sense her hesitance. It's not surprising, this show is new territory for almost everyone. 

"You're the stage manager, you're third in command when Miss Jenn and Carlos aren't here. Why don’t you and Seb get everyone warming up, that way when they get here we can jump right in.” you offer, and she nods, gaining a little confidence. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” she says, walking over to Seb, who’s sitting at the piano. You’re sure the only thing Miss Jenn and Carlos would hate more than starting rehearsal late is wasting time, especially with how tight of a schedule you’re on. Natalie and Seb are discussing said warmups when Carlos enters in a hurry, clearly frazzled, announcing that Miss Jenn won’t be here. One look past his chipper facade and you know whatever’s going on his bad.  

“Miss Jenn had a… small personal matter to attend to, and won’t be here today.” in spite of the confidence he’s trying to project, you can see right through it. You’re sure the others can too. 

“Is everything alright?” Nina asks, only now noticing that Carlos seems off. He laughs a forced casual laugh. 

“Everything is fine.” he says, trying to convince himself, and you know that this is really bad. The next few minutes are spent arranging the blocking for when there was me and you. He introduces it as a forest of boys, and you think it could work really well if you execute it right. Instead of a giant poster of the basketball team to sing to, something in a tableau style will translate much better to the stage. It’s dynamic and expressive, while still making the same point, keeping the integrity of the message made in the movie. It’s also vaguely reminiscent of when Meg sings to the statues and the muses in Hercules, which adds to the whole Disney magic feeling. Overall you think it’s a great plan.

You’re about to express this, when you hear an all too familiar voice pipe up.

“Uh, Troy just broke Gabriella’s heart,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes, having a feeling you know where this is going, and Nina continues, "why would she want to see four more versions of him?"

You're somehow still shocked that she not only can't recognize that her character would handle a breakup differently than she would, but now she's trying to change a fundamental point in the show for no reason. Ashlyn, Kourtney, and even Natalie jump in and agree with her. This isn't the first time Nini has used her character as a thin veil to talk shit, and you're amazed at how bad she is at treating Gabriella like a character she's playing. For someone who wanted the lead so badly, she doesn't seem to care too much about it now. In all your years of acting, you don't think you've ever seen someone so unable to create a distinction between what they would do and what their character would do, and it’s very fucking weird. 

Before she gets literally everyone else to agree with her, you jump in. 

"Actually, I love this, Carlos. I think it’s really dynamic and effective without taking away from the song. Also," you turn to Nina, "it was 2006, so girlbossing your way through heartbreak wasn't really a thing. Plus, you're right; she did get her heart broken, she should be allowed to be sad about it." 

"Yeah," Ricky agrees, looking over at you when you speak, "totally dynamic." He loves the way you talk about theatre, how brilliantly you analyze details or staging and character interpretations. He wishes he could hear you talk more about it, and makes a mental note to pick your brain later. 

Nina looks at you, mouth agape, as Carlos gestures to you. Another perfect example of Ricky following you around like a lost puppy. 

"Thank you, Sharpay, exactly." Carlos states as Nina scoffs, shocked at your response. He lets out a small sigh, grateful for the backup. "Gabriella is heartbroken, she can't stop thinking about Troy, about the guy she thought he was."

Ricky walks back over to his seat to set down his script. He leans down close to you before he does, wanting your opinion before he shares the idea he got. 

"Maybe she could do, like, an acoustic guitar version. You know, strip it down." His voice is quiet, meant only for the two of you. You smile at him with such warmth before your gaze flickers to Nina. You hum, considering. 

"I think you're the only one who could pull off an acoustic guitar ballad in the middle of such a… high energy show." A small, knowing laugh is shared between you, and as every kind word from your mouth does, your message comes across loud and clear, bringing a warmth to his cheeks and a puff to his chest. A rush of good happy chemicals hits his brain. As he heads back to his box, he ruminates on the sentiment. Not only do you think he could totally pull it off, you think he’s the only one who could. He fights a smile, trying to pay attention to the suggestions everyone starts giving Carlos. 

“Or,” Kourtney jumps in, “she could be surrounded by a forest of supportive sisters.” she shares a look with Nina, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. You hope it’s not only obvious to you that no one’s even really talking about the show anymore. A few other girls agree, and you can tell Carlos is losing patience. You walk across the room to check on him when he snaps.

“Okay, guys, this is not a democracy!” he yells, hands falling to his side before one rests on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, sincere and quiet, but not cloying, with a situationally appropriate level of concern on your face. 

“Look, it’s not that deep,” Nina says, and you’re glad she’s finally backpedaling - or at least trying to - even though it took her this fucking long to realize she should. “We can just wait till Miss Jenn comes back and-” 

“Well, she’s not here, and I don’t know if she’s ever coming back!” Carlos spits, relieved to finally get the distressing information off his chest. 

Ricky’s stomach sinks, and he’s met once again with that disgusting cold feeling frying his nerves. It’s been a while since he had felt it this strong, this fresh. There were bad moments, sure. Like when he caught the family portrait of the three of them in the laundry room. He felt so sick looking at his mom’s smile. It seemed so genuine, and he hasn’t been able to stop questioning its integrity since. He’s spent every spare moment he’s not thinking about you or the show reanalyzing every conversation, every interaction, every passive aggressive remark and dish towel thrown too hard against the counter top, trying desperately to figure out if hers was the face of a housewife slowly losing her sense of self, unsupported, taken for granted and growing resentful, finally pushed to the edge.

Or did she never love them to begin with? Was everything out of obligation? Did she make him tea when he was sick or stressed or sad because she wanted to or because she had to? Maybe she loved them at some point, when he was too little to remember it clearly, or even know what he was supposed to be looking for. Old memories flood back, and he finds himself scouring them for a time when her tea might have started tasting different. Maybe that’s when she stopped loving him. Loving them. 

He’s dragged into the undertow without warning, breath knocked out of his lungs by the force of it all, by the spike of anxiety that shoots up and stays there at the thought of Miss Jenn leaving. 

“Wait, what?” he manages to choke out after that split second of spiraling, his stomach churning. Your hand finds and grabs on tight to his before he even speaks. You’re next to him in an instant, and he latches onto you, for once feeling like he has a buoy in this relentless sudden storm he always seems to get dragged into. Right when he thinks it’s going to be okay, right when he starts to get a handle on everything, he’s knocked off his feet.

You hold his hand with both of yours as he steps off his box, tighter and warmer and more reassuring than anything, and you rub your thumb against his skin while Carlos begins to tell you guys everything that’s going on. You listen with rapt attention, while keeping a close eye on Ricky. Everything is deteriorating so fast, and soon Nina grabs her backpack, storming to the exit and claiming she ‘needs a minute’. Kourtney follows her, then everyone else, and you feel Ricky’s hand shake in yours. His breaths get quicker as he watches everyone around him, his castmates, his friends, leave without a second thought. 

“Rehearsals are officially canceled until further notice!” Carlos calls out, before leaving, defeated and fighting tears.

You continue to brush your hand over Ricky’s. The gesture is comforting. 

“Well,” Gina says, grabbing her bag, “that fell apart fast.” 

“Nothing fell apart.” you and Ricky say at the same time, yours sure and deliberate, his desperate to be true. Gina lets out a singular breathy laugh, unable to ignore how in sync the both of you are. 

“Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll work this out.” you state, and Ricky latches onto your words, how assured you seem, throwing himself and all the belief within him that you’re right. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, “it’s all going to be okay.” 

Gina’s stomach twists at the way he repeats your words. 

“Do you know something I don’t?” she asks Ricky. You send her a look, clearly asking what the fuck. Before you can call her out, Ricky jumps in. 

“She’s Miss Jenn. She’s unstoppable. The whole show’s unstoppable.” 

“But, what if-” she ignores your glares, demanding she knock it off. “What if it does stop?”

Ricky squeezes your hand tighter. 

“Gina-” you say, a warning tone to your voice.

“Let’s not go there…” he says, a begging tone to his voice. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “let’s not.” You turn back to Ricky, your free hand resting on his arm, rubbing gently. He wants to cry - both at the situation you’re both struggling to deal with, and the catharsis, the comfort he feels when you touch him like this. 

“The show must go on.” You say firmly, “There’s no chance something as trivial as a mistake on Miss Jenn’s resume is enough to do any actual harm to the show.” there’s a light chuckle to your voice, one that he mirrors.

“Yeah,” he agrees, needing you to continue, which you do.

“When I was in Matilda when I was younger, the entire basement full of props got flooded the week of opening night.”

His eyes widen in concern, and you continue. 

“Everything was soggy, and completely covered in mildew by the time we got back to the theater. You know what we did?” you ask Ricky rhetorically, who’s looking at you so intensely, hanging on your every word. “We paired down. We went for an abstract, minimalistic set design. Even threw in some shadow play for effect until the props and sets were all fixed.”

“Really?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you state, “and the critics loved it. They were raving about how genius it was, a brilliant way to showcase Matilda’s imagination and view of the world around her.” you say, quoting one of the more memorable reviews. 

“So,” you say with a new lightheartedness to your voice brought on by the anecdote, “the point is, everything will be fine.” your sincerity is palpable, and you watch as he lets out a small, shallow breath. Gina doesn’t miss the way he relaxes when you put your hand back on his shoulder, the way he mirrors your expressions and body language and words without even realizing. He’s beginning to calm down from the worst possible news they could have gotten just because he’s with you. 

“Y’know what?” she says, swallowing the lump in her throat, “I’m gonna head out, so…” she points toward the door. Ricky glances up, then back at you.

“Get home safe.” you say with a polite wave before continuing to reassure him. You talk a little more, and you’re relieved that you can see he’s starting to feel better. The distraction is helping him, you realize, as you stroll around the empty theater hand in hand. “Why don’t you show me that guitar version of when there was me and you?” He laughs nervously.

“I don’t know…” he mutters. A hint of concern flashes over your face. If he doesn’t even want to play guitar, it must be really bad.

“C’mon, pretty please?” you say, causing butterflies to swirl in his chest, “I want to hear it stripped down, and you’re so good at guitar…” 

He lets out a flustered laugh, butterflies fluttering in his chest as he accepts the guitar you hand him, taking a seat. You watch him attentively as he begins playing the first chords, humming along.

In the hallway, a few feet away from the door, Nina sighs. 

She can’t bring herself to walk away, not this time, not when she knows he’s probably wallowing,  waiting for her. Letting out a loud, dramatic sigh, she decides to be the bigger person. She turns and walks back to the rehearsal room, hovering in the doorway when she hears familiar strumming. She watches Ricky, his back to her while he plays. She starts to enter the room, pausing when she sees that he’s singing to someone. Not just anyone, but you. You’re looking at him fondly, chin resting in your hand. She doesn’t have time to roll her eyes before you start singing along, noting how his voice stops shaking when yours mingles with his. 

She’s having the worst day ever, EJ keeps texting her, and there’s Ricky, serenading you. She can’t even talk to him alone for five minutes without you hovering. She feels sick. She hates this, hates the way you ogle at him. She should be the one in there, the one duetting with him.. She’s known him since kindergarten for god’s sake, she has the right to comfort him. Tears welling up in her eyes, she storms off, pulling her song book from her backpack to pour everything into its pages. She’s ready to fill it with songs of betrayal and heartbreak. 

After some more singing, wandering around, and examining old props from former shows, you and Ricky find yourselves on a stiff couch that’s been hidden in the back of the prop room for ages. Just being around props, costumes, old playbills and other paraphernalia makes Ricky feel better. There’s a restorative quality in theaters he never knew about until now. It’s like he can pretend that nothing is different than it was yesterday, like everything is still the same. 

“Can… can we just stay here for a while?” he asks, hugging a basketball and leaning into you. 

“Yeah,” you say softly, “‘course. As long as you want.” you press a kiss to the top of his head, and you both settle deeper into the couch, rough woven texture rubbing against your arms. He rests his head on your shoulder while you play with his hair, telling him more stories from your time in Matilda. Most notably how nice the person who played Miss Trunchbull was, and how tangled everyone’s hair was from being teased and styled so much. It smelled more like hairspray than when you were actually in Hairspray. 

You trace shapes on his back while you talk. His breath is warm on your neck, and he can smell your perfume, the same peachy perfume you wore to homecoming. He’s flooded with memories of how beautiful you were that night, how you touched him, how you tasted. He lets out a soft sigh at the memory. He’s craving more than holding you, he needs to be closer, needs more. He needs to be inside you. He gives a fleeting thought to your location; it’s late, and he’s sure no one will come sniffing around the prop room in the guts of the theatre department. It’s enough justification for him, and he indulges his desires, beginning to press kisses to your face and neck. He grabs at your waist, drawing an anticipatory giggle. The noise soothes him, and he wants more. 

“I-” he tries not to let his voice waver, but you know him so well by now it’s impossible to hide, “...just need you close. Need you with me.” he sighs into your skin, desperate for your smell, your touch, you you you. You rub his back, your touch so cathartic it makes him want to cry.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ricky.” you state gently, and he latches onto your words, wanting desperately to believe them. You pull him in to kiss you more, and he shoves his tongue past your lips, sighing into your mouth at how much better he already feels from that alone. He was right, he really does just need to be inside you, be as close to you as possible. 

He climbs on top of you as you lace your hands through his hair, embracing the taste of your tongue against his. He lets out a shuddering sigh as you place your soft thigh between his, and he grinds against you, unable to stop his hips from rutting into you. He whines at how good it feels, how much better you make him feel. He tugs at the waistband of your pants, and you smile a little at how eager he is for you. You reach into a pocket deep in your bag, zipped up tight, to grab a condom while he makes quick work of shimmying both your pants down.

“Will- will you put it on for me?” he whines quietly into your neck, and you nod, humming and running your hand through his hair in response. 

He’s already moaning and you’ve barely started to put it on. He’s so needy, so desperate for you that it brings a smile to your face. You can’t deny how cute you find it. He pushes into you, trying not to go too fast, and the air is knocked from both your lungs as he works his way deeper into your wet, welcoming cunt. He fucks you needy and desperate, whining cutely like a little puppy as he humps into you. He grinds his pelvis against your clit, needing to be closer to you, and the noises you let out are like a warm shower after a long day.

“F-fuck, Ricky, just like that… good boy…” 

He speeds up, whining and panting into your mouth as you praise him, and he feels little tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes. Both for how fucking bad today has been, and how fucking good you make him feel. Your touch, your words, the way you call him a good boy and reassure him as he tries to pull you closer to him even though you’re already as close as you can possibly get, it’s all so addictive. You’re so wet; tighter and warmer and more reassuring around him than anything. You feel so soothing, like aloe on a sunburn, and he wants more and more and more of it. 

The head of his cock keeps rubbing against that spongy part inside you, drawing out more gasps and moans, more noises that make his heart pound. He can’t get enough. He’s grabbing at your clothes and clinging to you, begging, whining your name over and over like a prayer. He feels you tighten up around him, feels the way your legs shake, and it sends him over the edge. He had been sucking a hickey into your chest, but now his teeth and tongue graze your skin as he moans, rutting deeper and deeper into you as he spills all of himself into your welcoming embrace. 

A few moments when he would normally pull out and get up, instead he buries his face in your neck. “Can we… just stay here for a minute?” 

There’s still a fragile quality to his voice, and you begin running your fingers through his hair again, before pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“Sure,” you say, nodding. You play with his hair as he sucks on your tits, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. He runs his tongue over the soft flesh, reveling in the taste, the way your walls flutter around him when he plays and sucks on your hardened bud. He finds comfort in the gesture, the way you taste. You stay like that for a little while, and Ricky feels his brain go fuzzy with how good you feel and taste, how sweet you are to him. If he could live between your legs - and with his face in your tits - he would in a heartbeat. 

Your phone buzzes, pulling you slightly out of the warm little bubble you’ve created. It’s Ashlyn. You know she’s upset, she has to be after today. Ricky freezes, looking up at you to see what you do. You bring your finger to your lips, gesturing for him to stay quiet, then place your hand on the back of his head, bringing him back down to your soft chest. 

You pick up the phone, chatting with Ashlyn, listening as she vents and worries to you, gently scratching Ricky’s back the whole time. You have such a casual, nurturing energy, and being squished between your tits, still deep inside you while you idly chat on the phone makes Ricky’s head spin. He can’t get enough of you, can’t stop thinking about how good you treat him, how nice your attention feels. When he wants a little more, he’ll grind his hips against your twitching clit, just to feel the way you throb and squeeze around him, to hear the little hitch in your breath that you try to conceal. 

You send him a warning look, but you can’t keep a straight face, not when he’s looking at you like that. 

“Hey, what if we did a song?” you ask into the phone, Ashlyn silent on the other end as she listens, “Like, what if we did a huge, original, show stopping number, and, like… a flashmob at the meeting tomorrow. You know, show them what we can do when she’s the one directing us.” 

“I… love that. Oh my god, I’m dead. Yes.” she states, and you smile. “I- god, I’m already getting ideas. Uh… okay, can you meet me at Big Red’s?” she spitballs, excited to work on this.

“Yeah,” you say, gaze flickering back down at Ricky, “we’ll be over in a few, text everyone else - we’ll need as much backup as we can get.” you chuckle. 

“Oh,” she says, a knowing tone to her voice, “is… Ricky with you?” Dammit. Now you have to play this off.

“Uh, yeah, we were just-” you trail off, fighting a giggle as he grinds against you. He chuckles into your tits, feeling them jiggle around his mouth.

“We were just hanging around the theater,” you finish, “he didn’t want to leave yet.” 

“Yeah,” she says, thinking about earlier, regretting leaving so soon, “tell me about it. Anyway, get here as soon as you can so we can work on this.” 

She hears a light, flustered giggle distantly through the speaker, and knows it’s him making you laugh. She could let it slide, but calling you out is too tempting.

“...Hi, Ricky.” she says. It’s silent for a minute. 

“Hi, Ashlyn.” his voice is sheepish, and she hears you both giggle. She’s glad you know she knows you’ve been hanging out together, flirting too, no doubt. You hang up shortly after, then begin the process of finally detangling yourselves from each other, and cleaning up enough to look presentable. Ricky’s chest squeezes when you adjust his hoodie strings and fix his hair. He returns the caring gesture by helping you to his car, your legs still wobbly. 

By the time you get to Red’s, Ashlyn already has some lyrics she’s working on, and part of a chorus. Red looks at Ricky, nodding toward you. Ricky looks at him pointedly, gaze flicking to Ashlyn, noting the flustered look on Red’s face. Red gives him a look that screams HAHAHA WHAT? NO! Why is it obvious?? Ricky makes a mental note to grill him on it later. 

They watch you and Ashlyn work together, brainstorming lyrics and choreo as everyone else arrives, and Ricky is thrilled to see you in your natural habitat like this. By the time everyone else is there, you, Ashlyn, and Carlos have made great progress, with everyone else helping to bounce around ideas and iron out details. 

“You know,” Nina starts, a performative tone of wisdom to her voice, “I think we should go for a power ballad.” 

“Uh…” you look over at Ashlyn, who you can tell is feeling defensive over the work you’ve already done. You look at Carlos, who doesn’t seem to want to do a power ballad either. You choose your words carefully.

“I totally see where you’re coming from, a power ballad would be really impactful, but I think in this case we need to go for something with more wow factor.”

“A power ballad has wow factor!” she says. Even she realizes how flimsy that sounds. She lets out a contemptuous sigh, “But a power ballad would show how much she means to us.” she’s clearly trying to tug on the heartstrings, and it’s not working on you. You check the clock. You don’t have time to debate with her. 

“Realistically,” you start, a decisive tone to your voice, “I don’t think we have time to rework all this into a power ballad. I think we should stick with the direction we’re going in, and commit-”

“Oh, so you want to play it safe?” she asks, seeming like she caught you in something, “I thought music… was about taking risks.” 

You hold back the biggest sigh of your life, when Ricky jumps in behind you. 

“I think we should listen to her.” 

Nina starts to thank him, the sees that he’s pointing to you. The words dry up in her throat.

“She is like,” he continues, “the most talented person I’ve ever seen. She really knows what she’s talking about, guys.”

Everyone seems to agree, except for Nina. You can feel the pissy aura radiating off her already. You send him a grateful look, then turn back to her, trying to be professional.

“A power ballad is still a great idea-” 

“No, no.” she says, passive aggressive and dismissive, “you go ahead. I’ll just be quiet.” everything about her is making your irritation spike, but you know you don’t have time to babysit her or her feelings. If she thinks she can make you feel bad for that, then she’s wrong. 

“Okay, as long as you’re sure.” You state, before getting back into it with Ashlyn. 

As soon as you finish holding out the final note, you’re met with cheers that turn into roaring applause. Your mom and Ricky’s dad both advocated for Miss Jenn, tipping the scales for Principal Gutierrez to agree, letting her keep her job. Ricky finds you immediately, picking you up and spinning you around. He holds you so tight, and you both giggle, elated. You can’t believe it really worked. When he pulls away you can see it on him, the electric energy, the rush of a good performance. He doesn’t even need to say anything because you’re feeling the same thing, and the silent understanding is shared between you.

“This will be nothing compared to opening night.” you say, your smile infectious, and he can’t wait. Like, he genuinely can’t wait for opening night. He’s never been more motivated for anything than he has for this, performing alongside you again. He’s gotten a taste, and he wants more. 

Nina hugs Seb. When she pulls away, she sees you and ricky talking animatedly - and very close together. She deflates at the sight before her. You’re holding each other and laughing, absolutely beaming at each other. A knot forms in her stomach. 

“What are they even talking about?” she scoffs. 

“Probably some cute story about when the basement flooded when she was in Matilda.” Gina mutters. Nina hadn’t noticed she was there, but something about that rings a bell she can’t place. It’s scratching around in the back of her mind, and she wonders why that sounds familiar. 

Across the room, Ricky catches his dad and Miss Jenn talking real close together too. You follow his gaze, eyes widening. You see how his brow furrows, and think now would be a good time for a distraction. 

“You know,” you start, drawing his attention back to you, “if you want to this weekend, I can show you some of the shows I’ve been in.” you offer. 

“Are you kidding?” He asks with a chuckle, his whole face lighting up, “Yes! Yeah, absolutely!” You smile, your expression mirroring his.

“After we catch up on our sleep, though,” you say, exhaustion setting in from both the all nighter and the high energy performance you just pulled off. You rub your eyes, bleary. “Cause I am about to crash, dude.”

“Same,” he laughs, and it quickly turns into a yawn. You both giggle, making your way to Ricky’s dad’s car so he can drop you off before you take Ricky home. Your mom has a meeting starting ten minutes ago, so she had to rush over to city hall right after you got the good news, and Mike offered to give you a ride. He drops you off, watching the way you and Ricky talk. You’re still having a good time together even when you’re this tired. It’s a positive sign, he thinks. Soon they’re turning into their driveway, and he knows he has minutes before Ricky’s out like a light. 

“She seems nice,” he starts, expecting Ricky to brush it off or act all embarrassed, demand you’re just hanging out, or whatever the kids are calling it now. Instead, he’s met with a wistful sigh.

“Yeah… she is.” he says with an exhausted, sincere smile. The openness of his answer surprises Mike. “She’s… the best.” 

Ricky’s inside and falling into bed before Mike can ask any follow up questions, but he intends to a little later. He doesn’t know if it’s because of Jenn, or the show, or you, but he’s so glad to see Ricky smile like that again.

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt. 10 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 10.1k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, more high highs and a lot of low lows, tooth rotting fluff

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: saucy flashbacks, nini and ej are very unprofessional, more fake texts, more coping through the arts, ricky realizes he's a real theatre kid, ricky is simping for you, seb being seb/a good friend/an absolute sweetheart, ricky distancing himself from lynne (slay), spilling tea (after getting permission to do so), conflicted feelings, nini (and ej but mostly nini) ruins the show, three seperate nini pick me moments, reader is about to snap, ricky and reader are mvps, one playful 'babe' from reader to ricky, nini is one delusional bitch!, brief mention of reader's trauma (jumpy at loud noises, flinches when someone raises their voice), ricky and big red are bros, big red has good opinions bc he stans dr phil, minor big red x ashlyn, kourtney and ricky do not get along lol, reader DOES snap, nini is terrible idk how else to rephrase it she's just the worst, nini gets yelled at by both you and ricky (slay), realizations happen, jones BIGASS love confessions and neck kisses.html, flowery descriptions, ricky picks you up briefly, making out, ricky is good with kids and it's adorable, nini is the only one who calls it YAC, theatre kids at denny's jumpscare, mike is a good dad, you wear one of ricky's shirts, saccrine amounts of love declarations, tooth rotting fluff

summary: after the disaster that was act one, act two also finds some way to go unplanned, causing you to be completely fed up with Nini's unprofessional behavior. you turn a night of confrontations around as you realize something and ricky finally gets something important off his chest.

song recs: entr'acte (hands clean) - jagged little pill obc, smiling - jagged little pill obc, what am I to you - rm, you stupid bitch - crazy ex girlfriend cast, first - niki and gabi, for a pessimist, I'm pretty optimistic - paramore, I hear a symphony - cody fry, something to believe in - newsies obc, let's go to the movies - annie (1982), sunrise - in the heights obc

a/n: fangz again 2 cici for beta reading, prepz fuk off. I'm watching american horror story murder house so uh. i'll let you know how that goes. it's hilarious so far tbh i love basement babyman. also this is ricky at you

tags @yesv01 @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @hopefullhearts @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

You had heard the first part of their argument from your dressing room. After that it was muffled yelling - most of which you hoped was Ricky’s. When Natalie called for places, they were still going at it. You found Miss Jenn as quickly as you could, worried about Ricky, unsure if he was still okay to perform. 

“EJ is already getting ready to go on.” She tells you. It’s the only answer you need for how ugly things got. She ushers everyone to their places, trying her best to squash their questions and speculations of what’s going on. 

“Nothing you need to worry about, just find you places, get in character, get ready for act two…” she instructs. She pulls you aside before you enter the wings. 

“Mr. Mazzara is escorting her out as we speak.” she informs you quietly. 

“Wait, Mr. Mazzara is here?” you ask. She pauses.

“Uh, yes. He’s been… helping run the lights up in the control booth. It was a last minute-” she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, the… shrew is leaving and Mike is on his way back to check on Ricky.” You’re relieved that his dad is here for him - and Miss Jenn. You look around momentarily. 

“Where is he?” you ask. 

“That dusty storage room we shoved the creepy mannequins in.” 

The one with the piano. The one where he helped you come down from a panic attack your first day at the El Rey, and… 

“...So they’re probably going to wait until the show is over, then head home.” You snap out of the onslaught of memories that stirred up at the mention of that storage room, catching the last half of what she said. “You can keep your phone in the wings to stay in touch, just make sure it’s not a distraction.” 

“Okay,” you agree, already feeling it buzzing in your pocket. She nudges you toward the wings as the intro to I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You starts playing, Nini and EJ’s voices should be floating through the house. 

“Now, go be Sharpay!” she says with a smile, and you start to turn the corner, then pause. 

“Miss Jenn!” you whisper-yell, and she looks back up at you. “Thank you! For everything.” you say sincerely. She places her hands on her chest, smiling, and you finally find your place backstage. 

“Like, full on screaming,” you hear Zeke say to Martha. You try to ignore them, and everyone else talking and whispering. You knew it would spread like wildfire, backstage drama always does. You pull out your phone, blowing up with texts from Ricky and his dad. You keep switching between the two text threads, trying to figure out what happened, to make sure Ricky’s okay. As you type out replies to both him and his dad, you look out onto the stage. Something doesn’t sound right, the gaps between the dialog are too long. 

Your brow furrows, trying to figure out what’s going on. EJ’s hand comes up to his collar and he leans forward. Nina delivers her next line more stilted and awkward and out of character than anything you’ve ever seen. You watch, confusion turning into disbelief as Nina covers her mic with her hand, and whispers something to EJ. Being so close to where they’re standing, you’re able to catch most of what she says - ‘seriously, EJ, where’s Ricky?’, or something to that effect. 

High pitched feedback whines at the disturbance to her mic, and for a moment you think you must have imagined it. There’s no way, no chance in hell she covered her mic with her hand, broke character onstage, and got EJ to break character too. You take a few breaths, reminding yourself that you’re not the director. Miss Jenn will have to deal with that one. Your phone buzzes as you get more texts from Ricky, and you check it again. 

Ricky stares at the little gray box on his screen, letting your words sink in. He still has four shows to perform in. He has more than just tonight to look forward to. All of those shows, every single one of them, is going to go just fine. Even now, through the worst possible nightmare of a thing that could have happened, the show is still continuing; the show must go on. And it will. It is, right in front of his eyes, as he and his dad enter the auditorium, taking two empty seats, Ricky’s right on the aisle. EJ and Nini harmonize, dancing around the stage - like he was supposed to. They finish the last verse of Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You, as the audience applauds. He claps politely as the lights go down. 

He mentally runs through what he would be doing if he were back there with you guys. You’re probably getting ready for the scene at Sharpay’s locker with Zeke, standing center stage in the dark, looking at the prop accessories in the pink locker, while Zeke mentally goes over his lines and blocking in the stage left wing. The lights go up, and he’s right. He knows this whole show inside and out, he realizes, and it makes his chest squeeze. Instead of dwelling on that, he leans forward, watching the scene begin to play out. He realizes suddenly that he gets to actually watch you perform. Not just from the wings or during rehearsals or in a grainy camcorder video, but he gets to watch you live. 

He smiles a little, realizing how special that is. You deliver your lines flawlessly, bringing a chuckle from the audience with your attitude right when you want one. It’s crazy how you play the mean girl so well, when it couldn’t be further from your real personality. He figures you’re just that amazing. You let out a shrill, frustrated scream, then storm off stage with Zeke trailing after you. When the lights go down, he claps loudly, letting out a cheer. He lets out a shaky breath, knowing you’ll be in the next scene, too - you’re probably quick changing for it right now. 

He’s right again, and backstage, you pull on your jacket, relieved to be done a little earlier than usual. It’s probably nerves from everything that happened tonight making you go a little quicker, but you’re not complaining. 

“So,” Seb says quietly next to you, bending over to tug on his heels, “what happened earlier? It sounded bad…” You let out a slow, frustrated sigh. He gets the sense it wasn’t just bad, it was really bad. 

“Just…” you search for the words, “some personal stuff. Family stuff, I guess.” 

“Bad enough for him to leave halfway through the show?” he asks, and you can tell he’s concerned. You pause fixing your belt, looking up to the catwalk and praying for the strength to get through tonight. Seb is one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met, and you know he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the last thing you need to do is add to the whispers, the desire for someone to spill the tea on what happened during intermission. 

“It’s really not for me to say…” you trail off, glancing at the other groups of castmates waiting to go on and techies listening for their cues. ‘Later’, you mouth to him. You have to go on any minute, and you want to text Ricky about it before you tell anyone anything. It’s really not your place to tell anyone what’s going on in his homelife. You pull out your phone, sending him a quick text that says some of your friends are worried about him, and does he want you to say anything or keep it under wraps for now. You turn your phone on silent and hide it in your bra before making your entrance on time. 

Seb lets out a huff, then follows you off stage as the ensemble runs in from the wings and the music for Wildcat Cheer reprise starts playing. As the ensemble begins dancing, Ricky checks his phone again, seeing a new text from you. ‘What do you want me to say?’ He pauses, staring at the screen. What does he want you to say? Nothing, at first. For a painful, fleeting moment, he wishes none of this had ever happened in the first place, he wishes he didn’t have to keep making up excuses and brushing things off. He doesn’t have to, he realizes. He doesn’t have to keep covering for her, and overcompensating for her shitty decisions. He bites the inside of his cheek, then texts you back. 

Backstage, you return to the stage right wing, ready for your next scene. You check to see if Ricky has texted you back, and he did. ‘Tell them she showed up unannounced and we got in a fight. I’m not trying to make her look good anymore.’ You agree, and a part of you is glad he’s not making himself responsible for his mother’s emotions anymore. When your scene is over, you rush to your dressing room to get ready for Bop to the Top. You have a full costume and hair change, and you need to tweak your makeup a little, so it usually takes you the longest to get ready for. Once you’ve applied enough body glitter to choke a bratz doll, you leave your dressing room, meeting Seb on the way to the wings. 

Most of the cast is onstage right now, so it’s not very crowded backstage where you stand, waiting for the current song to end. Seb moves a little closer to you and lowers his voice.

“I know it’s probably not a good time to ask, but what in the Mount Saint Helens happened with Ricky?” He asks in a hushed, worried tone. You bite back a smile at his turns of phrase, and sigh. You think back to Ricky’s text, how he said he’s done covering for her. 

“His mother showed up…” you say slowly, pausing at the shocked expression on his face. 

“She what?” he exclaims quietly. 

“And she tried to corner Ricky during intermission,” he gasps, and you continue, “and they got into a huge fight.” 

“Oh my god.” he says, thinking back to the yelling he’d heard. 

“Mhm.” you confirm, “Miss Jenn had to kick her out so she wouldn’t cause more of a scene.” 

“Oh my god!” he gasps in disbelief that it got that bad. He feels like he’s on an episode of Real Housewives. Or maybe Dance Moms. 

“Poor Ricky… Is he okay?” His mind constructs different images of Ricky’s mother ambushing him while he tries to get ready for act two. He can’t imagine how terrible that must have been. 

“As much as he can be right now,” you say. Seb can see how worried you are about him. This night took a toll on you, and he’s sure Ricky’s dad and Miss Jenn can’t be doing much better. It makes sense, and he’s glad to at least know what happened. 

“That’s pretty much it, but I’ll give you the details later.” you say, noting that you have to go on soon, and walking over to Ashlyn so you can enter together. 

The music starts, and Ricky has never been more excited for Bop to the Top. He’s never had the opportunity to see you and Seb perform full out like this from the audience, he’s always been just out of view before because of the blocking and where he was supposed to stand on stage. But now, he’s front and center, watching the light bounce off the glitter scattered across your chest and arms. You’re in a gorgeous, glittering teal dress that bounces and moves with every step you take. Your silver sparkling heels match your bracelets, and your hair is pinned up with big pink and white flowers on the side. Seb begins to dance with you, wearing a coordinating outfit that’s just as flashy. 

As the music cuts between the basketball game and science decathlon, you and Seb continue to steal the show. Your singing is gorgeous and your choreography is flawless. You harmonize as you spin around, totally in sync. Your attitude, your charisma is overflowing. The two most important events of the show are happening on either side of you, and you’re keeping all eyes center stage. He’s never seen a number with this much energy, this much flare, and based on the way the crowd is reacting, they feel the same way. 

As the tension builds, as the time to score the winning shot runs out and the science questions get harder and harder, as the music builds, Ricky’s breath is taken away. At the climax of the number, the East High Wildcats win the championship basketball game, and the science decathlon at the same moment. You and Seb hit the final note, holding it out as you strike your ending pose. Right as you’re done, Taylor kills the lights. 

Ricky is stunned at how good the show looks from the audience. But in spite of how amazing it’s been, he can’t ignore the gnawing in his chest anymore. He’s been trying so hard to focus on you, to not be jealous of EJ standing up there reciting his lines, singing his parts and doing his choreography. Seeing EJ up there, seeing Carlos struggle to fill in as Chad makes his stomach sink. It’s supposed to be him up there. He’s supposed to be the one scrambling to make it to callbacks on time, just like he did in real life all those months ago. He turns his attention back to you, as you begin your biggest Sharpay diva moment of the show. 

You storm off with Seb at your heels, and you both begin to get changed for the finale. As you get dressed into your white and red outfits, you can’t resist telling him a little more about what happened during act one and intermission. 

“...And she just stormed up to me, demanding to see him. Like, I told her, ‘you’re not cast or crew, you are so not allowed to be back here’, but she didn’t care!” Your voice is intense, but hushed. 

“Are you kidding?” he demands, shock evident on his face. 

“I wish I was…” you laugh softly, just as flabbergasted by the recent turn of events as he is. You inch closer to the curtain, and see Ricky wave to you in the audience - or more specifically in the general direction of where he knows you’d be right about now. His eyes are still a little pink and puffy, and it’s obvious how much everything that happened tonight has fucked him up. Your chest squeezes at the sight, and you wish you could hug him or do something to help. You sigh, trying to think of something encouraging to text him when you get a spare minute to. You snap out of your train of thought when you realize it’s quiet onstage. Your stomach sinks as EJ repeats his line, trying to cue Nina.

“Oh god,” you mutter next to Seb. 

“Did she forget her lines?” he asks. Her head turns, and you see what she’s looking at - who she’s looking at. You’re minutes away from the finale of the show, and she’s staring at Ricky. EJ begins speaking again, reciting his lines, but he just keeps going.

“Is he improving?” you ask rhetorically. “Why is he improving?” 

You have no idea what’s going on, but this show is going off the rails so fast. It’s like a slow motion trainwreck, and you find yourself unable to look away as Nina whispers to him out of character, for the second time in the last hour. You can feel your blood pressure rise as she breaks character too, the both of them floundering onstage and deviating from every rule of theatre Miss Jenn has been drilling into your heads for the last three months. Again, EJ speaks up, not even trying at this point. 

“I’m not the Troy you want,” he says melancholically. 

“What the fuck are they doing?” you hiss, and Seb can tell that after everything that happened tonight, this is really the last straw for you - you’re out for blood. You watch in disbelief as EJ just… walks offstage. And that’s it. You think it’s a really good thing he exited to the other side of the stage, because you sure have some choice words for him right now. 

“What is he doing?!” you question again, more pissed off than Seb has ever seen you. As if things couldn’t possibly get worse, you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Nina picks up her mic and begins to walk toward the edge of the stage, singing acapella. 

“She better not fucking do what I think she’s doing.” your voice is quiet, dangerous, and Seb is momentarily worried on her behalf. Even though you’re like, the nicest person ever, he doesn’t think anyone would want to be on your bad side.

Your hand flies over your mouth in utter disbelief as she walks into the audience and right over to Ricky, signaling for Big Red to follow her with a spotlight. Just when you think this couldn’t be more of an amature hour shit show, she pulls out her phone, turning her flashlight on him. You have no idea what she thinks that’s going to do, and thank god when she puts it away after a minute. She grabs Ricky’s hand, trying multiple times to pull him out of his seat. His heart is pounding, and he can feel himself freezing up. He has no idea what’s happening or why she’s doing this, and he has even less of an idea what he’s supposed to do. 

“I’m… really not at my best right now…” he manages to choke out. She doesn’t listen, and grips his hand, limp in hers. 

“Just look at me, Ricky. Right at me.” She smiles, like that will fix anything. He shouldn’t go up there, he shouldn’t go onstage when he’s like this. He and his dad had a whole conversation about it after intermission. But with everyone staring at him, Nini begins to sing. When she holds out the mic for him to finish the verse, he does, almost on instinct. He can’t leave her hanging, not like this. He panics, and next thing he knows, he’s letting her drag him onstage. He doesn’t know what’s happening, why she’s doing this, but he moves automatically and lets her drag him onstage. 

He’s struggling to keep his voice level, using all his effort to push past the pain, and smile at her. As she finally brings him center stage, taking his shaking hands in hers, he fights with everything inside him to make this work, to make it convincing, and be the finale it was supposed to be. He just has to keep it together for this last number, work through the pain, the ache in his chest and stomach that’s killing him as he stands up there, just for three minutes. As the rest of the cast begins to hit their cues, the energy has never been higher. They’re giving it everything they’ve got to hype him up, give him something to hold onto. He can feel them reaching out to him, singing and dancing their hearts out to lift him up. 

He’s trying so hard to be Troy, to seem convincing, to smile sincerely - not at Nini, but at Gabriella. He holds her hands, beaming, thinking about how badly Troy wants to kiss her. He clings onto this moment, the music, this role like a lifeboat. Troy has a great relationship with both his parents, Troy doesn’t come from a broken home. Troy is okay, he’s never been better, which means that Ricky gets to be okay vicariously through him, just for a little while. Just for a few minutes. He holds onto this catharsis as tightly as he can. He’s not going to let this moment be taken away from him too. The audience is cheering louder than ever as they make their way to the end of the song, incredibly confused at the cast changes and Nini’s actions, but they cheer everyone on - especially Ricky - nonetheless. 

He smiles at her through misty eyes, holding her hands and gazing at her in adoration. ‘This is it,’ Nini thinks, ‘my Ricky has come back to me. It’s always going to be us.’ He caresses her cheek, and looks at her like he really wants to kiss her as they harmonize. She knows he wants to kiss her, he’s always loved her and he’s always going to. They’ve had their ups and downs, but she knows that Ricky will always be hers. She was his first love, his first everything, and that’s what really matters. They have history, and you can’t fake that, you can’t manufacture that. 

The song ends and she drags him into the wings away from you and Seb, shoving his finale costume at him. He fumbles to take off his jacket, desperately trying to stay in motion, to keep moving, keep smiling, keep being Troy. He throws the sparkly white and red tracksuit on over his remaining clothes, and has seconds before he’s going to get dragged back out for the finale of a show he was only able to half participate in. He hates her so much for ruining this for him. He hates Nini for dragging him back up here, for literally putting him in a spotlight in the aftermath of the worst event of his life. He sucks it up, putting on a smile and getting hyped up to sing along to the megamix. 

It takes one look at your face for Seb to know just how bad this is. He can feel the rage, the disbelief radiating off of you, and he has no idea what’s going to happen after this. He thinks it’s nice that Nini tried to include Ricky, but she definitely didn’t go about it the right way. He’s sure you’d feel that’s probably the biggest understatement that could be made about the situation. 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, really worried. There’s already been so much drama tonight, he knows your bullshit tolerance is in the negatives right now. You stare at Nina across the stage, watching her whisper something to Kourtney with an expression on her face that infuriates you.

“Not sure yet.” You answer quietly, voice dangerous. Finally, you hear your cue, and you and Seb enter the stage.

He watches you change on a dime, transforming into a sassy, fun, reformed mean girl. You dance with him, and flirt with Zeke effortlessly. He can’t find a trace of your previous rage once you’re past the curtain, singing and dancing as Sharpay. There’s a light, fun, playful energy around you, and it’s infectious, making Seb and Zeke and everyone else around you have even more fun out there. For a moment, he forgets how ugly this is going to get once the lights go down. 

You make your way over to Gabriella, doing a little dance with her, just like you’re supposed to. You flash her a thumbs up, and wink at her supportively when Troy pulls her closer to dance, just like you’ve been practicing at every rehearsal leading up to this moment. Nina smiles at you when you do, interpreting yours and Ricky’s behavior as more than just stage directions. She feels a sense of benevolent camaraderie with you in these fleeting moments. Maybe she will be the bigger person, maybe she will extend her friendship to you, because even though you did try to steal Ricky from her - unsuccessfully at that - fighting over dumb boys is stupid. 

She and Gina run off to pull Miss Jenn onstage so she can deliver her infamous deleted line. It was your idea initially, but you made sure to tell the rest of the cast before tonight so the surprise could be from all of you. The cast and house cheer as she delivers her line, and you can see how much it means to her. You get a minute to dance with Ricky, and make your way over to him as quickly and naturally as possible. You couldn’t seem happier or more care free, but when you speak, your voice is strained. 

“I am so sorry that happened…” you say, barely loud enough for him to hear over the swell of the music and the rhythmic clapping as the audience keeps time. He can see it, the frustration being masked by your energetic, jovial nature. You’re doing the same thing he is, he realizes. You’re using this moment onstage and in character to keep the real world at bay. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt closer to you than he does right now. He wants to say something, he wants to feel horrible - he’s sure it’s justified - but when he looks at you, he can’t 

You’re onstage together at the end of your opening night performance, with a full house clapping and cheering and singing along with you both, with the whole cast. And in this moment, you’re worried about him. You’re worried about him. He’s so overwhelmed by this feeling of being onstage with all his friends, an audience full of people who came here and bought tickets and watched the show and are now cheering them on for this, the penultimate moment of all their hard work and dedication and doubts over the last three months culminating to this. He knows you know this feeling well, that this is the first show you’ve done in so long and how badly you’ve missed it - and you’re still up here, worried about him. 

“There were some… hiccups, but…” he starts, locking eyes with yours, looking at you that way that he does. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more strongly for you than he does right now. “This is kind of the best, right?” You smile suddenly at his words, relief evident on your face. You feel like you can breathe a little easier knowing he’s doing okay - or at least, better than he was. 

“This is just the tip of the iceberg babe,” you chuckle, nudging him playfully. You’re still livid at that… stunt Nina pulled, that hasn’t slipped your mind. But for now, Ricky is okay. That’s what’s important. You’ll deal with her later, if you get the chance. 

“Just wait till you see what I have picked out for the spring musical!” you both look over at Miss Jenn as she smiles, drawing an excited laugh from you and Ricky. 

Nina looks over, hearing you laughing with Ricky. It makes her stomach sink. She scoffs, figuring it must be platonic. He’s probably just giving you closure, or something. She looks back out into the crowd, and stops dancing as she watches the scout from YAC leave. Her mouth hangs open in disbelief. If she doesn’t get into YAC, the performing arts school of her dreams, what was the point of all this?

After everyone runs forward in groups, then individually to bow in front of the audience, You, Nina, and Ricky are the last to go. He stands between you, lined up with everyone else, holding both your hands as you and all your friends bow as a cast.  He snaps to attention as he hears a certain part of the music, squeezing your hand in warning. Confetti cannons go off from the wings moments later, drawing out a new wave of cheers and applause from the audience. You’re grateful for the warning, and you squeeze his hand back as a thank you. Your heart is warmed that even now, after so many difficult things happening back to back in one night, he still remembered that loud noises can make you jumpy. 

When Nina goes to share a look with Ricky, her smile drops. He’s already looking at you. There’s a certain type of joy in his eye, the kind you can only find amidst the ashes of misery, as he realizes that through everything that happened, he’s still okay. You’re still here. That’s the important part. You’re still right here with him, holding his hand. He made it to bows. Everything is going to be okay. In sharing this eye contact with him, you can’t help but reflect on how pretty he looks in the blue cast of the stage lights as he looks at you that way that makes your stomach twist. 

The curtains begin to draw closed, and you all wave at the audience until they’re out of sight. Sporadic cheers are let out around you as hugs are initiated here and there, and everyone begins flooding to the dressing rooms to get changed. As you make your way to the back, Ashlyn already leading everyone in a very loud, high energy reprise of We’re All in This Together, you squeeze Ricky’s arm. When he looks at you, he seems to be doing exactly as well as you’d expect - okay for now, the massive high from the end of the show keeping him afloat for now, but you know it won’t last forever. 

“I’m gonna go get changed real quick, I’ll say hi to my mom then we can go home, okay?” you say quietly, and he can tell from your tone of voice that you’re here for him, he just needs to hang in there a little longer. 

“Okay,” he says with a shaky breath. He doesn’t really need to get changed since he has his street clothes on under his tracksuit, so after hanging it up in its place, he waits in the hall outside the dressing rooms. A few minutes later, everyone who got changed the fastest are in the halls and on the stairs outside the dressing rooms, talking and congratulating each other before they go to the lobby. There's a silent understanding that you're all waiting just a few more minutes before you have to leave, before you have to acknowledge that the show is over. Big Red runs over to Ricky as soon as he spots him. 

“Are you okay, dude?” he asks quietly, clearly worried about him. Ricky lets out a breathy laugh. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Ricky realizes how stressed he must be, having no idea of anything that was going on until half way through the show. "There’s a lot to fill you in on." Ricky nods his head, and they move to a more secluded area so Ricky can begin catching him up. He goes over the series of events from earlier tonight quickly, trying not to get worked up over all of it again. Soon he's wrapping up his summary of the horrible things that happened in such a short span of time, and his eyes are much less misty than he was worried they'd be. 

"Oh. My. God." Red states, laughing in disbelief that his mother would do something like that. 

"Yeah." Ricky nods, still in shock. 

"Don't take this the wrong way, dude," Red says tentatively, "but that does sound like something she would do; the guilt tripping, mind games, all of it." Ricky can't help but agree. In retrospect, Red does remember her using a lot of language that read as passive aggressive or guilt  tripping. There’s no way they could have picked up on that as kids, but hindsight is 20/20. Ricky loses Red's attention real quick as Ashlyn walks toward her friends, no longer loitering outside the dressing room she shares with you and Nini - and soon, Gina. She holds up a piece of paper from the mystery bouquet she'd been inspecting more closely. 

“We found a card!” she says excitedly. Ricky nudges Red, encouraging him to tell Ashlyn that he was the one to send the flowers. He looks at Ricky, nervous, and gets an encouraging nod. Big Red takes a breath, steadying himself, then stands up and walks towards Ashlyn. 

"Actually…" he starts. He doesn't need to say anything else, watching the realization hit. They walk a few feet away, talking animatedly and seeming to have a good time. More people start to filter out to see their friends and family, and as they dissipate, he realizes he still hasn't seen you since you went to change. He spots Kourtney passing by a few feet away and runs over to her. 

"Hey, uh," he starts carefully. He knows Kourtney hasn't been too fond of him for a while. "Do you know where Nini is?" He knows where Gina and Ashlyn are, and he really just wants to grab you and get out of here without even more drama. Kourtney sucks her teeth, considering how to respond for a moment. She could say something, she always has something to say when it comes to Ricky, but she knows tonight was hard on him. She doesn't know the details, but she's sure the last thing she'd want in his position is more animosity. 

"The scout left, and she's taking it hard. I think she's with her moms, but I don't know for sure." He waits a beat, realizing there's no other shoe that's going to drop, no glares or snarky comments.

"Thanks," he says quietly, before making his way to your dressing room. You're probably just having trouble getting everything back in your bag. He thought you had way over packed when you showed him the huge tote bag you got ready for tech week, but by the end, every 'just in case you had brought had been needed more than once. You really know your way around a theater, he thinks. 

When you first enter your dressing room, all you want to do is get changed and get out. Ashlyn talks a little - mostly to herself - about how excited she is for the next show. You reply as politely as possible, doing everything you can to avoid Nina, ignore her as much as you can. You just have to get changed and get out. You have bigger issues to deal with, bigger fish to fry than to chew her out for what she did back there. 

"Yeah," she replies, a faux chipper tone to her voice "hopefully we won't have as many last minute cast changes tomorrow night," you pause, gripping the empty plastic hanger so hard your knuckles turn white. "But who knows, right?" 

You've tried your best, you really have, but you can't take her bullshit anymore. The hanger snaps in your hands with a loud crack. Ashlyn's eyes widen in surprise, and now out of costume, she makes her way to the door. 

"I'll give you two a minute…"

The cacophony of voices get louder for a moment as she opens the door to leave, then it's quiet again. You turn away from her to tug on your shoes, praying to god she'll just leave it alone, let you get out of here quietly. 

"Sorry," her voice is dripping with a passive aggressive ignorance that grates on your ears. "Did you have something to say to me?" Before she can scoff and drop a yeah, that's what I thought, you turn, looking over your shoulder at her with a stone cold glare. When you speak, your voice is so deadly, so sharp she feels like she's been stung. 

"Count yourself fucking lucky that I don't have time to hang around right now, but I swear to god, Nina, if you pull shit like that again-"

"Wh-" she sputters, "excuse me? Pull what? Including Ricky, and helping him?"

"You think you were helping him?" You repeat, turning to face her. You roll your eyes scoffing. "Wow." She starts to say something, but you cut her off. 

"Look, I don't know why you're here, but some of us actually take this seriously. This actually means something- this matters to some people, and nobody needs you turning it into a little three ring Nina circus, and ruining it for the people who actually want to be here!" Your voice rises as you continue, driving your point home, and refusing to let her interrupt you. By the time you’re done, her mouth is hanging open.

“I don’t care what you do in your free time,” you continue decisively, “I really don’t, but don’t ruin everything for the people who actually give a fuck!” you say, a humorless laugh at the end. You don’t know who’s been coddling her up until now, but you are sure as hell are not going to let someone get away with a stunt like that. It’s clear from her reaction that no one has ever spoken to her like this, and you think it’s long overdue. “That was the most unprofessional load of bullshit I have ever fucking seen! And I’ve been around the rodeo a few times.” 

Nina blinks hard, fighting tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She feels like she’s just been slapped. Her? Unprofessional? Wow. You’re really reaching now. She’s the most professional person at this whole school, she just… She freezes as it hits her in a split second of clarity, that she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. She broke the cardinal rules of theatre; she broke character, went into the audience, broke the immersion. She ruined opening night. You can see the moment of lucidity where she realizes she’s in the wrong, and it’s gone just as fast. 

“You’re one to talk about being a professional.” She spits. You look at her incredulously. Once again you have no idea where she’s going with this. When you don’t react, don’t instantly get it, she continues. 

“You had a Broadway career handed to you on a silver platter, and you threw it away!” she searches your face for shock that she figured out your secret, continuing, “And for what, so you could slum it at some midwestern high school full of amateurs?” 

You figured it was a matter of time before someone found out you’ve done professional theatre before, so if she’s waiting for a reaction from you, she’s not going to get one. The only reason you didn’t tell anyone, the only reason you kept quiet about it is because you didn’t want to come across as cocky or seem like you were bragging. Plus, with how hard things got towards the end, you don’t really want to go around and dig up memories from that time in your life. Besides, you’re not in New York right now, you’re at East High. You’re here with all your friends, finally getting a little piece of normalcy. You’re exactly where you want to be, so why would you waste it living in the past?

Before you can answer, she continues.

“The point is, you need to stay away from Ricky and stop lying to him. Okay?” she demands. Her voice is muffled through the door, but right outside, Ricky hears her loud and clear. He didn’t hear you two before, but now the halls and dressing rooms are mostly empty.

Is she still seriously going on about that? You let out a breath, trying to regain your composure. 

“I really do not have the time to keep having the same conversation with you over and over - or explain to you that you can’t tell people who they can and can’t date!” you exclaim. You’re about to drop it, but there’s one more thing you need to get off your chest. “And for the fucking record, you don’t know jack shit about what else was going on in my life when I left New York. And I don’t owe you an explanation either.” you say coldly. You’ve said your peace, the only thing you need to do is fucking get out of here and find Ricky. 

“I can’t believe I actually used to look up to you!” she exclaims. “Look. It was cute, or whatever, at first, but this little game of yours has gone on for long enough. He’s mine. Now can you leave him alone, please?” she demands. She’s dripping that passive aggression you’re really starting to get sick of. You look at her in the mirror, illuminated with lights. 

“Seriously? You seriously want to do this right now.” You say, exhausted. She either doesn’t hear you or pretends not to as she continues.

“I knew him first! I dated him first, I kissed him first. Everything he’s done with you, he did with me first.” she states. She doesn’t know how else to get it into your head that she was his first everything, and you’re just a rebound or something. What they have isn’t something you can just get over like that.

“You weren’t… every first, Nini.” You both look over at Ricky, and you wonder how long he’s been standing in the doorway, how much he heard. 

“Ricky… what?” she whips around at the sound of his voice. He stares back at her, teary eyed and serious. 

“You weren’t every first.” he repeats. You both look at him in disbelief. Nina furrows her brow. She can’t believe he’s disrespecting their relationship like this. You stare at him, thinking back, reanalyzing your memories. He can’t be saying what you think he’s saying. There’s no way you were his first time. That couldn’t have been his first time. There’s no way that Ricky Bowen was a virgin before he showed up at your house that night, there’s no way that you took his virginity. ‘Oh god, I did, didn’t I?’ you think, remembering the way he looked at you, how nervous and desperate he was. Heat floods to your cheeks. You have no idea what to do with this information.

“How could you say that?” she demands. She was his first crush, his first kiss, his first date, girlfriend, heartbreak. She was all of it. 

“Because it’s true!” he exclaims. “The only first I care about, the only first that matters, is right there.” he gestures to you. 

Oh yeah, no, you definitely did take his virginity. You did not expect this, much less that it would make you feel so… tender? Flattered? Warm and fuzzy maybe? You hold back a flustered laugh. Whatever warm thing it is, you’re sure feeling a lot of it. You stare at the ground, cheeks hot, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you process this in the back of your mind. The majority of your attention is still on Ricky. You’ve been so worried, but he seems okay, which is a huge relief. He catches your eye, and your stomach twists. He’s looking at you like that again, and you’re sure you must be looking at him the same way. Anyone could see it. You snap back to attention, remembering Nina is still in the room with you. 

“We should get going-” you start quietly, reaching for your bag.

“Stay out of this!” she snaps, and you recoil at the sudden sharpness to her voice. “This is between Ricky and me.”  She turns to him, continuing, “And we are not done talking about this.” 

“Don’t talk to her like that.” He says quickly, more defensive of you after what happened earlier. He walks over to you, standing in between you and her. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say it in front of her.” Even though his voice wavers with emotion for a moment, Nina can tell he’s not backing down on this. She weighs her options. 

“Okay.” she starts, sucking her teeth. “I think she’s manipulating you.”

He lets out a breathy laugh with a bitter edge. He rolls his eyes, looking away for a second.

“That’s… hilarious, coming from you…” he mutters. 

“What? She’s been lying to you this whole time! She’s been doing professional theatre for years, Ricky, she-”

“That’s what this is about?” He realizes. “Oh my god, I already knew that!” he yells. Relief floods him as it clicks that all the bullshit she’s been spewing is nothing he didn’t know about already. She really was just trying to get into his head. “She’s not manipulating me, Nini, she’s there for me! There’s a difference! She actually cares about me - unlike you, and Lynne, and everybody else.” 

“That’s not fair-”

“She’s actually there for me, and she doesn’t just bail when shit gets hard. Not like you’d know anything about that.” he says the last part quieter, but she still hears it. She doesn’t have a comeback, she doesn’t have anything she can say to that. 

“I don’t have to listen to this.” She grabs her bag, brushing past him. Before she leaves, he turns to her, finally saying something he never thought he’d be able to. 

“I’m starting to think I wasn’t the problem in our relationship.” 

She freezes, turning to him slowly, eyes glistening.

“What?”

“You heard me.” he states. 

“You know what?” There’s nothing she can say, no comeback, no way to defend herself. She lets a single tear fall. “Screw you, Ricky.” She leaves quickly, huffing at what he said. He turns to you, still staring at where she left in disbelief. You exhale for what feels like the first time since this confrontation began, then immediately turn your attention back to Ricky. You’re grabbing your stuff as quickly as you can, desperate to finally get out of here, laughing nervously. 

“I can’t believe this night keeps getting worse. Look, we can just go home, we don’t have to go to Denny’s or anything if you don’t want to, I just want to make sure you’re okay, because obviously a lot of-” 

“I love you.” 

It tears from his throat with more raw emotion than you’ve ever heard, stopping you in your tracks. Your eyes widen as his hands come up to hold your face. He wants to kiss you so badly, more than he’s wanted anything, and you can feel it. He keeps going.

“I love you so much, I wanted to say it before. I’ve wanted to say it since that first amazing night we spent together. Ever since you snuck me into your room, and we talked and watched old episodes of cartoons, and you took me in when I needed you, I have loved you. And then you got those little plastic rings when we were running late for rehearsal, because we stopped for coffee and peach scones, and- and we traded colors, I felt like my heart was going to explode.” 

His thumbs caress your cheeks, and it makes you light headed. 

“I wanted to say it when we were dancing at homecoming and you were so beautiful I thought I’d die, I wanted to say it every time we kissed, and every time you laugh so hard your nose scrunches up, I wanted to say it. You made me fall in love with theatre, and this beautiful place, and with you. You love everyone around you so selflessly,” his voice breaks, “please, let me love you. The way you deserve to be loved. Even if you don’t want to say it back-” 

“I love you too.” You can’t help interrupting him, unable to ignore how true they are any longer. He’s stopped dead in his tracks. “I would have said something sooner, but the last thing I wanted was for you to feel pressured, so I… figured I’d follow your lead.” The room is quiet as he tries to get the air back in his lungs. 

“You love me?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding, “I do.” 

He takes one look at you, holding you intensely in his gaze, confirming that you really just said that. In one swift motion, he pulls you close to him, dipping you, and finally connects his lips to yours. He kisses you more passionately than anything he’s ever done. He kisses the air out of your lungs, kisses away the little space between you, desperately kissing everything he feels for you onto your lips. You lose yourself for a beautiful moment in that kiss. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, holding each other as close as you can get, with kissing as the only means of expressing the depths of your feelings, but it’s long enough that your lungs burn when you finally pull away. He barely moves his face away from yours as you attempt in sync to catch your breath. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs against your lips. 

“I love you,” you say, soft and sincere, that beautiful smile on your lips where his ache to be again. He reacts instantly to your words, picking you up, and kissing you again and again. You wrap your legs around his waist, giggling in surprise. He sets you on the table in front of the big dressing room mirror where Ashlyn’s character shoes still sit. The mental note to make sure she doesn’t forget them flies out of your mind as Ricky kisses you again and again, mouth open against yours. His lips are all over your face and your neck, turning you into a giggling mess as he holds you tight. He mutters sweet nothings against your skin that turn sensual very quick, but mostly he keeps telling you how much he loves you between kisses, mumbling the three words into your skin over and over. 

“Ricky…” you trail off as he bites your neck playfully, causing you to let out a flustered noise. “We have to go upstairs…” you start to forget what you were saying as he runs his tongue over your skin. “Our parents are waiting!” you laugh, desperately holding onto the train of thought. 

“Let them wait…” he murmurs, “You said we could kiss after the show, and… it’s after.” The flustered look on your face is too much for him, and he presses his lips to yours again, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You feel so good, your skin is so soft and you smell so sweet, and it’s all so much more now that he’s said it, now that you said it back to him. He squeezes your thigh and bites your lip and moans into your mouth, loving every noise you make, every tug of his hair and grab of his shirt. He’s so desperate for you and your touch, he would fuck you right here if he could. He considers it for a moment. 

After eavesdropping too long for her own good, Nina feels a solitary tear roll down her cheek. Ricky’s words ring in her ears. He loves you. He didn’t just say it back, he initiated it. She didn’t stick around too long, just enough for it to hurt. She reaches into her bag, pulling out her songwriting book. She’s sure this will give her plenty to write about, she thinks bitterly. She could probably get a whole album out of it. ‘At least then the pain would be worth something…’ she muses, taking one last look over her shoulder before leaving the dressing rooms - and Ricky - out of her sight.

Eventually, you and Ricky manage to drag yourselves upstairs and greet people in the lobby. Mike finds him quickly, pulling him aside to check on him. He looks back over at you, accepting flowers from your mom and pulling her in for a hug. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I��m okay.” He doesn’t look away from you, and Mike doesn’t miss this. His son is a lot of wonderful things, but he sure wouldn’t describe him as subtle. Ricky watches you as a girl in a pink dress walks up nervously to you with who he presumes is her sister. He’s too far away to hear your conversation over the chatter from people milling about, but your face lights up after she speaks. You pull a hot pink sharpie out of your bag and sign her playbill before handing it back to her. The sight makes his chest squeeze. He didn’t know you were good with kids, but it makes total sense - you’re good with everybody. 

Mike nudges him toward you.

“Go ahead,” he smiles, so Ricky does. 

“Hey,” he starts, pausing when a woman walks up to him, a little girl hiding behind her leg, looking up at Ricky in admiration. 

“Excuse me,” the woman says, getting his attention. “You were fantastic. She really loves High School Musical, and we wanted to know if you’d sign her playbill…” 

The girl looks up at him nervously, and he smiles, letting out a flustered chuckle. He didn’t expect this, he doesn’t even have a pen - but luckily as always you’re right behind him, extending a sharpie his way. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, “sure, of course!” He scribbles his name across the front before handing it back. “What was your favorite part?” he asks. She considers. 

“We’re All in This Together.” she decides, singing out the song title. 

“No way, that’s my favorite song too!” The way her face lights up is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. She jumps excitedly that someone as cool as Troy Bolton has the same favorite song as her before hiding behind her mom’s legs again. The mom thanks him again before picking up her daughter. Ricky turns to you, not even needing to say anything. 

“I know,” you smile, “it’s the best, right?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It is.” Your eyes light up that way they do when you remember something, and you reach into your bag. You pull out Ashlyn’s character shoes - thank god you remembered to bring them out with you - and gesture down the hall to where Ashlyn is talking to some of her friends that came to see the show. 

“I’m gonna give these back to Ashlyn, and I’ll meet you and our parents by the doors in like, two seconds.” He agrees, and you part ways. 

“Thank you!” Ashlyn gasps when you hand her the shoes. “I was looking everywhere for these.” 

She pauses, remembering how tense things got between you and Nini earlier before she left. 

“Was everything okay with…” she trails off, jogging your memory. 

“Oh,” you start, a little unsure of how to answer. “Yeah. Everything’s fine now.” You look off to the side, and she follows your gaze to Ricky. He’s talking to his dad and seems to be doing a lot better now, and you seem to be doing better too. 

As you make your way down the hall and across the lobby you’re stopped by a woman you don’t recognize, but she seems to know you, addressing you by name as she introduces herself. 

“I’m Kalyani Patel, the dean of the Youth Actors Conservatory in Denver. I’ve been following your career for some time, and I have to say, I’m very impressed. You’re incredibly talented and have a lot of notable credits for someone as young as you are. We have one more available place available for the upcoming semester, and we would be thrilled for you to attend.” 

“Thank you so much, Kalyani. I’ve heard a lot about Youth Actors Conservatory, and I’m so honored by your offer, but I’m not planning on switching schools at the moment.” You say as graciously as you can. 

“Of course, I understand.” She smiles. 

“Thank you again for the opportunity, and I hope we can work together in the future.” You smile back, saying goodbye, and making your way over to Ricky and your parents. 

After returning to the dressing rooms to write sad song lyrics and watch herself cry in the mirror, when Nina finally finds her moms in the lobby, she has a piece of good news for once.

“The dean of YAC!” she exclaims. 

“I thought they were full, sweetie.” Carol says. She and Dana had gotten a rejection letter addressed to Nini a few days ago, and were trying to find the right time to break the news. 

“She said a spot opened up,” she beams, “which means I’m going to YAC!” 

Her moms hug her, congratulating her on the good news, and that they’d discuss it in detail at home. Nina looks over to where you and Ricky are standing. He holds your hands in his while you talk quietly. You have no idea that soon she’ll be out of here, and you’ll never see her again. She was on the fence, but after what he said to you, she’s made up her mind. She’s leaving this town, and going somewhere that she’ll be appreciated, somewhere she’s wanted. If that happens to be a boarding school in Colorado, then so be it. ‘Take a good look’, she thinks, ‘because that’s the last you’ll ever see of Nini Salazar-Roberts.’ 

 After more mingling, congratulations, flowers, and playbill signing, you turn to Ricky.

“You ready to go home?” you ask, walking toward your car. He stops, turning to look at you. 

“You know what? No.” he lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t want to go home. I… want to go to Denny’s! I’m a theatre kid, and I just finished my first show, and it’s like, tradition to go to Denny’s, so I want to!” You smile at his sudden enthusiasm, laughter matching his. 

“Yeah, okay,” you smile, “let’s go!” 

You both walk over to your castmates, who are trying to figure out a carpool to get everyone there before it gets any later. You nudge Ricky.

“So, does anyone need a ride to Denny’s, or should we just meet you there?” he asks. For what feels like the millionth time, everyone erupts into cheers. You know all your friends were worried about him after what happened, and Seb instigates a group hug, that everyone quickly jumps on to. You think it’s important to end the night on a good note like this, spending time with your castmates, cramming into booths and singing obnoxiously in an empty restaurant. It’s sort of a rite of passage, and you’re glad that Ricky’s able to participate, especially after opening night of his first show. 

You sleep over at his place that night. After everything Ricky’s been through, after he seems to finally be okay again, the last thing Mike wants to do is not let him spend time with someone he’s so close to - especially considering what a good influence Mike thinks you are on him. From what Ricky told him, you didn’t instigate any drama tonight, and spent every spare moment off stage trying to help Ricky through what was going on. It’s not the first time you’ve helped Ricky navigate the ups and downs of growing up in the time you’ve known him, so when Ricky asked if you could stay the night, he agreed. While you’re brushing your teeth, Mike pulls Ricky aside to talk. 

“I spoke to Nini’s moms,” he starts, and Ricky braces himself. “They’re going to talk to her, and I said I’d talk to you to make sure these last shows go smoothly, alright? So, no more fights, no arguing, no more of this… reality tv stuff.” 

“Believe me,” Ricky sighs, “I don’t want any more drama. Especially at the expense of the show.” 

“I know,” Mike agrees. “So just… it’s only a few more shows. Try your best to…” he looks for the words.

“Politely avoid each other?” Ricky supplements.

“Exactly.” Mike nods. “Just politely avoid each other for a few more days, and all this will blow over.” 

When he finally reenters his room, he hands you a t shirt to wear. He knows you probably brought pajamas, but he wants to tell you he loves you in as many ways as he can, like wearing his clothes. When you come back in and sit on his bed in his big shirt and your little shorts, he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. 

“Do you want to talk about anything?” you ask tentatively. 

“Not really,” he chuckles. “I feel like I’ve kind of talked it all to death by now.”

“You know what we haven’t talked about?” you ask, a look in your eye that immediately has his attention. “How Nina and EJ - but like, mostly Nina - ruined the finale of the show.” 

“Yeah,” he starts, remembering how stunned he was. “What the fuck was that?” 

You talk shit until you have nothing else to say about it, and soon you’re curled up under the covers together. You’re laughing and talking, and things almost feel normal again. It’s like every bad thing never happened tonight. He doesn’t know how you do it, how you make things feel so okay again, but he holds you tight, clinging onto the feeling. He was going to say it earlier, but he was so distracted by you, by how beautiful you are. 

“I love you.” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He feels you smile against his chest. 

“I love you too, Ricky.” 

You sound so content, so comfortable with him, and he feels like his heart is going to burst. 

“I love you,” he says again, running his fingers along your waist. 

“I love you too,” you giggle sleepily. Every time you think he’s asleep, he says it again, and again, and again. He can’t help himself, he loves the way you blush and giggle, loves how warm you are against him, loves the way you say it back to him. It’s quiet for a little while, but you feel his hands still tracing little shapes into your skin. You glance up at him to find him staring at you  in that way that makes your stomach twist. 

“Close your eyes,” you mutter, drowsy. 

“But I love you.” he replies quietly, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I love looking at you. I love everything about you.” 

“I love you too,” you answer groggily, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt better than he does when you say it like that. “But we have a full day of school in the morning, then homework, then another show to perform in, so we have to get at least a little sleep.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, eyes growing heavy as the day catches up to him. “As long as we have time for coffee and peach scones.”

“There is literally always time for coffee and peach scones.” he chuckles at how quickly you respond. You lean up, pressing a kiss to his nose, then snuggle back into his chest. It’s his favorite time of day again, he realizes, where he gets to sleep next to you, and kiss, and cuddle. Except this time, it’s better than it ever has been, because right before you fall asleep, he gets to say it.

“I love you.” he breathes, kissing your forehead.

“‘Love you too.” you mutter, barely awake. Your words reverberate and replay in his mind as he closes his eyes, finally drifting off. He doesn’t know how the next shows are going to go, he doesn't know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about what will happen when the sun rises,  he’s just excited for it to happen with you. He sleeps better than he has in a long time. 

[hrtbrkwthrs]

Second Chance

Status: In Progress , On Hiatus

This is a High School Musical: The Musical: The Series fanfiction that follows Blake Sahan alongside her childhood best friend and first love, Ricky Bowen.

This series loosely follows the plot of the show, each chapter being based on every episode. A few notes:

Blake Sahan's faceclaim is Maitreyi Ramakrishnan.

Timeline might be a lil wonky at times, but I tried my darndest to get it right (also might not be perfectly aligned with the show)

There will be a few differences in this series from the show to fit the new storylines.

Some differences include: Gina doesn't fall for Ricky, Ricky and his dad don't move out, and more.

Ricky Bowen has Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), though it's unknown at first.

Blake has BPD, pre-established.

Disclaimer: All BPD storylines are loosely inspired by my own personal experiences! (beautiful princess disorder sol xoxo)

Also, this series will involve cursing. I don't care. #Let Ricky Bowen Say Fuck! (and they did! hehe thank you s4 writers)

There's gonna be A LOT of those cheesy/cliche tropes and I'm not even sorry.

childhood best friends to lovers

falls first x falls harder

hurt/comfort

one-sided pining

mutual pining

I will add trigger warnings specific for each chapter, but here are some general trigger warnings for this series:

Alcoholism

Addiction

Mental health (mainly Borderline Personality Disorder)

Toxic relationships

Poor relationship with parent / absent father

Death of parent

Occasionally some adult themes

Season 1

Ep.1 Ep.2 Flashback Ep.3 Ep.4 Ep.5 Ep.6 Ep.7 Ep.8 Ep.9 Ep.10

Season 2

Ep.1 Ep.2 Ep.3 Ep.4 Ep.5 Ep.6 Ep.7 Ep.8 Ep.9 Ep.10 Ep.11 Ep.12

Season 3

Ep.1 Ep.2 Ep.3 Ep.4 Ep.5 Ep.6 Ep.7 Ep.8

Season 4

Ep.1 Ep.2 Ep.3 Ep.4 Ep.5 Ep.6 Ep.7 Ep.8

dividers: @kodaswrld

photoshop/manip: @cihkennugget on twitter

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt. 9 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 9.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, not really fluff but a lot of high highs and a lot of low lows

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: miss jenn is a legend icon queen slay goddess (cited two times), iconic interactions between the cast, jealous ricky being a cutie, ricky and EJ are not bros yet, nini has gone from messy to borderline evil, your mom is a legend, kourtney anxiety foreshadowing, opening night/theatre vibes so strong it made me tear up a little /hj, lynne bowen is a horrible horrible toxic person!!!, todd jumpscare, ricky has a mental breakdown, EJ is trying his best but horribly misreads the situation, ricky is in a crisis, ricky bpd episode, art to cope :'), ricky has a good support system, reader is good in a crisis, nini is REALLY testing your patience, gina gets a well deserved moment to shine, terrible theatre etiquette, ricky gets emotionally ambushed, mike is a good dad, nini gets yelled at by reader (slay), reader yells at lynne (slay), reader gets slapped (in a dramatic way not a violent or sexy way), reader gets called a slut as an insult, ricky defends you, messy necessary screaming match (slay), things are said that cannot be unsaid :/

summary: opening night is just as magical and incredible as ricky hoped it would be, just as wonderful as you made it sound - until the worst case scenario comes to fruition. but the show must go on, right?

song recs: something about this night - finding neverland obc, twenty million people - my favorite year obc, opening up - waitress obc, twinkle in her eye - leann rimes, window seat - amelie obc, this is how I disappear (instrumental) - my chemical romance, un organo suona - ennio morricone, the music and the mirror - a chorus line obc, holding onto you - twenty one pilots, you oughta know - jagged little pill obc

other media: "art is not a luxury, it's sustinance" - ethan hawke ted talk clip, "and the way he sings sends a chill right through me" - lullaby for the taken lyric by kimya dawson, "what a mother does for you out of obligation vs what a mother does for you because she wants to" - text post/poem by tumblr user vympr,

a/n: fangz to cici for reading!!! I felt like my immortal chapter 6 "paragraph" 4 while writing the last part trying not to under or overuse dialog tags lmao. remember when I said it's gonna get messy? it gets worse :)

tags @yesv01 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

You and Ricky had been planning to get to the El Rey early on opening night since tech week, to make sure you have plenty of extra time to get ready, warm up, and get in character. Plus, you’ve been telling him how much you’ve missed just being in theaters, and near stages. The more time you’re there, the better. When you’re on the way over Ricky couldn’t shake the excitement gripping him. You can’t seem shake the feeling something was going to go wrong.

It was different from nerves, different from anxiety or worries that everyone can get before a big event. It was the same small, nudging feeling you got the night the basement flooded during your run in Matilda. It’s not as bad as it had been that time, but you take in a breath, steadying yourself and knowing you should be ready for anything. When you do, the feeling is quickly overshadowed by your excitement. You haven’t acted in far too long, and you’re ecstatic that you’ll get to perform again soon. 

Once you get to the theater, you and Ricky are the first to sign the sign in sheet. You draw a little smiley face next to his name, and when he glances back at you, eyes falling on the paper. He smiles, struck by sudden joy at the little face. He leans back over and grabs a pen, drawing a smiley next to your name on the line below. Miss Jenn glances down when he returns the pen. 

“Oh!” she exclaims, seeing the little faces, “How cute. I love this energy we’re creating.” she gestures vaguely before shooing you off to your respective dressing rooms to get ready. 

Soon everyone’s there, and you’re once again wrapped up in the familiar hustle and bustle of show nights. You and your castmates are simultaneously getting in costume, warming up, and trying to get ready while helping each other’s hair and makeup. Ashlyn and Nini join you in an impromptu karaoke session, singing your hearts out to Bop to the Top while Nina riffs and harmonizes. The boys, one or two rooms away, start singing Getcha Head in the Game at the same time. In spite of the chaotic cacophony of voices, it's both a good way to warm up, and a good outlet for the nervous energy growing, bouncing from one person to the next, turning electric. 

Kourney enters suddenly, grabbing some bobby pins.

"Do you know if you have any safety pins?" She asks.

"Uh," you pause doing your hair, tying it up into a bouncy low half updo, and fumble through your bag, "how many do you need?" 

"Two or three?" She says hopefully. No matter how many you buy, bobby pins and safety pins always seem to be in short supply at every theater you've been to. You dig around for a minute before finding them, handing them to Kourtney.

"Thank you!" She declares, "Seb's shirt just completely-"

"Has anyone seen my glasses?" Ashlyn asks, and Kourtney pauses, noticing she's not wearing them. 

"Shit," Kourtney mutters, both of you looking around for them.

"Knock knock!" Comes Seb’s voice from behind the door.

"Decent!" You and Ashlyn reply in unison. Seb enters, holding the side of his shirt together with his hands. 

"Any luck?" He asks Kourtney. 

"Right here," she replies, holding up the safety pins. "Turn around." Nina puts in her headphones and starts doing some vocal exercises and scales to warm up a little more. Seb lifts up his jacket so Kourtney can pin the ripped seam back together.

"Oh," she remembers, "have you seen Ashlyn’s glasses?"

"The really big ones?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"Nope." He shrugs. She turns to Ashlyn. 

"We'll find them." Kourtney reassures her. Seb heads back to his dressing room he shares with Ricky and EJ, and you move on to the last few steps of your makeup routine. 

"Where are they?" Ashlyn huffs rhetorically. Natalie pokes her head in a moment later. 

"40 minutes till show time!"

"Thank you 40!" The three of you reply together. A little while later, you’re finally dressed and waiting for the glue on your eyelashes to get tacky, when you hear EJ call your name. You stumble out of your dressing room, zipping up your boot, and you’re greeted with EJ in his Chad costume, clearly in a huff. 

“Can you help me with my eyeliner?” he asks, a slightly petulant tone to his voice, handing you a black pencil. You laugh. 

“Yeah, hold on.” you go back into your dressing room, passing by Seb telling Kourtney something. You dig through your makeup bag as Seb reenters, Darbus glasses in hand, presenting them to Ashlyn. 

"Where were they?" She exclaims. 

"The prop table!" He says. 

"Why?" Ash asks, stating your thoughts exactly. 

"Natalie says they're technically a prop because in the detention scene when you…" you find what you're looking for, missing the tail end of his sentence as you leave a moment later with a stiff angled brush in hand. You grab EJ and lead him to the stairs where he can sit down. He does so, and you rub the bristles against the eyeliner, demonstrating for him. 

“This will make the application a lot more precise. Close your eyes…” you instruct, tilting his head back. You smudge the outside of his lash lines, careful not to make it look like too much. 

“Okay, now this is the scary part…” you trail off, gently lifting up his eyelid. “I swear I’m not going to stab you, just look down and don’t blink.” you instruct at the worried look on his face. You tight line the middle of his lash line for a defined, natural effect, then repeat the step on the other side. 

“Okay,” you say, pulling away to check that it looks even, unaware of Ricky standing a few feet away, watching you hold EJ’s face. You look so focused, and a twinge of jealousy flashes through his stomach, wishing you were holding his face, looking focused at him like that. 

“You should be good,” you say, and Ricky approaches, dragging you away as EJ thanks you.

“I just need to borrow her for a second.” he cuts EJ off, smiling tensely at him - one he returns. Ricky takes you a few feet away while EJ goes back into their dressing room. 

“What’s up?” you ask. He lets out a breathy laugh.

“I just… I can’t figure out this whole bronzer thing.” You bite back a smile. You know that  it’s bullshit, specifically because you went through his whole stage makeup routine with him twice last night. He could do his makeup and anyone else’s with one hand tied behind his back, so he obviously just wants your attention. You can’t deny that it’s really cute - and it’s working. He’s probably nervous, you figure. You chuckle, taking the brush from him. 

“Make a fish face,” you instruct, sucking in your cheeks and puckering your lips. His face mirrors yours, and you blend the product into his foundation. Your hand rests on his jaw, angling it this way and that until you’re satisfied with your work. He glances briefly back at the stairs, where EJ has long since left. Ricky’s about to look for any other excuse to keep you here for a few more minutes, your eyes light up, remembering something.

“Oh!” you exclaim, turning around, “Stay right here.” You’re back a moment later after digging through your bag past bobby pins, safety pins, your water bottle, script, sewing kit, extra makeup, makeup wipes, bandaids, and throat lozenges. You grab a small box, holding it triumphantly before running back out to Ricky in the hall. You stand in front of him, that glimmer in your eye. 

“I have a surprise.” Excitement swirls in his chest.

“What is it?” he asks, trying to suppress the anticipatory giggle bubbling up, his energy matching yours. You hand him the small box, and he looks at it, confused. He opens it slowly, pulling out a little charm. It’s a dog tag with the number 14, and a metallic T on a jump ring.

“Oh my god…” he breathes, looking at it closer. You’re beaming, so glad that he likes it. 

“You know,” you say softly, “something to remember your first show by. And your heart ring was looking kind of lonely.” You smile, pointing to the plastic ring he still wears around his neck, waiting until the last possible minute to take it off. You barely get the words out before he grabs your arms, pulling you close and kissing you. His lips are warm as they move against yours, and for a split second, you forget where you are, completely losing context for everything around you. 

“I love-” he murmurs against your mouth, freezing for an instant. Your hearts skip a beat in tandem, then he cuts himself off to kiss you again. “I love it.” he finishes. You smile against his lips, pulling away very reluctantly. He leans back in, pressing a few more kisses to your lips before you wiggle out of his grasp. 

“Ricky!” you laugh, “We’re gonna mess up our makeup. We can kiss after the show.” He runs his fingers up and down your arms, gazing at you as you talk. You have all his attention. 

“Okay,” he says in that light hearted, joking tone of his that always makes you laugh, “but I’m gonna hold you to that.” You laugh again, and he takes off his necklace so you can slip on the new charm. After getting it fixed on the chain, you reattach it to his neck. 

At the end of the hall where you’re standing, Nina lingers, watching Ricky touch you and kiss you like that. It makes her sick, and she finds herself holding back a gag. Her hours of research had turned into days, and she has your playbill.com page open on her phone at this very moment. She’s torn, reminiscing over how much she loved your performances and how obsessed with you she was as a kid, and simultaneously fuming over it. You’ve done all this professional work, you’ve acted on Broadway, and now you’re here at East High? 

She scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. She wanted so badly to be you, to have your perfect life, and you threw it all away for what? To come do crappy high school theatre in a town that couldn’t be further from New York? She fights a laugh suddenly, realizing just how much dirt she has on you. There must be a reason you’ve been keeping this secret, lying to everyone, lying to Ricky. She shakes her head. She doesn’t know why yet, but she’s going to find out. 

35 minutes before curtain, Miss Jenn gathers everyone for circle time, and a cast meeting to boost morale before the show. Everyone is finally in costume and Kourtney follows Seb, makeup pallet in hand, adjusting the finishing touches to the glitter on his cheeks. You can feel the energy stirring and growing, electric between all of you. 

“Most of you know that our dazzling Taylor had to leave under family circumstances. Gina sends her love and support, but has left for the east coast and will not be able to make it to tonight’s performance.” Miss Jenn says. You and Ricky share a look, trying not to be too obvious. You got Gina a plane ticket together, and your mom is at the airport right now to pick her up. The last you heard from her, Gina’s flight was delayed. Now there’s only a slim chance she’ll get here in time. You silently keep your fingers crossed, praying to whatever theatre gods are out there that she’ll make it to the theater before it's too late. 

“And so,” Miss Jenn continues, “I have asked… Kourtney to fill in, in her place!”

The room erupts into cheers. Kourtney smiles, eyes on the floor bashfully. She’s praying she doesn’t seem as nervous as she feels. It’s not that she didn’t expect you guys to be supportive of her subbing in as Taylor, but seeing first hand how excited everyone is for her eases some of the worries that have been building up. 

“Now,” Miss Jenn continues, “everyone join hands.” After some heartfelt words of encouragement and other usual circle time warm ups, she claps her hands.

“Let’s go, wildcats! 20 minutes to curtain!”

Once again, the room erupts into cheers. 

“Now, if I can get my main characters and my ensemble members starting the show with a mic on stage for mic check?” she directs, pointing towards the way to the wings. You walk with everyone else towards the stage, pausing when you pass Miss Jenn. 

“Do you want me to help Kourtney get ready?” you ask. Her hair and makeup are done, she just has to get in costume, but you can sense that she needs a pep talk. 

“That would be fantastic,” she says with a look that indicates she thinks Kourtney could use a pep talk too, “thank you, Sharpay.” She pulls out her walkie to let Big Red know you and Kourtney are going to be released from mic check early to finish getting ready. After singing We’re All In This Together while Big Red adjusts your volume from the sound booth, Kourtney sings Bop to the Top, voice getting louder and quieter as Red tweaks the settings. Once you’ve both gotten the thumbs up, you scurry backstage to your dressing room, handing her costume pieces while she gets changed. 

“Oh, wait,” you say before she pulls on her top. You grab your setting spray you use for shows from your bag. “Close your eyes.” You mist her face with the product, fanning it dry so it doesn’t smudge. 

“Thanks,” she says. You take one look at her expression, and can tell she’s nervous.  

“You okay?” You ask. She hesitates, then sighs.

“I had two weeks to learn all my lines. I had two weeks to learn all the lines and the songs, I haven’t even gotten to rehearse on stage with you guys, and I’m just so worried I’m going to blow it, or choke in front of everyone…” she trails off. This is clearly the tip of the iceberg, and she fiddles with her bracelets, trying to get out some nervous energy. 

“There is no way you’re going to choke.” you say confidently, “You know this show inside and out! Plus, haven’t you been running lines with Nini the whole time?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she replies, listening carefully, trying to grab onto your reassurance.

“Almost all of Taylor’s scenes are with Gabriella.” You state. Her expression changes as she realizes you’re right. She knows this part better than she was giving herself credit for. 

“Plus there will be scripts in the wings if you need to refresh between scenes.” 

“Yeah,” she says again, more confident this time. “I know my lines, I know the songs, I know the dances - mostly, at least - so it’s all going to be fine! Even if the choreography in Stick to the Status Quo is still totally terrifying, and I have no idea how to dance with a lunch tray or do a death wack, it’s going to be fine!” Her laughter turned from relieved to slightly panicked again. 

“You think you’re nervous for Stick to the Status Quo?” you ask rhetorically, a comedic note to your voice, “I have to get caked in the face!” You exclaim with a chuckle. You’ve only practiced with an actual cake once, during the last tech rehearsal, and it was messy, to say the least. Literally and figuratively. 

Kourtney laughs, remembering the whipped cream that got everywhere, how loud you were yelling in character before storming off. It took more makeup wipes than you'd expected to get the sticky sugar off your face. 

“We’ll get through it together.” You state, holding out your hand. She squeezes it, reassuringly.

“Yeah. We will.” 

“Five minutes to places!” Natalie calls, poking her head in. 

“Thank you five!” you both reply. You check your phone one last time, the new text from your mom stating that she’s still at the airport, waiting for Gina’s flight. You text Ricky the same thing, letting him know you’re all still waiting for more updates on the delay. The good news is that your mom’s friend from work - who was planning on coming to see the show anyway - is going to stream the show to your mom until she can get there, that way she won’t miss anything. 

It doesn’t feel like five minutes has gone by when Natalie is calling for places, ushering everybody into the wings and into their starting places and positions. Hushed whispers of encouragement and break a leg spread through the wings, and everyone falls silent as Miss Jenn begins her curtain speech. It’s unusual for a group of such high energy people to be so still, so quiet, and you soak up every moment of it. This is your favorite part - or one of them, at least; it's those few fleeting minutes when everyone’s backstage in the wings, the opening of the show is seconds away and hurdling closer and closer with every breath, every heartbeat. This is one of those magical, transformative, fleeting times that can only really be described as in between. 

You never knew just how much you would miss this, the distinct and irreplaceable energy, the feeling of being in a theater. Tears spring to your eyes as it really hits you that you’re home, back where you’ve always needed to be. You close your eyes, taking deep, measured breaths to focus, to get into that headspace of being in character. Even with your eyes closed, you can feel it around you; the rich wood and cement mixing into different sections of the floor, the heavy curtains, the grid and catwalk and lights, all intangibly high and far away. It’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful that you don’t know how your body is supposed to contain it. You know now that you could never leave, not really. Theatre will always be your home, and you know this feeling will only solidify more and more with time. You realize, too, that it’s a home that will always grow and change and evolve with you, because that’s in its eternal, fleeting nature. That’s the most beautiful part, you think.

You squeeze Seb’s hand in excitement and encouragement and every other good thing, a gesture that he returns. In spite of the silence and the stillness, you know that everyone is just as excited as you are. Ricky’s in the opposite wing, or else you’d be squeezing his hand right now too right now. You use this moment, this stillness that's growing and getting more charged with energy every second, to become laser focused on giving this performance everything you've got - on really getting your head in the game. 

Nini looks around, then over at Ricky - again. He’s been avoiding her this whole night, and she can’t stand it. She leans closer. 

“I need to talk to you. After the show.” someone shushes her, and she lowers her voice, continuing. “She’s been lying to you about everything. You don’t know everything about her, Ricky.” 

“Yes, I-” he cuts himself off, not wanting to feed into this. Not now. “I have to get into character.” He says, moving away from her. He tries to focus on the energy the cast is creating around him, on becoming Troy. He takes a breath, centering himself. 

“Without further ado, I am proud to present… East High’s High School Musical: the Musical!” Miss Jenn’s voice is drowned out by applause, and the music begins. 

The first few songs and scenes go smoothly; everyone is on time and remembering their cues, and the audience couldn’t be more engaged, applauding and laughing right when you want them to. During Jack Scott’s announcements after Darbus reveals what the winter musical is going to be, you leave to get ready for What I’ve Been Looking For. You pass by Ricky, who’s quick changing for Get’cha Head in the Game, and shoot him a big thumbs up.

“Great job!” you whisper enthusiastically, stomping your feet quietly in excitement.

“Thanks,” he smiles, beaming as he pulls on his jersey. He watches you scurry down the hall before getting nudged toward the stage right before his cue. He shakes his head, wondering why he let Nini get him so worked up before. Of course he knows you. He knows everything about you! There’s absolutely nothing on earth you could tell him that would throw him off, or scare him away from you. She’s probably just making something up to get in his head, to drive a wedge between you. That seems like something she would do lately.

“Let’s see some hustle! Move, move, move!” Coach Bolton calls from onstage, and Ricky jogs over to him, as ready as he'll ever be.

“Sorry I’m late, coach.”

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he’s trying to stay in character and stay focused on the scene, Nini’s words are still echoing in the back of his mind, throwing him off a little. He catches his dad’s eye in the crowd as the music starts. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this proud, and it steadies Ricky. He takes in a breath, and begins to sing. Part way through the song, he notices a woman in the crowd who looks weirdly like his mom. He doesn’t miss a beat, making sure to look in his dad’s direction instead. That’s weird, he thinks, but it can’t be her. There’s no way she’d come all the way from Chicago for something like this. Just like what Nini said to him before the show, he won’t let that distract him from performing, and tries not to let that throw him off.

During the dance break, he gets hooked up to his harness, and his stomach erupts into excited butterflies as he slowly moves up. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd that turns into cheers as he hovers in front of the hoop, ball in hand. Up here, he’s not blinded by the stage lights, and he looks down at the crowd, able to see his dad’s face even better than before. He’s filled with such euphoria, he knows you’re right - nothing can beat this feeling. He feels more alive, more awake than he ever has, simultaneously enveloped by a deep sense of peace, of rightness that he doesn’t want to let go of. 

On the other side of the auditorium, someone moves, catching his eye. Some guy is making his way into his seat, presumably because he showed up late. He leans over to his date, kissing her and touching her leg. Nothing could have prepared Ricky for what he saw when he pulled away. Past the blinding stage lights, his stomach plummets back down to earth as he’s able to make out more faces in the audience - including hers. She’s here. She’s really here, and she brought that douchebag with her. She’s whispering something in that bastard’s ear, barely five rows away from his dad. They’re all over each other, talking close and kissing and smiling. 

It’s only when she points up at him that he snaps out of it. He realizes the pit has been waitin for his cue a beat or two longer than usual, and follows up quickly with it. He had dropped his basketball when he was up there, and he’s scrambling to make it through the rest of the number. He tries desperately to get back into character, to focus on the lyrics and choreography, to focus on the music instead of what he just saw in front of him, but he can’t shake what just happened, what he just saw. Even as he’s being pulled backstage to change into the costume for his next scene, it takes all his effort not to let that overwhelm him. He can’t crumble right now, not like this. There’s a whole cast and crew, all his friends, that are counting on him. He gets some water, tries to pull himself together. 

EJ looks for Ricky backstage, having a few minutes before their next scene. Even he has to admit he was impressed with Ricky’s performance back there. He looked so conflicted, so torn between basketball and singing. He even managed to make his distracted blocking and choreography look so organic EJ was worried he’d messed up for a second. He’s been giving him a hard time, butting heads on and off stage, but Ricky is really shining tonight. He’s committed, and EJ has to commend him for that. 

“Ricky,” he says, just loudly enough to get his attention. Ricky turns around. “I have to hand it to you; you’re doing great out there, man. You deserve all the applause you’re getting.” 

Ricky takes a breath, closing his water bottle.

“Thanks.” 

He stares into space to the ceiling on EJ’s right, gripping his water bottle until his knuckles have a white cast to them. EJ’s brow furrows. He actually seems a little out of it. 

“Are you okay?” he asks carefully. They’re not really close like that, but even EJ can see that he seems a little off. 

“I’m fine,” he says a little too fast. “I am totally fine. Because it’s opening night, and nothing’s going to ruin this.” 

Suddenly it makes sense. He knows exactly what Ricky’s going through. He sighs. 

“Look, everybody gets stage fright. Just take a deep breath, and use the music and your lines to stay grounded.” He claps Ricky on the shoulder supportively.

“Thanks,” he chokes out again. EJ leaves to fix his mic tape, and Ricky is once again exactly where he doesn’t want to be - alone with his thoughts. Even though EJ has no idea of the scope of issues Ricky’s dealing with right now, his advice might still work. Instead of waiting in his dressing room, he hovers in the wings, going over the chemistry class scene as it happens, waiting for the lights to go down so he can talk to you, or at least be near you. He’s so tempted to barge onstage and drag you away with him. Instead he listens closely to your dialog with Gabriella. Just hearing your voice is enough for him to hold on to for now.

The lights go down, and you exit into the wings. You’re surprised to find Ricky there - he usually comes up about half way through Jack Scott’s narration. One look at his face and you know something’s wrong. Before you can ask, he’s pulling you into a less busy area by the prop table. 

“She’s here.” He grips your arm, hand shaking. He doesn’t need to say anything else, you already have a full grasp on the gravity of the situation, the effect this is having on him. 

“Here?” you ask, needing to clarify, and he nods. “Are you okay?” you ask sincerely.

“I’m…” he struggles for an answer, “trying to be.” You take his hands in yours so gently he doesn’t even notice until your thumbs are stroking his skin reassuringly.

“Okay,” you say calmly, and he can see the gears turning, see you figuring out the perfect solution as you speak. “Why don’t you have some water, stay right here, and I’ll go get Miss Jenn, okay?” 

He nods, and you move quickly to Natalie, asking her if she knows where Miss Jenn is. She picks up her walkie talkie, asking Miss Jenn to come to the stage right wing. Jack’s narration scene wraps up and the crew changes the set to Darbus’s detention. You have seconds before you have to get out there, and you turn to Ricky, worried about him. 

“Are you going to be okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper. 

“Yeah.” he says, “I think so.” 

You see Miss Jenn walking toward the stage right wing as you’re about to head onstage.

“We’ll talk to her right after.” you tell him in a hushed, reassuring whisper. You give his hand one more squeeze before you find your places in the dark. Moments later, the lights are up, and the scene begins. In all the time you’ve spent acting, you’ve gotten very good at staying in character, compartmentalizing thoughts and worries about your personal life while you’re onstage. You find it a little more difficult to keep the disgust at Lynne Bowen’s blatant lack of basic respect, or even awareness for the consequences of her actions, buried in the back of your mind as the scene plays out. 

Sitting on the wooden flooring of the stage, warm under the bright lights, Ricky does exactly what he’s supposed to do - he uses the scene and dialog to stay grounded. He follows the dialog while doing his stage business, listening for his cues just like Miss Jenn thought him to do. If he stays in character, he doesn’t have to think about any offstage drama. As long as he doesn’t look out to that section of seats, as long as he can keep his eyes from being magnetically drawn there, he’s going to be fine. He stays in character, stays right there as Troy, clinging to his character like a life raft. If he can be Troy, he doesn’t have to worry about everything he’s going to have to deal with as Ricky for just a few more minutes. It's desperate and fleeting, but it's the only thing he can do right now. 

Soon, the lights are down, and you’re hustling toward the stage right wing, where you know Miss Jenn is waiting. He finds your hand in the dark, the sparkly pink sequins on your outfit unmistakable even in the darkness. He holds onto you desperately, until you’re both standing in front of Miss Jenn. She knows from one look that whatever is going on, it’s bad. 

“Um," Ricky starts, swallowing hard, "my mom is here…” he hates that his voice is already trembling so soon. It sounds more like a question than a statement, and his stomach twists at how foreign the word now feels in his mouth. My mom. The last time he called her that had been months ago when he told you and Miss Jenn what had happened. Ever since he’s only referred to her through pronouns and as briefly as possible, trying to disconnect the person she is from who she was supposed to be. Who he thought she was. The closest he’s gotten to addressing her has been vague statements; she didn’t call back, or I think that was her recipe, let’s find a different one. Actually saying it, actually calling her that makes his jaw feel stiff. 

“My god.” Miss Jenn says softly, unable to believe that she could have the audacity to show up unannounced after what she put Ricky through. Ricky hesitates, and she knows there’s more. She nods, waiting for him to continue. 

“And she, uh,” he swallows thickly, hating his throat for tightening up so much when he has to sing in a few minutes, “she brought her boyfriend…” Your eyes widen and Miss Jenn gasps. 

“They’re in the sixth row, they keep talking and kissing, and-” he cuts himself off, unable to continue. His hands are balled up, tight and shaking. 

“Okay. Ricky, sweetie, why don’t we talk about this somewhere a little more private.” You both guide him to the boys’ dressing room, and after making sure no one’s in there, she sits down facing him, and takes his hands in hers. 

“From the beginning, what happened?” 

He was barely able to get it out the first time, but now he can’t stop. Everything he’s been trying so hard to ignore and shove down for the last 20 minutes - and it’s felt way longer than 20 minutes - comes tumbling out. He doesn't think he could stop talking if he tried. He doesn’t even realize how loud he’s getting until Miss Jenn gently shushes him. 

“We don’t want the audience to hear us.” he nods, taking a breath for the first time since he started talking. You left a minute ago to check on how much time you have before the next scene, and reenter the dressing room now, looking stressed. 

“They’re almost done with Auditions.” you state. You need to go up there now, you and Seb have What I’ve Been Looking For soon, and you don’t want to miss your cue. 

“Go,” she says. Ricky nods, so you do, knowing that Miss Jenn has this under control, that she can help Ricky right now. Your footsteps recede, and Ricky turns back to Miss Jenn. 

“Ricky,” she starts calmly, “what she did was wildly inappropriate.” He already feels a little better, less crazy, and he waits for her to continue. 

“Showing up unannounced with a…" she chooses her words carefully, "date, was… probably the worst thing that could have happened tonight.” 

“Yeah,” he scoffs in agreement. She continues.

“You have every right to be as upset as you are. Whatever you need right now, just tell me, okay?” He nods. “I think what we should do is get your dad, and let him know what’s going on. I can try to have one of the ushers escort her out, but I’m sure the last thing you want tonight is even more drama.” 

“Got that right,” he breathes, relieved. 

“I’m going to talk to EJ and see if he can go on as Troy-” 

“What? No.” he protests. 

“Ricky-” 

“No, Miss Jenn- I have to play Troy. Please, I have to!” 

“It might be best for you-” 

He stands up suddenly. “What’s best for me is going out there; acting and singing, like we rehearsed -  like I’m supposed to! Please, you can’t…” 

“Okay,” she says, standing up and trying to calm him down a little. “Okay. If you think you can do it, you can go back out there.” 

He relaxes a little. 

“Thank you.” his voice breaks as he speaks, and she realizes how badly he needs this right now.

“Why don’t we revisit this at intermission, see how you’re feeling then? Just to check up on you.” she adds quickly. 

“Okay.” he agrees. She puts a hand on his arm. 

“I’m going to let EJ know to get ready, just in case you change your mind. We’ve got to be ready for anything, right?” She smiles gently, one he tries to return. 

“Right,” he says. A stagehand pokes his head into the room.

“Troy, we need you.”

“Be right there,” Miss Jenn says. She claps her hand over Ricky’s one more time. “Okay, Ricky, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go out there and sing a ballad with Gabriella that will make the audience swoon,” he smiles, “and I am going to do my best to get this situation resolved as quickly and discreetly as possible. If anything else happens, or you need anything, come tell me right away.”

“Okay.” he says, this time, with a note of determination in his voice. Miss Jenn pats him on the back, sending him off. He runs through the halls, making it just in time. Once he’s in the wings, she pulls out her phone to text Mike, and fill him in on everything that’s going on. He enters on Gabriella’s cue, and Miss Jenn pauses, watching him deliver his lines. All the distress, all the pain melts away as he steps into character.

It’s giving him a break from everything, she thinks, it has been the whole time. Theatre isn’t just a luxury or a passion for some people, it’s a means of survival. It hits her all at once, that in staying here, in facing the challenges and struggles that came from directing this show, she’s helping Ricky through one of the hardest things he’ll ever go through. She’s become the person she needed when she was his age; with only one parent, feeling completely lost at sea. Her chest squeezes, and she watches them sing, their voices sending a chill through her. 

Backstage, in the few dark moments of the set change for Cellular Fusion, Nina somehow manages to corner you. 

“What did you do to him?” she demands, and you know she’s referring to Ricky, who exited to the other wing. You stare at her, aghast. You lean in close, lowering your voice, desperately holding on to your professionalism. 

“We have to go onstage, literally right now. I am not doing this with you right now.” 

“Huh,” she scoffs with a fake smile, “you’re one to talk.” You have approximately two seconds to look at her, baffled by everything she’s saying, before you have to go on. You enter, and hit your mark. At the cue, you and Seb begin to harmonize. Right as you do, your phone - tucked away in the wings - silently begins to buzz. Your phone lights up with a text from your mom, informing you that Gina’s flight has finally landed, and they’ll be at the theater any minute. 

You run off stage as Cellular Fusion wraps up, and Miss Jenn and Carlos are trying to figure out what to do about the Taylor dance break coming up. Kourtney has been doing great so far, but she doesn’t think she can handle choreography that complicated with so little time to rehearse.

“I could tell the pit to cut that section…” Carlos offers. You check your phone and your eyes light up, looking at the doorway. 

“Uh,” you start with a smile, “I don’t think that will be an issue…”

Miss Jenn, Carlos, and Kourtney look over at Gina, smiling timidly. 

“Oh, thank god,” Miss Jenn chokes out. She turns to Kourtney, then Gina. “You, go out there before you miss your cue. And you, quick change into something more 2006 before the dance break.”

They both agree, and a stagehand runs over with something for Gina to change into, guiding her to the dressing rooms. 

“Is he doing any better?” you ask Miss Jenn before you go on. You don’t have much time, but you need to know if he’s okay.

“A little,” she says, “I think.” You both know it’s better than nothing, and you’re just hoping whatever he’s doing keeps working. 

Stick to the Status Quo couldn’t be going any better. There’s so much happening, so much organized chaos, that he forgets about everything for a few wonderful minutes. There’s no time to think about that when he’s dancing on tables, begging his classmates not to sacrifice their individuality so they can fit in. It only gets better when you and Seb enter toward the end of the number. You look so genuinely pissed off that people are breaking free from the boxes they’ve been put in, and your voices sound perfect harmonizing together, reverberating through the auditorium.

He tries in vain to stop Zeke from giving you a cake, watching with bated breath as it smashes into your face. He turns away, just like he’s supposed to, but his eyes accidentally land on the one place in the audience he shouldn't be looking at.  His stomach plummets. Has she been on her phone this whole time? After running from everything this whole night, it finally gets the best of him. He can’t stand it any longer, running into the wings as you let out an ear shattering scream, loud enough to finally make her look up.

“Someone… is going… to pay for this!” you yell furiously, before the lights go down. The curtain draws to a close as applause thunders through the building. The lights in the house go up for intermission, and you hear a slow rise of chatter as people mill about and make conversation as you exit the stage. You grab a makeup wipe a stagehand has ready, thanking them as Natalie calls out that intermission is starting, and you have 20 minutes to places for act two.

“Thank you 20,” you call out distractedly, searching for Ricky. You run to the back, wiping the rest of the whipped cream off your face, and check the boys dressing room to see if he’s in there. He is, sitting in there by himself, seeming worse than before. One look at his face and you know something else happened.

“She was on her fucking phone the whole time!” he states in disbelief, “Like…” The words dry up as he holds a pillow in his lap in a death grip. 

“Oh my god…” you say, shaking your head. He’s not doing good, clearly. No one would be in his position. He pulls you in for a hug as soon as you’re close enough, one you reciprocate. He holds onto you tight, feeling just a little more stable as soon as you’re in his arms. Surrounded by your familiar grasp, it’s just a little easier to breathe, to think clearly. Unfortunately, it also means he has a much clearer grasp on everything that’s happened tonight and how it’s affecting him, how he feels about it. His dad is right behind you, and he lets go of you long enough to stand up and greet him. His dad pulls him into a hug, patting his back. 

“I’m so sorry, kid. I had no idea she was going to pull something like this.” Mike’s voice wavers, and when Ricky doesn’t answer, you know it’s because he’s choked up. Miss Jenn enters a moment later, walking over to Ricky and Mike. 

“The both of them have been removed from the premises.” She states. 

“Thank you,” Mike says earnestly. 

“Oh, it was nothing a little faked parking violation couldn't take care of,"  she says, earning a small smile from Mike. She turns to Ricky, continuing. “I filled you dad in on what’s been going on, too.” 

“Maybe we should just go home,” Mike offers, knowing he probably won’t want to. 

“No,” he protests, “I can do act two, I want to. Plus, if we leave now, she’ll know where we are and she’s going to ambush us again, and-” 

“The one place you’re guaranteed not to run into her is here at the theater.” you finish quietly. 

“Yeah,” Ricky agrees, motioning to you. Mike considers, weighing his options. Since she’s gone, if Ricky thinks he can handle it, he doesn’t see why he can’t do the second half of the show - especially since he seems to want to so badly. Maybe now isn’t the time to take that away from him, even if he means well.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But if anything happens, if you change your mind at all-”

“You’re the first to know.” Ricky agrees quickly. 

“I want you to stay plugged in with me, okay?” Mike says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Text me when you’re not onstage, let me know how you’re doing.” Ricky agrees again. Miss Jenn looks between them. 

“Alright. Well, in that case, Ricky, you should get changed for act two.” She says with a tentative smile. He nods. 

“Thank you. Thank you guys.” he says sincerely to his dad and Miss Jenn. Before you leave, you catch his eye.

“I’m going to refill my water, then I’ll be back here, okay?” 

“Sounds good." He says, "Hurry back,” he adds quickly, giving you that sweet look with those big puppy dog eyes, and it makes your chest squeeze. 

“Absolutely.” you agree. 

You barely leave the dressing room before you're met with Nina. She barges forward and stands in front of you, arms crossed, and you realize she's waiting for you to move out of the way so she can get into the boys' dressing room. You don't budge. 

“I need to talk to Ricky. I heard what happened, and I'm the only one who can convince him to go on for the second act, and I don’t need you-” 

“Wow,” you begin, cutting her off, once again amazed at her audacity, “now is really not a good time. Don’t go in there and stir things up.”  

She looks you up and down, letting out an indignant scoff. 

“Don’t act like you know him like that. I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten, I know him better than anyone.” 

You take in a deep breath, trying so hard to stay patient. 

“Sure. You know him better than anyone.” you say, in a pacifying tone, “So you should know the last thing he needs is more pressure on him when he’s in the middle of a family crisis, right?” The question is rhetorical, and you continue, patience with her finally starting to run thin. “If you actually care about him, then for the sake of his well being you’ll leave him alone and let him get through this. Now is really not the time, Nina, read the goddamn room!” 

The sentence is finished with an aggravated, humorless laugh. Your priorities right now are Ricky, and getting through opening night. You need to help him process some of the shit that's been happening tonight, make sure he’s okay, so he can perform like he wants to. The last thing he needs is Nina barging in there and telling him he’s letting the cast down, or that he’s not serious about theatre, and that he should have quit after auditions - all of which you’ve heard more times than you can count over the duration of rehearsals, even up to a few days ago. 

You’ve tried so hard to be patient with her, but dear god, she’s really starting to get on your last nerve - nevermind the fact that you have a special type of hatred for the kind of people like Nina, who shit on people that are still learning about something they have more experience in; like telling someone they’re not serious about theatre because it’s their first show, for example.

“Do not fuck with him right now.” you state, rolling your eyes at her shocked expression.

You push past her, walking over to the water fountain. She watches you walk away, mouth hanging open, and lets out an indignant scoff. You swear to god, if one more thing goes wrong tonight, if one more person tries you, you’re going to absolutely lose it. You take a few deep breaths as you fill up your bottle, trying to calm down and center yourself a little. Once you’re done, you start to walk back to the dressing rooms, but you’re stopped by a woman who is definitely not cast or crew. She sees you and approaches, seeming a little pissy. 

“I’m looking for Ricky Bowen?” she states. As she speaks, your stomach drops. 

You recognize her voice from when you heard it on the phone, and from the voicemail Ricky showed you over Thanksgiving. This is Lynne Bowen. As in, the Lynne Bowen. The one that left.  The same woman who’s made such a tactless and selfish decisions over and over that have ultimately caused her son to be on the verge of a breakdown just down the hall from where you’re standing right now. 

“You are not supposed to be back here.” you state, desperately trying to figure out how to handle this. You pull out your phone and text Miss Jenn, ‘code red, really need backup’.

“Can you just tell me where Ricky Bowen is? I’m his mother.” she says it in a way immediately expects sympathy from you, sympathy she doesn’t receive. You stare at her blankly, and she continues, much less kind than she’d been pretending to be. “I need to see my son, okay? Maybe when you’re a mother someday you’ll understand-”

You’re not sure what about her, about the way she’s talking to you specifically is the last straw for you, but your patience is already running so thin it’s practically transparent. Against your better judgment, you cut her off. 

“He does not want to see you. He doesn’t want to speak to you - or be anywhere near you right now, for the record - and you need to fucking respect that, okay?” you say decisively, offense written all over her face, “And you are really not allowed to be backstage if you’re not cast or crew, which you’re clearly not-” 

“You are way out of line, young lady!” she yells, “I don’t care if he doesn’t want to talk. I’ll talk to him if I want to; I’m his mother.”  She adjusts her purse, clearly expecting you to fold, to tell her where he is. You know you should keep your mouth shut, you know you should be diplomatic and patient and professional like you always are, you should wait for Miss Jenn to handle this, but you’ve spent the past three months watching Ricky suffer because of this woman and her choices. You can’t stay quiet when the woman who hurt him is right in front of you. 

“I think you lost the right to pull that shit when you walked out the door and chose not to be in his life!” you snap, a dangerous smile on your face. The stunned look on her face is better than anything you’ve ever seen. It’s clear no one has ever tried to take her down a peg until now. 

“How dare-” 

“You gave him a free pass to hate you forever, because you’re not the parent who stayed! You didn’t try-” 

Your words lose momentum as you find yourself suddenly looking at the wall to your right, your cheek stinging. The sound of her slapping you across the face echos across the walls for a moment before fading away, and you freeze, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from shock.

“Listen here you little slut,” she says, much more ferocious than before. All facades of a concerned mother have melted away. “You have no right to talk to me like that-” 

“What the fuck?!” 

You snap out of it, and she turns around at Ricky’s voice at the end of the hall.

“Ricky, my baby,” she starts, walking toward him, but she’s thrown off at how distant he seems toward her. “I’m sorry you had to see that, this girl is so-” 

“Don’t ever talk about her like that again.” His voice is stone cold as he brushes past her, analyzing your expression closely to see if you’re alright. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice shaky.

“I’m fine,” you say as calmly as possible, “are you okay?” 

He’s decidedly not, but he tries to pull himself together. 

“If you are, that’s all that matters.” Behind him, growing impatient, Lynne takes a step forward.

“Ricky,” she demands. He takes a breath, and leans closer to you. 

“You should change for act two.” You look between them, wishing there was something else you could do, some way that you could make this better. You agree, stopping before you leave for your dressing room. 

“Text me if you need anything.” you say seriously, and he agrees, understanding the subtext of your words. Text you if he needs backup, or if it gets to be too much, because you’re there for him. Lynne moves toward him again. 

“Can we talk?” she says with a domineering tone to her voice, and you both know it’s not a question. You want to object, but all he wants is to get her away from you. He nods, indicating you should go, and you do - albeit, very reluctantly. He turns back to her. 

“Yeah,” he says seriously, “I think we need to.” 

She grabs his arm to lead him down another stretch of hallway, but he shakes her off immediately, walking a few feet in front of her. 

“Ricky, are you alright?” she demands, once they’re relatively out of earshot. She crosses her arms. “I was so worried about you when you ran offstage like that.” 

“I’m surprised you noticed.” he murmurs. She either ignores him or doesn’t hear. Regardless, she continues. 

“Why did you leave? Is it stage fright? Because a lot of people are counting on you, honey. You made a commitment to this-” 

“You’re one to talk about commitment,” he mutters, voice low, but loud enough to be heard. His impulse control is not at all where it should be, especially with how she just talked to you, what she called you.

“I’m sorry?” Lynne demands. She’s not used to Ricky yelling at her. She’s always had a lot of influence over him. He used to do everything she said, he’s always been such a mama’s boy until now. 

“I mean, do you ever think about anyone besides yourself?” he snaps, “Did you even care that you ruined the only thing I’ve been able to count on in my life- I can never get this night back, Lynne. And now…” he trails off, trying so hard to regulate his emotions, even though he knows he’s out of control. He takes a shaky breath, trying with everything he has inside him to reign it back in a little. 

“...Why would you bring him to the show?” 

Lynne looks stunned at his question. 

“Wh-” she starts, “This is about Todd?”

“Why would you bring him here?” He demands, repeating himself.

“I…” she struggles for an answer, “wanted him to meet you.” she infuses as much guilt into her words as she can. He should feel bad for the way he’s speaking to her. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to throw you off.” 

It doesn’t work this time, and he refuses to back down, to fawn for her. He doesn’t buy it for a second.

“So you waited until I was suspended, mid air over a basketball hoop, for me to see you all… cozied up together? You didn’t think - not for one second - that might be just a little upsetting to me?!” 

“Ricky-”

“And what about dad, huh? How do you think he feels watching you feel each other up right in front of him?” tears brim in the corners of his eyes as everything he’s been suppressing all night, all these weeks and months finally breaks the surface. She lets out an indignant scoff and tries to say something, but he ignores her and keeps going. It’s an avalanche now, and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. 

“He didn’t leave the couch for a week after you left!” he roars, remembering how hard it was to see his dad like that, to have to be the one to drag him out of it. 

“...I didn’t know that-”

“How could you?!” he laughs bitterly, "You weren't there!" He screams. He doesn't think it's ever felt better to say something than it does now. "You weren't there the whole time I was rehearsing, you weren't the one running lines and going over blocking, and teaching me how to listen for cues and do stage makeup and quick change! You weren't there for any of the work that went into this, and you just waltz in here with the newest guy you're screwing to your fucking son's musical like you've been here the whole time, but you havent!" He's never yelled at her like this, but a part of him thinks after how much she hurt him - and his dad - it's long overdue. "You don't get to enjoy this show, and you don't get to be around me, or dad, or anything we do because you walked out!"

"You are way out of line-" she starts, voice cracking. 

"No, you know what’s way out of line?" He demands, all too ready to throw her words back in her face. "Breaking my heart, breaking dad’s heart, then acting like everything is fine when it’s not!"

"You think I wanted to leave you?!" She screams back at him. 

"Yeah," he answers quickly, "I do, because you did! And you know what? I'm glad you left." He spits, watching the pain grow in her eyes, his words like venom. 

"All you do is hurt us." 

She blinks like she was just slapped. He takes a step forward, shaking, angry tears silently spilling from his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low and dead serious. 

"Don't call me anymore."

Before she can say anything, he starts to walk away. She calls out to him, desperate to get the last word in, to make him know how much pain his words have caused her. 

"You are really hurting me, Ricky." She says, voice shaking as she cries, "you're breaking your mother's heart."

The sound of his mother crying like that because of something he said should have wrecked him, but he pushes away any last remaining scraps of guilt his rage hasn't burned away yet. He turns back to her, no love in his eyes, and laughs bitterly.

"Yeah, I guess it runs in the family. You know, the one thing I got from you is the ability to ruin any relationship I have, so thanks for that, mom." He spits, turning to leave. She takes a step forward. 

"Don’t you walk away from me-"

"Like mother like son, huh?" He barks. With that, he's gone. He doesn't stick around for any more of her manipulation or guilt tactics. He just really, really needs to see you right now.

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt. 6 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 5.3k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, smut

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: mike's a good dad, mike and your mom are the most iconic single parent bff duo, mike and ricky are both water signs so there's a lot of feelings fromt he bowen boys, LYNNE IS SO TOXIC, intentional and unintentional guilt tripping, todd /derogatory, ricky's spiraling just a tad /s, lynne calls herself mommy once /nx, passive agression and emotional manipulation from lynne, comforting ricky, more (brief) one sided gina pining, more background slowburn ashlyn x red, nina being a tacky toxic bitch </3, groping, grinding, fingering, bathroom sex/hitting it from the back, wrap before you tap, pressing on stomach/external g spot stimulation (we need a name for that), mirror sex, one brief mention of porn, clit rubbing, attention whore hours, trying not to be too obvious about sex, I think that's it

summary: As if the holidays aren't enough of an emotional minefield, Ricky gets blasted with back to back phone disasters from his mom, and trusts you implicitly to help him navigate through it. You turn the night around by going to Ashlyn's thanksgiving party with your theatre friends, where it's only a matter of time before you're sneaking upstairs together.

song recs: are you in love - the regrettes, nothing came out - moldy peaches, ribs - lorde, into you - ariana grande (bathroom at a party edit), lover's spit - broken social scene

a/n: got bad burnout/depressive episode in the middle of writing this (i'm fine now /gen) so it took longer than I wanted but I'm really happy with how it turned out!! I love you all and I'm really glad you're liking this so far, it really does mean the world to me babes <333 Also thank you again Cici for proofreading!!!!!

tags @yesv01 @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @hopefullhearts @pikzel @demirunner @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames

Ricky has been dreading the holidays this year, and he knows his dad has been too. When she left, she took that warm hustle and bustle, that rush of excitement was with her. But he and his dad weren’t totally without holiday spirit, thanks to you and your mom. Your mom and Ricky’s dad bonded over PTA meetings and having their kids star in the same show, quickly becoming the single parent friend the other needed. Since your mom has been through the divorce wringer, she’s been there to support Mike, encouraging him to be there for Ricky and prioritize him. Mike has found a lot of strength and camaraderie in your mom, so when the holidays begin to approach, a joint thanksgiving seems like the obvious option. 

Pooling resources, helping each other cook, and navigating relatives together will both be much more manageable with a friend by your side, so they’ve been bouncing between each other's houses for the last week or so, coordinating recipes and travel plans. You and Ricky have been helping around rehearsals and homework too - just last night Mike watched you two sit at his kitchen table making paper leaves and turkeys, laughing for hours. 

It’s finally turkey day, and you and Ricky are wrapping up the last decorations while your mom and Mike get the final dishes out of the oven. Mike watches you two talk, giggling at something or other ever few minutes. He hasn’t seen Ricky like this in a long time. A few months ago if Mike had asked his son to do festive arts and crafts with him, he would have laughed. Now you’re both approaching him with a giggle, asking him to decide which hand turkey is better. Yours is really colorful, but Ricky’s has a funky little hat. He sucks in a breath.

“That’s a toughie… I gotta say it’s a tie.” 

“I called it,” you say with a knowing smile, and Ricky lets out a loud laugh.

“She did,” he tells his dad as you walk back to the dining room table, “she totally called it.” 

Ricky stays in the kitchen for a few moments to throw away all the scraps of construction paper and synthetic feathers, tacky with glitter glue. He watches you until you’re out of sight, and his gaze lingers. He lets out a soft sigh, overjoyed from being in your presence. It’s quiet for a moment. Mike lets out a soft sigh.

“You really like her, huh?”

Ricky looks at the last piece of cut up construction paper in his hands, the one you’d been using. He watches the way the glitter shifts in the light, the glitter you’d placed with your own two hands, and it feels like he’s looking at the starriest night sky he’s ever seen. He’s enchanted. 

“Yeah…” he breathes, obviously deeply lovestruck, “I really, really do.” 

That’s putting it lightly. He’s been trying not to dwell on the dream he had last night where you two had moved into an apartment in portland and adopted two dogs. He didn’t realize how badly he wanted that sort of thing, that life, until he saw it last night, but now it’s consumed his thoughts in every spare moment. 

Mike places his hand on Ricky’s shoulder. The gesture is reassuring and comforting, and brings a sudden unexpected wave of emotion over Ricky. 

“You work well together.” 

His words are simple, but there’s so much meaning behind them. Ricky understands this, and he’s grateful for his dad’s blessing. 

“Thanks.” Ricky says with another one of those smiles Mike hasn’t seen on his face since you came into his life. He’s happy he’s been seeing them again. He pats Ricky on the back one more time before sending him back into the dining room with you to hang up the decorations you finished. 

Mike goes back to the stove to check on the potatoes, and as it so often seems to, his mind wanders to Lynne. He's been doing his best to take your mom's advice, to let Ricky decide when and how much he wants to talk to her - if he does at all - but it's been hard. He knows how much a call from Ricky would mean to her, especially this time of year. Your mom enters the kitchen through the back door a few minutes later, and holds up a shopping bag triumphantly. 

"Butter, yeast, and nutmeg." She states, pulling out the ingredients they had run out of. Mike thanks her, but she doesn't miss the solemn look on his face. 

"You okay?" She asks, a knowing tone to her voice. Mike is so glad that she's been here. It's nice to have a friend, and some feminine energy in their house. He lets out a sigh, and finds himself rambling before he can stop himself. 

"I just know she’s miserable." He says, "All alone in a cold apartment, and during the holidays? We used to get so excited this time of year, I can't imagine how alone she must feel." 

Hovering outside the doorway, Ricky feels his stomach sink. Guilt creeps in, and he’s running up to his room before he can think.

As his footsteps recede, your mom lets out a knowing sigh. They've had this conversation many times before, and she’s happy to be there for him, to give him that support to make sure he doesn't backslide. The cleaner the breakup the better, especially when kids are involved - she knows from experience. 

"Mhm." She starts, and Mike fights a smile. He knows what she's going to say, but he needs to hear it anyway. "And what did you and her decide about communication with Ricky?"

"She promised she'd call at least once a week and I'd tell her if he wants her to call him less."

"And…?"

His silence is all the answer either of them need. 

"She’s probably upset," he says, reaching for an explanation, "I know she misses Ricky-"

"Screw that." Your mom says, pausing on the rolls she's making to look up at him. "If she wanted to, she would, Mike." 

He's quiet again. 

"Is there anything," she questions, that seriousness in her voice that only comes from a parent talking about their kid, "anything in this world, any bad feeling that could keep you from talking to Ricky for weeks?" 

"No." He doesn't even need to consider. "Of course not." 

She holds out her hand, point proven. Mike silently concedes. He's not sure what it is about Lynne that makes it so hard to detach, so hard to set and keep boundaries, but he’s grateful for the support. He couldn't do it without your mom. 

“Why don’t you put on some music?” she asks, knowing his favorite part of the holidays are his playlists. 

If Ricky had stuck around for a few more seconds, he wouldn't have found himself where he is now; pacing his room, biting his lip as he keeps opening and closing the phone app. The idea of calling her feels gross. Not calling her feels gross. He feels so fucking gross and he just wants it to stop. A wave of laughter passes downstairs as his dad starts singing along poorly to the Michael Buble now playing out of the Alexa in the kitchen. It should make him feel warm, happy, good. Instead it just makes his stomach drop and tears spring to his eyes. 

It feels like the universe is conspiring against him, throwing in his face everything she’s missing right now. He can’t get the image of her alone in a sad dim apartment out of his head. His hands shake as he holds his phone to his ear, dial tone ringing softly. She needs this more than he does, he thinks. No matter how much it’s hurting him to call her right now, he can keep it together. He can do this for her. He can be civil for a few minutes over the phone and that will give her at least a decent Thanksgiving. 

“Hello?”

Ricky stops in his tracks as an unfamiliar man’s voice reverberates through his phone speaker. 

“Uh, hi,” he starts, confused. He knows he called her contact in his phone. “...I’m trying to reach Lynne Bowen?” he swallows thickly hoping the stranger won’t hear the way his voice cracks. He doesn’t remember the last time he had to use her full name. “I think I have the wrong number.” he chuckles dryly. 

“No, you got it,” he doesn’t have time to process that before the stranger keeps speaking. “Ricky, this is Todd. I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Todd? 

“Lynne’s in the shower, can I take a message?”

He briefly wonders why she would have a stranger in her apartment answering her phone while she showers, but he knows this guy - Todd - must be her… He knows his fleeting hope that he’s wrong and this is some crazy stalker that broke into her house is just that, fleeting hope. His stomach is twisted up in knots and he can’t breathe right. His mind is racing, swirling and repeating the 10 seconds of this terrible phone call over and over. 

“Ricky?” 

Part of him wishes he could scream at this guy to keep his name out of his mouth. Hers too. He has no right to be anywhere near her. Not when she needs time to herself; so much time to herself, to figure this all out, that she can’t even be around her son. A very jaded part of him might understand if she never wanted to see his dad again, but a small voice in his head is screaming, asking why she’s okay with abandoning both of them. He’s her son, her child. Aren’t parents supposed to care about their children?

He hangs up the call before he can further this horrible pointless train of thought. He rushes into the bathroom, locking the door. He paces around. He splashes cold water on his face. He tries to get his shit together. He tries to make it look like he’s not about to break down. It’s Thanksgiving; this holiday might be ruined for him, but he won’t ruin it for his dad, or you, or your mom. He can pull it together, he can act like everything’s fine. He’s supposed to be an actor, right? 

After he desperately tries to collect himself, he heads back down, bumping into you on the stairs. 

“Hey, I was just looking for you…” you trail off. You take one look at his face, and he knows you know something’s wrong. “You okay?” 

Your voice is so sweet, so sincere that it digs everything he just tried to bury. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It doesn’t have to, though. He can tell from the look on your face that you understand. 

“Do you want to go talk?” you ask gently. He nods. He can feel himself fighting tears, brow scrunching up at the effort. 

A few minutes later you’re sitting on his bed while he tells you everything. He knows he’s probably not making it sound as horrible as it felt, but he’s backpedaling. He can hear her voice in his head, telling him not to get so worked up over nothing, that he’s blowing this all out of proportion. 

“What the fuck?” you ask, looking as confused as he feels. He’s about to agree, this is stupid, and you should just go downstairs and- “What the hell is wrong with him?” 

He stops in his tracks.

“That was so outrageously inappropriate. I don’t know whether or not she told him not to talk to you, but obviously she should have.” 

He lets out a small breath, the first time he’s been able to since this whole incident. 

“It was pretty out of line, right?” he says hesitantly.

“Way out of line!” you say with a disbelieving laugh, “I can’t believe you just went through that!” 

He lets out a nervous laugh, feeling some of his distress transmute into anger, and because of you, he’s sure it’s justified. 

“What kind of lunatic answers their… I don’t know who he’s supposed to be - a friend, assistant, weird invasive neighbor -” Ricky laughs, and you continue ranting, worked up for him, “But unless he’s literally her life coach or personal assistant or something, there is no fucking reason why should have answered her phone. Also why the hell would he try to strike up a conversation with you? This isn’t some little league game, or PTA meeting!”  

He can feel himself coming down from the panic that had gripped him so tight before. 

“You know, maybe - just if you’re ready for this -” you amend, wanting him to know he’s not pressured to do anything, “maybe you should take her out of your favorites.” 

He sits with your words for a moment, considering. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe I should.” He’s already opening his contacts to remove her, when a voicemail pops up. He must have missed the call when you were talking, but he recognizes the number as hers. He lets out a weary sigh.

“I got a voicemail…” he turns his screen toward you so you can see. 

“Do you want me to… proof-listen to it?” You offer gently.

“Could you?” there’s a fragility in his voice that makes your chest squeeze. You accept the phone with no hesitation, pressing play and holding it to your ear. 

“Hi sweetie, it’s mommy…” 

Off to a bad start.

“Sorry I missed you, Todd told me you called, so I called you right back but I got your voicemail instead.” 

Her voice drips with a tone that’s obviously looking for sympathy. 

“I hope you’re having a good holiday. Tell your dad not to burn the turkey like he did a few years ago. I won’t be here to fix all the recipes, so help him out in the kitchen, okay?” 

There’s an edge of condescension to her voice that you don’t appreciate. Ricky’s dad has been doing great, especially under the circumstances. 

“My Thanksgiving is going well,” she continues, chuckling “Todd and I watched the parade, and some of those performances were really terrible. I don’t know who let them go out looking like that, and that tacky little girl on the turtle float was seriously tone deaf…”

You and Ricky had also watched the parade, and all the performers did great. You both loved the girl on the turtle float, she killed it. She hit a high C that left you both speechless. 

“Anyway, we’re meeting up with some friends later; I think this will be the first holiday party I’ve been to in years without children. Other than that, things have been fine. It’s been quiet, and a pleasure not to spend all day slaving away in the kitchen. Call me back when you get this, I’d like to hear your voice. Bye bye.” 

If you’d like to replay this message, press 7. 

You pull the phone away from your ear. You don’t say anything, but the expression on your face tells him everything he needs to know. You slowly hand him back his phone. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t listen to that now.” Your voice is quiet, trying to maintain your composure, “Or ever. Maybe just delete that one.” 

He chuckles dryly. “That bad?”

“Oh yeah.” you state. He lets out a shuddering sigh, and it’s obvious the toll this whole ordeal has taken on him. 

“C’mere,” you say softly, flopping down on his bed and opening up your arms for him. His chest squeezes and he’s overwhelmed with another wave of emotion. He wonders when it will stop, constantly being bombarded with complicated horrible situations he can barely handle. It’s a lot. It’s too much. 

You wrap your arms around him, dragging your nails up and down his back in that soothing way that you do, and he feels it start to slow down. He’s still upset, anyone would be, but it feels like he can handle it somehow. He buries his face in your neck, soothed by your smell, your touch, even your breathing and heartbeat. He lets out another sigh, this one relieved as he finally starts to come down from the acute distress he’s been in for the last little while. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” you say, just loud enough for him to hear you. “It’s all going to work out with some time. It’s gonna be okay.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just holds you tighter. 

“Hey, kids!” You both look up as you hear Mike call you from downstairs, “Everyone’s here, come say hi!” 

You share a look with Ricky, silently asking if he’s ready. As I’ll ever be, his expression says. 

“Coming!” you reply. 

You spend the next hour or so greeting aunts, uncles, and family friends that both your mom and Ricky’s dad had invited. A handful of elementary school kids run around; cousins, kids of coworkers and the like. After a substantial amount of wow you’re so tall, the last time I saw you you were still watching sesame street, and countless so how’s school going? comments, the parents finally rescue you from someone's grandma - you’re not sure whose - and pull you into the kitchen. You’re about to ask when you can go to Ashlyn’s thanksgiving party, but they jump in before you can.

“Thank you guys for all your help with the cooking and decorating, you did a great job.” Your mom says.

“And,” Mike continues, “since you said hello to everyone you can go to your friends party whenever you’re ready.” 

You smile, blurting out a thank you in unison and hugging your respective parents. 

“Take these with you, and tell Ashlyn’s parents we said hello.” Your mom hands you a box or two of pumpkin bites to bring with you. 

You’re grabbing your coats when Ricky gets a text from Gina, offering to walk him to the party. He texts her back, letting her know he’s driving there with you and asking if she needs a ride. A second later, his phone buzzes again.

‘Of course you are. See you there.’ 

“You ready to party?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you where it so often resides. The drive is short and pleasant. When you arrive at Ashlyn’s a few minutes later, everything’s in full swing. Making your way through the house, you see Nini in the kitchen, having some intense girl talk with Gina. Most of your other friends are in the living room, including Big Red, who seems to be flirting with Ashlyn - or at least trying to. Ricky makes a mental note to ask him about that later. You pass by EJ on the stairs, who’s ranting to no one about getting ratioed. You start to sit down with your friends, then turn to Ricky.

“Do you want a drink?” you ask, and he nods, thanking you. You make your way to the kitchen, smiling when you see a case of Ricky’s favorite soda. You grab a can for him, then look around to pick one out for yourself. You turn around only to be met with Nina. You jump slightly at the unexpected presence. Before you can even greet her, she starts talking, staring you down. 

“You need to stay away from Ricky.” You’ve been here for three minutes and she’s already off to a strong start. “You’re not his girlfriend, so stop acting like it. I should know, I’m the one who’s known him since kindergarten.” You’re trying hard to be mature about this, even with the ridiculously incredulous look on her face. You take a subtle, grounding breath and think for a moment about how to respond in a way that will get your point across without causing even more drama. 

“Wow,” you start, “okay- uh, look, we haven’t made anything official, but full disclosure, we have hooked up a few times.” 

She looks irritated, and you continue.

“Also, you broke up.” you state, a shrug, your expression bewildered at how she’s acting, “You’re not his girlfriend either.” Having said what you need to say, you grab your own beverage and leave the kitchen as Ashlyn enters. On your way out, you hear her tell Ashlyn how she’s right, that she should stop writing songs about crappy relationships and crappy boys and just write about life. 

You sigh as you reenter the living room, glad Ricky wasn’t in earshot of that. After the day he’s had and all the shit he had to deal with from his mom, you’re sure the last thing he needs is another person to confirm all of his fears. You perch on the arm of the cushy chair he’s sitting in and hand him his drink. He smiles up at you, looking sweeter than ever, and you wonder how anyone could think he’s anything close to crappy, anything less than the most wonderful endearing boy you’ve ever met. You really don’t trust Nina’s taste in people. 

“I am so sorry,” Ricky says for the millionth time, ushering you into the bathroom. You let out another sweet laugh, genuinely unperturbed by the drink he’d spilled on you by accident. You make your way to the sink, turning on the warm water and grabbing a wad of tissues. You briefly run them under the water to get them damp, and start blotting at the very large stain. Ricky does the same, attempting to remove the sticky sweet liquid from your clothes. 

“God, it’s all over you,” he smiles, and you can tell he still feels bad. 

“It’s okay,” you say with a giggle, “Now I have a tangible memory from tonight, and a great story for the drycleaners.” He starts to relax a little, sensing that you’re telling the truth, you’re not upset. Even if you were, he’s sure it wouldn’t be at him - you know it really was an accident. After a few more minutes of trying to get it out with partial success, you grab more tissues to dry your sweater back off. Ricky stands right behind you, watching you in the mirror as you do. He’s enamored by you. Everything you do draws him closer and closer to you like a magnet. 

Satisfied enough with your work and mostly dry, you turn to throw away the damp tissues. 

“Okay, I think that’s-” the words dry up in your throat when you turn, suddenly face to face with Ricky. Neither of you had realized how close you got in the last few minutes, but now your body heat is mixing and it makes your stomach twist. Your eyes are locked on each other, and the air is pulled from your lungs at the way he looks at you. The atmosphere is suddenly thick with lust, and you can hear a song playing on repeat downstairs. 

His eyes flick between yours and your lips, bringing butterflies to your stomach. His hand rests gently on your waist as he finally leans in to kiss you. It’s sweet for a few seconds, then it melts into tongue and teeth and breathy sighs. Before you can fully turn around and hop onto the counter to let him stand between your legs, he’s kissing down your neck. You sigh at the feeling, bracing yourself on the counter, and he wants to make you moan. He wants to make you whine and scratch his back like you do, he wants it more than anything right now. 

His hands run along your back, down your hips and thighs, leaning into you. He reaches the bottom of your skirt, slipping his fingertips under and inching the fabric up. He squeezes your hips while he sucks dark bruises into your neck. All the noises, the soft little sighs and halted breaths are making him want to touch you more and more. 

His hands on your thighs and mouth on your neck are making you dizzy. You want him even more, and find yourself grinding your hips back against him. He lets out a hiss, and you can feel him harden against your ass. Your eyes flick up to his in the mirror, lingering on how flushed you're making his cheeks just by grinding against him. He catches your gaze,  noticing the way you smirk at every sigh he lets out. 

“Oh,” he mutters into your neck. His tone is playful as he gets dangerously close to your ear. “That’s how you wanna play…” He nips your neck before finally sliding his hand between your thighs. His fingertips brush against your clothed cunt, feeling the wet spot that’s already formed on the fabric. When he dips his fingertips between your folds, he can’t believe how wet you are already. It makes his head spin, as he slowly pushes into your entrance. After just a few pumps, sticky beads of arousal are already dripping down his fingers. He lets out a shuddering breath at the sensation. The noises you’re making, both your moans and the wet sounds of your walls around him, make his head spin. After a few minutes, you’re holding back whines. You need more, leaning onto the counter and sticking your ass out. It’s not a hard cue to pick up on, and he’s quick to grab a condom from his wallet. He pumps himself a few more times before slowly pushing in. You both choke back a moan as you squeeze around him. He feels his head grow fuzzy at the euphoric feeling of your bumpy walls squeezing around him, and it feels like being welcomed home. He braces against the counter with one arm, the other wrapping around your hips, holding you close to him as he thrusts into you. 

His face is right next to yours, and you can feel his warm breath against your cheek as he pants at the sensations wracking through you. He squeezes you tighter, and the pressure against your lower stomach has you choking out a moan, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Fuck-” you moan, trying your hardest not to be too loud. Everyone else should be downstairs, but you’re sure anyone nearby would be able to tell what’s going on. Ricky’s staring at you in the mirror. He tries to look away, tries to bury his face in your neck and press his nose to your skin but he can’t. You look so beautiful fucked out like this, so ethereal with your eyes clouded with lust. He can’t believe he made you like this, it’s all from him, from his touch.

Your expression, the noises tumbling from your pretty lips he’s just itching to kiss are better than any porn, because you’re the one making them. Everything is better with you. It always is. You’re whining, begging for him, and you feel the vibrations of his voice as he moans right next to your ear. You feel so good, you touch him so sweetly in a way he didn’t even know was possible before he met you. He’s so close, and by the way you’re squeezing and pulsing around him, gripping tight onto his arm, you’re not far behind him. 

He holds you closer, adding more blissful pressure against your lower stomach, leaning into you even more. His other hand moves from bracing you both against the counter to rub your swollen clit, sending jolts of electricity and pleasure through you. He’s been hitting that spot inside you over and over, and it’s more than enough to send you over the edge. You hold onto him for dear life, legs shaking  as you hit an intense high, your cum beginning to drip down your thighs. You throb and pulse around him milking as his hips push and stutter into yours. 

“Fuck fuck fuck-” he babbles into your ear, against your skin, “shit, I…” 

“Oh god, Ricky,” you pant, distracting him from the words that had come up as suddenly as his high. You have his full attention, looking prettier than ever.  He keeps his mouth busy, kissing and sucking your neck, running his tongue over your skin. 

A few minutes later, you’re cleaning yourselves up and trying to fix your clothes. You’ve been up here for a while, and with how loud you got toward the end, you’re sure someone is going to have a few questions. Ricky wraps up the tied off condom in tissues and shoves it deep into the garbage can, hoping no one will find it. You start to make your way downstairs, Ricky keeping his hand on your waist to help you when your legs wobble. In spite of your best efforts, you know it’s obvious - anyone could take one look at you and know what’s going on. You don’t mind in theory, figuring it’s only a matter of time before someone puts the pieces together, but the last thing either of you need right now is more drama. 

“Hey!” Seb exclaims, bumping into you on the way back to the living room, holding two drinks. “What took you so long?” he smiles. There’s not a thought behind his eyes, and you’re pretty confident he didn’t pick up on anything between you and Ricky. You look to each other reflexively, smiling nervously. 

“Oh, uh…” you start, fumbling for an answer. “Just cleaning up.” Not technically a lie, so that works. Ricky laughs, a blush still present on his cheeks. 

“Yeah, we started talking about the show and we just…” he suppresses another giggle, “got distracted.”  He keeps looking over at you, staring at your pretty face. He can’t help it. You’re glowing in the warm lighting, the glow of the fake candles scattered around other autumnal decorations. 

“Well, come on, we’re about to start playing board games!” Seb says with an excited shrug, before returning to the rest of your friends. You nudge Ricky playfully. 

“Real smooth,” you tease, at his lovestruck gaze. He laughs and nudges you back.

“I guess I need to get better at improv. Maybe you can tutor me?” He leans into you as he speaks, living for the flustered expression on your face. You laugh and nudge him again, knowing your friends could walk around the corner and see you two like this at any minute. His gaze lingers. 

You finally enter the living room, and before you can sit next to him, Ricky pulls you into his lap. Everyone’s crowded around the coffee table where Carlos has the game set up - it’s even High School Musical themed, which is really amazing - so you’re sure the lack of space is at least some justification for where you're perched, why his arms are wrapped around you like that.  

“Okay,” Carlos says, a small smile appearing on his face, “...you two, pick a team. Knights or Wildcats.” 

You and Ricky reflexively share a look again. 

“Uh… Knights.” he says, arbitrarily. 

“I’ll be on his team,” you say. 

“Alright,” Carlos says, and begins explaining the rules. Ricky tries to suppress the smile, the warm feeling swirling and puffing up his chest at your words. You want to be on his team. He tries to pay attention to Carlos, but it’s so hard when you’re so close to him like this. He thinks that aside from the rocky start, this is the best way to start off the holidays. He can’t think of anywhere better to be than holding you, still a little blissed out, and having a great time with all your friends. 

Your thumb brushing over the back of his hand, you’re trying not to space out too. You’ve been having a great time tonight, but you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen. You let out a sigh, trying your best to ignore it, to stay present with your friends, with Ricky. It doesn’t matter now, you remind yourself, if anything bad does happen, we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. But for now, you’re going to have a nice night with your friends, and stop stressing about what could happen next.

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt. 7 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 4.5k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: post school theater burning down, ricky is spiraling, one "look at me" but it's necessary and works, more of reader comforting ricky, ricky has a lil dissociation moment, op being gratuitously horny for the inherant beauty of theaters and rehearsal spaces, descriptions of a panic attack/some ptsd/mild trauma, square breathing to come down from said panic attack, brief trauma sharing, reader's dad was abiguosuly "scary when mad, reader's dad didn't show up to important events, ricky comforts reader, disgusting cursed backstage couches, fingering, protected vaginal sex, yet another mid fuck near love confession bc duh it's ricky, almost getting caught, I think that's it

summary: After a tragic incident renders the school theater unusable, you find a beautiful theater to perform the show. You're getting really excited about it, and Ricky is too. When tech rehearsals begin with a more than rough start, Ricky gets the opportunity to comfort you, to be there for you like you've been there for him.

song recs: 27 - fall out boy, I can't handle change - roar, at the ballet - a chorus line, bop to the top (kourtney's version) - dara renee

a/n: been reading my immortal again and in chapter 34 there's a line where Enoby tries to describe a dress that professor sinister was wearing as "kinda lik da one Amy Lee wears in this pic" followed by the http/ of a link and nothing else then she just continues on and I almost wept about that in public and I love it so dearly so fangz 2 Cici for proof reading, u rok, mcr rox. fuk off prepz.

tags @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @hopefullhearts @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

It’s a bad dream. It’s another bad dream that Ricky can’t wake up from. Soggy ash carpets the formerly scuffed floors, as serious looking adults clad in reflective yellow and khaki drag hoses around and talk to Miss Jenn. Everything is ruined. It’s all destroyed. This is worse than anything, any flooded basement or mildewy props, this is the worst thing that could happen. There’s not one thing in this goddamn theater that hasn’t been tainted by destruction, there’s nothing left to salvage. He feels sick. He pulls out of this horrible spiral of thoughts when he feels your hand tug his arm gently, guiding him into the hall. You can tell by the look on his face how bad this is before he even starts.

“We’re gonna figure it out.” you start. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes still stuck on the ruins just through the doorway. 

“H-how can-” 

“Ricky, look at me.” you place your hand on his jaw, getting his attention back on you. His teary brown eyes are locked on yours, desperate for something to grab onto. You take a steadying breath, and he follows with a shaky one. “We are going to figure this out.” 

Your touch, your gaze, the unwavering confidence in your voice grounds him. He takes another breath, this one slightly deeper. 

“If a flooded basement didn’t stop Matilda, some scorch marks sure as hell can’t stop the Wildcats.” 

He nods absentmindedly at your words.

“Okay?” You ask. He nods again. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. He grabs tight onto your hand and you both head back into the smoky theater with everyone else, where Miss Jenn quickly gets everyone’s attention. 

“Hug your neighbor, take a moment,” she directs, still holding the deflated, scorched basketball in her hands, “let’s reconvene in the cafeteria after school to talk about options.” She addresses Nini and Ricky, then, when her eyes linger on the way Ricky is holding onto your hand with both of his, you as well. 

“Spread the word.” 

“Got it.” Nina says quietly.

“Of course,” you acknowledge with a small nod. 

He’s trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to do something, but he can’t. He’s trying to listen to Miss Jenn, but he can feel himself spacing out. His eyes are fixated on a soggy, burnt piece of neon tape that had peeled off of the floor, and his chest rises and falls automatically in shallow breaths. It’s not supposed to be there. It’s supposed to be downstage left, it’s supposed to be where he stands for Get’cha Head in the Game. That’s why it’s orange, because that’s where Miss Jenn said he’ll fly up in a harness and dunk a basketball in slow motion. She made it sound so easy, but they haven’t even done the choreography for that number yet. How the hell is he supposed to know where to stand if his strike tape isn’t in the right place. Strike tape? Or is it spike tape. Maybe-

“Ricky?” Miss Jenn calls, and he snaps out of it. 

“Uh,” he sputters, “yeah.” He hopes he didn’t miss too much in the few seconds he had totally spaced out. You don’t let go of his hand until you get to your next class. 

“We just have to get through today, okay?” He nods, agreeing carefully. You just have to get through today. Then everyone will be together in the cafeteria and Miss Jenn will know what to do. That will fix everything, and it will all be okay again. 

As soon as Miss Jenn proposes looking at other venues to host the show, you’re already pulling out your phone. You’d been thinking the same thing, and spent every free moment between classes not texting your castmates or helping console them googling neary (or nearby-ish) theaters and potential venues. You’re no stranger to this; when you were in Fun Home, the whole production had to change theaters twice. You were a kid and it was years ago, so you don’t remember what the reasons were exactly, but you all adapted and the run got extended by two months, so it all worked out. 

You skip past the ones you ruled out earlier, the first option on your list is the El Rey. It’s pretty close, and business has been slow, so it shouldn’t be too expensive to rent. 

“What about the El Rey?” Seb asks.

“I think that could work,” you say, “it’s not too far from here, and it doesn’t look like they have any shows or events going on right now.” You tilt your phone so Ricky and your other friends sitting nearby can look at pictures while Seb does the same. “It shouldn’t be too hard to rent out.” 

“Well-” Miss Jenn starts, seeming a little hesitant.

“My uncle Reuben’s the listing agent,” Carlos says, pulling out his phone to call him. One short excited conversation in Spanish later, you get the green light for the El Rey. 

Once Ricky’s beetle is stuffed as full as you can get it with salvaged costumes, props, and anything else you could fit, you start the drive over to your new theater. You have their website pulled up on your phone, and you start reading him some of the past events, shows, and concerts they’ve hosted. He’s not sure why he’s so excited if he hasn’t even been there yet, but you’re making it sound… magical. 

“Oh my god,” you turn to him, shocked. “This is the same theater where the touring cast of Into the Woods performed in 1989.” 

“Really?” he smiles at how excited you are. 

“Yeah! Oh my god…” you chuckle in disbelief, then look at him again. “This is going to be really, really great.” 

He smiles. He thinks you’re right. If anyone would know what makes a great theater, it would be you. A few minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot, recognizing the other few cars there, and seeing Nini and Kourtney help Miss Jenn unload the props and costumes from her car. You get out of the car, and Ricky watches you jog over to Miss Jenn, asking where she wants you to put stuff, while Carlos talks to his uncle, who’s unlocking the door. You head back over, grabbing a few boxes and walking toward the door. 

“She said to put them backstage and we’ll organize it all once we know what we’re working with.”

A few of your friends are right behind you, arms filled with boxes. Carlos opens the back door, and Miss Jenn passes around some flashlights before guiding you all into the building. You pass through the backstage area, past the dressing rooms, and into the wings, finally stepping onto the stage. Even in the dark, with miscellaneous old props and storage boxes, it’s breathtaking. The dust floats down gently in your flashlight beams, reminding you of the first snow of the season. 

Next to you, his flashlight beam sweeping over the dusty couches and empty chairs sitting on the tables, Ricky’s breath is gone from his lungs. A huge wave of emotion overcomes him, and he sees it. The inherent beauty in all theaters you had been telling him about. Next to him, Miss Jenn rests her hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. 

“Welcome home.” 

He feels it, he feels that he’s finally home. A little while later, everything has been brought in and stacked somewhat neatly. As they’ve been bringing in boxes, moving props, and sweeping up, there’s a tangible sense of togetherness growing between the cast and crew, one Ricky notices.  Miss Jenn now has her cast on stage while her crew tries to make sense of the lights, soundboards, and other backstage areas. 

The lights are finally up, you’ve cleared off the stage for the most part, and Miss Jenn gets ready for her welcome to tech rehearsal speech. No one has been able to get a hold of Gina, and Natalie is still recovering from getting her wisdom teeth out. She’d sent a selfie of her with her cheeks all swollen, accompanied by the caption, I lived bitches. Her sister texted on her phone a few minutes later letting the cast group chat know she’s totally knocked out, and will be asleep for a while, so you all sent her nice messages for when she wakes up. 

Miss Jenn gets everyone’s attention to introduce tech rehearsals, expectations for the cast and crew, and some words of inspiration, and the excitement is palpable. Before she can, a large sandbag falls suddenly, crashing less than a foot away from you. You scream, hands flying to your ears as you jump back, and Ricky pulls you close to him reflexively, one arm over your head, the other around your waist. 

Every muscle in your body is tense, and he can feel you shaking in his grasp while the shocked frightened noises from your castmates die down. He suddenly hates this theater. He looks up at the catwalk with a venomous glare, a warning not to scare you like that again. 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. You don’t answer. You’re staring into space, hand clutched over your mouth and shaking like a leaf, breaths fast and shallow. Miss Jenn takes one look at you, eyes widening in realization.

“Okay, Ricky, why don’t you two go backstage and run some lines while we… sort this out.” she gestures vaguely above you. He agrees, guiding you into the wings, while Miss Jenn gets everyone’s attention back on her. 

Ricky ushers you through the wings, past the dressing room, and into a secluded storage room. In the back behind the piano and table stacked with boxes, sits a couch, that like everything else in the building, is covered in a thin layer of dust. You sit down next to him, shaking and trying not to cry. A binder slips out of one of the boxes and falls to the ground, loose paper fluttering down, and you jump like a terrified alley cat. You cling onto him, and he rubs your back, hoping that will help. You haven’t said a word yet, and he’s starting to get worried. 

“Are you okay?” he asks again. You’re clearly not, and he’s struggling for words, for something that will help you feel better. He doesn’t notice you pulling out your phone and typing until his dings with a text from you, the familiar text tone he set just for you resonating in the quiet room. He checks the text you sent him. It’s a diagram for breathing exercises for panic attacks. That’s what’s going on, he realizes, you’re having a panic attack. He freezes for a second, mind racing. He realizes after a moment that freaking out isn’t going to help you at all. He takes a shaky breath, then looks at the diagram. 

“Okay,” he says, “you ready?” You nod.

He inhales, holds his breath, lets it out, and holds it again in four second intervals, counting you through it as you breathe together. He repeats the steps again and again, feeling your grip on his arm gradually loosen. He notices the changes, slow and gradual, as the breathing exercises start to work. The relief you both feel as he witnesses you progressively come down from this is unlike anything else he’s ever felt. A little while later, you think you’ve calmed down enough to talk about it.  

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice soft and tender. 

“Yeah.” you say. He’s never been more relieved to hear your voice. You take in a shaky breath, fumbling for the words you’re looking for. 

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, dude.” he says, nudging you gently. You pause, then let out a breathy, weepy laugh, remembering the first time you said that to him. It gets quiet again. You can tell him, you think. You’ve mentioned that your dad was an asshole in the past, so you’re sure it won’t be too much of a shock. Your therapist has said it’s good to talk about this stuff in places where you feel safe enough to. You don’t think you’ve ever felt safer than in a theater, than with Ricky right next to you. You take in a steadying breath.

“My dad, before he left,” you start. Your voice is so small, he’s never heard you speak so quietly, “he got… scary… when he was mad sometimes. Loud noises still make me kind of jumpy, you know?” 

He understands what you’re saying. More than he hates this theater for putting you in danger, he hates that someone ever made you afraid like that - especially someone who was supposed to take care of you. He’s never met him, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want him to, but Ricky really hates your dad now. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, still rubbing your back. You fidget with your fingers. It’s quiet again. 

“He never came to any of my shows.” 

There’s a retroactive, humorless laugh towards the end.

“I started giving my comp tickets to friends cause I knew he wouldn’t come.” 

Ricky somehow hates this guy even more. You look up, eyes moving around, taking in the details of the room.

“I guess that’s why theaters have always felt like more of a home, you know?” you chuckle, remembering how much normal stuff you missed out on to be at rehearsals so much. “Even when things were bad, they were still good. Plus, it was the one place he was guaranteed not to be, so…” 

At some point, you curled up against him, and your head now rests on his warm chest. His hoodie is soft under your cheek, and you feel close to him. It’s a nice feeling. 

“So, why did you stop?”

“Stop what?” you ask, snapping out of your train of thought circling around how nice he feels against you. 

“If theatre’s your home, why did you stop?” Maybe he shouldn’t ask, but you’ve told him so many times how glad you were to start acting again when you started at East High. You let out a dry laugh, a cynical tinge of hindsight present in your reply. 

“I thought it would be easier.” you state. It sounds so stupid to say out loud now, but it did make sense at the time. “Going from such a face paced, high pressure environment to normal life in a suburban town… I thought I could be normal. I thought I would feel more fulfilled if I really committed to letting myself be a normal teenager for a while, but…” You laugh again, this one warmer.

“I couldn’t stop.” you confess. “I did one summer completely free of any and all performing arts - I even quit dance - and I practically lost my mind. It was terrible. In a profession like this, it either drives you totally crazy or keeps you sane. I guess I need theatre to keep me sane.” You laugh again. “God, listen to me. I sound like such an actor…” you chuckle, hoping he doesn’t think you sound too pretentious. 

He understands. There’s a certain peace he’s noticed he only finds in rehearsal spaces. He wonders if that makes him an actor too. He hopes it does. He can sense how comfortable around him you are, and it makes his heart feel full, that you trust him when you’re so vulnerable. You trace your hand across his chest, then idly through his hair, and he feels like his heart is going to burst. It gets quiet again, the only noises are your soft breaths mixing together and his pulse racing under your fingertips. 

“Thanks for this…” you begin, but the words dry up in your throat as you look over at him, realizing how close you are, how alone the two of you are. It hits you how close you’re pressed against each other, how badly you want to touch him. Based on the way he’s looking at you, he’s thinking the same thing.

You can’t hold back from kissing him any longer. Besides, why should you? Life is short, who are you to deprive yourselves of the pleasure of kissing someone you’re really into? Especially in such an intimate moment like this, all cozy and tucked away together. You start to lay back, letting him pin you against the cushions of the couch, but a cloud of dust rises up on impact, followed by the noise of something that you swear was a rat scrabbling away. You clap your hand over your mouth, you and Ricky staring at each other in shock. 

“Nope.” you say.

“Nope.” he agrees, standing up. 

“Nope.” you echo, both moving quickly away from the couch. Before you can take a look around for another convenient place to make out for a little while, Ricky picks you up in one swift motion, setting you on the table full of boxes stacked nearly as high as your head that he can just see over. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back in for another kiss. 

“Ricky…” you giggle when he bites your neck, moving his hand into your pants. 

He’s never felt closer to you than he does now, holding you tight in his arms while his fingers plunge in and out of your dripping heat as you sigh against his skin. No matter how many times you feel them stretching your tight walls and rubbing that spot that makes your eyes roll back, it never fails to amaze you how good his fingers feel inside you like this. They reach places yours could never, and maybe it’s the years of playing guitar, but they always seem to know just what to do to make you throb and squeeze around them. 

Soon you’re ready for more, you need more, and he can feel that. You watch in anticipation, breath bated, as he undoes his jeans enough to pull out his cock, hard and leaking for you, pulsing in his hand. He quickly rolls a condom up his shaft, just as needy to be inside you as you are for him, and lines himself up with your entrance. He works his way in, gently, slowly burying his cock inside you. He peppers your face with kisses until he’s all the way in, his pelvis nudging against your twitching clit. 

He starts to thrust slowly, settling into a rhythm and squeezing your hips in his hands. You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer to push your tongue into his mouth. He makes you feel good, so good, and he’s barely gotten started. He ruts his hips into yours, giving you everything you need, fucking all the residual stress and sadness out of your sweet, pretty head. He’s careful not to go too crazy, toeing the line between comforting pleasure and overstimulation. 

You cling onto him so tightly, so vulnerable in his arms, batting your pretty eyes up at him and god, it makes his stomach twist. Your breath fans warm across his face with every little pant, every moan he draws out of you, and it feels better than the warmest shower on the coldest day. He’s dizzy with pleasure, burying his face into your neck to get high off the sweet scent of the perfume you’re wearing today - this one smelling like book pages and fruit. 

In spite of the way you cling to him and clench around him and moan his name, he doesn’t know how you feel, what you are. He wishes he had an answer, because he can feel it building up. You’re so tight and wet, squeezing him so pretty than any strength he would have had not to say it so soon is gone.

“I-”

“Ricky?”

You both freeze at the sound of Nina’s voice making her way through the crowded room. Ricky sees the instant your eyes get wide and you bite your lip, eyes locked with yours, and he has to try not to cum on the spot from how goddamn cute you look and how quick you clench and squeeze around him. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling your head down to his chest, below the line of the boxes as Nini finally walks past the piano and sees him obscured by boxes. Tucked into his chest, you’re out of her line of sight. You can feel yourself squeeze around him, pulsing, a breath away from cumming. You’re surprised at how turned on the protective gesture makes you, the feeling of his hand on the back of your head keeping you tucked away. He lets out a low hiss of air only you hear.  

“Um, Miss Jenn wants to know where you guys went.” she says. If Ricky hadn’t been so focused on looking relaxed and casual instead of like he wasn’t balls deep in the tightest wettest warmest cunt he could ever dream of, he would have noticed the shape her mouth made. He would have recognized it as the same tell she’s had since they were little and asked why she was lying, what she really wanted. Nini tries to look around the room for you, but Ricky jumps in before she can. 

“I think she went to the bathroom,” he gestures toward the doorway, “I’ll go find her and we’ll be there in a couple minutes. You can head back, and tell Miss Jenn.” He takes slow, shallow breaths, trying to keep a poker face, trying not to let her realize anything is going on. She looks around the room a little more. 

“...Okay.” she sighs. “Hurry up.” She looks back at him once before leaving. You both wait with bated breath until you’re sure she’s gone. 

“That was such a close call,” you breath, ethereal and glowing lighting his skin on fire wherever you touch and he feels it build up in a rush again. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out, hoping the wrong words don’t slip out instead, “It was.” He’s teetering on the precipice, the words about to spill out, practically edging himself by staying still when you throb and squeeze and pulse around him like that, so he does what anyone would do - he presses hot, wet, open mouthed kisses against your soft pretty lips, and bends over to fuck you within an inch of your life. He moves down your neck as his hips piston into yours, knocking all the air from your lungs. 

“Ricky!” You giggle, overwhelmed with the pace he’s set and the playful kisses he’s smothering you with. 

“Shh, peach, we don’t want someone to find us in here again, right?” he mutters into your skin, that sensitive spot below your ear, and you let out a shuddering sigh. You’re trying so hard to stifle your noises but the best you can do is dampen them. Everything he does feels so good, and he’s so… excited to touch you like this, to make you giggle, that it makes you light headed from all the attention. He pants, resting his head on your shoulder and nuzzled into your neck, overwhelmed by you. He squeezes his eyes closed and scrunches his nose when he smiles in disbelief that someone can make him feel so good, that he love someone this much, and god, he loves you so much. 

The nerve builds again, and he can feel himself getting dangerously close. It’s not the first time by any means, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. So fuck it, he thinks, throwing caution to the wind. What’s the worst that could happen? You don’t do stuff like this in a dusty storage room full of cobwebs and props unless you really like someone, right? And really liking someone is close to loving them. Maybe he should take a leap of faith. He takes in a breath.

“I love-” 

The words and air alike are knocked out of his lungs as you clench hard around him, cumming hard. You hide your face in his shoulder in an adorable attempt to muffle the sounds you're making, nails lightly scratching his back as you hold onto him for dear life. The breath he was going to use to tell you that leaves his mouth as a moan instead. You catch your soft, pretty lips with his, and shove your tongue down his throat to quiet both of you, and it’s enough to send him over the edge. He cums hard, drowning in that pleasure that only you can give him. 

“Fuck,” he moans into your mouth, panting against your skin as his hips rut and spasm against your sensitive walls, your throbbing clit. You gradually come down from your high, and manage to run into the bathroom to get cleaned up before walking back together, trying to be inconspicuous. Miss Jenn gestures for Ricky to come over to her so she can ask if you’re okay. During his brief absence, Nina shows up next to you. 

“You were gone for a while,” she starts quietly, trying to see if your story lines up with Ricky’s. You look over at her smiling, mouth agape, and point to Kourtney, who’s belting her heart on stage. 

“Oh my god!” you breathe, excited and trying not to interrupt, “Did you know she could sing like that?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Nina starts. She’s Kourtney’s best friend, of course she knows she can sing. 

“She’s amazing…” you smile, wondering why she didn’t audition initially. You hope she will in the future, you’re sure Miss Jenn could use someone like her in the cast as well as the crew. Before Nina can wrap back around to her initial question, you’re slipping away to get your water bottle from your bag. Miss Jenn catches your eye, silently and sincerely asking if you’re okay. You flash her a smile and thumbs up. You are now. She nods, then continues typing something on her laptop. 

On your way back, you catch a glimpse of her screen. It’s a total accident, but you don’t like what you see. She’s emailing Principal Gutierrez about using the school gym for the show instead of the El Rey. Your brow furrows. Why wouldn’t she want to use the El Rey? It’s beautiful, affordable, and available, it’s the perfect fit. The school gym? How would that even work? You pull out your phone to text your mom, determined not to let Ricky perform his first show in a gym when a beautiful theater is ready and waiting for you. 

One quick text to your mom  - who’s just as confused about that as you are - and she tells you she’s on top of it. You thank her, glad to have someone that great in your corner. You look over at Ricky, who’s currently sword fighting EJ with a wrapping paper tube. You smile. He’s so sweet, and he’s been through so much, the least you can do is make sure he has the best experience with theatre you possibly can - and that means performing right here on opening night. 

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt. 12 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year. additionally, ricky begins to desplay more symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy and has a good support system. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 5k

genre: mild hurt/lotta comfort, smut, feels

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: post show depression, more backstory for reader, brief mentions of gifted kid burnout and rediscovering your love for theatre, more fake texts, ricky is down ba-a-a-a-ad, classic Hot Boy Climbing Through Your Window moment, heart to heart convos, smut, body worship, clit sucking n fingering, penetrative sex, emotional 'i love you' sex, ricky begging <3, possible cliff hanger?? (BUT NOT BAD I PROMISE)

summary: it's late at night and you're reflecting on your experience performing high school musical the musical with all your fellow wildcats when someone shows up, throwing rocks at your window, and thinking the exact same thing.

song recs: rocks - imagine dragons, end of all things - panic at the disco, I hear a symphony - cody fry, fuck it I love you - lana del rey, tell me that you love me - victorious cast, where do we go from here - amelie obc, I can't handle change - roar

a/n: this is the last chapter of rocks. I got so emotional writing this and I sincerely hope yall enjoy. also before anyone asks YES I'm planning a sequel about season 2 but it's curretnly tba. I hope you cry when you hear rocks by imagine dragons and get flustered as FUCK when you hear tell me that you love me by the victorious cast because Ricky Bowen needs to be told I love you to cum it's canon Tim Federle told me so. Fangz again to Cici for proof reading and fangz to you guys for reading <3 send in Ricky asks lol

tags @yesv01 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

The show is over, midterms are over, now it’s Friday night and you can’t sleep. It’s one of a handful of Fridays over the past few months that you haven’t spent at rehearsal, and no matter how many times they roll around, it still feels weird. You chalk it up to routine, muscle memory, but part of you still worries you’ll be late when you see it’s past 6pm. You miss the El Rey, you miss the auditorium and rehearsal room at school, you miss circle time with Miss Jenn and all your friends. Post show depression always sucks, but after everything that happened during High School Musical, how intense things got, the letdown is worse than usual. 

Even all the fun things Miss Jenn had planned to keep everyone’s spirits up until the next show gets announced are all over. You’d spent a week with your friends learning a song about winter Ashlyn wrote and Gina and Carlos choreographed so everyone could do a flashmob for the new East High theatre department’s instagram page. Miss Jenn got everyone together to make some content in advance to post before the break, but you finished your last take of the flashmob after school today. New Year’s isn’t until later this week, so you’ve finally reached the wasteland between closing one show and starting another. 

“Hey,” your mom says softly from your doorway, and you look up from where you’re sitting on your bed. You greet her quietly, flipping through your playbill from the show, still wearing your cast shirt. You have a few open hat boxes in front of you, adorned in light florals and other delicate patterns and designs. Each one of them is full to the brim with playbills, confetti, and other mementos from past shows, except the one in front of you, which still has some room left in it. 

Your mom walks over to you, watching your expression closely as you flip through your playbill, not wanting to put it away just yet. She rests her hand on your back, rubbing her thumb affectionately before tucking the tag of your shirt back into the neck. You both know what’s coming. You think back to the deal you made with her after your dad left. You didn’t realize until months after how much you’d been struggling with everything. Your mom discussed dropping out of the show you were in, even though you were so close to opening night, and you’d refused. You’re not the type to drop out of a show you’ve spent months rehearsing for just because of some struggles in your personal life. 

Your mom could see clear as day how you weren’t having fun like you used to, how burnt out you were going to get if you kept up like that. What kind of mother would she be if she just let you do that to yourself? Once you’d found a new house and a new job out in Utah, you came to the agreement that you’d take a break for the summer. After that, if you wanted to do theatre again, you could do a show at your new school - nothing high pressure, or competitive and catty, or overly professional. After that, if you still want to, you can return back to professional theatre after you graduate. 

“So?” she says softly. Your chest squeezes, and you’re so grateful that you’ve been able to feel and see and do and experience every single thing you love about theatre so much. There had been no high stakes, nothing riding on you and your ability to perform. It was just fun. Passion. A passion you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to let go of. 

“I want to do the next show.” You say, without a trace of reservation. She smiles softly, looking down at you. She hasn’t seen you like this, so much like yourself, in years. You’re glowing and at peace, and she has never, ever been happier to see it. After everything the two of you have been through, the divorce - and the events leading up to it - she remembers this is what she’s been fighting for, the goal she’s been working toward; seeing you happy and thriving. She had a hunch that high school theatre was exactly what you needed, and now she thanks her lucky stars she was right.  

You don’t talk about what you’re going to do after the next show, it’s not quite time to worry about that yet. There’s no need to rush anything, especially when it comes to stuff like this. You’re sure that when it comes time to make a decision, you’ll know in your heart what the right one will be. But even just from looking at you, even if you don’t know yet, your mom has another hunch that you’ll be back in New York, lighting up every stage on Broadway at some point. She presses a kiss to your forehead, rubbing your back again as you finally, reluctantly place your playbill in the open hat box in front of you. 

“Try to get some rest, sweetie.” 

She goes off to bed, and now you really have nothing to do. You sigh as you organize your hat boxes back on the top shelf of your closet, in the order you usually keep them in. You look around, deciding to clean your room. You run down to the kitchen to get a trash bag, then return to your room. You dig through all the scented candles you’ve been hoarding and pick out a nice smelling one to light, then put something on Netflix for some background noise. You start by folding your laundry, then pick up any stray trash. Usually cleaning your room gives you time to think, but you’re not really thinking much of anything now. You’re grateful for the break. 

You move from task to task, losing track of time as Netflix continues to autoplay. You pause what you’re doing for a second, trying to figure out why two characters are arguing. You’ve barely been paying attention, but are still managing to follow the plot for the most part. During that moment of stillness, you hear your phone buzz with a text. You pick it up, shocked at how late it is, how quickly the time got away from you. It also makes you wonder who could be texting you so late. It’s Ricky. That makes sense, you think. You wonder what he’s doing up so late as you open the message. 

You set your phone on the windowsill, then head towards your closet to try and make some sense of it. You’re not sure how it got to be such a hot mess - in all fairness, it’s not really that messy. You just need a project to work on. You straighten up your hanging clothes, refold all your jeans and folded sweaters, then reorganize it by color. Or maybe cut. You’re not sure yet. You make a mental note to rewatch Tidying Up with Marie Kondo later for more ideas. 

You decide to revisit that in a few minutes, instead turning to all the pillows and blankets hidden on the floor of your closet. You adjust them, remembering the first time you’d shown your nap hole to Ricky. Your mind wanders idly, recounting all the things that have happened since then. You really hope that in spite of everything, Ricky had a good time performing. A part of you really hopes he’s going to do more shows. He’s so talented, and he has so much natural potential. After what he’s been through, it would make total sense if he never wanted to do theatre again, but a part of you silently hopes that he’s grown to love it the way you do. 

Thunk. 

You turn your head suddenly, wondering if you’d imagined the small noise. You glance back at the window, and see you left your phone there. You figure it was a notification or something. When you press the power button to check, you’re met with the words no new notifications on your lock screen. 

Thunk.

Something moves in the corner of your vision, followed by another noise, then another.

Thunk- crack! 

Your brow furrows as you stare at the hairline fracture left in the glass of your window. You try to peer down, but it’s so dark you can’t really see anything. You open your window up wide, lifting the latch and popping out the screen. You lean your head out just enough to look down, but it’s still too dark. You turn on your phone flashlight and hold tight to your popsocket, angling the beam down, only to be met with Ricky. 

He’s holding a small plastic bag and a handful of rocks to throw until he gets your attention. He waves up at you awkwardly, and you laugh, covering your mouth to not make too much noise. It sounds beautiful. Everything you do is always so beautiful, he’s not sure why he’s still surprised when you take his breath away effortlessly. His stomach twists for a moment, and he hopes he gives you butterflies like you give him all the time. He looks up at you, and leaning down from your window like this, he thinks you’d make a really good Juliet. He’s not sure if you’ve done any Shakespeare before, but he makes a mental note to ask. 

You watch from above as he holds the plastic bag in his mouth and starts climbing up the tree next to your house. You lose sight of him for a moment, until he reappears on the lattice on the side of your house. He’s careful not to disturb the ivy slowly growing its way up in spite of the cold weather. You laugh in disbelief, watching him climb through your window until he’s standing in front of you. It feels like something out of a movie, and your heart is pounding in your chest. 

“You could have used the door…” you laugh. 

“Well,” he shrugs, “I wanted to shake it up a little.” He smiles at you, pulling something out of the bag. 

“I brought you coffee.” He pulls a to go cup out of the bag, handing it to you. He’s hopeful it will make you happy, and the way your eyes light up when you accept the drink is worth the stranger looks he got from the barista for ordering espresso at 11 at night. He takes out his drink, throwing the empty plastic bag in your garbage. You look up at him with those pretty eyes and his stomach flips. You move closer, pressing a kiss to his lips, one he leans into. 

“Thanks,” you say after pulling away, sending him the most blinding, dazzling smile. He’s been inside you more times than he can count, and your kisses still make his head all fuzzy. He lets out a soft laugh, feeling a little high from your attention. He sits on your bed, watching you as you sit backwards on your desk chair. You both sip your drinks, and it’s quiet for a moment. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask. He lets out a breathy laugh, surprised at how well you can read him. 

“It… still feels weird not being at rehearsal.” he says, thinking out loud. You nod in silent understanding of everything left unsaid. You chuckle lightly.

“Yeah, post show depression will really kick your ass.” He laughs, feeling called out at your words. 

“Yeah…” he agrees. When Nini dumped him, he felt like there was a sinkhole in his chest. Then after that, when she left, when she just walked out on him and his dad, he felt like he was going to cave in. Then he met you. You didn’t make him stop missing her or Nini, but you gave him something to lean on. You helped him realize he had something else to think about - the show. Now he doesn’t think about Nini nearly as much as he used to; that wound is starting to heal. As for the other thing, long as he doesn’t let himself think about her or Todd, as long as he keeps moving, he’s sort of okay. 

But now he’s feeling a new kind of emptiness. He doesn’t like goodbyes, he never has, so even though he knew closing night would be hard, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much. He didn’t expect himself to grow so familiar with the soundtrack and the script, running lines and remembering blocking. He didn’t expect to miss being called Troy so much. 

“I didn’t ever expect to love theatre, or love you, as much as I do,” he muses. You glance down, face flushed from his words. He gives you butterflies so effortlessly, it’s really amazing. 

“I love you too,” you smile, taking another sip of your drink. He giggles - actually giggles - at your words. 

“So,” you continue, “you liked it? Doing the show, I mean. I know there were some ups and downs but-” 

“I loved it.”

He smiles, and you both laugh, light and bubbling over your shared adoration of each other and the experiences you just shared. 

"I really, really loved it." He breathes, distracted for a moment as he remembers it all. "I just… I didn't expect to be so sad after?" 

You spin a little in your seat, taking another sip as you listen. 

"Like, I spent so much time learning how to become Troy, learning all the lines and blocking and choreo and now I'm never going to get to do that again."

"Yeah," you agree, looking down. "I mean, that's the beauty of theatre; it's always fleeting, but there's always going to be another show."

You can see him soaking in your words, really letting them in. It doesn't mitigate his sadness, but you don't expect it to. You get up from where you’re spinning side to side on your desk chair and sit next to him on your bed, placing your coffee on the night table. You wrap your arm around him, resting your head on his shoulder. You don’t say anything, and you don’t need to. Your presence is more comforting than words could be. Maybe it’s the sweet smell of your peachy perfume, maybe it’s the way you’re so consistent in his life, but he’s reminded in a rush of the first night you spent together. Memories replay like flashbacks in his mind, and after a moment, he turns his head toward you. 

His face is so close to yours, and it’s obvious what he’s thinking from the bedroom eyes he’s giving you, flicking between yours and your lips. It happens so suddenly, your heart barely has time to pound before he’s pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss. Ricky needs a distraction from the ache in his chest. He needs something else to do, something else to think about, something else that makes him happy. He can’t think of something better to focus on than you. He deepens the kiss as you hold on to him tight, loving the way you always melt under his touch. You sigh against him, giggling as he works your lips open, slipping his tongue into your mouth. 

He climbs on top of you as his hands move down. He takes his time, feeling you up, obsessing over every part of you until he gets to your thighs. He gropes your pretty thighs that he wants so badly to put his face between, not missing the way you were squirming a moment ago, already needy for some friction. He slots himself between your legs as he presses kisses into your neck, adoring the pretty sighs and noises you let out. He squeezes your thighs in his hands, before pulling you flat on your back with him hovering on top of you. The sudden change in position makes your heart race, and you can feel your cunt getting hot and puffy with arousal. The expression on your face makes it so worth it, he thinks, watching it grow even more flustered as he moves down. He pulls off your shirt and presses kisses between your tits. He plays with them, squeezing and running his thumbs over your hardened nipples in little circles. No matter how many times he sees them, it always feels like the first time, when all he could say was Wow. Oh my god. Wow. You let out a choked noise at the feeling, one he reciprocates, moaning into the soft flesh he has in his mouth.

“Fuck, Ricky…” you breathe, watching him closely as he moves down, trailing kisses along your stomach, squeezing your waist and hips, finally tugging off your bottoms. He trails his fingers over your panties for a moment, taking in how pretty they look on you, how much he loves to see that little wet spot growing bigger and bigger. He throbs as he takes them off, and you watch with wide eyes as he opens your legs a bit more. 

“There we go,” he says softly, and your pussy pulses in anticipation of his touch. He spreads you open, taking a moment to take in how pretty your pussy is, how nice you look all spread open for him like this. It’s a shorter moment than he would have liked, he just can’t resist you, he can’t wait to press soft kisses to your heat, to flick his tongue over your clit, to make you feel good. He won’t wait any longer, doing just that, listening to every noise that escapes your pretty lips like a breathtaking song. He traces a finger around your dripping hole, fluttering and desperate for contact. 

As he works his first finger in, he can't help but feel like he's home. You're so tight around just one finger, he wonders how you're always able to take all of him. The thought makes his stomach flutter with anticipation. He pumps his finger in and out gently, feeling you get wetter around him as you get used to the sensation. He continues licking and sucking on your clit, pulsing in his mouth, as he does. You taste amazing, and he wants more and more. 

"Fuck, Ricky…" you sigh, and it's like music to his ears. He pushes his second finger in, and moans against your clit as he feels your tight walls stretch and relax to accommodate him. You let out a sharp gasp, throbbing erratically against his tongue. He scissors his fingers, breath hitching as you stretch around him. 

“Oh my god,” you choke out in a breathy sigh, “Ricky…” 

He loses all his progress as you clamp around him, bucking into his mouth as you cum around his fingers. He pauses for a moment, dizzy from the sensation, that he did that to you, made you feel that good. You tug on his hair, and before you can even ask, he knows. You want more of him, want him inside you. He climbs up on top of you. You tear his clothes off, throwing them on the floor, not wanting to waste a moment. His cock throbs, almost painfully hard, and he can’t wait any longer. He needs to be inside you more than anything. He lets out a jagged sigh, pumping his cock in anticipation. He’s so ready, more ready than he’s ever been to be welcomed back into your wet, hot, tight embrace. 

He finally begins to nudge his cock inside you. He chokes at how easily it goes in, how you seem to pull him deeper and deeper inside you. You’re ready for him, even more so than usual from how hard he made you cum a few minutes before. He can feel you suck him up inside you, gripping and squeezing him just right. Each time you let him inside, each time you let him stretch out your perfect, dripping cunt, it always feels unimaginably better than the last. Every single time, he thinks that this, you, have to be the best he’ll ever have. And every single time, he’s right. You feel so good, so indescribably good, a part of him wants to cum right on the spot. 

“Fuck, I love you…” He chokes out, voice breathy. And he means it. God, does he mean it. He says it right as he pushes his cock inside you, filling you up in the most delicious way, knocking the breath out of your lungs in tandem. You try to say it back, you want to say it back, but his tongue is already shoved down your throat as he covers your mouth with deeper and deeper kisses. He’s insatiable, not ever getting as much of you as he needs to satisfy what he’s craving. 

He starts moving, unable to wait, unable to stop himself from pistoning his cock as deep inside you as he can get it. He drags his cock against your gummy walls, the friction already making you both dizzy. He keeps going, rutting his hips into yours, moaning into your mouth. He cages you in with his arms, resting his hands on your cheeks as he gazes into your eyes. He’s so in love with you, so fucking in love with you. You’re… his world. You’re his everything. Everything he does revolves around you; he’s not the main character in his story, you are. 

He would move mountains for you, overcome anything, travel any distance just for you, to be in your arms. He loves you so much it almost hurts, and he knows he’s never felt more relief than he did on opening night, when he finally, finally told you everything he feels for you. He was so sick of biting it back, of worrying about timing, if you would say it back, if he could even say it at all. He can’t remember ever being happier than he was when he finally said fuck it, and spilled his guts to you. Right here, right now, he can feel the little bulge he’s making in your tummy. He can feel where your bodies are touching and squishing together, and he can feel you wrap your legs around him to pull him even closer. He didn’t think he could be any more crazy over you than he already is, but all of this, all of you is driving him to even higher heights than he could imagine. 

It’s overwhelming, and he moans, long and low into your mouth. There’s no other way to express what you make him feel than through his beautiful moans, like music to your ears, or telling you that he loves you every chance he gets, with his last breath he’ll be telling you again and again. He presses kisses to your cheek, moving down to your neck, taking in your sweet scent. God, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone this badly. He doesn’t think he’s wanted anyone or anything as much as he wants you. He’s so attracted to you, drawn to you in an almost primal way that leaves him rutting his hips into yours, grinding into your clit to get as close as possible, moaning shamelessly into your neck. It sends jolts of electricity through you, lighting you up like a powergrid. 

His breath hits your skin in steady, warm puffs. He lets out another moan as you scratch your nails down his back. Your hand tangles in his hair and tugs it just right, making him throb inside you. He knows in this moment that no one can ever make him feel this good, no one else can do what you do to him. He can feel himself getting closer and closer as he sucks bruises into your neck, leaving constellations of love bites across your perfect skin. Even though he’s holding you as tight as he can, drawing noises out of you that no one else has had the privilege of hearing, and it makes his head spin, he needs more. 

He finally pulls away from your neck, resting his forehead against yours. You lean up to kiss him, and even though he’s aching for you, he doesn't kiss you. Not quite yet. Instead, he looks into your eyes so deeply, so intensely, with such a burning hunger that you feel like you’re being fused together. He’s still panting, this time your warm breaths fan over each other’s faces as he really soaks in everything about you, how pretty you look in his arms like this - and fuck, you’re pretty. 

“I’m close, peach,” he pants, sending even more heat to your core, making you squeeze around him as he presses a burning kiss to your lips; one you accept eagerly.  

“‘M so close,” he says again between kisses, “Can- fuck- can you say it for me? Can you tell me? Please, peach, I need to hear it, need to hear you say it…” he rambles, drunk on you and p=-

You’re trying your best, but it would be a lot easier if everything he was saying and doing didn’t render you breathless and unable to do anything but moan and writhe beneath him. 

“I love you, Ricky,” you choke out, desperate and sincere. You finally connect your lips, only for him to moan into your mouth. It’s loud and shameless and has you teetering on the precipice. “Love you so much, so fucking much,” you continue to babble as he buries his face in your neck, moaning so much he almost can’t register what you’re saying. He’s glad you’re saying it anyway. 

He can barely register how close he is before he cums. It’s hard and sudden, and he’s barely able to hear your sweet words over the blood pounding in his ears. You let out a noise he thought only existed in porn, following closely behind him. Your legs shake around him as you grab him as tight as you can, desperate for something to hold onto. You squeeze him in a vice grip as you let out the most beautiful whines and moans, and it’s enough to make him dizzy. Just your noises alone are almost enough to make him hard again - which he probably would be, if you hadn’t just milked his cock completely dry. You stay like that for a moment, letting yourself be filled up with him, letting himself be squeezed tight by your throbbing walls. He can feel your heartbeat in your soft cunt, and he lets out a shuddering sigh at the feeling. He mutters sweet nothings into your ear, rambling about every good thing he feels for you. He doesn’t think he could shut up if he tried - he usually can’t when it comes to you. He presses more and more kisses to your skin as you mutter sweet nothings back, rubbing your hand over the red marks you’d left on his back, playing with his hair. You take your time coming down from this, letting yourselves be right here and now, in each other’s arms. 

Eventually, he pulls out more reluctantly than he’s done anything. You manage to clean up enough to fall back into bed, into each other’s arms. In those few moments, you glance around at the several unfinished cleaning tasks you’d started earlier. You shrug them off, telling yourself you’ll finish them later. As you’re welcomed into Ricky’s warm embrace, you think this is way more fun than cleaning anyway. 

You settle into each other, getting comfortable as he holds you tight against his chest. You can feel the steady rise and fall of each other’s breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing back down, the warmth pooling between you. In the quiet air surrounding you, you can feel the calm turn into a sort of melancholy. You trace your fingers over his skin as he takes solace in you. Everything about you is so comforting, he can’t deny that you’re what’s kept him as centered as he’s been able to be. 

“Where do we go from here?” he asks.

His voice is quiet, breaking ripples into the glassy silence surrounding you, but you can hear the emotion wavering through it. You’re quiet for a moment, considering. You’re not quite sure if he means him and you, him and his dad, or the next audition. It doesn’t matter, you realize, because you’ll have his back through all of it. And he’ll have yours. 

“I dunno,” you start gently, and he holds onto your words, cherishing them like heirlooms, “but I do know one thing. Miss Jenn is announcing the next show in a few days, on New Year’s Eve. So, we should probably start thinking about audition music.” 

Just the briefest mention of auditions has him smiling at the memories from a few months ago, bursting in late with his guitar. At the time, he had only ever expected to remember that audition as the day he won Nini back. He never could have predicted what a different, more significant weight that would hold for him now. The mention of New Year’s Eve brings something else to mind as well. 

“Ashlyn’s having a New Year’s party, right?” 

“Yes!” you exclaim softly, “I totally forgot about that…” 

Ricky traces his thumb over your cheek as you discuss carpools and if you should bring drinks or cupcakes. He never knew he could feel this way, this warm, just from listening to someone talk. He doesn’t know what happens next. He doesn’t know what’s going to change, but he thinks he can handle it if he has you. He’s so wrapped up in you, so invested in the quiet little conversation you’re now having about sheet music and party outfits that he doesn’t notice his phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans, strewn across your floor. After a moment it lights up with a new notification. 

1 missed call from Dr. Robert (therapist)

1 new voicemail from Dr. Robert (therapist) 

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt. 8 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 3k

genre: fluff, slice of life

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: making out, more fake texts (please politely ignore that it's facebook messanger it's the only fake text app I could find that's actually functional), nina tries hoovering, nina is generally a messy bitch, kourtney is a good friend, ricky is a sappy down bad bitch

summary: you and Ricky spend the night before opening having a classic sleepover at your place. Ricky falls even harder for you. Nini follows a hunch.

song recs: when you're home - in the heights, better left unsaid - ariana grande, research me obsessively - crazy ex girlfriend soundtrack/brittany snow, home is in your eyes - greyson chance

a/n: I WAS SO EXCITED TO FINISH THIS CHAPTER I LISTENED TO THE WIZARD AND I FOR HOURS CAUSE IT WAS THE ONLY SONG THAT COULD MATCH MY TRIUMPHANT ENERGY. as always thank you to cici for beta reading next part posted at 10 good reviows prepz fuk off xxx666xxx. been reading more my immortal if you couldn't tell. I, like profesor trevolry, am too adikted 2 volxemortserum.

tags @yesv01 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @brinaslittlefreak @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

Sleepovers at your place are something that’s become a staple in Ricky’s life, and he doesn’t think he’s ever needed one more than tonight. It’s the one night the whole cast has off before opening night, so of course you’re going to spend it together. Tech week was one of the most intense things Ricky has ever experienced. It was one week straight spent at the El Rey, doing homework in between scenes, getting used to costumes, sets, lights, and props, and more importantly, getting used to all of it together. The first full run through felt surreal. If the last few rehearsals had been that exhausting and amazing and exciting, he can’t imagine how great opening night will be. 

So what better way to decompress from a week straight of late nights and re-running the same numbers and scenes and working out the kinks, than being where he is right now. Ricky sits on your bed across from you while you sort through the snacks you’d picked up. There’s a comfortable, cozy energy between you, like there usually is. This is exactly what you both need, he thinks. A relaxing, fun night together before you gear up for show time. You’re trying to contain your excitement, but he can see it simmering, growing stronger in the back of your mind. 

The door opens and your mom enters, holding the last few DVDs of shows you’ve been in. 

“Took me a little while to find them, but here’s Matilda - regular, and the stripped down version - and Fun Home.” She smiles, beaming the way she does whenever she talks about you performing. 

“Thanks mom,” you smile at how excited she and Ricky are about your shows. Ricky looks at the titles in her sharpie handwriting on the plastic cases, excitement fluttering through him at getting to see more of you performing. It might be corny to say, but you’re definitely his favorite actor.

“Which ones have you seen so far?” she asks, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorway, happy to have someone to brag about you with and talk about your shows. Ricky lists off all the musicals you’ve watched together over the last few days. 

“...And we just finished Tuck Everlasting.” 

“That one’s my favorite!” she gasps, beaming, and Ricky agrees. He can see why; you brought the role of Winnie Foster to life, and he can’t believe it had such a short run. She’s about to leave, when she remembers the paperwork she dropped off at city hall earlier. 

“Oh, by the way,” she starts, “I heard back from Mitch in permits and zoning, and all the paperwork was expedited. Everything you need to perform at the El Rey has been approved, and you got a green light for opening night!” You and Ricky start yelling and freaking out - exactly what she expected - and you jump off your bed to squeeze her in a tight hug. 

“Thank you!” you cheer, and Ricky echos. 

“Of course!” she smiles.

“That’s amazing!” Ricky beams, “My dad said it might not be ready in time.” 

“Well,” she continues, “I may have pulled a few strings to get it expedited…” 

She barely gets the sentence out before you’re loudly thanking her again. 

“Okay, okay,” she says, calming down your cheers and heading for the door with a smile “have fun you guys.” 

She closes the door, and you’re alone again. He takes in a breath, embracing this moment, here in your room with you. He looks at your decorations, the snowglobe on your bookshelf, the posters on the wall and polaroids taped to your mirror. The jacket you had been wearing earlier is now tossed on the back of your desk chair, and your backpack is still where you’d dropped it earlier when you got home. 

He’s overwhelmed with that big warm feeling in his chest he gets whenever he’s around you. He loves your room, loves sleepovers with you, loves… he chokes down the thought. He can feel the urge to spill his guts, to bear his soul, but he shoves it down. As easy as it would be to pull you close and kiss the breath out of your lungs and tell you everything he’s ever felt for you, he knows the timing isn’t right. He fights temptation, helping you unbag the rest of the snacks you got to distract himself from the unspoken words he’s barely holding back. You hand him the stack of DVDs and your fingers brush. His heart jumps at the contact. 

"Here," you say, "pick one out." You smile with that easygoing energy that's become so familiar to him. Sleepovers have been a pretty regular occurrence for a while now, and they still fill him with a warm, bubbling excitement. He decides which one he wants to watch first, and you slide the disc into your laptop. 

“Oh wow,” he starts laughing at the grainy camera quality, “Matilda caught in 4k.” 

“Shut up,” you laugh, nudging him playfully, “this was from, like, 10 years ago.” 

At first it was hard to look past the sketchy camera quality and low volume of the bootlegs - or slime tutorials as you jokingly called them - but now he’s learned to see past it. He latches on quickly to your singing, feeling himself get sucked into the story right away. He’s seen another version of you performing as Matilda, but this one is the infamous stripped down one. Even though he knows the reasons behind the drastic set change, the critics were right - it does add something to the way the story is told. He realizes that even though they’ve kind of been flying by the seat of their pants to make it to opening night, it will still turn out okay.

After watching Matilda, you practice your stage makeup, and have Ricky help you pick out the perfect shade of Sharpay pink nail polish. You had put on High School Musical - it was practically obligatory - and you made it about 15 minutes into the sequel before you were in Ricky’s lap. His lips are all over you, pressing into yours, your neck, your cheek. He squeezes your waist, arms snaking around to pull you closer to him. He bites your lip playfully, getting you to gasp a little, and pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands are on his face, in his hair, and he can’t get enough of your touch. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, angling his head to deepen the kiss. 

Your phone buzzes as he pulls away, kissing down your neck. He runs his tongue over your skin, biting, and making you giggle. You get so flustered when he kisses you like this, and he absolutely loves watching you get more worked up for him. You glance down, seeing the notification from the pizza place you ordered from on your phone. 

“Ricky,” you start, and he hums in response, biting your neck again, “Ricky, the-” 

You’re cut off by a knock at the door. He pulls away reluctantly, and you take in each other’s disheveled states. 

“Pizza guy.” you finish, getting off his lap to go down stairs. He sighs, staring at the doorway you just disappeared through. He’s still full of that frenetic energy he gets when you touch him. You look so sweet when you’re blushing and giggling for him, he wants to make you even more flustered like that. His phone buzzes with a text from Nini. He’s still getting used to seeing her contact without the hearts that always used to be around it.

Before he can finish typing out a response, you reenter the room holding up pizza and breadsticks triumphantly. He smiles and sets his phone face down. He wants to be here with you, eating pizza and watching sitcoms, trying not to get too nervous and excited about how close opening night is. The only drama he wants to think about right now is the onstage kind. 

Nina sits on her bed, homework forgotten as she rants to Kourtney over facetime. Ricky left her on read. Again. He never used to do that, not until he started hanging around you. Kourtney’s been listening to her talk about you to death for at least an hour, and she’s out of ways to respond. 

“I am so done talking about this.” Nini laughs, shaking her head. 

“Good, cause-” 

“It’s just, like,” she continues, and Kourtney thinks she should have known where that was going. It was at least the third time Nini declared she was done with the topic at hand. Nini continues, “do you think hanging out a couple times gives you the right to be so possessive over someone?” 

In the time they’ve been facetiming she’s cleaned her room, picked out her clothes for tomorrow, and finished her homework. She’s half way through her skincare routine, and secretly hoping this will wrap up soon so she can get some rest for tomorrow. 

“Like, last summer Ricky went on dates with a few girls - not just hanging out - and by the start of school he only wanted to be with me. So, really she’s just making herself look desperate. It’s just sad that he’s going to dump her soon and come back to me like he always does, and she’ll have no idea it’s coming. Like, that’s going to be really embarrassing for her, right?” the faux sympathy in her voice turns into a chuckle. 

Kourtney’s brow furrows. In spite of how sick she is of hearing about this, she can’t shake the feeling that you and Ricky are obviously closer than two people who have just hung out a few times. She’s seen the way you look at each other, the way you talk to each other. People who feel platonically about each other don’t do that. 

“Uh, Neen, what exactly did she say?” she tries to sound casual so Nini doesn’t get suspicious, but she’s so wrapped up in her train of thought, she doesn’t notice the I have a hunch about something look Kourtney always gets when she suspects something is up. 

“She was like, uh,” she begins in an exaggerated impression of you, “we like, totally hooked up a couple times, but we haven’t made anything official, but that still means he only likes me. Also you dumped him, so… like, you have no right to be in his life anymore, and he basically hates you now.” 

Kourtney squints. Through Nini’s very biased recount of the exchange you had, if any of that was verbatim, if you really did tell her you hooked up with Ricky… what kind of hooking up did you mean? Nini seems to think it’s the casual meeting up kind - let’s all hook up at denny’s after the show -  but Kourtney isn’t so sure. It’s none of her business, it’s really none of her business. Plus, pointing this out to Nini would just make her even more obsessed and freaked out than she is. She needs to move on from Ricky, and the last thing Kourtney wants to do is make that harder for her. She and Ricky aren’t together, and she’s certainly not going to be the one to enable any prying or backsliding, intentional or not. Instead, she redirects. 

“Uh… I don’t think she can cut you out of his life for him.”

“Right?!” Nini exclaims, glad someone agrees with her. “Like, we’ve known each other since kindergarten. I’ve known him longer than anyone. You can’t get that close to someone that fast.” She sighs. “Also… there’s something about her that’s been bothering me…” Kourtney scoffs.

“What about her doesn’t bother you?”

“No, no,” Nini laughs, thinking back, “it was something Gina said…” it's been itching in the back of her mind for a while, and she can't ignore it any longer. She has to finally figure this out. She shakes her head, knowing she shouldn't keep Kourtney up any longer. "It's probably nothing. Whatever, I'll see you tomorrow night, Kourt." 

"Okay. Night, Nini." 

Finally, she hangs up. She should go to sleep. She has a big day tomorrow - it's opening night for god's sake - she should go to bed. Instead she opens her laptop, typing 'broadway matilda basement flood' into the search bar. She clicks on one article, then another. Eventually she finds a picture of three girls in matching Matilda costumes and is hit hard by nostalgia. She was obsessed with Matilda when she was a kid, always begging her moms to take her to New York so she can audition and be a Matilda on Broadway, be part of the friend group of other girls her age acting on Broadway together. The girl on the right was always her favorite, and she used to watch the backstage videos she was in for broadway.com vlogs all the time. She completely forgot about her Matilda phase, how obsessed she was with those girls. 

She looks at the caption of the photo, caught off guard by her favorite's name. It’s the same as yours. But that can't be you, right? The last names are different. And her parents are divorced. She remembers when you mentioned it at rehearsal once. She opens another tab, continuing to search for an answer. Hours pass and she's deep into the Google rabbit hole. Hours pass, and she confirms it’s you. You played Matilda on frigging Broadway. After extensive research, she pieces together that you and your mom both had you last names changed to her maiden name, presumably after the divorce, and it doesn't look like you've acted professionally since. She opens the same tabs on her phone to look at later. She shuts her laptop and flops back into her pillows. She stares at the ceiling in disbelief that you've somehow managed to keep a secret this massive from everyone. 

After eating a majority of the pizza and breadsticks, drinking several cups of tea, and watching some more Netflix, you and Ricky are finally ready for bed and curl up under the covers with each other. You're lying up next to his chest, your body heat minglinf together, and he doesn't think he's ever felt more at peace. Your hand is warm through his shirt, and he keeps pressing kisses across your face just to hear your sweet giggle. You smile at him, blinking sleepily, and when he looks into your eyes he feels it. He's home. He gazes at your face, enamored, never wanting to look away. You look so pretty like this, curled up next to him and half asleep. He's learned to tell when he's going to sleep really well and it's always on nights like this. He never knew how badly he needed to feel his breath sync up with yours, feel your hearts beating in time. He can't imagine being more content than he is right here, with you. Even the air in your room smells sweet to him, just because you're here so often. 

He thinks back, running through the whole night again, returning again and again to being right here with you. Every moment with you is amazing. You have this way of transforming the mundane into something special. He’s still in disbelief that he’s the one who gets to lay next to you at the end of the day, he's the one you have whispered conversations with when you're both stupid tired. He gets to be the one to make you giggle and smile over nothing. He remembers a tweet he saw a while ago that said 'You're in her dms, I'm dancing in the kitchen with her while the bread we made bakes. We're not the same.' You might not be in the kitchen right now, but he really understands the sentiment right now. You're cuddled into his chest, melting into his touch, blushing and hiding your face when he looks at you too long like that. It’s him, not some other guy. He doesn't think other guys could be as devoted to you as he is, they couldn't love you the way he can, the way you deserve to be loved. 

He's really glad you're with him and not with some fuckboy who would just want you for your body and break your heart. The idea that anyone could even think about doing that to you, even some hypothetical fuckboy, makes him sick. You're so sweet, so easy to love. He doesn't know how everyone you've met hasn't fallen in love with you, how every guy isn't throwing themselves at you. A twinge of jealousy passes through him at the thought. He brushes the thought aside, reminding himself that you're here with him. As if proving his point, you set aside your favorites squishmallow to cuddle him closer and his heart feels like it's going to burst. Girls don't do that if they don't really… really like someone, right?

You settle against him and let out a big sigh. He's had enough sleepovers with you to know that means you're about to be out like a light. He is too, and he fights off his heavy eyelids long enough to get one more good look at you before they close. He smiles as he starts to drift off. This is his favorite part, getting to fall asleep next to you do he can wake up next to you, just like he wants to forever. He can't imagine a morning where he doesn't get to see you, doesn't get to hold you in his arms, and he doesn't want to. He brushes that aside, and focuses instead on how nice you smell, how comforting your breath is on his neck. You're so warm, you make him feel so warm, and he can't get enough of your body heat and his becoming one under the mass of blankets. He doesn't know what tomorrow will hold, but he's so excited to experience it, to have his very first opening night with you. 

[hrtbrkwthrs]

ricky bowen has bpd pass it on ! 🗣️🗣️

i genuinely have no clue where i got this gif, it's just been in my camera roll for a hot minute so if anybody knows who the creator is pls lmk!

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt. 4 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd starting in this chapter but I promise he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system (he gets worse before he gets better yk) and obviously i'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 11k I know

genre: smut, slice of life/coming of age, one sided pining, fluff

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: NOT PROOF READ AT ALL, more facebook messanger texts we'll politely pretend aren't facebook messanger, protecting carlos and seb during hoco (+ one use of the word homophobia), you're the dolly levi of the friend group, a LOT of hello dolly references??, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF, ricky's falling HARD, antagonist!nina, one sided rina angst (like BIG gina angst), big red is ricky's temporary therapist, ricky has bpd, ricky kind of splits on gina??, ricky has anxiety too, dr phil and big red and natalie's emotional support hamster are the only consistant things in anyone's life, drama/general messiness, oral (m + f recieving), sneaky quiet late night don't wake up the parents sex, making out, ricky thinks you smell so good he has to bang you right now, "stay quiet or I stop", switch!ricky, switch!reader, calling ricky a good boy, praise kink, giggly sex, waking up the morning after to an empty bed but not at all on bad terms (and no ghosting)

summary: ricky works up the guts to ask you to homecoming. if you can navigate all the drama, maybe he'll get to rearrange yours after dancing together all night.

song recs: old friend - mitski, 10 minutes ago - cinderella (1997), dancing - hello dolly (1969), in love on valentine's day - paul sandrone, daniel farrant, james knight (spotify link bc it's literally not on youtube??? tracking down this song was a nightmare /lh), you turned the tables on me - billie holiday, born to be brave - nico iaciancio cover (bc that's what I think the original sounds like in canon), soulmate who wasn't meant to be - jess benko, perfume - new hope club

a/n: could I have split this up?? yes but I'm not going to. also congrats 2 me bc I'm officially in the 10k one shot girlie club!! this is the longest thing i've ever written and my eyes are burning. ricky has bpd, I knew from the moment I saw this motherfucker I was like "yup bpd and mommy issues" and I was RIGHT why is no one talking about this also go watch crazy ex girlfriend

EDIT: I FORGOT TO ADD THE LINK TO THE VAMPIRE DIARIES VIDEO YOU REFERENCE IN THE BEGINNING (obvious spoilers for vampire diaries lol)

tags: @yesv01 @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @hopefullhearts @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa

There’s no reason to be nervous. Ricky has literally no reason to be nervous. You’ve been together practically 24/7 since… all this began. He ducks his head down and his eyes land on the smooth counter top of the booth you’re sitting in. Heat rushes to his cheeks as it so often does around you, as he remembers all the time you’ve spent together. He tries to pay as much attention as he can to your summary of the video essay on vampire diaries you’d watched while doing homework last night, even though his thoughts are racing, and all centered on you. On asking you something really important - but also like, totally not a big deal or whatever.

“So apparently they just regularly bring characters back from the dead,” you inform him with a laugh, and take a sip of your coffee. He didn’t think people could look particularly cute while sipping something until he met you… until he got close with you. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty crazy,” he agrees, hoping he sounds normal. You glance up at him to make sure he’s okay. You can tell he seems a little distracted, and he knows he has to ask you. It’s now or never. 

“So…” he begins.

“Yeah?” you lean forward, already invested in what he has to say. God, he loves that. He loves the way you care, really care about what he has to say. He lets out a small, breathy laugh, that you mirror when you hear his.

“So, homecoming is soon,” he smiles, and is pretty sure you know where he’s going with this. Your eyes widen in moderate surprise.

“It is? Already?” you ask, pulling out your phone to check your very messy calendar. “Jesus, I thought we still had a few more weeks…” you muse, and Ricky smiles. God, how can you make everything - even being a little scatterbrained sometimes - so fucking cute? 

You look back up from your phone, snapping him back to attention. His breath is shallow.

“So…” he says again, and rubs the palms of his hands up and down his jeans. Why is he so nervous? He has no reason to be nervous. You’re silent, waiting for him to continue in a way that feels patient, encouraging even, instead of critical like it would be from someone else. 

“...Do you want to go? To homecoming?” 

His heart is in his throat.

“Like, together?” You take another sip. He’s so choked up, so worried you’ll say no. He nods. You smile. 

“Hell yeah,” you lean back and pull out your phone to text your mom, who is currently at a PTA meeting, about dress shopping this weekend, biting your lip as you type. Relief turns to elation as you discuss plans, coordinate rides with your friends, and get a plan together. He bounces his leg, getting really excited for all this. He’s never been one for school dances, but with you… it’s a whole different story. He can’t stop looking at you. 

“So, what color is your dress going to be? You know, so I can get a tie to match.” A light, happy chuckle dances across the table and you hum in consideration, glancing down at the scone in your hand, your favorite flavor that’s become somewhat of a signature with you and Ricky.

“Peach.” 

You both giggle.

“Perfect.” he smiles. You’re going to look so pretty in a peach dress. At homecoming. With him. A burst of kinetic energy waves through him at the thought. The atmosphere is nice, comfortable. It always is with you. You finish the bite of pastry in your mouth.

“You know,” you start, “maybe you should go suit shopping with your dad. It might be nice to have a guy’s day together.” 

His mom has been gone for a few weeks now, and he told you how badly his dad is struggling. He means well, it’s just… been hard on him. It might be nice, he thinks, really nice to go out and spend some time with his dad, have some fun. He doesn’t remember the last time they had a day like that together. He’d really like that, if his dad wanted to.

“Yeah,” he agrees, wondering when a good time to bring it up will be, “that would be nice.” 

Around the time you’re ready to head home, your phone lights up with a text from your mom, informing you everything at the PTA meeting went great, and she’ll fill you in on the details at home, and you thank her, informing her there’s a hazelnut coffee coming her way. 

It’s Friday night, and you have less than 24 hours to homecoming. You’re not sure how you were able to find a dress you actually like in the right color on such short notice, but somehow you managed. You and Ricky have been texting all day, filling each other in on how last minute shopping had been going for each of you. He was shocked at how well today went with his dad. He was bracing himself for the worst for a lot of the afternoon, but the day progressed and nothing bad happened. They even got dinner afterwards. 

Now, you’re sitting at your desk, finishing some homework while you facetime each other and fill him in on the whole cast’s plan to be there for Carlos and Seb tomorrow night. 

“And, like,” you continue rambling as you wrap up your science worksheet, “it’s so ridiculous that that’s even necessary, you know? Out of all the living things in the world, humans are the only ones who thought to make up homophobia.” 

“Right? Worst idea ever,” he muses. 

“Exactly!” you exclaim in agreement, looking up at your phone. You mutter something about how stupid people can be, eyes moving down and skimming your paper, double checking your answers one last time. Ricky watches you do this. Your desk light casts a warm glow over you, and he can see some of your posters on the opposite wall from  where you have your phone propped up. He knows exactly which ones they are, too. He has every detail of your room - and of you - memorized by now.

He’s supposed to be finishing his english homework, that’s the whole point of facetiming each other this late, to keep each other company while you work. Instead his papers lay discarded on his desk as he watches you, a look of fondness dusting his face. You tap your pencil against each question on your worksheet, eyebrows scrunched, mouthing the answers to yourself as you go. Occasionally you’ll stop, turning to your book to check a chart or vocabulary word, then erase your answer and select a different one. 

“And that’s why we proofread,” you mutter to yourself, and Ricky giggles. You look back up at him, smiling, then back at your paper for one last once over. 

“Okay, I’m just about done,” you say, putting your homework in your bag to turn in later, with a satisfactory sigh. Ricky glances at the time. It’s getting late already. He’s torn between wanting to make sure you get enough sleep, and wanting to talk to you all night. He watches you rub your eyes, suppressing a yawn. 

“We should probably go to bed now,” it’s more of a question, but you agree anyway. You pick up your phone and walk into your bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush as you say your drawn out good nights. 

Ricky thought he was nervous asking you to homecoming? Turns out that’s nothing compared where he is now, waiting for you in your foyer. Somehow your house had become the unofficial get ready spot for the girls and Carlos, and meet up place for everyone else. So that’s where Ricky finds himself, barely unable to socialize or talk with his friends, all his thoughts preoccupied with you. He hasn’t seen you all day; you and the girls have been getting ready together, and he’s been trying to teach Big Red to dance all day. 

Ashlyn comes down first. Her bubbly presence immediately eases some of the tension in the atmosphere from Ricky and EJ having to wait together in such close quarters. She waits with them for the others while they finish getting ready. It doesn’t slip past Ricky how nervous Big Red suddenly gets when she comes down the staircase. 

Natalie is next - almost. Half way down the stairs, a snap resonates off the walls, and she freezes. She looks down at her left shoe, the heel of which has completely snapped off.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, and walks carefully back up to your room. A minute later, presumably after she informs you about her wardrobe malfunction, Ricky hears your voice, faint and bouncing off the stairwell. 

“It’s okay, that’s the risk you take with stilettos,” you say, trying to calm her justified panic. He hears you say something about how Margot Robbie broke a heel at an award show a few years ago as your bedroom door closes again. 

The door opens, and Carlos appears at the landing. His face falls slightly as he realizes Seb isn’t here yet.

“It’s okay, he’s probably going to meet up with us at school.” Ricky comforts. 

“Yeah,” he agrees with a laugh at his own nervousness, “yeah, you’re probably right.”  Carlos takes a deep breath, and Ricky notices the swirly, metallic red pattern on his suit. 

“You look great, man,” He says, hoping to take Carlos’s mind off the unexpected radio silence from Seb. The comment is appreciated, but seems to catch him off guard. 

“Thanks,” he replies, “dude,” he punctuates with a friendly - very awkward - punch to Ricky’s arm. It’s more of a nudge, but he appreciates the sense of comradery nonetheless. 

Footsteps echo down the stairs, and Ricky looks up, stomach twisting in anticipation. Natalie emmerges, much more carefully this time. She greets everyone, then starts talking to Ashlyn about the shoe incident. Ricky is trying really, really hard not to look like he’s waiting for you, but it feels almost impossible to focus on anything else. 

Finally, several painfully long minutes later, he hears the click of high heels approaching the steps. He walks to the bottom of the stairs, heart thumping as you round the corner, and all the breath is pulled from his lungs at the sight of you. You descend the stairs, hair and dress flowing and bouncing with every step, glowing under the chandelier light. Your dress, mid length and flouncy, a peachy champagne that compliments your hair and skin tone perfectly, shimmers subtly when you move, glistening like starlight. 

Your makeup is understated and glowy, bringing out every beautiful feature you have - which is all of them. Your hair is perfect, glossy and voluminous. Your earrings look like little pink silk flowers, and there are matching, larger silk flowers on the side of your heels. Your nails are manicured a soft peachy pink, with little sparkling accents. You even smell like peaches, he realizes, subconsciously taking a step closer to the bottom of the stairs as you get closer. You seem to descend in slow motion as Ricky takes in every detail.

Your expression mirrors his the moment you see him. You did not expect him to look that good in a suit. It couldn’t fit better, the cut and seams of the dark fabric perfectly accentuating his physique. His tie matches your dress, the same shade of peach, and you bite back a smile. The expression on his face can only be described as a breathless wow, and it’s something you'll never forget. Your cheeks are warm and suddenly it all feels real. You find yourself very excited to have fun at homecoming with him tonight. 

You finally float down to the bottom of the stairs, stopping in front of him. It’s quiet for a moment, as you take each other in, face to face. You’re both struggling to find the words, thrown off guard by the energy in the air, by each other. Behind you, Ashlyn claps awkwardly.

“Alright, everyone ready to go?” 

You and Ricky both giggle at the same time, and his chest warms at how in sync you are. 

“Yeah,” You confirm, smiling over at Ashlyn and grabbing Ricky’s arm in a way that makes his heart palpitate, “let’s go.”

Standing with you on the dance floor, his hand on your waist as you attempt to teach him how to waltz, Ricky is so thankful for homecoming, for an opportunity to be close to you like this. 

“I told you,” he laughs, enamored with your optimistic determination, “I can’t dance.” 

“Yes,” you smile, “you can. You just haven’t had the right teacher.” His cheeks flush at your words, the feeling of your hands on his, and he’s hit with the sudden memory of the last time your lips were on his neck. 

“I think you’re probably right about that…” he mutters under his breath. You bite back a smile, adjusting the position of his hand on your waist. You step closer, and his heart beats faster. He watches your face closely as you explain the basics of a waltz, a box step. 

“Like in ‘Dancing’ from Hello Dolly.” you smile, eyes widening at the blank look on his face. “Oh my god, it’s a musical classic! Carol Channing played Dolly in the original broadway cast in ‘64, then Barbra Streisand in the film adaptation in ‘69.” 

“Wow,” he smiles. He loves when you talk about theatre and Broadway, loves the way your eyes light up. “They’re like, really famous, right?” You let out a light hearted scoff.

“Broadway legends.” You smile, “The movie was directed by Gene Kelly, too, it’s amazing. We should watch it this weekend, if you want to,” you look up at him, eyes glittering under the soft twinkling lights. 

“Yeah,” Ricky laughs, “definitely.” 

After a moment, you remember why you brought Hello Dolly up in the first place. 

“Right,” you say, memory jogged, “there’s a song called ‘Dancing’ where Dolly is teaching Cornelius and Barnaby how to dance so they can impress these girls who work at a ladies hat shop-” 

“Cornelius and Barnaby?” he asks with a laugh. 

“It takes place in 1890!” you say, jokingly defensive. 

“Right,” he agrees, “so a… ladies hat shop…?” 

“Totally era appropriate.” 

You’re both giggling, trying not to be too loud. You lean your head forward, resting it on his shoulder. The sound of your laughter, the feeling of your head resting against him brings back that warm feeling he always gets around you. It takes you a moment to regain your composure. It’s been like this all night, the conversation flowing like a river, always making each other laugh over something or other. 

“So,” you begin, once again ready to dance with him, “put your hand on her waist and stand.” You recite, moving his hand from your back to your waist and adjusting your posture. 

“With her right-” you hesitate, making sure you have the correct hand, then continue, “in your left hand. And…” You step back with your left foot, motioning for him to follow, then back and out with your right, then together. 

“One… two… three…” 

You repeat the steps.

“One… two… three…”

And again.

“One… two… three…” 

You look up at him, your smile blinding.

“Look, you’re dancing!” 

He looks up at you, excited, disbelieving that he got it so quickly.

“Wait, that’s it?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you nod, “see? I told you you can dance.” You start to move again, and he follows, hesitant but slowly getting the hang of it. After a second, he says your name, voice quiet and still watching the ground. 

“Can you keep singing? It’s making it a lot easier…” he chuckles, hoping you can’t tell how much he loves hearing your voice. 

So you do. You sing quietly, just enough for him to hear, about dancing and how it’s the perfect excuse to hold someone you like close to you, as you waltz carefully around the room. An electric, intimate feeling ties you together as you weave through the room. It's like something clicked, he thinks, because it makes sense. This, dancing, makes sense. He’s pulled from his epiphany by your melodic voice. 

"We should do Hello Dolly, it would be so fun!" You giggle.

"Yeah?" He asks, smile mirroring yours, "Who would you play?" You let out a light hearted huff, considering. 

"I would love to play Dolly," you admit. You had always hoped to portray the classic role, dreaming of being able to follow in the footsteps of other iconic actresses like Carol Channing and Barbra Streisand. You barely get the sentence out when Ricky nods, agreeing. 

"You would make an amazing Dolly." You laugh, cheeks warm, flattered by his response. 

"Who do you think I should be?" He asks, that playful energy flowing comfortably between you as he raises his arm, spinning you around. 

"Well," you begin with a laugh, "if you played Cornelius we’d get to waltz together. But if you played Horace and I played Dolly we'd get married at the end." 

His heart squeezes at your words, imagination already taking off like a wild horse. Again, your melodic voice pulls him back down to earth. 

"But playing Irene would be fun too…" you sigh, twirling in his arms again, your dress glittering under the soft lights. Your hands return to their previous position resting on his shoulder and your waist, free hands clasped together, and you begin to move in tandem. You twirl and float around the room, feeling the music wrap around you like a warm blanket in autumn. 

In that beautiful moment between the two of you, he doesn’t just understand dancing, he realizes, he loves it. Like, a lot. He loves this, being close to you. He loves the connection between you, and he wants to keep dancing with you all night. 

He giggles, twirling you around in his arms again. On your way around, you see Carlos behind you at your table holding up his phone, a smile on his face. You’re glad he seems okay; Seb still hasn’t shown up and everyone’s been worried about both of them. A split second later, you’re back in Ricky’s arms, and your heart soars at the smile on his face. You’d been hoping dancing together at homecoming might help him in rehearsals. Based on how well he’s doing - and how much fun he seems to be having - you can tell your hunch was correct. 

After a few more songs, you begin to make your way back to your table. Ricky’s hand settles on your back, guiding you through the crowd. Two more people are seated there than when you left, and your eyes widen. 

“Oh my god.” you say quietly, “Gina and EJ came together?” 

Ricky glances up, gaze almost immediately turning back to you as you get closer.

“Oh, they did? I didn’t notice.” 

Fighting to maintain her poker face, Gina’s stomach drops at his words. Her eyes dart between you and Ricky, the way he’s looking at you. She grips her clutch tighter. This is really, really bad for her. Gina barely had a plan for making Ricky jealous and freaked out so he’d quit the show to begin with. She definitely did not plan on you waltzing into the picture - literally - and stealing away all of his attention. He can’t get jealous if all of his focus is on you. A sinking feeling begins to invade the pit of her stomach. 

Ricky’s phone buzzes with a text from his dad. 

“Hey,” he says, showing you the screen, “which shirt do you like better?” 

He’s been filling you in on his dad’s hot date he has tonight, and you’re both very relieved to see that he’s doing okay, putting himself out there. You look at the pictures, and consider.

“Hmm… the second one.” you conclude. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” he agrees easily. He loves how you always seem to be on the same page. 

“Wow,” comes EJ’s voice from across the table. He sounds really stiff. “I had no idea you were each other’s dates to homecoming.” He states, sharing a quick look with Gina he hopes no one notices. 

“Yeah, we are,” Ricky smiles, “we’re each other’s dates.” He doesn’t think it would be too far fetched to say you’re… dating. 

“Yep, partners in crime.” You smile, showing off your plastic ring. Ricky holds up his, kept on a chain, sitting right over his heart. 

“Aw,” Carlos says, an almost bittersweet undercurrent to his voice, “you guys are so cute.” He gestures for you to lean closer to each other. “Let me get a pic for my story!” 

Ricky does not need to be told twice. He throws his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you hold his arm and giggle. It’s the perfect shot, the sincerity of the fun you’re having evident in the photo. 

Gina runs her tongue over her teeth. She really does not like that. 

Across town, sitting at a table in a shitty karaoke spot, Nina scrolls through instagram while Kourtney rants about the bitch who criticized her costume suggestions. Something about a lime green sweater? She’s not really paying attention, she’s too distracted by the hideous dress that Gina’s wearing. And the fact that she went to hoco with Nina’s ex boyfriend. 

“Look at this,” she says, showing Kourtney her phone. “She looks like she’s wearing a bedazzled tablecloth.” Kourtney looks at her phone, disapproval written all over her face. 

“And,” Nina says, gearing up to point out the obvious jab at her, “she’s with EJ.”

Kourtney knows where this is going. Before Nini can go off about how obviously Gina has it out for her, she takes a sip of her drink. 

“Is there anything on their stories?”

She taps EJ’s story and it’s just a boomerang of the food. 

“No, just-” Carlos’s story plays next and Nina almost pukes. Right there on her screen is Ricky, kissing your cheek, leaning into you like a cat. You’re in an unfortunately gorgeous dress, grinning so sincerely, your nose effortlessly scrunched. Next is a video of you two dancing. Like, really, properly dancing. She can’t believe you got him to dance - he doesn’t even dance in rehearsal when he’s supposed to! She watches the two of you ballroom dancing around the gym, breath speeding up slightly at the realization that he’s actually good. The sick pit forming in her stomach grows as she rewatches the video again. She wants to know why, after all the practice, all the failed attempts and his reluctance, why it works when you do it? Why isn’t she good enough? She dwells in the feeling for a few minutes. She scrolls through a few more hoco posts before finding one that has your account tagged. It’s private. 

“Kourt,” she says, showing her her phone, “you need to follow her.” 

“Why?” Kourtney asks.

“So I can see what’s on her instagram.” Nina says. She can’t let you know she’s lurking, so the obvious solution is to lurk through Kourtney’s account. Kourtney sighs. She requests to follow you. 

A few feet away from your table, Ashlyn gives you a look, gesturing subtly to Carlos, then to the hallway. Seb still isn’t here. 

“Hey,” you say quietly to Ricky, “I’ll be right back.” you smile, eyes flicking over to Ashlyn and Carlos. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says, watching you leave with them to give Carlos a pep talk. A soft smile kisses the corners of Ricky’s mouth, watching you in utter adoration. He lets out a small sigh, gaze lingering on where you stood even after you’re out of sight. 

Gina watches him watch you, his dark auburn hair glowing in the warm twinkle lights strung up throughout the gym. His eyes seem to sparkle with joy when he finally tears his gaze away, staring absentmindedly at the table. 

“EJ,” she says, “could you get me some punch, babe?” 

“Uh,” he says, clearly unused to the term of endearment, “sure… babe.” He heads over to the drinks, the tension between them thinly veiled. This seems to snap Ricky out of whatever his train of thought was, and he scoots closer to Gina. She watches him lean closer to her and begin speaking in a low, almost strangely intimate tone of voice. 

"Hey, you know EJ went through Nini’s phone before they broke up, right?” 

She raises her eyebrows. 

“Just… you know, be a little careful around him.” 

“I can take care of myself, Ricky.” She states incredulously.

“Yeah, of course you can.” he says, head tilted to the side with a little smile, like it should be obvious, “You’re so talented and ambitious, and - honestly, way too good for him.” He mutters the last part, but she definitely hears it. 

“You’re way too cool to get your heart broken by a guy who plays water polo.” He says, drawing a reflexive laugh out of her. 

“Just… take care of yourself.” he concludes, locking eyes with her before moving back to his seat. It’s only for a moment, but long enough for her to commit the color to memory.

“Right.” she says, working harder than she usually has to to keep her expression neutral. 

Later, between dances, you and Ricky catch your breath at the snack table. You take a sip of your drink, eyes landing on Gina and EJ, who are very obviously arguing. You nudge Ricky, motioning over to them.

“What are they saying? Wrong answers only.” 

He considers, then begins to narrate in his best EJ impression. 

“Ugh, Gina! Stop moving! I haven’t posted on instagram in 35 seconds and blurry so doesn’t fit my theme.”

You try to stifle the loud, beautiful laugh that brings warmth to his cheeks and a smile to his lips as your eyes lock, sharing a look so close he never wants to look away. 

“I said wrong answers only…” you say through muffled giggles. He stares at you, fixated. He’s blinded by your warmth, your beauty, and he can’t look away from you. His attention is snapped back to where it had been when you gasp dramatically, shock written all over your face. He follows your gaze to EJ, who’s dripping with punch, and Gina, who’s storming away from him.

“...Oh my god.” you say, already dissolving into laughter again, Ricky following suit. 

Soon you’re dancing again, pressed up against each other, swaying gently to the oldies playing softly over the speakers. Ricky can feel your body heat, smell your shampoo, and the way it mixes with your sweet peachy perfume. You smell so good, he thinks he could probably get high off you alone. His hand rests firmly on your back, holding you close to him, and his fingertips brush over the exposed skin peeking out over the straps of your dress. He traces your shoulder blades, your spine, feeling how close together your hearts are beating. One of your arms is wrapped around him, your head resting on his shoulder. Both your free hands are intertwined, and he loves the feeling of your fingers intertwining with his. He’s steeped in a hazy sort of ecstasy, spurred further on by your warm little breaths tickling his neck. 

He lets out a soft sigh, more content than he’s probably ever been. He feels you smile against his blazer when he traces the outline of the back of your dress. You hum softly to the music, singing along to a few of the words. He’s not surprised that you know this song, of course you would know a song this pretty and romantic. He hopes he’ll remember to ask you the name of it later. Dancing, he realizes, isn’t just fun - it’s amazing. He loves dancing. He loves dancing with you. After a few moments, he realizes there’s not many people on the dance floor. He doesn’t get why so many guys don’t like slow dancing; when you really love someone, isn’t any reason to hold them close to you a good one? He thinks it is. His heart flutters when you let out a breathy sigh against his skin.

You adjust your head on Ricky’s shoulder, watching Carlos across the room. He looks so… melancholic. You should go check on him. And Gina. And probably EJ. Christ, tonight has been a lot. You adjust your head again, facing towards him. 

“We should check on Gina,” you say reluctantly, murmuring into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. He loves when you do that, loves how you know when people are hurting and what to do about it. But right now, he really, really does not want to let go of you for anyone or anything. Maybe it’s selfish, he thinks, maybe it’s selfish for wanting you all to himself like this, but he just can’t bring himself to let go of you yet. Maybe he deserves to be a little selfish sometimes. Maybe he should just give himself permission to do whatever makes him feel better. He holds you tighter, face burying into your neck. 

“After this song,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed in your embrace. You nod gently.

“Okay,” you agree, voice so low he can barely hear it. 

Eventually the final piano chords sound, and he holds you tight as the last few, painfully bittersweet notes reverberate through the room. The song ends, and he lets go of you slower and more reluctantly than he’s done anything. 

You sigh, tracing your hands on his shoulders, slowly coming out of that cozy trance like state you’ve been in together.

“Okay,” you start, “let’s split up. I’ll check on Carlos, you can check on Gina, and I’ll have Ashlyn check on EJ cause they’re cousins.” 

He agrees, hit with a sudden wave of nerves about the confrontation. You can sense his hesitation.

“What should I say?” he asks, with a chuckle. He’d told you about how he warned Gina about EJ earlier in the evening, which you had agreed was totally the right move. He told you how she seemed irritable after the interaction, and wondered if he’d done anything wrong, if he could have handled it better. “I don’t think so”, you had said with a sad shrug, “some people just refuse to acknowledge the person they’re dating is kind of shitty.” 

You’re right, he realized, now ready to approach this with more compassion and less confrontation. You think for a second, then reply.

“You can apologize if what you said before came off wrong, that you didn’t mean anything bad by it.” 

“Okay,” he nods.

“And try to relate to her - you’re new to theatre, she’s new to east high, you gotta stick together, you know?”

“Right.” 

You send him a thumbs up as you part ways, looking for Carlos. After chatting with Carlos, he left to get some water. You see Ricky approaching you through the crowd, and stand up from your table, meeting him halfway.

“How’d it go?” you ask. He seems hesitant.

“She asked for a ride home.” Your eyes go wide with understanding. He knew you’d get what’s going on, you always know just what to do. 

“Oh, dude, the last thing she probably wants right now is to get in a car with EJ.” Ricky thinks that’s the last thing anyone would want. “If you want you can give her a ride, then come back and we can keep dancing.” He smiles, and agrees. Any plan that ends with dancing with you more sounds like a good plan to him. You quickly fill him in on how things are going with the Carlos/Seb situation in spite of its anticlimactic nature - no one can get a hold of Seb, and Carlos is really, really regretting this whole thing. You and Ashlyn are going to try and hype him up and turn the night around for him so it’s not a totally horrible memory to look back on, and Ricky agrees that’s a good plan. 

“I’ll be back really soon so I can help you guys out,” he says, hoping to extend the conversation a little, to stand close to you and talk confidentially with you just a little more. You smile, looking relieved at his support, and it makes his heart flutter. You touch his arm, sending him a knowing look.

“We need all the help we can get, so thank you.” you state with a chuckle. He tries not to be obvious, but he knows he can’t hide his flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. He hopes you don’t notice. 

You really didn’t expect to be the glue holding everyone together tonight, but you love your friends, so you’re not complaining. After a lengthy conversation with Carlos about how amazing he is regardless of who he is or isn’t seeing, and that there will be so many guys throwing themselves at him after high school, you finally get him out of his funk a little. You were about to go dance together and have a good time, because he shouldn’t let anything ruin his homecoming, when Natalie scurried over to you holding the side of her dress. 

“It snagged on the back of a chair and my whole leg is out, Angelina Jolie style.” She says in a rush, clearly getting more freaked out. You and Carlos share a look.

“It’s okay,” you say gently, “I have a sewing kit in my bag and I can have you fixed up in two minutes flat.” You look over at Carlos again, making sure he’ll be okay. He confirms silently, nudging you two towards the doors. 

“You go fix this wardrobe malfunction,” he says, already trying to pull out of the funk he’d been stuck in all night, “I’m going to warm up the dance floor. When you get back, get ready to dance your heart out.” 

He’s not all the way there, but he’s trying. You both agree, and you send him one last encouraging look before moving carefully to the hallway, trying not to let Natalie’s dress rip any more than it already is. You look back one last time as you pass through the doors, and finally, Carlos is out on the dance floor. You smile, excited to dance with him once you get back.

“God, I wish I had my hamster right now…” Natalie mutters, and you know if she needs her emotional support hamster, it’s pretty bad. 

A few minutes later, you have your sewing kit and Natalie’s dress is back to its former glory. She has on a fresh coat of lip gloss, just finished showing you pictures of her hamster, and is ready to head back out. You stay behind to touch up your makeup a little, telling her you’ll be right behind her.  As you’re walking back out, someone turns the corner at the other end of the hallway. You freeze in place, eyes growing wide as they land on none other than Seb. He smiles nervously, raising a hand to wave at you. Before he can, you let out a shocked squeak, scurrying back into the gym. His heart sinks. He hopes you don’t hate him, and he’s really worried Carlos is going to. 

When you enter, you see Carlos dancing his heart out. You don’t have time to be relieved, weaving your way through the crowd to Mr. Mazzara. You slam your hands on the table, avoiding the sound and light equipment he’s managing. 

“Mr. Mazzara!” He looks up at you, startled, as you begin to explain in a rush. He looks at you, a pleading puppy dog look written on your face, and sighs. 

“I suppose that’s fine…” he says, making a few adjustments to the switch board in front of him. 

“Thank you!” you say quietly, before running onto the dance floor. Carlos is finally in his element. He dances beautifully to the music, free and expressive. Right when the beat drops, a circle of spotlights go up. One lands on him, the other lands across the room on Seb, and they lock eyes in a moment that can only be described as magical. Ashlyn looks at the scene, straight out of a movie, then over to you. You high five her. 

“Nice!” she whispers. You can see it between them, the energy, the chemistry, the electricity. You look at Ashlyn, nodding toward your table. You both sit down, giving them some time to talk and catch up. You try to be subtle as you watch them talk, not close enough to eavesdrop, but watching their expressions, gaging how it's going. They're smiling, then they're laughing, and soon they're dancing together. It's going well, you think. You can't wait for Carlos to fill you in later. 

Sitting in Gina's driveway, a surprisingly more comfortable energy in the air than either of them had expected, Ricky tries to think of how to say what he wants to say. 

"Not quite the evil mansion with wrought-iron and gargoyles you were picturing?" She asks, a hopeful playfulness to her voice. She almost sounds nervous. 

"What? No…" he says. The comment takes him by surprise, snapping him back to attention. "...Well maybe some gargoyles." His joking tone and comforting energy has her giggling. She doesn't remember the last time she giggled. She feels his eyes on her, and tries not to look over at him. She does anyway. 

"You're not that bad, you know." He muses. She tries to control her breathing. She doesn't say anything. 

"Also," he continues, looking back over at the windshield, "I should thank you for that night at the skatepark, keeping me in the show. It means a lot, it's… a really big deal to me." He looks up and left at the top of the car window, mind already wandering about how if he had quit, he never would have gotten close to you like this, never would have fallen in… your arms the way he had that night. He can't imagine you not being in his life, and he has Gina to thank in part for that. He feels a sense of gratitude blooming for her. They talk a little more, and the feeling grows; Gina really is not that bad. He can feel a friendly bond growing between them, a sense of comradery. 

"So… now is probably a good time to ask about the whole drink thing," he starts with a chuckle. She ducks her head, equal parts embarrassed at her actions, and that he saw her at such a low moment. She lets out a sigh. The gesture reminds him of something you might do. He thinks you two would be good friends. He’s already imagining what you’ll say when he fills you in on all this, he’s excited to get your opinion. 

“...My mom moves around a lot for work. Like, a lot…” 

Once she starts, she can’t stop, and it’s not long before she’s unintentionally spilled her guts and her life story to him. She wishes she could stop talking, but it’s like she totally lost her filter with him. She’s always been so reserved, so calculated, and now she doesn’t even have time to think before the words are already spilling out. It’s a new feeling, being so candid with someone, and an unsettling one. 

She risks a glance over at Ricky, who’s just… listening to her. Taking in what she says. That somehow makes her more nervous than if he’d just ignored her or told her to shut up already. She wishes someone would tell her to shut up, she wishes she could. She finally gets to the end of her never ending stream of consciousness, and she’s stunned as they sit in the silence, Ricky really absorbing her words, her feelings. He reaches over and grabs her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze before letting go - a mannerism he picked up from you. Heat floods her chest, prickly and almost painful, hyper aware of where his skin just touched hers.

“You know, you-” She’ll never know what he was going to say, his words are cut short by the porch lights flashing through the windshield. Gina’s stomach sinks. She doesn’t want to go inside yet. She doesn’t want this moment to be over, but she has to listen to her mom. She reaches for the door, then hesitates. She turns back to Ricky, desperate to try one more time, to put herself out there, to plant some roots. 

“I meant what I said at the skate park… about you having your own style.” 

He smiles, looking down with a breathy chuckle. His leg is bouncing slightly, he can’t wait to get back to school and dance with you more, spend the rest of this magical night with you. 

“Thank you, that’s-” He’s cut off again, this time by the kiss Gina presses to his cheek. She’s out of the car and inside before he can look at her face. She holds her coat tight around her against the chilly rain beginning to drizzle down, and a second later, the front door closes and she’s inside.He lets out another chuckle, different this time. ‘That was weird.’ He thinks. He barely has the thought before his stomach drops, a sick, cold fear clutching him. What if you find out Gina kissed him? What if you find out and you hate him, what if he breaks your heart into a million pieces without trying? Or worse, what if you lose interest in him because you think he likes Gina? He can feel himself panicking at the idea, unable to stop the onslaught of all too real feeling anxieties wracking his mind, creating a pit in his stomach as he peels out of the driveway and makes his way back to school. 

No, no, that’s not going to happen. He’s not going to lose you because he’s not able to express how much he cares about you. He’s not going to let that happen. Trying to hold this panic at bay, he pulls out his phone as he walks through the parking lot towards the school again. How to show someone you love them. He types the words into google, skimming article titles, reddit threads, quora responses, until he finds himself at the gym doors. He sees you across the room, dancing in a group with Carlos, Ashlyn, Natalie, and Seb. ‘Oh, Seb’s here. That’s good,’ he thinks, a momentary relief that at least one or two fires had been put out tonight. He spots Big Red on the opposite side of the room, and makes his way over to him carefully, trying not to be seen by you. He can’t be around you until he figures this out, he can’t hurt you like this. 

Ricky approaches Big Red with an intense energy he has trouble reading, before Ricky starts to speak. 

“Dude,” he says, voice intense and hushed, “Gina kissed me on the cheek.” 

“That’s great!” 

“No, it’s not!” Ricky says, clearly very frazzled. Okay, that’s where this is going. 

“That’s awful!” Red course corrects as Ricky fills him in on the car ride with Gina. As he tells Red everything that happened, Ricky finds himself kind of hating Gina right now. Why would she do this to him, why would she put him in this position? Does she hate him or something? He thinks she must, there’s no other reason for her to sabotage his relationship with you like this. She must hate him if she’s trying to ruin the most important thing in his life. 

“Listen, I really, really like her…” his eyes keep flicking over to you, gaze magnetized by your presence, “like, a lot. How can I make sure I don’t fuck this up? Because I can not fuck up with her.”

“Woah, man,” Red starts, trying to help Ricky ground himself a little, “chill out. In all fairness, cheek kisses can be platonic.” 

“Right,” Ricky nods, starting to feel assured, and Red continues. 

“So, if Gina wants to date you when you’re… kind of seeing someone, she has to make that more clear to you.”

“Right.” Ricky states, agreeing. He really hopes she doesn’t. 

“I think you’re okay,” Red says, sensing his energy changing already, “just make sure she knows how much you like her. Make it really, objectively obvious.” 

Yeah. He just has to make it obvious. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says to Red, his eyes locked on you as you laugh at something Carlos says, making his stomach twist and tingle, “I just have to make sure she knows how much… I like her.” 

Red watches him make his way over to you, a spring in his step and a plan in his mind. Thank god for Dr. Phil, Red thinks, or else there’s no way he’d be able to help his friends navigate all their drama. He chuckles at the thought, watching Ashlyn fix the strap of your dress. 

Ricky checks his phone one more time on the way over, looking over a chart of love languages one more time. He’s not sure what your love language is, so he’ll just have to try all of them and see what you seem to like best. Gift giving and acts of service aren’t really options right now, so tonight he’ll focus on words of affirmation, physical touch, and quality time. If he has to drown you in all five love languages at once to make sure you know how he feels about you, he will. 

“Hey,” he starts, watching your reaction nervously, scared you somehow already hate him. You turn around at the sound of his voice, eyes lighting up. 

“Hey!” you smile, “You’re back!” you grab his arm, pulling him in closer to the group. 

“Seb’s here,” you say, and he smiles, relieved at your reaction. 

“Hey, man,” he smiles. 

“Fill me in later,” you say quietly, referring to giving Gina a ride, and he nods, a little bit ready to forget the whole thing. 

Now that all the drama, wardrobe malfunctions, and late entrances are out of the way, you and what remains of your friends spend the rest of the night like you intended; dancing, laughing, and taking great pictures together. Later on into the night, everyone’s just about had their fill of fun and the party starts winding down. You split up, most of your friends piling into the Salt Lake slices delivery van so Red can drop them off. After some more hugs and laughs, you finally part ways, climbing into the passenger seat of his orange Volkswagen Beetle. 

His heart is thumping as you grab his hand and squeeze it a little once you’re on your way back to his house, causing a fresh wave of heat to rise to his face, and god he's nervous right now. His mind is still screaming at him that you're going to hate him, that he has to prove his feelings to you. He lets out a small little laugh at the gesture. 

“Well,” you start, tired from the night, but thriving off the energy between you, “that could have gone way worse…” 

“Yeah,” he laughs, nodding in agreement. You talk for the whole drive back to his place. You’d planned on staying over tonight since Ricky was driving and you figured it would be late, plus your mom’s car is at the mechanic so she’s using yours until some time tomorrow. You exchange sleepy chuckles as he parks. He checks his phone one more time as you leave the car, opening an article of women submitting stories about how they knew a guy loved them in a new tab. He sees a text from his dad - the date went well, he hopes Ricky and you had a good time at homecoming, and he’s going to bed so try to keep the noise down when you get back. 

“My dad’s asleep,” he says softly, unlocking the door. He guides you inside, hand resting low on your back, and closes the door quietly behind him. Walking quietly from his foyer to his room shouldn’t have been a problem, but standing in the darkness with Ricky, you both suddenly find it hard not to start giggling. Hushing each other, you quickly sneak up the stairs past Mr. Bowen’s room, down the hall to Ricky’s room. He barely closes the door and flicks the lock closed before dissolving into giggles. You kick off your heels, glad to finally take them off, and grab a makeup wipe from your bag. He digs through his clothes for a second before handing you a big t-shirt to sleep in. 

“Thanks,” you say, throwing away the makeup wipes. He gazes at you, watching you transition from formal and made up to casual and comfortable, your beauty unwavering. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone as pretty as you before. You watch him take off his jacket and tie, and undo the first button or two of his shirt. The action sends butterflies to your stomach and heat to your core. You glance away. You stand up, seeing if you can reach the zipper of your dress. Before you can ask, you feel Ricky behind you. 

“Need some help with that?” He asks, closer to your ear than you’d expected and resting his hands on your waist. You both chuckle.

“Yeah,” you state, voice low and soft. He moves slowly, unzipping the back of your dress, careful not to snag the delicate fabric. You feel the bodice loosen around you, the end of the zipper stopping at the small of your back. He doesn’t move away. You can feel his breath fan over your shoulder, hand still resting on your waist. 

His face is so close to yours, and he mutters your name softly before pressing a kiss to your jawline, then another and another. He moves down, burying his face in your neck as he continues to press hot, open mouthed kisses against your skin. He breathes in your perfume, peachy and sweet and intoxicating. He nips at your neck causing you to gasp, his hands moving below the draping fabric and directly onto your warm skin. You sigh at the contact. He pulls you closer to him, holding you tight as he sucks on your neck. Your dress is slipping off your shoulders, barely on at all anymore, as he begins to feel you up, touching you and caressing you so tenderly. 

“Ricky,” you sigh. Your voice sounds so pretty when you’re like this. 

“God, I-” he breathes, barely catching the words before they’re out. He lets out a nervous laugh, causing you to giggle in his grasp. He shushes you through his own laughter, his hands never ceasing the way they rome over your body. 

"We have to be quiet," he says, turning you around in his arms, pressing himself up against you, trying so, so hard not to kiss you yet. 

"I can be quiet…" you state, a jokingly incredulous tone in your voice. You stare each other down, and he tries not to break first, tries not to smile or laugh, but god, it’s impossible not to smile when he looks at you. Before he can crack, before he loses all composure and bares his soul for you, places his heart eternally in your hands to do as you please with, he pivots. 

"Yeah?" He asks, and you feel the energy change, growing electric between you. "Is that a challenge?"

His tone is dangerous and he watches your eyes get wide. A second later he has you pinned against his mattress, pressing playful nips and kisses against your skin as muffled giggles and sighs escape your pretty mouth. His hands move down, grabbing your exposed skin as he kisses you harder and harder, riling the both of you up. You tear off the little remaining clothes either of you has on and he begins to roll his hips against you, grinding his hot, throbbing member against your heat. You let out a breathy moan, louder than before, as he continues to rock his hips against yours. 

“That wasn’t very quiet,” he murmurs into your ear between kisses to your cheek and jawline. Your chest vibrates against his, and a wave of relief washes through him. You don’t hate him. He loves that feeling he gets when he makes you laugh, he wants to make you do it again. 

“I can stay quiet,” you insist, already swept away by his touch, distracted by the warm kisses and bites he’s planting on your neck and chest. You’re even more distracted by the feeling of his fingers making their way down, brushing against your clit as they come into contact with the arousal dripping down your folds. He smiles, realizing if he can get you this turned on, this touchy, you must like him. He pushes his fingers in, finally met again with the cathartic feeling of your cushy, bumpy walls squeezing and folding around him. Arousal gushes, dripping down his fingers as he begins to stimulate the tight, sensitive muscles stretching around his fingers. He dwells on the feeling for a moment, maybe two, before you’re moaning again. It makes him laugh. 

“I sure hope you can,” he says, another dangerously playful look on his face, “cause if you get too loud…” He watches you for a split second, hanging on his words, anticipation written across your face, “I’m gonna stop.” 

Your stomach flip flops, exploding with butterflies at his words. Before you can look at his face, before you can gauge how serious he is about following through on his threat, his lips are on yours again. He kisses you, mouth open, tongue already prodding into your mouth. You’re lucky, you think, that he’s unintentionally muffling your noises with his mouth. You’re really lucky, because he quickly finds your g-spot, and there are a couple moans you couldn’t hold back if your life depended on it.

Every sigh, every gasp, every beautiful heart pounding moan Ricky elicits from you sends a fresh wave of relief and reassurance through him. You don’t hate him, and you’re not going to. You could never when he’s this good, this devoted to you. It’s impossible for him not to be when you’re so good to him. You’re so responsive to his touch, you’re totally on the same wavelength. 

You must know what he’s telling you through his actions, through the way he looks at you, the words he’s had to bite back from spilling out more than once. You wouldn’t be dripping down his fingers and moaning into his mouth and grabbing at him like this, you wouldn’t be in his bed if you didn’t feel the way he does about you - or even something close to it. He’ll happily take whatever you want to give him. Of course he wants it all, he wants to completely take over your heart, but just a little bit will keep him happy until he can.

“Right there,” you whine against his lips, “fuck, just like that… feels so good…” you mutter. 

‘See?’ he thinks, ‘You don’t say stuff like that if you don’t like someone a lot, much less moan it…’ 

It’s working. His plan to not lose you is working, he just has to make you cum so hard you can’t think straight, as many times as possible. And he’s going to, because there’s no way he can risk losing you. So he brings up his thumb, rubbing it over your clit as he curls his fingers against your gummy walls. It’s euphoric and overwhelming, and you barely have time to tug his hair before you’re cumming and pulsing around his fingers. 

You squeeze and clamp tight around him, and he can’t resist anymore. He needs his tongue inside you, he needs to taste you, feel you squeeze his tongue and cream into his mouth. So he pulls away, already missing the feeling of your mouths against each other, and gazes at you, breath fanning across your cheeks, eyes locked. He takes you in, thumb caressing your cheek while the other continues to fondle your clit. After a moment he’s able to break his gaze away, and he moves down, pushing your legs open. You heart thumps in your chest in anticipation as he begins to lick and suck on your heat, tongue flicking into your drippy hole. 

As soon as he gets a taste, he wants more. He stretches out his tongue, going to town on your cunt. Every sigh and tug of his hair, every attempt to muffle your moans makes him more eager to have you gush your sweet sticky cum all over him. This time he has some experience, and he’s making the most of it. He finds those spots inside you that make your eyes roll back, switching between them, bumping his nose against your clit, drawing stifled moan after stifled moan from you. One slips out, for real this time, and he pauses. It takes all his willpower; your scent is intoxicating and your taste is addictive, but the look on your face when you realize he’s standing by what he said is totally worth it. 

“I told you,” he murmurs against your core, the vibrations and tone of his voice sending electricity through you, “we have to be quiet…” Your hand is clamped over your mouth, and you nod. Your timing couldn’t be better, because you don’t have time to finish the gesture before he dives back in. After that, it doesn’t take much to send you over the edge. 

You give him everything he’s wanted all night, squeezing and gushing all over him while he laps up everything, holding down your hips while he shoves his tongue deeper inside you. It’s always surprising how far inside you he’s able to get it. You whine and moan, choking out praise as he already begins building up another high. He’s throbbing, desperate for anything you’ll give him, and he wants to make you say more shit like that. He wants to be good for you. 

“Oh god- fuck, Ricky!” you choke out in a whisper, one hand tangled in his hair, the other clamped over your mouth. You’re already close again, he can feel it. He knew this would work. He knew he could prove to you how much you mean to him. He doubles his efforts, squeezing your thighs and grinding his face against your pussy, still dripping from the last times he made you cum. His eyes are half lidded and locked on you, watching your face, the way you squirm below his touch, the way your tits bounce with every movement. You’re not sure how long it is until he has you absolutely gushing and convulsing around his tongue again, but every moment is filled with ecstasy. 

“Fuck you’re good at that…” you murmur, hand now playing with his hair instead of pulling it. “You’re one of the good ones, huh?” 

You probably could have knocked him out with a feather. Your words reverberate in his mind, and his cheeks flush. One of the good ones. Yeah. 

He’s throbbing harder than before, almost painfully turned on. He climbs back up over you, but before he can reach into his nightstand for a condom, you flip him over, straddling him. You look down at him with those beautiful eyes that hold every star in the night sky, biting your lip in that endearing way of yours. Your hands are warm on his shoulders, and he’s stunned at the suddenness of your action, and really eager to see where you’re going with this. He could watch you like this for hours, freezing this moment in time forever, eternally content with you, the way you touch him and look at him. You lean down closer to him, breath tickling his cheeks. 

“My turn.” 

You smile, the words coming out in a hushed giggle. Before he can blink, you’re grabbing his rock hard cock, squeezing it in your hands and teasing the tip as you spread around the precum already dripping down the side. He watches you, eyes wide and excited as you open your mouth, wrapping your lips around him. Your mouth is velvety soft, warm and wet, and he has to try not to cum on the spot. You pump the base of his cock, taking more of him in your mouth, and he tries not to buck his hips. He tries so hard not to move at all, tries to be good for you while you work your magic on him. He lets out a long, low moan. Suddenly you freeze, popping your lips off with a small wet noise as you look up at him. 

“Stay quiet or I stop…” you tease, throwing his own conditions back at him. He nods, panting at your words. “Good boy.” You murmur under your breath, but he definitely hears. Good boy. He can feel the oxytocin flooding his brain, and you barely get your lips around him and start bobbing your head before he feels it.

“I’m close,” he chokes out, and you look up at him. He watches a smirk appear at the corners of your eyes before you drag your tongue along the bottom of his cock. It’s more than enough, and he watches in utter awe as he shoots his load into your mouth, and you swallow all of it. The sight is enough to have him throbbing again. He bites back more moans, desperate for you to keep going, for you to call him a good boy again. You bob your head along his length, tongue dragging along the vein on the underside of his cock. 

One hand comes down to fondle his balls, and a choked moan slips out. He never knew he could feel this good. He never knew one person could make him like this. You continue to lick and suck, squeeze and pump and rub, and soon he’s fighting another orgasm, hoping to bask in the feeling of your mouth around him for just a little longer. His prayers are in vain, he realizes, as he shoots another load of sticky, salty cum into your mouth. You have no trouble taking this one either. You continue to suck and lick, riding out the last of his high, before finally releasing him with a soft pop. 

Thoroughly fucked out, he watches you climb up next to him, awestruck. You grab a blanket, pulling it over the both of you, and moving his face to press a few more kisses to his lips. Your tastes mingle as your tongues connect, and Ricky doesn’t think he’s ever tasted something that delicious. He wants more of it. It’s only when you eventually pull away that your eyes land on the clock behind him. 

“Christ, it’s late,” you murmur. You blink heavily, Ricky mirroring the action, and you trace your thumb over his cheek, just looking at him a little longer. You tug the blanket up a little higher, snuggling up next to him. He holds you close on instinct, still trying to process everything that happened tonight in spite of how exhausted he is. It hits him suddenly, and he struggles to stay awake so he can appreciate the kiss you press to his jaw, the warm feeling of your hand on his chest.

He tries so hard to stay awake, to look at you for a little while, because no amount of time with you feels like enough. He refuses to acknowledge the heavy way he blinks and squeezes his eyes, trying to force them to focus on you, but he can feel himself losing the fight against the deep sleep he’s about to slip into. This night was a success, he thinks. He did a good job.

Late morning sunlight streams through his window, finally dragging Ricky back into the waking world. He looks over, missing your presence, and finds his bed empty. As he rolls over, he’s struck by the sweet, intoxicating scent of your peachy perfume. It’s all over his pillow, his sheets, his blankets. His whole room smells faintly of your scent. He buries his nose in the pillow where you’d slept, breathing it in, taking him right back to last night. 

Eventually, he checks his phone. It’s later than he’d expected, but he’s greeted with a text from you, bringing an immediate, even bigger smile to his face. 

He sighs, lovestruck. He doesn’t want to get out of bed, doesn’t want the scent of your perfume to fade. He just wants to bask in it.