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fbfh · 1 year

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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.

#ricky bowen #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen angst #hsmtmts #hsmtmts x reader #hsmtmts angst #high school musical the musical the series #high school musical the musical the series x reader #high school musical the musical the series angst #:)#brace yourself #not sorry for this btw #it does in fact get worse #rocks at your window

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shellshocklove · 2 months

Text

just crazy love | joel miller

pairing/AU: 70s!pornstar!joel miller x inexperienced!female reader

summary: joel had hurt you badly, but can you forgive him?

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 23, joel is in his early 30s, accuracies and inaccuracies about the 70s and the porn industry, smoking of cigarettes (it's the 70s alright), mentions and drinking of alcohol, misogyny (bc of the times™), readers uncle is a character in this but his name is not mentioned and there's no description of looks, angst, swearing, use of pet names, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, squirting, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), praise kink, some size kink (pornstar!joel has a big dick), soft!dom joel, no use of y/n

a/n: this is part three and the last part to my little 70s!pornstar!joel mini-series. i'm overwhelmed by the love i got on the previous part. i honestly thought everyone had forgotten about the orginal one shot as it had been so long 💀 i really appreciate all of you who's left a comment, reply or sent me an ask! makes my heart all mushy 🥺 thank you to @dustydaddyyy for all the help and for reading through it! <3

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

On the way home from set, Joel started to think he’d fucked up.

You were so quiet, quieter than you usually were, and it made him worried. After wrapping his scene with Cheryl, he’d immediately looked for you, but your place in the corner where you’d stood watching was empty. He’d noticed you slip out during his scene but thought nothing of it as he knew being on set wasn’t your favorite, but then you came back, and Joel had found it hard to conceal his happiness behind his acting.

His head had been filled with memories and fantasies, memories and fantasies of you. The look you’d get in your eyes when he kissed you, blown out and wide. The feel of your soft hand wrapped around him this morning, the feel of your wet pussy tight around his cock. The sweet taste of you on his tongue. Shit. You were intoxicating. Joel couldn’t get you out of his head– and he didn’t want to try either. One look at you and those pretty eyes, and he came harder during a scene than he can remember ever doing – no need to fake any groans or moans.

It had been a long time since Joel had felt something so strongly for another woman. It must’ve been his high school sweetheart, he thought, that first teenage love, that all-consuming love that made that one special girl feel like the most important person in the world. And sure, after he moved to LA he’d dated, had a couple of girlfriends, but it never went anywhere, and his job, his job always made it complicated. Joel didn’t want complicated– so he stopped dating and got his fill of human touch through his work instead. It made his life easy, but then he’d seen you at the bar by yourself at Tommy’s club, and Joel didn’t want easy anymore.

Joel was a charming man; those southern manners had gotten him far in life, and especially with the ladies – it was no secret. And maybe he’d turned it up a few notches that night, he could admit that – hoping it would hook you in. He’d almost gone against his own rule. The rule he’d set for himself after one particularly nasty break-up a few years back: his rule of no sex outside work. He’d told himself he was protecting himself– protecting himself from getting involved into something complicated again, from getting hurt, or hurting someone he cared for. But then he’d met you, danced with you, talked to you, and Joel didn’t care about protecting himself anymore.

You weren’t someone to take home at the end of the night for a quick fuck. You were so sweet, and shy, he couldn’t help but want to get to know you better. Learn what made you smile, what books you liked, what music you listened to, but also what noises you made when you fell apart. In that dark dingy club, Joel had realized how special you were.

Maybe it was stupid what he did? He could’ve gotten your number a number of ways, but the alcohol was talking and suddenly he was offering you a job before really thinking it through – but at least he had a reason to see you again.

You were a good assistant, and he appreciated the work you did for him, his life had gotten much easier after hiring you. But you were so professional, and what Joel wanted to do to you was unprofessional. You kept on top of his schedule, took his phone calls, scheduled meetings, predicted what he needed before he even knew he wanted it. You were nothing short of a great assistant, but the more he worked with you it was clear that there were things about his job you weren’t as comfortable with – and Joel couldn’t blame you. From the outside his job was unusual, and fucking on camera wasn’t for everybody, but Joel had come to know – it especially wasn’t for you.

A couple of months in, Joel had started to think you were a virgin. At first, he thought it was just your steadfast professionalism, but your reactions to what he considered normal things in his line of work, made him wonder. Not that there was anything wrong with you being a virgin, he just couldn’t understand how anyone could look at you and not want you to be theirs. And maybe it was wrong, but it turned him on a little too, something possessive deep inside loving the thought of you being his, and only his.

He wanted you, wanted you to be his, and the more he got to know you, the more he had to fight to hold back his growing feelings. Joel could hide behind his personality, hide behind the way he loved to flirt, loving the way you squirmed from his compliments– from his teasing. It was cute, it was so goddamn cute, but it didn’t fix the ache he had inside only you could sooth.

After Pismo Beach, Joel knew he was fucked. In the car on the way back to LA he’d had trouble watching anything except your face; the beautiful glimmering sea you drove along might as well have been an oily puddle for all he cared. Nothing was sweeter than watching you hum along to the Joni Mitchell cassette you played on repeat. Joni’s mezzo-soprano clung in his ear like a warning. Yes, help me, he was falling in love too fast, but damn if it didn’t feel good.

Now a different song filled the space of his car, as he drove you home. Crosby, Stills & Nash’s melodic guitar picking hummed a low tune, their three-part harmonies flowing from his car speakers.

“Heartlessly helping himself to her bad dreams, he worries.”

So yeah, Joel was worried. That rosy hue that had been tinting his world when he looked at you, had now faded to a drab dirty pink. You didn’t even look at him, and hadn’t muttered as much as a word to him since he found you in his trailer – where you’d been flicking through his papers from the meeting – after the scene ended.

“’s everythin’ alright?” Joel spoke across the silence that had grown between you.

You didn’t move your head from where it rested against the window; your face bathed in red from the sea of brake lights on the freeway. You weren’t moving much, so Joel allowed himself a good look at you. He watched the way your body curled in on itself in the seat, your fingers picking at your nailbeds – it made him pull his brows in a tight frown.

“Did he hear a goodbye, or even hello?”

With a brave hand he reached out to touch you, stroking the back of his hand against your cheek. “Hey,” he said, “did ya hear me, my sweet girl?”

“They are one person. They are two alone. They are three together. They are for each other.”

You pulled away from his touch immediately, shifting in your seat, and Joel felt his heart sink in his chest. “I’m fine,” you muttered, an unfamiliar sting in your voice.

A loud honk behind him released Joel from the shock from your tone, and his hand that had been previously dancing along your delicate skin, fell to the gear stick. Releasing the clutch slowly, Joel’s car rolled forward, following the slug traffic. You clearly weren’t fine.

“Stand by the stairway, you’ll see something certain to tell you, confusion has its cost.”

Joel let the music fill the space while you stayed quiet, a bubbling panic settling in his chest as the day played on repeat in his head. Everything had been so great earlier, until it wasn’t. He’d seen it in you after the meeting. Joel knew he should’ve said something, and he’d simmered with it all throughout the meeting, but Joel also knew better than to speak against Ronald in a setting like that.

Ronald was the best thing that had happened to Joel’s career. He was a big name in the porn industry, only managing the very best in the game. Eight years had passed since Ronald had discovered Joel.

It had been the summer of ‘67, his first year in LA already in the rear view. He’d come with a guitar case and a dream of making something of himself. Joel had chased that dream around in circles, and a year into it, he’d been free falling towards rock bottom. The gigs he’d dreamt would line up as soon as his feet touched the hot Californian sand, never came, and had it not been for Tommy, who’d made the move with him, he’d be homeless.

The whole exchange had been bizarre. Tommy was working as a busboy at a club on The Strip at the time, and as an employee, Tommy got a discount at the bar. Joel knew how to take advantage of his little brother’s benefits, and occupied a seat at the bar every weekend where he drank almost free booze, and flirted himself to a one night stand, or two, or three.

He’d sat by the bar one Saturday like usual when a man sat down in the seat next to him. Joel paid him no mind at first, continuing to smoke his cigarette and enjoy his whiskey. Then the man had started talking to him, asking if he knew this girl he’d slept with last week. He was about to deny ever having talked to someone matching this girl’s description, concerned that this man was a husband or a crazy ex-boyfriend of some sort, when the man started telling him that she dabbled in porn. Nothing crazy, just some nude photoshoots here and there, but she’d told him all about Joel and his impressive package.

Joel was about to tell the man to go fuck himself – the conversation twisting into something way too weird for Joel to navigate – when the man, Ronald, had offered to manage him.

Sure, Joel was gifted, blessed, some might even say, but it had sounded too good to be true: getting paid the big bucks for just having sex? At the time, it had sounded like every man’s pipe dream but now, Joel owed Ronald everything.

If the movie deal with VCA went through, Joel’d owe him even more. It was a miracle he was this sought after in the first place. The top consumers of porn, Joel knew, and he supposed the entire porn industry knew, were predominantly men looking for big boobs and a willing woman, neither of which he was. But the tide was turning with the rise of the women’s movement, and Ronald had thrown his net into the pool of opportunity at the exact right moment.

The cynical part of Joel told him it paid his bills – he’d been so desperate in that club – but now, now he was living large as his popularity had continued to grow, and grow, and grow. He’d paved his path towards success, towards the success he’d dreamed about those eighth years ago. And sure, it felt good to be sought after and desired by women everywhere, but if he was being honest, the only woman he wanted to be desired by in this moment, was you.

He loved your gentle nature, that shy, almost timid, way you looked at him. No one had looked at him like that before. It felt so much more real, but it was like something was always holding you back, like you could never allow yourself to just be, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Joel recognized that feeling, he did. He was from the south after all, and as far as his family was concerned, Joel was a sinner. That guilt they instilled in him– he’d sat with that a long time, years spent learning not to hate himself for the choices he’d made, unlearning years of shame. To not feel guilty about his desires, to embrace all that life had to offer with open arms, to dream, to eat until he was full and still have room for dessert.

“Love isn’t lying, it’s loose in a lady who lingers.”

Clearing his throat, Joel spoke again, “Somethin’ ‘s clearly wrong, sweet girl.”

“Please don’t call me that,” you sighed, voice strained like you were close to crying. The broken sound of you shattered something inside him.

“Saying she is lost, and choking on hello.”

Finally, the traffic picked up its pace, and Joel changed gear, gaining speed for the first time since you got on the freeway.

“My sweet girl?” he asked, “I thought you liked that?”

Crosby, Stills & Nash sang their last lines, before the song faded into some disco song Joel had never heard before. It was loud and obnoxious, and your answer drowned in the beat. Joel’s hand was on the volume button in less than a second, turning it down.

“I didn’t,” you repeated in a whisper, “I don’t.”

You shifted your body closer to the door, and Joel knew he had to do something to make you feel better.

“How about…” he started, his hand shifting from the gear stick to land on the thick of your thigh, “I’ll drive us back to my place, and we’ll pick up where we left of this mornin’, huh? Would that make ya feel better?”

You crossed your leg over the other, making his hand slip from your thigh. “I’m too tired, Joel– it’s been a long day… and I didn’t get enough sleep,” you sighed, eyes closed and defeated.

“You sure? Swe–” Joel cut himself off before he could say it, the sweetness turning bitter on his tongue.

You didn’t answer, didn’t look at him, didn’t let him touch you. Something tightened in his chest. You were slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Maybe this wasn’t about the meeting after all?

“’s this about Cheryl?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and calm, to conceal the panic bubbling in his throat. “’s just for work– was just actin’.”

You took a deep breath, and held it before you spoke, like you were practicing what to say before you said it. “It’s fine, Joel– I’m not your girlfriend.”

Not his girlfriend. Not his. Never his.

This time he couldn’t look at you, his hand gripping tightly around the steering wheel as he glimpsed your apartment complex down at the next turn.

“I thought–” Shit. A breathless chuckle devoid of any joy left him. He was speechless.

Pulling into the parking lot next to your car, Joel didn’t know what to do. He watched you gather your things, while the heaviness in his chest grew.

Was it over before it had even begun?

“I’m…” you drew a shaky breath, “I’ll see you at work.”

And then you were gone, slipping out the door and leaving Joel alone in the swollen silence of your absence. His heart hammered in his chest, his breathing growing shallower as he watched you hurry across the parking lot in the rear-view mirror.

Move you fucking idiot– run after her, his brain told him, but he couldn’t move an inch. Shit. Shit. Shit. His chest tightened, and tightened, his fingers clawing at the rough fabric of his jeans as he started gasping for air. He’d wanted you for so long, and now you were gone. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? With shaky hands he managed to roll down the window, the fresh evening air filled his lungs as he tried his best to calm down.

Joel had fucked up.

When Thursday rolled around, and Joel still hadn’t heard from you, he started to wonder if it was excessive to file a missing persons report. He’d tried to call you multiple times since Monday, but your phone was always off the hook. The hollow beeping of the busy signal doing nothing to calm the panic building in him since Monday.

He’d been so stupid, and he’d cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. Embarrassment suffocating him at the fact that it hadn’t settled in until Ronald had shown him the first rough cut of his chemistry test with Cheryl yesterday.

It had been Cheryl’s idea, the whole innocence thing. She’d pitched it to him after the meeting ended, telling him how excited she was for this opportunity, and how much she was looking forward to finally filming later. Joel had played along; he was at work after all – it was his job. So, he turned on the charm, tested the chemistry waters, and agreed. She was new to the industry and young, it made sense.

What didn’t make sense was what he’d called her. Sweet girl. He’d called Cheryl that multiple times without even realizing it – too lost in his thoughts of you, and how he wished it was you with your lips wrapped around him.

Joel was fucking stupid.

He’d convinced you to watch him get a blowjob from another woman right after you’d confessed to never having given head before. He knew you were inexperienced, but that had never mattered to him. Joel thought it was kinda nice to explore sex with you – to find out what you liked, and what you didn’t. It made it exciting again – it wasn’t just work. But hearing himself praise Cheryl for making him feel good was the last straw for him – he needed to apologize to you.

How he wished he’d been able to convince you to stay in bed that morning– to forget about the stupid fucking meeting. Finally, he’d had you. Finally, he could kiss you, and hold you, and make you feel good. The sweetness of you, of having had you, now bitter as he realized he’d probably never get that back.

Wiping a sweaty palm on his jeans, he tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for someone to buzz him into your apartment complex. He knew he shouldn’t be here, he could get you in trouble, but he needed to see you, to talk to you face to face.

“Hello?” a static voice croaked through the busted speakers of the rusting door buzzer.

“Pizza delivery,” Joel answered, and not a second later the door buzzed.

Trudging up the stairs the words he’d rehearsed played on a loop in his head: He know you probably don’t want to see him ever again, but he needed to apologize for what happened on Monday. He never meant to hurt you the way he did. He understands he was never your boyfriend, but that was what he wanted to be, and he’s sorry for the way he acted.

Stopping outside your apartment door he drew in a deep breath before he knocked. It felt like he stood there for hours waiting while nothing happened. That worry he’d felt for days now tugging harder at his neck. Joel knocked again, a little harder with the shout of your name, and added ‘It’s Joel’ for good measure. Again, nothing. When he repeated the action a third time, the door to the neighboring apartment flew open.

“She’s not home,” your neighbor told him, a hint of annoyance in her voice. She was dressed in a formless paisley patterned dress, hair thrown back in a low ponytail as she bounced a crying baby in her arms. When Joel’s eyes landed on the little girl in her arms, she told him, “You woke her up with all that banging.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he said earnestly, “I never meant to–” The baby screamed louder, face red from exertion.

“Sure, you didn’t,” she scoffed, with a roll of her eyes. She bounced her daughter, shifting her hold to hike her up over her shoulder, hand tap tapping at her back as she started to bounce her.

Sliding his hands into his jean pockets, Joel didn’t know what to do. Awkwardly he cleared his throat, tilting his head towards your door. “D’you–” Joel started, before your neighbor cut him off.

“No, but I saw her getting picked up by an older man about an hour ago.” Something about the judgement in her tone didn’t sit right with Joel.

He nodded at the information. Your uncle. Joel remembered now. Your uncle was coming to visit – taking you to dinner. What had you said on the phone again? An Italian place in Santa Monica?

Pulling his car keys from his pocket, he thanked your neighbor – making sure to apologize once again for the ruckus, before he hurried back down the stairs. He walked with long steps towards his car. The sun was setting on LA, turning the clouds and the city pink, but he paid the beautiful sight no mind, his eyes set on the Italian restaurant in Santa Monica where he knew Deborah worked.

“Well would you look at what the cat dragged in.”

Joel turned his head towards the source of the familiar voice, only to find himself eye to eye with Deborah, and her raised eyebrow.

The air smelled like garlic and basil, and the restaurant hummed with conversation over the sound of Dean Martin. She was adorning the restaurant’s waiter uniform, a short red dress over a white collared shirt, while balancing a tower of dirty plates in her hands. He almost didn’t recognize her, she looked so different from how he was used to seeing her – all dolled up at Tommy’s club.

“Deborah,” he acknowledged with a nod, plastering a polite smile on his face.

“Don’t you ‘Deborah’ me, Miller,” she told him with a scoff, placing the tower of dishes down on an empty table before crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes at him, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m lookin’ for–”

“I bet you are,” Deborah replied, raising an unimpressed brow, “She ain’t here.”

Joel sighed, his face pulling into a defeated smile. “I know she’s with her uncle, Deborah. She told me she was takin’ him to an Italian restaurant in Santa Monica– As far as I’m concerned, that’s this place.”

Deborah shrugged nonchalantly, and Joel felt himself start to get annoyed. “Sorry, haven’t seen her in months.”

“Deb,” Joel let out through an exasperated sigh, a hand coming up to rub his eye, “Listen, I–... I just came to apologize, okay? I did somethin’ stupid that I shouldn’t have, and I need to apologize to her f’it.”

Deborah scoffed at Joel’s words, shaking her head with a bitter smile. “I bet you did something stupid... always the same thing with you Millers, hm? You always do first and think later.”

Confused, Deborah’s tone made Joel raise a single eyebrow, “Sure we still talkin’ about me?”

He hadn’t heard much from Tommy about what had gone on between him and Deborah, but he knew it hadn’t been very pretty. Tommy had just broken up Maria for the umpteenth time when they’d started going around. It was never going to last, Joel knew it the second he’d met Deb. Tommy always came back to Maria somehow, it didn’t matter how badly it had ended – like an endless figure eight they’d always meet again in the middle.

“Potato, potahto,” she said with a falsely sweet smile.

“Look, I ain’t my brother, okay? Never have been, never will be. Now I ain’t got a clue what went down between the two of you, and I’m damn near sure he deserves all the rage you’ve got to throw at ‘him, but it ain’t my business to sort out, so don’t go makin’ it my business...”

Deb tightened her arms over her chest, green eyes glaring at him, still, Joel could see a twinkle of curiosity in her eyes, too. “Apologize for what? You dock her pay or something?”

“No,” Joel let out with an annoyed breath.

“So what, you fired her?”

“No, Deb,” Joel said again, his voice heavy with exasperation.

Deborah quieted down for a second as she scrutinized him, her eyes boring into him. Then, her eyes cleared, and she shook her head.

“You got handsy, didn’t you?” she asked eventually, raising a questioning eyebrow. Joel couldn’t hide the guilt on his face, it told her all she needed to know. Her hands fell to her sides, “Jesus Christ, Miller... don’t you get laid enough at work?”

“Look, it ain’t like that,” he said, shaking his head as he felt his cheeks heat up, which only embarrassed him more.

Joel Miller doesn’t blush.

When Deb crossed her arms again, expression expectant as she looked silently at him, Joel sighed. “Deb… I really like her– and I know ya’ll are friends, and you want to protect her, but you gotta give me a fair shot, too... I never meant to hurt her, but I did, and if I have to spend the rest of my life apologizin’ to her every single day then that’s what I’mma do, but I promise you, you’re going to get sick of me real quick.”

There was a moment of silence in which the two of them looked at each other, before Deb raised a finger to point at Joel, taking a step forward.

“You listen here, Miller,” she said, wagging it under his nose, “Just this once, I’m going to be nice to you, for old times’ sake... but if I so much as hear a squeak from her you’re acting like a bastard, then you bet your ass I’m coming the hell after you.”

Joel nodded slowly, pulling in a deep breath through his nose as he pursed his lips.

“Anythin’ else?” he asked, raising a semi-impressed eyebrow, but Deborah only scoffed at his tone, poking him in the chest a final time.

“Yeah, tell your brother to stop calling,” she said, looking up at him, before nodding towards the back of the restaurant, “Unlike her, I don’t give second chances.”

“I’ll pass it on,” Joel said with a nod, but his voice was already absent as he finally spotted your familiar shape sitting in a booth at the very back of the restaurant.

Twirling your fork absentmindedly through your spaghetti, you listened to your uncle yap on and on about the boys at the garage, and the car he’d just driven down here.

“It’s a beaut,” your uncle said through a mouthful of his own pasta, “1971 C3 model, nice dark green color Ralphie repainted. You know I’m not a convertible guy myself, can’t give up my truck, but I could see myself in one of them cars out here– apparently, it’s being sold to some high-profile actor or something.”

“Really?” you asked, trying to steer this never-ending one-sided conversation towards something somewhat interesting.

“Yeah, you know I don’t keep up with them celebrities, but I’m pretty sure I was talking to the client’s manager on the phone.”

You nodded, letting your fork fall to take a sip of your water. Your uncle hadn’t let you order yourself a glass of wine, the impression that you were still that innocent little girl you were back when you worked in his garage shop hard to shake. Your uncle, on the other hand, nursed his beer.

“That’s exciting,” you said with a small smile.

“Oh yeah, we’ve got this bet going at the shop about who it is–” Your uncle cut himself off as a broad figure approached your table. Looking up from your plate your breath hitched when you saw the man before you.

“Joel?” His name fell from your lips before you had time to think, your brows pulling together in confusion, before something tugged at the hurt in your heart. What was he doing here?

“Hi, sweetheart.” His face wore a quiet smile, eyes scanning over your form.

“W-what are you doing here?” you stuttered out, a panic racing in your chest while a lump formed in your throat. You couldn’t do this here, especially not in front of your uncle.

“I was in the neighborhood– saw y’all through the window and wanted to…” he trailed off, finally noticing your uncle. “Sorry, sir,” he reached out his hand to your uncle in a greeting, “Joel Miller, I’m–”

“Joel’s an actor,” you cut him off, “he starred in one of Mr. Cooper’s commercials a few months ago,” you lied.

You could see the kink in Joel brow at your lie, that quiet surprise he then played off with a charming smile. “Yeah, that’s right– a beer commercial, wasn’t it?” He looked at you with one eyebrow raised. Biting down on your lip you confirmed the lie with a nod.

“You do look a little familiar,” you uncle said, dragging the words out like he’s pulling them from his memory, “they show your commercial on the TV?”

“Oh, I haven’t been payin’ attention, but somethin’ like that,” Joel shrugged, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his tight Levis, his signature western belt buckle glinting in the low light. “Y’all mind if I join y’all for a drink?”

“Not at all,” your uncle smiled before you could say anything. Joel lifted his hand to get Deborah’s attention to order himself a beer, before he squeezed himself into the booth next to you, his knee bumping into yours as he got comfortable.

Having lost your appetite, you shifted your plate to the side to make room for Joel. It was a tight squeeze in the booth, the warmth of his body flooding your senses, the familiar scent of cigarettes and of his cologne making your heart ache.

How could you miss him, and hate him all at the same time?

Deborah served Joel his drink quickly, checking in at your table at the same time. Her eyes were focused on you as she cleared the table, asking you a silent ‘You okay?’ which you quickly nodded at. You knew she’d make up some crazy excuse to get you out of any situation, but you didn’t know if you could handle it if she did. It was easier to just suffer through. You’d suffered enough this past week; you could handle another hour.

The days since you’d seen Joel last had been spent between your bed and your couch. Unfocused eyes rolling over reruns as you let a blanket of numbness fall over you as the hours passed you by. You felt so tired, that kind of tired that sits in your stomach, heavy and pulling you down, every step a drag and every breath a strain. You’d isolated yourself for days, hadn’t showered for days, you were too tired to do it, and what did it matter anyway?

You’d tried to cry, but you couldn’t make the tears fall. You wanted the release, and to feel sorry for yourself, but nothing came. And what good would it do? Nothing. You were nothing. Nothing to yourself, nothing to Joel, and nothing to this lonely city. Just some small-town girl who thought she could change who she was, who she was always destined to be.

After two whole days on your couch, you had to get up, you had no choice. You wanted to cancel, to tell your uncle that you’d come down with the flu, but you knew he was driving all day, and you wouldn’t have a clue where to call to reach him. So, you’d sat up, ate a piece of bread, and had a shower. Every minute you tried to not think of Joel, tried to not think about the way he’d kissed you hello in your hallway, the way he'd held you through the night as you slept soundly in his arms, how his gaze had felt over your features on your way back from Pismo Beach – it was all too much. Every nice memory ruined by the way his voice had echoed ‘Sweet girl’ to Cheryl.

Sweet girl. Feels so good, my sweet girl– just like that. My sweet girl.

How stupid you’d felt hearing those words. You’d fooled yourself into thinking there was something more between you and Joel. You weren’t special, and that was the worst part, because he’d made you feel special. He’d made you feel desired– like he actually liked you. Or maybe that’s what hurt the most – to realize that to him you were just one girl among many.

You’d placed your phone back on the hook in the afternoon, anticipating your uncle’s call, and when it rang, you were relieved to hear his familiar voice down the line. It was all so complicated. The relief a strange mix with the suffocating memories of home. You were different now than when you worked at his shop. Still shy, but still different, more grown up and more independent. He didn’t know you anymore. No one knew you anymore– well except for one person.

You’d felt free with Joel– even before, when he was just your boss. He’d challenged you, made you come out of your shell, challenged your shame, and challenged your guilt. And watching Joel small talk with your uncle, you started to wonder if that was the reason why it had hit you so hard? Joel had let you be yourself, while still challenging you. He’d let you be shy, while still feeling sexy. He’d made you feel seen, until you’d been forgotten.

“You guys will have to excuse me, I need to take a leak,” your uncle said, pulling you from your thoughts, and getting up from his seat.

With his glass raised to his lips, Joel only gave him a short nod as he watched him walk away from your table. When your uncle was out of earshot, Joel dropped the act, shoulders relaxing as he gently placed his beer on the red and white gingham.

His face looked tired, eyes sparkling with melancholy. “I’m sorry for showin’ up here all unannounced,” he started, fingertips tapping lightly over the cloth, “you weren’t pickin’ up your phone and I need to talk to you.”

The lump on your throat grew larger as you tried to swallow around it, lost for words. “F-for what?” you said, voice hoarse and not louder than a whisper.

“I think we both know for what,” he sighed, “I fucked it up with you– never should’ve said those things to Cheryl– even if it was just actin’. I got so caught up in you, I didn’t realize what I’d said until it was too late, and I’m sorry.”

“I-I, J-Joel,” you stuttered, brows pulling together tightly as you searched for your words.

“You don’t need to say nothin’ right now, but I wanna drive you home ‘f that’s okay? Wanna have a proper talk with you.”

His hand was shaking as he placed it gently on your shoulder, the touch making your eyes fall shut as a hitching breath escaped you.

“Joel,” you whispered.

“Please,” his hand moved gently up your neck to cup your cheek, the warmth of his touch sending goosebumps down your spine. “Please, I need to explain myself.” His voice sounded pained and full of sorrow. “I’m beggin’ you, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes slowly, breath shaky as you tried to hold back the tears pressing behind your eyes. His whole face shifted when you met his eyes, melancholy turning to worry, his other hand coming up to cup your other cheek as he shifted closer.

“Hey,” he said it so softly, “Sweet girl, sweet sweet girl, please don’t cry.” His forehead fell against yours, his mustache tickling your skin as he pressed ‘I’m sorry’ into it.

“O-okay,” you managed to stutter out against your better judgment.

Joel lifted his head, brown warm eyes finding yours as his thumbs rubbed gently into your skin, “Yeah?”

Behind Joel, you noticed your uncle exit the men’s room, and you jerked out of Joel’s hold. His brows tightened together in a confused frown before you gave him a short nod in the direction of your uncle. Joel gathered his hands in his lap, his eyes tracing your uncle as he squeezed back into his seat. He gave Joel a look you couldn’t decipher, jaw locked tight and eyes piercing, before he turned to you with a plastered smile.

“Alright, what do you say, sweetie? You want some dessert?”

Your eyes flicked quickly from your uncle to Joel, and then back again, “No, I think I’m too full, and um… it’s getting late.”

Your uncle hummed, “Yeah, been a long day for sure.” Shifting in his seat your uncle fished his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. “Let’s see if we can get a hold of that pretty friend of yours,” he said, turning his head to search for Deborah.

As he got her attention, Joel fished his pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his shirt. He lit himself a cigarette as you watched your uncle hold up his wallet and point. You couldn’t help but steal a glance at Joel, watching the way his lips pursed around the cigarette as he inhaled.

“I think I’m also gonna use the restroom before we leave,” you peeped, getting to your feet before anyone could say anything. You felt Joel’s hands graze the back of your legs as you squeezed past him. The touch quick but gentle, but still leaving a burn of longing either way.

Pushing open the door to the restroom you took a deep breath. Joel was here. Joel was here and he wanted to apologize. Pacing to the end of the room, you discreetly dropped your head to check the stalls. No one. Good. Leaning your weight over the stone sink, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

What were you doing? One touch from Joel and you fall apart?

You released a breathless laugh and shook your head at yourself; you were in over your head, but at the same time a bubble of relief sat in your throat. He was here after all, he wanted to explain himself, and you knew that deep down you wanted to hear it.

When you made your way back to the table, something in the air had changed. “There she is,” your uncle said, gathering his jacket, “Ready to go?”

“Um…” You looked to Joel, but something about him looked different. His shoulders looked tense, the cigarette pinched between his fingers were close to burning out, but it was his face when he looked at you that made you worried. The previous tenderness gone, replaced by a clenched jaw and eyes that wouldn’t meet yours.

“Actually, Joel said–”

He cut you off, “I’m gonna stay for another drink…”

His words dropped to the pit your stomach where they weighed you down, your feet frozen to the tiled floor. When Joel still didn’t look at you as he handed you your jacket and purse, you knew something was clearly wrong. Beside you your uncle crowded your space. His hand landed on your shoulder where it rubbed harshly into your skin, almost possessive as his eyes locked on Joel in a way that said, ‘good man’.

“I’ll drive you home, sweetie.”

With a hand resting at your back, your uncle guided you out the restaurant without as much as a mutter of goodbye to Joel. You looked back at him, not once but twice, but he still didn’t look at you – his eyes were glued to the foam of his beer as you vanished out the door.

Back inside your uncle’s rental car you were quiet, sitting with your thoughts as they swirled around your head. You’d been so close to believing Joel; that he was actually sorry, that he wanted to apologize. But once again you’d been a fool. Leaning your head against the window you felt so silly– silly for getting your hopes up.

“I– uh,” your uncle cleared his throat, “That Joel back there, sweetie, he’s not who he says he is.”

Lifting your head you turned to your uncle with a frown, “I don’t–”

Your uncle cut you off, “I don’t want to be telling you this– lord knows I don’t want your aunt knowing about this but…”

You watched how your uncle’s grip tightened around the steering wheel, his nervousness infecting you. What was he talking about?

“But what?” Your voice rose an octave, as you let out a nervous breath.

“Joel does porn,” your uncle revealed. He said it all dramatic, like he was in a movie and this scene was the turning point for your character. You had to restrain yourself to hide the laugh tickling your throat as he continued, “I thought he looked familiar, and– jesus, don’t you ever tell anybody about this but… he’s in a couple of movies I keep in the basement.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your eyes staring straight ahead down the road. You cringed at the new atmosphere settling in the car, stuffy with embarrassment and a picture of your uncle getting off to Joel stuck to your retinas. You wanted to hurl, this new picture not something you’d ever want to visualize. You were quiet as the revelation settled, your brain searching for words, but it was like they’d all fallen out your ears.

“Listen,” he cleared his throat of the discomfort, “I don’t know what he is to you, if he’s your boyfriend or what–”

“He’s not,” you squeaked, ready for this conversation to be over.

“I saw him kissing you when I stepped out of the toilets,” your uncle accused sternly, a biting lilt to his voice.

“Kiss me? I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you protested, confused about how he’d gotten it in his head that Joel had kissed you.

“Don’t you raise your voice at me,” he started to yell, “I saw it with my own two eyes, don’t you go lying to me.”

Your heart picked up its pace, all the blood in your body turning to ice in your veins. Pressing your lips together in a thin line, you fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“I don’t want you seeing him anymore– that kinda filth he’s involved in…” he shook his head, “it’s sinful and I don’t want him getting you involved in that.” Your uncle’s voice was stern, words spat through gritted teeth.

You were frozen in your seat. Your heart beating so fast you thought it might burst through your ribcage. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. All too quickly you were transported back home, back to who you used to be. You drew a shaky breath as a single tear spilled down your cheek.

“What would your parents say if they knew what you were doing down here? Who your friends were? That Deborah? Did you see how short her dress was? The city of sin this is,” your uncle continued as he pulled into the parking lot outside your apartment complex.

With eyes glued to your hands, you couldn’t get a single word to come out of your mouth – like they were stuck to the back of your throat where they formed a painful lump. After parking the car, your uncle turned to you, a finger brushing over your cheek in a suffocating touch.

“Sweetie,” he started, voice gone softer, “I’m worried about you. You’re out here all alone– all alone with all this temptation. Wouldn’t it be nice if you came back home with me, hm? Get you back where you belong?”

"I–..."

The words stayed stuck in your throat, unable to rise over the anxiety that gripped you at the thought of returning home to your parents. How different your life would be, back to the way it used to be, an old prison you'd hoped you'd left far behind you. Yet you felt numb, finding yourself incapable of uttering a single word of protest as your uncle nodded self-righteously.

"I think that's the best, sweetie," he told you, his tone sounding entirely too convinced, "Tell you what Hon. . . I'm gonna be driving back down tomorrow, and I'll be damned if you aren't sitting in this seat all safe right next to me, alright? So why don't you go and pack your stuff and a bag, and I'll be by in the afternoon to pick you up?"

You said nothing, the rising panic in your throat rendering you almost paralyzed. Your fingers desperately reached for the car door handle; you needed to get out of this car.

Unaware of your distress, your uncle bid you a contented 'See you later' as you stepped out of his car, slamming the door shut.

Finally, he drove off. You watched him disappear with a knot in your stomach until he was just a tiny dot on the horizon, wishing he would stay that way as you tried desperately not to throw up your dinner in the parking lot.

“Hello?”

The electric static of your voice filled Joel with a deep sense of relief. His grip around the phone handset tightened as he forced out a clumsy, “It’s Joel.”

The sigh you sent down the phone tickled up his spine, but before you could say anything Joel continued, “I just wanted to apologize to you… for last night.”

He’d felt awful all through the night and into the morning. He’d fucked it up again. Letting you leave like that last night was the hardest thing he’d done in a long while. Had you not gone to the bathroom and left him with your uncle, none of this would’ve happened.

You sighed again, “All you do is apologize Joel, but do you ever mean it?”

Joel face contracted into a grimace, “I do, sweet girl, you don’t know how much I mean it,”

“Joel…” your voice sounded pained, and it shattered something inside him. He just wanted you to be happy, and loved, and taken care of, but all he’d done was hurt you, again and again.

“It doesn’t matter how much you mean it Joel… none of it matters anymore.” The tone of your voice scared him.

“What d’you mean, sweetheart?” he hurried.

“It’s just… you don’t need to worry about me anymore, Joel– I’m leaving LA tonight.”

Joel felt his heart drop to his stomach, a rising panic bubbling under his skin as he stumbled out, “What are you talkin’ about, sweet girl?”

“I’m going back home tonight. I-I don’t know when I’ll be back– if I’m coming back. Joel, I can’t be your assistant anymore.”

“Fuck being my assistant!” he spoke through gritted teeth, holding back from yelling out in panic, “What d’you mean you’re leavin’?” Joel’s voice faltered as his heart caught up with what was about to happen.

He was gonna lose you. You would never be his. He was losing the first girl he thought he could really love. The girl he wanted a future with. Hell, the girl he could see himself grow old with. Joel knew it was fast, way too fast to be feeling like this about you, but right now, all those shitty romance novels about finding ‘the one’, all those weeping love songs about love at first sight – after you, they didn’t seem so stupid anymore.

“Joel, it’s– it’s okay.” Your voice had gone soft, but he could still hear the strain of hurt in it.

“It’s not, sweet girl, nothin’ about this is okay.” Joel’s eyes fell shut, his thumb and pointer finger coming up to squeeze at the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t lose you. “I’m comin’ over– We can’t be doin’ this over the phone.”

“Joel,” you sighed.

“I’m comin’ over,” he reiterated, and hung up.

You were carrying a bag to your car when you saw Joel’s car pull into the parking lot. He must’ve noticed you right away as he’d hastily parked next to your own car – his wheels screeched against the asphalt. As you made your way across the parking lot, you watched how he almost jumped out the car like he was in a hurry, coming around the back to fill the space between your cars.

“Joel– you really didn’t have to come all the way out here,” you told him when you got close enough, stepping past him to place your last bag in your back seat. He leaned his hand on your door, holding it open for you, his broad form shielding you from the blazing afternoon sun.

Inside, your apartment was left half-empty. You’d left most of your things, only bringing your clothes, your pictures, your records and your record player, and your books.

You didn’t need much more where you were going.

The thought still made your stomach turn in on itself, the dread of going back home had trickled down your back ever since last night. But what choice did you have? It was either your parents finding out about your job and Joel, or going back home. You knew your uncle; he’d never keep this a secret if you didn’t do as he said. If your parents found out it would be over for you. You didn’t even want to think about it; they’d disown you if they were feeling nice, or send you to an asylum if they were feeling extra nice. If you didn’t go now, they’d never let you come home again, and it scared you, you were already on thin ice for moving to LA in the first place.

“Are you just gonna pretend this isn’t your uncle’s idea?” Joel’s voice had a bite to it, and it caught you off guard. Standing to your full height you raised a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. His face wore none of the anger you’d heard in his voice, instead there was a veil of sadness coating his features.

“I– Why do you think that?” You tried to keep your voice steady, normal, you didn’t want him to hear how scared you were.

“’Cause of what he told me back at the restaurant,” he closed your car door, “told me he knew who I really was and to stay away from you– he didn’t want me taintin’ you with my filth.”

Your eyes fell shut as your hand came up to rub at your forehead. So that’s what happened yesterday? Letting your hand fall, your eyes fell over Joel’ face; over his neat mustache that tickled you in just the right way whenever he kissed you, over his soft curls he’d let grow out the last couple of months, and over his eyes. His brown eyes now swirling with something you hadn’t seen in them before. Shame?

“I done fucked it up haven’t I– you associatin’ with me? He’s takin’ you back to your daddy, ‘s that it?” When he met your eyes they softened, a veil of his regular self now concealing that blink of insecurity.

You shook your head as a lump grew at the back of your throat, “You just– you don’t understand Joel.” The words came out strained as you felt tears push behind your eyelids.

“Hey,” Joel softened immediately, his hand wrapping gently around your upper arm and sending a warmth through your body. “You’re okay, sweet girl, tell me what I don’t understand.”

He stepped a little closer, but not too close, his hand traveled up your arm in a soothing gesture. Your eyes fell shut again, squeezing them tight to stave off your tears. You’ve never talked about it before with anybody. Never talked about your family and how trapped you’d felt by their rules and their expectations; the guilt they’d instilled in you for never being able to live up to the person they wanted you to be.

You shook your head, “I don’t think I can,” you half-whispered.

“Sweetheart, I– I know I fucked it up with you, and I know I ain’t your boyfriend or nothin’, but I do care for you– I care for you more than you think. I wanna be there for you when somethin’s wrong. So please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Slowly opening your eyes, you looked at him. Those warm like whiskey eyes staring at you with concern and with a hint of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Adoration? Fondness? Love?

“My uncle will be back soon,” you said, voice low, “he wants to get on the road before dark.”

“’s that really what you want?” he asked then, his hand slipping from your arm.

“It’s– it’s complicated, Joel.”

A sigh escaped him, as he ran a hand over his face, “Yeah… I just wish you weren’t leavin’– wish it didn’t have to end like this.”

He didn’t look like himself. Eyes shining with sadness, and that usual cocky lilt to his voice gone, exchanged by something low and strangled. His face contorted into a crooked smile, his shoulders shaking with an unhumorous breathy laugh as he shook his head.

“Shit–”, he snickered, “life’s cruel sometimes… you finally fall in love with a girl and then…” he shook his head.

You felt like you’d been hit by a truck. Fall in love? In love with you? Joel didn’t look at you, his hand rubbed at the back of his neck as he started to walk away, rounding the tail of his car.

“Fall in love?” you asked, hands falling to your side in shock, “with me?”

Joel stopped at your voice, “Couldn’t help it,” he shrugged with a sad smile.

Those tears you’d fought so hard to stave off finally broke loose, a single tear running down your cheek – the tear in the dam of your sadness. Joel’s arms were around you in an instance, strong and steady. He held you so close to his broad chest, that familiar scent of cologne mixed with cigarettes making a sob escape you as you realized you’d never be able to be this close to him ever again.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled into his shirt.

Joel’s grip around you tightened as he dipped his head against your cheek, “Why are you apologizin’, sweet girl? I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered; your tears staining his shirt.

“Then don’t– stay,” Joel said, soothing a hand across your back.

“I-I can’t– they’ll… they’ll hate me if they find out.”

“Find out about what, sweet girl?”

“You… the porn… everything. He’ll tell them and I’ll never be able to come home again,” you cried into his shirt.

“Okay,” Joel sighed, loosening his grip around you, “let’s go back to my place– we should talk.”

“But my uncle–” you started to protest, but Joel cut you off.

“He doesn’t decide over you, sweet girl, you make your own decisions– you hear me?”

His hands found your face, his massive palms holding you gently as he rubbed his thumbs down your cheek, drying your tears. You could only nod.

You’d never been inside Joel’s house before, you realized, as you trailed after him up the steps to his front door. He lived in one of those houses at the top of a long hill where he had the most incredible view over LA. You knew porn paid him the big bucks, but he’d been sensible when it came to his home – well, sensible for LA.

It was a one-story house in the shape of an U; inside, the hallway opened up to a living room where big glass doors framed his back yard and a kidney shaped pool. Warm, dark toned wood paneling clad his walls and made the space feel masculine, but inviting.

With a hand hovering over your back he guided you towards his couch. “D’you want a cup of tea?” Joel asked you as you sat down on his leather couch. He looked nervous where he stood, palms running down the side of his leg like he didn’t know what to do with them. It was contagious.

“Um, okay,” you nodded, shifting a little in your seat and folding your hands in your lap.

Waiting for Joel to come back from the kitchen you tried to steady your stuttering heart. You’d been mostly silent on the drive over, trying to wrap your head around the fact that Joel was in love with you – the fact never seeming to stick to your brain in the right way.

It felt ridiculous – Joel, a successful pornstar, being in love with you. But stacked on top of his confession was the fact that Joel was a pornstar – making a living out of having sex with other women. You didn’t understand how exactly it bothered you, but you knew that it did somewhere deep down – but then again did you have any right to be bothered by it if it paid your bills.

“Didn’t know if you took sugar or not so I brought the bowl.” Joel pulled you from your thoughts, placing a steaming cup of tea and a small crystal bowl filled with sugar on the coffee table in front of you.

“Thank you,” you smiled meekly, your hand finding the string to bop the teabag as you watched the steaming water turn darker.

You felt the cushion dip as Joel sat down, a seat of absence between you.

The air felt loaded. Loaded with the week left behind you. Loaded with Joel’s lingering confession. Loaded with the uncertain future. Joel watched your hands, eyes fixed but far away.

“I… uh,” Joel cleared his throat as he searched for his words. “I wanna apologize to you for– for everythin’ that happened at work on Monday.”

You felt yourself not, drawing back your hands to rest them in your lap, a finger clumsily picking at your nailbed.

“There ain’t no excuse for how I was actin’– for the things I said… truth is, the way I feel about you, I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. You make–” Joel tipped his head, a smile coating his lips, “you make everythin’ just brighter– like everythin’ will be alright as long as I have you… And I know this all feels fast, but I’ve been crazy ‘bout you since I first laid my eyes on you. I ain’t ever believed in that ‘love at first sight’ crap but,” Joel hesitated, like the words hung at the tip of his tongue but wouldn’t let go.

“But?” you encouraged.

“I think I do now.”

His words tasted so bitter and so sweet. Tipping your head downwards your eyes found your hands.

“Joel…” you shook your head, trying to will the words to form. “This… I don’t understand.”

“What ain’t you understandin’, sweet girl?” He shifted his weight, leaning closer but still maintaining a respectful distance.

“Why me?” You looked up from your lap, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” He breathed out in shock.

“I mean, you’re Joel Packer– you can have any girl you want… and I guess you already do– at work.” You swallowed around the growing lump in your throat, tears pushing behind your eyelids.

“Well, I ain’t in love with all those other girls, am I?” His voice was gentle; the words escaping like they were the easiest words in the world.

Your tears pushed their way forward, trailing down your cheeks like curving rivers. Joel instantly moved closer, the familiar warmth of his body against your side made the tears run faster.

“Hey, my sweet girl, it’s okay, baby, it’s alright,” he cooed, pulling you into his embrace.

“It’s not, Joel… I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed into his shoulder.

“Tell me and we’ll figure it out together,” he pulled away to cup your head in his hands, thumbs wiping away your tears, “just tell me, baby.”

You watched his face, your eyes dancing over his features, drinking him in. Drawing a deep breath, you told Joel everything. You told him about your parents and your upbringing, their rules and their expectations. How they’d wanted you to be the perfect student, the perfect daughter, and someday the perfect wife. You told him why you’d moved to LA in the first place – to run from it all, from the guilt and shame they instilled in you for never being what they wanted. Joel held you in his arms as you emptied your feelings. He let you speak, humming at the right moments and squeezing you tighter when it was extra emotional for you.

“And now my uncle’s gonna tell them about you and the porn and–” you spoke fast, stumbling over your words, “they’ll disown me– I know it or worse they’ll come and get me… send me somewhere,” you sobbed.

“Heyheyhey,” Joel shifted his hold on you. You’d sunk into the couch as he’d let you talk, your feet slung over his lap as he held you close. Now he sat up, turning your body to face him, eyes locked with yours. “Listen, baby– they ain’t takin’ you anywhere, you hear me? You’re an adult– you’re your own person now!”

“I know I’m askin’ a lot of you– you’re afraid of losin’ your family– I understand! Believe me I do.” His head tipped against your forehead, nose brushing gently against yours. “My folks, they—... well they ain’t talkin’ to me anymore. Don’t matter how famous I am, I’m a sinner to them.”

“Joel, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart aching for him.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about– it’s in the past and I got Tommy…” he trailed off, lifting his head, one large hand cupping your cheek. “Listen, my sweet girl, you’re the only girl I want. I want you to stay, but I want you to stay for your own sake. There ain’t nothin’ you owe your folks, okay? And I promise you I’ll always be there for you!”

For once you didn’t think.

Leaning closer you brushed your lips against Joel’s, and it made all the walls inside you break down. Humming in surprise he stalled before he relaxed against you, pulling you closer, his hand pressed into your cheek. There was no air, only Joel. His mustache tickled your upper lip and cupid’s bow in just the right way, and you realized just how much you’d missed him.

The kiss was languid like molasses, pulling you apart and putting you together again. Your hand found his neck, fingers curling into the hair at the back of his neck – tethering yourself to him. He broke away from your kiss, pressing soft tender kisses along your jaw, his hand brushing down the column of your neck.

“Come sit in my lap, sweet girl,” he whispered into your skin and a rush of electricity sped through your body. His hand fell to your waist while the other grabbed at the thick of your thigh – maneuvering you to straddle him.

“There you go, my good girl,” he praised, his hands rubbing it into your skin. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Joel leaned forward, pressing soft kisses to the spot where your jaw met your neck.

“Joel, I– ah!” you gasped as he brushed his tongue over that sensitive spot behind your ear. You felt his smile against your skin, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin before his lips brushed over your drumming pulse. He kissed his way along your jaw, nose bumping into yours as he hovered before your lips – daring you to kiss him again.

You took the bait, eyes flicking down to his lips before you pressed your own against him. You didn’t have much experience with love but being this close to Joel felt so right. Maybe this was what love was, you thought.

“I think I’m in love with you,” you mumbled against his lips, your words swallowed by his kiss. A wide smile blossomed across Joel’s face at your words, and soon you were kissing teeth.

“Whatchu sayin’, sweet girl?” he grinned, raising one eyebrow at you as he leaned back.

You had to fight not to roll your eyes at him, at how he always found a way to playfully tease you. You weren’t joking though – you meant it, you really did.

“I’m in love with you too,” you told him sincerely, “I don’t know how to be in love, so you’ll have to be patient with me, but I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“I’ll always want you, sweet girl, always,” he promised, sealing it with a chaste kiss.

“I uh, I think I need to quit being your assistant too,” you said, biting your lip. “I can’t– I don’t really want to see you with other women… you can tell me about work, but I don’t want to see it.”

Joel squeezed your waist gently before rubbing soft circles over the spot. “That’s okay– thank you for tellin’ me,” he nodded, “I’ll talk to Ronald ‘n see if he knows if there’s any assistant jobs for you over in Hollywood.”

You slowly shook your head, “Ronald is a piece of shit.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Joel chuckled, leaning his head against the back of the couch, “But he’s connected, and very convincin’.”

“He’d never do that for me,” you said.

“But he’ll do it for me– I’m his favorite client,” he grinned, leaning forward to cup your chin, before pulling his hand away.

“You just make him a lot of money,” you countered with a shrug, still sitting pretty in his lap.

“Do I now?” Joel asked, leaning closer with a cocky grin, “’n how do I do that, sweet girl?”

“Joel,” you sighed as his lips brushed over yours in another quick peck.

“Listen,” he started, “It’s been a long time since I’ve dated anyone ‘n I won’t lie, last time it got complicated ‘cause of my job. You know what the job entails, but I need you to talk to me– we need to be communicatin’, you need to tell me ‘f somethin’s wrong– just like you’re doing so well for me right now.”

“Ok, Joel,” you nodded, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he mumbled, placing a soft kiss to your temple.

You stayed like that for seconds, minutes, hours, you didn’t know. But it felt nice to be so close, to just be in each other’s company, to enjoy being so in tune with another person without any ulterior motive. You didn’t know when, or who started it, but his lips were back over yours, moving in a perfect rhythm. Slow and drawn out, enjoying every second of being this close. When his tongue darted over your bottom lip, the kiss got messier, more passionate, like either of you couldn’t get enough of the other.

Under you, you felt Joel’s cock harden, the feel of what you did to him making your cunt ache for him. His capable hands had explored your clothed body, rubbing softly over the dips and curves before they’d landed on your ass. With a gentle rock, he’d moved you back and forth over him, catching your every moan with his mouth as your clit caught on his growing bulge.

It felt so good. Joel felt so good.

He moved you expertly over him, edging you closer to an edge you didn’t think you could reach this fast, your arousal soiling your panties with every grind. The kiss got sloppy, and you broke away, content little sighs escaping your mouth as you buried your face in Joel’s neck. He was everywhere. The scent of him, his warmth, his hard cock underneath you– it was all too much, and Joel knew it. Tightening his grip on your ass, he bucked his hips to meet your grinding, and you snapped. Mewling into his neck, you withered in his lap, legs shaking with your orgasm.

“Joel,” you managed to moan between the white hot ecstasy.

“There you go, baby– good girl, come for me, just like that,” he encouraged, rubbing his hand down your back in gentle strokes. His heavy hand rested over your back, pressing soft kisses to your temple as you came down, cooing at the aftershock.

With your mind somewhat back on earth you lifted your head from the home you’d made in his neck to place a soft kiss to his lips. Meanwhile your hands slipped between your bodies, clumsy fingers fiddling with the buttons on his jeans.

Joel broke your kiss, “Not here.” Confused, you pulled away, your eyebrows meeting in a furrow. “Let me fuck you properly… in my bed.”

Stumbling back into his hallway, your hands linked, he led you to his bedroom. His decorating was simple: a king-sized bed placed up against the back wall, paired with more of those large floor-to-ceiling windows gave him a view out into his backyard. An art piece hung above his bed, which looked suspiciously like a Warhol, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it with Joel’s hands on you.

He took his time undressing you– one painstaking item at a time, dotting kisses to each new piece of skin revealed. You were practically swimming in your arousal by the time he got to your panties. He had that look in his eyes, something dark and filled with lust as he sank to his knees before you. Never breaking eye contact, Joel leaned in, his lips brushing over the soft spot below your belly button – it made goosebumps prickle across your skin, and a hitch of breath to get stuck in your throat. His lips skated downwards, running along the elastic of your panties, teeth nipping at the bow in the center.

It was like time stood still. Outside the setting sun filled Joel’s bedroom with a golden hue, and bathed him a soft warmth. The way he looked at you sent bolts of electricity through your body, into every nerve ending. He was everywhere, and you wanted him everywhere, wanted him inside.

His fingertips grazed the side of your thighs, finding the thin sides of your panties. His eyes locked with yours and you nodded along with a breathless, “Yes,” before he pulled them down. A smile filled with cocky happiness spread across his features when he hit a bit of a snag, your arousal and previous orgasm making the fabric stick to your cunt.

After helping you step out of your panties, Joel sat back on his heels as he admired you. His tight jeans clung to his thighs and your eyes couldn’t help but trail over him; over his strong muscles, his impressive bulge, his signature belt buckle and his scarlet red shirt with the deep V, straining against his shoulders. Naked and bare for him, he took in your body, those warm whiskey eyes memorizing every inch of it. The rough skin of his hand made you keen under his touch where it skated up your leg, following your form and parting your legs for him. Hooking his hand under your thigh, Joel placed it over his shoulder giving him a perfect view of your wet cunt, while your fingers found his curls to keep yourself steady.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” he whispered almost to himself, “it’s all messy f’me ain’t it?” He dragged his lips along your inner thigh, dark eyes locked with yours.

“Y-yes,” you managed to stutter out – your whole body alight under his touch.

“Yes, it is, baby,” he underlined his words with a finger swiping through your soaked folds, the sound filling the space between you. “You hear? Hear how messy?”

A heat traveled up your neck to your cheeks, making them burn under his playful teasing. “Joel,” you whined, your fingers tightening your grip on his curls. He continued his teasing, placing wet kisses to the inside of your other thigh. The coarse hair of his mustache brushing against the sensitive skin in just the right way.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, “you gonna let me take care of ya, sweet girl? Gonna let me show you I’m only yours?”

You were nodding even before he’d finished his sentence, “Yes,” you sighed. The ache between your legs burned so bright it almost hurt.

With your permission, Joel closed the teasing distance, and buried his face between your legs. He started with a kiss directly to your clit, before he dipped lower to taste you properly. Small and breathy sighs escaped your lips, your other hand not in his hair falling to his shoulder to keep you from keeling over.

The flat of his tongue lapped at the seam of your cunt, collecting your arousal on your tongue, as he hummed in contentment. It felt too good. He always made you feel so good. When the tip of his tongue teased your hole, you had to bite down on your bottom lip to fight back the moan about to escape you. Pressing your heel into his back, your body bucked by its own will, meeting the swipes and zigzags of his tongue.

“Joel,” you gasped when he found your clit again, a tense arousal building in your core. Spurred on by your noises, Joel sucked at your sensitive bud, laving his tongue over it in lazy strokes.

“Fuck,” you whispered, breath hitching in your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut from the ecstasy. You were close now, your second orgasm approaching fast in Joel’s capable hands– or tongue.

“C’mon, baby,” he spoke between laps over your clit, urging you on, “come all over my tongue.”

A hand slid up to your ass, holding you flush to his face as you started to wither above him. His cheeks were warm from your soft thighs, his mustache slick with your arousal as he brought you closer and closer.

“There she goes, good girl,” he said with a ragged puff, encouraging you when the dam finally broke. His grip on your ass tightened, keeping you upright, as your whole body started to shake with your orgasm. Your grip on his hair was tight, tethering yourself to Joel, as you whimpered out breathy moans. Your hips bucked into his mouth, and the heel you dug into his back must’ve hurt, but your mind was entirely elsewhere, lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

He pressed soft kisses to the fold where your thigh started as the aftershocks coursed through you, holding you steady while your chest heaved for breath as you tried to calm down.

“Joel,” you sighed contently, your hand brushing over his hair. He didn’t pull away like you thought he’d do, instead he placed another kiss to your sensitive clit. You jumped at the touch, a giggle catching in your throat.

“I’m not done witchu, sweet girl.” You could feel the smile against your skin, the way his lips smoothed the exposed surface, the sweetness of his smile practically dripping down your legs.

He helped you slide your leg off his shoulder, his big hands framing your waist as he rose from the floor with a restrained grunt. He looked a mess. Hair pulled in all directions, mustache glistening with your wetness and cheeks smeared with your arousal. Seeing what you’d done to him, you felt your cheeks heat up.

With his hands around your waist, he walked you backwards, until the back of your legs hit the end of the bed. He was crowding your space now, the familiar scent of him now mixed with you sent your brain into a mushy state. He pushed you forward gently, and you fell down on his bed, bouncing slightly.

Joel towered over you, still completely dressed. The thought of how bare you were for him, while he was still fully clothed, sent a tingle down your tummy to your core. He had the upper hand, and it felt good. It felt good to let him take control, to be able to shut your brain off for a while, to know he would take care of you.

Across his face, Joel wore his signature cocky grin as he stepped closer to the edge of the bed, the hardwood floor creaking slightly with ever step. You dipped your head to your shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes, and it made his smile wider. He stalked over you, his hand curling around your ankle before he playful yanked you towards him. A yelp fell from your lips, before a giggle broke lose.

“Oh, you ain’t gonna be gigglin’ like that when I’m done witchu,” he teased, lowering himself over your body.

“W-what are you gonna do to me?” you asked breathlessly as Joel dipped down to nip at the skin below your collarbone.

A deep chuckle rumbled across your skin between his kisses, “Gonna make you come, and come and come, sweet girl– wanna feel you squeezin’ around cock– make you forget your own name.”

“Shit, Joel,” you stuttered out as his lips closed around your nipple, “I-I haven’t–”

He cut you off, “That ain’t matter to me, sweet girl, I know you’ll be good f’me.”

And he was right; you wanted nothing more than to be good for him.

He kissed a trail down the valley of your breasts, across your tummy and the dip of your belly button until he reached your mound. Joel got comfortable on his knees, hooking his arms under your legs to manhandle you the way he wanted, spreading your thighs, and putting your wet cunt on display for him.

“Sweet fuckin’ pussy,” he pulled back and spat, and you felt the way his spit dripped down your clit, “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”

With his thumb he smeared his spit through your folds, not that you needed it, you were plenty wet from your two previous orgasms. You jumped under him when he brushed your clit, puffed and sensitive as it was, and it made him chuckle.

“You’re so sensitive, aren’t you, sweet girl?” he coaxed, putting more pressure on your clit with his thumb.

Your moan got caught in your throat as you hurried to answer him, “Y-yes, Joel, so sensitive.” Heat and arousal flushed through your body, traveling through your bloodstream, and shading the world in a rose-tinted hue.

Another chuckle escaped Joel before he ducked down and brought his lips to your clit, while two of his fingers teased down your folds to edge at your opening. You felt your hole clench in anticipation, as a whimpering moan fell from your lips.

“This hole is just drippin’ for me ain’t it?” he teased, voice muffled by his lips around your clit.

You couldn’t think, so consumed by his touch and the way he made you feel. You managed to nod and breathe out a “Yes.” Joel hummed around your clit, the vibrations edging you on as his fingers prodded at your entrance.

Pushing forward he thrusted his fingers inside. It was a snug fit, but your arousal dripping over his knuckles made it easy. He immediately curled his fingers, expertly prodding at that sensitive spot inside that made you squirm underneath him and buck your hips involuntarily.

“Shh,” Joel soothed you, fingers still pushing up, hitting something that made your leg shake involuntarily as he circled them against the delicate flesh.

Shit. Fuck.

You mewled, whiny breaths falling from your lips as you hurled quickly towards the edge, again. Joel didn’t let up, thrusting his fingers expertly into that perfectly sensitive spot. When your right leg couldn’t stop shaking, he slung his other arm over your stomach, keeping you in place for him.

“That’s it, sweet girl, that’s your g-spot, honey,” he cooed between lapping and sucking at your clit, “Are you gonna come again, baby? You can let go– ‘s okay.”

The added pressure of his arm sent your hurling towards your release. Your back arched off his bed at a particular perfect thrust; your breath coming out panting and breathless.

“Joel–” you heaved, “J-Joel, I-I’m—,” you couldn’t finish your thought. You clenched around his fingers, a pressure building like you’d never felt before – you felt like you were about to explode.

Joel sucked hard on your clit before he moved his lips off with a soft pop, “C’mon, honey,” he coaxed, stopping his thrusting fingers to massage at your g-spot, “Be a good girl f’me and come all over my fingers.”

With his permission you came with a silent cry, eyes squeezed tight as your whole body arched off the bed, your head pressed tightly into the mattress as you let it wash over you. It was like your body clenched and released all at the same time. Small tears trickled down your temples, your body shaking from the force of your orgasm. You gushed over his fingers, and Joel pulled his fingers from your wasted hole at the exact right moment, right as a stream of liquid released.

You were somewhere else entirely, floating away on a cloud of ecstasy you’d never felt before – the feeling so intense, it made your eyes roll back. Beside you, you felt the bed dip. Still shaking from your orgasm, you heaved for your breath, trying to come down. Joel’s arms snaked their way around you, pushing you against his body as he cooed and hushed you.

“You’re alright, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your temple, “squirting all over my hand like a good girl.”

“Joel, I–” You were still catching your breath, still reeling from the intensity.

“You’re ok, baby.”

He held you close until you’d fully calmed down, and your heartbeat had steadied. You let yourself be held, to just be. Joel pressed absentminded kisses to your skin. One on your cheek, another to the pulse of your neck, a third to your collarbone. He was amazing. He was yours.

“Thank you, Joel,” you finally spoke, “I’ve– I’ve never done that before, it… it felt really good.”

Joel pressed another kiss to your cheek, “You’re welcome, baby– you looked so fuckin’ hot comin’ like that.”

He pressed another kiss to your cheek before he pulled away. Standing to his feet he stretched his back with a groan. You watched how his muscles moved underneath his shirt. He must’ve felt you watching him as he sent you a cocky smile over his shoulder before he padded towards the door of his en suite.

You turned onto your stomach, your eyebrows pulling together in a furrow as you asked him, “Where are you going?”

“Just gonna getchu ya somethin’ to clean up with,” he explained, nodding his head towards his en suite.

“But…” you trailed off, eyes flicking sheepishly towards his bulge, his cock rock hard and straining against his jeans.

He caught your eye, his trademark cocky smirk spreading. Joel turned his body towards you, and let you ogle him as he crept towards you. “But, what?” he questioned, one teasing eyebrow raised.

“What about…” you bit your lip, heat flushing your cheeks. He’d made you squirt for fucks sake, and you still couldn’t ask him for his cock.

“What about what?” he teased, standing at the end of the bed, his hard cock now eye level with how you were sitting. He watched you from above, how you flicked your eyes from his face to his cock, trying to tell him what you wanted without saying the words.

“You want more, greedy girl?” he questioned, cupping your cheek and angling your face towards him, “You want my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded in his hand, big moony eyes looking up at him. Joel shifted his weight, his hand traveling from your cheek to your chin, letting his thumb run over it in a smooth motion.

“Take my clothes off,” he ordered.

Sitting up on your knees, your hands started fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Above you, Joel watched you – warm eyes studying you. Unbuttoning the last button, you placed a nervous hand to his chest, right above his heart. Under your palm you felt it beat, fast paced, but steady. With a scrunch of your face, you looked to him.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, fitting his own hand over yours, “I’m crazy ‘bout you, sweet girl.” He dipped his head to fit a soft kiss to your lips.

He helped you with the rest of his clothes. His shirt hitting the floor first, then followed by his belt and his jeans, and lastly his socks. Clad only in his white briefs, you took him in. His handsome face, his neat mustache, his tanned skin and broad shoulders, but most importantly (at least in this moment), his aching cock.

“Take it out f’me,” he ordered.

Obeying his command, your fingers dug into the elastic. His rock hard cock strained desperately against the cotton, a wet spot had formed where the head was, turning the fabric translucent from precum. You pulled his briefs down his legs, his impressive cock springing free to bob in front of your face. Joel stepped out of his underwear, kicking them across the floor to the pile with his other clothes.

You moved up the bed as he crawled over you, parting your legs for him to fit between as you laid back against his fluffy pillows, the scent of him overwhelming. His cock rubbed against your cunt, the head catching on your clit as he adjusted himself over you.

“This whatchu wanted, sweet girl?” he asked, guiding the tip through your folds, and coating himself in your arousal.

“Y-yes, Joel, please,” you begged, “want you.”

Between your legs he jerked himself off, spreading your wetness all over his cock, a slick wet sound squelching from his fist. Joel’s eyes trailed over your body before he shook his head.

“Sit up,” he said.

Confused, you did as he said, sitting up on your knees before him. Joel shifted on the bed, leaning his back against the headrest, his impressive cock standing to attention in his lap.

“C’mon baby, come take what’s yours,” he said, reaching his hand out to you and helping you straddle his thighs.

Looking between your bodies, you couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. Each time you’d had sex, Joel was always the one in control, but now… Your teeth caught on your bottom lip, insecurity an uninvited guest in the home you’d made in Joel’s bed.

Warm hands cupped your cheeks then, lifting your head to meet his. “You’re alright, my sweet girl,” he told you, fitting his lips against yours, “wanna feel you squeezin’ my cock.”

With Joel’s guiding hands, you lifted yourself over him as he guided the head towards your entrance, the head of his cock pushing through your folds. “Take it slow ‘f ya need it,” he told you, reassuring you. With a timid nod, you shifted your weight slightly, steading yourself on your knees before you slowly sunk down on him.

Your mouth dropped open at the stretch, never really getting used to the size of him – even with the thorough prep he’d done to you. You took your time, easing yourself down on him one inch at a time till he was buried to the hilt in your cunt. He was so deep inside you in this position, you felt him in your tummy, too deep for a cock to reach.

“Shit,” you cursed with a whimper, feeling Joel’s thighs press against your bare ass.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, knew you could do it– takin’ all that cock f’me,” he praised as you tried to adjust to the feeling of him reaching so deep inside you. His hand landed on the small of your back, pushing you closer to his chest and making you rock forward in his lap.

“Y-you’re so deep like this,” you stuttered, draping your arms around his shoulder to steady yourself as his cock hit a new angle inside you, and making you see stars.

“I know, sweet girl, I know– feels good, don’t it?” he cooed, and rocked you in his lap again. Your clit caught in the coarse hair at the base of his cock, and it made a gush of arousal drip down his cock.

You nodded your head desperately. It felt good, it felt really good.

“Why don’t ya bounce on it f’me, honey– make yourself come.”

Again, you obeyed.

You started slow, inching upwards just a tad before grinding down on him again, working yourself up and down his length at your own pace. Below you, Joel watched you closely, a lazy smile spread across his face. His hand on your waist helped guide you, and soon you were bouncing on his cock like an eager little bunny.

“Fuck,” you cursed between moans.

The drag of his cock inside you felt like nothing you’d ever felt before. Love and ecstasy and pleasure – all mixed up into one infatuated feeling. Under you, Joel groaned unabashedly. The noises he made, deep and rugged as he started to meet your bouncing with his own thrusts, building a rising rhythm of pleasure.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he groaned, “squeezin’ my cock so good.”

“Uh-uh,” you nodded, mind gone completely blank.

The feeling of him filling you just right with every thrust and hitting that special spot inside you, were almost too much to handle. Your thighs burned with the effort, and you didn’t know how much more you could take before he was hurling you over the edge for the fourth time.

“You gonna come again, sweet girl? Gonna be my good girl and give me ’nother? Give that big cock a nice squeeze?” he encouraged.

You were far too gone to say anything coherent and when his thumb found your clit, you knew you were in trouble. Your legs shook from pleasure and the strain of your bouncing, and you fell forward, your head finding a home in his neck as you gasped. Joel worked quickly and expertly, shifting your weight on his lap so he could thrust into you from below. Breathy whiny moans escaped you in quick succession, and then you were falling apart for him with a cry.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised you through gritted teeth as you withered in his lap, squirming and gasping in his lap. Your walls fluttered and pulsed around his cock as you rode through your orgasm. Under you, Joel’s breath became shallower and his grunts more restrained, and even in your cloud of ecstasy you knew he was close.

“Fuck, ‘m comin’” he let out, quickly lifting you off his cock before he spilled hot cum onto your tummy and mound, his panting moan deep and guttural. It was hot and sticky and suffocating in a good way.

As the sun set over LA, you and Joel found refuge in each other under the pink and orange sky. Your panting breaths slowed to a still comforting silence as you held each other close, and you knew that there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

You had been unable to see it before, or simply just unwilling to let yourself see it, but the answer had been on the tip of your tongue all along. Joel had been the missing piece of your puzzle, the part you'd never even known you'd needed until he'd slotted himself securely into that space, completing your life in a way your family had never been able to. Being with Joel felt right, and if there was one thing you did know, was that no matter what your uncle said or did, or what your parents would think, you were done making sacrifices. And so you laid in Joel's arms, your chest unraveling with the relief of the knowledge that for maybe the first time in your life, you were making a choice entirely for yourself, and that, given the chance, you would choose Joel, every day, for the rest of your life.

and that's the end <3 if this was a movie we'd slowly fade to a drone shot of LA while cher's cover of "lay baby lay" starts playing as the credits roll over the cityscape.

i hope this was okay, and that the ending was satisfying and that you liked it? as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3 i'm very curious to hear your thoughts about this! <3

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