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Perfection 🥰

Please, Mister Miller? SERIES FINALE

rating: 18+ GET OUTTA HERE YOUNGIN'S!

words: 13.5k

tags: none. Don't want any spoilers for this chapter!

a/n: Y'all this entire series started with me wanting to try my hand at writing pwp with a despicable lead character. It morphed into a story of finding love in the most unexpected places and the pain that comes with infidelity. It was a challenge for me to do a believable character arc for them, to get you to root for them, to make you feel for them. It was a delight to read your input, your suggestions and to see how invested y'all became. So this is my love letter to you, hopefully a fitting final chapter for these two horny idiots.

love, Emma

ppppsssssstttttt if you wanna be nice and send a broke writer some cash because you like her writing and her stories, the paypal addy is [email protected] because ko-fi is givin me a headache.

The End with Mister Miller

In September the leaves fall in Central Park, brown, lifeless and curled into themselves. You think you recognize that in them. That dead, emptiness, the need to pull into yourself and wither away.

Life doesn’t feel real anymore.

It hasn’t since August.

Without him (you won’t allow yourself to think of his name) life seems slow and hazy. Like walking through the world with a headache. Things blur and ripple and don’t seem particularly real.

School is the only thing that saves you. A chance to focus all your attention on something that isn’t him and his beautiful face, and soft curls and sweet mouth. Something that isn’t his muscled arms holding you as he slides between your legs to bring you pleasure. Something that isn’t his voice in your ear whispering how much he loves you.

You think you will mourn Joel for years. You will wear black and trudge from place to place, looking down in the mouth with red-rimmed eyes and a gaping hole where your heart used to be.

No, don’t even think his name.

School is papers and tests and online discussion groups. You throw yourself into the academic life, your essays are well received, your professors are impressed and your peers find you likeable during zoom classes. You enjoy being the one with the answers in this space because outside of it you have none.

How did it go so wrong? How are you not with him in his arms right now? How can you get Sarah to forgive you when she’s blocked you on everything? How can you survive another month without him? Without holding his hand in yours? Without feeling the rumble of his laugh along your back as he held you?

New York is a good place for the lonely hearts though. It’s a big, unforgiving city that doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die. The city doesn’t care if you struggle to pay your rent and go to school at the same time. The city devours as much as it gives. It’s cold and unforgiving to transient residents, to those looking for anonymity within its concrete jungle. And you relish that. You like that no one knows you, that you can disappear into a crowd, that no one cares.

You deserve that.

You helped break up a marriage. You broke your best friend’s heart. You broke broke broke. You stole what wasn’t yours and you relished in it. You fucked him in every inch of that house and you rejoiced in a love that was never yours to have.

Your apartment is cramped, shared with two other girls who work more hours than they spend inside. You don’t care, you don’t deserve friends. You want the only true friend you ever had to be back in your life. But that won’t happen.

Food is bland, the sporadic sunshine days meaningless, your existence a joke.

And it doesn’t get better for a while.

///

October is much of the same.

///

By November your savings are quickly being drained. The money from scholarships enough to keep you afloat at school but not enough to pay rent which has just been increased. You get a second overnight job at a convenience store to go along with your part time work at the coffee shop by your apartment. You work late into the night, early into the mornings, you write, you study, you collapse into a fitful sleep and then you repeat.

You have enough for little luxuries, things like the shampoo you always favored. The one that he once told you smelled like Christmas as he trailed his hands through your tresses, watching you read on his lap with eyes so soft you sighed.

Food still tastes bland so you don’t bother with fancy things. You keep things cheap so you don’t run out of money. You eat packaged pasta, noodles, soups. You’re bloated, your eyes swollen from the salt and your tears. You still cry.

You don’t know if you ever stopped.

You touch yourself to memories of Joel fleetingly. You rarely orgasm. Arousal seems to be missing from most of your days. As if without Joel all the sensations that once brought you joy have been drained from your body, replaced with a poison that turns everything shades of grey.

You don’t let yourself think about him. But one day he makes himself known. A simple e-mail sent from an address you don’t recognize. The message is short, simple and devastating.

Before I die I want to hold Snowflake one last time.

You’ve deleted his phone number. Blocked his e-mail address from Miller Construction. But this wasn’t on your radar. You hadn’t thought of the ways he could circumvent your pathetically inadequate system.

You don’t write back. You can’t. It won’t solve anything. Sarah is still there at his place. You know from stalking her public Instagram from a brand new account. She looks happy, does outfit of the day videos, makes lots of posts about missing Charlie. But the story videos you watch again and again are the ones she films at home. The ones of her sitting with a bowl of popcorn on her lap, a movie in the background. A large masculine hand- Joel’s- reaches for a handful. You read the hashtag. #mydadpickstheworstmovies

You remember those nights. That couch, that television. You remember evenings curled up against Joel laughing into his shoulder at something funny on the screen. You remember giggling with Sarah in that room about secretly dating Charlie.

You’re happy to see her wither her father, to know that things have been mended. There is no awkwardness, no strange energy. It’s like they’ve always been – best buddies. It warms you, it brings tears of joy to your cheeks. It’s what you’d wanted, what you’d dreamed of. It’s not quite like you and Joel never happened, but its close enough.

A story pops up when you’re falling asleep one evening, eyes heavy with fatigue. Sarah is walking in the kitchen, humming about what to make for dinner when the camera catches Joel walking into the kitchen, looking at his camera and giving a soft, subtle smile.

“What are you watchin’ old man?” Sarah croons off-screen, zooming in on his face. “More tile orders?”

Joel glances up from his phone, gaze glossy. He sees the camera and gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Get that damn camera outta my face,” Joel chides with an embarrassed smile. He flips his phone over and you let out a shocked gasp.

To anyone else it would look innocuous, but you can see in that flash of pixels that he was looking at a photo of you. The one from your date night where you posed in front of the I Love you So Much mural.

You re-watch that one over and over until it expires.

But you don’t write to him. You can’t. You know it would take just the sound of his voice to have you jumping a plane and meeting him in some dark hotel. Not just for the fucking, but for the way he felt wrapping his arms around you, how his mouth slotted gently, how he smelled and tasted and felt like safety.

You never had that before.

You may never again.

Your parents haven’t reached out to you since graduation. You know they never will. Your parents are stubborn – especially your father. They will force you to make it on your own; there will be no financial bail outs or sporadic gifts in the mail. They don’t even know you’ve moved to New York. No one does. You don’t upload to your socials anymore.

And a year ago that would have terrified you, but now? It buoys you. It makes you feel strong. It makes you feel independent. You’ve done this all on your own and you’re surviving. It’s hard but you’re doing it. You don’t need anyone.

In mid-November during a gloomy day a young man asks you out as you walk to the subway. He’s seen you in the coffee shop you work at and he thinks you’re pretty. He’s cute in a wide-eyed, sweet dimpled smile kind of way. Not the right kind of dimple, though. Not the right eyes, or height or hair. His hands aren’t calloused, his neck not long, his shoulders not broad.

He’s not him.

You turn him down kindly, watching curiously when the smile leaves his face and he calls you a dumb bitch. You just shrug, no longer caring what the opposite sex thinks of you. You don’t care what anyone else thinks of you, only the two people back on Rancher Street.

You walk home from work the following week, feet sore from your back to back shifts. It’s late, the sky drizzling and in your hand you carry the plastic bag from the closest bodega. It holds only a few loose packets of instant noodles.

You’re traipsing down one of the snooty streets as you call them. The ones with high end restaurants and lounges that your parents could easily afford. You gaze down at the approaching puddles, wondering how long it’ll be before the snow arrives. You almost bump into the figure that’s come to a sudden stop in front of you.

You raise your head, about to sneer up at the obvious tourist when a familiar set of light eyes gaze back down at you, an umbrella hoisted gently above her head.

“Tess?”

She looks amazing. Her hair is cut to just below her ears, her skin glowing. She’s dressed similarly to how she was when you knew her – professional, tailored.

You on the other hand have gained weight, your face swollen with tears and sodium, your clothing bland and dark. The drizzling rain has made your hair stick unflattering to your face and you wish you were anywhere else.

“Hello,” she says sharply, her smile a false one.

She’s alone, no one walks with her. She looks like she just left a meeting. Your cheeks burn in humiliation at the memory of your last encounter.

“What are you doing in New York?”

“Marketing symposium,” she answers, her eyes scanning you over obviously.

“Oh.”

You have nothing else to offer. Someone bumps into you as they pass, the sidewalks quickly filling up. It’s New York after work after all, you’re surprised a rat hasn’t skittered over your feet at this point.

“I never pictured Joel as a New York kinda guy,” she offers. “Seemed like a Texas boy through and through.”

Joel.

You haven’t heard his name in so long that the sound of it makes you wince.

“We uh. . . We aren’t… Sarah found out,” you blurt, surprising yourself.

Tess blinks in surprise before she nods slowly, her eyes scanning you as you squirm on the cement. People continue to mill around you, but all you feel is you and her locked in this moment, she shielded by her umbrella and you exposed.

“She took it badly then?”

“Yeah. Really bad.”

You wish she would just walk on by. That she would let you shuffle to your shitty apartment with its cracked walls and peeling paint so you can heat up your instant noodles and fall asleep to the soundtrack of your own sobs.

“It’s what you deserve,” she says tightly. “The pair of you.”

“I know.”

You wait for her to give a polite nod and shoulder by you, but instead she seems to scrutinize your face further. You feel it, even as your eyes drop to her expensive looking shoes.

“Let’s get a drink.”

Your eyes dart from her shoes up to her face, confused to see no guile there. There’s no kindness or softness either. It’s an offer, but not one from a friend.

You shift your plastic bag from one hand to the other awkwardly. You don’t know how to tell this woman that you’re broke. That after this bag of instant noodles you have nothing until your paycheck on Friday.

You don’t want her to know how pathetic your life is. Her light eyes dart from your face to the bag and the items inside. She tips her head towards the lounge across the street.

“I’m paying. Let’s go.”

///

“A Chardonnay for me.”

Tess tilts back in her red leather chair, crossing her long legs over one another after she orders. With her jacket off you can see she’s got a tight dress on and she’s obviously been working out. She’s always been a beautiful woman, but tonight she looks like a bombshell. She and the waiter look at you expectantly as the other patrons buzz around.

“I’m good with water.”

“She’ll have a Chardonnay as well,” Tess smiles up at the server. “And a plate of gyoza bites.”

The man nods, leaving the two of you to sit across from one another awkwardly. You’re still wearing your jacket, your bag of noodles in a crumple at your feet.

You think you must stick out like a sore thumb in this high-end lounge with its soft jazz music and sleek tables. The place is dimly lit with opulent chandeliers hanging from the high roof, shiny black veined marble floors and collection of upper echelon clientele in suits and well-tailored dresses. You feel so out of place in your jeans and you wonder if that’s why Tess chose it.

You can’t say you’d blame her.

The waiter returns with your wine glasses and appetizer, telling Tess to let him know if she needs anything else. He doesn’t even spare a glance in your direction. Tess takes a sip of wine as you play with the stem of yours.

“Why him?”

Tess’s eyes are fixed sharply on yours when you finally lift your gaze to hers.

“Huh?”

“Why Joel?” Tess repeats and there’s genuine curiosity in her gaze.

You weigh what you want to say, aware that what you admit could hurt her further. But then again what could hurt her more than what you’ve already done?

“Because my boyfriend had just dumped me and I felt like shit,” you say with a croak. “And when I saw Joel… I dunno… He was so beautiful and kind and funny and a good dad. . . and it was this instantaneous thing. And I think in my own insecure way I wanted to prove I was worth something. That I was still desirable.”

You break off, feeling your cheeks heat. Its one things to admit these things to yourself, quite another to admit them to the woman whose husband you seduced.

“You need to know it wasn’t like Joel was trying to get me into bed. It was all me from the start.”

“I don’t think he was fighting too hard,” Tess rolls her eyes in a way that makes you feel small.

“I think it was that he liked feeling desired.”

“I thought he was desirable,” Tess interjects.

“I don’t know that he knew that,” you wince with a shrug. You shift in your seat, feeling her gaze heavily upon you. “He uh… He kinda made it seem like maybe you didn’t really express that to him.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” Tess offers softly as she glances out the window at the darkening street. You take a long sip from your wine before continuing.

“He said you wanted kids at first and then didn’t,” you offer. “Can I ask why?”

Tess moves her eyes from the window back to you. Her jaw clicks as she considers her next words.

“I thought that the whole motherhood thing was for me, I really did,” Tess says, popping another gyoza bite into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “And Joel is the perfect Dad… Really perfect. Like, he loved helping Sarah with homework and taking her to the park and even making her soup when she had the flu.”

You try not to smile in memory of that side to Joel. That sweetly nurturing part. Tess on the other hand looks perplexed, her shaking lightly.

“The longer I was with him, the more I could see that he was just made for parenthood. Made to take care and protect, like it’s in his DNA. He loves to love. And I think I realized I wasn’t like that. I like my job and I didn’t realize how much I like my own independence. And I thought that Sarah and our love was enough, but . . . " Tess sighs. "I don’t know that Joel ever really loved me.”

“Of course he did. I know he did.”

Tess smiles at your emphatic response.

“I wanted to get married, he wanted more kids and we were of a certain age. It wasn't that unending spark and flame, it was the kind of comfortable fire that keeps your feet warm, you know?”

You don’t, but you nod anyway.

“Anyway...” Tess shrugs, trailing off as she spears a gyoza with her fork. She munches thoughtfully before chasing it with another sip of her wine. Yours is still mostly full, sweating in the glass.

“Tess, what did Joel tell you that day? The day at the hotel?”

The day Tess caught you in his lap, writhing and begging for Joel to come in you. The beginning of the end. Tess looks mollified for a moment and you immediately regret asking her to go back to that ugly memory.

“You don’t have to say-“

Tess leans back in her chair, mouth pursed as she looks into middle distance. You can tell that she’s replaying that moment, that time.

“Honestly we cried a lot, together. Joel never really cries so it surprised me. He apologized over and over for not ending things with me earlier. I think it would have been different if we’d hated one another, easier maybe,” Tess takes a deep steadying breath, looking not at your face but your ear.

“Then he told me that he was in love with you, never felt that way before, blah blah blah. I told him it was a midlife crisis, he told me it wasn’t. It went back and forth like that a few times. I was convinced it was the sex. That he was just wanting someone shiny and new. But. . . that’s never been Joel’s M.O. He’s never been that guy. I still don’t think he’s that guy, despite everything.”

Tess shifts, taking a sip of her wine. This entire experience is surreal. From the way you’re talking to one another to the way you sit like old friends at the narrow table. She waves off the server who attempts to take the now empty dishes away.

“Then he told me the same things you did. That it would break Sarah’s heart if she found out that way. Then he told me he would give me whatever I wanted. The house. His truck. His shares in Miller Construction. Anything if it meant I wouldn’t say anything to Sarah.”

Your brows rise, you had no idea about that.

“I said that I would let him keep it all. The house, the shares, everything, and that I would never tell Sarah if he did just one thing for me.” Tess gives a weak smile. “If he just broke it off with you right then and there.”

You stomach sinks, your skin going clammy as if you’re right back there in that hotel room bathroom, cringing as you pray Tess doesn’t realize it’s you who’s just come on her husband’s lap.

Why did Joel never tell you this?

“He said he couldn’t do it,” Tess says softly, and she shifts back in her chair, legs crossing the other way. She has an almost amused look on her beautiful face, as if she still doesn’t believe it months later.

“He said he’d give me anything else, but that. That he couldn’t give you up. That he was so in love with you that he would give me anything I wanted, except for that.”

You close your eyes, needing to ground yourself for a moment. This is all new information, private information that was never meant for your ears. But it makes the ache for Joel grow stronger, the desire to see him, to hold him, just one more time.

Tears begin at your waterline and you force them back. You finally crack your eyes open and see Tess staring back at you.

“You didn’t take any of those things.”

“No,” Tess shakes her head, looking into her now emptied wine glass. “I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Tess gives a sigh, stretching her back as she shrugs.

“I have money; I have rental property in Illinois. I didn’t need his stuff. And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because the one thing I wanted he couldn’t give me.”

You’re quiet, waiting. The waiter comes over with the bill, discreetly slipping it onto the table and walking on.

“I wanted him devastated," Tess continues. "I wanted him to wake up every day cursing that he ever cheated on me, sobbing, tearing his hair out, regretting every moment,” Tess says with an almost sinister curl of her lips.

“But that could never happen because he had you. I knew that if he had you there was no chance of him ever being anything other than content.”

You swallow the tears that burn your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell Sarah then?”

For the first time since you’ve sat down Tess looks hurt, almost wounded.

“Because I know how she idolized her father. I couldn’t be the person to knock him off that pedestal for her. It would make me cruel and one thing you were right about is that I’m not a cruel person.”

But you are.

You’re cruel.

You knocked her father from that pedestal without care. You took and took and while you have hints you don’t even know how their relationship is faring. Has Sarah truly forgiven him?

“Well at the end of the day you were dealt the best hand,” you muse, taking your wine glass and motioning towards her. “You’re beautiful, you have money, you’re-“

“-Consistently worried that any man I date will cheat on me,” Tess finishes for you. “You know how many second dates I’ve turned down because I’m sure that I’m terrified of being hurt again?”

And there it is; the realization that even after this apology, even after this talk, the damage you have caused with your actions will never truly go away. They will linger like a scar on flesh – faded but a forever reminder. This breaks your heart and you push the tears from your eyes before they can fall.

“I don’t know how to properly explain how sorry I am, Tess. You never deserved anything like it. I wish … I wish you could punish me somehow,” you say, swallowing thickly. “Like punch me or. . . Something. I deserve it.”

“I think you’re being punished worse than anything I could ever dream up.” Tess signs the receipt, her signature narrow and cramped. “Being apart from the person you love? That's a different kind of pain.”

This is the first time that Tess has really recognized that you and Joel love each other. That it isn’t a fucking and forgetting kind of relationship. That you love him as much as he loves you and that this is a devastation you can’t seem to move on from. This is what makes the tears slip down your nose, head lowered.

You see Tess push a napkin across the table to you. You take it gratefully, dabbing at your eyes and under your nose.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask through sniffles. “I ruined your marriage. I was… I was horrible.”

“Yes, you were,” Tess nods, taking a long sip of her wine. “And I’ll never forgive you for it. What you did was completely fucked up and selfish. You helped to break up my marriage.”

You want to curl into your shell. You want to run and hide from her scorn and her judgement. But something keeps you there, almost like you want to be punished. You want her to lay into you with her sharp eyes and sharper words.

“But Joel was right in a lot of ways that night," Tess says lightly. "Our marriage didn’t work like we wanted. And while it will never make what you did okay, it does allow me a chance to go out and find someone who actually wants me, who wants the same things as me.”

“Joel wanted you,” you tell her even though it hurts.

“Not enough,” Tess says with her mouth a grim line. “Not as much as he wanted you.”

You don’t say anything to that; you just trace the stem of your wineglass slowly.

“You know, I thought this would be more satisfying,” Tess observes after a beat. “Seeing you broken, knowing that Joel is probably ten times worse. But it’s not. I just feel sad for you. You’re so young and you’ve gotten into such a mess.”

You watch her place her wallet back into her purse.

“And for what?” she scoffs. “A guy you can’t even sleep with anymore.”

“He was more than that to me,” you explain, finger twisting. “I… I’ve just never loved someone before. Not like that. Never felt love like that. Never felt seen by anyone before Joel, not since Heather.”

“Heather?”

You think about telling Tess about your sister. Explaining that aside from Heather love always came with strings back in your house. But you think it would be a disservice to this entire exchange. That she would think you were sourcing pity.

“It doesn’t matter. I just . . . I just don’t think I’ll ever find love like that again.”

Tess sighs, sucking her teeth lightly.

“Maybe you should be with Joel, maybe you shouldn’t. Back at the hotel I thought it was insane but now? Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Doesn’t really matter does it?” you exhale with a soft laugh to cover the pain. “It’s over.”

“Because of Sarah.”

“Yeah.”

“So talk to Sarah.”

Tess stands next to the table now, purse over her shoulder. You glance up at her, brows furrowed.

“I can’t. She’s got me blocked on everything.”

You’re confused to see Tess smirking down at you.

“Back in my day if we wanted to contact someone we sent a letter.”

///

Dear Sarah,

I don’t even know how to start this. I mean, even as I’m sitting here I’m thinking of all the reasons why I don’t deserve you to give me the time of day. If you’d done the same with my father and helped to contribute to the end of a marriage I’d think the worst of you too.

I saw someone today who encouraged me to write to you. To let you know my side of things. I know that it doesn’t make what happened okay, I just need you to know what I was thinking.

I know you probably think that your dad and I were trying to keep this secret from you because we were ashamed of it. The truth is yes, there is a part of me that is deeply ashamed that I pursued your married father. The selfishness of that action is not lost on me. I will be paying that price the rest of my life.

I know there is shame for Joel that I'm your college-aged best friend. I know he worries that you'll think less of him (please don't). I know he's ashamed that he didn't end his marriage sooner.

But I think we are most ashamed of not telling you sooner. We were really scared at how you would react. We even promised each other that when you got back we were gonna have you over for dinner and explain everything. You just caught us off guard coming home early (not blaming you! It's your house!) I just needed you to know that it was our every intent to tell you everything.

And I think I thought that if we told you together, that if you saw how much we loved each other that you'd give us your blessing or something. I think I deluded myself into thinking I could have it all: you as my best friend and your dad as my soulmate. Now I have neither.

And I know you might be reading soulmate and rolling your eyes because you and I have never believed in bullshit like that. But Sarah, he is my soulmate, whatever that means. It's like we come alive together, life is even better than normal. Things I hated with Conrad make me so happy with Joel.

I share everything with him, stuff I've never told anyone in the world. Stuff I thought made me worthless. But your dad never saw me like that. It's like he sees me as what I always dreamed I could be.

Your dad gave me love that I've never known was possible. The kind of unconditional love that I look back upon with nothing but extreme gratitude. I regret that he was married; I regret that he is your father but I don't regret loving him. Loving Joel Miller was the most wonderful thing I've ever experience; it’s like being warmed by the sun.

I know this is hard to accept. From the outside it looks really bad. I know. And yes we did a lot wrong in getting together. We'll have to pay for that the rest of our lives.

We never meant to fall in love, Sarah. We really didn't. And I won't go on about how wonderful and special your dad is because I know you probably don't wanna hear it. I'm just asking that you try to remember our friendship. Was I ever the type of friend to mess around with some married guy for fun? Was I ever the type to purposefully hurt you? Ever?

Hurting you is the number one thing we never wanted to do. You know how much your dad loves you. You're his entire world. And you see in his actions that you are the most important woman in his life and always will be.

You are also the only true friend I've ever had in my entire life. I know I fucked things up and I know that I betrayed your trust. I don't know how to show you how sorry I am other than cutting all ties with your father (which I have) and giving you space.

But I miss you Sarah. I miss the way we laughed together, the way we could depend on one another. I miss your loving friendship as well. I hope one day you and I can talk. I hope one day maybe you'll be comfortable with me seeing your father. But if that day never comes I need you to know how much I love you both.

If you’ve read this far thank you. I love you and I miss you.

You sign your name, wiping away the tears that fell without you realizing. They smudge the ink on your words, blurring some.

There was so much more you wanted to put in that letter. How staying away from Joel is breaking your heart being the main thing. How every day without Joel has been torture.

You slide the letter into an envelope, addressing and stamping it before rushing out in the bitter cold to post it. You come back into the apartment, feeling strangely light.

For the first time in months you fall asleep without crying.

///

Its weeks later before you hear back from her. A short message on your Instagram from the account she previously had you blocked on.

[SMILLER44] Read your letter.

Thank you. Do you want to talk about it?

She doesn’t answer. You can see she’s read your last message but she makes no attempt to respond.

You don’t push it. You just let it happen. She doesn’t have to come around on your schedule. You don’t know that she ever will. But she’s read your letter, you have that form of closure and maybe that’s enough.

You’re studying for finals the following week when a message comes through at two am.

[SMILLER44] Chsalrie is fgoan and iw miss himsso mhc!!

Sarah very rarely drinks to the point of drunkenness. In habit you respond the way you always have when she imbibes.

Make sure you drink some water.

[SMILLER44] Mnoegyt mom! Iknw@!

You don’t know what to say to that.

She attaches a photo of Charlie from what looks like a recent zoom call. He’s frowning, looking into the camera with a sorrowful expression. It’s clear that their time apart has been really hard for both of them and your heart aches.

I bet you miss him lots.

[SMILLER44] Yeh it hurttsd sobad

I know that feeling.

But it’s only a few more months right? Then he’s moving back to Austin?

Sarah doesn’t reply to you that night. Either she’s fallen asleep in a drunken stupor or she’s remembered that you’re not friends anymore. Either way you don’t hear back from her for the rest of the night.

The following afternoon you look down to see you have another notification from her.

[SMILLER44] Hey Hi! Feeling okay? [SMILLER44] Hungover. Headache. I bet. [SMILLER44] Sorry about the messages.

I didn’t mind at all. Brought back good memories.

Nothing else comes through that day, but your spirit is lighter. Even at the shitty convenience store job you find yourself stocking items and scanning lottery tickets with a smile on your face for what feels like the first time in ages.

For the rest of that week you get intermittent messages from her at all times of the day and night.

[SMILLER44] Where are you living? Address on the envelope said New York? Yeah. That’s me. [SMILLER44] WTF?? Since when did you wanna live in New York? Seemed like a good place to disappear for a bit. [SMILLER44] I guess. You see Pizza Rat yet? Not yet. His cousin tho for sure. [SMILLER44] You have roommates? Yeah two this time. And they suck. One smokes so much weed I think I have a contact high most days. The other one doesn’t clean up after herself. [SMILLER44] Ew And that one always leaves hair in the shower.

You remember that was always Sarah’s complaint during your time together at school. The girls who would leave hair on the dorm shower walls. Or the ones who would leave soap all over the sinks.

[SMILLER44] 🤮

///

A few days later another message comes through.

[SMILLER44] I still can't believe we're graduated Me either. How's the job? [SMILLER44] Management really sux, but I’m learning a lot. How about u? How's Masters? Good actually. I really love it. The apartment sucks tho.

You attach a photo of the tiny apartment with yourself in the bottom corner frowning dramatically.

[SMILLER44] Oh fuck that’s a shithole. Yeah.

///

You always let Sarah be the one to initiate every conversation, even if you’re dying to talk with her about your day. You don’t want to alter this delicate ecosystem of messages. And soon it becomes a daily occurrence.

Some days it a meme and an emoji. Other days it’s her in front of the mirror in a new shirt going “Yes or no?” (something that takes you right back to your college days together). Other days it’s like nothing between you has changed.

[SMILLER44] Charlie is impossible to shop for. Christmas is like two weeks ago and I got him cologne& socks. Oh. [SMILLER44] Shitty right? No. [SMILLER44] Be honest It’s not great. I have an idea! Tet him a painting from a photo of the two of you on your trip this summer? [SMILLER44] I like that idea. He loves sentimental shit like that. And you don’t? 🤨 [SMILLER44] Not like him. he wanted to get me a locket with his picture in it Yikes. [SMILLER44] Right????

Having messages from Sarah becomes the light in your increasingly dark days. You’re working, you’re studying, you’re exhausted. But every time you see that notification it makes you feel like you’re back with her giggling in the library, drinking coffee on campus, studying together. And through it all you never mention Joel once.

[SMILLER44] Remember when Conrad got drunk and bought pizza for the entire dorm? Lol I forgot about that! [SMILLER44] Did I tell you he tried to reach out to me? Who? Conrad? [SMILLER44] Yeah. WTF? WHEN? [SMILLER44] A couple weeks back. He saw that me and Charlie weren’t living together. Thought we broke up. Wanted to know how I was doing. Are you fucking serious? [SMILLER44] Yup. Told him I was okay. [SMILLER44] Turns out he’s with some girl in Switzerland.

Of course Conrad would rebound with someone his family would be so proud of. A blonde, willowy thing that doesn’t talk back or give him grief when he does shitty things. Who laughs when he treats the wait staff like shit or doesn’t mind when he parties late with his friends.

Of course he is. She’s probably a model with access to her daddy’s oil money. [SMILLER44] Looks like it. U ever miss him? Conrad? Fuck no. [SMILLER44] U seeing anyone?

This is the first time in your exchange that things have tiptoed on the idea of you and romance. Her question makes you want to laugh. How could you be seeing anyone? Your heart has been ripped out of your chest.

For the first time since everything happened you are angry at Sarah. Furious that for some reason you had to get her approval to love her father. You want to say you know that I’m not! You know why! But instead you swallow and type out a short reply.

Nah. Not ready.

She doesn’t reply.

///

December in New York is rather beautiful. The people even seem a little nicer – sliding coins into the tip jar at the coffee shop. The snow that falls over the buildings takes away the sharpness of the architecture, makes it seem more magical.

But nothing compares to Austin with its warm days and sleepy charm. Nowhere could ever compare, not when Joel doesn’t exist in it.

To you, New York is the most beautiful in the winter. You take this time to enjoy what the city has to offer. You go to museums and you eat shitty street food and you actually go the Statue of Liberty even though it’s a fucking cliché.

You feel you might be slowly coming back to yourself. The air fills your lungs and you walk down the street back to your apartment most days with a strange sense of hope. Like perhaps there is a life ahead of you again.

Like maybe you could be happy.

[SMILLER44] Hey Hi! How are you? [SMILLER44] Bored. [SMILLER44] Dad is making gingerbread cookies. Pretty sure he's burning them.

You feel your heart hammer at the mere mention of Joel in passing. You’ve been very careful to avoid that topic, to skirt around anything that could be considered prying. But here she is dropping it into your lap.

[SMILLER44] Now he's complaining that the icing he made is too lumpy.

Your heart skips a further beat when she attaches a photo.

His hands are held over a mixing bowl, mid motion. He's wearing his soft green t-shirt, one of your favorites. You can see the messy kitchen in the background and it makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt.

You wish she'd included his face if only so you could have something new to replace the scant images of Joel you have saved on your phone. The ones you can’t bring yourself to erase.

Nice to see some things never change.

You hesitate before deleting it.

I really miss both of--

No. Erase.

In the end you don't reply. You can't. It hurts too much.

///

It’s Christmas in a few days and you have the week and a half off from your coffee shop gig and thanks to a Christmas bonus from your very kind manager who comments on your amazing work ethic. You think of spending it on a dinner out for yourself or perhaps a better pair of work shoes.

School is finished for the semester and you think of the days ahead as you walk home from the local bodega eating the last of your chopped cheese. Snow falls lazily around you, flakes sticking to your cheeks as you stroll.

Everywhere you look Christmas is in the air. Cheerful Santa's wave from department store windows. Ice skating is going on outside Rockefeller plaza, the insane light display at Dyker Heights, the couples snuggled together on horse drawn carriages in Central Park.

You cherish when Sarah sends you messages, but as the date creeps closer to Christmas there is a pang of longing you can’t overlook. This time last year you were entering into something with Joel that would change you. You were in his arms, you were falling for him. Now you're in a shitty apartment in New York trying to focus on studies and paying rent.

It's possible that Sarah has forgiven you, but she's made no attempt to bring you and Joel back together. The truth is that she may never.

You might get your friend back in some small capacity, but you likely are never going to feel Joel's strong arms holding you again. Never again going to sigh against his soft mouth as he enters you. Never going to hear those words murmured into your hair: I love you my perfect snowflake.

Paper snowflakes hang from a neon-sign laden window you're currently passing, causing you to still. You read the shop name, your mind on the extra money in your bank account.

You step inside.

///

Your phone beeps in your pocket. Sarah has moved to sending you texts now. You sent her a digital gift card for Christmas that morning to some clothing place in Austin and you assume she’s writing to thank you.

[SMILLER44] My dad is miserable. He just keeps moping around the house.

Out of nowhere an anger begins to boil within you. You want to scream at Sarah that she’s the reason you’re both moping. That she’s the reason you can’t just be happy!

[SMILLER44] He's been like that since the summer. [SMILLER44] I feel like it’s all my fault.

And just like that your anger for Sarah is quickly replaced with guilt that you could have ever been furious with her in the first place. She’s obviously been the one dealing with the fallout of a father and best friend who are miserable without each other.

Not your fault. You were totally valid in being hurt and furious. What we did was fucking shitty. I meant everything I said in my letter. I wish I had been up front from the start.

[SMILLER44] I think you made him really happy. I think we made each other really happy. I love him, Sarah. I’m sorry because I know that must be weird but I’m in love with him, I’ve never stopped. And I’ve never loved any man the way I love Joel. And I don’t think I ever will.

She doesn’t reply right away and you’re concerned that you’ve hurt her or scared her off in some way. You’re in bed, teeth brushed as the scent of your roommates weed filters in under your door when another beep sounds on your phone late that evening. You open the window to air it out, the night crisp before glancing at your phone.

[SMILLER44] It's gonna take a long time for me to really trust you again. I want to earn that trust back if you'll let me.

///

Joel Miller has never considered himself to be a good man. Never thought of himself as a bad one either, but in these last few months as he carves in the garage he’s been considering what it is to be good and bad.

Bad men keep secrets from the people they love. Bad men cheat on their wives. Bad men fuck the mouth of a girl half their age, aroused at the thought of being caught. Bad men stay married even as they call up said girl and make her come over the phone. Joel has been such a bad man in so many ways.

But he’s been a good man too. He’s never held your absence against his daughter. Never made her feel as if she isn’t his priority or that she was wrong to feel how she did. Sarah had no mother, Joel was damned if she'd live the rest of her life without a father as well.

He’s a good man because despite that one mess up he’s given you space and not tried to contact you. He’s a bad man because he still watches that video the two of you made and it still make him come so hard he can only do it when Sarah is out of the house.

But he’s good because the love that he carries for you is beyond carnal and it makes him want to be a better man. Makes him want to be brave like you’re being, cutting those ties from your family. Makes him want to be patient like you and give you space. Makes him reach out to Tess at the end of November and apologize in earnest.

He’s confused by the cryptic little smile on her face over the Zoom call, but he says nothing about it. Just repeats over and over how wrong he was to disrespect their marriage like he did. That he was sorry he ever treated her with such lack of concern. He answers her questions with unflinching honesty, his knuckles turning white as he holds his coffee mug next to him on the desk.

“I’ll never forgive you for what you did, Joel. But I appreciate the apology.”

It’s enough. It’s more than he deserves.

At the end of the day Joel decides he’s just a man. A man who is in love with a woman he can’t have. He doesn’t let himself look at your photo anymore – the one of you in front of the mural. He doesn’t let himself go on your social media.

He just goes to work early, works overtime and works harder than ever. He comes home and he makes dinner and he listens to his daughter talk about her day and he is content. He loves hearing Sarah talk about the challenges of the job, of seeing her grow into a capable young woman with her mom’s brains and a bit of his looks.

It was a few weeks of strained hello’s when you first left. When he walked back up into the house as your taxi pulled out, looking haunted as Sarah trailed in behind him. Of silent breakfasts and separate dinners. Until Joel bit the bullet and made her favorite dinner, until he insisted she come and watch a movie with him one night until things just started feeling normal again.

Sarah never brought you up. Ever. Not until this last week where her eyes have stayed on his face, sympathy and something else behind them.

"You miss her lots huh?"

"Sarah I don't wanna talk about her," Joel says gently. "You know that."

Sarah gives him a strange little smile over dinner one night from his favorite BBQ place with the best cornbread this side of Texas. The day is calm and quiet and the house is decorated for the holidays.

“You called her since she left?”

Joel wants to tell Sarah to not ask about you. To never bring you up again. But his daughter deserves answers the most out of anyone. He lowers his fork, still chewing.

“No. She thought it was a bad idea.”

“Hmmm.”

“Sent her an e-mail a few months back. She never replied,” Joel says and he hates the pinch in his voice as he says it. He covers it up with a swig of his beer.

“Probably didn’t want to upset me,” Sarah rationalizes, fork poking at her pulled pork.

“Or she’s moved on,” Joel admits

He’d never say it out loud, but this is his biggest fear of all. That you have indeed found a new boyfriend. One closer to you in age with no baggage and endless love for you. The kind of man who fucks you tenderly, eyes on your face and whispers that he wants to marry you. The kind of man who would support you in school and the man that you’ll eventually carry children for.

The kind of man Joel would want for you if the thought didn’t make him want to punch a hole through a wall.

///

“I hate this fuckin’ movie,” Joel grumbles as he and Sarah sit side by side on the couch. White Christmas is playing on the television and Joel has had just about enough. A bowl of half-eaten popcorn sits between them.

“It’s Christmas eve,” Sarah says with a cheerful laugh. “It’s tradition.”

Fuck tradition.

Fuck Christmas.

Fuck everything.

Snow and shortbread and every fucking thing that reminds him of you. Of your time with him last year. Your mouth, your body, your whispers in his ear. He sure as fuck doesn’t feel like celebrating.

“S’a dumb tradition.”

“Started because of you, old man.”

“Only because you were a kid and you would scream if I tried to watch anything else.”

“Yeah well you only have yourself to blame then.”

Joel gives her a sharp chuckle of amusement before swiping a handful of popcorn, munching softly. Despite you not being here, he’s so thankful his relationship with Sarah is good. He loves his daughter more than he could ever explain.

Sarah checks her phone for what feels like the millionth time before relaxing back and watching the “Love, you didn’t do right by me” scene playing on the screen. The sultry intro begins as Sarah hums along.

Love, you didn't do right by me You planned a romance that just hadn't a chance And I'm through

Joel tries to hide his sigh.

What are you doing right now? Where are you? Are you safe? Enjoying Christmas? Did you go back to your parents after everything? Are they being kind to you? These questions have plagued him since the day you left.

The doorbell rings, startling Joel from his thoughts. He glances over at Sarah, brows raised.

"You expectin' Charlie?”

"Naw, his flight just got in actually. But I think your gift is here," Sarah says with a gentle smile. "I'll need your help bringin’ it in though."

Joel gives a sound of protestation, rising from the couch with a pop in his back before padding towards the front door after his daughter.

“What kinda gift comes on Christmas Eve?” He teases her, kissing the top of her head as she stands at the door. “And has to be brought in by two people?”

“See for yourself.”

Joel rolls his eyes playfully at her giggling face. His hand goes around the handle, pulling the door inwards and peeking around the corner. The teasing sweetness in his face is immediately washed away and he can only stare.

"Hi Joel," you say shyly on the porch, hand clutching your suitcase tightly.

You’re dressed in a long skirt, tank top and light jean jacket. Your hair is done beautifully and your lips glossy. You look a little tired from your journey, but your eyes are bright as you gaze at him, your smile so wide your cheeks are pink.

You’re fucking perfect.

A moment passes between you and Sarah hides a smirk.

"I'm heading to pick up Charlie from the airport," Sarah tells you both as she pulls on her jacket. "We’re gonna stay at the hotel by the airport tonight. I'll be back for breakfast and presents tomorrow. I’m borrowing the truck, alright?"

Joel hasn’t stopped staring at you. He just gives a shallow nod to Sarah watching the way you give her a hopeful look as she walks out the door. His heart squeezes when you both reach for one another, hugging tightly.

"I missed you," you whisper against her shoulder.

"Same here," she whispers back before pulling away and smiling at you. "Glad you could make it. Hope you'll stay for a while."

"If your dad'll have me," you say shooting a nervous look Joel's way.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Sarah says with a crooked smirk.

And then with a wave she's off, striding down the driveway with you watching after her. When she and the truck disappear around a corner you turn back to face Joel, looking strangely nervous.

"Hi," Joel finally croaks, still stuck in the doorway in a daze. "I-I can’t believe you're here. How’re you here?"

"Sarah called me. Said she wanted me to be your Christmas gift. I had air miles."

"Best damn gift I've ever received," Joel says.

As if only now realizing that you are both exposed on the porch Joel urges you inside, taking your suitcase. He stops at the couch, suddenly not realizing where he should put you. He leaves it there by the couch, urging you to join him with a tilt of his head.

“You want a drink?”

“Nah, I’m okay thanks.”

He stands awkwardly for a moment, wanting to grab you, to kiss you, to touch you everywhere but he’s not sure if he should, if that's what you want. Instead he sits on the couch, his knee brushing yours. You both tense at the sensation, as if it's wrong to feel even the hint of one another.

“So where you been all this time?”

“New York.”

“No shit? Why New York?”

“A good place to be anonymous.”

His eyes move to become fixed on your bare knee under your skirt, desperate to touch the warm flesh if only to prove to himself that you actually are real, that you're here.

As if you're thinking the same you let a trembling hand go to his forehead, pushing back the curls there.

“Your hair is longer,” you murmur, smiling when Joel’s eyelids flutter shut and he leans into your touch. “I like it.”

“Thank you, baby."

Baby.

Now he takes his time staring back at you. Taking in the circles under your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, the sensual pillow of your mouth. You're just as beautiful as he remembered, but even moreso because you're real.

The tension is there, not just because of this surprise but because there is so much you want to say to one another. But neither wants to break this beautiful moment of reconciliation so instead Joel takes your hand in his and brings you to stand.

“Want some shortbread?”

“Sure.”

You follow him into the kitchen, marveling out loud how beautifully decorated the place is. Even more than when you were here last year. You take a moment to enjoy the sight of Joel’s biceps curling under his soft t-shirt as he brings out the plate from the fridge.

“No snowflakes though,” you tease as you take the cookie he offers you. You remember last year they were all over the garland and even in the windows. Now it seems they’ve been purposefully omitted.

“Ah, well, those are in the garage,” Joel says looking strangely shy. You’re curious at this, taking a nibble from the cookie. You don’t have to heart to tell him it’s awful. But he’s smiling dreamily at you and you find yourself sighing and smiling back.

“Show me?”

He nods, taking your hand in his even though you’re only going twenty steps. He takes you into the garage and you look around, expecting to see paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling. Instead it looks deceptively normal.

Joel urges you towards the workbench where he pulls out a large box from underneath. He lays it on the table and takes off the top, his eyes sailing over to you as you peek inside.

Carvings, dozens and dozens of them. And all of them snowflakes.

Some are as small as your thumb, others as large as Joel's palm. Some are painted, others are wood grain. Some are intricately designed and must have taken weeks, others are smooth and buffed.

"Every time I was missing you too much I'd come out here and carve."

"Looks like you missed me a lot."

"I did."

There’s no hesitation from him and you gaze up at him with limpid eyes.

“You uh… I sent you that e-mail a couple months back,” Joel starts and you can see the insecurity in his dropped gaze. “You never wrote back.”

You raise a hand to his cheek, urging him to look back to your face.

“I couldn’t,” you explain with a tremor in your voice. “I wanted to so badly. But I had to respect Sarah’s wishes no matter how bad it hurt.”

Joel nods, knowing that your answer makes sense.

“I think I was worried that maybe you’d moved on,” Joel says with a wince.

You give him a sad smile before your hand drops from his face. You lift up the hem of your shirt, tugging your skirt down until your hip is showcased. Joel feels his heart pick up speed when he sees the tattoo there covered in second skin. A tiny black and white snowflake. The exact one Joel carved for you a year ago.

"Got it when missing you hurt too much," you confess. “Still healing.”

Before he can stop himself he's knelt on the ground of the garage. He holds your hips gently, his full mouth going to press against your decorated flesh.

"S' beautiful baby," Joel murmurs.

He feels goosebumps rise under his touch, and the sensation of your hand carding through his hair.

“How could you ever think I’d move on?” you ask, your voice soft. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, Joel.”

Joel is still there at your feet as if kneeling before you is the most natural pose for him. Because with you he is reverential. His eyes search yours as he stares up at you, his dark eyes soulful.

“You’re so young and beautiful and wonderful and-“

“And you’re so handsome and kind and loving,” you finish for him. “And I don't want anyone else.”

He gives a ghost of a smile up at you before he kisses your hip again, tenderly, lovingly and through the clear bandage you feel the warmth of his mouth.

"Joel," you whisper above him.

He glances back up, seeing your eyes glossy and full of yearning. You don't have to say anything more.

He slowly slides his hand under your skirt, fingertips tracing the curve of your inner thigh, edging your panties. You say nothing, just breathing heavily as you stare down at him while he drags your panties down your calves, over your ankles. You step out of them, watching him place them in the pocket of his sweatpants.

He lifts your skirt, holding it in his hands at the side of your hips. Your pussy is exposed to him and he groans at the sight of it there in front of him. He presses a sloppy kiss to your mound, shivering when you whimper.

His fingers curl in the waistband of your skirt, pulling it down. He gazes at your sex as it is uncovered, groaning softly at the sight of it wet and waiting for him. The skirt is soon discarded and your lower back is urged against the work table.

His intent is clear as he gently urges your thigh over one of his shoulders. You breathe heavily staring down at him, his dark eyes fixed up at you as his mouth comes to press against your mound.

"Please," he murmurs between kisses. "Just let m-"

He trails off as he kisses and licks between your legs, eyes rolling back when he hears your shuddered moan above him. You lean your spine heavily back against the work bench, one foot on the ground, the other leg hinged over Joel's shoulder.

"Joel," you breathe softly if only to hear yourself saying that beautiful name again. The name you avoided thinking of for so long.

His large palms hold you in place, fingers dimpling the flesh as your moans increase. Joel feels tears starting at his eyes as he holds you, the warmth of your skin underneath his hands once more. His perfect fucking woman is here, and she's gonna come on his tongue.

You came back to him. You came back.

He slips two fingers into your dripping slot, curling gently so that he can take a moment to admire you. The way your fingers dig into the edge of the workbench. And now this sweet little snowflake, this forever mark dancing on your skin as your body moves for him.

Overcome, his mouth goes back to your cunt, fingers still working in tandem as he begins to suck you clit in earnest.

Your head is tilted back as your orgasm approaches. His eyes drift up to you even as his fingers and mouth work between your thighs. As if you can feel his gaze your neck bends forward, your eyes dropping to watch Joel between your legs gazing up at you.

Your big, strong man is on his knees, laving your clit with his sinful touch while his big, dark puppy -dog eyes stare up at you with reverence. The sight of it has you whimpering, watching as his eyes darken, the black edging out the dark brown of his iris.

"Uh huh," Joel growls against your pussy, sucking your clit with the perfect pressure as your thighs quake. "You come for me, pretty girl."

And you want to. You want nothing more than for Joel to fuck you with his tongue all night. But you find you need him deeper, need him closer. You need him with his body pressed against yours.

"Take me to bed," you beg breathlessly.

Joel rises, wasting no time before his mouth is on yours. You melt into his arms, immediately slotting your lower between his.

"I missed you so much," you whisper.

"I missed you more."

Joel can't contain himself. He's taken you into his arms, shifting you into a bridal carry. He takes you to the bedroom, laying you on the bed with a tenderness you can’t help but almost weep in the face of.

He undresses you slowly, kissing every piece of flesh he uncovers. Then he removes his own clothing, letting the items fall to the ground before you're in bed underneath his covers.

"I missed you so fucking much," he tells you, peppering your face with kisses as he pulls you against him.

"I thought about you every day," you say with tears in your eyes.

For a moment the two of you slow the momentum down, kissing languidly as you card your hands through his hair and he holds your face between his palms. It feels like the most exquisite reunion of bodies and minds all at once and it warms you in way the sun never could.

Eventually his hands drift to your waist, sucking your tongue into his mouth as his hardness seeks your center. The two of you grind together, groaning and moaning into each other’s mouths before Joel pulls back to look at you.

"You want this?"

"You really have to ask?"

With a grin he urges your knees against your chest, opening you to him. In that folded position when he brackets you on either side he feels like he's holding all of you in his arms, like he's protecting you.

And he knows that when he slides into you in this position that the feeling is as incredible for you as it is for him because your eyes roll back and you whimper.

"Tell me how it feels, baby," Joel groans, slowly drawing himself out and sliding back deeply, his ass and hips flexing.

"So good," you murmur. "So full."

You inhale deeply, your mouth against his shoulder as the smell of his soap and wood shavings wash over you. The scent of safety and of home. Of love.

He kisses your neck, soft sloppy things as he sinks into you with a groan over and over, your eyes gazing down to watch his slick cock entering into you over and over, so slow and so deep it feels like you’re fucking for the first time in your life. You make a small whimpering sound, hips rolling against Joel’s and you feel him smile into your hairline.

"There's my girl."

The sound of it, his girl, makes the tears sneak out the corner of your eyes. When you feel the light tap of wet on your cheeks you open your eyes to see Joel staring at you, tears dropping from his cheek onto yours and that sets you off, chin wobbling.

The two of you make love like this, whispered promises of unending love, of desire, of the torture it was to be without one another. And through it all Joel keeps up his slow and steady pace, more wanting to be inside you than anything. There is no rush, no time to keep. Just you and him and the future ahead of you.

When you finally orgasm it’s a powerful thing that has you sobbing loudly even as Joel empties himself into you. He holds you as you cry raggedly against him, your face buried in his neck as you mourn the months apart, about the pain you’ve both caused and ultimately at the knowledge that you are together again.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he promises as he rocks you in bed.

“Never,” you echo.

---TWO YEARS LATER---

It's one of your traditional Sunday walks, both of you with a coffee in your hand. You're finishing up your blueberry croissant and you're enjoying the mild weather as tourists mill around you.

Normally you both stick closer to home for coffee Sundays. Especially since Joel's workload has been extra tough with his latest project. You only finished school a year ago and have been at your job less than six months. Despite his workload Joel has never been happier.

He loves coming home to hear all about your day. The two of you take turns cooking dinner. Sometimes Tommy and Maria join and those two always stay late to drink and play cards. Tommy likes to give you shit about how you first met, but Joel always reminds him with a severe look to drop it.

Sarah and Charlie are often invited and often attend, bringing over little baked desserts because as Sarah puts it “my dad can’t bake for shit”.

Unlike before, Sarah doesn’t ask you intense details about your romantic life but every so often when the two of you watch Charlie and Joel laughing about something while they BBQ she’ll cast a soft look over at you and offer a gentle: “I don’t think my dad has ever been this happy.”

You always reply the same: “Neither have I.”

When you and Joel got married three months ago he claimed it was because he felt it was time to ‘make an honest woman out of you’. Which was a boldfaced lie. He was just really really excited to finally call you his wife and have you wear his ring.

You and Joel couldn’t stop beaming the entire time.

Of course your garter had a little snowflake charm on it. A private joke for Joel to uncover when he undressed you later that night. One that he enjoyed very much, especially when he found it was just the right length to bind your wrists together. . .

"Why'd you wanna come all this way for coffee, baby?" Joel asks you now, his free arm around your waist as he guides you through the throngs of tourists.

"Remember the murals you showed me years ago? I wanted to see them again."

Joel is pleased with this, dark eyes disappearing as he grins broadly. You both wander around the familiar neighborhoods, stopping at your old favorite murals from the last time you were there several years ago: the bread and butter, the I love you so much where you take a selfie with you kissing Joel's cheek.

"Ready to head back, beautiful?"

“One more?"

Joel nods, his big hand swallowing yours. You find yourself standing taller when he does this, showing him off. You see many of the women taking second looks when he walks by, their eyes twinkling. Joel Miller is the kind of man that gets better with age and you are reaping the benefits.

Sometimes he worries he's too old for you, but he still loves you more than you've ever been loved and fucks you like a twenty two year old on Viagra so you have nothing to complain about. And while Joel does get insecure sometimes about his age, when he watches you bounce up and down on his cock begging for more he knows that you’re more than satisfied.

You turn the corner to find the familiar mural, still crowded with tourists and drawn all over.

Before I die:________________

"You mind if I write something?"

Joel looks surprised by your question but immediately takes your coffee cup and his free hand.

"Course not, baby. Take your time."

You kiss him gently before going over to the mural. There are hundreds of white pieces of chalk all around the ground in front of it. You take a piece and go to one of the free spaces, your elegant swoops clacking against the backdrop of frenzied writing. You drop the chalk to the ground, brushing the dust from your fingertips and sailing over to a waiting Joel.

"Wanna see what I wrote?"

Joel nods, smirking as you grab his wrist and drag him over to the mural. He stands beside you, his dark eyes searching for your familiar looping script amongst the sea of writing. Then he sees it, complete with a little heart beside it.

Before I die: I want to have Joel Miller's baby.

Joel smiles sweetly at this, eyes glazing over with adoration as he looks at the mural and then back to you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"One day, baby," he promises you with a sweet kiss.

You know he's trying not to be too excited. He's expressed his concern of making you feel pressured before. "I'd love to have a baby with you honey. But only if it's somethin' you want. No pressure from me.' How can he not understand that you'd happily give him an entire football team?

"One day might be sooner than you think, Joel," you say gently.

It takes him a moment to realize that you're holding your palm over your abdomen. The coffee he holds that you'd insisted needed to be decaf. Then it's like it all comes crashing into focus and his eyes go owlish.

"You're-"

"Yeah."

Joel is normally not that expressive a man outside the bedroom or even outside the house. So it takes you by surprise when he drops both half-full coffee cups and lets out a whoop before hoisting you into his arms.

"We're havin' a baby!" Joel shouts, twirling you around. You throw your head back in laughter, arms around his neck as you spin.

The nearby tourists give cheers and claps, causing your cheeks to flush in embarrassment even as you laugh.

But Joel is soaking it up, eyes crinkled in delight, and you realize that he never had this with Sarah. He was young and frightened. But now he shouts his excitement and you don't have it in your heart to tell him to keep quiet.

Eventually he lets you down only so he can grab your face in his hands and kiss you so soundly whistles begin nearby.

"Okay that's enough," you tell him with a laugh.

He takes your hand and starts to lead you back towards the truck, a goofy grin on his face.

"I thought we were walking?"

"In this heat? I'm gettin' you home and outta the sun."

Not even five minutes have gone by since he learned of your pregnancy and already he's started to worry about how to take care of you.

"Congratulations," an older couple says as you walk by. You both thank them enthusiastically, the older women grinning up at Joel. "Your wife is so beautiful."

"Ain't she?" Joel says, his smile broad against his tanned face. "Most beautiful woman inside and out."

"You're a lucky woman," the older woman says with a wink to you. You look up at your husband and feel your heart swell.

"Ma'am, you have no idea."

///

"What's your guess?"

"I hope it's a girl," Sarah announces from her folding chair in the middle of the swelling group.

"Nah, it's a boy," Tommy insists with a grin. "We need more male energy around here."

Sarah raises a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun, her engagement ring glinting in the sunlight.

"The last thing this place needs is more male energy, Tommy."

The nearby group laughs as you run your hand over your swollen midsection. Joel's arm is around your shoulder and you feel his laughter rumble against your body.

You're seven months pregnant and you're glowing. Everyone tells you that. You've never felt as beautiful as you do carrying Joel Miller's child.

The backyard is decorated with tiny blue and pink baby silhouettes and it's ridiculously full with people from Joel's work, from your work and school friends, with Sarah's fiancé Charlie and his family, and your neighbors. The music plays in the background, the beers and wine are flowing and everyone seems to be having a great time.

There's a pile of gifts for you and Joel to open later, and your parents mailed you out the largest package you've ever seen. You'd been unable to wait before opening that one with Joel this morning.

Inside was an assortment of baby clothes, diapers, expensive looking cream, a bottle warming device and another small package wrapped in green ribbon.

Inside this package was a rattle, a simple thing made of silver. Small and delicate with a pink bow faded over the years. Your eyes blur when you read the note.

This rattle was once Heather's and then yours. It brought you both a great amount of joy and we thought it was only appropriate for it to be passed down to our grandchild.

We apologize that we can't be there for the party, but we'd love to have you, Joel, and the baby up for Christmas this year if you would like to attend. If not we understand and perhaps could make plans for sometime in the New Year.

Love, Mom and Dad

Joel is very excited to see what in his own words are "Where the uptight assholes live". He's still not their biggest fans and you're all trying to work through it. You're happy with how things are slowly progressing so far.

"I'm voting girl," Maria tells you shrewdly, bouncing her own young son over her shoulder as she encourages him to burp.

"I'll just be happy it's healthy," Joel insists, squeezing your shoulder gently.

"Ten fingers and ten toes," you say after him.

Joel kisses you sweetly.

"When are we doing this damn reveal?" Comes a voice from the crowd.

Several others join in until a smiling Joel is helping you to your feet and guiding you towards the table by the patio that's covered in cupcakes. There's one small cake covered in white frosting and blue and pink question marks.

Joel stands beside you, one hand on the small of your back. The music is lowered and the crowd comes to circle you and Joel.

You give a wink to Sarah who returns it with a grin. You can see she's wearing the sash you bought her, the one that says "Big Sister".

"Okay are y'all ready?" Joel raises the large cutting knife with one hand as the crowd cheers.

Sarah raises her phone in front of her, hitting record. "Yep. Go for it!"

"How about you?" Joel asks gently, gazing down at your grinning expression. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

His hand is gripping the handle of the knife and he encourages you to place your hand over his. You both slice down the middle, bringing the knife back out of the cake to reveal pale pink icing along the blade.

"It's a girl!"

Cheers sound out everywhere around you, poppers going off with baby rattle shaped confetti. The cupcakes are passed around and everyone gives their congratulations and hugs, citing that you and Joel are going to make the most beautiful baby.

You feel like you can't stop smiling. Is life supposed to feel this perfect?

The food is delivered shortly after, and the swarm of guests descend upon Austin's best BBQ. Paper plates and beer bottles soon line the folding tables Joel set up early this morning.

"For a baby shower being put on for me I sure have to do a lot of fuckin' work for it," he murmured to you this morning before getting up to help Tommy set up.

You watch the people milling around the tables, smiling to yourself as you watch them laugh and chat. The backyard buzzes with energy and mild chaos and you love every second of watching it.

"What do you think of the name Eleanor?" You muse as you and Joel sit next to one another at one of the tables. "Means shining light."

Joel makes a face as if he's not quite on board.

"Mmmm, s'a bit old fashioned."

You purse your mouth in disappointment. You'd come upon that name in a book you were reading and found yourself completely taken with it. You try to find some middle ground.

"We could call her Ellie?"

Joel's smile grows at this, whispering it under his breath a few times in that sweet twang of his. Ellie Ellie.

"I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Joel's mouth finds your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. His voice lowers an octave, quiet and husky in your ear.

"You know what I else I like?"

"Mmm?"

"How you looked coming for me this mornin'."

Your face goes scarlet and you let out a surprised giggle before schooling your features into an exaggerated look of seriousness.

"We'll have to behave now, Mister Miller since we're both going to be parents," you tell him with mock solemnity.

You don't miss the way his nostrils flare at the sound of Mister Miller passing through your lips.

Nor do you miss when he follows you into the house moments later when you claim to need the bathroom.

He follows you inside in silence, his gaze heated as he comes to cup your swollen breasts through the thin fabric of your dress. You whimper softly, not wanting any passing guests to hear you.

“You’re not wearing a bra today are you?”

“Uh uh,” you grin wickedly. “I know you love it when they bounce for you.”

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grins against your ear before he turns you away from him, hands coming to grip the meat of your ass through your dress.

"Will you fuck me?" You purr, hand coming to graze his already throbbing bulge through his trousers. You shoot him your best innocent gaze, lashes fluttering.

"Please, Mister Miller?"

He fumbles with his belt buckle as you slide your panties down over the globe of your ass. Joel lets out a grunt before sinking into you, his broad chest bracketing you from behind. Your head tilts back, jaw hinged open. He feels so fucking good every single time.

He fucks you against the door; hand over your mouth as you grip his neck behind you for purchase. Your belly nestles against the door lightly and your hips flex as he drives himself deeper into your drenched pussy.

"Made me a Daddy," Joel groans in your ear, hips snapping against yours in a fervor. "Let me fuck you full and now everyone knows you're mine."

There's a sound of loud laughter outside and it makes you whimper as his cock pistons in and out of you. His hand is still sealed over your mouth.

"Take it all, pretty girl. Take it all."

His hands hold you tightly, but secure. He's paranoid of hurting you and the baby but that doesn't stop him from fucking you until his thrusting hips start to stutter.

You glance over your shoulder to watch him, eyes shut and teeth bared as he fucks into you over and over. He’s fucking gorgeous like this, neck strained and curls falling into his forehead. One of the buttons of his dress shirt has come undone in the frenzy, showing you a swath of his muscled chest.

Your man.

"Taking me so well," he groans in approval. He opens his eyes to see you staring up at him with hearts in your eyes and he grins down at you. His face lowers to your shoulder as he croons more filth into your ear ending with a sultry:

"Such a good girl."

"And good girls get your come Mister Miller," you remind him breathlessly, a smile lingering as he kisses you soundly.

"Yes they fuckin' do."

---------------------

a/n #2: Y'all I had to end it on a filthy note because of how these two started. Don't hate me for it heh heh

---------------------

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guelyury · 9 days

Text

A Little Sun part 6 Dieter!Bravo x f!Reader

rating: 18+ words: 8.4k pairings: Dieter x f!Reader

tags: pregnancy, details of body changing with pregnancy, insecurity, mention of family death, mutual pining, idiots in love, soft dieter, fluff, lurve, angst, miscommunication trope, female masturbation, male masturbation, dirty talk (thoughts). summary: You move in with Dieter after the fight with your mom and things get... complicated. a/n: Y'all this thing has turned into such a fuckin' beast. Remember when I wanted it to be a one shot? Anyway, we're nearing the end with these two idiots in love but I think this one ends pretty damn sweet.

Also I think I'm in love with Dieter Bravo?

SERIES MASTERLIST

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.

Dieter doesn't even let you step fully into his home before he's got you in his arms, wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your suitcases clatter to the floor as you cling to him, burying your face in his neck and fighting back tears.

"You can stay as long as you want," Dieter promises you as one hand cups the back of your head. "Stay forever."

You give a watery chuckle into his shoulder, not quite ready to let go of him. You only break apart when the smell of European cigarettes wafts into the room.

You swipe at your damp eyes while Dieter turns to greet the tiny woman with a shock of white curls. She wears an oversized green t-shirt and loose khaki pants. She shuffles from place to place in her oversized moccasins.

"You remember Magda, right?"

"I think we've met a few times," you say extending your hand. The old woman gives you a look before shuffling over and placing her hand on your belly. You're in too much shock to pull back.

"A healthy boy," she tells you through a thick Eastern European accent. You and Dieter exchange looks of surprise.

"Uh yeah," you peer down at her shriveled frame, "How did you know that it was a boy?"

"I can tell."

She says it with a sage nod and then with that revelation she shuffles off to the kitchen, the feather duster still firmly lodged under her bony arm.

"She's the best," Dieter says says fondly before turning back to you with a look of expectancy. "Lemme show you where you're staying."

He takes both of your suitcase handles and jerks head to the left indicating you should follow.

You follow him out into his garden beside the pool. A place that you've never really visited much before. Most of your business has been conducted inside in his kitchen or in his office. You've heard about his guest house, how he had so many decorators come in over the years.

When you enter into it now, you're surprised at just how normal it seems. You were waiting for whips and chains and other strange memorabilia to line the walls. But instead it looks like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Crisp White's and Blue wainscotting. Overstuffed chairs and couches surround the coffee table from the photo he sent you. It's strangely tasteful.

It doesn't suit him at all.

Dieter must notice your surprise because he smirks before he rolls your suitcases towards the kitchen bar.

"Remember that Danish woman I dated for a couple months right after you started working for me?"

"Yeah, Lyda something.'

"Right. She wanted to start a career as an interior designer. I let her run the show in this place. Not really my taste."

"Not really mine either," You admit looking around the space. "It is beautifully done but I prefer the place we stayed in Ireland, like, that aesthetic. Old wood and big windows."

"I like that too," Dieter agrees. He sees you yawn and immediately feels guilty for keeping You up after such an emotional day.

"I'm going to have Petra whip you up something for dinner."

Petra is Dieter's chef who stocks his fridge with high end

"Dieter you don't-"

"You gotta take care of you and little Bravo remember?"

Dieter feels something in his chest bloom when instead of rolling your eyes you smile at him, nodding.

"Thanks Dieter."

You wake up the next morning in the plush duvet with your arms stretched above your head before rolling an absent hand down your swollen belly.

"Morning little boy," you whisper to the tiny being there beneath your fingertips. You give a groan as you gently roll yourself off the bed sliding into your slippers and pulling on your robe. Despite your devastation of what happened with your mother, waking up in this beautiful space on this gorgeously sunny day has you feeling hopeful.

This feeling is dampened slightly when you glance at your phone, looking to the calendar and seeing a date in the coming week starred. A date you have been dreading for months. Your birthday. The first one of yours since your father passed. Without your mom around this seems especially painful to consider. You close your phone, not wanting to think about it.

You spot a tall figure out the window and feel your cheeks flush. Something has shifted since Ireland. Something that terrifies you. The whisper of feelings that you're having a hard time repressing when you think of how he supports you.

But you push it from your mind. Your worlds don't match up. You’re serious, you take life seriously, you want to dedicate yourself to science. Dieter wants to fuck and party and grab life by the balls.

Plus he's with Mia and she makes him happy.

Dieter saunters across the backyard, narrowly missing the pool as he heads to the guest house. He's wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants under tattered robe, his eyes hidden behind his sunshades. He's carrying a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a smoothie in the other.

"Dieter it’s ten in the morning," you say as you open the sliding door to greet him.

"I'm still on Ireland time," he says giving you a waggle of his brows before setting the pale

pink smoothie down on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast when you're ready for it."

He sees you eyeing the smoothie warily and gives a deep rumbling chuckle.

"Petra made this one so you're safe. You like strawberries right?"

You take a tentative sip, before giving a soft moan of approval and drinking down the rest.

He rocks back on his heels a moment and despite the dark of his glasses, you can feel his gaze lingering on you.

"So... What're you up to today, Bravo?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"I'm officially no longer part of team Bravo remember?" You remind him with a sad chuckle as you place the empty glass back on the counter. "Diane cut my access to work emails and calendars."

"Shit that's right, I forgot." He looks at you with such a guilty expression. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay. I'm looking at this like a real non working vacation," you tell him honestly pointing out the window. "I figure you have a pool, there's a chef, a housekeeper, I brought books, what more could I ask for?"

"Plus you have a recreation staff," Dieter grins, taking you by the hand and twirling you gently towards him. "Dance lessons by the pool, movie nights, anything the customer wants."

"Hmmm an end to global warming?"

"Sorry that's only with the premium package."

You let out a loud laugh as Dieter joins you, spinning you into a hug. His mouth is only inches from yours and when the two of you realize this your mutual laughter ebbs.

Dieter wants nothing more than to press his mouth to yours, to taste you, to fuck you here in his home. But he knows it's not what you want. You don't want that from Dieter. You want somewhere safe to stay and he'll provide that to you.

Besides there is someone who does want his affection, his touch: Mia.

You swallow, your body poised and mouth slowly tilting towards Dieter before he seems to realize himself. He slowly extricates his arms from around you before reaching into his robe pocket, clearing his throat.

"Here's the key," Dieter tells you, holding it out to you. You take it, looking at the tiny Jameson keychain on it. The one that matches the one Dieter got you in Ireland that you wear on your own keychain. You smile at the sight of it before looking puzzled.

"A key?"

"For the guest house."

"I don't need to lock it," you chide even as you take it from him and toss it into your purse. "It's just you and me here right?"

"Yeah," Dieter hides the broad of his grin behind his whiskey glass. "Just you and me."

For the next several days Dieter tries to give you as much space as possible. He brings you a smoothie every morning citing that Magda is too busy. In the evenings he texts you to invite you over to the big house for dinner. Sometimes you join him, sometimes you’re just too tired.

You always go back to the guest house feeling a little bit down. You didn’t realize you missed sleeping in the same house, how Ireland made it almost feel like living together. Dieter’s place is so large it’s like you’re in separate neighborhoods.

Dinners are starting to be hard as well. Knowing you’ll be leaving to go back to the empty guest room. It’s a luxury, that’s for certain with its tall ceilings and plush bed. But it feels quiet without Dieter’s music or loud laughter.

And so you can admit to yourself that every morning he comes by with the pink smoothie and a big grin, your heart leaps a little bit. Like now, seeing him rushing over more frenzied than usual. He smiles, pushing the drink into your hand hurriedly.

“Here. Drink fast, I finished the nursery and want you to come look.”

“When did you have time to do the nursery?” You ask amazed as you follow him to the main house, smoothie almost drained by the time you reach his place.

“I’ve been in touch with this guy Diora from Albania over email since Ireland. He’s all the rage, super hard to get but he was really excited about trying his hand at a nursery. He just finished Criss Angel’s man cave and James Franco’s bedroom.”

Dieter sweeps a hand to the middle of your back, guiding you down the hall. When he opens the door with a flourish it takes everything in you not to gasp in horror. Your hand still rises to your mouth, though when you step into the room.

It looks like a sex dungeon.

Black and white striped walls, a beautifully ornate crib painted a ghastly red.

"Contrasting colors are good for baby’s retinas," Dieter says confidently. "I read it somewhere."

It takes you a few moments of staring at everything before you can speak.

"You have whips hung on the walls."

"Those are vintage skipping ropes," Dieter tells you aghast at your misunderstanding. You turn slowly, taking everything in. Finally you shake your head slowly.

"Dieter, this is totally inappropriate for a nursery," you say. "What baby would be happy here?"

Dieter takes a moment to glance around the space, his previous elation dimming with every word from you.

"This is what Diora suggested. He's the hottest designer right now."

"Of millionaire bachelor pads," you say as you look at a particularly ugly piece of metal hanging from the ceiling. "Not for a baby’s room."

"I'm not gonna have some tacky nursery with stuffed bears and shit,” Dieter defends. “I can't do it. Anyone who comes over and sees that'll think I've lost my edge."

The thought of being a father is immensely appealing to Dieter. The thought of being a loser Dad is not.

“Mia said it was cool,” Dieter shoots out. “I sent her photos.”

Mia is also in her early twenties, you want to snap. But you hold your tongue, trying to see the upsides to this nursery. Unfortunately you can see none. Everything is a safety hazard.

Dieter paces around the room, suddenly sour at the whole thing. He thought you’d be excited to see where the baby will be. Instead you’ve come in with your judgments and frowning face.

"Please let me... Dieter let me help you with this," you almost beg. "I just.... I know he's not mine but I can't stand the thought of him being in this... Baby prison."

I know he's not mine.

This hurts Dieter to hear it. He knows that you face no interest in being in this baby's life or his the week after you've given birth. But he can admit he's fooled himself with you being here.

But this? This is a project the two of you can work on. A potential to have more reason to have you in the house, not in that fucking guest house. He can only think of so many reasons to knock on your door apart from smoothies.

"Okay, sure."

“Okay,” you say looking relieved. “How about a pale blue or green? Then we can get a nice crib and some rugs and gauzy curtains.”

“That’s so boring.”

“And safe,” you emphasize. “You have to think of his safety, Dieter.”

Dieter pouts slightly in thought, trying to see the nursery through your eyes. He has to concede that perhaps this is a bit much for a newborn.

"Actually, you know what would look really beautiful on this far wall here?" You muse, looking at the space. "That painting you bought me for my birthday."

You think of the artwork hanging in your bedroom. The one of the woman looking out over the ocean, her hair whipping in the sea air. It’s the one thing you didn’t bring from home that you regret. There was something about that painting that made you feel relaxed.

"I didn't buy you that," Dieter says with a furrowed brow.

Your stomach sinks at this admission from Dieter and you wish you could take back everything. The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability. He never even fucking bought the thing himself. Diane probably did and here you are pouring your heart out about it.

"Oh, uh-Or Diane or whoever-"

"I painted it for you."

All the animosity that had been brewing behind your sternum drains from you. A smile blooms immediately, your body tingling as you roll onto your side to fully face him.

"You did?"

"Yeah," Dieter is smirking at you from the shadows. "I love painting. You think I'd buy you a fucking painting?"

“I think I just assumed that you got Diane or whoever to ship it to me."

"Maybe if you were someone else," Dieter muses, his gaze wandering around the nursery. "Someone who doesn't do everything for me." He falls silent a moment. "You really thought I bought it?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you think it was weird that the girl in the painting was you?"

Now you're stunned and it must show on your face because Dieter is chuckling softly now.

"You've had it hanging up your room for how long? Did you even look at it?"

"Of course I did, I do," you say in a rush, feeling embarrassed. You look at it every night you’re in your bedroom. "I just ... I never thought..."

"What?"

"I never thought you saw me."

Dieter blinks back at you, his dark eyes searching your face.

"I just mean you never even said thank you before this whole baby thing," you explain. "I've worked for you for a while and you kinda just expected I'd be at your beck and call all hours of the day and night, even on my days off."

"I'm sorry," Dieter whispers. "That was shitty of me."

"Why do you do it?

“I went through so many assistants I just assumed you wouldn’t be sticking around long.” Dieter looks ashamed as he says it out loud. “But then the longer you stayed the more I depended on you. I think… After a while I think it just felt weird to not message you.”

You both lapse into a thoughtful silence.

“You’ll manage just fine without me when I leave,” you tell him, needing him to know. “And if you’re ever feeling really lost and like you just need to talk to someone, you can always call me. Not as an employee, but as a friend.”

“Really? We’re friends?”

“Yeah,” you nod, heart hammering. “Friends.”

Dieter wakes up hard every morning for the next two weeks. He doesn't try to; he actively tries to think of other things before he goes to sleep. He watches documentaries, he reads art books, he meditates. He tries to push you from his thoughts so he can wake up normal.

But he always wakes up aching with the head of his cock weeping, flickering remnants of his dreams still floating around his subconscious. And those dreams are always of you.

Today he wakes up with the memory of his dream still lingering. You on your knees, his cock in your mouth and your eyes heavy lidded. As he shifts in bed Dieter realizes his boxers are sticky with previous release. A fucking nocturnal emission? How old is he?

And what's worse is that he's still fucking hard. Throbbing, actually He groans low in his throat and tries to ignore it.

You're here at his home. You're practically living with him. You're only a few steps from his back door. You're so close and yet so frustratingly far from him. He misses being in the same home as you, like the rental in Ireland. He misses the feeling of coming home after a long day on set and seeing your sweet face on the couch.

He wants that again.

Dieter rolls onto his belly to try and squash his current erection against the mattress. But that doesn't help, it just gives a delicious friction. He shifts again experimentally, groaning at the shiver that travels from the base of his spine to the tip. In his sleepy arousal he imagines that it's not the mattress but you that he's fucking.

"You like that?" Dieter murmurs, eyes closed as he rocks against his bed. "Like feeling me like that, baby?"

He pushes his hips into the bed, starting to rut when the pleasure increases.

You're so big, Dieter.

And suddenly he's thrusting against it, picturing your body writhing under him.

Need it, Dieter. Fuck me harder.

"Yes," Dieter groans into his pillow, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. He thrusts furiously into the soft fabric of the bed, hips bouncing up and down on the mattress.

Need your big cock, daddy, your dream self moans. Need it deep.

"Fuck yes, baby. Take Daddy's cock. Take it and-"

His phone chirrups loudly on the table next to him, breaking him from the immersive fantasy.

A name and photo flash up on the screen.

Mia.

Immediately he feels guilty. Here he is humping his mattress to thoughts of you as his gorgeous, talented, funny, sexy girlfriend is calling.

He breathes rapidly through his nose, slowing his grinding movements. He rolls over in the bed, reaching for the phone.

"Hey babe," Dieter says, panting as he answers. He flips onto his back, willing his cock to go down.

"You okay? You sound like you've been exercising and I know that can't be true."

Dieter barks a laugh at that. He's about to reply when he hears a splash outside his window. Mia starts chatting in his ear but he's completely taken with the view outside his window.

You're in a bikini, gliding through the clear water of his pool. Dieter feels his mouth run dry at the sight, especially when you roll over onto your back, your belly protruding from the water like a beacon. Your hair dances around your head, your eyes closed, face tilted towards the sun. You have the sweetest little smile on your face.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"Dee? You there?"

"Huh? Yeah, sorry babe what?"

"I wanted to know how you're getting on? I've been staying off socials for the last little bit of the shoot trying to stay focused. I finally saw the photos from the airport. How is the poor thing holding up?"

"Stressed, but better."

"She must be happy to be at home away from all that madness."

Dieter feels his stomach clench. He knows he has to be honest with Mia, she's his girlfriend, she deserves to know. And yet he hesitates because he knows how it sounds.

"She's staying in my guest house, actually," Dieter offers in what he hopes is a nonchalant voice.

The warmth from Mia's voice is immediately gone.

"Pardon me?"

"She's, uh, in my guest house for the time being," Dieter adds, closing his eyes and bracing himself.

Mia shuffles on the other end before her voice reaches out to him confused.

"I thought you wanted a relationship with me, Dieter. Otherwise why did your agent go to so much trouble to confirm it? To do a splashy roll-out?"

"I do want it."

"But you have the employee you got pregnant living with you?"

"Not with me. In the guest house."

"This is weird, Dee."

He hears the concern in her voice and he feels his stomach drop. He doesn't want to lose Mia.

"Her mom kicked her out," Dieter explains quickly. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Pay for a hotel?"

The answer is so clear, so obvious. Why didn't he offer a hotel? He has the money. Why had it been so important for him to have you here?

Because then he could see you every day.

The answer is immediate but he won't admit it. Not now.

"The paps have been relentless," Dieter says finally. "They'll camp out outside of wherever I put her up. Not like here where I know she's safe away from the public eye."

"But-"

"She's not like us, Mia," Dieter insists. "She doesn't want fame and all that shit. She's just a regular person who's pregnant and alone. Her mom kicked her out, she's got no one else."

He can almost hear Mia softening over the phone.

"It's just hard, Dee," she says finally. "Especially when I haven't seen you in weeks."

Dieter feels a flutter of panic at how sad she sounds. He wants to make it up to her and has a great idea of how.

"Prague!"

Dieter bursts out with this, wincing when he hears how loud he is.

"Sorry, what?"

"What do you think about Prague?" Dieter corrects himself, rubbing nervously at his beard. "You're flying to LA next week for our magazine spread, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you've always wanted to go to Prague, right?"

"Yes."

"So let's do it. After the shoot let's get away from everyone and everything for a few weeks just us two."

"You'd really want to do that?"

"Of course."

He hears Mia weighing the choice on the other end of the line. He holds his breath until he can almost hear her smile.

"Okay Dee, let's do it."

“Amazing,” Dieter says grinning. “I’ll get Diane to send you the details. See you next week.”

He hangs up quickly, undressing and pulling on his swim trunks.

You’re floating on your back, sunglasses on your face, your body most submerged in the cool water. You hear the sound of a door opening and crack one eye open to see Dieter approaching.

Dieter never uses his pool. He got the house on a whim and didn’t even notice it had a pool until he officially moved in. But right now seeing your tits overflowing out of your bikini cups has him so utterly thankful to his former self.

He shrugs off his robe, sliding into the chilly water with an exaggerated brrrr. He swims over to you, sunglasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Looked so refreshing I had to join.”

“It’s so nice,” you sigh, your arms and legs out as you soak up the sun and enjoy the lack of strain on your lower back. “I never want to get out.”

Dieter paddles near you for a moment, wanting to remember this moment before he recalls his conversation with Mia.

“Well you’ll have the place to yourself the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Mia and I are going to Prague like you suggested.”

“That’s so great," you say with a tightness in your voice. “When do you leave?”

“Next Thursday.”

Next Thursday.

Dieter stars to drone on about how Mia has all these restaurants and museums she wants to go to but all you can think of is that you’ll be alone on your birthday. The first one since your father passed. No mother to turn to. Nothing. You’ll be completely alone.

A sudden flutter begins in your abdomen and you give an absent smile, hand slowly sliding over your stomach.

Well, not completely alone.

From where you stand in your guest house kitchen you can see into the main house. Specifically into the dining room. At night when the landscape is dark and the lights are on inside you can see it very clearly.

Like tonight.

You can see him pacing inside the house, his tall frame gesticulating wildly. He's obviously going over some lines. He asked you to have dinner and run through them but you’d texted back some feeble excuse.

The truth is you need to separate yourself as much as possible from Dieter because you’re convinced that what you’re starting to feel can’t be explained away by hormones. This desire to be with him.

But he’s leaving with Mia in a few short days on some whirlwind romantic escape. You even showed him the best way to pack his fucking suitcase! The sight of a box of condoms at the bottom of it hidden by the toiletries bag made your throat tighten.

Despite this your eyes sail over to Dieter’s house again, watching him make a note on his script before running through the lines. He looks so sexy when he does it, totally lost in the moment. It reminds you of the character he played in Ireland.

Fuck, that insatiable need is coursing through your body again. The hormones kicking into overdrive as you feel your thighs press together at the memory of Dieter and that regency costume. He looked so good in it. You can almost hear his husky voice in your ear.

It's okay if you want it, baby. Lemme give it to you.

You throw yourself into your plush bed, your hands sliding down under your panties and working frantically against your straining clit.

Uh huh. Just like that. Gotta come on my fingers before you get this cock.

You throw your head back, thighs squeezing as you rut against your fingers. This phantom Dieter plays in your mind, his husky voice full of dark, delicious promise.

Gonna fuck such pretty sounds out of you.

"Dieter," you groan, unable to help yourself. It's pathetic how quickly and easily your orgasm overtakes you. It leaves you shuddering and whimpering, rutting into your fingers and then finally collapsing back as you stare at the ceiling.

What the fuck are you doing?

Despite everything Dieter is still your boss in some ways. He’s still the man paying you to have a child. Yes, he’s sort of a friend, but at the end of the day he still holds some authority over you.

You wish that last thought didn’t turn you on so much.

You’re still groaning when you hear the light tap of knuckles on glass and you jerk up in your bed, face flushed.

You wipe your damp hand on the sheets before slowly stumbling out of the bedroom. Dieter is standing there at the glass door, giving you a stiff wave. You move quickly, tugging the door open. The sound of cicadas and LA night traffic punctuate the formerly peaceful space.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m really sorry to come over here so late but Magda just told me when she was cleaning this place this afternoon she saw a roach.”

“What?”

Immediately you’re moving towards him, glancing behind you in disgust. Your eyes sweep the floor and counters for any trace. Strange, you haven’t noticed anything and this place is kept perfectly clean.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods, looking tense. “So I gotta get this place fumigated ASAP.”

“Of course.”

“But the fumes are bad for the baby so you’ll have to move your stuff into the main house until it’s finished.”

“For how long do you think?”

“Dunno,” Dieter shrugs, motioning to the room airily. “I was gonna call a guy in the morning to get some quotes. Might be a couple weeks before they can get someone out here.”

A couple weeks? Dieter has enough money to have the place fumigated tonight if he really wanted to. You gaze up at Dieter about to say as such when you see the searching nature of his eyes and suddenly the shoe drops.

There’s no roach.

You note the tense way he rubs his fingers together, the way his brows rise and eyes go owlish the longer you stare at him.

“I’m terrified of roaches,” you finally tell him as you start to throw your stuff into your suitcases. “Can I move my stuff in tonight?”

“Would be the safest,” Dieter nods exaggeratedly helping you to pack. It takes no time at all before he’s helping you carry the suitcases across the yard and into his home.

The guest room is just as nice as the guest house with tall ceilings but slightly less homey. Dieter prefers marble floors and gold accents. Things he was taught as a child meant rich. The bed is lovely, but minimalist. You are however very impressed with the large bathtub and even bigger rain forest shower. You put your suitcases to the side, feeling Dieter watch you from the doorway.

“It’s still early you wanna watch a doc or something?”

You bite back the delighted smile that threatens to bleed over your features before you turn to face him.

“Sure.”

“Okay, you got your passport, the tickets are on your phone, your bags are packed,” the young man’s reedy voice lists off things from his checklist as the three of you stand in the kitchen the following week. Dieter is sitting on one of the stools dressed nicely and looking nervously from the paper to you, completely ignoring Rupert.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Dieter.”

“What if you go into labor?”

“Almost three months early?” you force a laugh from where you stand by the fridge. “Then we have bigger issues than you not being here. Now c’mon. Mia’ll be here any second.”

Today is the photo spread for the movie Mia and Dieter starred in. It’ll run late so the lovebirds have decided on spending the night in a fancy hotel before shuttling off to Prague the next day. Dieter is always nervous about trips away but he realizes this is especially daunting since he’ll have no PA with him.

Diane has sent him someone new over during the week. A young man with bloodshot eyes and a nervous countenance named Robert or Roger. Dieter can’t remember. All he knows is that the kid does his job decently but he isn’t you.

But he promised himself that he would plan this trip for he and Mia. He researched the restaurants and hotels with her and booked it all. He got them the best seats in the plane and the nicest suite in the hotel.

But all he can think is that he’s going to be away from you for two weeks. Away from his son nestled safely in your body.

“I made a new tape for him,” Dieter says, suddenly snapping. He reaches into his pocket and slides the tape towards you. “Make sure he listens.”

“Yes, yes,” you say rolling your eyes.

The doorbell rings and Rupert immediately goes to answer it leaving you and Dieter alone. He watches you peering into the fridge trying to find something to satisfy your current craving of salty vanilla pudding.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

His voice is a quiet hum. Your mouth tries to form the words but all you can think of is Dieters warm eyes, his hands caressing your belly, the sweet timbre of his voice when he reads to you when you can’t sleep.

“I’m going to be okay,” you promise him softly as you glance over to him. “Now go say hello to your girlfriend.”

Dieter nods resolutely before bolting around the corner to see Mia. You hear his excited greeting and you try not to feel upset. Instead you dig around in the cupboard for something salty. You hear your name being called and you turn to see Dieter and Mia entering the room.

Mia’s eyes go round with shock at seeing you waddle towards her. You give a bright smile, despite the pang that goes through you at the sight of them hand-in-hand.

"Oh wow," Mia says when you waddle into the room holding a bag of chips.

"Weird right?"

"A little," she laughs. You join in, knowing how strange this entire scenario is. You feel like a baby hippo meanwhile Mia looks like she just stepped off the runway.

“So nice to see you,” she says, giving you an awkward hug as she avoids the bump. “I brought a little something for the baby,” she hands a wrapped gift to Dieter, “and one for you.”

Dieter unwraps the package, bringing out a first edition copy of Winnie the Pooh. Your eyes widen at the sight. That must have cost her a fortune.

“Thanks babe,” Dieter says warmly, kissing her. You look away, unwilling to watch and unwrap your gift from Mia which turns out to be a delicate crystal flower vase. Arguably one of the most useless things on the planet since you hate flowers. Dieter knows this and you think you catch a curl of amusement in his face.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you falter.

“I know,” she says sweetly. “I just saw it and thought of you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, careful not to exchange amused looks with Dieter across the room. You shoot a soft smile at Mia. “Thank you so much. I’ll go pop it in my room so it doesn’t get broken. Magda tends to be a little chaotic when she cleans.”

You turn, about to go down the hallway to the bedroom when you feel something like tension in the room. You don't know why you pause but you do.

"I thought you were staying in the guest house?" She asks you but her eyes are scanning Dieter’s face.

“She was,” Dieter explains, hoping his cheeks aren’t red. “But there were roaches.”

Mia’s face scrunches. “Roaches?”

“Yeah,” you finally fumble, rubbing absently at your stomach. "The guest house needed to be fumigated and that’s not safe for the baby. That’s the only reason I’m in the guest room. I’ll be out in the guest house as soon as the fumigation is over."

Mia nods, but you don't miss the lingering look there in her light eyes.

With Dieter in Prague for the next few weeks you have a lot of free time to yourself. The only problem is you have no one to spend it with. You can't be seen in public now without a bodyguard save for your short walks through Dieter's Calabasas neighborhood. Phone calls with your mom are no longer an option. So you spend most of your time scrolling through social media, watching movies and swimming.

Dieter has always been annoying but he's the kind of annoying that brings you comfort now. Without his loud presence in the house you start to feel lonely. A strange feeling you've never really experienced due to your busy lifestyle.

It makes you long for the sound of Dieter's record player in the art room. Makes you long for his brash laughter during a funny commercial. Makes you long for the way your voices worked against one another when practicing lines, the sound of him muttering to himself when he reads something that interests him in the paper, the way he rasps your name when he’s just woken up.

All the sounds of Dieter that you realize have come to be their own comforting symphony to you.

But he’s with Mia and that's how it should be. They're on the same level. And you know that these feelings are from your hormones. This warmth will fade the second this child is taken from you and is likely contributing to this lonely feeling that arises with you each empty morning.

He’s only been gone four days but those days seem to stretch into eternity. Your mind is usually so full and your schedule packed. But you’re almost annoyingly free right now. Dieter has made only one request of you and that is to update the app every day at least once. He says it makes him feel less guilty about leaving, even though you're the one who encouraged it.

So you do.

29 weeks

Cravings

SALT

Vanilla

pie filling

chips

peanuts

Missing

the ability to see my feet

Baby is size of butternut squash

The only thing that tethers you to Dieter are the sporadic text messages he sends you. Where you once found his constant need to stay in touch annoying, now you crave his random messages, re-reading them with a smile.

[1:44pm] D: I hate not speaking Czech. I feel like everyone is making fun of me and I have no proof. [1:44pm]: You're being paranoid. [1:44pm] D: I'm not!!! [1:46pm] D: Okay maybe a little. Mia and I did an edible. [1:46pm]: Dieter! [1:46pm] D: Diane said no hard drugs! Edibles are natural.

You roll your eyes.

[1:47pm]: Whatever. Hope you're having fun.

You wish you could see his face when you recall Mia's instagram. You forgot you follow her. The second you click on her story you wish you hadn't. It's her and Dieter in a gorgeous spot in Prague chatting with the caption: Czech us Out! @BravoitsDieter

Your loneliness hits you on the fifth day quite acutely. And instead of turning to television or swimming you lay on your back in bed and stare up into the ceiling before your fingers fumble for your phone and you type hurriedly.

[6:08am]: I think he has your hair. [6:12am] D: Huh? What?? Why? [6:12am]: They say if the mother has lots of heartburn then the kid will have lots of hair. Right now I feel like my heart has been dropped in acid. [6:13am] D: No way. I thought babies were always bald. [6:13am]: Not always. I wasn't. Were you? [6:13am] D: Dunno. Never saw baby photos of myself. [6:14am]: Why not? [6:14am] D: My mom cared about stuff like that. When she died my dad just put everything in the attic and tried to forget.

You didn't know that about Dieter. You've heard snatches of information from other staff that Dieters dad is a low life, but to not save photos of your kid? That seems cruel.

[6:14am]: I'm sorry. [6:15am] D: NP. [6:15am] D: Mia is taking me to a museum so I gtg ttyl

You frown at the phone.

"What a bitch," you murmur before stopping yourself. You think about how your baby can probably hear sounds outside the womb now and you feel guilty.

"No, actually, she's not a bitch. She's really lovely and she's so good for your dad."

Your hands drift over your belly slowly, subconsciously as you speak and soon your eyes follow suit.

"Strange to think you're just in there all snuggly," you tell your belly with amusement. You gasp when you think you can feel a slight flutter within you abdomen.

"Is that you?" You wonder aloud. "Can you hear me?"

The fluttering continues and you feel something in you shift. Your heart squeezes pleasantly. He rarely moves around for just you. It seems he's most active when Dieter is nearby.

"You're really in there," you laugh to yourself. "And you can hear me."

The lonely feelings begin to dissipate. You're not alone - you have your son to keep you company. You talk to him through the day. You make jokes about bubble having Dieters hair. You talk to Bubble about the book you read on the porch. When you watch a documentary you narrate for the baby.

You update the app with a cheerful photo of you making a heart over the bellybutton with your fingers. You think Dieter will get a kick out of it.

When you go to bed you put the headphones over your belly and hit play on the walkman.

"This is a new one from your Dad," you tell your belly wryly as you position the foam on either side of your bump. "So I apologize now if it's fucking annoying."

With a serene smile you go to sleep with his muffled voice against your skin. And when you wake up on the sixth day you feel good. It's not until you look at the calendar that you're reminded of Friday's date.

Your birthday.

The first one without your father. It makes your stomach drop.

As if all of California has gotten the memo the day is grey and drizzly. You spend most of the day napping and eating whatever Petra has put together. But by mid afternoon you’re feeling restless. You try walking around the block, but the weather drives you back inside. You try to distract yourself but nothing seems to work.

Petra and Magda have gone home for the day. It’s just you and bubble and right now it feels like it’s just you. You decide to order a pizza for dinner, and as you wait for your Hawaiian Delight to arrive you can’t help but reach out to the one person you wish was here.

[5:48pm]: How is Prague? [5:50pm] D: Boring. [5:50pm]: Only you would say Prague is boring, Dieter. [5:51pm] D: In the airport now. Gonna go to Germany for a couple days. Mia really wants to see Cologne Cathedral and apparently they’re doing some once-in-a-decade tour event thing. I dunno. How’s the bubble? [5:51pm]: Still here.

You don’t know why you’re both still calling him Bubble. The tabloids have made it impossible not to be aware that you’re pregnant after all. But there’s something sweet about referring to him as your little Bubble.

[5:52pm] D: airport is so fucking noisy and I'm so tired. found coffee though.

[5:52pm]: Make sure not to drink too much. You won’t sleep on the plane. [5:52pm] D: U didn’t update the app today. [5:53pm]: Sorry, been distracted. [5:53pm] D:??? [5:53pm] D: How come?

You have no desire to get into this over text. Besides it’s not Dieters problem, it’s yours. And it’s not a problem it’s just. . . life.

[5:55pm]: Doesn’t matter. Here, this will have to do.

You attach a picture of your hand over your swollen bump and send it over.

You’re surprised when you see Dieter calling.

“Hello?”

“Why are you distracted?”

“Dieter don’t you have better things to do than call me about this?” You say rolling your eyes, but still delighted to be hearing his raspy voice. “Aren’t you in the airport?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t Mia with you?”

“She went to get another magazine for the flight. You gonna tell me what’s going on? Is it the Bubble?”

“No,” you say grunting as you lean back against the sofa.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine!”

“Cmon,” Dieter cajoles. “You know I’m just gonna keep calling and texting until you tell me.”

“Its pregnancy brain,” you throw out, hoping this will satiate him.

“Liar. Your voice always does that clipped thing when you lie.”

You can’t help but feel a small smile cross your features. You hear the distant boarding call for his flight and you decide you might as well tell him. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that your dead is dead.

“It’s just… It’s my birthday. The first one since my dad died and ...."

You trail off. You hear silence on the other end of the phone and then a soft fuck.

“Dieter?”

“I thought it was next month,” Dieter is murmuring and you can hear him tapping on the phone. “Fucking calendar. Fuck. I thought it was next month same day. That’s what I have it as. Fuck. This is why I don’t program my own fucking electronics. Fuck.”

“Nope. Today,” you clarify, amused at how frazzled he sounds. “But it’s not your problem. It’s just this is my first birthday without my Dad and, my Mom isn’t talking to me and I realized I’ve worked so hard so long I have no real friends and…. It’s just…”

You break off when you feel tears starting.

“Anyway, not your problem,” you say forcing your voice up an octave. “I’m only telling you because you asked. I hope you and Mia enjoy your trip! I can’t wait to see photos.”

“Hey, wait-“

“I gotta go,” you say, brushing the stray tears that have escaped. “Pizza guy is here. Bye!”

You hang up the phone and then place it on silent. You don’t want to talk with him anymore. You don’t want to talk with anyone. You just spoke to Dieter but that doesn't stop you from missing him. It gets to the point where you pull up old interview footage with him on YouTube just so you can hear his voice and see his smile.

When the pizza arrives you pay the guy delivering it, but then you just shove the box in the fridge. You take a shower, letting the tears mingle with the steamy droplets before pulling on a new nightdress. You grab the walkman and headphones, about to put them on when you pad t the kitchen for a glass of water.

You walk back, about to retire to your guest room, walking past Dieter’s bedroom. You’ve rarely ever been inside it and never when he isn’t at home. But something about today compels you into it, something make you push open the door and walk to his bed.

The room is recently cleaned by Petra, the bed freshly made, the floors sparkling, his clothing put away. The fireplace is off but you switch it on, noticing his tattered green robe freshly washed and hanging on the back of the bedroom door. You don’t even think about it, you just pull it on over your sleep dress and stumble into his bed.

Dieter’s bed is so comfy, even better than the one in his guest house and room. You curl under the sheets, burying your face in his pillow. It smells like his expensive shampoo and the cologne he sometimes wears. It brings tears to your eyes.

You wish he was here.

You turn onto your back, tummy swollen and resting heavily. It makes you long for Dieter in all aspects. Not just to fuck, but to spend time with. He's so different from anyone you know. He doesn't follow rules or social norms. But when you're with him you feel calm and not judged. It makes you feel like you can let go.

"Your daddy really is wonderful," you murmur to your belly, stroking it. "You might hear bad stuff but you need to know what a good heart he has. He's so generous and funny and he loves so deeply. You're not even here yet and he's so in love with you."

You look at the walkman resting beside you, and instead of putting it around your abdomen something inspires you to put the headphones on yourself. You’ve never listened to the message before but tonight you do.

You slip the cheap foam over your ears, rewinding the tape and smiling when his voice sounds out over the tape.

“Hey little Bravo, this is your dad speaking. I just found out you’re gonna be a boy. Woah. My son. Uh, I need you to know that you are so special and that when you’re born we’re gonna have so much fun. I’ve already made a list of places we’re gonna go. And-“

It goes on like this for several minutes with Dieter excitedly detailing all his future plans for he and his son. You hang onto every word, enraptured with the life he has in store for his son. You imagine a future with Dieter holding a baby with his same wild hair. And in this future you see him reach for a woman, but she isn’t you. It’s Mia, and she looks so happy with them. The perfect family.

Dieter’s voice draws you back in.

“You need to know that your Mom loves you just as much as me. I watch her patting you and whispering to you all the time. She told me last week that you were the size of a head of cauliflower. Then she started humming a song about her cauliflower son.”

You laugh out loud at the memory of you swimming a few weeks ago humming a tune about a cauliflower son. You didn’t even realize Dieter was paying attention. You turn your attention back to the recording.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so so much. I’m so excited to meet you.”

You stop the tape, rewinding it.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”

You sniffle, rewinding the tape again.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”

Again.

“I love you so much.”

Again and again you rewind to hear that section. And as you finally drift off into sleep it’s to the gentle sound of the man you desire whispering how much he loves you.

Dieter arrives at home late, toeing off his sneakers as he yawns, scratching his belly before heading for his bedroom. The suitcase is left at the front door, tomorrow’s problem. He’s exhausted from the flight and he needs to get some sleep before he talks to you tomorrow morning.

He opens the door to his room, preparing to throw himself into bed when he notices the fireplace is on. He pauses, seeing you in your bed lying on your side sleepily soundly. A small smile curls onto his lips when he sees the bright yellow walkman in your hand, fingers loosely around it. What strikes him is that you're wearing the headphones; you don't have them around your belly.

Dieter is quiet, looking down at your peaceful sleeping face illuminated by your bedside table. One of your hands is splayed over your belly protectively and this makes him smile. He gently pulls the earphones from off your head, sliding the walkman from your grip and placing both on his nightstand.

He figures he’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, musing that you’re playing musical beds tonight.

You murmur something sleepily, something be doesn't catch. He takes a minute longer to look at you and then his face hovers over yours. He kisses you softly, an innocent press of his lips to yours.

"G'night baby mama."

You shift partly awake, arms reaching out to wrap around his neck. He grins, allowing himself to get pulled into the bed next to you. You’re so warm. You don't say anything; you just snuggle up against him, face nuzzling against his neck.

"Go back to sleep, baby," Dieter tells your sleepy frame. "Just turning the light off."

He presses a ginger kiss to your temple before his free hand clicks the light next to the bed.

"Okay, love you, g'night," you murmur, still mostly dozing.

Dieter is silent, unmoving as your words rattle around in his head. He waits until you're snoring before he finally replies.

"I love you too."

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