Oh My God This Is So Good! Your Descriptions Of Everything Made Me Feel Like I Was Truly There!

Oh my god this is so good! Your descriptions of everything made me feel like I was truly there!

I couldn’t help but laugh at the ending 😅 Poor Kate and Madison rushing through 🤣😂

it’s hell on earth to be heavenly

pairing: security guard!Frankie x band leader!fem!reader

rating: E for Explicit

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ content, reader has no physical description besides female anatomy and clothing, Frankie is able to lift reader, aggressive music festival crowds, mental health scare, Frankie is our pussy eating king, unprotected piv sex, creampie

a/n: my contribution to the Summer Lovin' challenge hosted by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery, and @amanitacowboy!! i'm so excited to share this one, the story came to me immediately when i got the moodboard. i'm a huge concert girlie so i may have nerded out just a bit 😅 anyway, happy Frankie Friday, enjoy some filth 😘

You knew your lives were about to change the moment the festival was confirmed. You just weren’t prepared for how much.

The band had solidified by the end of your first year of college. You met Madison, the bassist, in your orientation group the week before classes began. She learned how to play in high school out of spite when an ex-boyfriend made a comment about how “girl bassists aren’t real” – her major was in English Lit. Tyler, the rhythm guitarist, was your biology lab partner in the second semester. He was a couple years older, already in his third year and still undecided on his major but like any other former teenage wannabe-fuckboi, he only learned how to play guitar as a party trick to pick up girls. Over Spring Break, he threw a party at the apartment he shared with his sister, Kate, who’d decided not to take the college route despite being the same age as you and Madison. You learned that she was on the drumline in her high school’s marching band, so you didn’t hesitate to snatch her up and round out the group as your drummer.

You had a bit more classical background. Your mom had put you in piano lessons almost as soon as you were tall enough to reach the keys. She tacked on voice lessons when you were in middle school. By the time you were 12, you had your heart set on being a composer and performing at concert halls around the country. Your uncle was the one to teach you how to play guitar; he had a side gig at a local sports bar playing crowd-requested covers and pulled some strings to book the restaurant for your 16th birthday. You were mesmerized by the way everyone would join in and sing along, would-be strangers bound by nothing but an invisible string of words and chords. You ached to know that feeling and suddenly your path was even clearer than before.

The four of you hadn’t intended to form a band. Your bond as friends came first, the music just came from goofing off at a frat party and earning some cheers from drunk bystanders. From there, you did campus events and open-mic nights at dive bars, all just for fun and a little extra pocket money. You even played a wedding for your roommate’s cousin. Your first original song was a by-product of a final poetry assignment for one of Madison’s classes. The four of you recorded yourselves, put it up on YouTube, and it went viral within 24 hours. So you spent that summer just writing music. Pooling together your money allowed you to rent out the campus music department’s recording studio and your first EP was born.

That’s also where you met Frankie.

He had just taken a job as overnight campus security, and it was his first graveyard shift. It had been expectedly uneventful, sweeping through each building and making sure they were empty. Until one wasn’t as empty as it was supposed to be.

He saw the light at the end of the hallway and his Army training kicked in. Soft, slow steps carried him to the occupied practice room. There you sat at the piano, plunking out experimental chords and scratching out notations on the sheet music in front of you. You were so focused that you didn’t even hear the very audible creak of the door as Frankie pushed his way in. He waited a moment for you to respond, assuming he had just caught you mid-thought but when you still didn’t acknowledge his presence, he cleared his throat a bit more aggressively than he intended. “Excuse me.”

You jumped and swiveled around the bench. Your eyes were wide and tinged red with fatigue. You’d been there for hours, insistent on getting the song right.

“Miss, this building is closed.”

You blinked, digesting his words. “Right. Sorry, um,” you squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled at the sting of their dryness, “what time is it?”

“Nearly 1am.” Frankie softened, sure you weren’t any threat, but still maintained his authoritative stance. “You’re not supposed to be here. Could I see some ID?”

After digging through your bag and showing him your driver’s license and student badge, the situation cleared itself up pretty quickly. You’d explained what you were doing there and even showed him the official email from the department head giving your band permission to access the building over the summer. This sparked Frankie’s interest and the two of you probably would’ve spent hours talking if it hadn’t already been so late.

Despite your band’s clear potential, you all agreed to finish out your degrees before pursuing the industry for real. While you were afraid of missing your opportunity, having achieved such a bright spotlight so early on, a part of you was grateful. For time. For structure. For Frankie.

The two of you grew close over those last three years of your undergrad. You exchanged numbers with the veiled excuse of being able to contact him if you needed to get in or out of a building late at night. This eventually became if you needed him for anything. And one night at the end of senior year, you needed him bad.

The university had a tradition of throwing an exclusive off-campus party for the seniors the night after final grades were due. Being the only two band members in school, it was just you and Madison. Classic story, she was invited out afterwards by a bunch of other English majors, leaving you with no ride. So you called Frankie, and he pulled up in the parking lot within minutes. Fueled by the sadness of leaving him behind post-graduation and a little bit of alcohol, you seized your moment as soon as he parked behind your dorm building. The two of you showed just how badly you were going to miss each other in the back of his pickup.

--

You’re pulled from your memories by the hotel room door opening. Madison and Kate come spilling in, all dressed for the festival. Kate bangs on the adjoining room door, signaling Tyler to come over, and flops onto the bed opposite from Madison. You do one last look over your hair and makeup and emerge from the bathroom to get dressed.

Madison ooh’s in admiration while Kate whistles. “Okay, baddie.”

You roll your eyes and start to strip. Your concert outfit is laid out across the armchair by the window. “Do you guys wanna go over the set one last time?”

“Yeah, as soon as Tyler gets his ass over here!” Kate raises her voice to be heard in the room next door.

“Is everyone decent?” Tyler’s muffled voice comes from behind the door just as you finish buttoning your jeans.

“Yeah,” you yell back and bunch up your top, pulling it over your head as the door opens. You adjust the hem of the cropped tank and sit on the armrest, and the final band meeting is in session.

Right on time 20 minutes later, there’s another knock on the door. Being the closest, Madison hops up to open it and returns with Frankie in tow. “Y’all ready?”

The four of you share nervous and excited glances and you turn to him. “Fuck yeah.”

You and Frankie had kept in close contact after the band moved to LA in pursuit of a record label. He became your security detail shortly after your first tour as an opening act two years ago, fitting into the position perfectly with his military background. You’ve never run into any real issues, still being a relatively obscure group, but you were certainly on the rise.

This music festival was proof. The first single from your second album had just dropped when you got the call: opening the third largest stage on the first day of the event. You were billed third on the promotional fliers. For a band so comparatively unknown, this opportunity would either make or break you.

Frankie drops you off backstage for soundcheck exactly on time. You’re all immediately swarmed by operators and technicians and Frankie disappears off to the sidelines. He listens intently as you all tune your instruments and warm up your fingers and voices. He even catches himself humming along as you play bits and pieces of your setlist to confirm everything is in order.

Frankie’s attention is yanked away by the growing sound of the crowd in front of the stage. The four of you catch on to it as well, Madison and Tyler giddy with excitement and Kate twirling her drumsticks to ground herself. Frankie watches as you fiddle with your hair for the hundredth time, tapping your guitar pick against your thigh. Squeezed perfectly into those jeans you know he loves. Cupping the roundness of your ass just right. The hem of your tank top ends just high enough to give a peek at your midsection that he knows will be on full display once you settle into yourself and start jumping around the stage.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you’re right in front of him. You laugh when he still gets flustered at being caught, despite being a confirmed couple ever since he joined your team. You hook your fingers into his belt loops and tug him closer, careful to maneuver around the instrument strung across your front.

Frankie tucks a stray hair behind your ear, brushing your cheek with his knuckle as he does. “You ready, rockstar?”

You take a deep breath and nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

On cue, a voice crackles in your in-ear monitor calling everyone to places. Frankie cups your face, pulling you in for a confident kiss. You flash him a wink as you pull away and line up to climb the stage.

Frankie finds a vantage point off to the side of the crowd, their cries echoing across the fairgrounds as you strike the first chords. He knows your pattern: you’ll linger behind the mic stand for the first song and a half or so, only venturing out to interact with Madison and Tyler during the instrumental breaks. Finally, you’ll walk out to the edge of the stage, playing directly to the fans but just out of their reach. By the third song, you’ve got the microphone in your hand and you’re frolicking around the stage unburdened.

He holds his breath as you approach one particular guitar solo that challenges your playing ability, then cheers along as you nail it with a dazzling smile, the crowd going wild at your fingertips.

The air is hazy with smoke as your set comes to a close, both from the festivalgoers and the machines blowing onto the stage. Tyler, Madison, and Kate play an extended outro of your last song as you address the crowd, thanking them for watching and introducing the band one last time before ending with a final flourish of chords and drumrolls. Frankie makes his way backstage once more as you take your bows, picking up your setlists taped to the stage and tossing them into the crowd as souvenirs. He watches the other three descend the stairs as you blow one last kiss to the fans and follow behind. The area springs to life as the workers hustle to prepare for the next band. Once unburdened from your instruments and in-ear monitors, the four of you flock to Frankie, as practiced. You surge ahead slightly faster than the others to fling your arms around his neck and plant an ecstatic kiss on his cheek, right in the bare patch of his beard, breathing him in as you ride your high from performing. Frankie sets you down and shares a smile and laugh before switching back to business and the five of you come up with a gameplan for the rest of the day.

Everything goes smoothly right up until the end. You all stick together for the most part, migrating to different stages together but not too worried about being attached at the hip. Unlike you and Frankie. You know he prefers to linger behind where he can see everyone and you have no problem staying with him. Every once in a while, people will recognize you and get a group photo.

Frankie should’ve never let you go off alone. He got complacent. Sloppy. Even though you weren’t entirely alone, Kate and Madison accompanying you to the bar booth, Frankie can’t help but feel like he failed you.

He thought he had you in view enough. He and Tyler were talking but it shouldn’t have been enough to pull his attention completely. It’s only when Kate’s yell breaks through the back of the crowd in front of them that they realize the situation. The two of them launch forward, Tyler throwing his arm around his sister and Frankie shouldering through the mass of people, his deep voice and broad stature parting the way.

He finds you towards the center. The three of you had been on the way back with your drinks when a group of overly excited and intoxicated fans crowded you. Their volume attracted the attention of other attendees around and pulled them in, everyone suddenly scrambling for pictures and autographs. Being the lead guitarist and vocalist, you were slammed with the brunt of the energy, Madison losing her grip on your arm and Kate being pushed out to the back entirely, where she managed to call Tyler and Frankie.

When he finally reaches you, Frankie doesn’t hesitate to throw his arm around you and secure you against his body, shielding you from any more prying fingers. He quickly scans and spots Madison not far off, veering to her rescue as well. He tucks her under his other arm and rushes back towards Tyler and Kate. Frankie passes Madison off to them as he feels you slipping from his grasp and fully lifts you into his arms, ensuring no one can take you from him. You just bury your face in his neck, gripping his black t-shirt for dear life, and let him carry you away.

Festival security arrives as your group emerges from the crowd and escorts all of you to the security tent. You detach from Frankie briefly so that the on-site medic can check for injuries, but you resume your position in his lap as soon as you’re given the all-clear.

The drive back to the hotel is a blur. You know Tyler takes over as driver so that Frankie can sit with you. He holds your hand the entire way up to your rooms and only lets go to unlock the door to yours. Kate, Madison, and Tyler collectively decide to hide out in the adjoining room to give you time to recover.

You feel yourself coming down from the adrenaline, the chaos starting to settle in your mind. You go through the motions of your post-show ritual. Take your clothes off. Gather your pajamas. Pull your hair back. Take your makeup off. Shower. Bedtime.

Frankie monitors from the corner by the door, watching with a tightly creased brow that he’s definitely going to get a headache from later. You don’t acknowledge him as you move around the room on autopilot. He does his best to stay out of sight of the bathroom mirror as you scrub your makeup off with a wipe.

You open your eyes as Frankie slips back around the corner, caught in the reflection. “I can still see you, you know?” you mutter. You toss the makeup wipe in the trash and splash some water on your face.

You hear him sigh as he gingerly steps back into view, staying half hidden by the edge of the mirror. His eyes are full of guilt and concern, and you feel bad for snapping at him. “I know.” He leans against the wall, face angled down and away from you as he takes off his trademark cap, runs his fingers through his curls, and replaces the cap on his head. “I don’t mean to hover, I know you need your space. I just…” He pauses to take a shaky breath. “What happened was really scary. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You massage your face wash into your skin as you listen, letting it set for a minute before rinsing it off. “I’m fine. Promise.”

It all happens so fast. You hear the girls gasp, not unlike others had throughout the day. You’re more than happy to interact with them, just grateful to even be at the festival and be recognized by fans in the first place. Their squeals grate your ears as more people gather around. You’re suddenly blinded by a phone flashlight being shoved in your face and Madison’s hand leaves your elbow, her fingernails scratching slightly as she tries to hold on. You can hear her calling your name and Kate’s as the three of you are separated by pressing bodies. The roar is suffocating as you’re bombarded with phones and pens and papers and hands everywhere, screams everywhere, you can’t see, you can’t hear, you can't –

“Hey.” Frankie’s voice snaps you back into your body as you stare back at your reflection, tight and sticky as your face wash dries. You sniffle, shaking your head a little to loosen the memory’s grip, and bend down into the sink to rinse your face.

“I gotta shower, Frankie.” You turn and twist the knob in the shower, holding a hand under the spray until it reaches your preferred temperature. When you move to close the door and undress, Frankie is still there watching. Not just watching – observing. Taking in every minute detail and analyzing to determine the best approach. You start to slowly push the door closed, never breaking eye contact with your boyfriend. Just before the wood makes contact with his foot in the doorway, Frankie nods.

“Call if you need anything.” He disappears around the corner, and you hear his tired grunt as he sits in the armchair.

You try not to think. Try to focus on the steps. Shampoo. Lather. Rinse. Conditioner. Rinse. Feel the scratch of the washcloth on your skin. The burn of the hot water as it washes away any evidence of the madness.

But then it’s too hot, like the air as they all crushed you. It’s too scratchy, like their fingernails as they all tried to tear away pieces of you to keep as souvenirs. You’re blinded by soap in your eyes and you see spots that look too much like the endless sea of faces. You can’t see, you can’t breathe, and all you want is Frankie. Frankie can help. Frankie will save you.

Strong arms wrap around you and you snap, pushing and screaming and clawing to get away. You’re lifted out of the shower and collapse onto the cold tile, a familiar body under you.

“Alright, baby, I got you. It’s okay, just let it out.”

You let out a final cry of defeat and go limp in Frankie’s arms, letting him fill your senses. His smell, dirt and sweat and smoke with a hint of his cologne still underneath. His lips in your hair, the scratch of his beard against your temple. His chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he holds you in his lap, a warm hand encompassing your thigh and the other tracing feather-light circles on your bicep.

“How did you know?” you manage to choke out in between gasps, fighting to fill your lungs.

“You called me.”

“I did?”

Frankie just nods and sits with you in silence, the static of the running water underscoring the stillness. He doesn’t care that his clothes are now soaked from plucking you straight from the shower. He didn’t think when he heard your choking, he just acted. Like he should’ve done before.

You’re starting to regain control over your breathing when you feel Frankie’s chest stutter. You look up to see his eyes closed, silent tears streaking his face.

“Hey,” you whisper, reaching up to swipe them away. “I’m okay, Frankie. I’m okay now. You’re here-”

“But I wasn’t then.” He fights to keep his voice level as his heart threatens to force its way up his throat. “I was supposed to protect you and I didn’t- I-I couldn’t-”

You trace his lips with your fingertips, interrupting his words as you calm him with a hush. “This was not your fault, Frankie. It all just happened so fast, it could’ve happened to anyone.”

“But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to you.” Frankie’s voice has an edge to it now. Angry. “I failed you.”

You twist in his arms, moving to straddle his thighs. Cupping his jaw with both hands, forcing him to look at you, “You have never failed me.” Then, you press your lips to his and it feels like your first breath of fresh air through the smoke.

Frankie reacts immediately. His lips move against yours, hungry, as his hands pull you closer. He needs to know you’re there in his arms and no one will ever rip you away from him.

A shiver runs down your spine and you’re not sure if it’s the contrast of his heat and the cold bathroom floor, or the way his tongue expertly works its way into your mouth, exploring and claiming. You grind down against his hardening length and he detaches your lips, arms tightening to support you.

Frankie shifts and rises from the floor, never once letting you out of his grip as he moves into the bedroom. He groans as you nip at his neck, crawling up the bed with you clinging to his front.

You feel the cool sheets press against your damp bare back and you gasp. Frankie immediately flips the two of you over so you’re on top. His eyes are wild, scanning your face for any hint of distress. You nod, letting him know you’re okay, and slowly slip his cap off his head, dropping it to the floor and clutching fistfuls of his curls with both hands. Frankie moans in relief and turns his head to pepper your inner forearm with kisses.

His mouth works up your arm to your shoulder, across your collarbone. He pauses to nip at your pulse point and fill his lungs with your fresh scent and you rake your nails down his neck to his chest, then his belly. You tug his t-shirt up, forcing him to break contact to pull it over his head.

As soon as it’s off, Frankie scoots forward slightly down the bed and lays back, his curls splayed out on the pillow as he shifts into position. Once settled, he cups the backs of your thighs, nudging you forward. He turns his head to nip at your soft skin as you nestle your knees on the pillow, caging his head between them.

He gazes up at you, a haze growing in his eyes. Stroking your leg with one hand, he traces his fingers up the other before reaching your dripping center. He cups your core in his palm, heat surging through your veins, then travels down. Fingers forming a V, he spreads your lips and a growl vibrates through his body, resonating through you as well.

Your head falls back with a moan and you grip the headboard with both hands. “Fuck, please, Frankie.”

He continues tracing your folds with his calloused fingertips, catching at your leaking entrance. “Please what, baby?”

 You look down to see him staring up at you, pupils blown with desire. “Taste me.”

The hand on your thigh slides up to your hip and Frankie practically shoves you down onto his eager mouth. Your head falls back once more and you lace your fingers through his hair, your other hand still gripping the headboard for dear life.

Frankie’s thumb plays with your clit with practiced precision as his tongue explores every inch of your pussy. You lose yourself in the sensation of his digit applying just the right amount of pressure while he eats away at you like it’s his last meal, the scratch of his beard as his jaw works supplying extra friction against your thighs.

You gasp when Frankie finally plunges his tongue into your hole, twisting and sucking down your sweet juices. You can’t help but move your hips in tandem with his strokes and your moans rise in pitch whenever the tip of his nose brushes your bundle of nerves. Frankie removes his thumb, cupping your cheeks with both hands and pulling them apart. You bite back a squeal as his tongue ventures back to your asshole and prods at the tight ring.

He retreats before exploring any further, thirsty again for your arousal. You’re fully riding his tongue as your pleasure reaches its peak. You look down at him between your thighs and find his eyes wide open, drinking in your euphoria, like he’s intent on never letting you out of his sight again. His piercing stare is enough to send you over the edge and you lose your grip on the headboard. Searching blindly for a hold as your back arches, Frankie reaches for your arm, fingers wrapping around your elbow and holding you down on his face. His groans ripple through you, prolonging your high, as his hips rut up into the air, begging for relief.

Frankie releases you as you come down from your orgasm, immediately sliding down his body, placing kisses along his skin until you reach his jeans. Your hands shake as you rush to unbutton them and pull down the zipper. He lifts and shimmies his hips to help you yank them down his thighs, flinging them behind you without looking.

You lean forward to kiss along the waistband of his boxers, licking and nipping at the skin and nuzzling your nose in the coarse hairs trailing below the undergarment. Frankie’s hips buck and he almost whines as he grabs at you. You finally free his cock from the tightening fabric, mouth watering as if in a Pavlovian response. He’s thick and heavy, twitching from the lack of contact. You move to take his leaking head into your mouth as he took you into his, but Frankie’s hands are too fast, too desperate.

He sits up and positions you above his lap, fingers massaging your hips as you grind your still dripping pussy along his length. “So wet for me, baby. I need to be inside you. Please,” he pants in your ear. He’s been apart from you for too long already. He needs to be close, as close as possible.

You nod and breathe out an “okay” and Frankie shifts up the bed to rest his back against the headboard. You lift up and reach behind you to grip his cock, taking a moment to massage his balls. Frankie lets out a strained moan and you guide him inside you, sinking down onto him.

You breathe deep and controlled as his tip parts your walls, practically sucking him in. You pause when your pelvises meet, his hair tickling your clit deliciously. He’s buried deep in your cunt, perfectly molded around him, warm and wet. Frankie mouths at your neck, leaving his mark, and massages your breasts with both hands as he gives you time to adjust. He rolls your nipples in his fingers and you clench around him, signaling that you’re ready.

You start slow, rocking your hips against his and feeling his tip nudge that perfect spot inside you. You start a slow pace, rising off his cock and dropping down. Inch by inch until only his tip is inside, then you speed up. Before long, you’re bouncing in Frankie’s lap with his hands on your hips guiding you. He loves to watch the way your tits move with each impact. Hypnotized, he leans forward and captures a nipple in his mouth, circling it with his tongue. You cry out unrestrained as he lightly bites down and your second orgasm of the night washes over you.

Frankie detaches when he feels your walls clamp down on him. He leans back and bends his knees, planting his feet on the bed. Grasping your arms as he did earlier, he braces you and begins thrusting at a fierce pace. You cry out again as his hips slam up into you, the clapping of skin on skin and his throaty groans filling the room.

You know he’s getting close by the way the veins in his neck pop with exertion. Frankie sucks air in through his teeth and drops one hand down to your clit, your freed hand flying down to latch onto his meaty stomach. Frankie chokes out a moan at the prick of your fingernails. “Come on. Come on, baby. One more. You can do it, give me one more.”

You mindlessly chant prayers of “yes” and “please” at the altar of his hips as you gush around him, soaking his cock and leaking out across his thighs and onto the bed.

“That’s it. Good fucking girl. That- fuck, that’s-” A subdued roar erupts from Frankie’s chest as he pulses inside you, coating your greedy walls with rope after rope of cum. The sensation triggers you to squeeze around him, milking him for all that he’s worth.

Frankie sits up and slides his hands up your back, gripping your shoulders from behind and locking you onto him. You seal your lips on his as your shared aftershocks subside.

Still holding you to him, Frankie leans back to rest against the headboard. He rubs your back with his palm as you both breathe heavily, heartbeats syncing and slowing.

“Frankie?” You murmur against his chest, peeking up through fluttering, sated eyelids. He looks down at you, humming in acknowledgement. “Tonight was not your fault.”

Frankie breaks eye contact, sighing and staring out at the hotel room. You reach up and pull his face back down to you.

“Don’t run away from me. Look at me.” You kiss him deeply again, then whisper against his lips. “I love you. I trust you. I-”

“I got you.”

You laugh softly. “You got me. But I got you too.”

The two of you stay curled into each other for a while. You’re just about to drift off when a knock on the adjoining room door startles you awake.

Frankie feels you jerk and squeezes his arms around you. “Yeah?” he calls.

Kate responds from the other side. “Hate to interrupt you guys but…can Mads and I just come grab our stuff real quick and we can camp out over here tonight?”

You bury your face in Frankie’s chest, still plugged with his cock and his cum, and chuckle. You move to get up and make yourself decent but Frankie keeps holding you. Raising an eyebrow at him, he flashes a mischievous smirk, untucks the sheets with one hand, and covers the two of you with a flourish.

“Make it quick!”

Kate and Madison fly through the room, grabbing their clothes and toiletries while dramatically shielding their eyes from you and Frankie. You can’t help but giggle against Frankie’s skin as you listen to their flurry of activity. Finally, you hear one of them exit the room and Kate calls from the bathroom.

“You guys know you left the shower running?”

Yes! I’m so glad they wore Frankie down 😍

Goober

Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.

Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)

Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers

divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.

“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”

“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.

“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”

“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”

“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”

You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”

A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.

“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”

The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.

“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”

The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.

“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.

The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.

“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”

You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.

“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.

“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”

“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”

“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.

The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet. 

“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.

“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”

“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”

The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.

“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.

“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.

“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”

“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”

“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.

“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”

“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“

“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”

“Do what now?”

“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.

Frankie: What the fuck?!

—

“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“

The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.

“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.

“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.

“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.

“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”

“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”

“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”

“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”

“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”

“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.

Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.

“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.

—

“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.

It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.

“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”

“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”

“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”

“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”

“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.

“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”

“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.

“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”

The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.

“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”

“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.

—

“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.

“Yes it would.”

“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”

“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”

“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”

“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”

“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.

“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”

“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”

“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.

“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.

“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”

Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.

“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”

She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.

“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.

“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.

—

“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.

“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”

Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.

“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.

“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”

“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.

“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.

“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”

Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.

“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.

Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake. 

“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.

“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.

Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.

“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”

The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.

“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”

“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.

“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”

Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.

“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”

—

“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”

“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”

Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.

“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.

“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”

“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.

“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.

You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.

“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.

“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”

Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.

“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.

“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”

“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.

Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.

“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”

“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

🥵🥵🥵

Una Noche En Medellín | Javier Pena x f!Reader

summary: a long day playing pretend at a wedding leads to... exactly what you'd expect.

pairing: javier pena x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. javi smoking, mention of a fictional pregnancy, ONE motherfucking BED BABY! mention of previous p in v, fingering, brief f!oral. this is pretty tame, y'all. reader has hair.

wc: 2.4k

an: this is my entry for the summer lovin' challenge thought up by the wonderful @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy <3 i can literally only apologise for this being so late. i scheduled it in the wee hours and got my dates SO wrong.

my brief was a wedding, javi, and the moodboard you can see in the header. this was so much fun, and my first time posting for our fav dea agent - i hope you enjoy!

divider from @saradika-graphics

The fabric of your dress clings uncomfortably to your skin, sweat glistening under the warm lights of the hotel as you step into the elevator. Hair damp at the nape of your neck, thighs chafing a little as you shift on aching feet, you turn from your tired reflection in the mirror back to the closing doors. 

You watch, drowsy, as Javi presses the button to the tenth floor, one thick finger lighting up the numbers. The same hands that have been on you all evening, long into the night. Squeezing, holding, twirling. He stands with his back to you now, shoulders tense and squared. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you’d pissed him off.

You slump a little against the mirror behind you as the elevator swoops and glides upwards, watching as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Neither of you had thought it’d be easy. But neither had you thought it would be so exhausting. 

Exhausting to remember the details of your cover, to explain that the reason you weren’t drinking was because you’d recently discovered you were expecting your first child. Exhausting to navigate the knowing looks and slaps on the back, the hands on your non-existent bump, trying to make it look convincing. Following Javier around the room, his hand in yours; whispers pressed into the conch of your ear, your hairline - intel exchanged, wrapped in the pretence of humour and affection. Bodies pressed together in a way that should have been unprofessional, but not in a way that was unfamiliar.

The mission had been a success. 

Under fairy lights and between bubbles of champagne, blanketed by the heady heat of Medellín, you’d wound your web. Dancing and talking, sharing cooing compliments with the other guests, letting people watch and believe as you’d kept each other close, the proximity of Javi coming so easy with the thump of bass and threat of danger. Recognising the faces taped and pinned to corkboards in the office, matching voices to crackled radio frequencies, red string to red crosses.

Never standing in one place for too long, never speaking English, never looking surprised, always looking so in love. Draped across his lap with one hand on your hip and the other splayed against the small of your back. Your face tucked into his neck as you relayed information against his jawbone. His kisses to your shoulder as he told you Steve and Carillo were already on their way to the targets’ addresses. Not out of each other’s sight for more than a minute. 

It had been so easy it was almost laughable.

The cartel’s informant would be on his way to his hotel, and his impending arrest, now. The rest of the guests, the family and friends, would soon catch wind and begin to disappear, to turn on each other. And it would be like you and Javi were never there. Blending with the disco lights, melting into the shadows. 

For now, all you need is some rest.

The elevator bell dings for the tenth floor, and you watch as the doors slide open with a quiet hum. Javi turns his face, barely, to make sure you’re still with him, hand twitching at his side as though he wishes to reach for yours. 

It’s hard to turn the performance off. 

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, wedding band glinting in the light, as he steps out into the hallway. You follow, reaching into your purse for the key card, watching the slump of his broad shoulders stride up the hall, the sweat-curled hair at the nape of his neck. You’d been running your fingers through it twenty minutes ago, cooing something about wanting to take him to bed that had only been a half-lie. He’s been warm and firm against you all night, always within reach. There’s not a scrap of your dress or an inch of your skin that doesn’t smell like his aftershave. And you’re not too proud to admit how much that turns you on.

He leans against the doorframe with one arm when you reach your room, lips lifting in a smirk.

You pull a face at him as you swipe the key card and open the door.

‘What?’

He shrugs as he watches you step into the darkness, waiting only a moment before following and flicking on the light.

‘Just - didn’t think you had it in you, cariño. Never thought you could dance like that.’

You scoff at him as he closes the door, leaning against the coolness of the wall to unclasp and take off your heels.

‘Surprises are part of the job, Peña,’ you grin, ‘Didn’t think you’d be so good at pretending to enjoy a wedding reception.’

‘I’ve had practice.’ He quips, unbuttoning another two of his shirt buttons, white linen against the gold of his skin, sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat. Something burns in your chest - wanton and willing.

He flips on another light as you throw your heels to the side, pausing in the mouth of the room before it opens to the sleeping quarters. You press a palm to his warm back, trying to urge him forwards before he speaks.

‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’

You step from behind him to stand at his side.

Illuminated, glowing in the bedside light before its backdrop of glimmering city lights, is a single, king-size bed; crisp white sheets neatly tucked beneath the mattress.

You bite your cheek, looking at Javi. His stormy brow, his clenched jaw. 

‘This was supposed to be a suite.’ You murmur.

You want to be angry. Want this to be the thing that ruins an otherwise successful day. But you’re so warm, so tired. You only want a shower and a place to sleep. And you’ve had many worse places than this to do exactly that. 

‘We could call the front desk,’ Javi says, as a yawn pulls at your jaw, ‘See if they can switch us to a room with two beds.’

You shake your head, and he glances at you, surprised.

‘It’s late, and bad for our cover. We can share.’ A small frown teases between his dark eyes. You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘We’re fake married, remember?’

You step past him, smoothing the sheets with your hand. Cool. Soft. You could lie down now and die happy.

There’s the distinctive shnick-whoosh of a lighter behind you, and when you turn, Javi’s face is lit by the soft glow of a cigarette.

‘How could I forget,’ he says, breathing out a rush of blue smoke, ‘When mi esposa has been the life of the party all evening.’

You purse your lips playfully.

‘I thought you enjoyed being my husband, Alejandro.’

A sultry smile softens his features.

‘Sure, cariño.’

You wink at him as he brushes past you, linen against silk. He smells so good. Clean and masculine, something so Javi cutting through it that you can feel that burning move from your chest to pool between your legs.

He breezes through the curtains shrouding the balcony, and you turn into the bathroom, inspecting the array of toiletries, and the towels, fresh and white, waiting for you. You turn the shower on, setting the water to cool before reaching for the zip at the back of your dress. You twist fruitlessly for minutes, but the heat, the dampness of your skin makes the fabric hard to adjust, the zip impossible to catch. A well of frustration rises up your throat, and you clench your jaw.

Hands pressed against the porcelain of the sink, you look into your own eyes in the mirror. Tired, hot. Not too proud to ask for help.

Javi is stood on the balcony, forearms resting against the railing, smoke curling around his strong silhouette. He turns at the sound of the curtains moving behind you, and you smile as he leans back to watch you approach.

His appraising look is appreciative. Sexy.

You turn your back to him, to those eyes.

‘Unzip me?’

You wait for what feels like an eternity. Rocking slightly where you stand, breath catching in your lungs. Every muscle in your body tightened in anticipation.

Goosebumps break out over the small of your back as his fingers trace the line of the zip, up, up to your shoulders. They skim the fabric there, catching your bare skin before settling at the slider. He pulls, slowly. So close you can feel his breath on your neck. Pulls it all the way down so that the dress falls loose at your chest, so it would take only the smallest movement for the garment to drop to the floor. 

His palms slip beneath the silk, curving around your waist. On instinct, yours follow, catching and holding them in place as you sigh at the feeling of his nose tracing your neck. His thumbs stroke the contours of your back.

‘Que linda, bebita.’ He breathes, and you fight the moan surging up from your belly. You hum, leaning into him even as you whisper,

‘I didn’t say undress me.’

A short burst of air at your shoulder, a barely noticeable kiss against your hot skin to disguise his amusement.

‘Wasn’t going to.’

It’s your turn to huff a laugh.

‘We can be professional for a night.’

‘We can.’ He murmurs, and the heat of his body behind yours is lost almost immediately. You sway a little, a smile on your lips as you step back towards the bathroom. You know Javi is watching.

He always is.

He told you. That night in Bogotá, bodies pressed against, pressed into each other. Your legs wrapped around his waist, claw marks red-raw up his back as you’d moaned and cried for him. The wet squelch of your cunt as he worked you open, as he fucked you, as he crooned into your mouth how you’d been all he’d thought about since you stepped into the bullpen. So fucking smart, so capable, so sexy. How you’d been driving him crazy - lips crushed against your temple as you clenched around his cock.

That whole night, how good it had been, how heady. No one had ever made you come like that.

You’d not called the next day, having slunk out of Javi’s room some time in the early hours of the next morning. He’d never asked you why you hadn’t stayed. You’d never spoken of it again.

It was stress relief. Never anything more than two people blowing off steam. Never anything more than two people giving into an obvious attraction.

But that night doesn’t seem so far away as you wash away the sweat and soap from your body, as you rinse the shampoo from your hair. Doesn't erase how you feel him watching, how close he feels, even separated by the door.

And though the shower is cool, your blood still runs hot. Pumping and burning with want in your veins, arousal so strong it makes you giddy as you wrap a towel around yourself, leaving the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

Javi is sat on the edge of the bed, naked save only for his boxers. The sight of him takes your breath away.

He's so broad, hard and soft in all the places he needs to be. And he's so pretty. Perfect little pouty mouth, deep, dangerous eyes. There’s no cigarette dangling from his lips, nothing in his hands as he clasps them between his spread knees. You think about sinking down between them, pressing your cheek against the bulge outlined below the smattering of hair at his navel.

You step towards him, and he watches with blown, hungry eyes.

You stop in front of him, still wrapped in the towel. He reads your mind like he always does. In the bullpen, the offices, the field. With a gun or a cigarette or a pen in his hand, Javier Peña knows what you need. He parts the towel, sliding his palms across your naked hips, holding you before him. You can’t breathe, can’t speak. It’s too hot in the room, in your body. You can feel slick sliding against the tops of your thighs, spread right up to your clit. So wet it should be criminal. 

Javi clicks his tongue, moving his hands so he can spread you open with his thumbs. He pouts at you, small tilt of his head. 

‘Pobrecita.’

You'd roll your eyes if it were any less true, if he weren't swiping one thumb through your wetness, over your clit. You suck a breath in before moaning brokenly. He grins, wolfish, up at you. 

‘What were you thinking about in that shower, cariño?’

You smile down at him, eyes half-closed. 

‘You.’

He hums, moving his thumb again. You shudder, knees giving a little. His hand at your hip tightens. 

‘Good girl.’ He coos. 

Your hand flies to his shoulder with a garbled cry as he presses tighter, moving the digit faster. He knows how to work you, knew before he'd even touched you. You're on fire, pussy tightening as your hand travels up his neck, before tangling with the curls at his nape.

That's it.

You can hear how wet you are. The only sounds in the room are the buzz of the city below, your fast breathing, and the movement of Javi’s fingers. He’s building you up to it, astoundingly fast. The sight of him, sat on the edge of the bed, spellbound by what he’s doing to you, the noises you’re making, the sight of you bared to him. Makes you want to touch him, too.

Does that feel good, bebita?

So good, Javi.

But just as it seems so close, as you can feel yourself start to clench and pulse and twitch, he slows. Slows the rhythm of his thumb right down to deep, languid circles, keeping you right on the edge as he loosens the towel and lets it drop to the floor, as he leans forward to reverently press his forehead to your belly. He breathes in deeply, and you flex your hips towards him. He nips at your skin, and you whine as he laughs.

‘I think about it,’ he breathes, voice deep and thick, nuzzling into the crease of your thigh, ‘That night in Bogotá. Tell me you think about it, too.’

You hiccup, nodding. Fisting his short hair.

‘All the time,’ you gasp, ‘All the time, Javi.’

He groans, moving to lick a hot, wet stripe through your folds, right up to your clit. It’s like fire, electricity. Your body jolts against him, every nerve ending bending towards him, flinching into this sweet torture.

His lips are shining with your arousal when he pulls away to look you in your eyes.

‘Let me have it. One more night, in Medellín. Let me have you.’

Goober is a menace even in fiction! 🤣

Yessss! I’m so excited to see this little family grow 😍

Goober

Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.

Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)

Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers

divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.

“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”

“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.

“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”

“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”

“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”

You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”

A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.

“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”

The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.

“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”

The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.

“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.

The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.

“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”

You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.

“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.

“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”

“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”

“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.

The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet. 

“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.

“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”

“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”

The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.

“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.

“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.

“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”

“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”

“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.

“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”

“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“

“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”

“Do what now?”

“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.

Frankie: What the fuck?!

—

“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“

The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.

“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.

“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.

“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.

“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”

“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”

“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”

“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”

“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”

“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.

Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.

“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.

—

“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.

It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.

“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”

“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”

“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”

“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”

“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.

“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”

“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.

“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”

The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.

“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”

“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.

—

“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.

“Yes it would.”

“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”

“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”

“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”

“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”

“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.

“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”

“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”

“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.

“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.

“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”

Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.

“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”

She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.

“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.

“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.

—

“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.

“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”

Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.

“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.

“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”

“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.

“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.

“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”

Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.

“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.

Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake. 

“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.

“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.

Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.

“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”

The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.

“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”

“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.

“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”

Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.

“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”

—

“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”

“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”

Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.

“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.

“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”

“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.

“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.

You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.

“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.

“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”

Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.

“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.

“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”

“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.

Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.

“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”

“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.

Yes he does! We know how much I love Dieter and it was so hard to write him this way 😭

I might? But it’ll be awhile 🤣😂

I love you!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, pregnancy, lovers to enemies, angst angst angst

A/N: Huge thank you to @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for helping me with this! ❤️ I don’t usually do angst but trying to play around with it and I needed the practice. This is for @tightjeansjavi's June Writing Challenge. Also tagging @jay-zzle because she is my permanent cheerleader

Masterlist||AO3

divider by: @saradika-graphics

The lights are flashing everywhere, hearing your name and Dieter’s being shouted left and right. Where to look, what to do, you love sharing this moment with him, watching his smile beam as the congratulations are being shouted out.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Dieter whispers in your ear with a smile, rubbing the bump of your belly.

Paparazzi is shouting out excitedly, seeing you two together along with your prominent bump on display. You both kept this news under wraps until you couldn’t hide it anymore. It’s too hot in the summer to try wearing the oversized hoodies you’d been wearing all spring. It was decided between both of your teams that the best thing for an announcement was to show up to Dieter’s premier with a dress that would show off your bump, letting the world know that Dieter Bravo was about to take on the most important role of his life - a family man.

“Dieter! Dieter over here!” You see Adam from Entertainment Tonight waving you both down.

You nudge Dieter, motioning towards the host, and make your way over for the first interview of the night.

“Hey guys! I’m just so excited to see you two! Wow,” Adam says your name, “You look absolutely glowing. Is there maybe a reason why?” he teases.

“Well, I don’t know,” you laugh, shrugging your shoulders, “Babe?”

“Hmm…” Dieter says, rubbing your bump, “I think because you’re having my baby?”

“I can’t believe it! First, you get this man sober, and now,” Adam says with an amusing smirk, “You’ve gotten him to have a baby with you?”

“She’s a witch!” Dieter exclaims with a massive grin, “I swear. She put me under some sort of spell!”

The interview went on for a little longer, delving into Dieter’s role and how he prepared for the movie. Interview after interview, the baby was brought up.

What are you hoping for? Boy or girl? Healthy.

Have you thought of any names? Yes, but not sure yet.

Do you know what the sex is? We want it to be a surprise.

The same questions were asked repeatedly until it was time to go inside the theater.

—

“Hey babe, I’m gonna be going out, hanging with some friends,” Dieter says, waltzing into the living room with his phone and keys. You pause the TV, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You don’t need to get up.”

“What friends?” You ask concern etched on your face. It always makes you nervous when he is going to hang out with friends solo. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Dieter, it was just that he’s had his fair share of relapses.

“Sam, Claudia, and Percy.”

You make a disgusted face as soon as Percy’s name is mentioned. Sam and Claudia, you trust. Percy, you do not.

“Babe,” Dieter starts, “I know you don’t like the guy but he just got out of rehab. No drugs will be around, everything will be just fine!”

“He just got out of rehab that was court-mandated, Dieter,” you seeth, “You really think he took that shit seriously?!”

“Baby,” Dieter sighs, placing a hand on your stomach, “You gotta watch your blood pressure. Not good for Peanut.”

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

This has become your mantra lately, the doctor was getting worried about your blood pressure and stress levels. He had said that it could cause early labor. Six months along, and you needed to start paying more attention to this stuff. The last thing you want is for Peanut to come before they’re ready.

“I just don’t trust him,” you explain, “The last time you hung out with him you relapsed and went down a rabbit hole.”

“I know,” he said, head dropping, “I’m sorry. I really am, but I promise it won’t happen again. There’s not supposed to be any hard drugs, maybe some weed but that’s it.”

“Fine,” you groan, “I mean it though Dieter, you can’t have any more slip ups. Gotta think about Peanut.”

“I’m always thinking about you and Peanut,” Dieter grins, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I’ll behave and be home before ten.”

Dieter wasn’t home before ten, or eleven, or twelve. It was nearing two in the morning when you finally heard the front door open. Sliding your feet into your slippers and grabbing his tattered green robe to wrap yourself in, you made your way to the living room.

“Fuck,” you hear Dieter say sniffling, “What the fuck did I do?”

“Babe?” You ask, coming into the living room, Dieter slumped on the couch, “Everything okay?”

“I fucked up,” he whispers, pushing his hands against his eyes, “I promised yo-,” he chokes on a sob, “I promised you I wouldn’t and I fucked up.”

“Dieter,” you sigh, approaching the couch to sit next to him, “Look at me.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, fingers twitching against his face. He looks so helpless like this. You grab his hands, and pull them into your lap.

“Babe,” you try again, “Look at me,” reaching your hand to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. Watery bloodshot eyes stare back at you.

“I’m so sorry,” Dieter whispers, closing his eyes, a lone tear running down his cheek, “I should’ve listened to you.”

He tells you what happened. You nod in understanding, this was just a slip-up, you can forgive him yet again. You know it was just a bad judgment call to go out tonight. He will get through this just like he has every other time.

—

“Looks like you’re doing well, baby is right on track and appears to be growing as they should,” the doctor says, looking at your chart, “Only about two more months to go and then we can start looking to induce you. I want to see you in two weeks.”

You give a small smile and nod, rubbing your bump, slinging your purse over your shoulder, willing the phone inside to buzz as you make your way to the receptionist’s desk, making small talk with her and getting your next appointment set. You thank her as you take the appointment card, sliding it into your purse as you walk out the door.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

Dieter’s been missing, three weeks to the day now, and no one can find him. His management team and assistant have been on a hunt trying to find him but of course, Dieter has gone off the grid. Last you knew paparazzi had gotten pictures of him somewhere in Europe, but that was last week. His PR team and your own told you not to look at the pictures but you couldn’t not see them when a pregnancy craving hit and you got ice cream late one night.

Dieter Bravo, Trouble in Paradise?

Sources close to the actor state he’s not ready to be a father and ran from his relationship to [redacted], fellow actress who is pregnant with Bravo’s first child.

The small article included pictures of Dieter exiting a club with one arm around a blonde woman’s shoulders and the other arm around a brunette man’s waist. The three of them were walking down the sidewalk. The final pictures in the article showed Dieter kissing both of them.

Stars has tried to reach out to each of the couple’s publicists for comment with no response at this time.

You felt your heart breaking in the middle of the checkout line. He was the one to bring up having a baby. He was the one to convince you to get pregnant. He was the one who time and time again reassured you this is what he wanted and only wanted it with you. 

You felt so stupid, like a poor pathetic girl, when everyone had warned you about him. They’d all told you so many times. Dieter Bravo is a mess. Dieter Bravo can’t be tamed. Dieter Bravo isn’t  meant for relationships. As it turns out, they were all right, and you’d just ignored every warning given to you.. Dieter had kept using after the last slip-up. What was an accident became once a week, then three times a week, and then turned to daily use. Slowly but surely you were giving up, giving up on the one person who you trusted the most.

He made you feel loved, cherished, and special. He always made you feel like no one else could compare to you or your love for each other. Now though, he makes you feel like a fool. He makes you feel like the dirt underneath his shoes. He makes you feel like… like, like—

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing in your purse. The number wasn’t one you recognize but you answered anyway in hopes it was Dieter.

“Hello?”

“Baby,” Dieter’s voice sounds through the phone, “I wanna come home.”

“Dieter?” you ask, “Where are you?”

“I’m at an airport in Paris,” he says sniffling, “I wanna come home.”

“Come home, please,” you beg, “Just come home.”

—

Dieter came home the following day, detox in full swing. He was shaky, sweaty, and puking, and you were staying by his side the entire time. Doubt begins to crawl into your brain, this being the fourth or fifth time you’ve helped him through detox. Is this going to be how your life plays out? Private doctors, in and out of your home like a revolving door. Make sure he’s comfortable, providing you with the necessary instructions to get Dieter through this so he doesn’t have to go to a facility again.

“I think he should consider going to rehab again,” Mark, his manager, says.

“Mark, I don’t know what else to do,” you sigh, shaking your head back and forth. “He doesn’t want to go. He told me every single hiding spot he has here at home and I went through all of them and flushed everything.”

“Just think about it, think about your baby and your own health,” Mark says firmly, “I’ve worked for Dieter for many years and this isn’t going to be the last time this happens.”

“I know,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over, accepting defeat. You hadn’t meant to fall in this deep with Dieter if you’re being honest with yourself. It was supposed to just be a summer fling but as time went on he squirmed his way deeper and deeper into your heart, making room for himself to curl up inside, and making himself a nice little home there. It was becoming too much to handle, the stress weighing you down more as the days passed by.

If anything was going to prepare you for a newborn it might as well be this. Dieter shouts for you from the guest room in the middle of the night, waddling through the doorway you see him sprawled out on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his chest, turning on the bedside lamp he winces.

“Baby,” Dieter groans, reaching out for you, sitting on the bed you give him your hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”

“I know, D,” you murmur, the tears already threatening your waterline as he grasps your hand like it’s his only lifeline, “I know.”

“Hey,” he says perking up some, “Once I’m through with this we should go on vacation somewhere!”

“D we can’t,” you sniffle, rubbing the hand he isn’t holding onto against your nose.

“Why not?”

“Peanut,” you say, giving him a small smile.

“We’ll just take Peanut with us,” he smiles, moving one of his hands to rest on your stomach.

“That’s not really how it works, D,” you groan, “We can’t just up and leave whenever we want to. Not with Peanut.”

“Fine,” Dieter says firmly nodding, jaw going rigid, “Guess it doesn’t matter what I want to do then.”

“No,” you whisper, “It doesn’t.”

For the first time in your entire relationship, Dieter looks angry. He lets go of your hand and rolls over, his back facing you.

“Dieter,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Would you consider going back to rehab?”

Dieter doesn’t respond. When you repeat yourself he just grunts and shoves your hand off his shoulder.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

The next morning when you wake, he’s gone again. A note with his chicken scratch left on his bedside table.

You’re right. Checking into White Oak again. Things will get better. I promise ❤️

Love, D

—

It took four days. Four days for Dieter to check himself out of rehab and go missing again.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore!” You wail into the phone, leaving yet another voicemail on Dieter’s brand new phone, “Dieter, I need you to come home. Please. If not for me then for Peanut.”

“Fuck!” You shout, throwing your phone across the room, and beginning to pace back and forth. There is nothing you can do besides wait. Wait and hope that Dieter’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.

You reach down, trying with all your might to grab your phone and then you feel it. A sharp pain in your groin and liquid rushing down your legs.

“Ahh!” You groan out, the pain sending you to your knees, reaching for your phone and dialing 911, waiting to be put through to a dispatcher, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s not time yet, it’s not time,” you clutch your stomach, telling the dispatcher you need an ambulance and your address.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

While you lay on the floor waiting for an ambulance to arrive the only thing you can think of is Dieter and how he should be here. You pick up your phone one more time and try calling him again.

“Hey, it’s Bravo, can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do after the beep.” Beep.

“Dieter, I’m going into labor. An ambulance is on the way. I need you, please,” you continue through tears, “I’m so scared and I need you. Please come back. Please.”

—

It’s almost been a month since you’ve been home from the hospital. Dieter still hasn’t shown back up, has yet to meet his beautiful baby in person. You started seeing a therapist to help you process everything you’ve been through with Dieter. Looking over at Peanut sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside your bed, you can’t help thinking about how it’s so unfair to this little baby to have a father who would choose drugs over them, but there’s nothing you can do besides be the best parent you can for Peanut. 

It startles you to hear a crashing sound coming from the kitchen. Slowly making your way out of bed to grab the baseball bat from the closet, you glance over at Peanut one more time before leaving the bedroom to see who dared disturb your peace.

“God damn it,” you hear Dieter groan, “I could’ve sworn I had some in here.”

You try to calm your heart rate, peering around the doorway to see Dieter rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He’s finally shown up. Not for you, not for his baby, but only to try and find drugs. He’s literally only here for the damn drugs. Your therapist had warned you about this moment.

Inhale. 1 2 3 4. Hold it. Slowly exhale. 5 6 7.

“Where the fuck is it?!” Dieter hisses, still not noticing you in the doorway, flipping on the lights.

“Gone,” you state firmly, setting the bat against the wall, and crossing your arms, “I flushed everything.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrieks, facing you in the doorway but barely focusing on you. “You had no right to do that!”

“I did it because you asked me to when you were detoxing the last time.”

“I never said anything like that,” he seethes, stalking towards you, pointing a finger in your face, “I would never ask you to flush my shit.”

“Dieter, where have you been?” you ask, noting his blown-out pupils, and the wild look in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Needed some space,” Dieter scoffs shrugging, “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”

“Peanut.”

“The fuck?” Dieter asks, looking at you with malice in his eyes.

“Peanut,” you grit through your teeth, pointing down the hall, “You fucking promised me, Dieter. You promised.”

“Oh get off your high horse,” Dieter yells, “Don’t hold that against me when you baby trapped my ass!”

“I- what?” you say through gritted teeth, “You wanted this just as much as I did! It takes two to make a baby!”

“Fuck that!” Dieter laughs maniacally, “I never wanted to be a fucking dad!”

“D, you don’t mean that,” you say, shaking your head, tears brimming your eyes, “That’s the coke talking. You haven’t even seen Peanut, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m Dieter-fucking-Bravo, baby!” He shouts, throwing his arms up into the air, “I’m not gonna be held down by some relationship and a baby at home!”

“Fuck you,” you point to the door, face serious. “Get out of this house.”

“My fucking pleasure!” Dieter roars, walking out of the kitchen and slamming the front door.

—

Five years later.

Dieter was flipping through the channels, trying to find something interesting to watch on tv. His high was still lingering, not quite sober but not quite as high as that first hit. The ET channel starts blaring your name, with a picture of you, Peanut, and some guy.

“Looks like there’s an engagement in town,” the host says with a smile, “Looks like she’s got herself a type, but who is this mystery man? It’s rumored they met when he was doing some remodeling work on her house two years ago.”

“That girl’s been through enough!” The other host announces, “Bout time she gets her happy-ever-after!”

Wait, what? No, you’re his. His love, his fairy-tale ending, his forever. Dieter’s world is twisting sideways, Peanut is the spitting image of him. His baby, his baby he has never even met.

“No, no, no,” Dieter groans, picking up his phone to try and call you, the phone goes straight to voicemail. He tries calling your publicist next, again straight to voicemail. Next, he tries your manager, with the same results, over and over again until giving up and calling the one person he can trust.

“Mark,” Dieter cries into the receiver, “Please tell me it’s not true.”

“Dieter,” Mark grunts, “It’s three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Is she really getting married?”

“Dieter,” Mark let out an exasperated sigh.

“I need to go back to rehab,” Dieter announces, “If I get clean and do all the steps she’ll have to take me back right?”

“Dieter,” Mark says firmly, “That’s not how it works. Let her go. She’s had to change her number fifteen different times now because you somehow keep getting it. Her entire team has your number blocked.”

“She’s the love of my life, Mark,” he whines, “I can’t just let her go. Starting tomorrow, I’m sober.”

Dieter begins cutting ties with most of his friends or really it was more cutting the people off who encouraged him to use. He went through the detox, he went through the steps as best as he could. He wants to impress you, he wants to get you back, get his kid back, fuck this guy who swooped in while he was away.

---

He’s six months sober. He hadn’t been sober for this long since before Peanut was born. Dieter found out from a friend of a friend’s friend where exactly you were living for the right price, Hollywood would never change. He makes the drive to your house, flowers in the passenger seat for you, and a teddy bear for Peanut. He’s ready to grovel at your feet if that’s what it will take. Pulling up to the curb he sees a nice suburban home. It’s nothing like what you two had shared, no ornate bushes out in the front yard, no massive gate surrounding the house keeping you caged in, kids freely playing in the neighboring yards. The front door opens and he feels like he’s been sucker punched. You’re standing there, staring daggers at him. He watches you leave the doorway, and as you walk towards his car he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first day he met you.

He opens the car door, grabs the flowers and teddy bear, and gets out.

“Stop right there,” you state firmly, shoulders back and head held high, “What the fuck are you doing here Dieter?”

“I’m sober,” he says, “I thought- I thought maybe I could come and try to talk to y-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh, but not the soft laugh that fills him with so much light like Dieter remembers, this laugh doesn’t bring him comfort, it only brings him a sense of loss.

“I haven’t used in six months now, I’m trying to change, I really am,” he sighs, “I know I fucked up, I know I’ve been gone but I can’t think of you marrying someone else. I can’t”

“You’ve been gone?” You ask, shaking your head, “You were more than gone, it’s been five years. What did you think was going to happen Dieter? That I would still be in that house, taking care of our baby all on my own just waiting on you to come to your senses? Don’t act like you were just gone on a business trip, it’s been five damn years!”

“No, that’s-” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “That’s now how I meant it.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I haven’t been good in a long time. The last time things were good was when I was with you.”

“And?” you ask, gritting your teeth together, “What does that have to do with anything? You left Dieter. You left me. Alone, pregnant, I almost lost Peanut because of you.”

He hates this, he never thought he’d see a side of you like this. Angry, mean, spiteful. You were always forgiving, tender, and always cared about his feelings. What happened?

“What happened to you?” Dieter asks, shaking his head, “When we were together you were never like this. You’re being so hateful.”

“What happened to me?” You shout, “Dieter, you! You happened to me!”

“Babe,” Dieter looks past you to the man at the door, “Everythin’ a’right?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you say giving the man a warm smile, the smile that was once for Dieter, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Daddy look at this!” Dieter hears a kid shout, and the man named Joel responds to the kid’s voice with a “Comin’ kiddo!”

“Is that-” Dieter swallows, feeling his mouth go dry, “Was that Peanut?”

“Yes,” you reply coldly.

“That’s not Peanut’s dad. I’m Peanut’s dad!”

“You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you never showed up for the birth,” you say stepping closer to him, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you decided to break into our home to look for drugs when they were a month old,” pushing against his chest, flowers and teddy bear falling to the ground, “You lost the chance to be Peanut’s dad when you fucked off for the past five years. Don’t you ever call yourself Peanut’s dad, got it?”

“Biologically I am Peanut’s dad,” Dieter protests.

“You may be the sperm donor but that makes you just about as much of a parent as a toilet seat does,” you spit out, turning and storming off.

Dieter watches you walk away back to your home, his heart heavy with regret. You were the last reason he had to get sober and get healthy and you didn’t want him. He ruined it. 

He turns around placing his hands on top of his car, closing his eyes as his head fills with dark and sad thoughts when he hears a small voice say, “Momma, why was the man you have a picture of in your bedside table here? And why’s he look so sad?”

Dieter’s head perks up and a hopeful grin spreads across his face.

They deserved a dog! 🥰

Goober

Summary: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.

Warnings: Cussing, fluff, puppy madness, Nora seems to need her own warning in this fic cause she is sassy!

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday!!! Another installment of the Parents to Lovers AU! Thank you so much @noxturnalpascal for betaing for me ❤️❤️ @jay-zzle, my side kick for all these stories, my personal moodboard maker, one of my best friends that I would have never even met without Pedro Pascal existing, once again thank you for making the moodboard AND the other thing(wait til y'all get to the end)

Masterlist||AO3||Parents to Lovers

divider provided by @saradika-graphics

The thunder was getting closer and closer. You can smell the incoming rain on the air as you close the kitchen window.

“Girls!” You shout, approaching the living room doorway “Did you remember to bring your bikes in the garage?”

“I did!” Missy says quickly, returning to the game on her tablet.

“Uhh…” Nora hesitates, fingers fidgeting against her own tablet, “I forgot.”

“Nora! How many times have we talked about this?”

“Sorry,” she shrugs, “I just forgot.”

You groan, putting your shoes on and making your way to the garage. Frankie won’t be home for another hour or else you’d send him outside to get the bike. Opening the garage door you see the rain already starting to come down in sheets. Thankfully, Nora’s bike isn’t that far from the open door, but running towards it you see something dash past you into the garage.

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing the bike and wheeling it into the garage, “Now I get to deal with whatever creature decided to run into here for shelter from the storm. Thanks Nora, you’re the best!”

A clap of thunder sounds just then, causing you to jump, and you hear a whimper at the edge of the room. You reach for the switch on the wall and when the overhead lights come on you see a dog huddled in the corner.

“Hey little baby,” you say sweetly, crouching down and stretching out your hand, “It’s just a little thunder, nothing to be scared about.”

The dog slowly begins to move closer to your outstretched hand. You notice the floppy ears, short legs and long body. Another clap of thunder and the thing darts over, shaking and whimpering.

“Hi there,” you coo, “Let's get you some place warm and dry, huh? That sound good?”

The dog’s tail starts to wag a little as you continue talking to it, grabbing a towel as you begin to attempt to dry the dog off.

“Are we a boy or a girl?” You ask, lifting a leg to check, “Congrats! It’s a girl!” You say to no one but yourself.

The dog begins licking your face as you wipe her paws more to get the mud off.

“Aww, you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you?” You coo, as the dog continues to lick your face, “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I think we’re good to go inside now.”

You gently scoop the dog up in the towel and carry her inside, bringing her into the living room.

“Is that what I think it is?!” Nora shrieks, smacking Missy’s arm to get her attention from her tablet.

“Hey, calm down, she doesn’t like loud noises,” you explain, “This little girl ran into the garage because of the storm.”

“She’s so cute!” Missy excitedly whispers, “Does she have a name?”

“Well I don’t see a collar so I don’t know,” you say, placing the dog in the middle of the living room.

The dog’s tail begins to wag harder when the girls slowly slide off the couch to approach her, and you notice her peeing on the carpet. 

“Shit,” you hiss, quickly going to the laundry room for a towel, laying it on the carpet to soak up the mess. She’s much more enthusiastic seeing the girls than she was seeing you. You sit on the couch watching the girls interact with the puppy.

“Hi,” Missy whispers, reaching her hand out for the dog to sniff, “You’re very pretty.”

“Yes,” Nora agrees, stretching her arm out, “Pretty and smooshy!”

The dog eats up the attention stretching out on the floor to show her chest and belly. Missy and Nora begin petting her, taking turns rubbing her tummy and scratching behind her ears.

“Momma, what kind of dog is she?” Nora asks, looking at you.

“It looks like she’s what’s called a basset hound,” you grin. You’d always wanted one growing up and thought that whoever owned this girl was the luckiest person in the world. You needed to call Frankie before he got home, that way he could maybe stop somewhere to get a collar, leash, and dog food. You pull your phone from your pocket, tapping on his contact info.

“Hey babe,” he sighed, “Think we’re almost done here and then I’ll be home.”

“So,” you say, getting up and walking to the kitchen so the girls wouldn’t hear, “I need you to do something for me before you come home.”

“What kind of ice cream do you want now?” He laughs.

“It’s not a craving this time,” you whisper into the phone, hand rubbing across your barely there bump, that news you hadn’t shared yet with the girls, “Not a bad idea though, Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel.”

“Sure thing,” he says, “I’ll be sure to ge—“

“No babe,” you interrupt, “Seriously that’s not what I was calling about. I need you to get some puppy food, a leash, and a collar.”

“Do what now?”

“Puppy food, a leash and a collar,” you repeat, “and the Ben and Jerry’s! I’ll text you what I said, love you, bye!” You say quickly before hanging up and texting him the list. Your phone pings a second later.

Frankie: What the fuck?!

—

“Babe,” Frankie shouts, entering the kitchen, “I got the st—“

The dog ran into the kitchen, looking up at Frankie, giving a single bark.

“Well, hello,” he says, dropping the small bag of dog food on the table, hesitantly the dog inches closer to Frankie, tail tucked between her legs, sniffing his boot.

“Dad, look!” Missy says, pointing at the dog.

“I see,” Frankie says, eyebrows raised.

“Can we keep her?!” Nora asks, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Absolutely not!” Frankie says, putting his hands on his hips, “She looks pretty young, probably has a family around here somewhere.”

“Obviously they don’t care about her though,” Nora argues, “They left her out in a storm!”

“Yeah,” Missy agrees, nodding her head, “That’s just mean to do to a baby dog!”

“Now, now girls,” you say, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, “Sometimes dogs get loose when they’re scared and just run off.”

“We’ll make some flyers and post them around the neighborhood,” Frankie says, “Until we can find the owners we’ll make sure the little thing’s fed and taken care of.”

“She’s not just a thing, Frankie,” Nora grumbles, stomping past you to the living room, the dog and Missy following right behind her.

Frankie takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You walk towards him, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him close, breathing him in.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper into his neck, placing a small kiss there.

“Why’s she gotta be so damn stubborn like her momma?” Frankie hums, grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Everyone says she looks like her dad so guess that means she has to have my attitude,” you say, shrugging your shoulders with a laugh.

—

“Are you sure we can’t just keep her?” Missy asks while you’re stapling one of the flyers to a pole.

It’s been a couple days since the dog arrived. You’d gotten the flyers made and now you were all walking around the area with the dog and posting them up in numerous places. You’d already hit every business downtown that you could. Now it was time to hit the neighborhoods around you.

“I’m sure,” Frankie said in a stern tone, “We are not keeping her.”

“But I already picked out a name,” Nora pipes up, flicking the leash lightly in her hands like a whip, “Goober!”

“Nora don’t do that with the leash,” you say, “You could hurt her.”

“Don’t name her!” Frankie groans, “She’s not our dog!”

“Why Goober?” Missy laughs, as you all continue to walk.

“Well,” Nora says, looking down at the dog who cocks her head to the side like she was waiting for the answer as well, “Just look at her! Mom always says I’m a goober when I do something funny and she just looks funny!”

“I like it,” Missy says with a small smile.

“No,” Frankie said, “Her name is not Goober.”

The dog barks, ears perked up, wagging her tail, and looking directly at Frankie.

“Oh,” you laugh, “Babe, I think she just told you you’re wrong and that her name is, in fact, Goober.”

“Stop it,” he says, pointing at you before hanging up another one of the flyers.

—

“Would it be such a bad idea to keep her?” You ask while filling the dog’s food and water dish. The dog is patiently waiting for you to place them on the floor for her.

“Yes it would.”

“Frankie,” you groan, hand on your stomach, and bending down to set them on the floor, “She’s so cute though!”

“Doesn’t matter how cute she is,” Frankie shakes his head, “We shouldn’t keep her.”

“Babe,” you say flatly, “It’s been a week and a half and we haven’t heard a single thing from anyone!”

“Good morning, Mom!” Nora beams, coming into the kitchen, “And good morning Princess Goober!”

“Morning,” Missy grumbles, “Goober!” She says perking up a little and petting the dog on the head.

“Stop calling her that!” Frankie says sternly, “She’s not our dog. End of discussion.”

“Oh,” Nora says, glaring at him, “Morning Frank.”

“Are you guys ready for school?” He asks, ignoring Nora’s glare.

“Yeah,” Missy yawns. Nora just grumbles still glaring at him.

“Alrighty then,” you hum, “Come here. Hugs!”

Both girls embrace you one either side, giving them both a tight squeeze before letting them go.

“Have a good day and Nora,” you smile, “Please behave.”

She rolls her eyes, following Missy into the garage with a huff. Frankie shakes his head, walking towards you, wrapping his arms around you.

“That girl’s gonna give me more gray hairs than the baby,” Frankie mutters into your temple.

“That makes the both of us,” you laugh, giving him a chaste kiss before he’s off to take the girls to school and go to work.

—

“Goober!” The girls shriek, bursting into the house through the garage. Goober’s tail starts wagging like crazy and she pees all over the floor.

“Goober Goo!” You groan, “Not again!”

Goober just looks at you, panting, tongue hanging out to the side.

“Can we take her to the backyard?” Missy asks, putting her backpack on the hook.

“Sure,” Frankie grunts, bending down to clean up the pee. Goober pokes her head under his armpit, while he wipes the pee up and begins licking his face, “Okay, okay. Yes, I see you.”

“Think she likes the way your beard tastes, Dad,” Missy giggles.

“Must be leftovers in there,” he grumbles, rubbing Goober’s ears.

“Oh! Watch this!” Nora exclaims, “Come here Goober! Come here!”

Goober pushes past Frankie’s arm, walking in her pee to get to Nora.

“Damn dog,” Frankie mumbles, motioning for you to hand him the Clorox wipes.

Goober plops down in front of Nora. She grabs one of Goober’s ears and begins to scratch the inside of it, causing Goober’s back leg to violently shake. 

“What is she doing?!” Missy asks, starting to giggle.

“You found her puppy spot!” You exclaim with a laugh.

Frankie looks up to see what you are all laughing at, watching the saggy dog’s body jiggle and starts laughing.

“What the hell?” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “Think she is a Goober afterall. Go on, take her outside now, I’m sure she’s got more pee in her. Don’t want her pissin’ in the house more than she already has.”

The girls take her outside, taking turns throwing the floppy stuffed animal they gave her that she had ripped the stuffing out of.

“Babe,” You smile watching the girls play with Goober outside, “I think we have a dog now.”

“I think you’re right,” Frankie groans, standing up, throwing away the Clorox wipes and throwing the towel into the hamper in the laundry room.

“We can’t get rid of her,” you pout, “The girls love her too much. Frankie, I love her too much and no one’s claimed her!”

Frankie finishes washing his hands at the sink, turning around, crossing his arms with a big sigh.

“Fine,” he sighs, “We’ll keep the damn dog.”

—

“What ya making, babe?” Frankie asks, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, “Smells really fucking good.”

“Spaghetti,” you grumble, “Only thing the girls seem to want to eat right now.”

Nora rushes into the kitchen, observing the fridge, rearranging some of the pictures on it.

“What are ya doin’ kid?” Frankie asks, looking behind his shoulder.

“Moving some stuff around,” she says snarkily, “This coupon is expired. Can I throw it away?”

“Yes,” you and Frankie say at the same time.

“Cool,” she says, throwing it away and running out of the kitchen.

You continue stirring the sauce, trying not to let the smell get to you.

“Need me to take over?” Frankie asks, kissing your temple.

“Oh my god,” you huff, “Please.”

Frankie laughs softly, kissing the spot on your neck that meets your shoulder. Then moves you to the side when Nora and Missy come rushing back in. Goober following closely behind them.

“I think we should put it here,” Nora says, pointing to the empty spot she made.

“What if though,” Missy says, rearranging different pictures, creating a new empty space, “We put it here?”

“Hmm, yeah, I like that better,” Nora agrees.

Missy grabs one of the magnets off the fridge, placing a new picture on the fridge, right alongside the picture of the four of you together, underneath the picture of Missy and Nora, and above the picture of Frankie with the guys.

“There!” Nora beams, “Goober is on the fridge, that means she’s family!”

“No take backs!” Missy says, pointing at Frankie.