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avastrasposts · 10 months ago

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A Baker's Dozen - Twelve

A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.

Series Master List

The final Pedro boy is coming to the bakery. Twelve weeks, twelve Pedro Pascal characters and one very lucky baker girl!

Thank you all so much for your comments, reblogs and love for this slightly unusual series of short stories. I've loved writing them and I've loved reading all your comments on the chapters. The love you've shown these boys, especially some of the ones that don't always get that much attention (I'm looking at you Pero...) is heart warming and really makes me as mushy as Marcus's chocolate fondant.

So...I think you can guess who the twelfth and final boy is 🥰🥰🥰

Your Sunday morning rush is just dying down as you see Mrs Levinson come through the door. As you watch, she turns and waves someone into the shop, and you catch a glimpse of a tall man in a baseball cap and aviators, before your next customer steps up and you turn to greet them.

You glance over at Mrs Levinson at intervals, she’s chatting to the man while waiting her turn and he’s got his back to you. As you watch, he shrugs, making an apologetic gesture with his hands and starts walking towards the front door. You can’t help but giggle under your breath as Mrs Levinson’s frail old lady hand comes out at viper speed and grabs his arm, making him stop in his tracks. Even though he looks big enough to just shake her off with another shrug, he stops and turns back to her. She gives him a smug smile, and even from behind the counter, you can see the sigh that escapes him, his shoulders lifting and dropping as his hand comes up and scratches at the back of his neck.

You’re intrigued when it’s finally their turn, Mrs Levinson stepping up to the counter and giving you a delighted smile. The man with her follows just behind and glances up at you from under the peak of his cap. He looks uncomfortable to say the least, and you can see his fingers twitching by his side, nervously tapping his thigh.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Mrs Levinson coos, her smile bright enough to rival the sun, mischief in her eyes, “I’m so glad we caught you in the shop today.”

“Hi, Mrs Levinson, what can I get you?” you smile back at her with slight apprehension, there is something decidedly unusual in her manner today. Plus, she was in yesterday for her weekly order, you didn’t expect to see her for at least another few days.

“Oh, I think it’s about what I can get you, my dear,” she twinkles, turning and ushering forward the man behind her, the neck visible above his gray t-shirt a deep shade of pink, “This is the boy I was telling you about, Mrs Morales’s son, Francisco.”

“Frankie”, the man says immediately, quickly pulling the aviators from his eyes and looking as if he’s just waiting for you to put him out of his misery at being coerced into this by an old lady about a third of his size.

“She works too much, Francisco,” Mrs Levinson says, “I thought maybe you could do something about that,” she smiles at Frankie, who briefly closes his eyes and seems to send up silent a prayer.

Mrs Levinson pats his arm, “There now, dear boy, buy something nice for your mother. This girl really bakes the most delicious cakes, I’ll let you two get acquainted.”

With that she gives you another beaming smile, and leaves the shop, leaving you and Frankie staring at each other. You crack first, a nervous giggle erupting from inside as you realize the ridiculousness of the situation. Frankie’s eyes widen for a moment, before he cracks too, a deep wheezing laugh making his shoulders shake as he grabs hold of the counter for support.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he finally says, drawing a deep breath as you both fight back the bubbling laughter, “She’s been talking about you for weeks and when I ran into her down the block, she wouldn’t let me leave.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to her meddling, I swear she’s tried to set me up with everyone of her friend’s sons,” you smile. The man across the counter, in the thankfully empty shop, gives you a nervous smile back. He really is cute, you realize, as you look closer at him. A deep dimple in his cheek as he smiles, smile lines around his eyes and wild curls escaping the ball cap to wrap around his neck and ears.

“Well, I’ll buy something and then leave, I hope this wasn’t too weird,” he says, still looking a little nervous as he rubs the back of his neck again.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it, she’s a menace,” you say, rolling your eyes and smiling at him, “And you seem like a perfectly nice man, I was expecting much worse from her to be honest.”

Frankie chuckles at that, a pleasant sound, and his dark brown eyes are warm as he tugs at his cap, the pink creeping back up his neck.

“I’m glad I've exceeded your expectations,” he says, shifting his weight on his feet, crossing his arms before he uncrosses them again and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets, glancing up at you, one side of his mouth pulled in a crooked smile, “And to be honest, I wasn’t expecting much either, but I’m…uuh…you’re even prettier than she said.”

Your cheeks feel like someone lit a furnace as Frankie tilts his head, his smile widening as he sees you nervously swallow, your tongue suddenly feels too thick.

“Thanks,” you squeak, “that’s…really sweet of you to say,” a shy smile creeping across your face as you hastily rearrange the order forms on the counter before you look up at Frankie again. He’s still looking at you, a bit more confidence in his smile now, and for what feels like several minutes, but is probably only a few heartbeats, you look at each other across the counter, something starting to bubble under the surface.

Eventually Frankie clears his throat, “I should probably buy something now right? Before you think I’m even weirder than getting dragged in here by a little old lady.”

It makes you laugh, and Frankie smiles back at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling again as he looks at you with something that loosens a delighted little flutter in your belly.

“She’s a very convincing little old lady,” you chuckle, “but what can I get you?”

“Uuh…I have no idea,” he fumbles, glancing across the display case and then looking up at you with a slightly desperate look, “What would you recommend?”

“For your mother?” you ask and he nods.

“Yeah, I think I should get her something, she always saying how good your place is,” he replies, giving you another smile, “She loves your lemon meringue pie.”

“I don't have any left today I’m afraid,” you say, “I sold them all, but I made canelés this morning. She probably hasn’t had them before, I only just started making them,” you point to the small golden brown cakes and Frankie bends his tall frame to look closer at them.

“What’s in them?” he asks, glancing up at you again and you grab one from the tray, handing it over to him.

“Vanilla and rum, try it, see if you think she’ll like it.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the cake from your tongs and you can’t help but notice how his large hand seems to dwarf it before he takes a bite.

“Oh yeah…” he hums, nodding as his eyes widen, “these are amazing, I think she’d love ‘em, they’re really good,” he puts the other half in his mouth and chews with a smile. The pink tip of his tongue comes out and licks his lips as he swallows the last bite down.

“Sold,” he says with a grin, “give me eight of those, four for her, four for me.”

“Thanks, I’m so glad you like them,” you beam as you start packing his order, “they’re my new favorite and if people like them I’ll keep making them.”

“I hope you do, they’re really good,” Frankie replies, discreetly wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, catching some crumbs that have fallen into his scruffy beard, as he watches you.

“Alright, there you go,” you say and Frankie pulls his wallet from the pocket of his tan jacket, and taps his card on the machine, “And…I hope you come back, Frankie,” you give him a shy smile, “If Mrs Levinson didn’t scare you off.”

“No chance,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your skin tingle, “I’m happy she made me come.”

“You’re welcome back any day,” you reply, your cheeks burning under his soft eyes. You’re both caught staring at each other for a few seconds again, Frankie swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing as he seems to search for a reason to stay, and you’re quietly hoping he’ll find one.

“I…I should maybe get going,” he stutters eventually, taking a tentative step towards the front door, glancing down at boots, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. You’re quickly starting to love the small gesture, especially when he looks back up again from under the peak of his cap and gives you another small smile, the dimple deepening in his cheek as he sees you smile in return.

“Bye, then,” he raises his hand in a wave, reaching the door and pulling it open, still smiling at you.

“Bye, Frankie,” you smile, mentally trying to stop yourself from twirling, “See you soon.”

You don’t expect him to turn up as soon as he does, but on Tuesday afternoon, when you’re busy kneading dough for cinnamon rolls, you hear the doorbell jingle. Stepping out of the kitchen you can’t help the smile that creeps up when you see him standing by the door, looking around the shop. He’s foregone the cap today, his dark chocolate curls a bit tidier around the ears but still fighting to escape whatever he’s attempted to do to contain them.

He smiles when he spots you by the kitchen door, his hand flying up to tug at his cap, forgetting it’s not there as he grabs at nothing. Fumbling he pushes his hand through his hair instead, the curls immediately escaping and creating a halo around his head.

“Hi,” he says, walking over as you take in his long legs in dark jeans, the untucked blue shirt crinkled as if he’s just tugged it out of his pants.

“Hi Frankie,” you smile back at him, wiping your hands on your apron, wondering how much of a mess you are, the kitchen is hot and the dough has been fighting you for the past ten minutes. He comes to a stop just in front of you and you can smell his cologne, the warm scent mixing with the cinnamon from behind you.

“Whatever you’re baking, it smells really good,” he says, looking over your shoulder and then back at you.

“Thanks, cinnamon rolls, the ultimate ‘good for business’ scent,” you grin, “people always buy extra when I bake them.”

“Sneaky marketing,” he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles and shifts his weight, “You’ve got something on your cheek, can I?” he asks, lifting his hand and you nod, wondering what the hell you managed to smear on yourself this time, “You’ve got flour right…here,” he says, his thumb gently swiping across your cheek, dusting away the smudge and leaving a warm imprint on your skin.

“Thanks, I’m always getting stuff on my face or in my hair,” you say, attempting to wipe off your apron, covered in more flour to hide your nerves at his close proximity, “I’m a messy baker.”

“It’s cute,” he replies, swiping his thumb over the spot again, slower this time, “I think I got it all.”

The oven timer beeps in the kitchen, interrupting the moment, “First batch,” you say, thumbing behind you, “I need to get them out.”

Frankie nods and leans on the door frame as you hurry back into the kitchen. The warm smell of cinnamon hits you both as you open the door and you hear Frankie inhale deeply.

“That smells incredible,” he sighs, inhaling again, “you’re clever to use that as marketing.”

You laugh and set the trays down on one of the stainless steel counters, “I need to get a fan with an exhaust out onto the street, spread this scent across the block.”

“You’d sell out in a heartbeat,” he chuckles as you go back to the dough and start rolling it out on the workbench.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” he asks as he watches you, “I just wanted to stop by and say that my mom loved those little cakes and wanted me to ask what they’re called. I totally forgot…” he gives you an embarrassed grin as you glance over at him with a smile.

“Canelés. And I’m glad she loved them, I’ve only got a few left but I’m making more tomorrow.”

“Canelés, I’ll try to remember that,” Frankie says, “And I’ll tell her you’ve got a fresh batch tomorrow.”

“You seem close with your mom,” you say, still working on the dough and Frankie smiles fondly.

“Yeah, we’re close. Wasn’t always like that though, I had some messy years after I got out of the army, I tried keeping everyone away. But she didn’t give up on me, hauled me back to town, helped me out a lot more than she should’ve needed too. I’m trying to pay her back for saving my life.”

You look over at him, he’s leaned his head on the door frame and gives you a little embarrassed shrug, “I’m a mama’s boy.”

“As you should be, Francisco,” you tease him, “She’s a very nice lady and one of my best customers.”

“Even before I moved back here she was telling me about your bakery,” Frankie grins, “can’t believe it took me so long to visit,” He pushes himself off from the door frame and comes over to the workbench, “Can I help out with anything, feels weird standing there doing nothing while you’re working.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Frankie, you’re just nice company,” you smile at him and he smiles back as the tips of his ears go slightly pink, his hand drifting down to the small of your back as he stands next to you. The warmth of his large hand radiates through the thin cotton of your t-shirt and sends a tingling up and down your spine.

“Come on, put me to work,” he says and your mind goes blank as he slowly moves his hand up and down your back while he waits for your reply. The small motion is so unremarkable, so ordinary, but it feels like all you need to do is turn to him and let him lead, let the comfort of his solid frame standing next to you, wrap around you like the warmth from his hand. You look up at him, letting go of the rolling pin and turning into his arms, his hand on your back sliding around your waist, curling gently to hold you.

He smiles again, tilting his head to the side as if he’s getting ready to say something, but the doorbell jingles out in the shop. Frankie leans back and peaks out, whipping his head right back in with a low curse.

“It’s my mom!” he whispers, his eyes widening as he tries to stifle his giggles, “if she sees me back here I’ll never hear the end of it!”

“Fridge,” you whisper back, matching his giggle under your breath, “stay close to the wall and she can’t see you.”

Frankie nods, his grin wide and mischievous as he hugs the wall, sliding towards the fridge as quietly as he can. You wipe your hands on the apron as you make your way out to the shop, smiling at Mrs Morales.

“Hello, Mrs Morales,” you say a bit too loudly, to hide the sound of her son opening the walk-in fridge in the kitchen, “How are things?”

“Just fine, thank you,” the gray haired lady smiles at you and you’re hit by how much Frankie looks like her, the same warm smile and deep dimple in her cheeks. “How are you, busy as ever?”

“I’m good, thanks. Business is a bit quieter after the holidays but I’m keeping busy, preparing for Valentine’s Day and then Easter,” you reply, strategically leaning on the counter so that she can’t see straight into the kitchen.

“Oh, of course, Valentine’s Day is coming up soon,” she says, giving you a sly smile, “Anyone special to take you out?”

“No, no one special,” you say, trying to keep the giggle that’s bubbling up inside contained at the thought of her son hiding just a few feet away, “I’m too busy for that, especially coming up to Valentine’s Day.”

“Well…” she says, an air of false indifference to her tone, “if I run into any handsome single men, I’ll send them your way.”

“That’s really nice, Mrs Morales, but you don’t need to,” you bite the inside of your cheek to stop the grin that wants to split your face, “I’m sure someone will come by the shop and ask me out.” You hope Frankie heard that, you’re sure he’s eavesdropping with the fridge door cracked open.

“I’ll make sure they do,” his mother replies, a mischievous smile on her face so reminiscent of the one her son just gave you, before she schools her features.

“So what can I get you today?” you ask, steering the conversation away from potential dates and she scans the selection on display.

“My son Francisco brought me the most delicious little cakes on Sunday,” she smiles innocently, glancing up at you, “he said you sold them to him, he got some for himself too.”

“I remember,” you say, “I have four left but I’m making fresh ones tomorrow if you want to come by then instead?”

“Oh, you know what, that’s a great idea,” Mrs Morales beams, “I’ll send Francisco to pick them up, can I reserve ten? I’m having some friends over that I know will love them.”

You grab your order pad and nod, not trusting yourself to not giggle madly, and write down her order, carefully folding it up and placing it next to the till before you dare look up at her again.

“I’ll make sure to put aside ten canelés for you, Mrs Morales,” you smile, biting the inside of your cheek, “Tell Francisco I look forward to seeing him again.”

A metallic clunk is heard from the kitchen and you quickly clear your throat, “Sorry about the noise, I’ve got a repair man taking care of the fridge.”

“Such a talented girl,” Mrs Morales smiles brightly at you, “you bake all these lovely things and run your own business,” she gives you a wave and opens the front door, “I’ll be sure to send Francisco tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mrs Morales,” you wave, turning back to the kitchen as soon as the door closes behind her.

Frankie is just closing the fridge door behind himself as you come in and he looks up at you. His neck is flushed beet red, his ears the most violent shade of pink and he’s pointing an accusing finger at you as he tries to stop the grin that’s splitting his rosy face.

“She…she is bad enough,” he says, “but you, egging her on!”

“What, I was just being polite to one of my regulars,” you grin at him as he shakes his head, the same bright smile as his mom’s.

“‘Tell Francisco I look forward to seeing him again,’“ he says, mimicking your cheerful customer service voice as you giggle, “You know, she’ll call me the second she’s in the car, I’ll never hear the end of this until I marr- “ he coughs, cutting himself off and impossibly turning an even deeper shade of beet.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried, Frankie, I was only telling the truth,” you smile at him and go back to the workbench and the cinnamon roll dough, “I am looking forward to you coming by tomorrow.”

Frankie lets a low chuckle escape as he scuffs his boots on the floor, coming to lean his back against the workbench.

“That’s so?” His ears are still a beautiful shade of pink, and his small smile while he looks at you with those deep brown eyes, makes your insides fill with excited little bubbles.

“That’s so,” you tell him as his phone starts to ring and he pulls it out of his back pocket.

“Told you she’d call me,” he laughs, showing you his phone, “I’ll sneak out the back if that’s ok?”

“Sure, avoid your mom, Francisco,” you tease him, but he just steps closer, drops a soft kiss to your cheek, and steps back with a smile.

“See you tomorrow, cariño.”

Before you can compose yourself, he’s out through the back door, giving you a final wave.

The canelés spread their vanilla and rum scent throughout the bakery the next evening, and you’ve packed up a box of ten for Mrs Morales. The only thing missing is her handsome son to pick them up. If you had to, you’d admit to yourself that you’re really, really looking forward to him coming by. As it draws near to closing time you keep checking yourself in the small mirror, glancing out at the street. Slowly you clear out the display cases and bring things into the dishwasher, and then you hear the front door bell jingle out in the shop.

You attempt a casual stroll out from the kitchen, and Frankie is by the door, giving you a warm smile. He’s just swiped the ball cap off his head, running his fingers through the unruly curls with one hand as he stuffs the cap into his back pocket with the other.

“Hey,” he says, coming over as you reach the counter, “you look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you smile back at him, glancing down at your new blouse that’s really far too nice to wear in the kitchen, “you look good too.”

Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up into his curly hairline and then he glances down at himself like he has to check what he’s wearing.

“I do?” he asks and the disbelief in his voice makes you laugh. The faded denim shirt hugs his shoulders and he’s folded the sleeves up over his forearms, a smattering of freckles visible under the shop’s overhead lights. As he runs his palms over his chest, smoothing out the fabric you smile at him.

“Yeah, you do, that’s a really nice color on you.”

“Thanks,” he gives you a crooked smile, his ears turning pink. Watching Frankie blush is quickly becoming one of your favorite things and you’re glad to see that even the slightest compliment will get him there. His nervous little shuffle and the way the tip of his tongue comes out to lick at his lips before he glances up at you again, makes you feel giddy as you feign a need to wipe the tables and step out from behind the counter.

“I just need to finish up so that I can close, but I’ve got your mom’s order ready to go,” you say and walk around him to the first table.

“No rush,” he says, “can I help you with anything?”

“Thanks, Frankie, do you think you could bring in the sign from the street?,” you reply, pointing to the chalkboard sign, “it’s so heavy, I always hit my shins on the damn thing.”

“I could probably put some wheels on it for you.” Frankie says, pushing open the door, holding it open with one hand as he grabs the heavy sign with the other, effortlessly picking it up and moving it into the shop while you look at his casual display of strength with raised eyebrows.

“What?” he says, his forehead furrowing with worry, “Did I do it wrong?”

“It takes me two hands and a lot of grunting trying to get that thing inside without scratching the floor, and you’re acting like it weighs nothing,” you give him a mock scowl as his worried look disappears. He’s chuckling as he leans the heavy sign against the wall.

“Sorry, I’ve handled a lot of heavy backpacks in my days, this really wasn’t that much in comparison.”

“Show off,” you grumble and he dusts off his hands, still chuckling.

“You’ve got other skills, like being an incredibly talented baker,” he smiles, “I bet you can make anything, no limits.”

“As long as I’ve got a recipe, I guess,” you admit, “it’s just chemistry in the end.”

“Have you ever made alfajores?” he asks, leaning his back against the counter and crossing his arms as you start wiping down the last table, “They’re my favorites.”

“No, I’ve never made them, but I’ve tried them once, they’re really good.”

“My mom doesn’t really bake, but I know she’s got my abuela’s recipe,” he says, “if you wanna try something new. The recipe is in Spanish so you know it’s authentic,” he gives you a quick grin.

“I don’t speak Spanish, I wouldn’t be able to read it,” you say, twisting the kitchen towel in your hands as Frankie smiles at you. You’ve wiped down the last table and now you’re leaned against it, mimicking Frankie’s stance across the room.

“Didn’t you take Spanish in high school?” he asks, his dimpled cheek making your heart flutter for a few seconds before you find your voice again.

“Yeah, sure, but I remember like three or four things,” you can’t help but smile back at him, especially when you recall what phrases you remember. You can feel your cheeks heat up and he definitely picks up on it.

“You only remember the dirty words?” he winks, and you have to turn away and busy yourself with wiping down the table again as you giggle.

“No, they’re not dirty words,” you laugh, shaking out the cloth and tossing it in the back.

“So tell me then,” he grins, “I wanna hear your Spanish!”

You feel the smile on your face, threatening to take over as your cheeks heat up even more, and he looks at you expectantly, eyebrows raised up towards his unruly brown curls.

“Fine…” you say finally, drawing a deep breath and recalling your high school Spanish and the lines you’d learnt from a cute exchange student in college.

“Cállate,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up even more, before he mimics zipping his lips shut and throwing away an imaginary key.

“Ven aqui,” you continue with a smile at him and he smiles back, immediately stepping across the floor and standing obediently right in front of you.

You pause and exhale slowly, he’s so close now, you can see the rich dark brown color of his eyes so clear, the woodsy smell of his body wash, or maybe it’s his aftershave, lingering in your nose, and his lips quirk up in a smile. He knows the effect he’s having on you, and he loves it.

You smile back at him, working up the courage to say the next phrase.

“Bésame.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile widens. He steps a little bit closer, leaning into you, and you feel the tickle of his scruffy beard as he softly touches his lips to your cheek. He lingers for a few seconds, and you dare hardly move, you can feel his warm breath on your skin. And then he pulls back, his smile softer now, his eyes darker.

“Any more phrases?” he asks, his voice low, and you nod slowly.

“Un beso más.”

“Un beso más?” he whispers, his lips already so close, and you nod again as they brush against yours.

His kiss is gentle and soft, his hands carefully coming up to curl around your waist as he bends his head to yours. The short scruff of the mustache tickles delicately against your skin as he deepens the kiss, and when you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your hands finding the silky soft curls at his neck, he hums into your mouth. His hands, so warm and large, tighten their grip and pull you a little bit closer, making you curve yourself into him. He’s solid, firm, under your arms, but his mouth is soft, warm and wet when he gently nips on your bottom lip, making you open up for him. With a small moan you let him lick into your mouth, making him groan in response and pull you tight against his chest. His hand slides up from your waist, cupping your cheek, his large hand easily spanning around your neck as his thumb caresses your skin.

Minutes pass, the only sounds your combined breaths mingling, soft moans and wet lips pressed together.

After what feels like an eternity, but also not long enough by far, Frankie pulls back a little, his thumb gently brushing over your kiss swollen lips, letting you chase the pad of his thumb with a small chuckle.

“Better than I even dreamed of,” he mumbles, removing his thumb and pressing one more kiss to your lips. You hum in agreement as his tongue tangles with yours again, the need to feel more of him rising, making you curl your fingers tighter into his hair, standing on your tiptoes.

Suddenly Frankie bends his knees, dropping his hands and grabbing the back of your thighs, picking you up. You quickly wrap your legs around his narrow waist and giggle. He continues to press kisses to your lips between the bouts of laughter that bubbles up between you as he walks back to the kitchen with you hanging on like a koala.

“To many people walking past outside,” he mumbles as he puts you down on the counter, kissing you again, “with my luck Mrs Levinson will come into the shop.”

“I’d say she’d be scandalized,” you giggle, “but something tells me she was a menace when she was younger.”

“Definitely, I’d say she’s done her fair share of making out,” Frankie chuckles, taking your chin between his thumb and finger, capturing your bottom lip between his own, his nose bumping against yours as he gently nibbles on your lip, making you pull him closer with a moan.

Frankie’s hand slides up and down your back and you tangle your fingers in his hair again while he cups your cheek with the other. Several more minutes disappear as he explores every way he can pull soft moans from you with his lips close to yours.

Eventually you pull back a little and Frankie opens his eyes. His pupils are blown wide but he’s smiling as he sneaks a final kiss from you.

“You make me lose track of time, Francisco Morales,” you mumble as he tries to pull you in closer, making you giggle when he pouts, his plush bottom lip pink and shiny from the past few minutes.

“Your kisses are distracting,” he smiles, “I guess I’m keeping you from important baking chores?”

“I just need to order some things for later in the week,” you say as he steps back and pulls you off the counter.

“Don’t let me distract you any more then,” he replies, his hands sliding down over your hips, lightly grabbing at the softness, “just let me come back soon.”

“Come back anytime you want and I’ll make those alfajores for you,” you tell him, “just bring the recipe.”

He smiles at that, his hands never seizing their movements up and down your curves, “I’ll bring it and we can make it together if you want,” he replies, “My abuela used to let me help her make them.”

“I’d love that, Frankie,” you beam, “just tell me what to order,” you make him walk backwards, pushing at his wide shoulders as he chuckles, glancing behind him as you walk him towards the small office set up and your laptop.

“Well, you need manjar, that’s what she calls dulce de leche,” he says, letting go of you as you sit down. He stands next to you, one large hand splayed on the desk for support as he leans in to look at the screen, “Fuck, I’m getting old, I need reading glasses,” he grumbles, making you giggle as you stroke your finger over the gray in his beard.

“I bet you look really good in glasses, Frankie,” you smile up at him and he chuckles.

“Thanks, I need to hear that often or I’ll never wear them,” he replies and you shake your head.

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” you laugh, turning back to the laptop, “So, dulce de leche, anything else I might not have?”

“Corn flour?” he says, “That’s the only ingredient my abuela would have to buy specially for them, the rest is normal baking stuff.”

“Good to know,” you say, adding the extras to your order, “We’re all set.”

“When can I come by,” Frankie asks as you stand up, following you back out to the shop.

“I’ll have the order tomorrow, so any day after closing this week works for me,” you grab Mrs Morales’s canelés and give them to Frankie.

“Does Friday work?” he asks, looking a bit shy all of a sudden, especially for a man who’s just spent the past half an hour kissing you breathless, “Only, I’d like to, I mean if you want to, I’d like to take you out for dinner afterwards. On a date, I mean, if you want too?” His ears go pink as he fumbles through the question and you take a step forward, putting both your hands on his cheeks and pulling his face down to yours, kissing the tip of his nose as he begins to smile.

“I’ll love to, Frankie, dinner on Friday sounds perfect.”

Halfway through closing on Friday afternoon you hear a knock on your backdoor. You’re already serving a customer so you ignore it, you’ve left the door unlocked for the delivery guy and he knows what to do. Mrs Levinson is next in line, ready to pick up her usual weekend order, and she’s looking very eager and chipper as she steps up to the counter.

“Hello, dear!” she exclaims, a bright smile on her face as she winks at you, “How’s Francisco? His mother told me she sent him here the other day for a special order.” She winks at the last word, making you blush as you try to keep your composure.

“He picked it up just fine, thanks, Mrs Levinson”, you say, praying your voice is neutral. Internally you’re picturing how the little old lady’s head would likely pop with excitement if she knew how his last visit had gone.

“Such a good looking boy, don’t you think?” she asks, and it’s very much a rhetorical question, but you nod along anyway, “Those brown eyes,” she sighs, “I tell you, if I was forty years younger….” She titters, delighted at her own joke, and you can’t help but laugh with her.

“He does have very nice eyes, Mrs Levinson,” you smile, “I’ve got your order in the back, I’ll just get it for you.”

You step into the kitchen, expecting to see the delivery guy, but instead you’re met by Frankie’s pink cheeks and big grin. He’s leaning on the doorway into your small back storage that leads to the backdoor, having clearly heard Mrs Levinson’s comments. He mouths a silent “Hi,” to you and you smile back at him, trying to stop the giggles that are threatening to bubble up. You have to pass him to get to where the orders are kept, and he quickly snakes an arm around your waist as you step into the storage room. His red plaid shirt is soft against your skin and the t-shirt underneath smells like him when you wrap your arm around him and return his hug.

“Hi,” he whispers again, his mouth close to your ear, his ever present cap bumping against your cheek, as you reach up and caress his curls at his neck quickly, before grabbing the order.

“Hi,” you whisper back, “I’ll be right back, let me just get rid of Mrs Levinson.”

He nods and presses a warm kiss to your cheek before he lets you go.

“Here you are, Mrs Levinson, your usual order,” you say as you step back into the shop, leaving Frankie hiding in the back room, “Anything else today?”

“Four canelés, dear,” she smiles sweetly, “Mrs Morales was praising them, said her son just loved them.”

“They are very nice, I’m sure you’ll love them too,” you reply, boxing four of the small cakes and ringing up her total, “There you go then, have a nice weekend now, Mrs Levinson.”

“Speaking of Mrs Morales,” the old lady continues, ignoring your attempt to wrap up the conversation, “She said you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, I’m sure Francisco would love to take you out, you’d make such a handsome couple.”

“I won’t have time for a date, really, it’s one of our busiest days,” you say, starting to wipe down the counter, praying she’ll get the hint, but no such luck.

“Oh, nonsense, dear, you need to have some fun. I’ll tell Francisco to ask you out the next time I see him.”

“Really, Mrs Levinson, please don’t do that, I’m sure- “

You’re interrupted by the beeping of the oven timer, which is odd, the oven shouldn’t be on, but right now you’re very grateful for the beeping.

“I’d better get that, Mrs Levinson,” you rush out, giving her a quick wave as you turn towards the kitchen, “Have a nice weekend!”

“Always so busy, dear,” she smiles, waving back at you and leaves the bakery. With a deep sigh of relief you go back into the kitchen. Frankie is standing by the oven, fiddling with the knobs and you walk over and push the right one to turn off the alarm.

“So I guess that was you,” you smile at him as he grins.

“Yeah, it was either that or knock something over. Mrs Levinson was getting a bit too meddlesome,” he chuckles, glancing out through the kitchen door to make sure that she’s gone before he wraps both arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, “Is it true you’re too busy for a date on Valentine’s Day?” he asks, “Because if you are, I’d like to ask you out for the fifteenth instead.”

“I’m busy during the day, in the evening I’m free,” you smile up at him, “But any evening works for a date with you, Frankie.”

The tips of his ears go pink at that, and he gives you a wide, dimpled smile, bending his head to yours, his nose brushing over your cheek before he lets his lips capture yours in a soft kiss.

“Good,” he mumbles, “because I want to take you out every night.”

“I don’t want to go out every night,” you smile between his kisses, “Some nights I’d like to stay on the couch with pizza and a tub of ice cream.”

“Sounds like a nice night too, is there room for me on that couch?” he asks and you nod.

“There might be, it’s not a very big couch, but I’m sure I can squeeze you in.”

“Sounds even better,” Frankie mumbles and you can feel him smile against your lips, ��How about we do some baking and then I take you out on that date I promised for tonight?”

“Let me just lock up the shop,” you kiss his warm lips one more time, before pulling away, “and we’ll get right to it.”

“Let me grab the street sign for you, cariño,” he says, following you into the shop.

With everything locked up and the lights off in the shop, you set up in the kitchen and Frankie pulls out an envelope from his pocket. Inside is an old handwritten note in Spanish with the alfajores recipe from his grandmother. He gently smooths it out on the bench and joins you in the fridge where you’re getting the butter and eggs.

You hear him come in and stand behind you, taking the butter from your hand as you balance three eggs in the other.

“Anything else we need from here?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“No, just the eggs and butter, we need three egg yolks.”

“Ok, let's get the rest in the pantry then.”

“Lead the way,” Frankie replies, smiling as you turn to face him, and you can’t help stepping closer and reaching up so that you can kiss him. He comes willingly, bending his head to your lips, and parting them for your tongue.

“I really like kissing you,” you mumble against his lips and you hear the low rumble of his chuckle.

“Good,” he mutters, “because I don’t want to stop kissing you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as you look up at him, his smile making you feel liquid inside, like jelly legs and too much fizzy drinks, bubbling over as you smile back at him.

“Alfajores,” you finally say, after he’s kissed you a few extra times, and he chuckles again.

“We keep getting distracted.”

“I blame you, Francisco.”

“I’m innocent, your lips are too kissable,” he grins and you giggle, cheeks heating up and it makes him laugh, taking your free hand in his own, “C’mon, baker girl, at this rate I’ll never get to take you out to dinner.”

He leads you over to the pantry, listing the ingredients you need and letting you pile them high in his arms. Back at the workbench you weigh them out while Frankie translates his grandmother’s handwriting on the note.

The ingredients come together to a loose dough and Frankie takes over, showing you how his grandmother would push the dough together without kneading. He’s shrugged out of his red plaid flannel shirt, the gray t-shirt stretching tight over his biceps as you watch his large hands gently push the dough around the bench, transfixed by how they move.

“She always told me not to knead the dough,” he says, pressing a few more bits of dough into the circular mound taking shape, “Just push it together so that it holds its shape and then wrap it in cling film and chill in the fridge.”

He pats the dough a few more times while you tear off a piece of plastic wrap and lay it down on the bench.

“There,” Frankie says, gently lifting the dough onto it and wrapping it up, “thirty minutes in the fridge, then we can bake them.”

You open the fridge door and he puts it on a shelf before coming back out and closing the door again.

“Now how do we spend thirty minutes in a kitchen?” you ask, tilting your head with a smile, “waiting for the dough to chill?”

Frankie raises one eyebrow, leaning back against the fridge door, giving you an amused look.

“What did you have in mind, hermosa?” he replies as he reaches out and takes hold of your hand, pulling you towards him.

“I was thinking…deep cleaning the oven,” you grin up at him as he wrinkles his nose, lips curling down in disappointment, “Maybe wiping out the shelves in the fridge? Or you can help me fix the blockage in the drain under the sink?”

Frankie rolls his eyes so far back you think they’ll get stuck, but he’s grinning at the same time.

“Not really what I had in mind,” he says, both his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his body and you bring your own arms up, cupping his cheeks and letting your thumbs caress his scruffy beard.

“I love the little patches in your beard,” you say and lean closer, smelling the warm cotton of his t-shirt and a faint whiff of his body wash, “I especially like this one under your chin.” You make him tilt his head up as he chuckles, showing the smooth underside of his neck, freckles dotting the pebbled skin. His throat bobs as he swallows.

“I’m glad you like ‘em,” he smiles, a small shiver running through him when you press your lips to the bare patch under his chin, “Because that’s as much beard as you’ll get from me.”

It makes you giggle against the soft skin, the longer parts of his beard tickling your nose as you press more kisses along the underside of his jaw, keeping his head tilted back. His hands around your waist are starting to wander, slowly caressing up your back and down over your hips. A small, low sigh escapes him as you stand on your tiptoes, your mouth reaching the spot under his ear where you can feel his pulse beat.

“Is this what you had in mind?” you ask, your voice low against the shell of his ear, his hands tightening around you. He gives you a small nod in response, lowering his head so that he can meet your eyes. He’s not smiling anymore, instead his look makes you wobble, curling your fingers around his shoulders for support. The peak of his cap nudges your forehead, closing both of you in under it, and as he moves closer, he reaches up and pulls it off. You hear it land softly on the floor next to you somewhere, but you’ve already closed your eyes as Frankie’s warm lips find yours.

When you break apart your lips are hot to the touch, the soft scratches of Frankie’s beard tickling your skin, and the evidence of his growing need impossible to hide between your bodies. You can’t help but press closer against him, feel him jerk as your hip moves, a stifled groan caught in the back of his throat.

“Fuck…” he mumbles, “let’s make those damn cookies so we can get out of here,” he’s tangled his fingers in your hair, holding you close to his mouth, his breath warm against your skin when he speaks, “Can we make it through dinner?”

“I’m really not that hungry for food,” you whisper back, his lips trailing over your jaw as you speak, nibbling a wet path down your throat as his fingers gently pull at your hair, giving him more room to taste your skin.

Another chunk of time is lost to his kisses. Every time he nips and licks at your throat, a moan escapes your open mouth, breathing heavily while you curl your fingers into his shoulders, moving down to his thick arms.

“Frankie…” you mumble as his hands begin to slide up under your shirt, leaving warm trails across your torso, his kisses starting to move down over your clavicles as he pushes your collar to the side, “don’t start something you can’t finish here…” you warn him, but you do nothing to stop him. His rough palms grab at your flesh, pulling you closer, one last hot kiss, a mark on your skin, before lifting his head, his hands slipping down to your hips again.

“You’re right, I don’t want to do this here,” he says, looking up at you with dark eyes, his lips rosy and pink, “Grab the dough, we making these fucking cookies now and then I’m taking you home.”

You nod and reluctantly pull away from him as he moves to the side, letting you open the fridge door and retrieve the dough while Frankie gets a rolling pin. You watch him as he begins to roll out the dough, the muscles of his arm flexing as he presses down on the firm dough, forcing it to flatten onto the workbench. He’s focused as he works to roll it out to an even thickness, the tip of his tongue coming out in concentration as he gauges the dough with this hand.

“That’s enough, not too thin,” he says when he’s satisfied, “or the dough will break.”

Together you use a cookie cutter on the dough and soon two trays of cookies slide into the oven under Frankie’s watchful eye.

“We don’t want them to overbake, they should still be a pale color,” he says, closing the oven door and setting a timer on his phone.

“Much as I’d like to get back to kissing you,” you smile at Frankie as he winks, “we should clean up so that we can leave once they’re done.”

“I’ll clean up, cariño,” he smiles back, “get the manjar and a piping bag and get us set up for the cookies.”

You nod and do as he says, watching him as he efficiently wipes down the workbench and the counters, removing the leftover dough and putting away the ingredients. You fill the piping bag with the soft manjar and lean on the workbench while Frankie rinses the cloth and hangs it to dry.

“Do you need a job, Frankie?” you ask, “I’d hire you in a heartbeat with those cleaning skills.”

“One of the few good habits I picked up in the military,” he gives you a crooked smile as the timer goes off on his phone and he pulls out the cookies, “That and making beds with sharp corners. Nothing else good came out of those years.”

A brief shadow passes his eyes as he puts the tray down, turning back to hand the oven mitts on their hook without meeting your eyes. When he comes back to the bench you put your arm around his waist and pull him into your side, pressing your lips to his cheek. He leans into it, his eyes briefly closing with a small contented sigh.

“I’ll tell you about it someday,” he says, “I don’t want to ruin this moment.”

“Ok, Frankie,” you reply, your lips still close to his cheek, another kiss to his small bare patch there, and you see his smile return, his warm brown eyes finding yours again.

“You’re on manjar duty, I don’t trust my piping skills. I’ll sandwich the cookies.”

“Did your granny say anything about how much manjar each cookie should have?” you ask, picking up the piping bag.

“About the same thickness as the cookie,” he replies, holding the first cookie steady for you, “There you go, perfect!” He grabs the cookie you’ve just piped the filling on and presses a second down on top before rolling it in desiccated coconut and holding it up proudly.

“Our first alfajores cookie,” he chuckles, “I’m so proud of us.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you or your grandmother, Frankie” you smile at him, getting to work on the rest of the cookies. Frankie puts down the first one and starts assembling the rest.

“We make a good team,” he says, “and I can’t wait for you to try these, her’s are the best ones I’ve ever had.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to put the rest of the cookies together, with a flourish Frankie rolls the edges of the last cookie in the coconut and holds it out to you.

“Go on, try it,” he says with a smile, picking up a second one for himself. The light and airy cookie crumbles as you bite into it, the manjar coating your mouth as you hum around the flavors. The hint of lemon in the cookie blends with the filling and it makes your mouth water.

“So good, Frankie,” you mumble, your mouth still full and he chuckles, biting into his own a bit too eagerly. Manjar squeezes out around the sides and he quickly catches a blob with his tongue, his fingers coated in the sticky filling.

“Damn, I should’ve remembered, I always make a mess eating these,” he laughs, tilting his head back to stop the cookie from falling out of his hand as he stuffs the whole thing into his mouth. With puffed out cheeks he grins down at you, chewing the cookie with a happy face.

“As good as you remember?” you ask and he nods.

“Even better,” he says, his voice garbled from the mouthful of alfajores and it makes you giggle as he swallows the whole thing down. His fingers are covered in manjar and he tries to lick it off, the sight of his pink tongue sliding over his index finger temporarily shutting down your brain as you stare at his mouth. Frankie’s eyes flick up to your face, seeing your expression, and slowly pulls his finger from his mouth. Holding it out to you, he gives you a mischievous smirk.

“Here, try it.”

There’s a challenge to his tone, daring you to step up to him and cross a very weak line in where this new relationship is. The sight of his thick fingers, smudges of manjar stil clinging to them, and his brown eyes going dark as they lock on to you, makes it an easy step to take.

Your own hand wraps around his wrist as you pull his fingers towards your lips, Frankie’s jaw falling open of its own accord and his eyes drop to your mouth. His thumb has a dark streak of caramelized filling near the top and as you take it between your lips, your tongue tasting sugar and salt, he groans, louder than he intended in the quiet kitchen. From the corner of your eye you can see the hand hanging idly by his side twitching, the fingers opening and closing as another, lower, groan slips from him. Your tongue is wrapping around his thumb, closing your lips around it and sucking it deeper into your mouth. Frankie’s eyelids are heavy, threatening to close, but he fights to keep them open, starting at the way your mouth takes his thumb, images of other things disappearing between your lips making arousal thrum through his body.

“Fuck…” he mumbles, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

With a soft pop you pull off his thumb, gently wiping the corner of your mouth with tongue as Frankie inhales sharply.

Three long steps and he’s got you pinned against the fridge, his hands suddenly on your waist and behind your neck. He bends his head, finding you eagerly waiting for his mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips. He’s not hiding the way he’s grinding his hard on against your hips, your moans mixing with his breathy groans as you grab hold of his waist and pull him closer. With a growl he buries his face against your shoulder, his mouth hot against your neck.

“Fuck….” he groans again, “You feel so fucking good, just put the damn alfajores away, we’re leaving now.”

He pulls away a little, you can feel your face flushed as you press your legs together, heat shooting through every nerve ending. He’s caging you in now, his eyes dark under his furrowed brow, pressing a final heated kiss to your lips before he steps back, pulling you with him.

“I’ll get a box for them,” you mumble, reluctantly moving away from him to the work bench. He bends to swipe his cap from the floor and shrugs back into his flannel shirt and watches you fold one of the take away boxes and pack the alfajores.

“Grab leftover manjar too,” he suddenly says, pointing to the piping bag, still half full with the sticky filling, “I know other uses for it.”

You look over your shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow and he winks at you, snaking his arms around your waist from behind before he bends his head to your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin as he nips at your earlobe.

“I’m thinking I’ve got other places that you might need to lick it from.”

Part Thirteen

Series Master List

A/N: I hope you enjoyed Frankie's visit to the bakery, I know I loved going back and writing my favourite Pedro boy.

But this is not the end because, as some of you have pointed out; a baker's dozen is thirteen, not twelve. So as this post goes up, I'll also put up a poll where everyone can vote for what Pedro boy they'd like to see return to the bakery, a second part to their story. Vote for your favourite to return!

The Poll!

In the meanwhile, thank you all for reading, commenting and sharing!

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal character fanfic #frankie morales fanfic

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canadianfangirl-95 · 6 months ago

Text

Karma

Frankie Morales fanfiction x f! reader pov

Summary: Triple Frontier guys attend a night club to see a band that isn’t typically their style. Frankie seeks solitude at the bar but becomes entranced by a mysterious stranger on the stool next to him.

No mention of the events of Triple Frontier, character based only.

Rating: 18+, minors DNI

Warning: smut, p in v, oral m receiving, alcohol consumption, talks of anxiety, mental health and therapy (we love a king that goes to therapy)

Word count: 8600+

Loud rock music sounded in the club as Frankie, Santiago, Benny, and Will squeezed between the crowd of people to find a tall table to lean against. The floor was sticky, and the music was so loud they had to all but yell at each other to talk. There were lights flashing everywhere to go along with the music the band on the stage was playing. There was a dance floor where a mosh pit of customers collected to head bang to the heavy metal music the band was currently playing. Frankie looked around feeling completely out of place from the small-town tavern he was used to.

“This place is fucking nuts.” Will shouted at the group.

They all nodded I agreement, trying not to talk if they didn’t have to in order to save their lungs the exhaustion. They would normally never come to a place like this, but Benny wanted to see the main band that was going to be on stage shortly because the drummer was a buddy of his at the gym. The rest of the group obliged as he had promised to buy a couple rounds and of course they didn’t have much better to do that night. Frankie was soon regretting his slow social life as he would definitely prefer to be anywhere he wasn’t getting shoved up against as people moved past him.

Frankie leaned into the group, “What’s this band called anyway?”

“Karma and the Catastrophes!” Benny shouted back at him.

Santiago interjected, “Where are those beers you promised us? Definitely gonna need it with this crowd.”

Benny reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills, “Can one of you get them I’m gonna go see if my buddy is backstage before he goes on.”

Frankie reached over and snagged the money out of his hands. “I’ll go, it looks a bit quieter over there.”

They all nodded as Frankie broke from the group and made his way to the back of the building where the bar was nestled. He noticed a considerable difference in the noise once he got back there and there were less people as most of the crowd was still enjoying the current band.

He leaned into the bar and got the attention of the bartender, signaling for four beers with his hand. He looked over to his right and noticed you sitting on the stool beside him with a glass of water. He was taken aback by your beauty. You were wearing a black tank top and ripped black jeans with leather boots. Your arms were adorned with various traditional Sailor Jerry tattoos.

He didn’t have much luck talking to women, but he couldn’t ignore the way his heart skipped a beat the second he saw you. He leaned in and said hi shyly.

You turned your head towards him, “Hey.” You smiled.

He drummed his hands for a beat on the bar before the bartender brought the beers back and he handed him the bills.

“This place gets pretty crazy huh?” he asked, trying his best to make conversation.

“Yeah, I don’t mind it though. I like the energy.” You responded, eyeing him up and down. He had a rough looking baseball hat and stretched grey T-shirt with jeans on. You could see a chain hanging underneath the v line of the shirt and assumed it was dog tags considering there is an army base on the other side of town. Military guys didn’t typically like your exciting lifestyle, but this one seemed harmless enough to at least flirt with.

“You come here often?” You asked, turning to him in your seat.

He grinned at you sheepishly, “Isn’t that my line?”

You smiled up at him, “Well I guess I’m better at this than you are.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I’d say you probably are. I’m a bit out of practice.”

“Don’t worry you’re doing fine. What’s your name?” You winked with a devilish grin.

“Frankie, and yours?” he asked, reaching out his hand.

You gave him your name with a shake of his hand.

He repeated it and immediately felt the noise of the crowd lesson. Suddenly it was just he and you and the beers that were slowly warming on the bar top.

“So, what do I say now since you’re so much better at this than I am?” He leaned in and you could feel his breathing against your cheek. The closer he got you could almost see your reflection in his deep brown eyes.

“Hmm, you should probably start with some cheesy pick-up line.” You replied, keeping your tone light, and popping your eye brows up and down.

Frankie thought for a second, “Oh so I should say something like; you should feel my shirt.”

You looked at him puzzled for a second, but obliged and reached your hand up to run the material on his arm between your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin as you did so. The fabric was so tight on his flexing arms you had to do your best to not skip a breath.

“Know what’s that’s made of?” he asked, slightly giggling to himself.

You shook your head and pulled your hand back to rest on your lap.

“Boyfriend material.” He said with a wink.

Your face went red, and a laugh came tumbling out as you swatted him playfully. He joined in on your laughter and covered his face with his hand.

“Wow, if that’s you out of practice you must be just swimming in women on a good day.” You jousted back at him.

Frankie shifted and leaned with his back on the bar. “If my friends ever found out I said that they would never let me live it down.” He smiled at you, one of those big dork smiles that always made you melt.

“Oh, I will absolutely tell your friends when I meet them.” You grinned at him.

He nodded back at the bar, “Can I get you a drink?” He asked.

You were suddenly very aware of what the night was to bring, you weren’t exactly in the bar for a social visit. “No, I’m sorry I’m uh- working tonight so I need to stay sober.”

“Oh, are you working here? Like your shift hasn’t started yet?” he asked intently.

You nodded, “Uh yeah something like that. Hey, Frankie I should really get going but can I find you before the end of the night?” You asked as you climbed off the bar stool and nodded at the bartender as he took your glass away.

He stood up straight, “Yeah that’d be great, I’ll see you later.” He smiled as you retreated through the crowd. He watched as you left, replaying your conversation back in his head as he finally turned his attention to the beers he was supposed to be bringing to his friends.

Frankie grabbed the four bottles in his hands and held them high enough as he walked through the crowd that he wouldn’t get them spilled by some drunk idiot getting too rowdy. The first band had seemingly ended during your conversation, so the room was now filled with the sound of voices from the customers. He set the beers down on the table when he finally rejoined his friends. Benny had also returned before he did.

Will reached for his drink, “Geeze took you long enough Fish. Get lost back there?” He asked.

Frankie took a sip from his beer and leaned with his forearms crossed on the table. “Actually, I was busy talking to a very pretty girl I met at the bar thank you very much. Now drink your piss warm beer.”

Santiagos interest was suddenly peaked, “A girl? Really? Frankie Morales actually spoke to a living, breathing woman?” His eyes widened with his sarcastic tone.

Frankie rolled his eyes, “Yeah I did, Pope.”

Santiago pressed on, “Well, come on now. Tell us all about this totally real girl.” He put quotations around real girl to prove his point that he didn’t entirely believe his friend who has always been the worst at picking up woman. Normally needing to send Will or Santiago in first to act as a wing man. He never used Benny anymore. Benny gave off too much of a golden retriever vibe and women instantly wanted to keep him.

“If you must know she is beautiful and funny and,” His voice trailed off as his attention was caught by the stage. You were walking out onto it with the rest of the band and situating yourself in front of the microphone in the middle of the stage. “Right there.” he said inquisitively.

“Hey Houston, are you ready to rock tonight?” You shouted into the microphone and were met with a roar from the crowd.

“What do you mean right there?” Santiago leaned in; Frankie still unable to take his eyes off you.

He stuttered, “She’s, right there that’s her on the stage.”

Benny yelled back at him, raising his voice now that the instruments had started up again. “Who, Karma?”

“What?” Frankie asked, confused by the name.

“Karma, the lead singer.” He replied.

Frankie turned his face back to the group, “Well, that’s not the name she told me.” He scratched his chin as he knew he heard your name right.

Will spoke up, “That’s probably just a stage name for band.”

Frankie nodded, realizing he must be right.

“So, you’re telling me you just picked up the lead singer from the band tonight?” Santiago asked, even more skeptical.

Frankie hummed to himself, realizing he didn’t actually pick you up. He was so dumbfounded by the conversation that he hadn’t even asked for your number. “We had a great talk and she said she would come find me before the end of the night.” He looked down, slightly dampened by the fact that you may have just been being nice and you might not actually find him.

The show wore on and he was amazed by your talent and charisma. You enveloped the stage with your big personality and had an amazing voice to boot. The guys all watched on and nodded their heads along with the rock music. Frankie was falling even more for you, watching your body as you danced along to the music in your tight black outfit. He grew a bit of jealously at the men gawking at you on the dance floor but held his head a bit higher knowing he was the one you were flirting with earlier.

You finally ended the show with a big thank you to the crowd. The guys all clapped their hands and whooped along with the rest of the club. He watched as you collected your things on stage and disappeared behind the curtain. Frankie turned his attention back to the group.

Santiago said, “Wow, they were really good. Not totally regretting the hearing aides I’m gonna have to get after tonight.”

Ben patted Frankie on the back, “So you gonna try to find Karma before she leaves?”

Frankie looked flustered, “I don’t know man did you see her up there? She’s this beautiful, fun, rock star and I’m well. Not that.” He sipped his beer and looked down, unsure of himself.

The guys all looked to each other with empathy, their friend never had the confidence they had. Santiago conceded in an effort to make Frankie feel better. “Oh, come on man, she’d be lucky to have you. I’m sure she’ll find you before the end of the night.”

You finished packing up for the night and said goodbye to the band and crew. Except for the guitarist who drove the equipment van and was your ride home. You promised him you wouldn’t be too long, you just had one thing you needed to do before heading out. You were adamant about finding Frankie before the place closed down for the night. You had to move quickly though, as your cool down took longer than you thought it would.

The crowd was still bustling as you made your way out of the backstage area. Fans cheered for you as you walked by and you smiled at them, trying to scan the crowd for the baseball hat you had seen earlier. Luckily that wasn’t really the look for this kind of crowd so you were hoping he would stick out fairly easily. Just as you were about to give up, you found yourself on the far-left side of the venue and caught sight of a silver chain poking out of the top of a grey T-shirt. You were elated that you had finally found him and pushed yourself through the crowd to tap him on his shoulder. He turned and his eyes went wide at the sight of you standing in front of him.

“Hey!” He gasped.

You bit your lip, slightly nervous. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yeah, I did you were awesome!” He said, “I’m so sorry I had no idea who you were when I was talking to you earlier.”

You smiled back at him “That’s okay, it was a nice talk. I’m glad you didn’t know. Guys tend to act a little differently when they know I’m headlining. They get a bit of a complex about if they can get me home that night.” You answered honestly.

Frankie nodded; he definitely did not want to be thought of as one of those guys, so he knew he had to play it right. “Well, I really liked talking to you too.”

Your heart fluttered, he seemed so nice. You didn’t normally have a connection with the guys you met at your shows, but there was something about him that made you want to see him again. “Um, Frankie, I’m glad I caught you and I know I’ve already done this once tonight, but my ride is waiting for me, so I have to get going. Could I give you my number?”

His mouth gapped, “Yeah, yes that’d be great thanks.” He dug into his pocket to pull his phone out and give it to you.

You took it from him, after entering your name and number you handed it back to him and motioned you were leaving.

He nodded goodbye and then thought for a second, “Hey, wait! What do I call you?”

You winked back at him at him and pointed to his phone before slipping through the crowd.

Frankie looked down at the contact you had just created on his phone.

Karma ;)

He looked back up and you were gone, he felt like all the air in his lungs had disappeared in an instant.

The next morning, you were moving about your kitchen with a spring in your step. You were so used to the punk, tattoo covered guys that frequented your shop and shows, so Frankie seemed like such a breath of fresh air. He was so innocent and spirited. You couldn’t help but check your phone on the kitchen island as you made your brunch. Hoping a text would pop up and you would get to see him again. He didn’t seem the type to take a girl’s number and ghost her, and he definitely didn’t seem like the kind to wait the typical three days before texting a girl to not come off as eager. No, Frankie was different, and you could tell right away. The way his smile was so big when he laughed and he snorted a bit. The way he leaned in to talk to you with so much respect and ensuring not to touch you even once before you’ve shown real interest. The steam coming off the stove top finally snapped you out of your trance. You carefully finished your omelet and settled onto the couch with your coffee to continue your annual binge of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Meanwhile, across town, Frankie was doing his own daydreaming about the night before. He sat on the couch with his phone flipping up and down in his hands as he rested his head on the back of the sofa. He let out an agonizing moan as he continued to think about what to do next. He hadn’t felt this lovesick in forever, and you seemed so confident, so he didn’t want to mess it up and scare you off.

Santiago rounded the couch and sat down on the opposite end. “You gotta calm down man it’s just a text.” He sipped from his coffee and turned on the tv to find a sports channel to play in the background.

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut, “It’s not just a text, you’ve said it yourself man.” He propped himself up straighter on the couch, “I’m shit at talking to women. I know I’ve only talked to her for like, five minutes but I like her. I don’t wanna screw it up before it even starts.”

His friend shook his head, “Look man, she could had gone home with probably a dozen guys last night but instead she found you. Asked to give you her number and then went home. She obviously likes you too. Just be yourself and it’ll be fine.”

Frankies head spun, he knew Santiago must be right, but it was so hard to trust the process. Be myself, he thought to himself. What would Frankie do if he really liked a girl and wanted to see her again. He’d probably call her if he was being honest with himself. However, that seemed so old fashion, and you were a rock star with tattoos and a confidence that would shake the ground. Would you like old fashioned? Or would it be annoying? He figured there was no time like the present to find out.

He stood up and patted his friend on the shoulder as he made his way to his room for some privacy, closing the door behind him as paced in his room for a minute before finally dialing the phone. He stood with his hand on his hip and bit his lip waiting for the call to connect.

You had finished your meal and were scrolling on your phone as the show played in the background when it suddenly started ringing. It startled you so much the phone nearly flung out of your hands as you tried to calm yourself. An unknown number, but definitely local based on the area code. You don’t normally answer calls right away, preferring to send it to voicemail and then call the person back if needed, but something about the timing of this call peaked your interest so you decided to answer it on speaker.

“Hello?” you said, holding the phone just below your mouth with a curious look on your face.

“Hey, uh- it’s Frankie.”

Your mouth gapped, you couldn’t believe he was calling you so soon. It made your head spin at his forwardness, but your heart flutter at how old-fashioned he seemed to be.

“Hey Frankie, what’s up?” You asked. “What’s up” you thought to yourself. What are you seventeen? You rubbed your palm on your forehead.

“Oh, nothing just at home. I hope I’m not calling too early I’m sure you had a late-night.”

“No, no it’s fine I’ve been up for an hour now.”

“Good, good. So, I hope I’m not being to forward but I was uh- wondering if you would be interested in going out sometime?”

You bit your nail in your nervousness, “Yeah I would love that.”

“Great, what are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing, tonight would be perfect actually. This is one of the only Saturdays this month I don’t have a show.”

“Oh perfect, uh- do you want to go for drinks or dinner or,”

“Uh- drinks and some appetizers would be good if you want?” You held your breath.

“Yeah, that sounds great, how about I pick you up at 8?”

“Okay, I’ll text you my address.” You replied.

“Sounds good, I’ll see you tonight.”

You grinned to yourself, “Okay, bye Frankie.”

“Looking forward to it, bye K-, uh, what do you actually want me to call you?”

“Oh, yeah you can call me Karma. Kind of a nickname, I think there’s only like, four people that call me by my other name.” You scratched your head, hoping he wouldn’t think your sultry nickname was a red flag.

“Oh okay, cool. Well than, bye Karma.”

“Bye.” You said as you clicked the phone off.

You rocked your head back against the top of the couch and then looked down at the time. You had nothing else planned for the rest of the day other than tidy up the shop and apparently figure out what to wear tonight. He obviously liked your edgy style as he had seen what you were wearing the night before, but a part of you wanted to mix it up a bit and give this old-fashioned guy a treat.

You got up and immediately ran to your closet, throwing dresses and rompers and shirts all over your room. Trying to find the perfect ensemble to hypnotize your new gentleman friend when your eyes locked onto something in the far back corner of your closet.

Frankie returned to the living room, grinning at his phone as he sat back down on the couch and looked up at the tv, not saying anything to his friend who was looking at him with squinted eyes.

“What’s that face all about?” Santiago asked.

Frankie leaned forward to slide his phone into his back pocket. “Just got off the phone with Karma, we’re going out tonight.” He looked over at his friend with a sly smile on his face.

Santiago tapped his hand on Frankie’s chest, “Well hot damn, look at you go. Wait did you call her?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yeah, you told me to be myself and that’s what I wanted to do.” He shrugged.

“Huh, well more power to you. I like this confident Frankie. Where are you gonna take her?”

Frankie thought for a second, he would very much like something quiet considering his ears are still ringing from last night, “I think that one pub downtown by the Walgreens is nice and quiet?” He chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered a few other options. Ultimately deciding to just go with that place as it isn’t nearly as busy as some of the other options around town.

He waited patiently for your address, which you texted to him around dinner time. His face lit up when your name came across the screen with the wink emoji.

It was 7:55pm when Frankie rolled up outside your house. He looked up at the sign on the front, “Karmas Chaos”. He figured you must run a business out of your house and wondered what it was. He got out and rounded the front of his truck when you opened the front door, and he was suddenly star struck.

You stood before him with your hair curled in a summer like wave, your white converse on and a beautiful yellow sun dress that showed off your many tattoos. The dress had small straps and a low neckline, it dipped at your waist to accentuate your curves and then flared out to rest at mid-thigh. It had a knot on the back with a cut out just below. It was far more feminine than you were used to, you think you bought it years ago for a cousin’s wedding, but something drew you to it and you thought it would make a good first impression on Frankie.

He stood there mouth gapped as you walked down the steps, “Hi.” You smiled at him and gave him a little wave. You hiked your shoulder bag higher as it had begun to slip, and you needed something to do with your nervous hands.

Frankie stalled for a second and finally replied, “Hey, you look great.” He said with a big smile. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscience about the fact that he is wearing an outfit almost identical to the one he wore last night, except now his T-shirt was black with a band logo on it from a concert he can’t even remember. The material long stretched and over washed to point where the logo had begun fading and breaking apart.

“You do too.” You responded before leaning in for a quick hug.

He shuffled his feet, “I was thinking we could go to Burt’s, downtown if that’s okay?”

You beamed up at him, “Yeah that would be great.” You broke your gaze to round his truck, but before you could reach for the handle Frankie appeared beside you and opened the door. You looked startled, but really you were just amazed by his chivalry. You’ve never had anyone open your door before, so you just nodded your thanks and stepped onto the step bar to jump up into the truck. He swiftly closed it behind you and made his way to jump into the driver’s side.

As he turned the ignition, the radio fired up again and a familiar tune from Motley Crue came through the speakers. “Oh, I love this song.” You remarked.

He smiled, “Me too, they’re probably my favourite band.”

You hummed along to the music. He glanced over at you, “Well come on now, don’t keep that beautiful voice to yourself.” He smiled, the curls peaking out from under his seemingly signature hat dancing in the wind.

You felt yourself blush but obliged, singing along to the music with the windows down, blowing your hair about as the music filled the cab. When the chorus came around Frankie gave his best imitation of the lead singer and you laughed. He chuckled, “Maybe I’ll leave the singing to you.”

“No, no you’re great. I could listen to you all night.” You winked at him and he grinned, finally taking his attention back to the road. The rest of the commentary for the drive continued to be about music and favourite bands to see in concert, yours being his new favourite of course.

You thanked the waitress for your seats and settled into a booth along the wall of the restaurant. It was a little more modern than you thought it would be given what you’ve seen from Frankies taste but definitely not a chain restaurant. There were vintage movie posters adorned on the walls giving it a warm look, but it was met with modern furniture and paint to keep it lively. There was a poster hanging in your booth of a movie you guessed must be from the 50s at least and you stared briefly at the faded colour, reminding you of the faded T-shirt currently sitting across from you.

Frankie looked at you nervously, “So, I saw the sign on your door. Do you run a business out of your house?”

You nodded confidently, “Yeah I’m a tattoo artist.” He nodded along, listening intently. “I have a shop in my house that is just me. It’s nice because then I get to choose my hours and can line things up really well with my band practice and shows.”

“Wow, that’s great. You must be pretty busy balancing both those.” He stated.

“I try to take Sundays and Mondays off and then I never work before 11am so I definitely still get some free time. I was supposed to have an appointment today, but they rescheduled so I got a totally free Saturday for once.” You smiled; very glad you had the extra time to get ready for this date. “What do you do?” you asked as the waitress reappeared with some waters.

“What can I get you for drinks?” she asked.

You replied, “I’ll have a whiskey sour, please.”

She nodded and looked at Frankie. “Just a Corona, thanks.”

With that she left the table, leaving you and Frankie alone.

You looked back at Frankie, unsure if you needed to repeat yourself but before you could speak, he replied, “I’m an instructor at the base, I was a pilot in active duty.”

Hm, your suspicions on the dog tags were correct. “How long have you served for?” You asked, leaning with your forearms against the dark wood table.

“Since I graduated from high school, I enlisted right away.”

You popped your eyebrows up, that’s a long time to be in the service. Most guys you have met from the base were a five-year contract and then out.

“Wow Frankie, that’s really really amazing. I’m not surprised by the way you carry yourself though that you’ve been in that long.” You said, slightly bashful.

He looked confused, but still flattered, “Why do you say that?”

“You just, uh- you know you seem really old-fashioned and proper.” You replied sheepishly, tucking your hair behind your ear, and averting your gaze back to the poster.

Frankie looked down for a second, “Oh, do you not really like that?”

“No, no, it’s great.” He perked up at your response. “I actually love it; I’ve never been out with a guy that’s treated me the way you do.” You smiled at him and reached your hand out for him to take. He let out a relived huff and reached his hand up to take yours and give it a slight squeeze.

“Well, I don’t know hermosa. You just deserve to be treated the best and I’m sorry no guy has ever done that for you.”

You both beamed at each other, eyes sparkling with desire when the waitress seemingly appeared out of nowhere with your drinks. You quickly broke your hands apart and nodded politely. You wrang your hands together, still feeling the warmth of his much larger hand on yours.

“Do you know what you’d like for food?” The waitress kindly asked.

Both of your eyes widened, neither of you had even thought about the food as you were too busy making googly eyes at each other. You looked at each other and gave out a chuckle. “Um, I think we’re gonna need a few more minutes actually.” Frankie nodded along as the waitress left.

The evening wore on and you shared food and stories. He told you all about his time in the service so far and the friends he’s made along the way. You told him about your business and band and how you’re a really creative person and need all these outlets. You also spoke about your anxiety and how when you’re focused on a tattoo or a song, you get to ease your mind and allow yourself to relax. He commended you and spoke about his time in therapy for some anxiety he had after he was done active duty. None of your exes ever went to therapy or spoke about mental health, so your heart warmed listening to him speak so intentionally.

Frankie’s truck pulled up and parked out front of your house and you gave a huff of disappointment that the night was coming to an end. You looked at your phone and noticed the time wasn’t too late. You bit your lip and thought to yourself, would it be too much to ask him inside? Would he want to hookup, or would he think that’s all you’re interested in? He looked to you with a sheepish smile on his face, he was clearly disappointed the night was slowly coming to a close as well. You thought it couldn’t do more harm than good if you at least asked him inside for a little bit.

“Hey Frankie, um- do you? Do you want to come in for a drink?” You asked, trying not to make eye contact so you could hide your reaction should you be met with rejection.

His face lit up at the suggestion, “Yeah for sure thanks.”

Your face darted up to meet his and you smiled, getting out of the truck and wandering up the steps to your house. He followed closely behind, placing his hand on the small of your back as you went up the steps, seemingly ready to catch you should you trip.

You eased the door open and stepped aside to let him in. He passed you with a nod and stood in your living room looking around as you flicked on some lights, kicked off your sneakers and settled your bag on a counter. The room flowed from the living room to a dining table and a kitchen with an island. There were band posters and your own artwork on the walls. The furniture had a 50’s vibe with lots of red and black and white checkers. Your kitchen cabinets were an emerald green with gold accents. He loved how much personality you put into the space and stood staring at one of your drawings of a mermaid covered in tattoos on the wall beside a door.

You approached him with your arms crossed and looked to the drawing as well.

“You’re incredible, this is such a cool piece.” He said, smiling at you.

You nodded back, “Thank you, if you like that you should see the one’s I have in my studio.” You tilted your head to the door beside you and opened it. He followed you in and was greeted by the smell of cleaning products and alcohol wipes. Your studio was small with one tattoo chair in the middle of the room and a workstation along the back wall. The walls were covered in photographs and drawings you’ve done.

You plopped down on your wheely stool as he lingered around the room, looking at seemingly every piece you’ve posted. “So, mister military.” He looked down at you, resting his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t ask, do you have any tattoos?”

He looked slightly embarrassed, “No, no I never did. I’ve thought about a few but never pulled the trigger.”

You nodded, “Well,” You spun in your chair and grabbed your tattoo gun behind you. Spinning back around his eyes went wide, “you want one now?” you giggled to yourself.

“Uh- hm.” He laughed, looking nervous. “Fuck it yeah let’s do it.” He clapped his hands on his thighs and shook out some nerves with his fingers.

You beamed at him, extremely excited for the turn the night took. You rolled over to your drawing board, “Okay so what are we thinking? A little cartoon helicopter, a bottle of tequila, a tramp stamp?” He laughed at your line of questioning.

“Actually uh- there’s this one helicopter I loved flying. The code was UH-1N. I think I’d like that, just something simple.” He kneaded his hands together.

You started writing, doing a couple different styles of handwriting. You leaned back and showed them to him, and he picked one of the more structured looked fonts. “Alright, get in that chair and I’ll get you prepped.”

He sheepishly moved over to the chair and rested himself in. “So where do you want it?” you asked as you collected your supplies and prepared the station.

“Just here below my elbow on the forearm.” He pointed to his right arm.

Frankie sat still, watching you work. He could see the wheels turning in your head as you laid down the plastic wrap on the arm rest he would be using, getting the ink ready, sanitizing everything and getting the stencil cut.

You finally pulled some gloves on and placed the stencil on his arm. “How’s that look?”

He shifted in the seat to look at his arm, “Yeah that’s great, thanks.” He smiled at you.

You started buzzing the tattoo gun, “Alright I think we’re good then.” You could feel the heat of his arm through the gloves and your glance waivered slightly to his bicep in his sleeve. Pulled tight from his straining muscle trying to stay still.

“How much does it hurt?” he asked?

Your attention went back to him, “Hm? Oh, um, not bad at all. What’s the worst pain you’ve ever had?”

He took a beat, “Well, I’ve been shot so.” His voice trailed and your eyes went wide. He said he was in active duty for a long time, I guess it makes sense that he was in live fire. However, the thought of him going through something so traumatic made your stomach flip.

You stuttered, “Yeah, um, that would definitely hurt more than this will, so I think you’ll be fine.” You did your best to put on a confident smile, but really you were now nervous.

He nodded as you began. His arm didn’t even flinch beneath your hands. You held your head as close to it as you could so you wouldn’t get too distracted by the burning eyes you could feel coming from him.

Frankie looked at you so intently and he felt a familiar twitch in his pants as he glanced down and caught a glimpse of your cleavage as you were bent over. He tried his best to look around the room, until his mouth gapped at the sight of a photo on the wall which featured a woman topless, holding her breasts showing off a colourful butterfly splayed out on the top of her ribs. The face was cut off, but he instantly recognized the tattoo on the left hand, as it happens to be the one holding onto his arm right now. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling the stretch of his jeans even more now. He couldn’t even feel the needle of the tattoo gun anymore, too busy trying to pry the unholy thoughts from his mind. Everything about you made him burn with desire. He didn’t know where the night would lead, but he was aching to feel your touch more.

You wiped the last bit of ink off him and smiled at him. “Okay, here you go. Take a look.”

Bringing his back up from the seat he pulled his arm forward and looked at your work, “That’s great thank you.”

Nodding, you started cleaning the site and then placed the second skin on it tightly. Pulling off your gloves you grabbed one of your standard info flyers and a small tube of cream. “So, leave that on for a day, take it off in the shower with some soap. It will hurt like a bitch, sorry about that.” He smiled along with you. “No hot tubs or pools and keep this moisturizer on it for a few weeks as it heals. Oh, and no itching. It’s gonna suck but just don’t do it.” You stood from your stool and reached out your hand to help him stand from the awkward seat.

He grabbed your hand and stood, looking down at you as your faces were so close. “What do I owe you?”

You flushed, the tone in his voice was suddenly so deep and arousing. You did your best to not show how flustered you were with the sudden change in his demeanor and took a step back. “Oh gosh nothing, I do little tattoos for free like that all the time.” You waved your hands casually. “Plus, I kind of peer pressured you into it so.” You had backed up enough that your ass was now resting against the drawing table with your arms crossed. You hadn’t meant to back up that much, but as you kept stepping, he had followed you. His body still so close, you could see his eyes flick around your face, seemingly taking in every little bit of you.

He breathed out of his nose deeply, “You wanna go sit down? You look a little lightheaded.” He said as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

You nodded, looking up to him with sparkling eyes. Full of lust and need. He turned his body so you could pry yourself from the desk that had been digging into you and followed as you headed towards the living room. You positioned yourself on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you as he sat beside and rested his arm on the top of the couch behind you.

Nervously looking around, trying your best to ignore the ache between your legs as he looked at you with darkened eyes. “Do you need a drink or-?”

“You know, I never did ask you why your nickname is Karma?” His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply.

Chest turning red, pupils dilating. You were so entranced by this man, you answered softly. “I’m just a uh- big believer in karma and I’ve always really seen it around me. You know, people are good to me, and good things happen and then people who have really wronged me, they uh- don’t always have things work out for them. So yeah, just became something I grew a lot of interest in and then others started noticing it with the people I had in life and so the nickname sparked. Almost like I entice karma into people’s lives, who surround me.”

He peered down at you, usually this explanation makes people nervous. Frankie only seemed challenged, like he wanted to prove something to you. You’re not sure what happened during that tattoo, but something flipped in this seemingly wholesome man which resulted in him growing a hunger towards you.

“So, you’re saying if I do good things to you, good things will happen to me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. You could hear only his breath and your heartbeat.

“Yeah, I guess.” You lightly giggled, not breaking eye contact with him.

His eyes grew even darker, and he leaned in. Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt the intense ache between your legs watching him lean into you. His eyes flicking to your lips, you turned your head slightly and leaned in as well, meeting him in the middle with a soft kiss. He brought his hand to your knee and started drawing circles with it on your soft skin. Your hand rose up to cup his face and the intensity suddenly grew. You didn’t expect this first date to go this way, but now you’ve found yourself straddled on his lap on your couch making out like you may die tomorrow. Pulling each other’s hair, nipping at jaws and necks, the incessant moaning growing between you. You felt like you were drunk, but this intoxication wasn’t from any kind of substance, no this was all Frankie. The way he ran his hands all over your body and pulled you down to grind your hot and wet core through your panties on his hard bulge made your head spin.

He grabbed the bottom of your dress and looked to you with pleading eyes, “Is this okay?”

You took a deep breath, “It’s more than okay Frankie, I need you.”

His face turned to a smirk, and he pulled your dress up and over your head, throwing it aside. You had thankfully chosen to forgo your usual everyday bra that gets washed once a month and went without one altogether. He sat back and basked in your exposed breasts. You shivered as he traced a finger on your butterfly tattoo beneath them. His mouth curled into a devilish grin leaning down and sucking on one of your nipples as he palmed and squeezed the other with his hand. You moaned and began grinding on him harder. He pulled himself off and you reached down to pull his shirt off him. The chain and dog tag laden on his chest made your knees quiver. He was so broad and full, a real man you thought to yourself.

You rejoined your lips, sucking on each other’s tongues as his hand moved down and swiped around on the front of your panties before dipping a finger in and starting to draw little circles on your clit. You bucked up at the sensation and started to lose your technique with your kissing. Your head fell to his shoulder as his pace picked up and he sat there watching you break resolve and come undone to his touch. You felt the build up and then suddenly the knot in your gut broke and you flowed into your orgasm. Frankie somehow knew exactly when it happened because just as you started, he slipped his fingers further down and slid two of them perfectly in your pussy. You groaned at the relief of being able to squeeze onto something. He pumped you slowly as you came down from your high and peppered kisses along your neck while you slumped over him, regaining your breath and strength.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and you leaned back, holding onto his broad shoulders for balance. He looked at you intently, and you burned for more. You reached between the two of you and startled pulling apart his belt as he held your waist to keep you balanced. He lifted his hips so you could get up and slide his pants and underwear down to the ground. You saw his length spring free and felt your mouth water, it was so perfect in every way with beads of precum seeping from the tip. You quickly fell to your knees and in one fell swoop took his member completely in your mouth. His head fell back at the sensation as you sucked and bobbed your head up and down. You used your hand to stroke the part of it that couldn’t fit into your mouth even if you tried. You worked him up and down, doing your best to take as much as you could down your throat, he reached down put his hand along your neck, feeling it throb with his cock inside.

“Oh, baby, you keep doing that I’m not gonna last much longer.” He finally sputtered out, trying to keep himself composed.

You glanced up and finally popped his soaked cock from between your lips. You hurriedly pulled your panties down your legs and took your previous position on top of him.

“Do you need a condom? I’m on the pill and I’m clean but if you,” you said, scanning his face.

He ran his hands down your back, “I’m clean too so as long as you’re comfortable.”

You nodded quickly, kissing him to assure him of your consent and then raised yourself up. His hand slid between the two of you to guide his cock into your wet entrance. You felt it line up and started to slowly ease down onto it. The stretch both burned and excited you.

His mouth fell open and his head fell back against the couch, “Fuck – baby you feel so good.”

You smirked at him and groaned when you finally had sunk entirely onto him. He quickly encapsuled your lips in his and squeezed your ass with his hands. You took that as a hint to start moving, so you slowly rocked up and down, rubbing your clit on his hair above his cock. He steadied you as you quickly lost your resolve again, head spinning and becoming more and more heavy as the feeling in your gut grew again. You suddenly felt it happen again as your orgasm crashes into you, squeezing him so tight he moaned and rested his head against yours as he tried to pump your seized body through the feeling. You slowed and looked deep in his eyes, he was truly so handsome, and sweet and fuck was he good at this. You felt something in your chest, a warm feeling that you hadn’t felt in years. You liked this man so much, holy fuck did you like this man. You wanted to spend all your time with him, you wanted to learn everything about him, and learn each and every part of his body.

You were snapped out of your lucid trance when you felt him buck into you, chasing his own high. You braced yourself by holding onto his neck as he rocked further into you. He bit his lip and held your hips so tight it might bruise. He came to a slow stop when his orgasm hit and he pushed into you one last time, coating your walls.

The last thing you were expecting was for his cock to swell so much in it’s release that the sudden change in stretch would barrel you into a third orgasm. You squeezed him tight, and he moaned as your bodies slowly fell into one another and stilled. He breathed deeply into your neck as you ran your hand on his chest.

Through stuttered breaths he said, “You know, I’m really starting to like this whole karma concept.”

Snickering you pulled your head up and matched his gaze. He too looked like his brain was spinning, trying to analyze everything that just happened and everything that he felt for you.

Pulling yourself off him, you quickly found your underwear and retreated to your room, excusing yourself.

By the time you had cleaned up and thrown on a loose band shirt and sleep shorts, he was dressed again and had taken it upon himself to fill a glass of water for each of you. You liked the way he looked in your kitchen, so domestic and loving. You graciously accepted the water and walked back to the couch with shaky knees, he followed you sitting on the couch and putting his arm around you as you both sipped from your drinks.

Frankie put his glass on the painted black wood coffee table, “So, rock star, what do you typically do on your nights off to relax?”

You hummed, “Well, I don’t know if it’s your thing but I’m rewatching one of my favourite shows right now if you’d like to stick around for a while?”

He smiled back at you, “Oh yeah, what is it?”

“Buffy the vampire slayer.” You looked to him, worried he may be turned off by your choice in television, you pegged him more for a sports or war show guy.

Thankfully, he was nothing like you thought he was going to be. “Buffy really? Fuck I love that show, watched it when it came out.”

“Really?” You gapped, “Well then, we’re definitely watching it. I watch it every year at least once.” You reached for the remote on the coffee table and started queuing it up.

“What’s your favourite episode?” He asked.

You looked up, trying to figure out your answer, “Oh man, that’s hard. I really like the majority of the episodes in the first season to be honest. That season is by far my favourite. How bout you, any episode in particular?”

“Oh yeah that’s easy, season four, episode one. Best episode in the series for me, it’s a classic. Great guest actors.” he says confidently.

You looked to him, taken aback by the fact that he even knew episode numbers, “Really?” you ask, “Well I guess I know which one we’re gonna watch right now.” You scrolled through the series and selected the episode he requested.

Both of you fell into each other and snuggled on the couch, watching the show and talking about anything that came to mind. It felt so easy you thought, and maybe that’s okay. Love is supposed to be easy after all. It will take time to accept that, but if Frankie continues to be the man you think he is, you’ll be falling endlessly for him.

It will be easier than singing on stage, it will make you forget about your troubles more than the sting of a tattoo needle, and soon enough, he’ll make you forget all about karma because he’ll bring nothing but good into your life.

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