#Benny Borracho Magalon/Reader

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Procedure Part 3

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Notes: ...Four parts it's going to be four parts I'M SORRY

Length: 5.2K

Warnings: Angst; fluff; explicit sexual content: vaginal sex; fingering; oral sex; unprotected sex; semi-public sex

Summary: What was the standard operating procedure when you slept with your ex-husband? 

It had taken a lot of practice, but you’d learned over the course of your divorce not to ask questions that you didn’t want to know the answers to. You didn’t ask Borracho if he and Jessa had gone out. When Alyssa asked her within earshot of you during practice, you did your best not to listen, but you couldn’t help but catch on the words, 

“Nice,” and “not sure,” and “next Friday.”

Next Friday? Borracho had been taking Olivia on Friday for months. He hadn’t asked you to take her for the evening yet. Was he going to get a babysitter? What was the point of wasting money like that just to keep you out of it? You didn’t have any plans next Friday, you could take her, no problem. 

Your mind started combing through ways to bring it up, some subtle tactic to hint that it wouldn’t be an imposition. What if something happened and Borracho got called into work? Would he call you after that to ask you to take Olivia for the night? Fork out a fortune on overtime for that poor babysitter? And what if they couldn’t stay latte—? 

“So I was thinking of putting Olivia on first base next weekend—” 

“I’m free on Friday!”

It left you before you could think about it. Borracho didn’t answer for a moment. He blinked at you, his pen hovering over the notes on his clipboard. You cleared your throat, tightening your arms around your chest as you looked around. “I mean, um—First base is good, she likes first base.” 

“...Yeah, I remember. You said.” 

“Yeah. So—Good. Good choice.” 

“Okay. Maybe stay out of Alyssa’s thermos of special juice, huh?” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to tease back, just offering a small smile as you refocused on the field. It took a moment longer than it should’ve for Borracho to walk away, but that was fine enough for you—you were already stewing in your idiocy. The hell had you been thinking, blurting it out that way?

Well, whatever. The door was open now, Borracho knew you would be free on Friday. It was up to him to ask you to look after Olivia now. The ball was firmly in his court, and he knew what to do with it. 

He would ask. He would cave. He just needed a couple of days, that’s all. You knew Ben, and the way he operated. He needed to come around to an idea himself. Of course, it may take a little longer because you’d blurted it out so stupidly. You could just hope his pride wasn’t wounded, or that he went out of his way to move the date. 

No. No, he would ask. You’d hear from him by Wednesday. 

-- 

You couldn’t answer too quickly. Third ring, you decided. You wanted him to squirm a little. 

Well, maybe it was rude, but he deserved it! Leaving it until 5 o’clock on Friday to ask you to look after Olivia—it was short-sighted of him. Or had it been his pride? Maybe telling him that you were free had been a bridge too far. That was Ben, though: ridiculous, stubborn, absolutely maddening—

Shit, it went to voicemail. 

You swiped open the missed call notification, hurriedly calling him back. You raised the phone to your ear, listening to the steady burrrrr…burrrrrrr…Was he leaving a message, or—

“Hey, there you are.”

You rolled your eyes. There you were. The nerve of him. 

“Yeah, sorry,” You leaned back against the couch, propping your head up on your hand. “I was um—I didn’t hear my phone ringing until the last second. What’s up?” 

What’s up, that was good. It didn’t indicate that you knew exactly why he was calling, or that you were annoyed that he’d taken so damn long. 

“You still free tonight?” 

“Uh…” You glanced around. “Sure, why?” 

“You wanna do something?” 

Your mouth opened, a half-scold, half-tease sitting on your tongue, but you froze. Do something? What had happened to his date? Did he cancel? Did Jessa? 

“Um…” You cleared your throat. “Do something like—I mean, what would we, uh—What’s the plan?” 

“No plan, just. Dinner, I guess?” 

“Sure. Are you letting Olivia pick?” You couldn’t just not ask about her anymore. 

“Liv’s at a sleepover at Amanda’s. From her class?”

Amanda, of course. You’d completely forgotten about the sleepover. 

“Dinner sounds good. You wanna come over here or should I go over there?” 

“I was thinking we’d go out someplace.” 

He was thinking? Since when? 

“I can pick you up,” He added. “Seven alright?” 

What was happening? What parallel universe had you fallen into where this man was making (albeit last-minute) dinner plans and offering to pick you up? 

“Sure,” You managed, “I can um—Yeah. Seven sounds good.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” 

“See you.” 

You pulled the phone back from your face, watching the call blink away before it disappeared, leaving your lock screen of Olivia in her little league uniform. 5:02pm. You had time to get ready, and a helluva lot of questions to mull over as you did. 

-- 

It felt so foreign and strange to be out with Borracho and having such a good time. Maybe that was unfair to both of you—you’d been relating to one another as adults, not just as parents for the last couple of months. And for as badly as you’d wanted to ask about Jessa, you didn’t find a chance to bring it up. 

This evening had you noticing a lot of things that seemed to have gone by the wayside over the course of your marriage. There was a lightness to the two of you, a teasing, warm energy that you had missed on the dates you'd been on recently.

-- 

“What’d you get?” 

“Cinnamon.”

“Gimme some.” 

“No!” You laughed, pulling your ice cream cup out of the reach of his questing spoon as you slid down in the passenger seat of his car. “You should’ve gotten your own scoop of cinnamon ice cream.” 

“Chocolate and cinnamon don’t go.” 

“Well that’s bullshit and we both know it.”

“Swear jar.” 

“I’ll take it off your monthly.” 

“Generous of you.” 

The two of you ate your ice cream in silence for a few moments, nothing filling the car but the scrape of your plastic spoons against the little paper cups. 

“...Ben?” 

“I’m not sharing, either.” 

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. 

“Never mind.” 

“Was that it?” 

“No.” 

“So?” 

“I said, never mind.” 

You felt Borracho turn his head to look at you, and realized that the scrrrrrrrape of the spoon against the cup had stopped on his side of the car. 

“What’s up?” 

“No, nothing…This is nice, that’s all.” It felt dangerous to say, like acknowledging the thing might break it. But—

“Yeah,” He agreed quietly. “It is.” 

“Can I, um.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You didn’t have anything else going on tonight?” 

You heard Borracho shift in his seat, swirl his spoon around in his ice cream. 

“No.”

You didn’t believe that for a second. “Really?”

“I didn’t.” 

“You weren’t supposed to see Jessa?” 

“No.” 

You turned your head finally, taking Borracho in closely. You knew him well—you knew the way his face pinched up and closed off when he was lying to you. But his expression was smooth and honest as he turned to meet your eye. You considered for a moment before you nodded, looking back down at your ice cream. 

“You like her?” You prodded.

“Talking about this doesn’t bother you?” 

“No. Why should it?” 

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” 

“Because I like this shirt and I don’t wanna get any ice cream on it.” It was a lame excuse, but you stuck to your guns, pointedly stabbing at a melting lump of cinnamon swirl and raising it to your mouth. Some of it dribbled off of the spoon, and before you could clean it off, Borracho’s thumb swiped across your lower lip. You eyed the smear of it and watched as Borracho drew it back to himself, sucking it off of his thumb. Heat rushed your face, and you turned to look through the windshield, swallowing thickly. 

“Not bad.” 

“See?” You finally managed. “Told you cinnamon and chocolate go.” 

“What about you?” 

“Hm?”

“No date planned tonight? You takin’ a break from the apps again?” Yes. 

“No,” You sniffed. “Just…Didn’t have one tonight.” 

“Meet anyone you like lately?”

Just you.  “A couple,” You fibbed. 

“You’re dating couples now?” 

“No, I mean I went on a couple of—Oh—” You spluttered, whacking Ben’s shoulder as he cracked up. “I’m gonna drip some of my ice cream on this seat and then we’ll see who’s laughing.” 

-- 

“Thanks for dinner.” 

“Sure.” 

“And the ice cream.” 

“Yeah.” Borracho leaned back against the car, hands tucking into his pockets. You shifted from foot to foot. You could just go inside—you should just go inside, but you had hardly been able to pull yourself away from Borracho since he first picked you up. You’d realized when he’d opened your car door for you that it felt like it had at the beginning, when you’d first been together. 

“I’ll get Olivia from Amanda’s in the morning and drop her off,” Borracho offered. 

“Yeah, no, that sounds good. You could get breakfast, if you want, I mean. Take your time. I don’t have much going on tomorrow. Wide open, so, no, uh—No drop-off time or anything to worry about.” 

“Cool.” 

What was it about finding yourselves on your doorstep that had cut the evening’s ease dead? Go inside. Go inside so he can drive away, so he can go home, so he can go to bed and be ready to pick Olivia up in the morning— “Do you want to come in for a drink?” 

It was a quiet, heart-stopping moment of quiet between you before Borracho swiped his tongue across his lip, glancing around. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

Oh. Shit. 

“No, sure,” You shook your head, taking a couple steps back. Fuck, that was embarrassing. You could keep it together until you were alone. 

“I didn’t mean—” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Hang on, c’mere.” Borracho reached out, gently grasping your hand and drawing you in again. You moved slowly, dragging your feet a little as you focused on his chest. “I don’t mean it like that.” 

“I didn’t think you meant it like anything.” 

“Look at me.” 

“You should go—” 

Borracho lifted his other hand cupping your cheek and tipping your face toward his. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes sweeping across his face as his thumb swept gently against your skin. 

“I want to come in.” 

“Then come in. Why are you making it so complicated?” You hissed.

“This doesn’t feel complicated to you?” 

“We went to dinner, Ben.” 

“I know.” 

“Which was your idea, by the way, I don’t know if you remember that?” 

“I remember.” 

“So—So come in or don’t, do whatever you want, you always do whatever the fuck you want—” You hardly got it all out before you felt the warmth and weight of his lips pressing against yours. You went still with surprise, eyes wide-open and watching as he melted into you. His hand smoothed down to your neck as you chased the kiss. You leaned into him, letting your eyes close as your hands curled in the fabric of his shirt. 

Why did he bother to argue with you about coming in if he was going to stand outside and do this? 

Ben’s tongue teased the seam of your lips and you parted them with a hungry moan, pressing your body against his as he curled his arm around your waist. You drew back just enough to get a good look at him, to see the way he drew his lower lip between his teeth, to hear him draw in a deep breath. 

Was he panicking? Was he as surprised as you were that he’d done what he’d done? Was he waiting for you to tell him to fuck off? Or was he envisioning a large, flashing, neon sign over your head that said, BAD IDEA! 

You pressed as close as you could, leaning up and brushing your lips against his jaw. 

“Come inside, Ben,” You breathed. “Please come inside.” 

--

Toward the end of your relationship, when the love had gone and touch had become perfunctory, you’d been certain that whatever your sex life had once been was canned. Sometimes, for its speed and mechanical nature, you’d almost wondered how you’d ever managed to make Olivia. 

And you didn't expect it to be like that again from the way he’d kissed you outside—not quite as mechanical or routine. 

You hardly separated from one another as you’d fumbled to lock the door before letting him steer you down the hall. Ben’s hands were everywhere—guiding you by hips; cushioning your head to keep it from thudding against the wall as the two of you came to a brief halt in the hall, his lips drifting from your lips just long enough to trail along your neck; teasing beneath the hem of your shirt before dipping to swipe beneath the band of your jeans. 

Your knees hit the edge of the storage bin at the base of your bed and you wobbled, letting go of him to reach back and steady yourself against the mattress. You scooched back, face going warm as you watched Borracho reach down, tugging his shirt up and over his head. You didn’t bother to hide your open appraisal of his muscled body. 

Ben had always been in good shape when you were together, and you’d caught the odd flash of it a time or two at little league practice—when he stretched further or jumped to catch a pitch or throw that had gone higher than planned or expected; when he lifted the hem of his shirt to swipe at a bead of sweat slipping down the side of his face. But those little glimpses were all accidental, and fleeting, and this…This was something that you were going to file away for your lonely evenings. 

Your eyes swept up to his face as he kicked his shoes off and crawled onto the bed, his hands bracing on either side of your head. 

“Your turn.” 

You tipped your head to the side, brows raising. 

“I’m not going to get up and flex, Ben.” 

“That was not flexing.”  “Pretty sure your pecs were winking at me.”  “Maybe we should slow down. I think you’re seeing things.” 

“So far,” You slid your hand down, palming his hardening cock through his pants, and grinning as he groaned, head tipping forward, “I don’t think I’ve seen enough.” 

Borracho tipped his chin to catch your lips in a heated kiss, slipping his hand up under your shirt and easing it higher. You squirmed, pushing yourself up just enough to help him tug it off. You didn’t see where he threw it, already preoccupied with twisting to reach for the light, but—

“Leave it on.” Ben crushed up against your back, catching hold of your hand and intertwining your fingers. “I wanna see you.”

You shivered as his kisses trailed across your shoulders, his free hand making short work of your bra. You shrugged the straps down, letting it fall to the bed and arching back against Borracho. His lips and fingers trailed lower, and you shivered as his hand dipped into your pants. Damnit, why hadn’t you worn cuter underwear? He couldn’t see them yet, but he could surely feel the granny panties that you’d put on earlier. 

The first swipe of his rough fingertips against your clit made you bite your lip to halt an embarrassing, desperate moan. 

“C’mon,” Ben groaned against your skin. “You can do better than that.”

“Maybe I’m not the one that needs to do better.” 

The goad was out of your mouth before you could stop it, and the next thing you knew, you were shoved onto your back, staring at the ceiling. You watched, stunned, as Borracho unbuttoned your pants, tugging them (and your granny panties) down over your ankles. You had been joking, but it had seemed to light a fire in him that you hadn’t seen in a long time. He spread your legs with his broad shoulders, smoothing his hands up your inner thighs. You didn’t even have a chance to feel embarrassment before Ben is lapping broadly across your pussy. 

You let your head fall back against the pillows as his fingertips curled into the meat of your thighs. He moaned against your skin, sucking slick kisses against your pussy. You slid your hands into his hair, toes curling in your sheets as he firmly flicked his tongue across your clit. You gave his hair a tug, whimpering as you felt him growl against you. 

“Forgot how good you taste,” He murmured. 

“Forgot how good you are at this,” You laughed shakily. 

Ben hummed, sliding his fingers up to tease at your aching opening. He tutted softly as you tipped your hips down into his touch. 

“When’s the last time someone took care’a you, huh?” He asked, easing two fingers into your pulsing cunt. You don’t answer—you can’t. You just push your hips hungrily down into him. 

“Must’a been a while,” He went on, “Look at you—Fucking dripping for me.” 

“Ben.” 

“I know,” He cooed, curling and spearing his fingers. And he must know, because his movements are so precious, so sure–as if the two of you were together just days ago, not years. “That’s it…Fuck, I missed—” 

He groaned, giving your clit a swift suck. You pulled in a shocked breath, shuddering and shaking as you came suddenly. Your feet shoved at the sheets as your hips tipped up into his hand. Goddamn, you couldn’t remember the last time you came so fucking fast for anyone, Ben included. He drew his hand back, and you watched dazedly as he raised his fingers to his lips, sucking the taste of you from them. 

“Condom?” He asked. 

“In the drawer,” You nodded toward the nightstand. Ben knelt over you to fish through the door as you took hold of his belt, undoing the buckle before turning to the fastenings as you heard the drawer open. 

“Quite the stockpile in here..." You heard. “What’s this?” 

You tipped your head to the side, warmth washing over your face and neck as you spotted Ben holding up your vibrator. 

“The competition.”

“Different color than the last one." “Same model, though.” 

“Yeah?”

“Can we get back to matters at hand, please?” You whined, pushing the waistband of his pants down. Ben leaned back, setting the condom down on the bed beside you before climbing off of the bed to remove them completely. You scooched over on the bed, steadying one hand on his hip and taking hold of his cock with the other. You stroked him a few times before leaning in, lapping at the pearl of precum beading at the tip.

Ben moaned softly, and you watched as his eyes slipped shut, his tongue sweeping across his lips. You turned your head, lapping across your palm and taking him in hand before you scooch forward, pressing a kiss to his hip. The kiss is chased by a nip, then a suck, then a lick before you lean away, eyeing the bright red mark left behind. 

“Lay back,” Borracho ordered, giving your shoulder a gentle push. You scooched back, smiling as he caught your chin in his hand, tipping your head up for a sweeping kiss. You watched as he picked the condom up from where he’d left it and ripping the packet open with his teeth. Your stomach flipped as he rolled it down over his length—god where did that come from? 

You could still stop. You could still tell Ben that you had changed your mind—had you changed your mind? Were these butterflies nerves or anticipation? 

But as Ben teased the head of his cock against your pussy, you knew it was anticipation. You slid your hands up his arms, fingers curling around the swell of his bicep, nails digging in as he eased into you. Your shared moans filled the room as he curled over you, his forehead resting against yours as your eyelashes fluttered shut. Neither of you hurried the other along, you just waited, and felt—the weight and warmth of him on you, in you, lips and breath brushing one another’s as you each adjusted, and remembered. 

And when he did move, if he had a problem with the marks that you laid on his shoulder and chest, he didn’t say a thing about it.

And when he did move, if you heard his bitten off swears, his murmurs of, “Missed this,” you didn’t say a thing about it. 

--  

The regret should’ve been instant. The moment you woke up wrapped in that man’s arms, feeling the rough brush of his cheek as he peppered your shoulders with kisses, that should’ve been it. There should’ve been a sinking sensation in your stomach, two eye blinks before you were hit with absolute clarity that the two of you had done something supremely stupid. 

Instead, you rolled over in Ben’s arms and caught his lips with yours. He hummed against them, sliding a hand down to palm your ass and pull you closer. 

“Time is it?” You mumbled. 

“Who cares?” 

“You have to pick up Liv.” 

“We got time.” 

“How much time?”

“Just relax.” 

“I’m relaxed, I’m just making sure you’re not late to pick her up.” 

Borracho groaned, rolling onto his back and lifting his hands to scrub at his eyes. 

“Why did I think that last night would’ve mellowed you out a bit?”

“In the whole time you’ve known me, when have I ever been mellow?”

“Not often.” Borracho tipped his head to the side to look at you, a tender smile curling his lips.

And—oh, god, did the regret hit you like a freight train then. The man had no right to look at you like that, and hadn’t had it for a long time.

You managed a tight smile before you hurriedly pushed yourself up.

What were you supposed to do? Cuddle up? Jump all the way out of bed and shoo him out? Make him coffee and offer him toast (to be eaten hastily in the front hall, because there was no way he’d eat something so crumbly in his car)? 

What was the standard operating procedure when you slept with your ex-husband? 

“Hey.” You could hear his frown. “Where’re you goin’?” 

“Gonna make some coffee.” You leaned over, grabbing your sleep shirt from where it was hanging over the edge of the hamper and dropping your bedsheets just enough to pull it on. “Want some?”

-- 

Your hands moved on autopilot as you measured out the coffee grinds and filled the water reservoir. You could hear Borracho in your bathroom, the hush of the shower just on the edge of your focus. Your mind filled with sinful images—Ben’s hands scrubbing soap across his pecs, over the hickies that were no doubt blooming on his skin. Oh, god. Where had you left them? His chest? His hip? His thigh? 

You scrubbed your hands over your rapidly heading neck, puffing a stressy breath out through your nose. God, not now. Get the man out the door before you start combing through the night’s events. 

Toast, you could make toast. Once the coffee was made, that would occupy your hands. You wouldn’t be able to reach out and—

The creaking of the floor behind you pulled you from your disarrayed thoughts.  

“You hungry?”You asked. “I mean, I know you’re heading out—” That was good, reinforce that, lead him out kindly, “And you’re probably going to get breakfast with Liv.” 

“Coffee’s fine.” 

“Okay.” 

“Mugs in the usual place?” 

“Yeah, but I’ll—” 

“I got ‘em.” 

You set your eyes on the coffee maker, eyeing the steadily filling pot as Borracho’s arms came into view, reaching for the cabinet. Your gaze swept up over the expanse of skin, traveling up over the tight slip of his bicep and landing on the bright red mark marring his left shoulder. Oh. Shit. And why the hell had he slung his shirt over his shoulder instead of putting it on? 

Borracho set two mugs down, glancing at the mark before reaching for the coffee pot. 

“Thanks for avoiding my neck.”

“Sure,” You nodded dazedly. “Old habits.” 

Borracho grunted, nudging a mug toward you as he took up his own. The two of you sipped quietly for a few moments, nearly hip to hip as the coffee maker ceased its burbling. 

“You wanna join us for breakfast? I can grab Liv and we can come pick you up,” He offered. “Give you time to get ready.” 

You should cut it dead there, you knew that. 

But Olivia always seemed to have such a good time when the three of you were together.

Still, after the night you’d had, could you really sit through breakfast without spending the entire meal in your head? And what about after breakfast? What if you were looping into going to the park with them again—? 

You cleared your throat, glancing down the hall. 

“I should probably get back to the bathroom remodel.” 

Borracho nodded a little, peering into his mug. 

“Anything I can help with?” 

“Oh—No. I’m just gonna paint today, I think.”

“I can help tape. I know you hate getting the corners.” 

“No, really, it’s fine. I don’t wanna cut into your time with Liv.” 

Borracho tossed back the rest of his coffee before gritting out, “Alright.” You watched him set his mug in the sink and yank the shirt off of his shoulder, tugging it on over his head. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that his tone had something to do with your answer—and you did know better, but it was so easy to dismiss it as the fact that he’d just chugged some insanely hot coffee. 

Maybe he was trying to get out of there as quickly as possible—maybe he had only invited you to breakfast to be polite—

Borracho turned, brushing past you and making for the door. You should’ve been relieved, but the sight of his rapidly retreating back made your stomach twist. Jesus Christ, what the hell did you two do? 

Things had been in such a good place, clicking along so well—he was going on dates, you were going on dates, why had you gone so fucking insane—

“Hey.” 

You snapped to attention at the sound of Ben’s voice. He was lingered by the still closed door, one hand on the knob, the other clutching his jacket from there he’d scooped it off of the floor. 

“Yeah?” You asked. 

His mouth moved wordlessly for a few seconds before he closed it, jaw tensing. 

“I’ll—Later.” 

Two disjointed words, and then Borracho was out of sight, your door clicking shut behind him. 

--  

Breakup sex. That’s what you decided, standing in the paint aisle of Home Depot as you tried to decide between the swatches of Eggshell and Harvest Wheat for the bathroom. 

By the time you and Borracho had reached the decision to divorce, physical affection had gone right out the window. There hadn’t been a last hug, a last kiss, a last fuck—at least, not one that you had known was the last, when it had happened. So last night’s temporary insanity was actually much-delayed, absolutely normal, totally-within-the-bounds-of-every-other-fucked-up-relationship breakup sex. 

And most importantly, it wasn’t going to happen again. 

One-and-done.

The two of you had moved on before, you’d do it again. You would go back to casual conversation and regular, Olivia-only related phone calls now that you’d both…scratched that itch. 

Harvest Wheat. 

Harvest Wheat, and a new light fixture, and absolutely no more fucking your ex-husband. 

-- 

“Shut up,” He groaned, breathing hot against the skin of your throat, “Fuck, you want everyone to know what we’re doing in here?” 

“You shut up!” You hissed, fingers winding through his hair as his thrusts became more harsh. 

Oh, this was bad. This was not what baby changing stations in public restrooms were meant for. 

Going out for pizza after the game with a few of the other parents and Olivia’s teammates had seemed so innocent on the face of it. The kids had won a game, and had more than earned a couple of slices and an ice cream. 

But it had been Ben’s fault for following you into the bathroom. And maybe it had been your fault a little, too, for telling him, when he pulled his jacket off and briefly bared his shoulder when his opened button down slipped, that his shoulder looked like it had healed up nicely. But it had been even more of Ben’s fault when he’d asked if you wanted to change that. 

Either way, the fact that you’d gotten up to use the restroom and opened the door to find him waiting there had been a surprise, and for him to guide you back inside with a kiss had caught you even more off-guard. 

You could’ve told him fuck off, to stop, and he would’ve. But where your hands had come up to push him away, you’d grasped his shirt and hauled him closer as his hands fumbled to undo the latch on the baby changing table. 

You curled your arms around his shoulders now, praying that the slight rattling of the table wasn’t loud enough that it would reach the patrons in the restaurant. You turned your head, blindly searching for Ben’s lips and whining as his tongue dipped into your mouth. You used your hold on his hair to guide his head as you liked. His hands braced on the wall behind you, pace becoming more and more harsh. 

“Hurry up,” You breathed, “Someone’ll come looking—Oh!” You gasped as Borracho lowered a hand between you, swirling your clit with his fingers. The speed and angle were just on the right side of rough, and Borracho’s pace began to falter as you came. You tipped your head back as you felt Borracho’s hips twitch, and he spilled into you. 

You drew in a deep breath as the two of you settled. Borracho’s hands smoothed to your waist, easing you off of the changing station before he took a step back. You tugged up your pants as he fixed his, and when he caught your eye, you shared a smile.

“Should get back out there before someone comes looking,” You nodded toward the door. 

“Yeah.” 

You made it two steps closer to the door before you heard, “Forgetting something?” 

You turned back, and had to bite back a smile as Borracho lightly tugged his sleeve aside, baring his shoulder to you. You stepped closer, leaning in and sinking your teeth lightly into his skin. You hummed, pulling back and lapping across the dented skin. 

“Did you like biting this much when we were married?” He teased. 

“I dunno. Were you this biteable when we were married?” 

Borracho smiled, ducking in for a quick kiss. “Go back to the table. ‘M gonna sneak out back for a smoke.” 

“Don’t take too long.” 

“Go,” He repeated, giving your ass a light slap as you turned away from him. 

--  

You weren’t sure what was worse—returning to the table and getting a suspicious look from Alyssa, or the realization that you’d need to pick up Plan B on the way home. 

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[youvebeenlivingfictionalreplies]

Procedure Part One

Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Ex-Wife!Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ (there will be explicit content in the second part)

Warnings: Cursing; angst; fluff; jealousy; second-chance romance; eventual explicit content

Notes: This is gonna be two parts! Weeeeee lessgo

Length: 4.5K

Summary: When you’d served Borracho papers, he hadn’t been surprised. Hell—he’d almost looked relieved. He hadn’t fought you on it, or asked if you could work it out; he hadn’t offered to go to counseling, or promised you that he just needed one more chance, and that he’d change. The man had already had two divorces in his rearview when he’d met you. This was just…Procedure for him. 

You were trying not to stare or roll your eyes too much, but goddamn, how fucking obvious could the woman be?

“You’re doing it again.” 

You shot Alyssa a glance, eyes narrowing in annoyance. She just flashed you a bright smile, batting her eyelashes. 

“Oh, please,” You grumbled, nudging her shoulder as she laughed. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Uh, yeah, you are. You’re staring at Jessa’s head like you can make it pop.”

Maybe you were staring more than you usually did—but it wasn’t often that Jessa went out of her way to flirt with your husband. 

Well. Ex-husband. 

And it didn’t help that Borracho seemed to be lapping up every bicep-squeezing, giggling, hair-tossing moment of it. It felt stupid and despicably petty to feel jealous, but to watch her flirt so brazenly in the middle of little league baseball practice? Did she have no shame?

“Relax,” Alyssa waved off your protests before you could say anything else, “We’ve all done it. Remember when that Donaldson chick was flirting with Henderson at soccer practice last year?” 

You grunted, scrubbing your hand across your brow. That had been a fucking fiasco. Flirting with Henderson when Alyssa was nearby was just about the dumbest thing anyone could do, and that was something that the uninitiated learned the hard way. 

“See, even that woman wasn’t as annoying as—No, hear me out,” You raised a hand to quiet Alyssa’s protest, “She didn’t know that he was your ex-husband, right? Jessa knows. I wouldn’t even care,” You fibbed, “If it wasn’t, like, out in front of everybody. Slip into his DMs like a fucking grown up.” 

“...It is kinda like watching your little sister pick through the clothes you don’t want anymore, but didn't say she could have,” Alyssa conceded—and her casual scathing tone made you burn, but you forced yourself to choke out, “Exactly,” Before chasing the bitter taste in your mouth with a hasty swig of soda.

You saw Borracho beginning to glance back toward you and you hurriedly redirected your attention to the field, watching your six-year-old daughter kick at a dandelion in the outfield. You fished into your pocket for your phone as it buzzed, frowning at the sight of a text from Borracho: 

Made ya look

“...Heads up,” Alyssa muttered. 

“She better fucking not—”

“We got incoming—”

“She better fucking not—”

“Hey ladies!” Jessa’s bright tone broke over the two of you, and it took everything in you not to pitch your phone into the ground. 

“Hi Jessa,” Alyssa shifted, subtly elbowing you. You kept your focus on your phone. What the hell did that mean? He hadn’t seen you looking at him, there was no way—

“Hey!” Jessa repeated, as bright and friendly as before, and you forced yourself to look up, a placid smile on your lips. You couldn’t even blame Borracho—she was exactly his type. Hell, half of the other little league parents confused you and Jessa for one another on a regular basis. 

“Hi.” 

“How’s it going over here? I thought I’d come and say hi, you two always look so,” She bunched her shoulders up, “Cozy.” 

“We’re like a pile of kittens,” Alyssa cooed before nodding to first base. “Looks like Ryder is having a good practice today.”

“Yeah! Yeah, he’s been practicing with his dad on his weekends, it’s been really good for him.”

You and Alyssa nodded in unison, giving sympathetic hums in harmony. It was no secret that Jessa was newly divorced, and it was well known that you, Alyssa, and your sometime companion, Allie Conners, were all in the divorced boat—but you had never felt drawn to bring Jessa into your corner. The three of you were gossipy in a way that bordered on bitchy, shared mimosas in a thermos during games, and bonded by a very particular understanding of one another’s marriages, and why they ended. 

Jessa seemed so…Nice. But maybe if she got her way, she’d understand where exactly you and Borracho and the others had gone wrong. 

Or maybe they won’t go wrong. 

The unexpectedly possibility stung so much that you found yourself looking at the field again, hand curling tightly around your phone. Made you look. What the fuck did that even mean? 

“Well!” Jessa’s squeak of an exclamation nearly made you wince, “I’m going to go grab a water. Do either of you want any?” 

“No thanks—”

“I’m good.” 

Her smile remained in place, but you felt a little rotten for the small, dejected nod she gave you before walking away. You and Alyssa watched her go, and Alssya ‘hmph’d after a moment. 

“Should we…?” She trailed off, catching sight of your flat expression. “Never mind.” 

“Second she hops off of Ben’s dick, sure.” You glanced toward where Borracho was rolling up the sleeves of his henley to hit a few balls to the outfield. Your eyes swept over his arms, down to his muscled forearms as he took hold of the bat. 

“...You’re doing it again.”

“Shut up, Lyss.” 

Alyssa snorted, swiping your soda and taking a swig.

– 

You trailed Borracho and Olivia to the car, listening to her tell her father about the spider that she saw crawling on the dandelion while she was in the outfield—that’s why she missed the ball he’d hit her way, obviously. 

“Alright, well maybe next time we pay a little more attention to the ball, princess,” Borracho teased, ruffling her hair. “At least during the game this weekend, okay?” 

“Okay,” She sighed, stopping beside the car and yanking at the door that you haven’t unlocked yet. 

“Hang on, bug,” You chuckled, “Say goodbye to your dad.”

Olivia leaned heavily against Borracho, giggling as he reached down, tickling her sides. 

“I’ll see you at the game this weekend,” He murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her head before Olivia pulled away, climbing into the backseat and tugging the door shut behind herself. 

“Good practice,” You commented. 

“Sure.” Borracho nodded, gaze sweeping over your face. “Looked like you and Alyssa did a few laps.” 

Before you could ask what he meant, he added, “You two run your mouths like nobody’s business—”

You sucked your teeth, grumbling, “You play too much,” As he laughed. 

“I’m glad you got to talk,” He added. “She tell you about Zapata’s girl?”

“Mhm,” You nodded. “Can’t say I’m surprised, but—” 

“I know. He gets uptight, pops off.”

“I have no idea what that’s like,” You smiled. It was Borracho’s turn to roll his eyes, leaning against the car.

“Alright.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“You gonna talk to her?” 

“I mean,” You shrugged, “Alyssa probably will. She’s better about that stuff—And she was closer to her than I was, so.”

“Mm.” Borracho was quiet for a moment before he tipped his chin up a touch. “You like my text?” 

Poker face, damnit. Don’t let on.

“What text?”

His brows rose in disbelief. 

“I texted you.”

“When?”

“During practice.”

“Oh? I didn’t see it.” Leave it there. Go home— “But I’m surprised you had time to text with how busy you and Jessa were.” 

Borracho’s shit-eating grin made your stomach twist. You never had been all that good at poker. 

“That so?” 

“You two seemed pretty occupied.” 

“We were just talking.” 

“About what?” 

“Baseball.”

“Mm, really.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good, that’s topical.” 

“This is cute.” “Excuse me?” 

“Nah, I like it. Can’t remember the last time you were jealous.” 

You wheezed an affronted laugh, raising your hand to clutch your invisible pearls. 

“Oh, that is so—That is not what’s happening right now.” 

“No?” 

“No—Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Language—” 

“She can’t hear me—” 

“Swear jar, mom!” Olivia crowed, muffled through the door. 

“Car isn’t soundproofed,” Borracho added, taking a couple of steps back. “I’ll see you on Saturday.” 

-- 

Relax, we’ve all done it.

Alyssa’s reassurance played through your mind all night. The thing that bothered you the most was that you really hadn’t felt that way since your marriage to Borracho had started falling apart. You’d known that his coworkers sometimes encouraged him to be around women then you typically didn’t want him to be around. When the two of you were on the verge of splitting up, you’d told yourself that you would almost welcome one of them taking him off of your hands. 

At the time, it had seemed better than the other prospect—Borracho coming home late from being out with the guys, smelling like cheap floral body spray, with flecks of glitter on his clothes or in his hair and lap. He had felt like such a far cry from the man that you had loved and married; that had once answered your questions with a smile and not an eye roll; that used to pick you up after a long shift at work with a kiss and a snack because he knew you would be hungry. 

He’d changed over the course of your relationship, but you had, too. You’d grown tired of asking him to do things around the house. Your concern around his job and the cases that he was involved in felt so much more acute, and became so much worse once you’d gotten pregnant with Olivia. 

Nitpicking had snowballed into fights; fights festered and devolved into Borracho staying out late, then not coming home at all. On those nights, you’d lose sleep, torn between annoyance at his stubbornness, and the fear that you’d wake up to a knock on the door, or a call from Nick with his regrets, apologizing that something had gone terribly wrong. Olivia had been the only reason that the two of you had stayed together as long as you had. By the end, you were certain that there was still love there, but between work and feeling like you were already raising Olivia on your own, you just couldn’t find it. You were tired of fighting, and you knew that you didn’t want Olivia growing up in a home that never felt safe or settled. 

When you’d served Borracho papers, he hadn’t been surprised. Hell—he’d almost looked relieved. He hadn’t fought you on it, or asked if you could work it out; he hadn’t offered to go to counseling, or promised you that he just needed one more chance, and that he’d change. The man had already had two divorces in his rearview when he’d met you. This was just…Procedure for him. 

The first few months had been hell. The worrying didn’t stop, but the fighting had gone from a full boil to a simmer again. You let some of your irritations go in favor of focusing on building a more solid foundation for you and Olivia, and creating a regular routine for her and Borracho.

For as hectic and painful as your four years of marriage had been, the only thing that you and Borracho could always agree on was Olivia. You had never stopped him from being able to see her when he moved out; his child support was always paid on time and in-full, and he never griped about helping out when things unexpectedly came up. He was more involved than most divorced dads that you knew.

You had joint custody, but Borracho’s schedule could be so hectic that she lived primarily with you. She saw him at least twice a week for little league, and stayed with him at least once a week. He went out of his way to call her and say goodnight and that he loved her, even if it wasn’t right before bed. 

Alyssa had been waiting for you with open arms, happy to commiserate with you as her marriage to Henderson had also unraveled. For a while, bringing Olivia to little league was the only time that you saw Borracho outside of pickups and drop-offs. Now, the two of you tended to chat a little before getting into your cars and heading your separate ways. You almost never argued, and if you did, it was with lowered voices, without Olivia in the room. It had been two years since your divorce, and while things hadn’t fully healed with Borracho, they were in a far better place than they had been. The two of you were friendly, for the most part. And sure, there have been moments when you’ve missed him, but…

But the bubbling of jealousy in your belly this evening had felt so foreign to you. It wasn’t just the way that Jessa had flirted, it was how much Borracho seemed to enjoy it.

Had he smiled at you like that when you’d been together? You were trying so hard to remember. He must have, right? At least once, maybe twice. Maybe at the very beginning, when you’d started dating—before he’d warned you that his job could be a lot, and that he’d been married twice before, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to get married again. You sometimes wondered if you would’ve gotten married at all if you hadn’t gotten pregnant. 

On your good nights, you were certain that you would’ve, that you and Borracho had been so deeply in love when he proposed that you didn’t doubt it. 

On your bad nights, you told yourself that you’d done it so that Olivia would grow up in a home with two parents, and that you’d failed at that. 

Tonight, you stared at your ceiling, trying to think of anything but the way Jessa had run her hand over the slope and bulge of his bicep, and the way that Borracho had grinned and leaned into her. 

He wasn’t yours anymore. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. 

So long as he didn’t do whatever the hell he wanted anywhere near you. 

--  

“Mom?” 

“Yeah, bug?” You tipped your head back a bit as Olivia piped up from the backseat. 

“What were you and dad fighting about after practice?” 

You frowned, stopping the car at a red light and twisting to get a better look at her. 

“You thought we were fighting?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Why do you say that, hon?” 

Olivia lowered her eyes to her lap, toying with the plush baseball bat that Borracho had gotten her for Christmas (she had loved it immediately and declared it her good luck charm; she wouldn’t go to a game without it). 

“You used a bad word.” 

You pursed your lips. “Yes, I did, and I’m sorry. Your dad and I weren’t fighting, we were…Kidding around.” 

“You can use that word when you’re kidding?” 

“Adults can. You can’t. And shouldn’t. Especially on the field, or at school. Mama will be better about her language, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“And your dad and I are okay. Okay?” 

“...Okay.” 

She sounded less convinced this time, but you didn’t want to litigate it right now—and the light was turning green, anyway. 

--

You kept your pace even as Olivia darted ahead of you, screaming hello to her friends and joining them on the field. Alyssa turned to look at you where she was already camped out on the bleachers, grinning and patting the spot beside herself. You smiled, sitting down and setting your bag down between your legs. 

“Oof girl, the look on your face,” Alyssa laughed. “You look like you need some of my special orange juice.” 

“Mm, I shouldn’t. Ben’s got Liv for the night, but I’m gonna have to drive my car back later.” 

“One of the guys can drop you back and you can get it tomorrow.” 

You glanced between her and the thermos before you took it, smiling as Alyssa teased, “Atta girl. I got a whole ‘nother one, so go wild.” 

“I don’t know about wild.” 

“I do…What’s got that look on your face, anyway?” 

You toyed with your answer as you took a sip of the mimosa from the thermos. 

“Liv thought Ben and I were fighting after practice.” 

“Were you?” 

“No! No, we were just…I cursed. Guess she remembers that from when we were together, when she was small.” You looked at the lid of the thermos. “I don’t know, sometimes I forget how much she heard, how much she saw before we—you know.” 

“I hear you. Devon freaks out if Gus and me even look at each other wrong.” 

You were quiet for a moment before you couldn’t hold the smile back. 

“What?” Alyssa frowned. 

“I keep forgetting Henderson’s first name is Gus,” You giggled, unable to help it. “How do you moan that—” Your giggle broke into a cackle as Alyssa shoved your shoulder, groaning, “You’re the worst!” 

You sighed as the two of you settled, glancing around just in time to see Jessa looking across the bleachers for somewhere to sit. That bubbling in your stomach came up again, and you hurriedly swigged your mimosa in the hopes of dampening it. Before you could second guess yourself, you raised a hand and flagged her down, patting the seat beside yourself. Her face brightened immediately, waving back and beginning to head toward you. 

“...You sure you wanna do that?” Alyssa muttered. 

“I was a bitch to her the other day,” You shrugged. “She’s nice.” 

“You think Borracho feels the same way?” 

“Don’t give a fuck about what he feels.” You didn’t meet Alyssa’s eye as you said so—hell, you could barely get the lie out to yourself. You didn’t want to know how unconvincing it sounded to anyone else. 

“Morning, ladies!” Jessa grinned as she settled onto the seat beside you. “Great day for a ballgame.” 

“Sure is,” Alyssa chirped over your emphatic hum and nod. 

“Made it just in time,” Jessa added. “That parking lot is so intense. I had to cut someone off just to get a space.” 

“Yikes. Hope they were on the other team.” 

“Honestly, I didn’t get a good look. They just flipped me off and sped away.” 

“Hey y’all,” You heard, and turned to see Allie Conners approaching you on the bleachers. “Sorry Jack and me are late, some dickhead in a fucking Mazda took my parking space—” She went still at the sight of Jessa, eyes narrowing critically. You leaned into Jessa a little, murmuring, 

“What kind of car do you drive?”

“I’m not sure I should say.” 

--  

You knew that you were staring again. Luckily for you, Alyssa was too distracted to notice. 

Jessa had declined your invite to get pizza with the group, but considering the parking lot incident, it was probably for the best. You honestly weren’t sure she could handle being thrown into the deep end of this group’s hangouts. Unless he was too busy working, the group of you always convened at Henderson’s place—he was the only one with a backyard, and the kids always had a little excess energy to burn off. Olivia, Devon, and Jack were still zipping around the backyard, running on the adrenaline of winning the game; the other parents were talking, and you were just…Not paying attention to any of them. Jessa wasn’t hovering, or squeezing his bicep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop looking at Borracho. 

You hadn’t been subtle, either. You knew that you hadn’t because he’d caught you looking a couple of times. Every look was paired with a furrowed brow, a small, questioning smile before you’d waved him off and turned away. You forced yourself to look away as you felt him turning to look at you again, and you pushed yourself up, picking up your empty beer and heading for the kitchen.

You waved off Alyssa’s questioning glance, smiling and mouthing ‘Empty’ before heading inside. You set it on the counter, taking a fresh one out of the fridge—but rather than head back to the backyard, you walked to the front door, stepping out and sitting on the front steps. You sighed softly, cracking the beer open and taking a sip. 

God, what the hell was wrong with you? When did you let yourself get so lonely? You spent so much time worrying about Olivia, about Borracho (whether you liked to admit it or not), about your job—

“You good?” 

You looked back at the sound of his voice, stomach swooping as he settled down beside you. 

“Scared the crap out of me,” You grumbled. 

“Sorry.” 

“Are you?” 

Borracho shrugged a little. You watched as he fished into his pocket, drawing out a pack of cigarettes. 

“...I thought you were quitting,” You accused. 

“Olivia tell you that?” 

“Mhm. You tell that to Olivia?” 

“Told her I’d try. I didn’t say it was going well.” He held the pack out to you, brows raising. You hesitated before shaking your head, raising your beer and taking a sip. Borracho grunted, lighting up. You glanced over, watching his cheeks sink as he took a drag from the cigarette. 

“You doin’ okay?” He asked. 

“Sure. You?” 

“Mhm.” 

You nodded a little, looking down at the beer bottle and trailing your finger over a drop of condensation. 

“...So you really okay?” 

“Ben—” 

“What’s going on with you?” 

“Nothing is going on!” 

"You’ve been distracted all day.”

“How could you know that? Were you watching me all day?”

“Yeah, I was.” You hardly had time to let that surprise sink in before he added: “You were watching me, too.” 

You hesitated before you shook your head a little bit. 

“I’ve just been thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“Stuff, I don’t know.” 

“...Alright. I’ll wait.” 

“What?” 

“You’ll tell me when you wanna tell me.” 

“I don’t have anything to tell!” 

“No, sure you don't.” “For fffffff—” You found yourself self-consciously glancing toward the door before you finished, “Frickssake.” 

“Kids can’t hear you out here, you can curse.” 

“Yeah, I know, just…Told Olivia I’d be better about it.” 

“She should hope you aren’t. That swear jar’s gonna get her through college.” “...She thought we were fighting the other night.” 

“By the car?” 

“Mhm.” 

“She worried about that?” 

“I think so.” 

“We’re good now though.” 

His insistence made you warm, and you nodded again.

“Yeah, we are.” You held your beer out for Borracho to sip and waited until he’d raised it to his lips to ask, “So when are you asking Jessa out?” Your questioning turned to cackling as Borracho spluttered. He rolled his eyes, setting the beer down between the two of you. 

“I’m teasing,” You added, gently nudging his shoulder with yours. “But if you wanna, you know. You should go for it.” 

“You think so?” 

“Sure. She’s nice, ‘Livvy gets along with her son…You have my blessing—Not that you need it, obviously.” 

“Uh-huh. Is this a trick?” 

“What?” 

“You give me your blessing to date someone and then you turn around and tell me you’re getting married or something?” 

“No! God no, I’m not even dating.” 

“Mm…When’s the last time you went on a date?” 

“I dunno, it’s been a while. What about you?” 

“Couple months.” 

“How’d you meet her?” You glanced over when Borracho took a few moments to answer and found his face twisted with indecision. “...Ben.” 

“Work.”

“Oh?” You laughed. “Was this one a widow, dispatch, a gangbanger’s baby mama, a hooker from one of those parties—” 

“Alright—” 

“No, hang on, I’ve got one more—A witness? Was it a witness?” You leaned in a little, brows waggling, and grinned when Borracho huffed, annoyed. “Oh, so it was a witness. Anything good? Gnarly crime scene? Drive-by? Missing neighbor? Weird smell coming from her basement?” 

“You know, I think I liked it better when you didn’t like hearing about this shit.” 

“Swear jar.” 

“Dumbass.” 

“Now that’s two dollars, pal.” 

“I’ll throw it onto the monthly.” 

“You do that.” 

“What if I don’t?” 

“You just wait.” 

“Oh-ho—” 

“You just wait and see.” 

“You gonna take me back to court over two dollars?” 

“Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” 

“I’m good for it.” 

“Uh-huh...So why didn’t you keep seeing the uh—the witness?” 

“Just wasn’t feeling it.” 

“Why not?” You leaned against him again, whining, “C’mooooon, you can tell me.” 

“Why haven’t you been goin’ out, huh? You tell me.” 

“I’m busy, that’s all.” 

“Oh, and I’m not?” 

“That’s not what I mean, Ben.” 

“...I can take Liv a couple more nights.” 

You smiled a little, trying to ignore the slight bitterness that bubbled in your belly at the offer. God, it was nearly as bad as seeing Jessa flirt with him. He was trying to be nice—so why did it feel so rotten to hear it? Did he want you off of his hands so badly? 

“I appreciate that, but don’t feel the need to for—That reason. I mean you can take her more often if you have time. I know she loves staying at yours. She’d like it.” 

“We can figure something out.”

“Yeah.” 

“...You try the apps?” 

“For about five minutes. I had to delete them before I completely lost my faith in humanity.” 

Borracho chuckled softly, tapping the ashes from the end of his cigarette. 

“Figures.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You can’t meet people like that.” 

“Anyone can, that’s the point.” 

“No, I mean you can’t meet people like that.” 

“I could if I wanted to.” 

“How long did you say you were on the apps again?” 

“Alright.” 

“I’m just saying, you know, I know you. You’re gonna feel better about someone you meet the old-fashioned way.” 

You grunted, annoyed, as you took another sip of your beer. 

“Am I wrong?” Borracho prodded. 

“No.” You waited for another tease, but when Borracho didn’t say anything, you turned to find him watching you closely. You shifted in your spot uncomfortably, brow furrowing. “What?” 

“I should set you up.” 

“What?” You scoffed. 

“I should.” 

“That is the most hair-brained, idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had all day.” 

“Really? ‘Cause I think that goes to putting your daughter in the outfield so she can kick dandelions again.” 

“Oh, so when she kicks dandelions, she’s my daughter?” 

“You know she gets so bored out there.” 

“She’s six, she gets bored anywhere I put her.” 

“Not true. She likes first base.” 

“I’m setting you up.”

“You are not setting me up unless you want me setting you up.” You turned to see Borracho’s brow furrowing. “...I’m getting the feeling you hate that idea.” 

“Yeah, no, I’m good. I’ve met your friends.” 

“Uh-huh, and I’ve met yours and they’re no prize.” 

“...How about I take Liv a couple of Fridays this month, give you time to go out. It doesn’t have to be on a date,” He added before you could argue, “Just, you know. A little extra you time.” 

“Okay. If the schedule works, maybe we keep it up.” 

“That sounds good.” 

“Good.” You reached out, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and taking a quick drag before passing it back. 

“We should head back in,” You sighed out the smoke. “Alyssa’s going to think we’re fighting out here.”

“Alyssa can think whatever the fuck she wants,” Borracho grumbled as you stood, dusting your hands. 

“Cigarette out, let’s go,” You urged, laughing as Borracho grunted as he stood. “Did you really just do the old man grunt?” 

“Bold words from a woman whose knees cracked when she got up.”

“Shut up, there's no way you heard that.”

“Popped like an AK.”

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[bobafetts-princess]

Good Luck Charms

Months 7-12

Summary: After things have become a touch less frosty between you and Detective Magalon, you find that you actually like the man quite a bit. Maybe more than you bargained for.

Pairings: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: cursing, canon-typical sexism, mentions of substance issues (pain meds), someone gets shot.

A/N: This is slow burnnnnnnnnnnn

Months 1-6 can be found here!

MONTH 7

Month 7 is when things change.

It’s a raid. You’ve all been on one before but never together and the guys have never seen you this dressed down. They’ve only ever seen you in work clothes; pencil skirts and jackets, power suits, wrap dresses, slacks and silk blouses. You never have a hair out of place, it’s always styled with the perfect work makeup.

But today your hair is braided, you’ve got on jeans and a pink button down and brown boots, with a bulletproof vest over the top. Not an ounce of makeup. It’s a different side of you and the guys don’t know what to make of it.

“Fed? Is that you?”

“What’ve you done with the chick that comes to the office every day?”

“Well damn I didn’t know you owned a pair of jeans!”

You roll your eyes at all of them, flipping them the bird which makes them cackle. Detective Magalon doesn’t say anything, but it doesn’t bother you.

Really. It doesn’t.

But the raid goes sideways, only a little. One of the ATF guys doesn’t clear a room completely and you get shot.

Well, not really shot. More like grazed. It rips a hole in arm of your shirt and slices you deep enough that you think you’ll need stitches, but you’re alive and that’s the important part. You’re just lucky it was your non-dominant arm so you can still pull the trigger.

Detective Magalon takes the guy down and checks on you, but you wave him off. It’s not the first time you’ve been shot and in your line of work? It won’t be the last either.

“I’m fine. Finish the raid. Suspect is in the center,” you yell over the sound of gunfire. Big Nick finds him and tackles him down, wrestling with the gun and managing to get it away from him. You’re next in, jumping on the suspects back and getting cuffs on him before he has a chance to get away.

You’re running on pure adrenaline and haul the suspect up, it’s the head of cocaine sect of the organization. Catching him alive was the number 1 priority of this mission and you and Detective Magalon (with the help of his team) have succeeded. You shove him out, handing him off to Mike to be booked and turn, looking to the team. They’re exchanging high fives and cheers and Detective Magalon smiles at you. Henderson comes to high five you and you raise your arm to give him one back. You’re smiling and relieved until a shot of pain goes through your arm and you have to drop it.

Benny knows you got shot. He was there when you jerked, grabbed the spot and yelled at him to keep going. He knows you got shot even though you cuffed the suspect and marched him out. He really knows you got shot though when you move to give Henderson a high five and gasp in pain. Medical doesn’t arrive quick enough (in his opinion, at least) but they end up patching you up. They’ve gotta strip you out of that pretty pink button up, leaving you in a white undershirt and jeans as they give you stitches in the back of an ambulance. Benny notices a tattoo along your collarbone that he hadn’t seen before and he wants to get a closer look.

“You good?” He asks, stepping over after being checked himself. You glance up at him and Benny is surprised to see a light dancing in your eyes, the after-effects of an adrenaline rush no doubt. The guys are behind him, checking in on you at the same time he is. He catches some words and a date, something he definitely can’t see when you wear your buttoned up power suits and those fucking pencil skirts.

“I’m good, Detective,” your eyes are flicking between them all and you turn your body, wincing slightly as the needle punctures skin and he reads what the ink says. ‘How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard’. Benny wonders if it’s about an ex but shakes the thought away before it can take root. Why would you get a tattoo about an ex anyways? Stupid thought. But then you’re speaking again, drawing Benny’s attention. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot. At least this one didn’t require surgery.” You quip and Benny’s eyebrows raise at the insinuation. He knows the group chat is gonna blow up about this little insight into your life in a while and Benny already wants to put his phone on mute.

************

MONTH 8

With month 8 comes…..coffee? You’ve found this little hole in the wall place by your government issued apartment that serves fantastic coffee. They open at 5:30 in the morning, so when you get there at 5:45, the coffee is hot and fresh. They know you by first name at this point and know what time you come by in the morning. It’s easier than making drip coffee and it tastes better too.

Well one morning your alarm doesn’t go off. Or you shut it off. Or you sleep through it. You’re not really sure what happens. But you do know when you open your eyes and check the clock and see 7:30, you’re flying out of bed. You dress and clean up in record time and are out the door by 8:15, to your coffee shop by 8:20 and ordered before 8:25.

It’s 8:45 before you get a coffee in hand.

“I’m so sorry honey!” Shouts the owner, a stunning woman in her late 60’s. “One of my girls has the flu and one of our coffee machines broke!”

“It’s okay Mrs. Akron,” you assure her but god you are so late. You’re never late. Ever.

“Here darling,” she says, out of breath and frazzled. “Take a large black coffee, on me!” She thrusts your caramel macchiato at you as well as the large black. You start to protest but she won’t let you. “I insist! You’re running late and probably overslept, so you might need an afternoon boost. Take it,” she says, closing your hand around the cup. You nod at her, stopping to stuff a $50 in the tip jar before you make it to work. You roll in at 9:00, three hours late. The entire office whips their heads up and watches you walk in but you refuse to let it bother you.

“You good?” Detective Magalon asks and doesn’t press when you nod.

“Do you drink black coffee?” You ask before you lose the nerve. He’s bought you so much food, the least you can do is give him your extra coffee. “My coffee shop gave me an extra and….” You trail off, setting the coffee on his desk and taking a seat without an answer.

“Thanks.”

You simply nod but a couple times a week you bring him a large black coffee.

*************

MONTHS 9&10

Months nine and ten brings a trial and it’s a long trial. The examination and cross examination and evidence and witnesses take nearly 6 weeks. You and Detective Magalon spend nearly every waking hour together, working with the district attorney to make sure all goes the way it should.

You’re both emotionally, mentally, and physically drained and by the time the jury is sent off to make their own decision, you feel like you can nap for hours.

In fact, you do.

The couch in the district attorney’s office is so dammed comfortable and you’re sitting next to Detective Magalon, whose body is just radiating heat. You’d both just finished testifying, his took 3 hours and yours took 4. You’re silent next to each other, too drained from all the information you had to recall and all the talking.

The next thing you know, you wake up. Your head is resting against Detective Magalon’s shoulder and you might (you’ll deny if anyone asks) have drooled on his shoulder. You push off him and get some distance between your bodies.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry. This case has taken it out of me. How long did I sleep?”

“Three hours.” He says, clicking his phone shut and looking at you.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re kidding? I’m so sorry,” you tell him but he waves you off.

“It’s been a long trial. I don’t blame you for being tired,” he says, standing. You hear his knees crack when he does and see a wince of pain cross his face as he makes his way to the restroom.

Oh my god, he let you sleep even though he had to piss? There’s no way you’re unpacking that right now.

Benny never tells you that he fell asleep too.

When the verdict comes back a few weeks later and the suspect is found guilty as sin, you celebrate. It’s only one person, only one head of the hydra you’re dealing with, but it’s something.

The guys get a couple packs of beer and one Friday after work, you drink together.

“Fed! You have to hang with us for a little while. You just had your first successful trial with us,” Connors insists and you agree to stay.

“One beer!” You tell them and they laugh and wave you off. It’s the first time you’ve ever drank with them and you’re so damn careful not to overdo it. They shoot the shit, swapping stories and peppering you with questions you refuse to answer.

“Still no boyfriend?”

“Is it hard working around such attractive dudes all the time?”

“Ever smoked weed? Does smoking disqualify you from being a fed?”

“You seem like the type to own a cat”

“Got a hot sister?”

Benny notices the last one makes you wince and he wonders why. Then he tells himself that it’s none of his business. But then he thinks of your tattoo and he can’t help but try to put the pieces together.

“Even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I wouldn’t know, all y’all are ugly.”

“No it doesn’t disqualify you.”

“That’s a weird statement.”

You swallow hard before you answer the last one.

“Doesn’t matter if I do, none of you are meeting her.”

Benny can see you’re uncomfortable and he doesn’t want the guys to latch on. So he takes the reins of the conversation, asking Big Nick about his latest divorce. Of course he launches into a huge speech about how it’s not his fault that he likes pussy so much and blah blah blah.

Benny shoots you a glance and notices you looking at him. You give him a small nod and raise your bottle in thanks.

At least, Benny thinks it’s in thanks.

********

MONTH 11

Month 11 earns you a nickname.

It’s another raid. Another head of the hydra that you’re looking for. You wear basically the same outfit, only this time the button down is army green instead of soft pink.

“You ready?” Magalon asks you, standing next to you and you wonder if he’s thinking of the last raid where you got shot. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with a grey LASD beanie over his hair. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and you see the strong salt-and-pepper there. It makes you twitch, low in your belly and wonder if he has-Jesus. A raid. You’re wearing a goddamned bulletproof vest and are getting ready to charge into a building where you might potentially get shot. Tamp that shit down.

“Yeah. I don’t think anyone is ever fully ready but I’m as ready as I can be,” you tell him, twisting your neck to look up at him.

“Try not to get shot this time,” he chuckles, looking at you. You nod, smiling as well and promising to do your best.

You get shot.

You actually get fucking shot.

It happens in a flash, one second the LAPD is declaring the room and by extension the building clear. The next second, you’re on the ground absolutely gasping for air.

“What the fuck?” Connors yells, pointing his gun that direction as Magalon covers your body with his own.

“You’re like a fucking magnet for bullets,” Magalon grumbles at you, grabbing you by the shoulder straps and moving to haul you out.

“Stop,” you gasp. “I’m fine, got the wind knocked out of me,” you tell him, pushing him off. The last thing you need is him getting shot in the back because he’s worried about you. “Get the suspect,” you tell him, pushing him off and finding cover behind a couple barrels off to your left. There’s a few more shots and a small shout of pain, hopefully from someone that isn’t on your side, before everything stops.

The barrels are moved out of the way and your gun flies up before you see who it is. Magalon. You never thought you’d be so happy to see him. “He’s cuffed. Connors shot him in the shoulder too but he’ll be fine. Unfortunately. Come on, you need a hospital,”

“No. No hospital. I’m fine,” you insist.

“Bullshit. Can you walk or do I need to carry you?”

“I’m fine. Seriously.”

“I guess I’m carrying you,” he says, handing his gun to Big Nick and moving to take off his own bulletproof vest.

“Damnit, I can walk,” you say, moving to stand.

“Good. Walk yourself to the ambulance so we can go to the hospital,” his jaw is set and you know that you’re going to end up at the hospital whether you like it or not.

“Fucking stubborn ass,” you snipe at him as you pass your own gun off to Connors.

“I’m going to get you a four leaf clover for luck, maybe then you’ll stop getting shot,” he shoots back and you can hear the frustration laced in his tone. As well as something else? Fear? Surely not.

“Ha!” Big Nick laughs and everyone turns to look at him. “That’s the perfect nickname for our fed. Clover,” and you groan because you know it’s going to stick. There’s no way it’s not going to stick. You don’t even get a chance to think about them calling you ‘our’ fed until you’re in the waiting room of the hospital.

—————————

“It’s two broken ribs and a nasty bruise,” says the ER doctor, sticking your x-rays up. “Desk duty for the next two months,” she tells you and you groan. Magalon hasn’t left your side yet, the others have, reports to write and debriefs to be held. “I’m going to give you some pain meds, I think the adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet and that’s the reason you aren’t feeling much pain.” You have been feeling pain but downplaying it in the hopes of fooling the doctor. Unfortunately for you, x-rays can’t fool a doctor. “I’m also going to insist that you take the next four days off, bed rest.”

She stares you down and you have no choice but to nod and agree. She turns to Magalon and says “as her partner, I fully expect you to keep her from over-exerting. And absolutely no sex until those ribs are healed,” she wags her finger at the two of you and you both splutter at the same time.

“We’re no-“

“It’s not like-“

The poor woman is confused and you can see why because Magalon introduced himself as your partner when they brought you back to the waiting room.

“I’m FBI,” you explain.

“I’m LA County Sheriffs Department. We’re partners on a case,” Magalon finishes the explanation.

“Ah, well. Regardless,” she points her fingers at you, “you’re on bed rest for four days.” She turns to Magalon, “I don’t know if you can make that happen but I expect you should try.” He nods and she moves to leave the room. “And I know you’re not being truthful about how much pain you’re in,” she points at you again and your face heats. Her finger swings to Magalon, “make sure she takes a pain medication. Take it with food. It’ll probably put you to sleep,” she warns before she heads out.

She must decide that either you aren’t going to take one or Magalon isn’t going to be able to convince you to take one because a nurse makes you take one before you’re allowed to leave.

“She’ll need another one in four hours,” she warns before she takes off. And of course, it takes almost 45 minutes to get out. Between filling the script and getting discharged, by the time you make it to the parking lot you’re a zombie. It’s been a long day and you’re sore, exhausted, and grouchy.

“I had the guys bring your car,” he tells you and you nod. “What’s your address? I need it to get you home,” he says. His voice is soft, like one you would use around a skittish dog as he helps you into the passenger seat but your tongue is thick and heavy and you can’t form words.

By the time Benny makes it back to the drivers seat, you’re asleep. Passed out against the center console and Benny can’t help but smile. You look so soft and peaceful and not at all like a woman who just got shot.

Benny decides to take you to his place since he doesn’t know how to get to yours. He bridal carries you up the stairs to his apartment and manages to get you inside without waking you. Benny settles you down in his bed, unsure of whether to leave your clothes the way they are or try to change you into something comfortable and decides to go with the latter.

He removes your shirt, hoping you’ve got a tank underneath it like last time and is relieved to find one. He slips one of his t shirts over your head, pulling it down across your body before reaching under to pull down the tank. He refuses to look at the tattoo, knowing it’ll kick his brain into overdrive if he does. When he removes the undershirt, Benny must brush against your bruise because you groan in pain but he manages to get it off without waking you. Remembering an old trick from a previous lifetime, he unsnaps your bra and pulls it out the arm holes of the shirt, tossing it with the tank. Jeans are last and he makes sure to keep the shirt pulled all the way down as he blindly unbuttons and strips you. Finally, he tucks you under the covers and grabs a pillow to take to the couch. He sets an alarm and passes the fuck out.

The thing that wakes you is the aching pain in your ribs. You groan, doing your best to sit up but god, they hurt so bad. Glancing around the room you expect to see your collection of plants and pink sheets, but are surprised by bare walls and black sheets.

“Where the fuck-“ you start but then Magalon appears in the doorway. It’s that moment that you realize you’ve been changed into clothes that aren’t yours and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I didn’t see anything. I closed my eyes,” he tells you, crossing the room. “I had to take you to my place because you fell asleep before you could give me your address,” he explains. He’s got a protein bar in one hand and a cup in the other and he hands the cup to you first. “It’s time for your next pain med,” he drops the little pill in your hand, “I know your ribs hurt,” he gives you a pointed look. Grimacing you take the pill and chase it with the water.

“Thank you,” you say when he hands you the protein bar. Scarfing it down, you glance up at him as he nods. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. God, you probably had to carry me inside, didn’t you?” Magalon chuckles and nods.

“I need to tell you that I’m not leaving your side until you can go back to work,” and you open your mouth to protest. “Nope. No arguments. I’m more than happy to take you back to your own place if that would make you more comfortable, but you are stuck with me,” he says and you can tell he isn’t going to argue with you about it and you don’t have the energy to try either.

“Fine. How did you get me changed without ‘seeing anything’?” You smile as he explains, careful not to laugh because you know that it’s going to hurt. “I need to shower. Do you think I’ve got enough time before this kicks in?”

“Not sure, but I think it might be safer to wait until you’ve rested a little more,” you can’t help but agree because as he leaves the bedroom again you feel the deep weight of exhaustion overtake you again and before you know it, you’re out.

—————————

The next time you wake, Benny is already there and waiting for you.

“No, I want to try to shower first,” shaking your head at him and trying to sit up. Goddamn, your ribs hurt. He gives you a hand and leads you to the bathroom.

“I’m sure I don’t have the right…anything. But feel free to use anything in my shower,” he says. “But leave the door unlocked just in case you need me. Do you want me to try to make you something to eat?” Your stomach gives an aggressive grumble at that exact moment and he laughs. “Fried egg sandwich? Coffee?” Nodding at both he takes off to his kitchen. Heading into the bathroom, you flip on the lights and take a look at yourself in the mirror. You look like absolute shit. Red eyes, dark circles, your hair is a mess and a half. You haven’t washed your face recently and you know that the shower is going to dry your skin out. Of course Magalon doesn’t have any body lotion either.

Stripping off the tshirt, one of Magalon’s no doubt, you inspect the large bruise on your right side. It takes up almost your entire ribcage, stretching from under your breasts to almost touching your hipbone and it’s a nasty deep purple. It’ll only worsen over the next couple days too, turning brown to green to yellow. When you turn on the shower, you realize you don’t have a clean towel.

“Magalon?” You call out and hear his answering response. “I don’t have a towel, can you bring me one?” There’s silence, then he calls back that he’ll do it in just a second. Locating a brush, you step into the shower and groan at the hot water on your skin. Magalon has a nice shower, a cool grey tile with glass doors. And he has several body washes to choose from. And an actual shampoo and conditioner, not a 4-in-1 combo. You wash your hair with one hand because it hurts to raise the other and skip washing your feet cause you can’t bend over to reach them, but damn do you feel better.

The towel and a pair of sweats is right outside the bathroom door when you get out. You try to rip a brush through your hair, but the exertion makes your ribs hurt too much. So instead, you dress and head to the kitchen. Magalon is in there, plating a sandwich and setting it next to a cup of coffee. Your damn ribs are absolutely aching but right now? You’re more hungry than you are anything else.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. But you’re my partner and I’ve got your back.” Swoon. No-wait. No swoon. Swooning is bad.

“Can I ask you for a small favor?” He nods and you hold out the brush. “It hurts too much to try and brush it.” He takes the brush and looks at it a little funny before he moves to stand behind you. He’s so gentle with it, afraid to put any tension on your head and hurt you. He gets through it as you sip on the coffee, (black, gross) and it doesn’t take him much time and you feel so much better when he’s done.

���Do you want to take your pill now or after you eat?” You opt for now and he hands it to you with a cup of water. “Still tired? Did showering hurt? Do you need to nap?”

“A little but not like I was. No, I feel a lot better being clean. I guess we’ll have to see.”

“Do you want to head back to yours or stay here for now?”

“I’d like to go back to my place, but maybe food first,” Magalon nods and you suppose you should be calling him Benny now. “Clover is gonna stick, isn’t it?” He looses a chuckle and grabs his phone, pulling up a text thread.

Big Nick: How’s Clover?

Benny: Fine. She’s resting. Pain pills took her out.

A couple hours later.

Z: Clover still out?

Benny: Ya. Long day for her. She’s at mine.

Big Nick: Damn Borracho, how did you get that to happen?

Z: OooOOooooHHhhhhh

Connors: Apparently only drugged women go home with you.

Henderson: Y’all are obnoxious

Benny: Fell asleep before I could get her address.

A couple hours later.

Connors: Clover good? Still out?

Benny: Ya. And ya.

Henderson: You know Borracho, my favorite thing about you is how conversational you are.

You snort a laugh and immediately regret it, grabbing at your ribs.

“Are they always like that?”

“As long as I’ve known them. They’ve taken to you though, more than any other person we’ve worked with. Man or woman.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“They’re used to other departments being straight-laced and talking shit about us. You haven’t done that. You call the guys out when they need it and let shit slide that doesn’t. They respect that,” he says, shrugging.

“Is that what happened with the other female agents that worked with you guys?” And he nods.

“By now you know how they are and if they think they’ve found something that’ll bother you, they dig in. And they don’t know when to quit.”

Nodding you ask, “is that how you got the nickname Borracho?” It’s a far cry from how you made fun of his nickname all those months ago. He sighs heavily and you know it’s a story that irritates him a little.

“One time, back when it was Big Nick, Henderson and me, we had a work event. It was fancy and an open bar, so I naturally got shit-faced. Nick and his first wife had to help me out and make sure I didn’t vomit all over myself. Nick started calling me Borracho and I never got rid of it, especially once they realized I hate it.” Your sandwich is gone by now and you move to go put the plate in the sink but Benny stops you. He takes the plate and puts it in the dishwasher before coming to sit next to you again.

“That’s a horrible way to get a nickname,” you smile at him and he smiles back.

“Tell me about it.” A pause. “Getting shot is a much cooler way to get a nickname,” and you shoot him a small glare. “Do you want to try and nap again or are you alright?” Between the shower and the conversation, you’re exhausted again so you opt for another nap. “While you sleep I’m gonna run to the office and grab some files so I can get some work done while I’m out,” he tells you and you nod, drifting back down the hallway to his room. Pulling back the sheets and sliding in, you don’t even hear the front door shut before you’re asleep again.

—————————

You’ve forgotten how much you hate being on bed rest. It’s been years since you last were but good god it is awful. At least there’s company. Once Benny got back from the office with a box in the SUV and some get-wells from the boys, you’d finally felt rested. You got Benny to take you back to your own apartment and he chuckles when he walks in.

“This is the girliest place I’ve ever been in.”

“Leave my decoration choices alone,” but he’s not wrong. Everything is soft and feminine, a grey couch with pink and grey pillows. A baby pink sheets and comforter set and plants everywhere. “Thanks. Seriously. I appreciate you staying with me to make sure I’m okay.”

“No coffee machine?” He asks in lieu of a response.

“I only get coffee from that one place,” you remind him. “It’s easier and it tastes better than drip coffee from a pot.” He laughs and says whatever before he sets the files on your counter.

“Two more days, then you can go back to work,” he reminds you and you stick your tongue out at him when his back is turned. Your ribs still ache but you can at least take a pain pill and not pass out within 20 minutes, so that’s an improvement. “Do you want to sift through these files with me?” He asks and you groan. You don’t, you’re too foggy. “Okay okay, we don’t have to,” he chuckles and turns to you. “What do you feel like doing?”

Truth be told, you want to watch a show. Your favorite romantic show just released a new season last week and you want to get caught up. But it’s steamy and not a show to be watched with a coworker so you say, “is there a game on?” Benny quirks a brow at you and you sigh. You like sports but you just aren’t in the mood for them.

“What do you actually want to watch?” When you give him the name of the show he belly laughs and says “let’s watch it. Cmon. I want to see what it’s like.”

Two hours and several spicy scenes later, Benny is deeply invested in this show. He keeps asking questions and insisting things don’t make sense, but that’s only because he hasn’t seen the first couple seasons. If it didn’t hurt so much to laugh, you would be in absolute tears by now because who knew that Detective Magalon from the LASD would be into regency romances?

“Who is that man?”

“They’re in the garden alone. Don’t they have to get married now?”

“He touched her tit, they definitely have to get married now.

“Who is this entire family?”

Finally you get tired of answering his questions and suggest that you start the whole series over, so he can be caught up. He gives you a side eye, but you ignore it, starting from Season 1 Episode 1 and let it play. The two of you get through the first four episodes before it’s time for another pain med, you’re trying to stretch out the time you need them so you can wean. After you take it you curl into the couch, Benny at one end and you at the other. It doesn’t take long for this one to knock you out and eventually you’re stretched out, your head in Benny’s lap as he finishes the season by himself.

He picks you up as gently as he can, walking you down the hall to settle you into your own bed. He takes the time to examine the pictures hung up in the hallway when he heads back to the couch. He notices a girl in your pictures, one so similar in a way that’s more than just a sibling. You both look about the same age and share the exact same smile, often the both of you holding matching Winnie the Pooh plushies. The pictures of the two of you stop when you reach late teens, Benny guesses somewhere between 17-19. It’s just you now, you and your parents, you and another sibling, a brother. Benny starts taking the pieces and putting them together. A memorial tattoo, a refusal to talk about your family. A decided sensitive spot about your sister, or lack of? Benny doesn’t want to make assumptions, he knows what they say about assuming. But he’s a cop, a long time cop, and he knows how to make an educated guess.

You wake in your own bed, surrounded by your fluffy pink comforter and a deep ache in your ribs. It’s not time for more pain meds, so you decide to ice them down instead. Sneaking past a sleeping Benny and you take the time to study his profile. Strong nose and jaw, salt and pepper in his beard, eyes that have a capability to be soft. He really is an attractive man, if you were being honest with yourself, which you try not to be. He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, so much different without the deep furrow between his eyebrows. You try to be as quiet as possible as you make a bag of ice, but it doesn’t take him long to follow you into the kitchen.

“In pain?” He asks, leaning up against the counter. His beefy arms cross his chest and you have to avert your eyes quickly.

“Yeah. The sharp pains are gone but the aching pains won’t budge.” He nods before glancing at the clock.

“It’s early,” you glance at the clock yourself and notice it’s only 6 am. Old habits die hard. “Want to get out of the apartment for a while? We can go grab breakfast?” He offers. “Does that coffee shop you like serve a full breakfast?”

“Actually it does. I’ve never eaten breakfast there before though.”

“Are you willing to try it?”

“Anything to get out for a bit. Just let me finish icing my ribs first. It should take about 30 minutes. Do you need to go home and shower?”

Benny shakes his head, “nah, I took one in the guest room while you were sleeping. Want to watch your show while we wait?” Obviously the answer is yes and you can’t stop watching mid-episode so it’s after 7 by the time you leave the house. Benny orders literally only a cup of coffee and you side eye him a you order blueberry pancakes, bacon, and hashbrowns with a French vanilla cappuccino.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” He shakes his head at you.

“Nah, not much of a breakfast eater,” he says, taking a deep drink.

“Breakfast is the best meal of the day,” and it sends the two of you into an argument about which meal actually is the best meal. (Benny says they’re all the same, which leads you to believe he doesn’t eat much outside of work.)

This silly argument lasts nearly the entire time you wait for food and when it does arrive, you dig in. You’re so hungry that you almost don’t notice that Benny steals a piece of bacon off your plate. “Hey! Get your own food!” You cry, moving to stab him with your fork, but he manages to dodge. He laughs, a full belly laugh, and the sound is delicious. “You should’ve ordered something,” you warn, covering your food with your arms. “I don’t share food.”

He laughs again and flags down the waitress, ordering a side of bacon and some toast. You glare at him until it arrives, and the waitress chuckles as she fills his coffee. “I don’t share food with my boyfriend either,” and before you can argue that Benito Magalon is NOT your boyfriend, she’s gone.

————————-

Benny stays with you the next day and a half, until Monday and you’re allowed to return back to work. He offers to drive you but you refuse, telling him you go in much earlier than he does. “I can stay on your couch again. I’ll wake up when you wake up,” he says and you finally relent. So the next morning, at 6:30 you head into the kitchen, only to find Benny showered and holding coffee. “Hey. I grabbed coffee,” he lifts said coffee. “Want me to drive your car?”

It’s so bright in the office, much more bright than the low lights of your home, and it makes you wince.

“Clover!” Comes the cry from your office mates as they see you. You can’t help but smile and then it widens when you see what’s on your desk. A tiny pot with something green in it, which upon further inspection turns out to be…..clover.

“You guys have to be fucking kidding me,” you laugh, gently so not to upset your ribs. There’s a loud ruckus of laughter from them, as if it’s the funniest practical joke they’ve ever pulled. “You know this won’t live, right?” Examining it, you notice that it looks like they literally dug it up from the front lawn and stuck it in a pot. “It needs a lot more light than it’s gonna get sitting on my desk,” you explain before thanking them for doing something so thoughtful.

Big Nick steps out of his office to welcome you back, reaching over to slap a hand on your shoulder. You brace, waiting for the impact to jar your ribs but a sharp ‘don’t’ from Benny stops the hand before it connects. “Those ribs are still broke, Nick,” he says, barely lifting his eyes from his files to acknowledge Nick. Nick grunts, turns, tells you how good it is for you to be back, then disappears.

Lifting your eyes, you notice the same stunned expression on everyone else’s face and exchange of glances with one another. And glances with you.

That Monday is one of the longest of your career. you barely get anything done and all you want to do is go home and rest, but you can’t. It’s nearly midday when your patience snaps because Henderson looks at you funny when you grunt in pain.

“Got something to say, Henderson?” You snap and he gives you a wide, nervous glance before his eyes snap to Benny. “No. Don’t look at him, look at me. Do you have something to say?” Benny, you see him out of the corner of your eye, checks his watch and then pulls his phone out.

You’re so annoyed because you know they’re texting their little group chat. And you know they’re texting about you. Especially when four phones go off at the same time, more than once.

Borracho: it’s her first day off pain meds. Cut her some slack.

Nick: been there.

Henderson: same.

Z: does she need anything?

Borracho: food. And a coffee.

Z: what does she like?

Borracho: get her General Tso’s and house fried rice. And a caramel macchiato.

Z nods, getting up from his chair and heading out the door.

“Y’all texting about me?” You snap, eyes sharp as they bore holes in Benny’s head. He gives you this soft, pitying look that absolutely makes you rage and stand up suddenly before you double over in pain. Stupid fucking ribs. Stupid fucking perp that shot you. Stupid fucking pain meds. Wait-pain meds. Oh goddamnit. That’s why you’re so grouchy, you haven’t had any today and you’re sore and shaky.

“Are you alright?” Benny asks, standing. You wave him off, heading to the back of the bullpen where there aren’t any eyes and take a couple deep breaths. After four days of basically living together, you recognize the sound of Benny’s feet as they come up behind you. “Hurtin’?” He asks and you nod your head. “Want to head home?” You shake your head, but you really like the way he uses home like it’s somewhere the both of you are going.

“Nah, I just need a little bit of food and probably some coffee,” and you’re confused when Benny smiles.

“That’s where Z went. He’s grabbing Chinese and a caramel macchiato.” And you know that it was 100% Benny’s idea.

“Thanks Ben,” you smile at him, placing a soft hand on his forearm. There’s a moment there, in the back of the bullpen, between the two of you. You’ve been toeing that line all weekend, really for the last two months and this might be the turning point in your relationship. Benny feels safe. Benny feels like comfort. Someone you can trust. Someone you can count on.

Which is amazing to you because it’s such a far cry from where you started, nearly a year ago. Which makes you think, then makes you apologize.

“I’m sorry for how I acted when I first got here.”

“It’s fine. I think you had the right to be, these guys are a tough nut to crack,” he says, gesturing to the bullpen behind them. “They don’t take very well to others, especially fed. The ones we usually deal with are snarky and uptight. They make fun of us or judge us.” You understand, really you do. It makes sense, how defensive they are and how they treat new people. “Are you sure that you don’t want to head home? I can work from there,” he offers and it makes your chest tight. But his phone dings and it’s Z, letting him know that he’s back and that makes your chest tight again. These men care about you, your physical and mental well-being, and they want to make sure you’re okay. So, you shake your head at Benny and head back to your desk, lobbing an apology to everyone for your behavior, and sit down. Grabbing a file, you start to flip through it, but before you even have a chance to look at it, a bag and a coffee are set in front of you. You glance up and smile at Z, thanking him and apologizing to him in the same breath. He waves you off and sits down, but you can’t quite let it go.

“Z, what’s your cashapp. Or your Venmo? Let me pay for this, you didn’t have to go get it for me,” you tell him but he waves you off again.

“Nahh, Borracho already paid for it. Don’t worry about it,” and when you look at Benny, he refuses to look at you.

*************

Month 12

Month 12, you’re added into the group chat. Your phone buzzes one morning with one text from Big Nick and you notice that there’s a bunch of numbers there that you don’t recognize. Benny’s you do, but no one else. After about a week he stopped sleeping on your couch but he still gets to the office early and the two of you spend your mornings in companionable silence, sharing breakfast.

Big Nick: Anyone up for grabbing donuts this morning?

Big Nick: Also, drop your names so Clover knows who’s who.

Clover: Isn’t being a bunch of donut loving cops a little cliche?

Big Nick: Rude. No donuts for you.

You laugh a little out loud, noticing the ache in your ribs has almost completely disappeared, nearly two months after you got shot. You know Nick well enough now to know that he’s joking and he’s not being the rude, brash, asshole you initially thought that he was.

Zapata: It’s Z. Can’t this morning, gonna do a witness call.

Connors: This is Connors. I’m already at a crime scene, so I can’t. Save me some though!

Henderson: This is Henderson. I’m gonna be late as it is, I don’t have time.

Benny: Borracho can grab some from the usual place.

Clover: Don’t get any jelly filled ones, they’re the worst.

Zapata: Uh oh.

Clover: What?

Connors: NO JELLY FILLED? THAT’S UN-AMERICAN. I’M GOING BACK TO THE OTHER GROUP CHAT.

You laugh out loud again, the idea of Connors taking jelly-filled donuts so seriously honestly tracks for who he is as a person.

Clover: I’m sorry! Get all the jelly filled that you want, but get me long chocolate donut. No jelly, please.

Connors: Borracho, get a dozen jelly-filled just to spite Clover.

Clover: Awe, Connors. You’re hurting my feelings.

Big Nick: It’s too early to be reading this many messages.

Clover: You texted us first.

Benny: Chill or I won’t get donuts.

Henderson: You started the group chat.

Connors: You text first?!

Zapata: Speaking of, what should I name the chat?

Big Nick: Why does the group chat need a name?

Zapata: Our other chat is called The Regulators. We need to name this one too.

Connors: How about the FEDulators? It sounds the same!!

Clover: That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard, Connors.

Clover: How about Clover and the Four Leaf’s?

Zapata: OoOoOoOhHhHhH!!!!! I like that!!!!

Zapata changed the group name to 🍀Clover and the Four Leaf’s 🍀

Big Nick: Y’all are fuckin’ idiots.

You’re already in the office and lift your head at the sound of someone coming into the bullpen. It’s Benny, carrying two dozen donuts. He smiles at you and it makes something go slippery in your chest and Jesus you’re an adult.

“Welcome to the group chat. It’s hell here,” he laughs, holding out an open box for you to grab one. The two of you sit in silence, eating donuts and sharing files.

[mariamariquinha]

Bossa Nova (Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x f!reader) - Eleven

Ten

Summary: You've made a decision.

Word count: 7.544.

Warnings: Cursing, talks about police work corruption, irresponsible use of alcohol, people being idiots and work-related situations. If I forgot something, sorry :/

Author’s Note: I remember that I said that there would be some fake dating stuff and there will, but not right now. I'm working on chapter 12 already, so it was a small change of plans but not a change of path.

I'll try to update on AO3 as soon as I can! Sorry for any mispelling mistakes as well; always safe to remind that English isn't my first language.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

The Los Angeles Sheriff's Department has just completed an operation that arrested a ring of robberies in luxury properties last Saturday. Police-grade weapons, special clothing and technological equipment that facilitate the breach of property security systems were seized.

You closed the fridge and stared at the 7-Eleven television curiously, a bottle of sparkling water in hand. 

One of the gang's most notorious victims is technology entrepreneur Theo Park, who was in the house at the time of the incident and was attacked by the robbers.

“To bad things that come to good. If I hadn't been there, maybe they would have gotten away with it and not left enough evidence to get caught. I’m very grateful for LASD's dedication to solving this case.”

Theodore had once said that he appeared on an experimental college TV show and, after that day, he decided he would lose some weight so he wouldn't look so bloated on screen. He seemed to have learned his lesson; despite reporters shoving microphones in his face, he looked flawless.

“It's amazing how the rich get justice so fast, right?” 

You blinked a few times and turned to the cashier, who was also watching the TV. You neither agreed nor disagreed; you approached the counter, placed the bottle on top and fished out a pack of licorice candies, which you also slid towards him.

“You work there, don't you? At LASD?”

Because he would know, right? Of all the other thousand times you went there and bought the same thing, without fail, and the other times you were looking for some alcohol after work. You would open your wallet and every time your badge would come into view. It wasn't really a badge, you wanted to argue as you held out the credit card to him and looked up, but you didn't know if it would make any difference to say that.

“Mm-hm,” You answered and he nodded. 

“Huh. I don't doubt that your boss didn't carry this Park guy on his lap.”

Again, you didn't respond. Outside, in the parking space very close to your car, there was a pickup truck with a nice Confederate Flag sticker and the owner had entered the store a little before you, so you didn't want to take any chances. The cashier swiped your card and handed you a bag with the things you bought. You thanked him, wished him a good day and he told you the same.

You sat on the curb for about twenty minutes on the block before your building. You took out a piece of licorice candy and chewed it leisurely, observing the movement of the early hours of the morning and mentally calculating that you should soon get in, take a shower and remind yourself that you would be late for work, that there was something else you should do before going there. Yes, the work, the same one that would be buzzing with excitement at the conclusion of a case with so much repercussion, and that would remind you enough of things that you were willing not to remember. 

Well, you should expect that; should learn to let it go. 

Still, you thought about what you could do strategically: you would get in late, people would be already minding their own business, so you could get in easily. 

It wasn't like Theodore was going to give up on the climb to become a popular person in the city alongside the most popular people in the world.

****

You had your eyes closed, face to the ceiling, hitting the back of your head on the elevator wall. Before you could hear the doors close, you heard voices getting closer to the point where they were inside the space with you; when you opened your eyes and lowered your head, you saw Nick, Benny, and Connors walking in.

They paid attention to you for half a second and looked away; Benny had a look that lasted longer, one that made you run your hand over the back of your head and stare at the ground.

“Hearing?” 

The question made you snap your eyes up again, spotting O’Brien eyeing you curiously. 

“... No,” You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “Got something to deal with this morning.”

“Mm,” He hummed. “Something important, eh?”

You didn’t know why you did it, but you swiped your eyes to Benny for a split second and spotted him pinching the bridge of his nose with a discreet sigh. When you turned back to Nick, nodded a little – a deep breath to not say the first thing that passed through your mind. 

“It was.”

But there was a weird, sticky atmosphere. Connor’s hair was wet, they all smelled like shower – probably had a long night out, arriving that late at the station. You could tell, from the way Murph would be looking at anything but you, that there was an attempt to access you, a curiosity to know how you would react to the recent news, or to be in the elevator with them when everything was pretty much fresh in everyone’s minds. 

The doors opened, like a breath of air along that tension. It was your floor. You shared a small nod with them, walked to the corridor… then stopped, turning to them and held the doors from closing. 

“I-” You cleared your throat. “Congratulations on the case. You guys-” You looked at Benny again, saw him frowning at you, which made you frown back. “You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” Connors said when the silence stretched and no one, not even Nick, said a thing. It was weird to verbalize, weird to touch. Whatever confused expressions were splayed on their faces, it certainly was splayed on your face as well. 

You nodded a little, feeling rubbish and robotic at the same time, and then you let your arm go, standing like an idiot in front of the closing elevator doors and giving all of them one last look. 

****

Of course Big Nick or Connors would notice, but no one felt like verbalizing it. Untouched territory, like a silent agreement, that it wasn’t their business to poke through your drama with your ex. Maybe that was why Benny felt so weird with time, so invasive towards you even if he knew he was right – you were still someone who happened to be in Park’s life, there was no denying it. 

They were on about three hours of sleep – hungover. They managed to hold off on the scoop until the morning, at least until the paperwork was signed; Benny remembered that they handed in the papers and Z had already found the girls to celebrate. Well, celebrate was a strong word. Benny went and enjoyed it, but little; he was home around 3, took a while to fall asleep and had a late morning. Nick needed a ride because he slept in the hotel room, so the two went back and found Connors in the parking lot. 

It was strange. Benny spent days talking and listening to his ex's testimony, checking information about him, going deeper and pretending he didn't know anything when Z mentioned that the guy had graduated from Caltech, as if Benny didn't research for that already. And Theodore, fuck, he was an ass, but an ass still trying to be nice. He was polite, but his phrases and his words were a touch harsh, bordering impatience. He would look at him, then at Connors or Henderson or Nick, do an once over, put a tight smile on his face – like trying to fit in way-too-small shoes because it was pretty. 

Benny saw that your face wasn't happy, and even if it was, there wasn't a sense of genuine relief in you. It wasn't like you didn't want the case to be solved, but it seemed like you were already fed up and wanted to take a band-aid off at once. Congratulate on the case, smile, leave. Don't give them a chance to ask anything, disguise it.

When the case was closed and they happily went to Theodore’s penthouse to give him the news, he said he would give them something, like a bonus for the Department or other things they might have wanted – you know, to compensate. Benny told him that they couldn’t accept because it would be categorized as a bribe, but then Theodore looked at him like he grew a pair of extra ears on his head like an alien, as if that even made sense.

After a while, he wondered if Theodore was confused because he thought with common sense about LASD or if it was because you, who was already married when you became official there, told him things about the Department's relations.

Still, when they arrived that morning, Theodore had delivered a breakfast basket to them – one that was already somewhat cold, but intact.

If it were up to Benny alone, it would continue like this until the end of the day, and the next day after that.

****

He called. 

It was a new number, one you didn’t recognize, but you were already expecting calls from unknown places. You picked up, excused yourself from the chat you were having with Lennon about some material he delivered, went to the corridor – you said it was important, family matter. 

For a few seconds after your ‘hello?’, no one said a thing. It was so quiet that you wondered if it was one of those marketing bots or something, so much so that you had already taken the phone out of your ear to put an end to the call. Before you could do it, though, a voice cracked up on the other end, and you stopped dead in your tracks, a big frown on your face as you recognized who it was. 

“... Hello?”

And you still had the phone away from your ear, staring at the screen in confusion, and when he insisted one more time you just blinked a few times, looked around and took a few steps deeper into a less crowded area. 

“Yes?” You asked, voice low and discreet, the phone slightly pressed against your ear as if someone could hear him, as if it was shameful to speak with him in the first place. 

“Oh, hi,” He said. “I… Erm… Am I interrupting something?”

“... I’m working…?” 

“No, yeah. Yeah, yeah, totally, I could’ve imagined, I… Sorry.”

You felt a tone of impatience, at the same time that you felt irritated with yourself for wanting to ask how he was, how he felt. You could see that calling you was impulsive, Theodore only got nervous like that in situations without any planning or with too much planning.

Fuck, yeah, you were mad with yourself – you shouldn’t get attached to whatever you used to know about him. 

“Can I help you with something?” You asked instead, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut for a second. 

He got quiet on the other end, sighing and ruffling through what seemed to be like papers or whatever. You looked around again, just to be sure, and felt that pinch of irritation growing. 

“Theo-”

“I thought you had changed your number, so I didn't think you would answer,” He excused with a small voice, one that silenced you. “Now I don't know exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

“Maybe you better think about it quickly, I have to get back to work.”

Another sigh. 

“... You went to the hospital that day. Aile-I was told you went there,” The mention of the occasion made you throw your head back in frustration and suppress a groan. “And that you got hurt.”

It was your turn to stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Your hand was good, better; it wasn't that serious of a burn and, in general, you would have a few months of recovery for the mark to disappear. Still, you unconsciously flexed your fingers, remembered Aileen's face when the coffee spilled on you.

“... So what?” 

“So what? Hell, you could’ve sent me the bill or whatever.”

“I could?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you called to offer me money for my injured hand?”

He was growing frustrated – you expected him to. You could sense him gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw. 

“... You went there, maybe you wanted to know how I am.”

“And how are you?”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine.” 

“Your hand is okay?”

“You don’t need to pay me for my hand.”

“I don’t want to, I just want to know if your hand is okay. Technically, it’s on me that it got burned.”

“Oh, so that’s the secret for a good relationship? Taking responsibility for your partner’s faults?” 

“That’s not-” He paused, huffed. There was a noise you could hear, like a chair cracking, and then the sound of steps on a wooden floor. “I’m not with her anymore. Although I’m probably taking that responsibility, it wasn’t me who threw coffee at you.”

You blinked dumbly at that, staring at the floor without a single reaction to process what he just said to you. It should be simple: he’s not with her, you could’ve supposed it would happen, that has nothing to do with you. But Theodore told you that, let it hang in the air, waited to see what you would do. 

“... All in all, I just want to know if you need anything… That’s on me. The least I can do is pay for the hospital bill that I know was expensive as fuck. They call themselves Samaritans but they fucking rob people.” 

You needed to suppress a laugh or a giggle or any indication that what he said was slightly funny. For what felt like an eternity, you just kept looking at the floor, then at your own feet, squirming to prevent any insistent feeling to bubble inside of you with the prospect of him realizing that Aileen wasn’t the best for him, or just him being let down. 

Not that you expected him to be humbled by it, but still – you could dream. 

“... I don’t need anything. Thanks for asking, though,” You offered, voice more calm and genuine. 

“Okay,” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re out of this almost death experience transformation or some shit, but it was nice of you to come by. Despite everything, you still checked on me and… Well, I won’t forget that.”

You considered him for a while. 

“Maybe you should.”

“Should what?”

“Forget that.”

“Why?” 

And that was that tone, that… subtle implication. You knew what he was doing – what he was fucking implying. He used to do that when he flirted with you, when you two were doing some dirty talk in bed, when he was trying to get inside your pants. It wasn’t that good in high school, but the experience he probably gathered in college made him bold, confident; that shit worked. 

So when he asked ‘why?’ with that low, teasing underlining, you wanted to punch him in the face. 

“Because you should. Because I’m your ex. Because it brought me problems. Because it will make you put words in my mouth and meanings to my actions that are absurd.”

“Absurd like you still caring about me?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.” 

Theodore went quiet, probably nodding to himself. 

“I need to go now,” You pressed. “And don’t surprise me pulling up some shit like you still having my number and calling.” 

“It isn’t some shit. I’m just thankful,” That almost sounded too false, but it just made you feel like it was really forceful. “In debt, too. I know it sounds crazy but whatever you need anything, I-”

“I’ll hang up.”

You did. Right away, at the snap of a finger – out. If he still needed to say something or add or keep up with that bullshit, you really didn’t want to know. You hung up on him, left him mouth agape or whatever, then stared at your black phone screen with that same ugly frown you had when you noticed it was him. 

Your head was starting to hurt, you could feel the sting deep inside. After almost two years – two years – and the bastard called right when his little girlfriend dumped him. You deserved this, didn't you? Surely that time you stole parking cones or vomited on the college lawn wasn't going to go unpunished.

Because you were always so nice to everyone, always following the rules. Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Bitch. Cunt. Jerk. Asshole. 

“You good?” Lennon had a puzzled expression on his face, watching you fuming and huffing while entering the lab again. 

You threw your phone on your desk, sighed tiredly at him. Good news, Theodore is alive. Bad news, Theodore is alive. 

“Yeah, just some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But maybe Lennon should – he should worry, should give you some clarification, should fuck you again. Thing was: he couldn’t do any of it. He was an amazing friend, one with his own worries and responsibilities, and he wasn’t your mentor to give you advice. And yeah, maybe you hinted something to him, and then he turned you down by saying he was seeing someone – that guy from the 15B, remember? – and he liked them, so you could get your shit together and let him be, feeling bad for not remembering whoever this person was. 

So you got angry and worried alone – you got pissed alone. You went to the bathroom, saw yourself in the mirror, and felt like punching yourself in the face. And for what? For answering an unknown call? For listening to Theodore? For feeling that bad after Isla’s case? For, fuck, asking how Theodore was? For wanting to… 

Fuck, wanting what? 

You looked at your head again. A large scar was forming there, one that was uncomfortable. It wasn't that bad, nor that destructive, but looking at it was a reminder of how you shouldn't be so nice to the wrong people. What did that bring you, anyway? Turn the other cheek and listen to your ex tease you about it?

You clenched your fist and placed it against the marble of the sink for a while, eyes closed. 

It wasn’t him; no, it fucking wasn’t. It shouldn’t be. 

It was on you. You, you, you. Fucking you. 

****

“... And, you know, he’s kind of a bitch so-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Which is why I wondered if there was the slightest chance of you knowing anything about it.”

“Mm-hm.”

“So… do you?”

“... Mm.”

The laptop screen began to lower against your will, so that before you could take your hand off the mousepad, the edge reached your fingertips and it hurt. You hissed, but before you could complain, your brother shoved the thing away to the other side of your kitchen table. 

“Hey!”

“Did you hear what the fuck I said?” 

The pain dissipated at the same time as you looked at his face with a frown -- he was irritated. If you were honest, and there was no reason to be any other way, you would say that in fact no, you didn't hear what he said. You hadn't been listening to what people were saying since Theodore's call, because suddenly you were in a hurry and needed to get away, anxious to put your mind together around the fact that he was still having this effect on you. 

“... No, I didn’t,” You sighed in defeat, relaxing your face to a defeated expression and leaning back in your chair, eyes lowering to the table. “What was it?”

“Theodore is on a new project with-”

“Be briefer. Maybe if you didn't go around so much, I-”

“He spoke to you.”

You went from defeated to tense. Honestly, and that was as far as you could go with that wake-up call, you wouldn't have thought that Theodore would make a big deal out of that phone call: it was one of the reasons you felt bad about reacting so intensely to it, in fact, because he didn’t give you the same importance as you did and that was pathetic.

Your face gave away the answer your brother needed, but he didn't hold on to his anger for long; with another sigh just like yours, he sat down in front of you and ran a hand through his hair worriedly.

“Just don’t tell me you’re reconsidering.” 

“... Reconsidering?” You asked, and it took you a beat to get what he meant. When you did, you raised your eyebrows. “Do I sell myself for so little?”

“You do. You answered the phone.”

Fair.

“I didn’t know it was him. I was expecting another call from-”

“From Linda Ricci.”

Okay, now this conversation was starting to get weird because you were sure you would hear if he mentioned that name first. You hadn't told people that you were considering, at least in a healthy way, the possibility of leaving LASD. God, you were still coming to terms with the idea of ​​doing this. But suddenly your brother knew the name of the person you spoke to, what you were thinking about doing, and that left you a little scared. He didn't give in, however.

“He told me,” He added. “Which is crazy, because I’m sure you didn’t tell him that if you didn’t tell me or anyone else about it.”

It sounded like an accusation, which could be also something fair because as far as he was your brother, you honestly didn’t put up with the intimate details of your relationship with Theodore. He cheated, you two split – that was all he needed to know, alongside with legal terms of your prenuptial contract. It was the kind of thing that made someone resentful, but his brother never blinked more than twice at his personal life, so perhaps the possibility of Theodore being the messenger of such intimate news of his life after so long was frustrating; between a cheating ex-husband and a negligent brother, who would be the first to know the good news about your life?

“... Can you not tell dad? Or mom?” You tried with an easy demeanor, even if your tone was clipped. He was ready to open his mouth to deny, though, so you rushed to add. “I didn’t even tell my boss yet!”

“And when are you planning to do that? When we all get worried sick about your well being in that fucking job?” 

You took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair. The email was open – the answer was there. You saw it. 

You glanced at the closed laptop, then at him.

“Soon.”

****

“Is it because of what happened?”

Byrne was definitely not a very sensitive guy, much less an emotional one, but the question seemed to have a natural compassion background like seeing a puppy at an adoption fair. You had asked for the first few minutes of his shift to talk about the subject, at zero hour when no one would arrive for a while, and you sat in front of him with a serious expression.

The question didn't make you change that, actually; you raised your eyebrows and sighed, but it was more like a spontaneous reaction to a subject you didn't want to talk about than an explicit denial.

“Depends on what we're talking about,” You threw the ball at him, who narrowed his eyes at you. 

“... About the DEA case,” He said after a while, leaning back on his chair. “The recent events wouldn’t give you time to recalculate like that. Tell me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like a well-thought decision, one you wouldn’t make out of spite.”

“That’s a good observation.”

“Not as good as the one you’ll tell me.”

Then you smiled – a bitter, large grin. You measured his reactions with caution, licking your lips and reconsidering what to say. After a beat, you arched an eyebrow and averted your gaze to your hands, both of it splayed out over your thighs. 

“... I'm not a very virtuous person, Doctor, and I like to believe I'm not a moralist. Despite this, I have never given anyone reason to doubt my integrity as a professional,” You raised your eyes at him. “Maybe, at some point, but nothing that time wouldn't prove otherwise.” 

“You talk about your alliance with Major Crimes.”

Alliance. You needed to prevent a snort at that. 

“My partnership, yes,” The correction made him retrieve a little. “And, look, I understand how things work. I'm not an idiot and much less indifferent to them, but I think there comes a time when they stop being just things and start putting you on the main stage.” 

For a moment, as soon as you closed your mouth, you remembered Emma, ​​just as you remembered Walsh and his pitiful speech to the cameras. That made you frown.

“You, doctor, are here because the Department's credibility went to waste after what happened. People have always questioned LASD's methodology, but what happened was much greater than common sense about what we do.” 

“Are you talking about Emma?”

“I’m talking about being put in the hot seat for sabotaging the case.”

He shut down again, this time considering your stern tone with more caution. You already left her with a cracked friendship, you wouldn’t want it to be worse than it was. 

“... You didn’t, I assume.” 

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you know I could work it out. I'm not Emma, ​​but it's no secret that Major Crimes doesn't have much room for imposition with me here.” 

Which was quite funny to think about, but you did as he did and just took it as it was – a single comment. You nodded, averted your gaze again. 

“Not only that, but I appreciate your consideration. Rest assured that, despite everything, they should have the right to speculate. Maybe it was my innocence that I thought I didn't have the tendency to go over anyone to gain an advantage, especially people I've worked with for so long.” 

Not that that would actually solve it, but you also didn't want to repeat Emma's attitude and put yourself as someone who was harming someone else's work, even if Nick and company had a lot of capacity to do that on their own. You thought about it. You thought about Benny. He could also harm you with what happened at the hospital, he could make conversations with Byrne less cordial and make Nick push you away even more, to the point of making the murmurs even worse than they already were. 

So you said something else to put him at ease. 

“It's not Major Crimes that's going to get me out of LASD. Everything that happened and happens makes me sure that I got out of LASD myself.” 

****

Gina got the news with a frown, but her hug said that she was proud. 

Lennon smiled, placed a small kiss on your forehead – just don’t become a stranger, he said. 

Your departure was silent: no parties, no goodbyes and, please, no speeches. Despite all your years at LASD, leaving in an atmosphere of so much falsehood would be worse than dealing with more personal problems mixing with professional ones.

So no one in the lab other than Gina, Lennon and Byrne knew. From what you heard, Cillian would break the news as soon as he found someone else, and two days later he informed you that that other person had already been found. Efficient and fast, just how he liked everything to be.

You considered talking with Nick in the meantime – considered apologizing to Benny, like, properly. But every time you grabbed the phone and dialed their number, every time you thought about texting but saw the flirting stuff Benny used to send you or clipped orders O’Brien sent over, you would chicken out. 

You just didn't want drama.

****

Byrne was fucking dramatic, the kind who was probably a theater kid in school before deciding to be a scientist. He had been probing the work of Major Crimes since he had set foot in the LASD, so each and every interaction came with a passive tone that bordered on rudeness, but always hovering with unharmonized friendliness.

It wasn't like Emma – with Emma there was a flow, a rhythm. She and Nick had known each other for a long time, it was just different. Byrne was ruthless, regimented, too close to an OCD diagnosis, and two feet on the spectrum of control obsession. He didn't like them and had made that clear from the beginning; for him, the defeat of Major Crimes was a personal gain, which could be reasonable, since no one there made much of a point of being pleasant.

That day, however, Cillian was radiant, smiling. He asked for permission to enter the office and had both hands in his pants pockets, almost bouncing in tune with what seemed to have been a great weekend.

It should have been – for him, of course. He practically hummed the news, or sort of purred like a cat.

“I received very ecstatic news that our lab partner is leaving us,” He said, looking at Nick and only Nick, wanting to have every single drop of reaction or bother or anything. “She received a particularly undeniable opportunity at Ricci & Co.” 

Benny was sure you didn't use the term 'irrefutable'. He just knew that you weren't that definitive about things, or that at least you wouldn't talk to Cillian that way. In any case, it seemed certain that it was a good thing financially and professionally speaking: they already had the opportunity to scratch Ricci & Co. when they worked on an old case. Family business, the kind that wasn't limited to university newspapers like Theodore Park and with big, New York glass doors.

It was an immediate rational thought, one he only processed with more consideration when he saw Henderson exchanging a confused look with him.

“Since when?” Connors asked with a clipped tone. 

“Hiring processes at Ricci last, I don't know, thirty days?”

“You know that's not what he asked,” Nick pressed, which made Cillian hide a smile behind a satisfied sigh. 

“She gave us two weeks' notice and made sure to finish as many ongoing cases as possible. Today is her last day.” 

Benny remembered what happened at the hospital, made mental notes of any sign you might have given as if the whole situation wasn't already a big enough warning. He remembered your tired, defeated expression, your slumped shoulders; you looked sick, apathetic. Then he went over Isla's case, the conversation in your kitchen, your look of fragility at his rejection.

Your defeated stance with Walsh humiliating you in front of everyone, your lost look when he made you sit in a room to solve the problem. Maybe he didn't know that these little things were pushing you out of LASD, that every frustration or disappointment or tiredness was draining you enough to make your decision.

“I see that everyone is very upset, which was expected, so I made a point of letting them know and avoiding gossip or side conversations. I believe there is a lot to think about, especially because this is a personal gain for her but an almost irreparable loss for the Department.” 

“You know, Byrne, this is a good chance to stop beating around the bush and be direct with what you want to say.” 

“Well, Detective O'Brien, I think everyone here is smart enough to know what I'm talking about. Please be aware that as much as I would have made a point of cutting even our toilet paper budget to match the offer she received, I should have warned you that I am not willing to sacrifice the sanity of my employees for what appears to be a whim of yours.”

Everyone was quiet, expectant – Nick was being called out by a guy who knew shit and, as far as they all knew what kind of thing O’Brien would say, his silence made a wave of shock wash through all of them. 

“She was kind enough to say that it wasn't because of you, but I've been watching her movements for some time. No day off to photograph a crime scene that wasn't in her jurisdiction, small bribes with dinners, requests for preferences in evaluating evidence… This isn't exactly professional. A good reason for someone with decency to reconsider, though.”

“You know this agreement always had two sides.”

“Yeah, but only one of them was self-aware of it and clearly the wrong one made the right decision. Should I tell you which side you are on or are we on the same page here?”

It was an exaggeration – at least it seemed like one – but deep down Benny knew it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't like a feeling, just an obvious awareness, the kind that everyone knew about but didn't talk about openly. Big Nick was no longer in the sheriff's good graces. Major Crimes received a portion of annual investment that didn't come that year, and since the last meeting with superiors, Nick wasn't very satisfied with the way things were going. It was off. Odd. 

If it was the case of what they did that influenced you to leave, it might sound very absurd but it wasn't impossible, even if Magalon firmly believed that you wouldn't give in for so little. 

Byrne wanted the excuse to give Nick a hard time – unfortunately he wasn’t totally wrong about it too. 

When he left without a word, using the silence as a way of having the last bit of speech, there was a swagger on his steps, like a weight leaving his shoulders. He knew for sure that was how you saw them all, how you accessed them: full of themselves, always without a worry in the world because they could handle it. 

Nick threw a stapler on the panel near his desk, muttered a small ‘fuck’. Tony could even be the one to be at least pleased about it, but no one felt like sharing their opinions on the subject. 

There wasn’t a worry about you leaving – it was about how it wasn’t something O’Brien couldn’t control. 

****

The idea was a drama-free exit and you knew that Gina and Lennon would be able to comply with your wishes with as much effort as they could. When Cillian let everyone know at the weekly meeting, you got a few hugs and handshakes, but everyone there knew you well enough to be cordial up until that point. You were even relieved. Apprehensive, but relieved. Everyone said so many good things about Ricci & Co., Ballard even showed up at your lab during the day and told you that 'this technology thing was cool', that it 'suited you'.

He was nice. Warmed your heart with the gesture. 

Lennon arrived there towards the end of the day and handed you an envelope. As no one had time to buy you a gift as they were busy because they just didn't know you were leaving, some people from the lab raised a donation and gave you around 450 bucks.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“It wasn’t my idea. Rob from IT always had a small crush on you.” 

That made you smile and almost made you cry. 

And maybe your last day at LASD would turn out perfectly fine if it were like that, if you only said goodbye to people with silly, happy memories, so that you could miss it a little while you were tied up in the good parts of working there. 

Looking back, you should have been more insistent about saying no. Not because it sounded like a bad idea from the beginning, no, but mainly because you knew how nights like that could end and you should be just a little less carefree just in case. Lennon invited you for some drinks – Gina too. Took you, what? An hour? And then what was supposed to be only a small gathering with only the three of you turned into a ‘remember when we got our asses busted for going to that bar?’ and before you could decline, the three of you were smashed in the backseat of an Uber to meet some Gina’s friends at that same bar. 

It was like the old days, the trio fresh out of college, excited from the perspective of being in LASD, all excitement and fervor to be your best versions. Theodore wasn’t with you when that happened – he went to get you from the bar, yes, but if he was there in the first place, you wouldn’t be that drunk or have that much fun. 

And you had enough fun. You weren't very drunk, but you had that buzz, that feeling of excitement and anxiety; for a while, you managed to forget your apprehension about saying goodbye to LASD, about taking a direction in a place where you didn't know anyone. For a while, only. With dancing, beers, a shot or two like the cops used to do. With music too, voice high and hands moving in the air. 

You would certainly need to deal with your relationship with alcohol after that. That was something for tomorrow, however, or the day after tomorrow, or next week or next month. Fuck Theodore. Fuck him and his fake concern and his phone call and his fucking money. You didn't need any of that. Look at you: a young spirit, hot, single, with friends, having fun. He didn't have that. He would spend his life licking the balls of rich people to invest just a little of their time in him, humiliating himself for crumbs to grow in life… And you wouldn't. Nooooo, not you. You would be great. She would be a fucking analytical security manager for mansions up and down the Coast, earn your money and be respected. That's what you were going to do. And no thanks to that mediocre piece of shit. No thanks to Walsh or your work for even more pathetic and idiotic detective messes.

You were almost a wreck, but okay: your reflection in the mirror was more inviting than you thought it would be. Gina was already vomiting, one of her friends holding her hair as those tequila shots took effect. You watched the scene in your reflection for a while, then heard your friend turn to you and say that it was late, that it was better to leave. You nodded. You turned to the sink, turned the tap on, watched the water drowning your palms in. 

She got Gina on one side and you on the other. This was your chance to leave too. Yes, you've already had your relaxation, you've had fun, and you could go and rest. But then you glanced in the wrong direction at the wrong time and spotted Benny a few tables away with Connors and Henderson. 

You looked around – Lennon was distracted, probably didn’t even notice them. You had this… frown on your face, this… sense of inadequacy. Should that be your second chance to say something? Because, well, it didn’t take long to admit the coincidence. 

Benny turned slightly amidst laughter and the two of you held each other's gaze for a while. The laugh turned into a smile that turned into a grin, that turned into a straight line, then a frown. You felt embarrassed, called out, caught out. Suddenly you were too sticky, too uncomfortable, ready to run away. 

Gina slipped through your arm when her friend announced she would take her. You stood still, watching them both stumble out of the bar with a lowered gaze. Flexing your fingers, you forced a big smile on your face when Lennon came jumping up and down, offering you another shot of tequila. 

They would leave, you decided. They would leave and you would be able to relax. You didn’t owe them a thing. 

****

You were sitting in the gutter nursing a can of Coca-Cola that was already hot. Lennon had already left sometime around one, and it was reckless of you to let him go alone with another guy, but before you could worry anymore, he sent you a photo in the mirror of his own house. Damn, you could be closer to Gina's friends, they were really good people.

You should have gone with her, even, and not stood there saying that you were fine, that you would order an Uber and go home alone. Firstly, you were clearly not well. The drink had gone bad, you were drunk and everyone obviously knew it was the stupidest thing in the world.

Still, you sat there, watched the streets fading into blurs of light and dark. Another peak at your phone and the driver was 15 minutes away, taking turns, expecting you to cancel the ride. It wasn’t like you were going to throw up in his car or whatever – you just wanted to go home. 

“Seems warm.”

His voice made you grunt, bowing your head down in defeat. When you looked up, he was standing right beside you, both hands inside his jacket pockets while he eyed your hunched figure. 

“Because it is,” You grumbled, taking another stubborn sip. “Borderlining my sobriety, so… cheers.”

“Yeah, I think we can agree that you have a conflicted relationship with alcohol.” 

“Calling me an alcoholic?” You frowned, to which he just shrugged. He raised his eyes to observe the street surrounding you two, nonchalant as ever, and after a beat of silence you just scoffed to do the same. “Too bad you saw it too late, I guess.”

“What? You think I wouldn't fuck an alcoholic?”

“I’m not-You know what, eat shit, Magalon.”

But he didn't go. Damn, he wasn't. He remained there, moving the sole of his boot on the concrete here and there, sighing as you held your head with both hands. After a few minutes, your cell phone buzzed: the driver canceled. 

“Lemme guess-”

“Why are you still here?”

“I have a tolerance for the number of bodies to find in one night,” He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to you. “Just imagine if the first thing I see in the early hours of my morning is a reckless drunk girl who took an Uber at 2 am.” 

“Right, okay. Got it.” 

“Yeah, so.”

“But I’m good. I’ll find-”

“Another Uber to go back home?”

You glared at him, then made an effort to get up from your seat and feel the whole world spinning in your head. That almost got you on the floor again – you lost your balance for a second, got up too fast. 

“You know what,” You raised both hands in the air. “I’m done. I’m totally done. Say what you mean or leave me for you to find me dead in the morning.”

Benny shook his head, taking in your state with what seemed like frustration. 

“I don’t remember you being so annoying. Last time you drank a little too much-”

“We kissed. I know the lore, Magalon, I was there. But we are not gonna kiss now, if that’s what you’re intending to.”

“I don’t wanna kiss you right now.”

“Good.”

“But I want to take you home.”

It could be the alcohol. Well, there was a good chance it was alcohol. Anyway, when he said that in such a genuine way, with a more accessible and light tone of voice, as if he was comforting you, you felt your eyes water and an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. He noticed it too, noticed the way you wavered, blinked hard a few times and stayed curiously quiet.

You averted your gaze to the side and sniffed with a dry nose, doing a hard job to keep the tears at bay. 

“Do I look like I need to be saved by you? Like, all the time?” 

He didn’t walk closer, didn’t try to bring any kind of physical comfort – Benny shrugged, kept it cool. When you looked at him again, he wasn’t giving you anything but a straight face. 

“At this point in time, you could say it's just a coincidence that we're in the same place when you screw up. And luckily, of course, I'm not such an asshole that I'd let you go off on your own.” 

And then he said something that made you waver even more. 

“I like you. In a very stupid way, but I admire you as a person and as a professional. The difference between then and now is that you're hitting the goalposts for a longer time because you're too stubborn to understand that it's not always your responsibility.” 

That would make you really cry, but you didn't, opting to swallow dryly while locking your jaw so that your lower lip wouldn't tremble and you wouldn't falter. He was too good at it, it was even annoying. You didn't see Nick or Tony having that same kind of ability to read people, even though it was naturally intrinsic to the anatomy of a good detective.

The cold night breeze hit you, making you shiver and flinch a little. He then took a single step closer, pointing at his own car down the street. 

“Home. Let’s go?”

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@seaweeden

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

@mysoulisasunflower

@dizzybee03

[brandyllyn]

Mysterious

Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Summary: Benny tries to follow-up up the next day. Words: 4.6k 

My Masterlist

Rating: Explicit. Warnings: language. smut. cannon typical violence, oral (m receiving), PIV.

The long awaited sequel to Adventurous. Only took 3 years.

Benny’s phone was unmoving where it sat on his desk. Screen blank. He kept glancing at it, occasionally reaching over and lighting the screen up to see if he had new messages. Then he scrolled into his texts, pulling up 'Kiki' and staring at the single bubble sitting there.

Hey sexy.

It felt like a safe enough opening. Not too eager. He glanced at his watch and cursed, it hadn’t even been twelve hours since he’d seen you. Had draped his coat around your shoulders and walked you to your car. Pressing you against the cool metal and giving you a long deep kiss.

He could still taste you.

Fuck he could still feel you. The ghost of your skin on his fingertips. The clench of you around his cock. He grunted and adjusted himself, shifting in his chair slightly as the detective’s report swam in front of his eyes. He needed to get his shit together or some cholo was going to shoot his ass.

"Borracho." 

Benny whipped his head up at Nick’s voice. "Ya boss?"

"You got that ballistics report?"

Benny rifled through the papers on his desk, pulling the file and handing it off to Nick. His boss thumbed through the pages then tapped him on the shoulder with it. "Nice job last night."

His brow’s drew together and he gave Nick a confused look. "With what?"

"The-" Nick made a thrusting motion with his hips, his voice going high and mocking. "Oh Benny. Benny!" The larger man laughed and Benny rolled his eyes.

"Fuck off."

"I’m just saying, we had a bet going you couldn’t even get it up anymore.” Nick sniped as he walked away, “Cost me a hundred bucks."

"My man’s a stallion," Henderson shouted from across the room. "I knew you had it in you brother!"

See this? This was why he never did shit at the parties. These fucking assholes right here. Taking what was hands down one of the best nights of Benny’s life and putting bets on it. Bets they didn’t even have the decency to include him on.

And his phone remained dishearteningly blank.

“She give you a fake number?”

His eyes darted to Zapata but he tried not to react. “Who?”

“That girl, the one you been pining over for weeks.” It was his turn to turn on that mocking, high pitch voice, “Benny.”

“Just cause you can’t get a girl to scream your name…”

Zapata laughed, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “She give you her work number?”

Now that thought hadn’t occurred to him. Maybe he’d gotten lost in a sea of other men. Picking up the phone he looked at his message once more.

Hey sexy.

Not a damn thing to identify him - just one text in probably a mountain of others.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, thumbs already moving.

Hey sexy.

You’d been staring at the text all day, a flutter deep in your chest each time you opened your phone. This was the first time you’d had to really think about it, about how to respond. From the moment you went on shift it had been non-stop calls. Suddenly another bubble appeared.

Shit. It’s Benny. From the hotel.

You snorted into your mid afternoon coffee. As if you could forget. You gave a quick search for your crew, who must still be in line, before typing.

I assumed.

The reply was instantaneous. Never got your name.

You gonna run a background check on me?

No. His reply came through a minute later. Just wanna know whose name I should be groaning when I jerk off later.

Fuck, was it hot in here? It was hot in here. You felt warm suddenly, a thread of desire curling in your abdomen.

That okay?

You didn’t hesitate before sending back, Yeah but it’s gonna cost you. You waited about ten seconds before sending, Kidding.

At almost the same moment his response came through. K.

You laughed, tilting the phone away when your partner got back with his lunch. What a doof. Just for that you should make him pay for dinner. Or drinks. Or whatever you ended up doing between your busy shifts and whatever the fuck it was a moderately dirty cop got up to.

Mulling it over you swiped a french fry, ignoring your partner’s cry of outrage. Benny hadn’t seemed dirty - he seemed like a pretty nice guy. But the drugs in the room and the hired girls screamed that something hinky was going on there. And you definitely didn’t want anything to do with that.

But you really wanted something to do with Benny.

A conundrum.

The radio squawked and you answered it automatically, making note of the location and starting to make guesses on what you would need.

Before putting the phone away you typed one last message.

I get off at seven, want to meet up for coffee or something?

Coffee.

Benny could do coffee. It would almost be a date. Just you and him sitting at a café somewhere. Well, to be honest probably a Starbucks - but somewhere that wasn’t a bedroom where he might be able to get your real name out of you.

"Guy’s gonna bleed out," Henderson pointed out blandly, pulling Benny out of his musings.

"No he ain’t." Nick squatted down next to their suspect, the only guy left behind on a raid gone bad. "He’s not going to bleed out until I let him, are ya champ?"

The man groaned and Benny rolled his eyes, searching his pockets for a smoke. The second ambulance was pulling up, the first already on its way with the cop who’d gotten shot in it. Nick was pissed about that. Benny was too, to be fair, but he also thought the guy was an idiot to get shot the way he had.

Nick slapped the guy’s face lightly. "Stay with me buddy, where is the safe house? Where did your friends go?" An EMT went to push past and Nick held up a hand. "Not yet."

"Sir we have to-"

Nick whirled around, glaring daggers. "You can help him when I say you can help him. Now step back and let me do my fucking job."

The two EMTs gave each other worried glances then moved back with the stretcher. One of them turned and rushed to the ambulance, probably to call their supervisor. Even more fucking paperwork and there was no way in hell Nick was gonna do it. Benny met Zapata’s eyes and the other man raised an eyebrow before sighing and following after.

"Yeah that’s right buddy. Help is here. But I’m gonna pronounce you dead on scene real fucking quick if you don’t-"

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Someone shoved past Benny and he had just enough time to register the uniform and the voice before you squared up with Nick, arms akimbo. Benny’s cigarette dangled from his lips, unlit.

"I’m doing my fucking-" Nick started but you took a step closer, poking a finger into the center of his chest.

"No, you’re keeping me from doing mine. Dave, Jorge, get in there. Now."

The two men darted in, ignoring the glare from Nick. "You are interfering with an-"

You cut him off again and Benny imagined he could see steam coming out of Nick’s ears. "I swear to God if you finish that sentence I will have your badge." 

Nick glared. You glared. Benny had half a chub. The two EMTs lifted the suspect onto the stretcher. Finally Nick grunted, "Connors, go with them, see if you can get anything."

The man nodded and followed the EMTs. You nodded once, decisively, then turned on your heel. You looked taken aback to see Benny and he gave you a small smile when he saw how your face lit up at the sight of him.

"Hey," you squeezed his arm as you went by. "Gotta go. Later right?"

He watched your ass as you jogged off, hopping into the front of the ambulance and expertly guiding it out of the assembled police vehicles. He waited until you were out of sight before turning back to his team.

"What?"

"That the hooker from last night?"

Benny sipped his coffee, eyebrow raised. "Don’t know what you’re talking about, I saw a stretcher jockey."

Nick turned quickly, "The hooker?"

Zapata was back, hands shoved in his pockets. "Tried to stop her boss, she threatened to fucking deck me."

"You let a little girl scare you?" Nick asked incredulously.

"Well she wasn’t about to fuck me."

Nick fumed, hands gesturing wildly. "What the fuck is going on?"

"The EMT," Zapata said before Benny could stop him. "The chick that came running here like a bat out of hell? Benny’s girl?"

Nick wasn’t dumb.  "Wait, that was the girl? The one screaming through the walls?" Benny didn’t confirm it, there was no need. The recognition was flowing over Nick’s face like a wave. "Find out who she is. Report her for conduct."

"Wait a fucking minute," Benny’s styrofoam cup hit the ground, his hand catching Nick’s elbow. "That’s not-"

"Did you see what she just did?" Nick rounded on him. "We may have just lost our only lead because of her. I want her reprimanded. I want her under review. I want her fucking mom to know how she pays her fucking rent."

Benny groaned, meeting Henderson’s eyes. Then he pulled out his phone and texted you back. 

Yeah, he needed to see you. Seven worked.

You were running late. 

A lot late.

You’d managed to send Benny a quick text to let him know, thankfully, but it meant that you were pulling into the parking lot for the little coffee shop more than a half hour late. Frantically, you leaned up to look at yourself in the rear view mirror, swiping some color on your lips and wishing that you’d thought of bringing more. You stripped your uniform shirt off and quickly emptied your pockets of anything too ridiculous.

It would have to do. 

Benny was already there, sitting outside and thumbing through his phone. You paused a moment and watched him, a smile tugging on your lips as you realized you’d never seen him in daylight. His hair wasn’t black, in the sun you could see the deep brown highlights in it. Jesus, he was handsome.

He stood when he saw you, rising to his feet and reaching to pull your chair out and you sank into it with a sigh and an apology already sprinting to your lips which he brushed off instantly.

"Don’t worry about it, I know as well as anyone how these shifts run over. Can I get you something?"

You gave him your order and busied yourself with your phone while he was gone, the early evening California sun finally cooling into something reasonable and not unbearably hot.

"Here ya go," he slid your cup over and you wrapped your fingers around the warm plastic. 

“I gotta warn ya,” he grimaced, “my boss isn’t too happy with how things went down today.”

“The big guy with the bad attitude?” you asked before snorting. “I don’t answer to him.”

“He’s gonna report you,” Benny continued.

“For saving a guy’s life?”

“For the other thing.” You must have looked confused and he made a vague gesture with his cup. “You know… the thing.”

“I do not know.”

“Last night.”

Brow furrowing, you raised one eyebrow at him. “He’s going to report me for the party with all the drugs? Your party?”

“Not my party,” he quickly demurred, “but… yeah. Probably not the drugs part but the other part.”

It clicked suddenly and your eyes widened. “You? He’s going to report… me and you?” His lips were a thin line and your heart sank. “You’re married.”

He blinked at you and then recoiled, “What? No.”

What else could it be, though? “Oh God, I slept with a married man. My mother is going to kill me.”

A hand grabbed at yours and he gripped you hard enough to draw your eyes to his. “I’m not married, sweetheart.”

“Then why would anyone care that we slept together?”

He worked his jaw, glancing around before leaning in closer. “The business part of it.”

Okay, you had no idea what was going on. “The hell are you talking about?”

“I know I didn’t pay you, but-”

“Pay me?” You burst out, “For-?”

Oh shit.

“You think I’m a hooker.”

It wasn’t a question and Benny’s eyes darted to the side before he answered. “I know you said you’d just started but-”

"I’m not," you swallowed, feeling your face heat up. "I’m not a… Jesus."

"Oh." He paused, staring over your shoulder. "Fuck."

“I mean I get it,” you rushed out, “I knew Monica got paid… I just thought. I mean, you and I, I thought we…” you trailed off as you looked at him. "I’m sorry… if that’s not what you wanted that’s okay. We can just forget-"

“Baby, when you said you don’t usually-”

“I said I don’t,” you corrected quickly.

“Do this sort of thing-” he trailed off suddenly, staring at you. “You telling me you really just stumbled into all that?”

Oh God, this was so fucking embarrassing. You looked anywhere but at him, trying to figure out how you could get out of the situation. “Yes.”

“Shit.”

This could not get any worse. “I should go.”

His hand was holding yours in an instant, his eyes intense, “Don’t do that. I fucked this up. Jesus… I really should have taken you somewhere nice."

A wide smile broke out on your face and you began to laugh. Benny’s eyes shot up to yours and after a moment you saw his lips pull into a smile as well. Then he was laughing too and you felt a bit of tension ease off of you.

"I should have guessed," you wheezed once you caught your breath. "I knew Monica was… an entrepreneur, I just thought you realized…”

"I shouldn’t have assumed," he butted in. 

"Benny," you replied with a scolding frown, but you could barely hold the expression from the laughter still bubbling past your lips. "How could you not?"

"Well," he took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair. "That outfit the first night should have been a dead giveaway."

You gasped dramatically. "How dare you, I looked great."

"You did," his eyes roamed over you for a moment and you felt suddenly warm. "You do."

Biting your lip you tried not to tug on your t-shirt. Or your cargo pants. Benny didn’t seem to notice, in fact he looked serious. More than that, he looked turned on. His tongue slowly licked along his lower lip, his eyes warm as they drifted down to your chest.

"Wait, if you weren’t there to make money, why’d you come back the second time?"

"I told you," you shrugged. "I went to find you."

Another one of those glances around - Benny seemed to always have an eye out on who might be watching - and then he slid into the chair closest to yours, a hand settling on your thigh. His face is so close you could see the flecks of amber in his eyes. 

“Keep saying things like that and I’ll start to think you like me.”

It was so easy to lean forward, to cross the small distance and kiss him. It was short, sweet even, and you saw his eyelashes flutter as you slowly pulled back. “Benny I-”

It’s like lightning, how quick he moved, one hand jerking at your thigh and the other cupping the back of your neck. He’s devouring you, his tongue thrusting inside until you’re moaning and wrapping your fingers into the edges of his shirt.

“Ahem.”

The impolite cough came from over your shoulder and Benny broke the kiss to glare at whoever had done it. You’re too stunned to speak, lips parted and panting breaths making you dizzy. When his eyes met yours again he leaned forward slightly before stopping himself with a rueful smile.

“Stop looking at me like that or I’m going to fuck you on this table.”

“Please?”

It was not what you meant to say but then again, it was exactly what you wanted. There’s a sharp scrape of chair legs and suddenly Benny is standing next to you, holding a hand out. “You coming?”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip. “Soon I hope.”

He growled and pulled you towards the parking lot, eyes scanning over the assembled vehicles. It was still broad daylight and you were curious if he really intended to take you in the backseat of some Prius.

Actually, there was no way Benny drove a Prius.

“I live about fifteen minutes away.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it and making him look even hotter. “I know I should -”

You don’t let him finish the thought, squeezing his hand and fishing your phone out to the Maps app. “Where is it? I’ll follow.”

He rattled off the address quickly but seemed reluctant to let you go, cupping your cheek and giving you another one of those soul-stirring kisses before finally nodding and turning towards a beat up pickup.

Yeah, that made sense. And you may have made a mental note that it had a bench seat. It was just good information to keep track of.

His apartment was a shithole.

Benny had run at least two lights on his way back, eager to beat you and have some time to make the place presentable. A sweep of his arm got rid of an empty pizza box and assortment of beers into the trash. He alternately sorted clothes and junk into his hamper, shoving it into a closet just as there was a knock on the door. He glanced into the bathroom - putting the seat down - and then the bedroom which looked fine. 

It would have to do.

The door was only halfway open when you pushed your way inside and he had the presence of mind to shove it shut with one hand even as your lips found his. He had wondered if last night might have been a fluke - a little too much to drink and the sheer shock of seeing you again. But you were warm and soft and pliable beneath his palms even as you backed him up to his couch.

You settled into his lap, fingers drifting over his neck and he shuddered at the gentleness of it. Lips soft on his and he moaned, curling his fingers around your hips and tugging you closer. Your fingers were struggling with the buttons of his shirt and he let go of you just long enough to undo the bare minimum, pulling the cloth over his head and tossing it to the side. The next moment he had his t-shirt off too, shivering when your fingers sank into the whorls of hair on his chest.

“Benny,” you gasped and he snarled in return, gripping your neck so he could kiss you even deeper. Your t-shirt landed next to his and he undid your bra with a practiced flick of his fingers.

“Look at these tits,” he grunted, cupping them in his palms. With a low groan he dipped his head down, softly tonguing at the peaked flesh. You squeaked in return and he smiled, nibbling softly before moving to the other.

He almost missed your hands dipping between your bodies, pulling at his zipper and then those hot fingers were pressed to the cotton of his briefs. There was no fucking way he could miss that, and especially not when you stroked along his length until you found the slit you could slip inside and touch his bare skin.

“Take your pants off?”

He was nodding before you finished, setting you on your feet and toeing his boots off. You shimmied out of your own pants with a little hip wriggle that made the corners of his mouth turn up. Grey panties you probably got at Target. Nothing sexy about it at all, other than the fact that they were on you. They were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen there.

That was, the sexiest thing until you dropped to your knees between his thighs and put that hot little mouth on him.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, resisting the urge to grip at your hair. Lot of women didn’t like that and there was no way he was going to risk you stopping just yet. Your fingers tugged at his waistband and he lifted his hips to help out, hardly noticing they were still hanging on one ankle when you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his stomach.

“You made me feel so good last night,” you murmured and he felt a shiver crawl down his spine. “I’ve been thinking all day about returning the favor.”

His mouth was dry, his eyes wide. You glanced up at him through long lashes, flashing a quick smile before taking the head of his cock in your mouth.

“Ah fuck,” he groaned again. Everything was soft and wet and he could barely think straight. You made a little moan of pleasure and it shot straight to his balls.

Benny had had his fair share of blowjobs in his life. Not as many as he might have liked, but a fair few. There’d even been a girl back in his twenties who could deep throat like a champ. No gag reflex at all. She was batshit crazy too, but he’d cared less about that at the time.

He’d had women suck him like a hoover in the front seat of his truck. On their knees in the shower while he held wet hair back for them. Sprawled on his bed on a Sunday morning while he drifted between sleep and wakefulness.

But not one of them had enjoyed it this much. Not one had made such pleased little noises, nuzzling against him and humming not for his pleasure, but because they couldn’t seem to help it.

“You like doing that?” he asked, trying to keep the note of incredulity out of his voice.

You released him with a pop, giving him a wide smile before biting your lower lip. “Is it too much?”

“Fuck no.” He wrapped a cautious hand behind your neck, thumb stroking under your ear. “It’s just right, baby.”

You let him pull you forward, mouthing at the head of his cock before taking it deep once more. Your fingers stroked along his thighs, thumbs rubbing across the sensitive flesh so softly it made him squirm. He let his head fall back, jaw hanging slack, enjoying the feel of your tongue cradling him.

But he wasn’t young anymore, and he’d be damned before he passed up another chance to fuck you.

With one hand he eased you away from him, taking a moment to get himself under control. You blinked up at him with another one of those worried expressions and he quickly pulled you back into his lap, cupping his hands around your jaw and diving in to taste you.

His bed felt a million miles away but he had promised you something nicer and he was going to fucking deliver on that. A gentle nudge had you on your feet and he followed, pulling you in for a kiss and guiding you backwards towards his room. There was a moment where you hit your hip on a door frame and he ran a soothing palm over it even as he reached out to flip the light.

“Get on the bed.”

It was a growl, low and deep and full of every drop of his own want. But you did as he said without question, crawling onto the flannel bedspread and giving him a sultry look over your shoulder.

“You coming?”

He took his time, studying the arch of your back while he slid open his bedside drawer. He flicked the condom onto the bed and then set his knee next to it, sliding a hand along your flank.

Smack.

You let out a startled yelp and he rubbed his fingers over where it must have stung. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You started to turn, sitting up, but he slid behind you - gripping your waist with one hand and reaching up to cup the base of your neck with the other. His cock nudged against your panties and even through the thin cotton he could feel how slick you were.

“You ready?” he asked with a low groan, watching as you arched your back and folded in front of him, head resting on your arms. 

“Fuck me Benny.”

No need to tell him twice. He ripped the foil open with his teeth, rolling the condom on and then slipping your panties down. You helped him shimmy them off, resettling your knees wider as he pulled you back to him. He gave short, shallow thrusts against your heat. Not trying to slip inside, just feeling you coat him. On one he pressed up against your asshole and heard you squeak.

It was goddamn adorable.

“Maybe next time,” he murmured with a smirk, holding the base of his cock and lining himself up. You might’ve tried to answer but whatever it was turned into a long moan as he slid inside. 

It was sheer bliss, feeling you clench around him. He could feel every shuddering exhale from your body, every quiver. His head rolled back on his shoulders and he gripped at your waist as he fell into a rocking rhythm.

But it felt too impersonal, too distant. This position might be good for another time but he was still getting to know you, still learning all of the things that made you moan and squirm. He couldn’t tell from here, couldn’t see your face, couldn’t see how you reacted as he searched for what was going to make you come.

“C’mere,” he grunted, pulling at your shoulder and sitting back, settling you on his lap. From here he could rub his lips on your neck, tilt your head to the side and study your face while he fucked up inside of you.

“Benny,” you moaned, reaching one hand back and sinking it into his hair. He cupped your tits in his hands, thumbing at your nipples and watching as you bit into your lip hard enough to leave a mark.

“You gonna come like this?”

“I think-” you panted and he slid a hand down, delving between your thighs and finding your swollen clit. The sound you made went straight to his cock, thighs shaking and fingers tightening in his hair until it almost hurt.

“That’s it, sweetheart, chase it.”

You called his name when you came and he had to admit, he liked that part. Had liked it last night and even more tonight. He sank his teeth into your shoulder, pumping his hips and filling the condom with cum he’d much rather see dripping out of you.

Panting breaths came from you both, chests almost in sync. He nuzzled against your neck, tilting his head slightly until you finally loosened your grip on his hair.

“Good?” he asked, hiding a smile when you snorted in return.

“Passable, maybe we should give it another shot.”

With a grin he collapsed onto the bed next to you, pulling at your shoulders until you fell into his arms. He needed to get up, tie off the condom and see if he had a clean washcloth to offer you. But that could wait for later. Right now he had one itching mystery he hadn’t yet solved.

“I still don’t know your fucking name.”

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[thoroughlymodernminutia]

This Christmas - Prequel

Pairing: Benny "Borracho" Magalon x F!Reader

Word count: 8,219

Summary: This is a prequel of sorts to this from last year. It’s basically the how Benny and the reader met, etc

Warnings: Mostly Hallmark-style fluffy stuff, lots of pining, but brief mention of loss, guilt, some foul language. If I missed anything else let me know and I'll add it in. 

A/N: I don’t know folks, I started writing this and was really chugging along and had a whole plan for how I wanted this to be. Then I got sick with everyone’s favorite illness from 2020 and lost a lot steam. I found, I think, a happy compromise with myself because I wanted to post this before Christmas (self imposed deadlines am I right?) and realized I can always I don’t know, post more parts of it later?? I am my own worst critic so if you read this and it isn’t your jam, please don’t say anything lol I’ve probably already thought it, so it would be redundant! Also, clearly, I do not know the proper use of a semicolon, or an em dash and I don't have an editor, so we'll all just have to deal. Anyways, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, all that jazz

-----------

It’s a little after six in the morning and they still haven’t rolled in. Usually, the five of them would have been here for an hour already; a few hungover, one still drunk, and the fifth one acting like an adult babysitter for the other four. It’s weird how this happens–people come into your little donut shop and after a while, instead of you becoming part of their routine, they become part of yours. Eventually they start to feel like stand-ins for the friends you hardly ever get to see. You’re busy with your business and they’re busy with their jobs and families.

It could feel lonely, but you have people like Noreen, who comes in every Friday to buy three dozen assorted donuts for her team. Noreen is kind and not the type of person you envision working at a private equity firm. When you were thinking about expanding into the small space next door, she looked at your plan and helped you figure out where you were being too aggressive and in some cases too shortsighted. She didn’t ask for anything in return, but you made sure her next three dozen donuts were on the house. 

There’s Will, a retired teacher, who comes in every Sunday. He used to come in with his partner, Charles, and they would sit at the table you have set up near the front window. They traded off different sections of the newspaper while drinking their coffee and sharing one old-fashioned donut and one raspberry jelly donut; they never strayed from those. Charles passed away six months ago and it was unexpected. You didn’t expect to see Will for a while, but routine is hard to give up especially when it’s the only thing you have left. Every Sunday morning you set a 'reserved' sign on the table near the window. 

There’s Stuart, who hangs out in the plaza your shop is located in. You’re not sure if he’s unhoused or just likes to spend his day outside, but it felt strange to always see him and not interact with him. One day you invited him to come by for coffee and a donut but he turned you down. You told him the offer was good for any time and that you hoped you’d see him in there soon. He came in a few days later and it made you feel like you were doing some good; and then you felt bad for feeling like that. Stuart’s reserved and not much of a talker so you just let him sit at a table while you go about your work. Some days he’ll start a conversation; it’s rare but it feels like you both trust each other enough to make more than small talk. If you don’t see him in his usual spot outside, you worry. He usually turns up a few days later, but you're concerned that at some point he won’t turn up and what are you supposed to do then?

There’s a handful of people that fall into this category of if they never came back you would notice. It’s because some of them are smart and kind like Noreen. Some because they sit in the same spot, newspaper sections still divided in two, like Will. Some because their silence fills your little shop, like Stuart. And some whose absence you would notice because they don’t fit into these boxes. Sometimes they can be loud or irritating; but they can also be entertaining. And they’re are always five of them, but only one that makes you feel like you’re thirteen and just saw your middle school crush.

They started coming in sometime in February. You only remember because the biggest one said he’s 'not eating a fucking, prissy, heart-shaped donut.' Some men are like that, afraid if they come in contact with something feminine that’s not a woman, that their dick will fall off. He was loud and obnoxious and only one of the other four looked truly embarrassed for the guy and for himself. He apologized for his friend and ordered five large coffees and a dozen glazed donuts. 

“You sure glazed are going to be manly enough for your friend over there?” 

You ticked your head over towards the table where his friends were sitting. He laughed and it was a surprisingly warm laugh for a man with neck tattoos. 

“He won’t even remember being here, let alone what kind of donuts he ate.”

He sounded annoyed but used to the behavior. You remembered having friends like that, in your twenties, but you were well past that age and so were these guys by the look of it. You saw him eyeing an apple fritter so you grabbed it from the case, put it on a plate, and set it on the counter next to the box of donuts. 

“On the house, since it doesn’t look like you’re getting paid for your babysitting duties.”

He smiled, said thank you, and then went to sit with his loud friends. You noticed he was quiet in comparison and thought it would be nice if they were all quiet like that. 

When they were getting ready to leave you saw that the quiet one made sure all the trash was thrown away and all the dishes went into the right bin. At the door as they were leaving he gave you a small wave thanking you again. There was something about his smile that made it feel like flowers were blooming in your stomach. That feeling carried you for a week. You’d think of that moment of him at the door and a fog would enter your brain and the flowers in your stomach would grow larger. 

The feeling would start to subside after a while and you would get caught up in your real life–your business, the rare time with your friends, the occasional bad date. It would slowly drift from the front of your mind to the back. Then they would show up and the cycle would continue. 

The one who had the soft smile and neck tattoo, you learned his name was Benny. And that if you gave him a choice between the apple fritter and anything else, he would choose the apple fritter one hundred percent of the time. The loud drunk, that was Big Nick and he’s only been not drunk five percent of the time they’ve come in. There’s Connors, Zapata, and Henderson–you’ve only heard them referred to by their last names. A thing that you’ve only ever heard men do. They all come in once or twice a month–usually early, usually hungover. It makes you wonder what they do before they end up at your place. You never ask because to know would be to probably ruin your crush on Benny.

Benny always pays and there’s a part of you that hopes he’s doing it just for the chance to talk to you. When he leaves he always gives you a wave goodbye and a thanks again. The flowers in your stomach have bloomed and blossomed to an embarrassing degree by the end of May. And that’s when they stopped coming in. 

—-

Benny shakes his head no at Connor’s who’s trying to hand him a beer, “Not feeling it tonight.”

Benny isn’t feeling it any night, but he keeps that to himself. The drinking, the cocaine, the women, none of it interests him and it hasn’t for a while. Since February if he’s being honest with himself. 

They had ended up at your donut shop, Glazy for You under random circumstances. The usual place they would go to sober up after one of these parties had been closed down by the health department. He should have known it was bound to happen, the place was dim and oddly seedy for a diner. Benny was the designated driver that night, since he hadn’t been feeling well he didn’t drink and spent most of the night ushering random women out of a grim motel room. When he saw Glazy for You as he was driving by, it looked like the complete opposite of his evening; it was bright, there were Valentine’s decorations on the window. It looked comforting and warm, two things he felt like he was missing in his life.

Nick of course was an asshole and Benny felt like he spent a lot of time silently apologizing to you. His apologies must have entered you mind telepathically because you gave him an apple fritter–the best apple fritter he’s ever had in his whole fucking life. There must have been some kind of magic in because that moment lodged itself somewhere in his heart and reappears when he’s feeling low. Like now–sitting in this motel room, on this couch that probably hasn’t been cleaned in two decades, watching his friends lose their fucking minds over shit they should have outgrown. 

Benny hasn’t seen you in months, ninety-seven days to be exact, not that he’s counting. They’ve been working on one case after the next and it’s left time for little else. No post drug test parties, no early mornings sitting in a donut shop waiting for everyone to sober up, no you. It’s been sleep and work for three months straight. Last time he saw you, it seemed like you were happy to see him. Maybe he imagined that feeling; misunderstood the warmth in your smile. Maybe that’s the smile that you’ve practiced in order to be able to perform it for everyone. Maybe everyone feels what he feels when they see you.

Benny sinks further into the couch and looks up at the ceiling. It’s a drop ceiling which brings back memories of a case he had worked on. While securing a crime scene, they were in the living room of a run down apartment. It had this same type of ceiling and a body fell right through it onto the floor. He thinks that maybe this is how it ended up being called a drop ceiling, because shit just drops right out. That thought, that memory makes him realize that he doesn’t want to be in this room anymore. He gets up, grabs his jacket off the back of the couch, and leaves. He hears Connors call after him as he’s closing the door but he doesn’t care. He only has one place that he wants to be right now.

—-

You’re putting a tray of bear claws in the display case when you hear the door open. It’s still early, the sun is barely up, pink and purple hues are still in the sky. You get a lot of municipal workers that come in at this time, barely past opening. So it’s a little bit of a surprise when you get a glimpse through the display case of Benny walking in, alone.

There’s a second while you’re crouched down, adjusting the tray that you let yourself be excited; allow yourself to give into the childish feeling of getting a glimpse of your crush. Your knees are wobbly as you stand up–unsure if it’s because you’re getting old or because he’s looking right at you.

“Oh hey, how’ve you been?” You wipe your palms on the front of the apron you’re wearing. “It’s been a while.”

You try to sound neutral, neither excited to see him or disappointed that it's been so long. He smiles and that familiar sensation of flowers blooming returns. 

“We’ve been working on a lot of cases and it’s been hard to find time for anything else.” 

You lean forward and rest your arms on top of the bakery case. 

“Cases? You guys are lawyers?” As the words leave your mouth you realize how truly stupid it sounds. You’ve never in your life seen any lawyers that look like these guys. 

Benny chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, something he does when feels embarrassed or self conscious.

“No, definitely not lawyers. Detectives. We work for the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department.”

You fail at suppressing a laugh, “I’m sorry. All of you are detectives? Even your friend Nick?”

Benny knows your laugh isn’t mean spirited and if he were you, he’d probably laugh too, knowing what he knows about the people he works with. He moves closer to display case and leans in. 

“Even Nick. You seem surprised.”

“It’s just. I.” You pause, trying to choose your words with care, because you like Benny and you don’t want to insult him, “I mean, it’s hard to imagine being a victim of a crime or something and like Nick is the person taking your statement, trying to help you. That is my nightmare.”

You hope you don’t sound like an asshole, but the idea of Nick serving and protecting seems like a stretch. If you offend Benny, he doesn’t show it, he just laughs.

“The way that you’ve seen him, I can understand the sentiment. He’s not like that a hundred percent of the time. I promise.” 

You give Benny a joking look, “Okay, but what percentage are we talking here?”

You’re both laughing when the rest of the guys walk in. The rowdiness is a shock to your system after not dealing with it for a while. You look at Benny and he’s no longer leaning in towards you and maybe you’re projecting, but you think he looks a little disappointed too.

Benny’s disappointed, but he tries his best to hide it. The guys may be drunk, but they are cops and they are perceptive. Benny already knows he has a reputation among them as being soft. It used to bother him, but it hasn’t for a while. He knows he would rather be soft than be the type of man that can’t feel anything other than bitterness and rage. 

“Borracho, you fucking asshole, you left us.”

Nick, is of course loud and slurring his words. Benny hopes you can’t understand Spanish–he doesn’t want to be known as a ‘drunk’ to you.

Benny turns from you to look at the guys. Connors is propping Nick up; Henderson and Zapata are stumbling towards a table. 

“I was hungry.”

Benny hopes it’s enough to shut Nick up. He knows it’s not because he sees Nick loosen himself from Connors and stumble towards him. He claps a large, drunk hand on Benny’s shoulder and the force almost knocks him backwards. 

“Fuck, Borracho. You’re no fun anymore.”

Nick is a mess and that’s not really that surprising to you. What is surprising is how uncomfortable Benny looks. He has the look of a man who would give anything to disappear. You can’t really blame him, these guys, Nick especially, are exhausting to be around and you only deal with them for a few hours a month.

“Can I get you guys something or are you just going to loiter?”

Benny looks towards you and you give him a sympathetic smile. He shakes Nick off of him and is about to order when Nick lurchers towards the counter that you’re standing behind. You step back as he unsuccessfully tries to paw at you.

“I know what you can get me, sweetheart.”

Benny groans and runs a hand over his face, “Jesus Christ, Nick. Shut the fuck up.”

You step closer to the counter and lean forward, putting a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

“What did I tell you about calling me ‘sweetheart’?”

Nick tilts his head to the side and mutters, “That the next time I do it, you’ll put my head in the deep fryer.”

You pat his shoulder, “Good, you remember.”

You hear Zapata, Henderson, and Connors–who’s joined them at their table laughing and chanting do it, do it.

You gently push Nick away from the counter, “Go sit down unless you’re willing to see if I’m serious.” You look over at Benny, who no longer looks like he wants to disappear. “Benny, five coffees and a dozen glazed, right?”

Benny nods his head, “Yeah, that’s good.”

Nick turns around and starts walking towards where Connors, Zapata, and Henderson are sitting. He jerks his thumb back towards you, “She’s no fun either.”

Benny feels awkward standing here, watching you gingerly place twelve glazed donuts in a box and then pour five large coffees. It’s calming though, watching you do routine things, like you’re slowly rooting out the anxiety of being around drunk idiots. You put the coffees in a tray and place it down on the counter next to the donuts. 

Benny pulls out his wallet to pay, “Uh, sorry,” he pauses, he’s sorry about a lot suddenly, “sorry about Nick. He was acting like an asshole.”

You shrug and hand Benny his change, “Don’t worry about it.”

Benny is sitting with the guys and can’t help feeling like he’s messed something up. You didn’t give him an apple fritter like you normally do. He wonders if you’re mad that he didn’t do something more when Nick was acting like an asshole. Maybe he’s overthinking it–he can’t expect you to give him a free donut every time you see him. It’s possible he’s misread the situation entirely, that you’re just friendly and nothing more. He watches you behind the counter adjusting things, bagging up donuts for customers that have come in. When Benny checks his watch for the time, he misses seeing you slip an apple fritter in a bag and write 'Benny' in a tidy script. 

You watch the guys start filtering out of your place; Nick and Connors are first and from the store window you can see them getting into separate cabs. Benny is still throwing trash away as Henderson and Zapata leave. They share a cab and you imagine that maybe they rallied enough to start drinking again at 7:30am. You see Benny heading towards the door and it looks like he’s leaving without giving his usual wave goodbye. Your stomach sinks a little–maybe he’s mad at you for not joking around more with Nick or the other guys. Or it could just be that he’s tired and wants to go home and you’re creating feelings that aren’t there. 

You grab the bag with the apple fritter from below the counter and hold it up, “Hey, you forgot something.”

Benny looks at the bag with his name on it–it’s the nicest handwriting he’s ever seen. He walks over to the counter and takes the bag from your hand, your fingers overlapping for a fraction of a second. 

“So this means you’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you? Wait, you think because of Nick?” You look at him strangely as he nods his head yes, “He’s the idiot, I’m not going to hold that against you.”

Benny smiles, “That’s good to know.” He starts walking away, but stops when he gets to the door, holding up the bag with the donut, “Thanks again. I’ll see you later.”

“Take care, Benny.”

—-

“You like that girl at the donut place?”

It sounds less like Connors is asking you a question and more like stating a fact. Benny’s a little caught off guard and pretends to start looking for something on his desk.

“What?” 

Benny tries to sound confused, like he’s never even heard the word donut before.

“At the donut place. The girl who runs it, are you into her or something? You always act fucking weird when we’re in there.”

Benny thinks back to all the times they’ve been at Glazy for You, trying to remember his behavior. Did he look at you for too long? Say ‘goodbye’ in a way that sounded like he didn’t want to leave. Benny opens the bottom drawer of his desk and pretends to look for something. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Benny knows he doesn’t sound convincing and Connors must hear it too because he keeps going.

“Really?” Connors sounds incredulous. “You’re always lingering at the counter. She’s always giving you free donuts. Any of this ringing a bell for you?”

Benny can feel Connors staring at him. He closes the desk drawer and goes back to looking at the file on his desk.

“Maybe she likes giving away free donuts. I really couldn’t tell you.”

Connors crumbles a piece of paper into a ball and lobs it at Benny’s head, hitting him just behind the ear. 

“Whatever you say asshole.”

—-

The summer goes by quickly–it’s one of your busier seasons. School is out, the weather is nice–there are day camps, company off-sites, and sleepovers. All the types of occasions where the people in charge don’t want to make breakfast but need to provide it. Benny and the guys come in a few times throughout the summer. It feels a little different from before. Benny doesn’t linger at the counter as much anymore and sometimes one of the other guys pays. It’s stupid little things that you shouldn’t notice, but you do, because they used to be part of your routine. It’s embarrassing thinking you let this crush on Benny become such a big part of your life that you’d notice he didn’t pay last time or the time before that. It’s that embarrassment that makes you start building a wall around that garden in your stomach so the flowers can’t reach your heart.

It’s the end of October when you’re opening up one morning and it registers for you that you haven’t seen Stuart since some time around June or July. His absence gnaws at you. You feel like a bad person for not noticing sooner; that feeling that you failed someone even though they weren’t your responsibility. You don’t know what to do or if there’s anything you actually can do. So when you see Benny a few weeks later it feels like a little bit of a last resort when you ask for his help.

—-

You were hoping that Benny would be the person paying this time when they all came in, so you could mention Stuart without having to pull him aside. But he doesn’t and it makes you a little anxious trying to figure out the best way to talk to him about something serious. So it’s a relief when it looks like he’s going to be the last one to leave. He’s behind Connors and when Connors makes it out the door, you stop Benny who’s close behind.

“Benny, hey. Do you have a second?”

You come out from behind the counter, nervously smoothing the apron tied around your waist in short downward strokes. Benny stops and lets the door go from his hand. You look upset and he hopes it’s not because he’s been acting standoffish lately. Ever since Connors asked about you, he’s been trying his best to act normal–whatever that means–around you. 

“Did Connors’s card get declined again?”

You let out a small laugh, “No. Um, I was actually wondering if you could help me with something.”

Benny steps a little closer to you. You have some powdered sugar on your cheek and he has to stop himself from brushing it off. 

“Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

“This is probably going to sound weird, or stupid. Maybe both. But there’s this  guy who h—”

Benny cuts you off; his voice is a little rougher, “If someone is bothering you, I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh awkwardly, “Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s this guy, Stuart. He usually hangs out around here and I have him come in sometimes for coffee or donuts and I haven’t seen him in…since maybe July, I think? I’m just a little worried.” You pause and try to read Benny’s face to see what he’s thinking, “Sorry, this probably sounds stupid to you. I don’t even know what I’m asking.”

Benny scratches his jaw piecing together what he thinks you’re getting at, “Do you know his last name?”

You notice that Benny’s voice has gone back to the soft tone that you’re used to. He’s looking at you with compassion and not like you’re stupid or some kind of burden. Benny is the kind of person that you would want helping you in a crisis and it makes you wish there were more people like him in his line of work.

“I don’t, but I printed a photo from the security camera I have.” You walk over to the counter and lean over, grabbing the photo from under the register. “I don’t even know if you can do anything with that. I watch a lot of crime shows. Don’t judge me.”

Benny laughs and shakes his head as you hand him the photo.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Yeah of course. It’s…I don’t know. I’d feel like a bad person if something were to happen to him and I could have helped.”

Benny feels bad because he knows how these things generally end up. Usually there are no happy endings.

“You can’t put that on yourself.”

You nod your head, “I know, but still, you know?”

Benny understands the feeling and also understands it’s easier to tell someone something isn’t their fault than to know it yourself. 

As Benny leaves you start to feel a bit lighter. Like someone has taken some of your worry, some of your concern and is carrying it for you; so you aren’t so weighed down.

—-

“What was that about?”

Benny is surprised to see Connors waiting for him in the parking lot. 

“Nothing. Well, I guess there’s some guy, homeless, I don’t know. He usually hangs out around here. She hasn’t seen him for a while. She’s worried.”

Connors flicks a cigarette on to the pavement, “Figures she’s one of those bleeding heart types. What did you tell her?”

Benny pats his jacket and then his pants pockets feeling around for a pack of cigarettes, forgetting briefly that he’s trying to quit. Connors pulls his pack from his pocket and tosses them to Benny.

Benny pulls a cigarette out, “I told her I’d look into it.”

Connors laughs and hands Benny a lighter, “Chump.” He waits a beat for Benny to light his cigarette, “But, if you want. We can start looking into it now.”

Benny’s grateful it’s Connors out here and not one of the other guys. Benny and Connors go back further than just Major Crimes and he’s someone Benny would trust with his life.

—-

Benny’s worried that he’s going to have to deliver you bad news. Best case scenario seems like Stuart is in jail. Not great, but it would mean that he’s alive. Worst case scenario is that he can’t find Stuart and that usually doesn’t mean anything good. Benny is suddenly hoping for some kind of miracle for a person he doesn’t even know. 

The photo you gave him does turn out to be useful. Connors is able to find him in the system through facial recognition. Stuart Morton has a record; a few arrests for driving while under the influence and some time in a county jail. Benny is able to get a last known address but it’s over a year old. It’s a sober living house that’s not actually that far from Glazy for You. He doesn’t have much hope that going there will bring him any closer to finding Stuart. 

It takes a couple of weeks, but Benny is finally able to meet with David, the director of the sober living facility. He finds it’s better to meet with people in person. Talking with people over the phone, he’s learned, makes it easier for them to not give you the information you need. David of course is a little guarded at first with Benny; not wanting to share anything that could get Stuart in trouble, which Benny can’t really fault him for. Benny explains the situation, that the owner of a donut shop near here is worried because they haven’t seen him in a while. When Benny mentions your name to David, he lights up.

“Her glazed old fashioneds are the best ones in this entire state.” He pauses and to Benny it looks like he’s getting lost in the memory of a donut, a feeling he knows well. 

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” 

David turns away from Benny to look through a drawer in a filing cabinet, “Just this year we got to talking and she’s been generous enough to donate breakfast here every month. And recently she’s been working with us on a job training program at her bakery.” 

Benny thinks back to Connors calling you a ‘bleeding heart’ and is glad he came here by himself. 

“She didn’t mention anything about knowing Stuart lived here.”

David pulls a folder from the cabinet and thumbs through it, “Stuart is the type to not overshare, so that doesn’t surprise me.” He pauses to write something down on a piece of paper and hands it to Benny, “Here. This is his sister Noreen’s information. When he left, he was going to be staying with her for a while. Might still be there.”

Benny barely makes it to his car before calling the number that David gave him. 

—-

“Wait, so you’re saying that Noreen, the Noreen that comes in here, is Stuart’s sister?”

It’s late in the day, near the time that you close up. You and Benny are sitting across from each other at the table near the window. It’s hard to believe what he’s telling you, that Stuart used to be a resident at the sober living facility, the one where David works; that Noreen is Stuart’s sister and somehow all these dots never got connected for you.

“She didn’t realize that you two were,” Benny pauses looking for the right word, “friends. She feels terrible that you didn’t know he had moved out of the state and were worried. She said he’s doing well.”

You’re quiet for a moment, trying to take in everything Benny has been telling  you. It’s a lot to process, considering you had been preparing yourself to hear bad news. You can feel your eyes fuzzy with a few tears and feel a little embarrassed to be getting so emotional over the good news.

“It’s such a relief to know that he’s doing okay.” You feel a tear slide down your cheek and quickly brush it away hoping that Benny didn’t see it.

Benny can tell you’re trying to keep yourself from crying and he wants to tell you that it’s okay, that there wouldn’t be any judgment from him. He has the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around you, but he knows it would be wildly inappropriate. He feels awkward sitting here, looking around, trying to figure out what he should say.

“I like the Christmas decorations you have up.” It’s lame and he knows it, but it seems better than freaking you out with a hug. You smile at him and that feels reassuring.

“You do?” You look over at Benny, nodding his head, “I know it makes me basic, but I love Christmas. The lights, the decorations, the movies, the music. Expect to see a lot of green and red frosted donuts until December 31st.” 

Benny laughs, “I’m looking forward to it.” He looks at his watch and starts to get up, “I should probably leave, so you can close up.”

You get up and follow Benny to the door, you put your hand on Benny’s forearm to stop him for a second and he feels a little spark through this jacket.

“Thank you, again, for everything.”

“I’m glad I could help. And that everything turned out okay.”

You’re not sure what it is that compels you to hug him, but you do. Maybe it’s the gentleness of his voice, or how he’s looking at you in a way he hasn’t before. It feels intimate and dreamy and it’s hard for you to recall the last time anyone has looked at you like that. It happens so fast that Benny barely has time to register what happened.

It hits him as he’s walking to his car–the delayed feeling of your arms around him. It strikes Benny that maybe there’s a chance you like him, that maybe you’re both kind of stupid and clumsy, and afraid to ask the other one out. There’s the realization that one of you will have to make the first move or it will go on like this forever. That he will see you every few months at your job, that he’ll get a free donut occasionally. It’s not enough for Benny and he knows that he can’t be stupid about this much longer.

—-

It’s the last piss test party of the year–the week before Christmas. The concept is idiotic–sure it made sense at one point when Benny wasn’t wading into the deep end of forty. Going to a cheap hotel to get drunk and high, have sex with women that Nick found God knows where. It was never appealing to Benny but he used to understand the idea of celebrating after your mandatory drug test. Now he usually just sits, drinks a beer or two, and tries to avoid contact with everyone. There’s something especially depressing about it during this time of year.

Benny’s spent the last few days mulling over the best way to ask you out. He regrets not asking you when he was giving you the news about Stuart. Although there’s a part of him that thinks maybe you would have felt obligated to say yes given the circumstances. He thinks about asking you tonight, if they end up there, but he doesn’t want to do it in front of the guys because you might feel obligated then too, maybe even feeling sorry for him and not wanting to embarrass him in front of everyone by saying no. If you say yes, he wants it to be because you actually mean it, he doesn’t want there to be any room for doubt.

His decision is made for him, because when they get to Glazy for You, you aren’t there. Benny can’t remember if there’s ever been a time when you haven’t been there, behind the counter, greeting him warmly. It’s a little bit of a shock to his system to see a middle-aged man in a goofy Christmas sweater in your place. Benny’s good at thinking up doomsday scenarios and imagines one in which you’re trying to avoid him, so you no longer work this early in the morning. But then he thinks of when you hugged him and that even though it was quick, it was like your touch had gone directly to his heart. He doesn’t stay much longer, opting to go home, lay in his bed, and try to figure out what he’s going to do.

—- 

You used to hate working during the holidays. Maybe it’s because you were working for other people and not yourself. Maybe it was because the work you were doing felt unimportant and people expected you to care even when everything else around you was winding down. Five years ago the thought of working on Christmas Eve would have made you want to walk into traffic. Now it feels different, like maybe you’re contributing to the holiday experience versus missing out on it entirely. You’ve always loved Christmas, but Christmas Eve is your favorite day of the year. It just feels more special somehow. There’s anticipation and excitement in the air. It’s possible it’s a product of all the Christmas movies you’ve watched over the years where there’s the idea that anything seems possible on this day. There’s something about the idea of your life changing for the better, surrounded by twinkle lights and ornaments that you find very appealing.

The morning is kind of slow–you spend most of it watching holiday episodes of tv shows on your phone. Around 11am you start cleaning up–taking trays out of cases, boxing up the donuts that are left to drop off at the comic book shop next door. You’re looking forward to going home and laying on the couch the rest of the day, queuing up your standard Christmas Eve movies. You’re ready to watch Scrooged and feel abnormally homesick, but then put on Christmas Vacation and remember why it’s never a good idea to spend Christmas with your entire family.

You’re in the back when you hear the bell on the door jingle, letting you know someone is out front. You consider just staying where you are, pretending no one is here so you can wrap up your day. You don’t want to have to tell anyone that you can’t help them with their donut emergency–getting yelled at on Christmas Eve is not something you’ve prepared yourself for today. So it’s a pleasant surprise when you make your way back out to the front and you see Benny.

“Hey, this is a—hi.” You’re not sure why you’re suddenly unable to put together a decent sentence.

Benny rubs the back of his neck with his hand, “Is this a bad time?”

“No. No, well. I mean, unless you were looking for a few dozen donuts. Then it definitely is.”

Benny smiles, “Actually,  I, um, was,” he pauses and tries to collect himself, he can suddenly feel his heart beating in his ears, “I wanted to ask you out. On a date.” The feeling has spread to his skull.

When he says it, it’s almost like the words traveled through your brain and you can’t comprehend what’s actually happening. Benny, the guy you’ve been harboring your fragile middle school crush on, is here asking you out. It makes little, if any sense to you.

“Are you just trying to get more free donuts?”

Benny shakes his head no, “I promise I’m not.”

You’re quiet as you consider what he’s asked–trying to reprocess the information in your mind so that it makes sense. When all the words are finally in place and you repeat them in your mind, you feel some of those flowers that you’d walled up in your stomach starting to push through the cracks.

“Yeah, okay.” You grab a business card from the counter, write your number on the back, and hand it to Benny.

Benny’s not sure he’s ever heard anything better than yeah, okay in his life, it’s like a bolt of lightning right to his core. He puts the card with your number in the chest pocket of his jacket, the safest place he can think of.

“Great. Amazing.” Benny laughs nervously. “I need to get back to work. I’ll text you.” 

“Okay. Well, have a good Christmas, Benny.” 

“You too.” 

Benny gives his standard small wave as he leaves and you lock the door after him. When he’s out of sight you let out a squeal and excitedly dance in place. Your phone vibrating in your back pocket interrupts you mid-happy dance. 

Hey, it’s Benny. Are you free for dinner on the 27th at 7?

Benny watches dots appear and then disappear on his phone. It feels a little bit like torture as he sits in his truck waiting for you to respond.

 Dinner on the 27th at 7 sounds great

Benny releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Let me think of a place and I’ll text you the address

Sounds good. And you meant Dec 27th right?

Benny laughs to himself, Yes dec 27. I’m not going to wait until jan to take you to dinner

Just making sure 🙂

You read his last text at least ten more times before finally going back into the kitchen like you had intended. Each time you read it, there’s a sensation in your stomach like bricks dissolving and flowers blooming again.

—-

Benny texts you on the morning of the 26th with a restaurant name and an address. You already have the sense that he’s different, the type of person who has follow-through. You try to temper your excitement about dinner with him, not wanting to do that thing you sometimes do where you make something out to be more than it is. You keep telling yourself that it’s just dinner, nothing more. But as you pull up to the restaurant a few minutes late and see Benny standing outside, looking nervous in dark denim and a green flannel, you let yourself think that maybe it could be a little more than just dinner. 

“Sorry I’m a little late, I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

Benny smiles when he sees you standing in front of him, “I just got here a few minutes ago.” 

It’s a lie; the last one he’ll tell tonight; but he doesn’t want you to know that he was so amped up about this evening that he got to the restaurant thirty minutes early. On the way in, when you pass in front of him, your perfume delicately floats by him. It’s earthy, but slightly sweet, with cinnamon and vanilla blending neatly in–he’s sure it’s the most beautiful thing that he’s ever smelled. 

It’s a French restaurant, one that you’ve never been to before, but it’s cozy and still in the Christmas spirit. There are multicolored lights strung up and silver tinsel hanging from the ceiling. 

“Have you been here before?” Looking at Benny from across the table and you can see flecks of silver in his facial hair catching the light of the candle on the table. 

“My sister and her husband had their tenth anniversary party here last year. Most of my restaurant choices come from wherever she has an anniversary party.” 

You laugh, “Nice. Do you just have the one sister?”

Benny has just the one sister, you learn, among other things. You find talking to Benny is easy, he doesn’t give one word answers to questions like some men you’ve gone out with. Where trying to get to know them is like trying to get to know a slab of pavement. He’s funnier than you thought, something that you didn’t expect, but is a nice surprise.

“Did you always want to be a detective?”

Benny butters a piece of bread, “To be honest, the only thing I wanted to be growing up was a magician. I guess I saw one too many David Copperfield specials as a kid.”

You start laughing, “Do you know any magic tricks?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. What about you?”

“I don’t know any, no.” You shrug jokingly as Benny laughs. “But, yeah, I guess I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to be doing. I’m lucky that things have worked out how they have.” 

Benny’s curious now, “You didn’t always work in a bakery?”

“Nope. I actually used to work in tech. It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, I’m not in any hurry to end the evening.”

There’s something about Benny that puts you at ease, that makes you comfortable enough to want to open up to him. Something that you would never normally consider doing on a first date. You don’t feel the need to downplay that you made a lot of money when a company you worked for in New York was bought out. He doesn’t flinch when you tell him that the reason you moved to California was because of your now ex-husband. He tells you about his own divorce and for the first time in a long time you don’t feel so unlike yourself on a first date. It doesn’t feel scary telling him that you felt insignificant in your own life because of your work and your marriage. That every conversation with your husband made you feel like a burden.There’s a moment when you start to apologize, out of habit, but he stops you. He smiles when you say that the divorce was the best thing to happen to you because it–and you hate to say it like this–gave you your power back. 

“I always wanted to own my own business and I love donuts, so when the divorce happened, I just said fuck it, and went for it. Just threw myself into it.”

“I’m glad you did, I don’t know where else I’d get an apple fritter that good. And for free.” 

“Yeah, about that.” You smile playfully, “I’m going to have to start charging you before you put me out of business.” 

Benny makes a show of looking at his watch, pretending to want to leave, “I guess we should probably call it an evening then?”

He likes the way you laugh, how it’s kind of loud and fills the room. It makes him feel good, to hear you laugh, to see you smile; like he’s responsible for some bit of happiness you’re experiencing.

“See, I knew this was a scam.”

As the waiter clears the table and they wait for the check, Benny asks you what your favorite donut is. 

You don’t even have to think about it, “Definitely a maple bar.”

Benny watches as your eyes light up, telling him how you first had one when you spent the summer between fifth and sixth grade visiting your aunt in Seattle. He listens to you describe how your mom was, in the nicest terms you can find, an extreme dieter, who tried her best to pass all of her food issues down to you, and never let donuts in the house. But your aunt didn’t care and the first thing she did once she would pick you up from the airport was take you to her favorite bakery. It was the highlight of every summer after that until you graduated high school. It was the first donut you learned how to make because on the east coast they’re hard to find. You laugh when you say the best part of moving to the west coast is that every donut place has maple bars, but you’d like to think that yours are the best. Benny can’t help but think it’s cute.

Benny doesn’t want the night to end; he knows that you took a cab to the restaurant so he offers to drive you home. You try not to sound too eager in accepting his offer, but fail.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

You ask him if he wants you to put your address into google maps for directions, but he doesn’t need them. Benny spends so much time driving all over the city that he knows every street, every highway, every interstate. The map exists in his head; he can get anywhere without really having to think about it. Benny drives you through some unfamiliar, but beautiful neighborhoods. The homes are still decorated and lit up, it’s like driving through the set of a Christmas movie–the only thing missing is snow.

You ask him more about his job, the guys he works with. You like hearing the stories that Benny has about them. You can tell by the way he talks about him, that he’s closest with Connors. You finally learn everyone’s first names and how Benny got his nickname–which you had previously googled out of curiosity. You ask if it bothers him to be called a drunk.

“Knowing the shit they all get into, not really.”

He says that it doesn’t matter what they call him because he knows that in any situation they’ll have his back and he’ll have theirs. That’s what he cares about.

When he pulls up to your house; a small, one-story home, string lights along the frame and around the windows; it looks exactly like he’d imagined. You both sit quietly for a few minutes unsure what to do next. 

Eventually you unbuckle your seatbelt, “I had a really good time tonight, Benny.”

“Me too. Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.” he looks over at you, “protect and serve, you know.” Benny knows it’s a dumb joke, but you laugh anyway.

When you get to the top of your steps, you find it hard to say goodbye. His face is illuminated by the Christmas lights and you can tell he doesn’t want to say goodbye either. You start to say something, you’re not even sure what, but no words come out because Benny’s mouth is on yours, his hands gently cradling your face. His lips are soft and you can feel the warmth of his tongue asking for permission. You drop your keys onto the porch and pull him closer to you by his belt loops.

It feels like hours have passed when Benny finally pulls away, “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”

You rest your hands on his chest, “Next time,” you gently tug on his shirt collar, “don’t wait so long.”

Benny smiles as he watches you crouch down to pick up the keys you dropped. When you stand back up, he reaches towards your face, his fingers grazing behind your ear, “Hold on, you have something in your—” Benny sweeps his fingers against your hair and when he brings his hand in front of you, he’s holding a small, folded piece of paper. 

You take it from him, unfolding it. When you see the words ‘what are you doing for new years?’ written down you start grinning, “So you do still know some magic tricks.”

Benny places his hand on your neck, his thumb stroking your cheek, “A few.”

[kilojulietsierra]

Working Late (Borracho x Fem!Reader)

Been a minute since I posted some Borracho and I’ve had this one ready and waiting for a minute. It’s very self indulgent but I hope y’all enjoy as much as I did. 

Warnings: 18+, smut, dirty talk, fantasizing, making out, brief drunkenness but happy drunk, hinted at age gap, sex in the workplace, Nick is an ass but Benny is protective and territorial

~~~

The phone on his desk beeped three times in quick succession. Borracho saw it was an internal line and reached for it, "Magalon."

"Uh huh." He listened a moment, "Yeah, send her up."  He hung up the phone and smiled a little to himself in the empty office. He tried to keep working as he waited, but he accomplished nothing in the time it took for the door to the Major Crimes office to open with a small knock.

Borracho turned in his chair, "Hey beautiful." He smiled at you across the bullpen.

"Hey." You gave him a little wave as you walked towards him, "Hope it's okay i'm here."

He slouched back in his desk chair and smirked, "Why wouldn't it be?" His eyes tracked your movements as you approached, raking over you head to toe taking in your tight leggings and hoodie. Something inside him ticked to life seeing you in the LASD hoodie he never wore.

"I don't know, separation of church and state and all that..." You walked around the office, taking a look at the empty desks and the odds and ends around the room.

"Babe," He huffed out a laugh as a breath of air, "The only time I wouldn't want you to stop by, is if the guys are here and I'm not."

You smiled a little coming to stand at the desk directly in front of his, sitting in the chair and spinning around, "I figured it would be safe tonight, them out partying and all and you here by yourself."

"You checking up on me?" Borracho needled at you, still slouched back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him, as he watched you start to nose through Tony's desk.

"I trust you." You opened and closed a few drawers and eventually looked up to find Benny's eyes boring into yours. "What?"

"Wrong desk sweetheart." The corner of his lips twitched up but other than that he does not move.

You spin around in the chair, looking over the other desks, "Oh shit, my bad. Is Nicks that one?" You ask as you jump out of the chair and step towards one of the others.

"Quit playing and get your ass over here." He's almost laughing at you now, but definitely smiling as you toss him a wink and come to sit on the edge of his desk. He still doesn't move, just looks.

Benny is always watching and not always sharing his thoughts, at first it had worried you, but now? Now you could almost read his looks as if he was speaking plain English.  Still in the same position he goes back to your previous conversation, "I sure as hell don't want you showing up dressed like that when the guys are here."  Finally he reached out and laid a lazy hand on the inside of your knee, thumb pressing into the muscle of your thigh.

You chuckled, "Why not?" You slide his laptop out of the way and move to sit squarely in the middle of his desk.

"You know why." Borracho was territorial as fuck and had been since the first time he saw you. Now that you were actually together at least it was justified. His eyes looked up at you ever so slightly, perched above him on his desk. "What are you really doin' here sweetheart?" His eyes hard, digging for information, but his body was relaxed, smile still soft. He was pretty sure  knew the answer, he just wanted to hear you say it.

The blush that crept up your neck to your cheeks betrayed you but you tried to stay nonchalant, "Haven't seen you much this week is all."

There's a pang of guilt in his chest, but it's diluted by the fact that you're here, in the office, sitting on his desk.

"I knew you had said the guys were going to party tonight but you were gonna stay behind." You toyed with the sleeve of his hoodie, fingers pulling at a loose thread

Benny licked his lips, his fingers clenched and unclenched around the armrest of his chair, and you lost your train of thought. He picked up your slack, "Not gonna get much paperwork done with you here looking like that." He was better at this, more experienced and collected. Finally he sat up, moving closer to you, rolling back to his desk and tugging you to the edge so he could wrap his arms around you.

He's nestled between your legs, rough hands smoothing up and down you thighs, eyes mesmerized with the motion. What stops him is your hand at the side of his neck, your thumb hooked under his chin, tilting up so he was looking at you. He doesn't say anything as he wraps his arms around you again and meets you half way.

You sigh as soon as your lips meet his and after a few slow steady passes of his mouth over yours your sighs turn to a hum as his hands slip under the sweatshirt and land on bare skin.

At first he doesn't really move them, tugs you the slightest bit closer as he kisses you but that's really it. Then, suddenly his grip tightens and his fingers dig into the skin at your lower back. "C'mere." He's pulling you off the desk and turning you around before you really know what his plan is but you catch up quickly as he pulls you back to sit in his lap.

Borrachos arms circle your waist again, keeping you snug against him, back pressed against his chest and his mouth hovering just behind your ear. He drops a kiss there before he turns the chair slightly, moving to look over his shoulder and the mostly dark, mostly deserted collection of cubicles outside. Then his lips are back on your neck and his hands are sliding up and down the insides of your thighs. "You're amazing you know that?" His lips are soft on the delicate skin of your neck but his mustache and goatee are not. One hand slides under the sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, and ghosts over your stomach, "Can't believe you're doing this for me." He nipped at the back of your neck before turning your face to him and kissing you again.

You giggle a little, only half of it nerves, and shift slightly in his lap. One of your hands gripping the side of his thigh, trying to keep yourself stable and with the other you reach around to cup the back of his neck as his mouth devoured yours.

~~~

A couple weeks ago you had been making dinner together and Benny had been mixing drinks for the both of you. By the time the pasta was ready you were both sort of living up to his nickname. But it was light and fun, and you didn't get to see that version of drunk Benny a lot. The guys at work? They never get to see that version of drunk Benny. The smiley, happy one with the jokes and the stories that have you laughing until your sides ache. The handsy Ben, that had fondled you in the kitchen while you cooked. Not enough to turn into anything right away, but enough to be distracting.

Borracho was still that kind of drunk even after dinner that night, the two of you laying on the couch ignoring the dishes. You had gone and changed, to get comfy, he was always comfortable in just jeans and a shirt, could sleep in them if he had too, but not you. That's how this had all started. You had came out of his room in a pair of leggings and the black LASD sweatshirt he let you borrow because you were always cold.

His eyes had locked on you immediately and never blinked until you were snuggled up with him on the couch.

You had gone back to watching the movie on the TV but he did not. "Can't believe how fuckin' sexy you look like that." He had said it in his normal tone of voice, not like he meant it to start anything, just one of his many observations.

When you looked up at him he was still staring, arm wrapped loose around your middle, "Do I not look sexy all the other times."

"Not what I said." He hiked you up on top of him, face to face, eyes staring into yours. "I can't believe seeing you dressed in your 'comfy clothes' turns me on so bad." To prove his point his hands groped at your ass and tugged you against him, making his point clear.

You had been the one to initiate the make out session, something Borracho had sworn up and down he was too old for when you first started dating. You had proven him wrong. When it was getting almost to the point of no longer being just heavy making out and turning into something more he had pulled back, biting your earlobe gently before kissing it and pressing his mouth against your ear. "Can I tell you something querida?"

The question had caught you off guard, the tone in his voice slightly different than normal. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, "Of course."

"I think about you sometimes, a lot actually." He started, his voice quiet.

"I mean I would hope so, considering..." A slap to your ass and a string of Spanish mumbling cut you off.

"I think about you all the fucking time, don't worry about that." He moved to bite at your neck, working it between his teeth and sucking until you both knew he had left a mark, "What I was saying was; I have this..." He trailed off. Staying silent so long you thought he had lost his train of thought. Or that he had thought better of going further. Then he took a deep breath through his nose, traced his lips up the side of your neck and continued, "It's like a daydream, when my mind wanders at work... or maybe a fantasy." He took another deep steadying breath and blew it out, soft, slow and warm against you ear. "I think about you coming to see me at work, dressed like this, on your way home from the gym or something. Watching you walk into the office with those long fucking legs and perfect ass," He grabbed your ass again, with both hands this time, "Wearing this stupid hoodie." His hands slid underneath it, dragging his blunt nails down your back.

A shiver rolls through you as you squirm a little on top of him. Realizing what he was telling you, you couldn't help but kiss your way along his jawline, nipping him slightly at the apple of his cheek, encouraging him to keep going.

"I think about you in my lap, I think about you on the edge of my desk with my head between your thighs, I think about you bent over me desk while I peel these off of you." He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your leggings while pulling you tighter against him.  After that Borracho didn't say anything for a minute, just continued to stroke his hands over every inch of you he could reach. "Is that okay?"

You pushed yourself up a bit, enough to look him in the eye, "Why wouldn't it be?"

His eyes were heavy, half lidded as he met your gaze, his hands smoothing over your naked back under the fabric of the sweatshirt, "Kinda feel like a dirty old man." His halfhearted smirk lets you know he's only part way kidding.

You scooted up to press your forehead against his, "Ben, you are allowed, dare I say encouraged, to fantasize about your girlfriend." When his only response was to hum and nod his head you continued. Moving to wrap your arms around his neck, smiling when he lifted his head up of the arm of the couch to allow it, you held his gaze, "I fantasize about you like that all the time. Even before you asked me out."

"Oh really?"

~~~

It had been long enough ago and he'd had enough to drink the conversation had more or less slipped his mind. Until the front desk called telling him you were here. He tried to not get his hopes up as he had waited for you to get to the Major Crimes floor. But then you had walked in, looking a little shy and a little bit like you were trouble.

Now he had you in his lap, just like he had wanted. He couldn't keep his hands still as he kept your face twisted towards his and kissed you until neither of you could breath. He pulled back, only as far as he had to, "I should go lock the door. Just in case."

You smiled and pulled his bottom lip between your teeth before kissing it gently, "I locked it behind me when I came in. "

His arms around you squeezed you tight and he groaned as he immediately went back to claiming your mouth, "Good girl." He mumbled between kisses as his right hand slid back under the sweatshirt and moved to grope your chest. "Jesus Christ." Ben growled as his hand closed around your breast finding no shirt or bra in his way.

It was hard to talk with his hand massaging you, the rough pad of his thumb circling your nipple, all you could really do was smile and sigh into his lips.

Slowly he switched to the other side, gently stroking and cupping it as he pried his lips away from yours, "You sure this is okay sweetheart?"

You bit you lip, arching into the palm of his hand and being rewarded with a slightly firmer squeeze, the motion causing you to grind your ass down into his now obvious erection. "I'm sure Benny, very sure." You kissed him as soft and sweet as you could while taking his hand and guiding it towards the waistband of your leggings.

Taking the hint he kissed you back as he worked his hand inside the tight clothing, groaning as you opened your legs wider for him. "Fuck baby," He was shocked and exhilarated by the warmth and wetness he found there, "You are so fucking wet." Ben dropped his chin to your shoulder and watched the outline of his hand through the material as he traced your lower lips.

"Told you I was sure." You whispered in his ear as one of your hands reached behind you to grab the back his neck.

Before you could say anything else Benny had two fingers sliding in and out of you and your breath caught in his throat. You didn't have time to settle into that feeling because after just a few strokes he removed his fingers and moved them to your clit, pulling a moan from you loud and clear.

He smiled as you dropped your head back to his shoulder and tried your best to move against the circling motion he was making. Borracho was grinning as he tilted his head to speak directly into your ear, "You gonna come for me already mami? It feels like it. You're so fucking wet, I can already tell you're gonna make a mess." When you could only respond with little gasps and moans he began circling your clit harder. "You are gonna feel so fucking good. It's been a long damn week and now you're here, dripping wet for me, I'm going to make you feel so good baby I promise." He groaned when your hand tugged at his hair, "You want that baby? You want me to bend you over my desk and fuck you till you cream all over my cock."

Just like that you were biting your lip hard and arching up out of his lap and into his hand, circling faster and faster, your whole body writhing for a moment until you took a gasping breath and sagged against him. He smiled into the side of your neck, slowing his fingers as he kissed you there.

When your grip on the back of his neck loosened and you turned to kiss him Benny was still smiling, "I gotta warn you baby, I'm not gonna last long."

You chuckled as you reached for a kiss, but you both knew there was no meanness in it, "Why you say that papi?"

Borracho groaned and drug your ass back against his painfully hard cock, easily noticeable even through his jeans, "You got me so keyed up baby, not gonna be able to help it."

"When my brain clears up a little bit, I'll come up with an old man comment." She laughed, still a little breathless, but it turned into a surprised squeak as Ben stood you both up and walked you back against his desk.

"You're such a brat." He was kissing you so hard you were bending backwards over the desk. "Don't make me get my cuffs out." When he pulled back his eyes were dark and he was smirking.

To your credit you blushed a little, trying to hide your face in his neck, remembering all the things he had done to you when you had revealed that particular fantasy of your own to him. Recovering quickly you pulled him down for another kiss, "Bring 'em home with you." You mumbled the words against his lips as your hands worked at his belt buckle.

"Hold on sweetheart." He leaned back from you standing up straight and pushing back the side of his button down shirt to pull his holster off his belt and shut it in a desk drawer.

Laying back on his desk you propped a heal up on the edge and rolled your eyes, "Couldn't have done that earlier Detective Magalon." You watched him with a smile as he undid his belt and untucked his shirt.

His eyes snapped to yours, still black and heated, but with an easy tilt to his lips, "I was a little distracted." Without going further he moved back to you and slid his hands up your legs until he could hook his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and peel them down, slowly. Inch by inch. "You are very distracting."

Your teeth sunk back into your bottom lip as you picked your hips up and allowed him to strip you of your leggings and pull your shoes off. Before you could respond though he gripped your ankle and tugged you to the edge of his desk, flush against him with your legs on either side of his hips. Even after another surprised little squeak you were speechless, watching his hands smooth up and down your bare legs while he looked at you. Took in the sight before him, committing it to memory.

When his eyes focused back on yours again he caught you smiling, licking your lips, your mouth dry in anticipation. "What're you thinking sweetheart?" He asked the question as his hand moved to splay heavy and wide over your lower abdomen, his thumb slipping to part our lower lips again before settling directly over your clit. Picking up a steady, slow, building pressure.

Eyes falling closed you pursed your lips and fought to keep your thoughts in order, "This was a good idea."

Borracho smirked, increasing the pressure on your clit while the other hand held your thigh tight against his hip.

When you opened your eyes and looked back to him you were blushing, only slightly, but enough to notice, "I never would have been able to do anything like this before..."

Before... you met him. Ben finished your sentence in his mind. The thought sending an electric shock to the base of his spine. You hadn't been innocent, perse, when you had started dating, but shy and a little insecure. Borracho knew he wasn't necessarily a good guy, he did bad things, but he had made it a point to treat you well, better than any other woman he'd attempted a relationship with. Looking down at you, half naked, laying on his work desk with your pussy wet and warm and waiting for him he knew that he was doing something right.

"C'mere." Removing the hand from your thigh he reached up to the back of your neck and lifted you up, bending over you and meeting you half way to steal a kiss he spoke low, his voice a little strained from the effort and the position, "You're amazing, y'know that?"

Wrapping your arms around his neck you moaned into the kiss, hips still trying to keep up with his fingers as they stroked in and out of you, "Mhmm."

You were so caught up in the kiss that you didn't notice the hand between your legs disappearing, did not notice what he was doing until you felt the heavy head of his cock tapping against your clit. You moaned into the kiss, hips jumping at the surprise and the sensation, body bowing up to press against him as much as you could.

That little jump of surprise had Benny clenching the base of his cock tighter, fighting against the urge to lose control. Your fingers were digging into his neck, his hair, his shoulders, whatever you could get hold of and he knew he had been right, he was not going to last long.

"Papi please..."

All he did was smile, line himself up, and drive as far and as deep into you as he could. A shiver overtook him as your pussy clenched around him and your entire body trembled as you lay back over the desk, back arching and your one hand digging into his shoulder hard enough for your nails to leave marks, even through the shirt. He didn't stay still long, immediately moving to withdraw and slide back in, "Is that what you wanted?"

You nodded, eyes closed and bottom lip between your teeth.

Hands moving to hold your hips tight and pull you to meet each thrust he let some of his control slip, glancing over his shoulder one last time while he still had the capacity, his head snapped back to you when you groaned again, frustrated.

He had to close his eyes and collect himself, "What's wrong baby?"

"More, need more." Your hand came down to wrap tight around his wrist and try to use the leverage to move your hips against his, "Please.. so close."

Borracho knew, you didn't mean close to coming, he could feel that much. You meant close to what you wanted, what you needed to get there. Changing his stance slightly and moving one arm so that he could brace himself above you he whispered in your ear, "What do you want querida? Harder? Faster? Want me to play with you?" He chuckled, dropped a sloppy, open mouth kiss to your neck when your pussy fluttered around him.

"Yes, that." You giggled.

Benny was done for, then and there.

Still leaning down over you, reclaiming your mouth, he slid his hand back to thumb over your clit and with your arms still wrapped tight around him Borracho let the last of his control slip away. The desk was shaking beneath to two of you as he drove into you over and over, groaning slightly when you buried your face in his shoulder, your sweet little moans and cries muffled into the fabric of his shirt.

It came over him quickly once he felt your body jerk and go rigid beneath him, your pussy pulsing and clenching around him sent him over the edge. It was all he could do to keep himself quiet with you trembling and gasping for breath. Once his own tremors had subsided he dug his hand into your now messy hair and drug your mouth to his for a bruising kiss that was all tongues and teeth. "I fucking love you, you know that right?" He whispered between kisses, groaning when your nails ghosted over the nape of his neck.

You sighed, all of your strength leaving your body all of a sudden. "I know baby." You tugged him back down for one more kiss, "I love you too." before he begrudgingly stood up and pulled away from you.

Winded, trying to ignore the tremors still pulsing through his body, Borracho stood up straight and tucked himself back into his jeans leaving his shirt untucked. "C'mon sweetheart." He reached down to pick up your leggings and help you stand up, "We'll get you cleaned up at home."

On shaky feet you stood up, one hand bracing on his shoulder for a moment, "In a hurry to get home?"  

He chuckled as he helped you get back into your leggings without falling over. "Maybe." With one hand on your thigh he guided you back to sit on his desk as he knelt down and helped you back into your sneakers. Standing up Borracho leaned in for a kiss, winking at you before he stepped back to finally do up his jeans and belt. "Unless you wanna stay here longer?"

You stayed there, perched on his desk, still catching your breath and trying to hide the way your legs were shaking, "I'm good." You watched him as he moved around, pulling his gun from the drawer and putting it back on his belt, then gathering up his phone and keys, slapping the laptop next to you shut.

When he seemed ready to go he paused, looking you over one more time, sitting on the edge of his desk, legs crossed,  nd hair disheveled. Smirking he stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on the back of your head pulling you into a kiss. Benny chuckled when you uncrossed your legs and shifted to let him step closer.

"What're you thinking handsome?" You settled your hands on his sides and leaned into the kiss.

Voice quiet and sure Benny moved his hand to your hip and easily tugged you off the desk, letting you slide down his body to land on your feet, "You're amazing, I love you," He dipped his head for another fleeting brush of the lips, "And it'll be weeks before I can sit here without getting a hard on."

That made you laugh, but it also made you blush and lean into him to hide your face, "I'm sorry? I think."

Borracho patted you on the ass with another chuckle, "Don't be." He leaned down and snatched his gear bag off the floor by his desk, "Let's go."

You let him guide you out of the office, bag slung over one shoulder and his hand at the small of your back, shivering as his hand slipped under the hoodie to settle on bare skin. By the time the two of you made it to the elevator you had calmed down enough to relax into Ben’s side and talk casually. You were about to reach up and kiss him again when the ding of the elevator doors made you jump.

"Borracho!"

Ben’s face hardened instantly at the booming voice of his boss and his hold on you tightened, pulling you close to his side, "Boss, what're you doin' back here?"

Nick was fidgety, eyes pinned and face red and sweaty, "Bar was a bust tonight, too wired to get any sleep," He sniffed loudly and rubbed at his face, "Thought I'd come see what kinda trouble I could get into here." Apparently for the first time Nicks eyes settled on you. "Looks like you got into some trouble of your own there Borracho."

He snorted once, his hand flexing at your back, "Got tired of waiting on me I guess, came down here to drag me home herself." His voice was both detached and a little deflective, covering for you and himself, playing you off as another annoying girlfriend.

You would have been upset if it wasn't for the soft and steady pressure of his hand at your back, Benny’s thumb passing back and forth, gentle and comforting. Letting you know his words did not reflect his feelings.

Nick laughed and stepped towards Borracho, slapping him on the back. "Y'know if I had a nice, little piece of ass like that at home..." He dragged his eyes up and down your body, "Well, I might actually go home." Nick laughed loudly at his own joke.

Borracho forcing out a chuckle, subtly guided you towards the elevator and away from Nick.

Apparently taking the hint Nick laughed again, "Hey, don't let me interrupt." He stepped past Borracho not so discreetly trying to steel a look at your ass. "Don't let her keep you up too late bro, we got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

When you were finally, safely, inside the closed elevator you groaned heart still pounding from almost potentially getting caught, "I know I don't know him, but I really don't like your boss."

"Not a lot of people do, don't worry." Ben leaned back against the wall beside you, "I"m sorry."

"What're you gonna say when he tells everyone he saw me down here, leaving with you?"

Benny held your eyes and smirked, "The truth." The doors dinged and opened to the parking garage.

"Which is?"

Grabbing a fist full of the hoodie he tugged you in the opposite direction you had been walking , your body bumping into his in the process. "You got tired of waiting on me to come home so you came down here and dragged me home."

When he noticed you staring out the corner of your eye he came to a stop beside his truck and carefully pressed you back against it,"This, is just between you and me baby. No way in hell am I gonna let Nick or any of the other asshats I work with know that you came down here to surprise me and let me fuck you on my desk." He tossed his bag in the back of the truck one handed, eyes never leaving yours, as his hands settled on your waist, "Definitely not gonna tell them that I walked you right past the boss with my cum still dripping out of you."

You shoved him back away from you, groaning in frustration as much as embarrassment, "Not helping!"

He easily came back to stand in front of you a cheeky grin on his face, "I'm serious though, okay?

"I know, I know. Just still can't believe I did that." You reached to cover your face but Benny stopped you with easy hands and a gentle shake his head. Looking him in the eye again you smirked, "You're a bad influence on me Magalon."

"Don't I know it."

The End

~~~~ 

[justreblogginfics]

This character just does things to me and how @tropes-and-tales writes him is just perfect!✨

I truly appreciate the way this character is written and how each fic is such an organic tale that makes it very relatable on a whole other level with enough fluff and angst that I just truly love and look forward to reading and rereading every single time (me and the angst again 😅). This character holds a special place in my heart (various other characters on the masterlist do too, you should definitely read the fics for them!) and he can honestly just stay there. ☺️ (If you read this and you want to read more, there is an entire masterlist full of different characters and fics to read!).

Benny “Borracho” Magalon Masterlist

(Titles marked with an asterisk * should be considered 18+ only due to adult themes, such as sexual situations, adult language, smoking, violence, etc.)

Mini-series:

Always Miniseries:

• Usually, Not Always *

• Almost Always *

Angels in Disguise Miniseries:

• Part I

• Part II

• Part III *

• Part IV *

Girl Next Door Miniseries:

• Part One

If You Weren’t You Miniseries:

• Part One *

• Part Two *

Newest Regulator Miniseries:

• Part One *

Riptide Miniseries:

• Riptide

• Underwater *

• Rescue Me *

Talk Dirty Miniseries:

• Talk Dirty to Me *

• No Give *

Together Miniseries:

• In It Together *

• Back Together

One-Shots:

• Creature Comforts *

• First Base *

• Just Be *

• A Million Reasons *

• Ours:  Mine and Yours *

• A Package Deal

• The Past is Never Past

• Something Different *

Head Canons and Drabbles:

• Drunk dancing

• Falling asleep with him after he’s had a long day

• Forehead kisses

• Going out with the guys, then coming home to his girlfriend *

• “If you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up”

• Person A helping person B through a panic attack

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 17: Brambles

10/17: Brambles

Universe // Characters: Den of Thieves - IT Reader // Benny “Borracho” Magalon x IT Reader 

Rating: Explicit 

Benjamin “Borracho” Magalon is sharp. His slicked back hair, hawkish nose, goatee, tattoos. His eyes are sharp, attuned to pick out details around him, forget big picture bullshit. His words are sharp, when he decides to use them. When asked for information on a crime scene, he’s quick and concise with the facts. When asked a question by the brass, his answers are mostly one word. When getting busted on by the guys, his retorts are quick flicks of sarcasm and low blows.  

Everything about him is honed like a razor’s edge, safe if you rub your thumb over it one way but incredibly damaging if you don’t. He likes being this way. When you’re sharp, people are cautious of you, keeping you at arms length to keep themselves from being cut and hurt. Even the guys in Major Crimes handle him cautiously in the bullpen but not when they’re all out in the field. They use him like a knife: sheathed until needed then wielded with abandon. 

You apparently have missed the memo completely. 

He hears noise coming from the server room and goes to investigate because it’s a slow day and he’s tired of listening to guys share their conquest of the flavor of the week stories. As he gets closer, he hears a variety of beeps and then a muttered “fuck.” Peering into the room, he sees you sitting on the floor, a laptop balanced on one knee and a handheld device in your hand scanning for something. 

“Did you try turning it off and on again?” he quips. 

But then karma knocks him on his ass swiftly. You turn your head surprised at his sudden appearance, and you’ve got a small flashlight in your mouth. Your lips are wrapped around the cylinder and your cheeks hollow when you spit it out and drop it on the floor. All his blood rushes southward at the sight and the innocent, wide-eyed look you give him isn’t helping matters either. 

“Can I help you?” 

He glances around looking for the guys or video cameras. Surely he’s getting pranked. Or else he just walked on the set of a very poorly funded porno. This actually has Big Nick written all over it, he’s sure of it. Well, if he’s having a joke played on him, he’s going to take it as far as he can. 

“Maybe. I’m a little bigger than that flashlight though.” 

It takes you a minute to understand the innuendo but when you do, you roll your eyes. “Disgusting.” 

The realization that this isn’t a prank hits him like a cold bucket of water. Before he can apologize, you slam the door shut in his face before going back to your work. He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads back to the bullpen, trying to shrug the nagging feeling of guilt. 

He’s sharp and you got nicked. But there was sharpness to you and he got nicked as well.  Now you both know better for next time. 

***

“Internet is down.” 

“Again?” 

“Z, call IT.” 

“I ain’t calling down there again.” 

Henderson laughs. “Oh that’s right, that little girl boxed your ears last week.” 

Borracho lifts his head up and glances around at the guys. “What happened last week?” 

“Z tried to ask that cute little IT girl out on a date last week,” Henderson is overcome with laughter for a couple beats. “And what did she say to you, man? ‘Not if you were dipped in-” 

Tony Zappata is not used to being turned down by women and this is evident by the glare he’s giving Henderson. “I actually offered her a bite of my sub and she said no.” 

“Actually,” Connors chimes in, “She said ‘not if you skipped it to me across a pool of antiseptic.’” 

Seems like Borracho isn’t the only sharp one. He picks up the phone and calls down to the IT department. 

“Dan in IT.” 

“Magalon in Major Crimes. Internet is down up here.” 

He sighs. “I’ll send MIT back up.” 

Back up. It might be you so he heads over to the server room and sure enough, you turn the corner with your laptop and bag of equipment. You have white headphones wrapped around your neck with some kind of podcast playing through the speakers. You tap one side of the headphones and the talking stops. You glare at him as you approach the server room so Borracho holds up his hands. 

“I’m sorry about last time.” 

“Really?” 

“I thought the guys were setting me up. Playing a prank.” 

You open the door and prop it open. “What made you think that?” 

“Because you’re too cute to be a computer nerd.” 

You’re back to glaring at him but Borracho stands by what he said and holds your stare. You eventually sigh in defeat and turn towards the servers. 

“Why do they call you MIT?” 

You give him an incredulous look. “Because I graduated from MIT.” 

“Wow. That’s impressive.” 

You glance over your shoulder before opening your laptop and pulling up a diagnostic program. “So which one of the Major Crimes guys are you?” 

“Borracho.” 

“The drunk?” 

“You know Spanish?” 

“Born and raised in LA, yeah, I know Spanish.” You hit a couple of buttons. “I’m not going to call you a drunk, so what’s your real name?” 

He’s sharp but so are you. Iron sharpens iron. “Benny.” 

You reach behind one of the server boxes and snap a wire back into place. “There we go. Loose cable. Internet is back on for you guys.” 

He watches you close your laptop and stand up, dusting off your jeans. “So what’s your name.” 

You smile at him. “MIT works for now.” 

***

Borracho stops by the server room a couple days later and unplugs the cord that you had fixed. He goes to the bullpen but hears Henderson calling down to IT, apparently giving whoever is on the other end of the line some grief. Borracho turns on his heel and goes back to the server room. He’s propping open the door when you come around the corner. 

“Again, Benny?” 

He shrugs. “Looks that way. Was thinking I was going to try to fix it.” 

“Oh, you have a degree from MIT now?” 

“Yeah, course I do.” He grins and points to his neck. “That’s where I got this tat.” 

You laugh, a genuine soft sound, before going into the room. He has to remind himself that he’s sharp and needs to be careful with you. He’s not sure when it happened, but he likes you. You’re pretty, sweet, and smart. You’re sharp but only when you need to be. Genuinely, you’re soft. And his palms itch to find out just how soft you really are. He wants to kiss you, feel your perfect mouth against his. He wants to feel how you would fit in his arms, underneath him, staring down at him. 

But he doesn’t want to hurt you, get you caught in the brambles of who he is. You’ll only emerge with cuts and scrapes that will heal but will leave you scarred. He’s sharp and he doesn't want to leave his mark on you. 

“Benny?” 

He snaps out of his thoughts just in time to see your toe catch on your equipment bag and send you stumbling towards him. He instinctively reaches out and catches you as you crash against his chest. Details start gathering in his brain: the nervous flex of your fingers in his flannel shirt, the wild beating of your pulse in your neck, the nervous huff of a laugh that leaves your lips. Oh God, your lips. 

You’re going to hate him, hit him and never come back up to the server room but he can’t help it. He kisses you and knowing this is the only time he’s going to have with you, he holds nothing back. He kisses your top lip, scrapes his teeth against your bottom one, and even risks sweeping your mouth with his tongue. 

He feels you moan more than hears it, a vibration in your ribcage that his hands are holding. Your hands hold either side of his face and press him even closer to you. He feels your tongue slide against his and all his senses short out momentarily. Is this happening? Are you really kissing him back? Are you okay with this? 

A door slams down the hall and you both jump back away from each other. You end up staring at each for half a heartbeat before you grab your bag and laptop and dart out of the room. He stands there for another moment before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“Fuck!” 

***

Three days pass and Borracho can’t stop thinking of that kiss. He can still feel you under his hands, against his mouth. The guys are starting to notice he’s more surly than ever. He needs to get you out of his system. And if he can’t have you, then he’s going to have to find a replacement. Nick always gets more than enough girls for the post piss test party and maybe he’ll take advantage of that tomorrow. The door to the bullpen opens and there you are, eyes roving around the room. He can’t breathe.  

“I figure with all the issues you guys have been having with the internet, I may as well show you how to do basic troubleshooting.” You look around at them. “Who’s the most reliable?” 

Z stands up. “I am.” 

“Sit down, Subway boy,” you snap and your eyes land on Borracho. “You up for the job?” 

He’s sharp and he notices little details. He sees the minute smile that touches the corner of your mouth. You know exactly what you’ve just said and also know that you’re making him walk across the room to get out of the bullpen now that half his blood is on its way to his groin. 

He’s in love with you, he realizes, at that exact minute.  

He throws his pen down on the desk. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?” 

You make a hasty retreat towards the server room, your pace picking up the closer you get. He hears you giggle when you swing the door open and stumble through it while he grabs the doorknob and closes it behind him, locking it for good measure. You’re on each other immediately, lips crashing together, hands pulling at clothes. Did he still have a condom in his wallet? Please let there be a condom in his wallet. 

“Wait, wait a minute,” you whisper, pushing him away slightly. 

He tries to refocus, calm down, but he just wants and it’s been so long since he’s felt this way, desperate and…not sharp. Your hands run over his chest, his shoulders, around his back. You smooth your palms over the planes of his body and it doesn’t hurt you. It hurts him though. He feels vulnerable, like you’re the one with the razor blade, getting ready to nick and slice and cause him to bleed. As he stares down at your face, lit with the blinking lights of the servers, your eyes searching his face for what, he has no idea, he realizes he would cut his own throat and bleed out for you if you wished for it. 

But you’re too kind to ever wish that on him. You would sooner turn the blade on yourself than hurt him. He can see the apology you’re trying to muster, to offer for your abrupt departure the last time you were in here together. He knows the kind of person you are because he’s come across so many people that are your opposite. Criminals, party girls, girlfriends, ex-wife…coworkers, you are the antithesis of all of them. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally manage to say. “For running out last time. I…got scared.” 

He lets his hands drift down your arms, feeling the smooth skin against his fingertips. “I get it. I do.” 

“I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.” 

He tries to not laugh at that. “You don’t have the best track record? I’d like to bet it’s better than mine, mamí. 

Your smile is one of pure relief. “You’re different from the other guys.” 

They’re grenades and he’s a dagger. They explode and cause as much damage as possible, not caring who gets caught in the explosion. He’s for up close and personal damage and does it well. That’s why he has to be more careful with you. 

“You’re kinder than they are.” 

He scoffs at that. “That’s not a word that’s usually used for me.” 

“That’s because people don’t take the time to notice you. Or you don’t let them get close enough.” You press yourself closer to him. “I’d like to get to know you better.” 

“Aren’t there any other boys closer to your age?” He doesn’t really know how old you are but you certainly look significantly younger than he is. 

You wrinkle your nose. “None worth the time getting to know.” 

Good enough for him. He leans down to kiss you again but stops. “How old are you?” 

“Thirty-one.” 

His heart almost stops. He’s forty-six. Fifteen years difference. That was definitely something to address. Later. Maybe this is all you want, a quickie in the server room. If he’s lucky, you’ll want a couple of them before you grow tired of the sullen, middle aged man and move on with a computer programmer who lives in the suburbs and telecommutes to Silicon Valley. 

“Benny?” 

He immediately refocuses back on you. “Yeah?” 

Your hands go back to kneading the soft fabric of his flannel shirt. “Is this…I mean, are you okay…we can-” 

He kisses you as sweetly as he can in the moment. He holds you gently, kisses you softly, and does everything in his power to keep from spinning you around and taking you against one of the single server boxes. He feels your lips curl into a smile against his and suddenly the game is back on for the two of you. 

As sweet as your mouth is, he wants to taste all of you. He breaks away from your lips, and starts nipping and sucking on the column of your throat. Your hands are just as busy as his mouth as you tug his flannel off his shoulders and then pull his t-shirt over his head. You lean back and trail a hand down his chest, a small, deep groan coming from your throat. As if he needed any more encouragement to keep going. 

He pulls your shirt off over your head before filling both his hands with your satin encased breasts. You were gorgeous. All soft skin, everywhere he touched was smooth, firm…young. He stops that train of thought by pulling your bra off and immediately drawing one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue flicks over the hardening peak while you run your fingers through his hair and bite your lip to keep from making noise. He drops a hand to the button of your jeans and flicks it open, dragging the zipper down. You squirm just enough for him to get his hand inside your panties and his fingers slip easily through your folds. 

“Dios mio, mamí,” he presses his cheek to the swell of your breast, “you’re so wet.” 

You scrape your fingernails through his hair. “All for you. Can’t…can’t stop…” 

He slides a finger inside of you. “What was that?” 

The moan you give is full of sin. “Can’t stop thinking about you. About this.” 

Benny returns to your mouth, kisses you with zero gentleness as he slides a second inside of you. He swallows down your moan as you try to spread your legs further apart. Your hand slips below the waistband of his jeans and firmly runs over his length. You break away from the kiss and smile up at him, eyes almost black with lust. 

“You are a bit bigger than the flashlight.” 

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grumbles as he pulls your jeans and underwear off in one movement. 

You reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet, slipping the black and gold foil packet out and tearing it open. 

“How did you know-” 

You shrug. “You seem like a guy who’s always prepared.” 

He pushes his pants and underwear down just low enough to roll the condom on before pulling you to the end of the server box and lining himself up. “You sure this is okay?” 

You hook one of your legs around his hip and plant your other foot on the floor. “Yes, please.” 

You keep eye contact with him as he pushes forward, easily sliding into you. He rests his forehead against yours as you both take a moment to adjust but the sounds you’re making, the quiet whimpers, almost send him over the edge right there. He either has to move or this is about to be over before it begins. But then you roll your hips and he takes that as his sign to move as well. You’re perfect. Your body fits perfectly against him, his hands molding perfectly to each curve and rise of you. You’re tight, but not uncomfortably so. He moves his head slightly so his lips brush your ear. 

“Feels so good, like you were made for me.” 

You don’t say anything but you shift, canting your hips at a different angle and then biting your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Does that feel good?” He’s murmuring nonsense, anything to stave off his orgasm and let this last for as long as possible. “You like feeling me inside of you?” 

“God, yes. Please,” you gasp and dig your fingernails into the meat of his shoulder blades, “Please don’t stop.” 

He couldn’t stop if he wanted to at this point. “You’re going to come for me, mamí?” 

You bury your face against his neck. 

“Let me feel you come. I want to feel you co-” And he does. He feels you clench down on him, hard, and then your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm. He presses himself as deep as he can as he spills himself into the condom. In the back of his mind though, he wants to know what it feels like without that barrier, to come inside of you and watch it drip out. Maybe, if this continues to be more than just a once and done thing, you’ll let him. You’ll trust him enough to do that. 

He peppers kisses along your neck before pulling out. Both of you set about cleaning up and getting re-dressed. He ties off the condom and drops it in the trash can in the corner of the room, while you cover it with the tissues you used to clean yourself up. When you’re both dressed and look more or less presentable, you lean forward and kiss him. 

“Thank you.” 

He kisses you back. “Thank you.” 

“We should do this again sometime,” you smile up at him. 

“I think we’re going to have to, considering you didn’t show me anything about troubleshooting the internet.” 

You pick up your bag and laptop. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep coming up here whenever there’s a problem.” 

Oh no. What a shame, he thinks to himself. He watches you unlock the door, give him one last smile, before leaving the room. He gives himself another moment, a chance to enjoy the dwindling lightening feeling under his skin before heading back into the bullpen. 

Benjamin “Borracho” Magalon is sharp, but you, despite your intermittent sharpness, are ultimately soft. He only hopes you’re soft enough to bend when the blade passes over you so you won’t be cut.

[chemicalalice]

Hello! I hope you’re having a good day! May I please request Benny Magalon coming home to his wife and kids after a long day of work, tucking the kids into bed and cuddling with his wife.. (your work is amazing btw) 🙂

Title: Homecoming

Summary: Benny at home after a bad day. A small, extremely fluffy, pretty angsty, slice-of-life, with soft!Benny

Pairing: Benny Magalon x female!Reader

Warnings: Pretty tame but mentions of child violence/death in regards to his job. Please be mindful of yourself and do not read if this content bothers you.

Word count: 1237

When Benny finally pulled his car in his driveway after a day from hell that included two dead kids, he found himself just sitting there. The engine ticking as it slowly cooled off in the night air was the only noise in the car besides his soft uneven breathing. He felt drained and couldn't even find the energy to push open the car door, let alone pull himself up and out and all the way to his front door.

Most days with this job were bad. But they were the kind of bad that years of seeing the worst of the worst had made him slightly immune too. Bad was relative now. It had to be. Otherwise there was no way someone could stay sane or survive in his line of work. He had seen it before. Burnout. Careers that crashed and and went up in flames, ruining families and lives with it. He didn't want that for himself. He didn't want to end up like Nick.

He looked up at his house. A light clicked on in the front window, joining the other lights already glowing in the second story and the kitchen. A small shadow raced by the window and the curtains moved slightly, followed shortly later by an even smaller shadow.

Benny smiled and though it was exhausted, it was genuine. This is what kept him strong, sane. This is what he worked so hard to come home to each night. What made life worth living.

He could picture what was going on inside perfectly. You would be standing over the stove, working on dinner while yelling for your son to slow down so his sister doesn't fall and hurt herself trying to keep up. You wouldn't really expect a reply besides more shrieks and giggles as the kids continued whatever game they were playing.

Benny's chest suddenly burned and he sucked in a breath, everything narrowing down to those glows of light and his intense desire to be in there with you, with his family. He shoved open the car door and practically ran to the front door, not caring if any of his neighbors saw and thought he was crazy. He wanted to be in that light with you, not alone in the dark outside, haunted by the experiences of the day.

The kids practically attacked him as he threw open the door, their shouts of "Daddy" filling him with warmth as they threw their little bodies at his legs. You emerged from the kitchen shortly after, and it was as in the breathe he had felt like he was holding since the car was punched from his body at the sight of you and how, in that moment, he didn't think he had ever seen anything more beautiful. You would have laughed if he had said it out loud. Your shirt had a splash of red sauce across it and you were wearing the sweat pants that had paint stains on them, your hair was messy and your makeup was slightly smeared from a long day, but you had the smile that was just for him. He wanted to kiss you then, properly, but with this kids hanging off him he settled for your quiet "I'm glad you're home" and a soft press of your lips to his cheek before you disappeared back into the kitchen.

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

Benny always insisted on being the one to get the kids ready for bed when he was home. His job caused him to keep odd hours so he wasn't always home for his family's nighttime ritual. He didn't want to wake up one day and realize his kids were all grown up and he missed out on being a part of it.

He idly listened to you wash the dishes from dinner, the faint strains of the music you were listening to drifting up, as the kids splashed in the bath and flooded the floor. He would have to clean it up before you got upstairs and yelled at him. He didn't care though. Seeing his kids happy was all that mattered to him.

He let them play until he heard the music shut off and then he was hustling them out of the bath and into their pajamas. His son was currently obsessed with Where the Wild Things Are so the three of them crowded into his son's bed and he dutifully pulled out the book. His daughter was sleep by the second read through, and his son was having trouble keeping his eyes open by the third.

He moved slowly as he lifted his daughter up and brought her to her own bed, making sure she was tucked in before return to his son placing a kiss on his head before shutting off the light.

You were waiting for him out in the hallway, already changed into your pajamas with hair damp from the shower you had taken. And as the events of the days bubbled up inside of him, the images of the two kids whose lives were ended so cruelly, so early, today he found he couldn't tear himself away from the spot in his kids' doorway, eyes fixated on every slow breath they took.

"Baby?" Your touch on his arm was soft, your voice even softer, worried. His eyes were wet as he turned to look at you. You pulled him to you without another word, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull his face down to nestle in the crook of yours. He never told you the details of his worst cases, and you understood. Saying it aloud was a form of reliving it. You were always there for him if he needed to talk, but some days, like now, he just needed comfort. Nearness. A reminder that he was safe. His family was safe. He was home.

You led him by the hand to the bedroom. He began stripping out of his clothes, not even having the energy for his own shower, and you we sitting on the bed, propped up against the pile of pillows you insisted the bed needed by the time he finished. He crawled up next to you and wrapped his arms around your middle, his head resting on your chest. Your arms wrapped around him as well, and it moments like these they felt like is own personal shield against the world as he shook silently.

The guys from work would rib on him if they saw him like this, had given him shit in the past when he passed on the drugs and the women at their little unsanctioned "office" parties, said what a "good boy" he was. But it didn't bother him. He had everything he wanted right here. And he knew, deep down, that they envied his life; his family; his stability; you. You were beautiful, you were the mother of his children, and you were his. You were there for him in the good times, and you stood by him in his low times, because lord know he wasn't perfect.

You were humming something, he realized. He was too sleepy to really pick up on the tune. Your fingers were running gently through his hair, slowly lulling him to sleep. Thank you, he thought. I love you. I wouldn't survive without you. He wasn't sure if he managed to say it out loud before he finally slipped away.

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

Tag List:

@buckybarneshairpullingkink

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Procedure Part 2

Part One | Masterlist | Next Part

Notes: Alright so it's gonna be three parts not two but that is IT

Also I'm posting from mobile so if the title looks janky, that's why

Length: 6.1K

Warnings: Light angst, tons of fluff, I know I said this chapter would have explicit content but I felt that I needed to shore up my narrative bridge I'm SORRY next one I promise

Summary: You hadn’t bothered with dating apps in so long, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. At best, it could push you out of this mental rut and get you back into a flirty mood. At worst, it could scare you off from dating again for god knows how long. It wasn’t as if Ben had ruined you for other men. And there were plenty of fish in the sea, weren’t there?

“Is she still asleep?”

“Yeah, she’s out like a light.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben sighed. You could practically see him hunched over his desk, scrubbing his hand across his eyes.

The call to come and pick up Olivia had come at midnight. You’d only been in bed for half an hour, and you’d spent that half hour scrolling through your phone. Seeing Ben’s name pop up on your screen had been like a jumpscare, and you hadn’t hesitated to pick up.

He had sounded so disappointed and worn over the phone, half-grumbles and apologies of, “Late call,” and, “Only one on duty,” and, “I wouldn’t ask, but it’s an emergency.”

Your reassurances had fallen on deaf ears for the first round of explanations, but when you’d managed to break through to him, you’d told him that it was no problem, that you’d be over. You’d realized on the drive over that it wouldn’t be as simple as packing Olivia into the car and bringing her home. She was already asleep, and you knew from bitter, bitter experience that waking her up and shuffling her to another location would mean a sleepless night for the both of you.

Finding yourself alone in Borracho’s apartment was so strange. You’d been there dozens of times, sure, but it was usually for a couple of minutes at a time to pick Olivia up or drop her off. You were a little stunned at how neat it was, but at least he was keeping it clean for Olivia. Ben had always been so busy, and between his mess, your mess, and the baby’s mess when she was small, your home together had always felt so overcrowded with stuff in a way that was impossible to get a handle on.

You’d expected to have to neaten up, but there were just a handful of dishes in the sink and a basket of unfolded laundry.

“It’s okay, honestly,” You insisted, slouching back against the arm of his couch. “Worse comes to worse, Liv wakes up to seeing me here and we have a repeat of that time she thought she’d teleported in her sleep.”

Borracho’s chuckle made you smile. He had been in such a state when you’d arrived up, phone buzzing in his pocket and jacket in his hand as he’d rushed to get out the door.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” He added.

“All good.”

“Stay out of my fridge.”

“I can’t even have a snack?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t start expiration date hunting.”

“I feel like you saying that means that you know you have something in there that wouldn’t meet my standards.”

“Cabinet snacks only. I’m instating that rule.”

“I hear you, but with respect, I will at least grab a beer.”

“I’m gonna get back to it here.”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“...Ben.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stress. It’s one in the morning and I have nowhere to go.”

“Not for the streets?”

“Oh my—Hang up and go solve crime shit, Magalon.”

“Alright,” He laughed. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You pulled the phone back from your ear, shaking your head as you looked around the living room. You could watch some tv, go back to scrolling on your phone…Or do Ben’s dishes and fold his laundry to later distract from the fact that you had definitely gone through his fridge for expired food.

--

You could not remember the last time you were awoken by another person in a way that wasn’t Olivia jumping on your bed, or poking you in the cheek and asking if she could watch Paw Patrol while she had her breakfast.

The feeling of a broad, warm hand smoothing over your arm made you stir, your brow furrowing as you twisted your head toward the touch.

“C’mon, up,” Borracho murmured. “You keep sleeping like this and you’re gonna have the worst crick in your neck.”

You pulled in a deep breath, rolling onto your back and yawning widely as you squinted against the lamp light.

“Hey,” You mumbled. “You just get in?”

“Couple minutes ago. Stuck my head in to see Liv, she’s still KO’d.”

“Mm, good. Everything okay with the—” You yawned again, “The case?”

“Good enough as it can be for now. Zapata was able to come in, take over.”

“Time is it?”

“Almost three.”

“Damn,” You mumbled.

“Sorry—”

“Dude, stop apologizing,” You nudged him lightly with your knee. “It’s your job.”

“I know, but…”

You tipped your head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as you took in his frown. “What is it?”

“This was supposed to be your night off.”

You smiled a bit at his insistence before you pushed yourself up. “We’re parents, Ben. We don’t really get nights off. Nights away, maybe. It’s alright. It’s never gonna be perfect, but this isn’t bad. I promise.”

Borracho nodded, casting a sidelong glance and smiling softly.

“Good.”

“Good,” You parroted before reaching up and pinching his cheek. “Quit frowning.” You stretched, pushing yourself up. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Whaddayou mean?” Borracho frowned. “You’re heading out? You have any idea what time it is?”

“Two minutes past when I asked you what time it was?”

“Just stay here. I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m not kicking you out of bed, Ben.”

“No, just grab one of my shirts and—”

“You have Olivia all day tomorrow. You need your sleep as much as I do—More, even.”

Borracho was quiet for a moment, seeming to weigh his options before he shrugged and stood.

“Alright.”

“Great. So—”

“We’ll share.”

“Goodnight—What?”

“Bed’s big enough,” He shrugged. “Go on, get ready. I’m gonna have some water and wind down—Be in in a bit.”

“...You sure?”

“I’m the reason you’re here. Let Liv be the reason you stay.” His eyes searched your face, and you fought to keep it neutral as your heart ticked up in your chest. “I will feel better knowing you’re safe and not driving right after you got up.”

“Yes, but think of how rested I—” You stopped, face pinching as you swallowed a yawn. Borracho gave a slow, unimpressed nod before tipping his head down the hall.

“Go on.”

You hesitated for a second before you took a step back, hands raised in surrender. “I know better than to argue with you when you’re in detective mode.”

You heard him huff a soft laugh as you turned, heading down the hall. You glanced back toward him, relieved to see that he’d turned away before you headed into his room. You closed the door behind yourself, flicked your light on, and for a few moments you just let yourself…Look, and smell.

The bed sheets were a set from the old place—dark grey, with mismatched grey and blue pillow cases. The scent of his deodorant and cologne, the mingle of yuzu and bergamot and wintergreen…You pushed off of the door, sighing. At least you’d done your skincare and everything at home, no need to worry about the fact that you had none of your stuff there. You rifled around in his dresser for an old shirt and a pair of his boxers, changing as hurriedly as possible on the off-chance he came in sooner than you expected.

You climbed into bed, drawing the sheets up around your chest and rolling onto your side. Was this your side of the bed? Had this been your side of the bed when the two of you were together? It must’ve been, right? Why else would you have picked it now?

You glanced back as you heard the door open slightly, offering a soft, “You’re good,” before he opened the door the rest of the way. You settled back down, resting your head on the pillow and listening to him shuffle around.

You remembered the feeling of this, but it seemed a world away now. He wasn’t slamming drawers shut, and you weren’t sighing loudly in the hope of speeding him along to get him to shut the light off. The bed dipping behind you made your stomach swoop, and you forced yourself to take a quiet, steadying breath as he shut the light off. You let your ears hone in on the hum of the AC, the odd shush of a passing car on the road.

“...You still awake?” Ben murmured.

“Yeah.”

“You did the dishes.”

“Mhm.”

“Folded my laundry, too.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s, you know. Blah blah blah.”

“Mm…You threw out my mustard, didn’t you.”

“You’re lucky that’s all I threw out.”

--

Waking up to an empty bed wasn’t anything new, and waking up in those sheets was a little unfamiliar—but opening your eyes and seeing a mahogany dresser and not your window was jarring. You drew in a deep breath as you steadied yourself, listening closely. It didn’t take long for you to catch on the soft clink of dishes down the hall, and the sound of Spongebob and your daughter’s giggling.

You pushed yourself up, taking up your phone and eyeing the time. Nearly 9—shit. Why hadn’t Ben woken you up? You swung your legs out of bed, pushing yourself up with a wide yawn. You could smell coffee, and for as much as you should just get dressed and run out, that was absolutely your first priority.

--

“There you are.”

You fought back an eye roll in favor of taking hold of the mug of coffee Ben held out to you.

“Saying ‘there are you are’ as the person who didn’t wake me up is incredibly bold of you,” You grumbled, slouching back against the counter.

“Mommy!”

“Good morning, bug,” You smiled, resting your hand on Olivia’s head as she barrelled into your side, nearly sending the coffee sloshing over the sides of the mug. “You sleep okay?”

“Uh-huh. But I had a dream aboudda bear.”

“A bear?” You gasped. “Was it really big and scary?”

“Yeah!”

“Did you get away?”

“Yeah!”

“Phew!” You sighed, pretending to swipe a bead of sweat away from your forehead. “Thank goodness.”

“Mom?"

“Yes, bug.”

“Did you sleep over here, too?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but found yourself stalling for one. “Uh…” You turned to look at Borracho, brow furrowing—only to see your expression mirrored.

“Livvy, why don’t you go get dressed,” He suggested, “We’ll get breakfast at the diner.”

“Can I get pancakes?”

“Of course.”

“With ice cream?” Olivia looked between the two of you with beseeching eyes, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. There was no other way to get her out of the room for the two of you to talk—not when ice cream was potentially on offer.

“One scoop,” Borracho conceded. Olivia screeched, zipping down the hall to her room.

“...Well, remember that you chose that sugar high,” You smiled.

“A sugar high that you backed us into.”

“Backed yourself into that one, pal, we could’ve thought of something else.”

“Well, you didn’t seem to be coming up with anything.”

“I haven’t had any coffee yet,” You muttered, finally raising the mug to your lips. Borracho smiled, walking a little closer.

“So, if she does ask again?”

“I came over to say good morning?”

“So we lie.”

“As if you’ve ever had a problem with that.”

It left you so immediately and so flippantly, and you felt Ben go tense beside you. You glanced toward him and found his expression closed off, eyes focused heavily on the tile of the kitchen floor.

“...I’m sorry,” You murmured, hands shifted around the mug. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No?”

“Nn-nn. I was teasing. Shitty joke.”

You saw Borracho nod slowly, and you took a deep draw of coffee, ignore the burning splash of it in your stomach.

“Okay,” You cleared your throat as you turned, setting the mug down. “I’m gonna put my pants on and head out.”

“Could stick around.”

“I already folded your clothes and did your dishes, that’s all the free labor you’re getting out of me today.”

“I meant to get breakfast.”

You took the sight of Ben in—the slight hunch of his shoulders as he leaned against the counter, the curl of his hands around the edges of the faux-marble, and speculative, almost warm gaze that he was giving you.

“But it’s,” You nodded over your shoulder, “It’s a you and Liv day. I don’t wanna take away from your time with her.”

“You won’t.”

“Ben.”

“You don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Ben reached out, swatting your hip. “Go get dressed—and use the mouthwash on the counter. Your breath stinks.”

“Shithead.”

“Swear jar.”

--

Breakfast should’ve been the end of it, but Olivia had insisted that she show you this really cool thing she learned how to do on the monkey bars (which turned out to be just…Knowing how to cross the monkey bars). You’d been ready to tell her that you ought to head home, but Ben had caught your eye, smiled, and given you a small nod. Maybe he really had felt bad for making you come over the night before—or maybe he just understood how badly Olivia wanted to show you her skill on the monkey bars. Whatever it was, the two of you had watched Olivia zip around the park as her sugar high kicked in, and spent nearly two hours at the park with her.

You glanced into the backseat now, smiling at her slow, hazy eyes as she peered through the window.

“I think someone’s gonna have a little rest when you get inside,” You murmured. Ben hummed as he pulled the car into a parking space behind yours.

“You got plans for the rest of the day?” He asked.

“Oh,” You sighed, stretching and squirming in your seat. “Just the usual stuff. Laundry, groceries…Got a couple of little maintenance things.”

“Anything you need help with?”

“No, I’ve got it.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, twisting in your seat to get a better look at Olivia. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay, hon?”

“Mmhm.”

“I love you.”

“Love you. Mwah.”

“Mwah,” You blew her an air kiss before you turned to Ben. “I’ll um—I’ll see you tomorrow, too.”

“Yeah.” For a moment, it looked like he was teeing up to say something else, but he just smiled and hit the door lock to let you out.

--

At the beginning of your separation from Borracho, when you first started dropping Olivia at his place for the weekend, you spent your time digging yourself out from under the disorder and mess. After that, you sorted out your furnishings, paired down the things in your bedroom, your kitchen. You learned to shop for two people instead of three. You clipped coupons when things were particularly tight. You got new sheets and gave Ben the old one. You repainted your bedroom. You had things to do.

And you still had things to do today, but you found that you couldn’t talk yourself into doing any of them.

Every time you started to do one task or another—halfway through loading the dishwasher, a quarter of the way through separating your laundry out, in the middle of checking the contents of your fridge for expiring or near-expired food, you wound up lost in thought.

Holding a mug just over the dishwasher. Eyeing one of Olivia’s ankle socks and one of your ankle socks as you failed to find either of their partners. Sitting criss-cross applesauce in front of the fridge and staring blankly at the drawers.

Sleeping with Ben had felt so…Good. The two of you hadn’t fucked, obviously, but you’d forgotten how nice it was to just be asleep with someone. You’d missed it a long time ago, sure—when you’d started sleeping alone, you used to build a wall of pillows up behind yourself, just to feel cradled. It hadn’t been the same, and after a while, you hadn’t really needed it anymore. But you’d roused a couple of times last night—not fully, just awake enough to note your surroundings and drop back off—but Ben had been holding you. His body had been pressed so firmly against yours, his rough cheek against your neck, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other stretched out under your head. Maybe it was his little shifts that had woken you up—the little flex and loosening of his fingers around your shirt, or his nuzzle and sigh as he likely dropped in and out of sleep himself.

How long had it been since he’d been asleep with someone? You’d heard about dates, but you hadn’t heard about girlfriends. Had he had any? Did he curl up with them like that? Did they do his dishes, fold his laundry? Go through his fridge?

Well, they at least hadn’t done that last one—if they had, you wouldn’t have found that mustard.

You shook yourself from the thought, leaning back from the fridge with a grumble of, “No. No.” You weren’t going to torture yourself thinking about one freak occurrance—Damn, your knees really were really that loud, no wonder Ben had heard them a couple of weeks ago.

You shut the fridge, reaching into your pocket for your phone. You hadn’t bothered with dating apps in so long, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. At best, it could push you out of this mental rut and get you back into a flirty mood. At worst, it could scare you off from dating again for god knows how long. It wasn’t as if Ben had ruined you for other men. And there were plenty of fish in the sea, weren’t there?

--

“Welcome to the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.”

Alyssa looked just a little too gleeful for your liking as she said so, swiping through your Hinge matches. You scoffed, turning to watch the kids attempt to field ground balls. They were all failing spectacularly, and adorably.

“It’s not that bad,” You grumbled. And it was true, it wasn’t that bad—it was so much worse. You’d been on the apps for precisely three weeks, and so far you’d had 10 conversations. Half of those had been dead-end ‘hi’s, three of them called you a MILF, and two had just opened with, feet pics?

You had held off telling anyone that you’d signed up for the apps, but you’d needed to commiserate with someone, and you knew that Alyssa had recently braved the exact same horrors.

“It’s not that good, though—6’4, so—”

“Probably 5’9.”

“You okay with that?”

“I mean,” You shrugged, “That’s Ben’s height, so whatever.”

“Mm…This one isn’t holding any fish…But I also can’t tell which one he is, it’s all group pictures.”

“Swipe left.”

“On it.”

“When’s the last time you went on a date-date? I mean not just, like, coffee or drinks, like something that felt substantial?”

“Pfft, shit girl, I don’t know,” Alyssa shook her head. “It’s been a while…Actually might’ve been Gus.”

Damn. Your last real date had been Ben. You perked up as Olivia bent down to scoop a ball up—and missed it entirely.

“I’m starting to think all of the kids should get their eyes checked,” You muttered.

“So should this guy,” Alyssa tipped your phone toward you. “Jeff, 42. 'No fatties, baby mamas, no gold diggers.’ As if this slob has any gold to dig.”

“Please swipe left on Jeff.”

“Bye-bye Jeff—oh shit, wrong way—Oh, you matched!”

“What!” You screeched, taking the phone out of her hand and hurriedly opening the conversation, fumbling with the controls, “Oh shit, shit shit, he’s already typing—Shut up!” You nudged Alyssa as she tipped her head back with laughter. “You are banned from swiping duty.”

“It was one—One mistake—”

“Heck no. You can’t be trusted.”

“The hell are you two witches cackling about over here?”

You glanced up as Henderson neared, eyeing your phone.

“Mind your own business,” Alyssa nodded back toward the field. “Isn’t there something else you should be doing?”

“You’re making a racket and distracting the kids.”

“Oh please—”

“We’ll keep a lid on it, Gus. Sorry,” You offered.

“Thank you—You see how easy that was?” He asked, pointing toward you.

“Go mind someone who needs minding,” Alyssa scowled. Henderson shook his head, turning to head back toward the kids. You looked down at your phone, eyeing the next profile.

“...I think he saw your phone,” She muttered.

“Hm?”

“Just saying.”

“So what?”

“Long as it doesn’t matter to Ben, either.”

“It wouldn’t.”

“You sure about that?”

You frowned at the insinuation before you looked back toward the field. You saw Ben looking toward the two of you as Henderson leaned into him, speaking into his ear.

“...Yeah,” You shrugged, forcing your focus back on your phone. “He dates, I’ve been…Out with people. We’re adults.”

“Mhm.”

“Alyssa.”

“No, sure! Sure.”

--

The sight of Borracho’s name popping up on your phone was as unexpected as it had been last time, and you were practically out of your bed before you answered. You’d had a few uninterrupted Fridays, but you’d sort of wondered when he’d wind up needing to call you again.

“Hey,” You answered. “Give me five minutes to get dressed, I can be over there—”

“You don’t—That’s not why I called.”

You frowned, stilling in front of your dresser. “Oh…Kay? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

You tentatively lowered yourself to sit on your bed again, brow furrowing.

“So you called because…?”

“I thought we could talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything?” And then he seemed to think of a better response, hurrying to add, “I just feel like we haven’t spoken much outside of pick-up and drop-off, since we didn’t really, um—We didn’t get the chance to talk after practice yesterday.”

That was true—a thunderstorm had moved in, cutting practice short and sending everyone scrambling for their cars.

“I guess not,” You scooched back. “How are you?”

“M’alright.”

“Yeah?"

“Yeah.”

“Work?”

“It’s uh—” He drew in a long breath, exhaling, “You know. It’s how it is.”

"Really painting a picture for me, detective.”

“What about you?”

“It’s good, work’s fine.”

“Good.”

It was clear from the silence that ensued that you each expected the other to go on, but for a moment, neither of you spoke.

You offered, “So—” as he said, “Listen—” And then each when quiet again, soft chuckles huffed out on either side of the phone.

“Sorry, go ahead,” You offered.

“I was just…I don’t want you to get annoyed.”

“Did something else in your fridge expire?”

“No.”

“Not sure I believe you.”

“You owe me a new mustard, by the way.”

“Deduct it from the monthly.”

“I will.”

“What were you gonna say that you thought was gonna piss me off?”

“If you start—I mean you never know what it’s gonna be like with someone in person, you know?”

And no, you didn’t know, but Borracho pushed on before you could ask him to clarify: “I can just be around, or have one of the guys come get you—”

“Ben.”

“—Or run a background check, ‘cause—I mean there are whackos out there.”

“I know, I’m speaking to one right now.”

“What’s the name on the profile?”

“I meant you, doofus—Henderson told you?”

A guilty pause, chased by a muttered, “He mentioned it.”

“Oh, my god.”

“I’m just saying—”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No no no, hang on. Wait.”

You listened as he shifted in his seat on the other end of the phone, and suddenly you were so immeasurably glad that this wasn’t a conversation you were having in person. Of all things, you could never successfully hide your embarrassment from Ben—your lip-gnawing, hand-wringing, the way you scrubbed your sweating palm across your heated cheek and did your best to look anywhere but his face. But what did he look like now?

Was he rolling your eyes at your perceived overreaction, or did he have that sweet, contemplative look that he got when he was trying to figure you out, that little pinch between his brow and puckered purse to his lips? Was he on his couch? In his kitchen? Was he calling you as he laying down on his grey sheets, his head on a mismatched pillowcase?

Any and all prospects made you squirm as you stared at the storage bin at the end of your bed, wishing that there was a way to crawl out of yourself and fold up inside, surrounded by clean sets of sheets and extra towels and old pairs of pantyhose that you would probably never wear again, but couldn’t bring yourself to throw out.

“I’m not trying to be a dick, alright? I just…I wanna know that whoever’s around you is a good person.”

“I wouldn’t bring a bad person around Olivia.”

“I know that, but right now, I’m not talking about Olivia—Not just about Olivia. You should have someone good…You deserve someone good.”

Your heart sank into your stomach as his tone softened and quieted. For a moment, you wondered if Borracho was thinking of crawling out of himself and curling up in a storage bin, too.

“I’ve had good people. I know what they’re like. Hell, I married one. Had a kid with him, too.”

“This a relationship you never told me about?”

“Stop that,” You chided softly. “You’re a good man, Ben. You know that.”

“...Yeah.” It was a gritty and flat reply, and you were almost certain that he didn’t believe it himself, that he just wanted you off his back.

“Anyway,” You pushed on, “I will keep your offers in mind. Might even take you up on them.”

“Good.”

“And you’re always welcome to ask me to fake an emergency if you’re ever on a bad date, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure. Make me sound like a real nightmare. You wouldn’t have to try all that hard.”

“It’d be a tougher sell than you think.”

You smiled, sliding down against your pillows.

“It’s very sweet of you to lie, Magalon.”

“‘M not lying.”

“If you say so.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You were never in the Scouts…And it’s sweet of you to worry.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Now he was rolling his eyes, you were certain. You smiled, closing your eyes and resting your head back against the pillows.

“What did you and Liv get up to tonight?”

“Devon and Henderson came over for pizza.”

“I’m assuming that’s when he mentioned the—Right?”

“Pleading the fifth.”

“Oh, please.”

“I do not recall.”

“No, sure.”

“What’d you get up to?”

“Oh—Went to Home Depot. I’m thinking of redoing the bathroom—Alone,” You tacked on hurriedly.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I can handle it.”

“I’ve seen your Pinterest boards and the shit you like on Instagram and I don’t think you can.”

“That is so rude. And stop creeping my social media.”

“I’m not creeping.”

“Really.”

“I’m just gonna politely ask that you forgo any use of shiplap.”

“How the fuck do you know what shiplap is?”

“You weren’t the only one in that apartment when you had HGTV on.”

“I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“I tried not to, but after a while it’s impossible to block out.”

--

It wasn’t every Friday per se, but every other week or so, one of you would call the other.

It was supposed to be the exception to the rule, those late-night calls—the ones that had everything to do with the two of you, and not nearly as much to do with Olivia. You felt a little guilty for that, sometimes. For so long, she was the only reason that you had the lines of communication open with Borracho. But when you called one another, both knowing that Livvy is asleep, there wasn’t even a hint of pretense that you may be calling to talk about her.

Borracho still teased you, still prodded at the open wound of your attempt to get back into dating. And you did go on a couple of dates, but none of them felt right. The guys had been nice, polite, but…But things hadn’t flowed. It wasn’t that you hadn’t felt a spark—you’d given up on that hope and notion a long time ago.

But for every awkward pause, your mind piped up in the most unhelpful way: Ben would know what to say right now.

--

“I’m not going to lie, I’m…A little surprised that you suggested this.”

Truth be told, you were a little surprised, too. The first couple of months of the new schedule with Borracho had been a godsend at first. You had more time to run errands, clean up around the house, spend some time with friends, and just have some you time. But…On some Fridays, you just didn’t know what to do with yourself. Your friends weren’t always free to hang out, and sometimes you missed having another heartbeat around the house.

Asking Jessa to hang out had been a snap, last-minute decision. You weren’t regretting it…Yet. She’d recommended a bar that you’d never heard of, with cocktail names that were frankly a little bit embarrassing to request—but they were tasty, and just the perfect kind of strong.

“I’m glad you did, though!” Jessa hurried to add. “Honestly, since the divorce, I haven’t gotten out all that much.”

You nodded, folding your arms on the table. “I know the feeling. After Ben and I split, I spent all of my time home with Liv. I was trying to fix everything, like patching holes in a sinking ship.”

“Ugh, I know exactly what you mean.”

You watched as Jessa shifted in her seat, toying with her straw.

“Can I ask…I mean—” She cleared her throat. “I’m going to say something and I really hope that it’s—”

“Sure, you can ask him out.”

Jessa’s lips parted in surprise, and you couldn’t help but smile. She huffed a stunned laugh, her hands coming up to try and shade some of her embarrassment.

“Oh my god!”

“It’s alright.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“A little. So, you gonna do it?”

“I’ve been thinking about it?” Jessa’s nerves were plain on her face, her fingers swirling the straw so quickly that you were a little worried some of it would spill over the sides. “I mean, he’s very nice, and he’s sweet…And hot. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

You couldn’t argue with her on any of those points. And to your surprise, it wasn’t eating you up the way that the thought had a couple of months ago. At least…The welling of petty jealousy that had reared its ugly head when you first saw Jessa squeezing his arm at practice felt a little more quiet now. Maybe you were more settled than you’d thought you had been on the idea. Maybe all you had needed was a little more time to yourself.

But that wouldn’t explain the little nagging pit in your stomach that told you this still didn’t feel right.

--

You could warn him, right? You could just let him know what was coming. Jessa had your blessing, but you could just warn Borracho that she was going to ask him out…Couldn’t you?

You stared down at your phone, blinking a little blearily. You’d had one more drink than you should’ve—your head had been spinning in the back of your Uber on the way home. You’d already texted Jessa to let her know that you’d gotten in alright, and to thank her for hanging out. But your finger hovered over the phone icon beside Ben’s name.

It would be normal to call him. Right to, even. You’d been calling one another so regularly that it would be weird if you didn’t call him. So—

Chicken fingers first, actually. Put the phone down. You could make chicken fingers and fries in the air fryer. Put those in to cook and just have to quick call with him while those—No, you would want to eat them as soon as they were done. Okay. Put the phone down and put the food in the air fryer. Have some water while you wait for it to be ready. Eat, then call Ben.

That was a good plan. That was the best plan you’d had all day.

--

You knew halfway through your second chicken finger that you weren’t going to call him.

The resignation of it sat steadily with you as you watched the Dodgers blow their lead, sending the game into extra innings.

What if Jessa changed her mind and decided not to ask him out? Then he’d just be waiting for a shoe that was never going to drop all because of your big mouth. No. You weren’t going to call Ben—not tonight, anyway.

You polished off your food, had a liquid IV, went to bed, and woke up with a mild hangover and no regrets.

--

“Oh boy,” You chuckled, leaning back against your car and folding your arms across your chest. “Someone looks all tuckered out.”

Olivia just grumbled as she slouched past you, sliding into the backseat of the car. You peered inside, watching her tip her head back against the seat, closing her eyes.

“I’m getting the feeling that bedtime wasn’t strictly mandated last night,” You added, turning to watch Borracho amble toward you.

Damnit, but he looked good. He was still a little sleep-ruffled himself, hair mussed. He let out a similar grunt as he scrubbed the heel of his palm against one of his eyes.

“We may have stayed up to finish watching the Dodgers.”

All the better that you hadn’t called him.

“You mean the game that went into extra innings and didn’t end until 12:30?” You asked.

“Acting real high and mighty for someone who clearly also stayed up to watch it.”

“Well, I can handle my sleep deprivation.” You tipped your head to the side as he stopped in front of you. “Long week?”

“Little bit.”

“Mm.” You reached out, righting the flipped collar of his shirt. You felt the weight of his gaze as you smoothed it before folding your arms again. You expected a goad, a question from him, but you got…Nothing. You met his eye and your breath caught in your throat. There was a blend of concern and loving care that he hadn’t regarded you with in a long time. You frowned, shaking your head a little.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna—” His eyes darted to the open backseat door before he pushed it closed. “I’m have something to tell you, and I’m not sure how you’re gonna feel about it.”

“Okay?”

What the hell could it be that he was so worked up about? Had someone died? Was he being transferred to another department, another sheriff’s office? You didn’t want to uproot Olivia from her entire life, but you didn’t want to cut Borracho’s access off to her, either—

“I’m gonna go out with Jessa.”

Your mouth worked wordlessly before you managed: “That’s it?”

Borracho’s concern washed with confusion, his expression twisting.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?’”

“Dude!” You reached out, whacking him in the arm. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“Ow!”

“Oh please, that did not hurt.”

“Well—” Borracho reached out, pinching your bicep sharply.

“Hey!” You shrieked, batting his hand away.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’?’”

“I thought you were going to tell me you were being transferred or something! God,” You sighed, leaning against the car. “When’d you guys talk?”

“Last night. Just texting.”

Even better that you hadn’t tried and call.

“You said yes?”

“I’m gonna.”

"You haven't yet?”

“Because—” He glanced toward the back of the car again. “You two seemed to be getting along. Wanted to make sure it was cool.”

You melted a little, nodding.You patted his shoulder before getting into the driver’s seat, glancing back toward Olivia and lowering her window when Borracho knocked on it.

“I’ll see you at the game tomorrow hon.”

Olivia nodded, snuggling back in her seat as she mumbled, “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It was a surprise to see Borracho knock on the passenger window, rolling it down just enough for him to lean in.

“You’re sure you’re good with this?” He asked. You smiled, nodding.

“I gave her the green light. I don’t mind giving it to you, too, Ben.”

For all of his training, his skill, he was unable to hide his surprise from you. It took him a moment before he leaned away, patting the side of the car. You caught sight of him waving to Olivia one more time as you pulled away from the curb, and did your best to ignore the unwavering sight of him in your rearview until you rounded the corner.

---

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[goodnitedrdead]

Y’all know how it goes, honey bears. Leave a prompt and a character (in the tags (any Maurice Compte character or Pedro Pascal character are welcome)), and I’ll write a quick little drabble, one shot, or might even have a mini series inspired by a prompt.

I’m going on a spontaneous road trip from TX->CA and I have some time to kill. I promise I have a Carrillo story lined up but I’ve been so busy thirsting over Joel Miller. I’m trying to finish the game before the show comes out but damn, daddy pixels got game🙈

ANYWAYS MWAH TO YOU ALL<3

~ GETTING BACK TOGETHER ~ DIALOGUE PROMPTS

requested by: anonymous

request: dialogues about "getting back together after some time apart"

Feel free to use and reblog!

"I thought about you."

"I wasn't sure how you felt. God, I didn't know how I felt."

"What do you mean you want to try again?"

"I don't know why I trust you."

"Wait, you're really serious?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"You know, this can go horribly wrong."

"But I need you."

"The feelings for you just wouldn't leave me alone."

"This just feels right."

"No matter what, I'm always coming back to you."

"Can you just hold me for a moment?"

"Oh my God, we're really doing this!"

"But I thought we were done, you and I."

"It just isn't the same without you."

"We must be mad."

"And why should I want to go back?"

"What has changed for you?"

"It was a big mistake."

"I regret letting you go."

"I regret leaving you."

"I will wait for you."

"You have a chokehold on me."

"Who are we kidding?"

"I don't care about anything else."

"Stop doubting!"

"You know exactly what you're doing. And I hate that it's working."

"But how do I know that you really mean it?"

*sighs* "You're right."

"Don't ever go again."

[bobafetts-princess]

Good Luck Charms

Months 1-6

Summary: A nasty case has taken over the FBI and LASD headquarters. You’re paired up with Detective Magalon and it doesn’t start out well.

Pairings: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Benny and reader don’t get along and say some mean shit. Canon-typical sexism.

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this one for about a month and I think it’s ready to be posted. I hope yall like it!

Months 7-12 can be found here!

A file slaps down on your desk labeled ‘confidential’ and you look up to see your boss, Mike, standing there, brows furrowed. It’s a case you’ve been working on, suspected crime circle specializing in the trafficking of teenage girls.

“Bad news,” he starts and you stifle a groan as he sets down another file. When your boss says bad news it always leads to worse news than he’s letting on. “LASD already has a case going on this guy and his affiliates, so you’re going to be working with them to get him,” you flip open the file and skim the new file before you register what he said.

“LASD?” He nods at you and your stomach drops. “Which precinct?” The grimace he gives you confirms your worst fears.

“Uhhh,” he starts, pulling a little at his collar. “Nick’s precinct….” You stifle another groan and try to remain professional. Big Nick and his guys are the worst. Unless you’re talking about police work, then they’re the absolute best. There’s been many rumors through the grapevine over the years about their off-the-books parties after a big case or a load of passed of drug tests. You’d also heard that their police work was so solid that higher ups let these off-the-books parties slide. Big Nick himself has run off at least three female agents, unable to cede any ounce of power to a woman.

“Magalon,” Mike is saying but you missed the start of the sentence.

“Hmm?”

“Benito Magalon,” he says again, “goes by Benny or Borracho,” he repeats, glancing at his own case file. “He’s the lead on this.” Of course the lead on this case would be a guy whose nickname means drunk. Just your luck.

“You’ll go there through the week, but Fridays you’ll stop in and give me or Bob a brief of what you’ve done,” he was explaining and you nod. Today was Monday so you’d probably spend the whole week over there.

“Friday here or Friday there?”

“Friday there this week. You’ll need the time to build team trust, they’re a tight-knit group. Their last new member,” he glances at his file again, “Connors, joined close to 7 years ago. They’re wary of newcomers,” he explains. “Head on over there now, introduce yourself, and get settled. See you next week,” he grimaces again before taking off and heading back to his own office.

Figures. He’s not gonna introduce you or help you get settled, he’s probably just as terrified of Big Nick as all the other agents who know him. You gather your things, instructing your secretary to send over all the necessary files and head out.

***********

“Borracho!” Big Nick shouts and Benny’s head gives a thump.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Feds incoming. Gonna help you with that case,” he says, holding out his hand. Benny opens his drawer and passes over the bottle of Pepto. “Some dude named Mike? Said he was sending over his best. He’ll be here in 30,” Nick tells him in between swigs of Pepto. “I’m putting his desk next to yours,” he sets the bottle on Benny’s desk and meanders off, probably to tell someone else to move the desk.

Benny rubs at his temples. The feds are probably going to be more of a hindrance than a help, with their rules and regulations. He hates when Big Nick does this, passes off a big case to Benny cause he doesn’t want to do the legwork. And because Benny is the most organized of the group. It should be a compliment him but it feels more like Big Nick is simply pushing work into his lap.

But this case? This case is a goddamned nightmare. Every time he thinks he’s going to break it wide open, he ends up finding another sect of this guys operation. It’s huge, so far stretching from trafficking to coke to heroin to guns and bank robberies. There’s going to be so many agencies involved, so many fucking reports, so many goddamned trials. And Benny, Benito Magalon of the LASD, gets to be in charge of so much of it. He’s drowning in work, reports to siphon through, files to skim. He doesn’t even notice when a woman pops up in the bullpen, his head down and pen in hand as he makes notes.

He does, however, hear the low whistle coming from behind him. Zapata. Dumbass. Benny glances up and has to do a double take at the woman standing in the door. She’s gorgeous, but prissy looking. Her pantsuit and silk blouse probably cost more than his entire wardrobe and the only defining thing he can discern is that she’s stunning.

“How can I help ya?” Nick booms, crossing his arms across his chest as he looks you over. The whole bullpen has eyes on the interaction and Benny doesn’t see the point in not being a pair of them. You give your name, tell Big Nick that you’re fed, give your supervisors name and Nick laughs.

“You’re one of Mike’s best?” He laughs again and Benny feels a heat in his chest. One of annoyance and….anger? Is he angry on your behalf? He finds that he is. They’ve worked with women before, found them perfectly capable of doing their jobs. But here Nick is, acting like you’re not.

“As a matter of fact,” you snap, your voice coming out icy and professional. Benny feels a shot of sympathy for you. “I am his best.” Big Nick booms another chuckle and Benny sees your face tighten.

“Borracho!” Benny groans internally, he wishes they’d let that fucking nickname go. One time, years ago, he got hammered at a fancy event and had to be helped out by Nick and his first wife. The guys started calling him Borracho and it. Never. Fucking. Went. Away. He stands and takes the open space next to Big Nick. “Looks like this is your new partner,” he claps a hand on Benny’s shoulder, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. Benny knows his jaw is ticking, knows he looks frustrated, but he can’t make it stop. Some days, he gets so frustrated with Nick and his stupid macho act. Especially with this case trying his patience and exhausting him. “Least you got something pretty to look at while you work,” Nick snipes and Benny sees your eyes narrow, but they’re narrowing at…..HIM?

“Where am I putting my things?” You ask, lifting the box in your hand. Nick chuckles again, sweeping an open hand to the desk that’s directly across from the only other open one. Borracho’s desk, you assume. The man in question gives you a hard head jerk and shows you to your new desk, home for the foreseeable future.

You’re damned determined not to be the first one to talk, so you set your things down, unpacking. A nameplate with your rank, a small potted cactus, a couple framed pictures, and an armload of files. The activity in the bullpen resumes like you never appeared and Big Nick, still chuckling, heads back to his office. “A fucking chick,” you hear him mumble and there’s rage coursing through your veins. So when Benny asks you a question, something related to the case, you can’t help but snap at him.

“Detective,” you snap, fixing your cold hard gaze on him. “I’m sure I don’t want to be working alongside you every bit as much as you don’t want to be working alongside me. But we have a job to do and I intend on doing it. Whether you like the fact that I’m a woman or not.” Magalon’s lips curl up into a sneer as he responds.

“I don’t give a fuck about what’s in your pants as long as you can make my job easier.”

It’s bullshit. All men in this field care about what’s in your pants. Care if they can sweet talk you enough into taking them off. Care if you’re ’too emotional’ to get the job done. Care if your period is going to set you back a week in workloads. So, you sneer right back.

“I will not be taking shit from you and your crew. I will not be run off like the previous female federal agents that have worked here,” you tell him, raising your voice enough that you’re heard by everyone else except Nick.

It sets the tone for the beginning of your relationship.

*************

MONTH 1

Month 1 is rough. Neither of you speak to each other and when you do, the tone is downright nasty.

“Borracho!” Connors shouts as he comes in that morning. The man in question is sitting across from you, buried in files with tired eyes and slumped shoulders. It’s only 8 AM, how could he already be tired? Probably one of their infamous parties last night. (What you don’t know is that he was here until 2 in the morning and then back at 7)

You sneer at the stupid fucking nickname and Borracho glances up and sees you. “What’s your fuckin’ problem?”

“What’s with the stupid ass nickname? Can’t handle your alcohol?” You taunt him, piercing him with a nasty gaze.

“Maybe a good drink or two would make you less of a bitch,” he sneers right back but it doesn’t have the same venom that yours did. (What you don’t know is that Benny doesn’t hold anything against you, but he also isn’t going to sit there and take your shit either)

The guys exchange a glance, equal parts concerned and entertained.

“Borracho!” Yells Big Nick as he comes out of his office. There’s that stupid fucking nickname again and you roll your eyes. “Come talk to me, man,” he says as he shoots a glance, more like a glare, in your direction. They both look at you when the door shuts and you know that the conversation is about you.

Inside, Nick asks Benny if he wants to run this chick off.

“Nah, man. She’s just defensive. She’ll lighten up,” Benny assures him.

“We can’t have that shit if we want to solve this case,” Nick points out but Benny shakes his head.

“She does great work but she’s heard some shit about us. She thinks we’re gonna be awful to her so she’s keeping us at arms length,” Benny explains. He does like you, at least likes how you don’t take their shit, and your work is rock solid. But LASD and the FBI don’t have the best working relationship and you’ve probably heard bad things about his precinct. Nick likes to party hard and he doesn’t like to do it alone.

“Well, let me know if it gets out of control. I’ll handle it,” he assures him and Benny has no doubts that he would indeed, handle it.

********

MONTH 2

Detective Magalon, as you’ve decided to call him out loud, (dickhead, as you’ve decided to call him in your mind) never asks if you want food when he calls out for lunch. Or dinner. Or a midnight snack. He doesn’t ask you if you want some of his leftovers, doesn’t care if you’ve eaten that day. You barely speak, as a matter of fact, unless it is directly relating to the case. Shelley, your assistant, sends over the files a couple weeks later and they arrive just as you’re planning to be done for the day. Detective Magalon already has several boxes of files you’ve been sorting through so you haven’t needed them yet. It’s a day that you’ve been there for almost 12 hours and only had a protein bar from the snack machine. Benny had a burger and fries for lunch, Chinese for dinner. You can still smell the leftovers of General Tso’s and house fried rice wafting from the containers on his desk.

An agent wheels the boxes in and you peek a glance at Detective Magalon to gauge his reaction. There’s nothing except a tightening of his eyes and a small drop in his shoulders. You can almost predict he’s thinking ‘another long night’ because it matches the echoing thought in your head. You give your thanks to the man, whose name you don’t know, and then stand to grab the box on top. Your stomach gives a nasty rumble, loud enough that Detective Magalon looks at you and furrows his brows. He looks like he’s thinking, then opens his mouth to speak before closing it again. The next time he opens his mouth, he does speak.

“Hungry?” He asks but of course you say no. “I’ve got extra,” he offers waving a hand toward the Chinese.

“No,” you say, giving him a tight smile. The last thing you need is for him to think you’re a helpless creature that can’t feed herself. “I had lunch while you were out.” Not true. You shoveled a protein bar in your mouth in between witness phone calls. He nods like he doesn’t believe you and when you get up 20 minutes later to use the restroom you hear him shuffling but don’t look back. When you get back to your desk, the food is sitting on your desk with a note attached.

‘Tasted like shit anyways’ it says in a slanting scroll that’s neither sloppy or neat and you have to smile in spite of yourself. You wait for Detective Magalon to come back so you can refuse the food but when 15 minutes pass and he hasn’t appeared, you can’t help yourself. You open the containers and absolutely wolf down the food, and you know what really pisses you off?

It doesn’t taste like shit.

Not even 5 minutes after you’ve finished, he’s sitting back down in his chair. He doesn’t acknowledge what he did anymore than you do, and the two of you let a sleeping dog lie.

But you get to the office before him the next day, (and let’s be honest, every other day too) and leave a note on his desk, written in your neat, cramped style were the words ‘thank you’.

**********

MONTH 3

Things have warmed considerably between the two of you after that first two months, especially after that first time he shared food with you. The two of you can ask questions without getting their head bit off. Things aren’t exact cordial, but they aren’t ice cold anymore either.

You’re pretty sure he’s keeping track of days you eat and days you don’t because even though he never asks you what you want, on days you don’t eat, there always ends up being extra of whatever Detectice Magalon ordered. He doesn’t directly offer it to you though, he waits until you’re up from your desk and puts the food down, often disappearing for 20-30 minutes afterwards. You assume he wants you to be allowed to eat in silence without saying thank you (at least aloud) and you’re thankful for it.

The only time he mentions the food is when he gets burgers one time. It’s been a helluva day, so many tip calls coming in as well as reports from surrounding police precincts and being grilled by the district attorney about individual testimonies in a related case. Neither of you have eaten that day and when Detective Magalon dips out around 8:30, you pray he comes back with food for you.

He does, a greasy-looking bag that smells fucking divine. You get up immediately, hoping he’ll put the food on your desk while you’re ‘in the restroom’ and by the grace of the heavens he does. He’s sitting at his own desk when you get back, burger in one hand and a pen in the other. A matching burger and fries sit on your desk and you dig into it eagerly, not even ashamed to be eating basically with him.

Except, you take the first bite and spit it back out. Fucking mustard. The absolute worst condiment. One that shouldn’t even exist if you were being honest. Detective Magalon looks up at you, his eyes amused and a smile twitching at his lips.

“Everything okay?”

You give him a tight smile and nod, pulling the bun off the burger and reaching into your drawers for a napkin. Of course, there aren’t any.

But a stack of napkins lands on your desk, along with a ketchup packet. You grab one and begin to wipe off the offending substance from your sandwich and dropping the napkins in the trash. Grabbing the packet of ketchup, you dump the entire thing onto the burger before you put it all together and glance up.

Detective Magalon is smirking slightly at you from underneath his mustache and you resist the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“I don’t like mustard,” you say, feeling like you have to fill the void. One corner of his mouth ticks up as he responds.

“Noted.”

Your burgers never have mustard on them again.

**********

MONTH 4

Month four brings with it witness calls. It’s time to start tracking down the people who have seen, heard, or experienced weird shit. Your main perp, code name Reaper, legal name Jimmie Smith, keeps cropping up all over LA either right before or right after a crime scene. He’s got lackey’s that do the dirty work, you and Detective Magalon are both convinced of that. But he likes to be there. Likes to watch the chaos unfold. But there’s nothing solid, nothing yet.

You and Detective Magalon are working to change that.

The bullpen is different too, the guys have been working with you for almost 4 months now. They know what they can and cannot get away with when you’re around. They know they can joke about not passing their piss tests but they cannot talk disrespectfully of their latest girlfriend/fling/one-night-stand. They know they can rib you endlessly about your ‘relationship’ with Detective Magalon, but you refuse to answer personal questions. Henderson got stoned on his weekend off? That’ll pass without comment or even an eye raise. Big Nick snorted two lines and fucked his way through 5 escorts? Nope, leave that one an inside thought. Or a group text thought.

You know they gave a group chat, of course they do. They’ve been working together 7 years and partying together every minute of that.

And it doesn’t bother you.

Really.

A call comes through to Detective Magalon’s cell and he’s on his feet within 30 seconds, grabbing his jacket and coffee. You glance up, hoping it’s something to do with the investigation and he nods at you, acknowledging your interest.

“New crime scene. You comin’?” He asks, and you nod, standing and grabbing your own coffee. Today’s outfit isn’t exactly crime-scene-friendly. A pencil skirt with the accompanying jacket and soft-red silk blouse you got from the nearest goodwill. It’s cheaper than buying it new and rich folk don’t give a shit about making money back on their clothes. At least you’re used to wearing pumps, the red of today’s pair matches the red of your blouse.

You dig in your drawer to grab a notepad and for some reason, have no luck. You’re sure that you had one in there yesterday so where did it go? It doesn’t matter because a pad of paper slaps down on your desk and Detective Magalon is standing beside you.

“C’mon. Body is still warm.”

“I’m coming. We’re taking my car,” you tell him, grabbing the keys to your fed-issued SUV. You don’t see his eye roll or the money exchange hands behind you.

What they don’t see though, is you handing the keys over once you hit the parking garage because you still don’t know LA that well. And driving in LA traffic makes you rage, so it’s easier to let Detective Magalon drive.

**********

MONTH 5

More witness statements. More time spent in a car with Detective Magalon. It’s rare you don’t ride together now, and most of the time he drives. He’s more familiar with the streets and traffic, having lived in LA all his life. You know because it was in the file that was given to you when you started working at Major Crimes. You make him take your car, it’s bigger and nicer and the fed pays for gas. You definitely refuse to notice the way he looks, one hand on the wheel and the other up against the window. The way his jawline looks so sharp when the sun—-

Nope. No. Not going there.

Before, when there was full hatred instead of bare minimum cordiality, you never rode together. Even if you ended up talking to the same witness, inspecting the same crime scene, and one time y’all even drove separately to the fed headquarters for the same debrief. But after that time he invited you to a crime scene, you don’t go to mutual places separately. It works fine for the both of you, he doesn’t talk, you don’t ask questions.

One time, only one time, does he ask you a question.

“How long you been in LA?”

“A bit,” you answer, being purposely vague. It’s been about 6 months since you’ve been in LA and the last five have been with LASD Major Crimes. Honestly, you’ve seen more of the city driving around with Detective Magalon than you have off work. You’ve tried more food places from his leftovers than you have for your own meals. He hmm’s, not deterred by your lack of response and you have a feeling that he would’ve given a similar response if you’d asked him that question.

Things aren’t frosty, but they aren’t friendly either.

************

MONTH 6

Month 6 is more of the same, except now when Detective Magalon orders food, he asks you what you want instead of guessing.

And sometimes you order food too, asking politely what he wants to eat. You eat at the same time, passing files back and forth or sharing new information from the case. You never eat out a restaurant, of course. Only in the car in between stops with witnesses or crime scenes or after briefings with the FBI. No pleasantries are exchanged while you eat and to be completely honest, no pleasantries are exchanged ever.

You don’t say good morning or good night, a simple head nod in place of words. You don’t leave at the same time, usually Detective Magalon leaves first and you follow shortly behind. For some reason he’s always in his car when you find your own and pulls out right after you do.

The guys are more comfortable with you, constantly peppering you with personal questions that you steadfastly refuse to answer.

“Gotta boyfriend?”

“Where ya from?”

“Do you drink?”

“When’s your birthday?”

It’s never ending and you do your best to ignore them and give short responses.

“No.”

“Not here.”

“On days when you people are exceptionally annoying.”

“Not today.”

You wonder why all the other female agents were run off from here and you can’t help but think they might’ve been a little too straight-laced for this group. Which makes sense, considering they’re fed and they kind of have to be. Yeah, you’re fed too, but you’re not in fed headquarters. Things are different here and you’re on their turf so you have to have a little acknowledgement for their rules.

To be fair, you don’t really care that any of them smoke weed on their days off. Or get blasted when they aren’t on call. You don’t love the way they talk about their hookups but in the larger scheme of things, it could be worse. You call them out on their shit when the time is right and let things slide when the time isn’t. In fairness, you have a feeling that if these guys find a crack in the facade or think something might bother you, they’ll latch in. They’ll put their hooks in and dig down into that opening until you lose your mind.

Which is why you don’t show them any cracks.

[mariamariquinha]

Bossa Nova (Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x f!reader) - Ten

Nine | Eleven

Summary: Benny's pov (my boy is so stressed).

Word count: 7.482.

Warnings: Bad words, slightly talks about cop corruption, violence, crime, talks about mental/physical health, mention of use of pills, hospital environment and police work.

Author’s Note: I like my men like how I visualize myself: stressed and in need of a fucking break.

I'm also on AO3 now!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

If someone asked any woman who was involved with Benny at some point in their life about him, there would always be a universal phrase: he's complicated. Not 'complicated' in a 'he has a difficult and unstable life' way, because he did, but in a 'he hasn't known how to be a nice guy for a long time' way. 

Daddy issues. Classic. 

He was committed to the Major Crimes guys, especially Nick, because there was a part of him that hated to disappoint. Aside from ego or personal compensation, Benny saw a lot of his own father in Big Nick, so despite the two being almost the same age, the position of power gave O'Brien a very complex image of a patriarch – flaws and all. When Debbie left, it was clear that Nick would follow the same path as that father, with the difference that he would at least try to spend weekends with the children; Benny wouldn't be able to recognize what the 'head of his family' should be if he had to. 

It had been years since he was just Benicio Ramirez Magalon and not Benicio Ramirez Garcia Magalon, as if he erased every particle of his father from his own history in an arbitrary way, but still having that ghost on his shoulders with O’Brien. 

He didn't think much that night, but he knew it would be natural for him to walk away. It must have been the most genuinely decent thing Benny did for any woman under those circumstances. Maybe it was the fact that you knew how to set limits, that you recognized your weaknesses with an ease that Benny couldn't.

In conclusion, he was disappointed to not find you more resilient than finding out Nick slept with informants, which soon enough he caught himself being a fucking asshole. Maybe that's why, because of this lack of cynicism on your part and the excess of the same feeling on his part, Benny concluded that you were destined for good guys. Some who, at least, didn't make the decisions he made.

****

“And we have a fireplace.”

Yeah, indeed, they had a fireplace – one that was basically turning into dust. You stood there with your arms crossed, letting your mother inspect the apartment and make comments about it. While she and the realtor (a small woman named Eidra) went back to one of the bedrooms, you sat on the small bench left behind on the miniscule living room by the last residents, watching your father look through the window.

When you two shared a glance, the answer was all over the place: a huge and big and extreme and frustrated and disappointed no.

****

Listen, it could always get worse. That was life, you know? And you should know better than to expect that the divorce and the whole Isla stuff would pass by you. Well, it passed through you. With a delay, but still. 

Some of this was your fault, you could admit. Your brother had already advised you to negotiate the sale of the house as soon as the divorce procedures were in progress and you were so catatonic, in a way, that you didn't want to add more to what already seemed too complicated. After months, you found the buyers – good price, you made a profit. 

During Christmas, you ended up tripping over the closed moving boxes and spraining your foot, so on New Year's Eve you didn’t enjoy the trip as much as you could. A bad start to the year, but not the worst thing that happened to you in a long time. 

They were organizing a farewell party for Emma; by March, she would be at DEA headquarters leading their forensic team. You had to act surprised, and politely refused to help with the details ('I'm busy with this moving thing'), which she probably took as a bitter departure. Well, it was what it seemed to be. You didn’t call her off with that, but some part of you was feeling that pit of disgust. There was a murmur about whether or not to invite Major Crimes (even though they never attended that kind of thing), which everyone ended up looking at you for clarification. You didn't know, and that's what you said, accompanied by a modest shrug of the shoulders.

“Send an invitation by email, it's less work if they say no.”

Even because you had time to rethink the unfortunate occasions with O'Brien. You felt offended but you also felt guilty, which was a rather cruel conclusion that Nick was indirectly manipulating you. When you told Gina this, she just gave a genuine shrug and sighed.

“It isn’t like he wasn’t that kind of person before, you know.”

You felt bad – you felt used again. Doubted, discredited. And the fact that you thought you wouldn't care if it happened, that you would be as strong as you had been through the divorce, just showed that you had an ability to lie to yourself. Benny left that night and you knew he had the same realization too; you found yourself believing that the opinion of someone who still followed such strict orders from someone like Nick had no opinion value in your life.

You no longer fit into LASD.

****

“You have insomnia and lack of nutrients. I'll prescribe you some pills and vitamins for both, but I need you to pump the brakes. Burnout has been killing people lately.”

Perhaps, deep down, you knew that this distancing also came with your need to hide that your physical health had worsened. It wasn't that bad, but you had barely been eating and… yeah, you really didn't need another surprise with so much going on.

The doctor pondered something, eyeing the papers and you with a serenity that was closer to reticence. You waited, shoulders slumped and eyes heavy, lacking energy to ask anything else. 

“... This seems like a pattern. The lack of sleep, your headaches… Have you considered another type of approach?”

Long short story, no. And he probably knew that too, since you were there and not in a therapist's office, so you saw him lean over the desk and give you one of those scolding looks.

“It’s very normal for people in your profession to have this type of behavior. Considering what has happened in your personal life, I would advise a psychological reevaluation.”

“I’m not depressed.”

But he hadn't hinted at it, or said anything like that out loud, which only made it all make more sense. He sighed in defeat, then signed the recipe and, alongside with it, put a flier about mental health just in case.

The medicines would be an unforeseen additional expense, but it should give you some peace of mind. At least you hoped so. 

****

“Yes.”

“Bad time?” Gina sounded quite confused on the other end of the line, so you frowned at her tone and stuffed the pills into your bag irritably, the breeze not doing much to cheer up your mood. It wasn't even summer anymore, but the day still felt unbearably hot.

“I’m not on my peak, no.”

Gina went quiet for a bit. In the background, you could hear the noise of people coming and going, as if she were in a crowded place. Calmly, you backed up the sidewalk until you were under the awning of the pharmacy you had just left, switching your phone from ear to ear to hear her better. 

“... What was it? Did someone die?” 

“Where are you right now?”

“I am…” You looked over your shoulder, then at the sign of the pharmacy printed right above your head. “Had to run some errands.”

“How far are you from the Good Samaritan?”

“Good Samar-Gina, I was joking about-”

“You won't believe who's here.”

****

He had been quiet since he arrived and it was understandable. Apart from the answers he gave to the police, there was not much interest in having any type of social interaction, which was respected: it was not as if he was or should have been accustomed to the context in which he was placed.

It was different from the other cases they had been following, Z mentioned. Maybe a slip, but no one could be sure because they weren't experts in psychological profiles and the idea of ​​involving the feds was out of the question. For a lot, there was intuition, experiences on the streets, informants… Murph had already checked, there was a strong lead and they were almost there.

No one wanted to mention the damn coincidences that led them to that hospital and, more precisely, the crime scene. Gina, perhaps, had reacted in some way that revealed a truth that no one wanted to verbalize, and Nick asked them to keep an eye on her – Emma’s leaving, until further notice these people would be a bit of a smartass. 

But what would Gina do, anyway? If she could? Would she call you of all people and ask you to pray for your ex's life? 

Still, Benny stood guard at the hospital until Gina finished work and kept an eye on the news, or at least Twitter. If you had known about it, there would already have been news on the internet and, if you had appeared, taken by an immaculate concern towards the tragedy, you would’ve already done so. All in all, the reason why everyone was on their last strings was how you going there could be harmful to the case.

Maybe that was the problem, after all: he didn't know that side of you. What kind of wife you were, what kind of friend you could be. Everything was too casual, limited to observations he made and the things he remembered when you talked. There was no more karaoke, nor costume parties or Cosmopolitans in your cards or a brother to rely on; he knew these things, but none of them were valid at that moment.

So when he saw you peeking down the hall right after Gina had left (when he himself was already determined to get out of there), Benny didn't feel so surprised because he had tested the odds. Cautiously, he stood nearby, watching your diminished, secretive posture pass by the nurses' table and take slow steps to where Theodore was at. He was frustrated, in fact, and maybe a little stressed by everything, because he certainly didn't expect you to make the dumbest decision possible.

You stopped at a safe distance from the room and didn't come any closer. With a bag slung over your shoulder, you gripped the strap tightly, standing still there as you saw what was left of a guy after getting his ass beaten up, perhaps processing things that Benny would never know about. 

The girlfriend appeared: Aileen. She also hesitated when she noticed you, holding a cup of coffee in her hand as she came up from behind. At this point, Benny became more alert, ready to intervene. Interestingly, Henderson was also returning from somewhere, certainly to pick him up, and his louder voice calling your attention caused a beautiful disaster, like an announced tragedy.

You turned around too quickly, right when she was already on your trail, and hit your arm on the coffee cup that seemed hotter than expected. It hurt, of course. You screamed as the liquid burned the skin of your hand, leaning down just in time for one of the nurses to come to your aid. Aileen stood there in confusion as the liquid hit her clothes, and before Benny could take any further steps to take action, the reality that everyone was in a hospital dawned on him and he stopped.

He exchanged a glance with you as one of the nurses took you to the emergency room. 

“What the fuck, is she out of her fucking mind?” Henderson asked eventually, even if they both knew he would apologize later. 

Benny didn't answer him, however; he doubted the answer even though he thought he was aware enough of your behavior. He just watched you go in silence, both fists clenched in anger. 

****

You had your head down, your eyes still wet from the tears from the pain you had felt. The nurse had been delicate and, considering it was relatively calm, was going through the entire process in a well-rehearsed way. The emergency room was still lively, with people going from one side to the other. When you weren't watching her clean the burn, you looked up at the other patients waiting: broken arms, bloody noses.

Last time, you saw Benny with his arms crossed near the curtain that separated your space, even though it was the only one far from the others.

You knew at that moment that you were fucked.

“Boyfriend?” The nurse asked, making you eye her then him rapidly. 

“No,” You two answered in unison, to which you ended up averting your gaze in embarrassment. 

“I'd like to talk to her privately, anyway. If you don't mind,” He pressed a little, not minding the rude tone he was using. 

She eyed him, then you. With a small nod of yours, she sighed in tiredness and rolled her eyes, tidying up the bandage before leaving. 

A silence hung in the air, tense and with a hint of the impatience he was clearly feeling. You ignored this, however, glancing at your injured hand here and there before adjusting yourself better on the stretcher.

“You know, when I was a rookie I used to get quite excited with the prospect of being heard just showing my badge,” He commented, so you couldn’t help but scoff.

“Yeah, yeah, perhaps the biggest problem in America is men with damaged egos because no one cares about the size of their dicks anymore.” 

“You always seem to have a metaphor for dicks.”

“It’s a talent.”

“As is your ability to put yourself in shitty situations.”

You looked into his face for a few seconds and found an anger that, in general, seemed to be the only thing available to you from him. No more smiles or sympathy: Benny had chosen his side of the story and, really, that was fine. Still, you couldn't help but miss the other version of him as much as you did at that moment.

“I'm not going to ask who told you because that would be a really stupid question,” He took one, two steps closer to the curtain, slightly pushing it to cover the both of you. “Let's be adults and then you tell me why you came.”

Good question. Great question, actually. Why were you there? Why did you make the fucking dumb decision to be the bigger person and show up? And, by all intends, to end up with a coffee burn from… 

Yeah, it wasn’t your prime, you could give him that. 

“He wasn't just my ex husband. And I didn't want to come, but I thought I would be an asshole if I didn’t do anything.”

Benny stared at you for a long moment then; he stood there, still, eyeing you as if he was looking for something – to the point of discomfort. You averted your gaze to the floor. 

“I've read your file, did you know that? As soon as you came in and became the talk of the team, I went to find out who you were,” It made you raise your head to him, taken aback by his sudden change of subject. “First in your class, completed a specialization while still graduating. You're kind of a genius, and honestly, you had every right to be a bit of an asshole to people.”

“... You don’t need to say this,” You said.

“What should I say then?”

“I can work with nothing,” And then you snapped at him, seeing his expression shift from serenity to full annoyance. “We’ve been doing this dance very well over the last few months.” 

When he didn't offer any further comment, sighing in impatience from your stubbornness. 

“What I mean is, you're a fucking smart scientist and everything, but you still insist on being naive like that.”

“I know,” You mumbled in defeat. 

“Do you now?”

In other times, there would be a cunning answer on the tip of your tongue; hell, in other times, you wouldn't even let him or anyone talk to you like that. The point was that you were so tired of putting yourself in this position, of facing things that weren't even your business because you had been in that defensive and combative mode since things started to get out of control.

You sighed and ran your good hand over your face, rubbing away the melancholy expression.

“Do you still like him?” You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows in surprise at his question, watching the way he was so serious about it. 

“What’s that supposed to fucking mean?” 

He shrugged. 

“Means whatever.”

“I don’t like him.”

“It wasn't what it seemed.”

“Are you serious?” You couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “You don't know anything about my life to insinuate that kind of thing about me.”

“So answer me without sounding like I'm accusing you of something.”

“Well, then ask questions that don't sound like you're accusing me of something.”

And that seemed to have ended the argument (not the conversation), but Benny didn't move or seem willing to do anything to end the topic. 

“... What?” You asked with impatience. 

“The girl who spill the coffee on you, she-”

“Aileen,” Your interruption came with a huff, while wiggling the fingers of your bad hand. “Yes, she’s a stunning woman my ex cheated me with, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

“I’m not trying to ask anything,” Benny frowned. “You're the one on the defensive. I don't want to know the details, I just need to make sure you don't put yourself in the front line of something that’s none of your business.”

“He’s someone I know!”

“Are you serious right now?”

“No,” You used a firm tone, watching him go from stern to doubtful in a beat. “I’m a human being and unfortunately I’m sensitive enough to visit my ex who was beaten by a gang of robbers. Do I wish I had done something to her for what happened? Of course, but unfortunately I also like my job. And my ethics, if that matters.” 

“I just don't want to have to clean up any messes again.”

Deep down, if you really cared, you would’ve been more outraged by what he had said to you. In the end, you just became even more pissed off, so it probably meant that you were mad. The audacity, the… That seemed like the kind of thing that put him closer to what Major Crimes really was.

“... You're quite an asshole, you know that?”

He sighed, looking away and probably reevaluating a route. 

“I didn't mean it that way.”

“Sure. How lucky would I be to endure two public humiliations without having provoked them? I really must be a saint.” 

“Then I’ll be the bitch. I meant exactly what I meant,” You both shared a stare. 

In fact, he was right: you were complicating everything. If you had just done what you meant to do, maybe you wouldn't have acted so immature, but there you were, holding your ground because you were an idiot. This was so frustrating, so stupid. You didn't need to do that, you didn't need to try to be something you weren't. No one ever imposed this type of behavior on you, there was no gun in your head telling you that things should be that way. 

You felt defeated. Your physicality, your face, everything exuded the reflections of a woman well out of orbit. 

“I'm going to tell you something very honest,” He took a few steps closer, searching the eyes you’d been avoiding until you could be looking at each other again. “I want you away from this case. Not because I think you're gonna mess something up, but at this point it's clear that your judgment can prevail over the evidence.” 

It wasn't like he was wrong, so you stayed quiet.

“Nick is going to end up being pretty scathing about what happened here today, so believe me when I say that this time I'm really going to let you off the hook. You'll owe me one.” 

Again, you remained silent, which was a bit surprising since you almost always had something to say. He was there, stern, giving you a well-deserved scolding, pointing a finger in your face, and it was as embarrassing as it was incredibly satisfying. It wasn't like what happened in your kitchen or anything like that, because he was truly mad at you, not the circumstances. Without Nick, Isla, Emma; it was you and him. You were the target.

His eyes were focused on yours, because he wanted to say it in all words. They seemed even darker, more powerful compared to yours, and that made you move in shyness. It was a side of Benny you didn't know yet.

“And please wake up. That girl isn’t half the woman you are,” This shocked you even more, since he hadn't stopped looking visibly irritated while passing his eyes over your body. “Nor half-experienced.”

Okay, well, that was… Well… 

He shouldn’t have that right, did he? Why were you blinking several times and not saying anything then?

You stayed quiet – you didn’t want to embarrass yourself somehow. And with your silence, Benny just nodded while averting his gaze for a beat too long, passing a palm over his mouth with a tense sigh. 

“She's going to discharge you and I want you away from here, understand?” He murmured, both hands placed on the mattress to cage you. 

If he asked (which he clearly wouldn't), you would explain the details of your drunken confession from that first date. Benny was very intense, definitive; that was his version a little beyond what happened in your kitchen, and if you pushed a little harder, you'd notice that his eyes were darker than normal, putting you in an instant trance, whether out of fear, regret or… something else.

His eyes, at that moment when you just didn't say anything, went from your eyes to your eyebrows and then to your nose and mouth, agitated about how to actually look at you. 

“Am I understood?” Benny pressed with a growl. 

You nodded. 

“Yes or no?” 

“Yes.”

“Great.”

He walked away with some hesitation, but opened the curtain to leave with a brutality that made you jump instantly. You let out a heavy breath, bringing your injured and closed hand to your chest in a somewhat unconscious act of protection, but not necessarily because of him. Benny was right; reactive, but right. 

What the fuck were you doing in that place?

****

“Why did you do that?”

Henderson was driving back to the station when he asked. The car remained silent, with no answer for a long time, and Benny continued to stare at what he had written down of what Theodore said.

“She’s a partner. Big Nick would do the same.”

“I don't think so,” Henderson snorted. “You like her.” 

Benny didn't comment on that either, because there wasn’t anything to add. In any case, the lack of a reply said everything his friend needed to know.

****

Okay, Benny did like you a little. Amicably. At first it was purely sexual, and he even thought about bragging to Connors that he had managed to fuck you first, because he was sure he wasn't going to make it past the first date. But even with all the other interesting women he did the same thing with, the indifference you had made it for him. If it was just that, if you had drunk a little less and gone to bed with him that night, that would be fine to you; maybe you even expected the other guys would know about it. 

Then you two kissed and he didn’t mention anything to anyone. You became funnier and prettier and he noticed the things about you. Benny found out he liked the idea of it being a secretive thing, to remember how you sounded, the texture of your skin and the smell of your hair and keep it to himself. You were an irredeemable nerd, but you were rebellious: you clashed with Big Nick, you had a beautiful, huge tattoo on your leg, you smoked marijuana, you messed with other girls.

He enjoyed your closeness, whether as a friend or as a lover. It was advantageous to have you around.

Since what happened at the hospital, Benny thought about apologizing and saying that he was just upset. They were really close to get that guys, there was a lot of pressure from above after the debacle with the DEA, no one was in the thick of the fucking around. He didn't apologize despite wanting to, though, because he knew things didn't feel easy for you either.

Well, he couldn’t be sure of it, if he liked you as if in a crush or just as a person who he got along with. You made him hesitate to make some kind of mistake towards you, so what Benny could say for certain was that he liked you. Just a little.

****

“Do you know anything about this?”

You and your dad were in the kitchen washing the dishes when he asked. His tone was low, almost discreet to be heard only by you and, hopefully, distant enough for your mother to take note of the question. The room was small, very different from your old house, and the walls provided good coverage so that she, who was on the emergency stairs smoking a cigarette, was at an even safer distance.

Still, you peeked out the small window above the sink and could see the smoke rising from the exact place you saw her climbing. 

Earlier, they arrived talking about how the newspapers and Twitter had reported what had happened to Theodore. You did no more than say that Gina brought it up, but you weren't on the case and it was ethically (as well as judicially) wrong for you to get too close. Still, you tried hard to say that you knew he was okay – which your father clearly managed to see as a half-truth.

“... I went to see him at the hospital,” You mumbled, eyes fixed on the dishes in front of you, not daring to find out how he was looking at you. 

“You two talked?”

“No,” You paused. “But I saw Aileen.” 

He didn't say anything; the tap was still on, but the noise of dishes being moved had stopped. You pretended you hadn't noticed, going to the cupboard and putting away the already dry glasses, trying to stay away from the excruciating gaze you felt on the back of your head.

That silence had meaning; your father could go days without bringing up the subject waiting for you to talk about it. Like it or not, you could let him use this strategy, and you would have more time to decide how to talk about it, but your mother knew this habit better than you and, well, there was a reason why you were talking away from her. 

You closed the cabinet and turned around, moving closer to him before leaning the small of your back against the table, defensively crossing your arms. He turned off the tap, dried his hands; the worried expression never left his face.

“I was in the hallway and one of the detectives in charge called me. I turned around without realizing she was behind me, so she accidentally spilled hot coffee on my hand,” You held up your hand wrapped in the bandage.

“So you two didn’t interact? Aside from this?”

“Like in an indian soap opera, yeah,” Your answer made him hiss. “She apologized, I think. I don’t remember a lot.”

Well, it was a lie – one he could catch from a mile away. You remembered each piece of moment you could grab from that mess: the way her eyes widened at the sight of the coffee being spilled on your skin, the way she raised her hands to reach out, the pain, the step back you gave to make sure she wouldn’t get any closer and, specially, the way Benny and Henderson were watching the whole scene. 

The reason why you didn’t go into a spiral of remorse was this fact, that amongst Z or Nick, the ones who were there were the least worse. Gus was nice, polite and Benny was… Benny. And for days you expected for something, for Emma to give you one last penitence or for O’Brien to spill some shit on your face; God knew you deserved it all. It was a bad feeling. You didn't like the idea of ​​feeling embarrassed, the exposure or even your lack of reaction, but more than that, you felt torn by the idea that you hadn't felt as sorry for Theodore as you thought you would.

“It’s just… I’ve been punching myself for even going there in the first place,” You sighed in defeat, your good hand passing all over your face. 

“Maybe we raised you way too well.”

“That’s not entirely true… But not because of you, that is.”

And you knew you shouldn't have said that, at least not in those words, because then he would come with more arguments about how you should let your mother in, about how she wanted to be part of your life and how it would be better to have her as a support – as a woman-to-woman conversation would be more enlightening.

He didn’t even need to point that out, in fact; you already slipped in before he could open his mouth. 

“I think it's better not to.”

“Because she could be too harsh?”

“Because she could be too honest. I love her, dad, I really do, but I had a hell of a moment with a coworker that makes me ashamed to even look at his direction because of it. I…”

I don’t want to disappoint her again. I don’t want to be a burden. 

It was always much easier for your brother when it came to your mother: she welcomed him and they just understood each other. With you it was always a problem. She said you spent a lot of time with your dad, that you must be like this or that, that, honey, Theodore is a great kid but I don't think he'll come back after college. He returned. You got married. You got divorced and, during all the crises, you were also embarrassed to come back with your tail between your legs to say that she was right in a way. You made your brother swear under professional secrecy that he wouldn't tell her anything, but you still contained details just in case.

So no, it was better not to. It would be another shame, another thing that she would look at you with great pity, and you were tired of putting yourself in that position.

“I'm off the case anyway. Gina doesn't report to me, just like she gave the tests to the person on the other shift. There's no risk of me getting closer to Theodore again.”

“But you were looking for something when you went there. Did you find it?”

You stared straight at his eyes for a long, beating moment. 

“... I did.”

“And what was it?”

For a brief second, you could still feel the sensation of seeing Theodore beaten up, the dried blood and lowered eyes. Could see the way he seemed fine, injured but not unstable, able to still be operative, essential to the industry. 

“Relief.”

****

“I know you.”

You didn't expect it to come out so full of doubt, but you expected him to have some memory lapse in the time you had seen him.

Dr. Cillian Byrne was a professor you had at university just before you changed your major. It was in your first year, at the end of the first semester, and with the changes in the curriculum for your audiovisual expertise, you only had the chance to attend, roughly, three or four of his classes. He was a bit young for the position, people said, and when your academic psychopathy caught other people's attention, they told you the same thing. Unlike him, you never went that far. After you graduated, you joined the LASD and managed to pass the evaluation for field CSI, but with so much bureaucracy in the way, you ended up stationed in the laboratory for good.

Looking at him there, it felt like a full circle moment. You didn't connect the dots until that last name took place and you exchanged glances with Emma from afar, who just shook her head lightly as if to say you shouldn’t mention Ballard. 

“I took some classes with you in college,” You mentioned after saying your name, watching his eyebrows raise in recognition. 

“Right, I remember you. The girl who ran to the second boring stuff in CSI.” 

“The second?”

“It's the rule. First come the academics, then the laboratory rats, then the coroners and only then the self-centered field ones.”

Emma was walking towards you when he said that, so when she got closer and saw that the two of you were sharing friendly laughs with each other, she went from confused to pleased in seconds.

“It isn’t that usual to see a successor at a faraway party, but I feel like it’s going well,” She said.

The hotel ballroom was full (exaggeratedly, but fair enough) and judging by the amount of times you saw Dr. Byrne going from group to group with smiles, you could agree that he was breaking the awkwardness of being there under these circumstances. Maybe it was the mood itself. Everyone was well dressed, sipping expensive drinks they could only have on special occasions, laughing at whoever was on duty and taking photos for Facebook; the boring part could wait until the next day.

“I was telling her she’s the first familiar face I've seen here, which is a surprise,” Dr. Byrne lied, so you sipped on your soda to avoid giving that away. 

“... Oh,” Emma frowned, a confused smile fighting for its life to not make her discomfort so evident. “You do know each other, then.”

“He was one of my professors in college.”

“Almost,” He teased, eyes swiping from you to her. “I found out just after two weeks that she fled to the computers.” 

“You seem to have been upset about this,” She was the one teasing now, on the verge of embarrassment to be honest. 

“Well, when you start hearing how much this student who changed majors became one of the bests… It’s hard not to feel at least jealous, right?”

And perhaps Emma and you would talk about this in the future if it hadn't been in that sensitive context, because it was clear that Dr. Byrne had looked into everyone in the department and was perhaps doing background checks as if he were doing his homework. It was the first time in months that you and Emma exchanged a similar look, raising your eyebrows and understanding the situation right away, sharing glances with an inside joke that you hadn't told each other for a long time.

“She’s really great, I have to admit. Hurts me to leave this whole amazing team, to be honest,” She went the easy and polite way, one hand tapping on your arm. “I'm sure you'll get along great on a daily basis.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Who else would give me a better report on what’s up with the infamous Major Crimes’s gang?” 

This time, the discomfort that had been eating away at the edges and that you were able to overcome came to the surface, which made you step back with confusion close to indignation. Dr. Byrne seemed neutral despite this, smiling from ear to ear as he watched Emma unsure of what to say and then you, coming to the inevitable conclusion that he was an idiot.

“... I’m afraid that I’m not the best person to expect that. Perhaps the sheriff?” You gave one more chance to get away with the topic, but he shook his head and insisted, keeping that smile that started to scare you off a little. 

“Why wouldn't it be you? Emma told me that you all have an extensive professional partnership. Not to mention the quality of your reports on Ballard's cases.”

“Oh.”

“I just told him that you could explore more of your expertise with the complex cases they work with,” She rushed to add, the glare on your face now clear as the day.

“I see.”

“But I believe, Dr. Byrne, that I also added that she knows how to limit herself to technical reports, all personalized for each context. You saw it yourself, as she was an expert on a case with one of our most senior detectives.” 

Only then, perhaps added to the way you were no longer so interested in being friendly around the subject, did Dr. Byrne step back and nod, praising your ability to remain professional in the work environment or something. You honestly stopped paying attention, eyes swiping over your drink in hand to avoid any signs of clear embarrassment. 

“I’m really excited to start this new journey with you all. See you on Monday?” He turned to you, giving just enough time for your reaction to snap your head up and force a smile. 

“Of course. Welcome to LASD.”

You two shook hands, then he left. 

But Emma stayed. 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Did you also mention your friendship with Walsh?” You couldn’t help the venom on your voice, which made her sigh. “Very professional, Emma. Very professional.”

“He just did the research, okay? I wasn’t intending to share everything about you guys, but he just came by with a fucking folder with all your names on it. Not to mention what the sheriff told me…” 

Not that you were in a position to speculate, much less to sympathize with whatever she had faced, but Emma lost her neutral posture as soon as he walked away, that you lost some of your irritation and eyed at her suspiciously, seeing her looking around and making sure no one would hear.

“I made a list of recommendations, but he didn't even read them and said that Byrne had already been chosen. Nick came up to me and said that-”

“You talked with Nick about it?”

“See how weird things are,” She rolled her eyes. “I think he feels threatened. Byrne is close to the sheriff, this could undermine O’Brien's freedoms.”

“And is it bad?”

“I don’t know… I mean, when you know how someone operates, it can be easy to guess, but I’ve never been around him enough to be sure of anything.”

“So you’re suspicious because of this,” You concluded and she agreed. With a deep breath, you looked around just as she did minutes before, catching sight of Cillian and Lennon talking. 

“He’s… an academic.”

“He’s a brat,” You shook your head, biting your lower lip while still staring at him from afar. “Older men, high IQs... Just the smell of testosterone bothers me.” 

“It's not like my feminine presence made any difference.”

When you looked at her again, surprised by her condescending tone, Emma was sipping her own drink with some embarrassment. You didn't know if you should give any approval, if you even had the right to do that, but you knew that it was just her trying to have a clearer conscience about what happened. Byrne was going to take over, and she admitted she had misgivings about the guy – it was noble, like a last shred of ethics in the middle of what seemed like a specifically planned transition.

“... You made it easier for Walsh to take over the case once and for all, didn't you?” 

Emma kept quiet, which was enough of an answer. Not knowing what to say, you nodded along in that silence, unsure if you were shocked or just… relieved. 

“I can understand your disbelief in Nick's methods. Take it from me, I had some problems because of it,” You conceded, so she raised her eyes at you sheepishly. “It's hypocritical to say that in parting, but I was upset that you did that knowing that Walsh would somehow throw me into the fire.” 

“You better than anyone could understand that it was an inevitable consequence.”

“I do, that’s why I never tried to make it a big deal all these months. God knows we have a lot to be forgiven for, so… Be careful with Mathias, ‘kay? Just as you’re telling me to be careful with Byrne.” 

It was the closest you and she could get to resolving the problems. In the future, perhaps, you could look at it more coldly and understand that it was too dramatic, but it wasn't the time; at the moment, the two of you have reached a consensus for the greater good.

The kind that included men with a lot of midlife crises.

****

Benny had seen the whole scene, from Byrne approaching you, the jokes he made you laugh at and even the moment he made you throw a look of disgust at him. He shouldn't even be there anymore: he had a date that night, one that would probably result in a good fuck and none of Emma's rascality. Still, as he watched you interact with those people, Benny ended up traveling in thought again.

He thought he missed what you had risked before. You were more relaxed, determined; you had no way of deciding what he was because the two of you barely knew each other. The dress you wore there was similar to the one on your first date, but not the same. If he tried, he could still feel your awkward drunken ways or, with more effort, visualize the result of an alcohol-free night like the one you were having at that party.

Deep down, Benny wanted to feel like a good guy because, for some reason, he didn't want to put you in that trophy position like he did or would do with other women. This comforted him; encouraged him. If he got closer again, if you started a relationship again, he was afraid that he would succumb to the boredom of not being able to hold on to that heroic feeling of having spared you from something toxic, that would soon hurt you or he would hurt himself.

“Are you going?” Connors asked as soon as he felt Benny shift beside him. “She’s gonna say some words.”

So he stayed, both feet firmly planted on the floor as long as he could, watching each other as Emma went up on the small improvised stage to test the microphone and you, who remained in the same place, one arm resting on the bar counter as you looked at the scene with a blank expression.

“You know, I never thought I would go through this before I was 60, but I think destiny is something impressive,” Emma said. “Having to say goodbye to you all is painful, but I know that this new phase will be transformative for all of us. In a positive way, that is.”

You passed your hand (the injured one) over your mouth, as if you were hiding a reaction even though no one other than him was paying attention to you.

“Since I'm not much of a talker and since I know I said my private goodbyes to everyone here, I'd like to recite one of the emails I received from my mentor once I got my position at LASD.”

Everyone got quiet. 

“True peace is only truly achieved when we realize that we cannot be all good and, therefore, we will be villains for some and heroes for others. It’s an unfair and cruel measure, but despite being protagonists of our own stories, our moral compass will not always point in the right direction. It’s up to us, as human beings, to embrace our weaknesses and ensure that, within our obligations, we can do our best. Therefore, our sacrifices will soon be seen as choices, which will or will not shape who we’ll be as people.”

It was only for a second, a thousandth of a second, when Emma finished that corny speech and everyone applauded, that Benny looked at you again and saw that you looked back. It shouldn't have meant anything to you, just like it did to him, but he knew that, perhaps, that adventure should’ve ended before it began.

That was the choice you two made.

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@seaweeden

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

@mysoulisasunflower

[brandyllyn]

Adventurous

Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Summary: Your friend drags you to an unconventional party. Words: 5.7k 

My Masterlist

Rating: Explicit Warnings: language. smut. lots of talk about consent. fingering. oral (f receiving). PiV.

A/N: This whole thing is @youvebeenlivingfictional​‘s fault. I read one (1) Borracho fic and the next thing I knew I’d read fourteen (14) and rented a truly terrible movie and written 5k+ words. All in about 24 hours.

If he looks familiar it’s because Maurice Compte also played Carillo on Narcos.

"Monica what are we doing?"

Your friend didn’t loosen her grip on your wrist as she dragged you down the hall. "I thought I told you to get dressed up?"

You looked down at your denim shorts and flats. "I put on a button up shirt?"

Monica sighed, stopping at one of the hotel doors. "You are impossible." She let you go finally, fluffing her hair and pulling out a compact to check her makeup. "At least you put on some lipstick."

"Monica…" your voice had an edge of warning and she finally turned to look at you.

"Okay, so you know how I told you I’ve been picking up some extra money on the side?"

"I don’t like where this is going."

"Well, these guys… I’ve been going to their parties. They pay well and mostly we’re just going to be there for show."

"Guys? Pay? Mostly?"

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, "They always get more girls than they need anyway."

"Monica."

She finally blushed. "Look, the girl I usually come with canceled last minute."

"So you brought me?"

"Just stay out of the way and look pretty." Her eyes scanned you and suddenly her hands were on your shirt, unbuttoning it and then tying it just under your breasts. In one movement she, for lack of a better word, fluffed you and then tilted her head. "It’ll have to do."

Before you could complain, before you could say anything, she knocked on the door and an older blonde man answered her with a smile. She brushed a kiss on his cheek and walked inside, dragging you behind her.

"This is my friend Kiki," she announced and the occupants of the room glanced up at you for a moment.

"Kiki?" You hissed once they looked away and she shrugged.

"You wanna use your real name?" And then she left you standing there.

If you thought you’d be out of place at the club… there were a half dozen girls in the room, each wearing outfits you were pretty sure you’d only seen on Barbies before. Both in style and size. Four men sat around a low glass table, conversing in low tones while girls perched on the edge of their chairs and the couch.

The table had four guns on it.

You could run. That was your first thought. You were closest to the door, no one was watching you. You could be out and down the hallway before anyone even noticed. You strongly considered it - even going so far as to edge towards the door. But a boisterous voice interrupted your plans, coming out of a doorway near the back and then followed by a huge, grizzled man with a beard and an angry expression on his face.

"I just passed my piss test and I’m ready to fucking unwind," he announced, dropping into one of the arm chairs. His eyes scanned the room and zeroed in on you. "Hey, new girl, get over here."

You shot Monica a panicked look and she smoothly slid into the man’s lap, pouting a little. "Nick, I thought you were going to be mine tonight?" She thrust her breasts right up under his nose and he was instantly distracted, burying his face into her cleavage.

You turned to the 'bar', a line of whiskey and tequila on a small table. Should you fix yourself something? It would give you something to do. But was drinking really a good idea? What if they had put something in them? You’d heard about that. About girls going to a party and getting dosed with something and-

"Kiki right?"

The gentle voice jerked you out of your spiral and you twisted your head to look at the owner. It was one of the men, not the bearded guy thankfully. This one was older than you, dark hair and a goatee, a line of concern on his forehead.

"Me?" Your voice came out as a squeak. You tried to swallow past the nervousness in your throat.

He moved closer to you and you fought the urge to step away. What would happen if you put up a fight? Right now everything seemed fine. Almost… normal. You didn’t want to change the atmosphere in the room. You got the impression things could go south with these guys really fast.

"Kiki? You seem… nervous."

You swallowed again, taking a deep breath. His cologne tickled your nose - rich and a little spicy. Ok, at least he smelled nice. Plus one in his favor. And he seemed genuinely concerned about you. Plus two.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Just…" you hesitated and he finished for you.

"First time?"

A laugh burst out of you and you saw the corner of his eyes crinkle, even though his lips barely moved. "Is it that obvious?"

He brought his hand up to rest on your waist. "It’s pretty obvious."

You froze under his touch, panic rioting through you. He noticed, of course he did. He was watching you with an intensity you’d never felt before. "You okay?" He asked in a low voice. You bit your lip, shaking your head slightly and his grip on your waist tightened before he slid it down to rest lightly at his side. "You can go you know. You don’t have to stay." He glanced around the room, "We won’t stop you."

You shook your head again. "Monica is my ride."

"I’ll drive you," he offered. When you hesitated he amended, "I’m a cop. I won’t try anything."

Finding out he was police did not make you feel better. A cop with several call girls in a hotel with guns and booze and you were pretty sure cocaine in lines on the table? Yeah, not the fine upstanding moral citizens of Andy Griffith reruns for sure.

"Or," he continued, "I can call you a cab."

He’d still have your address. You shook your head again, "No, I’ll just… wait. If that’s… if that’s okay?"

He nodded at you, slowly taking a step back. "Don’t worry about it. Sorry for the…"

"Hey Borracho," a voice called, "you done chatting up the new girl? Send her over here."

You didn’t look to see who said it, just felt the man gather you closer, turning you into his chest a little and nuzzling his nose under your ear. "Fuck off Zapata."

You were tense. God were you tense. His hands felt huge on your back. Your thigh. You had turned into his embrace automatically. He was nice and you felt safe with him for some reason.

"You sure you don’t want to just wait in the lobby?" he offered.

In a seedy downtown hotel this time of night? You’d take your chances with the dirty cops. You shook your head again and felt him shift slightly. "Then come on, you’re too pretty to go unnoticed. We’re gonna have to act like we mean it."

Too pretty?

You didn’t have time to question it, he sank down onto the couch, those large hands lifted and pulled until you were straddling his thigh, guiding your hands to brace against his shoulders. His face pressed to your neck, his lips just under the collar of your shirt. He was moving like he was kissing you, drifting back and forth, but he wasn’t touching you hardly at all. The rough hairs of his goatee occasionally brushed your skin and you shivered.

"Cold?" His arms wrapped around you a little tighter, his palm skating up and down your back. "Sorry about this. Guessing it wasn’t your plans for the night?"

"No," you whispered back, turning so it looked like you were kissing his ear. "I thought we were going to a club."

He paused and then pulled away, raising an eyebrow at you as he looked over your outfit. "A club?" One corner of his mouth quirked up and you suddenly realized he was quite handsome. You hadn’t really noticed that in your initial panic. "You look like Daisy Duke."

You huffed a little, rolling your eyes. "Well Monica made some changes."

One hand came around and lightly touched the knot of fabric on your chest. "This I presume?" You nodded and he tapped it, "Can I undo it? It’ll cover you more from them and hide what we’re… well what we’re not doing."

It wasn’t like you’d be naked. You were wearing a bra. Hell, it covered more than your bikini did. But the thought of being here, with him, your breasts so close to his face, was making you feel very very warm. "Yeah, okay."

He pulled at the fabric slowly, letting it slide through his fingers. He didn’t look at what he bared, just let the sides of the shirt drop down and gently opened it so it blocked most of the two of you from view. But his eyes stayed on your face. "Okay?"

You were having a hard time breathing. Adrenaline for sure, and what you were rapidly starting to pinpoint as desire. This was… shit this was so far outside your realm of experience you didn’t know what to do. There were other people right there. You weren’t an exhibitionist, surely not. But… were you? Because your skin felt like it was on fire and you were suddenly thinking about making what would definitely be some bad decisions. Surely he could see it on you. Your parted lips, the rapid rise and fall of your chest. But his eyes stayed on yours, warm and brown and reassuring.

"Guessing your name isn’t Kiki," he said conversationally. As though you weren’t partially undressed in his lap. You snorted a laugh and he smiled. "You wanna tell me your real name?" When you hesitated he shrugged, "No problem. I get it. I’m Benny."

"Look at this fucking romantic," a harsh voice cut in. "You don’t have to be all lovey dovey and shit about it, asshole."

You felt him shift, imagined him flipping whoever it was the bird while he bit off a string of insults in Spanish. Leaning forward, you mimicked his movements from earlier. Running your nose down his throat, pausing briefly in random places, then returning and nuzzling just behind his ear. His head tilted back and a highly believable moan fell from his lips.

"Leave him alone, when’s the last time he fucked one of the girls? Let him have his fun."

Benny’s hand came up and cupped the back of your neck, forcing you back slightly and his face dropped to press to your chest. You could feel the hot pants of his breath washing over your skin, the tops of your breasts. "Shit."

He pulled back slightly, urging you forward until your foreheads were pressed together. You were both breathing fast and you could just imagine the tight leash he had on his control. You wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension. But a sound from your right beat you to it.

It was soft, wet. Without thought, you both turned at the same moment, cheeks pressed together. One of the girls was on her knees, a man’s cock deep in her mouth while she slurped and sucked on him. You gasped, jerking in embarrassment and turning quickly away. Your lips brushed his cheek as you did and suddenly you felt him stand, his hands cupping under your ass.

"Come with me," he grunted and you did. Wrapping your arms around his neck and letting his steps guide yours. He went ten steps maybe, urging you up onto a desk near the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over a downtown overpass. His body blocked the room from your view, effectively shielding you from anyone else’s eyes. "Unbutton my shirt."

You didn’t think about it, just followed his command immediately, pushing it open and then almost pouting when you realized he was wearing a t-shirt under it. But the fall of plaid from his shoulders was wide, and suddenly it was as though the two of you were alone, safe in a little cocoon.

"It’s okay," his voice was soothing. "They can’t see."

He was rocking his hips, but he never crossed the distance to you. It was a pantomime. A show. His gaze dropped to your breasts, his lips parting, and then he jerked his eyes away. His scent was weaving inside of you, making you feel hot. There was something so… gorgeous about watching him strain over you. Watching him keep himself tightly in control. You could see the cords of his throat, how taut he was.

Without thinking you reached up, drawing your finger down his neck, lightly tracing the ridges. You wanted to taste him, lick the bead of sweat that was rolling over the ink on his skin. This all seemed like a dream, the world far away. Just you and him and something hot and needy blossoming between you. Looking up his eyes caught yours and you nearly melted at the deep yearning want in his.

"I’m…" his hips bucked and you could feel how hard he was. "Fuck I’m sorry. Shoulda made you leave."

"But I didn’t," you whispered back, reaching up with one hand and sliding your fingers into his hair. Tugging him down to press your foreheads together again. He shifted again and you squirmed, rubbing yourself against him. The groan he let out was music, filling you until you ached with it.

"It’s okay, I’m not going to fuck you." The words shot straight to your groin. Your body edited out the negative and a soft whimper escaped you. He cursed, rocking up into you again. "Shit, stop… stop making those noises."

You couldn’t help it. Your body was undulating under his, held up by the hands on your back that were clutching you close to him. Another small, needy whine and suddenly he was laying you down, one of his hands pressed to the desk by your head, his body hovering over yours.

"I’m not going to fuck you," he said again, his hips punctuating his words by grinding into you. "But you have to help me. You can’t keep, fuck, you can’t…"

His free hand dropped to your bare thigh, hitching it up higher around his waist. Despite his words he was practically fucking you already. Rolling his hips into the cradle of yours. His head dropped and he grunted, his hand curling into a fist by your head. You don’t know what possessed you to press a gentle kiss between his brows, to stroke your fingers through his hair but he groaned, lifting his head, and then he was kissing you.

It was all tongues. No gentle brush of his lips on yours, no seduction, just his tongue tangling deep inside your mouth. Coaxing yours to entwine with his. Rubbing, licking, sucking. Well, maybe it was just you that was doing the sucking but he seemed to like it. Deepening the kiss and suddenly his whole mouth was in play. Nipping at your lips, your jaw, your neck before he covered your mouth again.

You’d never been kissed like this. Never had someone consume you like this. He kissed you like there was nothing else in the world he wanted to be doing. Delving into your mouth like he might discover the secrets of the universe in there. You imagined what it might feel like in other places. What that tongue and those lips might do to you. You moaned, jerking up against his body, a flood of wetness between your thighs.

"Shit," he yanked himself away from you, his chest heaving. "Do you want to?"

You shook your head. "Yes." Fuck that wasn’t right. "I mean no. I mean…" You arched up to him again and whined, "I don’t know."

His hand cupped your jaw, his eyes soft even in a face locked in a rough look of need. "Want me to get you off?"

Oh fuck. Did he just…? You whined again, pulling his mouth back down to yours without answering. The hand on your thigh slipped upwards and in, gently probing at the material of your shorts, pushing past the denim and the soft cotton of your panties.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, his mouth stilled on yours. "You’re so fucking wet." His fingertips probed at you, sliding over your clit in jerky movements. Your shorts were too tight, there was no way for him to… he realized it the same time you did, jerking his hand away and fumbling at the button for a second before he froze.

"I’m gonna need a clear yes." His hand rested flat on your stomach, his palm warm on your skin. Your chest was heaving, the hard points of your nipples brushing him and sending jolts of electricity along your nerves even through the material of your bra. He had barely even touched you. Just the outside of your thigh, your cheek, and now…

"Shit we got a robbery with a 10-79."

You both stilled at the voice. Benny stayed arched over you, his head cocked to the side while he listened.

"We’re not fucking on duty - tell them we’ll take what’s left tomorrow."

"Nah, they want us."

"Fuck. Connors zip it up. Borracho get your cock outta that girl and get over here."

Heat washed over you. Had you really been about to… with all those people right there? What was wrong with you? And yet the only thing you could think about was how much you wanted him to ignore them. To slip his hand back under your clothes and…

You looked up at him and saw the same regret reflected in his eyes you knew must be in yours. He gently drew your shirt halves together, continuing to keep his body between you and the rest of the room. He had a smear of lipstick next to his mouth, a shade you recognized.

24 hour coverage, my ass, you thought idly.

"I gotta go."

"I got that." You gave him a hesitant smile.

"Give me your-"

"Borracho."

"Fuck you," he snapped, turning his head to the side. "I’m fucking coming."

"Well wipe your cum off her tits and be done with it."

You bit your lip, mortified. He lifted himself up, using one hand to gently touch your face. "You okay?" You nodded and he sighed, pushing himself away and crossing the room with a grunt. You sat up quickly, closing your legs and clutching your shirt shut. They were gathering things from the table, you saw Benny slip his gun into a holster on the back of his belt.

The boss, the big guy with the beard, dropped a kiss on Monica’s cheek. "Enjoy the party favors ladies."

You watched them file out, ribbing and mocking each other. Benny hesitated at the door, looking back at you. You saw his lips move, a brief expression flash over his face, and then he was gone.

Okay, this was a really bad idea.

You knew it was the moment it occurred to you. And every step you had taken to fulfill it only served to confirm what a bad idea it was.

"You sure about this?" Monica asked. She had called you when she got the invite, even loaned you the dress you were wearing. You didn’t own anything like it, a halter top with a skirt that barely hit mid-thigh. "I don’t even know if he’s gonna be there. Sometimes they’re all not."

You hadn’t thought about that, hesitating a moment before you shrugged. "If he’s not I’ll make an excuse to leave."

You’d come in separate cars this time. You weren’t making that mistake again.

"Well, okay then." Monica lifted her hand and knocked sharply on the door. There was barely a change in the noise on the other side, the door flying open to reveal the younger blonde from before. He smiled at Monica then grinned when he saw you.

"Hey, Borracho, your girl’s back."

His girl?

The blonde stepped back and you saw Benny stand up, start to take a step towards you then stop himself. You gave him a small smile and suddenly he was across the room - his hand on your hip and his mouth just inches from your own.

"Didn’t think I’d see you again." His nose nuzzled yours. When had he backed you into the wall? It didn’t matter, just meant that you had an excuse to arch your back and press your breasts to his chest. He growled and one of his hands cupped your neck tightly. "Started to think I’d imagined you."

"I wondered the same thing," you whispered shyly, lightly playing your fingers along his neck, tracing the dark lines of his tattoo. His stance shifted, his knee pressing between your legs.

"Fuck you know just the right thing to say." He hesitated and then admitted, "I tried to find you. After last time. Didn’t know how." A pause, "Not any legal way anyway."

Something warm unfurled in your chest and you leaned back so you could see his face better. "You did?"

"Yeah," his eyes were soft on yours. "You, uh, you made quite an impression."

The comment made you glow, your wide smile answered by his own. His lips captured yours, his tongue licking into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, squirming against his thigh and his fingers dipped under the edge of your skirt.

"You wet?"

"Yes."

His fingers slid further. "You want me to get you off?"

You chuckled, heard the soft exhale of his breath. "I was hoping for a bit more." You glanced around. "Somewhere more private?"

His hands clenched on your thighs and he turned, walking you backwards across the room with his hands on your waist. "Bedroom’s mine tonight," he growled to the other men.

"No fucking way, this is my-" the big guy with the beard stood up and you shied away from him.

Benny’s head whipped to the side, "I said it’s mine."

Time stood still, the two men staring at each other. Then the bearded man grinned and huffed a laugh. "Fine. Have fun. Don’t forget to wrap it up."

The door clicked closed behind you and you continued to step back, putting space between you as Benny leaned against the wall. His eyes scanned you more openly now, catching on the hem of your skirt, the visible bumps of your nipples.

"Is this for real?"

You nodded and he took a step towards you. Stopping, his hands clenched at his sides and he swallowed. "If we do this I’m going to want to do it again. Are you… is that something…"

Oh, oh. A smile bloomed on your face and you nodded again. A bit of tenseness eased off of him. He pulled his phone out immediately, handing it to you, and you didn’t hesitate to punch your number into it. He took it back, raising his eyebrow when he saw you’d put your name as 'Kiki'.

"Not going to tell me your real name?" He asked, dropping the phone on the table by the door. The contents of his pocket soon followed. Keys, wallet, gun.

You shook your head and he frowned. "I thought I was clear-"

Taking a step forward you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning back so you could look him in the eye. "The real me, she doesn’t do this kind of thing," you explained. "The real me would be horrified I was here. I mean she likes you, and you should definitely call her tomorrow. But this…" you smiled at him. "Kiki is more adventurous."

The frown became a small smile, his hands settling on your waist. "Is that so?"

"Mmhmm."

"And just how adventurous," his head ducked down and his teeth nipped lightly at your jaw, "is Kiki?"

"Pretty," you gasped when his tongue tasted your skin, "adventurous."

His hum was thoughtful, his fingers playing with the hem of your skirt. He lifted it slowly, giving you time to protest. But you didn’t, instead raising your arms so he could pull the dress over your head and toss it to the ground. He’d seen almost as much of you last time, but judging from the look on his face this was better. His hands reached out but you took a step away.

"Now you."

If asked, you were pretty sure he set a record. His shirt falling to the floor next to your dress. Toeing off his shoes while he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Pushing his jeans and underwear to the floor. You’d asked, but you weren’t expecting him to be quite so naked quite so fast. His chest with its light dusting of hair. Strong thighs. His cock jutting from a nest of black curls.

He stepped toward you and you didn’t retreat, feeling his cock slide against your stomach. One hand went to the clasp of your bra and the other dropped down to slip under your panties and cup the globe of your ass.

With a flick of his fingers he had your bra undone and you slipped out of it, tossing it to the side. His chest hair tickled your nipples, his hands strong and sure as he guided you backwards. Suddenly, his arm shot past you, jerking at the comforter until it lay in a heap at the end of the bed. You gave him a questioning look and he shrugged. "They never wash those things."

Then he was laying you back on the crisp white sheets, urging you up towards the pillows while his mouth trailed down your neck. The hairs of his mustache tickled and you giggled softly as he mouthed at your breast. He shot you a quick grin, bracing himself with one hand and lowering his lips to your nipple.

Oh, you had been right. His mouth felt amazing on you. Swirling and sucking and nipping at you. His free hand cupped your other breast, fingers gently toying with the puckered flesh that crowned it. "Oh Benny," you moaned and he got rougher for just a moment. Sucking on you hard, his fingers pinching your other nipple.

He switched positions, skimming his newly freed hand down your stomach, over the edge of your hip. Then he lightly stroked the back of his fingers over the silky material that covered your mound. His lips wrapped around your nipple just as he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, both of you moaning at the contact.

"You weren’t lying," he growled. His fingers slipped through your heat, tickling over the sensitive skin.

"About?" you gasped, trying to make sense of a world where his tongue was curling around your nipple and his fingers were stroking you just there.

"You’re wet."

"Every time I think about you," you admitted with a sigh.

His body arched over yours, his eyes searching your face. You didn’t shrink from him, just meet his gaze with your own, lips parted as you watch him. Whatever he was looking for he seemed to find it, his mouth swooping down and capturing yours in a long kiss. Suddenly he was gone, hands sliding your panties down your legs, rearranging your thighs over his shoulders - and then that hot wet mouth was on you again.

He ate you out like it was his only goal in life. Pressing his face into you so hard you wondered if he could even breathe. His hands held your hips to the bed, holding you still while he ravaged you with his tongue. Swirling it around your clit before he gently pulled it between his lips and sucked lightly.

"Benny!" you cried, back arching off the bed.

"That’s it," his low murmur vibrated through you, one of his fingers slowly sinking into your heat. "Say my name all you want gorgeous."

"Benny," you groaned and he added another finger, curling them deep inside you while he tongued against your aching clit. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time, you were so ready and needy for him that it was barely a few minutes before you were clenching your fingers tightly into his hair and panting his name softly over and over like a prayer. He moaned as your wetness flooded his mouth, your thighs trembled against his cheeks. His fingers searched and pressed and slid inside you until the world went white with your ecstasy.

He rose over you, all heat and muscle and golden skin. For a moment his cock nudged between your legs and then he was gone, striding across the room to the door. Where was he…?

He stopped near the door, rifling through his wallet and coming up with a foil packet. He ripped the foil with his teeth, walking towards you as he rolled the condom on. You met him at the edge of the bed, coming up on your knees so you could welcome him face to face. Open your arms to him and press your mouth to his while he lowered you down to the sheets.

He adjusted himself, shifting so he was pressed along your slit. Then he began to rock his hips, nudging your clit with every pass. You gasped out his name, heard him groan in return. A shift and he was pressing just there. Slipping just the head of him inside you.

His breathing was harsh, rushing across your cheek in soft pants. You pulled his mouth to yours, pushing on his shoulder until he rolled away from you, onto his back. You followed, straddling his hips and settling his cock against you again. Then you sat up, staring down at his flushed face, his parted lips, and watched every change of his expression as you sank down on him inch by slow inch.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned. His eyes were wide, a look of wonder on his face as you slowly settled against him.

"Does that feel good?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He leaned up on his elbows, eyes locked on where your bodies joined. "Does it feel good?"

You bit your lip and smiled, raising up just enough that he could see the slide of himself back inside of you when you lowered down. "Well, does it?"

He propped a hand behind him, the other going to your hip and urging you to do it again. "It feels fucking fantastic." You squeezed your muscles around him just to watch his jaw clench. Watch the way his eyes widened and then his hips snapped into yours. You made a small noise and his lips stretched into a grin.

"You like that?" He did it again, thrusting up into you and you braced a hand on his stomach. "You like when I fuck you?"

You cupped your free hand around his jaw, sighing when he turned his head and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your palm. His eyes bored into yours and you nodded, trying to help, trying to find a rhythm with him. It was awkward at first, his cock slipped out of you more than once. But he didn’t seem to mind, thrusting up and pressing to your clit again and again before he guided himself back inside.

"Dios mio. Look at you, you gorgeous thing."

His hand on your hip drifted down, his thumb brushing over your clit and you groaned, squeezing him inside. It only made him fuck you faster, press into you harder. His lips were parted as he watched you, his eyes narrowed on your face.

"Benny," it was a whine, a whimper, a plea.

He grunted and rolled his hips upwards. "You gonna come on me?" You nodded, breath shuddering out of you. "Then do it. Come on my cock, let me feel-"

You kissed him when you came, shoving him flat onto the bed, thrusting your tongue in his mouth and feeling his arm wrap tight around you. He rolled you over to your back, guiding your legs around his waist and shoving his cock into you hard and fast. Growling as your muscles clenched around him. You could hear the soft thumping of the frame against the wall, the squeak of the mattress springs, the grunts that fell from his lips. His hands cupped around your shoulders, holding you to him while he worked between your thighs.

"You got another one for me?" his voice was harsh, strained. You let go of your grip on his shoulders and slid your hand between your bodies, skimming down until you could lightly touch your clit.

"I don’t know," you whined and he sped up. You didn’t think it was possible but his cock was hitting just right inside you over and over and your fingers were rubbing just as fast and you screamed his name as you came so hard you saw stars.

You barely noticed the sweat dripping off of him, the way his jaw dropped open or the low noises he made as he followed soon after. What you did notice was the raucous cheering from the other room. A fist banging on the wall and a voice shouting, "Atta boy, Borracho!"

"Oh my God," you groaned, reaching up and dragging one of the pillows down to cover your face. He held himself over you, his low chuckle vibrating through your body. You felt him tug at the edge of the pillowcase but you resisted.

"Come on," he urged, "show me those beautiful eyes"

You peeked out at him and he smiled. God, he really was handsome. Before you could do anything he ducked under the edge of the pillow and kissed you soundly. "Sorry about that," he muttered into your lips. "I should have taken you somewhere nice."

You dropped the pillow, blinking up at him. "What?"

One of his hands swept across your cheek. "I shouldn’t have done this here. Should have left. Taken you somewhere nice."

"Take me to a secondary location?" You scoffed, wrinkling your nose. "I’ve heard my fair share of true crime podcasts, buddy. No way."

He blinked at you and then a huge grin broke out across his face. "Smart girl." He nestled himself more firmly against you, settling your arms around his neck, holding you to his chest. "Adventurous girl." You moaned when his tongue thrust into your mouth, slow and sweet and sensual. He rocked against you and his cock was already half hard again.

"Come on Kiki," he murmured into your lips, "why don’t you show me how adventurous you can be."

.

Next:  Mysterious

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[thirdtimesthecharm]

Every time I forget about this man, he always pops up and I get dragged down into the obsession again.

Procedure Part One

Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Ex-Wife!Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ (there will be explicit content in the second part)

Warnings: Cursing; angst; fluff; jealousy; second-chance romance; eventual explicit content

Notes: This is gonna be two parts! Weeeeee lessgo

Length: 4.5K

Summary: When you’d served Borracho papers, he hadn’t been surprised. Hell—he’d almost looked relieved. He hadn’t fought you on it, or asked if you could work it out; he hadn’t offered to go to counseling, or promised you that he just needed one more chance, and that he’d change. The man had already had two divorces in his rearview when he’d met you. This was just…Procedure for him. 

You were trying not to stare or roll your eyes too much, but goddamn, how fucking obvious could the woman be?

“You’re doing it again.” 

You shot Alyssa a glance, eyes narrowing in annoyance. She just flashed you a bright smile, batting her eyelashes. 

“Oh, please,” You grumbled, nudging her shoulder as she laughed. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Uh, yeah, you are. You’re staring at Jessa’s head like you can make it pop.”

Maybe you were staring more than you usually did—but it wasn’t often that Jessa went out of her way to flirt with your husband. 

Well. Ex-husband. 

And it didn’t help that Borracho seemed to be lapping up every bicep-squeezing, giggling, hair-tossing moment of it. It felt stupid and despicably petty to feel jealous, but to watch her flirt so brazenly in the middle of little league baseball practice? Did she have no shame?

“Relax,” Alyssa waved off your protests before you could say anything else, “We’ve all done it. Remember when that Donaldson chick was flirting with Henderson at soccer practice last year?” 

You grunted, scrubbing your hand across your brow. That had been a fucking fiasco. Flirting with Henderson when Alyssa was nearby was just about the dumbest thing anyone could do, and that was something that the uninitiated learned the hard way. 

“See, even that woman wasn’t as annoying as—No, hear me out,” You raised a hand to quiet Alyssa’s protest, “She didn’t know that he was your ex-husband, right? Jessa knows. I wouldn’t even care,” You fibbed, “If it wasn’t, like, out in front of everybody. Slip into his DMs like a fucking grown up.” 

“...It is kinda like watching your little sister pick through the clothes you don’t want anymore, but didn't say she could have,” Alyssa conceded—and her casual scathing tone made you burn, but you forced yourself to choke out, “Exactly,” Before chasing the bitter taste in your mouth with a hasty swig of soda.

You saw Borracho beginning to glance back toward you and you hurriedly redirected your attention to the field, watching your six-year-old daughter kick at a dandelion in the outfield. You fished into your pocket for your phone as it buzzed, frowning at the sight of a text from Borracho: 

Made ya look

“...Heads up,” Alyssa muttered. 

“She better fucking not—”

“We got incoming—”

“She better fucking not—”

“Hey ladies!” Jessa’s bright tone broke over the two of you, and it took everything in you not to pitch your phone into the ground. 

“Hi Jessa,” Alyssa shifted, subtly elbowing you. You kept your focus on your phone. What the hell did that mean? He hadn’t seen you looking at him, there was no way—

“Hey!” Jessa repeated, as bright and friendly as before, and you forced yourself to look up, a placid smile on your lips. You couldn’t even blame Borracho—she was exactly his type. Hell, half of the other little league parents confused you and Jessa for one another on a regular basis. 

“Hi.” 

“How’s it going over here? I thought I’d come and say hi, you two always look so,” She bunched her shoulders up, “Cozy.” 

“We’re like a pile of kittens,” Alyssa cooed before nodding to first base. “Looks like Ryder is having a good practice today.”

“Yeah! Yeah, he’s been practicing with his dad on his weekends, it’s been really good for him.”

You and Alyssa nodded in unison, giving sympathetic hums in harmony. It was no secret that Jessa was newly divorced, and it was well known that you, Alyssa, and your sometime companion, Allie Conners, were all in the divorced boat—but you had never felt drawn to bring Jessa into your corner. The three of you were gossipy in a way that bordered on bitchy, shared mimosas in a thermos during games, and bonded by a very particular understanding of one another’s marriages, and why they ended. 

Jessa seemed so…Nice. But maybe if she got her way, she’d understand where exactly you and Borracho and the others had gone wrong. 

Or maybe they won’t go wrong. 

The unexpectedly possibility stung so much that you found yourself looking at the field again, hand curling tightly around your phone. Made you look. What the fuck did that even mean? 

“Well!” Jessa’s squeak of an exclamation nearly made you wince, “I’m going to go grab a water. Do either of you want any?” 

“No thanks—”

“I’m good.” 

Her smile remained in place, but you felt a little rotten for the small, dejected nod she gave you before walking away. You and Alyssa watched her go, and Alssya ‘hmph’d after a moment. 

“Should we…?” She trailed off, catching sight of your flat expression. “Never mind.” 

“Second she hops off of Ben’s dick, sure.” You glanced toward where Borracho was rolling up the sleeves of his henley to hit a few balls to the outfield. Your eyes swept over his arms, down to his muscled forearms as he took hold of the bat. 

“...You’re doing it again.”

“Shut up, Lyss.” 

Alyssa snorted, swiping your soda and taking a swig.

– 

You trailed Borracho and Olivia to the car, listening to her tell her father about the spider that she saw crawling on the dandelion while she was in the outfield—that’s why she missed the ball he’d hit her way, obviously. 

“Alright, well maybe next time we pay a little more attention to the ball, princess,” Borracho teased, ruffling her hair. “At least during the game this weekend, okay?” 

“Okay,” She sighed, stopping beside the car and yanking at the door that you haven’t unlocked yet. 

“Hang on, bug,” You chuckled, “Say goodbye to your dad.”

Olivia leaned heavily against Borracho, giggling as he reached down, tickling her sides. 

“I’ll see you at the game this weekend,” He murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her head before Olivia pulled away, climbing into the backseat and tugging the door shut behind herself. 

“Good practice,” You commented. 

“Sure.” Borracho nodded, gaze sweeping over your face. “Looked like you and Alyssa did a few laps.” 

Before you could ask what he meant, he added, “You two run your mouths like nobody’s business—”

You sucked your teeth, grumbling, “You play too much,” As he laughed. 

“I’m glad you got to talk,” He added. “She tell you about Zapata’s girl?”

“Mhm,” You nodded. “Can’t say I’m surprised, but—” 

“I know. He gets uptight, pops off.”

“I have no idea what that’s like,” You smiled. It was Borracho’s turn to roll his eyes, leaning against the car.

“Alright.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“You gonna talk to her?” 

“I mean,” You shrugged, “Alyssa probably will. She’s better about that stuff—And she was closer to her than I was, so.”

“Mm.” Borracho was quiet for a moment before he tipped his chin up a touch. “You like my text?” 

Poker face, damnit. Don’t let on.

“What text?”

His brows rose in disbelief. 

“I texted you.”

“When?”

“During practice.”

“Oh? I didn’t see it.” Leave it there. Go home— “But I’m surprised you had time to text with how busy you and Jessa were.” 

Borracho’s shit-eating grin made your stomach twist. You never had been all that good at poker. 

“That so?” 

“You two seemed pretty occupied.” 

“We were just talking.” 

“About what?” 

“Baseball.”

“Mm, really.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good, that’s topical.” 

“This is cute.” “Excuse me?” 

“Nah, I like it. Can’t remember the last time you were jealous.” 

You wheezed an affronted laugh, raising your hand to clutch your invisible pearls. 

“Oh, that is so—That is not what’s happening right now.” 

“No?” 

“No—Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Language—” 

“She can’t hear me—” 

“Swear jar, mom!” Olivia crowed, muffled through the door. 

“Car isn’t soundproofed,” Borracho added, taking a couple of steps back. “I’ll see you on Saturday.” 

-- 

Relax, we’ve all done it.

Alyssa’s reassurance played through your mind all night. The thing that bothered you the most was that you really hadn’t felt that way since your marriage to Borracho had started falling apart. You’d known that his coworkers sometimes encouraged him to be around women then you typically didn’t want him to be around. When the two of you were on the verge of splitting up, you’d told yourself that you would almost welcome one of them taking him off of your hands. 

At the time, it had seemed better than the other prospect—Borracho coming home late from being out with the guys, smelling like cheap floral body spray, with flecks of glitter on his clothes or in his hair and lap. He had felt like such a far cry from the man that you had loved and married; that had once answered your questions with a smile and not an eye roll; that used to pick you up after a long shift at work with a kiss and a snack because he knew you would be hungry. 

He’d changed over the course of your relationship, but you had, too. You’d grown tired of asking him to do things around the house. Your concern around his job and the cases that he was involved in felt so much more acute, and became so much worse once you’d gotten pregnant with Olivia. 

Nitpicking had snowballed into fights; fights festered and devolved into Borracho staying out late, then not coming home at all. On those nights, you’d lose sleep, torn between annoyance at his stubbornness, and the fear that you’d wake up to a knock on the door, or a call from Nick with his regrets, apologizing that something had gone terribly wrong. Olivia had been the only reason that the two of you had stayed together as long as you had. By the end, you were certain that there was still love there, but between work and feeling like you were already raising Olivia on your own, you just couldn’t find it. You were tired of fighting, and you knew that you didn’t want Olivia growing up in a home that never felt safe or settled. 

When you’d served Borracho papers, he hadn’t been surprised. Hell—he’d almost looked relieved. He hadn’t fought you on it, or asked if you could work it out; he hadn’t offered to go to counseling, or promised you that he just needed one more chance, and that he’d change. The man had already had two divorces in his rearview when he’d met you. This was just…Procedure for him. 

The first few months had been hell. The worrying didn’t stop, but the fighting had gone from a full boil to a simmer again. You let some of your irritations go in favor of focusing on building a more solid foundation for you and Olivia, and creating a regular routine for her and Borracho.

For as hectic and painful as your four years of marriage had been, the only thing that you and Borracho could always agree on was Olivia. You had never stopped him from being able to see her when he moved out; his child support was always paid on time and in-full, and he never griped about helping out when things unexpectedly came up. He was more involved than most divorced dads that you knew.

You had joint custody, but Borracho’s schedule could be so hectic that she lived primarily with you. She saw him at least twice a week for little league, and stayed with him at least once a week. He went out of his way to call her and say goodnight and that he loved her, even if it wasn’t right before bed. 

Alyssa had been waiting for you with open arms, happy to commiserate with you as her marriage to Henderson had also unraveled. For a while, bringing Olivia to little league was the only time that you saw Borracho outside of pickups and drop-offs. Now, the two of you tended to chat a little before getting into your cars and heading your separate ways. You almost never argued, and if you did, it was with lowered voices, without Olivia in the room. It had been two years since your divorce, and while things hadn’t fully healed with Borracho, they were in a far better place than they had been. The two of you were friendly, for the most part. And sure, there have been moments when you’ve missed him, but…

But the bubbling of jealousy in your belly this evening had felt so foreign to you. It wasn’t just the way that Jessa had flirted, it was how much Borracho seemed to enjoy it.

Had he smiled at you like that when you’d been together? You were trying so hard to remember. He must have, right? At least once, maybe twice. Maybe at the very beginning, when you’d started dating—before he’d warned you that his job could be a lot, and that he’d been married twice before, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to get married again. You sometimes wondered if you would’ve gotten married at all if you hadn’t gotten pregnant. 

On your good nights, you were certain that you would’ve, that you and Borracho had been so deeply in love when he proposed that you didn’t doubt it. 

On your bad nights, you told yourself that you’d done it so that Olivia would grow up in a home with two parents, and that you’d failed at that. 

Tonight, you stared at your ceiling, trying to think of anything but the way Jessa had run her hand over the slope and bulge of his bicep, and the way that Borracho had grinned and leaned into her. 

He wasn’t yours anymore. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. 

So long as he didn’t do whatever the hell he wanted anywhere near you. 

--  

“Mom?” 

“Yeah, bug?” You tipped your head back a bit as Olivia piped up from the backseat. 

“What were you and dad fighting about after practice?” 

You frowned, stopping the car at a red light and twisting to get a better look at her. 

“You thought we were fighting?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Why do you say that, hon?” 

Olivia lowered her eyes to her lap, toying with the plush baseball bat that Borracho had gotten her for Christmas (she had loved it immediately and declared it her good luck charm; she wouldn’t go to a game without it). 

“You used a bad word.” 

You pursed your lips. “Yes, I did, and I’m sorry. Your dad and I weren’t fighting, we were…Kidding around.” 

“You can use that word when you’re kidding?” 

“Adults can. You can’t. And shouldn’t. Especially on the field, or at school. Mama will be better about her language, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“And your dad and I are okay. Okay?” 

“...Okay.” 

She sounded less convinced this time, but you didn’t want to litigate it right now—and the light was turning green, anyway. 

--

You kept your pace even as Olivia darted ahead of you, screaming hello to her friends and joining them on the field. Alyssa turned to look at you where she was already camped out on the bleachers, grinning and patting the spot beside herself. You smiled, sitting down and setting your bag down between your legs. 

“Oof girl, the look on your face,” Alyssa laughed. “You look like you need some of my special orange juice.” 

“Mm, I shouldn’t. Ben’s got Liv for the night, but I’m gonna have to drive my car back later.” 

“One of the guys can drop you back and you can get it tomorrow.” 

You glanced between her and the thermos before you took it, smiling as Alyssa teased, “Atta girl. I got a whole ‘nother one, so go wild.” 

“I don’t know about wild.” 

“I do…What’s got that look on your face, anyway?” 

You toyed with your answer as you took a sip of the mimosa from the thermos. 

“Liv thought Ben and I were fighting after practice.” 

“Were you?” 

“No! No, we were just…I cursed. Guess she remembers that from when we were together, when she was small.” You looked at the lid of the thermos. “I don’t know, sometimes I forget how much she heard, how much she saw before we—you know.” 

“I hear you. Devon freaks out if Gus and me even look at each other wrong.” 

You were quiet for a moment before you couldn’t hold the smile back. 

“What?” Alyssa frowned. 

“I keep forgetting Henderson’s first name is Gus,” You giggled, unable to help it. “How do you moan that—” Your giggle broke into a cackle as Alyssa shoved your shoulder, groaning, “You’re the worst!” 

You sighed as the two of you settled, glancing around just in time to see Jessa looking across the bleachers for somewhere to sit. That bubbling in your stomach came up again, and you hurriedly swigged your mimosa in the hopes of dampening it. Before you could second guess yourself, you raised a hand and flagged her down, patting the seat beside yourself. Her face brightened immediately, waving back and beginning to head toward you. 

“...You sure you wanna do that?” Alyssa muttered. 

“I was a bitch to her the other day,” You shrugged. “She’s nice.” 

“You think Borracho feels the same way?” 

“Don’t give a fuck about what he feels.” You didn’t meet Alyssa’s eye as you said so—hell, you could barely get the lie out to yourself. You didn’t want to know how unconvincing it sounded to anyone else. 

“Morning, ladies!” Jessa grinned as she settled onto the seat beside you. “Great day for a ballgame.” 

“Sure is,” Alyssa chirped over your emphatic hum and nod. 

“Made it just in time,” Jessa added. “That parking lot is so intense. I had to cut someone off just to get a space.” 

“Yikes. Hope they were on the other team.” 

“Honestly, I didn’t get a good look. They just flipped me off and sped away.” 

“Hey y’all,” You heard, and turned to see Allie Conners approaching you on the bleachers. “Sorry Jack and me are late, some dickhead in a fucking Mazda took my parking space—” She went still at the sight of Jessa, eyes narrowing critically. You leaned into Jessa a little, murmuring, 

“What kind of car do you drive?”

“I’m not sure I should say.” 

--  

You knew that you were staring again. Luckily for you, Alyssa was too distracted to notice. 

Jessa had declined your invite to get pizza with the group, but considering the parking lot incident, it was probably for the best. You honestly weren’t sure she could handle being thrown into the deep end of this group’s hangouts. Unless he was too busy working, the group of you always convened at Henderson’s place—he was the only one with a backyard, and the kids always had a little excess energy to burn off. Olivia, Devon, and Jack were still zipping around the backyard, running on the adrenaline of winning the game; the other parents were talking, and you were just…Not paying attention to any of them. Jessa wasn’t hovering, or squeezing his bicep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop looking at Borracho. 

You hadn’t been subtle, either. You knew that you hadn’t because he’d caught you looking a couple of times. Every look was paired with a furrowed brow, a small, questioning smile before you’d waved him off and turned away. You forced yourself to look away as you felt him turning to look at you again, and you pushed yourself up, picking up your empty beer and heading for the kitchen.

You waved off Alyssa’s questioning glance, smiling and mouthing ‘Empty’ before heading inside. You set it on the counter, taking a fresh one out of the fridge—but rather than head back to the backyard, you walked to the front door, stepping out and sitting on the front steps. You sighed softly, cracking the beer open and taking a sip. 

God, what the hell was wrong with you? When did you let yourself get so lonely? You spent so much time worrying about Olivia, about Borracho (whether you liked to admit it or not), about your job—

“You good?” 

You looked back at the sound of his voice, stomach swooping as he settled down beside you. 

“Scared the crap out of me,” You grumbled. 

“Sorry.” 

“Are you?” 

Borracho shrugged a little. You watched as he fished into his pocket, drawing out a pack of cigarettes. 

“...I thought you were quitting,” You accused. 

“Olivia tell you that?” 

“Mhm. You tell that to Olivia?” 

“Told her I’d try. I didn’t say it was going well.” He held the pack out to you, brows raising. You hesitated before shaking your head, raising your beer and taking a sip. Borracho grunted, lighting up. You glanced over, watching his cheeks sink as he took a drag from the cigarette. 

“You doin’ okay?” He asked. 

“Sure. You?” 

“Mhm.” 

You nodded a little, looking down at the beer bottle and trailing your finger over a drop of condensation. 

“...So you really okay?” 

“Ben—” 

“What’s going on with you?” 

“Nothing is going on!” 

"You’ve been distracted all day.”

“How could you know that? Were you watching me all day?”

“Yeah, I was.” You hardly had time to let that surprise sink in before he added: “You were watching me, too.” 

You hesitated before you shook your head a little bit. 

“I’ve just been thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“Stuff, I don’t know.” 

“...Alright. I’ll wait.” 

“What?” 

“You’ll tell me when you wanna tell me.” 

“I don’t have anything to tell!” 

“No, sure you don't.” “For fffffff—” You found yourself self-consciously glancing toward the door before you finished, “Frickssake.” 

“Kids can’t hear you out here, you can curse.” 

“Yeah, I know, just…Told Olivia I’d be better about it.” 

“She should hope you aren’t. That swear jar’s gonna get her through college.” “...She thought we were fighting the other night.” 

“By the car?” 

“Mhm.” 

“She worried about that?” 

“I think so.” 

“We’re good now though.” 

His insistence made you warm, and you nodded again.

“Yeah, we are.” You held your beer out for Borracho to sip and waited until he’d raised it to his lips to ask, “So when are you asking Jessa out?” Your questioning turned to cackling as Borracho spluttered. He rolled his eyes, setting the beer down between the two of you. 

“I’m teasing,” You added, gently nudging his shoulder with yours. “But if you wanna, you know. You should go for it.” 

“You think so?” 

“Sure. She’s nice, ‘Livvy gets along with her son…You have my blessing—Not that you need it, obviously.” 

“Uh-huh. Is this a trick?” 

“What?” 

“You give me your blessing to date someone and then you turn around and tell me you’re getting married or something?” 

“No! God no, I’m not even dating.” 

“Mm…When’s the last time you went on a date?” 

“I dunno, it’s been a while. What about you?” 

“Couple months.” 

“How’d you meet her?” You glanced over when Borracho took a few moments to answer and found his face twisted with indecision. “...Ben.” 

“Work.”

“Oh?” You laughed. “Was this one a widow, dispatch, a gangbanger’s baby mama, a hooker from one of those parties—” 

“Alright—” 

“No, hang on, I’ve got one more—A witness? Was it a witness?” You leaned in a little, brows waggling, and grinned when Borracho huffed, annoyed. “Oh, so it was a witness. Anything good? Gnarly crime scene? Drive-by? Missing neighbor? Weird smell coming from her basement?” 

“You know, I think I liked it better when you didn’t like hearing about this shit.” 

“Swear jar.” 

“Dumbass.” 

“Now that’s two dollars, pal.” 

“I’ll throw it onto the monthly.” 

“You do that.” 

“What if I don’t?” 

“You just wait.” 

“Oh-ho—” 

“You just wait and see.” 

“You gonna take me back to court over two dollars?” 

“Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” 

“I’m good for it.” 

“Uh-huh...So why didn’t you keep seeing the uh—the witness?” 

“Just wasn’t feeling it.” 

“Why not?” You leaned against him again, whining, “C’mooooon, you can tell me.” 

“Why haven’t you been goin’ out, huh? You tell me.” 

“I’m busy, that’s all.” 

“Oh, and I’m not?” 

“That’s not what I mean, Ben.” 

“...I can take Liv a couple more nights.” 

You smiled a little, trying to ignore the slight bitterness that bubbled in your belly at the offer. God, it was nearly as bad as seeing Jessa flirt with him. He was trying to be nice—so why did it feel so rotten to hear it? Did he want you off of his hands so badly? 

“I appreciate that, but don’t feel the need to for—That reason. I mean you can take her more often if you have time. I know she loves staying at yours. She’d like it.” 

“We can figure something out.”

“Yeah.” 

“...You try the apps?” 

“For about five minutes. I had to delete them before I completely lost my faith in humanity.” 

Borracho chuckled softly, tapping the ashes from the end of his cigarette. 

“Figures.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You can’t meet people like that.” 

“Anyone can, that’s the point.” 

“No, I mean you can’t meet people like that.” 

“I could if I wanted to.” 

“How long did you say you were on the apps again?” 

“Alright.” 

“I’m just saying, you know, I know you. You’re gonna feel better about someone you meet the old-fashioned way.” 

You grunted, annoyed, as you took another sip of your beer. 

“Am I wrong?” Borracho prodded. 

“No.” You waited for another tease, but when Borracho didn’t say anything, you turned to find him watching you closely. You shifted in your spot uncomfortably, brow furrowing. “What?” 

“I should set you up.” 

“What?” You scoffed. 

“I should.” 

“That is the most hair-brained, idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had all day.” 

“Really? ‘Cause I think that goes to putting your daughter in the outfield so she can kick dandelions again.” 

“Oh, so when she kicks dandelions, she’s my daughter?” 

“You know she gets so bored out there.” 

“She’s six, she gets bored anywhere I put her.” 

“Not true. She likes first base.” 

“I’m setting you up.”

“You are not setting me up unless you want me setting you up.” You turned to see Borracho’s brow furrowing. “...I’m getting the feeling you hate that idea.” 

“Yeah, no, I’m good. I’ve met your friends.” 

“Uh-huh, and I’ve met yours and they’re no prize.” 

“...How about I take Liv a couple of Fridays this month, give you time to go out. It doesn’t have to be on a date,” He added before you could argue, “Just, you know. A little extra you time.” 

“Okay. If the schedule works, maybe we keep it up.” 

“That sounds good.” 

“Good.” You reached out, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and taking a quick drag before passing it back. 

“We should head back in,” You sighed out the smoke. “Alyssa’s going to think we’re fighting out here.”

“Alyssa can think whatever the fuck she wants,” Borracho grumbled as you stood, dusting your hands. 

“Cigarette out, let’s go,” You urged, laughing as Borracho grunted as he stood. “Did you really just do the old man grunt?” 

“Bold words from a woman whose knees cracked when she got up.”

“Shut up, there's no way you heard that.”

“Popped like an AK.”

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