#borracho Magalon

[tropes-and-tales]

Sharing is Caring

(Murph Connors x F!Reader; Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

CW:  Mild angst. Smut (Cuckholding as a kink; open relationships; mention of threesome; mention of foot fetish; brief oral, m! receiving; less brief oral, f! receiving; PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 8434

AN:  This was originally requested for Kinktober 2023 (oops) by an anonymous person!

Of all the guys, Murph Connors has always been the least forthcoming about his romantic life.  Big Nick, Henderson, Z…they all lay their love lives out for the scrutiny of the others.  Their divorces, their conquests, their ball-and-chain back home giving them grief, their sweet new thing just a phone call away.  The baby mamas and the ones that got away.

Murph is something of a mystery with most of his personal life anyway.  Stakeouts and hotel parties alike, he’s always more likely to sit and smoke and listen thoughtfully than he is to open up about his time away from Major Crimes.

Which is all to say:  Benny is never clear on when Murph started dating you.  The big hulking asshole just brought you around one evening—a low-key night at a dive bar. 

It was jarring, the first time the guys met you.  You knew a lot about them, and they knew nothing about you.  By the end of the night… they still don’t know much about you.  Which may be why you and Murph became a couple:  you had a slickness to how you answer their questions, a cool way of turning their queries back around on them. 

You ended up leaving them that first night early.  You leaned over and brushed a kiss over Murph’s stubbled face, and you waved at the guys and said it’s been a pleasure, and then you were gone.

“Nice girl,” Big Nick offered, a touch sardonic.  “Playing your cards close to the vest, huh?”

Benny lifted his glass of beer towards Murph and added, more nicely, “good for you, Connors.  She seems great.”

Murph chuckled and shook his head a bit.  “You have no idea, man.”

-----

If you’re like a case file, Benny only builds you up little by little.  One tiny gleaned fact at a time.

When Murph puts in for some PTO because he’s taking you back east for a long weekend.  “She’s had a rough fucking month with work,” he says, and that’s how Benny learns that you work in the family courts system in some capacity.

When Murph comes in on a Monday stiff and limping.  “She took me fucking paddle boarding.  You ever do that shit?  Fuck, every part of me hurts.”

When you show up unannounced one morning, in a sharp wool suit and heels that click on the floor.  You smile at Murph and hand him his lunch.  “You forgot this,” you tell him, and you strain on your toes to kiss him lightly. 

And that same moment, Big Nick comes out of his office and asks Connors if his mommy brought him his bologna sandwich.  You are quick to flip him off and retort that you just came from his mom’s place, Momma Big Nick sends her regards and says he should call more often, which makes the guys laugh.

When Murph hooks up with one of the hired girls at a hotel party.  Benny is no angel, but he goes out on the balcony to smoke a cigarette, and he feels a sting of something.  Disappointment in Murph?  Pity for you? 

When, days later, Benny brings it up to Murph.  “Kinda shitty, man,” he says, even though none of them are saints by any stretch, and both Z and Big Nick are serial cheaters.  Benny supposes he thought better of Murph and his whole strong-and-silent routine, mistook his reticence for a version of virtue.

When, a beat later, Murph looks at him in surprise and says, “it’s all aboveboard, bubba.  We’re in an open thing.”

When Benny can’t come up with a reply fast enough, Murph takes in his expression and adds, “oh, yeah, didn’t you know?  She’s way chill with a lot more than you’d think.” 

-----

When Murph brings you around for Z’s birthday party.  You and Benny end up in the kitchen together, restocking a cooler of beer together.  Benny clears his throat, and you glance at him.  Your lips are curved in a bemused smile, and before he can even voice his question, you preempt him and say, “you’ve got questions, huh?”

Benny nods.

“It’s only complicated when you think of it through the framework of antiquated social mores.”

What can he say to that?  When has Benny ever really sat and considered the framework of antiquated social mores?

You touch his forearm softly.  “What I mean is, Murph and I are never going to get married and have kids and a house in the suburbs.  Murph isn’t built for that and neither am I.  So why not do our own thing, recognizing that it will end eventually?  Why not have a little fun?”

“Not about that wife and mom life, then?” he asks with a smile, though he’s still out of his depths.  Every woman he’s known has wanted those things—or at least he thought they did.  He’s been married twice himself, one small son from the second one.  His mother, his sisters, his cousins, every woman he’s dated… they all seemed to be marching towards the same template, right?

“Marriage is just a legal contract that almost never benefits the woman.  And children?”  You laugh with a tinge of bitterness.  “In this world?  Maybe I love my children so much that I’ve decided to never foist them into this existence.”

“Grim.”

You cock your head at him.  Appraise him.  “Did Murph ever tell you what I do for a living?”

“You work in family courts, right?”

“I’m a minor’s attorney for the Juvenile Court.”

“Oh.  Shit.”  Benny’s work sometimes touches on juvenile cases, abuse of children.  Neglect.  But only sometimes, and he can’t imagine dealing with it exclusively.

“Oh shit is right.”  You don’t say more.  You finish dumping the ice into the cooler, then say in a brighter tone, “you’re up, Borracho.  Carry the cooler out, will you?  I’d hate for all that work at the gym to go to waste.”

If Benny perhaps preens at the unintended compliment, and if he perhaps flexes more than necessary as he carries the cooler, no one mentions it. 

-----

The other guys must have a passing interest in you too, and Murph feeds them breadcrumbs of information over months and months.

The fact that yes, you’re pretty chill about things, but also pretty adventuresome.

The fact that you have a nice little bungalow in Little Armenia, and in a fact that both shocks Benny and kinda, sorta turns him on, you have a hidden sex room in that nice little bungalow.

“What the fuck is a sex room?” Henderson asks, and Murph actually blushes at the question.  His face turns florid, but he answers with a cryptic, “look it up yourself, man.”

Which Benny does later that night on incognito mode. 

Other things that come out, over time and usually by accident with Murph is just a touch too loose with the booze sometimes at their parties.  He spills the salacious stuff and the sweet stuff, both.

You have a secret OnlyFans where you deal exclusively in foot stuff.  You never show your face, and you have a small but dedicated clientele who pay outrageous sums for you to do weird shit with your admittedly very lovely feet.  One guy pays for you to step on elaborate desserts, to get frosting between your toes.  Another guy pays you to flex and contort your feet around various sex toys.  Another pays to watch you paint your toenails in colors he chooses.

“It pays really well,” Murph says as the guys laugh and rib him.  “How the hell do you think she afforded the down payment for that house?”

You are trying to learn Japanese (why asks Big Nick, and Murph shrugs and says why not? Then adds, “she loves Japanese cinema, man, and she doesn’t trust that the subtitles get it right.”)

You set up a threesome for Murph’s birthday last year, you and a woman you had carefully vetted. Afterwards, the three of you had sat in the kitchen and ate leftover apple cake from the Armenian bakery down the street.

You live across the street from a widow who has no family, so you routinely check on her, make double recipes when you cook, and make sure she’s good.

Once, at a hotel party (one that Benny wasn’t at because he had his son that weekend), Murph hooked up with a hired girl and had you on Facetime for the entire exchange.  At your request.  And that it tapped into some unrealized jealous streak, so when Murph dropped by your place afterwards, you fucked him senseless.

“Best sex of my life,” he mumbles around the mouth of his beer bottle.

And how the experience has opened up a new avenue of exploration.  How you’re on the lookout for a willing candidate to fuck so Murph can be jealous.  So Murph can be cuckolded.

Big Nick lifts his hand at that revelation.  “I volunteer.  Shit, man.  Sign me up.”

Murph snorts and shakes his head, and he changes the subject as elegantly as a drunk person can, but his eyes slide over to Benny and linger there a beat too long for it to mean nothing.

-----

“She likes you, you know,” Murph tells him weeks later. 

They’re on a stakeout, and when Benny turns to look at his partner, Murph is just gazing straight ahead out of the windshield.  Benny lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

“She doesn’t know me.”

“She does.  Better than you think, bubba.”

“We had half of a conversation once.”  Benny reaches back through his memory and finds nothing else.  No meaningful glances, even.  No lingering touches.

Murph reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his pack of smokes.  He shakes one loose and offers the pack to Benny, who waves him off. 

“You interested?” Murph asks as he pulls out a lighter, sparks up.  He takes a deep drag, breathes out plumes of smoke. 

Benny hesitates to answer.  Of course he’s interested.  You’ve been pinging on his internal radar since you turned up on the scene, but how the fuck does he tell Murph that?  You may be chill and Murph may be chill, but it feels precarious, fucking with his partner’s woman.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Murph offers helpfully.  “You don’t have to answer.  Just know that she’s interested in you.”

“It’d be a dicey thing to fuck with your woman, Connors.”

Murph snorts.  “It’s up to you, but maybe you aren’t getting it.  She isn’t my woman.  If she heard you call her that, she’d lay into you.”

“Then who the fuck does she belong to if not you?”

Another snort, and Murph shoots him a scathing look.  “Man, it’s the twentieth century.  She belongs to herself, you fucking caveman.”

Benny chuckles, shakes his head.  “Yeah, okay.  You’re a regular Gloria Steinem.”

“I’m a pretty enlightened kind of guy.”

“But it’s the twenty-first century.”

“Close enough.”

-----

The next time Benny sees you, it’s at Murph’s place.  For once, the stingy bastard is opening up his own wallet and hosting an evening.  There’s a fight on pay-per-view, and Murph lays out a surprisingly robust spread of pizza, wings, and booze.  Big Nick invites a few of his regular girls.

Your contribution to the evening is your presence and the spoils from your visit to a dispensary.  You settle on the couch beside Murph, cross-legged and leaning forward as you roll a joint.  Murph’s big paw rests idly on your back, steadying you, and Benny watches from the corner of his eye.

When you light one up, you take a deep inhale, blow it out slowly.  You pass it to Murph, who declines, who passes it to Z, who takes a hit, who passes it to Benny.

He usually doesn’t bother with pot, but when he glances over and sees you watching him, he lifts it to his lips and takes a hit as well.  It’s smooth, tastes faintly of something citrus, and when he exhales, he can see you smiling at him through the plume of smoke.

-----

The shit you’ve brought is strong, and by the time the party settles in, Benny’s head is swimming.  Everything has a halo to it, bright and golden, and he knows he has a goofy grin on his face but he can’t quite care.

“That must hurt,” you tell him.  Everyone has shifted around, drifted.  Henderson and Z are the only two watching the fight in earnest.  Big Nick is off with one or more of the hired girls, and Murph is stretched out on the couch and drowsing despite the TV noise and music.

Benny is outside on the patio, looking up at the sky and wishing he didn’t live in a place with so much smog.  Then you’re standing over him, smiling, and you gesture at the bit of free step beside him.  He nods, and you join him.

“What hurts?” he asks.

You gesture at his face.  “You’re smiling a lot.  Pretty stoned, huh?”

“Why would it hurt?”

“You’re not exactly a smiley sort of guy.”

He laughs, and you giggle along with him.  “Yeah, Connors said you know me pretty well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He pauses, blinks against his dry eyes.  “What do you know, then?”

“You’re probably too stoned for this conversation.”

“Nope.  I’m good.  Lay it on me.  What’s my favorite color?”

You shake your head.  “No idea.”

“Favorite food?”

Another shake, paired with a smile.  “Also no idea.”

Benny snorts.  “You don’t know me at all.”

You draw your legs up to your chest and hug your knees closer to you.  You bend your head, rest your cheek on your knees, and fix your gaze on him.

“Funny that you think your favorite color and food is what defines you,” you say. 

The pot has left him dry-mouthed and loose-limbed, so he fumbles as he reaches for his half-empty bottle of beer.  You watch him as he takes a sip, then fumbles to set it back down.

“What defines me then, huh?”

“Murph never told you?”

“Told me what?”  Told him that you were interested?  Told him you might want to fuck him in one of your sexual games, and told him that you were free to do that because you belonged to yourself and no one else?  Benny thinks it all, rapid-fire, but he says none of it.

You turn your head away from him and stare straight ahead, where Murph’s built out a sad-looking fire pit of scavenged bricks and concrete blocks.  “There was a case a while ago.  Couple cooking meth in their house.  South Central. You and Murph were on it.”

Benny remembers.  He has to dig past the pot and past the other cases since then, and then he remembers:  the scrawny dude, the scrawnier woman.  A shitty little house, one of those places where people kept adding on lean-to additions without permits, little more than shacks.  They had a surprisingly sophisticated meth lab, and they also dealt in other unsavory activities:  guns, fenced goods, occasional assault. 

The meth makers had a kid.  Benny remembers that. 

Benny wishes he didn’t remember that.

“You and Murph were on the case, but you were the lead.  By the time their kid came through the system to me, you were off the case.  I guess you got moved onto other things, so when I needed testimony, that’s how I met Murph. 

“I didn’t know.”

“So I do know you, kinda.  I thought it had been Murph, so when I read through the case notes, I told him how impressed I was.  How thorough it was.  How…I don’t know.  There was a barely contained rage in the notes about the conditions that kid was found in.  Murph told me right away they weren’t his notes.  ‘That’s my partner, Borracho,’ he said.”

“What does that tell you about me?” Benny asks, curious. 

You turn your head and look at him again.  “It tells me that I work off of police case notes all the fucking time, and half the time, they barely note the kids caught in the cross-fire.  I read a note from an officer that says ‘child seems small for his age,’ and then I see the kid and it’s obvious they’ve been starved their entire life.  I talk to a detective; he says, ‘yeah, kid had some bruises but kids are always getting dinged up.’  Then I see the x-rays from the medical exam and the kid’s broken more bones in five years of living than you or I will break in our combined lifetimes.”

He doesn’t have a reply for that.  He knows the profession he’s in.  He knows the type of people that it attracts.  He knows that even the well-intentioned get jaded, get burnt out or exhausted by the parade of misery each day. 

“You saw that kid.  You didn’t downplay any of it.  You witnessed and documented it, and because you did all that, I was able to terminate his parents’ rights.  He’s been adopted by a cousin.  She’s a nice lady, out in Lubbock.  Kid has a backyard and a family dog and his own room.  I got a card from them last Christmas.”

Benny breathes out a heavy exhale.  He didn’t realize that’s how you and Murph met, and he never realized you’d known about him all along. 

“Well, shit,” he finally says. 

“You’re a good guy,” you tell him.

He shakes his head.  The way you say it, like you’re capitalizing the “G” in “good.”  He likes to think he is good-ish, but he often feels like he skews more on the bad side of things.  Not evil, but more towards the less admirable traits a man shouldn’t have.  He doesn’t see his son enough.  He doesn’t speak up when Big Nick is behaving badly.  He should go home more, help his mom around the house, spend more time with his nieces and nephews.  He drifts towards inaction, and if he’s learned anything in his career as a cop, doing nothing is often as bad as… doing something bad.

The pot loosens his tongue more than he’d like, and he blurts out, “so I took good case notes and that’s why you want to fuck me?”

You inhale sharply, then burst into gales of laughter.  You release your hold on your knees and stretch your legs out in front of you, plant your palms on the step beside you and laugh. 

“Goddamnit, Benny,” you manage to get out between peals of laughter.  “When did you get so blunt?”

He laughs along with you.  “You brought super-pot.  I’m a fucking lightweight.”

“Oh, god.”  You swipe at your eyes, then stand up.  You turn to go back inside, but you pause and look down at where he’s still settled on the patio step.

“For the record, you took good case notes and that’s why I think well of you.”  A beat, and you add, “I only want to fuck you because you’re hot.”

Hearing you admit it from your own mouth and not secondhand and obliquely from Murph makes Benny’s go all fuzzy in the head, a wave of lust so strong that he has to stay out on the patio for a while until he calms.

-----

“Just curious,” Benny asks Murph a few weeks later.  “How would it work?”

They are on another stakeout on the same miserable case, and Murph grunts from the driver’s seat.  “How would what work?”

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“Jesus, c’mon.”  Benny runs a hand over his jaw.  “Don’t make me say it out loud.”

“You can’t be so squeamish if you’re considering it, bubba.”

“Fine.”  He huffs out a breath through his nostrils, then turns to look out his window.  “How would hooking up with her work?”

He can see Murph turn and look at him; his reflection is a ghost in his window.  He can just make out a wide grin.

“How does it work?” he teases.  “Well, when a guy likes a girl a whole lot, he takes off her clothes—”

“Fuck off.  You know what I mean.”

Benny catches Murph’s shrug in the reflection of the window.  “How would it work if I wasn’t in the picture?”

“It’s that easy?”

“Yeah.  I can give you her number.”

Benny pauses, considers how out of his depth he is.  “And you’d be fine with it?”

Murph chuckles and turns to face forward, his eyes fixed on the house across the street they are scoping out.  “Dude, that time I hooked up at the hotel party and she watched on Facetime?  Then I went home to her?  I thought I was gonna die.  She was like a damned wildcat, and it was amazing.  So yeah, I’d be fine with it.  It’s a fun thing to explore.  You have your fun, I’ll see if I get all jealous like she did.  If I do, then I’ll go fuck her brains out too.  If I don’t, then she got to have fun with a guy she’s got a thing for.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.  Like I said, it’s fun to explore.  Fun to play around with.  Win-win-win all the way around.”

“Sharing is caring,” Benny adds.

Murph laughs.  “Exactly, dude.”

-----

Murph gives him your contact information when they clock out, and he puts a heavy hand on Benny’s shoulder.

“Treat her good, though, yeah?  She’s chill and fun but she’s also kind of a softy, so be nice to her.”

Benny nods.  “I will.”  He takes a beat, then adds in a lighter tone, “any tips?”

Murph laughs and drops his hand from Benny’s shoulder.  “You’re on your own there, bubba.”

-----

Benny probably asks Murph at least ten more times if it’s okay.

At the same time, he asks you probably fifty times if it’s okay.

“You seem uncertain,” you tell him over the phone one night as you try to hash out plans.  “You know you don’t have to do anything.  Hell, if you want to just go and grab a beer, I’m down.”

Benny chuckles at that—like he’d be content with just sharing a drink after living with you in the forefront of his thoughts for months. 

“Maybe it’s just difficult because I live in a framework of antiquated social mores.”

“That framework starting to feel like a cage yet?”

“You planning a jailbreak for me?”

“Yup.  Operation Free Magalon.”

He glances around his apartment:  spartan, utilitarian.  The latest in a long string of places.  He’s bounced between apartments and homes, marriage to divorce to marriage to divorce, and now he’s back here alone.  It’d be nice, he thinks, to let loose like this.  To explore something different. 

“When works for you?” he asks, and by the end of the call you have a date and time for him to go over to your place and hang out.

“Still no pressure though, Benny,” you remind him gently.  “We can hang out and see what happens.  If nothing happens, we’ll have had a nice evening of good company.”

-----

It turns out to be a nice evening of good company after all.

Benny goes to your place and brings a bottle of wine, because he has no idea the etiquette of this sort of thing.  He’s never actually seen you drink wine, and you take it from him with thanks, but then set it aside and tell him that dinner is about ready.

Because you cook for him.  Because of course you fucking do.

He relaxes little by little.  You eat, and you make a pitcher of margaritas light on the tequila so neither of you get wasted.  You chat, stilted at first, then more comfortably.  After dinner, you shift to the living room and the conversation continues.  You ask if he wants to spark up, then joke and tell him you have a milder strain, so the two of you share a joint, passing it back and forth, loosening up even more.

It probably helps, knowing that you want him.  Benny has always been secure in himself, but never as blustery confident as Big Nick or even Henderson.  There’s always been a thread of submissiveness in the beginning of his relationships, a subtle feeling-out before making a move.  He’s always wanted to know it was a close-to-sure thing before putting himself out there.

The tequila and pot relaxes him enough that he unclenches his shoulders, his arms.  He unclenches his jaw.  When you move towards him, he’s able to meet you halfway in a smooth motion.  He’s able to get an arm around your waist and maneuver you into his lap right out of the gate.  You settle there, your weight so close to where his cock twitches at the change to the evening.  Then you cup his head in your hands and lean in to kiss him.

It's soft, at first.  It surprises him how softly you kiss him.  He’s way out of his depths, and he supposes he has a lot of preconceived notions.  Part of him thought you’d open your door in some dominatrix getup, all patent leather and metal hardware, and Benny realizes that he doesn’t have much of a handle on any kinks beyond the tamest ones.  Because you answered the door in a simple dress, and now you’re kissing him gently, almost shyly, your hands soft against his face as you settle more of your weight on him.

It progresses in slow movements.  You kiss.  You deepen the kiss.  Your hands touch him in widening arcs:  his face, then his neck, then his shoulders.  His chest, his arms.  Lower, down his belly, and your palm slips under the hem of his shirt to touch him low, right where the waist of his jeans cut into him.

Lower still, as you kiss him, as you sweep your tongue against his, as you taste him and breathe against him and make little moans that make him grow harder.  You feel him there; you rock against him, and he swears he can feel the wet heat of you through your panties and through his own clothing.  Your hand fumbles at his belt, his button, his zipper, and he’s about to reach down to help you but you succeed.  A beat later, he feels your hand on him, grasping him lightly through his boxers. 

He can’t help the moan that tears out of his throat.  He hasn’t been touched since his ex-wife, the second one, left him.

He slides his hands from where they rest on your hips.  He slides them back and grips the fat of your ass, kneads and grasps you.  He pulls you closer to him, and you pull your hand away from where you’re grasping him.  You steady yourself, hands on his shoulders, and now he definitely can feel the wet heat of you:  the head of his cock has slipped the bounds of his boxers, and he bumps against the damp cotton of your panties.

“Benny,” you breathe against his mouth.  “Can we move this somewhere else?”

In a less-than-smooth move, he shuffles forward with you still in his lap, then staggers into a standing position.  He keeps his hands under your ass, hauls you up, and you wrap your legs around him. 

“Tell me where to go, baby.”

-----

Benny’s incognito searches made him think your sex room would be something wild:  padded walls with shelves of dildos, perhaps, or red satin sheets.  A piece of weird leather furniture, maybe, like he saw on one site.  Chains hanging from the ceiling like a meat locker.

Murph oversold it a little.  It’s just a separate bedroom, done up nicer than the average guest room.  There’s dark, soft-looking bedding on the king-sized bed.  The frame is wrought iron, and sure, there’s handcuffs dangling from either side of the headboard.  The lighting is soft and low, and there’s a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed that Benny will one day learn is full of sex toys, neatly organized by type.

He takes it all in in a split second and no longer, because you’re in his arms as he carries you to the bed.  He moves to lay you down, but you keep your legs wrapped around him.  He follows you then, an awkward drop but you tug his full weight onto you and kiss him fiercely.

The pot keeps it from being too frenetic.  The eagerness keeps the pot from making it too lazy.  It’s the perfect balance, an ebb and flow of energy and speed.  You strip him quickly, and when he goes too slow in stripping you, you push him away, kneel above him, and tug your dress over your head. 

Benny lays back on the bank of pillows and watches in awe:  your arms lifted up lifts your breasts, and you’re wearing one of those bras that barely covers anything.  Lacy black cups only cover the rounded fullness at the bottom, and he can see where your nipples peek out.  He takes in the rest of you:  the softness of your belly and the curve of your hips, the equally skimpy panties.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mumbles.  He reacts automatically, grips himself and gives his cock a few pumps with his hand at the sight of you half-naked and kneeling over him.  Backlit by the soft lighting.  Gazing back at him with half-lidded eyes, lips parted.  The pink tip of your tongue skating over your lower lip as you watch him touch himself.

“You do this before?” you ask.  Your voice has a husky quality, either from the tequila or the pot or the moment, or all three.

“Do what?”

“Touch yourself thinking about me.”

No sense in lying.  He’s done it more than once.  He nods at you.

You rock back on your heels and smile at him.  “I’ve thought about you too.”

The admission makes a fresh pulse of desire rocket through him, makes his cock twitch in his hand.  “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“How’d it go?” 

“Hmm.”  You move to all fours and crawl towards him, and he releases his hold on himself.  You work your way up from the bottom of him, teasing him.

“I thought about you the night I finally met you.”  You say it right near his erection, your warm breath skating over him, making him shiver. 

“And the night that Murph fucked that blonde girl?  I imagined you here, fucking me at the same time.”  Your tongue darts out and licks against him, teasing, lapping up the precum that’s leaked out of him.  Benny groans, and his hips judder upward, but you’re already moving away.  Pressing a kiss on his belly, right below his navel.  Then above it.  Up his sternum, his chest, his collarbones, and your lower body is hovering over his now.

“How would I have fucked you that night?” Benny manages, but it comes out strained.  You lower your weight on him, and he feels how wet you are, your panties drenched as you slide against his erection.  Back and forth, teasing him.  Torturing him.

“On all fours,” you reply.  You suck a line of wet kisses along the side of his neck, mouthing at his tattoo there.  He feels your teeth, your tongue.  Feels your words sink into him when you add, “your hand on the back of my neck, holding me down against the mattress.”

“Fuck, baby—”

“So deep that I can feel you in my throat.  So deep I can taste you.”  You bite the tendon between his neck and shoulder, and he groans, reaches up.  Slides his hand against the back of your skull and holds you there.  You continue rocking against him, sliding against his cock, and he’s glad for the pot because it always keeping him from coming too soon.

The pot also makes it difficult for him to focus completely.  The word taste lodges in his mind, and his thoughts drift in that direction and settle there.  He holds your hips for a moment, but then he reaches up to gently untangle you from where you’re kissing him, and he sits up underneath you.  You smile at him, your lips swollen, and ask what he wants.

“Wanna taste you.”  He reverses it back on you—he bends his head and kisses your neck, sets his teeth against the soft skin of your throat and makes you whine.  “Can I?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Lie down then.”

You do as you’re told, and Benny detours to your tits, has you arch off the bed enough to undo your bra and toss it aside.  He puts his mouth to you, thinks of it as a preview for you.  He lowers his head and nuzzles against your soft skin.  He drags his tongue over the curves of you, breathes against the wet line of spit, and smiles when you whine again.  He blows against one nipple, then the other, then wraps his lip against one.  Rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, pinches lightly until you hiss.  Switches to the other:  his mouth on one, his hand pinching the other, and you making the sweetest goddamned noises he’s ever heard.

He makes his way lower.  He nuzzles here too, feels the delicious damp of your panties.  Takes a deep, blatant inhale of you, and it sets you squirming underneath him.  Eager.

Benny hooks his hands under the waistband and draws them down your legs, and you lift your hips to help.  Completely bare now, he rocks back on his heels to look his fill, and his earlier assessment was correct.

“Perfect,” he mutters, and the praise makes you squirm, makes you fix him with a heavy gaze.

Makes you part your legs as he stares down at you, drawing his eyes to where you’re already a mess just from fooling around with him.  You’re so fucking wet, your arousal slick on your inner thighs, and Benny is too stoned to finesse it:  he just dives in, clumsy and impatient, his facial hair rasping over your sensitive folds.

“God, Ben,” you moan.  He feels your hands on his head, and you tug against his hair.  Pull him firmer against your hot flesh.  He doesn’t need any convincing.

Eating pussy is generally one of his favorite moves in the bedroom.  Men who get squeamish about it mystify Benny; to him, there’s nothing hotter than literally tasting a partner.  To putting one’s mouth to a person.  When he was much younger, he could get off just by eating a partner out, and it never bothered him when he did.

It helps when his partner is so damned into it too.  Benny’s been with partners who didn’t like it, too traumatized by previous boyfriends who gave them shit about it.  You?  You’re all in.  You steer his head bossily, and he’s happily led.  You moan and swear in equal message; you groan out his name and praise and gentle instructions on what to do more of.

He works the flat of his tongue over your seam, and he reaches with a hand to part your folds to reveal the slick inner core of you.  He laps at your hole, then draws his tongue upward to swirl around your clit.

“So good, Benny,” you sigh.  “Oh, just like that.  Please.  Don’t…fuck, don’t stop.”

He sets that rhythm, over and over.  He adds a thick finger, slips it into your clenching heat, and he groans at the feel of you, of being inside you.  It makes your hips press upwards, makes you breathe out his name, so he adds a second finger, lazily slides them in and out of you as he laps up and down your slit.  He wraps his lips around the firm bud of your clit and suckles.  You lift your hips again, chasing the sensation, and he chuckles.

“Good?” he growls against your core, and you whine out yes, so good, so fucking good.

“Better than Murph?”

His words don’t give you pause—you go with it.  “Yes,” you whisper.  You sound wrecked, halfway fucked-out, and he hasn’t even gotten his cock in you yet.  “Y-you’re better.”

“Fuck yeah I am.”  He pushes his two fingers deep inside you and feels the answering clench of your cunt.  He crooks them, rubs his fingertips against you from the inside, tests different spots.  Finds it a moment later when a fresh pulse of cum coats his fingers, enough to slick into his palm.

“Murph ever find this?” he asks as he presses against your g-spot. 

“N-never.”

“But I did.”

Another press of your hips, seeking more, needing more.  “You did.  Feels so good, Ben.”

“Gonna come like this?”  He peers up at you from between your thighs and takes in your wrecked expression.

“I’m close,” you warn him. 

“Then let me have it,” he replies.  “Wanna taste you coming in my mouth.”

It only takes another moment, and you do what he says here too:  you tighten your grip on his hair, almost to the point of pain.  You moan his name, and then you come.  Your thighs clamp shut around his head, and there’s a moment where he’s deprived of enough oxygen that he sees sparks in his peripherals.  He grins at the thought of passing out between your legs.  Your orgasm sends a fresh pulse of arousal, and he laps it up as you tremble above him.

Benny makes his way back up to you, and your hands tug him down.  You kiss him deeply, and you must taste yourself on his tongue because you moan against his mouth.

You break the kiss and smile up at him as he catches his breath.  Your hands stroke his shoulders, and your fingertips scratch against his head.  It’s been so long since he’s been touched, he practically purrs under your attention.

“Still good?” you ask.

“You know it.”

“There’s condoms in the nightstand if you want more.”

Yes, Benny wants more.

-----

He gets you on all fours, just as you said you imagined.  He rolls a condom onto himself, gives himself a few experimental pumps with his fist as you shuffle backwards towards him.

“Now, like you said.”  Benny lays a palm along the back of your neck and pushes you down gently until your head is turned and your cheek is pressed against the mattress.  “Like that.”

He can hear how turned on you are when you echo, you’re voice heavy with desire, “just like that.”

“Good?”

“Perfect.”  You wriggle your ass at him, tempting him, and it doesn’t take much.  He grips his cock with his other hand, swipes the tip through your slick.  He teases it a bit, teasing the broad head of his cock along your plump lips, pushes the barest bit into you but then pulls out.  Does it until you whine, and there’s a threatening tone underneath the simpering.  Like there’s only so far he can tease you.

He enters you as slowly as he can.  He wants to feel every inch of you, and he stares down at where he splits you open, where he disappears into your body.  He can feel you try to push back and rush it; the only thing stopping you is his hand on the back of your neck holding you firm.

“Benny…”  It’s a drawn out whine.  A pleading tone. 

“Patience, baby.”  Benny grits his teeth and slides the last inch home, his cock buried to the root, his hips flush against you.  “There we are.”

He feels how tight you are against him, the little twitches against him as you mold to the shape of his cock.  If the analogy is a cliché, so be it:  it’s a perfect fit, a key made for a lock.  He releases his hold on your neck and skates his fingertips down the bumps of your spine.  You shiver against the sensation, and he smacks your ass lightly a beat later. 

“Benny, c’mon.”  Another whine.  “Please.”

“Please what?”  He smacks you again, not hard, and then he sinks his fingertips into the swell of your hips.  Holds you tight against him but only to stop you from moving.

“Please fuck me.”

“Yeah?”  He draws out an inch, thrusts back into you.  “Like that?”

It makes you groan, the sound coming from deep inside you, deep in your belly.  “Just like that.  Just like that, please.”

He does it again:  pulls out a fraction, slides back in, hard and firm.  “Feel good?”

“Fuck yes.”

Again.  Hard enough to jar you forward a bit, and his hands on your hips pull you back.  “You ever been fucked like this?”

“N-no.”

Again, and he pulls out halfway and pauses.  Looks down at where his cock glistens with your arousal, where your cunt twitches and spasms against him.  Struggling to push him out or pull him in, he can’t say for sure.  He pushes forward and pulls you back in one motion, and it knocks the wind out of you, pushes out a guttural moan.

“Murph never fuck you like this?”  He repeats it, a hard thrust that makes you keen this time, then he holds it, buried as far inside you as he can go.  He pulses forward, feels where the base of him grinds against your clit, where his heavy balls press against you.

“Never.  Never!”  Your voice is higher, reedy.  Breathless.  “God, Ben—”

“He’s gonna fuck you after I leave, isn’t he?”  There’s a filament of jealous burning in him.  He doesn’t understand this cuckolding kink from the other side of things.  If you were his, he’d fucking make you his.  He wouldn’t fool around at hotel parties like Murph did; he’d be right here with you, keeping you stuffed full of him, satiated. 

He also doesn’t understand the possession side of things, why it’s such a bad thing.  Of course you belong to yourself.  When he says you’re mine, Benny means a hundred nuanced things.  He means that he’s also yours, that you belong to each other not in an ownership way but in a way he can’t quite express without sounding like some antiquated asshole.  That you’re his to keep safe, to love, to take care of, just as he’d be yours to keep safe and love and care for.

Of course, you aren’t his anyway, and he’s not yours.  This is a borrowed moment, so he deals you a handful of deep, slow thrusts, his cock hitting the end of you and making you whimper each time.

“He’s coming over after this, right?”  Benny asks it again.  He wants you to say it.

“Yes.”

“He gonna fuck you this good?”

You shake your head against the bedding.  “Nuh-uh.”

Benny pulls you tight against him, and he grinds himself into you, pushes every fraction of himself into your clenching heat.  You’re so fucking wet that it goes a brush easier, but he can’t know that he’s deeper than any man’s ever been, that he’s nudging against the mouth of your womb, and that you’re thinking no, Murph’s never fucked me this good because he’s never been so deep inside me, and it’s just like I imagined that time—I can feel Benny in my chest, in my throat.

Benny knows none of what you’re thinking.  Instead, he reaches down and grasps you under your arms.  He hauls you off your hands and up to where he is.  He wraps his arms around your torso, holds you—your back to his chest—and he whispers in your ear, “good.  No one will ever fuck you as good as this.”

You turn your head.  He can see the fucked-out look on your face, the dazed expression, the teary eyes.  Your lips parted as you pant, breathless, then agree with him.  Echo his words, tell him, “no one will ever fuck me as good as you, Ben.”

It ends too quickly after that.  Even with the pot delaying his pleasure, Benny can’t put it off forever.  He feels you as your second orgasm approaches, the way you tighten up against where he’s bouncing you against his cock.  Then, a beat later, you come, and the walls of your cunt ripple against him like you’re trying to pull him into you.  Like you’re trying to consume him, and Benny thinks he wouldn’t mind being consumed by you.

His own orgasm is quick to follow yours.  He feels the telltale heaviness in his gut, the taut tightening of his balls.  In the split second before it breaks around him, he wishes he hadn’t worn a condom.  He wishes he could come inside you, fill you up with himself, leave you a mess for when Murph visits you later. 

He wishes the other man could see you looking blissed-out and satisfied, then could look down and see Benny’s cum trickling out of you.

The mental image—you filled with his spend, the mess of it as it drips from your body—is what pushes him over the edge.  The tension in him snaps, and he pushes in as deeply as he can as he come harmlessly in the latex.

-----

If Murph is due at any point afterwards, Benny can’t tell what the timeline is.  You don’t rush him out.  You don’t harry him along so your real boyfriend can come and take his turn.

In fact, it’s a lazy post-coital scene.  He helps you clean up.  He spends a long moment in your bathroom, sobering up and gazing at his own reflection.  This was a bad idea, he thinks now that his orgasm is behind him. 

There’s too much jealousy but not with the people he’d assume.  He’s the one that burns with jealousy. It's a cuckolding kink that has somehow boomeranged around to hit him, not Murph.

But back in the bedroom, you’re stretched out and sated, a lazy smile on your lips.  You pat the empty space beside you, and Benny takes it.  He puts an arm out and you curl up against his side, then he wraps his arm around you.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Mmm-hmm.  You?”

“Oh yeah.”  You turn your head and kiss him above his collarbone.  “You’re great, you know.”

Benny hums at that but says nothing.  You must read something in it, because you ask, “is this going to be a problem?”

What’s the point in lying?  There’s a hot ball of jealousy sitting like lead in his gut, and it’s not what it was supposed to be.  He was supposed to have a fun little interlude, then go home.  So why’s he the one feeling like he’s being cuckholded?

“I don’t want it to be a problem,” he answers honestly. 

You hear the unspoken “but” in his reply, and you urge him to explain.

“Maybe I wasn’t the best guy for this sort of game.”

“Why not?”

How should he put it? He's got two divorces under his belt. It should be obvious. 

“Because I fall pretty easily, I guess,” he replies.

You twist in his hold and settle your chin on his chest so you can gaze up at him.  “This wasn’t a game, you know.”

Benny snorts.  “No?”

“Murph and I have an open thing.”

“And you wanted a guy to fuck you so he could play around with being jealous about it.”

You shake your head faintly.  “You’re missing the point, Benny.  I wanted to be with you.  The cuckholding was secondary.  It’s not the other way around.  I wasn’t looking for a guy for the sake of cuckholding Murph.  I was looking to be with you first and foremost.”

It gives him the barest bit of comfort, but you still sense his confusion.  You sigh and push away from him, and you leave the room for a moment.  When you return, you have your phone in your hand, and you’re typing as you walk back to the bed.

“There,” you say.  You set the phone down on the nightstand, then crawl back in to lie down beside him.

“There what?”

“There…I texted Murph.  Told him not to come over.”

“But—”

“He sent back a thumbs up.”  You strain to brush a kiss onto his frowning mouth.  “It’s all good, Benny.”

He furrows his brow because he can’t quite believe you, and he tells you so, which makes you sigh again but smile.

“It’s an open thing.  It’s not serious.  He messes around with other women, I mess around with other men, and sometimes our outside stuff overlaps, but usually it doesn’t.”

“You sure?”

You nod, and you kiss him again.  Softly.  Lingering.  “I promise,” you assure him when you break away.

“I’m sorry to mess it up.”  Benny had been prepared to slink home and lick his wounds, but it turned into a massive non-issue.  He feels a sting of guilt all the same.

“Oh, you didn’t.”  You snuggle closer to him, the softness of your breasts pressing against his arm.  “But now that there’s no time limit on your exit, we could go again.”

Benny’s cock twitches at the thought.  “Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You kiss him again, then run the tip of your tongue over his collarbone.  “But maybe this time, you don’t mention Murph at all while we’re fucking.”

“Deal.”  Benny reaches his hand and cups your breast, tests the weight of it in his palm.  Runs the pad of his thumb over your hardening peak. 

The second time that night, it goes slower.  It’s softer:  gentle movements against each other, and without the specter of Murph in the room—glowering from the corner, the cuckold��it’s an entirely different experience.  It’s quieter but deeper, more intimate, and when he comes a second time, Benny doesn’t think of the other man at all.

He falls asleep, though he doesn’t mean to.  He means to go home either way that night, but he falls asleep with you in his arms, with your arms around him, and the thought that he falls asleep to is this:  maybe he’s old-fashioned and maybe he falls too easily, but you could be his, and he could be yours, and it might be amazing if he could convince you to consider it.

[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.

[kilojulietsierra]

Addicted - Oneshot ("Benny "Borracho" Magalon x OFC)

I Just can’t leave this man alone... but can you blame me?

Borracho comes across a woman while on a stakeout and there’s something about her... something he can’t quite put his finger on...

~~~

Borracho hated surveillance. He became a cop because he knew the streets. He became a detective because he learned he was smarter than everyone had told him. He wasn't just a spic with gang tats and the start of a pretty decent rap sheet. He was smart, he was observant, he enjoyed critical thinking and problem solving. On top of that he could run and gun.  All of this natural talent and hard earned skills he'd developed... were wasted sitting in a car listening to Murpheys mouth breathing.

He finished another cigarette and put it out in the empty Monster can in the cup holder. "We might as well call this shit for the night, he ain't comin'."

"Nick said to watch, so we watch."  Murph spit into the empty coffee cup that reeked of saliva and Skoal.

Borracho grimaced, "You'd blow him if he said to do that too."

"Man this is why I hate pullin surveillance with you, you get fuckin' pissy." He spit into the cup again. "Hey, got a little action. " Murph gestured towards the door to the bar they were watching.

When Borracho looked up he saw a group emerge from the dive bar. Everyone of 'em looked like an addict. He pulled his notebook out and laid it on his thigh.

- 1 white male, short, 5'5" maybe, meth sores, dark hair, no vis tats, dark jacket, holy jeans, kings hoodie - 1 hispanic femlae under 5'5", petite, pink/red hair, jordans, corgo pants, white ttop, pink jacket - 1 white female, tall 5'9"+/-, long dark hair, braids, ball cap, ink left arm, black zip hoodie, jeans - 2 black males, both tall 6+, one heavy, one fit, both jeans, one black hoodie, wc choppers, other plain white T dirty

"Car comin' in hot."

Borracho looked up from his notes to see black jetta roll down the street, slow to a crawl with one door swinging open and shut again. A body rolling with the impact of being thrown from the car, came to a twisted and mangled stop in the the middle of the street.

Neither of them moved, just watched. Then something surprised Borracho.

One of the druggies hanging out smoking cigarettes by the door approached the body. The tall girl with the dark hair and the braids looked up and down the street and then quick stepped out to the man the car had dumped.

Borracho tossed his notepad on the dash, "Fuck it." He kicked the door open and walked down the block. He watched the druggies scatter, all except for the woman kneeling in the street. The closer he got he saw that she had her left hand in a fist and was rubbing at his sternum while her other hand was reaching into her jacket. For a moment Borracho thought about going for his gun. He stopped when he saw her pull a Narcan pen out of her boot and administer it.

She looked up then, eyes dark and watery but wide, alert. After a brief moment of eye contact she looked back down, and rifled through his pockets, pulling out his phone,  the cash from his wallet and a small plastic baggy full of powder.  The woman shoved them all in her pockets and ran.

By the time Borracho came up to the man laying in the street he was starting to come around. "Hey bro," He tapped him on the side of the face, "C'mon kid, back to the light, who was she? You know her?" Nothing. "Who dumped you?" He made a fist and rubbed own knuckles hard over his sternum. The druggie moaned and tried to roll away, "C’mon you almost died dude, tell me who dumped you?"

He wasn't gonna get anything out of him right now but Borracho looked up and down the streets, back to Murph leaning on the hood of the SUV and picked up the Narcan tube, slipping it in to his pocket as he pulled his phone out to call dispatch.

~~~

"Yo Borracho! Where you goin?"

"Take a piss, wanna come help?"  Borracho grumbled back at him as he headed the opposite direction out of the elevator. He headed strait towards the lab and up to the for tech he saw, "Print this for me."

"What is it?" The tech looked at it with a scowl, mostly because Borracho was handling apparent evidence with his bare hands.

"A narc pen, just print it for me, please. Call me when you get it done, don't log it."

"I know what it is, what I should of said is; is that evidence that you're asking to handle improperly? More so than it already has been."

He had to give the kid credit, they held his eye contact and did not question reading him a riot act. "It's just a hunch. Not connected to any case."

The tech looked him over, scrutinizing. "Only because you're not as pig of prick as your boss."

Barracho smirked, "I'll take it." He handed the Narcan pen to the tech, "Thank you."

~~~

The phone rang a couple days later. "Magalon."

"Detective,its the lab, I have those results you asked for."

Borracho hung up the phone and left the Major crimes office and headed straight for the lab. He took one look at the results of the finger prints the tech had pulled and chewed on his lip. "Delete that. Appreciate your help."

"You don't want..."

He was already halfway to the door, "Got what I needed."

~~~

The bar was dark and dingy, stank of stale smoke and spilled beer, it took his eyes a second to adjust as he walked in and scanned the room. He saw her at the far end of the bar, sat with a clear view of the front door, sipping a beer and eating a bag of cool ranch Doritos.

He slid easily into the stool beside her and waited. Only paying attention to the bartender as he tried to flag him down for a drink. Borracho had a beer of his own before she said anything.

"What're you doing here old man?"

Borracho snorted and took a sip of the Corona, "Havin' a drink. Problem with that?"

"No problem." She picked at the label of her beer and fidgeted in her stool.

"You around here a lot?" Borracho looked her way and she held his gaze for the briefest moment before looking away.

"Just wonderin'," He continued, "Seems like the place you could get about anything you needed."

She turned on him them, "Look old man, I know you look like a washed up banger so you think you can slide in here and start askin' questions and shit." She stood up from her stool and dropped a crumpled up bill on the bar. As she moved to leave she took a step closer. "But you and I both know that iron on your hip is state issued, and I ain't that fuckin' stupid."

Borracho chuckled as she walked away and then reached over and starting crunching on the chips she had left behind.

~~~

It was a week later when he finally tracked her down again. He sat in the dark watching her as she made a buy. Slowly he let his SUV creep down the street slowly, getting as close as he could before he through the lights on. Her and the dealer both took off at a run. She was faster than the dealer, which made this part harder but he sped up and slid the SUV to a stop at an angle in front of her before bailing out after her.

He caught her around the bicep and drug her to a stop. She fought him the whole way as he wrestled her arms behind her and cuffed her wrists together.

"What the fuck are you doin' you crooked old fuck!?" She pulled away from him, trying to get away from him even in the cuffs until he spun her around and pushed her back against the hood of the car.

"Calm the fuck down." He pushed her back when she tried to step away, "You got anything gonna poke me, stick me?" He started patting her down and going through her pockets before she answered.  After he was done he tossed her phone, a wad of cash, a baggy of white powder and a bag of weed on the hood. "You got anything else on you?"

"Hope you weren't hoping to make a big bust tonight detective. Barely even a misdemeanor."

"Not what I'm here for querida." He was smirking as he looked her over, pulling up the sleeves of her hoodie, pulling up the hem of her shirt, tugging down her collar, taking a mental note of the ink he saw and where. "Who you work for?"

"Nobody." She laughed, tried to itch and fidget at the cuffs as they rubbed at her wrists, unable to stand still. "Hey look man, if you're trying to get to somebody, you are barkin' up the wrong tree. I look like a big tie dealer to you?" She moved her hands towards the objects on the hood, "You watched me man, must have, you know i'm just a user. Ain't got shit on nobody."

Borracho smirked again, "Not what I asked. Who do you work for?"

"Ask all you want old man, I ain't gonna have a different answer for you."

He nodded, "Okay, lets go then."

"What the fuck!?" She fought against him again as he pulled her up away from the car and towards the back seat.

"You're under arrest for possession of illegal substances, and for failure to appear in LA County. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, you have the right to an attorney," He opened the back door and ushered her inside, " If you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you."

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me." The rest of her sentence was cut off the door slamming behind her.

Once he was back in the drivers seat he asked again, "Now, who do you work for? And don't give me any of that user bullshit." He looked over his shoulder at her, "You ain't got any track marks, no sores, no burns on your fingers. You got all your teeth, and your eyes... that's just energy drinks and staying up all night querida." His eyes drilled into hers, "If you're a druggie I'm a fucking preacher."

She glared at him, doing her best to stare him down, "Fuck." She dropped her head back.

"You DEA? Feds?"

"No."

"LAPD."

"I knew I fucked up." She bounced her head off the headrest a few times.

"Makes you feel better I didn't know for sure till I ran your prints, your back cover is too neat, too clean, Not your fault, it was whoever did your arrest record for you. Too easy to spot if you know what you're lookin' at. They always use the same charges, same dates and times." He looked her over, could see her teeth grinding, "It also only listed your fake tat on your arm, not the real ones." Borracho gestured to his collarbone and his hip vaguely, indicating where he had seen them.

She looked at him a different way then, curious. "I've had this cover for almost two years, it's solid."

"Didn't say it wasn't. You're good, I can tell."

"You're an observant motherfucker, I'll give you that." She relaxed into the seat, "Can we take this off then?" She turned to show him her still cuffed hands.

"Sorry, That kid saw me grab you. Gotta keep those on till I drop you off." He noticed she was shaking a little, shivering as the adrenaline left her so he reached to turn the heat on. "What's your angle?"

"Don't have one. I just collect names, buy what I can. Street level shit." She shook her head, "Whoever you're lookin' for detective, I don't know him."

Borracho nodded again, stroked his goatee for a moment as he thought. Without speaking he pulled out his notebook and flipped to a page with their targets mugshot and basics on it. He reached back and set it in her lap, "If you wanted to get off the street, you could help me get this guy. I got a few people out there that owe me favors." When she narrowed her eyes at him he continued, "You're young, you're smart, you're good at what you do,  if you wanna keep workin' a dime bag at a time go for it. But... if you wanna get on say the detective track..." Her eyes snapped to his, "I can pull those strings."

She looked at him and then down to the mugshot in her lap, "Who the hell are you man?"

"Friends call me Borracho." He reached to take back his notebook and tossed it on the dash where it belonged. "Major Crimes."

She sat silently in the back seat as he drove towards the closest precinct and parked a block away. Without a word he slid out of his seat and walked to open her door and pull her out. His voice was quiet but rough, like he smoked too much, as he undid her cuffs. "Just think about it." He tossed his cuffs in the front seat and ripped out a piece of paper and scribbled a number on it. "It's a burner, you're the only one with the number, you need me, call."

With that he moved to walk around the front of the SUV but she spoke up, shoving the piece of paper in her bra. "Everyone calls me Pepper."

She gave him hesitant smile and he returned it, "Stay out of trouble querida."

~~~

Borracho pulled into the alley behind the vacant storefront Pepper had told him about. The radio played through  three songs before he saw movement in his rearview mirror.

A moment later the passenger door creaked open and Pepper slid into the seat. They were both silent for a moment, Borracho reaching to turn the radio down was the only movement either of them made for a long minute.

"How'd you make me?" Seemingly out of nowhere Pepper was staring at him, not harshly but intense, srutinizing.

Borracho returned her look, more relaxed but no less scrutinizing. "I wouldn't have, If you hadn't run to the OD kid... Never would've looked twice at you."

She nodded, "It was stupid."

"You covered it well," The corner of his lips twitched, "Saved the kids life. If that makes you feel any better."

Pepper scoffed, "Barely." She shifted in the seat a little so she faced him.

"Why'd you wait this long to ask?" Borracho mirrored her movement, slouching back in the driver seat and resting an elbow on the steering wheel.

Her eyes were dull and glassy, from lack of sleep and copious amounts of caffeine to help replicate the appearance she needed to do her work. That didn't mean there were any less sharp."Trying to figure you out. What your angle is."

"What's my angle?"

"I don't know yet."

"But here you are."

"Here I am."

They held stares for another long silent moment in the dark, their faces illuminated only by the dashboard lights.

"Your boy is pretty far removed from street level," She reached into her pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper that looked like a receipt. "There's a kid hangs out at that gas station," She pointed to the receipt she had just handed him, "I scored a little from him last night and he says the guy he works for buys from your guy. The dealer wrote his name and number on there for me." When Benny looked back up at her, questioning, she shrugged, "I guess I'm his type."

Borracho snorted and pocketed the scrap of paper.

"He's soft, easy flip, just do me a favor and wait awhile."

He understood, they needed to give the kid some time to forget the pretty girls face before they scooped him up. That thought caught him off guard a little. Pepper was a pretty girl. Under the unkempt hair, the street clothes, the habitual fidgeting and dark circles under her eyes, she was a pretty girl. Young, tough, sharp... and beautiful, a dangerous combination.

A glimpse of headlights ahead jerked him from that thought process. "Get down." It was a knee jerk response, they couldn't be caught together.

"Like hell." Pepper saw the lights coming too, a car coming down a side street, getting ready to turn their way and head directely for them. Ignoring his order she scooted across the bench seat until she was nearly on top of him and turned his face to hers.

With one hand braced against the window and the other at the back of his neck she pulled them closer together, "You're gonna look way more fucking suspicious parked back here by yourself."

Their noses were touching, so close together that Borracho could feel her eyelashes brushing against his. He felt, more than saw, her flinch as the headlights turned the corner and flashed them both in the eyes. Her response was to turn her back fully on the approaching car. On instinct alone, or possibly wishful thinking, Borracho grabbed her hips and easily drug her up on to his lap, holding his breath as their bodies rubbed together as she settled in to straddle his hips.

Her face was above his now, slightly, and he had to look up to see her face. "They're going slow." For no reason he whispered, as if it would keep them hidden, "Watching." He met her gaze for a moment, and his breath caught in his throat when she kissed him.

He felt the air rush out of her as she melted into him and he reacted instantly. Both hands sliding under her shirt, his rough hands gliding over the soft skin of her back, as he pulled her tighter against him and shoved his tongue into her mouth. When she moaned and sunk her nails into the back of his neck Borracho nearly forgot where he really was and what he was really doing. But, when the sound of the car came closer and then slowly passed by them, he regained some control.

"They keep going?" His question was spoken directly against her lips and he couldn't help bet pass his lips over hers once more.

Breath panting and warm Pepper pulled back from him slightly, "Yeah." She took a deep breath and sat back a little, "They kept going."

They were both shocked by the returning darkness and all Borracho could seem to focus on was the intoxicating weight of the woman in his lap and the rise and fall of her chest. His hands stayed under her shirt and hers stayed around his neck. It wasn't until she shifted slightly in his lap and smirked that he realized something else.

"That's not very professional Detective Magalon." She glanced from his eyes down to his lap and then back up.

Borracho held her gaze, not even taking time to question how she'd got his real name, and easily responded, "Look who's talking." He looked her up and down in return as he slid his hands from under her shirt to rest on her hips instead.

The smirk grew into an almost smile as she leaned forward, purposely rocking her hips against his erection, and kissed him once more, soft and nearly sweet. "Good night Benny." She whispered as she opened the driver side door and crawled out of the truck, slamming it shut behind her before disappearing into the shadows

~~~

When Borracho got home around four that morning he was still thinking about Pepper. Nick had wanted to party that night and Borracho had never been interested in the women or the blow, but that night especially he hated it. He was keyed up. There wasn't enough whiskey and cigarettes in the world to calm him down, and for a sad moment he had considered taking one of the attractive, dark haired women up on their repeated offers, but that wasn't what he wanted.

So at four in the morning, after dragging himself home and kicking his boots off by the door, he stripped his clothes off on the way to the shower, climbed into the spray of boiling hot water and stroked himself until he came, hard and fast imagining Pepper clawing at his back and moaning his name, "Please Benny, more Benny, feels so good Benny..."

~~~

He hadn't expected her to be there when they kicked in the door a week later. He had explicitly told her not to be. That was probably where he had fucked up. Borracho saw her immediately, wearing the same black, zip up hoodie and messy pig tail braids she always wore. He saw, only because he knew, the way she reacted differently to the flash bang than the others had.

Her eyes slammed shut and her hands had flown to her ears a half second too soon. When they breached the door, before the grenade popped and not after like the others.

Borracho intentionally took that side of the room, taking out two young men that had been closest to her, both of them had guns, one had even tried to draw. That's what he'd put in the report anyway.

To her credit Pepper ran, among the chaos, the cussing, the yelling. "Los Angeles Sheriffs Department!" The gunfire. "Get the fuck down! Get the fuck down now! Face on the floor!" She jumped the back of the couch and bolted for the back door.

Nick and Tony had their target on the ground already, and so with Gus a few steps behind him, Borracho took off after the runaways.

Rifle in one hand he reached out and grabbed a fistful of the black hoodie as she sprinted through the kitchen. She shrugged out of it in no time, smart girl, always thinking ahead and planning for every scenario, and regaining her balance reached for the back door. She was faster, quicker than him but his reach was longer and he had her by the arm before she could reach the handle. He was operating on muscle memory mostly, a small part of his brain aware that he didn't need to slam her into the door. She wasn't really a criminal, not even a real addict. However, he also knew that street theater was a real thing. No matter how often Big Nick used it to explain his bad behavior to his wife.

If Borracho took it easy on Pepper, it could be dangerous. Her cover would be blown, her life would be in danger, and almost worst of all, his team would notice and start asking questions.

She fought back though, swinging an elbow at him as he slung his rifle and reached for a set of restraints. He cussed in her ear as he pushed her face back into the door and cuffed her, one of his teeth feeling a little looser than normal.

The only break he gave her, as they rounded up the others, was walking her directly to one of the LAPD squad cars and handing her off to a patrol. He knew that would at least expedite things, with her own people in her own department, she'd be processed quicker and her handler would be able to step in quickly and quietly.

~~~

It had only cost him a bottle of blue label and a box of Cubans he got from his tio to get someone in the LAPD to give him the address. Something for which he was equally grateful and concerned. It was a house like any other house in that neighborhood; small, old, plain. His beat up old pickup truck blended right in but he still parked a couple blocks down and over. When he came to the front door he pulled his badge out, looked over his shoulder, knocked on the door and held the badge up to the peephole.

The door opened eventually, only enough for him to step inside, but he didn't see her right away. That had probably been a good thing because when he did finally lay eyes on her he all but froze in his tracks.

She had answered the door with a Glock in her hand, but that wasn't what got him. What did was the woman standing in front of him. It was Pepper, the face was there, the body and the long dark hair. But this wasn't the Pepper he knew, this one was freshly showered, hair long and wavy, nails done, eyes bright and clear. She wore a pair of well worn holy jeans and a loose fitting t-shirt and stood barefoot on the tile floor.

She was smiling at him as she shut, locked and bolted the door. "I'd say what a surprise, but oddly enough I'm not surprised at all you figured out where they stuck me."

Borracho recovered, smiling a little himself, "inter-agency communication and cooperation is very important."

"Mhmm." She smirked at him, rolling her eyes as he moved to set the gun on the kitchen table. "How've you been Benny."

His body tingled, at just the sound of her saying his name. "Just wrapping up the case, trying to catch a breath before the next one. How have you been Pepper?"

Her smile changed then, a little morose, "Well, unfortunately Pepper got shipped out of state on an outstanding warrant, Colorado I think, maybe Kansas."

Borracho nodded with a wry smile, "How about you sweetheart?"

"Allison." She looked almost shy, then she shrugged, "Ali."

It was obvious by the look on her face, this wasn't an alias, this wasn't a cover, this was her. This was real.  He smiled, but before he could say anything else she cut him off.

"But, sweetheart works too." Her eyes were dangerous in a whole different way now, "Or... what was it... what did you call me that night you cuffed me up? The first time." She chuckled at the fact she had to specify.

"Querida." Borracho's mind was in overdrive. He hadn't known how this reunion was going to go but this little turn in conversation, this was getting close to 'dare only to hope' territory.

"What's that mean?"

For a moment Borracho knew what it must have felt like; to be on the streets with her, with Pepper, to have her play him for information. It would have worked too.

"It's kinda like sweetheart." He shrugged slightly, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets.

She smiled, "Gonna have to work on your creativity Benny." She shifted her weight back an forth, imperceptibly moving a couple steps closer.

Borracho called her bluff though and walked, in that slow, steady swagger he'd always had, and came to stand right in front of her. Leaning down close he looked her in the eyes before he tilted his head to speak in her ear, "What you want me to call you? Mi dulce? Dulzura? Mi cielo? Muneca? Mi alma? Carinio? Mami?" He heard her breath catch in her throat and he smiled, felt a little bolder.

Pulling one hand from his pocket he reached up to tilt her face towards his, a gentle but firm finger hooked under her chin, "You tell me beautiful, which you like best?"

They were standing close enough now, as she leaned into him, he could feel her heart pounding in her chest, All she could do was stare up at him and blink.

Such a contrast to the woman he had seen undercover, without her cover he could see she was a little softer around the edges and it drove him crazy.

He moved so he was looking her in the eye, lips a whisper apart, "I like Ali personally."

She nodded, "Me too."

His whole body went into overdrive when he felt her place a hand on his side, her fingers fisting in the material of his shirt.

"I do really kinda like the other one though." She looked down at the floor, her forehead pressing against his.

Borracho smiled, tilted her face again, this time so he could brush his lips along her cheekbone as he moved to whisper in her ear, "Give me a kiss querida." He kissed the shell of her, the corner of her eye and honest to God moaned in happiness when she turned and met his lips with hers. Kissing him so hard her teeth knocked against his.

Ali wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled back to catch her breath, "I've wanted to do that since that night in your truck." She immediately moved back up to her tip toes to kiss him again.

He slowed her down though, "Oh yeah?" He took his time stroking her lips with his own as his hands moved to her hips, "I've wanted to do a few things since that night too."

"Oh yeah?" She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck."Like what?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he focused on sliding his hands up and down her sides and on kissing her, long, slow, sensual passes of his lips and tongue until she groans.

"Benny...Tell me," She whines it out between his kisses, "Please."

That's what does him in, "If it's okay with you querida, I'd rather show you."

~~~

Borracho lay with his eyes closed, an arm bent behind his head and the rumpled bed sheets pulled up just past his waist. He watched Ali pad back across the room, still naked, and crawl back into bed. "Why they call you Pepper?"

She took his out of the blue question in stride and crawled up the bed so that she laid on her stomach next to him, holding herself up on her elbows, ""Cause I'm spicy."

He laughed, eyes lingering on the expanse of her bare back, the swell of her ass, one side tinged the slightest bit pink from the palm of his hand, and on to her long, lean, sexy legs, "That's cute." `

"Cute? So... what? You don't think I'm spicy?" She acted all offended but she was smiling.

With slow, lazy movements Borracho smiled and reached his hand out to thread through the messy hair at the base of her skull. He kept his touch gentle but direct as he pulled her up to his level, "Sweetheart, I'm Cubano, we live on that shit." He tugged her down for a kiss both of them smiling and taking their time, "Spicy or not, I do think you're delicious."

She kissed him as she laughed, burying her face in his neck, "Wow..." She pulled back to look at him, shivering a little at the feel of him dragging the sheets up her bare legs, "That was some cheesy, old man shit there."

Borracho, still smiling, caught her eye, "You can call me old man all you wan't sweetheart," He pulled her into another, deeper, steamier kiss, "But just remember you were calling me papi a few minutes ago."

Ali actually blushed, which he found adorable, "Yes I was."

"I fucking loved it." He tugged at her again until she was straddling his hips, and clinging tightly to him as he kissed her. When he pulled away her eyes were dark and her lips swollen, It sent a shot straight to his di k.

"Want me to do it again?" She drug her nails down his chest and softly circled one of his nipples as she stared at him.

"What time does your handler check on you?"

She had started to kiss and nip at his neck now, dragging her tongue over the tattoo on his neck. "He comes around 8 in the morning."

Borracho hummed, pleased. Without warning he flipped them and pinned her to her back, "How long before he puts you back under somewhere?" He drug his lips down her neck towards her chest, stubble scraping and raising goosebumps as he went.

"Not going back under."

He stopped halfway through suckling at her nipple to look up at her. "Oh really?"

"Get a week off then I take the first first part of my detective exam next month." She was beaming.

"Look at you go," He mouthed her breast once more before moving back up to kiss her properly, "No favors needed."

"Nope, guess I'm just that good." She moaned just slightly as his cock nudged against her entrance, she'd lost track of how many times already, "Guess you can save those for something else important."

He slid into her, bottomed out with a pleasant sigh. "I'm already working on it sweetheart, don't you worry." He smiled, sexy and confident as her nails dug into his already tender back, adding new red lines to the ones she'd already left, "Think I might bring up a couple incriminating pictures I have of my boss and trade them for some time off."  

Ali was smiling, mouth open and panting as he stoked the fire within her yet again, "How incriminating are they?" She latched her lips onto the tattoo on his neck and sucked the flush until it was warm, soothing it with her tongue as Borracho picked up his pace.

"If I include the video with the male stripper, guarantee I can get a week out of it."

She laughed, Borracho laughing with her as he pulled her leg up to to hook over his shoulder.

"For what it's worth; I passed my exams first try, without cheating."

It was impressive how he could keep this same, sharp pace of his thrusts while carrying on conversation and it obviously did something for the woman beneath him. The sound of his rough, slightly accented words a perfect combination with the callouses on his hands and the scratch of his facial hair.

"Are you offering to be my study buddy Detective Magalon?" Ali shifted, lifting her other leg to hook over his other shoulder with a wicked grin.

Benny just grinned back. Quickly and easily he had her legs crossed and pointed straight up in the air, the backs of her thighs flush with his solid torso and chest as he fucked into her harder.  Taking advantage of her scrambling hands and rolling eyes Borracho grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, leaning into it and nearly folding her in half. 

She was moaning, and letting lose choked little cries as he pounded into her. With one hand holding her wrists and the other arm clamped around her thighs holding her in place he gave her an order to get her attention.

"Look at me."

Her eyes flew open and her pupils were blown wide as she took in the sight of him literally breaking her in half, with his eyes nearly black and his normally slicked back hair failing into his face,

"There's a lot of things I would love to teach you querida." His voice was becoming a little harsher, a little higher octave with the exertion, "Would you like that?"  

Her eyes rolled back in her head again as she started panting out the word yes, over and over again as she came, arching up off the bed and trembling in his vice like grip.

He blacked out for a moment as he came, for the second time that night if that didn't do wonders for his ego, and when his brain could focus again he could feel Ali dragging her nails over the back of his neck, soft and soothing, as she continued to shake and tremble beneath him. With a heavy sigh he released his hold on her and let her legs fall to the bed.

Carefully he settled his weight on top of her, loving the drag of her fingers through his hair and over his shoulders. He mumbled his question into the side of her neck, "What time do I have to wake up if I want to fuck you one more time and still get out of here before your boss shows up?" He ended the question with a kiss to her shoulder.

"He checks in at eight." Her touch was so soft now, her voice breathy and sedate.

"Wake me up at six." He kissed her shoulder again and pushed himself up to brace on his elbows. "You get rid of your boss, I'll go blackmail mine, I'll be back around ten to pick you up."

Ali looped her arms around his neck, "Where are you gonna take me?"

"My house," He leaned down to brush her lips with his. "You'll be safer there with me than you are here in this shit hole by yourself." He kissed her again. "Then we got to get to studying." When he kissed her this time he was smiling.

As he laid to the side and rolled onto his back she sat up slightly and leaned over him, "Can't get enough of me can you, papi?"

He was expecting her to call him old man again, and he wouldn't have minded it, he had proven his point. But when she called him papi instead, he groaned and pulled her down for a kiss. "You're fucking addicting you know that? Can't get enough of you."

Her smile was bright and flirty as she pulled back to look at him properly, her palm smoothing over his scar and tattoo covered chest, fingers coursing through the hair there as her eyes bore into his, "Look who's talking."

He hummed, eyes closing as he brought her down for another kiss, "Gotta let me get some sleep babe."

"Okay..." She drew out the last syllable as she settled down into his side and sighed contently as he wrapped her up in his arms. "I guess I can wait 'till five."

"Six." He responded immediately, eyes still closed, and arms holding her tight.

"Five?" She smoothed her hands over his chest and down his torso, tracing the 1981 tattoo there.

"Six."

"Five-thirty."

Benny sighed, "Depends how you wake me up."

~~~

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Procedure Part 3

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

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. 

Tag list:

@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

[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

[mariamariquinha]

Pictures that Benny would DEFINITELY have on his Instagram (which is funny because Maurice posted it):

[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.”

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[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.”

[mrsbjimenez]

Just a girl from out of town...

(18+) (Explicit) (Dirty) (F word) (Oral)

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

You're all excited for this well deserved break out of your small home town… You'll be visiting your uncle and his family for a few weeks… As you get to the city in which your uncle lives, he asked that you be dropped off by the taxi at his friend's auto body shop where he'll later pick you up on his way from work… After a few hours on a bus and taxi drive, you're quite tired, everything's new but you're excited to be here, luggage in the hand and handbag over the shoulder you head straight inside the auto body shop… Not all too sure where you're supposed to go, you walk up to the office where you see a man busy eating his lunch, you don't wanna bother but before you could knock on his door, the man calls out "Heyyy, you must be the girl from out of town?"… A little suprised but you answer "yeah, that's me"… The man puts down his lunch, gets up from his chair, takes a sip of his soda from the take out cup, looks at you from top to bottom… You're a little intimidated by him but you reach out your hand, introduce yourself and he introduces himself too - "Nice to meet you, I'm Rosco"… Thank you so much, likewise, you answered…

You take a seat, you're feeling a little shy to really talk much but you do admire the view of this rough exterior, tattooed, masculine man in his ripped white vest in front of you… You confidently ask him, "so, this is all yours, your shop and hard work?"… He answers with a smile, "yeah, many years of hard work, blood, sweat and almost tears, today it's mine"… You look at him with a big smile and say, "impressive, you can be proud"… He appreciates your kind words and just looks at you with a smile and eyes that looks straight into your soul…

Your uncle arrives, you get up, pick up your luggage and handbag, you look to Rosco and say "seems like my visit is over but I'll have to come visit again to hear more on your success story"… He smirks and then starts laughing "it's gonna have to be a longer visit next time because it's a long story"… You're smiling ear to ear - "Great, can't wait"… You walk out of his office and head on out to your uncle's car…

A few days into the visit, you feel it's nice seeing and spending time with your uncle and his family but being left alone at their home each day whilst they're at work, is starting to get boring and you feel quite neglected by your family… You decide to call a local cab and head on over to the auto body shop… Rosco is standing outside, suprised to see it's you getting out of the cab and calls out from a distance asking, "the family already making you feel like the third wheel?"… You're relieved he already understands, "yeah, is it that obvious hey and I can no longer wait to hear more about your success story"… He looks at you with that deep serious look and forehead full of frowns and a slight smile, knowing that you can't be that interested in auto body shop and car stories… The two of you head inside, he makes you both a cup of coffee and you guys just hit it off, hours pass of endless talking, laughing, the sun is starting to set but neither of you have a worry in the world…

You get back to your uncle's home past midnight, suprised to see the kitchen light is still on, you quietly go inside to find your uncle awaiting you by the kitchen table, he looks at you furiously, asks where have you been and before giving you a chance to answer he says you should pack your bags and leave in the morning because they can't have this irresponsibility in their house… You're absolutely shocked and tells him you're a grown adult woman that's allowed to go out and that can take care of herself, but you're fine with it as they don't really care whether you're there or not… So the next morning you're all packed, say your greetings to the family and off you go in the cab, no idea where to now exactly but you ask the cab driver to drop you off at the auto body shop… You're upset about the fight and leaving the family but excited to see the one and only person that's made you feel welcome… Rosco makes you a cup of coffee and strokes you on your back, "it's gonna be okay, I'm glad you came here, we can always talk gearboxes and tyres to cheer you up"… You just laugh and says "sounds like a plan"… After a long day, you've booked yourself in at the motel closest to the shop where you'll be staying now…

And so two weeks pass by with you being at the auto body shop everyday, you've started helping Rosco out at the shop - dealing with customers, packing new stock, meeting his mom, book keeping, stock taking, accounting and cleaning out his office and adding a few nice new touches… His mom phoned to asked whether it'll be possible for the two of you to stop by her house the one day, you guys go over to her place and she's just an absolute angel, welcoming you as her own daughter… She asks if it'll be possible if you could help her the one day with baking for the church and you're thrilled she asked you and you answer with much excitement and say, "of course auntie, I'd love to help, thank you so much"… On your way out, you walk ahead of Rosco, his mom grabs him by the arm and says softly - "son, I want grandbabies you know"… Rosco looks shocked by his mama's suggestion and says, "mama!! It's not like that, she's quite a few years younger than I am"… "Fantastic", his mom says - "more grandbabies then"… Rosco just looks at her, smiles and kisses her on her forehead and says, "see you in the morning ma, love you"…

After a busy day of baking at mama's house and a busy day for Rosco alone at the shop, after picking you up, he asks you, "would you like to go to the greatest Cuban joint in the city?"… You answered very excited, "Heck yeah!!!! I'd absolutely love that, let's go!"… You guys get to the Cuban restaurant which is more of a get together, dancing, cocktails and very lively spot - Mi Gente from Havana Son playing loudly, Cuban flags hanging and waving everywhere, the atmosphere and energy is like walking into Havana itself… You guys enjoy and eat a lot of Cuban cuisine, meet great people, laugh till your bellies hurt and although neither one of you can dance, you invite Rosco to the dance floor, you both just enjoy the vibe and enjoying the Cuban music, you're in each other's arms, not saying a word, standing very closely together with Rosco's hand firmly on your back, finally your eyes are just set on each other as though you're the only two people on the planet… After a few hours of just being in each other's arms with intense eye contact, Rosco pulls you even closer into him and whispers in your ear, "I want you in my arms all night tonight away from the dance floor"… You pull back a little and whisper into his ear, "so take me there"… After greeting everyone at the party, you guys head on home - Rosco's home… Still sitting in his truck outside, you thank him for taking you to the Cuban place, it was the most fun and coolest experience you've ever had…

You get to the door and after Rosco unlocks the door, you place your hand on his hand and your eyes just lock, he looks at you with those big brown eyes and grabs you with his hands wrapped around your face and passionately kisses you, your arms wrapping around his neck… You both find your way through the door, undressing each other vigorously, kissing non stop, he tightens his hands beneath your ass and picks you up, your legs wrap around him and your hands are tightly grabbing his face… You get to his bedroom, he lays you down on his bed, he kisses you in your neck, his moustache and goatee tickling and slightly scratching you, which just intensifies your arousal, he interlocks his hands into yours as he holds your hands back… He works his way down to your breasts, looks at them with pure appreciation and starts kissing and sucking on one and soon moves over to the next… Your breathing starts deepening as the pleasure floods through your veins… He tightens his lips and clamps your nipple between them, gently moving slightly up and down for more stimulation, he pulls up softly until your nipple releases from his lips firm grip, the intensity from the release sends you over the edge, your body literally jumps with pleasure, your back arched and your moans increases significantly… He makes sure to give equal attention to both your breasts… He kisses, nibbles, bites, touches, and licks on all the right places, you couldn't ask for more, he does everything right - this man is the king of foreplay… He knows exactly what your body craves… He pulls down your panties and continues his work of magic on your dripping wet pussy for him… Eating you out like this was his life long goal, his strokes are gentle where wanted and hard where needed… "Oh Rosco"!! You cried out from immense pleasure… He gets up, standing next to the bed and unbuckles his jeans and belt… You look at him as he pulls his pants down and reveal his gorgeous, hard erection and breathtakingly big dick, you bite your lower lip for the delight displayed in front of you, you sit up and move to the edge of the bed closer to him, you stroke his dick and looks at him with so much appreciation, to show your appreciation you start kissing him, softly licking him and eventually taking him in your mouth - he's a bit big so only his head's front part can be taken inside your mouth, you suck him as hard as you possibly can, Rosco's hands grabs your head with his fingers gliding through your hair, pulling you closer into his dick, he soon pulls away as he doesn't want to cum yet, he kisses you hard whilst your neck bends backwards with his hands grabbing your face… He grabs you by your thighs, lifts you up and moves you upwards on the bed… Positioning himself onto you, holding your hands back, he looks deep into your eyes and you spread your legs as wide as possible for him, he lowers himself onto you and starts entering you… Your pussy pulses for him… The sensations are exhilarating… As he pushes himself deeper into you, you're experiencing the 'ring of fire' sensation from his big dick entering your pelvic floor… It hurts a little but it's much more pleasurable than painful… He's gentle but passionate… Your moans are consistent now, your nails dig into his broad shoulders and he slips into you, your body completely flushed with the intensifying pleasures… He knows that hurt a bit for you and whispers in your ear, "are you okay baby?"… You can hardly speak but you answer, "yesss baby, please don't stop"… He kisses you in your neck and keeps moving his pelvis forward and backwards as he thrusts himself inside you… You sing his name through every moan…

His thrusts continue with harder and faster motions now… Your super tight pussy clench him tighter after every thrust… Your legs are wrapped around him, your foot stroking his buttocks and thighs… With every thrust your pleasure accelerates, you never knew feelings like this and pleasure of this magnitude exists… He's fucking your brains out… Your arms and hands are wrapped around the top of his head with your fingers firmly in his smoothly, gelled back, black hair… Your toes start to curl, you heart races, your body is shaking, Rosco thrusts harder and faster, fucking you wildly, knowing you're both about to cum together, your moans are shifting to screams, you grip tighter on Rosco as you come to climax, screaming, shaking and completely overwhelmingly wowed with the greatest, most amazing, incredibly electrifying and earth shattering orgasm and sex you've ever had and could ever have… Rosco also completely overwhelmed, barely able to speak, he murmurs, "that was fucking incredible"… He slowly pulls his still throbbing dick from your tight clenching, pulsing pussy… Your foreheads lean against each other and you manage a passionate kiss, when he slides out of you, you can only gasp on air with a deep breathless moan… He collapses next to you, breathless and overwhelmed with the pleasure of his powerful orgasm, he pulls you closer where you turn to your side laying in his arms with your head resting on his chest, he wraps you in his arms, your fingers slowly trace his tattoos, he kisses you on your head and says to you, "Please don't ever go"… You tilt your head up and look him straight in the eye and answers, "I'm not going anywhere"…

♡♡ The End ♡♡

[the-hinky-panda]

Hinky’s Masterlist

Minors DNI: The content on this blog is intended for adults (18+). By following or engaging with this content, you are agreeing that you are 18 or older. Do not interact if you are not 18 or over.

Ask: I love analyzing character, plot, storytelling methods, so if you ever want to talk about those things, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me! I also love hearing other people’s ideas so please, share those as well!

A03: Here is the link to my AO3 account. I have a lot of stories with OCs there if you like reading those. I’ve just started getting into writing the Reader stories.

Tag List: Sign up for your favorite characters here! 

Fic Fests:

October 2022 Fic Fest

**All stories are Fem!Reader and are explicit 

Dustland Fairytale - Complete

Mariposa - Complete

Pura Vida (An Alternate Ending to Mariposa) - Complete

Los Regalos - Ongoing series

La Chaparrita - Ongoing Series

After We Fall - Ongoing Series

By Land, Sea, and Air - Ongoing Series

How To… - Ongoing Series

The IT Series - Ongoing Series

The Penny Series - Ongoing Series

The Tremont Tempest - Ongoing Series

The Dog - Ongoing Series

The Lens - Ongoing Series

Sacrifice - Complete

Oneshots for Sacrifice:

Otherworldly

Ghastly

La Finca - Ongoing Series

Eldritch - Complete

The Florist - Complete

The Community Universe (in collaboration with @bullet-prooflove​)

The Medic Series (Coco Cruz x OFC! Morgan Fox)

The Preacher’s Wife Series (Hank Loza x OFC! Maggie Fox)

The Gin Blossom Series (Gilly Lopez x Reader)

Stand Alones: 

Vanishing Act (Kevin Jimenez x Fem!Reader)

Dog Days are Over (Chibs Telford x Fem!Reader)

Strings (Les Packer x Fem!Reader)

The Drowning Kind (Sean Renard x Fem!Reader)

The Seasons Series: 

The Fall Series (Porthos x OFC Reader)

The Winter Series (Aramis x OFC Reader)

The Spring Series (Athos x OFC Reader)

The Summer Series (Treville x OFC Reader)

Boss Mare Series (Jamie Dutton x OFC reader)

The Hare (Richard “Ritchie” Jerimovich x OFC reader)

Out of the Woods (Mitch Keller x OFC!Reader)

June Bug (Goodie Carangi x OFC!Reader)

Forged (Bill Bevilaqua x OFC!Reader)

War of the Roses (Bill Bevilaqua xOFC!Reader)

Vice (Armand Truisi x OFC!Reader)

[girlpornparadise]

[tropes-and-tales]

With Teeth

(Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

CW:  Talk of drug use; vaguely smuttish (kissing, groping, biting), but nothing explicit. 18+ only just to be safe.

Word Count: 3062

AN:  This was originally requested from a prompt list ("i won’t bite. unless you’re into that sort of thing") by @outlawedmando!

Major Crimes isn’t the only division of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department to host illicit parties.  Many of the divisions have their own deals with their own vibes that fit the unique character of the division in question.

Major Crimes, lorded over by Big Nick, is almost a cliché with the booze, women, and drugs.

The Gang Squad is led by a man much like Big Nick, so it’s no surprise that they do it up similarly, only bigger, with more women and harder drugs.

Cold Case Division’s modus operandi is to go out to the desert with big guns and lots of beer and blow shit up.

No one really knows what Parking Enforcement and Services does, but there are jokes about it.  Some say lean into the relative lameness, say they unwind with a knitting circle, or scrapbooking evenings when they listen to New Age music.  Others say they go fully feral, that they have a fight club in an abandoned warehouse where they beat each to near-death.

In terms of the group with the panache, though, the honor belongs to the Fugitive Apprehension Team.  Maybe it’s the nature of their role—always hunting, always on edge and in the front lines of dangerous work.  Something makes their unwinding efforts an ultra-chill affair, a complete decompression and sloughing-off of the stress.

The Fugitive Squad is a tight-knit group—arguably tighter than Major Crimes, though the two often overlap.  Major Crimes cracks a case, needs someone hauled in?  Big Nick drops a call, and it’s like setting a pack of well-trained wolves on the busy streets and dusty roads of Los Angeles County.

On big cases, sometimes the Fugitive Squad invites Major Crimes to their parties and vice versa.  Usually Major Crimes attends the Fugitive events, since the Fugitive folks don’t quite care for Big Nick groping hired girls while the fug of cigar smoke hangs over some hotel room.

-----

What does a Fugitive party entail?

Borracho is never clear on who exactly plans them.  If it’s a situation where the team takes turns, or if there’s one mastermind behind the events.  It’s always at the same place:  a low, sprawling mid-century place in the Pacific Palisades, owned by one of the members of the squad who came from old family money. 

There’s a pool and beyond it, the ocean.  There’s low, cool lighting that swaths everyone in blue shadows.  There’s ambient music—a low, steady pulsing beat that seems to sync everyone’s heart rate to the same rhythm.  The food is always elegant, an elaborate sushi bar one night, tapas another time.  There’s alcohol, plenty of it, but no one ever seems to overdo it to a sloppy degree because everything is so damned chill.

Drugs?  Big Nick is partial to coke and often brings enough to the Major Crimes events to get loaded, but the Fugitive parties are purely for the psychedelic shit.  Weed, obviously.  Mushrooms.  Molly.  Nothing that will get people worked up:  only stuff to calm and maybe take the user to another galaxy while they celebrate another night on the right side of the dirt.

Honestly, Borracho kinda prefers the thing the Fugitive folks have going on. A big joint case has just wrapped up, and he finds himself with an invite along with the rest of his team. 

Which means he gets to see you in a more social setting.

At work, you’re all business.  Mostly silent, the way Borracho is mostly silent.  You let your commanding officer do all the talking the way Big Nick does all the talking, and like Borracho, you stand nearby and look and listen.

Early on, you caught Borracho studying you.  It had made your mouth twist in a small smile, and you had winked at him, but it was a lone instance of your personality shining through during work hours.

Off-duty?  Fuck, you drive him insane.

It’s not entirely the sort of insanity that comes from flirting and sexual tension.  At these parties, you’re someone else completely.  Totally at ease, which means you feel comfortable enough to be yourself, to untether your mouth from your brain, and Borracho never knows what the fuck you’ll say to him.  If you’ll drop something banal about the Dodgers’ pitching depth, or if you’ll stare at him, unblinking, and ask if he thinks life as he knows it is just a simulation.  Because both has happened in the past at these parties, and both were before you even touched a drug.

Tonight, though, he’s late to show up.  The party is in full swing, the low bass audible from the street when he parks his truck.  He makes his way inside, sees the crush of people dancing in the living room, sees the cluster of people in the dining room where the food and drinks and drugs are laid out.  Borracho sees Henderson, tips a nod in his direction, but he keeps walking through the place.

He always seeks you out at these things.  He always swears he’ll play it cool, but his resolve always melts away the moment he hits the door.

Borracho finds you in the den—a separate space that usually has a movie projected on the far wall while people sprawl out and trip and sometimes get cozy in the dark room while some old black-and-white movie plays out in the background.

Tonight, you’re settled on the deep leather couch at one end.  Another guy is at the other end of the couch, his wide eyes fixed on where “The Third Man” plays against the far wall.  There’s a couple curled up on a separate easy chair, murmuring together, making out, and it charges the room with an undercurrent of sexual energy that feels…promising.

It takes you a beat to notice him leaning in the doorway.  You’re watching the movie too, and it’s only in a scene break that you glance over and see him.

“Borracho!” you call out.  “Finally made it!”

“Never like to arrive too early.”

“Smart, smart.  Gives you an air of mystery.”

You smile and continue.  “C’mon in.  Take a seat, settle in.  We’re following Joseph Cotton here around post-war Vienna.”  You lift a hand and gesture at the wall.

Borracho tilts his head at the couch where you sit.  “No room.”

You turn and look at the guy on the other end of the couch.  When Borracho looks closer, he sees it’s one of your coworkers in the Fugitive Squad.  He watches as you reach over and swat at him, tell him to move over and make some room.  When he does, you turn back to Borracho and pat the middle cushion invitingly.

“C’mon, handsome.  I won’t bite.”  He cocks an eyebrow at the handsome moniker, but you add, “unless you’re into that sort of thing,” and he realizes that you’re throwing him for a loop like you always do—only this time, you’re flirting with him, not interrogating him about what reality really is.

You drive him fucking insane.

It’s not entirely the sort of insanity that comes from flirting and sexual tension, but it’s a big part of it.  At work, it’s the way you move around, the economical way you move when you’re on the hunt.  If the Fugitive Squad is a pack of wolves, you’re their panther:  more of a big cat padding on quiet paws, ears pitched forward, slinking after prey. 

At parties, it’s this:  always keeping him guessing, keeping him back on his heels, making him feel like a teenaged boy again straining for just a moment with you.  The anticipation of it, the frustration when it never materializes, the eagerness for the next invite to the next party. 

He makes his way into the room and sits down beside you.  You reach over to the little table beside the couch and snag a small tray with party favors on it.  You present it to Borracho with a flourish.

“Want to partake?” you ask.

He squints at the offerings.  There’s edibles, a cigarette case of pre-rolls, and some unidentified pills with tiny smiley faces printed on them.  He points at them.

“What are those?”

“Designer shit,” you reply.  “Boss has a buddy in Twentynine Palms who makes these small-batch, artisanal drugs.”

Borracho snorts.  “Hipster shit.”

“Like a macaron shop in a swiftly gentrifying neighborhood.”

“What’s it do?”

You click your tongue as you think.  “Little bit of everything, I’d say.  Relaxes you like pot, but kinda gives you the euphoria of molly.  Also offers the barest bit of trippiness, in case you want to peer behind the veil between realities.”

“Haven’t peered behind the veil lately.”

“Treat yourself, Borracho.”

He plucks one pill from the tray and considers it.  “You take one already?”

You answer by taking another pill from the tray, then setting the tray aside.  You turn to face him, stick out your tongue, and lay the pill on it.  The whole time you hold his gaze, and he holds yours.

A second later, you close your mouth and swallow.  “Yes,” you tell him with a smile.  “I’ve taken one already.”

You drive him fucking insane.  How could he not want you?

-----

Whatever this designer pill is, it’s the sort to creep up slowly on a user. 

Borracho relaxes by degrees.  Feels himself melting into the couch by degrees, like his bones are softening, his muscles are lengthening.  The light from the projector takes on an ethereal glow, and at some point, he blinks and realizes, shit, I’m feeling it now.

He turns his head, heavy against the back of the couch, and sees you.  You sense his gaze on you, and you turn your head to face him too.

“How you feeling?” you ask.

“Good.”  It comes out rough, a dry-throated croak, and you laugh at him, which makes him smile. 

“Good.”

“You?”

“Good.”

“That’s…good,” he replies, and it makes you laugh again, makes him laugh too, and he realizes how much he’s feeling it after all.  How effortless it feels to sit beside you right now.  He glances up at the movie and sees that it has changed entirely – to some grimy-looking ‘80’s crime drama with a synth soundtrack.  The couple who had been making out in the chair have disappeared, and when Borracho turns his head to the other side of him, he sees the third wheel has left too.

How long have the two of you been alone?

Time seems to stretch and distort.  He watches the movie, a car chase scene, then blinks and it’s rolling credits.  Another blink and it’s another movie, a low budget sci-fi with lots of lasers.  He sits on the couch, his legs sprawled wide, and his knee presses against yours.

Blink, and his leg nearest you now is pressed against yours, thigh to thigh, and the heat he can feel coming from you seems to have a shimmering quality when he looks down at where you touch.

Blink, and he’s watching the movie again.  There’s an alien in bad makeup, more lasers, a jazzy stream of music that seems to come from somewhere else.

“I am,” he blurts out.  He rolls his head again, peers over at you, waits for you to turn and look at him.  When you do, you look confused.

“Huh?”

“I am.  From earlier.”

You snort, then laugh.  “I am so lost right now.”

Blink, and he feels the smile that creeps across his face.  “What you said earlier.  You asked if I was into it.  I am.”

“Into what?”

Blink, and he swallows.  Feels the heat of your thigh pressed against his.  “You said you wouldn’t bite—”

“—Unless you’re into that.”  You pick up the thread and remember.  The smile you offer has a feral edge, unless he’s imagining it, which is very likely.  Maybe none of this is happening at all:  maybe he’s passed out and drooling on the couch while you’re sober and elsewhere, cornering people and trying to discuss string theory.

“You like biting, Borracho?” you ask, and your voice is low, a near whisper.  Like you’re sharing secrets, so he whispers back.

“Depends on who’s doing the biting.”

“Hmmm.” 

Blink, and you’re moving towards him, that same cat-like fluidity you have at work.  He never takes his eyes from you, never blinks, and you don’t either.  He watches as you straddle him, settle on his lap.  His hands find your waist, then slides them down and back to grasp your ass.  Your hands reach up and cup his face, low on his jaw, and you smile down at him.

You’re backlit by the projected wall of the movie.  He opens his mouth to say something nice, to tell you how fucking gorgeous you look, but you lean down as you tilt his head and…he thinks you’re going to kiss him, but you brush your lips over his cheekbone until your mouth is right by his ear.

“You want me to bite you?” you whisper, and your warm breath fanning over him makes him shudder, a delicious frisson of trembling through the core of him.  He wants to say something slick in return, but he only manages to grunt an affirmative.

Blink, and you lean against him.  He can feel your tits pressed against him, can feel the flex of your body as you bend your head.  Another blink, and he feels your mouth on him, your soft lips, then your tongue as you taste him—the spot right where his neck meets his shoulder.

Then he feels your teeth on him, a slow and steady sink of your teeth in his skin, and you take him right to the edge of pain and maybe a half step beyond, but no further.  His hands grip your ass harder, spasm against the soft curve of you, and he jerks you closer to him because he’s growing hard underneath you—faster than he usually does, and maybe part of it is the drug, but part of it is definitely you.

Your mouth on him, the heady weight of you on him, your hands gripping his face and holding him steady. 

You draw your teeth out of him, and you soothe where you’ve marked him with your tongue.  You run the tip of your tongue over his dimpled flesh, then kiss him there.

Blink, though, and Borracho finds you climbing off him, and he pushes a disappointed exhale through his pursed lips.  You didn’t even kiss his mouth, and he turns to where you settle back on the couch.  You catch his pout and offer him an apologetic smile.

“You know we can’t do more,” you offer as explanation. 

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his jeans too tight.  “I think we could.”

Another smile that turns into a laugh.  You reach out a hand and lay it on his arm, jostle him playfully.  “We could.  But we shouldn’t.  We’re both pretty fucked up.”

“You’ve never fooled around while stoned?”  His voice has a whining edge to it that he doesn’t like, but you keep your hand on him, keep grinning at him, and that’s something, he guesses.

“I have,” you admit.  “But within boundaries established whilst sober.  I might get sloppy at these parties, but I keep my sloppiness contained within certain limits.”

He can’t help but smile back at you despite the twinge of disappointment in his gut.  “You need a lesson from Big Nick.”

At that, you release his arm, fling your head back against the couch and blow out a heavy breath.  “God, that asshole.”

“He kinda is, right?”

“He has a sort of all-encompassing sloppiness that I can’t support, Borracho.”  You turn your head, smile again.  “Tempting though you may be.”

He sighs but smiles back at you.  “You know you drive me fucking crazy, right?”

“Yeah?”  Your eyes widen—you look genuinely surprised.

“Yeah.”

“You gonna be shitty with me now?”

He shakes his head.  He’s never been the type of man to get a bug up his ass about a woman not putting out.  He’s never gotten angry at dates that led to nothing, or dates who changed their mind.  That’s life, and he’s always thought of men who got shitty about women not putting out as childish assholes.

Besides, he’s gotten plenty.  He knows what it feels like to have you on top of him, how it feels to have your tits pressed against him.  He knows what your mouth feels like and will bear the mark of your teeth for at least a week until the bruise fades.  He knows that your ass feels amazing under his big hands.

“If you ever want to establish boundaries while sober…” he starts, then trails off, and it makes you laugh again.  It’s probably the drugs, but he’s made you smile more, laugh more in this one evening than he has in all the time since he’s known you.

“Don’t open that door if you don’t want me walking through it, Borracho,” you warn.

Maybe he’s sobering up a bit, because he manages to both think of a slick line and deliver it. 

“You’re Fugitive Squad, baby.  You can kick down my door anytime you want.”

It’s the coup de grace of the moment:  you throw your head back and laugh, deep belly laughs that come from deep inside you.  You throw out a hand and brace yourself against his shoulder, and he chuckles along with you.

“Duly noted,” you finally manage to say once you calm.  “I’ll hit you up sometime.”

Borracho nods.  “You should.”

Then, because he’s still loose from the drugs, still feeling pretty damned good, still wanting to show that he’s not going to be shitty about you clambering off him, he lifts his arm in invitation.

“C’mon,” he says.  “At least curl up with me here.  I need someone to ground me so I don’t drift off to Saturn.”

You don’t even hesitate to move closer and tuck yourself under his arm and against his side, and that’s how you both fall asleep within the hour, and how you both wake up just before dawn—both dry-mouthed and cranky, but not so cranky that you don’t sheepishly exchange numbers.

And Borracho might think you’re just being nice, but you call him that evening, stone-sober, eager to kick in his door at his earliest convenience.

[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.

[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

~~~~ 

[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

[mysoulisasunflower]

MAURICE COMPTE as BENNY BORRACHO MAGALON

(I have make some gifset of Benny because I have to rentabilyze the time I have lost to watch this movie)