PAIRING: Soldier Boy (Ben) & GN!Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic, whichever floats your boat)
GENRE: Angst, Fluff
REQUEST: “You had a great relationship with your father, who has since passed away. Ben doesn't know how to comfort you on the days that you miss him.” — @beakaleak32
TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ben being an insensitive jerk at first, Ben Has Daddy Issues, Mentions of Child Abuse, Not Beta-Read
A/N: I know the pain, so I just wanna say to anyone who experienced loss: Grief is weird. Be kind to yourself, because there's no manual on how to deal with death. If you want to talk about someone you’ve lost, come to my inbox anytime. 🫂
CREDIT/LINKS: Dividers — The Boys Masterlist — Main Masterlist — Request
They say grief is like glitter, and at first, you think the analogy is stupid, but then you understand. There’s glimpses of him everywhere you go. Heaps of it at first, but it scatters and sticks. Even as time fades, you still find particles in the most random of places. You can’t get rid of it, whether you want to or not.
The worst thing about these gut-punches is that they happen out of nowhere. And sometimes, it’s like a string of events — particularly tender days where memory after memory plops into your head.
On your way to the grocery store, you sit in the parking lot and remember standing under that exact tree, talking with him on the phone. But there’s nobody calling you today. The radio plays a song that you know he used to love, but his voice isn’t singing along. As you browse through the shelves in the breakfast aisle, you see a box of his favorite cereal and you buy it even though you can’t stand the taste. Back home, you clear out old clothes from your wardrobe and in the back you find one of his jackets. You don’t know which is worse — the fact that it still smells like him or the fact that the scent is slowly fading.
You can’t bring yourself to clean it, let alone toss it in the trash. It stays in the back of your closet like a secret until one day you’re maybe brave enough to wear it without breaking down into tears. Maybe it’s a special day — your birthday, or worse, his birthday — and there’s a small chipper voice in the back of your head that says “I should call Dad!” before you remember.
At some point, wearing the jacket almost feels like a hug. Eventually, it comforts you, knowing that you’re carrying a piece of him with you.
And then, Ben just had to go and ruin it.
“Christ almighty. From which dumpster did’ya pick up that ugly thing?”
His gruff words are meant to be a harmless joke, the usual teasing and bickering that he often takes a step too far. Except this time, it pulls you under entirely. He expected you to roll your eyes and maybe insult his outfit in return, but you’re just standing there, frozen.
Eventually, you find half of your voice and push a weak “It was my Dad’s” past your trembling lips as your eyes get glossy with tears.
Ben never had a good relationship with his own dad. His old man was strict and distant. Hell, when he found out that Soldier Boy was just a product of Compound V, he accused Ben of cheating, because a “real man” wouldn’t need to take a “shortcut.”
Point being, he doesn’t know what it’s like to get along with your father, and it’s a touchy subject for him. Seeing you mourn your dad while he still doesn’t know how to feel about his own even has the the tiniest bit of jealousy flare up in him.
He knows what it’s like losing your father. He’s outlived the man by several decades. But he can’t remember ever reacting to his loss the way you handle yours.
And damn it, he knows this isn’t about himself, but his pride takes the upper hand as he just scoffs. He doesn’t take it back, doesn’t apologize, doesn’t hand out condolences. He just brushes it off and the two of you continue your day like there isn’t this giant elephant in the room.
You’re awfully quiet for the rest of the day. Doesn’t matter where he takes you, what you two do together, which jokes he cracks — at his own expense, even — you cling silently to your jacket like it’s armor and don’t even lookat him. Not that he doesn’t deserve the cold shoulder. He’s been a total dick.
Eventually, Ben gives up, throwing you a bone: “That a Schott leather jacket?”
You fidget with the sleeves, nodding gingerly as though you’re afraid he’s gonna continue roasting you.
“That thing’s worth a fortune,” he hums instead. “Was your old man a biker or something?”
You huff out what could be a weak chuckle, and he takes it as a small victory. Shaking your head, you explain to him that your dad got it second hand. “It was already considered vintage when he got it.”
“As someone who’s been born around the time Schott was established: Ouch.”
You laugh again, barely, but at least you’re softening up. You tell him a little more, mentioning how your father loved collecting vintage stuff, even joking about how he probably would’ve had delightful conversations with Ben about the good ol’ days. Your eyes shine brighter just talking about him, like sharing these memories with someone else makes your dad a little less dead — not alive, but still present.
“You think of him often?” Ben asks, jaw clenched like the words are poison on his tongue. You know talking about feelings isn’t his strong suit, but this topic in particular seems to be extra sore.
“Everyday,” you confirm with a nod. “You ever think about your father?”
A beat. The uncomfortable silence stretches out and you know you’ve hit a weak spot. Ben scoffs, the ghost of a crooked grin on his lips. But when he shakes his head and mumbles “I try not to,” you know it’s bullshit. Immediately he knows how you see right through him, so he adds: “We weren’t exactly close. Must be nice, having a good relationship with your parents.”
The bitterness laced in his voice lets you know that he doesn’t want your pity. At the same time, there’s a rare crack in the stone walls he usually has built around him. It would be a waste to not try and reach through.
“Parenting was a lot different back then,” you shrug — not to find an excuse for his late father’s mistakes, but to let Ben know that it wasn’t his fault. He was just a kid. Always his dad’s son. It shouldn’t be anyone’s responsibility to make your parents love you. That should be unconditional, though you know it’s not the reality for everyone. “Did he…?”
“Nah,” Ben sighs, averting his gaze. “Never laid a finger on me, but he let me know I was the family fuck-up. Didn’t matter what I did to make him proud, he was always just disappointed.”
“Yikes,” you offer in empathy. “For what it’s worth, I know what it’s like wanting to make your father proud. Doesn’t always work.”
Ben glances at you, corner of his mouth still tugged upwards in that lopsided grin. His eyes wander down on you, regarding your jacket for a while, before he nods. “I bet yours is very proud of you, just for looking badass in his jacket alone.” The words hang between you for a moment. Is — not was, not would be. Is.
Teasingly, he adds: “Not so sure about the company you picked, but hey, least I’m vintage, so maybe that’s a plus.”
Dom Hotch where you guys are secretly and he fucks you against a hotel window
yes yes
you guys are on a case and normally you wouldn't fuck on a case but it's a particularly long one and you both need each other and the team doesn't know so you have to be careful
but hotch is a tease and loves to rile you up when there's nothing you can do to help yourself
so when he comes to your room that night at like 2am he catches you about to fuck yourself and break one of your rules he decides he's gotta do something about it
so he fucks you up against the window. (obviously the street is empty but it's more the idea that someone could come that is so hot)
and you love it. because having a secret relationship isn't easy and doing something so out there is hot and different
and he fucks you hard from behind while whispering things like "look at you. what would someone think if they saw you right now? such a slut, ready to take my cock anywhere, any time."
and you cum possibly harder than ever before.
and the next morning derek and emily come down, exhausted "did you guys hear that on our floor last night? someone was really getting lucky"
