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lila-lou · 3 days ago

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✨His second exception - Pt. 33/33✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, FLUFF, LAST CHAPTER GUYS-Pls read the A/N at the End <3

Word Count: 6347

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 33 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙

With that, the door finally shut behind them, leaving the house in peaceful silence. Just you, Ben, and Aria.

Ben exhaled deeply, shifting on the couch as he got comfortable. His boots were already kicked off, his supe jacket unzipped, but he made no move to get up—just leaned back, stretching out and cradling Aria against his chest. His massive hand ran over her tiny back, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles.

“You’re still all scrunched up, huh, chicken?”, he murmured, smirking down at her tiny legs, which, as always, remained curled up against his chest. He nudged them lightly with a finger, only for Aria to wriggle and pull them back in, making a soft little grunt in protest.

Ben huffed a short laugh. “Stubborn. Just like your mom”.

You chuckled from where you stood, watching him settle in. “She’s comfortable like that. You’re not gonna win this fight, you know”.

Ben glanced up at you with that lazy, lopsided smirk you knew all too well. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning on losing, either”.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to stand beside the couch. “You know what else you’re not planning on doing?”. You leaned down slightly, wrinkling your nose. “Skipping a shower after being gone for a hole week”.

Ben arched an eyebrow, still rocking Aria lightly in his arms. “What, you don’t like the smell of blood, gunpowder, and pure testosterone?”.

You snorted. “Not on my baby”.

Ben let out a low, amused hum, shifting Aria slightly to free one of his hands. He reached up, grabbing your wrist, and tugged you just a little closer. “Yeah?”, he murmured, his smirk deepening. “But you don’t mind it on you, do you?”.

His voice had dropped into that lower, teasing register, the one that always made your stomach twist in that annoying, predictable way. His fingers ran up the inside of your wrist, his touch feather-light but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to be unimpressed, even as heat crept up your neck. “Ben, you literally just got home”.

He leaned back further into the couch, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “And I seem to remember a certain someone saying they missed me”, he drawled. “You sure you want me to take that shower alone?”.

You scoffed, shoving at his shoulder—not that it moved him in the slightest. “You’re impossible”.

Ben smirked, shifting Aria slightly as he looked up at you with that infuriating, cocky glint in his green eyes. “Still”, he murmured, voice low and smooth, “I won’t shower alone”.

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the corner of your lips twitched. “Ben”.

“What?”. He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “I’ve been gone for a week. You really gonna make me suffer through some boring-ass, lonely shower?”.

You huffed, reaching down to take Aria from his arms, careful not to disturb her as she dozed against his chest. “I would”, you said, carefully cradling her to you, “but I don’t trust you not to fall asleep standing up in there”.

Ben let out a low chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. Now that he’d finally let himself relax, the exhaustion was catching up with him, weighing down his movements just slightly. But even still, that damn smirk stayed in place. “You saying I’d pass out in the shower? Nah. You’d just have to keep me awake”.

You shot him a glare, rocking Aria gently in your arms. “Ben, I swear—”.

He pushed himself up from the couch with a deep grunt, rolling out his stiff shoulders. Then, before you could react, he leaned down and kissed you, slow and unhurried. His lips lingered against yours, the heat of him wrapping around you, and for a second, the world shrank down to just the two of you.

Your lips barely parted from his as you mumbled, “What about Aria?”. The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin as Ben smirked, his hands bracketing your waist, his touch firm but not overbearing.

“She’s out”, he murmured, glancing down at the tiny bundle resting against your chest. Aria was still fast asleep, her soft little breaths even and steady. “And I don’t hear her complaining”.

You sighed, already feeling your resolve slipping, especially when his rough fingers skimmed along the small of your back, trailing heat in their wake. “Ben”, you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was meant to scold or encourage.

You sighed, pressing your forehead against his chest for a brief moment, trying to keep a straight face. But, of course, Ben wasn’t about to let this go. His large hands slid lower, pressing against your hips, his touch both teasing and possessive.

“We just put her in the crib and take the baby monitor with us”, he muttered, his voice low, rough with impatience. Then, with a smirk, he tapped the side of his ear. “Not that I need one”.

You narrowed your eyes at him, even as warmth spread through your body. “Ben—”.

“C’mon, babe”, he whined in that deep, gravelly voice, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, just below your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing lower, slow and deliberate. “My balls are about to fucking explode”.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible”.

Ben pulled back slightly, looking down at you with those sharp green eyes, dark with something dangerous, something insatiable. “And yet, you love me", he murmured, smirking. “So, what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? You gonna make me suffer after I’ve been gone a whole damn week?".

You bit your lip, trying to stay firm, but the weight of his body against yours, the way his fingers flexed slightly against your waist, made it impossible to think straight.

“…Five minutes”, you whispered, finally giving in.

Ben’s grin was pure satisfaction. “Sweetheart, that’s all I need”.

In your bedroom, he wasted no time, stepping back from you just enough to let you gently place Aria in her crib. You moved carefully, ensuring she was snug and peaceful before reaching for the baby monitor on the dresser. Just as you grabbed it, you felt Ben behind you—his chest pressing against your back, his large hands settling on your hips.

"See?", he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Problem solved".

You exhaled sharply, clutching the monitor as his fingers trailed down your sides. "Ben", you whispered, a weak attempt at resistance.

He smirked, nuzzling into your neck, letting his stubble graze your skin. "I missed you, sweetheart", he rasped, his voice rough and low. "Need you".

You swallowed, heart pounding, as he guided you toward the en-suite bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, he was on you—his hands, his mouth, his heat. His lips crashed against yours, deep and claiming, his fingers gripping your waist as he pressed you against the counter.

"You’re lucky I actually need a shower", he muttered between kisses, reaching past you to turn on the water. "Or I’d say screw it and take you right fucking here".

You shivered as he tugged at the hem of your shirt, peeling it off with an urgency that made your skin burn. "Ben", you breathed against his lips, tangling your fingers in his hair.

He groaned, his grip tightening on your hips. "Say my name like that again, and this five-minute deal is off the table".

You laughed softly, tilting your head up to kiss him again, letting yourself melt against him. "Then I guess we’d better hurry, huh?".

Ben smirked. "Sweetheart, I don’t hurry—I make it count".

Inside the shower, the moment the warm water cascaded down Ben’s broad shoulders, he wasted no time. His strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing, maneuvering you until your legs were draped over his strong shoulders. Your back pressed against the cool tiled wall, the sudden shift in position making your breath hitch.

“Oh, shit”, you whispered, your hands instinctively flying into his damp hair, gripping the thick strands.

Ben smirked against your skin, his grip tightening under your thighs to keep you steady. “What?”, he drawled, his voice dark with amusement. “Never had me down here before?”.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming wildly in your veins. “Just… Where the hell is this coming from?”.

Ben chuckled, low and deep, his breath warm against your core. “Week away had me thinking”, he murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Had me starving”.

Your breath stuttered as you tried to adjust, your hands still buried in his wet hair. The height, the sheer power in how easily he held you up—it sent a mix of excitement and nerves racing through you. “Ben, this is… really high”, you murmured, your thighs twitching slightly.

Ben let out a low chuckle against your skin, his breath hot as he teased, “That’s ‘cause you’re so damn small”. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh just enough to remind you how easily he was holding you up. “Or maybe I’m just too big for you”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers threading tighter through his hair as his lips inched closer to where you needed him the most. The teasing smirk on his face never faded, but there was something else in his expression now—pure, hungry intent.

“Ben—”. You barely got his name out before his lips finally met you, slow and deliberate, taking his time like he had all the patience in the world. The heat of his mouth sent a shiver through your entire body, your back arching against the cool tiles.

Ben groaned against you, the deep vibration shooting straight through you as he worked you open, his grip keeping you steady even as your legs twitched around his broad shoulders. “Fuck, you’re already shaking”, he murmured, pulling back just enough to look up at you, his green eyes dark and gleaming. “You sure you can handle this, sweetheart?”.

You barely had the breath to glare at him, your fingers tugging at his hair. “I swear to—ahh—”.

Your words cut off into a gasp as he dragged his tongue against you again, slower this time, drawing it out just to hear you whimper. The way he was holding you, the way he kept you pinned like you were weightless—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

Ben chuckled against you again, clearly enjoying how easily he was unraveling you. “Gonna have to hold on tight, baby”, he warned, his smirk audible. “I’m just getting started”.

Ben took his damn time, dragging his tongue in slow, lazy strokes that had your entire body shuddering. He wasn’t rushing—not even close. If anything, he was deliberately teasing you, keeping the pressure featherlight, just enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy.

Your fingers tightened in his damp hair, tugging, but he didn’t budge. If anything, it just made him smirk against you. “Impatient?”, he murmured, the vibration of his voice sending a shock through your already-overstimulated body. “You’re the one who let me starve for seven weeks”.

You whined, your head tilting back against the cool tile as your thighs twitched against his shoulders. “Ben”, you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please”.

His grip on your thighs tightened just slightly, his breath warm against you. “Please, huh?”, he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

You bit your lip, resisting the urge to snap back. He knew exactly what he was doing—pushing you to that perfect edge, taking his time just to watch you unravel.

Then, finally, finally, he gave you what you wanted. His tongue flicked against you with just the right pressure, his movements slow but deliberate, tasting you like he was savoring every second.

Your entire body jerked at the sensation, your fingers digging into his scalp as a desperate moan slipped past your lips. Ben groaned against you, his grip tightening, his mouth working you open as he set a pace that was agonizingly slow, but devastatingly good.

“Fuck”, you gasped, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “Ben—”.

He didn’t stop. If anything, your reaction only encouraged him. His tongue moved with precision, slow enough to make you whimper, but deep enough to have your legs trembling around him.

“Better hold on, sweetheart”, he murmured between strokes, his voice low and gravelly. “I’m not letting you down until you break”.

Your release crashed over you hard and fast, your body tightening, shuddering against Ben’s relentless mouth. Your fingers clenched in his damp hair, your thighs trembling around his shoulders as pleasure pulsed through you in waves.

Ben groaned against your heat, savoring the way you came apart for him, his grip firm as he held you through every second of it. Slowly, he eased his pace, letting his tongue drag over you one last time before he pressed a final, lingering kiss to your inner thigh.

Then, with effortless strength, he shifted you, lowering you down onto his hips. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his broad shoulders for balance, your breath still ragged as your chest pressed flush against his. The heat of his body surrounded you, his erection thick and heavy against your stomach, a solid reminder of just how much he’d been holding back.

Ben exhaled sharply, his large hands smoothing over your waist, his grip steady but hesitant. His green eyes locked onto yours, his usual arrogance tempered by something more careful—something rare.

Ben let out a rough breath, his green eyes dark with something deeper than just desire. His hands settled firmly on your hips, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just above your thighs as he pulled you even closer, your bodies pressed flush against each other.

His smirk returned, lazy and cocky, though there was an edge to it—something more controlled than usual. “Seven weeks, huh?”, he murmured, tilting his head slightly as he let his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Think you’re ready to take me again, sweetheart?”.

You shuddered at the way his voice dipped, at the way his grip tightened just enough to make your pulse spike. “Ben…”, you started, breathless, but he cut you off with a low chuckle, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Gotta make sure”, he muttered, voice thick with restraint, but his fingers were already moving, trailing down between your legs, teasing at your slick heat. His touch was slow, deliberate. Testing.

He groaned as he felt how ready you were, how your body was already responding to him, clenching with anticipation. “Fuck".

Ben let out a deep, shuddering groan as he slowly lined himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance. His grip on your hips tightened, his control hanging by a thread as he felt how warm, how impossibly tight you were around him. “Shit”, he rasped, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. “You’re even tighter than before, sweetheart��”.

But just as he was about to push in, you suddenly tensed beneath him. “Ben”, you whispered, looking up at him, your expression shifting from pleasure to something more hesitant.

He blinked, his brows knitting together in brief confusion. “What?”. His voice was gruff, breathless, thick with need.

You bit your lip, a tiny, cheeky grin forming despite the flush on your cheeks. “You need to wrap up”.

Ben immediately froze, his entire body going rigid. His green eyes flicked up to yours, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and pure, unfiltered irritation. “You’re joking”.

You shook your head slowly, biting back a laugh at the sheer look of offense that crossed his face. “Nope”.

Ben groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against. “You gotta be fucking kidding me”, he muttered. “You want me to—after seven weeks—you want me to—fuck”.

You giggled, reaching up to stroke his damp hair. “I know you hate them, but come on, Ben. Unless you want another little chicken running around in nine months…”.

Ben’s face twisted into something that looked both horrified and turned on at the same time. He inhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers digging into your hips. “You’re evil”, he muttered. “You know that? Fucking Evil”.

You only grinned wider, leaning up to kiss his jaw. “So? What’s it gonna be, big guy?”.

Ben let out a long, suffering exhale, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was physically restraining himself from throwing a full-blown tantrum. Then, with a gruff mutter of "Fucking hell", he set you down on shaky legs, his grip lingering just long enough to make sure you were steady before he took a step back.

“Go get one”, he grumbled, clearly annoyed but resigned, his large hands running down his face before he tilted his head back under the hot water. His fingers curled into fists like he was trying to keep himself in check, his cock still standing thick and heavy against his abs.

Before you turned, he reached out and gave your ass a quick, sharp pinch.

You yelped, giggling as you swatted at his arm. “Behave”, you teased, stepping carefully out of the shower.

Ben huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he watched you tiptoe naked and dripping wet toward the bedroom. “Yeah, yeah”, he muttered, eyes locked onto you like a predator tracking its prey. “But hurry the fuck up, or I’m saying screw it”.

You smirked, shivering slightly as the cooler air hit your damp skin. Moving quickly, you padded over to the nightstand, snatching a foil-wrapped condom from the drawer. As soon as you had it in your grasp, you turned on your heel and walked back toward the bathroom, holding it up between two fingers.

Ben arched an unimpressed brow as you stepped back inside, steam curling around your body. “You look way too fucking smug right now”.

You grinned. “Oh, I am”.

Ben rolled his eyes, muttering something about how he should be the one getting rewarded for his patience. But the second you climbed back into the shower, his hands were on you again, pulling you flush against his chest.

"Hand it over", he grumbled, his voice a low, commanding rasp as he reached for the condom. But before he took it, his lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in punishment for making him wait.

"You’ll see how much better it feels without one”, Ben grumbled against your neck, his breath hot and heavy, the frustration thick in his voice. “So get rid of your fucking grin”.

Before you could respond, he nipped at your skin once more, his teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver down your spine. The sharp contrast of the cool air and the heat of his body pressed against yours had you gasping softly.

Then, with an almost annoyed huff, he turned away from the water, shielding his dick from the hot spray as he tore open the foil wrapper with his teeth. His fingers worked quickly, rolling the condom down his thick length with an almost begrudging efficiency.

You watched, still breathless, pressing your back against the shower wall, your body already buzzing from anticipation. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, as he finished, his large hand stroking himself once before his eyes snapped back up to yours.

Ben let out a deep, frustrated grunt, his fingers adjusting the condom . “Squeezing the shit out of me”, he muttered under his breath.

You bit your lip, trying—and failing—not to laugh at the obvious discomfort on his face. “Maybe you just forgot how to wear one”, you teased, your voice dripping with amusement.

Ben’s green eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unimpressed. “Or maybe”, he shot back, rolling his hips just enough to press the thick length of him against your slick heat, “you bought the wrong damn size”.

Your smirk only widened, knowing exactly how much that would get to him. “I dunno”, you hummed, tilting your head. “Looks like it fits just fine to me”.

Ben let out a dry chuckle, his large hands gripping your thighs tighter as he lifted you higher against the shower wall. “Yeah?”, he muttered, his voice low and edged with warning. “Feel free to keep talking, sweetheart. See where it gets you”.

You opened your mouth, fully prepared to push him further, but before you could get a word out, he shifted his hips, pressing the thick head of his cock against you, stretching you ever so slightly without fully sinking in.

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening against his shoulders. Ben smirked, seeing the change in your expression. “That’s what I thought”, he murmured, pressing a slow, taunting kiss to your throat. “Now, let’s see if this thing holds up, huh?”.

Ben groaned deeply as he eased into you, his thick cock stretching you inch by inch, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you steady against the cool tile of the shower wall. His breath came out in a sharp exhale, his jaw tightening at the overwhelming heat of you around him.

“Fuck”, he muttered, his voice gravelly, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck. “So fucking tight. Seven weeks and it’s like you missed me, sweetheart”.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders. “Maybe… maybe I did”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out between gasps as he pushed in deeper, inch by agonizing inch.

Ben chuckled darkly, his smirk pressed against your jaw. “That so?”, he taunted, rolling his hips just enough to make you whimper. “Didn’t seem like it when you were making me suit up like a damn rookie”.

You let out a breathless laugh, but it quickly turned into a moan as he finally bottomed out, filling you completely. Your walls fluttered around him, adjusting to the stretch, and he let out another low groan, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Shit", he muttered, his grip on your hips tightening possessively. “Gonna have to work this condom off you if you keep squeezing me like that”.

You gasped, half-laughing, half-moan. “Ben—”.

He smirked, rolling his hips in a slow, deep thrust that had your head falling back against the tile. “That’s right, sweetheart”, he murmured, nipping at your throat. “Say my name real nice. Let me hear how much you missed me”.

You barely managed a response, your breath hitching as he rolled his hips just right, hitting that spot that sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Your fingers dug into his damp shoulders, clinging to him as he kept a steady, punishing rhythm, dragging himself almost all the way out before pushing back in, making you feel every stretch, every inch of him.

“Come on”, he gritted out, his grip firm on your waist, his voice dark and teasing. “Seven weeks, and this is all I get? No begging? No telling me how fucking good I feel?”.

You let out a breathless moan, tilting your head back against the cool tile, trying to gather enough words to fire back at him. “Cocky asshole”, you managed, but the insult barely carried any weight with how wrecked you already sounded.

Ben chuckled low in his throat, clearly pleased with himself. “Damn right I am”, he muttered, sucking at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “’Cause I know no one else could fuck you like this. No one else could make you fall apart just by stretching you open”.

His words sent a deep, aching heat straight through you, making you clench around him involuntarily. Ben groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Shit—just like that, sweetheart”, he breathed, his control slipping just a little. “Keep doing that, and this damn condom’s not gonna be the only thing I ruin”.

You whimpered, tightening your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper. “Ben—”.

“Say it again”, he muttered, his pace picking up, harder now, rougher.

Ben growled low in his throat, his grip tightening as he slammed his hips forward, driving himself deeper into you. “Say it again”, he demanded, his voice rough, almost desperate.

You gasped, your nails dragging across his broad shoulders as pleasure built higher, hotter. “Ben”, you whimpered, clenching around him again, making him hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck, sweetheart”, he groaned, pressing you harder against the cool tile, his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. His rhythm was relentless now, each thrust sending shockwaves through you. “You feel that? How perfect you fit around me?”.

You could barely think, let alone respond, but he didn’t need you to. He already knew. He could feel it in the way your body responded to him, in the way you were already so close, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Ben leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he muttered, “Look at you—already so fucked out, and I’m not even done with you”.

A sharp moan tore from your lips as he angled his hips just right, dragging another wave of pleasure from you. Your legs tightened around him, locking him in place, needing more, needing everything.

His smirk returned, though it was strained, his own restraint slipping. “That’s it”, he groaned, his pace growing erratic. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you”.

You didn’t stand a chance. The pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body trembling against his, his name falling from your lips. Your nails raked down his back, your walls fluttering around him as your climax hit so hard you momentarily forgot how to breathe.

Ben let out a deep, guttural moan, burying his face in your neck as he followed, his entire body tensing as he spilled into the condom with a final, shuddering thrust. His breaths were ragged, his chest rising and falling against yours as he came down, still holding you against the wall as if he never wanted to let you go.

For a long moment, the only sound in the shower was your heavy breathing and the water cascading around you.

Then, Ben let out a slow, satisfied chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss against your collarbone. “Yeah”, he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and smug satisfaction. “That was worth the wait”.

You huffed out a breathless laugh, your fingers still tangled in his damp hair.

Ben slowly eased you down, but the second your feet touched the tile, your legs wobbled. He let out a low chuckle, gripping your waist to steady you. “Shit, sweetheart”, he muttered, smirking as he kept you against him. “Did I fuck the strength outta you?”.

You shot him a tired but amused glare, your fingers tightening slightly against his forearm for balance. “Shut up”.

But before he could throw another cocky remark your way, his head tilted slightly, his sharp green eyes flicking toward the door. His smirk faded into something softer, something focused.

“She’s waking up”, he muttered, voice quieter now.

You blinked, still catching your breath. “What?”.

Ben tipped his chin toward the bedroom. “Aria. She’s squirming. Smacking her lips like a fucking fish”.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Of course you can hear that”.

Ben’s smirk returned, though this time it wasn’t teasing—it was fond, almost proud. “I hear everything when it comes to her”. Then, with a final squeeze to your waist, he grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapping it around your body before reaching for another to dry himself. “C’mon, sweetheart”, he murmured, voice low and warm. “Our little chicken’s hungry”.

You barely managed to wrap the towel around yourself before you had to steady yourself against the doorframe, your legs still wobbly from what had just happened in the shower. You shot a glare toward the bedroom, half-amused, half-exasperated. Ben had done this on purpose. No way was that just him getting carried away—he wanted you to feel like you couldn’t walk straight after.

Smug bastard.

Still, as you pulled the towel tighter around you and carefully padded into the bedroom, you found Ben already ahead of you—still completely naked—lifting Aria from her crib before she could even let out a full wail. His broad arms cradled her tiny body effortlessly, and as soon as she was settled against his chest, her little mouth made a soft, suckling motion against his skin, searching.

“Hungry little thing, aren’t you?”. His voice was gruff but warm, and he ran a large hand over her tiny back in slow, soothing circles.

Ben smirked down at Aria, watching as her little mouth suckled instinctively against his bare chest. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Sorry, chicken”, he muttered, adjusting his hold on her. “Ain’t gonna find any food in these”. He gave his chest a playful slap with his free hand. “Flat as a damn board”.

You snorted as you settled back onto the bed, adjusting the pillows behind you. “Well, if she keeps trying, maybe you’ll magically start producing milk”.

Ben shot you a flat look, but there was amusement lurking behind it. “Yeah? That how it works, doc?”. He turned back to Aria, rocking her slightly. “Sorry, sweetheart. Your old man’s not built for the job”.

Aria let out a frustrated little squeak, her tiny fingers curling against his skin as she wriggled, still searching. Ben exhaled through his nose, glancing back at you. “Alright, alright”, he grumbled. “You win”.

He moved toward the bed, sitting down beside you before gently passing Aria into your arms. You let your towel slip just enough to guide her toward you, and the second she latched, her fussing stopped instantly.

Ben huffed, leaning back against the headboard, still very much naked. His green eyes dropped to where Aria was nursing, and after a long moment, he let out a deep, irritated groan.

“This is bullshit”, he muttered.

You arched an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “What now?".

Ben gestured vaguely toward your chest, his gaze flicking between you and Aria. “She gets to suck on your tits all night, and I’m still sittin’ here rock hard”.

You glanced down, and sure enough, Ben was very much rock hard again, his cock resting against his thigh, thick and heavy. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smirk as you looked back up at him. “You weren’t kidding”, you murmured, amusement lacing your tone.

Ben huffed dramatically, throwing his head back against the headboard. “Yeah, no shit”, he grumbled. His hand dropped to his stomach, fingers twitching slightly like he was resisting the urge to do something about it. “You think I was just talking to hear myself?”.

You chuckled softly, shifting Aria slightly as she continued to nurse, her tiny hands resting against your chest. “Well”, you teased, voice light, “looks like you’ve got a real problem”.

Ben turned his head toward you, his green eyes dark with something equal parts frustration and amusement. “You think this is funny?”, he muttered, his voice lower now, rougher. His free hand trailed along the edge of your towel, teasing at the skin of your hip. “You sitting there all bare, feeding my kid, while I’m sitting here—like this?”. His eyes flicked downward pointedly, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your hip.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you adjusted Aria slightly in your arms. “How is that even possible?”, you teased, casting a glance at Ben’s still-throbbing erection. “You just—literally minutes ago—shot your shot”.

Ben let out a gruff scoff, rubbing a hand down his face before grumbling, “It’s like you just met me”. His green eyes flicked back to you, smirking despite his obvious frustration. “You really think once is enough after a seven weeks break? Sweetheart, I don’t even know what ‘satisfied’ means when it comes to you”.

Sure enough, the second Aria had finished nursing and drifted back to sleep, Ben wasted no time. He carefully laid her in the crib and wheeled her in the bathroom, his movements surprisingly delicate for someone so naturally rough. The moment he turned back to you, however, his restraint snapped like a thread pulled too tight.

“Finally”, he muttered under his breath, his hands already tugging at the towel loosely wrapped around you.

You barely had time to react before he had you pinned beneath him, his massive frame pressing you into the mattress, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that sent heat straight through you. It wasn’t slow, wasn’t careful—Ben had been holding back for too damn long, and now, he was making up for lost time.

And he didn’t stop at once.

Even after the first time, when your body was still shuddering from the aftershocks, Ben wasn’t finished. He barely gave you time to catch your breath before he had you again—his grip firm, his pace relentless, his voice a low growl against your ear, telling you exactly how much he missed this, missed you.

The second round bled into a third, and somewhere in between, you were barely coherent, your mind foggy from pleasure and exhaustion. You weren’t sure when you finally passed out, only that the last thing you felt was Ben’s strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest as he let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

You woke up hours later, still tangled in him, his arm slung possessively around your waist, his breathing deep and steady. Even in sleep, his grip on you never loosened—as if even now, he wasn’t letting go.

Ben never thought he’d get here.

Not in a million years. Not after everything.

His whole life, he’d been told what he was—what he was made for. A soldier. A weapon. Indestructible, untouchable. Love? That was for men with the luxury of normal lives. Family? That was for people who weren’t designed in a lab, for people who weren’t engineered to be a symbol instead of a person.

He was meant to fight, not to feel.

But then, there was you.

His only exception.

The one person who had seen him—really seen him. Past the legend, past the propaganda, past the violence that had built him up and broken him down a thousand times over. You hadn’t flinched, hadn’t turned away, hadn’t seen a monster when you looked at him.

You had seen Ben.

And somehow, impossibly, you had made him believe that he could be more than just the wreckage of the past.

And then, against all odds, against all reason—there was her.

Aria.

A baby he never thought he could have. A baby no one thought he should have. Proof that whatever the hell was in his DNA, whatever was in yours—it worked. Something that shouldn’t have been possible, and yet, there she was. A miracle born from all the things he thought he could never have.

But none of it had come easy.

Nothing in his life ever did.

You had nearly died bringing Aria into this world. And for the first time in his life—his long, brutal, war-torn life—Ben had felt helpless. Not the kind of fear that pumped adrenaline through his veins, not the kind that made him throw the first punch just to make sure he got the last. No, this was the kind of fear that had nearly broken him in half.

The kind that came from standing there, useless, watching you slip away, watching doctors scramble. And for all his strength, for all his power, for all the fights he had survived, he couldn’t fight for you.

But you made it. Aria made it.

And now, years later, as he stood on the porch of your home—Aria’s tiny hand gripping his index finger, her soft chestnut curls bouncing as she tried to match his long strides—he knew what peace felt like.

Not the silence after a battle. Not the weightless nothingness of another mission completed. This.

The sound of Aria’s laughter, the warmth of your gaze as you watched them, the way his world had finally stopped spinning just long enough for him to hold it in his hands.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest, a knowing grin playing at your lips. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger”, you teased.

Ben scoffed, but his hand instinctively tightened around Aria’s. “Nah”, he muttered, glancing down at her. “She’s just lucky I like her”.

Aria giggled, her green eyes—so much like his—glowing with mischief. She had your heart, your warmth, but that sharp, unrelenting attitude? That was all him.

“You ready, chicken?”, Ben asked, smirking down at her.

“For what?”, she chirped.

Ben scooped her up effortlessly, holding her up high, ready to swing her around the way she loved it as he turned to you.

But then, his sharp green eyes flicked to your stomach before settling on your face, and just for a second—his smirk faltered.

There it was again.

That feeling. That realization. That fucking exception.

Because there was going to be another one.

And suddenly, his second exception?

Didn’t seem like his last.

-The End-

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

A/N:

And just like that, another chapter of Ben’s story—the one he never thought he’d have—closes. But that doesn’t mean the story is over.

Not yet.

Because life isn’t wrapped up in neat, final endings. It’s made up of moments. Little glimpses of laughter at the dinner table, whispered conversations in the middle of the night, arguments over whose turn it is to change the diaper, and stolen kisses when no one is looking.

And there’s still more to tell.

They’re still not married—because of course, Ben being Ben, he drags his feet on that, even though it’s inevitable. There’s another baby on the way, another exception he never saw coming. Aria is getting older, showing more of that sharp wit and stubborn attitude that is so clearly inherited from both of them. And Ben? He’s still figuring out how to be the kind of man who deserves all this.

So consider this story open-ended.

I’ll be adding occasional updates, little moments from their lives—some sweet, some messy, some absolutely chaotic, because let’s be honest, a life with Ben will never be boring.

After all, for a man who never thought he’d have exceptions, he sure keeps making them.

So one last time for now... Please let me know what you think. 🥰

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3 @fallout-girl219 @whump-loverz @fallout-girl219

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles x reader #ben x reader #ben #ben x you #soldier boy x you #the boys soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #his second exception

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marzipanandminutiae · 16 hours ago

Note

I never dealt with neat freak roommates but I did have a roommate who hated when the house smelled like *checks notes*... Food.

Not like specifically fish or anything like that. I'd be cooking Literally Anything and she'd be like "hey it really smells like food in here! Can you open the windows and run the fan?" And it's literally freezing outside

MY LANDLADY AT THE LAST PLACE I LIVED WAS LIKE THAT

it was a Landlady In Unit situation, and thankfully she was hardly ever there because she spent most of her time in London. but when she was home, she was VERY particular about food smells

one winter day in the 20s Fahrenheit, I got home from a walk to the library to find the upstairs balcony door wide open and the place freezing. I assumed someone had gone out there for some reason and left it open, so I closed it on my way to my room

five minutes later, I felt a draft. because she'd opened it again. because "the house smelled like cooking"

her cooking smells were allowed, I might add. she did make things that had strong smells. other people's, though? open windows and doors in sub-freezing temperatures

also she left NPR playing in the bathroom we shared constantly, even when she wasn't using it or had gone out. but that's another matter. she was mostly fine, to be clear; I just left because I don't love the "landlord chooses the housemates" Rooming House dynamic.

#ask #shared housing woes #notagiraffe

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lover-of-mine · 3 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/lover-of-mine/774705171158695936/its-unsurprising-theyre-trying-to-steal-your?source=share They're saying that the car Buck has now is Tommy's too, which doesn't make any sense (the first time this car appeared was in the Halloween episode). I don't even know why they changed Buck's car, but I'm starting to think that it's like his clothes, this car doesn't suit him. He started using it after 7x04, because up until 7x04 he had the Jeep and it's as if just like his baggy clothes, his car isn't getting it right either. It's like the clothes theory you mentioned.

Okay, you're gonna get a meta on cars that you didn't ask for because I was talking about this with @stagefoureddiediaz and, as always she has great points about the way stuff happens on the show.

Like, my main thing about the truck being Buck's is the way that Buck left Tommy behind at the cemetery, if Tommy had been the one driving Buck wouldn't just rush off in front of him. But the jeep has always been a symbol of Buck looking for a place to belong, so much that even the scenes we get focus on Buck driving are scenes where Buck is going towards something like for instance, his first day at the station or the scene of him driving at the end of 306 to solve the lawsuit and let him fix his relationship with Bobby. The last time we saw the jeep was in 704 right before the basketball scene, so the jeep took Buck to the bisexual realization, so Buck has all the puzzle pieces in place, no more searching, so he doesn't need that push towards something anymore. The safety of that car to allow him to escape. Interestingly enough tho, the bt relationship doesn't have them driving their own cars, Tommy keeps ordering ubers, even the breakup has the parking space mentions and Tommy telling them not to drive, they're stationary. Even the 705 with the way Tommy literally lets someone else drive him away from Buck, when either one of them could've easily had their cars at that date. Lou mentioned a scene we didn't see, a scene in the car after the cemetery, but if we consider the symbolism surrounding cars and the way that whoever is driving is the one controlling the speed and the way that Buck is the one controlling the pace of that relationship until he hits the gas and Tommy jumps out, the idea that Tommy would be the one driving is laughable. In the whole relationship, Tommy is just along for the ride. Tommy would never be driving Buck, because that means he would be taking control away from Buck.

But like, I don't think the truck is a bad fit for Buck, if we consider the way that Eddie got his truck after Shannon died while going through emotionally heavy moments, and during the season buddie starts getting real intense, to give Buck his own truck could be interesting for the buddie of it all, the idea of them finally reaching the same destination. The truck also works with the way Buck drives Eddie and the way that the one of them who needs to get ready for the relationship is Buck and Eddie is letting Buck set whatever pace he's comfortable but they're in the same car now. There's a metaphor there for Eddie getting his truck when buddie is put into gear and Buck getting one when they hit the gas on it that I really enjoy.

#but yeah #i like the truck #its definitely bucks tho #911 #i really need a tag for asks #911 spoilers #911 speculation

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notaboypossiblyagenius · 16 hours ago

Text

Bruising — E. Prentiss

request by @stupendousvoidcowgirl

content: angst w/ ambiguous ending, canon divergent (emily is ‘dead’ for longer, though it’s not specified), no dialogue. Introspective stream of consciousness. i think this is literally just an essay on grief.

wc: 1.5k

That night was seared into your brain, staining the forefront of your mind like a bruise that refused to heal. A fracture that never quite mended. You’d spent hours obsessing over every detail of that night, what you could’ve done, what you should’ve done. Endless nights telling yourself that if you’d gotten there seconds earlier, that if Hotch had let you in first she’d still be here—She’d still be here.

The image of her woke you up at night, her presence lingering in the cold brownstone you’d once shared. Her being forever commemorated by the well-loved paperbacks and the seemingly eternal collection of DVDs. That day, the day of, she’d left early, she’d kissed you goodbye and you sleepily denied her whispered offer for coffee. You had faintly registered her movements in the kitchen, barely noticed the rich smell that filled the shared space of your home. We’ll have coffee tomorrow, that’s what you had reasoned.

If you had known, if only you had known.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d imagined yourself actually having that coffee with her. Lost count of all the varying outcomes you’d imagined. Lost count of how many times you’d wondered if that coffee would’ve saved her life—Maybe having that coffee with her would have been a reminder that she wasn’t alone, that it wasn’t just Emily Prentiss anymore. Yet, you hadn’t. You hadn’t woken up to have that coffee with her.

That morning, the morning of, you’d walked into the kitchen and the first thing you noticed was her mug, uncharacteristically misplaced, left by the stove completely drained of its liquid. Initially, you’d grumbled, cursed under your breath because she could’ve just placed it in the sink, she should’ve washed it. But, the lipstick stain adorning its border made you smile, the small ridges in the warm pigment had you momentarily forgetting the annoyance that had surged through you.

That mug was the last thing you touched when you decided that the emptiness of the house was too much.

Maybe it was the grief, maybe that was what led you to drag yourself out of the hole you’d filled with wallows, or maybe you’d gotten tired of choking on air every time you walked past the mug you refused to wash. Unsurprisingly, her absence was just as suffocating as her presence had once been.

You believe a part of you stayed in the brownstone when you closed the door a final time and turned the keys in, just as a part of you laid next to Emily’s cold body in her casket. Just as that part of you had lowered itself into the ground with her. In a sense, you felt just as dead as your lover, that brownstone felt like a casket of its own.

So you left, you left and you never looked back—Or you’d told yourself you wouldn’t. Told yourself you wouldn’t look back when you handed in your letter of resignation, told yourself you wouldn’t look back when you’d hugged Penelope goodbye. Told yourself you wouldn’t look back when you visited her grave one last time.

I won’t look back.

It became a mantra, a promise to yourself, to your wounded soul. A revolt against the bitter grief that settled deep in your belly and the bile that clawed at your throat when you smelled coffee. A way to regain control over the grief that had spent far too long controlling you.

It was what you had repeated as you loaded your life into your car, what you repeated during the 5-hour drive to New York City. It was what you repeated as you walked into the New York field office, what you repeated, what you repeated, what you repea—

No, it was what you betrayed when you answered Jj’s call. It was what you betrayed when you drove back to DC. It was what you betrayed when you pressed the button to the 7th floor.

What you forgot as you met her eyes from the other side of the round table.

Eyes you knew you’d never see again, eyes you’d forced yourself to forget were now brimmed with tears as an apology rolled from the lips you’d been begging to forget. The words traveled across the room, quiet and guilty, they wrapped around Derek. Spencer. Jj. Penelope. Rossi. Flowed through Hotch who stood next to you—but they fell before they could envelop you, landing unto your feet with a harsh thud as the same bitter grief that choked you in your sleep used its cruel hands to cover your ears after it shoved her words away.

Your stomach churned. You felt sick. You felt as though someone was poking their finger into the tender bruise at the forefront of your mind.

The smell of coffee swept by you so subtly you doubted it was there in the first place. You doubted she was there at all.

Bile crept up your throat and sweat rolled down your back. Your feet felt cemented to the ground and the room felt like it was moving considerably slower. Voices became muffled and faces became blurry. Your name was a distant echo, pushed away in the face of your grief.

That grief you’d worked so hard to bury—that grief you’d spent months running away from—shot through you in what felt like seconds.

The denial coursed through your veins, Emily is dead, it screamed as it pumped from your heart. Anger followed suit, mixing with the bile in your throat as it hissed:

Emily died and she killed you in the process!

But you were looking at her! She was right in front of you! You narrowed your eyes through the blurry haze. Was she getting closer? You wanted to move back, but you felt as though you were chained to two pillars, each trying to rip you apart as you bargained.

Had I stayed in New York.

Had I ignored Jj’s call.

Had I just drank that coffee with her that morning!

The sweat in your palms seeped into the places where fabric met damp skin, you wrapped your arms around yourself—keeping yourself shielded from the ghost in the room. How futile. How futile was it to shield yourself from she who knew you bare and unclad of all the fronts you put up!

She stepped forward, and the chains at your ankles decayed, bringing down the heavy pillars with them. You stepped back.

One step forward, you stepped back.

Two steps forward, you stepped back.

Until you had no escape, until it was just her and the wall behind you.

The closer she got the less real she seemed. The vessel you’d spent countless hours missing stood feet from yours, none of the decay you’d spent nights picturing present.

The eyes that had been burned into the back of your eyelids looked at you in a matter so familiar it made you feel sick. It made you feel sick because that familiarity was supposed to be 6 feet under, along with the hands that reached for your face.

You found yourself flinching away from the touch you used to lean into, and the dampness of your cheeks had gone unnoticed until this very moment. Until the cruel mistress that was grief whispered her sweet seduction in your ear: ‘She’s alive and you’re rejecting her’

‘Isn’t this what you wanted? Just 5 more minutes!?’ it seethed, its words lacerating the stone you’d allowed to wrap around your soul. This was what you wanted, This is exactly what you used to cry for until your throat was raw and your eyes irritated. What you longed for when you shut your grief behind the doors of your now empty brownstone.

With a shaky gaze, you took her in, completely. The brown of her eyes obstructed by unshed tears which glistened under the light of the room, the apologetic downward pull of her lips, the rosy tint in her cheeks. With shaky hands, you reached for her face, and with shaky fingers, you trailed her features.

She was real, she was real and in front of you and alive.

She was warm under your touch and familiar. Most of all she was familiar, she was the Emily that had kissed you goodbye that morning, the morning of. She was the Emily that had offered you coffee, and those were the lips that had stained the mug you refused to touch.

The same lips you’d spent hours missing pressed a kiss to your palm as you cupped her cheek, causing the sob that had been desperately clawing at your chest to finally rip through. She was real, undeniably so.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured against you, her voice the same melody that haunted your dreams. The same tune that you tricked yourself into forgetting. “I’m so sorry.”

You were too. You were sorry that she had crawled her way back to you. Sorry because she had been alive while your grief tried to kill you. Sorry because, despite it all, you couldn’t slam the door in her face the way she had done when she died—no, when she left. And most of all, you were sorry because you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her for it.

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss angst

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chayanne18 · 2 days ago

Text

TANGLED

the last thing you expected was to be kicked out of your dorm and having to move with som random friends of your brother.

enha. hyung line x reader/ mature, fluff, smut, 18+

matreial

“Jay i’m so done, wtf am i supposed to do now?” your brother looks at you with an annoyed expression “El you got yourself in this..how did you even get kicked out in the first place? it’s your first year of college”

You knew you fucked up, it’s been 4 months only since you joined campus and you had been too reckless, inviting boys over to your room knowing it was a girls only floor, throwing parties weekly, and breaking your dorm’s window was the last strike, that’s why you ended up on the street.

Your brother Jay the pride of your family, straight A law student lived on his own because our dad was so proud of him that he bought him an apartment, while you Elisabeth the wonderful art history student, queen of C grades since middle school had to rent a room as soon as possible because she was kicked out and her dad couldn’t care less. I mean it was your fault but still..Jay got his own apartment and he is only a year older than you.

“I could always stay with you” he looked shocked “oh absolutely not, I am too busy studying and working to have you home, I have a friend who is looking for a roommate tho” was he serious? instead of helping you out he was sending you to some random dude’s house? disappointed but not surprised he takes after our dad after all.

“Sunoo is a good guy, one of his roommates moved back to Japan and he is desperate, you’ll get along well” “Jay you are literally selling me to your friend” “no i’m offering you a place to stay if you want his ig is @k.sunoo_ text him”

you left after that, you couldn’t believe that he wanted you to live with a boy, crazy, Jay had always been super protective over you, thats why you don’t know any of his friends, you know the type of people he hangs with but you’ve never spoken to them. After a while you decide to text him just to see the vibe, Jay said it’s only 350$ a month and that is hard to find right now.

All oh their ig’s were private but one, lee heeseung, you knew him, he was a certified playboy on campus and you had run into him multiple times ar parties since he sings sometimes at a local bar, he is quite good, but you had never talked to eachother, your brother didn’t like him, he always told you to stay away from him and his grup of friends. The other tho you had no idea, they had little to no followers which is something that you liked, they look more chill, tho the hoon guy looked familiar for some reason, you just couldn’t remember it.

#enhypen #jake sim #heeseung #sunghoon #big brother #jungwon #ni ki #jay park #sunoo

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11queensupreme11 · 1 day ago

Note

You answered Let’s goo!!!!

I love you Queen my pookie Wookiee bear!

I’m sorry that was weird..

Anyways!

What I was wondering was if Cu got so mad that Percy fell in love with a mortal that his dumbass cheated again! Out of spite! (This probably won’t come true but bear with me please 🙏) and when Percy found out to his horror she just shrugged him off explaining that she didn’t care what he did anymore, and expected him to not keep it in his pants. I can imagine her being a savage as well like -

Cu: I cheated on you why don’t you care!???

Percy: honestly Cu, you’ve already cheated on me once already, you have a history of cheating, I don’t love you anymore, if I could I would have divorced you already and taken the kids with me, if I chose between Anthonius and you I would choose Anthonius over you any day. You wanna know why? Because he wouldn’t let his ‘urges’ get the better of him and cheat on me. If there was a cheating club you would be right behind my uncle Zeus and I could care less.

Cu: 😨

🤣

Okay but the second ask was about when Percy was grieving.

WARNING: MENTION OF SUCIDE

what if because of Cu and how he didn’t care at first that he cheated on Percy and disregarded her feelings. AND in this case Percy caught him in the act. When Percy went away and she killed herself. And just to make it more traumatic. Her children are the ones that found that body and Cu who was banging the mistress heard their screams and when he saw what happened he realized what he’s done 😈

Percy’s dead and ITS ALL HIS FAULT!

😈😈😈

How would the the yanderes and the kids react to this situation? Especially CU!!!

Imagine loving someone so much but because of your beliefs she killer herself…Cu is such a dumbass I want him to suffer 😈😈😈

well, he'd do pretty much the same thing as the previous scenarios if she fell in love with a mortal: plunge all of midgard to chaos and chip away the man's sanity.

if he cheats again after that and percy doesn't care (let's be honest, she's probably still traumatized and numb), cú chulainn would literally just rape her 💀

like i am not kidding. this dude's a yandere, ofc he'd rape her. he'd force himself on her to MAKE her love him again. that is literally every yan's go-to if they feel their darling stray away: rape them and break them. or in cú chulainn's case, force your love onto them until they have no choice but to accept it. he'll do it to remind her of her place, to remind her of HIS LOVE and that she better love him back or else

(on the bright side tho! he won't cheat again since he's seen how heartbroken it made her 😅 a win's a win, i guess??????)

as for the suicide one, i think i might've gotten that ask, but it might be someone else so i'll answer it here

the yanderes would be DEVASTATED AND HORRIFIED. percy being dead is their number 1 fear. the literal love of their immortal lives is gone, and it's because she was so fucking depressed that she killed herself. hell, these yans have put her through the WRINGER for centuries, eons even, and she stayed strong but cú chulainn's infidelity was the last straw for her.

like.... percy is extremely fucking resilient. she stayed alive for her kids, held on for them, but she was pushed so much that she finally killed herself and left her children, WHO SHE LOVES VERY MUCH, behind.......... that says a LOT

this would completely break cú chulainn. like really, genuinely, 10000% break him. not even the impending war of the other pantheons raining down on him would snap him out of it, and he's a war god. his children are devastated at the loss of their mother, his eldest son is horrified and furious, and they're all desperately trying to get him to snap out of his misery because a bunch of pantheons were coming for them and they NEED their dad

percy's suicide would cause a lot of death. the celtic pantheon would be faced with many many pantheons against them, cú chulainn is enemy number 1, and his children are in danger too. if percy were to kill herself because of this, it'd lead to a lot of slaughter and her precious children wouldn't be spared either 💔💔💔

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| arsenic blues

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narumi-gens · 9 hours ago

Text

Triptych | "Fate put us on the same path."

Chisaki Kai x f!Reader

summary: Your life is nothing more than a triptych, a work of art in three parts with each panel depicting a distinct period — a beginning, a middle, an end. And in the triptych that is your life, the central figure has always been Chisaki Kai.

chapter warnings: 18+ minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, yandere, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, complicated family dynamics, codependency, daddy issues, abandonment issues, reader says "faults" but should really be saying "red flags" lol

notes: this is from a non-chronological series so the parts can be read (mostly) on their own or in any order. someone left the nicest comment on this fic on ao3 and I felt like I needed to update this fic, so this is your regular psa on the importance of leaving comments!

words: 2.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST

minors, blank, and ageless blogs do not like, comment, or reblog

The Middle

You’re having trouble breathing. You’re having literal trouble breathing.

The shiromuku is so heavy and tied so tightly that it feels like each breath you take requires a monumental effort. There’s an ache forming in your shoulders from the pure weight of it all. You’ve spent so much of your life in kimono that you can put one on blindfolded. But this? This wedding kimono is another beast entirely.

“It’s a bit tight,” you wince, causing the two women currently in the process of tying the obi around your middle in an extravagant knot to softly titter.

“I know. It’s all a bit cumbersome,” the older woman in front of you commiserates before smiling at you so kindly that it alleviates your discomfort for a brief moment. “But it’s worth it. You look beautiful, just as every bride should. Your husband is a lucky man.”

You let out a noncommittal hum, which is cut short by a soft grunt when the woman behind you gives your obi a particularly harsh yank.

“How did the two of you meet?” she asks, trying to distract you from how uncomfortable you feel as they continue to tie you up in beautiful silk.

“We grew up together,” you reply, deciding the simplest answer is the easiest.

“Ah, so fate put you both on the same path,” she observes with a soft smile and her words have you suddenly feeling breathless for a reason entirely unrelated to the thick layers of fabric wrapped around you.

“I guess so,” you murmur, but before you can lose yourself in your thoughts, you wince when your obi is given one final tug.

“There we go,” the older attendant behind you declares proudly as she adjusts the obi knot. As difficult as it physically is to do so, you sigh with relief knowing that the fussing is almost over. It’s been over an hour by this point. “All that’s left is the uchikake.”

One of the women lifts up the final and thickest layer that will be worn over your kimono. You reach out to gently trace the beautiful designs embroidered on the white silk. As your finger follows the outline of a crane’s beak, you can’t help the frown that forms on your lips.

“Can we take a break?” you ask and there’s a pause at your unexpected request.

“O-of course,” the attendant in front of you says as she carefully places the uchikake back in its box before she and the other woman leave the room.

When you hear the door close behind you, your posture droops as much as it can in such a restrictive kimono. Instinctively, you tug at the collar to try and loosen it slightly at the neck only to immediately worry that you’ve ruined the women’s hard work.

You turn towards the room’s floor-length mirror and feel a rush of relief when you see that the collar appears untouched. Your eyes then drift to take in your full reflection for the first time and your lips part slightly in surprise.

So much of your life has been dictated by tradition — from the way you were raised to the clothing you had been made to wear to the marriage that your father tried to arrange for you — that the last thing you wanted was a traditional Shinto wedding ceremony. However, as you see how beautiful the shiromuku is, and how elegant you look in it, you’re in awe.

But the longer you look at yourself, the more reality begins to set back in until the small frown on your face is reflected at you in the mirror. Without the distraction of the two women dressing you in such an elaborate garment, all you’re left with is the image of someone you don’t recognize — or rather the image of a future that you never envisioned for yourself.

Eventually, the reflection becomes too much and you turn away from it to look out the window into the shrine’s gardens. When you see how dreary the weather is as it continues to rain like it’s been doing all morning, you sigh and rest your forehead against the glass. Your fingertip follows the path of a raindrop as it runs down the window’s surface and you absently wonder if the weather is a poor omen for your marriage.

Not that an omen would matter now, considering you and Kai have already filed your paperwork and have been legally married for weeks. This ceremony is just that — ceremonial. So you’re not what it is that has you feeling so out of sorts.

Maybe it’s the chaos of the last months. Your mind has been a mess as you’ve tried to navigate your grief for your father, your guilt over not having returned home sooner, your indecisiveness about what you were going to do next, and your conflicting feelings toward marrying Kai.

You hear the door open behind you and brace yourself for the gentle scolding that you’re about to receive from one of the attendants for wrinkling your kimono with your slouched posture. You drop your hand to your side with a soft sigh.

“Can I have just another minute or two?” you ask, not quite ready to bear the weight of the thick uchikake that they’ve come to drape you in.

But when you look over your shoulder, it’s not the attendants who have entered — it’s Kai.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him in his montsuki haori hakama. While you of course knew what a groom wore during a Shinto ceremony, seeing Kai in the outfit stuns you. With the black haori, matching kimono, and striped hakama, he looks every bit the part of the Hassaikai’s wakagashira.

He’s always looked good in the suits he wears, but there’s something about seeing him dressed so traditionally that makes your cheeks feel warm. When your gaze finally returns to his face, you’re relieved that he’s chosen to wear a simple black face mask like you’re accustomed to seeing him in rather than the beak-like one that you detest.

As your eyes meet his, you give him a weak smile and turn back to the window. His steps are soft against the tatami as he moves to join you.

“It’s raining,” you needlessly point out with a small frown.

“Rain washes things clean,” he replies and somehow, the simple statement manages to put you slightly at ease. Silence settles over you both and the longer that it stretches on, the louder you hear the attendant’s words echoing in your head.

“One of the women said something when she was dressing me,” you eventually blurt out. When you hesitate, he gives you a hum to continue. “She said fate put us on the same path.”

Even without looking at him, you can tell that the sentiment pleases him.

“She’s right. This is where you belong.” It’s such an expected response that you would feel annoyed if your mind wasn’t already so preoccupied.

“With the Hassaikai?” you gently scoff.

“With me,” he’s quick to answer, his firm tone giving you pause.

You glance at him to find that his attention is already focused on you rather than the view of the garden. The weight of his gaze feels almost as heavy as your shiromuku and when you can no longer meet it, you look back out the window.

“How…” you begin before trailing off. You hesitantly bite your lip as you consider your words. “How do you think Dad will react when he finds out we’re married?”

You try not to linger on how your question is predicated on the optimistic assumption that your father will wake from his coma. When Kai doesn’t immediately answer you, you sigh.

“He’ll probably be happy,” you say dryly. “All that work he did to force me into marrying a yakuza and he got what he wanted in the end.”

An unexpected wave of exhaustion overwhelms you, and you bring a tired hand to your forehead. You’re certain that right now, you’re the antithesis of a blushing bride.

“I told the old man I would marry you.”

Your hand drops at the sudden admission and when you turn to him with wide eyes, you find that he’s now looking out the window.

“When he tried to marry you off, marry you away, I told him that you should marry me.” His frown is hidden beneath his mask, but you can see the tension lining his eyes. “But he said no.”

The questions come to you in a flurry. Why did your father turn him down? Why didn’t Kai tell you? How long has he been planning this? Has he been waiting years to marry you? How different would your life be if you had married him? Does any of it really matter now that you are married?

But with all of the questions that your mind is racing with, there’s one that comes to the surface. Is he in love with you?

You feel stupid for thinking it. It’s a dumb thing for a wife to wonder about her husband, even if the labels are still new. But mostly, the idea of love is something that you’ve never considered of Kai.

You’re not so naive as to think that his intentions toward you have only ever been chaste or innocent. In fact, innocent is a word you would never use to describe him. He’s spent enough nights in your bed over the years for you to know that he’s attracted to you on at least a physical level.

Likewise, you’re not blind to his faults. He’s a dangerous man who does violent work. He’s obstinate to a frustrating degree. And his nature has always been possessive — of the Shie Hassakai’s power and reputation, of the territory that he perceives as rightfully theirs, and of you.

Maybe for him, that is love.

And he’s always watched over you. He’s protected you. He never abandoned you. He kept you from harm. That’s more important than something as ephemeral as love could ever be.

“What were you going to do? If I ended up married to some other yakuza?” you finally ask. When Kai turns to face you, you’re unsurprised by the dark look in his eyes.

“I would have killed him.” His response is a threat, but there’s no heat or anger in his tone. He tells you his plan to free you from a forced marriage with the same sort of indifference he would if he were telling you the sky is blue.

You should probably be horrified that he’s talking so easily about murdering someone. But the tears that you can feel beginning to form aren’t from fear. You take a step toward him and close the gap between you before dropping your forehead to his chest. A gloved hand immediately comes up to rest on the back of your neck and keep you close.

“Always looking out for me, huh?” you murmur with a wet laugh, a faint smile tugging at your lips. He gives your neck a reassuring squeeze.

Ever since you first brought Kai to your father all those years ago, he’d treated him like the son he never had. You had seen him look past Kai’s flaws as easily as you always have. But if his adopted son had openly gone against him to kill the man he intended for you to marry, you don’t know what he would have done.

He was willing to risk it all to keep you safe. If that isn’t love, then you’re not sure what is — you don’t care what it is. To you, it’s everything.

You clutch the fabric on his haori in a pitiful attempt to tug him closer. Despite your best efforts, you can feel a tear escape and roll down your cheek. You quickly brush it away with another sniffle.

Once you no longer feel like you’re about to shed any further tears, you lift your head, although his hand on your nape doesn’t let you go far. Slowly, your hand releases its grip on him and you run your palm over the material to smooth over any wrinkles you may have caused.

Your gaze settles on the symbol embroidered over his chest — the Shie Hassaikai’s emblem in place of where a family crest would traditionally be. You carefully trace the white thread.

“You know, it suits you,” you tell him with a soft smile. You glance up at him and nod meaningfully to his haori, the one in the style of the Shie Hassaikai’s kumicho. With an affectionate touch, you then straighten the front of his kimono, although it’s a needless gesture. You then give him a gentle push. “Get out of here. I have to finish getting ready.”

#tw yandere #overhaul x reader #overhaul #chisaki kai #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero acedamia #mel writes #triptych

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yayasvalveplay · 2 days ago

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"And yet- so terrified and distraught over his Pax. It doesn't take long for the empty spot where his best friend use to be, right across from D-16— to be filled in and replaced immediately by another miner. Another cog in the machine. Someone else is sleeping in Orion's berth."

Are we thinking this might actually help Dee not become Megatron? Instead of hitting him all at once that "hm, what's going on is bad" he gets its slowly spoonfed to him through experience and finding info in the Archives?

Ugh. And just Dee going through the Archives. He has no clue at all what he's doing at first. Despite having guards, nothing is organized very well and it's not well maintained. It's like they want all this info from the past to rot away! However, eventually Dee starts seeing what could only be signs that Orion was there in certain sections-

(And boy, doesn't that just feel bittersweet? He hated Orion breaking into here, but now he feels sort of glad. It feels like already every sign of Orion was painted over in the barracks. This might be the only place left where his presence still exists.)

-which leads him to the datapads on sparklings. Aaaaaaaand cue the confused math lady meme because Dee is trying to figure out how the frag Orion's carrying his sparkling when he was the only one Orion didn't interface with!!! He's not bitter about that at all, no siree.

As for Orion, I feel like the High Guard might actually be disgusted and weirded out by him at first? Yeah, he's carrying so there's that instinct to keep this tiny bot safe, but apparently he got sparked up by stealing his best friend's jizz rags and using the transfluid from that to get knocked up??? He'd be a pariah until either through talking about it or through Soundwave mind reading bs they realize that Orion and most of the other non-cogged bots don't have a strong sense of bodily autonomy when it comes to sexual things. Which, yikes. He genuinely doesn't understand that what he did was skeevy at best, a literal crime at worst. Which makes Orion feel even worse about everything because this means he hurt Dee without even knowing it :(

He doesn't even know how to ask for forgiveness for something like this. Maybe if he brings back a little sparkling with Dee's optics or frame or something it'll help?

Dee going to the archives, not just because he wants to figure out what's happening, but also because it's the last remaining signs that Orion had been a bot, had been someone who walked, talked, got into trouble.

Dee having to do math just to figure out how Orion's 'sparkling' is his, and It just can't click on the one obvious answer, because why would he think Orion is stealing his jizz rag?

As for Orion with the High guard. Starscream telling Orion what he did was really fucked up, but can make lea way because he truly didn't know, consent isn't really taught down in the minds. Like they understand the word no, and yes, it works with any of the minors, but the cogged bots that catch them on the streets as they are walking to their jobs or back home, They don't get to tell them no.

And this i how the High guard gets to know what exactly Sentinel has been doing for 50 cycles.

But now that is out of the way, all they see is a scared Carrier, and seekers bird instincts to nest and protect is strong. Cue Orion sitting on Starscreams lap on his throne, as he's getting fucked because baby needs transfluids, and most of Dee's transfluid is already used up.

#valveplug #dpax #i can't stay here au #tf one

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dumbgoondog · 6 hours ago

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Kenjaku’s Brain Teaser

MDNI +18 NSFW

Pre established relationship, gn!reader, friends with benefits or dating, reader is a bit of a brat. He/they Kenjaku.

Cw/Tw - gore. Brain smut. No blood but you are up in his brain, literally. Licking and fingering. Eating that shit out like coochie. Cannibalism I guess?

You’re bored. Kenjaku had been entertaining the disaster curses and Choso for hours now playing their 3rd? Round of Life, now. Why? Mahito is making a legacy story that he’s starting a super amazing family line and each game is the kids from the last game. This also included that before they started the second round new rules were established to the game to make it fair. Choso has also become invested in his little family legacy story as well, Kenjaku is just having so much fun as well. Jogo looks like he’s about to blow though, and is trying to levy that a new rule should be added that if you’re sharing a space with a player you can attempt to MURDER their family.

Yeah, it’s fun to watch, especially since each round everyone has to convince Jogo to stay and not blow everything up. Two rounds ago you watched Mahito and Kenjaku under the table take bets how long will Jogo last, and you’re pretty sure that Choso has started to draw his family. Maybe you weren’t THAT bored, but still, you were wanting attention and were feeling restless.

Pulling yourself off the couch you give Kenjaku a little puppy pout over your shoulder and go upstairs once kenjaku gives you a smile and shrug, sticking his tongue out. You dramatically groan as you go up the steps already planning how to get back at your partner in crime. Maybe you could unorganize his things, or scoot things an inch to the left? You’ll think of something…

Kenjaku laughs trotting up the stairs to get out of the way as Mahito runs his arms out stretched like wings as Jogo sends insects flying after Mahito. Choso is ducking for cover shielding his drawings of his family characters, and Kenjaku loves it. 1, cuz he won the bet. 2, cuz look at this all, the way that these curses interact and their values! 3, cuz he knows he’s annoyed you and you’ve got something waiting for him upstairs.

Coming into his office, they look around quirking a brow a smile tugging on their lips. You’re clever and they love that, you do things that are fun and a lovely challenge. Slipping into chair he looks over everything and nothing seems out of place… mildly concerning but exciting!

You on the other hand are squeezed between the bookshelf and potted plant behind his desk holding still and being quiet waiting for him to settle in. You figured out exactly what you’d do, and he was going to HATE it. So once Kenjaku had settled in enough, you move out and sneak up-

“Hello you, what have you planned for me hmm?”

You click your tongue and rolls your eyes, “I’m not sneaky enough, or you’re just too aware of everything.” Kenjaku doesn’t even look up, he just gives a little laugh and shrug. Luckily that works in your favor as you move behind annnnddd-

Snip!

There’s a good pause before Kenjaku reaches a hand up and touches at the thread of his stitches you’d just snipped. You hold back a snicker of smug satisfaction while Kenjaku gives a heavy mildly bemused sigh, “Wow, really? Childish. As much as this is mildly annoying you could certainly do better. Get my thread.”

“No,” you muse but one side eye and you tuck your tail, walking to the drawer of twine, “can we use the pink stitching this time? It’d look so good!”

Of course you know he wants the black twine, and he knows you know so he doesn’t even answer. You snatch it up and walk back to him pulling the threading of his stitches out. To your lack of experience you don’t have a hand up to hold his brain cap in place as it starts to slide and Kenjaku has to reach up to catch it, “Careful now, have you no tact? Hmm? You know, the brain is extremely sensitive, delicate, and you can’t just be so careless. Especially since RCT comes from the brain and I wouldn’t be able to heal as well if you did to much damage. That is a good question that brings up however, would non lethal brain damage be able to debilitate a sorcerer from using cursed energy or perhaps help awaken one’s cursed technique even-“

You look up and stare at the ceiling with an exhausted groan. Looking back down you stare at the slightly exposed purple brain and the liquid dripping from the opening. Without much thought or consideration you reach out and trace a finger along the gummy, squishy organ.

“Perhaps the brain works with cursed energy but the soul is the ho-oh-oh! Mmph- and what are you huff… doing now, hmm?” Kenjaku groans turning his head to look to you a bit flush in the cheeks. You’re slack jaw, his brain was sensitive and got him to moan like a bitch! A mischievous grin takes over your face as you reach both hands up to trace and touch at his brain lightly pressing and massaging the folds.

Kenjaku gasps a hand jerking out to try and grab onto you, but falling short grabbing his arm rest. Their eyes screw shut as they bite their lip smiling trying to maintain posture but shuddering feeling you caress and tease a finger into the wrinkles a dirty “shlk” noise accompanying it. Kenjaku gives another stuttering groan and breathes raggedly, “aaah what are you- you ooh fu-uh-uck~ keep going. Yes, keep going.”

You dip your fingers in more squeezing them into cracks and trailing them through the purple squishy maze. Kenjaku chokes a bit on his own sounds their hips stuttering up trying to Buck and fuck into nothing, desperate. You smile, biting your lip seeing Kenjaku coming so undone from such gentle touches and just barely teasing them has them almost whimpering under you.

“Fuck- push, push in some more. The parietal lobe- mmngh yeah darling please, up and a bit to the-the back, oh you feel so good in me,” They’re still goin on and now it’s your goal to get the bitch to shut it. Moving your hands to where instructed you slip your thumbs between the halves and fingers into his wet folds milking out his juices. Oh the moan that draws out is the cry of absolute pleasure and the way a weak trembling hand comes to hold your hip has you giddy.

The man who’s normally busting your guts, weak and nearly whimpering trying and failing to maintain his composure. He’s got a tent pulled tight in their robes a wet bead already forming at his tip. With a little hum you roll your fingers and swallowing back the slight questioning of cleanliness, lean in dragging your tongue along his folds.

Best decision of your LIFE. The way his back arches and the cry of pleasure that rips from his center, how his hand clenched around your hip certainly going to leave a bruise. The drool that falls past their lips as they twitch their hips and squeeze their thighs together seeking more pleasure. Your face is flush and swallowing the juices that aren’t that bad honestly, just kinda salty.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Please, oh, please!” Kenjaku whines and who are you to deny? You keep massaging and lean back in to lick and kiss more, making Kenjaku jerk and moan. Both hands are on you now, squeezing and grabbing trying to find any stability while pleasure racks through him.

You can tell he’s getting close, from the way his breathing is picking up and getting more breathy than moan filled. The way his brows are screwing together as they go from eyes shut to open and rolled back. You kiss a slow teasing trail along the crest, and are about to dip your tongue between the halves to let him hit that peak when-

“Geto! Geto! Jogo is going to maximum meteor us! Calm him! Send help! Wee woo wee woo!” Mahito’s chipper and jovial voice breaks through the symphony of pleasure. You snicker, and pull back, sliding the thread on the desk more in front of Kenjaku.

“Looks like you’re needed! Sorry for distracting! I’ll let you get to it!” You sneer and skip away with Kenjaku’s exasperated sigh following you and his quiet murmur of curses. He’ll get you back for that. You know you’ll get your comeuppance.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #smut #goon dog #jujustsu kaisen x reader #x reader #kenjaku x reader #jjk kenjaku #kenjaku #brain #minor cannibalism

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not-poignant · 1 day ago

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Hi, Pia! A year ago I discovered you through the Mysterious Skin fanfic, which truthfully has helped me in so many emotional layers till this day (and always will). After that read, I jumped on your profile and was blown away by the world you have created with your own hands. You really inspired me to publish my first fic in AO3 recently (for a random fandom), but sadly I've been having a hard time with it.

At the beginning I was relieved that fear didn't stop me anymore, but then it happened again, it came back, in another form, hitting me harder. I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations and when I read one of those I think: "This is perfect, I could never achieve this level, I don't have this voice, I should just delete mine, I don't have nothing to say, I can't make people feel this way" and I hate to have those feelings because I think it breaks down the true meaning of writing in general (to help people, to connect, to make a tribute, to have an emotional journey), but at this point I have lost my mind. My dream was always to be a writer, but I left it behind for so many reasons, now I thought things were changing inside me, but I guess it's not the case, I can't even deal with a fanfic...

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before. How did you start writing? How has it been for you? How do you deal with these things? Feel free to answer me only if you're comfortable with that, I don't wanna put pressure on you as if you were my spiritual guide, but, for all the thoughts and things you share here, I think you are a wise person.

Sorry for the long text, I don't have people in real life to talk to about these issues. I'm really grateful to you already because of your story, it's always in my heart, it's part of me. Btw, I hope you are doing well, keep the amazing work. ❤️

PS: Sorry for the mistakes, not a native English speaker here.

Hi anon,

Congrats on posting your first fic! That's really huge. Even if it does open us up to The Insecurities, it's still a massive thing to do in the first place and I'm so happy for you.

As to everything else, oomf, let's get into it.

So the first thing is there is no writer out there who doesn't get assailed - literally assailed - by insecurities and massive feelings of self-doubt or even self-hatred over their writing (if there is, I haven't met them).

There's no point in writing at which they stop, and if you overcome some, new ones come in their place. I think that's just the nature of the beast - both wanting to (ideally) please at least some of our readers, and also offer something decent to read.

It can help to realise this is a normal part of writing and the experience. Obviously at its most severe, it might require therapy support, or professional support of some kind, but getting assailed by The Insecurities is part of being a creative person.

I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations

So yeah, this is true. Hear me out! This is true for me too. This is true for every writer that exists. Even the ones who win Pulitzers. This is going to sound blunt, but this is true for every story in the world. I know when I post my works that there are better stories with better characterisations out there. And there are stories that I consider perfect to me. But this last part is really important! I don't get to determine what's perfect for everyone. I'm not allowed to make that choice for them. And also people don't read in order to find The Most Perfect Story Ever, they read for many many many reasons, and that one often isn't even on the list! That's just on our list, when we feel beset by The Insecurities.

Like, yes, better stories exist. That's very subjective. They're better to you, they might not be better to some of the readers who read your work, and unless your only goal in writing is to be 'the best ever' (this is not a great goal imho because it's unattainable) sometimes a simple 'oh...yeah I mean it's true there are better stories according to me, but that doesn't mean that people won't enjoy mine, or that people won't think my stories aren't the best, and I'm not even writing to be the best in the world, so I don't know why I'm listening to this because it's not even what my values are in writing.'

But I also need to make it clear that your insecurities will never leave you 100%. They find new ways to come back, and they do keep coming back. We get periods free of the worst of it, often have low-key doubts in the background fairly frequently, and sometimes feel really good about writing. That's...writing. You haven't done anything wrong in your writing or in yourself when you have new insecurities coming in, and you've acknowledged yourself that things have already changed, because these are new or different insecurities. Think of it like an upward spiral, you circle back to feeling insecure, you have to if you want to keep going up.

You won't stay there forever, but the circling is part of the process. It can help to remind yourself of some cognitively true facts - what you think is perfect in writing is someone else's 'worst story ever' if they read it. What you love to read is not necessarily what you end up writing, and that doesn't mean it can't be someone's favourite story. And yeah, someone has already done something better by our standards, because I don't think there's any point on this journey where we go 'that's it, I've done it, I've become the best writer ever, insecurities begone!!!' (It would be nice, but it's not how it works).

So when insecurities come back it's not 'oh god I've failed at writing and/or keeping the insecurities away' it's - this is normal. You can go 'oh I'm being a regular writer right now, in the hard part of it.' I know this. It sucks. It probably means I need a break when it gets really bad, and I need to recharge a bit. I can keep improving, and my writing doesn't have to be anything other than entertaining. I've pretty much struck perfect from my vocabulary. It's too subjective.

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before.

Anon, about twice a year I feel so bad about my writing I become convinced that the only answer is to delete all of it off my AO3 accounts. And on a regular basis I go between what I consider fairly normal insecurities (is that closing okay / is this arc good / will people like this character / have I pushed this too far / oh god my engagement is down am I terrible at writing), to pretty intense ones (idk why I do this nothing I write is good / how have I convinced these amazing people that this is worth their time / I wish I could write like (insert X author here) instead of this absolute mid shit etc.)

It helps me a lot to know that some of it is mental illness, but most of it is actually just normal. I'm a writer who wants my readers to have a good time and who wants to write something I can be proud of, and sometimes my brain won't let me feel proud of anything I've done because I made it, and sometimes I don't like myself very much. It means I should work on liking myself more. It doesn't mean I should stop writing.

I started writing as a kid, to cope with fairly awful life circumstances at home. So I was lucky that insecurities didn't matter because no one was seeing my writing except for me, I already hated myself (because people who were supposed to care for me, hated me - there's a reason I write the stories I do!) and I was literally trying to survive something that some people don't survive.

When I started sharing my writing, The Insecurities came. And...idk, I learned how to recognise it as a normal part of the process. It took a long, long time. It's normal to feel like there's something unique about how much we suffer over not liking our writing or feeling like it's bad, that the insecurities say something really true about our writing or even our integrity as a person.

Most of the time they say nothing at all except about the state of our mental health and how tired we are. For example, it's more normal for artists and writers to hate what they create during times of government unrest, or increased oppression, or in abusive households, because it's a way to redirect a lot of very unpleasant feelings to something we think we can control.

Sometimes it just happens because we're tired and the wave crashes over the dam we have in place that says 'go away insecurities.' Like you'd be amazed how much food, staying hydrated, getting good sleep / having good sleep hygiene can actually keep the worst of The Insecurities at bay.

Sometimes we need a break! Too much of a good thing in writing can lead to our brain trying to tell us we're terrible at it so we'll just walk away and watch some movies for a bit! The best way to prevent that is to take a break before we get there.

The good news is, you're a writer feeling something very normal for us writers. The bad news is that it feels bad. It can help to step back a bit, and also to join some writer's groups online maybe, ones that focus on support and lifting people up.

I wish I could say you one day hit a point where the insecurities never come back, but if anything, I don't think you can do these sorts of crafts without them. At their extremes they're not good for us, but the extremes of anything aren't good for us. You're not alone, I promise. The worst you've felt about your writing, is the worst many people have felt about their writing. It's just...often such a lonely process and many writers don't talk about it, but it's there, and it won't last. It's part of the spiral. Over time, you might find it easier when you know it's normal, and temporary, but frankly, there are times it's just really, really hard.

You will move past this, and then one day you'll touch on this again, and then you'll move past it again. Sometimes we spend longer in it than we wanted to, sometimes we need to take a longer break than we meant to, sometimes we write more than was good for us with how tired we were at the time.

It's not perfect, it's not supposed to be perfect, but it is part of the journey, it just means you're a writer like the rest of us writers, anon. I hope you can find your way back into writing more soon! And I hope you can be compassionate towards yourself. You put yourself out there, and have been writing, and honestly that's fucking amazing. I think you're awesome.

#asks and answers #pia on writing #pia on fanfiction #the whole insecurities thing is rough #but it is incredibly just dslkfjsad something we all go through #your favourite authors have sat there staring at their writing like #'should i just quit why would anyone ever read this'#they have stared at other authors they admire #and felt two feet tall in comparison #they have wanted to entertain the people who read their writing #and they have worried about how best to do that #and they have thought about quitting #and they have hurt themselves with their insecurities #while learning how to cope with them #being a creator in any of the arts is that combo of having to be self-critical to improve #and that often overspilling into self-condemnation and self-hatred and profound insecurity #time and practice can help #but ultimately the journey is a spiral #which means we always come back to the insecurities #and we always go forward to more good times #but you can take a break from the spiral too #writing is hard

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