#blare🚨

[xiphiaarts]

starscream typically being insulted and talked down to by his enemies and even his 'allies in battle

Blare talking him up even though they're on opposing sides and him looking forward to every fight with her from then on. He calls her a loose screwed freak but he loves it.

Them still beating eachother up for fun once he joins the autoboobs but now erotisism lay where the thrill of life or death once was, gotta use that adrenaline n magnetic attraction for somethin ig

[austinbutlerslovers]

Model Patient

Label Mature 18+

Summary You’re a high fashion model, with a fast paced life, until it all comes crashing down leaving you desperate for the gentle care of Dr. Butler.

💝Romantic Smut 💝Austin as a doctor • compassionate •caring •adoring •doting• wanting to wait• body worship• improvement of body image •nurturing• attentive • genuine care• hesitant to engage with intimacy• gentle stimulation • soft fingering •protection • lovemaking • orgasms •aftercare 🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proof Reader @purejasmine 🚨heavy mentions of e.d.• lack of self love •attention seeking behavior

Model Patient

The energy backstage is chaotic, a whirlwind of shouted instructions, last minute adjustments, and the sharp scent of hairspray filling the air. Leo, the man with the clipboard, shouts orders over the commotion, his shrill voice cutting through the noise.

“Hydrate! Models, drink water!” he yells, glancing at each of you with hawk-like precision.

You ignore him, your fingers flying over your phone as you film a quick clip for a new cosmetic campaign. The lip gloss you are given to promote shimmers under the harsh backstage lights. You pout at the camera, flashing a practiced, sultry kiss.

—Perfect—

You post the video immediately and your heart races seeing the likes and engagement pouring in.

Before you can even set the phone down, the makeup artist is at your side, wiping off the gloss and applying another shade. The constant back and forth is exhausting, a never-ending list of demands and obligations, but you don’t dare complain.

This is the life you’ve worked for, and you’ll be damned if you let anyone think you can’t handle it.

“Stand up,” one of the assistants directs, pulling you toward the fitting station. The designer stands there, fussing over a corset that will showcase the gown you’ll be wearing. You stand still as they cinch it tighter and tighter, the pressure on your ribs growing unbearable.

You sway on your feet, exhaustion clawing at you, but you catch yourself. You don’t have time to falter. Not today.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper as your vision blurs for a second.

By the time you are cinched the other models are already lining up at the entrance of the grand mansion, ready to walk down the closed-off Beverly Hills street for the show.

You join them, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk out the front doors, each step as practiced as your breathing.

It’s showtime.

As you reach the black pavement lined with the iconic palm trees, your adrenaline surges, masking the ache in your legs and the lightheadedness threatening to topple you.

The stretch of Beverly Drive is packed. Celebrities sit on either side of the runway in gilded chairs under the hot California sun, their eyes shaded by designer sunglasses, fans in hand. Photographers are poised at every angle, cameras raised like weapons ready to capture your every move.

This is your moment.

The music blares as you step onto the runway with a commanding presence. Your signature walk—fierce, confident, unapologetic—draws whispers and praises from the audience.

The gown’s flowing fabric catches the wind, billowing behind you like a royal train. The cameras click furiously, the rapid-fire shutters capturing every stride.

Your mind races as you walk, your jaw clenching tightly to make your cheekbones and piercing gaze sharper under the harsh sunlight.

You push harder, strutting like the ground is your kingdom and these people are mere spectators in your empire. But the ache in your stomach and the dizziness in your head grow worse.

The end of the runway looms, the finish line in sight. You reach it, striking a pose as the audience erupts into applause. The cameras flash in a blinding frenzy. For a moment, you feel invincible.

Then, the world tilts.

Your legs buckle, and the applause turns into gasps. You barely register the concerned voices or the rush of people toward you as your knees hit the pavement.

The last thing you see is the blue sky above and the white hot sun blurring into nothingness.

The first thing you notice is the light. Bright, clinical, and annoyingly sterile, it filters through your closed eyelids, pulling you from the fog of unconsciousness.

You groan softly, the sound foreign even to your own ears. Slowly, you blink, your vision swimming as you try to adjust to your surroundings.

The room comes into focus piece by piece—the white walls, the steady beeping of a heart monitor, the faint smell of antiseptic.

And then, your gaze lands on him.

He’s standing at your bedside, his posture attentive, his sandy blonde hair catching the light like a halo. He looks like an angel, his jawline sharp, his blue eyes impossibly kind, and the faintest hint of a smile plays on his full lips. Your heart rate spikes, and the monitor betrays you with a loud, insistent 

Beep, beep, beep.

He glances at the monitor, then back at you, an amused look in his eyes. “I hope that’s not because of me,” he teases, his voice smooth and warm. “Though I’d take it as a compliment if it is.”

You blink at him, disbelief cutting through the haze, your eyes darting to the name tag pinned to his white coat: Dr. Butler.

“Shit!” you curse, realizing you’re in the hospital.

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile, clearly amused by your reaction.

“You fainted during your show,” he reveals, setting his clipboard down.

“Aside from the dehydration and a few mild scrapes from the fall, you’re stable.” he explains. His tone is calm and reassuring, clearly trying to ease your mood, but the mention of your job makes your chest tighten, shame creeping in.

“I need to go!” you panic, your voice trembling. “People are waiting on me, people are going to be talking about me—I have to do damage control—I need to fix this!”

You try to sit up, and your body protests immediately, feeling a sharp radiating ache through your limbs. 

Dr. Butler leans in, his movements calm and measured as he places a steady hand on your shoulder helping you up.

“Slowly,” he says, his voice gentle but firm, his touch grounding you. “You’ve been through a lot.”

You ignore his advice, stubborn as ever, and sling your legs over the side of the bed, attempting to stand. The instant wave of nausea makes your head spin, and your body sways dangerously.

Dr. Butler’s hands are firm on your arms, holding you steady guiding you back to the bed. His grip is gentle, keeping you anchored as your body protests against your defiance.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him, your voice edged with frustration.“I can’t believe I fainted. In front of everyone,” you say, the shame pressing down on you, the weight of your failure suffocating.

For a moment, you look up at him. His blue eyes are calm as they hold yours, the weight of his concern cutting through your defenses like a knife.

You hate how exposed you feel with him, but you can’t look away, utterly captivated by the sincerity in his gaze.

“You fainted because your body gave out,” he says gently, his tone steady and soft. “You’re dehydrated, undernourished, and overworked. When was the last time you ate or slept properly?”

You flinch at the question, looking away. “It doesn’t matter,” you say sharply. “This is my life. If I slow down, I’ll lose everything.”

His gaze softens, but the resolve in his expression remains. “You’re obviously someone who thrives under pressure,” he says, his voice steady as his eyes look over you, assessing your condition. “But even someone as strong as you needs to listen to their body.”

His words break through your defenses, even though you don’t want them to. You grip the edge of the bed, your knuckles white, as a wave of frustration and shame washes over you.

His words hang heavy between you, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s no judgment in his expression, only quiet understanding and something gentler—something you’ve never experienced before—compassion.

It’s disarming, seeing the unfamiliarity of the warmth in his gaze. You’re used to scrutiny, admiration, even jealousy, but never this. It’s not pity or condescension—it’s genuine compassion, and it catches you completely off guard.

“When was the last time you allowed yourself to rest?” he asks, his tone firm but gentle, his gaze searching yours as if willing you to tell the truth.

You want to snap back, to shrug off his words, but his sincerity touches you. For a moment, you’re not a flawless model expected to be perfect—you’re just you. And he’s looking at you like he actually sees you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but as you exhale, your breath shudders as if everything you’ve been holding in—stress, exhaustion, fear—rushes out in that single moment. 

His gaze is steady and patient, as he smiles softly. “That’s a start,” he says gently, his tone warm.

Your lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but before you can say anything, he reaches over to collect his clipboard.

“Normally, I wouldn’t do this,” he says slowly, “but I want to make sure I stay updated about your condition. I know your schedule is hectic, so I’ll leave my number with your manager so have her call me if—”

“Give me your number right now,” you cut him off, your tone sharp but resolute. You don’t want him filtered through your agent you need to have him directly.

His brows lift in surprise, then his smile returns, this time softer as you see a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Alright,” he says with a small nod.

He flips to the last page of your chart, pulling a pen from his coat pocket, and scribbles his phone number down. He tears the piece off neatly and hands it to you. Without hesitation, you fold it and quickly tuck it into your palm, as if holding something fragile, something precious.

“Thank you,” you say, the words quieter than you intend, but they carry the weight of your appreciation. 

You feel something stir in your chest—gratitude, yes, but something else too, something you’re not ready to name.

Dr. Butler stands up tall, slipping the clipboard under his arm. “Now that you’re awake, I’ve got some phone calls to make.” He explains. “Your team has a car waiting downstairs, so I’ll get started on your discharge paperwork.”

You nod, feeling the exhaustion settling in again, but you still manage to straighten your posture. “Thank you… for everything Dr. Butler…. —I mean it.” You say with sincerity.

His eyes soften as he looks at you, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged, though neither of you speaks it aloud. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Take care of yourself for me,” he says, his voice quieter as he softly smiles. 

You nod again, clutching the folded piece of paper in your hand. “I will,” you promise, even though you’re not entirely sure how.

As the door closes behind him, you’re left sitting there, feeling lighter than you have in a long time, the piece of paper burning softly in your palm with an unspoken promise. 

Something stirs in you—a feeling you can’t quite name but refuse to ignore. It’s unfamiliar, unsettling, and yet, for the first time in forever you feel calm.

Dr. Butlers number is stored permanently in your phone, the folded piece of paper he wrote it on tucked safely in the small drawer of your vanity.

But life moves at an unforgiving pace for you. They blame your collapse on heat stroke—something palatable, something relatable—and it gains sympathy the world over.

But sympathy isn’t what matters…notoriety is, and your perseverance becomes the buzz on everyone’s lips and within days, you’re diving headfirst back into the chaos of your career.

There are campaigns to shoot—luxury brands that demand nothing less than perfection.

Relentless scheduling, each hour meticulously planned leaving no room for error.

Evenings filled with glamorous galas and ceremonies where you’re expected to dazzle, pose, and exude effortless elegance, always flawless under the scrutinizing gaze of cameras and critics alike.

Fashion shows in other cities come next, with back-to-back fittings, rehearsals, and appearances that blur together in a haze of adrenaline and exhaustion.

The weeks pass in a relentless rhythm. Every minute of your day is claimed by something or someone. The pressure builds like a vice around your neck, and though you’re aware of the toll it’s taking, you push harder, convinced you have no other choice.

When you finally come home one evening, the quiet feels oppressive. The sleek, modern lines of your beachfront house feeling almost sterile. 

You toss your purse on the counter in the kitchen and place your  hands on the cool marble, your body trembling.

Your stomach twists painfully and you dig through your purse, pulling out a bottle of painkillers to dull the familiar pounding in your head.

Swallowing one with a sip of filtered water, you lean heavily on the counter, hoping for relief.

Instead, the medication makes your stomach churn, the pain clawing at you, sharp and unforgiving, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded.

The room tilts slightly, as you grip the edge of the counter to steady yourself.

Your mind races, panic swelling in your chest as you fumble through your purse for your phone. You scroll through your contacts without hesitation knowing exactly who you need to call.

The phone rings twice before his calm, familiar voice greets you. “Dr. Butler.”

Your voice is shaky, your words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s me. I—I feel awful. I can’t stand, my head’s spinning, and I just… I don’t know what to do.”

His tone softens immediately hearing your panic. “Okay, slow down,” he says gently. “Tell me what’s happening. Have you eaten today?”

“Not really” you admit, your voice small. “I haven’t had time. I didn’t think it was that bad, but now that I’m home… I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

There’s a brief pause before he speaks again, his voice soothing. “It’s alright. You’re going to be okay. Do you have any orange juice, or maybe piece of fruit of candy there?” He asks.

“I haven’t been home in a few weeks but… I …I think I have juice,” you say, glancing weakly toward the fridge.

“Good. Drink a small glass, slowly,” he instructs.

Despite your panic, you manage to open the fridge, your hands trembling as you shakily pour a glass of orange juice. 

The cold liquid soothes your dry throat, and as the sugar begins to settle in your system, the dizziness starts to fade allowing you to take a deep breath.

“Do you make house calls?” you ask, half-joking starting to feel a bit better.

You can hear the smile in his voice as he answers, “I do.” His voice as comforting as ever.

“I think I need one,” you admit honestly, his soothing presence feeling like the only thing capable of cutting through the overwhelming chaos you’ve been drowning in lately.

“Where do you live?” he asks and instead of answering, you immediately send him your location.

He pauses as he receives it, his voice steady as he replies, “I’ll be there in an hour.”

You unpack your suitcase and shower with your little spike of energy and slip into a satin camisole with matching shorts and exactly one hour later, the doorbell rings.

You walk downstairs, the excitement pounding in your chest to see him again and you steady yourself as you reach for the door handle, taking a deep breath as you open it.

Dr. Butler stands there, looking almost too good to be true. He’s wearing a long-sleeve white tee that fits him perfectly in all the right places, the soft fabric hugging his broad shoulders and defined arms giving a subtle glimpse at the sculpted muscles beneath.

His sandy blonde hair falls in loose waves, tousled perfectly by the evening breeze, and in his strong arms, he carries a set of grocery bags, that he holds with effortless ease.

“You… brought groceries?” you ask, blinking at him in disbelief.

He grins as you step aside to let him in. “I’m going to cook for you,” he confirms with a warmth that entirely disarms you.

The kindness of the gesture catches you completely off guard, and a small whimper escapes you as your hand instinctively flies to your chest. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say softly, trying to protest but your heart is already melting.

He sets the bags on the kitchen counter, glancing around your open floor plan home. 

“You have a really beautiful place,” he says, his voice warm as he takes in the view of the dark waves beyond the sleek living room.

“Thanks,” you reply, leaning against the counter. “I live alone, so… it stays clean.”

He grins and rolls up his sleeves with an effortless confidence. “Well let’s get some food in you.” He says as he begins unpacking the ingredients onto the counter. “I’m thinking something hearty and nutrient-rich—some vegetables, some bone broth—let’s replenish what your body really needs,” he says, his tone warm and reassuring.

You lean over the counter resting on your elbows as you watch him work. His hands move with practiced ease, chopping fresh vegetables and mincing herbs with precision. The rhythmic motion is mesmerizing, and the rich aroma of sautéing onions and herbs begins to fill the air.

You find yourself captivated by the way he moves—focused and sure, his forearms flexing subtly as he mixes ingredients in a pan. He’s completely unaware of how attractive he looks, the soft light from the kitchen highlighting his sharp features and the faint curve of his smile as he works.

“What are you making?” you ask, your voice softer now, curiosity breaking through the haze of your daydreaming.

“A simple vegetable and chicken soup,” he replies, glancing at you with a small smile. “It’s rich, balanced, and should help get your energy back.”

Your eyes linger on him, the kindness in his actions feels almost overwhelming, and you’re not sure how to process it. “Thanks” you say the words slipping out as though your entranced.

He grins lightly, stirring the soup. “It’s the least I can do,” he says, his blue eyes filled with affection as he briefly glances over at you.

As the rich, savory scent of his cooking fills your home, you feel a warmth you haven’t felt in weeks—not just from the food, but from the quiet, unspoken care he’s showing you. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel grounded… you feel calm.

Seeing his final stir as he taps the ladle, you reach into the cabinet, pulling out two bowls and placing them on the counter. He fills them with the soup, letting it cool slightly, the vibrant colors of the broth and fresh herbs almost too perfect to disturb.

You stand by him at the counter to informally eat there, offering him a spoon.

You enjoy watching as he begins to eat naturally, his movements relaxed and unhurried, but you hesitate, unsure at first, but finally take a spoonful. The rich flavor hits your tongue instantly —salty, savory, delicious— everything you didn’t know you needed.

You continue to eat and the tender chicken practically melts in your mouth as the carrots and potatoes add a comforting, hearty texture. Each spoonful feels like nourishment not just for your body, but for something deeper, something you hadn’t realized was starving.

As you continue to eat together your curiosity gets the better of you as you glance up at him.

“I just realized… I don’t even know your first name,” you remark, your voice softer now, a genuine interest lacing your words.

He looks up from his bowl, meeting your gaze with that familiar calm. “My name is Austin,” he says, a small but warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You pause, studying him for a moment, letting the name settle. “It suits you,” you say honestly.

He grins, shaking his head. “Good because, if it didn’t, I’d have to change it.”

His lighthearted comment makes you laugh, the intimacy of the moment catching you off guard. For a moment, you forget the chaos of your life—until the realization crashes back, sharp and heavy.

The upcoming Variety shoot flashes through your mind, the pressure tightening your chest. You stop eating, abruptly placing your spoon down as your appetite is replaced by a gnawing guilt of the strict guidelines of your recent fitting.

Austin notices immediately and places his spoon down to rest his hand on your shoulder, his touch solid and reassuring.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks softly, his voice low and calming.

“I—I have this variety shoot coming up,” you admit, your voice trailing off as your eyes flicker with guilt. The words feel heavy, as though admitting them aloud solidifies the weight pressing on your chest.

He studies you for a moment, his blue eyes searching your face soft but concerned then without a word, he takes your spoon, dipping it into the bowl and carefully filling it with broth.

“Open for me,” he says gently, his tone firm yet warm as his eyes lock onto yours with quiet insistence.

Caught off guard by the tenderness of his actions, you surrender without hesitation. You part your lips, letting him feed you, the warmth of the broth sliding down your throat, soothing and comforting. 

He refills the spoon, his movements careful again, as you open your mouth without question letting him affectionately feed you.

“I picked a soup because it’s simple,” he says softly, his fingers grazing your chin to tilt your face toward him.

“For someone as strong-willed as you, I know it feels almost impossible to take a break.” He says his voice calm and thoughtful, as he spoons a little more and guides it to your lips. 

“So, when life gets overwhelming, sometimes something as basic as bone broth will help.”

He pauses, watching you swallow, then he smiles softly. “It’s just a start—” he says, his blue eyes holding yours with reassurance. “—While you adjust and figure out …how to take care of yourself the way you deserve,” he says with quiet conviction, his gaze lingering on you in a way that makes your breaths uneven.

His words cut through you like a knife, slicing through the walls you’ve built around yourself. You swallow hard, feeling entirely exposed, completely vulnerable under his gaze. His care is so genuine, so intimate, that everything he offers feels like something more—more than nourishment, more than kindness.

When he lowers the spoon to the bowl again, your resolve shatters and you reach for him, your hands pulling him toward you, pressing your lips to his in a deeply, passionate kiss.

He stills as your lips press against his and you kiss him with every ounce of your gratitude and longing for him.

His hands instinctively reach up for yours, gripping them gently as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

“We shouldn’t—” he whispers, his voice barely audible, his breaths mingling with yours, his lips still close that the space between you feels unbearable.

As his eyes search yours, you see it—the way he wants you, the way every part of him seems drawn to you, like you’re impossible for him to resist.

Unable to hold back, you lean forward and kiss him again, your hands sliding around his neck, pulling him closer, making his resistance nearly impossible.

For a fleeting moment, he’s perfect—his mouth claiming yours with an intensity that feels both tender and desperate, his fingers pressing into your waist as though he never wants to let go.

Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he pulls back.

“We can’t,” he says, his voice a mix of regret and longing as he struggles to steady himself, his gaze flickering with conflict.

“Austin,” you whisper , your voice soft but commanding as you thread your fingers through his soft hair pressing your body firmly against his. “Stop talking”

Before he can respond, you pull him into another kiss, capturing his lips with a boldness that leaves him stunned. You don’t let him hold back, deepening the kiss as your hands tug gently in his hair, pressing your body harder against his.

You feel him, his restraint crumbling under the weight of his desire. His tall, strong, muscular frame is almost overwhelming against yours and as your hips brush against him you feel the undeniable hardness of him press against you making a heat flood your body.

“You want me,” you whisper against his lips, your confidence making his resistance falter.

His resolve weakens further, as you step back shrugging your camisole from your shoulders letting it slide effortlessly down your body, pooling at your feet as you slip out of your shorts with deliberate ease.

His eyes roam over your nakedness, the medical side of him evident as he assesses every part of you, but the intensity in his expression impossible to ignore, he wants you and more than just the image you maintain—he wants the real you.

“You don’t even know how beautiful you are, do you?” he asks, his voice filled with reverence as his hands betray him, caressing up your sides.

“How incredible you are,” he says, almost hushed, as his eyes meet yours, filled with an aching need to make you understand what he sees.

Your hand lifts to rest softly on his chest, “Make me feel it,” you say, your voice barely audible, raw with vulnerability as you look up at him.

“Make me believe it,” you whisper, your fingers trailing up to his collarbone, brushing the side of his neck, your touch as gentle as your voice. “Make me feel what you see in me.”

His jaw tightens, his chest rising and falling as your words hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes close briefly, as if trying to regain control, but it’s futile.

He can’t stop himself and his lips are drawn to yours in an instant, capturing them with a desperation so raw it makes your knees weak.

His kiss is intense, almost pleading, as his body presses firmly against yours. His grip is strong and unyielding as he pulls you closer his hands sliding beneath your thighs and lifting you effortlessly onto the counter.

The intensity of his touch and the hunger in his kiss, leaves no doubt—he’s determined to show you exactly what he sees in you.

In that moment, you feel like the center of his universe special and precious as his lips move against yours, his hands exploring your body.

One slides up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek, while the other trails down between your thighs.

His touch is delicate, his fingers tracing soft strokes along your entrance, teasing you, testing you, each featherlight pass sending waves of heat through your body.

Your breath catches as he presses in gently, his long fingers pushing in with soft care, stretching you just enough to make your entire body tense with anticipation. 

“Am I giving you what you need?” he asks, his voice low and breathless, his lips grazing your ear as his fingers find a slow, teasing rhythm that makes your slickness increase with every thrust.

“Yes” you whisper shakily as he pulls back slightly to watch.

His gaze is fixated where his hand moves between your thighs, his focus entirely on the way his fingers slide in and out of you effortlessly.

The sight seems to captivate him, his breaths growing heavier as he watches the effect he’s having on you.

“You’re so incredible,” he whispers, his voice tinged with awe and desire as the slick sounds from his skill make you tremble, your body tightening around his fingers as he pushes deeper.

When he finds a certain depth he curls his fingers just right and your back arches sharply, as a soft cry escaping your lips.

His fingers thrust steadily there, the motion precise and unrelenting, and you can feel yourself growing tighter with every stroke. Your breaths come faster, turning into soft pants as your head tilts back, the world around you going fuzzy.

“I want to give you everything you need,” he whispers, and you gasp as his thumb brushes against your clit adding another layer of sensation that makes your hips push instinctively against his hand.

His lips kiss the curve of your neck as his free hand steadies you, gripping your waist firmly, holding you in place as he continues to work you to a climax with his fingers.

You can’t stop yourself as your head falls back, your eyes squeezing shut as your cries of pure ecstasy fill the air. He increases the pace his fingers stretching and filling you as our body responds instinctively, tightening around his fingers, amplifying every thrust drawing desperate moans from your lips

His thumb circles your clit in time with your cries and the tension begins building until your breaths turn frantic.

His lips find yours again, swallowing your moans as he kisses you deeply, his hand never faltering. The quick thrusts of his fingers send you spiraling, the pleasure overtaking you completely until you’re lost in it.

Your cries muffle against his mouth as your body trembles uncontrollably feeling the tension in your body snap like a tightly coiled spring.

The rush of pleasure is overwhelming, your orgasm radiating outward in pulses so intense it feels like your body might come apart. Your thighs clench around his hand, as the sensations courses through you, leaving you breathless and weightless all at once.

Austin’s hand slows immediately, his touch now gentle and soothing, letting you ride out the waves of pleasure.

“Breathe,” he says softly, his lips brushing against your temple before he presses a tender kiss there. “You’re okay….” His tone is calm and steady, grounding you as a shiver runs through you, the weight of emotion making your chest tighten.

His arm wraps securely around your waist, holding you steady as your body quivers against him. His touch is so tender, it feels as though he’s caring for your heart and your body in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

His hand moves up to cradle your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as his eyes hold yours with a mixture of awe and affection.

“You’re so beautiful,” he softly smiles, the sincerity in his words soothing you as he gazes deeply into your eyes, his expression tender and full of affection making you smile in return.

He leans forward, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, his lips warm and reassuring as he slowly withdraws his fingers.

You shudder at the loss, but he pulls you closer, wrapping his strong arms around you protectively.

He holds you for some time like a fragile, precious thing, his arms cradling you with a gentleness that makes your feel safe and warm.

You savor the moment, pressing your face against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he readjusts his arms around you, pulling you even closer.

“Will you stay?” you ask, your breath shaky, exhaustion creeping into your limbs and making you feel heavier in his embrace.

He hesitates, his jaw tightening slightly as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “I shouldn’t,” he says softly, the conflict clear in his voice.

You reach for his hand, guiding it over your heart, holding it there as if to anchor yourself to him. “Please,” you whisper, near begging—something you’ve never had to do for anyone before.

He swallows hard, his eyes searching yours for a long moment. Finally, he nods, his resolve breaking. “I’ll stay… until you fall asleep.”

The relief and gratitude wash over you, and you smile—a genuine smile, full of warmth and happiness something you haven’t felt in a long time.

He lifts you effortlessly into his strong arms, his hold making you feel both secure and cared for as you guide him to your bedroom.

When he lays you down gently, you feel the cool sheets against your skin, and he adjusts the blanket over you with the same tenderness he’s shown all evening.

As he sits on the edge of the bed, his hand brushes your hair back from your face, his touch lingering for just a moment. “Get some rest,” he whispers, his voice low and steady.

You reach for his hand again, your fingers curling around his. “Stay close,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles down at you, his expression warm and reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere until you rest,” he promises, his words like a balm to your weary soul and as your eyes drift shut, his hand remains in yours, grounding you as you finally let sleep take over.

You wake slowly, your senses gradually pulling you out of the heavy haze of sleep. The faint sound of a phone buzzing piercing the quiet of the night, persistently lighting up the room. Blinking groggily, you realize it’s coming from the nightstand beside your bed.

Turning your head, Austin is lying next to you sound asleep. His chest rises and falls steadily, his face relaxed in a way that makes him look almost boyish and a small smile creeps onto your lips, the sight of him still there bringing a warmth to your chest.

The phone buzzes again, its glow illuminating the room for a moment before fading. You watch him stir slightly, his brows furrowing and his lips parting in a soft, sleepy sigh as his hand reaches instinctively for the sound.

His eyes flutter open, and the panic sets in almost immediately as his grogginess clears.

“I—I have to go,” he mutters, his voice raspy and urgent, as though the weight of reality is crashing back onto him.

He sits up quickly, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair, looking through the missed calls flooding his phone.

—But you’re not ready to let him leave—not yet.

“Austin,” you say softly, sitting up the sheets slipping from your body as you reach for him.

Your hand brushes against his arm, and when he turns to you, his eyes are filled with hesitation.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, your voice low and full of need.

You tug gently at his arm, and he hesitates for only a second before setting his phone back down on the nightstand. “I can’t stay much longer,” he says, his tone conflicted.

You smile, a playful edge in your voice as your hands slide to the hem of his shirt. “Then don’t waste our time,” you reply.

He doesn’t even resist as you pull it over his head, revealing his broad, muscular chest and sculpted abs.

Your fingers trail over him, admiring the strength in his body, the warmth of his skin under your touch. He watches you with lustful eyes, his breaths quickening as your hand moves lower, undoing the button of his jeans and unzipping them with care.

You tug his jeans and boxers down together, freeing him completely, and your breath catches at the sight of his substantial cock, hard and ready.

Your fingers trail over his tip and down the length of his shaft, the heat of him and the way it twitches under your touch sends a shiver through him, his breath catching as he watches you.

Before he can say anything, you lean over to your bedside drawer, sifting through until you find a condom that will fit his impressive size. The quiet sound of the wrapper tearing fills the room, as his eyes remain locked on yours.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice low and heavy with emotion, his breath hitching as your fingers brush against him carefully rolling the condom into place.

You meet his gaze, your hand lingering on him as you whisper, “I’ve never been more sure.”

Whatever resistance he had left disappears entirely as he pulls you into his lap, his lips finding your neck, kissing softly before his need for you takes over.

His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts as his lips travel lower, leaving a trail of heat on your skin.

When his mouth finds your nipple, he sucks gently, drawing sharp gasps from you as his other hand squeezes the curve of your breast. The gentleness of his touch sends shivers through you as your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him closer.

“I want you so much,” he whispers against your skin, his voice thick with need, the raw longing in his tone making your heart ache.

“I want you too,” you whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling with both desire and anticipation.

He lifts his head, his blue eyes meeting yours for a lingering moment filled with longing, and without breaking the connection, he gently lays your back against the bed, his hands never leaving your body as he moves over you.

One of your legs bends instinctively, your knee raising to accommodate him as he positions himself, the other leg wrapping around his waist.

His hand cups your jaw soft and reassuring as he presses the tip of his cock against you and with a careful insistent push, he thrusts into you.

His cock stretches you slowly, his movements unhurried as you gasp, your body arching to accommodate his size.

His free hand slides along your thigh, gripping gently as he begins to move, the rhythm steady and controlled as he eases in inch by inch until each thrust fills you completely.

You softly moan for him as his eyes remain steady on yours, his hand caressing your cheek, while other traces the curve of your hip as he thrusts into you gently.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers, his thumb caressing your jaw. “So beautiful, so incredible.” He says his words tumbling out savoring the way you feel together.

You grip his shoulders tightly as he thrusts into you harder, the tension winding tighter as your hands slide down his back, your nails pressing lightly into his skin.

“You feel— so good to me.” You whisper the words spilling from your lips with raw sincerity, and they spur him on, a groan escaping his throat as his hands tighten their hold on you.

His lips press against your throat, his breath warm and uneven as the pleasure between you builds into something unstoppable.

Your soft moans only push him further, his body responding completely to your every sound.

He softly pants against your neck, lost in bliss, his eyes closed, his breaths warm on your skin. His lips press to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses as his groans break and falter, his control slipping as he nears release.

You cling to him, your hands sliding to the back of his neck, holding him tightly against you. “Make me feel —how much you want me,” you whisper, your voice trembling as your own orgasm begins to build.

He clenches his jaw, a deep groan vibrating through him as he fights to hold back. Slowing his thrusts, he shifts to long, deliberate strokes, each one reaching the spot that sends jolts of pleasure through you. The tension coils tightly inside you, your breath hitching with every deep, purposeful thrust.

“You’re perfect to me,” he confesses, his voice rough and strained as he watches your face, his hips beginning to move faster as your soft whimpers fuel him. His rhythm becomes more urgent, his thrusts hitting harder, sharper, until your release crashes over you.

You cry out, your head tilting back as waves of pleasure course through you, your walls clenching tightly around him. The sensation pushes him over the edge, his groans deep and guttural as he buries himself inside you, his cock twitching as he comes.

It feels so good it borders on unbearable, your chest tightening as tears prick the corners of your eyes. He rides your though your orgasm and you cling to him, your fingers gripping his shoulders, needing something solid to ground yourself as your release consumes you.

When the intensity finally begins to fade, you feel raw, exposed, but so utterly content that a soft sob escapes you. The pleasure lingers, warm and soft, as your body melts into his, the aftershocks making you shudder gently in his arms.

He doesn’t stop holding you, his hand soothing as his lips brush against your temple. “You’re okay,” he whispers tenderly, his other hand sliding to your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he steadies you.

You nod weakly against him, overwhelmed by how deeply he’s unraveled you, feeling a flood of gratitude and emotion that makes tears spill silently down your cheeks. You bury your face against his chest, his compassion grounding you in a way you you’ve never known.

His head rests lightly against yours as his arms hold you securely, his breaths gradually evening out.

Then with carefulness, he slowly slides his large cock out of you, the loss leaving you momentarily speechless.

You shudder, your body adjusting to the emptiness, your emotions swirling as you cling to him for a moment longer.

You tilt your face up to him, your eyes locking with his as a connection passes between you, unspoken and undeniable, that neither one of you dares to name.

Gently, he shifts, rolling the two of you onto your sides, pulling you close and as you lay in his strong arms, his fingers trail against your back, soothing and steady, his warmth comforting you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

The way he cares for you—completely and unconditionally—fills a space you didn’t realize was empty, touching a part of you that you thought no one ever could—and for the first time in what feels like forever, a sense of peace settles over you as you slowly drift to sleep in the depth of his strong and loving embrace.

🩺END

🔗 Model Patient 2 AVAILABLE

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @thejoywillburnoutthepain @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesficsreblog @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @jjubilee-fluff @stars-remain2 @ausssbutlershortstories @fuckindontknow

[mylittleredgirl]

every time i accidentally remember that i have a new laptop and could technically download and play the sims again without setting my real human house on fire i have to blare an internal air horn in my mind 📢🚨

[mystic-insanity]

Lockdown: Part One

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Speedpaint

|| Lights blare rapidly, the sounds only fit for that of terror filled the once quiet halls. Hell must be breaking loose, certainly, the scientists acted as such- rushing to their lockers and fleeing like frighten sheep.. no hound to protect them here. The sounds only progressed, shrieks, things rushing by on a rapid frenzy, to where or for what no one knew. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, a hiss suddenly filled the locked room. Had a scientist braved the hectic floor to come back? No-- a voice far too smug to be a panicked scientist greeted, waving the golden striped card.. Now that was a familiar specimen.||

Lazy story blurb tada~ This took a few days due to not feeling great, some parts could certainly be improved on probably. I might work on making a more definitive Sebastian design but..its complete ^^

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILER FOR EPISODE 8 OF BURROW'S END!!!🚨

‼️ POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING FOR SIREN SOUNDS‼️

Dimension20 "Burrow's End"

Episode 8

Timestamp: 1:48:49

Video Length: 20sec.

HOW CAN THEY JUST LEAVE US LIKE THIS?!!!! I HAVE TO WAIT A WHOLE WEAK AND WE GOT A PREVIEW OF A SIREN BLARING AND AABRIA SAYING "THEY'RE HERE"!!! BRUHHH!!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET PEACEFUL SLEEP AFTER THAT?! 😭😭😭✋✋✋

I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS SEASON IS ALMOST OVER!!! IT'S GOING BY SO FAST!!! AAAAA!!! THIS IS CRAZYYYY!!! I DON'T WANT IT TO END BUT I ALSO WANT TO SEE THIS STOAT FAMILY HAPPY!!! PLEASSSSEEE!!! 😭😭✋✋ THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH SO FREAKING MUCH!!! 😭😭✋✋❤️❤️ JUST LET THEM SMILE AND LAUGH!!! 😭😭✋✋❤️❤️ LET THEM ENJOY LIFE ONCE FR!!! 😭😭✋✋❤️❤️🥲🥲

[tevanbegins]

Okay I absolutely love the canon timing of it all, but can you imagine a 'what if' alternative scenario in which Tommy was still around at the 118 when probie Buck joined?

Both their queerdars blaring like crazy the moment they meet 🚨 — Tommy getting an instant crush on the cute new guy 😍 and Buck being smitten with the sexy older firefighter at the first sight ❤‍🔥 (especially more so because of how for some reason he calls him ✨Evan✨ when everyone else took to 'Buck' and strangely he doesn't even mind...) 🥵

Tommy trying his best to be all prim and proper because they have to be professional at work saying "Evan, we are coworkers, I can't—" but Buck determined to loosen his weak resolve with his adorable flirty Buck face going "Yes you absolutely can and must, teach me, teach me, teach me!" I would die 😂❤

[gffa]

Ok over on the discord we're invested in your 9-1-1 journey and agree 100% with your assessments, but we NEED to hear your thoughts on Mr. Eddie Diaz, esp his introduction, like I still cackle that this weewoo show actually introduced a new character half-naked in slow-mo with "Whatta Man" playing in the background (and I'm sure you've figured this out but it's him and Buck that's the giant ship).

I have struggled to put my 911 thoughts into coherence because there are two giant blaring sirens going off in my brain whenever I think about this series: 1) 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 ANGELA BASSETT🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 How am I supposed to care about anything else on this show when Angela Bassett is there, being stunning and delivering a performance that's top tier every single time??? Okay, I'm being tongue-in-cheek about it, but genuinely Athena is my favorite character and the one I'm most emotionally invested in, the one that it's hard for me to look away from. It helps that I'm also deeply fond of Peter Krause because I watched Sports Night and loved him in that a lot, so connecting Bobby to Athena's story has been a double shot of my faves. 2) I AM LAUGHING SO HARD BECAUSE I'M SURE THEY DON'T MEAN IT BUT WHAT IS UP WITH THE WAY THEY ARE STRUCTURING THE BUDDIE DYNAMIC? Introducing a character with "Whatta Man" playing is hilarious, but even more hilarious to me is the way their arcs are kind of thematically running parallel to each other. Buck's whole character arc is about him feeling finally ready to grow up, to take on the scary parts of relationships that include responsibilities towards other people and being genuinely emotionally available, that was the entire point of getting close to Abby, who came with her sick mother that was always going to be part of her life. So, Abby leaves, then along comes Eddie who has a kid that he takes his responsibilities for very seriously, where it's not intentional to intersect with Buck's arc, but then they have them immediately interacting in a way that neither character does as much with any other character, conflicting at first, but then opening up and being real with each other and I'm sitting here going, "If one of these dudes was a lady, the way Buck just stared at Eddie with his kid, they would 100% be signally that this was building subtext." I can't say I'm deeply emotionally invested in them yet (see my Angela Bassett Problem), but it's been a wild ride watching them interact and going, wow, are they doing this on purpose? Because they sure clicked really fast. *eyebrow raise* Bonus thoughts: I knew Chimney/Maddie was going to be a thing beforehand, so do I like them because they're cute or because I was primed for them? Who knows, but they're cute! I love that they brought back Tatiana and I have to say, maybe she was kinda cold, but I was 100% on her side, because she was right. She didn't love him and if she'd gotten pulled into that, she'd have been expected to drop her entire life to be at his bedside and that's not what she wanted, I love that the show was so gentle with her and Chimney's reunion and realization that they sparked each other into realizing they each needed to get on a new path. I love that Hen got to be complicated and almost left her ex to die because it would have saved her a lot of hassle and she really hated her, but ultimately was a hero, yesssss, let queer women be complicated, messy, and ultimately heroic!

[xiphiaarts]

When you finally catch that bastard bot that keeps spawn sniping you

I got bored (and insane) and drew more racket content because I love them

(no hearts version under the cut)

[dream-of-elias]

An ambulance is blaring outside, scurrying around on seven large, smooth-skinned, shaven human legs.

WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO

- 🚨

[Elias jumps at the sound. he can't do much, though. broken ankles and all.]

bownes! scare! whoever's home, theres something loud outside, go check it out for me.

[gravehags]

planet of the bass is stuck in my head so i’ll be sleepily doing my painting and i get 🚨 EVERYBODY MOOOOOOVEMENT 🚨🗣️🗣️🗣️ blaring like an air horn in my brain

[crocheting-cupio]

[Church bells] [Jingle bells] [Horse hooves clopping] [Cartoon sound of something falling]

[Atom bomb explosion]

[Funky saxophone] [Choir singing] [Jingle bells] [Cheery piano]

It's Christmas at ground zero 🎄☢️🎅 there's music in the air 🎶🎵 the sleigh bells are ringin' 🔔🔔🔔 and the carollers are singin' 📖🎶 while the air raid sirens blare 🚨☢️🚨

It's Christmas at ground zero 🎄☢️🎅 the b u t t o n has been pressed 🙈👇🔴 the raDIOOOO just let us know 📻🗣 that t h i s i s n o t a t e s t ! 😮🙀😱

Everywhere the atom bombs are droppin' 🏚💥🏥 [🎷] it's the end of all humanity 💀🪦☢️ no more time for last-minute shoppin' 🙅💸🎁 [🎷] it's time to face your final destiny! 😳💦

It's Christmas at ground zero 🎄☢️🎅 there's panic in the crowd 😱🏃🤪 we can dodge debris 👈👉👇 while we trim the tree ✂️🎄 underneath the mushroom cloud ☢️🍄🔥

[Funky Christmas music] [Air raid sirens]

You might hear some reindeer on your rooftop 🦌🔔🛷 [🎷] or Jack Frost on your windowsill ☃️❄️🌨 but if someone's climbing down your chimney... 🤫😮⁉️ [🎷] you better load your gun and shoot to kill! 💀🔫🫡

Oh, it's Christmas at ground zero 🎄☢️🎅 and if the radiation level's okaayy ☢️✅⚛️ I'll go out with yoouu 💑🌲❤️ and see all the neeww 🎊😮‼️ MUUtations on New Year's Day 🫠😈🍾

It's Christmas at ground zero! 🎄☢️🎅 just SECONDS left to go!! 🕚😱⏰ I'll duck and cover 🦆🙉🙈 with my yuletide lover ❤️💑🥰 underneath the mistletoe 🎄😘💋

It's Christmas at ground zero! 🎄☢️🎅 now the missiles are on their way! 😮🙀😱 what a crazy fluke!! 🤪😬🤷 we're gonna get nuked! 💀🪦☢️ on this jolly holiday! 🎄🎁⛄️

WHAT A CRAZY FLUKE! 🤪🤪🤪 WE'RE GONNA GET NUKED! ☢️☢️☢️☢️⚛️⚛️ ON THIS JOOOOLLLLYYYYY HOOOOOLLLIDAAAYYYYY!! 🎄🎄🎄🎄

[Music fades away]

[Air raid siren]

[nyxi-pixie]

blaring alarm sounds: 🚨🚨!!PATHETIC!!🚨🚨

[ohmysheetmetal]

the bells 🔔 be tolling and the sirens 🚨 be blaring

oh god

[michaelasworlds-blog]

Daddy’s Girl (A Hazbin OC Fanfic)

~~~~~~

Ch. 7: Beatrice

~~~~~~

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: CHILD ABDUCTION!🚨

Earth, 1979

Eugenia sat in her bedroom with her head in her hands, she could hear the muffled sounds of “Sesame Street” playing downstairs. She needed to be alone, and Bean asking her to watch Sesame was not something she was prepared to do; she at least wanted her to be calm before they left tonight.

She told Donnie that she didn’t “Think they were gonna work out” and that she wanted to break up, Eugenia thought it would be smarter than telling him that she knew about the murders; she had told Stefan as well and he completely understood.

“I knew he was a stressed guy but, murder?” He said in disbelief.

She couldn’t believe it herself, her boyfriend was a murderer. Everything in that art gallery was made up of any human he saw fit to be part of his “masterpieces”. Eugenia wanted to call the police, but she didn’t want Donnie to get hurt, just maybe get him some help.

Eugenia realized she had been in her room for more than an hour, she got up from the floor, Bean was probably wandering the house looking for her; she was probably hungry or bored. She could still hear the TV, but not her.

She turned the knob, but the door didn’t open. She turned it again, the door still didn’t budge. “What the..” Eugenia started pulling at yanking at it, she started panicking banging on the door, “Bean! Bean!” She yelled, there was no response, the TV sounded as if it was blaring. She started kicking at the door. It did nothing, only chipping the paint, “FUCK!” Did Donnie do this?! Was this some joke to him? Eugenia immediately went to the window, crawling out of it and walking across the roof to Bean’s bedroom window.

Falling inside the child’s room, she looked around for her daughter. Under the bed, in the closet, even in her toy trunk; she was nowhere. “Bean!” She rushed down the stairs, Sesame Street still playing loudly. Please let her be here. When she got to the living room there was no one there, nothing but a bunch of toys and Barbies all over the floor, she turned the tv off.

At this point she was looking anywhere, even places she’s looked. Eugenia sat down in the kitchen to take a breather, that’s when she saw the note on the fridge that made her blood run cold.

“Bean and I are going on a trip! Bye!”

-Donnie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eugenia watched in horror as Donnie joked with the workers of the hotel, he was even getting along with Husk. HUSK! She couldn’t get two words outta the guy.

“No no but seriously, I heard about the hotel months ago; I think it’s a wonderful idea to try and help sinners, and plus a theater too! I just had to donate,” Donnie pulled out a checkbook.

“Wait, you're donating to the hotel or the theater?” Voe asked.

“Oh I’m donatin to both babydoll,” he hands her and Charlie checks.

“How sweet!” Charlie squealed.

“Wow uh…this is a lot of money,” Voe couldn’t stop staring at hers.

“You’re welcome,” he winked at her.

“My my all this money from body parts in a warehouse,” Alastor stood behind his fiancée.

“Not all of it, I come from old money so yeah.”

They looked at him confused, He kept going, unaware that that’s not how that worked.

“So are you here to stay or-”

“Oh no! I’m here for someone,” Donnie looked around. “Have you seen Beatrice? Bea?” They all looked confused.

“Who?” Angel raised an eyebrow.

Eugenia facepalmed, “Oh shit, sorry; Bean I meant Bean.”

“Wait hold up her name isn’t-”

“Guys you would not BELIEVE what I found out about-” Bean came running down the stairs, but stopped seeing everyone stare at her.

“What?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry your name is what?!” Angel yelled at Bean.

“What?” Bean was confused.

“Your name isn’t Latte?” he crossed his arms.

“Never was,” she rolled her eyes.

“Is Beatrice your real name?” Charlie chimed in.

Bean glared at Donnie, “Donnie! I told you that in secret!” She crossed her arms, never had she felt so betrayed.

“Um.. that was like the first time we met; you didn’t tell me to keep shit a nothing,” Donnie shrugged. “ANYWAY! BEAN! I need your help with something,” he smirked.

She smiled, “Really?! What for?!” She was practically bouncing at the thought of helping someone out, nobody had offered her help not even for the wedding. Well she had bodyguard duty for the wedding, but she wanted to like set tables and shit like that.

“It’s a secret, Charlie, do you mind me and your resident talking alone for a few minutes?”

“As long as Bean doesn’t mind-”

“I can show you my room!” The sinner has Donnie halfway up the stairs before the princess could finish.

The room was left with silence and confusion, until Angel spoke up, “Still callin’ ha Latte.” Everyone looked at him with straight or annoyed expressions.

Bean plopped down on her bed petting Barktholomew, “And.. this is my baby Barktholomew,” she showed a disinterested Donnie. “He’s tired but he doesn’t mind meeting new people-”

“How about we get started,” he interrupted her.

“Right, sorry,” she started paying attention.

Donnie cleared his throat, “So, do you remember our little chat we had?”

“About my birthday?” She tilted her head.

“No, about you not showing weakness”, Donnie sighed, putting his hand to his head.

“Ooo..yeah..” Bean lied.

“Amazing! So I have a way to help you, I want you to work for me!” He smiled.

She gasped, “Really?!” She was super stoked to be working at his gallery.

“Yeah! I want you to help me become an overlord!” Bean frowned, becoming confused.

“What? What do you mean?” She asked.

“I want you to collect souls for me, so I can become an overlord! That way, you can let out your emotions! And I can get what I want!” Donnie was ecstatic, Ruby didn’t know about this plan, but if he had the power other overlords had; he could protect Bean. It was a win win.

Bean was disappointed, “I- I don’t want to..” she didn’t look at him. Donnie’s smile turned into a straight face.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you wanted help with your art gallery,” she mumbled.

“No, I don’t want help with my art, I do my own art,” he gave her a stern look. “Don’t you want to control your emotions?”

“I don’t want to kill innocent people-”

“Bean! We’re in Hell, have you seen one innocent person?” Donnie scoffed. Bean said nothing, still not looking at him, so he decided it was time for another approach, the truth. He sighed, “Bean? Beatrice?”

She cringed at the name, “I prefer Bean.”

“Really? I alway preferred Bea.”

Bean looked up in shock, nobody called her that; not even her friends or Vox called her that! “Excuse me?”

“Bea, I’m your dad,” Donnie said with a “sad” look on his face. She was staring at him in shock and anger, “I’m your dad, and I need your help.”

She was silent, still in shock. All she could muster up was, “Get out.”

Donnie sighed, “Fine.” He left the room, before smirking to himself.

It was time for plan B.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flashback

“Do you love me?” Bean asked. Staring at him with those big yellow eyes!

Those fucking eyes were always on him! Why couldn’t she ask this question to someone else?! Why him?! Well he knew WHY, just look at him! He knew he was a lady killer. “Vox?” She snapped him out of his thoughts.

Shit! What could he say?! Maybe he could turn this around on her? Vox opened his mouth to talk, but instead of talking to Bean he did something pathetic.

“Hello?” He put his phone to his ear, pretending to talk into it. “Lucifer? Yeah! Of course I can talk!” Vox laughed nervously, “I gotta take this,” he whispered to Bean, who was standing there with a straight face.

“Okay Vox,” She walked out of the room.

Vox put the phone down sighing with relief.

He was pathetic.

Present Day

Vox sat at the conference table by himself looking through the text thread. Her texted Bean,

Vox: GM!

But he realized it was 2 in the afternoon when he texted that, and usually she would text back how “I guess you could say ‘Great Morning’ as in, you had a ‘great morning’ but now it’s the afternoon.” Vox always told her how stupid that was and to stop saying that, now she wasn’t saying anything! He wished he could see her, not cause he missed her but to give her a piece of his mind! Was she really gonna be petty just because he didn’t say “I love you” back! That’s literally the definition of childish! This angered Vox, he began typing.

Vox: You know, for someone who doesn’t want to be seen as a CHILD! You’re acting hella childish!

Vox: Grow up! Not everyone is going to like or love you!

Vox: I’m a man! And I’m allowed to have my own opinion! If you can’t handle that then FUCK YOU!!

Vox: FUCK YOU!

Vox: FUCK! YOU!

He slammed the phone on the table, then the door opened revealing his assistant. “WHAT!” Vox snapped, making the assistant cover.

“You told me to inform you of any news,” he slowly walks to the table, showing his tablet to the overlord.

Vox snatched it from him before reading the article,

“VOE THE BILLBOARD DOE AND THE RADIO DEMON TO BE WED!”

A large grin creeped across his face, blood oozing from his mouth. “This is perfect!” He laughed maniacally.

“Looks like I have a wedding to attend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eugenia snuck up behind Donnie, he was in the kitchen doing something. She thought he wasn’t staying, what was he doing? “Donnie,” she called his name.

He turned around smirking, “Gigi.”

“Don’t call me that,” she growled.

“Sorry, would you rather me call you Eugenia” he spoke loudly. Eugenia turned to see if anyone was in the parlor, it was only Charlie’s cat sleeping on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” She talked quietly, walking up to him.

“Making cupcakes,” he gestured to the baking equipment.

“I mean in this hotel, why are you here?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he turned back to making cupcakes.

“Who are you making desserts for? Everyone is asleep,” she put her hands on her hips; Donnie had never been one for following instructions so this surprised her.

“They’re for Bea, she’s upset, so I’m making her something special,” Donnie stirred the batter, but his arm was grabbed by an enraged Eugenia.

“You are not to go near her again,” she threatened him. He stopped, before slowly turning to her with a blank expression on his face.

“What are you gonna do?” His voice was monotone. “Send your husband after me?” The woman took a step back.

“I didn’t tell him to kill you..” she looked away. Donnie continued to stare at her, she had lost. Eugenia turned walking out of the kitchen.

“You’re protecting her from the wrong guy Gigi,” he said loudly, making her freeze in place. “I’d never Bean, I think you know that.”

Eugenia left without saying another word.

Donnie continued to stir, then he poured in a thick blue-ish liquid he got from some apartment complex; it was some drug that the Vees sold only on the streets, apparently it was so bad Lucifer didn’t even want it sold. It was called “V-Rage” or just “Rage” to ya know get rid of the fact that the Vees made it- anyway it basically forced a demon into a feral state, they go on full murder sprees for about 24 hours and the person won’t remember a thing.

That way Donnie could get what he wanted, and Bean could get what she wanted, well she’d think she got- honestly who gives a fuck!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About a month later it was the morning of the wedding, the entire hotel was getting ready; except Bean, who was sitting on her bed watching porn of herself; mostly from “Val’s Corner”. It was mostly something that she did at night, but this time it kind of dragged into the early mornings.

The door opening made her slam her laptop shut, “Bitch! Are you ready- what are you doin’ mate?!” Cherri Bomb came into her room, “We gotta be at the venue in two hours!”

“Right. Right. Sorry,” Bean got off the bed.

“Where’s ya head at?” Cherri put her hands on her hips.

“I don’t know,” Bean was rushing to get into the shower, but her pajama shirt got stuck on her head. Cherri watched her fight and struggle before giving up,“Help me.”

She rolled her eye pulling the shirt off her, “Vox not text you?”

“Cute dress,” She ignored the question, pointing at the red dress she was wearing. Vox hadn’t texted her in almost a month, did he not wanna talk to her anymore. She wanted to talk about the question, it was unfair and she wanted to say sorry or at least say something.

“I’m not trying to pry or anything babe, the VIFI towers have been done, me and Angel can’t even text each other,” Cherri glared at her phone, trying to send s as message but it immediately sent an error. “It’s bullshit!”

Bean acted like she wasn’t surprised getting in the shower, she dreads the fact that she had to take a fast shower instead of a slow steamy one, it was her own fault. “Can you pull out the dress in plastic from the closet!” She called from the shower.

“Which one is it?!” Cherri shouted.

“The only one in plastic,” Bean rolled her eyes.

“Hm. How about that.”

Bean got out of the bathroom in her towel, “Could you please help me get ready?”

Cherri smiled, “Sure.”

It only took 45 minutes to get everything done, Bean twirled in front of her, “How do I look?”

Cherri blushed, “Awesome,” was all she could say.

“Finally!” Angel had his arms crossed. “We’re gonna be late!” The three sinners walked down the hall, Bean on one side while Cherri was on the other. “I was afraid I wouldn’t have my straight escorts to walk me in,” he said.

“That’s what you wanted?!” Husk asked. “Ya could’ve just said that! You kept saying ‘escorts’ this and ‘escort’ that.”

“Ya know Husk, not everything is about sex,” Angel turned his nose up. Cherri and Bean laughed before offering Angel their arms.

Picture this. Voe and Alastor getting married, Lucifer officiating the marriage. Both the bride and groom are LITERALLY done with the vows, and are about to be husband and wife when suddenly

“I OBJECT!” A crazy guy with a TV for a head crashes the wedding.

He yells at the bride causing hundreds of old ladies to faint, well not hundreds. Just two, and Rosie pretending to for added dramatic effect.

The crazy man cries about being ignored, Bean sinks into her seat and onto the floor. This had to be the most embarrassing moment of his life, more embarrassing than when he broke into song about his ex; the groom. The grown TV man gets spanked by the bride and booted from the event, everybody claps, the crisis is averted.

It was all one big illusion to Bean, she needed to have a drink. She sat down with a glass of champagne, did that really just happen? Did he crash a wedding to get her attention? She downed the champagne.

“Hey,” Gigi stood in front of her. “How ya holdin’ up?” She asked.

“Was- was that real?” Bean said, distressed. “Did that really just happen?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “Maybe you should ask him, he’s sitting outside.”

“What?!” Bean stood up. “Why?!” Gigi shrugged again, Bean grabbed a bottle of water before leaving the venue.

There he was, just as Gigi said. Vox was just sitting there, Bean walked over to him, “Hey!” She handed him the water bottle.

“I don’t want that shit!” He growled.

“Oh, so you did that shit sober?” She put her hands on her hips. “When you basically asked for Voe’s hand in marriage you were sober?”

“I didn’t-”

“Saying ‘I object!’ Is literally ‘Stop the wedding! You should marry me instead!’ Have you not seen the movies?!”

Vox stood up, looking down at her in anger, “If you would’ve texted me ANYTIME this month, I wouldn’t have done this! This is all your fault!”

Bean was about to say something but sighed in frustration, “Gimmie your phone.”

“What?”

“Give me the phone Vox,” she snatched it, looking at the unsent messages. “The messages didn’t send,” she showed him the phone.

He snatched it back, “Yeah right-” Vox stopped seeing the error messages “failed to send”.

“VIFI is down, it’s been done for a month,” Bean started laughing.

Vox was red with embarrassment, “It’s not funny.”

“Yes it is,” she laughed. “You look stupid.”

He had to admit, it was silly. He chuckled, he crashed a wedding for nothing. At this point both were laughing, when they calmed down they sat back on the ground in silence.

“I’m sorry about the question,” Bean looked at him. “It wasn’t fair to ask that, you don’t even know me.”

“I think I know enough,” he scoffed.

“My name is Beatrice, She said. Vox stared, well he didn’t know that.

“Vaughn,” he held his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you.” Bean laughed, shaking his hand.

“I guess we don’t know a lot about each other,” she sighed.

“Nope,” Vox took lit a cigar, “What a fucking day..don’t you agree Beatrice?”

“Yes Vaughn, indeed it was a fucking day.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bean groaned, taking her heels off as she walked through the hotel doors, she had convinced Vox to leave and went back to the party. She was pretty sure she was drunk, the stairs started switching sides so she sat on them till they learned to behave.

“Good night Bean,” Erin smiled, carrying a drunk Eric, and Wynter held onto Zeke.

“These stairs are ridiculous,” Eric slurred as they walked down the hall.

Bean decided to give the stairs another chance, she slowly walked up them and silently triumphed at her success. She got in the elevator taking it to her floor and making it to her door, on the ground in front of it was a cupcake with white frosting; it was wrapped in plastic. She picked it up.

“I love cupcakes!”

[almighty-letu]

I HAVE SPECULATIONS!!! YOUR LOUD NOISES WONT STOP ME!!! I KNOW WHAT YOURE HIDING!! But just in case please tell me🥺🥺

I don’t know what you’re talking about. I keep telling you the ship is BLARING SIREN ECHOES 🚨 what part don’t you get?

[tideswept]

THROWING TOMATOS AT YOU FOR THAT CHAPTER /positive

OK, OK, WAIT. WAIT. STOP. THOSE TOMATOES ARE GOOD FOR SAUCE! MAKE SAUCE, NOT WAR.

a-and in my defense, that chapter was going to be... really, really, REALLY different, originally. Like, completely new fic levels of different. Y'all woulda murdered me in cold blood if I'd done it...

(Some revelations are still relevant to the fic as a whole, so I'll put it under a cut to avoid spoilers.)

The original was going to be angsty, y'all. But, you know, still with a happy ending. Just. Kind of rough.

Obi-Wan and Anakin's scene was going to go into Anakin confessing that he's known they were mates since he hit puberty, and was therefore aware that he'd be an omega. But then Obi-Wan avoided him (them) and left, and he kept waiting, hoping, subconsciously pushing off his presentation until he couldn't suppress it anymore.

And still, Obi-Wan didn't give him the time of the day.

Obi-Wan is not pleased by this being dumped on him. He doesn't believe in mates, and he's definitely not freaking out that apparently Anakin has spent more than half a decade waiting for him, no sir. Absolutely not.

Which leads him to decide that the best option here is to leave. Anakin will figure out he was wrong, things will go on as they're supposed to. And he doth verily fuck off for years, doing Jedi Things anywhere but Coruscant.

Until the Force is like, "Hey. You might want to go back. Just a suggestion." in its usual cryptic way of 👏SOMETHING. 👏 IS. 👏HAPPENING 🚨🚨🚨

Which he ignores after checking with the Council that everything is good, everything's great. Anakin's even succeeded at his trials and will be knighted soon. Obi-Wan's plan to remove himself from the situation is working out great.

It's just so great. He doesn't feel miserable and cowardly at all. He's getting SO much sleep at night, you guys.

The Force: 😒 fuck it, I tried. You're on your own, Kenobi.

and what scares him the most is that suddenly everything stops. The bad dreams, the worry, the sense that something is wrong. Just a constant blaring in the back of his mind and then silence.

So he returns to Coruscant, to confirm that everything is a-ok. Only to run into Qui-Gon who is like "Oh. Well. This is... some awkward timing."

And it's awkward because, as he finds out, Anakin decided that being an omega is actually really shitty if he's just going to have a bull's eye painted on his back for the rest of his life (and hey, his mate rejected him, so like... fuck it). Having no secondary gender at all is much more practical as a Jedi Knight.

And it's not that Obi-Wan arrives in time to have mixed feelings about this and weigh whether he has the right to say anything to Anakin about this decision. Oh no; it's already done by the time he arrives back in Coruscant. Anakin's no longer an omega.

And now Obi-Wan has to deal with that.

(and THAT would have been the cliffhanger of ch4)