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feralgodmothers · 10 hours ago

Text

“He’s too pretty to be this miserable.”

omg ACCURATE

“You want a quickie in the trailer?”

His eyes light up instantly. “Yes,”

Me, reading this whole fic like yeah… this would fix me

Quick-Take

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin is exhausted from jet lag on set for Breitling, his passion diminishing until your quick thinking gives him several minutes of clarity in his trailer.

🔗 Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin devoted boyfriend • over worked• stressed• needs affection• Austin’s love language •supportive girlfriend • stress relief• quickie in a trailer• p in V• over a counter• don’t make a sound• semi private• Austin pleasure bonded • orgasm • cream pie•aftercare

Quick-Take

It’s a crisp morning in the middle of the desert, the Breitling timepiece photoshoot set busy with strained energy beneath a relentless sun.

Hills line the horizon around you, dotted with shrubs, as the vast, cloudless sky blazes overhead.

The crew hustles around, tweaking lights, and hollering directions, while Austin stands in the center of it all.

He’s dressed in blue jeans hugging his lean frame, a matching blue shirt tucked tight into the waist, secured with a brown leather belt

His outfit is rugged perfection, and you watch him shoot a few scenes, striding toward the camera with purpose, and when he turns to walk away his great ass in those jeans steals your focus entirely.

Austin looks hot, there’s no question, but his mood is completely off.Jet lag’s got him in a chokehold, you both arriving fresh off a red-eye flight thanks to his relentless career schedule, and his usual easy going charm is wearing thin under the exhaustion.

You’re off to the side, sipping water under a hanging tarp to beat the dry heat, keeping an eye on him.

He glances over with a little smile, hands on his hips, until it’s time for photos. Then he’s back to stern, his brows furrowed, jaw tight.

You can’t help but notice the way they frame his perfect side profile, broad shoulders tapering down to that slim waist, hand cocked on his hip accentuating the curve of his ass.

But as his eyes flicker with a weary squint, you know he’s about to crash, there’s no hiding it.

Every time the photographer calls, “Tilt your head, Austin,” or “Give me more intensity,” he complies, but his eyes scream he’s over it.

He’s in one of his moods, too polite to speak up, too tired to fake it fully. Still, he keeps it together, offering that sensual, yet slightly edgier look the camera craves, playing it cool like the pro he is.

The Breitling watch gleams on his wrist, catching the light with every forced pose, but the tension’s simmering just beneath the surface.

The photographer finally calls for a break, and Austin slinks over to the folding chair near you, his name bold across the back.

He slumps into it with a low groan, rubbing his temples, his brown hair a little over-gelled from the styling team’s earlier efforts and you slide in beside him, offering comfort any way you can.

“You’re killing it out there,” you say, keeping it light.

He glances up at you, and for a second, his guarded expression softens. A shy grin tugs at the corner of his lips, barely there but enough to make your chest warm. “Yeah?” he says, his voice low and gravelly from exhaustion. “Thanks. Feel like I’m running on fumes, though.”

“You’re hiding it well,” you say, giving him a playful glance. “Seriously, you look so good in this outfit Austin the blue denim is really working for you.” You confess your eyes trailing over him, lingering on the way the jeans cling to his thighs.

He huffs a small laugh, running a hand through his hair, and you catch the faintest flush on his cheeks. He’s still off, still wound tight, but you can tell he appreciates the effort. You just want him to shake off the gloom, to see that spark he usually carries. He’s too pretty to be this miserable.

You let your fingers trail up his shoulders, squeezing the tight muscles beneath his blue shirt as you lean in, your voice dropping softly. “You’ve got this,” you whisper, fingers sliding higher, tracing the line of his shoulders until you graze the edge of his collar.

He turns to you, his blue eyes soft with a quiet ache flickering in them. “I need you so damn much right now,” he says, his voice low and rough.

His words hit deep, a raw edge to them that tightens your chest, and before he can say more, the director calls for the next shot.

You squeeze his shoulder one last time, and he brushes your hand gently as he gets up.

You watch him walk through the desert heat, climbing up and sitting at the top of a ladder for the next shot, the sandy hills framing him perfectly.

He’s supposed to look brooding, focused, but instead he looks lost under the intense sun, reflectors glaring into his blue eyes, squinting hard, with his brows furrowed.

The photographer’s directions pile on, “Elbows on your knees,” “Hands too low, I need to see the watch, Austin,” “Too stiff.” Austin keeps correcting himself, but it’s not working his minds not in it, and his head dips low as he exhales a frustrated breath.

The director’s voice cuts through, sharp and measured. “Alright, let’s break for wardrobe and set up for the quick take shot.” He calls, and Austin climbs down, his composure cracked as he heads straight for you, defeat in his eyes.

You pull him into your arms, his solid body a little too warm as your hands rest on his jaw, drawing his blue eyes to meet yours. “What do you need, baby?” you ask softly.

“I can’t keep it together out here… just need a minute,” he responds, his voice hushed, and there’s no hesitation as he takes your hand, pulling you toward his silver Airstream trailer parked stabilized off in the sand.

His grip is firm, his pace hurried, like he’s chasing relief and you’re the only one who can provide it.

As soon as the door locks shut, sealing out the desert glare, he’s already spilling his desperate thoughts. “Fuck, babe, I can’t think straight,” he rasps, voice low and frayed.

He paces for a moment, restless, until you tease half-serious, “You want a quickie in the trailer?”

His eyes light up instantly. “Yes,” he says, and you feel a thrill surge through you as he closes the distance fast, pulling you into his arms as his lips meet yours in a fierce and hungry clash.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, hot and insistent, tasting faintly of mint as he kisses you deeper, a starved groan rising from his throat. His hands grip your face, pulling you even closer, like he can’t get enough.

He breaks the kiss breathless, his hands spinning you around quick and pressing you against the front room counter. “Been losing my mind out there… need to fuck you so bad, it’s the only thing that’ll pull me together.”

You grin, voice teasing as you brace your hands against the edge, the cool metal digging into your palms. “This is the big plan? Screwing me senseless to survive this shoot?” you say, breathless with a playful edge.

“Hell yes,” he says his voice tense, fumbling with his belt in a frantic rush, the brown leather clinking wildly as he yanks it loose.

His fingers snag the zipper of his jeans, tugging it down in one sharp pull as he shoves the denim low enough to free himself.

His cock springs out, thick and hard, and he hikes your skirt up with a rough pull. “Need you… fuck, I need you so much,” he groans, yanking your panties down, exposing your ass to him. His fingers grip your thighs, spreading you open with a low groan, his tip already slick as he presses it against you.

You bite your lip to stifle a whimper, the trailer walls thin enough to make you both hyper-aware of the crew milling a distance away outside. He lines himself up, nudging against you before he pushes in, thrusting deep in a hurried rush that slams his hips into yours.

Your fingers dig into the counter, a quiet, “Mmm,” slipping out despite your best efforts, the pleasure spiking fast as a choked off sound escapes him and he settles inside, the tight heat of you swallowing him whole.

His body jolts, a shudder ripping through him, and he presses himself closer, pulling you against him, his breaths jagged against your neck. “So good..need you so fuckin’ much,” he says softly, his voice breaking as he clings to you, his hands roaming you with an insatiable need.

He’s not gentle or rough, just desperate, and he thrusts into you fast and messy, like he’s chasing salvation. His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts through your shirt, squeezing hard enough to make you arch into him. “Can’t get enough of you,” he pants, fingers trailing back down to dig into your hips, pulling you tighter against him as he thrusts, harder, deeper, his belt clinking sharply with every snap of his hips.

Soft whimpers spill from you, your pleasure washing over you as you melt into his touch, a quiet “Oh, Austin” slipping past your lips in a breathy plea.

He groans low, loving how you sound, his breaths catching against your ear, each one a rough whisper of his need as he loses himself in you.

The denim of his jeans chafes against your thighs, the zipper’s teeth grazing your skin as he drives into you faster with a frantic need.

You both try to keep it quiet, stifling moans, but it’s a losing battle. He’s fucking you like he’s trying to empty every ounce of stress into you, and your meeting him on every thrust, your brains melting in the heat of pleasure.

His cock slides inside you, thick and pulsing, hitting the spot that makes your knees buckle, and he clamps his hand over your mouth muffling the loud moans falling from lips. “You want everyone to hear what I’m doing to you?” he asks and you shake your head, breathless.

He groans low and stifled, the sound vibrating against your spine, and you can tell he’s trying to bite down on his noise, satisfying you while losing himself completely.

His pace turns erratic, thrusting wildly, your body rocking hard with the force of it. His hand leaves your mouth, gripping your hips, squeezing your ass, trailing back to your breasts to pinch and knead your nipples.

Your head tilts back, choked-off sounds escaping your throat as your walls tighten and flutter around his cock, clenching him tight in the heat of pleasure.

“Please, baby, come for me,” he whispers, voice shaking with need. “I need it…need to feel you, need to know how good you feel on my cock.”

His thrusts turn relentless, so fast your body shakes, a trembling mess as he pounds into you. His fingers slip down, rubbing your clit in tight circles in time with his hips, and a loud moan escapes you as you come, your walls clenching hard around him

His hand covers over your mouth again, stifling the little sounds spilling from you, and he groans in pleasure, his breaths releasing in quick, uneven bursts against your neck.

You can feel the weight of the day slipping off of him, each shuddering exhale carrying away the tension that’s been crushing him.

His hands suddenly drop to your hips, anchoring himself as he comes with a deep, shaky groan that echoes in the small space. He buries his cock deep, hips stuttering, as a guttural, “Fuck,” slips out before he can stop it.

His cock throbs inside you, spilling hot and thick, and the feel of it, him letting go and filling you up, sends a shiver through you.

His hands grip your ass, pulling you flush against him as he rides it out, chest heaving, lazily drawing you closer with each slowing thrust. He rests his head against the side of yours, his soft sighs of relief slipping from him warm and quiet against your skin.

“Feeling better?” you grin, breathless, your voice light with a tease.

He lets out a winded laugh, pulling out slowly and tucking his cock back into his jeans with trembling fingers. “Yeah,” he rasps, his voice soft and wrecked, “Much better.”

He turns you to face him, and he kisses you, his lips brushing yours with a tender, lingering press before he pulls back, his shy smile breaking through.

“You’re so good to me,” he praises, his voice warm and low, and you grin, catching the spark flickering back into his eyes.

Your hand presses gently against his jaw. “The quick shot, baby,” you remind him, and his face shifts with a determined nod, focus snapping back into place.

He quickly peels off the blue shirt and jeans, tossing the clothing onto a chair in the corner of the trailer.

You fix yourself up while he puts on his second outfit, a crisp white tee that hugs his frame just right and a pair of sleek black jeans that make him look effortless.

He pulls everything on, running a hand through his hair, then he turns to you with an eager expression awaiting your approval.

You step closer, tilting your head as you take him in. “You look great, very vintage Austin,” you tease, grinning as your hands trail down the front of his tee.

He chuckles, ducking his head with his shy edge creeping back into his smile. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” you nod, stepping around him to grab his guitar from its stand in the corner.

The sleek acoustic has been sitting there all morning, untouched, and you hold it out to him. “Why don’t you bring some of you into this shoot? It’d go perfect with the Breitling vibe, timeless and classic, but with your edge.”

His eyes light up, and he takes the guitar from you, fingers brushing yours as he does. “That’s… actually a really good idea,” he says, his voice lifting with a spark of excitement.

He strums a soft chord testing it out, and you can see the gears turning. “Yeah,” he says, nodding to himself. “Yeah, I’m feeling that.”

He looks at you, and before you can react, he steps in close, cupping your chin with one hand and pressing a kiss on your lips full of gratitude.

His thumb brushes your cheek as he pulls back,“You’re a genius, you know that?” he says, his voice lifting with a smile “Thanks for pulling me out of my head.”

You laugh, a little breathless. “I just want you to have some fun out there.”

He grins full-on this time, no hesitation and heads back out to the set, guitar in hand.

You trail behind, watching as he takes charge. “Hey,” he calls to the crew, “can we get my bike out here? The black one behind the trailer?”

The team scrambles, and soon enough, the sleek motorcycle is rolled into the frame, its chrome glinting as the crew works to set up the lighting.

Austin sits on the couch in front of his trailer as he waits with the natural swagger he’s got locked down. He strums a few chords on his guitar, loose and easy, letting his fingers dance over the strings.

The photographer catches it, snapping away as the videographer joins in, rolling footage while Austin glances over at you with a playful smile.

You cross your arms, grinning back, and he adds his own flair tilting his head just so, the Breitling watch flashing as he shifts his grip on the guitar.

Once the bike is set up Austin sets the guitar down against the couch as the makeup and hair artists swoop in for a final touch-up, dabbing his face and tousling his hair a bit more.

Then he pauses, a new idea sparking in his eyes as he ducks into his trailer, emerging moments later with one of his favorite leather jackets.

He shrugs it on, the fit snug across his shoulders, as he strides toward his motorcycle parked in the middle of the set.

The crew watches, hooked, as he moves with purpose, posing with one hand on the bike’s handlebar, the other crossed over his chest, fingers splayed to showcase the Breitling watch perfectly, the sleek metal glinting in the light.

Then, he shifts, planting both hands on the handlebars, standing in a wide, commanding stance over the bike, legs braced in the sand, exuding raw confidence.

The crew’s eating it up, and you can tell he’s back in his stride, as the shoot transforms into something alive, something him, raw, cool, and effortlessly authentic.

By the time they call it a day, the photos are gold. The photographer’s buzzing about all the shots and footage they’ve done, and Austin is practically glowing with that quiet pride he carries.

He walks over to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Couldn’t have done it without you, baby,” he says, his voice warm as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Breitling’s gonna owe you one.”

You laugh, leaning into him, the familiar weight of his arm grounding you. “I’m just happy to see you happy,” you confess, and his grin widens, soft and real.

With the stress melted away, he’s back to being the Austin you know full of charisma and charm, just needing a quick moment of clarity to be himself.

END 👖

🔗 Masterlist

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

#THE BELT CLINKING 😩🤤🫠🫠🫠#no but seriously #being able to fix him with my 😼 would be the biggest dream come true lol #THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME!!!!!!!! 💖💖💓💓💓💗💓💓💓❤️‍🔥💝💝❤️‍🔥💘💖💖💕❤️❤️❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💞💞💞💘💖#austin butler #fanfiction

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