#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ
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divine figures — luke castellan + reader : nothing could steer luke off his path to god now, until you came along.
tags : southern setting au, small town setting, loser!luke, idolization, christian religious references & imagery, religious inconsistencies, church sex, religious guilt, body worship, sex but poetic, cannibalistic imagery…………..
a/n : heavily inspired by the lovely @murdrdocs!!
luke castellan was never one to follow a religion, well, not at first he wasn’t. he thought it was all bullshit, to put your all into someone nobody is sure even exists, it’s bullshit. but then his mom began insisting that he went, that he needed to find god, they both did, so he went.
luke lacked a father figure, so when he stared up at the statue perched at the apse of the church, he found the man he always lacked in his life, no matter how much the statue ignored his gaze, never bothering to look his way. he was quick to read the bible like it was a drug he just couldn’t get enough of, he sat straight with his eyes forward during each sermon, he kept himself pure.
and he stuck true to that, until you came.
he never really noticed you at first, but you were always there.
always looking over your shoulder to his place in the pew, always smiling at him when he accidentally glances your way, always passing by his house on your bike on hot summer days in hopes of seeing him outside, shirtless and working on his mother’s car.
you hadn’t mustered up the proper courage to speak to him, not until your parents have tugged you over to where he stood with his mother in the nave. your mother and father immediately sparked up conversation with his mother, leaving you to awkwardly look around the church in hopes of finding something worthy of speaking of. nothing, there was nothing. so you just mumbled out a, “hey.”
he hesitates for a second, “hi.”
“did you like the sermon?” your southern drawl, along with your sugar coated smile, luke can feel the thumping of his heart against his knit sweater.
“‘course,” he smiles shyly, “i always do— um.. did you?”
you nod at him, your ability to hold eye contact so well had him feeling nervous, constantly breaking it to glance around the room, “are you excited for easter?”
luke’s lips curve to a brighter smile, one that proves that he hopes that with jesus’ return, there will be a proper savior for him, his prayers will finally be listened to, maybe for once the statue on the wall will glance his way.
jesus molded everything about luke, at this point, if he couldn’t believe in his father, jesus was going to take that place— and he did, luke was taught everything by the bible, all he ever relied on was the words of the lord, everything he ever did was a representation of what lied in those scriptures. he never worshipped another god, never said the lord’s name in vain, always remembered sabbath day, as well as honored his mother and… father.
he didn’t commit adultery, in fact, he never spoke to women, really. his mother kept him sheltered, he was only allowed to speak to the women at church, not any of the women who rode on their bikes past his house, or smiled at him in the library. he just stared at them for a minute and looked away, contemplating how different things would be if he was able to speak to them.
at the thought of women, luke’s mind races back to you, who is currently blinking at him and thinking he didn’t hear you. “i am excited— for easter, will you be at— the um.. the church that day?”
another nod, then an awkward silence as you find nothing more to say, and neither does he. the church was a beautiful place, decorated with swirls of gold and dark wood, colorful stained glass windows that painted pictures of jesus, or virgin mary. if luke could move out of his home and live somewhere he genuinely enjoyed, it would be the church.
there was something so comforting about it, maybe the faint music that played in the background, or the way it smelled of old books and floral perfumes, or the fact that it was just a place where so many people went to put their faith into someone. god was just so important, if luke didn’t know any better, he’d envy him.
“you should come on sabbath days,” you interject his thoughts, leaning in to his vision.
he blinks, eyes refocusing on your face, and he awkwardly chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “i thought they were for relaxation?”
“and worship,” you correct, and he crystalizes the memory of how each word sounds on your tongue, how it flows out so well, how it makes him swallow.
“right, right,” he wets his lips nervously, “i’ll just— ask my mom. mama?”
as soon as he asks his mom, she’s all smiles at him, nodding and even shaking your hand, thanking you for urging him to go to church more.
“i’ll see you there,” is the last thing you say to luke that day.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
luke would be a liar to say he wasn’t riddled with visions of you in the darkest parts of the night, they started from the day you first spoke to him, and never left him since. he hated how much it plagued him, because it tempted him so well. it was like you were eve, offering him, adam, the apple. you reassure him that it’s sweet, that there’s no harm in taking a bite, and luke is parting his lips, ready to taste it, when he finally wakes up.
the heat of the room is beating down on him, even in the cool of the night. his skin is sticky from sweat, and all he can ever think about is you. it should be a crime, really, how much you had consumed his every waking thought. for once, he wasn’t thinking of the bible verses he would be reading that day, what prayer he would be saying.
luke didn’t know one thing about women, but the way you spoke to him, the way you smiled at him, the glints in your eyes, it had him wondering how he could make your face twist up in pleasure— fuck. he shouldn’t be thinking like this, it’s unholy, it’s weird, but he’s already in too deep.
he’s already fed the memory of how pink your lips are, how soft they look, they probably feel the same. is it a sin to wonder how well you kiss? would you be all - consuming? or slow, sweet? luke doesn’t know why he prefers if you’d be hungry, if you’d bite and nip at him like you’re hungry, like he’s the last supper.
his boxers feel tight on his skin, dick twitching in the confines of them. luke hardly knows this feeling well, he wasn’t one to allow himself to get hard, nor was he one to properly take care of it. but something about the idea of your teeth clashing against his when you kiss him, pushing your tongue into his mouth to taste him properly— it had his fingers pushing underneath the waistband of his underwear.
when his fingertips graze his cock, he immediately shudders, lashes fluttering. every time luke touched himself, it felt like the first time, only now it felt.. better. better because he was thinking of you. luke had never watched porn, he hardly knows what it is, so the idea of what sex would be like is.. a gray area for him.
but he works with what his mind is capable of, which is dry humping. the first setting that comes to mind is the church, which leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, but he goes with it. it comes to vividly, you on his lap, wet patch evident on his jeans from where your hips push down, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. when you moan, he does, when you whimper, he does, when you roll your hips, he does.
everything was in sync, and it was all so sinful. masturbation itself wasn’t a sin, unless you thought of someone, and for the longest time, luke never thought of anyone, but you were a parasite he couldn’t shake, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
luke wonders how much the priest will judge him when he utters these thoughts, these events in the confessional tomorrow. he has only ever uttered small, pitiful confessions, i didn’t help my mom with dinner, i turned in a book to the library late, i forgot to pray. he’s never had to confess anything larger.
heat bubbles in luke’s stomach, it’s pleasant, sweet, but it curls, and curls until it’s suffocating, until his wrist is hurting from the fast pumps of his cock, sweat glistening on his skin, cheeks flushed. he can feel a whine scratching up his throat, in the confines of his mind, something is screaming at him, telling him to stop, but it’s too late, he can barely hear it over the blood pumping in his ears.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
when luke comes into the church the next day, it’s a saturday, a sabbath day. typically on these days, he would be spending his time lounging around his house, reading some piece of classical literature that he has hidden from his mother, wishing to keep the inked pictures of statues reeking of desire for one another a secret.
but he was here, and so, he prayed.
the sun had barely risen over the horizon (courtesy of daylight savings), yet the candles in the church were lit, leaving an orange hue to project around the empty room.
luke felt gross, corrupt, unholy.
for once, luke feels as though the statue above is glaring down on him, and he tries his best to not shrink into himself under the piercing gaze. he knows. his mouth is dry with each prayer, fingers sweaty around the rosary, but he wouldn’t allow himself to falter once more.
as soon as he starts his fifth prayer, he hears the creak of the floorboards that he knows all too well, eyes fluttering open so he can look back to see who was there, hoping they hadn’t heard his last confessions in his prayers.
you. his mind is tugged to a halt, every prayer he had rehearsed on his way to the church, completely forgotten. it was all just.. you. you seared on his skin, burned him until he was nothing but smoke. your gaze softens on him, a stark contrast to jesus’ pointed glares, “i didn’t think you’d come.”
his voice is coarse from the nonstop prayers, “of course i would.”
all he can think about is you underneath him, his own skin bitten and scratched, decorated in mulberry and deep pinks, he’s practically salivating at the idea. he wonders if, behind the confines of the church walls, would anyone hear you? would the priests dare to look for whoever is letting out such unholy noises?
luke feels frozen the second he comes back to reality, dick hardening underneath the fabric beyond his control, his mind is tearing itself apart before he can even realize you’re speaking to him.
“— wondering if you’d like to sit next to me tomorrow,” you pose, seemingly unaware of the bulge in luke’s pants that he is desperately trying to naturally cover with his hands. but you knew, you knew the effect you had on him, and he had the same effect on you.
is it so cruel to only tease him harder?
luke swallows the remaining saliva in his drying mouth, quickly moving to a stand, rosary bringing more attention to his covered crotch, “sure, yes— um.. i need to— go.”
before you can even say anything, he is pushing past you, hand moving only to chastly grab your waist for a mere second as he passes, an instinct of trying to keep you stable, but it only makes a heat between your legs grow.
desires go both ways, and it’s only a matter of time before they snap.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
easter was once luke’s most anticipated day of the year, but now it was the day of his nightmares. he barely slept last night, kept himself awake with chores, prayers, and reading the bible until it made him sick. he couldn’t have another dream, he couldn’t let you get to him anymore. he thought it would be easy to avoid you today, but he was cursed with his own mistakes as you sat down next to him in the pew.
the worst part wasn’t that you sat down next to it, it’s that his mind was riddled with disgusting thoughts as soon as he saw how your dress brushed up your thighs, it was so simple, such a small act, but it just made him think the worst possible things.
you bent over the pew, the bottom of your dress tugged up to show your panties, his hands are gripping your hips like his life depends on it, crotch pressed to your clothed pussy from behind.
luke blinks back with his cheeks hot, noticing the bible in your hands. when he speaks, he doesn’t even realize what he’s saying, it’s like he’s possessed, “what verse are you reading?”
“luke 22:40,” you say it so simply, a smile barely teasing your lips.
on reaching the place,
he said to them, “pray that you
will not fall into temptation.”
the saliva on luke’s tongue is sour, near poisonous, his lips were stained maroon from the skin of the apple. luke 22:40 was the exact line he had been reciting to himself, luke was his name. the serpent was squeezing him tight, his breath felt swiped away from his lungs.
luke is quiet for the rest of the evening, even through the sermon, when he should be smiling when everyone else is, clapping when everyone else is— he is just silent, blank - faced.
you can’t decipher what he’s feeling until everyone has gone off to eat after the sermon, and he’s tugging you back into the pew once it’s vacant, fingers forming a tight grip around your wrist, “why are you doing this?”
he’s out of breath, and no matter how tough he tries to seem, he sounds pathetic, his voice a near whimper, like he’s pleading with you.
“doing what?” you blink up at him, doe eyes making his teeth press together.
“you’re tempting me— this, this isn’t fair, why?” his breath is shaky when he exhales.
“i’m not doing anything, luke.”
“you’re making me think— making me imagine things.. sinful things.”
“what exactly are you thinking?” your voice is softer, and the heat of the sun is seeping into the church.
“i..” how can he explain himself? every image that he wants to communicate is all too disgusting, a mixture of hunger and desire, it seemed luke wanted you to eat him alive, “you know what i’m thinking.”
“why don’t you show it to me?”
absolution;
formal release from guilt,
obligation, or punishment.
or..
an ecclesiastical declaration
of forgiveness of sins.
morals trickle down luke’s back when he kisses you, he knows it’s all wrong, he knows he could just leave it at a kiss, but he didn’t want to be haunted with these visions any longer, maybe if he made them a reality, they would just leave. he could be himself again, the picture - perfect religious boy he was always supposed to be. the kiss is small at first, the hesitant movement of lips, the adjusting to the feeling, but it quickly grows into something hungry.
luke didn’t know how to properly kiss, so he just followed your lead, and soon enough, he was kissing you like a starving man. from tongues clashing, to his hand mindlessly moving to your hip, body pressing against yours, it was everything he saw in the pictures printed in those books he read.
when luke falls back into his seat on the pew, you had pulled away from him, admiring how flushed his lips are. when your hand meets his jaw, luke forgets who his god is supposed to be, all he can think about is you, even on the day dedicated to the man he has spent all of his life worshiping.
“please,” it’s barely even audible, only made out by the slight flick of his tongue from the l.
“tell me what you want.”
it felt like luke was sitting in the confessional, admitting all of his nastiest desires when his lips part, finally being able to say his thoughts out loud, “can you— ride me? or.. if you don’t want to— that’s okay.” does luke know what riding is? only from the overheard gossip of other men, but he was told it was something he had to try, when he got married, of course.
“i want to,” it’s as if you aren’t in a church, as if nobody could just walk in and see how you’re moving onto his lap, moving his hands to your ass, letting his desperate fingers tug your dress up. his purity bracelet brushes against your skin when you move to guide his hands to your ass, watching the nervous look in his eyes when he squeezes the flesh.
he has no idea what he’s doing, he just wants to please you, to make you feel as good as he made himself feel to the idea of you the other night. maybe, at this point, luke isn’t praying to jesus, maybe he never was, because you were always in the back of his mind. no matter how guilty it made him feel, how many times he had squeezed his tear - ridden eyes shut and wished he was different, wished he wasn’t so easy to fall for temptation.
god is watching, is what his mind tells him, but your eyes tell him to keep going, watching as he moves his hands to unbuckle his belt, the sound of metal clinging being so improper for the walls ridden with crosses, but it just felt so right. he sucks in a sharp breath when he pulls out his dick, the cool air searing his delicate skin, pupils blown wide when they watch your lips slightly part at the sight.
“you’re so big,” is all you can manage out.
luke’s lips twitch around a small smile, “is that a good thing?”
“if it fits,” you move through a few twists to properly take your panties off, letting them hang off your ankle when you reposition yourself to have your entrance pressing against the tip of his dick, “then yes.”
luke’s lips press together as soon as you start sinking down on him, you’re so slow with it it’s almost torturous. the holy water he had dipped his water in and pressed to his skin, was now scorching him with each inch that filled your velvet walls. when you reached the hilt, it was safe to say you felt stuffed, and luke was making more noise than you.
whimpers, grunts, he tried to hide them all behind the confines of his lips, but they dug their nails into his throat and crawled their way up until it was impossible for him to hold them back. as soon as you began moving, luke was purely fighting for his life against the own noises leaving him to the point of where he had to sit up, pressing his lips to your neck, he was quick to press his lips against the sensitive areas, biting, sucking— he wasn’t even sure if he was doing it properly, but he was just so desperate.
he wanted you to shatter him like fine porcelain, to snap off his glass parts and crush them underneath your fingers with pure ease, to deconstruct every inch of him that he had taken years to build. no matter how empty he would feel in the end, to put himself in your hands, like a lump of clay in the hands of a goddess, he trusted your instincts.
“i want you to ruin me,” he mumbles against the flesh of your neck, barely audible.
“what?” your voice is breathless between moans, walls tightening around his dick with each movement of your hips.
he whimpers out a simple, “sorry.”
you didn’t forget his words, though, in fact, you let your fingers run through his dark curls, tangling through them until you tugged him back from your neck, just so you can take his place, now the one pressing your lips to his neck. he felt small underneath you, but he didn’t hate it, he liked the way that your lips felt on his skin, enough for him to lean his head back to provide you more blank canvas.
you painted him in maroons and mulberries, blooming rose petals on his skin, marking him as your own. no matter how much luke knew he would be praying for forgiveness tonight, in this moment, everything he’s ever stood for has fallen off his broad shoulders. his hair is messy and sticking to his sweaty forehead, skin peppered with bite marks, deep reds, purples, every color in between and beyond.
“‘m gonna—“ luke’s words come out choked, dick pulsing inside of you, “gonna cum—“
luke’s orgasm hits him hard enough to have tears pooling into his eyes, maybe it was the guilt, or the everlasting pleasure, he wasn’t entirely sure, how could he even be? all he could think of was you, now.
“do you still believe in god?” you offer him once you’re off him and he’s putting his belt back on.
he stares at you for a second, hesitating, then his lips part, “yes.”
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan oneshot#pjo luke#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan smut#luke castellan x you#charlie bushnell imagine#charlie bushnell x reader#charlie bushnell#charlie bushnell x you
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Im on my knees for perv step bro luke smut please I will sell you my first born child if you do this
u can keep ur firstborn sweetheart
cw; stepcest, perv!luke, loser!luke kind of, religious themes
stepbro!luke who always makes sure to walk behind you when you’re going up the stairs, especially if you’re wearing a skirt or a short dress— he knows it’s wrong, but the slight glimpse of your panties makes his knees buckle, having him stumble over the next step. you’ll always turn back to glare at him like he’s an idiot, “what’s wrong with you?”
stepbro!luke who only goes to church because you go, and the whole time he’s inappropriately manspreading with no regard for the lord, too focused on the way his knee brushes yours.
stepbro!luke who rolls his eyes when you ask him to do things for you, a research paper, fixing the light in your room, catching a bug— he acts annoyed, but he really isn’t, especially in the situation where you need him to ‘save you’ from a spider in your room. you’d run into his room all afraid, basically clinging to him when he stands and moves to look where the spider is.
stepbro!luke who tries to ignore the way your plush tits press against him when you wrap your arms around him after he had gotten rid of the spider, spewing out praises and thank you’s. “i owe you one, seriously!”
stepbro!luke who brings up that you owe him one the next time you come into his room whilst he’s working on something for engineering, he really needs some relief, and you already know what he means when he says that. you say it’s wrong, that you and him shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be thinking like this— but you always end up moving to your knees, undoing his belt, and wrapping your lips around his tip.
luke’s glasses fog up from his labored breaths when he leans his head back, his fingers tug and tug at your hair until he’s practically face fucking you, memorizing how long it takes for you to sputter and draw back off of him. he should care about how dirty this is, but when you’re on your knees replicating the way you pray to your god, luke feels nothing but holy.
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#luke castellan#luke castellan x you#luke castellan blurb#luke castellan smut#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan oneshot#stepbro!luke#charlie bushnell#charlie bushnell x you#charlie bushnell imagine#charlie bushnell x reader
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mean!luke x reader like him being possessive jealous and dark? kinda insecure bc he saw someone flirting with you but were so innocent how could we have known 😇 xxx
I LOVELOVELOVE THIS IDEA OMFGGFGF
we all know luke doesn’t like to lose things he’s happy to have!! he knows that its bound to happen at some point, you, the daughter of aphrodite, you’re always being hit on— but luke can’t help the way poisonous acid bubbles in his ribcage watching you speak with someone else. he’ll watch from a distance, pulling his bottom lip under his tongue and memorizing all the sweet smiles and giggles you share with the other man.
it’s so sweet, to watch you mindlessly bat your lashes at the man, lost in conversation— completely unaware of the dark haired boy that looks light he might just strangle something, or someone. do you even know the man is flirting with you right now? you’re so stupid, it probably isn’t even registering!!
his fingers are wrapping around your neck later that night, the cheapy made bunk bed squeaking with his every thrust, enough force to smash the wooden headboard to the wooden walls— you were supposed to be quiet, really, but luke was just prying every noise from you that he possibly could.
“moanin’ so loud like a slut, princess— bet you wish that asshole was fuckin’ you now, huh?” his grip on your neck tightens from the memory, causing your freshly manicured nails to wrap around his wrist like you want him to stop choking you, but your pussy is telling a completely different story with the wetness coating him more and more with every thrust.
“no— nono, jus’ want you..” you sob out, “i swear— i wasn’t.. ah flirting!!”
“yeah? he probably has some fuckin’ small, skinny dick,” he grunts out, adoring the way you flutter around him with every word, “y’know my dicks the best, right?”
“yesyesyes— ‘ts the best, luke, so big..”
“theeeere's my girl.”
#luke castellan#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan smut#charlie bushnell#smut#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ
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KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons.
tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader)
a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs
thirty minutes ago.
art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you.
art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time.
“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.”
ahem.
you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression.
you blink at him, once, twice.
a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.”
it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him.
and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better.
you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“
“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.
he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint.
your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement.
maybe silence will earn points back from your coach.
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
silence did not earn anything.
art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up.
the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.”
“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it.
if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first.
he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?”
“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.”
art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing.
to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.”
you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back.
smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.”
he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?”
ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him.
and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?”
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
art said he forgave you, right?
ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.”
“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you.
“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind.
“whatever helps,” you remark.
“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle.
once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.”
eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable.
“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?”
you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.”
“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.”
“with tennis?”
“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.”
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you.
“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds.
yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really.
“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet.
he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors.
“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before.
“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually.
“like your wife?”
“like you.”
art corrected you.
he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well.
the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe.
at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose.
“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty?
gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy.
“what?” you frown, confused.
“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing.
“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple.
“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?”
“what do you mean?”
art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“
“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours.
“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..”
“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.”
“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now.
“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?”
you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you.
when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying.
he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.”
“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin.
he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.”
“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to.
“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath.
“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness.
“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?”
“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part.
“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.”
he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks.
soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him.
he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance.
“ready?” he hushes out.
“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already.
“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more.
his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well.
sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas.
“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches.
in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm.
he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.”
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x you#mike faist#mike faist x reader#mike faist x you#art donaldson smut#art donaldson challengers#challengers#challengers smut#mike faist smut#mike faist challengers
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“fox pretty” “deer pretty” “dark/light feminine” “bop” “talking stage” “delulu is the solulu” “gyat” “rizz” “3 month rule” i am going to come out of my cocoon and form into your worst fucking nightmare the most abominable creature u have ever witnessed
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college!luke who doesn’t fall in love often, but when he does, he has a bad habit of getting obsessed.
it always starts off small with luke, you would either be a tinder date that put up with his cocky and insufferable personality for too long, or a simple one night stand. it didn’t matter to him, because he would realize that he really likes the way your face moves to a laugh when he makes a stupid joke, or twists in pleasure when he thrusts into you.
he would deny it to himself at first, of course, being who he is, he would think of it as a passing feeling— until he texts you again, less dry than the last, then again. luke being a double texter? whew.. that’s new! he would start replying faster, as well, something he never did before, and he always passed it off as being busy with his engineering work, when in reality he was probably jerking off or balls deep in some girl at a frat party.
and you would just think he’s being nice, until he began getting possessive of you. his gaze would track you at parties, or around the campus, or in the library— wherever he found you, he was staring at you. but if anyone confronted him about it and assumed him a stalker? he would just say he’s zoning out! well, until his gazes would get angry, it was always at parties, when you were speaking with some asshole majoring in marketing— he wouldn’t say anything at first, then he would sneak behind you and wrap his arm around your shoulder, tugging you closer with more force than expected, and his voice has a faint grit when he speaks, “hey there, pretty, who’s your friend?”
that’s when the seed planted in luke only grew to form a parasite, and suddenly he wasn’t as attracted to any of the girls at the parties, he wasn’t fucking as much anymore, and his frat brothers were getting worried with how much time he spent in the bathroom speaking to himself in the mirror, mostly flirting with himself and talking about having sex. one of them had knocked on the door, mumbling something like, why are you reciting the notebook, dude? in which luke just awkwardly laughs it off.
then luke wanted to see you more, and more— and he didn’t want to just have sex, he wanted to take you out to dinners, nice dinners. and his sex was sweeter, his kisses were gentler, his typical degrations soon melted to near praises, and he was actually giving you proper aftercare now. he started making you stay with him during parties, decided to sit with you at the library, walk you to your next class even if it meant he was late to his own (he already always was).
he thought about you constantly, if he wasn’t with you he was already planning for the next time he would be, he never wanted you to speak to other guys, and he would even ask to look through your phone after a while, jealousy curling in his veins when you roll your eyes at him, and tell him that you and him aren’t dating.
now, typically, someone would be deterred by their crush saying that, especially when you said it as if it would never even be a possibility— but it was a challenge for luke, and albeit the fact that he later became one of your most toxic boyfriends due to his lack of emotional awareness and overarching ego, he was really sweet!
#inspired by loml kaia#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan oneshot#luke castellan smut#luke castellan x you#charlie bushnell#charlie bushnell x reader#charlie bushnell imagine#charlie bushnell smut
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cw: smut, cheating
your boyfriend was a good man, that’s the idea you had in your head. a good man that made a few mistakes, that may have disrespected you a few too many times, but he always apologized and made it up to you. luke didn’t think the same, especially after having heard all your complaints, he frowned at you from across the dining table you had forced him to sit at with you— along with all the other aphrodite’s children, he could feel their stares as he spoke, “really, i don’t know why you’re even with this guy.”
“he’s not that bad, i mean—“ you toss some of your food around on your plate with your fork, eyes low, luke’s jaw ticks.
“yet, he’s not even sitting with you, not even when you asked him to,” he finds it very pathetic how much you worship your sad excuse of a boyfriend, what did he even do for you? have an attractive face? that’s all he’s worth, and beyond that he is the incarnation of a child of oizys. “i am, ‘nd i’m not even your boyfriend, don’t you get it that you deserve better?”
“so what? are you saying i deserve you?” you exhale loudly in a silent laugh, looking up to him.
the problem is, he’s not laughing, in fact, he’s not even smiling, he’s smirking. that stupid, cocky, know - it - all smirk he always has when you say something like that. the smirk he has when he’s about to prove something to someone. the smirk he has when he knows he’s won.
and maybe he did win when he got you alone in his cabin, his fingers snaking underneath the hem of your lacy underwear, eyes meeting yours to watch your face twist up in pleasure when his fingertips graze your clit, already coated in your slick. “so wet for me, are you ever this wet for him?”
you just shake your head no, completely unable to muster out a single word from how much you were biting your puffy lips, a punishment to yourself for such a sickening act. to cheat on your boyfriend? it was so, so evil, but it felt far too good to be considered regrettable.
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan blurb#luke castellan smut#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan oneshot#pjo luke#luke castellan#charlie bushnell x you#charlie bushnell imagine#charlie bushnell x reader#charlie bushnell
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nothing just luke looking at u like this… yeah… yeah…
#luke castellan smut#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ
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what are ur thoughts on dealer and/or hitman luke……i think he’d be mad possessive and touchyyy
DEALER ! LUKE OH MY GOD….
ever since you came along, trotting in with your fluffy heels and pink mini skirt, luke automatically knew you were his favorite client— you were just so sweet in all ways, you smelled like a strawberry cheesecake, looked like a barbie, and acted like an angel. why would a girl like you even want to buy drugs? let alone be near a dealer.
his brows knit together when you offer him cash for the drugs like it’s a sin, “no, no, ‘ts free, mami, aphrodite’s daughters get it free.”
none of the other children of aphrodite bought from him, so it was his way of saying you got special treatment, without entirely saying it. your lips immediately curve to a glittery smile, tucking the cash away, “really? you’re the best, luke!”
he tries not to flinch when your arms wrap around him suddenly, unfamiliar with these kinds of affections, especially with the fact that most of his customers are either gods or the counselors that don’t even try to speak with him. “yeah yeah, you got it, princess—“ he pulls you away from him for a second to look down at your face, “hey, uh, y’know you could always smoke with me, instead of going to those shitty parties— they’re real unsafe ‘nd good girls like you don’t wanna get in trouble, yeah?”
so that’s how it all started, him having you on his lap, or your face pushed into the pillows on his bunk as he thrusted his fat tip into you from behind, bruising your cervix. whenever you were on his lap, you were either getting yourself off by riding his thigh ever so slightly, acting like he wouldn’t notice— god, you were so stupid. eventually he’s wrapping his fingers around your waist and tugging you to his bulge, and now he’s watching your tits bounce as you move on his dick, “so g-good—.. oh m’ gods.. y’re so big, luke—“
“uh huh, you can take it, princess— shit. are you always this fuckin’ wet?”
#luke castellan#luke castellan smut#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan x you#luke castellan oneshot#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ
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luke castellan with a girly prissy spoiled brat gf!! you never leave his side, not when he’s training, not when he’s in the dining hall, not when he’s off doing things he shouldn’t be. typically, luke would worry about someone spreading the word if they saw what he was doing in the dark, but you’re just too stupid to even notice. batting your mink lashes at him, glossy bottom lip tugged underneath your top teeth as you watch him take things he shouldn’t, that concentrated yet cruel smirk laying on his lips.
you could be the sweetest, dumbest thing he had ever met— but you could also be his worst nightmare. you’re so addicted to him, your freshly manicured nails pawing at him as he’s fully immersed in something else. luke always has so much on his mind to think about, but he’s never been able to since you came into his life. eating up all his money, constantly begging him for attention, clinging to him like your life depends on it.
you’re just so spoiled. he gives you everything you could ever ask for, the camp constantly stacked up in your packages because of how much online shopping you do with his card!! it truly becomes too much when his side of the hermes cabin starts looking like sephora and victorias secret had threw up everywhere. you made everything so messy, and whenever he frowned at you, telling you to clean it, you’re stomping your pink vintage prada heels and pouting, “butbutbut!! ‘ts too much work..”
he just sighs softly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “y’know what, ‘kay— ‘m gonna clean it, but you gotta be more mindful with your stuff, princess.”
and you’re just dumbly staring up at him with those dolly eyes, barely listening to a word he even says, and he just knows it went through one ear and out the other, his room would be messy within a few hours after cleaning it.
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#inspired by princessbrunette!#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan oneshot#luke castellan#pjo tv show#charlie bushnell
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SMUT!! 18+!
loser ! luke with bimbo it girl ! reader IM CHEWING AT MY SKIN he helps you w everything and it is such an honor to even be allowed in your presence let alone be able to touch you when helping you hold a sword!!!! and he truly feels he isnt qualified, i mean, really, he’s such a loser!!!! a virgin too, he doesn’t know anything. and you decide, it wouldn’t be too bad to teach him a few things too!!! the whole time he’s whimpering and whining, desperately trying not to cum seconds in, but it’s too too good!! :((( he just repeatedly keeps pushing his face into your tits and mumbling praises and thank yous into your skin, its sososo cute!!!
#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x you#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan smut#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo#pjo series#pjo tv show#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackson show#percy jackson series#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ
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bucky who very openly manspreads, he always sits down with a grunt, slumping down into the seat with his legs instantly parting from each other. and it’s not like it was a little part, something barely noticeable— no, his legs were spread as far as they could possibly be. buck always gripes at him about it, telling him he looks ‘easy’ in which bucky just scoffs, rolling his eyes and spreading even farther just to annoy buck.
bucky who reeks of mint, coffee, and the cologne he deems the best ever made, pour un humme.
bucky who rarely ever gets hurt, but when he does? he loves to put on a show for the nurses, wincing and groaning in pain over something simple like a paper cut, or stumbling into the infirmary with a busted lip after he decided it would be funny to box one of the majors on the british air forces. he’s always flirting, too, saying something cheesy like, “gonna take good care of me, doc?“
bucky who makes you call him sir when you’re in the empty barracks with him, as everyone else is attending the bar, he’ll tease and tease you until you’re pathetically begging him for him to fuck you— but you left out the one thing he wanted, making him click his tongue disapprovingly, “please who, huh? you gonna be good for me and call me sir, right?”
bucky who puts his military visor hat on you when you’re riding him, chuckling whenever your thighs shake at the feeling of his thick cock stretching you out, making some idiotic joke like, “tryna ride me like ‘m an airplane, huh, doll-face?”
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#♡ ׂ bucky ៵ 💋 ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆#major john egan#masters of the air#john egan x you#john egan#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#john egan fanfiction#bucky egan#mota smut#mota fanfic#mota#mota spoilers#mota cast#mota edit#mota oc#major john egan x reader#major john egan x oc#bucky egan x reader#bucky egan x oc#callum turner major john bucky egan#callum turner fanfiction#callum turner x reader#callum turner#callum turner imagine#austin butler
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loser!luke who fucks u like this and the whole time hes staring at u with eyes that are begging for approval, mumbling things like, “is it good— fuck, am i doing— good?”
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan oneshot#luke castellan smut#luke castellan x you#smut#charlie bushnell
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cw: improper use of tennis racket, fucked by a tennis racket, dirty disgusting stuff, smut, mdni
art donaldson knew it was gross, it was dirty and disgusting and something about that made him want to do it more. you mean it as a joke when you suggest it for the first time, but art’s chuckle falls short, and there’s a look in his eyes that says he’s considering it.
now he had the end of his racket’s handle running up and down your cunt, even when he’s holding it the opposite way, there’s a certain skill to the way he wields it, a confidence he always has when playing now being displayed onto your cunt. he licks his lips, watching your wetness collect at the end of his racket.
“so wet,” he thinks aloud, “just for my racket, hm?”
“yeah, yeah,” you speak, breathless, there was something so erotic about him using something he had played a sport with many times, now circling your entrance with it before glancing at your eyes and ever so slowly pushing it in. you gasp, the stretch is unusual, the feeling of the racket entirely new.
“thaaaat’s it,” he’s holding back every urge to palm himself through his thin fabriced shorts. “takin’ it so well.”
he’s moving it into you ever so slowly, stretching your velvet walls. he memorizes how whenever he shifts it to the left, you moan louder, and when he shifts it to the right, you start whimpering. his tongue prods the inside of his cheek when he pulls it back, then thrusts it back into you, pistoning you with the handle of his racket until you’re coating it with your own orgasm.
a smirk curves his lips, “it’ll my lucky charm.”
so, so disgusting, but it’s not the last time you let him fuck you with the handle of his racket.
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#art donaldson challengers#art donaldson x you#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson smut#art donaldson#mike faist challengers#mike faist x you#mike faist smut#mike faist x reader#mike faist#challengers smut#challengers
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loser!luke who is deathly afraid of women, he has always run away from women (his mother) so it’s just in his nature!! he tries to avoid u at all costs around the camp, noticing ur stares and immediately trying to get distracted with something else, but the second he gets stuck in a conversation with you he’s nearly sweating himself to death, full of awkward laughs and nervous glances around the room, refusing to make eye contact with you.
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan oneshot#luke castellan
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flashing loser!luke like this… mhm mhm!!!
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