After Those Photos I Keep Thinking About Beach Sex With Luke The Hot Send On Ur Back While He Eats U

after those photos i keep thinking about beach sex with luke 😔 the hot send on ur back while he eats u out to the sounds of the ocean

this is loba btw + side blogs kinda suck

eating from the back; public (?) sex; mentions of luke's big ass nose MDNI 18+ gasped when i got this btw w/ LUKE CASTELLAN

it's like a scene out of a movie.

the sun dipping below the horizon in front of you. the waves crashing against the shore, reaching closer and closer towards your outstretched hand with each cascade as the tide grows. the smell of sunscreen and saltwater sticking to you just like the sand stuck between your toes.

there's so much happening, so many sensations surrounding you, attempting to draw your attention away from the pleasure filling up your body. if anyone other than luke were between your legs, maybe you would be focused on something else. maybe you would focus on the hermit crab searching for a new shell just off to your left. or the breeze blowing up the corner of your beach towel.

but since luke is the one pleasuring you, you can't focus on anything else. he has your complete attention, even if you can't see him.

with your ass perched in the air, your bikini pushed to the side in luke's haste, leaving you just exposed enough for his eyes and his eyes only. you're alone on this beach, both of you know it, but you always tell luke "just in case" and he always does what you say.

likely, because it gets him this: your hands digging into the sand as he buries his head into your cunt, his big nose reaching towards your entrance when he dips his mouth down to focus on sucking your clit.

he bought you out here for an impromptu date, that was his reasoning to chris. but the way luke slung his arm around your waist was a clear indicator of why he was really dragging you out here in the middle of the day. it's so he could have alone time with you.

so he could put you on all fours and fuck you until your cheeks clapped and he finished on your back. so he could keep you in that position, pull your ass towards him, and eat you out with the orange glow of the sun setting painted directly in front of your eyes.

it's all you can see when luke gains more vigor. he's been uncharacteristically quiet from behind you, and just as soon as you think about it, he opens his mouth.

it's not like you're upset with him, though, even if he's taking away the one thing you want from him to talk to you. but his words, combined with the sound of his voice, is enough to keep you pushed towards the edge.

"taste so good, angel. so, so fucking pretty, too. you feel good? yeah? 'm making you feel good? can't get enough of you like this," he smacks your ass then, watching the cheek ripple before stopping the motion by gripping your flesh in his hands once more. he spreads you open again, and when the warmth of his face disappears for a second, you wonder what he's doing.

until you feel a warm glob of saliva fall onto your puckered hole and dribble down towards your entrance. if it even needs any help at all, luke sacrifices his grip to guide his spit towards your cunt, where he gently pushes a single finger into you, and then drags it out to smear the rest of his saliva along the rest of you.

and then, he's back on you, twice as messy as before if even possible.

since you two got down here, luke was messy. he stayed off of you long enough to hide his true intentions, wading in the shallow end of the water with you until you both started to prune and his curls became soaked with salt water, and then he was on you. kissing you sloppily, coaxing you back onto the beach towel, not even letting your bikini begin to dry before he was peeling the bottoms to the side and slipping the top down.

your first orgasms ended with your arousal coating your cunt and luke's cum spurted on your lower back, and this orgasm ends with your cum on the lower half of luke's face.

he's completely undeterred by it (just like you were with his cum). when he flips you around, his lips kiss from the top of your cunt—right above your clit where you thought you would be tired of having him but your body proved you wrong—all the way up to your lips. and even after he kisses you like he has something to prove, when you separate, his face still shines in the orange light.

just thinking thoughts abt luca and his muscles.. i KNOW that mf just manhandles you without even thinking abt it like. ur in the kitchen just yapping away abt some really interesting gossip and he's moving you around if ur in the way with a hand on your arm or waist like you weigh nothing. or you're outside walking somewhere and he's moving you outta the way from some asshole on a bike going dangerously fast and you're not paying attention to your surroundings. he has so much muscle obviously he's not putting it to use if it's not on me 🙄🙄[he makes me ILL]

i got this message and had to pace my kitchen btw casual manhandling; fluffy w suggestive undertones MDNI 18+ w/ LUCA (the bear)

luca's working diligently.

you would've worried about distracting him if he wasn't so visible focused, his head consistently dipped to keep his eyes focused on the cutting board. you don't know how he does it, how he's cooking and responding to your shitty and extremely confusing recollection of drama you heard from a friend this morning. his responses are simple, small nods and verbalized "mhm"'s, but they're effective.

"and then, come to find out, she told her that she was in the wrong, even though everyone knows she was literally just sticking up for herself..." you're getting to the climax of the story, the part that made you gasp and dramatically look around your apartment when you first heard the story over the phone. a smile is growing on your face as you wait for luca's reaction, but before it can come, you have to tell him the best part. and for that to happen, you have to continue speaking.

you don't even realize you've stopped speaking until luca prompts you to continue. but it takes you a second, because you need a moment to recover from how casually he has just moved you.

you've gone from standing in front of the spice cabinet, a place luca needed to reach, to standing in front of the sink. and you could've gotten there yourself if he spoke up and asked you to move, which he's done before. but you were in the middle of your story and he probably didn't want to interrupt you. so instead, he placed his hands on your hips, pushed you against the sink, and turned around to grab whatever seasonings he needed. like it was the most casual thing in the world.

and sure, you figure it is actually fairly casual. he's done it before, the most recent time being just a few days ago when you were furiously texting a group chat, too busy staring at the messages as they appeared to watch the sidewalk for any obstacles. before you could even realize that there was a bike coming towards you, luca had you moved out of the way and a middle finger thrown up towards the biker. it made you hot then, and it makes you hot now.

at your silence, luca looks up from his work.

"love? you were saying?"

you blink dumbly. it takes a second, but you try to recover. you resume your earlier position, arms crossed over your chest and ankles crossed over each other as you lean your weight back into the counter.

"yeah, right. where did i stop?"

"everyone knows she was just sticking up for herself but the other girl thought your friend's friend was in the wrong anyway—"

you take it from there, continuing your ramblings and exaggerating the story more and more as it builds, all while trying to push the image of luca's arms—tanned, big, and tattooed—to the back of your mind until you need that information.

which will likely be later in the night when you hope luca will manhandle you like that again.

Charlie Bushnell 🥵🔥

via instagram

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor, to the toilet seat, from the dining room table, to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink, to the shower, from the front porch, to the balcony, vertically horizontally, quadratic, exponent, algorithmetic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, forward, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in a car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back aching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw-dropping, hair pulling teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, over stimulating, vile, sloppy, moan-inducing, heart-wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, blackhole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark-worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcanic erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, hip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail snatching, spectacular, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, malforming, heavenly, devil's tango. please.

HES SO FUCKING HOT HOLY SHITIITITIT

— right by my violets

luke castellan x fem reader / cw suggestive content

title from n side by steve lacy. loosely related to the killerverse so its only semi canon and u don’t have to read the series to understand ! i’ll call this ch 8.5

Your favorite time to jumpscare Luke is when he’s just come fresh from a shower right after training.

He always smells like that tropical shampoo he likes and never fails to collapse in his bed face down, perfect for scaring him so hard he jumps.

You throw yourself into the space next to him, and the bed nearly collapses under you.

Luke groans, his face pressed firmly into his pillow. “Ow, killer.”

“I didn’t even jump on top of you this time!”

You try not to be too upset at how unsurprised he was at your jumpscare — you’ll have to start finding other ways to scare him — while your eager hands reach to pull back his top sheet.

You freeze in place when the sheet makes it below his shoulders.

“Luke?”

He grunts in response.

“Why are you naked?”

His startled laugh is muffled by his pillow. “‘m not. Now lay down and quit it.”

Your greedy eyes eat up the sight of his bare back, but you don’t let his nice skin get to you that easy. “I’m not lying down with you if you’re naked, you perv.”

He catches you by the fabric of your shirt when you slide away from his tickling fingers.

“I’m wearing shorts.” Luke rolls onto his back before he nudges down the sheet around his waist. Black fabric you recognize as an old pair of basketball shorts peek out from underneath.

You very respectfully do not let your eyes linger for too long when you take a seat next to him. He laughs anyway. “Sorry, babe. I know how upset you get when my clothes are on.”

You run your thumb over his waistband. “I’m devastated.”

Luke likes to act cocky like this, but you press the back of your hand against his face and feel how flushed he is. You smile a little evilly when you kiss his cheek.

You rest your head against the junction between his shoulder and upper arm, a spot he always insists you lay on even when his arm goes numb after an hour. He wastes no time linking one of your hands with one of his.

“Your farmer’s tan is starting,” you point out, letting your free hand travel up and down his chest. The skin of his torso and upper arms, spots usually covered by his camp tee, are just a few shades lighter than the rest of his lower arms. He feels very soft. “I think that means you should start training without a shirt on.”

“I’m sure everyone would love that.”

You trace a vein that goes down his arm before you wrap your hand around the skin of his opposite bicep. “I sure would.”

He sighs a little while he shifts to get more comfortable, probably sore from throwing around his sword all afternoon. “Don’t worry. You’re wearing my last clean shirt, so I guess it means I’ll have to.”

You wrinkle your nose. “You’re such a boy, hero. Is that why you’re half naked right now? You didn’t do your laundry?”

He groans when he presses half of his face into your hair, like the thought of washing his clothes is enough to make him sick. “I’ve been busy.”

Too busy. He’s been putting in extra work lately.

“I know. It feels like you like Claudia more than me.”

Claudia’s the old training dummy that was retired to the back of the storage closet. Luke unearthed her a few weeks ago and hung her back up next to the new ones, giving her a second chance at life. She was already battered and falling apart before, so Luke’s new training regimen means she’s bordering on decomposing.

Luke cracks your knuckles with his hand, and you do the same for him, pressing down on his fingers until you hear the snapping sound. “I care about you both equally, sweetheart.”

You try reaching behind his head to smother him with his pillow, but he yanks it out of your hands so he can chuck it across the room instead. Without any other viable weapon, you throw your leg over his side and reach for his neck.

Play-fighting with Luke is funny because you both are perfectly aware of how strong the other is. He’s watched you decapitate a line of Telekhines with one blow and you’ve watched him wake up to kill an Empousai before going back to the nap he’d been having.

But the second you’re messing around like this, it’s like the two of you have never seen a day of fighting in your lives. You press against Luke’s arms with the same strength you’d use to open a bag of chips, and he pushes back with the same effort.

“I hope you and Claudia will be happy, then,” you say, squealing in fear when he sits straight up. “Won’t be able to force her to give you massages, though.”

Luke stands up and you tighten your legs around his waist so he has to carry you around. Your arms go around his neck because he’s too tired to support you with anything other than a lazy arm under you, and he taps along your back as he moves closer to the door.

A shiver goes down your neck when he catches your earlobe with his teeth like the weirdo he is. “Don’t tell her. But you’ll always be my favorite.”

“Thanks, I guess.” It feels like your external body temperature has jumped a few degrees since Luke is so warm. He makes his way over to the en suite bathroom and flicks the light on, and you realize boredly that he’s getting ready for bed.

Before you can start complaining, he sets you down on the counter so you can talk his ear off. Luke is very focused during his nighttime routine, his brow knit while he washes his face thoroughly and tries to keep track of how long he’s been brushing his teeth for.

You entertain him with the story of how one of your younger sisters is trying and failing to let this Hephaestus kid know she likes him. He squeezes your thigh intermittently, and you let the point of your foot nudge his side while your legs swing.

He spits into the sink and then runs the water. “Halle actually tripped into his arms like that?”

You nod morosely. “Faked slipping and everything. It felt like something you would do, it was that bad.”

He looks so offended at your comment you can’t help but smile.

“I’m not that bad,” he defends, choking on his own laugh when you squint in disbelief.

“Luke, you pretended to get a concussion during volleyball so you could sit out with me.”

He shoots his hand under the spout to try and flick water at you, but it ends up being more like having a hose shot at your face. Cold water drips down your chin and onto your shirt, making dark spots in the green fabric.

You look up at him. He’s giving you a wide eyed look, his hands up like he’s facing a feral animal. “Wait, wait, wait—”

The two of you wrestle for the handle of the sink.

You win, though.

Luke ends up having to wipe water from his eyes and use his towel to dry off his chest, which is now dripping with water. “I deserved that.”

You kiss his cheek when he steps between your legs. “Thank you for admitting it.”

He plants one on your lips, too. He tastes minty, so you kiss him again, a little bit difficult now with the way he’s smiling.

“You ate my gum?” he asks.

“No,” you lie, shifting forward off the counter so your chests are pressed together. Your noses bump when you tilt your head for him.

“I hope you enjoyed it.”

“There were only two left.” Your eyes cross as you try and stare into his despite how close your faces are. “And those sticks are small, Luke.”

He’s still smiling, but his eyes have trailed down to your lips now. “Kiss me again and I won’t be upset.”

You give him a peck before sitting back.

Luke frowns, his brows knitting so deeply it’s like his face is going to wrinkle in on itself. “That doesn’t count. I didn’t even feel it.”

You give him another brief kiss along his jaw. “Find me a dry t-shirt and I’ll give you a real one.”

You’re surprised you aren’t physically blown away from how fast he leaves the room.

The sound of him tearing through his dresser is loud. He trips over something during his search, mumbling stuff under his breath as you hear him unzip something.

“And it better be clean, Luke!”

It takes him a few minutes to come back to the bathroom, his face flushed and chest heaving.

The shirt he presents you with is ugly and old.

“Holy shit, dude. Did you find this in a museum?”

You remember making these a few summers ago before a bunch of you and Luke’s friends left for the school year. The shirt’s been through the wash too much and the marker has faded, but the front and back are littered with Luke’s failed tie-dye job and the names of old friends. You find your name written in block letters along the neckline.

“Nope.” He shakes his head a beat later while he catches his breath. “Found it stuffed under your clothes in your drawer.”

Luke’s dedicated a section of his dresser to you, and it's always full of your stuff. You slide your hands down his arms and give him a look.

“Why’d you go through all my clean clothes just to give me your old shirt?”

He’s grinning, trying to lean in already. “You’re not allowed to wear your own clothes here. It’s not right.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you’re very quick to let him splay his hand across your back.

He pinches the wet shirt off of your skin. “D’you want me to help you take this off?”

Freak.

You let him do it anyway.

He’s basically giggling the entire time, the process taking so much longer because he’s trying to keep his eyes on the ceiling while also working your new shirt back on. The second your head pops through the neckline, he’s crowding you into the counter again.

He leans in so close that your mouth parts on instinct. “So, when do I get that kiss that you—”

You give it to him, and he shuts up quick.

You think it’s sweet how he always kisses you like he’s never done it before — starved of the taste of you and the feel of you under his hands.

Luke’s hands stray to the sliver of skin at your midriff. His fingers are calloused but never harsh — he squeezes your sides, and he has to kiss you hard so you stop smiling.

His left hand follows your spine up under your shirt and lands on your opposite shoulder, holding you so close to him there’s no room to move away.

“Luke,” you complain. You wish he were standing closer to you.

“Yeah, yeah.” His hands scoop under your thighs and he lifts you off the counter again. “We gotta work on your patience, babe.”

You flick off the bathroom light for him while he takes you over to the chair by his bed. It’s old and small and definitely not made to fit two people, but he collapses into it anyway, and you follow with no other choice.

The two of you kiss slow and sweet — the kind you think are your favorite.

Sometimes, your kisses are the opposite. They can be sweltering and quick, ones that are just out of sight and ones that happen only when you manage to sneak away from your cabins for long enough.

You can’t quite tell how long you and Luke sit in his chair for. But it’s long enough for your hearts to start beating in sync and long enough for your legs to grow tired from the stupid chair.

Luke’s lips are red and a little swollen, though he doesn’t seem to mind at all. He doesn’t let you get more than an inch away before he’s dragging your lower lip between his teeth and pulling you back in.

You tell yourself you’re going to pull away at least ten different times, but then you feel his hand inching interestingly high and then he sucks a mark underneath your shirt where your name is written and then you feel limp and then you don’t pull away anymore.

“Hi,” he says, when you drag him off you so you can take oxygen into your lungs again. He has to look up at you since you’re kneeling over him. “Catching your breath?”

And trying not to pass out, you think.

You swipe your wrist over your lips, which are a little bit slick with spit. “Yeah. Hold me?”

“No,” Luke deadpans, though he’s already encouraging you to sit down on him to shift your weight off your knees. He brushes hair from your face when you tuck yourself against him. “Wanna sleep now?”

You’re a little lightheaded, but you don’t want to sleep. Your eyes slide closed involuntarily when you feel his chest rise and fall against yours. You smile because you can feel the heat emanating off his skin. “Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

Luke laughs while he fusses with the way your shirt sits on your shoulders. His fingers trace over where your name is inked on the fabric. “You going to give me more than one word answers?”

Your mouth runs a little dry when you remember he doesn’t have a shirt on. You poke at him and the little bit of sunburn on his shoulders you know will turn into a tan soon. “No.”

His mouth pulls up at the sides. “Okay.”

You groan when he throws you over his shoulder and gets up from his uncomfortable little chair. Luke spins you around a bit, giving you a 360 degree view of his room before he tosses you onto the bed. He yawns but doesn’t lay down, just smiles down at you.

“What’re you doing?” you ask. You hook your leg around his so you can drag him closer, and he just grins, amused.

“Nothing much.”

The bed shifts when he settles over you, one of his knees between your legs and the other digging into the space next to your left thigh.

Words die out quickly — mostly because you’re busy slipping your tongue into Luke’s mouth. But the coherent thoughts only leave your head when he takes your waist in one hand and reminds you just how much he likes you too.