nirvvbain

Latest Posts by nirvvbain

haunting you

summary: after your friend layla cancels your plans for the night, your “situationship” luigi comes over and you both take things to the next level.

warnings: smut, virginity loss (luigi) breastfeeding (f receiving) fingering (f receiving) pronebone (lol) breeding, some brief fluff at the end

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

you aren't usually into reality shows, usually you'd be spending the precious time you have in your dorm either watching a movie, or doing computer science homework, which usually entails attempting to tackle a programming problem with python.

yet tonight, you find yourself doing what you constantly told yourself you wouldn't do. you're sprawled out on your bed, with your eyes on the first reality show that you'd seen come up on netflix. in your defense, you're only doing it to kill time. you're waiting for your best friend layla to call you, she was meant to be at your dorm 10 minutes ago so you and her could get ready to go to the bar together.

right as the crappy show you're watching began to get half interesting, your phone starts ringing. and when you look over at who's calling, sure enough, it's layla. but when you answer her call, her voice comes through the phone sounding panicky and frustrated.

"okay, PLEASE don't get mad at me...."

you raise an eyebrow. that's never a good start.

"layla? hey girl what's the matter? where are you?" you ask, concerned for your friend.

"i can't come out tonight," she rushes out. "i’m so so so sorry, it's just... you know darren? my ex? he showed up at my dorm and it turned into this whole thing, and well... i just can't tonight."

you exhale, snuggling further into the comfort of your bed. darren's always trouble. him and layla had broken up months ago and he was still hung up over her, when he saw her out on a date with her new boyfriend he decided it would be a good idea to carve the word "SLUT" into her car door.

"layla, it's alright. promise."

you hear her breathe out a sigh of relief on her end. "are you sure? i feel like such an asshole.

you smile. "i swear, it's fine. i wasn't really in the mood to go out tonight anyway."

she groans dramatically. "thank you... i owe you, like, ten drinks."

you laugh, shaking your head even though she can't even see you. "i’m gonna hold you to that."

and then she's gone, the line going dead with a soft beep. you let go of your phone and let it fall onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

looks like it's just you and god awful tv tonight. and honestly? you don't really mind.

until your phone chimes.

you've gotten a text.

probably from layla, she's probably texting to apologise yet again, something she has a habit of doing whenever anything like that happens between you two.

as you check your phone, your face heats up as you read that it's not from layla, it's from him.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

luigi: hey :)

your brows lift. he never texts first. this is a surprise.

you quickly type out your reply.

you: hi handsome :) what you up to?

something's clearly up. you're always the one to text first. not luigi.

your phone buzzes.

luigi: nothing much, you still going out with layla tn?

you smirk at the screen, stretching lazily as you write your response. he has no idea that she bailed.

you: no, she cancelled, i'm just in my dorm rn

not even a minute later, you hear another buzz.

luigi: you doing anything?

you pause and bite your lip while you stare at his message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. you know what he means, or at least what he wants it to mean. you could toy with him. make him wait. let him squirm a little. make him work for it. but something about the way he texted you first... something about the way he's asking instead of just assuming... makes your stomach flip.

you let him sit with it for a minute before finally replying.

you: why? you lonely? ;)

three dots appear immediately. and then...

luigi: just asking.

luigi: are you doing anything or no?

you hum, staring at the screen before finally deciding where you want this night to go.

you: come find out.

yet another buzz...

luigi: be there in 10.

your stomach twists as you turn off your phone. but it's not from nerves. it's from anticipation. you sit up, smoothing your shirt, running a hand through your hair. there was absolutely no point in pretending that this wasn't exactly what you wanted.

you've done this dance before, you've made out with him until your lips were sore, dry humped him until he'd made a mess in his pants, marked his neck with hickies, but every time, he pulled back before it could go any further. said he wanted to "take his time." you never pressed him for more, you'd just tease him about it, calling him cute for holding out on you.

it's funny, he's not even yours. officially that is. but it would be a lie to say that you didn't feel your stomach churn with jealously whenever you saw him talking to another girl. just yesterday when you were on your way to go grab lunch, you saw him laughing with one of your classmates from the computer science class you and him shared, and you felt sick. but all you did was smile, say hello, and continue on your way.

your little "arrangement" is a secret. sometimes you wonder what people would think if they knew that you had luigi mangione, the sweet and popular nerd, cum in his pants while he moaned and begged underneath you.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

you're in the middle of brushing your hair when there's a knock at your door, sharp and deliberate. you put your hairbrush down on the bed and let him wait a second longer than necessary, just to see if he'll knock again.

silence.

when you finally open the door, he's standing there, wearing his adidas hoodie that you always saw him wearing on campus. you also notice that he has his hands in his pockets and that his curls are messy. almost as if he's been running his fingers through them the whole walk over. but it's his face that catches you off guard.

he looks nervous. you knew something was up from the moment he made the rare choice on his part to text you first.

he's not his usual shy but smug, waiting for you to make a move kind of nervous. this is different. his jaw is clenched, his weight shifts, and for the first time since you met him... luigi looks unsure.

"lu?" you raise your brows. "are you alright?"

he exhales sharply. "can i come in?"

you stop and think for a second. he's never asked to come in before. most of the time he just walks in, kicks off his shoes, and throws himself onto your bed like he owns the place. but tonight? he's not his usual self. not by a long shot.

"...yeah," you say slowly, stepping aside to make way for him.

he walks past you but doesn't go to the bed. he just stands there, fists tight in his pockets, shoulders squared like he's bracing himself for something major to occur.

you close the door, arms crossing and brows furrowing. "luigi." you study him, narrowing your eyes. "what's the matter with you? you're acting kinda strange."

he shifts again. he doesn't meet your gaze. he looks like a puppy that just got scolded. you'd be lying if you said that you didn't find that look cute on him.

you sit on your bed and gently pat the spot next to you. it's not until he joins you that you realise just how timid he seems, how red faced he is.

"lu?" you ask softly. you want to be gentle with him. for now anyway.

then, finally...

"i wanna do it."

you're confused. really confused.

"i'm sorry?"

he clenches his jaw again. "it's just... this... us... this whole... arrangement." he exhales sharply, like he's forcing himself to say it. "i know this past month and a half we've always just kissed and done other stuff, but we've never gone further. i've always pulled away and told you i wanna wait. but tonight... i wanna go all the way. i wanna... y'know... fuck you.”

his words hit you like a slap.

wait.

you stare at him, processing what has just come out of his mouth, trying to piece together what he's saying, what he's really saying. if he's just telling you this now... after all this time... then does that mean...

that's when it clicks. that's when you fully realise why hes been holding back the whole time you and him have been messing around.

"...wait." your voice is slower now, careful. testing. "so you're telling me...."

he bows his head. keeping his gaze away from you.

your lips part. "are you.... you're... you're a virgin. aren't you?" luigi tenses. his fists curl even tighter, like he's just waiting for you to laugh at him. for you to ridicule him. but you don't have it in you. you can't do that to him, you won't do that to him, not while he's next to you looking all afraid.

this whole time?

all those nights he let you grind against him until he was a moaning mess, all those times he pulled back right before things got too heated, you thought he was just teasing you, playing hard to get. but no. he was waiting.

everything all of a sudden makes sense to you now.

you crawl into his arms. "you're actually serious? like this isn't a joke?"

he wraps you up in a tight embrace and stays silent. doesn't meet your eyes. and the fact that he's so flustered? it does something to you. because this isn't the luigi you're used to.

this isn't the cocky little shit who you've been spending practically every free period messing around in your dorm with. this isn't the cocky little shit who leans too close, who smirks when he catches you staring, who always makes it seem like he's two steps ahead.

this is something else entirely.

he's looking at you now, almost as if he doesn't know what to do with himself. like he wants this so badly it hurts, but he's terrified of messing it up.

"luigi." you speak his name softly, like you're comforting a toddler who's on the brink of tears. "why didn't you tell me? you know i wouldn't have judged you..." you press a gentle kiss to his cheek to assert your point.

he swallows hard, and caresses the spot that you'd just kissed.

"because i knew you'd look at me like that."

you're confused again. "like what?"

he exhales sharply, resting his chin on your head. "because i thought you'd think that i’d need to be handled carefully... like you'd think i'd need special treatment or some shit."

you close your eyes and breathe him in. special treatment? that's not what you're thinking at all. poor baby. "lu i-"

he groans, rubbing your back. "i guess i was also... scared shitless." he adds quickly. "of... fucking it up. because i've really cherished the moments we've shared together. i kept putting it off because i kept thinking to myself that you'd ghost me afterwards."

your chest tightens and you look up at him. "you thought i'd ghost you after?"

his head snaps down to meet your gaze. "yeah... i kept telling myself that if we did have sex, you'd find me lame in bed and would never speak to me again. and i wouldn't want that because the way I feel about you... it's different. and i didn't wanna just rush into it you know what i mean?" he's speaking in a low, almost shy tone. "i wanted to make sure that when it finally happened, it was right... and tonight, it feels right."

you find yourself blushing at his admission and feel your heart beat faster. he's never been this forward and honest with you before.

"lu..." you tease, your lips curving into a playful smile. "so, you're saying that you've been stalling because you're a virgin and didn't wanna embarrass yourself?"

his goes red again. "yeah..."

you feel his arms tighten around you as you huff out a soft laugh. "you asshole! and here i was thinking you were playing hard to get!"

that gets a chuckle out of him, and the atmosphere shifts, the tension easing.

"yeah?" he smirks, cocky, but there's still something shy in the way he looks down at you.

"yeah," you say, hand dipping under his shirt to rub his abs, going just gently enough to make him shiver. "you had me losing my mind, thinking you were being a dickhead on purpose!"

he bites his lip as if he's trying not to laugh, but then his eyes darken, his expression shifts, and suddenly, whatever held him back before is gone.

"i don't want to keep you waiting anymore," he says, and it's not cocky, it's not teasing, it's authentic. he kisses your forehead, as if he's trying to ground himself. "but right now... i want it. i don't want to keep pretending like I'm not ready when i am."

you nuzzle into his chest and sigh contently. "so why now?"

"because i finally get it," he murmurs. "it's not about whether or not i'm good on the first go." he gives you another forehead kiss, making your cheeks turn scarlet once more. "it's about you. about us. and i don't want to wait anymore."

and with that, you kiss him.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

the kiss starts soft, familiar, his lips brushing yours with that quiet confidence you've come to know, but there's still a flicker of hesitation beneath it, a reminder that this is still new for him in so many ways. your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as you pull him closer.

even though it's not the first time you've kissed each other like this, this one seems to hold a little more depth, a bit more of him surrendering to the moment. his lips press against yours, firm yet warm, and as he leans into it, you feel the stiffness in his shoulders melt away, settling into the familiar rhythm you've spent the last few months carving out together.

his breathing grows irregular, and the shake in his fingers sparks a thrill through you, another reminder that he's still finding his way with you. lost in the kiss, your balance shifts, and suddenly you're tumbling backward, pulling him with you as you both collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and muffled laughter.

"you alright?" he mumbles, voice all gravelly and soft, a crooked smirk pulling at his lips like he's still half lost in the chaos of the fall. you nod, the warmth of his closeness seeping into you, and before you can answer, he leans down again, pressing a softer kiss to the corner of your mouth less urgent this time, but no less deliberate. it's like he's savoring it now, the rush giving way to a quiet intensity that makes your chest tighten.

you feel his trembling hands snag the edge of your blouse. he tugs it up, slow like he's scared to break something, until it slips off and falls to the floor. he freezes, hands dangling in the air, eyes falling to your now exposed tits.

his breath hitches hard, cheeks blooming red as he stares, totally wrecked, the first time hes ever seen a girl this way.

"holy... shit." he mumbles, voice cracking, barely a whisper, and his fingertips ghost over your skin, shaky but reverent.

his fingertips linger, barely brushing your skin, and the silence stretches out, thick with the sound of his uneven breathing. you tilt your head, catching the way his eyes are still glued to you, wide and unblinking, like he's afraid you'll vanish if he looks away. "lu? what's wrong?" you ask, voice soft.

he blinks, startled, like you've pulled him out of a trance, and his hands jerk back an inch before he catches himself. his cheeks flare even redder, if that's possible, and he swallows hard, throat bobbing. "n-nothing's wrong," he stammers, voice rough and low, cracking on the edges. "it's just... you're the prettiest girl i've ever seen in my whole entire life."

the words spill out, raw and unguarded, and your own cheeks heat up, a flush creeping up your neck. "you don't mean that…” you mumble, looking away for a second, your voice small as the compliment sinks in and leaves you flustered.

he freezes, eyes widening even more, if that's possible, and shakes his head quickly. "no, i-i do!" insists, tripping over the words in his rush to get them out. "i swear, i mean it. you're... unreal." his gaze flickers up to meet yours, holding it for a shaky moment before dropping back down to your tits, locking onto your tits with that same stunned, unblinking gaze.

his voice comes out soft, almost timid. "can i...um... can i suck on 'em?" he pauses, face burning red, and his eyes flick up to yours for a split second before darting back down. "i've... i've always wanted to suck a girl's boobs..." he admits, voice cracking with nerves, and he bites his lip, hands twitching as if he's bracing for rejection.

"please? if that's okay? i just... i wanna make you feel good." the question hangs there, shy and earnest, wrapped in that same reverent, trembling adoration.

you swallow, heart thudding a little faster, and your voice comes out softer than you mean it to. “yeah… okay.” you say. the words slipping out before you can overthink them. your blush deepens, spreading warm across your skin, and you glance away for a second, suddenly hyper aware of the way his gaze is still glued to you.

his eyes snap up to yours, like he can’t believe what he just heard. “o-okay…” he stammers, voice cracking, and a tiny, shaky smile tugs at the corner of his lips, equal parts disbelief and awe. his hands flex, unsure where to go, and he shifts closer, tentative but eager, like he’s afraid to break the spell.

he leans in, slow and worshipful, his breath hot against your bare chest. his lips brush your skin first, tentative, pressing soft, shaky kisses across the swell of your tits, his mouth trembling. his hands rise, hesitant at first, then bolder, cupping your breasts gently. his fingers squeeze, kneading the soft flesh with a mix of curiosity and awe, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as a low, ragged groan escapes him. “fucking gorgeous…” he mutters to himself, voice thick and breaking, completely lost in you.

then, emboldened, he parts his lips and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. the sudden, firm pull sends a jolt of pleasure through you, sharp and electric, as his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, warm and slick against your skin.

his teeth graze ever so slightly as he pulls back with a soft, lewd pop before diving back in, sucking greedily. his other hand keeps squeezing, fingers digging in just enough to feel desperate, and his breath comes in hot, uneven bursts between each sloppy, reverent pull of his mouth.

after a moment, his confidence inches up, and he pulls back just enough to speak, lips still brushing your damp skin. his voice is low, almost drowned out by his nerves as he stumbles over his next thought. “could i… um… rub your clit too? while i’m… doing this?” his eyes dart up to yours, wide and pleading, his face somehow redder still.

“i-i read this book about, uh, women’s pleasure,” he blurts, words tripping over each other, “and it said foreplay’s important… like, to get women ready for sex. i just… i wanna make sure i’m doing it right.” his fingers twitch against your sides, restless and waiting, that same nervous, heartfelt devotion shining through every faltering word.

the air hums with a charged stillness, his ragged breaths weaving through the heat of the moment as his lips linger near your damp skin.

“lu.… do you even know where the clit is?” you ask as your blush burns hotter, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you watch him. his eyes widen for a split second, caught off guard, but then something shifts in his expression.

he swallows hard, adams apple bobbing, and his voice comes out low, still shaky but with a thread of assurance. “y-yeah, i do,” he says, nodding quickly as if to convince himself as much as you. “i mean… i read about it, y’know? in that book. it’s… uh… it’s up near the top, right? like, where it’s real sensitive?” his cheeks flare redder, but his gaze holds yours a little longer this time, earnest and unsteady, like he’s clinging to every word he’s memorized. “i-i think i can find it. i just… really wanna try. for you.”

his other hand trembles as it slides lower, fumbling over the edge of your panties. his fingers hook the soaked fabric, knuckles brushing the damp heat of your inner thigh, and he yanks them aside with a shaky jerk.

the cool air hits your slick, pulsing cunt, and his breath chokes off in a sharp gasp. he freezes, eyes dropping to the sight of your bare pussy glistening folds spread open, wet and swollen, your clit peeking out, begging for his touch. “oh fuck…” luigi rasps, voice breaking, a raw, reverent curse as he stares, completely fucking entranced.

his pupils dilate, swallowing the color of his eyes, and his mouth hangs slack, a thin thread of drool pooling at the corner as he takes in every slick, pink detail. “it’s… so fucking pretty.” he mutters, barely audible, like he’s witnessing something divine he’s too small to comprehend.

the words hit you like a punch, and your blush explodes even more than it did before, a fierce, burning heat flooding your cheeks, your neck, even your ears. you feel exposed, vulnerable, and impossibly flattered all at once, the raw awe in his voice making your skin prickle and your breathing irregular.

he’s just drinking you in, thumb hovering an inch from your throbbing clit, trembling like he’s scared to ruin the perfection in front of him. his other hand squeezes your tit harder, fingers sinking into the flesh as a lifeline, while his breath ghosts over your sensitive nipple. then, he snaps out of it, blinking fast, and his thumb presses down, grazing your clit in a clumsy, shaky swipe.

the contact sends a white hot spark up your spine, your hips twitching involuntarily, and he gasps again, eyes darting up to yours. “a-are you alright? am i doing a good job?” he asks, voice thick with panic and adoration, every syllable soaked in that nervous, aching need to please you, even as he’s still half lost in the dripping, mesmerizing sight of your cunt.

you nod fast, heart pounding, and force the words out between gasps. “yeah, you’re… you’re doing so good lu…” you pant, voice fraying as his thumb rubs harder, smearing your slick over your throbbing clit. the sensation is overwhelming, a white hot rush that makes your thighs quake and your pussy clench, a fresh gush of arousal coating his fingers. your head lolls back, a guttural whimper spilling out as your body arches into him, chasing every stroke.

his breath snags at your praise, a shaky huff of relief, and his eyes spark with a mix of awe and hunger. “fuck… really?” he mutters, a trembling grin flashing across his lips.

he dives back to your chest, mouth latching onto your tit with a wet, hungry pull, sucking your nipple deep into his mouth. his tongue lashes over the swollen bud, teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver down your spine, while spit trails from his lips, leaving your skin slick and gleaming. his left hand kneads your breast that his mouth isn’t worshipping, fingers sinking into the soft flesh with rough, desperate squeezes, as he uses his free hand to keep rubbing your clit, each motion dragging you closer to the edge.

“wanna make you feel… so fucking good,” he groans against your tit, voice muffled and raw, the words vibrating through you as your body hums, every nerve alight with the filthy, fervent pleasure he’s wrenching from you.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

minutes go by, and luigi now has three fingers spearing into your drenched cunt, thick and unforgiving, stretching your tight, quivering walls as he rams them in knuckle deep. the pace is brutal, a wet, obscene slosh echoing with every thrust as your slick floods his hand, running in hot sticky rivers down his fingers and splattering onto the sheets. your pussy grips his digits like a vice, spasming and gushing, the sopping mess of it coating his skin as he pleasures you, wild and unhinged.

how he’s nailing every perfect spot, driving you wild with precision despite being a virgin blows your mind. knowing the nerd that luigi is, you know for sure that he must’ve fucking DEVOURED a stack of books on female pleasure to get this damn good.

your moans claw out, ragged and animalistic, each one a shredded howl as pleasure twists into a vicious, coiling ache in your core. your hips buck hard against his hand, thighs trembling so fiercely they slap together, your body a shuddering, sweat drenched wreck.

but he’s moaning too, deep and primal, the sound tearing from his throat as his hips jerk helplessly, jeans bulging. his face twists, sweat pouring off his brow as he gasps like he’s choking, a fat, wet stain blooming across his crotch where his cock pulses and leaks, soaking through the fabric.

you catch him falling apart flushed, frantic, a trembling mess and rasp, “what’s wrong?” your voice a gravelly wreck, hands digging into his arms as your own edge sharpens.

luigi’s eyes snap open, and he groans, “you’re gonna make me fucking cum in my pants,” the words spilling out in a desperate, fractured whimper, “and you haven’t even touched me.”

his cock is throbbing so hard you can see it twitch through the drenched denim, pre cum oozing in thick, messy streaks.

“no, stop.” you snarl, voice raw and commanding, shoving him back, his fingers ripping free from your sloppy, pulsing cunt with a loud, wet suck. “fuck me instead.”

the words hit him like a slap, and he stalls, hands slick and shaking, jaw slack as he sucks in air. “y-yeah, fuck, alright,” he chokes, voice a ruined mess, clawing at his zipper with slippery, fumbling fingers, racing to unleash his swollen, dripping cock, the air thick with the hot, filthy promise of what’s about to go down.

you’re able to see it for the first time, and your eyes widen.

it’s massive, thick and veiny, flushed dark with need, the tip glistening with a fat bead of pre cum that drips obscenely. shock jolts through you, a fleeting thought of how the fuck is that fitting?

but there’s no time to process it. he’s already moving, hands rough and urgent as he grabs your hips, flipping you over with a grunt.

your stomach hits the surface, breath punching out of you as he manhandles you onto your belly, his slick fingers digging into your flesh, positioning you fast and messy, the raw hunger in his grip promising no pause, no mercy.

he keeps you pinned face down, his trembling hands clamping your hips with a bruising grip, fingernails carving crescent moons into your flesh. his swollen cock, thick and veiny, drags across your ass, leaving a hot, gooey smear of pre cum before he notches the fat, dripping head against your soaked entrance.

he hesitates, chest heaving with wet, shuddering breaths, and rasps, “you ready?” his voice a broken, guttural wreck.

“y-yes lu…” you stammer, voice half smothered against the mattress, your pussy throbbing, arousal pouring out as you tilt your hips toward him, needy but braced. he growls low in his throat, primal and ragged, and then he pushes in slowly, his cock splitting you apart, stretching your drenched cunt wide.

the burning, unrelenting stretch hits you hard, and you scream.

“fuck! i n-need a sec…” your voice trembles as your body quakes, struggling to adjust to the sheer, overwhelming size of him. your hole clenches hard, spasming around him.

while for luigi, it’s the first time he’s ever been inside a pussy, and the feeling slams into him like a tidal wave. “oh my g-god… fuck, fuck!” he whimpers, a high, shattered sound ripping from his chest as your hot, sopping heat wraps him tight, squeezing him in a slick, pulsing chokehold.

you twist your head, breathless, and croak, “you alright?” his hands shake violently on your hips, gripping harder, and he chokes out, “i didn’t know… didn’t know it’d feel this fucking good…” his voice splintering into a near sob, every nerve frying as your cunt hugs him, wet and molten, drowning him in the raw, mind bending bliss of finally being inside you.

he swallows hard, voice a shaky, guttural wreck, and mumbles “are you alright?” the words barely coherent, thick with desperation as he hovers on the edge, waiting for your answer.

you nod weakly. “yeah…” spilling from your lips, voice raw as your cunt throbs around him, caught between pain and a dark, blooming heat. that’s all he needs.

“fuck… i’m gonna start moving.” he groans, the sound splintering from his throat, and he starts to thrust. it’s slow at first, a torturous pull as he eases his thick, veiny shaft back, the swollen head dragging along your tender walls, stretching your dripping hole with a lewd, sucking tug that forces a ragged gasp from your chest.

then he slams back in, deep and merciless, his sheer bulk splitting you wider, profanities tearing from you as he fills you completely, balls slapping against your skin. the stretch bites, then melts into something jagged and electric, your pussy gripping him like a drenched, ravenous fist, slurping noisily.

“holy… shit, it’s too much” he whines, voice cracking into a high, frantic wail, hips jerking forward with rising need, each thrust a sloppy, vicious plunge that stuffs you to the brim. your juices gush out, glazing his cock in a shiny, wet sheen, splashing in hot, messy streaks down your thighs and over his groin as he drives into you, the loud, wet smack of his pounding echoing through the room.

you scream, voice raw and splintered, fingers clawing at the surface beneath you, nails gouging deep as your hips jerk back to meet his thrusts, craving the savage depth even through the sting. his hands grip tighter, nails leaving angry red marks in your skin.

“fuck… feels like heaven…” he moans he rams into you, lost in the tight, dripping grip of your cunt, his first, sucking him in deep, wringing him dry, every thrust setting his nerves ablaze. his rhythm quickens, slow, teasing drags morphing into wild, frantic snaps, his hips slamming into your ass with loud, wet smacks.

suddenly, his hand rears back and lands a sharp, stinging slap across your ass cheek, the crack ringing out as your skin jiggles and a hot, red flush blooms under his palm. you scream again, a sharp “oh shit!" bursting from your lips. your body jolts forward and your pussy clenches tighter around him in reflex, a wild mix of shock and pleasure ripping through you.

“christ... this pussy's insane…" he pants, voice a trembling, slurred wreck, his cock hammering deeper, stretching you to breaking as your cunt squishes and gushes around him.

minutes dissolve into a sweaty, moaning blur, and then he collapses onto your back with a guttural grunt, his weight crushing you flat as he shifts into pronebone. his chest molds to your spine, his hot, panting breaths blasting your neck as he keeps fucking you, faster and harder, his cock slamming deep with every savage thrust.

“can’t… stop…” he whimpers, voice breaking into a sob, arm wrapping around your neck like a steel band, trapping you beneath him as he pounds your cunt into submission, your ass rippling with each violent, wet collision, the overwhelming feel of him… so huge, so deep… shattering any last shred of composure you had.

his lips crash onto your neck, wet, frantic and ravenous. he kisses you there, sloppy and wild, his tongue lashing out to lap at the sweat beading on your flesh, teeth scraping as he groans deep into your skin, and you feel the sound going through your bones. his thrusts never slow, each one a brutal slam, his cock splitting you wide, the swollen head battering your cervix with a force that makes your vision blur.

you’re moaning like a pornstar and your cunt is clenching so tight it’s like you’re trying to milk him dry.

“shit! i’m so close!” he growls against your neck, each word punctuated by a messy kiss, his lips smearing spit across your skin as his hips falter, thrusts turning wilder, even more frantic than before. his cock throbbing violently inside you. “i’m gonna cum-” he grunts, his arm’s grip around your throat tightening, his dick pulsing hot and thick, teetering on the brink.

and you feel it. the hard, rhythmic twitching, the way he swells even bigger inside your wrecked cunt. “cum inside me! please lu…” you sob, voice a hoarse, pleading wail.

your nails claw at the mattress, legs shaking uncontrollably, a high pitched whine escaping as the overstimulation makes your whole body quake. his breath snags, a choked sound ripping from him as he pounds you with frantic, bone rattling thrusts, right on the edge of shattering.

and then you feel it. his hips jam tight against your ass, and his cock pulses hard, flooding your wrecked cunt with a thick, blistering rush of cum. the heat crashes into you, raw and overpowering, his seed pumping in heavy, forceful jets, stuffing you so full it presses against your walls, a surge that makes your pussy clamp down and milk every last drop from him.

he whimpers, his thrusts stuttering to a stop as the final drops empty into you, his body quaking against yours. before you can catch your breath, his shaky hands fumble to your hips, yanking your soaked panties back into place with a hurried, sloppy pull.

the fabric snaps against your skin, locking his cum inside, and almost instantly, you feel the hot, sticky load seeping out, leaking past your swollen, aching lips, soaking the crotch of your underwear in a thick, dripping mess that clings to your thighs. you whimper softly, overwhelmed, your cunt still spasming from the intensity, reeling from the fullness and the filthy, oozing aftermath.

panting heavily, you drag yourself forward on trembling limbs, crawling under the covers and sinking into the soft refuge of the blankets. the bed dips as he follows, slipping in beside you, his warm, sweaty body brushing against yours. you roll over to face him, your breath still uneven, and his arms immediately open, pulling you in tight.

he wraps himself around you, chest pressed to yours, one hand cradling the back of your head as he peppers your forehead with soft, lingering kisses, his lips trembling slightly. his other arm snakes around your waist, holding you like you're his lifeline, his legs tangling with yours in a clumsy, needy knot.

he’s all soft now, an obvious shift from the wild frenzy of before, his face nuzzling into your hair as he lets out a quiet, shaky whimper. “how are you?” he murmurs, voice small and fragile, laced with a tender worry as he pulls back just enough to search your eyes, his own wide and glistening, like a nervous pup checking for approval. he presses his forehead to yours, still clinging tight, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

you catch your breath, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you nod. “i feel great.” you say, voice soft but steady, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart.

“that was… intense. you’re wild, you know that?” your tone lightens, teasing, and he blushes hard, ducking his head with a sheepish grin.

“i-i didn’t know it’d be that good…” he stutters, voice barely above a whisper, his fingers tracing shy circles on your back. “i just… i wanted to make you feel good. was it… was i okay?” his eyes flick up, hopeful and uncertain, and you can’t help but giggle, the sound bubbling up soft and warm.

“not bad for a virgin.” you tease, smirking as his blush deepens, spreading across his cheeks like wildfire. he whines, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide, but you feel the little laugh he lets out, muffled against your skin.

“stop…” he mumbles, half embarrassed, half playful, his arms tightening around you as he nuzzles closer. “i just… read a lot, i guess. wanted to get it right.” his voice softens, earnest now, and he peeks up at you, a shy smile breaking through.

"you're amazing, though. i still can't believe that just happened." he kisses your forehead again, slow and sweet, settling into you with a contented sigh, like a clingy, soft baby who's finally found his safe place.

he pulls back slightly, eyes shining, and whispers, “i love you.” voice steady yet raw.

your heart leaps, a wild surge of joy flooding you, and you grin, breathless. “i love you too.”

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

I SPENT TWO WEEKS WRITING THIS SO U ALL BETTER GOBBLE IT UP NICE AND GOOD.

Need You Tonight ao3

NSFW: oral sex male receiving, mating press, riding, rough sex, use of slut and whore (respectfully😣), soft dom and brat dynamic

just keep this sexy suit pic in mind.. ^_^ you’re acting like a brat and luigi tames you :D

dedicated to @diors002 hope u love xx also @fligniuz and @mangionebabymama because i admire you both

You've been eyeing him all night, wine glass in hand, pressed against his side like even a breath of space would be too much. The subtle heat from his body radiates through his tailored suit, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you every time you glance up, and he seems completely at ease, unaware of the way he makes your heart race, the way his mere presence stirs something deep inside you.

He leans down and brushes a kiss against your temple. “What’s the matter, baby?”

You tilt your head up, eyes heavy, lips brushing his jaw. “Need my man.”

He chuckles, soft and low, his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter. “We’re supposed to stay until eleven.”

“No,” you murmur, voice low against his neck as you press in closer. “I need you to fuck me.”

His breath catches just slightly. You feel the shift in him, subtle and calculated, as his eyes scan the room like he’s weighing the odds. Wetness pools between your thighs as you tug lightly at the lapel of his jacket, yearning to have him as close as possible.

“You want the bathroom, baby?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, his voice threading through the thump of the bass vibrating off the walls. “I’ll take you in there. Quick, messy, get it out of your system… then we’ll come back out and pretend nothing happened.”

You shake your head, and your voice comes out as almost a whine. “No. I need you in mating press.”

He blinks once. Slowly. Then that familiar look spreads across his face — part surprise, part heat, part wicked satisfaction. You know your words have lit something dangerous inside him.

“Jesus,” he mutters, hand gripping even tighter at your waist. “You’re not making it easy to be a gentleman tonight.”

“Don’t want a gentleman,” you say, fingers dragging down his chest. “I want you to fuck me so deep I forget my name.”

His exhale is deep, controlled. You know he’s already calculating — how fast he can get you both out of there, where the nearest exit is, how long he’s willing to wait.

“Alright,” he says, voice rough against your ear. “Five minutes. I’ll drive you home. You won't be walking tomorrow.”

At his words you bury your face in his chest with an excited smile, pulse wild.

“Good,” you whisper. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything tomorrow. Now hurry up and let’s leave, because I need your cock so bad, Luigi.”

Luigi’s hand slides down your back— slow, deliberate —fingers trailing until they glide over the curve of your hip. He gives your ass a firm squeeze, followed by a sharp smack that makes you squeal. Your fingers fist tight in his jacket, giggling as he leans forward again.

“Stop it, baby. You’re acting like a slut.”

“No I’m not, Gi,” you pout, batting your lashes up at him.

“I’m serious, I promised everyone I’d stay the whole night, and now you’re being whiny with me when I just told you I’m taking you home in five minutes.”

“Baby, we’ve been out for three hours already. I need you,” you whine, the buzz of the alcohol making your head spin as you hold both of his hands in yours and play with his fingers.

His gaze is dark, a mixture of patience and desire flickering in his eyes as he responds, voice low and steady. “Hey, I know. Listen to me, I just need to speak to the guys before I leave and then I’ll give you everything you need.”

“Promise?” you tease, eyes locked on his as you swing your interlocked fingers back and forth.

His jaw flexes, a muscle twitching as he exhales slowly, the corners of his mouth curling into a small, confident smile.

“Just be patient, bambina.”

You manage to behave for maybe three minutes after that — long enough to let him do the rounds, shake hands, act as though he isn’t walking around with your desperate little plea still ringing in his ears. But you see the way his hand stays firmly on the small of your back, how his grip tightens just a little too hard when someone makes a joke and you laugh too easily. He’s on edge, and you were the one who got him there.

Luigi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist as he walks you toward his car, fast and focused. You stumble a little in your heels, but he catches you like muscle memory, steady and firm.

“I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re this drunk.”

You smile up at him, eyes half-lidded. “I’m not that drunk, stop being so serious. You think I’m wasted just because you’re sober, Gi.”

By the time you’re both in the car — his hand resting on your thigh, the other on the wheel — you’ve already pulled your dress higher, letting your fingertips wander up the inside of his leg as you glance over at him, face displaying faux innocence.

“Baby,” he warns without looking at you, voice tight.

You smile, pretending not to hear — you know exactly what you’re doing. Your hand trails further, lightly cupping the growing bulge beneath his slacks, giving it the softest squeeze.

He groans under his breath, and shifts in his seat. “You’re gonna make me crash this car.”

You giggle softly, a teasing edge in your voice, but there’s an intensity in your gaze as you rub him slowly now— teasing, coaxing. “Don’t crash, Gigi.”

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, and he still refuses eye contact. “You testing me, huh, baby?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, leaning over, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you give his bulge another squeeze. “What, you don’t like it?”

He takes the next turn harder than you expect. The tires squeal. Your breath catches and your hand falters for just a second.

The car jerks into a sudden pull-off on a dark, empty stretch of road. There’s no one around except the two of you and the trees that surround you. You barely have time to process what’s happening — head still spinning moderately from the wine — when Luigi puts the car in park and leans over, his hand reaching across the console with a calm, steady force.

He speaks softly but firmly. “Out. Come on, baby.”

You blink in surprise, another drunk giggle spilling from your lips. “What?”

Your mind is ditsy, and you’re sitting there in front of him, dress hiked up your thighs, batting your lashes with only one thing on your mind.

Then— he’s leaning over the centre console, hands gripping your waist with a firm, commanding hold. Without a word, he pulls you from your seat and onto his lap in the driver’s seat. Your dress hikes up even higher as your thighs spread over his, and your panties graze his clothed bulge.

Luigi’s hands are heavy and firm, one gripping your ass while the other tilts your chin to make you look at him — demanding, but gentle. His hazel eyes are wild in the dark, low light spilling across his cheekbones and the curve of his mouth.

“You know you shouldn’t distract me while I’m driving,” he murmurs, voice low. “And you shouldn’t whine like a slut when I’m trying to be patient with you.”

You’re squirming now, grinding down without even thinking, but his hand smacks your ass hard— once, then again, harder this time. The sharp sting makes you gasp, clutching his jacket.

“Behave for me.” His nose brushes yours, and he pulls back a little to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. The contrast between his rough hands, his low voice and his sweet kisses is incredibly dizzying — you’re spinning because of more than just the alcohol now.

“Or I’m taking you back to the party and you can walk around there for the rest of the night with soaked panties.”

You choke out a moan, arms tightening around his neck, hips rolling against him like you don’t know what behave means.

He raises his brows, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “Are you listening to me?”

“No,” you breathe, rocking harder onto his bulge. “I just want your cock.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, and smacks your ass one more time— firm, delicious. Then he’s shifting you off him, back into the passenger seat like it’s nothing. You blink, dazed, as he adjusts himself behind the wheel.

“Seatbelt,” he murmurs after a pause, voice warm but laced with that soft authority that always has you feeling fuzzy inside.

You buckle it with shaky fingers, thighs pressed tight together.

The rest of the drive is silent, thick with tension. Every now and then you sneak a glance over, and Luigi’s jaw is locked tight, fingers tight on the wheel, bulge still pressing hard against the front of his pants.

You can only sit there, waiting in anticipation.

When he finally pulls up to his apartment and turns off the engine, he still doesn’t say a word— just opens the door, rounds to your side, and takes your hand. He speaks so quietly you almost don’t hear him, hand on your lower back as he’s guiding you in front of him. “Upstairs. Come on.”

You bite your lip but it doesn’t suppress the laugh that comes out, and you try not to stumble, but your movements are faulty in six inch heels. The apartment door barely clicks shut behind you before you’re kicking off your heels and pushing Luigi against the wall. You sink to your knees, fingers working at his belt like you’re being paid.

“Shit, baby,” Luigi mutters, dropping his keys on the counter, eyes dark and glittering with heat as he watches you. “Didn’t even let me get my shoes off.”

“Whatever, Luigi, I’m just finishing what I was trying to do for you in the car,” you say nonchalantly, looking up at him through your lashes as you free him from his pants, his cock already hard and thick in your hand. You feel yourself almost drool at the sight. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

He loosens his tie and groans at your desperation as you waste no time, lips wrapping around him eagerly. One hand grips the edge of the wall behind him, the other tangled in your hair as your mouth works him slowly — dragging your tongue along the underside, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on his face like you want to watch every twitch and falter.

“Yes, baby… That’s it — fuck, good girl.” His voice is strained now, hips twitching forward as your hands grip his thighs, greedy and eager. You bob your head, before pulling back to tease the tip. Your soft moans vibrate around his cock, and the groan it produces from him sends an insane rush of heat between your thighs.

Knowing what it does to him, you exaggerate pornstar-like moans over his shaft, licking and kissing along the veins. “Mmm — you like it when I moan on your cock, baby?”

The back of his head hits the wall with a soft thud as your mouth takes him deeper, working him with focused precision. He’s a picture of ruin in elegance in his tailored suit, jacket hanging open, shirt slightly wrinkled where your hands had tugged at it. The fabric hugs his shoulders, sharp against the curve of his body as pleasure ripples through him. His tie is slightly loose now, collar askew, and the flush creeping up his neck contrasts beautifully with the dark lapels framing his jaw.

“You having fun with this cock in your mouth, huh?” He grips your hair with both hands now, guiding you to take him further, although he knows it’s a struggle, of course. The shadows cast by the low lighting catch on his cheekbones and the faint sheen of sweat along his brow — he’s both wrecked and impossibly gorgeous. You enjoy the view as you attempt to take him even deeper.

“You gonna try and take me all the way? Yeah, baby? Fuck — my gorgeous girl,” he murmurs softly, moving his thumb to your cheek to wipe away the dripping mascara.

You hollow your cheeks and take him as far as you can— but you don’t manage further than just over halfway. The inches alone are difficult enough to deepthroat, but his girth feels as though he’s stretching your mouth to meet his size. You’re gagging like a whore, his precum and your spit spilling onto his slacks that neither of you had bothered to get him out of.

“Making such a mess, angel,” he coos, brushing your hair out of your face with one hand as his thumb continues to caress your cheek. You’re gazing up at him with sweet doe eyes, expression fucked-out and dreamy as your tears continue to force more mascara down your face. Luigi wipes away as much as he can — always the gentleman — but he loves the mess. To see you on your knees for him like this, starving for his cock, he wishes he could have you like this forever.

But he doesn’t want to cum yet.

“Shit— c’mere,” he breathes, groaning as he tugs you back by your hair to pull your mouth off him. Your lips glisten with precum, and he smacks the head of his cock over you twice.

You giggle like a whore, grabbing as much as you can in your hands that look ridiculously small beside the size of his member.

“Why’d you pull me off, Gi? I want your cum in my mouth,” you whine, straightening your posture on your knees as you switch to a handjob.

Luigi gazes down at you, pupils dilated and dark, hands still fisted in your hair. “Dolcezza. I thought you wanted mating press.”

“And that means you can’t cum in my mouth first?” You bat your lashes up at him, stroking and squeezing his length as he attempts to fight the grunts and moans that leave his throat.

His grip on your hair tightens, jaw clenching as he watches you. How did he get so lucky?

Luigi thinks for a moment as you continue to stroke him and press kitten licks to his tip. Then, he’s pulling you up off the floor, breath hot, cock glistening and twitching against his stomach. “I’m taking you to bed,” he groans, and suddenly you’re being swept off your feet and into his arms.

He carries you down the hall like it’s nothing, one arm under your thighs, the other across your back, and you’re giggling into his neck like a drunken angel.

Then, smack — his hand lands hard on your ass and you squeal, legs kicking instinctively around him.

“You excited, huh?” he says, smirking, as he squeezes the cheek he just punished. “Come here, bambina.”

You bury your face in his throat, squealing again when he bounces you in his arms just enough to make you wrap tighter around him. The motion presses your core flush against his hard length, heat crackling between your bodies.

He presses sweet kisses to your forehead as he carries you, and it feels like heaven in his arms.

“So you still want me in mating press, yeah?”

You hum, all warm and fuzzy against him, lips brushing his collarbone. “Please.”

He kicks the bedroom door open and tosses you onto the mattress. You bounce once, breathless and grinning with excitement. The room spins a little, and you wait in anticipation, watching Luigi kick off his shoes and remove his clothes one by one — his tie, his jacket, his shirt, then his boxers and his pants. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you— hands sliding up your thighs, shoving your dress higher, bunching it at your waist until the fabric is a wrinkled mess around your hips.

“You gonna let me fuck you in this dress like a slut, huh?” he grits out, dragging his palms up your bare thighs.

“Well, you didn’t give me time to take it off, so … I guess,” you shoot back, lifting your hips as he yanks your panties down with one hand and tosses them somewhere behind him.

“Okay, yeah,” he laughs sarcastically. “You’re the one who dropped to her knees the second we got home. You couldn’t wait, no? Starving for me.”

“I am starving,” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist to grind up against him. “So stop talking and feed me.”

You’re giggling again, and his mouth twists into another smirk — equal parts impressed and amused.

“Up,” he instructs, grabbing your thighs. “Higher — yeah, like that.”

He hikes your legs up over his shoulders, and without another word, lines himself up and drives into you in one sharp, brutal thrust.

You scream, back arching as he fills you completely — no easing in. Just raw need.

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes locked on the way your mouth drops open. “You’re soaked for me. Been dripping since the party, huh?”

“No… mmph … since I first saw you put the suit on before we left,” you choke out, sprawled across the pillow, legs trembling as he sets a ruthless pace, thrusting deep, hips slamming against yours. You can barely process a thought — he’s got you folded under him in a perfect mating press, knees pressed up near your chest, his broad hands gripping your thighs so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

“This what you were craving, baby? Is this what you made me take you home for?” he grits through clenched teeth.

“Yes—yes, Luigi, please—”

He cuts you off with a hard thrust, making your words break into a cry. “Can’t form a sentence now? No? Too drunk on this cock, huh, bambina?”

“Mmhmm.” You shut your eyes, feeling every thrust so deep.

“That’s my beautiful girl — so tight, baby. This is what you needed, oh, that’s it.”

You nod helplessly, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes from the pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming way he keeps hitting that perfect spot deep inside you over and over and over.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, leaning forward to kiss you hard, then biting your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to watch your face twist in pleasure. “Taking me so fucking good, baby. This pretty pussy’s all mine to bring home, yeah?”

“All yours, Gi, mhmm,” you whimper, barely coherent.

“That’s it, angel, say it.”

“Oh, fuck, Luigi—I can’t—yeah, it’s yours—oh, baby, don’t stop—”

The sound he makes is heavenly, somewhere between a whine and a groan, as he pounds into you even harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room. His grip on your thighs tightens as he keeps you pinned in place.

“You wanna cum, baby girl?” His voice is low, a taunt now. “Tell me.”

You bite your lip hard, whining, desperate. “Please, baby.”

Your hips jerk up, chasing every thrust, every ounce of friction. “Please, Luigi— fuck, I’m so good for you, please—”

His eyes narrow, lips pressed together. “Cum for me, beautiful. Come on, let go for me — that’s my girl.”

The second the words leave his mouth your entire body goes taut, then shatters beneath him, your orgasm crashing through you so hard you’re screaming his name. “Fuck, Luigi — oh my God.”

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release, watching every twitch, every cry. “Gonna let me cum inside, angel? Hm?”

“Yeah, baby, I want it all — oh fuck, give it to me—”

And then his fingers are digging into your hips, thrusts faltering as he spills into you with a guttural moan, collapsing over you, breathless against your neck.

You’re both shaking, tangled in each other. And even as he catches his breath, he’s pressing kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, murmuring against your skin:

“My perfect fucking mess… Look at you, baby… Still trying to sass me when you can’t even talk. Makeup all down your face. I need a picture when we’re done.”

You laugh softly, dazed. And then you pause as he pulls out and rolls over to lay beside you. “We’re not done?”

He chuckles. “No, I want you like this now.” He sits up against the headboard, having only just caught his breath, and pulls you into his lap effortlessly. You squeal, laughing through the aftershocks, your body light against his chest.

Then his hand comes down hard on your ass again, making you jolt and squeal as he laughs, holding your hips to keep you perched over him.

“Still got the energy to laugh, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Didn’t fuck you hard enough.”

You pout, grinding against him lazily, his cum seeping out of you with your own release over his hardening length. “You’re obsessed with me,” you mumble, breath hitching as you move against him, your sensitive body already aching for more.

He hums, cupping your ass in both hands now, guiding you to grind slow and deep. “Can you blame me, baby? My cum’s dripping out of you and onto my cock, but you’re still whining like you haven’t had enough.”

“I haven’t,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as you press your forehead to his. “I want more, Gi… I want it again.”

He tilts his head, a slow smile spreading across his face, and his dimples make your heart flutter. “You gonna cry if I don’t give it to you?”

You nod, grinding down harder now, lips parted, hands clutching his shoulders like you’re trying to anchor yourself.

“Then bounce on me, baby,” he breathes, voice low and coaxing. “Come on.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Without answering, you reach between you, guiding him to your entrance again, fingers shaky with anticipation. He watches you intently the entire time, his hazel eyes gleaming like he’s memorising every twitch of your lips, every tremble in your thighs.

As you sink down, inch by inch, your mouth falls open, a broken gasp catching in your throat.

“F-fuck, you’re too big,” you whine, the stretch burning. “Gi, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he says softly, hands stroking up and down your back. “You’ve done it before. You’ll do it again. Take it all, baby girl, come on.”

You keep easing down slowly, until he’s fully seated inside you and your body’s shaking from the stretch. He’s so deep you feel him everywhere, your vision blurring as you bury your face into his shoulder.

“My girl,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “I know it’s difficult, baby, but I knew you could take me. So tight — your pussy was made for me.”

You whimper, hips starting to move — slow at first, then faster, rougher as desperation creeps back in. He lets you grind and ride him, lets you chase the rhythm you need. But your thighs are starting to feel sore from the first position, and when he senses your legs starting to give, he wraps his arms around you and shifts.

Suddenly, you’re flat against his chest and he’s doing the work — hips snapping up into you with brutal, deep thrusts that have you screaming, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He smacks your ass again, rough and fast, one hand gripping your hair, the other cradling your ass as he fucks up into you from below, hitting that spot so perfectly it makes your entire body shake.

“So loud for me, cara mia,” he murmurs in your ear, as you’re moaning helplessly into his neck. “Everyone’s gonna think you’re a whore.”

“Only for you, Luigi,” you gasp, clinging to him.

He laughs softly, kissing your forehead, his nose nuzzling yours.

“My whore, yeah? Just for me?” he coos, voice breathless and tender even as his thrusts continue to hit your spot devastatingly hard.

Your walls flutter around him, overwhelmed, close again — your body begging for another release you can barely hold off.

“You gonna cum again for me?” he asks, kissing your temple as he pounds into you. “Gonna make a mess all over me?”

“Uh-huh—oh fuck, Luigi, I can’t—please—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers, soft against your ear. “That’s my baby girl. Cum on my cock.”

And you do — with a sob, a full-body tremble, your moans muffled against his shoulder as your orgasm takes you hard and fast, crashing into you like a wave.

He holds you through it, kissing your forehead, caressing your hair. “That’s it, princess, I love you — so perfect for me,” he murmurs, buried deep inside you. “Want you like this forever.”

And with the way your body clings to him, wrecked and trembling and blissed out — you wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else either.

You’re still pulsing around him, a limp mess slumped over his chest when he lifts you off his cock with a low groan, your slick dripping between your thighs. He cups your face in one hand, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and leans in to kiss you — slow and deep — before he murmurs:

“On your knees, baby. One more.”

You slide off his lap without a second thought, sinking to the floor like you belong there. His cock is flushed, wet, still painfully hard. You take him into your mouth with a moan, tongue swirling around the tip before you sink down, swallowing him deep, your hands wrapped tight around the base.

Luigi’s head tips back against the headboard, one hand tangled in your hair, guiding you just how he likes — slow at first, then faster, sloppier. You moan around him, and the vibration makes his thighs tense.

“Giving you everything you need tonight, beautiful. You happy with my cock back in your mouth, yeah?” he breathes out, eyes flicking down to watch his length move between your lips. “Treating that big cock so well, fuck, baby…”

You look up, drool and precum spilling down your chin, and hum your answer as he thrusts into your mouth harder. You can barely breathe, but the praise alone makes your pussy clench. You adore this — the weight of him on your tongue, the heat of his body, the way he sounds when you’re the one doing this to him.

He pulls back just before he gets too close, and your lips chase him without thinking. “Open,” he pants, stroking himself now with fast, tight fists. “Stick out that tongue, baby.”

You obey instantly, eyes wide, tongue out, face tilted up for him like an offering.

“Amore... sì, così— la mia puttana perfetta, solo mia.” Luigi groans something in Italian — low and desperate — and then he’s spilling over your tongue, thick ropes of cum painting your mouth, your lips, dripping down your chin. You moan eagerly, swallowing some of it, letting the rest sit filthy and warm on your skin.

“Fuck—fuck,” he growls, still twitching in his hand as he strokes out the last few drops, dragging his thumb across your lips to smear it messier.

You swallow again, licking your lips with a smug little smile. “Told you I was hungry.”

“Come here, beautiful,” he murmurs, voice soft now. “Give me a kiss.”

You crawl back into his lap and he pulls you in close, kissing you slow and sweet, tasting himself on your tongue with a quiet groan. His arms wrap around you, hands warm on your back, and he holds you there for a moment—just breathing you in.

Then he stands, lifting you — your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. You squeal, laughing, hands in his curls as he bounces you once in his arms, your bodies still buzzing from the events of the past hour.

“I love you,” you murmur into his neck, voice muffled and dreamy.

He smiles against your skin, kissing your temple. “I love you, my baby. Even when you’re acting like a whore in public.”

«─────────── « ⋅ ✯ ⋅ » ───────────»

*.* hope u liked

'O Sole Mio'

?: After a few glasses of cheap Chianti, Luigi tells you a story. Nothing could have prepared you for its delivery.

1,080w

Author's Note: I don't have any words left after this, all i have is feelings and crying and ... im so gone for him. ive lost my mind. i dont know if this shit makes any sense but i was just about weeping writing it LOL

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

It was the last golden gasp of summer at Seaside Heights, the kind of evening that feels like a postcard itself. The boardwalk was alive with the smell of fried dough and the sound of distant screaming children on rides powered by questionable engineering. Luigi and I had wedged ourselves into a corner table on the patio at some hole-in-the-wall Italian place.

We had ordered slices and “just a glass” of wine, which inevitably became, “Just bring us the bottle.” By the time I was three pours deep, Luigi had his legs stretched out like he owned the place.

His eyes, espresso-dark and shining under the cheap string lights of the boardwalk, were giving me that look. You know the one. Like he knew how good he looked in his half-buttoned linen shirt.

That’s when he suddenly froze, his head tilting to the side. He pointed upward. The music—some cheesy, dramatic Pavarotti knockoff that these Italian dives play to try and appear authentic. Then he smiled, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“What?” I asked, already laughing at whatever dumb thing he was about to say.

“Oh my God.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. No way.”

“Well, now you have to tell me.” I smacked his arm—rock solid.

He paused and sighed. “Okay, but promise me you won’t laugh.” He leaned in with a straight face that had me eagerly anticipating another highly entertaining Mangione story.

“I promise,” I lied.

“Alright.” He looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially. I was melting for this man. Every moment with him felt important, filled with meaning. He could have said anything, and I’d lap it up like a dog. “So,” he started, rubbing his face like he was already regretting this.

“My mom used to play these mix CDs on the stereo at home. Pavarotti, Bocelli, all the classics, right? She’d be cooking, cleaning, just vibing to these… love songs.”

“Sure,” I said. Totally normal so far.

“But this song”—he pointed upwards again to the song playing on the patio speakers—“‘O Sole Mio,’ a total guilty pleasure for her. When it came on, she would lose her mind. Singing, swaying, dancing. And eight-year-old me sat there watching her, thinking, This must be the greatest song in the history of songs. So, Mother’s Day comes around…”

At this point, Luigi paused, biting his lip like he wasn’t sure he should continue. I couldn’t help the smile that possessed my face.

“Oh my God, Lu, what did you do?”

He waved me off, reaching for his wine. “No, nah, I can’t—”

“Finish the story, Luigi.”

“Fine.” He threw his hands up. “I learned the song. Like, the whole song, okay? I watched every Pavarotti performance on YouTube at the time. Memorized the lyrics. Practiced in front of the mirror. And on Mother’s Day, I performed it for her.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. For her, my family, my cousins, neighbors. I’m pretty sure Pavarotti himself has sung for smaller audiences.”

I lost it. “You did not…” I said, breathless already. The image of little eight-year-old Luigi in my head, filled with love for his mama, singing an Italian love song in complete earnestness, was too hysterical to keep contained.

“I did,” he admitted. The music swelled in the restaurant, hitting that classic over-the-top crescendo, and Luigi—my God, this man—pushed back his chair and stood up.

“And now…” He slapped his hand on his puffed-up chest and lifted his chin.

“Luigi, NO.”

“I will sing it for you.”

And let me tell you, it was terrible.

He was hamming it up like some kind of opera drunk on karaoke night, his voice all over the place but somehow still deeply passionate, like he was singing to save Italy itself. People in the restaurant were staring. I was just as mortified as I was captivated. Tears were streaming down my face. Dying. And he didn’t stop. He didn’t care. He kept going—arms gesturing wildly, every crescendo perfectly wrong—and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

When he hit the final note—“O SOOOOLEEEEEE MIIIIOOOOOOO!”—he threw out his arms in a dramatic flourish, like he was expecting roses to rain down from the sky. I clapped so hard my palms hurt.

When he finished, he bowed. One or two other patrons gave half-hearted claps, probably just impressed by his dedication to the bit. His cheeks and ears were a delicious shade of pink, his smile lighting up his face as he moved his chair closer to me.

“You’re too much, Luigi,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

He finally sat down, our knees touching. He leaned towards me, and suddenly I was his only audience. “Do you know what the song means?” His voice was soft, so only I could hear. There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before.

I shook my head.

“Okay, ‘O Sole Mio’—it means ‘My Sunshine.’ It’s about… someone being the light of your life. Like…” He shifted his weight, trying to find the words. “Like even the sun itself can’t hold a candle to the person you love.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed by the intensity, but too caught up in the moment to stop himself. “It’s like the artist was saying, ‘The world is so much brighter with you in it.’ The guy is completely wrecked over how beautiful life is because of this one person... you know?”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, gauging if any of this was resonating with me at all. His goofy bravado had melted into something almost painfully genuine and sincere.

This was real for him.

“I do know, Lu,” I said quietly.

He leaned back, taking his wine. He shrugged. “And that’s why I sang it for my mom.” He tried to downplay it, but I saw right through him. “Because she’s always been my sunshine. Always will be.”

My breath caught in my throat at that.

Then, he must have realized he’d gone too far into the serious zone. He snapped back to being playful. “Anyway, I fucking nailed that performance on Mother’s Day, and everyone talked about it for weeks after.”

I don’t know if he realized what he was doing to me. The lights sparkled brighter. The air tasted sweeter. And my heart was warmer. Because he was here. He was insane, but I wouldn't have him any other way.

The song made perfect sense. Life is a gift with you.

~~~

What a beautiful thing is a sunny day.

But another sun, even more beauteous, oh my sweetheart, My own sun, shines from your face This sun, my own sun, Shines from your face; It shines from your face

luigi mangione talking for 9 seconds straight

Iced Chai

Short cuz I'm very short on time but still wanted to get this out. I'm likely not going to be writing about his parentage or upbringing in this context again cuz I don't like doing it. This is me warning you that I think this fic is shit, its not my best work.

For roughly fifty percent of the population, it’s impossible to conceptualize the life of a man.

The reassurance of walking down the street at night without the heavy burden of being snatched by the hair and swept away. The content that stems from buying an eight-in-one shampoo, conditioner, dish soap, body wash, laundry detergent…those kinds of things.

They’d never understand what kind of creatures the other side of the ocean houses. While Luigi grew up one way, you grew another.

Now that you thought about it…Luigi never really told you what his childhood was like beyond little tidbits of information about his family. Where he grew up, how he spent his summers before, who he knew, what his teen years were like.

But strangely, never his upbringing.

Naturally, you didn’t think anything of it. After all, it wasn’t really any of your business, and you could barely even remember your own childhood.

You toddled up the stairs, your cotton white socks sending quiet and dull thumps down the hall with each step on the rickety old stairs. Clad in a yellow and white bikini top, white tennis shorts, a white visor, and an arm full of bracelets, you prepared to head out of your house in just a couple of minutes to go surfing with Luigi.

“GiGi! You ready to—…Why are you still in pajamas?” You asked, leaning against the white door frame of your bedroom and peering at Luigi as he lay tangled in your sheets.

“Can’t go today,” he stated, his face buried in your silk and woven pillows.

“Bitch I literally just got dressed, get your ass up,” you huffed, carrying your body over to him so you could pluck his bare arm.

“I know! Just not today. I feel sick as shit”

You hesitated, his abnormally snippy tone causing you to raise your brows slightly.

“Alright, alright! Chill, stop yelling at me in my house,” you murmured, furrowing your brows at him.

“I don’t even have the energy to yell…” he groaned, rolling his face to the side so he could glance at your pretty face. “Enjoy the beach, pretty.”

“I’m not going to the beach without you…I literally live here I’m not missing anything. I was just going cuz you wanted to,” you murmured, ripping the Velcro strap from your white sun visor.

“No, go without me,” he urged the side of his face smushed into your sheets.

“It’s fine, Gi. I’m gonna order food, what do you want?” You asked, sliding a hoodie over your bikini so you could take your top off without flashing Luigi.

“Please, I don’t want anything…just get yourself something, I’ll Venmo you,” he huffed, rolling his eyes as he rolled over.

A wince.

You paused, unpacking both his sudden moodiness and pained whimper at the same time while trying to avoid brain overload.

“You good? Do you want me to get you some Advil?”

“Huh? Nah, nah, I'm fine, just…just go and get your food. I’ll be downstairs later,”

“Bro, stop bitching, let me help if something’s wrong—“

“The fuck are you being so pushy for! I’m fine, damn!”

Your face contorted into a mixture of confusion and disgust as you looked down at him from the head of your bed. Your brows furrowed as your face slowly began to sour…what a fucking brat.

“First of all, stop fucking shouting at me before I take your keys. Second of all, if you didn’t want help you didn’t have to get disrespectful. But I see you got it figured out, so you can stay here,” you scolded, leaving your room and slamming the heavy oak door behind you. Something Luigi would have never done.

When you left, Luigi suddenly felt like crying. You offered help like a normal friend would, and all he did was show his ass to the only person that could actually pull him out of your sheets.

And even after pushing your company away in favor of retaining a strong image, the pain in his spine didn’t go away.

The sharp, stabbing sensation didn’t ease up on the nerves in his back. They pressed against his skin as their sharp talons dug and clawed the invisible blood to the forefront of his mind.

It burned like hell. Every movement just seemed to put more pressure on his bones, and the top of his legs felt numb like television static.

The best way he knew— or the best way he was taught — how to cope with such pain was  “suck it up” and go about your day, because lord knows America doesn’t pay its citizens enough to afford to live pain-free. He bit down on his lip until he drew blood, the ruby red iron staining his plump bottom lip as he lifted his head to avoid staining your pillows.

A move that proved to further add to the toppling tower of agony. He inhaled sharply, the cold salty air from your constantly open window filtering through his teeth as his eyes screwed shut.

Tears pricked at his waterline as he tried to remain as still as possible. Moving was painful, breathing was painful, and sitting still was painful…it seemed like there was no other choice than to just lie down and face it by himself. Like he’d always done.

Like he was supposed to.

That is until you burst through the door.

And there you were, standing by your bedside with a heating pad, Oxycodone, tea, and a little iced chai for yourself with milky-looking cold foam just above the ice. He looked you up and down, taking in your changed outfit before straining his eyes to look out the window.

He had been lying in your bed in pain for no less than a couple of hours. And normally that’s the way he’d prefer it, but since moving in with you during the summer he had decided on one thing.

He didn’t want to shoulder his pain by himself— correction, he didn’t want to bear the burden of solitude anymore. He wanted to stay in your solitude.

“Next time you need help just fucking ask. Bitch.”

“Sorry, hon…thank you.”

taglist ; @lorelaisg1lmore @flaca335 @7luvrs @fancyyanci @f4b111 @born444u @harrys0nlyange1 @lovelyfeeling @jenisaswift13 @straw8berry

Receiving a call from your ex while you’re fucking Luigi. He answers the phone and tells you to speak 🫣.

Another repost. This was the first fic I ever wrote so it’s a bit all over the place. Enjoy bbys 😋

Luigi shifts under you. You’re straddling his lap grinding into him. “Hmm you want me to…?” he begins. “Yes yes please, I need you” you reply without hearing the end of his question. You’ve been making out in bed for a few minutes. You’re so turned on you feel the wetness pooling between your legs and feel Luigi harden under you. You kiss him again. Hard. Your teeth clank together and you pull back horrified. “Omg sorry did I hurt you?” You place your hands over your mouth embarrassed at how desperate you’re acting. Luigi does nothing but laugh. “Hahah it’s ok, baby” he says tilting his head to the side. His expression is cocky. He loves how desperate and needy he makes you. He knows no one else makes you feel this way and it turns him on. You laugh out of relief, dropping your hands and go back to kissing him, softer this time. You place your hands onto Luigi’s broad shoulders and his hands are on your ass, kneading at the supple flesh.

“More” you whine. “Need more”. You’re grinding down harder onto Luigi’s clothed pelvis trying desperately to ease the pressure down below. You arch your back, the seam of your sweats rubbing deliciously on your clit. You rock back and forth small mewls slipping from your mouth in between each kiss. Luigi moves to kiss down your cheek to your neck and slowly pulls the neckline of your top down to reveal your breast. “This ok?” He places a small kiss on your collarbone looking up at you. Your eyes catch his and you hum in response. Your hands are still resting on his shoulders, supporting you, while you rock back and forth. “Say it” he kisses the same spot on your collarbone. “Need to hear you say it.” He gets off on making you wait. He loves seeing you needy and whiny, making you so desperate you’d do whatever he tells you to. “Y- yes” you manage to get out between gritted teeth. He hesitates a moment before deciding that he’s satisfied with your response. He won’t make you wait any longer. He kisses your boob, just above the nipple. And kisses slightly lower but not low enough. A moan slips through your lips. “Mm yeah” you encourage him. You move one hand to rest on his head, interlocking your fingers between his curls. You use the hand to push his head down. He moves his mouth down, enveloping your whole nipple in his warm mouth. He sucks hard, moving his tongue around massaging your hard nipple. He moves and grabs the other boob and begins rolling your nipple between his fingers. He stays this way a few moments and your rocking slows to a halt. You let out small whines and moans encouraging him. Both your hands are in his hair now, grabbing, pulling and scratching. “You’re so whiny, baby” Luigi pulls away with a grin. “So so whiny” he continues. You’re so turned on you could cry. You look down at him and let out a breathy laugh which turns into a moan. You’re so frustrated with his teasing you grasp a chunk of his hair and pull hard. “Mmmm please” you throw your head back, rolling your hips against his once more so desperate to feel some sort of pleasure. Luigi is taken aback by this show of neediness. His head jerks back while you pull and he winces. You feel his dick twitch under you. “F-fuck ok” he lets out. He reaches out for your hand and untangles your fingers from his hair. He leans in close and whispers “take your clothes off” flashing his incisors.

Upon hearing this you scramble off of him desperately pulling off your pyjama pants and oversized t shirt. “Leave them on” he instructs, before you can pull your panties off. He moves to remove his blue Bali t-shirt, discarding it on the floor. He keeps his boxers on and you notice how hard he is under them. the outline of his dick is obvious as it strains against the fabric of his boxers. He gets up on his knees on the bed, patting the space he was sitting on, inviting you over. You lie down in his space. Your knees bent slightly, feet planted on the mattress, legs spread. Your hands resting on your sides. He takes a moment admiring you, deciding where to begin. He wants to ravage you, savour you, devour you. He enjoys making you feel good. It brings him pleasure. Feeling you come undone under him. He enjoys fucking you, slowly and passionately. Feeling the change in you. Growing desperate and needy to the point of submission. He gets you to a place no man has been able to.

You know what’s about to come. You see it in his eyes. The way they twinkle. His breath is heavy and his eyes wander over your body. He tilts his head as if sizing you up, ready to eat you. You enjoy this. The waiting. Waiting for him to decide what to do with you. How to pleasure you. How to enjoy you. You feel breathless, your chest rising and falling. You place one hand on your upper thigh and drag it slowly upwards. Dragging it over your clothed pelvis, up over your belly button and let it rest on your tit. You squeeze, kneeling slowly. Your nipples are sensitive from Luigi’s mouth so you go slow not to overstimulate yourself. “Come on, touch me” you encourage Luigi to begin. You don’t want to beg. Not just yet. He still doesn’t move so you reach out, tenderly, holding his hand and bringing it to rest over your mound. You half expected him to smack your hand away and make you wait. He slides one long finger over your slit. Up and down. He can feel the wetness leaking out, dampening your panties. “Soo so wet. All for me, baby?” He adjusts so that he’s lying on his side, one hand on you, the other arm propping him up. He runs his slender fingers over the elastic of your panties. “Mhm all for you” you let out. He dips one finger in, extending it to rub small circles over your clit. Your hips buck upwards and a moan leaves your lips. Much louder than you care to admit. He adds another finger, collecting your wetness and using it to rub your clit faster and harder. Your high pitched whines fill the room along with the lewd noises coming from between your legs.

Luigi slips one finger into you and then quickly follows with another. “Getting you ready f’me” he says, brushing his fingers against the spongy spot inside you. Luigi is big and he knows it. He keeps his thumb on your clit, rubbing much slower. Your whines turn to moans, almost growls as you grow more and more desperate for him. For his dick. Inside you. He picks up the pace, and you feel as though you can cum just from his fingers alone. "yeah, let me hear you" He leans over, locking his lips to yours. You kiss him back reaching your free hand to rub the fabric over his dick. A small wet patch formed at his tip from pre cum. You continue palming at his dick before he lets out a low groan. "That's good, baby". He takes such good care of you. Such care goes into making sure you feel good. You sometimes forget he also deserves to feel just as good.

Luigi removes his fingers and pushes your panties to the side. "pretty" he whispers, admiring your pussy. Luigi leans down and places a small kiss to your swollen clit. You arch your back "ohh fuck" you close your eyes and tip your head back, further into the pillow. He knows he has teased you enough. He slips off the bed to remove his boxers. He stands before you, pumping his dick in his big hands, spreading the precum over his tip. You're already so wet for him. You look over at him, hair disheveled, your lips red and puffy spread into a wide smile. you reach out a hand, inviting him back to bed. Inviting him back to fuck you. Taking your hand, he climbs back into the bed, placing his body on top of yours. His hips slit into the space between your legs, almost perfectly. Almost as though your bodies were made that way. Without hesitation he pushes into you, a small gasp leaving his mouth. You, on the other hand, let out a loud moan. "mmm fuck lu". "Tell me when" he says, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. He waits a moment for you to adjust to the stretch. You'll never get over this feeling. No matter how many times he fucks you, you will never not enjoy the stretch from his thick member. the pressure building again from the thick tip pushing against the spongy sensitive spot inside you. "ok ready" you wrap your arms around Luigi's neck, ready for him to begin pounding into you. He waits a moment before moving his hips. Moving his dick slowly out of you and then pushing in again. He does this again, making sure that you are ready and comfortable. "Shit, so good" you moan. The slow strokes feel euphoric. "Gripping me so tight" Luigi spits out as he picks up the pace. His hands reach up to hold your head up. His hands holding your head up as he kisses your lips, your cheeks, your nose. You can't form any thoughts as he picks up the pace, bottoming out in you, the familiar feeling of his dick hitting your cervix causes you to moan out. It hurts but in the best way. Luigi is practically pounding into you. The sound of skin hitting skin fills your ears and you feel sweat gathering at the base of your spine. You're moaning like a porn star and he's filling your ears with the most disgusting things. "You like that hmmm? You like when I'm pounding into you?" his words go straight to your pussy, gripping him like a vice. You can feel the thick vein that runs along his shaft rubbing against your gummy walls. "answer me baby, tell me you like it" "oh y-yes. Fuck I love it lu!" you practically scream out, fearing he might stop if you don't answer him. "that's my pretty gir-" before he can complete his sentence, he spots something, slowing his pace. You feel the change in pace and reach your hands to grab at his lower back, attempting to speed him up.

"Noo keep going" you look up at him and realise something has caught his attention. You follow his eyeline to your phone resting on the nightstand. You notice the familiar pattern of the vibration. You are getting a phone call. "ugh forget it baby" you say. "I'll call them back, whoever it is" you whine out, desperate for him to continue. Luigi reaches for the phone, holding it up so you can see the screen.

incoming call from - Devil Man 👹

Shit. Your toxic ex recently got a hold of your new number. He had called you twice this past week begging to meet up with you, telling you to leave Luigi and go back to him. You hadn't mentioned it to Luigi out of fear he would march over to his house and beat the living shit out of him. Not that your ex doesn't deserve it and you know that Luigi is perfectly capable of doing so, with all the hours he's put into the gym and the years of taekwondo training. You just didn't want Luigi to get into any trouble. Not over that worthless dog.

"Why not just answer it now?" Luigi says with a cheeky grin. Before you can protest, he presses the circular green button, connecting the call. he places the phone on speaker and you hear the familiar sound of your ex boyfriends voice. "y/n i'm so glad you answered". You're eyes are wide with shock, you're shaking your head at luigi questioning what on Earth made him answer the phone. He mouths one single word, "speak" before continuing his brutal pace. You cover your mouth not just out of shock but also to avoid a moan escaping your mouth. "y/n? You there?" Luigi brings the phone closer to you, you manage to mumble a small "yeah" into the general direction of the phone. All you can focus on is Luigi. hovering above you with the biggest smile ever. His dick is pounding into you, bottoming out with every stroke. You feel every inch, every vein brushing against the inside of your walls. He moves your hand away from your mouth, giving you a look to indicate you can do better than that. "oh good you're there. look can i come over?" your ex asks. Luigi scoffs at the request and then signals with his hands encouraging you to play along. "well no, i'm k- kind of busy." You let out shakily. Luigi showed no signs of slowing down. In Fact he reaches down between your naked bodies and slaps your clit. It's a light slap but enough to make you yelp. "what was that? Where are you right now?" your ex begins to question you. "nothing i j- just... Nothing." You're struggling to keep your composure. Luigi smiles then begins rubbing slowly on your clit. The wave of pleasure causes you to let out a low moan. You look at luigi, pleading with your eyes to let up but he shows so signs of slowing down. "come on, i promise i can make you feel way better than that loser you're seeing now. What's his name? Mario?" Hearing your ex talk about Luigi in that way makes your blood boil. Luigi's pace becomes teasingly slow, resulting in him pushing into you so deep and then slowly moving out. His tip teases your cervix every time he pushes in, causing your eyes to roll back. Trying not to scream, you reply "I doubt that.. and it's LUIGI." You look at him and he couldn't be prouder. He presses the mute button on the phone and whispers "keep going, gonna make you cum, baby." in your ear. You press unmute and hear your ex rambling on about how good he can fuck you and about how much more money he makes. "Come on, sweetheart. Please I want you back, I fucked up, ok? Just let me prove to you I'm a changed man." You're so certain he's crying right now and the thought of your slimy ex crying on the phone begging to fuck you whilst the most perfect man is on top of you fucking you so deliciously, makes you want to cum. Luigi is finding humour in listening to him begging you to fuck him, he's shaking his head and smiling, poking his tonge into the side of his cheek, as though he can't belive the audacity of your ex. Luigi moves his hand away from your clit and reaches for the headboard as he braces himself to start pounding into you again. You let out a small whine in anticipation. "Wait are you..." you hear on the phone "what is that noise? Are you with him right now?" Luigi begins pounding into you again, the noise of skin hitting skin fills the room, filtering through the phone's mic. You let out another moan and Luigi grabs your phone. "Sorry bro, she's kinda busy right now" frat boy luigi makes an appearance, speaking into the phone with the biggest grin plastered onto his face. "y/n what is-" before your ex can finish, luigi cuts the call, tosses your phone and turns to you. "fuckk you're all mine" he says reaching once again between your bodies down towards your clit. "All yours" you moan.

A small part of you wishes your ex stayed on the call long enough to hear you cum. especially since most of the time you had to fake it with him. Luigi makes you cum every single time. He takes the time to learn what you like and what makes you feel good. He prides himself on knowing every part of you. And you fall more and more in love with him every time.

Luigi’s bullying pace compared to the gentle touch on your clit is driving you crazy. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, your nails digging into his upper back. A small tear runs down your cheek as you practically scream out "yes. FUCK yes. oh right there" you're so consumed by him. Every nerve on your body is screaming, every hair on your body stood on end. your legs begin to shake as you feel the familiar tightness in your lower belly. You press your palm down on your belly to feel Luigi filling you so deep. "yes baby, f- fuck stay there, gonna- gonna make you cum" you can tell that Luigi is just as close. His eyes are screwed shut and his head tilted upwards. Seeing him in this state pushes you over the edge. The muscles in your legs contract and you dig your nails into Luigi's back, sure to leave a mark. Your eyes screw shut and you scream out Luigi's name. "cumming" is all you can muster. "Yeah, let it out, my pretty girl," he says. You're panting trying to regain your breath. Luigi cums straight after, gasping then letting out a low string of groans as he repeats your name like a prayer "y/n. y/n so perfect" he says spilling into you. You feel him twitching as he stills inside of you. He's coming down from his high and presses his sweaty forehead against yours, smiling. "fuck, I love you so much" you say placing a peck on his lips. "Hmm, I love you too," he says after pulling away. "no one makes me feel as good as you do" you admit to him

Luigi rolls his body off yours and onto the bed next to you. "Let me take care of you" he pulls you into him. your head resting on his chest, his muscly arms wrapped around your frame. fingers stroking your skin "my perfect girl" he sighs into you. You hum in pleasure. There's nowhere else you'd rather be right now.

Tag list 🏷️: @multi-culti-girl @sabrininaa (comment to be added)

Thots on husband lu😔…….

Husband Luigi headcanons <3

AGHH omg omg he’s sooo husband. He would make the perfect husband.

⟡ husband Luigi who makes sure you always have fresh flowers in the vase in the kitchen. He buys you a new bouquet every week, surprising you with whatever is in season. Tulips and daffodils in the spring, dahlias in the fall, snowdrops in the winter and hydrangeas and lillys in the summer. He keeps one flower from every bouquet before you throw it out and dries it out, taping it into a book with the date. He keeps the book in his home office, flicking through the pages, picturing your smile and the way your face lights up every time he gifts you a bouquet.

⟡ husband Luigi who takes notice of all the little things. His brain is like a sponge soaking in information and retaining it. He remembers all the little things you mention, even if you don’t. You drive past a little cafe and you comment on how it “looks cute” so for your next date Luigi will take you there. You mention how you’re out of lotion and luigi will run to the store after work to pick some up for you. And yes, he remembers what lotion you use! You tell him you have a crick in your neck and he’ll buy you a massage gun or look into alternative chair options because the flimsy office chair you have doesn’t provide sufficient support. He learns massage techniques online to help alleviate the discomfort. You send him a funny video of couples yoga or Pilates and he’ll book you both in for a session on your day off. He’ll spend the whole day pampering you.

⟡ husband Luigi who enjoys the mundane domestic chores as long as you’re together. He makes every task a paired task. Need a hand changing the bedsheets, he’ll strip the sheets if you put the new ones on. Need a hand washing the dishes? He’ll wash if you dry. He’ll be yapping away the whole time and you enjoy listening contently to his interesting stories and educated takes about every little thing. Whether it be medicine, politics, cinema or even juicy gossip, he always has something interesting to add.

⟡ husband Luigi who is the calm to your storm. He always has a solution to your problems. Granted, you tend to panic and overthink about the little things but Luigi is always there with an answer to every problem.

⟡ husband Luigi who is mindful of how he goes about teaching you things. He wants to be your Prince Charming, swoop in and do all the work. If he had it his way you wouldn’t have to worry about lifting a finger, but he knows how important it is for you both to have the knowledge and understanding of how things work. But he makes sure to not come across as condescending or as if he’s “mansplaining” something to you. For example you have a rattling sound coming from your car so he guides you out with him, popping the hood and giving everything a once over. He finds the issue and calmly walks you through it, explaining exactly what needs to be done to fix it. He gets his tools out and instructs you on what to do and how to fix it. He is also adamant that you teach him things he doesn’t know. He’s never afraid to ask questions or admit if he doesn’t understand something. He doesn’t fear looking stupid because he knows he isn’t. He’s a little cocky about it but you like that about him.

⟡ husband Luigi who tracks your cycle to know exactly how you’ll be feeling and how he can make it easier for you. He knows when your period is due so will be sure to stock up on snack, warm drinks and have a hot water bottle and plenty of pillows handy. He reminds you to keep your fluids up and cooks your hearty healthy meals to make sure you’re fuelling your body properly. Offering a shoulder to cry on when you have mode swings and knowing that you need alone time occasionally. He knows that during your follicular phase you’ll have your energy back. He plans fun dates and hikes for you to take and even books couples workout sessions for you both. During ovulation he is well aware of your needs and how to care for them. He even teases you by wearing your favourite outfits like grey sweatpants and a black tshirt with a simple gold chain hanging from his neck. He walks around the house nonchalantly, smirking to himself because he knows it drives you crazy. He tries to mix it up in the bedroom by introducing new positions or encouraging you to try new things or new toys to make sure you get as much pleasure out of it as you can. He goes multiple rounds eventually allowing you to just use him until you’re fully satiated ;) During your luteal phase you suffer horrible mood swings leaving you irritable often resulting in you lashing out and then feeling horrible. He knows how to avoid pushing your buttons and lets you take your anger out on him. He never takes it personally and is always there to offer a cuddle and some sweet treats for when you need it. Your boobs are often sore and you feel bloated and have crazy headaches. He’s always there to offer up a hot water bottle, painkillers and some fresh fruit juice to help keep your energy up. He even cuddles with you and massages your boobs to help the pain and soreness.

⟡ husband Luigi who loooves when you wear his clothes. Especially after he’s taken them off. Before you moved in together he would *accidentally* leave his clothes at your place for you to sleep in. Oversized hoodies or basketball shorts whatever he thought would be comfy for you. Now that you’re married he loves when you go through his clothes picking random T-shirts or hoodies with nothing but your underwear on to wear on a lazy Sunday. He especially loves when you wear nothing but his button ups after sex. You wrap your arms around yourself or button up one or two buttons so your boobs are poking out through the top. The shirt is long enough to cover up your ass but one small move and you’re exposed to him.

⟡ husband Luigi who sends you messages and voice notes all day giving you little update on his day. He sends you pictures of the sky or of a cute cat he spotted on the street. He’ll send you voice notes that go on for minutes about a delicious sandwich he ate. Or maybe ranting about how much work he has to do and feels a little overwhelmed about. If he needs to run to the store to grab something for himself he’ll always text you to ask if you need anything. He likes to keep you updated and enjoys seeing your updates too. You send him funny pictures back or have a selection of reaction photos saved and he always tries to guess which one you’ll use. He knows you so well.

Tag list 🏷️: @multi-culti-girl @sabrininaa (comment to be added)

weak for you

summary: after you send luigi a soapy titty pic, he decides to jerk off to it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

luigi’s phone buzzes against the nightstand, the soft vibration cutting through the heavy silence of his hotel room. he barely hesitates before reaching for it, already hoping it’s from you.

and sure enough, your name glows on the screen, followed by a message that makes his heart ache in the best and worst way.

you: i miss u :(( can’t wait for u to come home tomorrow ❤️

he misses you too. hes been away from you for about a week now, away on a work trip that he didn’t even want to go on in the first place, all shacked up in a shitty, overpriced hotel room bed. it’s too cold without you. too empty. too unfamiliar. he’s used to your warmth, the way you curl into his chest, the way you fit so perfectly against him. now, when he reaches out at night, all he can find is cold sheets and silence. and he hates it. thank god he’s able to come home to you sooner rather than later.

his fingers move quickly as he types back.

luigi: miss you too, can’t wait to see you tomorrow baby

luigi: what are you doing right now? :)

a few seconds pass before another buzz.

you: just got out of the shower :) <3

he shifts uncomfortably in bed, running a hand down his face as his mind betrays him. the thought of you, fresh out of the shower, skin warm and dewy, hair damp as you wrap your warm body in a towel sticks in his head like a dream he can’t shake.

he’s suddenly hyper aware of just how how hard his cock is getting, shielded underneath his boxers. he sucks in a sharp breath, forcing himself to think, to type out a response, but it’s impossible when all he can focus on is thought of you, all naked and beautiful.

luigi: oh yeah? can i see? ;)

just a few minutes later…

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you’re an evil, evil woman.

that’s the first thought that crosses luigi’s mind as he stares at his phone screen, jaw slack, fingers frozen over the keyboard like his brain just turned to mush.

you were beautiful, that much he knew. but in the photo you just sent him? he doesn’t know the right word to adequately describe just how you look now.

there you were, your breasts smothered in delicate, frothy trails of soap, pearlescent in the dim bathroom light. remnants of warm water made everything look impossibly soft, almost unreal.

hes always loved your breasts, sometimes he thinks that the universe made them just for him. they’re soft, and fit perfectly in his hands. they make perfect pillows too. if luigi could choose when he was to die, he’d choose to die wrapped up in your arms, head burrowed against your breasts like a baby, while you caressed his curls, lulling him.

but the more he stares at the picture you sent him, the more he realises that he can’t ignore the throbbing problem in his pants.

he can’t help it, he reaches down and frees himself from his boxers, feeling the cold air of the hotel room pierce against him, and begins to stroke himself slowly while staring at the picture of you on his phone.

he lets out a soft whimper and leans his head back against the pillow, holding the picture up in the air. his mind begins to exhibit various scenarios to him, one being laying next to you in bed, his head resting against your chest, his mouth feeding from your breast while you stroke his cock with one hand, while threading your fingers through his hair with the other.

he wishes it was your hand stroking him instead of his own.

his mind also shows him bending you over the kitchen table and absolutely wrecking you, dominating you. he has your hair in a makeshift ponytail, and he’s rutting his hips into you so desperately while you scream and beg for more. his free hand repeatedly lands harshly on your ass, leaving behind scarlet marks and making it sting.

luigi has always loved fucking you from behind.

he strokes his cock faster, it now being red from the over exertion.

“feels so good baby, yeah…” he whimpers, letting out a breathy moan as the intense burning in his stomach slowly begins to get bigger, more intense.

then, he gets an idea.

he’s still holding his phone with his left hand, so he presses the X button on the top right corner of the photo you sent, and taps the microphone to record a voice message, all whilst still fucking himself with his free hand.

he lets loose. all you’ll hear when you receive it will be the obscene sounds of profanities, moans, and whimpers. but he doesn’t care, he wants you to hear how weak he is for you.

he hits send.

“shit.” he moans, his cock tingling, the coil in his stomach so close to snapping. he stares intently at his phone, awaiting a response from you as he fucks himself all the way to the edge.

letting out a final noise of satisfaction, his toes curl and he finally hits his climax, spilling hot white ribbons of his seed all over himself as he whimpers your name like a prayer.

he’s coming down from his high, thinking that hes finally satisfied, until three dots pop up on his phone screen. snapping him back to reality.

you’re typing. that means you’ve listened to what he sent you. you’ve heard him.

his phone buzzes twice, followed by your two messages flashing on the screen.

you: i love you baby

you: facetime me now ;)

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

this is so fucking rushed… and it’s the first time i’ve ever written anything smutty too omg forgive me

previous work

Luigi taking care of you on your period (fluff)

This is one of my favourite things I’ve written!! I’m so glad I found it!

It’s the second day of your period, always the worst. You’re lying on the floor in your living room, curled up in a fetal position, trying your hardest to make the pain go away. You roll onto your knees and bend forward, resting your head between your thighs, hands planted flat on the floor in front of you. You rack your brain, trying to remember the position that’s supposed to help ease period cramps, according to a women's health article you read months ago. You let out a frustrated huff. Nothing is making the pain subside.

“Still painful?”

Luigi looks down at you from the sofa. His laptop rests on his thighs, illuminating his face. The glasses perched on his nose reflect the screen, displaying some program he’s been working on for the past few weeks.

“Yeeessss,” you draw out.

“Come, let’s cuddle. Maybe it’ll help,” he says, reaching out an arm and placing a comforting hand on your back. He rubs up and down. His hands are big and warm.

One thing about Luigi—he’s always warm. Even when it’s cold, he’s warm. You, on the other hand, always run cold. You love cuddling up to him, soaking in his body heat, nuzzling your head into his chest while his big hands roam over you. Your own personal heater.

The thought of curling into his warm body is inviting, but the thought of actually getting up to move is not. You turn your head to look at him and flash a smile.

“Hm, that would be nice,” you reply.

“Yeah?” Luigi smiles back, shutting his laptop and placing it on the table next to him. He stands up, stepping over your body. You straighten your back, sit up on your knees, and lift your arms toward him—much like a baby wanting to be picked up. He stands in front of you and reaches down, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. His hands settle on your plush ass, squeezing it through your sweats. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, and he giggles. His stubble is scratchy against your face.

“Let’s go,” he states.

“Where are we going?” you giggle back, already feeling more relaxed.

I suppose it's true what they say about happy hormones. Some people exercise, others use drugs to experience a rush of endorphins, but for you, happiness is Luigi. He will always be your happy space.

“The bedroom. I promise it’ll be more comfy, baby,” he assures you, carrying you down the hall toward your room.

He opens the door to your shared bedroom, revealing a mess—an unmade bed, sheets disheveled. Luigi tries his best to quickly neaten the sheets with one hand while the other rests on your lower back, supporting you. Once satisfied, he drops both himself and you onto the bed.

His back rests against the headboard as you shift, getting comfortable in his lap, head against his chest, legs bent into yourself. One arm hooks under your knees, the other drapes around your waist. His fingers fiddle with the fabric of your top.

“This okay?” he asks while scanning your face, checking that you’re comfortable. He’s always been able to read you like a book, picking up on the slightest changes in your expression and knowing how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking.

“Perfect,” you reply, nuzzling further into him. You feel his body relax into yours, satisfied that he’s doing his job to help ease your pain.

“You know, this would feel so much better if we were both naked,” he smirks.

You let out a breathy laugh. Surely, he’s joking.

“No, babe, I’m serious. I read this article about skin-to-skin contact and how it helps when you’re in pain or distress.” Luigi starts listing off the reasons why skin-to-skin contact will help alleviate your pain, rambling about hormones and pain receptors. Even though both of his hands are on you, his fingers move in sync with his words. His eyebrows lift and fall, his blinking becomes more intense as he recalls the information.

God, you love this nerdy man.

“—so then your brain sends signals to your pain receptors and—”

Before he can continue, you place a gentle hand over his mouth. He’s brought back down to Earth, and you feel his lips curve into a smile under your palm.

“Okay, doctor. I’ll get naked,” you say with a teasing smile.

Luigi’s cheeks flush red. He always gets shy and embarrassed when he realizes he’s been rambling. You feel slightly guilty for cutting him off, so before you do anything else, you reassure him.

“I love how much you care about me, my love. Really, I do.”

His expression softens upon hearing your words. You place a small kiss on the tip of his nose before climbing off his body. You feel another cramp, the dull ache making you wince. You rest a hand on your stomach as you walk toward the bathroom, aware of Luigi’s eyes trailing after you, watching the way your hips sway.

In the bathroom, you undress but decide to keep your bra and underwear on. You take a quick glance in the mirror. Your hair is a tangled mess, heavy bags hang under your eyes, and hormonal acne peppers your lower jaw. But regardless of how unattractive you might feel, Luigi always looks at you like you’re the most beautiful girl, never failing to shower you with compliments and uplift you when you talk down on yourself. You smile at your reflection, then turn and walk back toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door is open, and you see Luigi standing before the bed in nothing but his boxers, removing his sweater. His sweats are in a pile on the floor, and his glasses are folded neatly on the vanity. You pause at the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching him for a moment.

His body is on full display, his chest and abs look as though they’ve been chiseled into stone. The muscles in his arms flex as he haphazardly throws his sweater onto a chair. He notices you staring at him and smirks, dimples appearing. You feel warmth rush to your face, embarrassed that you've been caught staring.

His lips spread into a wide grin, his dimples appearing. He swells with a sense of pride. Luigi prides himself on his work ethic. He puts his all into whatever he does, and you admire him for that. His body for starters, due to his back pain he was unable to work out for a while, but you watched him through the endless hours of research and trial and error as he found a routine that worked for him. You slowly began to see the changes, the lines appearing on his abs the way his arms began to fill out his shirt sleeves, the way his leg muscles flex as he walks. You always make sure to point out the changes and to shower him with compliments, to make sure that he knows he looks good, even when he thinks he doesn’t. 

“You gonna stand there and stare, or are you going to join me?” Luigi teases, slipping back under the covers.

You push off the frame and walk toward the bed. Sliding in, you shuffle all the way under the duvet, leaving only your head poking out. Luigi chuckles, flashing you a boyish grin as he reaches for you under the blanket, gripping your hips and dragging you toward him.

“Come here,” he laughs.

Your almost-naked bodies tangle together as his muscular arms envelop you. His warmth seeps into your skin. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, his natural musk filling the air around you. You feel your whole being swallowed by his. The pure intimacy of it all makes your brain feel fuzzy.

You look up to place a peck on his lips, but he stops you with two fingers under your chin, before you can pull away. His lips meet yours, lingering for a moment before he pulls away, satisfied.

“See? Naked is much better,” he muses.

“Way better,” you agree with a smile, settling against him once more.

And in that moment, wrapped in Luigi’s warmth, you feel completely at peace.

One of his hands snakes upward, stroking your hair so tenderly. You let out a satisfied hum to let him know you’re enjoying it.

You close your eyes and stay this way for a while, listening to Luigi breathe, his chest rising and falling beneath you. You match your breathing to his, savoring his company and the intimacy of the moment.

Luigi breaks the silence. “Feeling any better, sweet girl?”

“A little. I still feel kinda stiff,” you respond, wrapping your legs tighter around his body. You feel another cramp, this time in your back, and immediately stiffen against him.

“Another cramp, baby?” Luigi asks, feeling you tense. “Want me to rub your back? Maybe it’ll help, huh?” He waits for your response, shifting slightly to look at your face.

You look up at him, catching his gaze. “No, Lui, let's just stay like this,” you whisper into his ear. “I’m comfortable,” you assure him, the feeling of guilt lingers, he had pulled away from his work just to cuddle with you. Still, you can’t deny how enticing the thought of a massage from Luigi sounds.

“Wait, I can try one of those massage techniques I read about! Remember I was telling you? They helped me, maybe they’ll help you too. Here, baby, just spin around, lay on your belly.” He gently maneuvers your body under the duvet until you're lying face down on the bed. “Comfy?” he asks.

You adjust slightly, wiggling into a comfortable position. “Yeah, but baby, I promise you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, Luigi cuts you off. “Come on, just let me take care of you,” he retorts, flashing you a small smile you can’t resist. He moves to sit next to you on the bed, the blanket draped over his lower half.

“Okay, fine,” you huff playfully, smiling up at him. He slowly pulls the blanket down, exposing your bare back.

Luigi places his palms on your lower back, moving them up and down the length of your spine a few times, applying deep pressure. You close your eyes and let out a small groan, his touch offers immediate relief.

He then presses small circles into your lower back with his fingers, repeating the motion as he slowly works his way up to your shoulder blades. Then, he moves back down, making slight changes to the motions, checking in with you every so often. All you can manage in response is another groan, the relief is so satisfying you struggle to find the words. 

Above you, Luigi chuckles. “Damn, my hands are like magic, huh, baby?” You can picture the way he’s smiling. This is his love language, acts of service. Luigi always has a solution to your problems, and if he doesn’t, he’ll find one. God, what have you done to deserve such a man? You catch yourself thinking this multiple times a day.

“Hmm, whatever you say, babe,” you tease, giggling, jokingly downplaying just how much the massage is helping.

Luigi continues, gradually easing the pressure until his touches are featherlight. You feel yourself slipping into slumber, lulled by his gentle touch. At some point, you drift off, vaguely aware of Luigi wrapping you in his arms before sleep fully takes over.

When you wake, the sun is beginning to set, its warm glow spilling through the window. You aren’t sure how long you were asleep, but you’re no longer wrapped in Luigi’s arms. You still feel his lingering warmth and reach out, scanning the bed with your hand, searching for him. Your hand finds his thigh, and you open your eyes to see him, still shirtless, sitting up in bed with his laptop perched on his lap, fingers furiously typing away, completely engrossed in his work.

“Luigi?” Your voice is croaky from sleep. You crane your neck to look at him.

“Hey, baby, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, shutting his laptop and placing it on the floor. “Was the typing too loud?”

“No, not at all. Hmm… I think I’m hungry,” you murmur, rubbing your hand up and down his thigh. You stretch under the blanket, letting out a satisfied groan.

“You still feel any pain?” Luigi asks, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your lips. You playfully jut your tongue out slightly before he pulls away, he makes a face of mock disgust. You chuckle.

“No, the massage worked. Thank you for that, my love,” you reply.

Luigi looks at you, tilting his head as he admires you for a moment, his eyes full of love and adoration. You meet his gaze, offering a small smile. Silent "I love you’s" pass between you before Luigi takes a sharp inhale. He slides off the bed. “Hey, let me get us something to eat. You want anything in particular?” He reaches for his sweats, pulling them on before tossing you his sweater.

“Oh, Lu, you’ve already done so much. Let me make us something,” you offer, sitting up and pulling his sweater over your head.

He glares playfully before smiling. “Absolutely not. What did I say earlier? Let me take care of you!”

“Okay, okay, you can cook.” Secretly, you're relieved. Between the two of you, Luigi is by far the better cook. He spent years perfecting old family recipes while in college, tweaking the recipes with tricks he picked up from cookbooks and online videos.

“Maybe I’ll make carbonara… Oh, wait, actually, I’m kinda craving risotto. It’s warm, and it’ll help you feel a bit better.” Luigi extends a hand to you, and you slip out of bed, walking hand in hand toward the kitchen.

You smooth your hair back and head to the sink to wash your hands while Luigi opens the fridge, pulling out ingredients for his famous risotto. He grabs a knife and begins dicing an onion with practiced ease. You push yourself up onto the counter, admiring his smooth knife skills.

The two of you stay like this, Luigi moving around the kitchen, preparing your meal, while you sit and drink him in. As he cooks, he starts explaining the small tweaks he made to his family’s traditional recipe. Originally, the onions were fried in butter, but he found olive oil to be a better alternative. He carries on rambling about the benefits of oil while you sit, listening to his nerdy ramblings.

Once the risotto is ready, Luigi carries two plates into the living room. You trail behind, carrying two glasses of water. He sets the food down, and you settle beside him on the couch. After eating, the evening unfolds in comfortable warmth, cuddling, talking, and laughing about everything and nothing.

“I love you so much, you know that?” you murmur, pressing your forehead against his.

“You know what? I love you too,” he whispers, pressing the softest kiss to your lips

lovefool

info: luigi mangione x (fem) reader, NSFW, toxic ex situationship, reader is a ballerina, 5.6k wc

(a/n: this is entirely, entirely fiction! nothing i write reflects anyone irl. this should be obvious but i want to make that explicitly clear. if this upsets you, please do not read! you can also block me!)

Today was a bad day. That’s your excuse.

You were harshly critiqued during a private practice with your ballet master; tired and nervous and falling out of your turns that you know you should be executing perfectly. The upcoming performance of Coppélia is your first role in the main cast after five years with the company– after years of competing with the other dancers to get ahead. It’s your first chance to truly impress and cement yourself as an integral and regular part of the cast; so you stay too late at the studio, continuing to sacrifice after years of dedication, for a flickering chance of success that was never quite guaranteed.

You hate thinking, hate admitting that the added rehearsals and endless criticism was getting to you. It was unnerving knowing your teachers were watching to see if you could deliver the perfection that was undoubtedly expected of you. You're trying, but lately, for the first time in a very long time, you’re not sure if you can truly handle the pressure. 

Your calf hurts, it’s constantly throbbing and hot, and you’ve already spent too much time with the physical therapy team this week. Your feet are blistered and hurting– even more than usual, and you’re sick of the almost daily ice baths and the uncomfortable compression sleeves you have to wear to bed. 

Every night you dream of being on stage, in front of a full crowd and the hot, blinding lights. You dream of faltering, of forgetting choreography as a pressure in your chest builds and you wake up suddenly; sweaty, scared, and alone. It only motivates you to stay longer at the studio, falling into the routine of neglecting everything except dance, of neglecting yourself and your friends, trying not to think about all of the accumulated unanswered texts. 

It’s past ten by the time you leave the studio tonight, pouring rain and you realize he forgot an umbrella. You are tired, hungry, and admittedly, unashamedly, want Luigi. You want Luigi’s nice, warm apartment, his strong arms and sweet words, and the hot food he would make, always insisting you eat after practice.

When you were dating, you always felt like Luigi was almost too good to you. He would come to your shows with ridiculously big bouquets of flowers and deep kisses that would always embarrass you, trying to pin you against the wall of the empty dressing room just because he could. Luigi was devoted and intentional and kind; aware and always touching you, smiling at you, hugging you, fucking you. He would always ask you to stay afterward too, would always let you roll around in his big king-sized bed. 

Luigi was good for you in a lot of ways; he would massage your legs and arms when you were sore and he would cook for you after you came back from a long four-hour rehearsal; when usually before you would just eat half of a protein bar and crawl into bed. He would whisper constant reassurances and praise because Luigi knew ballet has always been important to you and self criticism has always been too easy for you. 

Ballet has always been the center of your life. You had spent your entire childhood working towards a future career in dance; worked hard for years, for so long, for hours every day in practice rooms, in competitions; sacrificing so much. All for ballet. 

For a long time, New York City Ballet seemed like a ridiculous pipe dream with a slim chance of becoming reality. You stayed in crowded and uncomfortable New York apartments for two years before you were offered an apprenticeship and then finally became a part of the corps de ballet two years ago. 

You yourself orbit around your career in ballet; your only friends are fellow dancers in the company and you're at the studio almost everyday. You have class six days a week and rehearsals on top of that for the seasonal ballet that’s performed four times a week.

In ballet, in that perfect and beautiful world, you have so much. You have accomplished a lot for your age, even if you didn’t like to acknowledge your impressive list of achievements and talents. You are dancing for one of the most prestigious companies in the world and have been praised by your ballet master, by your peers, and teachers for your talent and dedication. 

In ballet, you are seasoned and you are assured and strong. You know who you are on stage and who you are meant to be. But outside of ballet, in the other, crueler world that you don't understand, you aren’t totally sure who you are, what or who you were for. 

In real life, off stage, when you left the studio after practice, you really didn’t feel that strong. Sometimes you don’t feel that strong at all. And a lot of the time, You just want to love. 

You want to love and trust like the cheesy dramas you watched with your grandmother as a child. The dramas with the woman that always got the strong and sweet man at the end, after all of the pain and pining, eventually the world would solve itself and it would always end in easy and simple love. 

You have always wanted to be in love. Through ballet, You learned how to feel and express love, romance, and a range of emotions, and portray all of them silently. Because of that, because of the love you have for ballet and because of the love you routinely express, you have always thought that you would be good at loving someone else. 

You wanted it so badly, so much that it hurt; so much that you would lie awake at night in your small twin bed, against your scratchy, cheap sheets and would imagine stronger arms around you so you could finally relax and trust. You just wanted the warmth of someone else. It always got so cold– alone in your room, in your shitty apartment where you couldn't afford heat. Where you stayed before you woke up and went back to ballet, to your world. 

Luigi was immediately easy to love because Luigi was made to love. You met him through his college friend, another dancer. Luigi came to a matinee when both she and you were performing. Afterwards, she proudly introduced Luigi to you and his eyes stared into your own, bright and kind. He smiled widely and shook your hand. When you first met Luigi, you immediately wanted to love him. You just knew it would be so easy. 

When Luigi asked you out only a few days later, showing up with the guise of picking her up from rehearsal; he was shy, like he had never done this before. You liked that, you wanted to be the only one Luigi could even consider loving. He took you to a fancy restaurant that week, one that you had never been to, and from then on, it was too easy. 

“It’s because Luigi is loaded,” your friend had said once– and that wasn’t true. Luigi was comfortable but that wasn’t why you loved him. Luigi was everything you thought you would never really have because it was too good, it was almost too much love. 

Luigi would massage your aching legs and shoulders and praise you quietly, with small smiles and gentle reassurances. Because without you confiding in him, he knew what you needed and he wanted you to feel loved, to feel like you deserved to be loved. You were so used to critique, to being judged in all aspects of your life. It was nice and you chased it and Luigi loved giving it. 

It was barely a year of being together before you excitedly moved into his apartment; it was an easy decision to leave your apartment with four other people that was always cramped and dramatic.

Luigi told you that you made him believe in love. You felt like that too, when you really thought about it. You liked being called pretty, liked being taken care of sometimes, of being held like you were precious. You didn't need it, but you liked it. You liked how Luigi fucked you slowly, how he would suck deep dark marks into your chest, and hold your head carefully to fuck his cock into your mouth, before pulling out and having you gasping for breath. 

But you eventually realized loving was hard sometimes. It was time-consuming. It was encompassing and overwhelming. Sometimes it would be all you could think about, you would fall out of turns because you were thinking of the ghosting movements of Luigi’s arms and hands. It was all explosive and made you feel out of control and out of reach from reality. You could never decide if you loved it or absolutely hated it. Because you would be bubbling over with emotion, with needs and love that Luigi induced; coaxing it out of you so carefully. But then he would always eventually pull away— shut down and retreat, and it felt devastating.

It was intense. It was huge fights and then tearful, passionate making up, unfulfilled promises, and silent days when he would shut you out and then there were overwhelming, beautiful ones. Luigi told you it was hard for him, that he was trying really hard and you always felt guilty for coming home so late, for being too tired for the dates he wanted so badly to go on. 

Luigi was just possessive and determined, stubborn and passive. But he made you feel safe, like you could afford to miss practice because he felt more important than ballet and that terrified you– the thought that anything could ever come before ballet. You didn’t think that love should be scary.

It was like you forgot how to live without Luigi. You truly couldn’t remember what New York was like without him. Sometimes you didn’t have time for much else, not even ballet. You didn’t love dancing like you used to, you loved him, loved the idea of freedom instead of being in love with something that was so taxing and draining. Sometimes you couldn’t believe how backwards your entire life had been before meeting him. 

But when your ballet master pulled you aside one day and told you looked sloppy and distracted and that you needed to get it together or else there was a chance you would be out of the winter performance of the Nutcracker, You broke up with Luigi that night. 

 He only looked confused and asked if ballet meant more to you than he did. And in a mix of confusion and pure adrenaline, you obviously said yes. 

Luigi just stared at you, he didn’t look upset. Just empty. “You know I love you,” he said, voice flat and eyes looking at you with such silent intensity, eyes so harsh that you were almost intimidated. 

“I do,” He said, saying it so easily and it hurt for some awful reason. Luigi stared at you like he couldn’t possibly understand why you felt paralyzed and powerless. 

“I do,” he repeated coldly and then Luigi left his own apartment without looking back at you. 

It felt too sudden and easy and you selfishly and wrongly wanted Luigi to stay; to fight, to convince you, to do anything but actually leave. 

The next few days, you moved out of his apartment, quickly shoving your things in boxes while Luigi watched silently. 

But breaking up didn’t really help at all. It didn’t help that consuming love and persistent ache you felt. It was harder. Harder to concentrate during practice, harder to sleep, harder to make your own decisions, and hard to stop yourself from instinctively texting or calling Luigi. 

You really try but Luigi is hard to resist. He would text you, saying he was sorry and asking you to come over and you would be at his door in thirty minutes. You would block his number in fit of determination to move on and then he would email you that he loved you and that he wanted things to go back to the way things were. He was sorry for loving you, for loving him too much. Luigi said sorry for whatever he did wrong, for getting in the way and that real and true love sometimes does that– but that he still understands. He was always so sorry. 

You’re sorry too. And bored. You miss Luigi so much. You last thirteen days after the breakup before you’re at his apartment and your roommate checks his location and sends you a knowing ‘:(‘ while you were busy getting fucked against his stupidly nice granite kitchen countertop. 

You still try really hard to move on but you feel lost like you were now wondering about some impossibly changed world. It had been almost two years with Luigi now dramatically, you didn’t know how to go about not having him. You can only think of his good traits and you start to wonder why you even broke up with him; spiraling and laying on your bed with your calf hurting wishing he was there. Wishing it was easy. Thinking that it could be easy again. 

So you text him. And he responds immediately— like it always is.

hi 

Hi baby

are you busy rn? 

Waiting for Luigi to respond should give you time to think through this. To stop. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You should be– used to be, better than this. Luigi was bad for you. Because it was too consuming, it was too much good. 

When he responds, You can’t help but smile. You hate the way you smile instinctively, you hate the way you love Luigi in such a consuming and uncomfortable way.

I’m free for you. 

Always.

Without him, you might be more productive, more efficient, and less emotional but there was a hole missing carved out and splintering in your heart. It felt stupid and poetic and dramatic, but without him, you just didn’t feel the same. Luigi was love and everything you wanted. It’s just complicated. It’s just sweet kisses, warm bodies, and the sweetest words. 

You still know the code to his apartment complex, Luigi never changed it. As you knock now, you manage to feel a little ashamed. 

He opens the door in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, hidden away from people who worked long days and nights, from the ballet studio where your limbs ached and where you were never good enough. 

It was just Luigi and his soft clothes and sweet-smelling fabric softener. You still love him so much that it hurts; you love that Luigi loves you, loves that he thinks you’re enough— more than enough. You like how secure you feel, and all the nice things Luigi says, and how pretty his life seems. You want a pretty life too, want beauty— and he is really beautiful. 

“Hi,” You say quietly, toying with the hem of your sweatshirt. 

“Hello,” Luigi says with a small, knowing, but sweet smile, crossing his arms. “Why are you here,” he asks, like you’re a complete stranger. 

You look down at the floor as you finally make yourself look into Luigi’s eyes, patient and waiting. “Don't make me say it,” you murmur, a quiet plea. 

Luigi leans against the door frame and purses his lips together and frowns, like you’re just not understanding each other, like you just don't get it. 

“I want you to, though. I want to hear you say it.” Luigi stands up straighter and looks at you directly, voice serious and almost cold, “I need to hear you say it.”

You shift and bite your lip; it was just one of his things. One of those things to feel in control, to feel like you needed him more. Because Luigi would always get caught up in these little things. It doesn’t mean anything. 

You look up at Luigi through his lashes and press your lips together in an obvious, exaggerated, stupid expression. “I missed you. I missed you a lot, Lu.”

Luigi’s expression softens immediately like it always does. “Oh baby,” He murmurs, “Baby, baby.”

He draws you into his arms gently, like you’re incredibly fragile and breakable and you think you might be. You shouldn’t like that, shouldn’t like being treated like you were so breakable and wounded but you liked it sometimes, very secretly. Maybe too much. 

“C’mere,” Luigi murmurs, leading you to the sofa. He runs a hand over your face carefully and he smells like his stupid expensive cologne that you still can’t totally wash out of your own clothes. “Bad day?” He asks quietly even though it’s incredibly obvious that it is. 

“Yeah,” You say with a rush of sudden self awareness and shame. “I probably shouldn’t–” You look down at his fingers twisted in your lap. “I shouldn't be here.”

Luigi comically frowns at that and knits his eyebrows like he doesn’t understand, “Why not?” 

You look up at him and try to look exasperated but you just sound tired and sad. “Because we’re not together.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t like you stating the obvious. He just tilts his head and smiles, obvious and kind of patronizing, hand coming to rub across your thigh. Warm and heavy. Because you go through this every time, you pretend or try to not want this and Luigi just smiles and sees right through it. 

“I still support you though, you know that.” He says, still with a smile.

“Yeah,” you sniff and don't try to say anything else. 

“Yeah,” Luigi agrees softly and it makes you smile, staring down at your own lap. His hand comes to cup your cheek, hand fitting perfectly holding your jaw, thumbing across your cheekbone carefully, it feels familiar and warm and comforting. 

“I just want to help you,” Luigi whispers. You aren't sure if you believe him but you want to so incredibly badly. You don't want help. You don't need help. But sometimes it’s nice to pretend. 

You look at Luigi, his pretty dark hair and long lashes. His sweet eyes that watch you carefully. It’s silent for a few moments, comfortable and familiar. In Luigi’s big and warm apartment. 

“Can I take care of you,” Luigi finally asks, looking at you patiently, sweet and quiet, and you nod quickly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper like it’s a secret- he makes you feel like nothing else matters except the two of you. It doesn’t matter that you aren’t together, that you could never truly work. Nothing matters at all. 

Luigi tugs you into his lap easily and his arms loop around you, warm and big. His hand cups your jaw and pulls you closer, tilting his own head to kiss your lips, soft and slow and bothered because he always has time. His hand fits in the curve of your waist and the other thumbs over your ear gently and it makes you shudder. His tongue in your mouth feels hot and heavy, barely pulling away to let you breathe but you still let your eyes shut and try to relax, trying to melt into his touch. 

It’s easy, Luigi smells like his usual Tom Ford cologne and you feel surrounded by it. His hand on your back thumbs over your skin under your shirt gently when he pulls away to look at you, face still so close to your own. 

“Do you want to,” he trails off and waits because he knows what you will say. Because you only want him, still. Even when he said he slept with other people, even when he went out of his way to tell you that. When he knew it hurt your feelings, when he knew your friends hated him. Luigi never cared, but he did care about you. 

It’s easy to nod. It’s easy to say yes and end up in his big bed with his nice sheets; comfortable and soft, on top of some ridiculously expensive therapeutic mattress. 

Luigi rolls on top of you, pushing his thigh against your sweatpants, surrounded totally by him as he braces his arms on each side of you, trapping you in a beautiful and comforting way. Your hand reaches up, running his fingers carefully through Luigi’s curls for some sense of stability. 

Your head is spinning and you feel desperate to belong to Luigi again. You lean up, rocking your hips and lick in Luigi’s mouth, sloppy and eager as he groans from your movement. 

You whine softly when he pulls away, still so close to his face, smiling and looking at you like you’re beautiful; you can feel it without him saying anything. He never has to say anything. 

Luigi rolls off of you, stripping off his hoodie and it feels unfair. After you broke up, he only started going to the gym more than he used to, using it as stress relief and enjoying the way he knew it drove you crazy. His shoulders are broad, muscular, defined and skin still soft and smooth; in just his boxers now, his broad shoulders, large biceps, and toned back. You feel almost sick with a horribly familiar and comforting love. 

Your hand runs down Luigi’s chest, trailing down his pec. He looks down, watching your fingers graze his tanned skin before grabbing your hand to pull him closer and back onto his lips. 

Luigi’s hand slides from your waist to tug at the waistband of your sweatpants, watching you carefully, like he’s waiting for you to realize that this is wrong; that this only makes it harder, that you shouldn’t be doing this. 

But you don't say anything as you pull them off of you, revealing your cotton underwear that you know Luigi likes. You sit up slightly so it’s easier for him but you grimace at the sudden pain in your left leg. Luigi stops when he sees your discomfort. “What, baby?”

“I’m just— I’m sore,” You mumble, blinking as Luigi frowns almost comically wide. 

“Is it your calf again? I told you you need a second opinion besides the company PT. They’re bullshit.” He nags, reminding you of all the nights he would run a bath for you and insist you soak in the tub with his luxury bath salts after rehearsal. You smile at the memory and at Luigi’s furrowed brows.

“I’m working on it,” You say and he looks unconvinced, like he’s about to lovingly lecture you but you don't want to think about your calf pain now— or about ballet at all. 

You instead lean up, hand resting on Luigi’s back and pull him down. He obliges easily and leans back over you, careful to prop himself up with one of his forearms, the other slides down your thigh, massaging and kneading the skin carefully. 

He continues silently, looking at you intently like just your presence is enough. You love feeling like enough. “I just love you so much, baby,” He murmurs, “Dunno what to do about it.” He nudges your nose with his own and kisses you gently as you circle your arms around his shoulders. 

“Just love me,” You whisper when you part, immediately hating how vulnerable you sound. 

“Okay,” Luigi smiles easilyand kisses you again, tongue hot and wet in your mouth, sucking and licking. He only pulls away to kiss your neck, sucking deep marks into your skin as evidence of the two of you, as a sad noise escapes from the back of your throat at the loss of his touch and warmth. He always loved proof of the night before on you, of marks you know you’ll have to put concealer over the next day. 

Your sweater comes off easily and Luigi coos, wrapping his arms around you, warm hands roaming over your body; one hand holding your waist and the other undoing your bra easily, both of his large hands coming to grope your tits. It feels nice, the attention, the want. “God,” he mumbles, almost to himself, staring at your body. But you never feel exposed under Luigi’s wandering gaze, it feels too loving and too real. 

“Hurry,” You jut out your bottom lip and Luigi laughs. 

“So cute,” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Patience, baby.”

He tugs your underwear off easily and you’re flooded with a sudden rush of excitement and familiarity. You wish that you could exist in this moment forever, when you don’t have to worry about anything else, when you can just exist because he thinks you’re perfect the way you are. You aren't sure if you deserve that but you want it forever.

He spreads your thighs gently, bringing you back to your present reality and watching your reactions, his long, warm fingers rubbing your inner thigh soothingly. He inserts one finger inside of you first carefully and you sigh, reminding once again how much you’ve missed this, him. You grip his bicep as one finger rubs at your clit and others curl inside of you. You feel a bit dazed, letting your body just feel. Luigi is always so concentrated, lip bit and eyes dark, focusing on his rehearsed routine; his firm body pressed so closely against your own, surrounding and encompassing. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, maybe more to himself and it makes you feel shy. “Luigi,” you laugh but it turns into a sound of surprise when you feel his cock rub against your entrance, wet and heavy.  

He glances down at you and is obviously affected as he lines himself up and finally pushes in wordlessly, no particular warning and no condom, like always. You like that it still feels the same between you two, like nothing ever changed. You gasp; even though you’ve taken him so many times, Luigi is big and it’s always an adjustment, but a good one. 

Luigi sighs like it’s something he’s addicted to, like it’s something he desperately needs. It’s unfair really. You love the way he looks, his hair has gotten longer even if the couple of weeks you had successfully refined from contacting him and he doesn’t shave as often now either, ever since you broke up. You love his parted lips, his obvious pleasure because of you. 

“Made to take me, made for me,” he mutters as you feel yourself nodding, he thrusts in an easy rhythm, gentle and slow. Luigi is never rough with you. “Let me know how good I make you feel,” he mutters, looking down at you, one hand coming to intertwine with one of your own.

“Lu, it feels, you feel, so good,” you say, looking up at Luigi through your lashes. But he’s quiet and you hate it.

“Say anything, please Luigi, please.” You look up at him with a horse whisper, “Please.”

“I love you,” He looks down at you and you know that he means it, he always has. Any internal anxiety that built up inside of you dispates and is replaced by something so good, something you always feels when he fucks you, when he’s is close to you, when he’s holding you firmly and carefully; when he is totally devoted to and concentrated on you. You love how much Luigi loves you. 

“It’s only you,” you say, like it's a secret but it’s really not, not to either of you. You say it because you know what it does to him. You watch Luigi's lips part slightly in realization before they curl up into a big grin. 

“Always?” He asks and you hesitate but you can’t say no, because when you think about it, it might be true. 

“Maybe,” you smile but when you really think about it, Luigi is right. He smiles too, knowingly, like he knows he’s right too. 

Moments like this make you wonder why you ever broke up with him. Luigi is the only one that you let fuck you and you come over regularly and you still love each other. You feel like you don't understand anything at all. 

You groan as Luigi thrusts faster and one of his hands comes to palm at your tits, thumbing across one of your nipples and making you squirm under his touch. The sensation makes you arch your back in sensitivity, only further into him. 

Luigi stares down at you like he’s done something beautiful and you subconsciously clench at the pleasure. “Fuck,” he grunts, forehead shining with sweat and abs tightening as he fucks in and out of you, the other hand’s grip tightening on your waist. 

“You’re still mine aren’t you,” he asks, thrusting roughly and you know his body enough to know that he’s close to coming from the way his eyes flutter shut and his cock throbs inside of you. 

You open his mouth to answer but Luigi takes his hand and instead presses two of his fingers into your mouth. You gargle around them, spit immediately running out— you feel so safe and loved.  You will say anything when Luigi asks like that, with that much conviction, when you’re this far gone. 

“Yes,” you breathe out when Luigi eventually removes his fingers. “Yes,” you repeat, reaching up to grab at his chest, tight and firm from years of exercise. You can feel his quickened heartbeat underneath your palm and you love that you’re the one making him feel good; it’s only you. It’s only each other. 

Luigi laughs, folding himself over your body to press his face close to yours, angling his hips in a way that he knows drives you crazy, making you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure“So cute and beautiful. So sweet,” he softly whispers into your ear. 

“And so strong,” Luigi continues and you like hearing that. You want to be strong so badly. You have always wanted to be strong. “My baby, You deserve everything,” he continues, “You deserve everything in the entire world.” 

You think about the upcoming audition and the role you desperately want, the critiques he got from his last performance. 

“Everything?” You whisper and his hand comes to wipe at a small tear threatening to spill down your cheek that you didn’t realize was there. 

Luigi looks at you with such sweet eyes and smiles like he’s endeared, “Of course.” The praise makes you feel loved, as he thrusts deeper and faster into you. He’s usually so controlled and precise with his movements and you notice he’s a bit desperate now, groaning unashamedly. It all makes you feel full and content and overwhelmed as you’re pushed over the edge. 

Your orgasm, the way you clench around him and throw your head back in pleasure all push Luigi over the edge, hands coming to grip your hips harshly as he holds you and fucks you, mouth open trying to remain in control when he’s obviously floundering, overwhelmed by you. You can see Luigi’s pleasure through your blurry vision. 

“Baby I’m going to, fuck—” Luigi groans, eyes squeezing shut and jaw clenching as he comes. 

You sniff and bite your lip when you feel his cum fill you.”Fuck,” You mutter, throwing your head back against the silk pillowcase. You stare up at Luigi, watching his chest rise up and down rapidly. 

“Baby, you’re so cute, always make me feel so good,” he whispers tenderly. 

“Don’t pull out, just, just—” You can barely talk, so overwhelmed and sensitive, “Stay.”

Luigi nods, bending over to press a kiss against your ear. “Of course.” 

You smile weakly, trying not to feel gross at the cum that you can already feel beginning to leak out of you. 

You feel exhausted and depleted, drained and satisfied. Luigi is all around you, thick arms moving to eventually hold you, laying over you but not crushing you, only pressing your bare bodies against each other. You don’t say much after and you eventually fall asleep to Luigi’s humming and his gentle massaging of your left calf.

-

You wake up feeling sore and exhausted, hit with the immediate realization that you have an eight am rehearsal today and it’s already 6:43 am. You roll out of Luigi’s arms carefully and silently, digging around for your discarded clothes and phone. 

Luigi wakes up at some point, sitting up in bed with his messy hair and rubbing his bleary eyes. He watches you with a pronounced frown, “You’re not going to stay?”

“I have rehearsal,” You say simply, preoccupied. You’re quiet for the next few minutes and Luigi is too, content with just watching you move around his room. But you’re already hit with the stress of getting dressed, catching the train, and rushing to practice to avoid being called out for being late, and the general dread of  the long day of practice. 

“I do love you, baby, I wish you would believe that,” Luigi says suddenly, looking at you. 

“I do believe you,” You whisper, tired and hurting.

It’s silent, Luigi almost looks small and susceptible in bed, sheets pooled around his toned and tan waist. Messy hair and sad eyes that stare at you. He tilts his head slightly, “You’ll text though right?”

You don't want to have this conversation now, maybe never. Especially afterwards, the day after, because it all seems pointless now, repeating the same things you both always say– that don’t mean much anymore. You just want to leave and go to rehearsal, and dance for hours until your legs feel numb and the exhaustion overrides any sense of want. 

You just smile weakly, “Probably.”

misbehaving

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ your plan to piss off your cute tutor backfires in the best way possible.

part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; unprotected (PLS practice safe sex); jealousy; brat taming; choking; some painplay; undernegotiated scene (all consensual!!)

notes : i could NOT find a cute little picture that fit for this one i’m sorry💔

You’ve been bad.

Which is weird to say, because you aren’t doing anything particularly naughty, or morally dubious, or criminal, for that matter. You’re doing homework. Math homework.

And what’s so bad about math homework?

Well, it would be different if you were working alone, or maybe with a friend of yours. It would be different if you weren’t in the library with a boy from your math class, who you proposed doing said homework with not even an hour ago. You don’t know this boy. Not well, anyway. His math skills are…mediocre at best, and the same could be said for just about every other aspect of him. His name is something simple, unremarkable—starts with a J, you think—and you don’t care to relearn it, because this boy is simply a decoy, a prop in your plan.

Right. Your plan.

You have a bit of a problem lately: your tutor, Luigi, has been quite busy with something. You have no idea what. You never do, because he doesn’t like to talk about himself, but you know that something has been keeping his time occupied because you haven’t seen him in a few weeks and when he does respond to your texts, he’s apologetic but short, dry, unengaged. It's driving you mad. You’re bored. He’s probably tinkering with computers or doing whatever it is people do in fraternities and you’re bored out of your mind, having to fend for yourself in mathematical and sexual proclivities. It’s not just your raging attraction to him that makes this problematic for you; in fact, if he weren’t so damn busy, you’d probably be doing your homework with him instead. But he is, so here you are, armed with your decoy and one goal only: to make your crush tutor jealous.

Does he even care enough about you to respond to petty tricks like this?

He had tried to talk to you before you made it to the library, and you had admittedly forgotten about your response. Looking at your drawn-out and seemingly unproductive conversation makes your skin feel hot, now:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Where you at

library

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : What doing?

hw

with [REDACTED] from math

There are two new messages from Luigi, ones you haven’t seen, sent about forty minutes ago while you were knee deep in your studies:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : What

Who???

One question mark would be plenty worth an eyebrow raise, but three implies something much stronger, something tinged with what may very well be actual anger. You can’t decide if you think that’s a good or bad thing.

Your decoy is packing his things beside you, your work finished for the day. Suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest, like this library is only big enough for the two of you to crowd inside; the uncertainty of trying to push Luigi’s buttons makes you feel claustrophobic, and so, so wrong, but you’re chasing the high as you stand up to grab your backpack and thank Mr. J or whatever his name is for his help. It’s not very sincere—you know that at least a few of your answers are definitely wrong. The price you pay for dick.

Hugging your cardigan to you, you make your way off campus and start the walk to your apartment. The night is bustling with activity, as to be expected in a college town, but aside from your fluttering heart you have no fear, no back-burner thoughts of drunk dudes cornering you or shifty old guys trying to offer you a ride home. All you can think of is what Luigi is planning on doing about your disrespect.

Inside your dorm complex it’s much warmer. The elevator ride up to your floor is silent, aside from the sound of your own exhales. Tension builds in you and wraps up like a ball of rubber bands, threatening to snap, pull you apart. You’ve never seen Luigi mad before. You almost wonder if he has it in him; but that thought doesn’t last for long, because it’s quickly shot down by the rush of memories you have of him, active, protective, quick on his feet. Not violent in the slightest, but you imagine that he has soft spots deep inside him, ones that rupture at the slightest provocation. You’ve caught him at the gym a few times. Shirtless. Sweating. All meat and bones. He could easily throw you any which way if he wanted to.

When you round the corner of the hall you hear footsteps rushing behind you, then directly beside you, a hand grabbing your arm.

You don’t even need to turn your head to know who it is.

“Is your roommate home?” Luigi asks.

You are suddenly walking much faster with his guidance, and you have to be mindful of where you place your feet with each step so that you don’t trip over yourself. Should she be? Right now you’ll have the apartment to yourself—she works a night shift after her classes—but with the tone of Luigi’s voice and his firm grip on your arm you worry that you just might have triggered something serious in him, something animalistic.

Swallowing thickly, you answer, “no.”

“Good,” he rumbles. Then, matter-of-factly: “Because you’re going to lead us to your dorm, and then you and I are going to have a little talk.”

So, it’s official: you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. You expected some sternness, maybe a bit of a talking to, but overall nothing more than the almost overwhelming sweetness Luigi was known for. Right now it doesn’t seem like he wants to do much talking, or much sweetness, for that matter, and the thought of what’s in store for you has you anticipating bruises on your hips and an aching core.

The door is barely open before he’s ushering you inside and backing you against the nearest wall.

“I got your text,” he starts, “and I saw you. With—with fucking what’s-his-face from math.”

You resist the urge to grin. There is so much genuine jealousy in his words, jealousy over a pawn, a desperate volunteer you picked at random just to get his eyes back on you. Nobody. He’s jealous over nobody. You weren’t thinking he’d be cool as a cucumber, obviously, but to be this angry over a guy that both of you hardly know is a reaction that has you second-guessing every moment you’ve spent with him. Was he really this crazy over you?

“Yeah?” you scoff for effect. “What’s-his-face from math was helping me. With math. Big deal.”

And then he does something that makes your insides turn to slush. Luigi pauses, and you can see his tongue poking his cheek in frustration, his eyes trained on your face, his hands on his hips. It’s a look you’ve never seen on him before and you love it, every little detail, the way his brows furrow, the way those pretty lashes flutter. You feel like a kid getting caught with your hand right in the cookie jar. Maybe you shouldn’t have messed with him; maybe it was a bad idea to provoke him like this, hit him where it hurts, get him riled up over some aimless homework you did with another boy just to get his attention. But it would be a big, fat, horrendous lie to say that you don’t like where this is going. That you aren’t already slick between your legs thinking about what he might do to you when he’s this agitated.

Before you can open your mouth to speak again he has you pinned to the wall, towering over you just slightly. His hand is on your neck. He isn’t choking you, not even close, but there is just enough pressure against your throat to have your stomach in knots.

“What the fuck is this?” Luigi grits, low and rough. Dark. “Do you think it’s funny to just play me like that? Fuck with my feelings like it’s nothing?”

You gulp and crumble into yourself. When he talks to you like you’re in trouble you can’t help but feel small, weak, pliable, a bit like you would let him do just about anything he wanted to your body as long as he keeps his eyes on you. Helpless. Like prey.

The hand on your throat comes to seize your chin, hard. “I asked you a question, baby.”

To think that he’s probably only using just half of his strength stirs excitement deep in your belly.

“I didn’t realize it meant that much to you,” you squeak. It’s not completely a lie. This side of Luigi is new, a little scary, but unexpectedly titillating.

“Oh, you didn’t realize?” He is grabbing your face now, between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, holding your head straight so that you can’t look away from him and your lips push into a little pout. His knee juts between your legs. “Really? You didn’t realize it meant that much?”

“No, sir, I didn’t—”

The moment the word sir leaves your mouth he’s slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His hand gripping your ass knocks all the air straight from your lungs.

“You just have to be a fucking brat,” he grumbles. “Which one is your room?”

You offer a pathetic point at your door, accompanied by an even more pathetic whimper so that he can look in your direction. What can you say? It’s hard to think straight when he pulls out the B Word so casually.

Following your directions, Luigi carries you into your bedroom, closing and locking the door and then tossing you—carefully!—onto your bed. He has your arms pinned above your head in an instant and his other hand begins to make quick work of getting your pants down. Your heart is beating so fast you can hardly hear him speaking to you:

“Do you think this is how you should get a guy’s attention? Huh?” His voice is all warm in your ears, like marshmallows roasting over crackling fire. Your legs are spread wide and he is slotted perfectly between them. “All you had to do was just ask, baby. How fucking hard is that?”

A shadow of a grin teases your lips. “Clearly, it worked, didn’t it?”

He smacks your cunt through your panties and leans down close to you, smirking at your gasp. “You’ve got a smart fuckin’ mouth,” Luigi chides. “Keep running it and see where it gets you.”

He knows exactly what your intentions are. He has you figured out, had you figured out the moment you sent him that text, probably, despite your best efforts. You should have never underestimated your own tutor. Your shirt is swiftly pulled up and over your breasts, so that he can take one in his hand, growl at your lack of a bra, squeeze you, twist a nipple between his fingers. You want to run your hands through his hair but he still has your arms held above your head, and he can feel your wrists straining feebly, wanting desperately to hold him. I’m sorry, you want to say, I’m sorry, Gi, really, I didn’t mean it, but it would be useless, because you know that this won’t be over until he’s made his point, until you’re made very sure of the fact that he will accept absolutely none of this vindictive bratty shit.

And then he lets go of your hands momentarily to pull off his shirt, and you make the mistake of reaching for his pants. Luigi instantly has you pinned to your bed again, this time holding you down with both arms. You almost wish one of them was free so he could grab your face again, taunt you, make you feel all weak and stupid.

“Stay still,” he spits. He collects your wrists in one hand again and moves the other to the button of his jeans. “Someone ought to teach you some fucking manners, don’t you think? Teach you how to ask for what you want properly?”

Oh, you’ve never needed a lesson in behavior more than you do right this minute. “Yes, yes,” you agree, nodding absently.

“Yeah?” Luigi has his pants and his boxers down all at once and when you feel his hand sliding into your underwear it takes all of your resolve to swallow your mewl. “Oh, you’re so wet. Dirty fuckin’ girl. You know, I think I should just—”

Before you can blink he’s flipping you over, guiding you to pose exactly how he wants you, on your hands and knees with your legs spread and your back arching up towards him. You feel like a ragdoll, pulled this way and that, and you fucking love it, this untamed, beast-like side of him that just throws you around his court like a tennis ball.

“—There we go.”

Swiftly, Luigi pulls your panties down your thighs, tugs off your cardigan, and delivers a restrained spank to your ass. He comes up behind you and moves to do something that makes you heart sink and your cunt pulse: his right arm wraps around your face and hooks underneath your chin, bicep looping around your neck as he pulls you upward, against his chest. Holy shit. He has you in a fucking chokehold. Not enough to actually block oxygen from your brain, but enough that you can feel his muscles flexing, pressure tight on your throat.

“And how about this?” Luigi asks, deep and hot like lava in your ear. “Is this okay?”

The yes that leaves you is pained and broken, but your sticky, wet pussy tells him an entirely different story, one that reassures him as he pushes his cock inside of you.

Without any prep the stretch of him burns, but in the best way possible; after all, this was exactly what you wanted, him splitting you open and claiming every inch of depth inside of you. Yes, you should’ve known that this is exactly what you signed up for. You wanted to make him mad, make him itch for you, so badly that even the thought of you just doing math with any other guy has him wanting to put people in chokeholds, apparently—but right now, with Luigi working his dick inside of you, trapping you from air, whispering pure and utter filth into your ear, you aren’t regretful—certainly not—but you’re bracing yourself.

“Not so sassy now, huh?” he mocks. He warned you that running your mouth might earn you something special, but you certainly weren’t expecting this. You can only grunt in response.

He smiles. “Yeah, hard to talk when I’ve got you like this, isn’t it? Figures. Only time you’re ever quiet is when I’m giving this pussy some attention.”

Unreal. Absolutely unfair. You want to kiss his perfect mouth for saying all the words you wanted to hear him say to you, in that raspy, fucked-out voice that makes you whine like a bitch in heat. But it would be useless to try, because Luigi’s tight grip on you makes it impossible to move even your hips. His, though, pump with quick succession, snapping into you, ruining your cunt.

“That’s it,” he groans. You’ve sucked the mercy right out of him. He is fucking you relentlessly, forcing sounds out of you that he’ll be turning over in his brain for future reference. He learns something new about you every time you’re together, especially so right now.

“I love—fuck—” you’re trying hard to tell him that you agree, this is it, exactly how you imagined it, but with his arm tight around your neck and his cock brushing a certain spot that makes your toes curl it becomes increasingly difficult to express your satisfaction in anything other than lewd, incomprehensible noise. “I love the way you make me take it, sir.”

Luigi growls. “I’m just taking what’s mine.” If his other hand weren’t holding your head in place he would be playing with your clit, but the chokehold prevents that, so instead he pounds into you harder and chants into your ear, “mine, mine, all fucking mine.”

And then it starts to feel like just too much, because he’s panting and moaning and you want just the sound of this and him fucking you hard on repeat every day for the rest of your life. That would prove to be quite difficult, though—having to hear him nonstop would mean having to think about him all the time, too, even in the most innocuous moments, and there’s no way you could bear all of that at once. You can hardly handle it right now.

Suddenly, he starts to slow, and he releases you from his hold but before you can complain he rasps, “do you want to come?”. He already knows the answer to that question, so when you whimper he pulls out and follows it with: “Then get on your knees.”

And you do, faster than you ever have before, kneeling on the floor in front of your bed with him standing above you. Your cunt is still burning with need but Luigi comes close, stroking himself, his cock just mere centimeters from your face. “Open your mouth,” he breathes, and you lurch forward, holding onto his thighs and looking up at him as he guides his dick between your lips.

Fuck. He loves that you can take a hint. Knowing he’s close you start a steady rhythm, hollowing your cheeks around him, moving quickly and putting effort into each back-and-forth of your head. You can taste yourself on him. Luigi is groaning above you, speaking like he has to empty every thought that enters his mind: “oh, baby, yes” and “just like that” and “ohhhh fuck…”

You take him as deep in your throat as you can. He almost can’t stand to look at you as you’re sucking him, can hardly take your face and your mouth at the same time, but before he can come he catches a glimpse of you; he has your hair held back in both of his hands, your pretty doe eyes filled with tears, looking up at him through fluttering lashes. Rough carpet burns against your knees. You know that there will be bruises later, probably all over you, blatant proof of the feral and purely human attraction between the both of you—proof of his hands all over you, marking his territory, staking his claim. He thinks you’ve never looked prettier.

Luigi hisses, warns you that he’s coming, and when he lets your hair go and grabs your face with both hands he’s spilling into your mouth, warm and bitter. “Swallow,” he’s telling you, “swallow f’ me,” and you try to tame your gag reflex as you obey his demands, his cock still rammed in your throat. You whimper around him and the noise he makes is fucking obscene.

And then he tilts your chin up, pries your mouth open with his thumb so that you can stick your tongue out and show him that not a drop of him remains. He flashes you an absolutely dangerous grin. “Atta girl. C’mere.”

He helps you up onto the bed and guides you to lay onto your back with one big hand, smoothing over your stomach and tracing down your pelvis to your drooling cunt. Those long, skilled fingers dip into your slick and spread you, caressing, exploring. You’re sensitive after such a brutal pounding and each time he brushes against your clit you jolt with delight; he giggles at you, like he’s amused by the way his own body can break you.

“Sweet girl,” Luigi breathes, and you look into his eyes, look at his angel face as he stares down at you with adoration. You’re happy that he lets you move your hands, now, because you can hold him against your palm, trace his sideburns with your thumb, study the nearly symmetrical moles on each of his cheeks. He is so beautiful. You hardly know where to contain these feelings you hold for him.

Two fingers are probing your pussy, dipping inside, and your keen is louder than you intend it to be. He knows just where to look, instantly finding your sweet spot. He’s perfect. “Gi, fuck.”

“Baby, ‘m sorry I made you feel lonely.” You love how his voice sounds right now, dark and dripping with sugar, spice, and everything nice. “I get too focused, you know how I am. I missed you. Missed this pretty pussy.”

Inside your cunt Luigi is massaging your G-spot, his other hand gliding down your stomach, thumb meeting your clit and starting a gentle pattern of quick, circular motions. You already feel close watching both of his hands pleasuring you. Sharp nails fly up to dig into his broad shoulder, the back of your head burrowing into your pillow.

“You like that?” he leans down to kiss your nose, then your mouth. “Are you almost there, pretty girl? Gonna come all over my fingers?”

You nod incessantly.

He grins, white teeth flashing at you; he looks wolfish with his sharp canines and focused eyes. “Yeah? Let me see it, baby. Give it to me.”

And then you’re there, falling over the edge into his arms, squeezing his fingers like a vice and sobbing underneath him. Luigi helps you ride it out, still rubbing your clit and sending sparks through you, whispering sweet nothings that you don’t fully process as you come down from your climax. The inside of your thighs are slick and your room smells like sex and sweat.

“Are you mad at me?” Luigi asks from beside you after a while, eyes anxious.

You blink. “What? No, Gi. No. Why would I be mad?”

“I kinda left you hanging for a while,” he confesses, still clearly regretful of his bad habits of perfectionism and something that might be better described by a formal diagnosis in some edition of the DSM but you’re far too preoccupied and frankly under-qualified to name it right now. “I wasn’t trying to, and I meant to let you know, or tell you something, anyway, but different things kept coming up and I had to—”

Threading your fingers through his curls, you bring him close and kiss him, effectively shutting him up. You were never really mad. You aren’t now, anyway. Not when he’s this cute and so obviously concerned with you.

“I’m not mad,” you repeat. “It’s okay, Luigi.”

It’s a bit too dark to tell, but you think you can see his face flush pink, and he smiles at you, his dimple prominent under your palm. Then, he looks downward, towards your tits, towards his hand holding your waist, and his smile gets wider, its innocence from before missing.

“Can I make it up to you?”

𓇼 Sea Ya⋅˚₊‧⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ TWs: Frat boys™ . Correct spelling of Hawai'i (Hawaii) . Reader's kinda manic sorry lol . Push And Pull dynamics . Thats it .

When you first moved to Hawai’i, you wanted to escape the loud and obnoxious masses that slowly began tearing holes in your peace's angelic fabric.

You had just graduated college, and with the sudden infiltration of Hawai’i content on your Pinterest board and Instagram explore page, you took one deep breath and fell back onto your bed. The pale white drywall stared back at you, whispering taunts of island life and sweet, succulent sunshine peeking through your open windows at seven in the morning.

Before you traded your life of concrete skylines and endless traffic, you had a love interest…at least you think you did. You had a bit of a push-and-pull dynamic, flickers of fleeting affection sustaining the both of you enough to satisfy the invisible craving.

Your rubber soles would thump and squeak down the halls, fresh rainwater dampening wherever you stepped as your hair suffered from the cost of the heavy shower. To make matters even worse, your roommate sent a text mere seconds prior, telling you to stay as far away from your shared dorm as possible due to the presence of a new…guest.

Great. Fucking, amazing.

You huffed, your soaked beige cardigan dripping the harsh reminders of your circumstances down your wrists as you dropped your hands to your sides. Defeat. Heavy with melancholy and anger, you decided to sit down wherever you were standing.

Your jaw clattered, your sensitive teeth chat-chat-chattering against their upstairs neighbors as you fought off the urge to strip away your winter clothes right there. All you could feel was the hefty load of freezing wool pressed against your chest, adding more weight to the heaviness of your heart.

It wasn’t until you heard a low amalgamation of voices— varying tones and depths rounding the corner as the group dispatched in separate directions, each seeking out the warmth and comfort of their beds after getting caught up in the frosty rain. Some had umbrellas, and some likely forgot theirs early in the morning in a desperate rush to classes.

You paid them no mind, your phone loosely held in your hand as your body shook from the cold’s constant nipping at your skin. It wasn’t until the voices filtered into silence that you realized; a pair of boots had stopped stomping next to you.

You looked up with what you now assume to have been the most helpless look known to man— wet lashes and quivering lips as frostbite possessed your facial features.

“Oh! My god, are you…okay? Where’s your umbrella, you’re soaking…” The stranger said, his eyes mulling over your darkened clothing and how you shivered on the floor.

He was tall with sculpted muscles, the kind that you could almost see through any thick and heavy cotton sweater. He was pale in the face but cupidly at the cheeks, his nose a charming shade of cherry.

“My roommate kicked me out for the night. She’s hooking up with someone and I can’t change because all of my fucking things are in my dorm,” you huffed, trying your best to calm your nerves while you stared up at the man.

“Damn, that sucks…Uhhh,” he began, looking around the empty corridor as if searching for some sort of solution to reach out and grab. “You can come to my dorm if you want. I have a heater and I can give you some clothes to change into. I just don’t want you to catch a cold or anything.”

You thought for a moment— and the longer you seemed to wait, the more your amygdala froze over and rendered itself useless. Everyone who had ever taught you in your life seemed to unite under one common phrase, “don’t follow strangers.”

But you couldn’t sense any malice in his tone. There was no impish malevolence or hellfire in his words that tripped the fire alarm in your brain. So you know what, what the hell. 

Sure.

“Uhh…sure. I’m freezing my ass off, that’s so nice of you,” you said, immediately scrambling to your feet. He nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face as he gestured his head in the direction down the hall.

You followed next to him, the icy silence wedging itself between you two with every single step you went without speaking. It wasn’t intentional, you just didn’t know him that well.

“Oh, I’m Luigi, by the way,” he said, giving you a glance with a rather boyish smile.

You nodded, exchanging names and majors with the young man as he told you all about his time in the Levine hall tinkering his life away. His voice carried an air of confidence, his smooth tone glossing over the curves and wrinkles of your mind like warm water.

“But yeah, I’ve been using the 3D printer a lot…been making a lot of little things, so please don’t be alarmed when you see my dorm,” he chuckled. He pulled a keycard from his wallet in his back pocket and slid it in front of the door handle of his dorm.

A tiny beep sounded through the hall, a little green light flashing thrice before he pushed open the sleek metal handle. A gentle gust of warm air welcomed you, followed by the smell of oak wood and the faintest tinge of cologne and aftershave as you stepped into the tiny space.

“Yooo, Pepper,” an unfamiliar voice said, a young man hanging halfway off his bed as his head nearly touched the glossy wooden planks of the floor. “Did you make me my thing?” He asked, his gaze glued to the ghostly hue of his screen.

“Nah,” Luigi chuckled before reaching into his back pocket and tossing a little Perry the Platypus in the direction of his roommate.

“Good looks, man,” the other man beamed, finally turning off his phone and doing a full crunch to sit up on his bed, only to finally see your shivering form standing in the doorway.

“Holy shit, what did you do to her?” He chuckled, his brows shooting up in concern and shock.

“I didn’t do that, I don’t even know what happened,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders with a brief raise of his brows as well. “Her roommate kicked her out so she could get some…interesting moral compass…”

The other man chuckled, a cheeky grin on his face as he turned to face you. “Is your roommate Stacy? Stacy Chin? Like… Five-three, Asian, hair always back in a stupid fucking ponytail?”

You paused, your face contorting into slight confusion as your head tilted to the side.

“Uh…yeah, that’s her, why?” You asked.

“NO FUCKING WAY.” He shouted, letting out a loud cackle that strongly resembled the squawk of a threatened mother goose. “DUDE. Pep, she’s with Henderson!”

“HENDERSON!? OF ALL PEOPLE? HENDERSON?” He gasped, a wide grin on his face as his hands frantically searched each drawer in his shared closet while he joined his roommate in his laughter. “Is that why he’s been ducking us?”

You had never felt more confused in your life. Two young men before you conversed about someone named Henderson, which you presumed was his last name because what mother would name their child such a thing? 

“Yo, pneumonia gorgeous, tell your roommate to return our boy, please. He’s missed every single family dinner and keg wars. He’s not being very sigma right now,” he giggled, shooting a glance in your direction with a quick upward nod of his head. 

Apparently, your name was pneumonia now.

“Oh I'm sorry, I’m Logan,” He added, a hand over his chest in a momentary pardon before Luigi handed you a rather large monochrome Adidas hoodie and some white gym shorts that were sure to hang off your hips if you didn’t utilize the drawstrings.

You weren’t really sure how to respond, giving Logan a polite nod with a slightly frightened smile. Oh how forward an excited man could be.

“Uh…where should I change?” You asked, glancing around the dorm in frantic search of a bathroom. You didn’t want to walk all the way to the communal bathroom just to change, and it didn’t exactly seem smart to walk all the way around the world with no bag and a handful of sopping wet clothes.

“Maybe in the closet?” Luigi suggested, leaning over slightly and sizing up the remaining space in the small walk-in. When he gaged the available space, he glanced at you, then back and forth between the closet and your form before nodding.

“Sorry about the mess…SOMEONE doesn’t wanna do his laundry,” he hinted, widening his eyes and side-eying Logan.

“Fuck you,” Logan said with a brief flash of his middle finger.

Luigi chuckled, making his way away from the entryway of his dorm and crashing down onto his bed.

“I won’t look, but Logan’s weird, so I can’t promise anything for him…” he joked, laying flat on his stomach with his face buried in his pillows.

You sighed internally, retracing your life choices and trying to figure out what led you to slum it out with two strangers in their dorm room while you changed in their raggedy old closet. It was dark and faintly smelled of cologne and marijuana, but you were grateful to finally peel the layers of freezing-cold clothing off of your body.

When you emerged from the dark closet, a pile of clothes in your hands, the first thing you did was step further into the dorm, standing in the good-sized gap between Logan and Luigi’s bed.

“Do either of you guys have like, a plastic bag for me to put these in? I have no idea how long Stacy’s gonna take,” you sighed.

“Don’t worry, it’s Henderson. Knowing him, you’ll be back in your dorm in under thirty seconds” Logan laughed.

“Ignore him, he’s evil,” Luigi giggled, shushing Logan briefly before turning over and sitting up, grabbing a UPenn canvas tote bag from the leg of his bed’s frame and walking over to hand it to you.

“Thank you,” you smiled, placing your clothes in the rough beige bag.

“No problem. You can stay here for a bit if you want, I’m almost so positive they’re going to take…oh my god, they’re gonna take forever,” he sighed, running his hands across his face like he could feel the grey hairs sprouting on his head. “Logan, he’s not gonna be at the bar crawl.”

“This fucker misses EVERYTHING! Pneumonia, PLEASE tell Stacy to release this man’s balls, I’m BEGGING YOU!” Logan shouted, visible distress on his face as he gripped his tufts of brown hair.

You chuckled quietly, their shared sense of agony over one absentee from their planned bar crawl tickled your heartstrings a little. It was so silly in the most unserious way possible.

You got comfy on the floor, your knees meeting your chest as you rested your arms around your legs. The steady warmth of their dorm helped bring feeling and comfort to your numb skin— coziness washed over you as you patiently waited for Stacy to text you the signal that it was okay to come back in.

While you sat on the floor, you examined Luigi’s side of the room. Littered with 3D-printed figures ranging from Pokemon to random shapes, his desk looked exactly like what you would imagine some sort of geek would have. 

Organized, tidy, and almost completely clear with the exception of a pair of browline glasses, a few stray papers, and a little Breloom figurine. How cute.

The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the old heater, working double-time to pump a steady flow of heat into the shared space. You hummed to yourself, letting time pass you by as you scrolled on your phone.

An hour turned two, and two turned three as you slowly relaxed more and more on the floor. 7:37 at night.

Ding!

‘ ok ur good he just left ‘

“That’s Stacy. Bye, guys! Thanks for letting me stay, I was literally gonna die out there” you chuckled, standing straight up and waving to each of the frat brothers. They waved their goodbyes in return, Luigi paying just a little bit more attention compared to Logan before you closed the door behind you, listening for the electronic whirr of the lock.

And that’s how you met Luigi. While your first impressions of each other were equally strange, neither of you seemed to really stick it to the other whenever you crossed paths.

And after a while, you slowly started to orbit each other a little more. Anytime Stacy found herself tangled up with ”Henderson”, who you now learned to be James, you’d go knock-knock-knocking on his dorm door with a heavy sigh of resignation.

At some point, he grew to expect your presence at least 4 times a month. As Stacy and James grew closer, so did you and Luigi.

But you never really seemed to get closer beyond that.

There was a thick and impenetrable wall between the two of you, one that seemed to only come down when monitored by the presence of his frat brother Logan. You had grown close enough to sit at the foot of Luigi’s bed, legs crossed in tense modesty as you chatted back and forth about your day.

There was an occasional shift in the energy, where you’d sometimes lay next to Luigi while he showed you something on his phone. Sometimes, after he showed you whatever it was he wanted to, you’d stay shoulder-to-shoulder with him under his blue blankets and talk about your philosophies and plans for the future.

A veterinarian, a computer scientist, building gag robots for another pro-capitalistic ride at Disney, a manic artist wielding a paintbrush to the mirror where a gun would inevitably be…whatever seemed to cross your mind at the moment.

There were moments when everything felt all too intimate to be casual. The days when Stacy and James decided to make the most of their alone time, banishing you to the outdoors until the wee hours of the morning.

It was those days when you laid with Luigi, your backs pressed together while your heartbeats thumped as one. All the angels rumored to inhabit heaven seemed to have all eyes on you as your silent snores filled the room, your comfortable breathing serving as a bittersweet reminder that this would all be over in the morning.

And then you’d be back to push. 

You had completely different majors, so you didn’t really share any classes with him. And if you did happen to see him in the halls or around campus, it was nothing much more than a brief smile and a wave before both of you scurried off to wherever it was you needed to be.

However, there was a time in which the wall between you and Luigi came crumbling down with the weight of a strange tension that lingered in the air.

It was a warm spring evening, the kind where bugs began to crawl and creep around every crevice of the world in an effort to indulge themselves in all the sunshine and pollen they missed during the winter. Spring break prepared to rear her floral features, taunting your exhausted mind with her fleeting touch.

You sat in Luigi’s dorm for what felt like the thousandth time that year, your ass flat on the ground in your pink Lulu shorts and white fitted Bebe tee. You fidgeted with one of Luigi’s fidget toys absentmindedly— some sort of multi-buttoned cube— while you talked about your plans for after graduation.

“I don’t know…I think once I graduate I’m getting the fuck out of here for a bit. I've been trying to go out of state…Philly’s getting old” you sighed.

“Philly? You think Philly’s boring? Something happens here like every other day,” he chuckled, his brows pinching together slightly.

“Well, when you’re in the same area like every single day, any city can get boring,” you shrugged.

He nodded, immediately understanding where you were coming from after you clarified. He glanced over at you, watching as you leaned against Logan’s bed in his absence.

“Climb up here, please. Logan’s got some stuff under his bed that I don’t want you to see” he pleaded, gesturing toward his bed.

“At least buy me a drink first” you huffed sarcastically, rolling your eyes before making your way over to Luigi’s bed.

“I’d totally buy you a drink” he chuckled, watching as you laid down on your stomach at the end of his bed.

“I think I’d approach you at a bar…I dunno I’d probably be not sober,” you chortled quietly.

“So you’d have to be drunk to get with me? Ouch, you’re so kind!” He fake gasped.

“Nah. I’d do it sober. Dry levels of soberness. Fifteen years sober” you joked, raising your brows briefly, partially involuntary on your part.

Body language is stupid.

He chuckled, higher than normal. It almost sounded like a girlish giggle— one you’d expect to hear from a girl nervously chuckling at a sweet comment from her high school sweetheart.

“You’d hook up with me?” He asked a tone of sincerity with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Well…” you began, propping yourself up on your elbows, your beaded bracelets and bangles clinking and twinkling with your movements.

“You don’t seem like a hookup guy. You’re more like a lover-boy,” you explained, your fingertips gently tracing the outer shell of your ear as your stomach suddenly knotted itself.

“Really?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

You nodded, sitting up straight to crack your back and stretch your arms.

“I wouldn’t do you like that. You’re much too thoughtful and good to be a one-and-done.”

Hearing you say that almost frightened him. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, the fluttery friends impeding his brain receptors from forming a response as his cheeks went light pink. It was a good thing the sun became more common in the spring, if this had been winter, he was sure his pale complexion would have given him away immediately.

“That’s actually…so sweet, thank you,” He stammered, suddenly feeling extremely warm.

“Yeah, for sure,” you smiled, meeting his eyes briefly before shuffling your legs under you, shifting a little closer to him in the process.

When you met his gaze again, it was like the brown eyes of Mother Nature were staring back into yours. Deep, warm, onyx voids of emotion searching yours as your hearts made futile attempts to beat out of their rib cages.

Closer. Closer. Come here, I just want you closer.

Come closer. Kiss me, I promise I won’t fuck it up. 

Can I?

The way your minds seemingly connected to one another was almost spiritual— communicating back and forth like they were from the same consciousness.

“Pepper!! Good news, David said he’d get us a keg”

You nearly jumped, making a conscious effort to not seem surprised as Logan suddenly swung the front door open, effectively cockblocking you two.

“Oh…nice,” Luigi said, glancing at you briefly with slight guilt and worry. Like the word was imprinted on his eyes, you caught it like a softball.

Sorry.

And that was the last time you ever managed to get that close to Luigi again.

Now you were on your own, far out in the Pacific on the little island of Hawai’i. You still clutch your beige canvas tote bag, a painful reminder of your own failure to speak up in your college years. 

It had since been painted over— raspberry-tinted hibiscuses accompanied by slate blue foamy waves. Inside carried your multi-button fidget cube, pressing and clicking each button as you stood on the sandy beach in the early mornings.

Like now. You finished up the last of your spam musubi, letting the salty and tangy flavor of the soy-glazed spam fill your mouth long with the soft white rice.

The nori crunched under your teeth, buckling under the gentle force of your jaw as you finished the remainder of your breakfast. As you walked the expanse of the white and sandy beach, kicking up sand along the way, you decided to stop for a moment and sit down.

The quiet crash of the waves filled your ears, the salty breeze kissing your waterline slightly as you watched the sunrise. You hummed to yourself, swaying side-to-side absent-mindedly as you tuned out your surroundings.

If you were paying attention, you would have heard the sounds of a morning jogger approaching your form. If you were paying attention, you would have realized how familiar the man looked as he began to fade into view.

“Oh shit,” Luigi murmured, stopping in his tracks and pointing at you like a shiny Pokemon in the wild. “I know you!”

You looked up, your brows furrowing slightly at the sudden statement. You felt it before you heard it; the familiar pull on your heartstrings as Luigi slowly approached you.

Your eyes met his, a silent smile spreading on your face as you got on your feet again. 

“Hey!” You beamed, unsure of whether or not to pull him into a hug. After all, he was shirtless and panting, a clear indicator of just how long he had been outside running.

He smiled back at you, his strong and soft-looking chest rising and falling with every breath. “Hey! It’s good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too,” You nodded, immediately digging through your tote bag to find the little fidget toy you had kept years prior, presenting it before him with a cheesy smile. He looked at it with a surprised smirk, a wave of nostalgia washing over him as he gently picked up the fidget toy between his pointer and thumb.

“Oh, so it was you,” he chuckled, his thumb running over the various buttons before he carelessly shoved it into the side pocket of his swim trunks.

“Yeah, sorry…I literally just forgot to put it down,” you sighed. 

“I figured it was something along those lines…don’t worry I wasn’t mad. I was actually happier you had it versus someone else, I knew I’d get it back eventually” he smiled, brows pinching together directly after as he whirled his head around his surroundings.

“…Just not in Hawai’i.”

You laughed, giving him an apologetic nod as the warm air prompted the both of you to release all your unspoken emotions. Hardships, hassles, anger, pain, regret, and frustrations all seemed to bubble over the surface as you began to walk down the beach together.

It was just like three years ago— spending your days in his compact dorm with the company of another man you had since forgotten the name of. With Luigi, it seemed as if neither of you could keep your mouth shut for more than five minutes.

Gentle, and deep conversations, the kind where one would normally be post-breakdown or manic to let these kinds of thoughts slip out unprovoked. Maybe it was the steamy grains of sand under the soles of your feet, the gentle massage prompting you to release the pent-up stress and trauma you’d accumulated over the years.

Or maybe it was just Luigi, who despite the awkward and what should have been alarming circumstances of your first interaction, always reassured you.

“So how’s your time been in Hawai’i so far? You said you were here for a vacation, right?” You asked, gently wondering what the fuck he was doing on the coast of Honolulu.

“I had a spine injury a couple months ago…and it pretty much just made my spine worse than it already was. But I kinda just wanted to come here to heal,” he shrugged, his thumb pressing each button on the fidget cube ritualistically.

“White boy comes to an island to heal!? Where have I heard that before…” you joked, pretending to cross your arms and think hard about this new information.

“Stop it, stop it,” he giggled, shaking his head in faux disapproval. “It’s not like that I promise.”

He took your wordless and slightly smug nod as he used that time to take in your appearance after all these years. Still the same young woman, but matured with time like a fine and fruity glass of wine.

Sunkissed skin, freshly sprouted faint freckles on your arms, and a little calmer compared to your time at university. He was glad that after the hell you both endured in college, you were able to find somewhere that made you happy.

“Oh, by the way,” he began, his hands coming up to his temples as if his train of thought had just stopped off at the correct station. “I was gonna go get some fruit and poké later. I’d appreciate it if you came with me.”

You paused, that familiar warmth spreading to your face as you turned around to look at him.

“Sure, yeah, that sounds nice.”

drunkenly confessing your feelings for lu over voicemail…

You’re drunk. Very drunk. And despite every logical part of your brain telling you not to, you call your best friend Luigi.

He doesn’t pick up, so you leave a voicemail.

“Luuuigi…” You drag out his name like a secret, slurred at the edges. “M’drunk… and I like you. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.” You hiccup, giggling to yourself. “That’s a secret, though. But I can’t keep it a secret anymore. Like… more than a friends way.” A dreamy sigh escapes you. “Love you… Anyway, byeeee.”

And with that, you hang up, completely oblivious to the chaos you’ve just unleashed.

Luigi runs a hand through his curls as he listens to your voicemail, standing frozen in the dim glow of his phone screen.

His first reaction? A sharp inhale, his pulse quickening. His second? A hand over his mouth as he exhales a slow, steady breath, trying to suppress the smirk pulling at his lips.

Of all the ways he imagined this happening—if it ever did—this wasn’t one of them.

He calls you. No answer.

He texts you. No reply.

His stomach twists. Drunk. Alone. And you just confessed to him like it was nothing more than a casual remark.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s knocking on your door.

“Come iinnn…” your groggy voice calls out.

Luigi steps inside, his sharp hazel eyes scanning the room. You’re sprawled on the couch, one arm draped dramatically over your forehead like a tragic damsel from an old film.

You blink up at him, confusion flickering across your face. “Luigi? Why are you here?”

His lips part, then press into a thin line as he exhales through his nose. He shifts his weight, pushing a hand through his curls. “You called me,” he says, then adds, almost hesitantly, “…said some other things.”

You squint. “Did I?” Then, suddenly, you burst into laughter, the kind that shakes your whole body. “Guess I forgot.”

He watches you, one brow arching. “Clearly.”

You stretch like a cat, then pout up at him. “You always get like this when I drink.”

Luigi lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, because you drinking alone and ignoring my texts is exactly what I wanted to deal with tonight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He drops a case of water onto the floor beside the couch. “Because I came prepared.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you seriously—”

“Three bottles every hour,” he informs you matter-of-factly, crouching beside you. “Or at least until you stop acting like a Shakespearean tragedy.”

You groan, letting yourself sink into the cushions. “Ugh, you’re such a nerd.”

“Yeah? Well, this nerd just saved you from a hellish hangover.” He cracks open a bottle, handing it to you. “Drink.”

You do, only because he’s watching you so intently. He leans back on his heels, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing.” His lips twitch. “You’re just really honest when you’re drunk.”

Your stomach flips. “Oh?” You try to sound nonchalant, but it comes out nervous. “Mhm.” He tilts his head slightly. “You sure you don’t remember what you said?”

You shake your head, looking away. “Nope.”

His eyes gleam. “Interesting.”

A flicker of panic sparks in your chest. Did you say something that bad? Did you embarrass yourself beyond repair?

Before you can spiral, exhaustion washes over you, the warmth of alcohol lulling you into drowsiness. You shift, leaning against him, your forehead pressing lightly into his shoulder. “Stay,” you mumble. Luigi tenses slightly before relaxing. His arm curls around you, rubbing slow circles against your back. “Anything you need,” he murmurs, voice softer now. Your fingers brush against his shirt, gripping just slightly. He exhales, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he watches you slip into sleep.

It’s only then that Luigi allows himself to fully process what just happened.

You like him.

A lot.

And now he’s sitting here with you wrapped around him, heart pounding, unable to stop himself from smoothing his fingers through your hair.

“You gave me a scare, you know,” he mutters to your sleeping form. “But I guess you’re full of surprises.” His gaze lingers on you, his usual sharp and teasing expression softening. Then, eventually, he lets himself fall asleep, too.

When you wake up, everything is… warm.

Too warm.

Your cheek is pressed against something firm, your legs tangled with someone else’s. And—oh god—your hand is resting dangerously close to…

Your breath catches.

Slowly, you lift your head, blinking the sleep from your eyes.

Luigi.

Luigi, who is currently knocked out beneath you, looking entirely too peaceful, his usually strong features relaxed in slumber.

You stare.

Oh.

Oh no.

Did you—?

Your eyes dart to your clothes. Still on. Okay. That’s… good? Bad? Your head is pounding too much to tell.

Before you can overthink it, a deep, groggy voice cuts through the silence.

“Enjoying the view?”

Your whole body jerks.

Luigi’s eyes are barely open, but there’s a smug curve to his lips, amusement laced through his sleep-heavy tone.

You sputter. “I—! No—! I—”

He chuckles, stretching with a slow, lazy elegance. His hand lifts to rub at his face, then he peers at you with an unreadable expression.

Then, in a voice far too casual for the situation, he says, “I like you.”

Your brain stalls.

“Like…” You squint. “Like, like-like?”

He smirks. “What are we, twelve?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again. “Wait.” A sudden realization dawns. “Did I say something last night?”

Luigi leans in, eyes dark with mischief. “Nope.”

You narrow your eyes. “…Liar.”

His smirk grows.

Your heart races.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. He immediately pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you. It’s slow and warm, a little uncertain at first, but the way he kisses back—firm, assured, just a hint of teasing—you melt into it.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little heavier.

“You have work soon,” you murmur, suddenly remembering. Luigi sighs dramatically. “Tragic, really.”

You grin. “What if you were just a teensy bit late?”

He hums, pretending to consider. “And what would I get in return?”

You lean in, letting your lips ghost over his. “Guess you’ll have to stay and find out.”

Luigi lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Tempting.” He stands. Before leaving, he tugs you forward by the wrist, planting one last kiss at the corner of your lips. “I’ll be back later, sweetheart.” His voice is low, promising.

And as you watch him go, you already can’t wait for later.

tag list 🏷️ my loves ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ @cherrysolo @slavicdolls4mangione @iinfinitelimits @poohkie90 @luweegeeswifey @number1yearner @noname123sposts @straw8berry @lavenderbabyyy @littlestl4mb @amoungusbartholo (lmk if u wanna be added or removed xx)

Good Job. — praise kink discovery

content warnings ; smut . oral . manipulation/observation if you squint rlly hard . praise (duh) . fwb . groping . sex jokes . finger sucking . slightly “awkward” dialogue .

event ۶ৎ taglist

Luigi was a smart man. There was no question about his level of intelligence— when he was in the lab or focused on his work.

As much as he hates to admit it, he gets knocked off his board a little bit when the summer comes around. It’s hard to focus when the world becomes an oyster, and for a man who isn’t materialistic in any shape or form, he loves indulging himself in the wondrous luxury of a pretty little pearl.

 So he’ll admit, it took him a while longer to pick up on the little…error…in your genetic code. 

Error, in the sense that it’s something he can indulge and fix. Oil and sticks he can throw overtop the shy little embers of a timid campfire.

What you had tried your best to contain and confine to a romantic relationship was now perfectly within his field of vision. He could see the little bug that itched to bite and claw at the flesh of another roaming around your headspace, and what kind of data scientist would he be if he didn’t test and rerun this code?

So he spent the next few weeks hovering around you, seeing how many buttons he could push, and what reaction each button yielded. He started small; tiny thank you’s and little compliments that could be passed off as genuine compliments and encouragement.

“Thank you, cutie!” “You’re the best.” “Good job!” “I’m proud of you.” “You’re so smart.”

He walked the ever-so-fine line between platonic and intimate, letting his tongue dip into the lukewarm waters of sexual gratification without shocking you out of your skin. He just wanted to spark tiny shocks across your mind and heart, nothing more.

The sun hung low in the pink and purple sky, hiding amongst the cotton candy clouds as he anticipated his bright and bubbly wife’s presence later in the day. The beach had slowly begun to lose its occupants, leaving Luigi and the stragglers the expanse of the sand to themselves. 

But Luigi wasn’t interested in the sands of time, the ancient rocks, or Poseidon’s most beloved daughter. As his feet kicked up the tiny rocks and the salty air carded through every strand of his cocoa-brown hair, he had only one thought on his mind.

How can he press a new button today?

He burst through your front door, relishing in the slight panic that set on your face as you whirled your head to see who had gained entry to your home.

“Luigi, calm down…you don’t pay enough rent to knock doors down like that…” you sighed, pressing a hand to your chest in silent relief.

“Sorry, cutie,” he murmured, making his way into the kitchen after locking the door behind him, a sign he wasn’t going back outside anytime soon.

“Ooh, what’re you making?” he asked, assuming his position behind you as you stood over the stove and leaned his chin on your shoulder.

The house wafted with the appetizing smell of caramelized onions and garlic, gentle spices, freshly cracked black pepper that left a tingle in your nose, and freshly picked herbs from some supermarket only frequented by those who value the produce put on the shelves. It was like seeing a vintage painting for the first time; basking in its radiance and letting its colors and stimuli occupy every corner of your soul.

“This recipe I got from the lady two doors down…she’s Italian, too, she’s great. She gave me these herbs from her garden and a big thing of sun-dried tomatoes,” you nodded, crushing your plum tomatoes in a bowl to avoid getting your hands dirty.

“Oh wow…” he purred, the sound vibrating right next to your ear— deep and gutty from the back of his throat as he wrapped his arms around your neck. Not tight enough to alarm you, but secure enough to let you know he’s there.

He watched as your hands cast their magic with a sharp-bladed knife, finely slicing your sundried tomatoes, halving your cherry tomatoes, and finally, tearing up some fresh basil.

You put your tomato and herb medley in the sizzling saucepan of onions and garlic, steam bubbled up from the bottom as the pot rapidly decreased in temperature. Luigi didn’t want to think about it too much— the more he listened, smelled, and felt, the more he felt the presence of his grandparents working your hands like you were their granddaughter.

“That smells so good…is it vegetarian?” he asked, staring into the bright red sauce as your wooden spoon incorporated each ingredient together.

“Nahhh. Hell no. I’m actually leaving you out and kicking you out, your stuff is packed up down the hall,” you deadpanned, narrowing your eyes slightly knowing he couldn’t see them. But you know he could feel it— he always could.

“Okay, now,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes with a breathy chuckle. “Be nice, peace and love.”

“Fuck and shove.”

“No, no! We choose peace,” he murmured, enunciating the end of his words with a playful raise of your boobs.

“Get out,” you chuckled, smacking his hand with the tip of your spoon.

“I’m cool! I’m cool!” He laughed, throwing his hands up in faux defense and licking the sauce from his knuckles, sitting on the counter next to you just to make a show out of his tongue darting out from his lips to suck his fingers clean.

“Luigi, you’re fucking disgusting, you were just outside,” you mumbled, averting your eyes immediately as soon as your cheeks began to flush with a familiar pool of heat.

“Mmh, so good, you’re a perfect little chef, good girl…good job, pretty.”

You paused, stumbling to the side a bit as you poured half a can of water into your empty can of plum tomatoes.

“Hah— I'm sorry, what did you say?” you stammered.

“Hmm?” He hummed, plucking his fingers from his mouth with a wet and sinful pop, the digits shiny with his saliva. “Good job?”

“No, the thing you said—…actually, nevermind,” you mumbled, turning your attention back to your pasta sauce and pouring your water into the pan before adding coarse salt, a little bit of olive oil, and vegetable bouillon for a little extra oomph.

“What did I say?” He fibbed, feigning near-impossible amounts of ignorance as he leaned back so his head touched the kitchen wall.

“Luigi, are you fucking with me?” You smiled, placing the lid on your boiling pasta sauce and pouring some pale yellow penne into a pot full of salty boiling water.

“Am I fucking you? Well, no, not currently, but we’ve fucked for sure,” he nodded.

“Oh, you’re trolling,” you chuckled, your brows rising and falling with amusement before you stepped away from the stove at last. “You’re trolling trolling.”

“C’mere.”

“No, why?”

“Just come here, I want a hug!”

“You are literally such a child, why do I live with you, I’m gonna package you and send you back to Sicily where you belong,” you huffed, reluctantly waddling over to Luigi as slowly as humanly possible.

“If you don’t bring that ass…” he murmured, leaning forward to pull you towards him faster by the hem of your shorts.

“Be civil,” you gasped, pressing a hand over your mouth in faux scandalization. “I thought you said peace?”

“Peace was never an option.”

“You are a nerd, oh my god…”

“The fact that you understood that lets me know you are too, so ha!” he beamed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Jokes aside, you did really good today, baby…I’m proud of you. Who taught you to be such a good chef? It’s so fucking attractive.”

You froze, trying not to audibly moan at his not-so-subtle praise like a virgin during ovulation. The words dripped from his mouth like honey, coating his deep and masculine tone with saccharine so sweet it’d deter the likes of most with sugar restrictions. 

You wanted to suck the words out of his mouth…like a blue raspberry lollipop fresh out of the candy store with the wrapper still on. How evil is the man that tempts the vulnerable with such a sweet reward.

“Stop…stop fucking with me,” you breathed, resting your forehead against his chest and letting your eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not fucking with you, I think you’re amazing…and hot…and I can’t stop thinking about what you look like under me,” he beamed, almost innocently, if the words that evacuated from his mouth weren’t so sinful.

“Poor cutie…Falling apart from some compliments. It’s okay, I’m a nice man, I’ll tell you what you wanna hear,” he chuckled, lifting you onto the counter with him so either of your legs sat on each side of his legs.

“Turn the stove off,” you whispered, a command that came out firm and steady compared to your brittle whines before.

“Yes ma’am,” he obeyed, leaning to the side to flick the dials, the blue flames dying out immediately with a little click.

“Back to you pretty girl,” he murmured, focusing his attention on your neck as he left tickling kisses and purple-ish hickies in his path.

“No…‘s not enough, I need more, hurry please…” you panted, pulling his head back tightly, earning yourself a pained but quiet whine.

“If you’re really that needy,” he mumbled before hoisting you off of his lap and sliding off the counter.

“I’m gonna make you touch every wall in this kitchen,” he warned, a careful and quiet little whisper that brushed against your skin before he propped you back up on the counter.

There wasn’t a second of silence that passed before the sound of ripped fabric pierced the veil of sound, the waves reverbed across the walls and triggered your brows to shoot up in alarm. 

“Lui—! Ah, fuck…!”

His mouth attached to your slick and shiny folds, disregarding the real meal just inches away on the stove in favor of the Michelin-starred repast he laid out on the counter. You had time to complain about his reckless behavior and expensive habits of rip-and-tear later, right now, your mind prioritized gathering the remnants of its pride in a pathetic attempt to silence your shameless moans.

Fortunately, you had the luxury of owning a house that wasn’t attached to another. No noise complaints would be filed, and sometimes you felt as though Luigi abused this opportunity until it was black and blue.

His tongue circled and suckled your sensitive nub, teasing and prodding her esse until puffy and swollen. The sounds of your moans and Luigi’s borderline sadistic, sea-side-flavored laughs mingled through the atmosphere— reminding you just how easy it was for Luigi to work you up. 

All with just some words.

“Good girl…so well behaved,” he purred.

And just like that, the rubber band deep within your womb that connected to your mind had snapped. You practically screamed into the sky, prompting one of Luigi’s large hands to squish your cheeks together in a slightly weak effort to filter your testimonies of euphoria.

He drank you up like sweet iced tea— the kind he’d go running towards after a particularly long surfing session. He panted, though you could hear the remnants of giddy little giggles at the end of his short and shallow breaths.

“I’m not finished with you. That’s only one wall.”

taglist ; @lorelaisg1lmore @flaca335 @7luvrs @fancyyanci @f4b111 @born444u @harrys0nlyange1 @lovelyfeeling @4ngelv4l

touch || luigi mangione

oh hii !! i saw @vershautece’s post and hadddd to write this, and deepest apologies i have NOT written smut before like my blog is losing its virginity </3 anywaysss hope u enjoy it!!

WARNINGS: f!reader, 18+, sex, dry humping/thigh riding, lu cumming in his pants, college!luigi loses his virginity, unprotected p in v i tried proofreading but when i wrote this i was half asleep so ☠

SUMMARY: Literally just sex (taking Lu's virginity :3) and dry humping him in his sweatpants gahhh

WC: 2.8k

Mess, mess, what a mess! Homecoming at UPenn was no joke. The frat boys painted their bodies the college’s colors, rowdy hallways and loud music. The campus buzzed with life; and the boys showed no shame — especially Luigi Mangione. He was new; a freshman. In contrast to the other male students, he was different. Had the smarts you know would take him many places, the charisma of a romcom boyfriend, everything you could want or need.

Lucky for you, he had his eyes drawn to your pretty figure, the way your skirt bounced, your thighs, and overall, your smile. He loved those rosy lips and kind flashes of teeth. 

“Did I get my back?” Luigi asks his friend, Lane. 

“Barely.” His friend chuckles, most of the paint on Luigi’s lanky figure was dried. He just needed assistance mapping out the ‘P’, since he and his friends were going to line up in the stands and spell out Penn. 

“Can you help me then?”

“No, I gotta get help myself, I’m not gonna paint you, that’d be weird!” Lane laughs. Luigi’s thick, bushy brows furrow, “what do you suggest then, Dr. Know-it-all?”

“Get the girls to do it.”

“Oh come on,” Luigi sighs, “I don’t want them to be uncomfortable.” Lane sighs, “they’re not gonna be uncomfortable. If they like us, anyway… You could ask Y/N..” Lane teases him, smirking and bumping his shoulder.

“We still have an hour or two.” Luigi nods, plenty of time to get painted on by his crush. You.

 So, with their heads held high, the boys walked the campus with their bodies painted blue and red to the dorms where you and your friends stayed. Your roommate was actually dating Lane — you never quite understood that. A knock at the door later, and the girl’s fun get ready for homecoming was crashed with body paint. 

Unfortunately for Lane, he forgot the second bottle of white paint. Your roommate accompanied them back across campus.

The other girls had disappeared, including the last blue-painted boy; leaving you alone with Mangione. You side eye him a moment, he stood awkwardly, rubbing his cracked, painted palms together. He had smuggled the white paint bottle.

You looked so cute to him, your creamy thighs, carefully lined lips and the white skirt with a blue blouse. He could feel himself growing a bit hard. It was embarrassing, you were so pretty and perfect to him, but he was a virgin — contrary to popular belief. He just liked you. He wanted you.

Luigi finally breaks the silence, watching you pull the rollers from your shiny hair. He clears his throat, “uh, Y/N?” His voice was a bit shaky.

“Yes?” You reply, your voice as smooth as honey.

“When you’re done… Would you mind helping me paint my back and uhmm.. The P on my stomach?” Don’t blush, Luigi. 

Oh he’s so cute, he’s so shy asking you, his bunched up curls and tall stance. You shiver at the thought of touching him.

“Sure.” You said simply, not wanting to seem too excited. 

After a bit you finally tended to him. You coated your hands in the paint and slathered it over his boney back. He wasn’t exactly the most buff guy, but he had a normal body for this age. He was really attractive, he wore those slutty gray sweatpants every girl begs her boyfriend to wear.

 In this case, you didn’t ask him, he came to you like that. 

It wasn’t your fault it was so obvious, the gentle outline through the fabric, you avoided looking at it, so he wasn’t weirded out by you. You always knew this guy was packing. Literally. He had you paint down to his waist, his v-line was so prominent.

For Luigi, your hands on him was like being dropped in heaven rather than the gates. He tensed a little at first but your warm palms soothe his occasional aches. He stood with posture and hopeful confidence, he liked you way too much.

“Okay, red’s done.” You state, showing him in the bathroom mirror as you wash it off your palms. “Looks great.” He says, you ended up using a blow dryer to get it dry faster. He had to sit down on the couch for a few, you did too. All that work plus doing your hair prior was tiring.

He looks over at you, his freckles show overlaying blush and his beauty marks are so perfectly placed on each cheek.

“What is it?” You questioned, wanting to know why he was staring so hard. He freezes and stares more, like a deer in headlights. “Sorry, I…I think you’re really pretty.” His cheeky, little crooked smile. You wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Thank you, Luigi.”

“O-of course.”

You smile warmly and tip your head back, looking up at the ceiling a moment, then he speaks up, his voice cracks. “I like you.” God, he was nervous.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“I like you too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” 

He silently cheered and ran a lap around, celebrating in his mind, but outside he nodded and looked at you as though you’re the only girl to ever exist in this world. “I really like that skirt of yours too.” He blurts.

“Yeah?” You chuckle.

“Yeah..” He bit his lip subconsciously and looks down at your thighs, pressed together and pressed to the cushion, he was almost jealous the couch could be sat on by you. He wanted to kiss up your legs and praise every part of your body, and let himself get lost in his sexual desires for you, he wanted-

“My eyes are up here, Lu.” You smile. His hazel irises dart up, his cheeks impossibly turn more pink, and he starts to get cocky.

“They are," he says quietly. “I wanna look down here though.” He continued. Something changed, like the quiet, nervous atmosphere had shifted into an undeniable need, longing and prayers that it would evolve into something soon before one of you lost it.

You stood to get the white paint from the table, but Lu grabbed your hand and stopped you abruptly. “Luigi?”

“C’mere.” He whispers, pulling you down on his lap, somehow, at some point there was a spurt of confidence in him that shone like a star now. “Lu-“ 

“Shhh.” He says, looking at your body in his hands, although clothed he can only imagine what lies beneath it. He blinks, then reaches for your breasts. He looks for reassurance, once you nod he’s practically a goner. His large, slender fingers are groping and squeezing your boobs, so gently yet possessively in a way you liked. 

“You’re s-so..” Words are uncomprehending in his brain, all he thinks and sees is lust. He leans forward and kisses between your collarbones. Slowly up your throat, stopping at your jaw. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I need you so badly, Y/N.” He murmurs, looking at you greedily. 

With a tug, he popped open the buttons on your lace blouse, you were never one to wear a bra underneath a top like this — so when he was met with bare breasts, he almost frothed at the mouth. It took a moment before he gazes between your face and boobs, you nod; and he’s gone. Again.

His kiss was tender and he only suckled for so long before nursing the other breast, kneading one softly, then switching off. It felt so intimate, yet so sweet coming from him. You could only moan, letting your fingers curl up in his hair.

Then he cupped your ass, squeezing the flesh and all he felt was the dampened fabric of your panties under the skirt. His eyes meet yours like a needy puppy’s. “You want me…?” He asks, in a state of disbelief that this was real. 

“I do.”

He fidgets for a moment, he wanted to tell you, but you had an idea. To try something different but equally pleasurable for yourself, he had no clue what you were doing until you were doing it. Softly, you straddled one of his thighs and began moving your aching need against it. He watched in awe, his cock was getting harder from the warmth, the fabric friction and your sounds. The sounds…

He exhaled, holding you in place, he nudged his thigh forward, causing a gasp to escape you. Each second grew more needful for both of you, he was so turned on he couldn’t think straight. “Lu,” you moan, and moan. Gently dry humping his thigh, it was so tender. You were so wet you left a small stain on the thigh of his sweatpants.

He was desperate and being a virgin in this state, he needed something more. Luigi grabs your hips and moves you directly on his erection. He leans so he is almost laying back, with you on top, he encourages you to keep moving.

You do.

You humped him through the sweats, his hardness rubbing against you in all of the right ways, your eyes flutter and you can feel how desperate you’re getting to have him inside you. Luigi could barely handle it, he was whiny, enjoying the view of you rubbing against his tented pants. Every now and then he’d buck up against you…

It became too much, he was guiding your hips, making sure you felt him against your pussy and ass — he groaned, feeling the twitch in his pants become more consistent until you moved so much he panted, begging you. A warmth spread against your panties and you lifted up, glancing down to find Luigi came right there in his briefs and sweats. It was a little endearing to see the male’s cum in that place. He blushes profusely, looking at you with embarrassment. “S-sorry.”

“For what?” “I came too fast.” He whispered. “I don’t think so.” You laugh softly, gazing at the mess you made of him. You turn to face him and lean over, planting your first big kiss on his lips. He moans and cups your face, kissing you sloppily for a long moment. His tongue slipped in your mouth, mapping out, wanting to remember every detail of you.

“I want you.” Your voice rang in the air. “I want you too. Bad.” He pants, then debates — “But uhm… I’m a virgin.”

You grin, pinching his cheek softly. “Oh, Lu, you think that’ll stop me?” He gushes. You tug him up from the couch, then grab the paint bottle and head back to the bathroom, shutting the door behind the both of you.

One hour to gametime.

Your fingers moved across his abdomen and lower chest, tracing the letter P, he was so shaky and sensitive still from cumming in his pants — it didn’t help he couldn’t clean that up yet either. You took extra time and care to paint him right and once done, you teasingly wiped your paint-covered thumb over his dick in the sweats.

He whined, looking down at you, there was no hiding that! “Y-Y/N..” He cooed. Just that action made his member twitch with arousal and life again. “Yes?” Weak, Luigi was so weak to you. He kissed your neck as you cleaned the white paint from your fingertips, “p-please.” 

“Please, what?” You ask, looking at him as he shifts on his feet.

“Please… I need you to fuck me.”

“You’re sure you want me to be your first?” 

“Positive. That's all I want.. I want you, Y/N. Please.”

From confident to straight up begging to be inside you.

You finally cave in, and the poor thing was so inexperienced, but he wanted to do the work. He only wanted to please you. Following instructions, he shimmied your panties down from under your skirt and showed off your breasts again. All in the mirror. The counter was just the right height and he could bend you over it. You stayed there, letting him get himself ready, you told him, “do what feels right, don’t rush yourself.” He nodded and carefully went a step at a time, you arched a bit and he ran his large palms over your ass. Then he pushed down his sweats and briefs, his erection was almost worse than the one before.

Luigi gently stroked himself, shakily groaning as he stood straight, adjusted your hip and aligned himself, “there we go, don’t be shy.” You say calmly. He gently poked your entrance with his tip, rubbed a bit as you wanted. He was packing — just a lot more than you expected. His tip alone felt so big and he wasn’t even inside you.

“Slowly, now..”  He makes sure he’s still aligned right and gently uses his hand to guide his dick’s head into you. He watched you in the mirror. You gasp, not expecting that at all.

“Holy shit… o-okay..” You mumble, “Like I said, do what feels right.. okay?” Luigi nodded, feeling that confident cockiness coming back as he slowly pushed his length inside you, officially and fully, no longer a virgin. His face contorted, brows furrowed, he looks at your ass from this angle, the way your breasts spill out of the blouse.

He let you adjust to his size – more or so, he had to adjust to your slick tightness — he really had to focus here. All he could think of right now was how your pussy felt like heaven.

A flicker of need, and he began pushing in, pulling out, repetitively. You moaned, he did too, enjoying the feel. He got the swing of it pretty quick and ol’ sweet, nerdy Luigi was a little addict after five minutes. His hips slapped into your rear, filling the bathroom with pleasure and his length completely stretched you.

Two desperate souls, desiring. Joined together in passionate lovemaking. Luigi loved how your breasts bounced back n’ forth when he thrusted into you — how you moaned, your eyes shut and rolled back, all of it in the reflection for him to take in. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum.” He growls into your ear, kissing your neck as he brushes your hair aside.

“Okay.” You hum, he glances at you in the mirror. “I can pull out-“

“Don’t you dare.” You smiled slyly, cutting him off. Luigi blushed, confused, but not stopping his thrusts. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes.”

He was hesitant but fuck, he loses his virginity to you and he gets to cum inside you? Double win for him.

His movements became sloppy and erratic, needy and quick. You were a squirming, writhing mess — especially when he curiously reached under you and began rubbing at your clit. For someone with zero experience he found it quick. It made you whine, it made him feel so empowered for that moment…

“Lu, I’m gonna..” You pant, your back arching against him. He leans you up and cups around your ribs, holding you steadily so he can just thrust faster, it was a change but it felt amazing.

He made you really cry out in pleasure, your walls clung to him like a last lifeline and he groaned deeply, using it to his advantage to get off. He moved faster, despite your overwhelming orgasm, overstimulating you by continuously rubbing at your nub and nipping your neck, “You’re so fucking sexy.” He whispers, you had no clue where his sudden spark came from to be dominant, but you loved it.

Not even a full minute later, you felt him cum inside you – something you both probably shouldn’t have done but gosh, it was so worth it watching him collapse on your back, heaving and planting soft kisses on your shoulder. “That was amazing, God, Y/N, I love you.” He paused, blushing more when he realizes what he’s admitted out loud; but your expression says it all. 

“I love you too.”

The both of you cleaned up, you fixed his painted body (and had to change clothes yourself, since some bits that didn’t dry, got all over you.) Thankfully Luigi had a spare pair of sweatpants, stretchy, black fabric. “Hold on, I gotta redo it now,” you smile. Although it meant ruining your makeup, you got the paint on your lips and pressed a kiss against the sweatpants, just over his dick.

“Huh – oh.” Luigi moans as you do so, he flushes and watches you. His heartbeat was quick and he felt so giddy. Gosh, he loved your touch. Then Lane and your roommate returned, he had the ‘E’ painted on his stomach. Now everyone was ready to head out and enjoy homecoming.

It was fun, Luigi and his friends walked together, but of course Lane’s observant eyes glinted. “You have fun Luigi?” He smirks. “What are you talking about?” Luigi responds. “C’mon, I know you had sex with her.”

“What? How?”

Lane pointed at his sweatpants, which he quickly remembered that your lips marked. He rubs his neck nervously and smiles. “So, you finally lost it?” Lane bumps their elbows. Luigi gazed at you, at your smile – laughing with your girl friends. He felt a sense of pride when you look back at him, his stomach flutters. 

It also didn't help you had a big red handprint from Luigi's palm-covered hands on your lower butt cheek, which if you walked a certain way, was completely visible in that skirt. Luigi smiled, because he did that.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

TAGS: @vershautece @iinfinitelimits (lmk if u want to be added!)

too good for me - luigi mangione x reader

based on this request, thank you so much for sending in your idea anon, i really enjoyed writing this, i hope you enjoy it <333

the car ride to your parents’ house is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional tap of your fingers against the window. luigi glances over at you, his hands steady on the wheel, his expression calm but concerned. you’re fidgeting, something you only do when your anxiety is spiking. your knee bounces, your nails pick at the hem of your dress, and your breathing is just a little too shallow.

“hey,” he says softly, reaching over to take your hand. his touch is warm, grounding. “talk to me.”

you exhale sharply, your shoulders slumping. “i just… i don’t know why i’m so nervous. you’re you. you’re perfect. you’re going to walk in there, and they’re going to love you, and then they’re going to wonder why someone like you is with someone like me.”

luigi frowns, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “stop that. you’re not ‘someone like you.’ you’re you. and i’m with you because you’re kind, smart, funny, and you make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. got it?”

you nod, but the tension in your jaw doesn’t ease. “i just… i know how they are. they’re going to compare us. they’re going to say something about how you went to UPenn and i went to community college, or how you come from this perfect family and i’m just… me.”

luigi pulls the car into the driveway and puts it in park before turning to face you fully. “listen to me. whatever they say, it doesn’t change how i feel about you. and if they say anything that hurts you, i’ve got your back. always. okay?”

you manage a small smile, squeezing his hand. “okay.”

---

the moment you walk through the door, your parents are all smiles—for luigi, at least. your mother hugs him tightly, gushing about how handsome he looks, while your father shakes his hand with a firm grip and a nod of approval. you stand awkwardly to the side, your hands clasped in front of you, feeling like an afterthought.

“luigi, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” your mother says, leading you all into the dining room. “we’ve heard so much about you. UPenn, right? such an impressive school.”

“yes, ma’am,” luigi says politely, though his eyes flick to you, checking on you. you give him a small nod, trying to reassure him you’re okay.

---

dinner starts off well enough. your parents ask luigi about his job, his family, his plans for the future. he answers everything with ease, his charm disarming even your father’s usual stoicism. but then, as the conversation shifts, the comments start.

“you know, luigi, we always hoped our daughter would follow in your footsteps,” your mother says, sipping her wine. “an ivy league school, a high-powered career… but i guess community college was more her speed.”

you freeze, your fork hovering over your plate. your chest tightens, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. before you can respond, luigi speaks up.

“actually,” he says, his tone light but firm, “i think it’s incredible that she went to community college. she worked full-time while getting her degree, and she’s one of the hardest-working people i know. not everyone has the same opportunities, but she’s made the most of hers. i admire that about her.”

your mother blinks, caught off guard, but your father chuckles. “well, i suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

---

the rest of the meal continues with similar backhanded comments, each one making you shrink a little more into your seat. luigi, however, never lets it slide. he defends you without being confrontational, his hand resting on your leg under the table, a silent reminder that he’s there.

when your father excuses himself to use the bathroom and your mother goes to check on dessert, luigi turns to you. “let’s get some air,” he says, standing and offering you his hand.

you follow him to the porch, the cool night air a relief after the stifling tension inside. he leans against the railing, looking at you with those kind, steady eyes.

“you okay?” he asks.

you shake your head, tears welling up. “i’m sorry. i knew this would happen. i just… i hate that they do this. i hate that they make me feel like i’m not enough.”

luigi steps closer, cupping your face in his hands. “you are enough. more than enough. their opinions don’t define you. you’re smart, capable, and kind, and i’m so proud to be with you. don’t let them get in your head.”

you nod, leaning into his touch. “thank you. for standing up for me. for… everything.”

he smiles, brushing a tear from your cheek. “always. now, let’s get through the rest of this dinner, and then i’m taking you out for ice cream. deal?”

you laugh softly, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. “deal.”

---

as you walk back inside, hand in hand, you feel a flicker of hope. maybe, just maybe, you can start to believe that you’re enough—not because of what your parents think, but because of the way luigi looks at you, like you’re the most important person in the world.

and for the first time in a long time, you start to believe it too.

---

the rest of the evening passes in a blur. your parents continue to make their subtle jabs, but with luigi by your side, they don’t cut as deep. he’s your shield, your anchor, and by the time dessert is served, you’re feeling more like yourself again.

as you all sit down with coffee and cake, your mother turns to luigi with a smile. “so, luigi, do you see yourself settling down soon? maybe starting a family?”

you nearly choke on your coffee, but luigi just smiles, his hand finding yours under the table. “when the time is right, absolutely. but for now, i’m just focused on making sure this one here knows how amazing she is.”

your mother’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers. “well, that’s… very sweet of you.”

your father clears his throat, changing the subject, and the conversation moves on. but you can’t stop the warmth spreading through your chest. luigi’s words, his unwavering support, they mean more to you than you can ever express.

---

when it’s finally time to leave, your parents see you to the door. your mother gives luigi another hug, while your father shakes his hand again. “take care of our girl,” your father says, his tone more serious than before.

“always,” luigi replies, his voice firm.

as you step out into the night, the cool air wrapping around you like a blanket, you feel a sense of relief. the evening wasn’t perfect, but you made it through. and with luigi by your side, you know you can handle anything.

he opens the car door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, he leans in, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “you did great,” he murmurs.

you smile up at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. “i couldn’t have done it without you.”

he grins, his eyes sparkling. “that’s what i’m here for. now, let’s get that ice cream.”

as he starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, you glance back at the house one last time. for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace. your parents’ opinions will always sting, but with lu by your side, you know you’re enough. and that’s all that matters.

Can we have a round of applause for the chain here

for @vershautece, based off of this and a little of this 🩷 enjoy!

warnings luigi is a baby making machine! sahm themes, let’s just assume he never had back problems shhh, all italian is translated at the bottom, breeding, oral (both receiving), missionary + doggy, orgasm denial (?), rough sex, ass slapping (i don’t like the other word), reflection ;), half-assed proofread

a/n i am actually so sorry this is so late, i’ve been stacked today and then i scheduled this to post and it never did… ALSO THIS IS WAY LONGER THAN I ORIGINALLY INTENDED!!! and i’m sorry the smut is kinda vague i haven’t written actual smut in SOOOO long it’s embarrassing… i’m gonna be a hornball on your dash!

getting accepted to upenn was definitely in your top three most exhilarating moments of your life. with plans of majoring in art, you were over the moon to start your independent life at an ivy league school! you rarely let boys get in your way — enjoying life in the moment was a top quality of yours as an artist.

that was, until you met luigi. oh god, he’s so beautiful. you only picked up one digital class that you really didn’t even know the name of because you’d wanted to get into digital art and you thought it’d be fun to learn the functions. as soon as you saw him about two weeks into the course, you were swooning. unbeknownst to you, most other girls were also swooning.

you only had a few tight friends, but your kind personality was a trait everyone noticed about you as soon as you would approach. also how good you smelled. and your beautiful smile. and your full, happy cheeks when you laugh. really just everything — and you’d had no idea that boys in your courses would pine after you, too.

a few trusty years later, you and luigi were to be wed! babies came shortly after, and you had the most beautiful twin toddlers. after you’d been granted maternity leave from your job as a high school art teacher, you’d gotten a little too used to staying home and tending to the house, rather than scrambling every weekend to get everything done as well as take care of your husband and children.

you had a talk with luigi and determined that the money from his job would be enough to keep the family steady going as well as a few pieces you’d make and sell on ebay every now and again. almost as quickly as you could, you sent an email to the superintendent and principal of your school saying that you would unfortunately not be returning due to personal issues.

luigi had never asked you to be a sweet little tradwife for him, but he damn sure enjoyed it. today in particular, your three year olds’ daycare was closed so you were fortunate enough to leave them with their godparents. this was good for you, they’d likely ask to spend the night with their padrini*, so you can have tonight and tomorrow morning without a ‘bedtime’ for you and your children!

in the morning after dropping them off, you went back home to get cute and dolled up — you usually made breakfast wearing a silk pajama set that luigi bought for you last christmas. then you went to the grocery store and to the bank to deposit a check from a painting you sold for a little under $500. then back home to make a small lunch — you were planning to cook a big dinner — and then onto housework. you played music while you worked, and once beds were made you retreated back to your bedroom to tweak your hair and makeup for dinner.

you also made sure luigi knew not to come home before 5:45 because you wouldn’t be done with your dishes, and checked in on your kids to confirm they’d stay the night at their padrini’s house.

when luigi came home, just like out of a scene of a movie, he shouted from the front door: “tesoro, sono a casa!*” followed by the door closing and locking mechanically behind him. he strutted into the kitchen to see you putting plates together — exactly 6:00. he must have waited in the driveway to give you some extra time!

with a gentle hold of your waist and long kiss on your cheek, you suddenly felt much more comfortable; almost feeling safe that he was home. anxiety was sometimes a struggle when you’re home alone all day and your husband working half an hour away.

as you plated the food and brought the bread out of the oven, luigi went upstairs to change into something more casual. when he opened the bedroom door, he noticed you had left a precious little lingerie set laying on the bed, likely accidentally. his interest was certainly piqued! quirking an eyebrow and grinning a little to himself, he took a few minutes to change and mess with his hair a bit in the mirror.

luigi came down the stairs with happy haste.

“thank you for making this meal, babydoll, smells so good,” he compliments, kissing your cheek again.

your face burns excitedly. “thank you,” you kiss his lips a few short times.

over dinner, you chat about each other’s day and the children. he seems to be deep in thought for a moment, and when he notices you staring he speaks again.

“you think we should have another baby?” he asks cheekily.

you nearly choke and your heart rate runs rampant, looking as if you hadn’t had sex before. “do you want to?”

“would i ask if i didn’t want to?”

there’s a rush between your thighs almost immediately. you place your fork down onto your plate and stand up, but before you can walk off he’s up and scooping you into his strong arms. he cascades up the steps with you bridal style.

as soon as he steps into the bedroom, he places you down on the fuzzy chair in front of your vanity. a finger points to the lacy set laying on the neat bed.

“you wanna tell me what you got this out for?” he presses, kneeling down on the ground in front of you. luigi’s pretty lips pepper kisses on your ankles, lifting each one up slowly to remove your kitten heels. once each shoe is off, he places the now bare calf on his shoulder.

“please, lu…” you plead pathetically.

his eyebrows furrow upwards, looking at you with big eyes full of faux empathy. “please what? use your words, mio amore. dimmi cosa vuoi*.”

words are quick to fail you. your brain is blank, almost static. most times you have sex it’s quick and hushed because the twins are in the house.

he’s kissing up your legs again, attempting to get a rise out of you. once he gets to your thighs, you’re getting a little restless.

“taking too long,” you mumble, and he lifts his head to look you in the eye again — this time much more stern.

“what was that?”

“said you’re taking too long,” you repeat yourself louder, locking your gaze with his.

within a second, he’s snatched you up and thrown you onto the neat bed.

“you and your goddamn bed decorations. i never know why you put all these pillows on here when we’re just gonna throw them all off later,” he grumbles, clearly angry and clearing the throw pillows from the bed, tossing them to the floor.

luigi pushes your maxi skirt up and nearly tears your little cotton underwear off of you. his tongue darts between your warmth and his nose harshly rubs against your clit, catching you off guard and sending your spine into electric shock. your hands fly to grip his hair in one hand and the tightly made bedsheets in the other.

“y’taste so sweet, tesoro,” he groans against you, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your thighs before going back to devouring your sex.

he’s already working an easy orgasm or two from you. he pulls you from your stupor and unzips your dress, gingerly pulling it off of you — he knows how upset you got last time he accidentally ripped the hem of your dress.

his shirt is gone, his chin and parts of his cheeks are still wet, and removing his belt as quickly as he can. as soon as his pants drop, you grab the hem of his boxers and pull them down. every time you see his cock, it never fails to surprise you that the tip touches his fucking belly button.

you pop his throbbing pink tip into your mouth, giving it little kitten licks and short kisses. you work your way down, or as much as you can, using your hand to pump what you can’t fit in your mouth. you’re moaning and slobbering around his cock, vibrations from your voice sending chills up his spine and down into his arms. his hands find their way to the back of your head, carefully urging you to take more.

your throat is constricting and you retract from his cock, looking into his eyes for validation.

“you’re taking too long,” he mocks in a faux whiny voice. luigi pushes you back onto the bed by his shoulders and holds his heavy cock. he teases your folds, rubbing his hot tip through to spread your own spit and cum from him eating you out. slowly, he pushes in. he always waits a little for you to adjust to how big he is.

“fuck, m’so full…”

“you’re so tight, mio amore.”

his eyes are boring into yours and his hands press down onto your womb to see his own cock buried into you.

“gonna cum if you don’t breathe for a second and relax, holy fuck baby,” he reminds you with a deep, raspy tone.

you take a deep breath and mid-exhale he starts to pound into you with a feverish and eager alacrity, causing you to almost scream.

“mmmmy fucking god!” your voice shakes with each impactful thrust against your hips. one of his hands grips your waist and the other attaches to your boob, his head following shortly. his tongue laps around your peaked nipple rapidly.

then both hands are on your waist and he briefly pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and prop your ass up to his liking. he’s shoving his cock back into your soaked cunt and returns back to his relentless pace.

“gonna fuck a baby into you, bella ragazza, gonna get you nice and swollen with a pretty baby, hm? isn’t that right?” he pushes his hand down onto your lower back, arching you up higher for him. both of his big hands find your frizzed up curly bun and he snatches your head back.

“feels so fucking good, m’gonna cum, lu!”

“aht,” he slows down exponentially, “you’ll cum when i tell you to.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head with adoration and you swear your ovaries start jumping at the demand. he’s back to slamming into you and a hard hand comes down onto each ass cheek three or four times. he adds to the torture by holding your hair in one hand and moving his other arm around your hip to grind his palm on your clit.

“oh my god, i’m gonna fucking cum luigi…” you breathe out between a moan, a scream and a whisper.

“what’d i tell you?”

“to wait ‘til you tell me to cum!”

“do what i tell you, be a good girl and listen to me.”

your brain is numb and your head falls limp, his grip in your hair is the only thing holding your body close to his.

“you’re so fucking pretty, mio amore, can i take a picture?”

you just nod obediently, not really caring too much at this point. he reaches over to the bedside table where he put his phone before dinner and opens the camera, showing your mascara dripping down your face from tears you didn’t know were flowing and an agape mouth, moans slipping through with every motion.

“you see why i love fucking you s’much? hm? look at yourself while i fuck you, baby,” he’s shoving the phone into your hand to palm your clit again. you’re bucking your hips against each form of stimulation with your jaw wide open, breathing shakily.

“there you go, tesoro, y’wanna cum?” he taunts, to which you nod your head and moan a hearty ‘yes!’

his index and middle finger focus on your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as tightly as he can. your eyes go crossed, no longer paying any attention to the reflection in the camera. luigi’s hand drops from your hair, pushes your head down and arches your back up one more time. he pressed record on the camera and kept up with his cock bullying into your cervix over and over.

“go ahead and cum with me baby, take it like the good girl you are.”

when he gives you permission, almost like a stage cue, you totally let go. your cunt squeezes around him entirely and traps him in. his cock twitches rampantly inside you as he meets his release, watching your face through the camera that you’re gripping onto with your life.

it takes a few minutes to cool off after he lays down beside you, stopping the recording and kissing all over your face. “you did so good for me, baby. sei una brava ragazza*.”

you don’t even have it in you to respond, your chest heaving.

“you think that one will take? should we go for another round?”

this gets a breathless chortle from you. “can i catch my breath first? also, you messed my hair up.”

“so that’s a yes?” he asks, already burying his face into your chest and carefully pressing kisses to your hot skin.

🌺🩷💋

italian words and phrases:

padrini: godparents

tesoro: sweetheart

sono a casa: i’m home!

dimmi cosa vuoi: tell me what you want

sei una brava ragazza: you’re (such) a good girl

The Safe House - Part 3

luigi x unnamed reader fluff (a kiss?)

summary: fluff ! luigi and reader wake up in the vermont cabin, spend the morning together <.< coffee, showers, painting? its short lol

1,206w

PART 1

PREV FIC: PART 2

AN: jimmy butler to the warriors im sorry i feel like these are all trash but lmk what you think.

The Safe House - Part 3

How did I sleep longer than him? He was dead on his feet last night. Practically sleepwalking. But now he’s gone.I fling the blanket off of me and put my feet on the floor, cold against the worn-out wood, and I hear the shower running down the hall.

I get up, padding to the kitchen in my socks. There’s a box of muffins on the counter, one of those assorted grocery store packs. I grab a random one along with a banana, peeling it open and taking a big bite.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes me look up.

Luigi steps out, steam curling behind him, wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. His curly hair is damp, beads of water trailing down his toned shoulders and back. He doesn’t even look in my direction, just walks across the hall into the guest room. I barely catch a glimpse before the door clicks shut, but it’s enough to leave me breathless.

Jesus.

I swallow, finishing my banana too fast, nearly choking on it.

i turn back to the coffee maker and try to focus on making a pot. Im distracted by the sudden heat creeping up my neck. i shouldn’t be this flustered. By the time Ben shuffles out of his room, I got a few mugs lined up.

He takes one, mutters a half-hearted, “Mornin’,” and sits at the island counter, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Did you sleep?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

He grunts in response and takes a sip of his coffee.

It’s not long before Luigi reappears, fully dressed now, in some random clothes i swear are ben’s.. He moves toward the counter, right next to me, smelling like fresh body wash and warm skin. It’s too early for this. My pulse is already doing something stupid

“You woke up before me,” I say, still a little thrown by it.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter. “It’s hard to stay asleep.”

i glance at him, his dark curls still damp and defined.

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks, “Have you painted anything yet since getting here?”

I blink, caught off guard. “Actually, yeah. I’ve finished two pieces and have a few others in progress.”

Ben smirks around his coffee. “You gonna paint a tragic portrait of this idiot?”

“Maybe.” i shoot back.

Ben snorts, shaking his head as he pushes off the counter, mumbling something about how we’re both weird, and heads upstairs, leaving just me and Luigi in the kitchen.

Luigi turns toward me fully now, his expression softer, brows pulling together. “Can you show me?”

"Yeah," I say, nodding quickly. "Yeah, c’mon."

I lead him toward the makeshift studio space I’ve set up in the loft, where canvases lean against the floor to ceiling windows, some finished, but most are half attempted ideas.

He steps past me, looking at all of it. and i get nervous. 

I bring him to an easel where my most recent piece is sitting, just finished.

“This one is newer. It’s supposed to represent feeling … out of control. Like there’s an unstoppable force, moving.” I point at the broad, deliberate strokes. “And this is the subject, whos anchored.”

He tilts his head toward the painting, eyes narrowing slightly 

“This is the movement?” he asks as he follows the direction of a brushstroke with his finger, tracing an invisible path in the air. 

I nod, excited. “Exactly! It’s like…”

Then it happens. He lowers his hand but his finger gets too close. 

 A streak of deep blue smears across the entire thing. Immediate and irreversible. A dark, muddy streak where my careful layers once were. We both gasp in unison.

“Oh my god,” he says, freezing like he just set off a bomb. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m-”  He looks at his hand, then at the painting, then back at me. “Shit. I ruined it.”

He tries to somehow put the paint he smeared back onto the canvas, but it just ruins it more. 

Luigi panics and looks at me, making a noise like he’s in physical pain from guilt.

I should be mad. This took me days. But he looks so horrified, like he just committed an actual crime, which, considering his actual crimes, makes this even funnier. He doesn’t feel bad about putting three bullets in Brian Thompson, but smudging some paint is unforgivable.

I can’t help it. I’m laughing. And somehow, the only thing I feel is affection. "Luigi, it’s fine."

"It is not fine! Oh my god…" He looks like he wants to throw himself into traffic, it’s pleasuring me.

And then, on impulse, I drag my finger right through the smear, making it worse.

His mouth falls open. “What are you doing?!”

“Adding to your idea.” I step back. The painting is different now. Not how I intended it to be, but it doesn’t look half bad. “It actually looks kinda cool.”

He’s still watching me, unsure if i’m messing with him. I smile and nudge him lightly with my elbow. “Wanna sign your name in the corner?”

His brows pull together. “I’m not an artist.”

I shrug. “Now you are.”

Something shifts in his expression. Like what I said actually got through to him in a way he wasn’t expecting. He stares at me, really stares, like I just handed him some kind of truth about himself that he wasn’t ready for.

Then, slowly, he nods. “You’re right.”

He picks up a brush, dips it into the paint, and scrawls his name in the bottom right corner.

Luigi.

I stare at it, then at him. “It’s kinda surreal seeing that.”

His voice is quieter now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean… you were gone for months,we all thought you were dead. And now we’re making art together..”

Theres a beat, he leans against the wall, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Did you miss me?”

I scoff. “No.”

He smirks. “Liar.”

I roll my eyes, but my face is hot. “Where were you, anyway?”

He looks at me, probably gauging how much to say. “A few places.”

“Thats real specific, Lu.”

He diverts, “Last time I saw you, we were at that party.”

I blink. “Yeah. We…” I gesture awkwardly, a bit embarrassed, “ you know”

“We kissed.”

His gaze flickers to my mouth, just for a second. Then, so softly, like he’s testing the words, he says, “You’re the only person who knows I’m alive right now.”

My pulse is too loud in my ears. “I know.”

His hand lifts slightly, like he might touch me, but he hesitates. “That doesn’t freak you out?”

I shake my head. “No.”

His hand finally moves, fingertips tracing the back of my arm. He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath when he speaks. “You sure?”

I don’t get the chance to answer.

because then, he kisses me.

It’s hungry, needy, like he’s been thinking about this for a while and won’t wait another second.. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers curling just enough to make me shiver. I press into him, and he groans into my mouth, deep and low, like this kiss is pulling something out of him he didn’t even know he had, and hes holding it back.

I grasp at his shirt, tugging, pressing, needing more, and he gives it to me, kissing me deeper, harder, until my knees feel weak.

We break apart. His breathing is ragged, pupils huge.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I missed you.”

girl, idk if you've already posted this one but this guy sounds so much like him it's insane 😫

https://soundgasm.net/u/UrSwitchyBF/Frat-boy-DEGRADES-you-for-not-doing-his-project

GIRL omgggfggggg yes i’m pretty sure i did post that one oh my god it’s one of the best yes yes yes

hold on i think i posted the praises u version but both are so good :) i think that guy has quite a few good audios but i can’t remember exactly

𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 (𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖) - 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟐

(part 1 here)

(4,543 words)

summary: smut. filthy, fucking smut.

𝗍𝗐: 18+ !! 𝗀𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒, 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖽𝗈𝗆!𝗅𝗎𝗂𝗀𝗂, 𝗌𝗎𝖻!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋/𝗌𝗎𝖻!𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖽𝗎𝖻𝖼𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍, 𝖽𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗁 + 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗏, 𝗇𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖺𝗅, 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗆𝗌, 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾, 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄

~

"We're going to play a little game, pretty girl." Luigi is still fucking the length of the gun into you, pushing down into the small of your tiny back with delicious pressure and you're finding yourself all the more happy to comply.

"Mm-mhm." You're fighting back every urge telling you to push your ass back and make the sensation hit you faster. You heed your caution because if you don't, you know Luigi would be pretty upset and he'd hurt you.

Maybe you wouldn't mind, but right now, all you cared about was taking what he was giving.

"I'm gonna talk about my favorite memory of you," he starts to twist around and you feel the ridges of the gun running over the sensitive flesh inside and you let out a cry. It evokes a hard and extremely painful slap. 

"Don't interrupt me bitch." He leans forward to bite into your ass and you both moan, the plush skin creating mutual pleasure. You nod your head before he pulls his teeth off. "When I do talk, you're going to tell me exactly what happened. Okay? You can make a sound baby." He pulls the gun out and says the last few words into your ear, letting his fingers dip inside this time.

"Okay Lu." You bite your lips naturally, letting your eyes roll back and soak the pleasure of his fingers curling inside, far more dynamic than the gun could ever be. Humming in satisfaction, he speaks.

"December 1st. We had a call together to talk about-" he stops, pulling you back closer to his body but he does it with the fingers inside of you and it's so humiliating. You let out a sob, shoving your fist into your mouth to compensate for the pain. "That hurt." You whine because it's so natural so natural that it would hurt. Luigi lets out a laugh before speeding up the pace of his fingers, watching you shiver as you're seeing colors before your eyes.

His free hand comes up to slap your ass before giving it a hard squeeze. You let out a concerning yelp, feeling the already stinging skin get kneaded and pulled in every direction his fingers so dictate. You let out a drawn, nasty sound that Luigi nearly moans in approval of.

"Yeah, I like that sound. Wanna hear ya in m'fuckin pain baby." Luigi feigns desire in his voice, drawing out the words so that every single syllable is trickling down like feather light touches teasing your skin.

He succeeds.

"We had a call to talk about my graphic. You remember what you were wearing that day pretty girl?" His fingers are twisting inside, brushing against the spot with every pump but the pace becomes torturously slow, as though he's giving you space to think. It does little to help but you race to gather yourself from mentally crashing to pieces, thinking back to this said day.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

"Hey Luigi." You pick up the call, expecting to continue your usual discussions about the graphic he had worked on since it was the most difficult. At this point, you were already living up every single moment your eyes could land on Luigi. Perhaps, you were trying a bit too hard.

You wore a pair of silky pajamas that were light green. The straps of the top were thin - spaghetti, essentially, and stuck to your skin as it cropped half-down your torso. Your shorts were high rise and decorated with delicate lace at the edges towards the bottom. In truth, it was after hours and usually, nobody had formal calls during this time. You had changed into your clothes much earlier at that point and chose this set, keeping it far back in your mind that you'd have a call with Luigi later.

It was sure to draw his attention because your lined bra made itself known, poking curvaceously through the fabric telling those who dared to look that there was something underneath. You lived alone, so normally, you didn't care.

But today, you cared only because Luigi would see and that care only made you pull the top down to complement the natural seg-way into your chest. That care made you make yourself an exhibit you hoped he'd appreciate.

Luigi stared for a second as you watched his eyes drag up and down once across the screen before he gave you a smile, responding at once.

"Hi. How could my poor self help you?" Luigi asked mockingly and you furrowed your eyebrows then, wondering where the comment came from but giving him the same energy back. "Give me some riches in the form of explaining your graphic? I didn't know I was as rich as you're making me out to be." You responded but then, you see your face freeze, letting you know that the audio likely must've frozen for Luigi too.

No mind, since everything resumed as normal in less than a second but Luigi's expression seemed to tell you something is wrong.

"What'dya say?" Luigi asked, tilting his head and letting his eyes project somewhat of a siren-like, overtly-focused stare on you. You gulped before answering in confusion.

"Jus' said you could give me riches by explaining your graphic and that I didn't know I was as rich as you were making me out to be." You answered unsurely but caught the way his face slightly fell towards the end of your sentence. His next few words seemed to explain why.

"Ah," Luigi starts, rolling his eyes before letting out a sigh. "I thought you said 'making out' and it did something to me for a second." Luigi laughs, but it sounds huskier, like there was more to the sentence he dared not say.

Your heart lurched at the idea but it was so out of place that you forced yourself to move on and just chuckle.

"Well, even if I had said so, you'd have to be here. I'm not so rich I could make a computer to stick a hand through and reach the other side." It was a stupid, convoluted joke that you rambled just to make the atmosphere lighter but that didn't seem to work, since Luigi's stare had only hardened more on you.

"Your top says otherwise. I love the silk on you." You're taken aback but you don't let it show, simply letting your fingers run their course from the straps and down to your stomach, which he couldn't see. Part of you suspected about whether his eyes had followed too, having noticed a slight shift in their focus.

You change the topic because this... this all came later.

But you certainly wouldn't forget.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

You gasp, feeling yourself reaching the point where you just had to let go. His pace had increased, aligning with the increasing impatience as you hadn't given an answer.

"If you don't answer, I'm not letting you cum." Luigi says, cruelly laughing as he heard you whine loudly and clenching around his fingers.

"L-Light g-green -ah!" You want to finish your sentence but the pleasure breaks through a new roof and you're so dangerously close to cumming. "P-Please Lu I wan-wanna cum." You beg without any inhibitions and he pumps even harder.

"Dumb slut can't even finish her sentences can she?" It's a matter of less than ten seconds and he drives his fingers in as far as he possibly can and you let out a scream, moaning ngh ngh ngh in the same tune as his fingers fucking you.

You hope he'll let you get away with it because there was no humanly possible way any understandable words were going to come out of your mouth. The pressure on your walls finally breaks.

"G-Gonna cum." You say in the loudest voice possible, unable to keep it down even on request because of how good you felt and finally, he pulls his fingers out.

And when he does, you bite your bottom lip hard, feeling a sob escape from your throat as you clench around nothing. The pleasure that was so close to pushing you over the edge rescinds its ministrations, settling to the usual arousal that you had started with. Your hands bunch up the sheets you're laying on as you're openly crying, babbling and asking how? why? I wanna cum! oh so shamelessly.

"Didn't finish your sentence. Stop fucking crying." Luigi gives a slap to your cunt and you fall forward, sobbing quietly into the sheets before a hand pulls your hair back.

"Said stop f'ckin cryin' little cunt." Luigi gives another slap, this time landing straight on the pleasurable nub and you moan through the last cry you let out, panting and whining quietly as his grip on your hair tightens. "Save those tears for when I split you open baby." Luigi lets go, watching your head fall onto the bed and bounce as you lie there, helplessly waiting for him to use you. The ruined orgasm only makes you more restless, but you're forced to wait.

"Dya remember what ya wore?" Luigi asks, taking off your panties off, sick of keeping the gusset aside before quickly flipping you around so you're facing him. You scramble and cover your face, embarrassed at the way you knew you would look like in that moment, but he grabs them both before pinning them above you, licking a thick, wet stripe from your neck and into your mouth, devouring every single inch inside. The wetness makes you clench and he can tell, his bulge pressing against you between your legs.

"Tell me. Tell me if you want me to fuck you with this cock." Luigi says, unbuckling his jeans and your mouth nearly waters, surely to let drool spill if your head was turned either side. You nod before swallowing the spit, forcing yourself to focus and ignore the sensations of his dick and fingers touching you.

"Wore my light green p'jama set Lu." You speak in a disgustingly sweet voice, eager to please him as he takes in a deep breath, smiling while he exhales. "My pretty girl. You remember, huh? Good girl," he stops to take his cock out, hitting it against your stomach before he bends over and grabs your face with his other free hand.

"You want a reward for that? You want me to give you a treat for answering m' question?" Luigi shakes your head side to side and you feel the pressure of his fingers digging your soft flesh into your teeth and it really fucking hurts. Nevertheless, you're his pretty, slutty girl.

So you nod.

"Uh-huh." You answer, the best sound you're able to get across your forcibly puckered lips. He leans forward, grinding his cock painfully against the opposing curve of your sensitive cunt which makes you mewl, squirming against his towering figure. "Fuckin' words bitch. Use your fuckin' words." Luigi commands you with a mocking tone, pressing harder into your face. You eyes crinkle, like you're going to cry again because you couldn't. It was so hard to get words out when he was just fucking your face up with his fingers like this but you don't let yourself cry.

"Wan' a-mm- rewa-mm." You try your very best, watching Luigi's chest tighten as he coos. He leans back and lets go of your hands, which you keep there even after he stands back. You watch, admiring him in his full glory. His cock is standing up straight between his legs, deep red from restraining himself for so long and all he does is pull a chair from behind him, sitting down.

You sit yourself up on the bed, half naked as your top is still on. Your legs dangle over the edge as you stare at him unsure of what to do next. Your eyes are threatening to look to the side and look at his gun, but you don't dare to move your sight away. Your eyes were for his body only.

Nothing else.

"Top off." Luigi is curt, speaking with a rough voice and you get the sensation like he'd just rammed his length into you, fumbling and shaking to pull your top off which you finally manage. All that's left on your is your bra. A push-up, specifically, which is hiking your breasts up a half-inch higher. The padding is useless in hiding your hardened nipples, which his eyes are staring at.

You open your mouth to speak but his eyes immediately shift to yours, and you shut them instantly before a sound crosses and makes its way out.

"C'mere. No sounds." Luigi addresses the concern you had of voicing a question, which you now know not to ask since he just answered it for you. You stand up, shaking and playing with the hair strands that sit beautifully on your neck and breasts before you take a single step.

"Crawl." Luigi says, smirking at your reaction afterwards. Your eyes go wide and you feel humiliation cloud your conscience. Fuck, you barely knew this man but everything he said, everything he did made you want to obey because he knew best. He dominated you like he knew exactly where to hurt and help you because he knew.

You were just his dumb, little baby.

But something was far too humiliating about this. So you shake your head slowly, increasing the pace the angrier he got. You weren't trying to get him angry, you were just so embarrassed. Poor little thing.

But Luigi didn't have the same patience with you.

"No?" Luigi asks, giving you a single warning in his question. You stare at the orbs in his eyes, shaking even more as you so badly wanted to listen but couldn't handle the thought he'd make you crawl. You do what you shouldn't, shaking your head yet again.

He runs a hand through his hair before standing up and bending down to pick up his belt. You swallow, eyes widening even more as your they darted between him, his belt, and your feet. You keep your neck facing down before his fingers softly touch your shoulder.

You yelp and you realize that's a mistake because that hand freezes before coming up and giving a hard slap across your face.

His face is perfectly calm, like he hadn't done a single thing but this time, you can't stop the glossy eyes that stare at him. He uses his other hand, dragging the leather of the belt up your body and you slightly lean into him after every curve he hikes it over.

"I'll help you crawl baby since you wanna be such a little bitch, okay? Lu's gonna help you baby he's gonna help his brainless little bitch." Luigi whispers into your ear with a softness that entirely juxtaposes his words and you have nothing to do other than nod, gasping once the belt curves around your neck.

He steps back before pulling the length through the buckle. He stops, staring at your features which are looking back at him in fear, confusion, and arousal. The innocence and desire in your face are so pure he can't help but scare you more and more.

it takes less than a second before he snaps and pulls the belt so fast and so hard, you're choking in an instant. Like an expert, he places the small wedge through the hole which would keep the belt around your neck as tight as possible, giving less-than-needed wiggle room for you to breath.

He steps even further back before jamming his fingers between the belt and your neck, using space that doesn't exist before pulling you to the ground. You choke, falling to your knees, before coughing repeatedly. He's still standing and you realize how small you are in comparison to him. Your eyes helplessly glaze over the toned hamstrings that arch beautifully into his cock, which he's slowly running his hands over. Your breathing is rapidly increasing as you blink, trying to find a way to force the air down but you can't help but watch his abdomen tighten and squeeze in relation to his movement up and down his length. He lets his fingers slip out and grab the extra belt leather that was making the entire set-up akin to a leash, pulling it and what do you do?

You crawl like he had asked, breasts swinging side to side with every movement. You stopped once he let go, kneeling and exuding submission with every curve of your body.

"Open your mouth." Luigi says quietly but you freeze. Your neck was already restricted and now you had to take his cock? You stare, gulping at the thickness and realizing it was going to press hard against the belt around your neck. You gasp, shaking your head but he doesn't listen, placing the tip at your lips.

The precum has a distinct taste, which you gag at but still position yourself for perfectly, arching your back just enough.

"You're gonna take it anyway. If you ever say no again, I'm gonna leave okay sweetheart?" Luigi uses a cunning, manipulatively sweet voice and you, even worse, fall for it, nodding slowly as your lips lightly run over the tip, making him groan.

He pushes in at once, making you lurch back but it doesn't matter, because his hips come in to use that distance, now letting his cock abuse your throat. You feel its ridges abusing the soft flesh inside as he pulls back all the way.

His tip is at your lips again and you instantly cough, gag even, due to the force and he smiles, letting his finger rub your cheeks. He doesn't care though, because he forces himself back in and starts rocking his hips, drinking in the sounds of struggle that you make and adoring the squelch from your lips.

"F-Fuck baby. This is exactly what I wanted to do to you on call," he falters in his voice at first, but later becomes steady in his hips and words. His volume is even, like he isn't obliterating your throat right now. It's like his ears are deaf to the moans, the struggles, the deep-throated noises he's fucking both into and out of you. "I saw your bra poking up out of your silky fucking crop. I saw the way you were pulling it down every now and then. You wanted me to see. You wanted my hands on your tits," Luigi stops, bending down to grab a breast and slap it from below. It stings from the force and you lean forward, letting his cock settle farther into your throat.

"You were such a little exhibitionist the entire time and that's when I knew," Luigi continues pushing his hips harder and harder, the squelches and sounds becoming more distinct as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. "I had to do everything I could to get my hands on you and use you like the fucking rag you were. Fuckin' slut." His hand comes down, slapping you whenever the pleasure was exceptionally good, releasing the tension all across your body and skin.

"Touch yourself." Luigi whispers, not letting his voice shake despite how good you're doing. "I hacked into your computer and I got everything. I found every single call you had with every single person and your texts." He stops, smirking when he watched your fingers struggling to move around because of the force of his hips. He extends his foot forward before saying ride me softly and you immediately set your cunt down on his foot, humping them without any qualms and taking him deeper, feeling pride swell at the way his body was reacting.

"I heard you fucking yourself with those beautiful fingers, moaning my name. You're so fucking beautiful but," Luigi finally can't stop himself, letting his breaths get ragged as he got close. It definitely helped to hear you gagging, suffering under him. "If you ever try to leave, or mm- escape m-me, FUCK-" he falters before flexing his entire body, steeling himself before he cums. "If you ever try to leave I'll hurt you. I'll hurt you so bad you'll forget your name and chant mine like a fucking prayer."

His words are sick and twisted, but they ignite a new wave of pleasure that crashes so hard against your walls, you can't help but cum. He snickers, watching your eyes rolls back while whining, having to manage the feeling of him down your throat.

"You fucking like that. You like it when I control you baby? Huh? Fuckin' nasty aren't you? G'na fuckin' cum. Fuckin' swallow - fuck." Luigi slows down, stalling in your mouth before pulling out and letting himself spill all over your tongue. The white pearls shoot out, coating your tongue and you stare up at him, hair matted with sweat and eyes glossy from his brutal assault, but the hot, pulsing core of pleasure and arousal never dies down as your body keeps craving more of him.

Luigi pulls your jaw down before swiping his tongue inside, swallowing you while you swallow him. His fingers roam the rest of your body while you devour each other before he rubs his fingers on your clit. It's too fucking much and you can't handle it, but he places you still, one hand on your waist and hips while the other is pleasuring your overstimulated cunt.

Luigi snickers before he stops, watching you shiver and hug yourself, trying to cope with how everything feels. He grabs your neck, pulling you up like a limp rope and you grab the bed behind you before obeying, knees shaking and unable to hold your own body. "Ass up and face down. Gonna fuck you stupid baby." Luigi pushes you down into the bed, hand in your hair before he rubs his tip on your slick cunt, moaning himself at how desperate you were. "Your body was made for me and I'm gonna use it and you know what you're gonna do baby?" He pulls your head up, expecting an answer. You savor the pull, loving the pain coming from the strands of hair straining against your scalp.

"Gonna fuckin' take it." You reply, moaning when he pulls your hips and shoves himself inside, a movement done all at once and taking you through and back several stages of shock, pain, and pleasure all at once. The scream he provokes out of you makes him harden more, as you feel the curves of him settling inside you with greater opposition. In response, you clench.

"Fuck me Lu, fuck me fuck me fuck me-" you babble repeatedly and he does. He fucks you, matching the pattern of your chants and it feels like heaven, and true to his word, it feels like he's splitting you open. Exposing all your vulnerabilities.

He's tearing you to the very pieces you were most certainly made from.

He flips you around while he's still inside of your cunt before leaning down, hands on either side of your head before he jackhammers himself inside, drilling into you and you can feel cries of pleasure flowing out of you with fire and fury.

"Mouth." He says, and you instantly know what to do. You let your lips part, moaning un-ceased, before he's swirling his tongue around and he spits inside. Your eyes widen in response, aided by the particularly magnificent thrust which forces tears to your eyes, ones that he watches cascading down your pretty face. A hand comes to swipe away before he takes a taste, licking the same fingers.

"You taste and look good when you cry f-fuck baby." He stops before straightening out his back and pulling you closer, pushing himself deeper inside. It sends you screaming, back arching, letting your breasts present themselves to his lips, spilling out your bra which he rips off of your body. You gasp but get distracted at his coming moves.

He takes the opportunity to suck and kiss around the buds, not quite touching you where it matters most despite his sinful tongue just millimeters from them. It prompts you to beg, instead.

"Please Lu, fuck please suck on 'em please." Your voice is cracking, the pleasure making you sob your words out and he's so driven to make you feel good that he simply obliges, unable to stop the desire when he hears your pitiable and fuckable lips beg him so helplessly.

His teeth are kind, pulling and biting just enough to make you squirm, making the orgasm catch up with you fast. "Ever gonna leave me baby, hm?" Luigi asks, slowing down but aiming his thrusts, desperate to make you unravel beneath him. You shake your head, screams and sobs intertwined as you repeat yourself: no no no no no and Luigi nods in response before you stutter, voice all high-pitched and nearly squealing.

"Can I cum Lu can I can I can I- ngh - lemme cu-" for which he cuts you off, biting and pulling on a free bud and the agony of feeling your breast stretch away from your chest, dancing to the moves of his neck makes your toes curl as you scream his name, shaking violently around his cock.

His hands come down to your waist to keep you in place as you grab the sheets randomly, crying and sobbing, tasting your own tears on your tongue which he never misses a chance at tasting himself as he gives your cheeks a light slap before savoring your salty tears himself.

"My turn." Luigi stares into your eyes, before grabbing the belt that was still around your neck and drilling himself into you, and you realize you just might pass out.

You beg and beg, telling him it's too much.

"'S too much Lu-" You're wailing, but something about the way he takes you makes your body put up a fight and take what he's giving because it just feels too good.

Luigi, on the other hand, enjoys all of this. He wants to make the pleasure hurt. He wants to watch how pleasure makes you shiver and break down into your smallest, most vulnerable pieces. And that's exactly what he was doing and was planning to continue doing.

"Don' fuckin' care. Your tiny fucking cunt is leaking f'me. Gonna take it." Luigi grinds down into you at the end of the sentence and you're babbling, making incoherent sounds, thrashing on the bed. The sight makes him want to drown in this moment and relive it as much as he can. His hand free hand slides up to your mouth, shoving the fingers inside and he knows he fucking knows he's using your body to the max.

He gets closer and you can tell by the way his breaths get quicker and his abdomen squeezes, but you're losing focus from the lack of air. Colors are filling your vision but in all of it, you hear his voice.

"You always going to be mine. Physically," He thrusts once.

"Emotionally." He thrusts again.

"Indefinitely." He fucks you particularly hard this time and you feel your body going limp as he groans, cumming inside. You don't care what the consequences are because honestly... you aren't going to be awake by the time you find the ability to do so. He pulls out and notices how he's spent all of your energy and sanity.

His fingers trail up your body before threading into your hair, massaging the scalp lightly.

"Sleep tight baby. I'll be right here when you wake up." And that's the last thing you hear before your world goes black.

end.

~

@officialdilfenthusiast @mrsmangione286 @lolololagrey - tagging u cuz u commented or reblogged my first part... hope u enjoyed :)

hiiiii these are soundgasm audios that all remind me of lu im still waiting for a guy that sounds exactly like him :(( but i love these audios so much they r so him

ok honestly with pretty much all of these skip the speaking in the beginning it sounds icky and scripted LOL sometimes it’s for up to like 5 min so skip to when it properly gets into it

breeding

eating u out + this one is mostly noises so u can really fantasise😖

fucking u while people are nearby

sleepy sex

how his moans would sound 🥰

frat luigi

fingering u in the middle of the night

making out + sex

making out with pillow talk

eating u out and sex

friends to lovers, riding sub luigi

trying for a baby

this is SO him

i swear there were even more that i liked but can’t find them :(( anyway enjoy💗

lu coded tumblr gifs and pics, here u go :) nsfw and sfw

mornings together :3

the curls <3 that is literally him

omfg

morning kisses

pic he has of u

making out

mmmm

holding hands while u fuck >.<

just imagineee

cuddling entangled in each other

his hand on ur thigh

soooo him

playing with ur nipples

him picking you up like this mm

making breakfast together

ohhh this is def how he’d be w u

my fav ugh how he’d grip u while u dry hump + those biceps are so himmmm

ugh need

gripping your ass

how he’s got you underneath him as he pounds u into the mattress mm

shower sex fuck this is himmm

him all over u while u make out😣

yes pls

straddling him in lingerie on his bday

holding u close while u ride him

cuddling on top of him :3

maybe my fav gif so far fuckk

intimate shower sex

spooning

straddling him like this oh my god

perfect

so passionate

him loving on ur body :3

the morning after omg

ur desperate for each other at a party

no words😔

him fucking the attitude out of u

this is exactly how lu would be :’( need

beauty mark!!

🥺 the watch

need need need

the watch so lu coded

taking a bath together like this omg

making out in his gaming chair oh my

chilling together ;)

:’) <3

him washing u in the shower

reading together :)

ur engagement ring

after u shower together

Luigi Mangione FanFics that are really good as I find new fics I will update as I go along to keep it up to date for you as of now it’s all good new fic is added

Here’s a story from this request

Summary : Luigi has a secret crush on you. Both of you attending the same university. When you ask him for help with math, what starts as a simple study session quickly gets spicy !!

Warning : explicite content 🔞🔞

I don’t know why this song feels like Luigi in college.

Others Luigi’s parts not related to this one :

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Luigi stood in the university hall, leaning casually against a wall as his friends joked around. Though he appeared to be listening, his focus shifted the moment he saw you descending the staircase.

His gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the determined set of your jaw and the way you clutched a paper tightly in one hand. There was something different about you today—your usual cheerful demeanor had been replaced by a tense, distracted air.

Then your eyes met his.

Caught off guard, Luigi looked away quickly, his pulse quickening.

"Oh, look. It's Y/N," one of his friends said with a teasing grin, just loud enough for you to hear.

As if on cue, the group turned to look at you. Luigi let out a quiet sigh, his jaw tightening. He had noticed you from the very first day of class but hadn't said anything to his friends. And now, they were practically gawking.

You stopped mid-step, offering the group a polite smile. "Hi, guys."

Your gaze flickered briefly to Luigi, and this time, you greeted him with a smile that held just the faintest edge of teasing.

"Hi, Luigi," you said, your tone light.

His throat tightened, and his response came out awkwardly, barely audible. "H-hi Y/n"

You stepped closer, holding out the paper in your hand. "I need help with applied mathematics. You're taking it as a minor, right? And from what I hear, you're pretty good at it."

"Oh... yeah," Luigi stammered, unprepared for your directness.

Before he could offer a proper response, one of his friends cut in, raising a hand dramatically. "I can help you too, Y/N!"

"Yeah, me too," another added, clearly trying to impress you.

Luigi shot them both an annoyed glance. "Back off," he muttered, though his tone remained light enough to pass as joking.

You raised an eyebrow, amusement flashing in your eyes. “I’m gonna choose whoever scored the highest on the last test gets to tutor me."

The group fell into a brief silence, and then the scores started coming in.

"71."

"82."

"89."

"80."

Finally, Luigi spoke, his voice calm and steady. "95."

Your lips curved into a grin. "Well, looks like we have a winner. Luigi, you're my tutor."

The subtle pride in his expression didn't escape you, though he tried to play it cool.

"How about tomorrow at the library?" he offered.

You shook your head. "I need to study tonight—my retake is the day after tomorrow. Your place or mine?"

Luigi froze, your words echoing in his mind. Around him, his friends erupted into laughter, elbowing each other and exchanging smirks.

"M-my room... if that's okay with you," he managed, his voice suddenly tight.

"Perfect," you said with an easy smile. "I'll see you after class, then."

As you turned and walked off, Luigi stared after you, his thoughts racing.

"Dude, did you hear that? She literally said, 'Your place or mine.' That's your chance !" one of his friends teased, slapping him on the shoulder.

Luigi shoots them a sharp look. "Shut up. She just needs help, that's all."

"Sure, sure," another friend says, smirking knowingly.

But Luigi doesn't respond. He's too preoccupied with the thought of spending time with you alone. Ever since you entered his life, you've had a way of unsettling the calm, logical order he's used to.

[7 PM]

Luigi paced nervously in his room, adjusting the books and papers on his desk for what felt like the hundredth time. He smoothed the creases in his shirt, glanced at the clock, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He opened it to find you standing there, arms full of notes, a faint smile on your lips.

"Ready for an intense night of applied math?" you joke.

He steps aside to let you in, trying to mask his nervousness. "I hope you're prepared to work hard because I'm a tough teacher," he quips.

You laugh as you take a seat at his desk, spreading out your notes. Luigi watches you discreetly, wondering why your presence alone is enough to make his heart race. He pulled up a chair beside you. He sits next to you and opens a notebook filled with neatly organized notes. His subtle cologne lingers in the air, and you can't help but notice how focused he looks when he starts explaining.

"Alright, show me what's giving you trouble," he says, gesturing to your notes.

You flip to a particularly challenging problem. "This one. Honestly, equations like this make me want to quit. Differential equations are a nightmare."

Luigi chuckles softly. "They seem daunting, but once you understand the logic, it's not so bad. Let's break it down step by step."

He explains with patience, his calm voice guiding you through each line. As complicated as the topic is, his methodical approach makes everything click.

"Oh! I get it now!" you exclaim, your face lighting up. "Why didn't anyone explain it like this before? It's so obvious!"

He grins, clearly proud of your progress. "See? I told you it wasn't as hard as it looked."

You work together for a while, your confidence growing with each solved problem. At one point, as you reach for his notebook, your fingers brush against his. The brief touch makes you pause, and you notice him quickly look away, his ears turning red.

"Sorry," you murmur, pulling your hand back.

"It's... it's nothing," he replies, his voice quiet.

The atmosphere grows heavier as you both become more aware of the growing tension between you.

At one point, your hands brushed as you both reached for the same pen. You pulled back quickly, but not before your gaze met his. A flicker of something passed between you—brief, but undeniable. Luigi looked away again, clearing his throat.

Luigi leaned closer to point out an error in your notes, his shoulder brushing against yours. You froze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.

"Here," he murmured, his raspy voice lower now, almost intimate.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the slight crease in his brow as he concentrated. The sharp lines of his jaw, the faint curl of his hair—it all felt too distracting.

"Got it?" he asked, his tone snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Y-yeah," you stammered, focusing back on the paper.

But even as the night continued, the unspoken tension between you lingered, growing in the quiet spaces between words. Neither of you dared to name it, but it was there—electric and impossible to ignore.

A few minutes later, after tackling another problem, Luigi leans closer to explain a particular detail. His proximity sends a wave of nervous energy through you, but you fight to keep your focus. When his elbow accidentally brushes against the side of your chest, warmth spreads through your body, pooling low in your stomach. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, his voice tinged with embarrassment. 

"It's fine..." you reply softly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

But your concentration falters as your thoughts begin to wander. Your eyes trace the lines of his hands—large and strong, with long, deft fingers. Veins crisscross his forearms, disappearing into the back of his hands, and the way he grips the pen exudes a quiet confidence. His arms are muscular, his collarbone defined, hinting at the sculpted frame beneath his shirt. 

Your gaze dips lower, involuntarily lingering at his crotch for a moment too long. You can't help yourself. Luigi has always been a contradiction: introverted and composed, yet brimming with a quiet fire, a confidence you've never fully understood but can't help wanting to unravel. 

Your eyes shift back to his face, and you find yourself studying him anew. His profile is striking—an angular jawline, lips that seem almost too perfect, and a thick beard that he likely trims every day. His brows are bold, framing a gaze that is somehow both piercing and gentle. There's an elegance to his nose and a wildness to his untamed curls, as though he doesn't care enough to control them. 

You're not sure what's happening, what this magnetic pull between you means. And judging by the faint tension in his movements, neither does he. 

"Alright," Luigi says, his voice breaking through your reverie. "I'm going to give you an exercise now. It'll cover everything we've gone over so far. You'll work on it yourself while I keep an eye on your progress." 

"Okay," you reply, nodding eagerly, grasping at the distraction. 

He steps back, giving you space to focus. For a few minutes, you immerse yourself in the task, scribbling out equations and trying to channel all your thoughts into solving the problem. But then you feel him again—standing behind you, his presence throwing your concentration into disarray. Your mind strays to places it shouldn't, thoughts you can't control flaring to life. 

Luigi crouches down beside you, his arm resting on the back of your chair. The closeness feels almost deliberate, his movements steady yet unassuming, as if he's unaware of the way he's affecting you. 

"Look here," he instructs, his voice low and firm. 

He reaches for your pen, his fingers brushing against yours once again. The contact feels electric, sending a jolt through you. He corrects the mistake with a confident stroke, then places the pen back in your hand. 

Your eyes lift to meet his, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The air between you feels charged, heavy with something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. You both break the gaze at the same time, awkward and unsure. The tension hangs there, undeniable yet unaddressed.

He leaned closer, his curly brown hair falling into his face as he pointed at a particularly confusing problem. "Okay," he said, his voice soft but confident, "tell me what the derivative of this function is."

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. Your eyes flickered to his face—his sharp jawline, the faint stubble, the way his lips curved into that patient smile. He caught your gaze and tilted his head, his brown eyes narrowing playfully.

"Focus," he teased, tapping the page with his pen.

"I... I don't remember," you admitted, flushing slightly under his scrutiny.

"Hmm." He clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. "Wrong answer. But don't worry, we'll get there."

He scooted closer, his thigh brushing against yours, and you felt a jolt of warmth shoot through your body. His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "Let's break it down step by step. Think of it like building something from scratch—you start with the foundation, right?"

You nodded, though your attention was less on the math and more on the way his hand gestured animatedly as he explained. God, why does he have to be so damn attractive? His rolled-up sleeves revealed the veins running along his forearms, and you couldn't help but imagine how they'd feel under your fingertips.

"So, if f(x) equals 2x squared plus 3x minus 4," he continued, writing out the equation neatly, "what's the first step?"

Your mind went blank again, but this time it wasn't just because of the math. The proximity was getting to you—his woodsy cologne, the warmth radiating off his body, the way his leg pressed against yours. You shifted slightly, trying to focus, but it was impossible.

"Uh..." you stalled, glancing up at him.

His lips quirked into a knowing smirk. "Wrong again," he murmured, leaning in even closer. His breath ghosted over your ear as he whispered with his raspy voice, "You're not paying attention, are you?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Maybe I need a different kind of lesson," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Luigi froze for a moment, his pen hovering mid-air. Then, slowly, he set it down and turned to face you fully. His expression was unreadable, but there was a heat in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. "Oh?" he said, his voice low and velvety. "What kind of lesson did you have in mind?"

You hesitated for only a second before reaching out and placing a hand on his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath your palm, steady and strong. "One where you show me exactly how much you know," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your boldness.

His lips parted in surprise, but then his eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"Positive," you breathed, closing the distance between you.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters. But then his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and everything changed. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you dizzy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you in a way that made your toes curl.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were hooded, his pupils blown wide with desire. "If I'm going to teach you anything," he murmured, his voice rough, "you're going to have to follow my rules."

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "What are they?"

A wicked grin spread across his face. "Every time you get a question wrong," he said, trailing a finger down your arm, "I stop. No touching, no kissing, nothing. Until you get it right."

"And if I get it right?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grin widened. "Then I'll reward you appropriately."

Before you could respond, he grabbed the textbook again and flipped to a new page. "Alright," he said, his tone suddenly serious, though his eyes still burned with mischief. "What's the integral of sine x?"

Your brain scrambled to recall the formula, but all you could think about was the way his thumb was tracing circles on your thigh. "I don't care."

He shook his head, clicking his tongue again. "Nope. Wrong." And just like that, he leaned back, his hands dropping away from you.

You groaned in frustration, but there was a thrill in the challenge, a fire igniting deep within you. "Fine. Try me again."

This time, when he asked another question, you forced yourself to focus, determined not to let him win so easily. And when you finally got the answer right, the look of pure satisfaction on his face was worth every second of torment.

"Good," he purred, pulling you back into his arms. His lips crashed against yours, his hands roaming your body with possessive intent. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you as he explored every inch of your skin.

But just as things were heating up, he pulled away again, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Next question," he said, his voice thick with arousal. "What's the limit as x approaches infinity of 1 over x?"

You bit your lip, your mind racing. "Zero?"

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Correct."

And then his lips were on you again, his hands everywhere at once, until the only thing you could think about was him—his taste, his touch, the sound of his ragged breathing as he whispered your name.

But just as you reached for the hem of his shirt, he stopped you, his grip firm. "Wait," he said, his voice hoarse. "What's the area under the curve of y equals x squared from 0 to 2?"

You blinked, your brain struggling to catch up. "Uh... 8/3?"

He grinned, his hands sliding up your thighs. "Exactly right."

And then he kissed you again, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you onto his lap. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, desperate and wanting.

But before things could escalate further, he broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he stared into your eyes. "Last question," he said, his voice shaking with restraint. "What's the probability of us finishing this without any interruptions?"

You laughed breathlessly, your hands tangling in his hair. "Slim to none."

"That's what I thought," he growled, pressing his forehead against yours. "But I'm willing to take the risk if you are."

His hands slid up your thighs, the warmth of his touch sending shivers through your body. The air in the room was thick with tension, every breath you took filling your lungs with the scent of him—clean sweat, cologne, and something uniquely Luigi. His brown eyes locked onto yours, dark with desire, but still glinting with that playful intelligence that always seemed to disarm you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "What's the derivative of e^(2x)?"

You froze for a moment, your mind struggling to focus on anything other than the way his fingers were now tracing circles on your inner thigh. Think, think. You bit your lip, trying to recall the formula. "Uh... 2e^(2x)?"

A slow, approving smile spread across his face. "Perfect," he murmured, his voice low and smooth like honey. His hand moved higher, his fingertips grazing the edge of your panties. You gasped, arching into his touch, but he paused, his smile turning teasing. "Next question. What's the integral of sin(x)? If you get it wrong, I stop."

"Luigi," you whined, squirming under his hold. His thumb pressed against the sensitive spot just above your knee, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. "That's not fair."

"All's fair in love and math," he teased, leaning back slightly to give you space to think. His confidence was infuriatingly attractive, and you couldn't help but laugh despite the ache pooling between your legs.

"The integral is -cos(x)," you said quickly, hoping to end the torture.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Brava," he said as he pulled you closer. His hands slid up your sides, lifting your shirt over your head before you could even process what was happening. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but his body heat chased away any chill. His lips found yours again, hungry and demanding, while his hands explored every curve of your torso.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. He chuckled against your mouth, letting you undo them one by one until his chest was finally bare. Your hands roamed over his abs, tracing the ridges and feeling the tightness of his muscles. He groaned softly, his hips pressing up into yours, and you could feel how hard he already was through his pants.

But before you could take things further, he pulled back again, his breathing ragged. "One more question," he said, his voice rough. "What's the limit as x approaches infinity of (3x^2 + 2)/(4x^2 - 1)?"

You groaned, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. "Are you serious right now?"

"Dead serious," he said, his fingers trailing down your spine, making you shiver. "Answer correctly, and I'll make sure you forget your own name."

You could barely think straight, but you forced yourself to focus. The answer came to you in a haze. "Three over four?"

His smile was wicked as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your neck. "Very good baby," he breathed, his hot breath sending goosebumps across your skin. "Now, let me show you how well I can reward good students."

In one swift motion, he stood, lifting you with him as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and he carried you to his bed, laying you down gently before climbing over you. His kisses trailed down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, each one leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his lips closed around your nipple, you gasped, your back arching off the bed.

His hands worked quickly, pulling off the rest of your clothes until you were completely bare beneath him. His eyes drank in the sight of you, and the hunger in his gaze made your stomach twist with anticipation. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Before you could respond, his lips descended lower, kissing a path down your stomach until he reached your core. You tensed, your hands gripping the sheets as his tongue touched you for the first time. The sensation was electric, sending sparks through your entire body. He licked slowly, deliberately, driving you insane with the unhurried pace. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he pressed two fingers inside you, curling them in a way that made you cry out.

"Luigi!" you moaned, your hips lifting off the bed as he worked you with his mouth and fingers. Every stroke, every lick felt like it was unraveling you piece by piece. You were close—so close—but then he stopped, looking up at you with that devilish smirk.

"What's the value of pi to five decimal places?" he asked, his voice steady despite the slickness on his chin.

"Are you fucking kidding me—" you started, but he cut you off with a pinch to your thigh.

"Answer correctly, and I'll finish what I started," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You clenched your fists, frustration and desperation warring within you. "3.14159," you spat out, glaring at him.

His grin widened, and he didn't waste another second. His tongue dove back in, and this time, he didn't stop until you were trembling beneath him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You cried out his name, your voice breaking as pleasure consumed you.

When you finally came down, he kissed his way back up your body, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it only heightened the ache between your legs. His cock pressed against you, hot and heavy, and you reached between you to free him from his pants.

As soon as your hand wrapped around him, he sucked in a sharp breath, his hips jerking forward. "Y/n" he muttered, his voice strained. "You're going to kill me."

You stroked him slowly, savoring the way his eyelids fluttered and his breath hitched. But before you could tease him further, he grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head. "My turn," he growled, settling between your legs. The tip of his cock pressed against you, and you both groaned as he pushed inside, inch by inch.

It was almost too much—his size stretching you in the best way possible—but he gave you time to adjust, peppering your neck with soft kisses. When he finally bottomed out, he stilled, his forehead resting against yours. "Tell me this is okay," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"More than okay," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Please, Luigi. Don't stop."

He didn't need to be told twice. His hips began to move, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. His rhythm was relentless, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. You clung to him, nails digging into his back as you urged him on. His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, and each time he swallowed your cries with a kiss.

The coil in your stomach tightened again, your second orgasm building faster than you expected. "I'm close," you gasped, your legs shaking around him.

"Me too," he panted, his movements becoming erratic. "Where do you want me to—"

"Inside," you interrupted, the word coming out as a desperate plea. "Please."

He groaned, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts became harder, deeper. With one final push, you shattered, your climax tearing through you like a storm. He followed moments later, spilling himself inside you with a guttural moan. For a long moment, neither of you moved, too lost in the aftermath to care about anything else.

Finally, he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so you were curled against his chest. His heartbeat was rapid under your ear, and his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "Thank you," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You looked up at him, grinning despite your exhaustion. "For what? Being a genius at math?"

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "For trusting me." His expression turned thoughtful, and he tilted your chin up so you were looking directly into his eyes.

You stride confidently through the university hall, a triumphant smile lighting up your face. Spotting Luigi, you rush toward him and throw yourself into his arms without hesitation. 

"So, what did you got ?" he asks, barely able to contain his excitement. 

"Ninety-seven! Luigi, you're incredible!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms tightly around him. The curious stares from other students don't faze you in the slightest. 

"I'm proud of you, Y/N!" he says, his tone full of warmth and pride. 

"Well, I had the best tutor anyone could ask for," you reply with a teasing grin. 

Not far away, Luigi's group of friends watches the scene, their confusion evident as they exchange glances, silently trying to piece together what they're seeing. 

"How about we celebrate properly? Dinner's on me," Luigi suggests, his smile growing wider. 

"Absolutely!" 

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss his cheek, the gesture natural and full of gratitude. Luigi chuckles softly, his ears turning just a bit pink, but he doesn't pull away. The buzz of the hall seems to fade, leaving only the two of you in your little bubble of joy.

GIRLS IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUESTS ASK ME I WILL DO IT WITH PLEASURE !!!! FEEL FREE TO ASK !!!

Reader and Luigi basically being the old married couple of the group. A newcomer finds out that they aren’t actually together and it feels like breaking news because it’s basically assumed by most that they’re together. Maybe it isn’t until one of them starts getting actively pursued by someone else when it starts clicking why it makes them uncomfortable at the idea. Trying to leave this open ended for you.

The Jester’s Fucking the King — {Luigi x Reader }

Content: I’m gonna call this one NSFW— MDNI, friends to lovers, confusing feelings, Luigi has a physical touch fixation, you’re his fidget toy, fr tho, emotional manipulation lowkey, just a pinch (if you squint) of dirty talk, kinda love triangle

Wc: 3,458

Notes: yourself and Luigi have been Inseparable for six years, and the introduction of a new friend into the group throws a wrench into everything.

Before we start, I wanna make a quick note about the title, and where the hell it came from (lol). I was inspired by a tumblr post I came across awhile ago, and it stuck with me, I guess, because I randomly thought of it while I was writing this. That’s all. Enjoy xo

I took this and ran with it.

As usual.

"Who's this guy that she's bringing again?" you ask to the car at large, slumped in the backseat between your roommate Scarlett and the window. Your thumb swipes across your phone screen, watching Chloe’s location dot inch its way across the map while Luigi maneuvers through traffic and Ben fidgets with the radio from the passenger seat.

"I dunno, some guy she met in her new sculpture class this semester," Luigi mumbles through a barely-concealed grimace. The thought of adding another person to their carefully balanced social ecosystem clearly weighs on him. You know he's already mentally rehearsing his nice to meet you smile, the kind that takes more energy than he's willing to spend on a random Tuesday night.

"It'd better not be that kid Cole," you mutter, already dreading the possibility.

And because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, it was absolutely, undeniably, that kid Cole.

It hardly mattered what preconceived notions you’d had about him; they dissolved over time as Chloe started bringing him around more often.

The traits you once found annoying gradually morphed into something oddly endearing.

Still, he never quite seemed to understand the dynamic between you and Luigi.

On movie nights, when the six of you crammed into the living room, a messy sprawl of friends and blankets overtaking the couch and floor, you naturally claimed your usual spot; sprawled out across Luigi’s lap. Tonight was no different. You laid there with your back propped against the arm of the couch, scrolling through Instagram while your bottom half stretched longways over him, as if his lap had always been yours to occupy.

Every so often, you’d interrupt the movie to show him a meme or a video a mutual friend had sent. You’d lean in close, shoulders brushing, stifling your laughter together so as not to disturb the others watching John Wick. “That’s fucked up,” he muttered through a barely-contained chuckle, his eyes still on your phone screen.

Madison lives at home, her daily subway commute to campus a small price to pay for access to her parents' sprawling estate. Their backyard is a mediterranean dream, with a pool large enough to host the entire group of misfits, with room to spare.

You're draped over Luigi as he meanders around the pool's edge, both arms curved naturally around your waist beneath the waster. It's the kind of casual intimacy that comes from years of friendship, comfortable and worn-in. "Cole's actually pretty cool," he muses, tilting his head back expectantly.

You comply with the wordless request, holding the La Croix to his lips so he doesn't have to lift his hands from the water.

"Yeah," you agree, your eyes drifting across the pool to where Cole is pretending not to watch this whole exchange. His gaze darts away the moment yours meets his, like a kid caught stealing. "I really did think he was annoying at first, though."

Scarlett’s birthday party, your arms wrapped around Luigi’s waist, your head tucked beneath his arm as you swayed together and sang happy birthday. The whine as you shared a piece of cake, something about how “Luigi won’t even kiss me in public.” When someone said the two of you would have won prom king and queen if you went to the same high school.

Ben’s party followed just weeks later, the night still young and champagne bubbling through your veins. Luigi's hand clamped desperately over your mouth, but your eyes danced with mischief as you nodded enthusiastically at the circle gathered around you. "Yeah, Lu's got a PhD," you managed to say, and before he could stop you, the words tumbled out against his palm: "A pretty huge dick."

Cole watched.

"Did you know Cassie is seeing Dylan?" Cole asked, matching your frantic pace across campus. The morning fog swallowed your mumbled recitations as you mentally rehearsed your presentation for the hundredth time.

"Yeah, Cole, and I'm fucking Luigi.” you scoffed, the sarcasm dripping over every word like sticky molasses as you rolled your eyes. You yanked open the auditorium doors, disappearing behind them without a backward glance, mind already racing ahead to bullet points and transitions.

The very idea that Cole would believe such obvious campus gossip had you shaking your head as you slid into your seat.

But he did believe it.

He stood frozen in the hallway you'd left him in, staring at the closed doors like they might offer some explanation. "Yeah? I know.” he mumbled to your ghost, the words settling confused and heavy in the empty corridor.

The absolute certainty in his voice would have made you laugh, if you'd been there to hear it.

The seasons had shifted, and with them, Cole's hope had quietly ebbed away. After months of watching you, he'd finally accepted what everyone else seemed to know instinctively — even if Luigi wasn't in the picture, you were simply out of reach.

Saturday night found your usual crew at your claimed table in Madison’s backyard, the surface cluttered with emptied drinks and scattered Uno cards. Luigi absently twisted the rings on your fingers — a mindless habit he'd developed somewhere between freshman year and now — while chaos erupted around you.

The familiar symphony of shouted accusations about who was hiding the Draw Four cards mixed with the glow of phones being passed around, TikToks and screenshots sparking new waves of laughter.

Cole watched the way Luigi's fingers danced over yours, and for the first time, the sight didn't sting quite so much.

“I still can't believe Dylan and Cassie are dating," Cole mused through a cloud of smoke, beer bottle dangling precariously from his left hand while a joint was stuffed between the fingers on his right.

The table fell silent, five pairs of eyes fixing on him with varying degrees of confusion and amusement.

"Who told you that?" Scarlett's voice cut through the stunned silence and the resurrection of a dead and gone campus rumor, her phone screen illuminating her face as Dylan's name flashed across it. "Where did you even hear that?"

Cole's eyes pinballed around the table, finally landing on you and Luigi.

Your hand was caught in one of Luigi's absent-minded gestures, knuckles pressed against his lips while he listened — a habit so commonplace to everyone else that they'd stopped noticing years ago. "Uh— wait—" Cole fumbled, taking a desperate pull from the joint as if the answer might be hiding in the smoke. He passed it to his left and asked through a cough, "Are they not?"

“No, you idiot.” Scarlett threw a lighter at him, which he narrowly dodged.

"Well- why did- “Cole's words stumbled over each other as he locked eyes with you across the table. Your brows knitted together, genuinely bewildered by his desperation. "I- you said they were," he insisted, hand gesturing vaguely in your direction like a drowning man reaching for a life raft.

Scarlett's head whipped toward you so fast her earrings clinked, a new lighter in her hand that was suddenly transformed into a weapon of interrogation, the flame pointed in your direction. "You what?"

"I didn't say that!" Your hands flew up defensively, face flushing as you ransacked your memory for any conversation that could've led to this moment.

But your mind offered nothing but static.

"I asked you if you could believe they were- and-“Cole gestured helplessly at Luigi, who was studying your profile with the intense focus of someone who'd stopped processing verbal language three hits ago. His fingers hadn't stopped their absent dance with your rings once you lowered your hands again from your surrender to Scarlett’s mercy, muscle memory outlasting coherent thought.

Cole felt like he'd stumbled into an alternate dimension where everyone spoke a language he'd never learned while those same pairs of eyes dissected him with the kind of judgment only drunk twenty-somethings could muster, making him feel about two inches tall. "And you said 'yeah, and I'm fucking Luigi,'" he defended weakly, the words sounding more ridiculous with each passing second.

"Yeah!" You practically launched across the table, laughter threatening to bubble over as understanding finally dawned. "Because I'm not!" The force of your declaration nearly knocked over someone's beer, but you were too busy watching Cole's face transform as the shoe finally, finally dropped.

Luigi, for his part, just kept twisting your rings, lost somewhere between the fourth dimension and your knuckles.

Cole's jaw went slack, his eyes darting around the table again where this time everyone had suddenly developed an acute interest in hiding their smirks behind their hands — a masterclass in delayed politeness. "What?" He practically shoved the joint away when it circled back, as if too-late sobriety might make this make more sense. "But- but the dick size jokes and- and you tell everyone he won't kiss you in public."

"Oh, you poor thing." Chloe dabbed at her eyes, tears of mirth threatening to ruin her mascara. "She's always done that shit." The words came out half-strangled by suppressed laughter.

Months passed, and Cole transformed into your personal guardian angel. One desperate NEED SUGAR NOW OR DEATH text to the group chat, and he'd materialize with your favorite convenience store candy before anyone else had even read the message.

He collected details about you: the way your nose scrunched at certain perfumes, how you could quote every line from that one movie, the specific shade of purple that made your eyes light up. When he finally told you he liked you — really liked you, more than he'd ever liked anyone — you said you liked him too.

The gravitational shift was subtle at first — like planets realigning. Your usual perch in Luigi's lap gradually migrated to the chair beside Cole, a transition so natural that few noticed, not even you.

It came to a head one Saturday when Luigi texted his absence from movie night, claiming a sudden illness.

The excuse was paper-thin, and you both knew it.

You stood outside his building, jabbing the buzzer with the familiarity of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. "I know you're not sick, Luigi." Your voice crackled through the intercom, bouncing off the walls of his apartment where he lay curled into himself on the sofa, rigid as rigor mortis. "I can see your Oura ring stats." The betrayal of technology made him groan, and the offending ring went sailing across the room, a tiny meteor of exposed lies.

His father knows the developer.

That's the only reason he'd agreed to wear the damn thing — a circular shackle of obligations that now betrayed him from somewhere under his coffee table.

Your finger finds the buzzer again, gentler this time.

"C'mon, bub. I miss you." The sweetness in your voice hits him like a sucker punch, memories of simpler times wrapped in those words. "It can be me and you tonight. We can have a bestie night." The offer dangles like a Time Machine to the past — back when your world was just two planets in perfect orbit, before it expanded into a solar system of friends.

Before Cole ever came around.

Luigi appears in the doorway like a ghost, just as you're about to admit defeat. Your face splits into a grin, but it falters when you really look at him. "God." Your eyes track the sharp edges of his collarbones beneath his shirt. "Have you been eating?" The question trails behind you as you follow him up the familiar path to the second floor.

The apartment feels wrong — like walking into a black and white version of a color photograph you know by heart. Every blind drawn tight against the afternoon sun, as if he's been developing emotional negatives in the dark. "Hey, what's going on?" Your fingers find his forearm, anchoring him before he can drift away again. "This is kinda giving me flashbacks to when you failed your final."

He flinches like you've pressed on a bruise, eyes scanning his self-made darkness as if seeing it for the first time - the familiar choreography of his pain laid bare by your observation. "This definitely feels different from that." His voice comes out hollow, each word carefully chosen to dance around the real issue.

"Better, or worse?"

"I don't know."

He sinks back into his spot on the couch, the oversized blanket making him look smaller than you've ever seen him. His eyes fix on the half-finished Lego set on his coffee table — the Millennium Falcon he'd started weeks ago, now collecting dust mid-construction.

Three hundred pieces still sealed in their bags, waiting.

"Is it your mom?" you try, but Luigi shakes his head. "Is it school?" Another head shake. "Work?" No. "Was it your aunt Lisa again? That bitch—" He cuts you off with another shake. "Is it me?"

The question hangs there, and Luigi pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, refusing to meet your eyes.

He lets out a long breath, knowing he's trapped himself here — in this moment, in this conversation, in this truth he's been avoiding.

No way out.

"What?" You cross the room in three quick strides, dropping beside him and tugging at the blanket he's using as camouflage. "What do you mean, Lu? C'mon." Your hands search for any part of him that isn't wrapped in fleece, but he's determined to stay hidden. "What did I do?"

Luigi's eyes catch yours for a fraction of a second before darting away. "I really just want to sleep." The words come out muffled as he tries to fold himself smaller, but you're faster, yanking the blanket down before he can disappear completely. "Please."

"Luigi.” Your voice cracks, and you don't try to hide it. You've never had to beg him for anything before, not in all your years of friendship. "I can't leave knowing you're upset with me." It's the rawest truth you have, stripped down to its bare bones on the couch cushions between you. "Come on. Talk to me."

The silence grows so thick you could suffocate in it, until Luigi finally breaks it with a mumble. "How come you only make jokes about fucking me?" His throat works visibly before he adds, "And not anyone else?"

The question hits you like a slap. Your eyes drift across his coffee table, taking inventory — the joint still smoldering in the ashtray, his anti-anxiety meds beside it, a forgotten Gatorade from the night before.

Everything a testament to hours spent alone with his thoughts.

You drag in a deep breath, searching for words you've never had to examine before. "I mean — that's what we do, you know-"

"No," he cuts you off, voice sharpened. "It's what you do."

"Lu." Your spine straightens as confusion settles in. "Why is this suddenly an issue? I've always- I've always made those kind of jokes about us. How everyone thinks we're dating all the time." You stretch yourself forward, trying to catch his eye, but he keeps his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. "I just lean into it, I guess. I didn't know it bothered you."

He sighs, the sound muffled as he drags his hands down his face. "It doesn't bother me."

"Then," frustration bleeds into your voice as you throw your hands up, lost in whatever conversation he's having three steps ahead of you. "What do you fucking mean?"

"I- I mean-" His tongue clicks against his teeth, each word coming slow like he's translating from another language. "It doesn't bother me in that way."

"In what way?"

"In the way that means you saying you'd fuck me bothers me."

"But you just said it bothers you."

"No,” he says, “I didn't."

Heat rises up your neck as your patience frays.

Your mind twists itself into knots trying to decode whatever puzzle he's laying out between you. "Look at me." The command comes out sharper than intended as you try to yank the blanket away from him. "Fucking look at me!"

The blanket rips from your hands with unexpected force, sending you sprawling onto his hardwood floor. Your oversized sweater is the only thing saving your tailbone from a bruising. "You fucking asshole." The words come out hot as you fumble for your boots to put over the socks that betrayed you in their slipperiness, and just as you manage to wrangle one on, Luigi emerges from his cocoon, fixing you with a look that stops you cold.

"I mean I guess-“ He clears his throat, looking down at you with that familiar steady gaze, but there's something different layered over it now, something raw. "I mean- Why wouldn't you fuck me?"

The question hits like a fist to the cheekbones.

You freeze, one boot half-laced, mouth hanging open as heat floods you to your temples.

Of all the directions this could have gone, you never expected this brand of brutal honesty, delivered while you're sprawled ungracefully on his living room floor and wrestling with your shoelaces.

Your eyes dart between the coffee table and his face, pieces clicking together with nauseating clarity. "What kind of question is that?" The words come out sharp as your fingers hook uselessly around your boot laces.

"Well, what kind of joke is it to go around telling everyone we fuck?" He throws your logic back at you with devastating precision. "What's so funny about that?"

You bury your face in your hands, a groan muffled against your palms. Every memory floods back at once — all those times he tried to stop you from making dick jokes, all those moments people assumed you were dating and you played it up while he went quiet.

Six years of friendship viewed through this new lens makes your stomach lurch, and another heavy sigh tears from your chest.

"Can you at least tell me?" Luigi's voice comes out barely above a whisper, watching you curled up on his floor like a wounded animal.

You finally lift your head, meeting his stare head-on. "Do you want me to say I'd fuck you?"

The silence wraps around you both like a physical thing, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as color floods his cheeks. "Huh?" You arch an eyebrow, challenging. "Want me to say how hard I'd do it?" Your discarded boot connects with his shin. "How I know you whimper."

As if on cue, a small sound escapes him — half whine, half breath. He's still staring at you like you've knocked all the air from his lungs, struck speechless while you press your newfound advantage.

You move closer, settling between his knees as the blanket slips from his shoulders. With gentle pressure, you ease him back against the couch. "Want me to tell you how none of it was ever really a joke?" Your hand rests against his chest, feeling his heartbeat race beneath your palm. "How every time that you felt me push my ass against your dick wasn’t just your imagination?”

Luigi reaches for you then, fingers trembling as they find your skin — reverent and careful. He's always been tactile with you, always finding excuses to be close. He knows the map of your hands better than you do, how your breathing changes when you drift to sleep, all the little things that make you who you are. "I knew it," he whispers as you settle against him, both of you finally exactly where you're meant to be.

You'd spent so long pushing these thoughts away, rationalizing every touch as just his nature — absent patterns traced on your skin during movies, fingers intertwined during conversations, gentle pressure points mapped across your arms during lengthy lectures.

Each gesture filed away as mindless habit.

But this was different. Every point of contact now carried weight, intention.

"I'd fuck you too," Luigi murmurs, drawing you closer, face pressed against your sweater. His hands spread warm and steady across your back, holding you like something precious, something he's afraid might slip away. “And I’d whine as much as you wanted.”

The next week comes floating by once again, Cole hurrying beside you as you rush to your next lecture, desperately trying to untangle your earbuds, hearing Luigi’s voice echo in your mind, laughing at you for your resistance toward Bluetooth devices. “I - I wanted to see if maybe you wanted to-“

“I’m fucking Luigi.” You turn to Cole, your expression deadpan but fixed, serious but not all that concerned before the doors of the auditorium are flung open, and once again, you vanish behind them.

Cole bursts into a fit of giggles at the thought, realizing now that believing such a thing would be mean he was naive — he’s since learned from his mistakes. “Yeah.” He murmurs to himself, “And Cassie and Dylan are still dating.”

more luigi p*rn links again bc u guys asked *nsfw minors dni

lu pulling your hair while he fucks u from behind

more fucking from behind :p

how lu would suck on your tits while u ride him

there are no words for this one. oh my fucking god

pics: one two three four five six (the nerdy t shirt LOL) seven

fingering

he made u put your panties in your mouth to shut you up but ur whining like crazy anyway

choking u in missionary

imagine lu taking care of u like this fuck

size kink. omg

sending a video to ur ex of lu on top of u (need him like this so badly)

fucking you upstairs at a frat party

lu’s arm around your neck while he fucks u from behind NEED

fucking his cum back into u. SORRY

i should be banned off tumblr. anyway here u go :p

Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Chapter One

The rejection email sat in my inbox like a tiny grenade, waiting to explode.  

“Thank you for your submission, but we are unable to include your work at this time…” 

I didn’t need to read the rest. They were all the same—polite, distant, and devastating. I hovered the mouse over the delete button, as if making it go away would somehow turn back time. 

I slammed my laptop shut instead. The motion sent a jar of brushes teetering off the edge of my desk. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter, paint-streaked handles rolling and scattering across the floor.

I let out a frustrated breath, eyes flickering towards the half-finished painting on the easel. The colors were bold—too bold. The swirls of blue and gold clashed in a chaotic explosion of pigment that seemed to scream without words. It felt just like my emotions. It felt like me: all over the place and out of control. Somehow too much and not enough at the same time. 

I groaned and crouched to gather them, but my knee bumped against the easel and it was all I could do not to let it go flying to the floor as well. A smear of blue paint ended up on the cuff of my sweater, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It was just another thing in my surroundings to remind me of what a mess I am.

The knock on my apartment door broke the suffocating silence to snap me out of my self-pity spiral.  

“Open up, starving artist. I brought sustenance.”  

I straightened, brushing stray hairs out of my face, and shuffled to the door. I didn't bother checking the peephole — who else would show up unannounced with that much swagger?

His voice was unmistakable: smooth, teasing, and just a little too confident.   

I couldn't help but smile as soon as I opened the door. There he stood, Luigi Mangione, my best friend and occasional pain in the ass. His Adidas jacket was slung over one arm, and his dark hair was artfully disheveled in a way that probably took no effort at all. In his free hand, he held a bag from my favourite bakery.

“You look…” He tilted his head, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “Unhinged. Have you slept?”  

“Hello to you too,” I muttered, stepping aside to let him in.  

With the scent of sugar and butter trailing behind him, he waltzed into my apartment with the kind of casual confidence I'd never quite mastered. As he passed, his hand brushed my shoulder, warm and grounding. Then he placed the bag on my tiny kitchen counter and tossed his jacket over the back of my desk chair carelessly. 

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice tinged with mock concern. His fingers reached out to pick at a paint stain near the elbow of my hoodie. “You look like you’ve been on a three-day bender. Did you finally lose it and paint with wine?”  

“No. Wine is expensive.”  

“Fair point.” He handed me a croissant and perched himself on the arm of my threadbare couch, kicking off his sneakers like it was his second home. 

I took a bite, grateful for the distraction, but his eyes stayed on me, too sharp and perceptive for my comfort.

“What happened this time?” he asked, leaning forward. His tone had softened, but his gaze was steady—like he could see right through me even when I didn't want him to.

I hesitated. Lu was my best friend, but his world was light-years away from mine. It wasn't just the money, or the confidence, or the way he moved through the world like he belonged everywhere. It was the ease with which everything seemed to fall into place for him. Like he'd been handed a map at birth, while I was still wandering in circles, looking for the starting line.

He had more charisma than anyone should be allowed, the right connections, and an aura I couldn't replicate. Meanwhile, I was stuck in this tiny apartment, surrounded by unfinished projects and an inbox full of rejection emails. It felt like trying to explain a snowstorm to someone who lived in a desert. I wasn’t sure he’d understand. Still, I gestured vaguely towards my closed laptop.  

“They rejected me again,” I said, forcing the words out. “Apparently, I’m too ‘experimental’ for the gallery scene. Whatever that means.”  

Lu's brows knit together, an expression so out of character it almost made me laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Your work is incredible.” He held my hand and pulled me towards him, making me plop down heavily on the couch. “Those idiots wouldn’t know talent if it slapped them in the face.”  

I snorted, and a bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Thanks, but I don’t think slapping people is part of the artistic process.”  

“Maybe it should be.” He grinned, but there was a softness in his eyes and a hint of admiration that made my chest ache. He tapped my knee gently in that reassuring manner of his. “You’re going to make it, you know. One of these days, they’re all going to be begging for your work.”

His words landed with more weight than I expected. I felt them sink in, but I didn't know how to respond. The sincerity in his expression caught me off-guard.

His hand rested on my knee, tender, and solid. It made me want to believe him—to think that one day my paintings might be hanging in galleries, admired by the same people who rejected me now.

“I mean it,” he said, quieter. His thumb brushed against the seam of my jeans, an absentminded motion that somehow steadied me. “I'm serious, Catherine. You've got something special, and one of these days it's all going to click for them. You'll show them.”

I turned back to the easel so I could blink away the wetness in my eyes, brought on by the flutter of hope. But when my gaze drifted back to the blue and gold monstrosity laughing at me from its perch, suddenly the lump in my throat grew to the size of a football. How could I show them how good I could be when I didn't even know how to make it right?

I got up, avoiding his gaze, and busied myself collecting the brushes I'd dropped before. “It's just… it doesn't feel enough. I feel like I'm always halfway there, but can never get it right.”

“Maybe it's not about getting it perfect. Maybe it's about… Getting out of your own head and letting go.” I heard Lu getting back up and crossing the room in a few steps. He crouched beside me to take a hold of my chin and make me look at him. “Remember that mural you did in college? The next day you freaked out because you hated it, but it’s still all over social media! People love your work because it's you. That's what they’re going to see eventually, I promise.”

His smile was gentle, without a trace of teasing. I buried my face in his neck and his arms surrounded me.

The pang of envy hit me unexpectedly, sharp and unwelcome. Everything came so easily to Lu, from charming strangers to walking into a room like he owned it. Even now, standing in my cluttered apartment wearing a five-year-old sweater and looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, he came across as someone who could be in a penthouse somewhere, sipping champagne and making business deals with powerful people. Meanwhile, here I was, hoping the stupid croissant wasn’t my last meal before rent came due.

I knew he was being sincere, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't quite understand what it was like to fight for every inch of progress. To be told you weren't enough over and over again until you started to believe it. But I didn't say that. I didn't want to ruin the moment.

“I'm gonna need you to repeat those words every now and then, okay?” I said, breathing deeply to shove my internal pity party away. “You know, to balance out all the rejections…"

When I pulled away from his embrace, he kissed my forehead lightly. “I will, anytime you need to be reminded of it.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said lightly, forcing a smile. “I’ll be sure to let the art snobs know you’re on my side.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, flashing me another familiar grin. “Somebody has to keep you from becoming a tragic artist cliché.”

I rolled my eyes, but the tension in my chest eased just a little.

Then his phone buzzed, and everything shifted. He glanced at the screen and groaned.  

“Oh, come on, not again…” He answered the call, putting it on speaker.  

“Luigi!” his mother’s crisp, aristocratic voice filled the room. “Have you given any thought to who you’ll bring to the anniversary dinner? It’s next weekend, and you cannot show up alone. You know how that looks.”

Lu rolled his eyes at me. The corners of his mouth were pressed into a thin line when he got up with stiffening shoulders to pace the room. “I was actually planning to—”  

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on being so difficult. We’ve been nothing but patient with you, and this is how you repay us? By embarrassing us in front of the entire family and our partners? Do you have any idea what people will say? I mean, for God's sake, Luigi—”

As his mother droned on, Lu ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. The usual easy smile was gone, replaced by a tension that rarely showed on his face.

I raised an eyebrow at him. He usually brushed off family drama with a joke, but this seemed to cut deeper.

He hit the mute button, letting out a long sigh. “See what I have to deal with?” he said to me, exasperated. 

“Getting a date sounds like a you problem,” I smirked. “Good luck with that…”  

My words were casual, trying to lighten the mood, but my gaze lingered on him. The frustration in his eyes wasn't just annoyance—it was heavier, like he was carrying the weight of years of this.

He let out a dry laugh. “Thanks for the support.”

I shrugged. “You could always just tell her to back off, you know.”

He didn't answer, but the flicker of something in his expression—regret? Resignation? — made me feel like maybe I'd crossed a line.

Before I could say more, he unmuted the microphone. “Fine, Mother. I’ll find someone you’ll approve of.”  

“You’d better. And make sure she’s… respectable. Someone worthy of the family name. Honestly, Luigi, do try to act like a Mangione for once. We've given you everything, every advantage, and all we ask is for you to do your part and stop being troublesome.”

The call ended with a sharp click, leaving a silence that felt too loud. 

Lu stared at the phone for a moment before setting it down on the counter with more force than necessary. His fingers drummed against the countertop, his usual ease replaced by a restless energy. 

“Wow,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “That was… intense."

“That's just how she is,” he replied with a shrug, as if It wasn't that big of a deal. He flopped back onto the couch, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. “She wants ‘respectable.’ What does that even mean? Respectable by whose standards? Am I supposed to find someone who quotes Shakespeare while doing charity work in pearls?”  

“Or,” I suggested, nudging his leg with my foot, “you could skip dinner altogether.”  

“Tempting,” he said, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “But no. If I don’t show, she’ll send an army of matchmakers after me. Last time, it was someone who thought a ‘fun date’ was discussing the stock market.”  

I giggled, imagining him squirming through that nightmare. “Lu, you don't have to jump just because she snaps her fingers. You're a grown man.”

He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. “It's more complicated than that.”

“It is?” I asked before I could stop myself, curiosity piqued.

He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. 

I wanted to push further, ask what he meant by that. But there was something in the sudden darkness of his demeanor that stopped me. There was something he wasn't telling me, but I didn't know how to ask without possibly making things worse.

With a resigned huff, he shifted, laying his head on my lap. It was a familiar gesture, one he'd done countless times before whenever he sought comfort but refused to admit it.

Instinctively, I began to play with his curls, twirling the soft strands around my fingers. The rhythmic motion seemed to soothe him, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed.

“You're too good to me, Cate,” he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” I teased, gently tugging on a particularly stubborn curl.

He chuckled softly. The weight of his frustration seemed to lift, replaced by the comfortable silence that often settled between us.

After a while, I broke the quiet. “So, about this anniversary dinner… Any ideas on who the lucky ‘respectable’ date might be?”

He let out a humourless laugh. “If I had someone, don't you think I'd have mentioned it by now?”

“Okay, fair.” I paused, a mischievous thought creeping in. “You know, if you're desperate, I could always dust off one of my old dresses and pretend to be your doting girlfriend for the night.”

His eyes snapped open, and he tilted his head to look up at me. “That’s… insane.”  

“It’s genius,” I corrected.  

“It’s insane,” he repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’d really do that?

“Of course,” I said, giving his hair a gentle ruffle. “It sounds fun. Plus, I owe for all the croissants.”

The tension in his shoulders eased visibly. “You, in a fancy dress, pretending to be my girlfriend? Now that's something I'd pay to see.”

“Hey, I clean up nicely,” I shot back, feigning offense.

Lu's eyes softened. “Do you, now?”

Before I could respond, he reached out to cup my face with his hand. His thumb brushed gently against my cheek, moving in a slow arc, tracing a line that left warmth in its wake. 

The sudden unexpected touch sent a shiver down my spine. I froze, not sure what he was up to, until he pulled his hand back with a smug grin. 

“You're wearing your art again,” he said, holding up his thumb to reveal a faint cobalt smear.

I blinked, then let out a nervous laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

His hand dropped back to his chest. His smile came a second too late, gaze lingering on me like he wasn't entirely sure whether to laugh or say something else entirely. But then I saw the familiar playful glint return to his eyes. 

“I guess that means I'll have to keep an eye on you during dinner. Make sure you don't end up wearing the hors d'oeuvres too,” he laughed. 

“Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That would really make you look experimental.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Hey, as long as you promise not to spill your hundred dollar wine on my fancy dress...”

“Fine,” he said with a cheeky laugh. “Just don’t fall in love with me. That’s not part of the deal.”

“Pfft. As if.” I swatted at his arm, grateful for the tension finally breaking into our usual banter.

As we laughed, we stayed like that on the couch—close, steady, familiar. Just like always.

you’re welcome

Spencer Reid Masterlist

Fluff ~ ❤️

Smut ~ ❤️‍🔥

Angst (with a happy ending) ~ ❤️‍🩹

Series

Austin Baby ~ Single mom!reader ~ ❤️❤️‍🔥

1 ~ 2 (coming soon)

One shots

Nothing here yet