OMFG 😣😣😣😣

no cause wdym this was two months ago :(

End the death penalty NOW, and free Luigi Mangione.

To donate to his official legal fund, click here.

To remain informed about his case, click here.

OMG

https://x.com/notwiiiemdafoe/status/1919497737562640858?s=46

This is what she send him about that phd (allegedly)

I’m-

“I’ll let you sit with that information” AYO-

luigi at the phi kappa psi initiation (2018)

soft spot ~

summary: you’re in the massage therapy program at upenn and luigi asks for some help! ;)

hii, first time posting something of my own but ive had this idea since like february when i made this acc. so for this fic’s sake just pretend UPenn has a massage therapy program lolll and reader and luigi are within the same friend group but not as close until this lolll. also id appreciate advice on writing if anyone would like to leave a tip or two! okay enjoy!!

—————

deep into the spring semester— a random thursday night. so close to the weekend but not yet friday.

luigi— ever the star student makes a surprise appearance in the shared snapchat group you all have with friends.

luigi 🤓:

still got an hour left of TA duties and my back is KILLING me. can’t even sleep comfortably anymore smh.

matt 💩:

somebody get ahold of shorty with the massage therapy license

micaela 👻:

yall are so unserious lmfaooo

you:

you guys are so irritating yess im in the massage therapy program but i don’t have license yet

am i the damn campus chiropractor now??

nathan 🦾:

LUIGI BOUTTA GET HIS BACK BLOWN OUT PROFESSIONALLY

cue the chat blowing up with laughter

luigi 🤓: assholes lmfaooo..

though weighing his options behind the screen, he decides to just bite the bullet and ask you in private.

luigi 🤓:

hey if you’re really need the practice im down to be your test dummy

my back just really aches

you:

Looollll yeah if you have the chance come over later you know where my dorm is

luigi 🤓:

bet. thank you.

almost an hour and a half later you hear the faintest knocks on your door. opening it to find luigi, freshly showered, curls wet, grey sweats, and a upenn sweatshirt.

“hey..”

you lean against the door smiling, “come in, get comfortable”

luigi steps and takes a look around, a bit nervous, “uhh should i take my shoes off?”

“yeah, it’ll make it easier for me to fold you like a pretzel” you giggle at your own joke.

the look he gives you is priceless, followed by his own laughter and “seriously? you all play too much” before taking a seat on your bed.

he sits there a moment longer, hands resting on his knees like he’s in an actual doctor’s office.

“lu..”

“huh?” he turns his attention back to you.

“i can’t really work through your sweatshirt.. take it off for me”

“oh right, my bad” he laughs and finally tugs his sweatshirt over his head and you take that as the perfect chance to admire his bare chest.

“lay down for me,” you tell him as you pat your bed behind him. “on your stomach.”

he hesitates for a second before mumbling a quiet “okay,” and turns around.

italian giant in your girly bed, face half-buried in your pillow,

“is this fine?”

You smile and say, “perfect!”

without warning, you straddle him and sit down on the back of his thighs to get a good angle. you feel him tense up and laugh, “oh cmon gigi relax, you came to me for help remember?”

pouring some massage lotion into your hands, you press them into the broad expanse of lu’s back— firm and slow, working through his shoulder blades like you kind of know what you’re doing.

unbeknownst to you, luigi feels like he’s being tortured. the weight of you sitting on his thighs, the warmth of your hands gliding over his skin, the tips of your fingers digging deep enough to pull little airy breaths and sighs out of him without even thinking.

your voice breaks the comfortable silence, “damn, gi you’re really tense”

“yeah well ive been hunched over my computer all week grading assignments, it’s starting to weigh on me,” he huffs a laugh but cuts himself off when your hands drag lower on his back and press into a particularly tense spot— letting out low and gravelly groan.

so deep and involuntary, you both freeze.

“Lu… you good?”

voice muffled by your pillow, he replies, “yeah yeah M’fine”

but his hands clenching your comforter, knuckles white, doesn’t get past you. you press your thumbs back into that same tense spot— testing him.

letting out that same uncontrollable groan and not going unnoticed by you— his hips jerk, grinding up into your mattress as if his body is begging for a release he’s too scared to ask you for.

“…lu…did you just?”

“M’just sensitive, you mustve hit a nerve or something”

you hum, unconvinced, still working out the rest of his lower back. then, you sit up a little, straddling his thighs, and running your hands down his sides like it’s nothing.

“Mmm,” you murmur, “well… im basically done with your back.”

you pause, letting your voice drop, sweet, and teasing.

“flip over, lu. might as well take care of your chest too.”

his breath stutters, body tensing under you, and he hesitates because he knows, he knows if he turns over something’s going to change.

you wait for him— quiet, not moving, patient, and watching the back of his curls like you can hear the internal battle he’s having.

after a beat, he lets out a defeated and shy, “…okay.”

shifting slow, careful and avoiding eye contact, he turns over laying flat on his back but immediately throws an arm over his eyes, absolutely refusing to see whatever look you’re giving him right now.

your eyes drop and then go WIDE. because holy shit… the tent in his grey sweatpants is massive. thick and heavy against his thigh— straining.

you clear your throat, swallowing down the wicked little grin threatening to spread across your face. “alright,” you murmur, “relax for me.”

your hands start at his shoulders, kneading them slow, steady, ignoring his obvious problem though your eyes definitely keep flickering down to the way he’s so hard, desperate, and soooo shy about it.

your hands travel lower, down his chest, over his stomach, tracing almost every line of him, until you’re teasing just at the waistband of his sweats. your fingers ghosting right where his soft skin meets the fabric. and that’s when you feel it. his stomach twitches under your hands and he not so subtly peeks, dark eyelashes peeking out below his forearm.

that’s exactly when you lean in— voice a little softer now and just above a whisper, “wow,” you murmur, “school’s got you all worked up, huh?”

luigi lets out the softest groan, full of embarrassment and arm shifting to cover the entirety of his face now. “It’s—“ he stutters, “it’s not like that.”

but you’re already grinning because his body has already given him away— needy, twitchy, and hard against his sweats as if it has a mind of its own.

so your hands travel lower, slow and casual right over his waistband. until your palm is ghosting over the thick outline of him, barely touching him but just enough to see his hips jerk up like the interaction shocked him.

“relax lu,” you hum, giggling softly, “M’just trying to help”

another stroke, but this time you cup him fully, watching the way his breath stutters so sharply. “…fuck,” he whines— quiet, but already a bit wrecked.

“mmm,” you purr, squeezing just a bit more, “definitely got some more tension to work out here.”

dragging your palm along the thick outline of him again and that’s all it takes— luigi’s hips lift off the bed without him even thinking. helplessly chasing your touch.

and when your hand moves away— teasing him, that’s when you hear it, soft and barely above a whisper, “please… don’t stop.”

you laugh— low and dangerously sweet. “that’s all you had to say baby.”

your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he really wanted to but he doesn’t.

and then, you finally free him. thick, heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, already leaking from how long he’s been worked up under your hands.

you take your sweet time wrapping your hand around him— slow and warm. giving a lazy stroke from base to tip that has his hips jolting right off the bed again. a broken little gasp tearing out of him, “f-fffuck— oh my god—“

the wet sounds of your hand moving up and down him get more insistent. the way his hips keep lifting, restless, frantically chasing every pass of your hand has you absolutely enamored by the once shy boy.

you stroke him again— your fist twisting just right at his tip, catching that sensitive little spot that has him gasping so desperately.

he’s biting his bottom lip, trying to keep quiet, trying to hold himself together. but you slow your pace and teasingly drag your thumb across the head— “shit—“ he lets out, hips stuttering, “faster, pl-please go faster.”

you blink and pause, “you want it faster lu?” you ask, “is that what you need baby?”

he nods, fast— face flushed red all the way down to his chest. “mmhmmm, y-yeah i need it.” he chokes out, hips already moving again into your closed fist.

and you give it to him without hesitation. fingers tightening around him and your wrist flicking harder and faster. your strokes pick up their rhythm, wet and noisy now, almost obscene in the silence of your dorm room, accompanied by the sweet, sinful noises you’re pulling out of him.

“f-fuck— oh my god— don’t stop— please don’t stop—“

his thighs trembling, stomach tensing every time your hand meets the base of his cock, and then back up with just the right twist at the top.

your hands keep working him fast, slick, and filthy and every stroke has him getting closer and closer until— you notice his thighs shift under you, spreading a little wider and his hips tipping up into your fist like his body just needs to be closer to you.

and then slowly and shakily, he props himself up on his elbows. dark curls messy across his forehead, face flushed, and his chest rising and falling in sharp, desperate little pants. you look up to see his eyes— blown wide, locked right on you.

his lips part as you slow your pace again, “p-please—“ he pants, “let me cum— i need it so bad— please.”

it knocks the air out of your chest. sweet and shy luigi begging for you like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

your voice comes out low and sultry, “yeah? that bad?” and he nods, his curls bouncing a bit at the movement.

“s’bad—can’t— please let me cum— please.” and you stroke him a little faster and grip him tighter and the sound you rip out of him is raw.

“pleasepleaseplease— wanna cum for you— please” and it’s like he’s not even aware of how much he’s begging anymore, only sure of the immense pleasure you’re giving him.

your voice drops low and firm, “then give it to me lu.”

and it’s like his whole body snaps— hips jerking up into your fist, head tipped all the way back, curls sticking to his forehead, and mouth falling open to let out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard him make.

“Ah—fuuuuuuuck—“

hot ropes of cum spill out of him, messy and hard splattering all over your hand and his stomach. twitching through it so hard, his elbows almost give out, but he rides it out. tilting his head back up to watch your hand slowly milk every last drop from him as his breath comes out in panting little whines.

until finally, he slumps back against your bed. completely wrecked, chest heaving, and his lashes fluttering heavy against his red cheeks.

you lean over to press the softest kiss to his cheek, right against his warm skin. letting him know, “gonna clean you up okay?” and then slip off the bed, padding over to your bathroom, coming back with a damp towel.

luigi’s still laid out where you left him, now with his eyes barely cracked open, watching you like you’re an angel that’s come down from heaven. you settle between his legs again and carefully start cleaning him up— wiping the mess from his stomach and his softening cock.

you glance up to get a good look at him and catch the heavy look he’s giving you. it makes something curl in your chest. your fingers skim over his tip, collecting a small bead of cum still clinging there and without breaking eye contact, you bring it to your mouth and suck it clean off.

luigi lets out a sound that’s in between a whimper and a laugh.

hours later, your dorm is quiet.

you’re tucked into bed still smelling like your massage lotion and him, scrolling absently on your phone, and your dim fairy lights casting soft shadows across your room.

and just as you’re plugging in your phone for the night, ready to sleep, your screen lights up with a snapchat notification.

luigi 🤓:

thank u again for earlier like fr

feels like i’ll actually be able to sleep tn

you smile, heart swelling at the thought of him still not over your hang out. and then the screen lights up again.

luigi 🤓:

sooo when can i book a second appointment?

you:

depends…

your back still hurting baby?

delivered, read, yet no reply. not for a whole minute.

and then:

luigi 🤓 is typing…

————

to be continued?

I will support this man till the end of time and I have this gut feeling he will prevail. No matter what, I will keep hope 💚

Luigi has been officially indicted on his federal charges.

You can read the full document here.

legal team part two luigi mangione x reader 18+

part one

summary you work on his legal team. sometimes you meet one on one.

warnings p in v sex, rpf smut, unedited

you stay near the courtroom doors, the file gripped tight in your hands. the buzz of conversation, footsteps, a flickering camera light down the hall. none of it cuts through the weight of your own quiet. you haven't looked at sofia since you arrived. you haven't looked at karen either. you couldn't possibly.

karen doesn’t lift her eyes when she speaks, just flips the file closed with a soft, deliberate snap. her voice is even—measured, restrained—but there’s an unfamiliar edge to it.

"you forgot the tie."

you bite your tongue. "oh,” you say as both their eyes land on you. “he didn't like it."

“luigi,” you cried out, your fingers on the back of his head tightening on his hair, curling your fingers into a fist. between kisses, he busied himself with the task of bruising the soft skin of your neck.

you flinched, breathless. “the guards—”

you didn’t know when things shifted. or how. it started with one kiss—soft, teasing, gentle. but then there was another. and another. and suddenly his hands were everywhere—your waist, your throat, under your blouse like he’d been waiting his whole life. and you let him.

you let him.

now heat is rushing under your skin, hands on the wall, lips swollen, pulse racing, and your client’s name still hot in your mouth. you don’t know what the hell this is, what it means, how to undo it. all you know is you can’t take it back.

you felt so stuffed, going completely dumb on his cock as he hammered his cock into your wet pussy, his movements haltering for a moment of mercy as he came close to whisper, his lips grazing your ear.

“tell me to stop,” luigi said, voice strained with need. “tell me to stop, and we’ll both walk away. pretend this never happened. pretend i haven’t been jacking off to you in the showers since we’ve met.”

sofia leans back, arms crossed, a teasing lilt in her voice. “didn’t frown once. miracle.”

her eyes, big and sweet, turn to you. she smiles. but you can’t quiet the growing sense of paranoia. were they onto you already? were you one meeting away from losing your entire career? you tell yourself it was adrenaline. a slip. but your skin still burns where he touched you.

you force yourself to be neutral. nodding silently in agreement, eyes fixated on the floor, keeping the image of you two tangled together in the farthest corner of your mind.

karen’s voice comes next. "i take it he had a good morning."

“luigi—! gentle, please—gentle—“ you squealed, your chest rising and falling as he did the exact opposite. the brunette boy reached around, giving your clit a soft pinch, you cried out when he raise his hand to give multiple slaps to your sticky folds, your thighs instinctively shutting around his hand.

“can’t take it?” luigi said, almost entertained.

you couldn’t speak, your breaths coming out in shaky huffs as luigi rubbed you into a mind numbing orgasm. “please—” you heaved, your eyes shutting tightly, “luigi—”

“you can take it, baby.”

out of nowhere, a silk fabric wrapped against your whiny mouth as he pulled you back, gentle but demanding.

“cause i’m gonna make sure you do.”

goddamnit.

“that much is evident,” sofia says, flipping a page. “no unnecessary sarcasm. no spiraling. no useless tangents. he was completely unlike himself, and i completely appreciate it.”

you can feel the heat rising in your face, the weight of what’s unsaid pressing down on your shoulders. karen sets the file on the table, thumb tapping lightly against the spine.

“y/n,” karen says. you chew the inside of your cheek as you raise your gaze from off the hardwood floor.

the brunette woman adjusts the clasp on her binder, then glances up at you without lifting her head. “i’m not in the business of personal affairs,” karen says plainly, tone crisp. “but i am in the business of outcomes. and today, he looked like someone the jury might actually root for.”

your gasps and squeals of pleasure were muffled behind his silk green tie, eyes threatening to roll back every time his tip slammed into your g-spot or cervix.

“luigi—please!” you squealed—loud, desperate, and so completely unlike yourself. your back arching now, pushing yourself against him even more, practically molding your bodies into one.

he let out a low growl, biting your ear lobe.

“you wanna cum baby?”

you whimper in response. you’re powerless underneath him. the slap of his hips against yours were bound to bruise. he tugged you back by the makeshift gag in your mouth and it was hard to make sense of anything.

luigi frustrated himself with how quickly he feels like he needs to come. his balls were pinched tight, aching for release but he can’t stop, he needs to make it right, make it perfect.

he threw the gag off of you. “i need to hear you,” he said, so sure. “tell me what you need.”

“cum,” you say, breathless. “i need you to cum inside of me.”

pure bliss stormed over you. and luigi couldn’t keep his head on straight—he was equally as twisted, as horny, as close—as he watched your orgasm course through your body, the coil in the pit of your stomach snapping in, your eyebrows knit together, the added mess between your thighs only making his hips stutter with his own climax painting your walls.

“luigi—!” you moaned in his ear, his thumb slipping between your lips for you to bite down on while he twitched and convulsed inside of you

"so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," luigi groaned, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your cunt.

you mewled in response. everything was so sore, so sensitive.

“hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart,” luigi said, honey-sweet. “lemme clean it up, yeah?"

you blushed in response when he dropped to his knees, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the feeling, his tongue playing between your folds to lap up his own mess. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to turn you out again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he readies you for another round.

“we have to go,” you reminded him, breathing.

“we’re already late.” luigi argues, pulling you back onto him. you gasp at the sensation. the sounds of skin slapping re-enters the room, along with your lewd moans. you try to bite your lip. to quell some of the chaos.

“let ‘em hear it,” he growls. “let those little bastards outside hear what i do to you.”

“we’re entering a sensitive window in the trial,” karen continues. “every move is watched. demeanor, behavior, relationships—all of it. if he’s calmer, that helps us. if he’s clear-headed, that helps us. what doesn’t help is inconsistency. emotional volatility. or blurred lines.”

you finally meet her eyes. there’s nothing friendly in her expression. but there is something protective. she cares about luigi—in the only way someone like karen knows how: by keeping him alive in a courtroom.

“whatever rapport you’ve built with him, maintain it,” she says. rather, orders. “if your presence keeps him focused, then i expect you to show up. but this is not sentimental work. it’s survival. and any misstep becomes ammunition.”

“i understand,” you say, quietly.

"good,” karen hums. "because we all have a job in there. mine is to make sure he walks out of this building with his life. yours is to make sure nothing gets in the way of that."

you nod in agreement, and that settles it.

the next day, you’re instructed to report to the jailhouse an hour earlier than usual. no clear reason is given—when you ask sofia, she just shrugs and says mornings are better for morale. you’re not sure if she’s joking. but you’re sure she’s got a smile out of this, considering she was nowhere to be found.

they’ve already escorted him into the prep room before you’ve begun. karen’s looked at you once. it’s worse than awkward. it feels like a punishment.

luigi’s sitting at the table. composed. his tan jacket is buttoned up neatly, sleeves rolled with intent this time, not indifference. his hair’s damp at the sides, like he didn’t bother to towel it dry—styled just enough to suggest he’d cared, then thought better of it. he looks up—and those cinnamon eyes, sharp and unreadable, catch on yours with something you can’t name. he doesn’t smile, not really, but something in him lifts. lingers.

“early start,” he says, voice tender. agreeable.

you set the folder down, careful not to look directly at him or think about the event that transpired in this very room. you feel him watching you anyway.

“actually,” karen says, adjusting her blazer. “i need to place a call to the clerk’s office—there’s been a notice about a potential docket adjustment, and i want to ensure we’re aligned before pretrial.”

you glance back at her, unsure how to move, but she’s already halfway to the door.

“take your time,” luigi calls after her.

you shoot him a look.

the door clicks.

masterlist / talk to me

omg 😩😩😩

luigi mangione - the man that will stop fucking you because he knows he’s about to nut too fast so he eats your pussy to calm himself down before continuing 😣

27

He told you not to make a big deal. But you were already holding the weight of everything he’d survived. You weren’t going to let this birthday pass like it didn’t matter. Because it did. He did.

—

He’d barely mentioned it.

Didn’t remind you. Didn’t act excited. Just shrugged the day before and said, “It’s not really a big deal.”

But you saw the way his voice dipped when he said it. Saw how he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Saw the quiet ache in his hands when he rubbed the scar near his wrist, the one he never talked about. You knew what the silence was trying to hide:

He never thought he’d make it to 27.

And if he was being honest, he never expected to be loved through it.

So you didn’t throw a party. You didn’t make a big public thing. You didn’t post him, didn’t tag him, didn’t perform your love.

You just woke up early.

Slipped out of bed while the world was still dark. Let the cold floor shock you awake. Wrapped his favorite hoodie around your body,still warm from his skin, and stood barefoot in the kitchen, hands trembling as you lit a single cinnamon candle. The flame flickered against the quiet. You tried to breathe. Today mattered. He mattered. And if no one else had ever shown him that, you would.

—

You made him chilaquiles the way your mamá taught you. No shortcuts. Real salsa. Fried tortillas. Over-easy eggs with the yolk just a little runny, because that’s how he liked it, even if he’d never say so out loud. You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt a tear hit the back of your hand.

You weren’t sad.

You were overwhelmed. With the weight of his survival. With the memory of the first time you ever heard him talk about prison and how small his voice got. With the way he still flinched when someone knocked too loud or got too close from behind.

He was here.

And you’d be damned if his birthday felt like just another day.

—

He came out of the bedroom quiet.

Sweatpants. Hoodie. Messy curls falling into his eyes. You didn’t say anything at first, you just looked at him. Like it was the first sunrise after the storm.

He froze.

“…Did you do all this?”

You smiled softly and turned back to the stove. “I didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t move right away. Just stood in the doorway with that look on his face, like he didn’t know how to receive love without wondering when it would be taken away. Eventually, he walked over. Sat down. Looked at the plate you set in front of him like it might disappear if he blinked.

You didn’t rush him.

You just poured him coffee. Sat down next to him. And reached across the table to wrap your fingers around his wrist.

“I’m proud of you,” you said quietly.

His eyes dropped.

You squeezed gently. “I know you don’t like birthdays. I know you don’t think you deserve any of this. But you do. You made it through hell. And you’re here. That matters. You matter.”

For a long time, he didn’t speak.

And then

“…I didn’t think I’d live long enough to see this.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

You stood, walked around to his side of the table, and pulled him into your arms without hesitation. He buried his face in your hoodie and let himself break open quietly, shoulders shaking, fingers clutching your waist like he was scared you’d vanish if he let go.

And you just held him.

Because you’d never let him go without knowing: he was loved.

—

That night, when the sun dipped and the world settled, you lit a different candle.

Not for him.

For you.

Because you needed the reminder too: that softness could survive after everything. That love didn’t always have to hurt. That this, this quiet life, was real. Luigi was on the couch, scrolling through a book of old family photos his sister had mailed. He didn’t say anything when you grabbed the speaker and played a slow song, something old, Spanish, romantic.

You just offered your hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You really want to dance?”

You nodded. “Yeah. In our living room. Right now.”

He sighed dramatically, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips. He stood up slowly, cracking his knuckles like it was a chore, but when he pulled you close—one hand on your lower back, one cradling your jaw—it was the softest you’d ever seen him. You danced like the world didn’t exist outside your walls. Like he hadn’t been through hell. Like love could be slow and quiet and safe. He pressed his forehead to yours halfway through the song, and whispered:

“I feel like I’m dreaming.”

You smiled into his cheek.

“No, babe. You’re just finally waking up.”

—

Later, in bed, his voice broke the silence again.

“I know I didn’t want anything big,” he said, lips brushing your collarbone. “But this… this was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You ran your fingers through his curls.

“I know.”

He turned to look at you, eyes tired, but glassy with something too tender to name.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You shook your head.

“You don’t have to earn me. I’m here because I want to be. I love you, Luigi. Not in spite of everything. But because of it.”

That’s when he cried again. Not because he was broken. But because for the first time in years, he felt whole.

—

And on his 27th birthday, Luigi Mangione didn’t need cake or noise or applause.

He just needed you.

And he had you.

Completely.

@snoopy184 @luigisbambinaaa @mangionesdaisy @luigis-wetdream @daydreamingwithluigi