All I Can Think About Is Giving Him A Blowjob

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

wake up vers new wedding pic but he’s smiling this time 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

need him NIOW!!!!

home with me

omg hii thank u for sending this to me )):

he’s so pretty im gonna scream

Working Hard or Hardly Working? — Luigi Mangione

Summary: You’re spending the afternoon in your college boyfriend Luigi’s dorm. He’s focused on homework, as always—but as his first girlfriend, you’ve learned when a little break might be worth it.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: EXPLICIT, foreplay/non-penetrative sex, oral (m! receiving), not fully proofread & revised, writer lost their fic virginity while composing this

A/N: Please note that this is my first time writing smut in any real detail, despite all my years of reading and writing. Any feedback or insight is deeply appreciated—it helps keep writers going! A special thank you to @fligniuz and @bambimangione for genuinely inspiring me lately with their incredible recent works and motivating me to finally sit down and write this. Study the greats, and become even greater!

“Luigi, just take a break already,” you sighed, leaning over his desk chair, your hands resting on the joint of his shoulders.

His eyes were locked on the laptop screen, the luminescence of his physics homework casting a soft light across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his thick-rimmed, square blue light glasses.

“Five more minutes, I swear,” he muttered under his breath, fingers still tapping rapidly at the keyboard, his thoughts racing in a whirlwind of formulas and laws as he focused intensely on whatever complex calculation he was trying to solve.

Rolling your eyes, your patience thinned with every excuse he threw your way—this, that, and the third. Of course, he just needed five more minutes, as promised, not by just any Taurus, but a May-born male Taurus like Luigi himself: undoubtedly loyal, tirelessly hardworking, but also annoyingly, impossibly stubborn—just like the Taurean bull.

“Five minutes? You said that twenty minutes ago. You’ve been at this for hours.”

Sliding one of your hands down his arm, your fingers brushing over his wrist, he finally paused, stopping in his tracks and pulling out of his thought process, his shoulders stiffening under your touch. When he turned his head to look at you, his face was flushed—that kind of flushed. The kind that told you he wasn’t just thinking about differential equations anymore, and maybe, despite having his watch right on his left wrist where he could see it in that exact moment whenever he needed to check time, he was losing his track of time for once.

And for once, though it nearly pained him to admit it, you were right.

“Okay,” he sighed, knowing better than to object any further, as you had made your point, almost shyly aware that you were right and he, in fact, was wrong. He closed the laptop with a soft click, then pushed his chair back and turned to face you fully, becoming yours for the time being. “You’re right. I need a break.”

The moment his lips met yours, the air in the room seemed to shift. His kiss was clumsy at first, hesitant, as if he was unsure whether he was doing it right—doing it right, in terms of kissing a girl. You didn’t mind; you never did. At times, it was endearing how hard he tried to please you, even when he wasn’t entirely sure how to express his affection for you, as your boyfriend, through romantic gestures. You intensified the kiss, gently lifting your hands to cradle his boyish face, the tips of your thumb and pointer fingers brushing along his cheekbones. He eagerly reciprocated, his hands locating the figure of your waist and drawing you closer.

Your bodies pressed together, and you could feel the warmth of him radiating through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat syncing with your own. His hands wandered along your back, almost loveshy at first, fingertips ghosting over the fabric like he was memorizing the shape of you—before they grew bolder, more certain, as the kiss deepened into something far more than a long-awaited, overdue break from homework. You had been right all along: he definitely needed a break. As often as Luigi considered himself to be a remarkably bright and intelligent young man—now attending an Ivy League school as an undergraduate, pursuing a degree in computer science, ever the precocious child with a knack for all things science-y—he accepted that, not too long ago, he’d been a complete idiot for not stepping away from his desk sooner. Unlike many men, Luigi seemed to understand that women are often right and deserve your full attention. Somehow, you always caught his like a big fish on a line. And now, he couldn’t believe he had stayed so focused on the assignment with you right there in his room, stretched out on his dorm bed, looking as stunning as ever, and on top of that, as his girlfriend. The space separating you grew heavier, heavy with unspoken want, the kind that made every inch of your skin feel electric, galvanic, and exciting like a lightning bolt amidst the life cycle of a thunderstorm, ready to snap at any given moment.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see him, to really see him. His glasses were fogged from your breath, cheeks tinged with the softest blush, and his lips were parted in stunned awe, kiss-bitten and eager. He looked adorable—unapologetically nerdy in the best way possible. Without thinking, you reached up, cupping his face in both hands, your thumbs stroking the apples of his cheeks. Your fingers curled behind his ears, grounding him, pulling him closer. His breath hitched as your touch anchored him in the moment. Then, without hesitation, you brought his face back to yours and kissed him again—this time with certainty, with affection, with the delight lying in the repose of knowing that he was yours, and you were his, and that you were the first girl to ever hold his heart like this.

“Hey,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edge of his glasses before sliding them off the bridge of his nose and setting them on the desk. “You’re overthinking again. Relax. It’s just us.”

It was true. It was just the two of you, in that moment in his dorm, all alone, with nothing to worry about regarding his roommate returning for the rest of the day or, for that matter, the whole weekend.

But in spite of that, you were the first girl ever to have him wrapped around your finger, and therefore, the first girlfriend he ever dated in all his nineteen years of living.

He nodded, his hands still gripping your waist like he feared you would disappear like simple arthimetic flying into his head, without a trance, if he let go. You beamed, leaning in to kiss him again, your tongue toying with his, as his breath faltered, and a soft groan escaped him, the sound vibrating through your chest. The ardor between you strengthened, his body responding as if your kiss had awakened something profound within him. His hands firmly clasped your waist, as his initial nervousness transformed into an undeniable yearning—a fervor that kindled between you both, drawing you ever closer.

You withdrew slightly to take his hand, directing him to rise from his chair. With a gentle smile, you led him to his twin bed, your fingers interwoven as you sat beside him. Before either of you could utter another word, your lips met once more, the kiss rekindling with a heightened need as if the very act of each other's proximity had sparked a passion neither of you could ignore or control.

Luigi’s hands trembled as they slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your waist. His breath was uneven, and his heart pounded so loudly that you could almost hear it. You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his dark curls as you perfected your intimacy together of prolonging your kiss and caressing each other’s bodies. His inexperience, or its lack thereof with the opposite sex, was sweet as his innocence, and how he hesitated, unsure of how far to take things to the next base, only made him more irresistible. While he struggled to express his desires and needs clearly, it was evident that he yearned for something beyond what he had ever experienced, and he would go to any lengths for you.

“You can touch me, you know,” you hinted, pulling back just enough to see the flush spread across his cheeks. His brown eyes widened, and he gulped. “I’m yours, Luigi. All of me.”

You reached for the hem of your shirt and slipped it over your head, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought.

He ceased his actions, taking in the gravity of your words. Gradually, his hands traveled up, lightly gliding over your rib cage until they brushed against the underside of your breasts. The warmth emanated from his skin, and his fingers fidgeted with uncertainty. He glanced up at you, his lips parted, and you nodded encouragingly.

“Go on,” you pressed. “They’re yours to touch. Yours to feel.”

For a second, he faltered, shifting his gaze from your features to the curvaceous contour of your chest. With a breath that trembled, he enveloped your breasts in his large hands, his thumbs lightly tracing the fabric of your bra. With a delicate exhale, your body reacted to his tender touch, and you realized how his eyes reflected a deep longing to touch you. As he absorbed this new knowledge of appreciating the femininity of a woman and ventured into the unknown of pleasuring her, the way he gazed at you—like you were the most valuable treasure he had ever encountered—sent your heart into a frenzy.

“Can I…”

His voice faded, but you understood precisely what he meant.

“Yes,” you said immediately, your hands moving to the clasp of your bra. “You can.”

He followed closely, wholly captivated by your cleavage as you unhooked it, his breath catching when the fabric fell away, revealing your breasts to him for the first time. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in astonishment, feasting on the sight, likely matching the exact measurements of your bra size. Judging by appearances, it seemed your back must have ached at times from the rack you carried. His hands fidgeted beside him, seemingly unsure about making contact with the most generous pair of breasts he’d ever encountered, lost in the sauce of what to do next. Now, you weren’t naïve when it came to your personal assets—you’d caught Luigi sneaking glances at your chest more times than you could count, especially on days like today, when you intentionally wore a tight-fitting white t-shirt, knowing curiosity might just kill the cat.

Overjoyed by the moment, you smirked and reached out, guiding his hands back onto your chest where they belonged.

“They’re yours, Luigi,” you voiced it once more, your words dripping with allure, resonating with a yearning that paralleled his. “Put them in your mouth. I want you to suck on them.”

His pupils dilated, those big hands gripping your breasts firmly as he leaned in. His breath was warm upon your skin, and you could perceive the tension all in his physique, the manner in which he was restraining himself. With a moan, he latched onto one of your nipples, his tongue tasting the sensitive bud.

You gasped, your back arching as pleasure coursed through you. His mouth felt invitingly warm, and his tongue began with a gentle exploration, gaining more confidence as the moments unfolded. His hands kneaded your breasts, like they were manhandling raw dough, his fingers squeezing as he sucked, and you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“That’s it,” you panted, your voice quaking with desire. “Oh baby, just like that…”

Obeying immediately, his mouth closed once more, firmly this time around your nipple as he sucked harder, his tongue swirling in circles that sent sparks of pleasure through your body. His other hand moved to your other one, his thumb rolling over the nipple in time with the rhythm of his mouth. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, watching him suckling on your tit like a young needing it for nourishment, causing your mind to spiral.

“God, Luigi,” you moaned, your hips grinding against the mattress as his mouth worked absolute wonders, engulfing your nipple, areola, and most of your breast. “You’re so good at this. So good.”

He hesitated briefly, his lips shimmering with your essence, his eyes laden with desire. “I… I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he admitted. “I love them.”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You’re perfect,” ​​you cooed, your thumb tracing over his lower lip, separating them apart, turning him into a man of submission as he looked into the eyes of his woman. “Now, don’t stop. I want you to keep going.”

He needed no second prompting. His mouth claimed your other breast, his tongue lapping up your nipple in long, languid licks before he pulled it into his mouth, hands continuing to knead and squeeze your soft flesh. A louder moan escaped you, your legs instinctively parting as the growing pleasure surged within.

His movements became bolder, more assured, as though he were uncovering a new side of himself—a side that longed for your body, eager to worship every inch of you. His mouth was insistent, his tongue teasing, tasting, while his hands roamed freely, exploring, caressing, and claiming you as his own.

“Lu,” you breathed, straining with desire.

He groaned against your skin, his grip tightening around your breasts as he sucked harder, his tongue flicking over your nipples in a way that made you see stars. The tension coiled deep in your core, pleasure rising fast toward its peak, and you knew he felt it too, sensed every subtle shift in your body as it responded to him.

Luigi’s lips were still wrapped around your nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles, when you felt his body tense. His hands, which had been kneading your breasts with an almost desperate need, stilled for a moment. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his breathing had become uneven, shallow. His arousal was palpable, thick in the air between you, and it made your own body ache with want.

You reached up, tangling your fingers in his dark hair, tugging him back so you could look into his eyes. They were dark, almost black with desire, and his lips had swelled from the overuse of his lip muscles persistently suckling.

“Luigi,” you said. “Do you want to try something else?”

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “Something else?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you traced a finger along his jaw, feeling the clean-shaven, supple olive skin there. “I mean,” you shrugged your shoulders. “do you want to try fucking them?”

​​His eyes practically bulged out of his skull, and you could see the exact moment the realization hit him. His gaze dropped to your breasts, still cradled in his hands, and his Adam’s apple hit against the front of his neck as he swallowed hard. “You mean… with my dick?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your smile growing wider. “Yes.”

For a spell, he looked at you as if the very sight of you had stolen the air from his lungs—his gaze a storm of awe, wonder, and something unspoken that stirred beneath the surface, wild and ancient, like a flame catching wind. Like any other geek, it was safe to say that the portal in his brain crashed and his mind short-circuited. Without warning, he practically ripped his boxers and pants off all at once, the fabric pooling around his ankles in a heap. His cock sprang free, hard and throbbing. You couldn’t help but admire it, your heart taking a sudden plunge into your stomach.

In Luigi’s case, you know what they always say: big nose, big hands, big feet, and a big co—

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of wetness between your legs as you looked up at him. “Hold on,” you assured. “Let me help you.”

You reached down, wrapping your hands around your breasts and squeezing them together, molding them into a tight, inviting channel of soft, warm flesh for him to thrust into. Leaning forward slightly, you gathered a thick string of spit on your tongue and let it fall from your lips, watching it drip onto your cleavage and trail down between your breasts, leaving a glistening, slippery path just for him. He desperately whimpered at the sight, his eyes locking onto the mess you’d made just for him. Your nipples brushed against each other, sending shivers of pleasure through your body, and you could feel the heat of his cock as he moved closer, his tip brushing against the soft skin of your cleavage.

“Like this,” you instructed. “Just slide it in between them. Slowly at first.”

Luigi nodded, his jaw clenched tight as he guided his cock toward your breasts. The moment the head of his dick touched your skin, he let out a low, throaty groan, his hips jerking forward like an autonomic response. You could feel the way his body trembled, the way he struggled to hold back, to keep his movements controlled.

“That’s it,” you incited. “Just like that. You’re doing so good, baby.”

He slid his cock deeper, the thick length of him pressing against your breasts, and you could feel the way he pulsed with need. His hands gripped your shoulders, holding on tight as he began to move, his hips rocking back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your nipples rubbing against his shaft, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “This feels… so good.”

You moaned in agreement, your hands still holding your breasts together, the pressure of his cock sending waves of pleasure through you. “Yeah?” you asked breathlessly. “You like fucking me like this?”

He nodded frantically. “I… I never knew it could feel like this, it’s… fuck.”

You smiled, experiencing a surge of pride and joy from his words. “Mmm hmm,” you praised. “Just keep going. Let it feel good, baby.”

His movements grew faster, more frantic, and you could feel the way his cock throbbed against your skin. His hands tightened on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrust harder, deeper, his hips slamming against your breasts with a desperation that made your body ache with want. Your nipples were so hard they ached.

“I’m not… I’m not going to last long,” he warned, his face twisted in pleasure, losing absolute control of the muscles in his face.

“That’s okay. I want you to come—come on them.”

His hips stuttered, and with a low, guttural groan, he came, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering across your chest and breasts. You could feel the heat of it, the way it coated your skin, and the sight of it, mixed with the sound of his moans, had tears gushing down the side of your thigh.

He just stood there, trembling like a leaf in a storm, his breath coming in ragged bursts as though the weight of the moment was too much for his body to contain. Sowly, he pulled back, his cock slipping free from between your breasts, and he looked down at you, his eyes wide with wonder.

His body jolted, shuddering, virtually breaking open beneath the weight of sensation. Knees gave way like cracking fault lines, as if the ground had slipped from under him, and he collapsed, breathless and unraveling. Tremors rolled through him, leaving him limp as he crumpled onto the bed, caught in the grip of his own undoing. Raspy breaths spilled from parted lips as he stared blankly at the ceiling, wide-eyed and dazed, trying to comprehend the magnitude of what had just happened. Flushed and trembling, he lay still. His cock twitched against his stomach, the last flickers of release gleaming on his skin like stardust left in the wake of a supernova.

​​You studied him deciduously, a knowing smile creeping onto your face, and then crawled toward him. Every action was intentional and playful, made to heighten the suspense that existed between you. You positioned yourself in the space between his legs, your fingers smoothly moving along his thighs, sensing the tension in the muscles beneath your fingertips. While lingering there for a moment, you basked in the sensation of his heat radiating against your palms. Not only that, but you moved closer, your warm breath brushing against his skin as you placed a lingering, moist kiss on the sensitive inner part of his thigh. His body reacted with a shudder, a soft, quivering breath released,

“Luigi,” you purred. “I love you.”

You kissed him once more, this time higher, near the spot that remained quite sensitive, leaving him pulsating in rage.

“I want to make you feel good, too. Let me take care of you.”

He whimpered, a sound that was both vulnerable and filled with need, and his hips shifted slightly, along with his cock jittering. Even after everything, he was already so responsive, so eager for more. It was clear that titty fucking you had pushed him over the edge, but it had also awakened something deeper, something primal and insatiable.

You smiled against his skin, your kisses growing more purposeful as you trailed your lips closer to his cock. And surprisingly, his cock, still slick with traces of his earlier release, stood rigid and aching. You didn’t waste time. Every kiss was slow, wet, and deliberately filthy, crafted to make him squirm and whimper, right on the edge of sounding like a little bitch.

“You’re such a good boy, Gigi,” you hummed. “Can I put it in my mouth?”

His hands descended, fingers weaving through the strands of your hair, a tremor escaping his lips as he inhaled sharply, his entire body quivering with anticipation. “Please,” he squeaked. “Please, I just—”

Kisssiing the base of his cock, you felt it jerk against your lips, looking up at him with a soft, loving gaze. “Don’t worry, baby,” you promised. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

You leaned in slowly, breath fanning hot against the aching length of him, the tension in his body nearly palpable. A low tremor ran through him, his hands threading through your hair—clutching, desperate, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, anticipation making your mouth water. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, you dipped forward and took the flushed tip of his cock between your lips, savoring the first taste of him.

Luigi gasped, his hips jerking slightly as your lips wrapped around him. You could feel the heat of his skin, the way he pulsed with need, and it only fueled your desire to please him. You swirled your tongue around the head, savoring the salty precum that had already started to bead at the tip. His breath hitched, and you could hear the faintest whimper escape his lips.

“Oh… oh god,” he moaned. “That’s… that’s so good.”

You hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. Encouraged by his reaction, you slowly took more of him into your mouth, your lips sliding down his shaft. You could feel him twitch against your tongue, and you devoured every inch of him that your mouth could consume, the way he filled your mouth so deliciously. With one hand, you stroked the base of his dick, your fingers massaging his balls, while the other hand rested on his thigh, feeling the tension in his muscles.

Now and then, you took a moment to look up at him, your lashes fluttering as you admired the sheer pleasure contorting his face in every direction. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, and his eyes were half-lidded, caught between feeling immense ecstasy from getting his damn soul nearly sucked out of him and the disbelief that this was actually happening to him in real time. It was clear he had never experienced anything like this before, never even imagined that one day he would get dick sucked this soon in college—by none other than his own girlfriend—after taking a break from doing schoolwork and then ejaculating for the first time intimately ever all over her tits from fucking them. It thrilled you to be the one to show him just how good it could feel and how you were the first one to blow his brains out—quite literally.

You pulled back slightly, letting his cock slide out of your mouth, and then dove back down, taking him deeper this time. You could sense the pressure mounting within him, the way his body began to tremble, and you knew he was nearing the edge. But you wanted to make this last, particularly since this was the first time of ever being sexually intimate, to make sure it was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. You swirled your tongue around his shaft, teasing him, and then sucked gently, your cheeks hollowing as you worked him with your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t…” he whimpered, his hands gripping your hair tighter. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”

You didn’t stop. Instead, you increased the pace, bobbing your head up and down his cock, your tongue lashing against the sensitive underside. It was no small wonder that he couldn't hold back, and inevitably, he would come. You could taste him, the way his precum coated your tongue, and it only made you more determined to push him over the edge. You hummed again, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body, and you could feel his cock shiver in your mouth as he teetered on the brink of release.

“Please… please, I’m so close,” he whined, his toes curling inwards, barely able to hold on any longer. “I’m gonna… oh god, I think I’m gonna come—”

And then, with a shuddering moan, he did. If the other students on the floor in the residential hall didn't know that he busted all in your mouth before, they certainly did now. His body tensed, his hips bucking slightly as he emptied himself into your mouth. The taste was intense, salty, and somewhat sweet, and you swallowed and savored every last drop you could, daring not to let any of it go to waste. His hands fell from your hair, landing limply at his sides, and he let out a long, shaky breath, his body slumping back against the bed.

Quite literally and figuratively, Luigi was blown away—he was speechless, at a complete loss for words after what had just happened in the past few minutes.

Pleased with yourself, you smiled at your accomplishment, wiping your lips with the back of your hand before crawling up the bed to lie beside him. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes still heavy with pleasure, and reached out to brush his knuckles against your face.

“I can’t believe you just did that… it felt so fucking good.”

“I’m glad,” you replied softly, full of affection. “I wanted to make sure it was special for you.”

He reached out, his fingers drawing across the curve of your jaw, and then he leaned in, pressing a little kiss to your lips. It was tender, overflowing with gratitude and longing, and you could feel the warmth of his affection wrapping around you.

“I love you,” he spoke softly, his lips brushing against yours. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back. “More than anything.”

He pulled you closer against his body, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapping around you as you nestled into the cozy crook of his neck, feeling the thump of his heartbeat against you. The room cradled you in quietness, filled with the gentle sound of your breathing, and a beautiful sense of contentment washed over you, making everything feel just right.

However, little did you know, it wasn’t so much about what he hadn’t experienced yet, but more about all the things he wanted to try. If only you knew the thoughts running through Luigi's mind now, fueled by his newfound awareness of his heightened sex drive and his recent experiences that didn’t even involve penetrative sex, but still led to his first ever orgasms.

At first, he hesitated, unsure of how to translate his thoughts into action.

“Do you want to…?”

But beneath the uncertainty, you could hear the raw, unfiltered desire in his voice, a barely contained urgency that made your heart race.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and were all smiles. “Whatever you want, Lu,” you ensured, upholding your promise from the very beginning. “We can do whatever you want.”

For a brief moment, his gaze sought yours, searching for confirmation that, however you wished to surrender to pure pleasure, you both shared the willingness and ability to take that next step together. He nodded, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I… I want to try something.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his words. “What do you want to do?”

He inhaled deeply, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly, before leaning in close. His lips grazed your ear as he whispered his idea, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. A flame of lust smoldered in your core at the very thought of what he was suggesting.

Maybe he wasn’t as inexperienced and innocent as he seemed—well, as he had been.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Are you sure?”

He shook his head, his eyes brimming with determination. “I’m sure,” he reconfirmed. “I want to do this with you.”

You smiled, and your heart swelled with affection. “Then let’s do it,” you murmured, the mere thought inside your body just oozing with excitement about what was to come next. “Let’s try it right here, right now.”

Tag List: @daydreamingwithluigi @mailovesreading @wannabenugget @paolavallado @mangobabygirl @fancyyanci @briarloves @straw8erry @fligniuz

THE GODDAMN BEARD ARE YOU KIDDING ME SOMEONE HOLD MY HAND PLEASE

credit to prosperluigi on twitter

Luigi celebrating his birthday in my tomodachi life 🍰♡ ༘*.ﾟ🧸

luigi at a halloween party (2019) + crumbs

Luigi has been officially indicted on his federal charges.

You can read the full document here.

karen dropped the pre trial motion in the state case!! https://www.luigimangioneinfo.com/updates/

oh my god 😩

Soft Girls Don’t Stay

Part I – I Wanted to Be That Woman

(“Sí, yo quería ser esa mujer / La madre de tus hijos…”)

It started like all the stories that don’t end well do—slow, careful, innocent. A friendship. A bond so natural it didn’t feel like anything at first. Just comfort. Just ease. Just him.

You met Luigi in college. You were nineteen, heartbroken over some boy who didn’t even like himself, let alone know how to love you. Luigi was two years older. Funny. Smart in the quiet way, where he didn’t need to prove it. The kind of guy who made you feel safe just by being there.

He never tried to make a move. Not then. He was just… there.

The one you called when you needed help with insurance. The one who showed up outside your apartment when you said you were fine but your texts were off.

The one who listened.

The one who always stayed.

You didn’t realize when it shifted.

When friendship started to taste like something else.

Maybe it was the night you watched that stupid movie on his couch and your legs brushed—and neither of you moved. Or when he came to your place after his ex cheated and you spent the night on the floor beside his bed, holding his hand in the dark.

You were just friends.

Friends who slept in the same bed.

Friends who told each other everything.

Friends who started to look at each other a little too long, too late, too often.

“Y juntos caminar hacia el altar / Directo hacia la muerte…”

You knew the moment you were gone for him.

It was the night your last boyfriend left you crying on the sidewalk outside a party. You called Luigi. No words. Just sobs. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t hesitate. He came.

You remember sitting in the passenger seat of his car, hoodie pulled over your knees, mascara streaked down your face, and him looking over at you like you were breakable. Like he didn’t know what to say—but would still sit with you in the silence until it felt like breathing again.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he said.

You looked at him, eyes swollen. “Then stop leaving every time I start needing you.”

It slipped out. And he didn’t answer.

Just reached over and took your hand.

⸻

You didn’t talk about it the next day.

You never talked about it.

That was your pattern: almosts. Stares. Brushed hands. Long hugs. Texts that said “come over?” and replies that said “I was already on my way.”

You had other people. So did he.

But they didn’t feel like anything.

Sex with them was just movement.

But sex with each other?

It felt like gravity.

⸻

The first time you slept together, it wasn’t planned. It never was.

You were wearing a big t-shirt and nothing else, curled on his couch after another hard week, your legs in his lap. He was talking about a fight with his dad, something old and unresolved. You reached up, brushed a curl behind his ear without thinking.

He froze.

So did you.

Then he kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Like he’d been waiting years.

And maybe he had.

You ended up in his bed. Skin on skin. Breath on breath.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t loud.

It was real. So real it made you want to cry. The kind of touch that makes you forget where your body ends and theirs begins.

He said your name like it was a secret. Like a prayer.

And when he came, he buried his face in your neck and whispered, “You feel like home.”

⸻

But in the morning?

He was different.

Quieter. Softer. Still there—but already slipping away.

And you let it happen. Again.

Because that’s what you did.

⸻

That summer, you weren’t together.

But he still got jealous.

You were at a party, laughing at some guy’s joke. Luigi saw you from across the room. His jaw clenched. You could feel it before you even turned around.

Later that night, he cornered you in the hallway.

“You like him?” he asked.

You blinked. “We’re not doing this.”

He stepped closer. “You were touching him.”

“He touched me.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, well, it looked like you wanted it.”

You crossed your arms. “Why do you care?”

He looked at you like you had said something offensive. “Because you’re mine.”

The silence after that was deafening.

You whispered, “Then say it. Out loud. Call me yours.”

He stared at you.

Didn’t say a word.

So you turned around. And walked away.

“Y al final, ni hablar / Los dos nos destruimos…”

⸻

That’s how it always went.

He was there—but not fully.

You loved him—but never enough to stop hurting.

And still, if he called, you came.

If you cried, he showed up.

You once told your best friend, “I know he’s not mine. But it feels like he is. In the ways that count.”

She said, “Then maybe those aren’t the ways that should count.”

⸻

And now, five months later—

You’re folding laundry on the floor of your bedroom when you hear it:

Three soft knocks.

Your whole body stills.

You press your fingers to your lips.

“No,” you whisper to no one. “Not now. Not again.”

You tiptoe to the door. Look through the peephole.

And there he is.

Luigi.

Same curls. Same hoodie. Same hands that used to know how to undo you.

Your heart drops.

And all you hear, again, is the lyric that never stops echoing when it comes to him:

“Y al final, ¿qué tal? / Tú y yo ya no existimos…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part II – I Still Smell Like Yours

“No, no quiero ser esa mujer / Ella se fue a un abismo…”

He didn’t bring flowers. He brought a box. A worn, cardboard box with your handwriting on the side—half-faded hearts you’d drawn in Sharpie a lifetime ago. Inside, you already knew what you’d find: your sweatshirt, your journal, probably that hair clip he used to slide off you like undressing was second nature.

He didn’t knock like he was sorry.

He knocked like he was hoping you’d still answer.

And you did.

Because of course you did.

You opened the door slowly, quietly, like maybe if you moved gently enough, the past wouldn’t rush in behind him. But the second you saw him—same curls, same hoodie, same mouth you used to kiss just to shut him up—it hit you like heat.

And worse?

He looked relieved to see you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

You didn’t say anything.

He shifted, awkward. Held up the box like a white flag.

“I found this in my closet. Thought it was yours.”

You folded your arms. “You drove all this way for a box?”

He glanced down. Shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“Bullshit.”

He smiled, just barely. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“You gonna let me in?”

You should’ve said no.Should’ve slammed the door and let him carry his regrets back home. But your body moved before your brain could catch up.

You stepped aside.

The air changed the second he walked in.

He looked around like the room still belonged to him. Like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t cried into your pillow every night for the first three weeks after he ghosted you in broad daylight.

His eyes landed on the candle burning by the window. Vanilla and rosewater.

He closed his eyes for a beat.

“You still wear that lotion?”

You didn’t answer.

He smiled to himself. “Of course you do.”

You stayed near the door, arms crossed. “Ten minutes. That’s all you get.”

He set the box down. “You look good.”

“Luigi.”

“Just saying.”

“You don’t get to say that anymore.”

⸻

Silence. The kind that buzzes in your ears.

He turned to face you fully now. His voice softened. “I missed you.”

You shook your head. “No. You missed the way I loved you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stepped closer. Not touching. Just near enough that it felt like skin on skin.

“You think I didn’t love you?” he said, voice low.

“I think you loved me the way scared people do,” you said. “Only when I wasn’t asking for anything.”

He blinked.

You pressed on.

“I never wanted a superhero, Lu. I just wanted someone who wouldn’t run every time it got real.”

“Tú no eres aquel que prometió / Sería mi superhéroe…”

His jaw tensed. “You think it was easy for me?”

“You made it look effortless.”

“That’s not—”

“I begged you,” you snapped. “I fucking begged you to just show up. To tell me it wasn’t all in my head. And you left me on read.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“So you said nothing? For months?”

His voice cracked. “I was scared.”

You laughed. It was bitter and small. “You were scared? I let you see all of me. I made you my safest place. I would’ve done anything for you.”

“I know.”

“Then why wasn’t I ever enough?”

The words hung there. Heavy. Sacred.

He stepped forward again. Too close now.

“You were always enough,” he whispered. “That’s what scared me.”

You stared at him. Your throat burned.

“Don’t,” you said, voice barely holding. “Don’t do this if you’re not going to stay.”

He touched your cheek. Just barely. Fingers brushing skin like it still belonged to him.

“I never stopped thinking about you.”

“You stopped calling me.”

His hand dropped. “I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

“I didn’t,” you whispered. “But I wanted you to want to try.”

His eyes dropped to your lips.

You felt your heart stutter.

Because you wanted him to kiss you.

God, you still did.

But you couldn’t afford it. Not again. Not this time.

He looked at the couch, then back at you. “Can I sit?”

You nodded slowly.

He sat, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. You stayed standing.

He looked up. “You look happy.”

“Does that bother you?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

You moved to the arm of the couch, careful not to be close. He turned his head toward you.

“You see anyone?” he asked.

You smirked. “Would it matter?”

“Don’t.”

You tilted your head. “Why not? You saw other people. You had no problem letting them touch what I built.”

His brows pulled together. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” you said. “Because at least they knew what we were.”

You stared at each other. You saw it in his face—the pain. The wanting. The jealousy.

“You were never mine,” he said, voice soft. “But you always felt like you were.”

Your eyes welled.

“And that’s the problem.”

In the silence that followed, you both knew:

There was no button to bring you back to the beginning.

No reset. No rose-colored ending.

Just this.

Just heartbreak dressed like history.

“¿Y dónde quedó ese botón / Que lleva a la felicidad?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part III – The Goodbye I Deserved

“Y que todo acabó, no queda más / Seremos dos extraños…”

You didn’t mean to sit down.

But your legs gave in before your pride did.

You were on the far end of the couch now, knees pulled up, palms clenched. Luigi sat across from you, elbows on his knees, like he was waiting for the right time to speak.

Like this was a funeral.

And he’d shown up late with nothing to offer but the truth.

“I used to picture it,” he said quietly. “Us. A place together. You in my hoodie, yelling at me for using the wrong sponge on the dishes.”

You looked down. Smiled without warmth. “You never said that before.”

“I didn’t know how to say anything before.”

You scoffed. “No. You just left.”

He nodded. Took it. “I know.”

A long pause.

“You were the only one I told everything to,” he said. “The only one who made me feel like I wasn’t too much. You made the world quieter.”

“And you made mine louder,” you said, looking up. “You made me doubt myself. You made me wait. You made me feel like love was something I had to earn.”

He winced.

You continued, voice steady now. “I wanted to be that woman. The one you saw a future with. The one who got your last name, your kids, your ugly coffee mugs.”

“Sí, yo quería ser esa mujer / La madre de tus hijos…”

Your throat tightened.

“I would’ve built a life with you, Luigi,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I would’ve chosen you. Over and over. Even when you didn’t choose me back.”

He looked broken now.

“I still would,” he said, voice raw. “If you let me.”

You stared at him. Silent.

And that silence was the answer.

He exhaled. Closed his eyes. Rubbed his hands together like he could warm up from the cold you’d become.

When he spoke again, his voice cracked in places it never used to.

“I know I fucked up,” he said. “I know I didn’t show up when it mattered. But if you ever need me—if you’re ever falling apart at 2AM or you just need someone to show up without asking why—”

He looked up.

“I’ll be there.”

You blinked. He kept going.

“I’ll always be here. I’ll always wait for you. Even if you never come back.”

There it was.

The thing you wanted for so long.

Too late.

But still.

You let yourself feel it.

You crossed the space between you. Sat next to him. Pressed your forehead to his.

“You were my favorite almost,” you whispered. “But I can’t keep choosing you in every lifetime where you never choose me.”

His hands trembled as they gripped your waist, but he didn’t pull you in.

He knew better now.

You stayed like that for a moment. One last inhale. One last warmth.

Then you stood.

He watched you walk to the door. Barefoot. Steady.

You looked back only once.

And with the softest voice you’d ever used on him, you said:

“Goodbye, Luigi.”

“Yo te olvidaré, me olvidarás… hasta nunca.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I hope you guys like this hate to admit it but I cried while writing this (:

@luigisbambinaaa @luigis-wetdream @multi-culti-girl @mangionesdaisy @snoopy184 @daydreamingwithluigi @iinfinitelimits