Happy 27th Gi 🍓💕💕 We Love You Baby

saving this to definitely write something later…

https://x.com/sloppyslvt/status/1898950058516639994?s=46

lu fucking you in his dorm just like thisss

“shh, don’t want people walking by hearing you”

“stop being so fucking loud, you’ll get me in trouble” as he shoves his fingers down your throat 😣

so hawt 😣

EoO

The bass inside the club was already in her bloodstream, pounding through her chest like a second heartbeat. She wasn’t even trying to dance anymore,she was just feeling it, letting the song move her hips.

“Perreo, baby. Sobeteo, baby.

Tra-tra, baby. Hasta abajo, baby…”

Her hands slid down her thighs. The green dress clung to her sweat-slicked curves. Every step was deliberate. Every sway of her hips was meant for him.

Luigi.

He hadn’t looked away once. Leaning back on the VIP couch, broad arms stretched across the top, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. That look in his eyes? It was a warning. A promise. And a breaking point all at once. He didn’t say a word when he stood. Just moved. Straight through the crowd, like no one else existed. When he reached her, he didn’t ask. He didn’t wait. His hand wrapped around her wrist, and his mouth brushed her ear as he said, “You think I’m just gonna watch you dance like that?”

He pulled her through the bodies, through the heat and flashing lights, to the curtain behind the velvet ropes. The VIP room pulsed with muffled music, red lighting, and privacy,barely. The walls were thin, and the bass still slammed like a heartbeat in heat.

“En la disco, baby, yo te cojo, baby…

Tra-tra, baby. Tra-tra, baby…”

He shoved her back against the couch. His mouth was on hers in an instant,biting, devouring, filthy. The kiss was a declaration. Of need. Of claim. Of every unspoken thing they both wanted.

“Turn around,” he rasped. “Now.”

She obeyed,hands braced against the cushions, dress shoved up, panties already soaked. Luigi undid his belt with one hand and shoved his jeans low. He ran two fingers through her folds and groaned at how wet she was.

“Dale, mami, pégate, vírate…

Si me miras mucho sabes que voy a besarte…”

“You’ve been teasing me all fucking night,” he hissed, lining himself up behind her. “You wanted this. You earned it.”

And then he slammed into her,deep, rough, unapologetic. She gasped, grabbing the couch for support, eyes fluttering as he set a brutal pace. Every thrust hit with the rhythm of the song outside. It wasn’t just sex, it was perreo incarnate.

“Mani, yo sé que tú te vuelves loca

Cuando el perreo te azota…”

He was grinding into her like the beat told him to. Skin slapping, her moans rising in time with the chorus. The song dripped through the walls, dirty and perfect.

“En la disco, baby, te lo meto, baby

Aquí mismo, baby, delante de tu baby…”

“You hear that?” he growled in her ear, fucking her so hard her knees shook. “They’re playing our song. This beat? It’s mine. Just like you.”

She moaned something desperate,his name, a plea, a yesyesyes lost in rhythm and sweat.

“Te lo tiro en la espalda, body paintin’…”

“I should finish right here. All over you. Paint your back like the lyrics say,” he panted, fingers digging into her hips. “But you’ve been too fucking good. You want it inside, don’t you?”

She nodded frantically, barely able to speak. He grabbed her throat lightly, still moving inside her, rough and deep. His voice dropped to a snarl.

“Say it.”

“Inside, Lu—please. I want it inside.”

“Bellaqueo, baby. Tú y yo solos, baby…”

He was losing it. He thrust faster, harder, until she was screaming his name into the velvet. Her orgasm hit like a wave. Her whole body trembled. Legs shaking. Eyes rolled back. Luigi came with a grunt,deep inside her, teeth gritted, muscles locked. It was messy. Loud. Perfect. Silence,except the final line of the song bleeding through.

“Perreo, baby. Tra-tra, baby.”

He didn’t pull out. Just leaned into her, breathing hard against her back.

“You dance for me like that again,” he whispered, “and I’ll fuck you in the middle of the floor next time. Song or not.”

Her thighs were still shaking. Every step back into the club sent a soft aftershock through her core,warm, sticky, his. But she held her head high. Smirked. Adjusted her dress just enough to cover the bruises on her hips, even though the hem clung higher now. Even though the gloss was wiped clean from her lips and her mascara was threatening to run. Luigi followed close behind, chest still rising, hair a little messy, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to pull her right back into that room.

“En la disco, baby, te lo meto, baby…”

The beat hadn’t changed. Still Bad Bunny. Still EoO. Still echoing with every filthy thing they’d just done.

And she didn’t wait.

She stepped back into the center of the floor, right under the lights, and started moving again. Hips slow. Deliberate. Not performing this time,owning it. Luigi froze. Eyes locked on her like she’d just slapped him across the face with her pussy. The crowd moved around her, but he saw nothing else. She turned, backed into him, ass pressing against his jeans, and threw her arms around his neck.

“You gonna fuckin’ behave now?” he muttered, voice low, lips brushing her temple.

“No,” she whispered back, grinding against him. “Not when you’re still hard.”

And he was. Already. The second her body met his again, the second that song kept going.

“Bellaqueo, baby. Tú y yo solos, baby…”

He slid his hand down her side, over the curve of her ass, gripped tight,and pulled. Right there, in front of everyone. She gasped softly, head falling back to his shoulder.

“You’re dripping down your thighs,” he growled. “You came so hard for me, and now you’re out here shameless.”

She turned her head toward his and smiled. “I want them to see what you do to me.”

That broke him. Luigi’s hand slid under her dress again,right there, on the dance floor. The lights stuttered, the bass slammed, bodies pressed around them like smoke and heat and sweat.

His fingers grazed her inner thigh, then higher.

“You want me to finger you right here, baby?” he murmured, breath hot against her ear. “With my cum still inside you?”

She choked on a gasp. “Lu—fuck.”

And he did it. Slid two fingers between her legs and felt the slick mess he left inside her.

“Tra-tra, baby. Tra-tra, baby…”

“Goddamn,” he whispered. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

She gripped his arm, trembling.

“Keep dancing,” he ordered, lips brushing her ear. “Let ‘em watch. Let ‘em know.”

She moved her hips. Slowly. Sensually. And he kept his hand under her dress, fingers stroking her just enough to make her clench. Just enough to keep her right on edge. They were in the middle of a crowd and she was about to come again.

“You’re disgusting,” she moaned softly.

“You love it,” he smirked.

“Aquí mismo, baby, delante de tu baby…”

She didn’t come,not yet. He pulled his hand away before she tipped over, sucked his fingers into his mouth, slow and filthy, right as a flash of lights hit them.

“I’m not done with you,” he whispered, licking her taste off his knuckles. “We’re not even close.”

They barely made it past the bathroom door before he was on her again. The bass from the club still echoed through the walls, thudding like a pulse behind them. She stumbled back, hand on the sink, chest heaving. Her eyes were glassy. Her lips swollen. And Luigi looked like he was starving.

“You didn’t come on the dance floor,” he said, voice low, dangerous, eyes raking down her body like he was about to ruin it again. “That’s a problem.”

Before she could answer, he spun her, lifted her up by the thighs, and sat her on the cold porcelain sink. Her dress bunched around her hips. The mirror behind her caught everything,her dazed expression, his broad frame between her legs, the sweat shining on both their skin.

“Lu—someone might come in,” she whispered.

“I fuckin’ hope they do,” he growled, sinking to his knees like she was an altar and he was born to worship. She gasped when his mouth met her thighs,soft at first. Open-mouthed kisses, biting gently. Then he dragged his tongue through her folds and groaned like he was tasting her for the first time.

“You still taste like me,” he whispered. “So fucking messy. My good little slut.”

She moaned, thighs trembling, grabbing his curls with both hands.

“Quiet, baby,” he teased, looking up at her with those ruined, desperate eyes. “There’s someone in the next stall.”

She heard it then,a toilet flush. A shuffle. The slam of a door. Someone was right there, unaware,or maybe not. But Luigi didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. His tongue moved fast, filthy, circling her clit while two fingers slid inside her like they belonged there. She bucked against his face. Tried to hold back her moans but failed. He licked, sucked, pumped her full until she was grinding on his tongue.

“You wanna come?” he asked, voice muffled against her cunt. “Then you better do it fast and quiet, baby. I’m not stopping ‘til you soak my face.”

She came hard, legs clamped around his head, hand slamming over her mouth to muffle the scream. Her whole body locked, trembled, then slumped against the mirror. Luigi stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“You should see yourself,” he smirked. “You look like sin.”

And she did,smudged, wrecked, and glowing. She hopped off the sink, legs wobbly, dress clinging to her damp thighs.

“You done with me?” she asked, breathless. His hand gripped her waist, pulling her flush to him.

“Not even fucking close.”

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

his canine teeth are so sharp…………… just thinking…. ermmmmdkskmdkdkd

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

I can’t stop thinking about Luigi overstimulating you while smirking absolutely pleased with himself that he can wreck you so easily 😩🫦🫦

COCKY MEN ARE MY FAVE HEHEH

Ugh imagine… you’re an actual mess under him. Your eyes can’t stay open, mascara smearing down your cheeks, your voice is horse, throat dry, limbs limp. You’re spent. But Luigi thinks he can pull another orgams out of you. One last one.

“Baby I know you can go another round”.

You don’t even have it in you to deny it. He uses his huge hands to pry your legs open. Placing one hand on your inner thigh to keep you from closing them. He uses his free hand to guide his pulsing dick over your slit. Rubbing it against your clit. You jolt at the feeling, whining out loud.

“I can’t” you whimper

“Yes you can, bambina. Come on, one more for me, hm?” He’s smiling above you. He knows you’ll obey him.

You simply nod, and he carries on, sliding the head of his cock over your slit, over and over.

“Yeahh that feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks

“Yeahh” you sigh out.

He enters you, slowly, stretching you out so perfectly. You use the last ounce of energy left to lift your arms, covering your mouth, muffling the moans and mewls from your mouth.

“No no baby I wanna hear them” Luigi says, lowering your hands.

You drop your hand, trying to focus on Luigi. Trying to focus on what’s going on between your legs. His movements become more erratic as he gets closer to his own orgasm. You’re so sensitive now. You’re practically pulsing, clit rubbed raw.

Luigi’s looking down at you, smiling, as your eyes roll to the back of your head. You place a hand on his abs, trying to get him to let up. He moves your hand away without a word and begins pounding into you at a sinful pace.

Each time he enters he bottoms out, the head of his cock hitting your cervix. The pain and pleasure is too much and you squirm under him. He places one hand in your chest the other under your thigh holding you in place.

“Don’t fucking move.” He orders.

You curse and try to stay as still as possible. Your legs are shaky, chest heaving and arms weak.

“Please please please” you chant. “Tooo much”

He continues his pace, grunting as he cums. His hips stutter and he pushes in one final time, spilling into you. He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing desperately pulling a final orgasm out of you and you scream out.

He quickly shoves his fore and middle finger into your mouth to stifle your moans. You bite down as you writhe under him, the pleasure becoming too much. You feel hot tears spilling down your cheeks as you try to catch your breath, coming down from your high.

You look up to see Luigi smiling down at you. “I knew to had another one in you” he laughs.

“One last round” he asks, smirking.

OMG I’ve never seen this photo before 😭 HIS CURLSSS 💞💞💞

HIS CURLS HERE 😭😭😭😭

Source: Twitter

heeeeeey girl

so i’ve been thinking. thinking great beautiful amazing things. i don’t actually know how to talk about them because he makes being coherent #impossible !!! so that makes this a bit complicated… but vibes. your recent has me feeling dizzy and i need you to give us more. it’s what the people ( me ) want.

- 🧞‍♀️

well hello there again. i’m gonna hope ur talking ab ur recent ask ab inexperienced!lu making out for the first time haha but here is my very best at a first time drabble for you 💝💝💝

it was meant to be a study date.

being in each other’s presence helped you both focus. he was also intellectually equipped that you felt comfortable asking him for help when you needed it. even if it was for something small; he never judged you for it.

but really it was because you liked to hear his voice when he would explain terms to you. or how he would lean close that you could feel his breath tickle your neck. or how he would watch you inventively when he would make you work it out on your own (with his advice, of course).

you had done it again today. you watched his tongue slip between his lips as he read the math problem on your laptop screen. your stomach dropped levels, heat bubbling at the pit.

before he could even process what was going on, you leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips. he was just so cute and so kissable, it was impossibly hard not to just smooch him all over his face.

it surprised him, blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. he smiled, breathlessly chuckling. it was that act alone that had you leaning back in for another. him being shy and nervous only fueled your need for him.

this kiss lasted a lot longer than the first because you didn't want to let go. you didn't even want to pull away for air. quite honestly, you didn't mind suffocating to death if it meant you’d be kissing him forever. his lips were just so soft and his inexperience was so endearing.

you pulled away briefly but long enough for you two to catch your breath. you leaned your forehead against his, making him open his eyes. you could feel his tension and see the nervousness in his lack of actions.

“gi," you whispered, taking his hand and placing it on your cheek. “it’s okay.” as if to console the overthinking thoughts in his mind.

you leaned back in, taking that opportunity to slip your tongue between his lips. to your shock, he let out a breathy moan into your mouth. it physically made you nauseous in the best way possible.

now, you both took your time. mainly because luigi didn't know what he was doing and you were attempting at teaching him without the words.

you took the lead, holding his wrist. you played with his watch that he always wore as you tilted your head to feel his kisses even deeper. slowly, he started to get the hang of it but it still wasn't enough. his thumb traced circles into your skin as if to relieve his own tension.

but you needed more.

without much thought, you pushed his laptop off his lap and threw your leg over him, straddling him. you pulled away, gauging his reaction. his brows rose and his plumped lips pouted nervously.

“you’re so cute,” you mumble into his lips, leaning back in.

he, of course, didn't stop you. he continued to makeout with you until he pulled away suddenly, a loud sound coming from your lips separating. "this is okay, right?"

“of course, gi.” you giggle, leaning back in.

you kissed for a mere of three more seconds before he pulled away again, setting his hands tentatively on your hips. “this okay too?”

you smile softly. “yes, you’re fine.”

he hummed, this time being the one to pull you back into the kiss as he gripped your hips. your hand that held on to his neck slowly crept up into his curls to tug on them which solicited a groan from him.

you felt his hands roam around your back, almost hovering the spot you knew he wanted to touch the most. and, like you expected, he pulled away again. “can i–”

you interrupted him before he could finish. “you can do whatever, i promise, gi. just please keep kissing me.”

he seemed dazed in adoration at the desperation in your voice but you couldn’t help it. he just nodded, leaning back in and pulling you flush against him.

…heh.. how was that.. #scared 🫠🫠

treacherous || luigi mangione

genuinely spent so much time pondering how to write this out, thank you to the anon who sent the request i really love how it turned out :,) also in my head luigi loves taylor swift, hence the ending mwahahaha

WARNINGS: none, fluff, a moment where luigi snaps from stress, f!reader, kinda (not really) proofread

SUMMARY: After being freed from prison, Luigi has plenty to catch up on and he tries his best to reply to letters from supporters, but between keeping up with them in a timely manner, having a new girlfriend and other things he’s trying to do — he snaps at you.

WC: 2.1k

It had been over a year since he walked free. Through thick and thin — it had been endless hours of pondering, worry and prayers to a higher power; unsure if they were even listening. By some miracle, the verdict fell on the courtroom like an angelic tune: “not guilty.” His legal team had spent so much time in understanding every aspect and working through so many kinks that they encountered. But they did it.

It was you he found in the midst of it all, an escape from the hells he suffered through, when he saw you, when he read your letter – he felt like he had found heaven. There was something about you that fascinated and intrigued him. He impacted you equally – the male’s image, what he stood for… Something almost revolutionary that somehow united a split nation. Your heart ached every time something new was revealed about his case, the way he had been treated was diabolical. A disgrace to the country – to the world – to the people.

Strong as a tree he stood, resilient and kind despite his circumstances. Even behind bars – he was such a darling before it all happened. You always believed in his innocence. The mere thought of support made his heart cheerful, even in the strange, various ways people expressed it. He was proud to bring people together.

So, now that he sat in the comfort of his own home, still haunted by the memories of the life he endured inside that prison – he kept a smile on his face and continued to spread positivity, more than happy to keep in contact with those who showed him nothing but love in a time of pain. It was difficult to write back to what seemed like over a thousand different letters, but he kept persistent and worked diligently day in and day out to be sure everyone received a response from him. He was writing a letter back to a mother, to whom he pondered his reply for a few days now. It troubled him more than most letters normally would, considering these types were always heartbreaking. The ways the healthcare system treated families was so dehumanizing. It was a sad reality.

He wasn’t all for the public eye and attention on him, he never was – he appreciated it nonetheless, he would never not be grateful for people caring. It was a rocky process, getting out so many responses. Sometimes he’d get a bit stressed because of it. Today was one of those days, he had a major hand cramp, a slight headache on the left temple and a sudden stump. His fingers trembled, causing a shake through the pen he jotted with; a cramp in his back made him sit up straight forcefully and he glanced out the apartment window – a little break for his eyes.

When sense finally sunk back in and he focused on the paper, you had walked back in from running a few errands. Luigi had been so indulged in keeping up with his replies for weeks. It became a little annoying for you, not necessarily because you needed his attention – okay maybe you did; but all he did lately was write. Day in, day out. He tried not to overwhelm himself with anything else so it didn’t disturb his thought process while reading then replying to letters. Perhaps tonight you would cook something for him, and he could take a break to talk with you. His routine was just: wake up, clean up, read through letters, have lunch around noon, then he’d start responding to all of those letters he spent reading during the morning. He’d grab a snack for dinner or order out for you both, and still be writing.

Sure, his dedication was endearing, however it could be too much on you. It felt like your partner had just become another person in the house rather than what he was before he decided: “I think I’ll start replying to all of those letters.” 

“Hey Lu,” you said softly as you hung your keys on the hook by the door, kicked off your shoes and sat your bag on the couch. He doesn’t reply, just hums something as he writes. You sighed and carried the bag of groceries to the kitchen, then sat them on the counter. “I’m cooking dinner tonight, so we can sit together and eat. Maybe you can tell me about your letters?” You smile, placing some refrigerated things in their place; and all you’re met with is a nod from the back of his head. Shaking your own, you slowly pad off to the bedroom. You had been ready to shower since you got up, while you were out, you went to the gym. 

After, you winded down. Drying your hair carefully, applying skincare and dressing comfortably. Maybe an hour went by – you weren’t entirely sure. You stand, sliding into your fuzzy slippers and emerging from the bedroom, no surprise that Luigi’s still sitting there silently. “Hey, I’m gonna start cooking now, I know it’s a little early but I was thinking we could have a movie night.” 

No response … You continue on with what you please. 

He was hyper-focused on making the best response, and all he heard was the nose you were making. Clanking a pot or two, rustling food packages, popping oils, every sound sinking into his ear drums and driving him nuts. Accidentally, you dropped some tomatoes, they were just the small cherry ones. “Shit,” you muttered, they rolled around and scattered. Luigi rubs his temple. When dinner was finished, you were so content with it, you glanced over at Lu. “I’m done with supper, are you ready to eat?” ...  “Luigi.”

Silence. “Babe.”

Nothing. Again. “Luigi,” You call, and he turns, staring at you. He then rises up, comes over and picks up the plate you were holding for him. “Mhm.” He hums and walks back off to the desk. Like getting a toddler’s attention – the casual span of a gnat of course, Luigi plops back down in his chair and eats while reading another letter. You dine alone at the table, quietly. The only sound to flow throughout the room is the gentle scrape of the silverware on the plate, or small swallow. You offer Luigi seconds, but he denies. So, you take his plate and begin cleaning up – normally he would assist with that, or do it himself if you cooked; alas, tonight he wouldn’t.

Your hands are rushed over by warm, soapy water as you scrub the plates, the silverware, the pan and pot you used. Then carefully wiped down the stove, the countertops and the table despite you being the only one who sat there tonight. You were able to sit down, just let out relief knowing that was all set and done – in the corner was Lu, writing again. After dinner you guys would relax on the couch and watch a series or movie together, soak in life. He was able to enjoy breathing freely again when he’d sink into the cushions and throw pillows – wrap his strong arm around your side as you lay your head on his broad chest, your serotonin bursting out as you burrow in his embrace.

It's the opposite, you don’t lean into anyone, no extra warmth, no company, just you, the couch and the black TV screen you hadn’t turned on yet. You wanted to wait, perhaps he’d change his mind tonight, he’ll set everything aside and come to you. Tuck himself behind your body as he cradles you into his side, cover both his and your legs with a fuzzy blanket, pet your hair until you eventually fall asleep right there so he’ll carry you to bed.

Not tonight.

You take yourself back to bed after TV time – if you even consider it that. The TV stayed on mute as to not disturb your boyfriend’s intense writing session in the corner of the apartment. It only bothered you somewhat. 

What finally tipped the iceberg was waking up at 2 AM and finding the illuminating light from a small lamp on his desk still on. His eyelids droopy, his pen hovers over the page hesitantly, shaking ever so slightly. Luigi was one blink away from passing out.

“Lu, come to bed will you?” Your voice replies gently – there’s no visible reaction from the male. “Luigi,” you repeated. He draws in a breath, sitting up, his back cracks quietly, causing his face to contort in a reflection of mild discomfort. Being hunched over the desk all day is equally worse to being hung over a laptop or phone all day. Which he normally was against doing to himself. He cut a connection with electronics at a certain point in his life, and he swore it was one of the greatest things he did to help his mental and physical health. Now here he is, sleep deprived and ruining his posture simultaneously 

“Please come to bed, you look so exhausted.” 

He tilts his head and continues to write (what you’re assuming is) a new letter. You just missed him, you wanted to cuddle to sleep and know he was there in the bed by you as you close your eyes and let peace swallow you whole. Your heart aches to be without him – even if he is there. You love him too much. 

“Luigi, babe–” “Oh my god, don’t you see that I’m trying to write these letters?! Just shut up for five seconds, I’ll go to bed when I’m ready!” He snaps at you, the tiredness is clear as day on his face. Normally his skin is a gentle tan, slowly losing its color – going pale again. HIs eye bags were saddening and as you stared in disbelief that he snapped at you like that. It’s truly painful to you. You understood he was busy, overly stressed trying to respond to more letters than possible every day. He needed to slow down though. He was driving himself crazy by not sleeping enough and not socially interacting only through letters.

He sat silent after his little snap, he sighs as immediate guilt crept over him and he looked at your expression. Never used to that, he never gets angry or upset with you, he always talks it out slowly, genuinely, lovingly. He had no idea what came over him, but now – staring at you – his beautiful, tender-loving girlfriend who he probably just startled by yelling at – was eyes-wide and arms folded. 

“Baby, I’m so, so sorry – I didn’t mean…” His apology is delayed when you walk off to the bedroom. He rubs his aching face, then combs his fingers through his curls and stands – finally. After hours. He swallows a lump in his throat as he makes his way back to your shared room and leans against the doorframe. “Look, baby…”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Lu.” Your voice is muffled by the way you lay against the pillow – facing away from the door. “Look – I didn’t mean to snap at you okay? I’m really stressed right now… That’s not an excuse though, I should never yell at you, bellissima.” He murmurs, sitting beside your feet at the edge of the bed, his weight sinks the mattress awkwardly. His hand reaches out, lanky fingers wrap around your leg and he gives it a squeeze through the fabric of your pajama pants. When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw, he has no idea what to do other than to give you attention. He should’ve done it before, never ignored you, he felt horrible.

“I’m so, so sorry princess.” He whispers, crawling up on the bed behind you. He snaked his arms around your waist, his breath heats the side of your neck as he begins peppering kisses right there. All he knew was he wasn’t letting either of you go to bed until you were happy again. He squishes your back against his front. “Dolcezza,” he sighs, “Please talk to me.”

You shake your head slowly, he kisses your jawline. “You’re my princess,” his breath tickles your skin. “I’m gonna make time for you, I shouldn’t prioritize anything else in the world over you, my love. Even cheesy letters.” He says, you turn onto your back and he immediately grins, the corners of his lips turn up, his cheeks blush every time he sees that pretty face of yours. He inches towards you, resting his chin in the valley between your breasts, harmlessly.

He flaps and flutters his big hazel eyes, those flawless lashes – like a new puppy. “Oh fine, you big baby.” You smile, but his smile’s brighter. He leans up and plants his plump rosy lips against yours. “So treacherous.” His eyes meet yours again.

You squint and raise a brow, “Was that a Taylor Swift reference?”

“Maybe.”

“You actually like Taylor Swift!”

“All too well.” He says cheekily.