27

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

—

He’d barely mentioned it.

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

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

He never thought he’d make it to 27.

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

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

You just woke up early.

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

—

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

You weren’t sad.

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

He was here.

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

—

He came out of the bedroom quiet.

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

He froze.

“…Did you do all this?”

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

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

You didn’t rush him.

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

“I’m proud of you,” you said quietly.

His eyes dropped.

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

For a long time, he didn’t speak.

And then

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

His voice cracked on the last word.

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

And you just held him.

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

—

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

Not for him.

For you.

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

You just offered your hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You really want to dance?”

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

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

“I feel like I’m dreaming.”

You smiled into his cheek.

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

—

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

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

You ran your fingers through his curls.

“I know.”

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

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

You shook your head.

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

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

—

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

He just needed you.

And he had you.

Completely.

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

More Posts from Luigisbambinaaa and Others

luigisbambinaaa

2 months ago

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luigisbambinaaa

2 months ago

his arms wait im gonna cum

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luigisbambinaaa

2 months ago

holy hands, unholy acts

notes: wanted to bless you all with this priest luigi oneshot before i go to bed ;) also this is for @luigisbambinaaa since they gave me the idea for it in the first place and also to my other fellow priest luigi fan @fligniuz

warnings: smut, handjob (m) receiving

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the chapel hums with stillness, the air heavy with the musk of forbidden want as you guide father luigi to a shadowed pew at the rear. his cassock is already bunched up, his thick cock straining against his briefs, twitching as you push him down onto the creaking wood.

his eyes dart to the saints illuminated by the stained glass, then focus on you, pupils wide with shame and craving. your hand slips beneath the cloth, fingers wrapping around his throbbing length, warm and slick with precum, and he stifles a ragged moan, gripping the bible you throw into his shaking hands.

“read to me, father.” you purr, voice oozing with command, your strokes slow and teasing as you glide along his shaft, thumb brushing the swollen, leaking tip. “psalm 51, right now.”

he swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking, and begins, voice unsteady, “have mercy on me, o god, according to your unfailing love…” his words falter as you squeeze tighter, sliding down his length with deliberate care, drawing a choked whine from his throat. his head tips back, and you pause abruptly, fingers lingering just above his dripping head, leaving him gasping.

“keep going, father. or i’ll stop.” you say, voice low and commanding, watching his cock twitch in the faint light.

he nods, frantic, sweat glistening on his forehead, and presses on, “wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin…” his voice quivers as you resume, stroking with a slow, sinful rhythm, the wet, lewd sound mingling with his broken verses.

he stumbles through, “create in me a pure heart, o god…” hips twitching as you twist your hand, pumping faster, his precum slicking your fingers. he gasps, words failing, and you freeze again, pulling away, leaving him whining, “n-no, please sister!”

“finish it father, be good.” you demand, eyes sharp with dominance, and he scrambles to obey, voice cracking over.

“and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.”

you smirk, rewarding him with a relentless pace, hand racing over his engorged cock until his hips jolt, a raw, desperate cry bursting from him as he cums hot, thick spurts coating your hand, dripping down his shaft. he slumps back, bible hitting the floor, a shattered ruin of guilt and submission in the holy shadows.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

this is not the full fic omg i just had to get this out of my system coz im half asleep and priest luigi WILL NOT LEAVE MY MIND.

previous work

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luigisbambinaaa

1 month ago

Luigi being married to a Latina? Two cultures coming together.

Married Life with Luigi HCs

content warning: brief mentions of sex, breeding

an: hi! i saw you sent two separate asks about married life with Luigi and also him being married to a Latina so i decided to combine both! Hope you enjoy! i had to rewrite this so many times lol. where my latina luigi girls at tho??? ❤️

——————

• has his eyes stuck on you the entire wedding. your lips, hands, your laugh— he’s in awe

• loves seeing you use his last name on everything— new IDs, reservations, forms, even packages

• loves calling you mrs. mangione in private and in public

• every time he sees your wedding band, he can’t help but toy with it— letting his thumb brush over it and bring your hand up to press a kiss

• cums all over your wedding band at least once to mark you, “all mine. my fucking last name on you now.”

• buys the cringiest mr & mrs mugs, insisting you guys use them

• updates your contact name to “my wife ❤️”

•absolutely loves introducing you like, “this is my wife, my girl, mrs. mangione.”

• goes straight to hug and kiss you after a long day of work whispering a little “missed you so much baby”

• literally falls even more in love hearing you speak spanish, gets so turned on hearing you scold him in spanish

• secretly LOVES being called papi no matter if casual or sexual

^ reminds me of our girl lujajaja saying he’s probably be so turned on hearing you say “ay Que rico papi” in bed (miss her sm)

• imagine him picking up your slang to match your energy like “que rico mami”

• definitely LOVES being around your family and learns the little traditions like greeting and hugging everybody when arriving at a get together

• i feel like he’d have SO much fun going back to your home country and meeting your extended family and exploring there

• just like the italian pet names, he’d start using names like bebe, amor, mi vida, princesa

• this man ALWAYS has his hands on you no matter where you’re at

• def gives you kisses before leaving for work no matter how late he is or if you’re asleep

• gets sooo hard hearing you refer to him as “my husband”

• he def texts you throughout his work day like “hope you’re having a good day baby, can’t wait to see you tonight” or “can’t wait to come home and bend u over the mattress”

• he’d def start teasing you about trying for babies, “let me fill you up real good tonight baby. lets make it official”

• you going to bed in nothing but his oversized tees and it ruins him. all like “God, baby, you look so fucking good in my clothes” and then him bending you over the bed mumbling “gotta take care of my pretty wife”

weak for you

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

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

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

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

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

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

his fingers move quickly as he types back.

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

luigi: what are you doing right now? :)

a few seconds pass before another buzz.

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

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

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

luigi: oh yeah? can i see? ;)

just a few minutes later…

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you’re an evil, evil woman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

luigi has always loved fucking you from behind.

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

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

then, he gets an idea.

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

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

he hits send.

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

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

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

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

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

you: i love you baby

you: facetime me now ;)