Luigisbambinaaa - Bambinaaa

okay wait imagine ur little baby girl learning to talk but not even talking yet more just babbling; who gets teary-eyed and frustrated when u don’t understand her sometimes but lu is actually weirdly good at deciphering baby babble and has full on conversations w her bc in all the books he’s read it says how important that is for their development and own language skills… would love how talkative she is like i think he would find it rlly amazing the process/journey of communicating w ur babies AH.

legal team part one luigi mangione x reader

summary working on luigi mangione’s legal team has its benefits

warnings unedited, I do not like this hair on luigi and speak about it 2x, rpf haters are not gonna like this one, surprisingly safe for work

he doesn’t see you every week.

meetings with his attorney are rare enough. meetings where you’re there too—sitting off to the side with your notepad, eyes lowered—are even rarer. still, he notices you every time. how careful you are. how you listen without pretending to. how you somehow make the cold concrete room feel a little less dead.

he remembers the first time you walked in: frostbitten, soft-spoken and sweet. you were bundled up in a heavy coat, scarf loose around your neck, hair tangled from the wind. you looked too soft for this place. too alive.

his attorney—well, she insists he just call her karen now—she notices. she makes these meetings feel less like depositions and more like conversations. she listens closely, looks for patterns. she sees the way his eyes flicker when you’re mentioned, how they lose focus when someone else enters the room. she caught the way his jaw tensed when she introduced him to her senior paralegal. the way his shoulders dropped, relieved, when she reassured him you weren’t gone—just reassigned, temporarily, to a different stack of documents.

“y/n isn’t here this week,” she says gently, like it might break him.

luigi blinks. he hadn’t even sat down yet. “sorry?”

“she’s still on the case,” karen says pointedly.

the hazel-haired boy sits stiff in his seat. he should be offended—should feel insulted that his attorney finds it necessary to clarify something so trivial, so far from the gravity of his trial. his greatest anxieties should be occupied with the outcome, the press, the sentence hanging over his head like a blade.

but they aren’t.

his fingers twitch against the leather of the chair. he doesn’t look at karen when he asks, voice quieter than before, “so she’ll be back?”

karen nods. “next week, maybe sooner. depends on how fast the paperwork clears.”

he leans back, but only slightly. eyes drift to the window behind her desk—rain tapping gently against the glass like it’s trying to pull him out of the room. he can almost picture you in it. red scarf, crooked smile, hands too small for the amount of documents you had to carry. the soft clumsiness of someone not built for law offices and depositions, but for poetry, maybe. for gardens. for late afternoons with nothing scheduled.

“good,” he murmurs.

she re-arranges the paperwork in front of her, glances at him. “from what i read, you two went to penn together?”

he nods once.

“same year?”

“she graduated early.”

karen nods, making a note in the margin of the document in front of her. “that tracks. she struck me as someone who doesn’t waste time. sharp, efficient. very focused.”

luigi lifts one shoulder in a shrug. avoids her eyes. “we weren’t friends,” he says quietly. the first piece of his real life he’s given up in weeks. “i TA’d for one of her classes.”

karen’s smile comes smally. it’s cute, she thinks. and undoubtedly useful.

“i’ve worked with women like her,” she goes on. “sharp, composed, polite on the surface—but give them a red pen and a narrow margin and they’ll eat you alive. i’d bet she rewrote half your comments.”

a faint smile flickers across his face, the kind that men of his class fight to hide.

“you’re aware, of course, that casual conversation is permitted,” karen says, tone returning to a neutral cadence.

he looks at her now, uncertain.

“with her,” she clarifies. “should she return. which she will. next week.”

he doesn’t respond, but she sees the way his jaw shifts.

karen nods, satisfied. “just thought i’d mention it. in case you were under the impression that you had to admire her silently.”

the next week, karen is back—with her daughter in her place, the senior paralegal. she’s grown on luigi more than he expected. he likes the way her hair is always curled like she’s got somewhere to be after this, and the way she talks back to her mother. in a lot of ways, they’re similar. she knows how to talk to people. she knows how to talk to him.

the rain hasn’t let up all month. it swallows the edges of new york, turns the windows into blurred watercolor, makes the concrete sweat, seeps into his bones even though he hasn’t stepped outside in weeks. it makes the bad days worse. heavier. slower.

they’re mid-review when karen needs to step out for a phone call. he slumps back in his chair and sighs without realizing.

“bored?” sofia, the paralegal, asks, not looking up from the file.

“no,” he says. then, “yeah.”

she snorts softly. “we could ask the court to make the evidence more entertaining.”

“maybe add a soundtrack.”

“sure. live orchestra. i’ll have my father write the motion.”

luigi almost smiles.

she gives him a once-over. almost looks unimpressed. “you’ve let your hair grow out.”

he shrugs. “not much to do about it in here.”

“well, you’re about three inches taller now. we’ll have to update your profile. or adjust the lighting so the media doesn’t notice the awful new hair.”

he exhales through his nose. “very nice.”

and then—

the doors open.

soft voice, familiar cadence, gentle thank you’s to the guards as you step inside, coat dripping at the sleeves, coffee in hand like a peace offering.

“sorry i’m late,” you say, breath still uneven from the run. “you’ll never believe what happened on the train before this—“

luigi doesn’t say anything right away. he barely registers what you’re even saying. he just watches as you tug the scarf loose from your neck, tuck your damp hair behind one ear, offer that half-smile you give when you’re tired but trying.

“you made it,” sofia says. “thank god. our client was getting dramatic.”

you glance at the table, doe-eyed and sweet. “mr. mangione?”

“he sighed like four times,” she says. the two share a glance, where luigi feels himself glaring. surely this was confirmation this family gossips about him at the dinner table.

sofia smiles in his face, a glimmer of mischief sparkling in her chocolate brown eyes. “if there’s ever a tell-all, i’ll make sure the section about your terrible attitude is thorough.”

“i sighed once,” luigi mutters.

the paralegal nods. “yeah. loud enough for me to count it four different ways.”

you draw your presence closer and hold out your hand. a cup of coffee.

“it’s cold. but it’s yours.”

he takes it, fingers brushing yours. he didn’t like coffee, but he liked the gesture. the idea of you going out of your way for him—stepping off the train in the rain, weaving through the checkpoint, explaining yourself to two bored guards just to get through the door and hand him something warm—did something to him. something soft. something stupid.

he smiles up at you. “i’m sure it’s better than anything i can get in here.”

sofia wants to laugh, but doesn’t. she lingers by the table a second longer than necessary, pretending to run through her notes.

“actually,” she says, too suddenly to be believable, “i need to step out. quick call.”

luigi doesn’t look up. “to who?”

“clerk’s office.”

you glance at her. “you already spoke to them this morning.”

“right. well, something might’ve changed.”

“since an hour ago?”

“these people are unpredictable,” she says with a shrug, already slinging her bag over her shoulder. “besides, you’ve got time.”

before you can respond, she’s halfway out, nodding at you, “it’s good you’re back. he’s nicer when you are.”

then she’s gone.

he watches you peel your coat off—slowly, like it’s sticking to your sleeves—and drape it over the back of the chair. you shake the rain from your hair. it clings to your collarbone, a little frizzy from the weather. your pretty eyes wash over his tired face.

“karen said you were a little miserable last week.”

“those women talk too much,” he murmurs. luigi then takes a sip of the coffee, hoping it’ll give him something to do with his hands, but it’s cold. watery. he grimaces.

you arch a brow, sifting through the mountain of documents in front of you. “you mean the ones building your defense?”

he exhales through a crooked smile.

“alright. they talk just enough.”

you take a pause to watch over his expression. “did you want something else?”

“what?”

“you don’t like the coffee?”

“it’s fine.”

“there are vending machines outside—”

luigi takes another swing of the coffee. it’s terrible. “really,” he tells you. “it’s fine.”

“you’re making a face.”

“this is my grateful face.”

you laugh, short and real. it knocks the air out of him, a little.

“that’s your grateful face?” you ask.

“what, you don’t like it?”

“it’s alarming.” you say, teasing. “almost as alarming as your new hairstyle.”

he immediately runs his fingers through his chaos of light brown curls, self-conscious now. “you noticed?”

“how could i not?” you say, already reaching for one of the papers, your eyes flicking over the page like this is just another tuesday. like this—being here with him—is ordinary. he watches you, struck by how easily you settle into the space, how you speak to him like he’s just a man across a table, not a headline or a case file. something about that makes his chest ache a little.

luigi smiles, trying to make it seem like it’s no big deal, but he’s suddenly acutely aware of how unkempt he probably looks. “you think it’ll divide the jury?”

“i dunno, i liked it shorter,” you say, casual, distracted.

luigi nods. “i’ll let the barber know.”

the conversation lingers for a second longer than feels professional. he’s not sure if it’s the cold coffee in his hands or the way your eyes keep landing on him—steady, warm—but there’s a looseness in his chest he hasn’t felt in weeks.

“it’s… really good to see you,” he says, softer now.

your voice has that tired warmth he remembers—not from knowing you, not really, but from watching you closely enough to wish he had.

“yeah,” you reply softly, looking at him with a small smile. “good to see you too.”

the next week, the rain clears.

you arrive in the first minute of morning, your coat slipping off one shoulder, a soft crease still pressed into your cheek from your pillow. there’s a grogginess to your expression—half-lidded eyes, slow movements—that he finds endearing. he watches you walk in with a bundle cradled in your arms, and it takes him a second to realize it’s for him.

“good morning, mr. mangione,” you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep. his mouth lifts slightly at the sound of it. you’re the only one who still calls him that—no teasing, no irony. just soft and sincere, like you still believe in titles, in dignity.

“you know you’re the only person who calls me that,” he murmurs, watching you from under lowered lashes.

his chestnut brown hair is shorter now, clean at the neck, the mess finally tamed. you notice right away, your eyes flicking up as you set the clothes down on the table. the new cut brings out the angles of his face more—sharper jaw, clearer eyes—but there’s still something boyish in the way he looks at you.

your innocent eyes meet his, head tilted. “do you want me to stop?”

he shakes his head once. slow. deliberate. “no. i want you to say it again.”

your lips part slightly, caught off guard—not just by the words, but the way his eyes are on you now.

“we have people waiting, mr. mangione,” you decide on saying, sliding him the cloud of clothes. his fingers tighten around the bundle like he’s anchoring himself to it. he disappears behind the divider, the makeshift dressing area tucked in the corner of the room. you hear the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of the belt buckle. silence, mostly. then his voice, low but clear:

“you didn’t have to bring the tie.”

you smile. “they like it when you wear green.”

he chuckles under his breath. when he steps out, the shirt’s still slightly wrinkled, but it fits. the blazer straightens his posture. the tie—crooked. he frowns down at it, then at you.

“this is not my skill set,” he says.

you stand, stepping in front of him, fingers reaching to adjust it. he goes very still. you tug it straight, tighten the knot gently, smoothing the line of fabric down his chest. he’s watching you the whole time. his eyes aren’t sharp anymore—they’re soft. warmer than you remember.

“better,” you say.

“i like when you do that,” he says quietly.

you glance up, eyebrows raised. “tie your tie?”

“fix me.”

you smile. but you notice it. the air shifts between you—tightens. neither of you moves, but the tension grows sharp. your hands are still at his collar, and his gaze dips to your mouth, just for a second.

his eyes linger on you longer than is professional. there’s something about your face this morning—fresh and undone, your lips still pink from sleep, your eyes impossibly doe-like. they blink slowly, sweetly, and he wonders how it’s possible you look softer now than you did when he first saw you in the frost of december.

“you’re going to be late,” you say, clearing your throat.

“just one thing first,” he says, and before you can ask, he leans in—slowly, giving you the chance to stop him—but you don’t.

his hand curls firmly around your waist, the other finding your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your mouth before his lips replace it. he kisses like he’s starved for it—slow but deep, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees give a little. he feels it, steadies you with a hand at your hip, pulling you closer, pressing into you like the taste of your mouth is something he doesn’t want to lose.

you gasp softly into him, but he doesn’t pull back. just breathes it in, groaning quietly when your fingers tangle in the short hair at the back of his neck.

you’re heat and rain and tension in his hands. everything about you is soft but decisive—the way your hips press into his, the way you lift your head and open up under him, the way your skin flushes like it’s just for him.

“you cut your hair,” you breathe against him, lips swollen and glazed.

he brushes his nose against yours, smirking. “you hate it?”

“it’s terrible,” you joke.

“yeah?” he murmurs, mouth skimming your jaw, voice rough. “still kissing me, though.”

you laugh, quiet and shaky, breath hot on his throat. he pulls back enough to look at you—just look. your eyes are glassy and soft and a little dazed. doe-like. he’s never seen anything sweeter.

“how late can i be?” he asks.

“i’d prefer if you didn’t make me explain the delay to a room full of cameras,” you say, pouting.

he laughs, but it’s soft, breath still mingled with yours. “we’ll have to be quick then,” he says smoothly, warm hands wandering. “you’re gonna have to work with me here.”

askbox

palm’s masterlist

fluff - 𐙚 smut - ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

── .✦ headcanons: virgin lu headcanons ;) , husband lu headcanons , honeymoon with lu headcanons , shy college bf lu headcanons , girldad lu headcanons

── .✦ moodboards: priest luigi moodboard

── .✦ drabbles/oneshots: holy hands, unholy acts ࣪ ִֶָ☾. , sunday morning ࣪ ִֶָ☾. , soft haven 𐙚

── .✦ fics

- bliss 𐙚

- weak for you ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

- cyber sex (weak for you part 2) ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

- cherry (weak for you part 3) ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

- bent over the table ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

- haunting you ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

- outage ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

😩😩😩😩

imagine letting Luigi push your breasts together with his giant hands while he makes that phd do a wet-and-wild disappearing act in the cleavage... and you kitten lick his tip every time it gets close to your mouth 💚🌼

Ohh anon I love!!!

he’s holding your tits tight, knuckles white, trying to keep them pressed around him while his hips stutter and his breathing gets messy. you’re barely touching him, just slow, soft licks every time the tip slides close enough. deliberate. playful. cruel in the sweetest way.he keeps trying to hold eye contact but he can’t. he’s twitching, leaking, biting back whimpers. every time you lick him, his whole body reacts like it’s too much. like he’s not built for this. like you’re the only one who’s ever touched him like this loved him like this, and when he finally loses it? it’s quiet. drawn out. his mouth opens but nothing comes out. just a gasp, a moan, and the sound of his body giving up under your hands.

raaaahhh he looks so italian in this pic….my bby

luigi at the phi kappa psi initiation (2018)

Mana indulge with me for a second and just imagine his orgasm face AYYYYY SANTO DIOS MÍO 😫😫 imagine that stunning face as he cums ahhhhh

That man’s orgasm face??

Una obra de arte.

That sharp jaw clenched, his lips parted just enough to let out those ragged, desperate moans. Eyes fluttering shut, then flying open when it hits him hard, like he didn’t expect you to ruin him like that. His brows knit together like he’s in pain from how good it feels. His hand tight on your hip or your throat or the back of your head, holding on for dear life.

And the sounds?

That low, “fuck, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop,” turns into a strangled gasp, maybe even your name, maybe even a prayer whispered in Italian as he loses it inside you.And then….then…..he stays buried deep, twitching, panting, whispering, “Santo cielo… cazzo, ti amo tanto…” because it’s not just his body that gave out, it’s his soul.

I had to think of what exactly i wanted to say to this Because dear Jesus I saw this earlier before I fell asleep again and had to dream about this .

Omg.

omg I saw this post and immediately drafted something… here’s a lil drabble ^_^ credit to the anon because I’ve stolen your idea and turned it into this :’)

@diors002 I love you because I can’t stop thinking about that picture of him looking up..

🍓

NSFW: p in v sex during second trimester of pregnancy, breastfeeding, lactation kink

The night had been slow and dreamy, one of those evenings where everything just felt perfect. After work, Luigi had cradled you in his arms as you cooked dinner, all broad shoulders and warm hands, voice soft and soothing as he told you about his day.

You fed him lasagna — simple enough, but he moaned like it was gourmet because his wife had made it. Afterward, he sat on the couch with your swollen feet in his lap, strong hands kneading gently, eyes drifting to your bump and your chest with that look that hadn’t left his face in months: awe, pride, hunger.

Eventually, the two of you had moved to the bedroom.

Now you’re here, on top of him, slowly rocking your hips, swollen belly rising and falling between you both. The sheets pool around your waist. Your body is flushed and glowing, dim light golden across your skin. His hands are everywhere — palming your ass, stroking your thighs, but mostly… your breasts.

He’s obsessed. Has been for weeks.

Luigi groans softly, mouth hot and open over one of your nipples, sucking lazily, like he could stay there forever. “They’re so full, baby,” he breathes, voice muffled. “So heavy.”

You giggle breathlessly, fingers threading through his curls. “Feels good — they’ve been so sore.”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling deeper.

He kisses down, then sucks again, harder now. You gasp, rocking a little faster, your body aching and oversensitive in all the right ways.

And then— suddenly you feel it. A warm, soft pressure… then a trickle. Luigi pauses. Freezes, actually.

He pulls back a little and blinks. You both glance down at the same time where a small wet patch glistens on your nipple.

Your eyes widen. “Oh—”

Luigi’s mouth falls open a little. He looks stunned. A drop of milk glistens on his bottom lip. His hazel eyes dart up to you — doe-eyed, boyish, totally gone.

“Luigi, what…” you start, breath catching. “What is — did I just…?”

His cock twitches inside you. Hard.

And instead of finding it strange and pulling away — he moans.

Then he leans back in. And sucks even harder.

You gasp, completely dumbfounded, hands on his shoulders as he latches on like it’s the most natural, necessary thing in the world. He’s all flushed and breathless and his hands are gripping your hips tighter, rolling them against his lap again like he can’t decide what he wants more — your tits or your pussy.

“Luigi—” you whisper, shocked and turned on and slightly overwhelmed. “What are you doing?”

He looks up at you, lips wet and pink, milk at the corner of his mouth, eyes half-lidded and reverent. “Tastes good,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Perfect, bambina… so sweet.”

You just gaze down at him, mouth slightly open, thighs trembling.

And then you bounce again, slow and deep, watching his pupils dilate as he cups your breasts, mouth returning to suck at the other nipple like he needs it.

The mix of sensation — your body filled, your chest heavy and leaking, his cock twitching inside you — it’s overwhelming in the best way.

You moan, breathless, hands tugging at his curls now. “Fuck, Lu — that’s it, baby, ‘m so sensitive.”

He just hums against your skin, the noise vibrating against the nipple he’s currently attending to.

“I want this with you forever. Wanna give you more of my babies. Stay buried in you. Taste you like this and keep you full.”

You shiver, overstimulated and melting.

This becomes your thing together. After a long day, when he’s tired, craving his wife, and you’re sore and achy, you’ll ride him in the comfort of your bedroom, nestled in the sheets as he sucks from you. He eases the needy and uncomfortable ache, nourishing himself equally in such deep intimacy.

For your eyes only

The door shut behind him with a quiet click.

Luigi hadn’t been home in seven days,his family needed him, work dragged him across the city, and he missed her so bad he’d jacked off in a hotel shower more than once just thinking about her thighs around his head,but nothing, nothing prepared him for what he walked into. Red light spilled out from the bedroom, casting shadows up the hallway. The house smelled like vanilla musk and something darker,something feral.Music pulsed low from the speakers. Shakira, She Wolf. He squinted into the glow.

And then he saw her.

Hair twisted up like a crown, heels strapped tight, red lace stretched across her body like it had been painted on. The lingerie was obscene,thin ribbons framing her curves, sheer mesh between her thighs, nipples barely hidden behind lace and tension. She stood in front of a pole.

No greeting.

No kiss.

Just a glare tossed over her shoulder. He dropped his duffel bag without blinking.

“Babe,” he breathed.

“Sit,” she snapped.

He obeyed. Chair. Corner of the room. She moved toward the mirror like she owned the night. He could barely keep his hands from shaking.She gripped the pole and,spun,slow, controlled, thighs tight, hips rolling with unholy precision. She didn’t break eye contact. Not once. Her reflection stared him down, dragging her fingers along the inside of her own thigh. Then she bent forward, the lace stretching across her ass, and slid into a split like she was born for it.

Luigi’s throat dried.

“You didn’t think I’d learn while you were gone?” she murmured, barely audible over the music. “Did you think I’d sit here waiting? All soft? All obedient?”

“Jesus,” he rasped.

“I’ve been patient. Good. Cooking. Folding. Moaning when you asked.”

She turned. Bent backward until her hair grazed the floor. “And what did I get for it? A kiss over FaceTime and some promises.”

He swallowed, hard. “I missed you.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” she said, deadpan, strutting toward him now. “You don’t get to touch me just because you missed me.”

She dropped to her knees in front of him. Ran one single finger up the length of his thigh. Watched him twitch. Then pulled back.

“I could come right now. Make myself do it. Wouldn’t even need you.”

His jaw clenched.

“You wouldn’t.”

She stood again. Turned around. Bent over in front of the mirror and slid her hand under the lace. Just like that. Luigi’s chair scraped against the floor.He was behind her in two strides, grabbing her wrist and wrenching her back against his chest. But she fought. Elbow to his ribs. Knee against his thigh. She writhed like something untamable, and all he could do was hold on.

“You don’t get to play with me and act surprised when I break the game,” he growled into her ear.

“I told you not to touch me,” she hissed. “Want me? Earn it.”

He shoved her against the mirror.

And she smiled.

That was the moment he snapped. He grabbed her jaw and kissed her like a punishment, rough, teeth and tongue, hand pressing her chest against the glass. His other hand yanked her lace aside, fingers slipping between her legs.

“Already wet?” he hissed. “All that teasing just for me?”

“For me,” she spat back. “I got myself like this.”

He bit her shoulder. Hard. And she moaned. Nails scraped down the mirror. Her reflection was flushed, wild-eyed, mouth open. She looked like she was ready to kill him or ride him until he begged. He freed himself from his sweats with one hand, lining up behind her, grabbing her hips like they were the last things tethering him to sanity.

“No more games,” he muttered.

“No promises,” she shot back.

And then he pushed in. Her gasp cracked open the room. He slid in slow,thick, pulsing, deep, and she shuddered, forehead pressed to the mirror. He paused only when he bottomed out, letting her feel just how much he missed her.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “You’re so—tight—”

She rolled her hips back. “Then do something about it.”

He did.

Thrust after thrust, harder, deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room. Her red lace was pushed aside, twisted around her thighs, his hand tangled in the straps like reins. She stared at herself in the mirror while he wrecked her, biting her own lip, dragging her fingers over her nipples until he knocked her hand away.

“That’s mine,” he growled. “All of you is mine.”

She laughed,wild and breathless.

“Then take it.”

He lifted her leg onto the mirror ledge and pounded up into her, teeth at her neck, nails clawing into her hip. She threw her head back and bit him,right on the trap. He jerked, groaned, fucked her harder.

“I missed this pussy,” he muttered. “I missed how you fight me for it.”

“You never win,” she spat.

“You let me win.”

And then she tightened,legs trembling, walls pulsing around him,and he lost it. Drove into her with reckless desperation until he was snarling, buried deep, coming so hard he saw stars. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, chest heaving. They stayed like that for a moment. Breathless. Sweaty. Shaking. Then she turned her head and licked the blood off his lip.

He stared at her. Completely gone.

“I’m not soft,” she whispered.

He kissed her again. Slower this time.

“I know,” he said. “But you’re mine.”

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

The apartment smelled like sex, sweat, and her perfume. Sunlight filtered in through the half-closed blinds, slanting across the floorboards in sleepy gold stripes. The music had long stopped. The mirror was still smudged with her fingerprints. The red lace she’d worn lay crumpled near the base of the pole like a dead thing,thoroughly used, ripped at the hip, damp with everything they couldn’t say out loud. Luigi lay flat on his back in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other reaching toward the empty side of the mattress.

She was gone.

A second later, he heard the soft clink of a mug on the kitchen counter and the pad of bare feet on hardwood. Then, her voice, smug and slow.

“You’re limping.”

He cracked one eye open and turned his head. There she stood his fucking nightmare in disguise,wearing nothing but his black UPenn hoodie, hood up, legs bare, sipping from a “Bite Me” coffee mug like she hadn’t broken him in half twelve hours ago. Her neck was marked. Her thighs looked sore. But she walked like a queen after conquest.He groaned and let his arm drop. “You bit me.

“You liked it.”

“You tried to draw blood.”

“I did draw blood.”

He sat up and immediately winced. She raised her brows. “Aww, baby’s sore?”

He looked down at his chest,bruises on his collarbone, tiny teeth marks near his shoulder. His abs hurt. His thighs ached. His ego was nowhere to be found.She turned away, giving him a full view of her bare ass peeking out under the hem of his hoodie, and opened the fridge.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice still hoarse from last night, “what the fuck was that?”

She leaned on the counter, sipped her coffee, and licked a drip from her bottom lip. “What? The pole? The mirror? The biting? The way you begged me not to come without you watching?He dragged a hand down his face. “Yes. All of it.”

She looked over her shoulder, eyes gleaming. “That was me being nice.”

He laughed,soft and disbelieving. “I was gonna make you dinner. Light some candles. Be sweet.”

“You were gone for a week,” she said, setting her mug down. “I needed to remind you what you were missing.”

“You think I forgot?”

“You didn’t forget,” she said, walking slowly toward him now, “but I needed you to feel it.”

She climbed onto the bed, straddling him before he could sit up fully. He looked up at her, hands on her thighs, hood still framing her face like a halo.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.She leaned down, lips brushing his. “You like danger.”

He kissed her, deep and slow, both hands grabbing her ass now, grinding her against him lazily.

“Don’t tease,” she warned. “Unless you want round two right now.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re serious.”

Her smile was all teeth.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” he said, kissing the curve of her jaw.

“You’ll need to carry me to the kitchen first.”

“You didn’t seem so helpless last night.”

She rocked her hips into his slowly, and his breath caught.

“I let you win,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Yeah, baby. I know.”

And when she bit his lip again, slow and soft, he realized something….She was still hungry,and he was never leaving again.

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

Last fic for the weekend maybe (:

this is an ask that @luigisbambinaaa wrote about priest luigi, tumblr won’t let me respond the proper way so i’m just gonna paste it down below

“okay okay i told you i wanted to try to write something sooo here it is..

imagine getting father luigi to tittyfuck you.. like i mean it isn't necessarily penetration so technically it isn't bad.. lemme add

it starts off very innocent, you're a new church goer and are entranced by the young hot father delivering the sermons on Sundays and eventually work up the courage to ask for private Bible studies in your softest and innocent voice— knowing your thoughts are anything but...

father luigi WANTS to believe so badly there isn't any malice behind your intentions.. he tells himself he's helping you be saved..

But weeks in.. not having him gets unbearable.. you ogle him from the other side of his desk, wear your glossiest lipstick, and not so subtly lean forward so he gets glimpses of your tits in your tight dresses.

Tonight though things were going to be different and you were going to make a move.. you sit closer to him and your scent has luigi dizzy.

"Father... isn't sin all about being intentional?" you start, feigning innocence and confusion..

He blinks and tilts his head your way, "I—yeah i guess it is."

"So if something doesn't necessarily cross certain lines...then it isn't really considered sinning is it?", you bite your lip as you wait for his response.

Luigi with his heart racing replies, "Wh-What lines are we talking about..?"

Your smile grows at his flustered response and you stand in between his legs slowly and teasing. Your hands moving to the buttons of your dress as you begin to unbutton them and father luigi doesn't stop you. i mean he was so entranced by you he couldn't bring himself to.

"So we wouldn't be doing anything wrong then.. not if you don't really fuck me.." You say as you free your tits from your dress and push them together to tease him.

father luigi lets a shaky breath leave his mouth.

"You wouldn't necessarily be the one sinning if i helped you ease that ache you feel father."

he lets out a choked gasp at this before saying "baby.. we— we shouldn't-*

but you're already sinking to your knees in front of him, pushing up his cassock and freeing him from his boxers, placing his dick between your plush tits. his protests turning into little whines and whimpers as he gets used to the warmth of your chest.

"let me help you father..." you whisper as you pump his hard dick between your tits, already slick with spit and his precum. "shhhh... i won't tell anyone father... it isn't really a sin if you don't put it in me."

his head falling back at this and his hands grip the edge of his seat, trying to anchor himself.

You start slow at first, then squeezing your tits together a little tighter, still sliding his length through and watching his face contort with pleasure and trying to hold back his moans.

"Feels good right father?" you ask him, now moving a bit faster. "You're doing so good for me.."

His whines and whimpers were coming out broken now. Lost in the pleasure he had been so long deprived of- his hips jerking to meet your tits despite his earlier protests. He was chasing that sweet, sinful release.

"Please.. I-" father luigi gasps, "I'm-I'm gonna- oh fuck.."

"that's it... cum for me father.." you purred and licked over his swollen head the moment it peaked out the top of your tits. "Cum for me father, i want your cum, show me how good my tits make you feel.""

It didn't take much longer after that, with a loud cry and trembling, father luigi cums all over your tits, hot and messy white. he's left breathless and wrecked above you.

and then when his eyes finally open again, though dazed. you take the opportunity to smile up at him and say,

"See?" As you lick some of his cum off your bottom lip, "not a sin at allil!"

okay l've literally never written anything like this before so I'm sorry if it was shittyyyyy but i have other ideas like jealous priest lu watching u flirt with another church goer if anyone's interested :P okayyy byeee”

my response: oh my god this is absolutely FUCKING PERFECT priest luigi would want you sooo bad like he’d be struggling to control himself around you, the more you continue showing up to church the more he’d wanna give in to his desires 😣😣