Why Isn't He Free And Receiving Sloppy Head From Hundreds Of Thousands Of Grateful People

luigi and traveling to Latin America is a need 😣

Latiendo por ti

They were supposed to be off the grid,two weeks away from everything. No alarms. No deadlines. No noise.Just sun. Sweat. And each other.But he hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected her like this. Luigi leaned against the sun-warmed wall of a faded coral building, hands tucked in his pockets, sweat gathering at the base of his neck. Across the street, she was laughing with the old woman at the arepa cart, speaking Spanish so quickly it sounded like singing. Her hands moved just as much as her mouth, and her voice rose and dipped like a melody.

He didn’t understand a word.

But God, he understood her.

A tu manera, descomplicado,

en una bici que te lleve a todos lados…

The lyric drifted from a nearby radio. Someone had the volume up. He recognized the song now,it had been playing in different corners of this town since they got here. On balconies. In taxis. In little shops packed with fruit. The rhythm always the same. Joyful. Free. She turned and waved him over, barefoot again, hair wild and windblown.

“Bebé—come try this! Es como el de mi mamá.”

He blinked. “You said… this is like your mom’s?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “And also that if you don’t come eat it, I’m gonna give it to someone else.”

“Rude,” he muttered, crossing the street.

She handed him the arepa with a proud little smile, and he kissed her cheek, still warm from the sun. He took a bite, and closed his eyes.

“Oh my god.”

“I told you.” She looked smug.

“No, seriously. I don’t even know what this is. But I want ten.”

“That’s what happens when you trust me.”

“You’re impossible,” he mumbled, full-mouthed.

“And you are lucky I love you.” She bumped her hip into his. “Even if you still say ‘arepa’ like you’re ordering a spell.”

He groaned.

“Una cartica que yo guardo donde te escribí…”

The lyrics spilled from the same speaker.

She hummed along without thinking, the song clearly embedded in her bones.

“What’s that part mean?” he asked.

She glanced at him, surprised. “You actually wanna know?”

“I mean… it’s been stuck in my head for three days.”

She stepped closer, slipping her fingers through his. “It means… ‘a little letter that I keep where I wrote to you…about how I dream of you, and how I love you so much.’”

Luigi didn’t say anything. Just stared at her like his chest had been split open.

“Jesus,” he whispered finally. “That’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” she said quietly. “Trying to keep up in this world that isn’t yours.”

“I’m not keeping up,” he admitted. “I’m just… watching you. And hoping I don’t mess up anyone’s name again.”

She laughed. “You’re doing good. My tía likes you. My primos think you’re exotic.”

“I’m exotic?”

“Yeah. With your white boy Italian Spanish and your confused face.”

He dragged a hand down his jaw, mock offended. “That’s cold.”

“Latiendo por ti…”

The chorus hit again.

She leaned up, whispered: “That means ‘my heart beats for you.’”

His throat went tight.

That night, they rode bikes down the edge of the coast. Hers was a turquoise cruiser with a little basket in front. His was borrowed from her cousin and squeaked every time he turned left. They passed mango vendors, kids playing with string balls, and palm trees swaying like they were part of the rhythm.

The sky was painted with the last blush of day, the ocean shimmering beside them.

“Race me to the pier?” she shouted.

“You’re gonna lose,” he called back, already pedaling.

She caught up, cursing him in Spanish,half of which he didn’t understand but all of which made him want her more.

Puedo ser feliz caminando relajada entre la gente,

yo te quiero así y me gustas porque eres diferente…

They parked their bikes at the edge of the sand and ran down the dock barefoot, breathless and laughing. She stopped near the edge, chest heaving.

“You’re faster than I remember,” she panted.

“Muscle memory,” he smirked. “Also, I really wanted to kiss you.”

“Then do it.”

He did. Hard and full of salt and sweat and mango and need.

“You belong here,” he whispered into her mouth. “You’re a whole different person when you’re barefoot and dancing and bossing me around in Spanish.”

She kissed him back, deeper now. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever brought from home that fit better here.”

“Take me everywhere,” he breathed. “I wanna know every version of you.”

She tugged his shirt off. “And I want you,” she said, laying him down on the towel beneath the pier, the stars already burning above them, “in all of them.”

They moved together slow, in time with the sea. Her hips found his. Her lips found every inch of him. And when she leaned down and pressed her forehead to his, whispering “mi vida entera” like it meant everything—

He knew it did.

Later, she traced circles on his chest while the waves crashed and that same chorus played again in the distance.

Que hace rato está mi corazón,

latiendo por ti, latiendo por ti…

“You hear that?” she murmured.

He nodded. “I don’t understand all of it. But I think I get it.”

She smiled. “That’s enough.”

Because maybe he didn’t speak the language.

But he spoke her.

And her heart had been beating for him long before he ever knew the words.

_______________________________

Luigi wasn’t sure what time it was.The street had turned into a party.The music kicked up just as the sky went pink. There were paper streamers tied to the trees, a plastic table full of tamales and mango slices, and two speakers balanced on upside-down buckets. Her tío was on grill duty, her abuela was watching from a rocking chair, and kids were darting through the legs of grownups with juice dripping down their chins.

Luigi stood in the middle of it all,sweating, smiling, overwhelmed,and trying not to stare at her.

He failed.

She was dancing barefoot in the street, skirt twirling just above her thighs, sweat catching in the hollow of her throat. Her cousins clapped along, egging her on, but she was in her own little world. No choreography. No performance. Just the rhythm. She didn’t see herself. Not the way he did.

Ella es la favorita, la que canta en la zona…

The lyric slipped through the air, and it was like the song was singing about her.

She was the favorite. The one everybody knew. The one who made kids smile and old women laugh. The one who carried history in her laugh and sunshine in her skin.

Se mueve en su cadera como un barco en las olas…

Luigi couldn’t look away.

Her hips rolled with every beat like she was made of water. Her hair whipped around her face when she spun, and when she stopped,panting, glowing, wild…..she looked right at him like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Lu,” she called, cheeks flushed. “Come dance.”

“I don’t know how to dance to this,” he said, shaking his head.

“Just move.”

“I’ll embarrass myself.”

“You already do that every time you try to say Barranquilla.”

He huffed, but he was smiling, and when she reached for him, he came willingly. The music surrounded them, faster now, electric and alive.

Tiene los pies descalzos como un niño que adora…

He looked down. Her bare feet skimmed over the concrete like she was floating.

“You’re not real,” he murmured.

She raised a brow, teasing. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He swallowed. “Just… you don’t look real.”

Y sus cabellos largos son un sol que te antoja…

He couldn’t explain it. The way her hair stuck to the back of her neck. The way she didn’t shy away from the heat or the noise. The way the whole street turned to watch her without her even trying.

“You’re—” He shook his head. “You’re not just in your element. You are the element.”

She laughed, low and rich, and leaned in so only he could hear.

Le gusta que le digan que es la niña, la Lola…

“My tío used to call me La Lola when I was little,” she whispered, pulling him closer. “Said I danced like trouble.”

Luigi smirked. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Le gusta que la miren cuando ella baila sola…

“I’m not the only one watching,” he muttered, glancing around.

She tilted her head, lips brushing his ear. “Let them look.”

He almost lost it right then.

The chorus came back strong, and she grinded against him like it was instinct, like she already knew how to pull every sound out of him without lifting a finger.

“I want to say something cool in Spanish,” he gritted, trying to focus on the music and not the way her ass moved against him. “But all I know is, like, muy caliente and gracias.”

She laughed and bit her lip. “Muy caliente does work right now.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Le gusta más la casa, que no pasen las horas…

He pulled her in tighter.

“You wanna go home?” he asked, lips grazing her temple.

“I want to stay in this moment,” she said, chest rising and falling against his. “Forever.”

Le gusta Barranquilla, le gusta Barcelona…

The beat slowed, but neither of them let go.

“She likes Barranquilla,” he repeated, trying to catch the words, “and Barcelona?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “But I like you more.”

He kissed her then….deep and hot and full of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When they broke apart, the street was spinning with laughter, smoke, and music.

Luigi looked around, dazed.

“I feel like I just got possessed.”

“You did.” She ran her fingers through his curls. “By the rhythm. By me.”

“Mostly by you.”

She smiled. “You did good.”

“I didn’t even dance.”

“You moved with me. That’s all that matters.”

That night, when the party wound down and everyone was too full and too tired to keep the music going, she pulled him upstairs by the hand.

They stood in front of the fan, bodies sticky, still breathing heavy.

“I saw the way you looked at me,” she said softly.

“I couldn’t help it.”

“I like that you don’t try to blend in,” she added. “You’re just… you. Watching. Learning. Wanting.”

“Wanting,” he echoed.

“You don’t need to speak the language,” she whispered, stepping into him. “You already hear me.”

He cupped her jaw, kissed her slow. “Latiendo por ti,” he murmured.

She smiled into his mouth. “Say it again.”

“Latiendo por ti.”

And when she guided him into bed, every touch, every kiss, every desperate sound she pulled from him was a new verse. A new line in the song he was learning,body to body, skin to skin, heart to heart.

Her hands slid beneath his shirt like she knew his body better than he did. She tugged it up, slow and messy, lips still on his, and he let her take everything she wanted,his breath, his rhythm, his control. The fan above them spun uselessly. The air was thick. The kind of heat that made everything feel heavier, closer, more dangerous.

She pushed him back onto the bed.

Didn’t ask.

Didn’t wait.

Just climbed into his lap like she was claiming territory. His hands fell to her thighs, then slid up,greedy, reverent, anchoring himself as she kissed him harder.

“Take this off,” she whispered, tugging at her dress.

He helped her,clumsy with how badly he needed her,pulling the fabric over her head and tossing it somewhere behind them. No bra. No panties. Just sweat-slick skin, hot and soft and glowing in the yellow light coming through the window.

His mouth dropped open.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re unreal.”

She leaned forward, hips grinding into his lap. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true,” he groaned, rocking up into her.

The friction made her gasp.

She reached between them, undid his shorts with practiced ease, her fingers brushing over him once,just once,and it was enough to make him shiver.

“You gonna be good for me tonight?” she murmured, rolling her hips again, dragging him right to the edge.

“I’m always good for you,” he said, voice wrecked. “Only for you.”

He lifted his hips as she tugged his boxers down, then watched with wide, dark eyes as she sank down onto him,slow, steady, deliberate. Her mouth parted in a moan, and his head hit the pillow with a choked curse. She was so warm. So wet. So tight around him it made him shake.

Neither of them moved for a moment. Just breathed. Then she started to roll her hips.

Slow at first…grinding down into him, her hands splayed on his chest, her thighs flexing with every movement. Her rhythm matched the song still playing low on her phone.

Lleva, llévame en tu bicicleta…

He gripped her hips, holding on like he’d drown without her.

“You feel that?” she whispered, voice wrecked. “That’s how I dance for you.”

He nodded, mouth open, eyes locked on where her body was swallowing him whole.

“Say it again,” she moaned, riding him a little faster now. “Say it.”

“Latiendo por ti,” he gasped, hands digging into her skin. “Fuck—latiendo por ti.”

She moaned, deeper this time, leaning down to kiss him,open-mouthed, needy, desperate.

She fucked him like the music. Like a song she already knew the ending to but wanted to replay anyway. Every stroke of her hips had purpose. Every little gasp was a lyric. Every broken groan he gave her was applause.

He flipped them suddenly,breathless, eyes wild,and pressed her into the mattress, slipping back into her like he’d die if he didn’t.

“I’ve got you,” he said against her throat. “I’ve got you. Just—just let me.”

And she did.

She wrapped her legs around him and let him take control, his pace hard and slow, like he was trying to memorize how she felt from the inside out. His hand slipped between them, found her clit, and rubbed lazy circles until she was clawing at his back, whispering please against his shoulder.

Her body shook beneath him. She came with a sharp cry, voice breaking, fingers tangled in his hair.

He followed right after,groaning her name, hips stuttering, his whole body trembling as he poured himself into her.

They lay there, tangled and slick, their heartbeats thudding against each other’s ribs.

Still moving. Still alive. Still listening to that damn song.

Que hace rato está mi corazón…

Latiendo por ti…

He was still inside her.

His body pressed heavy against hers, heartbeat finally slowing, his breath cooling where it hit the sweat-slicked skin of her shoulder. She’d gone quiet, arms wrapped around his back, legs still locked at his waist like she didn’t want to let him go. Not yet.

Not ever.

Luigi kissed her jaw. Her cheek. Her temple. One hand slid up her side and settled just under her breast, holding her like something fragile.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded against his chest. “Better than okay.”

They stayed like that for a long time. No rush. No phone buzzing. Just the hum of the fan above them and the sticky warmth between their bodies. The air was heavy, but neither of them moved. Not until he shifted slightly, slipping out of her, and she let out a quiet sound—half protest, half pleasure-drunk sigh.

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Be right back.”

She watched him walk to the bathroom,naked, hair wild, back muscles moving with every step,and closed her eyes like she needed to record the image in her brain.When he came back, he was carrying a cool, damp washcloth and that look on his face,the one that said you don’t have to ask me for anything. I already want to do it. He cleaned her up gently, fingers lingering just a little too long between her thighs, mouth twitching when she squirmed beneath him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispered, breath catching.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re already hard again.”

He smirked. “That’s ‘cause I am.”

She laughed, tossed the pillow at him, but didn’t pull the sheet over her body. She knew he liked seeing her like this—flushed, undone, still open from the way he touched her. He climbed back into bed and pulled her onto his chest.

“I was serious last night,” he said after a beat.

“About what?”

“You’re the rhythm. Everything else just tries to keep up.”

Her throat tightened.

She buried her face against his skin, lips brushing his collarbone. “You’re gonna ruin me if you keep talking like that.”

“Too late,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “I’m already ruined.”

Her hand slid down his stomach, teasing lower, fingers lazy, knowing. He let out a low groan.

“You want another round?” she asked, voice soft, sweet, dangerous.

“Always,” he said, flipping her onto her back again. “But this time, I go slow. Real slow.”

“Like last night wasn’t slow?”

He grinned. “No. Last night was you dancing on my dick. This time, I’m gonna make you beg.”

Her breath caught.

And then he kissed her again,deeper, filthier,and started to keep that promise.

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

Credit to MaxBelkin on X.

getting into argument with lu and him fucking the silent treatment out of you <3 a muffled moan slips out and he's like "mmh there you go, wanna hear that pretty fucking voice baby" 🤗

!!!!

really over these characters that insert and establish themselves as ‘leaders’ of certain lu communities and then use their ‘position’ as some sort of policing authority to speak on and for a man they do not know!

ik w/ like the party girls and the legal fund, that’s ultimately a benefit and a plus for lu but wtf has ms clubmangione accomplished by attacking other lu supporters publicly and making fun of him on twitter (and in letters TO HIM) etc etc etc lmfao it’s ridiculous and embarrassing and i just had to get that out sorry

why do you think you are owed anything from lu or his team bc u started a twt space and helped minors write letters to him

Every couple of new crumbs we get means we’re one month closer to hopefully seeing more of Luigi at his next appearance🙏🏽

happy 27th gi 🍓💕💕 we love you baby

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.

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