Credit To MaxBelkin On X.

Strawberries, cherries, and an angel’s kiss in spring…

* nsfw: messy & filthy cockwarming, no sex, dom!luigi *

It’s April in Sicily. You and Luigi have been here for a week now, tucked away in your sun-drenched villa perched on the edge of the Aeolian Islands. You booked a springtime retreat to satisfy the yearning for a life woven only of each other, under the soft gaze of the Mediterranean sun.

The warmth kisses your bare shoulders as you wander through the gardens of your villa, the breeze curling around your body. Barefoot, the grass and earth are soft under your soles, and you twirl lazily, gathering wild spring flowers in your hands: delicate white blooms, tiny pink buds, yellow petals that smell of honey. You weave them into your hair, threading them through the messy braid you’d tossed over one shoulder, smiling softly at how pretty you feel, how free.

You’re wearing that little babydoll your boyfriend loves, the pale pink fabric fluttering against your thighs, nearly translucent when the sunlight hits it. You’re a dream under the sparkling spring sun — it’s mid-afternoon now, when the warmth of the Mediterranean is at its peak, and as you move through the garden with the petals, you anticipate the way you know Luigi will look at you when you step back inside. Reverent and doting, those dilated pupils that tell you each time how utterly lovesick he is for his girl.

The hem of your babydoll brushes the tops of your thighs as you skip a little toward the entrance of the villa, clutching the last handful of blossoms. The heavy wooden door swings open with a soft creak, and the coolness of the stone floor soothes your feet as you step inside. The house smells like sunlight and salt and something sweeter, and you follow the scent into the kitchen.

Luigi is standing by the table, the late afternoon light accentuating the olive of his skin. His curls are tousled, messy from the earlier breeze. You pause at the door to watch him, taking in his existence. He wears nothing but beige linen shorts that hang low on his hips, and you blink twice to focus on the sight of the back muscles that decorate his broad figure. He’s focused on a little wooden bowl, slicing ripe strawberries and pitting cherries, his fingers stained pink with their juices.

You stay still in the doorway as Luigi hums under his breath, completely relaxed. When he glances up and sees you, his gaze both softens and deepens at the same time.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice already rough with affection.

You pad toward him, flowers still clutched in your fingers, and as you’re setting them down, he catches you by the waist and tugs you into his lap, lowering you onto his thigh at the table, turned sideways so you’re half-facing him.

His arms wrap around your middle immediately, strong and warm, pulling you snug against his chest. He rocks you gently, back and forth, savoring the moment of resting his girl in his arms. He leans down and presses kisses along your jaw, featherlight, his nose nuzzling your temple, your cheek, your ear.

“My beautiful girl,” he breathes against your skin. His hands roam lazily, tracing circles over the bare skin of your thigh, your hip, your ass under the fluttery hem of your babydoll. “Look at you, baby…”

You loop your arms around his neck, giggling when he nuzzles into you again. Your fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck as you both sit there, wrapped up in each other, the warm, lazy afternoon stretching around you like a cloud… or a dream.

“Princess,” he murmurs again, a little dazed. He pulls back just enough to look at you, hazel eyes glowing so much so that you see the flecks of green. His gaze is slow and hungry as it travels over your body: the sheer babydoll, the golden flush of your skin, the wildflowers tangled in your braid. “You’re so beautiful.”

You pout at him with a pretty smile, wrists resting on his shoulders. “You just told me that, Lu.”

“Because I just can’t believe you. Can’t believe you’re mine, cara mia,” Luigi whispers.

The way he’s looking at you — full of hunger, of warmth, of devotion — makes your stomach flutter and your thighs press together instinctively. You giggle again, a little shyly this time, ducking your head against his shoulder, but he doesn’t let you hide.

He keeps tracing slow, lazy patterns over your bare skin, teasing touches that make your panties dampen embarrassingly fast. You hope he doesn’t notice, but you can’t stop yourself from squirming a little on his thigh — the movement might be subtle, but Luigi notices everything about you, especially when that squirm is paired with the sense of something wet on the hem of his shorts.

The moment he feels the first little damp patch seep onto the fabric, he pauses, then leans back just a little, tilting his head. His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek as he raises an eyebrow at you.

He speaks soft, voice amused but with that usual reverent authority. “You okay, baby?” His hands spread wide over your hip, holding you still against him. He presses a kiss to your temple, so soft it almost makes you whimper.

You lift your head, meeting his eyes with a wide, innocent gaze, your lower lip jutting out in a tiny pout. “Mhm… fine, Lu.”

Luigi just hums, clearly unconvinced. His hand sneaks down under the fabric of your babydoll and squeezes your ass lightly, making you gasp — and then he smacks it, just a little. Just enough to make you whine and instinctively grind down onto his thigh. You feel his muscles flex under you and it makes your head spin.

“You don’t need anything, angel?” he teases, voice low, syrupy sweet. His fingers trail up and down your side, ghosting over your ribs, your waist, setting you on fire with the softest touch.

You shake your head a little, but your body betrays you, rocking against his thigh like you can’t help it. The wetness between your legs grows hotter, stickier, soaking through the flimsy fabric.

“Tell me, baby,” Luigi says softly, nudging your chin with his thumb and index so you face him properly. His brows are slightly furrowed, and his gaze is sweet and focused. “What’s the matter?”

You only whimper, nuzzling into his neck, and you can feel him smiling now against your hair. His hands slide up your back, then down, then lower—

“Up,” he murmurs, tapping your thigh. “Straddle me and tell me what’s wrong.”

Obediently, and maybe a little too eagerly, you shift, swinging one leg over him so you’re sitting squarely on his lap now, facing him, your babydoll pooling around you like a cloud. You lean forward immediately, your clothed breasts pressing against his hard, warm chest, arms wrapping tight around his neck as you giggle breathlessly. You feel dizzy with how good it feels to be so close to your man, how safe you feel in his lap, how solid and broad he is underneath you.

“That’s my pretty baby. Come here, give me a kiss,” he whispers into your hair. He inhales the scent of a fresh blossom petal.

You lean back from him a little to face him, pressing your forehead against his as your lips meet. You both can’t help but smile as you pull away, and Luigi’s hands slide down to your ass, gripping the flesh hard enough to make you squeal softly. Then he smacks it again, sharper this time, and you shudder against him.

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw, your ear, the side of your neck. “My perfect angel, so pretty…”

You’re rocking against him without even meaning to, grinding your soaked panties over the crotch of his shorts, desperate for friction.

Luigi bites his lip, eyes raking over you as if he’s deciding what to do with you. He moves his hands slowly between your ass and your waist, and you don’t even realize that you’re moving a little faster, more wetness seeping from the fabric of your panties and onto his half-hard clothed cock. The little noises that leave your pretty lips have him entranced, but outwardly his doting, authoritative gaze doesn’t shift.

After a few moments of near silence — the air filled with nothing but your soft whines and squeaks and the rustle of fabric against fabric, he speaks again.

“You want my cock, baby?”

He asks it like he’s asking if you want a piece of fruit, so casual it makes you clench around nothing. Pathetically, all you do is whine in response.

He raises his eyebrows, the tiniest hint of a smirk playing on his lips, and he grips your hips tighter.

“Shh. Listen to me, angel. I’m gonna give you what you want if you just tell me, okay? Use your words, you know I like when you do.”

Another breathless whine leaves your lips as you attempt to move again, but his big hands still you, keeping you in your place. You lean forward so that your lips brush his ear, and nod frantically. “Please, Lu,” you whisper, voice trembling with need. The ache is unbearable now. “Want you—fuck—so bad.”

He chews the inside of his cheek, eyes raking over your body with an unreadable expression. “You shouldn’t curse like that. Ask nicely, baby.”

You exhale and comply, your voice light and airy. “Please can I have your cock, Lu? I’m your good girl… I love you, handsome.”

You know he likes it when you call him that, especially when you’re looking into his eyes as you are now, all doe-eyed and desperate.

Luigi growls low in his throat, and his hand slides under the front hem of your babydoll, fingers slipping between your thighs. He finds your clit with ease, pressing against the soaked fabric of your pretty pink panties — the ones that match the lingerie you’re currently wearing.

“Matching for me, baby. Pretty princess, as always,” he murmurs, eyes fixated on the wetness pooling between your legs despite the fabric.

You giggle, attempting to grind down again. Two of his fingers circle your sensitivity, achingly slow, before he suddenly smacks your clit, not too sharp, but just enough to send a shocking wave of pleasure through you that causes you to cry out softly into his neck. His hand slips under your panties, palm against your clit, and you rock against his hand.

“Mmmhmm, baby,” you whine. Luigi hardly takes his eyes off you — only twice, to assess the mess you’re making in your panties.

“Bellissima, la mia ragazza…” he whispers, as you continue to grind your clit against his calloused palm. He coos at you through your soft noises, and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Shh, baby. You’re my good girl, soaking my hand…”

You’re lost in the feeling — he’s still not really doing anything, you’re just using him for your pleasure, rocking back and forth, knees bracketing his thighs. And amidst his soft words and doting gaze, he doesn’t prepare you for the abrupt moment he takes his hand out of your panties.

You pout, eyes glassy, another soft whine escaping your throat. “Lu…”

You feel his hand, slick with your arousal, settle on your hip, the other firm against your ass, slow and coaxing, as he shifts you slightly. His touch is so gentle, so reverent it almost makes you want to cry. You feel dizzy, drunk on his existence.

“Lift up a little, baby. You don’t have to do anything else,” he murmurs against your ear. You obey, rising up on shaky thighs, clutching at his broad shoulders for balance.

Luigi leans back in the chair slightly, still cradling you in his lap, his hands firm and steady on your hips. His thumb rubs slow circles into your skin, grounding you, voice low and sweet as he kisses your forehead once, then twice, lingering like he doesn’t want to rush a single thing.

"You okay, beautiful? You ready?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod without hesitation, heart fluttering with anticipation, your body already aching for him. You can feel him beneath you, thick and hard, straining against the fabric of his shorts — and when he shifts slightly, the outline of him drags against you, making your thighs tremble with want.

You watch through heavy, awestruck eyes as he slides one hand down, undoing the button of his shorts with a slow, deliberate movement. The rasp of the zipper coming down sounds almost loud in the quiet kitchen. You can hardly breathe, your mouth going dry as he pushes the fabric aside and frees himself.

He’s so big — thick and heavy in his hand, the flushed tip already slick with need. His cock rests against his lower stomach, proud and weighty, a deep, dusky pink that contrasts so beautifully with the golden tan of his skin. A small, neat patch of dark hair crowns the base, soft-looking and masculine, just enough to make your head spin.

You whimper quietly at the sight, your thighs clenching around him, your whole body yearning to be filled. He catches your reaction immediately, a slow, knowing smile curving his mouth.

"Yeah, you hungry?" he murmurs, his voice a low, affectionate tease. "Just wait, baby. I know.”

The scent of him fills your head, intoxicating and real — sun-warmed skin and a faint hint of salt, like the sea breeze clinging to him; a whisper of soap still lingering from his morning shower, fresh and clean. And underneath it all, the faint, dizzying musk of him — no cologne, just Luigi, so natural and perfect it makes you ache.

He leans back slightly in his chair, his big hands resting heavily on your hips, grounding you against him. His cock, thick and flushed, rests hot against your panties, the head brushing right against your soaked center.

Without warning, he shifts his hips just a little, and with a low, almost playful hum, he lifts his cock in his hand and smacks it lightly against your aching core through the thin cotton.

The sound is wet and obscene — a sharp, sticky noise that seems to echo in the stillness of the kitchen. You shudder violently, the sudden contact sparking a bright, electric shock up your spine. Your panties are already drenched, clinging to your folds, outlining everything shamelessly — and now, with each lazy slap of his cock, more of your arousal seeps through the fabric, darkening it even further.

The heavy head of him nudges directly against your throbbing clit, and you gasp, clutching at his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Every little movement, every slight shift, makes the mess between you grow even slicker, even stickier. You feel it all — the heat of him, the slick slide of his precum mixing with your own dripping wetness, smearing together in a hot, glistening mess right against your panties.

The scent rises, thick between your bodies — sweet and musky, the unmistakable perfume of your combined arousal. It fills the air, rich and humid, wrapping around you both.

Luigi's eyes are locked between your bodies, watching with an intense focus. His lip is caught between his teeth, brows furrowed slightly as he watches the way your panties grow wetter and wetter with every teasing pass of his cock.

"What a mess," he murmurs under his breath, voice so low and rough it vibrates straight through your chest.

Your cheeks flush hot, your whole body tingling with both embarrassment and pride — because it’s for him, because he loves it, because he’s looking at you like you’re something precious and sacred.

Moving slowly, teasingly, Luigi hooks one finger into the side of your panties and tugs them aside. The soaked fabric clings stubbornly to you for a moment before peeling away, revealing your glistening folds underneath.

He groans low in his chest at the sight.

Your pussy is flushed and swollen, slick and glistening with need, every inch of you shining under the golden light streaming in through the kitchen windows. Your clit is plump and needy, peeking out from between your soaked folds, trembling slightly from how much you want him. The evidence of your arousal is messy and dripping, strands of wetness coating your folds.

"Bellissima," Luigi breathes, the word full of reverence. He runs the thick, heavy length of his cock along your folds, gathering even more of your wetness and smearing it along himself, leaving both of you slick and shining.

You moan softly, your hips instinctively starting to rock forward, grinding against the broad, hot length of him. The head of his cock catches against your clit again, dragging over it with every little movement you make, sending sparks shooting through your trembling body.

But you stay patient for him, just like he loves — rocking your hips gently, slowly, not rushing, waiting for his permission to do more. Your hands stay obediently on his shoulders, your chest pressed close to his, your eyes shining up at him because you’re his perfect girl.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” Luigi watches you with a look so soft and proud it makes your throat tighten. He shifts slightly under you, tilting his hips up just a little to tease you even more, the broad underside of his cock dragging slowly, deliberately against your clit, sending fresh, aching pulses through your whole body.

"I love you, dolcezza,” he murmurs, his voice like warm honey. "Take your time. Feel me."

One of his big hands slides up to the small of your back, holding you steady as you grind so sweetly against him, your needy, dripping pussy rocking along the thick length of him. His other hand drifts lazily down to stroke over the curve of your ass, squeezing gently, grounding you further against him.

Every movement, every breath between you is soaked in heat and affection, in something deeper than just lust — something endless, timeless.

"You’re so good for me," he whispers, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "So pretty... so perfect."

You whimper softly, rubbing yourself against him with slow, desperate need, every part of you slick and trembling. And Luigi just holds you tighter, letting you grind against him, letting you feel everything, keeping you wrapped up safe and loved in his arms.

"This is what you wanted, hm?” he soothes you, guiding your hips up with careful hands. "Need you to lift up a little again, baby, gonna give you this cock now.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, and you lift yourself slightly, hands gripping his broad shoulders. He holds himself steady beneath you with one hand, the other still cupping your hip tenderly, stroking comfort into your skin. His head tips back against the chair, watching you through hooded eyes, dark and full of devotion.

Luigi lines you up carefully, the broad head of his cock brushing against your entrance, and you both shudder at the contact. He rubs slow, gentle circles over your clit with his thumb, coaxing you, easing you into it with such overwhelming tenderness it makes your chest ache.

"Nice and easy, angel," he coaxes you, voice like warm velvet. "I’ve got you."

You start to sink down, and immediately he’s there — whispering sweet, grounding things into the golden afternoon air around you.

"Just the tip, there you go," he breathes, kissing your forehead softly.

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders, and he rubs slow circles against your clit again to soothe you, to make it easier. The stretch is delicious and overwhelming, and Luigi’s touch, his voice, helps you through it.

"One inch," he counts in a low, reverent murmur, pride thick in his voice. "My good girl."

You bite your lip, moaning quietly as you sink down another fraction, feeling him stretch you even more.

"Two," he says, his hands tightening on your hips just slightly, steadying you.

Your whole body shudders against him, overwhelmed by how good it feels, how deep he already is inside you, and you’re not even halfway yet.

"Three," he whispers, kissing along your collarbone, nuzzling the warm skin there.

He smells so good — sun, skin, soap, salt — and you bury your face in his neck, breathing him in as you lower yourself even more.

"Four," he coos, his voice laced with awe, one big hand sliding up your back to hold you closer.

You gasp softly, the fullness almost too much, but the way he rubs your clit and strokes your back keeps you grounded.

"Five," Luigi murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You’re doing perfect, cara mia. So pretty for me."

You whine, overcome by how deep he is already, how much you love him, how perfectly he fits inside you.

"Almost there, baby," he whispers. "Just a little more."

With a final soft moan, you sink all the way down, your hips meeting his, your body trembling with the effort and the overwhelming sense of being completely, utterly filled.

"Seven inches," he breathes, his voice thick and full of wonder. "All mine."

Your breath hitches as your ass settles snugly against his thighs, stuffed full of him. You’re trembling, eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming feeling of fullness, of heat.

Before you can even catch your breath, Luigi's hand swings back and delivers a sharp, playful smack to your ass, making you squeal and jolt in his lap.

He smirks against your hair, his big hands smoothing over the sting almost immediately. "There," he murmurs, full of love. "My beautiful girl."

You can feel how proud he is of you — every soft murmur, every kiss to your cheek, your shoulder, your jaw. He wraps one strong arm around you, cradling you tight against his chest, his heart thudding steadily beneath your ear. His big hand strokes your back, soothing you, keeping you grounded, while his thumb continues to rub slow, lazy circles against your clit, coaxing little shivers from your body.

"You’re perfect," he whispers, kissing the top of your head. "So good for me, baby. So beautiful."

And he holds you there for a few moments, rocking you gently in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, the two of you wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the lazy hum of the afternoon.

"Stay still," he reminds you, voice all sweet authority, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Just let me hold you, yeah?"

You nod, whimpering, your body screaming to move, to grind, to chase that unbearable pleasure... but you obey, trembling slightly as he leans forward casually, reaching for the bowl of fruit he'd been preparing earlier.

You watch, wide-eyed, as he plucks a glistening cherry from the bowl, holding it up between two fingers. His gaze is heavy-lidded, dark with affection and hunger.

"Open your mouth," he murmurs.

You part your lips obediently, and he pops the cherry into your mouth, smiling when you giggle around it, juice spilling just a little at the corners of your lips.

You shift without thinking, grinding a tiny bit on his cock stuffed inside you, desperate for more.

Luigi tuts softly, tilting his head in mock disapproval. "What did I say, sweet girl?"

You whimper around the cherry, your cheeks burning, and try to stay still again, but it's impossible — the pulse of him inside you, the slow throb of need in your abdomen makes you roll your hips the tiniest bit.

He chuckles low, his hand slipping between your thighs again to deliver a light, teasing smack to your aching clit. You gasp, shuddering against him, squeezing around him so hard he groans under his breath.

"My baby," he coos, feeding you a slice of strawberry now, the sweetness bursting on your tongue. "Can feel you soaking my cock, angel, but you can wait a little longer for me, yeah? Just wanna cuddle you like this.”

Fruit juice dribbles down your chin, trailing dangerously close to the delicate fabric of your babydoll. Before you can panic, Luigi catches it with his thumb, wiping it away with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

He brings his thumb to your mouth, tapping it lightly against your bottom lip. "Suck for me," he whispers.

You obey without hesitation, lips closing around his thumb, your tongue swirling around it as you suck obediently, tasting the fruit and the salt of his skin.

His eyes darken visibly, hand tightening on you for a split second before he forces himself to stay still, groaning softly.

"That’s it, princess. Taste sweet?" he rasps, pulling his thumb free with a soft pop.

“So sweet,” you nod.

"Stay still," he orders again, a little firmer this time — but there’s a smile playing at his lips, affectionate and teasing, as you whine and tremble in his arms, desperate to move.

You lean forward even more, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck, pressing your face into his shoulder. You kiss the slope of his neck tenderly, desperate for some outlet for the need burning through you. You mouth at his skin, breathing him in, and he lets you, his hand smoothing up and down your back.

After a few minutes, his hand slides up your thigh again, slow and firm.

"Alright, baby," he murmurs. "Get off my cock for me just for a second, yeah?"

You whine, shaking your head against his shoulder, but he only chuckles, squeezing your ass gently. His speech is gradual, line by line, refusing to let you in on what he wants you to do next.

"Come on, sweet girl. You’ll be right back where you belong, I promise."

Pouting, you lift yourself up, feeling him slide out of you — the loss making you clench helplessly, your whole body aching for him.

"That’s it, angel," he praises, and the words make your heart soar.

He pats his thigh lightly. "Now come sit again. But turn around for me this time, yeah?"

You climb back onto him, this time facing away, your back to his chest. His hands guide you carefully, steadying you as you sink down again, his cock sliding back inside you in one long, unbearable stretch.

You both groan low in your throats as you settle back against him, fully seated on his cock once again, his chest pressed flush to your back.

"Stay still," he reminds you softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "Just let me hold you like this."

You shiver, melting against him as he reaches up to toy with your hair, undoing your messy braid with deft fingers. He combs through the strands slowly, gently, threading the wildflowers back into a neater braid with such careful attention it makes your chest ache.

"My pretty baby," he murmurs over and over, between kisses to your shoulder, your neck, the shell of your ear. "So beautiful like this... all mine..."

You whine softly, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it, the slow tenderness.

He reaches around you again, picking up a slice of strawberry, holding it to your lips. You open obediently, letting him feed you, your hands clutching his thighs for balance.

Juice trickles down your chin, but he’s there again instantly, thumb brushing the spill away and tapping lightly at your bottom lip. Your lips instinctively close around his thumb, tongue swirling.

"You’re such a good girl for me," he praises, his voice a low rumble against your back. "Sitting so pretty… letting me feed you and do your hair while you’re stuffed full of my cock.”

Every once in a while, he leans down to murmur something against your ear — praises, promises, little sinful things that make your core tighten even more around him.

"Your pussy’s perfect for me, baby... so sweet and warm around me."

"You wanna stay stuffed with me all day? We can sit like this for hours, just wanna hold you so close forever.”

"My perfect baby... my sweet angel."

The sun dips lower outside the villa, bathing the kitchen in molten gold, and you're still there, sitting so prettily in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, your body trembling with the need only he can satisfy — and he has all the time in the world to love you like this.

As he finishes braiding your hair, his hands gentle against your scalp, you feel the warmth of his body press tighter behind you. His fingers linger at the nape of your neck, smoothing the final strand into place before he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer to him, making you feel the weight of his body anchoring yours.

For a moment, everything slows. His cock still fills you, deep and firm, but the urgency of it fades into something more... soft, secure, tender.

You shiver as his lips press against the side of your neck, and then you hear the faint rustle of paper. “Hold on, princess," Luigi murmurs softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. He leans back just enough to reach over to the counter, picking up a small, folded notebook. "I’ve been making a few notes... things I’ve been thinking about you lately."

His voice is soft, grounded, deep with affection, and you feel your chest tighten as he clears his throat and begins to read aloud, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your waist, steadying you in his lap as his words wrap around you like a blanket.

"The way your smile lights up everything around you," he starts, his voice low but clear, every word tender as it rolls from his lips. "How you look at me like you can see into my soul... and the way I feel when I know you’re thinking of me even when we’re apart."

You sink deeper into him, the rhythm of his voice steady and comforting, as though each word is a caress, even though his cock is still buried deep inside you, still sending waves of heat through your body.

He pauses, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, then continues, his words flowing with an ease that makes you feel treasured.

"I don’t think I ever told you how much I love the way you laugh," he says, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "It’s like music to me, baby. Every time you giggle, I feel like I could just listen to it forever... it makes me feel like I’m home."

Your heart flutters, and you press back into him, both your hands clutching at his forearms now as his strength surrounds you, offering that steady protection. He leans in closer again, lips brushing your ear as he recites another note.

"I love the way your voice sounds when you say my name," he murmurs softly, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "How it always has this... this softness to it, but when you want me, it gets all breathy, all needy. It drives me wild, baby."

You sigh softly, feeling that same need stir inside you, your body instinctively rocking ever so slightly on his cock, though you know he’s guiding you to remain still for now.

"And when you wear that babydoll," he adds, his voice dipping lower, "it makes my heart skip a beat every time. It’s like you’re made for me, just like this... so perfect, so delicate."

You shiver at his words, your skin tingling under his touch when he plays with the hem of your lingerie. Your body aches for him to do something more, to give more, but you stay still, focusing instead on his words, on his affection.

He continues feeding you fruit, his hand holding another strawberry to your lips as his words drift around you.

"You remind me of everything beautiful in the world, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice thick with admiration. "You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and more. I never knew it was possible to feel so lucky to have someone until I found you."

You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, moved by the tenderness in his voice, the pure love that shines through every word. He doesn’t just want you; he adores you, and it makes your heart ache, your body tense with the weight of that realization.

"Fuck, I love you, baby," he murmurs, just barely above a whisper. "So much it hurts.”

“I love you, Lu.” You grip his hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles as you lean further back into his chest. You feel him twitch inside you at the slight movement and he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead.

Then his arms tighten around your waist, and he savors the way you tremble in his lap, the way you rock ever so slightly, despite his gentle insistence to stay still.

"You’re so beautiful like this, sweetheart," he says, voice low and full of pride. "You’re perfect in every way."

He doesn’t need to say any of this; you know it already. But he does, he tells you daily, and the words settle deep in your heart, warming you from the inside out, making your pulse quicken with a fresh wave of longing.

You start to grind a little again, and he holds your waist firmer.

"Stay still for me, baby," he whispers, but there’s no harshness in his voice. He’s not angry. No, he’s just soft, his tone coaxing and sweet, as if he wants to spoil you, to give you every ounce of pleasure you deserve.

And even though your body is begging for release, you can’t help but obey, staying still, letting him continue to hold you, feed you, speak to you. He weaves his hands through your hair again, adjusting the braid and fixing the flower petals, taking care of you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

"My pretty, pretty girl," he murmurs, his voice full of love and adoration. "I’ll never get tired of having you."

And you can feel it, every word sinking deeper into your soul. The sensation of being loved so completely by him, wrapped up in his arms, makes everything feel so right — so fulfilling.

A few moments later, Luigi shifts slightly under you, his big hands sliding from your hips to your waist. You whimper quietly in protest, but he soothes you with a kiss to your temple, his voice a low, commanding murmur against your skin.

"Off, baby. Turn around for me," he instructs, his tone impossibly tender and sure. "Need to look at you.”

Reluctantly, you lift yourself off his cock, a soft, sticky sound filling the space between you as you rise. You both groan at the loss of connection, but he just guides you, steady and patient, helping you turn in his lap to face him properly again. His cock, slick and glistening with both your arousals, stands between you, aching and thick.

"Good girl," Luigi praises softly as you straddle him again, easing yourself slowly back down onto him. You both moan together as you take him once more, inch by thick, aching inch, until you’re fully seated, stuffed full of him, trembling and clinging to his broad shoulders.

The moment you're settled, Luigi leans back slightly, dark eyes drinking you in like you’re the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. His hands stay firm at your hips, keeping you steady on his cock, not letting you move just yet.

You giggle breathlessly, cheeks warm, and reach for the bowl of fruit left forgotten on the table beside you. Grinning playfully, you pluck a strawberry and bring it to his lips.

"Open, Lu," you tease, voice sweet and breathy.

He smiles indulgently, lips parting, and you feed him the berry. He takes it slowly, never looking away from you, chewing lazily as if savoring the taste of your affection just as much as the fruit itself.

Then, a glint of mischief sparkles in your eyes, and you grab a ripe cherry by its stem, twirling it between your fingers.

Still perched pretty on his cock, still feeling him pulsing thick and hard inside you, you lean in closer, batting your lashes up at him, mouth forming a soft, teasing pout. Your tongue flicks out, wrapping around the cherry stem as you pop the fruit into your mouth, sucking it slowly, obscenely, as you grind your hips ever so slightly against him.

Luigi’s pupils dilate instantly, his jaw tightening, nostrils flaring just slightly as he watches you with that heavy, stunned adoration he can never quite hide.

The pad of his thumb strokes your cheekbone tenderly, almost reverently, as if he can't quite believe you're real — his sweet girl, stuffed full of his cock, looking up at him with those wide, helpless eyes.

You moan low in your throat around the cherry, feeling him throb inside you, feeling the heat of him radiate up through your body. And then, still grinding softly on his cock, you begin working the stem between your tongue and teeth, slowly, deliberately tying it into a knot.

A soft, filthy noise vibrates from deep in Luigi’s chest — a strangled growl of possessive pride.

"Fuck, baby girl," he breathes, his hand cupping the back of your neck now, thumb still stroking softly along your jaw.

When you finally finish, you stick out your tongue to show him the knotted stem proudly, cheeks flushed, lips glistening.

"You’re incredible," he murmurs thickly, voice rough around the edges with barely contained need. "That’s my girl. So filthy... and so beautiful for me.”

He leans in and plucks the knotted stem from your tongue with his teeth, tossing it lazily into a nearby napkin, all without looking away from you for a second.

You squirm in his lap, feeling the heat and need growing unbearable now, and you start trying to bounce on his cock, desperate for more friction, more connection, more everything.

But Luigi clamps his hands firmly on your hips, holding you down easily with that calm strength that makes you melt.

"Shh, I told you to keep still," he laughs softly, the sound low and indulgent. "Not yet."

You whine pathetically, trying to move again, but he keeps you pinned.

"You’ll make yourself sick, bouncing on me with all that fruit in your belly," he scolds gently, thumb caressing your cheekbone. "You don’t want that, do you?"

You pout, nuzzling into his neck, your whole body thrumming with need.

"Be good," he murmurs, his arms wrapping fully around you now, his cock buried deep and pulsing inside you. "Just sit here with me and savor this, baby.”

You have no choice but to obey, still stuffed full of him, your walls clenching instinctively around his cock with every tiny shift of your hips, every shivery breath you take.

Luigi’s big hands move up, combing slowly through your hair, fingers weaving carefully through the soft braid, straightening the flower petals nestled within it. His touch is so tender, so loving, it makes tears sting behind your eyes.

He whispers against your temple, smoothing your hair back. "My sweet spring baby."

You moan softly, pressing even closer, clinging to him, your heart feeling too big for your chest.

As he continues combing through your hair, slow and patient, he leans down to nuzzle your ear.

"Where do you want to go tonight?" he murmurs. "Somewhere by the water, maybe? A little trattoria tucked away from the crowds?"

You nod against him, too overwhelmed to answer properly. He smiles against your skin and kisses your hair.

"Whatever you want," he promises. "Decide later."

And so you sit there, wrapped around each other in the golden light, your body stretched wide and full around him, the scent of fruit and sun and salt lingering in the air, your hearts beating in slow, perfect rhythm together.

Despite the comfort, your thighs burn from the effort of staying so still as you’re straddling him. His cock throbs deep inside your soaked, stretched pussy, and you cling tighter to his broad shoulders, breathing him in — that delicious mix of sunscreen, clean sweat, and sun-warmed soap that clings to his skin — while he calmly reaches for another cherry from the bowl beside you.

But before he feeds it to you, Luigi shifts a little, tilting his head to look down between your bodies with lazy, fascinated pleasure.

The mess between you is obscene now. Your slick is everywhere — glistening along the thick base of his cock, smeared wet and sticky over his bare thighs, dripping slowly onto the chair beneath you both. His precum is leaking steadily from his tip, pooling warmly inside you and spilling out around where your bodies are joined.

With a low chuckle, he dips two fingers lazily into the mess gathering along his thigh — thick and shiny and stringing between his skin and yours — and lifts it to your mouth without hesitation.

"Open, dolcezza," he says, voice like velvet, so soft and sure it makes your stomach twist with need.

You part your lips instantly, so obedient, so needy for anything he gives you, and he pushes his fingers between your lips, smearing the taste of you both across your tongue.

You moan around his fingers, cheeks flushing deep red as you taste it — sweet, musky, salty, the proof of how much you want him and how much he wants you, sticky and rich and intimate. He watches you with blown pupils, his thumb brushing so gently over your jaw as you suck on his fingers, tasting every drop.

"That’s it," he praises lowly, slipping his fingers free with a wet pop.

Before you can beg for more, he’s already pressing a cherry to your lips, his thumb wiping a smear of slick from the corner of your mouth tenderly.

"Now this," he says with a crooked smile, slipping the fruit past your lips.

You take it with a soft little whine, still tasting him faintly even as the sweet juice bursts across your tongue. You chew and swallow obediently, rocking your hips ever so slightly on his cock — not enough to disobey, but enough that your clit catches deliciously on the slight movement.

Luigi watches every single twitch and tremble of your body, the veins in both his neck and his cock jumping as he fights to stay patient. His big hands run soothingly up and down your spine, grounding you.

"You’re my messy little girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with pride and hunger. "Look at you... stuffed full of cock, tasting how sweet you are for me."

You whimper brokenly, burying your face against his neck, desperate for more.

But Luigi just combs slowly through your hair again, fingers tugging gently through the petals still braided into the strands, as if you have all the time in the world. As if sitting on his cock like this, soaking him, trembling, dripping, is the most normal and natural thing in the world. At least it is for the both of you.

"I know, baby, I know you’re feeling full. Just rest with me,” he murmurs against your shoulder as your head rests on his.

You moan helplessly, rocking just a little more, chasing any tiny bit of friction you can steal, and Luigi hums a soft warning against your ear.

"Behave yourself," he reminds you, his tone indulgent but firm.

You nod, teary-eyed, nuzzling against him, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent. "You smell so good, Lu," you whisper without thinking, drunk on him.

He chuckles, low and pleased, kissing your temple. Then he shifts under you, his broad hands sliding down to your hips with a firm, grounding touch. You shudder against him as his cock twitches deep inside you, and just when you think you couldn’t possibly need him more, he murmurs low against your temple:

"Sorry, baby."

He pulls out of you in one slow, dragging slide, every thick inch slipping from your soaked pussy with a lewd, wet sound that makes your cheeks burn.

You whine — high and needy — a pathetic, broken noise that spills out before you can even think to stop it, your thighs quivering from the loss of him. The emptiness is devastating, and you chase his cock instinctively, trying to grind yourself back onto him.

"Shh," he coos, his voice deep and teasing. "You crying for your man’s cock?”

You whimper again, burying your face against his neck, but he’s relentless — dragging the head of his cock up between your soaked folds, smearing the mess of your slick and his precum all over you. He’s hot and heavy against your pussy, shaft slick and shining, every vein and ridge glistening with the mixture of your arousal.

Each slow stroke catches on your swollen clit, making you gasp and jerk against him, your thighs shaking with the effort of staying still. His dark pubic hair gets slick too, glistening with the mess you’re making together, sticking slightly to his skin with every lazy grind of his cock against you.

Luigi watches you intently, biting his bottom lip as he drags the thick head against your entrance, against your folds, making everything even wetter, even messier.

"You’re so pretty like this," he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice rough and reverent. "When you’re all messy for me."

He pulls back slightly, smacks his cock against your clit, and you jolt in his lap with a cry, your whole body shivering from the sharp pleasure.

"Sensitive," Luigi murmurs, enjoying the way you melt against him.

You sit there, straddling him, your pink babydoll clinging sweetly to your hips and the tops of your thighs, the delicate sheer fabric already damp where it brushes your messy pussy. The thin straps have slid off your shoulders from all the movement, exposing more glowing, sun-kissed skin. The flowers braided into your hair are slightly askew now — white and pink and yellow petals tangled in the messy strands — and your face is flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with need.

You look like a perfect, ruined angel in his lap — barefoot, beautiful, body trembling and slick, marked by him.

"La mia ragazza," he murmurs, hands running up and down your sides, slow and possessive. "My pretty angel."

He lets his cock rest against your folds, leaking heavily now, the thick bead of precum mixing into the slick already dripping from you, making everything between your legs shine and stick deliciously.

Without warning, he dips his fingers into the mess again — two thick fingers glistening with your combined arousal — and brings them up to your lips.

"Open, sweetheart," he commands gently.

You obey instantly, mouth falling open, tongue lolling out a little. He slides his fingers into your mouth, and you suck greedily, your eyes fluttering closed at the taste of both of you together — musky, salty, sweet.

While his fingers are still in your mouth, he grabs another strawberry with his free hand, holding it to your lips. You moan softly around his fingers and bite into the fruit at the same time, the juice bursting messily across your tongue.

Strawberry juice dribbles down the corners of your mouth, mixing with the sheen of slick already smeared there. A drop nearly splatters onto your babydoll, and Luigi chuckles, pulling his fingers free with a wet pop.

"Careful, baby," he coos, smearing the dripping mixture of strawberry juice and arousal from your mouth across your cheek and chin with slow, teasing strokes. "You’re making such a mess."

You giggle breathlessly, wriggling on his lap, the movement making his cock rub hot and heavy against your folds again.

"Sorry, Lu," you breathe, voice small and sweet and a little ruined. "M'sorry..."

He just smiles fondly, shaking his head slightly as he wipes the juice and slick across your skin like he’s painting you with it, leaving you glistening, marked, utterly his.

"Don't be sorry, baby," he murmurs. "You’re perfect. Just gotta be careful... don’t wanna ruin that pretty lingerie, huh? It’s my favorite.”

You shake your head shyly, bottom lip trembling slightly as you lean into his touch, desperate for more, for anything he’ll give you.

"Need you," you whisper, voice cracked and desperate.

"I know," he coos, stroking your hair again, rearranging the disheveled braid and tucking a loose petal behind your ear. "I know, beautiful girl. You’re doing so well for me."

He kisses your messy cheek, tasting the mix of strawberry and salt on your skin, and you sigh, clinging to him, your whole body alight and strung tight.

Still, he doesn't slide back inside you yet. Instead, he keeps rubbing his cock against your folds lazily, smearing every inch of you with slick and precum, making sure you stay messy and desperate in his arms.

And then, so slowly it makes your head spin, he tilts your hips down with a firm hand on your waist and eases just the tip of his cock back inside you.

A slow, hot stretch — your walls parting inch by inch, fluttering around him, welcoming him back in.

You both gasp softly at the feeling.

"There we go," he coaxes, almost a whisper, nuzzling his nose into your temple. "Take me slow, beautiful girl... that's it..."

The thick length of him fills you, spreading you deliciously wide. He rocks you just a little to help you sink lower, his hands steadying you as you moan helplessly against his neck.

"So tight," he mutters, almost reverent. "So warm..."

He counts quietly under his breath, the words vibrating against your skin as you sink down on him:

"One... two... three inches... good girl..."

"Four... five... almost there, sweetheart..."

"Six... seven... that's it, all of it, dolcezza..."

You sob a soft, desperate little noise into his shoulder when you're fully seated again, stuffed full of every thick inch. His cock throbs deep inside you, nestled snug and hot, his pubes brushing damply against your over-sensitive clit.

He presses a slow, heavy-handed smack to your ass, making you jolt on his lap with a sharp gasp.

"Such a good girl for me," he coos, his hand soothing over the spot immediately after, thumb rubbing lazy circles over your hot skin. "You love sitting pretty on my cock, hm?"

You nod, tears stinging your lashes, but he just laughs softly — so in love with you he could drown in it — and kisses your cheek.

And then he murmurs casually against your ear:

"Pick up the flowers, baby."

You blink, confused for a second, so he tips his chin toward the little pile of wildflowers you’d picked earlier, now scattered messily across the kitchen table — tiny white blossoms, pink buds, golden yellow petals.

You reach out, gathering them up carefully, your bare thighs quivering around him.

"Tell me what you picked," he murmurs, one big palm cupping your ass possessively, the other sliding up to tease your breast through the thin, sheer fabric of your babydoll. His thumb flicks slowly over your nipple, making you arch into him helplessly, gasping at the electric shiver it sends through you.

Your voice is breathless, shaky, as you speak:

"Um... white jasmine... pink daisies... I think... and some little... little yellow ones..." You trail off with a whimper as he tweaks your nipple through the fabric, your hips rolling in tiny, instinctive circles over his cock.

"Good girl," he soothes, his voice a low purr against your cheek. "My beautiful baby, picking all the prettiest ones."

He keeps teasing your breast with lazy, possessive strokes, the warmth of his hand branding you even through the thin fabric of your babydoll. The soft petals brush against your wrist as you hold the flowers clumsily, your fingers trembling.

"You’re making such a pretty mess, sweetheart," Luigi murmurs, almost fondly, as he glances down.

Your thighs are glistening even more now, smeared with the mix of slick and precum, and every tiny movement you make presses his cock deeper against that sweet spot inside you, making you gasp.

"You feel so good," you whine against his neck, so overwhelmed you could cry.

"I know, baby," he soothes, planting a kiss to your hair, inhaling the scent of sunshine, flowers, and your skin.

You look like a dream in his lap: barefoot, pink babydoll hitched high on your hips, petals tangled in your messy braid, your cheeks flushed and shiny with a mix of strawberry juice and slick. His big hand palms your breast slowly, thumbing over your hard nipple, while the other hand holds you steady against him, thick fingers splayed wide over your ass and waist.

"Talk to me, princess," he urges softly, hand squeezing your hip. "Tell me more about your flowers."

You cling to him, babbling shyly about the ones you picked, your breath hitching each time he rocks his hips just a little — enough to grind your clit against his pelvis but not enough to let you ride him properly.

"So pretty," you whisper, voice shaking as you talk about the flowers — but you’re not really talking about the flowers anymore, not when the only thing you can think about is the way he’s keeping you split open around him, stuffed full, so much you can hardly breathe.

"You’re pretty," Luigi murmurs. His big hands roam lazily, petting your messy braid, tracing along your flushed neck, smoothing down your bare spine, until he’s sliding one hand up under the hem of your babydoll. The fabric rides high, baring your ass completely where you sit perched on him.

"Keep talking," he coaxes, thumb brushing teasing circles over the sensitive skin at the top of your thigh. "Don’t get shy on me while you’re stuffed full of my cock, angel. Tell me more about your little flowers, huh?"

You try — you really do — but your breath hitches again, voice breaking when he grinds up into you just slightly harder. Your thighs spasm around his hips. You’re soaked, throbbing, stuffed full, your pussy gripping him like a vice.

And then, while you’re still stammering through your broken sentences, Luigi reaches for the little bowl of fruit again. He selects a plump, ripe strawberry, and holds it up to your lips.

You part your lips obediently just like before, dazed and pliant. He presses the berry into your mouth, smirking when you close your teeth around it — juice immediately spilling over your tongue, sweet and tart, sticky on your lips.

And while you chew and moan softly around the fruit, his free hand slides between your bodies, down the curve of your stomach, slipping under the rucked-up hem of your babydoll.

Two fingers, warm, sure, so achingly slow, find your clit where it's flushed and throbbing, swollen from the constant friction. He starts to rub. Barely any pressure. Just the slightest tease: slow, steady circles.

"Shh, there you go," Luigi coos, nuzzling your temple.

Your whole body trembles, caught between the overwhelming fullness of his cock inside you, the dizzying sweetness of the fruit on your tongue, and the maddening slow tease of his fingers stroking your clit in tight, lazy spirals.

The petals still tangled in your messy braid brush against your flushed shoulders every time you move. Your pink babydoll clings damply to your overheated skin, the sheer fabric riding high over your hips, exposing the soft roundness of your ass where Luigi keeps you pressed tight against him.

He breathes you in — the sweet, sun-warmed scent of your skin and the faint perfume of crushed flowers. His thumb strokes the corner of your mouth, smearing a bit of sticky strawberry juice there, and you whimper at the gentle touch.

Your breath hitches when Luigi finally tilts your chin up with two fingers, the pad of his thumb sweeping across your sticky, strawberry-smeared lips. He looks at you like he’s starving: hazel eyes burning, jaw flexed.

"Come here, baby," he says, low and soft.

You barely have time to react before his mouth crashes down on yours, urgent and hungry. The kiss is messy from the start — open-mouthed, desperate, the taste of sweet fruit and your own need coating both your tongues as you moan helplessly into him.

His tongue pushes deep into your mouth, tasting the lingering syrupy strawberry juice and the faint taste of his precum mixed with your slick from earlier. You whine into him, hips instinctively grinding down against his lap.

You feel him smile into the kiss — that lazy, cocky smirk you know so well — but he still doesn’t let you move too much. His big hands lock around your hips, squeezing hard enough to bruise, guiding you into slow, heavy grinds against the thick heat inside you without letting you lift up, not even an inch.

"No," he murmurs against your mouth when you try to bounce, voice deep and teasing. "I’ll let you grind now, baby, but don’t bounce.”

You nod, dizzy, clinging to his shoulders. Then he slides his hands higher, gripping the soft curve of your ass in both palms, kneading and squeezing like he owns you — and he does, with the way you’re stretched open, helpless, gasping into his mouth.

In one rough, smooth motion, he pulls the top of your babydoll down, baring your breasts to the cool air of the kitchen. Your nipples harden instantly, flushed and sensitive.

Luigi groans low in his throat when he pulls back — you’re so beautiful, so messy, perched on his cock in your soft pink lingerie, your braid loose and falling apart, petals sticking in your tangled hair.

"Look at you," he breathes, dragging his mouth down from yours to kiss the corner of your mouth, then the sticky line of your jaw, down to your neck. "My sweet, messy girl."

You feel the rough scrape of his unshaven jaw against your throat as he nips and kisses and savors every inch of you he can reach. One big hand comes up to cup your breast — his palm broad and calloused, so warm — and he thumbs your nipple, the motion timed with the slow, shallow grinds of your hips.

Your whole body rocks gently— stuffed so full of him you feel every throb, every twitch of his cock pulsing against your walls.

“Yeah, baby, come on, I got you,” he coos, and you shudder when he bites your lower lip, pulling gently before kissing you again, sloppier this time — tongues tangling, sharing the taste of fruit, heat and pure aching want.

You pull back and hum innocently, fluttering your lashes at him — and then, you reach over to the bowl of fruit to pluck a bright red cherry.

"For you," you whisper, your voice still breathless and dainty, like a little secret between you.

Luigi laughs low in his chest, and you feel his cock twitch at the sight of you all flushed and sparkling, offering him something so small and sweet. He parts his lips, and you pop the cherry in.

He eats the fruit, and then you watch, wide-eyed and beaming, as he works the stem between his tongue and teeth, slow and deliberate. His eyes stay locked on yours — heavy-lidded, dark and amused — as his tongue moves inside his mouth, twisting and curling with casual skill.

You wriggle a little on his lap, grinding down just a tiny bit, feeling his cock pulse inside you, thick and hot. He hums, the sound vibrating against your chest where you're pressed together, and after a few more seconds, he sticks his tongue out — revealing the cherry stem tied into a perfect little knot, just like you’d showed him earlier.

You dissolve into soft, sweet giggles, hiding your face against his shoulder as he laughs, pulling you closer.

"Che ragazza cattiva," he teases softly — what a naughty girl — one hand stroking up your spine, the other squeezing your ass gently as you squirm in his lap.

You lift your head again, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with giddy affection. He catches your face in both hands — so big, so careful — and kisses you sloppily, without any hurry, tongues tangling and lips sticky with fruit and need.

You melt against him completely, moaning quietly into his mouth when his cock twitches again inside you, sending another lazy wave of pleasure through your body.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both grinning, foreheads pressed together, breathing eachother in.

"You’re a dream," he murmurs, soft as he brushes a few stray flower petals from your tangled braid.

You nod, dizzy and dainty and perfect in his arms, and you snuggle into him — still stuffed full, still sparkling with strawberry juice and love and a mess only he could make of you.

🍒

tags: @luiluvr @velvet-kissesss @multi-culti-girl @annanotherthingg @palmersluvr @lilbadblueeee @fligniuz @briarloves @daydreamingwithluigi @alleviatcd @mangionesdoll @dracula-reborn @bambimangione

luigi at a halloween party (2019) + crumbs

!!!!!!

“It’s easy to indict. Less easy to convict.” -Sarena Townsend on tiktok

Sending love!!!! 🫂

wait okay ty i needed to hear this 💘💘 sending sm love back

after reading kfa’s new motion

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.

O m g

roommates luigi mangione x reader 18+

smut summary your roommate luigi has been dealing drugs out of your house for or the past year and a half!!!??

warnings long ass intro, goodgirl-ish stereotype, jealousy, Angst, seriously long arguments, makeup/high sex, unedited, fingering, pussy eating, slapping, UNEDITED seriously

“hey, you live with pep, right?”

you blink, caught off guard. the question wasn’t unusual; the coffee shop was just a few blocks from campus. luigi liked to joke his only experience with roommates was sharing a house with frat boys and their girlfriends—unsurprisingly, they were the ones who usually came by. always with a package he left behind or cash they owed him.

never pretty, single girls.

you knew rebecca was single because she dumped her boyfriend at your birthday party last semester—caught him cheating and, according to campus lore, beat the shit out of both him and the girl. there was blood on the wall for weeks.

“you mean luigi?” you clarify.

“we were study buddies during undergrad. loved him,” she says, rummaging through a leather tote. she pulls out a pale pink envelope, his name scrawled across the front in careful cursive. “ran into him the other day and totally forgot to give him this. would you mind?”

you pause. the envelope feels too personal.

“you should give it to him yourself,” you say, too fast. “he’s throwing a party for the game tonight. you should come.”

“you’re so sweet. but i don’t know. i haven’t talked him in forever and so much has changed…” you feel a storm of something strange wash over you. a part of you didn’t want her to come to the party and you couldn’t place a finger on why. “is he still seeing that humanities major?”

“no, i don’t think so,” you say, trying to sound casual, even though your heart is already betraying you. pride tugs at your voice, holding it steady.

“oh. thank god,” she says. “pep’s always been so nice, but i can never tell if he’s just nice to everyone, you know?”

you’d never lie to a girl about your hot roommate’s love life—especially not just to protect your own feelings. even if they’re louder than they should be.

louder than they should be?!??! god, what were you even saying? your voice echoes in your own head, tiny and unsure. before you can spend another second replaying it, beautiful, blue-eyed rebecca leans over the counter and slides the envelope toward you. her fingers brush yours—intentional, maybe. she’s still smiling.

“listen, if i don’t make it, you’ll give it to him, right?”

maybe it was the optimist in you. maybe it was just a slow evening. or the retrograde. but ultimately, you smile—tight-lipped but genuine—and suddenly, you’re playing matchmaker. pretending your heart isn’t thudding, pretending you’re just being helpful.

the sky’s already gone purple by the time your shift ends. you smell like espresso and sweat, and your hair’s half-falling out of its bun. you don’t bother fixing it.

by the time you get to the house, the party’s already full; bass pulsing through the floorboards, bodies pressed together in the living room, and the back door swinging open every few minutes to clouds of smoke and laughter.

luigi’s posted up in the kitchen, adidas hoodie half-zipped, sleeves pushed up, a red solo cup dangling from his fingers like an afterthought. his hair’s a mess in that deliberate way, eyes sharp but warm when they land on you.

“you’re late,” he says, but he’s already moving to pour you a drink. something just a little sweeter than what he gives anyone else.

“had to close,” you say, sliding the envelope from your pocket and holding it out. “rebecca dropped this off for you.”

the brown-haired boy takes it, glancing at the cursive with a flicker of something unreadable. “cool, thanks,” he mutters, shoving it into a drawer without opening it.

you frown when he slides the envelope into the drawer like it’s junk mail. “you’re not going to read it?”

luigi glances at you, then at the drawer. “read it?”

“yeah,” you say, stepping closer. “i don’t know. it just seems like something she… put effort into.”

“y/n,” he huffs a soft laugh. “it’s not that kind of letter.”

you tilt your head. “what kind is it?”

“business,” he says. “boring stuff.”

“rebecca doesn’t seem boring.”

“she’s not. but this is,” luigi says, slipping his specialty drink into your hand—all sugar-sweet, just the way you like it.

“i’m glad you think so,” you watch him carefully as you continue your sentence, “cause i invited her over tonight.”

he tilts his head at you. “what? why would you do that?”

you shrug, trying to sound breezy. “she said you two were close. that you used to study together.”

a pause. too short to mean nothing, too long to not mean something.

“right, uh…” he tilts his head and tries to come up with more fulfilling response. “i guess i had a lot of study buddies that year.”

“okay well,” you frown at his lack of excitement. “she seemed nostalgic about it. she obviously misses you. she still calls you by your nickname and everything.”

the brunette watches your expression as he leans a hip against the counter, close now—close enough that you catch the faint smell of weed hiding underneath his signature cologne. he smiles playfully.

“so you figured i’d be thrilled to see her again? y/n, what would we even talk about?”

you’d been undergrad together, but never really together, not the way rebecca might’ve been. you wonder: were they hooking up? the story about the thought of rebecca, a dance major, seeking out robotics captain luigi mangione for help seemed strange. but who knows? there were always elective classes, chance meetings, and volunteer opportunities.

theories racketed your brain. she was his type obviously. she was everyone’s—confident, beautiful, the kind of girl who didn’t need to try to be the center of the room. the kind of girl people orbited around. the kind he’d probably want to be around—loud, magnetic, always laughing.

regardless, it wasn’t your business. you and luigi were roommates. friends, more or less, and only because the lease said so. crossing that line, even in conversation, felt weird. invasive. risky.

“don’t be a dick,” you say. “she seemed excited to see you.”

luigi raises an eyebrow. “to what, rekindle our academic bond?”

you roll your eyes. “i thought you’d be at least be little grateful i scored you a pretty date.”

“right, y/n,” he drawls out. “i’m so grateful you went out of your way to reunite me with another one of my study partners.”

“she’s gorgeous and she’s single.”

luigi watches your face carefully. “she put you up to this?”

“here i thought you were all about having a growth mindset,” you point out.

luigi sighs before another eye-roll. “i’m growing tired of this conversation. stop doing favors for people you don’t know.”

“you know, i think that’s why you’re still single.” you say, taking another swing of the sugary alcohol. “you’re close-minded.”

“i’m still single because i know what i want,” he corrects. “and you’re one to talk. you haven’t brought a guy home since you moved in.”

“don’t lump me in with you. i don’t bring guys home because i’m classy.” you say, though he was right. you weren’t seeing anyone. you just wanted to give off the impression that you were.

the brown-haired boy raises both his brows, amused. “alright then, who?”

you straighten. “i’m not telling you.”

“you get to pimp me out to strangers and i don’t get to know who you’re seeing?”

“oh, lighten up, i’d kill to have a love letter handwritten and delivered. it’s romantic!”

luigi shakes his head. “she owes me cash, y/n. it’s not a love letter.”

you feel your shoulders drop a bit, but maintain your stance. “no one decorates an envelope like that for a business transaction, luigi. give her a smile, at least.”

“if i give her a smile, do i get to know about your secret little love affair?

“it’s not like that.” at all. hopefully, rebecca could coerce him into a couple more drinks and he’d forget about this interaction completely.

“just you’re just hooking up, then? is he coming out tonight?”

“it doesn’t matter,” you give him a playful wave—desperate to end your lie—and start making your way up the stairs, but not before throwing a glance over your shoulder. “i’ll be right back. i need to change.”

“hurry back down,” luigi barks after you. “you’re seven drinks behind!”

you don’t go looking for him when you come back down.

the lights are low now, pulsing to the bass, and the house is full—warm with bodies and laughter and the smell of weed curling out through the open windows. you hear his voice somewhere, low and easy. you don’t look for rebecca but she’s here, you know it. you can feel them together somewhere in the room—close, magnetic, like a glittering coin on the pavement you have no interest in picking up.

jack—one of luigi’s older friends—spots you before you can pretend you’re just passing through. he was tall, and had just recently started a fancy press job in new york. he barely came back down for holidays, so you couldn’t help but notice him in your kitchen. he leans against the counter, tequila in hand and a half-smile already pulling at his mouth like he was waiting for you.

“y/n,” he says, eyes flicking over you, slow. “thought you’d locked yourself in for the night.”

“i tried,” you say. “someone threw a party under my house.”

“right, forgot, luigi’s infamous for being inconsiderate.” he pours you a drink without asking. “but if it gets you out here looking like that, i’m not mad about it.”

you blink, surprised, but not. jack’s always had that look about him, like he enjoys pushing a little past the line just to see what you’ll do.

“new york taught you how to flirt?”

he grins, offering you a brand new red solo cup. “no, those lessons were learned at harvard. i’ll can tell you all about it outside if you’d like.”

you glance away, take the drink. you can feel luigi somewhere behind you now, his presence like heat on your back.

“he letting you off your leash tonight?” jack presses, tone light, but there’s something sharper under it. “or is this a jailbreak?”

you huff a laugh, lifting the cup to your lips. “what leash?”

“c’mon,” he says, cocking his head. “you two play it off well, but you’ve got the kind of orbit that doesn’t happen by accident.”

“we’re just roommates,” you say.

“sure,” jack smirks. “and i’m a priest.”

before you can come up with something clever to toss back, a voice cuts through the conversation.

“oh my god, there you are!” rebecca practically bounces up to you, her face lighting up like she just spotted her favorite celebrity. she hugs you before you can even react, nearly knocking the drink out of your hand. “i couldn’t find you anywhere. this is amazing! thank you sooo much for inviting me!

you blink, surprised but trying not to show it. you haven’t seen rebecca this excited since, well… ever. how’d she get this drunk this quickly? had you really spent that long changing?

“careful, you’re gonna choke her out,” jack says, replacing her life-threatening grip with arm slipped around your waist, hovering close enough to make you feel the heat of his touch. you stiffen but don’t pull away, unsure if it’s because you’re actually okay with it or just frozen in the moment.

“sorry, sorry, i get handsy when im drunk,” rebecca says, eyes bright. you think back to your birthday party and agree silently. “don’t worry, jack, i have no plans on stealing your date.”

he leans in close, voice warm. “guess i’ll just have to hold on tighter, then.”

“date?” the word cuts in like a hook—low, sharp, unmistakably amused.

you glance up. luigi enters in behind rebecca, hands shoved in his pockets, the faintest tilt to his mouth like he’s trying very hard not to look annoyed. or worse: interested.

“i didn’t know you two were close,” luigi continues, eyes skimming over you and jack like he’s filing something away.

god. you were never going to hear the end of this.

“we’re not,” you say too quickly.

“yet,” jack adds, easy as anything, his arm still resting a little too comfortably around your waist.

you open your mouth, but before you can respond, rebecca gasps dramatically beside luigi.

“oh my god, pep, you’re so nosy,” she teases, looping her arm through his like it belongs there. “let them flirt. it’s cute.”

you blink, surprised, but try to play it off. jack chuckles. luigi doesn’t.

jack shifts, clearly picking up on the tension, and attempts to pull you away, “we were just headed out for a smoke, actually, so—”

“she doesn’t smoke,” luigi says, like it’s some sort of fact he’s decided for you.

you feel your face sink a bit, embarrassment flashing hot under your skin. really? this is how he repays you? cock-blocking you after you set him up with miss fucking pennsylvania?

“what? no, i—”

luigi cuts in, eyes steady, eyebrows raised like he’s already caught you in a lie. “you what?”

you falter. you don’t. you never have.

jack glances between you two, clearly catching on. “hey, it’s not a big deal,” he says, hands half-up in peace. “just thought you might wanna come out back. talk. chill.”

luigi’s mouth twitches, but it’s not a smile. “talk. chill. sounds thrilling.”

rebecca snorts as glances between the three of you, like she’s clocking something—then leans in, stage-whispering, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say someone’s feeling a little left out.”

jack holds up his hands in mock innocence. “it’s just a cigarette, pep. not a proposal.”

you shift, caught somewhere between wanting to defend yourself and wanting the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “i—i’ve tried it before. once.”

luigi raises an eyebrow. “and that makes you a smoker?”

you glare at him, embarrassed. “no. i didn’t say that.”

“then why the hell are you trying to impress him?”

jack steps closer now, his voice calm but firm. “look, if there’s a problem here, we can talk about it.”

but luigi doesn’t respond to jack. his hazel eyes stay locked on you, cold and unreadable. “upstairs bathroom light’s been on for the last half hour,” he says, his voice casual, but it cuts through everything. “again.”

you pause, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “what?”

“it’s messing with the breaker,” he says, more pointed now. “you wanna help me fix it, or do you need more time with him?”

your face flushes deeper, but you don’t know what to say. you glance at jack, who’s looking at you, a little frustrated but still giving you space to make a decision.

rebecca tries to cut in with a forced smile. “okay, okay, let’s not make this a whole thing,” she says, giving luigi an exaggerated pat on the arm. “you’ve got ‘house duties’. go before the place falls apart. both of you.”

you take a deep breath, torn between the need to stay and the undeniable pull of getting away from this mess. reluctantly, you turn to follow luigi.

he doesn’t look back, but you can feel the weight of his presence as he heads toward the stairs. you follow, hesitating, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on your back.

the door clicks shut behind you, and for the first time tonight, it’s just the two of you.

“you’re being mean,” you finally say, voice tight. “i set you up with the ten of tens, and you repay me by embarrassing me in front of jack?

“embarrassing you?” he repeats in disbelief. “are you serious?”

“i would’ve never done that to you!” your voice comes out sharper than you mean it, laced with something like betrayal. “i wouldn’t humiliate you in front of someone i knew liked you.”

“yeah?” he bites back, his fawn-colored eyes darker than ever. “well, maybe if you actually paid attention, you’d realize he doesn’t just like you. jack’s been circling you for months.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you snipe. “and even if that were true, who cares? we were just talking.”

“you don’t see it,” he says, shaking his head, furious and exasperated all at once. “you never fucking see it.”

“see what?”

“he’s not subtle, and he’s definitely not harmless. he’s just waiting for you to be dumb enough to give him a shot.”

“so what?” you say. “he’s not the first guy to flirt with me, luigi.”

“he’s the first one you let,” he argues.

you throw your hands up. “jesus, who cares? he was talking to me. you know, like people do at parties. i wasn’t naked in his lap.”

“could’ve fooled me.”

that’s it. the last thread of patience snaps.

“you’ve got a real talent for making me feel like shit,” you say, each word heavy with hurt. you’re not crying. you’re not giving him the satisfaction of breaking down. but god, does it feel like he just ripped something out of you.

you don’t wait for him to say anything else. you turn on your heel, walk straight to the door, and shove it open with more force than you meant. the sound of it slamming behind you feels louder than it should, final in a way you weren’t prepared for.

he doesn’t follow.

. . .

the house is silent for days. luigi’s always been out earlier than you, and you’ve mastered the art of avoiding him—turning your head just in time to not catch his eye, slipping out the door when you hear his footsteps getting too close. there’s a strange comfort in the silence, in not having to confront what happened. but the silence is bound to break eventually.

he starts leaving little things behind. a hoodie on the couch, a mug in the sink, his shoes at the door. it’s like he’s trying to find a way to be around without being around, but it’s only making it harder for you to ignore him.

you can feel him watching, though he doesn’t say anything. you’re aware of every shift in the air, every time his footsteps get too close to your door. the air in the house gets heavier, filled with all the things neither of you are saying.

days pass like this: him and his quiet little offerings, and a stream of overly confident ex-frat guys making appearances at your coffee shop. you’ve been spending more time at work more than ever.

one afternoon, a girl—polished nails, perfect ponytail—leans over the counter and says, “hey, are you luigi’s roommate?”

you groan internally. “yes.”

she slides a thick envelope toward you. “can you give this to him?”

you should say no. it’s on the tip of your tongue. but instead, you nod once and slip it into your bag.

the house smells faintly like weed when you get home—soft and sour, like it’s sunk into the walls. you don’t think much of it until you knock once on luigi’s door, step in to drop off the envelope and. he’s on the floor, shirtless, back against his bedframe like he’s been there for a while. his curly hair is a mess, sticking up in soft waves like he’s dragged his hands through it too many times. his eyes—bambi-colored, warm and red-rimmed—find you instantly.

he blinks up at you like he wasn’t expecting to ever see you again.

“you’re home,” he says, half to himself.

you glance at the envelope you just dropped on the desk. “don’t get too excited. it’s just another envelope.”

the brown-haired boy blinks, confused, slow to react. “wait—can you just—”

“already did my part,” you cut in, stepping back.

“can you just talk to me?” he says. it’s not demanding. it’s quiet. weirdly soft. “yell at me. call me a dick. something.”

you shake your head. “we’ve argued enough.”

he stumbles closer, barefoot and slow, like he’s trying not to spook you. “y/n, come on, i didn’t mean to—”

“then why did you do it?” you cut him off, but the frustration that floods your voice doesn’t quite match the hurt you feel.

you just want him to apologize. you shake your head, trying to make sense of the confusion swirling in your chest. “i don’t you want me to say, luigi. that i felt humiliated? that i was standing there trying to have a normal conversation, and you acted like i was doing something wrong? like i was—i don't know—cheap or something?"

luigi frowns. "i would never say that.”

"you don’t have to," you snap. "the look on your face said it. the tone in your voice said it. everyone could hear it."

"i just didn't want him near you!”

“why does that matter?”

“it just does, okay?”

you cross your arms over your chest. “that’s not an answer, luigi.”

“i know… i know, i’m sorry i’ve been a mess, and i made you feel like shit, and i’m sorry,” he begins quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “but you have to understand… it’s not easy for me to say any of this. i’m not used to feeling like this.”

you glance at him, not quite following what he’s getting at. “feeling like what?”

he takes a slow step forward, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that almost feels like it’s burning him. he’s close enough now you can smell the remnants of whatever he’d been smoking—and hell, he was right. you really weren’t a smoker. you feel yourself shrink underneath the cloud, eyes studying his tired face.

“feeling jealous. feeling… like i was losing something i couldn’t live without. when i saw you with jack, smiling at him, it… god, it just hit me,” he says, his voice strained. “and i couldn’t stand it. the way you looked at him—it’s like i wasn’t even there anymore. like i was invisible to you.”

you stare at him, processing everything, and it’s like the weight of his words hits you all at once, but your pride refuses to let you soften just yet. “so what? you thought humiliating me was the answer? making me feel like shit in front of jack and rebecca.”

“no,” he says quickly, his voice raw. “god, no. that was never the plan. i just… i don’t know what the hell i was doing. i just saw you with him and my head—” he stops, shaking his head, clearly frustrated with himself. “i wasn’t thinking straight. i know it’s no excuse. i fucked up. but i want to fix it. please, y/n, i want to fix this.”

“i don’t even know what to say to you,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, but your arms still crossed defensively over your chest.

he steps forward again, desperation in his eyes. “you do, though. you do. i swear to god, i never meant to make you feel like this. i’ve… i’ve been an idiot. i don’t know how to fix it, but i can’t stand seeing you like this. i can’t stand knowing i’ve hurt you.”

“i’m sorry, y/n.” he continues, his voice dropping even lower as his arms come around to embrace you, “i know i messed up. but i care about you, more than i can say. i didn’t want him looking at you like that, not when you’re… so much more than that.”

you’re quiet for a long moment, letting yourself nuzzle into his warmth. “you should’ve just said something,” you say softly, the edge still in your voice, though it’s starting to fade.

“i know. i wish i had. i just didn’t know how to handle it. i didn’t want to mess things up between us.” his voice drops to a whisper. “but i can’t stand the thought of you thinking i don’t care.”

you look away, feeling the weight of everything swirling between you both. “i don’t know, luigi. i’m still pissed.”

the brown-haired boy exhales sharply. “yeah, i get that. i do. i’m not asking you to forgive me right away. but…” he hesitates before he pulls himself off of you, his voice almost embarrassed. “but maybe we can try… i was thinking maybe we could just to smoke, for now. just to calm down. and then we can talk more.”

your brows lift.

“you’re trying to bribe me into forgiving you with weed?”

luigi laughs under his breath. “no. maybe. i don’t know. i just… thought maybe we could use a pause.”

you eye the joint warily. “i’ve never smoked before.”

“i know,” he says gently. “and you don’t have to. just stay here with me.”

and somehow, you do. you sit on the edge of his bed while he lights up, still shirtless and stupidly pretty in the soft light. he takes the first hit, exhales slow, then offers it to you.

you hesitate.

“it’s okay,” he says, voice dipped in something tender. “you don’t have to be cool about it. i’ll talk you through.”

you take it. breathe in. cough, a little.

luigi grins. “cute.”

you narrow your eyes, but the minutes slip by quietly, and the high starts to settle into your limbs—warm, slow, like honey. the anger that once pulsed sharp behind your ribs begins to dull at the edges, softening into something you can’t quite name. he gently guides you closer to him on the bed. as you both pass the blunt back and forth, the tension is still there, but it’s lighter now, less heavy. his skin brushes yours—bare and warm—and you feel the heat of him even through the haze.

“you know,” luigi says softly, his voice low, like he’s afraid to break the moment. “you’re pretty all the time.”

you glance at him, brow arching.

“but when you’re mad at me…” he trails off with a small huff, running his fingers down the line on your chin. “it’s a problem. because i still wanna kiss you. even when you look like you want to kill me.”

you roll your eyes, trying not to smile, but it’s a losing battle. “you’re just saying that because we’re high and in your bed.”

“nah,” he says, and this time his voice drops even lower, more serious. “i’ve been thinking it since sophomore year.”

“i think you’re confusing me with someone else.” you laugh. “we didn’t know each other sophomore year.”

“what do you mean?” he frowns. “that was the first year you worked at the coffee shop.”

“sure, yeah,” you agree. that was correct. but you two didn’t even know each other until halloweekend junior year. “how would you even know that? you don’t even like coffee.”

“you’d never remember me,” luigi adds quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’d just sit there and try to study. you were always there, like… humming to yourself behind the counter. or talking to old people like they were your best friends. i don’t know. you just—made everything feel more fun.”

you stare at him, processing.

he shifts closer, just slightly. the bed dips. his shoulder brushes yours again. you don’t pull away.

his fingers find your hair, brushing it back from your cheek, so gentle it makes your chest ache. “i’m sorry for being a dick,” he says. “at the party. before that. all of it. i didn’t know how to say any of this. and i didn’t want to screw it up.”

“you kind of did,” you say, but there’s no bite to it. just truth.

“i know.” his thumb traces lightly along your jaw. “but if there’s still a chance… i want to try.”

your heart skips. the weed makes everything feel softer, but the clarity in his eyes is real.

“can i kiss you?” he asks, voice low. nervous.

you hesitate for just a second. then you nod.

and when he leans in, it’s slow. he’s giving you every second to pull away. but you don’t. your eyes flutter shut and his mouth finds yours, warm and tentative, until the kiss deepens with something that feels like all the things he never said. you melt into his warmth, one hand on his bare chest, the other tangled in his curls. his hands are everywhere, tracing the curve of your back, sliding under your shirt.

you gasp into his mouth as he quickly finds the softness of your hip, pulling you closer and tugging your leg over him so the heat of your core is against him. shaky breaths escape you as his lips travel up your neck.

“y/n, hold on,” luigi murmurs, his body feverish beneath yours as you feel his raging bulge poking into you with every small movement you make. “are you sure?”

“yes.” you were misty-eyed and barely breathing but completely sure, your arms wrapping around his neck, teasingly scratching his back with your nails. “you don’t have to be so careful with me.”

the brown-haired boy lets out a short laugh as he leans in for another kiss. “don’t say shit like that,” he murmurs.

you weren’t usually this confident. but other than this weekend, you couldn’t picture luigi as anything other than sugar sweet.

“or what?”

“or i’m not gonna be able to control myself.”

“control yourself?” you repeat, feeling a hazy laugh escape your lips without reason. “luigi, you could never hurt me.”

“yeah?” luigi hums. “you sure you can take it?”

“i want to,” you say, overconfident. “i want you, luigi.”

and before you could even adjust, he was on top of you, his tongue down your throat as you pressed yourself into him, feeling his hard cock against you.

you gripped his bicep as his two large fingers found your heat, giving you no time to adjust. he moved with precision and purpose, thrusting and curling as you were forced to look into his brown eyes.

“good girl, so wet f’me,” he whispers. eyeing you down, admiring the wet patch he’s created through ur panties.

“that’s all for me, yeah?” he continues airily. he swipes his fingers across the waistband of your panties, letting it catch and snap lightly against your butt. you gasp, and he grins, pleased with himself. “or did you wanna call up jack one more time? make his fuckin’ night?”

“no,” you hum. “i only want you.”

“good girl,” he murmurs into your skin as he begins to kiss down your body. he harshly rips the fabric of your panties off your body.

you pout. “those were expensive.”

“i’ll buy you anything you need,” he says. “just let me have my way with you.”

helpless and impatient, you whine, when he spits against your core, lubricating his movements so he can abuse every one of your senses. his tongue darts inside your weeping cunt, moving freely with the oozing wetness that gushes over, moaning with every sweet gasp that escapes you.

“luigi," you writhe, fingers grappling blindly at the curls that lay matted against luigi’s forehead. "please please please.."

his response is muffled against your pussy as he licks every ounce of arousal that your cunt provides, spurred on by the fruitless push of your heels into the mattress and the tightening of your thighs around his skull. he's eager to make up for lost time, sealing his lips around your clit for the last time so that your spasming, legs locking into a momentary paralyzed position until he's pressing palms into your dewy thighs and forcing them farther apart to delve further into his meal.

you can’t help but let out a whimper when he pulls his mouth off of you, dragging you to the edge of his bed by your ankles. “luigi,” you cry out, helpless.

“don’t be a brat,” he says before throwing. a hard smack to across your face. “i’m gonna give you exactly what you need.”

tugging at his sweatpants down, letting them fall, and pushing his boxers down just enough for his huge veiny cock to sit up hitting his stomach.

your heart races at the sight of him, you already know he’s gonna stretch you out. he loves the look of fear in ur eyes as u take him in. without any warning at all, he starts ploughing his massive cock into ur soaked innocence. you scream at the impact, tears welling in your eyes as he fucks you with no remorse.

your legs unconsciously wrap around his waist. his hands grip onto your hips tightly, surely leaving bruises for you in the morning. you feel a slap come down on your ass cheek, you let out a sharp moan, and another hard slap makes you writhe in pain.

“where you goin’?” he retorts, somewhere between playful and arrogant. “don’t run from it, baby, you said you’d be a good girl f’me.”

“luigi, fuck, hold on—” you cry out when he goes in deeper.

“fuckin’ take it, quit complaining.” he gripes before taking your tit in one hand, teasing your nipple in between his fingers.

you shiver at the sensation. “luigi!”

“just like that,” he grunts. “scream on my cock like that, sweetheart. let the neighbors know.”

he put his whole body into fucking you, tightened his grip around your throat and leaned down to whisper in your ear, pushing you further down and you squirmed underneath him.

"you want me to fill you up, huh?" he says, voice low and filthy. "want me to come inside you?" his thumb finds your clit, putting the slightest pressure as he circles slowly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

you can’t answer, not with words. just a desperate whimper as your legs lock tighter around his waist, hips rolling up to meet him. "come on, princess,” luigi coos. "don’t make me do all the work. least you could do is tell me what you want.”

"p-please… luigi. i can't—” you whimpered, tears pricking the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from sheer, ineffable need. your inner muscles clenched desperately, trying to pull the orgasm out.

“poor pussy probably never felt this good, huh?”he groans into your ear, you writhe against him once more.

“s’close,” you cry out, finally. “want you to breed me.”

luigi moans at the request, flipping you over as you let out moans that got muffled by the pillow, a handful of your hair around his fist as you closed your eyes in pleasure, your fists gripping the sheets to try and anchor yourself as he whispered in your ear. every thrust, truth and praise. such a good girl for me... you're mine... this pussy's all mine... no one's gonna fuck this pretty girl like i do..." until you become undone around him, his own cum mixing with your juices as your cunt clenched around him.

luigi’s body sinks into the mattress beside yours, the bed dipping gently beneath him. the air is thick with the scent of sex and weed—hazy, intimate, almost golden in the low light. it clings to the sheets, to your skin, to the quiet between you. but there’s no regret. no leftover ache. whatever had fractured between you hours ago feels far away now, softened by touch and breath and the comfort of being near each other again.

you’re still staring up at the ceiling, letting the moment settle into something that feels like this—peaceful, but maybe a little fragile. then, almost without thinking, you ask,

“so… if this didn’t work, what was your backup plan?”

luigi lets out a quiet laugh, like he’s caught off guard. “you think i had a backup?”

“you always do,” you tease, shifting slightly to look at him.

he hesitates, glancing at the ceiling like he’s deciding how much he’s willing to share. then, finally,

“i wrote you something.”

you blink. “like a song?”

he snorts. “jesus christ, no.”

“oh.”

“don’t look so disappointed, it was just as corny,” he says. there’s a pause, then a soft laugh from his side of the bed. not mocking. nervous.

“i, uh…” he continues, and he’s already blushing, you can hear it in his voice. “it was a letter. i wasn’t gonna show you unless i had to. like, absolute worst case scenario.”

you shift, propping yourself up on one elbow so you can see him better. “you wrote me a love letter?”

he makes a face. “no, i wouldn’t call it that.”

you turn to face him, amused. “what would you call it?”

“something i’m gonna throw away as soon as you fall asleep.”

you pout, turning fully to face him now. “what, it wasn’t romantic?”

“that’s not what i said,” he mutters. “it’s just… you said that thing in the kitchen. about how you’d kill to have someone write you a love letter.“

you meet his gaze, a little shocked by how tender it is, how much sincerity he’s not even trying to hide.

“wait,” you say, heart beating a little faster, “where’s this letter?”

he looks away, obviously flustered. “uh… probably buried at the bottom of my backpack somewhere.”

you narrow your gaze. “you’re lying.”

he turns toward you with a smile, but it’s more like a nervous grin. “yeah, well… if you’d seen it, you’d understand why.”

you pout immediately. “it doesn’t matter what it says. it’s my first love letter.”

the fan hums its tired rhythm above you, steady and slow. beneath the blanket, your fingers find his—softly, like a thought half-formed, like instinct.

“you seriously not gonna let me read it?” you ask eventually.

he doesn’t answer right away.

“maybe not tonight,” he says.

you nod, and that’s fine. it’s more than fine.

you stretch your arm across the space between you, hand resting just barely on his chest. his heart beats steady beneath your palm. real. ordinary. a little fast.

“hey,” you say softly.

he looks at you.

“don’t lose it.”

“the letter?”

you nod.

he watches you for a long second. then says, “i won’t.”

ask-box officially re-opened!

masterlist

!!!!

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

Save a horse ride a cowboy au with Luigi. Maybe Lu’s Halloween costume is a cowboy and he teaches you the hat trick after you take his hat and put it on your own head? 😋

Ok imagine your friends are forcing you to go to a frat party. It’s Halloween but all you want to do is stay home and watch Halloween movies, binging on candy and fast food. You made zero effort with your costume, throwing on a black top and mini skirt, drawing some whiskers onto your cheeks with eyeliner.

“I’m a cat” you tell your friends, who are looking at you with confusion.

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ ࿔

You arrive at the party and are drawn to the drinks Your friends are long gone, going off to find their partners engaging in whatever it is people enjoy doing at parties.

“Meow” you hear from behind you.

You spin around, spilling the shot in your hand, to place your eyes on Luigi. He’s dressed as a cowboy with blue jeans, a checkered shirt and a straw hat. He even went as far as wearing cowboy style boots, which you are so sure he bought especially for tonight.

“Luigi! I’m glad to see you here. Meow, back”

“Haha I thought it was you. A cat huh? How original” he says, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips.

You roll your eyes and scoff. “Oh yeah? A cowboy? Wow how original.” You laugh back, playfully swatting his shoulder.

You grab another two shot glasses, downing one and passing the other to Luigi. He downs the shot, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and immediately grabbing another cup.

“Wow slow down there, billy the kid” you say, grabbing his hat and placing it on your head.

He finishes the second shot and looks at you, cocking his head to the side. “You’re not familiar with the rule, I assume.”

You simply laugh, furrowing your brows with confusion. “You’re such a nerd, what rule?”

“You know, the rule,” he wipes his mouth again, observing your face, waiting for a reaction. “Oh shit, you actually don’t know.” He laughs, placing a hand on your hips, pulling you in.

You stumble forwards into him, falling into his unbelievably muscular body. You place a hand onto his chest to steady yourself.

Luigi leans in close, whispering into your ear. “You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” He pulls away, smirking, lifting his eyebrows.

Your jaw is slack, shocked at the filthy words leaving his mouth. “Well we can’t break the rules now, can we!” You say, looking around to make sure no one heard. You take a step back and he taps the rim of the hat still resting on your head. The hat tips forwards, covering your eyes. You pull the hat off handing it back to him.

“Oh no no, keep it on. You gotta wear the hat if you want to ride” luigi cringes a little at his own words and you take the hat back, laughing and shaking your head.

You place it back into your head, taking his hand. “Lead the way, cowboy.” You tell him.

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ ࿔

In Luigi’s bedroom, he helps you out of your clothes, as you stumble across his bedroom. You break the kiss momentarily, long enough for him to pull your top off and go back to messily making out.

You help him undo his belt, and unbutton his jeans as he kicks off his boots. He trips and falls back, landing on the bed. You fall with him, landing on top of him.

He rolls you off of himself to wiggle out of his jeans and then grabs your hips, pulling you back towards him. You straddle his hips and he pushes himself up, placing his hands on the bed, supporting himself.

Before you can take the hat off you hear luigi tell you, “what did I say, the hat stays on”.

You roll your eyes, giggling. “Want me to ride you or not?”

Luigi has been officially indicted on his federal charges.

You can read the full document here.

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