Husband Luigi Headcanons

Solace

Request: spencer reid x reader Where you just need some physical affection from your husband

A:N: I/m sorry for how short it is! I hope you enjoyed.

SPENCER REID REQUESTS OPEN

It had been a long day for you. Today, was filled with problem after problem. Your co workers had been bitchy today, as usual but it got especially under your skin today, then someone used all of the coffee in the entire office just after your boss decided to drop a stack of papers on your desk that needed your attention by the end of the day. To make matters worse, the bottom of your shoe fell off.

Yeah, you read that right. The sightly lifted bottom of your shoe caught onto a step, and somehow as you stepped forward, you managed to also peel the layer from the sole, leaving you in a gross pair of disguarded trainers from the lost and found.

Sufficet to say, your day was shit.

Going home was solace for you, a haven. This haven contained your husband, the love of your life, the smartest and most handsome man in the world (in your opinion anyway), and he was always attentive to your every need on days like this. When you two got engaged, you had made a promise to always be home for one another when you promised to be. Tonight, you were especially excited, becuase Spencer was returning from a case, and he'd promised to be home before you finished work.

Spencer being home before you always meant two things. One would be, When you opened the front door, you'd be greeted by the smell of fresh coffee, and the sound of his crackly old vinyl playing Brahms or The Doors. The next would be that Spencer would be by your side as soon as he could, and hugging you like he thought he'd never see you again.

Arriving home, you found your first prediction to be correct. The sound of 'Love me Two Times' playing softly alerted you to his presance, and scent of freshly brwed espresso comforted you as you slipped silently into your shared home. Quietly, you placed your bag down, stripping your coat and placing your keys into a bowl gently.

You could hear Spencer clattering around in the kitchen, no doubt attempting to make dinner. Deciding to surprise him, you slowly tiptoed through the long emerald hallway that led to the kitchen, slowly peeking around the corner, you saw Spencer facing away from you, looking into a cupboard.

With a sneaky smile, you continued to tiptoe to him till you were just a touch away when-

"Boo!" He spun around and grabbed your hips, causing you to scream in surprise. Screeching his name, he only laughs at your pout and pulls you into him by your hips.

"Sorry, love." He laughed out, leaning forward to kiss your forehead softly "But to be fair, you were going to try and scare me first."

You rolled your eyes and slid your arms around his slender neck, looking into his eyes with a smile.

"Well, I guess allis fair in love and war and that..." You reach to meet his lips with yours softly, the kiss is tender and full of the deep love you both feel for one another. Pulling away, you both have dopey love struck smiles gracing your features

"I think i prefer love..." He mumbles before catching your lips in his once again.

After a moment, Spencer attempts to pull away from you after a moment, but you pout once more, pulling him back.

"Nooo... dont go stay here and cuddle me" You whine, pouting like a child, elliciting another chuckle from Spencer.

"Really, you want to cuddle in the middle of the kitchen?" His hand was rubbing small circles on your lower back, tracing his fingers along the slender line of your spine. Humming, you nodded in agreement

"I don't care where as long as im right here." Gesturing to your place in his arms, Spencer gives you an exhasberated look, shaking his head at your use of love to blackmail him to holding you whilst stood staionary in the kitchen. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he gives you a small squeeze.

"We can always do this on the couch? Or the bed?" Your eyebrows quirk up at his comment

"Doctor Spencer Reid! Are you just trying to get me in bed with you?" You feign offense, causing him to laugh at your dramatics "Romance IS dead!"

Rolling his eyes once more, he pulls away from you and begins to lead you to your bedroom

"I don't think I can trick you into your OWN bed." He chuckles as he pulls you ontop of him, both of your bodies softly hitting the matress.

Propping yourself up and onto your elbows, you bring your attention to the mans face, staring at him adoringly, his gaze meeting yours with the same look. Leaning down, you give him a small kiss, before collapsing into his embrace.

"I love you..." You mumble into his chest, he gives you another tight squeeze and kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

drunkenly confessing your feelings for lu over voicemail…

You’re drunk. Very drunk. And despite every logical part of your brain telling you not to, you call your best friend Luigi.

He doesn’t pick up, so you leave a voicemail.

“Luuuigi…” You drag out his name like a secret, slurred at the edges. “M’drunk… and I like you. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.” You hiccup, giggling to yourself. “That’s a secret, though. But I can’t keep it a secret anymore. Like… more than a friends way.” A dreamy sigh escapes you. “Love you… Anyway, byeeee.”

And with that, you hang up, completely oblivious to the chaos you’ve just unleashed.

Luigi runs a hand through his curls as he listens to your voicemail, standing frozen in the dim glow of his phone screen.

His first reaction? A sharp inhale, his pulse quickening. His second? A hand over his mouth as he exhales a slow, steady breath, trying to suppress the smirk pulling at his lips.

Of all the ways he imagined this happening—if it ever did—this wasn’t one of them.

He calls you. No answer.

He texts you. No reply.

His stomach twists. Drunk. Alone. And you just confessed to him like it was nothing more than a casual remark.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s knocking on your door.

“Come iinnn…” your groggy voice calls out.

Luigi steps inside, his sharp hazel eyes scanning the room. You’re sprawled on the couch, one arm draped dramatically over your forehead like a tragic damsel from an old film.

You blink up at him, confusion flickering across your face. “Luigi? Why are you here?”

His lips part, then press into a thin line as he exhales through his nose. He shifts his weight, pushing a hand through his curls. “You called me,” he says, then adds, almost hesitantly, “…said some other things.”

You squint. “Did I?” Then, suddenly, you burst into laughter, the kind that shakes your whole body. “Guess I forgot.”

He watches you, one brow arching. “Clearly.”

You stretch like a cat, then pout up at him. “You always get like this when I drink.”

Luigi lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, because you drinking alone and ignoring my texts is exactly what I wanted to deal with tonight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He drops a case of water onto the floor beside the couch. “Because I came prepared.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you seriously—”

“Three bottles every hour,” he informs you matter-of-factly, crouching beside you. “Or at least until you stop acting like a Shakespearean tragedy.”

You groan, letting yourself sink into the cushions. “Ugh, you’re such a nerd.”

“Yeah? Well, this nerd just saved you from a hellish hangover.” He cracks open a bottle, handing it to you. “Drink.”

You do, only because he’s watching you so intently. He leans back on his heels, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing.” His lips twitch. “You’re just really honest when you’re drunk.”

Your stomach flips. “Oh?” You try to sound nonchalant, but it comes out nervous. “Mhm.” He tilts his head slightly. “You sure you don’t remember what you said?”

You shake your head, looking away. “Nope.”

His eyes gleam. “Interesting.”

A flicker of panic sparks in your chest. Did you say something that bad? Did you embarrass yourself beyond repair?

Before you can spiral, exhaustion washes over you, the warmth of alcohol lulling you into drowsiness. You shift, leaning against him, your forehead pressing lightly into his shoulder. “Stay,” you mumble. Luigi tenses slightly before relaxing. His arm curls around you, rubbing slow circles against your back. “Anything you need,” he murmurs, voice softer now. Your fingers brush against his shirt, gripping just slightly. He exhales, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he watches you slip into sleep.

It’s only then that Luigi allows himself to fully process what just happened.

You like him.

A lot.

And now he’s sitting here with you wrapped around him, heart pounding, unable to stop himself from smoothing his fingers through your hair.

“You gave me a scare, you know,” he mutters to your sleeping form. “But I guess you’re full of surprises.” His gaze lingers on you, his usual sharp and teasing expression softening. Then, eventually, he lets himself fall asleep, too.

When you wake up, everything is… warm.

Too warm.

Your cheek is pressed against something firm, your legs tangled with someone else’s. And—oh god—your hand is resting dangerously close to…

Your breath catches.

Slowly, you lift your head, blinking the sleep from your eyes.

Luigi.

Luigi, who is currently knocked out beneath you, looking entirely too peaceful, his usually strong features relaxed in slumber.

You stare.

Oh.

Oh no.

Did you—?

Your eyes dart to your clothes. Still on. Okay. That’s… good? Bad? Your head is pounding too much to tell.

Before you can overthink it, a deep, groggy voice cuts through the silence.

“Enjoying the view?”

Your whole body jerks.

Luigi’s eyes are barely open, but there’s a smug curve to his lips, amusement laced through his sleep-heavy tone.

You sputter. “I—! No—! I—”

He chuckles, stretching with a slow, lazy elegance. His hand lifts to rub at his face, then he peers at you with an unreadable expression.

Then, in a voice far too casual for the situation, he says, “I like you.”

Your brain stalls.

“Like…” You squint. “Like, like-like?”

He smirks. “What are we, twelve?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again. “Wait.” A sudden realization dawns. “Did I say something last night?”

Luigi leans in, eyes dark with mischief. “Nope.”

You narrow your eyes. “…Liar.”

His smirk grows.

Your heart races.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. He immediately pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you. It’s slow and warm, a little uncertain at first, but the way he kisses back—firm, assured, just a hint of teasing—you melt into it.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little heavier.

“You have work soon,” you murmur, suddenly remembering. Luigi sighs dramatically. “Tragic, really.”

You grin. “What if you were just a teensy bit late?”

He hums, pretending to consider. “And what would I get in return?”

You lean in, letting your lips ghost over his. “Guess you’ll have to stay and find out.”

Luigi lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Tempting.” He stands. Before leaving, he tugs you forward by the wrist, planting one last kiss at the corner of your lips. “I’ll be back later, sweetheart.” His voice is low, promising.

And as you watch him go, you already can’t wait for later.

tag list 🏷️ my loves ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ @cherrysolo @slavicdolls4mangione @iinfinitelimits @poohkie90 @luweegeeswifey @number1yearner @noname123sposts @straw8berry @lavenderbabyyy @littlestl4mb @amoungusbartholo (lmk if u wanna be added or removed xx)

lovefool

info: luigi mangione x (fem) reader, NSFW, toxic ex situationship, reader is a ballerina, 5.6k wc

(a/n: this is entirely, entirely fiction! nothing i write reflects anyone irl. this should be obvious but i want to make that explicitly clear. if this upsets you, please do not read! you can also block me!)

Today was a bad day. That’s your excuse.

You were harshly critiqued during a private practice with your ballet master; tired and nervous and falling out of your turns that you know you should be executing perfectly. The upcoming performance of Coppélia is your first role in the main cast after five years with the company– after years of competing with the other dancers to get ahead. It’s your first chance to truly impress and cement yourself as an integral and regular part of the cast; so you stay too late at the studio, continuing to sacrifice after years of dedication, for a flickering chance of success that was never quite guaranteed.

You hate thinking, hate admitting that the added rehearsals and endless criticism was getting to you. It was unnerving knowing your teachers were watching to see if you could deliver the perfection that was undoubtedly expected of you. You're trying, but lately, for the first time in a very long time, you’re not sure if you can truly handle the pressure. 

Your calf hurts, it’s constantly throbbing and hot, and you’ve already spent too much time with the physical therapy team this week. Your feet are blistered and hurting– even more than usual, and you’re sick of the almost daily ice baths and the uncomfortable compression sleeves you have to wear to bed. 

Every night you dream of being on stage, in front of a full crowd and the hot, blinding lights. You dream of faltering, of forgetting choreography as a pressure in your chest builds and you wake up suddenly; sweaty, scared, and alone. It only motivates you to stay longer at the studio, falling into the routine of neglecting everything except dance, of neglecting yourself and your friends, trying not to think about all of the accumulated unanswered texts. 

It’s past ten by the time you leave the studio tonight, pouring rain and you realize he forgot an umbrella. You are tired, hungry, and admittedly, unashamedly, want Luigi. You want Luigi’s nice, warm apartment, his strong arms and sweet words, and the hot food he would make, always insisting you eat after practice.

When you were dating, you always felt like Luigi was almost too good to you. He would come to your shows with ridiculously big bouquets of flowers and deep kisses that would always embarrass you, trying to pin you against the wall of the empty dressing room just because he could. Luigi was devoted and intentional and kind; aware and always touching you, smiling at you, hugging you, fucking you. He would always ask you to stay afterward too, would always let you roll around in his big king-sized bed. 

Luigi was good for you in a lot of ways; he would massage your legs and arms when you were sore and he would cook for you after you came back from a long four-hour rehearsal; when usually before you would just eat half of a protein bar and crawl into bed. He would whisper constant reassurances and praise because Luigi knew ballet has always been important to you and self criticism has always been too easy for you. 

Ballet has always been the center of your life. You had spent your entire childhood working towards a future career in dance; worked hard for years, for so long, for hours every day in practice rooms, in competitions; sacrificing so much. All for ballet. 

For a long time, New York City Ballet seemed like a ridiculous pipe dream with a slim chance of becoming reality. You stayed in crowded and uncomfortable New York apartments for two years before you were offered an apprenticeship and then finally became a part of the corps de ballet two years ago. 

You yourself orbit around your career in ballet; your only friends are fellow dancers in the company and you're at the studio almost everyday. You have class six days a week and rehearsals on top of that for the seasonal ballet that’s performed four times a week.

In ballet, in that perfect and beautiful world, you have so much. You have accomplished a lot for your age, even if you didn’t like to acknowledge your impressive list of achievements and talents. You are dancing for one of the most prestigious companies in the world and have been praised by your ballet master, by your peers, and teachers for your talent and dedication. 

In ballet, you are seasoned and you are assured and strong. You know who you are on stage and who you are meant to be. But outside of ballet, in the other, crueler world that you don't understand, you aren’t totally sure who you are, what or who you were for. 

In real life, off stage, when you left the studio after practice, you really didn’t feel that strong. Sometimes you don’t feel that strong at all. And a lot of the time, You just want to love. 

You want to love and trust like the cheesy dramas you watched with your grandmother as a child. The dramas with the woman that always got the strong and sweet man at the end, after all of the pain and pining, eventually the world would solve itself and it would always end in easy and simple love. 

You have always wanted to be in love. Through ballet, You learned how to feel and express love, romance, and a range of emotions, and portray all of them silently. Because of that, because of the love you have for ballet and because of the love you routinely express, you have always thought that you would be good at loving someone else. 

You wanted it so badly, so much that it hurt; so much that you would lie awake at night in your small twin bed, against your scratchy, cheap sheets and would imagine stronger arms around you so you could finally relax and trust. You just wanted the warmth of someone else. It always got so cold– alone in your room, in your shitty apartment where you couldn't afford heat. Where you stayed before you woke up and went back to ballet, to your world. 

Luigi was immediately easy to love because Luigi was made to love. You met him through his college friend, another dancer. Luigi came to a matinee when both she and you were performing. Afterwards, she proudly introduced Luigi to you and his eyes stared into your own, bright and kind. He smiled widely and shook your hand. When you first met Luigi, you immediately wanted to love him. You just knew it would be so easy. 

When Luigi asked you out only a few days later, showing up with the guise of picking her up from rehearsal; he was shy, like he had never done this before. You liked that, you wanted to be the only one Luigi could even consider loving. He took you to a fancy restaurant that week, one that you had never been to, and from then on, it was too easy. 

“It’s because Luigi is loaded,” your friend had said once– and that wasn’t true. Luigi was comfortable but that wasn’t why you loved him. Luigi was everything you thought you would never really have because it was too good, it was almost too much love. 

Luigi would massage your aching legs and shoulders and praise you quietly, with small smiles and gentle reassurances. Because without you confiding in him, he knew what you needed and he wanted you to feel loved, to feel like you deserved to be loved. You were so used to critique, to being judged in all aspects of your life. It was nice and you chased it and Luigi loved giving it. 

It was barely a year of being together before you excitedly moved into his apartment; it was an easy decision to leave your apartment with four other people that was always cramped and dramatic.

Luigi told you that you made him believe in love. You felt like that too, when you really thought about it. You liked being called pretty, liked being taken care of sometimes, of being held like you were precious. You didn't need it, but you liked it. You liked how Luigi fucked you slowly, how he would suck deep dark marks into your chest, and hold your head carefully to fuck his cock into your mouth, before pulling out and having you gasping for breath. 

But you eventually realized loving was hard sometimes. It was time-consuming. It was encompassing and overwhelming. Sometimes it would be all you could think about, you would fall out of turns because you were thinking of the ghosting movements of Luigi’s arms and hands. It was all explosive and made you feel out of control and out of reach from reality. You could never decide if you loved it or absolutely hated it. Because you would be bubbling over with emotion, with needs and love that Luigi induced; coaxing it out of you so carefully. But then he would always eventually pull away— shut down and retreat, and it felt devastating.

It was intense. It was huge fights and then tearful, passionate making up, unfulfilled promises, and silent days when he would shut you out and then there were overwhelming, beautiful ones. Luigi told you it was hard for him, that he was trying really hard and you always felt guilty for coming home so late, for being too tired for the dates he wanted so badly to go on. 

Luigi was just possessive and determined, stubborn and passive. But he made you feel safe, like you could afford to miss practice because he felt more important than ballet and that terrified you– the thought that anything could ever come before ballet. You didn’t think that love should be scary.

It was like you forgot how to live without Luigi. You truly couldn’t remember what New York was like without him. Sometimes you didn’t have time for much else, not even ballet. You didn’t love dancing like you used to, you loved him, loved the idea of freedom instead of being in love with something that was so taxing and draining. Sometimes you couldn’t believe how backwards your entire life had been before meeting him. 

But when your ballet master pulled you aside one day and told you looked sloppy and distracted and that you needed to get it together or else there was a chance you would be out of the winter performance of the Nutcracker, You broke up with Luigi that night. 

 He only looked confused and asked if ballet meant more to you than he did. And in a mix of confusion and pure adrenaline, you obviously said yes. 

Luigi just stared at you, he didn’t look upset. Just empty. “You know I love you,” he said, voice flat and eyes looking at you with such silent intensity, eyes so harsh that you were almost intimidated. 

“I do,” He said, saying it so easily and it hurt for some awful reason. Luigi stared at you like he couldn’t possibly understand why you felt paralyzed and powerless. 

“I do,” he repeated coldly and then Luigi left his own apartment without looking back at you. 

It felt too sudden and easy and you selfishly and wrongly wanted Luigi to stay; to fight, to convince you, to do anything but actually leave. 

The next few days, you moved out of his apartment, quickly shoving your things in boxes while Luigi watched silently. 

But breaking up didn’t really help at all. It didn’t help that consuming love and persistent ache you felt. It was harder. Harder to concentrate during practice, harder to sleep, harder to make your own decisions, and hard to stop yourself from instinctively texting or calling Luigi. 

You really try but Luigi is hard to resist. He would text you, saying he was sorry and asking you to come over and you would be at his door in thirty minutes. You would block his number in fit of determination to move on and then he would email you that he loved you and that he wanted things to go back to the way things were. He was sorry for loving you, for loving him too much. Luigi said sorry for whatever he did wrong, for getting in the way and that real and true love sometimes does that– but that he still understands. He was always so sorry. 

You’re sorry too. And bored. You miss Luigi so much. You last thirteen days after the breakup before you’re at his apartment and your roommate checks his location and sends you a knowing ‘:(‘ while you were busy getting fucked against his stupidly nice granite kitchen countertop. 

You still try really hard to move on but you feel lost like you were now wondering about some impossibly changed world. It had been almost two years with Luigi now dramatically, you didn’t know how to go about not having him. You can only think of his good traits and you start to wonder why you even broke up with him; spiraling and laying on your bed with your calf hurting wishing he was there. Wishing it was easy. Thinking that it could be easy again. 

So you text him. And he responds immediately— like it always is.

hi 

Hi baby

are you busy rn? 

Waiting for Luigi to respond should give you time to think through this. To stop. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You should be– used to be, better than this. Luigi was bad for you. Because it was too consuming, it was too much good. 

When he responds, You can’t help but smile. You hate the way you smile instinctively, you hate the way you love Luigi in such a consuming and uncomfortable way.

I’m free for you. 

Always.

Without him, you might be more productive, more efficient, and less emotional but there was a hole missing carved out and splintering in your heart. It felt stupid and poetic and dramatic, but without him, you just didn’t feel the same. Luigi was love and everything you wanted. It’s just complicated. It’s just sweet kisses, warm bodies, and the sweetest words. 

You still know the code to his apartment complex, Luigi never changed it. As you knock now, you manage to feel a little ashamed. 

He opens the door in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, hidden away from people who worked long days and nights, from the ballet studio where your limbs ached and where you were never good enough. 

It was just Luigi and his soft clothes and sweet-smelling fabric softener. You still love him so much that it hurts; you love that Luigi loves you, loves that he thinks you’re enough— more than enough. You like how secure you feel, and all the nice things Luigi says, and how pretty his life seems. You want a pretty life too, want beauty— and he is really beautiful. 

“Hi,” You say quietly, toying with the hem of your sweatshirt. 

“Hello,” Luigi says with a small, knowing, but sweet smile, crossing his arms. “Why are you here,” he asks, like you’re a complete stranger. 

You look down at the floor as you finally make yourself look into Luigi’s eyes, patient and waiting. “Don't make me say it,” you murmur, a quiet plea. 

Luigi leans against the door frame and purses his lips together and frowns, like you’re just not understanding each other, like you just don't get it. 

“I want you to, though. I want to hear you say it.” Luigi stands up straighter and looks at you directly, voice serious and almost cold, “I need to hear you say it.”

You shift and bite your lip; it was just one of his things. One of those things to feel in control, to feel like you needed him more. Because Luigi would always get caught up in these little things. It doesn’t mean anything. 

You look up at Luigi through his lashes and press your lips together in an obvious, exaggerated, stupid expression. “I missed you. I missed you a lot, Lu.”

Luigi’s expression softens immediately like it always does. “Oh baby,” He murmurs, “Baby, baby.”

He draws you into his arms gently, like you’re incredibly fragile and breakable and you think you might be. You shouldn’t like that, shouldn’t like being treated like you were so breakable and wounded but you liked it sometimes, very secretly. Maybe too much. 

“C’mere,” Luigi murmurs, leading you to the sofa. He runs a hand over your face carefully and he smells like his stupid expensive cologne that you still can’t totally wash out of your own clothes. “Bad day?” He asks quietly even though it’s incredibly obvious that it is. 

“Yeah,” You say with a rush of sudden self awareness and shame. “I probably shouldn’t–” You look down at his fingers twisted in your lap. “I shouldn't be here.”

Luigi comically frowns at that and knits his eyebrows like he doesn’t understand, “Why not?” 

You look up at him and try to look exasperated but you just sound tired and sad. “Because we’re not together.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t like you stating the obvious. He just tilts his head and smiles, obvious and kind of patronizing, hand coming to rub across your thigh. Warm and heavy. Because you go through this every time, you pretend or try to not want this and Luigi just smiles and sees right through it. 

“I still support you though, you know that.” He says, still with a smile.

“Yeah,” you sniff and don't try to say anything else. 

“Yeah,” Luigi agrees softly and it makes you smile, staring down at your own lap. His hand comes to cup your cheek, hand fitting perfectly holding your jaw, thumbing across your cheekbone carefully, it feels familiar and warm and comforting. 

“I just want to help you,” Luigi whispers. You aren't sure if you believe him but you want to so incredibly badly. You don't want help. You don't need help. But sometimes it’s nice to pretend. 

You look at Luigi, his pretty dark hair and long lashes. His sweet eyes that watch you carefully. It’s silent for a few moments, comfortable and familiar. In Luigi’s big and warm apartment. 

“Can I take care of you,” Luigi finally asks, looking at you patiently, sweet and quiet, and you nod quickly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper like it’s a secret- he makes you feel like nothing else matters except the two of you. It doesn’t matter that you aren’t together, that you could never truly work. Nothing matters at all. 

Luigi tugs you into his lap easily and his arms loop around you, warm and big. His hand cups your jaw and pulls you closer, tilting his own head to kiss your lips, soft and slow and bothered because he always has time. His hand fits in the curve of your waist and the other thumbs over your ear gently and it makes you shudder. His tongue in your mouth feels hot and heavy, barely pulling away to let you breathe but you still let your eyes shut and try to relax, trying to melt into his touch. 

It’s easy, Luigi smells like his usual Tom Ford cologne and you feel surrounded by it. His hand on your back thumbs over your skin under your shirt gently when he pulls away to look at you, face still so close to your own. 

“Do you want to,” he trails off and waits because he knows what you will say. Because you only want him, still. Even when he said he slept with other people, even when he went out of his way to tell you that. When he knew it hurt your feelings, when he knew your friends hated him. Luigi never cared, but he did care about you. 

It’s easy to nod. It’s easy to say yes and end up in his big bed with his nice sheets; comfortable and soft, on top of some ridiculously expensive therapeutic mattress. 

Luigi rolls on top of you, pushing his thigh against your sweatpants, surrounded totally by him as he braces his arms on each side of you, trapping you in a beautiful and comforting way. Your hand reaches up, running his fingers carefully through Luigi’s curls for some sense of stability. 

Your head is spinning and you feel desperate to belong to Luigi again. You lean up, rocking your hips and lick in Luigi’s mouth, sloppy and eager as he groans from your movement. 

You whine softly when he pulls away, still so close to his face, smiling and looking at you like you’re beautiful; you can feel it without him saying anything. He never has to say anything. 

Luigi rolls off of you, stripping off his hoodie and it feels unfair. After you broke up, he only started going to the gym more than he used to, using it as stress relief and enjoying the way he knew it drove you crazy. His shoulders are broad, muscular, defined and skin still soft and smooth; in just his boxers now, his broad shoulders, large biceps, and toned back. You feel almost sick with a horribly familiar and comforting love. 

Your hand runs down Luigi’s chest, trailing down his pec. He looks down, watching your fingers graze his tanned skin before grabbing your hand to pull him closer and back onto his lips. 

Luigi’s hand slides from your waist to tug at the waistband of your sweatpants, watching you carefully, like he’s waiting for you to realize that this is wrong; that this only makes it harder, that you shouldn’t be doing this. 

But you don't say anything as you pull them off of you, revealing your cotton underwear that you know Luigi likes. You sit up slightly so it’s easier for him but you grimace at the sudden pain in your left leg. Luigi stops when he sees your discomfort. “What, baby?”

“I’m just— I’m sore,” You mumble, blinking as Luigi frowns almost comically wide. 

“Is it your calf again? I told you you need a second opinion besides the company PT. They’re bullshit.” He nags, reminding you of all the nights he would run a bath for you and insist you soak in the tub with his luxury bath salts after rehearsal. You smile at the memory and at Luigi’s furrowed brows.

“I’m working on it,” You say and he looks unconvinced, like he’s about to lovingly lecture you but you don't want to think about your calf pain now— or about ballet at all. 

You instead lean up, hand resting on Luigi’s back and pull him down. He obliges easily and leans back over you, careful to prop himself up with one of his forearms, the other slides down your thigh, massaging and kneading the skin carefully. 

He continues silently, looking at you intently like just your presence is enough. You love feeling like enough. “I just love you so much, baby,” He murmurs, “Dunno what to do about it.” He nudges your nose with his own and kisses you gently as you circle your arms around his shoulders. 

“Just love me,” You whisper when you part, immediately hating how vulnerable you sound. 

“Okay,” Luigi smiles easilyand kisses you again, tongue hot and wet in your mouth, sucking and licking. He only pulls away to kiss your neck, sucking deep marks into your skin as evidence of the two of you, as a sad noise escapes from the back of your throat at the loss of his touch and warmth. He always loved proof of the night before on you, of marks you know you’ll have to put concealer over the next day. 

Your sweater comes off easily and Luigi coos, wrapping his arms around you, warm hands roaming over your body; one hand holding your waist and the other undoing your bra easily, both of his large hands coming to grope your tits. It feels nice, the attention, the want. “God,” he mumbles, almost to himself, staring at your body. But you never feel exposed under Luigi’s wandering gaze, it feels too loving and too real. 

“Hurry,” You jut out your bottom lip and Luigi laughs. 

“So cute,” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Patience, baby.”

He tugs your underwear off easily and you’re flooded with a sudden rush of excitement and familiarity. You wish that you could exist in this moment forever, when you don’t have to worry about anything else, when you can just exist because he thinks you’re perfect the way you are. You aren't sure if you deserve that but you want it forever.

He spreads your thighs gently, bringing you back to your present reality and watching your reactions, his long, warm fingers rubbing your inner thigh soothingly. He inserts one finger inside of you first carefully and you sigh, reminding once again how much you’ve missed this, him. You grip his bicep as one finger rubs at your clit and others curl inside of you. You feel a bit dazed, letting your body just feel. Luigi is always so concentrated, lip bit and eyes dark, focusing on his rehearsed routine; his firm body pressed so closely against your own, surrounding and encompassing. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, maybe more to himself and it makes you feel shy. “Luigi,” you laugh but it turns into a sound of surprise when you feel his cock rub against your entrance, wet and heavy.  

He glances down at you and is obviously affected as he lines himself up and finally pushes in wordlessly, no particular warning and no condom, like always. You like that it still feels the same between you two, like nothing ever changed. You gasp; even though you’ve taken him so many times, Luigi is big and it’s always an adjustment, but a good one. 

Luigi sighs like it’s something he’s addicted to, like it’s something he desperately needs. It’s unfair really. You love the way he looks, his hair has gotten longer even if the couple of weeks you had successfully refined from contacting him and he doesn’t shave as often now either, ever since you broke up. You love his parted lips, his obvious pleasure because of you. 

“Made to take me, made for me,” he mutters as you feel yourself nodding, he thrusts in an easy rhythm, gentle and slow. Luigi is never rough with you. “Let me know how good I make you feel,” he mutters, looking down at you, one hand coming to intertwine with one of your own.

“Lu, it feels, you feel, so good,” you say, looking up at Luigi through your lashes. But he’s quiet and you hate it.

“Say anything, please Luigi, please.” You look up at him with a horse whisper, “Please.”

“I love you,” He looks down at you and you know that he means it, he always has. Any internal anxiety that built up inside of you dispates and is replaced by something so good, something you always feels when he fucks you, when he’s is close to you, when he’s holding you firmly and carefully; when he is totally devoted to and concentrated on you. You love how much Luigi loves you. 

“It’s only you,” you say, like it's a secret but it’s really not, not to either of you. You say it because you know what it does to him. You watch Luigi's lips part slightly in realization before they curl up into a big grin. 

“Always?” He asks and you hesitate but you can’t say no, because when you think about it, it might be true. 

“Maybe,” you smile but when you really think about it, Luigi is right. He smiles too, knowingly, like he knows he’s right too. 

Moments like this make you wonder why you ever broke up with him. Luigi is the only one that you let fuck you and you come over regularly and you still love each other. You feel like you don't understand anything at all. 

You groan as Luigi thrusts faster and one of his hands comes to palm at your tits, thumbing across one of your nipples and making you squirm under his touch. The sensation makes you arch your back in sensitivity, only further into him. 

Luigi stares down at you like he’s done something beautiful and you subconsciously clench at the pleasure. “Fuck,” he grunts, forehead shining with sweat and abs tightening as he fucks in and out of you, the other hand’s grip tightening on your waist. 

“You’re still mine aren’t you,” he asks, thrusting roughly and you know his body enough to know that he’s close to coming from the way his eyes flutter shut and his cock throbs inside of you. 

You open his mouth to answer but Luigi takes his hand and instead presses two of his fingers into your mouth. You gargle around them, spit immediately running out— you feel so safe and loved.  You will say anything when Luigi asks like that, with that much conviction, when you’re this far gone. 

“Yes,” you breathe out when Luigi eventually removes his fingers. “Yes,” you repeat, reaching up to grab at his chest, tight and firm from years of exercise. You can feel his quickened heartbeat underneath your palm and you love that you’re the one making him feel good; it’s only you. It’s only each other. 

Luigi laughs, folding himself over your body to press his face close to yours, angling his hips in a way that he knows drives you crazy, making you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure“So cute and beautiful. So sweet,” he softly whispers into your ear. 

“And so strong,” Luigi continues and you like hearing that. You want to be strong so badly. You have always wanted to be strong. “My baby, You deserve everything,” he continues, “You deserve everything in the entire world.” 

You think about the upcoming audition and the role you desperately want, the critiques he got from his last performance. 

“Everything?” You whisper and his hand comes to wipe at a small tear threatening to spill down your cheek that you didn’t realize was there. 

Luigi looks at you with such sweet eyes and smiles like he’s endeared, “Of course.” The praise makes you feel loved, as he thrusts deeper and faster into you. He’s usually so controlled and precise with his movements and you notice he’s a bit desperate now, groaning unashamedly. It all makes you feel full and content and overwhelmed as you’re pushed over the edge. 

Your orgasm, the way you clench around him and throw your head back in pleasure all push Luigi over the edge, hands coming to grip your hips harshly as he holds you and fucks you, mouth open trying to remain in control when he’s obviously floundering, overwhelmed by you. You can see Luigi’s pleasure through your blurry vision. 

“Baby I’m going to, fuck—” Luigi groans, eyes squeezing shut and jaw clenching as he comes. 

You sniff and bite your lip when you feel his cum fill you.”Fuck,” You mutter, throwing your head back against the silk pillowcase. You stare up at Luigi, watching his chest rise up and down rapidly. 

“Baby, you’re so cute, always make me feel so good,” he whispers tenderly. 

“Don’t pull out, just, just—” You can barely talk, so overwhelmed and sensitive, “Stay.”

Luigi nods, bending over to press a kiss against your ear. “Of course.” 

You smile weakly, trying not to feel gross at the cum that you can already feel beginning to leak out of you. 

You feel exhausted and depleted, drained and satisfied. Luigi is all around you, thick arms moving to eventually hold you, laying over you but not crushing you, only pressing your bare bodies against each other. You don’t say much after and you eventually fall asleep to Luigi’s humming and his gentle massaging of your left calf.

-

You wake up feeling sore and exhausted, hit with the immediate realization that you have an eight am rehearsal today and it’s already 6:43 am. You roll out of Luigi’s arms carefully and silently, digging around for your discarded clothes and phone. 

Luigi wakes up at some point, sitting up in bed with his messy hair and rubbing his bleary eyes. He watches you with a pronounced frown, “You’re not going to stay?”

“I have rehearsal,” You say simply, preoccupied. You’re quiet for the next few minutes and Luigi is too, content with just watching you move around his room. But you’re already hit with the stress of getting dressed, catching the train, and rushing to practice to avoid being called out for being late, and the general dread of  the long day of practice. 

“I do love you, baby, I wish you would believe that,” Luigi says suddenly, looking at you. 

“I do believe you,” You whisper, tired and hurting.

It’s silent, Luigi almost looks small and susceptible in bed, sheets pooled around his toned and tan waist. Messy hair and sad eyes that stare at you. He tilts his head slightly, “You’ll text though right?”

You don't want to have this conversation now, maybe never. Especially afterwards, the day after, because it all seems pointless now, repeating the same things you both always say– that don’t mean much anymore. You just want to leave and go to rehearsal, and dance for hours until your legs feel numb and the exhaustion overrides any sense of want. 

You just smile weakly, “Probably.”

for @vershautece, based off of this and a little of this 🩷 enjoy!

warnings luigi is a baby making machine! sahm themes, let’s just assume he never had back problems shhh, all italian is translated at the bottom, breeding, oral (both receiving), missionary + doggy, orgasm denial (?), rough sex, ass slapping (i don’t like the other word), reflection ;), half-assed proofread

a/n i am actually so sorry this is so late, i’ve been stacked today and then i scheduled this to post and it never did… ALSO THIS IS WAY LONGER THAN I ORIGINALLY INTENDED!!! and i’m sorry the smut is kinda vague i haven’t written actual smut in SOOOO long it’s embarrassing… i’m gonna be a hornball on your dash!

getting accepted to upenn was definitely in your top three most exhilarating moments of your life. with plans of majoring in art, you were over the moon to start your independent life at an ivy league school! you rarely let boys get in your way — enjoying life in the moment was a top quality of yours as an artist.

that was, until you met luigi. oh god, he’s so beautiful. you only picked up one digital class that you really didn’t even know the name of because you’d wanted to get into digital art and you thought it’d be fun to learn the functions. as soon as you saw him about two weeks into the course, you were swooning. unbeknownst to you, most other girls were also swooning.

you only had a few tight friends, but your kind personality was a trait everyone noticed about you as soon as you would approach. also how good you smelled. and your beautiful smile. and your full, happy cheeks when you laugh. really just everything — and you’d had no idea that boys in your courses would pine after you, too.

a few trusty years later, you and luigi were to be wed! babies came shortly after, and you had the most beautiful twin toddlers. after you’d been granted maternity leave from your job as a high school art teacher, you’d gotten a little too used to staying home and tending to the house, rather than scrambling every weekend to get everything done as well as take care of your husband and children.

you had a talk with luigi and determined that the money from his job would be enough to keep the family steady going as well as a few pieces you’d make and sell on ebay every now and again. almost as quickly as you could, you sent an email to the superintendent and principal of your school saying that you would unfortunately not be returning due to personal issues.

luigi had never asked you to be a sweet little tradwife for him, but he damn sure enjoyed it. today in particular, your three year olds’ daycare was closed so you were fortunate enough to leave them with their godparents. this was good for you, they’d likely ask to spend the night with their padrini*, so you can have tonight and tomorrow morning without a ‘bedtime’ for you and your children!

in the morning after dropping them off, you went back home to get cute and dolled up — you usually made breakfast wearing a silk pajama set that luigi bought for you last christmas. then you went to the grocery store and to the bank to deposit a check from a painting you sold for a little under $500. then back home to make a small lunch — you were planning to cook a big dinner — and then onto housework. you played music while you worked, and once beds were made you retreated back to your bedroom to tweak your hair and makeup for dinner.

you also made sure luigi knew not to come home before 5:45 because you wouldn’t be done with your dishes, and checked in on your kids to confirm they’d stay the night at their padrini’s house.

when luigi came home, just like out of a scene of a movie, he shouted from the front door: “tesoro, sono a casa!*” followed by the door closing and locking mechanically behind him. he strutted into the kitchen to see you putting plates together — exactly 6:00. he must have waited in the driveway to give you some extra time!

with a gentle hold of your waist and long kiss on your cheek, you suddenly felt much more comfortable; almost feeling safe that he was home. anxiety was sometimes a struggle when you’re home alone all day and your husband working half an hour away.

as you plated the food and brought the bread out of the oven, luigi went upstairs to change into something more casual. when he opened the bedroom door, he noticed you had left a precious little lingerie set laying on the bed, likely accidentally. his interest was certainly piqued! quirking an eyebrow and grinning a little to himself, he took a few minutes to change and mess with his hair a bit in the mirror.

luigi came down the stairs with happy haste.

“thank you for making this meal, babydoll, smells so good,” he compliments, kissing your cheek again.

your face burns excitedly. “thank you,” you kiss his lips a few short times.

over dinner, you chat about each other’s day and the children. he seems to be deep in thought for a moment, and when he notices you staring he speaks again.

“you think we should have another baby?” he asks cheekily.

you nearly choke and your heart rate runs rampant, looking as if you hadn’t had sex before. “do you want to?”

“would i ask if i didn’t want to?”

there’s a rush between your thighs almost immediately. you place your fork down onto your plate and stand up, but before you can walk off he’s up and scooping you into his strong arms. he cascades up the steps with you bridal style.

as soon as he steps into the bedroom, he places you down on the fuzzy chair in front of your vanity. a finger points to the lacy set laying on the neat bed.

“you wanna tell me what you got this out for?” he presses, kneeling down on the ground in front of you. luigi’s pretty lips pepper kisses on your ankles, lifting each one up slowly to remove your kitten heels. once each shoe is off, he places the now bare calf on his shoulder.

“please, lu…” you plead pathetically.

his eyebrows furrow upwards, looking at you with big eyes full of faux empathy. “please what? use your words, mio amore. dimmi cosa vuoi*.”

words are quick to fail you. your brain is blank, almost static. most times you have sex it’s quick and hushed because the twins are in the house.

he’s kissing up your legs again, attempting to get a rise out of you. once he gets to your thighs, you’re getting a little restless.

“taking too long,” you mumble, and he lifts his head to look you in the eye again — this time much more stern.

“what was that?”

“said you’re taking too long,” you repeat yourself louder, locking your gaze with his.

within a second, he’s snatched you up and thrown you onto the neat bed.

“you and your goddamn bed decorations. i never know why you put all these pillows on here when we’re just gonna throw them all off later,” he grumbles, clearly angry and clearing the throw pillows from the bed, tossing them to the floor.

luigi pushes your maxi skirt up and nearly tears your little cotton underwear off of you. his tongue darts between your warmth and his nose harshly rubs against your clit, catching you off guard and sending your spine into electric shock. your hands fly to grip his hair in one hand and the tightly made bedsheets in the other.

“y’taste so sweet, tesoro,” he groans against you, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your thighs before going back to devouring your sex.

he’s already working an easy orgasm or two from you. he pulls you from your stupor and unzips your dress, gingerly pulling it off of you — he knows how upset you got last time he accidentally ripped the hem of your dress.

his shirt is gone, his chin and parts of his cheeks are still wet, and removing his belt as quickly as he can. as soon as his pants drop, you grab the hem of his boxers and pull them down. every time you see his cock, it never fails to surprise you that the tip touches his fucking belly button.

you pop his throbbing pink tip into your mouth, giving it little kitten licks and short kisses. you work your way down, or as much as you can, using your hand to pump what you can’t fit in your mouth. you’re moaning and slobbering around his cock, vibrations from your voice sending chills up his spine and down into his arms. his hands find their way to the back of your head, carefully urging you to take more.

your throat is constricting and you retract from his cock, looking into his eyes for validation.

“you’re taking too long,” he mocks in a faux whiny voice. luigi pushes you back onto the bed by his shoulders and holds his heavy cock. he teases your folds, rubbing his hot tip through to spread your own spit and cum from him eating you out. slowly, he pushes in. he always waits a little for you to adjust to how big he is.

“fuck, m’so full…”

“you’re so tight, mio amore.”

his eyes are boring into yours and his hands press down onto your womb to see his own cock buried into you.

“gonna cum if you don’t breathe for a second and relax, holy fuck baby,” he reminds you with a deep, raspy tone.

you take a deep breath and mid-exhale he starts to pound into you with a feverish and eager alacrity, causing you to almost scream.

“mmmmy fucking god!” your voice shakes with each impactful thrust against your hips. one of his hands grips your waist and the other attaches to your boob, his head following shortly. his tongue laps around your peaked nipple rapidly.

then both hands are on your waist and he briefly pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and prop your ass up to his liking. he’s shoving his cock back into your soaked cunt and returns back to his relentless pace.

“gonna fuck a baby into you, bella ragazza, gonna get you nice and swollen with a pretty baby, hm? isn’t that right?” he pushes his hand down onto your lower back, arching you up higher for him. both of his big hands find your frizzed up curly bun and he snatches your head back.

“feels so fucking good, m’gonna cum, lu!”

“aht,” he slows down exponentially, “you’ll cum when i tell you to.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head with adoration and you swear your ovaries start jumping at the demand. he’s back to slamming into you and a hard hand comes down onto each ass cheek three or four times. he adds to the torture by holding your hair in one hand and moving his other arm around your hip to grind his palm on your clit.

“oh my god, i’m gonna fucking cum luigi…” you breathe out between a moan, a scream and a whisper.

“what’d i tell you?”

“to wait ‘til you tell me to cum!”

“do what i tell you, be a good girl and listen to me.”

your brain is numb and your head falls limp, his grip in your hair is the only thing holding your body close to his.

“you’re so fucking pretty, mio amore, can i take a picture?”

you just nod obediently, not really caring too much at this point. he reaches over to the bedside table where he put his phone before dinner and opens the camera, showing your mascara dripping down your face from tears you didn’t know were flowing and an agape mouth, moans slipping through with every motion.

“you see why i love fucking you s’much? hm? look at yourself while i fuck you, baby,” he’s shoving the phone into your hand to palm your clit again. you’re bucking your hips against each form of stimulation with your jaw wide open, breathing shakily.

“there you go, tesoro, y’wanna cum?” he taunts, to which you nod your head and moan a hearty ‘yes!’

his index and middle finger focus on your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as tightly as he can. your eyes go crossed, no longer paying any attention to the reflection in the camera. luigi’s hand drops from your hair, pushes your head down and arches your back up one more time. he pressed record on the camera and kept up with his cock bullying into your cervix over and over.

“go ahead and cum with me baby, take it like the good girl you are.”

when he gives you permission, almost like a stage cue, you totally let go. your cunt squeezes around him entirely and traps him in. his cock twitches rampantly inside you as he meets his release, watching your face through the camera that you’re gripping onto with your life.

it takes a few minutes to cool off after he lays down beside you, stopping the recording and kissing all over your face. “you did so good for me, baby. sei una brava ragazza*.”

you don’t even have it in you to respond, your chest heaving.

“you think that one will take? should we go for another round?”

this gets a breathless chortle from you. “can i catch my breath first? also, you messed my hair up.”

“so that’s a yes?” he asks, already burying his face into your chest and carefully pressing kisses to your hot skin.

🌺🩷💋

italian words and phrases:

padrini: godparents

tesoro: sweetheart

sono a casa: i’m home!

dimmi cosa vuoi: tell me what you want

sei una brava ragazza: you’re (such) a good girl

Good Job. — praise kink discovery

content warnings ; smut . oral . manipulation/observation if you squint rlly hard . praise (duh) . fwb . groping . sex jokes . finger sucking . slightly “awkward” dialogue .

event ۶ৎ taglist

Luigi was a smart man. There was no question about his level of intelligence— when he was in the lab or focused on his work.

As much as he hates to admit it, he gets knocked off his board a little bit when the summer comes around. It’s hard to focus when the world becomes an oyster, and for a man who isn’t materialistic in any shape or form, he loves indulging himself in the wondrous luxury of a pretty little pearl.

 So he’ll admit, it took him a while longer to pick up on the little…error…in your genetic code. 

Error, in the sense that it’s something he can indulge and fix. Oil and sticks he can throw overtop the shy little embers of a timid campfire.

What you had tried your best to contain and confine to a romantic relationship was now perfectly within his field of vision. He could see the little bug that itched to bite and claw at the flesh of another roaming around your headspace, and what kind of data scientist would he be if he didn’t test and rerun this code?

So he spent the next few weeks hovering around you, seeing how many buttons he could push, and what reaction each button yielded. He started small; tiny thank you’s and little compliments that could be passed off as genuine compliments and encouragement.

“Thank you, cutie!” “You’re the best.” “Good job!” “I’m proud of you.” “You’re so smart.”

He walked the ever-so-fine line between platonic and intimate, letting his tongue dip into the lukewarm waters of sexual gratification without shocking you out of your skin. He just wanted to spark tiny shocks across your mind and heart, nothing more.

The sun hung low in the pink and purple sky, hiding amongst the cotton candy clouds as he anticipated his bright and bubbly wife’s presence later in the day. The beach had slowly begun to lose its occupants, leaving Luigi and the stragglers the expanse of the sand to themselves. 

But Luigi wasn’t interested in the sands of time, the ancient rocks, or Poseidon’s most beloved daughter. As his feet kicked up the tiny rocks and the salty air carded through every strand of his cocoa-brown hair, he had only one thought on his mind.

How can he press a new button today?

He burst through your front door, relishing in the slight panic that set on your face as you whirled your head to see who had gained entry to your home.

“Luigi, calm down…you don’t pay enough rent to knock doors down like that…” you sighed, pressing a hand to your chest in silent relief.

“Sorry, cutie,” he murmured, making his way into the kitchen after locking the door behind him, a sign he wasn’t going back outside anytime soon.

“Ooh, what’re you making?” he asked, assuming his position behind you as you stood over the stove and leaned his chin on your shoulder.

The house wafted with the appetizing smell of caramelized onions and garlic, gentle spices, freshly cracked black pepper that left a tingle in your nose, and freshly picked herbs from some supermarket only frequented by those who value the produce put on the shelves. It was like seeing a vintage painting for the first time; basking in its radiance and letting its colors and stimuli occupy every corner of your soul.

“This recipe I got from the lady two doors down…she’s Italian, too, she’s great. She gave me these herbs from her garden and a big thing of sun-dried tomatoes,” you nodded, crushing your plum tomatoes in a bowl to avoid getting your hands dirty.

“Oh wow…” he purred, the sound vibrating right next to your ear— deep and gutty from the back of his throat as he wrapped his arms around your neck. Not tight enough to alarm you, but secure enough to let you know he’s there.

He watched as your hands cast their magic with a sharp-bladed knife, finely slicing your sundried tomatoes, halving your cherry tomatoes, and finally, tearing up some fresh basil.

You put your tomato and herb medley in the sizzling saucepan of onions and garlic, steam bubbled up from the bottom as the pot rapidly decreased in temperature. Luigi didn’t want to think about it too much— the more he listened, smelled, and felt, the more he felt the presence of his grandparents working your hands like you were their granddaughter.

“That smells so good…is it vegetarian?” he asked, staring into the bright red sauce as your wooden spoon incorporated each ingredient together.

“Nahhh. Hell no. I’m actually leaving you out and kicking you out, your stuff is packed up down the hall,” you deadpanned, narrowing your eyes slightly knowing he couldn’t see them. But you know he could feel it— he always could.

“Okay, now,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes with a breathy chuckle. “Be nice, peace and love.”

“Fuck and shove.”

“No, no! We choose peace,” he murmured, enunciating the end of his words with a playful raise of your boobs.

“Get out,” you chuckled, smacking his hand with the tip of your spoon.

“I’m cool! I’m cool!” He laughed, throwing his hands up in faux defense and licking the sauce from his knuckles, sitting on the counter next to you just to make a show out of his tongue darting out from his lips to suck his fingers clean.

“Luigi, you’re fucking disgusting, you were just outside,” you mumbled, averting your eyes immediately as soon as your cheeks began to flush with a familiar pool of heat.

“Mmh, so good, you’re a perfect little chef, good girl…good job, pretty.”

You paused, stumbling to the side a bit as you poured half a can of water into your empty can of plum tomatoes.

“Hah— I'm sorry, what did you say?” you stammered.

“Hmm?” He hummed, plucking his fingers from his mouth with a wet and sinful pop, the digits shiny with his saliva. “Good job?”

“No, the thing you said—…actually, nevermind,” you mumbled, turning your attention back to your pasta sauce and pouring your water into the pan before adding coarse salt, a little bit of olive oil, and vegetable bouillon for a little extra oomph.

“What did I say?” He fibbed, feigning near-impossible amounts of ignorance as he leaned back so his head touched the kitchen wall.

“Luigi, are you fucking with me?” You smiled, placing the lid on your boiling pasta sauce and pouring some pale yellow penne into a pot full of salty boiling water.

“Am I fucking you? Well, no, not currently, but we’ve fucked for sure,” he nodded.

“Oh, you’re trolling,” you chuckled, your brows rising and falling with amusement before you stepped away from the stove at last. “You’re trolling trolling.”

“C’mere.”

“No, why?”

“Just come here, I want a hug!”

“You are literally such a child, why do I live with you, I’m gonna package you and send you back to Sicily where you belong,” you huffed, reluctantly waddling over to Luigi as slowly as humanly possible.

“If you don’t bring that ass…” he murmured, leaning forward to pull you towards him faster by the hem of your shorts.

“Be civil,” you gasped, pressing a hand over your mouth in faux scandalization. “I thought you said peace?”

“Peace was never an option.”

“You are a nerd, oh my god…”

“The fact that you understood that lets me know you are too, so ha!” he beamed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Jokes aside, you did really good today, baby…I’m proud of you. Who taught you to be such a good chef? It’s so fucking attractive.”

You froze, trying not to audibly moan at his not-so-subtle praise like a virgin during ovulation. The words dripped from his mouth like honey, coating his deep and masculine tone with saccharine so sweet it’d deter the likes of most with sugar restrictions. 

You wanted to suck the words out of his mouth…like a blue raspberry lollipop fresh out of the candy store with the wrapper still on. How evil is the man that tempts the vulnerable with such a sweet reward.

“Stop…stop fucking with me,” you breathed, resting your forehead against his chest and letting your eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not fucking with you, I think you’re amazing…and hot…and I can’t stop thinking about what you look like under me,” he beamed, almost innocently, if the words that evacuated from his mouth weren’t so sinful.

“Poor cutie…Falling apart from some compliments. It’s okay, I’m a nice man, I’ll tell you what you wanna hear,” he chuckled, lifting you onto the counter with him so either of your legs sat on each side of his legs.

“Turn the stove off,” you whispered, a command that came out firm and steady compared to your brittle whines before.

“Yes ma’am,” he obeyed, leaning to the side to flick the dials, the blue flames dying out immediately with a little click.

“Back to you pretty girl,” he murmured, focusing his attention on your neck as he left tickling kisses and purple-ish hickies in his path.

“No…‘s not enough, I need more, hurry please…” you panted, pulling his head back tightly, earning yourself a pained but quiet whine.

“If you’re really that needy,” he mumbled before hoisting you off of his lap and sliding off the counter.

“I’m gonna make you touch every wall in this kitchen,” he warned, a careful and quiet little whisper that brushed against your skin before he propped you back up on the counter.

There wasn’t a second of silence that passed before the sound of ripped fabric pierced the veil of sound, the waves reverbed across the walls and triggered your brows to shoot up in alarm. 

“Lui—! Ah, fuck…!”

His mouth attached to your slick and shiny folds, disregarding the real meal just inches away on the stove in favor of the Michelin-starred repast he laid out on the counter. You had time to complain about his reckless behavior and expensive habits of rip-and-tear later, right now, your mind prioritized gathering the remnants of its pride in a pathetic attempt to silence your shameless moans.

Fortunately, you had the luxury of owning a house that wasn’t attached to another. No noise complaints would be filed, and sometimes you felt as though Luigi abused this opportunity until it was black and blue.

His tongue circled and suckled your sensitive nub, teasing and prodding her esse until puffy and swollen. The sounds of your moans and Luigi’s borderline sadistic, sea-side-flavored laughs mingled through the atmosphere— reminding you just how easy it was for Luigi to work you up. 

All with just some words.

“Good girl…so well behaved,” he purred.

And just like that, the rubber band deep within your womb that connected to your mind had snapped. You practically screamed into the sky, prompting one of Luigi’s large hands to squish your cheeks together in a slightly weak effort to filter your testimonies of euphoria.

He drank you up like sweet iced tea— the kind he’d go running towards after a particularly long surfing session. He panted, though you could hear the remnants of giddy little giggles at the end of his short and shallow breaths.

“I’m not finished with you. That’s only one wall.”

taglist ; @lorelaisg1lmore @flaca335 @7luvrs @fancyyanci @f4b111 @born444u @harrys0nlyange1 @lovelyfeeling @4ngelv4l

Need You Tonight ao3

NSFW: oral sex male receiving, mating press, riding, rough sex, use of slut and whore (respectfully😣), soft dom and brat dynamic

just keep this sexy suit pic in mind.. ^_^ you’re acting like a brat and luigi tames you :D

dedicated to @diors002 hope u love xx also @fligniuz and @mangionebabymama because i admire you both

You've been eyeing him all night, wine glass in hand, pressed against his side like even a breath of space would be too much. The subtle heat from his body radiates through his tailored suit, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you every time you glance up, and he seems completely at ease, unaware of the way he makes your heart race, the way his mere presence stirs something deep inside you.

He leans down and brushes a kiss against your temple. “What’s the matter, baby?”

You tilt your head up, eyes heavy, lips brushing his jaw. “Need my man.”

He chuckles, soft and low, his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter. “We’re supposed to stay until eleven.”

“No,” you murmur, voice low against his neck as you press in closer. “I need you to fuck me.”

His breath catches just slightly. You feel the shift in him, subtle and calculated, as his eyes scan the room like he’s weighing the odds. Wetness pools between your thighs as you tug lightly at the lapel of his jacket, yearning to have him as close as possible.

“You want the bathroom, baby?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, his voice threading through the thump of the bass vibrating off the walls. “I’ll take you in there. Quick, messy, get it out of your system… then we’ll come back out and pretend nothing happened.”

You shake your head, and your voice comes out as almost a whine. “No. I need you in mating press.”

He blinks once. Slowly. Then that familiar look spreads across his face — part surprise, part heat, part wicked satisfaction. You know your words have lit something dangerous inside him.

“Jesus,” he mutters, hand gripping even tighter at your waist. “You’re not making it easy to be a gentleman tonight.”

“Don’t want a gentleman,” you say, fingers dragging down his chest. “I want you to fuck me so deep I forget my name.”

His exhale is deep, controlled. You know he’s already calculating — how fast he can get you both out of there, where the nearest exit is, how long he’s willing to wait.

“Alright,” he says, voice rough against your ear. “Five minutes. I’ll drive you home. You won't be walking tomorrow.”

At his words you bury your face in his chest with an excited smile, pulse wild.

“Good,” you whisper. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything tomorrow. Now hurry up and let’s leave, because I need your cock so bad, Luigi.”

Luigi’s hand slides down your back— slow, deliberate —fingers trailing until they glide over the curve of your hip. He gives your ass a firm squeeze, followed by a sharp smack that makes you squeal. Your fingers fist tight in his jacket, giggling as he leans forward again.

“Stop it, baby. You’re acting like a slut.”

“No I’m not, Gi,” you pout, batting your lashes up at him.

“I’m serious, I promised everyone I’d stay the whole night, and now you’re being whiny with me when I just told you I’m taking you home in five minutes.”

“Baby, we’ve been out for three hours already. I need you,” you whine, the buzz of the alcohol making your head spin as you hold both of his hands in yours and play with his fingers.

His gaze is dark, a mixture of patience and desire flickering in his eyes as he responds, voice low and steady. “Hey, I know. Listen to me, I just need to speak to the guys before I leave and then I’ll give you everything you need.”

“Promise?” you tease, eyes locked on his as you swing your interlocked fingers back and forth.

His jaw flexes, a muscle twitching as he exhales slowly, the corners of his mouth curling into a small, confident smile.

“Just be patient, bambina.”

You manage to behave for maybe three minutes after that — long enough to let him do the rounds, shake hands, act as though he isn’t walking around with your desperate little plea still ringing in his ears. But you see the way his hand stays firmly on the small of your back, how his grip tightens just a little too hard when someone makes a joke and you laugh too easily. He’s on edge, and you were the one who got him there.

Luigi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist as he walks you toward his car, fast and focused. You stumble a little in your heels, but he catches you like muscle memory, steady and firm.

“I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re this drunk.”

You smile up at him, eyes half-lidded. “I’m not that drunk, stop being so serious. You think I’m wasted just because you’re sober, Gi.”

By the time you’re both in the car — his hand resting on your thigh, the other on the wheel — you’ve already pulled your dress higher, letting your fingertips wander up the inside of his leg as you glance over at him, face displaying faux innocence.

“Baby,” he warns without looking at you, voice tight.

You smile, pretending not to hear — you know exactly what you’re doing. Your hand trails further, lightly cupping the growing bulge beneath his slacks, giving it the softest squeeze.

He groans under his breath, and shifts in his seat. “You’re gonna make me crash this car.”

You giggle softly, a teasing edge in your voice, but there’s an intensity in your gaze as you rub him slowly now— teasing, coaxing. “Don’t crash, Gigi.”

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, and he still refuses eye contact. “You testing me, huh, baby?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, leaning over, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you give his bulge another squeeze. “What, you don’t like it?”

He takes the next turn harder than you expect. The tires squeal. Your breath catches and your hand falters for just a second.

The car jerks into a sudden pull-off on a dark, empty stretch of road. There’s no one around except the two of you and the trees that surround you. You barely have time to process what’s happening — head still spinning moderately from the wine — when Luigi puts the car in park and leans over, his hand reaching across the console with a calm, steady force.

He speaks softly but firmly. “Out. Come on, baby.”

You blink in surprise, another drunk giggle spilling from your lips. “What?”

Your mind is ditsy, and you’re sitting there in front of him, dress hiked up your thighs, batting your lashes with only one thing on your mind.

Then— he’s leaning over the centre console, hands gripping your waist with a firm, commanding hold. Without a word, he pulls you from your seat and onto his lap in the driver’s seat. Your dress hikes up even higher as your thighs spread over his, and your panties graze his clothed bulge.

Luigi’s hands are heavy and firm, one gripping your ass while the other tilts your chin to make you look at him — demanding, but gentle. His hazel eyes are wild in the dark, low light spilling across his cheekbones and the curve of his mouth.

“You know you shouldn’t distract me while I’m driving,” he murmurs, voice low. “And you shouldn’t whine like a slut when I’m trying to be patient with you.”

You’re squirming now, grinding down without even thinking, but his hand smacks your ass hard— once, then again, harder this time. The sharp sting makes you gasp, clutching his jacket.

“Behave for me.” His nose brushes yours, and he pulls back a little to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. The contrast between his rough hands, his low voice and his sweet kisses is incredibly dizzying — you’re spinning because of more than just the alcohol now.

“Or I’m taking you back to the party and you can walk around there for the rest of the night with soaked panties.”

You choke out a moan, arms tightening around his neck, hips rolling against him like you don’t know what behave means.

He raises his brows, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “Are you listening to me?”

“No,” you breathe, rocking harder onto his bulge. “I just want your cock.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, and smacks your ass one more time— firm, delicious. Then he’s shifting you off him, back into the passenger seat like it’s nothing. You blink, dazed, as he adjusts himself behind the wheel.

“Seatbelt,” he murmurs after a pause, voice warm but laced with that soft authority that always has you feeling fuzzy inside.

You buckle it with shaky fingers, thighs pressed tight together.

The rest of the drive is silent, thick with tension. Every now and then you sneak a glance over, and Luigi’s jaw is locked tight, fingers tight on the wheel, bulge still pressing hard against the front of his pants.

You can only sit there, waiting in anticipation.

When he finally pulls up to his apartment and turns off the engine, he still doesn’t say a word— just opens the door, rounds to your side, and takes your hand. He speaks so quietly you almost don’t hear him, hand on your lower back as he’s guiding you in front of him. “Upstairs. Come on.”

You bite your lip but it doesn’t suppress the laugh that comes out, and you try not to stumble, but your movements are faulty in six inch heels. The apartment door barely clicks shut behind you before you’re kicking off your heels and pushing Luigi against the wall. You sink to your knees, fingers working at his belt like you’re being paid.

“Shit, baby,” Luigi mutters, dropping his keys on the counter, eyes dark and glittering with heat as he watches you. “Didn’t even let me get my shoes off.”

“Whatever, Luigi, I’m just finishing what I was trying to do for you in the car,” you say nonchalantly, looking up at him through your lashes as you free him from his pants, his cock already hard and thick in your hand. You feel yourself almost drool at the sight. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

He loosens his tie and groans at your desperation as you waste no time, lips wrapping around him eagerly. One hand grips the edge of the wall behind him, the other tangled in your hair as your mouth works him slowly — dragging your tongue along the underside, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on his face like you want to watch every twitch and falter.

“Yes, baby… That’s it — fuck, good girl.” His voice is strained now, hips twitching forward as your hands grip his thighs, greedy and eager. You bob your head, before pulling back to tease the tip. Your soft moans vibrate around his cock, and the groan it produces from him sends an insane rush of heat between your thighs.

Knowing what it does to him, you exaggerate pornstar-like moans over his shaft, licking and kissing along the veins. “Mmm — you like it when I moan on your cock, baby?”

The back of his head hits the wall with a soft thud as your mouth takes him deeper, working him with focused precision. He’s a picture of ruin in elegance in his tailored suit, jacket hanging open, shirt slightly wrinkled where your hands had tugged at it. The fabric hugs his shoulders, sharp against the curve of his body as pleasure ripples through him. His tie is slightly loose now, collar askew, and the flush creeping up his neck contrasts beautifully with the dark lapels framing his jaw.

“You having fun with this cock in your mouth, huh?” He grips your hair with both hands now, guiding you to take him further, although he knows it’s a struggle, of course. The shadows cast by the low lighting catch on his cheekbones and the faint sheen of sweat along his brow — he’s both wrecked and impossibly gorgeous. You enjoy the view as you attempt to take him even deeper.

“You gonna try and take me all the way? Yeah, baby? Fuck — my gorgeous girl,” he murmurs softly, moving his thumb to your cheek to wipe away the dripping mascara.

You hollow your cheeks and take him as far as you can— but you don’t manage further than just over halfway. The inches alone are difficult enough to deepthroat, but his girth feels as though he’s stretching your mouth to meet his size. You’re gagging like a whore, his precum and your spit spilling onto his slacks that neither of you had bothered to get him out of.

“Making such a mess, angel,” he coos, brushing your hair out of your face with one hand as his thumb continues to caress your cheek. You’re gazing up at him with sweet doe eyes, expression fucked-out and dreamy as your tears continue to force more mascara down your face. Luigi wipes away as much as he can — always the gentleman — but he loves the mess. To see you on your knees for him like this, starving for his cock, he wishes he could have you like this forever.

But he doesn’t want to cum yet.

“Shit— c’mere,” he breathes, groaning as he tugs you back by your hair to pull your mouth off him. Your lips glisten with precum, and he smacks the head of his cock over you twice.

You giggle like a whore, grabbing as much as you can in your hands that look ridiculously small beside the size of his member.

“Why’d you pull me off, Gi? I want your cum in my mouth,” you whine, straightening your posture on your knees as you switch to a handjob.

Luigi gazes down at you, pupils dilated and dark, hands still fisted in your hair. “Dolcezza. I thought you wanted mating press.”

“And that means you can’t cum in my mouth first?” You bat your lashes up at him, stroking and squeezing his length as he attempts to fight the grunts and moans that leave his throat.

His grip on your hair tightens, jaw clenching as he watches you. How did he get so lucky?

Luigi thinks for a moment as you continue to stroke him and press kitten licks to his tip. Then, he’s pulling you up off the floor, breath hot, cock glistening and twitching against his stomach. “I’m taking you to bed,” he groans, and suddenly you’re being swept off your feet and into his arms.

He carries you down the hall like it’s nothing, one arm under your thighs, the other across your back, and you’re giggling into his neck like a drunken angel.

Then, smack — his hand lands hard on your ass and you squeal, legs kicking instinctively around him.

“You excited, huh?” he says, smirking, as he squeezes the cheek he just punished. “Come here, bambina.”

You bury your face in his throat, squealing again when he bounces you in his arms just enough to make you wrap tighter around him. The motion presses your core flush against his hard length, heat crackling between your bodies.

He presses sweet kisses to your forehead as he carries you, and it feels like heaven in his arms.

“So you still want me in mating press, yeah?”

You hum, all warm and fuzzy against him, lips brushing his collarbone. “Please.”

He kicks the bedroom door open and tosses you onto the mattress. You bounce once, breathless and grinning with excitement. The room spins a little, and you wait in anticipation, watching Luigi kick off his shoes and remove his clothes one by one — his tie, his jacket, his shirt, then his boxers and his pants. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you— hands sliding up your thighs, shoving your dress higher, bunching it at your waist until the fabric is a wrinkled mess around your hips.

“You gonna let me fuck you in this dress like a slut, huh?” he grits out, dragging his palms up your bare thighs.

“Well, you didn’t give me time to take it off, so … I guess,” you shoot back, lifting your hips as he yanks your panties down with one hand and tosses them somewhere behind him.

“Okay, yeah,” he laughs sarcastically. “You’re the one who dropped to her knees the second we got home. You couldn’t wait, no? Starving for me.”

“I am starving,” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist to grind up against him. “So stop talking and feed me.”

You’re giggling again, and his mouth twists into another smirk — equal parts impressed and amused.

“Up,” he instructs, grabbing your thighs. “Higher — yeah, like that.”

He hikes your legs up over his shoulders, and without another word, lines himself up and drives into you in one sharp, brutal thrust.

You scream, back arching as he fills you completely — no easing in. Just raw need.

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes locked on the way your mouth drops open. “You’re soaked for me. Been dripping since the party, huh?”

“No… mmph … since I first saw you put the suit on before we left,” you choke out, sprawled across the pillow, legs trembling as he sets a ruthless pace, thrusting deep, hips slamming against yours. You can barely process a thought — he’s got you folded under him in a perfect mating press, knees pressed up near your chest, his broad hands gripping your thighs so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

“This what you were craving, baby? Is this what you made me take you home for?” he grits through clenched teeth.

“Yes—yes, Luigi, please—”

He cuts you off with a hard thrust, making your words break into a cry. “Can’t form a sentence now? No? Too drunk on this cock, huh, bambina?”

“Mmhmm.” You shut your eyes, feeling every thrust so deep.

“That’s my beautiful girl — so tight, baby. This is what you needed, oh, that’s it.”

You nod helplessly, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes from the pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming way he keeps hitting that perfect spot deep inside you over and over and over.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, leaning forward to kiss you hard, then biting your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to watch your face twist in pleasure. “Taking me so fucking good, baby. This pretty pussy’s all mine to bring home, yeah?”

“All yours, Gi, mhmm,” you whimper, barely coherent.

“That’s it, angel, say it.”

“Oh, fuck, Luigi—I can’t—yeah, it’s yours—oh, baby, don’t stop—”

The sound he makes is heavenly, somewhere between a whine and a groan, as he pounds into you even harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room. His grip on your thighs tightens as he keeps you pinned in place.

“You wanna cum, baby girl?” His voice is low, a taunt now. “Tell me.”

You bite your lip hard, whining, desperate. “Please, baby.”

Your hips jerk up, chasing every thrust, every ounce of friction. “Please, Luigi— fuck, I’m so good for you, please—”

His eyes narrow, lips pressed together. “Cum for me, beautiful. Come on, let go for me — that’s my girl.”

The second the words leave his mouth your entire body goes taut, then shatters beneath him, your orgasm crashing through you so hard you’re screaming his name. “Fuck, Luigi — oh my God.”

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release, watching every twitch, every cry. “Gonna let me cum inside, angel? Hm?”

“Yeah, baby, I want it all — oh fuck, give it to me—”

And then his fingers are digging into your hips, thrusts faltering as he spills into you with a guttural moan, collapsing over you, breathless against your neck.

You’re both shaking, tangled in each other. And even as he catches his breath, he’s pressing kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, murmuring against your skin:

“My perfect fucking mess… Look at you, baby… Still trying to sass me when you can’t even talk. Makeup all down your face. I need a picture when we’re done.”

You laugh softly, dazed. And then you pause as he pulls out and rolls over to lay beside you. “We’re not done?”

He chuckles. “No, I want you like this now.” He sits up against the headboard, having only just caught his breath, and pulls you into his lap effortlessly. You squeal, laughing through the aftershocks, your body light against his chest.

Then his hand comes down hard on your ass again, making you jolt and squeal as he laughs, holding your hips to keep you perched over him.

“Still got the energy to laugh, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Didn’t fuck you hard enough.”

You pout, grinding against him lazily, his cum seeping out of you with your own release over his hardening length. “You’re obsessed with me,” you mumble, breath hitching as you move against him, your sensitive body already aching for more.

He hums, cupping your ass in both hands now, guiding you to grind slow and deep. “Can you blame me, baby? My cum’s dripping out of you and onto my cock, but you’re still whining like you haven’t had enough.”

“I haven’t,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as you press your forehead to his. “I want more, Gi… I want it again.”

He tilts his head, a slow smile spreading across his face, and his dimples make your heart flutter. “You gonna cry if I don’t give it to you?”

You nod, grinding down harder now, lips parted, hands clutching his shoulders like you’re trying to anchor yourself.

“Then bounce on me, baby,” he breathes, voice low and coaxing. “Come on.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Without answering, you reach between you, guiding him to your entrance again, fingers shaky with anticipation. He watches you intently the entire time, his hazel eyes gleaming like he’s memorising every twitch of your lips, every tremble in your thighs.

As you sink down, inch by inch, your mouth falls open, a broken gasp catching in your throat.

“F-fuck, you’re too big,” you whine, the stretch burning. “Gi, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he says softly, hands stroking up and down your back. “You’ve done it before. You’ll do it again. Take it all, baby girl, come on.”

You keep easing down slowly, until he’s fully seated inside you and your body’s shaking from the stretch. He’s so deep you feel him everywhere, your vision blurring as you bury your face into his shoulder.

“My girl,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “I know it’s difficult, baby, but I knew you could take me. So tight — your pussy was made for me.”

You whimper, hips starting to move — slow at first, then faster, rougher as desperation creeps back in. He lets you grind and ride him, lets you chase the rhythm you need. But your thighs are starting to feel sore from the first position, and when he senses your legs starting to give, he wraps his arms around you and shifts.

Suddenly, you’re flat against his chest and he’s doing the work — hips snapping up into you with brutal, deep thrusts that have you screaming, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He smacks your ass again, rough and fast, one hand gripping your hair, the other cradling your ass as he fucks up into you from below, hitting that spot so perfectly it makes your entire body shake.

“So loud for me, cara mia,” he murmurs in your ear, as you’re moaning helplessly into his neck. “Everyone’s gonna think you’re a whore.”

“Only for you, Luigi,” you gasp, clinging to him.

He laughs softly, kissing your forehead, his nose nuzzling yours.

“My whore, yeah? Just for me?” he coos, voice breathless and tender even as his thrusts continue to hit your spot devastatingly hard.

Your walls flutter around him, overwhelmed, close again — your body begging for another release you can barely hold off.

“You gonna cum again for me?” he asks, kissing your temple as he pounds into you. “Gonna make a mess all over me?”

“Uh-huh—oh fuck, Luigi, I can’t—please—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers, soft against your ear. “That’s my baby girl. Cum on my cock.”

And you do — with a sob, a full-body tremble, your moans muffled against his shoulder as your orgasm takes you hard and fast, crashing into you like a wave.

He holds you through it, kissing your forehead, caressing your hair. “That’s it, princess, I love you — so perfect for me,” he murmurs, buried deep inside you. “Want you like this forever.”

And with the way your body clings to him, wrecked and trembling and blissed out — you wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else either.

You’re still pulsing around him, a limp mess slumped over his chest when he lifts you off his cock with a low groan, your slick dripping between your thighs. He cups your face in one hand, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and leans in to kiss you — slow and deep — before he murmurs:

“On your knees, baby. One more.”

You slide off his lap without a second thought, sinking to the floor like you belong there. His cock is flushed, wet, still painfully hard. You take him into your mouth with a moan, tongue swirling around the tip before you sink down, swallowing him deep, your hands wrapped tight around the base.

Luigi’s head tips back against the headboard, one hand tangled in your hair, guiding you just how he likes — slow at first, then faster, sloppier. You moan around him, and the vibration makes his thighs tense.

“Giving you everything you need tonight, beautiful. You happy with my cock back in your mouth, yeah?” he breathes out, eyes flicking down to watch his length move between your lips. “Treating that big cock so well, fuck, baby…”

You look up, drool and precum spilling down your chin, and hum your answer as he thrusts into your mouth harder. You can barely breathe, but the praise alone makes your pussy clench. You adore this — the weight of him on your tongue, the heat of his body, the way he sounds when you’re the one doing this to him.

He pulls back just before he gets too close, and your lips chase him without thinking. “Open,” he pants, stroking himself now with fast, tight fists. “Stick out that tongue, baby.”

You obey instantly, eyes wide, tongue out, face tilted up for him like an offering.

“Amore... sì, così— la mia puttana perfetta, solo mia.” Luigi groans something in Italian — low and desperate — and then he’s spilling over your tongue, thick ropes of cum painting your mouth, your lips, dripping down your chin. You moan eagerly, swallowing some of it, letting the rest sit filthy and warm on your skin.

“Fuck—fuck,” he growls, still twitching in his hand as he strokes out the last few drops, dragging his thumb across your lips to smear it messier.

You swallow again, licking your lips with a smug little smile. “Told you I was hungry.”

“Come here, beautiful,” he murmurs, voice soft now. “Give me a kiss.”

You crawl back into his lap and he pulls you in close, kissing you slow and sweet, tasting himself on your tongue with a quiet groan. His arms wrap around you, hands warm on your back, and he holds you there for a moment—just breathing you in.

Then he stands, lifting you — your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. You squeal, laughing, hands in his curls as he bounces you once in his arms, your bodies still buzzing from the events of the past hour.

“I love you,” you murmur into his neck, voice muffled and dreamy.

He smiles against your skin, kissing your temple. “I love you, my baby. Even when you’re acting like a whore in public.”

«─────────── « ⋅ ✯ ⋅ » ───────────»

*.* hope u liked

boyfriend!hotch

2x09

too good for me - luigi mangione x reader

based on this request, thank you so much for sending in your idea anon, i really enjoyed writing this, i hope you enjoy it <333

the car ride to your parents’ house is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional tap of your fingers against the window. luigi glances over at you, his hands steady on the wheel, his expression calm but concerned. you’re fidgeting, something you only do when your anxiety is spiking. your knee bounces, your nails pick at the hem of your dress, and your breathing is just a little too shallow.

“hey,” he says softly, reaching over to take your hand. his touch is warm, grounding. “talk to me.”

you exhale sharply, your shoulders slumping. “i just… i don’t know why i’m so nervous. you’re you. you’re perfect. you’re going to walk in there, and they’re going to love you, and then they’re going to wonder why someone like you is with someone like me.”

luigi frowns, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “stop that. you’re not ‘someone like you.’ you’re you. and i’m with you because you’re kind, smart, funny, and you make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. got it?”

you nod, but the tension in your jaw doesn’t ease. “i just… i know how they are. they’re going to compare us. they’re going to say something about how you went to UPenn and i went to community college, or how you come from this perfect family and i’m just… me.”

luigi pulls the car into the driveway and puts it in park before turning to face you fully. “listen to me. whatever they say, it doesn’t change how i feel about you. and if they say anything that hurts you, i’ve got your back. always. okay?”

you manage a small smile, squeezing his hand. “okay.”

---

the moment you walk through the door, your parents are all smiles—for luigi, at least. your mother hugs him tightly, gushing about how handsome he looks, while your father shakes his hand with a firm grip and a nod of approval. you stand awkwardly to the side, your hands clasped in front of you, feeling like an afterthought.

“luigi, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” your mother says, leading you all into the dining room. “we’ve heard so much about you. UPenn, right? such an impressive school.”

“yes, ma’am,” luigi says politely, though his eyes flick to you, checking on you. you give him a small nod, trying to reassure him you’re okay.

---

dinner starts off well enough. your parents ask luigi about his job, his family, his plans for the future. he answers everything with ease, his charm disarming even your father’s usual stoicism. but then, as the conversation shifts, the comments start.

“you know, luigi, we always hoped our daughter would follow in your footsteps,” your mother says, sipping her wine. “an ivy league school, a high-powered career… but i guess community college was more her speed.”

you freeze, your fork hovering over your plate. your chest tightens, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. before you can respond, luigi speaks up.

“actually,” he says, his tone light but firm, “i think it’s incredible that she went to community college. she worked full-time while getting her degree, and she’s one of the hardest-working people i know. not everyone has the same opportunities, but she’s made the most of hers. i admire that about her.”

your mother blinks, caught off guard, but your father chuckles. “well, i suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

---

the rest of the meal continues with similar backhanded comments, each one making you shrink a little more into your seat. luigi, however, never lets it slide. he defends you without being confrontational, his hand resting on your leg under the table, a silent reminder that he’s there.

when your father excuses himself to use the bathroom and your mother goes to check on dessert, luigi turns to you. “let’s get some air,” he says, standing and offering you his hand.

you follow him to the porch, the cool night air a relief after the stifling tension inside. he leans against the railing, looking at you with those kind, steady eyes.

“you okay?” he asks.

you shake your head, tears welling up. “i’m sorry. i knew this would happen. i just… i hate that they do this. i hate that they make me feel like i’m not enough.”

luigi steps closer, cupping your face in his hands. “you are enough. more than enough. their opinions don’t define you. you’re smart, capable, and kind, and i’m so proud to be with you. don’t let them get in your head.”

you nod, leaning into his touch. “thank you. for standing up for me. for… everything.”

he smiles, brushing a tear from your cheek. “always. now, let’s get through the rest of this dinner, and then i’m taking you out for ice cream. deal?”

you laugh softly, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. “deal.”

---

as you walk back inside, hand in hand, you feel a flicker of hope. maybe, just maybe, you can start to believe that you’re enough—not because of what your parents think, but because of the way luigi looks at you, like you’re the most important person in the world.

and for the first time in a long time, you start to believe it too.

---

the rest of the evening passes in a blur. your parents continue to make their subtle jabs, but with luigi by your side, they don’t cut as deep. he’s your shield, your anchor, and by the time dessert is served, you’re feeling more like yourself again.

as you all sit down with coffee and cake, your mother turns to luigi with a smile. “so, luigi, do you see yourself settling down soon? maybe starting a family?”

you nearly choke on your coffee, but luigi just smiles, his hand finding yours under the table. “when the time is right, absolutely. but for now, i’m just focused on making sure this one here knows how amazing she is.”

your mother’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers. “well, that’s… very sweet of you.”

your father clears his throat, changing the subject, and the conversation moves on. but you can’t stop the warmth spreading through your chest. luigi’s words, his unwavering support, they mean more to you than you can ever express.

---

when it’s finally time to leave, your parents see you to the door. your mother gives luigi another hug, while your father shakes his hand again. “take care of our girl,” your father says, his tone more serious than before.

“always,” luigi replies, his voice firm.

as you step out into the night, the cool air wrapping around you like a blanket, you feel a sense of relief. the evening wasn’t perfect, but you made it through. and with luigi by your side, you know you can handle anything.

he opens the car door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, he leans in, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “you did great,” he murmurs.

you smile up at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. “i couldn’t have done it without you.”

he grins, his eyes sparkling. “that’s what i’m here for. now, let’s get that ice cream.”

as he starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, you glance back at the house one last time. for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace. your parents’ opinions will always sting, but with lu by your side, you know you’re enough. and that’s all that matters.