Ok But Nerdy College Luigi Trying To Get You Jealous At A Party By Talking To Another Girl But Then U

POPNYC did their thing for his birthday btw

IMAGINE….

you post a tiktok exactly like this after you and toxic!luigi break up…

luigi has his phone clutched in his hand, stomach churning as he watches the tiktok of you and your friends applauding. he’d bite his lip, glaring down at the illuminated screen, examining you.

you’re dressed in a mini skirt and a crop top, wearing clothes you know he’d hate if you were to go out alone in them.

but, you’re broken up. it shouldn’t matter to him.

but it does.

luigi seethes at the sight of your friends cheering you on, mindlessly giggling and clapping.

he’s filled with blind rage at the thought of you going out like that, without him, to talk to other men. hell, he couldn’t even bare the thought of other men looking at you.

he watches your tiktok over and over and over again… before closing the app he already hated so much, throwing his phone angrily. he only got the god-forsaken app because you begged him to. he gets himself so worked up, even though he fucked up your relationship.

good thing the break up was recent.

luigi still has your location.

and he wants to have a talk.

happy birthday to our angel and the only man that exists 🤓🤖💭💤🤍 i love you

legal team part one luigi mangione x reader

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

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

he doesn’t see you every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but they aren’t.

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

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

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

“good,” he murmurs.

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

he nods once.

“same year?”

“she graduated early.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he looks at her now, uncertain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no,” he says. then, “yeah.”

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

“maybe add a soundtrack.”

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

luigi almost smiles.

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

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

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

he exhales through his nose. “very nice.”

and then—

the doors open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i sighed once,” luigi mutters.

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

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

“it’s cold. but it’s yours.”

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

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

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

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

luigi doesn’t look up. “to who?”

“clerk’s office.”

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

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

“since an hour ago?”

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

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

then she’s gone.

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

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

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

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

he exhales through a crooked smile.

“alright. they talk just enough.”

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

“what?”

“you don’t like the coffee?”

“it’s fine.”

“there are vending machines outside—”

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

“you’re making a face.”

“this is my grateful face.”

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

“that’s your grateful face?” you ask.

“what, you don’t like it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the next week, the rain clears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you didn’t have to bring the tie.”

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

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

“this is not my skill set,” he says.

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

“better,” you say.

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

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

“fix me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’s terrible,” you joke.

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

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

“how late can i be?” he asks.

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

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

askbox

luigi at a halloween party (2019) + crumbs

Bro always got that first set of buttons unbuttoned to show off a lil chest 😩

bliss

warnings: none just fluff :)

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you always tease your boyfriend for being a heavy sleeper. honestly, the world could be ending, and he’d still be snoring his little head off. he always blushes and denies it, but you’ve seen the proof. especially this morning.

you hear your alarm that you set last night blaring as you wake from your slumber, feeling the warmth of the bed, of the boy in your arms who’s dead to the world, who has his face nestled between your breasts like they’re his personal pillow.

“lu…” you utter his name softly, while trying to move. “i have to get up and get ready for work, and so do you. you gotta go to work too.”

he doesn’t budge. not even a little. you just hear a sleepy sigh come out of him as he burrows further into you like a stubborn cat.

“lu,” you try again, shaking his shoulder gently. still nothing. how he’s able to sleep through your alarm blaring as loud as a siren you will never understand.

you huff, resorting to poking his cheek. “come on, baby, wake up.”

finally, you gently lift up his head and press a kiss to both of his cheeks, showing his beauty marks some love, then…

“i’m up, i’m up,” he mumbles groggily, cracking one eye open.

you roll your eyes, but the fond smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “and you always love to tell me that you aren’t a heavy sleeper.”

he groans dramatically, planting kisses onto your breasts. “shut up…” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

you smile wider. he’s always such a soft baby in the mornings.

“anyway,” you giggle, slipping your fingers into his rowdy curls and giving them a light tug. “we need to shower.”

he sighs, reluctant, his head now buried in the crook of your neck. “too early…” he murmurs, his voice still sleepy.

“you say that every morning,” you tease, nudging him. “come on, we both have jobs to get to. besides, you smell like sleep and laziness.”

“meannnnnn!” he whines, finally letting you go and stretching with a yawn. you take the opportunity to grab your phone and finally put an end to your deafening alarm.

“thank you,” you coo, giving the phone a triumphant glare before tossing it aside.

luigi groans again but sits up, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “do we have toooo?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep. his eyes are half open, and your heart melts as you take in just how much he resembles an innocent little boy getting dragged out of bed on a weekend.

“yes we have to,” you smile as you get out of bed to stand up and stretch. “i told you baby, we both have to go to work, otherwise we’ll both be poor!” you giggle again, taking his hand to remove him from the comfort of the blankets.

he sighs, but eventually, follows you toward the bathroom. he stumbles behind you, clinging to your hand as if he might fall back into bed if you let go.

you enter the bathroom, flicking on the light as he exhales, still clinging to you. “too bright…” he mutters, squinting.

you let go of his hand and pull your underwear, the only piece of clothing you wore to bed last night, off. it always got too warm in your room at night, so underwear was the only thing you’d wear to sleep. luigi never minded though, it meant that he could just snuggle his face into your breasts like a baby.

“now come on,” you nudge him playfully. “strip!”

he sluggishly hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his calvin kleins. with a tired huff, he pulls them down, stepping out of them clumsily, still half asleep. you can’t help but smile as he wobbles slightly, blinking against the bathroom light. he’s just so cute.

even when he’s in this state, he’s beautiful. you’ve always loved his body. yes you love it in a sexual way, but also in a way that makes your heart feel content. the way his toned abs glisten in the bathroom lighting, the subtle definition along his waist, the faint marks from where he’s stretched and grown. he’s warm and familiar, the kind of person who feels like home even when he’s doing something as simple as standing there, blinking sleepily at you.

you’re snapped back to reality when you hear him ask you a question, his voice not sounding sleepy anymore, but rather shy.

“why are you staring at me?”

you blink, caught, but you don’t deny it. instead you step forward, softly running a hand down his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “i just love looking at you.” you admit.

luigi blinks at you for a second before a slow, lopsided smirk tugs at his lips. the shyness gone, his eyes now shimmering with something smug. “yeah?” he hums, tilting his head. “can’t get enough of me, huh?”

you roll your eyes and plant a kiss on his cheek, before pulling your hand away from his chest and heading towards the shower. “don’t let it get to your head now!” you tease, though the fondness in your voice betrays you.

he chuckles, standing up a little straighter, clearly enjoying the attention. “too late.”

just as you step into the shower, you feel his hand smack your bare ass, making you yelp.

“luuuuu!” you squeal, and you whirl around to find him grinning, looking far too pleased with himself.

“sorry,” he hums, not looking sorry at all. “saw the opportunity right in front of me and i just had to take it. especially when you’re right in front of me looking like that.”

you narrow your eyes at him, but with the way your boyfriend is rubbing the sleep crust from his tear ducts, looking all adorable, makes it impossible for you to be angry at him. not that you are angry, if anything you love it. you love the way that even though he’s half asleep, he’s still playful. you love the way that he feels as though he can touch any part of your body without hesitation.

shaking your head, you turn on the shower and grab his wrist, tugging him under the water. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet you love me,” he teases, pressing a wet kisses to your forehead. “you love me sooo much.”

you try to feign nonchalance, but you can’t help but smile. “i do.”

the warm water flows over both of you, the steam rising around you, creating a soft, peaceful haze. luigi’s grin fades into a relaxed smile as you wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head against his damp chest.

he lets out a happy huff, one hand gently running through your hair as he holds you close.

“this is nice,” he murmurs, placing kisses into your now wet hair. “mornings like this… make getting up early almost worth it.”

you smile against him, savoring the simple comfort of being wrapped up in his embrace. “see? waking up early isn’t all bad!” you tease.

he chuckles quietly, rubbing your back as the water continues to get warmer. “maybe… but only if i get to do this with you every morning.”

you tighten your hold on him, feeling his warmth seep into you. work, your other responsibilities, all of a sudden seem so far away. right now, it’s just the two of you, sharing this quiet, blissful moment.

you could get used to this.

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i’m so sorry if this is bad omg i haven’t written anything in years! i thought that after today’s news that this might lift the mood :) let me know what u guys think of this!! love u all!!

😩😩😩😩😩

You Know What That Does to

You started it. You knew you did. You could always tell when you were pushing the line. When his eyes would flick up slowly, like he was clocking the shift in your voice, like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or grab you by the throat and pin you to the nearest surface.Tonight, it was the name.

You were sitting cross-legged on his couch, eating something lazy he cooked, the TV low in the background. He was still in his work clothes—dark slacks, sleeves rolled up, top button undone, hair pushed back messily like he’d run his hands through it too many times.You didn’t even say it to provoke him, not at first. But you’d been a little bratty all day—teasing, deflecting, poking at him when he got too close. And now, when he reached across you to grab the remote, you leaned back, tilted your head, and said it:

“Luigiiii.”

Soft. Sweet. With that smug little lilt that said I know what I’m doing.

He paused. Just for a second.

Didn’t answer.

Just sat back, resting the remote on his thigh, and slowly turned his head to look at you. You didn’t flinch. But your heart thudded. He smiled,barely. Just one corner of his mouth tugging up. But it wasn’t a warm smile. It was the kind that made your thighs press together under the blanket.

“You think you’re cute, huh?” he said.

You licked some sauce off your thumb. “I know I’m cute.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. Stayed there.

You smirked and added, just to push him over the edge, “What? Don’t like your name now?”

He didn’t answer. He just got up slowly. Quietly. Took your empty bowl and walked it into the kitchen. And for the next half hour, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t do anything at all. And that was how you knew.

⸻

The shift happened just after ten.

The dishes were done. The lights were low. You were half-scrolling on your phone when he came back into the living room,barefoot now, the cuffs of his slacks hanging low on his hips, shirt untucked and unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves rolled to the elbows like he had every intention of putting them to use.

“C’mere.”

His voice was soft.

You looked up. “What?”

He just tilted his head. Didn’t repeat it.

You got up slowly.

When you reached him, he turned you gently by the wrist and walked you backward,step by step, no resistance,until the backs of your knees hit the mattress.

You looked up at him. His eyes were warm.But his jaw was tight.

“You wanna use that voice on me, huh?” he asked. Still soft. Almost sweet. “That little ‘Luigiiii’ voice? Like you don’t know what it does to me?”

You opened your mouth to answer—

He pushed you down. Not hard. Just enough. You landed on your back, arms falling to your sides, eyes wide as he crawled over you,knees sinking into the mattress, palms planted on either side of your head.

“You’re gonna say it again,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours. “And again. And again.”

He kissed you slow. Just once. Like a reward before the punishment. Then his hand slipped down,down the line of your chest, past your stomach, right between your legs where you were already soaking through your panties. His fingers pressed there gently, teasing, circling.

You gasped.

He smiled.

“Now,” he whispered. “Say it again.”

You hesitated.

“Luigi.”

He arched his brow. “That’s not how you said it earlier.”

You swallowed. Licked your lips.

“Luigiiii.”

His hand slid under the fabric, fingers dragging through your soaked folds like he was testing just how wet your teasing had made you.

You moaned.

He leaned down again, lips brushing your ear.

“God, you’re dripping.” His fingers circled your clit slowly, barely-there pressure, enough to make your hips jerk but not enough to push you anywhere close to the edge. “From saying my name like a little slut?”

“Please—”

“No, no, no.” He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. His voice stayed gentle, affectionate. Mean. “You don’t get to beg yet.”

You whimpered.

Then gasped when he slid two fingers inside you, slowly. Deep.

Your back arched off the bed. He curled them.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me hear you. Let me hear that mouth you like to run.”

You choked on a moan, hands fisting in the sheets. He started fucking you with his fingers, lazy strokes, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. His thumb rubbed your clit just enough to light a fire, never enough to stoke it.

And then?

He mocked your voice.

Right against your ear.

“Luigiiii.”

Thrust.

“Luigiiii please.”

Curl. Grind.

“Oh, you can beg now,” he whispered. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Please, Luigi—please—”

“Yeah? You want it?” He pulled his fingers out.

You cried out.

He licked them clean. Then shoved them back in. He fucked you with them until your thighs were trembling, until you were soaked, breathless, teetering—

And then he stopped. Pulled away completely. You sobbed.

He grabbed your jaw gently. Tilted your face to his.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, lips soft against yours. “Something you need?”

You nodded desperately.

“I can’t hear you.”

“I need you.”

“Need what?”

“You—please—your cock—”

He undid his belt with one hand. Pushed his pants down just enough to free himself. Thick. Hard. Veined. Red at the tip. He pumped it once, slow, your slick still shining on his fingers. Then he lined up. Pressed the head against your entrance.

Waited.

“What do you say?”

You sobbed.

“Luigiiii.”

He slid in. All the way. Bottomed out with one brutal thrust that had your hands clawing at his back.And in your ear, breathless and mocking and so goddamn in love with ruining you, he whispered—

“That’s my girl.

He didn’t move at first.

After he bottomed out,deep, unforgiving, thick enough to punch the air from your lungs,he just stayed there. Buried inside you, hands pinning your hips down, chest pressed against yours, his breath hot and steady against your cheek.

“You feel that?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth.

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough.

He wrapped a hand around your throat,not tight, just enough to hold your attention,and pulled back enough to look into your eyes.

“Tell me who’s inside you.”

“You,” you breathed.

“Say my name.”

You hesitated.

The corner of his mouth curled.

“Say it how you said it before.”

Your stomach flipped. Your cunt clenched around him.

He groaned.

“Luigiiii,” you whispered, soft and bratty and trembling all at once. His fingers flexed around your throat. His hips snapped forward, driving deeper. You gasped.

“Oh, that’s the one,” he said, voice low and mean and so fucking fond. “That’s the little voice you used when you thought I wouldn’t do anything about it. Like you wanted me to lose it.”

“Lu—please—”

“Please what?”

“Please move.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

“Say it right.”

You blinked up at him, tears lining your lashes.

He leaned closer, lips brushing yours.

“Say it like you’re still bratting.”

You swallowed.

“Luigiiii,” you whined, full of broken heat.

He snapped his hips again. Deep. Cruel.

“Atta girl.”

And then he moved.

Rhythmic. Rough. Full-bodied thrusts that had your legs shaking, your nails clawing into his back, your cunt clenching so tight around him he cursed under his breath.

“That’s right,” he hissed, fucking you harder. “Fucking teasing me with that voice, like I wouldn’t recognize the sound of my name coming out of your mouth.”

His hand on your throat tightened just a little—enough to make you dizzy.

“You know what that does to me,” he growled. “You know it gets in my head. You like pushing me. You like when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”

You moaned.

“I said don’t you?”

“Yes—yes, I love it—”

“Of course you do. You’re such a fucking brat.” His voice dropped into something darker. “But you’re mine.”

He slipped his hand between your bodies, found your clit, and started circling hard, fast, filthy.You screamed.

“I’m the only one who gets to hear you say my name like that.”

He thrust again. Again.

“You hear me?”

“Yes—Luigi, please—”

“Say it.”

“Luigiiii—”

“Fucking say it.”

“Luigiiii—fuck—Luigi, I’m cuming —”

You shattered. The orgasm hit so hard you couldn’t breathe. Your legs spasmed. Your back arched. Your pussy clenched around him like it never wanted to let go. You were sobbing now—honest, wrecked tears slipping down your cheeks as he fucked you through it.

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned. “That’s my fucking girl.”

He wasn’t far behind. His thrusts grew wild. Sloppy. He was losing control and didn’t care.

“Where do you want it?” he panted. “Tell me.”

“Inside,” you begged. “Please, fill me..want you to cum inside—”

He groaned so loud it was almost a growl. And then he slammed in one last time, burying himself so deep you felt it in your throat—and came with a full-body shudder, his hips jerking, cock pulsing as he spilled inside you.

You were both breathless.

Sweaty. Shaking.

His arms were still around you.

Still inside you.

Still holding your body like it was his favorite thing on Earth. You were quiet for a while.He brushed the hair from your forehead. Kissed the tear trail on your cheek. Let you melt into his chest while his cock stayed buried in your sore, aching cunt.

And when you whispered, soft and broken, “Luigiiii…” again—

He smiled. Pulled out slowly. Watched the mess spill down your thighs.

Then kissed your jaw and murmured:

“Careful with that voice, baby.”

“Next time, I won’t be so gentle.”

@luigis-wetdream @iinfinitelimits @luigisbambinaaa

oh my god 😩

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

Married Life with Luigi HCs

content warning: brief mentions of sex, breeding

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

• updates your contact name to “my wife ❤️”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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