Fuuuuuuck 😩

27

He told you not to make a big deal. But you were already holding the weight of everything he’d survived. You weren’t going to let this birthday pass like it didn’t matter. Because it did. He did.

—

He’d barely mentioned it.

Didn’t remind you. Didn’t act excited. Just shrugged the day before and said, “It’s not really a big deal.”

But you saw the way his voice dipped when he said it. Saw how he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Saw the quiet ache in his hands when he rubbed the scar near his wrist, the one he never talked about. You knew what the silence was trying to hide:

He never thought he’d make it to 27.

And if he was being honest, he never expected to be loved through it.

So you didn’t throw a party. You didn’t make a big public thing. You didn’t post him, didn’t tag him, didn’t perform your love.

You just woke up early.

Slipped out of bed while the world was still dark. Let the cold floor shock you awake. Wrapped his favorite hoodie around your body,still warm from his skin, and stood barefoot in the kitchen, hands trembling as you lit a single cinnamon candle. The flame flickered against the quiet. You tried to breathe. Today mattered. He mattered. And if no one else had ever shown him that, you would.

—

You made him chilaquiles the way your mamá taught you. No shortcuts. Real salsa. Fried tortillas. Over-easy eggs with the yolk just a little runny, because that’s how he liked it, even if he’d never say so out loud. You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt a tear hit the back of your hand.

You weren’t sad.

You were overwhelmed. With the weight of his survival. With the memory of the first time you ever heard him talk about prison and how small his voice got. With the way he still flinched when someone knocked too loud or got too close from behind.

He was here.

And you’d be damned if his birthday felt like just another day.

—

He came out of the bedroom quiet.

Sweatpants. Hoodie. Messy curls falling into his eyes. You didn’t say anything at first, you just looked at him. Like it was the first sunrise after the storm.

He froze.

“…Did you do all this?”

You smiled softly and turned back to the stove. “I didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t move right away. Just stood in the doorway with that look on his face, like he didn’t know how to receive love without wondering when it would be taken away. Eventually, he walked over. Sat down. Looked at the plate you set in front of him like it might disappear if he blinked.

You didn’t rush him.

You just poured him coffee. Sat down next to him. And reached across the table to wrap your fingers around his wrist.

“I’m proud of you,” you said quietly.

His eyes dropped.

You squeezed gently. “I know you don’t like birthdays. I know you don’t think you deserve any of this. But you do. You made it through hell. And you’re here. That matters. You matter.”

For a long time, he didn’t speak.

And then

“…I didn’t think I’d live long enough to see this.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

You stood, walked around to his side of the table, and pulled him into your arms without hesitation. He buried his face in your hoodie and let himself break open quietly, shoulders shaking, fingers clutching your waist like he was scared you’d vanish if he let go.

And you just held him.

Because you’d never let him go without knowing: he was loved.

—

That night, when the sun dipped and the world settled, you lit a different candle.

Not for him.

For you.

Because you needed the reminder too: that softness could survive after everything. That love didn’t always have to hurt. That this, this quiet life, was real. Luigi was on the couch, scrolling through a book of old family photos his sister had mailed. He didn’t say anything when you grabbed the speaker and played a slow song, something old, Spanish, romantic.

You just offered your hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You really want to dance?”

You nodded. “Yeah. In our living room. Right now.”

He sighed dramatically, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips. He stood up slowly, cracking his knuckles like it was a chore, but when he pulled you close—one hand on your lower back, one cradling your jaw—it was the softest you’d ever seen him. You danced like the world didn’t exist outside your walls. Like he hadn’t been through hell. Like love could be slow and quiet and safe. He pressed his forehead to yours halfway through the song, and whispered:

“I feel like I’m dreaming.”

You smiled into his cheek.

“No, babe. You’re just finally waking up.”

—

Later, in bed, his voice broke the silence again.

“I know I didn’t want anything big,” he said, lips brushing your collarbone. “But this… this was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You ran your fingers through his curls.

“I know.”

He turned to look at you, eyes tired, but glassy with something too tender to name.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You shook your head.

“You don’t have to earn me. I’m here because I want to be. I love you, Luigi. Not in spite of everything. But because of it.”

That’s when he cried again. Not because he was broken. But because for the first time in years, he felt whole.

—

And on his 27th birthday, Luigi Mangione didn’t need cake or noise or applause.

He just needed you.

And he had you.

Completely.

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

Working Hard or Hardly Working? — Luigi Mangione

Summary: You’re spending the afternoon in your college boyfriend Luigi’s dorm. He’s focused on homework, as always—but as his first girlfriend, you’ve learned when a little break might be worth it.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: EXPLICIT, foreplay/non-penetrative sex, oral (m! receiving), not fully proofread & revised, writer lost their fic virginity while composing this

A/N: Please note that this is my first time writing smut in any real detail, despite all my years of reading and writing. Any feedback or insight is deeply appreciated—it helps keep writers going! A special thank you to @fligniuz and @bambimangione for genuinely inspiring me lately with their incredible recent works and motivating me to finally sit down and write this. Study the greats, and become even greater!

“Luigi, just take a break already,” you sighed, leaning over his desk chair, your hands resting on the joint of his shoulders.

His eyes were locked on the laptop screen, the luminescence of his physics homework casting a soft light across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his thick-rimmed, square blue light glasses.

“Five more minutes, I swear,” he muttered under his breath, fingers still tapping rapidly at the keyboard, his thoughts racing in a whirlwind of formulas and laws as he focused intensely on whatever complex calculation he was trying to solve.

Rolling your eyes, your patience thinned with every excuse he threw your way—this, that, and the third. Of course, he just needed five more minutes, as promised, not by just any Taurus, but a May-born male Taurus like Luigi himself: undoubtedly loyal, tirelessly hardworking, but also annoyingly, impossibly stubborn—just like the Taurean bull.

“Five minutes? You said that twenty minutes ago. You’ve been at this for hours.”

Sliding one of your hands down his arm, your fingers brushing over his wrist, he finally paused, stopping in his tracks and pulling out of his thought process, his shoulders stiffening under your touch. When he turned his head to look at you, his face was flushed—that kind of flushed. The kind that told you he wasn’t just thinking about differential equations anymore, and maybe, despite having his watch right on his left wrist where he could see it in that exact moment whenever he needed to check time, he was losing his track of time for once.

And for once, though it nearly pained him to admit it, you were right.

“Okay,” he sighed, knowing better than to object any further, as you had made your point, almost shyly aware that you were right and he, in fact, was wrong. He closed the laptop with a soft click, then pushed his chair back and turned to face you fully, becoming yours for the time being. “You’re right. I need a break.”

The moment his lips met yours, the air in the room seemed to shift. His kiss was clumsy at first, hesitant, as if he was unsure whether he was doing it right—doing it right, in terms of kissing a girl. You didn’t mind; you never did. At times, it was endearing how hard he tried to please you, even when he wasn’t entirely sure how to express his affection for you, as your boyfriend, through romantic gestures. You intensified the kiss, gently lifting your hands to cradle his boyish face, the tips of your thumb and pointer fingers brushing along his cheekbones. He eagerly reciprocated, his hands locating the figure of your waist and drawing you closer.

Your bodies pressed together, and you could feel the warmth of him radiating through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat syncing with your own. His hands wandered along your back, almost loveshy at first, fingertips ghosting over the fabric like he was memorizing the shape of you—before they grew bolder, more certain, as the kiss deepened into something far more than a long-awaited, overdue break from homework. You had been right all along: he definitely needed a break. As often as Luigi considered himself to be a remarkably bright and intelligent young man—now attending an Ivy League school as an undergraduate, pursuing a degree in computer science, ever the precocious child with a knack for all things science-y—he accepted that, not too long ago, he’d been a complete idiot for not stepping away from his desk sooner. Unlike many men, Luigi seemed to understand that women are often right and deserve your full attention. Somehow, you always caught his like a big fish on a line. And now, he couldn’t believe he had stayed so focused on the assignment with you right there in his room, stretched out on his dorm bed, looking as stunning as ever, and on top of that, as his girlfriend. The space separating you grew heavier, heavy with unspoken want, the kind that made every inch of your skin feel electric, galvanic, and exciting like a lightning bolt amidst the life cycle of a thunderstorm, ready to snap at any given moment.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see him, to really see him. His glasses were fogged from your breath, cheeks tinged with the softest blush, and his lips were parted in stunned awe, kiss-bitten and eager. He looked adorable—unapologetically nerdy in the best way possible. Without thinking, you reached up, cupping his face in both hands, your thumbs stroking the apples of his cheeks. Your fingers curled behind his ears, grounding him, pulling him closer. His breath hitched as your touch anchored him in the moment. Then, without hesitation, you brought his face back to yours and kissed him again—this time with certainty, with affection, with the delight lying in the repose of knowing that he was yours, and you were his, and that you were the first girl to ever hold his heart like this.

“Hey,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edge of his glasses before sliding them off the bridge of his nose and setting them on the desk. “You’re overthinking again. Relax. It’s just us.”

It was true. It was just the two of you, in that moment in his dorm, all alone, with nothing to worry about regarding his roommate returning for the rest of the day or, for that matter, the whole weekend.

But in spite of that, you were the first girl ever to have him wrapped around your finger, and therefore, the first girlfriend he ever dated in all his nineteen years of living.

He nodded, his hands still gripping your waist like he feared you would disappear like simple arthimetic flying into his head, without a trance, if he let go. You beamed, leaning in to kiss him again, your tongue toying with his, as his breath faltered, and a soft groan escaped him, the sound vibrating through your chest. The ardor between you strengthened, his body responding as if your kiss had awakened something profound within him. His hands firmly clasped your waist, as his initial nervousness transformed into an undeniable yearning—a fervor that kindled between you both, drawing you ever closer.

You withdrew slightly to take his hand, directing him to rise from his chair. With a gentle smile, you led him to his twin bed, your fingers interwoven as you sat beside him. Before either of you could utter another word, your lips met once more, the kiss rekindling with a heightened need as if the very act of each other's proximity had sparked a passion neither of you could ignore or control.

Luigi’s hands trembled as they slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your waist. His breath was uneven, and his heart pounded so loudly that you could almost hear it. You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his dark curls as you perfected your intimacy together of prolonging your kiss and caressing each other’s bodies. His inexperience, or its lack thereof with the opposite sex, was sweet as his innocence, and how he hesitated, unsure of how far to take things to the next base, only made him more irresistible. While he struggled to express his desires and needs clearly, it was evident that he yearned for something beyond what he had ever experienced, and he would go to any lengths for you.

“You can touch me, you know,” you hinted, pulling back just enough to see the flush spread across his cheeks. His brown eyes widened, and he gulped. “I’m yours, Luigi. All of me.”

You reached for the hem of your shirt and slipped it over your head, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought.

He ceased his actions, taking in the gravity of your words. Gradually, his hands traveled up, lightly gliding over your rib cage until they brushed against the underside of your breasts. The warmth emanated from his skin, and his fingers fidgeted with uncertainty. He glanced up at you, his lips parted, and you nodded encouragingly.

“Go on,” you pressed. “They’re yours to touch. Yours to feel.”

For a second, he faltered, shifting his gaze from your features to the curvaceous contour of your chest. With a breath that trembled, he enveloped your breasts in his large hands, his thumbs lightly tracing the fabric of your bra. With a delicate exhale, your body reacted to his tender touch, and you realized how his eyes reflected a deep longing to touch you. As he absorbed this new knowledge of appreciating the femininity of a woman and ventured into the unknown of pleasuring her, the way he gazed at you—like you were the most valuable treasure he had ever encountered—sent your heart into a frenzy.

“Can I…”

His voice faded, but you understood precisely what he meant.

“Yes,” you said immediately, your hands moving to the clasp of your bra. “You can.”

He followed closely, wholly captivated by your cleavage as you unhooked it, his breath catching when the fabric fell away, revealing your breasts to him for the first time. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in astonishment, feasting on the sight, likely matching the exact measurements of your bra size. Judging by appearances, it seemed your back must have ached at times from the rack you carried. His hands fidgeted beside him, seemingly unsure about making contact with the most generous pair of breasts he’d ever encountered, lost in the sauce of what to do next. Now, you weren’t naïve when it came to your personal assets—you’d caught Luigi sneaking glances at your chest more times than you could count, especially on days like today, when you intentionally wore a tight-fitting white t-shirt, knowing curiosity might just kill the cat.

Overjoyed by the moment, you smirked and reached out, guiding his hands back onto your chest where they belonged.

“They’re yours, Luigi,” you voiced it once more, your words dripping with allure, resonating with a yearning that paralleled his. “Put them in your mouth. I want you to suck on them.”

His pupils dilated, those big hands gripping your breasts firmly as he leaned in. His breath was warm upon your skin, and you could perceive the tension all in his physique, the manner in which he was restraining himself. With a moan, he latched onto one of your nipples, his tongue tasting the sensitive bud.

You gasped, your back arching as pleasure coursed through you. His mouth felt invitingly warm, and his tongue began with a gentle exploration, gaining more confidence as the moments unfolded. His hands kneaded your breasts, like they were manhandling raw dough, his fingers squeezing as he sucked, and you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“That’s it,” you panted, your voice quaking with desire. “Oh baby, just like that…”

Obeying immediately, his mouth closed once more, firmly this time around your nipple as he sucked harder, his tongue swirling in circles that sent sparks of pleasure through your body. His other hand moved to your other one, his thumb rolling over the nipple in time with the rhythm of his mouth. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, watching him suckling on your tit like a young needing it for nourishment, causing your mind to spiral.

“God, Luigi,” you moaned, your hips grinding against the mattress as his mouth worked absolute wonders, engulfing your nipple, areola, and most of your breast. “You’re so good at this. So good.”

He hesitated briefly, his lips shimmering with your essence, his eyes laden with desire. “I… I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he admitted. “I love them.”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You’re perfect,” ​​you cooed, your thumb tracing over his lower lip, separating them apart, turning him into a man of submission as he looked into the eyes of his woman. “Now, don’t stop. I want you to keep going.”

He needed no second prompting. His mouth claimed your other breast, his tongue lapping up your nipple in long, languid licks before he pulled it into his mouth, hands continuing to knead and squeeze your soft flesh. A louder moan escaped you, your legs instinctively parting as the growing pleasure surged within.

His movements became bolder, more assured, as though he were uncovering a new side of himself—a side that longed for your body, eager to worship every inch of you. His mouth was insistent, his tongue teasing, tasting, while his hands roamed freely, exploring, caressing, and claiming you as his own.

“Lu,” you breathed, straining with desire.

He groaned against your skin, his grip tightening around your breasts as he sucked harder, his tongue flicking over your nipples in a way that made you see stars. The tension coiled deep in your core, pleasure rising fast toward its peak, and you knew he felt it too, sensed every subtle shift in your body as it responded to him.

Luigi’s lips were still wrapped around your nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles, when you felt his body tense. His hands, which had been kneading your breasts with an almost desperate need, stilled for a moment. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his breathing had become uneven, shallow. His arousal was palpable, thick in the air between you, and it made your own body ache with want.

You reached up, tangling your fingers in his dark hair, tugging him back so you could look into his eyes. They were dark, almost black with desire, and his lips had swelled from the overuse of his lip muscles persistently suckling.

“Luigi,” you said. “Do you want to try something else?”

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “Something else?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you traced a finger along his jaw, feeling the clean-shaven, supple olive skin there. “I mean,” you shrugged your shoulders. “do you want to try fucking them?”

​​His eyes practically bulged out of his skull, and you could see the exact moment the realization hit him. His gaze dropped to your breasts, still cradled in his hands, and his Adam’s apple hit against the front of his neck as he swallowed hard. “You mean… with my dick?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your smile growing wider. “Yes.”

For a spell, he looked at you as if the very sight of you had stolen the air from his lungs—his gaze a storm of awe, wonder, and something unspoken that stirred beneath the surface, wild and ancient, like a flame catching wind. Like any other geek, it was safe to say that the portal in his brain crashed and his mind short-circuited. Without warning, he practically ripped his boxers and pants off all at once, the fabric pooling around his ankles in a heap. His cock sprang free, hard and throbbing. You couldn’t help but admire it, your heart taking a sudden plunge into your stomach.

In Luigi’s case, you know what they always say: big nose, big hands, big feet, and a big co—

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of wetness between your legs as you looked up at him. “Hold on,” you assured. “Let me help you.”

You reached down, wrapping your hands around your breasts and squeezing them together, molding them into a tight, inviting channel of soft, warm flesh for him to thrust into. Leaning forward slightly, you gathered a thick string of spit on your tongue and let it fall from your lips, watching it drip onto your cleavage and trail down between your breasts, leaving a glistening, slippery path just for him. He desperately whimpered at the sight, his eyes locking onto the mess you’d made just for him. Your nipples brushed against each other, sending shivers of pleasure through your body, and you could feel the heat of his cock as he moved closer, his tip brushing against the soft skin of your cleavage.

“Like this,” you instructed. “Just slide it in between them. Slowly at first.”

Luigi nodded, his jaw clenched tight as he guided his cock toward your breasts. The moment the head of his dick touched your skin, he let out a low, throaty groan, his hips jerking forward like an autonomic response. You could feel the way his body trembled, the way he struggled to hold back, to keep his movements controlled.

“That’s it,” you incited. “Just like that. You’re doing so good, baby.”

He slid his cock deeper, the thick length of him pressing against your breasts, and you could feel the way he pulsed with need. His hands gripped your shoulders, holding on tight as he began to move, his hips rocking back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your nipples rubbing against his shaft, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “This feels… so good.”

You moaned in agreement, your hands still holding your breasts together, the pressure of his cock sending waves of pleasure through you. “Yeah?” you asked breathlessly. “You like fucking me like this?”

He nodded frantically. “I… I never knew it could feel like this, it’s… fuck.”

You smiled, experiencing a surge of pride and joy from his words. “Mmm hmm,” you praised. “Just keep going. Let it feel good, baby.”

His movements grew faster, more frantic, and you could feel the way his cock throbbed against your skin. His hands tightened on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrust harder, deeper, his hips slamming against your breasts with a desperation that made your body ache with want. Your nipples were so hard they ached.

“I’m not… I’m not going to last long,” he warned, his face twisted in pleasure, losing absolute control of the muscles in his face.

“That’s okay. I want you to come—come on them.”

His hips stuttered, and with a low, guttural groan, he came, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering across your chest and breasts. You could feel the heat of it, the way it coated your skin, and the sight of it, mixed with the sound of his moans, had tears gushing down the side of your thigh.

He just stood there, trembling like a leaf in a storm, his breath coming in ragged bursts as though the weight of the moment was too much for his body to contain. Sowly, he pulled back, his cock slipping free from between your breasts, and he looked down at you, his eyes wide with wonder.

His body jolted, shuddering, virtually breaking open beneath the weight of sensation. Knees gave way like cracking fault lines, as if the ground had slipped from under him, and he collapsed, breathless and unraveling. Tremors rolled through him, leaving him limp as he crumpled onto the bed, caught in the grip of his own undoing. Raspy breaths spilled from parted lips as he stared blankly at the ceiling, wide-eyed and dazed, trying to comprehend the magnitude of what had just happened. Flushed and trembling, he lay still. His cock twitched against his stomach, the last flickers of release gleaming on his skin like stardust left in the wake of a supernova.

​​You studied him deciduously, a knowing smile creeping onto your face, and then crawled toward him. Every action was intentional and playful, made to heighten the suspense that existed between you. You positioned yourself in the space between his legs, your fingers smoothly moving along his thighs, sensing the tension in the muscles beneath your fingertips. While lingering there for a moment, you basked in the sensation of his heat radiating against your palms. Not only that, but you moved closer, your warm breath brushing against his skin as you placed a lingering, moist kiss on the sensitive inner part of his thigh. His body reacted with a shudder, a soft, quivering breath released,

“Luigi,” you purred. “I love you.”

You kissed him once more, this time higher, near the spot that remained quite sensitive, leaving him pulsating in rage.

“I want to make you feel good, too. Let me take care of you.”

He whimpered, a sound that was both vulnerable and filled with need, and his hips shifted slightly, along with his cock jittering. Even after everything, he was already so responsive, so eager for more. It was clear that titty fucking you had pushed him over the edge, but it had also awakened something deeper, something primal and insatiable.

You smiled against his skin, your kisses growing more purposeful as you trailed your lips closer to his cock. And surprisingly, his cock, still slick with traces of his earlier release, stood rigid and aching. You didn’t waste time. Every kiss was slow, wet, and deliberately filthy, crafted to make him squirm and whimper, right on the edge of sounding like a little bitch.

“You’re such a good boy, Gigi,” you hummed. “Can I put it in my mouth?”

His hands descended, fingers weaving through the strands of your hair, a tremor escaping his lips as he inhaled sharply, his entire body quivering with anticipation. “Please,” he squeaked. “Please, I just—”

Kisssiing the base of his cock, you felt it jerk against your lips, looking up at him with a soft, loving gaze. “Don’t worry, baby,” you promised. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

You leaned in slowly, breath fanning hot against the aching length of him, the tension in his body nearly palpable. A low tremor ran through him, his hands threading through your hair—clutching, desperate, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, anticipation making your mouth water. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, you dipped forward and took the flushed tip of his cock between your lips, savoring the first taste of him.

Luigi gasped, his hips jerking slightly as your lips wrapped around him. You could feel the heat of his skin, the way he pulsed with need, and it only fueled your desire to please him. You swirled your tongue around the head, savoring the salty precum that had already started to bead at the tip. His breath hitched, and you could hear the faintest whimper escape his lips.

“Oh… oh god,” he moaned. “That’s… that’s so good.”

You hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. Encouraged by his reaction, you slowly took more of him into your mouth, your lips sliding down his shaft. You could feel him twitch against your tongue, and you devoured every inch of him that your mouth could consume, the way he filled your mouth so deliciously. With one hand, you stroked the base of his dick, your fingers massaging his balls, while the other hand rested on his thigh, feeling the tension in his muscles.

Now and then, you took a moment to look up at him, your lashes fluttering as you admired the sheer pleasure contorting his face in every direction. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, and his eyes were half-lidded, caught between feeling immense ecstasy from getting his damn soul nearly sucked out of him and the disbelief that this was actually happening to him in real time. It was clear he had never experienced anything like this before, never even imagined that one day he would get dick sucked this soon in college—by none other than his own girlfriend—after taking a break from doing schoolwork and then ejaculating for the first time intimately ever all over her tits from fucking them. It thrilled you to be the one to show him just how good it could feel and how you were the first one to blow his brains out—quite literally.

You pulled back slightly, letting his cock slide out of your mouth, and then dove back down, taking him deeper this time. You could sense the pressure mounting within him, the way his body began to tremble, and you knew he was nearing the edge. But you wanted to make this last, particularly since this was the first time of ever being sexually intimate, to make sure it was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. You swirled your tongue around his shaft, teasing him, and then sucked gently, your cheeks hollowing as you worked him with your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t…” he whimpered, his hands gripping your hair tighter. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”

You didn’t stop. Instead, you increased the pace, bobbing your head up and down his cock, your tongue lashing against the sensitive underside. It was no small wonder that he couldn't hold back, and inevitably, he would come. You could taste him, the way his precum coated your tongue, and it only made you more determined to push him over the edge. You hummed again, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body, and you could feel his cock shiver in your mouth as he teetered on the brink of release.

“Please… please, I’m so close,” he whined, his toes curling inwards, barely able to hold on any longer. “I’m gonna… oh god, I think I’m gonna come—”

And then, with a shuddering moan, he did. If the other students on the floor in the residential hall didn't know that he busted all in your mouth before, they certainly did now. His body tensed, his hips bucking slightly as he emptied himself into your mouth. The taste was intense, salty, and somewhat sweet, and you swallowed and savored every last drop you could, daring not to let any of it go to waste. His hands fell from your hair, landing limply at his sides, and he let out a long, shaky breath, his body slumping back against the bed.

Quite literally and figuratively, Luigi was blown away—he was speechless, at a complete loss for words after what had just happened in the past few minutes.

Pleased with yourself, you smiled at your accomplishment, wiping your lips with the back of your hand before crawling up the bed to lie beside him. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes still heavy with pleasure, and reached out to brush his knuckles against your face.

“I can’t believe you just did that… it felt so fucking good.”

“I’m glad,” you replied softly, full of affection. “I wanted to make sure it was special for you.”

He reached out, his fingers drawing across the curve of your jaw, and then he leaned in, pressing a little kiss to your lips. It was tender, overflowing with gratitude and longing, and you could feel the warmth of his affection wrapping around you.

“I love you,” he spoke softly, his lips brushing against yours. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back. “More than anything.”

He pulled you closer against his body, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapping around you as you nestled into the cozy crook of his neck, feeling the thump of his heartbeat against you. The room cradled you in quietness, filled with the gentle sound of your breathing, and a beautiful sense of contentment washed over you, making everything feel just right.

However, little did you know, it wasn’t so much about what he hadn’t experienced yet, but more about all the things he wanted to try. If only you knew the thoughts running through Luigi's mind now, fueled by his newfound awareness of his heightened sex drive and his recent experiences that didn’t even involve penetrative sex, but still led to his first ever orgasms.

At first, he hesitated, unsure of how to translate his thoughts into action.

“Do you want to…?”

But beneath the uncertainty, you could hear the raw, unfiltered desire in his voice, a barely contained urgency that made your heart race.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and were all smiles. “Whatever you want, Lu,” you ensured, upholding your promise from the very beginning. “We can do whatever you want.”

For a brief moment, his gaze sought yours, searching for confirmation that, however you wished to surrender to pure pleasure, you both shared the willingness and ability to take that next step together. He nodded, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I… I want to try something.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his words. “What do you want to do?”

He inhaled deeply, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly, before leaning in close. His lips grazed your ear as he whispered his idea, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. A flame of lust smoldered in your core at the very thought of what he was suggesting.

Maybe he wasn’t as inexperienced and innocent as he seemed—well, as he had been.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Are you sure?”

He shook his head, his eyes brimming with determination. “I’m sure,” he reconfirmed. “I want to do this with you.”

You smiled, and your heart swelled with affection. “Then let’s do it,” you murmured, the mere thought inside your body just oozing with excitement about what was to come next. “Let’s try it right here, right now.”

Tag List: @daydreamingwithluigi @mailovesreading @wannabenugget @paolavallado @mangobabygirl @fancyyanci @briarloves @straw8erry @fligniuz

No, you don’t understand I love me a man that don’t play about Halloween 😭👻🎃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

father luigi lets a shaky breath leave his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LMAO

Bro knew he had one final serve left in him

Gilman Prom- June 10, 2015

luigi and traveling to Latin America is a need 😣

Latiendo por ti

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

He didn’t understand a word.

But God, he understood her.

A tu manera, descomplicado,

en una bici que te lleve a todos lados…

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

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

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

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

“Rude,” he muttered, crossing the street.

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

“Oh my god.”

“I told you.” She looked smug.

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

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

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

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

He groaned.

“Una cartica que yo guardo donde te escribí…”

The lyrics spilled from the same speaker.

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

“What’s that part mean?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m exotic?”

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

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

“Latiendo por ti…”

The chorus hit again.

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

His throat went tight.

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

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

“Race me to the pier?” she shouted.

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

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

Puedo ser feliz caminando relajada entre la gente,

yo te quiero así y me gustas porque eres diferente…

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

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

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

“Then do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew it did.

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

Que hace rato está mi corazón,

latiendo por ti, latiendo por ti…

“You hear that?” she murmured.

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

She smiled. “That’s enough.”

Because maybe he didn’t speak the language.

But he spoke her.

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

_______________________________

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

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

He failed.

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

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

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

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

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

Luigi couldn’t look away.

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

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

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

“Just move.”

“I’ll embarrass myself.”

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

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

Tiene los pies descalzos como un niño que adora…

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

“You’re not real,” he murmured.

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

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

Y sus cabellos largos son un sol que te antoja…

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

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

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

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

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

Luigi smirked. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Le gusta que la miren cuando ella baila sola…

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

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

He almost lost it right then.

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ.”

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

He pulled her in tighter.

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

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

Le gusta Barranquilla, le gusta Barcelona…

The beat slowed, but neither of them let go.

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

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

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

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

Luigi looked around, dazed.

“I feel like I just got possessed.”

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

“Mostly by you.”

She smiled. “You did good.”

“I didn’t even dance.”

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

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

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

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

“I couldn’t help it.”

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

“Wanting,” he echoed.

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

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

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

“Latiendo por ti.”

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

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

She pushed him back onto the bed.

Didn’t ask.

Didn’t wait.

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

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

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

His mouth dropped open.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re unreal.”

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

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

The friction made her gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lleva, llévame en tu bicicleta…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she did.

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

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

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

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

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

Que hace rato está mi corazón…

Latiendo por ti…

He was still inside her.

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

Not ever.

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

“You okay?” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

“Like you’re already hard again.”

He smirked. “That’s ‘cause I am.”

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

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

“About what?”

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

Her throat tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

“Like last night wasn’t slow?”

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

Her breath caught.

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

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

GIVE ME THIS SICILIAN MAN RN.

omg college luigi would be obsessed with thighs, especially if you have thickness for daysssss. he would smack them, hold them, caress them, squeeze them, jiggle them, so insufferable with him around. if you are wearing jeans on he will softly smack your ass or hoist you by the thighs to just carry you anywhere. if you’re wearing shorts, especially really short shorts, he will plop his head in between your thighs and lay there in your lap. he will expect you to softly play with his hair while he loses himself in the softness and warmth of you. sometimes, if he’s cuddled in your lap and you’re reading a book or watching tv, he’ll lift his head up, making instance eye contact with you, looking like such a cute grizzly bear wanting your attention. if you don’t notice him, he’ll just grumble out, “hey baby, how was your day? just wanted to talk to you.” he’s so in love with you and your body

oh 😩 I myself got some thickness for days so I’m gonna indulge in this one gladly

I’ll never forget how @fligniuz once said they’ve never known a nerd who didn’t love thighs, and it’s safe to say Lu sits nice and pretty in that category. He’d admire how perfectly they complement the curve of your waist and the wideness of your hips, how luscious they look no matter what you wear, even when they’re bare and soft to the touch—and what a blessing it is to feel that touch. Whether you’re in the car while he’s driving, or you are, or even just sitting side by side at a table, his hand always seems to find its way onto your thigh. And considering your thighs offer quite the spacious landing, and his hands are pretty big themselves, it’s almost mesmerizing how his palm stretches across the thick, plush spread of your thigh, making them look smaller than they are. He can’t help but keep touching, squeezing, and stroking. There’s nothing he loves more than when you settle your pretty self down somewhere and your thighs just spill out even further, like molten lava melting over everything in their path. And when he’s lucky enough to lay his head in your lap, nestled right between them, he’s endlessly grateful just to be in your space. He’d be a fool not to admit that he’s imagined what it would be like to rest his face there, really rest his face, or better yet, to be completely smothered and suffocated by your thighs, having the near life and viable source of oxygen squeezed out of him while you’re sitting on his face.