Hola, Acabo De Publicar Una Nueva Historia "Cenizas De Un Amor". Espero Que Les Guste Mucho Y Le Den

Receiving a call from your ex while you’re fucking Luigi. He answers the phone and tells you to speak 🫣.

Another repost. This was the first fic I ever wrote so it’s a bit all over the place. Enjoy bbys 😋

Luigi shifts under you. You’re straddling his lap grinding into him. “Hmm you want me to…?” he begins. “Yes yes please, I need you” you reply without hearing the end of his question. You’ve been making out in bed for a few minutes. You’re so turned on you feel the wetness pooling between your legs and feel Luigi harden under you. You kiss him again. Hard. Your teeth clank together and you pull back horrified. “Omg sorry did I hurt you?” You place your hands over your mouth embarrassed at how desperate you’re acting. Luigi does nothing but laugh. “Hahah it’s ok, baby” he says tilting his head to the side. His expression is cocky. He loves how desperate and needy he makes you. He knows no one else makes you feel this way and it turns him on. You laugh out of relief, dropping your hands and go back to kissing him, softer this time. You place your hands onto Luigi’s broad shoulders and his hands are on your ass, kneading at the supple flesh.

“More” you whine. “Need more”. You’re grinding down harder onto Luigi’s clothed pelvis trying desperately to ease the pressure down below. You arch your back, the seam of your sweats rubbing deliciously on your clit. You rock back and forth small mewls slipping from your mouth in between each kiss. Luigi moves to kiss down your cheek to your neck and slowly pulls the neckline of your top down to reveal your breast. “This ok?” He places a small kiss on your collarbone looking up at you. Your eyes catch his and you hum in response. Your hands are still resting on his shoulders, supporting you, while you rock back and forth. “Say it” he kisses the same spot on your collarbone. “Need to hear you say it.” He gets off on making you wait. He loves seeing you needy and whiny, making you so desperate you’d do whatever he tells you to. “Y- yes” you manage to get out between gritted teeth. He hesitates a moment before deciding that he’s satisfied with your response. He won’t make you wait any longer. He kisses your boob, just above the nipple. And kisses slightly lower but not low enough. A moan slips through your lips. “Mm yeah” you encourage him. You move one hand to rest on his head, interlocking your fingers between his curls. You use the hand to push his head down. He moves his mouth down, enveloping your whole nipple in his warm mouth. He sucks hard, moving his tongue around massaging your hard nipple. He moves and grabs the other boob and begins rolling your nipple between his fingers. He stays this way a few moments and your rocking slows to a halt. You let out small whines and moans encouraging him. Both your hands are in his hair now, grabbing, pulling and scratching. “You’re so whiny, baby” Luigi pulls away with a grin. “So so whiny” he continues. You’re so turned on you could cry. You look down at him and let out a breathy laugh which turns into a moan. You’re so frustrated with his teasing you grasp a chunk of his hair and pull hard. “Mmmm please” you throw your head back, rolling your hips against his once more so desperate to feel some sort of pleasure. Luigi is taken aback by this show of neediness. His head jerks back while you pull and he winces. You feel his dick twitch under you. “F-fuck ok” he lets out. He reaches out for your hand and untangles your fingers from his hair. He leans in close and whispers “take your clothes off” flashing his incisors.

Upon hearing this you scramble off of him desperately pulling off your pyjama pants and oversized t shirt. “Leave them on” he instructs, before you can pull your panties off. He moves to remove his blue Bali t-shirt, discarding it on the floor. He keeps his boxers on and you notice how hard he is under them. the outline of his dick is obvious as it strains against the fabric of his boxers. He gets up on his knees on the bed, patting the space he was sitting on, inviting you over. You lie down in his space. Your knees bent slightly, feet planted on the mattress, legs spread. Your hands resting on your sides. He takes a moment admiring you, deciding where to begin. He wants to ravage you, savour you, devour you. He enjoys making you feel good. It brings him pleasure. Feeling you come undone under him. He enjoys fucking you, slowly and passionately. Feeling the change in you. Growing desperate and needy to the point of submission. He gets you to a place no man has been able to.

You know what’s about to come. You see it in his eyes. The way they twinkle. His breath is heavy and his eyes wander over your body. He tilts his head as if sizing you up, ready to eat you. You enjoy this. The waiting. Waiting for him to decide what to do with you. How to pleasure you. How to enjoy you. You feel breathless, your chest rising and falling. You place one hand on your upper thigh and drag it slowly upwards. Dragging it over your clothed pelvis, up over your belly button and let it rest on your tit. You squeeze, kneeling slowly. Your nipples are sensitive from Luigi’s mouth so you go slow not to overstimulate yourself. “Come on, touch me” you encourage Luigi to begin. You don’t want to beg. Not just yet. He still doesn’t move so you reach out, tenderly, holding his hand and bringing it to rest over your mound. You half expected him to smack your hand away and make you wait. He slides one long finger over your slit. Up and down. He can feel the wetness leaking out, dampening your panties. “Soo so wet. All for me, baby?” He adjusts so that he’s lying on his side, one hand on you, the other arm propping him up. He runs his slender fingers over the elastic of your panties. “Mhm all for you” you let out. He dips one finger in, extending it to rub small circles over your clit. Your hips buck upwards and a moan leaves your lips. Much louder than you care to admit. He adds another finger, collecting your wetness and using it to rub your clit faster and harder. Your high pitched whines fill the room along with the lewd noises coming from between your legs.

Luigi slips one finger into you and then quickly follows with another. “Getting you ready f’me” he says, brushing his fingers against the spongy spot inside you. Luigi is big and he knows it. He keeps his thumb on your clit, rubbing much slower. Your whines turn to moans, almost growls as you grow more and more desperate for him. For his dick. Inside you. He picks up the pace, and you feel as though you can cum just from his fingers alone. "yeah, let me hear you" He leans over, locking his lips to yours. You kiss him back reaching your free hand to rub the fabric over his dick. A small wet patch formed at his tip from pre cum. You continue palming at his dick before he lets out a low groan. "That's good, baby". He takes such good care of you. Such care goes into making sure you feel good. You sometimes forget he also deserves to feel just as good.

Luigi removes his fingers and pushes your panties to the side. "pretty" he whispers, admiring your pussy. Luigi leans down and places a small kiss to your swollen clit. You arch your back "ohh fuck" you close your eyes and tip your head back, further into the pillow. He knows he has teased you enough. He slips off the bed to remove his boxers. He stands before you, pumping his dick in his big hands, spreading the precum over his tip. You're already so wet for him. You look over at him, hair disheveled, your lips red and puffy spread into a wide smile. you reach out a hand, inviting him back to bed. Inviting him back to fuck you. Taking your hand, he climbs back into the bed, placing his body on top of yours. His hips slit into the space between your legs, almost perfectly. Almost as though your bodies were made that way. Without hesitation he pushes into you, a small gasp leaving his mouth. You, on the other hand, let out a loud moan. "mmm fuck lu". "Tell me when" he says, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. He waits a moment for you to adjust to the stretch. You'll never get over this feeling. No matter how many times he fucks you, you will never not enjoy the stretch from his thick member. the pressure building again from the thick tip pushing against the spongy sensitive spot inside you. "ok ready" you wrap your arms around Luigi's neck, ready for him to begin pounding into you. He waits a moment before moving his hips. Moving his dick slowly out of you and then pushing in again. He does this again, making sure that you are ready and comfortable. "Shit, so good" you moan. The slow strokes feel euphoric. "Gripping me so tight" Luigi spits out as he picks up the pace. His hands reach up to hold your head up. His hands holding your head up as he kisses your lips, your cheeks, your nose. You can't form any thoughts as he picks up the pace, bottoming out in you, the familiar feeling of his dick hitting your cervix causes you to moan out. It hurts but in the best way. Luigi is practically pounding into you. The sound of skin hitting skin fills your ears and you feel sweat gathering at the base of your spine. You're moaning like a porn star and he's filling your ears with the most disgusting things. "You like that hmmm? You like when I'm pounding into you?" his words go straight to your pussy, gripping him like a vice. You can feel the thick vein that runs along his shaft rubbing against your gummy walls. "answer me baby, tell me you like it" "oh y-yes. Fuck I love it lu!" you practically scream out, fearing he might stop if you don't answer him. "that's my pretty gir-" before he can complete his sentence, he spots something, slowing his pace. You feel the change in pace and reach your hands to grab at his lower back, attempting to speed him up.

"Noo keep going" you look up at him and realise something has caught his attention. You follow his eyeline to your phone resting on the nightstand. You notice the familiar pattern of the vibration. You are getting a phone call. "ugh forget it baby" you say. "I'll call them back, whoever it is" you whine out, desperate for him to continue. Luigi reaches for the phone, holding it up so you can see the screen.

incoming call from - Devil Man 👹

Shit. Your toxic ex recently got a hold of your new number. He had called you twice this past week begging to meet up with you, telling you to leave Luigi and go back to him. You hadn't mentioned it to Luigi out of fear he would march over to his house and beat the living shit out of him. Not that your ex doesn't deserve it and you know that Luigi is perfectly capable of doing so, with all the hours he's put into the gym and the years of taekwondo training. You just didn't want Luigi to get into any trouble. Not over that worthless dog.

"Why not just answer it now?" Luigi says with a cheeky grin. Before you can protest, he presses the circular green button, connecting the call. he places the phone on speaker and you hear the familiar sound of your ex boyfriends voice. "y/n i'm so glad you answered". You're eyes are wide with shock, you're shaking your head at luigi questioning what on Earth made him answer the phone. He mouths one single word, "speak" before continuing his brutal pace. You cover your mouth not just out of shock but also to avoid a moan escaping your mouth. "y/n? You there?" Luigi brings the phone closer to you, you manage to mumble a small "yeah" into the general direction of the phone. All you can focus on is Luigi. hovering above you with the biggest smile ever. His dick is pounding into you, bottoming out with every stroke. You feel every inch, every vein brushing against the inside of your walls. He moves your hand away from your mouth, giving you a look to indicate you can do better than that. "oh good you're there. look can i come over?" your ex asks. Luigi scoffs at the request and then signals with his hands encouraging you to play along. "well no, i'm k- kind of busy." You let out shakily. Luigi showed no signs of slowing down. In Fact he reaches down between your naked bodies and slaps your clit. It's a light slap but enough to make you yelp. "what was that? Where are you right now?" your ex begins to question you. "nothing i j- just... Nothing." You're struggling to keep your composure. Luigi smiles then begins rubbing slowly on your clit. The wave of pleasure causes you to let out a low moan. You look at luigi, pleading with your eyes to let up but he shows so signs of slowing down. "come on, i promise i can make you feel way better than that loser you're seeing now. What's his name? Mario?" Hearing your ex talk about Luigi in that way makes your blood boil. Luigi's pace becomes teasingly slow, resulting in him pushing into you so deep and then slowly moving out. His tip teases your cervix every time he pushes in, causing your eyes to roll back. Trying not to scream, you reply "I doubt that.. and it's LUIGI." You look at him and he couldn't be prouder. He presses the mute button on the phone and whispers "keep going, gonna make you cum, baby." in your ear. You press unmute and hear your ex rambling on about how good he can fuck you and about how much more money he makes. "Come on, sweetheart. Please I want you back, I fucked up, ok? Just let me prove to you I'm a changed man." You're so certain he's crying right now and the thought of your slimy ex crying on the phone begging to fuck you whilst the most perfect man is on top of you fucking you so deliciously, makes you want to cum. Luigi is finding humour in listening to him begging you to fuck him, he's shaking his head and smiling, poking his tonge into the side of his cheek, as though he can't belive the audacity of your ex. Luigi moves his hand away from your clit and reaches for the headboard as he braces himself to start pounding into you again. You let out a small whine in anticipation. "Wait are you..." you hear on the phone "what is that noise? Are you with him right now?" Luigi begins pounding into you again, the noise of skin hitting skin fills the room, filtering through the phone's mic. You let out another moan and Luigi grabs your phone. "Sorry bro, she's kinda busy right now" frat boy luigi makes an appearance, speaking into the phone with the biggest grin plastered onto his face. "y/n what is-" before your ex can finish, luigi cuts the call, tosses your phone and turns to you. "fuckk you're all mine" he says reaching once again between your bodies down towards your clit. "All yours" you moan.

A small part of you wishes your ex stayed on the call long enough to hear you cum. especially since most of the time you had to fake it with him. Luigi makes you cum every single time. He takes the time to learn what you like and what makes you feel good. He prides himself on knowing every part of you. And you fall more and more in love with him every time.

Luigi’s bullying pace compared to the gentle touch on your clit is driving you crazy. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, your nails digging into his upper back. A small tear runs down your cheek as you practically scream out "yes. FUCK yes. oh right there" you're so consumed by him. Every nerve on your body is screaming, every hair on your body stood on end. your legs begin to shake as you feel the familiar tightness in your lower belly. You press your palm down on your belly to feel Luigi filling you so deep. "yes baby, f- fuck stay there, gonna- gonna make you cum" you can tell that Luigi is just as close. His eyes are screwed shut and his head tilted upwards. Seeing him in this state pushes you over the edge. The muscles in your legs contract and you dig your nails into Luigi's back, sure to leave a mark. Your eyes screw shut and you scream out Luigi's name. "cumming" is all you can muster. "Yeah, let it out, my pretty girl," he says. You're panting trying to regain your breath. Luigi cums straight after, gasping then letting out a low string of groans as he repeats your name like a prayer "y/n. y/n so perfect" he says spilling into you. You feel him twitching as he stills inside of you. He's coming down from his high and presses his sweaty forehead against yours, smiling. "fuck, I love you so much" you say placing a peck on his lips. "Hmm, I love you too," he says after pulling away. "no one makes me feel as good as you do" you admit to him

Luigi rolls his body off yours and onto the bed next to you. "Let me take care of you" he pulls you into him. your head resting on his chest, his muscly arms wrapped around your frame. fingers stroking your skin "my perfect girl" he sighs into you. You hum in pleasure. There's nowhere else you'd rather be right now.

Tag list 🏷️: @multi-culti-girl @sabrininaa (comment to be added)

this gif is something I take extremely seriously

girl, idk if you've already posted this one but this guy sounds so much like him it's insane 😫

https://soundgasm.net/u/UrSwitchyBF/Frat-boy-DEGRADES-you-for-not-doing-his-project

GIRL omgggfggggg yes i’m pretty sure i did post that one oh my god it’s one of the best yes yes yes

hold on i think i posted the praises u version but both are so good :) i think that guy has quite a few good audios but i can’t remember exactly

Can we have a round of applause for the chain here

drunkenly confessing your feelings for lu over voicemail…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He calls you. No answer.

He texts you. No reply.

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

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

“Come iinnn…” your groggy voice calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine.”

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

Your eyes widen. “Did you seriously—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes gleam. “Interesting.”

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

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

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

You like him.

A lot.

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

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

When you wake up, everything is… warm.

Too warm.

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

Your breath catches.

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

Luigi.

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

You stare.

Oh.

Oh no.

Did you—?

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

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

“Enjoying the view?”

Your whole body jerks.

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

You sputter. “I—! No—! I—”

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

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

Your brain stalls.

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

He smirks. “What are we, twelve?”

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

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

You narrow your eyes. “…Liar.”

His smirk grows.

Your heart races.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

weak for you

summary: after you send luigi a soapy titty pic, he decides to jerk off to it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

luigi’s phone buzzes against the nightstand, the soft vibration cutting through the heavy silence of his hotel room. he barely hesitates before reaching for it, already hoping it’s from you.

and sure enough, your name glows on the screen, followed by a message that makes his heart ache in the best and worst way.

you: i miss u :(( can’t wait for u to come home tomorrow ❤️

he misses you too. hes been away from you for about a week now, away on a work trip that he didn’t even want to go on in the first place, all shacked up in a shitty, overpriced hotel room bed. it’s too cold without you. too empty. too unfamiliar. he’s used to your warmth, the way you curl into his chest, the way you fit so perfectly against him. now, when he reaches out at night, all he can find is cold sheets and silence. and he hates it. thank god he’s able to come home to you sooner rather than later.

his fingers move quickly as he types back.

luigi: miss you too, can’t wait to see you tomorrow baby

luigi: what are you doing right now? :)

a few seconds pass before another buzz.

you: just got out of the shower :) <3

he shifts uncomfortably in bed, running a hand down his face as his mind betrays him. the thought of you, fresh out of the shower, skin warm and dewy, hair damp as you wrap your warm body in a towel sticks in his head like a dream he can’t shake.

he’s suddenly hyper aware of just how how hard his cock is getting, shielded underneath his boxers. he sucks in a sharp breath, forcing himself to think, to type out a response, but it’s impossible when all he can focus on is thought of you, all naked and beautiful.

luigi: oh yeah? can i see? ;)

just a few minutes later…

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you’re an evil, evil woman.

that’s the first thought that crosses luigi’s mind as he stares at his phone screen, jaw slack, fingers frozen over the keyboard like his brain just turned to mush.

you were beautiful, that much he knew. but in the photo you just sent him? he doesn’t know the right word to adequately describe just how you look now.

there you were, your breasts smothered in delicate, frothy trails of soap, pearlescent in the dim bathroom light. remnants of warm water made everything look impossibly soft, almost unreal.

hes always loved your breasts, sometimes he thinks that the universe made them just for him. they’re soft, and fit perfectly in his hands. they make perfect pillows too. if luigi could choose when he was to die, he’d choose to die wrapped up in your arms, head burrowed against your breasts like a baby, while you caressed his curls, lulling him.

but the more he stares at the picture you sent him, the more he realises that he can’t ignore the throbbing problem in his pants.

he can’t help it, he reaches down and frees himself from his boxers, feeling the cold air of the hotel room pierce against him, and begins to stroke himself slowly while staring at the picture of you on his phone.

he lets out a soft whimper and leans his head back against the pillow, holding the picture up in the air. his mind begins to exhibit various scenarios to him, one being laying next to you in bed, his head resting against your chest, his mouth feeding from your breast while you stroke his cock with one hand, while threading your fingers through his hair with the other.

he wishes it was your hand stroking him instead of his own.

his mind also shows him bending you over the kitchen table and absolutely wrecking you, dominating you. he has your hair in a makeshift ponytail, and he’s rutting his hips into you so desperately while you scream and beg for more. his free hand repeatedly lands harshly on your ass, leaving behind scarlet marks and making it sting.

luigi has always loved fucking you from behind.

he strokes his cock faster, it now being red from the over exertion.

“feels so good baby, yeah…” he whimpers, letting out a breathy moan as the intense burning in his stomach slowly begins to get bigger, more intense.

then, he gets an idea.

he’s still holding his phone with his left hand, so he presses the X button on the top right corner of the photo you sent, and taps the microphone to record a voice message, all whilst still fucking himself with his free hand.

he lets loose. all you’ll hear when you receive it will be the obscene sounds of profanities, moans, and whimpers. but he doesn’t care, he wants you to hear how weak he is for you.

he hits send.

“shit.” he moans, his cock tingling, the coil in his stomach so close to snapping. he stares intently at his phone, awaiting a response from you as he fucks himself all the way to the edge.

letting out a final noise of satisfaction, his toes curl and he finally hits his climax, spilling hot white ribbons of his seed all over himself as he whimpers your name like a prayer.

he’s coming down from his high, thinking that hes finally satisfied, until three dots pop up on his phone screen. snapping him back to reality.

you’re typing. that means you’ve listened to what he sent you. you’ve heard him.

his phone buzzes twice, followed by your two messages flashing on the screen.

you: i love you baby

you: facetime me now ;)

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

this is so fucking rushed… and it’s the first time i’ve ever written anything smutty too omg forgive me

previous work

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 — SPENCER REID

divider credit: cafekitsune

PARING: spencer reid x fem reader

WARNINGS: SMUT!! (18+) porn with plot (more plot tbh), soft !dom spencer, oral (fem receiving) praise, aftercare, fluff, spencer being a dorky nerd, a teeny tiny bit of angst. pet names; sweetheart, pretty girl, baby

SUMMARY: You've taken some time off work after nearly getting killed in the field. So you spend your time baking. A sweet and sugary moment between you and Spencer becomes much more...sinful.

WORD COUNT : 8,3k

Notes: this man is so smexy I wanna smooch all over his face. btw this is more fluff than smut. I got carried away with them being sweet. this is not proofread.

Three weeks had passed since you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer had been extremely worried, his brain had worked nonstop to come up with ways on how to better protect you. You'd never seen him so on edge, he was usually very relaxed, sometimes a bit awkward, but never anxious.

Spencer had practically forced you to stay home and rest, the wound still wasn't healed and you had to take care of it. He left a first aid kit right next to the bed and he made you promise you'd apply the ointment every few hours.

You had spent the weeks catching up with your favorite shows and reading some of the books that belonged to Spencer. And all in all just trying to take care of yourself, both physically and mentally.

As you continued to mix the batter of the cupcakes, the silence in the home became almost deafening. Being away from work for so long didn't help, you wanted to be out in the field again, fighting crime, working with Spencer and the team. But you also knew that you had to listen to Spencer and stay home a little while longer.

The sound of keys in the lock pulled you out of your thoughts, and you knew instantly that Spencer was coming home.

The front door opened and Spencer stepped trough the door, immediately he could smell the cupcakes that you were baking. Taking his shoes off, he placed them neatly on the shoe rack before he hung his jacket away.

Slowly he entered the living room, his gaze falling onto you in the kitchen. You didn't look up, your back turned to him as you continued to mix the batter. He could recognize that body language, you were upset.

"Hey," he spoke gently, walking into the kitchen, taking off his tie as he made his way towards you. He didn't touch you yet, knowing how you were feeling. Stopping right behind you, he leaned in slightly. He smelled good, he could smell the familiar scent of sugar, and he knew that you had stolen one of his shirts again.

He gently placed the tie on the counter next to you, quietly observing you as you worked. The silence between you was tense.

After a few moments, he gently touched your hips, his touch light, as if he was scared he'd hurt you, he slowly turned you around, his eyes meeting yours.

He observed you, noticing your slightly flushed cheeks and how you avoided his gaze. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" he muttered, one hand slowly moving up to your face, cupping your chin, his thumb stroking your skin.

He tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to make eye contact with him. He could see the emotions flicker trough your eyes, the frustration, the insecurity, the restlessness.

Slowly, his other hand caressed your hip. "Talk to me, baby," he whispered, his voice soft and comforting.

He observed your expression carefully, noticing how your forehead was slightly creased, your jaw clenched. He knew that you were holding back, trying to keep everything bottled up inside of you. He was worried about you, he knew how hard it was for you to be home and away from the BAU, but he also knew that your health was more important.

His hand on your hip slowly moved up to your stomach, his large hand feeling over the healing scar.

Your heart clenched at the gentle contact of his hand on your stomach, the memory of the stabbing still fresh in your mind.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Looking up at Spencer, you swallowed, trying to find the right words. "I'm just... I'm feeling frustrated. I want to be out there, helping the team, doing what I love," you finally admit, your voice laced with frustration.

Spencer nodded, a soft expression crossing his face. He understood how you were feeling. You were a determined, hard-working person, and being forced to stay home and rest was probably the last thing you wanted to do.

"I know you're frustrated, my love," he said, his voice still gentle, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your hip. "But you have to give yourself time to heal. You were badly hurt, we were all worried about you..."

He gently pulled you closer, his other hand moving to rest on the small of your back, keeping you close to him.

"I know it's hard, but you need to focus on your recovery right now. Healing takes time, but I promise it'll be worth it in the end." He spoke, his brown eyes locking onto yours, trying to reassure you.

His touch was warm and comforting, and you couldn't help but lean into his embrace. He was right, you knew deep down that you needed to focus on healing and recovering, but it was so hard to be patient when you wanted nothing more than to be back at the BAU.

"I just... I hate feeling weak," you admitted, your voice quiet and vulnerable. "I feel like I'm letting everyone down by being home like this."

"You're not weak," he said firmly, his grip on you tightening slightly. "You got hurt, yes, but that doesn't make you weak. You are strong, stronger than you know. And you're not letting anyone down by taking time to heal. If anything, you're helping us all by focusing on your health."

He gently threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch soft and soothing. "We all want you back at the BAU as soon as possible, but we also want you back healthy and whole. And that means taking the time to recover properly."

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You're a valuable member of the team, but your health and well-being are more important than anything else. So please, be patient and take care of yourself. For us, for me..."

His words were like a soothing balm to your frustrated heart. You knew he was right, and you knew that taking the time to heal was the right thing to do, even if it was hard.

Nodding slightly in response, you leaned your forehead against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "I'll do my best," you mumbled against his shirt, your voice slightly muffled. "It's just so hard to wait."

He held you close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath your forehead. "I know it's hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I'll be here with you every step of the way. I'll help take care of you, make sure you're eating and resting properly."

His grip on you loosened slightly, and his hands began to glide over your back, rubbing soft circles. "And I know the team misses you too. But they understand that your health is our top priority right now."

You couldn't help but smile a little at his words, feeling a small sense of comfort. You knew that Spencer would be a constant presence in your recovery, and the thought of that helped to ease your frustration just a bit.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at him. "You're right," you said, your voice almost a whisper. "I just need to be more patient. And I know you'll be there to take care of me, even if I get annoyed with you."

He chuckled at that, his chest rumbling softly with the sound. "Oh, I'm sure you will get annoyed," he agreed, a small smile appearing on his lips. "But that's okay. I've learned to deal with your grumpiness over the years."

He gently pinched your side in a teasing gesture, causing you to let out a small giggle. "And just so you know, I plan on spoiling you rotten while you're recovering."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of him spoiling you. Spencer had a tendency to dote on you at the best of times, and you knew that while you were recovering from your injury, his spoiling tendencies would likely be heightened even more.

You raised an eyebrow, a small grin on your lips. "Oh really? So you're going to wait on me hand and foot, bring me food and drink whenever I want, and generally treat me like a princess?"

He smirked at your question, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Oh, most definitely. You're going to be pampered like a princess," he replied, his tone slightly dramatic. "I'll bring you tea, pastries, chocolates, anything and everything you desire. And as a bonus, I'll give you foot massages, back rubs, and anything else you might ask for."

You couldn't help but laugh a little at his display of melodramatic affection. It was so typically Spencer - overly grand and dramatic, yet utterly charming.

You gave him a playful swat on the arm. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" you said, shaking your head in amusement. "But I'll admit, the idea of being pampered with sweets and massages isn't too bad."

As the banter between the two of you continued, your mind drifted back to the cupcakes you were baking. You glanced down at the messy batter, which was still in the mixing bowl.

"Anyway," you said, pulling out of Spencer's arms to grab the bowl. "I should finish these. Can you grab the muffin tray for me, please?"

Spencer, ever the ever-helpful boyfriend, immediately did as you asked. He moved to a nearby cabinet and retrieved the muffin tray, bringing it over to the counter and setting it down next to the mixing bowl.

He watched as you began to scoop some of the batter into the tray, a small smile on his face. He loved watching you cook and bake. It was always a soothing and comforting sight for him, especially after a long day.

As you continued to fill each of the muffin cups, you could feel Spencer's gaze on you. It was subtle, but still present, his eyes on you. You knew he was observing your every move, admiring you quietly.

Despite your earlier frustration, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You couldn't help but feel comforted by his presence, by his silent support.

While you continued to work on the cupcakes, Spencer leaned against the countertop, watching you silently. He found himself admiring the way your fingers moved, the way your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you filled each of the cups with batter.

He knew that you were still frustrated about being home, about being away from the BAU, but he could also see that this little moment, this simple act of baking in the kitchen together, was a small comfort. It was a moment of normalcy among the chaos.

Soon enough, all the cups within the tray were filled with the cupcake batter. You placed the tray into the oven, setting the timer before turning back to Spencer.

He was still standing against the countertop, watching you intently. You could practically see the gears turning in his mind, the way he was studying you, analyzing your every move.

You rolled your eyes in response. "Stop analyzing me, Spence," you teased, a small smirk on your lips. "I can almost hear the gears in your brain churning."

Spencer chuckled sheepishly at your comment, caught in the act. "Sorry, it's a habit," he admitted, a sheepish grin on his face. "I can't help it, it's what I do. Besides, you know I love studying you."

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "Yes, I know you do," you replied, walking closer to him. You stopped when you were in front of him, placing your hands on his chest. "But maybe try toning down the analytical observations for a few minutes, okay? Just treat me like a normal person, not a case to be studied."

He reached up and placed his hands over yours, gently rubbing his thumbs over your skin.

"Alright, I'll try," he promised, his voice quieter now. "I'll try not to analyze you so much, just be... normal. Although, for the record, I think you're anything but normal."

You playfully swatted his chest, rolling your eyes again. "Gee, thanks," you said sarcastically, though a small smile tugged at your lips. "But seriously, just try and focus on the moment, on us. No analyzing, no deducing, no profiling, no solving puzzles in that genius brain of yours."

Spencer chuckled again, his eyes meeting yours. "Okay, okay, I get it," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "No more analyzing, no more profiling. I'll try to focus on just us, I promise."

He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "And maybe, just maybe, we can talk about something other than work or injuries or any other potentially depressing topics."

You smiled, relieved that he was willing to take a break from his usual intellectual pursuits. You leaned in towards him, resting your head against his chest.

"That sounds nice," you said, closing your eyes for a moment. "How about we just... talk about anything? Whatever comes to mind, just nothing too serious or work-related."

Spencer hummed in agreement, his fingers beginning to run idly through your hair. "Alright, anything but serious topics," he repeated. "So... let's see..."

He thought for a moment, trying to come up with a light-hearted conversation starter. Suddenly, his expression brightened, an idea popping into his head.

"Hey, did you know that honey never spoils?"

Your eyebrows raised at his random fun fact. You tilted your head back to look up at him, a small smile on your face. "Honey never spoils, huh? That's something I didn't know."

You chuckled softly, shifting to rest your chin on his chest. "What other random trivia do you have hiding in that brain of yours, Spence?"

Spencer chuckled at your response, his fingers still playing with your hair. "Oh, I have a ton of random trivia stored up here," he replied, tapping his forehead lightly.

He thought for a moment, trying to remember another fun fact. "Oh, I got one. Did you know that there are more possible combinations in a game of chess than there are atoms in the observable universe?"

Your eyes widened at his next random fact. "More possible combinations in a game of chess than there are atoms in the observable universe?" you repeated, impressed.

You looked up at him, a bewildered expression on your face. "How do you even know that? And more importantly, why do you know that?"

Spencer shrugged, a grin on his face. "I read a lot of random things," he answered simply. "And my mind seems to just retain all this information for some reason. I guess it's just how my brain works."

He paused for a moment, his tone turning playful. "And as for why I know that particular fact... well, maybe it just stuck in my head because I like chess."

You rolled your eyes at his comment, a small smile on your lips. "Of course you like chess," you replied, pretending to be exasperated. "You're a total nerd."

Spencer feigned offense at your comment, a mock-offended expression on his face. "Hey, I'll have you know that liking chess does not make me a nerd," he protested. "It's a strategic game of skill and intellect. It's a perfectly respectable hobby.

You couldn't help but laugh at his response. "Oh, right. My mistake," you teased. "Liking chess definitely doesn't make you a nerd. And neither does knowing random trivia about the size of the universe or the properties of ancient artifacts. Nope, definitely not nerd-like behavior at all."

Spencer chuckled at your reply, conceding defeat. "Fine, fine, you have a point," he admitted, his tone slightly sheepish. "I guess I do have a few nerdy tendencies."

He continued to stroke your hair, a small smile on his face. "But in my defense, I think my knowledge and interests make me charming in my own unique way."

You couldn't help but smile at his confident statement. "Oh, charming, huh?" you replied, teasing him. "Is that what we're calling it now? Your endless stream of trivia and random facts is considered charming?"

Spencer feigned offense once again, his hand still playing with your hair. "Hey, I'm not just some nerd who spouts random facts all the time," he protested. "I have charm, intelligence, wit, and a sarcastic sense of humor. Those are all attractive qualities, you know."

You laughed softly, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. "Alright, alright, I admit it," you said, still gazing up at him. "You're charming, intelligent, witty, and you have a sarcastic sense of humor. Not to mention your adorable boyish good looks."

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly at your compliment, his smile broadening. "Adorable boyish good looks, huh?" he repeated, pretending to be unaffected by your words. "I'll have you know that I'm not just some cute, baby-faced boy. I'm a mature and respectable man."

You laughed again, not fooled by his attempt to play it cool. "Oh, really? A mature and respectable man, huh? Sounds very official, Dr. Reid."

You reached up to playfully pat his chest. "It's okay to admit that you're an adorable genius sometimes, you know. It won't make you any less mature or respectable."

Spencer rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. "Fine, fine, I'll admit it," he said, feigning resignation. "I am an adorable genius. But don't let it go to my head, okay?"

You chuckled, knowing that it was already too late for that. "Don't worry, I won't let it go to your head," you teased, leaning up to brush a kiss against his jaw. "Well, not too much, at least."

Spencer's heart skipped a beat at the brief press of your lips, a small shiver running down his spine. He tilted his head down to meet your gaze, his eyes locking with yours. "You're enjoying this a little too much, y'know," he murmured, a mock pout on his face.

You chuckled, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. "Oh, am I?" you asked, feigning innocence. "Am I enjoying making fun of my brilliant but adorable boyfriend a bit too much?"

Spencer huffed playfully, although a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, you are," he replied. "You're really milking this, aren't you? I'm not sure if I should be amused or annoyed."

You chuckled again, enjoying the banter between the two of you. "Hmm, let me think," you said, pretending to consider it. "Maybe a bit of both?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his expression bordering on mock irritation. "Both, huh? I suppose that's fair," he conceded, his tone still playful. "I can be both amused and annoyed at my girlfriend's relentless teasing. Seems like a typical day in our relationship, really."

You laughed, your hand still pressed against his chest. "It's all part of the fun," you replied, a warm smile on your face. "You know you secretly love it when I tease you."

As your conversation continued, a sudden sound interrupted you both. The oven timer went off, signaling that the cupcakes were done. Well, that was fast.

Spencer's eyes flicked towards the oven, then back to yours. "Looks like the cupcakes are done," he noted, his fingers still idly playing with your hair.

You smiled up at him, realizing that your little distraction had made the baking time fly by. "Looks like it," you agreed, gently untangling yourself from his embrace to attend to the cupcakes.

"Stay there," you instructed, giving him a warning look. "You're not distracting me again with your adorableness, I need to take these out before they burn."

Spencer held up his hands in mock surrender, a playful pout on his lips. "Alright, alright, I won't distract you," he promised, though his eyes followed you as you moved over to the oven.

He watched as you opened the oven and carefully pulled out the tray of freshly baked cupcakes. His gaze lingered on you as you set them down to cool on the countertop.

You laughed, shaking your head at his dramatic response. "That's right," you replied. "Just sit there and keep your charm to yourself, Dr. Reid. Let me finish these without any further distractions."

Spencer pouted slightly, crossing his arms in mock disappointment. "Alright, alright," he said, leaning back against the counter. "I'll be the epitome of patience and restraint, I promise. No more flirting, no more distractions. I'll just... stare at you from over here and admire your baking skills."

You chuckled, appreciating his mock-disappointment. "You flatter me, Spence," you replied, setting the tray of cupcakes on the counter to cool. "But I need less staring and more silence if you don't mind. This frosting isn't going to do itself."

Spencer held up his hands in surrender, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Okay, okay, no more staring. I'll be the model of obedience and silence, I promise. I'll just... be over here, quietly admiring your frosting skills." He paused, his gaze drifting towards the cooling cupcakes. "And trying not to drool over the fact that I can't eat them just yet."

You laughed again, shaking your head at his eagerness. "Patience, Dr. Reid," you said, moving to collect the necessary supplies for the frosting. "You have to wait until they're cooled off properly before you can devour them like a hungry puppy."

As you busied yourself with the frosting, you stole glances at Spencer, amused by his barely contained excitement.

Spencer did his best to contain his excitement, his eyes following your every move as you set up the frosting supplies. His fingers drummed idly against the countertop, and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he tried to keep from drooling over the cupcakes.

"How long until they're cooled off, again?" he asked, his voice slightly strained. "Just... curious."

ou shot him an amused smile, continuing to focus on the task at hand. "A few more minutes," you replied, your tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth as you carefully swirled the chocolate frosting onto one of the cupcakes. "And no touching, no trying to sneak a taste."

Spencer groaned, the sound more of a half-whine than anything else. "But they look so good," he protested, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the countertop to restrain himself. "Just a small taste? Please?"

You shook your head, your smile broadening. "No, no, no," you said firmly, playfully wagging your finger at him. "You have to wait, just like the rest of us mortals. No special treatment for hungry geniuses."

Spencer let out an exaggerated sigh, his shoulders slumping in mock dejection. "But... but I'm hungry," he whined, a pout forming on his face. "And I'm a genius. Surely that counts for something."

You chuckled at his pitiful display, your resolve starting to waver. "You're adorable when you pout," you admitted, placing the pastry bag down and turning to face him. "But you still have to wait, I'm afraid. No special privileges for genius boyfriends."

Spencer leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, and continued to pout like a child. "It's not fair," he protested, his puppy-dog eyes begging for a taste of the cupcakes. "Why can't I get a little taste, just a tiny one? I'll be good, I promise."

You laughed, your resolve weakening further. "You're really laying it on thick, aren't you?" you teased, unable to resist his pathetic puppy-dog expression. "You're not going to give up until you get a taste, are you?"

Spencer shook his head vigorously, his pout only deepening. "No, I'm not," he replied, clasping his hands together, as if in prayer. "Please, please, please, can I have just one taste? Just a tiny bite, that's all I ask."

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain a stern expression, but failing miserably. "You're impossible," you said, shaking your head in mock annoyance. "But I can never seem to say no to your puppy-dog eyes."

Spencer's face immediately brightened, his pout melting into a hopeful smile. "Does that mean you'll let me have a taste?" he asked, his voice brimming with anticipation.

You sighed, knowing that you were completely whipped by his adorable pleading. "Alright, fine," you relented, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "You can have a taste. But just a little one, okay? Don't go eating half the batch before the rest of us get some."

Spencer's face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. He practically bounded over to the counter, his eyes fixed on the cupcakes as if he'd never seen anything more delicious. "I promise, I'll only have a small taste," he declared, although, from the eager way he was eyeing the cupcakes, you had your doubts.

You chuckled, watching him with amusement as he hovered impatiently by the tray of now-cooled cupcakes. "Easy there, tiger," you said, playfully swatting his hand back. "I meant it when I said just a small taste. Don't get greedy."

Spencer sheepishly withdrew his hand, chagrined. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, his eyes still glued to the cupcakes. "I won't get greedy, I promise. Just a little taste, that's all I'm asking for."

You nodded, accepting his apology, and handed him a cupcake with a healthy dose of frosting. "Alright, here you go. One small taste, as promised."

Spencer carefully accepted the cupcake, cradling it in his hands like it was a precious artifact. He brought it up to his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as he took a small bite. A satisfied moan escaped his lips as the frosting hit his tongue. "Oh, god, that's good," he murmured, his eyes opening again as he savored the flavor. "So good."

You chuckled, watching as his expression went from eager to blissfully content in an instant. "You look like you're in ecstasy," you teased gently, leaning against the counter. "I take it you approve?"

Spencer nodded fervently, swallowing the bite he'd taken. "Approve is an understatement," he replied. "This is... this is a religious experience. It's like a fluffy, sugary cloud of joy exploding in my mouth."

You laughed again at his dramatic response, touched by the simple joy a single bite of your cupcakes had brought him. "Well, I'm glad it's living up to your high standards, Dr. Reid," you quipped, leaning in closer to steal a tiny bit of frosting from his cupcake.

Spencer barely seemed to notice the loss of frosting on his cupcake, still caught up in his food-induced euphoria. "It far exceeds my high standards," he mumbled, taking another bite and letting out another moan of pleasure. "I might have to marry you just for these cupcakes."

You chuckled, his declaration both charming and comical. "Oh, really? Is that the only reason you'd consider marrying me?" you teased, enjoying the way his guard was completely down in his blissful cupcake-induced state.

Spencer looked up from his cupcake, meeting your gaze with a goofy smile. "Well, no," he admitted, a bit of frosting smeared on his lip. "But these cupcakes definitely make the list of reasons why I should marry you."

You reached out, wiping the bit of frosting from his lip with your thumb. "Good to know your stomach is a major consideration in your decision-making process," you teased, a soft smile on your face.

Spencer chuckled, licking a stray bit of frosting off his lip. "Hey, it's an important factor in life decisions, you can't fault me for that," he replied, his eyes sparkling. "Good food is a non-negotiable in any relationship."

You rolled your eyes, amused by his priorities. "Alright, I'll give you that," you relented. "But what about love and commitment? Those still make your list of must-haves, right?"

Spencer's expression softened and he reached out to take your hand. "Of course they do," he said, lacing his fingers through yours. "Love, commitment, trust, all the important stuff. But good food is definitely a big bonus."

You smiled at the touch of his hand and pulled him closer to you. "I guess I can live with that," you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Especially since I plan on keeping you well-fed."

You quickly snatch a huge bite into the cupcake in Spencer's hand, your mouth getting frosting smeared all over.

"Hey!" he protested, a mix of shock and amusement in his eyes. "That's cheating!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his flabbergasted expression, your mouth still filled with cupcake goodness. "I couldn't resist," you mumbled, through your mouthful of frosting and cupcake base. "Besides, sharing is caring!"

Spencer tried to pout, but the corners of his mouth were twitching with suppressed laughter. "That was just greedy," he protested, but his tone was playful. "You could've at least asked first!"

You swallowed the bite of cupcake, a cheeky grin on your face. "But where's the fun in asking when I could just steal a bite?" you teased, sticking your tongue out at him, still covered in frosting.

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. "You're wicked, you know that?" he said, reaching out to smear some of the frosting onto your nose.

You let out a squeal as the cold frosting touched your nose, giggling at his antics. "Hey, no fair!" you protested, trying to dodge his frosting-covered thumb. "You know I'm ticklish there!"

Spencer chuckled, relishing in the joyful moment. "Oh, I know," he replied, a mischievous grin on his face. "It's just so adorable when you squeak." He attempted to dot your nose with more frosting, laughing at your attempts to evade him.

You continued to laugh involuntarily as he kept trying to smear frosting on your nose, the feeling both ticklish and cold. "Spence, stop, stop!" you gasped, trying to swat his hand away. "You're going to make a mess!"

Spencer ignored your plea, laughing at your attempts to keep him from decorating your nose with frosting. "I thought you were the one who said sharing is caring," he teased, continuing to dab frosting onto your nose. "Now you're trying to deny me the opportunity to share with you!"

You finally managed to grab his wrist, stopping his frosting assault on your nose. Instead taking his thumb covered with frosting into your mouth.

Spencer's eyes widened as a shiver ran down his spine, and a flush of heat crept up his neck. He let out a soft gasp at the unexpected feeling.

Your tongue swirled around his thumb, licking off the frosting. You looked up at him through your lashes, a playful gleam in your eyes. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you, his face growing redder by the second.

He slowly pulled his thumb from your mouth, reluctantly breaking the contact. His pulse was racing, his throat dry. He swallowed hard, trying to regain control of his racing heart. "That... that was a bit of a dirty move," he managed to splutter out, sounding strained.

You smirked at his flustered state, enjoying the effect you had on him. "I just didn't want you to waste any more frosting," you replied, feigning innocence. "You were making quite a mess, after all."

Spencer's brain was having a hard time forming coherent thoughts, his mind hazy with the sensation of your tongue on his skin. He shook his head, trying to regain his composure. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a bit huskier than usual.

You bit back a laugh, the sight of him so flustered was highly amusing. "Maybe a little," you admitted, shrugging. "It's not every day I get to see the great Dr. Reid rendered speechless, after all."

Spencer huffed out a laugh but couldn't argue. "Okay, you got me there," he admitted his cheeks still a little flushed from your earlier actions. "But I feel I should warn you, I don't shy away from retaliating."

You grab a napkin, wipe at your mouth and nose, getting all the frosting off, before throwing it into the trash bin.

A thrill of excitement shot through you at his warning, your pulse quickening. "Oh, really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, does this retaliation involve?"

Spencer could definitely be dominating if need be. But he was a soft dom. He had tried being more rough and demanding with you during sex, but he didn't like it. Didn't like degrading you or being awful to you despite it only being for the act.

You watched as the corners of his mouth tugged upward into a mischievous smile. "Let's just say," he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. "I could think of a few ways to get payback that don't involve pastries."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sudden low timber of his voice and the look in his eyes. A mixture of anticipation and excitement fluttered in your stomach. "Is that a threat or a promise, Reid?" you asked, your voice slightly breathless.

Spencer stepped closer to you, the gap between you diminishing rapidly. "Both," he replied, his tone dropping even lower. "A threat of what I'll do to you, and a promise of enjoying every second of it."

You shivered again, your body responding to his proximity, the heat in his gaze. "Careful, Spence," you warned, your voice softer than you'd intended. "I might just call your bluff."

"That's all the invitation I need," he murmured, his body now flush against yours. He reached up, gently wrapping a hand around your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. His brown eyes were nearly black with desire. "You have no idea the things I've been wanting to do to you, sweetheart," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your lower lip.

His touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your breathing growing ragged. "And here I'd thought you were a perfect gentleman," you managed to tease, your voice betraying your own desire. "Little did I know you have a deviant side too."

"Oh, you have no idea," he murmured again, his eyes roaming over your face. His finger ghosted over your neck, the skin there heating under his touch. "I'm not a saint, sweetheart. Not by a long shot." His lips twitched into a small, almost predatory smile. "And when it comes to you, I'm practically a sinner."

Your knees almost buckled at his words, your body reacting strongly to the mixture of his proximity and his voice. "Well, if that's the case," you said, your voice trembling, "then I suppose I'm damned too."

A low growl escaped Spencer's throat, his grip on your chin tightening slightly. "Damned? No, love," he murmured, before swooping down to claim your lips in a bruising kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss rough with pent-up desire.

Your gasp was swallowed by the fervor of his kiss, your arms immediately going around his neck to pull him closer. His tongue licked its way into your mouth, claiming every inch with an urgency that belied his earlier restraint. His hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as if he was afraid you would slip through his grasp if he didn't anchor you to him.

The kiss between you was hungry, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue, spurred on by the weeks of missed intimacy. Spencer pulled you closer, his fingers digging into your hips as if he couldn't bear to let go. When he finally pulled back for air, both of you were panting heavily, your cheeks flushed and your breaths mingling. "You drive me insane," he muttered against your lips, his voice gravelly. "You have no idea what you do to me, baby."

"The feeling is mutual," you panted, your breath stuttering in your chest from the kiss. You could feel his desire rolling off him in waves, his body pressed tightly against yours, the heat from his skin burning through the thin barrier of your clothing. You ran your fingers through the messy curls at the back of his head, tugging lightly. "I don't think I can wait any longer, Spence," you admitted, your voice low and hoarse. "I need you. Now."

Spencer shuddered at your words, a low moan escaping from his lips. The need in your voice, the desperate wanting, was like an aphrodisiac. He captured your mouth again in another hungry kiss, this one more urgent than the last. "I don't want to wait either," he muttered against your lips, his hands roaming over your body, pulling at your clothes, seeking skin. "I've missed you so much."

Your own hands began to wander, pulling at buttons and zippers, desperate to feel his skin against yours. "God, I've missed you too," you gasped, your fingers finally finding their way under his shirt, running over the bare skin of his stomach and chest. "Please, Spence. I need you. Need you now."

With a gentleness, Spencer lifted you and settled you down on the cool countertop of the kitchen. He kept most of his weight off of you, placing his hands on either side of you so he could hover over you. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm fine," you assured him, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "I just need to feel you, Spence. All of you." You pulled his head down to yours, kissing him fiercely, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. "I need you," you repeated against his lips, your fingers running over the bare skin of his back, feeling the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Spencer groaned at the feel of your legs around him, the sound deep and primal. He slid his tongue into your mouth, the kiss turning heated and desperate. His body trembled with the need to be closer to you, to feel all of you against him. "I'm right here, sweetheart," he murmured against your lips, his hands roaming over your body. "I'm not going anywhere."

Your heart was pounding, your body arching into his touch as he caressed you. "I need you naked, Spence. I need to feel you against me. All of you," you panted, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Now. Please."

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He quickly removed his shirt, then leaned down to pull yours off as well. Your skin was warm and smooth beneath his fingers, his own body thrumming with need. He pressed himself against you, his bare chest against your chest, the feeling of skin against skin sending a shiver through him. "God, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice guttural. "You feel so good."

"So do you," you gasped, your hands running over the bare planes of his chest and stomach. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the weight of his body pressing you into the countertop, and it only served to fuel the desire burning within you. "Touch me, Spence," you begged, your voice ragged. "Please, I need your hands on me. Everywhere."

"I'm not going to make you wait any longer," he murmured, his hands beginning to wander over your skin. He touched every inch of you that he could reach, fingers skimming over your shoulders, your collarbone, your stomach. "You're beautiful," he repeated, his voice low. "So damn beautiful." His hands continued to roam, finding every sensitive spot on your body, setting your nerve endings on fire.

He placed his palm against your stomach, pushing you carefully to lay down flat against the countertop. Spencer's hands were shaking slightly, his eyes dark with desire as they roamed over your body. He gripped the waistband of your shorts, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of your stomach. He began to pull them down, his movements gentle but insistent, your underwear following closely behind. "Lift your hips," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You did as he said, lifting your hips off the countertop, his hands pulling your shorts and underwear down your legs and discarding them on the floor. You were completely bare before him now, the cool air causing gooseflesh to rise on your skin. But Spencer's heated gaze made you feel anything but cold, his eyes trailing over every inch of you with a look of reverence.

He ran a hand up your inner thigh, the movement gentle yet possessive. "You're so beautiful, pretty girl," he said, his voice thick with emotion. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, his calloused skin sending shivers through you. "I've missed seeing you like this." He leaned down, his lips trailing over your stomach, his mouth moving lower...

The feel of his lips against your skin sent a rush of heat through you, your body already responding to his touch. You reached down, running your fingers through his curls, holding him close. "Spence," you gasped, your voice ragged with need. "Please. I need you."

Spencer's eyes met yours, his gaze burning. "I know, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers digging into your hips. "Just a minute. Let me taste you first."

Your breath hitched at his words, your body already arching towards him in anticipation. You watched as he lowered his head, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The feeling of his lips and tongue against your skin was intoxicating, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

He took his time, his kisses slow and deliberate, his tongue tracing patterns against your skin that had you writhing beneath him. He worshipped your body with his mouth, his lips moving ever closer to where you needed him most.

You were panting now, your hands clenching in his hair, your body arching off the countertop, seeking more of his touch. "Spence, please," you pleaded, your voice strained. "I can't take any more. I need you, now."

"Just a little more, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot against you. "I want you to come like this. I want to taste you when you're falling apart for me."

Those words, that low, gravelly tone in his voice, almost sent you over the edge alone. But then he moved his mouth to where you needed it most, and a cry tore from your lips as he began to taste you, his tongue and lips moving against your folds.

He tugged you closer to the edge, making you squeak as he chuckled between your legs, draping them over his shoulders.

It was hard to form coherent thoughts, your mind filled with nothing but sensations — the feel of his mouth against you, the heat of his breath, the possessive grip of his hands on your hips. You arched off the countertop, your body taut as a bowstring, each flick of his tongue against your clit bringing you closer to the edge.

"God, sweetheart, you taste so good," he murmured against you, his voice rough. "So sweet. I could do this for hours and it would never be enough." He increased the pressure, his tongue moving with a purpose, driving you higher and higher.

It was too much, the pleasure building to a peak that you knew you couldn't hold back from. "Spence, I'm...I'm coming," you panted, your body trembling. "I'm coming, oh god."

''Come for me, come on my tongue, pretty girl,'' Spencer muttered against your clit.

He didn't let up, his mouth and tongue continuing their relentless assault until you were crying out his name, your orgasm ripping through you, your body arching up off the countertop. He held you there, his mouth against you, his hands steadying your hips until you were spent, your body boneless against the countertop.

You lay panting, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. Spencer moved back up your body, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at you. "You're so beautiful when you come," he murmured, his voice thick with need. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss.

After a few moments, Spencer pulled back, his breathing still labored. He looked down at you, his eyes roaming over your flushed face and disheveled hair. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

You nodded, your body still feeling boneless and sated. "Yeah, I'm okay," you murmured. "That was...incredible." You reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing over his stubbled jaw.

Spencer leaned into your touch, his eyes closing at the feel of your fingers against his skin. "Good," he replied, his voice soft. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He glanced down at the countertop, realizing just now where he had taken you. "I wasn't too...enthusiastic, was I?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "No, you were perfect," you assured him. "But, you did just eat me out, right next to the cupcakes.''

Spencer's eyes widened as he looked down at the countertop again, realizing the exact same thing. "Oh. Right," he said, a sheepish expression crossing his face. "Well, I guess we did." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I got a little...carried away, I suppose."

You laughed again, amused by his reaction. "It's okay," you reassured him. "I don't think it's the first time we've...defiled the kitchen countertop.''

Spencer smiled at that, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "No, you're right," he agreed. "We have been known to...christen multiple surfaces throughout the house."

"I don't think there's anywhere in this house that hasn't been defiled by us yet," you teased, a grin spreading across your face.

"Well, we have been living together for a while now," he reasoned, his hand running idly over your bare hip. "It's a wonder we haven't broken any of the furniture yet."

You let out a small chuckle, ''The day will come.''

Spencer laughed at that, ''Oh, I'm waiting for that day.''

After a moment of comfortable silence, Spencer spoke up again. "We should probably clean up," he murmured, his hand still running over your hip. "You're a little..sticky."

"Yeah, you're right," you agreed, a smile playing on your lips. "And we should probably do something about all the...evidence that we just did what we did right in front of the cupcakes."

Spencer chuckled, his eyes meeting yours. "Yes, that too," he agreed. "But first, I need to take care of you." He shifted his weight, gently lifting you off of the countertop and into his arms.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing him to carry you out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward the bathroom. "Taking care of me, huh?" you teased, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

"Of course," he replied, his arms tightening around you. "I need to make sure you're comfortable and taken care of, especially after I essentially manhandled you on the kitchen countertop."

You laughed, enjoying the feeling of being held in his strong arms. "I think it's safe to say I didn't mind the manhandling," you assured him, kissing his neck.

He chuckled, his grip loosening as he set you down on the bathroom counter. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, his hands moving to your hips as he gazed down at you. "But still, I want to make sure you're okay. That I didn't get too...carried away."

You met his gaze, seeing the concern and tenderness in his eyes. "I'm okay," you reassured him, cupping his face in your hands. "And you didn't get too carried away. I enjoyed every moment of it, I promise. And I know you'd never hurt me."

A relieved smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he leaned into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Good," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "I just want you to always feel safe and comfortable with me. I never want you to feel like I'm taking things too far or being too...forceful."

Spencer reached for a washcloth, turning on the sink and running it under warm water. He squeezed out the excess water, his eyes never leaving yours. "I know I can get...carried away sometimes," he admitted, his voice low. "Especially when I'm with you. But I never want you to feel overpowered or uncomfortable."

"I know," you assured him, reaching out to brush your fingertips against his cheek. "And I don't. You always make me feel safe and cared for, even in the most... intense moments."

He smiled, leaning into your touch. "Good," he murmured, taking the washcloth and gently wiping away your essence. His touch was tender and careful, his movements slow and methodical.

"You're always so gentle and caring," you observed, watching as he cleaned you with the cloth. "Even when you're being...dominant."

He chuckled, his eyes meeting yours. "I may be dominant, but that doesn't mean I don't care about your comfort and pleasure," he said, his tone low and steady. "I would never do anything to hurt or diminish you. I love you too much for that."

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at his words. "I know you do," you murmured, reaching up to brush your fingers through his hair. "And I love you too. I feel safe with you, no matter what we're doing. You always take care of me."

He set the washcloth aside, his eyes full of tenderness as he looked at you. "I will always take care of you," he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. "You're the most important thing to me, and I will always do everything in my power to make sure you're happy and safe."

You melted at his words, a wave of affection and love washing over you. "You're such a sap," you teased, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But I love it."

He chuckled, a mock offended look crossing his face. "Hey, I'll have you know that I am a very rational, logical FBI agent," he protested, his tone light. "I cannot possibly be labeled a sap."

"Oh, of course," you agreed, laughter in your voice. "Because FBI agents are known for being rational and logical, and definitely not sappy at all when it comes to their partners."

He tried to maintain his mock offense, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Alright, alright," he conceded, his eyes sparkling. "I may be a little sappy when it comes to you. But I blame you for making me this way."

''Mhm.. definitely my fault.''

Spencer's hands came up to cup your face, pulling you gently against him as he leaned down and captured your lips in a tender kiss. The kiss was slow and sweet, full of affection and tenderness. As the kiss deepened, his arms came around you, pulling you flush against his body.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lost yourself in the feel of his mouth against yours. As the kiss finally ended, he pulled back just far enough to look into your eyes. "I love you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Your heart fluttered at his words, your entire being filled with a sense of love and security. "I love you too," you breathed, your fingers tracing over his stubbled jaw. He pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"You're everything to me," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You closed your eyes, relishing the feel of his arms around you and the sound of his voice. "You're everything to me too," you replied, your fingers running through his hair. "I can't imagine my life without you." He lifted his head, smiling down at you. "Good thing you don't have to," he said, his tone light.

"You're stuck with me forever, sweetheart."

''I don't mind.''

hiiiii these are soundgasm audios that all remind me of lu im still waiting for a guy that sounds exactly like him :(( but i love these audios so much they r so him

ok honestly with pretty much all of these skip the speaking in the beginning it sounds icky and scripted LOL sometimes it’s for up to like 5 min so skip to when it properly gets into it

breeding

eating u out + this one is mostly noises so u can really fantasise😖

fucking u while people are nearby

sleepy sex

how his moans would sound 🥰

frat luigi

fingering u in the middle of the night

making out + sex

making out with pillow talk

eating u out and sex

friends to lovers, riding sub luigi

trying for a baby

this is SO him

i swear there were even more that i liked but can’t find them :(( anyway enjoy💗

lovefool

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

hi 

Hi baby

are you busy rn? 

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

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

I’m free for you. 

Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just smile weakly, “Probably.”