Girl, Idk If You've Already Posted This One But This Guy Sounds So Much Like Him It's Insane 😫

Iced Chai

Short cuz I'm very short on time but still wanted to get this out. I'm likely not going to be writing about his parentage or upbringing in this context again cuz I don't like doing it. This is me warning you that I think this fic is shit, its not my best work.

For roughly fifty percent of the population, it’s impossible to conceptualize the life of a man.

The reassurance of walking down the street at night without the heavy burden of being snatched by the hair and swept away. The content that stems from buying an eight-in-one shampoo, conditioner, dish soap, body wash, laundry detergent…those kinds of things.

They’d never understand what kind of creatures the other side of the ocean houses. While Luigi grew up one way, you grew another.

Now that you thought about it…Luigi never really told you what his childhood was like beyond little tidbits of information about his family. Where he grew up, how he spent his summers before, who he knew, what his teen years were like.

But strangely, never his upbringing.

Naturally, you didn’t think anything of it. After all, it wasn’t really any of your business, and you could barely even remember your own childhood.

You toddled up the stairs, your cotton white socks sending quiet and dull thumps down the hall with each step on the rickety old stairs. Clad in a yellow and white bikini top, white tennis shorts, a white visor, and an arm full of bracelets, you prepared to head out of your house in just a couple of minutes to go surfing with Luigi.

“GiGi! You ready to—…Why are you still in pajamas?” You asked, leaning against the white door frame of your bedroom and peering at Luigi as he lay tangled in your sheets.

“Can’t go today,” he stated, his face buried in your silk and woven pillows.

“Bitch I literally just got dressed, get your ass up,” you huffed, carrying your body over to him so you could pluck his bare arm.

“I know! Just not today. I feel sick as shit”

You hesitated, his abnormally snippy tone causing you to raise your brows slightly.

“Alright, alright! Chill, stop yelling at me in my house,” you murmured, furrowing your brows at him.

“I don’t even have the energy to yell…” he groaned, rolling his face to the side so he could glance at your pretty face. “Enjoy the beach, pretty.”

“I’m not going to the beach without you…I literally live here I’m not missing anything. I was just going cuz you wanted to,” you murmured, ripping the Velcro strap from your white sun visor.

“No, go without me,” he urged the side of his face smushed into your sheets.

“It’s fine, Gi. I’m gonna order food, what do you want?” You asked, sliding a hoodie over your bikini so you could take your top off without flashing Luigi.

“Please, I don’t want anything…just get yourself something, I’ll Venmo you,” he huffed, rolling his eyes as he rolled over.

A wince.

You paused, unpacking both his sudden moodiness and pained whimper at the same time while trying to avoid brain overload.

“You good? Do you want me to get you some Advil?”

“Huh? Nah, nah, I'm fine, just…just go and get your food. I’ll be downstairs later,”

“Bro, stop bitching, let me help if something’s wrong—“

“The fuck are you being so pushy for! I’m fine, damn!”

Your face contorted into a mixture of confusion and disgust as you looked down at him from the head of your bed. Your brows furrowed as your face slowly began to sour…what a fucking brat.

“First of all, stop fucking shouting at me before I take your keys. Second of all, if you didn’t want help you didn’t have to get disrespectful. But I see you got it figured out, so you can stay here,” you scolded, leaving your room and slamming the heavy oak door behind you. Something Luigi would have never done.

When you left, Luigi suddenly felt like crying. You offered help like a normal friend would, and all he did was show his ass to the only person that could actually pull him out of your sheets.

And even after pushing your company away in favor of retaining a strong image, the pain in his spine didn’t go away.

The sharp, stabbing sensation didn’t ease up on the nerves in his back. They pressed against his skin as their sharp talons dug and clawed the invisible blood to the forefront of his mind.

It burned like hell. Every movement just seemed to put more pressure on his bones, and the top of his legs felt numb like television static.

The best way he knew— or the best way he was taught — how to cope with such pain was  “suck it up” and go about your day, because lord knows America doesn’t pay its citizens enough to afford to live pain-free. He bit down on his lip until he drew blood, the ruby red iron staining his plump bottom lip as he lifted his head to avoid staining your pillows.

A move that proved to further add to the toppling tower of agony. He inhaled sharply, the cold salty air from your constantly open window filtering through his teeth as his eyes screwed shut.

Tears pricked at his waterline as he tried to remain as still as possible. Moving was painful, breathing was painful, and sitting still was painful…it seemed like there was no other choice than to just lie down and face it by himself. Like he’d always done.

Like he was supposed to.

That is until you burst through the door.

And there you were, standing by your bedside with a heating pad, Oxycodone, tea, and a little iced chai for yourself with milky-looking cold foam just above the ice. He looked you up and down, taking in your changed outfit before straining his eyes to look out the window.

He had been lying in your bed in pain for no less than a couple of hours. And normally that’s the way he’d prefer it, but since moving in with you during the summer he had decided on one thing.

He didn’t want to shoulder his pain by himself— correction, he didn’t want to bear the burden of solitude anymore. He wanted to stay in your solitude.

“Next time you need help just fucking ask. Bitch.”

“Sorry, hon…thank you.”

taglist ; @lorelaisg1lmore @flaca335 @7luvrs @fancyyanci @f4b111 @born444u @harrys0nlyange1 @lovelyfeeling @jenisaswift13 @straw8berry

The Misadventures of Two Geniuses

pairing: post-prison!spencer reid x gen-z!reader

warning: generally short one-shots of crack, fluff, or angst; reader has physical descriptions, see each chapter warnings.

summary: you were once spencer's grad student until you ask to switch. now you are just a pain on his ass.

in order of posting:

rizz - in which you teach spencer the meaning of "rizz" and emily gives you an offer you can't refuse

paintball - in which emily took the team paintballing

brick - in which they took your phone away for making spencer and luke viral

origin - in which you finally tell them how you met spencer

bare minimum - in which they teach you how to date old school style

bau team incorrect quotes

more coming soon!

more luigi p*rn links again bc u guys asked *nsfw minors dni

lu pulling your hair while he fucks u from behind

more fucking from behind :p

how lu would suck on your tits while u ride him

there are no words for this one. oh my fucking god

pics: one two three four five six (the nerdy t shirt LOL) seven

fingering

he made u put your panties in your mouth to shut you up but ur whining like crazy anyway

choking u in missionary

imagine lu taking care of u like this fuck

size kink. omg

sending a video to ur ex of lu on top of u (need him like this so badly)

fucking you upstairs at a frat party

lu’s arm around your neck while he fucks u from behind NEED

fucking his cum back into u. SORRY

i should be banned off tumblr. anyway here u go :p

'O Sole Mio'

?: After a few glasses of cheap Chianti, Luigi tells you a story. Nothing could have prepared you for its delivery.

1,080w

Author's Note: I don't have any words left after this, all i have is feelings and crying and ... im so gone for him. ive lost my mind. i dont know if this shit makes any sense but i was just about weeping writing it LOL

------------

It was the last golden gasp of summer at Seaside Heights, the kind of evening that feels like a postcard itself. The boardwalk was alive with the smell of fried dough and the sound of distant screaming children on rides powered by questionable engineering. Luigi and I had wedged ourselves into a corner table on the patio at some hole-in-the-wall Italian place.

We had ordered slices and “just a glass” of wine, which inevitably became, “Just bring us the bottle.” By the time I was three pours deep, Luigi had his legs stretched out like he owned the place.

His eyes, espresso-dark and shining under the cheap string lights of the boardwalk, were giving me that look. You know the one. Like he knew how good he looked in his half-buttoned linen shirt.

That’s when he suddenly froze, his head tilting to the side. He pointed upward. The music—some cheesy, dramatic Pavarotti knockoff that these Italian dives play to try and appear authentic. Then he smiled, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“What?” I asked, already laughing at whatever dumb thing he was about to say.

“Oh my God.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. No way.”

“Well, now you have to tell me.” I smacked his arm—rock solid.

He paused and sighed. “Okay, but promise me you won’t laugh.” He leaned in with a straight face that had me eagerly anticipating another highly entertaining Mangione story.

“I promise,” I lied.

“Alright.” He looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially. I was melting for this man. Every moment with him felt important, filled with meaning. He could have said anything, and I’d lap it up like a dog. “So,” he started, rubbing his face like he was already regretting this.

“My mom used to play these mix CDs on the stereo at home. Pavarotti, Bocelli, all the classics, right? She’d be cooking, cleaning, just vibing to these… love songs.”

“Sure,” I said. Totally normal so far.

“But this song”—he pointed upwards again to the song playing on the patio speakers—“‘O Sole Mio,’ a total guilty pleasure for her. When it came on, she would lose her mind. Singing, swaying, dancing. And eight-year-old me sat there watching her, thinking, This must be the greatest song in the history of songs. So, Mother’s Day comes around…”

At this point, Luigi paused, biting his lip like he wasn’t sure he should continue. I couldn’t help the smile that possessed my face.

“Oh my God, Lu, what did you do?”

He waved me off, reaching for his wine. “No, nah, I can’t—”

“Finish the story, Luigi.”

“Fine.” He threw his hands up. “I learned the song. Like, the whole song, okay? I watched every Pavarotti performance on YouTube at the time. Memorized the lyrics. Practiced in front of the mirror. And on Mother’s Day, I performed it for her.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. For her, my family, my cousins, neighbors. I’m pretty sure Pavarotti himself has sung for smaller audiences.”

I lost it. “You did not…” I said, breathless already. The image of little eight-year-old Luigi in my head, filled with love for his mama, singing an Italian love song in complete earnestness, was too hysterical to keep contained.

“I did,” he admitted. The music swelled in the restaurant, hitting that classic over-the-top crescendo, and Luigi—my God, this man—pushed back his chair and stood up.

“And now…” He slapped his hand on his puffed-up chest and lifted his chin.

“Luigi, NO.”

“I will sing it for you.”

And let me tell you, it was terrible.

He was hamming it up like some kind of opera drunk on karaoke night, his voice all over the place but somehow still deeply passionate, like he was singing to save Italy itself. People in the restaurant were staring. I was just as mortified as I was captivated. Tears were streaming down my face. Dying. And he didn’t stop. He didn’t care. He kept going—arms gesturing wildly, every crescendo perfectly wrong—and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

When he hit the final note—“O SOOOOLEEEEEE MIIIIOOOOOOO!”—he threw out his arms in a dramatic flourish, like he was expecting roses to rain down from the sky. I clapped so hard my palms hurt.

When he finished, he bowed. One or two other patrons gave half-hearted claps, probably just impressed by his dedication to the bit. His cheeks and ears were a delicious shade of pink, his smile lighting up his face as he moved his chair closer to me.

“You’re too much, Luigi,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

He finally sat down, our knees touching. He leaned towards me, and suddenly I was his only audience. “Do you know what the song means?” His voice was soft, so only I could hear. There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before.

I shook my head.

“Okay, ‘O Sole Mio’—it means ‘My Sunshine.’ It’s about… someone being the light of your life. Like…” He shifted his weight, trying to find the words. “Like even the sun itself can’t hold a candle to the person you love.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed by the intensity, but too caught up in the moment to stop himself. “It’s like the artist was saying, ‘The world is so much brighter with you in it.’ The guy is completely wrecked over how beautiful life is because of this one person... you know?”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, gauging if any of this was resonating with me at all. His goofy bravado had melted into something almost painfully genuine and sincere.

This was real for him.

“I do know, Lu,” I said quietly.

He leaned back, taking his wine. He shrugged. “And that’s why I sang it for my mom.” He tried to downplay it, but I saw right through him. “Because she’s always been my sunshine. Always will be.”

My breath caught in my throat at that.

Then, he must have realized he’d gone too far into the serious zone. He snapped back to being playful. “Anyway, I fucking nailed that performance on Mother’s Day, and everyone talked about it for weeks after.”

I don’t know if he realized what he was doing to me. The lights sparkled brighter. The air tasted sweeter. And my heart was warmer. Because he was here. He was insane, but I wouldn't have him any other way.

The song made perfect sense. Life is a gift with you.

~~~

What a beautiful thing is a sunny day.

But another sun, even more beauteous, oh my sweetheart, My own sun, shines from your face This sun, my own sun, Shines from your face; It shines from your face

touch || luigi mangione

oh hii !! i saw @vershautece’s post and hadddd to write this, and deepest apologies i have NOT written smut before like my blog is losing its virginity </3 anywaysss hope u enjoy it!!

WARNINGS: f!reader, 18+, sex, dry humping/thigh riding, lu cumming in his pants, college!luigi loses his virginity, unprotected p in v i tried proofreading but when i wrote this i was half asleep so ☠

SUMMARY: Literally just sex (taking Lu's virginity :3) and dry humping him in his sweatpants gahhh

WC: 2.8k

Mess, mess, what a mess! Homecoming at UPenn was no joke. The frat boys painted their bodies the college’s colors, rowdy hallways and loud music. The campus buzzed with life; and the boys showed no shame — especially Luigi Mangione. He was new; a freshman. In contrast to the other male students, he was different. Had the smarts you know would take him many places, the charisma of a romcom boyfriend, everything you could want or need.

Lucky for you, he had his eyes drawn to your pretty figure, the way your skirt bounced, your thighs, and overall, your smile. He loved those rosy lips and kind flashes of teeth. 

“Did I get my back?” Luigi asks his friend, Lane. 

“Barely.” His friend chuckles, most of the paint on Luigi’s lanky figure was dried. He just needed assistance mapping out the ‘P’, since he and his friends were going to line up in the stands and spell out Penn. 

“Can you help me then?”

“No, I gotta get help myself, I’m not gonna paint you, that’d be weird!” Lane laughs. Luigi’s thick, bushy brows furrow, “what do you suggest then, Dr. Know-it-all?”

“Get the girls to do it.”

“Oh come on,” Luigi sighs, “I don’t want them to be uncomfortable.” Lane sighs, “they’re not gonna be uncomfortable. If they like us, anyway… You could ask Y/N..” Lane teases him, smirking and bumping his shoulder.

“We still have an hour or two.” Luigi nods, plenty of time to get painted on by his crush. You.

 So, with their heads held high, the boys walked the campus with their bodies painted blue and red to the dorms where you and your friends stayed. Your roommate was actually dating Lane — you never quite understood that. A knock at the door later, and the girl’s fun get ready for homecoming was crashed with body paint. 

Unfortunately for Lane, he forgot the second bottle of white paint. Your roommate accompanied them back across campus.

The other girls had disappeared, including the last blue-painted boy; leaving you alone with Mangione. You side eye him a moment, he stood awkwardly, rubbing his cracked, painted palms together. He had smuggled the white paint bottle.

You looked so cute to him, your creamy thighs, carefully lined lips and the white skirt with a blue blouse. He could feel himself growing a bit hard. It was embarrassing, you were so pretty and perfect to him, but he was a virgin — contrary to popular belief. He just liked you. He wanted you.

Luigi finally breaks the silence, watching you pull the rollers from your shiny hair. He clears his throat, “uh, Y/N?” His voice was a bit shaky.

“Yes?” You reply, your voice as smooth as honey.

“When you’re done… Would you mind helping me paint my back and uhmm.. The P on my stomach?” Don’t blush, Luigi. 

Oh he’s so cute, he’s so shy asking you, his bunched up curls and tall stance. You shiver at the thought of touching him.

“Sure.” You said simply, not wanting to seem too excited. 

After a bit you finally tended to him. You coated your hands in the paint and slathered it over his boney back. He wasn’t exactly the most buff guy, but he had a normal body for this age. He was really attractive, he wore those slutty gray sweatpants every girl begs her boyfriend to wear.

 In this case, you didn’t ask him, he came to you like that. 

It wasn’t your fault it was so obvious, the gentle outline through the fabric, you avoided looking at it, so he wasn’t weirded out by you. You always knew this guy was packing. Literally. He had you paint down to his waist, his v-line was so prominent.

For Luigi, your hands on him was like being dropped in heaven rather than the gates. He tensed a little at first but your warm palms soothe his occasional aches. He stood with posture and hopeful confidence, he liked you way too much.

“Okay, red’s done.” You state, showing him in the bathroom mirror as you wash it off your palms. “Looks great.” He says, you ended up using a blow dryer to get it dry faster. He had to sit down on the couch for a few, you did too. All that work plus doing your hair prior was tiring.

He looks over at you, his freckles show overlaying blush and his beauty marks are so perfectly placed on each cheek.

“What is it?” You questioned, wanting to know why he was staring so hard. He freezes and stares more, like a deer in headlights. “Sorry, I…I think you’re really pretty.” His cheeky, little crooked smile. You wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Thank you, Luigi.”

“O-of course.”

You smile warmly and tip your head back, looking up at the ceiling a moment, then he speaks up, his voice cracks. “I like you.” God, he was nervous.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“I like you too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” 

He silently cheered and ran a lap around, celebrating in his mind, but outside he nodded and looked at you as though you’re the only girl to ever exist in this world. “I really like that skirt of yours too.” He blurts.

“Yeah?” You chuckle.

“Yeah..” He bit his lip subconsciously and looks down at your thighs, pressed together and pressed to the cushion, he was almost jealous the couch could be sat on by you. He wanted to kiss up your legs and praise every part of your body, and let himself get lost in his sexual desires for you, he wanted-

“My eyes are up here, Lu.” You smile. His hazel irises dart up, his cheeks impossibly turn more pink, and he starts to get cocky.

“They are," he says quietly. “I wanna look down here though.” He continued. Something changed, like the quiet, nervous atmosphere had shifted into an undeniable need, longing and prayers that it would evolve into something soon before one of you lost it.

You stood to get the white paint from the table, but Lu grabbed your hand and stopped you abruptly. “Luigi?”

“C’mere.” He whispers, pulling you down on his lap, somehow, at some point there was a spurt of confidence in him that shone like a star now. “Lu-“ 

“Shhh.” He says, looking at your body in his hands, although clothed he can only imagine what lies beneath it. He blinks, then reaches for your breasts. He looks for reassurance, once you nod he’s practically a goner. His large, slender fingers are groping and squeezing your boobs, so gently yet possessively in a way you liked. 

“You’re s-so..” Words are uncomprehending in his brain, all he thinks and sees is lust. He leans forward and kisses between your collarbones. Slowly up your throat, stopping at your jaw. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I need you so badly, Y/N.” He murmurs, looking at you greedily. 

With a tug, he popped open the buttons on your lace blouse, you were never one to wear a bra underneath a top like this — so when he was met with bare breasts, he almost frothed at the mouth. It took a moment before he gazes between your face and boobs, you nod; and he’s gone. Again.

His kiss was tender and he only suckled for so long before nursing the other breast, kneading one softly, then switching off. It felt so intimate, yet so sweet coming from him. You could only moan, letting your fingers curl up in his hair.

Then he cupped your ass, squeezing the flesh and all he felt was the dampened fabric of your panties under the skirt. His eyes meet yours like a needy puppy’s. “You want me…?” He asks, in a state of disbelief that this was real. 

“I do.”

He fidgets for a moment, he wanted to tell you, but you had an idea. To try something different but equally pleasurable for yourself, he had no clue what you were doing until you were doing it. Softly, you straddled one of his thighs and began moving your aching need against it. He watched in awe, his cock was getting harder from the warmth, the fabric friction and your sounds. The sounds…

He exhaled, holding you in place, he nudged his thigh forward, causing a gasp to escape you. Each second grew more needful for both of you, he was so turned on he couldn’t think straight. “Lu,” you moan, and moan. Gently dry humping his thigh, it was so tender. You were so wet you left a small stain on the thigh of his sweatpants.

He was desperate and being a virgin in this state, he needed something more. Luigi grabs your hips and moves you directly on his erection. He leans so he is almost laying back, with you on top, he encourages you to keep moving.

You do.

You humped him through the sweats, his hardness rubbing against you in all of the right ways, your eyes flutter and you can feel how desperate you’re getting to have him inside you. Luigi could barely handle it, he was whiny, enjoying the view of you rubbing against his tented pants. Every now and then he’d buck up against you…

It became too much, he was guiding your hips, making sure you felt him against your pussy and ass — he groaned, feeling the twitch in his pants become more consistent until you moved so much he panted, begging you. A warmth spread against your panties and you lifted up, glancing down to find Luigi came right there in his briefs and sweats. It was a little endearing to see the male’s cum in that place. He blushes profusely, looking at you with embarrassment. “S-sorry.”

“For what?” “I came too fast.” He whispered. “I don’t think so.” You laugh softly, gazing at the mess you made of him. You turn to face him and lean over, planting your first big kiss on his lips. He moans and cups your face, kissing you sloppily for a long moment. His tongue slipped in your mouth, mapping out, wanting to remember every detail of you.

“I want you.” Your voice rang in the air. “I want you too. Bad.” He pants, then debates — “But uhm… I’m a virgin.”

You grin, pinching his cheek softly. “Oh, Lu, you think that’ll stop me?” He gushes. You tug him up from the couch, then grab the paint bottle and head back to the bathroom, shutting the door behind the both of you.

One hour to gametime.

Your fingers moved across his abdomen and lower chest, tracing the letter P, he was so shaky and sensitive still from cumming in his pants — it didn’t help he couldn’t clean that up yet either. You took extra time and care to paint him right and once done, you teasingly wiped your paint-covered thumb over his dick in the sweats.

He whined, looking down at you, there was no hiding that! “Y-Y/N..” He cooed. Just that action made his member twitch with arousal and life again. “Yes?” Weak, Luigi was so weak to you. He kissed your neck as you cleaned the white paint from your fingertips, “p-please.” 

“Please, what?” You ask, looking at him as he shifts on his feet.

“Please… I need you to fuck me.”

“You’re sure you want me to be your first?” 

“Positive. That's all I want.. I want you, Y/N. Please.”

From confident to straight up begging to be inside you.

You finally cave in, and the poor thing was so inexperienced, but he wanted to do the work. He only wanted to please you. Following instructions, he shimmied your panties down from under your skirt and showed off your breasts again. All in the mirror. The counter was just the right height and he could bend you over it. You stayed there, letting him get himself ready, you told him, “do what feels right, don’t rush yourself.” He nodded and carefully went a step at a time, you arched a bit and he ran his large palms over your ass. Then he pushed down his sweats and briefs, his erection was almost worse than the one before.

Luigi gently stroked himself, shakily groaning as he stood straight, adjusted your hip and aligned himself, “there we go, don’t be shy.” You say calmly. He gently poked your entrance with his tip, rubbed a bit as you wanted. He was packing — just a lot more than you expected. His tip alone felt so big and he wasn’t even inside you.

“Slowly, now..”  He makes sure he’s still aligned right and gently uses his hand to guide his dick’s head into you. He watched you in the mirror. You gasp, not expecting that at all.

“Holy shit… o-okay..” You mumble, “Like I said, do what feels right.. okay?” Luigi nodded, feeling that confident cockiness coming back as he slowly pushed his length inside you, officially and fully, no longer a virgin. His face contorted, brows furrowed, he looks at your ass from this angle, the way your breasts spill out of the blouse.

He let you adjust to his size – more or so, he had to adjust to your slick tightness — he really had to focus here. All he could think of right now was how your pussy felt like heaven.

A flicker of need, and he began pushing in, pulling out, repetitively. You moaned, he did too, enjoying the feel. He got the swing of it pretty quick and ol’ sweet, nerdy Luigi was a little addict after five minutes. His hips slapped into your rear, filling the bathroom with pleasure and his length completely stretched you.

Two desperate souls, desiring. Joined together in passionate lovemaking. Luigi loved how your breasts bounced back n’ forth when he thrusted into you — how you moaned, your eyes shut and rolled back, all of it in the reflection for him to take in. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum.” He growls into your ear, kissing your neck as he brushes your hair aside.

“Okay.” You hum, he glances at you in the mirror. “I can pull out-“

“Don’t you dare.” You smiled slyly, cutting him off. Luigi blushed, confused, but not stopping his thrusts. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes.”

He was hesitant but fuck, he loses his virginity to you and he gets to cum inside you? Double win for him.

His movements became sloppy and erratic, needy and quick. You were a squirming, writhing mess — especially when he curiously reached under you and began rubbing at your clit. For someone with zero experience he found it quick. It made you whine, it made him feel so empowered for that moment…

“Lu, I’m gonna..” You pant, your back arching against him. He leans you up and cups around your ribs, holding you steadily so he can just thrust faster, it was a change but it felt amazing.

He made you really cry out in pleasure, your walls clung to him like a last lifeline and he groaned deeply, using it to his advantage to get off. He moved faster, despite your overwhelming orgasm, overstimulating you by continuously rubbing at your nub and nipping your neck, “You’re so fucking sexy.” He whispers, you had no clue where his sudden spark came from to be dominant, but you loved it.

Not even a full minute later, you felt him cum inside you – something you both probably shouldn’t have done but gosh, it was so worth it watching him collapse on your back, heaving and planting soft kisses on your shoulder. “That was amazing, God, Y/N, I love you.” He paused, blushing more when he realizes what he’s admitted out loud; but your expression says it all. 

“I love you too.”

The both of you cleaned up, you fixed his painted body (and had to change clothes yourself, since some bits that didn’t dry, got all over you.) Thankfully Luigi had a spare pair of sweatpants, stretchy, black fabric. “Hold on, I gotta redo it now,” you smile. Although it meant ruining your makeup, you got the paint on your lips and pressed a kiss against the sweatpants, just over his dick.

“Huh – oh.” Luigi moans as you do so, he flushes and watches you. His heartbeat was quick and he felt so giddy. Gosh, he loved your touch. Then Lane and your roommate returned, he had the ‘E’ painted on his stomach. Now everyone was ready to head out and enjoy homecoming.

It was fun, Luigi and his friends walked together, but of course Lane’s observant eyes glinted. “You have fun Luigi?” He smirks. “What are you talking about?” Luigi responds. “C’mon, I know you had sex with her.”

“What? How?”

Lane pointed at his sweatpants, which he quickly remembered that your lips marked. He rubs his neck nervously and smiles. “So, you finally lost it?” Lane bumps their elbows. Luigi gazed at you, at your smile – laughing with your girl friends. He felt a sense of pride when you look back at him, his stomach flutters. 

It also didn't help you had a big red handprint from Luigi's palm-covered hands on your lower butt cheek, which if you walked a certain way, was completely visible in that skirt. Luigi smiled, because he did that.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

TAGS: @vershautece @iinfinitelimits (lmk if u want to be added!)

too good for me - luigi mangione x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

“you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

“always,” luigi replies, his voice firm.

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

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

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

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

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

Luigi taking care of you on your period (fluff)

This is one of my favourite things I’ve written!! I’m so glad I found it!

It’s the second day of your period, always the worst. You’re lying on the floor in your living room, curled up in a fetal position, trying your hardest to make the pain go away. You roll onto your knees and bend forward, resting your head between your thighs, hands planted flat on the floor in front of you. You rack your brain, trying to remember the position that’s supposed to help ease period cramps, according to a women's health article you read months ago. You let out a frustrated huff. Nothing is making the pain subside.

“Still painful?”

Luigi looks down at you from the sofa. His laptop rests on his thighs, illuminating his face. The glasses perched on his nose reflect the screen, displaying some program he’s been working on for the past few weeks.

“Yeeessss,” you draw out.

“Come, let’s cuddle. Maybe it’ll help,” he says, reaching out an arm and placing a comforting hand on your back. He rubs up and down. His hands are big and warm.

One thing about Luigi—he’s always warm. Even when it’s cold, he’s warm. You, on the other hand, always run cold. You love cuddling up to him, soaking in his body heat, nuzzling your head into his chest while his big hands roam over you. Your own personal heater.

The thought of curling into his warm body is inviting, but the thought of actually getting up to move is not. You turn your head to look at him and flash a smile.

“Hm, that would be nice,” you reply.

“Yeah?” Luigi smiles back, shutting his laptop and placing it on the table next to him. He stands up, stepping over your body. You straighten your back, sit up on your knees, and lift your arms toward him—much like a baby wanting to be picked up. He stands in front of you and reaches down, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. His hands settle on your plush ass, squeezing it through your sweats. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, and he giggles. His stubble is scratchy against your face.

“Let’s go,” he states.

“Where are we going?” you giggle back, already feeling more relaxed.

I suppose it's true what they say about happy hormones. Some people exercise, others use drugs to experience a rush of endorphins, but for you, happiness is Luigi. He will always be your happy space.

“The bedroom. I promise it’ll be more comfy, baby,” he assures you, carrying you down the hall toward your room.

He opens the door to your shared bedroom, revealing a mess—an unmade bed, sheets disheveled. Luigi tries his best to quickly neaten the sheets with one hand while the other rests on your lower back, supporting you. Once satisfied, he drops both himself and you onto the bed.

His back rests against the headboard as you shift, getting comfortable in his lap, head against his chest, legs bent into yourself. One arm hooks under your knees, the other drapes around your waist. His fingers fiddle with the fabric of your top.

“This okay?” he asks while scanning your face, checking that you’re comfortable. He’s always been able to read you like a book, picking up on the slightest changes in your expression and knowing how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking.

“Perfect,” you reply, nuzzling further into him. You feel his body relax into yours, satisfied that he’s doing his job to help ease your pain.

“You know, this would feel so much better if we were both naked,” he smirks.

You let out a breathy laugh. Surely, he’s joking.

“No, babe, I’m serious. I read this article about skin-to-skin contact and how it helps when you’re in pain or distress.” Luigi starts listing off the reasons why skin-to-skin contact will help alleviate your pain, rambling about hormones and pain receptors. Even though both of his hands are on you, his fingers move in sync with his words. His eyebrows lift and fall, his blinking becomes more intense as he recalls the information.

God, you love this nerdy man.

“—so then your brain sends signals to your pain receptors and—”

Before he can continue, you place a gentle hand over his mouth. He’s brought back down to Earth, and you feel his lips curve into a smile under your palm.

“Okay, doctor. I’ll get naked,” you say with a teasing smile.

Luigi’s cheeks flush red. He always gets shy and embarrassed when he realizes he’s been rambling. You feel slightly guilty for cutting him off, so before you do anything else, you reassure him.

“I love how much you care about me, my love. Really, I do.”

His expression softens upon hearing your words. You place a small kiss on the tip of his nose before climbing off his body. You feel another cramp, the dull ache making you wince. You rest a hand on your stomach as you walk toward the bathroom, aware of Luigi’s eyes trailing after you, watching the way your hips sway.

In the bathroom, you undress but decide to keep your bra and underwear on. You take a quick glance in the mirror. Your hair is a tangled mess, heavy bags hang under your eyes, and hormonal acne peppers your lower jaw. But regardless of how unattractive you might feel, Luigi always looks at you like you’re the most beautiful girl, never failing to shower you with compliments and uplift you when you talk down on yourself. You smile at your reflection, then turn and walk back toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door is open, and you see Luigi standing before the bed in nothing but his boxers, removing his sweater. His sweats are in a pile on the floor, and his glasses are folded neatly on the vanity. You pause at the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching him for a moment.

His body is on full display, his chest and abs look as though they’ve been chiseled into stone. The muscles in his arms flex as he haphazardly throws his sweater onto a chair. He notices you staring at him and smirks, dimples appearing. You feel warmth rush to your face, embarrassed that you've been caught staring.

His lips spread into a wide grin, his dimples appearing. He swells with a sense of pride. Luigi prides himself on his work ethic. He puts his all into whatever he does, and you admire him for that. His body for starters, due to his back pain he was unable to work out for a while, but you watched him through the endless hours of research and trial and error as he found a routine that worked for him. You slowly began to see the changes, the lines appearing on his abs the way his arms began to fill out his shirt sleeves, the way his leg muscles flex as he walks. You always make sure to point out the changes and to shower him with compliments, to make sure that he knows he looks good, even when he thinks he doesn’t. 

“You gonna stand there and stare, or are you going to join me?” Luigi teases, slipping back under the covers.

You push off the frame and walk toward the bed. Sliding in, you shuffle all the way under the duvet, leaving only your head poking out. Luigi chuckles, flashing you a boyish grin as he reaches for you under the blanket, gripping your hips and dragging you toward him.

“Come here,” he laughs.

Your almost-naked bodies tangle together as his muscular arms envelop you. His warmth seeps into your skin. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, his natural musk filling the air around you. You feel your whole being swallowed by his. The pure intimacy of it all makes your brain feel fuzzy.

You look up to place a peck on his lips, but he stops you with two fingers under your chin, before you can pull away. His lips meet yours, lingering for a moment before he pulls away, satisfied.

“See? Naked is much better,” he muses.

“Way better,” you agree with a smile, settling against him once more.

And in that moment, wrapped in Luigi’s warmth, you feel completely at peace.

One of his hands snakes upward, stroking your hair so tenderly. You let out a satisfied hum to let him know you’re enjoying it.

You close your eyes and stay this way for a while, listening to Luigi breathe, his chest rising and falling beneath you. You match your breathing to his, savoring his company and the intimacy of the moment.

Luigi breaks the silence. “Feeling any better, sweet girl?”

“A little. I still feel kinda stiff,” you respond, wrapping your legs tighter around his body. You feel another cramp, this time in your back, and immediately stiffen against him.

“Another cramp, baby?” Luigi asks, feeling you tense. “Want me to rub your back? Maybe it’ll help, huh?” He waits for your response, shifting slightly to look at your face.

You look up at him, catching his gaze. “No, Lui, let's just stay like this,” you whisper into his ear. “I’m comfortable,” you assure him, the feeling of guilt lingers, he had pulled away from his work just to cuddle with you. Still, you can’t deny how enticing the thought of a massage from Luigi sounds.

“Wait, I can try one of those massage techniques I read about! Remember I was telling you? They helped me, maybe they’ll help you too. Here, baby, just spin around, lay on your belly.” He gently maneuvers your body under the duvet until you're lying face down on the bed. “Comfy?” he asks.

You adjust slightly, wiggling into a comfortable position. “Yeah, but baby, I promise you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, Luigi cuts you off. “Come on, just let me take care of you,” he retorts, flashing you a small smile you can’t resist. He moves to sit next to you on the bed, the blanket draped over his lower half.

“Okay, fine,” you huff playfully, smiling up at him. He slowly pulls the blanket down, exposing your bare back.

Luigi places his palms on your lower back, moving them up and down the length of your spine a few times, applying deep pressure. You close your eyes and let out a small groan, his touch offers immediate relief.

He then presses small circles into your lower back with his fingers, repeating the motion as he slowly works his way up to your shoulder blades. Then, he moves back down, making slight changes to the motions, checking in with you every so often. All you can manage in response is another groan, the relief is so satisfying you struggle to find the words. 

Above you, Luigi chuckles. “Damn, my hands are like magic, huh, baby?” You can picture the way he’s smiling. This is his love language, acts of service. Luigi always has a solution to your problems, and if he doesn’t, he’ll find one. God, what have you done to deserve such a man? You catch yourself thinking this multiple times a day.

“Hmm, whatever you say, babe,” you tease, giggling, jokingly downplaying just how much the massage is helping.

Luigi continues, gradually easing the pressure until his touches are featherlight. You feel yourself slipping into slumber, lulled by his gentle touch. At some point, you drift off, vaguely aware of Luigi wrapping you in his arms before sleep fully takes over.

When you wake, the sun is beginning to set, its warm glow spilling through the window. You aren’t sure how long you were asleep, but you’re no longer wrapped in Luigi’s arms. You still feel his lingering warmth and reach out, scanning the bed with your hand, searching for him. Your hand finds his thigh, and you open your eyes to see him, still shirtless, sitting up in bed with his laptop perched on his lap, fingers furiously typing away, completely engrossed in his work.

“Luigi?” Your voice is croaky from sleep. You crane your neck to look at him.

“Hey, baby, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, shutting his laptop and placing it on the floor. “Was the typing too loud?”

“No, not at all. Hmm… I think I’m hungry,” you murmur, rubbing your hand up and down his thigh. You stretch under the blanket, letting out a satisfied groan.

“You still feel any pain?” Luigi asks, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your lips. You playfully jut your tongue out slightly before he pulls away, he makes a face of mock disgust. You chuckle.

“No, the massage worked. Thank you for that, my love,” you reply.

Luigi looks at you, tilting his head as he admires you for a moment, his eyes full of love and adoration. You meet his gaze, offering a small smile. Silent "I love you’s" pass between you before Luigi takes a sharp inhale. He slides off the bed. “Hey, let me get us something to eat. You want anything in particular?” He reaches for his sweats, pulling them on before tossing you his sweater.

“Oh, Lu, you’ve already done so much. Let me make us something,” you offer, sitting up and pulling his sweater over your head.

He glares playfully before smiling. “Absolutely not. What did I say earlier? Let me take care of you!”

“Okay, okay, you can cook.” Secretly, you're relieved. Between the two of you, Luigi is by far the better cook. He spent years perfecting old family recipes while in college, tweaking the recipes with tricks he picked up from cookbooks and online videos.

“Maybe I’ll make carbonara… Oh, wait, actually, I’m kinda craving risotto. It’s warm, and it’ll help you feel a bit better.” Luigi extends a hand to you, and you slip out of bed, walking hand in hand toward the kitchen.

You smooth your hair back and head to the sink to wash your hands while Luigi opens the fridge, pulling out ingredients for his famous risotto. He grabs a knife and begins dicing an onion with practiced ease. You push yourself up onto the counter, admiring his smooth knife skills.

The two of you stay like this, Luigi moving around the kitchen, preparing your meal, while you sit and drink him in. As he cooks, he starts explaining the small tweaks he made to his family’s traditional recipe. Originally, the onions were fried in butter, but he found olive oil to be a better alternative. He carries on rambling about the benefits of oil while you sit, listening to his nerdy ramblings.

Once the risotto is ready, Luigi carries two plates into the living room. You trail behind, carrying two glasses of water. He sets the food down, and you settle beside him on the couch. After eating, the evening unfolds in comfortable warmth, cuddling, talking, and laughing about everything and nothing.

“I love you so much, you know that?” you murmur, pressing your forehead against his.

“You know what? I love you too,” he whispers, pressing the softest kiss to your lips

boyfriend!hotch

Good Job. — praise kink discovery

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

event ۶ৎ taglist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How can he press a new button today?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck and shove.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere.”

“No, why?”

“Just come here, I want a hug!”

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

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

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

“Peace was never an option.”

“You are a nerd, oh my god…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lui—! Ah, fuck…!”

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

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

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

All with just some words.

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

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

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

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

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