Soft Spot ~

YOU JUST BLESSED US THANK YOU PART 2 WHEN

THANK YOU!! I really do wanna write a part 2 but i don’t know what to make it into!!! Like i have a vision for possibly a part 3 where another guy in the friend group jokingly asks for a massage and everyone laughs it off but lu actually shows up later that night to make sure it never happens and finally sex ensues??? But idkkk i feel like there should be a second part between these twooo,, so if anyone has any thoughts on that pls pls pls let me knowwww im kinda stumped rn ;(

raaaahhh he looks so italian in this pic….my bby

luigi thought of the day 🤗

you being pregnant with your kid and at the beach, and your stomach is too big and far along for you to reach down and put your sunscreen on ur legs <3 so luigi has you standing there on the beach in the hot sun while he’s very diligently putting sunscreen EVERYWHERE on ur body <3 like lifting your arms up and out of his way to get ur sides completely covered. holding ur hair to the side while getting ur neck…

on his knees in the hot sand, smoothing the lotion all over your calves and thighs and ass <333 tells you “keep your hand on my shoulder, baby. last thing we need is you falling” while he’s massaging your tense calves. definitely gets very handsy when he’s covering the backs of your thighs and ass. has no shame in sneaking his hands under ur bottoms. also definitely likes doing it because he can tell other men are eyeing you on the beach even tho it’s sooo obvious you’re pregnant. and well, of course luigi has to let them know only he can touch you like that! because he’s the one who knocked you up and you’re carrying his baby. not theirs :-)

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹!!!!!

The legal fund has officially surpassed $1M! 🎉

Put a fake mustache on him and he looks exactly like his dad 😭

OMFGGG 😣😣😣😣

thinking about bf!lu who decides to maintain a scruff for awhile and you watch it gradually become lighter cause he goes down on you so much

-🫃

STOPPPP omg this is so hot i literally just had to take a lap around the library lmfao

okay like what if ur the one to suggest it after he goes a few days longer than usual without shaving during a super busy week. you’ve only ever known him as relatively clean shaven and you think his scruff is soooo sexy and he looks so mature that ur like 🥺🥺 baby please for me 🥺🥺

and ofc when he does u both realize maybe it’s not the most practical thing ever and he gets concerned that he’s hurting you one time he starts to go down on you and you make the tiniest noise of discomfort and the sensation of his scruff against ur thighs and his head shoots up like >:( and gets up to shave right then and there

legal team part one luigi mangione x reader

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

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

he doesn’t see you every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but they aren’t.

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

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

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

“good,” he murmurs.

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

he nods once.

“same year?”

“she graduated early.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he looks at her now, uncertain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no,” he says. then, “yeah.”

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

“maybe add a soundtrack.”

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

luigi almost smiles.

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

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

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

he exhales through his nose. “very nice.”

and then—

the doors open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i sighed once,” luigi mutters.

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

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

“it’s cold. but it’s yours.”

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

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

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

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

luigi doesn’t look up. “to who?”

“clerk’s office.”

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

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

“since an hour ago?”

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

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

then she’s gone.

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

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

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

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

he exhales through a crooked smile.

“alright. they talk just enough.”

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

“what?”

“you don’t like the coffee?”

“it’s fine.”

“there are vending machines outside—”

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

“you’re making a face.”

“this is my grateful face.”

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

“that’s your grateful face?” you ask.

“what, you don’t like it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the next week, the rain clears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you didn’t have to bring the tie.”

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

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

“this is not my skill set,” he says.

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

“better,” you say.

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

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

“fix me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’s terrible,” you joke.

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

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

“how late can i be?” he asks.

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

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

askbox

so fucking good ive reread these like ten times 😩😩😩😩

study buddies (with benefits)

｡𖦹°‧ an assortment of smutty oneshots in which luigi mangione is your cute tutor <3

status : incomplete !!

works : 4

nsfw (for the most part) | f! reader | ao3

✄ sex for homework • 5.5k wc

you ask your cute tutor to help you study for your math final .ᐟ꩜

✄ misbehaving • 3.8k wc

your plan to piss off your cute tutor backfires in the best way possible .ᐟ꩜

✄ oh baby • 5.2k wc

your cute tutor cheers you up after a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day .ᐟ꩜

✄ playing favorites • 10.8k wc

your cute new tutor takes quite a liking to you .ᐟ꩜

good morning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

father luigi lets a shaky breath leave his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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