IMAGINE….

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹!!!!!

The legal fund has officially surpassed $1M! 🎉

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 😣😣

honeymoon with lu headcanons

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ he’d take y࣪ou to sicily for your honeymoon of course, because he’d wanna show you where his family roots are, also because sicily is the PERFECT place for a honeymoon :,)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you’d spend your time hiking, biking around and going to various popular tourist destinations, with luigi constantly taking photos of you with his digital camera like the good traditional man he is.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ speaking of him taking photos of you, on your honeymoon he’d take soo many dirty pics of you, such as ones of you with his cock in your mouth, photos of you sucking your own cum off of his fingers and photos of you with him inside you ;)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you’d make so many dirty videos during your honeymoon, some of them would last for hours

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ the sex would be amazing, multiple rounds a day, sometimes you’d just have slow romantic sex, other times he’d be fucking you in pronebone (i’m so sorry, i saw the opportunity and just had to take it) while moaning into your ear about how happy he is that you’re finally his wife

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ whenever you’re at your villa you’re both either naked or in swimming clothes, no inbetween

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ he loves telling people you’re on your honeymoon, when you guys were on a tour of the valley of the temples he told the tour guide you guys were on your honeymoon and you were like 🙄🙄🙄🙄

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you’d also take photos of him too when he’s not looking because he’s just sooo :(

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ at night when you’re not having sex you’d find yourselves cuddling skin to skin in bed together while you plan out your future :(((

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ there’d be a pool in your villa and because of this you’d pretty much walk around in your bikini whenever you’re there, which means that luigi would definitely be fucking the shit out of you multiple times a day, but you don’t mind one bit. you love it

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you and him found this secluded part of the beach to go to, and made AMAZING use of it by having sex in a spot right by a bush.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you were on top the whole time riding him, and he had his camera out recording and couldn’t get enough of how sexy you looked.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ “look at you, fucking your husband in public” 🤭🤭

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ your honeymoon lasted about a month, simply because you both have very stressful lives back home and wanted to get away for as long as you can

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you’d tell him to not buy you stuff, you feel like you don’t need anything considering you’re already on your honeymoon with your husband which is enough, but he always buys you expensive gifts when your back is turned and you always roll your eyes at him and scold him, but you love and appreciate the gifts anyway <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ one time he lifted you up, opened the window, sat you on the windowsill and fucked you so hard even though there was a high chance that someone could’ve walked by and seen, but he didn’t care. and that’s how your first baby was conceived ;))

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

i’m so sorry this isn’t longer i’ll be honest it’s because i ran out of ideas, but i hope u all like this regardless 😭❤️

Okay here’s a lu thought for you: imagine he’s never been in a relationship before you and has only had casual sex. Like probably a decent amount of it, but never real intimacy with someone he has a bond with. And the thing that surprises him the most about being with you is how often you kiss him?? Yes, during sex, but all the time as well? Like he wouldn’t have expected how badly you want to kiss him and hold his face all the time… And he’d grow to enjoy and need it so much. Making out with you for the sake of being close to you and feeling your mouth on his. He’d probably be kinda shy about it at first but it would very quickly become his thing :((((

OMG love love love this sooo much <3

this reminds me of the goodreads quotes he liked! i will pull them out again and again lol like he's such a loverboy:

he'd never realize how much he wanted (needed) intimacy with someone that wasn't just sex; totally knowing someone and loving them anyway... loves all your different types of kisses and displays of love: you'd love to kiss him, cuddle him, cradle his pretty face in your hands, just such casual physical intimacy 😫

he’d get so used to ur touch and would become so clingy like just hangs off of you when your cooking or doing something around the apartment

why are we all still just as horny for this man as we were in december LOLLLL

what im envisioning for part 2 of my massage therapy fic 🫣

Pretty huge Dick

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

What if you were mine?

Pt.1

The kitchen light was too bright for how late it was, but she didn’t bother turning it off. Everyone else was either asleep or pretending to be, and she was standing there barefoot in her tiny shorts, eating cold mango straight out the Tupperware like it wasn’t the middle of the night.She should’ve gone to bed.But instead, she was half-naked, sticky with chlorine, hair still damp from the pool, and thinking about his fucking hands. She didn’t even hear him come in,just felt it. That weird shift in the air. That thing that happens when someone’s watching you. “Damn,” his voice came from behind her, low and scratchy. “You’re really out here eating all the mango by yourself?” She didn’t jump. Just glanced over her shoulder. “It’s not all for me.”

“You didn’t offer, though.”

She turned around slow, leaning against the fridge door like she didn’t care that her tank top was basically see-through in this lighting. Like she hadn’t seen him in the pool earlier with his stupid wet curls and his stupid chest and his stupid forearms that made her wanna crawl out of her skin.

“You want some?” she asked, holding out a slice between two fingers.

Luigi walked over,barefoot, towel around his neck, shorts slung low on his hips,and stopped too close. Like he didn’t realize it. Or like he absolutely did. Instead of taking the bowl, he took the piece from her hand. Bit into it, juice running down his fingers.Her breath caught. Just a little.

“You always walk around like this?” he asked, licking his thumb casually. Too casually. “Like what?”

He gave her a look. Her thighs. Her chest. Her mouth. She raised her brows. “You’re the one half-naked.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the problem here.”

“Then what is?”

“You,” he said, quiet. Like it wasn’t even up for debate.

She laughed, soft and mean, just enough to make him shift his weight. “You’re dramatic.” He tilted his head, studying her for a second. Then, like it just hit him: “Wait. How old are you again?”

“Nineteen,” she said, deadpan. She didn’t even blink.His whole face changed. Not disgusted,just like he suddenly forgot how to breathe.She leaned in a little. Not touching. Just close. Close enough to be annoying. “Is that gonna be a problem?”He backed up half a step. Ran a hand through his hair. Looked like he wanted to say yes but didn’t trust himself to open his mouth.

“I’m not a kid,” she said, softer now. Like she meant it. “You’re not gonna go to hell for thinking I’m pretty.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

She tilted her head, smug. “I do, actually.”

He exhaled hard, shaking his head. “You’re dangerous.”

“You’re weak.”

And then he laughed, this low, breathy thing that made her knees feel weird. He turned like he was gonna leave,but then didn’t. He stopped right at the counter, palms braced on either side, like he needed it to stay grounded.She could see the muscles in his back flex. The way he was breathing too slow.

“I’m gonna bed,” he said, finally.

“Liar.”

He looked at her, tired and full of something she couldn’t name. “You’re not supposed to be this young,” he muttered.

“And you’re not supposed to be this easy.”

He didn’t reply,didn’t move. Just stared at her like he was counting to ten in his head. Like he was already thinking about what she’d taste like if he gave in.

He was still staring at her.Just… standing there. He’d said he was going to bed like two minutes ago and yet here he was, still in the kitchen, still shirtless, still breathing like she’d just hit him in the chest. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move either. Because the second she did, he might bolt. Or worse, not bolt. And she didn’t know which one would be more fun to watch.So instead she just raised her brows, like: Well?

He looked at her like she was a problem. Like she was a decision he already knew was gonna fuck him up but he hadn’t made peace with it yet. He huffed a breath, ran a hand down his face. His fingers dragged along his jaw like he was trying to physically snap out of it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

She tilted her head. “Do you?”

That made him look at her different. Like, really look. His mouth opened like he was gonna say something else,some grown man, voice-of-reason type shit,but nothing came out.

And then he just… stepped closer.

Not a big step. Not all dramatic. Just one quiet shuffle across the tile that made her stomach flip because now they were too close.She could see everything. The water still clinging to his collarbones. The dip of his waist. That stupid freckle on the left side of his neck that she wanted to bite for absolutely no good reason. He glanced at her mouth. She saw it happen.And instead of pretending it didn’t make her heart do something ugly, she just said, “If you’re gonna kiss me, do it.”

His whole face twitched. “I’m trying not to.”

“That’s not hot,” she whispered. “That’s annoying.”

He actually laughed. Like a real one. Shaky and soft and like it caught him off guard.Then he said, “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Maybe I do,” she said, and then added: “Maybe I’ve been thinking about your hands since before dinner.”

His jaw clenched. Like actual muscle movement. Like he was fighting something off.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered.

She leaned in just slightly. “None of this is.”

For a second, he just stood there. Watching her.

And then?

He kissed her.

Messy. Fast. No dramatic buildup. Just his mouth crashing into hers like he couldn’t take it anymore. Like fuck it. Like he knew he’d regret it later and didn’t care.She gasped. Her back hit the fridge harder than she meant. His hand caught her waist like instinct. Like he was scared she’d disappear. It was one of those kisses that made no sense. Teeth. Tongue. His thumb at the corner of her mouth. Her leg sliding up the back of his calf without thinking.

And then, Footsteps,hallway,voices.He broke off like he’d been burned. Stumbled back, lips swollen, eyes wide.

“Shit,” he whispered.

She just stood there, breathless. Wrecked. Smiling.He didn’t say anything else. Just grabbed the mango bowl and walked straight out the back door barefoot like he was running from the devil. She stayed leaning against the fridge, touching her lips. Mango-sweet. Luigi-warm.And yeah.That was definitely gonna happen again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He should’ve walked away the second she looked at him like that.Not when she smirked.Not when she said he was easy.Not even when she told him she wanted him.

No,he should’ve walked away when she leaned against the fridge like she knew what she was doing. Like she’d been waiting all day for him to crack.

But he didn’t,because he’s a fucking idiot.

Now he’s outside, sitting on the steps barefoot with the stupid mango bowl in his lap, palms sticky and chest still tight from kissing her like that.

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

He told himself he’d be good. Chill. Polite. That he’d smile and make conversation and keep it innocent,but then she walked into the kitchen with no bra on and mango juice on her fingers and called him easy, and it was over.

And the worst part?She was right.

He was easy….for her. He folded so fast it was embarrassing. The sound she made when he kissed her? The way her hands gripped his waist like she was about to pull him in harder?

He’s never going to forget that.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, palms over his face. His mouth still tastes like her. Her lip gloss. Her breath. That little sound she made when he bit her bottom lip too hard by accident and she liked it.

He should’ve stopped.

Should’ve never started.

But god, she looked at him like he was a secret she wanted to keep. Like she already knew what kind of mess she was making and didn’t care.

And now?

She’s still in the kitchen. Probably touching her lips. Probably still tasting him. He hears someone walk through the hallway behind him,probably her cousin or someone else staying in the house. The door creaks open slightly, but no one comes out. He doesn’t turn around.

Because if it’s her, he might do it again.

He might pull her into his lap right here on the porch and kiss her slow this time. Not desperate. Not rushed. Just… slow. Deep. Lazy. Like he has all night,and if it’s not her, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone else.

The door closes quietly. Good. He’s not ready,not even close. He looks down at the mango bowl,still mostly full. Like he didn’t just sin over this exact fruit five minutes ago.He laughs once. Quiet. Exhausted.Then sets the bowl down beside him and leans back against the wall, head tipped up toward the sky.

She’s nineteen.

He’s twenty-seven.

And he’s already thinking about how she looked at him when she said his name.

“Luigi.”

He squeezes his eyes shut.This is bad,he already knows he’s gonna want her again tomorrow.

*****************************

@luigisbambinaaa @luigis-wetdream @multi-culti-girl @mangionesdaisy @snoopy184 @daydreamingwithluigi @iinfinitelimits

luigi and traveling to Latin America is a need 😣

Latiendo por ti

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

He didn’t understand a word.

But God, he understood her.

A tu manera, descomplicado,

en una bici que te lleve a todos lados…

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

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

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

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

“Rude,” he muttered, crossing the street.

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

“Oh my god.”

“I told you.” She looked smug.

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

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

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

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

He groaned.

“Una cartica que yo guardo donde te escribí…”

The lyrics spilled from the same speaker.

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

“What’s that part mean?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m exotic?”

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

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

“Latiendo por ti…”

The chorus hit again.

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

His throat went tight.

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

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

“Race me to the pier?” she shouted.

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

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

Puedo ser feliz caminando relajada entre la gente,

yo te quiero así y me gustas porque eres diferente…

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

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

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

“Then do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew it did.

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

Que hace rato está mi corazón,

latiendo por ti, latiendo por ti…

“You hear that?” she murmured.

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

She smiled. “That’s enough.”

Because maybe he didn’t speak the language.

But he spoke her.

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

_______________________________

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

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

He failed.

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

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

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

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

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

Luigi couldn’t look away.

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

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

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

“Just move.”

“I’ll embarrass myself.”

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

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

Tiene los pies descalzos como un niño que adora…

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

“You’re not real,” he murmured.

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

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

Y sus cabellos largos son un sol que te antoja…

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

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

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

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

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

Luigi smirked. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Le gusta que la miren cuando ella baila sola…

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

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

He almost lost it right then.

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ.”

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

He pulled her in tighter.

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

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

Le gusta Barranquilla, le gusta Barcelona…

The beat slowed, but neither of them let go.

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

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

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

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

Luigi looked around, dazed.

“I feel like I just got possessed.”

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

“Mostly by you.”

She smiled. “You did good.”

“I didn’t even dance.”

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

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

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

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

“I couldn’t help it.”

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

“Wanting,” he echoed.

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

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

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

“Latiendo por ti.”

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

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

She pushed him back onto the bed.

Didn’t ask.

Didn’t wait.

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

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

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

His mouth dropped open.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re unreal.”

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

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

The friction made her gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lleva, llévame en tu bicicleta…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she did.

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

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

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

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

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

Que hace rato está mi corazón…

Latiendo por ti…

He was still inside her.

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

Not ever.

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

“You okay?” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

“Like you’re already hard again.”

He smirked. “That’s ‘cause I am.”

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

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

“About what?”

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

Her throat tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

“Like last night wasn’t slow?”

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

Her breath caught.

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

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